#greg oneshot

[4m0r1m]

Closed Doors

SUMMARY: everyone thinks House and the sweet, gentle doctor hate each other—but behind closed doors, they’re far more than colleagues. when Wilson accidentally catches them in a heated moment, the secret they’ve been hiding threatens to unravel.

WORD COUNT: 1,116 words

PAIRING: greg house x reader

WARNINGS: a little heated moment but nothing too bad.

The corridor buzzed with the low hum of activity—nurses ferrying charts, pagers beeping intermittently, and hushed discussions about patient vitals. Amid it all, one thing remained a constant: Gregory House limping through the hallway like a tornado in tweed, cane tapping rhythmically, sarcasm trailing in his wake.

This morning was no exception.

“Foreman, try not to kill the patient with your god complex before I get a proper look at his scan,” House barked, brushing past his team without so much as slowing down.

“Good morning to you too,” murmured the woman trailing behind them, her voice soft enough to be overlooked—but with a hint of dry amusement that rarely went unnoticed by House.

She was the anomaly of the hospital. The type of doctor who remembered birthdays, lent pens, and somehow always had a stash of calming tea in her drawer. To patients and colleagues alike, she was the kind face of Princeton-Plainsboro—except, of course, to House, who made a daily ritual of riling her up with snide remarks and questionable nicknames.

“She’s got the bedside manner of a fairy godmother and the IQ of a well-trained golden retriever,” he’d said once. Loudly. In front of Cuddy.

She’d smiled sweetly and replied, “You’re just mad I’ve never let you borrow a pen.”

What no one knew—what absolutely no one could guess—was that behind the sarcasm, the sideways glances, the deliberately loud arguments… House was very much involved with her.

Behind closed doors.

And she, for all her angelic exterior, could match him wit for wit when no one was around to witness it.

It had started six months ago. A late-night consult, an empty hallway, and an unexpected kiss that left them both stunned and more than a little breathless.

Since then, they’d perfected the art of secrecy. The stolen moments in diagnostics. The lingering touches disguised as accidental. The occasional post-lunch escape to House’s office under the guise of “arguing about lab results”.

To the rest of the hospital, especially Wilson, their dynamic was obvious: House was being House, and she, poor thing, was just the latest target of his relentless teasing.

Wilson had once even said, “Honestly, mate, I don’t know how she hasn’t stabbed you with a scalpel by now.”

House had only shrugged and replied, “Maybe she’s saving it for Christmas.”

It was Tuesday afternoon when Wilson started to suspect something wasn’t quite right.

He’d passed House’s office and caught the tail end of laughter—her laughter, rich and warm, the kind no one else at the hospital ever seemed to coax out of her. Curious, Wilson lingered near the door. The blinds were drawn, but he could hear movement. A low chuckle. Muffled voices.

And then silence.

Frowning, he knocked.

“House?” he called out.

No response.

He tried the door.

It was unlocked.

The scene that greeted him upon entry froze him mid-step.

House, jacket discarded and shirt rumpled, sat on the edge of his desk, locked in a very enthusiastic embrace with the very doctor Wilson had been certain loathed him. Her hands were tangled in House’s hair, his cane discarded somewhere near the filing cabinet, and their lips—

“Oh, God,” Wilson muttered, instantly averting his gaze and turning on his heel. “I—Nope. I did not see that. I did not see that.”

House, entirely unbothered, detached his mouth long enough to smirk, “Your timing is impeccable, as always.”

She, however, buried her face in House’s shoulder and let out an embarrassed groan. “We’re going to have to kill him, aren’t we?”

“Tempting,” House murmured, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “But I need him to cover for clinic duty.”

Later that evening, after the drama had settled and the blinds were open once more, Wilson sat across from House, arms folded.

“You’ve been sleeping with her?”

House leaned back, tossing a rubber ball against the wall. “Only in the literal sense about fifty percent of the time.”

“Does she know you’re emotionally stunted?”

“Shockingly, yes. Turns out sarcasm and emotional repression are her love languages.”

Wilson scrubbed a hand over his face. “I genuinely thought you hated each other.”

“Technically we do,” House replied, ever smug. “But we hate everyone else more. It’s romantic.”

The next day, whispers trickled through the hospital. Nothing concrete, just vague observations. The way House had taken his coffee from her hand without comment. The way she’d rolled her eyes, but not with annoyance—with familiarity.

Someone even claimed they’d seen her leaving his office with a tie in her hand.

Of course, nothing was confirmed. Nothing could be.

House still insulted her in front of patients.

She still told him to sod off when he pushed her buttons in diagnostics.

But if you looked closely—really closely—you’d catch the smallest things.

The way her eyes lingered a moment too long.

The way his smirk softened when he thought no one was watching.

And the way she always knocked twice before entering his office.

Even though it was never locked.

A/N: I guys i hope you like this one!! I actually had it in my drafts and just didin't post it. This is a little different for what I usually write but i still hope people from other fandoms like it!!

[crossingthedreams]

do better — gregory house x f!reader

a/n: I got a little carried away, per usual, and now I’m late with day 04 of the angstober challenge (still a wyp), but I plan on finishing it and posting later today. but, omg, I can’t believe I'm posting day 05 — do better on time! this is also part of @angstober‘s challenge, which I'm having a blast writing. I do love some angsty vibes. please, feel free to comment or dm me!

summary: a relationship between the boss and his employee has a million ways to go wrong. one, in particular, hurt them the most. 

word count: 2.2k

warnings: angst. House is an asshole. mentions of family death. mentions of cancer. struggles with immigration. inappropriate relationship. mentions of smut.

Let medicine be thy food. 

That's the quote, or at least you think it is. After a particularly long shift, words in English seemed to scramble together a bit, with it being your second language and all. Usually, you’re a natural, perfect, fluent speaker. There are moments, however, when understanding what your peers are saying or formulating cohesive sentences becomes a herculean task. You didn’t make yourself unintelligible, but it was a little awkward to be with a patient who clearly had no idea how globalized the world was and how many doctors in the United States were not native English speakers, and who looked at you like you had just robbed the white coat from a “proper doctor”.

Sure, dealing with people was shitty sometimes. “Doctors don’t treat people, they treat illnesses”, your boss had once said. But in your mind, people weren’t that bad. The long hours, the sleep deprivation, the lack of a social life — that was the really bad part. And there were, of course, the very short lunch breaks. 

Medicine was fun, but it had nothing on a full plate of pasta with those weird looking meatballs. What once was disgusting, now seemed appetizing as hell. Not eating once while working for the whole night could do that to a person. Medicine was not food, at least not literally.

You had taken off your sweater and your white coat a while before going to the cafeteria, where the rest of the team was. As of right now, you and Chase had spent thirty-six hours working. Cameron and Foreman had taken the long straws and gone home last night while you and the prettiest doctor around worked on some lab tests. 

That man who, right now, was not really trying to hide how he lustfully eyed you up and down, stopping on your cleavage. You didn’t blame him for looking, though. Firstly, you did spend the night working together and you mentioned that you did not have sex for the last six months, and secondly, you had nice boobs, which was both a blessing and a curse. Also, he was very much exhausted. Thinking about your coworkers in an unfashionable manner to keep awake was better than falling asleep atop of a patient during a lumbar puncture — you had done both, so you could tell, oops. 

“I’ll die if I have to do any more thinking”, the pretty doctor said, accent even more prominent, letting his head drop to the headrest of his seat behind him. 

“Yes, thinking just doesn’t come naturally to some people”, you laughingly replied, sitting down next to Foreman. He scooched over, making more room for you and your tray. There was enough pasta on your plate to feed two, not to mention the salad, the dessert, the can of Coke and the can of energy drink. 

“Damn, kid, do you not have food at home?” You eyed Foreman, a little annoyed at the comment. Why did men think they had the right to comment on women’s food choices and bodies all the damn time? “Don’t give me that look, you know that’s a lot, especially for a girl who skips lunch every other day”. 

“Not by choice” you said, taking a lot of pasta into your mouth. “Nof ba chos”, you replied, mouth full, making everyone at the table let out a tired laugh. 

It was an uneventful meal. The team was really tired, especially Chase, who almost dropped his head on his plate twice. The four of you rushed upstairs when lunch was over, after being paged by your boss. 

The man himself was pacing back and forth in the conference room, brows furrowed and looking extremely aggravated. Nothing new, then, you think, sitting down across from Cameron. 

Allison Cameron and you had been friends since med school, and getting to work together was pretty nice. Women in STEM need each other, of that you were sure. The thing is, she was in a weird place romantically, which made you feel weird about getting along with the people about whom she was confused — which hardly makes sense, but it is what it is. She had a crush on your boss for the longest time, and that didn’t work out at all. And then there was Chase, who she had slept with, but had no interest in further pursuing. 

Hanging out with Chase knowing he’d seen her naked was a little weird, but the fact they’d slept together wasn’t the problem. He liked her, and that was her problem. Your boss, well, he was everybody’s problem. 

Particularly yours, considering… you know. The one-night-that-became-every-night. The HR-nightmare. The doing-the-devil’s-tango. The seeing-each-other-scars. The kissing-and-absolutely-not-telling.

It was fairly easy sneaking around. He was inappropriate, sure, but not big on PDA. He treated you like any other dumbass employee with boobs. If anyone saw the two of you leaving the hospital together? You worked together. If you were seen going towards the same place? You’re neighbors, duh. And if anyone happened to see the two of you having breakfast together in the little café a block around his place? Well, it was a coincidence meeting him there! 

If they saw you giving him head while he tried to play the piano, well… There’s no explanation for that. 

You looked at him coming and going, and you knew his leg must be killing him. Yesterday when you left his home in the morning to pick up your stuff for the day (which turned out to be the day, the night and the next day), he was popping more pills than usual. Shit. 

“New case?”, Cameron asked, looking at the limping man with worry and care in her eyes. You liked her a lot, but she had to stop thinking about your limping man with such care. 

Sure, she liked him first. And she probably worried for him just as she would anyone else. And it was ridiculous to be annoyed at your long-time friend for caring for her boss. Still, there was a sting of jealousy that made you want to bitch-slap her. 

He finally stopped and looked at all of you. When his eyes finally met you, he looked right at your low cut top and let out a “Yowza!”. When you blushed and stood up to pick your white coat, he called your last name, and said, nonchalantly: “Nice boobs”. 

You raised a hand to pinch at the bridge of your nose as you sat down. It might seem like sexual harassment — and at first, it was a little bit —, but now it was just him being as inappropriate as always. Hiding from his feelings, keeping his distance with pathetic remarks and cold attitudes. It made you sad when you started working for him, but right now, you pinched your nose to stop you from giggling like a sixteen year old cheerleader being noticed by the boy on the football team. Or rather, the boy on the bench cursing at the stupid players.

Dr. Gregory House had a massive crush on you, and that made all the shit he did go away. 

You realized Chase started updating House on the patient you spent all night testing and monitoring. Truth is, that guy didn’t stand a chance for a normal life here on forward. At best, he had a benign hereditary chorea. Worst case scenario, it was Huntington manifesting earlier than it should, as you’d been saying from the beginning. 

“Shut up”, House said to Chase, making those blue Australian eyes widen. Poor guy, he looked beyond exhausted. “I understand how DNA testing works. I went to med school too, remember?”

“Yeah, but that was seven hundred years ago”, you let out before you could think twice. You teased House a little for being older. Scratch that, you gave him a lot of crap for being older. You just didn’t do it in front of the team, which was why they all looked at you horrified. 

Horrified, but Foreman was holding in a laugh.

The ‘old-man’ hit his cane on the desk, turning the attention back to him. “Ouch”.

You smiled, playing it off like a remark made by an exhausted overworked young woman who disliked her boss. House half-screamed some orders to all of you, even though he already knew you had clinic duty. 

The hours left to finish on the clinic were manageable, so you could finish it after you did some of the tests House asked.  

Time passed by too quickly, and as your day went by, you remembered you had to talk to Wilson as soon as possible. It wasn’t a life or death matter, but a peace of mind kind of thing. You decided to stop by his office before you It was then that you overheard something you shouldn’t have.

Well, that brought the high school memories right back. 

It was the middle of the afternoon, also known as the beginning of your third shift in a row, and you were stopping by Wilson’s office to discuss a private matter. A family member of yours had cancer, and then another one. By the time your fourth relative came down with the diagnosis, you decided to check your genetic predisposition. Although the tests came back clean, meaning you were safe for oncology purposes, you still wanted to know his opinion on how you could be even safer.

You looked cancer in the eyes many times. You didn’t want to look at it in the mirror too. 

For some godly reason, you stopped before knocking. That’s when you recognized your boss’s voice, complaining about something, per usual. 

“She’s a baby! She had never watched Grease, for crying out loud”, the voice and the footsteps made their sounds in harmony. You leaned in closer to the door, to try and listen better. 

“Well, you two barely know each other, now it’s the time to know if there’s a future in this relationship or not. And would you ever marry her?”, Wilson’s voice, and the words made you freeze. 

“Not everyone has marriage on the brain 24/7, Wilson”, House replied. Even from behind the door, you could almost hear the engines in his brain turning. “And God, no. I could never marry her. I can do better than a gullible third-world princess”.

You froze.

Of course he’d say that. Of course. Even if he didn’t mean it. 

The realization came like an electrical shock flowing through your body. You felt it, and it made the hairs on the nape of your neck rise. 

You meant nothing to him. 

As an immigrant, the feeling of never belonging is constant. You don’t belong in the place you now live, but you don’t really belong in the place you were born. 

You had felt for a fraction of a second that you could find your place here. In House's department. Perhaps, even with House. God, you were stupid. You were a device for him to finish his puzzles, and an object to finish… Well, to finish himself off. 

As you left your transe and heard the voices again, you ran as fast as you could back to the clinic, where you had a couple hours left to finish. There was something you needed to arrange with Cuddy, too. 

Hours later, you were in the department’s room reading some exams when House walked in. 

He eyed you up and down again, eyes lingering on your breasts a little longer than a boss’ eyes normally would. “So”, he took his bootle from his jacket and opened it, popping a couple of pills, “your place or mine?” 

“You suck”, you murmured, angrily, but pouting a little. He’d never admit it, but he loved seeing you a little aggravated, crossing your arms in front of your body in a way that made your already eye-catching torso irresistible. 

He smiled a little, putting the medicine back in his pocket. “No, sweetheart”, he now fully grinned, “that’s you.”

You rolled your eyes, but let your arms fall and a cold smile creeped into your face. 

“Yes, I do, actually”, you rose up from the chair and walked all the way towards him, hitting your hand towards his chest and pressing the paper you were holding against him. “I’m a full on sucker, and ass-kisser, as you like to point out. That’s why your so called mortal enemy offered me a job in New York”. 

