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try-set-me-on-fire · 1 month ago

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Eddie drunkenly calls Buck from wine night, confesses some things. On ao3 here.

Eddie calls him at 11:34 pm, and it’s a Thursday, so that means a few things. It’s wine night, the biggest thing. It’s wine night, at Hen and Karen’s, and he knows those start around dinner time so Eddie’s got several hours of alcohol in him. It’s 11:34 pm and Buck got off work at 10:45, another thing, so it’s a toss up whether Eddie timed the call to when he was walking through the door (a feat possible after years of going back and forth between the station, the loft, and the Diaz house at all times of day and night) or if it’s just a drunken coincidence.

“Hello,” Buck answers the phone, dragging out the first half of the word, tossing his keys into the bowl on the counter.

“Buck,” Eddie says, voice bright and not very slurred, but he’s only said one word so far, and Buck sometimes secretly thinks he could probably say his name pretty steadily no matter the situation. Buck is pretty sure he could be all drunk or half dead and still be able to say Eddie just fine, anyway. “Hello. Are you home from, did you get home from work?”

Ah, so, somewhat drunk then. “Did indeed. You still at the Wilsons?”

“Did you, uh- was there fire?” Eddie sounds like he’s trying very hard to sound normal. Buck bites his lip against a snort.

“No fires. Just a half shift, remember. Pretty boring one, honestly.” I missed you probably isn’t fair to say, Buck covered the shift of his own volition, he could have been at wine night if he really wanted. But Donovan’s sister had a baby, what was he gonna do, not let the guy meet his niece? “Hope you had a better time.”

“Great time,” Eddie says, enthusiastic. “They had, uh, mini quiches.”

Buck grins at the empty room. “You’re a man who loves a mini quiche.”

A few seconds of whooshy silence where Buck assumes Eddie is nodding enthusiastically. “The- uh- they had the bacon kind. The kind, and with the- you know, there’s spinach? Can we go to Costco?”

“Sure,” Buck agrees, opening his admittedly pretty sparsely populated fridge. “Could use a grocery run.”

“And get the, get more quiches?”

Buck grabs a protein bar, smiling as fondly as he wants to with no one around to see him. “Yeah, Eds, we’ll get more quiches.”

“And you’ll take the spinach ones? And I get the good ones?”

Buck laughs. “The spinach ones are good. You can barely even taste the spinach, they’re just, like, warm and eggy.”

“Mmm,” Eddie says, doubtfully. “It’s not nice to lie, Buckley.”

“I’m not fucking lying,” Buck cackles. “Your spinach hatred is so unfair, what’d it ever do to you?”

“Taste bad,” Eddie says, adding a blegh sound for emphasis. “It’s like- like- it’s gross, I don’t believe you actually like it, actually. You just want to eat grown up food.”

Buck snorts. “Man, I hate to break it to you, we both turn 34 this year.”

“And I don’t feel like I have to prove that to anybody by eating nasty food,” Eddie says, nose definitely in the air. Buck shakes his head and takes a bite of the protein bar.

“Whatever, man. You just have to live with the fact that Chris is the one sneaking vegetables into your food.”

“You’re so mean. I’m not letting you have any of my actually good quiches.” Empty threat, they always end up sharing, both of them know it. “That’s not even what I called about. That’s not even-“ Eddie huffs so hard it sounds all crackly in Buck’s ear. “I called to tell you that I love you.”

Buck grins. Oh boy, affectionate drunk Eddie is here. He’d wondered just how much wine they’d got through and it seems like Eddie must be nearly a bottle in. “Aw, love you too, bud.”

“No,” Eddie says, and Buck can see the frown from here. “Buck. Listen. I’m in love with you.”

Oh. God. Oh god. “Uh-“ Buck says, stomach swooping all over the fucking place, “Uh- I don’t think this is a conversation we should be having while you’re-“

“Oh, fuck off, shut up. Shut up. It’s fine.”

“Eddie-”

“Buck,” Eddie says, in the annoyed voice he uses when Buck is trying to get him to eat yogurt with his fruit in the morning, or even a dastardly spinach quiche. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I knew you’d- why- stop it. Listen. I feel like this all the time. It’s stupid that I’ve never, like, I never just say this all the time. You’re, like-”

Eddie cuts himself off and Buck waits — sort of fearfully — for him to continue, but the silence keeps stretching on. Buck knows the other side effect of this level on the Eddie Diaz Drunkenness Scale is heightened distractibility, so he probably noticed a nice color or perhaps a bug. They spent a good twenty minutes hanging out with a grasshopper at Hen and Karen’s wedding towards the end of the night, because it was a lovely shade of green and a funny little guy. Oh god, Buck thinks again. I love this man. I love this man a ridiculous amount and we should absolutely wait to talk about it.

But: “You’re tall and you’re in my house,” Eddie says before Buck can do anything to stop him.

“I’m-” Buck glances around the loft. “Eds, I’m at my place.”

“What?” He sounds so indignant that Buck has to cover his mouth to hold a laugh in. “Why?”

“‘Cause I live here?”

“That’s stupid. You should live with me in my house.”

“Should I?” Buck asks, laugh escaping a little bit. “Also, wait, what does me being tall have to do with it?”

Eddie sighs, long and exasperated. “If you live with me you never have to go home and leave me because you’re already at my house. Your house. If you live with me you never have to go anywhere.”

“Never have to go anywhere?” Buck thinks he’s in shock, maybe, about all of this, but teasing Eddie is something that’s always easy to fall into. “I don’t have a job in this scenario?”

“Well you’d go to work. And other places. But you just come back to me all the time.”

“I’d like to come back to you all the time,” Buck says, choking a little on how simply it explains every ache in him. “Eddie-“

“And you’re tall because… it matters because you’re tall because…” Eddie’s voice is soft, his breathing is soft. Buck wonders where he is in Hen and Karen’s house. In a hallway, tucked away from everyone, the nice light from the stained glass lamp they have there warm on his face? On the back porch, out in the cool night air? Buck wants to tell him to come home, wants to make sure he’s warm. “I never had to look up at anybody before.”

“I’ve got like two inches on you,” Buck replies, but his voice is pretty quiet.

“It’s a big two inches,” Eddie says, just as soft. Then, also quiet but of an entirely different flavor, “That's- Sorry- that's what she said.”

“That's-” Buck snorts. “What-” and then giddy laughter bursts up out of him, baking soda and vinegar, foamy and ticklish. He cackles till he’s breathless, listening to Eddie’s responding chuckles over the line, and sinks down to the floor, back against the kitchen island. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“I scored better on my certification exams than you.”

“That’s not even true!” Buck protests over Eddie’s continuing laughter. “Only in two categories!”

“Overall percentage was higher!” Eddie reminds him, as he does every time they have this argument.

“Well, I remember building construction and related hazards better than you and that’s written down on official paper somewhere.”

“Not fair,” Eddie says, as he always says. “You- you did- you built those. Unfair advantage.”

“I think you’re overselling the kind of experience I got in a few months working construction like a decade ago.”

“It wasn’t a decade when you took the tests,” Eddie points out. “Whatever. Nevermind. And I don’t want to sound like- you’re good at remembering things. You’re not stupid. I don’t want to sound like you are.”

Buck taps his boot against the sink counter in front of him. “I know. You’re not either.”

“I know,” Eddie says, soft again. “But your hands are big, and… you’ve got stubble sometimes, and…” he trails off into just breathing on the other end of the line for several long moments. “Buck,” Eddie whispers in sleepover voice. “Have you ever kissed a boy before?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, knowing Eddie knows this, but playing along anyway. “I have.”

“What's it like?”

Buck hums, closes his eyes. He thinks about the few guys he’d made out with but never followed home when he got to Los Angeles. Thinks about the room he’d crashed in with Connor in Peru, with it’s one mattress and both their clothes living in suitcases because they were too broke to buy any other furniture. He’s still got a t-shirt for a school he never went to, a few sizes too small. The way they hadn’t shared a room once they were in LA, the girls Connor started seeing. He thinks about John from the ranch who left town the next day. He thinks about high school, Len McGuinty under the bleachers in the summer before senior year, both of them giggling and half terrified and the way they’d pretended to barely know each other when school started back up. Hard jawlines and stubble and muscles and height. Having something, for however long you get to have it. Wanting something, very badly. He opens his eyes and it’s almost a surprise that he’s still in the loft. That he’s not at Eddie’s house. All the time in the world there wouldn’t be enough. “It’s good, Eddie. It feels good.”

