#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.

[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.

[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

[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."

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Pt. 4

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3]

Danny blinked down at the cart, where a red hoodie and pants with red stripes along the side laid over the lip of the cart. Considering they’re in this universe’s brand of Marget- seriously, who names a store Target? If anything in Amity Park was named that, Skulker would have wrecked it in five seconds flat- it’s hilariously on brand. Though, to be fair, this was Gotham’s version too, which meant a lot of security guards (who definitely doubled as goons for the Rogues, Danny was sure) and the vibes were spooky.

“I’m guessing red’s your favorite color.”

Instead of the humorous way he meant the sentence, Jason looked up anxiously and Danny immediately hated himself a little bit more.

“Sh- I can put it back..?” Jason hunched in on himself.

Danny tracked the movement with clearer eyes than he’s had in a long while and ancients, does it remind him of how Dani was in front of Vlad all those years ago. And Danny has spent his entire half life being not like Vlad, so he’s not going to start now.

“Nah, you should definitely add some more stuff. This is no where near enough clothes.”

It really wasn’t. Danny had taken Jason to the store to pick out clothes- “Ther’s a second hand store down the stree’, ya know,” Jason had mumbled when they went through the doors- but the kid had only tentatively put in a small red hoodie and some pants in the cart. Now he had to put this in a way that’ll wipe the stubbornly hesitant look on Jason’s face off.

“Think about it this way, then. You’re repping me now, and while I might be the alley drunk, I’m not the poorly dressed alley drunk, yeah?”

“Oh. Tha’ makes sense.” Jason nodded to himself determinedly, and the kid strode over to the t-shirt section. For all of his confidence, he still glanced back to see if it was okay with Danny.

Well, Dani was the same way before she found her confidence (when she knew Danny wouldn’t abandon her or hurt her) so Danny just gave him a thumbs up before reaching into the rack and sweeping an armful of clothing straight into the cart. Then, he strode over to the jackets and grabbed the ones in Jason’s size and slightly bigger. Oh, he has to grab shoes. He’ll leave that for later, but Danny was going to get those ratty trainers off of Jason’s feet and into the nearest trash can if it was the last thing he does.

The halfa hummed, pausing at the first decidedly not miserable sound he’s made in a while. Dammit, if that wasn’t a sign of Danny’s attachment to Jason, he doesn’t know what would be. To be fair… Danny already committed murder for the kid, which was pretty much something he thought he’d never do, so in for a penny out for a pound or whatever.

He put a significant amount of the budget aside for the section labeled “JASON” so Danny shopped without a worry. Charlie’s ill-gotten assets were a good monetary compensation for his crime of existing near Jason or existing, period.

He picked up toiletries, toothbrushes and the like, when Jason came back sans t-shirt. Instead of a shirt- Danny had actually hoped that Jason would try to get multiple shirts- Jason was clutching a book.

Before he could even voice anything, Danny plucked the book out of his grip and put it into the cart with a disarming smile.

“Oh, good idea. We should get you books too. Wanna go pick out some more?”

“Uh- y’re just gonna get a book, just like that?”

“More than one book, I should hope. You are going to school, right?”

“…Yeah!” Danny couldn’t fathom ever being excited at the thought of school, but as Jason bounced away to peruse the admittedly poor selection of books, Danny couldn’t help but think that maybe he should give this education thing another try. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be less stressful now that he’s not Phantom.

Danny walked to the aisle next to the books and promptly proceeded to shove every single piece of stationary he thought was nice- pens, gel pens, cooling pens and pencils, a thick stack of notebooks, flash cards, etcetera- into the rapidly getting full cart.

Jason came back with three more books- nice, the classics- and froze at the sight of the cart.

“Oh, hey. Getting all of those?”

“Wha’- wha’s wit’ the stuff?”

“School supplies! Quality education starts with quality supplies, you know!” Danny said, a sliver of the grin that used to come so easily to him making an appearance on his face. "Don't worry, I budgeted. See?"

Danny handed Jason a piece of paper, confident that the kid would know if it was good or not.

"Where'd... ya get all of this?"

"Hmm... here and there."

Jason looked up at him, squinting suspiciously. "I hear' Charlie's gone poofed up."

Danny shrugged and put a calculator in the cart. "Oh, I'm sure he's busy."

Yeah, Danny thought vindictively. Busy being dead.

"Ya sound like a walking con," Jason said as he visibly decided to give up fighting against Danny's spending. "We nee' food."

"Gotcha. Well, if you need anything else, just bring it into the cart."

"I want veggies. Frozen, 's cheaper."

Danny nodded, resisting the urge to ruffle Jason's hair.

----

"Hey, you's the Alley Drunk, right? 'Bout that boy you've been toting ar-"

Danny punched the guy in the face, dropping him like a stone. He looked up slowly and swayed.

"Any of you ask about my kid brother again, and I won't bother with being drunk when I hit you."

Rapid nods. Danny shuffled away, satisfied.

----

Two weeks later, after a school day, Danny finds Jason heading to the bathroom with a box of...

"Hair-dye?"

Jason, who was marginally more relaxed and assured that Danny wasn't going to kick him out, nodded.

"Dye's fadin' n' I dun wanna get nabbed on the streets for having red hair."

Danny blinked. "You have red hair?"

"Sure do. See? Roots are showin' again." Jason pointed at his scalp where Danny could see the hair was getting lighter.

"Right. Well- I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need help, kiddo." Danny said, desperately hoping he hid how off kilter he was feeling well.

"I don't need help, ah've been doing this for ages." The kid went into the bathroom and closed the door harshly. When the lock clicked and the faucet began running, Danny let himself slide down the wall into a crouch, hands cradling his head.

Red hair. Blue eyes. Tan skin. The facial features. The intelligence and empathy.

Danny chuckled hysterically under his breath.

Was Jason this universe's version of Jazz?

"Fuck."

[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.”

[agaypanic]

Could you do Carlisle Cullen x wife fem!reader where she accompanied Bella to the hospital and someone tries to flirt with her and he saw what happened and got jealous even though they have been married for centuries🤭. Add something you'd like. Tag me later! Thanks.

Not Interested (Carlisle Cullen X Vampire!Wife!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something

Summary: Hearing the news about Edward saving Bella from a rogue van, you rushed to the hospital. While trying to find your husband and family, you seem to attract some unwanted attention.

A/N: tweaked the first part of the request but that’s it. au where esme doesn’t exist

***

When you had gotten a call from Alice telling you that Edward had saved Chief Swan’s daughter and Rosalie had followed the ambulance they were in to the hospital, you knew you had to go over to play mediator. Rosalie was very clear about her stance on Edward’s infatuation with Bella and the danger that infatuation could put all of you in; it was becoming a constant topic of argument between the two. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to visit your husband.

