#Greg x female reader

[thatgenericwriter]

The Fake Boyfriend || Gregory House

Paring: Dr. Gregory House x fem!reader

Summary: When a creepy dude starts hitting on you in the hospital you go to the closest person for help

Warnings: catcalling and gross men

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"Hey sexy!" You turn to look at who's getting catcalled. Not finding any women looking uncomfortable. Actually, not finding anyone around you at all. No one but a creepy dude who is actively walking closer and closer to you.

'.....oh shit!' You turn around and start walking faster to the cafeteria doors. You pray that there's somebody in there that can help you.

"Hey pretty lady! Why are you walking away from all of this?" You shudder in disgust and start walking even faster to the now approaching cafeteria doors.

You can feel him getting even closer to you. And you're practically running by the time you open the doors to the cafeteria. Quickly scanning the room you spot two men sitting at one of the tables.

Praying that this works you turn around to confront the gross man who has now made it inside the cafeteria with you.

"Please leave me alone sir. I have a boyfriend and he's sitting right over there." You tell this man while gesturing to the men behind you.

"Yeah sure you do why don't you go over there and prove it." You take a deep breath as you hoped he wouldn't ask this. But letting out a shaky exhale you turn around and walk towards the table with the two men.

You hear him walking behind you, and as you get closer you can tell that these two men are actually doctors at this hospital.

"Hey sorry I'm late honey! Traffic was crazy getting here! I hope I didn't miss all of your lunch break." You slide in next to the closest guy to you. Which happened to be a ruff looking man in a suit. And as you took a second closer look you noticed the cane that he had under the table.

You give the two men a pleading look before turning back to the catcaller beside the table. "See I told you my boyfriend was here. So now will you please leave me alone."

You can tell that the two men now understand what's happening. The guy sitting across from you sits up straighter and has a more threatening look on his face. And the man that you had sat by lazily puts his arm around you and pulls you in to him more.

"This cripple is your boyfriend? Baby girl I could please you better than this man ever could." You felt the man's arm wrap around you tighter as this creep said this.

"Are you sure about that? Because I make a killer lasagna!" The man across from you rolls his eyes at the other man's comment before turning to look at the creep.

"Sir if you do not leave my friend's girlfriend alone I will have you personally escorted out of this hospital, and then make sure that you never step foot in this hospital again." This got the creepy man to scoff and roll his eyes before making an off handed comment about you not even being hot enough to be worth all this trouble. Before turning around and leaving the cafeteria.

As soon as the door shut behind him you let out a breath of air that you have been holding in, and relax into your seat before turning and looking at the two men that just saved you.

"I am so sorry for interrupting you guys! But also thank you so much for saving me from that creep."

The friendly looking man across from you tells you that it's no problem and that they were happy to help before introducing himself to you.

"I'm Dr. James Wilson and my lovely friend over there is Dr. Gregory House." You tell them your name and before you know it you're having a pleasant conversation with them. Well mostly with Wilson with house butting in with a sarcastic quick every now and again. But a pleasant conversation nonetheless.

That is until Wilson's pager goes off. He apologizes to both of you before leaving the cafeteria briskly. But not before sending a not so subtle wink to House. And that's when you realize that House has yet to take his arm off of your shoulders.

"I should also get going. My niece should be done with her test by now and I've got to get her home." You quickly scribble your number on one of the napkins on the table with a pin from your purse before sliding it over to House.

"Here's my number just in case you want to save me from anymore creepy men." You get up, after House removes his arm from around you, and grab your bag to start leaving.

You're halfway to the door before you hear house talking from behind you. "It's true you know!"

This stops you in your tracks as you turn back around to face House. "What?" You asked bewildered.

"It's true that I make a great lasagna. How about you come over to my place tomorrow night and prove me right." You give him a little smirk before nodding your head and agreeing.

You turn around again and are almost out the cafeteria doors before you hear House talking once again. "I'll text you the deets!" You shake your head in amusement before letting the door shut fully behind you and walking to the elevator to go get your niece.

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Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed my first house fic!

#greg house x reader #gregory house #x fem! reader #x female reader #dr house #house md #gregory house x reader #x reader

[vigilante-3073]

Pretty In Pink

James Wilson x Female Reader

Summary: House is curious about Wilson's newly formed relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department.

TW: Mentions of infidelity, questioning.

House sat in the clinic, loud music and sound effects echoing from the speaker of his Gameboy as he played his video game. A young boy sat on the examination table, kicking his scuffed up sneakers boredly as his mother stood beside him. The boy had an ear infection. It was a rather nasty case, but a treatment of antibiotics would resolve it pretty quickly.

The diagnosis was definitely not something House needed assistance with, but he had some questions for the head of Pediatrics.

Doctor L/N had been hired just over two years ago and had recently started seeing Wilson romantically. Wilson refused to give House any details about their relationship and he decided that he would find out for himself.

"What exactly are we waiting for, Doctor?" The patient's mother asked, crossing her arms as she shifted on her feet.

"A consult," House replied without looking up from his screen.

"But I thought it was just an ear infection, is it something worse?" The mother asked.

"Maybe... That's why we're waiting for the consult," House said.

A gentle knock sounded on the door before it opened and Doctor L/N stepped into the room, "Ah, Doctor L/N, how nice of you to join us," House said, tucking his Gameboy into his pocket.

"Hello, I'm Doctor L/N. What seems to be the problem?" She asked, using some hand sanitizer before making her way over to the boy and his mother.

"How was your date? Wilson was stingy with the details," House questioned.

"I don't think this is the most appropriate place to be discussing this, House," She said, sending the young boy and his mother a reassuring smile.

"Oh, don't worry about them, they're fine," House assured.

"We can talk later, House," She said, turning her attention to the young boy, "What seems to be the problem?" L/N questioned.

"Oh, he has an ear infection," House stated, "Just needs some antibiotics," He continued.

"You called me to consult on an ear infection?" Y/N asked incredulously.

"No, I wanted you to tell me about your date with Wilson," House said.

Y/N sighed, pulling her prescription pad from the pocket of her lab coat. She removed a sparkly pink pen from her pocket and wrote out an order on the script.

"I wrote you a prescription for antibiotic ear drops. You pull the earlobe up and back before putting the drops in. The ear should be kept upwards for five minutes after giving each dose," Doctor L/N said, tearing off the slip and passing it to the mother.

"Thank you so much," The woman said.

"It's my pleasure. Oh, and I have some stickers that you can pick from for being so brave today," L/N said, pulling out a variety of brightly colored stickers from her pocket and holding them out in front of the boy.

The boy smiled widely, eyes scanning the stickers before taking a superhero one, "Mom, look," He said proudly, holding up the sticker.

"Come to my office when you're done your clinic hours," Doctor L/N said softly to House.

"But you already made the trip down, it would be cruel to make a cripple travel all that way," House argued.

"You have more patients to see and I'm not helping you weasel your way out of clinic duty. Come and see me later if you want to talk," L/N smiled, making her way out of the room and closing the door.

...

House made his way through the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro on his way to L/N's office. Doctor L/N was an incredibly kind woman who was amazing with her patients, which is probably what drew Wilson to her in the first place.

But House didn't like to share his toys, especially when it was unclear who he was sharing them with.

House banged the handle of his cane on the door to her office, "Come in," She called from inside.

House opened the door and stepped into her office, "Miss me?" House asked, closing the door behind himself before making his way over.

"How was the clinic?" L/N asked without looking up from her patient file.

"Amazing, I'm saving the world one runny nose at a time," House replied sarcastically, sitting down in one of the black leather armchairs in front of her desk, "Comfy," He mused.

His eyes flickered around her office, the shelves were lined with photographs and a few pink trinkets. One corner of the room contained a variety of children's toys and craft supplies along with a small table.

The room was warm and inviting with pink items in every corner. Now that he thought about it, House had never seen the young woman wear anything other than various shades of pink.

The original tip-off to House about Wilson's new relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department was a blush pink tie he had bought for himself.

People could be so easy to read sometimes.

House's eyes finally returned to her figure, not at all shocked to see the pale pink dress that she had been wearing underneath her lab coat.

"Big fan of pink?" House questioned rhetorically, tapping his cane on the floor in front of his chair.

L/N closed the patient file, setting her pink pen on the desktop as she looked up at him, "What can I help you with, Doctor House?" She asked.

"You and Wilson," He stated, bright blue eyes scrutinizing her from across the desk.

"We've been on six dates and there will most likely be more," L/N said.

House narrowed his eyes, "What do you like about him?" House asked.

"He is the kindest man I've ever known. He's smart, handsome and a complete gentleman. And he's devoted to his work," L/N replied.

"Do you see a future with him? Marriage? Kids?" House asked.

She smiled, "I'd like to think so, somewhere way down the road, but I can't speak for Wilson," Doctor L/N said. House nodded as he processed her reply, shifting his cane in his grasp.

"Do you have any other questions for me, Doctor House?" She asked.

"Did you know he's been unfaithful before?" He questioned, watching her facial expression closely.

"I did, yes," L/N nodded.

"But you're still with him? Most women your age would run the other way from a guy with a history of infidelity. You're young, pretty and smart. You have options... So, why settle for him?" House asked.

She huffed a laugh, "There's no settling when you care about someone, House. You take them for who they are and decide to love them anyway, faults and all," L/N said.

"Why are you answering my questions?" House asked, "You could have told me to kick rocks and avoided this altogether, but you didn't," He stated.

"You're his best friend, House. If I'm going to be a part of his life, I have to be okay with you being a part of it too," L/N said with a small smile.

House stared at her for a second, "I like you," He said.

A soft knock sounded on the door before it opened and Wilson poked his head into the office. His brow furrowed slightly in concern when he saw House sitting in front of her desk.

"Is everything okay?" Wilson asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind himself.

"Yep, we were just having girl talk," House said, standing up from his seat and walking over to the door.

"She's all yours," House said, stepping out into the hallway and limping off in the direction of his office.

"Did he say anything I should be concerned about? Because I can easily arrange a date that is so amazing that you would be willing to forgive my awful choice in friends," Wilson said.

L/N smiled, shaking her head, "He was actually pretty sweet," She replied.

"I knew he must be sick, that doesn't sound like House at all," Wilson joked with a smile.

"He cares about you," Doctor L/N said, standing from her chair and making her way over to him.

"In his own messed up way? Yes," Wilson said, wrapping his arms around her waist when she was close enough.

L/N wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers toying with his hair, "I really like you, James," She said.

"Good, because I really like you too," Wilson replied, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. He pulled away after a moment, staring down at her lovingly.

"Do you still have time for lunch?" L/N asked, hands sliding down to adjust his pale pink tie instinctively.

"For you? I have all the time in the world," Wilson replied.

#james wilson #james wilson imagine #james wilson x reader #james wilson x you #james wilson x female reader #house md #house md imagine #house imagine #gregory house #greg house

[hotchs-bitch]

Fluffy Feb Day 28- Comfort Sex [Greg Montgomery]

Warnings: established relationship, praise kink, some dumbification, overstimulation, oral sex (both receiving), condescending Greg, p in v sex, comfort sex but make it a little kinky because February can be very tough and I know the girlies are struggling rn (I am one of the girlies)

Pairing: Greg Montgomery x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: big love to @greg-montgomery for reading it over, and inspiring me to write this, and to @doctorstethoscope for putting on this amazing event❤️ this is the first thing I’ve written for a non CM character, so please let me know what you think! Happy fluffy feb, folks. That’s a wrap

“Hi, honey!” The predictable kiss to your cheek when Greg sets his briefcase down should make you feel better, but the smile you force makes him pause. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The lie rolls off your tongue with ease. You’re fine. “How was your day?”

“It was Anderson’s last day, so Pete brought a few strippers into the office. Oh, and I finished up that divorce settlement that’s been dragging on.” Greg’s jacket comes off and he hangs it on the coat rack before moving toward the sofa. “My mother wants us to come over for dinner on Friday to discuss the charity luncheon. It’s for sick horses, or maybe women, I think; she either said ‘equestrian’ or ‘equality’, but the stripper music was really loud.”

“So a normal day, for you.” Your teasing falls a little flat, and he frowns as he sits down next to you on the sofa.

“I guess. Hey, what’s going on? Where’s that smile?” His coaxing doesn’t have the effect he’s looking for, you’re sure. Instead, your chin wobbles and you let out a huff of annoyance. “Talk to me. Come on.”

“Everyone’s just… everyone is an idiot,” you snap, catching yourself off-guard with the fury behind your words. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s just, I feel like I’m the only person at work who has a brain and knows how to use it, and I feel like I’m doing everything, and now my boss is mad at me because I’ve made a few mistakes because I’ve been doing everyone else’s job, and now we have this luncheon to worry about for your mother’s horses, and-”

“Hey.” His voice is sharp, and one hand encircles your wrist. “Just breathe. Don’t apologize to me. I want you to tell me this kind of stuff, honey, you know that. Is anything else bothering you?”

The laundry list of things that have been annoying you seems meagre when you actually have to say it out loud. “I got stuck on the way to work behind a car that didn’t use its turn signal,” you mumble. “And the diner was out of sandwiches when I went there for lunch because they didn’t make enough to last all day. It’s all dumb stuff, I’m just tired.”

“It’s not dumb. If it’s bothering you, it’s not dumb,” Greg promises. “What can I do to help? Just say the word.”

You huff again, ignoring the way his lips twitch at the sound. “I don’t know. I just feel like you and I are the only people in the world who have two brain cells to rub together, and I’m tired of it. I spend every single day thinking for everyone and fixing things they should fix, and doing things they should be doing.”

Greg puts one arm around your shoulders, pulling you in sideways. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dragging his lips against your cheek in a long kiss. “You know what I think?”

“That I should get promoted? Or at least, get in less trouble?” You grumble, allowing him to pull you close. “Good luck with that.”

“Well, yes,” he agrees after a second. “Of course. But I can’t do that. What I can do is, I can turn your pretty little brain off for a while.”

Oh. That’s not what you were expecting to hear, but it sounds nice. “I just don’t want to think,” you mumble, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt. “It’s too much.”

“I know it is, baby. Come on, it’s okay,” he soothes. One of his hands slides down your side, seamlessly unbuttoning your pants. “Can I? Let me take care of you.”

That’s the magical sentence, the key to the kingdom, and you nod in answer. Your eyes start to flutter shut when his fingers toy with the waistband of your panties, but you force yourself to keep them open so you can look at him.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs again, leaning in to line your neck with kisses. “No need to think. You’re mine, remember? And I take good care of what’s mine.”

It’s true, he does, and you can already feel yourself going fuzzy around the edges when he circles your clit with one finger. “Mm…”

You feel his smile against your skin, that self-satisfied smirk he wears whenever he turns you to putty. “That’s it. Just take it, just like that. My good girl’s already getting so wet for me, so perfect.”

Greg won’t push a finger in until you’re dripping; you know that from experience. One of his fingers keeps circling your clit, and he uses his other hand to push down your shirt and bra, giving him access to thumb at your nipple.

“I’ll, I can take it off,” you offer, already thinking about sliding off your shirt and unclasping your bra, and Greg sinks his teeth into the skin of your shoulder in warning.

“I’ll take it off when I want it off,” he promises. “Stop trying so hard. You’re mine, I’m in charge here. You’re going to get what I give you, yeah? You’ve got a safeword. If you aren’t saying it, you’re taking what you get.”

“Y-yeah.” Your breath hitches through the word when he pinches your nipple, his finger rubbing you faster with more and more pressure as the seconds pass. 

His hand moves down slightly, and he groans into your ear when he swipes a finger through your folds to discover how wet you are. “That’s it. Is this turning you on, hm? You like it when I take good care of my princess?” One finger moves back to rub at your clit, lubricated with your arousal.

When he pulls his head away from your shoulder, you bury his face in his neck. It hardly muffles your moans, or your whines of, “Gonna, I need to, please,” against his skin.

“Come for me,” he coaxes. “You don’t have to ask, it’s okay. All over my hand, just like that, go ahead.”

The permission is like a release all on its own, and you moan unabashedly into him as you come, shaking and writhing against him as you grind down onto his hand. 

His finger stays steady against you, working you through your orgasm while you whimper into his neck. When he doesn’t stop playing with your clit, you pull back with a soft groan.

“Was good,” you sigh out, and Greg kisses you sweetly without his rhythm faltering. “I’m- oh, I’m good, baby, thank you.”

“Very good,” he agrees, his voice soft and husky against your lips. “I’ve got such a good girl. You can come again, good girl, I know you can.”

“Greg…” You squirm under him, pleasure mounting quickly as your first orgasm starts to build into your second without letting you come down first. 

He shushes you, kissing your neck again as you come undone on his fingers a second time, your orgasm cresting like a soft wave. “You can take it, just like that. So wet for me, sweetheart, so perfect.” The praise kisses your ears as he kisses you again, finally, blissfully withdrawing his hand as you take a deep breath.

Several deep breaths later, you start to return to yourself. The orgasms weren’t fireworks, or mind-blowing. They were good, of course, but they washed over you in a gentle wave of pleasure rather than making you cry out or making your eyes roll back in your head.

“Ready for more?” He asks with another slow kiss, and you pull back to blink at him.

“More?” You echo, and Greg chuckles at that.

Standing up off the couch, he offers you one hand and you take it. “Yes, more,” he promises, leading you toward the bedroom. “My girl hasn’t had enough yet. I want to hear you beg.”

The bed is soft beneath you when he lays you back, skimming both hands down your eyes before slowly- painfully slowly- tugging your pants and underwear down until they hit the floor. “I want to taste you,” you mumble, and he grins.

Something about sucking him off, having the most intimate part of him under your control, never fails to drive you crazy. Some days, he comes home to find you already on your knees because you crave the taste of him so badly. Although, ever since one incident where you’d nicked the head of his dick with one of your teeth, he has a new… approach.

“You think you can take it? Already, baby, but you need to be careful,” he warns. “Remember, my good girl knows how to listen. You can unzip me.”

His zipper comes down so fast that it’s almost comical, and when he gives permission you push his pants and boxers off while he discards his shirt. 

“I want it.” Your voice is breathless as you eye his hard cock, hard enough to be standing up when he lays back on the bed.

“I know you do,” he says, his voice equal parting soothing and husky. “Okay, greedy girl. You remember what to do?”

This part always frustrates you; the way he talks like you’ve never blown him before, like you’ve never had him whining for your touch. “I know,” you huff, and he wraps one hand in your hair to steady it against the back of your head.

He continues talking like he hasn’t heard you. “First, you can grip it. Stroke nice and slow, get me ready. Stick out your tongue, that’s it. Look how fast my girl is learning.”

You’re perched between his thighs, one hand gripping his hairy leg while you take his cock in your other hand and stroke it. Nice and slow, just like he said, and when you see a bead of pre-cum your tongue slides out of your open mouth of its own volition. 

“I’m ready,” you insist, and Greg twists his hand in your hair just tight enough to hurt. “I am! I’m ready, I can do it.”

“You can do it if you can follow instructions,” he corrects you. “Tap the head on your tongue, sweetheart. Let me feel that mouth.”

“Could feel more of my mouth,” you mumble, but he ‘tsk’s at that until you follow his direction.

“Not yet, I can’t,” he sighs while he watches you, sympathetic. “Now, maybe if my greedy girl weren’t a safety hazard, we could do this however you want. But for now, you’re listening to me.”

You want to complain about that, but then he’s got his free hand steadying your jaw. “Open up more,” he murmurs, and your jaw drops obediently. “Good girl. If I feel anything other than that tongue and those pretty lips, I’m going to edge you until you cry. And we don’t want that, do we?”

He uses the hand tangled in your hair to shake your head for you. “No, we don’t.” He answers his own question, then slowly pushes into your mouth. “Just like that, good girl,” he praises. “You can stroke the rest of it, for now. You feel so good, I don’t want to finish too soon.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you listen to his instructions, bobbing your head only as much as he allows you to. Drool escapes your mouth, making the glide of your hand on his cock smoother, and you shift with excitement when you hear him sigh in pleasure.

You’re doing it. You’re being his good girl, following his instructions so perfectly, and if you could live out the rest of your days with your head between his thighs and his hands holding you in place, you surely would. It’s blissful, the familiar weight of him in your mouth, grounding you.

Time passes- how much, you can’t say- and Greg lets you get closer, take a little more of him. He even lets you suckle at his sac at one point before guiding you back up to his cock and thrusting shallowly; something he does so rarely that it feels like a reward for you when he does. He pumps into your mouth, once, twice, and you can feel him twitch against your tongue before he pulls out completely.

