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marketfreshfics · 17 days

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Like Rabbits | Garreth x f!MC

Header image: @newbienewness ✦ 4327 words ✦ NSFW content (MDNI), aged-up characters, unnamed female MC (no use of y/n), alcohol consumption, admission of feelings/slight proposition, masturbation, spanking, p in v, light dom/sub elements ✦ Plot? What plot? This was honest to god just an excuse to write about Garreth in a rabbit costume ✦ Read it below the cut or on AO3

Easter festivities were a rarity at Hogwarts, yet when an opportunity for revelry arose, the seventh-years seized it with unbridled enthusiasm.

For generations, a pact among students governed the hosting duties on such occasions. The house with the fewest points bore the responsibility (and, by consequence, the aftermath) of throwing the celebration. Slytherin, enduring a dismal streak, found themselves reluctantly poised to shoulder the burden once more, the third time not necessarily the charm. As the soon-to-be graduates gathered amidst their diminished house, they sampled the exotic hors d'oeuvres with subdued chatter, their ranks thin and their spirits somewhat subdued, shooing a curious first year who had risen from bed to visit the loo.

You couldn't help but notice the lacklustre effort put forth, evident in the half-hearted swirling of your drink and the telltale lines of boredom etched upon your brow. Natsai, however, who displayed a downright lackadaisical disinterest, was already poised to depart for the evening. "I do think the Slytherins should dedicate more focus to their house standings to avoid committing another crime such as this party."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips in response, prompting an eye-roll from Imelda as she fished a hair from her drink. "Blame Sallow, we’re still recovering from his little bridge stunt."

The memory evoked a ripple of amusement; the viaduct bridge, unimposing as ever one moment, became a terrifying tangle of devil’s snare that multiplied out of control, requiring several days' worth of Confringo to eradicate.

"I’ll let you know I’m still working through detention for that." Sebastian, the culprit in question, shot a wry grin as his classmates riled with snickers, much to his chagrin. "I was only practicing the Geminio charm for Ronen’s assignment! At his recommendation, mind you, I performed it outside on a plant! I swear, Professor Weasley was just trying to-"

"Did someone mention Weasley?"

Heads swivelled towards the echo of an announced arrival from the staircase, and before questions and curiosities could be posted, Garreth Weasley sauntered down the spiral steps wearing a riot of pink cotton with two lapin ears sprouting from his crown. The seventh-years all hollered and laughed at the sight, save for Leander, who appeared wholly unamused by his fellow Gryffindor’s getup. "The bloody hell, Garreth?"

"What?" He grinned at the tall redhead. "Surely we couldn't have a proper Easter festivity without a rabbit present? Where’s the fun in that?"

Leander's jab echoed into the rim of his goblet before he took a sip. "Is that what’s been stuffed under your bedframe for the past month? You look ridiculous."

Undeterred, Garreth opted instead to, well, air his abundance of comfort. "Yes, but I feel incredible. Quite breezy down here, innit?"

Spiked cider sputtered from Sebastian then, dribbling down his chin. "Are you wearing anything under that poacher’s pelt?"

"Isn’t my smile enough for you, Sallow?"

Yet, despite yourself, your curiosity persisted, occasionally wandering to the vicinity of his lap. Heat rose to your cheeks, unrelated to the effects of alcohol, as you observed the subtle jostle there. It was a wager, you thought, with a flush of embarrassment tinting your cheeks, that Garreth Weasley remained, by all accounts, an honest man.

"What even is this fabric?" Natsai protested, pinching the fold of fluff near her housemate’s bicep. "It appears to be rather flammable."

"Now that would provide ample entertainment for the evening." Ominis chimed in nearby, his attention still fixed on his wand-led readings, seemingly uninterested in the fraternization.

"One at a time, darlings." Garreth, the ever-enthusiastic lion, swung a wicker-weave basket to and fro, reminiscent of some fictional harbinger of joy. Nestled within the dried grass padding were several small bottles of firewhisky, a smattering of cauldron cakes, and various other treats from Honeydukes. "I knew the Slytherins were in desperate need of a Pepperup, so I've come to spread the merriment. Snakes enjoy chocolate frogs, don't they?"

"I thought snakes typically ate rabbits," Imelda quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Garreth didn't miss a beat in his response to her jest. "If I were none the wiser, Reyes, I'd wager you'd like to take a hop around my carrot—"

A muttered expletive signalled the departure of the quidditch captain, leaving behind a chorus of laughter.

You found yourself enthusiastically joining in, relishing the unexpected amusement of the evening. As the crowd dispersed, you approached Garreth to select a treat of your own.

"Happy Easter, beautiful." Garreth's voice dipped low, laced with a suggestive tone that he often employed in your company. "Care to take a seat on the Easter bunny's lap and tell me what you want to find in your basket tomorrow morning?"

"That's Santa Claus," you teased in return.

"My mistake."

The flirtations between Garreth and yourself had become somewhat of a tradition throughout your Hogwarts enrollment, though they never progressed beyond playful banter. Here and now, with alcohol’s nack for unbarring inhibitions, the thought of advancing motions with the cheeky Gryffindor didn’t seem like such an unreachable feat.

"You seem rather warm in that outfit," you observed, noting the slight sheen above his brow.

Garreth chuckled. "It's rather steamy in here, indeed. But not to worry, I can… ventilate if needed." Handing you a small package of honeycomb with a coy smirk, he added, "Here, I think you'll enjoy this one."

Before you could inquire further, Garreth was already moving through the lively crowd, intent on distributing more sweets and cheers. With a huff of amusement, you tore into the package of honeycomb, only to notice some writing on the pleat of the wrapper.

'Do you know what rabbits are known for? I think we could do it better. Tell me when you’re ready, and we can hop off for the night.'

The implications hit you like lightning.

Copious procreation.

Flammable or not, your gaze practically burned through the back of Garreth's fluffy pink ensemble as he disappeared into the throng of students.

---

While the evening bled into night, even with the bolstering presence of libations coursing through your veins, the mere idea of approaching Garreth at the night's end had your insides all tangled. Harmless flirtations aside, this was a full-on proposition. What if the request was meant for someone else?

Then again, he’d deliberately dedicated the honeycomb to you…

---

Somewhere between a refilled goblet and the honeycomb wrapper now tucked into your brazier like some love letter from a sweetheart posted overseas, your prior suspicions of Garreth’s costume being rather warm were confirmed. The redhead retracted an arm inside the suit, while the other unzipped the front to his navel, exposing his bare chest as he tied the sleeves around his hips.

At that moment, propriety yielded to fascination, and any pretense of restraint evaporated as you found yourself captivated by the contours of his soft yet sculpted physique. A twinge of envy stirred within you, brought on by the admiring glances of the two Hufflepuff witches directed his way from the sidelines.

Garreth leaned against the wall, a slight trickle of sweat central to his chest, freckles all flushed from alcohol and flirtations, and seeing the wizard looking entirely dishevelled in his buzzed state did something truly wonderful for your inhibitions. Downing the rest of your pep talk, you crossed the common room, approached him near the enchanted piano, and promptly cupped a hand to his ear.

"I’m ready to… hop off, for the night." You whispered, the heat carried with it curling into the shell of cartilage.

"Yeah?" Garreth’s grin settled into a keen sort of coy, and his gaze went all honed-in and confident, leaning into you with some additional insinuations in those glassy greens of his. "Sure you don’t want to linger a bit longer in this charming mildew?"

His stray dig was not lost on Sebastian, who promptly threw Garreth a pointed warning without threat behind it, bopping an ear of his fuzzy getup.

"Settle down, Sallow," Garreth chortled, relieving his cup of its contents before boldly taking your hand. “We know the snakes always host the most splendid of shindigs.”

A chorus of wolf-whistles heralded your departure, along with someone’s award-winning remark about calling Garreth ‘Thumper.’

Down the adjacent hallway you went, past another couple that was long since lip-locked, and the firewhisky fuzz in you sought the very same. At the end of the hallway that connected to the Slytherin dormitories, coincidentally located at the intersection of friendship and something more, you shoved Garreth against the wall and claimed that magical mouth of his with your own.

For all the smart comments, the witty banter, the years of flirtations that stacked the deck and colored your cheeks, Garreth melted against you, a mess of vulnerability and desire. His body responded eagerly, exploring newfound territories with a hunger born of longing. Eventually, his body caught up to the priority of the situation, wrapping both arms around you with eager motions and traveling to all the locations he’d only dreamt of visiting before.

You were moving then—perhaps another student was evicting you from the open area, nudged aptly to ‘get a room’—but at one point or another, between lips, between moans, and those magical, heated renditions of your name, you found yourselves in a vacant dormitory.

"Who’s room is this?" You pondered breathlessly.

Garreth didn’t seem to give two shits as you all but crashed into the bedroom, nearly toppling an oil lamp, sending it teetering on its pegs as you collided with a bedpost. "Don’t know, don't care."

And that conversation promptly died in between your mouths, somewhere in the tangle of your tongues, as Garreth captured your wrists, holding them above your head as he trailed kisses along your throat. Plush, pink lips planted sweet kisses, while the scuff of end-of-day stubble bit friction in their wake.