He took the paper, blue eyes never leaving yours. 

“Consider this my two weeks notice”. It was hard to say, but it felt a little good, too. Logically, there were no downsides in this opportunity. Then, why did it hurt so much? “I guess everyone was right. I can do better”.

The double meaning was not lost on House. 

Your hand finally left his chest, and he didn’t look back as you left. 

Looking at it now, it all seems so simple. It never is, though, is it? Especially with House. And you, an intelligent, kind, talented and ambitious young woman, could definitely do better than attach yourself to a crippled, bitter, odious older man. 

You were doing better now. So, why, pray tell, why did this still hurt so much? 

[https-hope]

Dating Gregory House

some dating headcannons with a gender/racially neutral Pediatrician!Reader

Affection

He isn't openly affectionate in public—or in private really, but he wouldn't dream of ever pushing you away if you were showing him any. If you were to walk into his office and put your head on his shoulder while he looked over a case, you best believe he isn't pushing you away.

you walk into the teams meeting room, looking exhausted. you'd just lost a patient that you broke your back over, working double the hours and missing meals and time with greg, just for them to die anyway. greg sees this the second you walk in, etched on your face. he silently sits on the leather couch at the side of the room, barking orders at the ducklings as you sit next to him quickly, laying your head on his shoulder, slowly dozing off.

Pet Names

again, he isn't really big on pet names—and frankly neither are you. there's the occasional 'darling' or 'love' but the two of you choose to use each others first names. it means more, especially considering the use of your surnames for so long.

Wilson walks into Houses office, seeing you and him laughing about something stupid that the ducklings had done. "House, me and Cuddy made a bet, I say you don't know the last name of Wendy from Peter Pan."

He looks perplexed, and then a smug grin falls over his face as you continue to eat, "Darling?"

You look up with a smile, "Yes love?"

Wilson starts laughing, stopping a recording on his phone, "Cuddy owes me 20 bucks."

PDA

with house, pda isn't frequent, especially not at the hospital. his love language tends to be acts of service–helps him feel not so... useless, in his head anyway. he buys breakfast and you buy lunch, then you cook together at home.

you walk into his office, smiling, two warm brown bags in your hand. he looks up from his newest case, any stress melting from his brow as he meets your gaze,

"hey"

"hey" a soft smile dances between your face and his, as he eyes the bags in your hand.

"took you long enough (name), I'm withering away over here"

"corned beef, mustard, no pickles for you, and a blt for me, two dr peppers for us too"

you set the bags down and sit with him in a comfortable silence, breaking it occasionally to talk about patients—content.

Arguing

his words always hurt. his sarcasm and anger towards himself and his leg often gets thrown at you when you fight. making comments about your job or appearance so that he is happier than at least one person. you give straight back, you will always argue back to him. no matter what though, you always find a bouquet and a bar of chocolate in your office the next day.

"says the one that dresses like she wants ever man she sees? you work with the parents of sick kids. wonder why"

your jaw almost hits the floor at his cruel comment, "yeah? well at least I don't need to train my arms just to walk. I know when to stop but no, your stubbornness literally lost you your leg."

silence. you storm out. he'd had a rough day, not able to fix any case presented to him, and you had to break the news to a parent that their son had a terminal illness. the anger and annoyance bubbled and just imploded onto each other.

lunch rolls around and you drop a sandwich bag on his desk and leave. inside is just a box of pickles. you sit smug, finishing your days work and getting cuddy to drop you off, not wanting to speak to him, sleeping on the sofa and leaving for work before him, only to find a bouquet of lilies, red roses, and baby's breath in a vase on your desk, alongside a large bar of chocolate. you smile as he drops off breakfast.

you tap the chair next to you and he sits, all is well.

I hope you enjoyed!!!

masterlist

[cmkren]

— a human’s touch

; house x gn! reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In reality, you hardly moved at all.

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

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

“I don’t doubt it.”

[luvr444writes]

the date from ur last rodrick fic!!! friends start dating awkward but cute first date

LOVERS ROCK

Rodrick Heffley x Fem!reader

: ̗̀➛ part 1

It was a warm Saturday evening, and you couldn’t shake the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. The entire day had felt like a whirlwind of emotions. You kept staring at the closet, pulling out outfits and discarding them just as quickly, unsure of what would be “right” for your first real date with Rodrick. Eventually, after much deliberation, you settled on something simple but comfortable—a vintage band tee, a pair of baggy jeans, and sneakers. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it felt like the best choice. You didn’t want to overthink it, but your nerves were buzzing at the thought of the night ahead.

By the time the doorbell rang at exactly 6:00 PM, you felt your heart race. You glanced at yourself one last time in the mirror, smoothing down your shirt and adjusting your hair, only to feel like nothing was quite right. But then again, maybe that was just the anxiety talking.

When you opened the door, Rodrick was standing there, looking casual as well in a black hoodie with a band on it and a pair of jeans. His hair was even messier than usual, and there was a slight blush on his cheeks, which made him look even cuter than usual.

“Hey,” he greeted you with a soft smile, his voice low, almost like he was trying to keep himself together. The second his eyes met yours, they softened, and you caught him looking you up and down before he cleared his throat. “You look… really p-pretty.”

You froze for a moment, warmth spreading across your cheeks. “Oh… um, thanks,” you stammered, feeling a nervous giggle bubbling in your throat. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Rodrick chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure if I should go all out for a concert date, but…” He trailed off, his hands in his pockets as he shifted awkwardly. You realized, with a start, that he was just as nervous as you.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steadying, but his eyes were still unsure, a contrast to his usual cocky self.

You nodded, trying to hide your racing heartbeat, and followed him down the path to his van. The walk felt a little surreal. Everything felt like it was shifting between you two, like the moment was too big for either of you to fully understand, but you didn’t want to overthink it.

The car ride to the venue was filled with a mix of lighthearted chatter and moments of silence, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It was that quiet tension you sometimes felt with someone who meant so much to you. Every time Rodrick glanced over at you, you’d catch his gaze for a brief second before quickly looking away. And every time, a small smile would tug at his lips.

“So,” you ventured, trying to ease some of the tension. “What’s the first band like? You said they’re good, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rodrick grinned, clearly more animated when talking about music. “They’re killer. I’m actually hoping they’ll do a cover of that one song I love. You’ll hear it tonight, trust me.”

You smiled back, glad that he seemed to settle into the conversation. “Well, I trust you. You’ve got good taste.”

Rodrick glanced at you, a soft laugh escaping him. “I know I do.” But this time, there was no arrogance—just a hint of vulnerability. You caught that shift in him and felt your heart give a little leap. He wasn’t just the confident, rockstar-wannabe kid you’d grown up with. He was someone else, someone you were starting to see in a new light.

As the concert venue came into view, the buzz of the crowd surrounded you. The venue was packed, with people already gathering around the stage. The lights flickered in the distance, setting the whole place alive with energy.

Rodrick pulled into the parking lot, and as you both got out of the van, the heat of the night seemed to settle over you. He reached for your hand almost instinctively, his fingers brushing against yours in that familiar way.

“You good?” he asked, his eyes scanning you for any signs of discomfort, and for a moment, you felt that familiar closeness between the two of you that you hadn’t felt in so long.

“Yeah,” you said with a nod, a small smile creeping up on your face. “I’m great.”

You walked through the crowd, the music growing louder as you approached the stage. The air was thick with excitement, and you could practically feel the bass vibrating in your bones. Rodrick led you to a spot right in the middle, a prime location to see everything. The crowd around you was buzzing, everyone eagerly awaiting the performance to start.

“Not bad, huh?” Rodrick asked, turning to you with a smirk, his eyes alight with excitement. “It’s a pretty good spot.”

“It’s perfect,” you agreed, looking around at the sea of people, but all you really cared about was the fact that you were standing next to him.

As the concert kicked off, the crowd erupted into cheers, the opening act blasting their sound through the speakers. You could see Rodrick’s whole demeanor shift as the music began. He was lost in the moment, bouncing to the beat, his eyes closing as he sang along to his favorite tracks. His usual confidence was back, and you couldn’t help but smile at how completely in his element he was.

You were trying to enjoy the show, but you kept catching him glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Every time your gazes met, he’d quickly look away, his cheeks flushed with the slightest hint of a smile, but there was something different this time—something unspoken in the air. It wasn’t just friendly anymore.

When the band transitioned into a slower song, Rodrick’s expression softened, and he turned toward you, his eyes fixed on yours with a mix of hesitation and something else you couldn’t quite name. “Would you dance with me?” His voice was low, almost shy.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Dance?” you repeated, looking around at the crowd of people. The idea of dancing with him in front of so many people felt intimidating. “Here?”

Rodrick chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, I know it’s a little weird, but… who cares, right? It’s just us. Plus, everyone else is dancing, too."

His words settled over you, and something inside you clicked. You didn’t care about the crowd. You didn’t care about being awkward. You just wanted to be close to him, to feel like the two of you were in your own little world, if only for a few minutes.

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rodrick grinned, his eyes lighting up as you both moved closer to the stage, joining the others who were dancing and nodding along to the music. The moment felt so surreal, but as you took his hand, the nerves faded away. The warmth of his palm against yours, the softness of his touch, it was all you needed to feel at ease. For the first time in ages, everything felt right between the both of you.

You danced together, your hands placed together as to not lose each other in the crowd. awkward at first, unsure of how close to stand or what to do. But soon, as if by instinct, Rodrick’s hands settled on your waist and your hands found his shoulders, and the two of you moved together to the rhythm. The awkwardness of the moment faded as the music filled the space between you, and all that was left was the way his eyes kept glancing at you, the way your heart was beating just a little faster than usual.

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” you teased, nudging him gently with your elbow. “I didn’t expect that.”

Rodrick laughed, his voice hushed as he leaned in slightly, his face inches from yours. “You’d be surprised what I can do when I’m with the right person.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to fade. It was just you and him, and the connection between you was undeniable now.

When the song came to an end, you both were smiling, breathless, your hands still intertwined. But there was something more now. Something deeper. A shift, a change that felt like the beginning of something new between the two of you.

As the night went on, the concert became even more electrifying, but the moments you shared with Rodrick were the ones you treasured the most. He kept making you laugh, nudging you playfully when you got too into a song, and sharing jokes with you like nothing had ever changed between you two.

But every time his hand brushed yours or his smile lingered a little too long, your heart fluttered with the sweet, nervous hope that maybe, just maybe, things were finally falling into place.

As the final song ended, Rodrick looked at you, his grin wide. “Best concert date ever, right?”

You laughed, your heart full. “Definitely,” you agreed, squeezing his hand.

As he walked you back to his van, the world seemed to slow down around you. The lights of the venue were fading in the distance, but something about the night still lingered, that giddy feeling of being with him, of being seen by him in a way you hadn’t before.

“I guess I have to take you home now,” he said, his voice soft, but there was a hint of disappointment in it.

You nodded, feeling a little dazed by everything that had happened, but mostly, you felt happy. Happy in a way you hadn’t felt in so long.

after a lengthy ride home, Rodrick pulled into your driveway, putting the van in park and glancing over at you. You looked over at him, a smile creeping onto your lips before you realized just how late it was.

"I guess I have to go now." You mumbled, a blush coating your cheeks. "Thank you for tonight, Rod." you added, leaning over to leave a gentle kiss on the apple of his cheek. "I'll see you at school on Monday."

You got out of the car and walked towards your house, only turning to glance at him once more before opening your front door and shutting it softly behind you.

Rodrick sat in the driveway for a moment, a big smile spread across his face as he lifts a hand up to touch his cheek where you had kissed him. Quickly after realizing what he was doing, he dropped his hand and pulled out of the driveway.

sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes

[labgoddess123]

girls love girls and boys (based on “baby got back” by sir mix-a-lot)

pairing: house x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of sex, innuendos

summary: house discovers reader is bisexual and has trouble understanding it.

a/n: hi everyone happy pride month! I think this story came just in time to celebrate :)

—————————————————————————

“unfortunately I have to agree with house; cuddy does have quite the ass.”

the comment made house’s ears perk up from the otherwise dry conversation. he and wilson exchanged quizzical looks; did they hear you right?

“wait…y/n-you-…what?”

“I said cuddy has a nice ass. I feel like that’s pretty common knowledge around here.”

“I didn’t know you were into people of the female variety. the way you cling onto me like a cat in heat, I figured you’d never be into a woman.”

you awkwardly picked around at your lunch. you didn’t think you’d be coming out to your boyfriend and his best friend today.

what started off as a fairly normal conversation between the two “love birds” quickly devolved into bemoaning their fucked up love lives; more specifically that of wilson.

once wilson retorted with house’s obsession with cuddy’s rear end, you figured it was time to speak up.

wilson, trying to make up for his unsavory reaction, couldn’t stop apologizing.

“I’m sorry I reacted like that. really! I was just…surprised. I support gay people!”

“wilson, it’s fine. I swear I’m not offended.”

“oh you should be. isn’t it obvious wilson hates those with an affinity for the same sex?”

“house!!”

soon after, lunch ended for the three of you. returning to the lab, you felt a secret sense of relief; your secret was out.

-

house, however, was not relieved. how did he not see the signs? the pining over anna when you watched “prescription passion”, spending a little too much time looking at victoria’s secret magazines? it was all so clear. and yet…he never connected the dots.

when you arrived home, house was ready to pounce.

“so…how did you figure out you liked women? a sexy teacher? watching ‘the L word’?”

“I’ve known I was bisexual since I was a kid, but it’s not like that for everyone.”

“but…that’s not ordinary.”

“to like more than one gender? I mean…sure, it’s different. but you like that, right?”

“I do…but I don’t understand it.”

“and that’s okay! you don’t need to. you might never understand, and that’s something you’ll have to accept; I know that’s hard for you.”

you sat in silence as house tried to wrap his head around how he could understand this. understanding how things work was his specialty. not understanding something was foreign to him.

but he figured out one thing you two had in common.

“well…at least I can talk to you about boobs now.”

“you sure can, house.”

—————————————————————————

[heyitstam]

dr. robert chase x reader - the chase itself (smut)

hi guys :D i know i haven't posted in a while, but i recently asked a VERY good friend of mine to cook me a fanfic of this very beautiful man, and HE DELIVERED. like all out jaws on the floor type delivered. so i'm posting it here with his permission. it's his first fanfic ever, and in my humble professional opinion he overdelivered - so have fun reading this beautiful smut fic of reader and dr. chase <3

I. Humble Beginnings

Taking place in Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, New Jersey, you are a fairly new nurse who pursued a medical career in quite a common way. The way being that it was more so your parents’ wish for you to go to medical school than your own, but you don’t necessarily hate that fact; at least it gave you a direction, so to speak.