The hospital parking lot was a bit crowded when you arrived, you felt lucky when you finally found a spot. It seemed that everyone was concerned about Bella’s well-being, even though you heard that she was very adamant about being okay.

You pushed through the small crowd to get inside and went to the receptionist’s desk.

“Hello, Mary!” You said with a polite smile. Being married to the best doctor in Forks, who worked long hours, had made you acquainted with almost everyone on the staff. “Do you know if Carlisle is busy right now?”

“He’s with a patient, but I’ll page him so he knows to come down when he’s done.” She responded with a sweet tone. You thanked her and sat in the small waiting room, grabbing a magazine off the table to flip through as you waited for your husband or one of your kids to come.

From the corner of your eye, you saw someone approaching you. Thinking it was one of your children or Carlisle, you glanced up. But it was just a stranger, so you stuck your nose back in the magazine.

“Hey.” The man said, sitting in the seat next to you. You subtly shifted away from him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you new to town?”

You were a bit surprised that he didn’t know you or recognized you, at the very least. Even though you usually stayed at home, you were well-known around the hospital and the high school. Besides, your family was a bit of a hot topic, being so pale and mysterious and keeping to yourselves. And this was a small town where everyone knew everyone.

“Nope.” You responded, trying to be polite while also conveying that you weren’t interested in talking much. “I’ve lived here for a few years.”

“Then why haven’t I seen you around?” He leaned forward, a curious smirk on his face. You did your best to hide your grimace.

“I guess we’ve never been in the same place at the same time.”

“Well, that’s a shame. Maybe we should do something to fix that.” You wanted to roll your eyes at his forwardness. To him, you were a complete stranger sitting in a hospital. For all he knew, you could be waiting to see a family member on their deathbed, and he wants to flirt. “Do you wanna maybe go get a drink?”

“I’m fine.” You replied with indifference.

“Aw, don’t be like that. I bet I could show you a good time.”

You laughed, shutting the magazine and dropping it onto the table. You could sense someone coming down the hall, and you knew exactly who it was. And you knew he was making his steps a little heavier than usual to make his presence known. 

“Believe me, I’m not interested.” By the time you were standing and looking down on the stranger, Carlisle had reached the waiting room, his gaze fixated on the two of you. You turned your head and smiled brightly. “Darling! There you are!”

You strode over to your husband and kissed him on the cheek, the faintest lip print being left on his pale cheek. You could feel the jealousy radiating off of him, but the slight snarl on his lips turned into a loving smile.

“Hello, dear.” His arm was wound firmly around your waist, the tips of his fingers skimming your hip. The hold felt possessive, like he needed to make it clear to this mystery man and anyone who passed by you that they had no chance. It was amusing to you that even after a few centuries of marriage, Carlisle still felt jealous when someone tried to win you over, even when you were blatantly uninterested. 

Speaking of the stranger, Carlisle gave him a glaring glance, and he knew it was time for him to leave. When he was out the door, Carlisle softened. 

“What are you doing down here?”

“Alice told me about the van.” You said, pursing your lips. “I had a bit of a feeling that Rosalie would come here to have a word or two with Edward about the whole thing.”

“You, my little angel, are very smart.” Carlisle smiled down at you before nodding towards the other side of the room, where two of your children were quietly hissing arguments to each other. “And they are right on time.”

You laughed a little before letting Carlisle walk you over to Rosalie and Edward to hear the full story, even though you had already gotten most of it from Alice. The entire time, Carlisle’s arm stayed around you, a constant reminder to everyone that you belonged to each other for eternity.

[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’.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

holding on {alex karev}

plot: you and alex aren't friends but he's the person that sits by your hospital bed day and night until you wake up.

character: alex karev (early seasons) x reader

The steady beeping of the various machines was something that Alex had grown tired of two days ago, the machine's volumes had been turned to 0 but his anxious eyes kept flickering to them every few seconds just to be sure. The background noise of the hospital was something he was used to and it was an oddly comforting sound. Now, the silence of being in the room with you had been nice at first but now that he was here, with you, waiting... just waiting... the silence was unnerving him.

He tapped his foot, checking the clock on the wall. Bailey should've been here by now, she promised him that she'd check on you every two hours. She was late. Anger surged through his body causing his heart to pound and his fists to clench.

"You're such an idiot," he could hear you scolding him in his mind, "if you just stopped dealing with your problems with sheer anger then maybe, maybe people would actually start to like you."

He scoffed.

You and him had hardly been friends. You and the rest of Bailey's interns were the best of friends, all living together in Mer's mom's house so why wasn't George or Izzie or Cristina or Mer here? Why was it Alex? That's all the four of them had been whispering about. Cristina asked Alex, Izzie asked Alex... hell, Bailey even asked Alex. Alex had ignored each of their questions and instead gave some snarky asshole comment with an eye roll. Alex didn't even know why he was here - why he'd purposefully demanded the week off to be by your bedside day and night sleeping on a camping bed with the scratchiest sheets in the world. He didn't know and yet, here he was.

You were annoying. You annoyed him. But since the news of the accident and since you'd been in a coma, Alex couldn't stop thinking about the way you laughed as you teased him. He couldn't get one specific moment out of his head.

You and Alex had been working on a case together - much to your dismay - and Alex had opened up slightly, letting you see that he was much more than what you previously thought.

"So... you're not just an asshole with the emotional range of a teaspoon, who knew?" You helped yourself to the bar stool next to Karev. Joe glanced at you, asking if you wanted your usual to which you nodded.

Alex rolled his eyes, "Whatever."

There was silence for a few seconds before you tried again, "I know you have this hard 'I don't care' exterior," you started, "and I know it's probably because of some past trauma in your life, Karev - believe me we've all got some shit - but..."

"Are you gonna keep giving me a stupid high school girl pep talk or are you gonna shut up and drink?"

It was your turn to roll your eyes now, "Joe, another round please."

As Joe poured the two of you more drinks, Alex sighed and looked at you, "Thanks," he murmured quietly, "I'm not- I don't..." he cleared his throat, "I don't mean to be an asshole all the time... I don't really know... Social shit isn't really my thing."

"Now who's acting like an emotional high school girl?" You teased. Alex laughed, a genuine smile stretched onto his face. Yeah... maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

So after the accident, Alex stayed.

It was then Bailey strode in, chart in hand, "Karev," she said glancing up for a second, "you look like hell. Don't you think you should go home get a proper sleep? Take a damn shower?" She could see the worry in him, she could see how stressed out he was; the dark circles under his eyes, his nails chewed down. Alex might not even know it yet but he cared about you.

