Fluff , Angst , Smut , Hurt/Comfort , Dead Dove If something does not fall under the examples just ask and I consider whether I do it or not.
I will always keep my works with the warnings so that everyone knows what they are about to read.
I only write for: Bones, Young Sheldon, The big bang theory, The rookie, Yellowjackets, Grey's Anatomy, Criminal Minds the pitt (will add to this so be shy to send requests from other fandoms)
Featuring: Alysa Liu, Ilia Malinin, Amber Glenn, Jason Brown, Andrew Torgashev, Madison Chock & Evan Bates, Ellie Kam & Danny O'Shea, Christina Carreira & Anthony Ponomarenko, Emily Chan & Spencer Howe
Three months.
Three whole months since Isabeau Levito had walked out of your apartment with tears in her eyes and an Olympic dream hanging over her head like a storm cloud.
Three months since she told you:
"I can't do this right now."
And somehow, despite the shaking in her voice and the way her hands clung to yours like she wanted to take it back, she still left.
At first you thought she'd calm down. Call you. Text you. Show up crying at your door saying she made a mistake.
But she didn't.
Instead, the entire world watched her go to the Olympics.
Watched her smile under bright arena lights.
Watched commentators call her graceful and composed and focused.
Meanwhile you sat at home trying not to cry every time someone mentioned figure skating.
The breakup had been ugly too.
Not dramatic screaming or cheating or betrayal.
Worse.
Cold.
Painfully practical.
She kept insisting the relationship was becoming "too much pressure" before the biggest competition of her life. That she couldn't balance emotions and expectations and training all at once.
You remembered staring at her in disbelief.
"So I'm a distraction now?"
And the way she'd immediately started crying told you everything.
She never wanted to say yes.
But she never said no either.
---
You were standing in the freezer aisle of a grocery store three months later debating between two ice cream brands when you heard familiar laughter behind you.
Loud.
Chaotic.
Very unmistakably figure skaters.
You froze.
"...Alysa, that is literally not healthy."
"You literally eat dry cereal at midnight," another voice shot back.
You turned before your brain could stop you.
And there they were.
A small crowd of athletes in Stars on Ice jackets walking through the store like they were trying and failing to be subtle.
Alysa Liu was holding three different snack bags while laughing at something Amber Glenn had said.
Ilia Malinin was pushing the cart with the exhausted expression of someone who had lost control of the group twenty minutes ago.
Further back, Jason Brown was apologizing to another shopper after nearly bumping into them.
And then—
Her.
Isabeau Levito.
She looked thinner than you remembered. Tired too. But the second her eyes landed on you, she stopped walking completely.
The entire group noticed immediately.
"Oh," Alysa muttered softly.
Nobody moved.
You should've left right then.
Instead, you stood there gripping your shopping basket hard enough to hurt.
Isabeau looked like she'd seen a ghost.
"...Hi."
Your stomach twisted violently at the sound of her voice.
"Hi."
The silence after was unbearable.
The rest of the Stars on Ice cast suddenly became very interested in nearby shelves.
Except everyone was obviously listening.
Isabeau stepped forward carefully. "I didn't know you lived near this stop."
"I don't," you answered shortly. "I'm visiting a friend."
"Oh."
Another silence.
Then she said quietly, "You look good."
You almost laughed at that.
Three months of crying yourself to sleep and that was what she noticed?
"You don't get to do this."
Her expression immediately fell. "I just wanted to talk—"
"About what exactly?"
People nearby were definitely staring now, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.
"You broke up with me a week before the Olympics," you said. "Do you understand how insane that was?"
"I know."
"No, I don't think you do."
Isabeau glanced nervously toward her teammates before looking back at you. "Can we maybe talk somewhere else?"
"No."
The answer came instantly.
Sharp enough that even Ilia looked uncomfortable.
You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady.
"You disappeared on me, Isabeau."
Her eyes watered immediately.
"I didn't disappear—"
"You absolutely did."
She looked devastated now, hands trembling slightly at her sides.
"I thought I was doing the right thing," she whispered.
"For who?"
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
You shook your head.
"You made this huge decision for both of us without even giving me a choice."
"I was under pressure—"
"And I wasn't?" you snapped.
Alysa quietly muttered an uncomfortable, "Maybe we should—"
"No, it's okay," Isabeau interrupted softly, though she looked anything but okay.
Your chest hurt looking at her.
That was the worst part.
You still loved her enough for this to hurt.
"I supported you through everything," you continued quietly. "Every competition. Every bad practice. Every panic spiral at two in the morning where you thought you'd fail."
Tears slid down Isabeau's face now.
"And then the second things got hard, you decided I was the problem."
"I never thought you were the problem," she said quickly.
"Then why did you leave me?"
That made her completely fall silent.
Behind her, even the team looked heartbroken now.
Jason lowered his eyes.
Amber looked genuinely upset for both of you.
Isabeau finally whispered, "I was scared."
You laughed bitterly.
"So was I."
Another long silence stretched between you.
Then Isabeau took one tiny step closer.
"I missed you."
That nearly broke you.
Because she sounded sincere.
Real.
Not polished for interviews or cameras or fans.
Just Isabeau.
But it was too late.
You stepped backward instead.
Her face crumpled instantly.
"I watched the Olympics," you admitted quietly. "You looked happy."
She actually looked shocked by that.
"I wasn't."
You clenched your jaw.
Because some part of you had wanted her to say that.
Wanted proof the breakup hurt her too.
But hearing it now only made you angrier.
"You know what the worst part is?" you asked.
Isabeau looked terrified to hear the answer.
"I would've stayed."
A tear rolled down her cheek.
"I would've supported you through everything. Stress, pressure, training, all of it."
Your voice cracked despite yourself.
"But you decided loving me was somehow going to ruin your career."
"No—"
"I hope the Olympics was worth ruining our relationship for."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Even the noisy freezer aisle suddenly felt dead quiet.
Isabeau looked like you'd physically hit her.
Alysa stared at you with wide eyes.
Amber looked seconds away from crying herself.
And for once, nobody had anything clever or comforting to say.
You adjusted your grip on your basket before turning away.
Nobody stopped you.
Not even Isabeau.
Which somehow hurt most of all.
The automatic doors slid open as you left the store, cold night air hitting your face immediately.
Behind you, through the glass, you could still see her standing there frozen in place while the rest of the Stars on Ice cast awkwardly lingered around her.
Summary: Howard Wolowitz is very confident in his ability to talk to women—after all, in his words, he’s dating “the hottest girl in the world.” The problem? His technique is… deeply flawed. So you decide it’s time for a little hands-on training. What starts as teasing turns into a surprisingly sincere (and hilarious) lesson in respect, confidence, and what women actually want to hear.
“You know,” Howard said, leaning back on the couch with that very familiar smirk, “I think I’ve pretty much mastered talking to women.”
You didn’t even look up from your phone. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Howard Wolowitz continued confidently. “I mean… look at you.”
That got your attention.
You glanced up slowly. “What about me?”
He grinned. “I pulled the hottest girl in the world.”
You stared at him for a second.
“…Did you just say pulled?”
“It’s a compliment,” he said, completely serious. “A very high-level compliment.”
You set your phone down, sitting up straighter.
“Okay,” you said calmly. “We need to talk.”
Howard blinked. “That tone doesn’t usually lead to good things.”
“It’s going to lead to educational things.”
“I don’t like educational things.”
“Too bad,” you shot back. “Because clearly, you don’t know how to talk to women.”
He scoffed. “Excuse me? I’m literally dating you.”
“Yes,” you said, pointing at him, “and that is not proof of skill—that is proof of luck.”
Howard clutched his chest. “Wow.”
“I’m serious,” you said, trying not to laugh. “You think saying ‘I pulled the hottest girl in the world’ is good?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
You narrowed your eyes. “We’re fixing that.”
Howard leaned back, folding his arms. “Oh, this I gotta hear.”
“Lesson one,” you said, holding up a finger. “Stop treating women like prizes.”
“I don’t treat you like a prize.”