It’s early in the morning, so there’s not a whole lot going on. You went around doing your usual checkups already and what not, therefore you decide to go on your well deserved coffee break. However, right as you are are on that, and you step out of the cubicle you are in, you glance over to an unfamiliar face through an operating room.

Some would call it love at first sight, but it really is more than that. It’s the kind of tingly sensation no one could forget. It’s almost shameful, but you can’t be bothered by that feeling right now. As if you physically couldn’t take your eyes off of them, you lose all sense of purpose, standing there, unable to think. Suddenly, someone bumps into you, which wakes you up from your total amusement. You feel the need to know more, so as you squint your eyes, you can read their name off of the shirt they are wearing.

“Dr. Robert Chase..?  I need to.. have a talk with him. I just need to.” – you think to yourself, ponderingly.

You go back to working with a saturated mind, unable to concentrate.

II. The Chase Itself

As days go by, you’re quite hesitant to reach out to him, but you seriously feel the need to. Why is that, really, you ask yourself. You ache to even have a talk with him at this point, but you long for more. Way more. You can’t think of anything else.

After contemplating for a good while, you decide to ask around to know what time he gets off from work, since you want to surprise him at the last minute. That’s the only way you see that you could have a one-on-one with him anytime soon.

With that out the way, you now know everything you needed to know. The only thing that divides you from your desire is to actually act up on it, so you gather all your courage. You look at the time, and you’re actually pretty shocked how caught up you were thinking about him. If you don’t hurry then you’re going to miss him that day entirely, so you start sprinting.

You notice him as he is turning around the corner, all dressed up, ready to leave, and you stumble right into him.

“I need to tell you something inside, it’s.. it’s important, alright. And it might just take a while” – you tell him, struggling with your words. “Great. I was just about to leave, you know. Whatever, show me, I don’t have much time for this. Is it really that important?” – he answers abruptly, being quite impatient.

You suddenly catch a rush of excitement. This is all that you were planning for the past few days or so, to get close to him, and it looks like you’re on track.

III. An Uneasy Start

Chase swings open the door of the office he’s just been in, ushering you in and closing the door behind him, since there’s quite the commotion even late into the night, it’s a hospital after all. It’s dark inside, the only light sources being a dim lamp he accidentally left on and the Moon seeping through the closed blinds faintly. The room has a surgical bed, a cabinet behind it with all kinds of training supplies, a desk with an office chair and a hanger stand. He puts his white coat on the stand, then undoes his tie, putting it into his pants pocket in a really apathetic way, with most of it hanging out.

Seemingly being quite contempt with the situation, he sits down onto the office chair, facing you, and he seriously doesn’t look like he wants to be there.

As a last effort at trying to ease up the situation, you grab the glass of water that is sitting on the desk and you splash it at him, in a playful way.  Not surprisingly, this backfires, since he doesn’t seem too happy about, not in the slightest. He stands up from his desk and goes on to wipe off his shirt to make it slightly less messy, all without even muttering a word. You do feel pretty stupid for that.

With another attempt at getting his attention, you arousingly start to cut the strings off of a few upper buttons on your blouse with a surgical knife, as he turns back to you, giving him a snarky look.

“Was that really necessary? What was so important about any of this? Can we get to the damn point?” – he asks you with a loss of temper. “I might have lied about that important thing.” – you answer him not so bravely.

He's visibly frustrated at you, and with a change of demeanor, he stands up and is now closing distance between you in a rush, as you are backing up. He halts as he catches up to you, towering over you.

With both hands on your shoulders, clenching them hard, he asks you, in an almost belittling tone: “Is this what you wanted? “ “I don’t know, is it?” – you answer him in a pretty similar way.

Like the kind of tease you tend to be, you start gliding around your fingertip on his chest, which he.. seems to enjoy, and lets you do for a short while, for then to push you to the nearest wall.

IV. Lust

Fueled by lust, you immediately grab his chin and assertively start kissing him, which absolutely catches him off-guard. In reaction to the advancement on him, he forces your body onto his as he caresses your back. After this goes on for a bit, he grabs you by the thighs, lifts you up and tosses you onto the surgical table.

With your arms behind you, you’re sitting halfway up as your legs are pulled up. You lock eyes while he is still holding you by your thighs. He leans over, drags you closer and is now standing between your legs.

You clumsily unbutton Robert’s shirt, one by one. In contrast, he carelessly tears off a few more of your buttons, making the blouse slide off your shoulders, which then falls onto your lap, flustering you in the process.

He then puts a hand on your lower abdomen, which feels surprisingly soft, even though his hands are quite firm. Most notably, it’s warm. So warm in fact, you feel like you could melt into him, and you are all about that feeling. Starting from your thighs, continuing to your hips, he brushes his both his hands across all the way up to your chest in a painstakingly soft and throughout way, but at the same it’s quite the calm moment.

An intrigued nervousness starts to pile in you as he suddenly starts to unbuckle his belt, which was undoubtedly the loudest noise in the room so far. In the meantime, like the obedient girl you feel like you are, with each rattle, you can't wait to obey. As if you were a household maid, you’re more than ready to satisfy the head of the house, as if he shook a bell around.

He tosses aside his pants and boxers and you feel like you can’t catch up with your heavy heartbeats as he rests his rigid cock on your stomach. It all just feels so sudden, and it’s starting to grow on you in a pleasurable way. He goes onto removing your bra, while you’re simultaneously stroking him slowly and briefly, before he goes down on you again.

You can feel it throb against you, and it’s just as, if not hotter than his hand is, which he has below your stomach again. He needily grinds against you over and over, lifting your skirt up with it every time, and rubbing against your inner thighs.

He doesn’t wait around before removing your panties, which are drenched by this point, and neither does he wait to penetrate you, as he is inside you now.

“Maybe I did need this.. “ - you hear him talk out loud quietly.

At once, as he is slowly, but forcefully thrusting into you, you see him pulling out the tie out his pocket, which he puts around your neck now, instead of his own.

It’s tightened real well, and he’s gripping it by the base, close to your neck. In the meantime he’s constantly pulling on it upwards, as it’s digging into the back of your neck, scraping your chin against it’s band, making your head tilt backwards considerably. With every moan you make, he tightens more on it, leaving your neck all bruised up. As he is fucking you, you’re nails deep in the sheets. You can’t help yourself but feel pleasured.

As he’s starting to get rougher on you, you begin to develop second thoughts and try to resist him, but as you’re doing that, he immediately tugs you closer, rendering your attempt futile. As you look at him, he seems to be way too into this, as his eyes lose all focus and glare, and you can only watch as his control over himself fades, railing you without a care in the world. This creates even more neediness in you, as you cross your legs behind his back, clinging onto him.

You can barely even keep your eyes on him, and you’re not even resisting his pull on your neck anymore, so you fully commit into tilting you head back in joy. All this sexual fulfillment demands you to do so, as you are slipping out of control more by the second. You feel like you could finish at any time, and as he’s also getting close, he’s painfully grazing your stiff walls more and more, with your moans sounding pitifully more helpless.

Ejaculating with a quiet grunt, he blasts the majority into you, leaving two strings across all the way up your body, all for you to feel ecstatic about. You really do feel like you owned up to it with your services, as if it was his way of rewarding you. Not to forget about you, he pushes you over the edge too, as you’re desperately gripping his shoulders. No matter you could barely take a break after your climax, he leans closer over your stimulation filled shivering body, and goes for a deep passionate kiss. Not even bothered by the fact you are still desperately panting and gasping for air along with him.

V. Not So Aftercare

After standing up from the bed, he comfortably hugs you by your hips, to which you endearingly put your hands onto his. After romantically rocking you slightly around with his hug, he leaves his hands off of you to start dressing up. It’s getting quite late.

As he is about to button back his shirt, he looks at you still standing there, still looking a bit shocked from everything that happened so far. Deciding to help out, he steps besides you, getting your bra back from your bed, and putting it on you. He’s slowly buckling the back together, and you are simply just unable to look him in the eyes, since you're becoming increasingly shy in a sudden way, blushing like you never have before.

"You.. didn't have to, you know.." - you tell him in a higher pitch voice.

You really enjoy his care, it does fill you with joy. Then you reach out for your panties, but as you are pulling them up, he slides his hands under yours, taking the lead again, which surprises you even more. You are so overwhelmed with emotions at this point, you shake right into his hand as he pulls it all the way up, giving you a slight friendly chuckle, and blowing you a kiss right above the lining of your briefs, gaining him an immediate gasp from you. You're truly mesmerized by him.

He continues dressing himself, and as you calm down, you rush into his arms, facing his chest. He caresses and pets your face and head with one arm, for him to go onto groping your ass, and going down to your thighs. His hand lifts your skirt away from time to time, letting colder air in. After he finishes clothing up, he swings you to his other side and pushes you right to the desk.

“I need more of you. I need to feel you in more ways.” – he tells you with a shaky voice.

You almost even stumble, and with an utterly scared look on your face, you glance at him. Without precaution, he pushes you down onto the floor. You look down onto your legs. Your knees are together and your feet are far apart, completely side-tracking you. You even put your hands on your knees in a cute way, but as you lift your head, his cock gets into view, poking through his pants fly, which takes you aback.

Your first and immediate reaction is to press your lips all around him, kissing and licking his shaft as it pumps against your mouth. After growing tired and wanting more, he puts his thumb in your mouth, and with a few fingers latching onto your chin, he pushes downwards on your jaw. With closed eyes, you stick out your tongue, waiting for him to enter. He lets go off of his fingers from your face, following up with exactly what you expected. It feels way bigger than what you anticipated, leaving your mouth sore in the first minute, already. He’s being frantic with you, mouth fucking you without relent. You’re huffing for air as you whimper, but you aren’t getting any. You start to sob as he goes deeper down your throat. As you move your tongue in a swing like motion, from side to side, you circle the bottom of his shaft as he shoves himself in an out. You soak his cock with your saliva, blending with his precum. No matter how much of it you gulp down, It’s flowing out your mouth.

Resting his elbows and head above you on the desk, he looks down at the top of your head, as you suck him off. From the table, as he rocks you around, all kinds of documents fly off. Not that he cares, really.

Without even telling, he comes into your mouth, throbbing against your lips. You stomach it all as you look up to him, initiating eye contact, and smiling. After spewing out his cock, you grab it by the base and gently rub it off with a napkin. He pulls his zipper up, and kneels down. He parts your hair slightly and greets your forehead with a last smooch.

Looking back at you for the final time, he waves at you, winks in a mocking, yet sweet way and leaves though the door. You can only wish to meet soon in a similar fashion.

VI. Reflection

You’re at a loss of thoughts. He’s been so careful, yet so careless with you at the same time, and that’s just messing with your brain right now, so you lean your head against the desk, you close your eyes and give into the bliss once again.

Even after he left, you’re sitting in the dark, in the same position he left you in, with his tie still around your neck. You feel embarrassed, but you can’t help yourself as you take in the scent of his tie, pleasuring yourself through your clothes, while thinking about him. He has a hold on you, and you know that well.

[erimeows]

Your Fake Girlfriend

James Wilson knows Gregory House all too well.

Of course, ‘all too well’ merely means ‘better than anyone else’. So, on occasion, Wilson is still susceptible to the pranks and lies that House spins so well, but he’s developed a talent for detecting them most of the time, and House’s newest tall tale is one that Wilson clocks immediately as fake. 

A new girlfriend.

It starts with House dropping by his office first thing in the morning, looking unusually cheery with two coffees and a suspicious grin- and, notably, early to work instead of trudging in forty five minutes late in wrinkled clothes and disarray. 

“A coffee,” Wilson starts as House sets one of the drinks on his desk. “How kind of you.”

The last time this happened, Wilson ended up high on speed because he had predicted House slipping something in the drink and opted to take the one House hadn’t handed him- and House had predicted Wilson’s prediction and put the drugs in the drink he had kept for himself. 

Hook, line, and sinker. Not an unusual occurrence with Wilson in regards to House. 

Wilson stares at the coffee, mulling over his next move. He doesn’t want to get played again. But if this is a play, House will surely have calculated for all of his possible responses… Maybe even drugged both of the drinks. So, Wilson takes the coffee he’s handed and takes a sip of it. House appears neither disappointed nor excited, so Wilson assumes that whatever the hell the man is up to this time has nothing to do with the coffee itself. The coffee is merely a byproduct of his pleasant mood, which Wilson sure is a byproduct of whatever this new scheme is.

Wilson sets his pen down on his desk and peers up at House, waiting for the punchline… Or to pass out face first on his desktop because the coffee was laced with sleeping pills, or to grope the nearest attractive human being- House- because it was laced with speed again. 

No such thing happens. 

There’s silence for a moment, of course, but when House is conniving, he gets so overenthusiastic about it that he can’t help but blab to Wilson. At this point, Wilson doesn’t even have to ask, just offering an unamused look as he sits in wait for whatever chaos is about to come. 

“I met a girl,” House announces, dropping into the chair opposite to Wilson as if he owns the damn place- just like he always does.

Wilson blinks. Jealousy surges through him, hot and unbearable where it runs through his veins. He loves House. He’s always loved House. The fact isn’t one that he can deny, not after all the years they’ve spent playing this game of cat and mouse. He even conjectures that House returns his feelings, but it seems like they’re always in the right place- next to each other- at the wrong time- always, always, always. There’s a lot of uncertainty between the two of them, but the one thing that Wilson is certain of is that he loves House.

If he didn’t love House, he would have kicked the man to the curb years ago. 

And it isn’t abnormal for House to ‘meet a girl’. Stacy Warner, Lisa Cuddy, and a seemingly perpetual string of women that are interested in House despite his foul attitude, debilitating chronic pain, and pertinacious insistence on dosing himself half to death with vicodin. 

“Is that so?” Wilson finally forces himself to ask, swirling the coffee around in the cup held in his hand, feigning the carefully practiced nonchalance that has gotten him through the last decade of being in love with the menace sitting in front of him. 

“Mhm,” House sips his own coffee, watching Wilson over the lid with a self-assured smirk that makes Wilson shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Met her at the coffee shop last week- she works there, takes orders through the drive through. She’s so stunning that I thought she was joking when she said she found me fascinating; red hair, green eyes, absolute pillow of an ass.”

Wilson just nods. He can’t tell if the explanation is making him suspicious or even more jealous. 

“Fascinating,” He says. “And you said you met her at the drive through of a coffee shop?”

House doesn’t miss a beat before responding.

“Yup. I ordered my coffee and she wrote her number on my cup. Called her and went on our first date last week. She didn’t even blink at the cane, liked me so much that she made it official the other day.”

Wilson huffs a small laugh despite himself. The story is too good, too perfect, too polished in the ways that House’s lies usually aren’t unless he’s trying to get caught. 

