#Greg house fanfiction

[kittenlittle24]

Roommates

Warming: smut

As usual, gifs aren’t mine! Likes, comments and reblogs warm my heart

Masterlist

Every cell in your body was tired, your feet were killing you from being on heels for the last week, your patience was worn out after seven consecutive days with stuck-up people, your neck and back were cramped from the flight and all you wanted was to get home and curl up in bed.

Paying the cab driver, you noticed the orange bike parked outside the apartment building, meaning your boyfriend came home early from work.

Unlocking the door, you entered and put your suitcase aside. Greeted by your boyfriend sitting on the armchair reading a medical journal about cardiology.

“Oh goodie, you’re back, be a dear and put this on the door handle outside,” he asked, holding out his stethoscope.

Scrunching your eyebrows you chose not to question and just nod and follow his request. Then you sat down on the armrest, one arm rested his shoulder, and played with his hair while the other stroked his cheek down to play with his shirt collar.

“Missed me?” You asked as you opened the top button.

Looking down at your hand, then at your cleavage, and lastly your eyes, “Kinda busy.”

Stopping your actions and raising your eyebrows in surprise, “You’re declining sex?”

Pretending to think it over, he reached over to sneak his hand under your shirt and single-handedly unhooked your bra.

“If you put it that way,”

Laughing you took off your shirt and bra along with it before standing up, taking his hand in yours, and pulling him towards your bedroom.

You lay down on your bed, he immediately placed open-mouth kisses down your neck and then chest. “No need for these,” he said slowly. His voice was grave as he tugged on your pants and you nodded, quickly getting off him. He helped tug them down and your underwear came with it.

reaching a hand to his hair, deepening the kiss as you moved your position. Carefully straddling his lap, you subtly rocked yourself down against him. His hands immediately came to your hips, squeezing tightly. Stroking your hands down his neck, you began to undo the dress shirt he had on, one button at a time. You teased him when you got to the bottom of his shirt, having to pull it out from being tucked in, you lingered your fingertips around his waistline, tracing around the top of his belt slowly. You kept your kisses deep and sweet, taking in every second. Pressing your hands teasingly up his chest before cupping his checks. You looked at Greg and then to his lips. You moved closer and closer to him, eventually kissing him, keeping your lips hardly apart, “No foreplay, I need you.”

His hand was on your waist, pushing you down against his now hard cock.

He took a hold of his cock, before pushing it against your entrance. You moaned, looking into his blue eyes. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him, sinking lower and lower on his length.

He moaned into the kiss. His tongue entered your mouth, exploring it. You circled your hips against his. You pulled away, closing your eyes as you picked up speed. Lips attached to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot.

Low grunts came from him. You ran your hand through his head, pushing him closer. You bounced on his cock, moans and whimpers left your lips and it sounded like heaven to him. Seeing you riding his cock, making all those pretty sounds for him, he could come right then.

Moving you to lay on your back, You reached your arms around him, feeling his broad shoulder blades. Spreading your legs slightly, you felt his hips touch yours, you let go of him for a moment to align with you before he returned on top of you and you wrapped your legs around him. You dropped your jaw feeling every inch of him sink in while he kissed up your neck roughly, impatient already, one hand tangling in your hair messily, as the other felt its way down to the back of your thigh adjusting your position a little to make it easier. 

“Greg,” your voice was shaky as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Digging your nails into his shoulder and bicep, you moaned in bliss kissing his neck. Gently starting to move his hips, you relaxed at the suddenly beautiful feeling rushing through your body. He was busy kissing your jawline as his pace became rougher. 

He continued his rough pace, you gasped, arching your back and rolling your shoulders back feeling his fingertips press deep into your back as he held you there for a moment. You pushed your chest up against him and couldn’t help wanting to touch every inch of him. Scratching your nails down his back as he buried his face against your neck.

Teeth gripping against your tender skin, you cum seconds before he does. He rested his forehead on yours, your sweat mingling as you both catch your breath. He waited a few minutes before he pulled out of you, kissed your temple, and went to the bathroom to bring a damp cloth to clean you both.

It was your stomach growling that pulled you out of your nap. You grabbed the first shirt you could find, which happened to be one of Greg’s graphic tees and a pair of panties before making your way to the kitchen.

“Greg? You want to go grab some-“You paused upon seeing a brown-haired man in a suit washing dishes.

Staring at each other in surprise you missed House coming up behind you.

“Wilson, meet y/n.” He introduced.

Reaching to shake his hand, “I assume Greg didn’t mention me, I’m his girlfriend. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to put on some pants.” You say awkwardly and rush back to the bedroom.

Wilson quickly pulled him to the kitchen and whispered shouted at House, “How long have you been with her?”

“Met her when Stacy and I were in Baltimore.” House shared.

"So you moved your hooker into the apartment just to make me miserable? I can find my own place if you’d stop deleting my messages."

"She's not a hooker." He admitted quietly looking anywhere but at his friend.

“She’s the reason you sent Stacy away,” Wilson concluded.

House sighed and nodded, he was saved from the conversation when you came back to the kitchen, “Anyone hungry?

Smiling wildly at you, “I’ll cook.” Wilson volunteered.

“You’re our guest, you shouldn’t cook for-“

Greg interrupted you, “Y/n, he offered, don’t insult him. Let the man cook.”

Both Wilson and you rolled your eyes.

“You can help by keeping me company and telling me about yourself,“ Wilson suggested.

Grinning you agreed.

[michelle-is-writing]

Surprise, Surprise, Greg House

Word Count: 1.1k~

Surprising Greg at work is always fun. Most of the time, he's messing around with the items on his desk until I walk in which ultimately causes him to perk up right away. I'm always happy to see him, and going by the smile that pops up on his face when he first sees me, Greg is happy to see me too. Plus, it always helps that we've been together for several years too.

"House, you have a guest," Wilson states, quickly popping his head into the doorway of Greg's office before popping right back out. Watching him walk back to the elevators, I wave at Wilson before opening Greg's door.

"Surprising," I hear Greg mindlessly mutter before I walk in. Once he sees me, he lightly smiles and changes his words. "Not surprising," He corrects himself, sitting up in his chair. "But pleasant."

"I brought you lunch," I tell him, gesturing to the bag in my hand with a smile. Placing the paper bag on his desk, I sit down in the chair across from him with his desk separating us. "That way you don't have to steal anyone else's."

"You know me so well," Greg chides, placing the magazine in his hands down before opening the bag of food. Taking all of the contents out of the bag reveals two sandwiches and two bags of chips with a bottled drink for each one. "Funny," He notes. "These are the things I would have stolen from Wilson."

Laughing at his sad, yet true comment, I separate everything out and place a Reuben sandwich in front of each of us, Greg already digging into one of the yellow bags of potato chips. "I'm glad I got to come see you today," I confess, the sight of the food making me feel a little sick. "I have some... great news to share."

"Oh, really?" Greg asks, looking up at me. I nod, smiling as he pushes his chair back a little. "Well, then why don't you come over here and tell me all about it?" He suggests with that ever so sly smirk.

Knowing what that means, I gently roll my eyes and stand from my chair before walking over to Greg and sitting on his lap. Instantly, he wraps his arms around me and holds me close, leaning up a little to kiss my lips. This is one of the very few ways Greg shows his love. He always says it's because he gets to hold me closer to him, but I think it's just because I'm sitting on his lap.

"You know," he begins his sentence, nibbling at my neck. "With one simple movement, you instantly have me at your will. How odd is that?" Greg questions me, his voice sultry and low. Smiling at him, I lightly giggle before pushing him away enough so he can look straight at me.

"Greg, I need to tell you something," I state, my voice a bit serious. Even though I'm trying to keep a straight voice without letting my excitement show through, I keep my smile in hopes of him not getting worried. I hope this news finds him well, and it doesn't make him mad or angry... I don't know what I would do if he left me because of it.

Leaning back in his swivel chair to look at me, he continues smiling while running his hand up and down my side. "Go on," he encourages me, his blue eyes staring into mine. "I'm listening, my sweet."

My cheeks slightly blush at the endearment before I look away, sudden nervousness hitting me. "I'm, uh, I'm..." Just as I begin to speak, I choke up before sighing. "I'm pregnant, Greg," I fully answer him, having the guts to look him straight in the eye as I do so.

He takes a moment to listen to me, only to fully realize what I'm saying within seconds. In shock, he stares at me with wide eyes before breaking out into a nervous chuckle. "You're serious, right?" He asks, making my eyebrows furrow. My reaction causes him to become worried as his smile drops. "Please don't be joking," Greg begs, placing his hands on my arms.

His words slightly... befuddle me. Is the cold and emotionless House actually excited about me being pregnant? For him to question me to make sure I'm not joking makes me... I don't know what it makes me actually.

Does Greg want a child? I know we didnt plan this little one, but there's no going back now. I mean, Greg is quite a few years older than me and I would've never thought he'd want a kid this late in life, but Gregory House is Gregory House. If there's one thing that signifies Gregory House, it's that he's weird and unusual, and he never conforms to what is socially acceptable.

"No, I'm not joking, Greg," I tell him, placing his hands on my stomach. "There's a little baby right here," With Greg staring up at me with big eyes and an equally big smile, tears quickly make their way to my eyes. "You're going to be a father," I whisper, leaning forward and placing my forehead against his.

A few moments of silence pass before Greg grins and wraps his arms tighter around me. In a quick turn of events, he stands up with our feet planted on the ground and his arms still around me, a giggle falling from my lips as he does so. Before I know it, Greg is moving my shirt up to place his hands on my barely swollen tummy, resting them there as I hug him to me as well. “Thank you,” He murmurs, smiling before connecting our lips in another kiss. At the same time, he moves his hands to my waist to hold me there, his hold reflecting the passion behind our kiss.

[springdaydreams]

Gregory House x fem!reader (platonic?)

Warnings : none

Summary : Greg finds out something interesting about you.

Authors note : Not the biggest fan of this, could've been better, but the idea wont leave my head so I wrote it.

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘

Today was particularly rough, your coffee machine broke down so you had to settle for the crappy coffee in the breakroom, the cafeteria had ran out of your favourite chips, a patient puked on you so you had to change your clothes and by god's grace, all the anti-vaxxers in Jersey decided to come visit you today. Sitting down you let out a sigh, your feet hurt and your head felt like it was being pounded by an anvil closing your eyes in hopes for a fifteen minute shuteye, slowly drowning out the noises of the busy hospital. Suddenly your pager rings, the shrill noise cutting through the room, letting out a sharp exhale you take the pager in your hands and look at it, it’s a page from the NICU, nothing uncommon.

Standing up you rush out of the room, reaching the NICU, the nurse fills you on the patient, a seven month premature baby suffering a sudden attack of patent ductus arteriosus, as the baby flailed around trying to take breaths that he couldn’t catch, you’re held a scalpel your gloved hand tightening around the handle of it, bringing the sharp edge scalpel to the baby’s chest, just as you were about to make a cut the baby stopped breathing. Taking a deep breath you set the scalpel down “time of death?” “Twelve twenty am.” “I’ll go tell the parents.” Removing your gloves you walk out of the NICU towards the maternity ward, walking into the patient’s mother’s room “are you Miss Hennock?” “Yeah, what happened, is he okay?” Biting your lip, fighting back tears, “your son has passed on twelve twenty am.”

“What? How?”

“He suffered from patent ductus arteriosus”

“no no no, that can't be possible.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

The mother broke down in tears. Her screams could be heard by the whole floor, walking out of the maternity ward, the screams still playing in your mind, stopping by a pillar. You rest your back on the pillar, closing your eyes as tears threaten to spill, hugging your body for comfort. After a few seconds of solitude you hear the familiar tapping of a cane, opening your eyes you see Greg House walking, as he reaches you he stops and stares, staring back at him “what?”

With no response he goes back to walking to wherever he was going.

After fifteen minutes of peace the screams of someone interrupt, sighing you decide to go up to the roof. Just as you were climbing the stairs, you reach the breakroom, opening your locker you take you alcohol flask, walking to the roof you sit down on the edge, taking in a deep breath, you open your flask and take a big sip after 15 minutes and a half empty flask you hear the door open, looking back you see House limping towards you.

“Why're you here?”

“You looked like you wanted to die down there, was hoping you didn’t.”

“Awwww, you care about me.”

“Considering you’re slurring, I would like to consider you’ve finished that flask.”

“No, there’s still some.” You shake the flask.

“ So what happened down there?”

“Oh, nothing important.”

“You were on the verge of tears, someone definitely died.”

“Why do you sound so sure?”

“The last time I saw you cry was when one of your patients had died.” he says affirmatively

“Maybe my mom died?”

“Your mom’s been dead for seven years”

“How'd you know?”

“I like snooping, so what's so special today?”

“Nothing just a NICU accident.”

“That's why you're crying?”

“You know what House, lemme tell you a story, sit down” you pat the spot next to you “your crippled leg must hurt.”

As he sat down, “So what's this story about?”

“About ten years ago, in my third year of medical school, I met a man with the prettiest grey eyes, like the clouds on a rainy day.”

“Where is this going?”

“Sush, so we get to talking and a few months into dating he proposes to me and I say yes” “Want some?” you push the flask towards him.

“Yes” he takes the flask from you.

“So anyways, we get married and a few months later I get pregnant, we were so happy”

“You were married?”

