#greg oneshot

[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? 

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Gregory House x Doctor!Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | stalking, harassment, intrusive behavior, obsession.

𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘶����𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

It all began with a routine consultation. Or at least, it was supposed to be routine.

You were working through your usual clinic hours, the steady rhythm of patient after patient, from coughs and colds to overly paranoid Googlers convinced they had rare tropical diseases. It was one of those days when everything seemed slightly off—the air felt heavier, and you couldn’t shake the lingering headache from the case you’d been helping House with earlier that morning.

The next name appeared on your chart: Jason Reid, 34 years old. Chest pains.

You sighed, straightened your white coat, and opened the door to the exam room with your usual professional smile.

Jason was already seated on the exam table, his casual posture at odds with the complaint he’d listed. He had the kind of smile people described as “charming,” and he wore it easily, as if he were used to being the most charismatic person in the room. His clothes were neat but not formal, and he looked perfectly healthy at first glance.

“You’re Dr. L/N, right?” he asked as you stepped inside.

“That’s me,” you replied, setting the chart down on the counter. “Chest pains, huh? What’s been going on?”

He leaned back slightly, one arm propped behind him. “I wouldn’t call it pain, exactly. More like…tightness. Comes and goes, especially when I’m stressed.”

You nodded, reaching for your stethoscope. “How long has this been happening?”

“Few weeks, maybe. It’s not constant, but you know how it is. Felt like I should get it checked out, just in case.”

“Always a good idea,” you agreed. “Let’s start with some basics. Any family history of heart disease? Smoking? High blood pressure?”

He shook his head, rattling off his answers easily. “Nope. No smoking, no high blood pressure, nothing exciting in the family tree. I’m pretty boring, health-wise.”

“Well, boring’s good,” you said, stepping closer. “Let’s have a listen to your heart. Can you lift your shirt?”

He hesitated for just a moment, then pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing a toned chest that suggested he spent time at the gym. He caught your brief glance—purely clinical—and grinned.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” he said lightly. “I’ve been working out. Should be a pretty good listen in there.”

You forced a polite smile, chalking it up to harmless humor. People said awkward things in situations like this all the time.

“Deep breath,” you instructed, pressing the stethoscope to his chest.

Jason complied, inhaling slowly. For a moment, there was nothing unusual—just the steady rhythm of his heart, the faint sound of air moving through his lungs.

“So,” he said, his voice casual. “You must get hit on a lot in your line of work.”

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in tone. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’re smart, you’re obviously great at what you do, and…” His grin widened. “Well, you know, you’re easy on the eyes.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your expression neutral. “Deep breath,” you repeated, shifting the stethoscope slightly.

He complied again, though his grin didn’t fade. “I’m just saying, it must happen. A lot of guys probably think it’s their lucky day, getting you as their doctor.”

You didn’t answer, focusing instead on finishing the examination as quickly as possible.

“All clear,” you said briskly, stepping back and removing the stethoscope from your ears. “Your heart and lungs sound normal. No murmurs, no signs of anything concerning.”

He chuckled. “Guess I’ve just been working myself up, huh? All that stress, getting to me.”

“It’s possible,” you replied, already moving to the counter to jot down some notes. “But if the tightness continues or gets worse, you should follow up with your primary care doctor. In the meantime, try to manage stress levels—exercise, sleep, that sort of thing.”

Jason slid off the exam table, picking up his shirt but not putting it back on right away. Instead, he lingered, leaning slightly against the counter.

“You know,” he said, his tone dropping into something that made your skin crawl, “if you’re ever looking to blow off some stress yourself…”

Your hand froze mid-note. You turned to face him, your expression carefully blank.

“Mr. Reid,” you said evenly, your voice firm but not unkind, “this is a professional setting. I expect you to treat it as such.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no offense meant. Just thought I’d take a shot.”

“Don’t,” you said, your tone sharper this time.

For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he shrugged and pulled his shirt back on. “Fair enough. No harm, no foul, right?”

You didn’t reply, instead stepping toward the door and opening it. “You’re all set. Have a good day.”

Jason gave you one last lingering look, then walked out, his charm slipping into something less pleasant as he muttered something under his breath.

You closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as the tension drained from your body. It wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with a patient like that, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. Still, it didn’t make it any easier.

For a few minutes, you just stood there, taking slow, deep breaths to steady yourself before moving on to the next patient.

A week had passed since the unsettling encounter with Jason Reid, and while the incident had lingered in your mind for a day or two, the demands of your work had quickly swept it aside. Your days were filled with sarcastic banter with House, juggling his impossible diagnostics, and dealing with the occasional chaos in the clinic. Patients came and went like a revolving door, and you’d grown adept at compartmentalizing the more unpleasant ones.

But when you opened the door to your next consultation and saw him sitting there, that smug, self-satisfied smile already plastered on his face, you froze.

“Doctor,” Jason said, his voice dripping with familiarity. “We meet again.”

For a moment, you stood there gripping the door handle, your stomach knotting. You hadn’t recognized his name on the file—Jason Reid was too generic to stick in your memory—but his face was burned into your mind.

Pasting on your best professional mask, you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. “Mr. Reid,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “What brings you back today?”

He leaned back on the exam table, his posture overly casual, and gestured vaguely toward his lap. “Well, Doc, I’m having some…discomfort. Down there.”

Your stomach sank further. Of course, he was.

You reached for the chart, skimming through it. “Discomfort where exactly?”

“In my crotch,” he said bluntly, his grin widening as he said it.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and you immediately regretted it. The look he gave you was unnerving—smug, calculated, as though this were a game he was playing and you were the unwilling participant. You kept your composure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of rattling you.

“Let’s get some specifics,” you said briskly. “What kind of pain? Sharp, dull, constant, or intermittent?”

He shrugged, the movement deliberately casual. “It’s hard to describe. Maybe you should take a look, Doc. See for yourself.”

You stiffened but forced yourself to remain calm. “I’ll need more information before we proceed. Any redness, swelling, or signs of infection?”

“Nah, just…feels funny. Like something’s off. You know?” His grin was back, and the insinuation in his tone made your skin crawl.

You sighed internally. There was no way around this. If he was reporting discomfort, you had to examine him, as much as you dreaded what came next.

“All right,” you said, your voice clipped. “I’ll need you to lower your pants so I can perform an exam.”

Jason’s grin widened, and he moved far too eagerly for your liking. You turned to put on gloves, taking a moment to steel yourself before turning back around.

When you did, you were greeted with the sight of him sitting there, pants around his ankles, entirely too comfortable in the situation. You forced yourself to focus on the task, your mind chanting, Professional. Just stay professional.

As you began the examination, Jason’s comments started.

“You must get a lot of practice with this,” he said, his tone suggestive.

You ignored him, keeping your focus entirely on the clinical aspects of the examination.

“Careful, Doc,” he added with a chuckle. “Don’t want to get too rough down there.”

You paused, shooting him a sharp look. “Mr. Reid, I need you to remain still and stop talking so I can finish this examination.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face. “Hey, I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You seem so tense.”

“I’m doing my job,” you replied evenly, though your patience was wearing thin.

When the examination revealed nothing of concern, you stepped back and removed your gloves. “There doesn’t appear to be anything physically wrong,” you said, turning to dispose of the gloves and wash your hands. “If the discomfort persists, I recommend following up with your primary care doctor or a urologist.”

Jason pulled up his pants slowly, still grinning. “Guess that means I’m all good. But hey, if I have any more…issues, maybe I’ll come back to see you. You’ve got a great touch, Doc.”

Your jaw clenched, but you refused to let him see you react. “Mr. Reid, this is a professional environment, and your comments are inappropriate. I expect you to treat this setting—and me—with respect.”

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew more predatory. “Aw, come on. You’re not seriously offended, are you? I’m just having a little fun.”

“This isn’t the place for ‘fun,’” you said firmly, moving toward the door. “This is your second warning. If you can’t respect boundaries, I’ll have to escalate this to hospital administration.”

His expression darkened slightly, but he shrugged, brushing it off. “Fine, fine. Don’t get your scrubs in a twist.”

You opened the door, stepping aside to indicate that the consultation was over. “You’re free to go, Mr. Reid.”

Jason stood, pausing just long enough to give you one last look—a look that sent a shiver down your spine. There was something about it that felt almost like a threat, though he didn’t say anything as he walked out.

Once the door closed behind him, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the counter. Your hands trembled slightly as you recounted the exchange in your mind, replaying the subtle menace behind his actions.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last you’d see of Jason Reid.

You were right to be wary. Jason Reid began to make regular appearances at the hospital, but no longer as a patient seeking consultations. Instead, he wandered the wards, his presence becoming increasingly invasive. At first, it was subtle—catching glimpses of him lingering in the corridors or seated in the cafeteria. He always seemed to be there, hovering just close enough to make you uneasy.

Each time he spotted you, he made a point of approaching, his demeanor annoyingly familiar as if the two of you had a long-standing friendship.

"Fancy seeing you again, Doc," he'd say, his grin never reaching his eyes.

You tried to maintain professionalism, reminding him that people without valid reasons—whether as patients or visitors—had no business in the wards. But Jason waved off your attempts to keep him at bay with dismissive comments.

"Relax, I’m just grabbing some coffee," he’d say, gesturing toward the cafeteria. Or, "I was visiting a friend," though he never provided any details.

The more you tried to draw boundaries, the more he pushed. His visits became more frequent, and his behavior escalated. He began seeking you out deliberately, appearing in places he had no reason to be. You’d find him near the nurses’ station, in hallways leading to your office, even outside the clinic where you worked.

"Are you stalking me?" you’d asked one day, your voice firm though your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

Jason laughed, the sound grating and unnerving. "Stalking? Come on, Doc. I just like seeing you. Is that such a crime?"

"It is if you’re making someone uncomfortable," you snapped. "I’ve asked you to stop coming around here without a valid reason. I’m not going to ask again."

But your warnings only seemed to embolden him. Over time, his demeanor shifted from annoyingly persistent to overtly invasive. He began standing too close, brushing his hand against your arm under the guise of friendly gestures, and his comments became blatantly inappropriate.

"You’re tense," he’d said one afternoon when you passed him in the hallway. His hand darted out, gripping your elbow briefly. "You should let me help with that. I’m good with my hands, you know."

