#I LOVE HIM REGARDLESS IF HE SMELLS LEAVE HIM ALONE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

serpentandlily · 1 year ago

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Lost in a Labyrinth - Azriel x Reader

Lost in a Labyrinth I - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Lonely and heartbroken after his near kiss with Elain, Azriel finds himself at the door to the most exclusive pleasure house in Hewn City, The Labyrinth, taking Rhysand’s cruel advice. What he expected to find was a pretty girl to warm a bed with him for a single night. But instead he finds something he never thought existed—his mate. A mate that is tangled up in something far more sinister than he could ever imagine.

Warnings: smut (minors dni), reader is a prostitute

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part I

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure house and pay for it, but stay away from her.”

Rhysand’s words had played over and over again in his head since the Winter Solstice, three months ago. Azriel wasn't sure why he was taking him up on his shitty advice now but by some will of his own, he was standing in the shadows of the alley across the street from The Labyrinth—Hewn City’s most exclusive brothel.

Azriel only knew of this place because some of the high ranking nobles he spied on talked about it often. It was known for its secrecy, for making sure their clientele had confidentiality. There were far more pleasure houses that were known to the public, even one in Velaris, but the last thing Azriel wanted was word getting around that he had been seen visiting one. Partly because he liked keeping his love affairs secret, but mostly because he didn’t want to give that satisfaction to Rhysand.

When his shadows came back with no reports of any sightings of faeries nearby, Azriel crossed the distance to The Labyrinth. He knocked five times on the plain looking, unassuming door, following the instructions he had overheard.

A sliding peephole opened revealing a pair of dark eyes. “A bargain, Shadowsinger,” a male voice said through the door. “A copper for your eyes.”

“A silver for your tongue,” Azriel agreed. He felt a burning sensation behind his ear, the bargain tattoo forming.

This was another thing he had learned from spying— the secret bargain that would grant you access to The Labyrinth. A bargain that he wouldn’t speak of the people and things he might see here so long as they kept their silence in regards to his identity.

The door swung open a second later and the male guard ushered him in. The guard gave him a once over, his eyes stopping on the dagger sheathed on his thigh.

“No weapons allowed, Shadowsinger,” the guard ordered. “Especially around the girls.”

Azriel wordlessly unsheathed Truth-teller and let his shadows take it away. He didn’t tell the guard that it was pointless, that he could summon it back at any time regardless of whatever wards they had set up around here—his shadows didn’t abide by the typical rules of magic. But the guard didn’t need to know that.

The guard held out a gloved hand. “The entrance fee.”

Azriel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch filled with coins. He set it in the guard’s palm without question.

The guard gave him a dip of the head, satisfied, before gesturing for him to continue on. Azriel strided down the dim hallway. He could already smell various aphrodisiacs and drugs amongst the intoxicating scent of arousal in the air. It spurred him on, kept his feet moving on the dark red carpet, not allowing him the chance to second guess his decision to come here.

He wasn’t sure what magic was at play, or if they specifically scented the hallway to further get their clients in the mood, but something was tugging him forward.

He finally made it to the other end of the hallway, where a black door was awaiting him. He opened it slowly, cautiously and when no threat appeared, stepped through the threshold. The door opened up into a large foyer of sorts with a large candle chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Straight ahead was a grand staircase that led to the second floor. On both sides of the foyer were large double doors with masked guards standing in front of them, swords strapped to their backs.

Waiting for him in the center of the room was an older, High Fae female with generous curves, dressed decadently. A polite smile graced her pretty but aging face as she took him in.

“Shadowsinger,” she greeted with a dip of the head, her hands clasped in front of her. “Welcome to The Labyrinth. My name is Lydia. I will be your point of contact during your time here. Please follow me, I will show you to the girls so you may make your selection.”

This wasn’t the first time Azriel had visited a pleasure house. Gods, when they were younger, him, Rhysand and Cassian had gone to some together. Had even taken the same girl once. But this felt…different. The atmosphere was soft, sensual—not rowdy like the other brothels he had been to.

He followed Lydia into the first set of double doors, which led down another long corridor with more doors lining the wall, all numbered. Until they reached the end where another set of double doors waited. As soon as Lydia pushed them open and gestured for him to continue, soft music crept through the air.

Azriel walked into a heavily perfumed room, dimly lit much like everywhere else in this place. Dark red, velvet settees and cushions lined the walls and floors. Silks hanging from the ceilings gave each space a bit of privacy. A bar was on the opposite wall, fully stocked with various alcohols. Males and females, alike, were milling about the room in various states of undress, some paired up on the couches and chairs.

At the front of the room was a wall made entirely of glass that overlooked a courtyard. Hanging plants and flowered vines decorated the space. A large fountain bubbled in the middle of it. Girls in lingerie and silk robes sat on the stone benches and cushions on the floor, lingered near the fountain, danced to the soft music in corners of the courtyard—all giggling and chattering with each other.

“These are the girls in The Labyrinth,” Lydia explained. “If you would like to see our selection of males, let me know.”

His eyes wandered over the girls, all so beautiful and unique. Every single type of fae was here—from nymphs to firelings to High Fae. But his gaze was drawn towards a lone figure in one of the second story alcoves.

His breath was sucked from his lungs the minute his eyes fell on her. She was…she was so beautiful. The most beautiful female he had ever seen in his five hundred years of living. She was dressed in a light pink lingerie set, a sheer robe hanging over it with white fur trims. She was alone, resting an elbow on the stone railing with her chin plopped in her hand as she gazed out into the carved mountainside within Hewn City.

He couldn’t rip his eyes away from her.

“Are any of them suited to your tastes, Shadowsinger?” Lydia questioned from beside him, knocking him out of whatever spell he had been put under.

“Her,” he answered, his voice a mere whisper, as he dipped his head towards the female he couldn’t help but stare at.

Lydia murmured something to one of the masked servants walking around with trays of champagne flutes. A moment later, one returned and handed the female a slip of paper. She clicked her tongue at whatever she read.

“Apologies, Shadowsinger,” she said, “But it looks like she’s already been chosen for tonight. Do any—”

“By who?” Azriel growled before he even realized, his shadows whirling around him. Lydia looked up at him with a stern look that accentuated all the fine lines on her face.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” she chided. Azriel gave her a sheepish look, not knowing what had come over him. “It looks like any of the other girls are still up for the taking if you’d like to choose another?”

But Azriel couldn’t stop staring at the girl in the pink. Couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her. None of the other girls caught his attention. He had come here looking for a quick, no strings attached, fuck but that desire, that need—it was like it had been sucked right out of him.

“I…” he trailed off, suddenly reeling back into his body. Lydia was staring up at him expectedly but he took a step away. “N-no. I’m sorry. I should…I should go.”

Not a second later, his shadows swirled around him, whisking him away.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Azriel wasn’t sure what drew him back to The Labyrinth the next night. Or the night after. Each time he came, he asked for that girl in pink, and each time, he was told she had already been booked for the night. It would’ve been easy to accompany Mor to Rita’s and find a plethora of females that would fuck him for free. But none of them would’ve been her.

He wasn’t even sure why he was becoming so obsessed with a girl he’d never even talked to. Obsessed enough to travel to Hewn City, pay the copious entrance fee, just to leave when he was told she was still not available.

But here he was.

Again.

Standing at the doors to The Labyrinth.

It had become such a reoccurrence that Lydia would merely shake her head no at the sight of him, already knowing what he was there for. He was sure tonight would go more or less the same. But he was surprised when he caught sight of Lydia standing in the large, intricate foyer and she shook her head yes.

“Well, Shadowsinger,” she said, “I admire your persistence. It seems it is your lucky day. The girl you’ve been waiting for is available. Please, continue on up the stairs and into The Labyrinth. She will be waiting for you behind the ninth door.”

Azriel gave her a dip of the head before striding past her to the staircase. His shadows were swarming him—excited about something. He tuned them out, pushing open the black doors waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

He paused for a second, feeling like he had suddenly been transported somewhere else. Instead of one long hallway like he’d been expecting, the doors opened to a maze of large pillars, multiple pathways lit by candles placed on the floor.

He sent his shadows forward to scout the place and locate the ninth door that Lydia had mentioned. He followed their trail which led him to a red door with a number nine painted on it in a darker shade of red that looked suspiciously like blood.

He let out the breath he had been holding as he wrapped his scarred fingers around the doorknob and slowly pushed it open.

Slow, sultry music met his ears and the scent of pomegranates and cardamom flooded his senses. It was intoxicating, beckoning him forward. He softly shut the door behind him before he completely paused in his tracks as he turned to face the room.

There, standing with her back to him, was the girl who had been utterly consuming his mind since he had first laid eyes on her. She was wearing a light pink nightgown that laced down her lower back. She was bent forward slightly, lighting a candle on a coffee table set up in front of a pair of red velvet couches.

His eyes trailed over the room for a second, trying to gather his bearings. It was a large room, large enough to have a sitting area separate from the four-poster bed covered in silk and textured fabrics. Everything fit the same color scheme as the other rooms he’d been in, red and black. Lit only by candles, the soft lighting only added to the sultry atmosphere.

Some smoke lingered in the air, making everything a bit more hazy. He recognized the scent as a popular aphrodisiac often used during parties with high nobility. His shadows seemed lulled by the music, drifting around him lazily as he stood in place.

He stood frozen as she finally turned around and met his gaze. He had thought her beautiful that day he had seen her up on the balcony, but this close, well… beautiful was not strong enough of a word. She looked crafted for the Gods, a being not meant to walk alongside man. His breath was sucked right out of his lungs again, his eyes widened as his shadows reacted by lowering themselves onto the ground, leaving him bare.

“There you are,” she purred, her voice as smooth as silk and honey. “I’ve heard you’ve been waiting for me.”

Azriel swallowed harshly, his throat bobbing with the motion. He watched her eyes track it, watched how her smirk slipped into a soft smile instead. He opened his mouth to speak, to say anything, but it was like no thoughts existed in his head except for an image of her.

“A bit shy, are you?” She teased after he failed to speak, walking towards him and holding out a hand with well manicured nails. “That’s okay, my love, let me take care of you.”

She grasped his hand in her much smaller one, not even flinching when her skin met contact with his brutal scars. He let her guide him to the couch and push him to sit, entranced by her very presence. She moved to the bar cart behind him, running a delicate hand over his shoulders as she did, before pouring two glasses of whiskey.

She meandered back over to him, plopping on the couch next to him before handing him one of the glasses. She clinked her glass against his. “For the nerves, my love.”

Azriel wanted to tell her that he wasn’t nervous, but that would be a lie. He had no idea why he had been reduced to the shy teenage boy he had been in his youth but he couldn’t shake himself from the feeling. Her presence was overwhelming, intimidating. Like she somehow held his entire being in the palm of her hands.

“Thank you,” he grunted out, his voice rough. He cleared his throat before downing his glass of whiskey in one go. She followed his lead, her smoky eyes never leaving his as she swallowed her whiskey. Beneath the exaggerated desire he found in them was a more calculating look, like she was trying to figure him out.

A bit of the whiskey slipped out of the side of her mouth, dripping down her chin and neck to the crevice between her breasts. Azriel’s gaze followed it, his cock tightening in his pants as he wished to lick it off her gleaming skin.

“Oops,” she giggled, swiping it up with a finger and sucking it into her mouth. “Would you like another glass?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to be drunk for this. He wanted to savor every second of his time with her, the girl who had been plaguing his thoughts night and day.

“You seem tense, Shadowsinger,” she purred with a pout, making his eyes dip to her full, red painted lips. “I can fix that.”

She reached forward and ran a slender hand up his chest and he nearly moaned at the feeling of her touching him. His hand latched onto hers, stopping it in its tracks.

“What’s your name?” Azriel asked, finally speaking. He needed to know. Needed to taste the way it felt to say it on his tongue as much as he needed to taste her.

“Serenity,” she replied with a coy smile. “But you can call me anything you like, my love.”

His eyes searched hers. “That’s not your real name, is it?”

“Of course not, darling,” she giggled. She leaned towards him, close enough that her breath fluttered over his ear. His cock twitched in his pants, his skin heated. “I think the real question is, what would you like me to call you, Shadowsinger?”

“Azriel,” he breathed out. “Just…just Azriel.”

“Azriel,” she repeated in that voice of silk and honey.

His eyes darted down to her lips again. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help how turned on he felt. Was it the aphrodisiacs in the room? Or perhaps the whiskey had hit just right? He didn’t care. All he knew was he needed to have her.

Azriel let go of her hand, letting her continue her travel up his chest until she grabbed the empty glass in his hand and set it down on the table in front of them. She made eye contact with him again, slowly moving to straddle him on the couch, wrapping her arms around his neck lightly. He bit back a groan as her weight fell on his hardening member.

“What is it you’re here for, Azriel?”

His brain couldn’t focus with her in his lap. Her eyes were so mesmerizing, her scent one he could get high off. His hands found her waist, the silk fabric of her nightgown so smooth against his rough skin.

“You,” he whispered, honestly. Because that was the truth. He had seen her and knew he needed to have her.

“I’m yours, Azriel,” she giggled. “Any way you want me.”

If he were a better male, perhaps now would be the time he realized this might be a mistake. But he wasn’t a better male. He couldn’t be. Not when her body was pressed against his, not when she looked so beautiful staring up at him with her large, expressive eyes, and certainly not when his body was singing for her—hungering for her like she was the only sustenance he needed.

So Azriel surged forward and kissed her.

Lightning exploded, skittering over his skin, the moment his lips touched hers. He groaned at the feeling of their softness. She let out a small sigh as she kissed him back, melting in his lap, pressing herself closer to him.

Azriel slid a hand up her exposed back until he grasped her by the back of the neck and tilted her head so he could deepen the kiss, finally taking control of the situation. His cock hardened painfully as she spread her legs further, allowing her heat to rub against him.

He kissed her like a starved male, licking along her bottom lip, compelling her to part her lips for him. She let him consume her, let him slip his tongue into her mouth and taste her fully.

So sweet.

So divine.

Azriel broke the kiss, letting her gasp for air. The scent of her arousal had his eyes rolling back in his head. Still holding her by the back of the neck, he twisted her head to the side and pressed his lips just below her ear before trailing down her jaw and to her delicate neck.

She moaned, squirming in his lap and rubbing against his hard length, only spurring him on more. His other hand started working on unlacing her nightgown. His fingers fumbled over the ribbon, until finally, it came undone and fell, pooling at her waist.

Azriel pulled back to look at her, now bare before him from the waist up. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly with her breathing, her eyes dilated and full of lust, her lips swollen. The perfect image of desire.

“So beautiful,” he growled, before leaning forward and latching his mouth around her right nipple. She gasped, arching into his mouth as her hands fisted his hair.

“Azriel,” she whimpered, pushing her hips down against his bulge. He growled again, thrusting his hips up to meet hers.

His lips made a path back up to hers, taking her breasts in his palms as he kissed her deeply. She grinded down on his cock again, pulling a whine from the back of his throat that had her smiling against his lips.

He wanted to take his time with her, wanting to draw this out as long as he could. But he knew he wouldn’t last. Not when the need to be in her was causing him to strain against his pants to the point of pain.

Azriel stood, lifting her up with him with an arm under her ass and the other wrapped around her. He let his shadows swarm them, stepping out right in front of the bed. She was breathless as he dropped her onto the soft pillows and sheets, her hair fanning around her head like a halo.

An Angel.

That’s what she was.

A godsdamn Angel.

He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, running them down her body as he pulled her nightgown all the way off, leaving her entirely bare before her. She moved to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his shirt but he lightly grasped her throat in his hand and pushed her back down.

“How do you want me, Azriel?” She hummed, seductively, wrapping her hands around his wrist.

Azriel leaned down, running his nose along the column of her throat until his mouth was beside her ear.

“First, I want you coming on my fingers,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire. “Then my tongue. And then my cock. Do you understand?”

She swallowed audibly, nodding her head.

“Words, angel,” he smirked. “Use your words.”

“Yes, Azriel, I understand,” she whimpered, the scent of her arousal peaking.

He inhaled deeply before pulling away and dropping to his knees before her. She sat up on her elbows, letting out a small cry as he hooked his arms around her thighs and yanked her towards the end of the bed.

Her sex was glistening with her want and Azriel groaned at the sight, unlacing his pants with one hand to relieve some pressure. He watched her as he dipped forward and ran his tongue up her slit, his eyes rolling back at the sweet taste of her.

She tossed her head back with a moan, spreading her legs wider for him. Azriel didn’t waste any time. He sucked and licked at her clit with a hunger he’d never felt before, his cock twitching every time he drew out a moan or cry from her lips.

True to his word, his finger swirled around her entrance, causing her hips to thrust closer and closer. He continued his ministrations as he slid a single finger inside of her, cursing as he felt how tight she was wrapped around him.

“Azriel,” she cried out as he added a second finger before slowly thrusting in and out of her. “Fuck.”

He continued to suck that spot that had her crying out, pure waves of euphoria crashing through her body. His fingers began to thrust inside of her faster and faster as her moans became more frequent.

“That’s it, angel,” he praised as she rutted against his fingers. “Fuck yourself with my fingers.”

She whimpered, her movements frenzied as he latched his mouth back on her clit, sucking in rhythm with his fingers. One of her hands gripped his hair while the other fisted the sheets and she squirmed in pleasure until he pushed her over the edge.

“Az…Azriel,” she cried, arching her back as flames licked their way through her body. “I’m gonna—”

Azriel didn’t stop, palming himself with his free hand as she orgasmed, pulsating around his fingers with a loud moan. He slipped his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue just in time to feel the aftershock ripple through her.

She tried to pull his head away, but he didn’t relent. He needed her on his tongue, needed to fulfill the hunger inside of him. It wasn’t long before he had her screaming through her second orgasm, lapping at the wetness pooling between her thighs. Azriel didn’t let up as he rode out her orgasm with his tongue, not until her body was writhing in pleasure and she was begging him to stop.

He stood, sticking one of the fingers covered in her juices into his mouth, eyes rolling back in his head as he groaned. “Gods, you taste so good.”

