#chase thinks wilson can do so much better

[overpassing]

continuing to push my “chase is a hilson hater” agenda (finished house season 1!)

[erodingsinner]

Arrow if Slade and Oliver had a fucked up toxic romantic thing going

[kining-the-evil]

May I request a yandere house, Wilson, and chase (separate) with a fem autistic reader, please?

Yandere!House MD Characters with an Autistic Darling

Summary: Will include headcanons for Chase, House, and Wilson

Warnings: Yandere themes, mental manipulation, emotional abuse, slight frustration with reader by chase, autistic!reader. I kept it gender neutral.

Reminder, everyone with autistic is different and certain aspects are more visible in some and less in others.

Taglist: @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @flowercrowns-goodvibes

House MD master list All Master lists

House:

This man is so goddamn autistic.

Anything you do that may seem weird or off to others he doesn't even think twice about.

You're overwhelmed by everything around you? Here, he brought your noise canceling headphones.

You don't want to go to a social gathering? Perfect, neither did he.

You're blunt and to the point? He's never offended by it.

Depending on what your special intrest is it will be a 50/50 chance that he will be supportive.

If it's something he can find intrest in, you both will obsess over it together.

But if he finds it stupid/a waste of time be ready to get berated for it. House will make sure to let you know how he feels about it.

But if you ever get in an argument, are upset with him, or anything else he will buy something to do with your special intrest as a way to bribe you.

If his yandere tendencies are at the point of kidnaping he would do his best to abide by any rituals and sensory issues you have, but he still thinks about his own first.

Wilson

Wilson has been dealing with house for years, so he doesn't have many issues really.

Everything in the house is in a way he knows you like. furniture with textures you can't stand are gone, he makes sure to stock plenty of your favorite foods with the right brands, if you need any extra sensory things (like a sensory swing) he's buying it and setting it up in the house.

He would love anything your special intrest may be, not matter how weird or creepy it might be.

Wilsom will listen to you for hours about whatever it is you're interested in. He basically learns as much about it as you do because you just reread facts to him about it.

Wilson would infantize you a bit, which will be frustrating.

He's a natural caregiver, so he wants to take care of you. And seeing you have something that can make life more challenging will make him want to take care of you even more.

It doesn't help that him as a yandere is very underhandedly manipulative. Twisting his words to confuse you.

Chase

Chase has the least experience in this department.

I think he would underestimate just what it's like to be with someone who has autism, leaving him unprepared.

He doesn't get why you refuse to use a specific blanket, or why you won't eat your favorite food just because it's a different brand.

Chase is an argumentative and controlling yandere, so he may see them as you just being disobedient at first.

It would take a few breakdowns on your part for him to realize just how much these things effect you.

He would try to be more understanding, but he slips up a lot.

One thing he will push you to a lot would be social situations.

He wants that picture perfect relationship, which includes you going to stuff with him.

He does try to give you forewarning about events and some alone time before and after, but if you embarrass him during you better be ready to deal with the yelling when you get home.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

hiii i just found your blog, I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE, and if i can request like an angsty story about house and wilson with reader, and the reader has like some disease that'll kill her😭😭😭😭😭im just craving angst

YOU ARE SO SWEET THANK YOU 💞💞 it's been awhile since I've written a good angst fic so this is perfect for me

Your Last Breath (Greg House x gn reader x James Wilson)

Warnings: talk of hospitals/medical procedures, reader has a mystery illness that kills them, they/them pronouns used a few times to refer to the reader in a gender neutral way, hurt/no comfort, heavy angst, main character death (spoiler: it's you)

The doctors had been trying for months to figure out what was wrong with you. Months of invasive tests, months of going back and forth with possible explanations, months of being put on temporary treatments that seemed to work for a short while before you eventually succumbed to whatever was causing your problems again.

Everyone was stumped, and by everyone I truly do mean everyone. Not even House could figure out what was wrong, something that frustrated him to no end for multiple reasons. And by the time he was finally able to figure out what the cause was, it was already too late.

The disease had progressed too far along on its course for the doctors to be able to treat it properly. The best they could do was make you comfortable for the few weeks you had left to live.

Usually he liked having cases he couldn't crack, he liked figuring out the puzzle of what was bothering his patient, he liked being able to go to Cuddy and say "I told you so" when it ended up him being right and everyone else was wrong. But not this time.

This time all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. If only. He'd gladly give up both of his legs if it meant you'd get better.

Meanwhile, the resident head of oncology wasn't taking the news very well, either. It was normal for House to shut himself away for extended periods of time, but not Wilson. He barely left his office anymore, not to check on his own patients, not to accept a request for a consult, nothing. In fact, the only time he ever did leave was to visit you.

Most nights were spent with either him or House at your side, checking your vitals and fetching whatever it was that you needed. You ended up having to beg the both of them to go home at some point, even if it was to just shower and change, but they still refused, choosing to stay at the hospital instead.

Occasionally one of the ducklings would stop by if either of them couldn't for some reason, whether that be due to another patient needing attention or because you finally convinced them to take a break for once.

Foreman was solemn, talking about arrangements that could possibly be made for your body after death if you hadn't decided already. Cameron was sympathetic, reassuring you that they'd make sure you wouldn't be in any pain during your last days on earth. Chase was playful, trying to take your mind off things by cracking a joke or two. And Cuddy was surprisingly very nurturing when she managed to make the time to check in on you.

The whole thing was very bittersweet. While you appreciated everyone caring so much about you, it hurt to know why they were doing it.

Your final day was surprisingly quiet, with no nurses stopping by to check on you every hour or so like they had been for the past couple of weeks where you'd been bedridden almost completely. You suspected someone had requested for that, so you could have a bit of peace in the last few hours you'd be alive for.

House stood at the foot of your bed, watching as you slept. He looked like he was about to say something when Wilson suddenly spoke up from the armchair beside your bed.

"Don't even think about it, House. You're not waking them up right now."

Despite Wilson's firm tone, House couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Oh, come on. It's not like it matters much, they're going to be dead soon anyway."

It took everything in the oncologist not to snap and strangle the man in front of him. The only thing that managed to stop him was the sound of you letting out a hacking cough as you woke up. Even with the oxygen machine, it had become increasingly more difficult for you to breathe.

"Guys, don't fight," you tried to make your tone stern as you lectured them, but your throat was dry and therefore made your voice weak and raspy when you spoke.

"Hey, hey, don't speak, it's alright," Wilson gently reassured you as he reached out to take one of your hands into his. Your skin felt clammy, but he didn't care.

House had a pained look in his eyes as he watched you, but he did his best to cover it up with his usual snark. "We were just talking about you. Trying to figure out who should get your stuff when you die."

Wilson gave him an evil look, but you simply laughed. At least, they thought you laughed. It was kind of hard to tell given how sick you were.

"You guys are funny."

If it were any other time, House would've beamed with pride and joy at being able to make you smile with one of his quips, but this time he just felt empty inside, knowing that it was possibly the last one you'd ever hear. He quietly observed as Wilson helped you drink some water out of a small paper cup, one hand helping you hold it up to your lips while the other rested on your shoulder.

"Thank you," was the only thing you managed to get out once you were done, your breathing stalling yet again when you tried to speak. The three of you knew it was getting close to when it was going to happen. The problem was that only one of you had accepted it, and it wasn't either one of the two doctors who were in the room.

"I love you guys," ended up being your final words, a bittersweet smile on your face and tears in your eyes as you took your last breath. You hoped they knew that you meant that. You hoped they knew that you didn't blame them.

And you hoped that your death helped to bring them closer together rather than tearing them apart. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but who really cared? It's not like you'd be around to witness it anyway.

End notes: I rarely ever finish a request this early so please don't expect this to become a normal thing 😭 I just got really into writing this for some reason and once I started I just couldn't stop

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

Main masterlist | House MD masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @pigeonmama @caplanreblogsfics

[househrt]

assorted House headcanons

Thirteen is happily cis, but she's pronoun indifferent. he explored his gender as a teenager but they eventually realised they're not trans. she has a better understanding of their gender now though, so he doesn't think of it as time wasted or anything

Park & Kutner would be best friends that do so much mischief and so many fun crimes together

Stacy is trans, Cuddy is trans, Wilson is trans, House is accidentally a chaser but he doesn't realise

Lesbians: comphet Cameron/transfem egg Chase

Wilson is autistic and doesn't like physical contact unless he's drunk enough that it stops feeling like sandpaper. He forces himself to mask at work so he can comfort patients with a hand on their shoulder anyway, but he wishes he didn't have to

When Wilson is living with House in season 2, House waits til Wilson leaves for work and then he burrows onto the couch to soak up the Wilson-smell left on it

[not-too-many-eyes]

I think Eagle is a really interesting character since her story has a lot of fun nuances I think.

She’s established very quickly from design alone to be a very much be a dillgent good girl scout, She acts responsibly, when you first meet her she says that she’ll do everything to be the best, she calls Vertin “commander.” Very much emulating soldiers and the millatary here.

The Dreams do some more exploration of this idea. With how Eagle was rejected from the boy scouts, and how in both her and in the voicelines she want’s to prove that girls can do it just as well as the boys.

Instructor: I’m sorry, kid. I’m touched by your persistence, but we only want boys.

Instructor: The training of the boy scouts is going to be very harsh. There’s no way a girl like you can make it through.

Instructor: Even if you strain every strength to keep up, we won’t take you in.

Eagle: I will prove I can do better than the boys.

Eagle: I will prove that girls are also qualified for the scouts.

But this scene exists alongside the Rest of The Game which is very interested in exploring and and dissecting this sort of millataristic view of the world. This exists alongside how her father dissapeared when he was serving in the milltary. This exists alongside Click. This exists alongside Sonneto. Her interview even discusses this a bit:

Pandora Wilson: Now that you've joined Lorentz, do you have any new plans in life?

Eagle: I... I'd like to excel in what I'm doing now.

Pandora Wilson: ...Maybe you can try and relax first, just like the other children do.

Ultimately she’s doing all of this to chase her father, even if she ends up in the same spot where she dissapeared or if she deprives herself from the relaxation and fun that children her age be having. What that Instructor said isn’t just “she isn’t strong enough to be a girl scout” it’s “she’s not strong enough to see her father again.”

This also interacts with the games themes of progressing into the future vs retreating into the past.

Eagle: I like photos very much. It’s the Arcane Skill that allows people to “never fade.”

Eagle, Hobby: All the soldiers were collecting badges, so was father, wasn't he? When I collect enough badges, I will give him all of them.

The chasing of a past to the point that it leads to self-destruction or sadness. Not as heavily present as it is in other characters but still something that Eagle’s story is discussing. And yet even in the dream they acknowledge that her being a girl scout is different from her seeing her father again. It’s just one means to that end. I really like it.

[dannystheone]

more lee deadpool!!!!! i love how u write him and wolverine sm<3

aww thank you so much! It took me a second to think about what I wanted to write lol but here it is!

this is just a little somethin somethin nothing special lel

and sorry this took so long to come out I haven't been feeling motivated to write and I've been taking dress to impress on roblox very seriously LMAO

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FROM THE MOVIE/ Cursing, shenanigans, fourth wall breaks, nastiness, mentions of alcohol, mentions of BDSM

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE!!

A Who Dun' It Mystery! (Lee Deadpool/Ler Wolverine)

Logan wakes up to find all his beer gone from the refrigerator without knowing who took it! Can Logan withstand all of Wade's antics to get a straight answer?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"RAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"

Birds flew out of their nesting places and whole houses shook on their foundations from the roar uttered on this peaceful morning. Squirrels, bugs, birds, pretty much the whole cast of Bambi ran for the hills to escape the terrifying beast.

Aside from one simple sleeping man and his adorable companion. That simple sleeping man was none other than Wade Wilson, otherwise known as the Merc with the Mouth, Marvel Jesus, People's Sexiest Man Alive in 2010- although in my opinion he was snubbed for 2008- and his adorable companion was Dogpool, of course.

Now, sleeping soundly, dreaming of Vanessa, Thor, and a certain web-slinger- Deadpool snored contently while the angry footsteps of the terrifying creature stalked to his bedroom. The angry creature better watch where he steps because Wade turned his room into a snow globe last night! And no, not the kind from the gift shop, although I'm sure if you ask politely, the gift shop worker would be more than happy to help you make this kind of snowglobe with a crisp 20 dollar bill-

The door was thrown open with a slam; the terrifying creature was revealed to be The Wolverine! Now is this story the one where the boy gets the monster at the end? Maybe an intermission of some kind-

"Shut the fuck up." Logan stalked toward Wade on his bed, careful not to step in a certain spot of something on the ground, and grabbed the papers Wade was reading aloud. Logan flipped the papers around to see the cover page, 'A Who 'Dun It Mystery!' Written by dannystheone''. Logan growled and threw the papers to the side of the room. Wade put his hands up innocently and looked at Logan.

"Someone's delightful this morning. Did you finally catch the bad kitty you chase in your dreams boy, huh? Or did you find my stash of catnip? Do you have more dog energy or cat energy? Let's ask the audience." Wade turned towards the camera, but Logan grabbed Wade's jaw and forced him to look him in the eye.

"Who the fuck, in this godforsaken household, drank the last of my beer?" Logan asked with a deathly calm. Wade lifted an eyebrow at the suggestive hold Logan had him in and spoke with his cheeks squished in his grip.

"If I answer the question, that'll take up one of your three wishes granted by the great and powerful Genie-Pool! And no, we're not using Robin Williams's rights for this one, but we can use Disney's. Would you like to use the wish to answer that question? Remember, one of my rules is I can't make anyone fall in love with you, even me, pretty boy~" Deadpool blew him a smooch as Wolverine snarled and pointed a finger in his face.

"A real. Fucking. Answer. You fucking moron. Who the hell drank my shit? Or I'll get the answer out of you." Logan threatened. Wade giggled like a girl, fanning his cheeks at the suggestive implications. Well, what Wade interpreted as suggestive anyway.

