#words that are not in my coworkers vocabularies
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Beneath the cold, he found you.
The biggest and richest CEO in Seoul. Widely known for his cold demeanor., but the ice starts to melt when he meets a ray of sunshine like you..
(ěŹěĽ) ° ceo!jay x afab!r WC:3287 | smut, suggestive| Cautions: Unprotected sex(Don't do it girly), Fingering, Pet names.
(ě ě ë
¸í¸) ° The ending was rushed don't come for me <-
"Fuck Princess, I can get into so much trouble"
You could feel the weight of your new role pressing down on you as you stepped into the towering skyscraper of Park Industries. The air in the lobby was as cold as the sleek marble floors, and the employees rushing by moved with military precision. This was a far cry from your last jobâa small, cozy firm where your coworkers baked cookies for the office on Fridays.
But you werenât going to let the intimidating atmosphere get to you. You adjusted your blazer, squared your shoulders, and plastered on your brightest smile.
"Fake it 'til you make it," you murmured under your breath.
The elevator ride to the executive floor felt like an eternity. The moment the doors slid open, you were ushered into a boardroom where a man sat at the head of the table. Jong-Seong Park, the CEO.
Youâd read plenty about him during your onboarding. The prodigy who had taken the company to new heights. Ruthless, efficient, and brilliant, they called him. But none of the photos or articles had prepared you for the reality of him.
His sharp jawline, neatly combed dark hair, and piercing eyes were the stuff of magazine covers, but his expression? Pure frost.
âYouâre late,â he said, his tone clipped and disinterested, barely glancing up from his laptop.
You checked your watch instinctively, even though you knew you were ten minutes early. âIâuhâactually, Iâm notââ
He didnât let you finish. âBeing on time means being ready before you step into the room. If this is the level of professionalism you plan to bring, I suggest you rethink your place here.â
Your stomach sank, but you forced your smile to stay in place. âThank you for the feedback, Mr. Park. Iâll make sure to be... earlier next time.â
That made him look up. For a brief moment, his cold eyes met yours, and you swore you saw a flicker of surpriseâmaybe even amusementâbefore his face turned back to stone.
âGo on nowâ he said, his voice a blade that cut through the air.
You left the boardroom with your head held high, even as you replayed his words in your mind. This wasnât going to be easy, but you were determined. Youâd worked too hard to get here.
By the time you reached your assigned office, a small but modern space tucked into a corner of the floor, you had already formed a plan. You werenât going to let Mr. Parkâor anyone elseâdiminish your confidence.
Sitting down at your desk, you opened your laptop and began familiarizing yourself with the projects youâd be tackling. The more you read, the more your nerves settled. This was your territoryâhard work, strategy, and resilience.
Hours flew by, and soon the sun began setting, casting a golden glow over the skyscrapers outside your window. You were so absorbed in your work that you didnât notice someone standing at your door until they cleared their throat.
Looking up, you were surprised to see Mr. Park himself. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
âYouâre still here,â he said, his tone devoid of the icy edge it held earlier.
âI figured Iâd get a head start,â you replied, keeping your tone light but professional. âThereâs a lot to catch up on.â
His eyes flicked to your desk, where neatly organized folders and notes displayed your progress. He nodded slightly, a movement so subtle you almost missed it.
âGood,â he said. âWe donât have room for mediocrity here.â
âDonât worry, Mr. Park,â you replied with a faint smile. âMediocrity isnât in my vocabulary.â
For a second, his lips quirked, almost forming a smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. âKeep it that way,â he said, turning to leave.
But before he walked away, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. âNext time, you might want to take a break. Burnout doesnât help anyone.â
You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected advice. âIâll keep that in mind,â you said softly.
After that you went home for the night, packing your stuff and organizing. You were happy that your first day went okay, but still puzzled about Mr. Park.
The next morning, you woke up determined to make an impressionânot just through your work, but also through your presence. You decided to ditch the overly modest attire and opted for something that showcased your confidence. Your outfit was sharp, professional, yet undeniably alluring: a fitted blouse that hinted at your curves and a pencil skirt that hugged you in all the right places. It wasnât over the top, but it was enough to make anyone take notice.
When you walked into the office, heads turned. And so did Mr. Parkâs.
He was in the middle of a conversation with a colleague, but as you strode past, his gaze flickered to youâand lingered. His usually stoic expression faltered for a moment, his jaw tightening as he forced his eyes back to his conversation partner. You pretended not to notice, greeting everyone with a polite nod and a soft smile as you made your way to your desk.
The day started smoothly, but it didnât take long for Mr. Park to assert his presence. By mid-morning, he called you into his office. His tone was clipped, colder than it had been the day before.
âI need you to take over the client presentation for Friday,â he said without preamble, sliding a thick folder across his desk. âAnd I expect the marketing strategy outline revised by the end of the day. The current draft is unacceptable.â
You blinked, barely hiding your surprise. âBoth by today?â
âIs there a problem?â he asked, raising a brow. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his posture you hadnât seen before.
âNo, Mr. Park,â you replied, keeping your tone steady. âIâll handle it.â
âGood,â he said curtly. âYouâre dismissed.â
The rest of the day was grueling. Between preparing for the presentation and reworking the marketing strategy, you barely had time to breathe. And yet, every time you glanced up, you caught Mr. Park stealing quick glances at you from across the office. His eyes betrayed a flicker of somethingâfrustration, intrigue, or maybe bothâbut he never let it linger long enough for you to confront him.
By the time you finished your tasks and dropped the completed files on his desk, it was nearly 9 PM. Mr. Park was still in his office, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened. He looked up as you entered, his expression softening just a fraction.
âHere are the revisions and the presentation outline,â you said, your voice firm despite your exhaustion. âLet me know if thereâs anything else.â
He took the files without a word, flipping through them quickly. When he finally looked up, there was something unreadable in his eyes.
âYouâve done well,â he admitted grudgingly. But then his voice dropped, softer, almost hesitant. âI wasnât trying to punish you.â
You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. âThen what were you trying to do?â
For a moment, he seemed at a loss. His hand moved to rub the back of his neck, a rare crack in his composed demeanor. âYouâŚdistract people,â he said finally, his voice low and measured. âIncluding me. And thatâs a problem.â
Your lips curved into a faint smile. âIâll take that as a compliment.â
He sighed, his usual coolness returning. âGet some rest. And try not to make a habit of turning the office into a runway.â
As you turned to leave, you couldnât help but glance back at him. His eyes were on you again, and this time, he didnât look away. Something told you this dynamic was far from over.
You arrived at the office feeling the weight of Mr. Parkâs words. His subtle warning from the night before had stayed with you, yet you couldn't ignore the flicker of intrigue that had passed between you two. You kept your outfit professional again, but the faintest touch of allure lingered in your styleâjust enough to keep his gaze wandering.
The day went by in a blur, with meetings, deadlines, and the constant undercurrent of Mr. Parkâs presence looming in the background. By the time the clock struck 6 PM, most of the office had started packing up for the night. Thatâs when your phone rang.
âMiss Y/L/N, my office,â his voice crackled through the receiver, clipped yet calm.
You sighed, gathering your notebook and heading to his office. His door was slightly ajar, and you could see him seated at his desk, reviewing some documents. He looked every bit the composed executiveâexcept for the faint furrow in his brow and the loosened tie around his neck.
âYou called for me?â you asked, stepping inside.
He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. âClose the door.â
You obeyed, your pulse quickening.
âI wanted to go over your revisions in more detail,â he said, his tone businesslike, though there was a sharpness in his gaze that told you there was more to this meeting than work. âSit.â
You took a seat, your notebook poised on your lap. He flipped through the folder youâd delivered the night before, his eyes scanning the pages.
âThese revisions are thorough,â he said after a long pause. âBetter than I expected. But I need to understand how you approach this level of detail. Talk me through it.â
It wasnât an unusual request, but the intensity with which he watched you unnerved you. As you began explaining your process, his eyes never left yours.
When you finished, he leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. âYouâre impressive, Miss Y/N. More than I anticipated when I hired you.â
âThank you,â you replied cautiously.
âBut,â he continued, his voice dropping, âyou also complicate things.â
You blinked, unsure how to respond.
He stood and moved to the front of the desk, leaning against it. âYouâre talented. Dedicated. And you know how to command attention, whether you intend to or not.â
âI thought you valued that in an employee,â you said, your tone light but probing.
His lips curved into a faint, almost reluctant smile. âI do. But itâs distracting. For me.â
The admission hung in the air, thick and heavy.
âI donât mean to distract you, Mr. Park,â you said, standing to meet his gaze head-on.
âDonât you?â he countered, his voice low, almost teasing.
The tension crackled between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, he straightened, his professional demeanor slipping back into place like a mask.
âI need you to stay late tonight,â he said, turning back to his desk. âThereâs a project I need your input on. Something confidential.â
Your breath caught. âConfidential?â
He looked at you, his gaze steady. âYes. I trust youâll handle it discreetly.â
âOf course,â you said, though your heart was pounding.
~
The office was eerily quiet as the hours dragged on. You and Mr. Park worked side by side in his office, reviewing documents and brainstorming strategies. But the tension between you was impossible to ignore.
Around 10 PM, he closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair, watching you as you finished typing a few notes.
âYouâve been working hard,â he said, his voice softer now.
âSo have you,â you replied, glancing at him.
He smirked faintly. âThatâs different. Iâm the boss. Itâs expected.â
You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. âAnd what about me? Whatâs expected of me?â
He stood, walking around the desk until he was standing next to your chair. His presence was overwhelming, but you refused to look away.