"Garreth," You murmured with a shallow draw of breath. "You… you fancy me?"

"Oh, we’re well past fancying, love." His tone dipped back into devious territory, the same place where feelings like desire and longing and, goodness, arousal held court. “I’m onto the craving stages of our little tryst, myself. And right now… I need you.”

In response to his confession, your leg instinctively hitched over his hip, eliciting a low groan as he captured his bottom lip between teeth, a rewarding gesture that spoke volumes without a word.

His grip on your wrists was released, instead seeking the supple curve of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you toward the nearest bed. Settling you down with a sense of urgency, the mattress dipped with his company, and he enveloped you in his embrace, hungering for more of the kisses that fueled his wet dreams.

Garreth pulled back, settling on his knees above you, a pleased grin playing on his lips as he panted, as if suddenly realizing something, perhaps in response to the whisper of a zipper against his bare chest. "Why aren't you naked yet?"

You laughed, mischief set free as you met his gaze. "Excuse me? What about romance? Shouldn't you be wooing me or, I don’t know, engaging in some foreplay?"

The redhead chewed his lip, and it stretched with eagerness. “Of course. Where are my manners? Though I’m still taking all of your clothes off right now, I’ve waited long enough for my Easter present.”

"You don’t exactly give gifts for Easter."

There wasn’t much room left for protest, however, as Garreth all but tore your skirt from your waist, his expression telling of the countless times he’d imagined doing so, perhaps somewhere into his fist or while soaking in the shower. The billow of linen and cotton was discarded with such haste that you thought he’d taken some unspoken offence to the garment, but then his efforts were being spent on tugging your underwear down. A breath born from an expletive ensured you were plenty wet for the introduction.

Verdant irises were engulfed by pupils blown wide, as Garreth drank in the sight of your sex. "God… my imagination could never."

"Like what you see, do you?" You giggled nervously, knees bent and pressed together in honest reflex.

"You have no bloody idea how much I like what I see," he replied with a grin, his gaze tracing every contour of your exposed skin. "...what am I supposed to do now?" It was his turn for a nervous chuckle, palming whatever flesh he made contact with, his demeanour akin to that of a tourist in need of directions.

A soft moan rewarded his efforts. "Whatever you desire... I'm yours for the night, remember?"

And to seal the proverbial deal, you peeled the ruched top up and over your head, unhooked your brazier immediately after, and bit the web of your cheek as you expedited it to the floor, joining the rest of your clothing expenditures.

The honeycomb wrapper fluttered onto your stomach, and Garreth raised an amused brow. "A fond little souvenir, hmm?"

"It’s sentimental, shut up." You purred, quieting his jests with bare chests pressed, and he saw no room for further comment on the matter. Garreth was all mouth then, kissing from lips to chin to lobe as he tutted. "Before we truly make like rabbits and fornicate," He couldn’t help the huff that followed, hearing himself say such a big boy word, "there's something I want to do first."

"Tell me," you urged quietly, fingers tangled in fiery copper curls. "Tell me what you want to do to me..."

"Well, for starters..." He kissed a breadcrumb trail from your neck to your shoulder, "I want to hold you in my arms and get you off."

"Oh god," anticipation drenched your mound and arched your back. "Yes, Garreth, please…"

The sound of your voice sent shivers down his spine, confirming the suspicions he had harboured for months. Curated Gryffindor courage made his heart swell, and his hands trailed down to both hips, maneuvering you around until your back pressed against his chest, playing little and big spoons. Garreth's lips found their way to the curve of your ear, where teeth and lips took turns teasing your lobe. "Comfy?"

"Very much so," you mewled, surrendering to his magnetic presence, your bare back pressed against his chest while you lay on your side. Your hips instinctively moved in synchrony with his, firm against fluffy pink fabric slung low on his waist, and there it is—that stiffness underneath the plush that has your mouth watering and your groin humming. A snort erupted from you at the reminder of the rabbit costume, partially undressed, entirely inappropriate.

"What's that, sweetheart? Gonna share with the class?" He tsked then, and a mischievous grin adorned his face as he felt the delightful pressure of your hips against his own. "Might I… take a dip?"

"Yes," you breathed, already writhing, already wanting, even though his exploration had only just commenced. "Please, Garreth... please..."

And so Garreth learned a lot about himself then; your pleading revealed a new kink. He nuzzled your neck with a mischievous grin, his touch growing more daring as a hand dipped lower; as soon as his fingers gently caressed the carnal crux between your thighs, your neck arched a bit harshly, but that was just fine; you were too absorbed in thoughts of holy fuck, Garreth is rubbing my clit.

The prompt response surprised him, but your brash expression had an undeniable allure. A playful smile appeared on his face as he leaned in and whispered in your ear. "Merlin, this wet for me already? So generous..."

"Can’t believe I’m getting fingered by someone in a bunny costume.”

“Fingered by me in a bunny costume, thank you.” Garreth began sucking over your jugular to elicit a sweet little cry from your mouth, and with the flesh popping audibly, no doubt where a bruise would bloom, he whispered, "You're going to feel splendid around me, beautiful.”

"I want you, Garreth." Grinding your pelvis into both his palm and his dick certainly conveyed as much. It echoed the heat that built over months of minute gestures, sidelong glances, and jokes made at each other’s expense.

"I want you, too." His hand moved with purpose, with three fingers flat against your bud, dipping to explore your intimate depths while those tactful lips brushed the upward jut of your neck. An arm snaked under you and around your middle, palming a breast with a multitasking maneuver that made you squirm.

"Garreth," you whimpered as he caressed your wetness, throwing petrol on the fire within you. You found a rhythm that harmonized with the symphony he composed. "Yes, yes..."

"What is it, baby?" His thumb made love to that throb and swell of nerves, eyes closed in concentration as he leaned closer, exhalation hot on your shoulder.

"I want to come for you," you rasped, testifying that which sought to consume you. "Please… faster…"

Garreth's explorations intensified, and the sound of your slick arousal punctuated each movement. An almost accomplished smile curled his lips, relishing the subtle power he held over you. "Do my fingers feel good?" His voice danced all hushed and seductive, the grate of alcohol and lust on his throat.

You were lost in the whims of his touch, unfolding in his hands. As he quickened the pace of his fingers, your body arched along the river banks of abandon, edging closer to release. "I know something that would feel even better."

He possessed an innate knowledge of the words that would stoke the fire within you. "We’ll get there," he whispered, his breath hot on your racing pulse. "First… come for me."

"Yes," you whimpered, your voice trembling with the impending climax that welled within. His finger movements, an audacious symphony between soaked folds, carried you ever closer. "I'm… I'm… "

As your cries of pleasure came forth with volume, Garreth focused his efforts on your clitoral hood, applying firm pressure as opposed to frantic fingering, intent on prolonging the spasms. At the same time, your body practically sang his praises, and he offered the same in return. "Good girl. Now... are you ready for me?"

You panted, flipping over to face him with a breathless peppering of kisses, flush with gratitude. “Keep calling me a good girl like that, and I will be,” you breathed, gently biting his bottom lip.

He was quick on the draw, bless him. "Good girl.”

Eager motions resumed, bodies practically clinging together. "I want you inside me, Garreth." You squirmed underneath, anticipating his taking. “Let me be your good girl; take me from behind…”

Without hesitation, Garreth shifted you onto your stomach faster than his brain could sort sense of the idea. He grabbed you by the hips, repositioning you on the bed with precision, with his trademark combination of dominance and fondness. You stabilized on elbows, swaying your hips like the comely creature you were.

"Is this what my good girl wants?" he smirked, devouring the gradual parting of your legs, the invitation for him to claim what is rightfully his.

"Yes," you practically pleaded, thrumming to feel the weight of his hands upon your hips, to experience his penetration. "Please, baby... spank me."

He processed the request with his mouth slightly agape in surprise at your words. No one had ever made such a request to him before. "Are you asking me to spank my good girl?"

A coy nod over your shoulder and a bitten lip conveyed your consent. "Yes, please... I'll be good..."

"Say it properly.” The command was all supplicant and alluring, while ravenous hands sampled your inner thighs.

“Please, Garreth…” You whimpered, practically dripping. “Please, spank me.”

"That's better..."

A palm thunderclapped across your rear with unexpected force. Another followed in quick succession, harder than the first, and you cried a simpering symphony. Hips swayed and rutted, knees threatened to buckle, and your back arched as heat rooted deep. "More, please, baby..."

His breath hitched as he took in your heartfelt plea, spurred on by something that mingled and met with testosterone, compelling him to venture into unexplored realms, a captive yearning for sweet freedom. Garreth employed the enthralling control he had over you as he gripped your hips possessively, while his palm branded your buttocks.

"So good," you gasped, and each contact drew forth a garbled moan.

A mischievous smirk played across the lion’s face, as he darkened at the welting consequences of his actions. He prolonged the inevitable. "Oh, is that so?" His hand descended once more, his touch deliberate, unhurried.

"Yes, oh god..." You yearned for a proper fuck, to have your hips hammered, longed to stretch intimately around him. With your bottom lip caught between teeth, you glanced back at Garreth, exuding an eager and willing demeanour. "Baby, please..."