"Oh, you naughty little honey badger! Now I'm starting to think of what you'll do if I don't tell you~ Do we have a Tek Knight-type setup somewhere in the house? I should really invest in something like that-" Wolverine's temper got the better of him as he unsheathed his claws and thrust them forward. Deadpool jumped as he sacrificed a unicorn plushy to take the brunt of Wolverine's claws. The unicorn's fluff puffed out everywhere as Logan's claws stabbed the plushy.

"Nah ah ah! No claws in the house mister! We can't make all the furniture in the house red to cover up the bloodstains that come from claw-related incidents- although that would certainly be on brand. Could you imagine a couch designed by the guys who made the Deadpool X-Box controller? I might need to patent this million-dollar idea." Wolverine stared at him incredulously as he sheathed his claws. Deadpool looked to the broken unicorn plushy with a sigh and tossed it to the side.

"Jesus Christ, you're a yammering idiot. Your ADHD has ADHD, for God's sake. Will ya just tell me who drank my fucking beer already? I'll only hurt them a little bit..." Wolverine was clearly exasperated, but Deadpool had energy for days when it came to messing with his Wolvie-bear.

"Mmmm, I dunnooo... what do I get if I help you? A gratuitous turn-down service, perhaps? Almost as gratuitous as that lovely callback~ I hope you all at home reading this enjoyed that-" Deadpool said lovingly.

"Alright, that's it," Logan said aloud. Wade was cut off as Logan threw his legs over Wade and straddled him damn near on his ribcage with his arms pinned to his sides, effectively trapping him.

"Woah woah woah big boy! Establish the safe word first before you engage! We went through the BDSM guidelines together! You disregarding everything the BDSM subreddit taught us makes you no better than P-Diddy!" Deadpool looks to the camera. "Too soon, you think? I think it's in good taste."

Wolverine rolled his eyes as he begrudgingly started wriggling his fingers in Deadpool's ribs. Deadpool was currently wearing a white t-shirt with cartoon cats all over it and classic white boxers with red hearts all over them. His usual attire that gave him a little protection from Wolvie's tickle attacks was at the dry cleaners after the last job he had.

Logan realized very early in his 'relationship' with Wade that sometimes Wade needed to be tickled to be cooperative. He had no idea why, he had never met someone like Wade before so he assumed the weirdness and the absurdity of it came with the territory.

Additionally, with the no blood rule in the house and an elderly woman as their other roommate, this was the closest thing to 'violence' that Wolverine could use to take his aggression out on Deadpool. Wolverine had to admit, it felt good sometimes to take it all out on him like this. Logan's fingers scribbled and scratched in Wade's ribs, Wade immediately breaking out into peals of laughter.

"L-Lohohogahahan!! Wahahait wahahait wait!" Deadpool was caught by surprise, and thank GOD he was wearing his mask because he was blushing redder than the material his mask was made of. It always caught Deadpool by surprise when Wolverine randomly tickled him like this, only because it was so out of left field for his character. Almost as if this isn't a regular thing that would occur in the MCU and only occurs in the minds of degenerates on the internet.

"I WIHIHISH thahat wehehere the cahahase!! If ihihihit wehehere, I wohohouldn't behehe gehehetting tihihihickled rihihight nohohow!!" Deadpool yelled at no one in particular. Wolverine sneered as his fingers dotted Deadpool's ribs with an accuracy only experience could give. He wasn't feeling playful this time around, he just wanted an answer to where his beer had gone and he feared this was the only way he could get it.

"You wouldn't be getting ti-... be getting this treatment if you would just tell me who drank my damn beer. You always make it hard on yourself." Logan sighed and continued to tickle the merc. Deadpool swished from side to side on his bed as well as he could with a whole hunk of Hugh Jackman and adamantium skeleton on him.

"Awhahahaha!~ Yohohou stihihihill cahahan't sahahay thehe wohohord?! Yohohou're sohohoho cuhuhuhute!~" Wade teased, causing Logan to bristle and dig his fingers in further as retaliation. Even when Wade was in the throes of being tickled, he still managed to fluster his Ler. It was a superpower at that point.

"I got a different word I can say. Who the hell drank my goddamn beer?" Wolverine snarled, Deadpool still twitching and shuffling from side to side as the tickles came from either side of him.

"Nohohohot a wohohord! Thahahat's ahaha sehehentence! Haharvard DOESN'T wahahant yohohour lohohocation!" Deadpool laughed more genuinely now from his own joke than the tickles he was receiving. Logan growled from not having his question answered again and forced his fingers into the small spaces of Wade's armpits and vibrated his fingers into them. Wade shrieked and started belly laughing now.

"How about you tell me the location of my beer, huh? Think you can do that, Bub? Did Al drink it? Did you? Answer me!" Wolverine shouted over Deadpool's loud laughing. Deadpool tried squeezing the spaces that held Wolverine's fingers, but it just made the fingers tighter and closer to the skin, so either way it sucked.

"I dohohon't drihihink beheheer! I ohohonly drihihink thehehe fihihinest Aviahation Gihin!-" Wolverine's hands were lifted from Deadpool as Deadpool turned to the camera with a bottle of Aviation Gin appearing in his hands. -"Which you can now purchase from any local liquor store near you, including the Limited Deadpool Edition. Thank you for choosing Aviation Gin. Sincerely, Ryan Reynolds." Wade put the bottle back from its mysterious spot where it was before and assumed the exact same position he was in before with Wolverine's hands back in his armpit spaces.

"Then who the hell drank it? This can aaaall be over as soon as you tell me who did it!" Wolverine asked again. You would think he was beginning to lose his patience, but Logan was actually calming down from his previous place of anger now that he had an outlet to take it out. Wade was the unfortunate (or fortunate, whatever floats your boat) recipient of that, however.

"I cahahahan't! I wahahahas swohohorn tohoho sehehecrecy! I swehehehear!!" Deadpool sounded genuine this time, but Wolverine wasn't having it. Logan took it a step further and took his fingers to slide them up Wade's signature mask and started fluffing his fingers over his neck and the bottoms of his ears. He knew this was a secret spot that wasn't touched very often and found it by mistake, so it should be doubly effective here.

"Yeah? Well, I've done plenty of interrogating in my day, breaking down my victims and having them submit. S'aaall a matter of time now..." Logan attempted to sound intimidating but to Wade, this was just silly.

"PFFT! Hahahahaha! Ohohokahahay, whahahatever yohohou sahahay, Fihifty Shahades Of Grehey! Ohoho I'll suhuhubmihit ahahalright! Ihihif thahahat's whahahat yohohou wahahant!~" Deadpool couldn't help but laugh at his own hilarity, which just pissed Wolverine off.

Logan took his fingers from Wade's neck and took them down to his collarbones, to which Wade exploded. Wade was weird in the sense that his ticklish spots were never consistent. One spot would barely get him to laugh in one tickle session, and the next session that same spot would break him. Only ever adding to just how bizarre he was.

"You'll submit it you don't want to die first. Looks like you already got one foot in the grave from how hard you're laughing. Who swore you to secrecy huh?" Logan started gently pinching Wade's collarbones, which drove Wade up the wall. His legs started kicking and his head started whipping back and forth (with Willow Smith just out of frame).

"NOHOHO nohoho no! Okahahay okahahay stahahahap!! Ihihihit wahahas DohohohogPool! Wehehe rahahahan ohohohout of wahahater sohohoho I gahahahave hihihihihim the beheheheer!!" Deadpool spilled his secret, causing Wolverine to stop.

"You did what? You gave my beer to the sock puppet?" Wolverine got off of Deadpool, standing up and off to the side to let the merc breathe. Wade held a hand up to his chest while he caught his breath and turned to Logan.

"FIRST OF ALL- the gorgeous munchkin's name is DogPool, or- alternatively, the Messiah, if you'd like."

"Never calling him that-" Logan interjected.

"-Second of all, I only did it to be the best caregiver I could possibly be, without going to the store or getting any sort of grocery delivery service. Have you seen what a DoorDasher will do to your food if you don't tip? It's enough to make a 4-Channer fall to his knees, and that's saying something." Deadpool hauled himself up into a sitting position at the edge of his bed while Wolverine stood with his hands on his hips.

"You're ridiculous, you know that? Why couldn't you give it water from out of the tap?" Wolverine asked, sounding genuine. Deadpool gave him an incredulous look even through the mask.

"What kind of Fantasy/Disney/Fairytale-Land do you live in where we're rich enough to have drinkable tap water or rich enough to own a Brita? You think any of the money from the movie actually made it into our pockets? Ryan, Hugh, and Shawn pooled all the money the movie made together to fundraise Ryan to get back on his feet after the absolute disaster that was 'IF'. Regular tap water isn't good enough for my ray of sunshine, so I chose the next best option." Deadpool picked up DogPool sleeping right next to his bed and offered him to Wolverine to hold.

"Don't you want the best for the little chicken noodle?" Deadpool asked sweetly. Wolverine quirked an eyebrow at the dog with the tongue sticking out of his mouth. Dammit, it was so ugly and pathetic looking it was somewhat... cute. He didn't know how the dog managed to do it, but whatever his tactics were, they were working. Wolverine rolled his eyes and gave the dog's head a pat. Deadpool squealed at the display.

"Yaaay! My kitty and my puppy making up. Oh, we're all happy, aren't we? And yes Wolvie, your next six-pack is on me when I do eventually go to the store. Those 1000 bottles of baby oil aren't going to buy themselves. Two jokes in one fic folks. How we feeling about that? Go ahead and tell Danny in the comments or reblogs below." Deadpool said, putting DogPool back on his oversized bed.

"You're going to the store immediately if you know what's good for you." Wolverine threatened. Deadpool stood up from his bed and looked at Wolverine sympathetically.

"Oh, honey bear... when have I ever known what's good for me?" Deadpool asked in a loving tone.

Wolverine answered with a deadpan expression and merely unsheathed his claws quickly with a loud SNIKT.

Jumping with a loud yelp, Deadpool hurriedly ran out of his bedroom, hopping over the puddle of mysterious liquid on the floor before leaving the house for the grocery store.

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 6: Chocolate Eyes and Decking Bosses

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 7

-----------------------

You realise very quickly that even your anger can’t warm you outside, where snow is falling in a thickening flurry.

Fuck. Why didn’t you bring a jacket? Now your boobs were going to get frostbite.

You make no move to cover yourself, however. You let the cold air whip around you, the wind practically piercing through your body. Your skirt is getting picked up in the flurry and your hair is crashing against your face. You’re fucking furious, and you simply stand there, trying to slow your brain down enough to think.

You should be asking yourself what you’re doing. Are you calling a cab? With what money? Are you calling Pop, begging him to come pick you up? With what phone? Ever so forgetful, your one was left conveniently at home. Instead, you’re staring out at the snow covered car park and not really seeing it. Your eyes are glazed over and all you can see is House in your head. Laughing at you. Blanching when he realised that you wanted tonight to be a date.

Was it that horrible? It’s not like you said you were in love with the man, for fuck’s sake. You had just finally let slip the tight grasp you had on your feelings, and suddenly you were back to 17, staring at people’s arms and hands, and wondering what it would be like to be held. Regrettably, yes, you were wondering about House, but it was still a crushing blow to find out he found you so repulsive, that the little flicker of a school-girl crush in you was worrisome enough to be stomped out immediately.

Your mind isn’t slowing down like it should be, it’s speeding up tenfold. You see Chase telling you that it was Cuddy who actually wanted you here. Cuddy speaking to House, thanking him for being kind. House replying that he wasn’t altruistic. Did they all know? Did everyone know what Cuddy’s plans were, is that why Cameron was telling Chase to shut up and Foreman telling him to stay quiet? Oh god, did they all pity you that much? Were you that readable? Surely you weren’t. Surely, they couldn’t see how much it had hurt to be belittled over and over again by House. Surely, they didn’t believe you just needed to see the good side of House to have some faith in him. Surely, they didn’t think you were that pathetic that you needed your fucking boss to take you out. Surely, they didn’t-

You flinch when something heavy wraps around your shoulders and you whip around.

Wilson raises his hands in defense, and you let go of the breath you were holding, a small icy cloud billowing out between the two of you. You glance down to yourself, and see his suit jacket slung around you.

Even though he breathes in shallowly in the cold, Wilson does his best to not shiver. You roll your eyes and reach up to your shoulders. “Thanks, but I-”

“Keep it.” He pins you with a stare. His chocolatey eyes are still warm. “If you try to give it back to me, I’ll scream.”

You huff. “Fine. Fine. Be all chivalrous then- it’s not making all of that,” you gesture with your head back to the hospital, “any better.”

Wilson bounces on the balls of his feet. “Yep.”

“Yep?”

“House is an arsehole. He’s probably the biggest dickhead I’ve ever met. I’m agreeing with you."

You tuck Wilson’s suit jacket tighter around yourself when the wind returns. You feel bad, but Wilson makes no attempts to retrieve his clothing. “I thought you two were best friends.”

“We are. That’s why I’m here.”

You roll your eyes, feeling that it will become a habit when talking about House. “He basically just said that he would never consider taking me out in a million years. Cuddy was conspiring with him to make sure I didn’t quit and had to pay him, just so that he could bear being my date for the night. If you’re trying to convince me that he’s not as bad as he seems, I’m sorry to say that you’ll have no luck Dr.Wilson.”

Wilson nods along, and laughs, his eyes crinkling. “God no. What Cuddy did was horrible; what House did was downright nasty. I thought I’d come out here to tell you that I was hoping to see you deck him.”

You flounder like a fish for a second, but then force your mouth to close. “What?”

Wilson blows warm air onto his cupped hands. “House deserves it. He’s been deserving it for a while, but no one wants to take a swing. Me too, I suppose. I like having my hands not-broken for surgery but it's becoming more tempting recently. Ever since you got here he's become worse, somehow. I think he's afraid of you; afraid that you could change him or make him better. Make him want to be better.” You're listening with a clenched jaw and his eyes sidle to you. “I’m sorry, by the way. I’m not going to say that I can’t understand why Cuddy orchestrated that whole thing but… You’re young. Beautiful.”

You feel yourself flush, but ever the gentleman, Wilson’s eyes are only on yours, not dipping down lower. He continues talking, “Of course you would want someone to think that, and take you out on a date. I’m just sorry that House’s chronic ability to screw things up got in the way.”