You pulled away sharply, glaring at him. "Touch me again, and I’ll report you to security."

Jason smirked, entirely unbothered by your threat. "Go ahead. I’m just being friendly."

And so, you did report him. You spoke to security, detailing his increasingly alarming behavior. Unfortunately, without concrete proof or a specific incident to pin him down, their response was frustratingly tepid.

"Unless he’s directly threatening you or violating any policies, there’s not much we can do," they said, their apologies doing little to ease your growing anxiety.

The situation came to a head one day when you were rushing through your duties, preoccupied with a demanding patient load. You stepped into the staff bathroom for a brief moment of reprieve, only to have your sense of security shattered.

Jason was there.

The door clicked shut behind you, and before you could process what was happening, he cornered you, his arm barring your path to the exit.

"Jason," you said sharply, your heart pounding. "What the hell are you doing here? This is a staff-only area."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face. "I couldn’t stay away, Doc. You’re too irresistible."

Your stomach twisted in fear as his other hand reached for your shoulder, his intentions unmistakable. "Don’t," you said, your voice trembling but firm. "Get out of my way, now."

But Jason only grinned, his predatory gaze making your blood run cold. "Come on, don’t play hard to get. I know you want this as much as I do."

The panic surged as he moved to close the distance, his hand gripping your wrist as you tried to shove him away. You struggled against his hold, your mind racing with fear and anger, desperate for an escape.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a nurse walked in, her startled gasp breaking the tense moment. Jason released you instantly, stepping back with a disarming smile as though nothing had happened.

"Oops," he said casually, brushing past the nurse as he exited. "Guess I got lost."

You stood there trembling, your back pressed against the wall as the nurse approached, concern etched on her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her eyes searching yours.

You nodded mechanically, though the truth was far from it. Your heart pounded in your chest, your skin still crawling from Jason’s touch. You managed to thank her before leaving the bathroom, your steps shaky as you made your way back to your office.

From that day forward, everything changed. You were constantly on edge, hyperaware of your surroundings. Every sound, every shadow, every unexpected movement set your nerves on fire. You couldn’t relax, not even in the staff areas where you were supposed to feel safe.

Your work began to suffer as the stress took its toll. House noticed, of course, though he didn’t mention it outright. Instead, his comments became sharper, his sarcasm cutting a little deeper, as if he were trying to provoke you into revealing what was wrong.

But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t tell anyone. The fear was too fresh, the humiliation too raw. So, you buried it, hoping that somehow, Jason Reid would finally get bored and leave you alone.

But deep down, you knew better. This wasn’t over.

The constant fear of running into Jason Reid haunted you, gnawing at every aspect of your life. You couldn’t walk down a hallway without glancing over your shoulder, couldn’t sit in the cafeteria without scanning the room, and couldn’t step into an elevator without bracing yourself for the possibility that he might be there. The anxiety weighed on you day and night, stealing sleep from your nights and appetite from your days.

It wasn’t long before the effects became visible. You were sluggish, less focused. Tasks that once took you minutes now dragged on. You found yourself forgetting small details, double-checking your notes more than usual, and catching mistakes that you never would have made before. Your work ethic, once a source of pride, was faltering.

House noticed. Of course, he did. He always noticed.

But he didn’t handle it delicately.

"Maybe try caffeine," he quipped one morning as you stood at the whiteboard, struggling to contribute to the differential diagnosis. "Or better yet, a brain transplant. I hear they’re all the rage."

The team chuckled, but his words didn’t land with their usual playfulness. Instead of shooting back a sarcastic remark, you merely looked down at the floor, biting your lip as you scribbled notes without enthusiasm.

He frowned, though he quickly masked it.

Throughout the day, he kept a close eye on you, watching as you moved through your tasks with a mechanical sort of detachment. Normally, you had a spark—an energy that matched his wit, his eccentricity. But today, you were a shell of yourself, and it grated on him more than he cared to admit.

By the time the team was sent off to run tests on the new patient, House’s patience had run thin. As you started to slip out of the room with Chase and Foreman, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Not you," he said, pointing his cane in your direction. "Stay."

The others exchanged glances but didn’t linger. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving you alone with House in the silence of his office.

"Sit," he ordered, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

You hesitated but obeyed, lowering yourself into the seat while avoiding his gaze.

House leaned back in his chair, studying you with an expression that was equal parts annoyance and curiosity. "All right, spill. What’s going on with you? You’re slower than a med student on their first day. Did you take up drinking, or did the little hamster in your brain finally die of exhaustion?"

That was it. The last straw.

Your hand clenched into a fist on the armrest, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped.

"Can you just back off for once, House?" you said, your voice louder and sharper than you intended. "Not everything is a goddamn joke!"

The room fell into a heavy silence. House blinked, clearly taken aback. You had worked with him for three years, and while you were no stranger to his sharp tongue, you’d never spoken to him like that.

"Wow," he said after a moment, his tone flat. "Somebody’s got their lab coat in a twist."

But even as he said it, his eyes searched yours, looking for clues to explain your uncharacteristic outburst.

"You know what?" you said, standing abruptly. "Forget it. I don’t have time for this."

You turned to leave, but before you could reach the door, his voice stopped you.

"Sit back down."

There was no sarcasm this time, no edge. Just a quiet command that you couldn’t ignore.

Reluctantly, you turned around and sat back down, your arms crossed over your chest as you stared at the floor.

House leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk as he studied you intently. "Something’s wrong," he said, his voice softer now. "And it’s not just work stress or me being my charming self. So what is it?"

"I’m fine," you muttered, refusing to look at him.

"Yeah, and I’m a motivational speaker," he shot back. "Try again."

When you didn’t respond, he sighed heavily, pushing himself to his feet. He walked around the desk, his cane tapping against the floor with every step, and came to stand in front of you.

"Look at me," he said.

You shook your head, your eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

"Look at me," he repeated, his tone firmer this time.

Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze, though your eyes barely met his before darting away again.

"Whatever it is," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, "you can tell me. I’m not as heartless as you like to think."

He reached out, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

But the moment his hand made contact, you flinched—an instinctive, involuntary reaction that spoke volumes. You jerked away from his touch, your body stiffening as if he’d burned you.

House froze, his hand suspended in the air before he slowly lowered it.

The room was so silent you could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

You didn’t answer.

His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information he’d gathered over the past week: your distracted behavior, your lack of sleep, the way you jumped at small noises. And now this.

When you refused to meet his gaze, something inside him twisted painfully.

"Someone hurt you," he said, the words more a statement than a question.

You flinched again, confirming his suspicion.

House felt his stomach drop. Anger surged through him, a rare and terrifying kind of anger that he hadn’t felt in years. But he forced himself to stay calm, to keep his voice steady.

"Who?" he asked.

You shook your head, your throat tight with emotion. "It’s nothing. Just let it go."

"Let it go?" he repeated, his voice rising. "Someone hurt you, and you want me to just let it go?"

"I don’t want to talk about it!" you snapped, standing abruptly.

House stepped back, giving you space but refusing to back down.

"You’re scared," he said, his tone softer now. "And you’re not sleeping or eating because of it. That’s not nothing."

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to break down in front of him.

"Please," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just leave it alone."

For the first time in a long time, House felt utterly powerless. He wanted to fix this, to fix you, but he didn’t know how. All he could do was watch as you turned and left his office, leaving him standing there with a heavy ache in his chest and a storm of emotions he didn’t know how to handle.

He didn’t know who had done this to you, but one thing was certain: whoever it was would regret ever crossing your path.

House couldn’t stop replaying that moment in his mind—the way you had flinched at his touch, the fear flickering in your eyes. It was unlike anything he had ever seen from you, and it haunted him. He’d seen you strong, confident, sarcastic, and unflappable. But now? You were fading. Slowly but surely, he could see the spark in you dimming, and it infuriated him more than he cared to admit.

It wasn’t just frustration; it was rage. A cold, simmering rage that built in his chest every time he saw you forcing a smile or heard you insist that everything was fine. He hated lies, and he hated being lied to even more. And yet, every time you brushed him off, claiming that nothing had happened, he could see right through you.

House wasn’t the type to let things go. He wasn’t patient, and he wasn’t tactful. He was relentless, especially when he cared—even if he’d rather eat glass than admit he cared. So he did what he did best: he inserted himself into the situation, whether you wanted him to or not.

For days, House kept a closer eye on you than ever. He began to notice things he hadn’t paid attention to before—how you avoided certain hallways, how you kept your back to the wall in elevators, how you flinched at sudden movements. It wasn’t obvious to most people, but to him? It was glaring.

He started following you, though he’d never admit it out loud. Whenever you left the office, he’d trail behind at a safe distance, leaning on his cane and keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. At first, he told himself it was to confirm his suspicions, to figure out who or what was making you act this way. But as the days passed, it became something more.

Then, it happened.

It was mid-afternoon, and the hospital buzzed with the usual chaos of patients, nurses, and doctors darting through the corridors. House had stationed himself at the corner of a hallway, pretending to fiddle with his cane as he watched you return from the cafeteria.

That’s when he appeared.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and had an air of smugness about him that House didn’t like. He walked toward you with a casual confidence that made House’s gut twist.

House’s eyes immediately zeroed in on your reaction. You froze the moment you saw him, your body tensing as if bracing for impact. Your hand gripped the edge of your tray so tightly that your knuckles turned white. The man leaned in closer than necessary, his voice too low for House to hear but his posture radiating arrogance.

House’s grip on his cane tightened, his jaw clenching as he watched the interaction. Your eyes darted around the hallway, looking for an escape, and for a moment, House considered stepping in. He could already feel the satisfaction of smashing his cane against the man’s shin.

But then, you managed to say something that made the man back off. He raised his hands in mock surrender, smirking as he stepped away. House caught the way his eyes lingered on you, as if he were sizing you up, before he finally walked off.

You stood there for a moment, visibly shaken, before you turned and hurried down the hallway, your head down.

House didn’t waste any time. As soon as he saw you return to your office, he followed, barging in without knocking.

"Who the hell was that?" he demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

You jumped at the sound of his voice, your head snapping up from your paperwork. "House, what are you—"

"The guy in the hallway," he interrupted, stepping closer. "Tall, greasy smile, too much cologne. Who is he?"

