#I’m calling him Greg

[the-aleksy-show]

Stuff I made last night because I was bored.

I’ve only slept 4 hours, btw.

[sweetaspiesammy]

thinking about the fact that tom put a sticker that represents ownership on greg’s head at the end and that lanky motherfucker was happy about it. he is sporus, he always was, and he seems content in that role. why? tom’s got him

[pastacurls]

“Greg Heffley has done bad things to other people.” Yes! He’s a child who’s not able to clearly express himself at home or around anyone, he is going to act out in negative ways and will do bad things.

“Greg Heffley is a sociopath.” WHAT??????

[zappedbyzabka]

Kitten

[mikkaeus]

I’m sorry but I can’t read stuff where house and wilson call each other by their first names it’s just not right

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Yesterday i told my husband i was going to the meat store and a little background info, there has been this super friendly white kitty hanging out outside the meat store and I’ve warned him that if i see that cat and if he’s within grabbing distance I’m gonna get him, so i told my husband as i was leaving, I said “going to the meat store! If i come back with a kitty mind your damn business” and the sound he made was so GUTTERAL hahahaha anyway i didnt see the cat this time. :(

[spoopy-moose]

Can I please indulge in a little grengst (Greg angst) without people jumping on the post like this doesn’t excuse him being a monster btw like boooooooo 😭😭

[ifeelfreewithoutmyshoes]

Ohh Sammy I adore you

[readingwriter92]

Guys I have such a dilemma. I’m getting back into Hudson and Rex and I was going to make a playlist for it and I just. I like to use character name bc I think it’s funny to be like. Time to listen to my Ben playlist. But.

I already have a Charles and charlie playlist. And I’ll just call it Hudson probably but i also don’t wanna do last nameeeeee

I think secret option is to just name it Rex

[zvdvdlvr]

— late night therapy?

🩻 synopsis. late night conversation, greg wants to know why you’re with him of all people.

🩻 warnings. suggestive content, foul language.

“Why do you like me?” 

Y/n looked up from her book. “What?” 

“I’m old. I’m a cripple. I… literally have two friends and no people skills. I know my amazing fashion sense and long, hard wood is enticing, but by golly, if those are your only standards-“ 

Y/n closed her book. She noticed the television was off, Greg had been clearly been thinking about this for awhile. Not only that, but his jaw was clenched, and his left eye was just slightly narrowed- all indicators of (over)thinking. “Besides the fact your ruggedly handsome and extremely masculine voice makes me purr like a motorcycle?”

At least y/n’s comment made Greg crack a smile. “Yes, besides the obvious,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side.

“Because… you’re one of the only people who calls me out when I’m wrong. One of the only people who can put up with me. One of the only people who makes me laugh, with your morbid, dry, perverted humor,” y/n listed. 

House turned these over in his mind. Why, though? Why would such an amazing, smart, sexy wonderful woman settle for an old cripple? “Wilson thinks you could do better,” he drawls, not actually knowing if Wilson thinks this. 

“Do you care what they think?” Y/n asks, quick to notice the change in Greg’s voice. The way his eyebrows furrow, his Adam’s apple bobs, his eyes narrow even more.

No. “Do you?” 

“I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you,” y/n shrugs. “You’ve always got me, if that’s what you’re thinking about. I can’t imagine my future without you in it, I guess.” Y/n tried her best to play of the sentiment, but Greg was already smiling widely at her statements. 

“Is this, like, a hint? Am I supposed to propose now?” Greg asks, tapping his finger to his chin. 

“Oh so you’ve got a ring?”

Scoffing, House looks away from y/n’s piercing eyes. “Oh, shut up, you.”

“Make me,” y/n’s teases. 

Greg tsks. “I would but I’m pretty sure my hobble steps would immediately turn you off. As fast as a light switch.”

“Oh goody, does that mean if I go over there I get to be on top tonight?” Y/n asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Get over here and see, you weirdo,” Greg chuckles, opening his arms for a woman he knows would place her faith in him forever, even if he knew he didn’t deserve it.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Dogs

Alien: Why did you take me to here? Alien: You know I hate being outside. Human: How else would I get you to the greatest place on the planet? Alien: *About to ask question when sudden noise distracts them* Alien: *Reads sign on nearby post* Alien: What is a “Dog Park”? ----------------------------- Human: Unlike cats, dogs are man’s true best friend. Alien: And why is that? Human: Because they won’t brutally maim you if you pet them too long. -----------------------------

Alien: What does one do with their dog? Human: Play fetch mostly. Alien: What is fetch? Human: *Picks up ball and throws it* *Nearest dog sprints after it and brings it back* Alien: That’s it? Human: No; now comes the difficult part. Alien: Which is? Human: Trying to get the ball back. ---------------------------

Alien: Aren’t these creatures expensive to maintain? Human: Medical wise they are about the same as cats. Human: Entertainment wise they are much cheaper. Alien: How so? Human: *Picks up nearby stick and wobbles it around* *Golden retriever stops what it was doing and focuses on stick* *Tail begins wagging at turbo speed and they hunch down on two legs with their back legs up* Human: *Hands stick to alien friend* Now you try. Alien: Really? Alien: You think this will- Alien: *Notices dog now focusing entirely on him as he wobbles stick* Alien: Oh my gods…. Human: I know right? Alien: I have become their god now. ----------------------------

Alien: Do they have any weaknesses? Human: Don’t put a mirror in front of them. Alien: What happens if you do? *Pair turns as a dog begins loudly barking* *Pair see a dog barking aggressively at its own reflection* Human: Because of that. Alien: That doesn’t seem so- *Dog leaps at mirror and bonks its head* Human: See? Alien: Question withdrawn. -----------------------