“Buck,” Eddie breathes, shivery.

“I want to live in your home all the time, and never have to go anywhere,” Buck says, repeats. “I’ll kiss you, if you want.”

“Buck-”

“I’ll love you, if you want.” Eddie is still drunk, Buck tries to remind himself. But it might actually kill him not to say it out loud when Eddie had said he feels like this all the time. How could he not say he feels like this all the time, too? “I’ll love you back. I love you back. I’ll eat all the spinach quiches for you.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, and Buck doesn’t know what expression is on his face, doesn’t know what look is tied to this tone of voice. Is desperate to find out. Quiet down the line for a few moments. And then: “It’s late.”

Buck pulls his phone away from his ear for a second to check the time. Nearly midnight. “Yeah.” His hands feel clammy. It was too much. They should have waited to talk. Eddie wants out now, and that’s fine. Buck will —somehow, skin of his teeth — find a way to be fine with that.

But: “I want to go home,” Eddie says. “Buck. Come and take me home.”

“And then-”

“And then stay.”

“Okay,” Buck gets to his feet, tosses the half eaten bar in the trash. Eddie’s house has food. His home has things to eat.

“Okay,” Eddie says, confident now, everything decided, everything for sure. “I’ll see you soon.

“Minutes,” Buck says, grabbing his keys, half running to the door. “I’ll be there in minutes.”

“Minutes,” Eddie says back. And Buck can hear his smile.

#my writing #your lives are spared from buck mcd a little longer #man i started writing this before bi buck was a real thing!! thats crazy!! he’s bi for real now and has kissed a real dude!#slowly. slowly. one day. i will do all the prompts from that soft prompts list. i should probably post the ones I haven’t done again #let you guys send requests in #i think i might actually still have some in my inbox but again. from like a full calendar year ago #so I’ll give you another opportunity

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housethemd · 9 months ago

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My headcanons for a 2024(ish) House MD (self indulgent sorrysorry)

- House is canonically bisexual, and instead of hookers (or maybe as well as) he’s very open about his Tinder/Grindr hookups.

- Wilson is still a closet case, somehow. All his friends are queer, he is very active as an ally, but has somehow not figured it out. He even has little pride flags in his office pencil holder.

- Cuddy is a lesbian, she and House still flirt for funsies (worth noting I think her and House still had a one night stand in college before she came out, prompting a running joke that sex with House turned her into a lesbian)

- Chase goes viral on twitter (X) when he starts live tweeting House’s antics during DDx’s (his handle is @thataussiedoc and all his DDx tweets are tagged #mycrazyboss)

- The ducklings make tiktok videos when they don’t have a case. The first time House catches them they are expecting him to call them idiots or throw them out of the DDx room, but instead he joins them. Cue House doing a hilarious tiktok dance.

- Non-binary Thirteen my beloved

- Foreman plays Pokemon Go

- House gets a Nintendo Switch for his office so he can game in there, and when forced to go do clinic duty switches to handheld mode

- House and Kutner will game together when they don’t have a case

- There is a PPTH Diagnostics Dept. Discord server

- Foreman hates Apple products

- Cameron has one of those rainbow pins that says “you’re safe with me” she wears on her white coat

- House learns Gen Z slang and spends an entire episode talking exclusively in it - and everyone else is left trying to piece together what he’s saying

- House is canonically autistic but it only comes out during “Lines in the Sand” or similarly themed episode. I feel like either Chase or Foreman get snippy during the DDx and makes a muttered, offhand comment about House, something to the effect of “yeah well maybe you have autism too” and House is like “well duh.” They spend the rest of the episode approaching the other ducklings, Wilson, etc about how they feel, now that they know that House has autism only to be met with general indifference. Maybe it ends when they go to Cuddy and she reminds them what a great doctor House is and all that and eventually they are forced to confront their own internalized ableism.

- PPTH definitely has a float in the pride parade every year

- Chase plays Among Us

- Lesbian Cameron but also CompHet. Like the first couple seasons she hasn’t figured it out yet.

- Hilson is absolutely made canon at some point

I told you they were self indulgent. Might reblog to add more as I think of them!

#house md #james wilson #hate crimes md #greg house #hilson #dr house #dr wilson #wilson x house #gregory house #house/wilson #autistic greg house #non binary thirteen #house md headcanons

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shurisneakers · 11 months ago

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unsolved (i)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, Very Loud reader, images and memes that all have alt texts.

A/N: yes this is literally harmless in a different font. do not ask me if anything doesn't make sense. i cannot explain. i resurface every 3 years to present you with ideas born from menty b's. ANYWAY shout out to my beloved ryan and shane. pls enjoy <3

Bucky doesn’t appeal to the youths.

Apparently.

On God, he cannot fathom why.

He had definitely left the house in the last six months, maybe. Smiled in at least two pictures that existed on the internet. He even knew what Discord was. Sort of.

By all accounts, he should be treated as the modern day icon that he was.

“The youths?” he repeats, the word so foreign on his tongue it felt odd to even say it.

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

Bucky has the audacity to look offended.

“Anything to say?” Their PR head, Maya, asks him, amused.

He stares, formulating the wittiest one liner he could in three seconds.

“I don’ care,” he mumbles.

Maya sighs. “Look, the team took the decision together. As far as I’m aware, you are still a member. You need some PR if you guys want to stay in the public’s good books.”

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV.

“That’s why it’s important to get them to like you,” Maya emphasizes. “Or the idea of you at least. A very sanitized, corporate friendly version.”

His eyebrow twitches unintentionally.

“And also you signed the contract.”

Well. Shit.

Truth be told– and he has openly and rather loudly stated this on numerous occasions even especially when no one asked– he doesn’t understand why they need a PR team. The world has calmed down significantly over the last few years. Bucky hadn’t really been out crime-fighting as much as he was people-watching. There hasn’t been an earth-shatteringly dystopian-level event in the longest time, and there seemed to be a group of spandex-clad teenagers who seemed to do a good job at taking care of them when they did threaten to occur. Go kids.

Even if they needed PR, he could arguably understand the appeal of Sam and Nat and why the people would want to see more of them. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he crawled onto Earth most days of the week.

“What do I have to do?” he asks ultimately, knowing there was no way to get out of this. “Interviews?”

The intern shares a look with Maya. Bucky shares a look with the ceiling.

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.”

Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

Maya stares at him.

Bucky stares back.

“So,” she says slowly, like he’s a moron, “you would–”

“No.”

The intern sighs heavily like they discussed that this was going to happen. Bucky was getting predictable. This annoys him even further, for some reason.

“Only once a week, and it doesn’t have to be anything crazy–”

“I’m not doing videos,” he interjects. “I’ll tweet a few times. I’ll even go outside. But ’m not doin’ videos.”

A big step was to get the Avengers off Twitter after the regular shit-storm that occurs every time they’d quote-tweet another politician calling them shitheads. Getting them back on seems counterproductive.

“Fine,” Maya relents, looking at the intern. “We'll work something out.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, and meditating on ways he can weasel his way out of those too.

So they stick him in a couple of interviews.

Bucky, as the recluse extraordinaire that he was, does unsurprisingly terrible at them.

Variety does a piece on him that was supposed to take up 2 pages. They send back half a page worth of usable material and Bucky gets a lecture on how monosyllables don't count as answers.

He grunts in return. Maya’s itch to smack his shoulder with the rolled up draft increases.

They set him up for pap walks. Just him getting fast food for the team, or sitting in the park.

They don’t take into account that Bucky was trained professionally for years on how to hide, sneak in and out of places without a soul knowing he was ever there.

The paparazzi spend three hours waiting for him outside the pizza place, while he’s been home for two hours with two demolished pepperonis and an order of mozzarella sticks.

They give him access to his Twitter.

He tweets some dumb shit and gets shadow banned by that evening.

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested.

“Play nice,” Sam tells Bucky one evening.

It’s an off-hand comment, not even really looking at him while he says it.

Bucky doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to, but he thinks that maybe he has gone too far.

He begrudgingly agrees.

Therefore, it begins.

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions.

Then the jokes really start.

“I just don’t got anything to add,” Bucky tries, in a failure of an attempt to justify his lack of contribution.

Maya only stares at him, but Bucky swears he can hear her curse quietly, even though her lips don’t move even a millimeter.

He is not put in another video.

And so he finds himself here.

