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loveanddeepthroat · 8 months ago

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can i mc reader and sylus where mc ends up in hospital after a mission gone wrong and sylus shows up but she wants him to leave in case someone sees him there

Careless

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - You landed yourself in the hospital overnight after a mix up at HQ had you fighting too many Wanderer’s alone. You’re already bummed about being stuck at Akso, so the feeling of dread when Sylus turns up unexpectedly only adds to your unease.

Word Count - 2.3k

Warnings - Set in a hospital. Angst and fluff.

The incessant beeping of medical machinery echoing throughout the ward was getting to your sore head.

Akso Hospital was rammed full of casualties and emergencies, seeing as it was a Friday night. You felt a bit out of place amongst the partygoers and adventurous folk who had taken their fun a little too far.

In your opinion, you didn’t really need to be here. The eggplant coloured bruise on the right side of your forehead definitely looked a lot worse than it felt, but the doctors weren’t buying your claims that you weren’t in any pain.

Likely because you were wincing when you’d said it.

A night under their watch was what the doctor ordered, and it wasn’t up for discussion. You were just relieved that Doctor Zayne was working away for a week. He’d have checked you in indefinitely and scheduled an hour long lecture on why you needed to be more careful.

A mix up at HQ had the system only requesting that you attend a spontaneous Wanderer attack in Linkon Library. Just one had been reported, but seven of the ruthless bastards had accosted you the minute you stepped foot in the evacuated building.

Confident that you could handle them, you didn’t bother calling in for more Hunters. As it turned out, that confidence was misplaced, and the last thing you remembered before blacking out was a loud screeching sound. You had no idea what it was, but it hadn’t been important in your unconscious state.

When you eventually awoke in the hospital, Jenna had been hanging over you, immediately giving you the third degree for continuing alone. You should’ve known that the alert for only your assistance had been a mistake in the system, and you should’ve insisted that someone accompany you no matter what it had said.

She made sure to drill that into your head more than once.

Admittedly, you were glad to see the back of her once she had finally left. Your head was starting to throb with the volume of her voice, and all you wanted was the bliss of being unconscious again.

It was late now, and you were exhausted. Sleep was looking to be impossible tonight, however. There were several other patients on the same ward, all admitted with varying ailments. The injured man opposite you had done nothing but stare coldly from the moment he was wheeled in in a full leg cast.

You tried to speak to him. You offered him a polite smile, which was met with a sneer. Whatever his problem with you was, it was beginning to get on your nerves.

You just wanted to go home.

“Miss,” a softly spoken nurse greeted as she approached your bed. “There’s a visitor here to see you.”

You frowned, wondering if you heard her correctly over the hustle and bustle of the ward. It was well past visiting hours, and you couldn’t think of anyone other than your colleagues who knew that you were even at the hospital.

The man with the broken leg frowned, too. “What? She gets special treatment because she’s a so-called hero? I should get visiting rights, too!”

“Would you like me to let him in?” The nurse asked, ignoring the grumbling patient.

Him. That didn’t exactly narrow things down.

“Uhh,” you faltered, a little unsure. You didn’t want to cause any issues with the other patients. “Are you sure?”

The nurse nodded and smiled, though it looked a bit forced. It almost seemed like she was desperate for you to say yes to your mystery visitor.

“Okay,” you finally agreed.

The look of relief on her face was not lost on you. She quickly hurried away to retrieve whoever came to see you, leaving you to endure the displeasure from the man opposite.

“I used to be a mailman, you know? If it weren’t for me, people wouldn’t have had their mail. Do I get special treatment, though? No, of course not. You Hunters get all the glory and adoration. And I’ll tell you another thing—”

“You’ve told her plenty.”

Prominent footsteps sounded from the doorway, the atmosphere immediately becoming heavy and tense. You almost choked on absolutely nothing at the sight of him.

Sylus.

Your eyes flared, heart hammering against your ribcage like a drum. He couldn’t be here. The risk was far too great.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the grumpy man sneered back, looking him up and down, “…vampire.”

It was a colourful insult, and one that made your unwelcome companion chuckle. “If you’ll excuse us,” he began, the swirling red vines of his Evol appearing to drag the man’s cubicle curtain to a close at a leisurely pace. “Mailman.”

To your relief, there was no backlash from the irritated patient across the room. Although that did make you wonder if he wasn’t retaliating by his own choice, or if Sylus had silenced him somehow. The latter wouldn’t have surprised you.

“What on earth are you doing here?!” you hissed quietly. “You can’t be here, Sylus.”

Crimson eyes didn’t meet yours, his cold gaze set only on the bandages around your head as he approached your bedside, closing your curtain behind him. He didn’t quite look like himself. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, green and blue veins prominently making an appearance.

“I’ll think twice before taking advice from a woman who was very recently knocked unconscious amidst a 7v1 Wanderer fight,” he rebuked monotonously.

You scoffed. “I’m fine, if that’s why you came. Feel free to go back to—”

“Fine?” His face quickly turned from emotionless to severely unamused as he cut you off sharply. “That’s quite the contradiction, sweetie.”

You raised an eyebrow barely high enough for him to see your questioning expression. The gesture hurt, which wasn’t helping your case. “To what?”

He dragged a plastic chair towards your bed before sitting down, his ankles crossed in front of him. You couldn’t really read his demeanour. He almost seemed cross with you.

“To what I saw from Mephisto,” he responded tightly.

Mephisto.

That explained the screeching you heard before you slipped into unconsciousness. “And what exactly was Mephisto doing there?”

Sylus merely shrugged, offering nothing verbal in response. The lackadaisy gesture did nothing but piss you off. You’ve told him countless times to stop sending Mephisto out to keep tabs on you, and each time it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

He clearly was not pleased with you, but you weren’t stupid. He was here because you had concerned him. Sylus was a busy man, especially at this time of night. He wouldn’t have come just to berate you with words that could’ve been put into a text message.

Not that you knew where your phone was.

The atmosphere between you both fell into silence, only the sounds of medical machinery filling in the lack of conversation. You didn’t really know what to say to him, and he wasn’t typically the type to lose his words. But it was clear to see that he didn’t know what to say, either.

After a long moment, he cleared his throat, his hands flexing in his lap. “I told you those guns of yours were pathetic.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my guns,” you mumbled with a roll of your eyes.

“So it’s a skill issue?”

You glared harshly at him, flinching noticeably as you did. You weren’t sure what was bothering you more, the pain in your head or the mood that Sylus was so clearly in.

His features softened ever so slightly as he recognised your pain. Still, that didn’t stop him from being an asshole. “It’s one or the other, kitten.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. If there was one thing you didn’t want Sylus to think of you as, it was weak. You weren’t sure why you cared so much, but you did.

“I suppose my guns are a little on the outdated side,” you murmured begrudgingly.

He smirked, his hands finally relaxing a little in his lap. The awkward atmosphere was slowly fading, which you were grateful for. You didn’t want to pry into his mind and make things worse again.

You buried your head a little further into the pillow beneath your sore head, letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. Fatigue was starting to settle in your body, almost dragging you into a swift sleep before your chilly hand was captured in a warm embrace.

Your eyes shot open again, finding Sylus out of his seat and leaning over you. His eyes were a bit wider than usual. “Have they checked you for a concussion?”

“Yeah,” you told him gently. The close proximity had you flustered. “I’m a little concussed, but I’m allowed to sleep.”

His brows drew together slightly as he studied you. You’ve both had these strange little moments before, when his mask slips away just enough to see his true feelings.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered in reassurance. “You should go, Sylus.”

He shook his head, his hand tightening slightly over yours. It looked like an effort, but he managed to smirk at you again. “Trying to get rid of me already?”

Beneath that facade of humour, he was a little bit wounded. You wouldn’t point it out, but you could see it. He was a stubborn bastard who wasn’t going to let you push him away, but he also didn’t like that you were trying to push him away.

It wasn’t as if you wanted him to go. Your relationship with him was…complicated.

Complicated in the sense that you weren’t in a relationship, but he had a habit of establishing a level of intimacy between you both that you weren’t blind to. Good morning and goodnight texts, constant invites to events as his plus one with no other reason than to be beside him, and random gifts left on your doorstep so often that your elderly neighbour recently asked if you were ‘getting some.’

A relationship with him would be very difficult to maintain. You both come from entirely different worlds that just could not merge. No matter how much you desired him, you had to maintain your composure.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” you sighed. “I just don’t like how careless you’re being by showing up here. Some people do worry, you know.”

He slowly lowered his loom over you so that his nose was just inches away from yours. You couldn’t help but swallow, feeling his steady breath on your lips as he spoke. It was intimidating and yet so intimate that you didn’t know whether to cower or cut him off with a kiss you never knew you wanted.

“You don’t think I’m worried about you?” he drawled in a rather serious manner.

“That’s not what I—”

“Do you not realise how it looked through Mephisto’s eyes when you were walloped a great distance across a library and crumpled to the floor like a lifeless body.” His teeth were gritted in his mouth, the word ‘body’ coming out tightly like his tongue was rejecting the word. “You’re not the only person who is worried here. Do not brand me incapable of such feelings.”

Your mouth went a little dry, tears threatening to invade your eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in his worry, and you hadn’t meant for it to come across that way.

“I just don’t want you to risk your freedom for me,” you whispered shakily.

He lifted his hand from where it was holding him up beside your free hand, carefully moving some strands of your hair that had fallen over your bandages.

“I’d risk it all for you.”

He had never said such a thing to you in all the time you’d been acquainted. You knew that he would carry out every need you might have of him. You knew that he would listen to you sit and ramble on and on about anything, never interrupting you. You knew that he cared about you.

But you were still in the dark when it came to the extent of that care.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he murmured.

Thankfully, you caught yourself before you were about to shake your sore head. “Just…trying to figure you out.”

A smile slowly spread across his lips. A real smile. It was enough to make your heart flutter, embarrassingly made noticeable by the heart rate monitor you were hooked up to.

“It would require a lot of brainpower to do that, sweetie. Maybe lose the concussion first,” he said in his typically sarcastic tone.

You managed your own small smile, which blossomed into a chuckle. This was the side of Sylus that had you coming back to him whenever he asked for your company.

His real side.

He kept his hand atop your head, avoiding the bandages completely. His thumb swiped gently over the parting of your hair, pulling you off to sleep again. You were pretty sure that he was doing it on purpose to force you into rest, but you were in no position to argue with him. You were officially exhausted.

“Would you really like me to leave, kitten?” he asked in a soft whisper as your eyes fluttered.

The very thought of him leaving made you a little upset. Despite your attempts at convincing the doctors you were fine, you damn well were not. You needed his comfort, and he needed to know that you were safe and on the road to a speedy recovery.

“No,” you whispered, succumbing to the soothing strokes on your scalp.

A soft brush of his lips was the last thing you felt before you finally drifted off, feeling secure enough to do so with his company.

“Good,” he’d whispered back before you fully clocked out. “I’ll always be careless so long as I get to you.”

A/N - Long time no fic post. I apologise, life has been crazy. I haven’t proof read this cause honestly I’m just too tired so I’ll read over it in the morning and edit any mistakes. Hope you’re all doing well! 🖤

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luveline · 1 year ago

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Hotch request! Please sir, can I have a Hotch request? I'm trying to follow what you said about comfort but also Hotch being angry. So I get low blood sugars cause of my diabetes and I'd love if you wrote something about them being on a case and BAU!Reader is really busy trying to get stuff done, so she has a bad low blood sugar and sits down but one of the local officers thinks she's slacking off so she tries to keep going and Hotch comes in and defends her, making sure she has everything she needs and doesn't faint. Love you <3

ty for requesting!! hope this is okay <3 fem, 1.3k

“I understand.” You frown, phone pressed to your ear hard. “I totally understand, but it’s really important that I get to talk to her.”

“She’s on heavy medication,” the nurse replies, unimpressed by your asking, “she wouldn’t be much use anyhow.”

“I understand, but–”

“Listen, I’m sorry, but we have a lot to do here. I’m sorry we can’t help. Bye.”

You groan in frustration, bringing your phone from your ear to see the Call Disconnected notification flash across your screen. How are you and the team ever supposed to get answers if nobody wants to help? Your head rushes. You kid yourself into believing it’s annoyance like a hot flash, you’ve been sweaty for ages, but then reality cuts through. What usually makes you sweaty and dizzy?

“Where’s my test kit?” you murmur to yourself.

The door opens while you’re looking through your bag.

“Agent,” Officer Debs greets, a stout, sturdy woman with sharp eyes, “any news from Georgetown Psychiatric?”

You rummage frustratedly through your things. You should know better than to misplace your test kit. Doesn’t matter. You’ll just have to eat something quickly before you get any worse. “Uh, no, nothing they could help me with.”

“Did you call them?”

Your eyelids are getting heavier. You sit down on impulse, worried you’re gonna fall if you stay standing. “Yeah, I called them.” You’ve had diabetes for long enough to know what to do, but it’s always harder than it felt the last time when your blood sugar drops. It can be so sudden.

Realising you might need help, you clear your throat, about to ask Officer Debs if she can get the glucose tablets from your bag. You should’ve grabbed them —your thoughts are starting to thicken like someone’s poured cornflour into your skull.

“Is now the best time for a break?” Officer Debs asks.

You focus very hard on bringing your attention into the present. “No, sorry,” you say, standing up. You open your phone and direct to the contacts page, clicking your favourite contact at the very top.

Don’t know m where test kit is, you text clumsily. Hotch should still be in the precinct. Do u have it ?

“I hope you’re texting someone about the case,” Officer Debs says sternly.

You shove your phone into your pocket. “Um,” you say, getting confused now, and not wanting to be shouted at. You grab for the page of phone numbers you’d been making your way through, can’t get your hands to work. “I wasn’t. But I’m getting to it.”

“We really don’t have time to waste.”

“I know, but my blood sugar–”

She talks over you. “What’s the point in all our officers working day and night when you FBI agents can’t be bothered to put in the same effort?” Her voice rises. “It’s ridiculous!”

“It’s not ridiculous, we’re trying our best just like you are.”

“Clearly not!”

“My blood sugar,” you say, more insistently. “Stop shouting at me.”

The door opens quickly, creaking hard on its hinge. Hotch doesn’t slam it open, he never slams anything, but he doesn’t hesitate either. “I have it, you left it in the car after you tested this morning,” he says, your kit in his hand. He gives Officer Debs a surprised up and down. “Who’s shouting?” he asks, unimpressed.

You wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. “Hotch, I need a tablet.”

If he’s shocked at your lethargy, he doesn’t say. He ignores the officer from that point on. “Yes, I think so, too.”

Hotch is more efficient than you were, grabbing your tube of glucose tablets and shaking one out into his hand. “Can you take it yourself?”

“You want to chew it for me?” you ask.

He tips it into your palm. “Very funny.”

He opens the test kit on the desk and starts to extract the pieces. It’s quite complicated, especially for people unfamiliar with it, but you’re pretty sure Hotch learned how to use it the day he knew you had diabetes. He wipes his hands with an alcohol wipe and presses a test strip into the meter, careful not to touch the end, before wiping your finger with a new wipe, and readying the lancing stick.

“Gonna stick you, okay?” he asks quietly.

“Mm,” you hum, the glucose tablet like chalk between your teeth.

He sticks you. Some days it feels more painful than other days, but today it’s like a pinprick in a haze. He squeezes your finger, wipes the first drop of blood with a cotton ball, and dips the test strip into the second bead of blood, careful not to jab your cut.

In the five seconds it takes for you to get a result on the meter, he kneels down, pressing another cotton ball to your finger to stem the flow of blood. “Good,” he murmurs to you. The meter flashes on the table. “Not so good. Fifty nine, huh? How’d that happen?”

