#watched doctor who and teared up while writing this

[random-weirdo]

This originally started out as a s3 Crowley outfit idea and then turned into something else, so here's my brain blurt.

What if, in season three, Crowley's fashion style becomes a little more relaxed, or laid back. Like-

he would still wear his tight-women's skinny jeans and small black turtlenecks and blazer-jacket-things and shoelace-tie, but he would wear large t-shirts, and baggy pants or long skirts from time to time.

And maybe he would do that because he doesn't feel the need to be dark, evil and mysterious anymore, now that he officially is no longer on "Hell's side".

And maybe he dresses like that because he picks up some of Nina and Maggie's, and maybe even Anathema's style.

And maybe he also grows his hair out and let's it fade, maybe he has long hair again, with the slightest pinkish-ginger undertone to it.

And maybe he's more emotional, and less closed off because of Nina and Maggie.

And maybe one day, after Crowley got his still-empty apartment back, he decided to visit The Bookshop. So, he got into The Bentley and drove to Whickber Street. The car drive would be silent except for the quiet sounds of the motor and the slightly louder sounds of the traffic outside.

And maybe once he gets to Whickber Street, he parks outside Give me Coffee or Give me Death and looks at The Bookshop from across the road. And while he looks at The Bookshop, he spots Muriel in the window, reading a Jane Austen book in Aziraphale's study. On the armchair he used to sit in and study his first editions while Crowley would sit and watch him on the small sofa next to it in the corner.

Maybe as Crowley watches Muriel read their book through the window he smiles. not a grin, a small smile. And it isn't a happy smile, or maybe it is.

Maybe it's a sad one, looking back on the memories and silently wishing they had last for eternity.

And maybe, as he was doing that, Nina walked out of her coffee shop, and banged on the windows, but got no reply. Maybe she continued, and eventually Crowley noticed, and rolled down the window. "What."

Maybe Nina would roll her eyes, but smile. and say: "six shots?" And when Crowley would nod slightly in silence, Nina would walk back inside her coffee shop, and walk back out a few minutes later with a takeaway cup, filled with six shots of espresso.

But maybe before Crowley could take it from his open window, Nina walks around the other side of The Bentley and gets in.

Maybe they wouldn't say anything to each other the whole time they sat in The Bentley with each other.

And maybe someone just being there was enough for Crowley.

And maybe, hopefully, that was the start of a new story, perhaps of friendship and healing.

And maybe a few months of healing and looking after an old bookshop with an angel who would grow to be like a child to Crowley.

And perhaps Crowley, Nina and Maggie grow a friendship, which forces Crowley to open up a little. But he doesn't really care.

And he would trust them.

And perhaps, one oddly sunny spring day, Crowley picks up his daily six shots of espresso from Give me Coffee or Give me Death, and as he walks across the road back to The Bookshop, he notices something.

The pub.

The elevator.

it opens.

And out comes an archangel.

A blonde one.

The archangel looks around, taking in the sights of the street he used to live in, and walks across the road.

Towards The Bookshop.

Crowley is stood outside The Bookshop door, looking at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale looks up to Crowley from the bottom of the front steps.

"Crowley." He says.

"Angel." Crowley replies.

A small smile is exchanged, and they both walk into The Bookshop together in silence.

Whatever the hell I just wrote was very heavily inspired by @goosetooths art, and Muriel's Stories by rayvennswritingdesk on Ao3!!

Anywayyyy hope u like it,, I will admit, I did get lazy a the end, so idk if this is any good and I wrote it at like 2:30-3 am ssoooooooooo.....

[miange1]

LOOK AROUND, LOOK AROUND..🍯

owners dish. . .🥐: alpha husband x pregnant omega male reader

ingredients include. . .🍞: feral alpha themes, violence, muzzles, pregnancy, mpreg, twins, medical issues, close to death experiences, mainly fluff, bro didn't write smut that is surprising, a little short and lowk lazy.

owners note. . .🥯: i never proofread. i was thinking of hamilton writing the title.

alpha husband, who's breath fogged up against the muzzle held against his face like he was some animal. but not even he could defend himself. he harmed eight nurses and five doctors— all alphas who tried to hold him back as they rolled you into the hospitals room. you were bleeding, your cries felt like painful jabs to his heart he just couldn't stand it. he knew they were protecting you and helping you, but he couldn't be separated from you while you were in pain.

alpha husband, flinched at each gutteral scream and yelp you let out. his ears strained, his nails scratched at his arms restraints. this was going on longer than it should have. he was counting the hours in his head, the clock ticking like it had been mocking him. he wanted to tear these damn things open, run back to his mate and his baby and make sure no one would make you feel like you were in pain.

alpha husband, who tensed and stilled at the sound of silence. the silence went on for almost too long. it was unsettling. he never would have thought he would prefer your screams more than silence. what happened? were you hurt? did you pass out? did you..then there were the cries of his baby..then another cry. god help him.

alpha husband, heard the door opening. a low grow rumbled in the below of his throat as a woman's voice came through. it was a nurse, smelt like nothing, like a beta. "sir," she said calmly. she was bold, real bold for being able to face his situation. "if you agree to not resort to violence, we can make this go smoothly. your husband is waiting for you." and he had promised. everything felt much looser when the shackles were taken off, the huffy muzzle unbuckling from his jaw. it took every ounce of him not to shove the woman to the floor in run to where your smell was.

alpha husband, was able to enter and see you. his nose picking up two more scents with yours..two? it was almost pathetic the way he lunged towards you, kneeling at your side. his hands cradled your face, his nose taking a few twitches as he took in that scent. his eyes watched as you unfolded the big blanket, two sleepy little heads popping out. he wanted to cry. he did cry. you were safe, his unexpected twins were safe. "don't cry," you'd tell him, your voice raspy from the constant screaming beforehand. "how could i possibly not? i.." he couldn't finish his sentence.

alpha husband, who looked at those babies almost all day. he watched every movement, every coo and little whine. every grip of their small fingers, they had even blinked in unison. this was perfect..what more could he ever ask for.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Dog Tags (3)

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> When a mission goes wrong, Bucky gets his Dog Tags back.

Disclaimer: This is part three for one and two. Mentions of serious injuries, blood and being hospitalised. Angst, bit of fluff here and there, hurt/comfort, Bucky stays by reader's side. Sam giving Bucky his own reality check, platonic!Wanda, swearing. Left kinda open ended in case I decide to write part four? Not Proof Read.

Bucky stared down at the dog tags in his hands, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the blood stained letters. He had to take a deep breath before the tears started flowing again. 

You were meant to be on a simple recon mission. You’d done them a thousand times. Maybe you’d come back with a bruise or two, but you still came back. 

This time, his phone had rung throughout his room just as the clock turned 4:00 am. An agent had found the tags on her person. They knew they weren’t hers, but they were definitely someone’s. 

Bucky had gotten to the hospital in under an hour. You’d still been in surgery by the time he arrived, but the nurses had brought out your personal belongings in a large plastic bag. 

Your clothes; blood stained to hell. Your Shield issued weapons were empty of bullets. Whatever had happened, you’d emptied your clip, plus your three backups. Your knife lay at the bottom of the bag, stained with blood, too. 

Bucky couldn’t work out if it was yours or someone else's. But he did know one thing for certain. The blood that lay splattered over his tags, as he pulled the chain from the bag, was yours. You never wore them outside of your uniform. You kept them close to your chest. It couldn’t be anyone else's. 

Bucky had left a message at Hill’s desk, as well with Sam explaining what had happened. What he knew, at least. Hill was sending someone to the mission base to find out more. 

“Mr Barnes?”

Bucky took in a deep breath as he stood up, clasping the tags in his palm. Maybe if he squeezed tightly enough, he’d be able to feel you. 

“Yes.”

“Your wife is now out of surgery. We’ll be keeping her under observation for the foreseeable, but once she’s situated in a room, you’ll be able to sit with her.” The Doctor told him. 

Bucky just nodded. “Do you know what happened?”

“I know it’s not common, but I’ll bring you her more detailed medical chart.” They told him. “There was too much extensive damage to talk about off the top of my head.”

Those words hit Bucky in the chest, harder than anything else had ever done. 

“But she’ll-” Bucky couldn’t bring himself to talk. 

The Doctor just nodded. “She’s going to need a lot of physical therapy. Thankfully nothing broke within her legs, but the damage to her muscles will make her training a lot harder than it should be for a while.”

Bucky nodded. 

“But she’ll be okay.”

“Thank you.”

The Doctor nodded. “Thank you for the tags.”

Bucky was a little confused as he followed the doctor’s finger, pointing to his hand. The dog tags? Why was she thanking him for the dog tags?

“If your wife hadn’t been wearing them, we wouldn’t have known who to contact.”

Wife.

Bucky felt himself chuckle inside. If you were awake and could hear the doctor now, you’d have probably made some disgusted eye roll and comment over being even associated with him. 

“Oh, yeah.”

The Doctor smiled. “I’ll come and get you when she’s ready.”

“Thank you.”

She just nodded with another soft smile before walking away. Twenty minutes later, he was being walked down the hallway where he stood outside of your room for ten minutes before opening up the door. 

You had at least a dozen wires hooked up to you, aside from the standard hospital gear. Bucky just stared at the monitor for a while, watching your heartbeat print onto paper. 

Eventually, he sat in the chair beside your bed and looked at you. In that moment, he’d give anything to have you yell at him. Cuss him out, threaten him, roll your eyes…anything. 

“They…” Bucky cleared his throat, looking down at the tags in his hand. “They told me you should still be able to hear me…and that talking helps. I know you’re probably mad it’s me who’s here, but you can’t blame me for this one, doll.” 

A weak chuckle escaped Bucky’s lips as he looked from his hand and to your sleeping frame. “They think we’re married, by the way. Mostly because of the dog tags they found on you. I’ve…I’ve got em’ right here. They’re safe. You’re safe, doll. Just…just kinda need you to wake up soon. Maybe tell me to piss off. Not that I’d leave you anyway, but that’s kinda our thing, right? Fighting?”

Bucky went silent for a while as he looked at you. 

“I need you to fight me, sweetheart.” Bucky told you. “So you’ve gotta mend and pull through all of this. Whatever happened out there in the field…that’s not the end of your story. It can’t be. I won’t let it.”

Bucky could hear your voice in his head. “You’d don’t have a choice in it, Barnes.”. 

Bucky told you a few more things, like how he’d called both Hill and Sam. He told you that he’d text Wanda, “She’ll get it once she lands. I’m sure she’ll be flying through that window soon.”

But, eventually, he stopped talking. He just let the sound of your steady heart fill the room. It was proof you were still alive. You were still here. 

On the days where Bucky couldn’t sit with you, Wanda took his place. Or Kate. Or Sam. On the odd occasion, Joaquin sat with you. Bucky had walked in on plenty of PowerPoint presentations of how his suit was better than Sam’s old one. 

But when he did sit with you, his mind would wander to memories of you and him. Like the training room when he’d told you he knew you had his dog tags, or when he’d helped you when you got hurt a few months back. 

But one stuck out to him in particular. Plenty stuck out to him as time ticked by, but he was reminded of this one as he looked at the side table beside your bed. Your knife lay on top, still in its protective covering. 

Less than three weeks before you’d landed in hospital, Bucky had been training with you. 

The main noises being made were grunts. As you hit his chest, as he knocked your legs down, as you twisted his arm, as he flipped you onto the mat, as you kicked his legs from beneath him, as you both rolled across the mats before you landed on top, trapping him in place. 

“Give in yet?”

“Do you?”

You were about to question what he meant, but then you felt it. Cold and sharp; he had your knife, again. But this time, it was pointed against your side. 

“What?” You hesitated for a second and looked away. Bucky took his opportunity. 

In two simple moves, you were on your back staring up at him with your own knife gently pressed against your skin. 

“Give in.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes at his glowing smirk. “Yes. Fine. Now get off me.” 

Bucky chuckled and stood up, lowering his hand down to help you up. At first, you swatted it away. But he held it out again, “Come on.”

Reluctantly, you accepted it and he helped you stand. “You’re focusing too much. Too in your head. You need to relax.” 

Bucky flipped the knife over in his hand so he was pinching the sharp blade. He handed it over to you and you swiped it up. “Thanks.” Your voice grunted a little before you placed your knife back in its place. 

“You know, if you wanted to, you could train with me more often.” Bucky offered as he walked away. “I know you and I are…whatever we are. But I have training that isn’t exactly found in a Shield manual.”

“I’m fine.” You said, avoiding looking at him as he stood with his back to you. You had stared at him in this fashion one too many times. It was only a short time before someone caught you doing so. Even worse if it was Bucky. 

“It’s not an issue. Hell, we don’t have to even talk-”

“I said I’m fine.” You didn’t mean to raise your voice when you spoke to him. You regretted it instantly. You sighed. “Look, I know you mean well. And, thank you. But I’m okay.”

Bucky watched you, over his shoulder. You walked away from the mats, grabbed your water bottle and sat down on one of the opposite benches. 

“What is it?” 

“What?”

“Do you have a problem with me or something?”

You sighed. “Bucky.”

“I get you and I don’t exactly get along-”

“I don’t have a problem with you,” you cut him off. “I just-” 

You gave a short sigh. There were so many reasons why it wouldn’t work if he was the one to train you. He wouldn’t know it, but you’d become more distracted by him. And for some reason it was written into the heavens that if you and Bucky spent more than ten minutes alone together, things in the air started to get…close. Too close. 

But the main thing was your undisclosed feelings for the super annoying, massive pain in your ass, super soldier. The longer you spent around him, so close to him, the harder they were getting to manage. 

It was only a matter of time before he figured out the truth. 

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Can we just leave it at that? Please?”

Bucky watched you for a moment before nodding. “Okay. Forget I ever mentioned it.”

You just nodded. 

Later that evening, Bucky had been with Wanda. And he’d been avoiding the topic of you ever since he walked through the front door. 

“Did something happen between you two?” Wanda just flat out asked him. 

“No. Nothing happened.”

“You’re sulking, so I know something happened.”

Bucky shrugged. “She just doesn’t want my help. I’ve tried being nice. But she’s just so…her. It’s annoying.”

Wanda nodded. “Yeah, I’m gonna need more information than just…you not handling your school boy crush very well.”

“I don’t-” Bucky shut his mouth as he whipped his head around to look at Wanda. “I don’t like her like that.”

“Doesn’t like who?” Sam asked as he walked through the door. 

“Bucky. Not liking Y/n.”

Sam just barked a laugh as he opened up the fridge and put his groceries away. “Ha! That’s a bullshit lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“What-”

“Bucky,” Sam was practically laughing. “You’ve had a crush on her for god knows how long. I don’t know what twisted bullshit you both have going on that prevents you from talking like normal human beings, but even I know you saying you don’t like Y/n is nothing but a complete and utter bullshit lie.”

Bucky looked at Wanda for backup but she seemed to be on Sam’s side. 

“You know, maybe if you…I don’t know…talked to her rather than fight her-”

“She fights me!”

Sam just looked at him. “You fight each other.”

“Maybe you should just try and talk to her,” Wanda told him. “Might just clear a few things up.”

Sam sat down on the arm of the chair. “You’ve had feelings for her for a long time, Buck. Maybe it’s time you did something about it.”

Bucky just sighed. 

“How long have you guys been married?”

Bucky hadn’t noticed the nurse walk inside to your hospital room, at first. “Sorry?”

“I’m sorry to ask,” she apologised as she changed out your IV and drew some blood. “It’s just…I’ve seen a lot of couples pass through these doors and I’m yet to see ones with a connection like yours.”

Bucky sat up. The nurse could read the confusion on his face from a mile away. 

She just stepped to the side and pointed at the print of the heart rate. 

“See these spikes here?” 

Bucky nodded. 

“These are from when you’ve been with her. It’s good they’re going up. It means she’s recognising her surroundings. At the very least, the people in it. You’re healing for her.”

Bucky just looked at your still sleeping frame. He was helping you heal?

He was helping you heal?

He was helping you heal?

He was helping you heal?

The nurse smiled again. “How long have you two been married?”

“Not long,” Bucky answered. “But we’ve…we’ve known each other for years.”

The nurse smiled. “Who made the first move?”

Bucky thought for a moment. “She did. She saved my life.”

And you had. 

You’d been one of the new agents placed with the team. In the middle of a forest, Bucky had noticed every tripwire save for one. As something came flying over head, you’d swiped his legs from underneath him and pinned him down. 

“You’re welcome,” you whispered. 

That had been the first time Bucky had met you. It had also been the first time he’d looked you in the eyes. He could have happily drowned there and then. Which scared him. More than he knew what to deal with. 

“And now you’re here saving hers,” the nurse smiled. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Is there anything I can get you? Blankets, pillows?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, I’m okay. Thank you.”

“She’ll be okay, Mr Barnes.”

Bucky just nodded and watched as the nurse left. As he turned his head, that was when he noticed your chart. They still kept you as Y/n Barnes. Nobody, including Bucky, had bothered to correct them. If anything, it meant Bucky still learnt about your injuries and your healing process. 

It also meant he got access to stay with you for as long as he wanted. Which, if he didn’t have to work and if Sam didn’t come and drag him outside every few hours, he’d stay the whole time. 

It was a month or so more before you finally woke up. 

When Bucky had gotten a text from Joaquin telling him to get to the hospital quickly, he’d dropped what he was doing and came running down the hallway of the hospital ten minutes later. 

“What’s happening?”

“I-I don’t know.” Joaquin told him. “I was just holding her hand and she moved. Like, she squeezed my hand.”

“What?” Bucky moved past Joaquin and to your side, leaning his hand on the side headboard. 

“Y/n? Hey, doll? Can you hear me?”

Bucky held your hand in his. Nothing happened. “I know you don’t like me all that much, but if you can hear me, can you try and squeeze my hand?” 

Again, nothing.

Bucky looked at Joaquin. 

“I didn’t dream it.”

Bucky looked back at you. For a split second, he pushed some of your hair from your face. “Doll, if you’re awake, please. I just need you to squeeze my hand.”

Again, nothing. 

Until there was something.

“Go and get a nurse.”

“On it!” Joaquin practically flew out of the room. 

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Joaquin had been talking to you, telling you that you were gonna be okay. Then you heard Bucky’s voice which was quickly followed by a rough hand gently holding onto yours. 

And when you finally opened your eyes, you saw him. Standing beside your bed, holding your hand, looking like the world had finally started moving again. 

It was a few hours before you came around properly. And when you did, it felt a lot less hectic. Everything was peaceful and quiet. You had time to look around. There was a steady beeping somewhere. 

A heart monitor. 

You had different wires and tubes sticking out of you. The lights weren’t as bright as they’d been when you’d first woken up. 

But the thing that caught your eye the most was the sleeping frame of Bucky, hunched over your bed. Then you felt it. His hand, still in yours. 

You tried to squeeze his hand but eventually it hurt a little less and he stirred awake before shooting up. 

“Hey, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“How long have I been out?”

Bucky answered you honestly. “Almost two months. The damage was extensive. Can you remember anything?”

You just nodded. “I think I blacked out after the building collapsed because I don’t remember anything after that.”

Bucky stood and pressed a button on the headboard of your bed before sitting beside you, clasping your hand in his. If it had been any other time, you would have taken your hand right back. 

But in that moment you needed comfort. You needed to feel safe. 

You felt safe with Bucky. 

But then you gasped. “Shit.”

“What? Are you hurt? What is it?”

You sat up and touched your chest and neck. “Your- your tags. I-”

Bucky just pulled the chain from his shirt. “There’s right here.”

You visibly relaxed but then you tensed as you watched Bucky remove them. “What are you doing?”

A small chuckle left him, “Just stay still, would you?”

“It’s not like I can exactly run away right now.”

Bucky smiled to himself before lifting the chain up and over your head. “There.”

You looked at him, wondering what he meant by all of it. “They’re your tags, Bucky.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “But I know they’re safe with you. They always looked better on you, anyway.”

Once Bucky knew you were okay, he’d wiped the rest of the tags clean. He’d been waiting to lay them back on you. He didn’t want to do it while you were sleeping. He needed you to fight him first. 

He needed proof you were alive. 

That was when the door opened and a nurse walked inside. “You’re awake! I must say, you nearly gave me and your husband a fright earlier. The doctor hadn’t predicted that you would wake up this early.”

You looked at Bucky and whispered, “Husband?”

“Just go with it,” he whispered back. 

It wasn’t until an hour or so, when both the Doctor and nurse had left, that you spoke to Bucky again. 

“You wanna tell me why we’re married?”

“They found my tags with you. They called me and…”

“You never corrected them?” You’d asked that question a lot calmer than Bucky had been expecting. 

“It meant I got to stay with you longer. And that they’d tell me what was going on.”

“You didn’t need to do that, Bucky.”

Bucky was honest with you. “I’m glad they called me first.”

You hand clutched the tags dangling from your neck. “They really thought you were my husband?”

Bucky chuckled. “If anything, the tags made sure you came home.”

In the silence as you and Bucky looked at each other, you felt the coolness of the metal in your palm. His tags had brought you home. His tags had brought him to you. His dog tags made sure you weren’t alone. And something told you Bucky had the same idea. 

Which was only confirmed when he attended almost every physio appointment with you. 

“How’s she doing, doc?”

The physio smiled as they held their arms up, in case you fell. “She’s doing great.”

“She’s tired and pissed off.” You answered truthfully. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I brought your favourite snacks from that store you and Kate found.”

Your hand gripped the two parallel bars as you slowly walked from one side to the other. “How the hell do you know about that store?”

“I asked Kate. She told me.”

As the phyio’s pager went off, Bucky offered to take over for a few minutes to help you. And, considering the medical staff still believed you and Bucky to be married, you’d both decided to just keep the act up. 

So, slowly walking beside you in case you fell, Bucky helped you turn around and walk back down the parallel bars. 

“How’ve you been feeling?”

“You mean other than tired and pissed off?”

“Yeah.”

“Sore,” you admitted. “Bored. I can’t wait to get back home.”

If Bucky was being honest, he would say the same thing. Even if you did spend more time fighting each other, he missed it. He missed you. 

“Neither can I.” The honesty slipped out from Bucky before he could think about any awkward consequences. 

You paused and looked at him. “What?” Your voice was a little softer than usual. 

“What?” Bucky shrugged. He’d said it. There was no taking it back. “It’s boring without you. I get we might fight the whole time, but without you I’ve got no one to keep my ego in check.”

Bucky earned a laugh from you as you looked away to keep walking. And he laughed, too. 

You had to admit. Laughing with Bucky rather than groaning was a nice change. 

And it only got easier from there on out. Your groans had turned to laughter, your scowls had turned to smiles and the roll of your eyes had turned to tears of laughter. 

And slowly, the same things happened for Bucky, too.

Eventually, the ten minute window you and Bucky spent together turned into twenty, then forty and before either of you knew it, hours had passed. 

You were both together and, surprisingly, still alive. 

Part Four

[criminalamnesia]

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

ALL TOYS REACTIONS TO FINALLY HAVING A FRESH BATH AND MANY FRESH FOODS AFTER ESCAPING THE FACTORY

Along with them getting bandages and such for the wounds, etc. They'd be crying with tears of joy and thanking their angel a lot for it

(Prototype and Doctor is dead in that forsaken factory)

This! This ask is the kind of stuff that makes me love writing!

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me :)

Player who helped the toys in Safe Haven escape the factory

★ After the Player brings everyone into their house, an uneasy silence fills the room only drowned out by quiet murmuring. Nobody is sure what to do. Most had forgotten the warmth of a real home, having spent so long in a hostile environment.

★ Poppy is the first to speak. "Are…are you sure we can stay?" The Player nods, their gentle smile providing the comfort everyone needs. One of the other toys shyly asks, "Do you have snacks?"

★ They are all hungry, starving even. Fortunately for them the Player has a pantry stocked up with snacks. The toys, who had been surviving on scraps, are overwhelmed by the sight of so much food.

★ Since none of the toys know how to cook, the Player takes the lead in preparing a proper meal. It's been so long since they've had actual food. Not raw, questionably sourced, meat.

★ The kitchen becomes rather crowded, with the smaller toys peeking over countertops to watch the Player cook. Doey cried when he got a plate of food all to himself. It's been so long since him and his friends could all eat there fill without worries. No empty stomachs or dirty, unwashed plates.