In a meeting room that he’s convinced is barricaded from the outside so he can’t slither out the door again. Another intern with pink-tinted glasses that took up half their face.

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

“Videos seem to be working,” she ties it together. “But we need more than you just standing silently behind Captain Rogers.”

“But it’s working,” Bucky objects. “I don’t see why it has to change.”

Maya sends him a glare. Bucky decides then it’s good to shut up.

“Are you on the internet a significant amount?” the intern asks. The glasses on their face have changed colours to green. Bucky’s eyebrow furrows.

“No.”

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to.

“What do you like doing?” the intern enunciates, pulling up a spreadsheet of niches that had built a dedicated community around themselves over the years. “Makeup? Cleaning? Parkour?”

Bucky wonders if they’d really create a montage of him just micro cleaning the kitchen every week. It doesn’t sound half bad.

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was–

“You really are dead silent,” the intern breaks his train of thought, tone almost that of wonder. “Guess the whole ‘ghost story for seventy years’ is more true than I thought.”

Bucky throws him a weary look, and works on unclenching the fist that tightened involuntarily.

“Was that necessary?” Maya’s voice comes coldly. “Take fifteen. Go find the other one we were supposed to meet.”

While sheepish and somewhat apologetic, the kid still looks relieved to be out of there. To be honest, Bucky isn’t really offended– he’s grown a thick skin over the years. But he also thought the guy was a little shit now.

Maya turns back to him, but Bucky finds that the table contains wonders far more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

He wordlessly shakes his head.

Been the former, seen too much of the latter.

Maya’s head tilts abruptly. “You like ghosts?”

He wonders if the prior conversation had anything to do with this insightful question.

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t exist.”

“Really,” Maya deadpans. “Aliens and multiversal baboons are fine, but no ghosts.”

“I’ve seen aliens and multiversal baboons. Never seen a ghost in my life,” Bucky argues right back.

“Other people have seen ghosts.”

“Good for other people.”

The door swings open right as Maya’s eyes narrow at him. Guess it wasn’t padlocked.

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky had met you. The newest addition to the team that had made a grand entrance a couple of weeks ago. He thinks you stay on the floor below him, but he has nothing backing this hypothesis other than the disco funk music that had started appearing at odd hours of the night.

“Please sit,” Maya cracks a smile at you that Bucky had yet to earn. “Sorry, I know our meeting is scheduled for later, but I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

You look between her and Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since you got here, much less even said hello.

“You must be really bad if Maya had to call me in,” you tell him outright. “I’m usually like, her last option.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies dryly.

“Look, here’s my final pitch.” Maya sighs, before turning to you. “You’re new, and we need something to introduce you slowly to the public.”

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.”

“And he needs… an upgrade.” Maya’s thumb juts out towards Bucky who simply rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Your sight lands on him from across the table. “I’ve seen the memes.”

“What memes?” he grunts, because while the team had definitely seen them, it didn't occur to anyone they should show it to him. He loves them. Really. So much. Die for them.

You only look too happy to pull out your phone and start typing.

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?”

“No.”

“That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

Bucky doesn’t look impressed. He can’t say he blames them either, which makes him inexplicably maddens him.

“At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

“Right.” Maya clears her throat. “The both of you–”

“Are getting paired together, I suppose,” you hum.

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together.

He barely knows you. Just a little bit on how you ended up here, that you enjoyed hanging out with the team, figuring out your place in the compound, and were seemingly doing a great job at it.

You were… loud. And open.

Bucky feels the compulsive need to compensate for that by doubling down on how silent he could get, as if the two of you couldn’t co-exist in the same space in equilibrium.

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.”

Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

“Great.” Maya slams her laptop closed. “See you later.”

Bucky’s left staring as she exits, not even throwing the both of you another look.

“That was quick,” your voice cuts through the silence. “What was that all about?”

“Don’ ask me,” he grumbles, with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was about to follow.

“Ghost hunting?” Bucky echoes a week later, as expected.

“Yes,” Maya tells him simply. “Two of you. A series based on paranormal activity.”

“I don’t even believe in them,” he reiterates.

“That’s the point,” she emphasises. “Skeptic and believer. It makes for a good contrast.”

“Why us both?” He hopes it doesn’t come off as offensive. He just doesn’t see why he can’t do this with Sam. Even Clint, if a gun was really pressed to his head.

“I’m new, no one gives a shit about me,” you say brightly and full of promise. “Yet.”

“Exactly. It’ll be low key. Not an overwhelming number of viewers, no expectations. It’s perfect for launching one Avenger and re-launching another.”

“Sounds rad.” You grin, leaning back as your feet rest on the chair in front of you.

Maya looks relieved for a moment that at least one of you was on board. “No promises on anything. We shoot one video, and if it does well, we stick with it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky argues.

“Then you have until tomorrow morning to give us another feasible idea,” Maya dishes back.

Bucky retreats into his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

Truth be told, he considered himself to be the most boring person in the team and though he had made his peace with that, he was sure thar bringing that up now would entail Maya shooting him in the foot.

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud.

He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

“Put her there, partner.” You stretch ungracefully over the large table, sticking out your hand.

Bucky eyes your hand. “Do you even believe in ghosts?”

“I do now, yeah.” You nod seriously. “Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of them.”

“One video,” Maya reminds him as a balm. “And if it doesn’t work, you’re off the hook forever.”

Off the hook? Forever? For Bucky?

Yay.

“One video,” he reiterates.

You roll your eyes before smiling when he leans forward to grab it. You yank it up and down clunkily. He blinks at you, letting go slowly.

“Thank fuck,” Maya groans, head dropping onto the table.

Your smile is wild. “Guess we’re doing this shit together.”

He doesn’t even have to look very deep in his soul. He already knows he’s going to suffer.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

also i'd absolutely love to make this a community led fic like how harmless was! if you have memes or any paranormal ideas or just any prompts in general, please please send them my way <3

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #unsolved fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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vigilante-3073 · 11 months ago

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Pretty In Pink

James Wilson x Female Reader

Summary: House is curious about Wilson's newly formed relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department.

TW: Mentions of infidelity, questioning.

House sat in the clinic, loud music and sound effects echoing from the speaker of his Gameboy as he played his video game. A young boy sat on the examination table, kicking his scuffed up sneakers boredly as his mother stood beside him. The boy had an ear infection. It was a rather nasty case, but a treatment of antibiotics would resolve it pretty quickly.

The diagnosis was definitely not something House needed assistance with, but he had some questions for the head of Pediatrics.

Doctor L/N had been hired just over two years ago and had recently started seeing Wilson romantically. Wilson refused to give House any details about their relationship and he decided that he would find out for himself.

"What exactly are we waiting for, Doctor?" The patient's mother asked, crossing her arms as she shifted on her feet.

"A consult," House replied without looking up from his screen.

"But I thought it was just an ear infection, is it something worse?" The mother asked.

"Maybe... That's why we're waiting for the consult," House said.

A gentle knock sounded on the door before it opened and Doctor L/N stepped into the room, "Ah, Doctor L/N, how nice of you to join us," House said, tucking his Gameboy into his pocket.

"Hello, I'm Doctor L/N. What seems to be the problem?" She asked, using some hand sanitizer before making her way over to the boy and his mother.

"How was your date? Wilson was stingy with the details," House questioned.

"I don't think this is the most appropriate place to be discussing this, House," She said, sending the young boy and his mother a reassuring smile.

"Oh, don't worry about them, they're fine," House assured.

"We can talk later, House," She said, turning her attention to the young boy, "What seems to be the problem?" L/N questioned.

"Oh, he has an ear infection," House stated, "Just needs some antibiotics," He continued.

"You called me to consult on an ear infection?" Y/N asked incredulously.

"No, I wanted you to tell me about your date with Wilson," House said.

Y/N sighed, pulling her prescription pad from the pocket of her lab coat. She removed a sparkly pink pen from her pocket and wrote out an order on the script.

"I wrote you a prescription for antibiotic ear drops. You pull the earlobe up and back before putting the drops in. The ear should be kept upwards for five minutes after giving each dose," Doctor L/N said, tearing off the slip and passing it to the mother.

"Thank you so much," The woman said.

"It's my pleasure. Oh, and I have some stickers that you can pick from for being so brave today," L/N said, pulling out a variety of brightly colored stickers from her pocket and holding them out in front of the boy.

The boy smiled widely, eyes scanning the stickers before taking a superhero one, "Mom, look," He said proudly, holding up the sticker.

