rose tinted glasses

𓏲ּ𝄢 no contact.

"This really defeats the purpose of no contact," You leaned against the door frame, feet steady against the threshold of your shared apartment, he wasn't allowed inside though,"thought you'd last at least few days."

"First of all," Bakugou halted, hearing the dull sound of clatter inside the apartment, you already invited Mina over, fuck, "first of all, I never agreed to no contact," his hand itched towards his pocket at the narrowing of your eyes, ready to provide evidence, "and second of all, you texted me this morning to come over."

"Did not!" You scrunched your nose, scowling at him, "are you drunk? did you hit your head?" You cross your arms, utterly convinced that he is trying to gaslight you into breaking the 'no contact streak'.

Before he could respond, Mina stepped beside you, nursing a cocktail on her hand, side eyeing you both, "So, you two made up already." It's more of a statement than a question, with a swirl of her drink and more judgement in her tone.

"Nah, Bakugou here is hallucinating," You groaned, agitated by her accusations and her lack of faith in your capabilities to refrain from contacting your boyfriend, even though it is difficult, "saying I invited him over this morning."

"It's katsuki to you—" Bakugou finally pulled his phone out, unlocking it and pushing the screen onto your face, breathing heavily, "if you don't believe this, bring your phone and see."

You glared it him, turning to Mina with a helpless pout, you didn't text him, she grimaced back at you, obnoxiously sipping on her drink.

"Go get your phone." She sighed, stepping aside to let you jog back into the house, before whispering against her straw, "Hoe."

"Fucking heard that!"

In your absence, your best friend and your boyfriend stood in awkward silence, with occasional slurps echoing.

"So... I'll probably leave soon." Mina leaned against the door frame, looking over her shoulder before turning back to him, praying to all might to stop putting her into these situations.

You returned, phone clutched in hand, eyes darting between them, "So, I checked and there is must have been a mistake."

Mina cringed simultaneously as Bakugou grinned, partly because he won, mostly because you did text him.

"This is so embarassing, I am leaving." She didn't bother waiting for a response, going back inside you grab her purse and shuffling out of the house, throwing you a nasty side-eye on the way.

You watch as her car fades away into distance, left alone with your boyfriend and lingering silence.

"I meant to text Mina," You waved your hand, trying to explain the mishap to him, without admitting that you probably texted him out of habit, "before I called her over."

He hummed, stepping closer albeit warily, "Can I come inside?" He spoke slowly, pocketing away his phone, "Especially because I do have a permit—"

You grumbled under your breath stepping aside to allow him to enter the apartment, both of your lingering in the living room.

"You know, if you just admitted you missed me," he teased, grinning boyishly at the scowl on your face, resisting the urge to pepper kisses along your puffed up cheeks, "we wouldn't have to play pretend."

"If you didn't finish my snacks, we wouldn't have to go no contact." You huffed, crossing your arms, heart breaking as you recalled the empty bag of honey butter chips.

He sighed, pulling at your arms to pull you closer, "I already ordered you more," despite to reluctance to physically touch him, you leaned against his chest, "promise I am not going to raid you stash anymore."

"You said that last time too—" Your words are cut off, his lips pressing against your pouting ones, swallowing your complaints with ease.

"Think 3 solid hours of no contact was a good enough punishment, hmm?"

Ho(e)ttie: have some control over yourself #deludedbydick

☕︎. Mr. Grace where does the coffee go?

☕︎ Pairing: Ryland Grace x Reader

Ryland Grace is not afraid of middle schoolers.

He has higher authority, it's his job to manage the children in class, to teach them, he can't be possibly afraid of them, now can he?

He can.

It's quiet in his class. Surprisingly.

It's quiet only when, either the kids are solving questions he handed out for class or when they are conspiring and with the subtle whispers and murmurs floating around along with occasional glances his way, he knows.

"Alright class!" He announced, clapping his hands together, gathering everyone's attention, "What's the topic of discussion?" He looked around, hoping someone, anyone would volunteer to talk, "Come on now, wouldn't you want a teacher's input in your little conversation?"