He left her panting on the bed as he made quick work of ripping his clothes off. His eyes were black with lust, his shadows spilling all around him in his craze. Gods, he needed her so bad. Every piece of her.

He climbed onto the bed, hovering over her and crashing his lips against hers. His tongue was still claiming her mouth as her hands roamed the muscles of his chest, sliding down to his cock. He groaned into her mouth as she ran her hand up and down his shaft.

“Please,” she begged.

“Please what, angel?” He nipped at her bottom lip. “What is it you want?”

“Please fuck me, Azriel,” she whined.

The noise that came out of his throat at her words was one he’d never made before. He sat back on his haunches, replacing her hand with his as he guided himself towards her entrance, rubbing up and down against the wetness that was waiting for him.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he slid himself inside of her slowly. She moaned as Azriel let out an animalistic growl at the feeling of her wrapped around him. It wasn’t until he was all the way in her when they both finally released a breath.

“Fuck,” he grunted, falling forward and peppering kisses along her throat. “You feel so good.”

She whimpered at his praise and felt him smirk against her neck before he started to finally move, pulling himself all the way out her before thrusting back in, faster this time. She cried out as he slammed into her.

Azriel set a punishing pace, thrusting into her again and again. His shadows seeped from him until nearly every crevice of the room was taken over by his darkness.

Her nails raked down his back, between his wings as she let him take her. He claimed her mouth again, passionately swallowing each moan he pulled from her. Her hips began to meet his with each thrust, pushing him deeper and deeper inside of her.

“Gods, Azriel,” she cried, squeezing around him as he hit that sweet spot inside her.

“Are you going to come on my cock, angel?” he cooed.

“Yes,” she mewled. “Yes, gods, yes.”

“Good girl,” he growled, nipping at her throat with his canines.

His words pushed her over the edge into the hot bliss of pleasure. She screamed his name as the lightning shot through her, her core pulsating with each strike.

“Fuck,” Azriel groaned. He rode out her orgasm and then his thrusts became harder, faster but sloppy with no rhythm as his own release slid up on him.

His tongue swirled around the base of her neck before an utterly feral growl ripped through him. And then he bit down on that spot. His canines ripped through the skin, sinking down into her flesh as he came, thrusting once, twice and one final time—burying himself in her.

They both panted in silence for a moment, coming down from their highs before Azriel slowly slipped out of her with a small whimper. He pulled away from her and she smiled up at him, her eyes glazed with pleasure and satisfaction.

And then something happened. Something he never thought would. Something he had only dreamed about but never wished for because he had thought it a waste of breath.

A golden string of light unwound itself and shot across the darkness, all the way to the beautiful girl before him.

The mating bond snapped.

His mating bond.

Azriel let out a choked noise, rising fully. He stumbled back in shock, his eyes wide as he stared down at her. Her brows furrowed in confusion and she sat up.

Fuck, his mate…

She was his mate.

His godsdamn mate.

This couldn’t be happening. Not like this. Not after he had just paid her to have sex with him. Not after he had come here for a shameless fuck. She’d never want him now. Why would she?

He hastily began picking up his discarded clothes and dressing himself. She did the same in her confusion, slipping her nightgown back on as she frowned at him.

“What happened?” Her voice was meek as she hugged an arm around herself, looking at him. “Have I…have I done something wrong?”

“N-no,” he stuttered, not looking her in the eyes. Gods, she would hate him if he told her now. She would not want anything to do with him. “No, I’m sorry. I-I need to go.”

“But you paid for the whole night,” she said, perplexed with a hint of insecurity. “Please, if I wasn’t good…if you didn’t enjoy it…I can do better, I swear it.”

He finally looked at her, at his mate. His heart sank in his chest at her words. Fuck, he was making this worse. He couldn’t stand the sight of her looking at him like she’d done something wrong. She was perfect. She had been perfect. It was him who fucked up.

“No, no, don’t. It’s not you," Azriel tried to reassure her. “I…it’s me. I need to go. I’m so sorry.”

“At least let me get you your money back,” she said, rubbing her arm. He felt sick to his stomach.

“No! No, please keep it,” he murmured, buttoning up his shirt as fast as he could. “I’m…I’m so sorry. This was a mistake.”

And then he disappeared in his shadows, her confused and hurt face the last thing he saw.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

a/n: so obvious this was entirely from Az's perspective but it will be reader y/n just in case it wasn't super obvious! Hope you guys enjoyed it! If you asked to be tagged but don't see your username, it wouldn't let me tag you for some reason :((

(also, now that the whole chapters out, if this isn't what you thought you were signing up for, no hard feelings if you asked to be removed from the taglist)

taglist: @itsswritten @impossibelle @lilah-asteria @heartless-tate @sheblogs @jesskidding3 @landofpetrichor @thecollegecowgirl @5onedirection5 @cherry-cin @fayeatheart @brieflyclassymortal @saltedcoffeescotch @glitterypirateduck @eyebagsanonymous @chxosangxl @daardyrnitta

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel angst #azriel smut #azriel spymaster

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nymph-ette111 · 6 months ago

Note

What if Jeff, EJ, Toby, Masky, Hoodie, and Ben (separately) found Y/N silently crying? Would they help or try to calm down Y/N?

That's it, sorry if I chose too many creepypastas ❤

I hope you have a great day/night!!

(I love your writing style aaaaah! Luv ya >< )

Sorry if I sounded cringe ;)

WARNINGS; JEFF BEING AN ASSHOLE LIKE USUAL/TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS, MENTIONS OF A DECAPITATED BODY

AUTHOR'S NOTE; NO ONE HERE IS CRINGE!! and I love you too <3 was giggling and kicking my feet writing masky and hoodie's part LOL

TOBY;

-the first thought that comes to his mind is that somebody caused this.

-may be a bit rough when asking what's wrong, because like I mentioned before, he just jumps into the conclusion that it's someone else's fault.

-Toby is a little... impulsive when it comes to solving his problems, always going the aggressive route.

-basically what I'm trying to say is that he is willing to chop up someone's body if they did something bad enough to make you cry.

-he will pry the information out of you, whether you want to or not.

-he doesn't realize that this makes things worse for you :( let's be realistic, imagine crying to your boyfriend because someone bothered you just for him to leave and come back covered in blood holding the head from said person's decapitated body.

-he'll even try to hug you, not caring if he is covered head to toe in blood, not caring if the smell was overwhelming your senses. he'll get upset if you refuse his "affection" and "comfort". sometimes Toby's thinking is... hard to understand.

-99% chance you're going to throw up from the sight alone. what I'm trying to say here is Toby's attempt at making you feel better is nowhere near what it's supposed to be.

-but if that wasn't the case and your crying was because of something else like an insecurity, just the overall stress of your day, basically anything that doesn't involve another person he'd be less aggressive.

-wouldn't really know what to say so he'd just go for physical affection and hope that it works.

-now this part depends on you since not everyone likes physical touch when upset. if you don't mind it then he's going to hold you until you feel better. if you don't he'd respect your wishes but he won't leave, even if you ask him to.

-would kiss away your tears one hundred percent.

-i'd give him about... 7/10 less if he brings back a corpse with him but the physical affection is nice :)

JEFFREY:

-love how your relationship is hanging on by a thread.

-it's surviving off of hopes and prayers bro.

-Jeff believes that he should be the only one who can make you upset in any way shape or form. I'd say he doesn't take the idea of someone else making you feel bad very lightly.

-not even in a "oh, someone made my partner upset! not on my watch!" he's just offended because it feels like someone took his place or something.

-yeah did I mention he's toxic as fuck.

-i honestly don't know how he'd react... contrary to popular belief I don't think he'd go out of his way to kill somebody because they made his partner upset like Toby would. in Toby's case it's out of pure love obsession and the need to please you. in Jeff's case he'd probably kill for his own benefit which I mentioned before, someone taking his place.

-fuck it he'd probably kill the person just to torment you, he enjoys that shit.

-however if it's your own feelings regardless of what it is, he'd pretend to not care.

-i think I somewhat implied it in my "stretch marks" post that he doesn't know how to handle his partner's emotions. insecurities or not, big chance he won't do anything, probably throw an insult or two just to make you feel pathetic.

-damn I don't think any fluff post with Jeff would work.

-how can this motherfucker even be nice.

-and if you're asking, no he would never break up with you. you boost his ego a little too much and he doesn't want to lose that.

-he doesn't want to admit it but he's attached to you to a certain degree.

-i'd give it... why are you even reading this it's an obvious 0/10

EYELESS JACK;

-im torn between making EJ the feral demon he is or making him more... human.

-i think I lean towards the more human side when writing for Jack but that might change in the future. expect all of my headcanons to change since I'm still trying to figure this out. even for his personality.

-i should make a poll for that... ANYWAYS

-regardless of the reason, he'd react pretty much the same way.

-he's so sweet and comforting it's actually insane :(

-he's naturally awkward but the voice, the way he weighs and genuinely considers his words before speaking, trying to find the best way to make you feel better can make anyone instantly fold I'm TELLING YOU.

-bro sounds smart and is smart just the way he talks to you is enough to make you move on from whatever had happened.

-intelligent men are so

-head scratches after he's done giving you his advice and point of view of the situation.

-my husband<3

-tries to get you out of your room after that, or just include you in whatever so you wouldn't think about it again. like offering to invite you to the infirmary, there's always an extra seat for you there :)

-i might be biased but 9/10

BEN;

-i've said this before and I'll say it again, does not know how to comfort people. especially ones he cares about.

-he just... stands at the doorway (or floats, whatever you like)

-if it was another person he'd laugh at them right away, but considering you're his partner he'd fight the urge for your sake.

-actually he might laugh a bit but if he notices that you're clearly serious about what upset you he'd drop it.

-would download a virus on the other person's devices.

-he thinks it's funny.

-he genuinely tries to make you feel better tho, just doesn't know how :(

-if you're insecure about something then he'd react similarly to my "stretch marks" post and try to convince you that whatever it is about you, it's beautiful.

-might come off as corny tho.

-either way... I'd give him a 5/10 maybe even 6/10 if bullying kids on roblox cheers you up.

MASKY;

-regardless of the reason, he'll ask what's wrong but secretly hopes you don't want to talk about it.

-he is a teen tiny bit awkward.

-kind of like Toby, he goes for physical affection and hopes it's enough to take your mind off of it somehow.

-but the hugs this man gives...

-might as well stay there forever.

-just imagine him holding you tight to his chest, one hand rubbing your back while the other plays with your hair. a cig hanging loosely from between his lips UGH

-can you tell I'm listening to lana del rey while writing this.

-again he might not offer much in terms of... actually saying something to comfort you but his hugs are enough and if they aren't then girl what the fuck is wrong with you.

-i need him.

-i give 8/10

HOODIE;

-another one who relies on the physical affection only because he's a selective mute.

-unless you know sign language.

-unlike masky, instead of a hug you're sitting on this man's lap.

-his mask up to the bridge of his nose, scruff facial hair grown from years of not taking proper care of himself rubbing against your flush cheeks, strong arms holding you tightly against him.

-i genuinely cannot continue writing this so I'm ending it here because another word of describing this man will have me tweaking out 9/10

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sexy-monster-fucker · 28 days ago

Text

But Who Could Love Me, I Am Out of my Mind

Dr. Gregory House x Doctor!Reader

Story Synopsis: Reader is a Doctor alongside House. They have known each other for years, mostly been dancing around being intimate with one another. Even though it is painfully obvious to their close friend, Wilson. After finally allowing their guards to fall, the Reader receives a letter inviting her for her dream position at her dream hospital. She has to make the hard choice of staying or going. angst/smut/nsfw/new relationships/minor fluff/typical hospital talk/situationship/

Part 3/Summary: After a long day dealing with House’s nonsense, Reader wants a night to relax at home. Until an unexpected guest comes knocking at her door.

CW: nipple play, fingering, multiple orgasms, handjob, p in v, creampie, new relationship, accidental confession, mentions of cucking,

[Part 1] | [Part 2] <- -> [Part 4] | [Part 5/Finale]