"Come to my office when you're done your clinic hours," Doctor L/N said softly to House.

"But you already made the trip down, it would be cruel to make a cripple travel all that way," House argued.

"You have more patients to see and I'm not helping you weasel your way out of clinic duty. Come and see me later if you want to talk," L/N smiled, making her way out of the room and closing the door.

...

House made his way through the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro on his way to L/N's office. Doctor L/N was an incredibly kind woman who was amazing with her patients, which is probably what drew Wilson to her in the first place.

But House didn't like to share his toys, especially when it was unclear who he was sharing them with.

House banged the handle of his cane on the door to her office, "Come in," She called from inside.

House opened the door and stepped into her office, "Miss me?" House asked, closing the door behind himself before making his way over.

"How was the clinic?" L/N asked without looking up from her patient file.

"Amazing, I'm saving the world one runny nose at a time," House replied sarcastically, sitting down in one of the black leather armchairs in front of her desk, "Comfy," He mused.

His eyes flickered around her office, the shelves were lined with photographs and a few pink trinkets. One corner of the room contained a variety of children's toys and craft supplies along with a small table.

The room was warm and inviting with pink items in every corner. Now that he thought about it, House had never seen the young woman wear anything other than various shades of pink.

The original tip-off to House about Wilson's new relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department was a blush pink tie he had bought for himself.

People could be so easy to read sometimes.

House's eyes finally returned to her figure, not at all shocked to see the pale pink dress that she had been wearing underneath her lab coat.

"Big fan of pink?" House questioned rhetorically, tapping his cane on the floor in front of his chair.

L/N closed the patient file, setting her pink pen on the desktop as she looked up at him, "What can I help you with, Doctor House?" She asked.

"You and Wilson," He stated, bright blue eyes scrutinizing her from across the desk.

"We've been on six dates and there will most likely be more," L/N said.

House narrowed his eyes, "What do you like about him?" House asked.

"He is the kindest man I've ever known. He's smart, handsome and a complete gentleman. And he's devoted to his work," L/N replied.

"Do you see a future with him? Marriage? Kids?" House asked.

She smiled, "I'd like to think so, somewhere way down the road, but I can't speak for Wilson," Doctor L/N said. House nodded as he processed her reply, shifting his cane in his grasp.

"Do you have any other questions for me, Doctor House?" She asked.

"Did you know he's been unfaithful before?" He questioned, watching her facial expression closely.

"I did, yes," L/N nodded.

"But you're still with him? Most women your age would run the other way from a guy with a history of infidelity. You're young, pretty and smart. You have options... So, why settle for him?" House asked.

She huffed a laugh, "There's no settling when you care about someone, House. You take them for who they are and decide to love them anyway, faults and all," L/N said.

"Why are you answering my questions?" House asked, "You could have told me to kick rocks and avoided this altogether, but you didn't," He stated.

"You're his best friend, House. If I'm going to be a part of his life, I have to be okay with you being a part of it too," L/N said with a small smile.

House stared at her for a second, "I like you," He said.

A soft knock sounded on the door before it opened and Wilson poked his head into the office. His brow furrowed slightly in concern when he saw House sitting in front of her desk.

"Is everything okay?" Wilson asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind himself.

"Yep, we were just having girl talk," House said, standing up from his seat and walking over to the door.

"She's all yours," House said, stepping out into the hallway and limping off in the direction of his office.

"Did he say anything I should be concerned about? Because I can easily arrange a date that is so amazing that you would be willing to forgive my awful choice in friends," Wilson said.

L/N smiled, shaking her head, "He was actually pretty sweet," She replied.

"I knew he must be sick, that doesn't sound like House at all," Wilson joked with a smile.

"He cares about you," Doctor L/N said, standing from her chair and making her way over to him.

"In his own messed up way? Yes," Wilson said, wrapping his arms around her waist when she was close enough.

L/N wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers toying with his hair, "I really like you, James," She said.

"Good, because I really like you too," Wilson replied, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. He pulled away after a moment, staring down at her lovingly.

"Do you still have time for lunch?" L/N asked, hands sliding down to adjust his pale pink tie instinctively.

"For you? I have all the time in the world," Wilson replied.

#james wilson #james wilson imagine #james wilson x reader #james wilson x you #james wilson x female reader #house md #house md imagine #house imagine #gregory house #greg house

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cyberstrm · 1 year ago

Note

hello! i’m so happy your requests are open again :) could i please request a james wilson x younger!reader where reader works at the hospital (maybe on house’s team) and there’s a lot of sexual tension? you can include some smut or anything else you’d like, im totally okay with anything! thank you <3

cola

dr james wilson x gn!younger!reader

17+, minors dni!!!! mild/moderate nsfw ahead

a/n: i was SO hoping someone would request james wilson so TJANK YOU !!! i had so much fun writing this. i hope you enjoy, love!!! this fic is v inspired by cola by lana del ray !! <3

"...and l/n...you go to the oncology department and see what you can find that relates to these symptoms." house concluded, finishing giving out orders as he slumped into his office chair. cameron, chase and foreman all made eyes at each other, you, then at house.

"what?" you asked innocently. the four of them said nothing for a moment, before house spoke up.

"i think a certain oncologist will be...excited to see you."

you rolled your eyes and gathered your notes. "you four are children, which is saying something considering i'm the youngest."

you left the room, ignoring the snickering behind you. you made your way downstairs, trying to ignore what house had said.

it had started a few weeks ago when dr wilson came to see house for an innocent enough reason, but when he saw you, he immediately became flustered and couldn't stand still. house picked up on it immediately and as soon as wilson had left, the four of your colleagues had teased you relentlessly for 'turning dr wilson on'.

you entered the oncology lab, closing the door softly behind you. you made for the computer, but someone stepped in front of you as you stepped forward, causing you to bump into them and drop your files.

"ah, sorry, i-" it was dr wilson. when his eyes met yours, he stammered over his words. "l/n...hi, sorry, i wasn't looking where i was going'"

the two of you bent down to pick up your things, and as you reached for your notebook, so did he, and your fingertips touched gently. you pulled away, embarrassed, and allowed him to scoop your belongings up before handing them back to you.

"thank you, dr wilson." you replied, looking up at the older man. something in his face changed as you said this, it was as if you calling him 'dr wilson' meant a great deal to him.

"yes, well, anyway. i should..." he mumbled, pointing in the vague direction of the opposite side of the room. you chuckled and nodded, before stepping away and towards the computer.

you began to research, enjoying the sounds of dr wilson pottering around the room behind you. about half an hour later, with no luck on developing theories for the case, you decided to get a drink. you stood up and smoothed down your clothes, before heading for the door.

"dr wilson?" you called, and he appeared from behind a bookshelf. his eyes flickered across your body, taking you in. you smiled.

"yes?" he asked.

"do you want anything from the vending machine?"

"no, thank you." he replied, looking away, like a kid who'd been caught staring. you swung open the door and headed to the vending machine.

you had to admit, there was something about dr wilson that you were really drawn too. he was sweet, gentle, and definitely good looking. you sort of hoped that house was right, that dr wilson was attracted to you, but you were also aware of the...legal issues that may cause. but you didn't really care, all you knew for sure was that an attraction to dr wilson was certainly forming.

after collecting a can of coke from the machine, you headed back to the oncology department. you opened the door and sat back at the computer, opening the can as quietly as possible as to not disturb dr wilson. you sipped it cautiously, continuing your research.

you hadn't heard any footsteps approach you, so when you felt a presence behind you, you tensed. the presence hovered, before two hands appeared beside the keyboard, and it appeared that whoever it was was leaning over you, their breath on your neck. you didn't need the voice of the presence to confirm your suspicions, you already knew perfectly well who it was since there was only one other person in the room.

"you know," dr wilson began, his voice controlled and slightly stern. "you really shouldn't be drinking soda in here."

you shivered at his tone. "i know, doctor wilson, but i..."

dr wilson chuckled, lowering his head so it hovered at your shoulder, his mouth was inches from your ear.

"you know you don't have to call me dr wilson, right? my name is james."

"do you not like me calling you that, dr wilson?" you asked with feigned innocence in your honeyed tone, a smirk tugging at your lips.

"it's...quite the opposite, l/n. if you keep calling me that, i won't have any choice but to..."

"to what, doctor wilson?"

dr wilson removed his arms from beside you and stood up behind you, but didn't leave.

"turn around."

