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dekus-fellow-crybaby · 3 months

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Bibliophile Brew

Pairings: Bakudeku x barista!reader

Summary: When managing your parent's book cafe while they're away, you meet Wonder Duo Dynamight and Deku.

Warnings: SFW. No smut, but (bc I'm me) it may be included in part 2, so Minors DNI. Fluff, aged-up characters, minor SA mentioned briefly but not described (old perv gets handsy with a teenage barista), language, misunderstanding, eventual BKDK x reader. Lmk if I forgot anything!

I’ll release part 2 when this reaches 100 likes and 25 reblogs!

Word Count: 5.5k

God, the morning rush sucks. You wish something more creative or productive was swimming in your head while looking at the long line of impatient people crowding the cafe. You send a silent prayer that you don’t catch whatever illness plagued your morning barista that caused her to call out so suddenly before her shift that caused you to cover for her…on your one day off. Sometimes helping with running your family's business sucks.

"Thank you, and have a great day!" you say sweetly as you hand the customer their order before rushing back to the cash register for the next order. The entire morning was a back-and-forth of rushed orders, messily thrown together coffees, and half-listened to thanks. Luckily, most were your regulars, and you had a fairly solid routine down for the typical orders. It was all going very smoothly for a solo shift. Until near the end of the rush when some new people came in.

The dwindled crowd of customers parted like the Red Sea with the presence of a spiky-headed blonde with red eyes and a bubbly man with a black cap over a head of curly green hair. That man stopped to talk to a few of the customers who swarmed him, pulling the mask down his face and offering a dazzling smile. The other man's face fell into indifference while his partner busied himself with chatting, and he made his way up to the front of the line as the rest of your customers broke formation in crowding the other man. If you hadn't been so sleep-deprived from the closing shift the night before and running around the entirety of the opening shift, you might have recognized the customer in front of you and his friend as pro heroes number one and two in their streetwear, but you were dazed and too tired to realize that fact. You give your signature customer service smile—the exact same one that you give to all your customers—and then ask for his order. In a gruff, perpetually agitated tone, he recites his and the other man's orders. The rest of the cafe seems to be bursting with nervous energy, something you dismiss, thinking that maybe these people know each other (you don’t know them so can’t rule it out)—the green-haired man certainly is friendly enough with everyone to have so many connections—or maybe these men were idols—they both are by far pretty enough, and it's not like you'd know either way since your life was far too busy to keep up with the trending celebrities. But something about them does strike you as familiar...whatever, you don't have time to ruminate on that now.

You scribble down both orders and you utter the simple question, "Name?" without looking up while you're writing. A moment passes and you look up at the blonde, confusion hitting you at the shock on his face.

"You...don't know my name?" He almost scoffs while asking the question, and a huff of a breathless, disbelieving laugh passes his lips as if that explanation is utterly ridiculous.

"Umm," you felt stuck. If you answer honestly, you have the feeling that he would take offense. If you lie, well, you don't lie. You hate liars and you've learned that dishonesty has a way of making any situation worse. Not to mention, he would be expecting you to write his name on the cup, and you seriously doubt your ability to pull a name out of your ass and be right about it. "I—umm—should I?" Yeah, he seems mad, or at least, incredulous at the idea that you don't know who he is.

He opens his mouth to respond but before a syllable leaves him, the green-haired man comes behind him, patting him on the back while sending you a charming smile over his shoulder. He maneuvers to stand next to his partner, circling the three of you in your own conversation. "You can just put it under Kacchan," he says sweetly, smiling brightly. The blonde scoffs while the greenette pulls out 10,000 yen from his wallet and hands it to you. You scramble to gather his change before he waves off your slightly panicked monetary calculations. "You can keep the change."

"But..." you're dumbfounded while staring at the half-collected change in your hands. "But I can't—I mean, you're order was only 1,700 yen–"

"He said take the fucking change!" the blonde bursts out, crossing his arms with a scowl and sending your shoulders jumping from the harsh sound. "Just be grateful for it! Geez!"

“Kacchan!” The green-haired man pats the blonde's arm soothingly with a juxtaposed pointed look on his facial features.

"I-I am grateful!" you stammer, bowing slightly to the two men. "I apologize, I just didn't want to unwittingly take advantage and wanted to be certain. It-it was just a bit shocking, is all."

"Oh, no need to apologize!" The greenette man begins to ramble, shaking his hands in front of himself. "I really appreciate your integrity! It means a lot! Not a lot of vendors are so honest, so it is a really admirable quality! N-not that I meant that I don’t trust workers! I’m not making a generalization to your profession or anything! We're sure you work very hard and that it’s a difficult job! You know, you just hear all these horror stories about service industry jobs and the sort of nightmare customers you're sure to put up with. Not that anyone in here seems like a nightmare customer! Though, I am sure that you put up with plenty of those kinds of customers too...I'm sure that we seem like nightmare customers...Just ignore Kacchan, he's always had an--umm--explosive personality. But consider this as a tip. Not that--uhh--not that it looks like you need it or anything! This isn’t charity...It's more like an apology, I guess. The point that I was trying to make is please keep the change and please don't feel uncomfortable about it at all." He ends his ramblings with a somewhat nervous smile and a slight blush over his cheeks, which oddly enough, eases your own anxiety. You offer a shy smile and nod.

"Thank you, sir," you say as you put the change back into the till. You give them the receipt and move to make the drinks, finally noticing the amount of eyes that are on the two customers. Were they all watching?

You make the new order with lightning speed and accuracy, giving them their drinks with a sweet smile and a friendly, "Thank you, and have a great day!" The boys smile at you—well, the green-haired man smiles and the blonde offers a half-hearted nod of recognition—and you hop right back into your flow, taking the next customer while the blonde grabs the greenette’s arms to drag him away from heading to the door and instead taking the corner booth. You can't help but notice the number of people whose eyes are instantly drawn to the two, even as you're taking orders from your newly distracted patrons. Eventually, the crowd dissipates, each customer making sure to pay a visit to the corner booth before leaving. You can't help the way your eyebrows pull together at the way everyone is acting towards the two. You decide that they have to be idols or something, but it's not your place to ask or bother them about it. They're your customers, their business is their own.

With the sudden lull of having only a few patrons left, you start making the cleaning rounds, wiping down every inch of your parent's cafe with disinfectant, bouncing from table to empty table, picking up trash, and cleaning every surface. You try not to let your eyes drift to the mystery men, but you can't help the way your curious mind keeps drifting back to them. You could swear that they look familiar, though you're also sure that you would remember two handsome faces such as theirs.

While you're distracting yourself by cleaning the front glass on the display case, you feel an unnatural heat coming from behind you. Turning your head, you jump back into the glass case, startled by the blonde's sudden appearance and close proximity. You gather that this man isn't well-versed in social normalities, otherwise he wouldn’t be invading your space. He's not even phased by your skittishness, though you're suddenly sheepish about your dramatic reaction.

"Sorry," you stutter softly, nervously scratching a nail at the back of your ear. "Can I help you?"

"Sorry," he huffs, turning away instantly to pout at the ground.

"Umm, I don't—"

"For earlier," he interrupts. “It’s been brought to my attention that I was apparently being rude.”

"Oh no!" You wave off nervously, smiling sheepishly. “It’s really okay! No need to apologize.”

"SEE??" He snapped, whipping around to face the other man who was sitting at the booth shaking his head in his palms. The sudden shout pulls a small yelp from your lips in surprise. "I told you, ya damn nerd! Making a big deal outta nothin'!" You look away bashfully, your face hot when the few remaining patrons direct their attention towards the two of you. You turn to walk back behind the counter but you're stopped by an arm that reaches out between you and your exit route to lean against the freshly polished glass. You pout at the new smudges and meet his vermillion eyes with your own sad ones. His eyes study you for a moment, looking for something on your features. You felt like a bug under a microscope with the scrutiny you felt from his glare. "So, before...did you really not know who we are?"

"Umm," your eyes dart to the side, noticing the other man dragging his feet towards his comrade. You suddenly feel cornered, wishing that you could be back behind the safety of the counter. "I—sorry..."

"Hey," the emerald-haired man smooths, "no need to apologize. We should just introduce ourselves. I'm Midoriya Izuku, and this is Kacch—I mean, Bakugo Katsuki." Oh. Those were names that you knew. You stand stunned for a moment, tired eyes wide and a blush spreading at the embarrassment of not knowing before.

Bowing your head, you shyly say, "It is nice to meet you both."

While you're still bowed to the two men, a look passes between the both of them over your head. By the time you lift your face again, their eyes are back on you and your eyes are shifting to look at anything besides the bulking pro heroes in front of you as you give your name.

"It's nice to meet you, as well," Midoriya says while Bakugo folds his arms over his chest and nods in acknowledgment. "The tea was amazing, by the way."

"Thank you," you softly reply. "It's a fan favorite here. My mom taught me how to brew it perfectly."

"Well, it was delicious," he answers. "Your mother taught you well." Your lips turn up bashfully as you nod.

"I'll be sure to let her know, thank you."

"The coffee was good," Bakugo muttered. His voice was so quiet, you nearly missed it, already used to his typically booming voice since you met him the mere hour beforehand. You weren't expecting him to express his delight in the drink, and you could tell that he was one to withhold such approval. Your smile couldn't help but widen at his comment, instant pride filling your gut with flutters at the praise. While his words fill your stomach with butterflies, the brightened expression on your face sends the pro heroes' stomachs flipping.

"I-I'm glad you enjoyed it," you beam. A moment passes between the three of you, eyes flickering between one another before the front door rings with a new customer. "I-I should get back to work...but, let me know if you want anything." You smile sweetly and scoot away from the men, padding around the counter to welcome your new patron with a sugary, “Welcome to the Bibliophile Brew.” Katsuki smirks as he watches you kindly speak with your customer, turning to Izuku and leaning in to lowly say to him.

"I know what I want."

Some days you cursed yourself for being such a good daughter. Days like today when you sat crammed into a corner booth to keep an eye on the cafe while also juggling between the reading assignment you had for your college literature class and organizing the barista schedule for the next two weeks—a task infinitely more difficult now that you had two baristas out because of sickness. Thank God for Michi who agreed to take a couple extra shifts in their place, taking a bit of the load off of you!

While your new load of responsibility was exhausting, you figured that it was the least you could do for your poor parents who had to travel across the country to take care of your grandparents in their old age. You wanted to help your family as much as possible while your parents were away, meaning that for the rest of the summer, you’d be bouncing between your summer classes and managing the cafe. Luckily, you decided not to take on too many classes during the off-season, and what you did enroll in were all online courses, so you could focus on the classes in your own time—though that time was becoming less and less with the sudden boom in business the last few days. Word got around that your parents’ cafe was a hang-out spot for pro heroes—not true considering the number one and two heroes only came in that one time—but the rumor still helped business so you weren’t going to complain about the sudden influx of cash.

You also weren’t going to turn down more tips for yourself and your baristas. Apparently, someone had also posted a video of Deku’s rant on the difficulties of the hard-working service-industry employee and the importance of tipping—not what you thought was the intent of his rambling but you still appreciated the sentiment of it—and people just took off with it. You noticed an inflow of better tippers and friendlier customer-barista exchanges since then. The impact that a simple video with the Symbol of Peace had over a nation was astounding to you. It left you in complete awe of his incredible influence.

“Hey, boss,” Sukki’s voice called out, bringing you out of your Deku daydreaming, and reminding you of the focus you should be having on your mountain of work. Turning your eyes up, you take a look at Sukki’s concerned features through your reading glasses. Your mind immediately drowns in word, and you begin looking past her around at the café.

“What’s wrong? Something happened?” She’s place is a hot cup on the table in front of you.

“Nothing happened,” she says. “Everything is running smoothly. Almost perfectly.”

Your brows pull together and confusion. “Then—”

“So smoothly in fact,” she interrupted, kneeling at the side of the booth, and looking up at you gently, as if speaking with a toddler, “that we don’t even need you here.” She gently prize the schedule paper from your white-knuckle grip.

“But—”

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Ooh, you did not want to answer that. However, you didn’t have to verbally answer since the way your face contorts into a cringe is answer enough. “Go home, get some sleep. Me and the girls can figure out the schedule for you.“

“But you shouldn’t have—”

“And you shouldn’t be working yourself like this. It’s unhealthy.” You want to argue, but you can’t, so instead you pout.

“Why did you bring me a coffee then?”

“It’s hot chocolate. I don’t like giving you any sugar, but I also know that you need a treat, it’s better than another cup of coffee.”

“So you're trying to make sure I crash on sugar, then?”

“At least you may actually get some sleep, then.“ You snort and roll your eyes, trying to hide your touched smile behind the lid of your cup. Suki has known you since your high school days, having started as a classmate, then best friend, which led to being coworkers, too. Because of this Sukki would take care of you, whenever you would be teetering on the edge of burnout, which was often as of late. He struggled to take breaks for yourself, fearing that your responsibilities will pile up, and you’d eventually let everyone else down.

“Can I at least finish the reading?”

She takes a moment to consider this before sighing. “Fine. But if you’re staying here, you’re not working.” She swipes the handwritten schedule from the table and holds it out of your reach. “And I am taking this. Now, finish your homework, so you can go home and sleep.” You offer her a two-finger salute as she walks away, mumbling about how she doesn’t understand why you’re still handwriting your stuff.

After a while of reading, the words begin to blur together, and your eyes grow heavy. The hot chocolate—half drunk and lukewarm now—seems to be the only thing your tired eyes could focus on. For the past moments—God only knows the true measurement of time, but it only felt like a mere few minutes—your gaze had been trained on your abandoned beverage instead of the words dancing over the numerous pages. You didn't look away from the abnormally interesting cup until a tall figure plopped into the booth seat across yours, a large shadow being cast over the object of your attention. The sudden presence drew your eyes to your unexpected visitor and to say you were shocked by the identity of your mystery guest would be an understatement. You gape at the green-haired pro hero sitting across from you, smiling brightly, his eyes sparkling underneath the curls falling in front of them.

"Umm..." You look around, wondering if you were seeing things correctly or if you had actually fallen asleep in the booth and were now dreaming. But looking around the cafe, everything seems normal, except for the amount of eyes on you and your surprise guest. Your eyes fall back into Deku as you swallow thickly. "Hi?"

"Hey!" he beams, the freckles and dimples on his face becoming more apparent with the brightness if his features as he spoke. "It's nice to meet you again," he says sweetly, and you can't help the way your stomach flutters or how your heart picks up pace, a flush filling your cheeks.

"Yeah, it's nice to see you, too," you reply. "You here for another matcha?"

He chuckles a bit, flattered that you remember his order from his first visit. "Well," he states, leaning forward with his elbows on the tabletop, his voice lowering, "I couldn't think of anywhere else I could get tea as delicious as yours."

You didn't know what his was about that compliment that sent your heartbeat racing. Maybe it was his pretty virescent eyes trained on you or maybe it was the hush in his voice that made it feel as if his words were meant for you and you alone, but whatever it was, the comment had your face flaming.

"Thank you, Mr. Deku," you bashfully say. "I'm not sure I'm deserving of such high praise."

