hii would you do one where house is wirhdrawing from vicodin and reader takes care of him
>>>Out of the Dark<<<
Summery: After surviving a grueling withdrawal with you by his side, House wakes to an empty apartment and panics, fearing his ugliest moments have finally driven you away, racing into the freezing winter air to find you.
Pairing: Gregory House x f!reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Emotional Confession, Reassurance, Angsty Romance, dating but never had confessed that they loved each other
The white plastic bottle was empty. It didn't rattle when House shook it, a hollow sound that signaled the end of the world in their quiet apartment.
The banter, the teasing public kisses that had once driven him crazy in the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro, the brilliant, sharp-tongued medical deity—all of it vanished within hours of the final dose leaving his system. When Gregory House went through cold turkey withdrawal, he didn’t just get grumpy. He disintegrated. He became a ghost made of raw nerve endings, blinding fury, and a terrifyingly deep agony that no amount of intellect could solve.
The living room was pitch black, every blind drawn tight against the agonizing glare of the afternoon sun. House was curled on his side directly on the living room rug, his knees pulled tightly toward his chest. He was shivering so violently that his bare shoulders knocked against the floorboards, though his skin was completely slick with a cold, sour sweat. His damaged right leg was locked in a vicious, agonizing spasm, the scar tissue pulling tight and warping under the strain of a body starved for opioids.
When you walked in, carrying a fresh basin of warm water and a clean washcloth, the floorboards groaned under your weight. House snapped instantly.
"Get out," he rasped. His voice sounded like he had been swallowing broken glass, rough and terribly weak. He didn't open his eyes, his brow furrowed so deeply it looked painful. "I don't need a nurse. I don't need your goddamn pity. Go back to the hospital."
"I'm not going anywhere, Greg," you said softly, setting the basin down and kneeling on the hardwood floor right beside him.
The moment your fingers brushed his trembling shoulder, he flinched away with a feral, ragged snarl. "I said leave! Look at me! I am a miserable, toxic bastard on a good day, and right now I am a hair trigger away from putting my fist through a wall. Save yourself the trouble and get out before I say something that ensures you never come back."
You didn't flinch. You didn't back away. You had seen him cut people down with a single sentence, but you knew him well enough to recognize that this cruelty wasn't malicious—it was an act of pure desperation. He hated being vulnerable. He hated that the great Gregory House was currently reduced to trembling on a rug like a wounded animal.
Instead of arguing, you gently wrung out the washcloth, letting the warm steam rise between you, and carefully pressed it against the back of his rigid neck.
House let out a fractured, shaky gasp. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once as the warmth hit his skin, his head dropping heavily against the floor. He didn't tell you to leave again.
As the hours bled into the evening, the physical storm only worsened. The nausea hit him in brutal waves, followed by severe muscle tremors that left him breathless. Because he couldn't take anything for the pain, the infarction in his thigh was torturing him tenfold. He was groaning, a low, animalistic sound of pure suffering that made your chest ache.
Unable to watch him writhe on the hard floor anymore, you slid down behind him, pulling his heavy, sweat-dampened upper body back against your chest so his head rested in the crook of your shoulder. You wrapped your legs around him, anchoring him to you. Then, you reached down and sank your fingers firmly into the rock-hard, spasming muscle of his right thigh.
House stiffened, burying his face in his hands as a ragged sob nearly tore from his throat. "Don't... please, it hurts too much..."
"I know, Greg. I’ve got you. Just breathe with me," you murmured into his hair, your heart breaking at the sheer vulnerability in his voice.
You didn't stop. You began to massage the ruined muscle with a steady, deep pressure, using all your strength to work out the agonizing cramps. House gripped your knee so tightly his knuckles turned white, his breath hitching every time your hands hit a particularly bad knot. He was entirely at your mercy, stripped of his intellect, his sarcasm, and his pride. Yet, as your hands kept up their rhythm, his chaotic breathing slowly began to find a match in yours. He stopped fighting the pain and simply let himself sink entirely into your weight, trusting you to hold him together while his body tore itself apart.
By the early hours of the morning, the violent shivering finally began to subside into occasional, exhausted tremors. The fever was breaking.
With immense effort, you had managed to move him from the floor to the couch, propping his exhausted frame up against a mountain of pillows. You sat right beside him, holding a glass of water to his lips because his hands were still shaking too badly to grip the glass without spilling it. He swallowed tightly, a few drops spilling down his stubbled chin, before he leaned his head back and stared at you through bloodshot, heavy-lidded blue eyes.