Wilson knows House, at least for the most part. Knows when House is telling the truth, knows when he’s lying, knows when he’s baiting- and this, Wilson decides, is 100% bait. 

But, he plays along, curious as to where it’s going.

“And what’s her name?”

“Uh,” Ah. A pause. That confirms it; House is lying, and he hadn’t even thought to give his fake girlfriend a name until now. “Annie.”

“Are you bringing Annie to dinner on Friday?” He asks, picking his pen back up and continuing his previous work; annotating a new oncological study that just came out. Lately, they’ve been doing Friday night dinners at Wilson’s house. They mostly consist of takeout since Wilson is too depressed to bother with cooking, but they’re nice, because House is there. He prays to God that House won’t start missing them just to keep up with this ‘girlfriend’ lie of his. “You are still coming, right?”

House’s eyes narrow a fraction. As if he can’t tell whether Wilson is testing him or if it’s a genuine question.

“Maybe. She’s got an art thing that day; gallery opening, very exclusive. But she did say she wants to meet you.”

Of course she did. It takes everything in Wilson not to burst into laughter. 

“Why, I’m flattered,” Wilson says as cooly as he possibly can, and he swears he sees the tiniest twitch in House’s jaw. “Tell her that if her ‘art thing’ falls through, she’s more than welcome to come to dinner.”

“Sure.”

With that, House tosses his empty coffee cup at the trash can in the corner of the room. It doesn’t land in the center of the basket, instead hitting the rim and falling to the floor. House doesn’t bother picking it up, just standing from his chair with his cane in hand and walking to the door. 

The moment he’s gone, Wilson leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. 

A fake girlfriend.

He doesn’t know House’s motives, but if it’s a game House wants? Wilson has no issue playing it. 

~

‘Annie’ does not, in fact, come to dinner that Friday. 

It becomes a game. Over the next few weeks, House drops constant, casual references to the fictional woman yet never brings her around. She likes vintage wine. She hates House’s bike but loves his piano. She has a cat named Ellie that sheds fur all over House’s leather jacket. Wilson nods along, all while knowing that House prefers cheap wine, would never entertain anyone who disparaged his beloved motorcycle, and hasn’t shown up to work with a single strand of cat hair on him the entire time he’s been ‘dating’ Annie. 

Wilson listens, nods, and smiles when appropriate. Never challenges it. Never pushes to meet her or to see a photo or any other evidence that she actually exists. He makes no comment when House shows up in a shirt that perfectly matches his blazer for once, doesn’t raise an eyebrow when House declines two opportunities to argue with Cuddy in favor of ‘texting Annie’ only for Wilson to look over and see that he’s actually just playing Pacman on his cellphone. 

Slowly but surely, the lie starts to crack around the edges, because House is getting bored with it- and if there is anything House hates, it’s being bored. His stories start contradicting themselves; Annie is vegan on Monday but goes to a butcher’s shop with House so they can cook a steak dinner at his apartment on Friday, Annie suddenly starts to prefer craft beer over the vintage wine House had described her fancying just weeks earlier, and Annie develops a sudden fear of cats.

Wilson doesn’t mention it.

He just waits, and after more than a month of their game, Wilson finds House sitting in his office when he walks into work for the day.

He laughs at the sight, stopping in the doorway as he stares at his coworker. 

House looks utterly miserable with the bags underneath his icy blue eyes even more prominent than usual and a prominent frown on his face. The jeans he’s in are wrinkled and the Metallica t-shirt he’s wearing is in even worse shape, not to mention the mismatched socks that are peeking out of his sneakers, which are notably rested atop Wilson’s perfectly polished desktop.

Wilson can’t even be mad about it. Not when house is sitting there with such palpable dissatisfaction written into every one of his angular features, bouncing a tennis ball against the wall and catching it each time it flies back at him before repeating it. 

“You’re not going to ask,” House says, not even looking up at Wilson as he walks into the office and shuts the door behind him. 

The blinds are closed. That much, Wilson is thankful for. 

He didn’t expect this fucked up game of House’s to turn into a full on confrontation. Yet, here they are, at six in the morning, in Wilson’s office when the rest of the hospital is still quiet. There’s the occasional shuffle of nurses outside, but the patients are sleeping in their beds and there’s hardly any other staff around.

The perfect, intimate setting for House to corner him in. 

Though Wilson could turn around and walk right out, he has a hunch that House won’t be leaving his office until they do whatever this is. So, he sets his suitcase down by the door, locks the door behind him, and leans back against the glass frame with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Ask what?” He responds, sighing the words, his exasperation evident in his tone. 

“I’ve been in a rotten mood for a week,” House complains, as if he isn’t always in some sort of rotten mood, but Wilson also knows what he means. For the last few days, House has been dropping a whole different set of hints; taking more Vicodin than usual, snapping at his fellows at every turn, stomping around like someone shoved a stick up his ass. Wilson has been ignoring it, which clearly wasn’t the right thing to do based on how upset House looks about the failed bid for Wilson’s attention. “Annie dumped me.”

So, he’s still attempting to keep up the lie. Wilson had assumed this was the part where House would get fed up with him not figuring it out and confess the truth to clear the air between them. 

Apparently, Wilson had assumed wrong.

House is going to keep this up until Wilson makes it clear that he knows… Great. 

“Did she now?”

“You don’t care,” House spits, almost incredulous.

He throws the tennis ball again, but this time, he lets it fly past him when it bounces back. It hits the floor and rolls towards the office bookshelf, though neither man pays it any mind. 

“I do care,” Wilson retorts and stands up straight so he can place his hands on his hips and shoot a pointed glare in House’s direction. “Just not about your fake girlfriend. It’s a little hard to care about someone who doesn’t even exist.”

Thick, heavy silence falls over them. Wilson just stares at House, waiting for him to explain himself, and House just stares at him, unblinking. Wilson sees a multitude of emotions cross the other man’s face in the microexpressions that he’s gotten so good at analyzing over the years; shock, confusion, fear, anger, frustration. 

“How long have you known?” 

The question is barely above a whisper. 

House won’t look at him now, instead pulling his feet off the top of Wilson’s desk and putting them flat on the floor underneath them. His hand is reaching for his cane so he can twirl it around; an anxious tick that House won’t admit he has, because according to him, he doesn’t get anxious. Another one of his many lies. 

“Pretty much the whole time,” Wilson shrugs and strolls over to stand in front of the desk House is sitting at, shoving his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “You like brunettes, sometimes the occasional blonde. Never redheads. You told me once that you think they’re, uh, what was it… Soulless aliens?”

“You haven’t seen all the redheaded hookers I’ve slept with,” House retorts.

Another lie.

Everybody lies. But God, if Gregory House doesn’t do it all the fucking time.

“Seriously. This whole thing is getting ridiculous,” Wilson allows his eyes to fall shut and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. “Why did you do this?”

“Why didn’t you say anything? Hell, how did you figure it out?”

“You tried way too hard, House. Openly revealing something about yourself without having to be prodded was strike one. The description you gave of ‘Annie’ being someone you’d never actually date- boring, artistic, redheaded coffee shop worker- strike two. The stories were way too consistent at first, because you’re scarily good at keeping things consistent when you lie, and then when I didn’t notice? You got sloppy and tried to make the lies obvious enough for me to pick up on, because you really thought I had no idea. Strike three.”

“So, you knew I was lying to you and you let me keep doing it,” House scoffs and leans back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling, doing anything he can to avoid Wilson’s gaze. “Why? Were you just enjoying watching me make a fool of myself?”

“No,” Wilson answers, his voice a little sharper than he intends for it to be, laced with years of frustration. “I was waiting for you to tell me why you felt the need to do all of this.”

“Maybe I just felt like messing with you.”

So many lies over the last few weeks. Wilson wonders what it’s all for. Deep down, part of him knows. It’s a bid for attention. A bid for love. Just like everything else House does. 

“Maybe,” Wilson starts. He could drop it there, shrug this whole thing off. They could laugh about it and go back to normal, but Wilson doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to keep doing this. So, he decides to push this thing they have, perhaps until it breaks- if that’s what will finally get him the truth he’s so desperately wanted all these years. “Maybe I’d believe that if you didn’t look at me so expectantly every time you mentioned her.”

“The hell do you mean by that?”

“I mean that this time, you can’t do what you always do and backtrack by convincing me that this is just one of your pranks. I mean that you didn’t bother telling anyone else about your fake girlfriend, which must mean that this- this scheme of yours was contrived especially for me. I mean that I know you only did all this because you…”

Wilson trails off, averting his gaze, able to feel the heat rising in his cheeks. House only did this out of love- albeit a fucked up, toxic sort of love that only House seems to be able to make seem appealing. 

“So what, is this your big realization? Gonna pull a me and storm out of the room with your differential diagnosis? Go share it with the team?” Finally, House stands from his chair, cane in hand, and circles the desk. Wilson turns to face him, swallowing a lump of anxiety as House invades his personal space. And for the first time in weeks, Wilson looks at him. Really looks at him. He looks exhausted and anxious and hurt as he snaps in a way that he hasn’t in years. “You saw through my pathetic little ploy, gold star for Dr. Wilson! Now you can go back to pretending that you don’t care about how I feel.”

“You wanted me to care. You wanted me to be jealous,” He whispers, and there’s no answer- just a forlorn gaze and poorly concealed regret. “Why?”

“Because you never care… Because you’re never jealous,” The confession is barely above a whisper, more like a bitter hiss. House’s cane falls to the floor as he places his hands on Wilson’s shoulders, digging his fingers so hard into them through his clothes that it hurts. “You go on dates, flirt with nurses, you get married- repeatedly, might I add- and I pretend it’s all fine, and I watch you walk away each and every time, but you know what? I care. And I’m jealous. And maybe I wanted you to feel the same way for once.”

“You could’ve said something,” Wilson weakly argues, and House’s grip on his shoulders softens, but doesn’t leave entirely. 

“If you noticed, you could’ve said something,” House leans closer. Wilson shouldn’t panic- shouldn’t fawn- they’ve been friends for so long that House being close to him should be familiar. And it is familiar. Yet, he finds that after all these years, it still makes his heart pound. The scent of House’s aftershave, the peppery curls of his hair, the furrow in his brow, the iciness in his gaze. “But you didn’t. You never do. You just… Let me do this.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to say anything.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, seriously- how was I supposed to know that you wanted me to say anything?” Wilson demands, because Gregory House isn’t a man who hesitates to go after what- or who- he wants. He hadn’t considered it. Part of Wilson has always thought that House might return his feelings, but he convinced himself long ago that House didn’t want to cross that line. Why would House want to cross that line? “You act like you don’t care, you push and prod and lie and run away, and you expect everyone else to chase you? And now that I’m not, it’s pissing you off?”

“Yes!” House yells, the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls of the office, but Wilson doesn’t flinch nor does he back away. 

Instead, he takes a step forward. 

They’re closer than ever, the air between them familiar yet charged with something dangerous, something different and risky that they’ve never dared tackle like this before.

“I do care, by the way,” And instead of thinking better of it, Wilson reaches out, wrapping his arms around House’s body and pulling him close. House tenses at first, only to melt into him seconds later, arms wrapping around Wilson’s frame and clutching the back of his white coat in return. House rests his head against Wilson’s shoulder and lets out a shaky sigh. “I’ve always cared, but I’m not going to chase after you or fight you just to prove that.”

“Then what are you going to do, Wilson? Nothing?” He mutters.

“No, not nothing. What I’m going to do is tell you the truth and pray that, for once in your life, you’ll tell me the truth in return,” Wilson pauses, pressing a kiss into House’s hair and holding him tight. “I’ve been in love with you for years, and if you’re done playing your twisted little games, maybe we can stop pretending that we don’t care about each other.”

Slowly, House nods. And it’s more than enough.

[privatehousesanatomy]

Hello! ♥

Could you do a House X (fem!) reader where he helps her to deal with a stalker she has?

Love your One shots btw ♥

hi!! thank you so much, i love writing them <3. i think this is a very interesting request and i'm excited to give it a shot!

GREGORY HOUSE X FEM!READER

mentions of stalkers

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

"Look who finally decided to show her face. Good morning, Y/L/N. Hope you like small paychecks," House quipped as you entered the DDX office for the morning meeting, which has obviously been taking place for a while now.

"Sorry...I uh, I got stuck in traffic. There was an accident downtown," you sighed as you sat down in the empty chair at the desk. That seemed to be a good enough excuse (for now), and everyone went back to discussing the patient of the week.

Once the morning meeting came to a close and House sent the fellows off with each of their respective tasks, he watched as you stood up.

"Y/L/N, come with me," he spoke, motioning for you to follow him. Raising an eyebrow, you followed your boss into the main part of his office, watching as he limped over to his chair and sat down.

"What is it?" you ask, obviously curious as to why you hadn't been given a task.

"Why were you late this morning?"

"I told you...there was an accident downtown and I got stuck in traffic," you replied.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that. Now, tell me the real reason why you were late," he said. This wasn't the first time you'd been late for work, and if anyone was going to notice a pattern, it would be House.

"House, I can assure you that the reason I gave you was the real reason I was late," you answered, though the tone of your voice didn't sound so convincing.

"It was a good excuse, really, and I would have fell for it if this was a one time thing. But you've been late for work eight times this month alone, which leads me to think that you have other morning committments," he rambled. There he goes again with his deduction skills. You should have known better than to try to pull the wool over his eyes.

"I don't have other morning committments."

"Listen, if you're sleeping with someone and you get a little carried away in the mornings, I won't judge," he smirked. In reality, House was the last person who should be giving a lecture on attendance considering his own record wasn't so great, but as the head of the department, it was his job to make sure he knew the whereabouts of his employees.

"I'm not sleeping with anyone. Not that it's any of your business, though," you shrugged.

"You're right. It's not my business. But what is my business is when my employees start coming in late all the time. That's my job," House replied. "So I'm going to ask you again. Why the hell were you late this morning?"

You didn't want to come clean about the man that was stalking you. It was embarrassing enough as it is, but you had this deep-seeded fear that House would take it upon himself to make your situation the butt of a million and one jokes.

"It's really nothing you're interested in hearing about," you lied, your gaze landing on the floor. You were able to notice the scuff on your shoe. Brand new shoes and already scuffed.

"What? Do I have to park my car outside of your house tonight and find out why you're so late in the mornings?" he scoffed. At the mention of him essentially stalking you, you felt your heart sink.

"No...no, you really don't have to do that..."

"Why not? If you're not going to tell me why you're late, I'm going to figure it out one way or another."

"Because I'm not going to let you stalk me!" you finally snapped, and for a moment, the room fell silent. It was as if the whole world had gone silent. It didn't take long for House to put two and two together, and he let out a sigh.

