rodrikstark's headcanons (part 4)

j. torres + flirting with music teacher!reader

"where are your little ones?"

you peer over your shoulder, still scribbling eighth notes along the musical staffs striping your whiteboard. he thinks you'll smile at him, but the curl of your lip resembles a grimace. "the fifth graders have some sort of leadership assembly, so, music class is cancelled."

he crosses his arms, leaning against your doorframe. "that's stupid."

"i'd rather not fight it." you literally shrug it off, writing the counts underneath your rhythm with a fury.

"still," joaquín mutters, before realizing he has nothing substantial to add. he's just sick of seeing his friends lose their jobs. "stupid."

you cap the marker, spinning it between your fingers and reminding him that you started as a percussionist, like him.

unlike him, you can teach every starter instrument under the sun, train tiny vocalists, and arrange music. "more time to lesson plan, i guess." you smirk. "and run around doing favors for other teachers."

he falters. "mine's easy."

"mmm."

joaquín clears his throat. "i want to use music to wake up my kids from their nap, so i dug out my old boombox." he had hidden it prior to knocking on your door. now, with his foot, he nudges it into your view.

"cute," you say. "they must think you're ancient."

"they told me it looks like an alien," he chuckles. "but i'm pretty sure if i played them the music i used to listen to, i would get fired." he flicks the handle up, swinging it in a way he hopes is charming. "do you have any good CDs?"

"oh," you exclaim happily. "yeah, c'mere."

twenty minutes later, he's balancing smooth jazz, light piano, and children's orchestral classics on top of his boombox, as well as all the information about your favorite tracks and performers from each album.

"thanks." he beams, tilting it all to rest on his chest. "i'll let you know how it goes."

"thanks for stopping by." you mean it genuinely.

"so you have this time free tomorrow?" he jerks his head toward the schedule on your board, with one of your thursday classes hastily erased.

you shrug. "no rush to return them."

"i could bring you some lunch," he explains.

you laugh. "maybe bring some of your old CDs, too?"

you're only gonna tease him for his music taste, but he doesn't care. "alright, it's a date."

"torres," you chastise lightly. "i don't date coworkers."

"it's... a totally platonic lunch."

you smile, big and beautiful. "looking forward to it."