“A few months into the pregnancy I start noticing he had started to become distant with me, coming home later than usual, leaving early, talking about that one new nurse that started working at the hospital, so one day i decide to visit him in the hospital, going around the hospital I couldn’t find him so I start to go back when I hear voices in a broom closet and when i open it, I see him and the new nurse he kept talking about, eating eachothers faces.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He notices tears welling in your eyes.

With a shaky voice and a tight chest you continue, “so we had an argument and then he apologised and I thought everything would go back to normal, but it did not, we started to fight more he started to act weird and one day we have a huge argument like plate smashing and yelling, the argument gets so big he threatens to kill himself. We’re standing in the kitchen, he's holding a knife to his neck, i'm standing a few feet away from and we’re yelling and suddenly he cuts his neck, blood spraying everywhere the stress from the event puts me into early labour, I somehow manage to call 911 and then everything was a blur.”

“You are going to regret this in the morning.”

“The next thing I remember is holding my dead baby in my arms.”

He was rendered speechless.

“That's why I was crying, do you miss Stacy?”

Taken aback by the sudden question, he looks at you “yeah, why?”

“I miss him a lot, I loved him and he had to love me, somewhere sometime between the cheating and lying.”

“Stop” he gets up “you’re drunk.”

You smile at him, “I'm sad.”

“Aren’t we all sad?”

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘

fin

[drabbles-mc]

At Least

Greg House x James Wilson

Written for the 2024 Hurt/Comfort Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, drug use

Words: 2.4k

A/N: wrote this for an exchange and i finally get to post it here! if there are any house md fanfic readers on tumblr, i hope you enjoy! 🫡

“So no one has heard from House?” Wilson asked as he stood in the doorway of the lab.

Everyone was shaking their heads, giving their version of, “No,” as an answer. None of them were looking at him at first, though, too wrapped up in the tests that they were doing. It wasn’t until Foreman realized that Wilson was still lingering in the doorway that he looked away from what he was actually doing. He still didn’t say anything, instead just giving Wilson a pointed look, eyebrows raised.

Wilson took the cue. “And that wasn’t concerning to…anyone?”

Foreman laughed, one that was more cruel than it was humorous. “Why would it be concerning? When is House not avoiding doing work at all costs? Why do you think we’re all here and he’s not?”

Wilson was trying not to take the bait, trying to keep his voice even. “But you haven’t heard anything? Not even a phone call just to distract you?”

“Nothing,” Foreman confirmed with a shake of his head.

Wilson sighed. “Right.”

He wanted to have more to say, but he came up empty. Instead, he finally turned and headed back out the door to leave the rest of them to their work. Work that House had assigned to them and not bothered to follow up on. That was as strange as any of it. Even if he didn’t really care how the patient was doing, even if he knew in the back of his head that his team wouldn’t have an answer yet, he’d still follow-up. Most times he did it just to chastise them, but it was still a follow-up. The silence was making Wilson uneasy.

The rest of House’s team was going to be trapped in the lab for the foreseeable future, no matter how late it was. Wilson wasn’t resigned to the same fate, though. He promptly headed back to his office to grab his jacket and the rest of his things, and then started for the parking lot to leave. There was a split second when he got into his car when he lied to himself, told himself that he was going home. But once he got to the first stoplight, he knew that he had to give up the act. Throwing his directional on, he turned and started to make his way towards House’s place.

He saw the motorcycle parked out front and that gave him a tiny shred of comfort. At least he was probably home. Once he found a spot to park his car, Wilson quickly made his way towards House’s front door. He was digging his keys out as he walked, but he still stopped at the door and knocked out of courtesy. Something House wouldn’t know anything about.

After a second round of knocking Wilson used his key. He announced himself as he pushed the door open. “Let the record show that I did try knocking.”

He walked deeper inside, looking at the living room as he did. Nothing really seemed out of place. There were a couple takeout boxes on the table, but that was about as normal as it got with him. The television was on, the volume low but still audible. The frown on Wilson’s face grew deeper as he continued to wind his way from one room to the next. When he didn’t see House in the kitchen he knew that there was only one place that he would likely be, and Wilson was afraid of what he might be walking into.

The bathroom door was ajar, and he could see the light creeping out through the gap. He found himself taking deep breaths as he got closer. He was trying to steady himself, prepare himself for whatever might be on the other side of the door. He reached forward, resting his fingertips against the door, ready to push it open. Instead, he pulled his hand back, closing it into a fist, raising it getting ready to knock.

“Don’t you dare knock on that door,” House called out from the other side, voice raspy with pain and exhaustion.

The breath that Wilson let out turned into something that almost resembled a laugh. Nothing about the situation was funny, per se, but there was humor to be found in the relief. The lack of House’s incessant childlike behavior and sarcasm were what alerted Wilson’s concern in the first place. To hear it, even if he was on the receiving end of it, was a relief. Nothing could ever be simple with House.

Wilson pushed the door open to find House sitting on the floor. He was contorted in a way that didn’t look like it could be comfortable at all.  But then again, House lived in discomfort, so he wondered if the bizarre position on the floor really made anything that much worse.

There was a sheen of sweat across House’s forehead, the collar of his t-shirt slightly darker than the rest of the fabric from the sweat on his neck. He was leaning back against the side of the tub, one arm braced against the toilet bowl’s edge.

“So you at least heard me knocking at the front door, then,” Wilson said as he stepped into the bathroom.

“Yeah,” House winced as he tried to shift positions, “and I didn’t answer. Most people would take that as a hint to go away.”

“Most people,” Wilson walked and crouched down in front of him, “wouldn’t be wondering if you were dead or just on a bender in here.”

House lifted his hands lamely in lieu of not wanting to expend the energy to hold his arms out. “Not dead.”

“I see that.” Wilson looped his arm underneath House’s, getting himself ready to bring House back up to his feet. “Doesn’t even look like a fun bender, either.”

House managed a chuckle as Wilson practically dragged him up to his feet. He tried to use his good leg to assist, but the drugs had him strung out in a way that even when he was trying to help it wasn’t doing either of them much good.

“It was fun at first,” House said when the two of them were finally, somewhat safely, upright. “I don’t know how we ended up here.”

“Imagine that,” Wilson said, sarcasm coating each word, “having a hard time remembering things while you’re on drugs.”

“I’m on drugs all the time and my memory is fantastic.”

Wilson knew better than to give House the debate that he was looking for but he still did. That was always the crux of their relationship—Wilson knowing better but giving in to House anyway. “You’re not on these drugs all the time.”

“You don’t even know—”

“Oh come on,” Wilson said, exasperated as they crossed the threshold into House’s bedroom. “Don’t give me that. Like I don’t know.”

“That why you came over. You just knew?”

Wilson plopped House down on the edge of his bed rather unceremoniously. Wilson wanted to be childish, to turn this back on House. He wanted to flip the script, tell House that now he was the one who knew exactly why things were happening, why they were in the situation that they were. It was worry, of course. There was always going to be worry. But there was something else too. That was the part that House knew but never talked about.

“Your team said it had been a suspiciously long time since you last harassed them,” Wilson said instead. “Figured I should stop by. Not often you give up the opportunity to be a giant pain in their ass.”

House chuckled because he knew that Wilson was right. The two of them sat on the edge of House’s bed for a moment, close enough for the outsides of their legs to be pressed against each other. Wilson had his hands clasped in his lap, head hung low as he studied the way his fingers were interlocked. It wasn’t anything interesting but it kept him from staring intensely at the man sitting on the bed beside him.

He wasn’t looking at Wilson either, not at first. His gaze was completely focused on the floor beneath their feet. He felt him starting to lean too far forward, and while he knew that Wilson would catch him if he went too far, he managed to catch himself first. His hands landed just above his knees, fingers gripping and arms locking out just in time. It kept him from falling, and the feeling of his fingers slipping between the outside of his thigh and the outside of Wilson’s got Wilson to turn and look at him.

Wilson almost pulled away out of reflex but then he remembered where they were. What would the point of it have been? He cleared his throat, looking back and forth between House’s face and his hand. “Did it help, at least?”

House scoffed, giving a small shake of his head. “Yeah, I’m cured. That’s why you had to pick me up off the bathroom floor and drag me across my apartment.”

Wilson rolled his eyes before letting his gaze drop back down to his hands in his lap again. “No, I had to pick you up off the bathroom floor because you’re strung out on drugs. I meant did it at least help with the pain? At all?”

“Why? If I say yes are you going to give me a pass to do—”

“I’m asking because, surprisingly, for some reason unknown to me or anyone on the face of this planet, I care about what happens to you. I care even if you don’t.”

House’s expression sobered up for a moment even if the rest of him didn’t. Sighing, he said, “It’s already coming back.” He saw the wounded puppy-dog look in Wilson’s eyes and he knew that he was in no place for whatever platitudes he was about to get hit with. Stopping them before they started, he switched up his tone and said, “The high was fun for a while, though.”

It worked. Wilson’s shoulders dropped and so did the topic. Placing his hands on the edge of the mattress, Wilson stood up off the bed and started walking towards the bedroom door without another word.

House wouldn’t really be able to blame him for leaving. He wasn’t giving Wilson any reason to think that he wanted him to stay. Still, despite all of that, he called after him, “Just going to go, then?”

Wilson shook his head but didn’t turn around. “Wouldn’t make it that easy for you.”

House watched until he’d disappeared out of sight. With a deep sigh and more effort than it maybe should’ve taken, he shimmied himself farther back onto the bed. He didn’t put the effort in to get under the covers, but just being able to sink back down against the pillows was a relief. His leg being welcomed by the soft mattress instead of the hard tile floor of his bathroom was another bonus, too.

When Wilson walked back into the bedroom, he had a glass of water in one hand while he was loosening his tie with the other. He handed the glass of water to House, pulling his tie off over his head once he had both hands free. He tossed it off to the side before undoing the top two buttons on his shirt.

“Water with no pills to wash down?” House goaded.

Wilson raised his eyebrows as he undid the buckle of his belt. “I don’t think you need to be taking anything else at this point. No more washing down. Just worry about,” he gestured vaguely, “washing out.”

House had to chuckle quietly at that. He took a sip from the glass in his hands as he watched Wilson set his belt out of the way too once he’d removed it. He sat down on House’s side of the bed before leaning down to untie his shoes—small comforts but nothing large like having clothes there to change into or borrowing anything of House’s. Once they were off he sighed and got up to walk around to the other side of the bed. It was his side but neither of them ever really called it that. He sank down on the mattress and mirrored House’s position—not under the covers but still slouched back against the headboard.

After taking another sip of water from the glass that Wilson had given him, House set it on the nightstand beside his bed. Sinking down a little farther on the bed, he looked over at Wilson and waited for him to do the same.

Wilson didn’t hesitate long enough for it to really prove whatever point he wanted it to. Sinking down he let himself face House. The light was on but neither of them seemed bothered enough by it to get up to turn it off.

House resituated himself, looking up at the ceiling instead of over at Wilson. He could still feel the way that the other man was looking at him though. Letting his eyes close, he asked, “Just going to lay there and stare at me all night?”

Wilson’s lips twitched into a tired smile for a moment. “That is the level of attention you usually want from me.”

House smiled too. “Doesn’t mean you need to be so obvious about it.”

He could’ve gone home. Or he could’ve slept on the couch instead. House was at least going to make it through the night without any further issues as long as he didn’t get out of bed and get into something else. And, judging by how much Wilson had to help him get to the room, he had the inclination that House wasn’t going to be getting up and going much of anywhere until late the following morning. The aftermath of this wasn’t going to be worth whatever momentary relief he got from it—it never did. But it never stopped him, and it never stopped Wilson from showing up.

Instead of coming up with another line of banter, Wilson reached over with one arm, draping it across House’s pillow above his hand. His fingers just barely brushed through the other man’s hair, but Wilson could tell that he felt it. By morning his slacks would be wrinkled and his other arm would be wrapped around House’s middle keeping them wrapped tightly together. But for now, Wilson just waited, and watched, and pretended that he wasn’t fighting off the same sleep that House slipped into so easily now that he was there.

[sarcasm-and-stiles]

[zvdvdlvr]

Could you pretty please write an imagine being house s/o, only Wilson knows, either being under him in his team or in a different department. You guys have a kid together and get called from her preschool or babysitter and end up having to bring her to work with you and the kid exposes you?

As well as just some dad house

surprise? ✩ gregory house

You had the situation under control until Greg had decided to teach his little ducklings a lesson in thievery. To be more specific, Greg had shown up to Cuddy’s office- hoping to ‘borrow’ some classified documents about the patient Cuddy had forced them to treat- while you were in there- trying to convince Aunt Lisa to babysit for a few hours.

The first two hours had been fine with Clementine, but nearing the end of the third hour you had realized how hungry she had gotten. Clementine had been relatively quiet: playing with her dolls and practicing her spelling words for school and such, but she was slowly getting bored.

Being the head of radiology meant that you were constantly discussing and interacting with patients, staff, or other important individuals. So far, the first five patients you’ve spoken with hadn’t minded Clementine’s quiet chatter or when she tried to strike up a conversation with them. But that didn’t mean you felt comfortable with your own baby girl while you weren’t giving her your full attention.

And of course the moment you decide to see if Cuddy could take some time to watch Clem, Greg emerges.

