#and Greg…immediately changed into it

[greenvertumna]

Not to be a Nick x Greg truther but in s1 ep 4 Greg is wearing a hideous shirt that looks suspiciously like the hideous shirt Nick was putting on at the start of the episode

[xoista]

౨౿ rodrick who is such a loser, the first time you kissed he moaned into your mouth. his body leaning into yours, his hand sliding around your waist—the movement is so confident you think he’s getting cocky until you hear it, the light sound of satisfaction. you do nothing but smile into his lips before pulling away, “you’re cute.”

now, the loser loves making out with you sitting in his chair. your legs on either side of his hips as your shorts ride up your legs. to center himself like before, his warm hands slide from your hips to your sides, slightly making you shiver. your lips are wet with one another’s spit, both your heads spinning, noses hitting every now and again as you breathe in each other's air.

“rodrick!”

as if nothing has changed, noises slip from his mouth while you taste each other, your hand scratching into the short hair on the back of his head, not making him any better. his hands slide further up until he’s grabbing a handful of your breast but before you can even think about getting the shirt off greg’s voice takes over the room.

“rodrick, mom sa- EW!” the two of you pull away immediately, you look over at greg with a shocked expression while rodrick simply stuffs his face into your chest with a groan. he mumbles something, but it doesn’t reach either of your ears. “i think i’m gonna hurl,” greg says, making exaggerated gagging noises as he begins to leave. “oh my god,” rodrick moans into your chest in aggravation. he lifts his head to shoo greg from the room further, “get out.”

you hear the soles of greg’s feet hit each step as he leaves. rodrick leans back into the chair and you finally get to take a good look at him; his hair messy, his lips almost as pink as his cheeks, the pinkness creeping up his neck a little, lips slightly agape. you can only grin, “you’re really cute.”

[itneverendshere]

pogue reader getting sick but she can’t call out, but rafes fr mad at you about it

changed it a bit just bc i want to show reader's progress regarding her hyper-independence, they're already dating and past the "i love you" phase, i felt like some progress had to be made by this point, especially bc this is after their big fight in this. hope you enjoy <3

don't want less, don't want more - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

The floor beneath you feels like it's tilting, moving under your feet like a boat rocking on rough water. You blink a couple of times, hoping that’ll shake the haze taking over your vision, but it doesn’t do much. 

The bar lights over your head are too bright, and the music thumping from the speakers makes your head feel like it’s trapped in a vice. The clink of glass, every laugh, every order shouted at you feels like a hammer driving nails straight into your skull.

You swallow hard, trying not to gag. Your throat’s raw, and your chest feels tight, but you’re powering through it because you don’t have much of a choice. Not a choice at all.

"Whiskey sour, extra sour!" some country club douchebag yells from the other side of the bar.

His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. You force a smile and nod, reaching for the bottle, but your hands are shaky. You catch yourself on the edge of the bar before you can drop it.

This morning, you could barely get out of bed. Fever burning through you like you were standing too close to a bonfire, throat too sore to talk, and your head pounding so hard you thought you were going to pass out just brushing your teeth. 

You tried calling in. Tried. Told your manager, Greg, that you were sick as hell, couldn’t make it, but the guy just grunted like he always does. "Can’t afford anyone calling out today," he said. Like the world was going to end if you didn’t show up to sling drinks for a bunch of rich assholes.

So here you are.

You rub the back of your neck, trying to loosen up some of the tension building there, but it doesn’t help. Nothing really does at this point.

"Hey!" The guy who ordered the whiskey sour snaps his fingers in your face. "You deaf or something? Whiskey. Sour."

"Got it," You mutter, trying not to let your voice crack as you finally pour his drink. 

Your vision swims a little as you set it down in front of him, and for a second, you think you might actually faint right here at the bar.

That’d be something. Faceplant into a bunch of overpriced cocktails in front of half of the Kooks on this island. Greg would probably just step over you and ask you to get back to work.

You lean against the bar for a second. Your stomach rolls, threatening to revolt, but you choke it back. You can’t afford to be sick here. Not when you’re already in trouble with your manager for barely making it on time. You think back to the half-assed breakfast you tried to eat—if you can call a slice of toast breakfast—and how your stomach rejected it like poison.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Rafe coming in. And suddenly, you’re even more aware of how wrecked you are.

You know he still struggles with how independent you are sometimes. You’ve always been the kind of girl who handles things on her own, and Rafe has this tendency to think that means you don’t need him.

Today, though? You need him more than ever, but you couldn’t bring yourself to call for help.

You immediately know it’s gonna be a thing.

His eyes lock onto you from across the bar, and even through the fog in your head, you can see that look on his face. He’s pissed. Of course, he’s pissed. His jaw’s clenched like he’s biting back whatever rant he’s about to drop on you, and you can already feel the tension creeping up your neck.

Great, as if you didn’t feel bad enough already.

You try to stand a little straighter, look a little less like you're one second from collapsing, but your legs are jelly, and the room’s still spinning like you’re on some messed-up carnival ride.

You don’t want him to see how bad you’re hurting right now. But today? You’re too out of it to even try and explain.

He strides up to the bar, looking sharp, as usual. Meanwhile, you probably look like death warmed over. His eyes are scanning you, taking in the pale face, the way you’re gripping the edge of the bar like you’re about to keel over. You see his lips tighten, and yeah, he’s definitely about to lay into you.

“You didn’t call,” he says, voice low but definitely annoyed. He leans in, trying to keep this between just the two of you, but with how loud the bar is, it still feels like a confrontation.

“I’m fine,” you lie, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. 

Rafe’s eyes narrow. He’s not buying it. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Why didn’t you call me?”

You hate that you feel guilty.

“Because I’m handling it,” you say, voice softer now. But even you can hear how weak you sound.

It’s not convincing. Hell, you’re not even convinced.

He crosses his arms, looking down at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t figure out. “Handling it? Baby, you can barely stand.”

You let out a sigh, trying not to let it turn into a cough.

"I’m fine," you repeat, but even you know it sounds pathetic at this point. Your head feels like it's full of cotton, you’re not sure if you’ll make it through the next few minutes, let alone your entire shift.

But pride’s a bitch.

Rafe just stands there, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s waiting for you to come clean. You can feel his frustration, but there’s something else, too. Worry. It’s in the way his eyes keep flicking over your face, how his fingers are tapping against his arm like he’s holding himself back from just scooping you up and carrying you out of here.

"I heard from Topper," he finally says, like he’s been holding that card in his back pocket. You blink, trying to keep up. "He saw you at the club earlier, said you didn’t look right."

Great. Freaking Topper. Of course, idiot couldn’t mind his own business. You can almost picture him, all dressed up in some preppy golf outfit, spotting you from across the course and making a note to text Rafe the second he saw something off.

Rafe’s still watching you, waiting for a reaction.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with some excuse, some way to brush it off, but your brain’s too foggy, and all you manage is a weak, "I was fine then."

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? 'Cause Top said you looked like you were about to hurl on the 9th hole." He’s trying to keep his voice low, but you can tell he’s annoyed. Not at Topper, not even really at you—just at the whole situation.

You want to snap back, tell him you’re fine, that you’ve got it under control. But instead, all that comes out is another tired sigh. “Greg wouldn’t let me call out. Said they needed me.”

“You serious?”

“Dead-serious.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches so tight you think you hear his teeth grind. His hands come out of his pockets, flexing like he’s about to hit something—or someone. He runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to calm himself down before he says something he’ll regret.

But you know him—he’s never been great at holding back when he’s pissed. And right now? He’s definitely pissed.

“Greg said that?” His voice is low, but there’s this dangerous edge to it, like he’s two seconds away from losing it, “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come down here, I would’ve—”

“I know.” You cut him off because you do know.

He would’ve dropped everything and come running. That’s exactly why you didn’t call. You didn’t want to be the a burden again. Like you said, you’re still working on yourself.

Rafe leans against the bar, his whole body radiating this intensity that makes you feel both comforted and nervous.

“So, let me get this straight,” he says, voice louder now, not even bothering to keep it low-key anymore. “You’re sick as hell, and that asshole wouldn’t let you stay home?”

You wince. He’s drawing attention now, people at the bar starting to glance over. You hate seeing him like this, but you don’t have the energy to smooth things over.

“Rafe, please—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No, seriously. What kind of fucking manager forces someone to come in when they’re this sick?” His voice carries, and a couple of the other bartenders are giving you looks, like they can’t decide if they’re more surprised or impressed by Rafe’s audacity, "You’re killing yourself for this job, and he doesn’t give a fuck.”

You glance toward the back, hoping Greg’s still in the office and not witnessing this meltdown. The last thing you need right now is more heat from him. But of course, your luck sucks, because just as Rafe’s ramping up, Greg strides out from the back, clipboard in hand, that same stupid scowl on his face like he’s already annoyed at everything.

Rafe spots him instantly, and if you thought he was mad before, now he’s on a whole other level.

"Greg!" Rafe calls out, loud enough that half the bar turns to look. Your stomach sinks. This is about to get ugly.

Greg stops dead in his tracks, his eyes flicking to Rafe and then back to you. He knows. He knows exactly what’s about to happen, and he’s already losing the upper hand.

“Yeah, Rafe?” Greg’s voice is weak, almost shaky. Like he’s trying to keep it together, but he knows he’s got no chance. Rafe’s family literally owns half the island—Greg’s just some middle manager with too much attitude.

Your boyfriend steps forward, slow and deliberate, closing the space between them like he’s already won this thing.

“You made her come in today?” His voice is calm, but it’s that scary kind of calm that’s worse than yelling. The kind that makes your stomach drop because you know the person holding it together is barely holding back.

Greg opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is this pathetic mumble. “We… we were short-staffed.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his lips pulling into this cold, humorless smile. “Short-staffed?” He glances at you, and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You really didn’t want this to turn into a scene, but here you are. “You see how she looks right now? You made her come in like this?”