"I'm staying," he said with a nod standing to look over her shoulder at your chart, "Any updates?"

"You tell me, you're the one who's been here since she got admitted." Bailey moved to you, turning the volume up on the machines, checking your levels.

"Oxygen levels were a little low at 3am, managed to level them out... No issues since." He nodded, arms crossed with a hand rubbing at his jawline, "Why hasn't she woken up yet, Bailey? She should be-"

"Karev," Bailey said, voice strong, "Go get yourself a cup of coffee, now."

"I don't-"

"Now, Karev. Let me do my damn job and stop hanging over me. Coffee."

With a few harsh words which made Bailey surprisingly laugh, Alex stormed out of your hospital room, storming past O'Malley and Stevens who had come to check in with Bailey on how you were doing.

Bailey leaned down closed to you, "If you die, god help us all... that boy..." she looked to the door where Alex had left from, "he'll be lost forever. So don't you dare, you hear me?"

The coffee machine was a minute's walk away from your room so Alex would know if anything were to happen to you, he would know but he kept checking over his shoulder anyway just in case. He was exhausted, he couldn't remember the last time he'd drank or even the last time he'd eaten. You had consumed him for the last two days; making sure that you were okay was his first priority.

He stopped at the coffee machine punching the button for a crappy black coffee that he wasn't going to drink anyway, "Come on," he grumbled as the cup dropped and the coffee began to pour in slowly, "Damn piece of crap machine, hurry the hell up!" He yelled suddenly, slamming his fist into the plastic front. Around him, people stared but he didn't care. When the coffee finally stopped, he pulled the cup out when he heard it.

"Code blue! I need a crash cart! Room 2203!" It was Bailey. It was you.

Boiling hot coffee splashed over the floor, the cup dropped and on the ground as Alex Karev took off running.

His heart pounded, usually the thrill was the thing he loved the most but this wasn't a thrill, no, this was dread. When he burst into your room, the first thing he heard was, "Clear!" and heard the noise of the defibrillator.

"What's going on?!" He yelled over the chaos.

"Get him outta here!" Bailey yelled, "Charge to 200! Get him outta here, O'Malley!"

George tried but a determined Alex was a strong Alex. He resisted George's grip, shoving him back every chance he tried to take him out. It got to the point that George gave up, "Dr Bailey!" He exclaimed, hopelessly as Alex barged to your bedside. Bailey couldn't do anything, she was busy trying to save your life, she couldn't deal with Karev as well so she let him be.

"Don't you dare die on me," Alex hissed, eyes flooding with tears, "don't you dare. Can't do that to me, (y/n). Can't have me sitting here waiting for two days to just die on me-" he looked to Bailey, "Save her... please."

Bailey's eyes met Alex's and she found a lump in her throat, "You hear him?" She asked you as the paddles charged, "don't you dare die on us, (y/n)." With one final shock, the monitor started to beep again, "Heart rate is coming back up," she said with a relieved sigh, "Thank the Lord. Levels are stabilising."

Alex collapsed into the chair at your bedside, hand clamped around yours, as his eyes closed, letting the relief wash over him. You were alive; you were stable.

"What- what caused it?"

Bailey shook her head, "Don't know, levels were fine but as soon as you left the room they started to drop so do me a favour, Karev," she looked pointedly at him, "don't leave this room again." Normally he would've bit back, said a comment about her forcing him out but instead, he just nodded falling back into his chair, hand still in yours, "I'll check every hour, okay? You page me immediately, got it?" Again, he nodded and then the room cleared out.

Alex didn't turn the monitors down, he needed to hear the steady beep to know that you were okay, you were alive and you were breathing. For the last three hours that he'd sat here, he had prayed to every god he could remember the name of - he didn't know if it counted but even started praying to some Greek Gods as well. Why have God in the title if it doesn't count? His hand was still firmly in yours.

Bailey had checked five times in the three hours, checking on you but also on him. She brought him a soda, a sandwich and a muffin and didn't leave until he'd drained half the can and eaten one of the sandwiches. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he'd started eating, he devoured the rest of meal once she'd left. You were still stable but you weren't awake yet. Bailey was optimistic but Alex wasn't. He was dreading the worst, expecting your levels to become unstable again but as he was dosing off, he felt your hand twitch in his.

He shot up, "(y/n)?" He asked staring at your hand and then at you and much to his relief, your eyes began to flutter open. He let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. Utter relief crashed over him, "You're awake," he grinned, "you're actually awake."

"A-Alex?" You croaked.

"Here," he said gently as he grabbed a plastic cup and straw and filled it with water from the jug on your bedside unit, "Drink up. How you feeling?"

"Sore."

"Multiple ruptured organs and a few broken bones'll do that to you," Alex teased with a smile. You noticed his hand was still in yours, warm and strong. He saw your eyes narrow at your joined hands and he was quick to pull his back despite everything inside him not wanting to, "I- I'm gonna page Bailey, you drink up." He helped you take the water and left. He was just outside, close enough to make sure that you were still safe - still alive.

It was as he left you looked around the room and you noticed the camping cot which was set up on the floor next to your bed. You frowned. Someone had been staying here. Was it... no, it couldn't have been Alex; Alex hated you.

Your thoughts were cut off by Bailey bursting into your room, "Oh thank the Lord," she grinned, "it's good to see you awake. You scared us." As Bailey checked you over, Alex returned to the seat next to you. Bailey saw your confused expression seeing him sat there, normal clothes not working, "Karev," she said, "go and get (y/n) a sandwich, will you? She's hungry." Alex went to argue, to tell Bailey she told him not to leave your room but Bailey's pointed look made him stop and nod. He left a second later giving you one last worried look, "She's fine now go."

You looked up at Bailey who sighed and looked down at you, "You had that boy scared to death, you know."

"Who? Alex?!"

Bailey nodded, "You're not the only one who's surprised. As soon as you were admitted he was here. It was his day off and he was here. Soon as you got outta surgery he was set up in your room. He hasn't left since Tuesday."

You looked down to the cot next to you, "He's been here the whole time?"

Bailey nodded, "I don't know what's going on between the two of you - if anything - but I'd say that there's something." Your frown deepened and Bailey smiled, "Just... be patient with him."

When Alex came back, Bailey gave you a secret nod with a knowing smile before she left promising to come check on you every hour and to not dare think about going back into a coma otherwise she would kill you. "I'm a doctor, I know how to save people but I know how to kill them too."

"Hey," Alex said as he placed a sandwich and soda on the unit beside your bed, "You okay?"

