berrywinner

[berrywinner]

you've gotten asks liek this but uhhh uhmmmm can u write brotherly chase again,,,, blinks.. I saw the one u made and like yah!!! Except hes like, a little brother and House is the father figure😓

[diff anon, not the one who sent the req..]

What a family

Comforting him

You found Chase sitting alone, legs dangling over the edge, lost in thought. "Couldn't sleep?".

He looked at you "Just needed some air. Tough case today."

"You did everything you could."

"Doesn't feel like enough."

You sat beside him, offering silent support. "Remember when we were kids, and you'd get upset over losing a game? You always bounced back."

"This isn't a game." he said looking away

"No, but the resilience is the same. You're stronger than you think."

Protectiveness

Chase enters, visibly upset after a confrontation with another doctor.

House looked at him "What's with the storm cloud?"

"That new bastard in surgery just ridiculed me in front of everyone"

"And you let him?"

"I didn't want to make a fucking scene, I'm better than that."

You looked at him"He was out of line. You deserve respect Robert"

House picked up the phone.

House: "This is House. We need to talk about how you treat my team."

Health scare

You looked at him, on the hospital bed "You scared me."

"Didn't mean get sick" Chase answered

"Next time, try not to make a hobby out of hospital stays." House said entering the room"

"I'll add it to my list." Chase answer

"House and I are just glad you're okay."

"And now you owe me. I had to deal with your health." House said getting a laugh from both of them

Overworking

You approached House with concerns about Chase's workload.

"He's been taking on too much."

"He's trying to prove himself."

"At the cost of his health?"

"Stop acting like the protective older sibling, he needs to learn something without you acting like he's made of glass, because he isn’t."

"And you stop acting like the insensitive father. Because we already had one. I know you didn’t ask to become a father figure to us but someway you did. Now just try to understand it"

"You and your kids"

You and Chase had been searching House for a while, until you found him in the morgue having lunch.

"Are they good company?" you asked

"Better than half of the people in this hospital" he answered

"We have a new case, we've been searching you for hours" Chase said

"That's why I was hidin-"

At that moment Cuddy arrived

"House you can't always hide here, now, go back to work, you and your kids" She said looking at the two siblings

"Oh what an amazing family, the drug addict father, the protective older kid and younger kid who's the golden star of the family. Very domestic."

[berrywinner]

you should do a hilson angst fic 🙏🙏 not necessarily with romantic aspects but like.. house is going through it

The storm

The storm had been creeping in all day. Outside House’s apartment, rain slapped the windows with ruthless insistence, as if the weather itself had something to say.

House didn’t bother turning on the lights. He sat in the dimness, shoulders curled over, scotch in hand. His leg throbbed, but that wasn’t what really hurt tonight. Not even close.

He heard Wilson’s knock before he saw him. Three quick raps. No hesitation. Like always.

House considered ignoring it, but it was useless. Wilson had keys. He always had keys.

The door creaked open.

“House?”

The concern in Wilson’s voice was a slap in itself. House’s grip on his glass tightened, knuckles whitening around the rim.

"Go away," he barked, not turning to look.

Of course Wilson didn’t listen. He never did.

“You've been dodging me for days,” Wilson said, stepping inside, drenched from the rain. His hair dripped onto the floor, his jacket clinging to him like a second skin. He pushed the door closed behind him with more force than necessary, a quiet thud of frustration. He looked like hell. Good. Misery loved company.

"I was enjoying the peace," House muttered. "You ruined it."

Wilson’s eyes flicked over the mess, empty pill bottles scattered like confetti, the unfinished bottle of scotch, House himself, hunched and pale in the half-light.

"You think this is sustainable?" Wilson’s voice rose, tight with frustration. His hands gestured sharply to the chaos around them, as if the very sight of it offended him. "This...this self-destruction, House? Locking yourself away, drinking until you can’t feel anything?"

"It’s worked so far," House shot back with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

Wilson let out a bitter laugh, short and jagged. He ran a hand down his face, wiping away rain and exhaustion in one motion. "No, it hasn’t!" he snapped. "You’re falling apart, House. And you’re dragging everyone down with you."

House felt the burn in his chest before he realized he was laughing too, a bitter, broken sound that caught in his throat. His shoulders shook, but it wasn’t humor that moved them.

"Everyone?" he echoed. He set the glass down on the table with a deliberate clink. "Oh, right. Can’t forget the people lining up to give a damn about me."

"Don’t do that," Wilson snapped, stepping forward, jabbing a finger toward him. "Don’t pretend no one cares."

"I’m not pretending." House pushed himself upright, wincing as his leg screamed in protest. He forced himself to pace a few stiff steps toward the window, then turned, leaning heavily on his cane. "You’re the only idiot who still shows up, and even you sound like you’re halfway out the door!"

Silence fell like a weight between them.

Wilson’s jaw clenched. His fists balled tight at his sides.

"You think I want to do this?" Wilson’s voice was raw. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. "You think it’s easy, watching you destroy yourself every damn day? I am trying, House. God, I’ve tried more than anyone should have to."

"You don’t have to!" House shouted, slamming his cane against the floor for emphasis, the sharp crack echoing through the room. "You never had to. I didn’t ask you to!"

"No, you didn’t," Wilson fired back. "But you need me."

That landed like a punch to the gut.

House scoffed, because that was easier than admitting the truth. He forced a mocking smile and gestured with his cane, dismissive. "No, I don’t."

"You’re lying," Wilson said, his eyes narrowing. He took another step closer, bridging the gap between them until House could see the rain still clinging to his lashes. "You’re lying because you’re scared to death of needing anyone."

"And you," House sneered, jabbing a finger right back at Wilson, "you’re here because you need to fix people. You need to feel like you’re saving someone, or you’ll fall apart."

Wilson’s eyes burned. His chest heaved. "Maybe I do," he admitted, dragging his hand through his hair, water flicking from his fingers. "But at least I’m here. At least I haven’t given up."

"Then why does it feel like you’re about to?" House shot back, his voice breaking, his posture stiff but trembling.

Wilson exhaled harshly, pacing a tight, angry circle across the floor, rainwater dripping from his soaked jacket, leaving dark spots behind him like a trail of frustration. His hands moved restlessly, clenching and unclenching, like he wanted to punch the wall, or maybe House.