“You literally just said you pulled me.”
“…Okay, fair.”
“Try again,” you said. “Say something nice. But normal.”
Howard straightened, thinking hard.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re… very aesthetically pleasing.”
You stared at him.
“That sounded like you’re describing a chair.”
“It was respectful!”
“It was robotic.”
He groaned. “This is harder than it looks.”
“Exactly,” you said, crossing your arms. “Now—say something you actually mean. Without trying to sound impressive.”
Howard hesitated.
For once—
He didn’t jump to a joke.
“…I like being around you,” he said finally, a little quieter. “You make things… less weird.”
You blinked.
That was… unexpectedly sweet.
“See?” you said, softer now. “That’s good.”
He frowned slightly. “Really?”
“Really.”
Howard shifted a little, clearly processing that.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “So… less ‘smooth,’ more… honest?”
“Exactly.”
He nodded, then smirked again—but this time it was softer.
“Alright,” he said. “But for the record… I still think you’re the hottest girl in the world.”
You rolled your eyes—but you were smiling.
“Yeah,” you said, nudging him lightly. “That part you can keep.”
Summary: At Seattle Grace, falling for your attending is practically a rite of passage—except you never thought it would happen to you. Not like this. Not with Derek Shepherd. He’s brilliant, frustrating, and entirely off-limits…which makes it worse when you realize you’re already in too deep. And Derek? He sees more than he lets on—especially when it comes to you.
It starts small.
It always does at Seattle Grace.
A look that lingers a second too long. A voice that carries just a little softer when it’s directed at you. A moment in an OR where the world narrows down to hands, breath, and the steady rhythm of a monitor.
And him.
Derek Shepherd.
You don’t mean for it to happen.
In fact, you’re very aware it shouldn’t.
---
“Scalpel.”
His voice is calm, precise—like it always is.
You place it in his hand without hesitation.
“Good,” he says, barely glancing at you, but it’s enough.
It’s always enough.
You hate that.
---
“Your sutures are improving,” he tells you later, standing just a little too close as he reviews your work.
“‘Improving’ sounds like I was bad before,” you reply, trying to keep your tone neutral.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You were.”
You glance up at him. “Wow. Encouraging.”
“I’m a neurosurgeon, not a cheerleader.”
“Debatable,” you mutter.
That earns you a look.
A real one this time.
Interested.
Amused.
And just a little too focused.
“…Careful,” he says lightly. “Confidence can be dangerous in this building.”
“So can arrogance,” you shoot back.
His lips twitch.
“Good thing I only have one of those.”
---
It should stop there.
It doesn’t.
---
Because then there are the surgeries.
Long ones.
The kind where hours blur together and the only constant is him—steady, brilliant, completely in control.
You watch the way he moves, the way he thinks three steps ahead, the way everyone in the room adjusts to him without even realizing it.
It’s not just attraction.
That would be easier.
It’s admiration.
Respect.
Something deeper.
And that’s the problem.
---
“You’re staring.”
You blink, snapping out of it.
“I’m observing,” you correct quickly.
Derek raises a brow. “Observing?”
“Yes. Learning.”
“Right,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “From my face?”
Heat rushes to your cheeks. “I wasn’t—”
“You were,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “And you should probably stop doing that.”
Your stomach drops slightly.
“Oh.”
Not the reaction you expected.
Not the one you wanted.
---
He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“Look,” he says, lowering his voice slightly. “You’re a good intern. You’ve got potential.”
There it is.
The speech.
The boundary.
“You don’t want to mess that up,” he continues. “Not here.”
Your chest tightens.
“I know that,” you say quietly.
“Good.”
There’s a pause.
And something about it feels unfinished.
---
Because the truth is—
You do know that.
You know the rules.
You know how this works.
Attendings and interns don’t mix.
Not like that.
Not when it risks everything you’ve worked for.
So you try.
You pull back.
You focus on your patients, your work, anything but him.
---
It lasts…maybe a week.
---
“Nice catch in the ER,” Derek says, falling into step beside you as you walk down the hall.
You glance at him, surprised. “You heard about that?”
“Word gets around.”
You shrug, trying to play it off. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It was,” he says simply.
You look at him again.
And there it is.
That look.
The one that makes it hard to breathe.
“…Thanks,” you manage.
He nods, but doesn’t walk away.
Doesn’t create distance.
If anything—
He lingers.
---
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says after a moment.
You blink. “I have not.”
“You have.”
“I’ve been working.”
“So have I.”
You sigh, stopping in the middle of the hallway. “Okay, what do you want me to say?”
“The truth would be a good start.”
You hesitate.
Because the truth?
The truth is messy.
Complicated.
Dangerous.
“I know the rules,” you say finally. “And I’m trying to follow them.”
Derek watches you carefully.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
And then—
“Good,” he says again.
But this time—
It doesn’t sound as certain.
---
Because he doesn’t walk away.
Because his eyes don’t leave yours.
Because for just a second—
It feels like he’s the one struggling now.
---
“You’re not making it easy,” you admit quietly.
His expression shifts slightly.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I know.”
Your breath catches.
That wasn’t—
That wasn’t a denial.
---
The air between you tightens.
Charged.
Unsteady.
One wrong move and—
“Dr. Shepherd!”
A voice cuts through the moment.
Both of you step back instantly.
Reality snapping back into place.
Derek clears his throat, slipping effortlessly back into his attending persona.
“Coming,” he calls, then glances at you one last time.
Professional.
Controlled.
But not unaffected.
“Get back to work,” he says.
You nod.
“Yeah. You too.”
---
He walks away.
You don’t follow.
---
But later—
When you’re scrubbing in.
When your hands brush for half a second as you pass him an instrument—
When his voice softens just slightly when he says your name—
Summary: At her secluded wellness retreat, Lottie Matthews offers healing, purpose… and something that feels like belonging. For you, it’s everything—especially now that you’re pregnant and more vulnerable than ever. But when Natalie Scatorccio and Misty Quigley arrive, they see something darker beneath Lottie’s calm exterior. The problem? You don’t. And you’re not about to let anyone take her away from you.
The air at the retreat always felt… still.
Not quiet—never quiet. There were always wind chimes, soft footsteps, distant murmurs—but still. Like everything moved slower here. Like the world outside didn’t exist.
You liked it that way.
Needed it, even.
Especially now.
Your hand rested absentmindedly over your stomach as you stood near the edge of the grounds, watching the others move through their morning routines. Meditation circles. Tea ceremonies. Soft laughter.
Peace.
That’s what Lottie had given you.
Peace.
“You should be resting.”
Her voice was gentle, familiar—immediately grounding.
You smiled before even turning around.
“I was,” you said. “I just wanted some air.”
Lottie Matthews stepped closer, her presence calm, steady, like it always was. Her hand brushed lightly over yours where it rested on your stomach.
“You have to take care of yourself,” she murmured. “You’re not just responsible for you anymore.”
“I know,” you said softly.
Her touch lingered.
It always lingered.
“You trust me, don’t you?” she asked quietly.
The question felt unnecessary.
Of course you did.
“With everything,” you answered without hesitation.
Lottie smiled—small, satisfied.
“Good.”
---
The tension came later.
You felt it before you understood it.
Raised voices. Sharp edges cutting through the usual calm of the retreat.
You followed the sound, unease settling in your chest.
And then you saw them.
Natalie Scatorccio stood near the center of the clearing, arms crossed, eyes hard. Beside her, Misty Quigley looked… almost excited.
Lottie stood across from them.
Still calm.
Still composed.
“What’s going on?” you asked, stepping forward.
Natalie’s gaze snapped to you immediately.
“There you are,” she said. “You might wanna hear this.”
Your stomach tightened.
“Hear what?”
Misty clasped her hands together. “We’re just having a little conversation about Lottie’s operations here.”
“Don’t,” Lottie said softly.
It wasn’t loud.
But it carried.
Misty paused—only for a second.
Then she smiled.
“Oh, I think she deserves to know.”
Natalie stepped forward slightly, her focus entirely on you now.