Alien: May I try walking one of these dogs? Human: Are you sure? Human: You’ll need upper arm strength to restrain them if they get excited. Alien: *Looks down at tiny little corgi* Alien: I think I can handle them. *Chuckles* Human: Alright. *Hands leash over* Alien: *Begins walking dog around park* Alien: I don’t know what they were talking about. Alien: This is easy. *Random squirrel runs past corgi and Corgi chases after it* Alien: *Violently thrown to ground by sudden pull and dragged across the dog park* Human: *Watching his alien friend swear in his native language* I’d feel sorry over this, but I warned them so it’s okay to be funny. -------------------------

Alien: *Finally gets free of corgi leash and picks themselves off the ground* Alien: What…*Gasp* the….*double gasp* florp! Alien: How was that tiny creature so strong?! Human: The tiny ones are the most energetic. Human: The big ones are the giant babies of the species. Alien: How does that make any sense at all? Human: *Takes alien by the face and directs their gaze down at excited pitbull8 Human: Look at that smooshy face! Human: Nothing has to make sense when you look at that cute stupid smooshy face! -------------------------

*Dog comes up at starts nuzzling alien* Alien: Ah; you are an adorable creature. *picks up dog and cradles it like a baby* Alien: *Starts rubbing its belly* Human: *Notices and comes over* Human: I’m glad you’re starting to warm up to them. Alien: *Nods* They are enjoyable after a period. Human: Just as an FYI, that’s a Pug and when they’re on their back they can’t breathe. Alien: WHAT!? Alien: *Immediately puts dog down and it gasps several times* Alien: I didn’t….you mustn't think I would.. Human: Just wait a sec. *Alien watches pug take several more deep breaths before looking up at him and starts wagging tail again.* Alien: They are not very smart, are they? Human: We call that their “Derp” factor. ------------------------------

Human: Hey Greg. Human 2: Yo. Alien: What are you doing? Human 2: Playing “Hide and go seek” with my dog Burt. Alien: *Begins looking around* Where is this- *sees Burt standing behind bench poorly hid* Alien: I can see- Human 2: Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh. Human 2: Don’t make eye contact. Alien: Why not? Human 2: Because you need to wait five minutes searching the entire park before you find him; it makes him feel like a really good boi. Alien: But why not just- *Human 2 leans in close* Human 2: So help me if you look at him before those five minutes are up and make him sad I will hit you with my car. Alien: Wait what!? Alien: You can’t be serious! Human: *nods* Dog people take their pets happiness very seriously. Alien: But to hit someone with a car? Human: *Shrugs* I once shot a guy for throwing an empty soda can at my little bugger. Alien: You take your dog’s very…..seriously, I see. Human: Is there any other way?

[michelle-is-writing]

Concussions, Greg House

Word count: 1.7k~

Warnings: mentions of vomit, concussion, hospital rooms.

Arguing with your boss is one of the worst things you can do with your boss. For my boyfriend of almost a year, it was nothing new. Plus, in Greg's mind, there were worse things one could do with their time. Like argue with me, his girlfriend - that was much worse than arguing with his boss, according to him.

Still, that didn't mean that he could always get away with arguing with his boss. Especially around Christmas time when the hours were needed and he just so happened to be an asshole. Anyone could figure out why I was upset when he told me he was unable to get Christmas Day off. He just had to be rude to Cuddy the day before he asked, and because of it, we both have to suffer.

Despite him promising to call me almost every hour, I still felt lonely when it came to Christmas Day. I woke up without the love of my life beside me, and I'll be alone until he gets home around nine in the evening. When Cuddy told him she couldn't give up the hours, he was especially rude in response, therefore earning more hours to work that day.

Right now it's around eleven in the morning, and even though I've put on a Christmas movie and made myself hot cocoa, I still feel sad. I have no one to spend this great day with, and it sucks. Maybe a nice walk outside will help me feel better. It's cold and snowing, but I can always wear a heavy coat and boots - no biggie. Besides, I may even see a pair of cardinals flying through the white sky like a holiday card straight from the hallmark section, and it would make the weather all the worth it.

Slipping on my fuzzy black boots that Greg got me at the beginning of our relationship, I throw on my fleece coat before heading out front. The lights strung on everyone's apartment are lit up, and the people that have their Christmas trees in front of their windows have them lit up as well. The green and red bulbs are a nice contrast to the white snow that fills every window sill and yard, making it look almost like a floating blanket on all the little segments of grass. It's such a beautiful sight to see, but it makes me miss Greg even more. He's always pessimistic, but even he would be happy with the looks of everything.

Stepping off the steps and onto the pavement, I take a few steps forward, only to look up and see a pair of cardinals flying above me just like I wanted. I marvel at the beautiful red shade of the male next to the equally beautiful olive colored female floating next to it. When they find their mates, a pair of cardinals can never be separated as they are mated for life. The idea of such a thing makes you smile, but the idea of finding your own true mate? It feels nearly impossible.

I seem to find the cardinals very distracting as the next thing I see is the pure white sky above me as I feel myself slip, my arms and legs flailing to grab onto something as I fall backward. However, they don't, and I end up landing on my back with my head colliding against the ice I slipped on. Everything happens so fast that I barely recognize the pain rushing to my cranium or mine and Greg's elderly neighbor rushing toward me as concerned words flow out of her mouth. Despite wanting to respond, I can't, and instead, my eyes close as I feel myself slip into a vast sea on unconsciousness.