"You are," he states matter-of-factly. "And you can call me Midoriya. I doubt that I'm much older than you are, and I'm definitely not old enough for 'Mr.'" He teasingly cringes at his own use of the title, causing a giggle to slip from your lips. You don't notice the pride that puffs out his chest as he watches you laugh, knowing that he caused such a sweet sound to bubble from your throat.

"Sorry," you say, your tone much lighter and relaxed after your small giggle fit. "I won't make that mistake again, Midoriya."

"Please don't," he chuckles. He nods towards the book sitting on the tabletop with your hand resting atop the open pages. "So, business or pleasure?"

"School, actually," you answer, tucking your bookmark between the pages and closing the book to offer the pro hero your full attention.

"Oh, then both." You giggle again and he can't help but join you until Sukki stops at the table with Deku's tea and a second hot chocolate for you.

"Your tea, Mr. Deku," Sukki says tightly, obviously starstruck and nervous, it reminds you of Deku's early interviews where he seemed so frightened of the camera. It only worsens when he flashes her his number one hero smile, followed by a sweet and peppy, "Thank you!"

Sukki squeaks a bit, face flushing, and she bows slightly as she utters, "Umm, my pleasure, sir!" When she straightens her spine she gives you a pointed what-the-hell-is-happening-here look which you answer with a subtle I-have-no-idea shrug. You decide that you should get some answers.

"So, is there anything I could do for you, Midoriya?" He stops to look you in the eyes, the cup stalling in mid-air before completing its journey to his lip. He chuckles and sets the beverage onto the countertop.

"You assume I have an ulterior motive for being here?" You shrug, not wanting to offend him with an accusation, but that's exactly what you were implying.

"I'm just curious why you want to sit with a stranger."

"But we're not really strangers, you call me Midoriya now." You raise an eyebrow at the evasiveness, and he relents with the simple motion. "Okay, I'll admit that I didn't just come here for the tea." You fake gasp, dramatically smacking a hand to your chest in faux disbelief. He rolls his eyes. “I came to apologize.”

Your nose wrinkles at that and you can’t help the disbelieving chuckle that escapes your lips. “For what?”

“For that video,” he answers simply, obviously. “I’m sure you’ve seen it by now.”

“I mean, yeah, but I was there so I didn’t really have to watch it,” you giggled a bit. He didn’t seem to find it as funny as you did though.

“I’m sure it’s made things more difficult around here, too, though. Right?” You watch the crinkle of his brow, realizing how much he was internalizing any slight inconvenience he may have caused you.

“Business has actually been great since the last time you were here,” you beamed, trying your best to ease his misplaced guilt. “And the tips are better, too.” He seemed to perk up at that.

“Really?” God, this grown man was practically a puppy dog wagging his tail in front of you. It takes everything in you not to giggle at the thought.

“Really.” You shrug. “There's nothing to apologize for so don't worry about it.” He looks a little shocked at your response, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks brightening with pink. He smiles at you gently.

“Well, good. I’m glad," he says sweetly, flashing his signature adorable smile. "I--well, I also wanted to make sure that you weren't having any issues. I know how some, umm, super fans can get outta hand with people they see me in a video with. Speculation can get out of hand."

“Oh," you respond, slightly taken aback. "No, I haven't had issues. Do people actually harass random video extras though?" Izuku snorts a bit at your choice of words, causing your brow to twitch and your head to tilt in confusion. Clearing his throat, he presses his lips into a disappointed line, nodding in confirmation.

"Unfortunately, yes," comes his mirthless reply. "Don't get me wrong, I love all my fans...but some of them make it a bit difficult to love them all equally."

You can't help the giggle that bubbles past your lips, the tingling sound building into your lovely laugh. "Y'know, it's okay for you not to like everyone, Midoriya."

"Oh, the nice guy in me disagrees," he sasses back, smirking to himself as he makes you laugh again.

"It's also okay to not apologize for every minor inconvenience you may or may not cause someone," you accuse pointedly. He at least has the decency to look slightly embarrassed for the point you're trying to make. "And I hope you didn't make the trip here just to check on me. I'm sure that there are more important things that deserve your attention, and I'm sure this is time you could have used for yourself."

"Well, as long as we're pointing fingers, you're allowed to take time for yourself as well," he retorts smugly. You suck a harsh breath before you bite your bottom lip sheepishly.

"How'd you know?"

"It looks like you've been overworking yourself," he answers matter-of-factly. "I'm assuming this," he starts, thumbing the book's pages that rest in front of you, "and this," he gestures to the cafe, looking around at the bustling space full of patrons who are beginning to take notice of his pro hero presence, "are responsible for your lack of self-care."

"I think you're forgetting that anything can be a form of self-care," you point out. "This can be self-care," you say holding up your cup of hot chocolate.

"A lukewarm beverage is self-care?" He raises a pensive brow.

"You're one to talk, Mr. Pro Hero Deku," you snort. "You're spending your free time here. I wouldn't exactly call that self-care."

"Well...what if I told you that this is what I wanted to do for my free time?" he shyly answers, suddenly sheepish. "If I'm honest, I kinda wanted a do-over at meeting you."

"You...did?" He nods, and you stare for a moment with wide, ruminant eyes. "How come?"

"Well, that first meeting was such a disaster," he chuckled. "It's not exactly the kind of impression I wanted to leave on such a beautiful person." He bashfully flirts, his cheeks dusting pink over the constellation of freckles over his face, and it's a whole new type of flustering when a big, beefy hero like Deku looks at you so adorably through his thick lashes with a ducting of blush gracing his freckled cheeks.

You feel your own cheeks flush at the sight, squirming in your seat and bringing your hands up to cover your burning cheeks, mumbling, "Oh...Oh! God, I'm too sleep-deprived for this kinda conversation." Your blush only worsens when he chuckles and coos at you.

"Well, m-maybe after you get a good night's sleep, we could have that conversation then," he offers. "Perhaps with...dinner while we talk about it..."

"Are you...asking me out?"

"I was trying to," he chuckles softly at himself.

"I think that I'd really like that," you answer, your face heating as a shy smile graces your lips. The greenette's face lights up in an elated grin, jade eyes sparkling with glee.

"Yeah?" You nod sheepishly. "Can I walk you home?" He asks sweetly. You nod, shyly avoiding his eyes as he snickers. You silently pack your belongings, your eye flitting toward an elated and shocked Sukki who watches from behind the counter, the coffee pot in her hand drifting away from the cup in her other hand to spill on the floor. For some reason, the sight puts you a bit at ease as you allow Midoriya to lead you out the door, his hand affectionately resting on the small of your back as if the rest of the cafe wasn't watching the scene.

Taking a deep breath, you pinch the bridge of your nose and steel yourself before fixing the offending table with a hard look. Your day was going so well, especially after your walk with Deku Midoriya the night before. You walked into work moments ago with a good night's sleep, wonderful memories of your day before, and brighter outlook on life. However, that sunny demeanor was promptly killed the minute you walked into the shop to see a sobbing teenage girl in your office being comforted by Sukki who then explained the situation in hushed tones. The righteous fury in you burned as you looked at the handsy customer leisurely sipping his beverage as if he hadn't assaulted a young lady. Turning to the teary-eyed employee you offer a sympathetic look and gently smile at her. "Amai, how about you stay in my office and take a break? I'll handle this." Making your way over, you grab an empty cup and lid from the counter.

"Hello, sir," you say in an overly sugary tone. "Hope you're enjoying the coffee. Here's a to-go cup so you can enjoy it on the go. Have a lovely day. Buh-bye now."

"What? The fuck you talking about, girlie?"

"Well, see, you broke our number one rule by harassing one of our beloved staff members," you continue in a tooth-achingly sweet customer service voice, despite the pure condescension dripping from your honeyed timbre. "Therefore, you are no longer welcome here. So, leave while I'm still being nice. Oh, and don't come back again, 'kay?"

"Look, tits—"

"That is not my name," you snap, niceties long forgotten. You also noticed the small audience that had begun to gather, the surrounding dining area falling into a slight hush with only scandalized whispers being exchanged between the audience. "Though you don't even deserve to know my name. However, if you must address me at all you may do so by calling me 'ma'am' or 'miss', but you will not address me or any woman in that manner."

He tsks and rolls his eyes at you. "You don't even know the whole story. That bitch was asking for it."

"Really?" you ask, voice coated in sarcasm. "The teenage girl was vying for the attention of some fat, old fuck like yourself? Hmm, very interesting. In that case, maybe I was too quick in my earlier words. I was being far too kind in letting you leave gracefully and quietly. So, instead, I will be calling the police. Please, sit, finish your coffee, and wait for the cops to haul your ass off."

"Why you—" His hand raises, poised to strike you while you stand emotionless with a fixed, unmoving stance. Before he gets the chance to slap you, a grenade-gloved hand catches his wrist.

"Touch her and you lose it." It's safe to say that both you and the offending customer are shocked by the tall blonde practically made of muscle standing between you and the now stuttering mess of a man. "What? Why suddenly so quiet after spewing such shit?" You're surprised that Dynamight's sharp glare isn't literally cutting the man down in front of you. "Apologize." The man's eyes shift towards you, the venom in the gaze when looking at you, however, is not quelled by the threats of the pro-hero.

"But...she's—" The grip around the man's hand becomes increasingly tight, interrupting whatever insult on the tip of his tongue with a pained grunt.

"Apologize."

He spews his false apologies with tearful pleads accompanying them before Dynamight drops his grip and sends the sniveling man scrambling on the floor and running out the door. The small crowd claps and cheers for the hero before dispersing back into their own activities. He shrugs off the praise, grumbling about how useless the crowd of people is, watching while an old perv nearly puts his hands on you.

"Thank you," you say as he passes you, seemingly lost in his own complaints over the situation. Stopping with his back to you, Dynamight takes a few deep breaths to calm himself before turning back to you.

"You got a mouth on you," he simply says, his tone almost bored.

"Oh," you say, blushing. "Umm...thank you?"

"It's a compliment," he assures matter-of-factly.

"Oh!" you drawl, recognizing the actual weight of the stone-cold Dynamight giving someone a compliment. "Then, thank you!" You flash him a glowing smile, a sign of your gratitude, but you fail to recognize the damage you've inflicted upon Bakugo's poor heart, causing the normally stoic hero to lose his breath, flush invading the apples of his cheeks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just doing my job," he grumbled, awkwardly crossing his arms and looking away. You tilt your head at the sudden aggression in his tone. He takes a moment to calm down with some calming breaths before he peeks at you from the corner of his eyes. He huffs before mumbling out, "Y'know...if you wanted to thank me you could join me for dinner." For some reason, you found his roundabout offer oddly adorable for such an explosive man.

"Are-are you asking me out?" you ask, smiling sweetly as you watch the tips of his ears brighten with a red hue.

"Yes or no?"

"Hmmm," you hum pensively, your finger tapping on your chin in thought. You mentally cackle at the way he groans impatiently, embarrassingly. Giggling, you finally decide to put him out of his misery, "Yes, I'd love to." His face proudly morphs into one of triumph.

"Good," he nods. "Be ready by 7. I'll pick you up." With that, he marches out the cafe doors, and you don't miss the "Fuck yeah!" he shouts once he's outside, startling a few unsuspecting bypassers.

You giggle as you watch his figure swagger down the street. Sukki comes up behind you, clearing her throat. "Did Dynamight just ask you out?"

"Mhmm," you hum out, biting your bottom lip giddily.

"After you agreed to go out with Deku?"

"Mhmm—oh," you blanch. "Oh, shit!"

#18+ only #minors dni #bkdk x reader #bakudeku x reader #dkbk x reader #dekubaku x reader #poly!bkdk #poly!bakudeku #poly!dkbk #poly!dekubaku

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 20 days

Text

You Better Cross the Line

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader

2k words

Warnings: Language, reader has a nickname, lying/sneaking around, adults drink beer, Roy is already down bad, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, fluff & flirting

“Yeah, Kent. You could call me sometime.”

Roy nodded, clearly fighting the urge to smile, and squeezed your hand. “You should probably go inside soon,” he sighed as he turned his face towards the sky. “Your dad’ll be looking for you.” As though he couldn’t help it, he looked back at you. “But I’ll call you,” he promised with a firm nod.

You reluctantly left Roy on the pitch, your head swimming with wondering when the footballer would call you and what he would say. Or ask. It was clear you were no longer alone in your attraction, and that this was at least something more than an entertaining flirtation on his end.

The questions still floated in your mind while you watched your father gather his work things. When he wasn’t looking, you quickly scribbled your mobile number on a sticky note and tucked it into Roy’s locker when no one was paying attention.

In the car you were uncharacteristically quiet; normally, you and your dad would spend the drive chatting about training, about the players, about any football news or rumors you’d read while sitting in his office. But today, your thoughts were too full of Roy Kent and his brown eyes and wondering when he’d call to offer anything more than little Mmm hmms and Yeahs to your increasingly perplexed father.

It was the moment you walked through the front door that your mobile and the universe had mercy on you. You all but scrambled up the stairs as you answered it.

“Hello?” Fuck, since when was your voice this damn breathy?

“Hey.”

Your heart and your bedroom door slammed in sync. Roy Kent was calling you.

How were you supposed to breathe, let alone talk, when a gorgeous, funny, talented, famous footballer called you up after holding your hand on the pitch?

Clearly, Roy could tell you were struggling to form words, because he went on speaking. “This is Roy.” As if you wouldn’t know that delicious growl anywhere.

“I know,” you finally managed. You collapsed on your bed. “You called fast,” you teased.

“Didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten,” he replied with a small chuckle. Why the hell did he sound nervous? You were the one living in a fantasy, lying in your room, chatting on the phone with Chelsea’s star player. For him, this was probably just a Thursday night. “I was wondering…” He cleared his throat, a low, gruff sound. “D’you want to come over? We could watch a film, have some pizza.”

You were living in the Matrix. That was it. That had to be it. There was no other explanation to why Roy fucking Kent was asking you out. Well, in. But still. How the fuck was this happening?

“Sure,” you managed, hoping he couldn’t hear how thick your voice felt. “That sounds great.” You sat up and cleared your throat, grimacing at your reflection in the mirror and trying to flatten your suddenly unruly hair. “What time?”

“Whenever.” There was that Roy Kent aloofness, almost as if he was trying to convince you he didn’t care as much as he truly did. “Just… you’re not telling your dad, right?”

There it was. The thing that was going to be perpetually hanging over whatever this thing was going to end up being. Dear Old Dad, Chelsea’s fearless leader, Roy’s boss. He’d never in a million years approve of you seeing Roy Kent. He knew what footballers were like, and he knew what Roy Kent was like. Your dad might have that heart attack he was always joking about if he got even a whiff of this conversation.

Not that you were going to let that stop you.

“Course not,” you hummed. “You’d be buried under Stamford Bridge if the old man ever found out you called.”

His chuckle echoed in your ear. “Appreciate it.”

He quickly gave you directions to his flat, and you agreed to be over in about an hour. When you hung up, you fought the urge to scream into a pillow. You were going to Roy Kent’s place. You’d be watching a movie, hanging out, with Roy Kent. Hell, you might wind up kissing Roy Kent by the end of the night.