“This place?” she said. “It’s not what you think it is.”
Your chest tightened.
“It’s a wellness retreat.”
“No,” Natalie said flatly. “It’s not.”
Lottie’s hand found your arm, light but firm.
“You don’t have to listen to this,” she murmured.
But you were already looking at Natalie.
“What are you talking about?” you asked.
Natalie let out a breath, like she was choosing her words carefully.
“She’s controlling these people,” she said. “Manipulating them. Making them dependent on her.”
“That’s not true,” you said immediately.
Misty tilted her head. “Isn’t it? The isolation, the rituals, the way everyone hangs on her every word—it’s all very intentional.”
You shook your head, backing slightly closer to Lottie without even realizing it.
“She’s helping them.”
“She’s using them,” Natalie shot back.
“No—”
“She’s done this before,” Natalie continued, her voice sharper now. “You don’t know what she’s capable of.”
“I know exactly who she is,” you said, your voice rising despite yourself.
Lottie’s grip on your arm tightened just slightly.
Grounding.
Reassuring.
“You’re scared,” Lottie said softly to you, ignoring them completely. “That’s okay. They’re trying to confuse you.”
“I’m not confused,” you said quickly.
But your heart was racing.
Natalie stepped closer.
“You think this is love?” she asked. “You think she cares about you?”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Yes,” you said.
“No,” Natalie said firmly. “She cares about what you give her. Your loyalty. Your trust. That’s how this works.”
“That’s not how this works,” you snapped. “You don’t know anything about us.”
Misty hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, we know quite a lot about Lottie.”
“Stop,” you said, your voice shaking now. “Just—stop.”
Lottie’s hand slid from your arm to your hand, intertwining your fingers.
“I’m right here,” she murmured. “You’re safe.”
Safe.
That word settled over you like a shield.
Natalie noticed.
Her expression hardened.
“Look at you,” she said quietly. “You’re defending her like you don’t even have a choice.”
“I do have a choice,” you shot back.
“Then choose yourself.”
“I am!” you said. “I chose her.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Final.
Misty’s smile faded just slightly.
Natalie studied you for a long moment, something almost frustrated flickering in her eyes.
“…You really believe that,” she said.
“Yes,” you said, your voice steadier now. “I do.”
Lottie squeezed your hand.
Proud.
Possessive.
“Then we’re done here,” she said calmly.
Natalie didn’t move.
But she didn’t argue either.
“Yeah,” she muttered finally. “We are.”
She turned, brushing past Misty.
Misty lingered a second longer, her gaze flicking between you and Lottie.
“…This isn’t over,” she said lightly.
Then she followed.
The clearing fell quiet again.
Too quiet.
Your breathing was still uneven, your chest tight with everything that had just happened.
Lottie turned to you slowly.
Her hand lifted, brushing gently along your cheek.
“You did so well,” she said softly.
The tension in your body eased instantly.
“They were wrong,” you said, more to yourself than to her.
“I know,” Lottie replied.
You leaned into her touch without thinking.
“I trust you.”
Her smile returned—small, satisfied, certain.
“I know you do.”
Her hand slid back down to rest over yours, still covering your stomach.
“And I’ll take care of you,” she murmured.
Your eyes closed briefly.
Relief washing over you.
Because she was right.
She always was.
And somewhere, deep down—buried under everything else—
Summary: After getting locked up alongside Misty Quigley, Natalie Scatorccio gets one phone call. There are a hundred people she could call—but only one she actually wants to hear. The problem? Natalie isn’t good at asking for help… or admitting how much she needs you.
The fluorescent lights were too bright.
Everything smelled like bleach and something worse underneath it—something stale, something permanent. Natalie leaned back against the cold wall, arms crossed, jaw tight as she watched the officer at the desk.
“Phone’s open,” he muttered without looking up.
She didn’t move right away.
From the bench across the room, Misty perked up instantly.
“Ooh! Are you going to call someone?” she asked, like this was some kind of sleepover and not a holding cell.
Natalie shot her a look. “Don’t.”
“What? I’m just curious,” Misty said, leaning forward. “Statistically speaking, people usually call either a lawyer or a loved one—”
“I said don’t.”
Misty held up her hands, but she was still smiling.
Natalie exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over her face before pushing herself off the wall. The last thing she needed right now was commentary.
She stepped up to the phone, picking up the receiver.
It felt heavier than it should’ve.
The officer slid a piece of paper toward her.
“One call,” he said. “Make it count.”
Natalie let out a dry huff.
Yeah.
No pressure.
Her fingers hovered over the keypad.
There were options.
People she should call.
People who made more sense.
But none of them were—
You.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
“Come on,” she muttered under her breath.
Before she could overthink it, she punched in your number.
Each ring felt longer than the last.
Once.
Twice.
Three—
“Hello?”
Your voice.
Soft. Familiar.
Everything in her chest twisted at once.
For a second, she forgot how to talk.
“…Nat?” you said, a little more alert now. “Is that—are you okay?”
She swallowed.
“Yeah,” she said, voice rough. “I’m… fine.”
A pause.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Yeah, well,” she huffed quietly, leaning her forehead against the cool metal beside the phone, “I’m calling you from jail, so.”
Silence.
Then—
“…You’re what?”
“Relax,” she said quickly. “It’s not— I mean, it’s not good, but it’s not—”
“Nat.”
Your tone stopped her.
Grounded her.
“Are you hurt?”
The question hit harder than it should’ve.
“…No,” she said, quieter now. “I’m not hurt.”
“Okay,” you breathed. “Okay. That’s good.”
She closed her eyes briefly, listening to you steady yourself on the other end.
God.
She shouldn’t have called you.
Or maybe… that was exactly why she did.
“It’s stupid,” she muttered. “Just—wrong place, wrong time.”
“And you couldn’t call anyone else?” you asked gently.
Natalie let out a dry laugh.
“I could’ve.”
“But you didn’t.”
She hesitated.
Misty’s voice echoed faintly from across the room—something about “emotional prioritization”—and Natalie rolled her eyes before turning slightly away.
“…No,” she admitted.
Another pause.
Softer this time.
“Okay,” you said.
Not pushing.
Not judging.
Just… there.
Natalie’s grip on the receiver tightened slightly.
“I didn’t—” she started, then stopped, frustrated. “I’m not good at this.”
“At what?”
“This,” she said. “Calling. Asking. Whatever this is.”
“You don’t have to be good at it,” you replied quietly. “You just have to do it.”
She let out a slow breath.
“That’s the problem.”
“Nat.”
Your voice softened even more.
“I’m here. You called me. That’s enough.”
Something in her chest cracked a little at that.
She leaned more heavily against the wall, eyes fixed on nothing.
“…Can you come get me?” she asked finally, the words low, almost reluctant.
There it was.
The ask.
Small.
Simple.
Harder than anything else she’d said.
“Yeah,” you said immediately. “Of course I can.”
No hesitation.
No conditions.
Just yes.
Natalie’s eyes closed briefly.
“…Okay.”
“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” you added. “Just—stay there, alright?”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Kinda the whole point.”
You smiled—you could hear it in your voice.
“Good.”
There was a beat of silence.
Neither of you hanging up.
Neither of you quite ready to let go.
“…Nat?” you said softly.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you called me.”
Her throat tightened.
She swallowed it down, like she always did.
“…Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”
“Hang in there.”
“I will.”
Another pause.
Then, quieter—
“Hey… thanks.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know,” she said. “Still.”
You let it sit there.
Accepted it.
“I’ll see you soon,” you said.
“Yeah.”
The line clicked.
Natalie stayed there for a second longer, the empty dial tone buzzing in her ear before she finally pulled the receiver away.
When she turned, Misty was already watching her.
“…What?” Natalie snapped.
Misty smiled, a little too knowingly.
“You didn’t call a lawyer.”
Natalie rolled her eyes, shoving her hands into her pockets as she walked back to the bench.
“Nope.”
Misty tilted her head. “Interesting.”
“Drop it.”
