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cxmetery-gates · 3 years

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OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON

CHAPTER FOUR: STEPHEN KING

SUMMARY: The first day back at school has tricks up its sleeve and Lynn tries to find optimism. WORD COUNT: 2.4k NOTES: I lost power for like six hours so happy new year to me. Okay, it wasn’t too big of a deal since the entire neighborhood did as well, so I’ve just been reading all day, which was a nice change. WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST

FROM TIME TO TIME, I try my best to stay positive, but considering bad things are always around the corner, it's difficult to uphold this standard of living. Needless to say, this strategy typically doesn't hold for too long, but right now, I'm doing my very best to stay optimistic. It's the last first day I'll have with all my friends and peers. This should be something to be excited about (with a dash of dread). And, so far, all my classes have gone according to plan, that being swift and without any issues.

My math class came after helping Mrs. Gibbons. While I do my best to stray away from stereotypes and clichés, I couldn't fight the overwhelming state of confusion and panic during the first lecture. There wasn't even a break-the-ice introduction or the what's-the-best-thing-you-did-this-summer questions. Albeit, I loathe those games, but I would rather sit through the awkward hellos and fun facts for the next year than jump right into a lesson on the first day back. At least give us a break; summer isn't long enough.

Following a near hour of torture came yet another. Alright, health isn't as terrible, but requiring every student take this class as a senior despite having a course similar to such since elementary is very annoying. Then again, does anyone who isn't interested in the medical field know the function or location of the pancreas?

But finally, after several hours of waiting, sitting on the edge of my seat in anticipation, I have a class to look forward to: 'Creative Writing.' Most might groan at the sound of a writing class, but I don't mind nor take offense. Not everyone finds passion on words or mental escape through storytelling. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. The interest comes so naturally as if I was born to have a pen in my hand. Maybe one day I'll find myself signing copies of my stories in a bookstore or on Good Morning America with Michael Strahan and Ginger Zee. I do my best to stay humble about my dreams, but staying positive in this is something I have to have in order to succeed.

Unfortunately, that idea of optimism is slipping away at this very moment.

I double check the crumpled paper in my hand. From what I wrote down, I'm right, but given the locked door with lights out, a sour feeling fills my gut. The last bell rings out, and I'm the only one who isn't a classroom, save the few stragglers making a quick dash into rooms. I'm unsure if I'm confused or frustrated as I stare down the door to an empty classroom.

"Jesus, fuck," I curse. Taking an exasperated sigh, I take a step towards the main staircase, deciding my only option is to figure out what's going on. Maybe the room moved last minute. After all, I wrote my schedule down three months ago; there's no telling how this hell hole has changed, little or small.

A typical stroll to the front office from the third floor might take two minutes, maybe three tops if you're dreading walking through the glass doors. Considering I leaped down several stairs at a time and finding myself at the bottom in all but twenty seconds, perhaps joining the track team isn't too terrible of an idea. However, after I take notice of my labored breathing, my legs also going limp, I put a pin in that thought.

"Hi," I breathe out reaching the front desk. As if I needed a reminder on how out of shape I am, my lungs heave heavy bursts in and out. I could have sworn the lady at the front desk gave me a startled look by my sudden appearance, but I don't dwell on apologizing. "I'm not sure if I have the wrong room for a class. I stopped by, but the room is empty."

Nodding her head slowly, the receptionist turns in her swivel chair to her computer, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. "I gotcha, hon. What's the class name?"

"It's just 'Creative Writing.'" I pause, thinking of any other information. "I might be wrong, but I think Mrs. Walters teaches it."

The woman stops typing when I mention the name and turns to me. By her reaction, I assume the worst. "Your issue is that the class doesn't exist anymore. Mrs. Walters moved away this summer. Took us all a bit by surprise."

There it fucking is.

Well, there goes the last bit of hope I had for the entire school year.

"I, uh, um," I croak. My heart pounds and my hands suddenly begin sweating. An intense wave of confusion wash over me. "S-So what should I do? I need an English elective."