"Mr. Grace," Julie quipped from the back of class, hand raised as she stood up slowly, "after thorough observation and analysis, we've come to a inconclusive conclusion."

She finished her sentence monotonously, not bothering to further elaborate the said conclusion.

"We've?" Ryland gestured vaguely between himself and the rest of the class, trying to recall if there was something he was meant to observe, "Were we doing some kind of study, Julie can I get a quick recap of this?"

Before Julie could reply, another hand shot up, friendship bracelets jingling as Noah stood up, dramatically pulling a piece of paper from his notebook.

"Observation 01: Mr. Grace brings two cups of coffee from the cafe outside the school campus," he read nervously, looking around at the rest of the class, continuing once his peers nodded towards him, little hands giving him a thumbs up, "...everyday."

Ryland stared at him, lips parted, brows furrowed, confused as ever, "...ookk, I suppose we are judging my caffeine intake." He joked, laughing awkwardly before going quite.

"Inference 01," Julie continued again, heads turning towards her in a practised synchrony, "it takes 12 minutes to walk to the cafe from the school grounds, you arrive 32 minutes early to get them," She leans down scribbling on her notebook before holding it out to the class, '12+12=24, 24+8=32'.

"That's ha—that's basic maths if I remember correctly," Ryland is getting nervous, everyone in the class has an idea of what's going on, everyone but him, he hasn't seen the class this co-ordinating and co-operating in years, "I am not really understanding this, like at all, is this about last week's surprise test, I made it eas—"

"Each cup is 6 dollars," Avery interrupted him, hand shooting up after she already spoke, "that's a lot of money."

"Oookay, is this an economy assessment?" Ryland tries his best to decipher what the kids are upto, so far he feels like they think he isn't financially responsible, "and my coffee is 2.5 dollars actuall—"

"—exactly!" Avery interrupted him again, the chair screeching as it dragged against the tiles, "Inference 02: You purchase two cups of coffee, one plain black coffee and second a cold brew."

Ryland chuckled breathlessly, eyeing the class with suspicion and slight concern and even slighter fear, "Where are we really going with this kids?"

"Real question is," Avery continued, eye twitching as she stared ominously, "where does that second cup go?" She points towards the desk, the entire class turning towards the teacher's desk, spotting a paper cup with 'black coffee', scribbled on the side. "So, Mr. Grace would you like to add to something?"

Everyone stared at him in anticipation, hoping he'd break and give them something, but alas he was there teacher afterall.

"I could have drank it you kn—"

The entire class groaned in frustration.

"We put so much effort into the whole thing," Julie whined, cradling her head in her hands, hairs sticking out in different directions, "We need something juicy."

"You just didn't want another surprise test, did you?" Ryland huffed, cheeks tinting red as he reached for his coffee, vividly remembering where the other cup is, "Also whose teaching you terms like juicy."

"It's part of normal vocabulary, not all of us can pronounce scandalous," Riley explained, side eyeing few people she knows couldn't.

"Scandalous?!" Ryland exclaimed, nearly spitting out his coffee, clapping his hands together again, this time with more force, "First of all, we need to set boundaries, being overly curious about people's personal life isn't a good trait, one would even call you nosy," he scrunched his nose, watching as kids nodded their heads, "second of all, nothing scandalous happens in grover cleveland middle scho—"

The door to his class suddenly opened, interrupting him yet again, his words cut off as he stared at the figure peeking in.

"Hello." You whispered, grinning sheepishly, "hopefully I am not disturbing the class." You stepped in partly, bag hung on your shoulder, stack of papers tucked in your arm, an awfully familiar cup of coffee cradled in other, "You have a minute?"

Ryland stutters, "Yeah, alway—I mean sure, let's go—" he quickly shuffled out of the class, almost bumping into the tables on his way out.

The entire class watches him scramble to the door, clumsily stepping out and closing the door shut behind himself.

"So, you were teaching something?" You mumbled, swaying a little as you look over his shoulder to see little faces pressed up against the glass, the door of the classroom very slowly opening to let the sound in.