★ Kissy was one of the last toys to enter the kitchen. She's hesitant, her eyes darting around the room, still not fully believing that they are truly safe. she examines each item in the room, curiosity getting the better of her.

★ She can feel her body relaxing for the first time in ages. The feeling of safety and comfort is almost surreal. Several of the other toys lean on her while getting comfy after their meal. A small cuddle pile forming.

★ You hate to ruin the fun, but all of them where in desperate need of bath. You couldn't let them stay dirty. By the time everyone is done getting washed up the bath water is a murky brown and the Player has run out of towels

★ The Player tends to any wounds, applying bandages when needed. Doey helps them with the band aid part. He doesn't think it's fair for the Player to do everything alone.

★ There is a lot of work to do before everyone feels some semblance of okay. Some of the scars won't fully heal, but that's a problem for tomorrow. It's been a long day and you need rest. Tonight, everyone is safe and sound, curled up in all the blankets you could find.

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

brief drabble inspired by @jinwoosbabyboo's {post} about rafa's tears... saw it at work and had to write about it!

content: cameo from zayne as MC's friend and doctor, rafayel's lemurian traits are showing, brief mention(s) of injury to wrist, clingy rafayel/anxiously attached rafayel, use of the nicknames (for him) rafa, love and bubba & (for you) beloved and cutie, you steal his clothes, brief Talia mention, slight nsfw moment, hurt/comfort to the max, reassuring our fishie, hints at his lore, fairly early dating stage

lavender tears

9:00am fishie: cutie!! fishie: are you free todaayyyy? i wanna show you something. fishie: you're gonna like it, i promise

Curious, you glanced at your phone as it buzzed rapidly on your desk. Rafayel's profile picture popping up made you smile. You began typing a response as you read his messages, your heart squeezing a little: I'm at work today, but I can stop by later. What is it?

You heard your name and glanced up. Captain Jenna was waving you over. "Come quickly, we have an emergency in Bloomshore. You're needed immediately."

You got up in a hurry, your phone left behind on the desk, the text still waiting in the typing bar—unsent.

9:07am fishie: you've been typing for a while, cutie 9:10am fishie: cutieee?? you there?

~❊~

Hours passed in a blur of Wanderers, screaming civilians, and phone cameras pointed in your direction. Eventually, when morning had become late afternoon, the chaos melted into something more manageable: sirens, the lights of emergency vehicles, the questions of EMTs who had come to help the injured.

"Are you alright?" your soft-spoken doctor asked, giving you that stern Zayne look you had learned meant he was worried, not ticked off—even if it looked like he was.

You sat on a park bench, watching the cleanup begin. You looked up at Zayne, who had a kit in his hands and was already eyeing your visible scrapes.

"I'm fine," you promised. He raised a brow. "It's nothing serious, Zayne, I promise."

"I'll be the judge of that," he insisted. You sighed, but nodded, and Zayne began his examination.

After a while, as he wrapped your wrist—bloody and scraped, possibly sprained, you heard him muttering under his breath—you patted your pocket. You felt a brief spike of panic when you realized your phone wasn't there before you remembered you'd left it on your desk in your hurry to get to Bloomshore.

Rafayel!

Shit, he'd had something he wanted to show you, hadn't he? You hadn't even had the time to tell him you were getting sent on a mission across Linkon. You glanced around at the camera crews and emergency vehicles; surely, he'd see the news and understand you'd been sent to help with a Wanderer attack?

But if he was in his studio all day... You could just picture it, your baby sitting on his easel, anxiously glancing at his phone while he waited for you, unable to concentrate on his work...

"You look guilty." Zayne's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You realized you were worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. "And worried."

"Sorry—I just realized I haven't texted Rafayel since this morning," you said. "He's probably freaking out."

A smile twitched at Zayne's lips. He'd met your artist a handful of times, and on one memorable occasion, Rafayel had thrown himself into your hospital bed and hissed at anyone who came too close.

"He worries about you, but he's quite capable. I'm sure he's fine," Zayne assured you.

A few more minutes, a few more bandages, and you were on your way back to the Hunter's Association. You gave your verbal report to Jenna as quickly as possible, promised to have it all typed up tomorrow, and bolted back to your desk.

You picked up your phone and found, to your horror, more than fifty text notifications—all from Rafayel. Your stomach sank as you saw your earlier text still waiting to be sent. You deleted it, scrolled back through the messages, and began to read.

9:07am fishie: you've been typing for a while, cutie 9:10am fishie: cutieee?? you there? 9:15am fishie: guess not :( fishie: its okay i can show you later fishie: you're still coming over for dinner, right? fishie: i have the ingredients for your favorite fishie: we can cook it together if you want fishie: or i can cook for you, i dun mind 9:30am fishie: your location says you're at work... guess you got busy? fishie: did you get attacked by a wanderer or something fishie: you didn't have a mission today that i forgot about, right? 10:00am fishie: cuuuuuutie fishie: cutie fishie: did i forget an important date 11:03am fishie: i checked every calendar, i didn't forget anything 11:17am fishie: you didnt fall asleep at work, did you? fishie: i know you were having trouble falling asleep fishie: you couldve called me last night if it was bad yknow fishie: ill even sing you to sleep la la la 11:23am fishie: that's when you say "really rafa?!" fishie: and i say "of course cutie, that's what im here for" fishie: "can't have you falling asleep on me" fishie: "ill get lonely" 11:28am fishie: ...im lonely, cutie 12:12pm fishie: where are you :( fishie: youre never this busy at work fishie: did something happen 12:46pm fishie: i finished a painting fishie: small one, not the one thomas wants done fishie: but its something, right? fishie: im looking on the bright side like you tell me fishie: but im covered in paint now fishie: and its hotttttttttttttt fishie: so im gonna go take a bath fishie: if you werent so busy you could join me ;) 1:59pm fishie: no lunch break, huh 2:02pm fishie: you're gonna be hungry later, then fishie: i'll make you dinner so you have food when you get here fishie: itll only be warm if you tell me when youre coming home 2:53pm fishie: did i do something? forget something? fishie: im sorry cutie 3:01pm fishie: if i snapped at you recently, its just because of this painting and these deadlines, its not at you fishie: and its been a bad few days. not an excuse though fishie: and im sorry i didnt notice it earlier fishie: and if im just being too clingy im sorry for that too fishie: i just miss you fishie: and now im worried 3:33pm fishie: are you mad at me fishie: ill make it up to you fishie: whatever it is fishie: i love you fishie: just please answer me beloved, please 3:53pm fishie: you havent read my messages, not any of them fishie: am i on do not disturb fishie: i thought you said i could disturb you anytime 4:46pm fishie: beloved fishie: beloved please fishie: have i done something wrong fishie: are you ignoring me fishie: are you tired of me? fishie: ...please dont leave me

Still staring at your phone screen, momentarily too stunned and upset with yourself to say anything, you fumbled around for your bags and your keys. The last message, from ten minutes ago, had shattered your heart and left it on the floor of the Association. You weren't even out the door yet when you swore to yourself to never, ever let your work come between you and Rafayel again.

To the parking garage, to your level, to your bike. You sat on it, had the keys in the ignition before you remembered to pause. You typed faster than you ever had before.

5:03pm me: rafa, im coming to you, be home soon love

~❊~

Having broken about a hundred traffic laws, you parked your bike outside of Rafayel's studio and ran inside, for once relieved about his terrible habit of leaving the front door unlocked.

Heavenly aromas—belonging to your favorite dish—wafted from the kitchen. You hurried toward it.

With his back to you, standing at the stove, was your lovely, distressed boyfriend. His hair looked a mess, like it always did when he'd decided to take a nap and rolled out of bed last minute.

You must have made some sound as you made your way across the kitchen, because he turned before you even reached him. He smiled, relief crashing over his features before he could hide it. But you still saw his red, red eyes and knew it had been a very hard day indeed.

"Hey, cutie!" he said, clearing his throat, his voice a little thick. "Long time no see— Oomph!"

Your hug knocked the wind—and the spoon he was holding—right out of him. You buried your face in his chest as the spoon clattered to the floor, the only sound in the whole house.

Rafayel was frozen as you clung to him, his arms hovering above you. You squeezed him tighter.

"I love you, Rafa," you said. "I'm so sorry, love, I didn't mean not to respond all day. There was an emergency in Bloomshore, they sent me and a whole squad to take care of it. We were there all day, bubba, and I forgot my phone at the Association." You pulled back enough to see his face, reaching up to cup his cheek. You felt like you might cry at the look in his eyes. "I wasn't ignoring you, love. I didn't know you needed me so much today."

Slowly, Rafayel began to relax. His arms wrapped around you and he pulled you back to his chest. "It's fine," he said, forcing his voice back into an airy octave. "I just missed you is all."

...please don't leave me, he'd said. And the way his eyes were shining, the way he couldn't look at you for too long, like he was afraid he'd cry if he did... There was nothing "just" about the way he'd been feeling all day.

But you sensed that if you pushed him, he'd shut down. He'd been vulnerable all day, and he was not in the mood to continue to be so now. So you let it go.

"I missed you, too," you murmured, pulling him into a kiss. He hummed, lingering against your mouth.

He pulled you flush against his body, taking another, deeper kiss. In moments, he had you cradled in his arms—reminding you that you'd never felt safer anywhere else.

Rafayel let out a long breath, which was shaky instead of steady. You chose to not mention it, or the fact that he squeezed you tightly and a moment later his body was trembling. Still, you let him decide when the hug was over, even as food bubbled on the stove behind you and the air in your lungs thinned and the grip he had on you nearly cracked your ribs.

When he did let go, you smiled at him. You kissed his cheek, then nuzzled into him with your nose. He gave you a slight giggle. "Thank you, Rafa," you murmured. "Needed that after today."

"Mmm, me too," he whispered. He cleared his throat again and stepped back. He picked up the spoon, tossed it into the sink, and checked the food with a new one. "How was the mission? Are you sore?"

"Very," you admitted. "I don't think I've ever been this busy at work before. I feel like I could sleep for a week."

"I would've helped, you know," he said, trying to tease, but there was an edge to his voice, the one that he got every so often at seemingly random moments. "You only needed to call me."

You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his back. "I would've, if I'd remembered to grab my phone before Jenna rushed the whole team to Bloomshore."

He only hummed softly in response and you felt a knife twist in your gut. You hated seeing your fishie like this—inanimate, distant, upset but unwilling to talk.

You kissed his shoulder once, twice. "I'm gonna go change into something more comfortable before dinner, m'kay? I'll be right back." You got on your tiptoes, kissed the nape of his neck, and slipped away from his side.

On your way to the bedroom, you glanced into Rafayel's studio. It was messier than it was when you'd left, pages of sketches thrown about, a bucket of brushes that had been sitting on the floor kicked over. Globs of mostly dried paint covered the table and the floor. Remnants of his burst of inspiration earlier or his worried pacing, you couldn't tell.

Once you reached the bedroom, you went straight to Rafayel's clothes instead of your section in his closet, grabbing his warm brown sweatshirt that was way too large for you but comforted you all the same. You toed off your boots, pulled on your comfiest pair of pants, and slipped off your shirt and bra, pulling his sweatshirt over your head.

You went to the edge of the bed, shoving your feet into your slippers. An object beneath your foot as you stepped made you yelp. You paused, kicked off the slipper, and held it upside down.

A pearl fell out and rolled on the floor.

You picked it up. It was small and perfectly round, pale lavender in color, shining in the late evening sun streaming in through the window.

Lavender. Your heart sunk.

In the time you'd known Rafayel, you'd seen him cry pearls only a handful of times. More often than not, you saw the aftermath of the little pearls scattered throughout his house. You had come to understand that each emotion colored his tears differently.

The first time you'd kissed him, he'd let a few tears slip, and they'd turned into champagne colored pearls, soft gold in the light. "Tears of joy," he'd assured you, head resting on your shoulder, voice a little shaky from crying.

Black pearls, you knew, came from frustration. His studio saw most of those, shed when he couldn't find the right color or a painting wasn't working out the way he wanted it to or he was completely out of inspiration.

And on more than one occasion, the bed had been covered in his pearls. When he woke up from the nightmares that plagued him more often than he cared to admit, he'd cried until the sheets were covered in pure white pearls of grief and shock—the kind of tears only haunting memories pulled from him.

The bed—and your shoulder—were also the recipients of pearls with a blue sheen, when Rafayel would bury his head in your neck and cry with relief as he orgasmed. Cheeky thing that he was, he'd saved most of these and given you a few in the form of earrings and a necklace.

But lavender... These were often mixed in with the white pearls he cried after a nightmare. They were what spilled from his eyes when he hugged you tight and begged "Beloved, don't leave me" in a voice so small that it brought tears to your own eyes.

You mussed the sheets of the bed and more lavender pearls dropped to the floor and rolled. Your heart squeezed at the quantity of pearls in amongst the sheets. These were tears of heartbreak. Loss. Despair. Love lost and love unrequited. He hadn't told you himself; you'd had to ask Talia, concerned when he wouldn't explain what had him crying so much in the early months of your relationship.

You saw and heard nothing, but you knew the moment Rafayel was in the doorway, perhaps summoned by your yelp—or the realization of what you'd stumbled upon. You turned, the lavender pearl still in your palm.

One hand on the doorframe, he hesitated where he stood, defeat on his face. His eyes were shining again, more tears building on his waterline. His lower lip trembled and he was trying to avoid your gaze, his head cast downward.

"Rafa," you murmured. His shoulders slumped forward. "Come here."

He trudged toward you and let you coax him into sitting on the bed. You pulled him into your arms, setting down the pearl. You threaded your fingers through his hair and kissed the crown of his head, trying to think of what to say—to apologize, to comfort him. All these tears, all those messages...

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

You frowned. "What are you sorry for, bubba? You didn't do anything wrong." You rubbed his arm soothingly. "I'm the one who should be sorry. And I am, Rafa. I'm so, so sorry that I didn't text you back. I'm so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant to."

Rafayel sniffled and finally met your gaze. "I...I thought you were ignoring me. Thought maybe I was too much and you'd had enough and..." He squeezed his eyes shut. A tear fell and became a pearl the instant it no longer clung to his skin. You caught it in your hand; it was pale pink, one you'd never seen before. "And that you were gonna leave me."

"Oh, Rafa," you breathed. Before you could reassure him, he was talking over you again, his head planted firmly against your shoulder.

"I got worried. That I was being too much, texting you too much. So I tried to leave you alone, tried to be less. But that made the feeling worse, so I just kept digging that hole," he whispered.

"Bubba," you said, slipping a finger under his chin to lift his head. "You weren't digging a hole. I love getting your messages, seeing how you're doing throughout the day. If I had seen them, I would have responded to each and every one." You kissed his forehead. "But the mission—"

His lower lip was trembling again. "Why didn't you tell me about it?" he whispered.

"It was an emergency," you said. "I tried to text you before I left, to tell you I was at work, but then Jenna called me over and I didn't grab my phone so I didn't see that the text didn't send."

His mouth formed a small O. "That's why you were typing and then you disappeared."

You nodded. "I love you, Rafayel. I love you so, so much. You are never too much for me. I promise you, I'm not going to leave you." You cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone gently. You offered him a small smile. "I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry you felt alone and ignored all day. I'm sorry that I didn't—couldn't—reassure you and that I have done anything, anything at all, to make you feel like I'm going to leave you. I'm not. Ever. You're stuck with me, Rafa."

Rafayel stared at you for a long moment, then nuzzled into your hand. The action was familiar reconciliation, easing the worry in your heart that maybe he wouldn't forgive you for hurting him so deeply.

"I love you, too," he whispered. He adjusted his head, claiming your lips with the fervor of a man who'd needed it all day. He swallowed your sound of surprise.

Just when you thought he was going to take it further, he pulled away, his breaths uneven. He slumped against you.

"I have a headache," he mumbled.

You hummed, scratching his scalp to soothe him. "I'm not surprised. How long did you cry for?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. An hour? Two?"

"Aw, Rafa," I cooed, squeezing him tight. I coaxed him into laying down and pulled him into my chest. "Rest a minute, okay? I'm not going anywhere, love, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure you know that."

He nestled into you, brow pinched in thought. He closed his eyes. "Will you take the day off tomorrow? And stay with me?"

You kissed the top of his head. "I'll text Jenna as soon as we go back to the kitchen."

"And you'll stay the night?"

You smiled against his hair. "Of course."

"And take a bath with me later?"

"Uh huh. I'll wash your hair for you, too."

He nestled into you. "Thank you."

You rubbed his back. "I'll talk to Jenna about syncing my Hunter's Watch to my phone," you murmured. "See if I can get all my messages to come through, not just work related ones, so I can at least tell you when I'm on a mission."

Rafayel hummed contentedly; you felt it in your ribcage with the way his head rested above your heart. "I'd like that." He flicked his eyes up to you. "Thank you, beloved."

You kissed him softly, in that way that made his eyelashes flutter prettily. You smiled, brushing his hair out of his eyes to see him better.

You held up the pink pearl that you'd wiped away from his face earlier. "I've never seen this color before," you said. "What is it?"

He shrugged. "It's...harder to explain than the others," he said. "It's like...guilt. Shame. But not really." Sensing your question, he added, "I guess this time I felt...guilty about not telling you when you got home that I was still upset."

"It's okay, Rafa, you just needed time," you murmured. You kissed his temple. "I will give you all the time you need, now and always."

Rafayel snuggled into you. "I have one more request," he said, hiding his face. But you could see his ears burning red. "Ebb Day is coming up. Can...can you stay with me through it? I know last time I said I didn't want you to be there so I wouldn't do anything we'd regret, but... I want you there this time. It was too painful by myself."

"Of course I'll stay," you said. "And maybe I'll get you to cry more of those pretty blue tears you like to see me wear so much."

He grinned, finally peeking up at you. "I'll make you an anklet this time, so I can see it when I put your legs over my shoulders."

"Rafayel!"

The two of you giggled, cuddling close in bed, until Rafayel's stomach let out a rather loud growl. Both of you paused and you raised an eyebrow at him.

"Come on, let's go eat that dinner you prepared for us," you said, sitting up and pulling him to his feet, "and I'll text Jenna about tomorrow."

You made your way to the kitchen. Rafayel plated while you typed, and you showed him the sent text as you sat down to eat. A few moments later, your phone dinged.

7:09pm captain j: Take all the time you need. You deserve a break after today's work anyway. We'll see you next week.

"Next week?" Rafayel murmured.

Your watch vibrated as your schedule updated: the rest of your week completely cleared of missions and office work.

You grinned at him. "Well, looks like you don't just have me to yourself tomorrow, but the rest of the week."

His face brightened immediately. "And you'll stay? Here, with me? The whole time?"

You kissed his cheek. "The whole time. I'll have to go home to pack a bag of the essentials for the rest of the week, but—"

"I'll go with you!"

You giggled and nuzzled into him, sliding your chair even closer to his. "I'm all yours, Rafayel. For as long as you'll have me."

"Always," he said without hesitation. "Always and forever."

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

taglist: @yournextdoorhousewitch 

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ☃️ soft patience / zayne x reader

synopsis; zayne's the bestest boyfriend in the world when you're going through cramps — even though some misunderstanding led some tears to shed.

🍎 pomme's notes - psst! my asks are open! taking some quick requests :D i'm in a writing mood!!!!

⋆ 500 words / fluff / reader is afab (mentions of periods!) / 2nd person / super self-indulgent :3c

i think zayne would be so very patient during your periods. of course, there's the whole doctor thing, and while he is your physician, he is first and foremost your boyfriend.

that man's got the patience of a saint. if you ever blow up on him because of the cramps and the nagging, he stays quiet and steps out, and you're just left wondering if that was his last straw (spoiler alert — never. you're as stuck with him as he is with you).

you're left stunned. how could he just walk away like that? you're just having a hard time. you didn't mean to drive him away — you care about him so deeply, but god, does your head hurt, and your stomach has been aching so so badly.

when the initial shock dissipates, and you start feeling the tears welling in your eyes, the door to your shared apartment opens again, and zayne walks in with a bag of takeout from your favorite place and chocolates.

when he catches a glimpse of your teary eyes, his eyes widen in return, and he puts down the bags to focus on you, worried if your cramps were more painful than usual.

"are you okay love?", he says softer than usual, as if to not disturb you.

"i- i thought you had-" you stammer in between deep breaths, trying hard not to start crying, "i thought you'd had enough, zayne."

he tries to speak but you interrupt him again;

"i know i'm a pain right now but i can't help it, i'm — i didn't mean to be rude to you" a sob softly escapes you, "i know you care about me, but everything is just too much all at once now but please, don't leave me zayne, i'm so sorry."

his hands cup your face delicately slightly shifting your head up to see your face. his thumbs wipe away the tears now freefalling from your eyes, and he gives you an understanding smile.

"why would i leave you?", he hums a bit before speaking again, "i thought i'd let you breathe a bit and get some food for you. i know i was being overbearing, and forgive me for it, my love."

shaking your head, you profusely apologize in return and he laughs a bit.

"we look silly apologizing to each other this hard, don't we?" and that finally brings a smile to your face, managing to pull a breathy laugh out of you.

and in hindsight, maybe thinking that zayne;

the man who hides you away from jumpscares in the horror movies you insist on watching,

the man who texts you daily, checking if you ate,

the man who drops by your house just to give you a hug when you've had a hard day,

the man who would do anything to see you smile,

would leave you after an emotional outburst in one of your most vulnerable moments was a bit dramatic.

yeah. zayne would love you through it all. he's got the patience of a saint, doesn't he?

[freelancelobotomy]

౨ৎ˚₊𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 [𝐒.𝐑]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

𐙚⋆.˚Summary: Spencer is smitten for the T.A. at Penelope’s art class. And he just might have a chance with her.  ⋆˙⟡♡WC: 2.3k

⊹܀˙CW: Suggestive language, Derek is half neked (for plot reasons of course), Spencer wants y/n so baddddd, Reader is described to have hips (the pic is to show the maxi skirt that I imagined), Reader has long hair.

♪‧₊˚A/N: hiiiiii I love this song + it came on my shuffle yesterday and it gave me an idea so yk I had to get to WORK. I hope u like. If this gets over 100 notes ill write Gravity pt 3. Okay bye bye

Spencer had agreed to take both Derek and Penelope to Penelope’s art class that night since her car wouldn’t start and Derek’s had gotten towed for being parked on the street too long while they were in Florida for a case. Derek wasn’t taking the class with Penelope—he was the model for it.

“It’s a life drawing class,” she had explained, giddily. “They saw Derek pick me up last week and the professor asked him to model for us today. And to bring baby oil.”

The art room was bright and beautifully decorated, with an abundance of ferns and vines and all sorts of greenery adorned onto the walls.

The professor had smiled as the three of them approached the stool that Derek was supposed to perch on during class.

“Penelope! Derek! Happy that you could make it. You can change in the supply closet on the left,” Professor Andi had gasped. “Did you bring some oil? I have linseed oil from my oil painting class earlier today that you can use if you didn’t.”

“I got some, don’t worry, Doc,” Derek had said with a wink before making his way to the supply closet and shutting the door behind him.

“Who is this? Are you here for the class?” Professor Andi had beamed.

“Oh… no. I’m Spencer. I was just dropping off—”

You had walked into the room, your hips swishing in your maxi skirt as you balanced a tower of sketchbooks in your arms.

“Y/N! Hi!” Penelope had smiled. “Do you need help?”

Spencer’s legs had started moving on their own toward you, taking four of the sketchbooks from your stack.

You had smiled politely at the tall man. “Thank you.” The both of you placed the sketchbooks on the table..

“You’re welcome,” he said, his gaze lingering on your face. Beautiful, he had thought, a warmth spreading through him. The first thing he had truly noticed were your lips—the way they curved into a smile as you spoke, their delicate movements as you formed each word. You wrapped Penelope in a hug.

“Oh,” you sighed, a faint blush gracing your cheeks. “How rude of me. I’m Y/N. Professor Andi’s TA. You must be Derek,” you had said, offering your hand.

Spencer, despite a fleeting thought about germs, had found himself wanting to hold it. Your touch was light, and your nails were a pretty pale pink. What would it feel like to have those hands explore…?

Spencer had cleared his throat, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I’m not Derek. I’m, uh… Doctor Spencer Reid—well, just Spencer. Please.” He had fumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to reach for you again. “I’m Penelope and Derek’s ride.”

