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iwaisa · 4 years ago

Text

bnha boys crushing on someone with a cat quirk

pairings: bakugou, sero, midoriya, todoroki, and kaminari x gender neutral reader

warnings: swearing (thanks bakugou 😌👍👍)

a/n: i’d like to think that if i were in the bnha world, my character would have a quirk like the cheshire cat, so i brought it to life (๑>◡<๑) this is also supposed to be situations based off mannerisms of cats !

part 1 | part 2

► now shuffling...

head pats

when you first moved to U.A., the first thing everyone noticed were your ears and tail

everyone thought it was so cute, but they should’ve been more careful

behind that cute, adorable facade was a dangerous quirk that rivaled that of the class’ resident hot-head

speaking of hot-head, bakugou hated it

especially how your tail kept swaying back and forth while you sat in front of him during class

“oi shitty cat! move your fucking tail!”

…

you didn't move your tail.

you kept taunting him with it and teasing him which resulted in aizawa having to ask you to move to the back of the class

sure, bakugou laughed in your face, but he would never admit out loud that he would miss those days where he could see your smile and hear your laughter echo throughout the classroom

it had been a few months since you moved seats and bakugou still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he just simply liked you.

he kept falling deeper and deeper, attempting to crawl out of the hole until one day he just decided that he was okay with it

he was okay with the fact that he liked you

that one day was on a weekend

bakugou had just woken up and was heading to the kitchen to make some tamagoyaki until he stopped dead in his tracks from the sound of your voice

more specifically, your laughter

he felt his heart rate begin to pick up, and the nitroglycerin sweat seemed to pour from his palm, resulting in loud crackling and popping

he stepped out from around the corner to see mina, kaminari, kirishima, and sero petting you

and you… liked it??

he watched with his brows furrowed and his mouth hanging open as you seemed to push your head into their hands

your eyes were closed and you looked so at peace that he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy

why were you letting all of them touch you like that?

it pissed him off

he marched up to you and pushed kaminari and mina aside

“what the hell are you guys doing?”

mina kept squealing while explaining that since you were a cat, you really liked when people pet your head and ears

“that’s fucking weird.”

“c’mon bakubro! you gotta feel their ears man, they’re so soft!” kirishima exclaimed while going back to rub your ears

you giggled and leaned your head into his hand, making bakugou’s blood boil

“hell no! i want nothing to do with this!”

they kept teasing him until sero said something along the lines of “he just doesn’t want to pet them because it won't feel good to them. you gotta be nice and gentle, and bakugou probably wouldn’t be able to do that”

bakugou stopped in place and slowly turned around to glare at sero, “what the fuck did you say, plain face?? i can be fucking gentle!”

he stomps up to you and raises his hand

you flinch and close your eyes thinking he’s going to hit you until you feel his fingers just barely grazing the tips of your ears

you open your eyes to see bakugou using both of his hands to gently rub them

he didn’t even notice you were staring at him since he was watching as his hands played with your ears, a tint of red making its way onto his face

he watched in awe as you pushed your head into his hands, making his face even hotter - if that was possible

after a few minutes of bakugou not saying anything - and the rest of the squad staying quiet from shock that he was actually being soft - you poked his cheek with your finger

“surprisingly, you’re the softest out of all of them”

“sh-shut up shitty cat! i told you i can be gentle!”

you grinned as you watched him stomp away to the kitchen

when you turned around, the whole bakusquad was giving you these giant shit-eating grins

you just shook your head and brushed past them, making your way back to your room

stretching / poofing tail / kneading soft things

this boy literally felt his heart explode as soon as you walked into the classroom

you were literally so??? adorable????

however, after he saw you in action, he was lowkey terrified of you

your quirk was so unique and insanely powerful that he started to doubt himself and his abilities

during a training session you watched sero spar against iida, and noticed as his signature grin seemed to fade after he lost

he slowly trailed behind the rest of the class on the way back to the classroom, but you noticed instantly

you slowed down so that you were walking right next to him

“hey, i know i just moved a few weeks ago, but i think your quirk is really cool. a-and what present mic said was wrong, your elbows aren’t freaky at all.”

oh my, i think you killed him. you didn’t think his quirk was creepy? you didn’t hate the shape of his elbows? you didn’t mind his biggest insecurity???? why couldn’t he control his heart?

he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of you so he just ran into the classroom, leaving you behind

you stood outside the class for a few minutes, a little heartbroken

you couldn’t deny that you began developing feelings for the kind, supportive, adorable boy

sero felt awful for ignoring you the rest of the day

you sat right next to him in class which didn't make the situation any better

his heart rate never slowed down, and the red never left his cheekbones

you on the other hand, were confused and all you wanted to do was talk to him

as the last bell rang, you ran to the dorms so you could hide away in your room, but mina had another idea

she suggested a class sleepover in the common room, and you had agreed, not thinking that you would be nervous because of a certain tape-dispensing up-and-coming hero

upon entering the common room with a fluffy blanket that evening, sero’s eyes instantly found yours

fortunately, he looked away quickly

unfortunately, there was only one spot left

which was right next to sero :D

you slowly sank into the couch, accidentally brushing your knee against his

his heart rate picked up again, but he tried his hardest to focus on the horror movie playing on the screen

you started getting anxious about halfway through the first movie when sero shifted in his seat, letting his knee rest on top of yours

you began kneading at your blanket and you stretched, poofing the fur on your tail out

you didn’t even notice a part of onyx eyes watching your every movement

you turned to peek at sero, but instantly snapped your head to face the screen when you made eye contact

sero was having an internal crisis

you were so adorable and for what????

you stood up, your tail still poofed out and asked if anyone wanted more popcorn

everyone nodded, their eyes not leaving the screen

you smiled and made your way to the kitchen

“hey..” you jumped and turned around upon hearing sero’s soft voice

“h-hey.”

