Ghost rushing into the room programmer!reader is when they suddenly squeal, immediately coming to stand next to them.
“Did you finish it?” He asks, knowing that the information you can extract with this new program is extremely valuable for the operation although the slow process.
“Nope!” You reply, though still grinning ear to ear, making him raise a brow at you.
“Why the hell are you happy then?”
“Oh— the error code changed so i must be doing something right.” He stares at you as you give him a loopy grin, before going back to your clicking again. Sometimes he wonders if you’re even qualified for this or you hacked your way into being hired.
Hybrid!141 and fem!reader, but the task force thinks they're pregnant.
It started with an appointment for birth control. Simple, right? Not when you have a military-trained bomb sniffing werewolf on your team. Soap's the one who smells it first, the shift in hormones. Many hormonal birth controls essentially stimulate pregnancy hormones, but the wolf's nose can't tell the difference between the real and fake thing.
For a few days, nothing happens. Soap can smell the shift, but it takes a little to realize what it is, and then a bit more before he was sure it wasn't some fleeting thing. Thats when he tells Gaz. The two whisper about it during lunch, eyeing Reader as they get their food.
"I'm tellin' ya. Got the same sense when my cousin had her first." Soap says in a low tone, food all but forgotten.
Gaz looks skeptical. "It's not that I don't believe you.. I just haven't noticed anything." Feathered wings are held still, like that would make the blatant staring less obvious.
Soap lets out a chuff, "Ah, I wouldn't expect an egg-layer to understand." Gaz opens his mouth to correct Soap's terminology, when a gruff voice startles the two.
"You two look like creeps." Ghost chides in a flat tone, not even bothering to subdue his own staring. "Why you blokes pervin' anyway?"
That's how Ghost found out the "secret". And what Ghost knows, Price ends up knowing. And the Captain is fucking beside himself when he learned. Ghost stares blankly at the dragon as he paces back and forth in his office. Both pretending they don't see the sergeants peeking through the door.
"You really think so?" Price asks, running a hand through his hair.
"That's what Soap said. And he does sniff bombs for a livin" Ghost says simply.
"When did it happen?"
"No clue."
"..Who's the father?"
Ghost opens his mouth to say he doesn't know, but the revelation makes him pause. So, after a second be turns the office door where Gaz and Soap linger. "Oi, who knocked 'em up?" Ghost's crude terminology makes Gaz's face scrunch.
"No clue." Soap admits, not phases by being caught 'eavesdropping'. "Think they'll tell us?" The 141's minds wander back to Reader, currently in their room, unaware of the chaos being sown. It takes a while for the 141 to work up the courage to ask, but soon enough theres a knock on Reader's door.
The door is opened unceremoniously, and Reader side steps to let the hybrids in. Raising a brow at the four's frantic expressions. "What's going on? Did someone mess up laundry again-?"
"Who got you pregnant?!" Soap jumps the gun, ears and tail up straight.
Third person pov. no use of y/n. She/her pronouns for reader
Huge shoutout to @wetpussyju1ce !!!!! Her Dex x silly reader fics were the main inspiration behind this little drabble. go show those stories some love, they’re sooo incredible 🫶🏻🩷
dividers by: @uzmacchiato
The knock on her door was firm and rhythmic.
When she opened it, she was met with the sight of her tall, imposing neighbor holding a giant My Melody plushie. It was massive enough to obscure half of his chest, and as he stood there, the toy emitted a muffled, tinny version of a bubbly pop song.
"My package!" she squeaked, reaching for it. "I’m so sorry, did the mailman drop it at your door again?"
He didn't hand it over immediately. He looked down at the plushie, his brow furrowing as the music reached a high-pitched, sparkly crescendo.
"It's been doing that for ten minutes" he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
"It’s a gift for myself" she explained, feeling her face heat up as she took the soft, singing mountain of pink from him. "It’s motion-activated. I hope it didn't... distract you from your work."
He looked at her then—a long, unreadable stare that made her want to hide behind the plushie's long pink ears. He stayed silent for a beat, the only sound being the toy chirping a final, upbeat melody.
"It's bright" he finally noted.
"I'll turn it off! I'm sorry."
He gave a single, stiff nod. He started to turn away toward his own door, but paused. He glanced back at the pink fluff in her arms, then at her.
"The music" he said, his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. "It’s catchy."
