#Strode's School

[grantgoddard]

Teach your children well? : 1960s-1970s : vegetable-free adolescence, Camberley

 “How often do you wash your face?” asked the doctor.

“Like how?” I responded, uncertain about what he was enquiring.

“You know, with soap and water,” he clarified.

“Er, never,” I replied truthfully.

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because nobody ever told me I needed to,” I said, somewhat embarrassed.

The doctor regarded me pitifully, imagining I must belong to a tribe of itinerant gypsies or have been raised by wolves. To the casual observer, my suburban home life appeared quite normal. Scratch the surface and you would have discovered that my parents had given me few of the ‘life skills’ that are supposed to be demonstrated to children. On this occasion, my mother had sent her teenage son to the family doctor in Frimley Road because his face had become progressively covered in spots. But neither she nor my father had ever instructed me how or when to wash. Once a week, I stood under the water in our modern home’s shower cubicle. If my face became wet while shampooing my hair, I merely dabbed it dry with a towel.

The doctor wrote a prescription for a liquid called ‘Phisohex’ which came in a large green bottle. After a few weeks washing my face twice daily with this cleanser, my spots magically disappeared, following more than a decade of cheeks shamefully having been untouched by soap. Did my mother acknowledge this shortfall in her parental duties? Of course not. This was but one aspect of her ‘hands-off’ approach to childrearing. She had enjoyed a good post-war education at Camberley’s girls’ grammar school in Frimley Road where she was likely taught conventional housekeeping and domestic skills in preparation for marriage. She was goodlooking and always dressed immaculately in the latest trends. Her parents had raised her and her two sisters impressively. So where had her own parenting regime gone awry?

Most of the basic skills I developed – writing, reading, arithmetic – I learned from books and television rather than parental instruction. However, one ability that proved impossible to appropriate in that way was tying shoelaces. As a result, at junior school, after ‘PE’ (Physical Education) lessons that required us to change into slip-on plimsolls, I always had to seek out my cousin Deborah in the year below mine to ask her to retie the laces on my shoes. Once I progressed to grammar school, my skill deficit became more difficult to hide. The mandated school uniform required black lace-up shoes. My mother acknowledged my ‘shoelace’ issue but, instead of simply demonstrating how to do it, she bought me slip-on 'Hush Puppies' shoes for school which resulted in regular disciplinary action. Finally, I had to draft an embarrassing letter from my mother to the school, asking for her son to be excused from the dress code due to difficulty finding suitable lace-up shoes for his high in-step feet.

Like many 1960’s housewives, my mother regularly cut out recipes from magazines and stuffed them in a kitchen drawer. She was particularly proud of a plastic box with transparent lid holding two rows of Marguerite Patten recipe cards that she had sent for to ‘Family Circle’ magazine and which I was tasked with keeping in correct order. She loved making cakes and had a sweet tooth that probably promoted the development of diabetes in her later life. However, her skills with main meals were limited and she preferred to rely upon ‘instant’ foods like fish fingers that were heavily marketed to ‘busy’ housewives at the time. This was probably why I remained as thin as a rake during my childhood, despite teenage years spent scoffing two bowls of cereal both morning and night.

I had been a regular visitor to the family dentist on Middle Gordon Road due to the dreadful state of my teeth. Even at a tender age, I was being gassed for extractions. On one occasion, the stern dentist accused me of not brushing my teeth sufficiently firmly to prevent decay. I resolved to use the state-of-the-art electric toothbrush in our family bathroom with greater pressure during twice-daily cleanings. I returned to the dentist six months later, only for him to inform me that I had rubbed away most of the enamel from my remaining teeth. The outcome of his ‘advice’ was merely more extractions. Not once did this dentist question my mother about her children’s diet. Even if he had, she would have been unlikely to respond honestly.

My mother had an inexplicable lifelong aversion to vegetables. Only the humble potato would accompany our meals, usually in the form of Cadbury’s ‘Smash’. Carrots? Never. Peas? Nope. Broccoli? Unseen. There were other foodstuffs we never experienced – spaghetti, yoghurts, condiments, rice – because my mother had a preference for jellies, custard and blancmange, but it was the lack of vegetables that must have impacted our health growing up the most. I never understood how, despite the piles of women’s magazines around our home, she somehow studiously avoided taking their practical advice regarding suitable family diets. Such behaviour could have been excused earlier in the twentieth century when literacy and knowledge were less prevalent, but surely not by the 1960’s.

Much of my childhood during weekends and school holidays was spent at my maternal grandparents’ adjoining house where I helped prepare ingredients for their meals. Instructed by my wonderful grandmother, I would sit on the backdoor step with a bowl between my knees, shucking peas from their pods. I would use a peeler to remove the skins from various vegetables whose names I did not know. I would carefully place dozens of apples in rows within cardboard boxes, separating each layer with old newspapers before carrying them into the recesses of the house’s darkened larder under the stairs. My grandmother loved to make jams with these fruits, for which I carefully wrote out white adhesive labels carrying the manufacture date and type. Bizarrely, none of these vegetables or jams were ever served in our own house next door.

From the day she left school at twelve until the day she retired, my grandmother worked in fruit and vegetable shop ‘H.A. Cousins & Son’ at 11 High Street on the corner of St George’s Road in Camberley. During all those decades, her ‘sales assistant’ job never changed, standing all day on the shop’s bare floorboards, putting requested items in brown paper bags, weighing them on old-style scales against combinations of various brass weights, calculating the cost in her head and then the correct change to return to the customer.

Shop owner Mr Cousins would daily travel thirty miles to the fruit, vegetable and flower markets in London at the crack of dawn, returning with a van of produce to sell. Once a day’s stocks were sold, that was it. Any produce left over would be given to the shop staff. My grandmother regularly brought home quantities of all sorts of fruit and vegetables which she shared with us, though my mother always refused the vegetables. Thankfully, she did accept the fruit which became the sole source of my necessary five portions per day.

Cousins advertised its shop locally as “by appointment to Staff College” (Sandhurst Royal Military Academy), providing “Dessert Fruit and Flowers for Dinner Parties, etc.” Its upper-class customers and Sandhurst’s foreign residents necessitated it stock a variety of exotic fruits, the excess of which ended up in my family’s fruit bowl. Visitors to our house in the 1960’s were shocked to see pineapples, mangoes and lychees on our dining table, delicacies that I enjoyed as ‘normal’ long before their availability in supermarkets.

My mother insisted that fruit always be eaten covered in sugar, her favourite ingredient. Cups of tea required two spoons of white sugar, coffee two lumps of Demerara sugar, stewed apples or pears served frequently as our dessert had to be sprinkled with granulated ‘Tate & Lyle’. Even when I visited my mother in her final years, she would buy in a banana to offer me (she refused to eat them), accompanied by a plate of sugar in which to dip it. Thanks, mum. Banana yes, sugar no.

When my grandmother reached the statutory retirement age of the time, we all went round to her house for a little celebration of her departure from a lifetime of work on Cousins’ shop floor. She was pleased to be able to retire before Britain switched to decimalisation in 1971 as she feared metric calculations that no longer involved farthings, florins, half-crowns and guineas. Months later, the shop asked if she would return and work part-time because it was short-staffed. Of course she agreed. In total, she clocked up more than half a century working for that one employer in that one location, a 400-metre walk from her sole marital home.

In 1976, on arrival at university, the bulk of my Surrey County Council grant had to be paid in advance for one term of accommodation and three meals per day within college. Having never taken school dinners and rarely eaten out in restaurants, I was unfamiliar with the canteen system where you line up and tell the kitchen servers which food you want. I hardly recognised any of the foodstuffs on offer and would often merely opt for two identical desserts, skipping main courses entirely. Most intimidating were twice-weekly ‘formal dinners’ lasting an hour, during which more than a hundred students remained seated at long benches in the huge dining room to be served by staff a succession of courses completely foreign to me. The table places were laid with radiating lines of various cutlery, none of which I knew their specific purpose. My fellow students seemed to find all this ‘etiquette’, including ritual table-banging and foot-stomping, perfectly normal because 90%+ of them had grown up around such ‘practises’ at elitist private schools. I often avoided these ghastly events and sat in my room eating a packet of biscuits.

My parents having never taught me how to use cutlery, I had developed my own system whereby I always used my right hand to hold the fork. Only when I had to cut up some food would I transfer the fork to my left hand and then simultaneously use the knife in my right hand. The rest of the time, I placed the knife down on the table. Nobody had ever corrected me. Not until sitting in that university dining room, surrounded by loud toffs with posh accents and double-barrel surnames, did I have to learn to eat holding the fork in my left hand. To this day, my default way of eating is to grab the fork with my right hand. Old habits die hard.

In 1986, my little sister was offered a Saturday job on the till of a small self-serve fruit and vegetable shop in Camberley town centre. She was worried that she would not recognise the produce she would be expected to ring up, since our mother had never fed us veg other than potatoes. By then, I had spent a decade living away from our vegetable-free home and was able to accompany my sister on a ‘Secret Squirrel’ mission to the shop, during which we walked slowly around its one central aisle and tried to identify the varieties of common vegetable on sale. ‘Common’ to everyone else, particularly to our beloved late grandmother, but weirdly not at all to us!

In retrospect, my childhood must have been quite unusual because, although I lacked some basic life skills, I was steeped in other abilities beyond my age. By junior school, I had taught myself to type, to read music and play the piano (despite having non-musical parents). Having recruited me into his business once I could walk, my father taught me how to survey a property, create architectural plans on a drawing board, use Letraset, calculate floor areas and room volumes, prepare client invoices and statements on an electric typewriter, photocopy and make dyeline prints. Meanwhile, my mother enrolled me into reconciling her employer's accounts and calculating its staff's pay packets, pinning and cutting dress patterns to materials, basic knitting stitches, using her sewing machine and threading multiple yarns on her knitting machine. I was eight when typing the forms for my parents' passport renewals, testing my mother's knowledge for her driving test and testing my father for his pilot licence. By the time I started secondary school, I was holding the fort at my father's town centre office, learning shorthand from my mother's discarded 1950's text books and calculating potential profits of deals for my father's new property business. What a strangely un-childlike childhood it was!

[ikariokami]

Walking to School. Jason is smitten and Laurie wishes they’d just kiss already. From the One Cold Summer AU where they met as kids.

[filmindustrysortinghat]

HALLOWEEN 1978 CHARACTERS SORTED INTO THEIR HOGWARTS HOUSE 🦁🐍🦅🦡

• Michael Myers: Slytherin 🐍

• Laurie Strode: Gryffindor 🦁 ( I can also see Ravenclaw!)

• Annie Brackett: Slytherin 🐍 ( I can also see Gryffindor)

• Lynda Vander Klok: Hufflepuff 🦡

• Tommy Doyle: Gryffindor 🦁 (I’m also going based off of his reappearances in the later films)

• Lindsey Wallace: Hufflepuff 🦡(I’m also going based off of her reappearance in the later films)

• Dr. Samuel Loomis: Ravenclaw 🦅

• Marion Chambers: Ravenclaw 🦅

* Let me know what you think! ☺️

[jurassicsickfics]

There was once a time where almost all my faves were redheads, now the vast majority of them are blonde. Oh how times change lol.

And gifs of my gals because I feel like it

[manapeer]

I'll call my dad

The justice league was in disaray. They had failed to stop the summoning, and already the demon was stepping out of the portal. The last standing heros didn't have the manpower to stop a whole thrall army and the magic users certainly hadn't the power to deal with the demon himself. They needed a plan, or a miracle, or the earth was doomed.

Suddenly, Constantine braced himself, and strode right to the beast.

"Don't step further, or I'll have to call my dad."

The heros were baffled. The demon too.

"Your... dad ?"

"That's right," he was sweating bullets but he continued "I'm John Constantine and Phantom is my dad. He cares a lot about Earth. He will not take kindly your little invading stunt."

"Who is Phantom ?" wispered Flash to Zatana.

"I don't know."

The league didn't know if he was bluffing or not. Zatana had recently heard rumors about Constantine's father, but it was all vague, shrouded in secrecy.

The surprised past, the demon laught.

"Alright," he mocked, "Let see what your 'dad' think of that."

Constantine took a deep breath and reluctantly put out a piece of paper form his inner pocket. As he put it in fire with a spell, the cave they were in was breifly plunged in freezing cold and supernatural darkness. A thunderous ice crack resoned, that they could feel in their chest as much as they heard. The shadows sleethed into the form of a titanesque being, and suddenly big, bright, lazarus green eyes opened. And they didn't look happy.

"John."

He gulped.

"Hi dad."

"It's a school night."

"I know," the magician cringed, "I swear I have a good reason."

Now the being looked downright pissed.

"Damn, I would hope so ! Do you have any idea what time it is ?"

"He wants to destroy the Earth !" defended Constantine almost petulantly, waving at the confused demon.

The green eyes looked at the demonic being, then the leaguers in various states of injuries, then the demon again. The demon didn't seem like he wanted to be here anymore. He was proved right when he received a monstruous fist in the face.

The entity grabbed him by an ankle, threw him back to hell, then slammed the portal shut as if it was a door. Constantine visibly relaxed.

"Thanks a lot."

"Don't mention it," grumbled the being. "Anything else you need ?"

"No. And I'm really sorry, I know it's late."

"Just don't make it an habit. See you on sunday."

And just like that, he was gone. Wally had to sit down.

"What the fuck."

---

Hi everyone ! I was reminded of that post a while ago where Danny inherited of Connie's soul and decided it counts as adoption (can't find it now) and this is what came to my brain.

[roanofarcc]

MEDDLING KIDS

pairing: yelena belova x fem!reader (requested)

summary: when your fellow thunderbolts find out you have a crush on yelena, they make it their mission to tease you about it (and maybe help you out a little along the way too) - read part.2 here

warnings: some self-depricating thoughts from reader; crushes and meddling teammates; bucky is team mom

word count. 2.1k || masterlist

It started out as admiration, a simple feeling of awe for Yelena Belova. She was awe-worthy, an ex-window with skills and strength to take down attackers, a natural leader with a dry sense of humor, and a secret softie with an urge to protect those she cared for - whether they were a grown man or a rescued guinea pig. 

Somewhere along the way, as the team formed and moved into the Watchtower, your admiration shifted into something else. You found yourself growing affection toward the blonde, laughing at her jokes that weren’t even that funny, offering to help her with errands to simply be around her, and stuttering when she tossed out the occasional compliment. It was a disaster waiting to happen, you knew that much. 

A crush was one thing, but having one on your roommates/teammates was another. Yelena was hard to read and was so focused on the team that she hardly talked or did anything else. You doubted she time to entertain your feelings. And you doubted she felt the same way.

You were too in your head about it; you knew that. But it was hard not to be when you were constantly around her with a complicated back and forth of your crush and self-doubt. 

“You’re doing it again,” Ava said, eyeing you from across the kitchen table. She begrudgingly enjoyed a breakfast made by Walker, stabbing her eggs with a roll of her eyes as he served you and her plates with a cocky grin. 