It isn't until I finally wake up once again that I register the pounding pain in the back of my head. It nearly makes my eyes roll back, but before I can even do that, I quickly lean over the edge of the surface I'm lying on and feel the contents of my stomach empty. I soon feel a pair of hands gently pull my hair back as I do so, my eyes clearing up enough to watch a nurse’s legs in purple scrubs quickly push a trash can in front of me to finish vomiting into. However, it doesn't take long before I’m done and I almost fall back onto the slightly stiff surface I'm on, a damp cloth wiping at my mouth once I do so. Flashing my eyes throughout the room, I recognize the bright fluorescent lights above me as ones used in a hospital room and the surface I'm on is one of the uncomfortable beds in a hospital room. Great.

Turning my eyes over to the source of the hand holding the wet cloth, I find it to be the man I've been wanting to see all morning, a worried look etched onto his face. I want to fling myself in his arms and hug him, but my almost drunken haze prohibits me from doing so. Instead, I languidly smile and tiredly reach a hand up toward him, to which he takes in his own hand with a small smile.

"How in the hell," he begins, his voice taking over the almost stuffy noise in my ears. Gently running his thumb against the back of my hand, he takes the damp rag away from my face before tossing it onto the lid of the biohazard bin a few feet away. "Did you get yourself a grade two concussion just by walking outside?"

"I didn't mean to," I defend myself, trying to sit up a little, despite the deep pounding in my head. Greg helps me, but not before pushing my head back against the pillows to angle my face upward. "I just wanted to go for a small walk, and see some cardinals maybe! I did, by the way, and man, were they beautiful."

"You seem to be doing better than I thought," Greg points out, hovering over me to look into my eyes with a flash light. "No confusion or seemingly dizziness," he lists off. "You just seem fatigued and dazed, which is to be expected. The good news is you don't have memory loss."

"Who are you again?" I quickly throw at him, earning a downcast face with a frown. I immediately laugh at his reaction while reaching up to take his face in my hands, but his hands catch mine before they're even halfway there. I really am tired.

"I would say you're also having some psychological disturbances, but it's nothing different from usual," Greg jokes back, making me laugh again. At this, he smiles, but continues on. "How bad is your head pain?"

"Compared to the constant headache you give me, it's nothing," I tell him, once again, earning an eye roll in response. I know he's wanting to throw playful insults back at me, but he's trying to keep the moment as serious as he can. Don't get me wrong, I understand how severe my situation is, but I just can't help but take the chance to banter with Greg like he usually does with me.

With a sigh, Greg sits back in the armchair beside my hospital bed before taking something out of his pocket. "You just had to hit your head so you could end up in the hospital with me today," Greg chides, holding the rectangular box in his hand as he stares at it. "I guess irony plays a huge part in life's never ending game of... slipping and falling on ice!"

With his sarcastic comment, Greg pushes the box toward me as I smile at him, my hand reaching out to take the box from him. "Open it," Greg tells me, scooting his chair beside me to be closer to my bed. Doing as he says, I shakily unwrap the green ribbon from the box before slightly struggling to open it, my hands trembling from being asleep for so long.

With the maroon velvet box now open, I gasp upon seeing the diamond tennis bracelet shining back at me with the bright hospital room lights causing each beautiful crystal to sparkle like a thousand pieces of glitter. "Oh my God, Greg," I mutter, my eyes flashing over to him beside me. "This is... beyond gorgeous."

Smiling, Greg lifts one of his hands to brush my hair away from my face before using the other to take the bracelet out of the box and secure it around my wrist. "Merry Christmas," He tells me, leaning over to kiss my cheek. "I thought you would like this."

"I-I love it, Greg," I tell him, looking over at him with a frown. "But I don't have my gift for you! They're at the apartment and-and I wanted to give it to you so bad-"

Greg cuts me off from my rambling, an almost flabbergasted expression washing over his face. "Are you kidding?" He sarcastically asks me, reaching over to take my now diamond covered hand in his. "You ending up in the hospital with me is possibly the best thing you could do today, as morbid as it sounds," Crinkling my face at him with amusement, I shake my head at his demented words as he continues on. "This means I don't have to do what Cuddy says and stay in here with you and watch I Love Lucy."

Just as he says this, Greg takes the remote from the side table and turns the TV on, flipping through the channels before finding the show mentioned seconds earlier. Glancing away from our intertwined hands, I smile at Greg as he turns to look back at me as well. "I love you, Greg," I tell him, receiving a smile back before he leans over once more and presses a kiss to my cheek.

Sitting back in his chair, Greg keeps my hand in his as we both look over to the TV and watch as Lucy banters with Ricky just as Greg and I did moments ago. At this, I smile and ignore the pain in my head as I enjoy the positives of today despite being in a hospital. My loving partner beside me, a beautiful diamond bracelet on my wrist, and I Love Lucy reruns on the TV in front of us. As long as I'm with Greg, it doesn't matter where I spend my Christmas - just as long as he's by my side, I'll be fine.

[delfiore]

—THE HAPPIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD.

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

synopsis: your ex-girlfriend is a drunken mess at a college party and the only person her friends think to call is you.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: extensive talk of vomit, mentions of ghostface attack

Your phone blared in your ears like some kind of end-of-the-world siren. Groaning, you lifted your head from your laptop on the desk and answered the call. Mindy’s voice sounded in a panic as you caught a glimpse of the time, 11:46pm.