"Because I don’t know how much more of this I can take," Wilson admitted, and the crack in his voice nearly broke House’s last defenses.

House swallowed, but the lump in his throat didn’t budge.

"So go," he rasped, gripping the back of the chair so hard his knuckles turned white. "If this is too much for you, leave. Leave like everyone else."

"You think that’s what I want?" Wilson’s voice rose again, brittle with pain. His hands spread wide, as if trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. "You think I want to walk away from you?"

House didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He pressed his lips together so tightly they hurt.

Wilson stepped closer, now so near that House could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the frustration carved into every line of his face.

"I don’t," Wilson said, quieter now, but no less intense. "But I can’t keep watching you burn yourself down to ashes."

House’s laugh was hollow. He let go of the chair, limping a step away, back to the table cluttered with pills and empty bottles. "That’s all I am, Wilson. Ashes and painkillers."

"Stop it," Wilson snapped, his voice cutting through the gloom. He grabbed House’s arm, gripping tight, enough to still him. "Stop hiding behind that damn cynicism. For once, just say it. Say you don’t want me to go."

The words were there, trapped behind House’s teeth, clawing to get out.

But fear strangled them.

"I won’t beg," House finally forced out, his voice rough and low. His eyes locked on Wilson’s, bright and aching. "Not even for you."

Wilson’s gaze softened, just a fraction. Enough to show the hurt beneath the anger.

"I never wanted you to beg," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I just wanted you to let me stay."

Silence, thick and suffocating, filled the space between them.

For a moment, House thought about it, really thought about it. What it would mean to let Wilson in, really in, past the walls. Past the pain.

But the weight of years, of losses and failures, pressed down too hard.

House’s fingers twitched at his side.

"I can’t," House whispered, almost too quietly to hear.

Wilson’s face crumpled, and he let go of House’s arm, the loss of contact sending a chill through him. He stepped back, the movement like a physical blow.

"I know," Wilson said, and there was no anger left in him. Only sorrow. His shoulders sagged, defeated.

He turned toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. The rain had lessened outside, but inside, the storm still raged.

"I’ll call you tomorrow," Wilson said, and it wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even certainty.

But House clung to it like a lifeline.

Wilson hesitated for a heartbeat. His gaze lingered on House, something unspoken passing between them, heavy and fragile.

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and House was alone with the silence once more.

At least it won't last forever

I have no idea if you like it or not but I hope it's what you wanted <3

[berrywinner]

[berrywinner]

I literally need friends. New friends pls. Who wants to he friends? (I sound desperate. I am. I need House MD fans friends. pls. PLSSSSSS)

who wants to be my new bestie? (I'm insane)

[berrywinner]

I'M GOING FERALLLLLL

him in just that white shirt. GOD. I NEED THIS MAN

[berrywinner]

I just finished season 1 of Colony. And I love Snyder so much, he's the most pathetic little man and he's my crushable meow meow.

[berrywinner]

Please write fake dating hilson. I am weak

Semantics

James Wilson wasn’t entirely sure how he got into this situation

Correction: he was sure. He could trace every single step to the exact moment when he found out that his ex-wife, Sam would be attending the benefit gala. With a date.

With her date.

Her perfect date. Tall, charming, some investment banker who probably flossed twice a day and knew the difference between a chianti and a merlot without googling it.

Wilson had sighed. And then House, ever the opportunistic hurricane, had burst into his office not three minutes later, looking unreasonably entertained.

“So,” House drawled, flopping onto Wilson’s couch with the grace of a falling anvil, “rumor has it your favorite ex-wife is bringing a date to the big prom.”

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not a prom, House.”

“Semantics.” House propped his cane against the armrest and stretched out like he owned the place. “But you’re missing the point. She’s bringing a date. Which means you need to bring a date.”

Wilson had scoffed. “I don’t need to do anything.”

“Oh, please,” House snorted. “You want to show her you’ve moved on. That you’re thriving. That you’re not still watching reruns of Friends alone in your sad little apartment.”

“I don’t—" Wilson paused. "Friends is a very well-written show.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” House’s eyes glinted, and Wilson didn’t like that look. That was the look House got when he was about to propose something unspeakably idiotic. “Luckily for you, I’m free that night.”

Wilson blinked. “What?”

“I’ll be your date.”

“You’re not serious.”

House grinned. “Oh, I’m dead serious.”

The ridiculous thing, the most ridiculous thing of all, was that Wilson actually considered it.

House, predictably, didn’t let it drop. Over the next few days, he poked and prodded like an insufferable terrier.

“You need someone to make her jealous,” House argued over lunch, stealing fries from Wilson’s plate with alarming speed. “And who better than me? I’m irresistible.”

“To who?” Wilson retorted.

“To everyone who appreciates rugged charm and a crippling Vicodin addiction.”

Wilson opened his mouth, then closed it again.

In a twisted way, House had a point. If he showed up alone, it would only invite pitying looks and whispered gossip. But with House, well, no one would see that coming, or maybe yes. Anyway they’d spend the whole night speculating, and maybe, just maybe, it would wipe that smug smile off his ex-wife’s face.

“All right,” Wilson said finally, half in disbelief at himself. “Fine. You can come"

House’s answering grin could have lit a small city.

The night of the gala arrived too fast for Wilson’s liking. He stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his bowtie for the fourth time, wondering if he could still back out. Maybe claim a work emergency. Maybe fake a heart attack.

As if summoned by his despair, House strolled into the apartment unannounced, dressed in a sharp dark suit that Wilson had never seen him wear before. He even looked, well, respectable. Almost dangerous, in that way House had of making people either want to punch him or kiss him, sometimes both.

“You clean up well,” Wilson admitted grudgingly.

House gave an exaggerated bow. “I aim to please.”

On the drive over, House kept up a running commentary about the other guests they were bound to encounter, peppering in outlandish stories that had Wilson half-laughing, half-nervous. By the time they pulled up to the venue, Wilson’s stomach was a mess of knots.

“You ready, darling?” House asked, shooting him a devilish smirk.