“Didn’t finish,” you complain, and he shuts you up by pulling you closer up on the bed with the hand in your hair and kissing you.

“I know, baby,” he soothes when you’ve broken apart, discarding your shirt and bra to the floor. “I know. But you got to taste, and now I can make my girl feel so good, can’t I?”

“Fuck me.” It’s half demand, half plea, and Greg is having none of it.

“Not yet.” He lays you back on the bed and gets between your thighs, kissing a line down your neck. When you whine with impatience, two of his fingers nudge your lips. “Suck on those, sweetheart. You can be good for a little longer.”

He’s right, you can be, so you eagerly suck the digits into your mouth as his lips caress your breasts, then your stomach, then your upper thighs while he slides down the bed. “Mm,” you protest around the fingers when you spread your legs for him, and he doesn’t immediately dive between them, instead pulling the fingers out of your mouth and tracing your nipple with saliva.

Sucking his cock has gotten you worked up again, and you’re ready for one of those mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasms that only he can give you. Luckily, he acquiesces after a long moment, wrapping his lips around your clit to suck. Hard.

His tongue pushes into you, curling and probing perfectly, and he pulls off after a minute just to murmur, “Come when you’re ready,” and then he’s back on you with fervour. When you do come, your back arches and you cry out and this time you definitely see fireworks, but he’s still not stopping. “Again,” he insists, panting into your skin as his tongue flicks against your clit and you moan.

Both of your hands are tangled in his hair by the time he pulls away, and by then you’ve got no idea how many times you’ve finished. Orgasm has blurred into orgasm, one continuous stream of pleasure that has you blinking away tears and breathing heavily when Greg comes up for air. His chin is wet, his eyes sinfully dark, and he’s still got a stupid smirk on his face, and if you could possibly come again you would probably do it just from looking at him.

“Just a few more,” he promises you, fisting his cock. It’s an angry purple, the bedsheet under him spotted with pre-cum, and you moan aloud at the idea of him enjoying eating you out so much that’s turning him on. His promise of ‘a few more’ doesn’t even register, at first. You’re drunk off the feel of his tongue, unable to form a sentence if you tried, and you need him inside you now.

“Please.” It’s a whine, and Greg grins at your needy pout while he kisses you. “Please, I need it.”

“I know you do,” he whispers. “Can you ride me? Can my princess handle that?”

You shake your head, no, you can’t handle it. Your legs are trembling and achy, you’ve come too many times, and you couldn’t move right now if you tried.

Instead of getting frustrated, Greg just chuckles while he pushes your legs back open. “No?” He teases, pressing the head of his cock against your hole. He pushes the head in slightly, then pulls it out just to hear your lewd moan at the loss. “Did I make my good girl so dumb she can’t even ride me? I’ve been so nice to you, sweetheart, and you can’t help your man out?”

Tears prick at your eyes as you nod furiously. “M sorry,” you gasp out, willing your legs to spread further for him. His thumb grazes your clit again and you flinch, overstimulated. “It’s, it’s too much, I can’t.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby.” His grin doesn’t falter as his thumb speeds up, pressing directly on the bundle of nerves until your eyes roll back and your back arches off the bed. “I’ll forgive you if you can come again, how’s that sound?”

It sounds impossible, but the way he’s giving you no reprieve is starting to make you shake under him all over again. “Can’t, I can’t, please!”

“I think you can.” He presses his cock into you again, hardly an inch. “You love it when I do this, you love being my dumb baby. You beg for it. Soak my cock, get it nice and wet so I can fuck you.”

Your whimper almost breaks the sound barrier, you swear. Greg’s thumb doesn’t slow down or break the rhythm at all when you try to squirm away, and he pins you down with one hand on your abdomen. “Please, please, please, please!”

It’s hard to tell what you’re begging for now, but he doesn’t care. His tongue pokes out in concentration, staring down at your pussy as you clench around the head of his cock. When his eyes dart up, connecting with yours, you shatter.

It’s like falling off a skyscraper, becoming a firework, a train of pleasure colliding with your body as you howl. Words escape you and your mouth falls open in a silent scream when he finally, blissfully, pushes in the rest of the way. You can’t focus on him or the way he cups your cheek or the words he mumbles, you can’t focus on anything except the slick drag of his cock inside you.

“Knew you could do it,” he pants, squeezing your jaw a little. “So pretty when you come for me, baby.”

“Greg, Greg, Greg-” You’re gasping out his name with each punctuated thrust, the only word in your brain now. You can’t even remember your own name, you’re so fuzzy.

“Did I get my girl all stupid?” He croons, grinning down at you with that sinisterly innocent smile. “Oh, I did. Look at those pretty eyes. All glazed over, not a single thought in there. You like my cock that much, princess? Hm?”

“Mhm, mm,” you moan behind closed lips, and you hear his chuckle.

“I thought so. You like it when I treat you good? When I rub that clit until you can’t breathe?” Your sharp inhale follows the sound of him spitting onto his hand, reaching down to roll circles around the swollen bud. “I know you need it, baby, you can do it.”

There are tears streaming down your face now, and you hardly know when they started. You’re too overwhelmed with pleasure, you can hardly stand it, you don’t know how much longer you can go. You don’t want to stop, that’s the only thing you know. He’s in charge, like he always tells you. He knows best, you’re his dumb baby, and you can take whatever he gives you, you can.

“That’s my good girl,” he coos when you don’t try to argue. “Just like that. I’m thinking for you, remember? You’re all mine. You’re going to let me keep playing with this pretty pussy, aren’t you?”

Swallowing a sob, you can only nod as he kisses you again. You let him invade your mouth as you grip his back, leaving scratches that are sure to burn but he only hisses in pleasure. You’re being so good that you’re almost dizzy with the thought of it, so good for him, he’s mumbling into your mouth that you’re so fucking perfect and it makes you shudder in pleasure. 

It can’t be possible for your body to come again, but it also shouldn’t be possible for one man to be so perfect, and you think that Greg can find a way to do anything. When you start to feel that familiar twist in your belly you whine, and he pulls his hand away, and you don’t know if you’re disappointed or relieved.

“Can I come?” He asks, breathless, just what you’ve been waiting for, and he places his hand on your stomach. “Right here, can I fill you up?”

The sigh of relief he lets out when you nod is orgasmic in its own right. He thrusts again, once, twice more, and then you can feel him flooding your insides like he promised, filling you up with him. “Good girl,” he gasps out as he ruts through it, crushing his lips to yours as you kiss back hazily, messily.

Instead of collapsing on the bed when he pulls out, he immediately moves back down your body and mouths at your hip. “I’m gonna clean you up,” he says, gazing up at you as his lips trail lower and he sucks a mark on your inner thigh. “One more, on my tongue. My good girl can do it.”

Truthfully, you don’t know if you can. You feel weighed down, boneless, and the idea of ever coming again sounds impossible. But you’re good for him, you’re his good girl, you’re his, so you just nod. 

“Eyes on me,” he whispers, and he keeps his gaze locked on you as- fuck, as his tongue pushes inside you and curls, lapping up the taste of himself before it can leak out of you. Greg moans against you, into you, and as soon as you can feel your arms again you place one hand in his hair. It’s damp with sweat, the locks sliding through your fingers, and when you tangle your fingers in it to keep a grip on him he only licks harder.

Your hips rock up off the bed to meet his mouth, and his nose bumps against your clit as he tries to get even closer to you. Once he’s satisfied with cleaning his cum out of you he pulls back, still holding eye contact with you, and you see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

You must have died, several orgasms ago. This must be heaven.

Greg latches back onto your clit in a frenzy, sucking hard as he rolls his tongue over the bud, and a fresh stream of tears escapes you when you sob, yanking his hair hard, chanting yes, yes, yes, and please, Greg, fuck, as you come undone on his tongue like you have so many times tonight.

His tongue laves over you as you come down, an unspoken apology to your overused pussy, and he pulls away after you whine softly. Your hands release his hair and he moves up the bed, kissing you gingerly.

This might be your favourite part; lying in his arms in the afterglow, with no need to do or say or think. “Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs once you’ve settled into him. “You did so well for me. How’s my best girl doing?”

Words haven’t returned to you yet; maybe they never will. When he wraps one arm around your shoulders, you roll over on your side to nestle your head in your favourite spot between his jaw and his collarbone and hum with contentment.

“So perfect,” he praises, and you turn your face into the crook of his neck. He loves to praise you, especially afterwards, and you both know how badly you want- no, need- to hear it, but it still gets you embarrassed sometimes. “You took me so well, sweet girl. I’m so proud of you.”

“Sorry.” Your voice is raspy, your throat dry, and your words are muffled against him. “Couldn’t ride you, Greg. ‘M sorry.”

“Hey,” he pulls back just enough to kiss the side of your head, “No apologizing. You could never let me down, angel. You’re so perfect for me, all the time.” When you relax back against him, he continues speaking, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Honestly, after all that, I’ll be impressed if you can even walk.”

There might be a challenge in his tone, or maybe you’re just imagining it, because when you hmph indignantly he lets out a tranquil sigh and starts stroking soothing lines down your back with the hand wrapped around you. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s not find out tonight. You deserve some rest. Do you need anything else?”

After a moment, you inhale deeply. You’re surrounded by the scent and feel and voice of the man you love. The taste of him is still in your mouth, and you’ve got a perfectly-captured image in your mind’s eye of the beautiful smile he gave you before he kissed you. You’ve got everything you need, and you shake your head to tell him that.

“Alright. You’ll let me know if you need anything, okay?” He waits for you to nod. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” you mumble. You want to hear more of him, you want him to speak until his is the only voice you recognize, so you ask the only thing you can think of short of asking him to read you the dictionary. “How was your day?”

A smile pulls at his lips, and you can see it in your head when you feel his jaw shift above you. It’s that lopsided smile that always makes you want to kiss him silly, you just know it is. “It was good. It was Anderson’s last day, and we had a party. How was your day, princess?”

You sigh against his skin, relaxing into his embrace like it’s a warm cloud you could sink into and never emerge from. “It was perfect.”

Fluffy Feb masterlist | < Prev Day

Fluffy Feb tags: @doctorsteths-fluffyfeb @iammirrorball @hausofwhores @allthefandomstogether @myweepingangel @hotched @spacecowboyhotch @chibsytelford @honeybrowne @formulapierre @nd264 @hotchnerxnegan1017 (send me a dm or ask to be tagged!)

#my writing #t’s blurbs #fluffy feb #doctorsteths fluffy feb #Greg Montgomery x reader fluff #Greg x reader fluff #greg montgomery x reader smut #greg montgomery smut #Greg montgomery fluff #greg x reader smut #dharma and greg #dharma and Greg fanfiction #grey montgomery fanfic #Greg montgomery x reader fanfiction #Greg montgomery x reader #Greg montgomery x you #greg montgomery #Greg montgomery x fem reader #Greg montgomery x female reader #Greg x reader #Greg x fem reader #Greg x female reader

[iamsherlocked1479]

That's not how I'd do it

A Sherlock x Reader Masterlist

I have began to write a chaptered fic of YN as Mrs Hudson's niece and she lives with Sherlock and John. Chaos ensues, naturally. Extra info NOT BASED ON THE TIMELINE OF THE SERIES

The Detective platylist

Chapter One |

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Forteen

Chapter Fifteen

#sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x female!reader #sherlock #female reader #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock x reader masterlist #sherlock fluff #sherlock smut #sherlockbbc #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock fandom #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #jim moriarty #dr john watson #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #mrs hudson

[j-eryewrites]

The Dancing Men (II)

Part 16 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: (9.1k)

Author’s Note: Is this a filler chapter...? yes. Is this chapter over 9 thousand words...? yes. (This was also a chance to explore other characters besides Sherlock, John, and Y/N) 

Also, I did not realize the dancing men code did not insert the last chapter, so I went back an added that. (Thought it might be fun for yall to figure out the code alongside Sherlock.)

Warnings: Drug usage, mentions of drugs, murder, descriptions of blood and injuries, Sherlock is Sherlock (let me know if I have missed anything)

Everything was in place: buttery popcorn, fluffy blanket, lights dimmed down low, and the chosen movie on the television screen. Bjørn sat cozied up on Y/N’s lap. His brown fur was a stark contrast to the white light blue blanket on her lap. Across from the two of them was John. His back was relaxed as he sank into the soft cushion of Y/N’s couch. All worries of the workday were forgotten as they dived into the latest choice for their movie night. 

Bjørn quite enjoyed these evenings. One, John was present and Bjørn liked John very much. Second, Y/N was holding him close and petting his fur; an action the cat loved. Third, Sherlock was nowhere to be found. Bjørn remembers the first movie night they held and, unfortunately, Sherlock had been invited to that, until he predicted how the entire movie would play out, so then John had heroically banned the man from movie nights. 

Mrs. Hudson, one of Bjørn’s favourite people, would occasionally be invited to the movie nights, but those were only the rom-com nights. The cat could easily recall the woman’s fondness of the romance genre from all the soap operas and romance films she watched while watching over Bjørn for the night. Bjørn didn’t mind the sappiness of the movies at all because he was well rewarded by Mrs. Hudson with treats and baked goods that were only meant for pets. 

Bjørn purred as Y/N reached over to grab the remote to play the movie. His owner had heard of the movie from word of mouth. It was something called “The Eyes of My Mother.” Apparently, it was scary good or at least that’s what Y/N had mentioned when telling John. 

Tonight was horror movie night. It was one of two genres both Y/N and John enjoyed watching together. Bjørn preferred horror movie nights. It meant that the people in the room would be fighting to find comfort from the cat as the jump scares and loud scary noises crept up in the scenes on the screen. Bjørn liked to provide comfort. He loved to protect those he loved. Which was why the cat was glad Sherlock was not here. There was something about that man that Bjørn didn’t like. Maybe it was the way his black hair bounced atop his head. No one should have that dark of curls. It could have been the piercing blue eyes that reminded Bjørn of a predator or the man’s peculiar aura. Bjørn could see auras and there was something strange about Sherlock's.

The movie had begun. The two humans in the room jumped at certain jump scares. Bjørn was almost knocked off Y/N’s lap at one point. The cat began to wonder if it would be safer to sit on John’s lap, so eventually he crawled out of his seat on his owner's lap and settled onto John’s. John welcomed the warmth and comfort that Bjørn presented. In trade for the cat, Y/N got the popcorn bowl. The woman was forced to, instead, find comfort in the plastic bowl that carried the buttery goodness. 

Bjørn had just settled into his seat on John’s lap (well, of course, the man had an excellent lap) when he felt a petulant buzzing from underneath him. The movie was quickly paused and Bjørn cracked open his eyes to watch Y/N and John search for the noise. Bjørn contemplated helping them search and putting an end to the noise, but the source was soon found under the mound of blankets. 

Once uncovered,  a horrendous ringtone began to play from John’s phone. A ringtone that he had set years prior, that he meant to change but just never got around to it. John retrieved his phone and Bjørn caught sight of a pellicular look on the man’s face. 

“Hello?” John answered. 

Bjørn, with his excellent hearing, could make out the sound of a woman’s voice. Now, the cat hadn’t gotten used to the British accent. While the cat could understand Mrs Hudson, John, and reluctantly Sherlock, everyone else was a mystery. He blamed his understanding of the human language and the voice of those who found a home in 221B to be a matter of proximity. He willingly got used to John and Mrs. Hudon’s voices. He loved Y/N’s. Sherlock’s? Well, Sherlock’s was like screeching. Bjørn hated it. He hated everything about the man. Hate wasn’t a strong enough word. Bjørn loathed Sherlock entirely. 

“Hello, is this John Watson?” The voice asked over the phone. 

John’s face turned to shock. He was surprised to hear a voice he hadn’t heard in years. It belonged to one Kate Whitney. An old friend of his sister’s (and the girl he dated in his Secondary Educational years, but John prefers to use “a friend of his sister”.)

“Kate?” John asked.

“John? Oh, thank heavens! I don’t know what to do John!” Kate cried to him over the phone. 

John waited for Kate to finish talking. 

“It’s about Isa. He hasn’t been home for about two days and I’m getting worried. I heard from your sister that you were working with that detective now…” She sobbed. 

Isa Whitney. Right. Kate’s husband. Also an old friend from Secondary School. Bjørn looked up at John. The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as Kate cried over the phone. Bjørn’s ears began to hurt from the whining. 

In the back of John’s mind, he knew what Kate was going to ask next the second Sherlock had been mentioned. So John took the preemptive step to ask if she knew where her husband would be. 

Kate answered immediately. “The opium den on the east side of the city. At a place called Bar of Gold on Upper Swandam lane.”

Bjørn could feel John’s actions before they came and the cat regretted choosing to find a seat on John’s lap. The cat quickly hopped off and back onto Y/N’s lap just as John’s body groaned. John’s muscles expanded and contracted shooting into motion as he stood up to fetch his things by the door. 

Kate was overjoyed. “Oh, John. Thank you! I would go myself but that place is not safe for a woman like me.” 

Of course, Kate continued to ramble on as John grabbed his keys and stumbled down the stairs and out of 221B. 

“Yes…Kate…” John tried to conclude the conversation. “I’ll have to…Kate…”

Now, John liked to think that he was a kind man. If one compared John to his friend Sherlock, he would most definitely be the “kinder” out of the two of them. John made sure to thank Mrs. Hudson whenever she brought up tea for him and Sherlock and apologize to others (clients, police officers, Greg, Y/N, Bjørn) whenever he could. Since John made the active choice to be kind, he found himself having a hard time saying no. Well, unless it was Sherlock. Sherlock was easy to say no to. 

Even with this kindness that has seeped deep into John’s bones, he knew he had to end the call soon. While Kate was talking, John cleared his throat and spoke up. “Kate. I’ll go out to find Isa. I’ll bring him home. Got to go.” Without another word, the phone call was over. 

As John tugged on his jacket and shoes by the door. Once he was all set, he turned around to Y/N to apologize. He mentioned she could continue the movie, but the woman refused and insisted on waiting for him to return to finish it. Bjørn could sense the man began to feel guilty about the whole scenario and seemingly so could Y/N.

“John, go. Help your friend. I’ll be fine,” Y/N reassured. 

That’s all it took for John to bid goodbye and leave 221B in search of Isa Whitney. Bjørn hopped up from Y/N’s lap once more and settled on the section of the couch John once sat on. The cat was not content with the idea of being thrown off another lap. As if on cue, Y/N stood up from the couch and moved to the kitchen to make herself some tea. Once the water was boiled and the tea poured, Bjørn watched his owner pick up her phone. 

Y/N scrolled through her phone looking for a worthy distraction. Of course, she could just find something else to watch, but it felt wrong. Instinctively her finger found itself drifting to the messages. There were two messages from Jim asking about their date later that week. She hovered over the messages reading them over and over again, before sending a short reply confirming the time. 

Part of her felt bad. Jim was her boyfriend after all. However, there was something deep within her that wanted someone else. It was a secret she could never admit to herself for fear of the emotions coming up front and centre displaying for all to see. Those very emotions the man in question would sense in an instant. That very man she found herself calling. The phone rang. It rang. Then it stopped. Sherlock’s voice box message played over the speakers and then Y/N hung up. 

She groaned and dropped her head into her hands. She needed to stop. Sherlock was out for a business trip, whatever that was. She and John didn’t press, but Y/N began to think she should have. She missed him. Her finger tightened around the roots of her hair. This was bad. She missed Sherlock. Missing someone was the step just before you had to come clean with yourself; because you could only miss someone if you cared for them. 

_______

It wasn’t the first time John had been called to help Kate. He was well aware of her and her husband’s troubles. At first, Kate had gone to Harriet, John’s sister, until she realized that Harriet and Isa shared similar afflictions. As one does with comfort, Kate found someone who was in a similar boat as her; that someone had to be John Watson.

At the beginning of John’s journey, he hadn't had much of an issue finding a cab that would take him to Upper Swandam Lane. Although he got a few judgemental looks from his cab driver on the way to the location. When John did arrive at the street, that was when things started to take a turn. 

Upper Swandam Lane was a vile place to be. It was an alleyway that lurked behind the high wharves on the north side of the river just to the east of the London Bridge. The alleyway itself was between a slop shop and a gin shop. There was a set of stairs that John had to climb up to reach the alley. There was litter, burnt-up cigarette butts, and mysteriously gooey substances that adhered to the ground. Overall a place that screamed germs, something that just so happened to be a doctor’s worst nightmare. 