You stiffened, your eyes narrowing defensively. "It’s none of your business."

"Wrong answer," he shot back, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. "You looked like you were about to crawl out of your skin when he showed up. So, I’ll ask again: who is he?"

You stood, crossing your arms over your chest. "I told you, it’s nothing. Just drop it, House."

"Drop it?" He scoffed, leaning on his cane as he loomed closer. "You’re jumpier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and now there’s some creep skulking around the hospital, making you look like you’ve seen a ghost. But sure, I’ll just ‘drop it.’ Great plan."

Your jaw tightened, and you turned away from him, busying yourself with the papers on your desk. "I don’t need you playing detective. I’m fine."

House’s voice softened, but his frustration was still palpable. "You’re not fine. You’re lying to me, and you’re lying to yourself."

"I’m not lying!" you snapped, spinning around to face him. "I just don’t need your help, okay? I can handle it."

"Yeah, because handling it is working so well for you," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What’s next? Waiting until he corners you in an empty room again?"

The color drained from your face, and House instantly regretted his words. He hadn’t meant to push that button, but the reaction confirmed what he’d suspected.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," you said quietly, your voice trembling.

"Then tell me," he urged, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Because if you don’t, I’m going to find out anyway."

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "I can’t."

"Why not?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Because it won’t change anything!" you shouted, your voice breaking. "Security doesn’t care, HR doesn’t care, and the only thing I’m going to get out of this is more trouble. So just... leave it alone, House. Please."

For the first time in a long time, House was at a loss for words. He wanted to argue, to tell you that you were wrong, that he could fix this. But the defeat in your voice, the pain in your eyes—it stopped him cold.

"I’m not going to let this go," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "Not until he’s gone."

You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned away, wiping at your eyes as you tried to pull yourself together.

House watched you for a moment longer, his chest tight with anger and guilt. Then, without another word, he turned and left your office, his mind already racing with plans to deal with the man who had dared to hurt you.

The tension between you and House was growing unbearable. He wanted to help you, to protect you, and—if he were honest—he wanted nothing more than to deliver a brutal beating to the stranger who had reduced you to a shadow of your former self. But you remained steadfast in your refusal to open up to him.

Your condition had worsened noticeably. You were pale, thinner than usual, with dark circles under your eyes. You seemed distant, distracted, almost as if you were walking through a fog. The vibrant energy that usually defined you had dimmed, and House hated it. He hated feeling powerless, hated that you were suffering in silence.

Frustrated, he had tried to dig up information on the man you had interacted with, but no one seemed to know anything about him. It was as though the guy had vanished, leaving nothing behind but the fear he had instilled in you.

Then Jason appeared again.

You were in a cramped storage room, rifling through files and patient charts, when you felt someone come up behind you. Your body tensed immediately, the air around you thick with dread. Slowly, you turned to see him—Jason, with that same smug grin on his face that made your stomach churn.

Before you could react, he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Panic surged through you like ice in your veins. The small room suddenly felt suffocating, the walls closing in as Jason stepped closer.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm.

Jason’s smile widened, his eyes raking over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “You know what I want,” he said casually, as if this were a normal conversation.

You backed away, trying to keep distance between you, but there was nowhere to go. “You need to leave,” you said, trying to summon every ounce of authority you could muster.

Instead of listening, he reached for you. His hands were rough and insistent as he grabbed your arm, pulling you closer. You tried to push him away, but he was stronger, and his grip tightened.

Jason leaned in, his face far too close to yours. “Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his breath hot and sickening against your skin.

Your heart raced as panic overtook you. This is it, you thought. This is really happening.

But something inside you snapped. Fueled by adrenaline and sheer survival instinct, you shoved him as hard as you could. Jason stumbled back just enough for you to twist away from his grasp and lunge for the door.

In your frantic attempt to escape, you tripped, falling hard against the doorframe. Pain shot through your wrist as you landed awkwardly, but you managed to scramble to your feet and fling the door open.

Jason stood there, chuckling darkly as he watched you flee down the hallway. “You can’t avoid me forever,” he called after you. “I’ll get what I want eventually.”

His words echoed in your ears long after you had escaped.

A few hours later, House found you in the clinic. You were holding your wrist close to your chest, trying to hide the pain, but he wasn’t fooled. He noticed everything: the way you flinched at sudden noises, the way your eyes darted nervously around the room, as if expecting Jason to appear at any moment.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” he asked, his tone sharper than usual.

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, turning away.

House wasn’t having it. He grabbed a stool and sat down beside you, gesturing for you to show him your wrist. When you hesitated, he gave you a pointed look. “Unless you want me to guess and get it completely wrong, let me see it.”

Reluctantly, you extended your arm. House examined your wrist with surprising gentleness, his fingers brushing over the tender area with a care that was uncharacteristic for him.

“You’ve got a mild sprain,” he said after a moment. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

House’s piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. “Don’t lie to me,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual sarcasm.

You tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you. “It’s nothing, House. Just let it go.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not this time. You’re jumpy, you’re not sleeping, and now you’re hurt. Who did this to you?”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at you—it was too much. You felt the dam you had built around your emotions begin to crack.

“I can’t,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

“Yes, you can,” he pressed, his tone softening. “Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. Just tell me.”

Under the weight of his concern, the floodgates opened. You broke down, sobbing as you finally told him everything. From the first consultation with Jason, to his increasingly aggressive behavior, to the terrifying encounter in the storage room.

House listened in silence, his jaw tightening and his hands gripping his cane so hard his knuckles turned white. When you finished, he sat back, his face unreadable but his eyes burning with anger.

“That son of a—” he muttered under his breath, standing abruptly.

You flinched at his sudden movement, and he immediately softened. Setting his cane aside, he hesitated for a moment before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into a gentle embrace.

For a man who was often so abrasive, so rough around the edges, his touch was surprisingly tender. He held you as you cried into his chest, murmuring quiet reassurances that he would handle everything, that you were safe with him.

House wasn’t just angry—he was enraged. Seeing you like this, so broken and vulnerable, ignited something in him that he hadn’t felt in years. A protective instinct he couldn’t ignore.

But first, he focused on you. He made sure your wrist was properly bandaged, insisted you rest, and even called Wilson to cover your shifts for the rest of the day.

As you lay curled up on his couch, exhausted but safe, House sat in his chair, his mind racing. Jason had no idea what kind of storm he had unleashed. And House? He was going to make sure Jason never had the chance to hurt you—or anyone else—ever again.

House wasn’t just angry—he was enraged. Seeing you like this, so broken and vulnerable, ignited something in him that he hadn’t felt in years. A protective instinct he couldn’t ignore.

But first, he focused on you. He made sure your wrist was properly bandaged, insisted you rest, and even called Wilson to cover your shifts for the rest of the day.

As you lay curled up on his couch, exhausted but safe, House sat in his chair, his mind racing. Jason had no idea what kind of storm he had unleashed. And House? He was going to make sure Jason never had the chance to hurt you—or anyone else—ever again.

Jason was in the hospital cafeteria the next day, leaning casually against a table as if he owned the place. House spotted him instantly. That smug grin Jason wore was enough to make House’s blood boil, but he forced himself to stay calm—for now.

House sauntered over, leaning heavily on his cane as he approached. “Jason,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fancy seeing you here. Again.”

Jason turned, surprised but not intimidated. “Dr. House, right? I heard about you. The genius doctor with the lousy bedside manner.”

House smirked, but his eyes were icy. “That’s me. And you’re the creep who’s been stalking my colleague.”

Jason stiffened but quickly masked it with a cocky laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do,” House said, his tone deadly. He stepped closer, his cane tapping ominously against the floor. “You see, I know everything about you now. Your pathetic little job, your failed relationships, and—oh, this is my favorite—those online forums where you like to brag about your ‘conquests.’”

Jason’s grin faltered, and House pressed on. “Here’s the deal. You leave her alone, or I’ll make sure everyone you’ve ever met knows exactly what kind of person you are. Your boss, your family, your friends—assuming you have any left.”

Jason’s face darkened. “You can’t prove anything.”

House leaned in, his voice low and menacing. “Try me.”

Jason didn’t take the warning seriously. House knew he wouldn’t—it wasn’t in his nature. So House set his trap.

Using the information he’d gathered, House manipulated Jason into returning to the hospital under the guise of another consultation. When Jason arrived, House was waiting.

He led Jason to an empty exam room, locking the door behind him. Jason frowned, sensing something was off.

“What’s this about?” Jason asked, his bravado starting to crack.

“Oh, just a little chat,” House said casually, leaning against the counter. “You see, I’ve got a friend in law enforcement. He’s very interested in hearing about your... extracurricular activities.”

Jason scoffed, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes. “You have nothing on me.”

House smirked, pulling out a folder and slapping it onto the counter. Inside were printed screenshots, surveillance photos, and a detailed timeline of Jason’s harassment. “This says otherwise.”

Jason paled. “You can’t do this.”

“Watch me,” House said, his voice like steel.

House wasn’t content with just scaring Jason. He wanted him to feel the same helplessness you had felt.

He had arranged for a security guard to escort Jason out of the hospital, but not before a very public confrontation. House made sure the team—and half the hospital staff—were present as Jason was marched out, humiliated and furious.

“You’re done here,” House said loudly, his voice carrying through the hallway. “And if you ever come near her again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

The sight of Jason’s humiliation didn’t erase the pain he had caused you, but it was a start.

House wasn’t done yet. He sent an anonymous tip to Jason’s employer, detailing his predatory behavior and providing evidence. Within days, Jason was fired. His reputation was in tatters, his social circle abandoned him, and he was left scrambling to piece his life back together.

House made sure Jason knew exactly who was behind his downfall. A single note, left on Jason’s car, read:

Next time you think about hurting someone, remember this. And remember me.

House returned to his apartment that evening, where you were waiting. You looked better—still fragile, but there was a spark of relief in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Did you... do something?” you asked hesitantly, sensing that something had changed.

House shrugged, his expression carefully neutral. “Let’s just say Jason won’t be bothering you anymore.”

Tears filled your eyes, and before House could react, you threw your arms around him. He stiffened at first, but then his cane clattered to the floor as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

House held you tighter, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Nobody messes with you. Not on my watch.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt safe. And for the first time in years, House felt like he had done something right.