a/n: I’m just so in love with Greg House

title track 🎶🩶

~~~

After what felt like the longest day of your life, you really needed some alone time. Having to put up with House’s petty antics all day, not even considering the normal stress of the hospital, you were defeated.

Running yourself a nice, hot bath. Washing away the worries of the day along with your body. Steam filling the small space. More relaxing than you had anticipated. Putting on your most comfortable loungewear. Preparing for a night of silence other than whatever you ended up watching on TV. Pushing down everything that wanted so badly to erupt out of you. Tonight was no night to wallow.

So you lit your favorite candle. Turned off the overhead light. Clicking on each lamp you had strategically placed around the room. And curled up on your couch with a book. Finding yourself lost in the pages. Enjoying having a distraction.

The knock on the door startled you. Blowing your breath out as you tip-toed over to look through the peephole. Not expecting whose eyes you met.

“House?”

A closed mouth smile adorned his face. A hint of irritation on his lips. Hair slicked down with gel, a bold departure from his usually wild locks. Musky cologne overwhelmed your senses as soon as the door had opened. Overcoat with a band t-shirt and jeans. What you knew as his ‘out of office’ attire. Looking down to see him grasping a tote bag in his hand. Your favorite flowers peaking out the top, a paper bag underneath.

“Are you aware your elevator is out of order?” his shoulders bounced with each word as he tried to catch his breath. Brows knitted tightly together, hinting at the pain he was feeling. Eyes glancing back down to see his other hand shaking as it white-knuckled his cane.

“Come sit down,” you moved out of the way. Closing and locking the door behind him. Watching as he plopped onto the center of your couch, bag sitting in the floor beside him. Groaning as he finally got to relax his legs. Neck craning against the back of your couch as he stretched. Lump jumping in his throat as he swallowed hard.

You studied him. Trying to figure out why he showed up here. At your home on a random weeknight. After being nothing but a complete ass to you all day. Berating and belittling you. Inconveniencing you any way possible.

Wanting to hate him. Wanting to scream and make him take the stairs back down. To get out of your apartment. To leave you alone.

But you could not.

House had made himself at home in your heart. Tethering himself into your very being. Laced through your existence in a way you could never rid of. Regardless of how he cared for you. He was yours.

“These are for you,” House extended the bouquet out to you. Refusing to meet your silent stare. Accepting them with a soft ‘thank you.’ Knowing he had remembered the time you mentioned they were your favorite when a patient received them in their room. Cheeks heating up at the simple fact he remembered at all. Smelling the buds and smiling.

Beginning to question him, but getting cut off. “I brought takeout from that Chinese place you like. Got the number twelve like you always get,” his hands rustled through the paper bag. Sitting the little containers on the coffee table in front of him. Delicious aroma meeting your nose causing your stomach to growl. Realizing that you had forgotten to cook dinner. Too busy trying to relax.

Being hit with a sudden wave of anger. Remembering everything that happened today. Brows pushing tightly together as you stood across from him. Arms folded tightly over your chest.

“House, you can’t just—“

“And. I’m sorry,” his wide blue eyes finally met yours. Being stunned into silence by the words coming from him. One thing about Greg House: he never apologized. Ego too inflated to ever allow that. Always thinking he was right about everything, so what would he need to apologize for?

So you found it hard to believe that he meant it.

Convincing yourself there was an ulterior motive. There was no world in which Dr. House cared enough about you to sacrifice his self-importance. Your throat tightened as you held eye contact with him. Nostrils flaring as you battled to keep any emotion pushed down.

House sighed as his hand slapped against his leg, “I was acting petty. You did not deserve any of what I did to you today.” Corner of his mouth curving as his lips pierced together.

“Are you dying?” You deadpanned.

“What?”

“It’s just impossible that the Doctor Gregory House would ever say that to me,” you scoffed, “Let alone remember my favorite flowers. Something has to be wrong with you.”

Denying yourself hope. The possibility of him caring for you could not slip its way back into you. Easier to believe there was something else afoot.

House’s head fell defeated. A chuckle rumbling in his chest as he looked at you, “Do you seriously think I’m that shallow?”

“I know you are,” you snipped with a look of confusion. Coming off harsher than you had intended.

“Okay, I deserve that,” House mumbled under his breath. The smile tugging at his lips making you sick.

“Oh— I see what’s going on here. You made a bet with Wilson, didn’t you?”

“No—“

“Bet that if you showed up here all put together and-and with those sad eyes, you’d be able to get in bed with me. Right? Bringing some present and dinner, acting like you even feel remorse,” tears welled up behind your eyes. Mouth forming a frown as you tried to blink away the feeling. Talking with your hands, as you did when you were stressed. Voice cracking with each word that left your lips.

Maybe relaxation was not what you needed. Confrontation put a much fuller feeling inside you.

Losing the war against the tears. Burning as they stained your cheeks. Hating yourself for allowing him to get you this way. For allowing yourself to be this vulnerable with someone. You were better than this. Worth more than he had made you feel all day. You grasped the sides of your head, hiding your face the best you could. Trying your hardest to not sound so pitiful with your sobs.

His hands on your shoulders caused you to look up at him. Fingers digging into the flesh. Heartbreaking at how sad your eyes looked. You arched your brows trying to appear more intimidating than you were. Refusing to let him feel pity on you.

“Y/N, I—“

“No, I don’t want to hear it. You’re right. Everybody lies,” you huskily chuckled. Echoing his mantra to him. His eyes fell shut, frustrated as he exhaled hard.

His hand came up and cupped your cheek, thumb circling into the skin. Collecting the dew that had fallen from your eyes moments prior. Nostrils flaring as he flexed his jaw.

“This is one thing I would never lie to you about,” House’s brows sat flatly across his eyes. Teeth gritted together as his grip on you tightened. Trying his hardest to get his point across. Begging you to understand.

You scanned his eyes. Desperate for one hint of dishonesty. Begging for all of it to be a lie. Because it was almost easier to convince yourself he was lying than it was to believe him. Wilson’s reminder that House only chased a high to distract him ringing in your ears. Possibility of you being his next addiction causing your stomach to sink.

Yet, you found yourself knowing he was telling the truth. Never having seen his eyes so expressive and genuine as they were in this moment. Even a remnant of worry on his brow. Delusion of a future with him washing over your body. Wanting to try this with him. Wanting him to get better. Wanting to be able to commit to something without fleeing at the first sign of seriousness. Because he was what you wanted.

“You came all this way just to apologize?”

“Yes,” he breathed out with upturned eyebrows. Swallowing his fear of rejection.

“Really?”

“My God, woman. YES,” he over exaggerated his voice trying to get his point across to you, “All of this is for you. Because I… Wilson calls it ‘caring’. What I feel for you. And you’re making sure I don’t forget it. You know how hard it is for me to admit that I’m wrong? I’m not doing it again.”

Silently staring at each other for a moment. Before House’s mouth curved into a smirk. A small chuckle escaping through his nose as it slowly morphed into a genuine smile. Returning the affectionate gaze he had for you. Shaking your head in disbelief for a moment before you both erupted into a fit of understood laughter.

Cheeks glowing as your laughs subsided.

“Now, come sit down and eat with me,” House gestured back to the couch. Walking back over and taking his previous seat. Removing his jacket off his shoulders. Opening all the containers and plasticware. Blue eyes looking up at you, wondering why you had not joined him yet.

Slowly, you walked over. Quick to straddle his lap instead. House’s hands instinctively placed themselves on your hips as he looked up at you. A hint of confusion on his brow. Smiling softly, eyes dipping to look at your hardened nipples through your shirt. “Gonna be a little difficult to eat with you on top of me like this,” House questioned your action with a joke.

Your hands guided his eyes back up to yours. Lips meeting his. A certain hunger overtaking you. Sloppily kissing him, sliding your tongue into his mouth. Groaning when his hand pinched at your breast. Pulling away for just a moment, hooking your hands under the loose fit t-shirt.

“I didn’t come here just to fuck you,” House breathed, eyes hooded as they looked up at you.

“You want me to stop?” you cocked a brow.

“Absolutely not,” hands meeting yours and guiding your shirt off your head. Throwing it off in the floor behind you. His lips attaching onto one of your nipples as the other palmed your breast. Massaging the meat in his hand while his tongue flicked and stimulated the other nipple.

One hand roaming down to rim around your waistband of your sleep shorts. Slowly venturing down and slipping his hand up the bottom. Feeling the lining of your panties as he pulled them away from your core. Fingers slipping against your folds. A loud moan erupted from you at the sensation, hands digging into his gelled down hair. Disrupting the perfectly laid locks. Whining his name as surgical digits circled your clit.

“Never expected you to be so noisy,” House smirked against your skin. Your hips bucked against his touch, chasing more stimulation. Not having been touched in so long. Wanting to come undone around him. Begging him to make you cum.

You curled into him, head resting against his throat. Moaning right below his ear as your hands gripped his shoulders. House’s hand splayed along your spine as he finally delved his fingers into your throbbing entrance. Curling them and hitting that spot perfectly inside you.

“I can’t wait to see how you act with my dick inside you,” House pressed his lips against your ear. Airy words soaking right into your core. Causing you to squeeze his fingers. Riding against his hand as he perfectly massaged your insides. His cock stiffening between his legs as he watched you. Thumb starting to circle your throbbing nub.

"Greg..." you whined into him, breasts pressing into his chest as your lips kissed his jugular. Canines teasing his skin with a soft bite. Pulling a soft grunt from him, vibrating against your lips. Gently replicating the small, purple marks he had left on your chest the night prior. House's hand led your head back to his, lips interlocking. Tongues fighting for dominance as you both tasted one another. Moaning into his mouth when he applied more pressure to your core. The knot deep in your belly barely holding itself together.

House’s eyes looked into yours with admiration. Completely entranced by your flushed expression and kiss swollen lips. Pupils enlarged with his need for you. “Are you gonna cum?”

“Y- Mmhmp,” you tried to speak, the noise meekly bubbling in your throat.

“Good, good,” House trailed off, tongue coming out and wetting his bottom lip, “Give it to me, Y/N.” Curling his fingers against the soft spot barely inside your entrance. Methodically leading you to your orgasm. Nails digging into his shoulders as your mouth shaped into an ‘O’ with a loud moan. Legs shaking and breath catching in your throat. Walls fluttering around his digits as they continued their rhythm. Shit-eating grin written across House’s face as he watched your body writhe above his. Allowing you to ride out the waves of bliss on his hand.

Slowly, he removed thick fingers from you. Grinning at the mess you had created. Juices connecting between his fingers. Sliding them between his lips, cleaning them off. Pressing his lips back to yours, taste strong on him.

Your shoulders heaved as you attempted to catch your breath. Trying to find composure as your walls continued to occasionally grip around nothing. Sweat glistened along your spine, the air from your ceiling fan feeling suddenly cold.

“Pretty girl,” House cooed, his thumb tracing circles in your exposed thigh. This side of him a foreign concept. Not one for compliments or sweet gestures. Assuming he would be quick to slip his dick into you. Surprised that he wanted to get you off first. Icy eyes peered up at you through his brow. Mouth morphing into a grin at your flushed body. Loving that he had you a squirming mess simply from his fingers. Chuckling softly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you hid your face in your hands. Growing severely embarrassed with his eyes on you. Feeling overexposed suddenly.

Rough hands pulled your wrists away from your face. Trying your hardest to keep your eyes away from him. Tucking your chin against your shoulder.

“Look at me,” House loosened his tight grip on your wrists. Despite your best efforts, you gave in. Fluttering your lashes at him. Lip puckered.

House’s hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you to his lips. Tongue glazing over your teeth. His other hand guided yours down to the bulge in his pants. Encouraging you to stroke him through his jeans. Heart skipping at the feeling of his stiff member. Focusing both his hands on the zipper, tugging it down and fetching his throbbing cock out. Curving towards his stomach, thick and swollen. Pre-cum beading at the tip.

“Still want me to check if your blue balls are serious?” you teased between kisses, hand framing the base of his member. Not yet touching his length.

“Fuck… shut up,” House breathed heavily, hint of a laugh behind it. Sounding far more desperate than he had been moments prior. Clearly wanting your hands on him.

“Yes, sir. Doctor House,” you pressed your lips firmly against his. Grasping at his shirt and pulling it over his head. Revealing his torso, lightly covered in hair. Expanding as he tried to fill his lungs. Finally wrapping your hand around his cock. Stroking him agonizingly slow. Taking your time to get familiar with the veins decorating it. Squeezing the tip, watching more pre-cum surface. House breathlessly moaned, eyes squinting shut and head falling back.

Beginning to speed your hand up, twisting your wrist with each stroke. His hips bucked up into your hand, wincing at the slight pain he felt from the sudden muscle spasm. You kissed at his jawline, scruff tickling your lips. His mouth hung open, brows knitting tightly together.

One of his hands tugged at the band of your shorts. Voice husky and gruff, “Take these off. I want to be inside you.”

Butterflies flapped around your stomach. Appreciating his straight-forwardness. House was a man who knew what he wanted, and would be damned if he did not get it. You rose off his lap, standing before him. Removing your bottoms as slowly as possible. Giving him a bit of a show before you were fully nude before him. Disregarding the garments somewhere. House stroked himself absentmindedly as he analyzed your every movement. Making sure to memorize the valleys and hills of your body. Lost in the way your breasts bounced on your chest when you stood up fully.

Praising your body as you took your place back over his lap. Hovering over the place he needed you most. Hand lining himself up with your entrance. Allowing you to dip only the head in first, adjusting to his girth. Face contorting at the feeling. Whimpering as you fully sunk down on him. Stilling for a moment as you gasped. Feeling so full with him inside you. His head bumping somewhere deep inside you that made your walls tighten. Large hands grasped under your ass, digits digging into the soft flesh. Awestruck by you above him, soft innards perfectly encapsulating his length.

Hands guided you up and down his length. Slowly riding him in a way that allowed him to watch every detail of his cock disappearing inside you. Smiling widely when it came back out covered in your juices. Welcoming him back as if he belonged there. Fingertips digging into his shoulders as you sped up. Bouncing on his lap with your head thrown back. Curses fell softly from him over and over.

House pushed himself forward, capturing one of your nipples between hungry lips. Audibly sucking the bulb, moaning into your flesh. Possibly an attempt to drown out his own sounds with your skin. Well aware he was close to blowing his load.

Methodical fingers ventured down your figure, curling against your clit. Circling it and causing your rhythm to falter for a moment. Shaky breaths falling from you in short gasps, “Greg—“

“I want you to cum around my cock. Can you do that?”

You viciously nodded. Still overly sensitive from your previous orgasm. Grinding down on his hand as you took him. His other hand helped you raise higher off his member. Sweat beaded along his brow as his lips hung parted. Brows knitted in enjoyment.

Repetitive ‘yes’s escaped his lips as he felt your walls tighten more and more. Knowing when you stiffened your posture it was over for you. Quaking through your nervous system as you came harder than you ever had. Pussy gripping his thick cock over and over, pushing him over his own edge. Hips rutting as he came in spurts. Humping up into you making sure he shot as deeply as possible. Decorating your insides with white hot.

Hair falling in front of your eyes as you leaned into him. Huffing and panting. Lungs begging to capture air. You softly kissed his throat as you continued moaning lowly into him. Overworked and high on pleasure. His loud pulse pounded against your ears, barely louder than your own.

His cock remained inside you. Twitching and leaking every last drop out of him. His eyes rested shut as he heaved. Hands tenderly petting your body above his. Lips gingerly kissing against the side of your head. Your name a soft groan from his throat.

Neither of you able to look at the other quite yet. Basking in the feeling of post coital glow. Hands desperately clinging to each other. Still learning all the dips and turns around the other. Skin sticking together with sweat, not willing to rip away from him. Loving the skin to skin contact. Chests pressed perfectly together, synchronizing heartbeats.

Beginning to drift away in your comfort from him. Engulfed by his body heat. Warming your now cold body. Like crawling into your own bed after a long day, finding the love of your life already there. Keeping it comfortable for you, always awaiting your return.

“Y/N,” his husky voice brought you back, blinking as you sat up. Meeting his arctic eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Capturing your lips in a kiss once more. Addicted to the way they felt against his. His hand cupping your cheek, running loosely along your hair. Thumb circling your cheek.

“Look, I love you—“ he paused, stunned by how casually he said it, “—your body against mine, but I haven’t ate since this morning,” House chided, uncomfortable with the soft nature of your new found relationship. Embarrassed by the slip up he made. Pretending neither of you heard what he said. As if the room had not shifted in on itself.

You kissed the tip of his nose, standing up before him and grabbing all the discarded clothes. Throwing his t-shirt back at him. Dressing yourself and turning to see him spread out watching.

“You’re such a pervert.”

“Says the woman who just rode my dick,” House’s brows bounced with his words.

Your face flushed again with his words. Scoffing as you sat down beside him. Smiling as you lazily looked over at him. Leaning forward and grabbing one of the cardboard boxes of food. Tasting as good as you imagined Heaven would, probably because of how hungry you were. House snipped at one of the pieces of chicken from your box with his chopstick. Laughing as you pulled away from him.

“Didn’t your mom raise you better than that?”

“Have you met me?”

House smirked as he reached for your arm, pulling the box towards himself and snatching a piece. Softly pushing his shoulder at your loss.

This was how the night continued. Until you were laying your head in his lap watching some hospital comedy show. Not really paying attention to the plot. Laughing at the strange cutaway gags they would pull when the main character daydreamed.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” your voice was hushed, softer than ever before.

“Of course I do,” House’s hand glided down your side, “Hopefully I’ll wake up with my dick in your mouth.” He snickered knowing your eyes were rolling at the remark.

“I thought that was Wilson’s thing,” you joked.

“True. I’ll have to call him and break the news,” House’s hand laced through your own, pulling it to his lips and kissing it.

“Ooo. He’s gonna be mad,” you teased with a firm grip on his hand. Half joking, the reality of the lecture you would receive from your friend dawning on you.

“Maybe because we didn’t invite him,” he smiled, “Have to give him a heads up next time. Even set him up a chair to watch.” You swatted his hand as it pinched your ass. Eliciting a wince from him as he shook off the sting of your smack.

“You’re gonna cuck your best friend?” you rolled over to be looking up at him. Meeting his devious smirk as his thumb and pointer finger pinched your chin.

“We might ask him to join,” House widened his eyes with his words. You reached up and pushed his gaze away from you, giggling, “Ew, Greg! Fuck Wilson on your own time.”

House chuckled. A genuine smile overtaking his expression. Hooded eyes gently looking into yours. Cheeks softly pink when his mouth would beam.

Oh God.

You were both in deep.

~~~

[END//Part 3]

// Thank you so much for reading! I have two more parts of this story planned. I am really enjoying exploring the ins and outs of this kind of situationship. Where they’re both so obviously in love they can’t see straight, BUT TOO STUBBORN TO ADMIT IT! Anywho— I know House M.D. is an older fandom but I just love him and the show. If you want to be tagged in any future Fics, let me know! Comments and Reblogs are appreciated! //

{tags}

@houseslollipop ~ @megangovier ~ @iwmflbb ~ @yourgirlcarol ~ @needz1nk ~ @crimin4llyins4ne ~ @bitchy-bi-trash ~ @chaimshelii ~ @cailleachcola ~

#house md #dr house #dr gregory house #dr house x reader #gregory house #gregory house x reader #house md x reader #hugh laurie #hugh laurie x reader #sexymonsterfics #writing #part 3

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wordpress-blaze-240972658 · 3 hours ago

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Finding Growth in Life's Quiet Moments

Life be life’n sometimes. One minute you feel like you got it all under control, the next you sitting there like, “Bruh, what is even happening?”

I’m learning that growth don’t always look loud. Sometimes it’s quiet. It’s you outgrowing places, people, and even versions of yourself you used to be cool with. It’s not always some big announcement — sometimes it’s just moving different, thinking deeper, or finally choosing peace over proving a point.

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About where I’ve been, where I’m at, and where I’m trying to go. And even though it’s not perfect, I’m grateful. Grateful for lessons that hurt but taught me. Grateful for small wins nobody sees. Grateful for the fact that even on my bad days, I still kept going.

I’m still figuring it out — and honestly, I think we all are. So if you’re reading this and you’re feeling a little lost, a little tired, or just trying to keep it together… just know you’re not alone.

We’re all just trying to make it make sense out here. Stay solid. Stay prayed up. Keep going.

— LO

Source: Finding Growth in Life's Quiet Moments

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jeongsoob · 3 months ago

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baby pink booties ᯓ 𝚓𝚑

ʚɞ pairing: hong (joshua) jisoo x fem!reader || ʚɞ word count: 0.3k || ʚɞ genre: fluff || ʚɞ tags: parents au, baby is basically just born, sweet ass husband!joshua || ʚɞ synopsis: "If the Gods choose to only give us daughters, then I will gladly have as many as you are willing to give me." requested by anon!

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ WANT A DRABBLE DIARY ENTRY? REQUEST ONE.ᐟ

You hum a song against your newborn daughter’s forehead, the smell of her so intoxicating you can’t help but keep her close. Becoming a parent is a mixture of dread and beauty, anxiety and glee that’s indescribable until it happens to you.

Joshua looks on at his newest favorite person in the world, aside from you, so in love with a person who has yet to understand the depths of her parents’ devotion. She came into this world adored, and it’s exactly how she’ll leave it when that time comes.

“Lola,” you whisper into the crown of your baby’s hair. “I think someone’s watching us.”

Joshua chuckles quietly and scoots closer to your hospital bed. He takes her foot in his hand, the side of it swallowed whole by his fingers alone. “Am I not allowed to watch over you guys now?”

“I didn’t say that,” you respond with a smile. You look back down at Lola, her long eyelashes practically touching the tops of her cheeks. “Your parents were pretty bummed she wasn’t a boy. But how can they be upset now looking at her adorable little face?”

He stands from the uncomfy chair, itching to hold her, and you let him take her from your arms to rest against his chest. You make room for him in your bed to sit with you, the three of you comfortable in the small space.

“If God chooses to only give us daughters, I’ll be a happy man regardless.” His silver wedding band contrasts with the dark hair on Lola’s head, her taking after her father already with her beautiful curls.

He turns to you with puffy eyes, still red from the crying he did earlier at your daughter’s arrival. “I’ll gladly have as many as you’re willing to give me.”

You giggle, tears interlaced with the sound of your laughter, and you kiss his damp cheek. “Let’s just start with her for now, and see where we go from there.”

Joshua grins and nods before kissing the top of Lola’s head like you did moments ago. “Sounds perfect.”

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @okiedokrie-main

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

#svthub #kvanity #kstrucknet #keopihausnet #joshua hong x reader #hong jisoo x reader #joshua x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen fics #svt x reader #svt fic #svt fics #[ lexi's works ]#[ lw - seventeen drabbles ]

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castieltrash1 · 8 months ago

Note

Can I request Jon Snow x Lady!Reader. Arranged marriage that becomes real love?

this is so sweet ty for the req :')

jon snow x afab!reader; arranged marriage, slow burn, vague mentions of sex, mutual pining-ish i think

when you’re finally brought to the godswood, gaze averted and flecks of snow glinting between strands of hair, jon finds himself relieved. he’d known his duties from a young age so when the time to wed arrived -- a wife already chosen on his behalf -- he didn’t fight it. he tried not to imagine your appearance, but it proved difficult, and many late nights at winterfell were spent concocting an image of you in his head. not nearly as beautiful or rich as robb’s future wife, surely, but you’d be worthy of a stark bastard at least… right?

it’s odd. you’re different, but somehow more beautiful. jon can’t really explain it and he doesn’t try, not wanting to offend you. the first night is painfully awkward regardless, and he’s relieved when you both agree to take it slow for now. everything happens eventually, of course, but your patience pays off. jon considers himself lucky -- he could’ve been stuck with anyone for the rest of his life, but he had you; you, with your kind words and pretty face, practically handed to him on a silver platter. he kept waiting for you to act monstrous, assuming your beauty had to be compounded by something, anything, but it’s not. your marriage isn’t perfect, but jon enjoys figuring things out with you by his side. he likes being a united front with someone. he likes the warmth you leave on the other half of the bed, sheets smelling like the oil from your baths. he enjoys keeping you happy, noticeably fulfilled when he’s seen as a good husband and dutiful partner.

the more you go through together, the deeper jon’s feelings grow. he knows it’s happening, despite his initial attempts to ignore it. you have a lifetime together ahead of you - there’s no need for him to rush things. but the affection gnaws at him, and he can’t deny himself any longer. he loves you. by the old gods and the new, he really, truly, loves you. he hadn’t expected it, thinking any romantic dedication to you would take years to build -- if it ever even came to fruition -- but now it’s here and he almost isn’t sure what to do.

it’s been on the tip of his tongue all day. he’d nearly said it in bed the night before, limbs tangled in sheets as he stared down at you, but the words were caught in his throat. now, every time he speaks to you, the declaration begs for release, desperate for you to know the depth of his feelings. three more opportunities arise before midday, but he lasts until after dinner, when he finds you overlooking the courtyard below and feels his heart skip a beat. you turn to face him and, somehow, his gentle expression tells you everything.