You nodded, finding yourself rather overwhelmed and touched by his actions. He - Alex Karev - had stayed by your side since the accident. What did that mean? What did Dr Bailey mean? You nodded quickly, "Yeah," you said softly, "just tired."

Alex puffed out a long breath as he sat in the seat next to your bed, "Yeah, you must be. Gave me- gave us all a fright."

Silence fell and the two of you fell into the comfort of the sounds of the hospital. You sipped at the soda Alex had brought before curiosity got the better of you, "Alex... why did you stay with me?"

You could've sworn his cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink but he rubbed his hands over his tired looking face so you couldn't have been sure, "Hell if I know," he muttered, "it's not like we're friends but... I didn't want you to be alone. You're the only one that's almost like a friend and... I dunno." He shrugged, "I don't really understand it myself." Maybe there was something deeper lurking under the surface but he didn't know. That was something you'd have to navigate together, "I know you'd have probably preferred Cristina or Mer-"

You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Thank you, Alex," you whispered, "for everything. Thank you." Now, this time you could see the tips of his ears go pink. You smiled, "Now when are you going to shower cause boy you are looking rough-"

"Shut up!" Alex rolled his eyes but he laughed with you and for once, it felt nice to joke around with him. It felt normal. You didn't know what was going to happen but you somehow knew that he would be beside you, figuring out this crazy journey together and somehow, that made it a little less scary.

[toji-bunny-girl]

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓✩’𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓

CHARACTERS— Santa!Gojo Satoru x pretty sexy gorgeous fem!reader SUMMARY— Supposedly another Christmas night being lonely and horny, you’re suddenly woken up by Santa coming to claim you your Christmas gift. WORD COUNT— 3k+ CONTENT WARNING— slight angst, swearing, smut, porn with plot, virginity lost, fingering, clit sucking, oral sex, no protection A/N— Merry Christmas, my fellow bitchless angels 😔 Ya’ll better not let this shit flop or else I’m going insane. btw guys God literally told me face-to-face that my dog is cuter than your pet 😨 it’s true tho

“So,” your co-worker, Mina started as she haled the roll-up gate down, flipping her long extensions behind her shoulder before grabbing the lock from your extended hand, “got any plans this Christmas?”

“I don’t know…I’ll probably go out with my friends to the new cat cafe. You?” you watched as her fingers worked deftly to lock the gate before trying to pull it open in an attempt to make sure she got it locked.

“Kai wants to visit Ginzan Onsen, said it’ll be the best place to ‘make love’ or something. I mean, long story short he thinks it’s a cute place to fuck,” Mina apprised, always a little bit too forward with her wordings—her bold personality and style amolous from yours.

Albeit she’s amiable and kind, you still couldn’t quite get used to her blatant forwardness despite working with her for the past 5 months. And Mina loved teasing you about how sensitive you are; already blushing from the mere word ‘fuck’.

“Look at how cute you are, (Y/N). Your face is starting to get red!” she giggled, pointing as you hit her arm, feeling your cheeks warming against the cold winter air. “You know, they say the shy-est are usually the kinkiest…”

“Just leave me alone, Mina!” you embarrassingly whined, slapping a palm over her glossed lips before pushing her away. She lets out a few satisfied laughs before raising her hands up in capitulation, already knowing when to stop before you get irritated at her.

“Alright, I’m sorry, ‘kay baby?” she cooed, plump lower lips jutting out into a pout as she wrapped her arms around your waist.

“You keep teasing me,” you frowned and pushed her stubborn hands off of you before you began walking towards the train station.

“Cuz’ you’re so cute. You’re always acting like such a virgin,” her arm hung over your shoulders and your body sunk forward at the sudden weight.

“Now, is there a problem with that…” you spoke lowly, flickering your sight towards her, wary of her reaction.

“You cannot be shitting me?!” Mina widened her eyes, two elder couples turning their attention on her egregious tone, “I mean like, look at you! You’re so pretty and such a good girl. Who wouldn’t want you?! I want you!”

“I don’t know…I just haven’t met the one.”

“There’s tons of guys who want you, (Y/N)! You gotta be a little bold, get out of your shell if you wanna meet ‘your one’.”

“Man…I just wish someone perfect for me who isn’t a creep would come to me,” you sighed, your hand holding onto Mina’s dangling one over your neck. Nearing the station, you could see Kai, her boyfriend already waiting by the entrance for her—probably heading to dinner together later on.

“You’ll find one for sure,” she glanced at you, a bright reassuring smile on her face, and you returned her one before feeling the weight on your shoulders lifted when she pulled her arm away, then waved at Kai.

“So, how was work today?” the male strode over, his two hands reaching out to hold Mina’s from the pockets of his coat before turning to greet you.

“It’s fine, lots of couples today,” she replied, following as you passed the ticket gate and rode the escalator up to the platform. “And as usual, we got a few single lads asking for our pretty girl’s Line today.”

“Yeah, and you forgot to add that they’re either delinquents or high school boys,” the two couples chortled as you sighed, tired of how you’re always attracting guys who are definitely not your type.

“We’re gonna have to get security for our candy shop because of our (Y/N), huh?” Mina joked, nudging Kai’s side with her shoulder as you rolled your eyes.

Within seconds, the bells signaling the coming arrival of the train started, the train announcer apprising the next destination as Shinjuku-sanchōme—20 minutes until you reach your home station.

“Sorry, (Y/N). Kai and I are gonna ride another train to Shinbashi so we can’t go in with you,” the train had arrived and the doors slid open as workmen and women surged in like sea waves.

“No, no! It’s fine. Happy holidays, guys,” you smiled as you began to follow the crowd into the half-packed train.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N)!” the two bid, Mina waving all the while.

“Enjoy your trip to Ginzan, you two!” you giggled, slightly waving back before jumping onto the train just as its doors began to slide close. The smell of heater and sweat filled your nose and as you swiftly scanned your sight around, you saw most smiling at their phones, probably texting their loved ones, and a few couples giggling in their seats.

Another lonely Christmas, you thought.

Your stomach was growling as you prowled the streets for the nearest convenience store. The sky was already blanketed with darkness and you thought visiting any restaurant would only mount your forlornness, so you figured a quick meal from the store would do for your hunger.

The luminously salient sign of your local convenience store caught your eyes from a distance away, and you hurriedly scorched towards the store. Entering, the cashier greeted you when the automated door slid open with a ding to announce your presence, and you nodded your head with a smile before trodding your way to the back where packed bentos were.

Your eyes raked over the bentos, looking for your favourite Katsudon to find it absent from the display. A surge of annoyance rose in you as your brow knitted into a frown, ‘Can’t even have my Katsudon, huh?’. Grabbing the nearest bento instead, you made your way to the cashier while rummaging through your bag for your wallet.