[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. i love this man fr, 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.

[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.”

[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.

[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 could find the courage, 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 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.

Feeling his hear 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 he 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’ phone right now!” Jay said without waiting a minute.

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

Jay froze at hi friend’s words; he pulled up and he parked the car before crashing into someone else, then he took a deep breath and he try 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’ phone, it’s like it’s dead. Maybe she didn’t have the chance to charge it? But why did you need her location? Is 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 to 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 do nit have time for this right now!” Jay exclaimed, trying to go out go 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 her 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.

[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."

[ominus-potato]

all the afterlife’s opinions on wren and Niles (Including Greg)

Zero: you mean like their relationship? Uhh well I definitely wasn’t expecting it. And admittedly, it does scare me a little sometimes, but they both seem happy so who am I to judge?

Fred: I’m not really all that close to Niles after what he did. He tried apologising and all that but that doesn’t change the fact that he hurt a lot of people. He wants to date a cowboy? Fine. Just as long as he’s not bothering anyone else.

Spudnick: I don’t really know either of them so I don’t actually have an opinion on them.

Desti: They need to work on their PDA. I don’t like walking to my room and seeing those two necking it on with each other. I mean would it kill them to keep it in their simulation??

Axol: They’re both evil bastards so they deserve each other. I agree with Desti, although I believe they should stay in Wren’s simulation permanently so we never have to see them around.

Terrence: *clicking noises* translation: I like messing with them.

Box Club Leader: Niles is the one true creation of the God Box. And because of that, whom he lays with is held in the same regard as him. PRAISE BE THE GOD BOX AND ALL OF ITS CREATIONS!

Francis: Huh? I don’t care about that. If they wanna be lame and shoot eachother every day then they can. I’ve got better things to do.

…..

Francis: They don’t just fight? They kiss too? Ohhhh so it’s a BL… not my cup of tea personally but whatever floats their boat.

Greg: *alien noises* translation: Due to their similarities both in character and, motivation, deaths and their relationship with their manipulators/victims, it would be fair to assume that the relationship that the two of them share will likely be long lasting and prosperous. Bringing many years of happiness to both parties as their invigorating duels will keep a fire burning within them that no other soul, dead or alive, could replicate.

Niles: me and Wren? Eh, what can I say? He’s hot for a squid. Sharp, cunning, dangerous, etc. He’s the only guy here who really gets me, you know? He can relate to what I’ve been through and it’s really nice to have someone here who can do that.

Wren: well, he sure ain’t a terrible shot. Gives me a good run for my money. A challenge in more ways than one. But, at the end of the day, I know he’s there for me. I can always rely on him if I need to and I honestly enjoy being around the guy. He’s good company and he helped me figure out a bunch of stuff about myself. I love the guy..

[erimeows]

Just A Prank

James Wilson finds himself flustered as he leans against the wall of the diagnostics conference room with two pairs of eyes piercing right through him; one dark blue and one dark brown. Chase sits on the edge of the large table while Foreman sits in House’s spinning chair. Cameron, who would usually put a stop to what is currently going on, is out sick with a stomach bug she caught from a patient, and House is… Well, House. It’s over half past noon but Wilson figures House will show up some time in the next hour

With the rare dynamic of just Chase, Foreman, and Wilson, odd things are bound to happen; such as Chase suggesting that Wilson randomly kiss House as some sort of… Prank. Were it anyone else being asked to do this, Wilson might encourage it. House isn’t used to any displays of affection these days, let alone used to being caught off guard by them, so someone walking up and kissing the guy without any warning would elicit a pretty good reaction. But Chase is insisting that he, James Wilson, be the one to do it- not Cameron or Foreman or Chase himself, because apparently, that would be wrong. No, it just has to be Wilson.

“And I have to be the one to do this because…?” 

“Kissing someone without their consent isn’t something that most people take kindly to,” Foreman points out.

“And you think he would take kindly to me doing it?” Wilson asks. “Also, I have to point out that it’s really not fair or correct to lump House into the category of ‘most people’.”

“I don’t think he’d ‘take kindly’ to it, per se, but you two already treat each other like that all the time,” Chase argues with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Weird pranks, crossing boundaries, doing things to each other that would normally be friendship ending… It’d just be a normal Tuesday for the two of you.”

“That… Is still totally inappropriate. I mean, romantic fraternization with other hospital employees. It’s technically against hospital policy. Everyone might’ve encouraged the date with Cameron, but that’s a little different than me just going up to the guy and kissing him,” Wilson continues, his face burning bright red.

On a normal day, he’s not so easy to read or so easy to embarrass, but he’s never been able to help it when it comes to House. The thought of kissing the man he’s been in love with since 1999 makes his head spin. He shouldn’t even entertain the thought, but with the ‘prank’ that Chase is suggesting, he does sort of have an excuse…

“What, like he’s gonna report you to Cuddy? If you don’t wanna do it, that’s fine, but at least make your excuse a believable one,” Foreman scoffs. “You know as well as we do that the man wouldn’t report someone to her unless they stole his Vicodin. Anything else is fair game to House.”

At that, Wilson stumbles over himself and nearly hits the floor. He doesn’t know what to say. With a sharp breath, he sits in the chair across from where Chase is on the tabletop and crosses his arms over his chest.

“That may be true, but-”

“And c’mon, it’ll be priceless!” Chase laughs with a mischievous grin. Part of Wilson wants to laugh along with him. The other half of him wants to reach across the conference room table and smack Chase in the head for coming up with something so stupid (and so tempting). “Don’t you want to see his face?”

“I can’t imagine how pissed he would be, so no, not really,” Wilson crosses his arms. He can feel his own gaze darting around the room, probably to avoid making eye contact with Foreman and Chase. “Where the hell did you two even get this idea?”

Wilson nervously paces the room, running his hands through his wavy brown hair. 

“It wasn’t my idea,” Foreman quickly spits out, dark brown eyes shooting to Chase, who offers a shrug in return.

“What can I say? I was thinking of more ways to screw with House and it was something that came to mind. I’d argue it’s one of my best ones yet.”

Wilson wants to do it. He’s been looking for an excuse to cross that line with House for years. He shouldn’t, because once he does it, there’s a chance he’ll never be able to go back. Better yet, there’s a chance Wilson will kiss House only for the older man not to give a shit anyways. That’s arguably the worst case scenario. Wilson knows that, if it were to happen, he wouldn’t be able to look House in the eye afterwards. Then, House would know. It would be a nightmare.

No matter how badly Wilson wants to grasp at this opportunity, he’s well aware it could backfire. He gathers what’s left of his willpower to refuse.

“No,” Wilson says, shaking his head.

He hopes that’ll be the end of it. Chase, however, remains persistent.

“Look, if Foreman and I aren’t enough to convince you, how about this? I’ll cover your clinic hours for a month.”

“I’m not House- I don’t mind working in the clinic and I’m caught up on my hours. It’s actually a nice reprieve from my day to day.”

With a sigh, Chase reaches into his wallet and pulls out two bills. He holds them out to Wilson. Foreman holds his head in his hands with an exasperated expression.

“...If covering your clinic hours isn’t enough to convince you, how about two hundred dollars?”

Wilson is an oncologist who makes hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. His debt from medical school is already paid off and he lives a comfortable life despite the three divorces and subsequent alimony payments he’s wracked up. Yet, with Chase so determined to convince him… No one can say he jumped at the opportunity to do this. House will probably just laugh it off- find it hilarious- love that someone was playing him at his own game by pulling a prank so inappropriate and controversial. It’ll be fine, and if it does go to shit, he can just pin the blame on Chase for coming up with the idea in the first place.

So, against his better judgment, Wilson agrees.

“Fine.”

He reaches out to take the money from Chase’s hand and shoves it into the front pocket of his white coat. 

“Where do you think he’s at, anyway? He’s usually late, but not this late,” Foreman stands and gestures to the clock on the wall. It’s already almost one in the afternoon. 

Knowing him, he’s probably in the cafeteria. He doesn’t have any cases today, so he showed up late to avoid clinic duty and made sure to time it so he wouldn’t get here until the start of his lunch break. He’s just using it to find out where Cuddy is so he can avoid her for the rest of his shift since she can’t make him work during his scheduled break,” Wilson explains. “If I were you guys, I wouldn’t count on seeing him much today.”

“Oh, I know we don’t have any cases, I didn't want to see him for work purposes. I’ve just gotta be there for the big moment,” Chase says while excitedly gathering his things so he can stand and head towards the door. “Well? What are we standing here for? Let’s go; to the cafeteria!”

“You know if he figures out you’re behind this, he’s going to have you covering his clinic hours and shining his shoes for the next year, right?” Foreman chuckles.

“Wait,” Wilson’s eyes flicker between Foreman and Chase, who are now standing by the door and peering back as if they’re waiting for him to join them. “You- you want me to go do this right now?”

“Yeah, duh,” Chase answers. “Now let’s go!”

Chase and Foreman both leave the conference room. Wilson, too stunned to respond, takes a moment to catch up and follow them to the cafeteria. When they arrive, it’s easy to spot House. The man is six foot two and gorgeous, so Wilson manages to pick him out of the crowd in seconds. 

House walks by himself in the middle of the cafeteria with a tray of food lazily held in one hand and his cane in the other. His narrow shoulders are adorned with one of the many t-shirts he’s stolen from Wilson and his favorite leather jacket. Wilson’s heart skips a beat when House smiles. The man is probably thinking about some interaction he’s had today where he’s fucked with someone- just for the fun of it. Wilson hates that he’s so in love with that antagonistic side of House, hates that he’s head over heels for House despite years of the older man meddling in his personal life, pulling shitty pranks on him, teasing him, and generally screwing with him at each and every turn.

Maybe this prank isn’t such a good idea. But, as nervous as Wilson is, even he can admit that House deserves to be the one being messed with for once.

“Oh, do you see him?” Foreman says.

“I do,” Chase pipes up and nudges Wilson’s side with his elbow. “Well, what are you waiting for? That money wasn’t for nothing- go for it!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. You owe me twice as much if he starts beating me with his cane for pulling this crap while we’re at work,” Wilson grumbles.