“i love you.”

+ after he says it for the first time, it takes him a while to work up the courage again, even if you happily return the sentiment. it felt like a reward and he doesn’t want to spoil it. the words aren’t careless to him and he wants them to mean something, not be taken for granted. soon enough, you’ll hear it five times a day, gruffly murmured in every free moment alone. and, despite its newfound frequency, it only seems to be more genuine each time.

game of thrones weekend (reqs open!)

#jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow fluff #jon snow imagine #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones fluff #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfic #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fluff #asoiaf image #asoiaf x reader #game of thrones x reader #answered #anonymous #t: writing #a weekend of preferences and drabbles

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itsstrange · 2 months ago

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Won’t Leave

Fandom: Reacher, Alan Ritchson Fans

Relationship: Jack Reacher x Military-Reader

A/N: Been Working On This One For A Few Weeks/ Months Now & Have Been Excited To Share It With Ya’ll. Regardless If It Gets Love Or Not, I’m Always Excited To Write New Characters For Ya’ll 🥲🫶

So, If Ya’ll Find This Hunk of A Man Attractive and Beautiful, Hope Ya’ll Like It! 💙

Summary: Sometimes It’s Hard To Let Go Of Demons. Luckily, Reader Is Never Alone To Go Through It Alone.

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: (Yes) Mentions of Childhood Abuse, Mentions Of Abusive Parent, Dark Memories, Mentions of Trauma, Mention of Car Accident, Reader Is Not Okay By Any Means, Protective Reacher, Comforting, Hugs, Confessions,

{DO NOT READ IF TRIGGERED}

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ENJOY 🥀

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The door opening then slamming shut causes you and your younger brother to flinch as you both sat on the couch. You both watch as your drunken father stumbles into your small home, his dress shirt untucked from his slacks, buttons undone, sweat and stains of beer can be found on his white button up as well as his under shirt. His hair disheveled from constantly running his fingers through it. He looked like the definition of hell and a mess.

From where you sat you can immediately smell the alcohol radiating off of his frame. He hadn’t waste any time to go grab another pack of beers after the service. Hell, it didn’t surprise you if he was drinking at the service. He had no shame.

Looking down at your lap to avoid eye contact with the demon, another small flinch rushes through you when he starts tossing things on the floor, slamming things somewhere in the kitchen, then the fridge door opening and slamming once again. You feel the way Henry, your younger brother grips onto your hand from fear. You squeeze his hand, reassuring him everything will be okay, that nothing will ever happen to him.

From the corner of your eye, you see the demon of your father appear from the kitchen, causing you to tighten your hand around Henry’s for what’s to come.

Still remaining quiet, eyes zoned in on your lap, you hear those dark footsteps itching closer and closer. Closer. Until you feel a heavy, dark cloud hover above you, then his hot, alcoholic breath fanning your left side of your face as he crouches to be at your level.

Don’t look. Don’t breathe.

‘You hear that?’ Harold harshly whispers. His wretched breath fanning alongside your cheek as he brings an empty can next to your ear. He moves his hand inside the metal tin, ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’

Your jaw clenches at his words, your hand gripping onto Henry’s for dear life as the emotions start building.

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That’s what’s thats worth. And that’s what you are!’

He yells as he rears his arm backwards, throwing the can against a mirror, shattering it on impact. With no hesitation you’re quick to rise from the couch before running towards your room where you slam your door shut just as you hear screaming and loud crying behind the wooden door. To muffle the noise even more you pull your pillow over your head, eyes closed shut as you try and block out everything.

‘Harold stop it’s not her fault!’

‘The devil did it!’

I did it.

‘Harold stop it!’

He’s right. I did it.

‘The goddamn devil did it! He was my best!’

‘Harold that’s enough!’

‘It took the wrong child!!’

It’s my fault.

‘Harold!’

‘Quiet! Everyone quiet!’

I killed my brother—

“Lieutenant?” A voice breaking through the dark memory brings you back to reality, noticing how every pair of eyes were looking at you,

“W-What?” You ask, looking at everyone who all had an amused, slightly skeptical look on their faces,

“Jesus am I that boring?” O’Donnell questions with a fake offended look, which quickly turns authentic when Neagley answers his question with a quick ‘yes’

The captain only sends the female a raised finger before directing his focus on you again, “I asked if you got any war stories that are worth sharing?”

Fuck. Has he been talking to me this whole time? Have they’ve been asking me questions this whole time? You think to yourself. You’ve been on a cloudy mind all day so it shouldn’t surprise you if you’ve been missing out. Hell, you don’t remember when you joined them for drinks, time has been slipping from you all day. You couldn’t help curse at yourself for not trying to hide it better.

“So.. you got any?” O’Donnell asks once again just as your pocket starts buzzing,

“Uh-..” You’re quick to fish out your phone, holding it underneath the table you glance at the screen, feeling the way your blood runs cold once again at the caller ID,

As your gaze was down at your lap, you didn’t notice how his eyes were sharply trained on you. They’ve been. For hours. His blue-green irises have been observing you for the longest now, ever since you came into the office in the morning he knew something was off. He knew something was wrong.

Despite you being the youngest on the team with the lowest rank, you were still the best damn recruit he can possibly pick. You were good, really good at your job. Never once made anyone disappointed, your skills, scores were incredibly impressive, which is why the Major didn’t hesitate in adding you apart of the 110th, apart of the Special Investigators. You were quiet, kept mostly to yourself sure, did your work. But you also had another side of you that just captured the Major. He was invested in you. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t know how to describe it other than he was interest in you. All of you.

Again, despite you being quiet you still spoke with your peers, with him. At times. Which he honest to god cherished those moments. He loved the small conversations you two would have because every time you spoke with him you’d reveal your true self. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that you had just the right amount of confidence, loyalty, courage, kindness, and love for your work, for your teammates.

And he was damn right invested in you from the get go.

So when you had walked into the office in the morning with a dark, distant, glazed look he knew at that moment something was wrong. He hadn’t confronted you at the time, was still trying to get a better read off of you, of what you’re possibly going through at the moment. He was good at it, but for some reason you were just impossible for him to read you. And that frustrated the fuck out of him.

Hell, he couldn’t even focus on the case in front of him or enjoy his sandwich that O’Donnell had gotten him for lunch because he was too invested in trying to figure out what was wrong with you.

Eventually he became irritated at the fact he couldn’t figure you out, for once in a life time he couldn’t place his finger on it, so he went ahead and confronted you. Which you only shrugged it off, claiming you were fine before going on about your day. ‘Just tired Major. Didn’t sleep well’ was the lie that fell from your lips.

He tried pestering once again, he needed to know what was bothering you but his opportunity had been revoked when the whole squad was needed for a case. He tried multiple different ways to talk to you, but you were such a stubborn hot headed person that you just wouldn’t budge.

He couldn’t exactly criticize you, Reacher was the worst of them all. However, this wasn’t about him, never is, it’s about you. About the dark, distant look that has clouded the light in your eyes, your smile, your dry, yet dark humor. You weren’t yourself. And he was determined to know the why. No matter how much you push him away, he’ll get some sort of information eventually.

“Y-Yeah..,” Your words slightly stutter as you take in a deep breath through your mouth as you get up from your seat, “Yeah just.. just gimme a second,”

And with that you walk away from the group. From the table. Not noticing the way each soldier sitting at the table glanced at one another with a similar odd look. They got a sense that you weren’t having the best of days that day, but now their suspicions rose higher as they watch you walk towards the exit of the small bar.

Reacher on the other hand, nearly breaks his own jaw from how hard he was clenching his teeth. Something was off and fucking wrong and it was irritating him the fuck out because you weren’t talking.

He just wished you would. At least to him. Yet, what he didn’t know was you didn’t see a point to it. It was not worth sharing.

“Yeah,” You answer the phone call, heaviness settling on your chest as you walk further away from the bar,

Silence is heard on the other end, but eventually a familiar voice comes through.

‘I’ve been calling,’

“Yeah I know, I’ve been busy,” Another pause of silence before he speaks again,

‘Did you get my message?’

It was your turn to stay quiet. You close your eyes as you inhale deeply through your nose. Trying to fill your lungs with the nights breeze, to ease away the fast growing weight in your chest, to ease the building anger in your veins. But it wasn’t helping. The more you tried holding your breath, the harder it was to keep it from breaking through.

‘(Y/n)?’

“Yes. Yes I did,”

‘Responding back is difficult for you these days?’

“I told you I’m busy. Besides, it was a message that wasn’t worth responding to,” A small emotion of guilt settled on your chest for the attitude you were giving him, you knew it wasn’t his fault, he was just reaching out to you, but you couldn’t help it,

“Henry-,”

‘You think I want to call you about this? You and I both know it’s the last thing I’d give a shit about. But I’m only doing this for mom!’ Your brother hisses on the other end of the phone, you roll your eyes with an exhausted sigh,

Another deep sigh is heard on the other end of the line, then your brothers voice rings in your ear drums again, ‘Look, I hate him as much as you do, but let’s just get this over with. For mom, at least.’

The words flared a fire inside of you, hotter than the whiskey you planned to drown yourself in that night. You had fought to escape that life, but why and how could he expect you to face the man who had turned a blind eye to your childhood nightmares? The man who made your life a living hell, the man who would beat you, leave painful marks throughout your body, who despised you for being born, who blamed you for his death? How can he ever in a million years expect any of that from you? He of all people should know you’d never forgive your father for the things he’d do to you. To him.

Yet, the more you pondered his words and the thought of him drawing his last breath filled you with a warped sense of satisfaction. The anger lingered of course, but knowing you’d get to see the fear on that son of a bitch’s face as he knows he won’t have long, it brought a sickening feeling to your chest. But you also decided to humor your brother and mother by simply getting it over with. The sooner you see him the faster you’ll never see him. Ever again.

“You know what,” You finally said after a moment of silence, the decision echoing in your mind, “I’ll go. I’ll go see him give his last breath. Maybe with him gone this world will be less shittier.”

The finality in your tone left little room for argument, and before Henry could reply, you had hung up.

You stood outside for another few seconds. Eyes closed, head leaned back as you try calming your breathing, the boiling rage in your veins. Your breath was visible in the night frosty air with every deep exhale you let slip through your mouth.

You didn’t understand why you were feeling this way. You should feel some sort of relief at the fact that your dead beat of a father is finally going to hell, but instead it was just pure fucking anger and heaviness that settled in your chest. It angered you when you knew what that heaviness was and it angered you when you didn’t know why you were feeling it. You shouldn’t! Not after everything he put you through, not after all those bruises on your skin, the broken bones, none of it! So why are you even feeling such emotion?

Not wanting to delve deeper into the question, you let out another heavy, shaky exhale through your mouth before deciding on heading back inside.

But just as you turned to head back to the entrance of the door, to the warmth of the bar—a sanctuary from the cold and the memories—your breath gets caught in your throat as you see his large figure. Reacher stood just a few feet away, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding. He had followed you out of the bar without you knowing.

****

Inside the Bar:

“Alright.. not weird at all,” O’Donnell comments as he sips on his beer, watching your frame disappear behind the doors of the bar,

“It’s not her day today. Just give her some space,” Dixon adds on with a small shrug before sipping the rest of her beer,

Reacher in fact did not give you some space. Five minutes after you disappeared through the doors, the mountain of a man roughly slams his beer on the wooden table before rising from his own chair. It’s feet scrapping against the floor, causing a cursed to be thrown at him from O’Donnell while Dixon and Neagley called after him, but he doesn’t listen to either soldier. Instead, he lets his large feet direct him towards the exit of the bar.

Your frame comes to view right away. You stood by a humvee, your back facing him as your phone was up to your ear. Reacher kept to the shadows. Not wanting to be seen or to interrupt your conversation. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop upon you, but this was a perfect chance to get you to talk, no one else was around, just the two of you, alone, in the dark. He didn’t care how long it’d take him, he was going to force you in explaining this whole thing.

When you had ended the call, took time to calm yourself and finally turned, your eyes immediately landed on the Major. Who was now slowly walking towards you. Reacher can see it in your eyes, it was almost unsettling how well he seemed to perceive your struggles, and that look alone made your fury heightened.

You weren’t in the mood for pity, not now.

“Drop it, Reacher,” You snapped, your voice laced with venom as you go to walk towards the door,

“(Y/n).. look I don’t know what your going through,” he began, his tone steady, like a rock in a tumult sea.

“Exactly, so drop it!” You shot back, walking briskly away from him, desperate for the cold bite of alcohol to thaw the anger swirling inside you.

But Reacher wasn’t one to back down easily. He trailed after you, his long strides closing the gap. “But I know pain when I see it!”

His voice cut through you like a knife. You whirled around to face him, fury erupting like a volcano. “This isn’t pain! This is rage! My fucking heart is racing from it!”

In that moment of rawness, you could see the understanding dance behind his sharp gaze. He was a stalwart figure, a man who had undoubtedly fought his own battles. But it infuriated you further that he felt he could bridge the chasm of your suffering with mere words.

Although, before you could recoil from the weight of feeling vulnerable, O’Donnell steps out of the bar, interrupting you both.

Clearly not reading the tension like a breath of fresh air in a suffocating room. “Boss..everything okay?”

You seized the opportunity to slip away, turning your back on Reacher, the air still crackling with unwelcome emotion. You walked briskly down the street, still feeling the burning gaze of your Major behind your head but your mind was racing ahead to the impending confrontation with your father.

*******

Three Days Later

“Make sure you get me those files,”

“Will do. Gonna need to dig through them first, don’t wanna hand you something that’s not marked as is,” Neagley claims as she walks away from her bosses desk, who by the way also had stacks of papers and folders laid in front of him,

Reacher sends her a nod with a small smile. He truly did appreciate her help. In fact he loves working with her, whether it came to research or actual active missions, he absolutely loved it. He’d never tell her that obviously, wouldn’t want to feed her ego even more, although the thought does bring a smile on the soldiers face as he looks back down at the papers in front of him.

“Oh,” Neagley’s voice ringing in the office causes Reachers eyes to lift from the stack of papers, “Have you heard from (Y/n) yet?”

The mention of your name has the Major’s heart jumping, then settling back down like a deflated balloon when he remembers you weren’t on base. The night he had slightly confronted you outside the bar he didn’t see you for the rest of night. He gave you the space you needed and made it his mission he’d somehow get you to talk the next day, however, when the morning rolled in, Reacher was informed you had submitted a leave request that had been urgently approved overnight due to the matter of your request. It was also that morning that Reacher learned why you left and understood why you had acted the way you did outside the bar.

He had learned about your father’s terminal illness.

He tried finding you on base the moment he received information about everything, he searched your quarters only to find it empty, he was too late. He knew you wouldn’t have wasted time in booking a flight to head home. From what they told the Major, you had been approved a week off, only three days have only passed but to Reacher it felt like a month. Without your presence, your sarcastic jokes, your inviting, warm aurora around base, the office, it honestly soured Reacher’s mood everyday. When he’d walk into the office only to see your empty desk, it would remind him that you weren’t there. It angered him, even. Angered him because he didn’t see it when he’s known to read people better than they’re able to read themselves.

He should have caught it, the moment you stepped foot in the office that day.

“No,” Reacher softly says, his eyes casting down to the opened file on his hands, “She’s not back till Friday,”

Neagley raises an eyebrow. A small grin forming on her lips as she watches her Major’s sulking face, “You’re really worried about her. Aren’t you?”

She’s always been able to read him better than himself. Better than anyone, except for you of course. She knew, the moment you joined the team, she knew her Major had produced feelings for you. Whether it was inappropriate and prohibited, Neagley still supported it. Hell, she was practically rooting for the both of you. She had also placed a bet with O’Donnell that you two would eventually come to each other senses and ‘get on with it’ before the month ended, O’Donnell insisted it’d take a whole year for you both to finally admit it.

Neither of you knew about this secret bet obviously. Otherwise they’d both somehow end up doing brutal hill sprints by none other than their Major Jack Reacher of course.

“I worry about everyone,” Reacher tries to hide the truth. He leans back against his chair, his hand clasping in front of him,

Neagley couldn’t help but make a noise at the back of her throat. Her teasing grin still lingering on her face, “Ehh.. you kinda worry more with her boss,”

Damn her and her ability to read him. Reacher often wonders if she ever decides not to use her skills on him. Wonders if she can just let him be, let him ponder with his hidden feelings on his own.

Reacher sends her a non-threatening glare, “Just get me those files will ya?”

Neagley shot him a knowing look, her teasing gaze lingering just a beat too long. “You’ve got it, Major. But you can’t keep playing the tough guy forever. Sooner or later, you’ll have to admit you like someone.” She sauntered out of the office, leaving Reacher alone in his thoughts.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Reacher leaned back in his chair. The silence in the room felt heavier than usual. Without you, the office had lost its vibrancy, its laughter dulled to a monotone. He couldn’t quite define what he felt for you. Was it a spark? A glow? More than friendship, certainly, but what did that even mean in the strict confines of military decorum? The stakes were high, and emotions were generally not welcome guests in his world.