You clambered out of bed and rushed to your closet. You’d gone on lots of dates, you reminded yourself. Dates with ridiculously good-looking guys even. Successful dates, you might add. But none with Roy Kent, the little voice in your head pointed out.

After stressing over whether or not you could even call this a date, you finally forced yourself to find a flattering pair of jeans and a light sweater. Comfortable, casual enough for a movie night, but something you knew you looked good in. A quick brush through your hair, a little lip gloss, some trainers on your feet. It was just right for a night in, and hopefully simple enough to not rouse your father’s attention.

“’m taking the car!” you shouted as you practically skipped downstairs.

“Where are you off to?” Your mother’s soft smile was a welcome sight when you were hoping to avoid your dad.

You fiddled with the strap of your purse. “Angela’s,” you blurted out, naming a friend your mother knew well. “Just having a girls’ night.”

She nodded; there was no reason to doubt you, not when your summers were always full of evenings with your friends. “Have fun.” A kiss landed on your forehead. “Be safe, alright?”

Be safe. Her words bounced around in your head as you climbed into your dad’s car, the one you usually borrowed when you were home. Be safe. Was spending time like this, alone in Roy Kent’s flat, being safe? You weren’t an innocent little dove, but you knew his reputation. You knew it well. You giggled over it with your friends, wondering if the things you read in the tabloids were true, rolling your eyes lightheartedly when the girls asked if you’d ever seen anything in the changing room.

Oh, the things they’d say if they knew what you were up to.

The drive to his building was shorter than you expected, shorter than you needed it to be with the nerves you were trying to control. Somehow, they got worse as you strolled into the building and found your way to Roy Kent’s flat. After a shake of your shoulders to try to get rid of the tension they carried, you gave a quick rap to the door.

You waited maybe two beats before you heard the knob turn. Roy Kent filled the doorway in a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt that fit him too perfectly. He smirked at the sight of you, not bothering to hide the way his eyes flickered down your body. He was less the guy on the pitch who quietly asked if he could call you and more the cocky man you’d read about in tabloids; you weren’t sure which you preferred, but you’d take either one in a heartbeat.

“C’mon in,” he hummed as he opened the door wider for you. You followed him inside, pretending you often found yourself in the flats of professional footballers. He nodded to a shelf filled with DVDs. “Pick something,” he said simply. “You want a beer?”

“Sure.” You turned your attention to the movies as you listened to his footsteps recede to what you assumed was his kitchen. He had a decent collection, you observed. A little bit of everything, and even a couple things you’d never heard of. A smile crossed your face when you caught sight of a familiar movie title.

Roy returned with a couple of beers and a box of pizza, his eyebrows raised when he saw the movie you were holding up. “When Harry Met Sally?” he read.

You nodded and accepted the bottle he handed you as well as the pizza box. “That alright? I really like this one.”

“Whatever you want, princess.” He took the case from you and nodded for you to have a seat.

Roy Kent’s couch was comfortable. It didn’t creak when you sat, not like the couches in residence halls tended to do. You put the pizza on his coffee table and opened the box, letting the delicious smell fill the room. After he turned on the television and set up the movie, Roy turned to look at you, something unreadable flickering on his face for a brief moment.

“Grab a slice,” he mumbled as he plopped down next to you. His eyes found yours, searching for a brief moment. “Thanks for coming over.”

There he was. The guy who’d laid next to you on the pitch and gently touched your hand and asked if he could call you. The guy you liked best, you decided.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you murmured, grabbing a piece of pizza before settling back into the couch. For the second time that day, you found yourself far too close to Roy Kent. Even with the whole couch to sit on, he chose to sit close to you, close enough for your arms to brush every time you took a sip of your beer.

The two of you watched the start of the movie in silence, except for a few breathy chuckles here and there when Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan were particularly funny. Thankful that the food had filled your stomach with something besides butterflies, you stole a glance at Roy. He looked comfortable, almost happy as he brought his bottle to his lips. With his eyes still on the screen, he lifted his arm and settled it behind the couch- behind you. His gazed flickered to you for a moment, eyebrows raised playfully, before he slouched into the cushions.

Was this what Roy Kent making a move looked like?

You tried to focus your attention on the movie, you really did. But you could hear his breathing and feel his side pressed against yours and your peripheral vision could see the pink in this cheeks and fuck, why did he have to smell so good?

When he leaned forward to place his beer on the coffee table, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Oh, shit, you forgot how to breathe. Especially when he kept his arm firmly there once he sat back against the cushions.

Your inability to breathe only got worse when he bowed his head and whispered in your ear, “This alright?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, feeling bold enough to turn to face him.

From this close, you could count every freckle on his face, memorize the shape of his nose and lips, see the brightness in his eyes. You could practically feel the rise and fall of his chest as he leaned forward, letting his nose brush against yours.

“This alright?”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ear, drowning out the sound of Billy Crystal singing “Surrey with the Fringe on Top” on the telly. The only thing you could think about was the tip of Roy’s nose bumping your burning skin and his lips only centimetres away from your own.

“Yes.”

Far too many nights in your dorm had been spent imagining Roy Kent’s lips on yours. But none of those dreams compared to the real thing. Because those fantasies didn’t tell you how soft his lips were, or how his hand rested on your thigh with a gentle firmness. Or how he tasted like pizza and beer and delight. Or the way his mouth parted so his tongue could gently flick against your lips before he pulled away, looking as breathless as you felt. Or, worst of all, how you knew he’d just ruined every other kiss for you.

He cleared his throat as he leaned back, his eyes roaming your face. “Well?”

“Well, what?” You knew he could see the flush on your face, but you hoped that you could hide it by acting as cool as he usually did.

“Well, are you going to let me kiss you again?” There was that cocky grin, the one you often saw on the pitch, the one that made your entire body go warm. “Or are you going to run and tell The Sun that Roy Kent is a shit kisser?”

Despite the swarm of butterflies fluttering in your chest, you laughed and rolled your eyes. “Sorry, I think I need another demonstration.”

Roy shook his head at you and cupped your face. “If you insist, princess.”

Taglist: @gee72sstuff @book-of-roses @kissykissymouth @emmy2811 @hart-kinsella @klaine-92 @dearvoidgoodnight @misshall14 @issieruby @royal-sunflower @kissmekent @veryprairieberry @itswhateveripromise

#roy kent bright baby blue #Chelsea!Roy #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

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itsabouttimex2 · 4 months

Note

Hi hope it’s not to late to request yandere demon bull family , with reader having a crush on MK please 🙏

Bullfam reacts to dating MK

(Alternate Scenario)

Red Son’s reaction closely mirrors MK’s in the Monkiefam scenario, just far more severe and less quick to open up to the idea of his little sibling dating.

As the seasons go on, he’s more and more likely to grudgingly accept your relationship with the filthy, awful, empty-brained, plan-wrecking, noodle-making peasant. By season four, he’ll have a severely vitriolic view of your relationship, but will very unhappily accept that MK not only makes you happy, but also keeps you safe.

In season one? He explodes into a blind rage and temporarily switches his plans from taking over the city/world to outright killing his rival.

You sigh as you step into your room, where your brother is, but has no right to be, in your personal opinion. You feel more of a mild annoyance at him going through your things than anything else, though. He does this regularly, giving his reasons as “keeping you out of trouble” and “making sure you aren’t up to anything”.

Today is the first day after years of relentless searching that he finds something.

Red Son’s hand trembles with an emotion you can’t quite place, holding an item you can’t quite see. You peek closer, shifting to look around his shoulder.

It’s your phone, with your messages open.

And he’s looking through the chats you’ve had with MK.

“Y/N! EXPLAIN YOURSELF RIGHT NOW, YOU- YOU- YOU ABSOLUTE BUFFOON! HOW DARE YOU?! RUNNING AROUND WITH THE DEMON BULL FAMILY’S GREATEST ENEMY?! DO WE MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?! DO YOU NOT LOVE US? DO YOU LOVE HIM MORE THAN US?!”

He throws your phone to the ground, crushing it with a flaming foot. Then that fire begins to spread.

Flames gush freely from his hands, his eyes, his hair, all setting him alight in a brutal display of the power he wields. The fire he spews grows hotter and brighter until almost all of his body is consumed by an eye-searing light. You’re forced to turn your head and cover your eyes. There’s nothing you can do to stop him right now, and you certainly can’t go running to your parents, either.

Even if they did decide to step in and force him to stand down, it would mean revealing to them your relationship with the first and foremost obstacle to their plans and schemes. They might even go so far as to fan his fury, encouraging him as he sets off on a one-man warpath towards Megapolis, and with it, MK.

The best and safest option here is to bite the bullet and desperately apologize and start to beg for him to calm down. Tell him that you’re sorry for keeping secrets, for getting into a relationship without his knowledge or consent, for sneaking around with his rival. Tell him you’ll call the whole thing off and break up with MK if he just calms down and stops burning things, if he promises not to hurt anybody. If you cry and tremble as you make promise after promise, there’s a better chance it’ll work.

And though your pleading does slowly get through to Red Son, his anger is only ever so slightly mitigated. Shaking so fiercely that he threatens to combust once more, he grips your shoulder with just enough strength to leave a bruise and throws you into your closet, locking it behind you before stomping off to speak with his parents about what you’ve been doing.

You’re left alone, sniffling and shaking in the dark, sitting with your legs against your chest in the enclosed space.

Things are bad, already. And then you hear soft footsteps, and you know they’re about to get worse.

Thankfully for you, your mother comes to see you before your father does.

Princess Iron Fan is the calmest and most reasonable of the three, with iron-lined nerves and a perpetually composed demeanor. You’re lucky, really. If it had been your brother again, or; god forbid, your father… at least her coming here gives them both a chance to cool off from the news while she tends to you.

She slowly unlocks and opens the closet, looking down at your huddled form. Whether she looks at you with pity, reproach or disappointment is impossible to distinguish by face and body language alone.

Even when she kneels down in the closet to meet you face-to-face, her emotions are utterly indistinguishable. Your heart pounds frantically, terror mounting inside you. The red-robed demon shakes her head and sighs softly at your panicked expression, opening her arms to you.

“My poor, foolish child. Come to your mother.”

Princess Iron Fan might be evil, might be married to a would-be world conquerer, might be willing to throw children around in a fight… but she adores her family above all else. So she takes pity upon seeing your tears and brings you into a hug, letting you rest your teary eyes on her shoulder.

She’s still mad, of course. But she’ll preserve her image of you being a precious and innocent treasure that she simply must protect by shifting the majority of the blame to MK, deeming him a “bad influence”. You’re still getting locked up nice and tight in the fortress, of course. You’ll be put in a room with a door that’s too heavy for you to push open, trapping you inside even without taking into account that your parents seal it with locks both iron and arcane, just to keep you extra “safe” from someone who never posed any threat to you whatsoever.

“My naive little Y/N,” she coos into your ear with sickly-sweetness, tightening her arms around you. “Was my foolish child led astray by a petty, rebellious mortal? I had thought you were readier for the world, wiser to the tricks of it’s people… but I see now that I was wrong.”

Your heart clenches at her manipulative words, her loving but sharp tongue driving stakes into your quickly diminishing self-esteem. By framing a simple desire to grow up and develop a relationship as a severe personal failing on your end, she justifies locking you away. You can’t call her a bad person if she convinced you that it’s for your own good, after all.

She truly loves you, in spite of her manipulations. Iron Fan will be the one bringing you food and fresh clothing every morning, ensuring that you stay healthy and clean even through the long duration of your imprisonment grounding.

She sets you onto your feet, brushing off your clothes before cupping your cheek with one of her hands. “Come now. Your father wants to speak to you.”

All you can do from there is drag your feet along after her, dreading the inevitable confrontation that awaits you.

She brings you to the master room of the fortress, where the Demon Bull King awaits you, scorn leering from his eyes. She pushes you into the chamber, then shuts the iron door behind you with a powerful gust of wind, trapping you once more.

With leaden feet, you slowly walk forwards, head lowered to the ground so as to not make eye contact with your furious father. Once you stand before his throne, he leans forward.

With a long, clawed finger he reaches out to you. Carefully, he hooks his powerful and sharp nail under the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“Child,” he rumbles, his voice dangerously low and gravelly. “You have much to answer for. If I were you, I’d begin explaining… and quickly.”

Just as you did with your elder brother, and your mother soon after him, you take the most peaceful option you can, and try to placate. If it was just Red Son that was angry at you, you could run to your parents for sanctuary. If it was only Demon Bull King, you could seek out your mother and beg her to soothe his rage. Now that all of your family is enraged or upset, you have nowhere to run, no one to turn to.

“I… I’m sorry, father. I have no excuse.”

You do, actually. That excuse being that you’ve lived hundreds of years right beside them and have proven both your strength and maturity time and time again. Still, they treat you like a child and insist on hiding you away from the world and everyone within it.

“Please give me a chance to earn your forgiveness.”

You don’t want his forgiveness. You want your family to understand that you’ve grown up, enough that you have an interest in romantic relationships. You don’t want to have to fight to get them to acknowledge your feelings and desires.

Your father stares down at you with icy eyes, huffing and snarling. You know he wouldn’t truly harm you, of course. None of your family would. The mild bruise Red Son gave you just a short while ago was the worst any of them had ever hurt you , and even that was probably unintentional.

DBK leans back on his throne, unhanding your chin. Still, his eyes never leave yours, boring right through you.

“I see,” he says, his voice heavily guarded. “I see what the problem is.” The giant demon folds his arms as he rises from his throne, towering above you.

“You’ve been given too much room to roam, it seems. I have been gone for so long that you have forgotten the Bull clan’s mission.”

He raises his fist high, then swings it against the wall to sound a brutal clang that echoes through the room and causes your ears to painfully ring as you recoil.

“We are demons! We conquer, destroy, and rule! None stand in our way! We do not lower ourselves to commingle with mortals! We rise above the rabble, and crush them under our heels when they dare to resist!”

“Do you understand, Y/N?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat is painful, but you force yourself to do so anyways. If you want to soothe the anger you’ve inspired throughout your parents and brother, then you have to take the high road and play nice for your own sake.

Not only for your own sake, but for MK’s as well. Their anger is directed between the both of you, after all. Assuaging it is the easiest way to keep him safe. With that in mind, there’s only one thing you can say.

“Yes, father.”

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Red Son #Yandere Princess Iron Fan #Yandere Demon Bull King #Bullfam #Yandere Father #Yandere Mother #Yandere Brother

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harringtonswriting · 1 year

Text

the one with the mutual pining | j.h.s.

summary: it's always been fun to flirt with jake, though you'd never cross the line to take you from friends to something more because while he flirts back, does he really mean it? well, bradley bradshaw decides this is something they're gonna rectify, and it definitely ends in your favour pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x fem!reader warning(s): language; references to alcohol word count: 4.2k notes: here is my very first attempt at writing tgm, and at writing hangman. this is all completely thanks to @katsu28 who has entertained all my tgm thoughts. this one's for you kait!! <3 also, there are a couple alternate endings for this one too 👀 if anyone wants to read them when they're finished or maybe have them turned into other fics, let me know!