“Y/N, we need you at Greg’s party. Tara is literally blacked-out drunk and she’s like throwing up non-stop, and we don’t know what to do. She won’t let us take her home and—”

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down,” you felt the oncoming headache in your temple. Your hazy mind began to spiral.

Mindy had been gracious enough to allow you space after the breakup. You were a part of the friend group but chose to distance yourself afterward, but Mindy and Anika were the ones you still talk to occasionally. Sometimes the way they bounced between you and Tara made you feel like the divorced parent hanging out with your kids every two weeks.

“I’m studying for finals.” You rubbed your eyes.

“Please, Y/N. She won’t budge. If it weren’t this dire, you know I wouldn’t call you.”

You knew it was true, but it’s only been two months.

News of the party had been bubbling around campus for a few weeks now. Everyone has been talking about Greg Hansen’s end-of-semester party, even if you weren’t coming, the gossip was what kept it alive. Even more so when it was a party thrown by someone from your major; you were always hearing about it. So you also knew where it was.

When you arrived, you couldn’t be more appalled by the concoction of weed, sweat, and beer wafting in your face the moment you walked through the door. In the corner of the living room was Greg Hansen, chugging beer from a tube as his henchmen hyped him up, being the life of the party as always. But you needed to find Mindy and, eventually, Tara.

You texted an ‘I’m here’ to Mindy and looked around for any sign of a familiar face when a hand clasped around your shoulder. Turning around in fright, you relaxed when you realized it was Chad.

“She’s in the bathroom. This way, come on.”

Mindy couldn’t answer your text because she and Anika were busy holding back Tara’s hair as she was emptying the contents of her stomach. Sure you’ve seen how bad Tara can be after parties. but never this bad.

“Good, you’re here.” Mindy turned around, relieved. “We need to leave, now.”

A groan escaped the raven-haired girl’s mouth as she sat back against the bathtub. It was then that you got a good look at her face, the first time you did in months. Suddenly it felt hard to breathe.

“Tara, come on. I’m taking you home,” you said.

Her eyes opened slowly. They were glazed over, but there was a moment where her eyes met yours and you thought she had sobered up, but soon after she pulled herself upright, groaning again before staggering out of the bathroom.

“Tara, where are you going, man?” Chad asked, dejected.

She didn’t respond.

Without an answer, she found the near bottle, not caring what its content was, and felt for an empty red solo cup.

You scoffed and took the cup from her. “I think you’ve had enough, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care what you think. Give it back.” Tara protested and reached for the cup in your hand, which you have extended far beyond her reach, the other arm pushing against her. Her frustration was apparent as she shoved you aside with a cry. “Get the fuck away from me!”

“Tara, enough.”

She held your gaze like there was fire in her eyes. Her lips wobbled, as she looked back at her friends behind you with a betraying look. You knew you had won from the way she pulled her arm away from you roughly, and looked out at the ground like a scolded child.

“I’m taking you home.” Your voice softened and gestured towards the door. Tara staggered towards the exit but crumbled against a wall like a piece of paper. You quickly grasped her hand to support her, but she swatted your hand away and made her way outside herself.

You sighed and turned towards the Meeks-Martin twins. “We’ll be okay. You guys can stay if you want.” The twins looked at each other and shrugged before going their separate ways back into the party.

You found her on the lawn, squatting on the ground and groaning.

“Come on, don’t be stubborn.” You rolled your eyes and tapped your foot impatiently. “I was in the middle of revision.”

It was a weird sight, seeing her in the passenger seat of your car again after you had made it your mission to get rid of everything inside that reminded you of her; a half-drunken water bottle in the door compartment, a few hair ties in the cup holder, her forgotten sunglasses in the glove compartment. You had thrown all of it away before proceeding to have a mental breakdown in the driver’s seat.

“Jesus, who the fuck puts the seat so far back?” You heard the girl next to you mutter, as she scrambled to pull the seat forward.

You looked out your window to hide the grin that made its way onto your lips. Tara was smaller than your average passenger, and that seat hadn’t been seen so far up in a while.

“Can I go now?” You said mockingly.

“Yes,” you heard her mumble into the window, propping her face on her hand.

The ride back to her apartment was mostly silent, except for the handful of times you heard quiet gags next to you, to which you grimaced and handed her a plastic bag you found lying around.

“Please don’t barf in my car. I don’t think I can forgive you for that.”

At a red stop, you grabbed your phone to check the time; 12:16am. You felt her eyes on you, her inebriated, yet dreamy eyes, that you knew if you looked you wouldn’t be able to look away. Try as you might, you couldn’t resist. Her body was shifted so that her head was resting against the window and her legs pressed against her chest. But what made your breath hitch was the way those eyes were trained on you. There wasn’t any sign of that hatred or fury or whatever she felt that was spilling out of her with the alcohol; with her bangs tousled over half her face and hooded eyelids like this, Tara just looked lost and defeated, and in need of a kiss.

She always looked like this, in need of cuddles and kisses, after parties and you were always ready to take care of her.

The red light on her face shifted to green, and you quickly pressed the gas pedal to bring her back home, then you could go back home, and everything would be back to the way it was.

You’d be happily carrying on with your life without Tara in it.

Despite rejecting your help earlier, she did end up needing it when both of you dragged each other up the stairs (you more than her) to her apartment. The light in the hallway was off, which meant her sister wasn’t home.

You tried to set her down gently, but she threw herself onto the bed like a body bag, face-first.

You called her name once, twice.

“Huh?”

“Are you gonna sleep in that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“In a full face of makeup too?”