As John trekked up the stairs, he was glad that he had chosen to wear his thick boots. He’d prefer it if he didn’t end up with a contaminated needle stuck in his foot. The further John walked through the alley the more addicts he had to step over. People who had come for the high were now suffering the after-effects as they lay on the ground. John’s eyes carefully scoured the area looking for the familiar face of Isa Whitney. 

Eventually, John reached a wooden door. Above the door was a flickering lamp that only added to the alley’s chilling ambience. John could hear the sounds of muffled voices, laughter, and cheers from the other side of the door. He thought it over and assumed that it’d be best to try his luck inside the building. As John reached for the door handle, he prayed that Isa Whitney would be in there. 

The door creaked open to reveal a long, low room. The air was thick and heavy with the smoke of opium and other drugs. The lights were gloomy as they tried to shine through the dark smog. Through the gloom, John could make out figures of all sizes and shapes. They were all lying in strange poses as they all turned their heads to glance at the newcomer. Scattered amongst the haze were little red circles of light at the end of metal pipes. Occasionally a figure would reach out for the pipes and lift it to their lips before inhaling. 

There was a hushed conversation in the building as John made his way around the room in search of Isa. As luck would have it, John found the man. Isa was in the back of the room. He sat on a three-legged stool with his back hunched over a pipe. His fists were clenched tightly around the object as he raised his arms up to shakingly bring the pipe to his mouth. 

John tried to make quick work of reaching Isa but was stopped numerous times along the way. Attendants and other addicts would offer him a smoke or try to lead him in another direction in their delirium. 

“No thank you,” John would reply before returning to his chosen path. Eventually, the crowd and temptation grew too much, so John called out to Isa. “Isa Whitney!” The room fell silent and the people around John drew back from the man. Like the parting of a sea, the crowd moved and John eased his way over to Isa. 

Now that John was closer to Isa and without the presence of the smog, John’s eyes could see clearly the state of the man. Isa was in a haggard state. His eyes narrowed so that they were tiny slits. His clothes were wrinkled and dishevelled. There were even a few brown spots scattered across, what John assumed, was once a white button-up. Isa lifted his head to peer up at John. 

There was a moment of silence before Isa spoke. “My God! It’s John!” Isa said. The man’s demeanour completely changed. There was a spark of life in his eyes as Isa took sight of John’s face. “Why are you here?” The man spoke joyfully. 

John tried to take in a deep breath, but from the smoke, he ended up entering a coughing fit. Once John had collected himself and once Isa stopped hysterically laughing. John explained his appearance. 

At the mention of his wife, Kate, Isa’s expression paled. “John…what time is it?” Isa hesitated. His once joyful expression was now one of guilt and worry. 

“It’s nearly eleven at night,” John said. 

“...What day?” Isa continued with his questions. He seemed more and more sober the longer John and him spoke. 

“Friday, October 19th.” 

Isa dropped the pipe from his hand and started patting his body up and down as if he was looking for something. “No–It’s Wednesday. It is Wednesday,” he phrased it more like a question than a statement.

John sighed and shook his head. “It’s Friday.” He pulled out his phone to show Isa the date. Again Isa paled at the sight. “Your wife, Kate, has been worried sick. Isa, you should be ashamed of yourself.” 

Isa narrowed his eyes at John in disbelief. “I’ve only been here a few hours…I’ve only had two–four, no six pipes? I forgot how many…” Isa began to trail off as he wondered about how many pipes he had smoked. 

Before Isa could spiral any further, John reached for the man’s arm and yanked him up to his feet. “Let’s get you back home,” John muttered before lugging Isa to the door. 

Isa stumbled into John, nearly knocking him over as they scuffled over to the exit. “I’ll go with you, John,” Isa said as he wrapped an arm around John before leaning his entire body weight on John. 

John grumbled as he tried to get solid footing underneath Isa. 

“Kate must be so frightened–poor little Kate…my love.” Isa gazed off into the distance thinking about Kate. 

By some miracle, John had led Isa out of the building and the two of them were now walking down the alleyway back to the street. 

“John! Give me your hand!” Isa exclaimed. 

John cried out as Isa lunged for his hand and was now holding it hostage. “Isa!” 

Isa ignored John’s outcry. “Do you have a cab?” 

“Yes, Isa. I have a cab.”

“Good!” Isa squeezed John’s hand. “I owe you, John. I owe you!” 

“Yes. I heard you the first time, Isa,” John said. 

Then John continued to lead Isa out of the alley and to the cab that was waiting for them. The alleyway seemingly got darker the longer they walked. It was a narrow lane that made it hard for two grown men to walk side by side. In turn, John walked behind Isa making sure that the man didn’t trip over his feet or stop moving forward. 

Even though they were outside and no longer in that horrific building, John felt his lungs begin to burn from the smoke. He found it hard to breathe. Instead, John took to holding his breath. He deemed that it would be better to not breathe in the smog than to breathe at all. That was until he heard a voice speak to him. It was a voice that was too low to have ever come from Isa. 

John reluctantly took his eyes off of Isa and looked around the alleyway when the voice spoke again. 

“Walk past me, and then look back at me.” 

John froze before doing as the voice said. He turned around and looked down. His brown eyes fell upon a tall figure hunched over. There was something familiar about how the figure on the ground sat. John would have expected someone who sat upon the vile ground of Upper Swandam Lane to not sit with an air of arrogance. 

The whole scenario piqued John’s curiosity. He found himself leaning over and getting a closer look at the man who had spoken to him. It took all of John’s self-control to not grab the man and cry in astonishment. 

It was Sherlock Holmes. The man who had told both Y/N and John that he’d be away for a business trip. Sherlock turned his head so that John could see him clearly now. There was no doubt about it. There were the striking blue eyes that seemed to glow in the dark of the alley, the curly black hair, and that wicked smirk. 

“Sherlock!” John harshly whispered. “What on earth are you doing here?!” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his friend’s concern. “Speak as quietly as you can. I have excellent hearing. Also, get rid of that…” Sherlock turned his head to look at Isa who was now leaning up against the wall of the alley. “...friend of yours. Then I’ll talk.” Sherlock said it with such pompousness that John scoffed. 

John was considering just leaving Sherlock there and taking Isa back, but then John thought of Y/N. He knew he wouldn’t be able to face the woman without spilling the news about Sherlock. 

“I have a cab, Sherlock,” John whispered. 

“Good. Send him home in it.” Sherlock’s eyes flashed with disgust as he looked Isa up and down. “He won’t do anything mischievous. He appears to be limping to hold his own body weight up.”

“Which is why I should make sure that he gets home!” 

Sherlock tsked. “Quietly John.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. This was a moment where he should have said no. He should have taken Isa home in the cab. John should have arrived back at 221B and then spilt the news about Sherlock to Y/N. That’s what any good friend should do when they find someone they care about in a compromising position. But John knew Y/N had too much to worry about. He was her friend too. John clenched his jaw tightly before huffing in agreement. This time, he’d agree with Sherlock. He’d save Y/N some worry. It was the least he could do. 

It was surprisingly easy to place Isa Whitney in the confinement of the cab before sending him on his way back home to his wife Kate. Out of courtesy, John texted Kate telling her that her husband was on his way home in a cab. As John finished the message, Sherlock appeared beside him. 

The two of them didn’t speak a word as Sherlock led John down the street. It seemed the two of them were going for a stroll. The longer the silence progressed, the longer John grew worried. He knew of Sherlock’s addiction. The nicotine patches. The side comments from Mycroft offered a brief picture of Sherlock’s past. 

About two streets later, Sherlock stopped moving and let out a light chuckle. John whipped his head around to look at Sherlock like he was insane. (Although, John did think that Sherlock was partially insane most of the time). 

“I suppose, John, “ Sherlock said. “You’re imagining that I have added opium smoking to my nicotine patches.”

John’s jaw was slack and his eyes wide at his friend’s words. “What the hell were you doing there Sherlock?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Sherlock replied. 

John placed his hands on his hips and stared at Sherlock. “I came to find a friend.”

Sherlock raised his brows letting John know that he already knew that. “I came to find an enemy,” Sherlock stated. 

John was unimpressed. The last ‘enemy’ of Sherlock’s that John had met was his brother. It was more likely that the said enemy was someone else from Sherlock’s past. A cousin, a friend, another relative of some sort. “An enemy?” 

“Yes; one of my natural enemies.” Those words from Sherlock’s mouth sealed the deal in John’s mind. This was another Mycroft situation. “John,” Sherlock continued, “I am in the middle of a case and I hoped that I could find a clue from the incoherent ramblings of these addicts. Something I have done before.”

“What case, Sherlock? Cause if I remember correctly, Y/N knows about every case you take and she made sure that you’d be free so you could go on this business trip.”

It seemed like the mention of Y/N’s name ticked off something in Sherlock because the man began to walk again ignoring John’s question. 

John sighed. “What case, Sherlock?!”

“Follow me, John!” Sherlock called out as his long legs took him farther and farther away from John. 

_____

It seemed like the place Sherlock took John was back to Baker Street. How the two of them walked all over London to get back to their flat that late at night astounded John. He was sure how exhausted he was feeling while watching the horror movie with Y/N that he’d have enough energy to travel all the way back home physically. He knew Sherlock had the energy. The man seemed to have a never-ending reserve of energy. 

Once the black door of 221 B Baker Street closed, Sherlock began to strip off his coat and scarf. He marched up the stairs with a passion beckoning John to follow. John winced as the stairs creaked loudly underneath his and Sherlock’s steps. If Y/N and Mrs. Hudson weren’t already awake, then they would be now. 

“Sherlock!” John hissed at his friend. He was careful of his own volume. 

Sherlock turned around to John as he flung his coat and scarf on the hanger by the door. 

John stood expectantly in the doorway. His hands crossed over his chest as if he was urging Sherlock on for an explanation that was due long ago. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes before answering John. “A few years ago, a man named Neville St. Clair came to London. Not long after he got married to the daughter of a local brewer, someone he has two children with now. I have been told that he’s a good husband and affectionate father and that the family is in a good financial situation. This means that there is no reason for him to be worried about his family or money troubles.”

John pursed his lips and raised a brow at Sherlock. In all honesty, John had no idea where Sherlock was going with this. 

Sherlock tilted his head as he remembered something. Suddenly he pulled out his phone to show John a photo of Neville. John peered at the picture. Neville was a man with flaming red hair and sad-looking eyes. His face was filled with freckles and covered every inch of skin. Yet the thing that drew John’s attention the most was the long scar that ran from the tip of Neville’s forehead down to his chin. 

“Last Monday,” Sherlock continued, “Neville went into town to run a few errands. Meanwhile, Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch near Upper Swandam Lane. Afterwards, she did some shopping, and at exactly 4.35, she was walking back through Swandam Lane on her way back home. Are you following me, John?

John’s brow raised higher as he continued to stare at Sherlock. He still had no clue as to why a certain Nevill and Mrs. St. Clair had anything to do with a case. In fact, John was positive that there was no case. 

Sherlock took John’s silence as a yes, so he proceeded. “If you remember, Monday was a cold day, so Mrs. St. Claire took extra care in looking for a cab. While she was walking around Swandam Lane she heard a loud cry from above her. She saw her husband frantically waving at her from an opening in the window. She also described him as being terribly agitated before a force from behind him tore him away from the window. She tried running after her husband and soon found herself in the same building you were in tonight. She tried making her way up the stairs but was stopped by an attendant and forced back out onto the street. Filled with fear and concern, the woman called the police.”

John finally took a step forward and closed the door behind him. His intrigue was piqued. 

“They arrived and searched the place but there was no sign of him there. In fact, there was no one to be found. The police were determined that Mrs. St. Clair had been delusional. That was until they stumbled upon a watch that belonged to Neville. Mrs. St. Claire confirmed that it was her husband based on the engraving on the inside of the watch. After further inspection, the police found some blood as well as all the clothes of Neville St. Clair. There were no signs of violence and there were no more signs of Neville. According to witness accounts, the last one to see Neville St. Clair was a man named Hugh Boone.”

By now John was sitting in his chair. His hand rested underneath his chin as he watched Sherlock pace back and forth as he recounted the information about the case. 

“Boone is a professional beggar. He claims that he was not the last one to see our missing man. Detective Gavin–”

“Greg,” John corrected. 

“-searched Boone and found traces of blood on his clothes, but the man told Lestrade that it was from a cut on his hand. One that was still bleeding. An injury from the window, where the traces of the blood had been found. Lestrade also took the opportunity to have the nearby area checked. Neville’s coat was found in an alleyway. Inside the pockets was the man’s wallet.”

“So then where’s the body?” John asked. He was sure that finding all of Neville’s clothes and blood but no wallet meant that the man was dead.

“There was nobody, John.” There was a sparkle in Sherlock’s eye as he said it. “However, Boone was arrested and taken to Scotland Yard, but there was nothing against him. The blood had been his own. The only thing that could be used as evidence were Neville’s clothes, but even so, that is substantial enough.”

Everything clicked in John’s brain. “That’s why Y/N didn’t know you had a case. Greg called you himself.” 

Sherlock halted his pacing and looked at John. John was right of course, so Sherlock nodded. 

Now that John was satisfied with that answer he asked another question. “Why was Neville St. Clair was at an opium den and what does Hugh Boone have to do with the disappearance?”

Sherlock smiled at John. “Now you’re asking the right questions.”

“Sherlock…” John began to fiddle with his hands. “Do you think Neville is dead?”

“Yes–” 

Suddenly there was a banging on the door downstairs. John and Sherlock made their way downstairs. It seemed like the knocking had woken up the other residents of 221B for Mrs. Hudson and Y/N were peering out of their doorways at the noise. Mrs. Hudson was in more of a dazed state than Y/N with her overnight hair curlers and cosy pink pyjamas. The elderly woman’s tired eyes quickly acknowledge John and Sherlock making their way down the stairs. Satisfied with what she saw, Mrs. Hudson crept back into her flat and shut the door. 

Y/N, on the other hand, seemed to grow more conscious the longer she looked at the scene in front of her. She thought that her mind was tricking her. It couldn’t be Sherlock. Could it? Sherlock caught sight of the woman from the corner of his eye. He could help how his brain tuned out the sound of the banging door to look at Y/N. 

She had that same tired look in her eye as she did when she slept over in his flat. Her hair was slightly ajar from sleep and her pyjamas were scrunched up in just the right way. She looked comfortable and for a moment Sherlock felt guilty about waking her up. 

“When’d you get back?” She mumbled. Her voice was filled with sleep. 

Sherlock smiled and took a step towards her. “Not long.”

“I called you…” Y/N said. She nervously ran a hand through her hair. Internally scolded herself for acting like a schoolgirl. So much for not showcasing her newfound feeling. No, Y/N couldn’t have feelings for Sherlock. She couldn’t. She was dating Jim. Jim was perfect. He was kind, gentle, witty, and handsome. But Jim wasn’t Sherlock. She winced. She was screwed. 

“You called?” Sherlock replied a little too quiet for his liking. He hadn’t checked his phone. His mind was too busy with the case. His mind was a little too preoccupied with a case that was purely a distraction from the chemical defect called sentiment. 

John cleared his throat reminding Y/N and Sherlock that he was also present and so was the knocking on the door. Sherlock and Y/N turned to look at him, both of them hiding a blush that crept on their faces. John took that as a sign for him to be the one to open the door. 

In front of him stood a woman. Her dark hair was a frizzy mess and two dark circles underneath her eyes made her look like a skeleton. John peered at the woman with a confused look but before he could ask her anything, Sherlock pushed him to the side letting the woman enter. 

“Mrs. St. Clair,” Sherlock stated. 

John’s eyes widened. Y/N wore a confused look on her face. One that John pitied. She still had no idea. Without another word, Mrs. St. Clair was ushered up the stairs into John and Sherlock’s flat with Y/N in tow. She was curious as to why a strange woman appeared on their doorstep in the early hours of the morning. 

“ He wrote me a letter,” was all Mrs. St. Clair uttered before shoving the letter into Sherlock’s hand. 

_____

Lily, 

Do not be scared. Everything is fine. There is a huge error which may take some time to fix. 

Love,

Your Neville. 

_____

Sherlock took the letter and scoured over the letter. His blue eyes took note of every detail. John looked over Sherlock’s shoulder trying not to notice, Y/N’s puzzled look. He could see the gears in her head turning as she put the pieces together. 

“Whoever addressed the envelope had to go and ask about the address.”

This caught Mrs. St. Clair’s attention. “How can you tell?”

“The name is written perfectly in black ink. The rest is in a greyish colour which means that the paper was blotted. Whoever wrote it was not familiar with the address. Are you sure that this was your husband?” Sherlock asked. 

“There was a ring. His wedding ring.”

Sherlock nodded. “And this is his handwriting?”

The woman nodded. 

Sherlock’s brow pursed at the confirmation. This didn’t make sense. He was so sure that Neville was dead, his body missing. “If Neville is alive, then why has he not returned?” Sherlock asked. 

“I…I don’t know.”

Before Sherlock asked another question, Y/N cut him off. “Hold up, what’s going on here?”

“Not now Y/N–”

“Sherlock–” Y/N warned. 

“I’ll explain later. Mrs. St. Clair. On Monday your husband said nothing about leaving you?”

“What do you mean you’ll explain later? Sherlock a strange woman showed up on our do–” Y/N hissed. John shot her a look letting her know that he'd explain later if Sherlock didn’t. 

“No.” Mrs. St. Clair replied. 

“Were you surprised to see him in Swandam Lane?” Sherlock questioned. 

“Yes.”

Sherlock looked to the side before coming up with another question. “He only cried out to you?”

“Yes.” Mrs. St. Clair nodded. 

“A call for help?”

“Yes. He waved his hands at me.” The woman explained. 

The longer the interrogation continued the more confused Y/N grew. She was much too tired to deal with anything right now. 

“Couldn’t have been a cry of surprise? He could not have expected to see you in such an area.” Sherlock noted. 

“That’s possible, but…” 

“And you thought he was pulled back?” Sherlock continued. 

“He disappeared so suddenly.” Mrs. St. Clair’s voice began to grow quiet as Sherlock’s questions intensified.

“He could have leapt back. You didn’t see anyone else in the room,” Sherlock noted. His height towered over the woman and he began to lean over her small figure. 

Mrs. St. Clair shook her head. “No, but that horrible man confessed to having been there.”

“Right. Your husband was wearing his clothes?”

The woman gulped, unsure of where these questions were going. “Yes, but he wasn’t wearing his tie. I remember seeing his throat.”

“Has he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?” 

“No.”

“Has ever shown signs of taking Opium?”

Mrs. St Clair looked from Sherlock to John and then to Y/N. She bore a nervous and confused look on her face. 

“John. What are the symptoms of some who have taken Opium?”

John had been startled by Sherlock’s sudden question that it took his mind to process what he had been asked. “Mood swings, irritability, changes in appearance, risky behaviours, dizziness…”

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. “Well?”

“Um…no. No Neville hasn’t,” the woman said. 

Sherlock snapped back into his upward position. His back was tall and straight as he walked to the door and swung it open for Mrs. St. Clair. 

“Very well, Mrs. St. Clair,” He looked to the door and then at the woman before flashing a tense smile. 

Mrs. St. Clair took that as her cue to leave for the night. Once she removed herself from the flat, Sherlock shut the door and turned around to face John and Y/N. 

“John, Y/N. Pull out your phones.” Sherlock instructed. 

“Sherlock you haven’t explained–” Y/N began. 

“Phones.”

John and Y/N grumbled as they did as Sherlock asked. Once that was complete they looked up at Sherlock. They were half expecting he’d take their phones and do whatever he liked to them. So when they saw that Sherlock had his own phone out, the two of them were confused. 

Before they could ask any questions, Sherlock continued his instructions. “I’m going to call Grayson. Then John. Then Y/N. We will continue to do this until he picks up.”

“Sherlock, it’s 1 o’clock in the morning. Greg is not going to answer,” Y/N said. 

“Call,” Sherlock commanded as he dialled Greg’s number.

______

Greg quite liked his days off of work. Typically he would start it all off by sleeping in. A luxury he was not used to having in his everyday life. Then he’d wake up and lie in his bed for a moment, sometimes he used the time to read a book or scroll through his phone checking the daily news. Then maybe he’d make himself breakfast or go out to a local cafe. He had all the time in the world and he had the power to choose what he did with it. 