Greg’s eyes flick back and forth between you and Rafe, and you can see the panic starting to set in. He’s sweating now, probably realizing that this little power trip he’s on is about to bite him in the ass. “She didn’t… uh… say she couldn’t work…”

“She told you she was sick,” Rafe cuts him off, voice like steel. “You’re the manager, right? Thought that meant taking care of your staff. Guess I was wrong.”

Greg’s mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to think of something to say, but nothing’s coming. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, knowing any move he makes right now could get him fired. Hell, maybe even blacklisted from every job on the island. The Cameron’s have that kind of pull.

“I-I didn’t realize how bad it was,” Greg finally stammers, but even he doesn’t sound convinced by his own excuse.

Rafe takes another step forward, practically towering over Greg now. “You didn’t realize?” He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “Look at her, man. How could you not realize?”

You wince as the room seems to get quieter, everyone watching this power struggle unfold. You’d rather be anywhere but here right now, but you also know that Rafe’s not letting this slide.

Greg takes a step back, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“I-I was just trying to keep things running. We… we were slammed.”

Rafe’s smile drops, and now it’s just pure ice. “You think that’s a good enough reason to put my girlfriend’s health at risk?”

Greg looks like he’s about to pass out himself at this point, but he manages to mutter, “No… no, I—I didn’t mean…”

“Here’s the deal, Greg,” Rafe says, voice low but dangerous. “You’re gonna back off. Let her finish this shift if she wants. If she doesn’t? She’s out, no questions asked. And next time, when she says she’s sick, you listen.”

Greg nods so fast it’s like his head’s on a swivel. “Of course, of course, Rafe. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just—”

“Good,” Rafe interrupts, already turning away like he’s done with this conversation. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Greg just stands there, wide-eyed and frozen, clearly too scared to even argue. He stammers some half-hearted apology, but Rafe’s already turning back to you, brushing the whole thing off like it was nothing.

You look up at him, still in shock at how quickly Greg folded. “You really didn’t need to do that.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the bar with that easy confidence he always has. “Yeah, I did,” he says, his tone softening now that it’s just the two of you. “I’m not gonna let some nobody push you around like that.”

You sigh, feeling both relieved and slightly embarrassed. “You know he’s probably gonna hate me even more now.”

Rafe smirks, like that’s the least of his concerns. “Who cares? He won’t say a fuckin’ thing. Trust me.”

“Everyone’s going to say a thing, baby. They’re gonna think I have some kind of privilege because I’m dating you.”

Rafe’s smirk softens. He steps a little closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear him over the dull roar of the bar.

“Let them think whatever they want,” he says, his hand brushing against yours. “You’ve been busting your ass here long before I ever stepped in. Nobody can take that from you.”

You bite your lip, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, judgment and curiosity. He’s right in a way—you’ve been working extra hard. But still, it’s hard to ignore the feeling that now, everyone’s going to assume you’ve got some special treatment just because of Rafe’s name.

“It’s not about that,” you murmur, “I just—don’t want people thinking I can’t stand on my own. I don’t want to be the girl who hides behind her boyfriend’s power.”

Rafe tilts his head, studying you with that look he always gives when he knows you're holding back.

“You think that’s what this is?” His voice is steady, his tone a little softer now. “This wasn’t about power, baby. This was about someone treating you like you didn’t matter. And I’m not letting anyone—anyone—do that to you.”

He’s not wrong.

Greg didn’t give a damn about how sick you were, only about keeping the bar running, like you were replaceable. And you hate how right Rafe is, how much you needed someone to step in, even if it makes you feel a little helpless. You swallow hard, the tightness in your chest easing slightly, though your body still feels like it’s been run over by a truck.

“And you’re not working anymore today, or the next week for that matter. You’re gonna get your ass in my car and we’re going to the doctor.”

You nod, knowing there’s no arguing with Rafe when he’s like this, but part of you still feels guilty.

Not for needing help exactly, but for not being able to handle it all on your own. You've always been the girl who grits her teeth and gets through it, but today? Your body is screaming at you that you just can’t. Not anymore.

Rafe’s watching you closely, like he’s waiting for you to argue, but you don’t. You’re too drained. The adrenaline from the confrontation with Greg is wearing off, and now all you feel is this bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m not going to a doctor,” you say, even though you know you probably should. “Just home. I just need to sleep.”

He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re saying, but then he just nods. “Fine. But if you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m dragging you to urgent care. No arguments.”

You give him a weak smile, trying to show you appreciate it even though you feel like crap.

“Deal.”

Without another word, he moves around the bar, ignoring Greg’s gawking and the way everyone’s still sneaking glances at you two. He gently takes the towel out of your hand, sets it on the counter, and slips an arm around your waist.

It’s the first time you’ve felt stable all day, leaning into him like you might actually make it to the car without collapsing.

“I don’t think I can afford an appointment.”

He looks at you like you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. His arm tightens around your waist, steadying you as you start to sway a little on your feet.

"Not worried about the money.”

You try to shake your head, but the movement makes you dizzy, and you stop, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

"I just don’t want to be that person, you know? Relying on you for everything."

He gives you a side glance, eyebrows raised.

"Baby, you’re not relying on me for everything. You’re literally sick, and I’m not about to let you tough it out just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help. We’ve talked about this a million times.”

"I guess," you mumble, letting your head rest against his shoulder as you walk towards the door.

"No guessing about it," he says, softer now, his fingers brushing your arm in a way that makes you feel more grounded. "You’ve been holding down the fort for too long. Let me take care of you for once."

The air outside hits you like a slap, but Rafe keeps you close, leading you toward his car. Your legs are weak, the fever still simmering under your skin, but his body warmth keeps you upright.

"Thanks," you whisper, even though it feels weird to say. You’re not used to thanking people for basic care, but with Rafe, it feels different.

He pauses, opening the passenger door for you.

"You don’t gotta thank me, okay? I’m just doing what anyone who loves you would do."

Your heart skips at that. You’re still not used to how easily he says stuff like that, like it’s no big deal. But he’s rubbing off on you, because you can say it just as easily now.

“I love you too, sorry for being a pain in your ass.”

Rafe chuckles as he helps you into the car, leaning down to make sure you’re settled before he shuts the door. He bends down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"You're always a pain in my ass," he murmurs against your skin, grinning as he pulls back just enough to look at you. "But you’re my pain in the ass, and that’s what matters."

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips despite how wrecked you feel. The fever, the headache, the exhaustion—it all takes a backseat, at least for a moment. 

Knowing Rafe’s always got your back? That makes it a little easier to breathe.

[zvdvdlvr]

— late night therapy?

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

🩻 warnings. suggestive content, foul language.

“Why do you like me?” 

Y/n looked up from her book. “What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. “Do you?” 

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

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

“Oh so you’ve got a ring?”

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

“Make me,” y/n’s teases. 

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

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

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

[bigification]

Coach's Emergency Line

It was ten minutes until their big final was set to begin. Every player rushed through the locker room to get their gear on. College football was taken really seriously by their school, so the pressure was on.

"Ha anyone seen Coach! We've got ten minutes till it's go time." The team captain yelled out.

The room fell silent. No one had seen Coach since their last practice, and he was nowhere to be seen on the big day.

"Something's wrong, Coach prepared me for this situation." The captain said under his breath. "This is a code red team! We need to use Coach's Emergency Line." The chatter in the room immediately stopped as the words echoed around the room.

"But Coach said that for emergencies only." One player broke the silence.

"This is an emergency. He's not here for the big game, he would only miss this if something was really wrong." The captain explained.

"What do we do, we've never had a code red." Chimed from another player.

"Greg!" The captain said sternly.

All eyes pointed to the freshmen, making him sink in shyness. Up to this point he had been a bench warmer, seemingly chosen just to fill out the roster.

"I need you to use the emergency line." The captain approached Greg.

"W- why me?" Greg stuttered, feeling all the eyes in the room staring.

"Coach instructed me that it had to be you." He said in a serious tone.

"Oh... Ok." Greg smiled slightly, just happy to finally be of use to the team.

He sheepishly walked to the big red button in the corner of the locker room. "Emergency line" was displayed in bright yellow above the button. He flipped up the glass casing and slowly pressed the button down.

WOOOOO! WOOOOO!

An alarm sounded as a red light began to flash. Greg froze in place with his finger still holding the button down. A static shocked traveled up his finger and right into his heart. A grunt escaped from his lips as his heart stopped.

Suddenly his chest started to pulsate outward, slowly growing with each pulse. His flat chest quickly grew into two meaty pecs that strained against his tiny shirt. His abdomen narrowed into a v shape as muscle piled into his midsection. Although a layer of fat quickly covered his growing six pack, giving him a small belly. His torso started to grow taller as well, making his shirt ride up and revealing his slutty waist and pudgy belly.

Next his shoulder broadened as his traps grew into thick muscles, so much so that his shirt started to rip around his shoulders. His noodle-like arms started to pulsate, similar to his chest. Each pulse brought more and more muscle, his biceps became the size of footballs as veins surfaced all the way down his strong arms. Even his hands doubled in size with thick fingers, letting him easily grip a football with one hand.

His waist started to tremble and his legs began to shake. It wasn't long before his spandex pants were ripped to shreds. The entire team watched as his juicy ass bounced as it ripped through his pants. The rest of his pants ripped clean in half as his thighs thickened and his calves became large and defined. As his pants fell to the ground, his jockstrap started to struggle holding in his growing cock. Good thing he wouldn't be on the field today, because that jock is doing nothing to protect his now 8 inch dick. Even his feet busted out of his cleats, becoming a monstrous size 18.

His height further increased as his legs grew, leaving him at an intimidating 6"6. Finally his head began to change. It grew to match his massive stature. In the process, his jawline became sharp as a knife and his eyes became sleek and intimidating. His shoulder length hair fell out, leaving a short buzz cut as his hairline receded halfway up his head. Some of his hairs even started to turn grey, which in combination with his new wrinkles, aged him well into his forties. A five o'clock shadow quickly spread across his face as a mustache formed above his lip. The hair started to spread downward, covering his chest with a forest of hair, followed by his stomach. A pelt of hair covered his muscly back, then it spread down his arms and on his thick man hands. The hair created a jungle down his ass and spread a thick coat down his legs and to his feet.