No reply. You shook your head and pulled her sitting up, and shed her jacket.

But she was still looking at you, the way she did in the car. You sat there, dumbfounded.

You had to go, revision was waiting.

“Wait,” she said, grasping your hand.

You refused to look at her.

She sounded like she didn’t know what she wanted from you either. There were noises of hesitancy coming out of her mouth, but nothing to convince you.

Until she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she pressed.

“No,” you shook your head, and tried to leave, but she had grasped your arm desperately.

“Wait, please.”

You were grateful for the dark room, because you were sure you had tears in your eyes.

“I was scared that they’d hurt you. I thought you’d be safe away from me.”

You shook your head. “No, no. You can’t do this. I was just getting over you.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, as she tilted your face to her, resting her forehead on yours.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

“Tara, please.”

She cupped your cheeks softly. You could smell the alcohol in her breath when she leaned in. You couldn’t stop it—you’d be the biggest criminal if you did—when her lips tasted so sweet.

Tara sighed, and pressed her body flushed against yours.

You remembered the night you were kissing her, just like this, when the attack came. You just wanted to protect her, to keep her behind you in case the masked killer got to her, but the next moment there was just so much blood. You were told you almost flatlined twice. Tara thought that was enough and ended things.

“You told me that I was a liability,” you said quietly.

“You know I didn’t mean that. I just thought it’d be easier for you . . .” Tara shook her head. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You thought you were imagining her saying it, but she might as well have without the accountability of sobriety. Tara Carpenter apologizing, now that’s a sight to see.

In the midst of the haze, she had pulled you on top of her on the bed, still kissing you like her life depended it.

“Tara,” you pulled away, your chest heaving against her. Sitting back up, you let out a shaky breath.

She was watching you with those doe eyes, her fingers finding their way between yours.

“Will you tell me all of this when you’re sober?” You asked, but you knew what the answer was.

“Yeah,” you breathed out. That’s what I thought.

You kissed her forehead softly and left without another word.

Tara Carpenter, as much as she vehemently denies it, was still very much haunted by her past. As much as you loved her, you wouldn’t let yourself be dragged down that rabbit hole, not again.

It might have started raining. You couldn’t quite tell because the streets were already glossy from the blur of your tears.

[kittenlittle24]

Career day

GIF not mine, comment, like and reblog!

Masterlist

You were in the middle of a meeting when your assistant knocked on the door and gave you a note that your daughter’s kindergarten teacher was on the phone. Checking the time, you frowned, it was exactly pick-up time, meaning your husband still had half an hour to be considered late and if she was sick it was close enough for a parent to arrive that she wouldn’t call to update you about it.

You apologized to the present in the room and exited to take the call.

Thanking her before hanging up, you turned to your assistant, “Could you please clear the rest of my schedule? I have to pick up my daughter from the hospital after this meeting.”

Nodding, “Is she alright?”

“She is, her father won’t be for long.”

Stepping out of the elevator you marched straight to the glass-walled office. You saw your daughter sitting in the conference room, at the head of the table with the team surrounding her and the department head making a drink in the kitchenette, his back facing you. She was her dad’s spitting image, brunette, with light blue eyes and, a gorgeous bright smile, as opposed to him though, her smile rarely left her face, whereas he had a permanent scowl.

“Mommy!” The young girl called excitedly which made House turn sharply and grimace.

You entered the office and embraced your daughter who ran to you. You kissed her temple and told her to go wait in the adjacent office.

You stood up and crossed your arms, “You didn’t think her teacher would call me when a strange man comes to pick her up?”

He sat down at the table next to the blond doctor, “Chase isn’t a stranger. Wilson was busy so I couldn’t ask him.”

“Smartass, you’re her father, you are the one supposed to pick her up!”

Sighing, you shook your head before you went to your daughter. You grabbed her backpack and took her hand in yours. You were about to leave when he called after you, “That’s it?”

You turned to him, “I’m not in the mood to argue in front of your team.” You stated before you walked out.

You drove home with your kid in the back seat, you looked in the rearview mirror and smiled at your daughter.

She was staring out the window humming some tune from a cartoon her dad showed and you disapproved.

You were in the midst of making dinner when you heard the front door open and your daughter run to greet her father. You smiled slightly but lowered your head to hide it.

House walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water before he leaned against the doorway, “Are you still mad at me?”

You put your hand in the air to indicate a little bit before turning to take the food out of the oven and taking it to the table.

You both sat down in your usual seats, you and him across each other and your daughter between you, sitting at the head of the table.

She gave a piece of paper to House, who paused eating and asked “What is this?” With a mouthful.

“I have a career day tomorrow, I want you to come.”

Swallowing hard, he put down his fork and sat back in his chair.

“Don’t you want your mom to come?”

She shook her head animatedly, “Mommy’s job is boooring.” She replied stressing the o and making you chuckle.

He drew in a long breath, “No, now eat your dinner.” He stated as a matter of fact and continued eating.

She lowered her head before mumbling she was full and rushing to her bedroom.

“Greg!”

Ignoring you, he picked up the plates and took them to the sink.

You stood up and followed him, putting your hands on your hips as you watched him place the plates in the dishwasher.

He turned to face you and leaned against the counter.

You pointed your finger at him, “You need to start acting like her parent. You don’t pick her up, you spend endless hours at work. I love you and I love being married to you, but if you don’t start being a father to that girl, we’re done.” You warned and left him standing staring after you.

You entered your daughter’s room and sat down on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair and kissing her temple.