"Yeah, was teaching them...stuff," He shifted your back on his shoulder, hands fiddling with your papers only to smooth out non existent creases, "about science and boundaries and yeah."

"it's a bit difficult to teach middle schoolers about boundaries," You huffed, stepping closer to him, reaching out to fix his collar from where it was tucked beneath the strap of your bag, "mmh, my class found out my middle name and I get tormented by it every once in a while."

He chuckled, head tilting towards your hand, hoping you'd caress his skin as you did with his collar, that's creepy—

"You should get back to class, finish up that lecture," You mumbled, looking around to spot anyone else in the hallway, only finding his class still peering at you both, "I'll meet you after class, kay?"

He nodded his head, sheepishly returning your bag and papers, "Yeah, I'll get back to them." He stepped back, eyes still lingering on your frame.

"Ryland?" You called out, watching him stumble over back to you, wiping dust from he hands as he came to a stand, "I have something for you."

You shifted a little, angling yourself in a way, that his frame his you from his nosy class, pressing your palm against your lips and splaying it on his cheek, "You've got very nosy kids, Ryland."

Your giggles echoed in the empty hallway, leaving him malfunctioning, face flushed red as he stared at you disappearing into the staff room.

He slowly made his way back to the class, cheek tingling where you had pressed your palm.

His own palms are sweaty as he walked into the class, taking a moment to notice his students.

"Noah, weren't you seated in second row?" His brows furrowed as the little boy looked at him innocently, perched on the far end of the class, "and I am pretty sure Avery was on the first row, how did you get here?" Avery shrugged her shoulders, appearing as confused as he was.

He doesn't pay mind to the seat fiasco, still floating in clouds, already imagining evening with you, grading papers together, making dinner, maybe you'll K-I-S-S him—

"We have reached a conclusive conclusion, Mr. Grace." Julie announced, pulling him back down to earth, to the class and to the discussion you had interrupted, "Mr. Grace, you are dating Miss L/N—"

The class erupted in chaos, loud screeching and shouting, a sob of 'I have a chance?' echoing amidst the noise, Avery and Julie standing up from the respective seats and embracing each other while Noah proceeded to rip a page from his notebook, the entire class in utter shambles.

He really needs to teach them about boundaries.

Dinner, maybe?

Lars watches you pace in front of the garage, hand almost raising to knock on his door before you back away again, clad in just sweatpants and a shirt, which he knows, aren't doing against against the harsh cold.

You've been out for almost 10 minutes, first knocked on Karin and Gus's door, talking with Karin nervously before moving towards his house.

He is sure your mother put you up to it, making you invite all the neighbours for dinner, he understands the sentiment, he really does, but a small part of him hopes you leave without knocking on his door.

At least that way he has an excuse.

But, another slightly bigger part of him hopes you do knock on his door, invite him over, maybe he'll hand you his blanket, keeping you warm for the time being, going to your house later with a wrapped gift, preferably a shawl or a puffer similar to his own, keeping you warm forever—

He's just concerned for your well being, it's cold out there.

He watches you step away, nose scrunched and reddened, he knows the cold is nipping at your skin, you almost stumble over the logs of wood scattered around.

You walk away, defeated, unable to even bring yourself closer to his door, what would you even say, hey, lars want to come over for dinner? You aren't close enough to be that frank with him, all you have are multiple incidents of catching each other's eyes in the church, at the grocery store, sometimes at work, but that's it, you'd like to firmly believe that it's you looking at him, because of your little crush, but a small hope does bloom that maybe, just maybe he's hoping to catch your eyes too.

And then it's extinguished, because Lars doesn't like you, you can't like someone you never interacted with, it's unreasonable and unrealistic and utterly hopeless—

And suddenly the door behind you opens, loud and clanky, great the guy you've been crushing on caught you have existential crisis on his property.

"Hi." Lars called out, watching as your back tensed up, shoulders pulled together, fingers curling into a fist, "It's cold out here."

"Yeah—hi." You turn stiffly, barely managing to meet his eyes, even though that's all you've done in the past few months, "I was just—I was just going inside."