…

“i’m really sorry about ignoring you, i just didn't know how to respond. no one has ever told me that my quirk is cool and i kinda freaked out. i-i think you’re really cool.” he blurted out the last bit leaving you dumbfounded

“i think you’re cool too, sero!” you smiled at him

you turned around, waiting for the popcorn to finish when you felt a slight tap on your shoulder

you turned around and watched as sero tripped over his words

“i-i think you’re really cute too… like for example when you puff your tail out when you stretch, or when you knead at things, and just all of your mannerisms. i really like you, l/n.”

you beamed at him as you returned his feelings, making his heart implode

you jumped as the popcorn machine dinged, and felt your face heat up as sero just laughed at you

no one even noticed when you walked back into the room with your hands intertwined

wrapping your tail around his leg

it was only your first day at U.A. and a certain green-haired boy already wanted to know everything about you

said green-haired boy, named izuku midoriya, knew better than to assume anything about you

he had seen many people with surprising quirks, so he assumed yours was extremely powerful if you were accepted into U.A. near the middle of the year

he didn’t know anything about you other than you were extremely adorable

he found it intimidating

he also didn’t know what to expect when aizawa told the class they would be paired up to spar with one of their classmates

you were chosen to spar against ojiro, who was difficult to go against considering his quick attacks and strong tail

but you were strong too, countering ojiro’s attacks with your own

midoriya was even more amazed than he thought he would be

he began taking notes and started to watch your every move

how could someone go from being so innocent and kind to a terrifying fighter?

a few months later and midoriya’s notebook had at least 4 pages full of notes about you

not only were they notes about your quirk, but midoriya had began writing short poems about you

no matter what, he just couldn’t stop thinking about you and how amazing you looked during and out of training

you had walked down to the kitchen on a sunday morning in hopes of making yourself some food

you stopped when you saw midoriya cutting up some fruit to put into a smoothie

you greeted him as you walked to the fridge, and midoriya has never been so startled in his whole life

“h-h-hi l/n!”

you giggled and began making your breakfast, going to stand next to midoriya

you two were just quietly enjoying each other’s presence

until your tail had another idea

midoriya felt something soft caress the back of his calves, and stopped what he was doing, almost cutting himself with the knife

he felt your tail wrap and unwrap itself around his leg, and he turned to look at you

you, however, were very blissfully unaware of the predicament you were putting midoriya in

“u-uh, l/n?”

“mhm?”

“y-your tail…” he pointed to where your tail was wrapped around his leg

“oh shoot sorry! i guess i just do that so many times without thinking i didn’t even realize it would make people uncomfortable. i apologize!”

you unwrapped your tail from his leg

“t-that’s cute…” he muttered under his breath

you snapped your head to stare at him, and your breath hitched when you made eye contact with him

he frantically apologized for blurting it out while covering his face with his arms, his face a very bright red

you laughed as you watched him stumble over his words as you called him cute

winking / slow blinking

sitting next to class 1-a’s resident pretty boy was a difficult task

it was only your first day and you found yourself unable to take your eyes off the mysterious boy

however, todoroki believed the reason for your blatant staring was due to the scar sitting on his face

he turned to you during one of aizawa’s lectures and stared back, neither of you wanting to break eye contact

the bell rang, and before you could leave, todoroki had blurted out a question directed to you

“are you uncomfortable with my scar?”

you looked at him with a confused gaze

uncomfortable??? around such a beautiful man??? hell no. more like intimidated

“n-no! not at all! i just like your hair,” you refrained from telling him that the real reason was because you thought he was extremely beautiful

“oh. thank you.”

a few weeks passed since that encounter, and you had only grown closer to the half-and-half boy

you learned the real reason behind the scar, and assured him that you won’t think any different of him

he even felt a blush coat his cheeks when you called him amazing and strong

you, midoriya, uraraka, iida, and todoroki were studying in the common area, yet you weren’t focused on the textbook in front of you

you leaned your face on your cheek as you let your eyes wander over todoroki’s seemingly perfect features

todoroki looked up from his book just in time to see you wink at him

he was a bit taken aback, but shook it off as you getting some dust in your eye

he continued keeping eye contact with you and watched as you slowly blinked your eyes at him

todoroki brushed off the heat on his face and went back to writing in his notebook

he looked up again just in time to see you wink at him again

in all fairness, you didn’t even realize you were staring at him, you were a cat and it was a habit

“l/n, i appreciate the gesture, but why do you keep flirting with me?”

oh todoroki. you’re so beautiful yet so dumb.

you were a little confused since he just accused you of something you didn’t even do

“what?”

“you keep winking at me and slowly closing your eyes. is that your way of flirting?”

by now, the other three were watching you two with interest

“oh! no, that’s just a habit i have since i’m a cat. when i slowly blink at you it means that i trust you. and winking means that i really like you!”

you slapped your hand over your mouth

“o-oh. you like me?”

“i-i mean as a friend of course! i trust you and i don’t feel intimidated by you, that’s all!”

todoroki failed to hide the disappointment in his voice when he hummed back

while the five of you packed your books into your backpack, todoroki waited for you to finish before he began to talk to you

“l/n,” he began

you turned to him with wide eyes, scared that he would tell you that he didn’t like you like that

“yeah, todoroki?”

the other three scurried away, leaving you and todoroki alone

“i know you meant that you just liked me as a friend, but is it weird for me to hope that you possibly meant a different way?”

you were completely blindsided by his question

“uhh, actually.. about that…”

after you explained what you truly meant and how you think he’s super interesting and cute, he smiled and returned your feelings

he walked you to your dorm and left after giving you a quick (very cold) peck on the lips

swaying hips

of course i had to do this for this mf

SUCH A FLIRT

as soon as you walked into the classroom he began flirting with you

you sat behind him, and whenever aizawa wasn’t looking, he would slip notes with pick-up lines on them to you

when you returned the note with another pick-up line, he just about short-circuited

unlike everyone else in the class, kaminari assumed that because you were adorable, your quirk was a soft type of quirk

boy was he so wrong

he watched with his jaw on the ground as you sprinted around, not holding back from fighting with kirishima

mineta made some dumb comment about you being sexy with those ears and that tail and that was the first time kaminari told mineta to stfu

as someone who is notorious for hitting on people, his flirting began to slow down once he realized that the reason he wanted to be around you all the time, having the sudden urge to hold you, wanting to call you his, was because he liked you

and he didn’t know what to do at all

he most DEFINITELY didn’t know what to do one particular hot summer day

the bakusquad was hanging out in the common room trying to cool yourselves down

you got up off the floor and walked past kaminari to go to the kitchen for some popsicles

you began to sway your hips as you walked, leaving a very flustered kaminari

“gross, dunce face. if you like that so damn much go chase after them. i’d like to see you try to ask them out.”