She clicks around the screen, as well as her tongue. The sound is slightly annoying, but you can't bite off the hand that feeds you, even if it's just a one time meal. Her long red fingernails dance across the keyboard. "What's your name, hon?"

"Carolynn Moore," I respond. I can't understand the receptionist, but I think she comments on my "pretty" name. That makes one of us.

A few seconds pass when she looks back in my direction. "Well, it appears you actually don't need any more English classes; you've got all your credits."

"Yeah, but I was hoping to do dual credit. I wanna go into writing, so I figured going in with credits for my major isn't too shabby of an idea," I explain with a smile to the short-haired redhead. She nods and turns back to her computer while making that clicking noises with her mouth again, only this time it sounds like she's smacking on bubble gum. It takes all willpower not to show any signs of discomfort.

"Well," she finally says. "You could just take English IV. The rest of the English courses are either filled, or you've already taken. If your set on English, this is your only option."

From inside my jacket pockets, my fingers crossed. "Who teaches it?" I ask. My fingers cross tighter that it's anyone other than Mr. Hiddleston. I'd rather take the mummifying old teacher who can hardly speak English himself. Mr. Hiddleston may be a nice guy and I know he's a good teacher, but I really don't feel great about being in a class full of girls who took the class just for eye candy. I do my best not to follow clichés, this being one of them.

It appears, however, I will never catch a break.

"Mr. Hiddleston."

I push a sigh through my nose. If this is my only option, I feel obligated to take it. Unfortunately.

"Alright, I'll take it."

══════════════════

I find myself standing outside of Mr. Hiddleston's classroom. I see resentment in my decision just after climbing to the third floor, knowing I will have to travel as far as Frodo and Sam did five days a week. Through the glass window, I see mostly females lining up the first two rows watching the front of the room intensely. With my position, I can't see him, but I have no doubt who they're staring at. To my surprise, I catch Ellie in the second row writing things on a notepad. Well, at least I have one sane people to partner up with.

Taking a breath, I twist the doorknob and give it a small shove. Instantly, almost every head turns my direction. I feel as though I have ten eyes by the looks I'm given.

That's when I notice Mr. Hiddleston leaning against a stool, his long legs outstretched and hands pressed far into his pockets. He gives a surprise eyebrow raise, most likely remembering our conversation this morning. I had told him I wouldn't be taking his class and yet here I am.

"Hello, there, Lynn. A pleasant surprise," he smiles.

My cheeks go pink. The last thing I needed was this ridiculously hot professor bringing up how we have already become acquainted. Perhaps I'm overthinking, but I really don't want people to begin rumors. It wouldn't be the first time I've heard made up stories of students sleeping with their teacher.

"I got switched," I inform in a low voice. Handing him the office's approval, I pass a small smile, doing my best to hide my true feelings. Mr. Hiddleston takes the note and quickly scans it, nodding his head twice.

"Well, I'm glad I have gained another brilliant student," he compliments standing. I take this as my cue to find a seat. My eyes immediately meet Ellie's. As Mr. Hiddleston passes me to his desk, I made a quick walk across the classroom to sit in the empty seat behind Ellie.

She instantly turns herself around. "What happened to 'avoid the stereotype'? And how does he already know your name?" She whispers. "I'm so jealous." Tossing a glance over her shoulder, Ellie flickers her eyes from packs of teenage girls who suddenly begin whispering among themselves. "And it appears I'm not the only one."

My eyes roll as I shrug off my backpack. "Last minute changes. The teacher for that writing class— the one I was telling you about earlier— moved, so I found myself landed here." I pull out a new notebook and a few pens just as Mr. Hiddleston finishes typing on his computer. He's bent over due to his towering height, quite a few pairs of eyes glued to a particular spot. Finding myself as one of those onlookers, I feel a tinge of red heat my cheeks in embarrassment. "And I, uh, helped him this morning."

Ellie, in a dreamy state, looks over to Mr. Hiddleston. Seeing how his posture has straightened, she begins to sit back normally on her desk. I would have been convinced this person was a clone of Ellie had a comment not been made. "I'd like to help him out anytime if you know what I mean," she whispers, biting her tongue teasingly. All she does is giggle as I slap her arm lightly.