He breaks away from Chase and Foreman and goes up to House, who catches his eye and offers a smile. Wilson forces himself to smile back as House meets him in the middle of the cafeteria with his tray still in hand. 

“Hey, Wilson,” House greets, a twinkle in his icy blue eyes. Wilson swallows the lump in his throat and stares back at his friend, who shamelessly eyes him up and down. “What, cat got your tongue? Or did you swallow sandpaper? Seriously, the face you’re making right now makes you look like a constipated-!”

Before House can finish, Wilson goes for it. He places his hands on House’s shoulders, screws his eyes shut, and gently presses his lips into House’s. The other man’s mouth tastes like coffee and Vicodin. It’s a bitter and terrible combination, but it’s House, and Wilson realizes that this may be the only chance he gets to experience it. He commits it to memory, savors it, loves it as if it’s the man himself.

Wilson expects House to pull away. It doesn’t happen. 

Fine enough- he figures it’s out of shock, and that House will pull away in a few moments. Wilson is proven wrong when he hears House’s lunch tray clatter to the floor. Surely then, House should retract to pick up the mess. Again, it doesn’t happen. 

His cane falls right after the tray, and Wilson gets ready to move, but he finds himself frozen in place when House grips him by the collar and drags him in to deepen the kiss. He moves his mouth against Wilson’s, chapped lips consuming the oncologist’s softer ones. 

Wilson is snapped out of it when he hears gasps and whispers in the cafeteria. He jerks back so he can look up at House. There’s no mirror around, but if there were, Wilson is sure he would see that his face has paled with horror. He can’t so much as make eye contact with House.

And for a moment, House appears smug; shit-eating grin, raised eyebrows, and that familiar darkness that takes over his gaze when he feels like he’s won something. However, that smugness is quickly washed away when House scans Wilson’s face. 

“It-” Wilson stutters, unsure of how to explain what he was doing or why he was doing it. Unsure of how to react to House kissing him. Unsure of why House kissed him back at all, but especially unsure of why House kissed him back so fast. He barely manages to force out the breathless words his brain jumbles together in its panicked state. “It was just a prank. Chase, he- he thought it would be a good way to mess with you, paid me two hundred dollars. I’ll give you the money, if you want…?”

The initial disappointment that laced House’s expression just seconds before transitions into hardened anger; the kind of ice-cold rage that he so brilliantly displays whenever he feels like he’s been betrayed by someone he trusted. It makes sense. Even in his anxious state, Wilson is thinking rationally enough to know he deserves it and should’ve expected it. After all, House has never taken well to any form of embarrassment. 

Without saying so much as a word, House retrieves his cane and swiftly turns to exit the cafeteria, leaving Wilson to pick up the mess of his lunch tray while everyone else stares holes into him.

~

The next day, Wilson is an anxious mess. He went to House’s office multiple times after lunch yesterday and couldn’t find the man. He called and sent multiple texts, and each and every one was ignored whether it was to House’s office phone, flip phone, or pager. He hasn’t been able to find House in any of the clinic rooms, in the conference room that the diagnostics team uses, or in any of the staff offices including his own, but he knows House is there as the team is apparently working on a new case. House has just done a masterful job of avoiding him specifically.

Wilson quickly comes to the conclusion that House is angry; justifiably so. On top of being kissed in a group full of their patients and colleagues, Wilson also accidentally rejected him in front of said people by jerking away from House’s kiss as if it were the plague and loudly announcing that his initiating of the kiss was just a prank. It’s a miracle the man didn’t quit on the spot and move across the country following that kind of humiliation, because Wilson knows he would have if it were him.

Wilson feels awful about it. All he wants to do is get a hold of House so they can talk in person and clear up this misunderstanding. House put himself out there by kissing Wilson back, pretty much confessed his feelings as eloquently as he could without using actual words, and Wilson went and fucked it up with his panicked response. 

The brunette is sitting in his office stewing about the kiss; partially wishing he hadn’t done it in the first place, partially praying for it to happen again. He has a thousand things he should be doing instead; writing a speech for an upcoming conference, emailing patients, looking at lab results for said patients, scheduling consults. Sadly, all he can focus on is House and how badly he wants to find the diagnostician and confess his feelings before this situation can get any worse. 

Poor Cameron returned to work today and is clearly uncomfortable with the tension, Chase is amused by the whole thing to an annoying degree, and Foreman is so clearly fed up with all of them. Wilson wishes things would go back to normal- or at least not be like this any longer. It’s only been one day and he’s already exhausted by it.

He has a lunch tray sitting in front of him with a bag of chips and a scrambled egg bowl that he’s hardly picked at. In front of him also sits his laptop, which is opened to show his emai inbox. Before Wilson can start sifting through said emails, the glass door to his office is slammed open so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter and break. He looks up to see House, who angrily hobbles in.

If the situation weren’t so tense, he’d find the whole thing comical; House’s evident anger, House’s childish avoidance of him, the fact that they kissed in the middle of the cafeteria.

“So, it was just a prank,” House says, his tone accusatory.

“Uh,” Wilson nods, takes a sip from his water bottle, and clears his throat. “Yeah. Why did you kiss me back?”

“Well,” House scoffs, eyes darting around the room. He stands in front of Wilson’s desk and impatiently taps his cane against the floor; something he does when he’s trying to come up with an excuse for something. As per usual when he’s been rejected or perceives a discussion as a conflict, he goes on the defensive. “Obviously, I was just playing into the bit. That’s all it was, right? A joke?”

“House, you don’t have to lie. The cat’s out of the bag for both of us now so it’s honestly kind of embarrassing for you to-”

“Now give me the chips on your tray,” House huffs and walks behind Wilson’s desk to stand right next to where he’s sitting. He snatches the chip bag off of the lunch tray in front of Wilson but remains standing so close that Wilson can smell the sandalwood laundry detergent he uses wafting off of his outfit. “I’ve got a case to work on, and this one isn’t a cancer patient, so it has nothing to do with you.”

“But I-” Wilson objects in hopes that House will listen to him enough for them to talk this through, only to quickly be interrupted.

“One more thing,” House pauses.

Wilson is optimistic that they’ll finally get to talk like he’s been wanting. Instead, House puts the chips down, grabs Wilson by the tie, and yanks him up for a kiss. Wilson barely has the time to register the taste of toothpaste and breath mints prior to House pulling away and taking the chip bag back from the desk.

“What the hell-”

“Oh, sorry about that! Try not to get your hopes up or anything,” House says in a mocking tone and feigns a pitying expression as he briskly heads towards the glass door with his cane in one hand and Wilson’s stolen chip bag in the other. “After all, it was just a prank.”

And then, House is gone.

Wilson slumps down into his office chair and lets out a long, heavy sigh. As tempting as it is, it’s best not to chase after House in the middle of the hospital- the jackass will embarrass him someway, somehow. His dark brown eyes land on his now half-empty lunch tray, and then on his open laptop.

“Fucking breath mints… He planned to catch me off guard by coming in here and pulling that, didn’t he? …God, I’ve got so much to do.”

~

Another day passes with no progress. Wilson was hoping the situation would smooth itself out naturally, but it seems as if House is still equally as pissed as he was the afternoon Wilson kissed him in the cafeteria, so he decides he’ll simply have to find House and sort it out himself. 

Wilson knows better than to try and do this honestly. House raged and ran out on him at the hospital the other day, and then avoided him and treated him like shit yesterday. Every call and every text from Wilson has been ignored while House’s team says he’s still responding to them as usual.

So, Wilson brings a box with him to House’s apartment complex. He knocks on House’s door, sets the box down, and quickly hides a few feet away to avoid being seen through House’s peephole. The moment House opens the door to retrieve the surprise ‘package’, Wilson approaches. House quickly scoffs and tries to retreat inside to shut the door, but before he can pull it all the way closed, Wilson blocks it with his foot.

“Nice trick, Jimmy. If I weren’t filled with such unbridled rage and disdain for you right now, I might be impressed. Did you forget you have a spare key?”

“Okay, House,” Wilson starts. He doesn’t bother acknowledging House’s quip about the spare key that was, in fact, forgotten on his keychain. “You’ve been avoiding me and I think we’re just a tad overdue for a nice, long talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about? You kissed me and I kissed you back. You’re not stupid, Wilson,” House rolls his eyes. Realizing that Wilson isn’t going to give up, House swings the door open and stares down at him. Wilson shrinks into himself. While House’s face doesn’t betray his emotions, his hands certainly do. One of them is gripping the doorknob so hard that his knuckles are burning white, while the other is braced against the wall his cane is propped up on. He’s upset; angry, still. “You know how I feel now. There’s no need for an exchange of words.”

“W-Well, I-”

“I can’t even be mad at you, you know. That’s the worst part,” House rambles. Without any indication that he’s going to do so, he storms into his living room, leaving the door wide open. Wilson takes it as an invitation and slinks into the apartment where he shuts the door behind him and takes his shoes off at the entryway. House continues his rant and plops down onto his brown leather couch. “Going and kissing someone as a prank- if I would’ve been in your shoes with Chase telling me to do something like that, I would’ve done it to fuck with you without getting paid. I would’ve jumped at the idea, reveled in it, found it fucking hilarious!”

Wilson blinks, still standing awkwardly in the middle of House’s entryway. 

“Then why are you so mad?”

“Because I loved it! I stood there and made out with you like a teenager in the middle of the cafeteria,” House pauses, shakes his head, and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. “...And I loved it. You know I haven’t been able to solve the case we got yesterday morning because of you? Chase solved it before I did! All because I’ve been letting my brain rot by using it to replay that moment over and over again, thinking of what I could’ve done differently to save myself that kind of embarrassment. I kissed you back, only for the whole thing to be a fucked up joke. Do you know how that feels?”

“You’re saying all of this as if I didn’t also enjoy it,” Wilson spits. To his utter dismay and frustration, House’s icy blue eyes narrow in suspicion. The damn idiot doesn’t believe a word he’s saying; the kiss, the prank, it’s broken the trust that they so blindly had in each other before it happened. It’s turned their entire world upside down. “Seriously, House, you think I would’ve kissed you for enough money even if I really didn’t want to do it?”