"why-"

"turn. around."

you obeyed and swivelled your desk chair. you avoided his gaze, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. dr wilson lazily lifted his hand and gripped your jaw, lifting your head and making you stand up, forcing you to meet his eyes. you batted your lashes sweetly.

he leant forward, seemingly unable to help himself any longer. he pressed his lips to yours, his hand still on your jaw, the other pulling you closer by your waist. he kissed you deeply, before biting down on your lower lip, making you whine.

"b-be gentle with me, dr wilson," you whimpered against his lips, and he groaned, enjoying your innocence and deepening the kiss. you soon pulled away, and the two of you stood motionless, panting.

"i-i should get back to work..." you muttered, feeling fuzzy. dr wilson chuckled.

"here," he said, stepping forward and past you and sat on the swivel chair you previously occupied. he patted his lap. "you can work from here."

you felt your face warm, but turned around and sat down on his lap, facing the computer. his hands held your hips, his thumbs stroking your clothed skin. "you're so obedient." he mumbled in praise. you sighed shakily, before moving your hips in a circular motion ever so slightly, creating friction. dr wilson groaned quietly, his hands pushing you further onto him.

you kept going, grinding into his lap, enjoying his moans and gasps, but also enjoying the friction yourself.

"i wish i could..." dr wilson tried to speak, but it dissolved into nothing.

"you wish what, dr wilson?" you breathed, arching your back inwards in pleasure.

"i wish i could fuck you here and now." he whispered, his hands slithering under your top and roaming up your bare torso, pulling you against him. you moaned, wishing the same, before a noise made both you and dr wilson freeze.

the door had opened into the department.

"wilson? l/n? where are-" cameron's voice filled the silence. she appeared from behind a bookshelf, and stared at the two of you, dumbstruck.

"um....we worked out what was wrong with the patient, so...." she explained, looking anywhere but at the two of you.

"o-okay, thanks." you replied, mortified.

"don't tell house," you and dr wilson said at the exact same time. cameron chuckled exasperatedly.

"your secret's safe with me." she turned and walked out of the room. as the door clicked close, you began to laugh. you allowed dr wilson to push the chair back and you stood up, and he followed suit.

"so do you um..." he began, back to his chivalrous, slightly awkward, doctor-y self. "wanna grab dinner tonight?"

you giggled, and stood on your tip toes to peck his lips. "i'd love nothing more, dr wilson."

#james wilson #james wilson x reader #james wilson x you #dr james wilson #doctor james wilson #house md #x you #x y/n #x reader #greg house #robert sean leonard

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celestiamour · 2 months ago

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ft. logan howlett, ororo munroe, laura kinney, wanda wilson, wade wilson, kurt wagner, jean grey, scott summers (separate) x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ how they are when you are on your time of the month┊1k words

contains: some smutty topics for logan & jean, periods and all the complimentary side effects obviously because it’s so generous ahahahahaaaaaaaaa

➤ author's note: oh how i hate being a woman at times, if only some strong mutants could come to life and help ease the suffering…

let’s get this out of the way— yes, logan howlett can smell it and is able to tell when you’re on our period. in fact, he’s even able to sniff out the difference between the blood from menstruation and the blood from injuries. he’s been… “around the block” to put it lightly, he knows what you are going through, will be nice about it, and will use his experience to help care for you. he won’t be as sassy as he usually is even if you are a bit snappy, he’ll get extra food and put aside snacks for you, and he’ll give you as much or as little space as you want. also very willing to eat you out or cuddle-fuck you during it, being a little messy doesn’t faze him and he’s probably done nastier. 8/10, he’ll help you get through it without any complaint.

ororo munroe knows when your cycle is coming before you do, she keeps track of it and is on duty to take care of you the second you wake up with that uncomfortable feeling in your panties. she’s already inside the bathroom attached to your room running a warm bath completely with bath bombs and flower petals, ready to carry you into the water, and to strip your bedsheets for a wash if they get stained. there’s even a cute little wicker basket full of candies and drinks on your bedside with a stuffed animal she brought from target sitting on your bedside. it may seem excessive to some for something that happens every month, but she believes the effort is worth it if it means easing your pains. 10/10, she’s an angel descended from heaven in your eyes.

both of your dads are pretty useless (worst! logan is less knowledgeable than his original counterpart) on the topic and althea gives you a piece of chocolate at most, so you and laura kinney need to take care of each other when shark weeks come around. so many cuddles, kisses, and movie nights while snacking because cravings are a bitch. she’ll pat you on the back and rub your shoulders, muttering little “i know, princess, i know” as you whine. don’t even think of moving if you’re in a position like that, she’ll run around the house to get you pain relievers and a hot water bottle. 9/10, she’s such a wonderful girlfriend.

not sure why, but i feel like you and wanda wilson’s periods would sync a lot? anyhow, it’s a nightmare dealing with mood swings, cramps, and cravings all while taking care of babypool, so there’s a general rule not to take anything seriously during those days because you’re both sensitive and irritable. once it’s all over though, you’re back in each other’s arms and apologizing for anything that might have been said or done (nothing serious happened, it’s just something like “i’m sorry for saying that in an off tone and making you think i was mad at you”). 5/10, could be a lot better but the days afterward are kinda like honeymoon bliss again.

wade wilson is the biggest shit of them all, he definitely says “and that’s on period” every time he finds out, calls you his little ketchup bottle, sends you period cramp moodboards which are just poorly cropped photos of him in the deadpool suit doubled over in pain from a fight— however, he will make you laugh so hard you’ll cry and forget about the ache in your body. 2/10 in terms of helpfulness but 10/10 in terms of funny jokes and conversations.

you’ll give poor kurt wagner a heart attack every time you whine out in pain and curl up on the couch, clutching onto your stomach and contorting about to find a comfortable position. despite the promises from yourself and everyone else that you will be fine as the aching feeling is temporary, he can’t help but bite his nails from worry. the suffering of people with a uterus will never cease to shock him, they really have to bleed freely like that for a few days every month? he will not leave you alone and is going to treat your every request like an order from royalty. anything you want, you get, and no amount of assurance is going to convince him he doesn’t have to do all that, so you might as well enjoy it while you’re moody and suffering.

jean grey is one of those people who just don’t have period cramps and still glows despite it all which you are so fucking jealous of. that being said, she’s the best person to be around when it hits. since she’s basically the mansion’s school nurse, she always has snacks, water, pads/tampons of every variety, and pain relievers on hand with so much bounty that she never seems to run out. as your girlfriend, she’s also willing to be a bit sneaky and write you a doctor’s note to get you out of classes regardless of if you are a teacher or a student. she’s also down to fuck even if you’re on your period since she knows orgasms are proven to lessen the pain and she’ll also massage your tits if they are feeling tender (and because she likes your chest no matter the size). 9/10, she can be a bit busy at times but is perfect aside from that.

please hold hands with scott summers and go with him when picking out pads/tampons, he will get overwhelmed by the amount of options and panic buy one of everything. what are wings? liners? what’s the difference between yellow and green, is it lemon or lime? he might forget that you’re more sensitive during these times and slip a comment into a conversation that would make you cry when it usually makes you laugh, but he’ll remind you to stay hydrated, will go out of his way to buy you brownies from your favorite bakery, and will smother you in cuddles.

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moonlight-prose · 3 months ago

Text

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 06. TIME CAN NEVER MEND

a/n: so before you dive into this i'm gonna warn you that it's not happy. we have reached the level of angst needed to start this story on it's final arc. the one that changes basically everything. i've put a lot of angst into this, because that's what it called for and well...if you've been here for awhile you know i love my angst. i'm sorry beforehand and can promise a happy ending. but these two have to suffer first.

summary: logan howlett is happy. he's content. by all definitions...he's found the reason for why he's still alive and it all leads down to you. yet time is a fickle and cruel being and she's decided his time for peace must come to an end.

word count: 7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, a heaping of angst so bitter you will yell at me, oral (f receiving), face riding, overstimulation, wade wilson, mutant powers, violence, tw: blood, tw: gore, trauma resurfacing, ptsd, insanity, tw: torture, cliffhanger, BE WARNED PLEASE DON'T SKIP OVER THESE.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Silence filled his mind, darkness an endless expanse behind his shut eyes. He couldn't remember the last time the world fell quiet. Piercing through him with a serenity he fought his entire life to acquire. Nightmares were an expected routine that came to him constantly with a bitter echo of things he couldn't change; people he never saved.

He couldn't recall sleeping without them. Not since he was a sickly child in his father's house—fighting fevers that were caused by a mutation he didn't know existed.