I keep my cursing to a minimum now that the room has gone mostly silent. Clasping his hands together, Mr. Hiddleston stands at the front of the classroom, eyeing all of us down. "Alright, first day. How is everyone?"

A collection of groans erupts from the teenagers. While I take no part in the group's exhaustion, I smile to myself in agreement.

"That bad?" Mr. Hiddleston chuckles. "Well, it's about to get worse. Starting from this gentlemen," Mr. Hiddleston gestures to some kid on the opposite side of the room who has boredom written across his face, "we will go around the room with our names."

A panic arises in my chest. Of course, I've spent the last several years speaking in front of my classmates, but it never gets any easier. On more than one occasion has the slip of a curse or a stutter cause points to be deducted from an assignment. It's not entirely my fault that I enter a foggy state of anxiety when all eyes in a room meet me. Can't we all just share our names and our favorite movie with the person sitting next to us? I have no doubt I would have a much easier time with this.

My thoughts have torn me from reality for quite a bit of time, so it seems, as the person two seats away is now announcing their name. I manage to find myself listening in just at the right moment as if now is more convenient than, perhaps, a few minutes ago. My ever-so-sharp context clues lead me to believe we are also sharing who our heroes are if we're comfortable enough for the topic.

I find the bit interesting, but answerable nonetheless. The only problem is I have two: Stephen King and Ruth Bader Ginsburg. How does one compare the modern feminist iconic queen to the whimsical horror author who inspired my writing antics? I flip between the two, plotting out who had the most significant impact on my life, who I am, what--

The sensation of eyes all falling on to my face breaks my concentration. "Oh, okay," I say mainly to myself. Do the thing, Lynn, my thoughts scream. "Well, I'm Lynn Moore, and an idol of mine is, uh..." I stumble off, my brain cutting circuit.

I'm mad at myself for making this simple question out to be life or death. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Realizing I can't do any wrong with either pick, I let my mouth do the work for me. "King. Stephen King."

"Why am I not surprised in the slightest?" Mr. Hiddleston comments, sending me a smile.

"Not all of us can be mysteries," I retort with a shrug. I'm not sure if Mr. Hiddleston he hears me, as my voice decides to speak softly, but the way the corners of his mouth raise makes me think otherwise. My cheeks begin to burn, even after he moves on to the next student. I try to focus in on the girl's name and hero. I already know her first name is Kaitlyn, but the name of her hero goes past me. Maybe she said Beyoncé. Maybe Obama. All I know for sure is that my face feels flush and I can't stop thinking about Mr. Hiddleston's laugh from this morning or the smile he gave me minutes ago.

Thankfully, there is a clap of binders and notebooks slapping on desks to break my thoughts. The warmth in my cheeks leaks back into my body, the cool skin tone returning once more. Glancing around the room with my eyes, I see no one spotted my nervous fidgeting or have looked away from the blushing shy girl.

A pen in my hand, a notebook below the tip, and a smile tugging at the corner of my lips as Mr. Hiddleston begins to enthusiastically talk about the use and necessity of the Oxford comma leads me to a conclusion. Maybe this year won't be as terrible as I had been putting it out to be.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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senritsunotats · 7 years

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Now, this was a tricky, yet fun chapter to write. I really hope you enjoy it ^^

You can also read on AO3.

(IV)

However, this time, his touch meant something else.

V-City had the most beautiful beaches and the warmest weather all year around, therefore it was the perfect place to have a summer house that would be fresh and pretty whenever Tatsumaki decided to go there.

It also had her favorite restaurant.

The place was a bit expensive for a brunch specialty, but you had to know that Tatsumaki loved those greasy, unpretentious food, and consequently, so did her baby – or at least that was what she told herself whenever she’d have a bite of pancakes and a friendly kick in the ribs for good measure.