You nod. “Thank you…I guess. It’s not just that but-” You blink away the sudden tears springing up, and will your voice not to break. “He seemed horrified that I would want to be on a date with him. Scandalised.” You turn away from Wilson, and look up to the sky. This way, you can watch the snow fall and use gravity to make sure your tears don’t run down your cheeks. Your voice is quieter. “I didn’t realise he hated me that much- I think you're wrong about him being afraid of me. He's repulsed.”

Wilson huffs from somewhere behind you. “Now I really want to deck him. Look,” he calls out your last name, and you turn back to him with a weak smile. “He’s not repulsed by you. Far from it.”

You chuckle, and feel the anger rise up in your chest as you let out a sarcastic drawl. “Yeah. He’s just so madly in love with me that he can’t stand to be around me if he’s not berating me.”

You turn back, but Wilson says nothing and just stares intently at you, as if trying to make you convinced of your own words. You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

As if catching yourself, your eyes widen. Wilson was still a coworker, and a respected one at that. This was only one of your few conversations; you had chatted with him in passing in the cafeteria a few times, and with the team in cases. “Sorry, I-”

Wilson waves you off. “It’s fine. That was definitely a ‘shut up’ moment. Just make sure you can say the same thing to House.” He grins, giddy for a second. “Or deck him.”

Even though it’s quiet, you still manage to laugh. “I’d get fired. But it’d be worth it, for all of three seconds, I think. Just to see his face.”

Wilson does a mock impression, with wide blown eyes and gaping mouth. When you laugh with more confidence, his eyes soften. “We’re going to get hypothermia. Do you want to come back inside?”

You breathe in sharply, as if the cold had finally hit you. “I don’t think I’ll stay for long; it's a bit hard to make small talk after yelling at House in front of 50 doctors.”

Wilson’s smile is kind. “I’d think it would make it easier. You just did something that everyone in the building has fantasised about.”

You nod, but he seemed aware that wweren't eased by his words, and leads you through a different entrance. The two of you observe the event from afar, and you silently thank him. No one has spotted you, and you’re able to warm your fingers up and gain feeling back in them.

Wilson shakes his head softly. “Brown from Oncology is literally doing laps trying to find me. I think I’ll have to love you and leave you.” His head whips to yours and you feel a flush crowding over your cheeks and nose. "I mean not love! Not that I don't want to love you! Ugh, I didn’t mean like that, just leave you-”

You snort. “It’s fine, I know what you meant. " You clench your jaw, willing your blush to fade away and not become a blaze of fury. Being lovesick with handsome doctors had done you enough damage for the night. "Before you go, could I please borrow your phone? I need to make a call.”

Wilson runs a hand down his suddenly flushed face. “Oh I’m sorry, my phone’s in my office. But look, there’s a really bad painting in the hallway. I mean, it’s against policy, but I keep a key behind there.” Even though he’s still blushing, he pins you with an attempt at an intimidating stare. The effort's lost in the rich ,dark tones of his eyes. "Don’t tell anyone that. Suddenly I’ll have House sleeping in my office 24/7.”

You nod. “I won’t. I’m not really planning on being a social butterfly now.” You shoot him a small smile. “Thank you. Really.”

Wilson opens his mouth as if he’s going to say more, but he closes it, eyes dipping down to yours. Instead, he simply nods, and strides away, once more becoming part of the bustling party in the foyer. You retreat the way Wilson brought you, finding a staircase and climbing it. Your heels make it somewhat difficult, and you’re trying you best to gather your hefty skirt and not eat shit.

You huff, but eventually exit on the right floor. Then, after a series of twisting turns, you spy it.

The really bad painting.

You stand in front of it, and tilt your head. It’s a portrait of…something. Honestly, it looks like a clown to you. But then you tilt your head the other way and see a weird blob of colours, vaguely resembling a dog. You try to take it all in, the days of your highschool art class coming back to you. Fleeting words like composition and practice float through your head. When they eventually trail out, you sigh.

You reach up, still having to go on the tip of your toes in your heels. Your fingers trace the gilded frame, and you lift the edge from the wall, and peer under. It’s an awkward position, trying to make sure the frame is still attached to the wall and not crashing down on your head. But then you spy a silver key and grab it earnestly. You ease the frame back against the wall and gaze down at the small key in your palm.

You’re interrupted by a cough from behind you.

“Fucking hell!” You shout, and spin, prepared to give the creep a piece of your mind. “You do NOT need to sneak up on people like that, I nearly-” Your words are lost however, when you see the creep himself. You let out a guttural groan and squeeze your eyes shut, as if you can block out the figure of House. “I can’t do this.”

He sounds closer when he sneers. “Can’t or won’t?”

You open your eyes and pin him a glare, feeling the same fury from rush through you. It’s not the red hot daggers but rather the icy flurry of snow you found yourself in earlier. “Both.”

You try to steel yourself, and smooth your hands down the front of your dress. House’s eyes track your movement. The tip of the silver key pokes out for a split second and your eyes snaps to House’s.

There’s a moment of baited breath. Did he see it? Did he see you scrambling at the painting? But then he raises an eyebrow and confirms your suspicions. “Do you really think I didn’t know Wilson kept a key there? I know where he keeps his spare underwear at work.”

You roll you eyes, trying to rein yourself in. “Good for you, House. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” You make a move to step around him, but his hand shoots out like a snake and grips your arm. He still clutches his cane with his other hand.

“Not so fast,” he drawls out your last name and you clench your jaw.

“Let go of me.”

“So what? You can go run outside and hook up with Wilson again?”

Your eyes bulge out of your head. “What?! Is that really what you think happened?”

House rolls his eyes. “Well, if you were desperate enough to want to go on a date with me, then you’re desperate enough to have a go at anything that walks on two legs.”

You seethe. “You’re unbelievable. First you can’t stomach the thought of taking me tonight without being bribed and now you’re jealous that I might have hooked up with someone else?”

He scoffs. “I’m not jealous.”

You nod down at his tightening grip on your arm. He lets go as if it burns him suddenly.

“Like I said, House. I’m not doing this. I’m not going to stand here and be berated for being upset at you.”

“Right,” he shakes his head. “You’ll just go home and call up your mother and bitch about it for an hour. How much you hate me, how disgusting I am, how you can’t believe I would do something like that. But you can’t do that, can you?”

Anger is rolling through you in dull waves. “What are you talking about?”

House stares at you, his blue eyes electric under the hospitals lights. “You’re my employee. Do you really think I would employ someone that I didn’t know everything about? Hell, I know the preschool you went to, let alone your family.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, House.”

He stares at you and you have to resist the urge to fidget. His calculating eyes sweep up and down your form, and you steel yourself to steady your gaze on his worn face. Don’t show weakness. Don’t show fear. He was a rabid animal, and you knew he would sense the second that you slipped up. "Really? You think you’re so good at being secretive and blocking people out? That’s my forte, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t let you speak, launching into his own words instantly. “I know about your older brothers. About your mother. EEvery timewe have a sick mother in, you turn away when you think no one is watching and do; what was it? A breathing technique? Or to wipe at your tears?” He waves the notion away, and your eyes start to bulge out of your head at his incredulousness, “At one point in time, you were close to your siblings, to your mother. And yet, you moved across the country. Left ‘em behind. Or, maybe you left even before you moved here. Now, away from home, all alone in the big city, you’re alone. But your father?”

At this, he whistles low. “Whole nother basket of fruit, right there. I can see it on your face everyt ime I tell you’re wrong and even moreso when I tell you that you’re right. Was daddy not proud of you? Spent his time working away, maybe at a hospital somewhere, and you just had to prove that you were worthy of his love and attention by becoming a doctor?”

You bark out a laugh but its humourless and cold. “No, daddy wasn’t too busy working. He was too busy drinking and smoking and screaming at mummy. I don’t give a shit about that man’s attention or praise or whatever it is that you think you have pyscho-analysed out of me. I haven’t spoken to him since I was thirteen.”

But House doesn’t relent at your revelation. If anything it spurs him on, and he speaks in a frenzy. “Uh-uh. I said I can see it. So what if you haven’t spoken to him? It’s pretty fucking obvious to everyone here what you’re pushing onto any older guy. Myself included. That’s why you wanted me to take you tonight. Do you want me to tell you that I’m proud of you, to tuck you in at night and say you did a good job? Or to kiss you and give you all that love that you never got?”

You flush deep with shame and anger and you can’t even stop yourself when you say, “Fuck you, House.”

He mockingly places a hand to his heart. “You wound me. But we’re not done.”

You can feel tears welling in your eyes and they’re threatening to burn down your face as he keeps speaking. “Do you want to talk about how in the time I’ve known you, you haven’t even looked at Foreman, or Chase, or hell, even Cameron with so much as lust? Sure, you see the way that Chase looks at you- but you were never going to give into him, were you? What is it, huh? Got touched as a kid or do you just like being a stick in the mud, ‘holier than thou’ virgin everywhere you go?”

Your hand connects with his face in an instant and it’s with so much force that his head whips to the side. It wasn't quite the deck you promised Wilson, but now your fist clenches. You can feel your face is wet and blotchy with tears now, and you’re not sure when you started crying in his horrible rant, but the tears continue to flow.

He’s staring at you, and his own hand raises up to touch where you slapped him. It's odd, admist the pure, unbridled rage flowing through you, you're struck with the thought to take a picture of is dumbstruck face and save it for later.

“Fuck. You.” You spit.

“Did that make you feel better? If you want I’ll make a space for you in the office and when you’re angry you can go have a tantrum there.”

You huff out a laugh. “I don’t know. Let me try again and I’ll see how I feel.”

You swing your hand at him again but the bastard grabs at your wrist an inch from his face. “Let. Go. House.”

“So what, you can hit me again?”

You’re still crying and you feel your lip waver. “You’re horrible.”

He sneers, yanking you closer to his face. “And what do you think that makes you, looking up to someone as horrible as me? Wanting to go out on a date with me?”

You wrench your wrist out of his grasp and stumble backwards. Cockily, he leans against his cane, and tilts his head.

“Why, House? Why hunt me down, why start this, why mock me, why be such an arsehole? Do you actually care that much about my feelings? About what I think of you?”

His smirk drops into a frown and you keep speaking, the words tumbling out of you like a hot mess. “You think you have me all worked out, but I think Wilson was right about you. Just the possibility of me being interested in you has you scared shitless. Because, if I like you, it must mean I think you have some redeeming quality, some semblance of good in your twisted heart. Even with all that daddy issue bullshit you brought up, if it was just the fact that you’re older, I would’ve only wanted to fuck you, right? That’s what you think happens when I take one stepo outside and start trying to hook up with Wilson, right?" You laugh, and it chokes out into a sob. “But tonight, me wanting to be on an actual date with you? How terrifying.”

House’s jaw clenches, but his eyes remain stormy and still. “I’ve had lots of terrifying things happen to me. A short and annoying girl wanting to date me is not one of them.”

You throw your hands up in the air. “Stop lying! You can’t even say that with a straight face. Because it does scare you. If I want to date you, it means you’re not this horrible, ghastly monster you keep making yourself out to be. It means you’re not unloveable, and that means that all this effort you go to, to push people away, to make them hate you as much as you hate yourself, is wasted. You’re so fucking miserable that when everyone else has left you, you try to push me away too. And when that doesn’t work, you try to make me as miserable as you are, to show me that there is no redeeming you.”

You’re heaving out air and trying to remind your lungs to work properly. “Guess what? It’s finally worked.” He chews his cheek but you just shake your head. “I’m done. I’ll get you my two weeks notice tomorrow.”

For once, you see House surprised. Shocked, almost. But then you turn, and you leave him all alone in the hallway. Like he always wanted.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday!!!! I love your blog so much, this is my first time making it to the asks!

Dealer’s choice!!

He waits two weeks and five days, which is seventeen days longer than he thinks is necessary.

However, it’s how long it takes for the Cuban couple to be discharged. He’s not sure if this is the time to indulge in symmetry or ritual when it’s never done him much good before, but he supposes he’s trying something new.

Cuddy is still furious at him over firing Chase. Wilson isn’t much better, oscillating between pity and disappointment, which is just obnoxious. The new guitar is at least a decent distraction. The downside is he has to actually spend most of his days in the clinic to avoid taking another case, which he doesn’t want to do just yet.

Symmetry and ritual and all that.

The day after the couple is gone, he sleeps in then drives his bike in the opposite direction of the hospital.

He has to hit his cane on the door for over a minute before it flies open and Chase is standing there, hair sleep mussed and mouth pulled into a scowl. “What do you want, House?”

It’s too soon to smile, so he doesn’t. “Is Cameron here? I assume she is, otherwise I’ll have to come back later which would be a huge pain. Why do you live downtown? The traffic is awful.”

“If you’re looking for Cameron, go to her apartment,” Chase says, moving to shut the door in his face.

They grow up so fast.

He shoves his cane in the door because he’s not willing to risk his foot and Chase glares at it like he’s seriously considering trying to snap it with the door anyway. “I didn’t say I was looking for Cameron. I asked if she was here. How much have you been drinking? You can’t be losing braincells that quickly.”

Chase’s expression turns considering, which almost makes him smile again.

The door is flung wide open and Cameron is standing there, hair greasy and wearing one of Chase’s button ups over a pair of leggings and glaring at him like he’s something on the bottom of her shoe. “Go away, House. You’ve done enough.”

“Good,” he says. “Have you eaten yet?”

Cameron’s eyes narrow. Chase asks, “Why?”

“There’s a half decent restaurant about a mile from here. We could get breakfast,” he says, still refusing to smile, but now it’s out of self preservation. If they slam the door in his face, he can play it off as a joke. Or he can start stalking them.

Playing it off as a joke is the safe option. The socially acceptable one.

But he’d foregone the safe option when he’d fired Chase.

“I’m not coming back,” Cameron says firmly, lifting her chin in challenge.

“I don’t want you to come back,” he says. It’s true in the way she means, at least. “So, breakfast? It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“It’s noon,” she says coldly.

“Lunch, then,” he amends. “My treat, considering you’re both unemployed. A bit careless of you, to leave one job without having another lined up, but such are the mistakes of youth.”