The taut heat of his cock nestled against your rear. Nimble fingers curled into your waist, drawing you closer, and then Garreth discovered the full extent of your arousal. "So wet for me..."

"Only for you, baby..." You pushed your hips back, feeling entirely too empty all of a sudden. "Garreth, I need you inside of me… please, take me... "

"Oh, I'm going to take you, all right."

And then, in a display of vulnerability, he guided you closer with hesitant hands seeking comfort on your thighs. With a shared breath, Garreth aligned himself, gathering warmth and wetness in kind on his cock, and announced his entry with an audible exhale.

Like a reflex, your back arched, writhing serpentine along his length as Garreth bottomed out. He provided experimental thrusts, gradually quickened the pace, and soon you were sucked into a beautiful pattern.

A primal moan parted lips in an unfiltered expression of longing as he delved deeper, as Garreth bucked from behind. Bending down, he pressed an enthusiastic kiss to your nape, grunting with the forceful motion of his fuck. With every thrust, his lips on your neck sent shivers down your spine, and with how desperate he was to hold you close, Garreth clutched you close and brought your torso upright, swaying in rhythm, your bodies making sense of one another’s.

"Oh, baby girl…" The wizard purred into your ear with a strong forearm clamped over your torso and a firm grasp tangled in your hair. He tugged at your strands as he increased his pace, the pricks of pulled nerves eliciting a gasp. His grip across your midsection anchored you to his chest, the tight hold leaving crescent marks of possession into the swell of a breast. A lovely, lewd sound escaped his throat as your hips began to meet his movements, the overwhelming pleasure consuming him entirely.

Your back pressed against his chest, and you contorted in all the right ways. With a head tilted back, your sights set on the heavens, surrendering to the moment. "Fuck me, baby. Hold me tight..."

"I’m not letting go," The words were all breath, the sound caught on the brimming heart stuck in his throat, as he leaned down to bite your neck. "You're... you're mine..."

Your hand instinctively snaked between your legs, choking your clit between index and middle digits. The intense sensation of Garreth's plumbing your depths brought you to the brink, surpassing your wildest expectations. "Oh god, Garreth, I'm... I'm coming...”

A shriek was stifled as you came hard and raw, your abdomen releasing pressure buildup as you rocked against Garreth’s cock like it was your saving grace, coaxing and prolonging your release as you disengaged from body and mind, almost going slack in his arms. The announcement, the tightness of your orgasm propelled him fuck to his full potential, chorused by your cries. He teetered on the brink, his equilibrium delicately balanced as he held onto your hip, thrusting deeper inside with each exhalation, his movements deliberate and steadfast.

The bed protested audibly as you rocked on your knees, punctuating your passionate connection. You coaxed him with a voice still raw and made all the more ragged from your climax. "Come, baby…"

Your words were the catalyst of his coming. Garreth buried his face into the back of your neck, breathing ragged and erratic as the boundless excitement that you built within him finally burst forth in a breathtaking culmination. He surrendered to an overwhelming release, spilling himself deep within.

Collapsing forward, he pressed you into the bed, his body weight a comforting presence upon you. You let out a sound of satisfaction as he settled on your back, your inner thighs slick with evidence of your shared release. An inward sigh of fulfillment escapes you while you tilt to plant a kiss on his cheek. "God, that was even better than the first."

"You’ve rendered me boneless, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he buried his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m utterly spent.”

You couldn't help letting out a soft chuckle; your fingers naturally entwined with his as you both shifted onto your sides. When your eyes met, they reflected a sense of contentment and gratification. "Me too," you admitted, your voice soothing in the quiet aftermath. "Spent and drained..."

Garreth's hand tightened around yours, conveying tenderness. His lips curled into a gentle smile, a sparkle of admiration flickering in his gaze. Compelled by magnetism, you gravitated close, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. "Stay," you murmured, longing to extend this moment of closeness.

The chuckle he responded with caught you off guard until you realized that you hadn’t the foggiest idea whose bed you just expressed your feelings in. "Ah, I see," you laughed, begrudgingly reaching for your clothes.

As you tugged each article of clothing on, Garreth adjusted the rabbit costume back into place, and you devolved into a fit of giggles. “Did you even take off that ridiculous get-up?”

“Listen, love,” Garreth smirked, claiming your chin with impish intent. “I just fucked the most beautiful woman in our year wearing this. I won't soon be criticizing its charm.”

You leaned closer to kiss him, as breathless as he made you feel. “Fair enough.”

#garreth weasley x reader #hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley smut #garreth weasley fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hl fanfic #garreth x mc #sebastian sallow #natsai onai #ominis gaunt #leander prewett

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thelightsandtheroses · 10 months

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Secret Smile: Lost Daughter (Chapter Two)

Secret Smile | Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all. Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose. Word Count: 3.5k Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog - by reading on you’re confirming you’re over 18, language, mentions of alcohol, reader has a nickname but no physical descriptors used Author’s Note - Thank you all for the comments and reblogs so far, I’m so pleased are enjoying and responding this so far and am excited to now introduce the Reader’s POV. Thank you again to the lovely @wildemaven for this gorgeous fic header.

Chapter One | Series Masterlist

Bogota, Colombia

You pull the edge of your blazer down further, smooth over any potential creases. It started with first day nerves and now has become a strange tradition or habit whenever you enter the office. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been working here for several weeks, or that the staff at the embassy gate have finally recognise you when you drive in, every time you walk in you feel like an imposter.

You originally accepted this job as the deputy to a key legal advisor and liaison attaché, however they quit less than forty-eight hours after you had landed and left the country almost immediately, leaving little time for a handover. You’ve been unofficially covering the position ever since and while it started as a baptism of fire, so far it seems to be working.

Mostly.

It’s been a steep learning curve. However, with some slightly feverish research each evening, hard work and determination, it’s starting to feel more like a normal job.

You’d never been to Colombia before this assignment. While you were lucky enough to have travelled with your family when you were younger, to even have studied abroad at one point, you had never been anywhere like this outside of family vacations.

DC is firmly in your rear-view mirror now. That’s where it belongs.

This part of the embassy is full of energy today; there’s an excitement humming through the corridors, an impatience even. Normally people keep to themselves, remain focused on their jobs and sticking within their departments. You wonder if there’s a VIP visitor due in today; that would explain it all.

You’ve heard rumours that senators may be flying down soon, that DC wants to see where its money is going. The embassy isn’t quite neat enough, isn’t quite as on edge as you would expect in that scenario though.

If it’s not a VIP visitor, then what is it?

You briefly nod in greeting at one of the DEA agents who is talking in hushed, excited tones to another agent. You can’t remember his name - Nick? Neil, that’s it. Neil Stoddard.

He greets you and you can tell he wants to pull you into the conversation. You fight your natural curiosity - you don’t really need to know what is happening.

“Sorry, Agent Stoddard, I have to go prepare for a meeting. It’s good to see you both,” you say politely, briskly walking down the corridor and closer to your office.

The embassy is divided into cliques, a twisted version of high school. Departments rarely mix. Your department, with Justice and legal advisors and other liaisons is a rarity because you do have to interact with the other departments. Most of the time, you’ve noticed your department tries to avoid direct interactions though, conducting most of their business from their harshly lit offices.

You weren’t sure what you expected from this assignment, but it wasn’t this.

There’s a growing sense of dread rising through your stomach as you walk down the dimly lit corridor; it can’t be. Surely that wouldn’t be why everyone is acting like it’s Christmas. Besides, you thought you had some time before that happens.

This building is like a rabbit warren. In your first week you walked into several people’s offices instead of your own, got lost more times than you could count and wished you had drawn a map of some sorts for yourself.

Now it’s better. You can find your office anyway. Most of the time.

You’re in the office adjacent to a large office that most of the other Justice staff and lawyers are based in. It isn’t private, you share it with four other people, but your desk is further away from the others and it’s not directly underneath the air conditioning, unlike at your last job, so you can work with that.

“The new DEA attaché arrives today,” Judith says by way of greeting as you set down your bag down at your desk. Judith is an administrator and has been in Colombia for over a year now. The more you speak to her, the more it seems she knows everything about how the place actually runs.

“Hey, Judy. Oh, really? I thought he was coming down later in the month.” you reply, rummaging through your bag for your beloved and battered Filofax. Your bag is a mess, you really need to sort it out at some point.

“Mmhmm, have you heard about him?” Judith asks, resting her chin on one hand as she idly fiddles with the edge of her coffee mug.

“Not really,” you lie easily, though perhaps it isn’t really a lie. You hardly know Javier Peña anymore. Laredo is in your rear-view mirror along with all its ghosts.

You’ve never quite felt like you fitted in, not at home, not with your family. You threw yourself into good grades, career success, the same achievements you’d seen with your brother and the same achievements your parents craved for you both. It never felt like enough though and as soon as you could, you’d moved away and tried to continue those successes, those achievements outside of Laredo. You’re still not sure how well you’re doing with that; your parents and brother say they are proud, you just can’t quite believe it.