However, this was not Greg’s ideal day off. It seemed like the world was out to get him as his phone deafeningly rang on his bedside table. He was sure he silenced his phone before falling asleep last night. Blinded by his tiredness, Greg let the phone ring until it eventually ended about thirty seconds late. Again it was silent and Greg was well on his way to fall back into a deep sleep. That was until the phone rang again. Greg groaned and rolled over in his bed. His eyes peeled open to look at the time displayed on the alarm clock next to his bed. It was 1.15 in the morning. His mind began to fumble around thinking about who could be calling him at such an hour. It couldn’t have been Scotland Yard. It couldn’t have been…. Greg would have finished the thought if the phone continued to ring. Once again it stopped and the man’s body came crashing back down on the mattress. 

There it was again. That boisterous ringtone. Greg shot out of bed and grabbed his phone, yanking the charger out of its socket. 

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing calling me at one in the morning!” Greg grumbled into the phone. He hadn’t bothered to check the caller ID, so when a soft voice from the other end of his phone started speaking he felt incredibly guilty. 

It was Y/N. She hardly ever called and whenever she did it was always for a good reason. 

“Sorry Greg,” She whispered, taking into account the early hours of the morning.

From the sound of her voice, Y/N wasn’t fairing any better than he was. 

“No…forgive me…sorry. Why are you calling?” Greg began to rub the sleep from his eyes. 

There was a pause as Y/N thought of the best way to say it. “...Sherlock needs you to meet us at Scotland Yard.”

Greg groaned. He should have known that it was Sherlock’s doing. Only one man would have the audacity to call Greg this early in the morning, especially, on his day off. 

“Sorry, Greg, but he says it’s urgent. Something about the St. Clair case.”

Now this caught Greg’s attention. The case that had been plaguing his desk ever since he received the call a few days earlier. He would have been glad that Sherlock wanted to see him. It meant that there was a breakthrough. However, Greg was tired and had been woken up from a deep sleep. 

“Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow morning?” Greg voiced. 

Sherlock’s voice spoke over the phone loud and clear. “It is the morning Lestrade.”

“Oh, Sherlock it’s you,” Greg said with disdain. 

“Of course, it’s me. Meet us at Scotland Yard in twenty minutes. I’ve solved the case.”

With that, the phone hung up. Greg had no choice but to remove himself from the comfort of his bed. He had to forgo any thought of a nice morning sleeping in topped with a warm breakfast. He knew Sherlock had commanded that he be at Scotland Yard in twenty minutes, but that was the same amount of time as the commute there. If anything, Greg wanted to take as much time as he could before having to confront Sherlock. 

As Greg changed and prepared himself for the day, he prayed that the coffee machine in Scotland Yard had been fixed like it should have been weeks ago because Greg knew that he could not deal with Sherlock without a little help from caffeine. The praying was more for Sherlock’s sake (Not that Greg was contemplating murder or anything.)

_____

One of the first things Greg took notice of that morning was that the coffee machine was still broken. However, it seemed like an angel was smiling upon him that morning, that angel was Y/N. She handed him a warm cup of coffee that she had made herself. He couldn’t help but smile at the woman for her kind gesture. A smile that seemed to sour Sherlock’s mood. 

“You’re a godsend, Y/N.” Greg thanked her. 

“Oh, Greg there’s–” Y/N tried to reply. 

“You’re late,” Sherlock stated. 

“I know that, Sherlock,” Greg said. “It wasn’t physically possible to arrive here in twenty minutes. Speaking of, why am I here?”

“I need to see Boone.”

Greg took a sip of the coffee. The warm, quite frankly delicious drink made quick work of waking Greg’s body. He raised his brow at Sherlock’s request. 

“The beggar?” Greg asked.

“Yes. I know he’s here.” Sherlock replied. 

“He is,” Greg confirmed. 

“Is he quiet?” Sherlock questioned. This earned a few strange looks from his friends. 

“Quiet? Yeah, I guess so. He is a dirty scoundrel though…” Greg trailed off thinking about how dirty the man was. 

“Dirty?” John asked. 

Y/N looked between the three men. She was beginning to think that this was all an elaborate prank Sherlock was pulling. She had been dragged from her flat and still had not been told what was going on. “Hold on. Before anyone says anything else. What is going on?!” She exclaimed. 

Sherlock sighed and looked at John, causing John to sigh as well. It seemed to the job of an explanation landed on John’s shoulders because Sherlock couldn’t be bothered when he was on a roll. So as John pulled Y/N to the side to let her know what was going on, Sherlock and Greg continued their conversation. 

“He’s dirty?” Sherlock repeated. 

“Yes,” Greg scoffed. “All we can do is make him wash his hands. His face is covered with soot and dirt. The man needs a bath.”

“I need to see him.”

Greg raised a brow as he took note of Sherlock’s seriousness. “Alright, this way–” 

“Sherlock Holmes!” Y/N yelled. “You were in an opium den?!”

Sherlock winced at the noise and turned to glare at John. In Sherlock’s mind, explaining things meant the case, not the whole situation. Hesitantly, Sherlock turned his gaze to Y/N who was staring right at him. 

“For the case.” It was all Sherlock could say. 

“For the case my–” Y/N grumbled as she marched up to Sherlock. 

“Y/N! Sherlock! It is too early for this.” John stepped in as the voice of reason. 

Greg looked at the scene before him. Then he took a long and loud sip of coffee in an attempt to diffuse the tension. After a few moments of silence passed, Greg deemed it safe enough to speak again. 

“As I was saying, Boone’s this way,” Greg said. The group followed him as he led them to the back of Scotland Yard where the holding cells were. 

It was a very whitewashed corridor. On each side of the wall, there were barred doors as far as the eye could see. A large majority of the cells were empty, something that Y/N noted as Greg led them down the hallway. 

Soon the group's pace began to slow. “Here it is.” Greg pointed to the sleeping figure behind the bar doors. 

Boone was huddled on the cot in the room. His legs were held close to his body. His chest rose and fell slowly. The man was in a deep sleep just like one would be this early in the morning. But from what Y/N could see, he was dirty. The man was covered in dirt and soot from head to toe. The grim did little to hide the broad old scar that ran across his face. Y/N scrunched her nose. She couldn’t fathom how someone could stand to be covered in such filth. 

“A beauty, isn’t he?” Greg said sarcastically. 

“Certainly needs a bath…” Y/N mumbled. 

Suddenly, Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a large bath sponge. 

“Sherlock! Where’d you get a bath sponge?” John asked. 

“Don’t you recognize it?” Sherlock questioned as he tilted his head in John’s direction. 

John’s face turned red as he tried to control the sudden wave of anger. 

“Lestrade, open the door very quietly. We’ll make him much more… tolerable.” Then Sherlock turned to look at Y/N. 

Y/N’s eyes widened. “No, Sherlock. There’s no way I’m–”

“Greg, the door,” Sherlock commanded. 

Greg’s mind was in shock at how quickly he opened the door for Sherlock. It seemed as if his body was moving on its own. Once the door was open, all of them made their way into the cell. Sherlock quietly turned on the sink in the cell to wet the sponge before raising the sponge to Boone’s face. 

Y/N was surprised that Boone had not woken up from how vigorously Sherlock rubbed the grime off the man’s face. Once Sherlock was satisfied with his work, he stepped back and dropped the wet sponge to the floor.

“Let me introduce you to Neville St. Clair.” 

John and Greg’s faces all bore the same expression of shock. Y/N, on the other hand, was a bit puzzled as she looked at the sleeping man. Before them lay Neville. The scar from the man’s face, one that his wife declared was his most identifying trait, was present. 

“Christ, Sherlock. It is him,” Greg stated. His voice was much louder than a considerate whisper. 

This seemed to wake up Neville. The man took one look at the four people standing over him, and he yelped out in fear. 

“Lestrade, don’t you think it smart to let our missing man go home?” Sherlock asked. 

Neville gulped, waiting for Greg’s answer. 

Greg sighed. His coffee was all gone. “We have no case if the missing man was Boone all along…which brings me to ask. What happened on Monday?” 

Neville looked down at his feet. “I’m an investigative journalist. I write about what it’s like being a beggar, addict, or anyone suffering from the poor conditions of life. My alias is Hugh Boone…” Neville’s voice grew quiet as he admitted his secret. 

Greg pursed his brows. “Great, but that still doesn’t answer my question about what happened on Monday.”

“I had finished work for the day in Swandam Lane when I looked out my window and saw my wife. I cried out before covering my face and running away from the window. I ran to my confidants in the building asking them to hide me just as I heard my wife downstairs. In a hurry, I threw away my clothes and once again entered my persona of Boone. Doing so, I cut my hand on a nail in the window sill. Before I knew it the police were involved and I was arrested as my own murderer,” Neville explained. 

Sherlock stepped forward. “What about the letter?”

“We were told we could contact someone. I was too ashamed to call my wife. She’d hear my voice and know where I was. Instead, I wrote a letter and placed my wedding ring inside.” Then Neville buried his face in his hands. “She must have been so worried. I need to get home to her and the kids.” 

Greg hated seeing how guilty Neville felt. It was too much for one morning. “Alright, up you go,” Greg motioned for Neville to stand up and follow him out of the cell. Without another word, Neville was let off. The case was solved and everyone went their separate ways: Greg back to his warm bed to sleep the rest of the day, and the case-solving trio back to Baker Street. 

_____

A few days later, a thank you email appeared in Sherlock’s inbox. Of course, Y/N was the one to find it as it was part of her job to search and organize Sherlock’s emails. It was a heartfelt message thanking Sherlock for his work. Not very many clients thanked Sherlock after the case was solved, although Neville’s case wasn’t a normal one. 

Speaking of emails. That was the worst and probably the most entertaining part about Y/N’s job. Yes, she was also hired to clean, organize, and follow Sherlock around on death-defying cases, but emails were the bane of her existence. Dealing with her own emails was enough, the inbox filled with incessant ads and subscriptions she never remembered signing up for. However, Sherlock’s emails were much worse. There were the subscriptions: newsletters from all over the world, daily notifications about new updates on bizarre websites that would concern even the best of people and ads for the strangest things that would somehow eventually end up in Sherlock’s flat. There were also emails about potential cases, those tended to be mundane things or crazy outlandish stories to get attention from someone online, or people asking for favours.  In fact, the hardest thing was finding a job that Sherlock, John, or Y/N couldn’t solve the second the email appeared in the inbox. 

Y/N groaned as she swore to God that she’d gouge her eyes out if she had to read another email from a concerned elder about their missing cat or jar of cookies that mysteriously went empty. 

Ding!

Clenching her eyes shut and whispering hopes and prayers that this wasn’t a bogus email, Y/N opened her eyes and peered at the screen. It seemed that God or some angel watching over her liked her eyes right where they were on the screen was an email from Hilton Cubitt. The visitor from Ireland, who stopped by two weeks ago. Y/N couldn’t help the triumphant cheer that left her mouth. 

“Did you win the lottery?” Sherlock asked without peering up from his latest novel, 100 Ways to Kill Your Employees. A book of many that displayed his loathing of the whole scenario. His tone matched the underlying threat of his choice of light reading, unamused and with a pinch of disdain for his imprisonment. 

This confinement began the moment Y/N discovered where Sherlock’s business trip had been. Upon returning to 221B, John began to scold Sherlock. The man in question stood in the doorway to his own flat without a care in the world. John’s words of concern and fear never reached his ears. However, it was when Y/N began to speak up, Sherlock began to listen. Eventually, it was agreed that Sherlock would be watched over just to make sure that he had not been taking opium. (Something that was proposed by Mycroft, but Y/N had been under strict instructions to not tell Sherlock that.)

“No, Sherlock. I didn’t win the lottery, but it looks like Cubitt did,” Y/N said. Sherlock froze in his seat. He gradually moved his gaze up to look at Y/N with a burning fire of curiosity in his eyes. He looked down at the computer in her hands and looked up at her once more. In the blink of an eye, the novel in Sherlock’s hand was replaced by his computer. 

Front and Center on the screen was an image depicting more of the code Cubitt had presented Sherlock with two weeks prior. Along with the message of urgency. 

______

Come to Clifden. It may be worse than I thought.

Hilton Cubitt

______

“Y/N pack your bags and book us a flight to Ireland,” Sherlock began as stood up from his seat to grab the paper Cubitt had given him of the code. 

“Sherlock–” 

“Cubitt needs us there to solve the case. Time is of the essence.”

“Sher–”

“Oh and call John and tell him to prepare a bag as well.”

“Sherlock!” Y/N yelled. 

Sherlock froze in his step as he turned around to look at her. He raised his brow up as if saying “Why are you not doing what I asked?” 

“Sherlock…” Y/N cleared her throat. “We’ll go to Ireland, but only…”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at the woman. 

“Only if you promise to never lie about a business trip again.”

Sherlock scoffed at Y/N. “I don’t know what–”

“Yes, you do! Sherlock. You’ve been grumbling about being kept here in your flat, so you know full well why. I…” Y/N’s voice grew quiet. “I was so worried, so just promise that you’ll take one of us with you.” Sherlock winced at her words, “ OR at least tell us where you are going. Please.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a sharp intake of breath through his nose. His mind was in torment. This whole scenario was ridiculous. He was being treated like a child. Everything from Y/N’s, not so secret, hovering, Mrs. Hudson’s checking in, and John’s horrific attempts of spying on him all put Sherlock on edge. In his mind, he had done nothing wrong. But she had said please. She said she was worried. She cared. Now, if Sherlock had been given this treatment two months ago when she first came on board as his assistant, he would have fired her on the spot and uttered something about her worry being misplaced. However, time is a funny thing. Now, all Sherlock wants to say is yes. But a singular yes is too harsh, too noticeable, and an easy entrance into the hard-kept secret in Sherlock’s heart. So he settled for a simple…

“Alright.” 

It was enough for Y/N to order three tickets to Ireland and transportation to Clifden. In a moment, bags were packed, an inn was booked, Bjørn was placed in the care of his great-grandmother, things were settled, and notice was made of their departure. The game was afoot. A new case was brewing, and Sherlock couldn’t wait.

_____

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[ashes-writing]

a i r p o r t reunion | csi vegas ; g.sanders

** all images made by me. prompt credits go to the makers of the lists I used which can be found[ here ] [here] [ here ] [ here ] [ here ] [ here ] [ here ] [here] [here]and [here] - a huge thanks to all the wicked talented creators of these prompt lists. **

𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎 - 𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

↪ summary

--- you run into former classmate/crush/neighbor down the street in Greg Sanders inside a California airport, all grown up. Old feelings pop up all over again.[ future glimpse of a fic I'm dying to write at some point tbh ]

↪ pairing / fandom

--- actress!female reader x Greg Sanders - CSI Vegas.

↪ warnings

--- Reader is/will be heavily characterized in future works. I've kept her vague here because this is me 'testing the waters' with this little idea. Flirting and innuendo, former crushes meeting again.

↪ taglist, babes

--- my taglist is [here] if you'd like to be on it. @tbmunson listen, i'm planning to drag you right down the rabbithole of my crime show fuckery with me, bestie.

@beardedbarba

@calmcoast 

@justmeandanoverdrive

@uncrownedmox

“Flight 22 to Las Vegas has been cancelled.”

The announcement has you laughing to yourself quietly and this prompts the handsome man sitting to your left to glance up from the magazine in his hand. When you realize he’s the same man who wrote Sin City Secrets, the book you happen to have just closed, you gape at him for a second or two. You’re so caught up in staring that you forget to actually put said book away.

It surprises you when he speaks up, but the first thing out of his mouth isn’t the fact that he’s written the book, it’s to introduce himself and shrug a little. “Doesn’t look like we’re getting out of here today.”

He looks vaguely familiar and suddenly, it hits you. “Greg? Wait… Greg Sanders, right? From San Gabriel?”

He raises a brow but he nods.

You laugh softly. “I lived down the street from your grandparents. The big house on the end of the street with the iron gates?”

Greg quickly remembers and he nearly chokes on air as he takes a better look at you. “___? You were heading to Las Vegas too? It’s a small world, huh?”

You’re laughing again as you nod. But then the laughter dies away and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, I just… Like, I wanna get away from California for a while. I just bought a little house out in the desert, it’s great.”

Greg’s hand raises and settles across the back of his head because he’s starting to remember you a lot better now. He remembers that your mother was some kind of actress but she’d never gotten very far. He remembers the fact that she pushed you into modeling and acting and he definitely remembers that you never seemed very happy doing either thing, especially when your big break during your senior year took you out of school for most of it, causing you to miss prom.

He’s surprised you remember him at all because it’s not as if the two of you ever ran in the same circles back then, despite his grandmother always trying to push the two of you together, despite your mother’s disdain.

The last that he remembers, you’ve actually gone on to reach C-List scream queen status on the horror scene, you’d gotten big enough to be rumored as having a stalker a year ago.

What further surprises him is when he glances down after finally managing to tear his eyes out of yours and he sees the book he wrote about the Mafia presence in old Las Vegas sitting in your lap.

You can feel it when his gaze settles on the book in your lap and you know you’re blushing. You also know that sitting around idle isn’t getting either of you a hotel room for the night, but you haven’t seen him in so long and you just can’t walk away now that you’re seeing him again.

“Y’know it’s only a 5 hour drive to Las Vegas.”

“And the weather isn’t that bad.” you mutter, lost in the warmth of his eyes. If you thought he was dreamy back in high school, he’s ten times that now. Gone is the cute but oh so awkward and shy self professed ‘nerdy’ boy next door and he’s been replaced with a ruggedly handsome man.

You’ve both stood at the same time. When your stomach growls, Greg does something that surprises even him, offering an arm to you as he nods to the bar and grill across the airport lobby. You smile and your cheeks burn even hotter as you slip your arm through his and let him lead you across the lobby, into the bar and grill.

A few seconds later, after being seated at the very back of the place, the two of you are talking and having martinis. Catching up on life and he’s just so easy to talk to. The subject of your most recent ‘series’ of movies comes up and you tense just a little.

“Yeah, they’re putting a hold on filming, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Greg questions. He notes the tension that filled your body. Your next statement explains it for the most part. “The director and my manager aren’t happy about it, my manager is trying to get me to do some stupid fucking movie while plans are on hold. Patrick, the guy who played Brandon, he’s causing a hold up because..”  you laugh softly and sigh, twisting a strand of hair around your finger, “Well, it’s true when they say never date your costar.. We were dating and then I caught him screwing some dancer from the club he always hung out at in our apartment, so now here I am.. Brandon’s manager is trying to make a scene, he’s trying to get me replaced or written out of the last two movies.”

Greg winces and shakes his head.

“I’m just glad I wasn’t stupid enough to actually go through with marrying the guy.” you give this cute little sheepish laugh. The waitress brings your food out and Greg rubs his hands together, picking up his burger to take a big bite and the action causes you to watch his mouth helplessly.

Greg can feel you staring and he puts down the burger, staring right back at you. “It’s been great to see you again, it really has. I mean… Aside from your movies.”

What he doesn’t say out loud is that he’s seen all of them, the first one was at his Nana Olaf’s insistence, which was a surprise for him because his grandmother never typically watches ‘horror’. The rest were because he wanted to watch them.

Maybe it was because you were in them and seeing you on screen made him remember the few times you’d bump into each other late at night down at the park near his house. You were one of the few who was nicer to him back then and he always felt… Something.

“You watched them?” you nearly choke on the bite you’ve taken. “Your book is amazing. Are you a writer now?” you ask, curious. He laughs and shakes his head. “On the side, I guess. I work with Las Vegas PD. I’m in the Forensics Lab.”

“Oh. Oh wow.” you laugh softly and the more you think about it, the more it suits him, the more it tracks with his interests back then.

You know entirely too much about him thanks to a recent run in with his grandmother when you went home for your mother’s funeral not so long ago. She left out the fact that he wrote a book on Mafia history, of course.

Then it hits you and you laugh. And you have to tell him.

“Your grandmother told me I’d run into you soon.”

Greg chuckles, taking a bite of his food. “Oh she did, huh? Yeah, she mentioned seeing you last year. Sorry about your mom.”

You sigh and nod. “Yeah. There was a lot of… Stuff there.” you take a bite of your salad and gaze longingly at the burger in his hands and you must have been doing it hard enough that Greg notices, because he holds it out to you. You shake your head No politely, try to beg off. “If I even breathe it in, I’ll gain weight.”

“Oh come on!”

“Okay, alright.” you take the burger and take a bite, groaning as actual flavor burst to life in your mouth. Greg gives a satisfied smirk.