Before she could respond, he was already stepping into his apartment. The door clicked shut, leaving her alone in the hall with her singing plushie.
dr henry loomis is so cute ugh i want him to talk to me about different sub species of dinosaurs and all these facts but struggling to talk because im sucking him off and if he stops talking i stop so if he wants to cum he has to keep talking
I'm sorry but I just read Undercover Affection (which was ABSOLUTELY amazing) and the first thought on my mind at the end of it was "Rhys won't be getting his debrief anytime soon" lol
THIS GAVE ME SUCH A SILLY IDEAAA
Read this fic to understand what this little drabble about 💙💙
“They should be back by now.” Rhys’ voice broke the silence, a mixture of frustration and worry in his tone. It was late—far too late for him to still be awake, especially when his mate needed rest.
“Go to sleep, Rhys.” Feyre’s voice was muffled, her face pressed into the pillows, the weight of motherhood clearly pulling her under. “I’m sure they’re already back, just tired… they’ll debrief tomorrow.” She added, her words slurred by the drowsiness seeping into her body.
“No,” Rhys insisted, though his voice lacked the conviction he hoped for. “Azriel wouldn’t wait to debrief. Something’s not right.”
He shifted, sitting up in the dark, his eyes scanning the room restlessly. Feyre, her features softened by exhaustion, barely responded, but the tired sigh that escaped her lips spoke volumes.
“They’re likely sleeping, just like we should be.” She muttered, a hint of exasperation beneath her words. “We both need rest, Rhys.”
But Rhys was already slipping out of bed, unable to shake the feeling gnawing at him. He reached for her hand for a moment, brushing his thumb over her skin, and she sighed, the soft breath of a woman on the brink of sleep.
“Can you check on Nyx when you come back?” Feyre mumbled, her eyes barely open, already drifting. Her trust in him was a comforting balm, even in this restless state.
Rhys smiled softly, brushing a lock of her hair from her face, his gaze lingering on the serenity she carried even in sleep. “Of course, darling.” He whispered, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead before he winnowed away.
Outside, The Cabin was quiet, the wards preventing anyone from entering unnoticed. Rhys stood in the shadows, the familiar pulse of his power radiating as he reached for Azriel through their bond, his voice firm and commanding.
“You two alive in there?”
Azriel’s voice, strained and breathless, echoed in his mind. “Barely.”
The immediate concern that flared in Rhys’ chest made his heart thud painfully against his ribs. “Are you in danger?” he demanded, stepping toward the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob.
“If you come in here, it’ll be the last choice you ever make,” Azriel snapped, his warning sharp, tense.
Rhys froze, caught off guard. The sheer force of protectiveness in Azriel’s tone made something evidently clear, the primal aspect of the Frenzy twisting Az’s usually calm demeanor. It was rare for his friend to act this way, and Rhys knew that the mating bond made people act in ways they couldn’t always control.
A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “So, my plan worked?”
“Rhys. Out of my head, I don’t have room for you.” Azriel’s voice was tight, almost pained.
Rhys chuckled, a low sound of amusement and disbelief. He leaned against the doorframe, deciding to push his luck a little. “I’ll have the others cover your workload for the next week.”
Azriel gritted his teeth, irritation laced with exhaustion. “Make it two.”
Rhys didn’t answer at once, the amusement flickering in his eyes. He nodded to himself, already winnowing back toward home.
When he arrived, his eyes fell first on the soft glow coming from Nyx’s room. He moved quietly down the hallway, his footsteps barely making a sound on the wooden floors. Peeking inside, he found his son nestled in the crib, his tiny chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath, a serene smile stretching across Rhys’ face as he marveled at the small being who had changed their lives so completely.
With a final, affectionate glance, he closed the door softly, the faintest of smiles lingering on his lips.
Returning to his bedroom, he closed the door behind him with a soft click, the weight of the night settling into his bones. The room was dim, the only light coming from the gentle glow of the moon streaming through the curtains. Feyre stirred as he slipped back into bed, and her voice was barely a whisper as she reached for him.
“Are they sleeping?” Her voice, thick with exhaustion, was a balm to his fraying nerves.
Rhys brushed his lips over her brow, a warm kiss that spoke volumes of his love for her. “Far from it, darling,” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with affection. He smiled softly, watching her face as she began to drift off.
A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, despite her exhaustion. “Plan worked then, hm?” she mumbled, the words slurring together as sleep took over.