It is still strange that Javier Peña, your brother’s best friend growing up, is the same man these people are all whispering and eagerly awaiting. Javi Peña, who was a constant presence when you grew up in Laredo, who had been one of the few people to encourage your dreams of seeing the world outside of your hometown, outside of Texas. It was clear he harboured his own dreams there.

Only now he’s the Javier Peña who had helped bring down one of the world’s worst drug lords. He’s the Javier Peña, who according to your mom in her last phone call is the new hero of Laredo.

Only while most of the embassy seems to think of Javier the same way, your most recent meeting with Crosby and Stechner has raised your alarm bells. On the surface, nothing was said, nothing concrete. It’s almost as though they spoke to you in a foreign language and if you tried to explain what was said outside of the meeting to anyone else, it would mistranslate. It was the combination of tension, unspoken insinuations and the way certain words were emphasised. It unsettled you.

They want you to keep Javier aligned to what they want. You don’t even really know what that is; just that while on the surface you’ll be working ‘closely’ with Agent Peña and will be “supporting him in navigating the new realities of Colombia”, it all means a lot more than it sounds like. It sounds like you’re there to check the case is watertight, that things go by the book. You never took Javier for a maverick, but maybe things are different now, maybe he’s different.

You didn’t even pick up on their double meanings at the start of the meeting, just took it as gospel that you would help him, that you would be assisting the DEA to take down a cartel, providing liaison and legal guidance that utilised your skills and would help do something good in the world. Then it was just you and Stechner in the elevator.

Stechner definitely doesn’t see Javier as a hero. He made that clear. He made sure you heard the rumours, knew his take on it all and his previous experience with Agent Peña.

None of it matches with the Javi you remember. Stechner’s pulled any pedestal out from under Javi with too much ease, but it doesn’t feel natural, it doesn’t feel right. Maybe if Javier were a stranger, it would be easier, but he’s not.

He’s Javi.

“He has quite the reputation,” Judith says, breaking you out of your memories, “and not just for work either from what I hear.”

You don’t know the half of it, you think. ”Do you know if the ambassador is in yet?”

“Yes, and don’t forget you’ve got a 11am with him,” Judith says, a slightly disappointed expression on her face.

“Great,” you say flatly. You’d forgotten about this meeting and you feel underprepared at best, especially after your last meeting with him.

You check your watch, there’s enough time to finish this report and still prepare for your meeting later. “Coffee?” you ask Judith by way of a peace offering.

She shakes her head and points at the still full cup next to her.

“Alright, I am going to grab a quick coffee before I get started. It’s going to be a day, isn’t it? Wish me luck?”

“He helped take down Escobar, you know?” Judith says as you’re walking out of the office.

“The ambassador?” You turn around in confusion for a moment.

“No, silly, Agent Peña.”

”Oh, yes, of course. We’re uh, very lucky he’s coming back.”

“I have a meeting with Crosby,” you say to Crosby’s secretary, Linda, as you walk into the main office.

Linda barely looks up at you before saying, ”He’s expecting you. You can go right in.”

“Thanks, Linda,” you reply as you walk past her to Crosby’s door. You push open the heavy door reluctantly, already feeling your palms heat up with nervous anticipation.

“- need to work together on this one. We have the same goal,” Crosby says, pausing as the door loudly shuts behind.

Immediately, Javier looks up at you. He’s neatly suited and booted and you notice the empty glasses between him and Crosby. It’s not surprising, Crosby is one of those old school types after all. In fact, you’re amazed there isn’t in a cigar in one of their hands. You’d never dare to drink alcohol at work, but it’s different for you.

He looks surprised to see you, perhaps even a little disappointed. That stings: you’re sure it must have been a surprise to realise that you were here, but you hadn’t expected this. You thought that perhaps he’d be pleased to see someone from home, to have a familiar face beside him.

You try and remember when it was you last saw him. Rafa told you that Javi left Laredo very quickly after the Lorraine debacle which had happened while you were in college. You couldn’t blame Javier for wanting to leave that: gossip and scandal spreads like wildfire in a small town.

You’d left Laredo too - for college, for new opportunities. Now you only go back for special occasions, family get togethers. Even your closest friends in high school usually came to you or an agreed vacation spot rather than staying in Laredo.

The Javi you remember is sitting in your brother’s passenger seat with grown out hair, music playing and a light wind blowing as your brother reluctantly drops you off at the mall.

Now he’s different. His hair is short, neater, he dresses differently now. He reminds you a little of Atlas, carrying himself like the entire weight of the world rests on his shoulders. You didn’t expect that.

You wonder how he remembers you. If he even does. What would he remember? His friend’s younger sister: a shy bookworm who was so opinionated, so stubborn.

“Ah, perfect timing. This is Agent Peña, my new DEA attaché,” Crosby says by way of introducing you and waving his hand over to you to allow you to introduce yourself.

“It’s good to meet you, Agent Peña,” you say, meeting Javier’s eyes for the first time, extending a hand before you introduce yourself as though he were any other stranger.

He raises his eyebrows almost imperceptibly and for a second you think he’ll say something, but he just nods and takes your proffered hand.

“And you.”

“You two will be working closely together on this,” Crosby says, a too wide smile on his face. “She’s a specialist legal advisor and liaison from DC. I’ve assigned her to help you while you’re here - think of it as a secondment of sorts. She can help you with warrants, navigating the legal and local systems, liaising between our offices, with the Colombians and of course the CIA Station Chief.” This is more of an explanation of what he wants from you than he gave you last week.

Javi’s mask almost wavers. You noticed the way his brow furrows, eyes widen for a second, the slight movement of his jaw.

He wasn’t expecting this and that concerns you even more. What exactly have you been instructed to do?

The meeting winds up quickly after the introduction and the two of you walk outside and down toward the empty corridor.

“We’ve never met before then?” he asks, a wry smile on his face.

You exhale. “Look, I - it’s just easier that way. You have no idea what it’s like. If everyone realises that I know you from home, then people will make assumptions and I would rather not have to deal with them.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. This place is like a gossip factory, surely it was like that when you were here last?”

Javi smirks. “Probably. Okay, fine, that works for me. You know Stechner and Crosby already know where you’re from though.”

“Coming from the same hometown doesn’t mean we’d know each other. Laredo’s small but it’s possible we wouldn’t have crossed paths. If it wasn’t for Rafael, I doubt we would have,” you say, voice smaller than you wanted.

You hadn’t thought of that possibility. What if the whole thing was some sort of twisted test by Stechner or Crosby? You try and think about whether any ethical boundary is being crossed. You’ve never dated Javier, he’s not related to you by marriage or blood, in fact, he’s barely your friend, you’re not representing or prosecuting him, so no - no, there’s no obviously glaring ethical breach here you can think of.

“Don’t worry about it,” Javi says gently, clearly sensing your growing anxiety. “It’s been a long time since we last spoke anyway.” He emphasises the word long, looks you up and down until you scowl at the tone to his voice.

He holds his hands up in defence, smiles as he meets your eyes, chuckling to himself.

“Crosby said you had taken some vacation time back home. You were in Laredo?” you ask.

“Yeah, for a bit.”

“I haven’t - did you see my brother?”

He looks at the floor for a second and then straight into your eyes. “Yeah, I bumped into him.“ Javi pauses thoughtfully. “He seemed good.”

“Did you see Sofia?” You ask wistfully. Sofia’s your niece and she is generally the highlight of any trip home you take. Even here in Colombia, you have one of her drawings displayed on your fridge, a photo of the two of you at her most recent birthday next to it. You had flown down to Laredo for her birthday party, taken a day off work especially to make it a long weekend. It was the last time you’d been back there.

Laredo feels strange now when you go back. Some of your closest friends still live there, however you’ve never quite felt comfortable in the town and you don’t know why. Despite your career successes, you always feel like you’ve disappointed your parents and haven’t met their expectations. They haven’t said that, they never would. You just feel it.

“No, no I didn’t,” Javi says. “How old is she even now? Actually, don’t tell me, it’ll make me feel old.”

“It makes me feel old,” you say, “I remember her as a baby.”

Javi smiles tightly.

Silence passes between you. It’s heavy and strange, making the air in the office feel even more humid, oppressive. None of your time in Colombia is passing as you had expected.

“This is weird, right?” you ask suddenly, desperate for this strangeness around the two of you to lift. This is Javi - not a complete stranger, not an embittered ex or an enemy. You’re supposed to be on the same side here.

Javi nods, he straightens his posture and looks at you again. He doesn’t look like the Javi you know; this stiff backed, frowning man is not your brother’s best friend, is not the person you remember.

“Why are you really here, sweetheart?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you need to work with me closely? What possible reason - I have a team, okay, I don’t need you. I don’t need a babysitter.”

It’s work, it’s not personal. You know this. Javi’s words dig under your skin though and sting because he’s not a stranger, you thought he might be your friend - or at least an ally.

Besides the hurt, his words infuriate you. You’ve worked with enough egos, enough arrogant men in your career so far to know what you to do. You straighten up, control your expression and meet his dark brown eyes.

“Well trust me, I have more than enough on my plate without babysitting you. The ambassador demanded this of me as well, so don’t blame me. This isn’t the job I interviewed for or was hired for, but somehow it’s the job I’ve been assigned so we have to make the best of it.”