"Who's stalking you?" he then asked, breaking the deafening silence in the room. As much as you didn't want to talk about it, the police hadn't been much help, and you were really beginning to fear for your safety.

"There's uh...there was this guy I met at a bar a couple of weeks ago. He offered to buy me a drink and I declined. I just didn't trust the looks of him. But he walked away so I assumed that he'd taken the hint, but then he followed me home that night and has shown up multiple times since," you explained.

"How often?"

"Not every day...and he never comes directly to my house, but he pretends to live in the neighbourhood and I see him walking all the time. Sometimes he parks his car on the street and stares at my house."

"Was he there this morning?" House asked. While the man was known for his uncaring demeanor, when it came to his employees, he would always go to bat for them, even if they didn't realize it.

"He was," you nodded, letting out a shaky sigh. "He tried to follow me to work today, so I had to take a different route than normal. That was after I built up the courage to even leave my house," you admitted. Truthfully, you'd considered calling in sick that day, but you didn't want to let your personal issues get in the way of your job. After all, being on House's team was a big job, and one wrong move could cost you everything.

As House listened to everything that you were telling him, the wheels in his mind were turning at the same time. "I'm going to drive you home tonight, and tomorrow morning, I'll pick you up as well."

"What? No, House, I couldn't ask you to go out of your way like that," you frowned.

"I'm driving you home and picking you up. Something bad isn't going to happen to you because some low-life, waste of skin loser spends his time creeping on you. I won't allow it," he insisted. It was the first time you'd ever seen him go out of his way to help someone outside of patients.

"Thanks...I really appreciate it," you replied. You knew better than to argue with him on this. You'd never win.

"Yeah, yeah. Now get. You can run labs with Chase," he said, waving you off so as not to prolong a sentimental moment.

"Right, right," you said, having almost forgotten that you were still at work for a second. As you turned and left the office, you had a small smile on your face. For the first time in weeks, you felt safe.

[oph3liatlou]

— BLOODSHOT EYES

pairing(s); soft!gregory house x exhausted!female reader

warnings; mentions of death, drug usage/mentions (vicodin),

word count; 1,032 words.

proofread?; not really :,)

note from author; he makes me giggle (he is me).

summary; you stay late in the office - sleep deprived.

Seated in the dimly lit office at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, you were a relatively new addition to Dr. House's team, having been around for about two years. Your proficiency in your role was evident, whether assisting on various cases or independently solving medical mysteries.

Early evening cast a subdued ambiance when the door swung open, and in walked Dr. House.

"You still here?" he queried, his characteristic tone not betraying any surprise.

You didn't look up at him, when he spoke to you. There were books covering the large table in the middle of the room - and your head was buried in your computer. You just grunted in response to him - not really acknowledging he was even there.

House approached, limping dramatically and leaning heavily on his cane. A bit of a smirk played at his lips as he surveyed the scene.

"What's got you buried in your computer on a Friday night?" he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

You were clearly reading. "The case we're working on…" I grumbled. House had sent everyone home, seeing as they were all tired anyways and needed sleep. But you were relentless.

"Is not going anywhere." He stated matter-of-factly and with a hint of fatigue in his voice. It wasn't lost on him that you were burning the midnight oil - again. Your work ethic was admirable, albeit slightly unhealthy.

You rolled your eyes. "That's very reassuring." You paused, now turning your eyes away from the computer and burning into a book. "We can't just let her die."

"Of course not," his voice was sarcastic, but he was being genuine - which was odd in itself. "But we aren't going to figure it out tonight, and no one works best when they're sleep deprived."

That hadn't stopped him in the past.

"I'm not tired." You rebutaled quickly, shifting in your seat as your fingers trailed on the book pages. You were starting to go crossed eyed from reading so much.

"You sure?" His voice was laced with the same sarcasm, although there was a hint of concern, maybe - though it was difficult to decipher. House had a tendency to mask his emotions, especially when it came to caring for his team, a vulnerability he often preferred to disguise.

He took a seat opposite you, his gaze briefly landing on the stack of books.

"I'm fine." You retorted.

"You're clearly not," his tone was blunt, not caring in the slightest whether or not you were offended by what he said. "You've been here 26 hours without a break. You're exhausted and therefore inefficient - go home."

House's expression turned sour as your comment about Vicodin slipped through your lips. He glared at you, his face dark with disapproval.

"My drug use isn't the same as you being sleep-deprived on the job."

This was the first time you looked at him since he had come into the office. "You're right - your drug use is worse."

"Don't even start," his words were sharp and biting. "Don't compare yourself to me. Your health is far more important."

He shifted his weight awkwardly, the pain in his leg causing him to grimace. It was clear he needed rest too.

"You're not even arguing back, you really are tired." He rolled his eyes in a somewhat caring manner, not in annoyance.

"Go. To. Bed."

"Not until I figure this out."

House was silent, his gaze heavy on you as he leaned on his cane. He seemed to be considering your words, but ultimately, his expression was unreadable.

He shifted his weight, a grimace passing across his face as he put more pressure on his injured leg. "You do what you want," he said finally, his tone neutral. The words hung in the air between you, each of you knowing that the other had a valid perspective.

With a slight nod, House turned and limped towards the chair in the office.

You glanced over at him for a moment. "Why are you staying?" You knew he was just going to sit there and nap - instead of being useful.

"Don't you want me here?" His voice was soft but teasing. House had a habit of pushing people's buttons - and he seemed to take pleasure in it.

"Besides - I'm your boss. I can't leave you all alone in my office." He gave a half-grin as he spoke, his eyes still closed.

You tried to roll your eyes at him but, you were so sleep deprived that you could barely even blink. Your eyes also hurt from squinting at the computer screen and burying your head in the books.

"Scared I'll find your secret Vicodin stash?" You questioned quietly before glancing over. "You hide it in the empty flower vase on the shelf, behind your desk."

House's eyes snapped open when you mentioned the hidden Vicodin stash. How the hell did you know where he kept it?

"You're a smartass." He growled, pushing off from the couch to sit up, now wide awake.

That was when he stood up - limping back over to the table you were sitting at and closing your laptop silently. You looked up at him, your eyes bloodshot.

He leaned down towards you, making sure you were looking at him. His voice was serious, but not angry or frustrated, just...concerned.

"Go home. Now. I will see you tomorrow." he spoke, his tone not leaving room for arguments, before turning and walking to the door "And don't try to argue." he added, though you could hear a slight chuckle escape him. He had a soft spot for you, you knew it - and he didn't try to hide it.

"They will still be here tomorrow." He started grabbing all the books you had laid out, closing them. "Now, go, before I call Wilson to carry you out of here like a baby."

You smiled a tired smile. "Wilson doesn't scare me." But regardless, you stood and grabbed your bag.

"Good, you listen to me. For once." He grinned, and though it wasn't mean-spirited, there was a hint of a taunt to it. He led you to the door.

"Now get some sleep. You look like death."

[saragarnier]

Away from you pt.2

pairing: Jay halsted x reader

summary: when y/n found out that her boyfriend was cheating on her she left Chicago, without saying a word.

warning: Angst maybe and bad english since it's not my first language.

A/N: i'm actually thinking about writing a part 3, but i'm not sure.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Previous part, next part

When Jay got home that night, he went straight to the bedroom, without noticing your absence at once; he was really tired after the intense day at work and after the night he spent with Hailey. He was feeling guilty about it, obviously, but he couldn’t find the courage to tell the truth, he just couldn’t tell his future wife that he completely messed up with everything. He loved her, he really loved y/n and he didn’t want to lose her, even if she would have had all the rights to do it, after all he cheated on her, just few months before the wedding.

Jay was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realise that she wasn’t still at home; he removed the badge and the gun from his belt, placing them silently on the bedside table, then he looked around and he finally noticed that you weren’t sleeping in the bed. He frowned, looking around and trying to understand where you were; he couldn’t hear the noise of the shower and the bathroom’s door was open, so you couldn’t be there either. He searched the entire home, then he took his phone out and he messaged you, hoping that you still were with Kim outside.

He tried to not get worried, but he couldn’t help himself when he saw that the message hadn't been sent successfully; he stayed awake for another hour, before falling asleep on the couch, waiting for your return.

He woke up the next day, feeling pain all over his body because of the position he fell asleep with; he looked around and he got up, searching all the house to find you. The bed was still done, and it didn’t seem like someone slept in it the other night, so it was clear that you didn’t come back home.

He felt his heart skipping a beat because of his worry.

Why didn’t she come back home?

Had something happened last night?

Was she in danger?

He grabbed his phone and called for Kim straight away, walking all around the house while waiting for her to respond. He knew that it was still early in the morning, and he didn’t want to wake her up, but he had no choice. Y/n could have been in danger, something could have happened to her while she was coming back home, and he needed to know at what time Kim and her left the bar.

“Jay, it’s six in the morning, what’s happening?” Kim whispered when she answered the phone, seeing Jay’s name on the screen.

“Is y/n with you? Did something strange happened yesterday? Did she leave the bar after a call from the hospital?” Jay questioned her without taking a single breath. He just wanted to know if you were okay, if you were with her, maybe after drinking too many beers. He couldn’t understand for what reason you didn’t come home last night and he couldn’t believe that something bad happened to you or he would have known by that moment, his brother Will would have advised you.

“What? No, she left around ten pm and she walked away saying that she needed to do something… why? Did something happen?” Kim got up from her bed immediately, especially after hearing his tone of voice and hearing how worried he seemed to be.

“Fuck.” He exclaimed, shaking his head, still walking all around the house; he grabbed his badge and his gun, then he left the apartment without even reaching for his jacket. It wasn’t cold outside, but you definitely needed to have a jacket with you all the time in Chicago, at least till the begin of the summer. “She didn’t come back home last night and she doesn’t respond to my messages or my calls. I’m going to call Mouse and to make him track her phone, after that I’ll call Voight if I notice something strange, okay?”

“Shit…” Kim whispered, worried. “Tell me if you find out something, okay? “

“Sure.” Jay reassured her, then he hung up and he called Mouse instead.

He waited for almost a minute before his friend answered the phone, still in his dreams; Jay could tell just by his voice that he woke up Mouse and that he wasn’t really happy about that, but he just couldn’t wait any longer, especially if something bad happened to you.

How could he have been so stupid?

You were never late, he should have called Mouse and Kim the night before, he should have called them before to make sure that you were okay. What if someone kidnapped you? What if someone hurt you?

It would have been his fault.

It would have been his fault because you went out with Kim alone because he wanted to spend the evening with Hailey, he would have been his fault because he should have called for help immediately, he would have been his fault because he wasn’t by your side.

“Mouse, I need you to track y/n’s phone right now!” Jay said without waiting a minute.

“What do you guys have with tracking each other’s phones, uh?” Mouse replied, mumbling something about last night, when you called him.

Jay froze at his friend’s words; he pulled up and he parked the car before crashing into someone else, then he took a deep breath and he tried to stay focused on Mouse.

“Wait… what does that mean?” He whispered, afraid of what he could have discovered.

“She asked me to track your phone yesterday’s night… she seemed worried about you falling again into ptsd and I immediately tracked your phone. I told her that you were in your older apartment and that’s it, I didn’t hear from her after that.”

In that moment, all the dots connected.

That’s why Kim said you left earlier, that’s why he noticed the backup- key in the wrong position, that’s why she didn’t come back home and that’s why she didn’t respond to his messages or calls.

She knew.

She found out.

He messed up and she knew it.

Jay stayed silent for what looks like hours, even days for him, even if it was probably for just one minute or two. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice he was crying, not until he was brought back to reality from Mouse.

“Uhm… Jay, there’s a problem…” he whispered. “I can’t track y/n’s phone, it’s like it’s dead. Maybe she didn’t have the chance to charge it? But why did you need her location? Isn’t she with you?”

Jay gulped, looking outside of the car, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. he was like a ghost, he felt like a ghost, he felt like he was dead, like he lost all.

And he did.

If she really saw him with Hailey, he knew that he lost the love of his life, and all for what? Some sex with his partner at work? He said he loved Hailey, he always said it when they fucked, but while doing it he always thought about y/n, about the love of his life. It didn’t make sense, it didn’t make sense for him either and he didn’t expect the others to understand, that’s why he never told you or anyone else, even if he really wanted to after the first time he and Hailey had sex together.

“Jay?” Mouse asked again, worried when he didn’t hear anything from his friend for minutes. “Are you okay?”

“I ruined everything, Mouse.” He whispered at the phone, crying silently. “I lost her… I think she broke up with me… I think she left���”

“What?! What does that mean? She couldn’t have done it, couldn’t she? Why?” Mouse didn’t really understand what was happening between his friend and his friend’s fiancé, but it was clear that something bad happened between them since he heard Jay crying on the other line of the call.

“I cheated on her… I cheated on her and I think she found out… she didn’t come home last night, she doesn’t respond to messages and calls… I don’t know where to find her, I don’t know where to find her to talk to her and explain everything to her. She had all the rights to know the truth from me, but I can’t do it if I can’t reach for her.”

Mouse stayed silent for some minutes, then he had an idea.

“She works at the hospital, maybe she’s there, no? It’s seven am and she had to present her resignation letter if she really wants to leave Chicago, no? Maybe she’s at the hospital to do it, maybe you still have time.”

It was one last hope and Jay accepted it; Jay took it immediately.

“I’ll call you from the hospital. Thank you, Mouse.”

He hung up, dried his cheeks from the tears and he drove towards the Chicago Medical Center as soon as he could; when he arrived, he met his brother, Will, but he was too focused on finding y/n, so he ignored him and went straight towards Meggie. Before he could ask her where his fiancé was, Jay got stopped by Will, who pushed him into an empty room.

“Will I don’t have time for this right now!” Jay exclaimed, trying to get out of the room to find you.

“Well, you’ll have to find some time because I want to know why y/n presented her resignation form on a fucking mail!”

And that was when Jay lost his last hope.

“W-What?” he whispered, sitting on an empty chair before falling on the ground. “She left?”

It was too late.

He arrived too late.

Will nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder, and trying to reassure him in any way possible.

“What happened, Jay?”

“I fucked up… I fucked up and I lost her, Will.” He whispered. “I lost her.”

And it was true.

He lost you.

And the best part was that being a detective’s fiancé helped you to find a way to be invisible.

New phone.

Only cash.

Being a ghost.

You didn’t want to be found, especially not by him and, while he was crying on his brother’s shoulder about losing the love of his life, you were landing in New York city, trying to find a way to hang on, trying to start a new life.

A life away from him.

Away from the last version of you.

[4m0r1m]

Closed Doors was delicious, write more for House one day and my life is yours, you absolute angel 🙏🙏

Til Death Do Us Part

SUMMARY: When House notices the subtle cracks in his wife's bright facade, he can't ignore them.