Eventually the world would rip a part his bubble of safety—expose him to horrors he never thought imaginable. He'd struggle against it. Bite, snarl, fight his way through the pain like an animal who'd been caged for far too long. There would be no light at the end of his tunnel. No peace for the man plagued by promises he longed to break—a vow he didn't intend to make.

Only to be found by the one person he thought was lost to his world.

A love that lingered in the shadows of his heart. Bringing back the flame of a torch that blew out the night he lost everything.

He awoke to the warmth of your body tangled with his. His heart didn't race with the anticipation of a battle that didn't exist. His claws were safely stored away in the depths of his arms, and for the first time...his soul didn't scream in agony for help that would never arrive. You shifted with a puff of air, a grumble building in your throat at the morning chill. He watched in rapture—his fingers trailing down your spine.

The clock read eight in the morning. Plenty of time for you to sleep in given it was your last day off. So Logan remained still in order to not disturb your peace. He sucked in slow breaths as you pressed your cheek to his chest—arm wrapped around his waist and legs tangled with his. Each small shift of your face, the furrow of your brows and quickening of your heart, let him know you were trapped in a dream.

Good or bad he couldn't tell.

What did you dream about? What ran through your mind when sleep washed over your body?

He made a mental note to ask when your eyes finally cracked open. The spell of sleep lost, retreating to the depths of your mind till later. But for now he admired the shape of your face, the lilt in your eyes and curve of your lips. You were a painting come to life. An art piece stolen right off the walls of The Met.

How he managed to wind up here, waking up beside you, continued to baffle him the longer he thought about it.

Surely he committed too many atrocities to deserve this. Too many lives lost by his claws, too much pain wrought by his own actions. He shouldn't be allowed to lay here, holding you close with a reverence that he thought was lost to the tragedies of his past. He once counted the days until his death. Marked them off with a tally that seemed to only grow the longer he went.

Now he thanked whatever higher being existed for giving him this.

For gifting him you.

Another soft grunt left your parted lips, nose scrunching in distaste as you were roused from your sleep. He smiled at the sight of your eyes fluttering open, confusion flickering across your features for mere seconds before it all came rushing back. The time spent with Logan ravishing your body in this very bed, in the shower you shared. The sweetening ache between your thighs that practically called his name.

You sighed, glancing up at him with drowsy glazed eyes and a crooked smile. "Morning," you rasped, voice thick with sleep.

His heart twisted in his chest. A feeling he could only describe as love began to filter through his veins like an IV. Filling him with the fear that usually came with that four letter word—the terror of possibly losing this. He swallowed it down painfully, his hand moving to press at the base of your spine to pull you closer.

"Sleep well?" he rumbled, dipping down to catch your lips in a kiss.

The shower last night left your skin warm to the touch. Logan found he couldn't get enough of it. He curled himself around you, drawing your leg up to hook around his waist as a way to keep your skin against his. You hummed in appreciation, pushing your face up to meet his movements in kind.

Sunlight spilled into the bedroom with a familiar warmth. The window was shut and locked after yesterday's phone call. Yet the muffled echo of the world managed to slip through the cracks in the wood, echoing in your small bubble of serenity he longed to stay in. This felt like a hazy dream. One that clung to the edges of his mind, dripping small slivers of joy into his heart.

Logan longed to remain here. Buried in the bed with you wrapped tightly around him.

Eventually you parted with a soft gasp, your hips shifting subtly to relieve the ache that began to bloom and unfurl in your body. Even though you had more than your fill of him yesterday, you remained insatiable.

He couldn't say he was any better—his cock already twitching in interest. If he had his way neither of you would find the need to leave this bed; far more interested in how many more orgasms he could wring from your still spent body.

"I like this," you murmured against his cheek, fingers delving into his messy hair. "Waking up with you."

"Me too honey." He grinned when you kissed his chin, thumb running along the edge of his jaw.

A soft breath washed along his skin, sending chills down his spine. "How did you sleep?"

"No nightmares."

He felt you smile. "Are you lying to me Howlett?"

Fuck if you weren't the last thing he wanted to see at night and the first thing he was welcomed to in the morning. Something sharp pricked his chest, bleeding him of the doubt that might still remain. Lingering beneath the surface of too many broken promises and shattered versions of I love you.

This happened before. A love so deep he felt it solidify into his very mutant DNA. Back then he thought it would one day come to an end; finalize when he fucked up too many times for you to forgive.

Now he knew there was no end to this road that wound up with him alone. No version of the story where he sat at a bar somewhere in the back roads of nowhere, lamenting about a woman he once wanted to spend forever with. Whether he stayed young and you grew too old; there wouldn’t be a final page without him in your life.

What transpired here would knot the strands of fate together. So if one was sliced for the final vow of death. They both went together.

"I'm not lying," he confessed. "I didn't really dream of anythin' this time around."

You hummed, eyes opening to see the contented shine in his hazel eyes. "Don't tell me. It was because of me."

"I think it might be bub." His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, hand curving to cup your ass. "Guess you're my cure. Been lookin' for awhile."

"My bad Mr. Howlett," you breathed through a soft laugh that clenched around his chest. "I didn't mean to take so long, but you were kind of in a different universe."

"Technicalities."

"Yeah right! Technicalities my ass."

He dragged you across his lap with a muffled groan he pressed to your chest. "Could’ve found me all on your own honey. You just weren't looking properly."

The high gasp that filled the air left him with a gratification worse than his satiated hunger. He longed to devour you with a need that felt primal. As if the animalistic side of his body craved the taste of you spread along his tongue. You were the answer to every fuckin' prayer he sent out. The embodiment of what his heart had been missing.

"You're right." Your words were shaky, eyes growing dark with lust when you felt his cock press against your slick folds. "I'll do better next time."

He growled, low and desperate; his hands now clamping down on your hips until pain flickered beneath the surface of your already tender skin. "There'll be no fuckin' next time."

"No?" The grin on your lips made him leak against your thigh. "I'm sure there's more than one James Howlett in the infinite number of universes. And who knows, you might not be enough to satisfy my insatiable needs."

Rolling to his back, he took you with him, even as you yelped in an attempt to pull away. You were trapped against his body with no chance of escape, yet running from him was never a choice. This was your safe place. Against his body that offered warmth and solace—a promise of more wrapped in a gentle touch and heated kiss.

He tugged you up his body, smacking your ass as you climbed to sit on his chest with a breathless smile. The sight alone made Logan's heart stutter. His eyes wide with awe—a semblance of adoration that existed solely for you.

"Insatiable huh," he mumbled against your thigh. "Alright honey. C'mere then."

"For what?"

His thumbs indented the skin of your hip, a smile curving over his lips. "I haven't had my breakfast yet."

The realization dawned on you slowly. Your eyes widened, scent growing heavy in the air, and Logan longed to stay here for the rest of his life. Beneath the weight of your body on his—the comfort of your hands cupping his face. Your slick pooled on his chest; a sign that you were in fact interested.

"A-Are you sure?" you breathed.

His teeth sunk into your wrist gently, causing you to jolt. "Fair's fair baby."

Your own words caused heat to spill beneath your skin; you shifted—eyes wanton for what was about to come. "Touché."

Shifting up higher with a hesitancy that turned his mind feral, you situated yourself close to his mouth—barely hovering over his face. With a growl, he looped his arms around your thighs and yanked you down. His mouth sealing over your dripping cunt with a moan of satisfaction. The cry that fell from your lips made his cock twitch against his stomach; the heady tang of you exactly what he longed for.

He was messy with it. Devouring you with abandon, tongue slipping through your folds with little grunts that sent sparks down your spine. When he sucked your clit into his mouth you were done for.

"Oh fuck Logan-" The breath caught in your throat, head tipping back with each swipe of his tongue along the pulsating nerve.

Without realizing it, your hips began to drag along his mouth, chasing the quick building release that threatened to drag you under. He growled—fingers a bruising grip on your skin—with each swivel of your hips. High pitched moans echoed in the room loud enough to resonate through the whole of your apartment.

"Please-" Logan watched—eyes drooped and a red flush across his cheeks—as your body curved towards him, your hand gripping the top of your headboard. "'M gonna. Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

His tongue plunged into you, thumb snaking around to rub harshly against your clit. The long drawn out moan he mumbled into your cunt is what finally broke you. Ripping the release from the base of your spine as you cried out—your hips nearly suffocating him with how you pressed down on his tongue.