You shake your head slowly from one side to another. “I’ve no idea.”

“Okay. Well, that tablet’s not gonna do it, honey. Do you have any gels?”

“No,” you say apologetically.

“That’s fine. I’ll get you a drink.”

Officer Debs clears her throat. You may be foggy, but her awkwardness is palpable. “I’ll get it.”

“It has to be full sugar. Coke, if you can,” Hotch says. She nods in understanding and leaves in record time. Hotch turns back to you, his severity melting away. “She was shouting at you?”

“Tried to tell her about my blood sugar. She told me we’re not here to waste time.” You close your mouth, licking the glucose off of your teeth.

“How did you get so low?” he asks.

“Must have done something wrong this morning. Am I okay?”

“We’ll see. I think you’ll be alright.”

“Don’t usually get so dizzy.”

“When was the last time you were below seventy?”

“Don’t know,” you mumble.

Hotch peels the cotton ball from your finger and packs your things away cleanly. “Let’s see how you feel in ten minutes. After your coke. Now… what did the Officer say to you?”

He’s getting his facts straight. Again, you wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. You relay your conversation, Officer Debs hadn’t even been that bad, just uppity, stuck on her own assumptions rather than willing to listen when you’d needed a hand. Her lack of empathy could’ve really affected you. Low blood sugar is no joke.

You tell him, savouring in the warmth of his hand on your leg, how uncaring he is to be kneeling in front of you on the precinct floor. He frowns at you long and hard.

By the time Officer Debs returns, he’s on his feet again. “A word?” he asks her.

You don’t hear all of what he’s saying through the door as you sip your coke. He doesn’t shout, but he defends you with a heavy gravity. Officer Debs speaks up and he cuts her down, something about understanding, and then a more clear telling off, “I don’t want to hear about Agent L/N’s performance from you again. She’s my agent, and if she needs a break, she’ll take one. It’s none of your concern.”

“I understand.”

You feel much peppier when he comes back in, though he appears less so. “You’re nasty,” you say, smiling, happy to be defended, and happier to know you’re not gonna pass out.

He crosses the room. Still frowning, he takes your face into his hands, and he leans down inch by inch, until he’s pressing a soft, soft kiss to your lips. You barely have time to close your eyes before he’s pulling away, thumb pressed into your soft cheek. “Nobody gets to shout at you. Especially over your blood sugar.”

“It’s usually you telling me off for letting it get low,” you mumble.

He stands up straight, leaving you wanting for another kiss you won’t get, hands stolen back from your cheeks. “You’re ageing me prematurely. Drink some more coke, please, sweetheart.”

“What do I get in return?”

He touches your face briefly, as much of a promise as you’re going to get.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 days ago

Text

Indulgence 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: King!Thor (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you take a new placement without knowing the full details.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The queen rubs her stomach. Her skirts drape over the bump, higher over her toes than her heels. She is taller than most and carries the extra burden well, though her expression does not betray blissful expectation.

"Your highness," you are struck by her beauty; dark hair, bright eyes, effortless grace. Your last employer was a merchant's wife with five sons. "I am honoured--"

"Please, let's not," she dismisses you with a flutter of her long fingers. "You are here for a job and I am here to ensure it is done."

"Yes, your highness." You gulp.

"He will need a travel companion. I trust you can manage that."

You bow your head, "the prince?"

"My son is remaining with me. He is too young for such travel." She snips as lifts a crystal goblet. "The king. My condition prevents me from travel, thankfully. Not that my husband has bothered with all that in... eh, I am not sad for it." She goes to the window and peers out. "I only ask that you keep him focused. He is to travel as king, not as the young menace he thinks himself to be."

Your brows rise in surprise. "Your highness, I am a child minder. I haven't much idea how to handle a king--"

"Discreetly. I needn't more whispers." She snarls as sets the glass on the window ledge. "He isn't much preferential to hand or mouth--"

You gasp at her tawdry suggestion.

"I am not... Your highness, with all deference, I could cradle a child or put them to bed, but I am not in that frame of employment--"

"You are now," she spins on you. "I don't need some diseased whore dirtying my bed. I only need one who can keep him in hand. Men are simple as children and I know your former master. He assured me you are obedient."

"But I... I am..."

"Or you can make yourself at home in the dungeons. Someone of your station could hardly hope for such an opportunity. To travel to a new kingdom in the company of a king? You will be recompensed and you would keep your head."

You stare, stunned. You've heard tales of the nobles and their unsavoury antics. Affairs, secret marriages, and betrayal.

"But... he is your husband--"

"But you are a peasant. Your tongue would see you to the gallows. Now be out of my sight. You are to depart on the morn. Be assured, I have prepared all you will need." She snarls. "Be wary of wasting my efforts with your misplaced modesty."

You do not tarry. Her tone nips at your heels as you flee to the hallway. You nearly collide with another. A man in armour who stops you with the wave of his gauntlet.

"Queen says to keep you in the tower until dawn," he bids.

You gape at him. Your heart sinks with your hope. You'd come all this way with a spark in your chest. You thought you would be the royal nurse or something akin to it. That you could live in the castle with the royal heirs and see them up. This is beyond anything you could imagine. Why a woman in your employ rarely weds lest she wishes to become a wet nurse as well.

You follow the soldier through the corridors, lost not only in this strange place but in your fears. Perhaps the queen is mistaken. Perhaps her husband will remain loyal. A companion need not be anything more than that.

As you're shut into the chamber beneath the high peak, doubt swells in your temples. You sit and stare at the wall. You dreamt of these castle walls but you could never have imagined this.

👑

You are summoned by a thump on the door. The soldier enters without pause. You sit up from the bed, still in your wool gown and cap. He has a swath of silk in hand. He tosses it on the mattress.

"Queen says dress," he barks.

You move across the bed and lift the gown. You look at him. He huffs and turns his back to you. You get up and change quickly.

He peeks over his shoulder and points to the chest. There are slippers on it and a thin cape. You take both as the soldier watches. You look at him and twine your fingers together.

He growls and opens the door. You follow him. This is all very disorienting.

Upon the castle grounds, carts and luggage are ushered back and forth. You dodge between the furor as the soldier marches through undetered. He stops you beside a pair of large white horses attached to a litter with a canopy. The curtains are drawn and booming laughter come from within.

"In," the soldier demands.

Your eyes round, "sir?"

"In!" He grabs your arm and nearly throws you against the wheels.

You don't resist further. You put a foot on the step before the litter and the curtains part ahead of you. You look up at the sparkling eyes of a large man with wavy blond hair and sapphire irises. He chuckles.

"Ah, and what is this?" The man you can only assume is king asks.

The soldier chuckles, "did you not say to bring you something warm, your highness."

"I thought of mulled cider," the king grabs your wrist and yanks upon your arm. "But she burns hotter, eh?"

Before you can think, you fall through the curtain into the litter. The king catches you upon his lap and turns you over. You press against his chest as you writhe in a panic.

"Your highness," you squeal. "Please."

"Oh, do not squall," he slides you down next to him upon the feather mattress that lines the litter floor. "I've taken care of my morning sword. It lays in its sheath awaiting the next battle." He chortles and rolls onto his side, tucking you under his arm. "It is early and I am tired yet."

You squirm as his thick arms trap you. He is large and barely clothed. His arms are naked, his chest too, and beneath the blankets, you're not certain he has anything below.

"Do not fidget or you might just awaken it," he purrs into your hair. "The beast is hard to tame once stirred."

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #series #drabble #indulgence #medieval au #mcu #marvel #avengers

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eddiegettingshot · 6 months ago

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i'd love it if you reposted it! thank you so much 💚

all 2.8k (+ nsfw) beneath the cut just for you <3 <3 <3 we'll see if i ever come back to it

Despite being caught in a perpetual rush of his own making, Eddie is very rarely late. He’s always a little bit convinced that he might be, though, which is why it’s so endearing that every day, without fail, he finds the time to text: Morning, Buck.

Sometimes, Buck likes to wonder where Eddie had paused in his routine to make that kind of room for him.

It could never be right after waking up, of course, but maybe he’d tapped it out one-handed as he brushed his teeth. Just before calling for Christopher to get out of bed, since Chris frequently sleeps through all three of his alarms. While waiting for his bagel to pop out of the toaster, or maybe after burning something on the stove, because it’s possible that he’d look at the remains of his breakfast in his pan and think, It’s easier when Buck’s around to make my eggs.

Buck imagines this most often, even if it’s the least likely scenario.

He could have also decided to text right after he finished making his bed; in the middle of trying to find his misplaced wallet, which is usually forgotten in a pocket somewhere, although in that case he’d complain and ask Buck if he had any fucking idea where it could be; or once he was finally, firmly behind the wheel of his truck, about to put on the shitty country playlist he listens to on the road. The options are endless.

Buck’s phone vibrates, like clockwork. He closes his eyes.

Apropos of nothing—nothing at all—he decides it’s possible that Eddie has just finished working out, which means he’s about to get into the shower, because he’s hot and sweat-damp all over. He’s probably peeled his shirt off already, if he’d deigned to wear one at all, after which he’d raked his hair out of his eyes and, still panting, remembered Buck.

Yeah, that’s probably it. That’s what’s most likely. Eddie’s been working out a lot. Probably what inspired that dream, too—the first one Buck’s had in months. Just him, processing all the ways Eddie’s changed lately.

He sighs. He has to wipe himself clean before he can respond.

***

Most of Buck’s dreams are not about Eddie. The dreams that are about Eddie tend to hurt, leaving him off-kilter until the real thing, flesh and blood and smiling mouth, recenters him.

He wonders if Eddie’s the same way. It would explain the ritual text, if the habit were a Hope you’re not actually dead! thing rather than the My best friend is always on my mind! thing Buck accidentally turned it into, as he does. He’d be okay if it were the former; he understands the impulse all too well, since he’d nursed a similar compulsion with Bobby for the same reason in the surreal months following his coma.

But, admittedly, it’d be better if Eddie loved him enough to think of him, always.

Anyway, because dream-Eddie is generally riddled with bullets or riddled with bullets and drowning or otherwise suffering some amalgamation of all the terrible things Buck’s ever seen, it’s far less disturbing when Buck’s subconscious paints a picture of them sleeping together.

At least the version of Eddie who fucks him doesn’t exist, and never has.

***

He knows it’s Eddie marrow-deep, the way anyone knows anything in a dream.

Buck opens his eyes to light everywhere, so radiant the entire bedroom shimmers, a pale beam of it crossing Eddie’s long golden fingers where they’re clasped around Buck’s forearms to keep him in place. Eddie’s draped along his back, unapologetic about letting Buck, prone and practically immobilized, bear his full weight. Buck can’t see him, and he doesn’t say a word, just rubs his mouth into the spot beneath Buck’s ear and digs his thumbs into the insides of Buck’s wrists, but Buck is certain Eddie’s smiling. His mustache, which he’d long-since shaved in real life, is bristly, but nice. Really nice. Softer than Buck had thought it would be.

Then there’s the matter of Eddie’s cock, which he rocks slowly into the cleft of Buck’s ass. Buck can’t see that either, but it feels nice, too, stiff and hot and already soaked at the head. Buck tries to arch into him, give him something else, make it better; Eddie just laughs and keeps working him into the mattress, a lazy pantomime of a real fuck.

Dissatisfied, Buck struggles beneath him. Eddie bites him at the nape like an animal, hard enough to sting, and flattens his chest between Buck’s shoulder blades to settle him. He flexes his grip on Buck’s arms. Trapped like this, Buck can feel all of him: his ribs expand, and his belly presses into Buck’s spine as he sighs.

The restlessness—whatever it is, that under-the-skin itch to stay in motion—drains away, defeated by Eddie’s wordless command. Buck sighs, too, turning his cheek into the pillow.

The thing is, he knows it’s Eddie because it couldn’t be anyone else.

“Good. That’s good,” Eddie says, low, dragging kisses across Buck’s jaw and cheek.

Buck’s not even doing anything. Eddie won’t let him, so he doesn’t try—even as mouthwatering want seizes his gut and pours blistering heat through his pelvis. He can’t stop shifting his erection against the sheets. The praise still doesn’t feel entirely unearned.

“It’d be better,” Buck says, “if you would actually put it in.”

“We ain’t got time for that,” Eddie says. Then (and he’s definitely smiling—the shape of it curls around his words): “Morning, Buck.”

It’s the familiar, beloved rasp of Eddie’s voice, that mundanity paired with getting almost-fucked, that makes Buck groan with impatience and spread his thighs. A blunted ache throbs behind Buck’s sternum. It’s dirty to let himself be overpowered this way, he thinks, except for that it feels closer to being held than pinned. With Eddie—his warm skin, his steady breath—it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same.

“Come on, Eddie,” he says. “Quit humping me.”

“That’s usually my line.”

“Woof,” Buck huffs, and they both laugh—Eddie’s, shaky and breathless, his cock nudging right where Buck needs him; Buck’s, a little awed over this quotidian exchange alone.

Buck noses to the side and opens his mouth against the back of Eddie’s hand, licking at the thin salty skin. He imagines there’s a vein there. He imagines he can feel the blood inside of it pulsing on his tongue—onto his tongue—and follows it to Eddie’s knuckles. Scraping his teeth over them, he tries again: “We could make time.”

“You might be off today, but I’m gonna be late for my shift,” Eddie says. He’s wrong. He’s never late. Buck hitches his ass up, insistently seeking contact.

Eddie groans, long-suffering, dropping his over-warm face into Buck’s shoulder.

“You won’t. And if you are, I—I’ll tell Cap it was my fault,” Buck coaxes.

He doesn’t have to, since Eddie’s already letting go of him, spitting into his palm, drawing away just enough to reach down, wet his dick, and guide it firmly into place. But it’s nice to beg so freely, even nicer to chase down that singular moment where Eddie gives in. To keep pushing, just because he can—because Eddie allows it, every time.

“Please don’t,” Eddie snorts. He rubs up against Buck’s hole, purposeful rather than teasing now, and Buck shivers, clenching under the contact. “I’m pretty sure that breaks the station law against oversharing, and I don’t have enough cash left for the Buck’s Big Mouth jar.”

Buck’s shameless snickering dissolves into a wavering moan as Eddie eases forward, opening him on just the tip first. Even that feels like a lot, feels fucking good, the first couple inches igniting nerves that make the backs of his thighs tingle.

“Fuck,” he says. Whimpers, really, kind of airy and tremulous.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“This what you wanted?” Eddie’s pressed all the way into him, flush with Buck’s ass. He grabs Buck around the hip to maneuver the angle, tilting him perfectly into place as if by instinct. The first firm thrust wrenches all the air from Buck’s lungs.

“Eddie,” is all he manages, naturally.

The slide is effortless, too easy with spit alone, but Eddie’s cock fills him up so well that all Buck can think is that if this is real, if this is happening, then maybe it was just meant to be right here, taking up all this space inside him, and that Eddie was meant to be here, too, the whole of his body an anchor. His hips begin to snap, hard and focused enough to get Buck panting.

“W—Wait,” Buck gasps. “Go slow.”

Eddie obliges, of course. He kisses the nape of Buck’s neck, the sore spot he’d used to bully Buck into submission before. It tickles.

“Slower,” he begs—for the first time in his life, probably. It’s a sudden, inconvenient desire, considering they really don’t have much time.

Incredulous but uneven, Eddie asks, “Seriously?”

Buck grins. “Yeah,” he says.

Eddie’s got a grounding hand clamped tight and high on Buck’s waist, fingertips hooking beneath his ribs. Buck reaches around, takes him by the wrist, and guides that hand up to his throat, choking off his own desperate moaning mostly because he knows Eddie finds it unbearably hot.