Wilson sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Inside, the ballroom glittered with chandeliers and the faint smell of overpriced champagne. Wilson could already feel eyes turning toward them, curious whispers trailing in their wake.

House didn’t waste a second. He draped an arm around Wilson’s shoulders like it belonged there, leaning in just close enough to make Wilson’s heart trip over itself.

“Relax,” House murmured in his ear. “You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Wilson muttered back.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

They worked the room with a practiced ease that surprised Wilson. House, against all odds, was a fantastic fake boyfriend. He made sarcastic toasts to their “many months of blissful codependency,” clinked glasses with amused onlookers, and even brushed Wilson’s cheek with his knuckles at one point, sending an involuntary shiver down Wilson’s spine.

It was stupid. All of it. And yet, for the first time at one of these events, Wilson didn’t feel like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.

Then he saw her.

His ex-wife stood near the bar, laughing at something her date, Mr. Perfect Investment Banker, had just said. She spotted Wilson a beat later, her gaze dropping to where House’s hand rested possessively on Wilson’s waist.

Her smile faltered.

House, ever perceptive, noticed instantly. “Bingo,” he whispered, victorious. “She’s seething.”

Wilson felt a traitorous grin tug at his lips. “Maybe this wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“Oh, don’t get sentimental on me now.”

They spent the next hour engaged in what House gleefully dubbed “weaponized affection.” He touched Wilson too often to be purely platonic, let compliments slip with teasing affection, and even stole a sip of Wilson’s drink with a smirk.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Wilson forgot they were pretending.

It was easy to fall into the rhythm, to let himself believe, just for a moment, that House wasn’t doing this for the thrill of chaos, but because he wanted to. Because maybe, impossibly, House had been waiting for an excuse.

It was foolish. Dangerous.

But when House’s hand brushed his, fingers lingering just a heartbeat too long, Wilson didn’t pull away.

The night wound down, the crowd thinning until it was mostly die-hards and stragglers. Wilson felt a strange pang of disappointment, which he quickly buried under a pile of rationalizations.

They stepped outside into the cool night air, the distant sounds of traffic humming in the background.

House tilted his head, studying him. “Well? Did we fool them?”

Wilson huffed a laugh. “You were very convincing.”

“Of course I was.” House’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “But what about you? Did you convince yourself?”

The question hit Wilson like a punch to the chest.

“I—" he began, then faltered.

House stepped closer, close enough that Wilson could see the sharp edges of amusement in his eyes give way to something quieter. Warmer.

“You’re not still thinking about her,” House said. It wasn’t a question.

Wilson shook his head, honest. “No.”

A pause.

“Good,” House murmured.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, House kissed him.

It wasn’t flashy or dramatic. It wasn’t part of the performance. It was slow, deliberate, and far too real. Wilson felt himself melt into it, his hands finding their way to House’s lapels without conscious thought.

When they finally parted, Wilson’s heart was thundering in his chest.

“I thought we were pretending,” he said, breathless.

House’s smile was soft, almost fond. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

Wilson let out a shaky laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re just figuring that out now?”

They stood there for a moment, the city alive around them, neither quite ready to break the spell.

Finally, Wilson exhaled, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You know this means you owe me a real date.”

House’s answering grin could have powered the hospital for a week. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Wilson kept looking at him "Wanna come over?"

House smiled "You think I'd say no?"

Wilson woke up the next morning to the sunlight creeping stubbornly through his bedroom blinds, slicing across the bed in thin gold lines. His eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the light, to the warmth against his side.

It took him a second to register.

Then another second to process.

House was still here.

Sprawled on top of the covers like he owned the place, chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. His cane rested haphazardly against the nightstand, his shirt, Wilson’s shirt, technically, askew with a couple of buttons undone. He looked, for lack of a better word, comfortable.

And dammit, Wilson hated how much he liked seeing it.

He shifted slightly, propping himself on one elbow to watch House sleep. House’s mouth was slightly parted, his usually sharp expression softened in sleep. Without the constant calculating gleam in his eyes, he looked almost peaceful. Almost.

A creak of the bed made House stir.

His eyelids cracked open, unfocused for a heartbeat before his gaze settled lazily on Wilson. His mouth curled into a familiar, crooked smirk. “Well, well,” House rasped, his voice hoarse with sleep. “If it isn’t Dr. Morning-After Guilt.”

Wilson scoffed, but there was no heat behind it. “It’s not guilt,” he said. He sat up, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. “Just… thinking.”

“That’s your first mistake,” House said, stretching out with a groan. He winced as his leg protested, then relaxed back into the pillows, folding his arms behind his head like this was a weekend getaway. “Your brain’s just gonna overcomplicate things.”

Wilson couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Like you haven’t been thinking about it.”

House pretended to consider. “Nope,” he said lightly, then tilted his head. “Okay, maybe a little. Maybe a lot. Maybe I thought about it the second you kissed me back.”

“You kissed me,” Wilson pointed out.

“Semantics.” House waved a lazy hand in the air. “Details.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward. If anything, it was settled. Something had shifted last night, quietly but unmistakably, and neither of them seemed in a hurry to shove it back where it came from.

Finally, Wilson exhaled, a soft laugh escaping him. “I can’t believe you actually stayed.”

“Eh,” House said, like it was the easiest decision in the world. He turned his head on the pillow, meeting Wilson’s gaze without his usual walls. “Figured if I left, you’d start thinking it was a mistake.”

Wilson swallowed, feeling something tighten and warm in his chest.

“It’s not,” he said quietly. “A mistake.”

House’s smirk faded into something gentler, more genuine. He looked at Wilson like he was seeing something new, something fragile and valuable.

“I know,” he said simply.

The simplicity of it hit Wilson harder than he expected.

House cleared his throat, as if sensing the moment was getting dangerously close to sincere vulnerability. “Besides, I wanted to make sure you didn’t wake up and blame the champagne.”

“There wasn’t that much champagne,” Wilson protested.

“There was enough for you to think fake dating me was a good idea.”

“You’re the one who suggested it.”

“And you’re the one who kept looking at me like I’d hung the moon.”

Wilson shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet here I am, in your bed,” House pointed out smugly. “Your argument is invalid.”

Wilson threw a pillow at him. House caught it one-handed, barely flinching.