“Lisa, please. Just thirty-“

“Daddy!” Clementine squeals, point and squirming around in your hold. “Mama! Look, it’s daddy! Hi daddy!”

You turn, expecting to see your husband alone. Instead of one person, you lock eyes with a beyond shocked Cameron, Chase, and Eric. Greg smiles awkwardly at you, trying to ignore the stares of his lackeys. “I have a meeting soon. Take Clem, Greg. Make sure she eats,” you continue on casually, letting Clementine clint happily to her dad. You thrn to Cuddy and then at Celementine again.

“Make sure to keep an eye on daddy, okay my little love?” You coo. Clementine smiles brightly at you.

“Okay, mama.”

“Don’t lose her,” you tell your husband dryly before patting him on the shoulder and walking out the door.

The three ducklings exchanged glances. In front of them, Clementine pokes Greg’s cheeks after inflated like a balloon. “I’m- I’m going to run another blood culture and make sure his calcium levels are normal,” Chase bullshits, fumbling for an excuse to leave.

“Say bye-bye to the blonde man, Clementine,” Greg tells his daughter.

Chase doesn’t know how to feel when his boss’s daughter waves her chubby little hand and says “bye-bye, blonde man”.

🫀- bonus:

When you swing by Greg’s office after work, you feel a smile pull at your tired lips. On Greg’s chair, your husband has his legs kicked up comfortably on the foot rest. Clementine sleeps silently on him with Greg’s arm wrapped protectively around her little back to prevent her from falling. The soothing chords of the piani drift from Greg’s record player, and you already regret having to wake up the two loves of your life.

[that-anxious-enby]

why are there non-smutty hilson fics? if i wanted to see 2 old men live together, flirt, and have intense homoerotic tension with no payoff, id just watch the show???

[housemdofwolves]

i keep seeing sigma male edits of House and it makes me laugh bc ive written gay smut about that man

[cloudrunnerscinnamon]

An "early-ish" House MD one shot. House and reader :)

The reader experiences a particular bad night and finds herself stuck in the ER with the one and only Greg House. This could really go either way...

gif is not mine (found it on google)

"Getting mugged wasn’t the worst part about my night"

„I’ll do it“ House took the IV-bag from the nurse before she could argue with him. You on the other hand really didn’t want him near you. However, you knew House well so you decided against putting up a fight and let him take care of you. He made clear that he wanted to watch over you, discussion over. Doctor’s orders. 

Wilson, Cuddy and all of  House’s attendees (old and new) were standing a few meters away from the two of you. The initial shock of you getting mugged and being delivered into the ER with a grade 3 concussion and a laceration to the forehead had worn off but they all felt like staying close. Now, in fact, they were shamelessly watching the scene in front of them unfold. They all knew this would probably be the pivoting point of House’s and your relationship. For a month the two of you had been buzzing around each other. Chase had bets running as per usual. Wilson was sure you would crack first and confess to House how you felt about him. Cuddy on the other hand had put in for „House, taking one more risk for the sake of finally finding happiness“, what can you do, she was sappy like that. There were a few more variants going around in the bookie but those were the two most popular. 

It wasn’t like House or you were denying that you liked each other. It was obvious, the amount of time you spent together and the pile of insiders you shared annoyed everyone around you. But whenever somebody tried to inquire, all they ever got was a 

„Oh, House and me?“

„(Y/N) and me?“ 

„We just hang out, we watch the same crappy shows and like to piss of the pizza place with weirdly specific orders.“ 

„Seriously, we are just friends!“ Even Wilson couldn’t coax a confession out of his stubborn friend. 

Funny thing, neither of you wanted to screw things up by showing your cards. 

„This will sting a bit,“ House was sitting on a chair in front of you taking your hand in his and carefully inserting an intravenous catheter. His hands were steady and his movements well practiced. You still hissed a little when the needle pierced through your skin and you could feel House’s blue eyes immediately on your face. He wanted to say something but reconsidered busying himself again with attaching the tube of the IV- bag to the IV-line. 

„Sure didn’t sting as much as the rest of the night,“ you snatched your hand away as soon as House seemed satisfied with his work. 

„And no, I am not talking about getting mugged.“ The harsh tone of your voice surprised you. Yes you were hurting because of him and yes you were out of your mind from the pain in your chest, your heart, but still. Wounding House didn’t give you any pleasure or redemption. It still sucked. All of it. Stacy sucked, their kiss sucked and what you heard him say, well, that just was the cherry on top. 

House didn’t get up from his chair but remained right in front of you. The chaotic atmosphere of the ER didn’t seem to phase him at all. Slowly he went to take your hand again but you brushed him off. 

„Fuck off House. I don’t want you near me.“ For a second you could see the pain in his eyes flash, then it was gone again. Replaced by his usual wall of safety guards. Safety guards he had let slowly and steadily dissolve with you. He wasn’t going to give up that easily now.

„Yeah, sorry I’m not going anywhere.“ House sounded firm even though you were sure he was confused and so out of his comfort zone. Him prolonging eye contact and taking a „stance“ was all just an act to hide his feelings and ever growing insecurity. For once the doctor was actually scared to lose someone. Displaying confidence and nonchalance was all he knew how to do right now. 

„What? I am not being funny here.“ You leaned further back, unconsciously creating more distance between you and House. Why didn’t he just leave already. Did he take some weird pleasure in knowing that you had overheard his and Stacy’s conversation? That earlier this week you had seen them kiss in his office? You were so angry and hurt that getting mugged almost felt like a nice distraction. 

„Just go!“ You made a flinging motion with your hand and your voice broke from all the emotions. House scrunched up his face and squinted his eyes at you like he simply didn’t understand what was going on. He was confused by your actions. He was here, he was taking care of you and still you wanted him to leave. 

„Why do you want me to go away?“ His voice was small, he seemed sincere which made you want to jump out of your skin. Sad, hurt, humiliated all of which you were feeling right now but deep down there was also frustration and anger. All those month of casually hanging out and spending time together. Was that all a lie? It had felt so genuine. Could you have been so wrong about another person? You sure weren’t stupid. You had never thought of yourself as the one that would change House. You knew many had and tried to be friends as well as love interests and they had all failed more or less miserably. You simply enjoyed being around him as he was. You liked being his friend. Oh how very stupid you felt now. Friends? Your thoughts were interrupted by House’s voice. It sounded modulated like he was really trying to stay in control of his demeanor.

„(Y/N)?“  

Irritatingly for you the shock of getting mugged, the thudding pain in your skull and Stacy’s performance had taken a big chunk out of your self-control. There just wasn’t anything left to hold back the emotions from spilling over. Tears blurred your vision and your mouth twisted into a thin line. At least you were able to hold back that sob building in your throat. You knew you couldn’t take it much longer, something had got to give. 

„Because it hurts to look at you.“ And there it was. Painfully aware of all the people around you and House blankly staring at you. Was he in shock? Your voice had been so much more penetrating than you had anticipated. Shit, where did all that pain come from all of the sudden? Why weren’t you able to look away from those blue eyes? Was he even breathing? Were you breathing? Why was it so quiet? Was anyone breathing? 

„I love you and you crushed my heart!“ Those eight words had slipped out of your mouth before you even noticed they had formed on your tongue. Your own thoughts betraying you and that at the worst time. Why was your face so wet? Then the blue eyes were gone. House remained unnervingly silent. He had however gotten up from the chair. The doctor’s back was turned towards you. His right hand held onto an unused IV-stand. Was he steadying himself? Might be his leg but the pain had gotten a little less excruciating of late. You knew that because he had confided in you. Hot tears were still running down your reddened face while you stared at House’s unmoving figure.

Behind the two of you, at the reception counter of the ER, Wilson shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He huffed out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. Cuddy throw a cautious look at him. They both felt bad. Usually Chase’s bets didn’t turn into such a flurry of dramatic events. Wilson could sense the rising uneasiness of his colleagues around him. He cleared his throat and leaned back a little, turning his head towards Chase. 

„Now that it happened I don’t know why you let me place that bet.“ Chase’s arms were crossed in front of his chest. He silently stared at (Y/N) and House. 

„This is totally upsetting and those are our friends.“ Wilson knew the Aussie doctor wouldn’t let him off the hook that easy and he especially wouldn’t lend any emotional comfort. 

„So you forfeit?“ Chase raised an eyebrow at Wilson. 

„I,“ Wilson hesitated, his moral compass was spinning like a merry-go-round. 

„No, I don’t. I just think we are terrible friends.“ 

Chase snorted and rolled his eyes. 

„Just because we took on bets doesn’t mean we aren’t their friends. Or well (Y/N)’s friends, I don’t know about House. Does House actually have friends?“ 

Wilson looked dumbfounded and left Chase hanging for a good comeback. The other doctor took that as enough of an answer. Just then Chase‘s pager went off. He glanced at it quickly and with another nod towards Wilson, he pushed himself off the reception counter, he had been leaning against and left.

The machines, next to the bed you were sitting on, started to beep loudly. Immediately House turned around and checked for the reason of the onslaught of alarms. A nurse standing nearby also rushed over. You followed House’s line of vision and quickly realized that your condition hadn’t suddenly taken a turn for the worse. The pulse oximeter that had been clamped onto your left index finger had slipped off. You hadn’t even noticed. 

„It’s okay I got it.“ House waved at the nurse stoping her in her track. She just nodded and went back to scribbling on the chart of another patient. House’s hands took a hold of our left one, he slipped the pulse oximeter back on. The noise stopped and the numbers on the screen went back to somewhat normal at least as far as your non existing medical understanding told you. He kept holding your hand and you let him. Your outburst and confession had drained you even more and you were left longing for contact. 

„There, looks good, normal heart rate. So it can’t be crushed.“ House smiled openly at you although it seemed a little too assertive. You couldn’t believe your ears. 

„You are kidding me right?“ Once again you wanted to pull your hand away from his but he held on. It took you a few seconds to untangle your fingers from his, he watched you struggle a bit bevor slowly letting go. You sniffled and tears started to come anew. The way he kept looking at you made you nervous and confused. House’s weird behavior was something you clearly couldn’t deal with. The moodiness, rude arrogance and sheer lack of interest in other people’s necessities you could handle – but this? This was worrisome. 

„House, please just – just leave.“ It sounded like a plea, your tremulous voice not helping. However House didn’t respond. He looked back up to the monitors again, busying himself, biding his time. You knew he wasn’t gonna leave. A frustrated huff through your nose. Shaking your head in disbelieve you let its weight sink down into your hand, rubbing over your forehead. 

„Why do you call me House?“ Your head snapped back up. The blue eyes were on yours again. 

"You never call me House.“ He said his own name like something foreign, something he had to get his tongue acquainted with.

„It’s always been Greg,“ his eyes fell and you had to bend forward a little to still hear him. „Right from the beginning. You only ever use House when you talk to other people.“ To say you were shocked was an understatement. 

„Seriously? This is what you are going with?“ The harshness of your tone was matched my House’s soft response. You had never seen him so abashed.

„Just tell me,“ a quiver at the right corner of his lips, „Please?“ This, you weren’t able to deny. House was either being sincere in all his coyness or he was playing you to get what he wanted but whichever it was, you couldn’t stop yourself from indulging him.

„I call you House because everybody does and I am not special.“ Fast and prompt, no time to think about your choice of words. This day wasn’t gonna get any worse, was it? Might as well lean into it then. House was right though. You had always preferred calling him Greg. You understood that at work people referred to him as House. It was both formal and still not too friendly for coworkers. In the beginning you hadn’t actually really noticed that hardly anybody besides you called him Greg but when you realized it you couldn’t help but ask yourself why. The nature of your relationship (or friendship to be correct) was purely pleasure. You didn’t share anything work related and so the version of House you hung out with struck you more as a Greg kind of House other than a House House. 

„To call you House is safe,“ you said and in your head you added: and it is less intimate. With a heavy sigh House took a few steps and let himself sink down next to you on the hospital bed. Both your feet were dangling down and you followed the swinging motion with your eyes. For some reason a comfortable silence fell over you. The ER was, now as before, busy but the different sounds and monotonous buzzing worked like a coat slipping around the two of you. There was enough room to stay still in all the hectic. For the next couple of minutes House and you quietly agreed on taking a breather. 

The dull thud of Houses cane on the floor made you jerk up a little. He was going to say something. Repeatedly hitting the and of his cane on the floor was a tell-tale-sign of the Doctor building up to saying something. You had noticed that relatively early, but you weren’t sure if he realized you knew. House would mold the words in his mind until they satisfied him enough to actually say them. You also knew that he only ever did that if he was nervous or stressed out about what he wanted to say. 

„(Y/N), I am not with Stacy. Even though you might think that after what you heard tonight.“ Ah of course, yes, this would definitely make House uncomfortable. You just stayed silent, letting him continue.

„And trust me I know it sounds cliché but it is not what you think it is.“ He half laughed at that, it sounded studded with frustration and a hint of desperation. 

„What is it then? Because it really did sound like the two of you were making up.“ As soon as the words left your mouth you wanted to take them back. You really didn’t want to know. It was enough for you to know that it hurt. 

„You know what? Don’t answer me,“ you lifted your hand, pressing the palm of it against your eyes in an attempt to dampen the headache. It didn’t work and you let your hand sink down again, resting it on your upper thigh. 