“Buck,” Eddie maybe mumbles, although it’s hard to decipher through the hazy head rush. He gives Buck a loving squeeze, but that’s not enough; after squeezing his wrist in return, Buck tugs him up until he can wrap his lips around Eddie’s forefingers and suck.

He’d asked for slow, so Eddie’s barely even fucking him anymore. His hips remain crushed to Buck’s ass; he’s rocking forward in small, tight motions like there’s any way to get deeper. There isn’t, there can’t be. Stretched raw, speared apart, Buck already feels disassembled.

Eddie shifts, and it’s—“There, right there,” Buck groans, garbled with his mouth full, but Eddie understands.

He must take it as, like, permission, or something—God, that’s a nice idea—because he presses down on the ridge of Buck’s bottom teeth and pushes his nose against Buck’s ear and gives it to him. No more of that indolent grinding; he slams in, smooth and ceaseless, unforgiving on Buck’s prostate.

“I love you,” Eddie says, hoarse with sudden emotion. “You know that?”

Fuck, yes—with Eddie’s broad, calloused palm holding his jaw fast, and Eddie’s fingers down his throat, and Eddie’s sweaty cheek brushing his, and Eddie’s big cock ripping him wide, he does. He feels it everywhere. He cries out, muffled, guttural, and deliriously pleased as the heat builds.

“Answer me,” Eddie murmurs. He slips his fingers out of Buck’s mouth. A strand of drool keeps them connected to Buck’s lower lip. One particularly rude thrust punches a strangled noise out of him.

“Fuck, Eddie, I—I know.”

“What do you know?”

“You love me,” Buck says. “I know you love me.”

“That’s right,” Eddie says, pressing a sloppy, proprietary kiss under Buck’s ear. “I love you, Buck.”

“I want—”

“You ready to come?”

“Yeah,” Buck moans, and then, “No, I—”

Somehow, with Eddie surrounding him, it hadn’t occurred to Buck how badly he needed to breathe his air and touch him, too—to kiss his mouth, taste the sweat on his mustache. To thumb at his furrowed brow. To watch him come and bask in the blazing heat of his satisfaction.

Eddie would like it—filling Buck up, flooding him inside. He does like it. Doesn’t he? Likes laying his claim, more than anything.

That’s what it really is, after all, when he gives Buck his cock, and his come, and his bite, and his hand around Buck’s throat, and every spare, hard-won minute he’s got. I love you really means that Buck’s his to keep, and Eddie even says that in his sleep sometimes, mumbled into Buck’s hair and occasionally broken by his embarrassing snoring.

He must like that Buck belongs to him. He has to. More than anything, Buck needs to look Eddie in the eye when he says everything he wants to say, so he can be absolutely certain of this. He was certain, a moment ago, but Eddie’s grasp on him is weakening, or maybe Buck’s slipping out of his hold.

Buck tries to tell him, “I want to see you.”

Ideally, Eddie will grin when Buck turns in the cage of his arms and begs: Don’t go anywhere. I love you, too. Let’s just do this forever. I can take it. He’ll make that sound he makes, that quietly amused “Hm,” that has a million meanings, all of which Buck has memorized. He’ll dutifully argue that they’d probably miss their real life eventually—plus they’ve got a mortgage to pay and Buck would get bored without the thrill of saving lives. Eddie’s good at choosing the right moment to be a little bit terrible, so he’ll grab Buck by the thighs to stifle any retort, haul him into position to pound him just right, and say something irresistibly dirty, like, Give it to me, sweetheart, show me how you come.

And Buck would. He’s already close; it’s knifing through his belly, the only palpable feeling left—

Forget an orgasm; he doesn’t even get to roll over before the whole scene washes away, taking Eddie with it.

Panting, Buck blinks the afterimage of Eddie’s hands out of his head, but he can’t banish the thought that he wouldn’t let Eddie try to convince him of anything. He’d pull him down, kiss him hard, lick his canine teeth, and plead again, and again, and again, until Eddie agreed to use his body as a dwelling; to live inside him, and nowhere else.

***

It’s not weird that he jerked off.

The dream was near-cinematic and left him with a desperate hard-on; he obviously couldn’t walk into work in that state. And, actually, in a way it’s less weird that he’d jerked off thinking of Eddie over anybody else. He’d bet real money that anyone who’s spent more than thirty seconds in close proximity with Eddie has done the same. Buck is a self-respecting bisexual man and Eddie is devastating on his worst days; of course the image of him ruddy-cheeked and slick with sweat was going to get Buck across the finish line in—what, thirty pathetic seconds?

In fact, it turns out that envisioning Eddie was the most efficient choice, given that he walks into the station just shy of being late.

He changes quickly, then heads out to the apparatus bay, where Bobby is currently holding court. Eddie’s eyes barely flicker as he slides over on the stairs to make room for Buck to settle in beside him.

“Morning, Buck,” he says.

Buck’s stomach tenses.

“H—Hey,” he responds, in the tone and cadence of someone who did not recently shoot off so hard he might have actually shed a tear, and all to the echo of dream-Eddie—only dream-Eddie—saying that exact thing. The corner of Eddie’s lips twitch as he restrains his smile; it’d have been imperceptible were Buck not already looking at it—his mouth, that is.

He should probably stop doing that. Bobby gives him a good reason to turn away.

Over the course of their morning briefing, Eddie begins to lean into Buck. He shuffles his feet until his legs are angled open wide and he and Buck are pressed together from their knees all the way down to the sides of their boots. Buck glances over occasionally, and Eddie notices each time; he doesn’t say anything, though, and doesn’t seem to think anything of it, his expression mostly unchanging. In every halfway moment between meeting Eddie’s eye and returning his attention to where it belongs, Buck is compelled to look down into the space between Eddie’s thighs, where his interlaced hands hang loosely. Those hands were all he’d gotten to see of Eddie, in the dream—all he’d gotten to touch and taste.

He wonders at Eddie’s fingers, how the shape of them would fit his mouth. Eddie’s knuckles digging into his hard palate. The unyielding edge of bone between his teeth. Would they make him gag? Would he care if they did? Probably not. There’s a small, still-fresh cut disappearing into the web between Eddie’s middle and ring fingers. The moment Buck imagines probing his tongue against it, he swallows hard against the feeling that there’s an immovable smoldering coal lodged in his esophagus, radiating unpleasant heat through his chest.

Buck rubs his palm absently from his collarbone to his heart and back up again to scratch at his neck. He doesn’t realize he’s begun to chew his thumbnail ragged until Eddie nudges an elbow into his side to get him to quit.

For some reason, he mumbles, “Sorry.” Eddie tilts his head and half-smiles, silently accepting this nonspecific and entirely unnecessary apology. Buck can bite his nails if he wants, but he shoves his hands into his pockets to stave off the urge.

#asks #nobody be mean every word of this tested me #egs wip

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covenha · 6 months ago

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Shame | JWY

Synopsis: Wooyoung can't stop thinking about you (and what he wants to do to you ;) Pairings: Jung Wooyoung x fem!reader Genre: smut (+18), mdni WC: 1010 Warnings: this contains smut so if you don't like what please click away! reader ovulates, wooyoung having major pervy thoughts a/n: I wrote this all in one sitting after doing so much math for a booth making competition so there's probably grammatical errors and this might be all over the place woops, but at least I'm back from the dead! formatting for this one is non-existent but I don't have the time (or energy) to stretch this into a proper fic so this will have to do. I cannot stress enough how this is FICTION and this definitely is not telling of how the characters in this story are irl. And as always, feel free to leave your feedbacks in the comments or request something, they are much appreciated. Enjoy!

So imagine this, you get a notification from your period tracking app that today you are ovulating but you don’t pay it much attention

You haven’t been having such a great day so far, the coffee machine broke for reasons unknown so you haven’t had your daily dose of caffeine, you misplaced one of your bluetooth earphones so now you have to survive a day with ½ of your music fix, and to top it all off, because you were busy looking for your missing earphone you lose track of time and miss the school bus leaving you no choice but to walk to school

On your way to school you pass by one of your upper classman’s house, Jung Wooyoung , vice-president of the radio broadcast club who’s in charge of school announcements

You give him a polite smile and walk on your way, but you slow down when he shouts at you to wait up

He suggests you guys walk to school together since it “just makes sense”, the introvert in you is dying to say no but the people pleaser in you just nods along to his suggestion

As he’s busy yapping about the festivities at your school’s upcoming founder’s week, you feel a weird sensation start to rise in your body

Unbeknownst to you, Wooyoung happens to have a black cat that he so lovingly calls “toothless”, an animal whose fur you happen to be very allergic to

You start sneezing every now and then, interrupting Wooyoung’s monologue on how the school should be investing better speakers for the football field, the first few times he just shrugs it off to some cool morning air sniffles but as the sneezes get a tad bit more aggressive he starts to feel concern for you

He asks if you’re okay, to which you just say that “it’s probably pollen or something” and he just nods at your reason

But as the sneezing doesn’t stop, a few blocks away from your school, he asks again “Are you really okay?” and then he puts a hand on your forehead to check if your temperature is up

He feels your skin is a little warm and offers to walk you to the nurse’s clinic to which you repeat what you said about it probably just being allergies

But he relents and brings up how you feel like you might be coming up with a fever

You sigh at this. because how were you supposed to bring up that your elevated temperature was probably just because it was this time of the month?

As Wooyoung continues to urge you to at least ask for some medicine from the clinic you just decided, you know what? I’ll just tell him, he definitely won’t stop until I tell him. So you cut him off and say “It’s because I’m ovulating.”

Then comes a pregnant pause (I intended this joke okay please laugh)

“Oh.” is all he has to say. He feels the blood rushing up to his cheeks (but also down there if ykw I’m sayin)

“Yeah. That’s why I’m a little warm today.” You just give him a tight smile as the both of you enter school premises.

He doesn’t have much to say as you guys walk into the hallways, I mean how could he even talk to you after that?

He had the fattest crush on you since you signed up for the photography club last fall, and boy was he smitten. He was so excited to see you walk past his house this morning that he basically yelled at you to stop in your tracks. (This was not one of his proudest moments but he’ll just have to move on and rant about it to toothless later when he gets home.)

You had the prettiest smile, an infectious laugh, and you had a humor that just had him in a chokehold. So when you said so straightforwardly that you were ovulating, he didn’t know how to react.

He liked to think that he was better than to fantasize about you in a sexual way, I mean, you barely knew him. Up until this point, he was probably just the Junior Social Sciences student who yelled at you to walk to school with him.

But the way you looked when you were focused on taking the best shot, with your camera all adjusted and moving to get the best angle. He was weak to his body’s primal desires.

Even as you both exchanged pleasantries as you parted ways, you were still on his mind. He was so unusually silent that even his friends started wondering if something wrong was going on with him.

It was midway through a psychology lecture that he just couldn’t stop thinking about you. How soft your skin was, even from the few seconds that he put his hand on you. He bets the rest of your body is just as soft…. Soft and supple and aching for him to take a bite out of.

He wonders if your moans are soft and breathy during foreplay, then he imagines your noises getting more whiney and drawn out. You’d look so cute all teary with your eyes squeezed shut as he kept hitting that special spot in you.

He wonders if he could make you beg… to go harder? For more? To stop? Who knows what's going on in his brain. He just knows that he desperately wants to know how you sound when he angles his thrusts to hit nice and deep.

But most of all, he wants to know just how much you can take. I mean it would be such a shame for you to not be pleasured when your body is at its prime.

That night, he jacks off to the thought of you. And as he lays there on his bed watching his cum drip down his softening tip, he thinks to himself how it's such a shame that it be wasted like this.

Because he would rather it be dripping out of you.

#ateez #jung wooyoung #wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #ateez au #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez headcannons #ateez hard hours #wooyoung au #wooyoung smut #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung fic #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung headcannons #wooyoung drabbles #ateez drabbles

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muldermuse · 10 months ago

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An Unlikely Hero (ex boyfriend!Billy Butcher x reader)

this is going to be a multi part series!!! i love exboyfriend!butcher and he is on my mind constantly. if u would like to read more about him here’s some more posts! if you wanna talk about him pls send me your thoughts ❤️ dividers by @saradika ❤️

part one: the first date

the first time you meet Billy Butcher

You swore to yourself that this was the last Tinder date you’d subject yourself to. Last week, you matched and met with Jack who had a Homelander sleeve tattoo and cried to you about how hard it was to be a ‘true American’ nowadays. The week before that, it was Shay who seemed sweet but kept trying to ply you with drinks and invite you back to his place (he bragged that his ‘folks were out of town’, which would be impressive if you were a hell of a lot younger than you actually are). This week’s date is named Harry and he’s just not right for you. You thought it over texts but as soon as you sat down with him tonight; it was confirmed. It’s not even like you have a great previous relationship as a point for comparison, all romantic love has been fleeting and, with how things are going currently, you imagine it always will be.

It's a few hours later and Harry’s suddenly a lot drunker than you. You’ve moved from the overpriced restaurant to your favourite bar. The drinks are questionable in that they’re both incredibly cheap and very strong. You grab two stools at the bar which is overwise empty, apart from one man nursing a whiskey. You’re sure Harry’s drunker than you because he’s currently sobbing into his craft beer about how he hasn’t felt a connection with anyone since his ex-girlfriend, who left him 3 months ago for a co-worker.

“Like, you’re nice y’know. You seem like a nice girl” you try not to recoil at the phrase “but my ex? She was great. There’s no one else who’s ev-hic-ever been like her and there never will be”. The guy sat next to you at the bar mutters a “fuckin’ ell” under his breath as he gestures towards the bartender for another neat whiskey. His accent is completely out of place in this local dive bar; he sounds European. No trace of an american accent so you consider that he could be a tourist who’s wandered into a bar looking for a cold drink and some respite.

You try not to smirk at the utterance and tune back into what Harry’s saying, “I think we’ve both just gone through the motions tonight, don’t you agree? I can tell you’re not really into me and to be honest, I’m not into you”. You kind of admire his candor because he’s right, you’re not into him in the slightest but the next thing out of his mouth quickly dispels any misplaced respect you held for him. “I’ve been real lonely since she left though…maybe you could come back to my place-hic-she’s uh…some of her stuff is still there but there’s not a lot of it in the bedroom”. He’s that plastered that what he assumed would be a casual hand slide up your thigh becomes a full push, hurtling you into the whiskey sipping man next to you. You fall into his chest, it’s strong and kind of feels like slamming into a wall.

“Right, tha’s fuckin’ it” the potential tourist speaks and it’s only when he stands up that you realise how broad he is. He’s tall with thick black hair and the beard to match. His outfit is seemingly prepared for a spectrum of weathers with a Hawaiian shirt clashing with a thick overcoat. He’s older than you, definitely older but absolutely attractive. More attractive than anyone you’d seen on Tinder or, probably, ever in your life. “You alright there darlin’?” his dark eyes bore into yours as you nod and cough out a meek ‘yes’. You silently curse yourself, the first thing you say to this strong man makes you sound like a small frightened mouse.

“’M jus’ gonna get rid of your little pal there and then I’ll buy ya a drink- alright?” his hand rubs your bare arm and sends a flurry of goosebumps across your skin. The whole interaction feels more charged than anything you’ve had before with another human, you wonder if he’s feeling it too and pray that he is.

“Oh nice one man, I’ll have uh…another craft” Harry gestures towards the tap, completely oblivious to the situation in front of him

“All you’re fuckin’ gettin’ cunt is a helpin’ hand out that fuckin’ door. Now, I’ll ask ya politely one last fuckin’ time…fuck off” he elongates the 3 letter word. A comically confused look spreads across Harry’s face. “’M on a fucking date here man and she’s coming back to mine, aren’t you?”