“Fine,” Wilson said, settling back against the headboard. His smile softened around the edges. “You win.”

“I always win.”

“And what exactly do you think you’ve won?”

House’s eyes glinted, but there was affection behind the spark. He shifted closer, so close their knees brushed under the covers. His voice dropped, low and rough but undeniably sincere.

“You,” he said simply. “I won you.”

Wilson’s breath caught, just for a second. He wanted to say something clever, deflect with a joke, maybe even tease House about being a romantic under all that cynicism. But the truth settled too heavy and too sweet in his chest for him to dodge it.

So instead, he let his hand drift to House’s, fingers curling lightly around his.

House’s gaze flicked down to their joined hands, then back up, his expression unreadable for a beat. Slowly, deliberately, he tightened his fingers around Wilson’s in return.

“Breakfast?” House asked, almost too casually.

Wilson’s lips quirked. “You cooking?”

House snorted. “God, no. But I know a greasy diner that doesn’t mind us showing up looking like we just spent the night debauching each other.”

Wilson’s cheeks warmed, but he only shook his head fondly. “Classy.”

“Always.”

This time it was Wilson who kissed him, a kissed that meant more than any word or phrase could.

As they rose and gathered their things, House lingered in the doorway, watching Wilson with an unreadable expression that eventually softened into something warmer, more open than Wilson had ever seen from him.

“This isn’t just one night,” Wilson said, quieter than before. He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. Maybe both.

House’s answer came without hesitation.

“Not unless you want it to be.”

Wilson didn’t.

And judging by the spark in House’s eyes, neither did he.

[berrywinner]

[berrywinner]

AAAAAA THANK YOU FOR WRITING AS MUCH AS YOU DID FOR BROTHERLY CHASE I LOVED IT ALL <333

- the anon who sent the request :]

I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKED IT

[berrywinner]

PLEASE WRITE FOR CHASE BUT LIKE FLUFFY AND HAPPY STUFF UGHH and can you make it an x reader 🩷 i appreciate you so much!!

Pot, meet kettle

The hospital was unusually quiet, a rare moment of peace in the chaos that usually filled the halls. You sat in the diagnostics conference room, sipping on a lukewarm coffee, flipping absentmindedly through a patient file. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, casting a dim glow over the table littered with paperwork, medical journals, and half-empty cups of coffee from various shifts.

"You're working too hard," a familiar Australian voice teased, and you looked up to find Chase leaning against the doorframe, his usual smirk firmly in place. His white coat was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at exhaustion, yet his blue eyes were bright with mischief.

"Pot, meet kettle," you shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't you just pull a double shift?"

"Maybe," he admitted, pushing himself off the frame and walking over to you. He stole your coffee right out of your hands, took a sip, and immediately made a face. "That’s awful. How do you drink this?"

"Desperation," you deadpanned, watching as he placed the cup back in front of you with an exaggerated look of betrayal.

Chase chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. "Seriously, you should take a break. Come on, let’s get out of here for a bit. I know a place that makes coffee that won’t make you regret all your life choices."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "I'll take a break when you do."

"Alright, deal." Without warning, he reached out and laced his fingers with yours, giving them a gentle squeeze. The touch was light, casual, but your heart stuttered all the same.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Are you using emotional manipulation to get me to leave work?"

"Absolutely." His grin widened as he tugged you to your feet. "And it's working."

With a resigned laugh, you let him pull you along, exiting the conference room and slipping past a few late-shift nurses in the hall. As you walked side by side, the usual hospital scent of antiseptic and caffeine lingering in the air, Chase’s fingers remained loosely curled around yours, the warmth of his palm grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

The coffee shop Chase had insisted on was small, tucked away from the main roads, with dim lighting and the rich scent of espresso hanging in the air.

Chase ordered for both of you without hesitation, a sign of how many times you’d been here together before. You leaned against the counter, watching as he paid before grabbing your drinks and heading toward a small table by the window.

"I don’t remember agreeing to let you pay," you pointed out as you sat down.

Chase smirked over the rim of his cup. "You didn’t. But you were too slow to stop me."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed your amusement. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you keep hanging around me. Wonder why that is?"

You took a slow sip of your coffee, savoring the rich taste before shrugging. "Maybe I enjoy the challenge of putting up with you."

"Or maybe," Chase leaned forward slightly, a knowing glint in his eyes, "you just like me."

Your lips parted slightly in protest, but no words came. The way he looked at you teasing, but undeniably sincere, made your heart flutter in a way you weren’t ready to admit. You tried to mask the feeling with an exaggerated sigh. "I tolerate you at best."

Chase chuckled. "Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that."

For a while, you just sat there, sipping your coffee, falling into easy conversation. It was one of those moments where time didn’t feel so rushed, where the exhaustion of the hospital melted away for just a little while.

And then, somewhere between a joke about House’s latest madness and Chase’s terrible attempt at an American accent, he reached across the table, fingers brushing lightly over yours. It was barely a touch, fleeting, but it sent a quiet thrill up your spine.

Your eyes met his, and for once, he wasn’t smirking. He was just looking at you, really looking at you, as if waiting for you to say something, do something.

So you did.

Slowly, tentatively, you turned your hand over so your palm met his. He didn’t pull away, didn’t tease. Instead, he squeezed your fingers, his thumb tracing small circles against your skin in a way that felt comforting and natural.

"See?" he murmured, voice just above a whisper. "Told you you liked me."

You huffed a quiet laugh, feeling your cheeks warm. "Shut up and drink your coffee, Chase."

But before he could lift his cup, you leaned forward, just slightly, and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was brief, barely more than a brush of lips, but the effect was instant. His breath hitched, and when you pulled back, his smirk had melted into something softer, something almost dazed.

Chase blinked once, twice, then grinned. "Okay, you definitely like me."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as you took another sip of your coffee. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head."

He laughed, and this time, he was the one who leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. "Too late."

[berrywinner]

on the topic of family figures would you also write a brotherly chase for me pleeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaasseeeeeeeeeeee just like casual scenarios at work or or something :]

Big Brother

Him being into Overprotective Mode

You were finally going on a date after weeks of Chase making fun of you for being "married to the job." But the moment your date arrived at the hospital to pick you up, Chase took it upon himself to have a "chat" with them. You watched in horror as he pulled them aside, arms crossed over his chest, speaking in his calm, clinical tone.