The mocking, cynical spark that usually defined him was entirely absent. He just looked profoundly tired, and deeply humbled.
Slowly, his trembling hand wandered across the couch cushions, his fingers awkwardly tangling into yours, squeezing with what little strength he had left. It was a rare, completely unprompted gesture of pure gratitude from a man who famously never said thank you.
"You're an idiot," he whispered, his voice incredibly soft in the quiet, dark room. "You should have let me rot. I was awful to you."
A tear slipped down your cheek, but you wiped it away quickly, leaning down over him. You pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his rough, stubbled cheek—not to tease him or provoke an audience this time, but simply to remind him that he was loved, even in his darkest moments.
"You're a lot of things, Gregory House," you smiled gently, smoothing his messy, damp hair away from his forehead. "But you're not rotting on my watch. Now go to sleep."
House let out a faint, exhausted huff that might have been a laugh on a better day. He closed his eyes, his grip tightening on your hand as he finally drifted into a deep, healing sleep, knowing he didn't have to face the dark alone anymore.
-
The cold morning air hit House like a physical blow the moment he opened his eyes, but the emptiness beside him hurt worse.
The fever had broken, and the brutal grip of the withdrawal had loosened enough for his mind to clear, but the apartment was suffocatingly quiet. He swung his legs over the side of the couch, his muscles groaning in protest. "Y/N?" he called out, his voice still a gravelly, scraped-raw ruin.
Silence.
He grabbed his cane, using it to hoist himself up as he limped hurriedly through the small space. The kitchen was empty. The bathroom was empty. Your keys were gone from the counter.
Panic, sudden and violent, seized his chest, tighter than any muscle spasm he’d endured the night before. You left. The thought crystallized in his mind with terrifying certainty. Of course you left. He had screamed at you, snarled at you, exposed the absolute ugliest, most pathetic parts of his dependency, and you had finally realized what a toxic mistake it was to love Gregory House.
He didn't think. He didn't grab his jacket, his wallet, or even shoes other than his worn-out sneakers. He just flung the apartment door open and hit the pavement.
The morning was freezing, the air biting sharply at his skin through his thin t-shirt, but he didn't care. His breath came in ragged, white plumes as he forced his throbbing, ruined leg to move faster than it ever should, his cane clicking furiously against the icy concrete. He looked like a madman, eyes wild and bloodshot, scanning every face, every passing car, his brilliant mind utterly useless as it spun into a spiral of absolute terror. Where would you go? A bus station? A hotel? Back to the hospital?
He kept walking, twenty agonizing minutes of pushing through the biting cold until his leg felt like it was on fire, refusing to give up.
And then, he saw you.
You were sitting alone on a wooden bench in the small park down the street, right in front of the frozen fountain. You were bundled up, staring at the water, a paper bag of takeout breakfast sitting beside you.
House stopped dead in his tracks. He stood there, chest heaving violently, his hands trembling against the handle of his cane from sheer exhaustion and cold.
Hearing the erratic, heavy breathing, you turned around. Your eyes widened in instant horror when you saw him standing there in the freezing air, shivering violently without a jacket. You leaped up from the bench, rushing toward him. "Greg! What are you doing? Are you insane? You're freezing!"
You immediately began shedding your own jacket to throw over his trembling shoulders, but House didn't want the jacket. He violently shoved the fabric away, his cane clattering to the sidewalk as he reached out with both hands. He gripped the back of your neck, his fingers digging into your skin with a desperate, crushing strength, pulling you forward until your foreheads crashed together. You were so close you could feel the icy, trembling rush of his breath against your lips.
"Where the hell were you?!" he screamed right into your face, his voice cracking, thick with a raw, unadulterated terror you had never heard from him before. "Why did you leave?!"
"Greg, I didn't—"
"I woke up and you were gone!" he shouted over you, his eyes wild and shining with unshed tears, completely stripping away every ounce of pride he possessed. "I thought you left me! I thought you finally realized what a miserable, broken piece of trash I am and you walked out! I thought I was never going to see you again!"
The sheer agony in his voice broke your heart. You wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, anchoring his shaking body against yours. "Greg, look at me. Listen to me. I would never leave you. I went out to get us breakfast because the fridge was empty, and I just wanted to sit by the fountain for five minutes to breathe the fresh air. I am not leaving you. Ever."
Before you could even finish the sentence, House shut you up.