He nodded his head, pursing his lips together before unwrapping the gray blanket from around his neck and holding it out to you.

"Here, take this." He steps closer, boots digging into the soil, snow crunching under his weight, "it'll keep you warm."

You gently push back his hand, "I can't—I can't take this," your feel warmth seeping from the soft material, fingers itching to grab a hold of it, but you resisted, "you wear it often, I can't just—"

"Return it later." He tilts his head, plush cheek squishing against the collar of his puffer jacket, "I'll grab it after dinner?"

You reluctantly agreed, taking the blanket from his hands, your bare fingers brushing against his gloved ones, immediately wrapping it around yourself, "Thank you Lars, I really appreciate it."

You feel less nervous, more giddy, jittery as ever, eyes darting between his face and the surrounding, before realisation set in, "wait, how did you know about the dinner?"

Lars scrunched his nose, eyes screwed shut for a moment, head ducking down as he looked at his shoes before looking back up, "Your mum always invites us for dinner during holidays."

It comes out as a question, but you didn't question, nodding you head in his direction, "I'll go then, see you tonight, I guess."

He's thankful you don't, he doesn't think he'd be able to admit out loud that he does enjoy coming over to your house, enjoy watching you move around the kitchen, nervous bringing over everything your mother prepared, catching your eyes every once in a while across the table, occasionally getting the opportunity to listen to you talk about your interests, notice little habits, like you don't like peas, always scooping them out of your pot pies, don't like coriander unless it's on pasta, really like banana bread that Karin always insist on making for you, have an odd relationship with watermelon.

For now he bids you farewell and watches as you walked over to your house, wrapping his blanket tighter around your shoulders, maybe one day it'll be his arms too.

☕︎. Mr. Grace where does the coffee go?

☕︎ Pairing: Ryland Grace x Reader

Ryland Grace is not afraid of middle schoolers.

He has higher authority, it's his job to manage the children in class, to teach them, he can't be possibly afraid of them, now can he?

He can.

It's quiet in his class. Surprisingly.

It's quiet only when, either the kids are solving questions he handed out for class or when they are conspiring and with the subtle whispers and murmurs floating around along with occasional glances his way, he knows.

"Alright class!" He announced, clapping his hands together, gathering everyone's attention, "What's the topic of discussion?" He looked around, hoping someone, anyone would volunteer to talk, "Come on now, wouldn't you want a teacher's input in your little conversation?"

"Mr. Grace," Julie quipped from the back of class, hand raised as she stood up slowly, "after thorough observation and analysis, we've come to a inconclusive conclusion."

She finished her sentence monotonously, not bothering to further elaborate the said conclusion.

"We've?" Ryland gestured vaguely between himself and the rest of the class, trying to recall if there was something he was meant to observe, "Were we doing some kind of study, Julie can I get a quick recap of this?"

Before Julie could reply, another hand shot up, friendship bracelets jingling as Noah stood up, dramatically pulling a piece of paper from his notebook.

"Observation 01: Mr. Grace brings two cups of coffee from the cafe outside the school campus," he read nervously, looking around at the rest of the class, continuing once his peers nodded towards him, little hands giving him a thumbs up, "...everyday."

Ryland stared at him, lips parted, brows furrowed, confused as ever, "...ookk, I suppose we are judging my caffeine intake." He joked, laughing awkwardly before going quite.

"Inference 01," Julie continued again, heads turning towards her in a practised synchrony, "it takes 12 minutes to walk to the cafe from the school grounds, you arrive 32 minutes early to get them," She leans down scribbling on her notebook before holding it out to the class, '12+12=24, 24+8=32'.

"That's ha—that's basic maths if I remember correctly," Ryland is getting nervous, everyone in the class has an idea of what's going on, everyone but him, he hasn't seen the class this co-ordinating and co-operating in years, "I am not really understanding this, like at all, is this about last week's surprise test, I made it eas—"

"Each cup is 6 dollars," Avery interrupted him, hand shooting up after she already spoke, "that's a lot of money."