The thought of you at home, grappling with the weight of your father’s illness, gnawed at him. Reacher felt a mix of anger and helplessness, primarily at himself for not realizing sooner that you were going through something profound. If only he had paid better attention, perhaps he could have offered you comfort before you left. Now, the hours stretched painfully long, suffocating in their emptiness.

Fuck. Neagley was right. Of course she is! She’s always right! The voices battle with each other in his head.

However, he doesn’t stick around to let them hover for long. With a shake of his head and a heavy exhale, Reacher decides it’s late enough. He can try to figure out their next case the following morning, every lead they’ve been getting has only been leading them to a dead end anyway. So, once gathering every loose paper on his desk, placing them back in its confined folder, he shoves it in one of his drawers before rising from his chair and leaving the office.

Exhaustion pulled at his entire frame with each step he took. As he walked towards his private quarters, he was gently rubbing away at the exhaustion from his eyes when he noticed light coming from the gym’s window.

Nobody should be awake at this time. Or so he thought.

Not that the base had quite strict rules when it came to curfews, but Reacher knew no one really stays awake like him. He’s usually always the last one walking through the lonely pathways of the base, so seeing the light on caught his attention.

Letting his gnawing instincts win, Reacher walks over to the gym. Thoughts ran through his head on who it can possibly be as he walked against the gravel. Probably a solider left it on by accident, or a custodian worker getting some extra hours. Yet, the moment he pushes open the door and walks inside, all those assumptions flew out his mind.

In the dark, slightly dark corner of the gym was you. Pounding away at the punching bag. As he slowly stepped further into the building, he felt how the air in the gym was charged, crackling with suppressed emotions and the distant echoes of rubber meeting flesh. Reacher had always prided himself on being observant, but as he stood silently in the shadows, he felt like he was witnessing a moment he had desperately tried to avoid. You were there, pouring your rage into your punches, each hit resonating with a turmoil that he could only begin to fathom.

Not only as he watched with a pained look as you repeatedly gave brutal blows to the bag, he also couldn’t help but feel confused at your presence. He hadn’t expect you to be back on base, hell, you weren’t supposed to be back till Friday.

If he was worried before, his worry only intensified now. From the way your punches grew harder, rougher, your breathing coming out in harsh pants, he knew something bad had happened while you were away. His chest ached painfully when he knows deep down what it was that had caused you to be here, angrily punching at a 70 pound hag. He hoped it wasn’t the reason for your rage full behavior, but it just made sense.

And his assumptions were correct. Not nearing 24 hours, your abusive father had finally passed away. Giving his last breath. But the emotions that immediately followed soon after were incredibly unwelcoming, causing you to bolt from the hospital, ignoring the way you brother ran after you and only ran faster as you hopped into your car before driving straight to the airport where you booked a red-eye flight back to base. Which resulted in you being here at two in the morning, a dark determination in wanting to punch a hole straight through the leather of the punching bag.

You were fuming at the fact that you felt some type of sorrow towards the abusive man who was meant to protect you, teach you, guide you through dark tough times instead of those countless painful tormenting days. It fumes you that you felt saddened over his death, that you felt like crying. And that angered you to the core. Why the hell would you cry over someone who would physically hurt you?! Someone who caused nothing but pure fucking agony!? Someone who would blame you for your brother’s death then punishing you in ways a father should never punish their children.

So how can you? How can you feel so much sorrow, so much pain, so much heartbreak for a man that clearly never showed any remorse to his past actions?

“Didn’t know you were back,” That familiar sound of a deep voice rings in the isolated gym. Bouncing off the walls with a heavy echo, but you chose to ignore it as you land another brutal punch to the bag, causing it to sway from its force.

“Thought you’d be back till Friday,” Reacher tries again. He takes careful steps towards you as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his cargos

“Only asked for a day. Pointless to be gone for so long,” You finally speak for the first time since you’ve landed back on base,

Reacher continues in watching you attack the punching bag with a ferocity that made the chains rattle. Each punch seemed to embody not only strength but also the weight of unspoken pain, and Jack’s gut twisted as he recognized the fury behind your strikes. Beneath the slicing punches, he could see glimpses of a past that clung to you like a shadow, echoing through your movements.

Jack approached cautiously, his presence steady and unyielding. He’d seen the toll that life could take on a person, and he instinctively knew better than to intrude without invitation. His blue gaze watch as your fists whip out, connecting with the bag in a flurry of emotion.

“(Y/n),” He said gently, letting his voice slice through your anger like light breaking the surface.

You paused but didn’t look up, the intensity still palpable in your posture, muscles coiled as if ready to spring back into action. “I’m fine,” you reply,

“Doesn’t look like it,” Jack murmured, taking a step closer, his blue eyes filled with understanding,

Ignoring him once again, you let your fists fly toward the punching bag with a fury that reverberated throughout the empty gym, a vivid dance of frustration, heartache, and pent-up rage. You could feel the leather bag’s gritty surface scratch against your knuckles, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil boiling inside of you. Your mind was at war, not just with your current training but with the shadows of your past that continue to haunt, even after watching him give his last breath.

“Control it,” Reacher advised, his calm voice echoing in the cavernous space. He watched, a mixture of concern and curiosity etched on his face. “You of all people should know that. Don’t let it consume you.”

His words struck a nerve. Pausing mid-punch, your breathing ragged the words echoed in your psyche, but instead of calming you, they ignited a deeper storm.

“Control it?” You retorted. Darkness clouded your eyes as you look up at the man, causing Reacher to clench his jaw, not from fear, but of what’s to come,

In a split second, your mind transported you back, resurfacing twisted memories of your abusive childhood. The echoes of you father’s venomous words slithered back into your consciousness—his derision and cruelty mingling with the stench of cheap alcohol.

‘Who do you think you are?’ his spectral voice spat, but it wasn’t him in front of you. It was the gym, a place you thought could be your sanctuary.

“Shut up! I’m talking!” You suddenly scream out, your whole body trembling with raw emotion. Shoving the bag aside, your eyes darted wildly, fogged by rage and regret. Reacher stepped forward, but the shadow of your father loomed large, and your mind was too lost in the rage to see who was really in front of you.

‘You’ve always been weak! Pathetic!’

“Stop trying to act like you know me! You never knew or realized the pain I went through every day! You don’t know shit!” Your voice rose, each word a dagger aimed at an invisible foe that was now conflated with Reacher’s figure.

Then, you’re swinging a fist at something that felt like decades of oppression, only to find it connecting with Reacher’s solid cheek. He barely flinched, his military discipline allowing him to absorb not just the impact but the ferocity of your pain. In that moment, you seemed both strong and utterly shattered. Here, you were just girl who was fighting back against your past but was still ensnared by its claws. You lashed out again, but Reacher was already holding you back, his large arms enveloping you, a protective cocoon against yourself.

“Let go of me!”

“It’s okay. It’s okay” he said, his tone sharper, filled with care.

You continue struggle against his hold, fighting and pushing your way out of his muscular arms, but eventually the heavily guarded walls finally broke, your body crumpled into his embrace, the fight escaping from you. The moment you felt the warmth of Reacher’s chest, the dam broke. Sobs racked your body, hot tears saturating the fabric of his uniform. All the hurt, all the memories you desperately locked away surged forth, and in that moment, Reacher held you tightly while your world collapsed.

It felt like eons when your cries finally subsided, leaving you a breathless heap against him. Reacher remained holding you against him for another few seconds before carefully leading you to a bench. The gym was quiet, save for the soft whispers of both your breaths mingling in the space between one another. Reacher silently knelt in front of you, taking one of your battered hands and inspecting your bloodied knuckles. His jaw tightening at your split knuckles, wanting nothing more than to inflict pain at the person responsible for your current state. Held them responsible for their actions.

He’d promised his mother he’d never be the one to start a fight, but when it came to you, he’d gladly be the one to throw the first punch if it meant protecting your honor.

“C’mon,” Reacher whispered gently, once the worst of your anguish seemed to lift. He helped you to sit on a nearby bench,

As you sat there, knuckles beginning to bleed from their relentless assault, he carefully examined the damage, bandaging the cuts with steady hands. A miniature first aid kit, that you hadn’t realized he gotten sat opened beside you on the bench. The sound of plastic being tore opened can be heard in the now quiet gym. You kept your gaze downward, your eyes following his large, skillful hands that have inflicted pain to crooks, that have held weapons are now easily and carefully attending your battered knuckles. You watched in silence as he carefully wipes away any blood before gently dabbing a cotton ball with antiseptic alcohol on your spilt knuckles, it stung, but you barely registered the pain as your mind was still very much recovering from its breaking point.

Every tear that slipped down your cheek anointed the weight of unspent grief, and as he tended to your wounds, he felt something stir between you two—a shared intimacy forged in the fires of healing.

Heavy silence remained hovering around you two as Reacher continued in cleaning your knuckles. A thousand words were trying desperately to escape from his mouth, but he fought against them to allow you to gather yourself. To give you time. He knows how hard this was for you, opening up, hell, it’s hard for him whenever he allows himself, so he knows exactly what you’re going through at the moment. He wanted to give you space until you felt ready.

It was when Reacher began wrapping a bandage around your hand when he hears words slipping faintly from your mouth.

“I had an older brother,” You began. Your voice barely a whisper. It halted his movements for a second before continuing in wrapping your hand, but lets you know he’s listening, “His name was Harold. Named after.. after him… but we’d call him Harry,”

Reacher remains silent as he lets you open up. His hands slowing their movements, but still wrapping your right hand before taking your left in his.

“He was our savior. Our hero. He was.. the untouchable brother in our eyes. He’d always take the blame, the pain whenever.. my dad was on a bender,” Reacher freezes again, but quickly composes himself as he continues listening to you, having a dark feeling of where the story was heading, “One night. When I was.. twelve? I had gone to a friends house, to a sleepover. But around one in the morning she woke up vomiting, she probably holds the world record for vomiting the longest,”

Reacher can hear the way you try and attempt to keep the mood light by adding humor, but knew your face expression held no humor as you continued, “Her parents had asked us to give our parents a call to pick us up so we wouldn’t catch whatever stomach bug she had. But my old man…,” A scoff leaves from you along with a small shake of your head as you continue, “He didn’t want to go for me.. so Harry went,”

Reacher didn’t notice he had finished wrapping both your hands a few minutes ago and was just there. Crouched to your level, his blue-green orbs staring at you as you spoke. Unknowingly, one of his hands was still holding onto your own, his thumb softly rubbing soothing circles against your skin while the other remained clenched on the bench. His blood was boiling, yet he kept a calm composure. He didn’t need you to finish the rest of the story when he had already figured it out, but he still allowed you to share it with him, having a feeling this was somewhat of a way for you to slowly heal. By talking. Sharing your past traumas with someone you trusted.

And right now. It was Jack you trusted. Which he valued this moment very much.

“It happened when we were heading back home. There was fog everywhere, could barely see the street lamps hovering,” Your breath slightly hitches in your throat, but the feeling of his hand gently squeezing yours gives you the strength to continue, “I remember.. laughing at a joke Harry said.. seeing headlights coming towards us..then feeling the car jerk to the right before we collided with a trunk of a tree… and then I woke up in the EMT truck. A paramedic was performing CPR on Harry..,”

A tear slides down your cheek as the nightmare played vividly in your mind. Reacher immediately wipes it away with the pad of his thumb, but doesn’t remove his hand, no, he then tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before gently cradling your cheek.

“I’m so sorry (Y/n),” Reacher carefully voices. His eyes boring at your face, hating how broken and vulnerable you seemed at this very moment rather than the brutal, confident soldier you were,

“After that night.. he never held back. Never stopped blaming me, reminding me. And I believed him,”

“It wasn’t your fault, (Y/n),”

Your red rimmed eyes finally meet with his, fresh tears shamelessly falling down your cheeks, “But it was. If I didn’t go to the sleepover.. Harry would still—,”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Reacher firmly emphasized. His other hand coming up to cradle the other side of your face, holding you firmly in place, your eyes locking with his blue ones noticing then just how close you two actually were,

You’d normally pull away, put some distance between you two, keep it professional, but right now.. you didn’t care about professionalism. Didn’t care if this seemed or looked inappropriate. Didn’t care if he was your superior. Didn’t care that this, was forbidden. You wanted this. Wanted more. Wanted to feel his touch, wanted to feel loved by him, but you knew it wouldn’t happened because you knew he didn’t feel the way you felt. He only saw you as his teammate, his soldier, his friend. Yet he hadn’t pulled away, but you knew he would, so you just went ahead and cherished the feeling of his warm hands on your face a little while longer. Your own hand gently wrapping around his wrist as you slightly melt in his hold, but what he does next definitely surprised you.

With no hesitation you feel him pulling you into another firm hug. One arm wrapped around your body while the other gently cradled your head against his chest, your body froze for a hot second before you wrap your own arms around his large frame. Your nostrils inhale his cologne, feeling the way his scent oddly enough relaxes you, puts you in a soothing daze. You both remain hugging each other for what seemed like ions, when only 10 minutes had passed, but neither of you minded it. Eventually, Reacher was the first to pull away. Your body slightly shivering as it misses his warmth.

“C’mon,” Reacher softly says as he motions his head to the side, indicating to follow him,

Not saying a word, you watch him clean up the space around you two before following him out the gym. The both of you walked in silence, the only sounds of crickets chirping and distant birds are heard in the quiet base, but it was peaceful.

No words were exchanged, not even when the direction you guys were heading to was towards the barracks, only thinking he was escorting you to your private quarters so you won’t be alone, but confusion settles when he turns the opposite direction of the hallway.

“Where—?”

“You trust me?” Is all he asks. His hand opened and extended towards you. His blues eyes looking directly at you,

With zero hesitation you nod before slowly sliding your hand against his, allowing him to interlock your fingers together before letting him guide you down the hallway. After passing a few doors and making a couple turns, he finally stops at a black door where it read ‘Reacher’ in the center.

Holy shit. He had taken you to his private quarters.

Still holding your hand, he uses his other to unlock the door before pushing it open. Revealing his unsurprisingly clean room. Looking at you, he once again motions his head to the side while his hand interlocked with yours gently pulls you inside. Stepping inside the room, your eyes roam around, realizing you’ve never seen it before. It was literally the same as yours, just bigger. He had his own bathroom to his left, a closet up against the left wall with a drawer beside it, a neat bed near the window, and two large desks on the right which contained multiple papers and a closed laptop.

The walls were fairly empty. Nothing was hung nor were there any photos that’d tie to his background. Just like you’d picture. You knew Reacher was a very private man, especially when it came to his life outside of the military. Only thing you knew about him was he has an older brother who was also in the military, both his parents were well known military soldiers. Thats it. Nothing else. You didn’t blame him for not sharing more about himself, you alone barely gave glimpse into your life. Hell, come to think of it, besides Reacher, no one else knew of your traumatic childhood and the passing of your older brother. Since joining the military, you’ve kept yourself. Never shared anything regarding to your life outside the military because it just wasn’t worth it. Not worth sharing dark nightmares.

“(Y/n)?” Reacher’s soft voice brings you out from your thoughts, feeling his hand settling on your lower back,

“What are we doing here?” What a way to ruin whatever is happening. Great job idiot.

Reacher towers over you. His bright, beautiful eyes looking down at you. His mouth opens but no words seem to fall, he didn’t really know how to explain what he was trying to do, figured he’d just wing it and hoped you would follow.

“Thought you’d like to get some sleep. Can imagine how exhausted you are,”

A soft chuckle slips from you, “I could have done that in my own room you know,”

Reacher smiles down at you, his dimples appearing, “Agreed. But I figured you’d like some company tonight.”

In other words, there was no way in hell he was leaving you alone. Not after the pain you went through, not after the trauma you shared, and you didn’t mind it one bit.

“This isn’t allowed,” Jesus stop talking.

“I’m aware. Which is why I’ll be giving you the option to decline my offer,”

No other words were exchanged. You stood your ground, your fingers nervously fiddling with each other as you hold his gaze.

“Would you like to leave?”

“No,” Was your immediate response, earning an approval smile from the taller man,

Giving you a small curt nod, Reacher begins undoing the neatly made blankets from his mattress. You stayed in the center of his room as he got the bed ready, your eyes darted around the room, trying to get a glimpse of the Major’s life. But there was nothing you hadn’t already seen. His walls were empty, his desk were filled with paperwork and nothing more. No photos. No background. Zero.

You weren’t sure what would happen between you two after today, but if something were to happen you’d slowly try and peel his layers to learn more about him.

“Ladies first,” Reacher’s baritone voice rings in the small room, causing you to glance over at him,

He stood near the bed, his hand extended towards you just like he did a few minutes ago. A small smile on his face. With little hesitation, you once again slide your hand against his. Using his support, you toe off your boots before climbing on his mattress.

A heavy sigh falls from your lips as your exhausted body relaxes against his bed, feeling the way your eyelids begin to droop just as your head hit the pillow. As you scooted towards the wall, you watch as Reacher toes off his own boots before slowly lowering himself on the bed. His movements slow as if to not scare an already spooked wild horse, his eyes that now look blue under the dim light never left yours, even when his head laid on his pillows. Yet, he kept his arms to himself. One arm was propped behind his head while the other rested on his chest, even though all he wanted at the moment was to hold you against him. Feel your weight against him, feeling your soft breathing synchronizing with his own. All of it. All of you he wanted.

But he waited.

Then, he sees the way you slowly inched closer to him until your fingers hesitate to trace feathery touches against his arm, taking it as an invitation Reached fully turns on the small matters to face you fully. The gap that was made between you two was now gone.

As you both laid beside each other, facing each ofher, Reacher couldn’t help feel something stirring between you two —a shared intimacy forged in the fires of healing.

“I’m sorry I punched you,” You finally murmured, fingers now nervously tracing the fabric of his military shirt.

Reacher chuckled softly, brushing his fingertips against your cheek, “Don’t worry about it. I know you’ve been wanting to do that one day.”

Your laughter was laced with relief. “I’m still sorry,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

His blue eyes held a sincerity that weighed heavily in the space between you two. “I know,” he replied with a gentle smile, inviting you into the warmth of his understanding.