"You know, the human body is incredibly fragile. A single misplaced injury could cause permanent nerve damage. Not to mention the numerous diseases one could catch just from kissing the wrong person," he said, giving your date a pointed look.

"Chase!" you hissed, dragging him away.

"What? I’m just making sure they understand that if they hurt you, they might mysteriously develop a chronic condition," he replied innocently.

Your date looked between the two of you, clearly second-guessing their life choices.

Late-Night Emergency Calls

It was 2 a.m., and you felt like death. Feverish, nauseous, and absolutely miserable. You debated whether to call Chase but ultimately gave in, dialing his number.

"Mmhhph—hello?" his groggy voice answered.

"I think I'm dying," you whined dramatically.

There was a long pause before he sighed. "You have a cold, don’t you?"

"Maybe," you admitted.

"Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes."

Sure enough, he showed up in his pajama pants, hair sticking up in all directions, with a bag of medicine and tea. He shoved a thermometer in your mouth and sat on your couch, arms crossed. "You’re an actual doctor, you know. Next time, try self-diagnosing before waking me up."

You just grinned, sipping the tea he brought. "You said you're like a big brother to me. What are big brothers for?"

"Remind me to revoke that title," he muttered, but he didn’t leave until you fell asleep.

Teasing You Relentlessly

It wasn’t a secret that you had a thing for one of the new doctors, but unfortunately, Chase noticed. And when Chase noticed something, he never let it go.

You were standing at the coffee machine when he appeared beside you, smirking. "So, how's your favorite person in the hospital doing today?"

You nearly choked on your coffee. "Who?"

"Oh, you know. Dr. 'Oh my God, I totally don’t like them, I just get weirdly nervous when they walk into a room'?"

"Robert," you warned.

"Relax," he said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. "I think it's cute. And I bet they totally like you back."

You turned to glare at him. "I hate you."

"That’s not what you said when I covered your shift last week," he teased, walking off.

Stealing Your Food

You had finally managed to sit down and eat after a grueling shift when Chase sat across from you and immediately reached for your fries.

"Robert��" you tried to stop him, but he had already taken a handful.

"You should really get more food," he said through a mouthful.

"I got enough food for me. Not for you," you snapped, pulling your plate closer.

Chase just shrugged and stole another fry. "You wouldn’t let your brother go hungry, would you?"

"You're learning too much from House. You can buy your own food."

"Yeah, but yours tastes better," he said, reaching for more.

You sighed in defeat. At this point, you should’ve just ordered extra.

Forcing You to Take Breaks

You had been working nonstop for hours when Chase walked in, took one look at you, and shook his head.

"Alright, that’s enough," he said, shutting your laptop.

"Hey—"

"Nope," he said firmly, pulling you up. "Come on, coffee break."

"But—"

"Do you want me to carry you?" he threatened.

You groaned but let him drag you outside. He handed you a cup of coffee and leaned against the wall. "You can thank me when you don’t pass out from exhaustion."

You sighed. "Fine. Thanks."

He grinned. "See? Was that so hard?"

Giving You the ‘Brotherly Talk’

Chase sat across from you, arms crossed. You had just had a date with THAT doctor. "Alright, tell me about them."

You groaned. "Oh my God, Robert—"

"Nope, I need details. Are they smart? Funny? Are they going to break your heart? Because if they do, I’ll have to make their life very difficult."

You sighed. "They’re… nice. And smart. And maybe I kind of like them."

Chase smirked. "Called it."

Being Your Partner in Crime

House had sent you both on a ridiculous errand, and you and Chase exchanged a look before deciding to make the best of it.

"You drive," you said.

Chase raised an eyebrow. "And why do I have to drive?"

"Because I don’t trust you as a passenger," you shot back.

He scoffed. "Fine. But you’re buying snacks."

Showing Up When You Need Him Most

After a particularly rough day, you were curled up on your couch when there was a knock at your door.

You opened it to find Chase holding a bag of takeout and beer.

"I figured you’d need this," he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You sighed, but a small smile crept onto your face. "Thanks, Rob."

"Anytime," he said, tossing you a beer. "Now, tell me everything."

[berrywinner]

yes absolutely yes

Taub is curiously attractive

[berrywinner]

please please PLEASE house as a father figure. actual child or not, he is just so father to md <3

Thanks dad

The hospital halls were eerily quiet after hours. Most of the staff had gone home, the patients settled in for the night. The only sounds were the occasional beeping of monitors and the squeak of House’s cane against the linoleum as he strolled down the hall, heading toward the diagnostics office.

Inside, the office was dimly lit, stacks of files still littering the table. House leaned against the doorway, watching as one of his fellows, one he’d never admit he cared about, was still seated at the desk, poring over charts long after their shift had ended.

“You know, the world won’t end if you actually go home at a reasonable hour,” House drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm.

The response was a tired sigh, but no effort to move. House rolled his eyes, stepping further in. He grabbed the nearest chair with his free hand and dragged it across the floor with a screech before plopping down across from the overworked doctor. “Fine. If you’re gonna sit here all night, I might as well join you. But fair warning: I’m gonna complain about it.”

A small smirk tugged at the corners of the other’s lips. “Since when do you care about work-life balance?”

“Since never. But you’re too young to be this boring.” House tapped his cane against the desk before standing up again. “Come on. I need food, and I need someone to mock while I eat. You’re the lucky winner.”

There was hesitation, but eventually, a nod. House grinned in triumph and led the way out.

The diner he chose was a classic greasy spoon joint, the kind with sticky booths and a jukebox in the corner that never quite worked right. House ordered an absurd amount of fries and a burger with extra bacon, then turned his attention to his reluctant companion.

“You gonna order, or are you just gonna sit there looking like a kid whose parents forgot to pick them up from school?”

A glare. House snorted, clearly amused, before stealing one of the fries that had barely been placed on the table.

“I’ll order,” the other doctor finally said, scanning the menu. “I just didn’t expect to be kidnapped for a post-shift meal.”

House smirked. “It’s not kidnapping if you agree to it.”