“What?” you asked, averting your gaze down onto your plate. 

“Staring like a love-sick school girl,” Ava replied. “And before you try to deny it, don’t.” 

You closed your mouth, swallowing your objection as you sank back in your seat. Walker took a seat at the table, everyone else having already eaten earlier. “Are you talking about her crush on Yelena?” he asked. 

“Oh, my God. Say it louder. I don’t think they heard you in Jersey!” you snapped and buried your head in your hands, mortified. Your crush on Yelena was supposed to remain between you and your mind, no one else. But your new teammates prided themselves on being nosy. Okay, and maybe you weren't the most subtle. Still, they could’ve done you the favor of staying quiet about it. 

Walker laughed. “Come on, it’s kind of obvious. Even Bucky’s mentioned it, and he ignores us most of the time.” 

“I’m going to throw myself off the balcony,” you muttered, sinking lower in your seat. 

Ava even smiled, and you momentarily wished for her and Walker’s bickering over the current topic of conversation. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just Yelena, not a shark. I don’t think she’ll bite, unless you ask her to.” 

“I’m not asking her anything,” you hissed, glaring at the two. “This is not one of those crushes where you admit it to the other person, okay?!” 

Ava furrowed her brows. “You have crushes where you don’t tell the person how you feel? What’s the point?” 

It was Walker’s turn to be confused. “You tell people you have a crush on them?” Ava nodded like that was a super easy and normal thing. “That’s crazy.” 

“What do you do about it, exactly?” 

“Nothing,” Walker replied with a shrug.

You gestured to him. “See! Exactly. I’ll do nothing, and eventually it’ll go away.” 

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I expected this kind of emotional constipation from Walker, but not from you. But if you want to die alone, be my guest.” 

The heavy footsteps from combat boots sounded, pulling your, Ava, and Walker’s attention. Much to their humor and your horror, Yelena strode in with her training bag slung over her shoulder and hair tousled from her session. You busied your hands with your mug of coffee and tried to ignore the heat that flooded your face. 

“Who is dying alone?” Yelena asked, dropping her bag on the floor beside the counter and pouring herself a mug of coffee. 

Ava and Walker exchanged glances with you, then with each other. Before you could get ahead of whatever they were about to say, Ava shrugged Yelena’s question off coolly. “Doesn’t everyone?” 

Yelena raised her brows, biting into a piece of toast that Walker had left on a plate on the counter. “Wow, that’s a cheery morning conversation. Do I need to call Bucky and have him up your time at therapy, because I can totally do that.” 

Ava glared playfully at the blonde before phasing beside her, plucking the piece of toast from her grasp, then phasing back into her seat. 

“You bitch,” Yelena said with a grin. 

You thought the conversation would turn onto something else, maybe a new mission or something unrelated to you and your feelings. But you had missed the mischievous glint in Walker’s eyes. He leaned back in his chair and looked around the group. 

“You know how Alexei’s been hounding us for a movie night?” he said, oddly and out of the blue. 

“Oh, yeah,” Ava said, stretching out the last word suspiciously. “Walker and I were thinking about it, and we…well, we kind of feel bad for shutting him down every time.” 

Yelena looked surprised. “You two feel bad about rejecting movie night? Do you have fevers?” 

“No, we just, we’re trying to be more of…” Ava glanced at you, a stupid smile playing on her lips. “Team players.” 

“Yeah,” Walker added, sharing a similar look. “A movie night won’t kill us.” 

You pressed your lips in a thin line, trying to figure out what the hell they were up to. 

“How about you?” Yelena asked, drawing your attention. 

Under the table, Ava kicked your shin hard. You bit your lip and nodded before finding your voice. “S-Sure. That sounds fun.” 

With a shrug, Yelena agreed. “All right. I’ll tell Alexei movie night’s on tonight.” She left the kitchen, focus drawn to her phone as she texted her dad, who had probably forced his way into a morning jog with Bucky. Once she was out of the room and earshot, you glared daggers at the two at the table. 

“What was that?” 

They just smiled, gathered their dishes from their downed breakfast, and left. 

“Uh, where is everyone?” You entered the living room dressed in your pajamas and carrying a blanket. You expected to see the rest of your team arguing over seats or popcorn bowls, but the only person there was Yelena, seated in the middle of the sofa with a large bowl of popcorn in her lap and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

She shrugged, tapping on her phone. Her brows furrowed as she read something on the screen. “Those little assholes all bailed,” she said. 

You mentally cursed at Ava and Walker and started forming some kind of plan to get back at them. “All of them? This was Alexei’s plan, and Bob doesn’t even like to leave the tower.” 

“I know,” Yelena hummed. “But I guess something came up.” She seemed much more indifferent about the team bailing than you, but that was likely due to the fact that you knew Ava and Walker had set you up to be alone with Yelena. How they got the others to agree, you had no idea, but they had. 

You shifted from one foot to another, toying with the blanket in your hand. “Well, I guess movie night’s off then.” 

Yelena looked at you oddly. “Why?” 

“Because no one’s here?” 

She pointed to herself, then at you. “Are we not here?” You rolled your eyes in response, and she smirked. “Come on! That means we don’t have to fight with everyone to pick a movie.” She patted the spot on the couch directly next to her before starting to flip through movie options on the screen. 

Ignoring the quickening of your heartbeat at being alone with Yelena without at least one team member there to prevent any awareness you may cause, you joined her, leaving a good amount of space between the two of you. 

You two settled on a movie rather quickly, and Yelena placed the popcorn bowl in the space between you. For a while, you sat in silence and focused on the film. You tried to ignore the little voice in your head that was in override at your current situation. If you didn’t want things to be weird, you had to bury your crush. Yelena was your friend, your teammate, that was all. 

It wasn’t until the movie was nearly over that Yelena broke the silence. “Are you okay?” 

You looked at her, slightly startled by the question. “Yeah. Why?” 

She shrugged, eyes focused on the screen. “You’ve seemed weird lately.” 

“Oh,” you said quietly. Have you been weird? Around Yelena, maybe. You know you didn’t interact with her as much as you had when you first met, but you didn’t think she’d notice. 

“I guess I should have asked you if you even wanted to watch a movie, huh? I’m not always the best at that. Blame my dad for that.” 

You studied the side of her face, gently illuminated by the glow of TV. Your chest ached; your feelings bubbled against your will. With a sigh, you shook your head and forced yourself to focus on anything else. 

“No, I wanted to,” you said. 

It was her turn to look at you. You felt her eyes and couldn’t help but meet them. A small smile rested on her lips as she moved the empty popcorn bowl onto the coffee table before scooting closer to you. There was still a space between you, a friendly space, but your heart beat faster anyway. 

“Good,” she said, snatching half of your blanket from your lap and tossing it over her legs as she kicked her feet up on the coffee table. “If I’m being honest, I was kind of glad everyone bailed. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do like those assholes. I really do. But I felt like we hadn’t gotten a chance to, you know, hang out.” 

“You wanted to hang out with me?” The words slipped out before you could even think about it. You had a hard time understanding why Yelena would want to hang out with just you. It wasn’t that you didn’t think you two were friends, but you assumed you were just the kind of friends that exist in a group. 

She stared at you like you had said the most insane thing. “Duh? You are…nice.” 

The softness in her tone unfurled some of the tension and nervousness in your body. “I think you’re nice too.” 

“The others can be nice, but with you I am���I don’t know…comfortable.” She paused as her words sank into you, sending your mind into a whirlwind of confusion. Then, she laughed, deep and raspy. “Sorry, that sounds crazy.” 

“No,” you said quickly. “It doesn’t.” 

Yelena held your gaze for a moment longer before she dragged her eyes back onto the screen. You did the same, a dizzy feeling comfortably wrapping its way around your head. Her words were the only thing you thought about as you began to doze off on the couch, mind filled with her pretty smile and intense gaze. 

Tip-toeing into the tower’s living room, Ava and Walker led the charge. They stopped, peaking around the wall that held the TV. 

“I told you,” Ava whispered, digging her elbow into Walker’s side. 

He wanted to retort with a snarky comment, but refrained, smiling fondly at the sight in front of them. 

Even Alexei managed to stay quiet as he fumbled for his cell phone and held it up. “Oh, this is getting framed for New Avengerz Christmas card,” he said in the quietest voice they’d ever heard from him. He snapped a photo, almost giddy. 

On the couch, with a movie long since over, you and Yelena slept sharing a blanket, your head resting on her shoulder, and her arm draped lazily around you.

The sight was sugary sweet, even enough for Bucky to crack a smile. 

“They look so cozy,” Bob whispered.

Alexei tossed an arm around Bob’s shoulders, causing him to tense up momentarily before relaxing. “That, my boy, is young love.” 

Bucky chuckled softly. “All right, let’s not push it. And-” he looked pointedly between Ava and Walker. “Less meddling, okay?” 

With a roll of her eyes, Ava replied, “Yes, mom.” 

The group broke apart, leaving you and Yelena to spend the rest of the night sleeping together on the couch. 

As they made their way toward their bedroom, Walker knocked his shoulder with Ava’s. “We’re not actually stopping meddling to get them together, right?” 

She eyed him, smirking lightly. “Not a chance.”

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: I’m so tempted to make a load of these scenarios because I find this trope so cute 😭 and I was definitely not inspired by that photo I reblogged…

The moment Mattheo Riddle stepped into the Great Hall, the entire atmosphere shifted. Conversations hushed, eyes flickered away, and the once lively room felt as though it had lost all its warmth.

It wasn’t uncommon for Mattheo to be in a foul mood, but today, it was different. Today, he radiated pure fury.

His dark curls were even messier than usual, his sharp jaw locked tight, and his eyes—those usually mischievous brown eyes—were stormy and dangerous.

“Don’t even look at him,” Theo muttered under his breath, nudging Enzo as they both sat at the Slytherin table.

Enzo let out a low whistle. “What’s got him like this?”

“Dunno, but I’d rather not be on the receiving end of it.”

Sure enough, Mattheo strode past a few third years who were unfortunate enough to be in his path and they practically flew backwards as he barged past them. Even the Gryffindors who would normally offer an unsolicited snarky comment chose to keep their heads down.

The only one who seemed entirely unbothered by his wrath was you—for good reason.

As soon as Mattheo spotted you at the Slytherin table, his expression shifted so suddenly it was almost comical. The storm in his eyes calmed, his shoulders relaxed, and his lips curled into a soft, barely-there smile.

“Hey, love,” he murmured as he slid onto the bench beside you, his arm immediately wrapping around your waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

You turned to face him, brows raised. “You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

Mattheo sighed dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “I might. Haven’t decided yet.”

Despite his words, his tone when speaking to you was so sweet, so warm, that it was almost laughable compared to how he’d just been glaring daggers at half the school.

Theo, who had been watching the entire exchange with amusement, turned to Enzo. “You see that?”

Enzo smirked. “Oh, I see it all right. Blatant favoritism!”

Theo grinned. “It’s absolutely ridiculous. He looks like he’s about to kill us all, and then the second he sees Y/N? Boom. Puppy.”

“I’m literally right here,” Mattheo muttered, pulling away from you just enough to glare at his friends. “And I will not hesitate to throw you both into the black lake.”

“Oh, we know,” Theo said, leaning back smugly. “But only if Y/N isn’t looking, yeah?”

Mattheo scowled. “Shut up.”

You giggled, reaching out to cup his cheek, drawing his attention back to you. “What’s got you so mad, anyway?”

He melted into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he exhaled heavily. “Idiot Ravenclaws in Dueling Club,” he grumbled. “One of them kept running their mouth, thinking they could beat me. Almost hexed the bastard into next week, but Snape showed up before I could.”

You hummed in response, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “So you’re mad because you didn’t get to hex someone?”

“Pretty much.”

Theo snorted. “Psychopath.”

“Dead man,” Mattheo shot back without even looking at him.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Alright, alright. No hexing your friends at breakfast.”

Mattheo groaned, resting his forehead against yours. “You always take their side.”

“I do not,” you argued, laughing softly. “I just think you need to relax.”

“I am relaxed,” he said, voice softer than before. He nudged his nose against yours, and for a second, it was like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Just you and him, wrapped up in this little moment of warmth.

Enzo made a gagging noise. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Mattheo’s hand shot out to grab a piece of toast from Enzo’s plate and chucked it at his head. “Then leave.”

You leaned in, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Don’t let them bother you.”

His lips barely curved into a smirk. “They don’t. They’re just annoying.”

“You love us,” Theo chimed in.

“No, I tolerate you.”

Enzo grinned. “Right, but you love her.”

Mattheo didn’t even hesitate. “Obviously.”

The table went silent for a second.

Theo’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell, did he just—?”

“He did,” Enzo confirmed, looking equally stunned. “He admitted it. Just like that.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, looking at you like he couldn’t believe he had to deal with this level of stupidity. “Of course I love her.” He glanced at the other two. “What, did you think I was throwing myself at her feet just for fun?”

Theo blinked. “I mean… yeah, kind of.”

Mattheo groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “You absolute idiots.”

You just laughed, feeling warmth spread through your chest at how easily he had said it. You knew Mattheo loved you—he showed it in every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every time he softened his voice just for you—but hearing him say it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world? That was something else entirely.

He may have been terrifying to everyone else, but when it came to you, he was nothing but soft.

And honestly? You loved that.

Even if your friends never let you live it down.

[clockwayswrites]

Bitty birb in the nest is worth...? Part 19

Masterpost This is going to have many typos and spelling issues, but it currently feels like I've got an ice pick in my temple and my skin hurts so there's no rereading happening atm. Sorry!

-

Danny looked up as Tim Drake-Wayne strode into the lab and closed the door quietly behind himself.

“Tim?”

“Mm-hum?” Tim hummed as he sat down his thermos before he shed his messenger bag, coat, and school jacket onto an open part of desk.

Danny watched on with bemusement. The kid looked half asleep. “Not that it isn’t great to see you again, but what are you doing here, honey?”

“Bruce is on a call running Luthor in circles and then has to talk to legal about some stuff because Luthor is always an ass. We’re supposed to go run an errand and then to dinner together, so I’m stuck here until he’s ready to leave for the day.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said honestly.

“It’s okay, at least Bruce won’t forget, not like—” Tim shut his mouth with a snap, seemingly suddenly thinking about what he was saying.

“It’s okay, I get it,” Danny said, because he did. “You need somewhere to hide out then?”

“Yeah, it’s… calm here.”

“Okay. Sit wherever you want that’s clear. If you need to move something, let me know first, okay?”

“Thanks,” Tim said, shoulders finally losing some of their tension.

“Of course, whenever you need.”

Not wanting to push Tim in any way, Danny kept a subtle eye on the boy as Tim absently wandered around Danny’s office. To Tim’s credit, he did try to touch anything or move things around, even as he obviously grew increasingly tired.

It would be a lot, Danny supposed, to be a teen ager trying to live up to the legacy of two important families in the area, learn the business, go to school, and (hopefully) also spend time with friends. Danny knew how hard it had been only having Phantom as an obligation.