But as Natalie sat back down, her shoulders felt just a little less tight.
Summary: A year after losing George, Mary Cooper isn’t looking for love—just something to fill the quiet. She doesn’t expect to find it in someone younger, someone kind, someone who makes her laugh again. And she definitely doesn’t expect to bring her home to meet her children.
The house felt different at night now.
Quieter.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet Mary used to pray for when the kids were little and loud—but the kind that settled deep in her bones. The kind that reminded her, in every creak and hum, that George wasn’t coming back.
It had been a year.
A whole year since she’d stood in black, hands trembling, heart breaking in a way she didn’t think could ever be put back together.
Mary Cooper didn’t think she’d ever feel… anything like that again.
And she hadn’t—
not until you.
---
It started small.
A chance conversation at the grocery store, of all places. You were reaching for the same can of green beans, smiling apologetically when your fingers brushed hers.
“Sorry,” you laughed softly. “You can have it.”
Mary shook her head, offering it back. “No, no—you go ahead. I’ve got plenty at home.”
You didn’t leave, though.
You stayed. You talked. About nothing important—recipes, Texas heat, the long lines at the register—but somehow, it felt like something.
Something warm.
Something… new.
---
You were 26.
Mary knew that before she knew anything else, and she told herself it was just friendly. That it had to be just friendly. You were kind, respectful, patient—everything she admired—but you were also young. Full of life in a way she didn’t feel anymore.
But you kept showing up.
At first by coincidence.
Then on purpose.
Coffee turned into walks. Walks turned into dinners. And somewhere in between, Mary realized something that made her sit up in bed one night, heart racing and hands clasped tight.
She was happy.
Not the careful, polite happiness she showed at church. Not the forced smiles she gave her kids.
Real happiness.
The kind she thought she buried with George.
---
“I don’t know if this is right,” Mary admitted one evening, sitting beside you on the couch, fingers twisting together nervously. “I mean—you’re so young, and I’ve got three kids, and—Lord, I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
You looked at her like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“I do,” you said gently. “You’re living again.”
Mary’s breath caught.
“I’m not trying to replace anything,” you added softly. “And I know I can’t. But… I care about you. That’s all I know for sure.”
Mary stared at you for a long moment, her heart doing something unfamiliar—something hopeful.
“…I care about you too.”
---
Seven months later, it wasn’t a question anymore.
It was love.
Quiet, steady, growing love.
The kind that didn’t demand or rush—but waited, patient and sure.
And now…
Now came the hard part.
---
“You want to do what?” Georgie Cooper blinked, leaning back in his chair.
Mary stood in the kitchen, wringing her hands just like she used to when Sheldon brought home another impossible problem.
“I want you all to meet someone,” she said carefully.
Missy Cooper raised an eyebrow. “A man?”
Mary hesitated.
“…No.”
That got their attention.
From the living room, Sheldon Cooper looked up from his book, already suspicious. “Statistically speaking, that complicates your statement considerably.”
“Shelly,” Mary warned gently, though there was no bite in it.
Missy leaned forward, curiosity lighting her face. “So… a woman?”
Mary nodded, her voice softer now. “Her name’s Y/N. And she’s… important to me.”
Georgie looked between his siblings, then back at his mother. “…How important?”
Mary swallowed.
“She makes me happy.”
That did it.
The room went quiet—not the heavy, lonely quiet Mary had grown used to—but something else. Something thoughtful.
Missy was the first to smile.
“Well… it’s about time.”
---
The night you came over, Mary nearly changed her outfit three times.
“Sheldon, does this look alright?” she asked, smoothing down her blouse for the hundredth time.
He barely glanced up. “Your probability of making a favorable impression is not significantly impacted by wardrobe variance.”
“…I’ll take that as a yes.”
When the knock came, Mary’s heart jumped into her throat.
She opened the door—and there you were.
Smiling.
Nervous.
Beautiful.
“Hi,” you said softly.
“Hi,” she breathed, already feeling steadier just looking at you.
---
Dinner was… an experience.
Georgie watched you carefully at first, protective in that quiet way he had.
Missy asked a million questions, barely pausing for answers.
And Sheldon—
“Well,” he said at one point, adjusting in his seat, “given the unconventional nature of this relationship, I feel obligated to inquire about long-term compatibility metrics.”
You blinked.
Mary flushed. “Sheldon—”
But you just smiled.
“I like her,” you said simply. “That’s my main metric.”
Sheldon considered that.
“…Illogical. But acceptable.”
---
Later that night, after the kids had gone to bed, Mary walked you to the door.
“Well,” she said softly, “that could’ve gone worse.”
You laughed gently. “I think it went pretty well.”
Mary nodded, then hesitated.
“Thank you,” she said. “For being patient. With me… with all of this.”
You reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.
“I’m not going anywhere, Mary.”
And for the first time in a long time—
Mary believed it.
She stepped a little closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
Summary: When Ben insists on teaching you how to golf, you’re pretty sure it’s going to be a disaster. Between your complete lack of coordination and his very hands-on teaching style, it quickly becomes less about the sport and more about stolen laughs, soft touches, and the way Ben Warren makes even your worst swings feel like a win.
“This is a bad idea.”
Ben didn’t even look up from where he was setting the golf balls down. “You say that about everything new.”
“Because everything new usually ends with me embarrassing myself,” you shot back, eyeing the club in your hands like it might personally offend you.
Ben Warren finally glanced over, already smiling.
“You’re not gonna embarrass yourself,” he said easily. “I’ve got you.”
“That’s what you said before I tried bowling.”
“And you did great.”
“I dropped the ball backwards, Ben.”
He grinned. “Still counts.”
You narrowed your eyes. “It absolutely does not.”
---
The golf course stretched out in front of you, wide and green and way too open—like there was nowhere to hide when this inevitably went wrong.
Ben walked up behind you, gently taking the club from your hands for a second.
“Okay,” he said, slipping into full teacher mode. “First things first—stance.”
You groaned. “I already hate this.”
“You haven’t even started yet.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed softly, then stepped closer again, placing the club back in your hands.
“Feet shoulder-width apart,” he instructed, nudging your foot slightly with his. “Like this.”
You adjusted, wobbling a little.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now your grip—here.”
His hands slid over yours, guiding your fingers into place.
And suddenly—
This felt like a very different kind of lesson.
You went still.
“Ben,” you said slowly, “are you actually teaching me or just looking for an excuse to hold my hands?”
“Yes,” he replied immediately.
You huffed out a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But effective,” he added, leaning in just slightly closer. “Now focus.”
---
You tried.
You really did.
But it was hard to focus when he was right behind you, one hand still lightly adjusting your grip, the other resting at your hip to steady you.
“Okay,” he said softly, his voice closer now. “Keep your eye on the ball.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You just looked at me.”
“Because you’re distracting!”
He laughed quietly against your shoulder. “That sounds like a you problem.”
---
“Alright,” he said after a moment, stepping back just enough to give you space. “Let’s see it.”
You took a deep breath.
“You better not laugh.”
“I would never—”
You swung.
And completely missed.
The club cut through the air with an impressive whoosh.
The ball didn’t move.
At all.
Silence.
Then—
A very poorly hidden laugh.
You whipped around. “Benjamin!”
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender, still grinning. “I really tried not to.”
“I hate this,” you declared, dropping the club slightly.
“No, you don’t,” he said, stepping closer again. “You just need practice.”
“I need a new hobby.”
“You need a better teacher.”
You blinked. “Wow.”
“Kidding,” he added quickly, nudging your shoulder. “Mostly.”
---
“Again,” he encouraged, picking the club back up and handing it to you.
You sighed dramatically. “If I miss, I’m quitting.”
“Deal,” he said easily.
You narrowed your eyes. “That was too fast.”
“Because you’re not gonna miss.”
“Ben—”
“You’ve got this,” he said, softer now.
And something about the way he said it—
Like he genuinely believed it—
Made you try again.
---
You adjusted your stance, remembering what he showed you.
Feet steady.
Grip firm.
Eyes on the ball.