“No” you quickly deadpan, shaking your head at the still unnamed man.

“There’s your answer then cunt, off ya fuck”

“Butcher- no fuckin’ blood on my bar this time man” the bartender shouts whilst idly checking his phone. Butcher? Is that the guy’s name?

Harry stands up, pushing out his chest which, if anything, only exaggerates how small he is in comparison. “I’ve bought her meal, paid for her drink and I’m go-hic-gonna take her back to my place and fuck her”. He finishes his sentence in Butcher’s face. Whilst you see a flicker of fear cross Harry’s expression; Butcher’s look borders on hysterical.

“Alright then big fella, I’ll tell ya what’s gonna happen” he slams his hand down on Harry’s shoulder, his eyes now boring into his. “You’re gonna fuck off back to your shitty little home, grab some lube, cry and wank to ya heart’s content about your ex who is probably ridin’ some big fat fuckin’ dick right now-yeah?” Butcher nods as if Harry’s going to agree with him.

Your date goes to interrupt but Butcher presses a finger to his quaking lips before he can start, “what’s not gonna happen, my sad little mate, is that you’re going to fuck her. She’s hadta listen to your fuckin’ whinin’ about your ex all night whilst you’ve fuckin’ insulted this gorgeous woman. So, get out before I throw ya through the fuckin’ window”. Harry’s lost for words, he doesn’t make eye contact with you as you stand silently behind Butcher. You see tears brimming in his eyes as he smacks $20 on the bar top.

“Fuckin’ old asshole” Harry spits as he shoves past the pair of you.

Butcher smirks at the remark, watching the door swing shut behind Harry before turning to you. “Right darlin’, whatcha havin’?”

It’s the best date you’ve ever been on and it’s not even a real date. You finally got his full name. Billy Butcher. Your heart races just to say it. He’s from London but has been in the States for a while. He asks all about you and you surprisingly find you’ve got a lot in common. He’s funny, charming and really fucking exciting- you have to admit. By the third drink, the chat goes from conversational to more flirty.

“The bartender said ‘this time’, do you do this a lot? Love saving a damsel in distress? Are you a hero, Billy Butcher?” you smirk at him and he returns it back to you. There’s lust in his eyes and you see him take your appearance in for what feels like the upteenth time since you sat down.

As he goes to speak, the bell rings for last orders and he takes your hand to help you off the bar stool. You down the remnants of your drink together and he puts his arm around you and escorts you out of the bar.

You don’t want it to end, he lights a cigarette and you thank any higher deity for the extra thinking seconds it gives you. He speaks before you get chance, “Will ya let me walk you home darlin’? Swear on my mum’s life I won’t try any funny business”. He holds his hand out like he’s making a scouts honour. Honestly, you do anything to spend a bit more time with him so you smile, link your arm with his and pull him down the quiet streets.

The air makes you feel drunker than you are. If you were sober, there is no way you’d be giggling like a school girl at everything this man is saying, yet here you are. Your arms are linked and you’re resting your head on his shoulders as you tell him about your horrific dating history. Everytime he laughs and accuses you of exaggerating you say, “Billy Butcher, I would never ever lie to you”. You say it because his name feels so fun sliding off your tongue. You barely see anyone on your walk home and the sound of your shared laughter fills the empty streets.

As you turn down your street, you wish you lived miles away so you could keep walking together for hours. Your stomach drops at the thought that you’ll never see him again. Which, you completely realise, is fucking stupid. This stranger threatened your date to leave but he also made you feel safe and laugh harder than you have in months. You pull his stride to a stop outside your house. It feels like some awful hallmark romcom or trashy romance novel.

You thank him for escorting you home and he turns down a nightcap in your house as “it’s not gentlemanly on the first date”. He shoots you a wicked grin again as he says, “my mum would be spinnin’ in her grave darlin’”.

You try not to let the heartbreak from that sentence show on your expression. “You’re a gentleman, Billy Butcher?”

“The best one around darlin’. I’ll prove it tomorrow when I take ya out for lunch”

A brief flare of anger hits you, “yeah, I hear that all the fucking time. The lunch never happens, I don’t see you again but then we bump into each other at the store and you apologise and say you’ll be in touch which, of course, you never will be”. You regret it as soon as you stop speaking.

Before you can apologise, he grabs a sharpie out of his coat pocket, takes your hand and scribbles down his number. “There, alright? You call me at any time gorgeous and I swear, I’ll fuckin’ answer and come runnin’”

His kiss to your cheek is soft yet restrained. “You’ll forget about me Billy Butcher, I know it”.

“S’not fuckin’ possible, darlin’”. He says goodnight and walks down your street. A plume of cigarette smoke trailing after him.

He keeps his word.

40 minutes later, and after one final glass of wine, you call him.

He answers on the first ring and says your name. He tells you where to meet tomorrow and what time to get there.

You hope he can always keep his promises.

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4m0r1m · 20 days ago

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Sleep & Confessions

SUMMARY: After his third divorce, James Wilson seeks comfort in the home of his lifelong best friend. But one drunken heart-to-heart reveals a love that’s been quietly waiting all along—changing everything with a single kiss. (fluff)

WORD COUNT: 2,187 words

PAIRING: james wilson x reader

The rain had been falling in relentless sheets for hours now, painting streaks down the living room windows as if nature itself mourned alongside him. The soft hum of the television was the only sound competing with the rhythmic patter of water on glass, but neither he nor she was paying attention to the old black-and-white film playing. They’d seen it a hundred times.

James Wilson sat hunched at one end of the couch, one leg tucked underneath him, nursing the last half of a whiskey he’d barely touched. His suit jacket lay crumpled on the floor, tie loosened, shirt untucked. He looked worn out, not just physically, but spiritually—like a man who had misplaced every version of himself he’d ever been.

The reader, his best friend for over two decades, sat opposite him with her legs pulled up, a blanket draped over her lap, and a glass of wine in hand. She was watching him rather than the film, her heart a tangle of compassion and something far deeper—something more dangerous.

James was crashing on her couch again. His third divorce finalised just two days ago, and this time, he hadn’t even pretended to cope alone. He’d shown up on her doorstep in the rain, suitcase in hand, half-heartedly joking about how she might want to install a guest room just for him. She’d hugged him without a word and cooked him dinner before he could even change his shirt.

“You know,” he muttered now, voice hoarse from disuse, “I think I might just be... fundamentally broken.”

She tilted her head. “Don’t say that.”

“No, really.” He gestured vaguely with his glass. “Three marriages. Three failures. All of them started with such optimism. And ended like this. Me. On your couch. Again.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sigh. His eyes—still so soft, so intelligent—were clouded with self-doubt.

She hesitated. Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right person.”

“Or maybe,” he said, looking at her now—really looking—“I’m not meant to find her. Maybe I was built for short sprints, not marathons. Maybe I’m just... not built for forever.”

The words settled between them like fog. She turned her gaze back to the flickering television screen, trying to pretend her heart hadn’t clenched. She’d always been there. Always. Through every wedding, every divorce, every night he called too late asking if she wanted to grab food because he couldn’t stand his own thoughts. She knew the real him—not just the polished oncologist with the gentle voice and kind eyes. She knew the version that broke, over and over again, and kept pretending he didn’t.

“James,” she said quietly, “can I tell you something?”

He blinked. “Of course. What is it?”

She set down her wine glass on the coffee table and folded her legs under herself properly, heart pounding like a drum in her chest. Her mouth felt dry. It was terrifying to say it—to finally speak what had lingered in the shadows for so long.

“I’ve loved you,” she said, voice barely a whisper, “for a long time.”

He didn’t move. For a moment, it felt like the world stopped spinning.

“I didn’t say anything because... well, you always seemed to be falling in love with someone else. And I didn’t want to be one more person who got added to the list. But I’ve always been here. I’ve always seen you.”

His brow furrowed slightly, the weight of her words pressing on him as though the very foundation of his reality had shifted.

“I thought you were just—” He faltered. “I mean, I knew we were close, but...”

“I never expected anything from you,” she continued, biting her lip. “I never wanted to complicate your life more than it already was. But I can’t sit here tonight and listen to you say you’re not meant for forever when I’ve spent all these years waiting to show you that you are.”

His hand ran through his hair, tousling the curls at the back of his head. “Jesus…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she added quickly. “It’s just... I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

For a moment, silence reigned—thick and trembling. Then, slowly, James reached across the couch. His hand found hers, warm and hesitant, and he held it like it was fragile.

“You’ve always been the one constant,” he said, voice cracking. “The one person who never walked away. And I was so damn blind.”

She shook her head, eyes welling. “You weren’t blind. You were just trying to survive.”

He leaned closer, their faces just inches apart now. The room seemed to shrink around them, the sound of the rain dulling into white noise.

“You mean it?” he asked. “You’ve really... loved me this whole time?”

She nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Yeah. I really have.”

His lips brushed hers so gently at first it felt like a dream. But then he kissed her again—deeper, with years of longing wrapped into a single touch. His hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek, and she felt herself melt into him completely. The years, the pain, the what-ifs—they all slipped away in that kiss.

When they parted, she gave him a watery smile.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight,” she said softly.

James looked at her, and in his eyes was something she hadn’t seen in him for a very long time—peace.

He nodded, slowly, like he was letting go of a lifetime of grief.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

They walked to the bedroom together, fingers intertwined. No fanfare. No fireworks. Just quiet understanding and something sacred building between them. She pulled back the covers, and he lay down beside her, still dressed in his rumpled clothes. She curled into his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her, his chin resting gently atop her head.

For the first time in what felt like centuries, James Wilson slept soundly. And beside him, the woman who had always seen him for exactly who he was—flaws, kindness, and all—finally felt whole.

The rain slowed to a drizzle. The house, once filled with quiet ache, now held something gentler: the sound of two hearts finally resting in rhythm.

A/N: Hope you like it!!

#fanfic #oneshots #reader insert #imagines #romance #writing #dr. house #james wilson #james wilson x reader #james wilson x you #dr house #house md #house md x reader #james wilson fanfiction #james wilson fanfic

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jkriordanverse · 7 months ago

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My favorite show is The Adventures of Gem and The Grandmas

good choice. i would've been offended if it wasn't

#i think i misplaced the nurse

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redfoxwritesstuff · 6 months ago

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AN: Yes, Vexi, I'm issuing challenges- I challenge you to stop licking airport doorknobs so you don't get plague the month of smutmas next year.

Summary: You couldn't stand one patient that always showed up for his annual Physical right on time every year. He was arrogant, cocky and well aware of how handsome he was. Luckily for you, the feeling wasn't mutual.

CW: Smut, dubcon due to nurse x patient power dynamics, unprotected sex, semi public closet sex

Vincent Voxly.

The name glared up at you from the chart in your hands. He was ever so reliable, attending the clinic for his annual wellness exam on the same day, every year. A man like Vox was reliable in every way, and this was no different. Otherwise, you nearly never saw the man.

He rarely got sick and even then, it was even less often that he got sick enough to visit the clinic. There were very few things you were thankful for in your job. The sexism and roaming hands of the patients, the disrespect from the doctors, and so many other things did much to steal the joy of seeing lives saved and babies born.

You knew this appointment was coming every single year. You dreaded it. There was nothing you could do to get the day off. You begged and bartered in a desperate attempt to have the day off work, as you did every year.

None would take pity on you. The doctors all thought your hate for the man was misplaced. It didn’t help that you were and are a professional. There shouldn’t be a personal distaste for a patient. They were just patients, that’s all.

Your duty was to care for them. That was all. You didn’t have to like them, to like him, but you did have to get his vitals.

You told yourself that again and again in the weeks ahead of the appointment. It didn’t matter if you liked the arrogant marketing executive. What mattered was that you got his height, weight, and blood pressure. That was all that mattered.

So why did you hesitate just inside the doors leading out to the lobby, his chart in hand when it was time to call him back?

Fucking Voxley. You could see him through the small window on the door, standing at the reception counter. There was no reason for him to be standing there, distracting the front desk girls from their job, but he was. His rich, arrogant laugh carried easily as the girls sitting at the desk all but swooned over his every word.

Disgusting.

One deep breath in. You held it and counted down from four, letting the breath out in a slow and steady stream of air.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ve got this.”

“It’s just another patient,” Dr. Jones said, shaking his head as he walked down the hall. He would never understand, none of the doctors would.

Squaring your shoulders, you straightened your neck and back, holding yourself tall and strong. You waited one more heartbeat before stepping forward and pushing through the doors.

“Voxley?” You made a show of looking around the waiting room, as if you didn’t know who your patient was or exactly where he was. “Vincent Voxley?”

“Aw, Dollface.” Voxley sauntered up to you, as he did every year. “After all these years, I think you know who I am by now.”

“Follow me.” You turned on your heel and led him into the clinical area. “We’re going to get your height and weight right over here.”

“Same song and dance,” Voxley said, leaning over your shoulder to talk into your ear, making himself at home in your personal space. “We do this every year, Doll. You can just call me Vox. Don’t you think we’e known eachother long enough by now?”

“Vox, then.” You agreed simply to shut him up. “Empty your pockets here, jacket off, shoes off.”

“Yep, yeah.” Vox smiled as he slipped his blazer down his arms, taking his little victory as a far larger win than you thought it was. He had been trying for the last three years to get you to call him Vox, the name he used for his performances. It was a name he had picked for himself, though a variation of his surname.

He was a man who made himself who he was. He was not just his father’s son. He was a man of his own. He was also a man who knew what he wanted.

You rattled off his height, unchanged from the year before. With a twisted smile, you pointed out the weight he had gained in the last twelve months.

“It’s muscle,” Vox promised.

“I’m sure,” you smiled sweetly at him. “That’s what every man says.”

“I’ll show you.” Vox tugged his shirt from where it was tucked into his pants.

“Sir, this is neither the time nor the place to begin disrobing.” It was a struggle to keep your voice cold and calm. He would not get to you. You were determined that he wouldn’t get to you.

“Follow me.” The order was issued clear and crisp. Cold, just like everything else you offered Vox.

“What is your problem with me?” Vox asked as he walked right on your heels to the exam room.

“Wait here,” you avoided looking at him as he walked into the room. “The doctor will be in shortly. Unfortunately, he is running a bit behind but we’ll certainly try not to keep you waiting for too long.”

You only relaxed when the door shut behind you. Your part of the visit was done, at least for the time being. Now it was all in Dr. Jones’ hands. You’d at best have to pop into the room a few times to remind Vox that the doctor was running behind and then see him out of the clinic. It was easy. You could do this.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the exam room door fail to latch shut as you stepped away.

Vox watched, eyes cold and calculating as you looked through the supply cart.

You worked steadily, with a single-minded determination that Vox admired. He had watched you work, year after year, when other nurses came and went. You didn’t like him, though he hadn’t the faintest idea why. He tried to make nice; he tried to make you feel pretty- something you naturally were but seemed disgustingly unaware of. Hell, he had even brought you trinkets and gifts. Nothing softened you to him.

Today, he broke down and asked you flat out what your issue was when you had the nerve to insinuate he was getting fat. You brushed off the question, not bothering to even dignify him with an answer.

Before he left this clinic, he would have an answer.

You stepped into the supply closet, pushing your little cart in front of you. Vox was hot on your heels, moving swiftly through the hall. He hadn’t replaced his shoes, not bothering when he’d have to take them off again, anyway. His sock clad feet moved silently through the halls.