“I didn’t really get a choice, did I?”

“Nope.” House leaned back in his seat, watching as they eventually placed their order. “You need to eat. I could practically hear your stomach growling over all the heart monitors of the hospital earlier.”

“Not true.”

House raised an eyebrow. “Lying to your boss? Very unprofessional.”

“You lie to Cuddy all the time.”

“Yeah, but I’m good at it.”

The conversation shifted, first to work, then slowly to things that didn’t involve dying patients and impossible diagnoses. House, despite himself, found a strange satisfaction in the way they eventually relaxed. They were comfortable here, with him, despite all his usual gruffness and cynicism.

At some point, he leaned back in his seat, watching as they picked absently at the remnants of their meal. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter than usual. “You ever gonna tell me why you’re actually working yourself into the ground?”

There was a pause. A long one. House let it sit, knowing better than to push too hard. Eventually, a quiet answer followed, something about expectations, pressure, maybe even a little fear of failure.

House nodded, grabbing another fry. “Well, good news: if you screw up, I’ll just take all the credit for fixing your mistake.”

A soft chuckle. House smirked. “Seriously. Go home at a decent hour once in a while. Or at least come out and let me bully you over burgers more often.”

For all his bluster, there was something genuine in his tone. A warmth that he wouldn’t acknowledge outright, but it was there. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough.

The meal stretched on longer than expected. House had an uncanny ability to derail any serious conversation with biting sarcasm, but every so often, a real moment slipped through. The tired doctor across from him talked about med school, about their family, about the weight of expectations. House mostly listened, though not without interjecting the occasional sarcastic remark.

“So, let me get this straight,” House said, twirling a fry between his fingers. “Your parents wanted you to be a surgeon, your professors thought you should be in research, and you went into diagnostics just to prove them all wrong?”

“That’s not exactly—”

“Sounds like a rebellious streak to me. And here I thought I was the only one in this department with authority issues.”

They rolled their eyes. “I just wanted to do something that mattered.”

House hummed in response, drumming his fingers on the table. “Well, congratulations. You ended up in the one department where you get to feel like a god every time you make a diagnosis no one else could figure out.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t feel like that most days.”

“Of course it doesn’t. Most days, it’s just a lot of paperwork I don’t do, Cuddy yelling at me, and patients who refuse to admit they’re lying about their symptoms. But every once in a while, you save someone no one else could. And that’s what keeps you coming back.”

They studied him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he actually believed what he was saying. “And what keeps you coming back?”

House smirked, but there was something different in his expression, something almost thoughtful. “Spite. And the fact that no one else is as good at this as I am.”

They let out a short laugh, shaking their head. “Of course.”

The waitress came by, dropping off the check. House, in a rare moment of generosity or perhaps just because he wanted to mess with them, grabbed it before they could. “This one’s on me.”

The other doctor's eyes narrowed. “Are you dying?”

“Not yet. But if you tell anyone I did something nice, I’ll make your life hell.”

A smirk. “That’s assuming you don’t already.”

House led the way out of the diner. The night air was crisp, the streets mostly empty. He adjusted his grip on his cane, glancing at the doctor walking beside him.

“You need a ride?”

The other doctor stared at him. “I can walk.”

House sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes "I can’t" he said before pulling his motorcycle keys from his pocket. “You’re not walking home alone at this hour. Get on.”

Hesitation. “You sure? I thought you didn’t do charity.”

“I don’t. But I also don’t want to have to diagnose you with a concussion after some idiot mugs you. Now hurry up before I change my mind.”

The doctor climbed on the back of the bike, still a little surprised at the unexpected gesture. As House started the engine, another smirk creeped in.

“Thanks, Dad.”

House froze for a second, then shot a glare over his shoulder. “Say that again and I’ll push you off at the next red light.”

A genuine laugh, tightening the grip on him as the bike took off into the night. House grumbled under his breath, but there was a tiny hint of amusement in his expression. Maybe just this once, he didn’t mind the title.

Maybe with this person he could get kind of used to it.

[berrywinner]

Hii! You said you were taking requests for writing stuff? Could you write cute or happy head canons about Cameron and Chase's relationship? (Unless you're not into them and that's ok :p) no rush with it and thank uu :)

Chameron headcanons

Every Tuesday, Chase surprises Cameron flower, a handwritten note, or her favorite candies, a reminder of the days when he told her he liked her every tuesday

They love challenging each other in the kitchen, each trying to outdo the other and often ending up with having to clean up the mess they made and having to order take out

They keep a box filled with mementos from their relationship, ticket, photos, dried flowers...

Before big events Cameron leaves Chase a note on the mirror to remind him of his worth

They plan trips, disconnecting from work and relaxing for a day.

Taking turns, they read chapters of a book aloud to each other before bed

They have unique, affectionate nicknames for each other that they use privately, Foreman once heard one of them and keeps making fun of them till this day

On days off, they enjoy early morning runs together

Cameron convinces Chase to participate in medical outreach programs or community service,

After the pet names, Chase convinced Cameron to create a secret handshake. She finds that silly but loves that.

On lazy Sundays, they sketch out ideas for their future dream home, always adding a room for their future children

Talking about children, they already know how to name them all in every possible combination

Cameron often forgets to drink during the day, so Chase goes to her every hour to remind her

They love board games, for this reason, Friday night is reserved to this.

They have a special café where they go when they want to be completely alone. It's far from the hospital and from their place, so there's no possibility of meeting someone they know.

Chase always helps Cameron pick up her outfit of the day and also goes shopping with her

Cameron suggested Chase's haircut but she immediately regrets it. On the other hand Chase loves it and has no intention of growing it back

Chase's favorite Cameron's haircut is her caramel wavy haircut

No matter how busy or chaotic their day gets, they always make time for a quick forehead kiss.

They’ve spent so much time together that they can communicate without words. A raised eyebrow, a small smirk, or even just a look across the room is enough to send a whole message.

[berrywinner]

hey i heard you were taking requests. Do something nice with Kutner. Whatever comes to your mind. Make it taubner, make him act stupid in front of his colleagues, I don't really care. I just want him to be happy

Everybody needs a Kutner

Kutner stirred awake to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the curtains. He turned to find Taub still peacefully asleep beside him. A tender smile graced Kutner's lips as he pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead, his fingers lingering to trace the curve of his partner's cheek.