“My mistake, Spencer,” you had said, your eyes meeting his with a playful tilt of your head. “Will you be joining us today?”

Did you know the effect you had? It had felt almost cruel. He glanced at Penelope, who was practically begging with her eyes.

A subtle smile had played on his lips. “Looks like I will be,” he nodded, his attention already drawn back to you.

“Great! Come with me. Let’s get you a sketchbook,” you grinned, gesturing for him to follow, and he had found himself eagerly complying.

Your backside was just as pretty as your face. He watched you switch on the light in the supply room, the movement causing a soft sway of your hips that he couldn’t tear his gaze from.

You crouched down to the floor, rummaging through bins of pencils. The way your brow had furrowed in concentration was endearing.

“Have you ever taken art class before? Or just been creating independently?” you asked him, your voice a melodic murmur that had sent a shiver down his spine. Gravity had pulled your hair toward your face, showcasing the delicate slope of your neck—a sight that made his breath catch. He wanted to reach out, to feel the softness of those strands against his fingers.

“Neither. This is all sort of new to me,” he admitted, his chuckle betraying a hint of nervousness—a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. Especially not to someone who already held his attention so tightly.

“I see,” you said, picking up a large sketchbook and a brand new case of pencils and blending stubs. “Well, what do you like to do in your free time?” Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment, his stomach fluttering.

He had taken the supplies from you, his fingers brushing against yours—a brief touch that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He wished the exchange could have lasted longer, wanted to linger in that delicate contact. He spent too long just looking at you, memorizing the curve of your smile, the way your eyes sparkled. Words, he had reminded himself. He needed to say something meaningful, something that would capture your attention as completely as you had captured his.

“I like reading,” he managed, his voice slightly rougher than intended.

You waltzed past him to re-enter the art room, your perfume drifting toward his senses. Hmm… Fresh. Pear maybe? The scent was intoxicating—a promise of sweetness that he desperately wanted to explore. He would’ve followed that fragrance anywhere, even into the deepest ocean.

“Me too. Um… what’s your favorite book?” you asked.

He paused. You wanted to talk to him. The realization sent a thrill through him. What timeline was he in right now? This had felt like a dream.

“I enjoy everything that I read,” he replied. He had known it was a terrible answer, a deflection, but his mind was still reeling from your nearness.

“Okay, but there’s got to be a standout,” you chuckled, raising a brow. Cute. The simple gesture had made him swallow hard.

“Well, recently I’ve been re-reading Orwellian literature, so something of that nature. As of the moment I’ve been particularly enjoying 1984.” He wanted to impress you with his intellect, hoping to find some common ground, some way to bridge the distance between you.

“Ooh,” you sighed, “That’s a good one. Mine right now is probably…” You trailed off, thinking as you opened a fresh kneaded eraser for him. “Lord of the Flies,” you had decided. “Works that ask the question if evil is ingrained into our morality are some of my favorites. I find them the most stimulating,” you said, your eyes holding a captivating intensity.

It hadn’t been suggestive in the slightest the way you had said it, yet it had stirred something within him—a deep need to know you. To know where you came from and the places you'd been. He had managed a curt nod, his usual eloquence deserting him as he had found a seat next to Penelope, his gaze still drawn to your every movement.

After Professor Andi gave a quick review (or introduction, for Spencer) of value and shape, Derek had stepped out of the supply closet, glistening like a glazed donut. The women in the class had turned to each other, giddy and excited. He had taken his place on the stool in the middle of the circle of chairs. Derek smiled at Spencer and Penelope before striking a pose.

Spencer didn’t give a shit, though. He had been staring at you as you peeled a clementine at your desk, the delicate way your fingers manipulated the fruit utterly mesmerizing. You popped a slice into your mouth before wiping the residue from your hands and taking your sketchbook in hand. He imagined the sweetness lingering on your lips—a dangerous thought that made his chest ache. He’s never wanted someone so badly before.

Professor Andi had put on her Bossa Nova playlist. How fitting. Your hoop earrings, the faint flush on your cheeks—you had looked like how Bossa Nova sounded: pleasant and dreamy, an ethereal vision that he had felt he could only admire from afar.

You had begun sketching furiously, a small pout forming on your lips in concentration, your brow furrowed. The intensity of your focus had been incredibly alluring. He had found himself wanting to be the subject of that fierce gaze, to have you study him with such intent. He envied the loose leaf paper of your sketchbook and your 6B pencil that had the privilege of feeling your touch uninterrupted.

“Why haven’t you started yet?” Penelope whispered—not so subtly. It snapped Spencer from his haze, the spell you had cast momentarily broken.

“Huh—what?”

“Your page. It’s empty. Why?”

“Just thinking of how to approach this, is all,” he lied, his mind still replaying the way your hair had fallen across your neck. Penelope had narrowed her eyes but had chosen to let it go.

He had desperately wanted to impress you, to create something worthy of your attention. The thought of your opinion consumed him.

Spencer had somehow managed to find the control to start drawing a half-naked, oiled-up Derek, but his values had gotten a little muddy. He had needed to block out the highlights like Professor Andi had said in her brief lecture. But his kneaded eraser was stiff and wouldn’t warm up in his hands, no matter how long he had pressed it between his palms.

“Do you need help?” 

“Uh, yeah, my eraser won’t soften.”

“Y/N,” Penelope said, calling you over with a smile. You peered up from your sketchbook and smiled as you got up to approach her.

“How can I help?” you asked, bending over slightly with your palms on your thighs to be within earshot of Penelope.

“Spence needs help getting his kneaded eraser to knead,” she whispered, biting back a smile.

“No problem,” you smiled, dragging a stool next to him and sitting down. You had leaned in close to get a glance at the eraser. Pears, he had thought.

“Is it hard?” you asked. Ironic, he had thought.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how to.”

“You’re totally fine. It happens to me all the time. Here. I’ll help,” you had said, taking his hands into yours. “See this part of your thumb?”

Your long, delicate fingers had softly rubbed the joint below the pad of his thumb. Spencer had nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

“You’re going to press it against this joint,” you had said, your fingertips now tracing the second joint of his index finger. “And rub the eraser between your fingers to warm it up.” You had placed the square, unkneaded eraser in the described position and guided Spencer’s hands to repeat that motion over and over until his fingerprint had appeared in the softened eraser. Spencer had hoped you wouldn’t notice how badly his hands were shaking as you held them.

“Okay, good job,” you had said, a soft warmth in your voice. Jesus. “Now stretch it with two hands like putty, then roll it into a ball.”

Your molasses gaze had flickered over his fingers, briefly meeting his. He had your complete attention in that moment and he literally had no idea what to do with himself. He had rolled the now-soft eraser into a ball.

“Perfect. Now you can use it.” You smiled at him—a genuine, captivating smile that had sent a jolt through him—before moving your stool away.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a little rough. You nodded politely before returning to your sketchbook.

Spencer had made the decision that he was going to try his absolute hardest to impress you. He had known it was probably stupid, but it hadn’t seemed impossible, and he had thought he had a good shot at making it work.

By the end of the class, everyone had given their sketches to Derek for him to keep. Spencer had handed his to Derek. Derek’s brows had risen.

“You did this?”

“Yeah,” Spencer croaked dryly, his mind elsewhere. He had been watching you through the mirror near the door. You had ripped out two pages and then gotten up from your seat.

“It looks good, actually. Nice work, pretty boy,” Derek had said, clapping him hard on the shoulder.

“Hi Derek, nice to meet you,” you said nicely, smiling. You had handed him your portrait, which—of course—had put everyone else’s to shame, Spencer’s included. You made polite small talk with Penelope until they had eventually needed to leave.

Spencer lingered in the doorway. Ask for her number. Stop being awkward and aloof for five seconds of your life and ask her. But what if you never called him? Should he ask you to coffee instead? Or lunch? You seemed like a brunch type of girl—

“Doctor,” you whispered.

Spencer had turned around, his heart leaping. “I have something for you,” you had said, walking toward him.

“For me?” he asked, a hopeful tremor in his voice.

You handed him something—it was a portrait. Of him.

“I did it after I finished Derek’s.”

It was beautiful. He looked beautiful. The delicate lines of the shadows sketched by your hands, the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips… it had been him, and it had been wonderful. And it had been by you. You had observed his face and felt the need to put pencil to paper.

“Would you like, um—Y/N… Do you want to get coffee with me sometime next week?” he stammered, the question tumbling out in a rush. A slow, knowing smile had crept onto your lips, and you had nodded. Unbelievable.

“Yeah, I’d love to, Spencer,” you chuckled breathily, the sound like a melody to his ears.

“Really? Could I… get your number?” he had asked, his gaze fixed on yours.

“Flip it over,” you said, brushing past him, your scent lingering in the air again.

He had followed your directions. Your number had been scribbled on the back of the portrait. “Bye, Spencer.”

He watched you get into your car as Penelope and Derek laughed about something.

Your car had pulled out of the driveway, and you had honked the horn.

Penelope had smirked at Spencer. “Someone made a friend.”

“I saw her helping you ‘knead your eraser.’ I can tell she likes you.”

“You think?” Spencer had asked, biting back a grin.

He sure had hoped so—because he was already obsessed with you.

borders from: @muffiinss

I love jeff buckley

Tags:

[cameronsbabydoll]

You are a writing genius omg I'm obsessed!!!

What about ex husband baby trapping rafe showing up unwanted to every OB appointment? Then come time for delivery she doesn't want him there but uh...that isn't happening, it's his kid after all and he's the one who put it there so he's gonna be there...

Off to stalk your master list ily

ex!husband!rafe showing up to all of your doctor appointments after he baby trapped you… again

warnings: medical talk about pregnancy & rafe not following your wishes of privacy / boundaries

wc: 423 — a/n: poor reader tho

you should’ve known rafe wasn’t gonna let you do this peacefully.

should’ve known the second those two pink lines showed up on that little plastic stick, it was never gonna just be your pregnancy.

because it’s rafe cameron’s baby. and rafe cameron doesn’t share well.

especially not with doctors. or waiting rooms. or boundaries.

every single appointment? he shows up.

uninvited.

unbothered.

parking that stupid expensive truck in the tiny clinic lot like he’s got vip parking. strolling in like he owns the place, sunglasses hanging off his shirt, like it’s just another business meeting he’s running late for.

"relax," he always mutters when you hiss at him, glaring across the waiting room. "kid my kid in there, isn’t it?"

he says it so casually. like it excuses everything.

the receptionist knows him now. nurses too. it’s embarrassing.

and the worst part? he loves that it pisses you off.

he loves watching you huff in your little maternity dress, arms crossed over your swollen belly, cheeks burning while he lounges in the corner chair like the cocky menace he is.

"you wanna act like i’m some deadbeat," he murmurs one day, low enough only you can hear, "but you should’ve thought about that before lettin' me put a baby in you, not exactly the pull-out type, sweetheart."

and come delivery day?

you told the nurses.

you told your mom.

you told everyone.

"i don’t want rafe in the room."

but when those contractions hit — when they wheel you into the hospital, all nerves and tears and panic — guess who’s already sweet-talking the front desk, bribing nurses with that smug, pretty smile and a wink?

guess who refuses to sit in the waiting room like some guy off the street?

"oh, c’mon," he scoffs to the nurse, like he’s offended. "that my kid she’s about to push out. you really think i’m sittin’ out here like some weekend dad?"

and somehow — somehow — by the time you’re crying through a contraction and squeezing the life out of the bedrail… he’s there.

leaning against the wall. arms crossed. that same stupid, infuriating glint in his eye like this is exactly how it was always gonna go.

right where he belongs.

"you didn’t really think i was gonna miss this, did you?" he murmurs, low and raspy, eyes dark as they flick down to your belly.

his.

all of it.

all of you.

"you let me put a baby in you, mama," he says softly, cocky as hell. "'course i’m gonna watch you give me my kid."

[thehothcast]

inconclusive

pairing: gregory house x reader

synopsis: have you ever gone to your birthday dinner with your co-worker as your date to please your parents? was it simple? no. right... right...

word count: almost 9k (wowzers)

warnings: none (?)

message from the authors: blame the cane.

--

You’ve always had a unique relationship with Gregory House. It wasn’t typical, it wasn’t even close to normal but it was the kind of bond that made sense in its own way. You had known each other for years, both being doctors at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. You specialised in cardiology and cardiac surgery, while House was the diagnostic genius with a knack for solving the hardest medical cases.

You were head of cardiology, highly respected, and often relied upon for the toughest cases. But your work in diagnostic medicine had always intrigued you, and House always respected that, even if he’d never admit it.

Despite his abrasive exterior, you understood him better than most. You had the ability to see past the sarcasm and the often scathing remarks, to the person who was lonely and hurting. Maybe that’s why, after all these years, the two of you had become closer than you would both care to admit.

It was late at night. You sat in your office, feet up on the desk, fingers resting over your eyes. The day had been exhausting. Your most recent patient had been on the table for eight hours while you performed a heart transplant after they were diagnosed with end-stage heart failure. The surgery was successful, and now you were writing up the paperwork when your phone rang.

You swivelled in your chair and picked up the receiver.

“Cardiology department, Head of Cardiology speaking.” You shut your eyes for a brief moment.

“Hi, darling! It’s me and your father.” A familiar voice chimed.

Crap. You’d been at the hospital so long you’d forgotten your parents wanted to catch up. And you knew exactly what they would ask about.

“Are you at home, sweetheart?” your mother asked.

“I’m still at the hospital, Mum. Had a long surgery today, lots of paperwork,” you replied flatly.

“Successful?” your father asked in the background.

“Yes. Heart transplant,” you said, and immediately heard, “That’s my girl!”

Before you could go into detail about the case, your mother spoke up again.

“So… have you been getting out much? Socialising? Dating? We know you’re very focused on work, but sweetie, we just worry you don’t have balance.”

And just at that moment, someone burst through your office door.

You didn’t bother looking up. The forced entry with no knocking, the deliberate tap of his cane on the floor because you hadn’t acknowledged him. It could only be Dr Gregory House.

He stood at the door, posture slightly off-kilter, leaning more on his left leg as he gripped his worn-looking cane. His frame was tall and lean, but there was an underlying tension in the way he held himself, like someone perpetually bracing for pain but refusing to show it. His piercing blue eyes studied you with a mix of sharp intellect and barely concealed amusement, as if he’d already picked apart everything about you within seconds.

His face was rugged, lined with exhaustion and years of cynical observation, yet there was an undeniable charisma about him, even when his expression settled into its usual mask of detached boredom. His scruff, more neglect than style, added to the air of someone who didn’t care much for appearances, and his unkempt hair only reinforced that. His clothes were casual yet oddly distinctive: a creased button-down over a graphic tee, paired with jeans that had seen better days.

He shifted slightly, rolling his cane between his fingers, restless but calculated. There was something almost predatory in the way he watched people, like he was waiting for them to say something stupid just so he could tear them apart for sport. But beneath the sarcasm and the gruff exterior, there was something else, something guarded. And you just weren’t quite sure what it was yet.

Lifting a finger, you silently mouthed, “Just one sec.”

House gave a polite nod and stayed quiet.

“Mum, Dad, you don’t need to worry so much about my personal life. It’s hard to keep relationships when I work this much,” you sighed, rubbing your temple.

Your mother wouldn’t drop it. She kept pressing you, insisting that you needed to get out there more. You glanced up in frustration, only to see House grinning to himself before turning on his heel and walking out.

You frowned but continued talking.

Until suddenly, the office door swung open again.

“Hey, honey. Are you ready to go home yet?” House called loudly.

Your head snapped up. Eyes wide.

What. The. Hell.

“Who was that? Is that who I think it is? Have you been dating someone? What is he like? What’s his name?… What does he look like?” your mother squealed, unleashing a barrage of questions.

You froze, completely thrown off. Your gaze flicked to House, who simply smirked. Damn that bastard.

“What are you doing?” you mouthed angrily.

House’s smirk only deepened.

You swallowed hard. “Uh… yeah, I’ve been seeing someone.”

Silence. Then:

“So? Who’s the lucky man? You have to give us something!” your mother cheered. “Did you hear that, hun? She’s seeing someone!” she gushed to your father.

You exhaled sharply. “Mum, as much as I’d love to stay and chat while you pry into my social life, I have to get home.”

“Just one thing about him. Anything.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Fine. He’s from work. Head of Diagnostic Medicine.”

A pause.

“So he’s smart… is he attractive?”

You looked up. House looked smug as hell. He raised his eyebrows, feigning curiosity. “Answer the question,” he mouthed.

You clenched your jaw. You were going to kill him.

“You had your one question, Mum. Now I really have to go. I’ll call you both tomorrow. Love you.”

And just like that, the nightmare ended.

As soon as you slammed the phone down, you turned to House, who was still standing there, looking far too pleased with himself.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed, standing up from your chair.

House shrugged, completely unfazed. “What? I was just being supportive. I figured you needed an excuse to get off the phone.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t have to pretend to be dating me, House.”

He took a lazy step closer, tilting his head. “I didn’t. You did that all on your own.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Damn it.

House smirked. “Maybe you secretly wanted it. Maybe you like the idea.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Maybe I like the idea of strangling you.”

He let out a low chuckle, tapping his cane against the floor as he leaned in slightly. “That’s the spirit.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Just… don’t do that again. I try to separate my personal and work life for a reason.”

House gave an exaggerated, innocent look. “Don’t do what? Be charming? Impossible.”

You glared. He grinned.

And then, as he turned toward the door, he called over his shoulder:

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

With that, he walked out, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, and completely unsure how to feel.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning you walked into the diagnostic room, still feeling the sting of the phone call with your mum. It was hard to shake off her constant questioning, but House didn’t care about your personal life, and that was one thing you appreciated. Of course, he had his own way of making everything about him.

The team was already gathered around, and House was lounging in his chair, tapping his cane against the floor rhythmically. His eyes flicked up as you entered, a hint of amusement flickering across his face.

“Glad you could join us,” House said, barely looking up from the case file in his hand. “We’ve got a hard one. And just in time for your daily dose of frustration.”

You barely managed to keep your annoyance in check. “What’s the case?” you asked, sitting down, eager to get your mind off the family drama.

House didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slid the patient file over to you, his fingers grazing the edge of the paper, slow and deliberate. “37-year-old woman with progressive muscle weakness, joint pain, shortness of breath, and mildly elevated creatine kinase levels. Nothing in her medical history points to anything obvious.”

You flicked through the file, barely listening to the team chatter. Everything about this case screamed complexity. “No autoimmune markers. Lung function’s shot, but imaging’s clear,” you muttered to yourself.

“Not bad for a first impression,” House said, leaning back in his chair, “But we both know you’ve got better than that.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and felt a flicker of irritation. “I’m not here for a compliment, House.”

“Shame. You’re missing out.” He smirked, clearly enjoying the game.

You exhaled, narrowing your eyes. You were determined to solve this case without letting him rattle you. “Her symptoms suggest a neuromuscular disorder, but the lack of sensory loss or atrophy doesn’t fit the typical profile.”

House raised an eyebrow, amused. “Go on. Keep thinking.”

You shifted your focus, your mind working through the possibilities. “The joint pain doesn’t fit with any classic rheumatologic disease either. No rash, no positive markers for lupus or RA.”

He leaned forward slightly, tapping his cane on the floor. “This is where you’re starting to bore me. What’s next?”

You barely suppressed the urge to snap at him. But you didn’t give in, instead letting your mind wander to a more unusual possibility. “What about restrictive cardiomyopathy?” you suggested, your voice steady. “It would explain the progressive muscle weakness, the lung involvement, and the elevated creatine kinase. This could be a heart condition mimicking a neuromuscular disorder. We’ve seen cases like this before.”

House froze. You could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, his smirk faltering for just a moment before it returned, sharper than ever.

“Restrictive cardiomyopathy?” He repeated, as though he was testing the words. 

You met his gaze without flinching. “Yes. The restrictive nature of the cardiomyopathy could explain the restrictive lung pattern and the muscle weakness. The arrhythmias fit as well. We just need a better look at the heart to confirm it.”

For a brief moment, House didn’t say anything. His eyes were on you, considering, calculating. 

“Alright, I'll bite,” he said, slowly nodding. “If you’re right, we’ll need to run an echocardiogram, MRI, and maybe a biopsy to get confirmation. But I’m not convinced yet.”

You didn’t let the challenge get to you. “Well then, let’s find out if I’m right.”

House raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before the usual smirk returned. His gaze was sharp, assessing. “Well, well, looks like you actually know what you’re talking about,” he remarked, a hint of begrudging respect in his tone.

You met his eyes, the challenge still burning in yours. “I do know my way around a heart, House. You should try not to forget that.”

House leaned back in his chair, tapping his cane thoughtfully. “Fine. We’ll run the tests you suggested, but if you’re wrong, I’m never letting you forget it.”

You smirked, feeling the familiar tension lift. “I’m counting on you to prove me right then.”

He stood up and paced the room with his usual confidence. “Oh, don’t worry. If you’re right, I’ll be the first to say ‘well done’. But I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

The team left the room in order to get the tests ordered. You stood and turned to leave, but as you reached the door, his voice called out after you.

“Don’t get used to being right before you even get confirmation,” he said, the words carrying that signature smirk of his.

You turned, glancing over your shoulder. “Because I’d turn out like you? Yes, that would be a disaster.”

He chuckles before entering his office, you had a fair point. 

The following day, you were back in the diagnostic room with House and the team, the air thick with anticipation. You’d suggested restrictive cardiomyopathy, and now the tests were complete. The moment of truth had arrived.

House sat at the head of the table, his eyes glued to the screen displaying the patient’s latest test results. The rest of the team stood by, waiting for him to dissect the data, but you were too focused on the numbers to care about his usual theatrics.

Chase cleared his throat. “Echocardiogram shows classic signs of restrictive cardiomyopathy: thickened walls, impaired diastolic filling.”

You could feel House’s gaze flicker towards you, but you didn’t look up, keeping your attention on the screen.

“Still not definitive,” House muttered, tapping his cane on the floor. “She could have an arrhythmic heart issue, or maybe it's some weird metabolic disorder-”

“House,” you cut him off, your voice calm but firm. “I’m right. The elevated creatine kinase, the lung involvement, the muscle weakness, all of it points to this. It’s not just the heart’s pumping ability that’s compromised; it’s its ability to relax properly, which is why everything’s cascading.”

House held your gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then looked back at the screen. “Fine. Let’s see what the biopsy shows.”

The room fell silent as they reviewed the biopsy results, and then, almost as if by instinct, House leaned forward, a surprised look creeping into his face. The biopsy had confirmed the diagnosis. The heart muscle had thickened, impairing its ability to expand and contract properly, putting strain on the lungs and muscles, which had been misdiagnosed as a neuromuscular issue.

For the first time in a long while, House was quiet. He didn’t smirk or make a sarcastic comment. He simply stared at the data, processing the outcome.

Then, he looked at you.

“Well,” he said, his voice slower than usual, “I’ll be damned. You were right.”

There was a brief pause before the usual sarcasm returned to his tone. “Don’t get too smug. It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you have all the glory. You were lucky. Not a genius.”

You smiled, feeling the rush of satisfaction but refusing to let it show too much. “I’ll take lucky. But maybe you should stop doubting my expertise.”

He grinned, that familiar spark in his eyes. “If I started trusting you, it’d ruin everything.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a challenge in your gaze. “Well, you might want to consider trusting me a bit more often. It’ll save you from looking like a fool in front of your team.”

He chuckled softly, and for a moment, it almost felt like a quiet truce between you both. But then, as quickly as the moment passed, he was back to his usual self, tapping his cane against the floor.

“Alright, now that we’ve got the answer, let’s get this patient on the right treatment.”

You smiled to yourself, more than a little pleased with your victory. “Understood, Dr House.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been a couple of weeks since the phone incident. You hadn’t brought it up with House again, finding the easiest solution was to ignore him, not letting him get a reaction out of you. 

You had been working together on some tough cases, resulting in long hours and late nights. The most recent case had been particularly difficult. Every idea the group came up with seemed to be disproved, leading to dead ends at every turn. But amidst the frustration, there was a strange, almost addictive energy between you and House. His need to prove you wrong had only fuelled your determination to show him up, and while the others were beginning to crack under the pressure, you and House kept pushing each other. The competitiveness between you both was relentless, but it had started to yield some promising results.