You didn’t think twice when there was a delay in the supply closet door closing behind you. It wasn’t uncommon for two or more nurses to be restocking their carts at any given time.

It was the sound of the lock clicking that had you turning your head. The door was never locked during business hours.

Vox stood between you and the locked door, dim closet lights somehow not doing a damn thing to dim the handsome features of his face. The light reflected off his dark hair. The warm light of the bulb struggled, trying to steal the blue tinted shine from the hair and yet somehow not managing. It was such a unique tone of black, one the cameras never seemed to get just right when he was on air.

“What are you doing in here?” your voice was tight, high.

“I asked you a question.” Vox stepped closer, driving you back deeper into the closet. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I’m sorry?” You looked anywhere but at him. “Any questions you have would be a better fit for the doctor. Please, return to the exam room and wait for Dr. Jones.”

“Dr. Jones won’t be able to tell me what the fuck your problem is with me.” Vox stepped closer. The cart clattered as it hit the back wall. “I’ve tried.”

“I don’t have a problem with you,” you tried to lie.

“Yes, you do. Don’t lie to me, Dollface.” The distance between you and Vox as he loomed closer and closer. “Why?”

“Fine,” you snapped, slamming a pack of bandages down on the cart. “I think you’re arrogant.”

“I’m confident,” Vox challenged.

“I think you need to be knocked down a peg. Rich men like you get everything handed to you, you take everything.” You ranted, voice growing harder though, not louder. What you were saying would surely get you fired if it left the closet.

“I’ve worked damn hard for what I’ve got,” Vox was now close enough that you could reach out and touch him.

“Someone needs to teach you a lesson,” you challenged.

“You think so, dollface?” Vox scoffed, body now so close you could smell his cologne. The heat from him radiated out, warming the cool clinic air around him.

“Yeah, I do.” You looked everywhere but at him.

“Look at me.” It was his turn to issue orders. You hesitated only to have Vox grab your chin in his fingers and force you to face him. “Do you feel better, telling me what you think?”

He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound like he was going to get you fired.

“A little,” you admitted, struggling to look away from his bright blue eyes.

“Good,” Vox whispered, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

Lightning ran down your spine, putting every nerve on high alert. You wanted to pull away, but with the cart behind you, there was only so much space between you and him. He wasn’t supposed to kiss you, not after everything you had just said to him.

“I hate you,” you whispered as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Love and hate walk a thin line,” Vox murmured, hand snaking around your waist to pull you closer. “Lust lives between them.”

“You’re so fucking arrogant,” you whispered, only to watch his smile grow.

“Indeed, I am,” Vox said. “But I think part of you likes that. That’s why you still work here. That’s why you don’t plan early enough to not be here every single year to see me. We’ve been doing this song and dance for years, Doll. I think it’s time I thought you a lesson on what you’ve been missing out on, pushing me away all these years.”

“You make it sound like you think I want you,” you scoffed as he pulled your body to his.

“You do,” Vox laughed, “Shh, it’s okay. I want you too.”

“You’re an asshole,” you whispered as your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch. There was no memory of it happening, but your hands were resting against Vox’s chest. Strong muscles flexed under the soft cotton of his shirt as he pulled you closer.

“I am,” Vox said instead of denying it. “I’m going to teach you how much you like that about me.”

Vox stepped away, turning your body to face the cart. Large hands ran down your sides, reaching around to run up your front. He eagerly explored your body, ignoring the half-hearted protests as he pressed his front against your back.

“This is not appropriate,” you hissed as Vox grabbed a handful of your breast through your uniform, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. Each gasping breath ran into your chest, expanding it under Vox’s hand.

“Neither is how you’ve been treating me.” Vox’s voice was hot in your ear, hand running down your side.

Fingers gripped your hip as he pushed his pelvis into you, forcing you to be aware of the hardness he suffered from. You gasped, a sound so pretty to his ears as he ground his clothed cock against your ass. Each beat of his heart had him throbbing in his pants.

Fingers moved down your thigh, flexing and bunching the fabric of your uniform, dragging the hem higher and higher. As he worked, his lips placed soft kisses against the back of your neck as he kneaded your breast.

Before you could gain any semblance of sanity again, his neatly trimmed nails scratched your stocking covered thigh. No longer did the skirt of your nursing dress cover the skin of your thighs.

“Vox?” You questioned as his fingers spread, palm running higher along your thighs. Long fingers wrapping around your inner thigh. Soft pressure pulled your thighs apart as he pressed his chest into your back, urging you to lean forward.

“You’re so pretty.” His breath was hot in your ear, palm finding bare skin where the stocking ended high on your thighs. “So kind.”

Hot fire pooled in your stomach as his hand moved out, running along the gentle curve of your hip as he pushed the skirt of your dress higher and higher, not stopping till it rested on your lower back.

“Stay just like that for me, won’t you?”

You didn’t want to listen. This was not some office he owned. It wasn’t a place where he called the shots. He needed to be taught a lesson, taught that he wasn’t in charge here.

Yet, as the warmth of him left you, your pantie clad ass exposed, body bent slightly over the supply cart, you did as he said. Over your shoulder, your eyes met his. The intensity of the eye contact stole your breath as his belt clattered, hanging limply from his pants. He worked the button free as your breath locked in your lungs.

The weight of the metal and leather pulled each side of his fly apart as he worked the zipper down. You expected boxers. Underwear. Something. Anything.

More and more skin revealed itself. Vox wore nothing under his pants. You realized that at the same moment, the weight of what you were about to let happen settled in.

“Vox?” You leaned back, turning your shoulders and twisting your spine to look at him, only to watch as he pulled his cock from his pants, freeing it from the tent he had created. “We shouldn’t-”

Vox leaned forward, kissing you as he pumped his cock with his fist, ensuring he was hard and ready. Once he was sure he was ready, he returned his attention to you. The weight of his cock rested against your ass as his hand caressed your round cheeks.

You gasped into the kiss at the firm squeeze of his hand. That was all the opening he needed to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. The sensual kiss, combined with the forbidden nature of what you were doing, stole the breath from your lungs and made your head spin.

The elastic waistband of your simple, modest panties rolled into the fabric as he worked them down your body. Slick smeared against your thighs as he pulled the wet fabric from where your body had glued it to your folds.

“You’re so wet,” Vox whispered, letting your panties drop around your ankles. He cupped your folds from behind, hand pressuring you to spread your legs wider for him. It didn’t take much urging at all.

Your hips rocked as you lifted a foot, stepping outside the ring of your underwear to give him better access.

“We need to stop this,” you whispered as his fingertips ran over your clit, pleasure blooming with each pass. “This is wrong.”

“It’s fun to do what’s wrong,” Vox answered, the tip of his burning cock replacing his fingers as he ran it through your folds. “That’s your lesson.”

Your protest died on your lips as he nudged your clit again and again, coating himself in your slick. Your breath came out in soft gasps as he nudged you with each thrust through your folds. The head of his cock caught on your opening, teasing it more and more with each pass.

“Please, Vox,” you whispered, “I need you.”

“Yes,” he teased, pressing the head of his cock into your opening, hardly enough to spread over the very tip of his head. “You do need me. Of course you do.”

“Arrogant asshole,” you moaned the insult as he sank into you.

Your walls twitched and fluttered, adjusting to the intrusion as he filled you. It felt like he would push forward forever, his length and girth spreading you to your limits when he finally bottomed out.

He didn’t give you much time at all to adjust to his size. As soon as his hips settled against your ass, he was pulling back. You moaned at the friction, needing the feel if him deep inside you more with each slow thrust. He claimed your body slowly, easily, as you offered no resistance.

He gripped your hip, blunt nails digging into your skin as his other hand ran up your front. One after one, he worked the buttons at the front of your crisp white dress free, pulling the modest collar open to be anything but.

He didn’t stop when he could wrap his hand around your throat, though he took a moment to indulge in the feeling. Your body tensed as he flexed his fingers around your neck, gripping his cock. For a moment, he thrust through the tense walls before removing his hand, letting your body relax around him as you gasped for air he hadn’t restricted you from.

He worked at your dress until he had your bra exposed. That wasn’t enough for him. Your bra was thin, just enough to offer coverage, but he still wanted more. He pushed the band up, only to find it too tight around your ribs. When that failed, he pulled the cups down, folding them under the curve of your breasts.

Cold clinic air bit at the exposed skin, pebbling your nipples. Vox eagerly indulged in rolling the bud between his fingers, making your body shudder. Moans stuck in your throat, swallowed down by the need to be quiet.

He pulled your chest down by the nipple, a sharp sensation that had you wanting to cry out and protest. There wasn’t a chance too, as his cock worked harder through your walls. The cart clattered as he pinned you against it with his hips, again and again.

His pants sank lower around his hips, balls swinging freely to slap your clit with each thrust. No longer could you swallow your moans. They poured from your throat in a stream of hot pleas for more and mercy at the same time.

“Vox,” you moaned his name, only to have his pace turn harder.

He folded over you, groping around the cart as he sought something, though you couldn’t be bothered to look or ask what. His cock felt so good, reaching parts inside you that had long been neglected. Each thrust into you stroked the fires of pleasure, winding your body tighter around him.

The sharp slapping of his balls against your clit added a bright spart of pleasure, adding more to the fire already burning inside you. Each pinch of his fingers around your nipple added more.

“Close,” you whimpered, listening to the sound of your bodies coming together again and again, unable to do anything to lesson it. You would be caught, surely. This would be how you would be fired, getting fucked by a patient in the supply closet.

“Open your mouth,” Vox whispered in your ear.

“What do-” He stopped your words, shoving a roll of cotton gauze into your mouth, muffling your cries.

“Good girl,” Vox praised, hand returning to your breast.

The pace turned harder. The cart clattered loudly as he used it for leverage, folding himself over it. He gripped the handle, pulling the cart to him with each hard thrust. You clung to the cart, unable to even think enough to pull the gauze from your mouth. Each moan was heavy, thick, and muffled. The sounds were for Vox’s ears only.

“mmuffh.” You couldn’t speak around the fabric, quickly wicking away your saliva.

“That’s right,” Vox was on a roll now, reveling in every twitch of your walls around his cock. He had your body wound tight, right on the edge as you submitted to him. It took years for him to get here but fuck, he you felt so good wrapped around his cock, clinging to him.

The sight of your nurse’s uniform, the one that plagued his thoughts for weeks after each appointment, ruffled and pushed up around your waist, was better than he had ever imagined. Your sweet body swallowed his cock again and again in a beautiful show.

“So fucking pretty like this.” Your walls clamped down, harsh twitches telling him you liked his cocky voice far more than you had ever let on. “Learning your lesson?”

You moaned, so very close to coming apart at the seams. Vox’s eyes left you for a moment, taking in the shelves of supplies. He had expected to fuck you on the exam table, but damn, the supply closet was just as hot.

“Going to cum on my cock?” Vox teased, tweaking your nipple harshly as he shifted the angle of his hips, ensuring each slap of his balls hit your clit full on. It took only a handful more thrusts to have your back arching, breast pressed into his hand as you cried out.

The contractions of your walls around his cock had him moaning, eager for his own finish. He drank up the music of the high-pitched whine, filtered through the gauze in your mouth as your body squelched with his thrusts. Tears ran from wide eyes as he fucked into you again and again, riding the waves of your orgasm to his own completion.

“Fuck, fuck, Doll.” Vox babbled a string of pet names and praise as his cock exploded inside you, hot ropes of white shooting up into your core. He thrust harshly into your body. Each time his hips met yours, he ground against you with a moan. Only when his cock softened did his shuddering thrusts slow to a stop.

You lay, breasts pressed against the cold steel of the supply cart as you gasped, struggling to pull enough air into your lungs through your nose. Vox pulled back from you, admiring the way his seed poured from your pink cunt in a white river, gathering, trickling down your thighs.

“How do you feel, doll?” Vox asked as he straightened his pants, tucking his shirt back in before fastening his belt.

You mumbled, body shaking as you lay otherwise unmoving.

“Here, let me help you.” Vox lifted your foot, removing your panties from the floor. He shoved them into his pocket before straightening. Chuckling, he pulled the gauze from your mouth, watching as you weakly gasped for breath. “That good, huh?”

You moaned, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you couldn’t feel anything below your knees or that your fingers tingled.

“Good, good.” Vox tugged your skirt down, though part of him was disappointed to cover the sight of his seed planted in your cunt. He couldn’t leave you like this, though. Once you were gathered in his arms, he worked your bra back over your breasts. You shook in the aftershocks of your orgasm as he buttoned your dress.

“Did you learn your lesson?” Vox asked as the trembling subsided.

“What lesson?” Your show of defiance had no power over him, no fire in it as you both knew what was leaking from your core.

“That you belong with me,” Vox teased. “That instead of fighting me, you should let me take you out to dinner, now that you know how good I can fuck.”

“You don’t fuck that well”

“Sure thing, Dollface.” Vox laughed as he backed toward the closet door, shaking his head as he slipped out into the hall.

You stood, legs shaking a little at the knees still, only just now starting to look for your discarded panties. Mortification set in as you realized they were nowhere to be found.

“I hate him,” you whimpered the decree as his seed ran down your thigh, bubbling out of your abused opening. You said you hated him, but your body craved the way he filled you, even as you straightened your dress and threw away the gauze that had functioned as a gag.

You hated him but… maybe you didn’t.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

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fullymyself · 16 days ago

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While you were sleeping - part 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word count: 3,131

Summary: The story is based on the movie While You Were Sleeping. You work at a café and have a secret crush on Steve Rogers, the super soldier who has been coming to the shop every week to grab a coffee and sketch. One day, he is attacked right in front of the café and, even though you manage to save his life, he falls into a deep coma. All it takes is one misplaced comment and now the whole hospital and the Avengers think you’re Steve’s secret fiancée. What’s worst is that now you find yourself falling for his best friend.

Warnings: some conflict, cursing and brief talk of needles and blood donations

Notes: Hi, hope y'all have a great week! Finally finished this part, I planned on posting it last Thursday but life hit me like a train. But, to compensate, this part is longer than the previous ones and has all the tea and a whole lot of Bucky. I really hope you enjoy it, I had so much fun with it. Feedback is always welcome!

Part 1 - Part 2

You haven’t seen anyone since the dinner and you feel like everything got way more complicated since – you’re way more attached to them and the lie it’s getting heavier each day, complicating your feelings even more. You know that the longer you keep the truth hidden, the worse it’ll be when it comes out, yet you cannot decide on how to tell them the truth.

After your shift, you go by the hospital to donate blood – they had contacted you earlier that the day saying it was customary for family and friends to do so. You think of texting Sam about it but decide that it’s better to keep some distance. You’ll go to the hospital, donate blood, go back home and try to do your best to avoid meeting anyone.

It’s clear that the universe does not give a shit about your plans quite early, since after triage you’re led to the donation room where you meet Bucky.

He looks sleepy, hair cascading around his face perfectly, as he stares at the wall beside him as the slow noise of the machine lulls him closer to sleep. Doesn't take long for him to notice you and, when he does, his eyes widen with surprise and the corners of his mouth slightly bend with a contained smile.

“Hi.” You say shyly as you move to the chair next to him. You can feel his gaze but you do not acknowledge it, preferring to watch attentively as the nurse prepares the material needed for the donation and makes small talk. You can’t help but flinch once she inserts the needle into your arm.

For your surprise, as soon as you do, Bucky sits up straight, looking at you with concern. “Are you okay?” He glares daggers at the nurse who looks apologetic.

“Yeah, it was just a prick, I’m okay.” You smile at the nurse like someone smiles at a passer-by when their dog won’t stop barking without reason. As she leaves, the room falls into a deep silence, only the machinery makes eventual noises. You open your mouth several times but close it back again without saying anything while Bucky shifts his gaze from the wall to you. His expression is soft but you can see he is struggling with something.