“Do you want your bento heated up, miss?” the male mooted, a serviceable smile on his face. He caught your affirmative hum before setting the food in the microwave, and silence then transpired between the two of you.

The smell of the heating fried rice pervaded through the air in the wake of the anticipated ‘ding’. The cashier took out the bento and wrapped it in a plastic bag before handing you both the plastic and a card, “Thank you for your purchase, and Merry Christmas!”

You thanked the male and claimed your things before heading out of the store with another ‘ding’, throwing the card into the plastic bag and burying your hands deep in the warmth of your pockets.

What seemed to be your wontedly peaceful route back home suddenly became a path of silent lonesomeness. At that moment, you must be colder than anyone else in Japan. While they have the love and heat of a lover to warm them up—you had no one but yourself.

The walk home was longer than usual and you immediately turned on the heater when you entered your apartment, feeling your limbs beginning to numb. Taking out a few beer cans from the fridge, you set them on the small chabudai along with your cooling packed dinner—ready to scarf down your meal.

It took you an empty bento box and two beer cans to notice the Christmas card the cashier gave you on the wooden floor, probably dropped when you took the packaged meal out of the plastic bag. You could feel yourself getting tipsy as the alcohol set in your veins, rushing to your brain and making it all light and woozy.

“Christmas…Wish?” you read the bold, cursive title aloud, eyes absorbing the contents on the card.

Write a wish on this card and Santa shall grant what you seek!

Aren’t these for kids or something? Why would the cashier give you something like this? It’s obviously fake, but for you to think of a wish…you would love to be a millionaire. Or a billionaire. Or have a pet cat. Or…

Heading to your bedroom to get your pen, you trodded back to the chabudai where the card was, taking your time to ruminate on what to write just for the fun of it. Perhaps it was the alcohol thumping in your pulse, absorbing whatever sense you have in your head as it passed your bloodstream—you found yourself injudiciously scribbling something you normally wouldn’t.

Lose my virginity. 

Fire popped beneath the skin of your cheeks as you stared at the piece of card with your writing on it. “I must have gotten insane…” you sighed, rubbing your eyebrows.

Maybe a wash would clear your head, you thought. The beer was making you drowsy and you’d better have an early night. You don’t take long with your shower and you were quick to set your things aside and take out the trash.

It was only 10 but you’ve already settled yourself in your bed, sleepiness blanketing over your head. Your eyelids began to shut, sending you to an abyss of peace and dream.

Then, there was shuffling. And mumbles.

Your consciousness drew back to reality and through your dazed state—you tried to make sense of the noises. Until you began to sober up, there was no one but you in your apartment. No pets nor roommates to be making up all these sounds.

“Who’s there?” you panicked, straining your eyes through the dark, to find a tall silhouette in your room. A sense of aghast rumbled through your being and a shriek ripped itself out of your throat.

You fumbled for something from your bedside table to act as a weapon, and the most threatening object there was was your lamp. At least you could smash it against the intruder and bolt out of your apartment for help.

And as you tried to rip the lamp’s cord out of the socket, its light turned on—revealing the stranger to be…Santa?

“(Y/N), is it?” the male chuckled, rubbing his nape.

“Who are you?!” you screamed, pointing the lamp at him. “Get out of my house, please!”

“Just relax, man. I’m Santa, here to grant you your Christmas wish!”

“Look, I’m just a broke college student! I-I don’t have anything with me. Just leave and I won’t call the cops,” you tried to reason, already starting to break down into hiccups and tears

“Well, I'm sorry. It’s my policy to not leave a house unless I’ve successfully fulfilled one’s desires. So, I won’t be leaving anytime soon!”

“W-What…?” you were beyond dumbfounded, trying to make sense of the random lunatic standing in your room.

“This,” he pointed at the card from the convenience store. “Here, your wish says…to lose your virginity,” the male cladded in his Santa suit bemusedly read aloud.

“No…! I wrote that as a joke!”

“Well, I don’t take Christmas wishes as a joke,” he lifted an eyebrow, resting his hands on his hips.

“Just cut it out, Santa isn’t real,” you retorted, tightening your grip on the handle of the lamp.

“But I am real,” his voice suddenly became closer, and more lucid, his frame had disappeared from your sight—as if he was suddenly gone and had dissipated into space. Whipping your head behind, you found him just there and a scream cracked out of your lungs as you tumbled out of your bed.

“H-How…Wha—“

“I can teleport, y’know?” he smiled, reaching out a hand to pull you up from the floor. “And I can make anything out of thin air,” his other hand rose to have a random Dior bag in his grasp as you stared, shocked and finding it hard to register the scene in front of you.

“So, you’re really…Santa Claus?”

“Yes, and my real name’s Gojo Satoru—at your service,” he slurred, and you found his voice smooth like freshly woven silk. You were silent and still, eyes widening at the white-haired male in front of you. “Speaking of your Christmas wish…”

Your face burst into florid red as you awkwardly laughed, “Could you please just forget about that?”

“Now, if you’ve read carefully; no changing or refusing of wishes once you’ve written ‘em down,” he pointed at the small text at the bottom of the card, “You must’ve missed it just now.”

Thinking over the situation, something in you cracked as you realised—you were going to lose your virginity to Santa Claus. Your eyelids twitched as you nervously chuckled. This gotta be a heck of a joke. 

“Hey, don’t underestimate me!” Gojo had caught your expression, and as if he was reading your thoughts, his eyebrows knitted into a frown.

“T-Then what are we supposed to do now?” you asked, switching your gaze away and feeling hot embarrassment tickling your skin.

“No need to worry,” Gojo gave a reassuring smirk, “just trust me.”

Alright, trust.

You felt the bed shift with his weight, and he was hovering over you—face mere inches away. His eyes seemed to sparkle like those of a diamond; blue stars orbiting in his orbs, and you note the plump shape of his lips, so visually kissable.

For the second time, as if he had caught your thoughts, he let his lips mould into yours. He felt soft and plump like peach, and he smelled like a merge of snow and warmth.

Your lips danced in the dark, and your body leaned forward towards him as he fell back, something about the kiss was unbreakable. It felt so soft, it felt so good.

You let his hands wander around your curves from underneath your pyjamas, meet the shape of your hips and dips of your waist, then the roundness of your breasts. You let him study your body with the cold tips of his fingers and slip your clothes off when he wanted to.

A soft moan slipped out of your tongue when the cold December air hit your nipples, and Gojo took no time to let his tongue play with your buds. His hands continued to roam around your body, pressing a finger against the wet spot through your pants.