Late one night, after yet another round of tests had come back inconclusive, you and House found yourselves alone in the diagnostic room, surrounded by piles of patient files. The others had left, their exhaustion evident as they filtered out one by one, but neither of you seemed ready to call it a day.

House, as usual, was the first to break the silence. “You still haven’t dropped it, have you?” he asked, his voice low but sharp, as though he were almost daring you to admit what was unspoken.

You didn’t need to ask what he meant. “I haven’t dropped it because there’s nothing to drop. You made your point.” Your voice was steady, but beneath it, you felt the familiar frustration stir again. 

His lips curled into the faintest of smirks, the challenge never far from his gaze. “Are you sure about that? You didn’t seem too comfortable with my intrusion when it happened.”

You sighed, “Well you don’t see me interfering with your personal life, but I don’t see what’s left to discuss. It’s done.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with tension, but beneath it, there was an understanding that, despite the disagreements, the competition had led to something far more productive than either of you had expected.

“And yet here we are,” he muttered, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place, an unusual tone that made you look up from the files you’d been flipping through. “Still working together, still pushing each other.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just professional.”

House grinned, the gleam in his eyes mischievous, but there was something more there, something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Sure, professional. But I’ve got to admit, your way of thinking is almost as irritatingly brilliant as mine.”

You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the proximity of your mutual respect, but the words caught you off guard. You blinked, processing them. “Did you just… compliment me?”

He didn’t respond right away, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he focused on the patient file in front of him. But then, just as you thought he might take his words back, he said, almost casually, “You’re competent. Just like me. We make a pretty good team, don’t you think?”

It was the first time in weeks that he’d said something without the sharp bite of sarcasm, and you almost didn’t know how to respond. The words felt different. 

“Yeah, we do,” you agreed, your voice quieter than usual. You glanced over at him, the line of your jaw softening, just for a moment. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, as you sat in your office, minding your own business and reviewing a new case, the door swung open and closed with a soft click. You didn’t even glance up, assuming it was another of House’s usual interruptions.

“House, I do not have the time nor the patience for your antics today,” you began, not even bothering to hide the irritation in your voice, but when you didn’t hear his typical bold response, you looked up and immediately froze.

It was your parents.

“Surprise!” your mother exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. “We wanted to surprise you for your birthday tomorrow! We’re staying for the weekend!”

Your father smiled warmly, standing beside her with that familiar, proud grin. The sight of them was enough to stop your heart for a moment.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Mum, Dad, what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice betraying your shock.

“We thought we’d fly in for your birthday,” your father said, still beaming. “We haven’t seen you in too long, and we thought we’d make the most of the weekend.”

You tried to steady your breathing, feeling your chest tighten. Of all the days… Of all the moments, this was the last thing you’d expected. The last thing you were prepared for. Your parents here, now, just in time for your birthday.

“Well, we’re staying at a hotel nearby. And we were hoping to catch up with you,” your mother added, her gaze sparkling with excitement. “And meet your doctor of course…”

Your stomach churned. The lie. The little white lie you’d been spinning for months. The lie about the man you had been “casually” dating. They were so sure of it, and you had managed to keep them at bay… until now.

"Yeah, that sounds great! I’ve got some work to finish up, and you’ll probably want to get settled in and have a look around," you said, your voice trailing off as you searched for a way to buy yourself some time. You could feel the panic rising in your chest. "I’ll call you when I’m done, and then I’ll come meet you. The hospital can be a bit overwhelming, and the layout isn’t the easiest to navigate. I’ll show you the way to the exit."

You ushered them down the hallway, your footsteps quick and deliberate as you tried to keep them moving in the right direction. You had to get them out of your office, away from House’s domain, and preferably out of sight before any more awkward questions could surface.

You kept your head down, focused on the path ahead. You’d almost made it to the elevator when your mother’s voice broke the tension with an audible gasp.

"Is that him?"

Your heart stopped. You followed her gaze, and the knot in your stomach tightened when you saw exactly who she was pointing to.

There was no mistaking him. House, as usual, in the middle of an animated conversation... or perhaps more accurately, an argument. You watched him with Wilson, their voices low but clearly heated over some obscure detail of a case. House’s cane tapped rhythmically on the floor, his posture relaxed but somehow still exuding that unmistakable energy that could only belong to him. Even from a distance, you could tell there was a tension between them. 

"Is that who you’ve been seeing?" Your mother’s voice was almost too eager, and you could feel her eyes on you, expecting a response.

You had no idea how to play this. You’d been doing so well at keeping up the lie, but now you were on the verge of blowing it all.

Before you could respond, your mother continued. "I looked him up online, you know. There was a picture of him and everything."

Your stomach churned. The last thing you needed was for her to find out you had been lying all this time. And of course, House just had to pick this moment to stand there in full view, arguing with Wilson like he owned the place.

You quickly composed yourself, forcing a smile, and doing your best to sound casual, despite the rush of nerves. "Yes, that's Dr House," you said, your voice a little too forced. "We work together. He's, um, just... Well, House." You tried to sound nonchalant, but you were painfully aware of the situation growing more precarious by the second.

Your mother’s eyes brightened with realisation, and she grinned. "He seems like quite the character. Not exactly the kind of man I imagined for you, but he certainly looks interesting. A doctor, no less!"

You were about to press the elevator button when your mother, in her usual overenthusiastic way, turned to you with a suggestion that made your stomach drop.

"Sweetheart, tomorrow night, how about you ask Dr House to come along for your birthday dinner?" she asked innocently, "You know, your dad and I would love to meet him. It’ll be nice to see what he’s like up close."

You had absolutely not anticipated this. You thought you could get away with the simple excuse that he was “too busy” to join you, but now your mother was looking at you with that expectant smile. And there was no way you could backtrack now without making things even more awkward.

You cleared your throat, the weight of the situation sinking in. "Mum, I-"

"Oh, please do! It’ll be such a nice surprise. You know how I love making things special," she continued, cutting you off. "We’d love to get to know him more. You’re always so secretive about him. Come on, sweetie, just ask him for us. It’s your birthday."

You blinked rapidly, trying to think of a way out of this without being exposed. But it was no use, she was determined.

With a sigh, you took one more deep breath before turning back towards where House and Wilson were standing. You needed him to play along for a few minutes, just long enough to convince your parents. He wouldn’t make this easy, you knew that, but you couldn’t face the consequences of telling the truth. Not with your parents standing there, looking so expectantly at you.

You approached them, trying to mask the nervous energy bubbling under your skin.

“I’m not dismissing it, Wilson,” House snapped, his cane tapping against the floor impatiently. “But this patient’s symptoms are physical, not mental.”

Wilson’s response was calmer but no less firm. “You’re ignoring the psychological factors. Stress is playing a massive role here, why can’t you just admit that?”

House rolled his eyes. “Because it’s not the issue. We need to find the real cause before this gets worse.”

You cleared your throat, drawing their attention. Both men turned to you, their argument momentarily forgotten.

“Hi, love,” you said loudly, linking your arm through House’s before he could react. “My parents were wondering if you’re coming to my birthday dinner tomorrow night. But of course,” you added with pointed emphasis, “they completely understand if you’re working.”

Wilson looked utterly, completely stunned. And, to your satisfaction, so did House. He stared at you, completely confused. Have you lost your mind? But then, as his gaze flickered to your parents, who were waiting in eager anticipation, something clicked. He realised.

His voice dropped to a low whisper. “It’s your birthday tomorrow? You always swore no one would find out.”

You blinked, taken aback. You had just pretended to be dating him in front of your parents, and that was what he focused on?

“That’s what you got out of this interaction?” you hissed under your breath.

But his shock quickly faded, replaced by that signature smirk. And at full volume, he announced, “Nope, I’m not working tomorrow night. I’m all yours.”

You forced a smile, knowing damn well he was only agreeing to this to wind you up. “Great. I’ll send you the details.”

You turned on your heel, ready to make your escape, but before you could take more than a step, his voice rang out again.

“Wait. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You hesitated, glancing back at him in confusion. He lifted a finger and pointed to his lips.

Your stomach dropped.

There was no way.

You froze for a second, waiting for him to crack a joke, to let you off the hook. But he didn’t break eye contact, his expression expectant, teasing, yet entirely serious.

Your eyes darted to Wilson, searching for reassurance, but he only shrugged, just as baffled as you.

Slowly, hesitantly, you stepped forward and pressed the quickest possible kiss to House’s lips before immediately pulling away.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his smirk only growing as he met your flustered gaze. “I’ll see you later.”

His eyes stayed locked onto yours, smug, challenging, victorious.

You swallowed, and nodded swiftly, your parents looked absolutely thrilled. Wilson, on the other hand, still looked like he’d just witnessed a medical impossibility.

You shot him a quick nod. “Dr Wilson.”

And then, with your heart pounding in your ears, you walked away, your parents none the wiser to the absolute disaster you had just created.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the rest of the day, you avoided House like the plague.

You took the long route around the hospital to dodge his office. You hid away in the clinic, only speaking to his team when absolutely necessary. You volunteered for every test and procedure that required patient interaction, knowing full well House wouldn’t go near them.

It was a solid plan. Until it wasn’t.

Late afternoon rolled around, and you found yourself in the lab, carefully swirling liquid in a test tube, deep in thought. The hospital was quieter now, the rush of the day fading. The rhythmic hum of machines filled the air, drowning out everything else.

Which is why you didn’t hear the door open.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding all day,” a familiar voice drawled.

Your grip tightened on the test tube as you tensed. Slowly, you turned your head to find House leaning against the doorway, his cane resting lazily at his side.

“I haven’t been hiding,” you lied, your voice strained.

He chuckled. “Oh, come on. You’ve known me long enough to realise I am many things, but being oblivious is not one of them.” He limped closer and perched on the stool beside you.

You exhaled through your nose, shifting your focus back to the test, pretending he wasn’t there.

A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again. “You never told them the truth, did you?”

You froze for a fraction of a second, but you didn’t look at him.

House hummed knowingly. “Carried on the little fairy tale, huh?”

You finally turned to face him. “After that phone call, they were happy. They asked fewer questions. I didn’t plan for it to turn into this, but… I just carried it on for a little while. It wasn’t hurting anyone.”

“Well, congratulations,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ve now been officially dragged into this lie.”

You crossed your arms. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who inserted yourself into my business. So really, this is your fault.”

His lips quirked. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll play along with your little charade for the weekend.” He started towards the door but then paused. “But I do expect something in return.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Such as?”

He turned back, leaning on his cane. “You do all my clinic hours next week.”

You huffed, amused. “And how do I know you’ll even be worth the trade?”

House smirked and took a slow step closer, lowering his voice. “I’ll be perfect boyfriend material in front of your parents.” He tilted his head, studying your expression. “Charming. Attentive. Maybe even a little affectionate.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

He extended his hand. “So… Do we have a deal?”

You hesitated for only a second before sighing and clasping his hand in yours. “Deal.”

The smirk he gave in return was practically villainous.

You were definitely going to regret this.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, House stood in his office, absently scribbling possible diagnoses on the whiteboard, only to cross them out one by one. Frustration flickered across his face, whether from the case or his own distractions, he wasn’t sure.

Brucellosis

Cryoglobulinemia

Whipple’s Disease

Adult-Onset Still’s Disease

Hemophagocytic Lymphohistiocytosis

Relapsing Polychondritis

Wilson leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You missed it.”

House didn’t look away. “Oh, great, you’re here to gloat. What did I supposedly miss?”

Wilson stepped closer, picking up the marker and tapping Adult-Onset Still’s Disease. “This.”

House raised an eyebrow. “I considered it.”

“No, you didn’t,” Wilson countered. “You were too fixated on Cryoglobulinemia explaining the kidney involvement, and when the cryocrit came back negative, you jumped ship. You ignored the spiking fevers, arthritis, and rash because they didn’t fit your inflammation theory.”

House’s jaw tightened. “Ferritin levels?”

“Through the roof,” Wilson said. “Like, absurdly high. You saw it and dismissed it as a secondary response. But it’s the key. Ferritin that high with intermittent fevers, sore joints, and a salmon-coloured rash? Classic Still’s.”

House exhaled, dragging a hand down his face before muttering, “Huh.”

Wilson smirked. “Yeah. Huh.”

For a few moments, neither Wilson nor House spoke, both of them fixated on the whiteboard, their eyes not straying for even a second.

"You know, you could've just told me you were going on a date," Wilson teased.

House didn't look up from the whiteboard, "Not a date. A deal. Clinic hours for playing 'boyfriend' in front of her parents. Nothing more."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Right, just a 'deal.' But I think we both know that's not the whole story. You’re not exactly the ‘boyfriend’ type, so what's the real reason you’re going along with this?"

House’s eyes flicked over to Wilson for a brief second, but he quickly averted his gaze back to the board, feigning disinterest. “I like to win, Wilson. Anything to get off clinic duty.”

Wilson smirked, crossing his arms. “You can lie to me all you want, but I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s eating at you. Why are you really doing this?”

House let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly frustrated, but he didn’t answer right away. He knew Wilson wouldn’t let up.

"Let me guess," Wilson continued, stepping closer. "You’re doing this to mess with her, right? Make her uncomfortable, keep her on edge. That's your style." He paused, watching House carefully. "But it’s funny, because it doesn’t look like she’s the only one who’s on edge."

House shot him a look, a mixture of annoyance and something else Wilson couldn’t quite place. "You think I care about her? Please. It’s a transaction, Wilson. I’m just doing her a favour."

"Really?" Wilson said, his tone teasing. "You know, for someone who’s ‘just doing a favour,’ you don’t seem to mind being her ‘boyfriend’ in front of her parents. Maybe you’ve got a thing for her after all."

House finally snapped, his voice sharp. "Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t do feelings. You know that." He took a deep breath, turning to Wilson.

Wilson didn’t seem convinced. "Sure. Whatever you say."

House turned back to the whiteboard, trying to focus on the case. But Wilson’s words hung in the air, making him uneasy.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The evening arrived, and you found yourself standing in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit. You had been mentally preparing for the night ahead. House would be there, playing the role of your partner and you were already dreading how awkward it would be.

You met your parents in the lobby of the restaurant, where they were already waiting, dressed up and excited to see you. You could tell they were eager to get to know House better.

When House arrived, he was on his best behaviour. Gone was the usual sarcastic House. He shook your father's hand firmly, offering a genuine smile, then kissed your mother’s cheek as if he had done it a thousand times. Your parents were clearly taken aback by how charming he could be. The usual snark was replaced by soft, attentive conversation. It was surreal to watch him actively listen to your mother's rambling about her gardening hobbies and your father's endless questions about the hospital. House kept his responses just engaging enough, occasionally leaning in to listen more closely, his cane resting on the floor beside him.

Over the course of dinner, House answered questions about his work with impressive ease, even managing to make your mother laugh with a few anecdotes about his time in the hospital. You almost didn’t recognise the man sitting across from you.

As the evening wore on, your parents seemed content, chatting amongst themselves about the beautiful restaurant and the delicious food. They laughed and reminisced about old family trips. They were clearly satisfied with the whole evening.

When dessert arrived, your dad glanced at his watch. "Well, it's getting late. We should probably head back to the hotel before it gets later."

You could tell they were reluctant to leave, but they knew their time with you was coming to a close. Your mother smiled warmly at you as she stood up. "It was lovely meeting you, House. We’re so happy to see our daughter happy." You noticed House’s smirk softened for a moment.

"Thank you for dinner," House said smoothly. "I had a great time. We’ll have to do it again sometime."

With a final wave, your parents headed toward the door, leaving you and House standing at the table.

House turned to you, his expression unreadable for a second. Then he grinned. "Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You were perfect. You really want those clinic hours covered."

"Of course I was," House said, his voice smug. "I'm just that good."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, but before you could say anything else, he surprised you. "So, what now? I’m in the mood for another drink."

You hesitated, but then you remembered how much House had played along, how convincing he had been, and a part of you felt a bit lighter.

"Sure," you said, giving him a small, somewhat reluctant smile. "Let’s stay out for a little while longer. But just a little."

"Of course," he replied, offering you his arm.

As you both walked out into the night, you could feel the shift in the air between you two. The facade might have been a cover, but it almost felt real.

You both walked side by side, moving through the quiet streets.

“I’m in the mood for something warm. Let’s find a coffee van or something.” House says with a glance at you.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the idea. “A coffee van?” you ask, laughing lightly. “You?”

His expression softens, but only just. “Don’t act so shocked. Even I need a warm drink once in a while.” He pauses, then adds with a sly grin, “But no promises that I won’t judge your choice.”

You roll your eyes but smile, as the two of you stroll toward a small coffee van parked on the edge of a park. The van is tucked under a tree, its lights casting a soft glow into the early night. The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the air.

House orders his usual black coffee, of course, while you go for a hot chocolate, wanting something sweet and comforting to balance out the evening. The barista hands over the drinks, and the two of you make your way to a nearby bench with a view of the city lights.

The bench is positioned perfectly to overlook the park, with twinkling lights in the distance. You settle beside House, both of you holding your drinks, not saying much at first, but the peacefulness of the moment makes it feel natural.

“You know,” House says eventually, breaking the comfortable silence, “I can’t say I’ve ever had a hot chocolate before. Seems a little… too sweet for me.”

You take a sip from your cup, a smile tugging at your lips. “I thought you might say that. But it’s nice. Keeps things simple.”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t do simple.”

You chuckle softly, and the two of you settle into a comfortable silence again, watching the light breeze move the leaves in the trees. 

You were sipping your hot chocolate, when House suddenly spoke up. 

He reached into his bag, and handed you a small, carefully wrapped bundle, “Happy Birthday,” he said, his tone nonchalant. You raised an eyebrow, half-expecting another sarcastic remark or some ridiculous gift. But when you carefully peeled away the wrapping, it revealed a folder inside, your eyes widened, taking in the paperwork, patient notes, procedure details, and even original surgical tape recordings of the first successful heart transplant carried out.

“I remember you mentioning that you’d love to read the notes and hear the audio from Barnard’s first heart transplant, I’ve been looking for a while, thought there was no better time to give you it than your birthday.” he stated. 

Your heart skipped a beat. You’d mentioned it a while back, in passing, how you'd love to get your hands on a copy of the original papers from the procedure. You had no idea he’d actually remembered, let alone worked to get it for you.

He watched as you absorbed the moment. 

“This is incredible, House.” you smiled, turning to look at him.

For a few moments, you were too awestruck to say anything else. Then, with a grin, you grabbed your hot chocolate and nudged him. “Come on, let’s listen to it. You’ve got a recorder, right?”

He fished around in his bag for a moment and pulled out an old cassette player, handing it to you. “Let's do this.”

With a playful smile, you set the recorder up, each putting an earbud in your ears and settling back into your seats. You pressed play, and the muffled sounds of a busy operating room filled the air. It was surreal hearing the voice of Dr. Barnard himself, the man who made history.

And as you listened to the audio, you realised something: for all his gruff exterior, House really did know how to make someone feel special.

The tape clicked off, the last words of Dr. Barnard fading into silence. You pulled the headphones off, still staring at the paperwork, overwhelmed by the gift. "I can’t believe you did this, for me. Thank you." you whispered, your voice thick with gratitude.

House didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking to the papers in your lap, then slowly moving to you. The air between you two seemed to shift. You both sat in the quiet, not quite looking at each other but feeling everything.

Then, without warning, House leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a desperate, however steady kiss. It was raw, full of emotion. His hands found your face, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stop himself. You kissed him back, just as desperate, as if something inside you had snapped. 

But then, just as quickly as it had started, House pulled away, his breath shallow. His eyes widened slightly, and he sat back as if the space between you could somehow shield him from whatever that had been.

“That was a mistake,” he muttered, his voice tight, eyes avoiding yours.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words stuck in your throat. He’d already gathered his things, and stood up from the bench. The moment dissolved, and all that remained was discomfort. 

The drive was silent, the tension thick in the air. Neither of you spoke. Every thought seemed trapped in your head, and the only thing you could hear was the hum of the engine.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and he certainly wouldn’t look at you. He dropped you off home, with a simple “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

You sat up in bed, reading the papers he had given you. You hoped this didn’t ruin everything. Was it still an act, or was it real?

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, you drove your parents to the airport. The ride was quiet at first, with the weight of last night's events still lingering in the air.

Your mother was the first to break the silence. “You know, we like him,” she said casually, glancing out the window as you stopped at a red light.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“House. We like him. He’s good for you.” She looked at you with a knowing smile. “You should keep him.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly masked it with a forced smile. “Right,” you said, trying to sound casual. 

Your dad chimed in from the back seat. “He seems like a solid guy. A bit rough around the edges, but sometimes that's what you need.”

You didn’t respond, your mind drifting back to last night. You still weren’t sure what to make of it all, but your parents’ easy approval of him didn’t help the whirlwind of thoughts in your head.

At the airport, you pulled into the drop-off zone, helping them grab their bags, “We will call you when we land, okay?”

“Okay,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “Have a safe flight.”

Once they were inside, you lingered for a moment, watching them disappear into the terminal before you turned back to your car. You still had to go to work, but for some reason, the thought of facing House filled you with dread.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the hospital, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being on edge. You had expected to find House in his office or somewhere in the building, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The day dragged on, and the more time passed, the more it felt like he was avoiding you. You passed by his office, but he was never there. You tried to catch a glimpse of him on the floor, but again, you couldn’t find him.

By the afternoon, you had to admit it: House was actively avoiding you.

You tried to shake it off, focusing on your work, but his absence kept distracting you. It wasn’t like House to pull away, and the fact that he was doing it now made your stomach twist.

Why was he avoiding you?

When you walked into the Diagnostics room, Wilson was there, scanning over some charts with his usual calm expression. You stepped in, standing by the doorway, watching him for a moment before speaking up.

"Wilson," you began, your voice portraying a hint of frustration. "Do you know where House is? He's been avoiding me all day."

Wilson didn’t even glance up from his paperwork. He knew exactly what was going on, "You think he’s avoiding you?"

"Well, yeah," you replied, folding your arms across your chest. "He's not in his office, and I’ve barely seen him all day. What else am I supposed to think?"

Wilson sighed, leaning back in his chair and giving you a long look. "You know House," he said, his voice soft but with a knowing edge. "He’s not exactly great at dealing with feelings. He’s hiding. He always does."

You furrowed your brow, confused. "Hiding from what?"

"From you," Wilson said, "From whatever happened between you two. It’s easier for him to pretend it didn’t happen than to deal with whatever he’s feeling." He paused, meeting your gaze, "I don’t think House knows how to handle it. But trust me, he’s avoiding it. And to do that, he’s avoiding you."

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, House entered Wilson’s office, dragging himself in with his usual dissatisfied expression. He dropped onto the couch with a heavy sigh, tossing his cane aside.

Wilson didn’t look up from the papers on his desk, but the silence was heavy with unspoken tension. 

Finally, Wilson set his papers down, slowly lifting his gaze to meet House’s. "I’m not sure if I need to say this, but I will anyway," he started, a knowing glint in his eyes.

House raised an eyebrow, not thrilled by the direction this conversation was headed. "If you’re about to offer advice, Wilson, save it."

Wilson leaned back in his chair, his voice casual but laced with meaning. "You’ve been avoiding her, haven’t you?"

House shifted uncomfortably on the couch, eyes glued to the floor. "I’m not avoiding her."

Wilson didn’t let it slide. "You’re lying, House. And you’re not fooling anyone. You think she doesn’t know? She’s starting to get suspicious."

House’s gaze snapped to him, defensive. "I’m not pulling away. I’m busy."

Wilson shrugged, "I’m sure. But that’s not the problem, is it? You’re scared. Scared of what’s happening between the two of you."

House’s posture stiffened, and he exhaled sharply, trying to brush it off. "This is ridiculous."

Wilson’s gaze softened with understanding, but his words remained blunt. "You don’t have to say it out loud. But you’ve got to stop hiding. You’re pushing her away, and you’re making this more complicated than it needs to be."

House ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, but said nothing.

Wilson leaned in slightly, his voice quieter now. "I’m not asking for some grand declaration. Just don’t mess this up. You care about her, and you know it. She cares about you. If you keep running, you’re going to lose her."

House let out a long sigh, rubbing his face with both hands. "I know," he muttered under his breath, barely audible.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That evening, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had tried, and you had been shut out. You needed answers.