“I don’t need you,” he says firmly.

Your stomach sinks. This is all going terribly. “Javier, I can help you navigate some of the bureaucracy and make sure you have the right warrants and paperwork, that we get through any hurdles or challenge and protect the-“

“You’ve been here for all of five minutes and you’re the expert in what did you say - navigating hurdles? I’ve spent years here.”

“Things are different now,” you say and he scowls in response.

“Different? Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Javi mumbles under his breath.

“Look, don’t patronise me. I’m good at what I do, really good, and yes, I might not have been in Colombia as long as you but that doesn’t matter if I can do the job. We can work together. I’m not your fucking PA or assistant, Javier, but I can - we’ll make sure everything is beyond reproach, bulletproof, and we’ll get the Cali guys so they spend the rest of their lives in prison and it will -”

“You’re being so naive.”

“And you’re being an asshole!”

Javier’s face softens for a moment and then returns to a blank expression. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Whatever it is you do? Great, Javier’s turned into one of those guys.

You sigh. “Walk me to your office. We might as well get started now.”

You spend the rest of the day with Javier. There’s a possible lead from the Cornerstone operation, an asset in play down in Cali. Most of the work has already been done when you arrive in his office - the paperwork is almost finished, the formalities covered.

It feels seedy though; using a relative’s distress to put an asset in play. Maybe Javi’s right, maybe you are naive.

“Did you run a lot of operations like this before?” you ask, taking a sip of lukewarm coffee.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just making conversation,” you say, neatening a pile of paperwork.

“Squeamish?”

“Nope. Look, I’ve been a lawyer for long enough. I’ve seen a lot more than you think. Look, Javi for this to work - I just, give me a damn chance.”

“It’s not you,” he says after a moment, “Do you know why you have this assignment? Do you know what they really want you to do? And do you really think I don’t fucking know? I wasn’t born yesterday, sweetheart.”

You look at the floor awkwardly. “Of course, I know there’s more to this, Javier. I’m not stupid. I’ve spent years in DC, I can recognise doublespeak in my sleep. This is the assignment I have though and I - I genuinely want to help you. I came here to help people.”

“Tell the higher ups that because they don’t want you to ‘help’ me.”

“Javi,” you lightly admonish. “This situation is definitely shitty, but let’s try and work together on this, please. We can do this together, you just need to keep everything above board and let me navigate more of the political bullshit.”

He looks down at your comments, a slightly embarrassed expression on his face.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Fuck, I’ve been back less than 24 hours and the bureaucracy is ten times worse.”

“Well, like I said, things are different now,” you joke.

Javi shakes his head, mumbles something under his breath as the two of you resume your work.

After a while you stretch your arms out, stand up and exhale. “Okay, I need to head back to my desk, wrap up some projects. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Javi mumbles, barely looking up from his paperwork. He says something else, so low you can barely decipher it, so quiet you almost miss it. It’s a nickname you haven’t heard in years; the one your brother coined given your childhood fascination of the state flower. One that transports you back in time the moment you hear it.

Blue.

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dearestcynthiaw · 4 months

Text

Goodbye Stranger - House MD x Reader

Chapter one: World Weary

A young, mild woman, of noble decent, comes face to face with an infamous doctor, not just from the other side of the world but seemingly a whole other time. Will he believe her ridiculous, and quite frankly, impossible story? In House's mind, everybody lies, but is that so for this new, mysterious woman.

_________________________________________

This is my first fanfic in a long time, I'm quite new to Tumblr, so hello!

I'm absolutely infatuated with this series at the moment, so I thought I'd do a bit of writing and play with a concept that makes me ponder. This is very very loosely based on a original character that lives rent free in my mind. I've done a chunk of paintings of her so I'll post a few as headers on some of the chapters. The character in this will go nameless, and is intended to be a self-insert for those reading, therefore I've tagged it as a 'x reader'.

I'm not a doctor and I don't work in medicine so lots of this is research and a little help from a friend who is a nurse, so the knowledge in it will be hit or miss.

Anyway, enjoy!

----

It had been a long, hot, blissful summer in the year of 1928. Newly September, the days were starting to get shorter and the trees were turning crisp and orange.

It had been quite a bad week, though bad was quite the understatement. Her uncle was on his deathbed. He’d suffered through a long bout of influenza that was seemingly impossible to recover from. She visited as often as she could, hoping that each visit wouldn't be the last. Her heart was heavy from knowing his death would eventually become inevitable. He had always been a man of great prowess and genuine kindness, which was a rarity in her family, and losing him would shatter her.

Moreover, her fiancé was hurried to hospital after a nasty accident at a rugby match. He hadn't been concentrating when running the length of the pitch, he tripped and was ambushed by the collective. His ankle looked horribly out of shape, one could only imagine how many degrees it had rotated. It looked almost entirely backwards.

Her Fiancé's hospitalisation and her uncle's sickness had caused the worst sleeping patterns. She'd barely had a few hours each night for the past week. As she laid in bed most nights, especially in the early hours of the morning, thoughts and worries flurried through her head. She lay there hoping to God everything would set itself straight.

The exhaustion had impacted every aspect of her day so far, and she had marched up to the central hospital, from her soon to be in-laws townhouse, she felt overwhelmingly drowsy and unsteady. Of course there was no transport to be seen for miles to cut down the walking distance and give her a couple seconds of peace. All servants were out of the house, and it had become increasingly difficult to hail a taxi.

She trudged through the bustling streets, avoiding streams of people surging towards her. She had arrived at roughly 13:11 pip-emma, give or take, hoping that her beloved was already awake and breakfasted, to spare the grumpiness.

Awkwardly she stood, though all else were seated, patiently waiting for the nurse to lead the way to her sweet fiance's room.

She had been called with the added 'Lady' positioned at the very beginning of her name. It had caused a slight shudder to run down her spine as the room of plenty turned to look in her direction, eyebrows quirking in curiosity.

She appeared quite out of place in the very centre of London in a hospital bustling with people who were much different to herself.

Although she never minded her title, she much preferred the simple 'miss'. 'Lady' carried too much sophistication and responsibility, the sort associated with cutting ribbons and giving out writing awards at local schools. It felt far beyond her, she’d always felt sort of, under prepared.

Standing there in her professionally ironed clothing and perfectly soft waved hair, being ogled at, made her feel uncomfortably separate from everyone else.

‘Just this way, You’ll find he’s in quite a pleasant mood today, we’ve been able to better control his pain since you’ve last seen him.’ The nurse turned to face the Lady, with a sweet smile as they walked the extensive, dismal hallways.

The door was ajar, and from the threshold she could see a well lit room, far different to the rest of the hospital. There were bouquets of flowers scattered about, along with ‘Get Well Soon’ cards that were crammed upon the limited surfaces. There were excessive amounts of sweetmeats and sugary treats upon the bed and sideboard. This man had only been admitted the day before and he already received a hefty amount of goods. It wouldn't be long before he had to pack it all up and head home.

She had been loudly interrupted from her thoughts with a cheerful ‘What-ho sweetheart!’. The nurse was quite right, he was much more sprightly today.

‘I say, take a seat, this chair or that, you might even be allowed to perch on my bed a while!’ Snorting, he motioned towards a patch on his bed that wasn’t decorated with an array of sweets.

‘You look quite at home here. Should I be assured that they’re looking after you well?’ Her eyes were glued to his bubbly expression. It was quite surprising for a man who had been writhing about in pain on a muddy pitch the day prior.

‘Quite, quite, very well indeed. Though, I can’t ever seem to get any service here. They’re always ignoring me. I don’t ask that much of them.’

It was almost certain that he did, it could only presume that he wanted to be pandered to and pampered as though he was on the coast of France in some lavish hotel.

She could only look at him with a sense of pity, she only saw a man who was in a great deal of pain and was pushing through with a gleaming smile.

She found she was at quite a loss for words, sympathising with him wouldn't do as he'd only push himself to show he wasn't entirely helpless. This always put him in a worse state. ‘Do you know when you might be coming home?’ was all she could think of after the momentary silence.

‘Oh yes, yes, it was supposed to be today, but I’ve asked to be held on until tomorrow. Charlie from the club said he’d drive me home.’

‘You don’t want me to take you home? I can do it later today when Dobson gets back, he has the key to the shed where my car is-’ Again she applied a bright smile, hoping she could be of help. ‘You’ll only have to wait till 3. It’s really not that long darling.’

‘Gosh no, I don’t like it when you drive, makes me feel like a helpless sod.’

Lightly exhaling and nodding she looked down at her hands in her lap.

And again he spoke; ‘You’ll have to bring me a glass of water dearest, I can’t get the attention of anyone at this bloody hospital. And I'm bloody parched!' He seemed to let out a sort of huff; boyishly crossing his arms.

As she stood and started to walk, he shouted after her ‘Oh! And grab a doctor for me too, there’s something I need him to see.’

With a sweet smile and a light nod she turned on her heel, heading back for that ominous, dark hallway.

A short way down she found a small cupboard, one with a tap and a couple glasses and other bits and pieces to accommodate patients and guests.