“You fine with this?” he pointed at the way his fingers slid over your clothed core. You wordlessly nodded, drifting your sight away before you felt yourself benignly pushed onto your back, your pants slowly slipping off of your legs along with your panties.

You were bare, in front of a man you’ve met tonight. But at the same time, you felt oddly safe with him. This was only a wish come true and nothing more, you affirmed.

His long fingers began to reach deep inside, and your nerves tingled at where they caressed your walls. His pace switched after a few pumps and his fingers were dextrously pistoning in and out of your cunt. You could hear your erotic slick coating his digits as it follows his rhythm, and your cheeks burn hot in shyness.

His face lowered to your pussy, and his tongue began playing with your clit. A sharp mewl escaped from your lips as his cheeks hallowed from sucking on your nub and his fingers paced up over the gummy spot deep inside.

Pleasure began amassing in your nerves and you could feel yourself brimming over the edge of lucidity. Gojo didn’t stop and instead, fastened his digits in and out of you, the sound of sex was loud through your state of delirium and he was coaxing all the pleasure there was in you.

Then, you spilled. Your thighs tightened around his head, fingers gripping onto his white locks as you’re sent to a world of blank bliss. Gojo peeks up at you as you pause with your lips parted, edges of eyebrows sewn to the stars, and half a wail stayed choked in your throat.

“You alright?” he chuckled, raising his upper body to your blushed face. You didn't say a word and drove your tongue into his mouth, arms locking him closer to you. The shared heat between your two bodies warmed the air around you, and you thought maybe that’s what it feels like to have a lover.

“Yeah,” you breathed, still ever so shy yet for once, a daring timbre crawled through your tone. “I think I’m ready…”

“If princess wants it,” his lips crack into a smile against yours, pants pulled down and hand pumping his length, fat tip lined against your entrance. Peeking down, regret almost settled into your being when you saw his size. Would it fit?

Then, he saw you and reassured you that he would go slow. No need to worry and to trust. So, you did. Bashfully spreading your thighs open for him.

Your muscles squeezed when he first entered, and he let out a long groan with a pause to his hips. It took a few seconds until he began to move, this time with a thumb rolling your clit to loosen your grip. Every inch of his cock stretched into your cunt made you go almost insane—the pain that first came was soon replaced with a delicate buzz of pleasure.

His hips were slow to thrust at first, gentle and soft until your walls had adjusted to his girth. Your little moans began to fill the chilly air when he slowly started to quicken up, and the bed began to squeak along with his rhythm.

“You look so pretty, y’know?” like silk, slinking through the hot air and into your ears. Every time his curved tip kisses your G-spot, you feel blank—blank of pleasure and stimulation. He could see it in your face, always able to read your features so well.

“Mmhp—” you let out a moan when he pulled your hips closer to him, fucking deep into your squelching cunt. Your back arched from the way his cock rubbed against your walls, hands over your mouth to muffle your whines.

“I wanna hear your pretty moans, (Y/N),” Gojo teased, softly leading your hands into his before fucking himself harder, deeper inside of you.

“Nngh! Feels s-so good—haa!” your hips began to move with his, legs hugging him closer to you and the world seemed to be on vertigo. Pleasure pervaded through every single cell in your body and your blood was pumping loud in your ears. “Please, I wanna cum!”

“Whatever princess says,” you could hear the smirk in his quivering tone, and with a few deep thrusts, the coil inside of your womb snapped—and your essence wet his thighs; your shaky moans high-pitched and sharp. “Yeah, pretty girl. Just like that.”

Static shot through your nerves, and your clit throbs against the hot air. Gojo let a thumb circle your nub, rubbing it through your climax as your nails sink into the skin of his arm. You could feel the warm mix of cum slipping out of your lips, running down your skin and into the bedsheet.

Once again, you felt the bed shift, and the warmth that held you lifted away. Through your hazy sight, you saw his figure rising, “Merry Christmas, pretty.”

@coolpizzazonkplaid @byhuenii @idkmanimreallysleepy @stainednailpolishremover @jxnyi @peachtreexoxo @yaygurist @lalaloverss @aexlime @naruucore @sathavious @guillermowhatwedointheshadows @mistygrovesarchive @glittercums @altmoo @lollixgoddess @victoriak01 @kimminjulvr @ghostlyluminarycloud @satorminniett @someonewhotendstowrite @buhdussy @ichirasblog @kokomisworld @magiouu @bobbicore @xxshiino @urmommyzhot @jjkwhor3 @erostaeyong @tojisprincesa @edgyficuselastica @clemianna @fromthechaoticmind @idkcoolise @fallinlovewithbeelzebub @sirshitsalot12 @kuraa01 @awyunh @lxvegojo

[4unnyr0se]

❥ pretty and possessive

warnings: reader is a model, fem! reader, timeskip! oikawa, unprotected sex, public sex (bathroom), marking, spanking, possessive oikawa (duh), oikawa is just a tiny bit perverted, kageyama and the haiba siblings mentioned

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 915

Possessive! Timeskip Oikawa met you at a dinner event for famous people from the Miyagi prefecture. It was mostly athletes from Karasuno, Shiratorizawa, and Aoba Johsai who had gone on to play in sports teams worldwide, but there were a few non-athletes there. Such as yourself, a famous model who worked with the Haiba siblings, although you were based in Miyagi. He knew you had to be his the second he looked at you. You just had to. 

Possessive! Timeskip Oikawa who strode up to you and put on a performance that would rival a peacock during mating season. He brought up his best moments on the court, subtly flexing his biceps covered with expensive white cotton. He asked you a million questions, getting physically closer to you with each answer received. How well did you know the Haiba siblings? How long has a pretty girl such as yourself been modeling? Do you have a boyfriend? What did you think of his sets? What high school did you go to? Did you know Tobio? He desperately needed to know if there was a man in your life and if he should try to rip you away from him.

Possesive! Timeskip Oikawa who wanted to kiss you then and there when you told him that you were tragically single, not having anyone special in your life.  He finally had a fucking chance. He pulled you out of the main event room as soon as he could and shoved you both inside the private washing room, locking the door instantly. 

Possessive! Timeskip Oikawa who pinned you against the bathroom door and kissed you with a molten desire that would rival anyone else who had dared touch your angelic lips. Whose tongue prodded against your pouting lower lip until you opened up for him, allowing his wet muscle to explore your cavern. Who groaned into your mouth as your hands tugged on his perfectly done hair, messing it up in an instant. His arms held the underside of your thighs for support as your tongues danced together, leaving a faint string of saliva once the two of you separated. 

Possessive! Timeskip Oikawa who planted kisses on your delicate neck before sinking his teeth into your flesh, the floral and sweet aroma of your perfume filling his nostrils. His lips suckled and bit and licked desperately, wantingly, to form perfect purple bruises on your vexing neck, groaning in annoyance as he had to constantly move the pearls away from your collarbone.