Maybe other people can get things and people and relationship with honey rather than vinegar. His personal experience has leaned more towards catching each one by the wings and shoving it in the jar himself. His metaphorical jar has airholes, so he doesn’t get what everyone is always so upset about.

Cameron is still glaring but Chase has relaxed. Cameron may have wanted to understand him, had tried to study him and make sense of him, but Chase had always been better at it. A life of a shit father and being a huge kiss ass has given him selectively useful skills. Chase says, “Brunch. I want pancakes.”

“Chase!” Cameron shouts at the same time as House says, “Cool.”

“I’ll drive,” he says, nudging Cameron out the door even as he leans further into the apartment to grab his keys. “You would have made a stronger argument if you’d brought the corvette instead of your bike.”

“Well,” he says, finally letting a smile tug across his face. Cameron stares. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to agree for the wrong reasons.”

~

Cameron thinks she has to be asleep. This can’t be real.

But they’re sitting in a booth in an old school diner that still smells faintly of cigarette smoke, which gives her some indication of how long it’s been in business, and House is stretched out in the opposite seat, leaning his back against the wall and with his legs crossed in front of him.

“Aren’t you going to look at the menu?” she asks as Chase flips through the multiple pages, House looks at the ceiling, and she looks at him.

“Nope,” he answers.

“Are you going to tell us what we’re doing here?” she presses.

He turns to look at her, eyebrow raised. “We’re getting brunch.”

There’s nothing heavy at the table, but she could probably do some damage with the fork. It’s not like he can run very far.

The waitress comes back, settling coffees in front of all of them. Chase orders chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, and eggs. House gets the steak omelet, which the sign they’d passed on the way in had proclaimed was this week’s special. She still hasn’t looked at the menu so she says, “You order for me.”

House rolls his eyes. “The little lady will have one slice of the stuffed French toast, scrambled egg whites, and the fruit cup. No grapes.”

She wouldn’t have ordered the stuffed French toast for herself, but she does want it. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to read into that.

The waitress says, “Aw, introducing the new boyfriend to your father? That’s so sweet.”

Chase freezes while Cameron feels her mouth drop open and she tries to say something but finds she can only get out a strangled, “Ah.”

“Kids sure do grow up fast,” House says, his disconcertingly normal smile of before having stretched into a much more familiar smarmy grin. He at least waits for the waitress to leave before asking, “Tell me, Cameron, have you ever gotten urge to call me daddy?”

“Oh my god,” she breathes, “why would she-”

“You both look like children outside of suits and lab coats,” he says. “Or maybe I just look especially old today. Or maybe she clocked our ages perfectly and just thought I had you young.”

“Please stop talking,” she says. The French toast suddenly doesn’t sound so appetizing.

He shrugs, stirring sugar into his coffee before lifting the mug up to take a sip.

The red mug. That she’s definitely seen before.

“Is that – your mugs in the office,” she says.

“I steal one every time I’m here. Don’t worry, I tip well.” He taps his fingers along the side. “If you want to be helpful, steal yours for me too. Wilson always refuses because he’s a wimp. He got caught once and she didn’t even care.”

This has to be a dream. House has brought them to a place that he goes frequently, with Wilson, and has revealed a personal detail about himself. It may just be where he gets his favorite mugs for the office but it’s more than he’s ever offered up willingly before.

“What do you want?” she asks.

He takes another long sip of his coffee, once again staring straight ahead. She thinks the real reason he’s stretched out like that isn’t because of his leg or comfort but so his default position is looking away from them. “There’s an open position in surgery under Thomas. He’s an insufferable ass, but luckily you have experience in that area.”

She’d asked the question but he’s obviously talking to Chase. He swallows and she can feel him tense along her side. She hates this. “You want me to apply?”

“There’s a senior research position in immunology at St. Sebastian’s. They’re doing a lot of cool stuff,” he continues, not answering Chase but now speaking to her. “I’d go for that one. However, Williams is looking to retire, which means his position is open. It sounds like an utter bore to me, but you’d probably like it.”

“Williams, the emergency room department head?” she demands incredulously.

“Keep in mind I’m only bringing it up because I’d prefer you both stay at Princeton. It’s a shit job,” he answers. “The research one is way better.”

“You want me to apply for the surgeon position?” Chase repeats.

“Don’t be stupid,” House says and Chase’s grinds his teeth together. “I want you to accept the surgeon position. Thomas will offer it to you outright in about,” he checks his watch, “eight days.”

Cameron has never found House to make sense, but this is taking it to a new level. “If you’re feeling guilty about firing Chase–”

“I’m not feeling guilty,” he interrupts. “When have you ever known me to feel guilty for doing the right thing?”

“Doing the right thing makes you miserable,” she retorts.

He smiles again, small enough that she thinks it might be genuine. “Only sometimes. This will probably make me miserable too, though. I hate hiring people. They’re all so stupid. A benefit to you two sticking around the hospital is that I can go and bug you when your replacements’ idiocy threatens to kill someone.”

“Or your stubbornness,” she says.

“Tomayto, tomahto,” he replies. “There are also a couple open positions in Chicago that you’d like, but that makes me intention to leech off you significantly harder.”

Chase sits up a little straighter. “Why would you tell us about jobs that you don’t want us to take?”

“You’re not my employees anymore. I can’t make you do the smart thing. You’re free to be idiots, if that’s what you want,” he says.

Cameron doesn’t want to press on this particular bruise, but she’s missing something. “Why did you fire Chase?”

She’d asked that before but this time she thinks she might get a real answer out of him.

“So you’d make a choice,” he says, then nods to Chase, “You’re welcome.”

Chase blinks several times. “What?”

He groans, “Are you going to make me spell it out?” Neither of them say anything and he sighs. “Chase loves me too much to ever leave me so of course I had to fire him. Plus it pushed you to make a choice – me or him. If you’d never had to pick, even if you started dating Chase, he’d always feel like your second choice. Because he would be. But now he knows he’s your first. So, again, you’re welcome.”

She’s actually speechless so she’s relieved when Chase asks, “Why would you care about that? Why do you care at all? Even if you do care, why do this? You hate change.”

“True,” he acknowledges. “Which is why I didn’t do anything when your contracts ran out. But Foreman quit. Change was happening whether I liked it or not so there’s no reason to prolong the process. Better to get all the change out at once so I can get back to a life of no changes.”

“Why isn’t Foreman here?” Cameron challenges. “Why did you come get us and not him?”

That makes him go silent again, but she and Chase have years of experience waiting him out. He’s still looking at them, but he’s not seeing them, his eyes going unfocused like he’s thinking through a case. “Wood ducks, unlike the majority of their genus, make nests in trees.”

She’d always been convinced that one day House’s stupid metaphors would make sense to her. Mostly they just give her a headache.

“They also have a habit of flinging themselves out of the nest with very little concern for the consequences of those actions. That’s because the mother duck builds the nest high enough to keep it from predators but low enough that they’ll be unharmed by the impact of the nice cushy ground, so this propensity for leaping first and looking never wasn’t bred out of them by evolution. Of course, humans mess that up, and now lots of places have hard concrete instead of soft ground. So now the duck’s ability to survive is based on their ability to fly.”

“So you’re seeing if we can fly?” Chase asks tentatively.

House sighs, taking another sip of his coffee and giving them a faux disappointed look that she’s surprised doesn’t prick her as much as it used to. “You landed on soft ground. It doesn’t matter if you can fly or not.”

“Concrete is accidentally killing a patient who wouldn’t have died otherwise,” she says, sitting up straight. “You kicked us out of the nest because we’d be fine. But you think Foreman is heading for concrete and you don’t know if he’s going to be able to fly or not.”

“Less killing the patient, more the lack of self confidence and self awareness,” he says, “but yeah, close enough.”

“What if he falls?” Chase asks.

House shrugs. “Then, if he lives, back into the nest he goes.”

“And if he flies?” she challenges.

He takes another sip of coffee, but it doesn’t quite hide the smile on his face. “Then we invite him to brunch.”

~

“Are you going to take it?” Cameron asks, resting on top of his chest and digging her chin into his sternum.

It’s not the most comfortable position on his end, but he’s not going to tell her that. “I haven’t been offered it yet.”

She gives him a look and he sighs, which only serves to shove her chin even further into him.

He’s going to take it.

It’s a good job, a great job even, and he’ll be able to really develop his skills as a surgeon. But he’s self aware enough to know that biggest draw is that House wants him to take it. That House didn’t just get sick of him and decide that he was worthless and fine to throw away.

He was trying to help, in the worst, most assholish way possible.

“Do you think we can actually be friends?” he asks instead of answering.

Cameron frowns. “He did pay for brunch.”

“He also told you that you were getting the next one since you’d quit instead of being fired,” he reminds her.

Her frown deepens. “He’s friends with Wilson.”

“I don’t think I can handle being Wilson,” he says honestly. He likes House. He really likes the idea of being friends with House. But the only friend House has is sort of insane and has to put up with even more crap than they did as his employees – and he isn’t even getting paid for it.

But it’s different, too. Wilson still gets called an idiot if he’s being an idiot and House will be insane and annoying and all of that, but he can be nice too, when it’s Wilson. He makes an effort for Wilson.

Sort of like he’d made an effort with them, today.

“So we won’t be Wilson,” she says. “We’ll be Chase and Cameron and he’ll be House and maybe that can be something different than it was before.”

Maybe.

[callmebrycelee]

9-1-1 REACTION

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! I believe I spoke too soon!!! Last week, I said the episode "No Place Like Home" was one of the strongest episodes in a very long time. While I do agree with that sentiment, I think this past week's episode is even better! But hey! I'm getting ahead of myself! Let me start over. This reaction is for the season 8, fifth episode "Masks" which originally aired October 24, 2024. The episode was written by Taylor Wong and directed by Christine Khalafian. Spoilers ahead!

It's been a long time since I've been this enchanted by an episode which is funny to say considering how much I gushed over the last episode. This episode was just so ... perfect! It was the perfect mix of comedy and drama. The scenes involving Buck had me laughing until my face hurt while Hen and Karen's storyline left me sobbing on my sofa. Also, Aisha Hinds deserves all the awards. No one on this show can go there emotionally like she can. Her acting in this episode rivals her performance in the episode "Malfunction". Speaking of acting, let's talk about the best plot of the episode.

Best plot?

This is really a hard one. I thought both of our major plots this episode were pretty amazing for different reasons. However, for the sake of keeping things balanced, I'm going to give it to Buck's plot. Now that Gerrard is gone, our resident Golden Retriever is back to being fun again! Halloween is approaching and the 118 have been delegated the task of turning the firehouse into a haunted house. The budget at the LAFD must be really nice if they can afford to go all out the way they did. Buck's contribution to the decorations is a creepy AF dehydrated-looking prop dead body he got from a Hollywood warehouse. The night of the haunted house, he shows it off to a group of kids. When the 'fake' corpse's arm snaps off, Buck sees there are tendons still attached. Turns out, our fake dead body is not so fake. In the words of Evan Buckley, he's real, he's real, he's real, he's real.

After dislocating his shoulder responding to an emergency involving a man's head trapped inside of a rotting pumpkin, Buck does some digging (pun totally intended) on the dead body. He learns the remains belong to an outlaw named William James McCurdy. McCurdy's nickname was Billy Boils due to large pustules that covered his body. Buck thinks he's been cursed by Billy Boils and to make matters worse, the morning after he dislocates his shoulder, he wakes up with giant boils all over his face.

The episode ends with Buck facilitating a proper burial for McCurdy (aka Billy Boils) and acknowledging the betrayal he suffered by those in his posse. If anyone knows what it feels like to have the people you trust turn their back on you and leave you behind, it's Buck and to a certain degree it's also Tommy who is there by his side through the whole ordeal. Overall, I thought this story did a great job of reminding us that Buck has found his own posse, a group of loyal individuals who will have his back no matter what. I loved the moments between Tommy and Eddie. I really like their dynamic and I hope we get to see more of it. I also think this is one of Oliver Stark's most comedic performances. I hope we get more fun Buck moments throughout the rest of the season.

Best Emergency Sequence?

The emergency involving the two students, their principal, and Denny is the best emergency sequence of the episode. It started off so innocently. I'm not a fan of Halloween pranks but the principal completely overreacted. His decision to get in his car and chase after the two girls was completely unhinged and his actions led to the tragic moment of the episode. A part of me was like, they are NOT about to kill little Denny Wilson off and the other part of me was like, what if they do kill him off. That would really up the dramatic stakes for Hen and Karen - as if they haven't already been put through the ringer this season. Denny's acting was pretty great this episode and it makes me wonder why he isn't a part of the main cast. Declan Pratt has been in most of the episodes so far this season and Gavin McHugh, who plays Christopher, has technically only been in one episode although we do get to see him in a photograph in this episode. I'm not trying to get in between Gavin and his money. All I'm saying is that Declan is putting in a lot of work this season and should be considered for the main cast next season.

Anyway, I digress. Hen is absolutely devastated by the events and it doesn't help that she's already feeling pretty guilty for having to miss celebrating Halloween with Denny and Mara. The moment that really got me is when the 118 arrive on the scene and Chimney sees Mara and Jee-Yun. The way he put two and two together and tried to warn Hen before she saw Denny gave me goosebumps. Kudos to Hen for simultaneously losing it and keeping it together while tending to Denny. I especially felt for Karen because she isn't a first responder so all she could do was stand back and watch. This must be every parent's worst nightmare. Things can happen so quickly and whether you're there like Karen or not like Hen, bad stuff can still happen.  Thankfully Denny is alright. I loved how the 118 and Tommy were all at the hospital in support. They really are a family and I have a feeling that's going to be a theme we get all season long. After the whole ordeal with fostering Mara last season and the Olivia Ortiz of it all and now this, I think we need to give the Wilson family a break. They've been through enough. Just give me nothing but sweet family moments between Hen, Karen, Denny, and Mara for the rest of the season. You hear me, writers!?

Episode MVP?