You’re sure your expressions holds something similar. You really want to tell him the truth, you could just tell him and book it, never having to meet the other’s again and deal with their disappointment and anger. But you cannot bring yourself to actually say anything.

It's only after the donations are done and you are both cleared by the nurses that Bucky’s expression sours, eyes becoming harsh and cold. “So, when did you and Steve meet?” His voice is resolute and sharp and you can’t help but flinch a little at the sudden change in atmosphere.

“September 17th.” The information comes easily since, in the midst of your crush, you had thought about that day often.

“Three months… huh… That’s quite quick.” You can’t really read his expression and you think that’s probably very intentional. Not knowing how to respond you just shrug uncomfortably as he guides you to the elevators. You meant to go straight home but you feel like you couldn’t just leave now.

The whole way to the room Steve was in was filled with questions from Bucky. What’s his favourite dessert? What’s his birthday? What’s his middle name? You answer all, surprised that you actually could, but, then again, there are actual museums about Steve Rogers and the guy was such a frequent customer that it was impossible not to pick up on his preferences.

With each question your irritation grows, you can understand why he is questioning you, but at the same time the guy barely knows who you are and, instead of asking what he wants to know directly, he is treating you like you’re in god-damn Jeopardy.

You walk into the room, barely noticing Natasha and Sam sitting by Steve’s side. “James.” You put as much emphasis as possible on his name as you turn around to face him in the middle of the room, he has the decency to look sheepish when he looks at you, eyebrows slightly raised in surprise but eyes still burning with something. “If you want to know something you can just ask me.”

That does it, now you can read his expression clearly and it screams that he is really pissed. “Oh, okay. Then I wanna know about your boyfriend.”

Nat instantly gets up and moves towards you. “That is not funny, Bucky.” She says laying a hand softly on your shoulder and looking at Steve.

“Her real boyfriend, Joe Fusco Junior.” He punctuates his name slowly, looking at you defiantly. You first scoff at the absurdity of the statement but then the information sinks in.

Joe Fusco Jr. was the son of your landlord. He was annoying and pretentious, hit on absolutely everyone and claimed to date half of the building. So you understand where this might be coming from but, more importantly, for Bucky to have this misunderstanding he has to have been to your building and talked to Joe about you.

“Have you been to my building?!” Your voice is fully accusatory and indignant and Bucky looks surprised at the outburst. He opens and closes his mouth without saying anything but the way he looks everywhere but you is confirmation enough. “First: Joe Jr. is delusional. He’s my landlord’s son and he claims to be dating half the building and to have invented aluminium foil.”

Bucky still can’t look at you but his cheeks start to turn red. “Second: I understand your questions, suspicions… but I’m not okay with people finding out my address and investigating me. Especially when they could have just asked me.” You feel like shit, you were already on edge but this whole situation just made you feel exposed – like your life was free for anyone to look around. You really wanted to tell them the truth but being forced into a corner to do so was still extremely upsetting. You felt like a teenager being told by their parents they should do something they already planned on doing – defensive and upset.

You take a deep breath, realizing you were making a scene. You apologize softly as you look at Nat and Sam and move to leave the room. Before you do so you stop by Bucky, who finally looks at you. “And to answer your last question, Steve and I met at the café I work at. He comes by every week, orders his usual coffee and a piece of pie.”

The last thing you register before hurriedly making your way out of the hospital is a sudden realization in Bucky’s eyes but you have no idea what it means.

It’s safe to say your mood is ruined for the rest of the night. You’re being flooded by emotions that range from shame to anger to sadness. You can’t blame Bucky for his suspicions but, at the same time, you feel like he crossed a line you weren’t expecting. Not only was it uncomfortable to feel so vulnerable and exposed, it added a layer to your unease by highlighting something you hadn’t really thought about before: they were the Avengers and the consequences of this lie could be much greater than you’d like to think. You were worried about what they’d think of you, how hurt they’d be… but the truth is, they had the means and resources to make your life a living hell if they wanted.

It makes you groan in frustration, the sound reverberating in the silent apartment as you bury your face on the couch trying not to scream out of frustration. You stay like that for a while until there’s a knock at your door. The noise is all it takes to make your blood boil. Joe Jr. was the only person who would look for you at this time and you’ve been wanting to strangle him ever since the situation at the hospital.

“Joe, I already told you I’m not going to Ice Capades with you!” You shout as you make your way to the door. “And would you stop telling people we are da-” As you swing the door open the phrase dies in your throat. You were expecting the familiar face of a sleazy Joe Jr. but you are faced with a comically uncomfortable Bucky Barnes. He is shifting like he doesn’t know whether to stay or make a run for the stairs.

“Hi” He looks like a child caught red-handed. “I’ve brought a Christmas present, Tony and Pepper insisted, and I volunteered to bring it since I already knew your address and I wanted to apologize for being such a dick and invading your privacy….” Everything comes out in one breath, words mingling together as he tries to explain himself as quickly as possible.

All you can do is respond to him with a hum of acknowledgment. There’s still anger and vulnerability burning inside of you but there’s also endearment at seeing the man looking so nervous, and you can’t help as your heartbeat skyrockets at the sight of him. “I know I was an asshole, you have every right to be mad, but I wanted you to know I’m really sorry.”

And he really does look like he is. “I’m sorry too.” You don’t specify what you’re sorry for but, somehow, you hope he gets that you’re sorry for this whole situation. If it wasn’t for your damn mouth none of this would be happening.

You just stare at each other for a while, his gaze is piercing but no longer harsh as he studies you. After what feels like hours his lips shift into an easy smile and you can’t help but do the same.

“So, now that you know that I’m an asshole but self conscious… Can we go get your present?” He nods towards the stairs and you furrow your brows. “In the very real chance that you would kick me out of here, I didn’t wanna have to run with my hands full. You’re scary when you’re angry.” He explains shrugging and you can’t help as the laughter bubbles up. Bucky watches you with an ever growing smile.

“Let me get my coat.” You wrap yourself in your thickest coat, scarf and put on the first pair of boots you could find. When you make your way back to the front door you find Bucky holding a mess of white fur in his arms. Your cat shifts and leans into him, purring loudly as she requests more pets. “Alpine, you little traitor.” You whisper accusatively as her blue eyes focus on you. Alpine is not fond of many people so the way she opens up to Bucky is quite surprising.

Seeing her in Bucky’s arms, both so enthralled by each other, is making you react in a way you wouldn’t have expected. There are butterflies in your stomach and your face is growing hotter for no reason.

After you manage to free Bucky from a very unsatisfied Alpine who kept begging to be held, the two of make your way outside. There’s silence but this time around it is welcomed and light as you carefully make your way through the frozen side walk towards the Jeep parked in front of the building.

“Oh no! Damn it!” Bucky complains as he checks the cars parked around him. There’s no space to get the car out or even open the trunk, he’s completely blocked. “Check the meter?”

“It’s past seven, they can stay the whole night if they want.” Bucky looks fully defeated but he looks even more upset when he tells you your gift is on the trunk. “Well… good night then.” You wave as you turn around to go back to your apartment.

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” He practically pouts at you and your knees almost buckle at the sight.

“Pretty much, yeah.” You smile at him. “I might not be mad at you anymore but I don’t think we’re in inviting you in stage yet.”

He seems to ponder for a while and you get a feeling he might be in the same conundrum as you. You really shouldn’t want to and it might just complicate things further, but you really don’t want to say goodbye yet. “Wanna walk for a bit?”

Once he asks, even though you’re still feeling very confused, your face is freezing and all you want is your bed, all you can do is say yes.

It could have been hours or minutes, you have no idea. Bucky is surprisingly easy to talk to and you find yourself sharing way more than usual. You talk about your family, your dreams, your struggles, how lonely the city has felt… and for the first time in forever you feel like you’re actually being listened to.

Bucky also talks, he tells you about Steve, his new found friends, his struggle to adapt and even about his doubts about being a part of the team. You find that even when the subject is heavy he is surprisingly funny, cracking jokes that only get funnier by his awkwardness.

You eventually get back to your building and, thankfully, Bucky’s truck is no longer stuck. “Guess Santa’s finally here.” He says as he takes out a very fancy, very big bag from the trunk. “This is Tony and Pepper’s… and don’t think of refusing it, they will make you take it, trust me.” He reads you too easily and it’s both surprising and natural. You peak into the bag and see the blanket you used that night at their house and the gesture instantly warms your heart.

“And this is from me.” Bucky is suddenly shyer but his smile remains. “I didn’t know what you liked so I got you a bit of everything they had.” The bag is decorated with a simple logo saying 'Veniero’s – since 1894' and you can’t help but gasp when you peak into the bag and it is chock-full of boxes and pastries.

You really feel like hugging him but you’re not sure how he’d react, so you settle for trying to put as much appreciation as you can into your voice. “Thank you, Bucky.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you just look at each other, his eyes burning with something you don’t fully understand, but you get that some part of him is struggling like you to understand how to say goodbye.

Instead of going on his way Bucky offers to help you with the bags and you easily accept. The side walk up to your building is frozen and, even though you walk with care you slip on the ice. You’re prepared to hit the floor but all you feel is Bucky’s strong arms keeping you up as you’re suddenly firmly pressed against his chest. “Careful…” His voice is deeper and right at your ear, sending shivers down your spine as his arm firmly wraps your waist.

You can’t help how your heart reacts as you feel him so close, his scent is all over your senses and you can’t tell if he is really warm or if you're just getting hotter by his closeness.

He tries to move back to look at you but it’s his time to slip. You help him steady himself but this time, as the both of you hold onto each other for dear life, as soon as you make eye contact you can’t help but laugh.

Just as you think you’re good and can move, both of you end up on the freezing floor, a loud ripping sound echoing in the night air. “Was that my pants or my muscles?” That does it and you break into a fit of laughter again as he tries to examine his pants.

You end up being able to drag Bucky out of the frozen patch and, once you’re recovered and at your doorstep, the silence gets heavy again. Bucky stands closer than he has throughout the night and at this point you really don’t care if he notices the impact it has on you.

“Good night, Bucky.” You finally manage to say. When he responds your name lingers in the air, his voice soft and heavy around it, and just as you think he’s going to leave, his hand gently lays on the back of your head pulling you forward as his lips gently rests against your forehead.

“And don’t look at my pants as I leave.” He says as he reluctantly moves away, successfully making you chuckle and making his previous gesture a little lighter.

You watch him from the window as he makes his way to the car, carefully walking through the ice as his hands cover his pants. You smile before processing the information and the warmth growing in your chest. “I’m a cheater!” You say in disbelief at the cat sitting besides you. “I have feelings for Bucky!”

BONUS

Bucky has been staring at Steve for a long time, feeling stupid for not knowing how to talk to him even though he is in a coma. He keeps shuffling the deck of cards in his hands nervously and as he deals the cards he finally speaks. “You’ve always been terrible at cards…. Lucky in love though.” Bucky can’t help but smile at the memories. “You know, every time I got into trouble, at school or at home, they would tell me to be ‘more like Steve’. I never had a problem with that, always been proud of you, Stevie. And even after everything I was never envious of anything you had…” He takes a deep breath, he has already accepted the feeling but it is still hard to lay them out. “Until now.”

He has not been able to stop thinking about last night, even though he knows it’s wrong, everything just felt so right. The way she made him feel, how easy it was to be himself around her and how his heart almost leapt out of his chest when he held her close. All Bucky wanted was to be near her, but the thought of spending the rest of his life around her while she wasn’t his was excruciating.

“What do you say, I’ll cut the deck, high card gets her?” He places the deck in front of Steve and flips a card towards him, another facing himself. Bucky slowly turns Steve’s card to check it and, as soon as he sees the ace, drops the cards on top of the deck and begins to shuffle again. “Okay, we’ll go best out of three.”

If you're here, thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked this chapter and having more Bucky this time around.

I felt like I needed to include Alpine in this one to pay homage to the cats in the movie. In my head, once they get together, Alpine is absolutely Bucky's baby and you'd walk into him baby talking to her all the time or struggling to do tasks cause he just cannot put her down.

Oh, and I kinda fell down a rabbit hole reading about the oldest bakeries in New York, so Veniero's is a real place that has been open since 1894 (which is absolutely wild). I like to think Bucky and Steve would gather as much spare money as they had and share some pastry from there once in a while, especially when life was rough. Bucky never told anyone or took anyone there as he wanted to keep it as Steve and his place, but after he hurt you all he could think about was how much he wanted to comfort you and that if it worked for him and Steve it surely could work for you.

And as for the next part.... get ready for some mistletoe and surprises...

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #marvel #while you were sleeping #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction

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thundernator7 · 5 months ago

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When looking at Jimmy's rape of Anya and Curly's failure to address it, I think it's important to recognize Pony Express's own role in it. Like with other workplaces, Pony Express's policies not only enables but encourages and protects Rapists. Within the opening scene, when Jimmy steers the ship towards the asteroid, the entire crew has their pay docked despite being completely unaware of what Jimmy is doing. Just like the crash, Pony Express's policies forces the entire crew to bare the consequences of Jimmy's actions. Rather than discourage Jimmy's actions, all it does is punish the rest of the crew as well. Anya was afraid to speak up about Jimmy raping her not only because the power he held over her as Co-Captain and him being Curly's best friend, but also the fear that if she speaks than she and the rest of her crewmates would be punished as well. She, along with everyone else except Daisuke and maybe Curly, were all struggling financially as well. If Anya's rape was reported to Pony Express, then the crew's entire pay would be docked. They would punish Anya and the rest of the crew for her pregnancy. So instead, she remains quiet and is forced to endure Jimmy's abuse and sexual harassment until her pregnancy puts her in a place where she can longer hide it. Furthermore, asides from Curly's own enabling of Jimmy's horrid actions and his own misplaced empathy, Pony Express policies discouraged Jimmy from taking action. Yet unlike Anya, Curly's ignorant to just how awful Pony Express is. While we don't know exactly how long Curly's been working for Pony Express, like his friendship with Jimmy, we can assume it's been for a while. And like his friendship with Jimmy, Curly is not only ignorant towards, but also downplays and excuses Pony Express's harmful behavior.

Anya: "Why do you think Pony Express puts a lock on the medical room doors but not the sleeping quarters?" Curly: "I suppose for the same reason they put a lock on the cockpit. Safety." Rather than recognize the lack of privacy for his crewmates as a problem, he instead tries to excuse and rationalize Pony Express's actions. Similar to how he tries to rationalize Jimmy's awful character. Curly's employment with Pony Express mirrors his friendship with Jimmy where his passivity enables their abusive behavior and hurts those around him as well. Not only does Curly refuse to speak up or do anything about Anya's rape or the lack of locks, but he also: 1) Fails to object when they're forced to take in an intern despite only having enough resources and cryopods for 4 people. 2) Doesn't say anything about the unsafe working environment for both Swansea and Daisuke. 3) How Anya's not only the nurse but also women on the ship while everyone. Like with Jimmy, Curly's blind loyalty and passivity towards Pony Express, enables their awful abuse. Instead of doing the right thing and accept the consequences that come with it, he instead chooses to remain blind and takes the easy way out. Now none of this excuses either Jimmy's or Curly's actions or lack thereof. Jimmy's still responsible for raping Anya, trying to kill everyone in a suicide crash and forcing everyone to suffer. Meanwhile, Curly's the one who decided to hire Jimmy as Co-Captain despite being aware that he's an Ex-con, not Pony Express. Yes, they allowed it when they shouldn't of, but it was ultimately Curly's decision to hire him. And Curly still holds the blame for placing his friendship with Jimmy over Anya's safety and the rest of his crew. However, Pony Express's policies and workplace culture created an environment where Anya is forced to remain silent, Jimmy's sexual abuse of her is enabled, and the only person able to help her, Curly, is too submissive towards them both for him to be of any of help.

#mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #pony express #Anya #Curly #Jimmy

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thebeast-dennis-etcetera · 1 year ago

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Remember Us

Note: I changed the request just a little to make it more authentic to the shows storyline and Gibbs’ character.

“Do you have to go right now?” you groaned, rolling over in bed to hide your face in your fiancés chest. Jethro wrapped his arms around you and placed a kiss on your head.

“Things are moving quicker than anticipated. They want me on the ship asap.”

The thought of Jethro in the middle of a possible terrorist plot made your stomach twist, especially when you knew you still needed to tell him that you two were now expecting, but if you didn’t tell him now and something happened, you’d never forgive yourself.

You decided you would tell him once he was fully awake, waiting until he finished his shower and getting dressed.

“Hey Jet,” you started as he brushed his teeth.

“Hm?”

He rinsed his mouth and walked over to you as you sit on the edge of your shared bed, twiddling your thumbs nervously. He noticed and took your hands in his.

“I’m gonna be fine sweetheart. I’ve done plenty of undercover ops. This one is no different,” he reassured, misplacing the reason for your nerves.

“I know, it’s not that, exactly. I- uh- just don’t know how to say-

“What’s the matter hun?”

“I’m pregnant Jethro.”

It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop as his eyes got a little wider as he blinked bewilderedly.

“You’re what?”

“Pregnant. I’m about 3 weeks along. Just got the results from the doctor yesterday.”

He continued not to say anything and you started getting worried. Worried that he wasn’t ready. You two had talked about having a child but never really planned anything.

“Jet. Can you say something? Please.”

He finally took a deep breath and exhaled, letting your hands go so he could run them through his hair.

“Uh- this is definitely unexpected.”

“I know we’ve been careful but I think it happened that night at the Gala. We were both pretty drunk,” you began rambling but Jethro stopped you.

“Hey, I’m not mad. This is great. We’re gonna be a family.”

You smiled, completely relieved at his reaction and jumped up to give him a hug which he chuckled at.

“I’m gonna have to make room in the basement for my new crib project now. Do you like oak or maple better?”

“You choose babe. It’ll be your present to them,” you said leaned back to give him a kiss.

“Oak it is then.”

————

It was late when you raced through the entrance to the Emergency Department. You would’ve been there sooner if you weren’t literally in the middle of a major surgery and didn’t have anyone to cover for you. Luckily, the hospital that Jethro was brought to was

You spotted the sign in desk and made your way over, pulling out your id.

“I’m here to see Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He should be out of surgery by now.”

The nurse gave you a visitor badge and a quick rundown on how to get to his room. You wasted no time and it took everything in you not to just absolutely sprint down the corridors.

Once you reached the room, you walked in and was not expecting to see the Director of NCIS to be sitting at your fiancés bedside, holding his hand.

“Jenny,” you greeted flatly. She released her grasp and stood up before clearing her throat.

“I was just keeping an eye on him until you arrived. He’s in a stable condition but still in a coma. The doctor said-

“I know. He told me too,” you cut her short. You knew all about Jethro and the Director’s relationship, and for the most part it didn’t bother you because you trusted Jethro but Jenny was another story. You knew she still had some feelings for him and seeing her here with him before you irked you.

“Alright. Well I’ll leave you too then,” she stated before collecting her purse and walking out, your eyes following her all the way. Once the door shut behind her, you stood in the same place she had been in and looked down at his sleeping figure. His head was bandaged and burns adorned parts of his face, pulling at your heartstrings. Your hand found his as you leaned in to place a small kiss on his forehead.

“You said this op was no different Jet. You promised me you were going to be ok,” you whispered, trying not to cry.

For the rest of the night, you sat by his bedside, praying he’d wake up or even just squeeze your hand. The doctor assigned to him had a cot sent up so you could also catch some sleep.

The next morning, you were wakened by the door opening. Picking your head up from the edge of the bed, you winced at the sharp pain in your neck and saw Dr. Mallard standing there.

“Goodness dear, have you been here all night?” he asked, looking over at the untouched cot.

“I couldn’t leave him Ducky. I wanted to be here when he woke up.”

He sighed knowingly and pulled a chair up beside you.

“Well I hope you don’t mind if I join you for a little bit?”

You nodded and he took a seat, putting a comforting hand on your arm.

“We’re expecting Ducky.”

You didn’t mind the doctor knowing about the pregnancy. He was one of Jethro’s closest friends and you came to trust him completely as well.

“That’s wonderful Y/N. You two are going to be great parents.”

Looking at Jethro’s chest rise and fall rhythmically, you spoke lightly. “I can’t do it on my own Duck. He needs to wake up. Who’s going to make all the baby furniture and paint the nursery?”

“He’ll wake up Y/N. Just give him some time.”

You wiped the tears from your eyes and took in a shaky breath.

“I hope so Duck. I really hope so.”

————

You were literally gone for less than 5 minutes to grab something to eat when Jethro decided to wake up. You arrived to his doorway just as he got done telling Ducky he didn’t remember him.

“Jethro?” you called softly, everyone turning to look at you. You made your way over to his bedside, fearing the worst.

“Do you remember me Jethro?”

He focused hard on your face before shaking his head no. Not being able to hold back your emotions, you down in sobs and walked out of the room with Ducky following.

“Just give him some more time Y/N. Retrograde amnesia is very common for coma patients that suffered head trauma.”

He pulled you in for a hug and held him tight, hoping he was right.

————

The next couple of days were terrible as Jethro recovered physically but still couldn’t remember who you were or the life you two shared. Somehow he managed to remember Jenny and their time together which only made you feel worse but there was nothing you could do about it. It hurt so badly and had come to the point where you couldn’t take the constant rejection and decided to stay with your mother until he recovered completely.

You received occasional updates from Jethro’s team about his memory state but they never spoke the words you wanted to hear. So the only thing you could do was compartmentalize and keep your mind busy with long hours at the hospital.

The rain and thunder outside reflected your mood as you unenthusiastically put a sandwich together. You had absolutely no appetite but knew you needed to eat for the baby’s health. A knock at the door startled you as you glanced at the microwave that read 2am.

You walked over and saw Jethro standing out on the porch, soaked from the rain. You opened the door quickly, with a smile on your face but it faded when you saw his furrowed brows. He still didn’t remember you.

“I know we have something together Y/N- I get these small flashbacks, small snippets of us together, but never the full memory. The team tells me all about you and how happy you made me. I want that. I want to remember,” he started. “I need your help. Help me to remember.”

You stepped out onto the cold porch barefoot to stand close to him and did the only logical thing you could think of. You took his face in your hands and pulled him in for a deep kiss. If this didn’t work, then you were all out of ideas.

His hands tentatively placed themselves on your waist, slowly deepening the kiss as the butterflies fluttered in your chest. It happened every time you kissed Jethro, even though you’ve known him for years. When you felt his breath hitch, you pulled away and searched his face for an answer.

“Do you remember now Jet?”

Another faltered breath and he nodded his head slowly.

“You’re pregnant,” were his next words, bringing the smile back to your face.

“Yes.”

Ecstatic, you jumped into his arms and he caught you easily.

“Jethro, I missed you so much,” you breathed into his neck, tears falling.

“I know baby. I’m so sorry I took so long. Please forgive me.”

“You don’t have to apologize Jet, it wasn’t your fault.”

He set you back down and tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear. Your clothes were damp from hugging him and the thin pajamas you had on did nothing to stop the cold stormy wind from sending a chill through you. You hadn’t realized your mother walking up behind you until Jethro turned his attention towards her.

“Look at you two, kissing and talking in the rain like some cheesy rom-com. It’s like one of Y/N’s dreams,” she teased, making you roll your eyes in slight embarrassment.

“It’s good to see you M/N,” he answered with a smile before giving her a tentative hug, careful not to get her wet.

“You too Jethro. Now both of you get home before you catch a cold.”

You ran inside to grab your purse and shoes before hugging your mom and following your fiancé quickly to his truck. Jethro drove through the streets, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your tummy.

#gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis #ncis fanfiction #agent gibbs #mark harmon #ncis request #jethro gibbs x reader #ncis imagine #jethro gibbs fanfiction

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urhoneycombwitch · 1 year ago

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in sickness, to cherish

foreword: so excited to release this lil’ babe into the world. PTSD and trauma healing is of special interest to me, I hope you enjoy 💖 (p.s. from my limited research I don’t think they would have used a heart monitor for low-risk patients but it is literally integral to my plot so I’m breaking my anachronistic purity rule. soz)

cw: descriptions of seizure, PTSD + hospital/medical trauma for the whole gang, brief mention of non-consensual drugging, R is referred to once as “Mrs” & “girlfriend”, angst w/ comfort

wc: 3k

___

The mounted clock on the wall of the dingy Hawkins Memorial waiting room ticks over to nine PM, a brutal reminder that time (for everyone else, at least) has not, in fact, stopped.

Nine o’clock. As you pace from one end of the plastic chair-lined aisle to the other, you run the numbers in your head, fingers spastic at your sides- it’s nine right now, and Steve was admitted just after six, which means they’ve been running tests for three hours, even though the charge nurse said it should only take one…

”You wanna step outside for a smoke?”

Eddie speaks up from his seat at the end of the row, catching your bleary gaze before you’re turning on your heel again to complete your looping track.

His voice cuts smoothly over the buzzing fluorescents, the old television in the corner droning with last week’s news cycle; it’s enough to disrupt Robin from her half-sleep against Eddie’s shoulder, blinking into consciousness and stretching her stiff limbs as you respond.

“No, thanks.” Your hands slip to the inside of your elbows, squeezing through layers of soft cardigan in a near-bruise, feet continuing the rhythmic pacing. “You can go, though- I’ll make sure Robin comes to get you if anything happens.”

Eddie clears his throat, sinking back into the hard plastic, rings clicking at the armrests. “Nah, I’m good without one. Just thought you’d want a change of scenery, maybe some fresh air would calm-”

“I’m staying here.”

There’s a sharpness to your voice, a rarity- Robin winces, fingers in her lap twisting and fidgeting as she tries to change the subject. “God, Steve’s gonna be spitting mad when he wakes up. He’s the most doctor-adverse person I know.”

Eddie latches on to this with a humorless chuckle- “Stubborn bastard. Wouldn’t let those lab goons go near him, even after last year-”

“Fuck.” The swear comes from the bottom of your toes, even as you swivel on the balls of your feet to loop back in front of your friends; their faces snap to you, a blur of motion as you pass them again- “You’re right. Steve fucking hates doctors. I should’ve-”

Your next breath comes stilted, fingers a vice-grip on your own arms as you pace, pace, pace- “I should’ve treated this like taking a dog to a vet. Crushed up some pills in his food, or something- he never listens to me when I nag him about his hearing getting worse- do you know how many meals, how many glasses of water we share, every day?”

From the corner of your hazy vision, Robin’s gone still and pale, her voice tremulous- “I didn’t mean to imply- this isn’t your fault, you know-”

But you’re not ready to hear that, guilt surfacing like a sick wave, tears pooling, moments away from spilling over, voice trembling with anguish- “Could’ve been so easy, tell him we’re going for a ride, load him up into the passenger seat, he goes to sleep and I could’a passed him right off to a doctor, to someone who could have prevented this-”

Eddie rises from his seat to stand in the middle of your path, hands lifting to soothe and appease, but you’re still in flight mode, like a bird beating its wings against the confines of its cage.

You flinch away from his touch, standing with your back turned to them both, staring out the dark window, unseeing. “You know what Steve said to me? Right before he hit the ground? He said, ‘Don’t panic, I’m gonna pass out, try not to let my hair get too messed up.’”

An edge of misplaced humor draws a dry laugh from your throat. The dark window reflects your own face back- tear-streaked, red veins encroaching on the whites of your eyes- as you shake your head in disbelief. “He made a joke. To try and distract me from the fact that he was about to hit the ground and go all… all spastic-”

Unbidden flashes of memory surge to the forefront of your mind: victims of last spring. Twisted forms snapped at the bone, Max’s arms and legs bent at horrifying angles, plaster casts from head-to-toe, freckled face still and sallow against the starch-white hospital sheets-

A leather-jacketed form in the reflection behind you, Eddie’s hand solid on your back against the shuddering breaths wracking all the air from your lungs. You don’t flinch away this time.

Your beautiful boy. Steve. With his eye-crinkling smiles and sharp wit and gentle heart, stiff as a board in the middle of your living room, eyes rolled back in his skull like a downed deer, unreachable, just three hours ago.

“I thought it was Vecna. It’s been so long but I thought he’d come back, somehow, I was this close to running upstairs and grabbing our Walkman-”

”But you didn’t.” The hand at your back is joined by another at your arm as Eddie pulls you to face him, his gaze locking on your own, brown eyes full of grave compassion. “You heard the nurse. She said tipping him on his side was the best call you could’a made, sweetheart- you saved him.”

”But I didn’t know,” you insist, “I didn’t know that’s what would help, I just did it ‘cuz I was worried he was going to choke on his own tongue-”

“Semantics. You intuited it, then.” One of Eddie’s hands leaves your arm briefly to make a dismissive gesture through the air- “Which, in my book, is all the more impressive.”

Unconvinced, your voice small and tightening along with your chest- “What if this happens again, and he’s alone, this time? What if he’s working one of his three closing shifts a week, without Robin- what if he’s driving?”

You can’t help the spiraling of your thoughts, what-if scenarios jumping in line, each one more horrifying than the last.

Robin rises to stand beside Eddie, opens her mouth- to deny, to comfort, it’s unclear- but is interrupted by a new nurse who’s just appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Harrington?”

This snaps you back to earth, a bit, another watery laugh as Eddie takes a step back, allowing you to swipe at the mess of tears on your face before turning to the nurse- “Yeah. As good as, I guess. How’s he doing?”

With a last look at your friends, the nurse leads you down sickeningly-bright corridors while reading from a clipboard- most of it’s medical jargon, your foggy brain struggling to keep up as you stay on her heels.

What you gather, as you’re led to his room, is nothing new- Steve’s had a seizure, likely due to the trauma his brain incurred from the ‘earthquake’ of ‘86, and it’s unclear what triggered it, or if it’s likely to happen again.

“We’re going to keep him overnight, just to monitor his condition.” The nurse stops at a door labeled Room 202, hinges squeaking as she pushes it open. “He was really lucky, this time. Must’ve had a good guardian angel looking out for him.”

Heart thrumming thick in your throat, you almost ask the nurse to wait, to give you a second- maybe a quick bathroom break to splash some cold water against the tear-tracks, or even an extra few seconds to pretend at being stoic- but she’s already ushering you in with a kind smile.

The nurse pulls the door shut, and you’re left alone with the boy in the bed.

He looks exhausted, dark circles pulling at the soft skin below his eyes, which are full of relief, trained on you as you approach.

“Hey, there’s my girl.” There’s a scratchy quality to Steve’s voice, on its way to being lost.

You were doing really well, no crying or anything, before he spoke. But hearing him, paired with the awful sight of a medical cord wrapping around the width of his broad chest, has your face crumpling in an instant.

“Oh, shit. Aw, honey. C’mere-” Steve reaches for you, halfway to sitting up off his supporting pillows, and you quickly close the gap, sitting near his hip on the bed.