"Excellence,â he said softly. âAnd professionalism. Though you seem to excel at both⌠along with making things more complicated than they should be.â
âIs that so?â you asked, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.
He didnât answer immediately. Instead, his hand brushed against the back of your chair, the faintest hint of hesitation in his movements.
âYouâre playing a dangerous game, Miss Y/N,â he murmured. âDo you know that?â
You looked up at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. âMaybe. But I think you are too, Mr. Park.â
For a moment, the air between you seemed to still. Then, his hand moved to cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.
âThis stays between us,â he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Agreed,â you replied.
And with that, he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was equal parts hesitant and demandingâa release of all the tension that had been building between you since the moment you walked into his office.
His kiss gets hungrier as it goes on, his hand slides down your curves feeling every part. He then slams you down on his desk. He pulls away from the kiss a sting of saliva connecting.
"Fuck Princess, I can get into so much trouble"
"I love taking risks Mr. Park"
"Darling, Call me Jay."
His hand wraps around your neck possessively, your hands land on his hips as he grinds against you. He groans. A sound you thought you never hear.
His hand goes under your skirt,teasing your folds through your panties. Jay pulls down your skirt for more access. He pulls down your underwear to your ankles. His hand teasing your folds.
"Fuck. Your pretty little cunt already so wet."
You flinch at his touch, without warning he slides 2 fingers in. Pumping it in and out. His hands still on your neck as he fingers you.
"Beg me to let you come princess"
"Please.. Jay-let me come.."
Jay grins. Curving his fingers in the right spot. Moans film the room. His fingers are fully disappearing in you. He hits the spot. Making you moan into his lips as he kisses you.
"Jay.. I need it badly"
"Need what sweetheart? Use your words." He says coldly.
"Your cock.."
Jay laughs. He sits you up to face him.
"Such a needy little thing.." He turns you around your ass facing him.
He positions his fingers around your neck again. Undoing his belt. He replaced his fingers with the belt. Choking you. He must get off torturing you, because his grin gets wider and wider.
He unzips his pants, his boxers peeking through. Finally he pulls down his boxers. He wastes no time, he slides his cock in you. Making you moan, your eyes close shut, saliva dripping.
He slams into you, not giving any fucks.
"Fuck darling, I'm close."
Jays eyes glue shut. His pace stops. He fills you up. Everything was a blur after that.You think Jay's cock knocked you out.
You wake up in your bed at home, in your nightwear. You grab your phone noticing a messages from Mr.Park.
"You did great baby, let's do it again some time."
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at my new job, half of my coworkers think im a cis man, and half think im a cis woman. i do not see this ending well. idk what will go wrong, but it will.
#genderfluid#nonbinary#words that are not in my coworkers vocabularies#i even got a he/they pronoun pin#but either they donât see it#or they donât understand it#or they donât care#but one of my supervisors called me buddy in a dude way the other day so that was nice#and one guy i spoke to went ohhhhh youâre a dude when we first spoke#so that was also nice#like ik i canât correct every single customer who calls me#maâam bc that would literally be all I did all day#but Iâd like for at least my coworkers to get my pronouns right#at least no one at this job knows my deadnameđ#me
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tumblr i think im coming home
#hi again. Again#ive been so offline this year that i no longer understand the words my coworkers are saying#me attempting to update my vocabulary. i guess#missed u guysâŚ..hi#barbi.txt
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ngl I wanna make a lil clown mascot for myself. just a lil one for fun.
#the word and clown emoji has somehow wormed itself into my daily vocabulary#i have the emoji set as my name in my work groupchat on whatsapp#everything is twice as funny when any of my coworkers or managers @ me and you just see the đ¤Ą#idk i just like the word its very fun to me in a way đ¤Ąâď¸
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More and more I realize that most people do not have an expansive vocabulary
Some of y'all didn't pay attention in English class and it shows
#this of course refers to native english speakers#but its baffling to me#I read sometimes. I write. I read the dictionary because I had nothing better to do as a âgroundedâ teenager#I play video games that teach me new words all the time#you're telling me that most people don't even know what the fuck the word demure actually means#my coworkers look at me like I'm speaking Greek sometimes#I'm just. how do so many people not have a vocabulary#naomi's ramblings#ignore me
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I feel the need to reblog this old post- which I still think is useful and I stand by the original body of; though Iâve made a few edits to more accurately reflect my now greater knowledge of real world linguistic history- because itâs going around again lately with some additions.
Some of which I do not strictly align with in my own thoughts on the Matter of Thorn and some of which are⌠pure misinformation, I canât put it another way. So I just want to clarify.
I think itâs important to remember as I go forward, though, that Quenya is a fictional language and the phase out of the Thorn we see in English is NOTHING like what happens in Tolkienâs works. Itâs all made up. Itâs fine, weâre all fine, okay?
Mostly, I just have two things to say:
1) I donât think there is, frankly ever, a right or wrong way for native speakers of a language to speak that language. No one was in the wrong here.
Whether the Noldor used the Thorn or not, the accents that developed around it literally hold no moral or even linguistic weight. People have different dialects and pronunciations, it happens every day, itâs fine.
To make that point, I almost want to say âno one was speaking with a lisp, okayâ, but it feels rude. Some people probably did speak with a lisp, though that wasnât what caused this linguistic fight, and I donât was to belittle or, honestly âotherâ that way of speaking.
The almost point-and-laugh way âlispingâ is talked about surrounding Quenya as a way to delegitimize either side of this linguistic debate rubs me the wrong way. In the same way people have accents, some people have speech impediments. This is a normal thing, not an argument winner.
2) Indis had literally NO dog in the Thorn fight. Leave her out of it. PLEASE just leave her out of it.
Some key quotes about the whole situation from the Shibboleth:
âThe change [thorn] > S must have therefore have been a conscious and deliberate change agreed to and accepted by a majority of the Noldor, however initiation, after the separation of their dwellings from the Vanyar. It must have occurred after the birth of Miriel, but (probably) before the birth of Feanor.â
By the word of god, Miriel was probably still alive when this debate started and Indis was far away. Even when she did marry Finwe and lived among the Noldor-
âIndis was a Vanya, and it might be thought that she would in this point at least have please Feanor, since the Vanyar adhered to [thorn]. Nonetheless, Indis adopted S. Not as Feanor believed in rejection of Miriel, but in loyalty to Finwe.â
As a note, just as Iâm not interested in hating Indis, Iâm not interested in hating Finwe either. That being said, so we have full context here:
âFor after the rejection of his prayers by Miriel, Finwe accepted the change (which had by not become almost universal among his people), although in deference to Miriel he had adhered to [thorn] while she lived. Therefore Indis said: âI have joined the people of the Noldor, and I will speak as they do.ââ
Okay? TLDR: Indisâs natural inclination was to speak as a Vanya, to use the thorn, and she didnât, specifically to please the Noldor. If any âpolitical statementâ was being made, it was by the VAST majority of the population of the Noldor and it started LONG before Indis arrived on the scene, and she just went with the flow. That political statement, should it exist, has NOTHING to do with Miriel as a person, it was just a debate she engaged in at the time and then she and her legacy were unfortunately caught up in it after death.
It was never about Miriel v Indis, it was about (insert any kind of interesting political debate you find interesting). Really, we should go wild with this more. What kind of involved, long standing political movement did this family issue co-opt? Thereâs a lot of room for freedom there! (Iâm going to start headcanoning it as a class struggle).
But while weâre on the subject of âIndisâs lineâ and any âbenefitâ they might receive from this linguistic kerfluffle (none, in my opinion)-
ââŚ[Finarfin] often sought peace among the Teleri, whose language he learned⌠loved the Vanyar (his motherâs people) and the Teleri, and in his house [thorn] was used.â
Finarfin used the Thorn, like his wife, relatives, and in-laws. So did his sons, but-
âIt is clear nonetheless that opposition to Feanor soon became a dominant motive with Galadriel, while her pride did not take the firm wishing to be different from her own people. So while she knew well the history of their tongue and all the reasons of the lore-masters, she certainly used S in her own daily speech.â
The ONLY person stated to be making a political statement with lack of Thorn usage was Galadriel. Hot-headed, prideful, young Galadriel. Fingolfin doesnât even get that mentioned as a motive. Frankly, I believe he didnât have one, Nolofinwe was literally just speaking like all his friends and classmates probably did; like his father did.
The Thorn being used as a heavy political and familial complication during the unrest of the Noldor is fun. I love it. I think itâs such a neat worldbuilding and character building thing for Feanor, as he desperate tries to hold onto his motherâs legacy with his fingernails. Itâs an interesting conflict and I encourage people to explore it.
But letâs be really clear here onwho was on what side here, who was on a âpoliticalâ side at all (frankly: just Galadriel), and who wasnât on ANY side, because they just didnât care (Indis; most characters). There was no mastermind or conspiracy going on.
It was a linguistic shift. They happen. One Indis simply did not care about.
âââ
I originally made this post specifically to try dispel some of the mystery, and, yes, some jokes I didnât find funny, around the Thorn and the âFeanorian Accentâ. I wanted to provide information, so that people could learn- no shame, no insult meant, no harm done or strings attached, just a little guide to help (and, yes, maybe cut down on those lisp jokes).
What I didnât want to do was turn that linguistic ignorance around as a way to insult the âaccent of Indisâs Lineâ (not a real thing).
I just⌠I donât know, friends, what Iâm trying to say here is that no one should be insulted, mocked, hated, have aspersions cast upon, or belittled for the way they speak. This is an interesting inflection point in the Silmarillion but itâs only interesting if you let it be nuanced. Otherwise, itâs just mean.