In an episode where Buck and Hen were our main focus, I have to give the Episode MVP award to our hot pilot, our bestest boyfriend - Tommy Kinard. It felt so good to have him back this episode and I totally wasn't expecting to get so much of him. Tommy is at the hospital when Buck dislocates his shoulder, he's caring for Buck at the loft, he's with the rest of the 118 while Denny is in surgery, and he dons his best suit to accompany Buck to the cemetery at the end of the episode. The man is the definition of showing up and a part of me is curious as to how the Buddie shippers are going to spin this. Tommy is a good guy and his heart is pure and yet they still hate him. I know what they think shouldn't bother me but it's really frustrating how far they're willing to go to villainize not only Tommy but the actor that plays him. Shout-out to Lou Ferrigno, Jr.! You are aging like fine wine, you sexy beast!

BuckTommy Corner

Speaking of Tommy, this week's BuckTommy Corner totally makes up for the lack of BuckTommy moments we got in the last three episodes. Tim Minear and company knew we were starving and he fed us so well this episode. First thing I want to talk about is our newest, canonical ship. The relationship between Tommy and Eddie is something this show needs more of. The scene where Tommy shows up at the hospital and Buck is explaining how he ended up dislocating his shoulder, I thought it was hilarious when Eddie kept interrupting. Also, I love the very subtle choice of having Eddie read a Sports Illustrated with swimsuit model on the cover. It reminds me of that Kim Kardashian meme where she's like 'I'm dropping hints that I'm single'. In this case, you can swap single for heterosexual. Another thing I found funny considering the ongoing shipwars on Tumblr, X, and Reddit, Eddie has way more chemistry with Tommy than he has with Buck which is another indicator that Buddie will remain fanon and fanon only.  But this isn't Buddie Corner - it's BuckTommy Corner and I loved the little moments of domestic bliss we got. Since we don't get to see Tommy every episode, it's important they find ways to show the evolution of he and Buck's relationship without being hamfisted about it. The way Tommy supports Buck in this episode tells me they have reached the stage in the relationship where both parties are completely comfortable with each other. I love the contrast between how Eddie supports Buck and how Tommy supports Buck. Eddie's way of supporting his best friend is to give him shit and poke fun at him while Tommy lets Buck be Buck but doesn't overindulge him. He gives advice when it's appropriate and shows up when he needs to. What I also like about Tommy's boyfriend abilities is how he listens actively. When Buck was rambling on and on about the curse, Tommy was so focused on hearing every detail even when he thought that Buck was being ridiculous. And lest we forget, the man got dressed up to attend the funeral of a man who's been dead over a 100 years. I don't know about y'all but I would love to have a partner like Tommy. Tommy's the kind of guy who won't be able to post your bail because he'd be right there in the cell with you.

I don't want to celebrate too much but I have a strong feeling that BuckTommy is going to last a long time. The level of care this canonical ship is getting by the writers and Tim Minear is on par with Hen and Karen. And Bobby and Athena. And Chimney and Maddie. I also get the feeling there's plans to make Tommy a part of the fire fam. He's now commented twice on how much he admires the 118 and how supportive they are of each other. I think Buck is going to take steps to make Tommy feel more included. Him sitting in that waiting room with the rest of the 118 felt so right. It felt natural. I think if you asked Athena or Bobby or Hen, they would tell you that Tommy's one of them. He's part of the family. Okay, it's time to end this bad boy. I really enjoyed this episode. I'm really enjoying this season. If season 8 were an album, there would be no skips so far. I hope we keep this momentum as we approach the winter hiatus which usually comes around episode 8 or 9. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention yet again the network change. ABC is the perfect home for a show like this and by shifting networks, I feel like there's more longevity for the series. There's so many stories we can tell and as long as Angela Bassett. Peter Krause, and the other main actors are willing to stick around, I think we can look forward to more seasons down the road. Until next time!

[greghousebignaturals]

Okay back on my bullshit about episode 3x12.

The patient asks House, "has anything terrible ever happened to you?"

And House panics and sedates her when she says she's just trying to give him what he wants, a conversation that matters.

House goes to Wilson first and he's the only one who asks House, "has your life sucked?" Which is a completely different question than what his patient asked, but he at least asked instead of projecting. He gets to the heart of it, she wants House to be real, to tell the truth, and it scares House. Wilson wants him to tell the truth and overcome that fear and move beyond science, into the realm of emotions and feeling, a recurring theme in their relationship.

House goes to Cameron, "tell her your life has been good." House replies, "it hasn't been". "Tell her anyways, she wants hope, that what happened to her wasn't the norm, that things can be okay for her again." This is so inherent to who Cameron is, prioritizing false hope and comfort so people are buffered from reality for as long as possible. We see it in her patient this episode, the young woman she befriends who's going to die in an earlier season, her dead husband. Her life hasn't been bad, she's helped a lot of people, what's happened to her isn't normal, so at some point statistically things will get normal for her. She's fine (she's not), she'll be okay (she hopes).

House goes to Foreman, "tell her your life sucked." "It didn't." "Tell her anyway, she wants to know she's not alone, she wants to know she's going to survive this, that other people have been through this and worse and come out the other end. She wants to know she's going to heal. Act like you've healed." Again this is so indicative of Foreman's character. He's put up a lot of walls, and he's done whatever he's needed to and then some to get where he is today. Sometimes you've gotta lie to get ahead, it is what it is. He's self taught himself in order to get into college and med school, he's stolen people's articles, he's turned his back on his brother because if he turned his life around, why didn't his brother? It has to be inherent within himself. Sometimes things suck, but you pull yourself together and move on; if youre strong enough you can do this. People have gone through worse than him and come out the other side better than him. He's pretending this doesn't bother him. He does his best to pretend his feelings about this aren't complicated. He's fine (he's not), he's moved on (he hasn't).

House goes to Chase, "tell her...keep her asleep." Chase never got closure with his dad, never had a blow out argument about how shitty it was that his dad left him as a child in the care of his alcoholic mother. How damaging that was to him, and how it defined so much of his character. He now never will get the chance to talk with his dad, and his only option is to try to move on alone, truths unshed to the person he should have shared them with. Just...leave her asleep. He's fine, there's no other choice.

One truth, two lies, and an abstention as advice. There is no way for House to truly give a whole, complete, unbiased statement about the trauma he very much still has effects from so that this woman can extrapolate and apply it to her own life. As he tells Chase, there is a right answer, probably out there somewhere, but we just don't know what it is. House somehow wraps all of the advice he received into what he tells her. He initially tells most of the truth (Wilson), but he abstains from telling her it was his father (Chase). He admits that what happened to him, while it sucked, was not as bad as what he thinks happened to her - drawing from Foreman. He even tried giving her some hope if you squint - his parents never knew, and that's why they never stopped his grandmother. It's not like they're bad people (Cameron)! It's just so interesting to me how House decided to prioritize their advice into the answer he gave her but that's another post tbh.

Unlike his fellows House doesn't pretend to be okay, he's fundamentally not. He's not going to be okay, he can't pull himself together, he can't move on alone. His patient is the only one who doesn't let him slide, who doesn't take his lies, his deflections, his snide comments as an excuse to move on but continues to point blank ask him to be not okay with her. She doesn't want to be not okay alone, but then again neither does he. So he brings her to a jogging park where he watches people living a life he can no longer have so they can be not okay together - a jogging park that while both Wilson and Cuddy find him there, are willing to come to him in his solitude to be there for him, it's implied he's never mentioned it to them and he's never brought them there to share in his vulnerability.

Sometimes hope and healing looks like talking to a Dr. Stone in a hospital bed, and sometimes it looks like finding a person just as alone and sad as you, and him sharing a beautiful place he can no longer enjoy, where nobody is watching and there are no right or wrong answers because neither of you ask any questions.

[erimeows]

Knowing (NSFW)

The night that Vogler gets voted off the board, Wilson drives back up to Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in the pouring rain to go celebrate with Chase, Foreman, and House in the latter’s office. Wilson, whose position was conveniently reinstated by Cuddy and the rest of the board, brings a bottle of whiskey in for the four of them to split between the shot glasses he knows House keeps in his desk drawer.

They stay there, making fun of Vogler and chatting away until half past midnight. Chase and Foreman excuse themselves around the same time. 

“And then there were two,” Wilson chimes with a half smile as he screws the lid back onto the glass whiskey bottle and slides it under House’s desk. He doesn’t drink much- hardly drank any of it tonight- so he figures House will get more use out of it than he ever will. “How are you feeling?”

“Think they’re going home together?” House hums, totally ignoring Wilson’s question. House is shaken due to that day’s happenings and just refuses to admit it to anyone- even himself. It makes sense that he won’t acknowledge it. “I could’ve sworn there was some tension recently.”

“I think that has more to do with the fact that you had them at each other’s throats than it has to do with what you’re implying,” Wilson scoffs and shakes his head.

Wilson looks toward the window. House has the blinds open for once. Finally, even if it’s only for tonight, House isn’t closing off the rest of the world.

Wilson stands from where he’s sat in front of House’s desk so he can go to peer out the window. Rain continuously showers over the building and trickles down the window in big fat drops to shroud their already-foggy view of the city. 

“Ah, you’re no fun,” House feigns a pout and lifts himself from his spinning chair so he can slip his big coat over his shoulders. A few awkward seconds pass. Wilson waits for House to inevitably make his exit with a sarcastic farewell, but the exit never comes. Instead, House uses his cane to walk until he’s standing next to Wilson. He leans against the window and stares out at the city rather than at Wilson himself. Meanwhile, all Wilson can stare at is House. “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be going home to your wife? She might get lonely without you. Poor thing.”

Wilson rolls his eyes at that. He doesn’t want his wife- he wants House. His marriage has been over since it started and at this point, he’s just waiting for Julie to serve him with papers. 

“I’m an oncologist, House, it’s not like she’s used to having me home at this time of night anyways. The only reason I’m not working right now is because I just got hired back.”

“But you could be home with her if you really wanted to,” House points out- ever so excited to correct someone, even if it’s Wilson- no, especially if it’s Wilson. The man is sadistic; always seizing the opportunity to point out somebody else’s flaws if it draws attention away from his own. By pointing out the fact that Wilson should be home with his wife right now, he draws the attention away from how he refused to keep his head down with Vogler and got Wilson fired. “And you could also be pounding that hot nurse you had lunch with if you really wanted to. I bet she’d light some candles at her apartment and put rose petals on the bed to make it real nice- a contrast from the dead bedroom you’re probably suffering from with Julie right now. So, why are you here with me when you could be with either of them? Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“You’re right,” Wilson shrugs. He knows better to engage with House by arguing. That’s exactly what House wants, so he refuses to play into it. He puts his own jacket on and shoots House a sharp glare. “If you’re going to be like this about it, though, I’m going home.”

Wilson goes to leave, only to feel a hand on his shoulder. He turns his head to see House standing there with an unreadable expression (because even after all these years, this man is still an enigma).

“But do you want to go home to her?”

Wilson gulps and looks down, avoiding House’s prying gaze.

House reaches up to grab Wilson’s chin- to make Wilson look at him. Wilson does what he knows House wants him to and makes eye contact. Icy blue burns into light brown at the same time that Wilson’s cheeks flush pink. 

He’s had feelings for House since… Well, he doesn’t know when. One day, their friendship was just that, and the next, Wilson found himself with a notebook full of the man’s favorite things; found himself stealing glances and dreaming of things that he shouldn’t have been. Casual outings with his best friend turned into him spending his afternoons in preparation, trying on different outfits and mulling over which one would impress House the most. Peaceful nights with his wife- wives, over the years- turned into early mornings with him knelt on the floor of his bathroom, praying to God for House’s health, for House’s happiness, for House’s work, for House. Things changed so fast he couldn’t see it coming, let alone stop it.

Wilson remains lost in thought until House clears his throat, impatient. He recenters himself and meets House’s eyes again. Clearly, House reciprocates. Wilson isn’t oblivious to that. Wilson is the only person House spends time with, the only person House is interested in, the only person House has decided not to shut out. Wilson is the only person House has loved since Stacy.

But, whether or not House actually wants a relationship, Wilson has no idea. House isn’t the kind of man to hesitate. He would’ve made a move by now if he wanted it. Then again, he clearly returns Wilson’s feelings. So, if it’s not a relationship, what does House want? For them to stay in this limbo forever, wanting each other so desperately but never doing anything about it?

Wilson eyes House up and down. Still, his expression remains unreadable, but Wilson can tell that he’s tense with the way he taps his cane against the floor and purses his lips. 

“You know Julie and I haven’t been doing well. Why would I want to go home to her right now? And why does it matter to you?”

At that, House’s face falls. Wilson has successfully backed him into a corner and it’s apparent he doesn’t like it. 

“No reason.”

House backs away from Wilson like he’s on fire and retreats to his desk to gather his things. Wilson follows, unable to notice how House puts extra effort into facing away from him to hide his reddening cheeks.

“You never ask questions without a reason- you never do anything without a reason,” He argues.

“I can’t help but notice that you’re still here,” House grumbles and points up at the analogue clock on the wall. It’s almost one in the morning now. “You said you were going to leave two minutes ago, so leave.”

“You’re the one who stopped me,” Wilson shrugs. With each of these tense, awkward interactions, he feels as if he and House are getting progressively closer to something big. But then nothing happens, and he’s left disappointed like he is every other time. “You should be getting home, too. It’s late.”

“Ooh, so we can leave together,” House smirks and clacks his cane against the floor again. “I love it.”

Wilson flinches at a crack of thunder that booms through the sky.

“Are you sure you should drive in this?” He asks in reference to the downpour outside.

“What, are you gonna offer to chauffeur me to my place and then make that drive all the way back to yours?”

“No,” Wilson answers with a shake of his head. “I was gonna ask if I could drive us both to your apartment and stay with you tonight.”

“Wow, you’re really trying to get in my pants, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Wilson snaps. House blinks in what Wilson assumes is surprise. “You’re not a genius for figuring that one out; I’ve only been interested for a decade. So what?”

House pauses, standing behind his desk and staring at Wilson with a twinkle in his icy blue eyes. The tension in the room becomes so thick that it’s palpable until House walks towards the door of his office and utters one sentence.

“I don’t sleep with married men.”

Then, he shoots Wilson a wink and a smile before gingerly exiting the office, leaving nothing more than a confused and disappointed oncologist. Wilson sighs and looks at the clock again.

It’s one in the morning. He should be getting home.