„Do you love her?“ Since you had arrived in the ER you had tried to avoid looking at House but the question you had just put to him demanded you to make eye contact. House didn’t immediately answer. His long fingers scratched absentmindedly at his stubbled chin.

„No I don’t and I haven’t for quite some time.“ There was so much conviction in House’s voice that you didn’t doubt he was telling the truth. 

„What I said, what you heard,“ the doctor kept looking around while continuing to explain himself. Scanning over the room but hardly registering what was going on. 

„I wasn’t talking about Stacy and me. But without the proper context I can see how you might think that.“  He snuck a peek at you trying to gauge how this conversation was going. Only the white knuckles of his hand holding his cane in an iron grip gave aways how tense he was. Throwing your hands in the air you could only shake your head. This whole situation was ridiculous. 

„You kissed, I saw you, in your office.“ you said bluntly. You were ready to start a fight. Leaving everything pent up wasn’t gonna work. If House thought he could fool you with this talkative demeanor you were sure as hell gonna make him work for it.  

„I know and I felt awful“ Small voice, barely more than a murmur and two absurdly blue irises. Aaaaand there you crumbled again. You involuntarily mimicked House’s wispy smile.

„Didn’t look like that,“ you muttered. He grabbed your hand carefully avoiding the IV catheter. His fingers drew small patterns on the back of your hand. 

„Well do you believe me if I say you got that the wrong way around as well?“ 

Yes, your thoughts screamed and you wanted to threw yourself into House’s arms. Instead you pressed out a, „No.“ 

But he let you have that one, making sure you could keep your dignity. 

„Fair enough“. House intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing them a little. He sucked in a breath of air.

„But,“ drawing out the vowel, House made his point anyways,“I’m sorry, you do have it the wrong way around.“ Was that his teasing tone? Was he actually mocking you? To be fair you could feel the tension draining from your body. If anyone would ever try to convince you that House wasn’t able to understand emotions and steer them empathetically you would just laugh in their face. Which is also what you did now. You laughed because frankly you were overwhelmed.

„Whatever. This is humiliating.“ You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or to laugh.

„She kissed me.“ House added, looking all dopy and school boyish. You gaped at him. House was carefully maneuvering this sinking wreck off a ship into saver waters and you knew it but it was still annoying you. Why was it working? 

„Oh well that changes everythi–„ You jumped right on board and countered sarcastically but House cut in.

„Yeah no, I know it doesn’t.“ He agreed with you however he wanted you to fully understand the circumstances. 

„The only reason I let her was because I am shit at feelings.“ House shrugged his shoulders.

„What? Sorry you lost me. You are shit at feelings so you kiss your married Ex-wife?“ Was he kidding you? Your hand slipped away from his and you tugged your arms tightly around your middle. You didn’t want to fell like that but anger and frustration where front runners again. House got the message. When he talked next the lightness in his voice was gone.

„If you are shit at feelings you might not be able to trust them. Sometimes I need actions to fully understand them. Actions I get and I am good at them.“

Your mouth opened but potential words were stopped by an index finger pressed against your lips.

„Ah ah ah wait!“ The Doctor removed his finger and continued.

„So when she kissed me I was able to say goodbye,“ he paused for a second, “ because there was nothing. No love, no anger or other sentiment. It was only a kiss which I did not particular care for. It cleared my head.“ 

„Hmm.“ Not as articulate as you would have liked to be but you couldn’t manage more, so you just kept listening. 

„I wanted to come after you. I…“, House hesitated then he turned a little more towards you. He wanted to see your eyes but you kept your gaze low. 

„Your face. The way you just turned around and left.“ His voice was husky.

„I told Stacy then, what I just told you… and to be fair she was pissed. I should have know that she wouldn’t leave it at that.“ A bitter chuckle slipped from House’s mouth and he shook his head. The doctor was lost in his thoughts for a second. Your voice pulled him back into the ER.

„So when you asked me to come by to talk, you in fact wanted to talk?“ Maybe all was not lost. Maybe just, maybe this day had still something good to offer.

„Oh yes, yes I did and other stuff“ A cheeky grin appeared on House’s face and he softly bumped his shoulder agains yours. When you looked at him he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

„Shut up,“ you snorted. This man is unbelievable. 

„Not funny yet?“ He lightly poked your thigh, testing the waters. 

„Nooooo,“ you said, returning the shoulder bump. 

You looked at each other, wary smiles meeting. House drew in a heavy breath then. He still had a few things he wanted to say, get out of his system. 

„Stacy rang the doorbell 10 minutes before you. She must have left the door ajar. And the rest, you witnessed first hand.“ He scratched the back of his neck and proceeded.

„Annoyingly not all of it. Seeing that we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.“

You nodded slowly, processing. Neither of you knew what to say now so you just kept sitting next to each other. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward it just seemed necessary to pause for a bit. 

After a few minutes you suddenly had this weird feeling of being watched. You became more aware of your surroundings and let your eyes drift. Behind you, at the reception counter you saw House’s attendees as well as Cuddy and Wilson jump apart like they had been caught red handed. All of them were making it a point to be terribly busy looking. 

„I can’t believe they are all still watching us.“ You nodded towards the group of doctors. House followed your line of sight and you could feel him growing a little bit uneasy. There was no smile on his face and his features seemed more in control. You didn’t want to see him so gloomy after there had just been some kind of light at the end of the tunnel. You wrapped your hand around House’s elbow and tucked a bit. His head turned back to you. You were surprised to find sadness and, what was that? Remorse? Etched into his face.

 „They are making sure I don’t crush your heart twice in one night.“ With the bitterness in House’s words came also a promise. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to make this work and find out what this between the two of you could be. He acknowledged how his actions from earlier had hurt you. Everything about this conversation was so out of character for House that you had a hard time believing you weren’t imagining things. Maybe your concussion was worse than you thought and you were having crazy hallucinations. Could you have hallucinations from concussions?

„Yes, but that is highly unlikely in your case, since the CCT-scan did not pick up any intracerebral bleeding.“ 

„What?“ Surprised you looked at House. 

„Did I just say that out loud?“ The doctor smiled at you amused and your stomach fluttered. You always had liked it when he bestowed you with one of those uncensored grins. 

„Yup.“ House confirmed. Chalking it up to the most ludicrous day you have had in a while you decided to ignore reason and precaution and just trust your gut. You let your head sink against House’s shoulder and immediately the side of your body melted agains him as well. Before a sigh of relieve could escape from you House had already wrapped his arm around your waist. This was nice. It felt good and easy. 

After a while you could feel the weight from House’s head on yours. You watched your feet dangling again. The calm breathing and the warmth between the two of you had you feeling drowsy in no time. A stifled yawn from you and House nuzzled his face into your neck.

„Yeah, me too,“ he whispered.

„How much longer ’til this thing is through,“ you asked quietly while pulling at the tube of the IV-bag. House lifted his head and frowned at the IV-bag. He considered his answer for a couple more seconds and before hopping off the bed.  

„Maybe 10 more minutes. We can speed it up a little.“ The doctor reached for the drip and adjusted the roller clamp. Immediately the solution in the IV-bag started dripping faster and he turned back towards you, sitting back down. 

„I don’t want to stay in the hospital,“ You sighed. Next to you House was blowing raspberries, obviously thinking something over. 

„You should with a third degree concussion. But I can take you home and make sure you’re okay.“ House offered looking at you expectantly. You considered your options and figured that the perspective of having House fussing over you wasn’t too bad. Your stomach rumbled loudly. An idea came to you then.

„Do you still have that pizza I brought, at your place?“ House had to chuckle at that and his laugh lines appeared. He nodded.

„Yes I do, at least I didn’t eat it. I went straight after you this time.“ House looked at you carefully, in all the joking there was also truth. Apparently he was satisfied with what he found in your eyes because he continued lightheartedly.

„If nobody broke in and ate it, it should still be sitting on the kitchen counter. “ 

„Great!“ You exclaimed happily.

„I could eat, really had a long night. How about you?“ You really wanted to get out of the hospital and leave the last few hours behind you.

„Nooo, completely normal night. So relaxing.“ House earned a slap from you on his shoulder. 

„Ouch! Don’t hit the cripple.“ His fake whiny voice made you actually laugh out loud and you were so relieved to feel somewhat normal again. 

„How about instead of taking me to my place, we go to yours and warm up that pizza then? I can be on concussion-watch anywhere right?“ With that you slowly slid off the bed, carefully steadying yourself. House watched you, assessing if you really were able to leave the hospital.

„I was kinda planning on that anyways.“ He stood up as well and undid the tube from your IV-catheter. The IV-bag was empty. With his hand he indicated for you to sit down once more. While he removed the IV-catheter from your hand you were happy to run along with the banter. 

„Sure you were. What if I’d refused.“ You cocked an eyebrow at House, challenging him. Even before he spoke you knew there would be some kind of quick-witted comeback.

„Oh I would have just kidnapped you.“ He shrugged his shoulders casually, a big fat grin on his face while he peeled off the adhesive tape that had kept the IV in place. 

„Of course.“ You laughed. The needle in your arm was gone and House pushed down some gauze on the exit wound. After a few seconds he put a plaster over it to keep it in place.You used his focus to study his features. There was still that smile on House’s face, though it had faded a little. You wondered what was on his mind. The heaviness that started to appear on his forehead couldn’t be from doing some routine doctor stuff. Just when you wanted to go for it an ask House what was going on, he mumbled your name.

„(Y/N)?“ Was his voice shacking? Your heart sank. Please don’t mess this up. Your imagination started to run wild and you feared for the worst.

„Hm?“ you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable let down.

„Can you not… can you maybe?“ House leaned closer to you. He seemed oblivious to your emotional turmoil. The whispering made his voice sound rough. With another sharp intake of air he took the plunge. 

„You are special, you know. To me you really are special.“The words tumbled out of his mouth practically rolling over each other. You scooped them up, holding them, they felt soft and warm to the touch. 

„So could you maybe not do the House-thing like everyone else?“

You smiled at him. This was big. House just committed to talking about his feelings leaving himself unguarded in the process. 

„Okay, Greg.“ 

[alilixx]

Heyy could u write a greg house x reader

Shes a doctor or prob a surgeon and its like season 1 ep 13 , she gets sick and needs a heart transplant or something like that but she doesn’t want to then house convinces her coz he likes her and house lies for her so she can get the transplant and they used to flirt before and all but after that they confess about liking each other and start dating ☺️ thanks

IM SOO SORRYYY SCHOOL STARTED AGAINNN SOO LESS TIME FOR WRITE FANFIC BUT I WILL TRY WRITE FOR EVERY WEDNESDAY AND WEEKEND <33

Surgeon!FemReader x Gregory House

You had already noticed unusual signs for several weeks. At first, it was just fatigue. Nothing more. You convinced yourself it was due to your endless hours in the operating room, those sleepless nights that kept piling up. Just a bit of exhaustion, something every surgeon knows well. But the palpitations intensified, followed by slight dizziness, then that crushing sensation in your chest, as if your own heart was fighting against you. You eventually ran a series of tests, discreetly, hoping it was nothing.

But the results didn’t lie: severe dilated cardiomyopathy. Your heart, your most precious instrument, the one that allowed you to save lives day after day, was betraying you. But you refused to believe it.

Today, as you sat in House’s office, surrounded by his diagnostic team, you were desperately searching for a way out, an alternative explanation. Something that would prove this was all a mistake. After all, you were a doctor, you knew diagnoses were never infallible.

"I want your opinion," you finally said, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from what was coming next. "I did my own tests, but I want to be sure. Maybe I'm too involved to see things clearly."

House looked up, intrigued by your direct tone. "Too involved? You mean, too much in denial."

Cameron stepped forward to review your results, her eyes scanning every detail. "The echocardiograms clearly show dilatation of the heart chambers. You already have a heart murmur, you’ve felt it, haven’t you?"

You frowned, hesitating to respond. Of course you had felt it. But admitting it would make everything more real.

"I want to believe it’s something else," you murmured, your voice betraying, for the first time, a hint of vulnerability. "I’m a surgeon. I can’t... afford to have a failing heart."

Foreman shook his head, pragmatic as always. "You can’t afford not to act either. If you let this get worse, you won’t even have the chance to enter the operating room next time."

You looked away, your throat tight. Fear was rising inside you, a fear you hadn’t felt in a long time. You had always been able to control everything, every incision, every move. But now, it was your own body slipping through your fingers.

House, as always, wasted no time twisting the knife.

"It’s fascinating. You’d rather believe that all this will resolve itself, as if your heart is just going to miraculously decide to heal. Spoiler alert: it won’t." He tilted his head, scrutinizing your face. "But I’m curious. Why consult my team if you’ve already done the tests yourself? Looking for validation or an excuse to do nothing?"

His sarcasm irritated you, but you knew he was right. "Because I want... I want to be sure."

"Sure of what? That you’re dying? Let me confirm it for you, you are. Now that’s settled, we can move on to the next step: you’re refusing the only solution that could save you because you’re afraid of losing control. Interesting, but not surprising."

"I’m not afraid," you retorted, more to convince yourself than to answer him.

House didn’t believe you for a second. He moved closer, leaning his cane against the edge of his desk.

"You’re lying to yourself." His gaze pierced through yours, as if he could see past all your defenses. "You’ve seen how many transplants fail. But you’ve also seen how many succeed. So why condemn yourself when you know you have a chance to make it?"