...

Friday nights always seem to be the busiest nights at the Hard Deck. Or, well, they have been since you started working there.

It always seems to start getting packed not long after dinner time, usually by a good mix of civilians and members of the Navy who were stationed in Fightertown. A lot of them seemed to know Penny, especially the aviators. Penny had warned you about them when she gave you the bartending job; about their flashy smiles, their nicely styled yet somehow perpetually windswept looking hair, and all the trouble that comes with them. There’d been a fond smile on her face when she said that, so you were sure there was a story (or maybe many) behind her warnings.

It was on your very first Friday that you’d met Lieutenant Jake Seresin. Well, you’d actually met most of the Dagger Squad (which you’d been told was what they were called by Mickey after a few Fridays together), but it was Jake who stuck out to you the most. You’d be a liar if you said his sparkling green eyes and dimples weren’t attractive, and he absolutely had the confidence you’d expect from someone who flew million dollar planes for a living. The way he leant on the bartop, grinning at you as he ordered a beer and introduced himself was full of charm, and the slight southern drawl that curled his words drew you in immediately. But you didn’t let him know that; no, you pointed him to the back of the line of people waiting to order, and handed Bradley Bradshaw his drink instead.

That was the start of your friendship with Jake, and your infatuation with him. That part you keep to yourself, though. At first it was because you didn’t think it was anything other than a tiny crush, but then when that didn’t go away no matter what you did (or what Jake did). And then it was because he’d become a friend by that point, a familiar face and someone you enjoyed seeing and talking to, just like the rest of his squad of aviators, and you didn’t want to risk losing him like that. That’s what you told yourself, at least. Plus, the two of you had built up quite a fun back and forth with each other, all witty jokes and subtle flirting (on your end; Jake tends to flirt heavily with just about anyone) and you looked forward to it whenever you see the squad of aviators walk in the door.

This Friday night is no exception; they’ve been here for about an hour already, drinking and laughing and unwinding from the stress of the week. Bradley had told you earlier that one of the Admirals had a particularly large stick up his ass lately, and their squad in particular had been feeling the heat. Which meant they were keeping you busy, because Pete and some of the older aviators had commandeered Penny’s attention. Not that you were complaining, because you enjoyed talking to all of them and getting paid to do so.

Jake approaches the bar top on his own for the first time since arriving; he’s got a grin on his face as he leans his arm on the polished wooden surface closest to you. It’s early enough in the evening, not long after the bar had opened for the day, that it’s not very busy yet so you can give him your full attention while Penny chats with Pete and the patrons at the other end.

He’s wearing a soft-looking green button down shirt, with the top few buttons undone. The colour brings out his eyes, His sleeves are rolled up just above his elbows, and you can see the silver chain that holds his dog tags disappear further down past where his shirt buttons are undone. And while you can’t see it from where you’re standing, you’re sure he’s also wearing those jeans you know work absolute wonders for his ass—not that you’d ever tell him that, of course, because his ego is inflated enough already. But you might sneak a look later on.

“Hey darlin’, another beer for me on the sore loser,” he says by way of greeting, grin curling his lips up and showing off his dimples. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, and you peer over it to see Bradley standing back at the pool table the aviators had claimed. He’s wearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt you’ve never seen before, and he’s got a defeated smile on his face. His shoulders are slumped and he’s leaning against the pool table as he catches you looking and waves. You wave back, smiling and winking at him before your attention turns back to the blond in front of you.

“You got it. The usual?” you ask, and he nods. You reach under the bar top to grab a bottle of Jake’s preferred beer, popping the cap off for him before you place it on the counter in front of him. “You won a game already? You haven’t been here that long.”

“I’m just that good at pool, darlin’.” Which is true; you know he’s beaten just about all of his fellow aviators, and you’d bet he’s hustled others at the Hard Deck too. Maybe even at other bars. Jake’s cocky, but unfortunately he’s got the skills to back up all his talk.

“Or maybe Bradley’s just that bad and you’re taking advantage of him.”

Jake doesn’t answer but he laughs as he reaches for his beer. His hand brushes yours as you hand him the bottle of beer, the pads of his fingers gliding over your knuckles and the back of your hand. His touch tingles, and you find your cheeks growing warm as those fingers trail electricity that fades all too quickly when he takes his beer. He holds eye contact with you for a beat too long before he’s winking and turning back towards Bradley and the others.

It was basically routine at this point. On Friday nights, the aviators would show up after they’ve finished for the day. Pete would find Penny, the two of them taking over one end of the bartop to flirt like they’re not in a bar full of people. The rest of them would come over to greet you, order their first round, and then either commandeer an open pool table, or grab a few tables to themselves to wait for one to open up. As soon as it did, they’d all take turns playing, with the losers buying the winners drinks. Jake tended to win more than he lost; and lately, he seemed to be winning against Bradley much more than he had before. Not that you kept track of that (except, of course, that you did).

The night goes on as the Hard Deck fills up, and you’re kept busy with the steady flow of customers that come your way. The aviators definitely keep you on your toes, and Bradley’s tab just keeps getting bigger as he continues to lose against Jake (and Natasha and Javy, you notice), and others keep buying rounds. You’re definitely happy with the tips you’re getting, though, and between you and Penny you manage to keep up with all the orders that just keep coming. Thankfully, though, it starts to get more steady than busy, and you’re thankful to start getting lulls between customers ordering drinks so you can do some cleaning. You begin wiping down the bar with a clean, wet rag from the bucket by your feet.

Bradley approaches the bartop, and up close you notice that his bright blue Hawaiian shirt is covered in magenta flowers, the colours almost too loud to look at. His cheeks are a little ruddy, and the top half of his shirt is unbuttoned and showing off the dogtags he’s wearing against his bare chest. His sunglasses are poking out of his shirt pocket, and he’s got a wide smile on his face as he places his hands in front of him on the slightly wet polished wooden surface. You stop wiping down the bar in case he’s here to get something from you, or maybe to close out his tab–though it’s a little early in the night for that.

He looks back over his shoulder towards where the others are, and you also look in that direction to see Jake staring at the two of you, a pool cue held in his hands and his brow furrowed. Mickey hoots, and sends you a thumbs up. You’re not sure what for, but his enthusiasm is sweet and you shoot him a thumbs up in return. Bradley looks back to you.

“You here for another round?” you ask, and his smile drops momentarily.

“No, I don’t think I want to add to my tab.” You pull it up, and then shake your head because no, he really doesn’t. Bradley grimaces and sighs, leaning forward towards you. “Actually, I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’m not ringing the bell on Jake just because he’s beating you at pool,” you warn him. “He’s got to earn it. Trick him into dropping his phone on the bar like a normal person.” Which Reuben had done with Bob last week, and you’d felt a bit bad for the bespectacled aviator but the rules are the rules. Bradley chuckles, and leans closer to you over the bartop.

“No, actually, Mav’s birthday is coming up and we wanted to do something for him and Penny. A surprise for the two of them” He looks behind you, seeing Penny and Pete where you know they’re decently close, and he gestures for you to lean forward. He moves his head next to yours, and starts whispering to you, wanting to keep this a secret. “We’re thinking about all chipping in and getting the two of them some kinda weekend away, maybe something fun in the city. D’you think you’d wanna get in on that?”

That’s definitely not what you were expecting, but your heart melts at the idea of being able to give your boss and her boyfriend a nice little vacation together. Penny’s been an amazing boss since you’ve started working for her, and you know how hard she works. She deserves this, for sure. “That is actually really sweet. Yeah, I’d be happy to do that for them.”

That’s when you hear Penny’s voice from behind you, startling you a bit. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you bothering my bartender?”

With a smile he probably thinks makes him look completely innocent, he moves away from your ear and answers her with a “No, ma’am!” and then wiggles his eyebrows at you before he turns and heads back towards the pool table. You watch him as you go, and you see when he gets back that Reuben slaps him on the shoulder while Natasha hands him her pool cue. Your eyes drift towards Jake, and you see him with a deep frown on his face, his pool cue leaning against the table as his arms are crossed over his chest. You can’t tell what he’s saying from this far away, but he’s moving up to get in Bradley’s face. Maybe the older aviator was actually supposed to get a round? You don’t know, but they’ll eventually work it out. They know if they start a fight in the bar that Penny will squash that real quick. Not that it wouldn’t be entertaining.

You resume your cleaning, gathering up some glasses that have been left on one side of the bar to put in the dirty dish bin to be washed later. An older man approaches the bar and asks for a whiskey neat, which you pour him, and he pays for it and thanks you before leaving. You put the bottle back in its place, and then all of a sudden Jake is standing in front of you.

“Hey, sailor. What can I get you?” you ask. You notice he’s not smiling like he normally would; his forehead is wrinkled and his eyebrows are furrowed as his green eyes look at you. His normally neatly coiffed blond hair is looking just a bit dishevelled, like he’s been running his hands through it and moving it out of its usual style. You start to worry when he doesn’t answer you; Jake is usually completely unbothered by anything, never being fazed and always taking things in stride. He’s always in control of every situation and every interaction he’s in. But that’s not how he’s looking now. Something’s got him looking almost frazzled, and it has you worried for him. You bite that worry down, though, as you watch him run a hand through his hair now.

“I need–” He sighs, shaking his head slightly. He takes in a deep breath before he starts again with, “Look, I need to talk to you. It’s important. Can we go somewhere private?” This is one of those nights you really wish that Jimmy was working, or that Penny had another bartender besides you because you really couldn’t just leave her alone before your shift was over. You pull your phone out of your pocket, checking the time.

“Uh, not right now, but I’m done in about an hour. Is that okay?” you ask, sliding your phone back in your pocket and looking at the aviator in front of you. He sighs, but not in an unkind way, and he nods. But there’s no wink, no smile, and no sign of his adorable dimples. You didn’t think you’d miss them as much as you did, but seeing him like this, with something bothering him, makes you realize that you’re kind of in over your head with him. “Are you okay, Jake?”

Jake nods again, letting his lips turn up slightly at the corners in a closed mouth smile. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” You’re stopped from answering when Mr Whiskey Neat comes back up for another drink and you reach down to grab the bottle. Jake nods at you, moving away from the bar top and heading in the direction of the bathrooms. “I’ll talk to you in an hour. Meet me outside, my truck’s farthest from the door.”

And then he’s gone and you’re pouring a drink, and you’re feeling confused, worried, and a little annoyed that your conversation had been cut short. What could Jake Seresin possibly need to talk to you about privately? And what exactly is bothering him? You only have the next hour to worry about it in your head, and you already know that’s not going to be fun.

The last hour of your shift goes by much too slowly for your liking, but as the minutes creep closer, you wish you had just a bit more time. You’re more than a little nervous to talk to Jake when it’s over; he’d closed out his tab with Penny while you’d been busy getting another round for some other customers, including Natasha and Bob, who were sharing secretive smiles as they chatted with you. Maybe there was something in the water at the naval base, or maybe all the stress of the week had really gotten in their heads. You weren’t sure which was worse.

But then you’re done, and it’s time to go talk to Jake, and you find yourself stalling on your way out. Penny must notice the change in your demeanor, because she stops you to ask if everything is okay before she lets you go.

“Was someone giving you a hard time?” she asks, keeping her voice low as you clock out. Your bag and coat are in the back room, which she gives you the key to, and you shake your head. “Pete can walk you out of here, if you need. Or I’m sure one of his squad would be more than happy to do that too.”

“I’m okay, Penny, I promise,” you assure her. You leave quickly to grab your things, and return to give her the key back.

“Text me when you get home!” You wave your hand to her, and then you’re leaving the Hard Deck and walking out into the cool night air. You pull your coat a little tighter around your body, walking towards the end of the parking lot. It takes a minute to see him in the dark, but Jake is leaning against the front of his truck when you spot him. He’s all the way at the far end of the parking lot just like he’d told you.

There aren’t too many cars left, and no one else is out and walking around so it’s just the two of you that you can see. He must see you coming because he pushes himself off of his truck and waits for you to get close enough before he greets you. The set of his shoulders is tense, and they’re up close to his ears. The smile on his face looks a little forced and you shift your weight between your feet as you look at him.

“What did you want to talk about? Seemed pretty important.”

He sighs, one hand coming up to tug at his hair. It shines even in the dingy, yellowed lights coming from the street lights set up in the parking lot, and you briefly wonder if it would feel as soft as it looks now, or if maybe it was crunchy with gel. You hoped it was soft. But that was not the point, and you push that thought away for now. “Look, whatever Rooster told you… just ignore him, okay? He’s drunk. I didn’t even drink half the beers I won off him, he did. He didn’t mean anything he said.”

Okay, now you’re confused. What did Bradley being drunk have to do with Pete’s birthday present? The mustachioed aviator hadn’t seemed that drunk when he spoke to you; you’d seen him absolutely shitfaced before, just once, and tonight was definitely anywhere close to that. You still mourned the t-shirt you’d been wearing that night, it had been one of your favourites. “Really? But I thought it was pretty sweet.”

That seems to irritate Jake, and he rolls his eyes. “But it’s not his business telling you that, he was just being an idiot. He’s a lightweight, and he’s probably puking on Bob’s shoes right now.” Now that was a funny image, and you hoped for Bob’s sake that Bradley throws up somewhere else and not on Bob’s shoes. You’d ask Natasha about that the next time you see her. “Rooster just thought he was being funny, is all. I wanted to make sure you knew that and make sure it didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“It seems like it made you uncomfortable. Don’t even deny that you’re not! I can tell. I’m good like that.” He doesn’t take the opportunity to make a joke, or grin and wink at you like he normally would, which just served to bring your point home. You know he and Bradley can get under each other’s skin like no one else can, but this was a whole new level of grump.

But that’s when Jake comes out with it. “Of course it made me uncomfortable, him telling you that I like you like that! It wasn’t his business to do that.”

You’re not sure you heard him right. You blink, taking a moment to process his words. There’s no way you heard him correctly. He thinks Bradley Bradshaw told you, completely seriously, that Jake likes you. And that’s why he’s been acting so weird. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together now.

“Like me? What?” you ask, but you don’t give him time to answer. “Bradley didn’t say anything about you, he was telling me about Mav’s birthday present, asking if I wanted to pitch in for a trip for him and Penny.” Even in the dim light in the parking lot, you can see the colour drain from Jake’s face. His jaw even drops, just a little, as he stares at you. If you were thinking properly, you’d want to take your phone out and snap a photo of Jake Seresin, lost for words. You’d never seen it before. It was kind of cute. “You like me? As more than a friend?”

“No!” It comes out quickly, much too quickly, and you can hear the crack in Jake’s voice. It kicks your brain back into gear, and you feel a tingly warmth spread through your chest not unlike what you’d felt earlier when Jake’s fingers had brushed the back of your hand. It makes you almost giddy, the thought of Jake liking you like you like him. That you haven’t been pining over him and agonizing over whether it was worth ruining your friendship for nothing, and that his flirting had actually meant something. But you can’t resist teasing him about it, just a bit.