~

A few months pass. Wilson moves out of the apartment he shared with Julie, which she doesn’t question. He also gets together with a lawyer and gets her served with divorce papers. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t question that either, and when he goes back to the apartment for the rest of his things, he’s not shocked by the fact that there’s another car in his parking space and a pair of men’s steel-toed boots by the front door. 

As much as Wilson could complain about acquiring a third alimony payment, he’s so relieved that it’s over that he doesn’t think to do so. Instead, he makes copies of all the documents pertaining to the divorce, storms into House’s office, and throws them down onto the diagnostician’s desk. 

House, who was sitting in his chair and bouncing his tennis ball on the floor, glances up at Wilson with a half-smile.

“What’s this? STD test results? I knew your panty-peeling ways would catch up to you eventually,” House jokes before picking up the stack of papers and staring down at it. Upon reading the words, his eyes go wide. “You really did it…”

“I’m not a married man anymore,” Wilson smirks. “What now?”

House tilts his head. His small half of a smile morphs into a large, cheshire grin.

“I don’t sleep with people who know me.”

“Really? That’s it? Not ‘I’m not gay’?” Wilson sputters. House must be coming up with excuses to avoid the inevitable at this point- either that or just trying to fuck with him for the fun of it. They love each other, and they both know they love each other, but that was never the problem. It’s always been House and whatever reservations he has back in that complicated head of his. “That’s your reason, that you know me?”

“Yes,” House nods and tosses the copies of Wilson’s divorce papers into the trash can next to his desk. Then, he starts spinning in his chair like a child and tosses his tennis ball in Wilson’s direction. Wilson barely catches it. “And I’ve never confirmed or denied the thing about being gay- I like to keep people on their toes, keep ‘em guessing.”

“You like to keep people on their toes, huh? That’s one hell of an understatement. What about Cuddy? Or Stacy? And I’m pretty sure you’ve at least considered Cameron. You know all of them.”

“Sure I do, but they don’t know me,” House explains and crosses his arms. “You, however, do.”

“And you don’t sleep with people who know you- you won’t risk being with me even though we have these feelings for each other-” Wilson pauses, pointing at himself as he puts it together. “Because you’re afraid of being known.”

“No. I just know better than to mix being known with the terrible thing that is my sex life. Why are you so insistent on making this a me problem?” House demands. While it’s apparent that he’s trying to maintain his composure, Wilson has known the man long enough to tell that he’s frazzled as he looks for his cane. Upon locating it, House grabs it from where it fell onto the floor at some point and gets up from his chair. “Is it because you don’t want to admit that it could be you?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Wilson huffs. He throws his hands up in frustration and furrows his brow in anger. House starts to walk like he’s going to go past Wilson and to the door of his office, so Wilson blocks his way by moving in front of him. House shoots a glare that would work on just about anyone else- that would make Cameron or Chase or Foreman or any of House’s clinic patients turn their backs and walk away- but Wilson hasn’t been friends with House for over a decade by walking away from him. “You just admitted it was you and the weird prerequisites that you have for your sexual partners!”

“Well, you’ve had three failed marriages and you’re the only common denominator, so are we going to sit here and pretend that I’m the problem in this relationship?”

“I know I’m not perfect, you idiot- we’re both the problem!”

“Listen, Wilson, we’re at work and I’m sure you’ve got a ton of dying bald little freaks to save,” House says with a harsh tap of his cane to the floor for emphasis. 

“You’re fucked up.”

“I know. We both are,” House says and leans down to Wilson’s ear, daring to nip on the lobe. A flash of heat tears through Wilson’s spine. He can’t remember the last time he was so enthralled with someone; was it during his marriages? No, he would’ve remembered. Before House? Or was it always House? He’s so close that Wilson can smell past the cologne he wears and the shampoo he puts in his hair to get the scent of him, just him. Wilson knows his eyes are wide as House whispers in his ear. “Now get back to work. Or, if you’re just going to spend the rest of your shift thinking about me anyway, go home where you can fantasize about what I’m like in bed without getting interrupted.”

House, thinking he’s won this, side-steps as smoothly as he can given his infarction and goes to take another step forward so he can briskly escape this tense situation. Wilson, however, doesn’t intend on letting House escape. He’s always been good at surprising House, which he does yet again when he entangles his fingers in the loose ends of House’s hair and moves closer until they’re chest to chest. He waits for House to push him away, to say something, to tell Wilson that he doesn’t want this for some other stupid reason he’s come up with to push Wilson away for the millionth time.

Silence ensues. House doesn’t speak, just remains perfectly still with his back pin straight and his icy blue eyes trained on Wilson. He’s just holding his breath, watching, waiting for the oncologist to make the next move. Wilson enjoys the moment for what it is; being this close to House and being able to touch him isn’t something he’s ever gotten to partake in. 

House’s hair is peppery in color and a little coarse, and the ends are grown out so he has a couple small curls at the base of his neck. He’s long overdue for a hair cut. Wilson runs his fingers through it and revels in the sensation of his chest against House’s. 

He wonders what it would be like if they were at House’s apartment and not surrounded by the staff of the hospital walking by. He thinks about what this would feel like without the layers of clothes between them. He imagines what House would sound like if they weren’t standing here at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital staring each other down- if they were in House’s queen-sized bed, mouths on each other’s, hands roaming bodies and sweat staining House’s dark blue bed sheets.

“Tell me you don’t love me, or that I’m ugly, or that I have too much baggage. Tell me something- anything- about me that’s so bad that you don’t want this,” Wilson commands. “Tell me that I’ve put on too much weight since my second divorce, that my savior-complex is annoying, that I’m a serial cheater, that I always put your empty cereal boxes back in the pantry after I finish off the bag, anything. Please.”

“It’s not-” House starts with a quizzical expression, only for Wilson to quickly interject.

“Not about you or your fears. Give me a good, valid reason you don’t want me, and I’ll stop. I’ll leave, we can go back to being normal friends- hell, you can choose not to talk to me ever again- and that’ll be the end of it. But I’m not going to walk away knowing that you want me just as much as I want you. I can’t do that to us, House.”

“I…”

House looks anywhere but at Wilson now; the clock on the wall, the cane in his hand, the floor, Wilson’s stupid pink tie. He can’t do it and they both know that. Wilson isn’t surprised. What he is surprised by is how House kisses his forehead so tenderly. Wilson almost doesn’t believe it’s him doing it… and then it’s his nose, and his cheek, and finally, House is kissing him on the lips, slow and sweet.

Wilson hesitantly kisses back. It doesn’t seem real, but it is. It must be real if the large hand squeezing his waist and the stubble brushing against his chin are anything to go off of. He pulls away just enough to whisper against House’s lips.

“We’re at work. Shouldn’t you stop now?”

“Yes,” House breathes, even as he goes in for another kiss, and then another, as if he’ll die without; as if he’s drowning and Wilson is his only source of air. Wilson accepts it, craves it, allows himself to be taken in and kissed until he’s out of breath and his lips are bruised. It quickly escalates into something that he knows he’d get fired for at any other hospital. Briefly, he worries about people walking past and seeing this through the glass door of House’s office until he realizes that he wants them to see. He wants them to see that no, his devotion to House isn’t meaningless- that their relationship does mean something, that House can and will feel love for the right person, and that Wilson is the only one worthy of said love. “I should.”

“But you’re not going to?” Wilson laughs.

“No, I’m not,” House says and dips for another peck between sentences. “Fuck, I don’t think I could stop this even if I wanted to.”

“Then shut the blinds, lock your office door, and bend over the desk.”

~

A couple more weeks pass. Some days, they sleep together. Some days, they don’t. Regardless, things are the same as they always have been minus the sex.

Wilson should be disappointed. He wanted House to open up and he wanted them to connect, to have a real relationship. But right now…

Well, he can’t bring himself to be disappointed when they’re like this, having just finished. 

He’d seen House naked many times before; it’s hard not to when you’re friends with someone for so long. He can’t even count the number of times he’s accidentally walked in on House jerking off or pinned to his couch by some random hooker. He can count the number of times the pain has been so bad that House has needed help with things as basic as getting dressed or getting in and out of the shower. It was never like this, though, with House underneath him, back arching off his bed. The older man’s icy blue eyes are shut with his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He’s flushed dark pink from his head to the center of his narrow chest, which rapidly rises and falls with every labored breath he takes.

The mattress they’re on is an old, creaky piece of shit that creaks when Wilson carefully rests his weight on top of House. They’re covered in sweat and cum and god knows what else.

“Look at me,” Wilson pleads. House does just that, forcing his eyes open enough to meet Wilson’s. His pupils are blown wide and though it’s clear he’s drowning in their shared pleasure, Wilson can’t read much else. Is House just as enraptured by Wilson as Wilson is by him? Is House hoping he’ll stay after they clean up? “You’re beautiful… So beautiful.”

“And you’re cringeworthy. We’re in my bed, not The Notebook,” House references with a half-hearted roll of his eyes and a playful smack of one hand against Wilson’s shoulder. “So shut up and get off of me.”

Wilson does as told and rolls off of House, onto the bed. He’s learned where House keeps everything so that House can just lie there and let Wilson clean the both of them up on nights like this. They never have sex at Wilson’s as Wilson is living in a hotel following the divorce and has yet to settle into a new place of his own. 

He settles on his side next to House with his head on one of the pillows. There used to be one, but Wilson noticed after the first night he came over to do this, House bought another. Still, he hasn’t asked Wilson to stay the night. Wilson wonders if House even wants him to. Then again, there’s a lot of things he wonders about House. 

Wilson stares at House, who is still on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He already has his boxers back on which makes Wilson self conscious enough to grab his from the floor and put them on as well. 

Wilson wishes he knew what was running through the man’s mind right now. He’s quiet, contemplative, and serious in a way that’s out of character for him. Usually it’s awkward enough that Wilson leaves, and they pretend this never happened (until the next time it happens), but Wilson is growing weary of this cycle they’ve created over the last few weeks. Instead of quickly dressing himself and leaving, he gets back into the bed and pulls one of House’s large blankets over the two of them. House’s eyes widen. His gaze flickers to Wilson; questioning, cautious.

“There’s more I wish I knew about you,” Wilson softly murmurs. “More I wish you’d tell me. Things I’d ask about if I thought I could actually get an honest answer out of you.”

House furrows his brow.

“Like what?”

“Will you answer me honestly?”

“Depends on what you wanna know,” House answers.

Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, Wilson worms his way between one of House’s arms and his body so he can rest his head on the man’s chest. House tenses at first before relaxing his muscles and wrapping his arm around Wilson’s body to return the affection.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this… A few months ago, you lied to me about that transplant patient- Carly Forlano- you lied to all of us.”

“Who was that again?” House questions. 

Wilson doesn’t know if he’s serious or not.

“That business woman who came in with a ton of problems and ended up in congestive heart failure despite being perfectly healthy. You lied-”

“I like to call it ‘spinning the truth’.”

“So? What was wrong with the patient that met the exclusion criteria for the transplant list anyway? We both know that Chase figured it out and ratted to Vogler and Cuddy during her surgery.”

“She was taking Ipepac,” House says after a long pause, to which Wilson blinks up at him with confusion written on his face.

“You mean she took it once? There’s no way one use would cause that kind of damage to someone so young unless-”

“She said ‘maybe three times a week’. She was bulimic- or, is bulimic- who knows,” House shrugs as much as he can do so considering that Wilson’s weight is on top of him. Still, the expression on his face is unreadable. Wilson remains baffled; why would he lie for her? Why would he take the chance with his medical license by lying like that? Did he have some sort of personal connection with her, or was it just for the sake of solving one of his cases? Just to prove to himself that he was right? “But when bulimics give you a number for the amount they’re purging, it’s usually much more than what they’re actually willing to admit out loud, so I’d bank on it being at least once a day.”

“She’s a smart woman; smart enough to know the kind of damage that could do to her heart, and she did it anyway,” Wilson huffs. He knows everyone copes with stress differently, but he also remembers being very frustrated with that patient while she was in their care. She would use her cell phone during important texting and prioritize her many business calls over her health. Worst of all, she tried to rush herself out of the hospital to get back to work, assuming nothing was seriously wrong and that it was just a random one time health scare at first. If not for the staff’s insistence that she stay, she would’ve died from heart failure. “So why the hell would you grant her the transplant? Better yet, why would you lie to everyone to get her that transplant and risk your job- your medical license? You said you thought you were doing what’s right when we talked about it the first time.”

“I did, because that’s what I thought, and I still think that.”

“Why?”

“Would you believe me if I said I saw a bit of you in that patient?”

At that, Wilson gets off of House and sits up in the bed to stare down at the man, whose expression is unreadable as ever. 

“House, I’m not-”

“I know you’re not bulimic, but you’re great at making the worst possible choices for yourself at every turn and ruining your otherwise very accomplished life. That’s another form of self-harm in itself,” House says, sitting up as well. Wilson doesn’t miss the wince that momentarily takes over the other man’s face as he grabs his leg in pain from performing the motion. “Going into oncology even though it makes you miserable, jumping into three marriages that you knew weren’t going to work out, beating up that guy over a Billy Joel song at a bar during an important medical conference, allowing me to befriend you-”

“-you bailed me out of jail, what was I-”

“Staying as my friend even after the conference, allowing me to seep into your personal life and ruin aspect of it, and better yet, your professional life, too!”

“I still have a job and a good reputation, so-”

“Sure, because you got lucky with Cuddy pulling the plug on Vogler, which you had no way of knowing she would do. If that hadn’t happened, your little gesture of voting to keep me on staff even though you knew you’d get canned too still would’ve played out the way it was supposed to. You would’ve been fucked.”

“And what you’re saying is?” Wilson sighs. 

“Everyone else in my life; they’re sane enough to not want to deal with me the way I am but crazy enough to try and fix me. You, on the other hand, are sane enough to know I can’t be fixed but crazy enough to stay with me anyway. Even though you’ve made the mistake of getting to know me, you’re still here,” Silence. Wilson isn’t sure what to say, so he tentatively reaches out. House holds his hand and intertwines their fingers with a bittersweet smile. “Nothing to say?”

“Well… What’s so bad about knowing you?”