By the time Greg, I mean Coach took his finger off the button, there was nothing left of the freshman. Just a 6"6 hulk of a man in a jock and a tiny shirt was left behind. Coach's hand lifted above the button and grabbed the ball cap that was now hanging conveniently in front of his. He quickly covered up his balding head and turned to face his team. He pulled on his jockstrap, trying to make it not press on his dick so hard. Then he smiled at his team as he just realized what had happened.

"Will someone get me some fucking clothes that fit me!" Coach belted in a deep gruff voice.

[beansprean]

Familiar interviews continue...

My Familiar’s Ghost part 82

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Upholstered chair on a mottled brown background. Sitting on it is a tall thin white man with short blond hair and a goatee, wearing a light blue leopard print suit over a white vee neck with white heeled boots and a chunky pinkie ring. He is lounging confidently, legs crossed, one hand poised up in the air as he says smugly, 'I graduated top of my class at New York Familiar College.'

2a. Reverse shot, waist up of Nandor and Guillermo sitting on the couch opposite. Nandor brightens and replies, 'Really? That is very impressive...' Guillermo glares at the applicant suspiciously, arms crossed and finger tapping rapidly. 2b. Reverse shot of the man on the chair as a stream of water sprays in from offscreen and hits him in the cheek. It burns and steams where it hits his skin and the man shrieks, rocking back and pulling his legs up from the floor in shock. His disguise immediately poofs away to reveal none other than... Simon The Devious! 2c. Reverse shot, full body, of Nandor sitting at one end of the couch, clipboard in his lap, as Simon rushes past and out the door, hissing and smoking. Guillermo has leapt up from his seat and is posed with feet shoulder width apart, holding a spray bottle in both hands like a pistol and pointing it at Simon's retreating back. He shouts after him, 'Get out of here, Simon! You're not welcome!' Nandor shrinks back against the couch to stay out of the line of fire.

3. Back on the chair, now featuring Sean, who is hoisting himself out of it by the armrests with a confused expression. He mutters, 'I was just, uh... lookin' for the bathroom...'

4. Reverse shot waist up of Nandor and Guillermo on the couch. Guillermo is slumped in fatigue, eyes closed, briefly removing his glasses as he groans, 'You live next door, Sean...' Nandor cups his hand around his mouth and turns toward the hall, calling out, 'Laszlo! Come collect your friend, please!'

5. Close up of Guillermo's clipboard, which has a few handwritten pages clamped onto it. The top page is divided in half by a line of ink, the left side labeled 'Applicant' and the right side labeled 'Recommended by'. Every line has been crossed out in red ink. The list of prospective familiars includes: Clara Tran, John Merkt (recommended by Nancy the Relentless), Farrah Baker, Sarah Colleton-Hampstead (recommended by Pamela), Kayvan Novak (recommended by Nancy the Relentless), Sky Velasquez, Marshall Vu (recommended by Elvis), Devon Simmons II (recommended by ???) scribbled out more than the others, Katie Blum (recommended by Greg Blum), and Muhammad S- before the panel cuts off. From offscreen, Nandor calls out, 'Thank you for your time; we will be in touch. Please do not get eaten on the way out. Next!'

6. Back to the chair, this time with Sam the cat sitting in it and letting out a polite mew. From off screen, Guillermo says, 'Well, that's disappointing to hear, Sam.'

7. Reverse shot, full body of Nandor and Guillermo on the couch as Sam walks toward the door, tail held high. Nandor is slumped toward the center of the couch, head propped up on his hand and clipboard abandoned at his side. Guillermo, clipboard in hand, waves after Sam with an awkward smile and says, 'Good luck at your new position! And let us know if anything changes?' Sam meows in reply. /End ID

[balteredsworld]

turning point. gregory house

🥼🩺 | you and house despise each other. today's supposed to be any other night, but house kisses you.

warnings/tags! light enemies-to-lovers, angst if you squint your eyes, younger woman x older man, emotional revelations, no dialogue, and they kiss!

masterlist : greg house n all

a/n: i can't believe people are sending in things in my inbox wow if you have any requests/ideas or little topics of conversations don't shy away and send them my way! enjoy ducklings <3

house reaches for your wrist, taking you into his grasp, and pulling you flush against his body. you jolt at the sudden motion, left hand landing and pressing on his chest. sure eyes linger on your face for a fraction of a second. beauty eclipsing any and all thought working the cogs in his busy mind. all he thinks to himself is how breathtaking you are in this moment.

many a time the two of you would rather bicker, almost estranged in your sidings with cuddy. but you were legally bound by contract to side with her, serving as a board member this year.

tonight’s no different, you’re here because of house’s opposition to a hospital policy you and the board proposed. he’s been on a childish campaign to get you to concede to his wishes, after all he does whatever he wants in the hospital. but he makes a deductive confession that changes the tune of your usual argument. and tonight’s a little different, with it being the annual gala.

you wear this burgundy dress off some runway that he makes note of, and he’s in his well-pressed, well-tailored suit. you came here to declare a truce, but instead you let house press your buttons, somehow finding yourself ending the argument against his chest.

house’s hand snakes its way to the nook of your back. then, his lips were latched onto yours. he's kissing you.

gregory house is kissing you.

your tense body melts into his touch, reciprocating the kiss despite your initial surprise. you loop an arm around his neck, pushing him closer to you, causing the two of you to wobble, but he steadies your weight and deepens the kiss.

it’s sweet, passionate, and almost desparate, as if this was years of yearning. but you’re not so illusioned that you mistake this as something other than all your anger and hostility towards each other finally being squeeze out by the force of your locked lips—into this kiss.

it’s a kiss the two of you unknowingly wanted, hidden underneath the veneer of your harsh and clashing words. you’re not afraid to argue with house, equally venomous with your tongue during your time as a defence lawyer. and house is the same, sharpened tongue to prove his correctness in principle.

but you two fear that you’ve exposed yourselves to the possibility of tragedy. maybe it's because you two have been really eyeing each other all along, testing how you could handle each other. never once have you failed, nor has house. that scared you shitless, but the moment’s well worth it. house makes good work with his lips, and you float in some sort of heaven, feeling the frustration finally rupture. and he feels the same.

slowly, you both pull away from each other, breathless and flushed. you don’t pull away immediately, staying interlocked in his grasp. your eyes are both down cast, not quite refusing to look at the other, but rather frozen and unsure where to look. despite it, house’s eyes radiate blue.

it’s too intimate for you and house, and yet you keep still. he’s kept to himself all these years, only to have you cut into his bubble between the hookers he distracts himself with. he thinks that’s where his resentment of you stems from, but it’s never really been quite hatred, he realizes. you’re the same, lonelier than you would like to admit. no one, so it seemed, could tug on your heartstrings except this man you found nothing but annoyance for.

house is perplexed. his mouth is agape, nothing quite registering to allow his neurons to fire and form words. something of his old self manifests, and a warm feeling feathers his heart. a touch like this was no stranger to that ghost, but all the other flirtations he makes falls in comparison. there’s only you and him

his sense are faint yet heightened, just from his proximity to you. biologically speaking, he’s doing really well, and he can hear his pulse pounding, and feel yours mirror his. he’s forgotten what this feels like, but sure it was this, and that makes his heart race faster. it’s almost dizzying.

house continues to direct his eyes on your curled hair, unsure of how to look at you. he considers leaving without another word, but he feels stuck to you.

you mirror house, too dazed to do anything. an overwhelming euphoria shoots through you, the sort of nervous excitement that makes you feel like a teenager. you’re younger than house, and you bite your cheek like you were 17 with your crush. you’re all too aware of your inexperience now, unsure with your wild heart. nevertheless, you muster the courage to finally break your trance. so you push on his chest lightly, finally meeting his eyes.

you blink. he’s tall.

the realization makes you swallow nervously. you open your mouth, but like house, nothing quite comes out. your hand still rests on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his pulsing heart. you try again, this time with house. both of your lips fall open, tongue failing again. but his eyes are enough. all you want to do is kiss him, so you lean in and kiss him again.

luckily for you, house always wants to kiss you.

[biahouse]

Perfect for him, Gregory House x Reader

You're House's girlfriend. Wilson doesn't like you, but... 3 times Wilson realized you were the perfect person for house, +1 time he finally admits it

There was something about you that James Wilson made to hate you.

Maybe it was the way you were the silliest nurse at the hospital, and always fell for the patients' stupid conversations.

Or because you always do your coworkers' duties.

Or the way that in every surgery he performs, you insist on being an assistant nurse and talking to her throughout the procedure.

Or maybe he hated having his best friend stolen.

Wilson didn't hate people. That was House's job. It was even comical that in your situation, House adored you and Wilson hated you with all his being.

Don't get me wrong, you weren't a bad person.

He just doesn't like you.

1

The first time Wilson realized you were perfect for his best friend was at lunch. Since the beginning of the relationship between you and Greg, the doctor in question used to have lunch with you in his office.

But on that particular day, you were very busy in surgery. So with no other alternative, House had to have lunch with Wilson.

It was a surprise for James to see his friend entering the room with a packed lunch. House was known for eating junk food with all his meals. So Wilson assumed that if that hadn't changed with your relationship, he was wrong.

"What is that?" Wilson asked with an incredulous look at the lined pots that Gregory placed on the table.

"Food?" House responded as if it were obvious and mocked his friend.

"Okay, I know. But, I mean... you don't usually eat that."

"I know" House threw himself into the chair and opened one of the jars and started poking a carrot. "Carrots are a horrible thing, you know?"

"House" Wilson called his friend carefully. "Is this some kind of diet for addicts that I don't know about?"

"No. Y/n told me that I should eat more vegetables if I wanted to live longer" The doctor rolled his eyes when he remembered the argument he had with his wife a few weeks ago and since then she usually makes him lunch. "So I'm pleasing my girl" And with that he stuffed the orange vegetable into his mouth with a grimace.