“Wait… so you don’t like me?” you ask, feigning disappointment–it’s hard, though, keeping the grin off your face as you do so. Jake shakes his head, taking a step closer and his hands coming out to hover in front of you, close but not actually touching you yet.

“No! No, I do like you!” Jake is so quick to backtrack, and you have to bring a hand up to cover your mouth to hide the smile and the laughter that’s threatening to come out. You think maybe that part of it is some sort of hysterical relief and joy at hearing Jake Seresin, Hangman, the most confident man you’d ever met, blurt out that he likes you like a child on a playground. God, you’ll never get over this, and this will absolutely be the story you’ll love to tell people when they ask how the two of you start dating. Which you know he’ll hate. But that’s something you’ll worry about later. Right now, you think Jake looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm and that would probably be counter productive. So you decide to throw him a bone.

“Well that’s good, seeing as I like you too,” you tell him, moving your hand away from your mouth to smile at him. That’s when you see his shoulders sag and the colour starts to come back to his face as he processes your words. And if you take that opportunity to confirm that yes, he is wearing those jeans that do wonders for his ass, well, that’s something you’ll keep to yourself.

“You do?” he asks when he finds his voice, and you nod. That’s when you see a smile break out across his face, and his dimples are back in full force.

“What, you think I flirt with just any aviator who comes into the Hard Deck?” That gets a laugh out of him, and you love the sound. It’s a real laugh, a rumble from deep in his chest, and you definitely want to hear that again. You hope you will.

“Well, I’m not just any aviator,” he confirms, walking just a bit closer. His hands are still out, and you reach out with one of yours to take his. They’re big, and warm, and the callouses rub against your skin in the best way. More tingles shoot up your arm, and you squeeze his hand with yours. “Then I guess it’s about time I ask you out, darlin’.”

“It’s not nice to leave someone hanging, you know.” He rolls his eyes. “Here, gimme your phone. We’ll trade numbers.” He digs his out of his pocket while you grab yours, and you unlock it and bring up your contacts for him. He does the same, and you enter your name and number before you hand it back. You see his name and number in yours. “I should get going so I can get home and text Penny before she sends out a search team. Call me!”

You get about five steps away before you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. You pull it out, and see Jake’s name across your screen. You answer the call.

“So I was thinking I could take you out sometime. Does tomorrow night work for you?” he asks, his voice coming over the speaker and also from behind you. You laugh, nodding as you hold the phone to your ear.

“Tomorrow works just fine. What do you have planned?” you ask. You don’t turn around, but you can imagine him leaning back against his truck as he talks, watching you walk away. You hope he enjoys the view.

“Gotta leave some things a surprise. Just make it home safe, and we’ll talk more tomorrow.” You assure him that you will, because you really do want to get home because you know Penny really will send someone out to check on you if she’s worried. “Goodnight, darlin’.”

You hang up the phone, waving back over your shoulder as you leave the parking lot. You hear Jake’s laugh behind you, and it puts a spring in your step all the way home.

Yeah, you’re absolutely sure he’s gonna kick Bradley’s ass for forcing his hand, but you got a date with Jake Seresin out of this. You can’t wait for Saturday night.

#hangman x reader #hangman x y/n #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #hangman x you #jake hangman seresin fic #hangman fic #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader

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lofimusings · 4 months

Text

Profoundly Yours (MYG)

Pairing: Yoongi x female!reader Rating: MINORS DNI Genre: Fluff Total Word Count: 1.8k Warning: Kissing

Disclaimer: Please note that the following story is entirely fictional. While some of the characters may have physical traits or names similar to those of celebrities, the connection ends there. I do not have any personal connection to these celebrities, and I do not claim to know their personalities, sexual orientations, or beliefs.

Shoutout to @cafekitsune for the pretty divider.

As street lights dance in front of your eyes, and the street side shrubbery becomes hazy, you realize you have had considerable soju tonight. You don't drink, not usually, and definitely not this much. Song's party is already a tremendous success, with almost everyone invited showing up. Many are dancing, a few are chatting, but practically all are blissfully drunk when you decide to come out for fresh air.

You like how the cold air feels on your warm skin. Dancing and drinking have caused your otherwise naturally cool skin to heat up. To a passerby, you must look ridiculous, you think to yourself as you strut on the slippery sidewalk in your high heels on a snowy night. You must have been walking a while as your feet start complaining from cramming into those torture devices for too long. A park bench comes into view, and you decide to halt. Hissing as your bare thighs come in contact with the cold, wet plank of wood, you settle down on it. Your mini sequined dress betrays you by riding up, barely covering your thighs halfway through.

You suddenly realize you are stranded in a strange part of the city without a phone or a wallet tonight. Sober, you would've panicked hard. Drunk, not so much. Eyes closed, you mentally review the events that have wreaked havoc on your life in the past two days. You wonder why you ever thought soju would solve anything. However, it feels liberating to not carry the burden of your adulthood responsibilities tonight. It feels good to let go, if only for one night. You sigh as you shiver.

"Are you planning on dying of hypothermia tonight?" A voice booms beside you. "Yoongi. What are you doing here?" You ask the fully covered man. "Apparently, I'm babysitting." He retorts as he walks around the bench to stop before you. "I'm fine; you didn't have to come." You say softly, unaware of your own slur as you speak. "Of course you are." He rolls his eyes and extends his hand for you to hold onto. "Let's go." He says simply.

You stand up, or at least attempt to, losing your balance several times. He grips you firmly, preventing you from falling down. You have never not trusted Yoongi. He's always been in your corner, and he's always been your comfort. He unbuttons his jacket, removing it gently as he shakes his head at you. He leans over and wraps it around your shivering form, helping you insert your arms into the sleeves one at a time. He pulls his beanie and places it on your head as he looks into your uncomprehending eyes, pulling it down to cover your ears. Your eyes dart to his long black hair, disheveled from the action. You concentrate on his reddened ears and nose, rouged from the cold, while his fingers dexterously tuck stray hair strands from your face into the beanie. You think he looks warm, even if he's only wearing a brown shirt.

"Thank you." You say as you interlock your icy fingers with his and let his warmth wash over you. He simply starts walking, leading you, holding you steady. After a couple minutes of silent ambling, you realize you're enveloped in his smell. His beanie feels surprisingly warm even though it's thin. The jacket is scruffy but comfortable; you think it's just like Yoongi. It feels as if he has you pulled into a perpetual hug. You sneak a whiff of the jacket collar to memorize his scent. "I saw that, you weirdo." He snickers beside you. "What!? You saw nothing." You deny futilely as a tiny chuckle escapes you as well.

"How did you find me?" You ask after a few moments. "I never lost you, kid," Yoongi says. Your heart squeezes at that. "I saw you going out in a hurry without a jacket. I'm sorry I came after you, followed you, denying you your privacy. I was worried." He sighs. "Why didn't you stop me sooner?" You ask, surprised at the questions coming from your intoxicated self. "Well, you clearly wanted to be alone. So, I let you be. I only came to the bench because it seemed like you were about to fall asleep at any moment." He chortles. "Mhmm." You say, nodding your head, holding his forearm with both hands now. He looks down at you and smiles at your action, unbeknownst to you.

"Where are we going?" You ask, leaning your head against his shoulder as you walk alongside parked cars. "I'm taking you home, kid." He says as he leads you toward his car. He unlocks the car doors with his remote key, and you settle in the passenger seat as Yoongi enters the driver seat. "Belt." He reminds you. "Mhmm." You respond, strapping the belt around you and fumbling briefly with the belt lock. The car ride is eventless. It is noiseless, warm, and smooth. As you near your apartment building, you realize that your intoxication is wearing off much quicker than you thought it would.

"Are you okay?" He finally asks as you head towards the apartment. "Things are not, but I am." You respond with increasing clarity. He nods. He doesn't intrude into the details of your private life. If you wanted to tell him, you would. He takes your purse and looks for your keys to open the door to your apartment. Upon entering, you flop onto your ottoman as he chuckles at you again, removing his shoes.

He suddenly bends down and takes your right leg in his hand. He loosens the strap of your heel tightly wrapped around your calf, freeing your foot from the heel. He proceeds to do the same with your other foot. His warm fingers feel exquisite on your skin. You touch his cheek and slide your fingers toward his chin, lifting it to make him look at you. Neither of you say anything, nor do you do anything. Both of you are frozen in a moment that seems unending. You are not sure if it's the alcohol or the cold, but you feel like you're both floating in a sea of unsaid emotions. You both know it's not today that anything will get said.

He grabs your free hand in his and pulls you upright. He gingerly removes his beanie from your head and unbuttons his jacket on you. Your proximity to each other burns a new fire inside you, far better than the warmth generated by the dancing, drinking, or even his jacket. He turns you around slowly as he slides it off of you. You feel his warmth and his smell leaving you. You feel cold and alone once again. As if Yoongi reads your mind, he hugs you from behind. His arms snake across your waist, holding you tight against his chest. He lays his head on your shoulder, enveloping you again in warmth and his scent.

"You worried me to death today, kid." He hums in your ear. "I did?" You turn your head, your face inches away from his. He nods, letting his eyes roam all over your face. "You look beautiful tonight. Did you know that?" He asks, almost in a whisper. You shake your head at the first decent compliment of the night. "You do. But when other guys also notice it and look at you wrong, I worry. When you wander off in the streets in the middle of the night in practically nothing, without your phone, I worry. When something is not okay in your life, and you clearly are going through a hard time, I worry." He tells you as you let your arms rub against his. You turn around to look into his eyes. It feels like your heart could explode. It feels like your body will finally melt into a puddle in your hallway.

He hooks one arm around your waist and holds your cheek in his hand, with his thumb rubbing your cheek lightly. You lift your fingers and touch his lips, tracing their shape. You are overwhelmed with the flood of emotions coursing through you. "Come, let's get you to bed." He says, uncoupling, leading you into your bedroom, holding your hand. You don't move. He looks back at you, a slight frown on his forehead as you walk toward him, drawing courage from within with every step you take. You raise your toes, close your eyes, and kiss his lips softly before you retract to look at him. He wordlessly gazes at you for what seems like an eternity. He holds your waist once again, walks you back, and cages you against the wall.

His eyes bore into you, telling you things you never knew you needed to hear. He frees one arm from your waist and brushes loose hair away from your face. He continues to brush his fingers through your hair and pushes all your hair towards one side, exposing your neck to him. He traces his finger from your ear, over your neck, along your collarbone, and looks at you again. He wordlessly makes sure you're okay with where this is going, with what he's doing. He places a kiss on your neck. A shiver travels to your bone as you close your eyes and let out a hiss. He kisses behind your ear and on your collarbone.

You never expected to feel this way with Yoongi. Yoongi has been yours since the day he met you, but he was never yours in a way like he is about to be.

He leans in and crashes his lips onto yours, with more urgency this time. It feels as if fireworks are bursting around you; it feels euphoric. Kissing him back seems like an eventuality that was waiting to happen forever. Your kiss feels like you were supposed to enmesh with each other, and just like this. It feels meant to be. He detaches his lips from yours to look at you for the hundredth time tonight. "Yoongi." You whisper. "I know, kid. I know." He whispers back as your foreheads touch and shaky breaths escape your mouths. "I'm scared." "Me too."

Both of you separate from each other slowly, almost unwillingly. You know you can't take this any further. Your friendship is too sacred. You cannot let your impulses win and hurt this relationship. You decide to table your feelings for another day. You will take a shower and collapse into your bed. You will talk to Yoongi tomorrow. Yoongi seems to think the same as he heads out the apartment door. "Kid, call me if you need me." "Always." You exchange a look filled with unsaid words before the apartment door closes behind him. Everything will be okay, you tell yourself.

#yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fluff #myg x reader #myg x you #myg fluff #myg #fluff #kiss #snow

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thirteenemeraldcats · 3 months

Note

in one of your tags you mentioned-

'one of the things that gets chatted about A LOT in teaching is meeting students at their point of need- which ted does NOT do with jamie'

I would love to hear more of your thoughts on this! Both in terms of what that concept entails, and also what you think Jamie's point of need was at the time versus what Ted saw the situation needing

(You have excellent tags btw, don't know if anyone's mentioned that)

I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS ON THIS THAT I LOVE THAT YOU'D LOVE TO HEAR!

(I have more thoughts than I anticipated, this got errr, long. Whoops)

(potentially necessary/relevant background here is I am a high school teacher 👋)

Okie dokie, so, one of the principles of best practice in teaching is the idea I tag-rambled above; meet both the individual students and collective class at their point of need. Essentially this means practising differentiation in teaching and adjusting how content/ideas are communicated to students based on who they are as learners and people. Particularly if a student is performing outside the 'average' (either exceeding or still developing), this means adjusting to their needs by (among other things) curating differentiated resources and adapting delivery style. Differentiation is especially important in an all-abilities classroom, unfortunately public education is perpetually underfunded and overcrowded so everyone's just out here doing their best (the decent people of the world at least). BUT! WHILE I'M ON IT! SPEAKING OF THE THINGS I'VE TAG RAMBLED, the education system's (global) inability to adequately differentiate for students of different-abilities, particularly students with ADHD, ASD and Dyslexia, is perhaps the greatest failing of the whole dang thing and if anyone who ever stumbles across this is neuro-divergent and feels like they were a bad student or couldn't 'keep up' in mainstream education- THAT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT. You don't have to break yourself to 'fit', school is MEANT to bend for you. (Particularly when you're young, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG)

ANYWAY, the fictional football of it all!

We don't see a lot of Ted actually coaching in this show (stick with me). The scenes in which he 'coaches' are typically him and various other coaching staff standing on the sidelines while the team skirmishes or occasionally runs drills, so me saying Ted doesn't differentiate is more based around his patented Ted-talks. NOW, Ted PROBABLY knows the team fairly well as individuals, particularly in season 2 and 3, purely by having spent quite a lot of time with them, despite this the only times we really see him 'adjust' his style with the team are ironically season 1 (examples include conferencing Jamie and Roy in 1x04 For The Children, and allowing/facilitating Nate's speech in 1x07 Make Rebecca Great Again). The moment that always sticks out to me as most significant is when he goes and seeks out Keeley's advice on how to get through to Jamie in 1x02 Biscuits.

Side note: I will be forever obsessed with Keeley jumping straight from 'blowjobs' to one of the four operant conditioning techniques (positive reinforcement) when asked about this. That woman is a very fascinating puzzle of a person.

Ted recognises that his typical perpetual-optimism-style isn't cracking the Jamie-Tartt-nut and seeks out a different opinion. This kind of collaboration and whole-system approach is key in teaching too, either by tapping the knowledge-well of a student's broader school context or the difficult-to-crack student's parents.

SO, having gotten the Jamie-Tartt-cheat-code from Keeley he DOES meet Jamie at his point of need, speaks clearly to him and communicates what he needs from him. AND IT WORKS! Temporarily! During the conversation between the two in Ted's office we see Jamie engage, he even practises self-reflection! Granted it's about his left foot cross, but still! The nut is cracked.

Jamie even maintains the perspective Ted has taught him for about two seconds while talking to Trent, until Jamie's other (definitely not positively-reinforced) behaviours rear up and he reverts to what James others have taught him.