Just before fetching a glass, she lent over and placed her head on the counter, with her arms cradling her head. She let out a long exhale to release some of the stress of the day. The exhaustion was starting to catch up, she could so easily have a quick nap with her head on the cold surface.

Finally gathering the energy to move, she lifted a glass and ran the tap, making sure she didn’t fill the vessel with lukewarm water.

Someone must have closed the door whilst she took her momentary rest, as when she turned she was confronted by the clinical white passageway that was firmly shut.

With a heavy push she dislodged the door from its threshold and found herself to be completely disoriented. Nothing looked the same. She thought that maybe she had taken a long route to this small cupboard and had simply forgotten the way she came.

She was completely surrounded by shelves upon shelves of supplies. There was only one other door and it was straight ahead. She turned again, wandering back inside the smaller room with the sink, studying her surroundings to see if there was another entrance that she might have overseen. Yet there was nothing.

She finally settled on advancing towards the opposite door, walking between the sets of shelves that carried an array of different peculiar items that resembled medical arsenal, none of which she had ever seen used before, but yet again, she didn’t spend much time hanging around hospitals to see what new advances were made in the field.

Just as she reached for the door handle, it began to pull downwards as a force was applied to the opposite side.

Jumping back in surprise and slight panic, feeling as though she had wandered into the wrong part of the building, she had no time to think out a possible explanation before the door was fully open.

The man that was stood there gave her a wide eyed look, appearing equally as perplexed as herself.

She quickly took in his figure, he was no doubt tall, taller then most of the men that she knew, and was scruffily dressed, she wondered if he might have taken a wrong turn too.

Taking in a quick breath she squeaked; ‘Are you lost too?’

‘No.’ He had a distinctive accent as he bluntly said the singular word.

‘I’m in your way, sorry, I’ll just-’ She peered to his side noting the direction she was heading.

‘How did you get in here?’ His eyebrow quirked.

‘Through that door.’ She pointed behind herself, his eyes quickly following her movement. There was nothing there. No door in sight, as though it had never been there to begin with.

She looked back at him in surprise ‘I could have sworn-’

With that he let out a bark of laughter. She felt ever so small and grew red in the face.

‘I must be tired, but I swear that's where I came from.’

‘No door there sweetheart, never was.’

Her mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, yet no sound came out. ‘I better get back to my fiancé.’

‘You haven’t answered my question.’ He attempted to stop her proceeding.

‘Well, I don’t really have much of an answer, because I certainly don’t remember entering through the door you’re standing in.’

‘This door was locked, did someone let you in? What you looking for, is it drugs? Could’ve just asked.’ Now she spotted his walking stick, he was leaning onto it, slightly blocking the way so he could continue interrogating her.

‘How dare you, I wouldn’t do anything like that.’

‘They all say that.’

‘Can I just get through? I need to take this to my fiancé.’ She raised the glass in her hand.

‘What ward?’

‘Somerset Ward.’ Her answers were getting shorter as she became frazzled by the constant questions.

‘Haven’t heard of that one before.’

‘It’s fine, I’ll find my own way.’

‘You still haven’t answered my question.’

‘Look, I really haven’t got a clue. Can I go now please?’ She gave a hapless sigh as she was getting to the end of her tether.

He stepped aside, yet seemed to follow her as she stepped into an unfamiliar hall. It was bright white, almost blinding. It looked like an entry to the hospital, one that she’d never seen before. There were people scattered everywhere, wearing clothing very different from her own. She turned back to look at her interrogator with a look of shock and slight horror. ‘What is this?’

‘A hospital.’ He started to limp away, towards what looked like a reception desk. ‘You coming?’ She could see him leaning over the desk having a bit of a natter with a person sat there. She slowly got closer observing every detail in front of her. The gadgets and do-dads that adorned each desk and clinical colours that decorated the whole room. She'd never seen anything like this before. She must've ended up on the other side of the building, maybe a more experimentative wing compared to the others.

She stepped closer to what looked like a reception desk, momentarily placing down her glass of water.

‘Name?’ Came a sudden voice that carried a very similar accent to the male that she had encountered in that odd cupboard. She couldn’t quite see, until a lady poked her head out behind a silver sort of implement about the width of a brief case or small luggage holder.

There, she gave her full name in the presence of this strange man, middle name and all. A pattering sound began, like one you would hear from a typewriter, but without the obnoxious ‘ping’.

‘Dr House!’ This woman bellowed, only now realising that he’d started to wander away.

‘Can’t find a name on the system.’

‘You’re trying to find my records? I’m not a patient here, I’m only visiting. Besides you won’t find it by typing, it’ll be in paper form, I thought that was the same for everyone?'

‘Sorry dear, Dr House told me you’d found your way off the psychiatric ward, your name isn't even on the database.’ This woman behind the desk looked directly into her eyes, showing vague sympathy.

‘You think I’m mad?!’ She cried at the ’doctor’.

He continued to move away, towards what looked like a metal cladded elevator ‘Would explain the confusion.’ He shouted over the room of, what she could presume were patients waiting to be seen.

She quickly jammed her arm into the door of the metal contraption before it fully closed.

‘I am tired, but I’m certainly not out of my mind. I think you're having a joke with this whole thing. Who set you up to this? It’s really not funny. Can you just tell me what part of the hospital I've ended up in and I’ll be on my way.’

Again an amused smirk graced his face ‘You’re in the clinic.’

‘Well I’d gathered that from the sign above my head, but none of this is recognisable. I’ve been to the clinic before but it didn’t look anything like this.’

‘You sure you got the right hospital?’ He seemed so disinterested in giving any useful information.

‘Well yes, I’m in London-’

‘Well there we go, you’d better find your way back onto the crazy people ward, you’ve forgotten what country you're in. Next it’ll be what year from the look of you.’ He glanced down at her dress, to him it looked outdated.

‘Can you stop that? Tell me seriously now.’ She appeared panicked, worse than she had been previously. She had hit the verge of begging.

With a sigh he gave up on the teasing ‘Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. You happy now?’

‘Princeton, New Jersey?’ Her hands were starting to shake, struggling to keep the elevator door open. She’d only ever seen this place in atlases that she used to flick through in her childhood home’s extensive library.

‘Where else?’

‘No no no no no, this isn't possible.’ She stepped inside quickly before the door slammed shut. Putting her face in her hands and taking shuddering breaths.‘You’re definitely not lying right? This isn’t a joke anymore. It's all very funny, but are you sure this isn’t just an American part of the hospital and you’re just pulling my leg?’

The doctor seemed to ignore her and continue to look straight ahead, both hands on his cane.

The door to, what she had now concluded was indeed an elevator, slid open and he stepped out. She hurried after him and as she began to walk beside him he halted, staring directly at the side of her head, fierce enough to burn holes into her skull.

‘You can leave me alone now. I’m not going to help you get a plane ticket or whatever you are pestering me for. Go back to the 1920s or whatever F.Scott Fitzgerald book you think you came out of. If this is some tasteful prostitution then give me a ring later. Goodbye.’ And with that he veered off into a room that was made up of mostly glass panels.

The door flew shut and finally revealed this man's full name and title ‘GREGORY HOUSE M.D. DEPARTMENT OF DIAGNOSTIC MEDICINE’

Though he seemed to be warning her, she still pushed forth, entering the office space ‘Aren’t doctors supposed to help people?’ She had never been so forthright, if she were back at home she would’ve taken that as a forewarning and scampered off like a scared mouse.

Dr House was now sitting hunched over at the desk, eyes glued to another one of those abnormal briefcase things that casted a blue tinged light over his face.

‘Are you not listening to me or are you just plain deaf? I said goodbye.’

‘I’m not taking that as the end of the conversation, Dr House.’ Her confidence was building, though it was most likely the adrenaline surging through her veins. She took steps closer to him, peering down at the jumbled items upon his desk. Odds and ends and many stacks of paper were littered about like a white blanket covering the entirety of the desk.

Her eye caught on one document reading today's date in the margain with a completely unrecognisable year. ‘2006’.

Her eyes bulged and her head seemed to be endlessly screaming. There was a fuzzy static sound that ringed in her ears and her breathing became short. Throughout the whizzing of her mind, she remained completely silent and still.

‘Patient confidentiality, don’t you know.’ He said flipping over the paper she had been gawking at.

‘Two-thousand and six.’ was what she muttered beneath her breath.

‘So you really are that deranged. The whole get up is all part of the act. Are you living out a fantasy or something?’

‘It’s 2006? It’s 1928, your document is wrong. I mean this could be a very elaborate joke or is this a film set?’

‘You’ll have to pay me overtime if you keep asking me all these questions. $300 and you’ll get the full package, what d’you say Marty.’

'Are you still insinuating that I am a whore?’ She now began to grit her teeth. ‘And that is not my name-' She was cut off whilst she was reprimanding him.

'I’m the whore here, I’m the one offering my body, Marty. Now, what would that make me? Doc Brown? nah, maybe a generational relative from the future. Really spooky stuff. What have you come to tell me? About my impending death or bad life choices? Because you're a bit late.' Resting his head on his hands he looked up inquisitively.

'I really don't understand-?' She spoke whilst shaking her head.