Wilson could only look at his friend in shock.

For years he had tried to get House to eat a healthier diet, and you had achieved it in just a few weeks. Wilson had to admit, he liked you a little more now.

2

The second time Wilson realized you were perfect for his best friend was a week after the lunch incident. He and House were bowling, like they did on Wednesdays.

However, there was something strange about House. He was limping and in more pain than usual.

"What is it? Are you afraid of losing to me or did you forget the Vicodin at home?" Wilson mocked his friend as he threw the ball into the pins.

"Neither" House limped closer to the track when it was his turn to play.

"Is the pain getting worse?" Now James asked worried that Greg's leg was getting worse.

"No"

"Okay House, you win. Why are you in pain?"

"Because I'm trying to taper off the Vicodin" House replied with a shrug and celebrated without a strike.

"What?" Wilson raised his voice making people look at him. Which made him apologize immediately. "You. Gregory House, are you trying to stop Vicodin?"

"Y/n said it's going to kill me. She didn't suggest I stop taking it, but she was upset that I took so many. So I'm trying to cut down."

Wilson opened his mouth in astonishment.

Who was that man?

Gregory House would never cut down on your daily Vicodin cocktail.

But he did, for you.

Only for you.

3

The third time Wilson realized you were perfect for his best friend was on a random day at the hospital a few months after the second time.

House entered his office as he always did, without knocking and suddenly, which made Wilson jump out of his chair every time, even though he was used to it. But something felt wrong that time.

The way House for the first time looked nervous and really confused. For a while, James watched his friend limp around the room as if he was begging for something very deep in his own mind.

Wilson waited, he knew that like every other time House would start telling him about his doubts and he would give him one of his beautiful pieces of advice, which House would probably never follow.

"I want to ask Y/n to marry me" House blurted out and looked at his friend nervously.

"What?" Wilson blurted out the question with a laugh. "Marriage?".

"Yes" Greg said, shaking his head and plopped down on the armchair in his friend's living room. "I thought about it all week"

"All week?"

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say or are you going to tell me your opinion on this?" Greg scoffed at his friend and adjusted himself in the chair, his leg hurting a little.

"What do you want me to say House?" Wilson asked and looked through his patient's files once more, before closing the folder and focusing fully on the matter at hand. "I thought I would never get married"

"I know" House passed his hand across the gap in his forehead. "I don't know why I want it. I just want it."

"Gregory House doesn't know why, that's something I never thought I'd hear" James smiled playfully.

"For the first time I want something more. I want her to be my wife. Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Wilson answered honestly. "It just means you're better House."

"Does that mean you'll help me pick out a ring?"

"As long as you don't make me pay."

Wilson would never understand his relationship with House. Or how two very different people could do such great things together.

Wilson didn't hate you. He understood now. It was just jealousy that you achieved everything he always tried to do. Improve House.

He didn't hate you. Now he respected you.

+1

“Hey Y/n” Wilson called out your name when he saw you walking down the hall with a clipboard.

"Wilson, hi!" You waved at him enthusiastically. It was the first time he willingly spoke to you.

"I just wanted to say thank you" James said making the woman frown in confusion.

"What are you thanking me for? I don't remember helping you" Y/n questioned.

"But it helped, with House" Wilson explained. "I'm sorry for treating you badly all this time."

"You didn't treat me" Y/n shrugged with a smile. "I stole your best friend, it makes sense that you don't like me that much. But it means a lot that you like me now."

"I think you two are perfect for each other," Wilson admitted for the first time out loud. "I can't wait to be the godfather."

"Godfather?" Y/n asked.

"You'll see" Wilson smiled knowingly. “I’ll see you around Y/n.”

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Another

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: You go with your brothers to a bar, but things turn sideways when a stranger won’t leave you alone.

Warnings: creepy guy, scared reader, protective Sam and Dean

Another hunt. Another town. Another bar.

After you guys had moved into the bunker, some stupid, stupid part of you thought that maybe some things would change. But some things would always be the same.

You didn’t mind the hunting, you really didn’t. You didn’t want to do it, and you wished your brothers had a safer life, but you understood at least. They helped people, and that was everything.

But you hated this; being in a town full of strangers in a bar full of people much older than you, huddling in a corner waiting for your big brothers. There was nothing like not belonging while being surrounded by drunk, adult strangers.

Usually, the adults would stare at you like you were an alien for a moment or two, then ignore you. Young teens weren’t common in bars, but it wasn’t interesting enough to keep them from their good times.

This time, something was different. A man near the bar had been staring at you ever since you walked in the door. You had even gone to the other side of the bar to avoid him, but he followed. He hadn’t approached you, but he wouldn’t stop staring. Since he’d yet to go near you, you didn’t see a reason to bother Sam and Dean about it.

But he was starting to freak you out, so you found yourself trying to locate Sam or Dean in the crowded bar.

“Hey.”

You were so distracted looking for your brothers that you hadn’t seen the man approaching.

“Name’s Greg,” he greeted.

“Hi,” you muttered, still glancing around for Sam and Dean.

“What’s a sweetheart like you doing here alone?” Greg asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

“‘M not—“ You were squirming in your seat now, and Sam and Dean were nowhere to be seen. “—not alone.”

“Now don’t be nervous.” Greg took the seat next to you and scooted it closer so that his knee was touching yours. You tried to scoot back, but you chair was already against the wall. You couldn’t go back, and Greg was angled in such a way that if you got up, he was blocking any easy exit.

“I have to find my brothers,” you said, deciding to risk it and stand up, attempting to squirm past the man.

Your whole body stiffened as though someone had dropped an ice cube down your back. Greg, still sitting in his own chair, and grabbed your leg right above your knee when you stood. His fingers were curled, gripping you much too tightly.

“Hey now,” he said, trying to keep up the sweet tone but sounding annoyed. “No need to rush off.” His fingers slackened their grip, but once he let go he stood, towering over you much too closely. And then the hand that was on your knee was on your shoulder, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin near your neck.

“I-I have to—“ your voice caught in your throat when his grip tightened painfully.

“No you don’t,” he all but commanded. “Just stay right here with me, nobody’s gonna miss you.” He shifted forward until all you could see was him. Your back was up against the wall; you had nowhere to go.

“Please don’t—“

“Hey!”

As soon as Greg had appeared, he was gone, and in his place stood the men you’d been so desperate to find.

Dean was shoving Greg toward the exit, and Sam was right there with him until you called out for him.

Sam turned hesitantly, leaving Dean to deal with the creep as he rushed to you and began to examine you.

“Did he hurt you?” Sam demanded.

You shook your head even as you rubbed your sore shoulder. This didn’t go unnoticed by Sam, who pulled aside your sleeve just enough to see the bruises already forming near your neck. His jaw ticked, and he turned to go after Greg, but you grabbed onto his sleeve to keep him near you.

“Don’t go,” you pleaded, and he relented immediately. The moment his arms wrapped around your shoulders, you all but melted into him. The adrenaline that had been pumping through your veins since the moment the man laid his hands on you now felt like a foreign substance pulsing in you, clogging your lungs and burning your eyes and making your knees weak. Your big brother held your weight up effortlessly, rubbing your back and breathing with exaggerated slowness as an example for you to slow your own ragged, racing breaths.

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” he breathed over and over again. “You’re safe now, I’ve got you.”

“Hey.” Dean’s voice had you peaking out from the safety of Sam’s arms. He was standing next to you now, his knuckles suspiciously bruised and bloodied. “Hey, you ok sweetheart?”

You nodded weakly, still resting against Sam. Dean pulled his jacket off and draped it against your shaking shoulders, and the familiar weight and scent washed over you and seemed to abate the adrenaline in your system, at least a little. You took a slow, deep breath that matched Sam’s.

“Let’s get you to the Impala, ok?” Sam suggested gently. You nodded, and Sam kept his arm around your shoulder as the brothers ushered you out. There wasn’t a moment when you weren’t completely surrounded by their protective presence.

Sam guided you into the back of the Impala before joining Dean in the front seats.

Dean glanced back at you every few seconds in the rearview mirror.

“How’s it going back there?”

“‘M ok,” you mumbled, and Dean’s eyebrows curved downward as his mouth retreated into a thin line.

“Ok,” he sighed, and you knew he didn’t believe you.

It didn’t take long to reach the motel, and once the three of you were settled inside Sam spoke again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head quickly, bringing your legs up to your chest and hugging your knees.

“I’m fine,” you said shakily. “He just—he got a little pushy…and grabby.”

“Grabby?” Dean gritted his teeth. “I knew I should’ve hit him harder.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” you sighed.

“Ok, ok.” Dean rubbed his face. “I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” you said quickly. “It’s not—it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yes it is,” Dean insisted. “And it’s not going to happen again. Either me or Sam is gonna be with you next time, we’re not gonna leave you alone again, ok?”

You nodded. “Ok, that…that sounds good. In case there’s another time.”

“There’s not gonna be another time,” Sam said, pulling you into his arms. “We’re gonna be there. Always.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale

[iwritefandomimagines]

KISS AND TELL — ROBERT CHASE

masterlist

pairing: robert chase x reader

description: after endless mutual pining, you and chase finally hooked up over the weekend. you agreed to keep it a secret while you figured things out, but it doesn’t last long with the team around.

warnings: swearing, possibly a tiny bit ooc while i’m trying to figure out how i write the house characters, nothing else really. just the team teasing you both and a lil kissing in a closet

author’s note: am a sucker for house atm so pleaaase keep house related requests coming 🫶

“Mm,” you hummed against Chase’s lips as you pushed his chest gently away across the front seats of his car, “Taking things slow, huh?”

He smiled guiltily, pulling the keys from the ignition as he pulled away from you and pocketed them, “A little kiss is hardly rushing things after the weekend we’ve had, don’t you think?”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes.

You’d been (badly) concealing feelings for Chase for almost as long as you had been working in close proximity to him.

Everyone else was more than aware of it, but it had taken a drunken dinner to finally ease confessions from you both.