On the other hand.

Multiple times throughout the show we see Jamie be visibly or verbally confused by Ted's communication style. Ted often talks in meandering metaphors that Jamie doesn't seem to be able to follow. We verbally hear him state 'Why doesn't he just say that then, do you know what I mean?' in 2x07 Headspace after Beard has to translate Ted's 'peas and carrots/beefchunks' analogy to 'starters and reserves'. Then there's the infamous 'What the fuck are Denver Broncos?' from 3x09 La Locker Room Aux Folles. The only notable time we really see Jamie 'get' one of these metaphors is the sewer-system-tunnels from 3x01 Smells Like Mean Spirit.

(His understanding of that specific metaphor, along with his use of the magnets to demonstrate total football in 3x07 The Strings That Bind, and a Watsonian-perspective of his near perfect mimicry of movements he saw two years ago when executing the decoy play in 3x12 So Long, Farewell, are actually all examples I use to head-canon Jamie as a primarily visual/physical based learner. For whatever that's worth!)

NOW! Ted's willingness to seek and apply alternate techniques in season 1 when he should know the team as both individuals and a collective the least, coupled with his inability or unwillingness to practise differentiation in later seasons when he DOES KNOW THEM is why I don't think Ted is meeting the team, specifically Jamie at their/his point of need. Any person's ability to differentiate behaviour to meet the needs/requirements/comforts of the individual or group they're talking to is increased the more they know them. (We all do this in life, consciously or subconsciously we typically try and 'match the vibe' of whoever we're communicating with [doubly so for people who're engaging in masking.])

Ted should and does learn more about Jamie as a person and his background as the show progresses. He listens to Jamie vocalise both his internal justifications for his actions and his reflections of those justifications/actions in 1x06 Two Aces, he sees him being explicitly physically abused in 1x10 The Hope That Kills You, he listens to him describe a spiralling mindset in 2x02 Lavender, he sees him being explicitly verbally abused in 2x08 Man City.

Of course, one of the fascinating things about Jamie is how much he learns and grows over the course of the show, and there are instances in which I don't think Ted is recognising that (primarily his dismissal of Jamie in 3x03 4-5-1 and not utilising Jamie's knowledge of total football as a resource from the beginning in 3x07 The Strings That Bind).

Ted understands and has previously applied Jamie responding well to positive reinforcement, yet at multiple times in the series doesn't respond in a way that reflects his perspective being informed by that knowledge. Essentially not practising the appropriate level of care/caution when interacting with/around Jamie.

There's not intervening on Jamie's behalf in 2x03 Do the Right-est Thing or 2x06 The Signal when the team and Roy are targeting or ignoring him respectively. The assumed absence of any follow up to the events of 2x08 Man City, the Zava of it all in season 3, and of course the eternal 'forgiveness' kicker from 3x11 Mom City.

POINT BEING. And to actually answer your inquiry lol, I think Jamie is someone who needs clear communication, ideally bracketed in positive reinforcement based operant conditioning as a learning technique (reward behaviour you want reinforced by offering something desirable [praise in Jamie's case]) and visual/physical aid/references for concepts; as a LEARNER.

AS A PERSON, there's more. Ted can readily infer from all he's heard and seen that Jamie's a victim of child abuse. The long term damage to the adult psyche that abuse during formative years has is astronomical, it literally changes the foundational structures of a person's brain. And yet, again, we never see Ted even acknowledge this. Jamie in 3x11 Mom City, incidentally compares his father to Freddy Krueger, Ted elaborates on the comparison, then Jamie reiterates that Freddy Krueger's 'fucking terrifying'. Ted doesn't reassure Jamie (the requirement of his point of need), he gives him a Ted-talk (and in doing so doesn't differentiate his perspective/communication technique).

As far as what Ted thought the situation needed... search me I've got no idea. I do think Ted projects onto Jamie a hell of a lot. That he gets Jamie's personhood and life experiences all tangled up in the emotions he has about his father's death and his consequent perceived abandonment, his insecurities about his own ability to parent Henry and even in his own inability to clearly communicate with his mother. I do think Ted relies on his own forced optimism to 'get by'. Like how a great white shark dies if it stops swimming, if Ted stops being 'Ted', if he stops swimming, his past and his fears and his feelings will catch up to him and swallow him whole. (For what it's worth, I do think Ted is more unwell than even the show explicitly tells us, much like Jamie experiencing ongoing trauma due to childhood abuse, the effects both short-term and long-term as well as potential causalities of having a parent die by suicide are... grim.)

(Essentially the entire fandom has talked about basically all of this at one point or another, I'm just using slightly different language.)

NOW! These characters are fictional (obviously) and I am judging them based on real-people conventions and the best-principles of my own profession, as well as my background in theoretical psychology (which I think I forgot to mention and is also probably [??] relevant). My Doylist-perspective of Ted and his coaching/communication style is ...kinder, but if I get too sucked into the narrative it results in either brief tag-rambles or... whatever this thing I've just typed is. I think it's been too long since I've written academically, my thoughts have gone circular 🫠

ANYWAY! I hope this made something-approaching sense! Thank you again for asking to hear my thoughts! Always happy to word vomit!

ALSO, thank you for saying my tags are excellent (you are the first and currently only to say so!) - The tags are where I send my thoughts to die (in a 'I must banish them to move on' kind of way rather than a 'I'm strangling them' kind of way) so you saying they're excellent is even MORE flattering than you realise! Makes my brain want to purr 💚🤣

#what do i even begin to tag this slab of text as YEESH #ted lasso #jamie tartt #theodore lasso #ask box is always open #come hit me up for teaching rambles or psych rambles or fandom rambles or general rambles ANYTIME #readwing #jamiesfootball #oh shit trigger warnings #suicide #child abuse #if this indeed makes no sense i would like to blame it on the fact i've written it while drinking wine through a straw #(it's my friday night okay)#i'll post this in the morning when i've had the chance to read it while NOT drinking wine through a straw #hola- it is now morning and i'm only slightly hungover! win!

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hazbin-loony-bin · 2 months

Text

You know the Angel Sir Pentious thing has SUCH great potential for angst. Cherri has acted as a corruptive influence for Angel Dust, not respecting his desire to change: therefore, she could similarly jeopardize Pent. Or perhaps he’s entirely committed to Heaven after seeing how great it is and bonding with everyone there. Cherri however is perfectly comfortable in Hell: she gets to do all the drugs she wants and play ascended arsonist and there’s no pesky police like in the world of the living.

sure there’s also this burning sensation that all sinners experience but she’s kinda numbed to it by now and she was running from dwelling on pain even when she was alive

So Pentious is hurt, like so many before him, of an addict choosing their drugs over their significant other.

AD doesn’t know what to do exactly- he always hated people like Vaggie giving him grief and had to grow into the decision to quit himself, so he tries to respect Cherri’s ‘autonomy’ that way, but also is upset that she and he would be separated the same way if he manages redemption, and is also ofc feeling for Pent since they’d grown a little closer due to Charlie’s efforts and Angel was the one who tried to set them up.

Do people KNOW Pent is now in Heaven? Does Sera try to hide it? Does Emily help them have secret rendezvous? Is that even possible?

If it isn’t?

If they can only communicate by go-between? (or perhaps holograms like Adam uses, for slightly less angst but still ‘I can’t touch you’)

If it’s public, tho

perhaps Cherri does want to reform, but she simply, as Alastor predicted for most sinners, perpetually falls back down the addiction hole.

Pentious considers giving up Heaven for her- she tells him don’t even think about it.

Charlie is a mess- she doesn’t necessarily want to tell Pentious what to do, but her now-poster-child possibly giving up his graciously bestowed and, to her mind, hard-won position is absolutely driving her insane. What if people lose heart if he backs out? Why would he give up something so good on someone he barely knows?

She doesn’t understand it personally NOR politically.

perhaps she does mellow on one of the angles (understanding him) but not the other (“you’re a landmark case” “you have eternity” “surely you can put this off at the very least”)

Emily chats with Pent and discusses how many angels don’t have partners and that’s more of a norm than in Hell and Earth. When you’re emotionally whole, you just aren’t as driven to depend so desperately on other people.

Pentious fears that that means losing a part of himself and, even though it’s a mistaken takeaway and it’s not the point, has an identity crisis just the same.

Culture shock affects the entire gang as they hear how different everything possible is in Heaven. Some of them are happy for him, some of them are jealous.

Alastor has a grand old time gleefully exploiting that angst and watching carefully for any deep enough despair to make deals.

He’s so far removed from the possibility himself + aroace that any kind of separation he identifies with not one bit

until it seems that Rosie-

#cherrisnake #angel sir pentious #hazbin hotel spoilers #emily hazbin hotel #amatonormativity #platonic Alastor/Rosie #platonic Angel Dust/Cherri #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel speculation

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alwritey-aphrodite · 6 months

Note

hi, if it hasn’t been taken what about warm bath with jamie tartt? btw i adore all your jamie tartt ideas!

2023 Fall Blurbs

There was something about autumn in London that made it impossible to get warm. No matter how many layers you wore, how prepared you were, how many warm drinks you held, you were always freezing whenever you were outside. In the house, at least, you had some control over the temperature and could always snuggle up under a blanket if you got chilly.

Even though you knew winter was to come, and bring with it snow and wind and even colder weather, you simply couldn’t imagine ever being colder after the wonderfully warm summer you had. Now, it seems like the chilly air has sunk deep into your bones and made a home there, never to be banished. At least you had Jamie, who ran hot and was always willing to cuddle and wrap himself around you and let you stick your freezing hands against his warm stomach.

He hated seeing you cold, hating seeing you uncomfortable in any way and always searched for some solution, despite how adorable he thought you looked bundled up in all your layers, especially when you happened to be wearing one of his many sweatshirts. After so many autumns and winters together, Jamie had started getting creative with ways to help you warm up.

There was the heated blanket and the thermal cups and the expensive sweatpants, but nothing seemed to be able to shake that chill, and you’d just accepted your fate as someone who’s perpetually cold. Still, Jamie refused to give up and continued searching for new ways to help you warm up, besides his playful suggestions of knowing certain ways that would definitely make you warm.

Today, you’d returned from running errands to find Jamie waiting for you at the door with a giant grin.

“What did you do?” You ask, immediately suspicious of what you know is his attempt at nonchalance.

“C’mon,” he says instead of explaining, taking your hand and dragging you upstairs.

Leading you towards the bathroom, he ignores all your questions until you’re standing in front of the bathtub, full of warm water and bubbles with candles stationed around the edge, along with a mug of your favorite tea.

“What’s this for?” You ask, knowing that none of your important anniversaries are coming up.

“Just thought it could warm you up,” Jamie shrugs, as if this isn’t one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for you, “and I put your towel and some clothes and blankets in the dryer, so they’ll keep you nice and warm.” He’s got that shy little smile on his face, as if he doesn’t know that this is making you fall in love with him all over again.

He helps you into the bath, after helping you out of your wind-chilled clothes, and then he drags a stool into the bathroom so he can sit with you while you relax. The two of you chat about your day, coming up with plans for the evening and the upcoming weekend, and you’re warmer than you’ve ever felt in your entire life. You’re almost certain it’s because of the man sitting next to you, even though the bath is wonderful too.

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt fic

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andypantsx3 · 2 years

Text

fingerprints | 5 | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 5k of est. 25k words | 5th of 9 chapters

summary: When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run.

tags/warnings: romance, soulmate au, fluff, pining, not actually unrequited love, aged up characters, eventual smut

The next week passed in a flurry of activity—busy days at the shelter, a never-ending volley of texts from Shouto, and a perpetual, low-grade anxiety over what it would be like to meet a member of his family.

Shouto, for his part, was acting like things were normal. He texted every day, now with five pictures of Princess a day, as she napped, as she ate, as she shredded the legs of all his furniture and menaced her own reflection in his windows. Towards the end of the week, he sent one picture that was so maddeningly cute that you found yourself absently reopening your phone to look at it at least once every five minutes.

It was poorly-lit selfie of him with Princess, his mouth pressed against the top of her little cream-and-orange head, his expression clearly fond. You eventually saved it to your camera roll, feeling guilty.

You couldn’t keep your eyes away from the expression on his face, the press of his mouth, wondering what it might be like to experience that same type of affection from him.

You knew it wasn’t your place to expect that from him—soulmate or no—so you treated the picture like the shadow of a substitute. A little glimpse into something you might have had, if Shouto had been the more traditional type about soulmates.

He also called several times during the week and the two of you aimlessly chatted about nothing—talking over Princess’ latest escapades, suggestions on her training, how she was eating and drinking. You also attempted to subtly wheedle a little more out of him on his mother’s likes and dislikes, trying to think up a present for her.

You were able to assemble a vague portrait of her through the small details Shouto gave away—a calm, forgiving woman, who was working every day to treat the things in her life with care and intention. You intuited that most of their time together was spent on light strolls when the weather was nice, and that she especially liked the nearby arboretum, with its tangle of gardens full of wildflowers. When the weather kept them indoors, they had tea together, sometimes chatting, sometimes reading in one another’s company.

This glimpse into Shouto’s relationship with his mother made you want to sink your fingernails into him the way Princess did when she was feeling deeply affectionate and pleased, kneading the absolute shit out of him until he was a soft little pile of dough.

Eventually, you settled on an idea for a present. When Saturday morning rolled around, your paycheck with it, you set out for the nice tea shop in the heart of the neighboring ward.

The tea shop was small and neat, blonde wooden shelves straining under the weight of almost a hundred different blends. There was a tiny woman stuffed behind the counter, in a floral patterned apron, and the interior of the store smelled earthy and fresh.

You got there right when it opened, allowing you enough time to pore over every single blend with the most intense focus of your life. After a half hour of painstaking deliberation, you finally settled on two selections. One, a traditional genmai cha blend that sounded like the kind Shouto had described drinking with his mother, and the other a warm, wintery blend promising notes of plum and winter spices.

You asked the woman at the counter to wrap them up in a pretty white paper, tied off with a small, deep blue ribbon, and forked over nearly a quarter of your biweekly pay, wincing as you did so. You hoped Shouto’s mother would like it—and that you wouldn’t be coming off as presumptuous, or like, creepy.

By the time you made it back to your apartment, showered, and scrounged up your nicest sweater set, it was nearly time for Shouto to pick you up. You managed a couple quick swipes of makeup, hoping Shouto wouldn’t find you weird or overprepared.

You were alerted to his arrival by a polite series of knocks on your door. You quickly opened the door, planning to step outside lest Shouto get an eyeful of the interior of your apartment—but you were quickly arrested by the sight of him. He was dressed in a deep blue sweater that peeked out from under the grey wool of his coat—looking handsome and soft and absolutely delicious.

He was also holding a small posy of wildflowers, a spray of tiny white buds among several soft pink and orange blooms, wrapped in a crinkly brown paper.

He held them out to you murmuring your name in greeting, and you startled, realizing he meant for you to take them.

You had a wild thought that he meant you to carry them–but then the even more absurd truth of it struck you. He meant for you to have them.