“Maybe Uncle James would like to come to career day, he’s a doctor too. I can call him now, he’d be so honored if you ask him. ”

She sniffed and shook her head, “I’m tired.”

Nodding, you kissed her forehead softly and wished her good night.

You shut the door quietly behind you, looking towards the living room, you saw him sitting on the couch, legs up on the table and a glass of bourbon in his hand. You sat down to him, took his glass, and downed it before dropping your head back on the backrest.

“She doesn’t need the kids picking on her for having a crippled dad.”

You turned your head to look at him, “She needs her dad to act like he gives a damn.”

He took the empty glass from you and picked the bottle from the coffee table and poured another finger.

“She doesn’t care about your leg, she idolizes you.“

And it was true, your daughter was convinced that House could do nothing wrong, he was her hero, ever since she was a baby, she was a daddy’s girl.

“She shouldn’t.” He whispered and drank his drink.

You sat up and rubbed his back, “But she does. So please, don’t screw up.”

You leaned to kiss the corner of his lips before you went to bed, he puckered his lips to kiss you back but didn’t turn his head, distracted by his thoughts.

The next morning you got up to make a quick breakfast and wake your daughter up, your husband stayed in bed which wasn’t unusual for him since he never went to work before ten am.

You helped her pick her clothes and get ready, brushed her hair, and braided it.

“I called Uncle James, he’s so thrilled.”

She sighed and nodded, making your heart clench.

You walked together to the kitchen to see House eating a bowl of cereal, wearing a suit.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at seeing him awake but didn’t get the opportunity to question it before a knock was heard on the door.

House beckoned the little girl toward him with a quick hand movement while you went to open the door.

Wilson hugged you as he entered, he walked straight to the kitchen in search of the girl he considered a niece.

House pushed his bowl with the half-eaten cereal to his daughter and handed her the spoon before he stood up to greet his friend.

“Good Wilson, you’re right on time to drive us.”

“Us?”

Holding onto his thigh, House limped a few steps towards the two of you, “You’re taking the car, you don’t like it when I drive her on the bike and I definitely can’t walk with her to school; bum leg.” he stated and pointed to his leg as if you didn’t know about it.

Wilson sighed and moved to take a seat next to your daughter. You crossed your arms across your chest, eyebrows raised and lips in a straight line.

He closed the gap between you, kissed your cheek, and murmured in your ear, “Relax, I’m not going to screw this up.”

You grasped his bicep before he got the chance to pull back.

“Wilson stays in the class with you and makes sure you don’t get into trouble.”

He nodded, “Deal.”

Smiling you kissed his lips before you called, “Daddy is doing career day!”

Cheering, she jumped off the chair and ran to hug him.

You looked at Wilson who was smiling at the sight before looking at you, you signaled with your pointer and middle fingers in a V turned at you then at House in a watch him gesture.

He dropped his smile and nodded.

Upon reaching the classroom, the kids took their seats, House and Wilson sat in the back with the rest of the parents.

House leaned to whisper to his friend, “This is your last chance to steal my identity.”

“You don’t think your daughter will notice?”

The teacher called his name and with a frown at Wilson, he made his way to the front of the class.

Tapping his cane anxiously before centering it in front of his body, “I’m Dr. Gregory House. I’m the head of the diagnostic department at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and most proudly,” he paused his introduction to look fondly at his daughter, “I’m this ankle biter’s dad.”

[greg-montgomery]

i saw your post about jealous!hotch, so I was wondering if you can write something where there isn't an established relationship between hotch and bau!reader (yet ;))), the reader is a huge fan of an actor/character (kind of like how we, hotch girls, fangirl over Aaron 🤭) and Hotch got jealous whenever he hears her talks about the actor/character and then the reader was wondering why he's acting unusual, (like he would mutter something to himself like how he's much better than the man the reader talks about but they don't hear it, or he's suddenly not in a mood, etc.) and the team knows why he's acting unusual (he's jealous) and they're entertained watching the both of them be oblivious, and hotch kind of slipped or something that revealed his feelings for the reader🤭 if you can't write it, then it's okay!! feel free to change anything however you want<33

hehe what if aaron was jealous of thomas gibson himself 🤭🤭🤭

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“I am definitely taller than him.”

“What was that, Hotch?” you asked, after hearing him mumble something under his breath.

“Nothing,” he said more clearly this time. “Go back to your very important conversation with Garcia. The meeting doesn’t start until ten, so you have plenty of time.”

“Thank you,” you answered with a smile, pretending you didn’t notice his sarcasm.

“So he’s tall and respectful? What else would a girl need?” Penelope swooned, picking up from where you two had left off.

“I’m telling you! Penny, I swear…Greg is my dream man.”

You had turned your spinning chair to the side so you could face Garcia, and missed the way Aaron rolled his eyes at your words.

“And they got married the day they met?” she asked, her hand on her chest.

“Yes! It’s so romantic. And don’t even get me started about all the physical touch. It’s definitely his love language.”

“Ugh…He sounds perfect.”

“He is.”

“So are you gonna show me how he looks like?”

“Right!” you exclaimed. “I have a whole album of pictures of him. Wait.”

You pulled out your phone and found a screenshot from the episode of “Dharma & Greg” you were watching the night before. “That’s my baby.”

Aaron should be feeling lucky you were still turned to the side and couldn’t see the way he was desperately trying to take a peek at your phone.

“Oh,” Penelope said. But it wasn’t the kind of ‘oh’ you were expecting.

“What?” you asked disappointed. “Don’t tell me he isn’t hot. He’s literally a doll.”