Possessive! Timeskip Oikawa who wasted no time pulling down your lacy panties and shoving them in his pocket for later. Whose lips met your clit and started sucking, his calloused hands supporting your body as you trembled above him. Who was so happy that you were basically suffocating him as he lapped at your soaked folds like a starved man, growling into your core about how he would ruin you for anybody else. Who made you finish on his tongue, your wanton moans filling the bathroom and bouncing off the tiled walls and right into his ears. Who looked up at you, smiling as his lower chin was covered in your slick.  

Possessive! Timeskip Oikawa who turned you around so your chest was pressed against the bathroom door, legs spread and on display for him. Whose cock poked at your entrance, gathering the remnants of your slick on his mushroom head before sliding his throbbing cock inside with ease, adoring how you immediately took him in so well. How your gummy walls squeezed around him, dragging him further into your depths. Who wanted to be so gentle with you, but your pussy was being so fucking naughty for him. He just had to be rough.

Possessive! Timeskip Oikawa who fucked you against the bathroom door like his life depended on it. Whose hands spanked your ass, kneading the doughy flesh after each slap to assure you that it was all okay. Whose cock pistoned in and out of your sobbing cunt, grunting as you attempted to milk him for all he was worth. Who didn’t even bother putting on a condom, he didn’t need them. Who relished in your desperate moans as you let go on his cock, your release coating his shaft and driving him all the more wild.

Possessive! Timeskip Oikawa who came inside you without asking for permission, whimpering as he saw his seed leak out of your core when he pulled his cock out of you. Who smirked as he heard you whine, no doubtly being sad that you weren’t stuffed full of his member anymore. Who slapped your ass once more, taking a moment to admire the view. Bruised and stuffed full of his cum, just how he wanted you to be.

Possessive! Timeskip Oikawa who reluctantly gave you back your panties, grumbling profanities under his breath. Who grabbed your phone and put in his contact info for every form of communication, triple checking each method to make sure you wouldn’t have an excuse not to contact him. Who kissed you on the cheek and squeezed your breast before exisitng the bathroom, whispering how you should visit him in his hotel next week.

Possessive! Timeskip Oikawa who got off to that sensuous encounter every night until you showed your pretty face in his hotel room, your bodies melting into each other as the ordinary Friday night, as well as every night after that, turned into a ravenous one filled with passion and desire.

[lewsnumerounofan]

dirty pt2 (theodore nott x reader)

summary: theo wants u back. that’s it.

notes: theo pov-ish, boy is grovelling, unedited, angst, mentions of smut

+ really wanna do a filthy smut oneshot of them as like a pt3 kinda what u think

+ part one

Theo couldn’t find you anywhere. It was like you’d disappeared off the face of the fucking planet and left him alone, sulking through the cold castle hallways.

Ever since the party—the party where he’d left you like the idiot he was—you’d been a ghost. Even after rumour spread that you’d broke up with your golden boy boyfriend, you’d stayed away.

In your place, all Theo had done was miss you. It was stupid. He was stupid—a right git Mattheo has said—for what he’d done. What he’d been doing, really. Months of hook ups had given him plenty of time to talk to you about his feelings, about the two of you. Instead he’d squandered all his chances on you, on feeling you, on the pretty sounds you made under him. It had been hard to resist.

Except now it meant that he’d let all his longing and jealousy boil over into one cruel, ill-timed statement.

Isn’t that what you have your boyfriend for, ama?

Yeah, brilliant move Theo.

He exhaled harshly, watching his breath on the cold winters air. Tugging his coat tighter he took another drag of his cigarette, idly thumbing over the lighter in his other hand.

Where could you be? You only shared one class, and lately you’d taken to skipping it. He’d checked the library, the courtyard, and just about every other fucking room in the school. Bloody nothing.

And then, as if carried to him on the lightly falling snow, and idea. A memory, really.

It’d been a few months ago, after a particularly tricky exam. He’d seen you leave class crying and hadn’t been able to stop himself from following.

To ease his own conscious he’d promised himself it was just so he could ask you for the notes on a previous days lecture (notes he had, as always, already stole from the Ravenclaw he sat behind). Not because his chest tugged at the sight of your teary eyes, and certainly not because he had been feeling the ever growing urge to lay into whoever—or whatever—had your pretty eyes all glassy.

So he’d trailed you through the castle, winding up and up and up until you’d emerged onto a secluded balcony. Shrouded with shrubs and small, intricate statues, the small patio looked over much of the castle and grounds; to the west the river rolled heavy and full.

You hadn’t even looked surprised to see him. Just let your arms fall across his shoulders as you’d hugged him tight.

He hadn’t gotten the notes that day. He’d just held you up there on the terrace until the sun went down, all the while carting his fingers through your hair and muttering that you’d be just fine.

The boy stamped out his cig, doing his best to shake off the memory. No use dwelling on it if you never even spoke to him again.

He cut curtly across the grounds, quickly winding his way through the stairwells and hallways. Paying no mind to Draco and Blaise who tried to wave him down by the great hall, Theo did his best to clamp down on the worry hounding him.

What if you weren’t there? Worse: what if you were? What if you wouldn’t talk to him, or if you did only to tell him that it’d all been a mistake? That leaving you there had been the final straw and you never wanted to see him again.

The boys face grew graver with each thought. His clear eyes clouded with anxiety and his brows tightened. Students in younger years hurried to clear a path as he strode through them. No one much wanted to be on the receiving end of Nott’s hexes.

Finally he arrived at the correct landing. This area of the castle was largely deserted. And besides, most people were already prepping for bed on their dorms.

But you’d had trouble sleeping since September. And it was a crescent moon tonight, your favourite. So you’d be here, despite the snow.

Theo wanted to laugh at himself for all theses stupid, mundane things he’d gathered about you. Every time he’d laid next to you after you’d fucked, every bit of tucked away conversation. He’d remembered.

Hidden in the shadows, he shook himself.

Get over yourself, Nott. Get over yourself, and get her back.

He gave himself no time to think before stepping onto the snowy balcony.

At first he didn’t see you, tucked up behind the thick white hedges. But against the heavy stone railing you perched, slender hands holding an unlit cigarette of your own.

You didn’t look surprised to see him. In fact, when your eyes met you seemed almost… expectant.

Theo settled beside you. His heart was running embarrassingly quickly at your snowy lashes, at your eyes—shining in the moonlight.

“Theo.”

It was even more embarrassing the effect your saying his name wreaked. Without fail it had his breath hitching. When he had you spread under him, when you sobbed his name and gripped his curls when he ate you out-

Theo tried hard not to let his cheeks go red.