Without thinking too much, you grabbed your keys and drove straight to his apartment. When you knocked, you already knew he might try to shut you out again, but you weren’t leaving until you got an explanation.

He opened the door, and for a brief second, the surprise flickered across his face before his usual mask slipped back into place. “This isn’t a good time,” House muttered, starting to close the door.

“Too bad,” you shot back, stepping past him into his apartment. 

He let out a sigh, slamming the door behind you. “I don’t have time for this,” he grumbled.

You crossed your arms, standing firm. “You’ve been avoiding me,” you said bluntly, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “Why?”

House froze. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes flickering with annoyance. He moved to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a long sip, pretending like he hadn’t heard you.

You didn’t let him get away with it. You walked over, standing directly in front of him, forcing him to face you. “Tell me why, House. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

His eyes flicked to you, and for the first time in days, you saw something vulnerable there. But he quickly masked it with irritation, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re the one who kissed me, and yet you’re the one running away.” you expressed.

“You wanted me to be a part of this arrangement,” he said sharply, a coldness in his tone. “The kiss didn’t mean anything, it was all part of the act. You can go.”

The words felt like a slap. You stood frozen, processing the harshness in his voice, but then, something changed inside you. You weren’t going to let him push you away this easily.

“That’s not how it was, and you know it,” you shot back, your voice growing louder. “You didn’t just kiss me for the act. You didn’t just make me think there was something real about this.”

He remained standing, completely silent, eyes not once meeting yours.

“Why did you kiss me back?” you asked, feeling deflated, “Why did you let it go that far if it was nothing to you?”

There was a thick tension in the air. And then, just like that, he snapped. “Because it wasn’t nothing. And I hate it.”

You took a steadying breath, stepping forward slightly. Your hand rose to his face, forcing him to look you in the eye. "Tell me you don’t want this, House. Tell me, and I’ll go. I’ll never bother you again."

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His gaze flicked over your face, something unreadable in his expression. But then, his eyes softened ever so slightly, his usual defensiveness missing.

“I can’t.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

You felt a weight lift from your chest. Neither of you moved, but for the first time, it felt like you were both finally, truly facing the truth.

House let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You can’t,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

His laugh was humourless. “It means I’m me. I’m an ass. I’m miserable, I’m sarcastic, I push people away for fun. I lie, I manipulate, I-” He gestured vaguely. “I’m not nice. I’m not easy. You-” He pointed at you. “You’re smart enough to know better.”

You stared at him, your heartbeat hammering in your ears, “I like you.”

House scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, apart from the vicodin, and the cane, oh and the stubbornness-”

“I like you,” you interrupted, firmer this time. “I like that you challenge me, I like that you never let me win just because it’s easier. I like that you remember things I say, even when you pretend you don’t care. I like you. Just as you are.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. For once in his life, Gregory House was completely, utterly speechless.

You just looked at him. Patient, steady, completely unafraid of what he was so sure made him unlovable.

Before you could say another word, he grabbed your face and kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate, like he was trying to memorise the way you felt. His hands fisted in your jacket, pulling you closer. There was no fighting this. Not anymore.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, matching his intensity. His stubble was rough against your skin, his grip firm, like he needed you to know that this was real.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless. His forehead rested against yours, “You know, you’re still covering my clinic hours this week.”

You chucked, “Oh shut up,” before pulling him in and kissing him again.

That night was the night you finally figured out what was beneath the sarcasm and the gruff exterior. 

It was fear.

Not just fear of getting hurt, but fear of being wanted. Fear that if someone saw him, truly saw him, they’d decide he wasn’t worth it. That they’d leave.

But you didn’t, and you never will.

[enderlovez]

Oooooo I have a Spencer x germaphobe reader where everyone knows how Spencer is with germs, which isn’t that bad. But imagine everyone’s surprise when they find out he has a huge crush like I mean in love with their coworker who is an extreme germaphobe (think of Ms, Pillsbury from glee) so she’s extra clean but he doesn’t mind he only has eyes on her so he tries to help her while also helping himself and she already has a crush on him but thinks he sees her as a patient in a lab even when he doesn’t but their feelings come to surface and they get a lil dirty lol angst, smut, and fluff thank u❤️

Germaphobe, Too

Spencer Reid x Female Germaphobe Reader WORD COUNT: 3600+ (yeah I got a little carried away)

Summary: You hate germs more than anything else in the world, and Spencer is so very much in love with you, so he's always trying to help you in any way he can — little does he know, that maybe you're feelings about the situation are a little bit different.

Content Warning: reader shows traits of obsessive compulsive disorder, germaphobia and germs, probably misinformation about germaphobia, NSFW content, reader is a freak, dry humping, reader bites Spencer a few times, miscommunication, Spencer likes boobs, groping, nipple play (sort of), unprotected vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), virginity loss on both ends, Spencer doesn't pull out, and I think that's it!

A/N I've never actually watched Glee so I went on a bit of a search-spree to try and find out how I would write this, so I hope I did it justice! Also, thank you so much for being the first person in my inbox, you have no idea how excited I was when this popped up, and I hope I did your idea justice!

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From the moment you joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit, everyone knew you were different — from the way you open doors with your sleeves rather than your bare hands, to how you scrub your hands raw after touching something that's not even really that dirty.

And it's not necessarily a bad thing that you're so conscious of these things, it can just be a little... difficult to navigate sometimes.

Take that one time for example, when you were helping out on a case! Morgan had no writing utensils on him, so without thinking, plucked a pen from the breast pocket of your blouse. To anyone else, it might not have seemed like such a big deal, but you were close to tears.

To put it plainly, you are a germaphobe. You're like a female version of their very own Doctor Spencer Reid, but on steroids, and somehow still a whole lot more sociable despite this fact!

Seriously. It's not to say they don't still see you as the strange new girl doing 'strange-new-girl' things, nor is it to say they don't frequently talk about you when you're not around, but they think you might just be the sweetest human being to ever grace the BAU.

Which is why it really shouldn't have seemed like such a secret, shouldn't have shocked everyone as much as it did, that Spencer was absolutely and irreversibly smitten with you.

At first, it was just little things like watching you from across the room with this strange look on his face — he was just watching the strange new girl doing 'strange-new-girl' things!

When he started spending more time around you than anybody else at work, and when it became apparent that he preferred your quiet company, it was just because you showed some similar traits to him, right? Nobody thought anything different, because come on, this is Spencer we're talking about here.

But in truth, Spencer is beyond mesmerized by you, the most beautiful woman he's ever met, and so kind to everyone even though they clearly treat you different to your other coworkers.

The poor man doesn't think he could ever admit this to you, though, considering he's a blabbering mess of hot skin and stutters every time he talks to you. So instead of further embarrassing himself (and giving Morgan ammunition to tease him for the rest of eternity), he shows his affection towards you in other ways.

Spencer himself is not a big fan of germs, so he can understand, to an extent, how you must feel most of the time. You've explained it to him before, while he was standing beside you at your desk, watching as you wiped the surface down with an antibacterial wipe.

"I know it probably seems like I overreact, but it's not something I can just turn off," you'd said to him in a whisper once. "I don't do this because I want to annoy people or make life harder. It's just... if I don't, I feel like I'll unravel."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Sometimes it feels like the world is too loud. A stranger is screaming in your ear, you can't see them or touch them, but they're there; there's a bee buzzing in front of your face, but you can't swat it away.

How are you supposed to get rid of something you can't see?

You can't — it's as simple as that, but you can try you're very best.

As if sensing that your thoughts are headed somewhere unsavory, Spencer appears beside you on a rolling chair, as he does most days.

Out of all your coworkers, he's the only one that doesn't poke fun at you behind your back. That's how it's been your whole life, people testing your boundaries and teasing you for something you have no control over, so it's... a nice change of pace.

"Good morning, Spencer," you say softly, offering him a warm smile before turning back to your work. "How are you today?"

"Good—um, good morning," he responds awkwardly, smiling even though you're not looking at him anymore. You see it out of the corner of your eye, his little smile and his firetruck-red face, smiling faintly to yourself as you type away on your laptop.

You ignore how he completely dismisses your question, knowing he'd probably just say the same thing as always — 'Yeah, I'm doing great, thank you. As—as long as you're doing alright.'

He always gets so strange around you, and while you try your best to ignore it most of the time, it still irks you.

No, he doesn't join the teasing with Morgan and Jareau when they think you can't hear them, but he still treats you differently.

"I got you something," he says in a quiet voice, reaching into his bag and pulling out a book. You eye him nervously as he carefully places it onto your desk, using one finger to push it towards you. A tiny smile pulls at your cheeks when you see it's encased in a protective plastic film, but it quickly drops when you see what the actual book is.

'Overcoming Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: A Journey to Recovery' by David Veale and Rob Willson.

You peel the plastic away, tossing it into the little trash can under your desk and sanitizing your hands before picking up the bright yellow book, opening the front cover with a blank expression.

It's not like you aren't grateful he's trying to help, of course you're happy he cares so much. But a book isn't going to fix your problems, despite what he may think at times. And right now he doesn't feel like a friend, he feels like a doctor, and you feel like a patient laying on a lab table, vulnerable and stripped bare for the world to see.

For once, you just want to have a normal conversation without it turning into some kind of therapy session.

"Thank you, Spencer — um..." You voice shakes ever-so-slightly as you put the eyesore book in your bag. "I will be reading that tonight, that was very kind of you."

You know you'll probably put that book in a box and never look at it again. He doesn't seem to pick up on your unease, smile widening at your apparent acceptance of his gift.

"Actually," you continue softly, in a voice so quiet it's almost silent, head bowed forward, "I'm actually not feeling too well right now, think I might head home for the day."

The smile on his face falters slightly as you push away from your desk and stand up, packing your things away into your backpack. "Is everything — would you like me to drive you home?"

It's not unusual for your mind to trick you into thinking you actually are sick, but on the off chance that you really are feeling something, he doesn't think it's a good idea for you to drive yourself home.

"You know, about twenty-one percent of fatal car crashes involve tired or impaired drivers."

"I'll be fine," you reply blandly, though those statistics do alarm you mildly, stepping around him and walking in the direction of Hotch's office. "Thank you, though, Spencer."

As you disappear into the Unit Chief's office, Morgan give him this curious look from across the room, eyebrow cocked in question, but all Spencer can do is shrug, his own face twisted with confusion.

Usually when you get like this, there's some kind of trigger that sets you off, like a chain reaction of sorts, but right now, he can't for the life of him come up with something that might've set you off.

You're only in the office for thirty-seven seconds (Spencer was counting) before you reemerge, your head still bowed as you rush out of the bullpen, like there's something chasing you away.

"What'd you do to get Miss Sunshine all blue and teary-eyed?" Morgan asks mockingly when you're out of earshot. "She looks like you just kicked a fluffy little kitten in front of her!"

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Spencer's never been to your apartment before — nobody on the team has, the only reason he's standing here now is because your address is on your information.

It feels a bit like an invasion of your privacy being here when he's not even supposed to know where you live, but Morgan was right. You did look like Spencer smushed a kitten under his shoe as you were leaving, and he couldn't in good conscience not check on you.

He reaches a tentative hand up, hesitating for a (very) brief moment before knocking thrice.

There's some muffled shuffling behind the door before it opens, revealing you, wearing a cream colored cardigan with delicately embroidered flowers on it. And while you're still neatly put together, there's a more casual air about you now, like you're more relaxed.

"Oh — Spencer, what're you doing here?"

Your voice rasps slightly, and when he takes a closer look at your face, Spencer finds that your eyes are a little red.

"I was just..." He pauses, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed upset when you were leaving work."

You purse your lips and give him as once-over, then shift out of the doorway — inviting him inside? You close the door behind him once he's inside, guiding him towards the living room with a gentle hand on his back.

It's shocking, to say the least, that you're actually touching him right now, but he doesn't say a word.

"Would you — um — like some tea, or something?" you ask awkwardly, pushing him to sit on the sofa. "Or — or some water?"

"No, but thank you for offering."

You leave the room for a few minutes, presumably to make yourself something to drink, but come back with two steaming mugs, placing one in front of Spencer regardless of what he said.

Another couple of minutes pass where neither of you say anything, sipping on tea and glancing at each other every now and again. He's pleasantly surprised to find that you've used lavender tea.

Your apartment is very clean, looking more like a set you'd find at a department store than anything, but it's still so warm and inviting. You have a couple of candles lit around the place, and Spencer's fighting the urge to warn you about candle safety.

"I don't want you to try and fix me."

Spencer turns his head away from the tall bookshelf across the room to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Fix you. What do you mean, he's trying to fix you?

"The book," you reply meekly, "I don't want you to try and fix me."

That catches his attention, the emphasis on that one little word — it's not that you don't want anyone to help, you just don't want him to help.

You must see the flash of hurt cross his expression, because you're rushing to elaborate, stumbling over your words.

"It's just that — um — I really like you, Spencer, and — uh — when you're giving me stuff like this..." You gesture to the coffee table, where the yellow book he'd given you is sitting. "I don't know, you kind of make me feel like I'm a patient in a lab. Something to be studied and prodded at and — and fixed."

"There's nothing about you that needs to be fixed," he murmurs, trying his best to ignore what you said — 'I really like you, Spencer.'

You place your half-empty mug of tea onto the coffee table and pull your feet up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them.

"I wasn't trying to fix you — everything about you is perfect," he says, quiet and without thinking. "You just seemed so uncomfortable at work all the time, and I wanted to help you out."

"Why, though?" you ask sadly, a faint heat rising to your cheeks. "Why not just join in on all the teasing and mockery? It would be easier than dealing with me all the time."

"Because..." You raise an eyebrow at his entire face quite literally turns the same shade as a tomato. "Because I really like you, too. I didn't think about how it might come off, and I'm so, so sorry for—"

You hold up a hand to shut him up, leaning a little further towards him than he would have thought you'd like.

"Spencer, it's alright," you assure him, placing your hand on his knee, much to his surprise (and embarrassment). "You didn't need to worry, though — you're really the only person at work I spend much time around, and I'm not uncomfortable around you."

"You're... not?"

A soft smile graces your lips. "Not even a little bit. Not even at all."

Spencer deflates into himself, every inch of his his skin uncomfortably hot — this is news to him.

"That's a relief."

Your voice takes on a teasing lilt. "Why? Because you really like me?"

And just like that, his face gets infinitely hotter, but he gives you the tiniest nod, knowing that if he said anything, he would fumble.

"I don't understand why you're embarrassed," you whisper fondly, "I am the one who said it first, after all. You should be teasing me."

He might be the only one you'll accept it from, just like how he's the only person you'd ever accept physical contact with, the only person you'll ever trust enough to put your mouth near him, like right now."

Spencer has to restrain himself from physically recoiling in shock when you press the softest of kisses to his blazing cheek.

Your instincts are screaming on the inside, but if you're being honest, you couldn't care less.

This isn't a stranger, you assure yourself, this is Spencer, and he could never make you sick.

Spencer could never make you sick.

"Is this alright?" you ask as you press another slightly firmer kiss to the skin under his jaw, your voice dripping with something unfamiliar.

Unable to form a single word, Spencer nods, reaching to place a hand on the back of your neck, gasping when your teeth nipped at the sensitive skin.

It's a complete one-eighty from the shy, germ-conscious girl you usually are, but he can't find it in him to complain.

The girl of his dreams, the one who can't even bring herself to touch his hand at work, currently has her mouth on him, she's biting him, and his mind is in a frenzy.

"I'm not gonna freak out if you touch me, Spence," you tease lightly, lips fluttering over the space just beside his mouth. As if to prove your point, smirking against his skin, you take his hand in yours and settle it on the space just below your breasts — under your clothes.

Where you're not wearing a bra.

His mind reels and melts into goo at the feel of your bare skin against his hand, so soft and warm.

An embarrassingly loud whine escapes his mouth as you bite down on his neck again, sucking the skin into your mouth. His hand drifts slightly upwards, brushing against the supple skin of your breast and gently grabbing onto it.

Your breath hitches as he gropes at your chest, lips pulling off his neck with a little pop and head resting against his shoulder.

"Can I take your shirt off?"

Your question leaves him speechless, but he nods nonetheless, reluctantly letting go of you to help you get his shirt over his head.

The sigh of his bare chest has your mouth watering, and you want nothing more than to leave a trail of hickeys down his stomach, but first, you press your lips to his, hands threading through his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs into your mouth, hands resting on your hips as you grind down onto him. "Absolutely breathtaking."

You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, whimpering as your hips wildly buck down on him. You've never been like this, desperate for the touch of another person, let alone a touch so intimate.

Spencer's grip on you tightens some, and he uses this new leverage to guide your hips, carefully pressing you clothed heat against the hardness straining against his pants.

"P-please," you choke out, arms wrapping around his shoulders, gripping him for dear life as he moves you.

"Hm?" he hums quietly, shifting the angle so he's rubbing right up against your covered clit.

"Please," you breathe out again, clenching around nothing. "Please, Spencer."

You're not even sure what you're begging for, only that you want — no, need more of this stimulation.

He seems to understand what you need better than you do, gathering your body to him and laying you on your back.

Your thighs automatically fall open for him, allowing his body to fit between them, one hand holding himself up. He presses himself against you again, drawing a desperate moan from the back of your throat as he works on undoing the buttons of your cardigan, letting the fabric slide off your body and pool at your sides.

The hand he's not using to support himself reaches for you, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple. The corner of Spencer's mouth twitches upward as you arch up against him, eyes screwed shut.

"You like that?" he asks genuinely, doing it again. You nod frantically, mouth dropping open, but no sound coming out of it.

"Yes," you pant, bottom lip catching between your teeth. "Yes, I like that — please."

"Please what?" His mouth descends upon your neck, fingers continuing their attack on your sensitive nipple, clothed cock still rubbing up against you oh-so wonderfully.

"Please... please touch me," you beg, unable to stop your hips from bucking up against him. "I need you to touch me, Spencer."

Such vulgar words coming out of your mouth. It shocks the man, but he complies, shifting his body backwards so he can pull your skirt and underwear down your legs.

The sight between them is magical — your folds glistening in the soft light of the room, you writhing in anticipation in front of him — and something he has, admittedly, thought about once or twice.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asks, running his middle finger through your slick and pressing down gently on your clit. You shake your head lazily, face screwed up in pleasure, a sight Spencer will cherish forever.

A strangled moan rips out of you as Spencer presses a finger against your hole, thumb rubbing soft circles on your sensitive bud, and enters you with little resistance.

"Neither have I," he admits sheepishly, pumping his finger in and out of you rhythmically, curling it until he finds that spongey spot within you that has you crying out his name and spilling over his hand.

"Two virgin germaphobes," you mumble jokingly, trying to wiggle closer to him again. You fumble with his belt, somehow managing to pull it through the loops, and toss it on the ground carelessly.

He helps you to push his pants down, just enough for his cock to slip out.

"Two virgin germaphobes," he agrees quietly, adjusting your bodies so you're both in a more comfortable position, sliding his heavy tip through your slick folds. "Are you sure—"

"I'm sure, Spence," you abruptly cut him off, running your fingers through his hair, subconsciously pulling him towards you. "Please just — just fuck me."

Spencer doesn't need to be told twice, slowly pushing into you, gasping as your warm walls suck him in, gripping his cock like a vice. He holds his breath, trying not to immediately blow his load.

You're writhing, gasping, clawing at his back, whispering his name out into the air, and it only works to make him more hungry for you. But he stills one he's fully sheathed inside you, giving you time to adjust.

"Does it — uh — does it hurt at all?" he asks in a whisper, directly into your ear.

"N-no," you gasp back, the small pain slowly morphing into one of pleasure. "It doesn't hurt, you can — fuck — you can move, when you're ready."

He doesn't think he'll ever be ready, with how tightly you're gripping him, but he still finds himself pulling out until only his tip is nestled in you, and slowly pushing back in all the way. You hum shakily, trying to press yourself closer to him as he repeats the action, then again.

Already so sensitive from your first orgasm, you know you're not going to last long with his slow movements, thighs clenching around his. Pressure grows in your abdomen as he thrusts back in, slightly harder this time, grunting into your neck.

"God, I'm already so close," you choke out, head thrown back, sounds you didn't even know you could make raking out of you. Spencer can't get enough of them, leaning down and catching one of your nipples in his mouth, gently sucking on the sensitive nub.

Without warning, you're spasming around him, drool dribbling out of your open mouth as you come, body going slack against the couch.

"W-where do you want me to—"

"Inside," you mumble incoherently, biting your lip hard enough to leave marks, tears building on your waterline. "Please, Spence, I want you to come inside me."

Your words alone are enough to have him spilling inside you, thrusts sloppy and unrhythmic. Your hum in content, clinging to him like a koala as he gently pulls his softened cock from inside you, rubbing soft circles onto the skin over your breastbone. It's comfortably quiet.

And then...

"Hey," you whisper in a tired voice, "you wanna go on a date with me?"

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your hip. "I would love to," he whispers back fondly before standing up from the couch, "but first, we need to get you cleaned up and rested.

[dominiquelucalover]

Center of Danger | Dominique Luca x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Your Tuesday plans are put on hold when you're caught in the middle of a bank robbery, but as if that didn't put a damper on your day, going into labor in the middle of it certainly did.

CW: fem!reader, pregnancy, labor, hostage situation, guns, death threats, death, blood, mild descriptions of violence, pre-established relationship. If any of these topics trigger you in any way, please do not read. Your wellbeing is so important.

A/N: I tried to make reader a behavioral analysis expert who works with S.W.A.T. but I don't know how well I incorporated that. ( not me trying to flex my Criminal Minds knowledge like a fucking nerd.) PS: I spent four straight hours writing this lol. and nother hour and a half proofreading and editing (and adding a whole 'nother fucking thing to the end of this jfc) (I'm having fun lol)

Your day had been going well. You went to one of your final doctors appointments before you were supposed to have the baby, you'd grabbed some of the last minute things on your baby list, and you were going over what you needed from the grocery store while you stood in line at the bank. It was one of those errands that you couldn't put off doing anymore, especially with the impending birth of your child, so it seemed easy enough to get out of the way today while you were already out and about. Unfortunately, a group of greedy, grubby-handed robbers decided to ruin those plans.

You couldn't lay on the ground like they wanted everyone to, which already irritated not only them but you too. The floor was uncomfortable as you sat against one of the desks while everyone else was forced to lay face down and not to move. It was a tense situation as the three robbers made the tellers fill their bags, one you wished would be over soon.

However, the robbers had already fucked up and got themselves stuck in the bank. A teller had sounded the silent alarm and in a fit of anger, one of the criminals shot the security officer dead. Another one freaked out because "no one was supposed to die" and seemed to be on the verge of tears, but it was hard to tell because they were all wearing plastic Halloween masks. This was turning out to be the worst bank robbery you had ever witnessed, not that you had ever actually witnessed a bank robbery but you had studied plenty.

"Shit, man! The cops are here!" one of the robbers all but growled. He turned his weapon on the tellers with a nasty glare from behind his ghoul mask. "Which one of you sounded the alarm, huh? Fucking idiots!"

He shot at the ceiling suddenly, causing people to scream. You jumped and held your belly protectively, taking a deep breath as you tried to stay calm. However, your blood pressure was already up and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. The baby was kicking, sensing your distress, and you rubbed your bump in an attempt to soothe them.

"Cool it!" another of the robbers chastised his buddy, seething with anger behind his devil mask. "You're gonna need those bullets. So chill the fuck out."

"I'll do as I damn-well please," the first one said, then walked away, seeming to look for another way out.

The freaked-out robber stayed out of the conversation, seeming more subservient to the other two. He just stood the to side, watching over the hostages like he'd been told to, hiding behind his clown mask. You knew from that if any of them were going to break first, it was him.

As things around you began to calm down, you leaned your head back on the desk and took even, deep breaths. Of course, the quiet couldn't last long.

A couple were whispering to each other a few feet away and as soon as the robber with the devil mask, who seemed to be the leader, caught wind of it, he stomped over and pointed his gun at the woman's head. "I said to keep quiet! You want me to blow her head off?"

"No, please! We'll be quiet!" the man begged.

"I should make sure you stay quiet for good," the leader said, teasing the trigger of his gun. The grin of his devil mask made the scene more unsettling.