Rhys nodded, though she was already slipping deeper into slumber before he could respond. The serene expression on her face mirrored their son’s, and for a moment, Rhys allowed himself to simply bask in the quiet.
He kissed her again, once, then twice, his love and gratitude for her reflected in each gentle touch. As the peaceful rhythm of her breathing lulled him into a sense of calm, Rhys finally let go of the tension that had been gnawing at him all night.
He pulled her closer, settling beside her, and in the quiet of the night, he finally let sleep claim him as well.
imagine being a minor celebrity and you’re approached to take part in a reality tv show, maybe a year in a house with other people, big brother meets real housewives
they’re offering a lot of money, and you really need it right now, but there’s a catch - they’re able to control you and your environment to benefit their storytelling - only little things to push the arc along, a bad haircut, a fake marriage, a new gym routine. Nothing dangerous, just maybe uncharacteristic at best and undignified at worst, so you sign the agreement.
about a month into the show and the group are doing a friendsgiving with lots of decadent food, the producer approaches you with one of these scripted “reality” plot points:
You’re experimenting with edibles because you (or your scripted self) usually have a bad appetite, so you take one before the festivities to feel nice and lightly baked, just a little and just a little hungry. Another show member gossiped about you (or so you “overheard”), so you are told to break away from the group during entrees and sabotage the stuffing they made. Instead of stopping at just breaking the wrapping and carving something obscene, you are to let the munchies overcome you and eat the entire huge bowl of stuffing, only for the group to find you afterward.
And so they do. You are so full, so bloated, and really questioning if you need the money so bad. All the stuffing has gone and as you breathe through the fullness, the group comes in and you’re caught, full-bellied, humiliated.
What if the producers made this your arc, at first advertising it to you as the one who is just eating their feelings a bit but will get back into shape. It’s degrading, but this could set you up for early retirement if you agree. So you do.
You’re eating so much, both on and off camera, on a strict diet of high calorie foods and shakes. The other show members know that technically this isn’t your doing, as they all have their own things they’ve been forced to do. But there’s still an undeniable judgement, undeniable humiliation. Maybe they could tell that you were starting to like it?
Weeks of stoned “emotional overeating” turns into months, and you’re beginning to wonder when the producers are going to resolve your arc. Yes, there was a part of you that undeniably enjoyed all the weight you were putting on, but you did also want to lose it again. You couldn’t be fat *forever*. They approach you. They tell you that ratings are so divided about your gluttony they’re going to experiment with a new direction.
You’re going to keep it up the whole year.
Then what? Do they find another show member to notice a bit too much? The gossiping stuffing-maker? For them to start teasing you? Force feeding you out of “revenge”? encouraging you? Enemies to lovers?
Or do the others start joining in too? Making a game out of how big they can make you? Make content where they feed you up under the guise of “taste testing”?
No matter if you’re happily huge or regrettably fatter than ever, it’s humiliating to face the world. You face, your body, is everywhere. You have to do reunion shows and promotional events waddling and panting and barely fitting wardrobe. You’re financially set for life and you could technically start losing the weight, turn your life around. You’re no longer under contract. But you’re also *so* fat. They really packed it on you.
So then what? Does your stuffing lover encourage you to keep growing? Did you enjoy it enough for its own sake to keep growing? Or is there no point even, now everyone’s seen you at the most humiliated, and losing weight is so much work, you might as well …
in hogwarts legacy, a portrait of a deceased minister is in the hufflepuff's dorm, and that somewhat immortalizes him.
so personally, i think that theodore would have a slight anxiety about you and his son— theo would be damned if he'd ever let his little boy grow up without his mother, like he did.
even worst without the two of you.
i think that theodore would request a portrait to be painted of the two of you, during another trip to italy; the two of you are sat on a garden, together. that immortalizes one of the moments that he was the happiest— with you.
as sad as it is, theodore finds some assurance that even if he died, even if your son becomes an orphan, the two of you would have a way to see him grow up, or offer some words of comfort shall he need it.
( theo wishes that he had a portrait of his mother— the portrait wouldn't be able to hug him, sure— but at least, he wouldn't have forgotten her voice. )
theo would also request another painting of you, and you alone. he'd give his life for you, however, theodore knows better than to trust his luck to fate's cruel decisions.
and merlin, does he pray that he'll never have to seek solace on a portrait of you. ever.
imagine if there was another portrait of him alone !! you know how in harry potter they can go to other frames? imagine theodore's portrait sneaking to yours. ☹️ he could never be without his bella.