“Being known is simultaneously one of the best and worst things that could happen to someone. When it works out, it’s great, and when it doesn’t work out, it’s not… And let’s not pretend I’m not a huge asshole. It’s a miracle you’re still friends with me after all these years.”

“That’s all it is?” Wilson asks, to which House nods. “I don’t get it, then. We’ve been friends for a long time, House, you know I can take whatever you can dish out… Unless… Are you afraid I’m going to leave?”

“We could be naive enough to sit here and assume that things are always going to be this way; that we’ll always catch each other when we fall, but people fall out of love. People turn their backs, and they let each other fall. People grow and change and before you know it, your best friend becomes a stranger, and you don’t know them like you thought you did,” House drops Wilson’s hand and turns around to toss both of his legs over the side of the bed. Again, he winces from the pain caused by his infarction. It looks like he wants to stand to leave the room for something but can’t gather the strength to do so. “We’ve both had it happen to us before, and you know it’s real. You’ve been through three marriages and I’ve ran through plenty of relationships in the last few decades. You’re just making the worst possible decision for yourself yet again by throwing yourself into the pits with me.”

“But that’s my decision to make. Whether or not we do anything about our feelings doesn’t change them. There’s no stopping this, at least not for me,” Wilson insists and rushes to stand up so he can go around the side of the bed and offer his hands.

House refuses to take them, refuses to accept the help. The older man fumbles around until he manages to retrieve his cane from where he abandoned it on the floor earlier. Instead of using Wilson as leverage, he uses his cane and stands from the bed to walk towards the door of the bedroom. Wilson follows him into the kitchen in wait of a response.

“You’re not scared at all?”

“Of course I’m scared! I’m terrified. I’ve seen our track records with relationships, but… If it means that I get to be with you, I can be scared and still put my best foot forward, to try and make this work. I’m in love with you, Greg House.”

House walks towards the fridge without a word. Again, Wilson follows in wait of a response, this time wrapping his arms around House’s waist and resting his chin on the man’s shoulder from behind.

“You’re persistent.”

“So? You’re going to give me a heart attack if you keep making me wait on you. Seriously, it’s been over a decade of this nonsense with two weeks of confusing sex stacked on top of it,” Wilson scolds. House just looks back at him as if he’s not sure this is real. “So? What do you say?” “I say… I’m in love with you too, James Wilson,” House chuckles, reaches into the fridge, and grabs a beer for each of them with a large grin. “Good luck.”

[queenofcats17]

The Ink Demonth 30

Today's theme is Cage

===============================================

"Henry Stein... Or... should I say the paltry copy of him?"

Henry didn't turn around. He didn't know what the purpose of Wilson's visit was, but whatever it might be he wasn't interested in indulging the pageantry.

"What, nothing to say?" Wilson's voice drew closer.

"Not to you," Henry replied coolly.

"Ah, so you can speak." Condescension dripped from Wilson's voice. "And here I thought Drew had made you mute. It would certainly suit his sensibilities to rob his tool of vengeance of the ability to speak against him."

Henry let out a long sigh. If he didn't nip this in the bud, the monologuing would probably just continue. And he really wasn't in the mood to deal with more of that right now. So, he turned around on his stool to face Wilson.

"Let's just cut to the chase here," he said. "What do you want?"

"Must I want something?" Wilson asked, feigning innocence.

Henry stared incredulously at him. "If you don't want anything, you can leave. I'm not in the mood for this."

"In the mood for what?" Wilson asked.

"This." Henry gestured at Wilson. "The gloating, the pageantry, lording my captivity over me. I get it, you think you're very clever and you want me to be in awe of your intellectual prowess and the power you have over me." He made a derisively grand, sweeping gesture around the room before letting his arms drop back to his sides. "But this isn't my first rodeo and I'm not interested in sitting around while you grandstand. I couldn't tell Joey I was tired of his shit, but I can sure as Hell tell you."

Wilson's brow furrowed, clearly annoyed by Henry's refusal to indulge him. "You're awfully bold for a rat in a cage," he said. He sounded like a petulant child, something that almost made Henry laugh.

"I don't know if I'd call it boldness." Henry shrugged. "More like being too old to deal with this nonsense."

"I could kill you, you know," Wilson said, moving closer to the glass of Henry's cell. "I could reduce you to nothing more than a puddle of ink. I could erase you from this world."

"Then do it." Henry maintained eye contact.

Wilson blinked, looking momentarily thrown for a loop. "What?"

"I said, do it," Henry repeated. "Nothing else has been able to put me out of my misery, you might as well give it a try. Who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky."

For a moment, anger overtook the surprise on Wilson's face, although he quickly schooled his expression into one of stoic calm. "How truly pathetic you are," he said. "Do you wish for death that much?"

"Is it really pathetic to want to rest when you've spent decades being killed and mutilated in the most horrible ways by things that used to be your friends?" Henry asked with a tight smile. "You said it yourself. I'm not Henry Stein. I was made by Joey solely for him to vent his frustrations onto. I think I'm allowed to want an out."

"So you admit it?" A triumphant, smug smile tugged at Wilson's lips.

"I'm admitting nothing." Henry slid off his stool to approach the glass, his own smile vanishing. "No matter what you think, I'm not the pathetic one here." He leaned close to the glass, his gaze boring into Wilson. "You are."

Wilson's angry snarl returned. "What?"

"Does it make you feel powerful torturing the creatures here?" Henry asked, continuing to hold eye contact with Wilson. "Does it make you feel strong and important? And do you really think that any of this makes you better than Joey?"

"I am better than Drew!" Wilson snapped, slamming a fist into the glass. "His mind was small! He had no idea what this machine could do! I will use it to its full potential! I will prove my greatness!"

"You will fall." Henry pronounced this like a prophecy, his eyes almost seeming to glow as he stared Wilson down. "No one here could get to Joey when he was controlling the Loop." He paused, leaning closer to the glass again. "But we can absolutely get to you."

He watched as the color seemed to drain out of Wilson's face.

"You're not a god, Wilson," Henrey continued, his voice gaining an unearthly quality as he spoke. "You're just a man. And men can be killed."

Wilson left without another word, allowing Henry to return to his sketching. Eventually, Wilson's crimes were going to catch up to him. He was turning the whole studio against him. And sooner or later... someone would come for him.

Henry just needed to wait to see who it would be.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

um hi hallo :3 can i pls have dr gregory house x male intern reader… with feedism elements where the reader is the feeder role…….. :3

yeah, absolutely! just a disclaimer, I've never written anything relating to feedism/a feeding kink before so I'm not sure if this is all that good or not but I tried my best :]

(this IS something for kinktober just in case y'all are curious. I know because I got a previous ask for it) thanks for requesting something! <3

Kinktober 2024 day 6: feedism (feeding kink) with Greg House x male reader

Warnings: smut/nsfw content, feedism, feedee House, feeder reader, alludes to House having slightly disordered eating, slight praise kink, belly rubbing/massaging, romanticizing/sexualizing weight gain (by the reader), brief solo masturbation from the reader at the end but no real smut other than that because I wasn't really sure how to incorporate that properly

House wasn't like most doctors. In fact, he wasn't like most people. His bedside manner was horrible and his social interactions could definitely use some work. Something that could also use some work was his strange eating habits.

It wasn't that he didn't eat. He wasn't anorexic, and he certainly didn't care what he looked like. He just didn't always put eating at his top list of priorities.

To be quite frank, he didn't view it as something he needed to do in order to survive. He needed to have cases to figure out, or else he'd go insane. And he needed his constant supply of Vicodin in order to help chase the pain away. But he didn't need to eat in order to live. The way he viewed it, he was better than that.

Sure, he had a habit of stealing Wilson's food from him, but that was more of a power thing than anything else. The bottom line was, if he had better things to do he most likely wasn't thinking about getting fed. Was it unhealthy? Most definitely, but it also wasn't exactly healthy of him to pop a pain pill every time a muscle of his tweaked wrong. Still, he managed.

Most people didn't notice this bad habit of his, and if they did it wasn't brought up. Obviously his addiction to painkillers was much more pressing than if he skipped the occasional meal.

You, on the other hand, thought it mattered a lot more than that. You noticed how he only seemed to be in the cafeteria at the hospital if he was either with Wilson or trying to avoid Cuddy. He went there out of boredom or if he was looking to kill time, not because he thought he had to eat. This was something you were bound and determined to help him work through, regardless of whether he wanted you to or not.

If he had any idea on what you were up to, he didn't say anything about it, too busy bossing around the ducklings to waste time with yet another intern, one that didn't really interest him at that. He was quite content to carry on as usual despite the plan you were forming to get him to change his poor eating habits.

There really weren't that many places in the hospital that he went in order to get away from Cuddy, which certainly made your job of finding him a whole lot easier. His office, Wilson's office, and funnily enough the chapel were his main choices. When he couldn't be found there, you figured maybe he was in an exam room down at the clinic, pretending to work. Turned out you were right.

You listened closely outside the door to Exam Room One to see if you could hear anyone in the room besides him on the off chance that he actually was with a patient. When you didn't hear anything, you decided to knock.

"With a patient!" He called out immediately in response, not even giving you the opportunity to speak first. Typical House.

Opening the door regardless, you found the unsurprising sight of him lounging in one of the chairs while playing on his Gameboy, the sound of beeping and video game music filling the room.

"Can you come back later? I'm a little busy right now." His attention was clearly focused on his game as he didn't even look up when he spoke.

Ignoring his request, you shut the door and entered the room. "When was the last time you've eaten today? And stealing Wilson's fries at lunch doesn't count."

"Well, hello to you, too," he muttered under his breath in response, purposely avoiding the question.

You weren't having it. "I'm serious. It's not healthy for you to go so long without having a proper meal."

"Yeah, I got that. You must forget, I'm also a doctor. A real one, at that. I'm not a temp or an intern like you are, I've got tenure."

His snarky reply didn't waiver you in the slightest. "If I go get you something from the cafeteria, will you eat it?" You knew how argumentative he could be, so you did your best to appease him through offering a compromise.

"I'm not hungry right now," he stubbornly insisted as he shut off his game and stood, grabbing his cane from where it was resting in the corner so he could use it to walk with.

Sighing in exasperation, you went to stand in front of the door so he couldn't leave. "I'll get you a Rueben, cold, with no pickles. That's your favorite, right?"

He paused, seeming intrigued by your offer, if not a little suspicious as well. "Go on."

Knowing you'd finally caught his attention, you decided to continue. "I'll bring it up to you in your office, and you can eat in privacy while you avoid everyone else."

"Except for you, apparently. You seem awfully eager to keep me fed." It was true, and you knew it. You had hoped it would come across more like you were just concerned (which was technically true) but clearly he'd picked up on your own selfish reasons to want to help him.

"One sandwich, that's all I'm asking. If you don't want to do something like this again after we're done, you don't have to."

At first you thought he was going to flat out refuse, but much to your surprise he actually seemed to contemplate it for a moment or two. "One sandwich. And I'm eating it in my office, away from other people," he wagered as if you weren't the one to suggest it in the first place.

Not wanting to miss the one chance you might have, you wholeheartedly agreed to his conditions and finally stepped away from the door so he could leave. It was a bit hard for you to keep your excitement at bay at the prospect of getting to feed him, though at first you didn't know why you were so intent on it. In any case, he'd agreed, and that's what mattered.

When you got up to his office, he was already lounging in the chair behind his desk, playing absentmindedly with a rubber band. "Oh, good. You brought me my lunch. And here I thought you were going to let me starve to death after you were so insistent on feeding me in the first place."

You rolled your eyes in response to his obvious sarcasm as you set the plastic wrapped sandwich down on the desk in front of him, along with a can of soda and a bag of chips.

"Hey, you said I only had to eat the sandwich," he pointed out in a whiny voice that was in the likeness of a petulant child.

"Just eat what you can." You sat down in front of him so you could watch him eat, something that he didn't seem to appreciate judging from the way he stopped opening the wrapping on his sandwich and stared back at you.

"What, do you want to feed me yourself?" He questioned in a mocking tone, obviously under the impression that you'd get offended and hopefully say no before getting up to leave. You answer was the exact opposite.

"Okay." That was the only thing you said before you stood and made your way over, taking the sandwich from him and continuing to unwrap it before handing him half. "Eat."

The command was soft yet firm, clearly not one that was meant to be ignored. For some strange reason he felt compelled to actually listen to you, something that didn't happen with him very often. Maybe it was due to the fact that you actually seemed to care and weren't just trying to spite him, like most people.

He took it from you, his icy blue eyes gazing upwards into yours as he began to eat. It seemed as though he was deadset on proving to you that he could eat when he really wanted to.

"There you go, good job."

House didn't get flustered, he was certain of it, but something about the way you said that gave him the little push he needed to keep eating, wanting to make you proud. The thought itself was utterly ridiculous, him needing someone else's praise in order to complete such a stupid and minor task. He finally broke his gaze from yours, instead choosing to focus on the sandwich he was taking slow yet deliberate bites of.

Once he was finished with the first half, you picked up the second and held it out to him. "Do you want the second half yet, or do you want to wait a couple minutes first?"

He let out a scoff at the question, as if he were offended by it. "What, did you think I was going to save it for later?" Your lack of a reaction at his usual snarkiness caused him to push down whatever he'd planned on adding to that, choosing instead to quietly take the other half of the sandwich from you to eat.

It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling, not having his stomach ache with its usual hunger pains. He didn't always immediately listen to the needs of his body unless it was the shooting pain he typically felt in his leg when he went too long without his pain meds.

For once, his stomach didn't feel empty and desolate, like how most of his relationships tended to be. It was odd, but not unwelcome.

Somehow you managed to convince him to at least start on the soda and chips, something that he didn't regret in the slightest. Nor did he regret it when you offered to rub his stomach afterwards, knowing it might ache a bit due to the expanding it was doing from the food intake.

"There you go. See, don't you feel better after actually eating something for once?" Your voice was low and soothing, your hand warm as it made slow, circular movements on his stomach. He could feel how gentle your touch was even through his clothes.

"I guess," he grumbled, making it clear that he still wasn't overly fond of letting you take care of him, even if it was only in one small aspect of his life. "This is just a one time thing though, alright? So don't get your hopes up."