"Chris," Kutner whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Taub's temple. "Time to wake up."

Taub groaned softly, eyes fluttering open to meet Kutner's affectionate gaze. "Morning already?" he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

"Afraid so," Kutner replied, his hand sliding down to entwine their fingers. "But I'll make breakfast."

In the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air. Kutner had set the table with care, placing a single flower in a vase at its center. As Taub entered, adjusting his tie, Kutner approached with a playful grin, looping his arms around Taub's waist.

"Before you say anything," Kutner began, nuzzling into the crook of Taub's neck, "yes, I may have gone a bit overboard. But we have a long day ahead and we deserve it."

Taub chuckled, turning in Kutner's embrace to face him. "You're incorrigible," he said, pressing a lingering kiss to Kutner's lips.

At Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, the diagnostic team assembled around the whiteboard. House detailed their latest case: a 42-year-old woman experiencing unexplained syncope, a rash on her left arm, intermittent fevers, and hallucinations in which she's kidnapped by aliens.

Kutner, standing beside Taub, leaned in to whisper, "Sounds like the plot of a sci-fi thriller."

Taub smirked, elbowing him gently. "Focus, Lawrence."

Thirteen observed their exchange with a raised eyebrow. "You two are unusually chipper today," she remarked.

Kutner grinned, throwing an arm around Taub's shoulders. "What can I say? Love is a great motivator."

House rolled his eyes. "If you're done with the PDA, maybe we can save a life?"

As the team dispersed to run tests, Kutner and Taub found themselves in the lab. Kutner, ever the playful one, struck a superhero pose.

"Dr. Taub, ready to combat medical mysteries with me?" he declared dramatically.

Taub laughed, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."

Thirteen entered just in time to witness Kutner's antics. "Is he always like this?" she asked, amused.

"Only when he's had too much coffee," Taub replied, though his fond smile betrayed his true feelings.

Kutner smirked. "I call it controlled chaos."

Thirteen snorted. "More like barely controlled."

"Hey, controlled enough that House hasn't fired me yet," Kutner shot back, winking.

That got a laugh out of her. "That’s a dangerously low bar, Kutner."

During a particularly tense moment, Kutner took out a small, plush alien from his lab coat pocket, making it "consult" on the case.

"Dr. Alien recommends a full metabolic panel," Kutner announced, moving the toy as if it were speaking.

Thirteen stifled another laugh, shaking her head. "Where do you even find this stuff?"

"Emergency preparedness," Kutner said with a grin. "You never know when a patient will claim alien abduction."

Taub shook his head, unable to suppress his smitten smile. "You're impossible."

Thirteen smiled "Yeah but I think everybody needs a Kutner in their lives"

After concluding their duties, Kutner and Taub retreated to their shared apartment. Living with Kutner was fun, until he was full of energy after the entire day. Taub loved it, but at the same time, he was exhausted.

"Come on, Chris," Kutner urged, pulling Taub to his feet. "Let's see those moves."

Taub chuckled, allowing himself to be led. "You're going to kill me. I'm getting old, you know."

As they swayed to the music, Kutner's hands roamed to cup Taub's face, bringing their foreheads together. "I love you," he whispered.

Taub's eyes softened, his arms encircling Kutner's waist. "I love you too, Lawrence."

[berrywinner]

oooooh ok what about chase w a patient who reminds him of him when he was young (platonic obv)

Mirror

The sterile scent of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital hung in the air as Chase walked through the corridors, his mind preoccupied with the latest case. The new patient, a teenager, had been admitted with a series of troubling symptoms that seemed to defy logic, as always when it came to House’s cases. The patient, a 16-year-old with partial paralysis, had been seemingly healthy until the onset of these issues. The family history revealed little , the patient’s father, a renowned performer, was practically absent, and the mother had passed away several years prior. Chase felt a strange stir in his gut as he glanced through the file, a tug of empathy that resonated deeper than usual.

When Chase entered the conference room, his colleagues were already gathered around the table. House sat at the head of the table, his usual smug expression playing across his face. Thirteen was perched on the edge of a chair, flipping through the patient’s file with a frown of concentration.

“Look who decided to show up. We’ve got ourselves a case,” House said, breaking the silence. “16-year-old with partial paralysis. Impressive family history of screw-ups. Could be a viral infection, could be psychosomatic, who knows?” House said, sipping his coffee.

Chase stared at the file in his hands, his thoughts momentarily drifting. The patient’s symptoms were puzzling, but it was the mention of the absent father that made Chase’s heart skip a beat. He knew very well what it meant to have a father who’s never there.

“Chase,” House’s voice cut through his reverie.

Chase snapped back to attention. “Just… thinking about the patient. The father isn’t much of a presence.”

House tilted his head, his sharp gaze locking on Chase. “Ah, you’re getting sentimental now? I thought we were over your daddy issues.”

The words stung, though not for the reasons House likely thought. Chase quickly masked his emotions with a thin smile. “Not relevant to the case, House. But maybe it’s worth noting that this patient might be under more stress than we think. Emotional stress can trigger a lot of physical symptoms.”

Thirteen raised an eyebrow. “Could be true. The symptoms have no clear physical explanation, but that doesn’t rule out a psychological component.”

“Exactly,” Chase agreed. “We should explore that angle.”

The team dove into the patient’s medical history, but nothing stood out, except for the fact that the father had been virtually absent since the mother’s death years ago. The patient had been living in that shadow, trying desperately to meet the impossible standards the father had set. Chase couldn’t shake the feeling that he was seeing something more than just a medical case. He saw himself, in a way, and it was unsettling.

In the days that followed, Chase found himself spending more time by the patient’s bedside, not just out of professional duty, but because the patient’s quiet sadness mirrored something deep within him. Eyes often empty, as though the weight of the world had crushed the life out of them. Chase could almost feel the loneliness emanating from that silence, and he couldn’t help but connect with that emptiness.