Where else would she take her baby sister to eat if not her favorite place? And if her tag-along boyfriend wanted to come with, well, with a plate of bacon in front of her Tatsumaki could handle.

“You’re paying for your share, Baldy,” she said when they found their seats.

“Okay,” Saitama replied not looking up from the menu.

“I mean it,” Tatsumaki warned and he dropped the menu.

“O-Kay. I have a S-Class check now, brat, did you forget?”

“You do? Tell me about it, then!”

S-Class heroes’ checks were fatter than those from other classes, but the more popular the hero was, the bigger the reward and when it came to popularity… no one liked Saitama much. He could be rank 15, but he was probably under Atomic Samurai’s couple of disciples with the public, and they had just been branched up.

“Come on, guys, can we not go there this time?” Fubuki practically pleaded. There was a dagger shooting contest between Tatsumaki and Saitama going on. “Can’t we just have brunch without the bickering? Sister, you shouldn’t getting all worked up over nothing like that, you’re close to your due date.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re pregnant,” Saitama said evenly and she narrowed her eyes at him. “I keep forgetting why you’re so big, thought you were just getting fat.”

Tatsumaki borderline growled and gave him not only one finger, but two.

“Listen up, your little shit-“ she started holding the fingers right in front of his face for emphasis, but Fubuki called for a waiter just in time.

“We’re ready to order!” she said almost too loudly (or too desperate to stop them). “Right? Tats?”

After a fair portion of pancakes, waffles, bacon, eggs, juice and tea was ordered and a neat basket of homemade bread was put on their table, the talk restarted.

“How long until you’re due again?” Saitama asked carefully spreading butter on a slice of bread. He took food very seriously.

Tatsumaki watched silently as her sister cut a slice of bread for herself too, serving it with raspberry jam instead, knowing that she was a fan of sweets, and it made her smile.

“Five weeks,” she said. Their tea was served and she added a cube of brown sugar in it before drinking. “Give or take.”

“I see,” he said looking at the bottom of his teacup. “Did you pick a name for her already?”

“Not really,” Tatsumaki admitted. “I just keep rolling over the options and I don’t really know what to choose.”

“It’s got to be something badass,” Saitama said and Fubuki nodded excitedly. He looked at Tatsumaki. “I mean, keep the family tradition, right?”

“She’s got to be born with the coolest Hero Name already,” Fubuki agreed. “I know Puri-Puri have a list of options, did you take a look?”

Tatsumaki shook her head.

“I’m not letting a convict choose my baby’s name! I’m not even sure I’m letting him near her once she’s born!”

“Come on, he’s just intense, but he’s a good guy,” Saitama argued and Tatsumaki looked at him.

“What are you even doing here, Baldy? This is a family meeting.”

“I’m keeping company!”

“I’m the company, your dumbass!”

On her seat across from her older sister, Fubuki sighed. The worst part was that she knew damn well that Saitama and Tatsumaki held a lot of respect for one another, but they kept on with that stupid bickering. Honestly, she didn’t really know why she let him come along, she didn’t really offer. Guess she just didn’t know how to say no to him.

“Seriously, guys, this is a family restaurant, can you can it?” she pleaded. To Fubuki’s surprise, they stopped right away. “Tats, why do you keep pushing Puri-Puri away, anyway? You already shut away his idea of a gender revealing party and it made him super sad.”

Tatsumaki made a face. For her taste, Puri-Puri Prisoner was too excited about one of the heroes having a baby, it wasn’t such a big deal!

“Are you serious? Gender revealing parties are dumb as fuck.”

Saitama nodded and looked at Fubuki.

“She’s right, they are dumb,” he agreed and Fubuki gaped at him. She was not used at all to see him and her sister agreeing on anything; besides, a part of her had wanted that little festivity too, to celebrate the new family member. Tatsumaki had been so averse to the idea at the time that she just told the sex of the baby with no party at all, and it was hella boring.

“Okay, I’m not gonna fight you guys on this, but did you at least think about the baby shower?” she tried instead and Tatsumaki made a fart sound with her mouth, tongue out and all. “Sister!”