Aching for whatever he had left to give you.

Logan drank you down with stunted moan, his cock leaking into the trail of hair on his stomach. But he couldn't fucking care about that. Not when you were gifting him with a nectar that would put the gods ichor to shame.

"Oh...baby," you murmured, eyes staring at the way his cock jumped each time his tongue slid against you.

Before he could turn you away—explain that he was okay and push it off as a natural reaction to you—your hand was wrapping around him. The wet slide of his precum now enough to fuck into your fist with ease. He'd allow you to touch him for a few minutes before deterring you the kitchen. Give you a fill of what need still remained.

He was perfectly okay with finishing himself off.

What he didn't expect was your thumb to settle between his balls, rubbing at a spot that made him see white. A broken feral sound echoed against your inner thigh—his teeth clamping into the skin—as he came across your hand. Spilling down onto his stomach and hitting his chest with a withered shout.

You rolled off him, panting and covered in a sheen of sweat. Logan could barely feel his fucking legs.

"The fuck was that?" he rasped, eyes cracking open to blearily see your prideful smile—teeth digging into your bottom lip while you eyed the mess on his torso.

"How'd it feel?"

"Like my fuckin' body isn't workin'."

You giggled, soft and sweet. A stark contrast to the way you made him cum fast enough to put a hole in his heart. He'd never gotten off so quickly. Yet there you sat, leaning against your pillows, and staring at him as if he'd hung all the stars in your night sky.

He very well would have if you asked.

"I can cook this morning," you offered, snuggling back against his side with a contented sigh.

"Just give me a minute honey and I'll get us food."

"You don't have to cook."

He silenced you with a kiss, your body melting into the mattress at the taste of you on his tongue. "Rosemary's. They still sell breakfast?" When you nodded he planted a kiss on your forehead. "Alright. Soon as the feeling in my legs returns I'll get us some food."

"Okay," you laughed with a kiss to his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The television blared loud enough to bounce off the neighbors walls. A loud and rather obnoxious theme song for a reality show. A steady stream of muttered cuss words overlapped the music as another piece of wood clattered to the floor. The screws with it scattered on the shitty coffee table found in the back alley of the building.

"Ugh. Don't hand over the rose!" Wade shouted, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen. "Clearly they don't belong together. For fucks sake. I swear the bachelorette always settles."

Althea sighed, fingers sliding along the wood in search of a single screw that might be near. "I thought you said you wanted to help me with this."

"I am!" he mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn. "Moral support. You're doing great, just a little more to the left. Almooooost got it-"

She grumbled snatching up the silver piece, locating the wood by her feet. "Next time I'm evicting your ass so you can find someone else to annoy."

"Hurtful. Who else would provide you quality entertainment better than moi?"

"A rock."

"Wrong." He shoveled another handful in his mouth. "I've worked with the man. Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson is not as funny as he might appear. And starring in Fast Five doesn't count." His eyes flicker to the side, smile forming around his swollen cheeks. "To be honest I couldn't tell who was who between three bald men. Clearly that franchise has a type."

"Clearly I need a better system."

"Well of course you do. The shelf is upside down. No, the other way. No. The other way-"

A blinding flash of blue light burned through the living room, searing a hole in the hardwood floor. Wade clambered to his feet, gripping the ceramic bowl with white knuckles. His heart hammered in his chest, mouth dry as he scanned the room for some form of defense.

The closest weapon remained his katanas, propped against the door frame leading to his bedroom. He glanced at them—calculating whether to leap now or wait.

A whip ignited in blue sparks flew from the gaping hole in the air, striking his body and forcing him into the air. He hit the wall with a grunt; the bowl now severed in two on the floor.

"What the fuck!" he groaned, stumbling to his feet. "Al! You okay?"

"Who did you piss off this time?" Althea called, gripping her cane as he staggered towards her, leading her to the bedroom.

"Some fucking Asgardian apparently." A quick glance back revealed someone stepping through—their body encased in ripples of sapphire. "God where's Thor when you need him?"

The bedroom door slammed shut, Althea locking herself in as Wade yanked the katanas from their sheaths. He half expected to see the face of a pissed god coming to enact revenge. He felt his body tense as he prepared for a fight. Only for a hood of blue and gold to be pulled back; your face staring directly at him with milky eyes of white.

"You're not Asgardian."

A sneer crossed other you's face as the whip snapped against the floor, rippling in the space around him. He felt it tug along his body, aging his face with spots that wouldn't show up for decades to come. They healed as you pulled the weapong back; the blue wrapping its way up your arm.

"Where is he?" Your voice bled with a bitterness that punched his stomach. An anger he once felt before.

Whoever stood before him now was not the sweet angel he knew. The scarred skin along your body explained enough of what he needed to know. This was a sign of who you once belonged to. Who the humans hunted. The embodiment of time had become their prey, their plaything. You were the lamb given up for slaughter; the lover scorned and tossed to the side by a man who ran to a different universe.

"Mind giving me a name?" Wade knew who you were asking for. But he also knew Logan lay across the street wrapped in the arms of a you who couldn't protect him.

Your eyes narrowed, the flicker of blue flashing in what used to be the iris of your pupil. "I believe you know him as Wolverine. However...I knew him as Logan."

"Right." He gripped the handle of his swords with cold palms—his eyes flicking to the side where his window was pulled wide open. "Have you tried the yellow pages?"

A scream tore from your throat as you charged—whip sliding across the floor to wrap around Wade's legs. He rolled to the side, katana cracking through the floor to steady his movements. He cursed under his breath at the sight of the burn marks that now spread all the way up to his ceiling—the flicker of your whip lifting in air again.

"Listen you Wonder Woman wannabe. I'm sure we can talk this out rather than fucking me in the ass with the deposit of my apartment!"

Your lips curled into a grin—teeth flashing white. Wade could practically feel them dig into his jugular; all too prepared to rip it from his neck if given the chance. This wasn't a battle to see who could make it out alive. This was a warriors death.

This was you being merciful.

"We had a Deadpool like you on my Earth." He tried to dodge the slice of your whip, but felt it clamp down on his arms, yanking them forward as your hand cupped his chin—nails plunging into his cheeks until blood sprouted to the surface. "Annoying. Less than average IQ. I had such fun sending him to the Void."

The dull throb of pain bit at his face the harder you clutched him. Eyes still a flash of sapphire on an otherwise empty pale eyeball. In the picture Logan showed him, this wasn't how you looked.

The scar that ran from your forehead to chin seemed new—barely healed over. You were nothing like how Logan described you. No light in your smile, no hint of hope or joy.

Whatever happened left you buried so deep in grief and pain there was no chance of digging you out.

"On behalf of my people...fair. We aren't intelligent collectively as a group. Individually we're probably...not better. But as Deadpool Prime-"

"Fuck you're even more annoying than your variants," you growled.

The whip looped around his body, growing with heat as blue flickered in his vision—pulling tight each time you wrapped it around your wrist. His wince of pain brought the malevolent smile back to your lips. Your milky white eyes flashing as you watched him intently. Waiting for a sliver of anguish to cross his scarred face.

Instead his body twitched, a groan ripping from his throat. "Is this the lasso of truth?"

You sneered. "It's a slice of time."

"Because yes, I did steal Captain American themed condoms from the gift shop at the Smithsonian. I thought they would make me fuck like Steve Rogers. But instead they just gave me a rash-" His words devolved into a piercing scream—the once bright hue of his eyes now fading the more his body aged.

The katanas clattered to the floor as you drew him closer, wrapping the whip around his arms tight enough to slice off his blood flow. He struggled—face red and teeth bared—to rip himself free. To stop the aging of his body before it was too late.

He'd endured pain before. The travesty of each wound his body would heal over still burned bright in his mind. But this felt as if he was being crushed under the weight of the universe. The strangled scream you pulled from his chest left him sagging against the hold your whip had on his limbs. Eyes bleary with tears as you stepped back and pulled.

Limbs tore from his body, blood pooling on the floor, as his arms were flung across the room. Blue fizzled in his vision, body struggling to stand upright. And you turned with a flourish—the flutter of energy pouring out into the room around you.

"I'm not going to ask again Wade Wilson."

He weakly laughed. "Look Doc Brown I can't help you with your revenge plan."

The tilt of your head shouldn't have looked so innocent. But all he could see—all that ran through his mind—was a version of you that remained loving. Hopeful. The variant who gave Logan a reason to live. Wade wasn't about to let that slip through either of their fingers; you were too vital to give up.