About the Thorn (Ă, Ăž)
The thorn, as a letter, gets a lot of mention in the Silm Fandom, for obvious reasons. For such a petty linguistic fight in a very grand story, itâs pretty emblematic of Feanor and all his⌠Feanor-ness. Itâs also a subtle, fun way to show loyalties through language!
That being said, I see a lot of people using the Thorn incorrectly, because the Shibboleth doesnât explain it all that well and itâs pretty obscure trivia knowledge at this point. But I have too much trivia. So hereâs a short run down on the Thorn- what it is, and what it isnât-Â for all your general linguistic pettiness needs!
Ăž is a letter. It is pronounced âthâ.Â
It is not an alternative pronunciation for âsâ.
It is an additional letter to the alphabet, an alphabet which would have already contained the letter âsâ.
Historical and Linguistic explanation under the cut.
Keep reading
#in the hell job I worked all of last year#my former coworkers would⌠spend a lot of time mocking the way I spoke#my vocabulary#the sing song way way I say certain words like hello and thank you#the way I stutter sometimes when gathering my thoughts#and yes. my accent.#my only occasionally there very slight southern accent#like guess who got called inbred white trash for that#so if I sound a little upset and wound up- itâs because I am#the way I talk has become something Iâm quite sensitive about-#so while normally Iâd let this slide I just canât right now#no one is talking wrong#thatâs it#thatâs the post#Tribble post#tolkien#the silmarillion#indis
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đđđđ ⎠PEDRI
summary. your boyfriend loves you more than yesterday but less than tomorrow.
warnings. none just pure fluff. iâm so glad my starboy is back.
gabri speaks! listened to iman by maria becerra and itâs so pedri coded. had to write this immediately.
the herd of sweaty players heading through the tunnel to their respective locker rooms was a surreal sight. this was the biggest assignment you had gotten in the three years of you working for a sports journalism column. obviously you knew your boyfriend had a hand in the big step and often received sly remarks from the coworkers you had never gotten along with because of it. luckily for you, you had never been one to undermine yourself or listen to the comments of others.
there was also your boyfriend who would constantly read your pieces out loud and compliment you on your endless knowledge of the sport and plethora of creative words. it was like having your own personal editor. you yearned for the nights before his breaks where the two of you would cozy up in front of the tv revising your works in progress.
âwhy canât you ever write about me like this? actually why canât you write about me period?â he would whine with his flushed cheeks making a special appearance.
âi donât write about you because they only have me covering the scandinavian leagues.â you said matter-of-factly.
âjust tell them youâre dating me.â he would always say.
you never did but with the spanish press it was inevitable that your relationship would see the light of day. your world had flipped instantly and you found yourself on the next flight to germany. it took you a lot of reassuring words to help you understand that you deserved to be there. your boyfriend didnât write your pieces for you, you did, you were the important figure. so, there you stood with a mic patiently waiting for the player youâd be interviewing to show up.
your co-worker had failed to mention who youâd be interviewing which had you scrambling for various questions to ask. you were fortunate to have an extensive vocabulary for different positions so you were sure that no matter who youâd be talking to your manage to make them comfortable. when youâre met with incredibly pink cheeks you realize why your cameraman was so giddy on the walk towards the tunnel. they were making you interview your own boyfriend.
âlive in one!â your cameraman yells loud enough for everyone to hear.
âyouâre such a dick!â you quietly scold pedri whoâs currently smirking at you.
âyou wouldnât have done it if you knew.â he shrugged and you couldnât help but roll your eyes because it was true.
you notice the cameraman counting down from three and quickly regain your composure. itâs fascinating for your boyfriend seeing how well you hide your affection for him. this is the first time heâs ever seen you in action and itâs quite mesmerizing the way the lights make you glow and how well you speak. somehow with all the chaos surrounding you two and the sweat dripping off his forehead youâre more beautiful than ever. it must be because youâre in your element he thinks.
âcroatia has really done a great job of keeping the ball outside their box, do you think you guys will be able to break through?â you move the mic towards him waiting for an answer.
âof course i mean my connection with rodri is just working super for well for us i think weâll be able to advance through the midfield more in the second half. modric will not make it easy but thatâs why weâre here, to stop him.â he pants.
âlamine has been excellent throughout the first half how do you plan on using him to improve the play?â you scramble to say as time is running out.
âwell lamine is excellent with the ball i think heâll able to get us far into their zone. itâs really a team effort. heâs probably ecstatic right now and thatâll definitely help us.â he answers.
âthank you pedri. good luck in the second half.â your words contain honesty and you give him the most sincere smile.
âthank you, hermosa.â he compliments you on live television.
you want nothing more than to slap him but his hands around your hips take you by surprise. his lips are so close to yours and you immediately forget the camera is still rolling. itâs a quick peck but itâs a kiss nothing less. itâs your turn to display your flushed cheeks. in the blink of an eye heâs gone and youâre left alone to deal with the aftermath. you hear your coworkers tease you through your earpiece and the cameraman is currently laughing at you. youâre quick to redirect to the anchors back at headquarters. that night you and pedri make headlines for your performance in the tunnel.
#iker casillas totally did not inspire this#pedri x reader#pedri imagine#pedri fic#football imagine#football fic#gabri writes
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Marshmallows
Simon Ghost Riley x reader
Been writing some about our lovely Captain, but figured it was time to give some love to our favorite skeleton man. A goofy drabble based off an incident with my coworkers at a gathering. Wrote with a female reader in mind, but could be read as either or.
If you had asked the members from TF141 to describe you, the first word that would come to their minds would probably be deadly. Methodical and practical would come next followed by intelligent. The ultimate fuck around and find out package.
Prankster would not even be in their vocabulary when thinking of you because you are so reserved, so quiet. How that was about to change in Simon Riley's book.
After a long, dangerous, and destructive deployment, Price had extended the invitation of a bonfire at his newly purchased hunting cabin that was secluded from the rest of the world. Happy to spend some time with them that wasn't meant to be where you were all on edge, you happily obliged.
For the party you had brought the items to make smore's and hot chocolate. A variety of marshmallows to be used. Big ones for the smore's, little ones for the hot drink.
As everyone gathered around, had a few drinks, and told stories outside of work. Like normal, you had kept quiet. Finally excusing yourself as you went into make yourself a hot mug, grabbing the marshmallows. Totally not suspicious right? Unbeknownst to you however, the tallest and largest one of the group always had an eye watching you. Everywhere you went, either on the battlefield or in this instance right now. He always had the urge to make sure you were ok.
He decided to go in after he could see your shadow stretching on your tippy toes and then crouching down below through the blinds. Quietly, he rolled the sliding glass door open peeking, taking steps to the side as he cleared the room. Leave it to him to use a battle tactic to find out what you were doing. He saw you with your arm up the ice maker on the front of the fridge.
"Wha' on God's green earth are you doin'?" he asked befuddled with such an action.
"Nothin'!" you squealed, turning around quickly, marshmallow falling out in suite hitting the floor. With haste, you kicked it behind you so hopefully he had not seen what it was. It was then that he took large steps, looking behind you and saw the half empty marshmallow bag in your hand. Looking up, he saw marshmallows on the cabinet door handles. Marshmallows on the buck's antlers that Price had shot adorned the wall, even some on his eyes. Marshmallows on the corners of the barstools. Marshmallows galore.
"You 'ave been busy." He said, tone coated in surprise as he took in your work.
"Just decorating Price's new place for a housewarming party." You quipped coyly. "Go look in the bathroom."
He did as you told going down a short hallway and peeking in. The toilet paper roll had been slid off, a large marshmallow impaled in its place. A slight inconvenience to anyone who wasn't paying attention. But it didn't end there. Marshmallows were in the shower stall, some with drawn on faces.
Coming back out of the bathroom, he saw you with your hand up the ice maker again, the bag you had now empty.
"Clever." Was all he could say, still stunned that you had planned such a joke.
"Just don't tattle on me." You said grabbing two mugs, one for you and one for him and actually started making the hot chocolate you had come in for.
"Wouldn't dream of it." Humor in his voice. Again, still surprised you had the ability to joke around like this. He took another freshly opened bag from you and placed some up high joining you in on your prank. You grinned up at him watching him stretch to reach the higher places.
Gaz and Soap then stepped into the open door, a slight stumble to their steps from their current buzz. Plopping small marshmallows in both drinks, you slid one to Ghost and stepped out of the way of Gaz who came in to make everyone another round of mixers.
Both you and Ghost watched out of the corner of your eye as Gaz lifted a glass tumbler to the ice maker and pressed. It took a few seconds longer, but finally a marshmallow tumbled out, and then another.
"Wha' the fuck??" Gaz said confused. "Capt'n I think your ice maker is messed up!" He called out the door. Taking the opportunity, you and Ghost went back outside and towards the fire, moving out of the way for Price who went inside to check out the ice maker.
"Shouldn't be, just bought the damn thing." He said approaching it and pressing the glass against the ice maker, where again more marshmallows fell out.
It was at this point; Soap came out from the bathroom.
"Real fuckin' funny," Price said looking up at Soap before throwing a marshmallow at him.
"Ya blamin' me? I didnea fuckin' do it!" Soap said laughing, before picking up the marshmallow and eating it. "Should take a look in the loo though."
You looked past the fire the entire time, watching it unfold inside. Price fully blaming Gaz and Soap for your harmless prank. Bickering amongst each other In this moment Ghost sat next to you, trying to hide his laughter. Now he understood who the master prankster was. He had seen this many times before. Something was done to either of them and they had placed the blame on everyone but you. Because you come across as aloof and sweet⌠but itâs always been you.