WORD COUNT: 2,439 words

PAIRING: greg house x wife!reader

WARNINGS: angsty angsty (sorry😭)

The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly as House leaned against the wall of his office, tossing a worn tennis ball into the air and catching it in one deft hand. Through the glass walls, he watched her—his wife—laughing with one of the interns. Her head thrown back, her entire frame animated with that familiar, infuriating energy that first made him fall for her.

But something wasn’t right.

He caught the ball mid-air, frowning. She was laughing too hard. Too brightly. A beat too long before she steadied herself, hand fluttering briefly to the side of her head. Not the first time he noticed it. Not the first time he chalked it up to exhaustion, or the hospital wearing her down. Yet, House had a nose for lies. Even unspoken ones.

Later, when she sat at their shared desk in the flat, a stack of children’s charts spread before her, he caught her blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear her vision. Her hand trembled when she reached for her tea.

House said nothing. Not yet.

He started running tests behind her back the very next day.

Nothing major at first—blood work, basic scans, subtle prodding during casual conversations masked as teasing. She laughed him off, told him he was getting soft in his old age, caring too much. He retorted with some snide comment about how British women probably enjoyed seeing their husbands panic. She threw a pillow at his head.

But deep down, House was gnawing on a bone he couldn’t put down.

Something was wrong.

Something he couldn’t diagnose by sarcasm alone.

It took him a week. A brutal, sleepless, Vicodin-laced week of cross-referencing every symptom she didn't even realise she was showing. When the preliminary results landed on his desk, he didn't even read them at first—just stared at the thick envelope like it was ticking.

Finally, he ripped it open.

Cancer.

The word punched the air from his lungs, even as his brain kicked into clinical overdrive. He scanned every line, every marker, but nowhere did it say where exactly the cancer was lodged. Just that it was there. Hiding. Growing.

He needed Wilson.

No—he needed answers.

He found her on the paediatrics floor, perched on the edge of a hospital bed, coaxing a giggle out of a pale, freckled boy with a toy stethoscope. She looked radiant. She looked fine.

House's stomach twisted.

He waited until she finished, then intercepted her outside the ward.

“Got a sec, Doc McCheery?”

She grinned, mock saluting. “Only if you’re here to hand-deliver my 'World’s Best Doctor' mug.”

“Something better.” His voice was light but his eyes were steel. “A mystery.”

She cocked her head, blonde hair catching the light. “Oh, go on then. Solve it, Sherlock.”

House stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re sick.”

Her smile faltered, barely, but it was enough for him to see it.

He pressed on. “I’ve run your blood work. You’re throwing off tumour markers. Something’s growing inside you.”

She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the flicker of panic. “Honestly, Greg, you’re worse than my mum.”

“We’ll have Wilson run some more scans,” he continued, relentless. “Get a full body PET. Find out where it’s hiding.”

“No.”

The word was sharp. Final.

House blinked. “No?”

She crossed her arms, forcing a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re overreacting. It’s probably a false positive. Stress, maybe. God knows I’m married to enough of it.”

House’s jaw clenched. “You’re lying.”

She stepped back, defensive, playful tone gone. “Drop it, House.”

“Like hell I will.” His voice rose, drawing a few glances from passing nurses. He didn’t care. “You think I’m just going to stand there while you—while you—”

“What? Die?” she snapped, suddenly furious. “Grow up.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

House stared at her, breathing hard. “You know.”

It wasn’t a question.

She looked away, blinking rapidly again. “Yeah,” she said hoarsely. “I know.”

House closed his eyes for a second, as if that could erase the moment. “Since when?”

“Few weeks.”

“WEEKS?” His cane thudded against the wall as he turned in frustration. “And you didn’t think to tell your husband?”

“What for?” she shot back. “So you could dissect me like one of your bloody puzzles? You think I wanted to become your latest case study?”

“You ARE my case study, dammit!” he barked. “You’re my wife!”

She swiped angrily at a tear threatening to spill. “I’m your wife, Greg, not your patient. I get to choose.”

House advanced on her, voice low and dangerous. “You’re choosing to die.”

She laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, not much of a choice, is it?”

House gritted his teeth. “Wilson can start treatment. There’s still time.”

“No.”

Her voice cracked.

“No chemo. No endless scans. No months of vomiting and losing my hair and becoming a ghost before your eyes. I’m not doing that.”

House stared at her, aghast. “You stubborn, infuriating—”

“It’s brain cancer, Greg.” She said it too fast, like tearing off a plaster. “It’s already spread. There’s nothing to treat.”

The words hung between them, thick and suffocating.

Brain cancer.

Terminal.

House swallowed hard, throat dry. For the first time in years, he felt utterly, completely helpless.

She stepped closer, softer now. “I don’t want to spend what’s left being prodded and poked and sick. I want to live.” Her fingers brushed his. “With you. As me.”

House stared at her hand on his, his mind reeling.

Live.

As her.

Not as some hollowed-out version.

He squeezed her fingers, just once.

And for once, House had no smart-ass reply. No sarcastic retort.

Just grief, raw and gnawing, wrapping its claws around his ribs.

They barely spoke on the drive home.

House gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles whitening with every mile. She sat curled against the window, cheek pressed to the cool glass, silent. Normally she filled car rides with chatter, teasing him about his music taste or criticising his driving.

Now, just silence.

He hated it.

When they reached their building, she moved ahead, keys jangling weakly in her hand. House limped after her, cane tapping the stairwell floor, every step heavier than the last.

Their flat smelled like old books and the faint citrus of her shampoo.

Home.

It was supposed to feel like safety. Tonight, it felt like a countdown.

She dropped her bag at the door and peeled off her jacket, moving sluggishly. House watched her, searching for something to anchor himself. Some way to fix this.

“Do you want tea?” she asked, voice too bright, brittle.

He barked a humourless laugh. “Yeah. That’ll cure the cancer.”

She flinched, barely, but recovered quickly. “Well, if not, at least it’ll shut you up for five minutes.”

House’s chest ached.

This—this—was how they coped. Sarcasm layered over fear like armour. They had built their marriage on it.

He let her make the tea.

Let her pretend.

She set his mug in front of him, hands trembling slightly, and sat opposite at the small kitchen table. Her sleeves were pushed up, revealing the delicate twist of her wrists, the veins he knew too well.

House stared at her.

So alive. So herself.

And yet.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

She traced the rim of her mug with one finger. “They gave me six months. Maybe a year, if I’m stubborn enough.”

He snorted, despite himself. “You? Stubborn? Shocking.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. “Said I could beat the record if I pissed off enough people.”

His throat closed up.

He set the mug down too hard, spilling tea across the table. Neither of them moved to wipe it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, softer now, almost pleading.

She shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t want you to look at me like—” she waved vaguely at the air between them, “—like that.”

“Like what?” he rasped.

“Like I’m already dead.”

House rubbed his face with one hand, feeling years older. “I’m a bastard, not a corpse sniffer.”

She laughed, a broken, beautiful sound. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The silence stretched, heavy, but not empty.

Finally, she spoke.

“I’ve made peace with it, Greg. I need you to.”

House shook his head, sharp and stubborn. “I don’t make peace. I make enemies. Death’s on the list.”

She reached across the table, curling her hand around his. “You can’t fix this.”

House’s fingers twitched.

Fixing things was what he did. Diagnosing, cutting, poisoning, healing—forcing the body to obey him through sheer willpower and spite.

But not this.

Not her.

Her hand was warm. Solid. Real.

He clung to it like a man clinging to a ledge.

“What do you want, then?” he asked hoarsely. “A world tour? Skydiving? Trip to Disneyland?”

She snorted. “You on a rollercoaster would definitely kill me quicker.”

House squeezed her hand, hard enough to make her wince.

“Just you,” she whispered. “Just time. Just... us.”

He bowed his head, forehead pressing against the back of her hand.

“Okay,” he said, voice breaking. “Okay.”

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

She dozed beside him, soft breaths against his shoulder, hair fanned across the pillow like a halo. He watched her for hours, memorising the slope of her nose, the way her lashes fluttered when she dreamed.

Every detail was a lifeline and a knife.

At some point, she stirred, finding him awake.

“Greg,” she murmured sleepily, “if you don’t stop brooding, I’ll die of boredom before the cancer gets me.”

He huffed a laugh, rough with unshed tears.

“Come here,” she ordered, tugging at his arm.

He shifted, wincing at the stiffness in his leg, and let her curl against him, head tucked under his chin. Her hand splayed across his chest, fingers idly tapping a rhythm only she knew.

“Love you, you miserable sod,” she mumbled into his shirt.

House closed his eyes.

He’d never been good at saying it back. Not easily. But tonight, he needed her to know.

“Love you too, you bossy Brit,” he said thickly.

She smiled against him, and for a moment, it was almost easy to believe that morning would come like any other. That time wasn’t slipping through their fingers like sand.

Weeks passed.

They didn’t talk about treatments again. Didn’t whisper about hope or miracles. She refused hospitals, refused sympathy. She worked as long as she could, still lighting up the children’s ward with her reckless, infectious energy.

But House saw the changes.

The headaches that left her pale and trembling. The slurred words. The moments where she stared at nothing, lost in the fog.

He fought every instinct to rush her to a hospital.

Because she asked him to let her live.

Because he loved her too much not to.

Some nights she was strong enough to mock him, to tease him about his cooking, his Vicodin stash, his permanent scowl. Other nights, she cried in his arms, scared and furious and small in a way she never let anyone else see.

He held her through it all.

And every day, House hated the universe a little more.

Hated how something so brilliant, so bright, could be snuffed out by something as stupid as rogue cells multiplying in her brain.

One evening, she sat on the battered old sofa, a woollen blanket draped over her lap, sipping hot chocolate. Her hair was thinner now, her skin papery, but her smile—God, her smile—still stopped his heart.

“Greg,” she said suddenly, serious.

He looked up from his medical journal.

“When I go,” she said, “I want you to do something.”

He closed the journal slowly. “If this involves taxidermy, I’m out.”

She laughed weakly. “No. I want you to be happy.”

House stared at her.

“You’re allowed,” she whispered. “After. You’re allowed to love again. To be alive.”

House’s mouth twisted. “There’s no after.”

She leaned forward, touching his knee. “Promise me.”

“I don’t make promises.”

She just smiled.

And somehow, House knew he would spend the rest of his life trying to keep that one.

A/N: I don't know if I'm an angel anymore😭😭I'm sorry guys I just had this idea but I'll do some fluff maybe tomorrow....

Hope you guys like it!💗

[4thwallbreakerdraws2]

SMG4 PENITENTIARY AU: MASTERPOST

What if every major villain in SMG4 somehow survived and got stuffed into prison instead? An AU revolving all around the Mushroom Kingdom Penitentiary, it’s inmates, it’s staff and the ones who dare to step foot into the facility.

This is the Masterpost containing basic information about the AU and it’s characters, location, world as well as rules and guidelines for your own inserts!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ 𐂺THE MUSHROOM KINGDOM

Following Peach’s public disappearance after the events of “It’s gotta be perfect”, the whole state has fallen into Anarchy.

Every few months, a group or individual manages to climb the top only to inevitably fall again when others take their place.

The law in the Mushroom Kingdom changes every few months, depending on what the current temporary ruler has put in place.

Due to that, the justice system is in chaos. No real trials have been happening ever since IGBP and the accused are instead thrown into the penitentiary for detention until their trial.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

𐂺 THE MK PENITENTIARY

Throw real life comparisons out the window, this is SMG4, things may and will not align with actual penitentiaries lol

The Penitentiary is located on the outskirts of the capital.

While the facility has staff for rehabilitation programs, the main focus is still on incarceration.

Death Penalty has currently been deemed illegal.

MK Penitentiary contains several sectors with varying level of Security:

⊘ MODERATE SECURITY SECTOR

Inmates in this sector have committed either low-level crimes or are still awaiting trial and have showcased no violent behavior.

Due to the chaotic nature of SMG4 land, there simply is no lower security level.

Some cells in this sector are shared by two inmates.

Modera Security Inmates can spend their whole time in the free-to roam sections (Common Room, Cafeteria, Courtyard etc.).

⊘ HIGH SECURITY SECTOR

Inmates in this sector have committed more serious crimes or showcase violent behavior.

Security presence is significantly higher and more rougher here.

One cell per person.

High Security Inmates only have a limited time in the courtyard, cafeteria and common room.

⊘ SPECIAL SECURITY SECTOR

Inmates in this sector have broken out of their cell several times or/and have abilities that need special containment.

Cells are individually tuned to the inmate.

Inmates in this sector are kept away from the other sectors and their own common room with limited time.

⊘ PSYCHIATRIC SECTOR

Inmates in this sector have shown psychological problems or have suffered a mental break that need 24/7 supervision or makes them unable to be put into the other sectors.

Psychologists need to have a security at their side at all times.

Padded rooms are used but not a necessity.

Inmates in this sector are isolated.

Map of the facility:

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𐂺 STAFF

Every staff member has the MK Penitentiary logo somewhere on their clothing.

The following listing are the staff options in the penitentiary ranked after hierarchy, some of which are already given away and some which exist in this story but are currently still open.

Warden

Hal Monitor

Corrections Captain

Absent

Correctional Lieutenant

Day Mare

Correctional Officer

Swag, Chris, Greg

Unit Team (Correctional Counselor, Unit Manager etc)

Open

Medical Staff (Psychologists, Nurses etc)

Open

Food staff, Janitors

Open

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

𐂺 INMATES

A list of all inmate characters and their respective sector.

Moderate Security Sector

Francis

High Security Sector

Mr. Puzzles, Wren

Special Security Sector

Niles

Psychiatric Sector

None yet

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𐂺 INSERTS

The Penitentiary AU is open for your own inserts. However under the following guidelines and rules:

This is my AU, so if I tell you that your insert doesn’t fit into the setting or needs some things changed then please respect my decision.

Your insert can not be higher in authority than Day Mare and Hal.

Absolutely no NSFW content this includes inmates with sex crimes.

Make your insert’s role logical. For example an inmate that frequently runs won’t be put in moderate security and a staff member that ignores orders of their superior will get booted.

Inserts can also be from outside the penitentiary such as lawyers, journalists, visitors/relatives. Just make them somehow relevant to the Penitentiary.

If you have a staff idea for your OC that isn’t on the list then ask me first if it’s okay to add said staff role.

Your insert has to have following info included: Role, (Inmate Number), Name, Basic Description of how they fit in the AU (Why are they there? What’s their goal? Etc.)

No shipping your insert with my characters. A one sided crush, flirting or platonic relationship is okay though.

You can have up to 2 inserts!

More questions? Drop it in the Askbox or my DMs!

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[cmkren]

— do you yield?