“People don’t need to give me stuff!”

“But they might want to!” Fubuki argued. “I mean, you are popular and you scare the shit out of the other heroes, so you’re doomed to have your ass kissed. Besides, I’m sure Puri-Puri would be able to organize a baby shower in a week, and if you let him do that, he’ll probably stop bugging you about baby names.”

Impressed with Fubuki’s line of thought, Tatsumaki leaned back on her seat smiling.

“See, that’s why I need you around, baby sister,” she said looking at Fubuki in the eyes, and the younger esper’s eyes widened.

“You… want me around?”

“Of course I do,” Tatsumaki said as if it was obvious. “Who else could point me in clever directions when handling people? Besides, you’re her aunty, I’ll need your help, you know? Take her to the cinema, teach her some esper stuff, spoil the kid.”

Under the table, Fubuki grabbed Saitama’s hand and squeezed, her eyes widely staring at her sister. Their food arrived and their tea was refilled.

“Esper stuff? Teach?” Fubuki repeated, unable to breathe. Tatsumaki nodded.

“Yeah, I mean, you bet this kid is going to be powerful, and your style is a bit different from mine, so… why not teach her, right?”

“Yeah,” Fubuki said breathing out, a small smile played on her lips and she felt her eyes sting. Her sister… at first she’d had her doubts about her becoming a mother, of what kind of mom Tats would be, what role she could have, but this was… “Awesome.”

And when she talked, her voice cracked uneasily, making her swallow.

“Uh, excuse me,” Fubuki said getting up. “I have to go to the ladies room real quick. Be right back.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, Tatsumaki chuckled to herself. Fubuki got emotional over things so quickly, she hadn’t changed at all. She got her knife and fork and started cutting her pancake in four before she’d pour the syrup on it, because she liked her food wet and sticky before she’d take a bite.

“That was…” Saitama spoke up almost scaring the shit out of Tatsumaki. She forgot he was there. “Sweet of you. She adores you, Tats, and it means a lot to her.”

“Well, look at you all sentimental,” she joked pointing at him with her fork and he narrowed his eyes at her. “I didn’t know you were capable of having feelings.”

Saitama opened his mouth to reply, but they both though about how hard Fubuki had been trying to keep the peace in that table and he bit it back, shaking his head to help let it go.

“Can I feel the baby?” he asked instead, pointing at Tatsumaki’s belly and her eyebrows went up surprised before she nodded. Eight months in and he never asked that, always respecting her personal space, but that day she took his hand and placed on top of her baby bump.

“She’s all turned now,” she said guiding his hand. “Her back is here, see? Just waiting to push her way out. And her feet…”

Tatsumaki put a piece of pancake in her mouth then, and as soon as the flavors exploded in her mouth, she felt the expected kick. Saitama’s eyes widened.

“Wow!”

“I know. She likes food.”

They avoided eye contact. The baby kept moving under Saitama’s hand as Tatsumaki fished some berries with her fingers and popped them in her mouth, their silence welcoming.

“I want to have her here in V-City, but the doctors…” she said looking up at him again. “They say I shouldn’t. That I might have complications, because I’m so small, that it’ll probably be hard to have a natural delivery. So I might have to go to A-City for a C-section and have her at the Hero Association’s compound.”

“I take they want to make sure you and the baby are fine,” he said thoughtfully and she nodded. “You’re too valuable.”

“I guess so,” she said with a shrug. Hesitantly, Saitama took his hand from her belly and started eating again.

“You know, if you can’t think of a name for her, I have many options,” he offered then, and she grunted.

“Shut up, Baldy.”

Fubuki came back shortly after that, her face washed, and she smiled at them as she took her seat.

“Well, would you look at that,” she said. “You didn’t destroy the restaurant. I guess that means we can live in peace, right?”

“Don’t hold your breath, sister, we’re still in the first serving. There’s still time.”

Fubuki chuckled and served some berries on top of her waffles. It was nice to be with family.

#one punch man #opmedit #opmfic #tatsumaki #fics*#edits*#I just love to write them bickering is all

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