He slammed his mouth onto yours, a bruising, desperate, chaotic kiss that tasted like winter and absolute desperation. It wasn't the teased, playful kisses from the hospital hallways, or even the heated ones from the couch. It was a man clinging to his lifeline in the middle of a storm.
He pulled back just an inch, his hands still shaking violently against your neck, his blue eyes staring into yours with a terrifying amount of honesty.
"I love you," he breathed out, the words tearing out of him like a confession he had been choking on for a lifetime. "I’ve loved you for years. Don't you dare ever disappear like that again."
The confession hung in the freezing air between you, more potent than any drug he had ever taken.
You stared up at him, your own breath catching in your throat as the raw honesty of his words sunk in. For all his genius, for all his complex equations and diagnostic puzzles, it had taken reaching his absolute breaking point to say the simplest, truest thing he had ever spoken.
"Years, Greg?" you whispered, your hands smoothing over his frozen arms, trying to friction some warmth back into his skin.
"Years," he choked out, his grip on your neck softening, his thumbs tracing your jawline with a reverence that made your chest ache. "Every time you kissed me in those halls, every time you made a joke out of my misery... I was terrified you'd see right through me. I was terrified you'd realize how much I needed it."
You leaned up, closing the small distance between you to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips—warm and reassuring against the winter chill.
"I'm not going anywhere," you promised again, pulling your jacket around his shoulders this time, and he finally let you. "Now, let’s get you home before you catch pneumonia and I have to diagnose your stubborn ass."
House let out a ragged, genuine laugh, the tense lines of panic finally melting from his face. He leaned heavily against you as you picked up his cane, his hand sliding down to grip yours tightly, burying it securely in his pocket as you turned back toward the apartment together.
House is never home. What's a girl to do when she's horny, in love, and left alone too long?
An AU loosely set before chapter 10 of turnabout.
Series:
Turnabout
AU WHERE THE READER MARRIES HOUSE INSTEAD OF DOMINIKA
MDNI!!!!
Summary: You've always been a little weird. Scratch that — a whole lot of weird, with a dash of dumb sprinkled in.
You've seen Doctor Gregory House cause mayhem and save patients all around the hospital — yes, even where he wasn't authorized.
Unlike normal people — you're weird enough to convince yourself that a crush on him is logical and asking him to marry you is a rational life choice, so when House and Cuddy implode spectacularly, you approach him.
He agrees.
You did not expect him to immediately announce it, and ask the nurses to keep a box of tissues ready for Cuddy.
You did not expect him to immediately tell every single person in the hospital you like to roleplay as nurse and him a doctor during sex. Especially since you haven't had sex (yet).
You tell yourself you can handle it.
Famous last words.
Series page on AO3
Chapter 1: The day you decided it was a good idea to proposition the hospital's menace
Chapter 2: Say hi to the children
Chapter 3: Somewhere between a rock and a hard place
Chapter 4: House, sweet House
Chapter 5: Wedding bells sometime in the future
Chapter 6: Nobody's happy now
Chapter 7: The miraculous concept of superposition
Chapter 8: HIS N HERS
Chapter 9: Reflection or Refraction?
Chapter 10: Something in the way
Chapter 11: Have you seen her lately?
Chapter 12: Run (while you still can)
Chapter 13: Speak of the devil and he shall appear
‼️ disclaimer: The majority of my works are 18+ and sometimes dark. Please read all warning before indulging in my writing.
joel miller ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
📝rules you and joel both cross a line.
🛍️shopping while out for shopping with your husband, you both stumble across a sex store
🔪scream! you meet a guy named joel on tinder but on your first date, you find out he isn’t who he seems but also uncover something new about yourself.
👬both you tease the boys about both wanting you while tipsy and suggest that they can both take you.
🎂all yours it’s joel’s birthday so you gift him a truly unforgettable present.
💤rise and shine daddy can’t control himself and fucks you in his sleep
🎅mr clause joel dresses up as santa for your baby daughter, but he doesn’t know you’re actually into that.
🛌in his room you come to joel — your father figure — when you can’t sleep.
🤧i’m sick, and i’m tired too you’re horny but too tired and sick for actual sex, so your husband puts the toy the two of you bought as a gag to real use.
💌: roses and cream covered apologies you and Joel have an argument on Valentine’s Day morning so when you come home from work, he shows you just how sorry he is.