The thought crossed his mind. You were the ultimate package now. Beautiful, dangerous, and funny.
Simon Ghost Riley Masterlist
John Price Masterlist
#cod mw2#call of duty#call of duty mw2#mw2#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley#simon riley#ghost#ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon#simon riley call of duty#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost cod#mw2 ghost#call of duty simon riley#call of duty simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x female reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#cod#simon x reader#simon riley fluff#simon ghost x you#simon riley x female reader
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This look RAHHHHHH
Your relationship with your boss was an odd one. It was obvious to everyone in the precinct that you and the detective were more than just boss and secretary. But you would never admit that, and August D had a weird way of showing his fondness. It was the same way every workdayâcome in at 6:30, find the detective already at his desk, make him coffee, start the day. He would fuss and scold you for little things, make excuses to stay at your desk and talk to you.
You two kind of danced around each other, an unspoken possessive from the detective, and you playing coy until he finally fesses up that he likes you.
He storms out of his office while youâre scheduling his next meeting.
âDidnât I tell you not to mix up these documents?â he says, holding up a manila file folder. He looks quite frustrated, cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth, suit jacket off and sleeves rolled past his forearms.
Yelling at you like this does virtually nothing in his favorâif anything it just makes you rub your thighs together. âIâm sorry sir,â you smooth out, batting your eyelashes up at him. âI thought your desk needed some tidying, and you were out in a case so..â He gives you a pointed look. âThat doesnât give you a reason to touch anything in my office. If I want you to tidy anything of mine, Iâll ask you to.â You nod, turning your attention back to the computer screen in front of you.
âDid you schedule my meeting with Captain Jung?â He asks, leaning over the front of your desk. You can feel him staring into your forehead, almost trying to make you squirm in your seat. âOf course sir, I just finished. Your meeting is for 4:30 today.â âGood.â He gives you one last long look over before pushing off your desk and walking back into his office.
You look up from your computer, staring at the deep mahogany that separates you and your boss. âYâknow, we have a running bet pool on which of you is gonna confess first.â Your coworker, Su-min slides over to your desk and props her hand under her chin. âWhat are you talking about? Thereâs nothing going on between me and him,â you sigh. âSure. Tell it to the rest of us.â She chides back. âDonât you have a case to be doing right now? That missing girl right? How long has it been?â âAbout a week or so. I really hope we can find her alive, but itâs starting to look grim.â She grimaces. âI hope you end up finding her either wayââ
âY/N! My office, now!â
Suddenly his door was cracked, and you could see him walking back to his desk, waiting for you.
You turn to Su-min and grimace. âDuty calls. Tell me about the case after I get done with this.â She grins at you. âDonât start fooling around in there, keep it PG!â You roll your eyes, standing from your desk and walking into the detectiveâs office.
âYou called for me detective?â You answer sweetly. âSit. I have something to talk to you about.â You sit in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. He gets up and rounds the front of his desk, leaning against it to look at you better. âWeâve known each other for quite sometime now,â he starts, arms folded and head down. He smirks. âYou and I both know that Iâve been dancing around you these past years-â âIs that what you call it sir?â He pauses. âExcuse me?â âIs that what you call it, this situation I mean. I was very aware of your feelings about me from the day we met sir. The whole precinct knows how you act around me.â â..Iâve been that bad at hiding it then?â âPretty much.â
He sighs. âI know I havenât beenâŚvocal..about my feelings for you. Iâd like to fix that. Do you want to go to lunch with me sometime?â You smile at his bluntness. Heâs always been bad with words like this, saving his poetical vocabulary for high-stress situations with criminals. âWhatâs so funny?â He asks, brow raised, smile on his face. âYou are. Youâre so bad with words sir..â You giggle. He leans down, gripping either side of the arms on the chair. Heâs so close to you now, noses almost touching. âI am, hm? And thatâs funny?â You nod. He chuckles. âIâm looking forward to getting to know you.â âLunch right? What time?â âLunch time.â You grimace. âWell, I assumed that much. 12 or 1?â â12:30.â â12:30 it is. Iâll mark it on your personal calendar.â
He lifts himself from his position, rounding his desk again and sitting in his chair. He stares at you longingly. âIâd suggest you get back out there. Wouldnât want to keep the office waiting on who won that bet.â You chuckle. âYes sir.â
Second fic rawr
This came to me in a feverish daydream
Also because of boredom
Hope you like!!
#min yoongi#yoongi#suga#boyfriend yoongi#min yoongi x reader#suga fanfic#suga fluff#suga x reader#suga x y/n#suga x you#yoongi x y/n#yoongi x you#yoongi x reader#yoongi smut#min yoongi smut#yoongi fluff#yoongi gif#haegeum#haegeum yoongi x reader#suga smut#bts suga#secretary x boss#idk what this is#came to me in a fever dream I guess#actual fic is otw I just have to figure out wtf Iâm going to write lollll#hope yâall enjoy
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The other day I was joking around with my coworker he asked me to hand him something and I jokingly told him to say please and without hesitation without any trace of embarrassment no mocking to his tone even with a soft smile he goes please like itâs the most simple word in his vocabulary thought I would pass out on the spot actually
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Beginner Manga Recommendations for Japanese Learners
It's time, you've done your due diligence in studying. Now it's time to jump into native material. But where to start? Here are a few manga series that I've read that I think would be a reasonable place for a Japanese learner to start their immersion journey.
Disclaimer: I haven't read every series, and the manga that's interesting to me might not be interesting to you. We also all encounter different words as we go along our language learning journeys. A series that I find relatively easy might have you looking up every other word. The trick is to not get discouraged and just keep on pushing through! As with everything, it gets easier the more you practice.
ćśăăĺć - ă˘ăŤăłďźă˛ăăă渥: This BL series follows a group of four friends and their experiences with love in high school (it also has a drama adaptation that I highly recommend! Available to watch for free on Viki). This series is so silly and just a fun time. The art has great visual gags and it's definitely a series where you can sit down and not even realize that suddenly you've gone through an entire volume and why didn't you buy more of this series to start with? It has furigana on everything, but the characters do speak pretty casually, so there's some slang and less standard language. This series is completed with nine volumes.
ä˝ă
ć¨ă¨ĺŽŽé - ćĽĺăˇă§ăŚ: This is another sweet BL about Miyano, a high school first year, who catches the eye of an upperclassman, Sasaki. After asking to borrow Miyano's book, the two bond over a shared enjoyment of BL manga. The vocabulary is pretty simple in this one as well, but it does use quite a bit of otaku slang, which can be difficult if you've never encountered it before. It has furigana on everything, though! This series is ongoing with nine volumes and also has a spin off series titled ĺšłéă¨éľćľŚ which is also ongoing with four volumes.
ćĺĺ°ĺĽłéĺ´ăă - 椿ăăĽăż: The first manga I ever read in Japanese! This series follows a high schooler, Sakura, as she confesses to her crush and classmate, Nozaki. However, Nozaki thinks that Sakura is just a fan of his shoujo manga series, and recruits her to be his assistant. This series is so enjoyably silly with a wonderful cast of characters that absolutely steal the show. There's a bit of vocabulary specific to the process of making manga, but it isn't too overwhelming. There's also plenty of casual speech and some great moments that can't quite come out in translation (bonus fact: I actually wrote a paper on this series and how humor is translated in one of my university linguistics class). It also has furigana on everything. It's ongoing with fifteen volumes.
ĺ çŹăăăˇăŞăźăş - ��ĺśă˛ăăż: This adorable little GL series follows two high school aged girls, popular and athletic Kase and the shy gardener Yamada, as their relationship develops over their high school years. The vocabulary in this one is relatively simple with the exception of some more specific words, but those tend to pop up time and time again. This one doesn't have furigana but I think it's a great introduction to readying manga without furigana! This series is completed with five volumes, but there's an ongoing sequel series calledăĺąąç°ă¨ĺ çŹăă that currently has three volumes released.
ăăăăăăăŤćăĺă - 獚ĺśăă: This is a music based GL series about a high school first year, Kino, who tells an upperclassman, Nagi, that she loves her music. Nagi, however, misunderstands this as Kino confessing her love for her. The story follows both the relationship between Kino and Nagi as well as the trials and tribulations of Nagi's band. This is another one without furigana, but the vocabulary tends to be simple enough that I think it's still pretty accessible. It's ongoing with eight current volumes.
ăăăćă¨ăăźăăă - é¨ć°´ćą: Our last GL, this follows two coworkers, Uno and Satou, and their blossoming relationship in a society that pushes conformity and marriage on women. I really loved the way this series depicted coming into one's sexuality as an adult. Another one without furigana, but simple vocabulary regardless. A possible difficulty with this one might be the office vocabulary, though. This series is completed with four volumes.
#on one hand i feel like gls tend to be easier than bls but on the other hand i dont think i have any gls with furigana whereas i do with bl#things to think about things to think about.......#disclaimer i have not read any of hirano and kagiura#benkyou posting#langblr#language learning#studyblr#polyglot#japanese#ćĽćŹčŞ#manga#studyinspo#studying#languages#i think im actually feeling the urge to jump back in to sasamiya......#but no... i shant.#not until the new year#i have too much to finish before then
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Sweet Home Texas pt 1.
Summary- itâs here! Chapter one of my new series/ my submission for my birthday Rom-Com challenge! I am straying from the plot of Sweet Home Alabama a bit but I hope you all love it!