Silence fell over the room. His words struck you deeper than you wanted to admit. You had spent months running from this reality, pretending it was just a passing episode. But here you were, sitting in front of specialists who left you no escape. That’s when House chose to play his final card.

"I’m going to ask you a very simple question." He sat back behind his desk, tapping the file of his favorite patient: you. "Do you want to die just to stay loyal to your own arrogance? Or do you want to live long enough to annoy me even more?"

You felt a strange warmth rising to your cheeks. House hadn’t spoken those words with his usual cynicism. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you knew he genuinely cared about you. And that thought unsettled you more than anything else.

You lowered your eyes to your trembling hands. You were a surgeon, a strong person. Yet, for the first time in a long while, you felt vulnerable. And House had seen it from the very beginning.

The silence in House’s office was heavy after the intense discussion about your condition. The diagnosis was now certain: a heart transplant was your only chance. Yet, one question remained, one that had been haunting you. If you were really going to undergo this operation, there was only one person you trusted enough to put your life in their hands: House.

So, in a rare moment of vulnerability, you took a deep breath and asked the question you had been dreading from the start.

"I want it to be you. You’ll be my surgeon."

The team exchanged stunned glances. House, however, remained silent for a moment, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. Then he let out a dry laugh.

"Me? No. Bad idea. Very bad idea."

You frowned, stung by his reaction. "Why? You’re one of the best doctors I know."

House straightened up, pressing his cane against the floor before fixing you with an unusually serious look. "I’m not a surgeon. I diagnose. I play with ideas, I take risks, but I don’t hold a scalpel over living patients. I don’t do surgeries."

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He was so confident, so skilled at solving impossible cases, and yet, here in front of you, he seemed hesitant. You stepped closer to him, determined to understand.

"Are you afraid of messing up?" you asked, your voice low but sharp.

House let out a sarcastic laugh, but you sensed a certain nervousness behind his tone. "No, I’m afraid of killing someone because of my damn leg and my trembling hands. If you want someone to do this surgery without screwing it up, ask a real surgeon."

His rejection hurt you deeply. You had opened up to him, and he was pushing you away without a moment’s hesitation. You felt anger rising within you, mixed with the pain of a feeling you didn’t want to name.

"I thought I could trust you," you whispered, your eyes burning with disappointment. "But I see I was wrong."

Before he could respond, you turned on your heels and left the office, leaving House and the team behind. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as you walked towards your own uncertain future. Your heart was pounding painfully, both physically and emotionally. He had rejected you when you had offered him your fragile trust.

A few days later, you found yourself in the pre-op room, your face calm, but your mind in turmoil with conflicting emotions. You had finally accepted the transplant, even though it terrified you. Another surgeon had been assigned for the operation, a competent colleague, but not House. His refusal still haunted you, the abrupt way he had pushed you away, as if your life meant nothing to him.

The medical team busied themselves around you, but all you could hear was a dull hum, lost in your thoughts. An anesthesiologist approached, and as you lay down on the operating table, a strange sense of calm washed over you.

Then, in the haze of preparation, something caught your attention. A voice, familiar, behind the masks and caps.

"Start the anesthesia. We’re going ahead with the transplant."

You weakly opened your eyes. It was House.

Your heart skipped a beat, as if, even before the surgery, he already knew how to unsettle you. You tried to move, to speak, but the anesthesia was already taking effect. Everything became blurry, but you heard his voice clearly, that deep, slightly rough voice that comforted you despite yourself.

"Sleep now, it'll be fine. You’ll be alive to yell at me later."

Then total darkness.

You woke up in a hospital room. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, and you felt a dull ache in your chest. But more than that, you felt your heart beating. A new heart. A strange sensation, both comforting and unsettling.

You slowly turned your head, and to your surprise, you saw House sitting in the corner of the room, his gaze fixed on you. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes locked on yours with a new intensity, almost worried.

"I knew you were stubborn, but you really outdid yourself this time," he said, without a hint of humor.

You looked at him, still too weak to speak. Then, slowly, you remembered what had happened before the surgery. He had refused. You had been hurt. But now, he was here.

"You... operated on me?" you finally murmured, your voice hoarse.

House gave a slight nod, avoiding your gaze for a moment. "Yeah. I didn’t really have a choice, apparently. Everyone’s incompetent except me." But there was something else in his voice, an unspoken admission.

You tried to sit up, but the pain in your chest made you wince. House immediately stood up and moved closer to you. "Take your time. Don’t be stupid."

You stared at him, still in shock from what you had just discovered. "Why? Why did you do it when you said you didn’t want to?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because..." He paused, searching for the right words. That wasn’t like him. "Because I couldn’t let another surgeon kill you. If someone was going to save you or lose you, it had to be me."

He looked straight into your eyes, and this time, you saw the fear behind his usual cynicism. The fear of losing you, the fear of failing. It wasn’t just about the surgery, it was about feelings, the ones he didn’t want to admit, but which were so clear in that suspended moment.

"You were scared," you said softly, a slight smile on your lips. House looked away, grumbling. "I’m not afraid of anything. I’m just smarter than everyone else."

But you knew. You knew he had taken this risk because he cared about you, even if he would never say it outright. You placed your hand on his, a simple gesture, but one that spoke for you. And, against all odds, he didn’t pull his hand away.

The days following the surgery were filled with moments of uncertainty and relief. Each steady beat of your new heart was a promise that life would go on, a victory against fate. But something lingered, like a palpable tension between you and House. He came to see you almost every day, always with his usual sarcasm, but something had changed.

That morning, you woke up with the same familiar pain in your chest, but this time it was different — the pain of healing. You slowly sat up in your bed, observing the soft light filtering through the hospital curtains. Your body was still weak, but each day felt like a small victory. And despite the fatigue, you were more clear-headed than ever.

The door to your room opened gently, and of course, House walked in, leaning on his cane with that familiar limp you knew so well. He stared at you for a moment, as if assessing your condition, then casually remarked:

"How’s my favorite patient? Still alive, apparently."

You managed a smile, even though part of you still wondered why he could never be serious for more than a few seconds. "I’m doing well, Greg. And you know it."

He raised an eyebrow at the sound of his name. That wasn’t something you used often. Usually, you always called him "House," like everyone else.

He came closer and sat in the chair next to your bed, letting out a sigh. "Well, that’s good news. I would have hated to explain to the team that I messed up my best patient. That would be bad for my reputation."

You knew he used humor to mask something deeper. A silence settled in, almost comfortable, but filled with unspoken words.

"Why did you decide to operate on me?" you finally asked, breaking the silence. "I hurt you when I asked, but you did it anyway."

House looked away, as he often did when faced with a question that was too personal. He tapped his cane against the floor, searching for words or perhaps a way to sidestep the answer.

"It was a challenge. I couldn’t let another surgeon handle such a complex operation, especially on someone as annoying as you." He smiled, but his gaze betrayed something else, something more sincere. "And I guess I was a little afraid you’d slip away from me."

This confession took you by surprise. You knew House wasn’t the type to openly express his emotions, especially not with such direct words. You watched him in silence, your thoughts swirling. He had taken a huge risk by operating on you, not just medically, but emotionally.

"I’m not going to slip away from you, Greg," you murmured. "Not now."

His eyes settled on you, softer than usual. "Not now," he repeated, almost to himself.

Initially, it was supposed to be temporary. Just long enough for you to fully recover from the surgery, for your body to adjust to the new heart, and for you to be closely monitored, "just in case." House had insisted, almost casually, on this option.

"It would be stupid to leave you alone. If something goes wrong, I’d rather have you in my sight, not on the other side of town," he had said, as if the decision was purely pragmatic.

You had hesitated. Living at House's, even temporarily, seemed risky, given the complexity of your relationship. But somewhere, you felt that beneath his usual cynicism, he genuinely cared about you. So you had agreed, thinking it would last just a few days, maybe a week or two.

The first night at his place was strange. His apartment, which you had visited a few times before, felt more welcoming than you had imagined. A blend of old and modern, of perfectly organized chaos, typical of House. Medical books stacked everywhere, piano sheets scattered about, whiskey bottles casually left on the coffee table. You felt like an intruder in his space, but he made no effort to make you feel otherwise.

"Make yourself at home. I don’t have silk pillows or almond milk, but there’s unlimited Ibuprofen," he had said, settling onto his couch with a glass of whiskey.

That first night was calm. House kept an eye on you from the corner of his gaze, even though he pretended to be absorbed in an old documentary. Despite the strangeness of the situation, a certain serenity had settled in.

The next day, as you began to get used to this new arrangement, someone knocked at the door. You weren’t expecting visitors, especially not this early in the morning. House, already up (for once), went to open it, and you immediately recognized the familiar voice of James Wilson.

"Hey, House, I brought donuts. I wanted to talk to you about a case..." His voice cut off abruptly as he entered the living room and saw you sitting on the couch, a cup of tea in hand.

The silence that followed was almost comical. Wilson looked at you, then at House, then back at you, as if he had stumbled upon a scene he couldn’t quite comprehend.

"What the... ? What are you doing here?"

You gave a slight smile, a bit embarrassed, while House, completely unfazed, grabbed one of the boxes of donuts that Wilson had brought.

"She lives here. Well, temporarily," House replied before taking a bite out of a donut, as if the situation was perfectly normal.

Wilson stood there, speechless for several seconds. "You... you let her live with you? You?"

House shrugged. "It’s easier for post-operative monitoring. And besides, she’s not unbearable. Well, not all the time."

Wilson blinked, still in shock. He slowly sat down on a chair, setting down the other box of donuts. "That... that’s so unlike you, Greg."

"Well, maybe I’ve changed. Or maybe it’s just convenient." House made a dismissive gesture, but you could see that even for him, this situation was still new.

Wilson gave you a questioning look, searching for answers. You simply shrugged, an amused smile on your lips. "It’s temporary, really."

Wilson shook his head, clearly disturbed but also amused. "If you tell me he let you choose a movie last night, I think I’m going to faint."

You laughed lightly, and even House cracked a small smile, despite himself. The tension slowly faded, and Wilson relaxed, even though he continued to shoot you incredulous glances from time to time.

Days passed, and what was supposed to be a temporary arrangement stretched on longer than expected. There was no specific date for your departure, and House didn’t seem in a hurry to see you go. In fact, he even seemed to enjoy your presence, even if he categorically refused to admit it.

One evening, as you settled into the couch with a blanket over your knees, House sat down next to you without a word. He turned on the TV and flipped through channels until he found an old black-and-white movie. It had become a routine: you spent the evenings together, sometimes in silence, sometimes exchanging sarcastic comments about what you were watching.

It was in this tranquility that Wilson made his second appearance at House's place.

"I brought wine," he announced as he walked in, looking noticeably more comfortable with the situation this time.

You smiled, shifting a bit to make room for him. House raised an eyebrow. "Wine? Since when do you bring wine to my place?"

Wilson shrugged. "I thought we could celebrate... I don’t know, this strange normality?" He glanced at you as if to make sure everything was okay.

The evening went off without a hitch. The wine flowed, sarcasm flew, and Wilson, despite his more serious habits, allowed himself to be caught up in the relaxed atmosphere. The movies changed on the screen, but soon it was the discussions that took over.

"I have to say, I’m still surprised you let her stay," Wilson remarked, casting a glance at House.

House, lounging casually on the couch, responded without really looking at Wilson. "It’s not so bad. She doesn’t bother me too much. Unlike you."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I bring you wine, I do my best not to invade your space, and this is how you thank me."

You laughed, shaking your head. "He doesn’t know how to do anything else, James. You know him."

"That’s true," Wilson replied with a smile. "But anyway, I’m glad you’re recovering well. He seems to be taking good care of you."

You turned to House, who was clearly avoiding your gaze. "He’s doing what he can," you said softly, but with a smile in your voice.

House pretended not to hear, focusing on the television. But in his silences, you could feel that he was getting used to this new life.

Days passed, and what was supposed to be a temporary living arrangement quietly settled into a routine. Little by little, you had begun to integrate into House's daily life, and he, without a word, had allowed you to do so.

One evening, after a long day at the hospital, you got home before him. House had sent you a terse message: "I’ll be late. Bistro operation in the kitchen." You smiled at his words, already imagining what that meant.

Tired but determined not to let it get you down, you began rummaging through House's kitchen cabinets. He had everything, but nothing was in its place. A controlled chaos that, surprisingly, made sense to you. You grabbed some vegetables and an old skillet, determined to prepare something before his return. The kitchen was a place where you could lose yourself in simple tasks, away from the complexities of your work as a surgeon.

A few dozen minutes later, as you were focused on a sauce you were preparing, the door opened. House entered, looking tired but intrigued by the aromas wafting from the kitchen.

"Are you pretending to be a chef now?" he said as he approached you.

You smiled without turning around, continuing to stir the sauce. "I thought it would be a change from pizza boxes and whiskey."

House leaned in slightly to smell what you were making, nodding his head in approval. "I suppose that works for me. But if it’s bad, you’ll hear me complain for days."

You chuckled softly, knowing very well he meant it half-seriously. He made no attempt to push you away from the kitchen; on the contrary, he grabbed a knife and started slicing the bread, his movements precise despite the cane that always lingered nearby.