While, sure, Danny wished Tim had made chosen a less neck cramping spot, he was happy to see Tim finally settle down and seemingly fall asleep… under one of Danny’s work benches. Danny couldn’t fuss too much, he’d done that plenty in grad school himself. Once Tim seemed properly asleep, Danny got up to fetch his cardigan from the hook by the door and took it to drape over the sleeping kid. Tim let a little huffed breath of air before he snuggled further into the cardigan and settled back into sleep.

It made Danny’s heart melt in a way that he didn’t want to think too hard about.

It really was no surprise when about forty-five minutes later one Bruce Wayne poked his head into Danny’s office. The door was hardly open when Danny had his finger up and over his mouth in the universal sign of ‘shush’.

Bruce titled his head curiously. Danny gave a little nod of his head towards the workbench that Tim was sleeping under. Silently, Bruce moved to the work bench and crouched down next to it. There was a soft, amused sound before Bruce reached out to brush his hand over Tim’s forehead, as if habitually checking for a fever.

When Bruce returned to where Danny was working, he asked softly, “How long has he been asleep?”

“A little over a half hour. It took him about ten minutes to settle in,” Danny answered, voice equally quiet.

“Then do you mind if I let him keep resting for another fifteen minutes or so? He’s likely to wake up on his own then.”

Danny shook his head. “Nope, let the kid rest. He seems like he needs it.”

Bruce glanced at Tim, his expression that soft sort of worried only parents seemed to get. “He does. He works too hard at… everything. He’s always trying to prove himself even when he doesn’t need to anymore.”

Danny made a little questioning noise as he got back to fiddling with the annoyingly tiny screws.

“His parents were… demanding. They had very exacting ideas of what proper high society behavior was,” Bruce explained. “I’m sadly not the best suited at dismantling those ideas either.”

“Ah… well, what do you do that encourages him to be a kid?” Danny asked.

“He skateboards, actually. And he enjoys photography, but even that became a goal what with art competitions at school.”

“Maybe take him and Damian on a mini art vacation? Somewhere pretty. Somewhere where it’s not about judges,” Danny suggested. He finally got the last screw seated so he glanced up at Bruce’s thoughtful face.

“That’s a good idea,” Bruce said. “I’ll start looking at what might work. Thank you.”

“Sure, ideas are kinda what I do,” Danny said and motioned to the office around him with the screwdriver.

Bruce’s answering chuckle was low and warm. “I suppose it is. I hope you’re also not overworking yourself.”

“I’m doing much better,” Danny assured Bruce. “I just needed some rest.”

“Which my children made sure you got. I’m still sorry that they kept you so long on Friday.”

It was Danny’s turn to laugh. “Honestly, I don’t think you really have much control over what they do.”

“No, I really don’t,” Bruce admitted. “But I wouldn’t have them any other way.”

“That’s good; they’re a pretty amazing family,” Danny said with a soft smile. “And if I don’t get to be sorry about falling asleep, you don’t get to be sorry about making me rest.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but deal.”

“I am a master business man,” Danny teased and ducked his head to hide his smile.

“I’ll have to watch for corporate take overs. Keep an eye on the stocks and papers.”

“Maybe. Oh, speaking of… Well, not speaking of but sort of related? You know, I was joking about us making the papers.”

Bruce hummed curiously so Danny set aside his tools to pull up the story that several coworkers had sent him on his table. He spun it to face Bruce. The picture of them in the box was big on the screen. They were pressed almost chest to chest with Bruce’s arms around Danny. It certainly looked incriminating.

“Well shit,” Bruce said with a sigh. He picked up the tablet to scan through the article. There wasn’t anything in it, of course, just wild speculation. “I hope you haven’t been harassed about this by anyone.”

“I don’t think anyone knows who I am to harass me,” Danny said honestly. “Some coworkers have sent me it, but apparently it’s just my luck to have both randomly run into a Wayne and be invited to an event and have one of my ‘spells’ when I’m around them.”

Bruce looked at him with one well manicured brow raised. “You have interesting luck.”

“Yep. It’s been quite a life so far. I was pretty much born into interesting luck and life has really lived up to that luck and died by it,” Danny said with a little chuckle as he took his tablet back.

“I feel concerned by that last part.”

Danny hummed in question, distracted by pulling his notes back up.

“The having died by the luck part.”

“Oh.” Danny smiled, but he knew that expression was less than a happy one. “I think I mentioned that there was an accident when I was a kid?”

Bruce nodded and lean his elbows on the work bench and crosses his arms. “You did. One that is apparently still affecting your pulse to this day.”

“Yes, well,” Danny glanced away from Bruce. Why was it still so hard to talk about. “When I was fourteen, I was electrocuted at at an… industrial level of voltage. Unsurprisingly it killed me. And hey, obviously I came back! But that sort of thing sticks around.”

“I’m sorry.”

Danny looked back at Bruce, honestly startled. In all this time, Danny wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard a ‘I’m sorry’ about his accident, not without strings attached. His lips quirked into a smile again. This one felt more pleasant. “Thanks. Trust me though, I’m grateful that life has, had been calmer.”

Whatever Bruce was going to say to that was cut off by a loud yawn, the sound of someone shifting around, and then the unmistakable bang of a limb against the metal legs of one of the workbenches.

Quiet cussing followed a moment later.

“You okay there, Tim?” Danny asked.

“Fine,” Tim hissed back.

“I’m sure I have an instant icepack in my office. We can grab one before we leave,” Bruce said.

“B?” Tim asked, voice noticeably brighter. A moment later he appeared out from under the desk.

“Hi, sweetheart, sorry that I had to take that call,” Bruce said as he stepped over to Tim. He reached out to brush the teen’s hair a little straighter.

“It’s fine, it’s Lex, I get it.”

“I know you get it, but that doesn’t mean it has to be fine.”

Tim just shrugged. The action made him notice the the cardigan draped over his shoulders. A little blush rose on his cheeks as he took it off and handed it back to Danny. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for Tim, you weren’t any problem,” Danny assured him. “You’re welcome in my office whenever.”

“You’re going to regret that,” Tim said.

Danny just shrugged with a smile.

“Come on, chum, let’s go find that icepack. We’ll still get to your store before it closes,” Bruce said and started to guide Tim out by the shoulder.

Bruce glanced behind him and Danny gave a little wave to the retreating Waynes.

His luck indeed.

-

“What happened in Danny’s office that’s bothering you?” Tim asked. He had the icepack pressed against his elbow and was sitting almost sideways so that he could take in all of Bruce’s expression.

Bruce was doing that thing where he was feeling big, complicated emotions and wishing he wasn’t. Tim could read it in the way that Bruce’s shoulders were set, that little bit of tightening under his eyes, and the way he was very purposefully not frowning.

“B,” Tim pressed.

Bruce sighed, the sound all of his air. “I think we should leave Danny alone, both as Waynes and as Bats.”

Tim jolted and scrambled to sit up further. “Wait, what? Bruce, what happened?”

“Nothing bad,” Bruce assured Tim. “Nothing bad happened. Vicky got a picture of Danny and I at the ballet. We spoke some about it and Danny talked about how he had interesting luck. He said he was grateful that life has been calmer; he had to change that to had.”

“…oh.”

“It’s just that—”

“No, you’re right. I’ll try to talk to the others about it because you know they won’t listen to you about it.”

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

“It’s fine, I get it.”

[rewiringtoheal]

My Soul Aches For Your Touch

Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with a spouse can be challenging, especially when children and mundane tasks take up so much of the day. Sometimes you have to do something drastic in order to shake things up.

warnings: 18+, minor DNI, Reader has a penis, smut.

A/N: This one is a labor of love, nervous to release it into the world but happy it's complete. First time writing anything like this. I tried my best.

Natasha stared at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her had softened quite significantly with the domestic life she has been leading. Long gone were the days of powerful thighs and toned arms from countless hours spent in the training room. She knows she still looks beautiful, shapely even but she can’t help scrutinizing the ways in which she has changed. Not just physical changes but the emotional ones as well. The once unphased Black Widow now a mother and wife who wears her heart on her sleeve. She was barely on the cusp of 35 yet she sometimes felt like a has-been stuck in the same boring routine; having traded in saving the world for morning school drop offs. 

Don’t get her wrong, she loves her life. She has everything she had ever dreamed of and never truly dared to hope for. The most amazing spouse and two children who mean the absolute world to her. The changes that have been made to her mind and body over time are a testament to them. And the prolonged feeling of being loved and safe; they have instilled within her. But there was something missing in this wonderful life that left her feeling unfulfilled. A silent yearning to feel desirable again.

She needed a change of pace, desperately. Nothing too drastic, just something to knock her out of the rut she’s been in. If she is honest with herself, she wants to feel like her younger self used to; powerful and untouchable. A world renowned spy with a sexual prowess that rivaled none; making men and women alike beg for a chance to warm her bed.

Which is why despite her nerves she has decided to go through with this tonight. 

She finishes styling her signature auburn curls, the soft waves cascade down her back and shoulders, framing her face in a way that brings attention to supple lips coated in a subtle pink lipstick. She went a bit lighter on the mascara and eyeliner as well, wanting her natural features to shine through, and the green of her eyes had definitely become the star of the show. She smirks, trying to emulate the confidence that used to be second nature to her. 

Before the feelings of embarrassment could take root and she lost the will to continue this facade, she turned on her heels and strode into her closet, determined to find an outfit that would turn heads tonight. She wanted something that showed off her sex appeal; which she knew she still possessed. It just wasn’t something she flaunted anymore. 

She wanted something that was sexy yet sophisticated, settling on an understated black dress and a pair of matching pumps. The light pink lingerie set she had underneath would be quite the surprise for whoever would be finding themselves in her bed. She hopes the discovery makes their heart race. 

She felt a flicker of guilt twist in her stomach at the sensual thought, or perhaps just her nerves continuing to act up. Natasha compartmentalizes those thoughts away as she dresses quickly. It was sister’s night this evening and Yelena’s girlfriend’s family was hosting a bit of a soiree. And her goal for the evening was quite different to her baby sisters.

She took one last glance at herself, making sure she looked put together. She smirked again, this time she truly felt like her old self. For the first time in a long time she felt sexy and emboldened; it was a nice feeling. She turned to leave the walk-in closet, pausing at the entryway, her eyes briefly catching sight of her spouse's dirty boxers haphazardly thrown into their laundry basket. They’re covered in crocodiles with little sunglasses on them. The sight makes her heart pang with sorrow as she fiddles with her wedding ring, taking a deep breath she wiggles the ring until it slides off her finger, before placing it in her jewelry box.   

The front gate alarm pings, signaling that Yelena and Kate have arrived. She shakes the anxious thoughts from her mind not wanting to think about this any longer; steeling her resolve she makes her way out to her ride.

xXx  

You were in desperate need of a thrill. The life you had was one you coveted but the mundane activities that were expected of you everyday had grown rather dull. You knew that doing the same old things wouldn’t get you the results you wanted so you decided to shake things up. Instead of heading straight home after a long day of work, you decided to take up your client's invitation to her fancy soiree. 

After greeting Eleanor Bishop with a warm hello, you head straight toward the bar, asking for an old fashioned with an orange twist. You take a slow deep drink, enjoying the first initial burning sensation that hits the back of your throat. Gently, leaning against the bar you allow the alcohol to settle into your system and just bask in the ease at which it puts your mind. 

You let your eyes sweep across the room looking for a woman that peaks your interest. You knew you weren’t going home alone tonight; a beautiful woman warming your bed may just be the key to shaking up the monotony. You take note of several gorgeous women, some twirling around the dance floor and some chatting amongst peers, when a shimmering waterfall of red caught your eye. 

Your eyes zero in on her, she’s mingling with a group of socialites, an heiress in her own right perhaps. Not an outlandish guess with how she carries herself and the beauty that radiates from her. She’s made to be the center of attention and you can tell she revels in it. It’s not long before the belle of the ball is asked to dance. Some tall aristocrat; he’s handsome you suppose if you're into that sort of thing.  

You take another swig of your drink, allowing yourself to watch her move across the ballroom. The embodiment of grace as she dances.

You were mesmerized by the woman, and there was no way that pretentious asshole was going to be the one taking her home. Her fiery mane shimmered underneath the ballroom lights, the soft curls bouncing with every graceful movement. The black dress she was wearing had your mouth watering; every movement allowed you to see delicious amounts of ivory skin. Her curves were on full display; the thought of sinking your teeth into that voluptuous backside had you weak in the knees. And that damn smirk she’s wearing almost does you in; you swear she’s taunting you.

You want to worship every inch of her. It’s what she deserves being that damn fine. And you know for a fact that this yuppie won’t get on his knees for her.

You shoot back the rest of your drink, before setting down the empty glass, and making your way towards them.

“Excuse me, sweetheart, would you mind if I cut in?” You say almost breathless.

She’s even more gorgeous up close. 

xXx

She had seen you walk in a while ago, the warm greetings exchanged with Eleanor Bishop and the casual way you were leaning against the bar aroused her curiosity. And the form fitted black suit you were wearing aroused more than that. You looked dashing to say the least. 

She felt your gaze linger on her as she socialized, it exhilarated her to be watched in such a shameless manner. You did nothing to hide the desire, lighting up your eyes, your intentions quite clear. 

She smirked before accepting an invitation to dance from a rather stiff businessman, wondering just how far she would have to push you for you to be the one asking. Never taking into account that you would interrupt them. It was bold of you and she was pleased with your actions. 

With your offer accepted the nameless man left without making a scene; just slight disappointment in his eyes. She didn’t even feel a hint of remorse as you took her in your arms. 

She felt a shiver run up her spine as you took command of the dance. Leading her around the ballroom with a finesse that comes with years of practice. 

The two of you moved through the dance with a sensual grace, your bodies flowing together seamlessly, the passionate embrace amplifying the flirtatious atmosphere.

The warmth of your body, the smell of your cologne, and your hungry gaze had Natasha burning with desire. She hadn’t been this turned on in quite some time. 

As the dance was coming to a close she decided she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of your company any longer. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

You nodded without hesitation, grabbing her hand with tenderness as you led her out of the ballroom. She waved to Yelena before they got too far away, letting her sister know where she was headed. The blonde was grinning ear to ear. 

xXx

The car ride to their final destination was taking entirely too long. She was enchanted by the way your tongue darted out to lick your lips and the subtle bouncing of your left leg. It was one of the only indications she had that you were just as impatient as she was. The other clue she had to go off of was the generous outline of a semi-erect penis making itself visible in those deliciously tight pants of yours. She needed the fire burning between her legs to be satiated this instant. The hand caressing Natasha’s inner thigh was not helping matters.

“Pull over.”

“Sweetheart, we’re almost there.”

She didn’t care. All she cared about was the deep ache she knew could only be satisfied by your cock. As need and lust consumed her; every rational thought left her mind. 

She grabbed the hand resting on her thigh, slowly dragging it up to stroke against soft pink panties, the groan you released let her know you could feel how wet she was. 