You swung.
Tap.
The ball rolled forward.
Not far.
Not impressive.
But—
It moved.
You froze.
“…I hit it.”
Ben broke into a wide smile. “You hit it.”
“I actually hit it.”
“You did.”
You turned to him, a grin spreading across your face. “Did you see that?”
“I did,” he laughed. “I was here.”
“That was amazing.”
“It went like…three feet.”
“Still amazing.”
---
Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him.
He caught you easily, laughing as he wrapped his arms around your waist.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmured.
“For barely hitting a golf ball?”
“For trying,” he corrected. “Even when you were convinced you’d be bad at it.”
You pulled back slightly, looking up at him.
“…I mean, I was bad at it.”
He smiled, soft and warm.
“Yeah,” he said. “But you’re cute when you’re bad at things.”
You gasped. “Rude!”
“Honest.”
---
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t move away.
“…Are you gonna keep teaching me?” you asked.
“Of course.”
“Even if I keep missing?”
He leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping.
“Especially if you keep missing.”
Your heart did a small, traitorous flip.
“…Oh.”
“Yeah,” he said with a grin.
---
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.
“Alright, coach,” you said, picking the club back up. “Let’s try again.”
Ben stepped behind you once more, hands finding yours, steady and warm.
“See?” he murmured. “You’re getting the hang of it already.”
Summary: Booth has seen you in everything—FBI jackets, oversized hoodies, his old shirts you “borrowed” and never returned. But the night you step out in a dress for the first time, something shifts. And for a man who thought he already knew what love felt like, he realizes he might be falling all over again.
The bullpen was louder than usual, but Seeley Booth barely noticed.
He was leaning back in his chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, half-listening to a story Angela Montenegro was telling while he waited for you.
You had said you’d meet him after work. Something about a “quick stop” first.
He checked his watch again, impatience tapping against his ribs. Not because he was annoyed—but because the day always felt unfinished until he saw you.
“Booth,” Temperance Brennan said, not looking up from her notes. “You’ve checked your watch six times in the last minute.”
“I have not.”
“Seven,” she corrected calmly.
He huffed, straightening in his chair. “I’m just—waiting.”
“For Y/N,” Angela teased, smirking.
Booth rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the small smile tugging at his lips.
Before he could fire back, the bullpen doors opened.
And everything—everything—stopped.
You stepped inside like it was nothing.
Like you hadn’t just completely knocked the air out of his lungs.
The dress wasn’t anything overly flashy. Simple. Soft. It moved with you in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. You usually lived in comfortable clothes, practical things for long days and late nights.
But this?
This was different.
This was—
Booth stood up without realizing he had.
Angela’s voice dropped into a whisper. “Oh my God…”
Even Brennan looked up.
But Booth? He couldn’t look at anything else.
You spotted him and smiled, a little unsure of yourself. “Hey… sorry I’m late.”
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
Just stared.
Your smile faltered slightly. “Booth?”
He blinked, like he’d just been pulled back into his body. “Yeah—yeah, I—uh…”
He cleared his throat, stepping closer.
“Wow.”
That was it. That was all he had.
You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Wow good or wow bad?”
“Good?” he echoed, like the word wasn’t nearly enough. “No—no, sweetheart, that’s… that’s—”
He stopped again, shaking his head, completely at a loss.
Angela grinned behind him. “He’s broken.”
Booth ignored her, eyes still locked on you like if he looked away, you might disappear.
“You look…” he tried again, softer this time. “You look beautiful.”
The way he said it made your chest tighten.
Not casual. Not automatic.
Like he meant it.
Like he was still trying to process it.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Booth did something unexpected—he reached for your hand, almost instinctively, like he needed to ground himself.
“You ready to go?” you asked.
He nodded immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, absolutely.”
But he didn’t move.
Just stood there, still holding your hand, still looking at you like you’d just rewritten something inside him.
You tilted your head. “Booth?”
He exhaled slowly, almost a laugh under his breath.
“You know,” he said, voice lower now, more personal, “I thought I had this whole thing figured out.”
“What thing?”
“This,” he gestured between the two of you. “Us.”
Your heart skipped.
“And?”
He shook his head, smiling like he couldn’t quite believe it himself.
“And then you walk in here like that…” His thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly. “And suddenly I feel like I’m back at the beginning again.”
You softened. “The beginning?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like the first time I realized I was in trouble.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “In trouble?”
“Oh yeah,” he murmured. “Big time.”
You stepped a little closer, your voice gentle. “Booth… we’ve been together for a while now.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “I know that. And I wouldn’t change a second of it.”
He paused, eyes searching yours.
“But I didn’t think it was possible to feel that again.”
“Feel what?”
He smiled, softer now. Warmer.
“Like I’m falling for you.”
Your breath caught.
“Again,” he added quietly.
For a second, neither of you moved.
The noise of the bullpen faded into the background.
It was just him.
Just you.
You squeezed his hand. “Good,” you whispered.
He raised an eyebrow. “Good?”
You nodded, stepping even closer. “Because I don’t think I ever stopped.”
That did it.
Booth let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, pulling you into him without hesitation, one arm wrapping securely around your waist.
“Yeah,” he murmured against your hair. “Yeah, I’m definitely in trouble.”
Angela’s voice cut in from across the room. “You two are disgustingly cute, by the way.”
Booth didn’t even look at her.
Didn’t care.
Not when he had you right there in his arms, heart pounding like it was the first time all over again.
And maybe that was the thing.
Maybe love wasn’t just something that happened once.
Summary: Callie Sadecki has always been good at acting like she has everything figured out. But feelings? Especially these feelings? That’s new territory. Sneaking out to meet you at your shared hideout—the old treehouse you fixed up together—Callie finally decides to stop overthinking and take a chance. What starts as nerves and uncertainty turns into something she won’t ever forget: her first real crush, her first kiss… and the realization that she’s completely, undeniably hooked.
Callie’s heart was beating way too loud.
She was pretty sure her mom could hear it from down the hall.
She paused outside the back door, hand hovering over the handle, listening.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No voices. Just the quiet hum of the house at night.
“…Okay,” she whispered to herself.
Then she slipped out.
The cool air hit her face instantly, grounding her just enough to actually move. She shut the door gently behind her, wincing at every tiny sound like it was ten times louder than it actually was.
God, she was really doing this.
Not the sneaking out part—that wasn’t new.
But tonight?
Tonight felt different.
Because of you.
Callie shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, starting down the familiar path toward the woods. Her thoughts were running faster than her feet.
This is stupid.
No, it’s not.
What if she doesn’t feel the same?
What if she does?
That thought alone made her stomach flip.
She’d never—
Not like this.
Crushes on guys? Easy. Expected. Normal.
But you?
You were her best friend.
And a girl.
And no one had ever really talked about that like it was something she could have. Not at home. Not at school—not seriously, anyway.
So yeah.
She was nervous.
Terrified, actually.
But none of that changed the fact that every time you smiled at her, something in her chest went completely out of control.
And tonight… she was done pretending it didn’t.
---
The treehouse came into view through the dark, tucked between the branches like it had always belonged there.
You’d both spent weeks fixing it up—patching wood, dragging up blankets, turning it into something that felt like yours.
A place away from everything.
A place where things didn’t have to make sense.
There was already a faint glow coming from inside.
Callie’s heart jumped.
You were here.
She climbed up the ladder, trying to act normal, trying to be normal.
It didn’t work.
“Hey,” you said, looking up as she pulled herself inside.
And just like that—
Everything in her head went quiet.
“Hey,” she echoed, a little breathless.
You smiled at her, and yeah—that did not help her situation.
“You’re late,” you teased lightly.
“Am not.”
“You are. I’ve been waiting like… ten whole minutes.”
“Wow,” Callie scoffed, dropping down across from you. “Tragic.”
You laughed, handing her the vape without even asking.
Routine.
Familiar.
Safe.
She took it, her fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary.
Her brain short-circuited a little.
You didn’t seem to notice.
Or maybe you did.