And then one of you notices the time. After you argue a little over the bill for food and drinks and you manage to sweet talk him into at least letting you pay for your half, you wind up walking down to the car rental kiosk together, falling into easy conversation the entire time.

You’re beyond tempted to ask if he just wants to share a car, but at the same time, you’re afraid to and you keep telling yourself surely he has someone waiting. You’ve resigned yourself to the chance meeting being just that as you pocket your keys to the sleek sports car you’ve rented for yourself and you’re starting to walk out of the airport, but Greg catches up to you and taps you on the shoulder.

“Hey, since you’re in Vegas now… I could show you around sometime? I mean… if you want me to.” Greg offers and you smile, nodding.

“I’d really like that. Your girlfriend or wife.. She’s not gonna mind?” -it’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer and you know it. He chuckles and smiles at you. “I’m single, actually.”

You won’t even begin to unpack the wave of relief that washes over you or the feeling that accompanies it, that for the first time in your adult life, things seem to be falling into place and you don’t feel lost or helpless -like your life is going in a direction that you don’t choose it to go or want it to go.

It just feels right.

You wind up standing in the parking lot talking to each other for at least another hour until one of you points out the fact that it’s nearing nightfall.

And you don’t want to say goodbye, but you know you have to.

“Hey..” you ask, holding out his book to him with a cute little smile, “Do you mind signing this? And maybe writing your number in it?”

Greg chuckles and his cheeks feel like they’re on fire but he takes the pen and the book from your hands and signs it, writing his cell number inside as you asked.

“Hey,” he’s digging through his pockets until he finds a crumbled napkin left over from the bar and grill you’ve both just eaten at. “Can you sign that and maybe writing your number on it?”

You giggle and glance up at him, head tilted slightly as you lick your lips. “I don’t mind at all.”

You write your name and number down and after a few seconds during which the two of you just stand and stare at each other in total silence, Greg speaks up again. “It’s uh… It’s getting late. I have work tomorrow night, I should really get going.”

“Same. I just.. Nevermind. I’ll see you around, Greg. It was nice to see you again, it really was. I can’t wait for you to show me around.” you smile when you say it, because him showing you around Vegas is probably the first thing you’ve looked forward to in over a year now.

Everything else has been going through the motions.

“See you then.” Greg smiles and as you walk towards the little sports car you chose to rent, he leans against the light pole and watches you.

“I doubt she’d go for me anyway.” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he watches you drive away, the encounter over but not forgotten. Somehow he knows deep down that seeing you again is going to be hard to forget about anytime soon.

And he really, really doesn’t want tonight to be the last time he sees you.

#greg sanders #greg sanders imagine #greg sanders fanfiction #greg sanders x fem!reader #greg sanders x fem!reader imagine #greg sanders x fem!reader fanfiction #<- safe for everyone. a general tag for all my safe to read works. #-> female reader - vague here but heavily characterized OC in future works. female parts barely mentioned here. reader is female though. #<- fall into fall 2022 writing

[sande5098]

Gone Wrong

Kim Burgess x fem. Reader

An undercover mission goes wrong but we’re does that leave Kim and Y/N’s relationship.

Warnings: Swearing, abduction, drugs, assault.

Word count: 1191

Gif not mine

Part 1 —————> Part 2 Here

————

You tried to give Kim a reassuring smile as you had a wire attached by Mouse, she was standing in front of you giving you a hard stare, you knew that she didn’t want you to go under, but even she knew that there was really no other way. “Babe, I’ll be fine nothing bad is gonna happen.” You gave her a half smile as Mouse finished, going over to give her a tight hug. “I’ll let the team know you’re ready.” Mouse said awkwardly, interrupting their little moment and quickly leaving them in peace.

“I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, and you know it nothing will keep us apart and you know it.” You whispered to her, lightly kissing her ear. “I love you. Don’t you dare come back to me hurt or so help me-“ you kissed her short and sweet, cutting her off, “honey you have nothing to worry about, I love you.” She gave you a sad look, “I hope so, I love you too.” You both placed your foreheads against each other, silently sending each other all the love and support that the other needed, you just had to hope that every day you wouldn’t be coming home in a coffin.

Yours and Kim’s moment was interrupted by the rest of intelligence coming down to the garage, she stepped back, just giving you a sad look that made you feel incredibly guilty. You wished you could back out now, but the meet was organised, so no turning back. Turning to face Voight to get the complete run down and what information that they needed to put these guys away.

“Madison Hughes, Halstead’s C.I has gotten involved with this new gang that’s moved in to the south side has started dealing tampered Coke. The guy we need to get is Finnian Herring. He’s the highest up along with Jesse Nadir and Gus Walker…” you continued to listen knowing exactly what you would have to do just to get to them. You just knew how pissed off Kim was as Voight continued, you wanted to let her know it was okay. That you weren’t going to be alone through it. “Isn’t there another way? One that doesn’t involve Y/n getting into their pants.” Kim pointedly asked, staring at Voight. Their boss just stared back, “Burgess, L/n can handle herself, she doesn’t need you trying to play hero. And if you’re going to be this affected by the job, get out.”

You looked back at Kim, who looked torn between staying and leaving for fresh air, you smiled at her and she rubbed your arm.

———

You stood outside the nightclub that Madison had arranged the meet at, Jay was talking about some information that might be useful, but you weren’t listening. You just hoped that Kim would be alright, and praying the next time she saw you wouldn’t be at your funeral. You just wanted them to hurry up so you could get home to Kim as soon as possible. You already missed her touch and it had only been 45 minutes.

After another 5 minutes in the cold someone finally appeared, unfortunately not any of the people that they were after. You were led away silently praying that everything would go to plan and that no one would be hurt.

The nightclub was extremely busy and loud, you could see Adam and Hailey at the bar looking on and giving status updates to Voight and Jay on the other end. You kept following the guy up to the private room, where they all lost sight on you and you knew that apart from the com you where on your own. You held your breath going up the steps and into the small room that all your people where in, now just to catch them dealing, which would be easy based off the amount of girls there. The runner who never introduced himself took you to the three people that you needed. Now, hopefully this would be a quick in and out.

“Boss, this is the doll that Madison wanted you to meet,” they shooed him away and left you with just them, they brought you to another room. This whole place gave you the creeps along with the three men, you couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated. You could see the Coke sitting on the table in front of you, “You’re a cute wee thing aren’t you? No wonder why Madison sent you, you look like everything I like in a woman, one of the men, Gus said. “And you are everything I look for in a man.” You flirted back, throwing up in your mouth a bit. You swallowed the bile in your throat, “I know how to expand your markets on this new Coke you have, I just want 15%.” Finnian, the main man raised an eyebrow, “and why would we need to expand our markets, we’re doing just fine.”

You rolled your eyes, “sure right now, but people will get over it and then you’ll be in the dust, I’ve got too many connections and known how to get it all through the city and out of state. I just want 15%.” You gave him a sweet smile. “I’ll give you the 15% if you let me see just exactly what this stuff does to you.” Your eyes widened slightly and you felt your throat starting to close over. Taking a deep breath you watched as Finnian started walking closer to you til he was at your neck, kissing and whispering in your ear, thankfully the one that didn’t have the wire in.

“Y/n you have your safe word.” Voight quietly reminded her. You said nothing as he circled you, “but then again, maybe you’re a spy…” you could feel yourself starting to panic, “A spy? What makes you say that?… and you do realise that its not very nice not to offer me a lovely glass of that red wine, especially since I love red wine.” There, now you could only hope that they heard the safe word and were in the way up.

You looked up at Finnian, and his eyes flashed a vicious colour as he reached for her wire, “she’s a rat, let’s get out.” The man reached for your hair as he roughly trailed you out a back exit.

Okay, you could officially start panicking, you tried to get out of the man’s grip but it was no use, as his hand shifted to hold your neck as you struggled. Fuck, this was not how it was meant to go, fucking Hell, Kim. You should have listened. You couldn’t bare the thought of worrying her, a face broke through your panic, “I swear if you don’t stop struggling I will put a bullet in your head and leave you somewhere you will never be found.” Finnian’s nose was right against yours as his grip around your throat tightened until you were spluttering and gasping for air. “Please.. I.. I” you could feel a prick in your upper arm and yourself getting drowsy before everything went black…

#kim burgess x reader #kim burgess x female reader #female reader #reader insert #chicago pd #one Chicago #hank voight #jay halstead #hailey upton #adam ruzek #greg gerwitz #sande5098

[crljhnn]

The older Jefferson

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x fem!Reader

Summary: After Rowley announces that his older (half-)sister, who lives quite far away and has never met the Heffleys, is going to visit him over the break Susan invites his family over for dinner. Her not being what Rodrick expects, he starts crushing, which results in him trying to impress her - failing horribly.

No physical description; No use of y/n

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: None

A/N: Hi, just a quick warning that English isn’t my first language and that this is also the first time I’ve ever written a longer text in English that isn’t a school assignment. I also don’t fully understand Tumblr yet, which makes me honestly a bit anxious to post.

[This and a gender-neutral version are also posted on AO3]

“Why haven't you ever mentioned that you have an older Sister?” Rowley and Greg were sitting on the Heffleys living room floor - Rodrick occupying the whole space on the couch - playing a video game. Well, Greg was. It was a single-player. He promised they would take turns, but by now Rowley had been over for about two and a half hours and hadn’t even had the chance to touch the controller yet. He gave up on asking and settled on just watching about 45 minutes in.

“I talked about her before. Multiple times actually.” That is true. Rowley looks up to his sister a lot “Also, she is technically my Half-Sister. She’s been living with her Dad for longer than I remember. Normally we are the ones flying over to visit during summer break, but she hasn’t visited since she was a little Kid, and after her school schedule finally allowed it, we thought it would be a good idea if she, for a change, came here instead.”

“It sounds like you two get along great!” Mrs. Heffley walked in, holding a laundry basket under one arm while carrying Manny with the other.

“We do! I can’t wait to show her my room and have her around for the entire break! I have so much planned out already, it's gonna be so much fun! Best summer ever!”

“That sounds lovely Rowley, I wish Greg was so excited to hang out with Rodrick, but they just won't get along.” Susan sighed, throwing a pitiful glance at her two oldest, who simultaneously let out a laugh hearing this.”

“Yeah, never gonna happen.” Greg says, “I would rather spend the whole summer in school than voluntarily hang out with this idiot.”

“My Sister is actually around the same age as Rodrick.” Rowley buts in. Greg doesn’t understand how this is relevant, but it probably adds to his mother's yearning for her two oldest sons to get along. Rodrick lets out a laugh hearing that.

“I can’t wait to meet them. Just imagine an older, female version of Rowley. That’s actually fucking hilarious!”.

“Watch your language! Also, I'm sure she is wonderful.” Gregs Mom loosens her lecturing stance, turns around, and smiles at Rowley “I would love to have you and your family over for dinner sometime. It has been a while since I’ve seen your parents and I would love to meet your sister.”

“That sounds great Mrs. Heffley. I will ask my parents as soon as I get home!”

That brings us to about a week later, when the Jefferson family, including their oldest daughter, is standing in front of the Heffleys House, ringing their doorbell.

Rowley has been telling you all about his best friend Greg for years, which made you somewhat excited about finally meeting him. However, you can’t say that the picture your brother painted is entirely positive, finding him rather irritating in many of the stories you were told over time. You aren't too mad though, assuming it is normal for young, teenage boys to act like jerks every once in a while. Not everyone can be such a sweetheart as Rowley. Overall you're glad your brother managed to maintain such a long-lasting friendship.

And then there was Rodrick. You've heard rather interesting stories about him as well. In the beginning, you found those quite amusing, that was until you realized that Rowley was genuinely terrified of him. Not the best first impression someone could make on you. Influenced by seeing your younger sibling grow up to be such a sweet and genuine person you tend to be a bit protective from time to time.

You hear some hushed voices from inside, and you can identify one of them as female, reminding someone to behave. Then the door opens and a woman, who you assume to be Mrs. Heffley, kindly smiles at you. Your suspicion is confirmed a second later when she introduces herself and shoos you into the house, before continuing to greet the rest of your family.

Crossing the threshold you can now see a man standing slightly behind Greg's mother. He introduces himself as Frank, making quite a kind impression on you. Then he leads you into the living room to meet his sons.

The two older ones hardly even notice you at first, too occupied with arguing and rowing with each other.

“Boys!”, their father speaks up, successfully catching their attention. Rather comically their gazes fall from their father to you, their eyes widening and their mouths dropping open. You were not what they expected. While Greg looks just shocked, you would describe Rodricks state as mesmerized.

He recovers fast, pushes Greg off of him, stands up, and puts on what he hopes is a charming smile. Extending his hand he starts to introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m-”

At least he tries to.

“Rodrick. I know. My brother has told me one or two rather interesting stories about you”, your smile is sharp. He gulps, his confident smile turning sheepish, cursing Rowley in his head. You are not what he expected and you are definitely not anywhere close to being a female carbon copy of your, in his eyes, embarrassing younger brother.

He normally wouldn’t consider himself the kind of person who has a type, but from now on, if someone asked, he would probably revert to describing you. You were just ethereal, everything about you was attractive to him. The way you walked, talked, and carried yourself, but also your clothing and hairstyle. Your pretty face just rounds up your whole appearance, making you all the more alluring.

He had to get on your good side. While a family dinner, especially with Greg present, may not be the best opportunity, he could ask Rowley to put in a few good words for him. That kid was easily influenced (or intimidated). Still, making the best possible impression over dinner wouldn’t cause any harm either.

You turn to the other boy who has been silently watching the exchange. Now that your attention is on him he starts feeling nervous as well. Your expression, however, turns a bit more friendly.

“And you must be Greg.” he nods. You introduce yourself and lastly say hello to Manny who is sitting on the floor playing with some figurines. By now the others have entered the room, causing Susan to start leading you all to the dining table.

You’re seated between Rowley and Greg, across from Rodrick, which results in quite frequent eye contact. On one side you really want to intimidate him a bit. This could maybe make your brother's life a bit easier, at least for the time being. On the other side, you do want to make some conversation, maybe throw in a bit of (family dinner appropriate) flirting or at least find out if he’s single.

It’s really hard to hold a grudge against someone who is entirely your type.

While you’re conflicted, Rodrick, on the other hand, is sweating. Nervously fidgeting in his seat. You didn’t seem as irritated with him anymore, if the eye contact was anything to go by. Was this his chance to redeem his shitty first impression? He cursed his brain for failing to come up with something cool to say.

Since when is it so hard to talk to girls? Is it getting hotter in here? What impresses girls? What does he normally brag about? His band! That’s it. Now he just has to bring it up somehow. Maybe he can bribe Greg to ask him about it. No, that’s too risky, he can’t count on Greg to not fuck this up. He is just going to casually bring it up ‘I’m in a band by the way, pretty sick huh?’ ‘Do you like music? Cause I’m in a band’ No that’s stupid everyone likes music… ‘Which kind of music do you listen to?’ That’s good, he should bring up the topic of music first, that’s a normal conversation topic. After that step two is to bring up the band. That’s easy, he got this.

Now he just needs to wait till your attention is on him again and then he can smoothly lead the conversation in the desired direction. He has to calm down, he can do it.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Your eyes meet again.

“I’m in a band!” He speaks way louder than intended, his voice is squeaky, and in the middle of the sentence he has the most embarrassing voice crack imaginable.

Silence.

The sole attention is now on him. All he hears is Greg's snickering which causes him to kick him under the table.

“Ow!” That was not Greg's leg. He looks up to see you looking at him with a questioning expression.

That’s it. He fucked up. His chances were already low, but he still managed to shrink them even more, making them most likely completely vanish. Great. His ears were ringing, all he can hear is Greg's quiet laughter in the background.

“I'm sorry I didn’t mean to kick you, I-” he starts his apology but loses track of what he is trying to say when he sees your expression change. You're clearly trying to suppress a smile, but it's not working at all.

“You’re adorable.” Rowley chokes on his food, and Greg's laughter abruptly stops

“Rodrick? Adorable?” That’s it. Greg gives up on ever trying to understand girls. How can his stupid older brother embarrass himself like that, then kick the poor girl under the table and still be perceived as adorable by her, especially since she is so much out of his league?

Rodrick however, was still not functioning properly.

“So that band, is its name by any chance Löded Diaper?”

“Yeah.” He is proud of himself for speaking at an appropriate volume without stuttering. “How do yo-”

“I saw your creepy white Van in front of the house. What’s up with that, kidnapping little kids as a side hustle?” You are still smiling, and with your stupid joke you somehow manage to relax the atmosphere a bit, the adults going back to their conversation.

Rodrick too is now smiling, looking at you with an expression you could only describe as lovestruck, even though you just insulted him.

He is contemplating making a joke about how the space in the back could be quite useful for more than just trapping kids but decides against it, fearing to make it awkward again. Getting nervous about taking too much time to come up with an answer he instead lands on “No only kidnapping pretty girls like you.”. As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets it, realizing it's in fact not a funny and flirty thing to say, but honestly rather creepy.

At the end of the evening, Rodrick has messed up flirting with you multiple times, however, it’s his luck that you find his desperate attempts to look cool to impress you weirdly endearing. Not that he realizes that. Calling Rodrick confused, questioning why you were still talking to him, would be an understatement.

He certainly doesn’t know how he can have messed up so many times and still end up finding a little note with your number on it in his pullover hood after you left.

#rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley #fem!reader #diary of a wimpy kid #fluff #first meeting #oneshot #x reader #reader insert #fanfic

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 8 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was miserable without you, and the pain just wasn't lessening even though you left him weeks ago. He needed to find a way to move on, because you didn't want him, and you weren't coming back. But he should have known there was no substitute for the best thing he'd ever had.

Warnings: Swears, broken heart, angst, consensual sex, sex with a condom while intoxicated (18+)

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Weeks later...

As you flew to Vancouver from Detroit, you thought about that six hour flight to Boston where you hadn't stopped crying for a single minute. You thought about leaving San Diego and how it broke your heart to move on to the next city and the next assignment. At least this time you had a window seat instead of the middle seat in the last row. And this time you weren't continually wiping your tears on Bradley's Padres jersey. 

You had his jersey on again today, but this time you felt calm as you reached into your bag to take out your computer and read over the research you'd outlined about the Vancouver Canucks. Your eyes caught on the blue golf ball, and after a second of hesitation, you reached for that instead. 

You'd taken it everywhere with you. It joined you in every hotel room, on every flight and in every rental car. You had it with you in your tote bag when you were in Boston about a month ago working on the exclusive with the Bruins' coaching staff. You were carrying it when you bumped into Abigail Archer for the first time in person. 

With your article completely forgotten now, you dug your phone out of your pocket. It was in airplane mode, but you took a deep breath and unlocked it. You had to scroll a bit to get to the text thread with Bradley, and then you tapped his name and you almost let the tears rise to the surface. You held them back as you read the series of sporadic messages he'd sent you since early November.

I miss you. 

Did you make it to Boston safely?

Ace, please call me back. I miss you so much. 

I have this whole weekend off, and I can't help but think it would be easy for me to fly to wherever you are. If you would want that. 

I still miss you.

I hope you're doing well.

You hadn't responded to a single one of them. And you never called him back either. But sometimes, when you were in a hotel room in a city that you couldn't even identify without looking at your calendar app, you'd get lonely enough to listen to his voicemail message. See ya, Ace.

It took until you met Bradley Bradshaw for you to really understand just how lonely you were. Going back to your apartment in New York City didn't feel like going home. There was nothing there that made you smile. There were no baseball cards or too small Angels tee shirts. There was no Bradley making sure you were taking a break when you needed one. 

And he was part of the reason why you let yourself start to be convinced that you could have more out of your career. Maybe he was right. Somebody else might have something better to offer than Greg or the New York Times. When you talked to Abigail and started to test the waters, it wasn't as terrifying as you thought it would be. Making some calls to see what else was out there ended up validating one fact for you: Bradley was right, your writing was in high demand.

But you had to complete your contract with Greg before you could do much else. And that included Detroit and Vancouver. But you hoped after this, your work-life balance might improve. If you decided to take this information back to Bradley, you hoped he would listen to you. Maybe he would even see what you wrote about your career change in your Detroit Red Wings article. If he was even still reading your articles. There was a chance he might still miss you now, and maybe he'd understand that you needed to see the bigger picture for yourself first. 

Before you left him alone in his bed, he told you that you knew where to find him. He made you feel like it was still okay to go there.