“that’s not very manly, bakubro. kaminari, if you really like them, why don’t you just tell them? i’m sure they’d understand,” kirishima gave him a thumbs up as kaminari quite literally sprinted after you

“are you aware of how much you sway your hips when you walk?”

kaminari whispered into your ear as he placed his hands on your hips

“i knew you would notice” you winked at him

his face exploded red in color and he watched you in confusion as you laughed loudly in his face

“i’m kidding. i sway my hips when i walk because i’m a cat. i’m not flirting with you dummy,” you stuck your tongue out at him

“darn, you got me”

…

“hey l/n?”

you turned to face him, and you yelped in surprise as he smashed his lips onto yours

very good kaminari consent is a very good thing 😀👍👍

he pulled away to study your face, only to see your wide eyes and your mouth hanging open

“uh… i’m really sorry i just-”

he was cut off when you locked lips with his again

your tail wrapped around his body, causing him to shock you

he pulled away, grinning, “sorry. you surprised me there-”

“WHAT THE HELL, DUNCE FACE?? I TOLD YOU TO ASK THEM OUT NOT MAKE OUT WITH THEM”

you both sheepishly apologized, watching bakugou storm away, yelling that you two were practically eating each others’ faces

#bnha #mha #anime #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #izuku midoriya #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #kaminari x reader #denki kaminari #hanta sero #sero x reader #shoto todoroki #todoroki x reader

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another-blog-bites-the-dust · 6 years ago

Text

The journal.

Summary: After accidently leaving your journal at a cafe, your closest friends can't help themselves and start to read it...a person that you write about in particular the most reads it too.

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst, lots of fluff.

A/N: Y'all I don't know about you but I just needed some John fluff 😫 I hope you enjoy and enjoy the little poem(ish) type bits I've wrote! (They are in bold italics!) 😁💖

You checked your watch and loudly gasped "Oh god! I'm supposed to be having dinner with my mum and dad! I said I'd be there half an hour ago!" You frantically collected your things- a little too fast. Your bag fell and you let out a sigh, you were halfway through fastening your jacket.

"I've got it," John bent down under the table and scooped the contents back into your bag. You really didn't care how messy it was.

"Thanks, Deaks." You quickly pecked his cheek and the cheeks of Brian, Mary and Roger. Freddie had a date with Jim so they both took a rain check to meet up with you all at the cafe for a catch up another day. "See you all soon!" You waved them goodbye and rushed out the door. John's eyes didn't leave your frame until you had completely vanished from sight.

Roger sipped on his coffee then furrowed a brow when he kicked something. He glanced down and spotted a bright yellow notebook.

Your journal.

"Oh! Look what fell out her bag!" Roger grinned and picked it up from the floor. Mary, John and Brian all went wide eyed and held in a breath of air. There was a lot of speculation around the thing now being held by Roger. They had all seen you writing it, they didn't know what you did in it or what you used it for. They just knew it was a sacred object- a piece of you.

"What are you doing?!" Mary snapped and yanked it out of Roger's grasp when he was about to open it. "You can't read her journal!"

"Oh come on, Mary!" Roger grabbed it back off her. "This is the only chance we'll probably ever get! Aren't you just as curious as me to find out what Y/N spends all day writing about?" He asked.

John sighed "Mary's right, Rog. You're invading her privacy. If Y/N wanted us to see what was in it, she would have told us." John was always very protective over you. He had known you since the pair of you started primary school. He was unbelievably shy, standing in the corner clutching on to the straps of his school bag while he watched everyone play. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. You were there with your hair in bunches with bright yellow ribbons tied into a bow where the bobble was tied around each bunch of hair. You asked him if he was alright, he had no idea what to say so he shyly looked away. You were the only one who had talked to him all day- the only person who had made an effort. You took his hand and introduced yourself as you walked him over to the swing set. You pushed him first and when John finally began adjusting to your company he then offered to push you.

"I like your ribbons," he said.

"Thanks- yellow is my favourite colour!" You grinned, a tooth that had been wobbly for months was missing- you had spent the day before trying to wiggle it out of its spot.

John smiled back. "I like yellow too."

Back in the cafe, Brian disapprovingly sighed at Roger who was acting like a five year old waiting to open a new toy as he tapped the hard cover of your journal like it was a drum kit. "Just one page!" He whined.

"No Roger!" John sternly spoke.

"Fine," Roger held up the journal, ready to pass John the thing so he could return it to you. "Whoops!" He grinned when he let the journal fall to the table, opening at a page with words and little doodles on it.

"You did that on purpose," Brian nudged Roger with his elbow. They all peered at the page, their curiosity getting the better of them. "Stars...?" Brian murmured at the title on the page- there was little drawings of stars surrounding the block of words- not exactly a poem- in the middle of the page.

'Stars-

People say stars are cold and distant- like lovers when love hasn't worked in their favour. I don't see stars like that. I see them as little bursts of delight. Someone's wishes. Someone's plea. People rely too much on them to bring them their dreams I think. But perhaps that's not such a bad thing. Perhaps people should tell stars their dreams more.'

"That is so lovely!" Mary gushed. "So poetic!"