Callie couldn’t tell anymore.
She leaned back against the wall, taking a slow breath, trying to steady herself. The air inside the treehouse was warmer, softer, filled with the quiet comfort she only ever felt here.
With you.
“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
You gave her a look.
“The way you just answered that.”
Callie huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.
“I’m fine,” she said again, softer this time.
You watched her for a second longer, like you were trying to figure something out.
It made her even more nervous.
“…What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” you said, but your smile was smaller now. “You just seem… off.”
Callie hesitated.
This was it.
This was the moment where she either said something—
Or kept pretending.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the vape before she set it down beside her.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked.
“Yeah. Always.”
That word—always—did something to her.
Callie swallowed.
“I don’t—” she started, then stopped. “I don’t really know how to say this.”
“That’s okay,” you said gently. “Just… try?”
She let out a shaky breath.
“I’ve never…” She laughed nervously. “This is gonna sound stupid.”
“It won’t.”
“It might.”
You nudged her foot lightly with yours. “Callie.”
She looked at you.
Really looked at you.
And suddenly, it didn’t feel as impossible.
“I think I like you,” she said, the words rushing out before she could stop them. “Like—not just as a friend.”
Silence.
Callie’s stomach dropped instantly.
“Okay,” she said quickly, panic creeping in. “You don’t have to say anything, I just— I needed to—”
“Callie.”
She froze.
You were closer now.
She hadn’t even noticed you move.
“…Yeah?” she said, barely above a whisper.
You were looking at her the same way you always did—
But different.
Softer.
“I was wondering when you were gonna figure it out,” you said quietly.
Her brain completely stopped.
“…What?”
You smiled a little.
“I like you too.”
Callie blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“Wait—seriously?”
“Yeah. Seriously.”
She let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, her shoulders dropping like she’d been carrying something way too heavy.
“Oh my god,” she muttered. “I thought I was gonna throw up.”
You laughed softly. “You looked like it.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Callie’s breath caught.
That—
That was new.
The space between you suddenly felt a lot smaller.
A lot more real.
She hesitated for half a second.
Then—
“Okay.”
And she leaned in.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t smooth.
But it was soft.
And warm.
And real.
Your lips met hers, and everything else just… disappeared.
The nerves.
The questions.
The fear.
All of it.
Gone.
Callie’s hand found your sleeve, gripping lightly like she needed something to hold onto, like she needed to make sure this was actually happening.
When you pulled back, her eyes stayed closed for a second longer before opening slowly.
“…Okay,” she whispered.
You smiled.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, a small, almost disbelieving laugh slipping out. “Okay.”
Summary: After the crash, time stops—and then stretches into something unbearable. While Lexie fights to heal in a medically induced coma, you refuse to leave her side, anchoring yourself to the hope that she’ll come back to you. Three months later, when her eyes finally open, the first thing she finds isn’t confusion or fear—it’s you. Exactly where you’ve always been.
The machines became your soundtrack.
A steady rhythm of beeps and soft mechanical hums, constant and unchanging—unlike everything else.
You sat in the same chair you had claimed three months ago, your hand wrapped gently around hers, thumb brushing over her skin in slow, absent patterns.
“Hey, Lex,” you murmured quietly. “It’s me.”
It was always the same greeting.
Like if you kept it consistent enough, she’d follow the sound back to you.
Lexie Grey looked so small in the hospital bed.
Too still. Too quiet.
Nothing like the girl who used to talk a mile a minute, who memorized everything, who filled every space with life just by existing in it.
You swallowed hard, tightening your grip just slightly.
“I’m still here,” you whispered. “Just in case you were wondering.”
---
At first, people had tried to pull you away.
“You need rest.”
“You can’t live here.”
“She wouldn’t want this.”
Maybe they were right.
But they didn’t know her like you did.
Didn’t know how Lexie always reached for you in her sleep, how she hated waking up alone, how she’d panic for half a second if she didn’t immediately know where you were.
There was no way—no way—you were letting her wake up to an empty room.
So you stayed.
Through every long night.
Through every quiet, uncertain day.
---
You told her everything.
The little things. The big things. The things that didn’t matter and the things that mattered too much.
“Meredith yelled at someone today,” you said softly one afternoon, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’d be proud. It was kind of terrifying.”
Your voice wavered slightly.
“I think she misses you.”
You exhaled, resting your forehead gently against the back of Lexie’s hand.
“…I know I do.”
---
Days blurred together.
Then weeks.
Then months.
Until time didn’t feel real anymore—just something that passed while you waited.
Always waiting.
---
It happened on a quiet afternoon.
The kind that felt no different than any other.
You were mid-sentence, voice soft and steady.
“…and I told him that you would’ve definitely made fun of—”
Your words cut off.
Because her fingers moved.
You froze.
Heart stuttering.
“…Lex?”
You leaned forward, eyes locked on her hand.
For a second, nothing happened.
And then—
Another twitch.
Stronger this time.
“Oh my God,” you breathed, your voice shaking. “Lexie—hey, hey, can you hear me?”
You stood so quickly your chair scraped against the floor.
“Lexie, come on—”
Her eyelids fluttered.
Once.
Twice.
Like it was taking everything in her just to lift them.
You moved closer instantly, one hand coming up to cup her face, gentle—careful.
“I’m right here,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I’m right here, okay? You’re okay.”
Slowly—
Her eyes opened.
They were unfocused at first, dazed, like she was still caught somewhere between dreaming and waking.
But then—
They found you.
And everything shifted.
---
Recognition.
Soft. Immediate.
Even through the confusion, even through the exhaustion—she knew you.
Your breath hitched sharply.
“Hey,” you said, tears already spilling over before you could stop them. “Hi…”
Her lips parted slightly, her voice barely there.
“…you stayed.”
It wasn’t a question.
You let out a small, broken laugh, pressing your forehead gently to hers.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Of course I did.”
Her eyes filled just slightly, blinking slowly like even that took effort.
“…how long?”
You hesitated for half a second.
“Three months.”
Her brows knit faintly, processing that.
And then—so softly you almost missed it—
“…you really stayed.”
You smiled through your tears, brushing a strand of hair back from her face.
“Where else would I be?”
Her gaze didn’t leave yours.
Didn’t even try.
Like she was grounding herself in you.
“…right,” she whispered.
Your heart clenched.
“Right where you belong,” you added gently.
Her fingers shifted in your hand again—this time purposeful.
Weak, but real.
Holding on.
---
A nurse rushed in not long after, followed by voices, movement, controlled chaos.
But none of it mattered.
Not really.
Because through it all, Lexie’s eyes stayed on you.
And your hand never left hers.
---
Later, when the room quieted again, you leaned closer, brushing a soft kiss against her forehead.
“You scared me,” you admitted quietly.
Her lips curved just slightly, tired but familiar.
“…sorry.”
You huffed out a tearful laugh. “You better be.”
A small pause.
Then—
“I love you,” you whispered.
Her eyes softened instantly.
Even exhausted. Even weak.
Still her.
“…love you too.”
---
And as her fingers tightened just a little more around yours—
Summary: In the quiet hours of the night, when the world feels a little too big and shadows seem a little too close, your child finds their way to the one place they know is safe—between you and George. What follows is a soft, sleepy moment filled with comfort, whispered reassurances, and the kind of love that makes even the worst dreams fade away.
It was the kind of silence that only existed in the middle of the night.
Soft. Still. Safe.
Until—
A small creak.
Barely noticeable.
But not to you.
Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting slowly to the dark. For a second, you weren’t sure what had woken you…until you saw it.
A tiny silhouette standing in the doorway.
“…Hey, sweetheart,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
A quiet sniffle answered you.
“I had a bad dream.”
Your heart immediately softened.
“C’mere,” you said, pushing the blankets back slightly.
Before you could even sit up fully, George was already moving beside you.
George O'Malley blinked awake, disoriented for half a second before his brain caught up.
“Hey, buddy,” he said gently, his voice automatically warm despite the sleep still clinging to it. “Bad dream?”