“I don’t know what to think,” House whispers, low, almost as if he’s talking to himself. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at the ground. His cane is haphazardly dropped on the floor in front of his bare feet. “I never thought you’d kiss someone at your job like that, much less me, and yet…”

“I’d kiss you in front of just about anyone if you’d let me. Maybe I just like you that much,” Wilson offers. He manages to muster up a smile along with the courage to look House in the eye again. As House stops to process what he’s just said, Wilson slowly walks over and sits next to him on the couch. “And… Maybe the prank was an excuse to kiss you, just to see what it’d be like. I never imagined you’d reciprocate. I panicked and didn’t know what to do because I was caught off guard. Before I did it, I mulled it over and came to the conclusion you’d find the whole thing hilariously disgusting, assume it was just for the money, and we’d never talk about it again. I guess I only got one of those things right.”

“Your deduction skills aren’t the best. They never have been,” House snarks. The anger seems to leave his body as he deeply inhales and exhales. His arms fall into his lap, and much to Wilson’s relief, he smiles back. “At first, I hoped it was a genuine gesture. It’s out of character for you to act out something so dramatic in public, but I’ve felt this way for such a long time that I got my hopes up, so when you panicked… Well, I’m sure you get it.”

“Yeah,” Wilson nods and reaches out to hold one of House’s hands. Surprisingly, it’s the first time they’ve done this, but House intertwines their fingers as if it’s natural for them. Wilson could get used to the warmth that comes from House’s calloused thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. “I think I do, but… It was wrong of me to agree to do that in the middle of the cafeteria for my own selfish reasons. I should’ve manned up and told you how I felt on my own instead of using that stupid prank Chase came up with as an excuse to kiss you and gauge your reaction.”

“I’m not going to deny that. Still, though, are we going to sit here and pretend like I didn’t deserve it to some extent? I know I’ve run you through the wringer for a long time, Wilson,” House laughs and leans back into the couch, eyes now trained on the ceiling above them. “I’m sure the sadistic part of you that you refuse to admit is there got some sort of satisfaction out of making me miserable for a day or two.”

“Not really,” Wilson chuckles. House is staring at him now. It looks like he wants something- maybe like he wants Wilson to say something specific- but Wilson isn’t sure what it is. “I wanted to shock you, maybe, not make you scorch-the-earth pissed for two days. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Well,” House smirks, icy blue eyes flickering to Wilson’s lips and then back up to meet the brunette’s gaze. “I do have one idea, but I’m afraid you may not be comfortable doing it without an audience; say, a cafeteria full of our patients and coworkers.”

Wilson scoffs and rolls his eyes, a fond smile taking over his face. He scoots closer to House and places his spare hand on the man’s thigh.

“Fortunately for you, I’m afraid you’re wrong- and yes, you are capable of being wrong.”

“Really? Then prove it.”

“Fine.”

With that, Wilson leans in and kisses House once again, the two men struggling not to grin against each other’s lips.

[pomegranateshrimp]

Greg House x Fem! Reader

Kinktober day 1: Boot worship

Summary: You had been extremely distracted, more or less hot and bothered the whole day. You couldn’t focus on any of your work. House walks into your office to check on you and notices you checking out his boots a little too long.

A/n: you have an office because, why not? Idk. It worked better. Also Ik this is behind schedule I’m really sorry I’ve been busy with family problems. Also I’m making my own list for kinktober bc I didn’t like a lot of the prompts sorryyy. Also this is kinda short.

Nsfw under cut

You were trying to focus your hardest on the paperwork you were doing on your desk. You hadn’t been all too present mentally speaking. You had your mind on something else. You couldn’t pin point why but for some reason you were just so fucking horny today. Probably had something to do with you ovulating. So horny, that in fact you couldn’t even do your job. Sure, you got the work done, but you weren’t at your best, and House could tell. You worked on the diagnostics team and were, admittedly, his favorite. He payed close attention to you whenever you did, anything really. He watched your every move like a hawk, and he knew when something was up, and he wouldn’t let it go until you told him. This time, it was different. Obviously you can’t just tell your boss you were super horny and that’s why you couldn’t do your job well enough today. You just had to hope he wouldn’t talk to you about it.

The universe just had to have a personal vendetta against you. You were convinced of it. Someone had opened your door and walked into your office. Without knocking. Only one person you knew who did that. House.

“Knock knock” he imitated the sound while looking down at you as you did your paperwork.

“What do you want Greg?” You didn’t want to talk to him. Not because you didn’t like him. You liked him a lot. You just didn’t want to spill the beans about how much you wanted to fuck him, and you knew if he pestered you long enough you’d either admit it or lash out on him. Neither one being good.

“Someone’s fussy.” He raises his eyebrows, comes into the room and closes the door behind him, leaning on it as he speaks. “What’s wrong with you today? You seem a bit… gone.” He makes a weird motion with his hand above his head.

“Nothing. Drop it. Im fine.” ‘Please leave now’ you thought to yourself. You couldn’t look directly at him but didn’t want to totally dismiss his presence either. You settled by looking at his boots. They looked new. Black and sleek. Doc Martens. Your state grew unknowingly as he stared at you.

“Really? Doesn’t seem like ‘nothing’.” He didn’t move from the door but shifted his posture, standing more straight than before.

“Why does it matter to you anyways?” You retorted back. You were being rude but it came from a place of good. All you wanted was for him to leave your office and for your day to be over so you can go home and finger yourself to sleep.

“It doesn’t. Until it affects your ability to do your job. Which it seems like it has. Therefore, it’s my business, and it matters.”

You didn’t respond, your eyes just moving between the paperwork on your desk and his boots.

“What’s wrong? I get dirt on them or something?” He sarcastically asked and pretended to inspect them.

“Oh, n-no.. sorry.” You were caught so extremely off guard by him noticing your stare. You moved your gaze back to the paperwork but because he wasn’t leaving you lifted your eyes every now and them to his boots.

“Hmm, let’s see..” he started “you’ve been bright red all day, unable to focus, and now you’re staring at my boots, and it’s certainly not because they’re dirty. Hmm..” he puts a hand to his chin and pretends to be in deep thought for a few moments before speaking up again, this time with a shocking ‘omg’ sound. “I got it! You’re horny.” He was now moving from the door and walking towards you.

“That’s— that’s ridiculous please I-”

“You sure? All evidence points to me being right.” He now stood in front of your desk, chin resting on his cane, looking back at your surprised, crimson red face. “I will say though, the boot thing definitely came as a surprise. Didn’t think you were into that kinda stuff.”

“Even if I am, what are you going to do about it? Or did you just want to know?” You rolled your eyes. There was a certain annoyance in your voice because you immediately assumed once he knew he’d just leave the room, but to your surprise he stayed.

“Gee I don’t know, you seem desperate enough to fuck a shoe! By god, I wonder if there’s anyone willing to let you get off by riding their new Doc Martens. Get on your knees.”

You were shocked by the change of voice from his usual sarcastic tone to a much more demanding one now, but you liked it. You needed him so much right now and he was just letting you have him. If this was a wet dream, you didn’t want to wake up. You got out of your chair and compiled to his demand.

“You might wanna take your clothes off first.” He told you and you threw everything you were wearing to the side, not caring about anything anymore, just chasing that high you so desperately needed. Without warning, he moved his boot in between your thighs, right up against your pussy. You gasped, moaning out and grabbing onto his leg, surprised by the suddenness of the movement. “Greg…”

“You’re so needy for me.” His raspy voice sending shivers down your spine as you began to grind on his boot. The silence of the room being rid of with heavy breaths from the both of you.

You grind on his leg harder, wanting to cum so badly despite how degrading the situation was. Riding your bosses boot in broad daylight, office unlocked. If anyone saw you…

The thought made your mind race, your breath picked up speed as your hips thrusted faster, aiming for more friction. You could feel yourself getting close, the lewd noises becoming louder and louder. “Greg I’m gonna—“ before you could even finish your sentence you came onto the boot, leaving it shiny with arousal.

“Lick it off.” The way he looked down at you was enough to give you a second orgasm. You hesitantly reached down and gave the shoe a slow, long lick, from toe to heel, looking up at Greg as you did so. You were extremely grateful that he had given you the satisfaction you wanted.

“Don’t let me see you getting distracted again after this.” He gave you a sly smirk and left the room.

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Gregory House x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | stupid behavior, migraine.

𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦’𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯.

House’s schemes were rarely straightforward, and this one was no exception. It had all started when he stumbled upon an article in a prestigious medical journal, authored by none other than Dr. Walter Henson, a former colleague from his medical school days. Henson, the man who had publicly accused House of cheating during their final year, had gone on to carve out a respectable, if unremarkable, career in pharmacological research. The article detailed his latest work: a groundbreaking new drug for migraines.

The moment House saw Henson’s name, a storm of old grudges and biting curiosity brewed in his mind. The smug bastard finally thinks he’s relevant? House thought. He skimmed the article, snorting at its technical jargon and self-congratulatory tone. The idea that Henson’s drug could be as revolutionary as claimed was laughable. But what irked House most was the praise the paper was garnering—praised by people who should have known better.

House couldn’t resist the pull of vindication. He didn’t just want to discredit Henson; he wanted to obliterate his credibility in public. “The man’s ego deserves a migraine worse than his drug could ever cure,” House muttered to himself, spinning his cane in one hand as he considered his options.

The first step was to attend Henson’s upcoming conference, where he was presenting his findings. House, of course, couldn’t just sit quietly in the audience like any normal person. His plan was to interrupt the presentation with razor-sharp questions that would unravel Henson’s argument before the audience’s eyes. But Henson, smug and prepared, had all the right answers—or at least answers that satisfied everyone but House.

Frustrated but undeterred, House decided on a more audacious approach. If he couldn’t embarrass Henson on stage, he’d do it by disproving the efficacy of the drug itself. And what better test subject than the ever-sacrificial Dr. Gregory House?

“People fake migraines for sympathy all the time,” he said to Wilson over lunch. “I’m just taking it a step further by giving myself one for science. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Wilson raised an incredulous eyebrow. “The worst? How about you end up curled in a dark room for three days regretting every life decision that led you to this point?”

“Please. I already regret most of those,” House replied, popping a Vicodin. “This? This is for the greater good.”

And with that, he set his absurd plan in motion.