At that moment, you felt a sharp pain in your belly and let out a heavy groan. All eyes turned to you and watched as you withered in your spot. You were caught between pain and confusion, hoping that you weren't going into labor. You weren't due for another three and a half weeks. Your baby couldn't come now, this was the worst-case scenario. Anywhere else but in the middle of a robbery would have been ideal.

The devil walked over to see what you were doing, letting out a frustrated groan. "Oh, for fuck's sake! Give me a break!"

You looked up at him as the contraction passed, irritated and not ready to give birth. You spat, "Sorry to ruin your parade!"

He pointed his gun at you but the clown ran over and pushed it down. "Dude, you can't shoot a pregnant lady!"

The leader looked at him, then walked away muttering under his breath about how this was going terribly and how the last thing he needed was a baby to mess it up further.

It was about that time one of the phones rang and he walked over to answer it, knowing it was the police outside. It was about time, but you thought that perhaps they needed a negotiator to show up, which was unfortunate for you. A few minutes earlier and you might not be in the early stages of labor right now.

"What do you want?" Devil asked brashly.

You couldn't hear who was on the other side of the call, sitting too far away. You watched closely, hoping your boyfriend was outside with his team. It would be the perfect fantasy if he came to your rescue; besides, they were the best S.W.A.T. team in LA. What were the chances that they weren't here?

The phone call only lasted about two minutes before the leader hung up having made no demands. He laughed, shaking his head. "They think I'm an idiot."

The ghoul came back into the room and grunted. "They've got the whole place surrounded! They probably have snipers ready to kill us if we walk outta here. What do we do?"

Devil thought for a moment, then gestured with his gun at the people laying on the floor. "Put them in front of the doors and windows. Use them as a shield. They won't shoot in here with hostages in the way and it'll give us time to think."

His accomplices nodded and started getting people up, guiding them with their guns to form a line around the center of the bank. The patrons followed orders dutifully and linked their arms together, their lives put further in danger by their captors.

The leader came over to you and grabbed your arm, but the clown came over and asked him what he was doing. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting her off her ass."

"She's pregnant, man," he said, his voice a little more confident than before. He didn't seem to like that you were there at all, but as soon as his bossy friend came near you, he jumped to your aid. "Just leave her alone."

"You questioning me?"

He seemed to think on his feet. "I'm just saying, if the cops know we got a pregnant lady in here, thye're gonna get more aggressive. They'll try harder to get in here. Think about it, man."

"Kid's got a point," Ghoul said, looking over. "She'll be our secret weapon."

Devil looked between them and shook his head, letting you go. "Fine, maybe you're right... this time. We'll see."

He walked away to make sure the wall of hostages was cooperating, looking out the glass doors and windows at the front of the bank to evaluate what his next move should be. He took slow, calculated steps, taunting the police and the hostages at the same time.

Another contraction hit you and you whimpered, holding your stomach and slightly curling up. The clown crouched down beside you, looking at you with wide eyes from behind his mask. He stuttered, "A-are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" you asked through clenched teeth. He looked down, almost ashamed for asking the question. You would feel bad if he wasn't hiding his identity and holding a large automatic gun on his back. Once the pain passed, you breathed out. "How old are you?"

"Doesn't matter," he answered.

"Sure it does. They called you kid," you told him, making him look up at you. "Means they don't respect you."

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head. He stood up and walked away, but looked back at you as he did. That was how you knew you did it. You planted that seed of doubt in his mind.

The next call came in not that long after, but Devil made one of the hostages answer the phone, a terrified older man who had been there to help his son open a bank account. He instructed the man on what to say, telling the officer on the other end that they wanted an armored car and a one way trip out of the country for the three of them, all within the next hour. It wasn't possible, you thought, which you were sure was what they were told before the hostage was made to hangup the phone with the promise that if their demands weren't met by that time, someone else was going to die.

The time seemed to pass sluggishly. You wouldn't have known it was going by at all were it not for the contractions picking up speed. You had read all your books about pregnancy and birth, so you knew that wasn't a great sign in this particular situation. Your labor seemed to be fast approaching, but you didn't want it to be. Were this in line with your birth plan, that would be ideal. However, a speedy birth was not on your agenda for the day.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock," Devil taunted as he walked the line of hostages again. He'd been pacing behind them to needlessly remind them of his presence. It was cruel and having to watch him was intense. "Five more minutes."

"What if they get us what we want?" Clown asked, looking at his friend.

The leader shook his head. "They won't get us what we want. They'll try to bribe us with less than what we asked for just to get us outside."

"So you're just gonna kill one?"

"Yup."

A woman in line cried out at hearing this and she was snapped at to shut up by the ghoul. He held a gun to her back and laughed at her terror as she tried to muffle her cries.

Clown watched, clutching his gun to his chest, before looking at Devil. "Wasn't killing the guard enough?"

"Not until we get out of here with the money and our lives," the leader answered, then shoved him. "Now shut up and do your job."

You watched as the 'kid' shook his head and walked away, listening to the devil without another question. Paying attention to everything else around you was the only thing keeping you from going insane from the pain. It was more persistent now and you felt the baby had moved lower. It was getting harder to keep your cool as all you wanted to do was yell and kick your feet at these guys who had forced you into early labor.

You were trying not to think about the time passing, watching Devil pace back and forth behind the line. He was looking at them, gun pointed at their backs. Then, suddenly, another sharp contraction shot through you and all you could do was scream as he shot a woman in the back.

She would have dropped to the floor were it not for the two people on either side of her whose arms were linked with hers. They were told to drop her as she cried and writhed. Then Devil went to stand over her, watching her squirm on the ground and bleed, before lifting his gun and shooting her in the head. Everything stopped and grew quiet except for your cries. They echoed off the high walls of the bank, violently reminding everyone there that life came with pain.

Sweat and tears slipped down your face as people were forced to listen to you until you quieted down. The contraction passed and you were slumped against the desk once more.

The devil turned to Clown and motioned toward you. "Go make sure she's alive."

"Okay," he said and walked over to you. He put his gun on his back and crouched beside you, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "You're, uh, you're getting closer to, um, having the baby, aren't you?"

You nodded, keeping your eyes forward, watching the way Devil made two hostages move the woman's body closer to the door. They were going to use her as a block in front of the door incase S.W.A.T. came running in, which made you sick to your stomach. You'd seen a lot of malicious shit, but that was a new low.

The phone rang, but no one moved to answer it. Then the devil chuckled.

"Get her on her feet," he said, looking over at you and the 'kid.'

Clown puffed up his chest. "She can't possibly-"

Devil got angry. "Don't question me! Just do it!"

Clown looked at you apologetically and put an arm around your back and hoisted you up. You cried out as you felt the baby shift lower. It was hard to walk, awkward really. But he held you up and guided you to the phone as it rang. Just as you reached the desk, it stopped, and you wanted to scream but managed to hold it in. You knew they would call back. They had to.

The clown leant you against the desk and brought its accompanying chair over to you. He helped you sit in it as his buddies scolded him, but he didn't argue back or justify his actions then. Only when you were seated did he turn to them and bark back.

"You're making a pregnant lady do all this shit when she's about to have a goddamn baby! What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled.

Devil got in his face. "I'm the one calling the shots around here! You do as I say, and if I want that fat bitch to answer the damn phone, she will, or she and that baby won't-"

"Oh, so you're gonna kill a lady and her baby?"

"Wait a minute!" Ghoul interrupted, looking at the devil, "Who died and put you in charge?"

"I've been in charge, numbnuts!"

The argument would have continued on from there, but the phone rang. They all looked at your tired face and waited for you to comply with what Devil wanted. So, you did.

"Hello," you said.

The voice on the other end of the phone made you feel some relief as he said your name. It was Hondo. "Is that you?"

You didn't answer immediately, not wanting to put the robbers on edge or clue them in to anything.

He seemed to understand. "If you are who I think you are, say 'where's the car?' if you're not, say 'please help us.' Okay?"

"Where's the car?" you asked, eyes trained on the robbers. Devil nodded at you, seeming to like that you were apparently smart enough to understand the situation at hand - you got right to the point of things and had been paying attention. Little did he know...

"We're gonna get you out of there, okay? We're working on it," Hondo told you.

"Well work on it faster," you told him, wincing in pain. You held your belly with your free hand. You kept your mouth shut about being in labor, knowing the robbers didn't want that detail known to anyone outside. "They've already killed someone else."

"We know, we saw," he said, letting out a regretful sigh. "But our eyes can only see in through the windows. The camera system is down. How many people are left inside with you?"

You looked around the room, trying to count the number of hostages, but it was harder to concentrate on something like that. "I don't know."

"What did he say?" Devil asked.

"They want to know how many people are alive."

Ghoul huffed. "Why does he want to know?"

"I don't know," you groaned, feeling another contraction rearing its ugly head. You did know, but there was no way you could strategize what the right thing to say to them was at that moment. "They-they probably- ahh!"

Hondo said your name several times, keeping his voice even. "Talk to me, mama. What's going on in there?"

Devil came over and seethed at you, "Tell him to get us what we want or we're gonna kill another person. Then hang up."

You spoke through the pain. "Get them what they want-"

"Are you in labor?" Hondo asked, hearing the strain in your voice.

"Or they're going to kill again," you said. "Please, please hurry."

Ghoul took the phone from your hand shook, slamming it into the holder. He watched you as you grabbed the arms of the chair, digging your nails into the hard wood. You scraped it and he shook his head. "Pregnant people are weird," he mumbled.

He and the devil moved on, talking to each other about what to do next. They began to argue about it but it was short lived as they parted ways. Ghoul slammed his fist on a desk and stomped away to try again at finding a plan-b escape. Devil leaned on a desk out of view of the windows, near you, and waited.

Clown stayed with you and talked you through the contraction. His voice wavered with fear and nervousness, seemingly never been in a situation like this before, as far as pregnancy went at the very least. Once it passed, he wiped your forehead again. "What-what's going to happen if you give birth in here?"

You looked at him, unsure yourself. "Well, there will be a baby in here and we'll both need immediate medical attention. If at that point they know about that, S.W.A.T. might just do anything to get in here."

Now that Hondo knew you were in here, there was more pressure on him to get inside and ensure your safety. You knew he wasn't going to tell Luca that you were one of the hostages because it would cloud his judgement, damned be the third generation S.W.A.T. officer that he was. His girlfriend and unborn child were in the center of danger and he'd do anything to get you out of there.

Clown got you water and helped you drink it as you continued to wallow in pain. As you sat there, you knew the situation was dire. You could see out some of the windows, seeing S.W.A.T. officers gearing up. You knew that sooner or later, they were going to come inside. You also saw an armored car pulling up, but it was a great distance away from the doors.

Ghoul came back, a little bit of a skip in his step. "They got our car! Let's go!"

"Wait!" Devil said, standing from his position and walking up behind the hostages. He took a man from them by putting his arm around his neck and pointing his gun into his side. They slowly made their way to the windows so he could peer out. He seethed. "They're trying to lure us out."

When he got back to the safe zone, the devil scratched his head, clearly deep in thought. He knew they were in deep, and with your timely reminders about the impending birth of your child, their odds of getting out of here was getting slimmer and slimmer.

"Wait for them to call," he said, turning to his friends. "We tell them we're going to take a hostage with us to ensure our escape."

"Dude, they got the fucking car, why do we gotta wait?" Ghoul asked.

"Because as soon as we step anywhere near those windows, they're gonna gun us down," Devil said, shoving him. "This is why I'm in charge, because you don't think!"

"I think better than you!" the ghoul yelled. "It was my idea to come here, remember?"

"And look at where that got us! You could of picked any other bank, but it had to be this big fancy one in the middle of town!"

"The cameras are out! They can't see in here, dimwit!"

You were about to yell at them to shut up when the phone rang. Devil looked at you and nodded. As you picked up the phone, Ghoul tried to continue the argument, but the devil shoved him away and told him to be quiet.

"Hello," you said.

Hondo sighed with relief at hearing your voice. "Say 'what do you want?' if you're okay. Say anything else if not."

"What do you want?" you asked.

"Tell the brothers we have their car ready for them," he said, which peaked your interest. You looked at the robbers in front of you and it clicked. Their arguing and dynamics made sense now.

They were brothers.

"Your car is ready," you told them.

Ghoul leaned against the desk in front of you. "Tell him we want it closer!"

Devil shoved him away again. "And that we're taking a hostage with us, so if they shoot at us, they'll be killing the next innocent person."

You took a deep breath and nodded. "They want the car closer so that they can get in with a hostage."

Hondo grunted. "Of course they'd try that trick. Listen to me, okay, we're not gonna let that happen. But tell them that we have to make room to move the car, so it'll be a minute."

"Okay," you said and sighed, rubbing your belly. You were in the last stretch of contraction. You could just feel it. "They have to make room for the car to get closer, so it'll be a few minutes before you can leave."

Devil didn't say anything, only took the phone from you and hung it up. "Get ready to get out of here, boys. Make the hostages take our bags to the door."

Then he walked away.

Ghoul took control of that mini mission, bossing two of the men in line to move and hustle to get their bags full of money to the door. They dropped them off and promptly got back in line, seeing the robber's finger ever-present on the trigger of his gun.

You were leaning forward on the desk, head laying on your arms as you whined and tried to breath deeply. You tried to hold your legs closed, preventing the progression of labor in anyway you could. You cursed having worn a dress today. You tried to think about anything else but where you where in that moment and what was happening. You tried to put yourself at home, in your baby's nursery that you and Luca had spent the last few weeks putting together and decorating. It helped distract you for a few minutes until more yelling broke the illusion.

Looking up, you saw Devil and Ghoul arguing about which hostage to take with them, which was the stupidest thing you had ever seen. It made you angry as you sat there, in labor, having to listen to this. Devil wanted to take you but Ghoul wanted to take anyone else. You were at your breaking point.

However, Clown snubbed out your lit fuse. He came with more water and helped you sit up so he could bring the cup to your lips. You sipped it, thankful that he was the kindest of the brothers. From what you had observed, he had to be the baby of the three and didn't want to hurt anyone there. He was there to rob a bank, not kill anyone, and each time you were in pain, he came to your side. He took care of you as much as he knew how. Something inside of him was redeemable, you thought so at least.

"They're both idiots," you whispered to him.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah... I can't believe I agreed to do this. I should have never let them talk me into this."

You nodded. "Yeah, that's true."

He leaned against the desk, staying close to you as you both listened to the argument devolve, once more, into who is in charge. It was beginning to sound like they were a broken record, but as they continued the back and forth, you heard how similar their voices were, how similarly they spoke, and you could picture them as brothers more and more. It was in contrast to the 'kid', who seemed a little more mild mannered and quiet. He only spoke against the other two when he was passionate about whatever he was fighting them for, be it the lives of the people there or your wellbeing. It made you wonder how he was a part of this family.

Suddenly, everything came to a head.

"I told you to stop questioning me!" someone yelled, followed by a round of rapid pops from a gun.

You couldn't process anything for a moment, stomach tightening and making double over, leaning onto the desk again. You held your belly, screaming with the other scared people trapped with you. The moment passed quickly, but you couldn't look up.

"Bobby, what did you do?" Clown yelled.

The devil, Bobby, turned and criticized his kid brother. "Shut up! Don't say my name, you idiot!"

"But-"

"I said shut up!" he yelled and pointed the gun at him. "Now stop asking stupid questions or you're next."

You peeked up from your arm, seeing how far Devil had devolved. In the beginning, he was semi-organized (given how shittily the robbery was planned, there was at least some effort on his behalf), but the stress of the situation and his brother's mouth had finally snapped his last nerve.

Clown backed down and slowly sank to the ground beside your chair. Bobby began pacing again.

The phone range and you answered it.

"What's happening in there?" Hondo asked.

You could feel the devil's eyes on you. "You need to hurry."

"What happened?" he said again, fearing the worst.

You let out a breath. "Someone else is dead."

"Tell them we're going as fast as we can," he said.

You looked over at Bobby. "They're going as fast as they can. Please don't shoot anyone else."

"I'll shoot whoever I damn-well please," he said and took the phone from you, putting it to his ear. "You listen here, buddy. You don't tell me what to do, got it? Now, if that car isn't at the front door in five minutes, I'm killing everyone in here."

He slammed the phone into the holder before ripping it off of the desk and throwing it across the room. He stomped off, going back to his look out position from behind the line of people. He watched the doors impatiently, seemingly unbothered by the crying people before him. Their anguish brought him no joy, unlike his now-dead brother, as it was obvious that the people were merely pawns in his game. He didn't care about them whatsoever.

You laid your head down and whispered, "He's gonna kill you."

Clown made a worried noise in the back of his throat. "No-no he won't. He-he's my brother..."

"You blew his cover. Everyone here knows his name and it won't be hard to track down a Bobby in an armored car," you said, pausing to moan and shift your seated position. You couldn't hold your legs together anymore, knowing it was dangerous. It was a feeble attempt anyway. "He's already angry and you're the only one left brave enough to stand up to him."

He whined. "I-I'm really not."

"Yeah, you are," you told him, hoping to break through to him. "You've protected me from him this whole time. That took a lot of courage, I know it did."

"But... he's my brother... The only family I have left now," he said.

You looked at him, meeting his sad eyes past the mask. "Family wouldn't put you in this position."

He stared into your eyes for a moment, then looked away in contemplation. He didn't say anything for a moment, which felt like an eternity, and then he looked at you again. "What's your name?"

"Why does it matter now?" you asked.

"Because if I'm gonna die, I'd like to know the name of the lady I protected," he said.

You didn't understand what that meant, it could mean many things, and as you felt the pain getting worse, you couldn't think very well anyway. You told him your name between heavy breathes.

He gently wiped your forehead again, talking you through the pain. Then he took off his mask, revealing his face to you, and you were saddened to see how young he was. There was no doubt he was in his early twenties but he still had a baby face and the biggest eyes you'd ever seen a man have, giving him a deer in the headlights look.

"I'm Eric."

Then he stood up and moved away from you, walking over to another desk quietly. He moved out of your sight and you couldn't move much anymore, too tired to do much of anything as it were. Despite the situation, all you wanted to do was get this over with.

Then, there was a loud thud from where Eric had disappeared to.

Bobby turned around and marched over to you. "What the hell are you doing?"

You groaned, looking up at him. "Nothing."

He seethed again, "I've about had enough of you and you're whining."

"I'm about to push a watermelon out of me, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to shut u-" BANG!

He fell to the ground in front of you, his blood splattering on the desk. Looking over, Eric had his gun trained on his brother from behind the desk a few feet away, eerily still, like he was trained for this. It made your heart ache because your stomach was already twisted. What kind of life had this kid had that led him and his brothers to this?

As he walked over to you, he yelled at the other hostages, "Go! Get out of here! Go! Get out!" They listened without hesitance and ran screaming and crying for the door.

He crouched down beside his brother's body and took the gun off of him, sliding it across the floor. He then took his own gun and push it to follow. Then he turned to you, "Are you okay?"

You nodded. "More or less."

Eric couldn't say another word before S.W.A.T. came into the bank with guns at the ready. They aimed at him and he put his arms up, already on his knees. You screamed in pain and he turned to look at you, making Hondo yell at him to stay still, but he didn't seem to hear him. If he did, he didn't listen and reached out to you.

He took your hand and let you squeeze it as the pain made you sob.

You managed to cry out, "He's unarmed!"

The team got closer and saw the truth in your words. They pulled his hand from yours despite your tight grip and handcuffed him, getting him onto his feet. While Chris and Street patted him down, Luca and Hondo came to your side.

"Fucking hell, I could kill this guy for all this," Luca grunted, clearly angry. He took your hand into his.

You shook your head. "He's a hero, believe me."

"How is he-?" Hondo asked, but was cut off by your guttural scream.

Deacon shook his head as he watched. "We need to get her out of here. Now."

The paramedics came in with their gurneys and attended to the bodies on the floor, but by the time it was decerned that they were beyond saving, everyone was busy and there was no room for you anywhere. Luca picked you up and carried you outside in hopes of finding an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital, but they were all tending to the injured who had run outside earlier.

Tan opened up the back doors of Black Betty and called out to Luca, ushering the team over. Street helped get you inside while Tan and Chris ran to the side doors to get in. Once you were laying on the floor, Luca behind you and holding you close, everyone else piled in and closed everything up, turning on the lights and sirens.

You were screaming the whole time, crying as it became too much. Your body was telling you to push and that was all you could think about doing. Luca was trying to soothe you, telling you that you would be at the hospital soon and that it would be okay. But your baby had other ideas, they had waited long enough.

"The baby's coming!" you cried out.

"We know, we're gonna-"

"No! Now! The baby's coming right now!"

You let out another scream as you pushed. Deacon slide onto the floor and pulled your legs up onto the seats on either side of you, pushing your dress away. He ripped your underwear to get a look at how things were progressing and then looked up at Luca, Street, and Hondo, "She's right. She's crowning."

Hondo called out to the front, "Tan, pull over!"

Luca held your hands as you rested you head back against his abdomen, crying as your body guided you. Everything you'd read and come to understand was nothing compared to the way your body told you what to do.

Black Betty came to a stop on the side of the road, but it only took three more powerful pushes that the ended the pressure. You ached, but the pain was lessened dramatically. You opened your eyes to see Deacon picking up your baby, who was a little chubby for a newborn and rather long, aka big like their daddy.

Deacon gently held them and patted their back, getting them to cry and clear their airways. He smiled at them and happily said, "Welcome to the world, Baby Luca."

Street rummaged around for anything to wrap the baby in, only for Chris to pass a fresh shirt to him from the front. He thanked her and helped Deacon wrap your little angel up to keep warm before they were laid on your chest. You took her, Luca's arm coming under yours to support you both.

"It's a girl," Deacon told you and you smiled. He smiled too, knowing that joy and pride well. "Congratulations."

Tan put Black Betty in gear and let everyone know he was going to start driving again, as you and your daughter needed to be taken to the hospital. After that, no one said anything. They just let you and Luca have your moment with your daughter.

Luca couldn't even speak. He had spent the day tirelessly trying to save hostages from a bad situation that only got worse as the minutes passed by, only to learn from Hondo that you were one of them minutes before they stormed in there. He ran to you as soon as he could and wanted to burn the robbers to the ground with how angry he was because you were caught in the middle of their idiocy. Then, as soon as he saw you were in labor, he was scared, too. However, now, all that stress and anger and fear was erased. You were safe in his arms with your daughter. He had a daughter! He was nothing my happy.

Street inevitably ruined the precious moment, but lightened it at the same time as he broke the silence. "I can't believe you gave birth in Black Betty."

The team didn't react until you laughed, which let them know they could laugh too.

"I'm just glad it wasn't in the bank," you said, the ache still in your heart for the people who were lost and the kid brother who had saved you. You looked at Hondo as you remembered him. "I wanna be there for Eric. He really did save those of us that he could."

Hondo didn't question you, because you were tired and hormonal and he knew you knew what you were talking about. He just nodded and said, "I'll talk to the DA, but for now, you just worry about that cutiepie you got, okay?"

"Okay," you said.

When you got to the hospital, you were taken to a room immediately. Not only because you were wheeled in with a baby in your arms, but because you had a team of S.W.A.T. officers escorting you. Luca went back with you and ensured you and your baby daughter were okay.

Despite being three and a half weeks early, she was healthy. She would need to stay a few extra days for observation, but that was okay with you. Both you and Luca wanted the best for her, so you knew she might need a little extra watching over because of her early arrival and the stress you were under, and you needed to recover as well. It would work out, you were sure.

Once that was cleared up, Luca sat beside you with your daughter asleep in her basinet at your bedside. He watched her with nothing but love in his eyes. He'd only been talking about how excited he was for her to 'hurry up and get here' in the months leading up to this moment. He hadn't cared if she were a boy or a girl, as you'd left finding out to be a surprise at the birth, because he was going to love his kid no matter what. You knew he was going to be an amazing father.

You watched him, tired as all hell, but couldn't fall asleep. Even after the day you'd had, you laid awake on some pain killers with a soft smile on your lips. "I love you."

Luca turned to you and chuckled. "I love you, too." He reached out for your hand and squeezed it gently. "You are the most amazing woman I've ever met, you know that?"

"You only tell me that at least once a day," you laughed softly, careful not to wake your sleeping angel.

"Well, I mean it so much this time," he told you, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. "You're so strong and smart and brave. What you went through today was a lot and you powered through it like a champ. And you see the good in people even in situations when it's hard to see anything but bad."