''Course you don't ' He pulled his lips thin, eyes widening and shrugging his shoulders. ’You think you're a time traveller and I’m here to tell you to head back down those stairs to where you belong, in the psychiatric ward.’

Her face twisted in disgust as he spoke such cruel, unadulterated words. She could feel the tears in the back of her eyes. No one was going to believe her, she barely even believed it herself.

‘What? Am I supposed to play along? Oops!’ His actions were so animated as he lifted a hand to his mouth.

He picked up what could've been a phone and brought it to his ear chatting with someone on the other end and began typing vigorously.

‘Looks like they'll have to book you in. No records here. Oh, tell you what, let's Google you, see what we can find.’

‘Google?’ She rubbed her forehead with worry.

‘What fun, you're still playing along.’ His words carried an underlying bite. ‘Here we go, nice, so you're daddy's an Earl and you live in a big mansion and have lots of money. I'm not surprised that you picked this woman to claim as your identity. It's full of all those fun parts. You've gone the extra mile too, editing a photo of yourself amongst your fictional family, how sweet.’ He turned the screen around and there was a photo of her and her brothers.

Gasping in shock she spluttered ‘How did you get that?! That’s a private photograph!’

‘How did you do it then, Marty? Did you change the whole of this Wiki page to suit you?’ He tutted.

Standing silent in the emptiness of this office was like torture. She bit her tongue to stop the tears and prevent the endless wrath of words she was holding back. ‘How could you be so cruel, Dr House?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought you were going to help me.’ Her words were wavering as she spoke softly.

He raised his shoulders once again lifting his hands up to display mock confusion ‘What is there to help?’.

And with those last few words she turned, flying out of the room.

----

‘World Weary’ - Noël Coward 1928

----

~ It was an early morning yesterday, I was up before the dawn ~

#House #Housemd #Housexreader #Gregoryhouse #Gregoryhousexreader #timetravel #1920s #x reader #reader insert #house x reader #house md #house md x reader #gregory house x reader

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mirdance · 2 years

Text

Innamorati

Summary: Darling, even though you might be shared amongst all the Fatui Harbingers, remember who you serve and where your loyalties lie. Remember who saved you. Where this ice rests in eternal sleep, the gods cannot hear your prayers. Only I can. Pairing: Pierro x Reader Rating: NSFW. Implied sexual content, yandere, emotional manipulation, mind games, referenced non-con acts, religious imagery

Notes: This is part of a Fatui Harbinger collab where each Harbinger shares a darling. As usual with me, there will be smut later. Shoutout to Sunnie who created this beautiful header.

Recommended Music. AO3.

Fools preach the joys of worship. Within the Celestia I saw why the gods do not communicate with open arms. That moment judgment forces you to recount what has sat at the center of your soul, pried away like a newborn's first cry, you'll not talk of joy.

Pierro flipped the page. Stains and tears lined the edges, only a reminder of the cycle which fell to all. Each carefully turned page, the sound of ticking, and your soft snores were the only sounds that sailed through the chilled air of his study. An unfinished game of chess sat on the table between you like a forgotten memory.

Sleep. A rarity for any of the Fatui. The moonlight trickled through the window behind him. Cascading snowy shadows decorated the pages of his book. Though snow blanketed the landscape outside, the piles would never completely cover the ambitions of the Snezhnayian people. Like the weight of moonlit snow on pine branches, the soul held strength to endure.

What sort of things would you endure?

He’d thought the chess game before him would provide useful intel. Games and toys were worthwhile if they were useful. Take a children's slingshot, for example. While entertaining for the young, it also served the purpose of teaching survival. Dolls taught young ones the art of conversation. Stuffed animals provided some substitute for the innate instinct of touch. A proper toy also served as a tool.

Taking the toys away or losing them also taught important life lessons.

But the so-called toy that sat before him had yet to elaborate on its gifts. Striving to hone one's abilities was one of the beauties and curses of human nature. For each of the Harbingers, a toy's survival differed. For Pierro, useless toys were unneeded. While many collect toys to sit and look pretty, his toys needed to provide.

Another page.

"Who knows if the gods understand the greatness of the human soul, even while watching us prattle the secrets of our lives. Human suffering is a power in its own right, one they could never fathom. A god's memory reeks of apathy while treachery against the tormented lasts for generations. The people cry out in holy prayers--dirt embedded within the nailbeds of their crossed fingers--for rest. Yet Istaroth never provides the time for that peace, and prayers on one's knees only waste daylight. The cathedral words fade as a snowflake upon winter heaps until they are all but frozen as one beneath boot prints. Still, the gods demand that knee, as if they already didn't have the universe."

Another page.

Gusts of wind bellowed against the trembling window. Your eyes slowly opened and took a moment to process the setting like a mammal coming out of hibernation. Pierro continued reading while your brain and body took its time to catch up with being awake.

He'd spent hours playing chess with you. After all, the other Harbingers often put your body to its limits; it was only kind of him to provide you with what was probably a much-needed break. Falling asleep was not what he had in mind for that break, but he had a text to analyze, anyway. There was always something to do, and his toy didn't provide much usefulness in the things needing done.

Your upper lip moved in hesitation to permit words, an apology probably, but you quickly tightened your jaw. Some comrades did not enjoy being spoken to without speaking first. Pierro did not care unless the words were pointless. Of course, the meaning of words differed from individual to individual. What words a person provided told their story.

What was your story?

Words also provided layers like the blanketed snow above deadly ice above freezing waters. They veiled and masqueraded. Yet that, too, told a story in itself.

"The way you silence yourself reveals much of what you've had to endure," Pierro commented while flipping another page. "Speak freely with me unless I deem otherwise."

You bit your inner cheek and eyed the chessboard as if it would change design by sheer will alone. "Forgive me, but hearing you say that provides little comfort in this situation."

"I know we've gained little ground in terms of mutual trust, but what you provide for the Harbingers is paramount. In my presence, though, I've yet to see its fruition. Alone with me, you do not have to sit and look pretty, even if it is a pleasant side benefit."

You didn't bother with your next move even though it had been your turn before slumber reached. "Well," you croaked, testing the sounds against your alveolar ridge. "What book are you reading?"

"It’s the journal of a fallen soldier," he answered, which was not totally a falsehood. "A rather blasphemous book to many. Are you religious?"

You shrugged. "I suppose it depends on who's asking."

Smart. "I see. So, you are not religious. It seems we have something in common."

You shifted your legs. "That's a surprise, considering your loyalty to the Tsaritsa."

"Indeed. For her, I am devoted. One could see that in a religious sense depending on the perspective. Is there anything to which you are devoted?"

The chess pieces remained as thoughts circled your mind, reflected through your pupils. "Not anything I can think of at this time."

Bold. "Everyone is devoted to something, even if they do not see. Tell me, are you familiar with Mondstadtian theatre?"

You shook your head. Your eyes briefly flickered to his and back to the board again.

"For monarchs of old, royalty kept a court jester. Jesters had many vocations within their role. Comedic relief was one. The same goes for the jester of a play. Often these Fools would point out shortcomings within royal meetings or people and stories in humorous ways. Like a dance of death, teetering on offense yet accurate. The audience laughs, yet those with understanding know what lies beneath the surface of the hilarity. The Jester knows all, the story from beginning to end, as well as the enigmas of each character."

He flipped a page before speaking again.

"Some people might say the Fool not necessary for a good story. Why have a clown recite the story when the words are already presented to you in the form of dialogue"

He continued scanning his pages.

"Ah," you spoke. "Probably so the audience knows when they're being tricked and what they're up against. Maybe the interpretation is less convoluted that way?"

Interesting. "Some would view that as hand holding. If the Fool's words are even to be trusted, of course. Many a people make for unreliable narrators, and that includes Fools. Still, the importance of their position within the story is unlike any other."

"I didn't take you for the humorous type," you commented carefully, almost biting the words back as if you'd accidentally bitten your tongue.

He chuckled. "Maybe not, no. I am not necessarily devoted to any sort of typical humor, but the role itself is fascinating, wouldn't you agree?"

You nodded.

Dialogue, the art of conversation, would pierce through you yet.

“To circle back to your inquiry. Ah, before that, tell me,” he ran his fingers through his beard. “Are you literate?”

You nodded.

He waited a few beats for you to elaborate, but no sound came. Still, being literate at all was a feat in itself. Just how literate were you was the question. He stood from his chair with book in hand and knelt beside yours. With a flick of his thumb, his saved reading spot was open to your eyes.

“Care to join me in the pleasure of reading?” he inquired. “You can go first.”

With a careful nod, you cleared your throat to begin. “Waylaying the plans of a god might seem prideful to those without ears to hear, but what would man say if that same god took the innocence of their child away? I have reached the heavens, only to see a throne in name. The same throne that grants vision in the same breath that it snuffs them. Waning though I am, I can still remember the tiny fist of my daughter, stamping her knuckles against her game bored at her loss. In the same way, gods demolish the board rather than admit their wrongdoing.”

You paused in thought. The edge of your braid tickled his arm as you leaned to glean more of the book’s content. And then you spoke. “When I was a child learning to read, I remember my mother gifting me a fairytale. The tale featured a bear that couldn’t fish. Though the reading level was simple, the words confounded me. After many desperate attempts, I threw the book against the wall.” A chuckle softly escaped your lips. “My mother in the next room never even heard.”