“Pull the damn car over, now”

“Fucking hell, you’re already so worked up babe.” You husk, as you pull over onto the side of the road, safely parking. 

Natasha slides into your lap in a hast, “You have no idea.” 

xXx

You situate the seat so she’s comfortable, before pulling that tantalizing mouth of hers into an earth shattering kiss. She whimpers as your assault on her mouth turns frantic; wanting nothing more than to consume her. Delicate hands weave their fingers through your hair, as you work to undo the zipper on the back of her dress. You break away from the kiss briefly to peel it down Natasha’s arms, and to pull the black material down her body to pool around her waist. Fuck, the lacey pink bra covering her breasts makes your cock throb with need. 

Your eyes watch goosebumps erupt on Natasha’s heaving chest; as her flushed skin adjusts to the cool air. She tilts your head up, kissing you hard and desperate. Your tongues massaging one anothers in tandem, every once in a while pausing to suck and swirl your tongues into the caverns of each other's mouths.  

Your arms slip around her sides, fingers caressing the smooth skin of Natasha’s back before unclasping her bra and shimming it down her arms. Discarding it without care as your lips leave that additive mouth of hers to kiss along her jaw. She squirms in your lap, as you nip and lick your way down the line of her throat, leaving a trail of red marks in your wake. 

You pull back and admire the intoxicating woman before you. Those gorgeous emerald eyes that bewitched you from across the ballroom are now blown black with a carnal hunger and her lips are kiss swollen. That lovely shade of pink lipstick is smeared down her chin. And her neck is painted in your love-bites and saliva. She looks wrecked. You could come at the sight alone. 

“Are you going to stare at me all night or are you finally going to touch me?” 

She looks pleased by your admiration, despite what her words may otherwise imply.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been touching you but I promise you’re going to be able to feel me everywhere in a second.”

The pair of soft full breasts attached to this divine being are too tempting to ignore any longer. Your lips descend on her right breast with utter devotion, your tongue flicking over a pretty pink peak; coaxing it taut. Before pulling her nipple into your mouth and suckling. 

She arches into you with a breathless moan, offering more of herself up to you with fervor. As you show equal amounts of attention to each breast your hands caress Natasha’s sides, slowly making their way to her backside. You drag the dress up her hips and expose her center, sliding her panties to the side, your fingers slip through damp curls with ease to massage her clit. 

Natasha shudders from the contact, intuitively grinding her hips into your fingers. She revels in the friction for a little while, feeling the pressure begin to build, and knowing that she needs you inside of her right now. Her hands slide down to your belt buckle, yanking it open, you lift your hips up allowing her to drag your slacks and boxers down in one foul swoop. Her fingers wrap around your thickness with enthusiasm; her hand stroking in a firm but gentle caress.

“Hmm, fuck. I need you so bad.” You groan, thrusting into her hand. 

“Me too, baby. I need you inside me.” Natasha mewls.

Natasha slows her movements, grabbing your tie pulling you into a passionate kiss, her hips lifting up and with your guidance sinks down onto your cock. 

Her back grows taut, needing to take a minute to adjust to the feeling of being so full, before she starts rolling her hips. You grip her backside and begin to thrust up into her. She chants your name as you pick up the pace. Natasha matches your rhythm with vigor, her breath labored as she slams down onto you.

Natasha’s hands find purchase on your shoulders, her fingers crumpling the fabric of your suit jacket as she slides up and down against you. You can’t believe you bothered to get it pressed when this is the only way it should be worn; rumpled and covered in her slick. She rests her forehead against yours, panting into your mouth as your lower halves move in tandem. 

She is so tight and so incredibly warm. You continue to pump into her, her slick wet heat engulfing you as you feel the walls of her core beginning to flutter. With determination, you shove your hand between your gyrating bodies, your thumb sliding through soaked folds to massage her clit. 

You feel her inner walls clamp around you before she lets out a cry of your name, her nails sink into the back of your head and neck as she comes hard against you. The intense stimulation is too much for you to bear as you follow her over the edge with a grunt. 

She continues to keep you close as her breathing begins to mellow out, you sprinkle every inch of bare skin available to you with kisses as she begins to untangle herself from you. Natasha chuckles as she takes in your appearance, your expensive suit is wrinkled beyond repair and your skin is coated in a sheen of sweat. It fills her with a deep sense of satisfaction to have done such a number on you. 

Her eyes flick down between her legs, catching sight of the barely visible waistband of your black boxers, straining against your muscular thighs. They are too dull for her taste. 

“You know the suit was so sexy on you but I have to say I am not a fan of these underwear.” Natasha says, gaze returning to you and it’s full of mischief. 

You look up at her and grin, “Well the next time we fulfill one of our fantasies I promise I’ll buy a new pair of quirky animal boxers. Maybe some polar bears or something.”

She laughed and bit her lip, “Oh, I appreciate the consideration, Detka…” she trails off, lost in thought for a second, “Now tell me more about these fantasies of yours.”

You reach down grasping her left arm, pulling her hand up landing playful nips to the tips of her fingers. “Oh sweetheart, I’ve got so many fantasies revolving around you. Some new ones involving that damn lingerie set. You look so fucking sexy in pink.”

You note the subtle mood shift, the sadness and vulnerability now in Natasha’s eyes, it makes your heart weep.

“Yeah?” She asks tone so hopeful

You knew that the two of you had been stuck in a rut as of late, the monotony of family life not leaving much room for the two of you to nurture your relationship; emotional or sexual. There was a strict schedule for everything concerning the kids and with the long hours you worked, it left a lot of your marriage up in the air. Only really having time for quickies in the shower or watching a movie together at the end of the day. That is if your kids didn’t interrupt the two of you. 

When you were young the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other and you know that love changes over time. This however was different and unacceptable to you. Natasha was the love of your life, the sexiest woman in the world in your eyes and the fact that she no longer knew that was gut wrenching. As you look up into her eyes, seeing all the love, hope and desire for you there, you know from this moment on you would do anything to make her feel like the strong, sexy and courageous woman you know her to be.

And after tonight, you know that the fire that burns between you two is still there. All it needs is a little coaxing to ignite it and you were damn sure going to keep that fire fed from now on.

You lift your hand up to caress her cheek, “Natasha, I know our relationship has fallen to the wayside a bit since the kids were born but sweetheart you are still so damn sexy to me. I love you so fucking much. And I am so sorry for letting it get this bad.” 

“I love you too, baby. Please don’t put all of this on you. I know I haven’t been making our marriage a priority either…I’m sorry for that.” Natasha kisses the corner of your mouth. “It’s a relief that after all this time you still think I’m sexy.” She chuckles, gesturing to herself with contempt. “I know I don’t look like I used too.”

“The fact that you don’t believe that your fucking gorgeous and that I crave you like a person in hell craves ice water is on me.” You implore her to see the truth in your words. “I am going to do everything I can to make us a priority again. I'm done always putting the kids first. You deserve to be loved and fucked to your hearts content.” Your voice holds conviction. 

Natasha yanks on your tie pulling you in for a passionate kiss. “Well in that case…maybe we can take advantage of the kids staying with your mom tonight. You can show me just how much you crave me, baby.” 

“That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.” You help Natasha slide back over into the passenger seat, and get your clothes in order. “That being said, when we get home Mrs. Y/L you're putting your wedding ring back on.” You send her a playful glare, as you restart the car. “If I ever see that finger bare again…there will be consequences.”

Natasha giggles, “Consequences huh?...mhmm.. I’d like to experience that but…” She winks at you. “It was definitely a bit of a risk I took, I'll admit. I won’t be taking it again. Now drive, baby.”

It was an exhilarating night for the both of you. And as you head down the road toward your shared home, it feels like the beginning of a brand new adventure. 

[grantgoddard]

Attempted murder on the Waterloo express? : 1971 : Bagshot railway station

 Kapow! There was an explosion. Before I even grasped what had just happened, I could see I was covered with shards of glass. What was that noise? The train window I was sat next to had suddenly vanished and was in pieces on me and the seat. Luckily, I had not been looking towards the window at the time, otherwise my face would have been injured. Luckily, because it was winter, I was wearing an army surplus hat with furry earflaps that had protected my head and ears. Luckily, I was wearing a coat over my school blazer, gloves and long trousers that had shielded me, these winter woollies necessary because trains’ heating systems rarely functioned adequately.

I caught the ten-past-eight number 28 train every day for seven years from Camberley station to my school half-an-hour away in Egham. It was part of a commuter route propelling workers on the one-hour journey into London’s busy Waterloo terminus. Travelling to school this way felt like stepping into Narnia through the wardrobe door of our suburban British Rail station. Journeys were populated by strange characters not present in my normal day-to-day homelife. The station platform was awash with bowler-hatted, suited gentlemen carrying leather briefcases and rolled-up umbrellas. Women were a rare sight. Humourless station staff in uniforms shouted announcements about delays in the tone of army drill sergeants. Bumptious Terry-Thomas ticket inspectors walked through train carriages, looking down their noses at our thick green cardboard season tickets as if we were interlopers on their Orient Express.

At least the trains on our line were relatively modern electric rolling stock. As a small child, I recall standing at the top of the open footbridge over Camberley station, looking down at the signal box beside the level crossing and feeling clouds of smoke envelope me from a steam train passing underneath. Or was that a ‘Railway Children’-inspired false memory, acquired from reminiscences by my grandfather who had worked unloading timber for local building firm ‘Dolton, Bournes & Dolton’ in the goods yard beside the station? He had been made redundant in the early 1960’s for the yard to be replaced by a new ring road and Camberley ‘bus station’, in reality no more than a line of bus stops and tiny shelters without a waiting room. After my afternoon arrival in Camberley by train to await the hourly 39B (40 minutes past every hour) or two-hourly 34A bus (15 minutes past even hours) for the final two-mile journey home, I would have to walk over to the railway station lobby and sit opposite the ticket window to keep warm and dry.

My schoolfriends and I were the Pevensie children of Camberley, rendezvousing every morning at the very rear of the station’s eastbound platform that could accommodate only four carriages, despite our train normally being eight. When the train driver pulled up close to the signal at the top of the platform, we could just about clamber up to open the first door of the fifth carriage from the platform’s sloping end. Those rear four carriages became our playground because, until the train reached Ascot station’s longer platform, we had that section entirely to ourselves. No other passengers, no train staff. We could be as loud and unruly as we wanted. We would walk down the corridor to sit at the very rear of the train because, eventually alighting at Egham station’s full-length platform, we would be right next to the exit gate.

When the incident happened that morning, the train had slowed down to pull into Bagshot station and was about to cross the Guildford Road viaduct, a massively tall structure of four arches built in 1878. On either side of this bridge carrying dual train tracks were high embankments with steep, near vertical sides. On the north side, below the railway, was a vast tract of land owned by ‘Waterers Nurseries’ since 1829 to grow and sell plants. Before reaching that was Bagshot Infant School, set back from the embankment, on School Lane that ended in a footpath passing under the embankment towards Bagshot Green farm on the south side. At the time, undeveloped land stretched on both sides and (unlike now) the embankment was not bordered by trees.

Could a person have thrown a stone from the north side to make the train window next to me shatter? Unlikely because the embankment on which the train passed was too steep to stand upon. If the culprit had stood further away, below the embankment, a rock could not have reached the height necessary to make contact with the train, nor would it have retained sufficient momentum to smash the window with enough force for it to have not merely cracked, but to have shattered in its entirety.

What kind of projectile could have caused such damage? A powerful gun of some kind could have generated the necessary velocity and momentum for its bullet to shatter the thick glass window. A gunman (or woman?) would have needed practiced skill to aim upwards from the land below the embankment, or possibly to have lain half-way up the embankment adjacent to the footpath (now 'School Lane Field'). In either case, it would have required planning and experience to succeed in such a challenging topography next to the train route. Since only two trains per hour travelled in either direction, this act could not have been a spur-of-the-moment impulse.

Why was the window I had sat beside targeted? As the train decelerated to enter Bagshot station, the rear carriages would have passed at a slower speed, making them an easier moving target than the front ones. Us schoolboys were habitually the only passengers anywhere in those rear four carriages, making my head the one visible sign of on-board life amongst dozens of otherwise empty train windows. That implies that my window must have been purposefully selected as the intended target. It was a dark winter morning and the internal carriage lighting would have made my outline visible from outside the train.

So where did the bullet land? Only one thing was certain: it had not hit me, otherwise I would not be here to tell the tale. Did we look to see if a bullet had passed over my head and become embedded in the carriage’s structure? No. In that pre-‘CSI’ era, forensic science remained an unknown foreign land. From watching weekly television detective shows, all we understood was that ‘McCloud’ cracked cases by riding his horse down Broadway, ‘Columbo’ used his raincoat and ‘McMillan’ solved crimes by getting into bed with sweatshirt-wearing wife Sally. In the aftermath, I had not even deduced that I had likely been targeted by somebody shooting a gun. That is how unworldly I must have been, though I had always enjoyed the pellet-gun target shooting stall at the fair's bi-annual visits to Camberley Recreation Ground.

So how DID I react to this dramatic event? Did I scream? Cry? Sob uncontrollably? No, I simply stood up, brushed off the glass fragments that had covered me, and our little group moved to an adjoining carriage where the breeze through the vacant window would not make us feel colder. Even had we wanted to, there was nothing we could have done immediately. There were no train staff in those rear carriages and, once the train stopped in Bagshot station, its platform was too short to get out. Only once we reached Ascot was the platform long enough to deboard. So, did we? No, because if we had raised the alarm, we realised the fickle finger of fate might have pointed to us bunch of schoolboys for having broken the window. Which British Rail jobsworth would have believed our story that someone laying on a grassy knoll in Bagshot must have targeted me for assassination?

Leaving the train at Egham twenty-five minutes later, we could see the void where the window had exploded in front of our eyes. Nobody else seemed to have noticed the gaping hole or had bothered to halt the train to investigate. If they had, we might have arrived late for school that day. That would have been a fate worse than death. We had already brushed aside the incident and were more concerned with the school day ahead of us. Once I returned home that evening, I did not even bother mentioning to my parents what had happened. Only years later would I realise what a close call I had experienced that winter morning at the age of thirteen.

For us kids, trekking from one end of Surrey to the other every weekday on public transport, strange events would occur regularly in this otherworld. Our trains were sometimes cancelled, or rerouted through stations that were unknown to us, or suspended when someone jumped to their death off the footbridge at Egham station. In the latter case, some of us would watch morbidly for the arrival of emergency services whose crew had to scoop up the person’s bloodied remains spread along the tracks by a speeding train. Our unspoken attitude was: almost anything could happen on our way to and from school … and often did. It was a daily expedition into a world beyond ours, populated by weird adults to whom we appeared to be invisible.

Once a year, during ‘Royal Ascot’ week in June, our train would fill with bizarrely overdressed racegoers with strange toff accents and extremely loud voices who carried bottles of alcohol, swayed precariously and occasionally were sick on the carriage floor. They were much worse behaved than we had ever been, their conversations often ribald and filled with profanities. Did anyone chastise them, force them off the train or tell them to act respectfully in front of us children? Not at all! They did precisely what the upper classes are wont to do with their own children: they ignored us totally and appeared completely unembarrassed by their own behaviours.