John kept his eyes firmly fixated on the page, in all the years he had known you- he never knew you were that good with words."What about that one?" Roger glanced to the next page, they all now found themselves being pulled into your journal by some kind of invisible string. "It's called 'Sunflower'."

'Sunflower-

My dear darling friend. She reminds me of a sunflower. She shares the names of Queens of past and perhaps future. A partner in crime- she's so pretty it's illegal. She is as precious as the jewels the Queen wears- and yes, I'm thinking more of Fred than her royal highness. But she's a sunflower. Bright. Bold. Beautiful. Radiant. Warm. They're yellow. My favourite. As is she.'

"I think she's talking about you," Roger looked up to Mary who had tears in her eyes.

"Oh that's so beautiful! She's so sweet and talented!" Mary grinned and let Brian flip another page. It was the beginning of another part and the four of them felt a bubble of tension burst. They already knew the words behind the ominous page they were looking at were going to be different to the other things you wrote.

An almost blank page. It had one bold three letter word on it.

HIM.

The words in the next few pages were going to be intimate, they could tell. The group shared a wary glance- well all except John who was glaring at the page. It was only oblivious to you and him that the pair of you were in love each other and had been for a long time- everyone else could see that. Brian noticed the look. "Maybe we should-"

"Let's read it." John gritted out. The very person who was completely opposed to reading your journal was now desperate to. The consequences of doing so could cause irreversible damage.

'His smile-

That smile. Almost infectious. Every single time I see it, I smile myself. Maybe that's why he smiles- because he subconsciously thinks of others and how their day will brighten when he flashes those priceless pearls. Sometimes his nose crinkles when he grins. Canyons of joy making their way to his cheeks and lips before disappearing before they reach there. When he laughs there's usually a smile on his face. It's gorgeous. Someone should paint it and then place in a museum- it is such a work of art. His smile sparks sheer happiness. Especially when it reaches his eyes whenever he is so gleeful. Oh don't get me started on his eyes.'

John swallowed hard, the other three felt compelled to snap shut the journal to stop John from torturing himself by reading your beautiful words. Roger tried to pull away the book from him but John tightened his grip on it and they read the other block of writing on the next page.

'His eyes-

The only place I find myself lost in- even when I'm standing in a familiar spot. It's a good type of lost. The kind where you accidentally find yourself being after turning one too many wrong corners, but you find the most magical of places in the place you eventually end up in. His eyes. Oh...you got me started. They hold hope. They hold dreams. They hold stars. They hold answers to questions you didn't even know you had. I've drowned in them more times than I can count. I don't want rescuing though. Sometimes they'd be covered by his hair. But that's something else to talk about entirely.'

Mary placed a hand on John's arm. "Maybe that's enough." She could see a mix of conflicted feelings on his face.

"One more..." he croaked out. It probably wouldn't be the last one he read.

'His hair-

Change. That's the style. He changes it so often that I couldn't tell you what way he had it last week, or right now, or even next month. He let me braid it once. Hated it. Secretly loved it, of course. I liked wrapping it around my finger when it was long. Then he cut it. It looked lovely. Always does. He'd suit any change.'

There was two on the one page. He felt like he had to read them. He needed to.

'His heart-

Sadly not mine.'

John felt like punching 'HIM'. You had spilled your heart out onto paper for 'HIM' and yet you never got his love in return.

'My heart-

Belongs to HIM. Forever.'

It was like he had looked at your soul. He felt as if he had exposed you. Stripped you bare. "I have to give her this back." John's voice barely raised above a whisper and he shut the bright yellow journal over, protectively wrapping his hands around it but at the same time he felt like he had his hands around the neck of the person who he only knew as 'HIM'. The three of them stood up but he held out his hand. He just needed to be alone at the moment. He slowly made his way down the street, he stopped at a play park halfway between your flat and the cafe. He sat down on one of the swings, his legs couldn't carry him any further. John's heart struggled to beat. He felt jealously fork through his veins. Who was this person? Why did you have to be so vague and call them 'HIM'?

You grabbed your bag after having dinner and your whole body froze. You couldn't see the flash of yellow that you had always seen. You searched through your bag, almost tearing it to shreds as panic set it when you realised that your journal wasn't there. The only place it could be was the cafe. So after bidding a hasty farewell to your parents, you rushed back to the cafe. By the time you got there, it was shutting.

You frantically banged on the glass of the door and one of the waitresses noticed you. She opened the door "I'm sorry but we're shut."

"I know, I just really need to see if I left something here. My bag fell and everything fell out and I've lost my notebook. It's bright yellow. Can I have a look? I swear I'll only be a few minutes!" You cried out and the waitress could see how upset and distressed you were.

"Course," she smiled and let you in "I'll help you look." You walked as fast as you could to the back booth and got on your hands and knees to look under the table. You let out a small groan when you saw nothing there. The waitress frowned and looked over her shoulder. "Hey, Deb?" She called out and another woman popped her head out from behind a doorframe that lead to the kitchen. "Weren't you serving these tables today?"

The woman, Deb, emerged "Yeah I was. I recognise you from earlier!" She grinned at you "Is everything alright?"

"She's lost her journal- a bright yellow one. Have you seen it?" You were full of hope that she had picked it up.

Deb turned to you with a grin "One of the boys you were with took it with him. I noticed him holding it when he left."

You let out a reserved sigh of relief. A part of you was glad that someone had it- the other was worried that they were reading or had read what was inside it. "What did he look like? The blonde one? The one with the black curly hair?"

"No," Deb smiled "The quiet one with the brown hair."

You let out a shaky sigh and nodded. "Okay, thank you both so much." You sent them both a small smile before leaving the cafe and walking home. Then you spotted a figure on the swing set, slowly, almost dismally, using a leg to swing himself. You spotted a flash of yellow. It was like he was holding your heart in his hands. "John!" You called out and jogged to him, his eyes quickly looked up and found you standing in front of him. "You found it." You nodded at the yellow journal. He looked down at it and then held it out for you to take. You did, very carefully before hugging it against your chest. "I thought it was gone for good," John noticed the tears in your eyes.