But in that moment, something shifted. It felt as though you had been stripped bare of all your defenses, and the realization took hold of you: you were currently standing at the precipice of something new. With no hesitation you leaned forward, your lips meeting in a soft collision—a hesitant embrace of two wounded souls finding solace in one another.

But panic swept through you, causing you to pull away with wide uncertain eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, heart pounding.

Heavy silence settled between you two. Reacher’s expression was nothing but shock. No disgust. No anger. Just absolute shock. Until a smile begins forming on his lips.

“I'm not,” Reacher said, the smirk on his lips betraying a confidence that made your breath hitch again. He leaned in, capturing your mouth with his once more, and for a moment, the traumas of both your past faded into the background, replaced by the intoxicating pulse of a burgeoning connection.

In the silent vows that lingered in the weight of the kiss, you felt, after what seemed like ions, the echoes of your past begin to dissipate. Maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to fight alone anymore. Through the chaos, through the rage, there was room for healing. For love.

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-> Ahhhhhhhhh It’s Finally Here!!!!!! I’ve Been Working On This One For So Long Now & Really Excited To share With Ya’ll!! 💗 ⚡️

-> So Hope Ya’ll Liked It!!!

-> Also, I Didn’t Like The Ending, But The Rest Seemed Okay 🙃

-> Anyways! Hope Ya’ll Enjoyed This One!! More To Come For Our Mammoth of A Man 🤌🔥

-> Make Sure To Turn On Post Notifications!! 🔔 For More Updates!!

———————————

#Jack reacher #jack reacher x reader #Jack reacher x you #Jack reacher x ofc #reacher #reacher x reader #alan ritchson #Alan Ritchson x reader #fluff #angst #fluff and angst #comfort

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cressidagrey · 10 months ago

Text

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 1

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings:

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Magical Orthodontry...

(I should probably mention that my thoughts about plastic surgery/any kind of cosmetic enhancement are pretty much that as long as the person who has it done likes the result, it does not matter if anybody else thinks they needed it.

It’s their body, their choice and if they think they look prettier with a new nose/straighter teeth/fuller lips, good for them.

For myself, I love what braces did for my teeth and what one of those heatless curler things currently does for my hair lol)

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

It was bad.

Eira shouldn’t have expected any differently.

Maybe it had been the promise of mail-order catalogues that had made her think that maybe this time she wasn’t going to want to die halfway through her biannual week of torture…

But there was nothing the shadows could do, short of giving her pain potions that rendered her unconscious and plying her with soup.

She let them.

She was too weak to protest, in too much pain…feeling like a baby bird that needed them to slowly spoon broth in her mouth so that she only needed to swallow.

But at least they were there. They didn’t leave her alone. Regardless of when she woke up…at what time of day or night…they were there.

Ready with pain potions and armed with soup, and when she just needed something to get her mind off the pain, they told her stories.

Little fables of Illyria and Prythian…children’s stories.

Maybe one day she could tell the same stories to Nyx.

It took 4 days… halfway through that week, when there was a knock at her door.

Elain, the shadows whispered into her ear and she held back a groan.

She didn’t want to deal with her sister.

“Come in!” she called nonetheless and only then realised that she still had the key in the lock. The shadows swarmed out to turn it and then disappeared, scurrying underneath her desk.

She forced herself to sit up, wondering how much of a mess she looked…probably like death warmed over twice, but to be completely honest…she wasn’t pretty on a good day, so what did it matter?

Becoming Fae had somehow perfected the faces of her sisters. They still looked like themselves, but the cauldron had seemingly made them much more symmetrical, their limbs longer, their ears pointed…and for Elain, the cauldron…it had turned her from beautiful into otherworldly gorgeousness.

For Eira…it had made her ears pointy.

No, wait that wasn’t true…Her hair was seemingly even more unmanageable than it ever had been as a human…and her teeth…the less was said about that was better.

She had already been self-conscious about them as a human. As a fae, surrounded by ridiculously attractive people every day, it was…something else entirely.

“Good Morning,” Eira said quietly. Elain stared at her, surprise etched on her face.

“Have you really spent the few days moping in your bed?” she asked, judgment clear in her voice. Eira wanted to bristle. Hadn’t Elain done the exact same thing when she had first been made? And Elain hadn’t had the excuse of a cycle for it.

“Yes, Elain,” she said back quietly. “It’s….It’s that time of the year,” she mumbled, looking at everything but her sister. If Elain couldn’t even smell the thick cloying scent of blood that was clinging to Eira, she couldn’t help her.

Elain just harrumphed. “Look, I do realise that I may have been needlessly harsh,” she said, crossing her arms. Somehow managing to sound gracious even now.“But you do need to realise, Eira, that that is never going to go anywhere.”

Eira blinked. Twice.

Somebody put her heart into a vice and crushed it.

Of all the things she had expected Elain to say…this wasn’t it.

“Azriel is completely disinterested,” Elain continued. “And it would be better for you if you finally realised that.”

“What does it matter to you?” Eira finally managed to bring out, her voice thankfully not shaking…And still….she sounded…weak. That’s what she sounded like.

“I want you to be happy. And thirsting after a male that will never return your affections you won’t do that,” Elain said with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not going to change his mind, Eira.”

Eira flinched at Elain’s words. She couldn’t help it.

Even when she knew…she knew her sister was right. She knew that…

“You should just stop your pathetic attempts of flirting with him. All you manage is to make him uncomfortable,” Elain continued with a roll of her eyes.

Pathetic attempts of flirting? What did Elain even mean? Her nervous ramblings? Her stolen glances? The way her heart skipped a beat when she got to see him?

She had never asked him out…on a date or anything else…she had never even mentioned courting in his near vicinity. She had done nothing, said nothing to Azriel that made her feelings obvious to him.

It was all just…

“There are plenty of fish in the sea…” Elain said with a sigh. “You’ll find somebody else one day,” Elain told her, sounding some mixture between pitying and bored, as she turned to go. “Do you want me to ask Feyre to send Madja?”

“No, thank you. I have pain potions,” Eira whispered, and Elain turned on her heel, marching back out of her room.

Eira listened to her sister leave…she buried her face in her pillows.

“Would you lock the door, please?” She whispered.

Nobody else. Just her.

Why shouldn’t Elain once again stab her in the same wound…why not? Why…

And then…somehow it was like somebody flipped a switch.

She turned angry. Angry at Elain, at her twin sister. Who hid behind this veil of sisterly worry and only used it to hurt Eira?

She was so…she was so…She was so angry.

She never was angry. But right now it was swelling beneath her skin and she wanted…she wanted… Not revenge. Not really.

She made Azriel uncomfortable with what? With nervous ramblings and stolen glances?

Fine. She would stop that. She would stop all of that.

She wouldn’t even talk to him again, so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable. She would ignore him. She would be icily polite and that was that.

And she would find herself a husband and have all the babies she wanted and that would be that. She would find herself…somebody else. Somebody who wanted her. Somebody for whom she wasn’t annoying…who she didn’t make uncomfortable.

Somebody for herself.

Something for herself.

She would fill her room with stupid trinkets she bought herself because nobody else would do it for her. She would buy pretty dresses that tried to mask that she wasn’t as pretty as her sisters. She would do all of that.

And what her sisters thought about any of that…well, she didn’t fucking care. Not anymore.

She wasn’t the only one angry. The shadows were hissing, spitting, swirling menacingly, nearly filling the whole room…and she wasn’t scared. That didn’t even cross her mind.

How dares she? The shadows hissed. She owed you an apology, not…not this.

Maybe for the first time in her life, Eira Archeron wanted to be utterly and completely selfish.

Nobody was going to put her first. Not if she didn’t do it herself.

“I’ll be buying myself something horribly expensive,” she finally said, her voice shaking.

Do it, the shadows said, amusement bleeding into their voice, still angrily swirling, coming to wrap around her wrists. Buy whatever you want.

They dropped a catalogue next to her hands, and Eira reached out to take it with shaky hands.

Whatever she wanted.

The problem was only, she had no idea what she wanted.

Maybe a new dress? Maybe some jewellery…like a necklace? Or a bracelet?

A ring?

Like the rings her sisters had? Given to them by their mates, who loved them?

Feyre’s Sapphire? The Ruby that encircled Nesta’s finger since her mating ceremony?

Or maybe Elain’s ring…gold and diamond, looking like the rays of the sun, so fitting for the future wife of the heir to the Day Court.

No. No jewellery.

These godforsaken pearl earrings had been enough.

Something Eira wanted. Something Eira needed.

Eira could use a new pair of shoes. She already had brought her old ones to the cobbler thrice. Maybe…that wasn’t a ridiculous request after all…

She opened the catalogue, paging through it until she found the shoe section. She stared at the little pictures accompanying them. Humans hadn’t yet figured out how to do print in full colour, but the drawings on this page were brightly colourful. Clearly not a problem here in Prythian.

She quickly slipped over the pages that had silk slippers and pretty heels on them. That wasn’t practical to run after Nyx with, right? Then she found a page with practical leather shoes… decisively female, a small heel…they weren’t that dissimilar to human fashion.

She examined them closer. “Laces or Buckle? What do you think?” she asked the shadows. The ones with shoelaces were cheaper…but if she bought one with the buckles, she could also change them out, buy extra buckles…swap them with a crystal-embellished buckle or silver for gold…

All of that was possible.

The ones with the buckles! The shadows said quickly.

“They are pretty, aren’t they?” Eira commented and marked the page by folding down one corner as she turned the page.

Definitely one contender.

She couldn’t remember ever having done anything similar before.

When she had still been human, as a child her mother had reigned over her wardrobe with an iron fist. They had never been allowed to pick out anything.

And then later…after they had lost their fortune…well, picking out anything involved turning around every clipped copper coin.

She had never been able to just…leisurely look at things and find the pretty and think about buying them…without even really looking at the price tag attached to them.

Eira flipped back to the shoes, the tip of her finger tracing the writing…she had always been atrocious at reading. The letter tended to change their position, and it hadn’t changed as a Fae either. and she could never tell that to anybody, because the one time she had, her finger had been violently rapped by a wooden ruler and that had been that.

If she just took her time…carefully…it worked. Just took her longer. She found the price attached to the shoes, knowing that even without the shadows, she could afford them.

She had stashed away money in the chest at the foot of her bed after all. Not a lot but…enough for the shoes.

Eira paged through more of the catalogue…oohing and awwing over dresses, where the shadows tried to talk her into buying herself a ballgown much to her amusement, though in the end, they agreed on a pretty blue-grey dress with billowing sleeves cuffed at her wrist…

Eira would never feel comfortable in the Night Court fashion of cropped tops and pants…she would much rather be covered up completely. But that dress…that looked quite pretty.

She turned to the next page, and the next after that, trawling her way through skirts and cardigans and shirt waists…

And then Eira found the fabric section, biting her lip. Any time she had gone to a fabric shop in Velaris, it had been to buy fabric for a gift for her sisters. Never for herself. She didn’t need anything.

That’s pretty, the shadows whispered in her ear, seemingly solidifying to point out a specific cotton print on that page.

She wondered how they even saw anything. They didn’t have eyes. But then magic seemed to be the answer to nearly everything in Prythian.

It was pretty. A ditsy little floral print…white ground, green leaves…It was pretty. So was a white cotton gauze with little dots…that was the one that she considered seriously. The price was good…she could use a new dress for her birthday…

She marked that page as well, flipping over to the next…and there it was.

It was an advertisement that caught her eye, and she was nearly flicking to the next page as she caught the word teeth.

“Faes can fix teeth?“ she asked weakly, as she read that advertisement, a promise about cosmetic procedures…like full lashes and eyebrows and…perfect teeth.

Perfect teeth.

“Could they fix mine?” she asked, desperation bleeding into her voice.

Her teeth were…well, her greatest insecurity on a good day. They were…fine. It wasn’t painful at least. It was just that her two front teeth were too big for her face…which made her look like…

What’s wrong with your teeth? Do they hurt you? You’ll need a healer for that, the shadows said immediately, worriedly.

“They are too big. Just the two front teeth. I look like a rabbit,” she admitted in a whisper. Or a mole rat. Her mother had preferred the latter.

Everything else could be fixed one way or another…but nothing could be fixed for her teeth.

When she had been a child she had still hoped that she would grow into them, but that had never happened.

And not even the cauldron had thought it would be prudent to fix them. Leaving her with them…still standing out starkly.

They were the reason why she never smiled widely, why she made sure to talk with her lips pulled over them…why she didn’t wear bright lipstick.

A few dozen things that she didn’t do because of them.

You do not look like a rabbit, the shadows disagreed with a snort…and then after a moment: Do they bother you?

They asked that like it was a near foreign thing…like…

“My mother used to…She used to tell me that…” She tried to bring the words over her lips but she choked on them. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t…

Once you feel better, you can go and have them changed to however you want to look, the shadows told her softly. Do they truly bother you that much?

“I know that I won’t ever be the beautiful one. But…if…If I could just feel…just feel pretty…just once,” she whispered, staring at that advertisement.

If they could just fix her teeth…

As soon as you feel better, the shadows promised her. But that’s not ridiculously expensive. Neither is one single pair of shoes, that dress….or a few yards of that fabric. Nearly teasing.

But it was nice teasing. Sweet teasing. Teasing that did nothing but make a small smile appear on her face.

“I could always buy more fabric,” she gave back, biting her lip and the shadows tugged at her fingers in response.

But if magic could fix her teeth…maybe it could also fix her hair.

A light brown mess on her head that never did what she wanted it to do…

“Is there something for my hair as well?” she asked hesitantly, and the shadows flipped through her catalogue until it brought her to a page with hair care supplies.

There are potions you can use…enchanted brushes too, they told her. You’ll want something for naturally curly hair.

They didn’t need to tell Eira that twice.

The morning she stopped bleeding she was out on the streets of Velaris as soon as the sun rose…dropping off the dresses she had hemmed, and picking up her newest commissions and then walking to that shop that promised her perfect teeth.

It was a woman, a female, her age who looked up from the magazine she was reading, took one look at her, asked for a handful of gold coins…gave her a mirror in her hand and then drily said: “Just say stop when they have the size you want.”

And that was that.

Eira could have wept with her gratitude.

Her teeth looked perfect. Just like she had so often hoped they would look.

The same could be said about her hair after one bath with her new potions and a run-through with her enchanted brush.

Unmanageable frizzy hair that never looked like she wanted it to look?

With magic no more. Thick, perfect, glossy curls fell over her shoulders in fat ringlets.

To say that she was in a good mood after that…It was the understatement of a dozen centuries at least.

Eira was ecstatic.

She loved it. She felt…she felt so pretty. For once.

“Good Morning!” she chirped as she entered the dining room. Not even the sight of Elain pouring over her wedding binders could put a dent in her happiness that morning.

“Good Morning,” Elain responded, staring at her like she had gone mad but Eira didn’t care, as she poured herself a cup of tea, took a slice of toast, smeared jam all over it...

“It’s a beautiful day outside, isn’t it?” she asked brightly, as she took a bite, chewed, swallowed…

Elain stared at her.

“Eira…what did you do with your teeth?” her sister asked her, staring at her.

“I got them fixed! Isn’t that great? Magic can do that!” she enthused. They were perfect! They looked just like she wanted them to look!

It was like thunder pulled over Elain’s expression. “You can’t be serious!” she snapped. “What were you thinking?!”

“That I got my teeth fixed?” Eira gave back questioningly. What did it even matter to Elain? Couldn’t she just be happy? Eira was so fucking happy about her choice.

“This doesn’t change things, Eira!” Elain said harshly. “It’s still never going to go anywhere!”

She opened her mouth to respond, but she was beaten to it.

“What is never going to go anywhere?” Feyre’s voice came from the doorway as she entered, Nyx on her hips, staring around the room…waving chubby little arms in Eira’s direction that made her smile at him brightly.

“Eira’s little crush on Azriel,” Elain said evenly. “He’s completely disinterested. and she has gone and gotten her teeth fixed in some hare-brained attempt to…”

“What does it matter to you?” Eira interrupted her. This had nothing to do with…him. This had been for her. Because she was the one her teeth bothered, long before she had ever even met him. “They aren’t your teeth.”

Feyre stared at her and Eira smiled brightly, showing all her teeth…something she would have never done before. But now she did.

“Your teeth were fine before,” Feyre told her, staring at her like she couldn’t quite believe that Eira had gone and done this.

“My teeth were too big for my mouth,” Eira disagreed. And really, she didn’t understand why she even needed to defend herself on this. “The last time I checked I was allowed to do with my body whatever I wanted,” she murmured under her breath.

And this…this was harmless. This was just fixing her teeth. It didn’t hurt anybody. Not her, not anybody else…

Feyre didn’t seem convinced. “How much money did you spend on this?” her sister asked her, a sharpness sinking into her voice and Eira crossed her arms.

“Not a single coin that belongs to you or your mate,” she gave back, her voice cold. “I spend my money, money I earned, on something that I wanted.”

She was allowed to want things. Whatever she wanted, the shadows had promised her and they had kept that promise.

“Did you do this because of Azriel?” Feyre asked, softening slightly. “Eira, that’s not going to work.”

She knew that.

“My whole life does not revolve around other people,” Eira said calmly, meeting her sister's gaze. “I wanted it.”

“He’s still not going to be interested in you,” Elain snorted.

Once again. Hitting that one weak spot her sister had sussed out.

People always thought that Elain was oh-so-sweet. What they forgot was that even the most beautiful, most fragrant rose had its thorns.

She said nothing. Didn’t flinch away. Didn’t say anything.

“It’s true,” Feyre said with a sigh, actually agreeing with Elain. “I have wanted to talk to you about that, Eira…” her sister said, visibly uncomfortable. “Could you at least try to get over him? It’s…it would be better for…this court.”

Of course, it would be. This court.

Because that’s what mattered, right? That’s what mattered to the High Lady.

That the court was functional. That the spymaster wasn’t uncomfortable…that her sister wasn’t having a ridiculous puppy crush on another member of this court.

And what was Eira supposed to say to this?

What was she supposed to say to that?