"Oookay, is this an economy assessment?" Ryland tries his best to decipher what the kids are upto, so far he feels like they think he isn't financially responsible, "and my coffee is 2.5 dollars actuall—"

"—exactly!" Avery interrupted him again, the chair screeching as it dragged against the tiles, "Inference 02: You purchase two cups of coffee, one plain black coffee and second a cold brew."

Ryland chuckled breathlessly, eyeing the class with suspicion and slight concern and even slighter fear, "Where are we really going with this kids?"

"Real question is," Avery continued, eye twitching as she stared ominously, "where does that second cup go?" She points towards the desk, the entire class turning towards the teacher's desk, spotting a paper cup with 'black coffee', scribbled on the side. "So, Mr. Grace would you like to add to something?"

Everyone stared at him in anticipation, hoping he'd break and give them something, but alas he was there teacher afterall.

"I could have drank it you kn—"

The entire class groaned in frustration.

"We put so much effort into the whole thing," Julie whined, cradling her head in her hands, hairs sticking out in different directions, "We need something juicy."

"You just didn't want another surprise test, did you?" Ryland huffed, cheeks tinting red as he reached for his coffee, vividly remembering where the other cup is, "Also whose teaching you terms like juicy."

"It's part of normal vocabulary, not all of us can pronounce scandalous," Riley explained, side eyeing few people she knows couldn't.

"Scandalous?!" Ryland exclaimed, nearly spitting out his coffee, clapping his hands together again, this time with more force, "First of all, we need to set boundaries, being overly curious about people's personal life isn't a good trait, one would even call you nosy," he scrunched his nose, watching as kids nodded their heads, "second of all, nothing scandalous happens in grover cleveland middle scho—"

The door to his class suddenly opened, interrupting him yet again, his words cut off as he stared at the figure peeking in.

"Hello." You whispered, grinning sheepishly, "hopefully I am not disturbing the class." You stepped in partly, bag hung on your shoulder, stack of papers tucked in your arm, an awfully familiar cup of coffee cradled in other, "You have a minute?"

Ryland stutters, "Yeah, alway—I mean sure, let's go—" he quickly shuffled out of the class, almost bumping into the tables on his way out.

The entire class watches him scramble to the door, clumsily stepping out and closing the door shut behind himself.

"So, you were teaching something?" You mumbled, swaying a little as you look over his shoulder to see little faces pressed up against the glass, the door of the classroom very slowly opening to let the sound in.

"Yeah, was teaching them...stuff," He shifted your back on his shoulder, hands fiddling with your papers only to smooth out non existent creases, "about science and boundaries and yeah."

"it's a bit difficult to teach middle schoolers about boundaries," You huffed, stepping closer to him, reaching out to fix his collar from where it was tucked beneath the strap of your bag, "mmh, my class found out my middle name and I get tormented by it every once in a while."

He chuckled, head tilting towards your hand, hoping you'd caress his skin as you did with his collar, that's creepy—

"You should get back to class, finish up that lecture," You mumbled, looking around to spot anyone else in the hallway, only finding his class still peering at you both, "I'll meet you after class, kay?"

He nodded his head, sheepishly returning your bag and papers, "Yeah, I'll get back to them." He stepped back, eyes still lingering on your frame.

"Ryland?" You called out, watching him stumble over back to you, wiping dust from he hands as he came to a stand, "I have something for you."

You shifted a little, angling yourself in a way, that his frame his you from his nosy class, pressing your palm against your lips and splaying it on his cheek, "You've got very nosy kids, Ryland."

Your giggles echoed in the empty hallway, leaving him malfunctioning, face flushed red as he stared at you disappearing into the staff room.

He slowly made his way back to the class, cheek tingling where you had pressed your palm.

His own palms are sweaty as he walked into the class, taking a moment to notice his students.

"Noah, weren't you seated in second row?" His brows furrowed as the little boy looked at him innocently, perched on the far end of the class, "and I am pretty sure Avery was on the first row, how did you get here?" Avery shrugged her shoulders, appearing as confused as he was.