Pairing-Jake âHangmanâ Seresin x oc (Ella Mcree Seresin), Bradley Bradshaw x oc (Ella Mcree Seresin)
Warnings- language, drinking, eventual smut
Stepping out of her shitty rental car into the dimly lit honky tonk parking lot Ella Mccree can already feel the pain of a headache forming behind her eyes. She flew out from San Diego on a red eye to get to this shithole, filled with enough anger to fly the damn plane herself. She swore when she was here the last time that she would never set foot in this damn town again and yet here she is, pushing through the sweaty bodies of horn dog cowboys and navy pilots to find the bane of her existence.
Heâs here of course, holding court by the pool tables, looking every bit the cocky asshole he presents himself to be. Heâs always been a bit of a douche, that was part of his appeal; well until it wasnât. She couldn't help the way her stomach flipped as she looked at him, the memories flooding her mind would make anyone blush. First kiss, first time, her first everything had been with Jake Seresin, he was supposed to be the only one, but that hadnât worked out as planned. Nothing had where they were concerned.
She squared her shoulders, his pretty boy looks didnât work on her anymore and she was here in this tacky bar for a reason, he wouldnât distract her. In her ridiculously expensive pumps and form fitting black suit she marched over to him and dropped her briefcase in the middle of the pool table, a chorus of what the hells ringing out as she rounds on him, perfectly manicured finger poking him in the chest, shock clearly written all over his face before he schools his features. Sheâd caught him by surprise; good, maybe this time heâd actually listen.
âJake! You stubborn redneck hick, I swear to God if I have to cut your damn hand off and sign these papers myself I will.â If he was phased by her colorful vocabulary he didnât show it, simply throwing back the rest of his beer and sitting it on the corner of the nearest table as he looked her over, the mischief in his eyes evident in his gaze.
âHey baby, itâs been a while. Howâre things at home?â He said with a grin, knowing it would absolutely irritate the shit out of her, he loved riling her up, it was almost like he had a death wish sometimes but then again being an ex fighter pilot just confirmed that.
âHey. Baby?! Are you kidding me right now?! Oooh!! You are the most annoying person on the planet!â She said shaking her head jerkily and balling her hands into fists, she needed to get it together. There was a reason to be here, get it done and get the hell out of this town, donât let him distract you Ella youâre better than this.
Someone behind her said something to the extent of damn I like this girl and out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a brunette woman sending impressed looks her way. Well at least someone was entertained, she thought.
She leaned across him to grab the papers from her briefcase, his body stiffening under her and she knew despite his cool exterior she had him rattled. She ran a hand across his uniform top, noticing the falter in his grin as he blinked at her and slammed the stack of papers into his chest.
âI have sent these damn papers through your lawyer 4 times in the past 6 months and they keep coming back unsigned, if you are so incompetent that you canât use a pen, maybe you shouldnât be allowed to fly a jet, given your lack of a brain. Sign the damn papers Jake, itâs been 3 years. You very clearly arenât interested in being a husband so why the hell won't you just divorce me?â
Everyone around them seems to go quiet at this, none of his coworkers even knew he had been in a serious relationship, let alone married.
He sticks a toothpick between his lips and pretends to mull over her words as she taps her heel on the sticky bar floor. She already knows what heâs going to say, the same bullshit line heâs given her their entire life. âYou know damn well why Ella Bella, because I promised to love you til the day you die and as far as I can tell youâre still breathinâ so weâre still married.â
She rakes a hand through her wavy red hair and gives him a look that could burn the world down. âIf I could go back knowing what I know now Iâd have never made that damn promise. Stop holding me hostage and sign the damn papers, Iâm not leaving town until you do.â She yanks up her bag and stomps out towards the exit, everyone in the group parting like the Red Sea to let her out. Meanwhile Jake still seems cool as a cucumber, completely unbothered as he lines up his next shot and chuckles as he watches her walk out of the bar.
âUh you planning on giving us an explanation Hangman?â Natasha Trace is the first to speak up, she does enjoy seeing him brought down a peg from time to time but sheâs pretty sure sheâs seen him more upset over what was for lunch at the dining facility than he is right now.
âOh that? Eh sheâll be alright, Ella is all bark and no bite. She knows how much I love her, just gotta remind her is all, she and I will be just fine when she comes to her senses.â He seems awfully sure of himself, but sheâd noticed something he clearly didnât. A big ass diamond ring on her ring finger, no wedding band in sight. She has a thought to say something but thinks better of it; let him crash and burn all on his own and maybe invite the girl out for lunch and some gossip if she can find out her number. Jakeâs hometown is just a few miles out from the Kingsville Navy base theyâre stationed at, maybe an old friend of his has her info, she files that away for tomorrowâs problems and grabs another drink.
Ella is heated, she clumsily fumbles her keys by her car door as she curses, she knew he wouldnât go for it but damnit if she didnât hope heâd come to his senses. Theyâd been split for almost three years?! What was keeping him from letting her go? Pride? Idiocy?! She didnât have time for this, she had plans of her own and they didnât include begging her delusional husband for a divorce for the millionth time.
Her phone began to buzz in her pocket as she finally got the car unlocked and settled into the seat. She heaved a sigh out and put on her brightest smile, answering the face time call with fake enthusiasm.
âWell? Howâd he take it?â the raspy voice on the other side of the line says, tan skin and bronze hair and those puppy dog eyes she loves so much gazes at her over the screen, and he can tell sheâs pissed. âAbout as well as I thought. Iâm gonna be here a few more days I reckon, maybe I can get one of them to get him to pull his head out of his ass, because it definitely didnât work like I hoped.â She says the last words with a waver in her voice, she hates that sheâs tearing up over this.
Bradley Bradshaw sighs over the screen and runs his hand over his face, he knew it wasnât going to be as easy as she thought. âNeed me to come down there? I can hop a flight? We can order a pizza and get trashed.â
As good as that sounds, his presence would only make it worse, and they both know it.
âNo baby, itâs ok. Iâll see you soon alright? I just need to go to my hotel and sleep, Iâll try again tomorrow. Maybe call Natasha and see if she can help me with some intel though? She seemed pretty interested in what was going on, and might be an ally.â
He knows Natasha Trace well, and she definitely would be very helpful if he asked, so he nods his head in agreement and ends the call with I love yous and promises of a back rub when she gets home.
He knows the bomb thatâs going to go off as soon as Seresin finds out everything, but he also knows the real reason Jake wonât give Ella what she wants. Itâs guilt plain and simple, and Bradley isnât interested in watching his fiancĂŠe get hurt by his former rival anymore. Only Ella knows the whole truth, but are either men ready for it?
A/N- this is gonna be a doozy yâall, prepare for these three to be put through the ringer! Next week weâll get some more on Jake and Ellaâs backstory and why they fell apart, hope you enjoyed chapter one!
đˇď¸ tagging- @attapullman @seitmai @bobgasm @sailor-aviator @jessicab1991 @roosterforme @bradshawssugarbaby @mynameismckenziemae
#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fanfiction#jake seresin#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin x oc#jake seresin fanfiction#sweet home Alabama au#sorchasromcombirthdaycelly
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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two
TW : Abuse of authority, alpha male, sexual harassment, the word ânoâ is not in this manâs vocabulary, nsfw, angst, forced proximity
After a hellish 24 hour shift, youâre starting to think you should have taken him up on his offer. Give me a foot rub then get the fuck out. However, it most definitely would not have ended at only a foot rub. You know yourself too well to think you can keep your grubby hands off that man in any sort of private, intimate setting. Yeah, youâre staying the hell away from Ludlow.Â
Itâs gross, but you donât even take a shower, and pass out cold on the couch as soon as your rat's nest of hair hits the throw pillow.Â
Dark, honey eyes welcome you to the land of unconsciousness. The place where you canât control your disobedient vagina so easily. And, apparently, she liked Tom Ludlow a lot. Especially his hands. Fuck. Thick fingers, surprisingly gentle and teasing, tucking up inside you, coaxing at that sweet little spot you canât quite get at on your own. His mouth swallowing your moans, tongue licking urgently against your teeth, practically eating you alive. Something hard and velvet pressed against your thighs.Â
A loud knock wakes you up in the same position you started at. Face down on the couch, except now feeling even grosser because of the slick arousal between your legs. You stumble to the door, pull it open. Itâs Ms. Higgs, your sweet next door neighbor.Â
âOh, hello, y/n, I heardâŚ. Yelling? Is everything okay?âÂ
You look at her stupidly. âYellingâŚ.?â
âYes, it sounded like you were in distress. Sorry, is this a bad time?â She eyes your just-got-hit-by-a-semi-truck appearance, complete with gore and all.Â
Oh. The dream. Oh⌠oh. You feel yourself freeze despite the embarrassed heat warming your skin. âUh.â Yes, great, make her think youâre out of your mind. You try a terse smile. âOh. Sorry. I had a long shift and I must have been having a nightmare.âÂ
How in the hell did you pass nursing school?
Thank God she looks like she wants to leave as soon as possible. âRight. Well.â Clears her throat. âIâm glad youâre okay. Have a good day.â She moves fast for an older woman, shutting herself back into the apartment next door before you can bid goodbye.Â
Your neighbor now hates you, and youâre definitely blaming Ludlow for it.Â
Shower, eat, masturbate. No, wait. Masturbate, then eat. No. Eat first so then you can masturbate as many times as it takes to get Mr. Iâm a Pretty, Dark Eyed Cop With Huge Hands -Â
You have to literally pinch yourself to stop this train of thought from turning into a derailed crash.Â
Your plans fail miserably, and that is actually Ludlowâs fault, but you refuse to admit it. At least youâre eliminating two steps at once with the handy dandy shower head.