I recalled the Bagshot train incident when, half a century later, I went for a run through rural France on a bright summer morning. There was no traffic and no visible human activity as I ran down the middle of a tarmacked road flanked on both sides by flat agricultural land. The only noise was birdsong until … a high velocity bullet whizzed above my head from left to right. I stopped running, turned in the direction from which it had come and shouted profanities (in English) at the top of my voice. Without my glasses, I was unable to see far enough into the distance to spot the culprit. This was no accident. I could not have been mistaken by a hunter for an animal. I was clearly visible on a ‘departmental’ road, not in the middle of woodland. But I had been the only object moving in this static landscape and that seemed sufficient to unwittingly make me a target.

If I were superstitious, I might be worried about ‘third time lucky’.

[demonic0angel]

Hi!!! I just wanted to tell you thank you!!! Like, every time you post a dpxdc something, I just go feral. I come here after screeching at one your posts like a pterodactyl....inna good way I mean! Your writing just makes days better and brings a smile on my face when I need it. So, thank you for feeding my gremlin brain and sustaining my dark soul!

Anyways! My ask is if the recently posted 'Tim thinks Danny is a vampire but cute' would get a 2nd part????

Thank you!!!!!!!!!😄😄😄😄

(Wahhh tysm! I’m glad you like my stuff :D)

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Tim leaned on a fist as he watched Danny doodle on his notebook instead of taking notes. He was drawing constellations and cartoony stars everywhere, his face dazed even through the camera screen. Tim stared at him, knowing that no matter what Jason said, he was still extremely suspicious and needed a careful eye.

A figure suddenly approached Danny, a tall boy with red hair, freckles, and a face that oddly looked similar to Danny’s. He gathered Danny’s stuff without another word, even as Danny jumped up with a start to protest.

Danny floundered. Tim began reading his lips with narrowed eyes. ‘What! Hey, what’re you doing?’

‘We have to go,’ the boy said tugging on Danny’s wrist. His familiarity with him made Tim bristle as he opened another tab to look into the school records and use his face recognition program to find out whoever the hell this was.

A girl with a bandanna pulling back her curly hair then strode towards Danny. She reached over to hold Danny’s hand and pulled him away from the other boy, both of them urgent. Danny asked her something, his face tilted away enough that Tim couldn’t decipher his words.

Hissing, Tim hurriedly changed perspectives so he could catch the tail of his words. When did Danny have so many friends?! After weeks of watching him, Danny hardly interacted with many people at all! These two people were ones that Tim had seen often lingering about, but how did they know Danny?! And why were they so close to him?!

‘— see something?’

The girl nodded hurriedly, her eyebrows furrowed. ‘Someone’s watching you. We need to get you to safety.’

Tim’s heart dropped into his feet. He stood up from his seat to focus as he clicked on his mouse, trying to figure out what was happening. Were they onto him? But how? His cameras were the state of the art in tech and none of it should’ve been detectable!

Unless they were all vampires…? Or maybe his hypothesis was wrong and Danny was even worse than a bloodsucking creature.

In the cameras, Danny froze. Then he turned and all three of them looked at the camera that Tim had chosen to watch them, making direct eye contact with Tim behind the screen.

In an instant, Tim self destructed all of his cameras, listening devices and trackers (which honestly hadn’t worked at all since he attached them to various belongings of Danny.)

He was sweating as he erased all of his tracks expertly. When he was done, he cursed. All of his tech was destroyed completely and none of it could be traced back to him, but now he didn’t have a way to observe Danny.

He sighed and drew a hand through his hair. He picked up his phone and gave a call.

“Hey, Steph? Can you find a way for me to get into Gotham University right now?”

[amongemeraldclouds]

love blooms in strange places

When Mattheo was assigned to help you tend to the greenhouse as punishment, he never expected detention could be so pleasant.

Mattheo Riddle x f!Reader | Based on this request

Warning: fluff, one use of y/n, used my creative license to come up with plant lore and magic to serve the plot.

✿ Masterlist | Event Masterlist | Tea Party | 1.7k words

When Mattheo Riddle started his day, the greenhouse was the last place he expected he would be. Yet that’s exactly where he was headed, kicking up dirt as he went.

Snape’s words haunted him as he slowed to the door. “Mr. Riddle, you had been in detention several times just this month alone. If you will not learn by reflection, you will learn by deed. As punishment, you will have to help y/n cultivate plants for a week.”

Before Mattheo could open his mouth, Snape raised his hand. “Any protests and we will make it a month.” He knew better than to talk.

He shook his head as he opened the door, eager to get it over with. He took in pots and plants of various shades of green, color sprouting sporadically where flowers and fruits blossomed. Then there was you.

You saw the curly haired boy approach, Mattheo Riddle, you recalled. Everything about him spelled trouble from the frown fixed on his face, to his askew tie, and the way he strut as if the entire world bent to his will.

You smiled and introduced yourself politely. Your mum after all had raised you to give others a chance. To look beyond first impressions.

Still, it didn’t surprise you when his frown stayed glued to his face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he just stated by way of introduction. “Here’s how this will work. I’m going to stay here,” he said, grabbing a chair at the side of the greenhouse and taking a seat. “I’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine. When the time is over, I’ll walk away. Nice and simple.”

“So you’ll just let me do all the work?” You huffed, your fists clenched by your side.

“Glad you’re catching on, darling. Go on. Some would say it’s a privilege to be around me but it’s okay if you don’t see that yet.” He flashed you a shit eating grin and propped his legs up the table across him. Such a shame. He’d probably be handsome if his personality weren’t so rotten.

You caught yourself and your expression turned livid. “No, being around you is punishment. I don’t know what I did to Snape to deserve this,” you mumbled to yourself.

Your mum may have raised you to be polite, but she also taught you to stand up against bullies. You strode over to the arrogant boy, plucking a bearded iris on your way. You crushed it beneath your fingers, muttering an incantation.

When you were close enough, you hurled the crushed petals at his feet. Upon impact, sparks burst. Bright searing sprays of light was accompanied by a loud bang.

Mattheo dodged it, losing his balance. His chair tipped backwards. He crashed to the floor.

The bearded iris was otherwise called the firebreather iris. He should have known better than to challenge you.

You towered over him. “You will help me as Snape intended. It’s bad enough I have to spend time with you. You will make yourself useful or that,” you pointed at the ashes of the firebreather iris, “is just the beginning of what I can do. There are poisonous plants around here like nightshade. I will not hesitate to use them and make it look like an accident.”

He looked at you as if he saw you for the first time. The fire was brighter in your eyes than the spark you had thrown. He was silent for a beat as he recalled what Theo warned him about nice girls. You never wanted to see them mad. They were always more clever and therefore more dangerous.

As much as he loved danger, he very much preferred to stay alive. Besides, things just got more interesting. He schooled his face to a bored expression. “Fine,” he said standing back up and dusting the dirt from his clothes and hair. “If you teach me that cool trick, I’ll help out.”

“Stick around and I’ll teach you a few things,” you nodded, satisfied. You tossed him a pair of gloves. “We’ll start here, plant boy.” He suppressed the smile that threatened to break across his features. It was fascinating how you snapped quickly back to your good natured self, as if you weren’t just threatening him moments earlier. If there was anything Mattheo loved, it was a challenge.

As he put on the gloves, he felt detention wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Threatened by the poison and lured in by the idea of learning plant magic, Mattheo had surprisingly been a helpful herbology partner.

Yes, he was stubborn and annoying. But at the end of the day, he was quick to pick up the steps, memorizing which fertilizer to use for what plant, and how much water each plant needed.

The weeks quickly passed and you found a comfortable rhythm. You just had to put up with those terrible lines.

“Are you a flower bed?” Mattheo asked, his face streaked with dirt as he hauled another bag of soil.

“What is it this time?” You rolled your eyes. You found it impossibly adorable and ridiculous how he managed to get dirt all over his face despite wearing gloves and other gardening gear.

“Let’s pretend you asked me why. ‘Cause I want to lay you down and get dirty,” Mattheo said with his signature smirk.

You tried not to laugh, but you couldn’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Mattheo considered it a win. “That seriously works for you?” You pointed in his general direction. “I’d rather choke on a cactus,” you beamed.

Mattheo chuckled, “then I want to be a cactus.”

“Oh why, because you’re a prick?” You retorted, shoveling more soil to the new pot.

“No, you can’t use these lines against me,” he said, narrowing his eyes, grabbing a handful of soil.

“Don’t be such a weeping willow about it,” you quipped. “And I swear if you throw that lump of soil, you’ll have to clean it up.”

“Why don’t we go straight to the cleaning part?” He teased instead, returning the soil. He grabbed the water hose nearby and turned it on, aiming it directly at you.

Before you could react, you felt a steady stream of water hit you, the cold shocking your entire system. “You really did it,” you muttered uselessly, releasing a string of curses as you gathered your wits about you.

You ran after him, but he was quick to deflect, running off the opposite direction, taking the hose with him. Five steps in, you slipped on the mud and landed on your back. The wind rushed out your lungs and you laid there recovering your breath.

“Salazar! Are you ok?” He asked, running towards you.

“Come here,” you spoke softly and he leaned in to hear you.

“My name is not Salazar,” you declared when he was close enough. “It’s an expressio—“ he tried to explain but in one swift motion, you grabbed the collar of his shirt. The surprise was enough to send him down the floor. He slipped in the mud and joined you. You grabbed the hose from him and sprayed him with water.

He flailed for a few seconds before he caught purchase and rolled over you, yanking the hose away and then switching it off. You both found yourselves in hysterics, bodies shaking from the cold and laughter.

“I can’t believe it. You really laid me down and got me dirty,” you managed to say in between laughter.

“This is not what I meant. But if you want to know what I mean,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. But he was rendered speechless, the words and laughter faded in his throat.

He didn’t think it was possible. But up close, you were even more beautiful with your captivating eyes and kissable lips.

His intense gaze stole the laughter and breath from your lungs. You felt his heartbeat drum against yours, your breaths mingled with one another.

It sunk in then that he was on top of you, gazing at you like he wanted to do a hundred and one sinful things to you. He had a forest full of desires and you wanted to explore every corner of it. To go on an adventure with him. So you did.

You weren’t sure who started it, but the next second you found yourselves kissing each other. It was better than any euphoria plants could induce. His lips felt surprisingly soft and he started off tentative, seeing if you were okay with it. You just needed more and he quickly matched your pace, taking in as much of you as he could.

He was no longer gentle and he ran his hand through your mud streaked hair, holding you just where he needed you, deepening the kiss. You tugged on his hair in return and he rewarded you with a groan, his chest rumbling against you. He licked your lower lip, prompting you to open your mouth as his tongue darted in, exploring until you both needed to come up for air. Panting against each other.

“Why are you looking at me like I just kicked a puppy?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You’re just a boy trying to get through detention,” you stated.

“Darling, my detention was only a week long,” he admitted.

Your eyes widened. “But this is your third week helping me.”

“You still haven’t taught me how to make fire with flowers yet,” he said, kissing you on the nose.

“You’re not afraid I’d poison you?” You narrowed your eyes, recalling your threat.

“I looked it up. The nightshade you mentioned that first week isn’t even poisonous. You never meant to poison me, dear.”

“But you fell for it, that’s what mattered,” you insisted.

“Maybe it’s you I’ve pollen for,” he quipped.

“You’re never gonna stop with the plant puns, aren’t you?”

“No, because you’re ivy and you’ve fully crept in my thoughts. Next, you can creep in my—” you kissed him then to shut him up. He didn’t seem to mind at all. You really had had enough of his silly plant puns, even though you couldn’t get enough of him.

✿ Masterlist | Event Masterlist | Tea Party

[ferrarifudds]

Tramp Stamp. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Intern!reader

Summary: When he catches sight of something that he wasn’t supposed to see. Something “so out of character” of you.

Word Count: 1.2k

Disclaimer/s: banter blah blah blah black cat x golden retriever tbh, Idk, flirty lando, Mean!reader because that’s all i know

Vera's Voice! a recycled prompt i had been wanting to use for an original story but i have no time since i cant be free of the shackles i call school and work so i just made it a lando imagine. YUHHHH. + sorry for my hiatus. Wassup. i hope u enjoy ^_^

The McLaren paddock was always buzzing with energy on a race weekend, but you barely noticed anymore. You were too focused on your job—an internship that demanded perfection, efficiency, and an unwavering dedication to details.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to have passed that memo to Lando Norris.

"You’re stalking me," You muttered, flipping through your clipboard as you strode through the garage, dodging mechanics and engineers.

"Following," Lando corrected, strolling beside you with way too much ease. "Completely different."

You stopped abruptly. He stopped too. You shot him a flat look. "You don’t even need to be here right now."

Lando smirked. “Aw come on, not enjoying our quality time?”

"Waste of time, actually." You scoffed, adjusting the clipboard in your arms. Lando gasped, pressing a hand to his chest like you’d just gravely offended him. "Wow. Harsh. I thought we were bonding."

You exhaled sharply, turning back to continue walking, attempting to wave him off. "Leave me alone, I’ve got work to do."

"And I have free time," He pointed out, easily keeping pace with you. "Which means I can spend it however I want."

"You want to spend it being an ass?"

"Of course." His grin was all mischief. "It’s my favorite pastime."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t slow down, weaving through the garage with practiced efficiency.

Lando, despite having no real reason to be there, stuck to your side like an overgrown puppy, dodging cables and stepping around mechanics with the kind of casual ease that made your irritation flare.

He lived to get under your skin.

"Hmm," He mused, leaning in just slightly, "You should try smiling more. I think it’d be good for you."

You didn’t even glance up. "You should try shutting up more. I think it’d be good for everyone."

Lando let out a bark of laughter. "So mean."

“Well, I’m certainly not trying to be nice.” You glance up, sending him a fake and sarcastic smile before your face deadpanned with cold eyes.

Lando clutched his chest dramatically. “You truly wound me.”

“God, save me.” You muttered, flipping a page on your clipboard.

Lando, of course, was unfazed and continued pressing. “To be honest, I think you secretly like this,” He mused.

You gave him a look. “Like what exactly?” Furrowing your eyebrows, not following where he was going with this.

“This.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Our little game.”

You stopped so abruptly that he almost walked into you. “What game? You mean me trying to do my job while you act like an overgrown toddler with too much money and free time?”

Lando grinned, rocking back on his heels. “So do you like it or no?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, turning sharply on your heel, and in your haste, your pen slipped from your grip.

It clattered to the floor and rolled just slightly out of reach.

Without thinking, you bent down to grab it.

But. There was a shift in the air. A second of silence too long.

Then—

“Oh.”

The single syllable carried so much smug amusement that your stomach dropped before you even straightened.

You turned slowly, and Lando was standing there, arms crossed, lips curled into a knowing smirk.