"I'd help you hunt it down- even if it meant walking the entire earth." He whispered, his own eyes welling up. "I know how much it means to you."

You sat down on the swing beside him, still clutching your journal next to your heart. "Did you read it?" You asked, eyes flashing with bolts of worry and fear- yet still slightly foggy from the tears that had welled up in them.

John opened his mouth and shut it again. He was going to say no but he couldn't lie- not to you. "I did."

You looked to your feet and bit the inside of your cheek. Your heart could put Roger playing his bass drum to shame at the moment it was thumping so hard. "And?" You wanted to know what he thought. His face wasn't giving anything away. "What did you think?" You quietly asked.

John let out a long sigh, it was only then that he realised that he had been holding in a breath. "You're a good writer, Y/N. The person you call," he had to bite down on his tongue and swallow hard "'HIM'...is a lucky guy."

"I'm lucky to have him in my life." You looked at him grinning. He looked sad, disappointed...jealous?

"Who is he?" John almost spat out "Do I know him?"

You furrowed your eyebrow intently "You...you didn't read the last page, did you?" John shook his head, a confused look flickered across his face. You opened the journal and turned to the very last page. "It's called 'John'." You didn't see his eyes shoot open or his jaw drop ever so slightly.

"John-

I'm not sure what I could write that will possibly do him any justice, but I'll try. John. John Richard Deacon. I think the best day to ever exist is the 19th of August 1951. He was born that day. I thank his parents every day for blessing this earth, and me, with him. He wraps gifts he gets me in yellow because he knows how much I love it.'"

You stopped yourself before reading the next line. He had already seen too much of your journal not to hear it. "'But I love him even more.'" You finally admitted and he went wide-eyed finally hearing your voice say those words.

"'He wore yellow trousers once- I secretly hoped he did that for me. Even if he didn't, he perfectly suited them. He's always so kind. He's always so thoughtful. He once took care of me when I was ill. I told him to stay back incase he became unwell but he didn't listen. He's so selfless. I love him. I always have. Even in my past lives, I'm sure. I love him.'" You spoke the last words in a whisper before softly shutting over the bright yellow journal and reaching across to hold his hand that was on the chain of the swing- he had stopped swinging a while ago. "You're 'HIM'."

A tear slipped down his cheek and his face lit up when he happily smiled. "I did wear those trousers for you," he let out a watery chuckle before standing up. You did the same but he pushed down on your shoulder slightly, making you sit on the swing again. "I love you too. So much. God, it killed me thinking that you were writing about someone else." He wiped away the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand.

You reached your hand up and helped him wipe away his tears of joy. "Why would I write about someone else? It's you, John. Always." He leaned down and finally- after years of practicing on his hand and imagining it was you- kissed you.

He pulled back after a few minutes, both your lips tingling from feeling one another's for the first, of hopefully many, times. "Do you have a pen?" He asked. You nodded and took it out of your handbag. "Can I?" He silently motioned to the notebook and you handed it to him. He flicked to a page near the end and scribbled something before handing you back your yellow journal. He kissed you again with a grin "Hold on tight."

He went behind you and began pushing you on the swing. You opened the book to the page he wrote in.

'His heart-

Sadly not mine. Belongs to HER. Forever.'

———————–————

Tags- (Tag list is open! Just let me know if you want to be tagged or not or if I've forgotten to tag you!)

@rrrogah-tayluhh @rogerofmylife @phantom-fangirl-stuff @pyrotechnic789 @deacytits @mercurys-bike @happy-at-home @mhftrs @dannydelay @queenismylifenow @whitequeen-blackqueen @stateofloveandvedder @blondyfel @mespetitestortues @trickster-may @xtrashmammalstefx @the-garnet-rain @makapaka11 @killerqueenbucky @hodgepodge-of-rog @fredthelegend @killerqueen-gunpowdergelatine @bowiequeen @princessleiaqueen @asgardpapi @mizzallfandomz @fangirlofeverythingme

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aclamclriver · 6 years ago

Text

let me call you sweetheart

summary: arthur paterson is nephew to one of new york’s most ruthless crime bosses, no matter how miserable it might be. running illegal alcohol through a town that is on the brink of prohibition, paterson is interested in only poetry and solitude, until he meets the charming daughter of new york’s upper class. tagged: @ochacaka, @oh-adam, @moonlightsolo, @killakylo, @say-my-name-assbut notes: you know how sometimes you make a post that is 98% thirst 2% history and you end up getting carried away and you go ahead and plot out twenty one chapters because you have no control over your life? this is one of those times.

tommy scout tells him one day, chewing on a toothpick with his usual nonchalant grace, that there’s no way in hell they’ll ever ban booze in new york.

“it’s too much money,” tommy said, kicking his heel against the barrel that lies in half-ruined waste by his foot. he’s an idle boy hardly a man, though he has half a foot on paterson, and the beginnings of a fine mustache that’ll be the envy of every man in the bar. paterson likes to think tommy comes and goes as he pleases, drawn to the hubbub and chaos of new york because it presents something to see; otherwise, what else could he be doing? he’d fit better in the south, where the drawls run thick like molasses on words that slur into the next, and tom sawyer paints a fence with a lazy idea in mind.

paterson doesn’t fit in anywhere, he supposes. he’s 26 and he still has too many boyish features: ears lopsided and prominent, practically made to be pulled and snatched at whenever someone wants his attention. he’s tall limbs and gangly appearance, not quite at home in his own body, built for tripping over and kicking over and generally making a mess when one is hoping for quiet. he imagines himself as some kind of tragic background character in his own poems, the one he scrawls on scraps of paper he can snatch away whenever the opportunity presents itself; not a hero, and certainly not a villain, but doomed to observe and see and never find himself within.