“No, I…” she said. She seemed startled. “He is…um…really good looking. But…Y/N…Do you not notice something in particular about him?”

“Like what?”

“Tall. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Cheekbones.”

“Yeah, like I said: my dream man,” you simply said, unable to understand where she was going with this.

“He’s not all that.”

That was Aaron.

“How would you know?” you were quick to ask him.

“I googled this Thomas Gibson guy who played Greg,” he said, acting casual. “He’s average at best.”

“He is not average,” you defended him.

“I can’t tell which one of you is more stupid,” Penelope said softly, mostly to herself.

“What?” you both replied at the same time.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I just remembered…I have to go make a phone call.”

Once you were left alone with your boss you crossed your arms against your chest and furrowed your brows. “Average…”

“He’s just some guy.”

“He’s not. He’s the most handsome man in the world,” you said.

“Sure.”

At his last word, you got up from your seat and walked so you could stand right in front of him with a smirk.

“What?”

“You sound almost jealous of him.”

“Why would I be jealous of him?”

“I don’t know, Hotch,” you replied, your smirk getting even wider. “Why would you?”

He stared at the picture of your celebrity crush he had previously googled. “He has nothing I should be jealous of. I mean my hair is better, and I’m pretty sure I’m taller.”

“I knew that was what you said earlier!”

“Shut up.”

You giggled and tilted your head looking at him. The way he said those two words almost reminded you of Greg.

“You kind of look like him.”

“I don’t see it,” he said, taking a glance at his phone again.

“I think I do.” You smiled softly.

Maybe your dream man was your grumpy, stubborn, and very very adorable boss after all.

[cgunderwearstories]

The Underwear Volleyball Game

It was a blistering summer afternoon, the kind of day where the sun feels like it's throwing a tantrum, making everything and everyone melt. The local adult volleyball team, "Spiked Punch," had gathered for their weekly game at the park. The sand was so hot it felt like walking on a griddle, and everyone was already sweating through their clothes before the warm-up was even finished.

"Guys," Greg, the team captain, panted as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, "I don’t know about you, but I’m cooking alive here. What do you say we make this a little more…comfortable?"

The team looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

"I’m game," said Tony, who was known for his impulsive decisions. "But let’s keep it PG. How about… underwear only?"

A few chuckles rippled through the group, but as they all stood there, feeling the sun beat down on them, the idea started to sound better and better.

"Alright, let's do it," said Mitch, always the first to jump on board with any wild idea. "It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in worse."

Soon, a chorus of agreement followed, and the players began stripping down, leaving only their underwear.

Team "Boxer Brigade," as they now called themselves, consisted of:

Greg, the team captain, who sported a pair of red boxers with little white skulls on them. A tough guy on the court, but apparently a fan of quirky designs.

Tony, always the life of the party, had on bright yellow boxers with smiley faces all over them. They practically glowed in the sunlight, much like his personality.

Mitch, the wildcard, was wearing boxers with little superheroes on them. Every time he jumped, Spider-Man, Batman, and the Hulk seemed to battle it out in mid-air.

Dave, the quiet one of the group, was full of surprises. His boxers were a deep purple with neon green dinosaurs stomping across them. No one saw that coming.

Sam, the prankster, had on boxers covered in cartoon pizza slices, complete with gooey cheese and pepperoni. It wasn’t clear if he loved pizza that much, or just wanted to mess with everyone’s concentration.

Oliver, the team’s tallest player, sported boxers with little surfing penguins riding waves. The contrast of his tall, lanky frame with the tiny penguins was enough to make everyone giggle.

On the other side of the net was Team Tighties, who had an altogether different look:

Ryan, the co-captain, was rocking classic white tighty whities. But not just any tighty whities—his had the words “Captain Underpants” embroidered on the waistband. It was a power move, really.

Mark, the team's gym buff, was in Jockey white bikini briefs, which left very little to the imagination. He flexed unnecessarily often, making sure everyone knew exactly how much time he spent at the gym.

Jake, the strategist, had on what could only be described as “vintage” tighty whities. They were a bit faded, with a slightly stretched-out waistband. He claimed they were his lucky pair from college.

Brad, the jokester, wore white briefs with little hearts on them. "They’re from Valentine’s Day," he explained, but no one asked.

Steve, the guy who always seemed to have everything in order, wore white cotton panties with the days of the week on the back. Today was “Sunday” written in glittery black cursive.

Frank, the quiet but intense player, had on tighty whities with a single, tiny, embroidered teddy bear on the left side. No one dared to ask about the teddy bear.

As they got into position, the spectators gathered around couldn’t help but laugh, but the teams were undeterred.

Despite their new attire, the game began with a fierce serve from Ryan. The ball was flying back and forth across the net, and the sight of grown men diving in colorful boxers and tighty whities was a spectacle to behold. Every time Mitch jumped, his superheros battled it out in epic slow-motion. Oliver’s penguins seemed to surf along with him as he went for spikes. And Ryan’s tighty whities, emblazoned with “Captain Underpants,” gave him an almost heroic flair, or so he liked to think.

The sun was blazing down on the park, and the game had reached a whole new level of intensity. The teams, Boxer Brigade and Team Tighties, were locked in an epic battle, both on the court and—unbeknownst to one side—off of it.

What no one knew was that Tony, the mischievous trickster of the Boxer Brigade, had secretly brought along a volleyball with a strange, mystical marking on it. Tony had picked it up from an old, dusty shop he’d stumbled upon while on vacation in the middle of nowhere. The shopkeeper had warned him that the ball was "enchanted" and would “stir the passions of any who played with it.” Tony, never one to pass up on a good prank, figured that could only mean fun for the game. He didn’t believe in magic, but he did believe in chaos, and that was just as good.