His eyes flickered downward—just briefly—before meeting yours again.

"Oh, correct me if I’m wrong," He drawled, "But was that a lower back tattoo?"

Your entire body stiffened.

You knew right then and there that your McLaren issued shirt had betrayed you. Probably riding up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the delicate little ribbon bow and butterfly inked on your lower back you had gotten back in high school.

Your fingers curled tightly around the pen, knuckles white as if you wanted to shove it into his throat. You fought to keep your face neutral, but the heat creeping up your neck was traitorous.

Lando’s smirk deepened.

You knew you should just ignore him. Keep walking. Act like you didn’t hear. But his tone—so goddamn amused and intrigued—was already sinking its hooks into you.

You straightened fully, lifted your chin, and shot back smoothly, “Maybe don’t stare at my ass?”

Lando’s grin was instant. “Not my fault it was right there.”

"You could’ve looked away."

"But then I would’ve missed the best part of my day," He quipped, eyes glinting with unfiltered delight. "Because never in a million years would I have guessed you had a tramp stamp."

You exhaled sharply, flipping back to your clipboard with forced nonchalance. "You saw nothing."

"I feel like there's a story behind it." He leaned in slightly, eyes practically gleaming. "And now I have to know."

"You have to shut up."

"Make me."

You inhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay composed. You refused to let him win.

Lando’s smirk widened like he could feel you getting flustered.

"Was it a dare?" He mused.

You ignored him, flipping a page.

"Drunken impulse?"

Silence.

"Rebellious phase?"

You turned sharply. "Lando."

"Hm?"

You briefly smiled, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Shut up."

"Can’t. I’m way too entertained at the moment."

"Oh, of course you would find this entertaining."

Lando grinned. "Come on, just tell me! I’ll drop it after."

"You never drop anything."

He sighed dramatically. "You know me too well."

“Unfortunately."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

"You know," He mused, rocking back on his heels, "It’s actually kind of hot."

Your brain short-circuited.

You nearly dropped your pen again.

"What?" You croaked.

Lando shrugged, far too nonchalant. "The tattoo. Didn’t expect it, but… yeah." He smirked. "Bit of a plot twist."

Your mouth opened—then closed. Then opened again. "You—I—what.”

He chuckled, watching your reaction unfold like it was the highlight of his day.

You refused to give him the satisfaction.

So, instead of responding, you lifted your clipboard and smacked him lightly on the arm.

Lando burst out laughing, clutching the spot like you’d actually hurt him.

"You’re an idiot," You muttered, turning away before he could see the hint of a smile threatening to break through.

Lando grinned after you, calling out, "I will get that story one day!”

And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as annoyed as you pretended to be.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list

tags! @pedriache @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[chansdoll]

현진 ─── the night we met

♡ pairing ៸៸ fratboy!hyunjin x afab!reader genre ៸៸ fluff, angst(ish) ៸៸ cw ៸៸ college!au , mentions of roofies (one is slipped but not consumed), kissing happens later in the story , jake is a meanie (not enha jake, an oc) ♡ synopsis ៸៸ your friends drag you to a frat party. little did you know, you'd make a new friend that night. [ 7.4k words ] a/n ๑ i hope u guys like this , i started writing this after hyunies buzz cut but never got around to finish the first part. part two here ♡ masterlist

ordinarily, parties like this wouldn’t even cross your radar. but tonight was different, thanks to your friends, karina and yuqi, who had practically dragged you out of your cozy dorm. if it were up to you, you’d be holed up with your textbooks, preparing for midterms. instead, you found yourself being strong-armed into attending zeta nu’s pre-winter break bash. they were adamant about going, and equally adamant that you come along. why? you couldn’t fathom. it wasn’t like they didn’t know you were a die-hard introvert. you weren’t exactly a sparkling conversationalist, especially with your anxiety making it nearly impossible to hold a conversation for more than a few minutes. and when it came to talking to guys? forget it—it was a whole new level of nerve-wracking.

this party wasn’t just intimidating because of the social setting; it was who was hosting it. zeta nu wasn’t just any fraternity—it was the fraternity, packed with campus heartthrobs. you’d always had a tendency to lump frat guys into one category: loud, shallow, and hopelessly clueless. and while some of the zeta nu brothers certainly lived up to the stereotype, there were a few you’d noticed around campus who seemed to have some semblance of normalcy. still, the thought of mingling in a house full of them made your stomach churn.

despite your reluctance, you did put some effort into your appearance. you weren’t about to freeze to death in a paper-thin dress like some partygoers. instead, you opted for practicality without sacrificing style: a snug black sweater, thermal tights, and a cute black skirt. it wasn’t extravagant, but it was warm and cute—perfect for braving both the cold and your nerves.

the party was as stereotypical as they come—music blared through the house, its bass vibrating the walls, while couples made out or grinded on each other in dimly lit corners. the kitchen was no exception to the chaos, packed with people eager to fill their cups with whatever concoction was closest at hand. you weren’t sure whether it was a blessing or a curse, but your friends had already vanished into the crowd. karina and yuqi were likely off flirting with frat members or losing themselves on the dance floor—activities you had no interest in partaking in tonight.

left to your own devices, you made your way into the kitchen, thinking that maybe a drink could help calm your nerves. standing in front of the counter, you eyed the variety of liquor bottles scattered across it. vodka, whiskey, rum—it was all there, unopened and glaringly intimidating. after a moment of hesitation, you sidestepped past a couple making out aggressively against the cupboards and found your way to the punch bowls.

pouring yourself only the bare minimum, you sipped cautiously. you didn’t want to overdo it—just enough to take the edge off the knot of anxiety that had been sitting in your chest since you walked through the door. cup in hand, you lingered near the wall, keeping to yourself while observing the crowd. occasionally, you nodded your head in rhythm to the music, trying your best to blend in.

a sudden wave of cheers and hollering erupted near the kitchen entrance, drawing your attention. your curiosity got the better of you, and you glanced over to see what all the commotion was about. and there he was.

hyunjin.

the heartthrob of the campus strode into the room with effortless confidence, his presence magnetic. nearly every girl at school had some kind of infatuation with him, and it wasn’t hard to see why. he was tall, his honey-toned skin glowing under the dim lights. his features were impossibly striking—full lips, a perfectly sculpted nose, and eyes that seemed to hold an entire galaxy. you’d always thought he was stunning, but the recent buzz cut he’d gotten made him look even better. the new hairstyle, lighter in color, somehow emphasized his sharp features and perfectly complemented his skin tone.

“how are you late to your own party?” felix, one of the frat members, called out to him with a laugh.

“had something to take care of,” hyunjin replied vaguely, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise as he made his way to the kitchen island where the liquor bottles were displayed.

as the frat guys gathered around him to take shots, the kitchen grew even more crowded. someone jostled you, and you stumbled, bumping into a girl who looked far too drunk to be standing upright. she turned her bleary but sharp gaze toward you, her expression immediately souring.

“watch it,” she hissed, her tone dripping with disdain as her eyes gave you a once-over. she lingered on you for a moment longer, clearly unimpressed, before staggering off toward the living room without another word.

you sighed, shrinking back toward the corner, feeling as out of place as ever. the night wasn’t going as planned—not that you’d had much of a plan to begin with.

the confrontation with the girl must’ve thrown you off more than you realized because, for a while, the world around you faded into a dull hum. it wasn’t until a sharp whistle cut through the noise that you even blinked, but even that barely registered. a light tap on your shoulder, however, finally brought you back to reality.

you turned, lifting your gaze from the floor to the person standing behind you. he was tall, with tousled blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that sparkled in the dim kitchen light. his smile was easy, almost disarming, and there was a casual confidence about the way he stood.

“hey,” he started, his eyes flicking over you briefly, though not in a way that felt invasive. “are you okay?”

you blinked at him, fumbling for words. “no, um, yeah—i’m okay. thanks,” you stammered, your fingers tightening nervously around the cup in your hands.

he chuckled softly, clearly amused by your flustered state. “i’m jake,” he said, gesturing broadly to the space around him. “i’m in zeta nu.”

“y/n,” you managed to reply, your voice a little steadier now. but as the conversation unfolded, a wave of anxiety washed over you, making you hyperaware of every little movement. your hands suddenly felt awkward, like you didn’t know where to put them or what to do with them. jake seemed to pick up on your nervous energy and smiled, a warm, easy expression that somehow put you slightly at ease.

“what’re you drinking?” he asked, leaning slightly to peek into your red solo cup.

you gave a soft laugh, shaking your head as you held up the cup. “just some punch from over there,” you said, nodding toward the bowl on the counter.

jake raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a playful grin. “punch? nah, you need something stronger. look at you—your shoulders are practically glued to your ears.” he stepped past you with a light chuckle, weaving through a cluster of his frat brothers to grab a bottle of tito’s from the counter.

he unscrewed the cap and held the bottle up, giving you a questioning look. “what do you say?”

your heart thudded nervously in your chest, but you found yourself nodding. “um, sure.” you extended your cup with a slightly shaky hand, watching as he poured a generous splash of vodka into the punch.

“thanks,” you muttered, glancing down at the cup, as though measuring the alcohol now mixed in.

“go on, down the hatch,” jake said with a playful nudge, raising his own cup to his lips. his smirk was small but somehow endearing, his eyes watching you expectantly.

you hesitated, the tangy smell of alcohol wafting up to you as you brought the cup to your lips. taking a tentative sip, you winced at the sharp burn that clawed its way down your throat. the sensation settled in your stomach, leaving a faint warmth in its wake.

“atta girl,” jake teased, grinning at your reaction.

you gave him a shy smile in return, bringing the cup to your lips for another sip. the taste wasn’t any better the second time, but at least it wasn’t as much of a shock.

“careful,” jake warned, his voice light but genuine. “you don’t wanna drink too fast. trust me on that.”

as the night went on and the alcohol loosened your inhibitions, you found yourself growing more comfortable around jake. the two of you had been chatting and laughing, the drink in your hand slowly dwindling with each passing minute. what you didn’t notice, however, was the pair of sharp eyes watching you from across the room.

hyunjin leaned casually against the doorway to the kitchen, but his posture was deceptive—his focus was entirely on you. the noise and chatter around him had faded into the background as he observed you, a flicker of intrigue glinting in his dark eyes. you were new, unfamiliar, and that alone made you stand out in a sea of familiar faces.

but it wasn’t just curiosity that held his attention—it was something else. something more protective.

he noticed the way jake hovered close to you, his body language bordering on possessive. hyunjin’s jaw tightened, a subtle but telling sign of his unease. jake was a name he knew all too well, and not in a good way. the guy had a reputation within the frat, one hyunjin wasn’t particularly proud of. jake’s charm was surface-deep, and his intentions were rarely anything but self-serving.

hyunjin stayed where he was, his gaze unwavering as he silently kept an eye on the two of you. he didn’t want to overstep or cause unnecessary drama, but the uneasy feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. something about the way jake interacted with you felt off, like he was toeing the line of what was acceptable.

then it happened.

hyunjin’s stomach sank as he caught it—jake’s hand moving swiftly, almost imperceptibly, toward your cup. you were turned away, laughing at something one of jake’s friends had said, completely oblivious to what had just occurred. hyunjin’s eyes narrowed as he saw jake slip something into your drink, the motion so practiced it was clear this wasn’t his first time.

a surge of anger flared in hyunjin’s chest, hot and immediate. his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought the urge to storm across the room and confront jake then and there. but causing a scene would only make things worse, and he knew it.

all he could think about was getting to you before you took another sip.

hyunjin pushed off the doorway, his heart pounding with urgency. he moved through the crowd, his strides purposeful but controlled. every second felt agonizingly slow, the distance between him and you somehow stretching endlessly. as he approached, his mind raced with how he’d handle the situation. should he confront jake directly? should he quietly pull you aside?

you were still laughing, entirely unaware of the danger sitting innocently in your cup. jake had leaned closer to you now, his easygoing smile masking his true intentions. hyunjin’s anger bubbled closer to the surface as he reached you, his gaze darting to your cup and back to jake.

“hey,” hyunjin called out, his voice calm but firm enough to break through the chatter around you.

you turned toward him, startled. for a moment, you were struck by how impossibly handsome he was, his sharp features softened slightly by the concern in his eyes.

“oh, hi,” you said, blinking in surprise. “do i know you?”

“we’ve never met,” hyunjin replied, his tone steady despite the storm brewing inside him. his eyes flickered briefly to jake, who tensed but tried to play it cool. “can i talk to you for a second? alone?”

jake frowned, his posture shifting defensively. “what’s up, man? we’re in the middle of a conversation here.”

hyunjin’s gaze didn’t waver, locking onto jake with quiet intensity. “it’s important,” he said, his voice low but resolute.

you hesitated, glancing between the two of them. something about the seriousness in hyunjin’s expression made you uneasy, though not in the same way jake did. it was protective, not predatory.

“uh, sure,” you finally said, your curiosity outweighing your reluctance.

hyunjin gently guided you a few steps away, his hand lightly brushing your elbow. once you were out of earshot, he glanced at the drink in your hand.

“don’t drink that,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

your brow furrowed in confusion. “why not?”

he hesitated, clearly wrestling with how much to tell you. “i saw jake put something in it,” he finally admitted, his tone laced with barely restrained anger.

the words hit you like a truck, your stomach dropping. you stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. “what? are you sure?”

hyunjin nodded, his expression grim. “i wouldn’t say this if i wasn’t sure. please, just trust me.” 

before you could fully process hyunjin’s words, jake appeared beside you, his easy smile now tinged with suspicion.

“everything okay here?” jake asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp as they flicked between you and hyunjin.

hyunjin didn’t back down. his posture straightened, his sharp jaw tightening as he turned to face jake fully. “not really,” he said evenly, his voice steady but carrying an edge that made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for games.

jake’s brows furrowed, a feigned look of confusion crossing his face. “what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, forcing a laugh as if to brush off the tension.