“You seem to be doing fine now,” he noted.

“Yes, I’ve…had plenty of opportunity to study. Not to mention that little me was also very determined to pick the book up off the ground the next day and try again.”

“Do you think the gods in this story similar to your dilemma as a child?”

You pondered the question. “While I’d need more context, I’d say the message the author is trying to implicate here is that the gods in this tale act more like petulant children rather than trying to learn or grapple an understanding of their creation.”

Pierro hummed in approval. “Maybe the gods aren’t ignorant or weak as much as they are prideful.” Though every single being, including gods, had a weakness. Felling a god proved difficult, but once fallen, it was a matter of destroying the remaining shades.

“I would say that is the downfall of many,” you replied as your eyes scanned more words on the page. “But it could also be a strength, I think, depending on the context.”

Pierro shifted on his knees and beseeched you to elaborate.

“Well, taking pride in your accomplishments is one of the beauties that life affords us, I think. Feeling proud for creating something nice or doing well. Those are normal human emotions. With anything, it can become a burden if you allow.” You gestured towards your barely touched glass of wine. “Like alcohol.”

“Are you not one for wine? Or was it not to your taste?”

Your hands quickly gestured in disagreement. “The taste is delectable I just…have learned that having smaller amounts makes for more pleasant company.”

Or you were wary of what one might put in a drink, Pierro mused. Not to mention that clarity was vital when dealing with Harbingers. Not that Dottore kept such things in mind; wine was probably restful in comparison with whatever medications he played with. Pierro didn’t begrudge your slowness of drink. On the contrary, having such mindfulness of your surroundings was endearing.

“There is no need to worry.” He took one of your hands —cold to the touch— in his and rested it in your lap. “I am more curious about your mind. While wine is certainly one way into a person’s mind, I would prefer yours to be unclouded.” Gaining trust without the help of alcohol proved more useful in the long run.

You did not push his hand away. “My mind,” you whispered. Your gaze fell to the side along with a chuckle that puffed from your dry lips. “Would you dissect me like Dottore?” Pierro chuckled in turn. “Not physically, no.” “Why was I chosen to be here,” you quickly pleaded. Your hand trembled slightly beneath his own. “My talents are miniscule, even if all you people wanted was a fuck toy.”

Your brashness struck him as if you’d struck him with his book. “Interesting. So, you think you are nothing but a fuck toy. Tell me, don’t you take pride in anything?”

“I used to.” Someday you’d elaborate without being prompted. He was certain. “What was something that you used to have pride in then? If I might be so bold, I do not think it was chess.”

Now that caused a laugh. “No, but it was something similar. Fencing. The sport. Smallsword style. It is often said that fencing is like chess at the speed of light.”

That was news to him. Glancing at your arms and thighs, he could tell even through the fabric you wore. One bicep protruded more than the other, and even with one eye he could see the shapely tone of your legs that drifted down the plush chair as gracefully as a ballet dancer. While the sport itself was not one hundred percent in tune with combat abilities, it did prove useful for many instances. Were you competitive? Judging by the unfinished chess board, competition was not at the forefront of your mind.

“Fascinating. I have heard that such a sport is popular in Fontaine. Did it originate there as well?” He’d known the origins, of course, and he’d known that those origins were not the true origins. As with most things of this world, beginnings were buried within the surface away from prying eyes. To know the beginning would be to know the fragility of the world and its creators. Perhaps some would think it best to keep such things buried beneath the dirt so that those who could abuse such knowledge kept away.

“The origins are a bit complex, but the sport derives from many different cultures,” you chirped, pulling your hand away from his and to your chest.

Pierro encouraged you to go further. He wanted, needed, to hear what you could put forth. And as the words poured from your mouth, he was blessed with an output of excitement that slowly bubbled from your stomach to your esophagus to your tongue until it settled in the sporadic gestures of your palms. Endearing could certainly describe the scene, but only time would tell if the joyful glint in your eyes was simply because you hadn’t had a proper conversation in so long. Either way, the passion you bestowed pierced the very air like a perfume.

During a pause, Pierro spoke up. “Would you call yourself adept with the blade?”

The book had been long closed and set to the side, yet he still lingered by your chair’s side to follow your gestures and eyes.

A slow and steady grin graced your lips. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m awful. Sometimes I helped the local children. There are many people better than I, though.”

“There will always be those that are better than we are, even with the things we are passionate about. It seems, though, that perhaps this is something you could take some pride in, hm?”

You exhaled. “Maybe so.”

Silence hung in the air with the unspoken; your arrangement did not provide you time for leisurely pursuits. Pierro doubted many of his Harbingers allowed for such times. He would find out, though, and with each piece of information he could understand where their mindsets lie. This was especially important considering the unrest that trembled through the Fatui. The unease that came with death and ranks and betrayal.

Pierro rubbed his thumb gingerly over the leather of his book, waiting to see if you’d continue your tantalizing speech.

You did not.

Instead, your eyes fixated on the chess board.

Pierro gripped the book in his hand and lunged his arm forward toward your chest. Surprise lined your features, yet your arm instinctively parried his attack to your right quarter. As if on instinct, you riposte with your hand to his chest. After a momentary victory grin, shock flushed your features; you stilled as frozen as a prey. Your hand stayed resting on his chest, probably unsure of how to proceed. Striking a Harbinger, whether a form of self defense or not, could be detrimental for you unless otherwise granted permission. Perhaps you’d become so wrapped in the conversation that you’d forgotten where you were.

Which was the idea.

Pierro bowed his head slightly forward and gently pressed his hand over yours. “It seems the touch is in your hands. The point goes to you.”

Your hand quickly retracted; you held it to your chest. “I didn’t know we were…sporting. I apologize.”

He chuckled. “Well, you didn’t seem interested in chess, so I figured the scene could use something you might be interested in.” “Why…” you stuttered. Your brows knit together as your jaw clenched. “Why would you care about what I’m interested in?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” Pierro replied calmly. He leaned his elbow on the armrest of your chair. “I’m interested in getting to know you.”

“Why.”

“Why does anyone want to get to know another?”

“To use them.”

“That could be a reason for some. But aren’t we all using each other, then? Even for love, comfort, contact, companionship. Basic human needs. One works for his employer to feed his family. Another works to surpass his employer. Each culture and society dictate which reason is more noble. Do you find one more noble than the other?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. Most might say love or companionship. But I…” You hugged yourself. “Food. Less pain. If that. If I can get those things, I’d do anything. Who gives a fuck about getting to know each other when I’ve hardly eaten in two days and my arms hurt from getting slung around? The bruises haven’t even healed.”

You winced before Pierro could even blink, most likely expecting a blow that never came. Pierro was not one to succumb to anger as easily as some of his Harbingers. Your anger only opened you up more, made you more vulnerable. In some ways, it was beautiful.

He gently took your chin between his fingers and watched water form into droplets that welled from the corners of your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks. He ran a thumb along one of the water trails and took a tear onto his thumb. Your lower lip shook as you tried to bite back the emotions. It had probably been many moons since you’d had a moment to allow yourself the time to anguish. To grieve everything you had lost.

“It’s okay to cry for now. The range of human emotions knows no bounds, and you may not get the chance to mourn later. But your basic needs. I will provide them. You will not be without food, shelter, or clothing. You will not lose your life here. In exchange, I need something from you.”

He continued wiping away the wetness of your face with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Become a Harbinger.”

“What?”

“I cannot promise you complete safety or status. But if you become my eyes, I can make things more bearable for you. All I need is loyalty and what comes with that.”

“That…that sounds too good to be true,” you croaked. “I don’t really want to be a Harbinger…what does that even mean for me?”

“When you’re on duty with another Harbinger, I need you to report every single detail to me upon return. You will receive a new name. You’ll most likely stay within headquarters, but that does not mean you will not ever go out into the field. This likely means bowing to their whims just as you do now. Possibly more so since you will be their underling. But along with your information comes my promise to provide you with more comfort.”

“So I’m just a spy?” You laughed. “Just another tool?”

“Do you have any other choices?”

You frowned at the floor for a moment, catching yourself about to speak and then slamming your lips shut. Pierro would allow you time, of course. Not that you knew that. It was easier to catch you in this moment than allow time to think. Either way, you’d take the opportunity. Pierro would probably do the same if he were in your shoes.

“I’ll do it.”

“Well, then,” he softly grabbed your clenched hand and leaned to place his lips against your knuckles in a kiss. “Your partnership is appreciated. Your name is now Innamorati, number twelve of the Fatui Harbingers. Though we bow to her Majesty the Tsaritsa, never forget where your loyalties lie.”

Number twelve and traitor to them all. Official ceremonies and authorization would be yet to come, but you didn’t need to know such things. What mattered was the power of the mind, how you viewed yourself, your choices, and your duty. All of which aligned with the stage he’d set to play. While the physical chessboard sat dormant to the side, a more important one laid in the palm of the hand that held yours.

#pierro #pierro x reader #pierro/reader #yandere fatui harbingers x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #mir writes

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