A small nod.
That was all it took.
“Okay,” George whispered, scooting over and lifting the blanket. “Get in here. We’ve got plenty of room.”
Your child climbed up quickly, small hands grabbing onto the mattress, then onto you—like they needed to be sure you were real.
You wrapped your arms around them instantly, pulling them close, pressing a soft kiss to their hair.
“You’re okay,” you murmured. “It was just a dream.”
George shifted behind them, tucking the blanket around all three of you, creating a warm, safe cocoon.
“Do you wanna tell us about it?” he asked softly.
A small shake of the head.
“Too scary?”
Another nod.
“Yeah,” George said gently. “Sometimes dreams do that.”
There was a quiet pause, filled only by the sound of soft breathing and the occasional hitch in your child’s breath.
You rubbed slow circles on their back. “You’re safe now.”
“Nothing’s gonna get you in here,” George added, his voice calm and certain in that way that made everything feel okay. “You’ve got me and Mom. That’s like…double protection.”
A tiny, shaky giggle slipped out.
You smiled against their hair.
“Plus,” George continued, just a little lighter now, “I’m basically a professional at handling scary situations.”
You raised a brow. “Oh really?”
“Absolutely,” he said, sounding very serious despite the fact that you could hear the smile in his voice. “I once handled a very aggressive Jell-O cup in the cafeteria.”
That earned a small laugh—this one a little stronger.
“Did you win?” your child asked quietly.
George gasped. “Of course I did. I always win against Jell-O.”
You snorted softly. “Debatable.”
“Hey,” he protested, nudging you gently. “I have witnesses.”
Your child shifted slightly between you, the tension in their little body easing just a bit.
That was all that mattered.
---
The room settled again.
This time, softer.
Safer.
Your child curled closer into you, one hand fisting lightly in your shirt while the other reached back, finding George without even looking.
He didn’t hesitate—just gently took their hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered.
You glanced over at him in the dim light.
There was something so George about this moment—about the way he was fully present, fully gentle, fully there without hesitation.
He met your eyes, offering you a small, sleepy smile.
“We make a pretty good team,” he murmured.
You smiled back. “Yeah. We do.”
---
Minutes passed.
Maybe longer.
Your child’s breathing slowly evened out, the soft rise and fall of their chest steady and calm.
Asleep again.
You brushed a hand through their hair carefully, making sure not to wake them.
George leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Think they’re out?”
“Yeah,” you whispered back. “I think so.”
He exhaled softly, relief evident even in that quiet sound.
“Good,” he said. “I hate when they’re scared.”
“I know.”
There was a pause.
Then—
“Hey,” he added quietly, “if they kick me in their sleep again, I’m filing a formal complaint.”
You huffed out a silent laugh. “You’ll survive.”
“I don’t know,” he murmured dramatically. “It’s a dangerous situation over here.”
You nudged him lightly with your shoulder. “Shh. You’re gonna wake them.”
“Right,” he whispered, immediately soft again.
---
The three of you stayed like that.
Tangled together under the blankets, the world outside the room completely forgotten.
Safe.
Warm.
Home.
And somewhere between your steady breathing and George’s quiet presence, even the worst dreams didn’t stand a chance.
So right now I'm writing a lot of non requested stuff until I get requests but since I'm a female I automatically write x female reader but I will write male x male reader or female x male reader if requested and you guys can request smut and get my thoughts on things I love to yapping
Summary: You’re usually the easy one—the warm smile, the quick laugh, the person everyone gravitates toward. So when you suddenly turn sharp, distant, and just a little bitter, it doesn’t go unnoticed…especially not by Arizona Robbins. She knows something’s wrong, even if you insist nothing is. And when she finally gets the truth out of you, it turns out your reason might be a little ridiculous…a little embarrassing…and completely, utterly adorable.
Something was off.
Arizona Robbins noticed it immediately.
She noticed everything, really—that was part of what made her so good at her job. Subtle shifts, tiny tells, the things other people missed.
And you?
You were practically glowing most days. Bright, warm, impossible to ignore.
So when that glow dimmed…she felt it.
“Okay,” Arizona said, leaning against the nurses’ station, arms crossed as she watched you snap a little too sharply at an intern. “Who are you and what have you done with my favorite person?”
You didn’t even look up from your chart. “I’m busy, Robbins.”
Her brows lifted.
Robbins.
Not Arizona.
Yeah. Something was definitely wrong.
---
It didn’t stop there.
You were short with people. Quiet when you were usually talkative. You didn’t laugh at jokes you normally would’ve doubled over at.
And worst of all?
You avoided her.
Not obviously—no, you were more subtle than that. But Arizona noticed the way you always seemed to have somewhere else to be when she walked in. The way your eyes flicked away just a little too quickly.
By the end of the day, she was done pretending not to see it.
---
She found you in an empty exam room.
“Okay,” she said, closing the door behind her. “We’re doing this now.”
You sighed, not even turning around. “Doing what?”
“Whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely at you. “The attitude, the distance, the whole—” she waved her hand again “—mysterious personality swap.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Arizona let out a short laugh. “That’s cute. Try again.”
You turned then, crossing your arms. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” she said immediately, stepping closer. “You won’t look at me, you called me Robbins, and you just scared an intern into reconsidering their entire career path.”
“They’ll survive.”
“Yeah, but will I? Because I kind of liked the version of you that didn’t act like I personally offended you by existing.”
That hit.
You looked away.
And that—more than anything—told her she was right.
---
Arizona softened instantly.
“Hey,” she said gently, her voice dropping. “Talk to me.”
You shook your head. “It’s stupid.”
“I decide what’s stupid.”
“It’s really stupid.”
She stepped closer, just enough to be in your space without crowding you. “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
You huffed out a quiet, frustrated breath.
“Fine.”
There was a pause.
A long one.
Arizona waited.
And then—
“You forgot my coffee order.”
Silence.
Arizona blinked.
“…I’m sorry, what?”
You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “I told you it was stupid.”
“No, no, go back,” she said, trying very hard to follow. “Your coffee order?”
“You always remember everyone’s,” you said quickly, words tumbling out now that you’d started. “Like, everyone’s. You get Bailey’s exactly right, you know what Alex wants without asking, you even remembered that one intern likes oat milk—”
“I have a good memory—”
“But you forgot mine,” you cut in, finally looking at her. “You asked me what I wanted like you didn’t already know.”
Arizona stared at you.
Processing.
“…So,” she said slowly, “you’ve been mad at me…because I asked what coffee you wanted?”
“When you’ve never had to ask before,” you insisted.
“That’s—” she stopped herself, pressing her lips together.
You crossed your arms tighter. “See? Stupid.”
“No,” she said quickly.
But there was a smile fighting its way onto her face.
A soft one.
Affectionate.
“You’re smiling,” you accused.
“I’m not.”
“You are!”
“I’m—” she exhaled, shaking her head. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“Wow. Great. I’m glad my emotional spiral is entertaining for you.”
“It’s not that,” she said, stepping closer again. “It’s just…that might be the cutest reason anyone’s ever been mad at me.”
You stared at her, unimpressed. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”
“I’m not having fun,” she insisted, though her eyes were warm. “I just…didn’t realize it mattered that much to you.”
You hesitated.
“…It didn’t,” you muttered. “At first.”
Arizona tilted her head. “But then?”
You sighed. “Then I started thinking maybe you forgot because I don’t matter as much as everyone else. Which is dumb, I know—”
“Hey.” Her voice was firm this time.
You stopped.
Arizona stepped right in front of you, close enough that you couldn’t look anywhere but at her.
“That’s not dumb,” she said softly. “That’s just you caring.”
Your throat tightened a little.
“Still,” you mumbled, “it’s over coffee.”
“It’s not about the coffee,” she replied.
You huffed. “You’re very wise today.”
“I’m always wise,” she shot back lightly, then softened again. “And for the record? I didn’t forget because you don’t matter.”
“Then why?”
She hesitated.
And for the first time since walking in, she looked a little unsure.