“No, hey- stay down,” you chide through the tears, pushing at the shoulder of his white hospital tee. “Don’t put any stress on your body.”

“Cut the stress, she says,” Steve grumbles, leaning back against the stack of pillows but compromising by pulling you in closer. “My baby’s crying, and she tells me no stress?”

His left palm slips over your cheek, thumb swiping away tears, while his right hand- IV taped flat over the back of it- slides to rest on your waist.

”Gonna tell me what’s wrong, hm?”

Under different circumstances, you’d laugh at his question- christ, where did he want you to start: but with that amber gaze so full of empathy, desperate to fix what’s making you sad, you’re stripped raw with sincerity.

”I was just- I was so scared, Steve-”

Steve pulls your face towards his, needily, a breath away from begging for a kiss before you lean in for one.

He tastes salty, like sweat and tears, lips plush and softly seeking against the seam of your own. Between the kisses, he’s mumbling apologies, “sorry, so sorry”, broken by the need to be as close to you as all the medical gear will allow.

There’s a soft noise from the back of his throat, and you pull away just enough to bump your nose into his, hands running up to push through the soft strands of his hair.

Steve practically purrs under your touch; you’re careful not to disturb the tubing wrapping around the length of his chest, leaning your weight into his shoulders instead.

A vein of hilarity spikes as you remember Steve’s last words before he went under: and here you were, fingers pulling at his dark roots, breaking his one request. When you start to giggle, Steve’s eyes pop open, baffled, hair sticking up at the ends when your fingers leave his hair. Both hands now squeezing at your hips, he feels left out of the joke- “What?”

“I just- nothing. Never mind. I’m really glad you’re okay.” It’s the truth. You frame his lovely face with your hands, kissing his forehead once before sitting up fully. “I don’t wanna fight about it here, okay? Let’s just focus on you feeling better, and then-”

“See, now, wait a minute-” Steve holds up a finger to interrupt. “You don’t get it. I’ve been hoping and praying for hours now that my pretty girlfriend would come in here just so we could have a good fight.”

He tweaks at the skin of your hips (with the IV-hand, so you can’t just smack it away, dammit), smiling up at you far too dreamily for someone reclining in a hospital bed.

Settling against the length of Steve’s torso, your arms cross over his stomach just under the tubing as you start, carefully- “You know, Max had one of these- when she was in the hospital?”

”Yeah, you’re right.” Steve’s hands worm their way under both your cardigan sleeves, seeking out the comfort of skin like a magnet- “Think it tracks heart rate. Or something.”

“Mm-hm. And… you know how she had to go to physical therapy three times a week? For, like, half the school year?”

Steve’s thumbs swipe absently at your wrists, a line pinched between his brows, trying to piece together your angle. “…yeah?”

“Takes a lot of time, to heal from something like that.” Your eyes drop to his chest, throat swelling with the effort of holding back a sob. “And I’m just- just thinking of all the times you might be alone, and how we could have prevented this, and-”

“Hey, hey, hey- shhh…” Steve soothes, shaking his head. “Honey, it was inevitable, okay? Nothing we could’a done. The doc told me this shit can happen, like, years after a big event. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Fighting against the wall of emotion that makes speaking harder, you return his head shake, desperate for understanding- “But you can’t promise that, baby. You had a seizure- an actual, medical emergency, and… we don’t know if it’ll happen again.”

With a purposeful straightening of your spine, you state, resolutely: “I want a different promise.”

Steve presses the crown of his head back into the pillows, melodramatic, resurfacing with a tsk. “So stubborn. What promise you want, then, huh?”

”I want you to promise that you’ll see a doctor- a real one. A head guy. Not some… family medicine quack.”

Steve grins, charming even while unusually pale- “I love it when you talk medical, really gets me going-”

He decides to bail on the rest of that sentence when he sees the flare of irritation on its way to real anger in your face, raising both hands in appeasement- “Okay. Hey- I promise to see a real head doc. I don’t intend on putting you through this again.”

WIth a sigh, you surge forward again, mumbling “Thank you” into Steve’s lips, a kiss of relief and gratitude. Best news you’ve heard all day.

His groans vibrate through you, hands running down the length of your side, near the bottom of your cardigan; you squeak at the intrusion of his cold palms on the bare skin of your waist but they warm quickly, and you’re willingly distracted as his tongue presses against the seam of your lips.

Perhaps not exactly hospital-appropriate, but as it’s been an evening full of adrenaline-filled panic and heartache, you figure some making out might be a good cure for the both of you.

“Won’t scare you like that again,” Steve says, lips already pink and spit-slick, intense and breathless as he clings to you between kisses- “Gonna be okay. You saved me, angel. Love you s’much…”

Your hand, previously resting on Steve’s knee, automatically slides up at his words, notching into the soft expanse of his inner thigh over the thin sheets- “Love you too, so much…”

A bright, electronic noise jolts into frantic beeping- the monitor that Steve’s hooked up to is loud enough to startle you into sitting up.

There’s no time to process or even rearrange yourselves before the nurse from earlier bustles into the room to glare at the machine’s screen; best you can do is a swipe across your mouth, hopefully hiding any evidence of moments-ago spit-swappage as you stammer out, “Um, yeah, sorry- h-he was trying to sit up and that set it off, I guess…?”

Steve lies placid and amenable against his pillows, giving the nurse a gold-medal grin, which unfortunately does nothing to allay her suspicions.

“Uh-huh.” The monitor alarm is stopped short with the press of a few buttons, and she gives Steve a sideways look, clipboard tucked under her arm- “You ready for your other visitors, Mr. Harrington, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

“Bring forth the party, Patricia.” Steve folds his hands behind his head, wincing when his IV gets bumped but covering it with a wink.

Nurse Patricia leaves. You cover your heated face, mortified- “Oh my god. She probably thought I was giving you a handjob or something, jesus, Steve-”

He’s outright laughing at you now, unable to help it- “Come on, no she didn’t. And even if she did…”

Steve is momentarily distracted, frowning down at his chest, following the monitor’s line to the machine; you watch through cracked fingers, his face lighting up, triumphant. “See, I bet if we unplug it from the wall same time as disconnecting it from here, we might be able to fit a handy under the radar, after all!”

Robin and Eddie enter the room just as you’re swatting Steve’s shoulder; over your subdued and mildly horrified laughter, he groans in faux-pain: “God, you two got here just in time. She’s beating me up for no reason.”

As Eddie settles into the plastic chair under the opposing wall’s window, you scooch down the mattress, patting the side closest to Steve with an encouraging smile at Robin.

She takes the seat, appreciative, her clammy hand slipping into yours for support as she addresses Steve: “Y’know, if you did this to get out of doing inventory this weekend, you could just say so.”

“You caught me, Robs,” Steve says, thumbing over her knuckles fondly. “Finally gonna join my conspiracy to make Keith’s life hell?”

You’re about to cut in, emphasizing that no one else should be making any hospital visits, when a metallic screech has the three of you on the bed whipping around.

Eddie’s managed to crack the barred window- judging by the sound, it hasn’t been opened since the 70s. He freezes with all the attention, then speaks around the cigarette clenched between his lips, suave again- “Pardon the interruption. Anyone else care for a smoke?”

Everyone in the room blinks at him, in various stages of disbelief; Steve starts laughing, first, which gets Robin going, and eventually you, too, until Eddie’s grinning around the cigarette, lighter halfway to his mouth as he chuckles- “Well, can’t say I didn’t offer…”

Robin makes a comment about nicotine fumes, which quickly devolves into her and Eddie fiercely bickering.

The elevated chatter of your friends fades into the background as Steve takes your hand atop the sheets, head tilted to get you in his line of sight again- love you, he mouths.

Love you, too.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader

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deareststars · 2 months ago

Text

but you want what I can't give to you (james wilson x reader)

title taken from bite the hand by boygenius, continued under the cut. (involves cheating, general house meanness, etc.)

i'll eventually combine all of these one-shots into a large work, but this is the (angst) continuation of the other one-shot i had posted a few days ago!

The weight of realization doesn’t hit you like the shoe that House said that it would. It doesn’t leave you in a gasp of shock, or even in the form of tears rolling down your face. It leaves your mouth as nothing more than a quiet, “Oh.”

You’re glad you’re the only one in the locker room. It gives you the grace to sit down on the bench, your legs weak underneath you. You stare up at the still-open locker door. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience—and you don’t know why you’re so surprised.

After all, it’s something that you should have seen coming.

You stare down at the simple, black, ballpoint pen in your hands. All of it is generic, save for the scuffing of the metal clip and the golden center band. This is Wilson’s pen, the one that he uses for everything. You can see it in the stationery cup on his desk, or peeking out from his white coat.

He told you that he had misplaced it. He probably did. It just wasn’t somewhere you could have foreseen.

You set the pen down on the bench next to you and lean forward, gazing emptily at the ground between your feet. It was a harmless request from a girl at the nurse’s station; she had forgotten her jacket and had asked you to grab it from her locker, since she needed to finish charting.

You should have never said yes. You likely would have found out eventually. The signs have been there for weeks, ever since the first night that Wilson said guiltily that he wouldn’t have time to see you at his apartment after the two of you got off work that day. And then it was every other day, and soon you only saw him when he deigned to have lunch with you. But you were so blinded by your determination to make things last.

And maybe, the longer you had gone without knowing, the more it would have hurt. But the realization could have come years after everyone’s warnings stopped, after House’s blunt criticisms and Cameron’s gentle reminders faded into nothingness. You could have been happy, and later let surprise backhand you across the face to save you from the embarrassment now doing so instead.

You grasp the pen tightly. What you would do now, to have the anger and vitriol to bend it in half. Instead, you think back to House’s words. “People never change,” you echo under your breath with a bitter smile.

You contemplate pretending that you had never known. All you had to do was go home to Wilson and say that you had found his pen on the ground. Or, better yet, have your own petty revenge and hide it somewhere so he would never see it again. If only losing a pen hurt as much as you do now, rather than being a minor inconvenience. But you could keep playing this charade, and if Wilson had yet to say anything, you’re certain he would have no qualms doing the same.

But, again, you’ve known this whole time that something was wrong. And with what you know now, how could you keep going through the motions when you don’t have blind affection as an excuse anymore?

That’s how you find yourself standing there in Wilson’s apartment, long after the sun has set. He looks up from a book, and the corners of his lips curl into that charming smile. He gets up from the sofa, opening his mouth to say something.

Without a word, you hold the pen out to him. “Missing something?”

His gaze drops to the pen. His mouth opens and closes. “I—”

“It’s been gone for a few weeks now,” you continue. “But, funnily enough, I found it.”

He clears his throat. “Where?”

You stay quiet until he finally meets your gaze. And you can tell: he knows that you know. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and the air grows unbearably tense.

You wait for him to say something. Anything that would tell you: yes, it really is worth it to ache on someone else’s behalf. That your nonsense, spouting about the natural human condition, had true anecdotal evidence. Your own blood in your hands didn’t have to be moronic or self-defeating; if he said it just the right way, you could forgive him. You could point and laugh in House’s face, proud that you had bet on the winning dog this time.

But instead, he squeezes his eyes shut. He draws a hand out from his pocket to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“It’s not—” He cuts himself off.

It’s not what you think.

You both know that's bullshit.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead.

It’s genuine. But not the way you want it. Not one from love, or from anger at himself. Not even one to cover his ass, which you would’ve preferred. At least then you could address him with the anger that he deserved.

It’s an apology of guilt. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t change for you.”

Your heart climbs to your throat. All you can choke out is a quiet, “House was right.”

He doesn’t move from his spot. You breeze through his apartment, thankful that you had never left more than a change of clothes and some travel-sized toiletries here. Within the span of a few moments, you’re back at the door, turned away from him.

You grab your keys and fumble with the key ring. Locating Wilson’s spare, the one he had given you, you throw it at him. He catches it in one hand; the moment it makes contact, it’s as if reality catches up to him.

“W-Wait, you can’t just leave,” he sputters. “It’s…late.”

“I would rather walk home in the dark and get hit by a car than be here with you right now,” you snap back, and he flinches.

You wrench open the door. Sentences and phrases flood your mind, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of saying anything more. Instead, the door slams shut behind you, and you don’t look back.

You're unsure where to go. Your own home has memories, and you don't know if you can be alone with your thoughts right now. The hospital is quite a drive. You can't stomach another person's pity right now.

But there is one person who likely won't give you that.

You question the integrity of your decision even as you walk to your car. Regardless, on autopilot, you find yourself knocking at a familiar door.

"I'm naked right now! Don't wanna see, you should definitely go away!"

"It beats walking back home right now," you reply loudly.

There's a moment of silence (you wonder if you've managed to surprise him) before a shuffling gait approaches the door. It swings open, revealing a disheveled and thankfully fully-clothed House.

“Wow, you look pitiful.”

You shake your head. “House, please.”

He barely steps aside, but it’s enough room for you to squeeze past him. “The honeymoon phase finally ended? I feel like ‘I told you so’ is an appropriate statement, but you’re probably not here for me to state the obvious.”

You don't bother asking how he knew why you're there. Instead, you sit down on his couch and dump your bag next to you. “Whiskey.”

“You don’t have it at your place?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “So you come all the way here to steal some of mine?”

“Yours is better. Plus, I don’t drink.”

He snorts. “We all say that until we do.” He meanders over to his whiskey collection, picks one that’s half-full, and pours it into a rocks glass. You accept it and hold it up to him in mock gratitude, then knock back half of it. The burning fills your throat and sears all the way down, but it takes your mind off the psychological pain.

You lean your head back into the sofa. “Should I tell you that you were right now? Or do you want me to wait?”

“Delayed or immediate gratification?” he muses. He takes a seat next to you, having poured his own glass. “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to immediate gratification.”

“You were right.” You take another sip, set the glass down, and press the heels of your palms into your eyes. You would never in a million years cry in front of House, but you do feel yourself getting close to it now that the adrenaline of finding out about Wilson's infidelity is starting to wear off. "I found his stupid black pen in a nurse's locker. I thought he might've tried to deny it, but he didn't. He just...apologized."

"And that made it all better?"

You drop your hands into your lap, but keep staring up at the ceiling. "Of course not. He wasn't apologizing because he was sorry for cheating."

He hums thoughtfully. "That's my boy. I give him one point for not saying things he doesn't mean. And from you, my friend, I take away one point because you go date him, then come crying to me because he couldn’t keep it in his pants, just like I told you he would. You’re a bad psychologist, but at least you’re not a bad researcher. Always have to test and observe evidence for yourself.”

You huff out a derisive laugh. “Yeah. There’s the silver lining of the situation I was looking for.”

“Thankfully, I won’t have to follow through on our shovel talk. It was a good one, I’ll give myself that, but it would’ve been such a waste of time.”

There’s something in his voice. You look over at him. He’s impassive as always (if you didn’t know him so well, the boredom would almost be insulting). One hand rests on top of his bad leg, but the other digs its fingers into the couch cushions.

Despite everything, you can’t help but smile faintly. You grab your glass again and swirl the liquid around. “True. You have so many better things to do than follow me around to the ends of the Earth.”

“Plus, it would’ve been a waste of a perfectly good cane.” He grabs said cane from the side of the couch and inspects the shaft. “I mean, I wouldn’t have to break it to break your shins. But maybe, in our hypothetical, you would have started wearing shin guards. Those would definitely scuff the wood.”

It’s surreal, discussing the logistics of such a bizarre thought problem, but it’s ironically grounding at the same time. You grow more relaxed, sinking into the couch; and eventually, as you take over the conversation, you don’t miss that House listens to everything you have to say.

#reader insert #x reader #gregory house #house md #james wilson #one shot #tw cheating

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