It was supposed to be a friendly dinner to round off a really stressful week.

But a few bottles of wine had stripped away your inhibitions and you’d made it more than clear that hiding your attraction to him had been an almost impossible task.

He’d confirmed his reciprocation with a quick, dazed kiss, and before you knew it you were staying at his house and wouldn’t be leaving until almost 48 hours later when you made a quick stop at home for a change of clothes before work.

Okay — taking things slow had been your idea, but even you knew it wasn’t going to work. Not when you’d felt the way you felt for so long, and especially not after all that had gone down that weekend.

Truth be told you were dizzy with how he made you feel, and as much as you wanted to keep scolding him for the PDA (well, hidden away in his car), the feeling of his lips on yours was one you wouldn’t get sick of.

“I guess you’re right,” you bit your lip, beginning to gather your things to head into the hospital for another long week, “But we have to keep this from them all, at least for now. I’m in no mood for House’s ‘I told you so’s today.”

“Gotcha.”

And so you entered separately, pretending to have arrived conveniently at the same time but not together.

Unbeknownst to you, Foreman had seen you get out of the car — and though he didn’t see you kiss, his suspicions got the better of him anyway.

So when Chase entered House’s office as was customary of a morning of late, Foreman followed close behind with a smug smirk on his face.

“You and Y/N, huh? Finally,” he teased, arms folded over his chest as he watched the panic flush Chase’s features, “I saw her get out of your car with you.”

“I—We— I didn’t think anyone saw us,” he replied, flustered, and House’s head snapped up from the crossword he was busying himself with to join in with the teasing, “You finally made a move, then?”

Chase’s head fell back in dismay.

Not only had he promised you not to tell them, but he was going to have to endure their teasing all fucking day about it.

What he should’ve done was say your car had broken down and he’d offered you a lift. Shit. Why didn’t he just say that?

Now he watched you approach the door to the office with a bright smile on your face and had to deal with knowing that it would soon be wiped away by your stupid friends because of his stupid mistake.

“Good morning, Y/N,” House smiled, and your eyes narrowed at the unusually cheery tone gracing his words, but you matched it anyway, “Morning Greg!”

“Wow, someone woke up on the right side of Chase’s bed this morning,” Foreman snickered, and immediately your eyes snapped to a panic stricken Chase as his eyes flickered between you and Foreman repeatedly.

You drew in a sharp breath, contemplating how best to express your irritation without completely losing your cool.

You weren’t embarrassed by everyone finding out, but you really didn’t want their teasing comments and constant watchful gazes to ruin the early stages of a relationship you’d been pining for for what felt like forever.

“What did you tell them?”

Posing the question to Chase that way meant you weren’t confirming anything, and he seemed to understand your angle as he gulped and scratched his head.

“Nothing— they assumed because Foreman saw you get out of my car that there must be something going on,” he rambled, and you rolled your eyes.

“And, if I recall correctly, your reply was that you didn’t think anyone saw you,” House quipped, “Which is hardly a denial, lovebirds.”

You scoffed, “Can friends not give each other a ride to work without it meaning they’re fucking?”

You saw Chase’s face flush crimson at your choice language, knowing it was far more than that.

“Hold on, nobody said you were just fucking,” House corrected you matter-of-factly, “You two are always staring at each other all gooey-eyed and it’s frankly revolting. But at least you’ve acted on it, finally.”

“You’re not gonna let this go until we admit it, are you?” you sighed, defeated.

Neither House nor Foreman said a word in response to that, instead choosing to silently smirk at you both.

“Fine,” you gave in, sauntering to Chase’s side, “We are seeing how things go. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’d argue that it is,” House’s lips were pressed together in a thin line as he paused for a moment, “But at least I’ve made a lot of money out of this.”

You rolled your eyes at him, glancing over at Foreman who was pulling money from his wallet from their apparent bet about how soon you and Chase would cave and admit your feelings.

“You guys are insufferable, you know that?” you huffed, half-joking, “If anything you make me want us to be more in your face about it.”

“Oh please, don’t pretend you want to shove excess PDA in our faces to annoy us,” Cameron laughed, hand on her hip as she smiled at you. She was genuinely happy for you, if not frustrated you hadn’t told her, “We all see the way you look at each other. You’ve wanted to eat each other’s faces since you transferred here, Y/N.”

You scoffed, “God, was it that obvious?”

You looked over at Chase now, and watched him ogle at you with his puppy-dog eyes.

Maybe they were right, maybe it had always been this obvious.

“I’m going to go get us some coffees, alright?” you glanced around the room with piercing eyes, “And when I get back, you are all going to go back to pretending none of what has happened this morning happened.”

“I’ll come with you!” Chase flew back to your side as you left the room, and you heard the team mumbling about you both as he did so.

You nudged his shoulder as you left, “I can’t believe you, Chase!”

“Hey, they didn’t give me a choice,” he pouted, but he was sure all the stress of pissing you off melted away entirely at the sound of your sweet laughter, “But—,”

He tugged you into a storage cupboard just shy of House’s office, “I’m kind of glad they know. I know I still can’t kiss you at work and stuff but, it’s relieving not hiding it from them now.”

“Now? We didn’t even have five minutes of hiding it anyway,” you giggled, enjoying the close proximity to him again, “C’mon, as much as I’d like to hide away in here with you all day, we do have work to do.”

His lips found yours quickly, and your hands tangled in his hair in a moment of weakness as you leaned into the kiss.

“Sorry, had to indulge myself once,” he sing-songed as he pulled away, opening the door and shuffling out, “Back to work, Dr. Y/L/N. Well, back to the coffee run.”

You giggled as you followed him out, checking that nobody was around to see you slip out of a closet together for god’s sake.

Unluckily for you, Wilson rounded the corner towards House’s office just in time to catch you staring doe-eyed at each other as you began to head down to get the team their coffees.

A smirk spread across his face, soon replaced with a scowl as he leaned into House’s office, “You’ll never guess who I just saw together.”

House shrugged, “Sadly, Sherlock Holmes, I can. And I’ll take the 50 bucks you owe me now.”

———

i hope this was okay !!! let me know if you enjoyed please because feedback motivates me massively!

if you have any requests please go ahead, and in the meantime here is my masterlist!

[kingofpopmj]

Can’t Go On Without You By My Side

Summary: You visit your boyfriend of two years on his BAD world tour. The excitement of witnessing him perform live is quickly tainted the moment she walks in.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader

Warnings: SMUT

Requested: no

*Y/N's POV*

Michael and I were finally able to plan for me to visit him on tour. I was lucky enough to get a week and a half off of work and we were determined to make the most of it. Michael had insisted on picking me up from the airport even though he was technically supposed to be at the venue. We arrived about ten minutes after the show was scheduled to begin, but thankfully, no one called us out on it.

I stood off to the side, watching Michael completely own the stage. The way he mastered his onstage persona was breathtaking. His smile was so bright. I took a moment to discreetly admire his outfit, clinging to his body tighter with each passing song.

“He’s sexy, isn’t he?” A breathy voice sounded from beside me, interrupting my silent gawking. I guess I wasn't being as discreet as I thought.

“Um—” I looked to my left, making eye contact with a very tall woman. She was beautiful. A tight black dress clung to her body so tight it almost looked painted on. I know exactly who this is.

“The correct answer is yes. He can do it all, if you know what I mean.” My hands clenched into fists with such force I could feel my rings digging into my skin. “He’s absolutely the sexiest man alive. I’m so exhausted, he kept me up all night this past week. That's not a complaint by the way. He is so worth it.”

I couldn’t put together enough words to form a complete sentence. Quite frankly, all my focus was on holding myself back. I couldn’t catch a case right now. Michael might be cheating on me and this woman is certainly a whore. That was that. I couldn’t change fact. If I went off and beat the living shit out of some groupie it would ruin the rest of my life. I couldn’t let the anger control my behavior. He betrayed me, but I refuse to let him see how much it really broke me.

“I’m so sorry, I get all misty watching him. Don’t we all?” She laughed, squeezing my shoulder, little did she know she was dangerously close to losing those boney little fingers. “My name is Tatiana, and you are?” She held out her hand, batting her eyelashes so hard I thought she’d fly away. At least I hoped she would. Maybe over a large body of water, perhaps shark infested waters.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” She let out an exaggerated gasp, slapping her palm against her mouth.

“You’re the girlfriend! Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” She quickly ran off leaving me standing there alone with this feeling in my stomach that I couldn’t describe.

I glanced around the immediate area, seeing no one else near me felt worse somehow. I don't know many people here other than Michael. I became distracted as he sang Rock With You, little did he know he was moments away from getting rocked. Y/N, no, stop. I release the tension in my hands, shaking it off, trying to let go of the violent thoughts swirling in my mind. Besides how therapeutic it was right now, it wasn’t productive. I need some air, a drink, a hitman? No. Air, I need air.

The clicks of my heels echoed through the halls as I headed towards an unknown destination. I'm probably lost, but that’s a problem for future Y/N.

*Michael's POV*

As Rock With You came to an end, I noticed Y/N disappear behind the curtain. Exactly, two songs have gone by since then and still no sign of her. During the brief outfit change after Thriller, before intermission, I notice Greg, my music director mouthing something to me.

"What?" I mouthed back, scratching my forehead. He's terrible at this.

"Your girl." Okay, I got that. I nodded, shrugging slightly as if to say and what about her.

"Mad."

I couldn’t play charades any longer, as the lights dimmed and the band took over the stage I snuck behind the large equipment to get closer to him.

"What happened?"

"I saw Tatiana talking to her. She did not look too happy after that brother."

I nodded slowly, processing his words before walking off. I should be taking advantage of my break, but I couldn’t relax not knowing where my girlfriend was.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing all the way back here?”

"Nothing I just needed some air." She said lowly, avoiding my eyes.

"Are you okay?" I moved towards her, cupping her face in my hands. The look in her eyes answering my question, but I wanted to hear it from her.

"Yeah, well, no, but it can wait until after the show."