"What can I say?" you asked, not really sure what there was to say. You just read the situation like it was. And it helped you and several other people get through it. "I'm just a woman."

"Nah, you're more than that," he said and leaned in closer, kissing your head. Your eyes closed and this time they were too heavy to lift back open. "You're Superwoman."

"If you say so," you mumbled. You then fell into a dreamless sleep, getting the much needed rest your deserved.

Lowkey, I'm now attached to the backstory I accidentally gave Bobby, Ghoul, and Eric, so here it is if anyone cares. Bobby, Ghoul - who's real name is Terry, and Eric were born in a less than ideal home. Raised by a worked to the bone mother and a father who had lengthy arrest record, they were doomed from the start. Bobby and Terry were closer in age to each other than either of them were to Eric, often getting into trouble and leaving him out. When they weren't getting suspended from school, they were pushing Eric around metaphorically and literally. They would often use Eric as a punching bag when they weren't getting into fights with each other. They mother wasn't around a lot as she worked multiple jobs to keep a roof over their heads. When she was around, she was frustrated and tired, often getting angry at them for little problems like leaving their shoes out for her to trip over and bigger issues like getting kicked out of school. Their father was in and out of jail for most of their lives, but when he was around, he taught them how to shoot, steal, and hot wire cars. Averse to these activities, Eric was once again the odd one out and often the target of his brothers' criticism. Their father often got drunk and ranted to his sons about his drawbacks in life, often blaming others. Due to this unstable environment, it was no wonder the brothers turned out the way they did. Bobby followed in their father's footsteps, often helping their old man with his criminal endeavors when he could. After their father's untimely death at the hands of a homeowner protecting himself after he broke into the house, Bobby was angry. He went on a bend of drinking and crime, ending him up in jail where he made friends. Once he was out, he started robbing houses and small business. Terry at least finished high school and got a job as a mechanic, which was stable enough for a while. He started to doing shotty work for cheap and got fired once his boss found out. He did a number of odd jobs after that. Eric was on the right track but couldn't catch a break. With a grant, he was able to start college but had to leave after his mother became ill. He was almost done with college when he dropped out to take care of her, but it was fruitless. He didn't blame his mom but rather the bad hand life had dealt him, but didn't grow very bitter. He got a shitty job and went about his life. However, their mother's death is what brought the brothers back together. It was several months after the funeral that Bobby came around with the idea to rob a bank. Terry was crashing on Eric's couch at the time and liked the idea, immediately liking the idea of free money and getting to go anywhere they wanted. The two oldest brothers talked Eric into it, telling him they could go live their dream lives and get out of the shambles they called a life. Plus, they were brothers, the only family he had left, was he really gonna left them do it alone?

And yeah, that's what I got for the bank robbing brothers. If it doesn't make any sense, I came up with all of this over the span of 8 hours and little to no sleep.

[minhosimthings]

A Nonsense Christmas || NSFW

Synopsis: Due to a terrible snowstorm, you were forced to skip out on your yearly family gathering. However, your Christmas gets better when a certain blonde slips through your chimney to give you, your naughty presents.

Pairings: Felix × fem!reader, includes rest of Skz, Julie of Kiof, Ni-ki of Enhypen

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v sex, use of vibrator, fingering, hair pulling, brief squirting, missionary, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, unprotected sex (not for you), praise, degradation, overstimulation, swearing, dirty talk, mention of alcohol

A/N: FELIX NAVIDAD FELIX NAVIDAD YEAHHHH. Fun fact, this is my second Felix fic. And also my entry to @stayblrofficial's Holiday Writing Event! Anyway, a late Merry Christmas to everyone and I hope next year is as splendid as this one was. As always, enjoy!

Word count: 6.8k

Song Rec: Juno by Sabrina Carpenter (preferably her live stages)

Stockings on the wall, peppermint tea, a giant tree with baubles, snowmen, hot chocolate, presents and Santa Claus.

And maybe Mariah Carey too.

Those were the things that made your Christmas, a true Christmas.

Ever since you were old enough to remember, you knew your family was crazy about Christmas. Each year, without fail you’d be dragged off to buy new stockings, a ginormous tree, hot chocolate bombs, gifts for relatives and numerous Christmas events organised by some or the other watchkeeping society. You distinctly remember the smell of warm milk and your mother’s home baked cookies wafting into your room on Christmas Eve. You also remember the feeling of a slap on the hand when you and your brother tried to steal some cookies, only to be chided and locked in your rooms until the morning, lest you sneak out and ‘find’ Santa Claus. 

But of course, being the amazing child you were, you learnt from an early age that the fat man who rode a sleigh pulled by reindeers and carried a sack full of presents was nothing but an old wives tale. Laughter still erupted from within you whenever you’d recall the time you told your younger brother, Riki about it, making him sob for an hour–though he immediately shut up when you bribed him with a stolen cookie. 

Christmas with your family was always the happiest day of the year, no matter what complicated adult shit was going on in your life. Pending taxes and doctor’s appointments that you’d missed? Screw that, you were going home to waste an hour a day for three days playing League with your brother on your parents’ 16 inch flat screen TV. 

 Even the idea of boarding the plane to your hometown always made you kick your feet up in the air. All the planning, the buying of gifts (along with the hours of waiting in line at the stores), the baking—practically everything Christmas related filled your soul with joy and hope.

But this year was different.

This year brought along with it, a snowstorm—which wouldn't die out until the January of next year. 

That is how the meticulously planned flights and schedules that you had arranged in your calendar all went into the trash bin, as you had to listen to your parents wail about how they’d miss their most beloved child so much at the Christmas party they were having. All as your brother watched on with betrayal in his eyes from the background. 

Though you tried to soothe their nerves by saying how you’d have just as much fun this year as you did every year, deep inside, you were sobbing non-stop. Everytime you remembered the fact that you wont get to sleep in your childhood bedroom this year, you cried into your pillow, eventually drifting off to sleep from the exhaustion. 

In a lousy attempt to cheer yourself up, you accompanied your colleague Julie to a Christmas tree hunt for her house. You had even taken your brown trench coat and deerstalker hat out—a Christmas gift from your parents. While Julie was off bargaining with her crocodile tears, you snooped around the tinier trees—meant for those people who either wanted to spend their Christmas alone, or just didn't want a massive and expensive tree. 

And when your eyes landed on one that was sitting all alone, just waiting for the right person to take it home, you knew in your heart that you just had to be that right person.

Some more crocodile tears and a few transactions later, you were suddenly standing in front of your fireplace with a tiny tree decorated with even tinier baubles. The tree reached up to your waist, and though it wasn't as big as the one your parents had, it still warmed your heart enough to get out of your momentary depression and get onto the road to Christmas cheer. So what if you couldn't be with your family? You were big enough to enjoy festivals on your own now.

And so began your quest to celebrate Christmas exactly as you did each year—albeit without your family. You’d have to omit some of the family games and (unfortunately) the tradition of smacking Riki's head into a pie, but apart from that, you were determined to prepare a Christmas Eve feast fit for one and do everything that you'd do if you were home.

Who knows? 

Maybe you’d even stay up for Santa.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The living room was warm, cozy and overall looked straight out of a Christmas movie. After some hard hours of snooping out your basement, you stumbled upon some Christmas-sy decorations, which in reality were from last year's Halloween. 

But hey, decor is decor, and your house finally looked like something which was not the Grinch's house. With mistletoe hanging from every corner, along with your tiny tree and a cracking fire, you plopped down on your couch, and let out a sigh. The dinner you made was devoured within fifteen minutes, and you were surprised by how great your plum-pudding turned out. Maybe Christmas would be great this year as well. 

Alas though.

All that mistletoe and no one to kiss it under. 

All wrapped up in work ever since you graduated, you never really thought about relationships and all that jazz. Under the weight of your parents’ protests for grandchildren, you’d gone on a few dates here and there. But gradually, you started to lose interest and so did your parents. Their interest turned to your brother, whose misery you enjoyed in a sadistic sibling way. 

And anyways, who needs boyfriends and mistresses when you’ve got something better?

Fanfiction! 

Sitting on the couch, you lazily scrolled across your Tumblr home-page. A gleam tore through your eyes as the sight of all the Christmas fics. Your fingers soon started aching from all the tiny hearts that appeared at the end of every other fic that popped up, with their customised banners and flamboyant titles. Most of them were your general Christmas morning fun stories, but the ones that particularly caught your egregiously horny eyes were the ones where the ‘warnings’ paragraphs stood the tallest. 

Unsurprisingly most of them were named after Sabrina Carpenter and Chappell Roan songs. But then again, who’d skip the opportunity to name a fic about filthy positions and a short part about bondage, ‘After Midnight’? 

After meticulously crafting a well curated library of fics (ranging from sugary sweet to the one about the 69), you glanced up at your clock.

10:03

You had recently been enjoying going to bed as soon as the hands of the clock hit nine pm. Yes, it was a ridiculously early bedtime for someone whose teenage years were filled with promises of staying up till 2 in the morning when you grow up, but if adulthood had taught you anything, it's that 'early to bed, early to rise' was actually a pretty good proverb to live by. Were you getting old? Perhaps. 

Still not old enough to stay up for Santa though, you thought, laying your phone down on the coffee table and settling comfortably onto the couch. You curled up like a cat, and faced the warm fire, crackling in front of you.

Your eyes wandered up to the Christmas list that you had created on a whim, when you got drunk with Julie earlier that day. There were only two things on the list.

A glittery blue vibrator, and for someone to fuck you into the next year. 

A bit much to wish for some old man in a red suit to bring all of those things to you in a sack, but hey it never hurts to hope. And plus, you were horny and all those cunningulus fics were not helping.

With a stomach threatening to burst if you eat one more cookie, and a body that was just plain exhausted, you snapped your eyes shut and drifted off to a much deserved sleep. 

It will be a happy Christmas tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And what about that big bunch of fertilizer for that farmer from Norway?” Seungmin anxiously tapped his foot as he scanned his eyes again and again over a list attached to his clipboard. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, and his friends Jeongin, Hyunjin and Changbin were staring at him with concern in their eyes.

“Seung, you should think about taking a nap for a while.” Chan strode into the room with a huge box  stuffed with toys in his arms, “Everything will be fine.” He added on seeing Seungmin’s horrified expression. 

“It's okay Seungmin, I can just knock you out.” Minho sauntered into the room, wearing a red leather jacket and a huge smile—which turned into a frown when Chan glared at him.

“I just don’t understand how we’re supposed to do all of this without Santa.” Seungmin sighed, collapsing into a chair, “I knew we should have started everything months ago.”

“People wouldn't have even started to make their Christmas wishes by then.” Hyunjin said in a soothing voice, in an attempt to calm his friend’s nerves. Seungmin only sank further into the chair, with a disappointed expression on his face.

“I would.” A cheerful voice said from the corner, which turned out to be Jisung, who was dressed from head to toe in red and gold, looking like a Christmas prince in all his majesty. Jeongin rolled his eyes and looked at the empty armchair next to him. He looked up at Chan.

“Where’s Lix?” He asked, alarmed by the fact that the person who had practically been glued to him all morning was now nowhere to be seen. Chan shrugged, but then Changbin responded.

“I think I saw him checking out stuff in the pink section earlier.” Changbin’s ears turned faintly red when he said this. And it wasn't due to the freezing cold.

The ‘pink section’ was a notorious part of Santa’s workshop. In short, it contained the more ‘adult’ wishes—which were made by single, lonely people or by people who hadn't tasted genitalia in years. Santa was said to have established that section at the demand of his wife, but even Jeongin—the history buff—didn't know the exact reason why. Either way, it was a section, whose contents none of the boys liked handling. Each year they would draw their lots to decide what section each would handle. This year Chan was in charge of the toys and Seumgin was in charge of gardening material. 

And the pink section? It went to none other than—

“Lix!” Jisung exclaimed, at the sight of the blonde haired man standing at the door, “Close the door will you? The heater’s on.”

“I noticed.” Felix said in his rich and captivating voice, that could charm almost anyone. Felix flung his arms up and stretched like a cat, the sound of his stiff bones cracking could be heard, as he sat on the empty armchair next to Jeongin with the widest smile on his face.

“Why so joyous, Lix?” Minho asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Felix turned to him.

“It's my first time doing the pink section.” He said rather proudly. A few strands of hair settled in front of his face, framing it beautifully and surrounding him with a magnificent, peacock-like aura.

“You need any pointers?” Chan said, to which Minho laughed raucously.

“Christopher Banhg, our resident playboy.” He said in between fits of laughter. Changbin joined in the teasing, whilst Chan’s entire face slowly started to turn red.

“How many times have you chosen the pink section again?” Changbin asked, “Oh right, seven times.” He answered his own question before Chan could even open his mouth, “I bet you know everything there is to know about it.”

“Oh shut up.” Chan said, his eyes still stuck to the floor, before he turned them to Felix, ‘As I was saying, do you want tips, Felix?”

Before Jisung could say ‘that’s what she said’ Felix spoke, “Nope, I am well prepared for tonight!” His eyes formed crescent moons as he smiled brightly, “I’m particularly excited for this one request though.”

“Oooohhh.” Hyunjin grinned mischievously, “I bet it's a pretty one.” Felix nodded, to which the entire room burst out into laughter.

“Watch out, Chan, he’s coming for your playboy title.” Jisung chuckled, “What’s the wish then?”

“Well, she wants the usual—” Felix took out a post-it note from his pocket and began reading, “A glittery blue vibrator, and the interesting part—” He smirked deviously, whilst raising a brow, “for someone to fuck her into the next year.”

A collective 'oooh' rang around the room as the boys glanced at each other with teasing eyes, and then at Felix. Those kind of requests were usually rare, and at most, all of the boys (excluding the oldest playboy) had fucked about three people, in all of their career. 

“I’m weirdly excited.” Felix affirmed, putting the list back in his pocket, and looking past Jeongin’s shoulder at the giant window. Outside, on the beautiful canvas of the starry night, snowflakes fell without any cease in their seemingly perpetual motion. As Minho and Hyunjin had been complaining for a week, this year’s winter was harsher than any before. And they meant it quite literally, as they lived at The North Pole. 

“Best of luck Lix.” Changbin gave him a bright smile before standing up, alarming Jeongin, who had his legs resting over Changbin’s thighs.

“Not that you’ll need it though.” Minho said through a barely stifled yawn, “Oh well, I’m off to groom my reindeers. Come along, Innie.” Jeongin grudgingly got up and followed Minho and Changbin out of the room. Hyunjin and Jisung soon followed, after stealing pieces of plum cake from Chan and after Seungmin left—with Chan following carefully behind him—Felix sighed and slumped deeper into the chair.

Reaching into his inner jacket pocket—the secret one he had painstakingly stitched—he pulled out a picture that looked like it was taken on a Polaroid camera. 

It was a picture of a woman, dressed in a brown trench coat and a ridiculous deerstalker hat. She was pretty damn hot, Felix had to admit, with a posture so straight that he wondered if she was a princess. 

“Fucked into the next year, huh?” He chuckled to himself, putting the picture back into his pocket and running a hand through his hair.

He couldn't wait to get to your house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As a child, you had always imagined Santa to be a bit slimmer than the pictures in which he was depicted, reasoning that he wouldn't be able to fit through chimneys if he was that big. Though your parents were quick to laugh at your opinion, they also didn't want to tell their mere child of a daughter that Santa wasn't real. So they encouraged your extremely controversial opinion. 

And you held that opinion quite proudly. None of the other kids in your class had ever thought about that, and regarded you as the class’ genius. Because of this, to this day you still expected Santa (if he did exist) to be the kind of dude you saw on advertisements for gyms.

What you did not expect Santa to be was a 5’8-ish, ridiculously gorgeous blonde guy, dressed in a red suit that fit him beautifully, holding a sack tied with a red ribbon. He stared at you. You stared back.

This was not how you were expecting your Christmas to go like.

Not with a robbery.

“Who the fuck are you.” You said, cautiously picking up a pillow. You tried to run your mind back to all those childhood self-defence classes. Although—judging by this guy’s muscles—they weren't going to be of much use.

“Relax, Miss Y/N.” The man said in a voice as beautiful as his face, “I’m not gonna hurt you.” By the faint light of the crackling fire behind him, you could spot tiny freckles painted across his cheekbones, “I’m here to deliver your Christmas presents.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck. 

“You do realise you sound crazy right now?” You said, gripping the pillow a bit tighter, “Listen dude, if you’re here to rob me, I have nothing in my—”

“As I said,” The man kept speaking in the same eloquent manner, “I’m here to deliver your presents.” He preemptively flung his sack to the ground, and bent down on one knee, unravelling the ribbon and opening it up. He reached inside and pulled out a box, setting it on the table in front of him and closing his sack again. Then he looked up at you.

“I’m sorry, but could you please turn the lights on?” He said, “I can’t see that well in the dark.”

This younger Aussie version of Santa can't see well in the dark? You thought as you turned a lamp on. As much as this was the most unbelievable scenario ever, something in the back of your brain told you everything that was happening was real and you were certainly not high right now.

“Um…excuse me?” You began lamely, the blonde looked up at you, “What’s your name?”

“Oh pardon me. I forgot to introduce myself.” He laughed and got up, extending a hand, “I’m Felix. And I'm here to deliver your presents from the North Pole!” He motioned towards the meticulously wrapped present lying next to your tiny tree. Your eyes wandered from the ground up to the note stuck on top of the fireplace.

A glittery blue vibrator, and for someone to fuck you into the next year. 

“Uh…” You said, unsure of what else to say. You took another look at the man—Felix. He certainly was handsome, you thought—perhaps not exactly your type but definitely good-looking enough. His long hair fell over his wide shoulders, and you could see the way his suit was tightly fit over his biceps. Your stomach flipped over.

This guy was extremely hot.

And you were extremely horny.

“When you say presents—” You began, slowly sitting down on the couch, “—do you mean that there’s an actual vibrator in there?”

Felix nodded and sat down next to you, running a sharp tongue over his lips. His soft, pink lips. Was it just you or was the fire way too warm right now?

Your life was nothing short of interesting. As a child, you had gotten into multiple ...activities that always seemed to have a surprise at every turn. But this?

This was on top of the list of weird things that have ever happened to you. 

“Would you like to open the presents?” Felix snapped you out of your thoughts and you raised your head abruptly to look at him. Your eyes locked onto his and you audibly gasped. 

He had eyes as black as coal, stunningly beautiful, with the comfort of a warm fire glowing behind them. They made you want to dive into them and swim around for a while.

“You’re so pretty.” You whispered, not comprehending what you said until a second later, “I mean–” You internally slapped yourself, “—I’m sorry that’s not I meant I just—”

“It’s alright doll.” Felix cut you off, “I think you’re pretty too.” His voice again; it felt like a glass of whiskey after a long day. Doll, he called you. 

“Oh..” You trailed off, feeling warmth creep up to your cheeks, “Thank you.” You mumbled, looking down at the presents once more, “Should I open them now? Or wait till tomorrow? I don't wanna be ‘a naughty girl’ or anything.”

“Don't worry about that.” Felix leaned forward to rest his hands on his thighs, “You’re already on the naughty list, sweetheart.”

You gulped down the saliva accumulating in your mouth, and rushed to pick the box up. Your hands shook as you pulled the satin ribbon. The walls of the box collapsed to reveal a long, blue machine, covered from head to toe in glitter. You looked up at Felix. 

“You really are the weirdly younger version of Santa huh?” You said in a shaky voice. Felix smiled—he seemed to shine when he did so.

“I’m an assistant.” He said, shifting closer to you, his eyes wavered down to your lips, “There are eight of us in total, and we go around the world each year to give out presents to children and adults alike.” He looked at the vibrator and smirked, “No matter how naughty they’ve been.”

The queasy feeling rose in your stomach once more. As hard as you tried to avert it, your gaze went to his lips again and again.

“But, I’ve caught you haven't I?” You said in a soft voice, “W-Won't you be punished or something?” Felix smiled again and shifted dangerously close this time.

“That was the plan, sweetheart.” His voice was as deep as the rumbling of the earth, “You see, I only delivered one of your precious presents.” He smirked again and his hand came up to caress your cheek, you didn't pry it off, “You still have another wish don't you?” He leaned forward and whispered, “To be fucked into next year?” 

His warm breath against your neck made you shiver, you could feel his knee pushing to open your legs. Normally, this would be an abnormal situation. But it was Felix and you wanted him to do to you what the characters in your fics did to each other. 

"Felix…" You sighed, tensing up as he nudged his nose into the crook of your neck. His lips soon followed, attaching to your skin and leaving warm, wet kisses. They really were as soft as they looked. 

"Shush now." He mumbled, absorbed into pressing kisses down your neck, "How about I take care of you tonight, hm?" 

You stayed silent. How could you tell him that you've never actually…done it?

“Felix I-” You took in a shaky breath, “I’ve never…done this before.” Felix looked up at you with widened eyes and blinked. Then he smiled gently.

“That’s alright, doll.” Doll, again, “I’ll be gentle, if you want me to.” He slipped his hand off your thigh and extended it to you, glancing at the stairs to your bedroom, “Shall we?”

Taking his hand was the best decision you had made all year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Felix’s lips are almost unfairly soft against your own as his hands rush to undress you, pushing your t-shirt up your waist and pulling down your shorts to the middle of your thighs. Pressing his forehead against yours, Felix pulls away ever so slightly, “Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

Nodding, you can’t help but be curious about his plan. You find yourself questioning every fic you’ve read in the past. Or maybe they’ve never had Felix’s tongue shoved into their throats. 

Felix lazily drags your panties down your legs, flinging them across the room before slipping a hand below your legs and picking you up, placing you gently onto the bed. Romantic, you thought. 

He placed a kiss to your forehead before he started to strip himself, your gaze raked over his body as you waited on the bed, biting your lip in anticipation. Once he was matching you in nakedness, he crawled up to your position on the mattress, starting to lavish attention to your body once again.

“Hey there, pretty.” Your cunt clenches around nothing at his words, earning a chuckle from Felix. Admittedly, you’d never felt so dizzy at the prospect of having a man go down on you—he just looks so pretty, with his freckles and his hair and his everything.

Dropping his head between your knees, he groaned at the sight, and bit his lip to contain himself. You wanted to cover yourself but when your legs moved even a tiny bit to hide, he spread them wider and the cool breezes from around the room slapped across your feverish cunt. 

The feeling was already so pleasurable, and you didn’t know if it was the afternoon glass of rum making you feel this way or just Felix, either way you knew you were incredibly turned on.

“Have you ever touched yourself down here?” The way he said it, as if you were all innocent, he narrowed his eyes when you nodded yes, “Hold on.” Felix reached across and grabbed the box you had set on the bedside table. Your present.

"Used a vibrator before, sweetheart?" He asked gently, smiling when you shook your head, "That's alright, I can show you how." His voice deepened as he said the last words and you widened your eyes. 

Adorable, Felix thought, as he handed you the vibrator. Albeit being momentarily confused, you nudged it onto your labia—like how the fics described.

There you were, bathed in soft moonlight, laying on your mattress naked, legs spread, and steadying the vibrator on your clit. Felix smirked to himself as he studied the way your thighs quivered when he placed his hand on top of yours 

"May I, pretty?" Felix cooed, reaching for your pink vibrator. You handed it to him, laying back obediently and waiting for his ethereal touch. His freckles seemed to glow like stars in the moonlight—his face a magnificent galaxy.

And when he rested the vibrator onto your clit, you let out a relieved sigh in response, breathing out softly, lifting your hips up and grinding up against the vibrator in his grip.

"Good girl. Just lay back and relax for me," he softly directed you, his bare words were enough to send you to the edge of Heaven.

 "Oh, Felix," You glanced down at his smirk and how his eyes were fixed on the way you were clenching around nothing. He loved the way your slick folds glistened in the soft lighting, and the way your breasts started to subtly bounce as you started to violently shake. 

"How about we turn up the speed hm?" He mumbled, eyes lighting up when you nodded yes, unable to speak due to your current predicament. He was making you feel good—better than your fingers ever could. And better—you assumed—than any other man could.

The vibrations of the toy increased, making your legs shake as you tried to ground yourself from the intense pleasure that you wondered if you could take any more of. 

That was when Felix held you by your waist and started to target a specific spot, somewhere you could never reach with your own fingers. The feeling of him hitting your g-spot with such precision and the vibrator doing its job on your throbbing clit, made you squirm, trying to get away from the intensity of it all, but his firm hand on your shaking thigh kept you in place. 