--------------------------

Bradley walked past his coffee table dressed in his flight suit with his travel mug of coffee in his hand. He paused at the front door and looked back at the mess he still couldn't bring himself to clean up. You left him weeks ago, damn near a month ago, but he just couldn't bring himself to clean up all of the fucking baseball cards. 

He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. He was being ridiculous. He was never ridiculous before he met you, so you must have made him this way. Every time he tried to clean them up and put them back out in his garage, his hands faltered and he left the cards out on the table. It was like some sort of sick reminder that you'd really been here with him. It was a way to convince himself he didn't imagine up the perfect woman in his mind and then have to live through the aftermath of watching her leave. 

He tightened his fingers around his mug and rubbed the heel of his other hand against his eyes. Then he took his phone out. He knew he shouldn't do it since you never answered his other messages before, but he texted you anyway. 

I hope you're doing well.

When he re-read what he'd sent, he started to panic. It sort of sounded like he meant it with an air of finality. The last thing he wanted was for you to think that he didn't want to hear from you, because it was quite the opposite. There were times when he felt so lonely, he'd have done anything for you to write to him or call him back. 

He swore he could still smell you in his house, and right now it felt a little too much like you were there. He wrenched his front door open and slammed it closed behind him, breathing in the crisp December morning air. He had to start making some changes, and he needed to do it this week. You weren't going to respond to him. After four weeks he should accept that as a fact and stop bugging you. 

He'd been skipping Hard Deck nights and leaving the locker room after work without really talking to anyone. Nat knew why he was miserable, but even she seemed surprised it had gone on for this long. 

A few days ago, she said, "You've never behaved like this over a woman before. This has all just been very surprising, and I don't know how to help you."

Bradley had shrugged and laughed sarcastically. "Well, I fell in love with her. First time for everything, right? I'll know better for next time."

And that was the truly fucked up part. He had fallen in love with you over the course of ten days. As he drove to work, he thought about your face and your voice. He knew exactly how many miles he put on his Bronco driving back and forth to see you at the games in Anaheim. He knew exactly how much money he spent on all the tickets. He knew how badly it hurt right now to be without you. And he knew he'd repeat everything all over again if he could see you for five minutes. 

Just like every other day, he had to collect himself before he could head inside to the locker room. There was no getting his time with you back. There was no second chance. There was no communication. He needed to stop. He took off his aviators that you'd liked so much and set them in his cup holder. When he checked the time on his phone, he had a notification that a new article from you had been posted eight minutes ago. It was like this every day. He'd wait to see each morning if you'd written anything, and then after it was posted, he'd read it at least three times. 

Your final World Series article was the worst one. It was released two days after you left. He must have read it a hundred times. He'd even take a screenshot of the short passage he was certain was about him.

This World Series was exciting and dynamic for so many reasons. We witnessed some of the best major league pitching in the last decade, and there were more stolen bases than the past three finals combined. Professionally, I may never witness anything like this again. And I can even tell you that on a personal level, I was profoundly changed for the better by everything I allowed myself to experience and enjoy between San Diego and Anaheim over the course of the series.

Bradley looked at his phone screen now. It had to stop. He desperately wanted to read your article on the Detroit Red Wings, but he needed to make this feeling stop. It was like he was constantly in pain every time he thought about you or even simply read your name on his phone. Your written words were never going to help him move on, so he needed to do something about it right now while he felt like he could. 

He deleted the New York Times app. He thought about deleting your number as well, but he needed to save some of his strength to get through his workday. So he just tucked his phone in his pocket and climbed out of the Bronco.

---------------------------

When Bradley walked into the Hard Deck on Friday night after work, he felt defeated and exhausted. He managed to delete the app you wrote for, but he still couldn't bring himself to delete your phone number. Moving on was a necessity right now. He didn't even know why he bothered to come to the bar, but staying home and looking at baseball cards on his coffee table didn't seem to be helping him. 

"You're here!" Nat called out as soon as he walked inside. The bar was decorated for Christmas. Was it that close to the holidays? He'd completely lost track of the weeks, but at the same time, he knew exactly how many days it had been since he'd seen you. His mind was too aware of that number, and it tacked a new one on each day. 

"Hey," Bradley managed to grunt when his friend came over to him and wrapped him up in a hug. The Christmas tree and the strings of lights blurred, and he had to close his eyes. He was missing the feel of your arms around him and the way you smelled. None of this was Nat's fault or anyone's fault really. Bradley didn't even blame you. He couldn't. You and he were nothing. 

"Let me get you a drink," Nat whispered, and she took him by the hand. He recognized the upbeat Christmas song, and he saw the guys waving from the pool table. But when he turned to face the bar, Shannon was right there with her usual smile and a pint glass in her hand. He didn't know why he wasn't expecting her. The last time he saw her was when he brought you here, and he'd give anything to go back to that night. 

Bradley just shook his head. "Something stronger. Please." Shannon raised one eyebrow at him and set the pint glass down in favor of a whiskey tumbler and a bottle of Johnnie Walker. "Yeah."

"Haven't seen you around in a few weeks," she said, watching the amber liquid slosh neatly up the side of the glass as she poured. "Kinda missed you." She met his eyes as she pushed the glass across the bar. "You look so sad."

He held eye contact with her, trying his best to push the intrusive thoughts away. "Maybe I'll be around more now," he muttered, downing the whole drink in one go and setting the glass down again. 

Shannon was familiar to him. Comfortable. He'd been messing around with women for damn near two decades without any deep feelings. You were really his first foray into something... more. But you were gone. You didn't want to talk to him. You weren't coming back.

She refilled his glass and said, "Take this one a little slower, Bradley." He nodded before downing it just like the first one, and she kind of smirked and shook her head. "You'll pay for this in the morning."

He laughed sardonically. "That's the idea." He left the empty glass on the bar with a little nod indicating that he would be back. He desperately needed to clear his head, but he'd been trying everything for weeks. Taking a walk outside, having a cold shower, going for a drive. Nothing fucking helped. 

He needed to forget the feel of your body and the sound of your voice. So he drank an extravagant amount of Johnnie Walker on Nat's tab, and he started to feel looser. He laughed at her when she asked how many he had so far. 

"Don't worry. I'll pay you back," he rasped with a smile that he knew could charm every woman except for his best friend. 

She just rubbed her hand up and down his arm and said, "I hope you know what you're doing. Let me know when you want me to get you home."

He kissed her cheek. "I'm fine, Nat. Just fine." He finished his tumbler and tried to remember if that was his fifth or his sixth, but it didn't matter. He was warm now, and his lips were a little numb. This was exactly what he needed tonight. After he shot a round of pool and lost, he flipped through the jukebox, but it was all bullshit Christmas music. He wasn't in the mood. He thought about playing the piano, but there was an empty stool at the bar now, so he headed in that direction.

"One more?" Bradley asked Shannon as he sat, and she reached out to touch his cheek.

"You sure you really need one?"

"Yep," he said, swallowing against the lump in his throat as she swam out of focus for a split second. "Just one more. It'll make it easier." 

She turned away from him to get one more clean glass. Then she filled it for him. "Thanks, Shannon," he muttered when she set it down in front of him. He was leaning on his propped up hand, and he knew she was kind of pretty. But he knew you were prettier and funnier and smarter. 

"You can't have what you want," he mumbled to himself after Shannon walked away. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it and just looked at the screen. Delete it. He had to. He opened his contacts, and there you were right at the fucking top. 

Ace

You'd always be at the top, wouldn't you? 

Instead of deleting your number, he sent you a text before he could reconsider. 

Ace, I fell in love with you.

Fuck. Fuck! You didn't want him. And there was no way to take that message back now. He closed his eyes and shook his head, because he couldn't tell if he was about to cry or laugh. He was fucking miserable. Truly, he'd never experienced this before, and it hurt like hell. His thumb hovered over your name once again, but he couldn't delete it. He drank the whiskey and tried again. But still nothing. 

He watched Shannon move around behind the bar. She wasn't you. She wasn't what he wanted, but when she announced that it was last call, she made her way over to him. 

"But no more for you," she teased, reaching to take his glass away. But he had her wrist in his hand before he registered what he was doing. She looked a little surprised. The tears were in his eyes again, but maybe it wasn't so obvious to her. He couldn't say the words. He needed her to be the one. When he licked his lips, she leaned a little closer. "I'm done in fifteen. Are you interested? Or are you too drunk?"

He took a deep breath as his eyes closed. He needed to try to move on. The pain needed to stop, or else he didn't know what he would do. Right now he was numb enough. It was now or never. "I'm interested."

Bradley was very aware of what he was doing, it just vaguely seemed like someone else was doing it. He gave his keys to Shannon once they were outside. "Remember where I live?" he asked, walking toward the Bronco. 

"Of course I do," she whispered. 

He found himself with his back against the passenger side door with Shannon's lips on his. It felt fine. Would probably feel better the more he got used to it again. He could do this. He kissed her back and told her to drive, because he knew he shouldn't. 

She drove and parked and took him by the hand, leading him inside his house. As soon as he saw the baseball cards, he wanted to upend his coffee table. He wanted to do this and get it over with and go to sleep for a week. And if he didn't feel better after that, then he didn't know what he was going to do. 

When Shannon tried to turn on his bedroom light, he took her hand in his and guided it away from the switch. "Too bright," he mumbled, and she started to get undressed. He stumbled across the hallway to the bathroom and closed the door. When he looked in the mirror, he'd never seen anything quite so pitiful. He splashed a little water on his face, but it just made his flushed cheeks stand out more. He dug around under the sink for some condoms he thought he still had. When his hand closed around the box, he sat back against the wall and cried. 

He had no idea how long he was in the bathroom. He took his shirt off and used it to wipe his face. You didn't want him. He went back to his bedroom where Shannon was naked on his bed, her skin glowing in the light filtering in from the bathroom where he forgot to flip the switch off.

"Fuck," he grunted, running his fingers through his hair. But she must have taken that as a sign that he was ready to go. He wasn't, but he told himself he was. She touched him, and he let her. She kissed him some more, and he let her do that, too. He reciprocated. He knew to do that much. But it didn't feel like anything. He fucked her, but it just wasn't right. And then he fell asleep with a throbbing head and an aching heart and the wrong woman next to him. 

-----------------------

It had been years since Bradley had a hangover. When he opened his eyes, his left arm was hanging off of his bed, and his face was halfway smashed in his pillow. His mouth was completely dry, and he tried to press his lips together and swallow. He had no idea how he got home or what time it was. 

"Oh, shit," he groaned. He texted you last night. When he was sitting at the bar. He was pretty sure he told you he fell in love with you. He knew you wouldn't write back. You must have blocked his number by now. He was probably texting nobody by this point, but it still hurt like hell that you didn't want him the way he wanted you.

Then he remembered what he did after he texted you, and the bile rose in his throat so quickly. Shannon was right there next to him when he turned his head. He let her sleep over. He never let her sleep over before this. She was in your spot. He needed her gone immediately. 

"Hey," he grunted, his throat like sandpaper. "Shannon. You need to leave." 

She rolled over and glared at him. "Still tired," she whispered, completely naked in his bed. 

"Please," he begged. He was so fucking stupid, it was incredible. Now he was miserable and hungover and angry with himself. "I need you to."

She sighed and stretched, and Bradley made a beeline for the bathroom, stepping on a condom wrapper on the way. At least there was that. Then he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He sat back against the wall for a few minutes, afraid there might be more he had to throw up. He knew his head was throbbing due more to the fact that he regretted everything he did last night with Shannon than him drinking most of a bottle of whiskey. 

There was tapping on the door. "If you want me to leave, I need to use the bathroom."

"Give me a minute," he groaned, standing up and looking at himself in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked pale. When he brushed his teeth, he felt the tears burning behind his eyes once again. Was this ever going to stop? It had been more than a month. 

Bradley rinsed his mouth and opened the door, barely looking at Shannon as she walked past him, still naked. He went back into his bedroom for a pair of clean underwear and some gym shorts and fought the urge to put all of his bedding in the washing machine. He couldn't even be in here right now, so he left for the kitchen. And he passed the fucking baseball cards again. He would have to throw them away or ask someone to come get them, because he needed them gone as much as he needed Shannon to leave. 

As he turned on his coffee maker, he heard someone knocking on his front door. He already wanted this fucking day to end. He tried not to look at the baseball cards as he passed the table and wrenched his front door open, and then his jaw dropped in surprise.

"Bradley. Hi."

He braced his hand against the door frame as he looked at you standing there on his tiny porch. You were wearing his Padres jersey. He had to be hallucinating. This had to be a dream. You were here.

"Ace."

He watched your face light up at the nickname, and you laughed softly as you examined him like you'd been dying to see him. He gripped the doorframe a little harder as he reached his other hand out to cup your chin and feel your silky skin.

"Holy shit, Baby. What are you doing here?" His heart was pounding, but he felt somehow normal again. Just like he had five weeks ago before you left him in a state of panic. 

"I came to see you." He stroked his thumb along your lip, but you didn't back away. In fact you took a tiny step closer as you added, "I have to be up in Anaheim tomorrow afternoon for some Ducks interviews, but I wanted to see you first. I thought we could talk."

Your eyes were open and earnest, and Bradley felt weak as he looked at his jersey on you. He let his hand drop away from your face, because he had no idea what to say to you right now. He had convinced himself he'd never see you again. "Did you get my texts? Or did you block my number?"

You pressed your lips together and then whispered, "I got your texts. And I've listened to your voicemail a lot. I've missed you." Bradley watched you smile tentatively and give him a little shrug. 

"You missed me," he said in disbelief. "And you got my messages. And you missed me. And you're wearing my jersey."

You looked down at yourself and laughed. "I've been wearing pretty frequently, actually. Turns out I don't have a dress code at my new office, which ironically is in Houston now, but I hardly ever have to be there in person."

When you met his eyes again, he asked. "New office?" He was so confused as he reached out and stroked your cheek with his fingers again just to try to make sure you were still real. 

"Yeah," you said softly, taking another step closer to him. "I have you to thank for that. I have you to thank for a lot of things." You bit your lip before you said, "I left the New York Times. I just finished my last assignment for Greg yesterday. I'm working on a brand new piece now. I actually begged my new employer to let me come back to California for the Anaheim Ducks article even though it's a bit of a fluff piece, because it meant I could come here and tell you that I'm happier now."

"You are?" he asked, unsure what you meant by that. He was having a hard time listening to your voice and looking at your face at the same time, and he wondered how he'd managed ten days in your presence for the World Series. You were just so overwhelmingly perfect. 

"Yes, Bradley. You made me think about my career, and I kind of took the time to change some of my priorities. Because if there's a man as incredible as you who is willing to take a chance on me, then I can take the same kind of chance on myself."

"Ace."

You smiled up at what he was sure was a look of longing on his face. "I'm working for Velocity Report now, and I'm going to have a lot more time off between assignments. Which is important, because you reminded me that I need to take breaks and eat and take care of myself. Even when you're not around."

"I loved doing that for you," he gasped, suddenly dying to kiss you. 

"Yeah, well, you were really good at it," you said as your smile faded a little bit. "But that's why I'm here. To tell you all of this in person. You deserve to hear it in person instead of over the phone, especially since I never responded to you. I wanted to, but I just wasn't ready until now. And I don't know if you read what I said about you in my Detroit Red Wings article... but, I still miss you. And I love you."

His heart was pounding so hard, he thought he was going to pass out. "You love me?" he asked, absolutely needing you to say it again for him as your eyes drifted to where the box of baseball cards was still out on the coffee table. 

Your smile grew as you reached out for his hand and tugged him closer like you were going to kiss him. "Yes, I do. I love-"

Bradley heard a noise behind him, and his heart sank as his eyes went wide. You were looking off to the side, and he heard Shannon's voice. "Oh, sorry." He turned to see her with a puzzled look on her face. He had completely forgotten she was even here. After a few minutes in your presence, you were the only thing that mattered.

"Oh my god," you gasped, wrenching yourself away from Bradley. "Oh, fuck." You looked at him with your hands on your forehead and tears in your eyes. "You know what? Forget I was even here. I'm sorry," you gasped, turning on your heel and walking full speed across his yard to the black car that was parked at his curb. 

It took him a second, but then he was right behind you. "Ace! No, Baby, you don't understand." But it didn't look like you were listening as you dug the keys to your rental car out of your pocket. "Ace! Please!" He ran barefoot out onto the street to try to beat you to the car door, but you were too fast. When he reached for your hand and spun you around to face him, you had tears streaming down your cheeks. 

He was frozen, clinging to your hand as you whispered, "She's the bartender. I should have never come here."

"No," he begged, stepping into your personal space, but you kept dodging him. "It's nothing. I want you here. I need you here."

But you pulled your hand free and reached for the door handle as you sobbed, and it broke Bradley's heart. "I need to go."

He was ready to drop to his knees. "She doesn't mean anything, Ace! Please! I missed you too, Baby! I've been miserable without you, okay? You have no idea." 

You wouldn't even look at him now as you pushed him out of the way so you could climb in the car. He felt all of his dreams slipping through his fingers twice now as you slammed the door closed, started the engine and drove.

"Ace!" he shouted running alongside your door until you hit the accelerator and left him standing in the middle of his street without shoes on. "Ace. I love you," he whispered as you turned left at the end of his block, and then you were out of sight. 

Bradley sank down until he was squatting with his face buried in his palms. "Fuck!" he screamed, the sound only slightly muffled as he jumped up to his feet and made his way back to his house where Shannon was standing on his porch. She looked disgusted as another car pulled up in front of his house. 

"Why are we sleeping together if you're clearly in love with her?" she asked, barely looking at him as she headed toward her Uber. "You should go take care of that."

As Bradley watched her away, he tried to pinpoint exactly how he'd fucked all of this up. He wondered if there was any way to fix it. Once again, he couldn't breathe correctly as that crushing feeling returned to his lungs. This feeling has vanished for those few minutes he was with you again.

"Maybe you don't even deserve her," he told himself as he walked back inside alone, thinking about how for a minute there, you'd loved him back.

------------------------------

Oh, Bradley. Oh, you sweet thing. Should I add one more part? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 9

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[laangdonn]

not anymore pt2

summary: y/n tries growing in her grief at hilltop.

pairing: carl grimes x female reader

a/n: ya’llllllll thank you so much for loving the first part!!! i’d actually written pt1 a year ago and never rlly planned to ever make a pt2 but ask and you shall receive lolol, hope you like!!

*read part 1 here*

*************************

“todays the day rick n carl should be gettin here,” maggie said, sending a spoon with tomato soup into her mouth, “you ready to see him?”

i released a shaky breath, playing with my own bowl of food as my starved appetite vanished. i stared at the red, swirling liquid. “i don’t know.”

“a month wasn’t enough time apart?” she asked, eyeing me cautiously.

i hadn’t wanted to repeat myself, but i had no other answer. “i- i don’t know.”

it hadnt seemed like a month apart. i would’ve sworn it had been yesterday i walked out of alexandria alone, two duffel bags in my hand and a gun, ready to fend off anything or anyone that crossed my path.

but it had been a month, the longest we’d ever been apart. and i missed him more than anything.

it still didn’t shake my hesitancy, my worry that the moment we spend time alone we’ll go back to disagreements and fighting and perhaps, i’d never go back to alexandria again. and that’ll be the end of us. till one of dies and the other is forced to reconcile the fact that we’d never made up.

it scared me to see him. to see death again.

“well,” maggie swallowed again, her short hair bristling in the chilly air from the open window, “i think when you see him, that’s when you’ll really know.”

i nodded slowly, my eyes still trained on my soup.

she stood up out of the chair, “i need to find greg, talk to him ‘bout a few things.” she eyed me again, noticing my static, unmoving position. “you’ll be alright while i’m gone?”

i looked up at her then, not wanting her to worry, “i’ll be fine, mags.”

she gave me a small, reassuring smile and a kiss on the crown of my head before she went off, and i was left in my thoughts.

luckily, maggie’s trailer provided a lot of privacy, and knowing the tenants at hilltop, i wouldn’t be disturbed.

i stared off to a chip in the paint, thinking.

——

“i can come with you.”

“carl-“

“why can’t i just take you to hilltop and leave?”

“because, carl, don’t-“

“it’s dangerous, y/n, and reckless-“

“carl-“

“and stupid-“

“would you stop interrupting me!”

he went quiet then, his burly arms crossed over his flannel chest, eye staring daggers into my figure.

we stood by the door to our house, two duffel bags leaning against the wall i so desperately wanted to pick up and run out.

i knew despite him saying he wouldn’t stop me going, it wouldn’t eliminate the imminent last ditch effort fight from occurring.