"Are you sure?" I asked and she nodded in response. "Now, can you please come back with me? I perform better knowing my beautiful woman is watching me."

She accompanied me as I changed into my next outfit. She helped me slip into my coat, but my excitement was short lived, because I could sense her sadness. What is going on?

"I love you, baby." I watched closely as she struggled with her response, she began biting on her bottom lip, her eyes growing glossy. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Her voice cracked and she quickly turned away from me.

"I know you Y/N. You're hurting and I'd like to know what's going on so I can help."

"S—She—" Y/N broke down right, her body was shivering as she tried to compose herself. I felt less than helpless.

"Who?" I tried comforting her, but she brushed me off, moving away from me all together.

A quick knock on the door, signaling that intermission was coming to a close and I needed to get back out there.

"I'll let them know I need more time. I'll be right back."

"No!"

"You're crying. Y/N, baby, I'm not leaving you."

"I'm alright. Please, can we just talk about this later?"

I didn't want to agree, but she wasn't asking, she was practically begging. I intertwined our fingers, keeping her close as I weaved my way through the backstage area.

"Please, stand here and watch the rest of the show. It would mean the world to me." I smiled at her and kissed her temple as I hugged her.

"I'll be right here." She reaffirmed my confidence. Then, she grabbed my collar, pulling me into her lips. Her tongue was pure magic. Normally, I'd be embarrassed about public affection, but with the way I'm feeling, I'd love to feel every inch of her right here, right now. I didn't care who was watching.

She pulled away and I desperately chased her lips as she giggled at my neediness.

"You have to go."

"There is no way I'm leaving your side after that."

"You don't have a choice."

"I will be back. Very, very soon."

*Y/N's POV*

I watched the second half of Michael's concert the way I should've watched the first half. I enjoyed myself dancing and singing along to my man's voice. What Tatiana said hurt me, but I felt so foolish when I thought logically again. Michael isn't that type of person. I didn't need to talk to him about this, because once the anger and hurt wore off I was able to come to a conclusion on my own. She's lying. She has to be.

"You're still here?" This damn witch. "I'd be halfway home by now if I found out my boyfriend stepped out on me."

There was so much I wanted to say, but I chose to let her words go in one ear and out the other. The last thing I want to do is let her know she ever got to me.

"Well, that's my cue. Enjoy the show." She winked, walking pass me and flipping her hair.

I was forced to watch as Tatiana strutted across the stage with my boyfriend chasing after her. This was one of my favorite songs and now I couldn’t even enjoy it. I felt my blood begin to boil as she shamelessly flirted with him in front of the crowd of thousands.

She was getting closer and closer to him. She was doing this on purpose and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Why is this song so long all of the sudden?

"What the hell is she doing?" I heard Frank DiLeo grumble from behind me. I jumped a bit at his tone, but tried to play it off.

"Everything okay?" I asked softy.

"Hey darling, yeah she was supposed— what the hell! Get her off the damn stage! Now!"

I turned my attention back to the stage and I wished more than anything I wouldn’t have done that. I tried to blink as if that would change the view, but it didn’t.

I was stuck in that horrible moment as the worst thing I could imagine was confirmed. I had a front row seat to my own humiliation and I had no idea how to escape.

Before I knew it, she was walking towards me. "So happy you could be here to see what a real power couple looks like." She stopped in front of me, crossing her arms. "Sorry honey, he's moved on to bigger and better things."

I felt my cheeks heat up as I became uncomfortably aware of how many eyes were on us.

"Tatiana, that's enough. Get away from her." Frank shouted, shooing her away like a toddler.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

We stood in silence as Man in the Mirror blasted through the speakers. It wasn't until Michael's long passionate goodbye to his fans, wrapping up the concert that Frank slung his arm around my shoulder.

"Darling, you know she's full of it right?"

"I'm not sure."

"Michael and I have to take care of some business. I won't keep him too long and I'll send him your way after."

I knew that was his way of telling me it was private business that I couldn’t be around for. I hugged him before heading off, I wasn't really sure where I was going, but walking felt better than sitting with my thoughts.

"Baby! I'm so sorry. Frank told me what happened after—"

“I need to get out of here before I do something I regret.” Michael reached out, taking a firm hold of my hand, he pulled me down a short hallway and into his dressing room.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He finally spoke, shutting the door behind him.

“You’re sorry I had to see it?”

“Yes.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Y/N—”

“Does that mean you do it often?”

“No, that’s not—”

“You go around kissing other people when I’m not around?”

“Y/N, I’ve never—”

“I know they’re everywhere, throwing themselves at you, but I never thought you let them get to you.”

“Stop!”

“What!”

“I’ve never cheated on you!” He shouted in a tone I had never heard before, the look of pain present in his eyes. Shit.

“That’s not what people are saying.” I muttered, suddenly I felt so guilty.

“People? What people?”

“Who do you think! She said you two—”

“That’s a lie! I only see her during performances. That’s it. Y/N, I would never do that to you.”

“How am I supposed to believe you after that? She kissed you and you let her.”

“No, no, no! I didn’t let her! I wasn’t even paying attention to her. When I’m on stage, I’m there to perform. Why would I spend weeks planning for your visit just to betray you?”

“She was so awful to me, the things she said, then, she went out there and—”

“Got herself fired.”

“Michael, I’m pissed, but I’ll get over it. I don’t want this to affect business. You don’t have to fire her.”

“I already did.”

“Michael—”

“I only want to work with people who respect me and my loved ones. She won’t be missed. I don’t care to have people around me that I can’t trust.”

“I’m sorry I yelled. I’m so sorry I accused you of—” Michael shut me up, gripping my hips, pressing my body against his and kissing me sloppily. His hand claiming a possessive hold of the back of my neck, deepening his touch.

"I love you." he spoke into my mouth, his hot breath sent shivers down my spine. I felt myself tremble as his fingers explored my inner thigh, pushing up my skirt to give himself more access.

"I love you." I said, slipping my fingers around his belt buckle. He smiled knowingly, pushing me back, my ass collided with the counter and I felt myself crumble at his roughness. The cold countertop causing me to let out a moan. He pulled away for a moment, reaching behind me and clearing off the counter in one swift movement. "Such a gentleman." I purred in his ear as he picked me up.

"Only for you." A smirk on his face as the sound of nylon tearing filled my ears. "I love how sexy these look on you. I'll have to replace them." His long fingers slipping pass the freshly shredded fabric of my panties and teasing me one finger at a time. He watched as my head leaned back onto the mirrored wall, he chuckled as I struggled to find something to grab onto.

"Michael!" I was fighting to breath feeling him knuckle deep inside of me, hitting the right spot. "Fuck! Deeper!" I begged for more. Contrary to my needy cries, he pulled back, leaving me feeling empty as he unbuckled his belt, letting his pants fall to the ground. I took this opportunity to tear his shirt off, throwing it across the room.

Michael pushed my legs apart, admiring how much I yearned for him, he slowly pulled me towards him with a strong grip on my legs. My bare ass slide across the counter painfully slow until I finally felt his hard tip press against my entrance.

"Always so wet and ready for me." He slammed into me, giving me no time to adjust which threw me further over the edge.

"Harder!" I yelled as he pounded into me with such intensity I swear I could feel him rearranging my guts.

"Baby, I want to cum inside of you." His voice smooth, making me even more wet.

"Please!" The walls were shaking as we continued to devour one another.

"You're fucking perfect." He whispered against the bare skin of my chest, I felt him everywhere. My eyes rolled back as his dick massaged all the right places.

Suddenly, the door swung open violently, causing me to panic and try to cover my exposed chest, but Michael stopped me. He grabbed my wrists trapping them behind my back in on of his hands as he increased his speed again. My moans escaped my throat against my will as tears of pleasure rolled down my cheeks. At this point, my entire body was shaking, Michael's tongue rolling against mine elongating my high further.

"What the fuck are you doing!" A voice shouted, causing my head to snap in the direction of its origin. Tatiana.

"You feel so good wrapped around my dick." He declared as he sucked on my neck. It was impossible to concentrate on anything else but his lips. "I'll never get tired of fucking this perfect pussy." Michael didn’t stop. He spoke clearly and confidently as he fucked me with purpose.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Tatiana yelled.

"Y/N!" Michael whimpered, his seed spreading within me, causing my legs to tingle. He gazed deep into my eyes, beads of sweat trailing down his face. "I fucking love you." His hand gently curled around the side of my neck, pulling me back into his sweet mouth.

"What the fuck!" Another shout from the demon herself. I paid it no mind. Looking back at Michael, his long dick still twitching inside of me.

"I love you baby." I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck, leaning into his neck to leave my mark. Tatiana stood there staring at us in shock, so naturally I challenged her stare. I waited to see if Michael would break focus, but he didn’t.

“We are busy in here. Close the door on your way out.” Michael said sternly between breaths, not even sparing her a glance.

The door slammed shut seconds later and it was only then that I took the time to look around the dimly lit room. Make-up and personal belongings littered the floor. Various unfamiliar items surrounded us, leading me to believe that I was made apart of one very well thought out, very devious plan and it turned me on.

"Michael?"

"Yes, my love?"

“This isn’t your dressing room, is it?”

“Nope.” He smiled triumphantly, planting tender kisses all over my face.

“You’re so sneaky.”

“You’re my girl. That’s never changing.”

“You quite literally marked your territory.” I giggled as he caressed my collarbone, watching as goosebumps formed.

“Oh, Y/N, baby, I’m just getting started. We’re gonna be here all night.”

“Let’s see what you got rockstar.”

“Baby, don’t make me carry you out on that stage and give those lovely people an encore they’ll never forget.”

“A girl can dream can’t she?”

I winked teasingly as I positioned myself onto my knees, looking up at the man I love, confident I was about to give him the best head of his life.