🧸: put it all on me after a particularly difficult argument with your mother, joel allows you to melt into sub space and is happy to cater to you completely.
🩸: scarlet joel eases some of your period pain the only way he knows how to
🎬: show me who you are joel gets hired as a body guard for you, an adult film actress.
🙄: distracted a week of stress causes a brief argument with you and joel which then leads to him taking advantage of the free use arrangement you both have, quite literally fucking the anxiety out of you.
🚙: hundred dollar bill (the road trip)
🎥: show me who you are pt2 (your turn)
asks 💬
💧cry all you want (overstimulation)
series ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
man’s best friend (puppy/pet play)
dad!joel (non incest)
tommy miller ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
👬both you tease the boys about both wanting you while tipsy and suggest that they can both take you.
asks💬
🤰marked as his
pedro pascal ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
🎞️lights, camera, action you and pedro are filming a sex scene, but when the cameras cut, you are not quite ready to stop.
🍑peaches and cream you ask pedro if he’d like to try something different in the bedroom.
☎️away from home pedro’s in london filming avengers doomsday so you both have to settle for the only way you both can get each other off with the distance.
🥛milky pedro loves your pregnancy boobs.
🤕fragile bones when pedro breaks his shoulder, you take taking care of him to a whole new level.
🎬: on your arm pedro can’t take his eyes off you when he takes you to the oscar’s.
jim hopper ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
🍴table manners stepdaddy Jim fucks you in the kitchen while your mother and siblings are in the next room.
👮♂️the last time you and your boss cross the line for the so-called “last time”.
🤎missing daddy you miss daddy while he’s at work so you break your bedtime curfew to see him.
🚓everybody knows that i’m a good girl, officer sheriff hopper pulls you over for speeding but he is prepared to let it slide if you do something for him in return.
reed richards ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
🍬double life you are the ever so fantastic reed richards’ younger mistress and sugar baby.
❄️snowed in you get snowed into the lab at the baxter building with professor reed.
ted garcia ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
🎄out of place ted makes you feel better in the bathroom when you feel out of place at his work christmas party.
asks💬:
📖all quiet on the western front
javier peña ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
👩💼after hours after a year of attraction to one another, you and javi finally break the tension while working over time in the embassy.
💍here cums the bride you and javi’s wedding night
clint flood ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
👅pulse 99 being a virgin at twenty five wasn’t exactly something you were proud of, so you decide to take a trip to pulse 99 and let yourself be used in the glory hole.
🧛♂️you’re just my type (b plus) your vampire husband clint feeds and gets you off at the same time.
steve harrington ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
🤲hands to yourself you and your stepbrother steve are horny and alone on your parents date night, but it doesn’t count if you don’t touch, right?
🍆king steve you peg steve after his long day at work.
📻live from the squawk you and steve get caught fucking on live radio.
👊silent words after a heated, spur of the moment breakup with your long term boyfriend steve, you're friends attempt to lighten your mood by taking you out to a party. but when a guy touches you inappropriately, steve comes to your rescue and you both find a way to patch things up in his car.
din djarin ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
🪖the helmet stays on you ask mando to keep the helmet on tonight.
andrew “pope” cody ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
🖤 unexpected surprise andrew surprises you with his idea of a romantic early prison homecoming — aka, fucking you awake from your sleep in the middle of the the night.
👙: please? Pussy drunk pope. That’s all. NEW!
jack abbott ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.
🤍 soft jack tries punishing you for the first time after months of you begging, he finds it harder than he thought despite how much your body enjoys it.
You and Joel Miller were in a six-year relationship that ended in pure and utter hatred for each other. While your writing career soared, his insecurity spiraled, negatively fueled by drinking and resentment for your success. It all culminated in a brutal car wreck that left you lifeless on the asphalt and him fleeing the scene. You woke from a month-long coma to a new, cruel reality: a brain injury that stole your dexterity and murdered your ability to ever hold a pen again. Joel never looked back.
Years later, you’ve traded your dreams for a quiet teaching gig in Dallas, while trying to manage tremors. Then, a name appears on your first-grade roster: Sarah Miller. You tell yourself it’s a coincidence until the classroom door swings open, and Joel walks in to drop off the daughter you never knew he had. The man who broke your life is back, and this time, he's holding the hand of your student.
tags & plot warnings: no outbreak AU, younger Joel (30), Sarah is 6, lovers to exes to ??, heavy angst, PTSD, chronic disability, smut!, both MC and Joel do questionable things, car accident, severe depression, learning disabilities, Sarah's mom plays a role, past abuse, alcohol and drug use
author notes: I try and make all of my work as accurate as possible by doing heavy amounts of research on the topics at hand before writing (see my fantastic four fic as an example). For this fic, I used my brief experience as a special education TA to bring knowledge to different state testing names, dyslexia policies, etc, but I will be taking creative liberties on what I deem necessary if it does not effect the integrity of the story.