“you told me you’d let me go.” i said slowly, as if reprimanding a child, “don’t go back on your word.”

he rolled his eyes, “god forbid i don’t want you out there by yourself! have my dad take you for fucks sake just don’t-“ he pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling stressfully, “don’t go by yourself.”

“i can take care of myself, carl.” i spat, feeling anger surge through me at his distrust in me. “i’ve survived this long.”

“you never know what can happen out there.” he threw his hands up, “or here! yesterday, that dick’s gun was to your head in this fucking room!”

i felt his rage, i voiced his yells. it made my head spiral that i were still trapped in alexandria, suffocating in this broken reflection of my relationship that could barely withstand some independence.

but, bringing myself to reality, i also knew his fear, knew the dread at the unknown. knew the loss he was experiencing even while i was still standing in front of him, alive and breathing.

i shuddered out a breath, walking over to him to put my hands sturdily on his shoulders.

i looked up at him, watching his anger dissipate when we locked eyes.

“i know you’re scared for me,” i said softly, talking quickly before he’d have a chance, “but i need you to trust me.”

“y/n-“

“no,” i put my finger to his soft lips, “let me finish.”

i brought my hand down, his eye watching my finger fall from his flesh.

“i’ll send a letter the second i get to hilltop, so you know i’m safe,” i swallowed, “i’ll have my gun loaded and extra ammo, anything i could scavenge up from the armory.”

his eyebrow relaxed, listening to me talk.

“this is what we’re made for now,” i shook him a bit and sent him a weary smile to ease his tension, “we’re made to do these things on our own.”

he exhaled shakily, nodding to fool himself into thinking he’d allow this, that he’d watch me walk away from him into trees of undead and alive.

i leaned up to his face, our noses brushing every so slightly. my heart boomed in my chest, beating so hard i swore he could hear it himself. maybe it was both of our hearts, desperate to intertwine again.

“do you trust me?” i whispered softly, so our lips grazed.

i heard him swallow, and the breath from his nose fan my face.

“yeah,”

i pulled back at that, knowing if we kissed, for the first time since…, i knew i’d lose the battle to my heart and stay.

i grabbed the two duffel bags and locked my palm around the doorknob.

looking over my shoulder, i sent a reassuring smile, “i’ll see you when we’re okay.”

he didn’t respond, and while it sent a jolt to my gut of disappointment and guilt, i turned back and opened the door.

“y/n,” i heard him say, just as i left.

i barely looked over my shoulder.

“i love you.”

i bit my lip, finally, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

“i love you, too.”

and the door shut.

——

crossing the lines to hilltop and realizing who i’d be seeing almost sent me running the other direction.

fear of maggie’s state of being gave me a headache as i drew closer to the entrance, and once i was close enough in view, could see her faint outline on a lookout post illuminated by the bright sun behind her.

i knew she saw me when i heard a voice scream my name.

she disappeared from the post and soon the large, wooden doors opened. i ran the rest of the way, dropping my bags and falling tiredly into her expectant arms.

as much as i told myself i’d stay strong for her, the smell of her hair and the memories of that night came sweeping back and i sobbed, wet and noisily, into her chest that shook with her own cries.

i didn’t realize we’d fallen to the floor till i felt my exposed knees sting from skimming the rough dirt.

“what-“ she sniffled, a sob breaking through her, “what are you doing here?”

i took a shaky breath in, trying to compose myself, “i came to see you.”

she frowned, burying her face back into my shoulder.

we cried a few more moments, let ourselves drown in glenn’s absence, in front of all the onlookers who just watched silently.

i pulled back, dread creeping into my stomach when i looked at maggie’s

“the-“ i swallowed, “the baby-“

“fine,” she answered quickly, stroking tears off my cheeks and sending me a faint smile, “just fine.”

i breathed a sigh of relief, nodding at the scarce good news before standing and helping her up, too.

she looked healthier than the last time i saw her, fatter in her face and her arms. her stomach barely bulged as a reminder a part of glenn resided there.

behind her i saw sasha standing, her arms folded. even from far away, i could tell she just looked even worse, instead of better.

i sent her my best sympathetic smile, receiving one back but knowing deep down, it was just another lie to comfort me.

i looked to maggie, gripping her forearms, “take me to him.”

seeing glenn’s grave, surprisingly, comforted me more than disturbed me. to know we had him, safe under dirt and bugs, but still, safe. better than laying out in the gravel, for prying, evil eyes to view him.

he was returned back to us in less than one piece, but his soul was whole with us.

i held maggie’s hand as we looked down, a few flowers resting over the raised patch of dirt.

i swallowed harshly, “what would he think now?”

“of what?” she asked softly, our eyes never wavering from the ground.

“of carl and i. of what’s been destroyed.”

i felt her squeeze my hand, “you and carl aren’t destroyed.”

i shook my head, feeling tears blur my vision and my nose sting.

she continued, “you’re right for the time apart, to grieve separately if that’s what you need.”

“is it enough?” i asked brokenly, finally looking at her.

she gestured our intertwined hands to glenn’s grave.

“ask him.”

and so i did.

i spoke to glenn’s grave everyday. sometimes scattered stories of our memories, from the prison, from on the road. sometimes i cried so hard i couldn’t breathe under the empty dusk, sometimes i laughed so hard my stomach hurt. sometimes i sat in silence.

but mostly i talked about carl.

——

if i stared hard enough at that paint chip, i could’ve sworn the wall tore a bit more right before my eyes.

i knew who i had to see, to remind me this absence was for something, that i’d grown in my grief.

my feet carried me to his grave, hidden away behind maggie’s trailer. i sat down comfortably in front of it, hugging my knees to my chest.

“are we okay?” i whispered to the air. “will i see you in him?”

“was all of this for nothing? will it always be this way, glenn?” i wiped my hand over my nose.

i let out a shaky breath at the thought, “can we overcome this?”

“yes.”

my head whipped around, and i saw carl, standing with his arms at his sides, tears filling up his ocean eye.

it gave me whiplash how fast i stood up and launched myself into his unexpecting arms. they rested limp for a moment, but quickly moved to hug my torso tightly, lifting my feet slightly off the grass as i wedged my head between his neck.

we pulled back slightly to stare at each other, and i searched his face for the blood, for the black line, for the axe.

i smiled softly when i realized all i saw were glenn’s memories.

happy memories, of the hot days at the prison when we sweat so hard playing tag, of playing a dusty board game in alexandria the first night when we were too hesitant to sleep, of watching his love with maggie and seeing it reflected in carl and i.

“why’re you smiling?” he whispered, his own face pulling to reveal a grin. he knew.

i leaned in closer, tipping his sheriffs hat up so our noses could brush.

“because i don’t see it, not anymore.” i finally let our lips touch, a kiss that sent flames bursting in my stomach and my fingers to shake with anticipation.

he leaned into the kiss, and i felt the breath on my face at his sigh of relief.

i knew he knew what i meant when i saw the tiny twinkle in his eyes reappear looking at me, knowing he felt the same.

i pulled back ever too quickly, evident in how he leaned in again.

but before i gave him the chance to kiss me again, i let my smile burst through.

we all had a long way to go, people to kill and more people to lose, but in this moment, right in this moment:

“i see you now.” i said.

and that was enough.

#carl grimes angst #carl grimes #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes fluff #twd #the walking dead #maggie greene #maggie rhee #twd angst #glenn rhee #carl grimes one shot #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes x fem!reader #twd season 7 #twd carl

[ssaaaronmontgomery]

give us some dbf!hotch i’m begging 😫😫

A Little Help

Warnings: Smut, dbf!hotch, oral (fem receiving), slight sir kink, pet names, vaginal fingering, gagging, masturbation (male and female), Hotch sends you a nude photo 🤭, age gap (both are consenting adults), not proofread, I think that's all!

Word count: 1.2k

Pairing: dbf!hotch x fem!reader

A/n: I've got some dbf!hotch in my drafts that I have yet to finish but maybe I can do a little something real quick 🤭.

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @canuck-eh @luvehotch @callm3c0nfus3d @ivyflowers13 @randomuserrs

Hotch: @14buddy22 @pastanoodles11 @htchnr

Let me know if you want to be added to my tags 🫶

This post is nsfw minors DNI****

You are in your bedroom when the party starts and you're having some trouble finishing yourself off so you can hurry up and get downstairs. Aaron had been on your mind and it was creating a problem between your legs that you couldn't ignore no matter how hard you tried, but once you got your hand between your thighs it seemed like you just couldn't quite get there. Not without help anyway.

You could hear the noise downstairs as the party your parents were throwing started to get a little louder and you could tell there were plenty of people there to distract your parents from your absence.

You continue to rub your clit as you try to bring yourself over the edge but it seems like every single time you might be getting closer, your body doesn't let you get there and it's more than frustrating for you. A few more minutes of this continue and you sigh at the frustration. It's right then that your bedroom door opens and you jump in surprise and move to cover yourself but you stop when you see Aaron walk through the door with a smirk on his face as he closes it behind him.

"Aaron!" You whisper shout at him and he chuckles a little as he sees what you've been up to. "So this is what's keeping you from the party? I'll have to come up with a different excuse for your parents. They asked about you but I think they're distracted by the new guests that keep talking their ears off." He stands there with that smirk and his arms crossed over his chest as he looks you over and you just lay there frozen as you look back at him. Your hand is still between your thighs but it has stopped its movements.

"You sounded frustrated before I came in, princess. Do you need some help?" His voice sends more arousal straight to your core and you lick your lips before nodding. He smiles and climbs on the bed and you instinctively spread your legs for him. Aaron situates himself between your thighs now and swats your hand away from yourself. He kisses and nibbles on the insides of your thighs, licking them and sucking on them.

Finally he gets his face right where you need it and he licks up some of your slick from your folds which immediately pulls a groan from him, thankfully it's muffled by your dripping cunt. The vibrations feel like heaven and you let your head fall back against your pillow as your hands tangle in his hair to keep him in place.

Soon enough Aaron is lapping at you. It's been a few weeks since he's tasted you and you've both missed it. He has felt starved from you and it is clear to you as he eats you out like he's desperate for it. His tongue flicks your clit and you moan at the sensation but a quick slap to your thigh quiets you down.

"Keep it down, princess. I love your sounds but right now we have to be quiet, okay? Can you do that for me, baby?" Aaron plants a soft chaste kiss on your aching bud and you whimper at him but nod. "Yes, sir." Another kiss. "Good girl." He moves his tongue to your hole and starts thrusting it in and out of you and he moans into your cunt as he gets a better taste of what he's been missing the last few weeks.

You have to cover your mouth with your hand when Aaron brings his hand up and starts rubbing your clit with his thumb as he continues to lap at your pussy. He quickly brings you your first and much needed orgasm of the night which causes another moan to slip from your lips but he lets it go for now so he can ride you through your high.

As soon as you finish, Aaron reaches for your lace underwear and grabs your mouth. He stuffs the fabric in and you look at him with wide eyes.

"You can't keep yourself quiet so we had to fix that." He quickly moves back down and wastes no more time before pushing two of his thick digits into your throbbing core. He brings his mouth back to your clit and starts licking and sucking and flicking it in a way that has you closing in on your second orgasm faster than you would have thought possible after how long it was taking you to just get your first one earlier by yourself.

Aaron pulls his mouth away briefly to speak. "Come on, angel. Be a good girl and soak my fingers. I know you can do it." As soon as he gets his mouth back on your sensitive bundle of nerves, your second orgasm crashes through you and you are both thankful for the underwear that is muffling your moans.

As soon as you come down from your second high, Aaron ceases his movements and pulls the underwear from your mouth. "I would love to stay and cuddle you but need to get dressed and get downstairs before someone else comes up to find you. And I need to go take care of this." Aaron gestures to his throbbing cock that is currently pressed against your hip.

You nod and he helps you up before handing the underwear back to you. You don't take it though. Instead, you push his hand back towards him. "Use it to get off. I have plenty of others." You smile at him and he just grins at you. When he kisses your lips you can taste yourself on them and it nearly makes you say 'fuck it' and decide to stay but you know you can't take any longer to join the party. So you reluctantly pull away and dress yourself as you move with wobbly legs.

"I'll see you downstairs then?" You ask him and he gets a little shy as he blushes and nods. "Yeah, in a few minutes. Tell them I had to use the toilet if they ask where I am." You nod your head and kiss him again, palming his member through the fabric as you do and he moans against your lips but you pull away and he sighs. "Okay, go before I change my mind and keep you up here with me. We can have more fun later but right now you really need to make an appearance at the party." You kiss him one last time before walking over to the door.

"Have fun, Aaron. Send me a photo. I want to see your cock wrapped up in my underwear as you get off with them." You wink at him and grin more which only makes him blush even more. He nods and you finally leave the room to join the party which you can't even remember the purpose of. Sure enough, a few minutes later you hear your phone chime and you sneak a glance at it to see a picture from Aaron. His large hand and your soaked underwear wrapped around his dick as he strokes himself in your room. It nearly makes you moan but you manage to suppress it and focus on the party once again.

You know you'll both be having some more fun later. You'll coincidentally have plans and have to leave shortly after Aaron does. And then you'll end up in his bed as he pounds into you and your moans will fill his ears as his fill yours.

#anon🩶 #aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x female!reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner smut #hotch smut #dbf!hotch #dbf!aaron hotchner #mon answers🩷 #hotch🌜

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Problems With The Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 18 - Cuddy’s Kiss

‘Can you talk to your boyfriend?’ Thirteen burst into Dr Harding’s office and really wished she hadn’t.

She had a needle pressed into her forearm, she calmly finished up and gestured for her to close the door. Harding cleared her throat, removed the syringe and sat back, letting whatever she was injecting do it’s job.

‘How can I help you Dr Hadley?’ She asked calmly.

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in like that.’

‘And yet, you did, so I can only assume House is about to kill a patient or you have some other medical query that only I can help you with.’ Harding had hardened blue eyes and for the first time, Thirteen understood why people chose not to get on the wrong side of her.

‘I just wanted House to stop treating me like crap and was wondering if you had any advice.’

Thirteen watched as Harding’s eyes suddenly dilated, but her expression remained the same. ‘I don’t give advice to anyone who works for House,’ she said, kindly. ‘But I will say, he will continue to treat you like crap if he thinks he can.’ Harding began breathing a little shallower.

‘Are you okay?’ Thirteen asked, a little worried. Harding checked her pulse and took a few deep breaths.

‘Fine.’ She nodded, her eyes lightening and her breath returning to something steady. ‘Go and cure the patient, solve the case.’

Thirteen got up and left Harding’s office. A nurse gave her a sympathetic look.

‘Is Dr Harding-‘

‘She’s fine.’ The nurse interrupted. ‘Just a little tired.’

Thirteen didn’t know quite what to do, she’d already disappointed House, maybe showing concern for his girlfriend would help, maybe it wouldn’t, but she needed to do something to prove to House that rehiring her was a good choice.

She didn’t know if she should have asked Wilson for advice. But House was giving her odd looks, he definitely knew something was up.

‘You have to tell him.’ Cameron said. She was the only one Thirteen thought could help her settle the decision.

‘What if he already knows?’

‘Then it won’t be a shock.’

‘What if he doesn’t?’

Cameron stopped next to the nurses station. ‘Then… you gotta let them deal with it.’

Thirteen sighed and Cameron walked away from her.

House wasn’t surprised to hear that Cuddy wasn’t getting the baby she wanted. She was upset and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Thirteen came to his office, she was sheepish and he wasn’t really in the mood for sheepish.

‘What is it?’ He asked, lifting his leather jacket to leave.

‘I just wanted to ask if everything is okay with Dr Harding?’

House frowned. ‘Why?’

‘It’s just I saw her administering her own dosage and I wondered why she wouldn’t ask you to do that for her?’

House held her gaze. ‘She’s a tough a woman, all grown up, she can administer her own meds.’

Thirteen nodded and eventually left. House grabbed his jacket and went straight up to the cardiology floor. Anna was just leaving her office, locking up, she spotted him and sighed, unlocking her office again and holding the door open.

House went straight in and opened her bottom draw finding two sets of medication. He let his breath go.

‘Joint pain from the gunshot.’ He concluded. ‘How bad?’

Anna inhaled deeply. ‘Bad enough. I’m managing the pain, but eventually I will probably have to have surgery to clean up whatever’s still in there. I’m doing regular blood tests to make sure there’s no infection or any risk to any patients.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ House felt a little angry, he was upset that she didn’t tell him what was going on.

‘I was managing it.’ She said, weakly.

‘This is why you always have morphine in your bathroom.’ House suddenly realised why, she wasn’t getting high, she was in pain, like him.

‘House, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.’

He couldn’t hear it, he left her office and went to see if Cuddy was okay. Maybe he could do one good thing that night.

He had no idea what happened, he hadn’t meant for it to go the way it did, but he could see Anna when he kissed Cuddy and feel Anna’s body when his hands went to her hips. They suddenly stopped kissing, he opened his eyes and saw Cuddy, he breathed heavily and realised what he’d done.

House left Cuddy’s and went straight home. He went to call Anna several times, but couldn’t find it in himself to do it, maybe everything would be okay if he just ignored it.

Cuddy stood outside his office the next day and gestured for him to come out and talk to him.

‘I just wanted to say about last night-‘

‘I haven’t told Anna.’ He interrupted, pretending to look through the fake files in front of him.

‘Why not?’

‘She’s got joint pain in her shoulder, the same place she got shot during her last tour in Afghanistan, I think she’s got some inflammation around the joint. She’s in pain.’

Cuddy didn’t say anything for a moment.

‘You knew?’

‘Is this why you came to see me last night?’

‘I came to see you because you were upset, but you haven’t answered my question.’

Cuddy rolled her eyes. ‘We worked out a treatment plan for her to continue working until a time she could have the surgery to remove the shrapnel that’s still stuck in there.’

House felt anger flare in his chest.

‘I told her she should let you know, if anyone knows about pain, it’s you.’ Cuddy mocked, but House was in no mood. ‘So, we’re good?’

House exhaled through his nose. ‘I found her stash of meds in the bottom drawer of her desk, I was angry and left to see you. I thought it was her.’ He admitted. ‘She lied to me and I still wanted to kiss her.’

‘You’re in love, House.’ Cuddy said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘We all do stupid things when we’re in love. You should talk to her though.’

House nodded but had no idea what to say to Anna. He left angry the night before, he kissed another woman and while flirting and being an ass was fine with him. Kissing someone else was something he felt truly guilty about. Maybe Wilson had better advice.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

#Greg House #greg house x reader #greg house x original female character #greg house fic #house md

[velaryqns]

Could you do a House fanfic where after failing at treating a patient, House takes his stress and anger out on the reader? She then considers quitting being a doctor. House is confronted by Dr. Cuddy and his team, causing him to go comfort and apologize to the girl.

Uncontrolled Anger

Gregory House x Female Reader (I took it romantically for fun)

Universe: House MD

Summary: Maybe you should have known better than to question House about his feelings.

Warnings: Patient death, mentions of addictions, angst

You sat silently, your eyes on the dead body in front of you. You had watched as the team fought to help the man, all for it to fail after multiple misdiagnoses and wrong solutions. You, being a doctor, knew what they were going through. You’d gone through it a few times with your patients.

Sighing, you rest a hand on Taub’s shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile. He returned it, then watched you go as you made your way out of the room and eventually wandered to House’s office. When you reached the glass door with his name on it, you stood silently for a moment with your arms crossed. He had one hand in a fist by the side of his head and the other filling out paperwork.

You brought your hand down to the handle, allowing yourself into his office. You took a few paces, then turned your attention to the big yellow chair by his bookshelf. You lowered yourself into the chair, watching him silently for a moment.

“How are you?” You asked gently, not wanting to annoy him while he was in the middle of scribbling on the sheet.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say,” he muttered, still keeping his gaze away from you.

“You could at least say that you’re okay,” you said to him, tilting your head slightly as you shook it. You knew he handled emotions horribly, in ways that often required you to intervene, “Greg—“

He slammed the pen down and looked at you. And you could see why he had been avoiding your gaze to begin with, “You’re not a therapist. In fact, you’re presently the reason I could end up needing one. I just want some peace and quiet because excuse me for not being Doctor Y/N Y/L/N.”

“What —“ You cut yourself off, truly hurt by his words. His blue eyes held no remorse for what he said, and you quickly stood and left the room. You bumped into Chase, but ignored him entirely as you made your way down the hall with the intention of going to the elevator.