You were staring out towards the moon reflecting off the water through the clouds.

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t let his hand shake as he lit your cigarette either. When you finally locked eyes with him he said, “I wanted to apologize.”

He could tell the words gave you pause. Theodore Nott was most definitely not the type to apologize. Sulky, prideful and sarcastic, the boy typically wouldn’t be caught dead saying such things to anyone.

But you weren’t anyone, certainly not to Theo.

“I- I don’t know what I was thinking. Honestly. It was stupid to leave you at the party. All of it was stupid, how I treated you was wrong,” he said.

You’d never heard him speak so many words at once. And you’d never seen him look… nervous? The Theo before you was someone entirely new. His hands ran through his hair anxiously, and he bit at his lip harshly to keep any more rambling from spilling forth.

Keep it together, Theodore.

“What we were doing was wrong-“

“You mean the cheating? Or the whole bloody relationship, Nott?”

He wanted to curse himself. Perhaps if he’d spent a bit longer thinking about something intelligent to say and a little less about your eyes and your fucking smile he wouldn’t have to be facing your harsh scowl now.

Nothing was coming out how he needed it to, and Theo was painfully aware of your mounting temper. But he couldn’t blow this. Not if it meant what he feared; no more hallway glances, no more intimate touches, no more you.

“It wasn’t a relationship-“

“Brilliant Theodore, thanks for rubbing that it.”

“And that was the problem,” he said.

Frustration brought the two of you closer, until you stood, jabbing a finger into his chest. You had to crane your neck back to meet his gaze, dark and heavy in the moonlight.

“What?” you asked.

You mapped his sigh in the frosty air as Theo exhaled heavily. Steeling himself.

“It wasn’t a relationship. That was the problem. I treated you like a hook up for months and it wasn’t right.”

“But that’s what it was, Theodore. I had a boyfriend-“

He was shaking his head, taking your cold hands in his.

“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. I had so much time to change that. To fight for you and what I knew I wanted. I was just too jealous and scared to do it.”

Your eyes were wide at his confession. Jealous, sure. But scared? Before you could question him Theo continued, words coming fast and desperate.

“I was terrified that if I did something—if I changed our relationship at all—I’d lose whatever part of you I got. Even if that was broom closet hookups and nothing more… I wouldn’t—I couldn’t lose that. And it took me until now to realize that you deserve better than that. You deserve everything.”

He took a deep breath, chest moving heavily.

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you go without telling you that.”

Baby blue eyes on yours. Around you the snow fell in heavier swaths, blanketing Theo’s shoulders with the palest white. He looked like your own personal prince in shining armour.

“And can you give me that?” you asked, soft as the falling snow.

Words seemed to fail the boy in front of you.

“Everything?” you prompted.

“If… if you’d let me,” he said. Voice low but steady. Gaze on you, even while his hands shook.

You almost wanted to laugh at the whole beautiful scene. At the snow and the moonlight. At the grumpy boy who’d found you and talked to you in ways no one ever had before. At the absurdity of it all. At how his thumb traced over your knuckles like he was checking you were real.

“If I say yes, it means we fuck in real beds from now on. Okay?”

In disbelief Theo laughed. He pulled you closer. He let his forehead fall to yours. He thought, how did I get so fucking lucky.

“If you say yes we can fuck wherever you want.”

You wrapped your cold hands up in his curls. Kissed one rosy cheek, then the other. His birthmark.

“I have a condition too,” he murmured.

Barely pulling away enough to hum you let him take your face in his big hands.

“Don’t ever fucking call me Theodore again.”

You laughed as he kissed you, snowflakes melting on your lips.

-

taglist from pt1

@b00kdiary @peony-haze @hisparentsgallerryy @unclecrunkle @devotedlycrookeddonut

[aestheticaltcow]

Gimme a Minute

Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Just something I threw together while I was waiting for my individual supervision session to start.

The Bear Masterlist

“Hey, baby.” Carmy greeted you as he entered your shared apartment. You hadn’t heard him due to wearing your noise-canceling earbuds. “Yo, baby?” he called again as he hung his jacket in the closet adjacent to the front door. “Baby- you mad or somethin’?” he asked as he strode toward the couch. Carmy swallowed nervously before putting a hand on your shoulder- you practically jumped out of your skin when you felt his calloused fingertips on your bare shoulder.

“Carmy! You scared the shit out of me!” you yelped as you removed your earbuds. Carmy’s face shifted from worry and concern to a more relaxed demeanor. You weren’t mad at him. You just failed to hear him walk into the apartment that night- the thought of that being semi-concerning; I mean, what if Carmy had been a serial killer or something? You would’ve gotten murdered. Safe to say, Carmy had a new fear unlocked, and his momentary relief quickly faded. “You’re home early,” you commented, placing your earbuds back into their charging case. He nodded and tried to push the thoughts of coming home to blood-splattered walls out of his head.

“What had you so invested?” Carmy questioned you as he moved to sit next to you on the couch. You groaned and leaned back on the sofa, your laptop almost falling from where it had been perched on your knees. “This stupid freakin’ string theory homework. If I’d left your place when I was supposed to, I wouldn’t be stuck in the hardest science class my school offers.” you playfully scolded him.

Carmy chuckled and put his head on your shoulder before scooting closer to you, “You enjoyed yourself. Didn’t you?” 

You met his question with an eye roll, “You know I did…I’d ask you to help with this assignment, but considering you don’t know the periodic table of elements, I don’t think you’ll be very helpful.” 

Carmy shook his head, “Lemme help you in a different way.” 

“How are you horny? You left for work at like 4 AM and now it’s almost midnight. You’re a madman, Berzatto.” you laughed as you looked at him. You’d never understood how Carmy existed; he ran on five, maybe six hours of sleep most of the time, and you were convinced that he- a three Michelin star chef- only consumed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I guess it did make sense why he had stomach ulcers at 27- but that was a thought you could push to the back of your mind for now. 

“I just wanted to cuddle.” Carmy laughed as he lifted his head from your shoulder before continuing, “But I’m not one to turn down destroying that-” You cut Carmy off by placing your thumb against his lips. “Carmen. Gimme a minute to save this- why don’t you go get the shower ready?” you winked, dropping your hand and turning your attention back to your laptop. He shook his head as his lips formed a sinister smirk, “I could do that.”

“Yea? I bet you could do that.” you taunted without looking up from your computer. Carmy reached for your chin and gently pulled your head to face him. He stared into your eyes, and you felt your cheeks getting hotter by the millisecond, “Don’t be a brat- you’re my good girl. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, chef.”