The scene was almost domestic. House, with his usual sarcasm, and you, focused on your sauce. You didn’t talk much, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a certain peace in these simple moments. You sensed that he was getting used to this new dynamic, even though he was still incapable of admitting it out loud.

"I have to admit," he finally said, slicing a piece of bread, "you’re not doing too badly for a surgeon. Maybe it’s time to change careers."

You gave him an amused look. "You say that now, but just wait until you taste it."

"Oh, I fully intend to critique every bite."

He was smiling slightly, but you could feel the bond growing a little stronger with each shared meal, each simple task completed together.

It had been a long time since you had left the operating room, but you didn’t miss your home at all, and House understood that... well, House is House.

A few weeks later, after several similar evenings, you had finally made official what was happening between you. It hadn’t been a grand romantic declaration, far from it. As with everything involving House, things had evolved naturally, in a sort of unspoken agreement that was becoming clearer and clearer. One evening, as you were both settled on the couch, he had placed his hand over yours, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Do you mind if we drop the ‘temporary’?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the television screen.

You felt your heart race, even though the question was posed in that casual tone that characterized him. You squeezed his hand slightly in response, your smile overshadowing the answer you didn’t even need to say. Indeed, it was his way of asking you to be his girlfriend.

The following Monday, things were different, but not enough to shake up the universe of Princeton-Plainsboro. You had decided to keep nothing hidden, but without making it a topic of conversation. After all, it was impossible to hide anything from House’s team.

Wilson, of course, was the first to react. When he saw you enter the hospital together that morning, he furrowed his brow, an expression somewhere between amusement and surprise.

"So, it’s official? You finally made it official?"

True to form, House simply rolled his eyes. "Officially? If it makes you happy to label it that way, then yes."

Wilson smiled, a little too pleased with himself. "I knew this would happen, but I have to say, it’s impressive that you held out this long before admitting it."

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, amused by the dynamic between the two friends. "He has his moments of resistance," you added jokingly.

But the real test came when you arrived in the diagnostic room, where House’s team was already gathered. Chase, Cameron, and Foreman were discussing a new case, but they all looked up when you walked in together.

Chase was the first to react, his eternal smirk in place. "Oh, I see. That’s why we all stayed until midnight last week. You had ‘personal’ plans."

House stopped, crossing his arms with a piercing look. "You’re right, Chase. And if you keep talking, you’ll end up with the chore of sanding the autopsy room again. Unless, of course, you want to find yourself a social life."

Foreman cracked a playful smile while Cameron seemed half-surprised, half-envious. "So... you’re together?" she asked with a mix of shyness and curiosity.

You exchanged a glance with House. You hadn’t discussed how you were going to handle this with the rest of the team, but it seemed it was already out in the open.

"Yes," you replied simply, with confidence. "We’re together."

Without missing a beat, House added with a smirk, "But don’t worry. It’s not going to affect my desire to make your lives miserable."

You had gotten into the habit of cooking together from time to time, even though House continued to tease you about your culinary skills. You also spent many quiet evenings talking about everything and nothing or simply watching movies in silence.

One evening, as you were chopping vegetables in the kitchen, House approached you and set a glass of wine on the counter.

"Looks like we’ve become boring, huh?"

You laughed softly, setting down the knife. "If that’s what you call boring, I’m perfectly fine with that."

He looked at you, a smile softer than usual on his lips. "Well, as long as you’re okay with it, I guess I can get used to the boredom."

It was the first time he admitted, without sarcasm or dark humor, that he enjoyed this new life together. And you knew that behind his facade was a man deeply attached, even if he showed it in his own way.

[di-writes-stuff]

loml

Greg House x Reader

A/N: So, I haven’t written anything in months. Whoopsies! (I have no excuse, I just didn’t want to.)

TW: It’s House. There’s your trigger warning. (Drugs.)

“Who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames, if we know the steps anyway?”

This is a mistake.

That’s the only thought that runs through your head as you sit in the sterile examination room, the chair under you hard and entirely uncomfortable. It’s fitting, nothing about this will be pleasant, you knew it going in.

And yet you still did. You walked into this damn hospital, snuck around like some criminal, praying that you wouldn’t run into him before the time was right. If it ever is, it never really has been with you two. Maybe it never will be, maybe the world is trying to tell you something you’re just too stubborn to hear. How many times can you keep going back to the same broken thing?

Apparently you haven’t hit your limit yet, considering where you are.

It’s like every nerve in your body spurs to life as the door slides open and he walks in. Him, House. His eyes are glued to the chart in his hand, not really bothering to look at you. He’d treat his patients through the door if he could.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks in a way that’s so typically him you almost roll your eyes. Abrasive, cold, these should be red flags. They are, you just don’t care.

Maybe he had a point with all the masochist jokes.

You quickly refocus, clearing your throat and waiting. For what, you’re not sure. Obviously he’ll look up, recognize you as, well, you. His ex, but that’s not even close to covering whatever twisted role it is you serve in his life. On and off for…how long? Years, you know that. Two, at least, maybe more. There’s always something wrong, something ruining your chances. The drugs, the painfully obvious emotional unavailability. The same one you ignored the existence of when you decided to come here.

Then there’s you. The constant desire you have for more. More devotion, more love, more than he’s willing to give.

Or more than he can, you refuse to explore that option.

You’re fucked, simply. There’s no possible way that you two work. It’s too much conflict, more than a mouthful of pills or some hate sex can solve.

His eyes flick up and widen as he freezes. Speechless. In another circumstance you’d be proud of this. It’s an achievement after all, he never does know when to shut his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting you, not for a second. Maybe he should’ve. You’ve always been stubborn, a trait you both share. It made for some agonizingly long arguments, and some wildly good make up.

That’s the issue with you two. You are eachother. It’s why you’re so chaotic together. It’s also why you can’t be with anybody else.

“Hey.” You say weakly, and the word feels stupid as it comes out of your mouth. You’re long past pleasantries, which is exactly why you receive silence in return.

You knew he’d be like this.

You feel your face heating in humiliation anyway. At the very least, you won’t cry, you won’t let yourself.

The stinging sensation in your nose is persistent as ever.

He slowly crosses the room, sitting down in the chair next to you, a small creaking noise filling the otherwise empty silence. A thick swallow from you, the awkward drumming of fingers from him. This is painful, and for a second you hope his pager will go off. He’d bolt with an excuse, you know he would. And because you’re the same, you would too. And then you’d be back, in a week, maybe a month, and it’d be even worse.

You’ve always had a knack for self-destruction.

You both know how it ended last time. All over a stupid bet. Cuddy thought he couldn’t make it a week without Vicodin, he thought he could. Back when he was still adamant about denying his addiction. Halfway through it might as well have been torture. Deep into detoxing, and still, he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t listen as you begged him to stop being so childish, so stubborn. He wouldn’t even let you come near him, let alone help. He said it’s cause he didn’t need your pity.

In reality, he just didn’t want you to see him like that. Nobody would. Every inch of his pale, shaking frame was covered in sweat, bags under his eyes and a bloodshot gaze had him looking damn near dead.

He was sick, and he hated having to face it more than anything. The Greg House being forced to admit he was wrong. Sometimes you wondered if he’d rather die than say it out loud.

Neither of you handled it well, you never do. He was too stupid to see the obvious, see that he needed help. Needed you. And you, you were too sensitive to let it go. Let him go. Give up on any hope that this could go anywhere.

You still are, and you feel it keenly as the two of you sit in silence. His eyes are trained on you, and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d think the look in his eyes was judgement. But no, it’s a myriad. Confusion, anger, guilt, longing. All things he’d never admit. That’d be far too human.

“Say something.” Your voice comes out pleading, a tone you loathe on yourself.

He turns to you, his eyes tracing over your every feature like he can’t decide which one to settle on. How many times has he seen you like this? Desperate, vulnerable, because of him. He loses count. He wants to forget it, but you have to go through the motions. Pretend you’ve worked through your issues so you can live in a momentary state of bliss. Maybe it’ll last a few months this time. Could be less, if he really screws it up.

He’ll take what he can get.

“What do you want me to say?” The words come out harsh, cold, and for a moment he expects you to turn away. You don’t. Of course you don’t.

You sigh heavily, you expected it, the ice you’d be met with. You know him intrinsically, predicting his moves like the plot twists of a movie you’ve watched one too many times.

“Something, anything.” This is sad, pathetic, even. You always do this. Go back to each other, pulling out a past that’s probably better off left in the dark closet it belongs to. Still, how can you just forget? The idea feels foreign after all this time weaving in and out of one another’s lives.

Still, this is familiar, comfortable, in a way. The feigned indifference, the cold tone, the need to pretend neither of you care nearly as much as you do. It would be easier, less painless, to just move on. Have lives separate from each other.

But he’s starting to think he lives off pain. Physical and mental. It’s all he’s known for years. Why change a routine that’s become so commonplace? And even with the pain, he’s never been happier than he was with you. You understand him, and the part of him that hates that kneels to the part that needs it.

The break ups, the separation, it’s all just a low between highs. Ones he finds far more addicting than the pills sitting in his pocket.

He begins tapping his cane on the floor, a restless rhythm. “I miss you.” His voice is deadpan as the words come out, and you know why. He’s being honest, his tone can’t betray how hard that really is for him. He leans his head back, letting it thud against the wall behind you in a way that makes you flinch.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s just saying what you want to hear.

You quickly remember who you’re talking to.

He lets his knee fall sideways, brushing against yours. It’s tiny, imperceivable, almost. If you weren’t so clued into everything he was doing, maybe you wouldn’t have noticed it. But you did, your eyes flicking down to the point of contact. It feels dangerous.

“I missed you too.” Your voice is shaky, quiet, pathetic. To you, at least. Most might see this as normal. A healthy display of vulnerability. You, though. This is hell. It is for him too. It’s also necessary. Maybe this is your twisted way of proving yourselves to each other, giving evidence to your devotion.

“This won’t end well.” He says, pragmatic as always. Cold, sensible. Too smart for hoping, waiting on change that’ll never come.

“I know.” And I’m here anyway. Words go unspoken, you’ve had enough honesty for today.

He sighs, and the noise is too tired. For a second fear settles in that you’re the one doing this to him. That trying to be decent. Trying to be suitable for a relationship is just too much for him to handle.

“Then why are you here?” He knows the answer, he’s not stupid. Maybe he just needs to hear it, and then he’ll get the common sense to tell you to leave. To give up on this, spare both of you the inevitable pain.

You sigh, the idea of having the explain worse than just letting the truth linger unspoken. “What if it works this time?” You know it’s stupid, and you know he’ll tell you just that. For a second you remember something your therapist told you. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. You’d rolled your eyes, told her this wasn’t anything like that. That people can change, you can change.

You stopped going to your appointments after that.

You just look at him, watch as he closes his eyes, running a hand over his face before looking to you. “For how long?” For a second, you think there’s hope in his voice, like he’s waiting for you to lie to him, say this can last forever. It probably will, you think. On and off for the rest of your lives, never stable.

“We can find out.” The words are an invitation, a reckless one. You’ll let him back in, and it’ll end poorly, and you won’t be able to be mad. You knew how this would go from the start, how can you blame him for the inevitable?

He looks to you, and you can tell he’s given up. It was always gonna happen, you wouldn’t stay away forever. No use in wasting time waiting.

“I hate you.” The words are empty. It’s his last ditch effort to push you away. He has to do it, he has to know he didn’t just let you in. Something in him has to hold onto the false belief that he doesn’t need this, that he’s indifferent. That he’s the same cold man he’s always been.

As he mutters the words he reaches out, his hand sliding over your jaw, pulling you in closer.

You smile weakly, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the statement. You know him, you know when he’s lying, and he’s never done a worse job at it than he just did.

You’re hardly inches apart now, your lips nearly ghosting his own. Your voice is shaky as you speak, “Love you too.” As his lips brush yours, he just melts, leaning into you with a fervor he used to call lust. There’s no use pretending that’s all this is now.

The kiss ends all too soon as he pulls away, shallow breaths leaving both of you, filling the silence. You almost wonder if you should leave when his voice sounds, quiet, tentative, all things he’s normally not.

“I’m going to screw this up.” The look in his eyes is guilt for something he hasn’t even done. He will, but you ignore the nagging voice in the back of your head that says to run before he has the chance. Yes, he’s hurt you. It’s not as if you haven’t done the same to him. You know where to aim when you’re mad, and you’ve turned him to a dartboard more times than you can count.

“I’m okay with that.” For a second, as the words fall off your tongue so easily, almost instinctually, you wonder if your mother would be disappointed in you. This isn’t how she raised you. Offering some man a hundred second chances all because what, you love him? Because when it’s good, it really is so good?

Because at the end of the day, you don’t think you could do it. Leave him, live the rest of your life without him in it. You’d wonder, you’d always wonder what would’ve happened if you just gave him one more chance. And so you will, again, and again, and again.

Sometimes you wonder what your life would look like if you’d never met him. Maybe you’d be married, happy with some man who gave you far less trouble than House ever did. You curse the way you find the thought boring. He’s awful, but he’s thrilling. You might even have kids, or at least be ready for one.

You know deep down you could have a future like that, and still, all thoughts of it dissipate when he opens his mouth.