As you stood silently in the elevator, waiting to go down to the main floor to leave for the evening, you processed why you continued to try and support the man that. You stared at the metal doors, jaw clenched as you finalized your decision.

You didn’t want to work in the same building as someone like Greg House. Cuddy wouldn’t fire him, he’s too good.

Once you reached the main floor, you went to the clinic, seeing if there was any help you could offer and breathing a sigh of relief when you were able to step in. You dove into working throughout the clinic, waiting patiently to be able to talk to Cuddy about what was going on.

You filed patients in and out of the room you were using, only stopping for nurses to clean and sterilize everything between each patient. However, your consistent flow was ruined by Foreman's sudden intrusion into the room. You stared at him.

"Do you need something? Because I would like to treat my patients," you informed him.

"Just checking on you," he shrugged, tucking his hands in his pants pocket and leaning against the door, further preventing you from leaving the room, let alone treating your patients.

"I am fine," you muttered, tossing a file on the counter and crossing your arms. You leaned against the counter, "I am tired of him behaving like a child; I never thought I'd consider leaving my position because Cuddy refuses to fire House."

"I can talk to her for you,"

"Not worth it," you shook your head, "Now can you please go?"

Foreman was reluctant for a moment, but then nodded his head and walked out of the room. Your next patient came in, and you returned to your job.

Little did you know, Foreman was taking matters into his own hands despite your protests. The team liked you, there was no denying it, so of course he turned to Cuddy because of what you'd said. It was hard to believe, especially when you typically had a strong relationship with House, even when he was being childish.

House was in his office when Cuddy went search for him, her hands on her hips. He stared blankly upon her arrival, a frown on his face as he waited for what she had to say.

"You're going to make her quit,"

"Her?" House asked, shaking his head and shrugging as he waited for an elaboration. He looked toward the office door to see the team staring at him with disapproving looks, which caused him to sigh and roll his eyes, "Y/n's choices are not my fault."

“You’re pathetic,” Cuddy muttered. House shrugged. To him, there was no point in denying it. Cuddy clenched her jaw, “I thought you liked her!”

“She’s ear grating, like you,” Lisa frowned and House shrugged once more.

“I can’t lose another good doctor because of your antics, House,”

She spun on her heel and marched out of the room, leaving House to his own thoughts.

It was early in the evening, you’d showered and done some dishes, when there was a knock on your door. You were less than enthusiastic to open it, especially after peering through the hole to see House on the other side. He leaned on his cane lazily, a bag of what was clearly takeout food in his other hand as he looked down at you.

“What do you want?”

“I come bearing food,” he held the back up to emphasize his point.

You rolled your eyes and moved to slam the door in his face, but it made contact with his cane instead. House let himself in, limping toward your couch and plopping on it. The smell of the Chinese takeout hit your nose, making your mouth water as you pushed the door shut the rest of the way and turned to face the man on your couch.

“What do you want?” You repeated, less than enthused and lacking the emotion you usually had when speaking to House.

“Not a lot of hospitals would be willing to take you,” he spoke matter of factly. He dug into the brown paper bag, pulling out bulls of food and beginning to eat out of his own, “Foreman struggled to get a new job when he had to leave—“

“Foreman was accused of malpractice, and caught,” you reminded House.

“Malpractice is a common occurrence in this hospital, you think any other Dean would hire someone who’s worked with me? You’re poorly mistaken, Dollface,”

“You’re a piece of shit,” you spat, shaking your head and storming into the kitchen, “You know that?”

“I just call em like I see em,”

“If you don’t have anything genuine to say, then leave,”

There was silence, and then you heard your couch creak as he got up. Good, he got the point. That was what you thought until you heard his cane moving across the linoleum floor of your kitchen. You turned to see Greg House standing over you, and you gulped.

“What do you expect me to do here?” He questioned.

“Oh I don’t know, apologize?” You countered, side stepping him to grab a glass from a cupboard, “I was helping you. Making sure you were okay and not going to do something stupid after losing a patient — but apparently that wasn’t good enough, hm?”

“Y/n—“

“No, all I wanted to do was help you,” you faced him, “everybody in that damned hospital does what they can to help you, and this is how you repay us? That’s real shitty, House.”

House. Unlike everyone else, you rarely used his last name when talking to him. When speaking of him, sure, when in professional settings, almost always. But never in the privacy of you two or amongst friends. That’s when he realized the reality of what he’d caused.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” he spoke, taking a step toward you. He leaned his cane on the counter and placed his hands on your waist. You didn’t move your arms from your sides, merely looking into his blue eyes to see if he was being genuine.

It seemed too good to be true.

“Accept the apology before I’m forced to take it back,”

And there it was.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” you muttered, moving your hands to rest on his biceps. House squeezed your waist, knowing that he got what he wanted. You rose to your tip-toes, your lips just barely touching his before you pulled away, “Now come on: that take-out is calling my name.”

#fanfic #fanfiction writer #oneshots #reader insert #gregory house x reader #james wilson x reader #james wilson #robert chase x reader #robert chase #housemd #house x reader #gregory house #lisa cuddy

[ashes-writing]

f i s h n e t s | csi vegas ; g.sanders

|| taglist,babes + req rules + send ?s + masterlist + kinktober masterlist ||

** graphics made by me with help from google images /pinterest. the list I'm using for this provided by @the-purity-pen, please do go check out their writing and a huge thanks to them for allowing the prompts to be used. **

𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 ; 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜

Summary ;

---Your fishnet stockings turn Greg Sanders a lil feral.

Pairing ;

Greg Sanders x fem!reader.

--- no physical description given beyond having female parts.

Warnings ;

--- minors, abso-fuckin-lutely not. In addition to the prior, thigh riding, exhibitionism -this happens in a nightclub, if you squint, body fluids, biting / marking, Greg likes to rip holes in clothing and make them bigger, dry humping, dirty talk, use of pet name (kitten ; female ),

Taglist ;

--- the people listed below are the only ones I have on my csi vegas/miami/ny taglist. If you'd like to be added, click the little link up top.

@beardedbarba

@calmcoast 

@justmeandanoverdrive

@uncrownedmox

“You know what those stockings do to me.” his voice is a husky drawl against the shell of your ear and it has you melting back into him as his hands move all over your body. Your head falls back against his chest and his hand slips up the short hem of the black satin slip you’re wearing as a dress for your ‘sexy black cat’ costume.

As his rough hand squeezes your cunt and you rock your cunt against his palm, you roll your ass back against his crotch, whining when you feel the way he’s already strained so hard against his jeans. He’s rubbing you faster and you feel like all the bones have left your body, you’re leaned against him heavily just to stay upright. And then, he’s sitting and you’re turned to face him, straddling one of his thighs as he leans in and pulls you into a deep and biting kiss that strays, his lips roaming down your neck after he’s brushed hair out of his way. 

You’re desperate for the friction created by his hand seconds ago so you’re rocking yourself back and forth over his thigh, the crotch of your panties and your fishnets soaking through in seconds. His hands squeeze your hips to bring your movements to a standstill as he sucks on your neck and pulls away, eyes dancing over his handiwork as a smirk plays at his lips. You’re pouty about it, whimpering in the neediest way possible and Greg’s puffing up a little with pride, awed by the fact that he’s the guy who makes you this way. 

“Greg, c’mon, it’s not fair..” your head falls back and he pulls you even higher on his thigh, his hand grabbing your jaw, giving it just the smallest bit of pressure as his mouth crashes against yours and he chuckles, the sound swallowed by the way his tongue invades your mouth, “You’re the one who wore that tonight. Fuck.” he’s practically growling into your mouth as the kiss deepens, “Are these the stockings with the hole on the inner thigh?”

“Don’t you dare rip…” you whine out, rocking yourself back and forth over his thigh and your pace almost matches the Rob Zombie being played over the club’s PA system perfectly. But his finger finds the hole in your stockings, the one real high on the inside of your thigh, and as it catches and the hole is widened by a tug to flimsy fabric, he can feel you soaking through your panties and he bites back a groan and then chuckles, "Oops... I did warn you though, kitten.." his words accompanied by a teasing and sheepish shrug as he locks eyes with you and bites his lip, bucking himself up into you.

Once he’s widened the hole in your fishnets, his finger slips inside, dragging up and down your covered cunt until the throb is a dull ache and there’s no amount of friction that’s going to help make it stop.

His teeth sink against your bottom lip, tugging. His other hand raises, catching in the hair at the back of your head as he uses it to his advantage and holds you in the deepening kiss until there are stars dancing in front of your eyes. “C’mon, kitten, ride it faster.” 

“Greg.” you gasp out as the kiss breaks and you pull away to breathe and attempt getting yourself under control again so you can lean in real close and giggle against the shell of his ear, “I need you inside me.” you’re begging. “Wanna feel your cock, baby.”

Greg Sanders stands, keeping you wrapped around his body as he starts to carry you out of the crowded nightclub…

#greg sanders #greg sanders smut #greg sanders imagine #greg sanders fanfiction #greg sanders x fem!reader #<- minors absofuckinlutely not. a general warning for all of my adult content. #-> please read all warnings before you read further. all.of.them. #<- female reader ; vague description (female parts) #tppkinktober2022 #kinktober22 #kinktober2022 #kinktober 2022 #kinktober 22

[smuts-whore]

Okay!

Toxic!Jey Uso x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut

I smile with my date, Devon, as he drives me home. When we arrive at my house, he walks me to the door like the gentlemen he is. We've been dating for about 2 months now and I think tonight is the night I want to fuck him.

"Well I guess I'll be on my way", he says smiling down at me.

"Or you can come in", I said pulling him down to kiss me.

I opened the door while still kissing him. The kiss was getting so heated. We started taking off each other's jackets. I backed away and took off my shirt.

As he kissed my neck and I unbuckled his belt we jumped from hearing someone saying, "Yall done?"

I grabbed my chest and turned to see Jey Uso, my ex, sitting in my living room chair.

"What the fuck are you doing here Jey", I asked groaning at the fact this bitch is really in my house.

"Nah mama. The right question is who is this mutherfucker you brought in my house", he said walking up in Devon's face.

I pushed him back getting in his face now saying, "This is Devon and this is my house."

He looked down at me with straight anger in his eyes and said,"Tell him to get the fuck out now."

"Goodbye Devon", I say maintaining eye contact with Jey.

After I heard the door close I released my breath that I was not aware I was holding.

"Who the fuck do you think you are bring a man in our house Y/N", he slightly yelled.

"Our house? OUR HOUSE! You left me Joshua. YOU left me for three months without any contact. This is my fucking house and you have no right to kick out my fucking company", I say getting irritated at him.

He stepped up to me and said,"First off lower your fucking tone. How do I leave and you get another man y/n."

"Key words dumb ass, you left me. What's her name", I asked as all the feelings come back.

He rub his temple and says,"Who name."

My voice gets a little high pitch as I say, "The bitch! The bitch that you left me for. It has to have one because it has no other reason for me to wake up and you were gone and not answering any of my calls or text messages. Do you understand how that made me feel. How worried I was about you."

He smirks and says,"I didn't know you cared that much."

I rolled my eyes and turned around. When I started walking away he grabbed the back of my neck turning me around to face him. He crashed his lips into mine. I immediately kissed back because of the hold he has on me. As we kissed he pushed us towards the sofa and we fell on it without separating our lips. He pulled back and stripped me out of my pants since my shirt was already off from earlier. He came down and kissed all over my neck until he found my spot.

I let out a moan when he found it. He started biting and sucking making sure to leave a mark. As he did that tears ran down my face slowly because I thought he wasn't coming back. He reached his hand down my body stopping at my clothed mound feeling how wet I already was. He picked up his head and realized the tears.

He kissed down my body as he rubbed my sides. When his face made it between my legs he groaned at how soaked my panties were.

"Don't cry baby. Daddy's home. Now all this wetness is from me or Greg", he said as he kissed the inside of my thighs.

"His name is Devon", I squeaked as he slapped my thigh when I corrected his name, "No daddy this is all for you."

"I don't know if I believe you. You were about to ride his dick huh baby girl", he said as he pulled my panties to the side rubbed my clit.

I shook my head no, as my back arched from his movements because I was so sensitive.

He said,"You're lying. You were going to let him eat my pussy and then ride his dick. I gotta get in this pussy now and reclaim it."

He got up and pulled down my panties. He stood up and stripped and I could help but stare and grin. He got between my legs and used his tip to spread my slick around. He entered me all at once causing me to arch my back and moan. He stayed still and rubbed my belly to calm me down as I adjusted to his size. I shook my head letting him know he could move. He put my legs on his shoulder so I can fell him on my g-spot every fucking time. He started pounding into me like he was trying to prove something.

"Ohhh DADDY! It feels so good daddy. You feel so fucking good", I say as my eyes roll in the back of my head and I claw at the sofa leaving marks.

"Take this shit mama. I bet I fuck you better than that bitch little boy huh baby. Fuckkk you feel good", He said going impossibly faster and rubbing my clit.

Tears rolled down my face as I pushed on his lower stomach trying to move him to give me a break because it was too much.

He pushed my hand away and said,"Move your fucking hand and take this dick."

"I can't daddy! It's-it's too m-much", I said as I can barely breathe and every part of my body feels like it's on fire.

He doesn't know how sensitive I am since I haven't had sex since him. My body starts to tremble and I tap his arm fast trying to let him know I'm about to cum since I can't form words.

"Use your words mama", he says as his hand on my clit increases.

Before I try to talk again it's too late. My vision goes completely white, I feel my body shaking like I'm getting electrocuted, and feel my pussy gushing.

"OH Fuckkkkk y/n fuckkk", Jey says as he comes inside me unexpectedly.

When I come down from my high I see my juices everywhere.

"Damn girl. You have never squirted or creamed like that before. I guess I did fuck you better than Greg huh", he said as he pulled out of me causing me to wince.

"I didn't sleep with him. Tonight was going to be the first time but I'm kinda glad you stopped it", I say as I run my fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry I left. I know you need an explanation but I'm not ready to talk about it yet. Just know I'm home and I'll try to do better by you okay mama."

"Alright baby, I believe you. You came in me Jey. Don't worry I'll take a plan B in the morning", I say kissing his forehead.

"Girl I didn't know what was going on I came so fucking quick once you started juicing but maybe you don't have to take the plan B. Okay", He asked rubbing my belly.

I thought about it and maybe a baby will keep him here so I said, "Okay."

THANKS FOR READING LOVEBUGS<3 Feedback Appreciated!

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[tomssexdoll]

omgg write a fluff w tom/ bill where him and the reader are high outta their minds that would lowk be hilarious it could also be a little smutty in the end 👀

HAHAHA YESSS

Stoned

PAIRINGS: Tom 2007 x Female reader CONTENT: FLUFF + SMUT (just a bit) SYPNOSIS: Y/N and Tom are high as FUCK, they are friends and she comes over to his house to try this "new" thing he has. She assumes it's some sort of drug or weird guitar solo, they watch movies, cuddle and at the end get a lil bit freaky... A/N: haven't been high in over a year so don't bash me if i get the feeling wrong, it's from what i remember lmao WARNINGS: teasing, kissing, drug use (weed)

Me and Tom have been best friends for over 10 years, he has been my rock, supporting me through everything. He never changed, always hanging out with me, showing me off to new friends. He was amazing.

One day he called me and said he had something to show me, something "new" he wanted to try out with me. I immediately knew it was a drug or a weird guitar solo, he is full of surprises I guess.

I got into my car and started to drive to his house, wondering what stupid thing was going to consume my day.

I arrived eventually and greeted Tom, hugging him tightly and walking inside, sitting in his room. He came in with a little baggie of what looked like weed, he handed it to me and I sighed "Tom this is a lot of weed, do you plan to smoke it all tonight?" he chuckled "no of course not, if we like it we can try it again at the party next week" he rummaged through his draws, pulling out a small black bong, decorated with skulls.

"Wowww real edgy" I rolled my eyes playfully, he laughed and slapped my arm playfully "shut up it was on sale, i'm not spending 50 fucking dollars for a small bong."

I stood up and grabbed the grinder that went with is, putting the bud in there and grinding it down, once it was finished I grabbed the bong, packing some of the weed in there.

"Wow you really know how to do this huh?" he smirked, admiring what I did. "Well my brother smokes and it's not like I haven't done it before so.." I shrugged and grabbed the lighter, sparking it and hovering the flame over the bud, sucking in the smoke. (did i just give you guys a tutorial..)

I inhaled it, feeling it burn the back of my throat but in a nice way, a familiar feeling to when I smoked cigarettes. "Fuck..that's some good shit..where did you get it from" I blew the smoke out, starting to get the effects already.

My head a bit woozy, eyes drooping ever so slightly and everything becoming a bit more brighter. I looked back at Tom, finishing the rest of the cone, the way he threw his head back when inhaling was so sexy..the way his lips slightly parted and his eyes slowly shut.

"I got it from Greg, you know, Janes older brother" he looked back at me, blowing out the smoke as well. "Oh.." I said slowly "well it's not dodgy weed I'll tell you that" I giggled.

Everything was a bit slower, my talking, movements. It felt wonderful, like I was as light as a feather.

"Let's have some more, cmon" he scooted closer to me and we had 3 more cones each, it was hitting hard now, things were much more slower, I looked down at my hands and they were slightly out of focus, like I had 4 hands.

I got up from his bed and grabbed his hand, going towards the kitchen and raiding his pantry, grabbing all the snacks I could find and a few cans of soda. I sat down and dropped everything onto the coffee table, laying down next to him, resting my head on his lap, "should we order pizza.." he mumbled, I nodded slowly and grabbed my phone, dialing the store and ordering 2 large pizzas, one cheese and one meat lovers.

"Fuck..we are gonna feast" he chuckled, his eyes super red and droopy, I smiled and picked a movie to watch.

After 45 minutes our pizza FINALLY ARRIVED. I ran to the door and quickly gave the pizza guy the cash, slamming the door and almost tripping trying to get back to the couch, "fuck!" I yelped, Tom just laughed and grabbed one of the boxes, stuffing his face with pizza.

"Mmm...so good" he groaned, I grabbed a slice and ate it, savouring the taste "has pizza ever tasted this good?" I said, it was like they put magic into it, usually pizza was mid but this time it was amazing. Our movie was ending soon, we picked a horror, which was kinda dumb because we were so high.

I sat up and held him tightly at the suspense, screaming and hiding my face into his arm when the jumpscare popped up "jesus" he chuckled "it wasn't that bad" I rolled my eyes and softly shoved him "shut up..wasn't even scary.." I mumbled

By the time we had finished 3 movies everything was DEVOURED. We decided to chill for a bit, have a talk and enjoy each others company. I layed down on the couch and he spooned me from behind, holding me close.

Usually we'd always cuddle, it was never weird to us but this time, the tension was super high. Not even in a bad way, it's like the air was thicker...the way his arms were wrapped around me and his face pressed softly on the top of my head made me feel some kind of way.

I turned around and looked up at him, it's like in that moment, we were the only people alive. His eyes washed over with desire and love, surprising me. "You know, you are so beautiful y/n, you're the most beautiful girl i've ever seen" he smiled softly, brushing a hair away from my face.

"Yeah whatever, I'm sure you tell every girl you hook up with that.." I rolled my eyes, secretly enjoying the praise. "No, y/n..I mean it, you are so beautiful" he leaned closer, our lips basically inches away.

"Tom..." my breathing hitched slightly, searching his eyes for deciet but all I saw was sincerity, love and compassion, I smiled softly, blush creeping onto my cheeks.

"I want to kiss you.." he whispered, his breath hot on my lips.

"ok pizza breath.." I giggled and leaned in, kissing him gently. He kissed back, wrapping his hand around to the back of my head and pulling me closer, locking our lips into a passionate embrace. His kisses got more urgent, his erection becoming prominent in his pants, pressing up against my leg.

"See how you make me feel? You drive me crazy" he moaned against my lips, slipping his tongue in my mouth. I reached my hand down and softly palmed his clothed cock, making him groan softly.

His hands snaked down to my waist, then to my ass, squeezing it softly. Then, his hand came back up, slipping under my shirt and grabbing my breasts, rubbing his thumb over my nipple, sending shivers down my spine.

I had grabbed one of his shirts earlier, removing my bra since you weren't able to see much anyway, it was getting a bit hot so I changed my outfit.

"My shirt looks so good on you..might have to fuck you in it" he mumbled, grinning widely.

I chuckled "we'll see about that", I rolled us over, flipping me on top of him, deepening the kiss.

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