And then again after you eat. And then again in your bed. And, damn, you really need to invest in a vibrator like Sheila told you to do a long time ago.Â
You donât consider yourself a prude by any means; thereâs just no time for adult toys or one night stands. Your job, more often than not, consumes your life, and you like it that way. The fast pace, the interesting medical anomalies you get to see, your funny coworkers, cute and oh so nice Dr. Julian who brings you all Starbucks on Sundays. You usually pick up more shifts than youâre scheduled, fueled by rising violent crime rates in the inner cities. There is a satisfaction in bringing someone back from the dead, especially someone young with their whole life ahead of them. Grim Reaper? Psh. Kiss my ass.Â
***
Sometimes you need a break, and these next two days you have off are going to be that time away.Â
Except, on the second day, youâre bored, so you end up going in for an eight hour shift.Â
You have a bad habit of not viewing your patientâs info before you get into their exam room, favoring the olâ fashioned method of actually looking at the person instead of a computer. As soon as you walk into your next assigned room, however, you vow to change your messy bitch ways. Handsome Cop - the one you refuse to admit you spent two full days rubbing yourself off to - sits on the cot, grinning at you like the cat that caught the mouse.Â
You do feel a little bit like a tiny mouse under that hefty stare, scurrying in and going right to the computer so you donât have to make eye contact longer than necessary - well, long enough for ruined underwear.Â
âHey.âÂ
âHello, did your stitches come open?â You try to maintain a strictly professional voice, but you can tell by the sharpening of his grin itâs not working.Â
âWhat? Youâre not gonna fight with me today?âÂ
âDo nurses fight people where youâre from?â Here you are, playing into his game. Stupid.Â
âThere she is.âÂ
Your jaw tightens. âWhat are you being seen for, Mr. Ludlow?â
âOuch, surnames? Really?â
âSurprised you know what that big word means.â
His gorgeous eyebrow cocks as he looks around the monitor at you, and you tuck yourself further behind the computer to hide.Â
âOkay, okay.â He puts his hands up in surrender. Well, he puts his right hand up. His left can only rise so far into the air. âYeah, I tore them.âÂ
âCan you show me?âÂ
He strips his shirt, revealing a long, toned torso that belongs in X-rated cinema instead of bed number 3 at the South Bay General ED.Â
âHave you ever heard the phrase, close your mouth or youâll catch flies?â He asks.Â
âItâs actually, shut your mouth or youâll catch flies.âÂ
âOkay, how about this one: My eyes are up here, darling.â
First of all, you didnât even look at his bare chest that much. Heâs definitely exaggerating. Second of all, well - ugh - second of all fuck you, Ludlow.Â
His stitches are busted open right in the middle. You have to unstick the bloody dressing carefully and then spray the center with some antiseptic.Â
âYou should be more careful.â Is it just you or does he smell different tonight? Less sweat and copper, more spice and cardamon.
You do your best to shake it off. Plenty of men wear cologne everydayâit doesnât mean he got cleaned up just for you.Â
âI donât really have anyone to be careful for.â
âGet a dog?âÂ
âWhatâs your favorite color?âÂ
âWhat why? I donât know, blue?âÂ
âSo I can pick out a collar youâll like.âÂ
Heâs joking, but the feral urge to jam your thumb right into his tearing wound is palpable.Â
He realizes he fucked up when you donât have a witty retort.Â
âOh, fuck. I didnât mean that youâre a bitch.â If youâre giving him credit, he at least looks sorry. And sorry looks far too good on him. The big grinning Doberman turns into a wide eyed puppy dog and it makes your heart squeeze tighter. âIâm sorry. I just meant - hey, hey.â He tips your chin up so you can see the apology in his softened eyes. âIâm an asshole.âÂ
You flick his hand away. âDonât touch me.âÂ
He must be hard of hearing, because he dwarfs your arm in his grip and pulls you closer. âCâMon, little nurse. Now you have to let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a fancy dinner or something.âÂ
Pulling away is not an option, so you come up with a better idea. âOkay, fine. I will. If you can answer one question.â
He looks delighted by this. âTry me.â
âWhatâs my name?âÂ
You relish the sight of his smile wiping clean. The big grin transfers from his face to yours.Â
âSeriously?â
âWell?â Itâs your turn to raise a cocky eyebrow.
He tries to flip your badge frontward, but you slap his hand away. Heâs quick, catches your wrist, pulls you closer so that your body is pressing into his calves, traps both of your hands in one of his and spins the badge so that he can see your picture and name. He repeats it, first and last, grins back with a vengeance. This little tussle really bruises your ego, because it doesnât even seem like you made him wince or falter even once.
âCheater,â you snarl.Â
âTakes one to know one.âÂ
âLet me go.âÂ
âMake me.âÂ
âIâll scream.âÂ
âOh yeah you will.â He winks.Â
Fucking sexy bastard.Â
âWant those stitches worse or better?â You threaten.Â
âI donât really care,â he shrugs, eyes light with humor. âJust did it to come see you anyway.âÂ
âYou tore your own stitches?âÂ
âNo. Someone else did after I insulted their mother.â
âYouâre an idiot.â
âThanks, sweetheart.âÂ
You put him back together once again (you might have to start calling this man Humpty Dumpty, that will put him in his place) and start to peel off your gloves. âSo when can I pick you up?â he asks, those dark eyes shining like high-polished ebony.Â
âHalf past never?â
âHey, we had a deal.â
âWe did, but then you cheated. Manhandling me at work is a major disqualification.â
âPretty sure you liked it,â he fires back with a smirk.
You sigh, propping a hand on your hip, because heâs not wrong. Youâre more than a little touch starved at the moment, and youâre sure the ease with which he manhandled you will haunt your dreams (your poor neighbor!) and fuel your fantasies for weeks to come. But thereâs just something about this guy that warns you not to give in this easily. He feelsâŚa little dangerous. To your physical health, or your personal sanity, youâre not sure.Â
âPlease try to be more careful with your stitches, Mr. Ludlow. Have a nice day.â
Understanding that heâs being dismissed, he stands, one step in the small room bringing him right in front of youâand boy, does he tower over you. You try to conceal how very much you like that, but fear you betray yourself in the shaky exhale that escapes you. âIâm just going to keep coming back,â he tells you, seeming far too pleased by the idea.Â
âFor your own health, I certainly hope you donât.â
âIâm in a dangerous line of work. All sorts of things can happen.â
You pick up what heâs putting down pretty quick, and it annoys the shit out of you. âIf you get yourself hurt on purpose, that is not on me.â
âThen save me some pain, sweetheart. Didnât you take an oath or something? Do no harm?â
âThatâs doctors. I took a pledge to practice my profession faithfullyâwhich Iâm doing. Didnât you? What happened to âServe and Protect?ââ
âSure thing. And I keep my oaths too.â The weight with which he looks at you makes something warm and uncomfortable coil in your belly, radiating outwards to your fingers and toes.Â
A man who keeps his promises?Â
Never heard of him.Â
You are too young to be this jaded, but maybe itâs better that you learned the hard lessons quicker than most. Maybe it will save you some pain in the interim. Avoiding this utterly edible man in front of you probably falls into that category.Â
You stand silently, waiting for him to leave. He seems to find this funny as hell, and tips an imaginary cap down at you. âSee you soon, y/n.âÂ
You hope not, but youâre afraid thatâs a promise heâll keep.Â
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ttpd review: thoughts (and prayers)
cuz wtf was that. (also providing my two cents that no one gives a shit about)
Is the promotion in the room with us?
Not going to lie, this part pissed me off. As a post evermore release swiftie, the first album release I got was midnights. And while the promotion for midnights wasn't astoundingly genius, the track list release (midnights mayhem with me) was smart. Everyday, there would be chaos all over social media of taylor taking out a number and releasing the track name. The excitement over YOYOK was to die for. But after reaching peak fame, girlie just decided shit wasn't necessary anymore. Absolutely no promotion for ttpd, except a few lyrics that provided no context (or excitement) whatsoever. That, and the very non subtle "hinting" of some big reveal of what went down between her and joe, by making some playlists, that not only ruined the perspective of many of her fans and the relationship they had with her previous songs, but ALSO. THE ALBUM HAD BARELY ANYTHING ABOUT JOE. (Not that i personally care about what happened, but it was so unnecessary to center the ONLY promotion done around someone who was barely a part of the album). Swifties went on the internet to harass joe alwyn (and his female coworkers) who might as well be called a special mention on a matty healy album. Why even do all that then? We will never know.
Confusion?
taylor released 31 songs, and while a double album theory coming true would be a dream come true for any swiftie, it just... wasn't. Out of 31 songs, barely 10 stood out. Some of it just didn't make sense, in any way. "Why is this on the album?" "This sounds like a midnights vault track." "No issues, maybe this is just a skip. I'll listen to the next. Oh wait nvm. Um." Like girl what. It just feels like a giant vault album of synth pop music.
Also, it's called the tortured poets department. There is barely anything poetic or tortured about the album aesthetic. Except maybe it's torturing me, but I'm as much of a poet as she is, which basically means I'm not one.
The album just feels so different than the other albums, in the sense that they followed an aesthetic, a certain style of music and lyrics, and created some sort of story. This one just feels like she wrote many songs and put them all on an album, picked whatever track name seemed interesting enough as the album name, and called it a day. Some of the songs are gems, some create a confusion as to why they are on this album, and some just make you cringe- or atleast go "wtf". Which is fine, but if not even half the songs fall under the first category out of 30 songs, then it's a problem.