“it means i saw what you did,” hyunjin replied, his dark eyes fixed on jake with a piercing intensity.

you froze, your heart pounding as you realized the confrontation was unfolding right in front of you. the party noises around you seemed to fade as your focus honed in on the two men.

jake’s expression shifted, his smile dropping for a fraction of a second before he recovered. “i have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice carefully measured.

hyunjin scoffed, his calm exterior beginning to crack as anger seeped into his words. “don’t play dumb, jake. i saw you put something in her drink. you think no one noticed, but i did.”

a wave of shock and fear surged through you as you clutched your cup tightly. you looked down at the liquid, bile rising in your throat at the thought of what could have happened.

jake’s facade faltered, his eyes narrowing. “you’ve got some nerve, man,” he said, stepping closer to hyunjin. “accusing me of something like that? do you have any proof?”

hyunjin didn’t flinch, his voice unwavering as he retorted, “i don’t need proof to know what i saw. and i don’t need it to stop you.”

the tension between them was palpable, drawing the attention of a few people nearby. whispers started to ripple through the crowd as partygoers noticed the confrontation.

jake glanced around, clearly aware that the situation was drawing unwanted attention. his expression darkened, and he leaned closer to hyunjin, lowering his voice. “you don’t want to make this a bigger deal than it needs to be,” he said, his tone dripping with thinly veiled aggression.

hyunjin stepped forward, closing the distance between them. his voice dropped, but it carried the weight of barely contained fury. “the only person making this a big deal is you, jake. whatever you thought you’d get away with tonight isn’t happening.”

jake sneered, his composure finally slipping. “you don’t even know her,” he hissed. “why do you care so much?”

hyunjin’s jaw tightened, and his response was immediate. “because what you did is disgusting. and i don’t care if i just met her or if i’ve known her my whole life—what’s right is right.”

you watched the exchange, your chest tightening as the gravity of the situation hit you. hyunjin’s words struck something deep inside you, and for the first time that night, you felt a sliver of safety amidst the chaos.

before things could escalate further, another voice broke through the tension. “what the hell is going on here?”

felix, had appeared, his face a mixture of confusion and concern. he glanced between hyunjin, jake, and you, clearly trying to piece together what was happening.

hyunjin turned to felix, his expression firm but calm. “jake spiked her drink,” he said without hesitation.

felix’s eyes widened, and his gaze snapped to jake. “is that true?”

jake’s face twisted, his confidence slipping as he realized he was outnumbered. “no! he’s making shit up!” jake exclaimed, his voice rising defensively.

felix’s expression hardened, and he looked at you. “did you drink it?” he asked, his tone serious.

you shook your head, your voice shaky as you finally spoke. “no... not yet. hyunjin stopped me.”

felix let out a relieved sigh, then turned to jake with a glare. “if this is true, you’re done here, jake. we don’t do that shit.”

jake’s defensive posture shifted, his bravado cracking under the weight of felix’s accusation and the judgmental stares of the other frat members who were now gathering around. “this is bullshit,” jake spat, his voice rising. “he’s lying. i didn’t do anything.”

felix’s gaze remained on jakes for a few minutes, before he finally came to a decision and spoke up. “jake’s done here. we’ll handle this.”

the other frat members murmured their agreement, some shooting jake disgusted looks. felix stepped closer to jake, lowering his voice but keeping his tone firm. “leave now. we’ll be reporting this, and if you show your face here again, you’ll regret it.”

jake glared at hyunjin one last time, his lips curling into a sneer. “you think you’re a hero, huh?” he hissed, but the words lacked their usual bite. without waiting for a response, he shoved past the crowd and stormed out of the kitchen, his retreat drawing murmurs from the partygoers who had witnessed the scene.

felix sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. he turned to you, his expression softening. “are you okay?”

you nodded, though your hands still trembled as you clutched your cup. “yeah… thanks to him,” you said, glancing at hyunjin.

felix offered hyunjin a grateful nod. “let me take that from you.” felix gestured to the cup that was still in your hand. you handed him the cup, happy to get rid of it. “thanks.”

hyunjin didn’t respond immediately, his focus still on you. “you shouldn’t be here,” he said gently, his voice much softer now. “let me get you out of this place.”

you hesitated, glancing toward the living room where the party was still in full swing. the idea of leaving felt like relief, a way to escape the chaos and process what had just happened. 

“o-okay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

hyunjin offered a reassuring smile. “come on.”

he guided you carefully through the crowd, his hand hovering near your lower back without actually touching you, giving you space but also silently signaling he was there if you needed him. the cold night air hit you like a wake-up call as you stepped outside, the muffled bass of the party fading into the background.

“do you want to sit for a minute?” hyunjin asked, nodding toward a quiet bench near the edge of the yard.

you nodded, letting him lead the way. the two of you sat down, the crisp air biting at your skin. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the events of the night hanging heavily between you.

“thank you,” you finally said, your voice trembling slightly. “i don’t even know what to say. if you hadn’t been there…”

hyunjin shook his head, his expression serious. “you don’t have to thank me. i just did what anyone decent would do.”

you looked at him, taking in his earnestness, the way his dark eyes held a mixture of concern and kindness. “not everyone would’ve stepped in like you did.” you murmured. 

hyunjin offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’m just glad you’re okay.”

the silence between you wasn’t awkward—it was comforting, a shared moment of calm after the storm. you found yourself relaxing for the first time all night, the tension in your shoulders easing under his quiet presence.

“can i walk you home?” he asked after a moment, breaking the silence. “just to make sure you’re safe.”

you hesitated, then nodded. “yeah… i’d like that.”

as the two of you walked away from the party, side by side under the glow of the streetlights, you felt a strange sense of gratitude—not just for what he’d done, but for him. there was something about hyunjin that made you feel seen, protected.

hyunjin glanced over at you, his expression thoughtful. “you don’t seem like the kind of person who goes to frat parties often.”

you let out a soft laugh, still a little shaky but genuine. “that obvious, huh?”

he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “a little. you looked like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“because i would’ve,” you admitted, clutching your coat tighter against the cold. “my friends dragged me there. they thought it would be good for me to ‘get out more.’” you air-quoted the phrase, rolling your eyes playfully.

hyunjin chuckled, his warm laughter cutting through the chilly air. “guess they didn’t expect you to almost need rescuing, huh?”

“yeah, not exactly what i had in mind when they said ‘fun night out,’” you replied, shaking your head. “what about you? you don’t seem like the typical frat guy either.”

hyunjin shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. "well, you know what they say— book, cover." he said with a playful grin. "truth is, i’m not really into parties either. felix just likes having me around, so i showed up."

“and ended up saving someone from disaster,” you said with a small smile.

he smirked, tilting his head as he looked at you. “not the way i thought my night would go, but i’m glad i was there.”

you walked in silence for a moment, the rhythm of your steps syncing.

“so, what do you usually do when you’re not being dragged to parties?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

“studying, mostly,” you admitted. “i’m kind of a nerd. i like staying in and reading or watching movies. parties aren’t really my scene.”

“books and movies sound way better than parties,” hyunjin said, nodding in agreement. “what do you study?”

“english literature,” you said, feeling a little more at ease. “i’ve always loved stories—reading them, writing them, analyzing them. it’s like stepping into another world.”

hyunjin’s eyes lit up. “that’s cool. i’ve always thought literature was beautiful, even if i’m not great at it. i’m more of an art guy.”

your interest piqued. “art? like painting and drawing?”

he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. i’ve been drawing since i was a kid. it’s how i make sense of things, i guess. and painting—it’s like therapy for me.”

“that’s amazing,” you said sincerely. “i wish i could draw, but i can barely make a stick figure look decent.”

hyunjin laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made you smile. “it’s not about being perfect. it’s about expressing yourself. stick figures count too, you know.”

you grinned, feeling warmth bloom in your chest despite the cold. “maybe i’ll have to give it another shot sometime.”

“you should,” he said, his voice encouraging. “i could even show you some basics if you want.”

your eyes widened slightly. “you’d do that?”

“of course,” he replied with a shrug. “you might surprise yourself.”

the conversation flowed easily as you walked, each step bringing a new layer of comfort. hyunjin shared stories about how he found inspiration in the smallest things—sunsets, the way light reflected off a window, even the texture of tree bark. you told him about your favorite books and how certain characters felt like old friends.

by the time you reached your dorm building, the unease of the night had melted away, replaced by a quiet warmth.

“this is me,” you said, gesturing to the door.

hyunjin nodded, stopping a few steps away. “well, i’m glad you’re home safe.”

“thanks to you,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “i really mean it. thank you, hyunjin.”

his smile was gentle, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. “you’re welcome. get some rest, okay?”

you nodded, hesitating before heading toward the door. something about him made you linger, a pull you couldn’t quite explain.

“hyunjin?” you called, turning back.

hyunjin paused mid-step, turning back to you with a curious tilt of his head. "yeah?"

you bit your lip, debating for a moment before gathering the courage to speak. “i know it’s late, but… would you want to come in for a bit? i mean, you did save me tonight. it’s the least i can do—offer you some tea or something.”

his brows lifted slightly in surprise, but his smile quickly returned, soft and genuine. “tea sounds nice,” he said, stepping back toward you. “if you’re sure i’m not intruding.”

“you’re not,” you reassured him. “i’d actually like the company.”

with that, you unlocked the door and led him inside. the quiet hum of the building greeted you, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the party you’d left behind. your dorm was small but cozy, with a few personal touches—books stacked on a small shelf, a throw blanket draped over a chair, and fairy lights strung across the walls casting a warm glow.

hyunjin took it all in with an appreciative glance. “this is nice,” he said, his voice low as if not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. “seems very you.”

“thanks,” you replied, setting your coat aside and motioning for him to do the same. “make yourself comfortable. i’ll get the tea.”

as you moved to the kitchenette, hyunjin wandered over to your bookshelf, scanning the titles. “you weren’t kidding about loving books,” he said with a small laugh, pulling one off the shelf. “this one’s a classic,” he added, holding it up.

you glanced over your shoulder, smiling. “pride and prejudice. it’s one of my favorites.”

“really?” he flipped through a few pages, his expression thoughtful. “i’ve always wanted to read it but never got around to it. maybe you can tell me why you love it so much.”

you returned with two steaming mugs, setting them down on the small coffee table. “it’s the characters,” you explained as you sat down, motioning for him to join you. “elizabeth bennet is so strong and smart, and mr. darcy... well, he’s misunderstood at first, but he has a lot of depth. it’s about how they grow and learn to see each other differently.”

hyunjin sat across from you, cradling his mug as he listened intently. “that sounds... kind of beautiful,” he said after a moment. “i think i’d like it.”

“i could lend it to you if you want,” you offered.

his smile widened, his gaze meeting yours. “i’d like that.”

the conversation drifted from books to art again, and you found yourself captivated by the way hyunjin spoke about his creative process. he described the way he saw the world in vivid colors and shapes, how even the most mundane objects could inspire a new piece.

“you must have an amazing sketchbook,” you said, leaning forward with interest.

hyunjin chuckled, a hint of bashfulness coloring his tone. “i do, but it’s pretty messy. lots of half-finished ideas and random doodles. maybe i’ll show you someday.”

“i’d love that,” you replied softly.

time seemed to slow as the two of you continued talking, the earlier tension of the night now a distant memory. hyunjin’s presence was calming, his laughter infectious, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely at ease.

eventually, the clock caught your attention, and you realized how late it had gotten.

“i didn’t mean to keep you so long,” you said apologetically. “you probably have things to do tomorrow.”

hyunjin shook his head, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “no complaints here. this was a lot better than that party.”

you smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. “i’m glad.”

as he stood to leave, hyunjin turned back to you, his expression sincere. “thank you for inviting me in. tonight didn’t turn out how i expected, but... i think it turned out better.” 

you watched as hyunjin reached for the door. something about the way he spoke, the warmth in his voice, made your chest tighten. you didn’t want the moment to end—not yet.

“hyunjin, wait,” you called, taking a small step forward.

he paused immediately, his hand dropping from the doorknob. turning to face you, his brows raised slightly in curiosity. 

you hesitated, the words tangling in your throat. your heart was racing, but you didn’t want to overthink it this time. “i just… i don’t think i can thank you enough for what you did tonight. i don’t even want to think about how it could’ve gone if you hadn’t been there.”

hyunjin’s gaze softened, his expression melting into something both tender and reassuring. “you don’t need to thank me anymore. i was just doing what anyone should do.”

“but it wasn’t just anyone,” you replied quietly, stepping closer. “it was you.”

the space between you seemed to hum with unspoken emotions, the quiet hallway amplifying the sound of your heartbeat. hyunjin’s eyes held yours, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, but instead, he simply watched you, as though waiting for you to continue.

you took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly. “i don’t think i’ve ever felt this safe around someone before. not like tonight.”

hyunjin’s lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but then he stopped. instead, he closed the remaining gap between you, his movements slow, deliberate. “i’m glad i could be that for you,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

your breath caught as his gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes. the tension in the air was palpable now, a magnetic pull you couldn’t resist. without overthinking, you reached out, your fingers lightly brushing against the edge of his coat.

“hyunjin…” you murmured, leaning in just slightly.

he didn’t hesitate this time. gently, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin as he leaned down, closing the space between you. his lips met yours softly, the kiss tentative at first, as though testing the waters.

the world seemed to fade away, the moment stretching into something timeless and fragile. his warmth enveloped you, his hand steady against your cheek as the other hovered near your arm, as if unsure where to go.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet. hyunjin’s eyes fluttered open, his cheeks dusted with the faintest hint of pink.

“that was…” he began, but words seemed to escape him. instead, a small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips.

“yeah,” you whispered, mirroring his smile.

for a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of the kiss lingering in the space between you. then hyunjin’s hand slipped from your cheek, his fingers brushing yours. “are you sure you’ll be okay tonight?” he asked, his voice gentle.

you nodded, the warmth of the moment still thrumming in your chest. “i think i’ll be more than okay.”

he smiled again, his eyes soft as they searched yours. “good. then… i’ll see you soon?”

“definitely,” you said, your voice filled with quiet certainty.

hyunjin lingered for another second before finally stepping back toward the door. as he left, you couldn’t help but touch your lips, a soft smile spreading across your face. tonight hadn’t turned out how you expected either—but in the best way possible.

a few days after the winter bash, you and hyunjin found yourselves texting constantly. the conversations were effortless, flowing from lighthearted banter to meaningful exchanges about your dreams and fears. he shared sketches of his art, and you sent him snippets of your writing, both of you encouraging and admiring each other's talents. despite the chaos of the party where you first connected, something special had grown between you.

when hyunjin invited you to visit the local art gallery before midterms, you eagerly agreed. it felt intimate, a shared space where he could reveal more of himself to you.

the gallery was quiet, with the low hum of classical music playing in the background. the soft glow of lights illuminated the vibrant and haunting pieces adorning the walls. hyunjin led you inside, his presence both calming and exhilarating.

“i come here a lot,” he admitted as you wandered past a series of abstract paintings. “it’s like stepping into another world. art makes sense to me in a way that words sometimes don’t.”

you smiled at the thought. “i get that. it’s how i feel about books. they’re a way to escape, to see things through someone else’s eyes.”

hyunjin stopped in front of a sprawling canvas painted in deep reds and golds, the colors swirling together like a storm. “this one’s my favorite,” he said softly. “it’s chaotic, but there’s beauty in the chaos. like... even in the mess, there’s something worth finding.”

you studied the painting, trying to see it the way he did. “it’s beautiful,” you murmured. “it kind of reminds me of you.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “me?”

“you’re so passionate,” you explained. “there’s this energy about you, like you see the world differently. it’s inspiring.”

hyunjin’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked away, smiling. “that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

the moment felt perfect, like you were sharing something sacred. as you moved through the gallery, he pointed out more pieces, sharing their stories and what they meant to him. you hung on every word, feeling closer to him with each step.

but as the two of you stopped at a sculpture that seemed to twist and defy gravity, hyunjin’s phone buzzed in his pocket. he glanced at it briefly, his expression flickering with discomfort.