Your heart did a weird somersault up through your chest, lodging somewhere in your throat. “These are…? Me…..?” You garbled out, stupidly.

Shouto’s mouth twitched. “For you, yes,” he said, eyes flickering over you in some kind of assessment you didn’t understand.

You realized with some horror that this meant you would have to return back inside to put them in water—and that good manners would compel you to invite Shouto in while you did. He would see your apartment—the tiny cramped rooms, the chair with the tear in the arm, your assortment of mismatched furniture and donation bin cookware.

You fought the urge to retreat into your shell like a turtle.

You supposed he was going to have to see it sometime—you just hoped he didn’t think it had anything to do with your ability to take care of yourself. If you were ever going to get in financial range of opening an animal shelter of your own, sacrifices had to be made somewhere.

You hoped the inherent kindness with which he seemed to evaluate everything held true in the middle of your dinky little living room.

“Thank you,” you told him, clutching the flowers to you tightly. They really were beautiful, and he’d gotten your tastes just right. You liked the slightly wild, slightly disorderly look of them–the pinks and oranges both competing for attention, the spill of the white buds out of the brown paper.

“Um, do you want to come in while I put these in water?” you asked.

Shouto nodded, and followed you as you led him into your apartment. You were glad you’d gone on a mini-cleaning spree when you’d gotten home the previous evening–shoving all of your roommate’s randomly discarded clothes back into her room, sweeping the floor free of its wintertime coat of tracked-in sidewalk salt, folding your various throws and rearranging your pillows.

Shouto looked around curiously as you shut the door behind him.

“Uh, make yourself comfortable, this will only be a second,” you said, and zoomed off into the kitchen to avoid witnessing any of his evaluation. You pulled a vase out of the cabinets, and quickly freed the flowers of their brown paper wrapping, trimming the stems and filling the vase with water.

It took only a few minutes to make it back out to the living room, placing the vase on the coffee table. It made the room look instantly warmer and friendlier, the flowers standing out prettily against the worn cherry wood of the coffee table.

Shouto had apparently not made himself comfortable, however. He was still standing as you returned, peering interestedly through the gap in the adjoining door you’d left open–-the one to your bedroom.

“Your room?” he asked, looking down at you.

You nodded. “Uh, do you wanna see it?”

To your surprise he nodded, and you led him over to the door, feeling strangely lightheaded. You were about to have Todoroki Shouto in your bedroom.

He really was truly overwhelming to have in your private space. Your room was small, only enough space for a tiny bed, a squashed little dresser, and a shelf for knick knacks–all so closely crammed in together that you could be touching all three at the same time. But Shouto made the room seem even smaller, somehow, filling up the space with his broad shoulders and tall frame, in a way that seemed to draw the corners of the room in towards him.

You thanked every god man had ever worshipped that you’d made your bed and swept your own floor, and that you’d just done a laundry load full of sheets so that your room still smelled like the cottony clean detergent you’d used.

“It suits you,” Shouto said, surprising you, going over to your shelf with apparently no qualms about looking like he was snooping. He touched his fingers to the leaves of a plant, flipped a book cover over to examine it.

You had no idea what this meant.

He thought you were…cramped and poky? Stuffy and weird?

He turned towards you, as if able to read your mystified thoughts. “Comfortable. Warm.” He paused, dragging a hand absently down your bedding–a neatly arranged pile of cozy comforter, puffy pillows, and a knitted throw for extra warmth, all in cheery warm tones. His fingers lingered on your pillowcase. “Cute,” he said.

You reached out, grasping your bed frame for stability, suddenly weak around the knees.

Those mismatched eyes flicked back up to you, pinning you in place, and you felt like you needed to exert sudden, extreme focus on all of your bones lest they turn into liquid.

He did not mean to say you were cute, you quickly told yourself. He meant the bed set, your winter nest of cold old lady trappings.

Regardless, your head felt swimmy as you answered him, your ears burning hot. “Um, thank you. I’m a blanket enthusiast.”

Shouto’s mouth curled just the tiniest bit upwards, again, and your heart started feeling like it might explode, so you quickly turned around, grabbing his gloves off of your dresser where you’d kept them.

“I meant to give you these back!” You said. “Thank you again for lending them to me.”

Shouto came closer to take them from you and you caught a nose full of that light, clean cologne he always wore. You took a step back to stop yourself from shoving yourself nose-first into his chest.

“Ooookay so let’s get going!” you said quickly, and then turned and all but threw yourself out of your room.

You quickly hustled Shouto out of your door and locked it behind you, then bade him lead the way.

He pulled on a beanie and sunglasses, and you laughed, realizing this was his outdoor disguise—and not entirely ineffective at that. It hid most of his signature two-toned hair and his unsettlingly keen heterochromatic eyes. Someone would have to be actively looking for Todoroki Shouto before recognizing him.

“So where are we going?” you asked as he gestured you into step beside him.

“Little Sheep,” he replied in his low, even tone.

You didn’t recognize the name.

“It’s a luncheon cafe my mother loves,” Shouto explained. “She likes their tea and cakes.”

You patted your bag, a little proud of choosing tea as a gift. You hoped she liked it as much as the Little Sheep tea.

“Can’t go wrong with cake,” you said longingly, though you knew you wouldn’t order any. Your goal was to get in and out having spent as little money as possible—and that meant the cheapest thing on the menu, and a water.

Your budgeting resolve soon turned out to be prophetic, as the cafe Shouto led you to was definitely upscale—set into an old, brick building with several long panels of sparkling new windows. The inside was bright and airy, all cream tones and natural woods over an exquisitely tiled floor. Long-vined leafy plants dripped from the rafters and tiny vases of bright flower buds sprouted from each table.

It was so lovely. You could feel your wallet groan from inside your bag.

You were led to a table in a quiet alcove, out of the way—and there she was. Todoroki Rei.

You could see her resemblance to Shouto instantly. He looked more like her than he did Endeavor–he had the same elegant bone structure, almost too pretty for a man, the same nose and full mouth, as you’d noted looking at her picture in his bedroom. Even the tilt of their eyebrows was the same, and the careful, contemplative way they regarded people.

Which they were both doing now, as you stared between them.

You gave a hasty bow, introducing yourself to Shouto’s mother. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

“My soulmate,” Shouto added quietly, sending a lick of heat right up your spine.

“Y-yeah,” you acknowledged, nose burning. “Also a friend!” you added, lest Todoroki Rei think that you were trying to put the moves on Shouto.

Your feelings may have not been pure, but at least your intentions were.

She smiled and took your hand in her surprisingly cool one. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Shouto has told me a lot about you.”

“He’s a gossip,” you joked, your nerves making you stupid as hell.

Shouto adopted a carefully blank expression, and quickly set about herding you into a seat. You thought he might be embarrassed that his mom had told you he talked about you often.

He pulled out the chair for you and then for his mother, a move that made you want to bite him he was so good. Then he sank down next to you, one broad shoulder brushing dangerously close to your own. You huddled closer to the wall, skin tingling.

“I, um, brought you something,” you said quickly, for something to take your focus off of Shouto.

You fished the gifts out of your bag, and passed them over to Rei, hoping she didn’t think it was weird.

She looked pleasantly surprised, her ice grey eyes darting up to catch yours. Her gaze was surprisingly warm. “Thank you,” she said, her voice so full of gratitude that it embarrassed you.

You looked down, scrubbing at your hot cheeks. “I hope you like it.”

It was quickly evident that she did like it—that or she was a fantastic actress. As she unwrapped it, a smile so shockingly similar to Shouto’s pulled at her mouth–a pleased, almost shy upturn. She turned the tea boxes over, studying their descriptions, running an elegant finger over the curling script embossed on their faces.

“This is wonderful, Y/N,” she said. “You are a very thoughtful girl. Shouto is lucky to have you.”

You totally were not, just a nervous idiot, and Shouto was probably just okay to have you, honestly. But the compliment warmed you anyway.

You instantly latched on to a water glass as the waitress approached your table, hiding your awkwardness in the depths of your cup. Rei said something to the waitress in greeting, and you jumped when Shouto’s mouth was suddenly at your ear.

“You remembered,” he said in that mind-numbingly low tone of his.

You suppressed a shiver. “That you guys drink genmaicha? How could I forget? It’s gross.”

When you turned, Shouto was surveying you closely. “You did not have to do that.”

Your stomach turned. Maybe it was inappropriate–you should have guessed. But his mom didn’t seem bothered. You hoped you hadn’t upset Shouto too much.

“I didn’t—um—it’s not because I have any expectations!” you told him quickly. “Oh my god, I didn’t mean like—it’s not a gift for my boyfriend’s mom or anything. Obviously. Because you’re not my boyfriend. And you obviously wouldn’t want—” Shouto’s gaze sharpened, and you scrambled for verbal cover. “--I just didn’t want to be rude. I don’t know protocol! You’re the only soulmate I’ve ever had! No one teaches you these things!”

Shouto’s mouth twitched and he leaned in even closer, bringing just a hint of that clean cologne with him. “I meant that you did not have to spend the money.”

“Money!” you said, panicking with his proximity. “What money! I’ve never even heard of money!”

Shouto’s eyes widened, and he looked very suddenly like he was trying not to laugh.

You wanted to slam your head against the table. Every time he got close, you got stupid. This was why you had bolted from the scene of soulmate-gate in the first place! He was a health and safety hazard!

“Thank you,” he said quietly, looking you directly in the face, which only served to shut your brain functions down further.

Lunch had been a bad idea.

You were thankfully saved by the waitress circling back with menus, and you garbled out a thank you, burying your face in yours.

You quickly tracked down the cheapest thing on the menu–a salad that cost thirty entire fucking dollars. Shouto watched you with a strange expression as you ordered, and you tried your best to ignore him, which proved incredibly difficult when he suddenly slung a heavily-muscled arm across the back of your chair.

You froze, despairing over the delicious heat from his entire left side–then leaned forward to give him space to rest it.

His mom leaned in, catching your attention. “Shouto told me you work at a shelter?”

You nodded, happy for the distraction from Shouto’s arm lingering dangerously close behind you. “Yeah! For a couple of years now. I love the work–the animals are so sweet and so fun and I like making sure the people who come in will take proper care of them. I want to open my own rescue someday–-I’m saving up for property and I’ve been working on drawing up a funding plan!”

You hoped that made you sound more impressive, somehow. Like there was anything more to a funding plan than finding rich people and begging for donations.

“Your own rescue,” Rei echoed, in the same contemplative way Shouto sometimes repeated the things you said.

The resemblance really was uncanny.

“Yeah!” you supplied. “I love the shelter but we only have so much space. The more shelters the better, and I want a space specifically dedicated to rescue animals–the ones who have seen the worst of it and need somewhere safe and someone to love them more than anything.”

Shouto shifted behind you and you sat up a little straighter, careful not to brush his arm.

“That sounds lovely,” Rei said. “Shouto told me you were very thoughtful—I can see he was right.”

Your entire face went white hot and for a moment you thought Shouto had accidentally quirked you–but it was just your embarrassment, flashing through your body like a grenade.

“Nope,” you said reflexively. “I’m not thought, uh, full. Not full. Just a normal amount of thoughts. Like halfway filled, maybe.”

Shouto made a noise like a cough that sounded suspiciously like he was choking down a laugh.

Could this get any worse?

“Anyway,” you said loudly, eager to move on. “Um, what about you? Do you have any pets?”

Rei shook her head, her white hair slipping over one elegant shoulder. “No. I’ve met Princess, though, and she is very charming. She may convince me yet.”

You tried not to be put out that Princess apparently was good with Rei too, even though she didn’t have a fire quirk. She probably smelled like Shouto, and Princess was too whipped to make the distinction.

You couldn’t exactly blame her when you were basically a little pile of whipped cream yourself.

The three of you kept up the conversation as lunch was served, and Rei seemed too eager to learn more about you. You tried steering the conversation clear of your own situation as you were not especially interesting, just a completely normal person who read too many books and watched too much youtube and who wanted to get into several different hobbies but was mostly bad at them. All you really wanted to do was run your rescue, hang out with your friends, and find a cute boyfriend to cook with and nap on during the weekends.

And it was a comment to this effect, actually, that brought the table to halt.

Rei had asked more about what you did in your free time, and you’d thought for a minute.

“Reading mostly. And hanging out with friends,” you said. And lest she think you had plans to compromise Shouto’s virtue or whatever, you told her, “I’ve been trying to cook more as a hobby but I will probably like it more when I get a boyfriend and we can do it together. Just gotta find the right guy.”

The words were no sooner out of your mouth than the table was suddenly thirty degrees colder. You looked up to find both Shouto and Rei staring at you, both of their respective drinks completely iced over.

You went completely still, feeling suddenly hunted.

Rei’s cool grey gaze slowly slid from your face to Shouto’s, and she affected the tiniest raise of a perfect, snow white eyebrow. “The right one,” she murmured. “Perhaps he is already known to you.”

You kind of felt like she was implying you should get with Shouto, which was so nice of her but so completely divorced from even the wispiest fringes of reality. Obviously every mother thought their son was the catch of the century, it just so happened she was right about it–Shouto was the catch of any century. You couldn’t have reeled him in if you had fifteen million fishing poles–though you sorely wanted to.

But Creati existed. And also Shouto had like, standards, probably.

“Um, no one I know is interested,” you said, feeling kind of embarrassed to admit it to your own soulmate’s mother. “But you know—it’ll happen! Mari at the shelter has been on me about getting onto dating apps and stuff! I’m planning on it, just thinking about how to explain the soulmate thing. I know some people are weird about it if your soulmate is in the picture, especially if they’re not into you.”

Every single one of the sauces in front of Shouto froze over, and the teapot Rei had ordered for the table suddenly stopped steaming, wisps of ice curling up through the air where the steam had just been, sparkling in the light from the windows.

Rei’s face was so perfectly still, you could tell she was attempting to suppress something—exactly the way Shouto did. “Perhaps someone will surprise you, soon,” she said.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

“Uh, I hope so,” you said, trying to sound cheerful.

It was so hard being around Shouto when you were so stupidly in love with him.

After another minute of awkward silence, Shouto finally moved. He pressed a hand to the teapot and it started steaming again, the ice wisps fizzling into vapor beneath his touch. He passed a hand over the table, unfreezing everything.

Rei made another light comment, thankfully off the subject. Lunch after that went back to normal, and you horked down your salad at the speed of light, both to avoid further conversation and because you’d forgotten breakfast in your quest to get Rei’s tea.

After you finished, Rei insisted you have a cup of tea once Shouto reheated it–thankfully not a genmaicha. She also ordered a plate of the aforementioned tea cakes, and Shouto had one on your plate before you could even open your mouth to politely refuse.

“I really couldn’t,” you told him, leaning away from the tea cake lest you breathe on it and contaminate it for someone else. It looked so good, a delicate pat of whipped frosting and three jewel-toned little berries nestled on top. It also looked like three billion dollars.

Shouto just made a contemplative humming noise, almost like disbelief, and you shot him a dirty look.

“I’m serious, I’m totally full,” you said, patting your stomach for effect.