As the match went on, the ball—glowing faintly in the scorching sunlight—moved between the teams with increasing speed and intensity. The heat, exhaustion, and the competitive spirit were all getting to Team Tighties. But something else was starting to take hold too: the curse.

It began subtly. Ryan, the co-captain of Team Tighties, missed a serve by just a hair. Mark, the gym buff, rolled his eyes and muttered something about how he could’ve done it better. Ryan shot him a glare, his tighty whities (emblazoned with “Captain Underpants”) seeming to tighten as his temper flared.

"You think you could do better?" Ryan snapped, his face flushing red as the heat, and something more sinister, started to boil over.

"Maybe if you spent more time practicing and less time strutting around in those kiddie undies, you wouldn’t miss!" Mark shot back, flexing his biceps for emphasis.

The rest of Team Tighties watched in stunned silence as their two most level-headed players began to bicker. But soon, the curse’s influence spread like wildfire.

Jake, the strategist with the slightly faded tighty-whities, stepped in to try and cool things down, but Brad, always the jokester, saw an opportunity. With a quick motion, Brad yanked on Jake’s waistband, giving him a classic wedgie that sent Jake stumbling forward.

"Hey, what the hell, man?!" Jake yelled, his hands clawing at his back to free his underwear from the deep wedgie. But before he could retaliate, Steve, ever the organized one, piped up with a sarcastic comment about how Jake probably had his lucky vintage undies on the wrong day of the week.

That was it. The curse had fully taken hold.

Chaos erupted on the court. Ryan and Mark, who had once been the pillars of the team, were now locked in a ridiculous fight, each one trying to pants the other. Mark’s grip was strong from his hours at the gym, and he managed to yank Ryan’s underpants down to his ankles. But before Ryan could respond, Mark found his own waistband in Ryan’s grasp, and in a swift motion, Mark’s bikini briefs were down around his knees.

Brad, meanwhile, had moved on from wedgies to full-on tearing. He grabbed the waistband of Steve’s "Sunday" panties and, with a mighty pull, ripped it clean in half. Steve, horrified at the destruction of his perfectly planned outfit, lunged at Brad and managed to get his hands on Brad’s heart-patterned briefs. A rip echoed across the court as Brad’s underwear met the same fate.

Jake, who had finally freed himself from his wedgie, saw Frank standing calmly on the side, seemingly unaffected. Frank, with his tiny embroidered teddy bear on his tighty whities, had always been the quiet one, the calm one. But the curse didn’t care. Jake rushed at Frank, ready to take him down in the same ridiculous manner that was sweeping across the team.

Frank, caught off guard, tried to dodge, but Jake was quick. He grabbed Frank’s waistband and gave it a solid yank. Frank’s tighty whities stretched, but instead of tearing, they snapped back with a resounding thwack that sent Frank stumbling forward. Jake wasn’t done. Fueled by the curse, he reached out and delivered a wedgie so fierce that Frank let out a yelp of surprise.

The scene on the court was one of absolute chaos. The once-proud Team Tighties was now a mess of torn underwear, bruised egos, and sand-covered bodies. The Boxer Brigade, standing on the other side of the net, watched with a mix of horror and amusement. They hadn’t expected the curse to take things this far.

“Uh… should we stop this?” Greg asked, glancing at Tony, who was still holding the cursed volleyball, now glowing slightly in his hands.

“I didn’t think it would actually work,” Tony admitted, looking genuinely concerned for the first time.

“Well, do something!” Mitch yelled, dodging a rogue piece of torn tighty whities that flew across the net.

Tony, unsure of what to do, quickly muttered, “Uh, I reverse the curse! Take it back! Whatever!” and threw the ball to the ground. The glowing ceased immediately.

As if a switch had been flipped, the members of Team Tighties suddenly stopped in their tracks, blinking as if waking from a dream. They looked around at the destruction—torn underwear hanging off in tatters, sand stuck to sweaty, naked bodies, and a few still mid-wedgie.

Ryan was the first to speak. “What the hell just happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” Mark said, looking down at his ruined tighty whities and then at the remains of Ryan’s. “But I’m pretty sure we just ripped each other’s underwear to shreds.”

There was a moment of silence as the reality of the situation set in. Then, as if on cue, everyone burst into laughter. The sight of each other, standing there in what little was left of their underwear, was too ridiculous to take seriously.

“Nice moves there, ‘Captain Underpants,’” Mark said, slapping Ryan on the back, causing him to stumble forward, tripping over his shredded tighty whities.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think your gym buddies would’ve fared any better,” Ryan shot back, laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

The rest of the team was in similar states of disarray, apologizing between fits of laughter. Steve, holding the remains of his Sunday briefs, shook his head with a grin. “Guess I’m gonna need a new pair for next week.”

Tony, still holding the now-normal volleyball, sheepishly approached the group. “Uh, guys? About that… I might have brought a cursed volleyball. Sorry about that.”

The looks he got were a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Tony, you’re an idiot,” Jake said, still trying to pull the last of the sand out of his tattered briefs.

“Yeah, but we’re idiots too, for going along with it,” Brad added, giving Tony a playful shove.

In the end, the game was forgotten in favor of recovering their dignity—or what was left of it. They all promised to meet up again next week, but with one condition: normal volleyballs, normal clothes, and definitely no curses.