“everything okay?” you asked.

“yeah,” he said quickly, tucking his phone away. “just felix checking in.”

you didn’t push further, though something about his response left a faint unease in your chest.

the gallery’s warm light faded as you and hyunjin stepped into the brisk evening air, your breaths visible in the cold. the quiet hum of the city surrounded you, and the sharp chill seemed to heighten the glow of the night. hyunjin glanced at you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, before motioning toward a nearby café with a soft smile.

“want to grab something warm?” he asked.

you nodded, the idea of a hot drink too tempting to resist. the two of you walked side by side, the air between you charged with a quiet camaraderie that felt both new and familiar.

inside the cozy café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. hyunjin ordered a coffee, and you opted for a hot chocolate. afterward, you found a bench outside, under the soft glow of a streetlamp, and settled down with your drinks.

as you sipped from your cup, savoring the rich, velvety warmth, you noticed hyunjin pulling a small sketchbook from his bag. he flipped it open and began drawing, his pencil gliding across the page with practiced ease.

“what are you working on?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him, curiosity piqued.

he hesitated, his lips curving into a small, shy smile before turning the notebook toward you. your breath hitched as you saw yourself staring back at you from the page. it was an uncanny likeness—your soft, thoughtful expression captured in exquisite detail, the curve of your fingers around the cup, even the way your scarf bunched at your neck.

“wow,” you whispered, touched and a little awestruck. “it’s beautiful.”

hyunjin’s cheeks turned pink, and he looked away bashfully. “i wanted to remember this moment,” he admitted softly.

warmth bloomed in your chest, and your heart beat a little faster. just as you were about to respond, his phone buzzed on the bench beside him. for a brief moment, his brow furrowed, but then he silenced it and slid it back into his pocket without even glancing at the screen.

“when i finish it, i’ll give it to you,” he said with a grin, slipping the notebook into his bag.

“you’d do that?” you asked, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“of course,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “think of it as an early christmas present.”

before you could respond, the jingling of a bell caught your attention. you glanced up toward the café’s door to see felix walking out, a steaming cup in his hand and a surprised smile on his face.

“well, look at you two,” felix said, his gaze flicking between you and hyunjin. his expression was warm, but you noticed the faintest hint of curiosity in his eyes—like he’d stumbled upon something unexpected.

hyunjin cleared his throat, his fingers idly spinning his coffee cup. “just grabbing a drink,” he said casually, though there was a slight edge of awkwardness to his tone.

“yeah,” you chimed in, glancing at hyunjin for a moment before turning back to felix. “we went to the art gallery down the street before this.”

felix’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his grin widening. “this a date?” he asked, his tone playful but his gaze lingering on hyunjin, as if gauging his reaction.

you froze, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink as you instinctively glanced at hyunjin.

“u-um, yeah,” hyunjin stammered, his voice faltering slightly as he nodded.

felix’s smile softened, and he gave a small nod. “good for you,” he said lightly before taking a sip of his drink. “well, don’t let me interrupt. have fun.”

he shot hyunjin a knowing look before walking off into the night.

the silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. hyunjin turned to you, scratching the back of his neck. “sorry about that. i... probably should’ve asked first.”

you laughed softly, the sound easing the tension. “it’s okay. i didn’t mind.”

“really?” he asked, his tone careful, his eyes searching yours.

you nodded, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. it’s... nice. unexpected, but nice.”

hyunjin’s features softened, and his lips curled into a smile. “well, in that case,” he said, lifting his coffee cup slightly, “here’s to unexpected nights.”

“to unexpected nights,” you echoed, clinking your cup lightly against his, rolling your eyes playfully.

the week before winter break was an exhausting blur, a whirlwind of stress that left you teetering on the edge of burnout. between the seemingly endless midterms, the chaotic frenzy of packing, and the careful coordination of plans to visit your family, there was barely a moment to catch your breath. each spare second was consumed by last-minute assignments, looming deadlines, and the relentless pressure to wrap everything up before the semester ended.

amid the chaos, hyunjin had become a constant presence in your life, an unexpected source of calm. the time you spent together felt like a refuge from the storm—a quiet interlude of shared smiles and easy conversation that made the weight on your shoulders a little lighter. the dynamic between you had shifted subtly but unmistakably; there was something growing, something unspoken but palpable.

hyunjin’s presence had a grounding effect. whether it was the way he’d catch your eye during study sessions and offer a reassuring smile, or how he’d casually walk you back to your dorm after late nights at the library, there was a comfort in his company that you hadn’t realized you were craving. he had a knack for making even the most mundane moments feel meaningful—offering to share his notes when you were drowning in coursework, or surprising you with a hot drink when he noticed you were running on empty.

it wasn’t just the gestures, though. it was the way he listened, truly listened, when you spoke about your dreams and fears, your frustrations and triumphs. it was in the way he’d share pieces of himself in return, his thoughts and stories painting a picture of someone who was far more complex and thoughtful than you’d initially realized.

whatever was growing between you two felt fragile yet promising, like the first bloom of a flower peeking through the frost. it wasn’t something either of you had labeled or defined yet, but it lingered in the way your conversations lingered a little too long, in the way your eyes sought each other across crowded rooms, in the way his hand would brush yours as you walked together—and neither of you would pull away.

one afternoon, you were holed up in the library, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you stared at the blinking cursor on your screen. a paper due by midnight mocked you, and no matter how hard you tried, the words wouldn’t come. frustration mounted, and you leaned back in your chair with a sigh, rubbing at your temples.

“i need a break,” you muttered under your breath, standing abruptly.

deciding a walk might help clear your head, you wandered aimlessly through the quiet aisles of books, the muted hum of the library’s heating system filling the air. you turned a corner near the back hallway, where the restrooms were located, and stopped short.

the sight that greeted you made your stomach lurch.

hyunjin.

he was leaning casually against the wall, his expression soft and animated as he spoke to a girl. she stood close to him, smiling brightly, her body language open and familiar. they were deep in conversation, seemingly oblivious to the world around them.

your initial surprise was quickly replaced by a sharp pang of unease. you didn’t want to intrude, so you took a cautious step back, intending to leave before they noticed you. but then, hyunjin’s laugh rang out, low and warm, and you couldn’t help but peek around the corner again.

and that’s when it happened.

hyunjin leaned in, closing the distance between them, and kissed her.

your heart dropped like a stone.

for a moment, you were frozen in place, unable to process what you were seeing. your chest tightened, a lump forming in your throat as disbelief washed over you. you hadn’t officially defined anything with him—hadn’t even explicitly talked about what your relationship meant—but seeing him with someone else felt like a punch to the gut.

without thinking, you stepped back quickly, your heel scuffing against the floor. the small sound echoed in the quiet hallway. hyunjin pulled back from the kiss, his head turning sharply in your direction.

your eyes met his, and the color seemed to drain from his face.

“y/n?” he called softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty and guilt.

panic surged through you. you shook your head and turned away, your heart pounding as you hurried back the way you came.

“wait!” hyunjin’s voice followed you, but you didn’t stop.

he caught up to you near the library’s entrance, his footsteps quick and light. “y/n, please. just—let me explain.”

you whirled around to face him, your emotions threatening to boil over. “explain what, hyunjin?” you asked, your voice trembling. “i saw enough.”

“it’s not what it looked like,” he said, his expression pleading.

you crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “then tell me. what was it? because it sure looked like you were kissing her.”

hyunjin ran a hand along his hair, his frustration evident. “it wasn’t planned. she... she kissed me first.”

“and you just went along with it?” you snapped, your hurt spilling out.

he hesitated, and the pause spoke volumes. you let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “i can’t believe this.”

“y/n, i’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “it didn’t mean anything. she’s just—”

“don’t,” you interrupted, holding up a hand. “i don’t want to hear excuses right now. i just—” you exhaled sharply, your chest tight. “i need to go.”

without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving hyunjin standing there, his face etched with regret.

the cold air outside hit you like a slap, but it did little to numb the ache in your chest. you didn’t look back, too afraid to betray your words if you did.

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

©chansdoll do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[mariasont]

Parent-Teacher Conference - A.H

a/n: inspired by the show the nanny! major lover of mr sheffield and fran fine

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

summary: you are not happy with jack's teacher flirting with your boss

warnings: hotch staring at your ass!, jealous reader, flirty reader, would prob def get a complaint against her in the real world, but alas!

wc: 0.8k

I'm terribly sorry, but my cat died before I got here.

I actually was in a car wreck on the way. I know I look fine, but it was super traumatic.

Mr. Hotchner you look so good today! Me? Late! Never.

These were the series of apologies and excuses that you were rehearsing in your mind as you navigated your way through the school hallway. In your defense, your tardiness to the parent-teacher conference wasn't without reason. Jack's newfound rebellious phase had him ruining your pantyhose with deliberate runs. He found it hilarious. You found it anything but.

You mentally prepared for that all-too-familiar, intimidating glare from Mr. Hotchner, the kind that could make you feel like you were plummeting from a cliff. Not only were you running late, but you also anticipated a less-than-glowing report from Ms. Thompson about Jack's recent antics. And in the back of your mind, a nagging voice whispered that Mr. Hotchner would somehow find a way to blame you.

"Oh, Aaron, you're something else!" 

You stopped dead in your tracks, gaze locked on the scene unfolding before you. Ms. Thompson's voice took on a higher pitch, full of animation, her elbows subtly drawing her tits together, leaning into Mr. Hotchner's space with an ease that bordered on disrespectful. At least in your eyes.

Aaron? The casual use of Mr. Hotchner's first name sent your mood from sour to downright acrid. You strode into the classroom, inching your skirt higher and affixing a practiced, beaming smile to your face. It was all charm and no sincerity.

"So sorry I was late," you began, allowing a gentle sway in your step as you glided into the room, your heels clicking a measured tempo against the linoleum floor. You mustered all your willpower to not shoot daggers at the blonde headed teacher. "I didn't miss anything did I?"

As you stepped into view, both Ms. Thompson and Mr. Hotchner turned their eyes to you. Ms. Thompson's showed a flicker of surprise, while Mr. Hotchner's were like slits, scrutinizing. But even his discipline gaze dipped, albeit briefly, to the curve where your skirt ended. 

"Oh, I... I didn't realize you were married, Mr. Hotchner," she mumbled, her hands fumbling gracelessly with the papers on the desk, her lips pinched in a straight line.

You could nearly hear the thoughts churning in Mr. Hotchner's head as his lips parted to correct her. Hastily, you cut in, "An innocent mistake, I'm sure."

He raised an eyebrow, a wordless question hanging in the air. Ignoring it, you flashed a saccharine smile and took the seat by his side, linking your arm with his. His muscles tensed, a reaction that almost coaxed a giggle from you.

It was all too easy to get a rise out of him.

"My wife, the epitome of timeliness,"Mr. Hotchner states dryly, his grip of your arm tightening just a tad more than called for. 

To your astonishment, the remainder of the conference proceeded seamlessly from that point on. Ms. Thompson restrained herself, both in wardrobe and word, and unexpectedly showered Jack with praise.

Exiting the classroom alongside Mr. Hotchner, you noticed he paused just long enough to ensure Ms. Thompson was out of ear shot. That's when you felt the squeeze of his hand on your side, coming to rest on the curve of your lower back, the pressure didn't move even as you found yourselves alone in the hallway--and you were far from objecting.

"Really?"

Your shoulders rose and fell in a pretense of innocence, well aware that his perceptive eyes weren't fooled. You tilted into his shoulder, doing a mental victory dance when he made no move to distance himself.

"What?" you asked, clutching your purse tighter against your side as you paced forward. "I was just helping you out. She looked like she was about to jump your bones at any second."

Mr. Hotchner's face was unamused, per usual. "Your generosity knows no bounds."

"Right?" You were aware of his sarcasm, but that didn't deter you. Your shoulders bumped together as you made it to the exit. "Consider yourself lucky."

An eye roll was his immediate response, but you could almost sense the smile he was staunchly holding back. He would never admit it.

"Yes, how could I ever manage without you?"

He paused to open the door for you, following behind as you stepped outside. You squinted against the sun's harsh kiss before giving him a teasing wink over your shoulder. He looked really good in the sunlight. He could use more of it.

"You wouldn't."

You caught his eyes lingering not on your face, but lower--fixated on your skirt, more specifically your ass. You raised your brows in question. 

"I think you sat in something."

You let out a startled gasp, hands flying to the material of your skirt. It was your favorite. "What? Where?"

His hands found their way to your waist, gently pivoting you for a better view, while your eyes settled on the stretch of road before you. "Oh, nope, my mistake. Looking good."

Your laughter spilled out uncontrollably, realizing just what he was doing. Cheeky man. And completely out of character, but you liked it. "Mr. Hotchner!"

 "I take my role as husband very seriously."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[lev1hei1chou]

Little Snitch

Dad!Gojo x reader Genre: Fluff Words: 444 Synopsis: Gojo's son is a snitch Masterlist

Gojo Satoru strode into the preschool, his white hair practically glowing against the backdrop of the brightly colored walls. His usual confident grin was plastered on his face as he approached the reception desk to sign in for his son.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Gojo," greeted the receptionist with a warm smile.

"Hey there! Here to pick up S/N," Gojo replied cheerfully, signing the necessary paperwork before making his way to the classroom.

As he stepped into the room, he immediately spotted his son playing with blocks in the corner. The little boy's eyes lit up at the sight of his father and he ran over, wrapping his tiny arms around Gojo's legs.

"Daddy!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement.

"Hey, champ! Ready to go home?" Gojo asked, ruffling S/N's hair affectionately.

"Yeah!" the younger boy nodded eagerly, taking his father's hand as they made their way out of the classroom.

As they walked through the hallway, a young teacher approached them with a friendly smile. "Hello, Mr. Gojo. I couldn't help but notice how adorable S/N is. You must be so proud."

Gojo's grin widened, his charisma oozing effortlessly. "Oh, definitely. He takes after his father, afterall."

The young teacher blushed slightly at his words, her gaze lingering on Gojo for a moment longer than necessary. "Well, if you ever need any help with S/N, or anything else for that matter, please don't hesitate to ask."

Gojo chuckled softly, giving her a charming wink. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

As they exited the preschool and headed home, his son chatted animatedly about his day making expressive gestures with his hands, oblivious to the brief exchange between his father and the teacher.

Once they were home, the little one burst through the door and ran straight to where his mother was waiting in the living room.

"Mama! Mama!" he exclaimed, tugging on her sleeve.

"What is it, sweetheart?" you asked, smiling down at him.

"Daddy talked to a pretty lady at school today!" he announced excitedly.

You raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in your eyes as you turned to Gojo, who entered the room with a sheepish grin.

"Is that so?" you teased, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Yeah, but don't worry, I shut her down real quick," Gojo said with a wink, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

You laughed, shaking your head in mock disapproval. "Well, it looks like I'll have to start picking him up from school from now on. Can't have you causing trouble with the teachers."

Gojo chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Sounds like a plan, babe."