“those old loons have got the wrong idea,” tommy remarked, and paterson pulled his attention away from the barrel to follow tommy’s gaze, falling on the women holding up signs and calling up all sorts of questionable decrees he couldn’t care less about outside the magistrate’s office. “they wanna ban the booze, they’re just gonna make it harder to find husbands. half of ‘em will only get married if their man has his goggles on.”

paterson didn’t answer, but tommy never seeks one from him, anyways; he seems utterly at ease in quiet, and more often that not, laughs at his own jokes harder than anyone else. he is a caricature of comedy, a mimicry of the jest, and paterson thinks that one day, tommy will have turned out to be some kind of imp that wanders from town to town, no goal in mind but to keep himself vaguely entertained, and no one will at all be surprised.

“they’ve been protesting nonstop,” paterson commented, and tommy shrugged, a half-hearted gesture that shows nothing but disinterest in the whole affair.

“governor makes too much money from the drinkers to throw ‘em out. hell, governor drinks himself quiet every evening. not to mention the mayor and all the judges.” he snorted, pulling his toothpick from his mouth and flicking it into the busy street; paterson watched as it disappeared under the rickety tires of one of the new automobiles careening by. “these birds think the drink is to blame for everything. most be the most boring households in the city! even the puritans had a sense of humour.”

paterson said nothing. under his arm, in crates stacked two by three, were bottles and bottles of wine and rum that were stamped from halfway around the world, touring through europe on the back of an assassination that took them all by surprise. they’re earmarked for the mayor himself, and he paid an arm and a leg to get them, right around the same time that he let one of the drys come in and make a stirring speech about the morality of the drink and how the world would be better off without it.

uncle dean was real chuffed to get the order, but uncle dean was in one of those strange moods where the wind could blow him one direction or another. some days, he was happy to throw his arm around paterson’s shoulder, and offer him friendly advice about life, and love, and all the rest of the business; other days, paterson was ducking under that same arm, moving faster than his limbs allowed to get him out of the way of whatever uncle dean happened to be hurling. there was no real middle ground with dean, and there was certainly no pleasing him with bad news paterson had learned to keep his mouth shut when the times were bad, and keep it shut when things perked up.

they’d been doing this a lot, lately grabbing goods from the docks late at night, when the guard was persuaded to look the other way, and selling it for a profit out the back, so to speak. alcohol might not be prohibited, but new york was tense, real tense: just the other week, the dryers had managed to get a bar shut down on serving german beer, and there was a lot of talk about europe, europe this and that, europe and the duke who was killed, and the duke and his country, and where that all fit into the greater picture. no one had any real clue what was going on, but it seemed like germany was on the wrong side of it, and austria-hungary, and suddenly things from overseas was very expensive, and worth more than paterson could imagine earning in his life.

“more than those damn scribbles could earn you,” uncle dean was sure to remind him, and paterson had simply pretended that it was a good point, and he wasn’t working on a poem at that moment, anyways.

he was always working on a poem. he had been writing since before he could remember, watching the world and turning it into prose through eyes that always saw more than he let on. it was difficult to write when his uncle was always pressing him to run errands, and it was difficult to run errands because uncle dean was mixed up with crowds that veered towards the unsavoury. paterson was a good kid, and he had looked it; no one took notice of him now, because how could anyone imagine arthur paterson smuggling booze and goods around in his little beat-up cart, with his scruffed hat and his dozens of little papers that always seemed to have something scratched across?

he was thinking of that now, crossing the lane across central to bring a new shipment in that uncle dean had said was more than his head’s worth, and he better not forget it. he had a good idea of what was inside, but hadn’t really bothered to take a good look the less he knew, the better. his head was stuck on his latest verse, stuck on trying to get it to work; all the words fit right, but he had nothing behind it, no spark, no jolt. no muse, really. and he was still pondering that when someone in front of him gave a loud cry, and paterson realized he had been about to hit someone who had accidentally crossed in front of his rickety auto.

he swerved, hard, nearly upending the whole thing as he sought to avoid hitting what was evidently a woman in a blue jacket and dress; he didn’t see much more, as his wheel hit the curb and gave a tremendous screech of annoyance, causing passerby to jump out of the way, or snicker openly at the whole affair. there were a few honks behind him as other cars witnessed the mess, but other than nearly jolting himself out of his seat, the damage didn’t seem too bad.

shit. the booze.

he leapt from his seat, ignoring the door entirely, and as he did, he realized the dame was still in front of the car, probably frozen in shock. despite his worry over the cargo in the trunk, he couldn’t just leave her there to come to her senses what if he had grazed her, or she had twisted an ankle, or something? better to make sure she was okay. so he turned, opened his mouth, and ... found himself speechless.

you hadn’t meant to cross the street just then you had gotten distracted by something, found yourself a little too close to the road, and only realized your predicament when a car came barreling down at you. luckily your mouth knew better than to freeze like the rest of you had, and you had let out an unladylike shriek as you came close to being flattened like a pancake on easter sunday. you had just caught your breath when paterson came out to check on you, and something about the way you looked your hair in the sunlight, maybe, or how the blue of your dress showed off the high colour in your cheeks seized his attention and choked all the words right out of him.

“oh, my goodness!” you had said, highly distressed, flapping your arms in hopeless anxiety. “are you alright? i didn’t mean to step in front of you, it was an accident and i and your car! i am so sorry, is it very damaged? does it need any repairs? are you alright?”

you asked that all in one breath, your eyes blinking up at him from thick lashes that swept out like a brush of ashes on the hearth, and paterson had opened his mouth to answer and closed it again when none of his words would surface.

“are you alright?” he managed to ask, only after you had started to inquire at a higher pitch about needing to see a doctor; you stopped mid-sentence to look at him in puzzlement.

“i ... oh, yes, of course, you didn’t even hit me. but are you alright? you hit the curb awfully hard!”

“it’s fine,” paterson said, having not once looked at the car. “i’m fine. it’s fine. you sure you’re not hurt, miss ...?”

“[y/n],” you said, and you had smiled up at him in such dazzling relief that paterson was immediately struck with the desire to repeat the entire process all over again, just to see you smile once more. “and you are mr ...?”