If you feel as if I could add something for more accuracy, I welcome feedback with open arms.
i do not have an updating schedule as I work full time and will be in law school in the next few months. I try and update once a week. I do not consent for my work to be fed into ai.
doing that "babe i saw (bf’s best friend’s name) on tinder!" prank on joel (maybe the best friend could be tommy lmao. search it up if you don’t know what the prank is <3)
There were few things that gave you more joy than teasing your incredibly dumb hot competent adoring himbo huspand.
You knew this one was risky, though. But almost every time, over stepping your bounds either resulted in comforting your big teddy bear, who knew you loved him too much to be serious, or getting the ass fucking of the centry.
Both were happy endings.
Taking a deep breath, you look up from your phone. Joel was reading on the couch, his glasses perched up on his big nose. Meaty palm gently stroking your calves, with your feet in his lap, holding the page open for him. God, he looked so cozy and comfortable. so fuckable.
Please let this ending be a rough couch fuck.
"Hey Joel, guess what?" you whisper.
Joel's ear perks up. he presses his finger to the line he left off, eager not to keep you waiting, before glancin up and pearing at you over his spectacles. "Hmm?"
You bite your lip "I found Tommy's Tinder."
Joel blinks at you a few times, silent.
"Tommy's tinker?"
you close your eyes. GOD he's so fucking old.
you flip the phone to him. The Tinder app shined brightly on his face, and he could make out the photo of his brother (of which you had made... and set the profile to inactive. Just to not take this joke one step too far for Maria's sake). Joel couldn't tell though. he smudged his fat finger against the screen and scrolled down, one brow raised.
The anticipation was killing you. Joel reading through all the little made up tibbits one by one, not saying anything. swiping on the photos, making some uncertain faces about the choices.
Then, finally, he asks, "I don't get it. What is this?"
"Its a dating app..." you hold your breath at the end.
He doesn't notice.
"Uh. okay."
You had to wait. It was something about men, things not always clicking the first time. Even as brilliant as the man in front of you was, he was no exception to the vegetative loading state--
'OH."
his jaw drops, and maybe, just maybe--!
"The heck he doin' on there? Maria know??"
He doesn't wait for you to interject before he's dialin' his little brother's nunmber. it rings once.
"yello," Tommy replies through the receiver.
"Hey man--you aint tell me you're on some datin app. What's goin' on?"
"I'm not? what're you talking about?"
'Its uh-" Joel picks up your phone again "grinder--"
"--WHAT??--"
"TINDER. Its TINDER," you rush to clarify loudly.
"Oh, 'tinder', she says." Joel shrugs. same thing.
But Tommy hearing you there told him everything he needed to know. Oh, Tommy Miller knew you. Knew the type of shit you'd do to drive Joel up a wall. Knew you were probably waiting on the edge of your seat for the last five minutes for Joel to 'get' it, you little devil.
Tommy sighs, deciding revenge to bite you in the ass would help get him back. "Hey Joel: why don't you ask your wife how she would even know i got a tinder profile? Hmm?"
Joel turns to you, a bright innocence in his eyes. "Hey babe, Tommy said i should ask how you would know he got a--"
And then the words die off. And Joel looks at the scream again. The fact that you were IN an app. that you had your own little set of home buttons...
Joel's eye's widen, the smile fading from his lips. "I'm gonna have to call you back," he says monotone to his brother, his gaze not dropping from you.
Tommy chuckles on the phone before hanging up. Job well done for him.
Not so great that Maria had been eaves dropping behind him, her arms folded, face scowled.
"You have a WHAT now?" she barks.
Tommy feels his face go pale. you fucker.
At home, Joel just stares at you. endlessly. vacantly.
That stare made you feel small . cornered.
like prey.
like a meal about to be devoured with all his mind body and so--
He folds his arms across his lap. There's a slight twinge of frown tugging at his lips with your smooth legs still touching him.
He takes a deep breath in, "Why you trying to set Tommy up with a gal who aint Maria? She do something to upset you, baby?"
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