House’s process of inducing a migraine was, predictably, reckless and borderline masochistic. House reclined in his office chair, the empty syringe discarded on his desk like a grim trophy. He could already feel the subtle beginnings of the migraine taking hold—a dull throb behind his left eye, accompanied by the faint sensation of pressure building at his temples. It was like the prelude to a storm, the air thick with expectation. His lips curved into a small, satisfied smirk despite the discomfort. Another genius experiment, another inevitable victory.

The pain escalated rapidly. The throb became a pounding, and the pressure behind his eyes morphed into a relentless vise, tightening with each passing minute. He braced himself, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands pressing against his temples. A quiet groan slipped out before he could stop it.

House had endured pain before—lived with it, in fact—but this was different. It wasn’t the chronic ache of his leg or the manageable twinges that Vicodin could smooth over. This was acute, blinding, and utterly incapacitating. He reached for the bottle of water on his desk, but even the effort of unscrewing the cap sent a sharp jolt through his skull, forcing him to stop.

By the time Wilson arrived, the migraine had claimed complete dominion over House’s senses. His office was a cocoon of dim light, the blinds drawn tightly shut, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning. Wilson stepped inside, his usual look of bemused exasperation painted across his face.

“Well, if it isn’t the martyr of medical science,” Wilson drawled, glancing at the syringe on the desk. “How’s the great experiment going, House? Painful enough to regret it yet?”

House didn’t bother looking up. “Still better company than you,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. His head remained cradled in his hands, fingers digging into his temples as if he could squeeze the pain away.

Wilson, unimpressed, crossed his arms. “You injected yourself with migraine medication and something to induce a migraine? I’m not sure whether to call you insane or applaud your dedication to self-destruction.”

House’s response was a low grunt, barely audible. The pounding in his head drowned out most of Wilson’s words, but he caught the tone—somewhere between concern and annoyance.

“Well, since you’re clearly miserable,” Wilson continued, a wicked grin forming, “I think it’s only fair to make this moment educational.”

Before House could protest, Wilson marched to the windows and threw the blinds open, flooding the room with blinding sunlight. House recoiled instantly, a guttural sound escaping his throat as he shielded his eyes.

“Are you kidding me?!” he barked, his voice cracking under the strain.

“Oh, I’m just helping,” Wilson replied innocently, moving to the light switch and flicking it on. The fluorescent bulbs buzzed to life, their harsh glow cutting through the dim sanctuary House had created.

“Wilson,” House growled, his tone edged with genuine desperation, “if you don’t turn that off, I will murder you in your sleep.”

But Wilson wasn’t done. He began clinking items on the desk—his watch against the water bottle, the pen holder against the desk lamp—creating a cacophony of sound that reverberated through House’s skull like a sledgehammer.

“Get out!” House bellowed, clutching his head.

Satisfied he’d made his point, Wilson relented and left with a muttered “Idiot” under his breath.

Not long after Wilson’s departure, you arrived at House’s office, concern etched into your features. You had heard from one of the nurses about his latest stunt, and while you were used to House’s reckless experiments, the thought of him lying in agony was enough to bring you straight to his door.

What you found made your chest tighten. House was sprawled on the floor, his cane discarded nearby, his eyes squeezed shut as he pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead. His normally sharp, cutting presence was reduced to a vulnerable shadow of itself.

You stepped inside, careful to close the door softly behind you. “What were you thinking?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You crouched down beside him, your knees brushing the edge of his arm as you reached out to gently touch his shoulder.

House flinched at the contact but didn’t push you away. “What do you think?” he muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm despite the evident pain. “Science, brilliance, the usual.”

“There’s a fine line between brilliance and idiocy,” you said, your tone devoid of malice. You knew him too well to be surprised by his recklessness. Instead, there was a quiet sympathy in your voice, a soft understanding of the lengths he would go to prove himself right. “I hope the pain is worth it.”

House grunted, his hand shifting to cover his eyes. “It is,” he said flatly. “I’ve proved my point.”

“And it was that important?” you asked, leaning back slightly to study his face.

“Of course it was,” he snapped, though the bite in his words lacked conviction. After a pause, he added, “Henson’s drug is crap. The world needed to know.”

“And the world couldn’t have found out some other way?” you pressed, almost gently.

House groaned, turning his head slightly to face you. Even through the pain, there was a flicker of defiance in his expression. “Some truths are worth suffering for,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk before another wave of pain wiped it away.

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead. The gesture was small, almost insignificant, but it seemed to ground him. His body relaxed minutely under your touch, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for him to exhale a shaky breath.

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the sound of his labored breathing. 

After a moment of standing there, watching House curled up on the floor in obvious torment, you made a decision. You couldn’t just leave him like this, stubbornly suffering through the consequences of his reckless experiment. With a soft sigh, you knelt down next to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Move over,” you murmured, your tone firm but kind.

House cracked open one eye, his gaze sluggish and unfocused. Even in his haze of pain, there was a flicker of curiosity in his expression as he studied you.

“What?” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

“Move over,” you repeated. “I need you to sit up for a second. Come on, work with me here.”

House groaned in protest, but he grudgingly shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His movements were slow and deliberate, each motion accompanied by a wince or a muttered curse. You guided him with a steady hand, helping him adjust until there was enough space for you to sit down on the floor.

“Lie back,” you instructed, patting your lap.

House raised an eyebrow. You rolled your eyes but smiled softly. “Just lie back, House. Humor me.”

He hesitated for a moment, but the exhaustion etched into his features betrayed him. Finally, he relented, lowering himself until his head rested on your lap. The tension in his body didn’t dissipate entirely, but there was a noticeable shift—a subtle surrender to your care.

With his head cradled against you, you reached up and began to stroke his hair. Your fingers moved slowly, gliding through the unruly strands with gentle precision. The repetitive motion was soothing, each stroke a silent reassurance that he wasn’t alone in his misery.

“What are you doing?” House mumbled, his voice muffled against your thigh.

“Helping,” you replied simply.

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off.

“I don’t know much about this miracle drug Henson’s been peddling, but I do know a thing or two about pressure points,” you said. “They help with circulation, and circulation helps with migraines.”

House didn’t respond, but his breathing had slowed slightly, the rhythm of your fingers in his hair lulling him into a marginally calmer state.

You shifted your focus, moving your hands from his hair to his forehead. Using your thumbs, you applied light pressure to the center of his brow, working in small, deliberate circles. The skin beneath your fingers was warm, slightly damp with sweat, and you could feel the faint flutter of his pulse as you worked.

House made a low sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“Does that hurt?” you asked, pausing to gauge his reaction.

“No,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Feels... good.”

Encouraged, you continued, your fingers tracing the lines of his forehead with gentle precision. You pressed slightly harder, massaging the area around his temples in slow, circular motions. His face, usually so guarded and sharp, had begun to soften, the tight lines of pain easing under your touch.

“House,” you said softly, “you need to stop doing things like this to yourself.”

He didn’t respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with defiance but lacked the usual venom. “I wouldn’t have to if people weren’t so damn wrong all the time.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “And you think giving yourself a migraine is the best way to prove that?”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Shaking your head, you moved your hands to his cheeks, using your fingertips to apply gentle pressure along his jawline. His stubble scratched against your skin, a tactile reminder of his humanity—the man beneath the bravado.

“You’re impossible,” you said softly, though there was no real bite to your words.

“Thanks,” he muttered, the sarcasm dulled by the drowsy tone in his voice.

You shifted your hands again, this time tracing the sides of his neck. Your fingers glided over the taut muscles, kneading the tension away with slow, deliberate motions. House’s body relaxed further, his head sinking more heavily against your lap.

“You’re going to put massage therapists out of business,” he mumbled, his words slurring slightly as he drifted closer to the edge of sleep.

“Good thing I’m not charging you,” you quipped, your smile softening as you continued to work.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning and the sound of House’s measured breathing. You lost track of time as you moved your hands over his temples, his cheeks, the nape of his neck. Each motion was an unspoken promise—a quiet reassurance that, for this moment, he didn’t have to bear his pain alone.

Eventually, House let out a soft sigh, his body going limp against you. The lines of pain on his face had faded, replaced by an expression of tentative peace.

“Thanks,” he murmured, the word barely audible.

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering for a moment before resting gently against his temple. “Anytime,” you whispered, your voice filled with a tenderness you knew he wouldn’t acknowledge out loud.

And so you stayed there, the two of you on the floor of his office, sharing a rare moment of quiet vulnerability in the midst of his self-inflicted chaos.

[bucketocigs]

Got that slutty Dr House in my head, I need to be detained instantly 😩

[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.

[wilsonsmcgillsweatshirt]

House M.D. One-shot

Tw suicide Tw self-harm Tw assisted suicide Tw Overdosing Tw Drug Use

House keeps living after Wilson's death just so he can keep his promise to Thirteen.

He struggles after Wilson's death, seeking comfort in drugs and alcohol, anything he could get his hands on.

He laughs to himself one night, thinking, "They all thought I had a problem with the pills. Look at me now. A proper addict."

He floats around, never staying in the same spot too long, just trying to survive from one high to the next. When the drugs aren't doing enough, he takes to other forms of self-harm. What's it matter if he can't use his hand properly anymore after breaking it so many times? Nothing matters anymore. His leg hurts, his hand hurts, his head hurts, his heart fucking hurts.

He lives on the edge, breaking the law every single day but never exposing himself enough to risk getting arrested again. The closest he gets to anyone from his old life is when he stands in the back of Wilson's funeral. Wilson's mom is crying, and House feels like he should say something, but he can't bring himself to step up and speak to her. He overdoses that night, multiple hard drugs running through his veins.

He hallucinates Wilson. His wavy brown hair and big brown eyes, throwing out some witty remark. House overdoses again, this time on purpose after that, just to see Wilson. He's living on borrowed time.

Every time he sees Wilson, he wants to grab his shoulders and cry.

"I was supposed to go with you."

"I promise I'm coming."

House doesn't believe in an afterlife, but when he's sprawled out on the dirty floor of some abandoned building high out of his mind, he likes to pretend that he'll see Wilson again. House died when Wilson did, and all the important parts of him left with him.

Weeks drag out into months, and months drag out into years. House has no idea when it is. Time means nothing once you're dead. Eventually, he figures it must have been enough days, enough months, enough years, for him to find her.