[a-bit-too-critical]

Oh yeah, stupid obvious problems with the plot of sinsmas:

1. How the hell is Stolas able to harm Andrelphus?? Andre has even more power than before (enough to form ice in large sculptures, animate said sculptures, so yeah he’s powerful), and Stolas is literally on the power level of an Imp now. If anything I could see a joke where Stolas tries to punch Andre and gets flung back immediately, then has a mental breakdown realizing he can’t do shit to stop any of the Goetia against him

2. …so do hellhounds just have crazy ah quadrupedal forms now??? Why??? They’re the lowest class in hell they have no right to transform into big beats that could easily maul the imps, hellborn, and maybe even sinners they are supposed to work for. Makes 0 sense. Hellhounds should have no extra forms and human forms should be accessible via asmodean crystals and royal objects such as the grimore, not just a thing hellhounds can do.

And some miscellaneous stuff not related to plot issues or holes but just wanted to talk about em:

- The Stolitz dance was just a glaring reminder of Viv changing her stories based on fanwork. Two Stolitz animatics that became very popular a few years ago (Sway and Greg and Rose Dance) are so clearly inspirations for the dance. Blitz climbing up on something, an intimate and comforting moment at the end, cheesy romance music, it’s literally all there like cmon Viv :/. Dance styles are pretty similar too. Inspo is fine but this really feels like she’s just taking fan ideas again

- ohhhh look who came running back to Viv 😭

- I also wanted to yap about Millie’s pregnancy because there’s about 6 possible outcomes that I could see Viv going for:

The best outcome: Millie doesn’t want the baby, her and Moxxie discuss and eventually decide on abortion. Millie trusts Sally May with all her heart and decides to confide in her, which proceeds to turn her whole family against her. Could be a good commentary on how these kinds of political nothing-burgers can straight up tear tight knit families to shreds, and for what? A woman’s personal decision? I’d love for them to show how stupid it is for families to be torn apart over politics, but that’ll never happen

The other great outcome: Millie debates heavily on what to do over the course of many episodes, but eventually her and Moxxie come to the conclusion to keep it and we get a fun arc of them raising a kid and pulling Imp closer together along with their relationship

The neutral outcome: Millie gets rid of it and it’s not really addressed for more than one episode, it’s just kinda there lmao

The pretty freaking bad outcome: Same as the great outcome except the child is used as a substitute for Octavia by Stolas and they basically become his child :/

The really, really bad outcome: Millie is forced to “accept the gift of life” and raise a child she doesn’t want or some stupid pro-life commentary

The Jesus Christ Viv why outcome: extremely sexualized and unnecessarily long pregnancy and birth scene, no I wouldn’t be surprised if this actually happened

So yeah, this could either be great or one of the worst things that has ever come from this show

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Glasses - The Bright Side

Author's Note: I'm trying something a little bit different with this story. I'm calling it a mirror story. I am going to write a story with the same basic prompt and ideas in two different ways. One wholesome and one dark. This is the wholesome story. I hope you all enjoy it! Read the dark version here.

Greg fancied himself an intellectual. He had a PhD, was the top of his field, and respected by all of his colleagues. He spent all of his free time reading books and papers, absorbing knowledge like a sponge.

Or at least he did, until he met Daddy.

Daddy was everything Greg desired. Daddy was tall, strong, assertive, and brilliant. Greg found himself immediately under the other man's spell.

The first day Daddy brought Greg home, Daddy sat Greg on the couch and pulled the glasses off of Greg's face.

"You have such beautiful eyes," Daddy said as he stared into his date's piercing blue eyes without the obstruction of lenses for the first time.

All Greg could see, in contrast, was a soft blur where Daddy's face should be. Without his glasses, Greg was almost completely blind.

"Um, could I please have my glasses back?" Greg asked timidly, butterflies fluttering in his stomach at just the idea of being this close to the man of his dreams, "I can't see anything without them."

Daddy laughed in response.

"Oh, sweetheart, babies don't need to see."

Daddy never returned Greg's glasses that night, and, despite being unable to see, all Greg could think about the whole night was how wonderful his situation was. Free from his ability to see, Greg found he was entirely reliant on Daddy to care for him, and he loved it.

Daddy described the movie they watched together, guided Greg through the unfamiliar residence, fed Greg, and, even, embarrassingly, helped Greg use the toilet at one point.

Over the course of the night, Greg felt more loved and cared for than he had since he was a child. That comparison was more than fitting given that a child was functionally what Daddy had been treating him as the whole night.

When they parted that night, Daddy treated Greg to a passionate kiss before giving the other man his glasses back.

Oddly, Greg felt a strange sense of loss as he placed the glasses back on his face. It was as if a small part of him disappeared as he regained his personal autonomy.

Greg kept seeing Daddy after that night, and their dates took on a common form. At the start of each one, Greg would hand over his glasses and let Daddy take control. Daddy would, in turn, care for Greg's every need until they eventually parted.

Over time, Greg--the PhD, the intellectual, and the brain--found himself giving more and more control over to Daddy each time they met. It was surprisingly easy for Greg. Each relinquishment of freedom just made sense.

For example, since Daddy was already feeding him when they were together, it only made sense that Daddy start chosing his food.

Similarly, drinking from a baby bottle was perfectly reasonable. It guaranteed that Greg wouldn't spill when he had no depth perception and couldn't make out the shape of objects.

The extra protection pull-ups and, eventually, diapers provided was also obviously necessary. Greg couldn't even find the toilet without Daddy's assistance. He didn't want to have an accident and make a mess if Daddy didn't have time to help him.

And, it would be silly if Greg had to pick out his own clothes with Daddy. He couldn't see them, and Daddy was the one who had to worry about getting Greg's clothes off in a hurry at the potty or for the seemingly more frequent diaper changes anyways.

However, no matter how much control Greg gave up to Daddy, at the end of every date, be it for a few hours or a weekend, Daddy would hand Greg his glasses back, returning Greg to the adult world of academia and filling Greg with that same sense of loss he felt when that first night together ended.

That pattern continued until one day, Daddy finally made the declaration that Greg had been waiting to hear for months.

"Baby boy, I think it's time you moved in with Daddy full time."

Greg beamed with joy from his place on the floor where he sat on a soft blanket dressed in only a diaper and onesie while failing to stack wooden blocks due to his poor vision.

Greg immediately crawled (walking have been forbidden after a particularly nasty trip) over to the Daddy shaped blur sitting on the couch and nuzzled into his leg.

"Really, Daddy? You mean it?"

Daddy beant down, wrapped his large hand around Greg's cheek and chin, and planted a gentle kiss on his lips.

"Of course, baby," Daddy responded softly as he pulled his lips away, "I miss you and worry about you too much when you're gone."

Daddy then gently guided Greg onto his lap before proceeding to celebrate the next step in their relationship with a kiss serenaded by the chorus of Greg's crinkling diaper.

The next few months passed in a blur. After moving into Daddy's house, Greg found himself wearing his glasses less and less.

Deprived of his ability to see, Greg spent more time enjoying simple activities like playing with blocks or trucks or futilely trying to color in a coloring book than reviewing the latest literature in his field like he used to.

Greg's coworkers started to notice how the once brilliant, workaholic man's performance had dropped off. Greg was pulled into his boss' office and lectured on his need to improve, but, Greg, who once prided himself on his career success and independence, found himself yearning to be nothing more than Daddy's full time baby.

After six-months of living together, Greg decided it was his turn to approach Daddy with a proposal.

Sitting in Daddy's lap in nothing but a soggy diaper, Greg leaned back into his partner's chest and took a deep breath.

"Daddy," he began softly, hesitant for fear of judgment at what was coming next.

"Yes, baby?" Daddy asked Greg, his tone gentle, noticing his boyfriend's nerves.

"Do you think," Greg swallowed anxiously, "I could be your baby full time?"

Daddy smiled, although Greg couldn't see it. He rubbed Greg's back reassuringly.

"My soggy little smarty-pants wants to give up his big boy job and be Daddy's special little man full time?" Daddy asked with only the barest hint of teasing in his tone.

Greg laid his head on his Daddy's warm chest and nodded his head up and down while sucking his thumb.

"Mmhmmm"

A blush radiated across Greg's cheeks as he vulnerably admitted his desires to the love of his life.

Daddy brushed Greg's hair with his fingers, relishing this moment of tenderness and vulnerability.

"Daddy would love for you to be my baby boy forever."

Once again, Daddy took Greg by the chin, tilting his lips up for a kiss.

When their lips parted, Daddy laughed a little, grabbing a small object that Greg couldn't quite make out off the table.

"I guess you won't be needing these anymore. Maybe we should get them mounted for posterity?"

Greg frowned.

"What, Daddy?"

Daddy responded with a guffaw.

"Your glasses!"

Greg just smiled. Daddy was right. A silly baby like him would never need those glasses again.

[gean-grey-blog]

It's fucking fascinating to me to watch the House fandom have this flood of new people who immediately look at him and go "this bitch is autistic AF"

Greg House is definitely written autistic, but it was 2006 and our cultural image of autism was only people like the kid in Lines in the Sand. The show, especially that episode, was in direct conversation with the development of cultural awareness of high masking autism. They didn't say he was autistic because people like him didn't know they were yet.

The fandom at the time was full of autistics, myself among them, who had not yet been diagnosed, but connected with this character in such an intrinsic way for _some reason_

It's actually insanely cool to see the change in understanding in those intervening years

[lanawinterscigarettes]

um hi hallo :3 can i pls have dr gregory house x male intern reader… with feedism elements where the reader is the feeder role…….. :3

yeah, absolutely! just a disclaimer, I've never written anything relating to feedism/a feeding kink before so I'm not sure if this is all that good or not but I tried my best :]

(this IS something for kinktober just in case y'all are curious. I know because I got a previous ask for it) thanks for requesting something! <3

Kinktober 2024 Day 6: feedism (feeding kink) with Greg House x male reader

Warnings: smut/nsfw content, feedism, feedee House, feeder reader, alludes to House having slightly disordered eating, slight praise kink, belly rubbing/massaging, romanticizing/sexualizing weight gain (by the reader), brief solo masturbation from the reader at the end but no real smut other than that because I wasn't really sure how to incorporate that properly

House wasn't like most doctors. In fact, he wasn't like most people. His bedside manner was horrible and his social interactions could definitely use some work. Something that could also use some work was his strange eating habits.