These were written by... taylor?
The lyrics omfg. I'm not going to be one of those ppl who go around saying that the lyrics sounded like an emo middle schooler (I've heard this take) BUT again, some songs have lyrics that make you question how taylor, someone who wrote the albums folklore and evermore, and many great songs like would've, could've, should've, story of us, all too well, fearless, white horse, dbatc, daylight, red... I could keep going tbh, produced...this.
It was very weird to listen to the words "tattooed golden retriever" from someone who wrote "handsome, you're a mansion with a view" (also who the FUCK is calling matty healy that??)
A very important part of taylor's music is how it is focused on the lyrics. The music itself isn't the most special, or different, in most of her songs, but what makes them (and her) special is her songwriting. However, from her songwriting going from commonly used phrases and idioms to make them tell a story, use a wide range of vocabulary, heavily using personification, allusion, transferred epithet, and a few other figures of speech that she uses in her songs to make elements such as colours, for example, tell a story, in a way it seemed effortless and fit perfectly, to this... now it feels like she's trying to do that, but that's it. She's TRYING, and it's not yielding results, and seems more like a try hard "poet" rather than... whatever she was going for. The songs are filled with self-satisfied "clever" metaphors that are being reused and recycled over and over. This is not what ppl meant when they asked you to be more environmentally friendly, taylor.
Final thoughts I guess?
While the songs are basically only an empty shell of something that taylor used to make, the album isn't all bad. Some of the songs do sound good and go well with taylor's voice (aaron dessner, the fucking legend you are) and are quite enjoyable, if not as memorable as her other songs.
There are songs such as the prophecy, clara bow, so long, london, loml, guilty as sin?, etc., that really do come through and honestly I really like them.
I do feel that the album can grow on people, but it's just... not the best. Like she says so much, and not to quote taylor swift, but genuinely the only thing in my head right now is "the more you say, the less I know".
Overall, the album is fine, but not in taylor swift standards. It's just... not bad, with some exceptions.
#ts ttpd#ttpd era#ttpd spoilers#taylor swift ttpd#ttpd anthology#ttpd aesthetic#ttpd album#ttpd first listen#ttpd lyrics#ttpd release#ttpd reaction#ttpd ranking#ttpd review#ttpd tracklist#ttpd the anthology#ttpd taylor swift#ttpd#the tortured poets department#taylor nation#taylor swift#taylornation#taylor stans#taylor swizzle#taylor swift critical#april 19#matty healy#joe alwyn#travis kelce#jack antonoff#aaron dessner
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More Than It Seams (Chapter 1)
summary: you're a hero costume tech working for one of the biggest fashion companies in quirk society, and the days until the most important fashion event of the year are dwindling fast. if you weren't stressed enough, a certain half-and-half hero keeps appearing with rips in his suit. (pro!todoroki x reader)
word count: 3k
cw/tags: swearing, mentions of needles, probably inaccurate fashion design vocabulary, strangers to lovers, no specified pronouns for reader
note: aaaaa ok first chapter of my first series. hope you enjoy!! i'm planning on this to be five chapters, and the second chapter I'm planning to release this friday. i <3 shoto todoroki
likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated!!!
She couldnât be serious. You shake your head as if to reset your eyeballs and read over the two scribbled cursive sentences over and over until the reality of your situation set in.Â
Hey, not gonna be in starting today for maternity leave. Donât disappoint me. Xo, MÂ
You counted the days on your fingers and groaned, dragging a palm down the front of your face. 7:00 A.M was too early to find out you had to run a multi-million dollar business that wouldnât hesitate to fire you if you disappointed at the most important fashion event of the year. The coffee maker beeped its readiness right on cue, and you debated making two cups instead of just one. You settled for one but left out a cup with your name on it for a possible second, and plopped down at your station. The sun was just starting to shine through the glass walls of the building you called your office, an odd combination of exposed brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows. Crooked rows of work tables lined up on one side of the expansive area, with several dozen mannequins and rolls of fabric occupying the other side. A long counter separated the work area from the sitting area, where clients waited for their fittings on plush couches and sipped on complimentary sparkling drinks that M paid for instead of giving her workers a raise.Â
âGâmorning!â The other designer for the company swung open the gate allowing access between the work area and the sitting area, deflating when he saw you throw your head down on your desk in frustration and slam it a few times for good measure. âOr notâŚâ A loud gasp of shock indicated to you that he had read the note, and a long string of expletives left his mouth as you lifted your head and nodded. âShe has to be joking.â
You clicked your tongue in agreement. âShe is not.âÂ
âHBâs in two weeks, and she decides now is a good time to have her baby?â
âIf it were up to me, she wouldnât even be the head of this place, or having another baby. God knows we donât need any more of her.â Your coworker scoffs in disbelief, throwing his bag down on his desk and wheeling over a mannequin. âHey, did you finish working up that fabric design for Cellophaneâs suit? Heâs supposed to come in on Friday and I think itâd be smart to have a sample of the fabric ready so he can tell us if he doesnât like it.âÂ
âYep, Iâll have that over to you ASAP. You donât need to remind me what happened last year with Dynamight two days before the Ball.âÂ
You cringed at the memory of the Number Two Hero burning your work to ashes right in front of you and telling you to get a color that matched his eyes better. To be fair, the color that his stylist had chosen clashed with his skin tone and you respected Bakugo for recognizing that, but he could have given you back the suit to use as scrap fabric. âItâs the price of working with the best.âÂ
âYou mean for the best,â he corrects, giving you a grouchy look before switching on his machine and beginning to hem the miles of fabric for Creatiâs dress. Youâd asked him if he wanted you to hem the fabric since your quirk would have it done by lunch, but he declined and said that you should focus on designing the remaining heroesâ pieces. The rest of your seamstresses trickled in as the morning progressed, filing into their stations with a polite âgood morningâ and picking up their scissors. Soon, the office milled with the familiar sounds of cutting fabric, sewing machines, and rolling mannequins, and you spaced out as you sketched your idea for Pinkyâs updated costume.Â
At 11:30, your receptionist sitting at the counter slammed down the phone in alarm, startling the entire room into silence. Her face was nothing short of panic, and you rose quickly from your station to pull her into a corner and figure out why she looked like she had received a bomb threat.Â
âWhatâs going on?â
âShoto is here.â
âWho?â
âShoto. The pro hero. Is here,â she hisses at you through her teeth, her hands shaking with uncontrollable anxiety.Â
You blinked at her. âOkay⌠and?â Pros showing up to the office themselves rather than sending assistants was uncommon but had been done numerous times before. Deku and Creati tended to visit a few times a month, and Pinky liked to stop by on Fridays to treat her favorite staff to ice cream. It was Shotoâs first time appearing in person, as he usually sent an assistant to drop off what was essentially his laundry; youâd always assumed that being a top-ranked hero controlling large sums of inheritance was just too busy to worry about his costume. Still, a customer visiting the office in person, no matter how attractive they were, was the least of your laundry list of problems.��Â
Your receptionist stares at you like youâve sprouted three heads, and addresses you with an attitude that would have had her fired if M was in office. âWhat the hell do you mean âandâ? Itâs Shoto⌠the Number Three Hero. ProMagazineâs #1 ranked hottie.âÂ
âIâm aware,â you state a little impatiently, annoyed by her insistence that this was much more significant than it actually was. âIâm struggling to understand the fuss over just another clientââÂ
A chorus of shocked excitement washed over your staff as the elevator doors dinged and a lean, well-dressed silhouette entered the office. Several of your seamstresses had stood from their chairs and huddled together for moral support, whispering to each other about the stranger who had exited the elevator. Your receptionistâs eyes widen to the size of dollar coins, her hands coming up to your shoulders to push you toward the counter as she disappeared behind rolls of fabric. You rolled your eyes and took a breath, adjusting the measuring tape around your neck and meeting Shoto as he approached the vacant receptionistâs computer. His voice was polite and soft when he spoke, and you swear you hear your workers swooning behind you.Â
âHello, Iâm here to drop these items off for repair,â he states, gently placing a small stack of folded fabric on the counter in front of you. You couldnât help but notice how pretty his hands were, and how one ran through his two-toned hair, combing it with elegant fingers. His eyes were each an enchanting shade of blue and grey, and you found it hard to break eye contact with him. ProMagazine was definitely correct.