With a loud muffled moan you squirted, unable to warn him—you were too unfamiliar with the feeling of such intense pleasure that it got you overwhelmed, too overwhelmed to even speak. The blonde let out a breathy chuckle when he saw the mess you were making, but didn’t stop nevertheless.

Your lips were fixed in an o shape, your cheeks were pink, and your brows were pinched together. You shut your eyes and threw your head back as Felix's name slipped through your slew of whimpers.

“Felix! Oh fuckk—” Your moan came straight from within your chest—a noise you didn’t even know you could make, “Felix I-” But you couldn’t finish your sentence, thanks to the almost painful feeling growing at the base of your belly. 

“Shh sweetheart, it’s alright.” Felix’s voice was soothing and warm, “It’s alright, I’m here darling.”  You gulped softly when Felix gripped your hip with one hand and led the buzzing vibrator deeper into your sensitive pussy. The tip of the glittery blue machine slid up and down your slit, making you whine and push back against his hand.

 “Oh goddd—fuck fuck fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

You never really understood the full feeling of an orgasm, settling on it being the feeling you got when your fingers got tired of rubbing your folds. But the feeling of Felix’s face being inches from you, his eyes beautifully darkened and his hand working against your sex, you realised this was what all the fics described. A feeling like an earthquake erupting from within you.

You were right on the verge of greatness again, slowly nearing a climactic ending, when your eyes fluttered open, and you saw Felix sitting up on his knees, holding the vibrator far from your throbbing pussy. He was staring down hungrily at your thighs, a look lingered behind his eyes—a dangerous one.

Without warning, he took his middle finger and started teasing your folds with it, the vibrator now disposed on the side. Your eyes widened as he sunk his finger into your drooling cunt. For a moment, you thought about the probability of this being a glorious dream. But when his long, veiny finger pushed all the way in, a long, satisfied sigh escaped from your parted lips and you did not want this dream to end.

Your folds glistened in the dim moonlight, the obvious need evident in your tone when Felix plunged another finger inside your tight heat. "Fu—ck," you moaned softly, your breathing a lot more ragged now that he was moving his digit in and out of you, slipping his fingers in knuckle-deep and smirking at how you seemed to suck in his fingers. God how pretty you looked, with your shaking body covered in sweat—you glistened like diamonds in the light.

"Someone’s eager," Felix chuckled. The pads of his fingers started to circle your sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting slightly louder moans from you.

“You want me to stop, baby?” Felix’s brows furrowed worriedly at the sight of your ragged breathing. You shook your head at him and placed your hand at the back of his head, gripping his hair. Felix moaned loudly.

 "Fuck sweetheart," he grinned at you as he added his ring finger, and you could feel the cold metal of his ring on the warm flesh of your thighs as he pumped them back and forth into your heat, “Fuck—keep-keep doing that…that’s right..” His voice was a bit deeper, betraying his arousal. Who knew Santa’s assistant had such a filthy kink?

Felix’s hair was feather-soft against your shaking hand, as you brought your right hand up as well to feel it. Your grip on his hair only motivated him more, as the sounds of your pussy squelching as it sucked up his fingers, filled the room. His middle finger worked immaculately against your cunt, a place you could have never reached with your fingers alone. 

Felix looked magnificent as he admired your body—the crook of your neck, the soft skin of your thighs, the way your eyes rolled back—he was relishing every single thing about you. Wild, primal thoughts flanked each neuron of his mind. Felix could feel your cold breath hit his lips gently, like a cool wind moving a river. 

“Shit—can I kiss you, sweetheart?” He asked cautiously, his fingers tensing inside of you when you nodded. You felt his lips press against yours, the sweet feeling of pressing candy to your mouth came to you. You could taste slight notes of rum and cranberry on his tongue—an intoxicating flavour.

He pulled away briefly, his face was still close, and he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. Your hand pulled his hair once more and he groaned deeply, his cock twitching between his legs. 

Fuck, you were so gorgeous. A faux memory played out in Felix’s mind, he wanted you all to himself—in sickness and in health, till death do you part. The way your lips parted and the melodic way you said his name, he never knew his name was such an elysian thing, till he heard it from your lips.

His hot lips moved away from yours and down to your neck, kissing and gently biting the delicate skin. You let out a gasp and arched your neck, it felt so divine that you didn’t even notice that his fingers were out of your pussy and placed on your hip. 

Your breasts moved into Felix’s face as you arched your back at his teeth digging into your skin like a savage animal and Felix audibly whined. His hand came up to play with your boobs, his fingers fiddling with delicate skin. His painfully hard cock grew even harder, as he wanted nothing more but to fuck the sanity out of you.

“Baby,” he breathed, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he could manage when he was this overstimulated, “Sweetheart, don’t you want my cock?,” he whispered again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you.

“Lix…” You whine, you could see his rock-hard length between his legs, “Lix—need your cock–please please pleeasee…” Felix was undone by you—the way you writhed underneath him, the way your voice shook, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed—he could feel it and he loved it.

 “Alright… alright, doll.” He chuckled, gripping your hips in order to align himself with you. He was big–huge even–it made you a bit nervous. You knew from your non-virgin friends that–at most, it was only 4 or 5 inches, without all that ego. You didn’t have a ruler but you knew that Felix was much more than 5 inches.

What a way to lose your virginity.

“Ah-ahhh fuck!” You nearly screamed as he entered you, Felix didn’t like teasing–and by God were you thankful for that.

“You like that baby?” Felix grunted, his voice was oh so deep–as was his length, “Yeah, you like being stretched out huh?” His right hand was underneath you now, squeezing your buttcheek like his own personal stress toy, “Naughty, naughty girl—ah godddd” Felix was a moaning, whimpering mess, the sound of you making him feel lightheaded as he pounded into you, “Should have known you were a dirty girl when I saw that list–oh fuck, keep squeezing me like that—that’s a good girl…” Your slick walls were clenching around him like a vice, and he knew he was done for.

You could only moan in response, reeling in the way his cock stretched out your walls, the sting being nothing compared to the bliss you felt as he relentlessly fucked you.

"so fucking pretty, taking me like this, so so pretty" Felix continued, rambling.

"mphm, Felix, you're so big!" You moaned, thinking nothing of it as you spoke, his size being the only thing in your mind at that moment. His thumb strokes against yours, trying to distract you from the pressure, pressing your forehead with kisses, singing you soft praises.

"You're so tight," he whispered, relishing in the way you clenched around him while it started to adjust itself. The pain was killing you, but at the same time–you wanted more. 

No, wanted wasn't the right word. 

You needed more.

“You’re almost all the way in ,darling” Felix whispers, almost as if he heard your thoughts. His breathing is growing heavier by the second, and he’s forcing himself to hold back from just thrusting the remainder of his cock in. He knew it was your first time—those adorable eyes, that filthy mouth of yours begging him for more—but he resisted, lest he hurt you.

“Oh Felix fuckkkk..” Your eyes opened to look at him. He was beautiful, an angel in his own right, moon-like eyes and a face full of constellations. No wonder, you couldn't stop yourself from falling into him.

Your mind is gradually turning more hazy with Felix’s cock taking up the majority of your thoughts, on top of his scent that’s been creeping into your olfactory senses. The more Felix inched his cock into you, the more he pressed onto your g-spot, and the more it started to make you see stars whenever you blinked. You grew so sensitive that you felt every throb Felix’s cock is giving you.

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please Lix...” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

"Good girl. You're taking me so well." he praised you softly while he delivered a few harder thrusts, "Can't believe this is your first dick," Soon, there was no pain at all, only pleasure. 

Your eyes rolled back briefly as Felix hit that spot deep within you, the one that made sparks dance behind your eyes, the one that made you moan from your chest.

You felt your pussy expanding around him as he started rocking his hips back and forth, hitting that same spot again. You held your breath for a moment, still adjusting to the size difference, and when you exhaled, a few stifled sounds came through. It hurt so good. 

He grabbed you by your waist, steadying himself while he started to speed up, getting caught up in how good your virgin hole felt wrapped around him. Felix watched as he pumped back and forth, fixating on the way you coated his length in your arousal.

You couldn't help but groan at the change in tempo, head craning back into the pillow, your mouth slung wide open.

“Felix oh god!!” You whined, your walls were so sensitive, “Fuck, you’re so hot..” You had no idea what words were coming out from your mouth, “Ahh—ahhh fucking hell—I love you!” You wouldn't even remember saying those words until the next day. Felix’s eyes visibly softened at you.

"Say it again for me, darling?" He slowed his pace, but increased his temperament, his hips slapping against yours with a sting as he thrust in and out of you, slow and hard. 

“I–ah shit!” You gasped, his scent was your oxygen, “I love you..”

“I love you too, baby.” Felix leaned forward to kiss you. Your lips danced passionately, even as your bodies stayed connected to each other. His lips felt like first snow and soft ice cream, you wanted to devour and be devoured by him.

“Look at you, you sweet little thing...” He teased as he grinded his cockhead into your sweet spot, slowly sliding in and out just to feel your wetness coat his dick. It’s pure nirvana for him, warm and wet and perfect, a place he could bury himself inside.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of anticipation and frustration building within you. You clenched your fists, digging your nails into the mattress, as Felix continued to move at a pace that was maddeningly fast.

“Going dumb on my dick aren't you baby?” he groans as his hips slap into yours, bruising your walls and using you, his cock is throbbing inside you, balls twitching and voice falling more breathy and desperate—so close to filling your pretty little pussy up.

"Cum with me, baby, cum all over my cock like a good girl." Felix said through gritted teeth, his tone somehow still soft and caring despite his pace. 

“Oh god…Felix!” You moaned, “fuck fuck fuck need your c-cum please—oh my god.” Every muscle felt like fire. You’re caught up in how everything feels, too distracted to care about the noises spilling out of your mouth. All you know is this feels good – it feels passionate.

As if on command, his last, hard thrust sent you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you released sticky juices all over his length, the squelching sound of him fucking you through your toe curling orgasm making him reel. 

With another cry of release, you shattered again and again it seemed, your body arching as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Felix held you tightly, his fingers digging into your side as you trembled in his arms.

He was seconds behind, filling you up with his cum, fucking it into you as he stuttered above you, pressing his weight further down as he gripped and tugged at any skin of yours he could reach.

“That’s it, that’s it baby.” He worked you through your toe-curling orgasm, "That's it my love, you’re doing so good for me.”

Your breathless moans filled the room as he stilled inside you, letting his cum soak into your walls and his length, unable to bring himself to pull out. His hand came to your hair as he rested his head against yours, trying to catch his breath with fluttery eyes. You leaned into his touch, humming at his soft caress.

“Good girl,” Felix murmurs, being careful in the way he pulls out slowly from your well-used hole. You shudder, and Felix feels the way your entire body tenses, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, darling.”

Your chests heaved with exertion. In spite of his softening cock, Felix couldn’t help the feral, almost animalistic, feeling when he saw the sight of your mixed release trickling out of your pussy.

“Ahh shit.” He mumbles, rolling over to collapse next to you. Felix feels something touching the sole of his foot, and when he looks down, he chuckles, making you look at him.

“What happened?” You ask drowsily, your eyes on the verge of falling asleep. 

“It’s nothing, sweetheart.” Felix assures you, pushing the cum-soaked vibrator at the bottom of the bed onto the floor, “Are you alright, baby?”

“That–” You breathe in deeply and smile with your eyes still closed, “—was the best Christmas present I’ve ever received.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart.” Felix smiles, pulling you safely into his arms, as you drifted off to sleep.

Felix sighed and melted into your warmth. He had to leave in a few hours to deliver all the other gifts, but a few more minutes wouldn't hurt and so he stayed.

After all, he’d be coming back on New Years as well.

With a much better present. 

Thank you for reading, dear reader! Hope you have a great day ❤❤

[hitomisuzuya]

Since you also demonstrate interest in it, I would love to contribute to the idea of you writing a threesome with Aventurine and Dr. Ratio too ☕️

aventurine x fem!reader. ratio x fem!reader. smut. threesome. blowjob (ratio receiving a bit). cunnilingus. degradation. praise. cream pie.

someone has been licking at my heels for me to write this lol 😳 this is my first time writing ratio so i am a bit nervous, his parts aren't as long.

ratio is looking down at you with lewd fascination. here you are, happily taking another man's cock in your mouth, while your boss has his head face buried in your dripping pussy. he bites back a groan as your nimble little tongue circles his cock head, swiping into the leaking slit.

putting a hand on the back of your head, he slowly forces his cock further into your mouth, bottoming out in your throat. his cock pulses on your tongue as your throat spasms. "gagging like a well trained slut," supporting your head, he bobs your mouth on his cock.

aventurine picks his head up from your cunt, chuckling. "my secretary is very delicate," he slowly swirls his tongue around your clit, "don't be afraid to enjoy her," he wastes no time putting his tongue back to work on your pussy, teasing the tip at your hole.

you squirm, muffling moans on ratio's cock as drool trickles from the corner of your mouth. ratio moans huskily as you grind your mouth on his cock, sucking as you flatten your tongue. holding your head in place, he pumps his cock in and out of your eager little mouth.

sitting up, aventurine wipes mouth, smoothing his hands over your thighs. "there you go, see? enjoying yourself isn't that hard," he smirks seeing ratio finally indulging himself, fucking into your throat until you coughed again.

"must you run your mouth, gambler," ratio hisses, glaring at aventurine. "i'll enjoy your whore as i see fit," he cards his fingers gently through your hair before taking your mouth off his cock.

he isn't going to dignify cumming anywhere other than inside of you.

taking his cock, aventurine lines it up with your entrance and pushes inside. your back arches off the bed, your fingers clawing at the sheets as your pussy stretches apart to accommodate him.

"that's my good girl," aventurine coos hearing you cry out in pleasure as he bottoms out, "let the good doctor know exactly who is fucking you this good," you agreed to let him share you with ratio. if you hadn't, this wouldn't be happening at all.

ratio watches with flushed cheeks as aventurine single handedly reduces you to moaning, twitching mess. the passion is almost tangible on the air. the tempting bounce of your breasts catch ratio's eye.

"you are far too tempting for your own good," dipping his head down, ratio scoops one of your nipples his mouth to suck on.

your moans rise in octave as a gasp of pleasure tears from your throat. "it's too much..it feels so good," you babble, angling your chest up into ratio's mouth as your walls clutch snug around aventurine's cock.

aventurine lets out a satisfied moan as his cock empties inside of you. "you are suffocating my cock, sweetheart," his voice is shaky behind his hazy grin. his thumbs stroke your thighs soothingly, fucking you lovingly through his orgasm.

"now, be a good girl and suck ratio's cock in like you did mine," pulling out, he moves up to your head as ratio settles himself between your legs.

"such an obedient slut," ratio moans, his cock sliding easily inside you. "who knew a lowly gambler could be so generous."

[phoenixblaze1412]

dottore with a child who loves him but hates the segments?

It started with a scowl.

Not an ordinary childlike pout—no, it was the kind of dark, burning glare that could rival even the Doctor’s most volatile experiments. And it was aimed squarely at them.

The segments.

“Zeta tried to touch my toy,” you said flatly, arms crossed as you stood beside your father’s desk.

Dottore didn’t even look up from his work. “He was likely analyzing its material composition.”

“He said it was ‘primitive.’ Then dropped it.”

Now, Dottore looked up. Slowly. His eyes flicked to your clenched fists and the faint wobble in your lip you were definitely trying to hide.

“And what did you do?”

“I hit him with a chair.”

There was a pause.

"...Appropriately measured," he muttered, pressing a gloved hand to his temple. “But we do not throw furniture.”

“He’s not you.”

There it was again—that ice in your voice, sharp for someone so small. It wasn’t the first time you'd said it.

You always knew your father was different. Brilliant, odd, sometimes cold—but he was yours. He built you a mechanical music box for your birthday, carried you on his shoulders through icy labs, and let you scribble drawings all over his blueprints when you couldn’t sleep.

But his segments?

They were wrong. Like shadows of him—smiling weird, talking like they thought they were better than you, always watching.

You hated them.

They’d call you “the specimen’s child” or “our future asset” and you didn’t care how much they looked like him—you wanted them gone.

“All of them try to act like they’re you,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze. “But they’re not. They’re creepy. And they talk like I’m a test tube.”

Dottore leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. This wasn't surprising. You had always been sharp, emotionally aware in ways his clones couldn't comprehend. To you, love wasn’t programmable. And family wasn’t replicable.

“They’re not me,” he said carefully. “They’re... extensions. Tools.”

“Then throw them away.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not how this works.”

You turned to leave, biting your cheek. You didn’t cry, because Dottore never cried, and you were his.

But his voice stopped you.

“Y/N.”

You turned, stiff.

He stood now, walking toward you. Dottore rarely touched anyone—but with you, it was different. He knelt to your level, gloved hands cupping your cheeks.

“I chose you. Not them.”

Your eyes widened a little.

“I don’t care if you like them. You’re not required to. They are not your brothers. They are not your family.” His tone grew quieter, but colder. “But they will respect you, or they will answer to me.”

You blinked up at him, unsure.

His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek. “You are not an experiment. You are my child. The only one I trust.”

Silence stretched.

“…Even more than your work?”

That earned you a faint, rare smile. “My work doesn’t steal my chair in the morning or fall asleep in my lap while I try to write. It’s... less persuasive.”

You gave a tiny laugh, almost a hiccup. Then you buried your face into his chest.

Dottore didn’t flinch. He simply held you there, a gloved hand on your back, gaze sharp over your shoulder at the segment who had dared to approach the door again.

The clone stopped dead, expression unreadable.

“Dismissed,” Dottore said sharply, arms never leaving you. “My child comes first.”

The door closed.

And for once, the lab was quiet. Not with silence—but with peace.

----------

It started with Beta.

He approached cautiously, hands behind his back, standing stiffly like a cadet about to salute a general.

"I heard you enjoy puzzles," he said to you one morning, kneeling down. "So I constructed a Rubik's cube that self-scrambles mid-solve to build your cognitive endurance."

You stared at it.

Then at him.

You took it, slowly.

Crushed it under your boot.

"You're not my dad."

Beta blinked. "That was... advanced polymer—"

You stepped over the broken cube and marched down the hall.

Next up was Delta, who thought he could bribe you with charm.

He knelt down with a flourish, offering you a beautifully wrapped box and a crooked grin.

"Y/N, my dear child of science and starlight. I bring you this—an automated stuffed fox that tells bedtime stories and hands you sweets."

You opened the box.

The fox blinked at you, then squeaked:

“Good morning! Would you like to hear—"

You drop-kicked it down the corridor.

Delta gasped. “That was voice-encoded!”

You crossed your arms. "You're. Not. My. Dad."

“…Well, I tried.”

Sigma tried to win you over with logic.

"If your father is a superior being and we are his copies," he reasoned, sitting beside you at lunch, "then associating with us is a statistically favorable method of absorbing his traits through proximity."

You stared at him while chewing your snack. Then handed him an empty juice box.

"Hold this."

He did.

You crushed it in his hand.

“…Ow.”

"Not. My. Dad."

Even Theta tried with a hand-drawn crayon picture of the two of you holding hands under a sparkly sun.

You stared at it.

"...This is... actually kinda cute."

He perked up.

You ripped it in half.

He wilted like a sad flower.

By the time Dottore returned from a two-day mission, the hallway was filled with dejected clones, one crushed cube, a broken robotic fox, and a sobbing Theta huddled in the corner hugging a ruined crayon masterpiece.

He raised a brow.

“…What happened?”

You ran at him full speed, hugging him tightly around the waist.

“They were trying to replace you,” you growled.

Dottore looked at the segments. They all pointed at each other like guilty toddlers.

“She punted my invention,” Delta muttered.

“I was emotionally compromised,” Theta sniffled.

“She made me hold a juice box and then violated the laws of thermodynamics,” Sigma deadpanned.

Dottore sighed. Then looked down at you, arms wrapped tight around him like he might vanish if you let go.

“And how do you feel about all of this?”

You buried your face into his coat. “You’re my dad. Not them. I don’t want copies. I want you.”

His usually-stern face softened—just a little.

“Understood.”

Then he turned to his segments with the finality of a guillotine blade.

“She’s right.”

They all flinched.

“I am her father. You are not.”

“…Noted.”

“She has my approval to destroy your work if provoked.”

“…Can we have that permission?” Omega whispered to Sigma.

“No.”

Dottore crouched and picked you up, resting you on his arm like a little royalty. “I will personally handle her enrichment, bedtime stories, and emotional regulation. Anyone who interferes—” He looked at Beta, who instinctively backed away. “—will be reassigned to cell-cleaning duty.”

You smirked smugly at the clones over Dottore’s shoulder, sticking your tongue out.

Theta whimpered again.

“Come, Y/N. It’s time for father-child research bonding.”

“…Does that mean tea and cuddles?”

“…Yes. But scientifically.”

You beamed. “I love you most.”

“I know.”

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Do you still write?if so you write cuddling with cat koing but then he suddenly changes into his human form?

Okay so, I just finished my Mer!König au series, so I think it's finally time to tackle some of these asks. I definitely do still write for it, I just had a little blip around January-early May where I was going through a lot. At some point it might be worth posting about, but the point is that I'm better now and I hope to write more!

Now, this is a very interesting ask because I think this would only go one way.

König likes cuddling. Sometimes, a bit too much. He's an obnoxiously cuddly cat. He'll brush your face with your tail as you're blowing on soup while watching youtube. He's insufferable. However, he sometimes loses control a bit.

The last few times König lost control, it was when you were asleep. He'd be rolling around on his back while you slept and then, all of a sudden, poof! König would shift into his human form and smother you with his back. As soon as he shifts he shifts back, but let me tell you, reader probably goes to a doctor for a couple of months because waking up to something crushing you only to open your eyes and see nothing? Genuinely terrifying.

Well, that all comes to an end on a Friday night. Horangi is chilling and sitting on the chair in your room, sleeping soundly as he likes to do in the evening. König, however, is desperate for attention.

He's just living the best life and rolled on his back in your lap. His big yellow eyes are bright and his pupils have fully expanded as he's looking up at you.

You're watching youtube when you feel his paws reaching up at your face.

"König, stahp," you grumble as he knocks your food off your fork.

He mews and bats at you again.

"What's going on with you?" you mutter bitterly.

Seriously, this cat.

He merps again and you look down. As soon as you do, you sigh. He's just too cute to ignore.

You groan as you put away your laptop and put your plate down to focus your attention on your sweetest cat.

His eyes go even wider as you start to rub his cheeks. His purring is infectious, and soon you're smiling and cooing at how pretty your little prince is. You're just loving the feeling of rubbing his cheeks and you giggle when he drools a little bit. He's looking completely blissed out when, all of a sudden...

Poof!

It takes a minute for your brain to catch up as a giant man flops off the bed and onto the floor.

You're frozen in place, staring at the spot König once was as you hear someone profusely cursing in German.

You slowly turn your head to look up, and there you see a giant man with bright blue eyes staring down at you. His face is shrouded in a black hood with an all-too-familiar set of red tear tracks and his body is covered in that dreadful tactical clothing.

Him, you thought, it's Scary Big Bastard Man. And he's... He's in my lap???

"König?" you squeak.

"König what the fuck!?" you hear a man scream behind you.

You whip your head around to see a Korean man glaring at him. His eyes snap to you and he gulps.

The friendly Korean man.

"Okay, so, um, let me explain-"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!"

You throw your laptop at the big man and your plate at the other and they curse and scramble towards the door.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO KÖNIG!?"

"I didn't do anything!" man mountain screeches as the other rips him out through the door.

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU!!!"

You're running at them and grabbing anything you can to throw at them as they go.

"THE DOOR! GO TO THE DOOR!" the Korean man yells and shoves the man down to the kitchen floor.

You grab a knife and throw it at them, lodging it squarely in the big man's foot.

He screeches and in an instant...

Poof!

The knife clatters to the ground and where the big man was is now your dear sweet precious baby König, mewling with a bloody back paw.

Your eyes widen and you look at the Korean man glancing between you and König.

"Um," he looks down at König whining on the floor, "hi? My name's Horangi? You might know me as your pet cat."

You look down at König then back up at him.

"You know, like, nyah?"

You throw a knife at him too.