; gregory house x gn! Reader

Unsurprisingly, a night out between House and Wilson doesn’t end up uneventful. Tensions were strung in a-- stranger way, now with Amber in the picture. One of House's grand schemes goes sideways when the person he provokes ends up punching him right in the face. In an attempt to get Wilson in trouble (due to the whole curfew agreement), House got ahead of himself and now Wilson dumps him onto someone else rather than face the wrath of his girlfriend.

And of course, no one’s ever happy to see House on their doorstep.

a/n; sorta just ! Self-indulgent!! This fic leans towards sub bottom house roles, no sex just sloppily making out. Written in 3rd person, they/them for reader! Honestly not too proud of this, but I wanted to get this out 😓

tws!! Suggestive, minor blood play (like incredibly minor), and house bein house — 4.5k words

The plan had been going smoothly. Drinks were going down quickly for Wilson, lord only knows how stressed he had been to be downing alcohol like it was water, and thankfully for House he recalled scoring over God a couple years ago. Meaning he knew what had been haunting Wilson's always-ready-to-please mind.

The connection that Amber had been so similar to House had already been scrounged up, and even House would be lying if that made him think just a little too. Oh, nothing crazy maybe just the fact that if he'd been a woman, Wilson might have been all over him. Her?

The details didn't matter.

What did matter though, was his loss of control over the situation. House didn't know what he had been thinking. No one had been paying them much attention, and his goal was to just get Wilson drunk. Only Wilson. He supposed that he thought he needed to convince his friend to keep drinking? Maybe that's why House started drinking too. And maybe that's why he started picking fights with strangers.

It started off as passing remarks he made to Wilson, the infamous smug smirk that showed how he thought himself omniscient in a sense. That he was so sure he could read people like a book. To a certain degree, that was true. How else was he capable of coming up with schemes that would puppet the parties involved for his own benefit?

Eventually though, passing remarks would eventually turn into what seemed like heckling. No wonder he ended up getting socked right square in the face by a patron. House was always self-sabotaging, but sabotaging his own plans to sabotage Wilson's relationship with Amber? Now that was a little ridiculous.

Didn't change the fact that it happened though.

"Oh-- come on House, I can't bring you back to my place and you know it." Wilson's voice had some strain in it, one of his arms hooked around his friend's (questionable title given to the likes of House) waist as he led him to his car. "Especially not since you started this... this meaningless war." He muttered, the hesitance in his voice to say meaningless suggested that maybe he didn't think it was entirely meaningless. Perhaps a hint to the fact that he did find amusement in it. Hell, maybe even enjoyed it for a bit.

House was disoriented. Not by liquor, but by the fact that he had blood gushing out of his nose and perhaps even a bit of a broken nose at that. "She's got you on a leash, Wilson." He swallowed, wetting his dried mouth. "If I say I'm sorry for leaving you at the pound and give you a treat, will you come running back to me?" He spoke with a certain monotonous that always indicated that he was just being a dick. Everyone's heard it enough to recognize it.

On the other hand Wilson decided to ignore that remark and start tapping away on his phone. Scrolling through contacts in an attempt to make some sort of solution for this mess. “I’m handing you off to someone else House. Whether you like it or not—” he swung open the car door to the passenger seat, muttering a few ‘careful’s as he lowered the man into the seat. Impaired judgement kept him from stopping the bloody nose first, and instead opting to do it when he got into the driver’s seat first.

”Are you dialling Thirteen?” House tilted his head forwards, just letting his head hang before Wilson shoved a bundle of tissues against his face. In turn he winced and complained ‘oww!’ dramatically. “Better be Thirteen.” His voice all muffled by the tissues.

Little did he know, it was the nurse that worked under a couple of his former ducklings.

House usually didn’t care for the other staff around the hospital, but he cared when he thought he could squeeze out some information out of some. That’s what he’d done to them. But not only did they refuse to sell out their fellow coworkers, they had also exacted revenge on him not too long ago. They didn’t necessarily win but they also didn’t lose.

What they were capable of doing, was bruising his ego.

After that, the two just kept interacting. The rivalry the two shared was almost akin to a friendship, but neither of them would admit to such a thing. After all, they hated each other’s guts.

There was a mutual respect there though, hidden somewhere. Wilson liked to think that at least. He would mention it or make a comment about it to House but of course he was always met with a response like—

“Tomato, To-mah-to. Only respect they ever receive from me is purely superficial. Happy to see them go, even happier when they turn around and I get to watch them leave.”

Wilson had rolled his eyes then, taking it as another one of those jerky comments House made to be a dick for the fun of it. The longer he had let it marinate though, and the tone shift at the time, perhaps it had an underlying meaning to it. Or he could just be giving him the benefit of the doubt. Again.

The car engine roared to life when Wilson inserted his car key, his other hand pressing his phone to his ear as he gave his friend one singular glance to make sure he wasn’t doing something stupid. He wasn’t. Just popping some more pills.

”Wilson it’s—” a voice picked up. They paused, as if looking off to the side.

”It’s 10 pm. This is well after office hours.” They spoke with a certain exhaustion in their tone. Expected, to be fair. They were all employees of a hospital, hard to keep up a good amount of energy when you’re running around the place all the time. Especially a nurse.

”Listen, I know this is a big request but,” he put his hand on the steering wheel, grunting when House would knock the butt of his cane against his forearm, “House— you’re going to cause us to crash!”

“House? He’s with you?” They sounded surprised at first before it all melted away, “Oh, who am I kidding, of course he’s with you.” The tone of their voice simply went from quizzical to bemused really quick. “I’m not doing anything for that bastard— this is too big a favour to ask of me Wilson.” Their indignation to aiding him in whatever he was about to ask didn’t keep Wilson from having his foot on the gas pedal though. He was convinced he was going to have them agreeing by the time they get there. If they don’t agree well… too bad they were going to show up to their house anyways.

As the conversation continued out on the phone, it didn’t take long for House himself to realize who had been called to their rescue. It made him scoff in amusement, “oh yeah smart move Wilson. Get stick-up-their-ass to keep me from bleeding out at their place that’ll work out!” He raised his voice loud enough that he knew he’d be audible through the phone.

Wilson furrowed his brows, his mouth agape for a second as he struggled to formulate a sentence but they cut him off before he could.

”Bleeding out? What the hell were you guys doing?” The concern was real but they eventually sputtered and tried to backpedal, “you know we’re not close enough for me to be covering whatever illegal activities you guys are doing!” Which was reasonable reaction, honestly.

“No— no— nothing illegal!” Wilson opposed, having to fight the urge to just knock his head against his steering wheel. God, it was like having two children in each ear yelling at him. House was talking about something but so were they. It just became a garbled mess. Not to mention the fact that he was still driving.

”I warned you. We’re on our way.” In the end, Wilson stood his ground. Pocketing his phone, he would keep his eyes straightforward on the road.

__________________________________________

“You’re lucky to have a friend like Wilson.” They murmured, lips pulled taut as they dabbed a cotton swab around the other’s nasal area. It was reddened with blood, bits of it dark from it already coagulating and drying out. House remained still, for the most part. Pale blue eyes staring right at them, not necessarily happy about this situation either. He wasn’t even tipsy anymore, just sober and in pain.

To be fair though, that was kind of regular day to day for him.

House’s eyes looked down briefly, flexing his fingers. “Yeah? Well friends like Wilson end up dumping you to get butchered up on a chopping block.” Then he wiggled, “or I suppose on a kitchen counter.” Not even an amused noise from them. Just the knitting of brows as they were wary of his squirming to make his point.

They were firm with him, as many would have to be with House. A hand holding his face steady, thumb and index holding his chin so they could tilt his head if needed. House was surprisingly cooperative.

”Well good for you,” they paused their actions, giving him an obvious look over, “nobody actually likes old meat. Too tough, too chewy.” They scoffed, before going back to dabbing the bloody areas of his face. Unfortunately, he’d also gotten a busted lip. It wasn’t drastic but it was most definitely going to take more than just a couple weeks to fully recover from it.

House had his neck craned up, brows furrowed a little as he stared up at the ceiling. His eyes would shift downwards, looking to his begrudging caretaker. They had their lips pursed, their eyes a bit sunken from a long day.

He took the time to look at them though. Oversized band shirt over a pair of shorts. If he craned his head to the side just a bit, he could see that their shirt had hiked up just a little. Resting right above the small of their back, making it so that the front draped down but their ass visible.

His obnoxious ogling was cut short when he felt a dull pain, hissing as he felt just a little too much pressure being applied on his wound.

“I’m doing this for free already. If you want more, you’re gonna have to pay.” They muttered, voice thick with sarcasm.

House let sucked in a breath, “is this about the hookers? Just because I support sex work doesn’t mean I’ll let you drain me dry of my money! You’re not even a hooker.” He winced again, but not because they pressed too hard again. It was more a culmination of his leg and the busted up face situation.

For a brief moment, their eyes softened. They paused for a moment, pulling away and putting down the cotton pad they had held in their hand.

”Your Vicodin?” They questioned, as if expecting him to already be reaching for any sort of pill bottle. House gave a frown, not even really trying to feel himself to find said pill bottle.

He clicked his tongue, “must have dropped it back at the bar. Maybe Prince Charming will find it and return it to me and we’ll live happily ever after.” Actually, he was pretty sure if he ever came face to face with the guy again, he was going to end up with a black eye next.

They rolled their eyes. “I’ll get you something. Hold this.” They then passes him a bag of frozen… strawberries. Huh. Then they left the room, going to fetch something.

”Don’t even bother,” he held the frozen strawberries, and instead of using it as intended he opens the bag and pops one in his mouth, “it’s not going to even work.” His face contorted when the frozen fruit touched his tongue.

He supposed that was effective too. Brainfreeze. Maybe once or twice.

”I’ll just go on and skedaddle as soon as I can. Say, where are your car keys? A question of curiosity.” He called out, already turning his head to look about. When they popped their head back into the room they held what seemed to be clothes and a bottle of pills.

”You’re not getting my keys House.” They huffed, before walking back to him. The grown man sitting on their kitchen island with his legs dangling off the side, shirt bloodied and smelling of a rank bar.

This exchange caused him to raise a brow.

Not necessarily because they wouldn’t give him their car keys. But the fact that they held a change of clothes for him. Either they were just feeling generous, pitied him, or… they had actually planned for him to stay the night.

”Are you trying to get into my pants? You know, there’s different ways to do that—”

”Yes I want to have sex with you.”

The two stared at each other. His mouth agape as if he was going to speak, but they cut him off.

”No, House,” they gave an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose. “I’m not trying to have sex with you.” They dropped the clothes right next to him, “you just smell like dog food and shit.”

Then they showed him the bottle they brought with them.

”Ibuprofen? That shit doesn’t do anything!” House reached out for it, though his tone spoke of a child who had maybe received fish sticks instead of his preferred mozzarella sticks.

At his complaint, they clenched their jaw. “Either take some or I’m going to shove them down your throat.” That made him give a faux look of offence, “and you work at the hospital! I’m surprised Cuddy hasn’t canned you yet.” Though the look they gave him made him finally unscrew the cap.

They took a moment to watch him take a couple, before walking aside. “Go take that shower. I’m not taking you anywhere, but honestly,” they turned to give him a look, “I wouldn’t stop you from wandering out.”

House recognized that their first instinct might have actually been to care. Hence the actual attempt at cleaning up his mess. Even giving him clothes and letting him take a shower. But he also knew that their history wouldn’t allow them to just will themselves to be happy around his presence.

That’s why, as a fuck you towards them and Wilson, he was going to stay. Prove Wilson wrong by pissing them off they just have to go yell at Wilson tomorrow morning.

__________________________________________

The bright light of the TV flickered, colours danced along the surface of his gruff face as he sat on the couch. He made himself comfortable in their home, meaning he made a mess of the living room. It was almost midnight now. They told him off earlier, but after him not budging the slightest, they just slinked away into their room.

He knew they were still awake though.

It was that stupid pirate cartoon. Only played at night! When else was he supposed to watch it?

“House.”

He looked over, a clueless expression on his face as he then looked to his wristwatch, “is it early morning already? Wait, nope. Go back to sleep.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if shoo’ing them away. From their own living room.

The look on their face wasn’t even exasperation or frustration. They just looked done. They walked over, stepping in front of the television screen with their arms crossed. “Turn it off, you need rest.”

He tried to look around them at first, but it was all but futile! He groaned, “get out of the way. You really going to stand there the entire time?” The irritation in his voice didn’t necessarily match the glint in his eye. Amusement, perhaps even a hint of a challenge in them.

They squinted their eyes at him.

It was always that. The look in his eyes that presented a challenge that was supposed to push people away. Yet for people as stupid as those who willingly stuck around House, it did the opposite. Before their own experiences, they always thought it strange for Wilson or hell, even Cuddy to entertain him. Because for a lack of a better word, that was exactly what they do.

Now that they’ve been in a similar position, they understand why.

“Does it turn you on to be such a dick? Surely you’re getting some sort of sick gratification from what you do.” They sneered, approaching him and his smug son of a bitch face. He stared, like he always did, before turning his head and sticking out his lip a little ‘in thought’.

Then he gave a shake of his head, his expression dumb as he said, “my body says no but my mouth says yes.” Then taking a moment before furrowing his brow, “actually, pretty sure I mixed that up.” Just another one of his snarky remarks that made the recipient’s anger burn hotter. It wasn’t even good, the things he said sometimes. Not objectively.

Sometimes they were so stupid that it provided the same effect. The same results. And that was all House ever wanted— results.

Before they could get in another word though, House graciously interrupted them. “I’m not kidding. Step away.” He nudged his hand again, trying to wave them aside. His other? Rested on his thigh. Running along the problem site, up and down as if trying to soothe. Not that it ever worked.

“You didn’t take the ibuprofen.”

That seemed to strike a nerve. “No— I did. Would my incompetent nurse like to see me try again? It’ll only keep proving that I’m right.” He inhaled sharply, wincing. “It. Doesn’t. Work.”

At that, they finally took one step to the side. Allowing for the light of the TV to light him up again. He was sweating, just a little bit, on his head. If he was in so much pain wouldn’t he get up and go? Or was there something else he was trying to prove? Surely he didn’t hate them enough to endure his own pain to inflict pain upon them. Then again, that would be a House thing to do.

Silently, they sat beside him.

House scrunched up his nose, turning his head as he shifted, leaning further back against the plush of the couch. "That’s it?” He let out a shallow breath, turning ever-so-briefly to look at them. They didn’t return the gesture, just staring straight forward.

”That’s it.”

There was a quiet lull between the two, only the over exaggerated voices of the pirate and the princess audible in their space. Quiet wasn’t really House’s thing, though. He turned to them again, arm raised to rest against the back of the couch, “you’re just giving up? Just like that?”