It wasn't that he didn't eat. He wasn't anorexic, and he certainly didn't care what he looked like. He just didn't always put eating at his top list of priorities.

To be quite frank, he didn't view it as something he needed to do in order to survive. He needed to have cases to figure out, or else he'd go insane. And he needed his constant supply of Vicodin in order to help chase the pain away. But he didn't need to eat in order to live. The way he viewed it, he was better than that.

Sure, he had a habit of stealing Wilson's food from him, but that was more of a power thing than anything else. The bottom line was, if he had better things to do he most likely wasn't thinking about getting fed. Was it unhealthy? Most definitely, but it also wasn't exactly healthy of him to pop a pain pill every time a muscle of his tweaked wrong. Still, he managed.

Most people didn't notice this bad habit of his, and if they did it wasn't brought up. Obviously his addiction to painkillers was much more pressing than if he skipped the occasional meal.

You, on the other hand, thought it mattered a lot more than that. You noticed how he only seemed to be in the cafeteria at the hospital if he was either with Wilson or trying to avoid Cuddy. He went there out of boredom or if he was looking to kill time, not because he thought he had to eat. This was something you were bound and determined to help him work through, regardless of whether he wanted you to or not.

If he had any idea on what you were up to, he didn't say anything about it, too busy bossing around the ducklings to waste time with yet another intern, one that didn't really interest him at that. He was quite content to carry on as usual despite the plan you were forming to get him to change his poor eating habits.

There really weren't that many places in the hospital that he went in order to get away from Cuddy, which certainly made your job of finding him a whole lot easier. His office, Wilson's office, and funnily enough the chapel were his main choices. When he couldn't be found there, you figured maybe he was in an exam room down at the clinic, pretending to work. Turned out you were right.

You listened closely outside the door to Exam Room One to see if you could hear anyone in the room besides him on the off chance that he actually was with a patient. When you didn't hear anything, you decided to knock.

"With a patient!" He called out immediately in response, not even giving you the opportunity to speak first. Typical House.

Opening the door regardless, you found the unsurprising sight of him lounging in one of the chairs while playing on his Gameboy, the sound of beeping and video game music filling the room.

"Can you come back later? I'm a little busy right now." His attention was clearly focused on his game as he didn't even look up when he spoke.

Ignoring his request, you shut the door and entered the room. "When was the last time you've eaten today? And stealing Wilson's fries at lunch doesn't count."

"Well, hello to you, too," he muttered under his breath in response, purposely avoiding the question.

You weren't having it. "I'm serious. It's not healthy for you to go so long without having a proper meal."

"Yeah, I got that. You must forget, I'm also a doctor. A real one, at that. I'm not a temp or an intern like you are, I've got tenure."

His snarky reply didn't waiver you in the slightest. "If I go get you something from the cafeteria, will you eat it?" You knew how argumentative he could be, so you did your best to appease him through offering a compromise.

"I'm not hungry right now," he stubbornly insisted as he shut off his game and stood, grabbing his cane from where it was resting in the corner so he could use it to walk with.

Sighing in exasperation, you went to stand in front of the door so he couldn't leave. "I'll get you a Rueben, cold, with no pickles. That's your favorite, right?"

He paused, seeming intrigued by your offer, if not a little suspicious as well. "Go on."

Knowing you'd finally caught his attention, you decided to continue. "I'll bring it up to you in your office, and you can eat in privacy while you avoid everyone else."

"Except for you, apparently. You seem awfully eager to keep me fed." It was true, and you knew it. You had hoped it would come across more like you were just concerned (which was technically true) but clearly he'd picked up on your own selfish reasons to want to help him.

"One sandwich, that's all I'm asking. If you don't want to do something like this again after we're done, you don't have to."

At first you thought he was going to flat out refuse, but much to your surprise he actually seemed to contemplate it for a moment or two. "One sandwich. And I'm eating it in my office, away from other people," he wagered as if you weren't the one to suggest it in the first place.

Not wanting to miss the one chance you might have, you wholeheartedly agreed to his conditions and finally stepped away from the door so he could leave. It was a bit hard for you to keep your excitement at bay at the prospect of getting to feed him, though at first you didn't know why you were so intent on it. In any case, he'd agreed, and that's what mattered.

When you got up to his office, he was already lounging in the chair behind his desk, playing absentmindedly with a rubber band. "Oh, good. You brought me my lunch. And here I thought you were going to let me starve to death after you were so insistent on feeding me in the first place."

You rolled your eyes in response to his obvious sarcasm as you set the plastic wrapped sandwich down on the desk in front of him, along with a can of soda and a bag of chips.

"Hey, you said I only had to eat the sandwich," he pointed out in a whiny voice that was in the likeness of a petulant child.

"Just eat what you can." You sat down in front of him so you could watch him eat, something that he didn't seem to appreciate judging from the way he stopped opening the wrapping on his sandwich and stared back at you.

"What, do you want to feed me yourself?" He questioned in a mocking tone, obviously under the impression that you'd get offended and hopefully say no before getting up to leave. You answer was the exact opposite.

"Okay." That was the only thing you said before you stood and made your way over, taking the sandwich from him and continuing to unwrap it before handing him half. "Eat."

The command was soft yet firm, clearly not one that was meant to be ignored. For some strange reason he felt compelled to actually listen to you, something that didn't happen with him very often. Maybe it was due to the fact that you actually seemed to care and weren't just trying to spite him, like most people.

He took it from you, his icy blue eyes gazing upwards into yours as he began to eat. It seemed as though he was deadset on proving to you that he could eat when he really wanted to.

"There you go, good job."

House didn't get flustered, he was certain of it, but something about the way you said that gave him the little push he needed to keep eating, wanting to make you proud. The thought itself was utterly ridiculous, him needing someone else's praise in order to complete such a stupid and minor task. He finally broke his gaze from yours, instead choosing to focus on the sandwich he was taking slow yet deliberate bites of.

Once he was finished with the first half, you picked up the second and held it out to him. "Do you want the second half yet, or do you want to wait a couple minutes first?"

He let out a scoff at the question, as if he were offended by it. "What, did you think I was going to save it for later?" Your lack of a reaction at his usual snarkiness caused him to push down whatever he'd planned on adding to that, choosing instead to quietly take the other half of the sandwich from you to eat.

It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling, not having his stomach ache with its usual hunger pains. He didn't always immediately listen to the needs of his body unless it was the shooting pain he typically felt in his leg when he went too long without his pain meds.

For once, his stomach didn't feel empty and desolate, like how most of his relationships tended to be. It was odd, but not unwelcome.

Somehow you managed to convince him to at least start on the soda and chips, something that he didn't regret in the slightest. Nor did he regret it when you offered to rub his stomach afterwards, knowing it might ache a bit due to the expanding it was doing from the food intake.

"There you go. See, don't you feel better after actually eating something for once?" Your voice was low and soothing, your hand warm as it made slow, circular movements on his stomach. He could feel how gentle your touch was even through his clothes.

"I guess," he grumbled, making it clear that he still wasn't overly fond of letting you take care of him, even if it was only in one small aspect of his life. "This is just a one time thing though, alright? So don't get your hopes up."

Nodding your head, you made it seem as though you were agreeing with his statement that this was the only time it would happen. You, however, knew this was only the beginning. Somehow you'd get him to form the habit of eating more frequently, even if you had to be there with him.

You imagined what it would be like, getting to feed him everyday. The thought of being able to ensure his health and wellbeing while also helping him gain a few pounds... You wondered how he'd look with a little bit of extra fat on his stomach. You wondered if it would be noticeable through those band shirts he always wore to work.

The movements of your fist wrapped around your aching cock grew faster and more needy as you recalled your memories of what had happened earlier that day. The way he so willingly trusted you to feed him and even let you rub his belly after did nothing but bring you closer and closer to the edge until your seed finally spilled out onto your hand.

You panted heavily as you laid back on the bed, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to catch your breath. You were sure it wouldn't take him long to realize your ulterior motives behind wanting to help him eat more, but you couldn't really find it in you to care. Not when the fantasy you had of him letting you coax him into gaining a little weight was far too delicous to let go of.

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

Main masterlist | House MD masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

Kinktober 2024 masterlist | Kinktober info post/prompt list

🏷 taglist: @missmewts @ghot-girl @gilmore-angel @your-next-daydream @alexxavicry @noisy-dumb-piece-of-shit @theonetruepotato87 @pigeonmama @caplanreblogsfics

[miz-chase]

Notes from the Boneheads interview with Director Greg Yaitanes (Pilot [pictured above!], 1x09 The Man in the Fallout Shelter, 1x10 The Woman at the Airport):

Two notable people read for Zach Addy. While Hart loved Eric Millegan best, Greg's first pick? Jonah Hill apparently did a hilarious audition. John Francis Daley aka Doctor Lance Sweets also read for the part.

----------

Over the show's and podcast's history, we've heard a lot of stories about the meeting that led to Emily being cast. TLDR: the chemistry audition with her and DB was instant success, DB was already cast and they picked her immediately after. What neither I nor Emily had heard before was the context this happened in.

Basically, Temperance Brennan had already been cast. The actress was someone DB had pushed for, they had already filmed scenes with her, it was settled. Hart and Greg weren't thrilled with the chemistry, but everyone was resigned to the situation. The audition with David and Emily was purely a pro forma, end of the day obligation. Accordingly, DB was annoyed, wanted to go home, and visibly didn't give a shit. When they started the audition, he "wasn't giving her anything," didn't put much into his performance, unlike with the other actress. Emily, sensing this as an acting choice, verbally pushed back on him, trying to get a rise out of him, literally getting him to stand up by getting in his face. The interaction worked so well, it both got Emily the job, and changed how Booth was to be written and performed. He went from goofy boyish (apparently "more 'David'") to more standoffish and annoyed. Emily had no idea!