Eira’s feelings didn’t really matter anyway. They were nothing but an inconvenience.

“I am sorry,” she said, her voice quiet, staring at her hands so that she didn’t need to look at two of her sisters…so they wouldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes. “I’ll make sure that my feelings won’t inconvenience anybody else ever again.”

“That’s not…” Feyre started, but Eira shook her head.

“I understand,” she said, the words tasting like ash in her mouth, all her appetite gone, as she stood to go back to her room.

#lightning in a bottle #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #my writing

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writingsbychlo · 1 year ago

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NONSENSE | theodore nott

summary; you got that holiday glee from your true love.

word count; 7946

notes; there is literally no plot here. the whole thing is supposed to just be fluffy cute nonsense. I hope you enjoy it, regardless. the first fic of the christmas 2023 series, based on this song.

The lights splashed off of every surface, the usual green of a Slytherin house party was spotted with a festive red, flashes of gold from the lights that had been slung around the room. The smell of fresh pine and berries was drowned out entirely by the spice of firewhiskey and the sting of glitter-powder from the Weasley twin’s mini-firework poppers hanging in the air.

The classic setting of the annual Slytherin Christmas party.

Brushing around your upper thighs was the fluff of your dress, a pleasant warmth racing through your veins as your drink settled into your blood. Your body moved, swaying amongst those on the dance floor as your hands settled on delicate hips, Pansy’s own hands on your waist, you both moving together, her head tossed back. The lyrics to the song were shouted from her mouth into the crowd, not a care in the world as she soaked up the atmosphere.

You giggled, her head snapping back up, and a mischievous smile played on her lips as she pulled you even closer. “What, you don’t like my singing?”

“I love your singing, Pans. It’s truly wonderful.”

She only scoffed. You’d listened to enough shower concerts and drunken raves as her roommate over the years to know singing was one of the very few talents that Pansy Parkinson did not possess. The smell of her perfume flooded your nostrils, and she spun, dropping to the floor in a dramatic show that earned her a few cheers, including one of your own.

Jingle bells rang out from somewhere in the crowd, muffled in the noise, Pansy made sure to twerk in time to them, her arse grinding against you as you swayed. When she rose again, her sights were locked on Luna’s across the room, the blushing Ravenclaw was doing her best not to stare, and making a poor job of it at that.

“Oh, go put the poor girl out of her misery would you, Pansy? It’s obvious she’s into you, stop torturing her!”

She faked a gasp, spinning to face you, and raising a perfectly manicured brow. “Now, is that any way to go about a game of cat and mouse? No wonder you lost yours so quickly.”

“I didn’t lose! I got my man, thank you very much!”

“Yes, you did.” Frozen hands clutched your waist, pushing Pansy’s hands away, their chill seeping through the material of your dress as the tip of a cold nose brushed along your exposed shoulder. “Hello, amore.”

With a dramatic sigh and a glare at Theo, she sauntered away, onto her next game despite muttering about him ‘ruining the fun’.

The crowd swallowed her up again, leaving you alone. Leaning back into him, the cold of his clothes made you shudder, even when his arms wrapped around your waist and his lips left open-mouthed kissing along your exposed skin.

“You’re cold, Teddy. Where have you been?”

“Out, getting some more booze. Can’t host the best party of all the houses if you’re not a good host, hm?” Finally, you spun in his arms, catching his cold lips in a kiss, and he hummed happily against your mouth as he returned the affections with vigour. His tongue licked across your lower lip, tracing the faint taste of his favourite alcohol there. “That’s the kind of kiss I get when I go out on a beer run?”

“You’ve been out in the snow, I was just trying to warm you up.” You smirked, his eyes flashing cheekily at the insinuation, his hands slipping a little further around your body to your back, tugging you flush against him.

“Well, I’m still pretty cold. Maybe you should warm the rest of me up, huh?” His body began to shift, moving together with your own as you danced slowly, hips rocking together slowly. He positioned one thigh between your legs, a large hand splaying across your lower back to guide you in the movements. “You know, you look pretty cute in this little get-up you have going on here, Mrs Claus. But,”

You rose a brow, his eyes scanning over the red, strapless dress and trimmed white fur, the thigh-high socks you knew would drive him wild. All donned for the occasion, a cheesy dress for the Christmas pastry before you all went home for the winter break. Leaning in, his lips brush the shell of your ear, voice dropping;

“Penso che le tue calze starebbero meglio sul pavimento della mia camera da letto.”

“Are you teasing me, Teddy? I only understood about half of that.” You murmured, his teeth nibbling lightly on the shell until you gasped, before he pulled back, leaving another kiss on your jaw as he did.

“I’ll make sure you understand me just fine by the end of the night, don’t you worry.”

Your cheeks flushed, and he noticed, the red only enhanced by the green lights in the room, your bodies moving together as the bass pumped across the stone and marble floors. His once chilled touch now seared into you like flames from a fire. Your foreheads pressed together, breaths shared as the moment was lost on you both, drunk on the feel of his hands on your skin and the smell of him in your nose.

“Quite the little show you were putting on with Pansy back there.”

“Jealous?” You mused, and his eyes closed, a smile pulling at his lips as he shook his head a little.

“Not at all, cara mia. Turned on, but not jealous.” He angled his head down a little more, mouth close enough to your own to taste the sugary mint on his every breath, making you want to suck the candy cane flavour from his tongue like a drug. Theo had a unique way of emptying your head of thoughts, of all rationale, of making you feel safe and loved at the same time as putting snowflakes in your stomach, all with a simple touch or look.

“Good. You’re the only one I want under my mistletoe, Theo.” His hand dipped lower as you kissed the side of his mouth, squeezed your arse as you nipped at his jaw, traced the edge of those thigh-high socks when you rose to your tiptoes to suck on his neck softly.

“Maybe we should go find some then, sì?” He sounded as breathless as he made you feel, nonsense flirting pouring from both of your mouths as the party roared on around you both like a din in your ears. He was your anchor, drowning everything else out as you retreated to look at him, smoothing a thumb over the mark on his neck that he’d no doubt wear proudly until it faded.

Taking his hand in your own, you lifted your clasped fingers to your lips, kissing across each of his scarred knuckles as you guided him away from the dance floor. His gaze stayed fixed on your motions, lips parting for a short puff of breath before those dark eyes flickered back up to your own. With a cheeky grin, you spun your back to him just as he moved to close the distance, a groan from him vibrating against your back as he all but plastered himself to you once again, his steps matching your own as the two of you shuffled through the room.

“You drive me crazy, do you know that? Those eyes, that smile… this body in a dress like that.” Your only response was to add a little more of a sway to your hips as you made your way towards the drinks table, taking the long route around and letting him wait. “You’re bad, teasing me like this in front of all these people… naughty girl.”

“Oh, am I?” As you came to a stop, he murmured his response, a kiss to the back of your head and a covert smack to your arse as he leaned over you, swiping for two fresh plastic cups and searching the littered table top for a bottle with something left in. “Does that mean I’m getting coal for Christmas?”

“You’ll be getting something hard, alright.” He whispered, hips bucking into your backside, letting you feel the slight bulge beginning to grow there, and you melted back into him at his touch. His hand slides up from your waist, slides up to your throat, to cup your neck. “Perhaps a new necklace?” He murmurs, squeezing lightly. “Diamonds?”

“You two disgust me, actually.” Mattheo coughed, making you both jump a little as the bubble pops, and Mattheo shakes his head, gagging falsely. He leant across the drinks table, beginning to shake bottles, glass clinking as he drops them when they turn up useless. “Absolute animals, where has all my good whiskey gone?”

“Hello to you too, Matty.” Theo’s hand slid back down to a safer place, resting on your hip as he came to your side instead, letting you tuck under his arm and bury into his warmth and cologne.

“Hello, lovebirds. Do we have anything to drink?”

“That’s what I have been trying to find out.” Theo mutters, and you shrug.

“There’s always the mulled wine.”

“Wine is not supposed to be hot, dolcezza.” Your boyfriend’s face screws up, just like it does every time you say something that offends his national pride, and a bubble of laughter erupts from you, only making his expression deepen. He’d looked the same way when you’d mispronounced a dish on the menu of the restaurants he’d taken you to on your first real date, or when you’d brought up the trending ‘lasagne soup’ you’d seen online.

“At this point, I’ll drink anything as long as it gets me fucked up.” Your friend sighs, drawing chuckles from you both as you shuffle from Theo’s arms, and make your way towards the cauldron simmering in the less-crowded back of the room. They follow you slowly, the two boys chatting as you step away from the noise and bustle of the main party, and into the smokey, crowded adjoining den of the common room. Enzo is practically filling a couch of his own as he man-spreads across it, a blunt hanging from two of his fingers as he stares at the game of chess he and Tom have going, only making a move after three more drags from his cig.

Blaise and Draco sit by the fire, each with a glass of mulled wine and in a heated debate about something you can’t keep up with. Draco’s new car or Blaise’s new favourite holiday destination, perhaps. Maybe, even a way to combine the two. Taking three glasses from the cabinet and crouching before the hearth, several greetings float your way as you pluck up the enchanted ladle that has kept the brew stirring, the smell of orange and cinnamon reaching your nose from within the pot.

“Not sure why you got three glasses out, darling. I’m not drinking that.” Theo’s nose scrunches adorably as you pout up at him, pouring one steaming serving for Mattheo, first.

“Oh, please, Teddy. Try it for me?”

“No.”

Your scoff is all you can muster, filling another glass as Mattheo takes his and leaving one empty, returning the spell-bound stirrer to its task. Standing to your height once again, you clutch your drink between your hands, lowing steam from it. “You really hate mulled wine that much?”

“It’s nonsense. Wine isn’t meant to be hot.”

“It’s delicious this way!”

“Most wine is supposed to be cooled, actually.” He continued his argument, one you’d had for all the years of your friendship before ever getting together, and you sip it with amusement as he raves on about taking you for the perfect glass of wine someday.

“Better not kiss me again, then.” You interrupt, and his head snaps to you, several chuckles from the boys who have gathered.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, if you hate mulled wine so much, I mean, because that’s all I’ll be drinking for the rest of the night.” You take another gulp, ignoring the heat of it, just to make your point, and licking stray droplets of the red from your lips, watching him track the movement.

“Don’t be ridiculous, dolcezza. You know that I think wine always tastes its best when I suck it from your tongue.”

You don’t have a chance to speak again, not before his mouth is crashing down against your own and making you squeak in shock, the cup in your hands jostled enough to send some of the hot liquid spilling across your fingers. When you gasp at the sensation, his tongue plunges into your mouth, licking his way in like he’s memorising you all over again, and making your legs shake at the urgency. He has so many ways of kissing, Theo does. The lazy kisses, the high kisses, the good morning and good night and ‘I need you right now’ kisses.

This was different. This was ‘I love you’ and ‘shut up’ and passion all rolled into one, his fingertips digging into your body as he clung to you, pulling you so close that the spilt wine was no doubt soaking into his jumper and staining the green cotton. Pressing into him, you tried to return it, free hand slipping up into his hair, tangling in the soft strands as his mouth enveloped your own.

You almost dropped the glass in your hand, tingles shooting across every nerve you had just at the feeling of being near him. Falling for Theodore Nott had been one of the most intoxicating and reckless things you’d ever done. Everything had been just fine for years of friendship, years of laughter and jokes and hugs that never meant a thing, and then one day, the way you looked at him changed and your life had been flipped upside down.

If you could go back and change things, you would. You’d make sure to go back and let it happen sooner.

“So?” Your breaths come out in shallow pants as he pulls away to leave delicate kisses across your cheeks, prolonging the moment. “What’s the verdict?”

“On what?” He whispered stupidly, voice devoid of any understanding at all, deep and raspy as he nuzzled his way into your hair.

“I think we got mulled wine on your jumper.” Your own thoughts were just as hazy, just as blurred, and he backed away just enough to look down at the droplets, the liquid still staining your fingers.

Taking the glass from your hand, he placed it down on the mantlepiece beside the empty one, and brought your fingers to his lips. His eyes never left your own as he kissed and licked the wine away gently, sucking your skin clean and humming as he did, your lips parting but no words making their way out as Theo cleaned you up.

“Oh…”

“I suppose it doesn’t taste that bad…” Your head shook at his joke, his fingers weaving through your own when he was done. With a snap of his fingers, the enchanted ladle was topping your glass up, and filling his own. “Come on, cara mia, let’s sit down.”

Theo led you to the couch, sinking into the plush leather cushions and pulling you down to join him. Conversation was flowing like rich honey around you both as you settled, leaning into Theo’s side, his hand tucked against your hip, rubbing softly.

You sipped at your wine, letting the feeling take over, letting yourself drown in the blurry atmosphere of being with your closest friends and the love of your life. Enzo was telling a story between smokes, a story of the Weasley twins’ latest pranks that he’d managed to be witness to, and laughter filled the room just as much as words did, as he recounted the tale.

Theo raised his glass to his lips again, your attention moving to him instead, his throat bobbing with every swig he took, and when he pulled the glass away, you wiped a stray droplet from his mouth, sucking it from your finger. He pinched your hip in response.

“What happened to not liking mulled wine?” You teased as he clicked for the enchanted ladle, refilling both of your glasses, and his lips pressed together.

“I still hate it, but I’ll do anything to make you happy.” Is what he settled on, despite taking an impatient sip while it was too hot and scrunching his face up as his tongue burned. It may be an insult to his ‘perfect wine tastes’, but you knew that deep down, he loved it.

His hand moved to your thigh, rubbing up and down slowly. You hid your smirk in your drink, watching him grow more and more needy. It wasn’t long before he was lifting your legs up, twisting you to rest them across his lap. Taking pity on him and laying your arm over his shoulder, your hand moved to his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

It didn’t satisfy him for long, because only a few minutes into Blaise’s new debate with the boys, he was rubbing your thigh again. You offered a kiss, and another, but when his touches didn’t cease, you took his hand and moved it higher up. Tucking it against your upper thigh, you crossed your legs, trapping it steady between them and leaving a lingering kiss on the edge of his mouth.

He squeezed your thigh, grateful for the increase in affection, and slumped a little more into the cushions, taking you with him.

You drained your glass, adding your input to the story, and throwing in commentary as you went, between kisses shared with Theo, to keep him happy.

That satisfaction didn’t last long, however, when his hand began sliding its way up your thigh further still, inch by inch, and his lips were tracing your neck as he once again lost track of the conversation.

One drink down, two, halfway through a third glass each was when the lines became blurry enough that you didn’t mind your friends around so much anymore, but you did mind not having Theo’s tongue in your mouth. Clearly, he was just as affected, because as soon as your head twisted and your mouth closed over his, he was groaning happily, a grumble of ‘finally’, and leaning up to return the kiss with just as much vigour.

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, a slow kiss that was just enough to drive you wild, your crossed legs clenching each time he sucked, each little sound he made, each gasping breath before he was back. His hand, sandwiched between your crossed thighs, was squeezing occasionally, fingers tracing tantalising touches onto your skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Teddy…” You whispered, pulling back as your swollen lips stung from biting kisses, trailing your mouth over his jaw, peppering him with kisses as he bit back a moan at the feeling. You knew how much he loved it, how much he loved the way you’d lick at the hinge of his jaw, or the stretch as he tipped his head to the side to let you get at his neck.

Theodore Nott was a man who loved PDA and touches, no doubt about it, and he made you feel loved up enough with a single smile to grant him more than his fair share of affection.

“I missed you today.”

“You woke up in my arms this morning, dolcezza. We spent half the day together.” He whispered, and you pulled back with a frown, his head lazily tipping back to you and eyes refocusing as you deprived him of attention. “What?”

“Nothin’. I just…” Stroking a finger over his cheek, his head tipped into the touch, and he blinked up at you questioningly, waiting. “You didn’t miss me even a little bit?”

“No,” He murmured, your brows furrowing once again at the definitiveness of it. “Because you’re all I ever think about. I spent every minute getting ready to come back to you, and if that didn’t work, I started looking at your latest pictures. I can’t miss you when I know we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.”

The fracture in your chest healed up in a second, bursting with heat and love and adoration instead as you pressed your forehead to his own. “Really?”

“Of course, amore. Do you truly not know what you do to me? The effect you have on me?”

“About the same you do to me, I suspect.” Your words were whispered against his puckered lips, and you gave in, another series of tender kisses until he was smiling too wide to continue.

“And what is it that I do to you? Tell me. I want to hear it all.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Draco whined, your head lifting to find him grimacing at you both as Blaise hid his laughter behind his hand. “I don’t think there’ll be any room left in here if Nott’s ego gets any bigger. If I have to listen to any more ‘I love you more’ ‘no, I love you more’ from you both, I’m going to be sick in the fireplace.”

“Don’t be bitter, Dray,” You teased, twisting to sit properly across Theo’s lap once again, your arm around his shoulders and your fingers in his hair, scratching at the base of his neck so that his eyes fluttered. “Just because you’re single at Christmas doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be miserable.”

“I’m not miserable, thank you very much. I’m free. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be shackled at the best time of the year.” Your laughter was hidden by Tom’s, Mattheo’s and Blaise’s, and this only seemed to ignite the blond man more. “All Theodore does is whine and complain about whether he’s bought you enough Christmas presents, and if he picked a romantic enough card. Too stressful, I won’t do it.”

“Y’know, ‘won’t’ is not the same as ‘can’t’.” Your tutting turned his cheeks red as the other boys all fell over the edge into hysterics.

“She’s got you there, cousin.” Enzo teased, eyes red-rimmed and face a state of permanent relaxation from how much he’d smoked, but even he was sentient enough to tease Draco.

“I hate you all. I hope all your Christmas presents suck.” He scoffed, sticking his tongue out at you as he walked away, and you pinched Theo’s chin, smacking a dramatic kiss on his cheek;

“I have all I want right here, Draco! But I’m the one that does the sucking, not that you’d know anything about that.”

He flipped you off, Theo’s hand tightening on your leg at the insinuation as Draco left to no doubt go and find one of his usual roster girls to nurse his ego back up to standards. “I’m holding you to that later, mi amore.”