“Because,” she admitted, quieter now, “I got nervous.”
You blinked. “Nervous?”
Arizona let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “Yeah. Turns out when I like someone, my brain stops working properly. Who knew?”
Your heart skipped.
“…Oh.”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling a little. “Oh.”
The room felt a lot smaller all of a sudden.
---
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“My order is a caramel latte,” you said.
Arizona grinned instantly. “Extra caramel, no foam.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You did remember.”
“I remembered after,” she said, completely unapologetic. “I just panicked in the moment.”
You tried to stay annoyed.
You really did.
But it was slipping.
“…You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” she agreed easily. “But you like me anyway.”
You rolled your eyes.
“…Maybe.”
Arizona’s smile softened, something warmer settling in her expression now.
Summary: Dating Van Palmer is fun, chaotic… and comes with one very specific challenge: meeting the team. When Van finally introduces you to the Yellowjackets, her teammates decide to have a little fun first—putting on their best “scary dad” act before letting you off the hook. Van, of course, is both horrified and way too entertained.
“Okay, don’t freak out.”
You glanced over at Van, who was currently walking backwards in front of you, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, her expression somewhere between excited and nervous.
“That sentence is not reassuring,” you said.
She grinned. “You’ll be fine. They’re just… a lot.”
“A lot how?”
Van hesitated for half a second.
“…Loud. Judgy. Weirdly protective.”
You slowed slightly. “Protective of you?”
“Yeah,” she said, like that was obvious. “You’re my girlfriend. That makes you… important.”
Your chest warmed a little at that, even as your nerves doubled.
“Van…”
“Hey.” She stopped walking, reaching out to grab your hands. “Seriously. They’re gonna love you.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I am!” she said quickly. Then, softer, “They just might mess with you first.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Van—”
Before you could finish, the gym doors swung open behind her.
:readmore
“Palmer!”
You both turned.
Inside, the team was already there—stretching, talking, tossing a ball around. But now?
Now they were all looking at you.
At you.
Van winced slightly. “Too late.”
“Who’s that?” someone called.
Van straightened a little, squeezing your hands once before letting go.
“That’s—uh—” she glanced at you, then back at them, “—my girlfriend.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then everything stopped.
Completely.
You blinked.
“…Why did everyone go quiet?” you whispered.
Van rubbed the back of her neck. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“I think they’re doing a thing.”
“A thing?”
Before she could explain, a few of them started walking over—slowly. Too slowly.
One crossed her arms. Another cracked her knuckles. Someone in the back muttered, “So this is her, huh?”
Your stomach dropped.
“…Van,” you whispered, “why do they look like they’re about to interrogate me?”
“Because they are,” she said under her breath. “Just—go with it.”
“Go with it?!”
Too late.
They were already surrounding you.
One of them—tall, serious-looking—tilted her head slightly.
“So,” she said, voice low. “You’re Van’s girlfriend.”
You swallowed. “Yeah.”
Another stepped forward. “You treat her right?”
“Yes—?”
“‘Yes’?” someone echoed, raising a brow.
You blinked. “Yes. I do.”
A third voice chimed in, “You better. She’s one of ours.”
Van made a strangled noise beside you. “Guys—”
“No, no,” another interrupted, holding up a hand. “We’re just getting to know her.”
“This is not ‘getting to know her,’” Van shot back. “You’re being weird.”
“We’re being protective,” someone corrected.
“By threatening her?”
“We haven’t threatened her,” a girl said calmly, then looked at you. “Do you feel threatened?”
“…A little,” you admitted.
Van groaned. “Oh my god.”
“Relax,” one of them said, though she still hadn’t stopped staring at you like you were being evaluated. “We just need to know she’s good enough.”
You crossed your arms slightly, nerves starting to shift into something a little more stubborn.
“I am good enough,” you said.
That got a reaction.
A few exchanged glances. One raised her eyebrows, impressed.
“…Okay,” she said slowly.
Another leaned in slightly. “And if she gets hurt?”
You didn’t hesitate.
“She won’t,” you said. “Not because of me.”
The silence that followed felt… different.
Less tense.
Van looked at you, a small, surprised smile tugging at her lips.
“…Okay,” someone finally said, breaking the moment.
Then—
A grin.
“Yeah, she’s good.”
The whole group relaxed instantly, like a switch had been flipped.
“Oh my god, your face,” one of them laughed. “You were terrified.”
“I told you she’d pass,” another added.
Van stared at them. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“What?” someone shrugged. “We had to do the scary dad thing.”
“You don’t have dads,” Van snapped.
“Exactly. So we have to make up for it.”
You let out a shaky laugh, your tension finally breaking.
“You guys are ridiculous.”
“And you handled it,” one of them said, bumping your shoulder lightly. “Respect.”
Another nodded. “Yeah, welcome to the team.”
Van stepped closer to you, still glaring at them but clearly relieved.
“I’m so sorry,” she muttered. “I told you they’d be weird.”
“They weren’t that bad,” you said, smiling a little.
“Oh, give it time,” someone called from behind you.
Van rolled her eyes, then reached for your hand again, squeezing it.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah,” you said, squeezing back. “I think I passed the test.”
She grinned.
“Yeah,” she said. “You definitely did.”
From across the gym, someone shouted, “Hey, girlfriend! You coming to practice or what?”
Summary: With Seeley Booth home taking care of his sick kids, Aubrey is stepping up as lead investigator for the first time. The only problem? It’s 5 a.m., he’s nervous, and he needs help choosing the perfect tie… which means waking up his half-asleep wife.
The alarm hadn’t even gone off yet.
The room was still wrapped in that quiet, heavy darkness of early morning—too early for logic, too early for decision-making, and definitely too early for wardrobe crises.
“Hey… hey, honey?”
A soft nudge at your shoulder pulled you from sleep, somewhere between dreaming and consciousness.
You groaned quietly, eyes barely cracking open. “Mm… what?”
Standing beside the bed was your husband, already dressed in a crisp white shirt and slacks, hair slightly damp like he’d rushed through a shower. In one hand, he held two ties. In the other, his suit jacket.
“I need help,” Aubrey said, voice low but urgent in that adorable way that meant he was overthinking something.
You squinted at him. “It’s… five in the morning.”
“I know,” he said quickly, wincing a little. “I wouldn’t wake you, I just—this is my first time leading a case while Booth’s out and I need to not look like I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Even half-asleep, that made you smile.
Booth trusting him enough to stay home? That was big.
And Aubrey caring this much? That was very him.
You pushed yourself up slightly against the pillows, blinking at the ties he held up.
“One’s navy,” he said, lifting it. “Classic, safe. The other’s… this one.” He held up a darker one with a subtle pattern. “Less boring. But maybe too much?”
You stared at them for a second. Or maybe ten.
Your brain was trying its best.
“…the dark one,” you mumbled finally, pointing vaguely. “Makes you look… important. Like… FBI important.”
Aubrey’s shoulders relaxed immediately.
“Yeah?” he asked, a hopeful grin tugging at his lips.
You nodded sleepily. “Yeah. Very lead-investigator-who-knows-what-he’s-doing.”
He let out a quiet laugh, slipping the tie around his collar and starting to knot it. “You always pick the good one.”
“That’s because you wake me up at ungodly hours,” you muttered, flopping back onto the pillow. “High-stakes decision-making.”
He stepped closer once he finished, adjusting his jacket before leaning down. You felt his lips press softly to your forehead.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll bring you coffee later.”
“…and donuts,” you added, eyes still closed.
He chuckled. “And donuts.”
There was a pause, and when you opened your eyes again just slightly, he was still there—looking at you with that soft, steady expression he only ever wore at home.
“You’re gonna do great,” you said quietly, more awake now.
That nervous energy flickered across his face again—but softer this time.
“Yeah,” he said, exhaling. “I think I will.”
He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before heading out, the soft click of the door barely audible.
And as you drifted back to sleep, you couldn’t help but smile.
Because somewhere out there, leading his first case, was a very well-dressed, slightly nervous, very capable FBI agent…