âGreat, Iâll, uh, have this ready in just a bit,â you reply, gesturing towards the waiting area and encouraging Shoto to have a seat. Taking a deep breath in and out and shooting your staff a stern look to get back to work, you unfold the tattered costume on a nearby station behind the counter. His suit wasnât in the worst condition, but the tears on the arms and chest area posed a significant safety hazard, especially if they continued to open. As hot as it would be to have muscle windows in Shotoâs suit, itâd reflect badly on you if youâd refused to repair the costume for the sake of professionally shot ab photos.Â
After another steadying breath, you visualize a sewing machine dial in your mind, picking up a spool of strong nylon thread and running your thumb over the torn pieces of fabric; like clockwork, it repaired itself with a neat straight stitch wherever you touched. Your quirk is why M hired you in the first place since you could assemble three pieces in the time it took a machine to do one. You couldnât send sheets of fabric flying like Best Jeanist, but your ability to telekinetically manipulate thread into stitches proved useful for a career in fashion design. With a few more reinforcement stitches to some worn edges and a quick polish of the suitâs buckles, Shotoâs costume was good as new.Â
âHere you go; youâre all set.â He turns to look at you, surprised and preoccupied with examining the large posters of costumes Mâs company had designed. Frames of initial sketches for his first professional costume were flanked by life-size prints of Pinky, Deku, and Red Riotâs attire. A plaque engraved with Creatiâs endorsement message for the company hung in the center, surrounded by fabric swatches and Post-It notes scribbled with measurements. It looked like he had just finished reading through Creatiâs statement when you informed him that his suit was ready. âI went ahead and cleaned off some of the grime from the suitâs hardware and sprayed it with anti-rust so it shouldnât be tarnishing any time soon.âÂ
Shoto looks at you with an expression that you canât read, gazes down at the repaired suit in front of him, and then back up at you. âOh. Thatâs it?â
You release a slightly nervous chuckle to try to ease some of the awkwardness that had settled between you two. âUh, yep. Thatâs it.â After another painfully quiet beat, your customer service persona finally kicks back into gear. âIs there anything else I can assist you with today?âÂ
âI donât think so.â
âWell, it was a pleasure working with you todayââ
âHow does your quirk work?â His question arrives completely out of left field, and your brain short-circuits at his genuine expression of interest in your abilities.Â
âWell, um, I can manipulate thread to follow certain stitch patterns, like the stitch selection on a sewing machine. See, like, here.â You point at one of the newly repaired tears in his costume, running a finger over the fresh seam. Youâre keenly aware of how his eyes follow your finger and you attempt to keep your voice even. âI mended this panel of fabric torn down the middle with a straight stitch, which is the sturdiest stitch I can create.âÂ
âSo you wave your hands and the threads start moving?â The boyish cluelessness on his face makes your heart flutter. A smile breaks its way into your expression.Â
âI wish, but I actually have to be touching the fabric.âÂ
âI suppose itâs very useful for a fashion designer, then.â His face is carefully put together, but the tiniest hint of sarcasm bleeds its way into his voice. Was he⌠joking with you?Â
âDefinitely. Iâm essentially a human sewing machine but without needles sprouting from my thumbs.â Your thumb pops up on its own accord for added effect, but then you realize what you just said and shove your hand back in an apron pocket. It was meant as a joke, but the macabre nature of your last quip slips your mind and a part of you dies inside when Shoto physically cringes at the grotesque image. Before you have the chance to apologize for such a distressing remark, he politely nods his head in farewell and gives you a soft âthank youâ before returning to the elevator.Â
Releasing a frustrated noise from your throat at the fact that you just scared off Todoroki Shoto, you lay your forehead on the counter between your elbows. The elevator button dings, and to your horror, you realize that he hadnât left the office yet. Instead, he was looking at you amusedly over his toned shoulder. The corner of his mouth quirks up the tiniest bit as he watches your burning face attempt to regain its composure, and then heâs gone.Â
âThat was a shit show,â your other designer mutters under his breath, handing you another cup of coffee.Â
Tuesday morning at 11:30 on the dot, Shoto visits again and catches your receptionist off guard, reducing her to a puddle of âHow can I help you?â and âCan I get you a sparkling drink?â With your back turned to the doors, you donât notice him immediately as you concentrate on draping expensive maroon fabric around Creatiâs mannequin. Eyebrows drawn in concentration and holding a pin between your teeth, your hands work meticulously to create perfect pleats under the waistline of the bodice. It isnât until your receptionist nervously calls out your name that you abruptly drop the fabric, Shotoâs mouth twitching as he watches you hurriedly place your box of pins on a nearby station and approach the counter. You lightly tap your receptionistâs shoulder, snapping her out of her daze to find Shoto a drink that you knew was out of stock and leaving you two alone again.Â
âShoto, itâs a pleasure to see you.â You try to mask the unease in your voice with a forced smile. âWhat can I help you with today?â
His face is blank, but his eyes shine like heâs analyzing you. âI ripped the suit again.â
Your face falls in comical disbelief. âAgain?â
He shrugs. âI guess I need stronger stitches.â His heterochromatic eyes stare into yours, and you meet his challenge with a slight squint.Â
âGuess you do.â You take the folded suit from his hands and drop the volume of your voice. âOr maybe you need to stop tearing my work.â
He huffs out a breath that sounds like a choked laugh and you smile innocently at him, hoping this interaction replaced the awkwardness of yesterday. Your hand gestures to the seating area again, but he shakes his head, instead crossing his muscular arms and watching you intently as you work. The damage to his suit could barely be considered a tear, and you donât even bother using your quirk to repair it. You feel him staring at you as you easily patch up the suit with a backstitch, and you swear you could hear him hum thoughtfully behind you. Minutes after he entered the office, you slide the garment back to him with a satisfied smile.Â
He does that thing again, looking at you, down at his suit, then back at you. âYou didnât use your quirk.âÂ
It was your turn to shrug. âDidnât need to.â As entertaining as his presence was, it would have taken longer to repair it with your quirk, and you had three mannequins of patterns demanding your immediate attention. âIs there anything else I can assist you with today?â
Shoto dodges your question, instead scanning the seamstresses at their work areas trying not to stare at him. âYouâre awfully good at getting people in and out.â One eyebrow quirks in question. Heâs testing you, silently asking whether you were trying to get rid of him quickly.Â
âWith all due respect, a rip on a Proâs suit is the least of my worries right now.âÂ
âWhat are the most of your worries?â You direct his attention to the three mannequins behind you, covered in multi-colored pins and beige pattern panels. âRed Riot, Pinky, and Cellophaneâs Ball outfits. Need to have them done by next Friday, and I was just in the middle of pleating the skirt of Momoâs dress. Itâs taking a lot longer than expected because I tragically only have two hands.âÂ
Shotoâs mouth opens in an ah of realization, taking in the elaborate construction plan of the layered asymmetrical gown. You couldnât have predicted his reply to save your life.Â
âMay I help you?â
Your mind halts the production of coherent thoughts. âOh, no, really. Itâs okay. Donât worry about it.âÂ
âWhy not?â
âItâs not your job.â
âBut there is something I can help with.â
âI mean, yes, butââ
âThen please, show me what to do.â You decide that it would be pointless to fight his stubborn determination, so you try not to notice the gasps from your staff as Shoto pushes open the gate into the work area and stands beside Creatiâs mannequin. You knelt into the same position as before, sitting back on your heels as you searched for the last pleat you made.Â
âSo I just need you to hold the fabric in place so that it doesnât unfold, like this,â you direct, scrunching the edge into a carefully measured fold. He watches you diligently, allowing you to reposition his hands so that you could effectively create a seam. His hands were soft beneath your fingers as you brushed veins and lean muscle. You push away the thought of what else he could do with his hands, refocusing on your work and delicately rotating the mannequin as you made your way around its waist. To your surprise, Shoto made soft conversation with you, asking about other Prosâ looks and the design inspiration behind them. Small talk flowed easily as you worked, and he proved to be much more witty than interviews captured.Â
When you finished, Shoto ran his finger over the pleats you had just made in admiration. A glance at the rest of the mannequins leads to his expression becoming puzzled. âWhere is mine?â He offers an open hand to you as you rise from the floor, and you revel in the cool touch of his palm against your tired thumb.Â
You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The truth was, his stylist had ordered a simple black suit for him, barely different than the suit he wore the previous year and all of the years prior. Shotoâs media reputation had him notorious for attending as few public events as possible, and donning safe solid-colored suits when he did appear. His eyebrows rise in anticipation of your answer, still holding your hand, and you finally conjure up an explanation. âWell, technically, your look is already finished. It was one of the first looks we finished because of its simplicity.âÂ
âSimplicity?â He releases your hand, flexing his fingers like he was squeezing a stress ball. Shit, were your hands sweaty?
âYeah, your stylist tends to request subdued designs for public appearances.â
A low hum is all you receive in acknowledgment, and a look of deep thought washes over his handsome expression.Â
âMaybe I will aim for a different design this year, then.âÂ
And just the same as Monday, he nods farewell before heading back to the elevator, leaving you frozen by the mannequin. A split second before the doors slide open, he gives you a mischievous look and a single thumbs-up, a reminder of the embarrassing interaction from the day before. You roll your eyes at him and are delighted to see the corner of his mouth turn up again.  Â
The elevator doors shut, and you canât help hoping he creates another tear in his suit for tomorrow.
#mha x reader#bnha x reader#mha x y/n#bnha x you#todoroki x you#todoroki x reader#todoroki shoto x reader#todoroki shoto x you#bnha#mha#shoto x you#shoto todoroki#shoto x reader#todoroki shoto#my hero academia
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Iâve got a high school teacher AU rattling around in my head right now, and I was wondering what you think about American history teacher!Bucky trying to get to know his coworker who teaches both global political science and a few Russian classes.
Their classrooms are right next to each other, so he can hear the conversation(s) sheâs having with her students very clearly. Her world language students ask her the translations of different words, and her enunciation is perfect (as would be expected).
Listening to her students learning numbers is uncomfortable for him⌠especially a certain three of them. They discuss homecoming, obviouslyâ itâs high school. Theyâre excited to learn to drive, and so they learn about other forms of transportation, too. But everything else can be found in a series of vocabulary tests. Thatâs not all they learn, but itâs what sticks out most.
He has a hard time with it because she makes him extra flustered, beyond his typical introversion and social anxiety, but sheâs oblivious to his OOC behavior (itâs all sheâs ever interacted with, after all).
I know this is a lot, so feel free to skip it entirely, I just wanted to share my thought(s) with you :)
(Could you imagine an anatomy teacher!Steve just teasing the hell out of Bucky because Steve just loves the scent of anxiety/fear in the morning, tho?)
I donât even know if I want to add more to this𼰠you explained this scenario very well and I couldnât have said it better myselfđŠľ
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