Thirteen looks almost as bad as House does once he comes face to face with her for the first time in years. She stands huddled at the door, nothing but skin and bones and an oversized sweatshirt. Her face is shrunken in, and her hands are shaking, and she stares at the man outside her door with awe.

House doesn't remember when the last time he shaved was. The years of hard drug use have taken their toll, and he would wager that he weighs less than Thirteen does. He looks like a dead man, and at first, Thirteen thinks she's seeing a ghost.

"Looks like I'm right on time." Even his voice sounds different, hoarse and gravely and broken. It shocks Thirteen out of her stupor, though, and she knows immediately what he's referring to. "We thought you were dead."

"I am."

"God House, what have you been doing?"

"Waiting for you. I made you a promise, didn't I?"

A look of understanding crosses her face. "I guess you are right on time." She's ready. She's been ready for a long time. The disease has progressed to the point that it's taken over her life. She's got nothing left. She's said goodbye to everybody already, planning to take matters into her own hands.

She lets House in, and then she starts to laugh. She can't stop laughing. Tears roll down her face, and her cheeks turn red, and her face hurts. House looks at her fondly. He's always felt paternal towards her.

Once she composes herself, she answers the question she knows he wants to ask.

"It's just - I don't know how you knew, but you did. I already picked today."

House smirks, it looks more like a grimace, but the intent it there. "I guess I'm just that good."

Thirteen has more then enough drugs, and when House brings them all out, she looks at him knowingly. She ends up laying on the couch, both of them quiet as he injects the drugs into her bloodstream. House lays on the floor after that, using the rest on himself.

They wait in silence until Thirteen speaks suddenly. "Do you think there's any chance of a heaven? Honestly. None of that bullshit edgy stuff you used to always say."

House doesn't answer right away, and when he does, his speech is slurred, the drugs finally settling in. "I hope so. I hope he's there."

His body feels heavy, and he struggles to move. It takes a few tries, but eventually, he manages to reach up and catch Thirteens' hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.

His time is up.

[saragarnier]

Away from you

Pairing: jay halstead x reader

Summary: y/n doesn’t know where Jay truly is and she got worried

Warning: angst, slightly smut, cheating,

A/N: i will probably write a part 2, stay tuned!

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Next part

You and Jay had been together for three years and everything looked good, at least it was ‘till the end of the march. You didn’t know or understand why he changed his behavior when he was with you, especially since it all happened so quickly and unexpectedly that you just couldn’t understand what happened between you two. From one day, he just started to behave differently, coming home later and telling you that he was just too busy at work, doing some paperwork and getting his things ready for the next shift. He made it looked like he was just trying to impress Voight and for a moment you actually believed him.

You knew how much he wanted to become, one day, sergeant and to be on the lead of his own unit and you just wanted to support him in any ways you could; if he wanted to make a good impression in case of a new sergeant, you wouldn’t have stop him. Actually, it looked like Voight was having some issues lately, from how Jay talked about him after work anyway, and you really trusted him and believed him about his story.

Then, one evening, you decided to go talk with Kim, having some times together and trying to explain to her what you had in mind: Jay’s birthday was closer than you thought and you had to find a good gift for him.

“I need you to help me.” You said to Kim, smiling softly. “Jay’s birthday is in two weeks and i want to surprise him with a two-days holiday. I know that he spends a lot of time at the district doing his paperwork and trying to make a good impression in case of a promotion, but i really need your help. Can you please find a good reason to get him home earlier on Friday’s night?”

Kim was surprised by your statement, not because of the surprise you were preparing for him, but for what you said about him staying at the district till late.

“What do you mean that he spends a lot of time at the district to make a good impression? He always leaves before me, actually he arrives earlier to complete the paperwork he usually leaves at the end of the shift.”

You were confused, you were really confused. What did that mean? If he usually left the district early in the evening, why he came home every night after 11 pm, when you were already sleeping?

“Uhm… he usually doesn’t come home before 11 pm.” You whispered, looking at Kim while your mind raced through all the nights you waited for him to come back home, before falling asleep because of the tiredness of the day at work.

“Y/n, i swear to God that he usually leaves at 7 pm, 8 pm if we’re up to something ‘till late.” Kim said, looking sadly at you, while something you didn’t want to admit passed through her mind.

“But… it doesn’t make sense.” You replied, shaking your head slightly. “What does he do between 7 pm and 11 pm then?”

The girl just shook his head, looking ad you sadly and placing her hand on yours, trying to reassure you in some ways. “Maybe it’s not something you have to worry about, maybe it’s just some stuff he had to do or, maybe, it’s just a bad moment for him. I remember he was like this when he suffered from PTSD.”

You nodded, but it didn’t make sense anyway. You remembered when Jay suffered from PTSD because you were always by his side, you were always there for him and you followed him step after step, trying to help him find his way out of it. It couldn’t be PTSD that time, you would have noticed immediately.

He wasn’t distressed like he was when he suffered from it, he was actually really happy and he was usually calm when he came back home.

It could be PTSD, but what was it then?”

“Sorry Kim, i have to go.” You whispered, looking at your phone and finding out it was just 9:30 pm; you had still plenty of time before he could have been home and you wanted to find out what was happening with your boyfriend, actually with your future husband.

“Don’t worry darling, it’s okay.” Kim whispered, smiling at you. “We’ll see each other soon, okay? Maybe you can come at the district one day and we can talk a little? Also Adam and Kevin missed you, you know. With all the preparations of the wedding, we didn’t see you around in a while.”

“Yeah, when i’m not at work at the hospital, i’m around the city trying some white dresses.” You sighed, wearing your jacket and placing some money on the table, paying for your own drink.

“I can imagine that. Don’t worry, really. I hope to see you again soon.” She smiled softly at you.

“I hope that too. Bye Kim, goodnight.”

You left the bar just ten minutes after and you immediately called the one and only that could have tracked Jay’s phone without a word: Mouse.

When he came back from the army, for the second time, you knew that it would have been difficult for him to start a new life again, especially after the first time. Jay helped him and, after some weeks in which he tried to convince him every single day, Mouse accepted to come back at the intelligence as a tech. It wasn’t an easy decision for him and it was strange at first, but he knew he had no better option and working with his friend was something he missed a lot.

He picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hi! Look who showed up!” He smiled and laughed. “I was actually asking myself when you would have called me to give me the official invite to your wedding, you know? I would have asked Jay, but he i’m pretty sure is not as much involved in the preparations as you are, so…”

“Mouse, i need your favor.” You told him straight away. “I can’t find Jay and I’m worried. Can you please track his phone and tell where he is? And, can you do that without anyone knowing it?”

It was a strange request, especially since it went from you, but Mouse got it immediately and he started to track Jay’s phone straight away. He was actually scared for his friend, he was scared that Jay got into real trouble, maybe with the ptsd or something liked that, but there was no time for questions. He tracked his phone and he gave her the address after only three minutes.

“Thank you, Mouse. Sorry if i interrupted your evening. I have to go now and, don’t worry, I’ll handle the invite in person, okay?” You said, getting inside the car while looking at the address Mouse gave to you. It could be true, why was he there?

“Don’t worry, no problem at all. I’ll leave you now, i guess you’re busy… just, tell me if anything happened to him, okay?” He replied, making sure that everything was okay, making sure that you would have called him in case of trouble.

“I will, thanks Mouse.”

When he hung up, you started the car and you drove to the location he sent you; why the hell was Jay at his old apartment? Didn’t he sell it?

When you arrived at the location, you parked the car and you got out as soon as you could, going up the stairs and reaching his door just few minutes after. Fortunately, you still knew where he used to hide the key and you went for it, opening the door as silently as you could. The first thing you noticed when you entered was the emptiness of the room: there was nothing there other than some furnishings and still you didn’t understand why Jay was there.

Then, you noticed it.

Then, you noticed them: heels and they weren’t yours.

Your mouth became dry and you stopped breathing properly, trying to find an explanation for what you were seeing. You took some steps forward and your eyes fell on the jeans and t-shirts that were on the floor, all the way up to what it was Jay’s bedroom before he moved out. You took the hallway, starting to hear voices, moans you didn’t want to hear, moans you just wanted to be from your neighbors, even if you knew that they were elderly and it couldn’t have been them. Just at the front of the door, you saw them: panties and Jay’s boxer.

Your brain stopped working, you stopped breathing and your heart almost stopped beating; you just couldn’t understand what was happing, you couldn’t believed it.

You zoned out, like you couldn’t have been there, like you were just in a dream, a bad dream, a really bad one, then you came back to reality when you actually saw and hear them.

“Oh, Jay.” She moaned, begging him. “Please, faster.”

Hailey.

Jay’s partner.

“God, Hails…” Your boyfriend moaned, lowering himself on her to kiss her breast while fucking her. “I… shit… you feel so good around me.”

“Oh, J-Jay!” She moaned louder, unaware of your presence on the frame of the door, where you were watching them, without breathing.

Jay took Hailey’s legs and he put it on his own shoulder, increasing the pace.

“Yes, cum around me, baby. Cum for me, i love you.”

Surprisingly. It wasn’t watching him fucking her that destroyed you: it was his last three words, the same three words he said to you every morning before going to work, the same three words he said to you on the phone when he was to busy at work to come home, even if he was actually heading to his old apartment, when he was able to fuck his partner whenever he wanted to.

You stepped back silently, to broken to face the truth, to heart broken to face him.

You stepped back and you left without saying a word, without make noise; you went back inside your car and only then, when Hailey’s and Jay’s moans were far away from you, you started breathing again.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks from minutes probably, but you couldn’t notice it before and you were to shocked to dry off your tears: you just wanted to add as many distance as you could between you and the man you thought was the love of your life.

You didn’t even went back to your apartment, you couldn’t have handle being again in the house that would have been yours,the house in which you hoped you would have started a family with Jay. You didn’t go back to your apartment to collect all your belongings, you just left.

You left a message to your boss’ office regarding your resignation and you drove away.

Away from Jay.

Away from your apartment.

Away from the life you dreamed of with him.

Away from the love.

Away from the pain.

Away from Chicago.

[americanhousewifeottofamily]

POV I wanna make a oneshot of American Housewife based off the body image episode but also I know it’s such a sensitive subject so idk if I should