“m’name is arthur, but all my friends call me paterson,” he replied, and he was intimately aware of how silly he sounded, how stretched out and inelegant he looked compared to your beauty with a lose twist of hair bobbing on your neck, and a flush high in your cheeks, and a pretty white brooch on your chest, accentuating the line of your throat and the curve of your chin.

“well, i am very sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances, mr paterson,” you said, and the way your tongue rolled his name like a sweet had his knees shaking. “are you very sure the car isn’t damaged?”

“absolutely,” paterson answered, quite firmly, and he leaned one arm down on the door, as if to prove a point; it gave an ominous shake underhand. “uh, but if you need a ride anywhere ... you know, to apologize for having almost run you down ...”

“it was all my own fault,” you declared, and you shook your head firmly on the point. “and i am meeting a friend just across the street, but thank you very much for the offer. mr paterson, if you do find that the car has been damaged, please, please give me a call and i will pay for the damages immediately. i’m just ” you rummaged in your purse for a moment, and emerged with a thick white card, printed with fine black lettering. “my father, mr. sullivan, will pass along your message. you can find us at this address. please, mr paterson, if there’s any damage at all, it really is my fault, and if you find there were any injuries!” you pressed the card into his hand, the fabric of your glove brushing along his skin like an electric shock.

he had been struck dumb, only able to offer a garbled “thank you,” before you had smiled that dazzling smile again, and darted back across the street, making sure to glance both ways before you made the crossing. he watched after you for several minutes, until you had disappeared from sight, and then his gaze fell to the card you had closed in his hands.

fifth avenue, beamed up at him in that elegant script, barrister and business. underneath was the name you had mentioned, and an address that paterson knew spoke more money and manners than he had hairs on his head.

but god, he thought, slumping against the rickety old jalopy that was still parked up on the curb, much to the annoyance of passerby. but god, oh god, that smile. if your smile was an arrow, that he had been struck to the quick, and was bleeding out in the most wondrous agony.

that poem he had been irritated with was already forgotten, replaced with one that emulated your eyes to starlight. paterson smiled, clasping your card to his heart.

#paterson #paterson x reader #won't you call me sweetheart #HELLO IT IS I #i couldn't get that fucki gn post out of my head so i went and wrote this and honestly ???#i'm dying folks #i was gonna make this a series but when i plotted it out i had TWENTY ONE CHAPTERS #and knowing that i write chapters like ten pages thick idk if people want that #but here we go historic paterson #PERIOD CLOTHES WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME ON THIS MAN

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crykea · 6 years ago

Note

Jack Danny Button fluff?? (Or anything with them I just love them)

i owe u my life thank u

heres a story under the cut (also posted on ao3) this is very unedited and very written in one sitting and its very 3am so its probablyy/. weird but thats ok

The first time Ms.Georges’s first period mathematics class met her nice baker friend, it was memorable. Halfway through class, as Ms.Georges was lecturing her students about the difference between sine and cosine, brow furrowed– a short man swept into the classroom, set a small blue box down in front of her, stole a red pen from where it was tucked into her bun, and promptly swept back out of the room. The entire class, including Ms. Georges, was silent for a few moments before the teacher cleared her throat. The students watched their constantly-irritated math teacher rub a blush from her cheeks with a frustrated twitch of her eyebrows. With a level of care that those at the school rarely saw, she picked up the box and gently placed it under her counter before going back to teaching her class as if nothing had happened.

–

The first time Dr. Lee’s 9:00 AM Survey of English Literature class met their professor’s weird baker friend was also very memorable. It was commonly thought throughout the class that 9 in the morning was far too early to be discussing how super horny John Donne was, but there they were. Doing that. There was currently a bet going on between a few of the students who had read ahead and seem some of Donne’s poems that they had yet to study over which of the poems if any would get Any kind of reaction out of their professor besides his usual too-energetic-for-this-early-in-the-morning outlook, but they had yet to come up with any results. As per usual, Lee began the class’s discussion by reading the text aloud to them, today’s poem, another of Donne’s, was titled ‘A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning’ which didn’t seem quite as lascivious as some of the other’s they’d read previously, but they were likely going to be proven wrong once the discussion began. Suddenly, six stanzas in, a light, smiling voice joined Lee’s from the doorway.

There stood a short man, with long light hair piled on top of his head and held in place be a bright red pen. The students turned to stare at the newcomer, who they realized was holding a pale blue box, as he continued reciting the poem from where their professor had trailed off, all while grinning. After he’d recited the remaining three stanzas, he gracefully made his way over to the professor’s desk, plopped the box on top of a pile of papers, and kissed Dr. Lee on the cheek. Before leaving, he tugged the red pen out of his pale hair and tossed it at the professor who fumbled it lamely and dropped it on the ground. For the following fifteen minutes of class time, Dr. Lee kept glancing dreamily at the box on his desk and smiling goofily. A couple students in the back of the class exchanged five dollar bills when The Mystery Man started quoting the poem, as they had all seen their professor cover his face, flustered and damn it that counted as a reaction to the poem.

–

The next time Ms. Georges’s first-period mathematics class met the baker, he was sitting behind their teacher’s desk when they walked in in the morning. Ms. Georges was scrawling the formulas they had learned last class onto the whiteboard and holding a pastry in her right hand. It had been a while since they’d seen him and by that point, they had started their unit on conversions. Ms. Georges was a good teacher, but some of the students had to admit that she was kind of scary and it was often hard to go to her with questions about the homework. After finding this out, she had added a class to their schedule that was meant entirely for asking questions and receiving help in an attempt to make sure all of the students had a fair shot at the exams and assignments.