Nodding your head, you made it seem as though you were agreeing with his statement that this was the only time it would happen. You, however, knew this was only the beginning. Somehow you'd get him to form the habit of eating more frequently, even if you had to be there with him.

You imagined what it would be like, getting to feed him everyday. The thought of being able to ensure his health and wellbeing while also helping him gain a few pounds... You wondered how he'd look with a little bit of extra fat on his stomach. You wondered if it would be noticeable through those band shirts he always wore to work.

The movements of your fist wrapped around your aching cock grew faster and more needy as you recalled your memories of what had happened earlier that day. The way he so willingly trusted you to feed him and even let you rub his belly after did nothing but bring you closer and closer to the edge until your seed finally spilled out onto your hand.

You panted heavily as you laid back on the bed, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to catch your breath. You were sure it wouldn't take him long to realize your ulterior motives behind wanting to help him eat more, but you couldn't really find it in you to care. Not when the fantasy you had of him letting you coax him into gaining a little weight was far too delicous to let go of.

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[househrt]

Seeing as you have an amazing repertoire of house md fanfictions in your collection, would you happen to have any good ones where House is vulnerable or submissive? Asking for a friend.

YES here's a selection (I didn't know if you meant vulnerable or submissive in a sex way or a not-sex way so I gave you both, though turns out most of my fav vulnerable!House fics are hurt/comfort so that's the bigger list) below the cut bc this post is long

submissive/vulnerable in a Not Sex way:

Unintentional touches from Wilson made House realize just how touch-starved he was, but he’d be damned if he ever showed it. Wilson catches on and cares for House when he starts to spiral.

"You don't take personal da -" Wilson begins, scoffing, and then does the math. "Oh, shit. House." House spends the first anniversary of his father's death on Wilson’s couch.

House has a particularly bad pain day and hasn’t been able to move for over twelve hours. But just as he thought, his day would go like this, with cramps tormenting his leg and him laying helplessly in bed in his own pee and puke, Wilson suddenly appears at his apartment and helps him to get through. Because even if Wilson doesn’t have to take care of House, he wants to. And sometimes a comforting hug can be more effective than a large dose of morphine…

House finally registered two hands holding his face so softly it was like they were afraid he’d break. He wasn’t just staring at the bathroom tiles anymore, either. Now there was a body in front of him; rumpled shirt, slacks, dress shoes. A familiar tie he remembered hating. He hadn’t even heard the front door open. He held himself back from yelling. It’s not as if he didn’t want Wilson here. Christ, House thinks he’s the only person besides maybe Cuddy who he’d tolerate at that moment. But seeing him ached. — aka what if it was Wilson who showed up at the end of 6x22? and also what if there was even more pining and near missed kisses?

After the events of One Day One Room, House makes a drunken confession. Wilson turns to Chase for advice.

“What?” Wilson muttered with as much annoyance and exasperation as House expected at that hour. Briefly, he wished he could twirl around his cane to give his hands something to do. Too bad it was a whole two parking spaces away from him. “Come get me.” Wilson sighed deeply. “Where are you? It better be a ditch or something. Are you drunk right now? You sound sober enough to drive yourself home.” “I’m in the hospital parking lot.” A long moment of silence passed. Well, it would have been silent, but House heard Wilson shuffling around. Hopefully getting his ass out of bed and getting back to work. “House, I’m tired.” Or: Sometimes, accidents happen.

What happens after House tells Cuddy he's not okay.

A brain-eating amoeba has swept the halls of Princeton-Plainesboro, moving impossibly fast and striking seemingly at random. As House investigates, he realizes that this disease does not have a natural cause. There are two geniuses living in Princeton: one a cranky misanthrope with dubious morals in love with his best friend, and the other a mad genius who has developed an obsession with Gregory House. Wilson and House leap into action to find a cure, but the mysterious James always seems one step ahead... and he will stop at nothing to catch House's eye.

Unrelenting by l57371 [I hit the limit of links lol]

The pain is too much, Wilson tries to help.

submissive/vulnerable in a Sex way:

Maybe the reason Wilson lets House spend all his money is because he likes it.

^ this is tagged "Accidental (sugar) Baby Acquisition" and that's all you need to know

Gregory House had the bad luck to present as omega in a country where omegas had little rights. After his first heat ended, he was chemically sterilized. This is over thirty years later.

[immeasurablesaladagere]

ur doing gods work for the house md agere community we salute u 🫡 can we please get a little!chase fic w/ cg!wilson ?

Lil Chase, my beloved. Little content warning for Chase's backstory and his feelings about it, this one's a bit angsty, but happy ending with cg Wilson fluff to make the medicine go down :)

*pats head of Chase* This kid can fit so many mommy issues.

-----

Word Count: 1983

Summery: Wilson gets a call from Chase after-hours. He needs a pickup from a bar after his regression is triggered by something that reminds him of his past, and he's unable to get himself home.

-----

Just as Wilson was about to sit down on the couch to enjoy a night of pizza, beer, and watching the game, his phone rang. He groaned. So close.

“Popular with the babes, are we?.” House said, mouth full of pizza and distracted by football.

“It’s probably work. I can’t just have one night to myself, can I?” He grumbled, fishing his phone out from his coat pocket. He liked to keep it out of sight when he was off work, but it always came back to haunt him anyway.

“Cancer babes then, even better.”

“Cancer babes? God, you’re terrible.” It amazed him sometimes just how often House came up with new ways to violate the most basic forms of decency. After over a decade of friendship he figured he would be desensitized to it by now. As much as he wanted to let the phone ring out, he knew that if it was the hospital he needed to pick up, so he answered it. “Hello, this is James Wilson?”

The other end of the line was filled with background noise. “Hey Wilson, it’s Chase.”

Huh. Chase wasn’t working that night, as far as he knew, and it didn’t sound like he was in the hospital. Maybe it wasn’t a work call after all? 

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you looking for House?” He didn’t think he remembered House’s phone going off, but maybe he had put it on do-not-disturb to avoid talking to people. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Uh… No, not— Well, kind of. I um… Could you pick me up from the bar?” Chase’s voice was strange and unsteady, almost lost to the noise that Wilson now knew was rowdy-bar ambiance. Wilson’s confusion must have shown on his face, because House raised a curious eyebrow at him from the couch.

“Who is it?”

Chase, he mouthed silently. “I… guess so? Can’t you call a taxi?”

There was a bit of shuffling before he responded. “No.” He didn’t elaborate any further.

“And why not?”

“Because I…” Chase made a choked sound that sounded almost like a whine, “Because I’m kinda regressing and I-I can’t—“ His voice was wavering, “I just need to go home. Please.”

Oh. There was no way Chase would choose to regress in a bar which meant it had been triggered somehow, and a bar was probably the worst place Chase could be if he was little.

“Oh yeah, okay. Okay. I’ll come get you.” He grabbed his coat and tugged it on, “Are you in a safe place right now?”

“…Think so, I’m in a booth by myself. I wanna go home.”

“I know you do, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Which bar?”

“Milly’s.”

It wasn’t far. He could probably get there in twenty minutes, maybe fifteen if he drove quickly. “Okay. Stay where you are, I’ll come find you. Try to stay big until I get there, alright?”

“Okay…”

He hung up and grabbed his keys from the bowl on the entry table. 

House paused the TV. “One of the ducklings?” He asked with a knowing look.

“Something set Chase off and he’s regressed at a bar. I’m going to pick him up.” He tugged on his shoes.

“And let me guess, we’re babysitting tonight, then?”

“I’m not just going to leave him at his apartment by himself, House.”

House nodded and stood up, grabbing the unopened beer bottles with his free hand. “I didn’t think you would. I’ll get rid of these, go get the kid.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

-

He managed to make it to Milly’s without a speeding ticket. It was a Friday night, so he wasn’t surprised to see that that bar was packed, overflowing out the front doors as drunk college students stumbled in and out. He could hear the obnoxiously loud music from outside, and air inside was stuffy and smelled like weed. He sure was a long way from his partying days… God he felt old. He pushed his way to the back of the bar, scanning for Chase until he eventually he spotted his blonde hair tucked into the corner of one of the furthest booths where the crowd had thinned to old men drinking alone.

Chase didn’t look great. He was hunched over and looking around anxiously, but he also didn’t look entirely present. Something had obviously scared him, but he would have to wait to find out what.

Wilson approached the booth slowly. “Chase?” He had to shout to overpower the volume of the bar, but he tried to make it as unthreatening as possible.

The second Chase recognized him, he shot up out of his seat and instantly latched onto his jacket sleeve. “Wanna go.” He said urgently. 

He refused to make eye contact, staring hard at the floor, and he clung to Wilson’s back the entire walk back out to the car. It took some light prompting to get him to let go, but once he did Wilson guided him into the passenger seat and buckled him in before getting in himself.

It was painfully silent as they pulled away from the bar and started back towards his and House’s apartment. Wilson’s mind was whirring with questions and possible scenarios that could’ve lead Chase to this. It was unsettling to see a little who was usually happy and sweet reduced to staring blankly out the passenger window. But Chase would talk if he was ready, he reminded himself.

After a few minutes Chase seemed to rouse slightly, taking notice of their surroundings. “Where are we going?” He asked quietly. His voice was high-pitched and soft, a tell-tale sign that he was regressed completely.

“I’m taking you back to mine and House’s place. We’re going to look after you tonight, is that alright?”

“Don’t have to, I’ll be okay.” Chase muttered, looking uncomfortable. It was better than staring off into the void.

“I know you will, but it would make me feel better if you stayed with us.” 

Chase seemed to consider this, then shrugged slightly and tucked his knees up to his chest in the seat. “Okay.”

Wilson didn’t have the heart to tell him not to sit like that, so he just let him be. He was about to turn on the radio when Chase spoke again.

“…She looked like Mum.” 

Wilson winced. “Who did, buddy?”

“A lady at the bar. She looked like Mum.” Chase sniffled.

Well, there was his answer. Chase hadn’t disclosed every detail of his past to him and House, but he knew that his mother was a neglectful alcoholic for most of his life. It made sense that seeing someone that looked like her getting drunk at the bar would upset him.

Wilson reached across the centre console and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, rubbing small, comforting circles as best he could while keeping his eyes on the road. He didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t like not knowing what to say. Between him and House, it was his job to be good at the “emotional, mushy side”, as House would so-lovingly call it. He was good at comfort, he was good at kind words and fixing boo-boos, but when it came to this… 

“I’m sorry, Robbie...” 

They stayed like that until they drove into the parking lot, and then Chase kept a firm grip on his jacket until they got up to the apartment.

“We’re back!” Wilson called, shutting the door.

House hobbled out from the living room carrying a stack of folded pyjamas with a stuffed dog balanced on top like it was sitting, both from the bin of supplies they kept for situations like this one, and held it out to Chase. “Here. Go change and come back, we’ll find you a movie to watch or something.”

Chase hesitantly took them and silently shuffled off to the bathroom.

“So, what’s wrong with him? Kiddie usually only looks that miserable when he’s an adult.”

Wilson rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. “He saw a drunk woman in the bar who looked like his mom, apparently.” He said in a hushed voice, “You should’ve seen him earlier, he was just staring off at nothing.”

He walked to the living room and threw his jacket over the back of the armchair, and to his surprise, the living room was completely different than when he’d left. The alcohol was gone, but it was also slightly cleaner. A small stack of children’s movie DVD’s sat on the coffee table, and there was a small pile of snacks beside them. “Huh. I didn’t think you were so proactive.”

House gasped in mock-offence and sat on the couch. “How dare you? I take my roll as part-time babysitter very seriously.”

“Sure.” 

He went to the kitchen and grabbed a green sippy cup from the cupboard, filling it up with water from the sink. He wasn’t sure how much alcohol Chase had before he called, and even if he didn’t seem drunk a cup of water wouldn’t hurt. When he came back to the living room Chase was sitting on the end of the couch opposite House, wearing the pyjamas and holding the stuffed dog tightly to his chest. Aw.

Wilson handed him the sippy cup and sat down in between them, sifting through the stack of movies. “So, what are we watching?”

“I was just about to ask that myself.” House said, “We have Finding Nemo, all of the Toy Story’s, Lilo and Stitch—“

“Lilo and Stitch.” Chase cut him off, grabbing the case and pushing it into Wilson’s hands, “Can we watch it, please?”

Wilson smiled. “Sure.”

His his credit, Chase made it more than halfway through the movie before he began to doze off, slowly drooping to lean against Wilson. He gently took the sippy cup away before it could spill water all over the couch, and with his hands now free, Chase wrapped both arms back around his dog and nuzzled into it.

“I think someone’s sleepy, don’t you, House?”

House shook his head. “No I’m fine, thanks. Him on the other hand…”

Chase didn’t object at all. His eyes were closed, and as much as it pained him, Wilson knew he would have to get up now if he wanted to sleep in his own bed tonight. He carefully got up and guided Chase to lay down. He only fussed for a moment until Wilson draped a blanket over him, and he settled.

They all had work the next morning and when they all got up, he had no idea if Chase would want to talk about what happened. He probably wouldn’t; Chase was only slightly less emotionally repressed than House was when he was big, but if by some chance he did, Wilson would be there to listen. “Goodnight, Robbie.”

“Mm… G’night, mummy.” Chase mumbled, and with that, he was dead to the world.

Wilson gaped. He was frozen solid, afraid that moving would somehow disturb the moment or make Chase realize what he just said and freak out. Did he really just..?

“Ouch. Well, I guess we know who the favourite is.” House whispered, with a stupid amused smirk on his face. “Mummy Wilson, huh? It’s got a nice ring to it I guess.”

“Did he mean to—? When he wakes up tomorrow he’s…” Wilson trailed off. He was caught between being overjoyed that Chase had put so much trust in him as a caregiver to give him such a deeply important name, and bemoaning that it had to be Mummy of all things. Sweet, innocent Chase had just sentenced him to a lifetime of “Mummy-Wilson” jokes, and somehow his chest was still full of butterflies.

“He’s gonna die of embarrassment? Oh yeah.” House snickered, then yawned, limping off to his room. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Mummy.”

“You’re an ass.”