“I’m off at eight.” Self loathing drips from each word. He’s a selfish bastard, he’ll let you forgive him, and time and time again, he’ll know he doesn’t deserve it. Still, he can’t turn you down. He can’t leave. He can’t not have you. The one good thing that’s ever come out of his life. He just can’t. Not when you’re offering.

“I’ll be here.” The words are so horribly fitting. Won’t you always? Will there ever be a time he takes it too far? Or will you always go back to him? Will you always turn away from the better life, the happier life you could have without him?

Yes. It’s always yes, because deep down, you stopped wanting a life without him the second you experienced life with him. Everything else became boring, commonplace, once you’d had him. There’s nothing like House. Not a person, or drug, or liquor strong enough to come close to how he makes you feel. Nothing can make the memory fade, and nothing can replace it either.

There’s no good outcome, it’s either life alone or life with him. And so you let his fingers interlace with your own, let the sensation numb the thought that never left your head this whole time, the one that’ll haunt you on sleepless nights you spend in his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms wrapped around you.

This is a mistake.

A/N: thank u to the taco bell fire sauce packet i quoted.

[kittenlittle24]

Career day

GIF not mine, comment, like and reblog!

Masterlist

You were in the middle of a meeting when your assistant knocked on the door and gave you a note that your daughter’s kindergarten teacher was on the phone. Checking the time, you frowned, it was exactly pick-up time, meaning your husband still had half an hour to be considered late and if she was sick it was close enough for a parent to arrive that she wouldn’t call to update you about it.

You apologized to the present in the room and exited to take the call.

Thanking her before hanging up, you turned to your assistant, “Could you please clear the rest of my schedule? I have to pick up my daughter from the hospital after this meeting.”

Nodding, “Is she alright?”

“She is, her father won’t be for long.”

Stepping out of the elevator you marched straight to the glass-walled office. You saw your daughter sitting in the conference room, at the head of the table with the team surrounding her and the department head making a drink in the kitchenette, his back facing you. She was her dad’s spitting image, brunette, with light blue eyes and, a gorgeous bright smile, as opposed to him though, her smile rarely left her face, whereas he had a permanent scowl.

“Mommy!” The young girl called excitedly which made House turn sharply and grimace.

You entered the office and embraced your daughter who ran to you. You kissed her temple and told her to go wait in the adjacent office.

You stood up and crossed your arms, “You didn’t think her teacher would call me when a strange man comes to pick her up?”

He sat down at the table next to the blond doctor, “Chase isn’t a stranger. Wilson was busy so I couldn’t ask him.”

“Smartass, you’re her father, you are the one supposed to pick her up!”

Sighing, you shook your head before you went to your daughter. You grabbed her backpack and took her hand in yours. You were about to leave when he called after you, “That’s it?”

You turned to him, “I’m not in the mood to argue in front of your team.” You stated before you walked out.

You drove home with your kid in the back seat, you looked in the rearview mirror and smiled at your daughter.

She was staring out the window humming some tune from a cartoon her dad showed and you disapproved.

You were in the midst of making dinner when you heard the front door open and your daughter run to greet her father. You smiled slightly but lowered your head to hide it.

House walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water before he leaned against the doorway, “Are you still mad at me?”

You put your hand in the air to indicate a little bit before turning to take the food out of the oven and taking it to the table.

You both sat down in your usual seats, you and him across each other and your daughter between you, sitting at the head of the table.

She gave a piece of paper to House, who paused eating and asked “What is this?” With a mouthful.

“I have a career day tomorrow, I want you to come.”

Swallowing hard, he put down his fork and sat back in his chair.

“Don’t you want your mom to come?”

She shook her head animatedly, “Mommy’s job is boooring.” She replied stressing the o and making you chuckle.

He drew in a long breath, “No, now eat your dinner.” He stated as a matter of fact and continued eating.

She lowered her head before mumbling she was full and rushing to her bedroom.

“Greg!”

Ignoring you, he picked up the plates and took them to the sink.

You stood up and followed him, putting your hands on your hips as you watched him place the plates in the dishwasher.

He turned to face you and leaned against the counter.

You pointed your finger at him, “You need to start acting like her parent. You don’t pick her up, you spend endless hours at work. I love you and I love being married to you, but if you don’t start being a father to that girl, we’re done.” You warned and left him standing staring after you.

You entered your daughter’s room and sat down on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair and kissing her temple.

“Maybe Uncle James would like to come to career day, he’s a doctor too. I can call him now, he’d be so honored if you ask him. ”

She sniffed and shook her head, “I’m tired.”

Nodding, you kissed her forehead softly and wished her good night.

You shut the door quietly behind you, looking towards the living room, you saw him sitting on the couch, legs up on the table and a glass of bourbon in his hand. You sat down to him, took his glass, and downed it before dropping your head back on the backrest.

“She doesn’t need the kids picking on her for having a crippled dad.”

You turned your head to look at him, “She needs her dad to act like he gives a damn.”

He took the empty glass from you and picked the bottle from the coffee table and poured another finger.

“She doesn’t care about your leg, she idolizes you.“

And it was true, your daughter was convinced that House could do nothing wrong, he was her hero, ever since she was a baby, she was a daddy’s girl.

“She shouldn’t.” He whispered and drank his drink.

You sat up and rubbed his back, “But she does. So please, don’t screw up.”

You leaned to kiss the corner of his lips before you went to bed, he puckered his lips to kiss you back but didn’t turn his head, distracted by his thoughts.

The next morning you got up to make a quick breakfast and wake your daughter up, your husband stayed in bed which wasn’t unusual for him since he never went to work before ten am.

You helped her pick her clothes and get ready, brushed her hair, and braided it.

“I called Uncle James, he’s so thrilled.”

She sighed and nodded, making your heart clench.

You walked together to the kitchen to see House eating a bowl of cereal, wearing a suit.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at seeing him awake but didn’t get the opportunity to question it before a knock was heard on the door.

House beckoned the little girl toward him with a quick hand movement while you went to open the door.

Wilson hugged you as he entered, he walked straight to the kitchen in search of the girl he considered a niece.

House pushed his bowl with the half-eaten cereal to his daughter and handed her the spoon before he stood up to greet his friend.

“Good Wilson, you’re right on time to drive us.”

“Us?”

Holding onto his thigh, House limped a few steps towards the two of you, “You’re taking the car, you don’t like it when I drive her on the bike and I definitely can’t walk with her to school; bum leg.” he stated and pointed to his leg as if you didn’t know about it.

Wilson sighed and moved to take a seat next to your daughter. You crossed your arms across your chest, eyebrows raised and lips in a straight line.

He closed the gap between you, kissed your cheek, and murmured in your ear, “Relax, I’m not going to screw this up.”

You grasped his bicep before he got the chance to pull back.

“Wilson stays in the class with you and makes sure you don’t get into trouble.”

He nodded, “Deal.”

Smiling you kissed his lips before you called, “Daddy is doing career day!”

Cheering, she jumped off the chair and ran to hug him.

You looked at Wilson who was smiling at the sight before looking at you, you signaled with your pointer and middle fingers in a V turned at you then at House in a watch him gesture.

He dropped his smile and nodded.

Upon reaching the classroom, the kids took their seats, House and Wilson sat in the back with the rest of the parents.

House leaned to whisper to his friend, “This is your last chance to steal my identity.”

“You don’t think your daughter will notice?”

The teacher called his name and with a frown at Wilson, he made his way to the front of the class.

Tapping his cane anxiously before centering it in front of his body, “I’m Dr. Gregory House. I’m the head of the diagnostic department at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and most proudly,” he paused his introduction to look fondly at his daughter, “I’m this ankle biter’s dad.”

[michelle-is-writing]

Christmas, Dr. Gregory House

Word count: 1.8k~

Warnings: mention of sex, House being House

"It's a marshmallow world in the winter," I sing, stringing lights on my apartment's Christmas tree. "When the snow comes to cover the ground," I sing the next verse of Brenda Lee's song before turning toward Greg with a smile. Sitting on the couch, the salt and pepper haired man sips at a small glass of eggnog (with a shot of whiskey in it, no less) while staring at the tree with a bored look on his face. Even when he sees my smile, he still remains there with a frown.

"Greg," I state his name, his blue eyes flickering up to mine. Seeing that I have his attention, I smile. "Come help me set up the tree."

"Why? So we can just take it down two weeks later?" He asks, making me sigh, my smile now a frown to match his. I love Greg, but I absolutely hate his pessimistic views - and with it being the week of Christmas, I will not let his negative opinions ruin anything.

"Fine," I say to him, placing the string of lights down beside me. "If you don't want to do that, then do something else for me," He raises an eyebrow in question at me, waiting for me to finish. "Come dance with me."

All of a sudden, he breaks into a dry laugh before stopping all of a sudden with his usual frown. "Have you forgotten?" He asks me, holding his hands over his crippled leg. “Crippled, if you haven’t noticed.”

Rolling my eyes with a smirk, I nod at him. "How could I forget?" I ask him, "There isn't a moment that goes by that you don't use it to your advantage," with that, I let out a fake thoughtful sigh. "And there isn't a moment that goes by where I don't say 'no' to you on getting on top."

At my response, he tilts his head sideways while staring at me with squinted eyes like a child would if you teased them. At his behavior change, I smile once again before walking over to him by the couch. Serves him right for being a smart ass all the time, and finally, I said something he had no clap-back to.

"I don't want to break dance or anything like that," I tell him, taking his rough and big hands into my own smaller ones. "I just want to slow dance with you."

For once, he slowly smiles up at me before standing up with a little help from me. "Okay," He says, stumbling a bit as he tries to stand up straight without his cane. "We'll dance - but if I fall, I'm taking you down with me."

Giggling at him, I nod and kiss his lips for a short second before we wrap our arms around each other and start slow dancing. The next Brenda Lee song that comes on is a slower and sweeter song that I enjoy a lot. Greg on the other hand doesn't really care for anything Christmas, so he could give two thoughts less.

"Rockin' around the Christmas Tree at a Christmas party hop," I sing in a light voice, watching as Greg continues to smile and stare at me. "Mistletoe hung where you can see, every couple tried to st-" I continue on, until abruptly being cut off by Greg's lips on mine. We continue to kiss each other for a few seconds until pulling away, a smirk resting on Greg's face.

"What was that for?" I ask him with a shocked grin. Still smirking, Greg just looks above him with me following his gaze, a small green piece of berry filled fern hanging above us. I don't remember putting that up there...

"I thought it would be useful," Greg states as we both look back at each other. "Turns out this cripple can do a few things for his woman," He notes, matter-of-factly.

Smirking back at him, I shake my head in comical disbelief. "Out of all of these Christmas decorations, you put up mistletoe?" I ask him, receiving a shrug back.

"I like this tradition better than the rest," Greg confesses, still gently swaying us. "Besides," he leans in close, his lips close to my cheek. "It benefits us both."

In response, I can't help but slap his shoulder with a giggle. "You perv," I chide, moving to rest my hands on his shoulders while his linger on my waist. "How long has that been up there?"

"I put it up this morning," He answers with a gentle tone just before we both fall into a comfortable silence. Did I expect Greg to do anything festive during these happy times? Absolutely not. But was I really all that surprised in finding mistletoe that just so happens to be festive? Kind of. Being a little bit of a narcissist, Greg only put that up because he could use the excuse that it was Christmas themed instead of the actual reason being that he just wanted to kiss me without showing spontaneous romance - a possible weakness to him.

As we dance with each other, I quickly notice the usual bags underneath his eyes are slowly fading away and the blueness of his irises have turned more lively with brightness lively in them. In the short amount of time of being away from work, Greg is starting to look a bit younger than he actually is. Although, I do think this is due to him being away from the stressful environment that is his work. And to think, he actually took these days off for me; maybe he isn't such a narcissist after all...

During my thinking, Greg has managed to move us over near the couch while we were dancing, only to trip and cause us both to fall over on the soft cushions. Of course, he did this on purpose. Scrap my earlier thought - he's definitely a narcissist.

"Oops," He says sarcastically, "I fell," Greg points out, staring up at me with a small smirk beginning to take over his lips once more.

At his goofiness, I roll my eyes at him and lightly pat his chest a few times before moving to get up. However, when I go to move over him, Greg quickly catches me in his arms and pulls me back down to his chest, holding me close to him as if he wants me to stay where I am.

"No, no, just stay here, please," He begs, his voice resuming its gentle tone from earlier. Nonetheless, it takes me by surprise. I would have never expected Greg to say that. As I mentioned before, he'll use any excuse he can find to make it seem like he's not being romantic or sweet.

"Okay," I tell him, my eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion as I nuzzle my head further into his chest to become a bit more relaxed in his embrace. "Are you comfortable?" I ask, moving my leg away from his bad one.

"The most I'll ever be," He answers me, his hand smoothing down my hair. "Have I ever told you how great it is to lie with you?" He questions me, making me roll my eyes once again.

"Are you talking about when we’re having sex or when we do this?" I ask for clarification, making him chuckle.

"I mean like this," He answers as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "Then again, I do enjoy both situations, but I'm talking about right now," I can't help but smile as my cheeks heat up a little in response to his words, a sigh soon falling from his lips. "I've been married before and had a few girlfriends, but nothing with them could ever compare to how I feel with you. You just make me feel the best I have felt in a while," He further admits, his voice still soft and quiet with his confession.