One afternoon, as Chase checked on the patient’s progress, he noticed that the teenager was awake, staring out of the window with a distant look. The patient’s thin frame slouched against the hospital pillow, and for a moment, Chase could almost imagine what it felt like to be trapped in a body that no longer responded as it should, while going through so much psychological pain. The patient hadn’t spoken much about the condition or personal life, and Chase felt an unfamiliar pull, the desire to understand, to connect, to help.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chase asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

The patient’s eyes flickered toward him, and for a second, there was hesitation. Then, with a quiet sigh, a nod. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep hoping it’s just a phase, that it’ll go away, but it’s not. I… I don’t want to be weak. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

Chase stood there for a moment, processing the words. He didn’t need to ask who ‘him’ was. The father. The name echoed in Chase’s own mind, the same expectations, the same suffocating weight of needing to prove oneself.

“Your dad?” Chase asked, though he knew the answer.

A nod, lips pressed tightly together, a sign of the emotional strain. “He was always there, but never really there, you know? He was never happy with anything I did. It was never enough for him. And now… now I’m failing. And I can’t let him see that.”

Chase’s heart tightened. The pain was palpable, and it hit too close to home. His father’s voice reverberated in his ears, the same cold, dismissive tone that had ruled his own childhood. The expectations, the absence, had shaped who Chase had become. And, for the longest time, they had held him captive.

“I know what that feels like,” Chase said, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than usual. “My dad was the same. Nothing I did was ever enough and at a certain point he left. It doesn’t matter how hard you try, if they can’t see it, it’s like you don’t exist.”

The patient’s eyes widened, surprised by Chase’s candor. “You had a dad like that too?”

Chase nodded, taking a step closer. "I thought if I could just do things right, if I could just be good enough, maybe he’d see me, he’d come back. But that never happened.”

A hard swallow, eyes looking away, unable to meet Chase’s gaze. “I don’t know how to make him see me. I’m trying so hard, but it’s like I’m invisible.”

Chase felt a pang of empathy, a sharp reminder of his own struggles. But there was a lesson in all of it, one that Chase had learned the hard way. He was determined to pass it on.

“You don’t need to make him see you,” Chase said, his voice steady now. “You need to see yourself. You need to realize that you don’t have to live up to someone else’s expectations to be worthwhile. You are enough just as you are.”

A shift, uncomfortable, uncertain. “But if I don’t… if I can’t do it, what am I? Who am I?”

Chase took a deep breath, leaning against the edge of the bed. “You’re still you. And that’s the most important thing. You don’t need his approval to be valuable. You don’t need to chase after a version of yourself that someone else created. Find out who you are on your own terms. It might take time, but that’s okay. Just don’t give up on yourself.”

The patient was quiet for a long time, processing Chase’s words. After a moment, finally, a whisper.

“I don’t know if I can. I don’t know how to stop chasing after him.”

Chase offered a small, knowing smile. “It’s hard. Trust me, I know. But you’ll get there. It’s a process, but you’ll find your own way.”

The patient met his eyes, something softening in that gaze. “Thanks…”

Chase’s heart tightened as he watched that expression change. For the first time, there was a flicker of something else… hope. It was a fragile thing, but it was there. And that was all that mattered.

The days passed, and the patient’s condition gradually improved. The paralysis began to recede, the psychological weight lessening as well. Chase continued to spend time there. The patient spoke more openly about fears, and Chase shared pieces of his own experience. They both began to understand each other in a way that was rare in the sterile confines of the hospital.

One day, when the patient was well enough to leave, there was a slight smile ,something softer than the guarded expression that had been worn at first.

“I’m going to do it,” the patient said quietly. “I’m going to try to stop chasing after him. I’m going to find out who I am.”

Chase felt a flicker of pride in his chest. “That’s all you can do.”

The patient looked at him and hugged him. "I wish you were my brother."

It struck him...unexpected words that somehow healed something inside.

As the patient left the hospital, walking out with a new sense of purpose, Chase stood there for a moment, watching the patient go.

[berrywinner]

Hey! Saw your last post. Could you write something about Taubner? I really like the ship and I feel no one writes about it.

I was thinking maybe headcanons about their relationship, or whatever you'd like.

I don't really know how this works, so I hope this isn't too direct or too much to ask for ;)

Thank you!!

Taubner Headcanons

Kutner's passion for comics and Taub's passion for Dr.Who combine into a perfect reason to attend comicons

During the day, they slip affectionate notes into each other's locker

They turn obligatory medical conferences into mini-vacations, exploring new cities together after attending sessions.

They discover a secluded rooftop spot at the hospital, it becomes their place after they share their first kiss there.

Taking turns, they surprise each other with personalized coffee combinations.

Spontaneous kitchen dance parties become their way of unwinding after a long day at the hospital

They create playlists for each other, the first song Taub put into Kutner's playlist is "Can't help falling in love" and the first song that Kutner puts into Taub's playlist is "Good old fashioned loverboy"

Kutner has a hidden passion for stargazing and he loves to take Taub with him

They have a shared diary where they document their thoughts, and experiences. Taub has never had a relationship so sincere

Even in the chaos that is the diagnostic department they always find a way to have lunch together

Taub reveals his talent for basketball and since then Kutner keeps asking him to teach him something. It ends up with a make-out session in the middle of the field

Taub incites Kutner to rediscover his culture, and he's happy to do it with him.

Their age gap is often a problem when sharing affection in public but every time Kutner takes Taub's hand, Taub looks at him like he just hung the moon, because he's so lucky to have someone who doesn’t care about what the others say or think

Taub discovers Kutner's depression only when they start living together and does everything to help him.

Taub said "I love you" first, which is weird because Kutner was sure he was going to say it first

They're very clingy like they've always been. Both of them remember their reaction to House's prank, how they had to stay close when they were afraid. It's funny to remember that for them because at the time they were still in denial

Late night conversations are one of their favorite things to do

Kutner loves to lay his head on Taub's lap when he's tired, it's soothing

Every morning, Taub asks Kutner which tie he should wear to work and he always choses the one Kutner likes the most

Every year they organize the most out of pocket and silly activities for their anniversary.

Last time they made a blanket fort and had a powerpoint night with the theme "Why you should take MY last name when we get married"

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REQUEST, I LOVED WRITING THIS.

Requests are still open everyone!