He doesn't pay mind to the seat fiasco, still floating in clouds, already imagining evening with you, grading papers together, making dinner, maybe you'll K-I-S-S him—

"We have reached a conclusive conclusion, Mr. Grace." Julie announced, pulling him back down to earth, to the class and to the discussion you had interrupted, "Mr. Grace, you are dating Miss L/N—"

The class erupted in chaos, loud screeching and shouting, a sob of 'I have a chance?' echoing amidst the noise, Avery and Julie standing up from the respective seats and embracing each other while Noah proceeded to rip a page from his notebook, the entire class in utter shambles.

He really needs to teach them about boundaries.

Dinner, maybe?

Lars watches you pace in front of the garage, hand almost raising to knock on his door before you back away again, clad in just sweatpants and a shirt, which he knows, aren't doing against against the harsh cold.

You've been out for almost 10 minutes, first knocked on Karin and Gus's door, talking with Karin nervously before moving towards his house.

He is sure your mother put you up to it, making you invite all the neighbours for dinner, he understands the sentiment, he really does, but a small part of him hopes you leave without knocking on his door.

At least that way he has an excuse.

But, another slightly bigger part of him hopes you do knock on his door, invite him over, maybe he'll hand you his blanket, keeping you warm for the time being, going to your house later with a wrapped gift, preferably a shawl or a puffer similar to his own, keeping you warm forever—

He's just concerned for your well being, it's cold out there.

He watches you step away, nose scrunched and reddened, he knows the cold is nipping at your skin, you almost stumble over the logs of wood scattered around.

You walk away, defeated, unable to even bring yourself closer to his door, what would you even say, hey, lars want to come over for dinner? You aren't close enough to be that frank with him, all you have are multiple incidents of catching each other's eyes in the church, at the grocery store, sometimes at work, but that's it, you'd like to firmly believe that it's you looking at him, because of your little crush, but a small hope does bloom that maybe, just maybe he's hoping to catch your eyes too.

And then it's extinguished, because Lars doesn't like you, you can't like someone you never interacted with, it's unreasonable and unrealistic and utterly hopeless—

And suddenly the door behind you opens, loud and clanky, great the guy you've been crushing on caught you have existential crisis on his property.

"Hi." Lars called out, watching as your back tensed up, shoulders pulled together, fingers curling into a fist, "It's cold out here."

"Yeah—hi." You turn stiffly, barely managing to meet his eyes, even though that's all you've done in the past few months, "I was just—I was just going inside."

He nodded his head, pursing his lips together before unwrapping the gray blanket from around his neck and holding it out to you.

"Here, take this." He steps closer, boots digging into the soil, snow crunching under his weight, "it'll keep you warm."

You gently push back his hand, "I can't—I can't take this," your feel warmth seeping from the soft material, fingers itching to grab a hold of it, but you resisted, "you wear it often, I can't just—"

"Return it later." He tilts his head, plush cheek squishing against the collar of his puffer jacket, "I'll grab it after dinner?"

You reluctantly agreed, taking the blanket from his hands, your bare fingers brushing against his gloved ones, immediately wrapping it around yourself, "Thank you Lars, I really appreciate it."

You feel less nervous, more giddy, jittery as ever, eyes darting between his face and the surrounding, before realisation set in, "wait, how did you know about the dinner?"

Lars scrunched his nose, eyes screwed shut for a moment, head ducking down as he looked at his shoes before looking back up, "Your mum always invites us for dinner during holidays."

It comes out as a question, but you didn't question, nodding you head in his direction, "I'll go then, see you tonight, I guess."

He's thankful you don't, he doesn't think he'd be able to admit out loud that he does enjoy coming over to your house, enjoy watching you move around the kitchen, nervous bringing over everything your mother prepared, catching your eyes every once in a while across the table, occasionally getting the opportunity to listen to you talk about your interests, notice little habits, like you don't like peas, always scooping them out of your pot pies, don't like coriander unless it's on pasta, really like banana bread that Karin always insist on making for you, have an odd relationship with watermelon.

For now he bids you farewell and watches as you walked over to your house, wrapping his blanket tighter around your shoulders, maybe one day it'll be his arms too.