Giving up?

They snorted. “I’m not giving up anything. You were the one with expectations.” Then they finally turned to meet his eyes, “I’m not in the mood for games, House. If you aren’t going to listen, then you aren’t going to listen.”

For some reason, he looked confused. “You don’t just give up. It’s the one thing that actually makes you interesting.” He spoke as if he was the one getting offended. Even if he wasn’t planning on it now, they couldn’t help but feel some anger bubbling up again. What did he want?

”Then you should fucking leave, shouldn’t you, Greg?” They hissed under their breath, trying to turn back to the meaningless cartoon.

Out of all the petty things they’ve argued about, this felt the most genuine. Over an… animated cartoon?

”No. I shouldn’t. You’re supposed to— to…” he paused, biting his tongue. As if the Gregory House was hesitating. When there was virtually no reaction from his uncharacteristic doubt, he grunted. “You’re supposed to fight back. Keep me here.”

A look of surprise crept up to their face. “What?” They blurted out, turning back around to see the man with his head down, eyes flickering up to get one glance at their face. To see what reaction he had received. There were so many things that could be said. So many things they probably should have said. One of them being ‘get out’ which so gingerly danced upon the tip of their tongue.

His head swayed to the side, mouth opening once but then pressed together in a thin line.

This was probably the withdrawals talking. The pain talking. It wasn’t anything he could really stop from spilling out, either way. “Come on. You’re not stupid now, too.” He clenched his fist, then unclenched, nervously fidgeting. “You might be boring but you’re not an idiot.”

”Stop speaking in fucking riddles and spit it out.”

House scoffed, maybe out of amusement. He made eye contact again and straightened out his back just a little. “You hate me. I like pissing you off.” They raised an eyebrow at this, opening their mouth to speak but House shut them up by just putting his whole hand over their mouth.

”Shut up. I know, stating the obvious.” He mumbled, watching them carefully before slowly lowering his hand again once he deemed that it was ‘safe’. “But you haven’t made any real effort into pushing me out. And I…” he furrowed his brows, pinching the bridge of his nose.

”I don’t know.” It all came to an abrupt end. House looked at them as if he expected them to understand what he was saying. What all this stumbling over words meant. There was a certain look in his eyes though, one that had replaced his smug piece-of-shit look from before. The one they were used to.

Too many silences. There’d been too many between them in such a short period of time. But whose fault was that, huh?

”You’re saying… that I… need you? Or what? That I like you?” Shock was still riddled all over their face— a mixture of shock and anger that is. Every time they calmed down he always managed to rile them up again. That has got to be a skill.

A sort of relief seemed to wash over him as he leaned back again. He made a gesture with his hand, giving them another look. The ever familiar House stare.

He was still playing a game. Whether or not his intentions were to simply screw around with them no longer mattered. Because even if he was being genuine the bastard didn’t know how to express himself without hopping through loops. His reaction to them finishing his thought spoke louder than any sort of response he could have followed up with. Even if they said that it was completely untrue it was too late, he made up his mind.

His reaction also meant that the thought of them needing him wasn’t a thought he disproved of.

They relaxed, eyes downcast for a second before they met his eyes again, “you’re a piece of shit.” They muttered, eyes then shifting to his hand that was closest to them. His other was still on his thigh. It had been the entire time. Right now though, it slowed down its ministrations. His attention was on them.

”I should be proving you wrong.” They were slow, grazing their hand over his before interlocking their fingers with his. Warm. Stiff but not dismissive of the touch.

”But you’d see through me, right? Because you always do. You know so much.” He didn’t lean in, but they did. It was like the air had gone still, nothing held either of them back. Not sure House wanted to be held back in any way. Especially considering the way he looked to their lips, ever slightly parted for him.

He was quiet. Waiting. Wasn’t this what he expected? Or— something adjacent?

They tilted their head, lightly lifting themselves off the couch to reach him, leaning over him just a little. “You’re not stopping me.” They mumbled, taking a brief pause. Their eyes stared at his face, appraising him. What did he look like? Hazy. Supposedly, they should back off now.

They got their answer. Didn’t they?

“You’re such a piece of shit.” They breathed out before kissing him. When did the mood change? Perhaps the very moment they decided to entertain his childish game of feelings.

House didn’t waste any time to reciprocate. His hand moved off his thigh, hiking around their waist and pulling them close, so they didn’t have to hover as much. Mouths moving in tandem, both of them warming up as hands travelled up and down and groped. He tried to advance, but they pushed back.

”Don’t you even think it House.” They whispered against his lips, one of their hands on his other thigh and another against his chest. Kissing him again, he chased after them as they pulled back again to give him a smug smile, “under my roof, my rules.”

”Taking my credit? For this? Didn’t think you a thief.” He spoke, but his eyes were trained back on their lips.

“You think I want the credit for initiating?” They muttered, their hand trailing up from his chest to his face. “No. I want the credit for this.” They leaned back down, inching their bodies closer as they kissed again. As feverish as they were, the heat of the moment wasn’t enough to cover the sudden sharp pain he felt on his lip.

His shoulders tensed, what was akin to a whimper slipping past his lips. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw them above him. A gleaming of something besides saliva on her own lips.

House’s hand goes up, pressing it gently against his lip, “you bit me.” There was blood, not too much, but enough. It was the busted lip they’d nurtured, now it was bleeding again. Yet he didn’t find it at all insulting. Instead, he almost looked pleasantly surprised.

”Want me to kiss it all better?” They mused, chest heaving still, and giving him time to either accept or decline. Maybe they should have asked first—

“You’d be sleeping on the couch if you didn’t.” He hardly finished his sentence before he reached for them again, the two clawing at each other desperately as saliva and blood was smeared against their faces. They were kind enough to not do much more to fuck up his lip more, instead going to plant kisses against the side of his neck and down to his chest.

A few red imprints left in their wake, which looked like red lipstick at the time but would most certainly just look like dried blood in the morning. And most certainly not look like kisses.

The hickeys though— that was most certainly going to be a conversation topic between House and Wilson in the morning.

”Admit it House,” they murmured against his skin, their hands quickly working to unbutton his shirt, “you’re the one who needs me.” They kissed and gently nipped at his skin, their hands moving to his belt when his upper body was exposed for them.

He tilted his head back, hissing out a breath as he tried to muster up some words without giving them too much gratification. Looking back, he eyed their close proximity to where he needed them most. “Says the one with their hands practically down my pants.”

“Fine. I’ll take them out.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Guess they were both going to be sleeping on the couch that night.

[dizzyyeti]

Hilson t4t. Huddy t4t. I will not be stopped

There is something so tender and personal to me about t4t Hilson giving each other their testosterone shots… 

ALSO. I WANT TO WRITE T4T HUDDY AGAIN SO BAD. IF I GET A GOOD IDEA YOU WILL BE SEEING ME AGAIN .

(CONTENT WARNING FOR NEEDLES & SEXUAL TENSION (nothing actually happens I just always write them with tension LMFAO) UNDERNEATH THE CUT)

“I’m surprised you decided to show up.” Was the first thing Wilson had said as he turned around to see House walking through the exam room door. 

House had opened the door with haste; but paused, slowing his movements as he took in the scene unfolding before him.

“You said there was a consult…” House stated, his voice trailing off. His suspicious, squinted stare took account for everything- even a lack thereof- situated in the room. 

The empty space on the exam table, the packaging littered across the limited counter space; and Wilson snapping on latex gloves. 

“Woah there! Wilson, maybe we should sit down and have a proper discussion about kink in the-”

“House.” Wilson sighed through his speech and turned, facing the other man with a syringe in his hand. “It’s testosterone.”

House shifted in his spot and studied the object in his hands. Pursing his lips together, he tilted his head to the side.

“Well, if you had started with that I would’ve known that’s what you meant! Whew,” House threw his free hand into the air, slapping it dramatically on his good leg with a dramatic, forced laugh. He approached Wilson, hovering over his shoulder as he watched him prepare the shot. 

“I thought you had a nurse do this for you, what happened to her?” House asked, his face barely parallel to Wilson’s ear.

“There’s a thing called personal space, House. I know you hate to give me any, but…” Wilson stood up straight, and spun on his heel, their noses only inches from each other.

House’s lips were gently- just barely- parted, his breath soft against him. Wilson hesitated in his movements, losing his stare in House’s eyes. They held eye contact for a brief moment, Wilson’s expression hazy and flustered. 

Wilson let go of the breath he was holding as he took House’s shoulders and forcefully guided him to the exam table, hitting the cushion with a great force and a light grunt of protest from House. 

Though Wilson’s focus was lingering, House kept his glare steady on the other man. Peeling his glance away from House, he could feel him watching the way his cheeks reddened, his eyes unsteady and unfocused.

He fumbled with the needle cap, setting it carefully next to House.

“She- she was busy today. I didn’t… wanna wait to get this done,” Wilson took House’s shirt with his free hand, lifting it up. 

“I can do this myself.” House muttered, his stare unrelenting as Wilson positioned the needle.

“I could understand if you paged me here to perform your shot, but-” House cut himself off as Wilson stuck the needle in his side, holding back a subtle wince.

“You could’ve at least warned me!” House seethed, flexing his shoulders as soon as Wilson pulled back from him. 

“You can get your revenge in a second.” Wilson’s composure seemed to return as he walked away to discard of the syringe, letting House’s shirt drop. He could practically feel House’s eyes glued to the back of his head, steady and curious. 

“Okay. My turn!” House exclaimed after a beat of intense silence, holding onto his cane that had been propped up against the table to help him stand.

Wilson sat himself where House once was, pulling his dress shirt out from where it was tucked neatly in his pants.

“I checked the nurse schedule today. You’re a liar,” House said as he turned with the prepped needle, waving it lightly in the air with an annoyed stature before moving closer to Wilson. 

“Wh- Why did you- when did you check!?” Wilson sputtered, any more words trying to form covered up by his embarrassed stammers. 

“Before I came in. Why else would you page me to an exam room? You know I’d never come for an actual consult,” House paused his sentence to pull the cap of the needle off with his teeth, spitting it carelessly to the side. The cap hit the floor with a loud clatter, and he propped his cane back up next to Wilson.

“So it had to be for something you needed help with. I just didn’t expect you’d have a shot for me as well- not that I’m complaining, it was very thoughtful of you.”

Wilson could hear the sarcasm laced in House’s voice- it was subtle, and he knew most of what he said was true- and though House discovering his lie wasn’t necessarily surprising, it caught him off guard. 

“By the way,” House started, sticking the needle into Wilson’s side after taking some of his stomach in his hands, 

“I lied. I didn’t check the schedule- I did it to set you off, which helped distract you. Finding out you lied too was just a bonus. You wanted me to do this for you," House held back a smile, keeping his eyes steady on Wilson’s side. He finished the injection with ease, and turned back around with his cane when Wilson started to protest.

“You- What!? You lied? How did you- why-!?” Wilson held onto the sides of the exam bed, his face flushed more than ever. 

“A hunch.” House shrugged, holding back a grin as Wilson furrowed his brows. 

“You’re a jerk,” Wilson spat, but the anger in his tone wasn’t there. In fact, House could almost see a hint of gladness in his embarrassed complexion, and that was enough for him.

“Love you too!” 

[labgoddess123]

down for the count

pairing: house x afab!reader

warnings: descriptions of endometriosis, chronic pain, mentions of blood, mentions of vomit

summary: when reader has a bad flare up at work, house comes to the rescue.

—————————————————————————

while setting up in the lab of princeton plainsboro, you felt an all-too-familiar sting radiate across your abdomen.

shit. you started your period.

after taking care of your business in the bathroom, you couldn’t stay focused on your work.

as the hours passed, the pain began to get worse and worse. it was quickly debilitating, wrapping around your entire torso. the pain stabbed and twisted around inside your body, leaving you hunched over and unable to move.

eventually, you knew you couldn’t work like this anymore.

-

EMERGENCY. IN LAB. HURRY.

upon receiving this page from you, house knew something was wrong. you never paged him, always texting when you needed help or wanted to annoy him.

the urgency of your message sent him racing down the hallway, eager to find out what was wrong with you.

upon arriving to the lab, house found you in a ghastly scene; curled into a ball on the floor, you were surrounded in a pool of blood.

you couldn’t help but vomit from the pain; bile came gushing out of you like it never had before.

“g-greg…help…”

“I’m right here. endo again?”

you nodded weakly. you could barely hold your head up.

“look…you stay here for now, I’ll be right back.”

the head of diagnostics shortly returned with a wheelchair and a bottle of water. you attempted to stand, but your body quickly rejected the idea, leaving you back on the ground once again.

“clearly you can’t stand up. let me help you.”

“house, your leg, you’re gonna hurt yourself-“

despite your protesting, house gently lifted you up and into the wheelchair.

“you can’t do that!”

“I deal with it every day. it builds character.”

your chuckle at house’s sarcasm was abruptly stopped by another bout of stabbing, burning pain.

after fumbling with his jacket pocket, he handed you three familiar white pills.

“your vicodin? house…I can’t take those from you.”

“you’re in pain, the pills fix that. just take them before I retract my offer.”

you shakily took the pills from house’s hand as he helped you sip some water.

“now…let’s get you upstairs before your uterus blows up.”

-

after changing your clothes, house notified cuddy of your flare up and he took you back to his place. despite the debilitating pain, you were at least greatful that you had a boyfriend as helpful and knowledgeable as greg.

with a few layers of towels carefully laid out throughout the bed, a heating pad on its highest setting, and the vicodin from earlier setting in, you were finally ready to rest.

an almost drunken smile spread across your face as house helped you into his bed.

“gregggg…i loooove you!!!”

“I know. looks like that vicodin is working wonders for you.”

the normally grumpy doctor took in the sight; his partner fully sprawled out across the bed, fast asleep from painkillers and general fatigue.

house ruffled your hair.

“good night idiot.”

-

you were rudely awakened by the sound of your phone buzzing.

“hello…?”

“good morning sunshine. you do know it’s 2 pm, right?”

“really…”

“no, it’s actually the middle of the night. yes, it’s 2 pm!”

you sat up, mouth agape and still half asleep.

“I called to check on you. still dying?”

“no…i feel a lot better.”

“good. you should’ve seen yourself after those pills.”

you heard the familiar sound of a pager beeping in the background.

“well, I gotta go. my patient can’t breathe.”

house then abruptly hung up the phone.

you suddenly realized your need for sustenance. heading to the kitchen, a pleasant surprise greeted you on the counter.

neatly plated next to the sink were dumplings and lo mein; your absolute favorite.

after heating up the now-cold food, you placed yourself on the couch to enjoy. while house was normally quite cynical, he always knew how to take care of you.

despite his shortcomings, you knew house was there for you every day; good or bad.

—————————————————————————