She began class as soon as the bell rang, never once acknowledging the man sitting at her desk. He looked bored, sitting at her desk reading what looked like a textbook from the bookshelf behind their teacher’s desk. Ms. Georges looked slightly less stern and walked through the class helping students one on one and answering any questions that her class might have. At one point, she stood up and turned to face the man at her desk for the first time that morning, and rubbed her fists together in a circle, one on top of the other. The man nodded back and smiled before tucking back into the textbook that he was reading. The students watched Ms.Georges leave, telling the class that she would be back in five or so minutes and that if they had any questions, they could ask “Mr. Gilbert” who was sitting at her desk. The man rolled his eyes at her and made a gesture with his hand, starting open at his temple and then moving away from him as his fingers closed.

A couple of minutes past in silence until one of the students at the front of the class got up and walked nervously over to the desk.

“Uh, I don’t know if Ms. Georges was being serious? But I actually do have a question that I forgot to ask her when she was helping me and I don’t want to have to take time away from anyone else to get an answer…” She trailed off, nervously.

“Honestly, I think she was kidding about asking me for help” The student’s shoulders sagged and he hurriedly continued, “But you guys are learning conversions right? That’s actually some of the only math I’m actually good at so you’re in luck! Why don’t you pull up a chair.” He smiled at her. His voice was quieter than they had expected with how confident he seemed the last time they saw him, “Actually let’s see if anyone else has the same question first so we can kill two birds with one math equation, how ‘bout that….”

When Ms. Georges came back to the classroom five minutes later holding two mugs of coffee, there were four of her students sitting around her desk being taught the tricks to convert between the imperial and metric systems. In rare form, the usually-frowning teacher smiled gently at the scene for a moment before relinquishing one of the mugs and going back to making her way through the rows of tables.

–

The second time the mysterious man shows up in Dr. Lee’s 9:00 AM class, he’s actually there before Dr. Lee even arrives. It’s a well-known fact that their professor is always at least five minutes later to every one of the classes he teaches, so it’s weird to enter the class and find someone standing at the chalkboard writing something. They’ve long since moved on from John Donne and have begun their unit on The Epic. They know it’s the man from before who seemed to seduce their professor by reciting poetry at him, but he didn’t once turn away from the chalkboard where he seemed to be copying down notes about Beowulf from a paper covered in their professor’s writing. Around ten minutes after everyone had settled down to jot notes confusedly, or continue quietly talking with their neighbours, the door slammed open, startling everyone including the man at the front of the class who threw the paper and then stared at Dr. Lee sheepishly. Dr. Lee for his part looked wild-eyed and far more disheveled than usual, which says something because he was not often one to be seen with even a hair out of place.

“Sorry, class!” He panted as he stalked to the front of the class, “I accidentally slept in because someone turned my alarm off, Daniel.” The last bit of the sentence was directed at the man, whose sheepish smile had grown into a playful grin. He snickered and moved his fist in a circle in front of his chest. Dr. Lee sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before leaning over and pressing a kiss into the smaller man’s hair, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go to work, love. Thank you for writing out my notes for me.”

One of the students near the front of the class slipped a two dollar coin across to the person sitting beside them, who smirked at them and pocketed the change quietly.

–

The first time Ms. Georges’s class met her special professor friend, she had to leave class early. One of the science teachers ended up having to watch the worried students for the remaining fifteen minutes of class. It was a test period so it didn’t really matter who was supervising as long as someone was there, and the period was already almost over anyway.

Near the end of class, there was a sharp knock on the door, which Ms. Georges got up to answer, setting her red pen and her marking aside. At the door, a tall man in a rumpled suit stood, looking worried. Ms. Georges looked back at her class before stepping into the hall with the man, leaving the door cracked open. Through the crack in the door, the students could barely pick up on a hushed conversation between the two of them.

“Button, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I may as well have. Danny’s father is in town and I didn’t know until I got a call from Joanna telling me that they’ve had to close the shop for the day and that we should probably head back home as soon as we can, Jack.”

The students heard their teacher swear before she ushered the man into the classroom.

“Sorry for the interruption, class. This is Dr. Lee. He’s going to watch you for a moment. Play nice. Now get back to work.”

Ms. Georges and the man left shortly after when a science teacher arrived to take over supervising.

–

The first time Dr. Lee’s 9 AM class met the red-headed high school teacher, she wasn’t alone. There had been a few days where Dr. Lee had called in a substitute, but three classes later, he was back with two people in tow. Surprisingly, he was actually on time for the class which possibly could be attributed to the man and woman who were nearly dragging him through the door. The man, Daniel?, had walked the woman directly over to Dr. Lee’s desk as soon as they had all entered the room and proceeded to sit her down so that he could sit in her lap. Their professor smiled warmly at the duo and began the lecture.

They had graduated onto starting on some of Alexander Pope’s work, which their professor, as per usual, began to read out specific passages from. The pair at the desk seemed to be reading along from Dr.Lee’s copy of the textbook, so he was fruitlessly trying to recite from memory.

“Ah, ah,” The woman interrupted flatly, “Go back. You skipped at least three lines about the salamanders.”

Their professor looked at her helplessly, “You know, it would be easier if you two would just give me my book?”

“Wasn’t this the story you were quoting yesterday? I thought you had it memorized.” She said without looking up from the textbook. From behind the desk, Daniel shrugged apologetically at the students who were watching this unfold, not very upset that they were taking a break from listening to Alexander Pope’s writing.

“It’s a poem, Jacqueline dear. Give me my book I need to teach my class.” The woman, Jacqueline, rolled her eyes playfully and handed the book over, “Thank you now don’t distract me. I’ve already been away for the past few classes.” He apologized to the class before continuing to recite his passages.

Once he was finished and everyone had split up to discuss the readings with their groups, Dr. Lee leaned down to face the two visitors to chat. The group populating the front row of desks could catch snippets of a conversation between Jacqueline and Dr. Lee. Something about deciding which of the three was going to make dinner that night. Something about a family-run bakery that was located around the block, near the high school.

A pair at the side of the room exchanged a couple coins.

#asks #annieisyourfavourite #my writing #danny tag #jack tag #button tag #the uni students bet abt stupid shitto get them through the morning class #the high school kids arent rowdy enough but gimme a breaks its 3am

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