Shouto’s eyes roved over you slowly, all the way from your face to your lap, and your face heated. “Ah yes, salad is known for its substantiality.”

You were stepping on his boot before you knew what you were doing, hissing at him so his mom couldn’t hear. “You are so fresh.”

An honest to god smirk pulled wickedly at Shouto’s mouth, and your own mouth suddenly went completely dry. He leaned in, putting his mouth near your ear, and then said, “Ah, but not as fresh as your salad leaves.”

Your brain short-circuited, your focus torn between the feeling of his mouth at your ear, the press of his face so close, and the absolute fucking audacity of this man.

“I insist,” Rei piped in from the other end of the table. “These are my favorites.”

You nodded on autopilot, eager to please her. Shouto looked a little smug, and you wondered if it would be too obvious if you accidentally flung one of the berries at him.

You mourned the loss of fifteen other dollars–or however much the damned thing was–even as you nearly transcended this plane of existence with every bite. It was just as good as it looked, delicate and sweet, the berries the perfect compliment to the light, creamy frosting.

You mourned all the way until the bill was delivered—at which point you encountered another obstacle.

Shouto’s elegant fingers swiftly closed over the folio, placing that intimidating black card in the pocket, before he swiftly sent it off with the waitress again. You made a noise of panic, gripping his sleeve.

“Wait-–I owe—”

“It’s my treat,” he intoned in that low voice, turning back to you. His eyes were hot on your face.

You shook your head, turning to your bag. “I already owe you from the coffee shop too! Here, I’ve got–”

A cool hand closed around your fingers before you could even dig out the appropriate bills, smudges blooming across your skin at his touch. You froze in his hold, brain swiftly going offline, eyes glued to the way the color blossomed across your skin under his fingers like a brand.

“Y/N,” he said, low, exactly the way he had in the shelter last week. Your brain fizzled with static. “Let me.”

You would let him do anything he wanted to you. Except pay.

“I’m, um, serious–” you started, but then Shouto’s hand curled all the way around yours, thumb smoothing over your knuckles, leaving a distinct streak of color across them. “Y/N,” he said, his voice going even lower, and he leaned in again, so that his face was scant inches from yours.

“Yes,” you replied automatically.

Shouto’s mouth quirked up, and his thumb smoothed across the back of your hand again. You would absolutely never forget the press of his skin over yours as long as you lived.

By the time you returned to yourself, Shouto had apparently managed to recollect his card, and also managed to herd you out of your chair and into the brisk air outside, where a car was waiting for Rei.

To your surprise, she leaned in and hugged you, a motherly hand reaching up to pet over your hair. Your heart swelled.

“I hope to see you again soon, Y/N,” she told you. “Make sure that Shouto brings you by, and we’ll have some of your tea together.”

You nodded, unable to help grinning at her. There was no denying she was quiet and a little mysterious, the way you’d thought Shouto was. But she was so deeply kind in exactly the same way Shouto was, and he was so much like her in his mannerisms, you couldn’t help but like her.

Shouto handed her into the car, like some sort of old fashioned coachman, and you gave him a little wave goodbye. “Thanks for lunch, Shouto. It was amazing—and I promise I will pay you back! I’ll think of a good spot for next time.”

A weird look passed over his face, and he stepped back onto the curb, gently pressing the car door closed behind him. “I’d planned to see you home,” he said.

He stepped a little closer, gazing down into your face. Your eyes trailed absently over the planes of his handsome face, the way his scar looked pinker in the winter sunlight, the edges raised and uneven. You fought down the urge to reach up and touch it, to see if that skin, too, would respond to your touch.

“Um, sure. That would be nice,” you said.

Shouto waved the car on, and you caught a glimpse of Rei smiling softly, waving back. You raised your hands, waving with both of them like an eager idiot.

As you did, Shouto’s hand came up and caught one of your own, the dark fabric of his gloves pressing into the backs of your fingers. You turned back to him, startled, only to see him looking down at your bare fingers pensively.

His eyes flicked back up to yours, snaring you.

“Would you perhaps have time for a detour,” he asked, fingers curling around your hand and shifting so that he was holding it between you two—actually, literally holding your hand.

Little fireworks went off in your brain, and a full marching band geared up for a parade down every single one of your synapses. Todoroki Shouto was holding your hand!

“Yes, anything you want,” you said a little breathlessly, cringing at how stupid you sounded.

Shouto didn’t seem to mind, just grasped your hand a little tighter. A little indent pressed at the corner of his mouth, and he pulled you into step beside him.

You flexed your fingers happily in his gentle grip, head spinning. And then you went with him, walking beside him in the afternoon sun.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki

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verdantglow · 24 days

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Read a little of a fanfic last night where Etho worked at a mall & I was aghast at what store they had him working at (won’t say where ‘cause the point of this post isn’t to put the author on blast) & now I’m thinking of a Traffic smp AU where folks work at the same mall & I just…

- Etho, Tango, & Mumbo are all geniuses at the Apple Store. Impulse is a genius admin.*

- Joel, perpetual former emo boy, works at Hot Topic. He’s probably like. A key holder or assistant manager or something.

- Scar also works at Hot Topic. Because he needed a job desperately & Grian convinced Joel to get him one at his store. So now he’s the location’s token normal guy. But hey, they carry a lot of Disney stuff now, so he’s not too upset about it.

- Lizzie & Gem work at Lush. They always smell amazing & are always covered in glitter.

- Pearl works at Aveda. She also always smells amazing, but is not covered in glitter.

- Grian & Martyn work at Game Stop. Grian is very begrudging about this, putting in minimal effort unless something specific piques his interest, while Martyn will happily chat with any customer about pretty much any game.

- Jimmy works at like. Abercrombie & Fitch or Hollister. (He knows nothing about fashion & very much got the job for being tall & handsome. Like he literally was walking past the store & they offered him a job.)

- Scott is the manager at Express/Express Men. He does know a good bit about fashion & especially is good at picking out clothes that accentuate people’s best features.

- Cleo manages the Starbucks inside the Barnes & Noble.

- Ren works at a table top game store as assistant manager & runs in store ttrpg sessions for people to try out different systems. (He runs these sessions off the clock; his friends are appalled by this.)

- Bdubs is assistant manager in charge of visuals at Pottery Barn.

- BigB manages the Cinnabon. (Currently. He’s actually worked almost everywhere in the food court & knows the dirt on every single one.)

- Skizz is a full timer at a cell phone provider kiosk. He’s been employee of the month at least six times in the last year, ‘cause he’s so friggen genuinely friend that it’s really hard to ignore him while walking past. You just have to stop to say hi because otherwise it’d be rude & you’d actually feel bad about it.

* genius admin is the person who goes through paperwork & payment with you on return of repaired items. Other duties include: maintaining the store’s repair database, all part inventory handling, managing the repair queue, & generally being in charge of the repair room.

#trafficblr #traffic smp #life series smp #traffic series AU #because I have more thoughts about this #& I’m gonna want to fined this post again.#guys help me I’m supposed to be working on a specific art project #& instead I’m using my many years of mall retail experience to put blockmen into The Most Mundane Situations.#verdant rambles #prosaic wonders au

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ninja-knox-ur-sox-off · 24 days

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My Dearest Friend...

Glaciated Memory AU | Master Of Ice Art

[]

Imagine this, if you will: you meet your best friend when you’re young and he already has graying hairs.

Well, young is a relative term. You’re not exactly young, or at least you don't think so. The younger children around the village call you old even though that’s hardly something to judge one's age by--you’ve only just started university--but your friend is older.

You had never enjoyed the snow coating the grass or the cold and frost that cling to your lashes on the early morning walks to your winter classes before, but that day, with ice stretching in front of you, shielding you and keeping you safe from harm, that day when he looks back over his shoulder at you and gives you a warm smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, you exhale and see the frost on your breath and you suddenly find you can never look at things like winter and white and cold the same way again.

His eyes are so light of a blue they are almost white. They’re a heavy contrast to his dark skin. At first you think the ends of his long hair are white but it sparkles like glitter and ice and you realize it's coated in frost.

He saves your life.

He has a limp you notice when he leaves the village, simply a traveler passing through like a snowfall. You drop your papers, your pencils, your projects and they spill over the ice at your feet.

“Wait--Wait!”

He waits.

You design and build a leg brace for him in your dorm. He waits patiently, standing, still as an ice sculpture until you're finished the next morning.

“Come back if it stops functioning,” you tell him.

He studies you with calculating eyes that shouldn’t have been so warm when their colour was so cold. He nods.

And he does come back. A few months later. You offer him tea and show him your plans for a new brace--one that improves upon the failures of the old one--something you started designing the moment he’d left the first time. He sits down this time and smiles and you chat. Your breath shows in the air with every exhale the longer he stays. Your teeth chatter through your grin and he grins back before throwing back his head to laugh.

You become fast friends after that.

You learn to wear more layers. His hair grays more and you graduate after many long sleepless nights studying and designing. Biomechanics, biomechanical engineering, robotics--you find fascination with building, with bodies. “A marvel,” you mutter. “A marvel. I wonder if I could replicate it.” And he smiles at you.

He comes and goes as often as cold weather. You stay holed up in your house for the most part. Designing, building. You wave him over to his new brace, made from a material more resistant to cold than the last. You’re learning. He stays for tea and you make up a guest bedroom just for him. It stays there for years to welcome him whenever he visits.

Once, someone comes to find you for knowing him. You need a leg brace of your own after that.

He has more enemies than he has friends it seems.

“I am sorry, my dear friend,” he says. There is a blizzard outside.

Your discoveries are stolen one night and someone else’s name is plastered across your work no matter how hard you try. That breaks you more than anything else.

“I’m thinking about moving,” you tell him one night, as though you haven’t been silent for the past three days.

“Oh?” he says. “Where to?”

“Somewhere cold.”

He laughs.

He takes you to a place outside of any town. Remote and freezing.

“This is my home,” he says to you. It’s a perpetual winter.

“I think I’ll build a bunker,” you say, your nose numb from the chill.

You get kicked by a treehorn and you make a sign Beware of Treehorns and hit your dearest friend with it.

“I apologize, I should have warned you,” he laughed. “I had forgotten they were unfriendly to others.”

“My ribs do not accept your apology,” you sniff.

“Will you accept it instead?”

You huff and puff out frosty breaths and jam the sign into the ground.

Of course you forgive him. How can you not?

You build something to protect you and your bunker from the creatures when your friend is not there.

He enters your bunker shaking snow off his layers and off his straw hat.

“No--not on the floor.” You throw your hands into the hair. “Now I’ll have to mop it all up.”

“My apologies,” he says, though he’s smiling wide enough to show his white teeth. “I shall assist you.”

When the frost finally melts from his hair in the warmth of the bunker you see it wasn’t the ice and snow making it look white this time.

“What is this?” he asks, looking at your project, a skeletal structure made of spare parts you’ve started to construct, loose wiring and tools scattered about it.

“A marvel of engineering--or well, it will be soon.” He looks dubious so you take off your glasses and wipe them on your shirt. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m only just beginning to build what I need.”

“I won’t be back for a while,” he says quite suddenly.

You put your glasses back on hastily. “Is something wrong?”

“Please, keep far away from the north side of the forest until I return.”

You’ve known of the serpentine war for a long time. You hear of it in the north when you’re purchasing supplies from the nearby town. You know it's over when he stumbles into your bunker and collapses face-first onto your carpet.

You have never seen him in red before and you find you do not like the sight.

The type of first-aid he needs is one that requires study and time that you do not have.

He catches your hand mid-way through bandaging his side.

“I’ll be alright,” he says, his voice like a cool, barely-there breeze.

“Of course you will.” Your teeth are chattering, you realize, even though it’s not cold in your bunker.

He does heal up. It takes a few months before he’s hiking with you to the town, leaning heavily on you and the walking stick you’ve made him. Your project lays on the table forgotten.

The Birchwood Forest is colder than it ever has been.

“I’ll be back,” he says once he can walk on his own.

“You won’t be leaving,” you say firmly.

“Julian,” he says. “My friend. I must go.”

You wonder if it makes you a terribly bad or terribly good friend for letting him.

You pour yourself into your work. A body takes shape in front of you. You do everything you can to make it human.

No one can steal this from you. It is yours and yours alone and it is marvelous.

It’s years before your friend returns.

Your creation is walking by then. There are wires still exposed and kinks to work out but you’re so proud of it. He enters through the door, slowly and with enough snow on him you’ll be swimming in it by the time it melts, but you don’t care.

You introduce him to your work.

“I used the face I knew best!”

Your friend smiles. There’s sadness there.

“Julian,” he says. “I’m dying.”

His hair is fully white.

Your smile vanishes.

You hadn’t noticed your own gray hairs and wrinkles until then.

“I have no family. No one to pass my element to. I have been looking, Julian, but…”

He needs your help. Not to live, no matter how much you talk to him, but to ensure the element he carries within him does not die.

So you create something that can store it. You travel to places together, you gather what you design, you design and through trial and error you make something that can hold the power.

“There’s no one I trust with it more,” you tell him as you tinker with your creation. “He’ll keep it safe. I designed him to protect.”

“Thank you,” your old friend says, like a breath of relief.

You create him a holder for his element and store it in the creation that shares his face.

He wants to pass in the snow. You carry him the Glaciar Barrens and it is there your friend takes his final breath.

And you discover you have done more than store his element.

Your Zane acts differently. From the moment your friend takes his final breath, your Zane seems to wake up.

You continue tinkering, researching and you don’t know what you have done but nothing can explain it.

It’s his eyes that are the same. His face that you replicated to the best of your abilities still has some differences.

The eyes however. The eyes you know.

You don’t have time to begin to miss your friend when he’s standing right in front of you.

Zane feels, just like you wanted him to. You put everything you can into upgrading him until he’s as human as he can be. Until he can feel the temperature of something by touching, until he can feel the breeze and the snowflakes as they fall on his skin.

You add a memory switch, something that is not human. You hope that it will return his memories from before, but it does not. You leave it untouched for years.

And then you are old.

You are old and your friend has not aged. You have built him everything, you have taught him how to speak again, to learn to read and observe, you have taught him everything you can. But you do not know how to teach him to move on. You never did.

“Goodbye, old friend,” you say and you flick the switch so that he may start anew and live on without you.

You watch the light fade and his eyes darken to brown.

You close your eyes.

And a long time later in a dusty empty bunker, they open back up.

----

Zane blinked.

It was cold.

He was standing at the edge of a village, bare feet in the snow. His toes were numb. Villagers who had caught sight of him were approaching, calling over others to bring warm water and blankets.

He felt as though he was forgetting something rather important.

#LEGO Ninjago #zane julian #Doctor Julian Ninjago #Dr. Julian Ninjago #Glaciated Memory AU #KNOX WRITES (me)#i dont know why this ended up the way it did but HERE WE ARE IG #wrote this in one sitting wheezeHDJFJJG #i blanked out i remember next to none of thisHDJDJFJ #ALRIGHT weeeeeee time to work on other fics my goodnessHDJFJG #no edit we die like garmadon #SILLY GOOFY TIMES FOLKS

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