Sighing sweetly, I shake my head against the soft material of his grey jumper before speaking. "I bet you've told all your women that," I half-joke, quickly receiving an answer back.

"No, actually, I haven't," Greg retorts, making me look up at him with furrowed eyebrows. Bright blue eyes look back at me with no emotion, yet at the same time, pure honesty. "I haven't told any other women this because it wouldn't be true, and well, I wouldn't care if they heard me say it or not," Sitting us up a bit, Greg places his hand on my cheek in a sensual and meaningful way.

"(Y/n), I love you," He confesses, his voice never wavering or cracking up. In response to his words, my eyes slightly widen as I feel my whole body become tense. "And I know I may not be the most expressive guy when it comes to my emotions, but believe me when I tell you that you have made me a better man," He adds on, his thumb now beginning to softly run over my cheek.

"Or, at least, I think I have," Greg adds, giving a soft shrug. "Ultimately, it’s you and the guys at work that would see it, so you might have to ask them just to be sure," his words make me roll my eyes that are currently tearing up, but I can't resist my smile at the same time. Once again, Greg can't let it be known that he can be spontaneously romantic at times. "They'd probably tell you I'm still an ass, but I think-"

Before he can say anymore, I move forward and press my lips to his in a sweet kiss. Of course, he kisses back instantly, but not before he smiles as well. Once we pull apart, I stare down at him breathlessly before speaking. "I love you too, Greg," I tell him, the four words I have been dreaming about telling him falling freely from my lips. "I have for a long time, but I was... I was too scared to say it."

Greg then smiles back at me and tilts his head to the side as he moves his arms down to my waist and holds my body closer to his. "Well," he says, searching his mind for a sarcastic answer. A few seconds pass until he sighs and looks back at me with an even bigger smile. "Here’s your Merry Christmas," He chimes, jokingly mocking me.

Grinning at him, I shake my head before he moves forward and reattaches our lips once more, the tune of Christmas carols playing behind us as we kiss. Maybe Greg won't be so pessimistic about Christmas anymore. I mean... we can only pray and hope so. Nonetheless, I guess it really is a Merry Christmas to me.

[cmkren]

— a human’s touch

; house x gn! reader

Maybe in some other lifetime romanticism wasn’t lost to House. That he had grown into a man capable of giving clear-cut affections— and capable of receiving it as well. The first ever puzzle he never wanted to solve, and it was of his heart. You, on the other hand, couldn’t give a damn about it all. You tied yourself to him after all.

In your lap, maybe that fact of House’s could be forgotten. For an hour or two.

a/n: i’ve never written for house, or house md at all. Currently in s4, and I’m just so attached to this crowd of misfits. I’m sorry if he ends up ooc— I just wanted to write something as close to fluff as I can with house LMAO 😭

tws; nothing you wouldn’t find in the show — 1.08k words

“What, are we playing mommy and her sexually frustrated boytoy? I don’t recall putting this into the search bar.”

“I don’t think you’re young and spry enough to be playing the pool boy in this scenario. Take as much offence as you’d want to that shocking revelation.”

Despite the very particular banter, nothing nefarious was happening in this scene. It was quite normal actually. In the tidiness of his apartment the two steeped in each other’s presence. Steeped may have been a strange word for it, but it fit the two. House was chatty like always, but even now and then he had grown quiet. Either getting caught by a specific feature of his partner (still thick on his tongue, not something he ever says really) or deep in his own thoughts.

What prompted him to make the off handed remark? Some might ask, especially when they were having such a peaceful moment!

The obvious answer would be because he’s House. What else was he supposed to do? The not-so-obvious answer was the strange feeling in his chest, as his head lay against the thighs of the person he oh-so cautiously let pull him down to such a position. If he turned his head sideways, you’d most certainly feel the prick of his unkempt beard.

He flexes his fingers, arms sort of kept… limp. Close to his chest. The pale blue of his eyes looking up to the other, brow wrinkled into a furrow as he felt awkward. He only allowed himself to be so hesitant for a second more before he went slack jawed and widened his eyes— a mockery of coming to another ‘revelation’.

“Oh! Pray tell me then, what are we?” Spoken like a young teenager picking out lines from a rom-com they watched the day before to aid them in romantic endeavours. His arms even moving just the slightest to resemble a ‘gosh darn it!’ kind of movement. That garnered an amused noise out of you, your hand very gently resting atop his mess of hair.

“Not we, you. What you are, is a man who can’t even sit still and let me dote on you. So I resorted to,” your free hand gestured to him. Legs stretched and resting on the arm rest of his couch, his head comfortably in your lap, “this.”

Then it was House’s turn to give a little snort.

“What you’ve resorted to is crippling a cripple. Can’t move! Should I go dial 911? Or are you going to kick my legs from behind just as I reach my phone?” This time, there wasn’t any sort of sound akin to laughter. Instead, you gave the hairs atop his head a bit of a tug. A warning.

A grunt left him, his eye wincing a little from the sensation but his wit outran any sort of complaint, “Pineapple! Oh— right we aren’t doing anything like that.” He still shot you a half-hearted look. All the playing around didn’t get him anything but a gentle expression though, a soft look in your eye that said that you would put up with him more than he could ever dream of.

A look he’d seen, but never truly appreciated. He wasn’t quite sure if he did so, even now.

“I would tell you to stop being stupid, but I know I could never stop that.”

“Wow, thanks.”

The way you leaned down to give press a kiss atop his forehead spoke to the fact that you never meant any malice or exasperation in their words. Sure, there was bound to be exhaustion, everyone had breaking points. You were always so lenient with him. Even if you wouldn’t admit that yourself.

Suppose in a way, they understood each other like that.

House didn’t react much to the kiss. You gave a lot of those, so. He didn’t say anything though, so that was either a good indication or a bad indication. 50/50, who knows maybe you should flip a coin.

“Good day at the hospital?” You mumbled, slowly twirling the short strands on his head, coiling them around your fingers. House’s face visibly relaxed, only flexing and moving as he responded. “Oh, yeah, like Santa’s little workshop there. Bundle of joy, fun bright lights.” He muttered, eyes closing for a moment.

Everyone knew that his days were full of pain. He made sure everyone knew, actually. Always made sure that everyone had to be dragged down with him. With you though, he toned it down. Just a little bit.

Your hand caressed the side of his face, gliding down the rough surface and down his scraggly beard. Mindless shapes formed along his skin, his eyes trained on your face. Whether your face would contort the longer you looked at him. As if waiting for you to have a revelation of your own— that he wasn’t who you wanted to spend your time with. That’d you’d wake up soon. Wake up from the dream you seemed so content with, him in your lap and the carefulness of your gestures.

“Something on my face?” Your hand trailed back up to his cheekbone, before pinching the skin there. A smile on your face, for him. For a moment, he stayed silent. Lips that were once parted were now pursed into a tight line, furrow of his brows suggested that he was thinking again.

The longer you waited though, the lighter your touch became. As if you were drawing back. An end to a gentle moment.

“No,” his hands shot up, taking yours in his own. His eyes firm, before they would soften and close as he brought your hands to his face. “Keep it this way a little longer.” For once, not a quip. A moment of genuine love, one that came out of him thinking this was all but fleeting.

In reality, you hardly moved at all.

You were just going to shift, hopefully making him more comfortable if he had felt the position a little awkward. Instead he cradled your hands as if they were the one thing keeping him off his pills. Even just for a short amount of time. Your shoulders went lax, tilting your head as you gave a faint smile. “Okay.” Was all you said.

“I’d rather have you touch me than the old reliables here,” one of his hands let go, giving a bit of a jazzy shake as if to emphasize, “god knows I’ve touched myself enough. Your hands are softer.” You snorted.

“I don’t doubt it.”

[drabbles-mc]

Not To Spoil The Ending

Robert Chase x Greg House

Written for the Fic in a Box 2023 Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, post-canon/canon compliant, light angst, pining, grief/mourning

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: I have no idea if there is an audience for House MD fanfic on tumblr but I like to crosspost my fics here from AO3 so audience or not, y'all are getting this! 😂 My first House fic and I had myself quite a fun time. Hope you enjoy!

“You’re back,” House said casually as he opened the door with the butt of his cane.

Chase looked up from the paperwork in front of him. Eyes wide and only growing wider the longer that he looked at the man standing in front of him. It’d been so long—he was finally starting to shake the weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that cropped up every time he referred to the office as his own, or the team as his own. For a brief moment he wondered if that feeling hadn’t really gone away, if it was just lying in wait and getting strong enough to give him hallucinations like this.

“Nothing to say?” House asked as he stepped farther into the office. “Not even a hello?”

The closer that he got to the desk, the more Chase had to admit to himself that it wasn’t a hallucination. House was really there. A small voice in the back of Chase’s mind was debating whether or not he was a ghost, but there was no way that this was all in his mind.

“Y-you’re back,” he finally stammered out in shock.

House raised his eyebrows, finally coming to a stop right in front of what was now Chase’s desk. “Good one.”

He was still shaking his head, still unable to process and believe what was happening. “How are you…?”

“Pretty cool, right?” He leaned onto his cane. “Not bad for a dead man.” He looked around the office, eyebrows raised. “Love what you’ve done with the place, which is,” he shifted so he could gesture around with his cane, “nothing.”

“House,” he spoke up, finally finding it in himself to sound firm, “what the hell are you doing here? We, I, I was at your funeral!”

“Well, at least one of us was.”

Chase stood up out of his chair. Raking his hands back through his hair, he walked around to the other side of the desk so that he was standing in front of House. Hardly a few inches apart and it was still hard to believe that they were both in the same space.

“What happened? Where, where have you been? What’ve you been—”

“Doesn’t matter,” House cut him off.

Even though he knew better than to be surprised by it, Chase still found himself being annoyed by how flippant House was being about the entire situation. A lot of things might have changed over the months, but clearly some things hadn’t.

“I think it definitely does,” Chase argued.

“You could at least be happy about the fact that I managed to rise from the dead. Last time a guy did that your people created a whole religion about him.”

“You can’t just sarcastically work your way out of this one.” He shook his head. He saw the way House opened his mouth to come back with another undoubtedly snarky remark and he cut him off before he could deliver it. “Don’t. After everything that we all went through. The funeral, the weeks, no, months of grief I—”

“You did not grieve for months,” House cut him off.

“Oh, no? And how would you know? Not like you were here to see it.”

For a split-second Chase realized how ridiculous it was, the situation that he was in. One of the most formative, arguable one of the most important and meaningful, people in his life was back from the dead and standing in front of him, and they were bickering. All this time he’d mourned the fact that he wasn’t ever going to see him again, wouldn’t get to say any of the things that he always swore he’d get around to saying someday. Now here he was, in the perfect position for that, and all he could do was argue with him about things that shouldn’t bear any weight in that given moment. Maybe there was comfort in falling right back into old habits, almost like they were picking up right where they could have, should have, left off.

But it was also absurd. Chase knew that—he knew that House also knew that. Once the thought crossed his mind, he was actually surprised that House hadn’t made a comment about that aspect of it all as well.

House let out a small sigh. He tucked his chin slightly down towards his chest for a moment, eyes flicking to the carpet finding their way back to Chase’s face. “Sorry you wasted all that time.”

Chase’s shoulders slumped slightly. How easy it was for House to sway him still, even after all this time. One teasing sliver of genuine emotion and Chase was ready to drop all of his frustration and anger for him. That hadn’t changed either. It got worse, if anything.

“It wasn’t a waste,” Chase finally said, his voice finally regaining some of its softness.

The momentary lift of House’s eyebrows let Chase know that his brain went to the same place it always did, an old habit that would always die hard. But the way that he opened his mouth for a moment and then shut it again let Chase know that while House was still House, that he always would be in most of the ways that mattered, some things about him had changed. Chase didn’t know what the previous months had put House through, but whatever it was, it realigned him somehow. Chase could see it in his eyes, sense it beneath his usual snark. Neither of them were the same men that they had been last time they stood face-to-face in the office that they were in once more, not completely. He wanted to ask but deep down he knew that it wasn’t going to make all that much of a difference now.

“Are you going to stay?” Chase asked after another bout of silence. “Or are you going to stay… dead?”

House shrugged. “Being dead gets boring after a while.” He paused. “Not to spoil the ending for you or anything.”

Chase allowed himself a small smile at that. “If someone was going to, makes sense that it’s you.”

House let a few beats pass before he said, “It was time for me to come back. Face it.”

“Face what?” Chase asked, like he didn’t know the answer already.

For a split second House was keenly aware of how close they were standing. He didn’t realize they’d drifted closer. There was hardly any space between them now. A fleeting thought went through his brain that this was the longest he’d been inside the office without an interruption. This was as good of a time as any to set that record, he supposed.

“Everything,” he answered.

“Right,” Chase replied with a nod. He would’ve been embarrassed at the hush of his voice if he had the time to think about it. “Where next, then?”

He shook his head. “Nowhere.”

Chase scoffed quietly. “I’m the last stop, then?”

The end of House’s mouth began to curl up into a smirk. “No.” He waited until Chase was looking him in the eyes. “You’re the first.”

[sarcasm-and-stiles]

House: Wilson and I don’t use pet names.

Y/N: I see. Hey, what do bees make?

House: Honey?

Wilson: Yes, dear?

House:

Y/N: Don't ever lie to my face again.