“I should hope so, Teddy.” Uncrossing your legs from your seat across him and placing one wobbly foot on the floor, his hand slipped up from your thigh to you arse, stabilising you with a squeeze as he smirked to himself, watching you adjust the hem of your dress and turn to him. Taking his hand from your butt and weaving your fingers together, you tugged expectantly as he finished off his third glass of mulled wine, and then yours, too. “Dance with me?”

“If I ever say no to that question, I want you to avada me, okay?”

Staggering to his feet as you laughed, he let you tug him toward the centre of the room. Your arms wrapped around his neck, his own around your waist, and the two of you began to sway out of sync to the music, noses brushing and smiles matching as you revelled in the festive atmosphere.

“It’s strange,” His words were quiet, and you offered only a questioning hum to his vague statement, stroking the tips of your fingers over the back of his neck soothingly. “Feels like we’ve always been like this. It doesn’t feel as new as it should. It doesn’t feel like we’ve only been together a few months. It feels like we have always been in love, just like this. It’s just… sembra il destino con te.”

You considered his words for a moment, letting them roll around in the blur of your mind. “Fate?” You whispered eventually, and the glow of the smile that broke his face as the few Italian words you’d been picking up on rang clear.

“Yes, mi amore. Fate. It feels like fate with you.”

“I love you, Theodore Nott.”

“I love you more, (y/n) Nott.” He teased, lips sealing over yours in a promise that one day that name would be true. Your heart skipped a beat, your swaying continuing as you pulled yourself up a little closer, leaning into him for support to continue the kiss. Theo was everything, everything you needed and never knew. “Good thing Draco wasn’t here to hear that.”

“He’ll find this one day.” You stole another kiss, and another as Theo leaned in to meet you halfway, his hand sliding up your arm to clasp with your own. Lifting one hand away from his shoulder, Theo took a real step now, swirling you in a proper dance as he held your joint hands out, and giggles burst free as he began to twirl you around the room.

Weaving between furniture and friends, Regulus barely had a chance to snatch his legs out of the way from where they rested on the cluttered coffee table before Theo was waltzing you past him, stumbling around the room in a clumsy mess of loving and drunken movements.

Suddenly, over the top of the music in the room, came the baritone voice of one highly inebriated Blaise Zabini, crooning the lyrics to ‘All I Want For Christmas’. You smiled, joining him with the lyrics, then Mattheo and Theo and Enzo too, as the boys hunted for the tucked-away karaoke microphones that had been hidden in one of the cupboards.

With no batteries and no purpose, one was thrust into your hand. Just like that, you found yourself dancing the span of the room with all of them, belting the incorrect lyrics to any Christmas song you could think of between laughs and swigs of drinks.

Mattheo dropped first, out of breath and lay across a whole couch with a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand, and a blunt in the other. Theo stood beside him, lifting Mattheo’s limp hand up every so often to steal a drag.

He occasionally added the words, mostly happy to stand with his arm around your waist as you danced against him, aiming all the particularly romantic lyrics his way with a smile.

“Well, someone has a little too much holiday cheer, huh?” Pansy emerged again, with suspiciously swollen lips and a dazed-looking Luna on her arm. Though, Luna could also just have eaten a few too many of those brownies she brought too, you think…

“What can I say?” You said through panted breaths, the carol still playing in the background as Blaise and Enzo continued to butcher the Christmas classic without you. “My true love gave it to me. How goes your evening, Pans?”

Her eyes widened for a fraction, before narrowing into a glare at your insinuation, and Luna only giggled. “Our evening has been going quite well, has it not, Pansy?”

“‘Course it has, Loons.” She mumbled, tightening her arm around the smaller girl’s waist, and guiding her towards the couches. When Luna couldn't see, she stuck her tongue out at you, and you pouted to hide your laughter, shoulders shaking in a betrayal.

“Your true love, huh?” Theo questioned from behind, making you jump in shock, and you turned around to swat at his chest.

“Don’t fucking sneak up on me like that, Nott.”

“Uh-huh.” He shook his head at your antics, leaning in to steal a kiss from your lips before you could swerve away. “I’m getting bored of this party now. How about you come and show me a little more of that true love back at my dorm?”

“Lead the way.”

“So you can stare at my arse the whole time?” He chastised, but took your hand in his own, beginning to lead you both back through the crowds, your departure covert before anyone could make you stay.

“The quidditch training does you well, what can I say?” Leaning forward to pinch him as he walked, he almost stumbled over a step, reaching behind himself to grab at your wrist, tugging you around to his side as he scowled. His cheeks were red, but there was a grin he was trying to hide, shining his eyes, and it broke free after another second.

“You’re a menace.”

“You do this to me, what can I do? You drive me crazy, Teddy.”

“Don’t say things like that to me unless you want me to bend you over that drinks table right now.” He muttered, the words tumbling from his lips like he was reading off a shopping list, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest as a shock of heat raced down your spine. “I can’t get you back to my dorm any faster than this, but you’re testing my strength.”

He began to push through the crowds with even more force, no longer polite as he wove but simply pushing his way through any gaps or spaces, dragging you behind him until he was ushering you up the stairs. Through the cold halls, the music dulled and faded to nothing but a distant throb of the bass, and even that was sealed out to nothing as he closed his dorm door, locking it with a spell.

Pressing him back into the wood, Theo was happy to go with your movements, pliant to your every wish as the bliss of the night continued to blanket you both. Your lips met his, a simple kiss he hardly had a chance to return before you were kissing at his cheek, his jaw, down in a trail along his neck, and over his covered chest.

Sinking to your knees before him, a shot of cold raced across your skin from the cool stones of the floor. He looked down at you, fingers brushing tangling into your hair, and smirking as he held it out of your way.

Your fingers began tugging at his belt in return, undoing it and slipping the leather out of the loops, he let out a happy sigh. Slumping further against the wood, you tugged at his jeans, mouthing every inch of exposed skin along his hip bones as they slid down, boxers too, his already hard cock bouncing up to smack across your cheek.

Hot, wet skin throbbed against your face, and you turned, tongue out and dragging along the length of his dick, before swirling around the tip. He hissed through his teeth, eyes dark and half-lidded as he stared down at you, that serious expression that always made you weak in the knees melting away to something else.

“Oh, you’re going to let Santa come down your chimney, dolcezza?”

Even in a moment like this, with your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, Theo managed to make a joke, your laughter muffled against him as you pulled back, and his own laugh was cut off by a moan at the feeling. His hips bucked, tip prodding at your lips as you grinned up at him, pinching his thigh for his poor excuse of a joke and terrible timing. Surely, you thought, you should be turned off or angry, something other than complete love filing you as he made jokes right now. Instead, it only made you feel more for him, his goofy nature behind closed doors that only you got to see, his sweet and funny and silly side that was hidden from most of the world. It was all part of what made him.

Somehow, his stupid jokes turned you on even more, a twisting in your stomach like snowflakes in a storm, your thighs clenching together. So, you matched his energy. If sexy Christmas puns were what he wanted, you’d certainly win.

“Will I get a white Christmas this year?”

Licking the underside of him, from balls to tip, he let out a throaty groan, angling your head with the hand in your hair and sinking himself deep enough to make you gag, never taking his eyes away from your lips. “Oh, we’ll paint it white.”

His gaze stayed glued to your mouth, watching as he set a slow pace, controlling the bobbing of you up and down his cock. Only half in, and he was already beginning to fray at the edges, fixated on watching himself disappear in and out of your mouth. Taking him by surprise, you pushed a little further, all the way until you gagged and more, swallowing as much of him as you could until tears were pricking at your eyes.

Again and again you let him take over, just to snatch it away when he least expected it, driving him over the edge, until he was muttering curses in Italian and throbbing in your mouth. Again, you took him down, deep until you couldn't breathe for the weight of him in your airways, and he fisted at your hair hard enough to burn.

Your throat flexed around him, swallowing and wet as spit gathered at the edges of your mouth, stretched around his considerable girth. Only when your lungs burned for breath did you pull back, gasping and messy as you stared up at him. “Santo fanculo, tesoro. La tua piccola bocca calda sarà la mia morte.”

“Turns me on when you talk dirty to me in Italian, Theo.”

“Is that so?” He muttered, hand cupping your throat, one thumb under your chin to tip your head up, and with a wink, he spat onto your waiting tongue. “Ingoialo, perché qualsiasi altra cosa ti do sta andando in quello stretto poco fica.”

A whimper slipped free, and he tugged you up by the fistful of your hair, uncaring of where your mouth had just been as he smashed his against it, tongue forcing into your mouth and kissing you so hard you could barely stand. Stripping himself the rest of the way, he made quick work of your own clothes, between keeping up with your kisses, and leaving his own collection of marks on your neck, Theo had you both naked and gasping in record time.

“I love unwrapping my presents,” He whispered into the flesh of your breasts, tugging you down into his lap as he sat, your hips rocking against his wet cock, mixing with your juices as he bumped against your clit with every movement. “Told you those stockings would look better on my floor.”

“God, just kiss me, Theo. Before you make me lose my mind.” Your hands were on his cheeks, tugging his face back up, and he was muttering a spell as your lips met. Using his nose to nudge your attention upwards instead. He took a nipple into his mouth as you leaned back, staring up at the small green plant he had conjured above you both, and giggling through a moan as he scraped his teeth across the bud. “Is that mistletoe?”

“But, of course, mi amore. It was the one thing missing.”

Flicking your gaze over the room, you took in the mess of Christmas decorations the pair of you had put up. You’d taken to decorating his dorm like it was decorating your first house together, celebrating your first Christmas as a couple.

A small, wonky Christmas tree sat on the dresser, a garland over the window, a wreath on the outside of the door and lights woven onto the headboard of his bed, flashing a myriad of colours on his profile now that only made him more beautiful.

Smoothing back the hair from his face to see him fully, you pecked his lips, and again, “I love it.”

“Anything to make you happy.” His words were cheesy, but so smoothly spoken in such a deep voice that you shuddered nonetheless, and his eyes sparkled. “What else do you desire, my love? You’re already in my lap, so why don’t you tell me what you want?”

Pausing your rocking, you shuffled back just enough, dragging a nail down his chest and between your bodies, cupping his balls and giving them a squeeze in your palm as his mouth dropped open, and eyes rolled back. “Why, you got a present for me in your sack, huh?”

He was groaning and laughing at the same time, his face buried in your neck as you continued your ministrations, his whole body tight and every muscle locked as you did, until he was shaking, unable to take it any longer. “That’s what you want? It’s all yours. How do you want to take it?”

“Let me go for a ride, be your vixen.”

He bit at the juncture of your neck, before lifting his head, eyes playing out a plan as he looked to you. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about some different uses for these lights… interested?”

“Always.” You breathed, letting him twist you around with ease, until you were on your back amongst the pillows, arms being stretched above your head, and thrill racing through your body like a new high as you felt the wires and lights coil around your wrists. With a test tug, they pinched at your wrists, leaving you strung up to his headboard like nothing more than a decoration yourself, and he whistled at his work as he pulled back to admire you.

Spreading your legs apart for himself, he settled onto his stomach, and anticipation overtook you in waves. Squirming on the bed before him, Theo chuckled to himself, blowing a stream of cool air onto your clit, making you squeal. “You look better than a whole fuckin’ feast. Look at you…”

He licked a single, firm stripe across your core, lapping up everything that had gathered so far, tongue parting your folds, and prodding at your clit as he did. When your hips bucked up to follow his face, legs crooking and feet planted on the bed, he placed a hand flat across your hips, pinning you down.

“Be a good girl and have some patience.”

Your whimper spurred him on, back in again and again, until the noises he was dragging from you were closer to cries and sobs. He teased at your entrance, dipping his tongue inside just enough to drive you wild before pulling back and focusing his attention on the needy bud between your legs. Sucking and nipping, he dragged you to the brink, all before pulling back and leaving you hanging, marking your thighs with his bites and bruises.

Again and again he played, until you were a writhing mess under his hands, tugging at the wires holding you down, desperately rocking against his face as his arms wrapped under your legs. And only then, did he give in. Just like that, every light touch became demanding, every teasing drag became more like a punishment, as Theo took what he really wanted.

Screams of his name from your lips bouncing off the worlds, your juices a mess on his face as you came, and he wouldn't let up. Pleasure so intense it blinded you, an orgasm tearing through you, your body spasming from the sensations, back arching, and his only response was to slide two fingers into you and abuse your clit as he scissored them.

Sobs became wails, your voice cutting out and catching as you panted for breath you could no longer drag into your lungs, all as he traced filthy words and claims onto your body with his mouth, while pressing to that spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars.

“Oh, Theo— fuck, baby, I can’t—”

“You will.” He murmured, a third finger slipping in, and your body went taut, hips leaving the bed entirely as you seized, a second orgasm tearing through you and juices gushing as he kept his pace, riding you through the high and over the crest of it. He took everything you had to give him, cheeks shining and eyes locked on your movements, you could feel the burn of his stare into your skin, branding you as his as he almost killed you with his mouth. “Una ragazza cosí brava cazzo per me.”

As soon as he pulled away, your thighs snapped shut, your trembling body collapsing against the mattress as you gasped for breath. “H-Holy shit, Teddy.”

“Good?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone who just had you begging for mercy, is it?” He tutted, pushing your knees apart, the cool air in the room sweeping across your still soaked core as you continued to leak, no doubt dripping onto the expensive silk sheets he owned. “Perhaps you no longer deserve my mercy.”

“Let me at least catch my breath,” You muttered, one of his hands coming to land beside your head as he leaned over you, the other pulling your leg up onto his hips. Brushing his lips across your own lovingly, you smiled, puckering them for a kiss,

“No.”

With that, Theo slammed himself into you, your eyes rolling back as your still fluttering walls were forced to accommodate his length, your core twisting so tight you thought you might come again just like that, feeling him slide deeper and deeper, all the way, until your hips were sat snugly together. Your fingers became fists, jerking at the lights and rattling them on the headboard as your instinct to cling to him, to tear his back apart with your scratches took over.

Instead you were restrained, all you could do was cling to him with your legs, return his eager kisses as best you could, head spinning, utterly overwhelmed with the feeling of being his. He gave you a chance to adjust, at least, his own face screwed tightly. Shallow pants on his lips as he steadied himself not to burst right away, and you made sure he struggled, clenching around him and rolling your hips into him until he had to hold you down.

“Stop teasing me,”

“I’m not doing anything.” Your denial was useless, his glare said everything, that he knew you were lying, and he would make you pay for it, too.

“Oh, you’re a vixen, alright. Piccola troia.”

“That’s right,” You whisper onto his lips, “But I’m your little slut.”

Just like every time you understood his first language, his eyes lit up, sparking with fire and adoration as you claimed him like he’d claimed you, lips searing as you kissed him. His hips began to move, in rhythm with your kisses and picking up speed.

Every thrust of his hips has the breath knocked from your lungs, stretched out and full of him in the most perfect way. Before you’d been together, your sexual experiences had been limited and disappointing, and your first time with Theo made you realise just how good sex could be. It didn’t matter how or when, whether it was bent over a table in the back of the library with his fingers in your mouth to keep quiet, or in the astronomy tower, high and lazy, it was always so good.

But this,

This was something else. This was mindblowing, your toes curling as he pounded into you, taking you to new heights of pleasure. His skin was slick, as was your own, sliding together perfectly as you shared breaths, foreheads pressed together, no longer even having the strength to kiss, nothing but the movements of your bodies.

“You’re so fuckin’ good, tesoro. So perfect for me.” His praise covered you like a blanket, only adding to the way you felt, helping build you higher and higher toward the orgasm that would blow the others out of the water.

“Oh, Teddy…”

“Yeah, you feel good?” One extra sharp thrust, your nails digging into your palms, and you began to roll your body up desperately into his own, searching for a release that would leave you in bliss for hours to come. “I love to make you feel good, you make me feel so good too.”

“So good, Theo. So big,” Your words were strained, eyes rolling back, and he licked his way across your mouth, a cheap and lousy kiss that barely counted, but it gave you enough of a taste of him to explode, Shaking as you came, your body was out of your control, more and more as your orgasm kept going.

His pace faltered, the way you screamed his name enough to make anyone feel dizzy, a dazed smile on his face as it reached his ears. One, two, three more thrusts and he was collapsing down onto you, shuddering against your body as he smothered you, moaning your name with hot breaths on the shell of your ear as he came.

His cock twitched between your walls, filling you up deep inside and making your jaw drop open just at the feel of it. He was still going as he pulled back, pulled out, the last of his load dripping down your folds and into the bed sheets, leaving you shuffling at the feeling, your whole body still reeling in the after-effects.

He pushed sweaty hair out of his face, staring down at you and admiring the mess he had made you into.

Your legs were still shaking as he leaned over to untie you, his own fingers a little unsteady and weak as he worked, freeing one wrist and kissing it softly on the red-marked skin.

“What the hell am I supposed to do without orgasms like that for two whole weeks?” You sighed, and his laughter erupted from him in a burst so hard he almost collapsed down on top of you with the suddenness of it. You could only smile up at him as he stared down at you, hovering over your face and trying to calm his amusement. “What?”

“I was trying to be romantic just now,” He chastised, the blow never hitting, and he worked on freeing your other wrist, and kissing that one too. When you had the use of both arms back, you propped yourself up as best you could, watching as he wandered away to retrieve a cloth. “You could always send me sexy letters in the post about all the things you think about, and I’ll make them all come true when we get back.”

He reappeared in the room, and you raised your brows. “Oh, you want a wish-list of all my sexy, nonsense fantasies, huh?”

“I want literally nothing more than a sex bucket-list with you.” A quick cleaning charm, and a soothing swipe of the cool, damp fabric between your thighs, and then he was crawling back up the bed, collapsing down amongst the blankets to rest his head on your chest as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. His head bounced with your residual giggles, his arms circling your waist as best they could, snuggling into you as you lined the top of his head with kisses. “I love you, cara mia. You’re all that was on my wish-list this year.”

“I love you more, Teddy.” Another kiss, to his forehead as he looked up to you, a devoted smile on his face. “You’re everything I could ever wish for.”

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