Even if it meant he might never heal from the one wound that threatened to shove him directly into Death's hands.

Time.

It remained his greatest enemy. Yet there he stood, facing it with a smile.

"Pity." You snapped the whip on the floor, advancing on his broken form with a grin. "Send my regards to your fallen variants."

"If I find a way to come back from this. Expect me to fuck your ass up." He sighed, shutting his eyes. "That sounded wrong. Do I get a do-over on last words?"

He stiffened, waiting for the blow that would be delivered without mercy. But you stopped. Froze in place as you looked out the window—body stiff and breath caught in your chest at the sight. Wade's heart dropped when he turned, staring directly at the you he knew. The lovely angel who stood near the window wearing Logan's flannel, a mug of steaming coffee in your hand and a smile on her face.

"Fuck," he spit, moving to step in and block your view.

No words were spoken, but Wade could feel the anger fall from your body in waves. A rage that made him sick to his stomach. Not only did you arrive in search of your lost lover. But a mirror image of a healthier—a happier—version of yourself stood in an apartment across the street.

"Wait. She didn't do anything wrong. She doesn't know anything-"

Your hand flew up, a flash of azure blinded him—filling the room—and Wade felt time stop. He could hear the silence, the step of your feet, yet couldn't move his body as you lifted off the floor. Floating towards the window, you felt the particles of time slip through your fingers. Forming a bubble around your form as you broke the wall of the apartment with a slice of your whip.

The agony wasn't unknown to you as time froze; the people of New York stuck in their spots while you remained in the realm you knew well. Yet this pain—this never ending grief—formed like a pit in your stomach, growing the longer you stared at the person who stole your life. The false version that wore your face, loved the man you once claimed as your own.

You were plunged back into the frozen depths of that night. When your family was torn from your life and Logan left you in shambles.

The window shattered, glass stuck in place until you pushed past it, your feet setting down on the floor of an apartment that smelled eerily like cigar smoke. Logan's flannel hung off your variant's body with such ease. Memories of mornings spent like this, indulging in coffee he made as he went off to teach, left a bitter taste on the back of your tongue.

How dare he discard you to the side.

How dare he love you in another universe when you still lived.

How dare he replace you with a new version, not yet broken by his mistakes.

The tears flowed down your cheeks, hot and unforgiving. Yet you could do nothing but watch as the smile on your variant's face burned bright in the room. He made this version of you happy. Yet couldn't be bothered to remember the mutant you. The one who longed for his touch, for his love.

For his forgiveness.

"He loves you," you murmured, gently touching your variant's cheek. "He loved me once."

Time flickered, a mere second being allowed to pass. But that remained enough. Your variant's eyes flicked up, shock forming in the iris at the sight of a battered and destroyed mirror image stand before you. If the iris of your eyes could be shown, the sorrow would bring the both of you to your knees. The anger that dripped into your heart with a vengeance.

Death didn't seem a kind enough gesture for the version of you that got to live her happily ever after.

You wanted Logan to keep her. To try and save her from the depths of your soon to be shared darkness.

The mark on your neck burned as you stared at the spotless skin. Free from the horrors. Free from a past you'd never endure.

You were perfect.

It made bile crawl up the back of your throat. The fear in your variant's eyes filled your stomach with a satisfaction that you clung to. The first glimpse of dopamine after years of fighting the darkness in your own mind.

Your nails scratched along the skin of your variant's cheeks. Digging into the flesh with a smile.

"Don't worry," you murmured, allowing the shackles you held on time to fall away. The gasp ripped from your variant's mouth as you gripped her. It swirled with joy in your heart. "We'll both make him regret his choice."

The apartment greeted him with a sickening echo of silence. He dropped your key into the bowl by your door, the bag of food still clutched tightly in his hand, as he allowed his claws to slide free on the other. His breath stuck to his chest, the hair on the back of his neck rose with each step he took. Something was wrong. Yet for the life of him...he couldn't find an explanation.

Your scent was stale. An hour old.

Where he expected to find the sweet echo of your heartbeat somewhere in the apartment; he was met with the chilling realization that you weren't here.

"Honey," he called, his voice lower than intended. "You here baby?"

Logan's heart ached when he was met with a response of nothing. Merely air that didn't carry the sound of your voice, nor the scent he'd grown accustomed to. What was he supposed to do when the emptiness was all the world offered? When the echo of his nightmares suddenly bled into reality.

He set the food on your kitchen table, yanking his phone out of his jacket pocket he slammed his finger on your number. The only one programmed into the damn thing. The incessant ring suddenly never sounded so threatening. So malevolent as he waited with baited breath for your voice to filter through the other line. Loud and clear without a single thing to fear.

When the shrill buzz of your own phone came from the bedroom, Logan felt the familiar cold drip of fear begin to slip down his spine. He struggled to maintain his breathing as he walked towards the room. His claws out—ready to attack at whatever came near him.

The empty bedroom—sheets in a laundry basket and comforter a tangle on the bed from this morning—felt like an icy pick in his chest. You weren't here. And Logan knew there had to be a logical explanation as to why this was.

You left for a reason.

You wouldn't simply offer up silence on a silver platter and expect him to take it with a smile.

You weren't that type of person.

Yet no matter how long he wracked his brain, he couldn't come up with a valid reason as to where you might be. Expecting to see you through the window at Wade's place, Logan rushed to the frame. Only to feel the crunch of glass beneath his feet—the panes shattered and crushed on the floor. Your favorite coffee mug severed in pieces beside it.

"No," he breathed, eyes wide and hand plagued with a tremor of fear as he knelt to grip the porcelain shards.

The terror he fought against for so long slammed into his body with a roar. It forced him to look. To see the truth that he could no longer deny. You didn't leave. You weren't gone of your own volition.

You...weren't safe.

"Fuck," he spit, shutting his eyes as the sting of tears began to prick behind his eyelids. "No. No. No."

"How touching."

The sound of your voice made him whip around, eyes wide and heart racing as he prepared himself to apologize for whatever made you leave. But the face that came into his sight wasn't the you of this universe. Pain sliced his gut as the version of you he couldn't save—the woman he would once die for—smiled at him.

"Fortuna," he said in a breath, eyes trailing down your figure encased in ripples of blue. Your eyes were white—devoid of any emotion. Yet he could feel your bitterness; the hatred that still existed from that night.

Your lips formed a pout, boots echoing against the hardwood floor like bullets firing from a gun. "What? No more honey?"

He flinched when your hand came up to cup his cheek. "What are you-"

"Doing here?" You smiled, blue flashing in the iris of your eyes. Logan felt his body sway with grief—the emotions he swallowed for years now hitting him with a force he never thought possible. "Why...I'm here for you baby."

"Fortuna-"

"Don't call me that." You gripped his chin, dragging him down to face you. "That name never used to leave your lips before. Why now?"

"Where is she?" he bit out, claws begging to take a slice out of your body.

Your voice was filled with mirth. Logan had never heard you this way.

So...deranged. Unhinged.

Whatever happened after you left had pushed you past the edge of what sanity still remained. The brink you toed even when you were together. He could see it in the scars that littered your arms, the long mark along your face. You weren't the woman he once loved. You weren't even the same fucking person.

His eyes trailed further, down to the collar of your suit, until he latched onto the scar that nearly had him staggering away to vomit. Burned onto your skin was a mark to represent who you'd been at one point. Who you would forever remain. The X, a stitched over wound that didn't have the proper time to heal.

The humans broke you. They destroyed the woman he once knew.

Logan felt anger burn in his heart at the realization.

"You mean my replacement?" you spit, shoving him away. "And here I thought you were still nursing your wounds in some fucking bar Logan." The whip twined around your waist sparked to life. "Forgive me for believing you cared."

"You're insane." He stumbled back at the first lick of your power stretching to touch him. "Charles warned you about what your powers would evolve into. He begged you not to go down this path."

Laughter pierced his eardrums—the fury biting at his heart as you cupped his cheeks and shoved your face into his. "Do you know who else begged Logan? Jean. Storm, Scott, Rogue, Bobby-"

He ripped himself away. "Shut the fuck up!"

"They screamed for you Logan!" Time began to slow, slip through his body and tear at the flesh that never aged. "They begged me to help them, to stop their attackers. And what could I do? When I was stuck in the future! But you. You could have saved them. You fucking worthless bastard!"

Blue filled his vision, his body sagging against your hold, as you ripped at his mutant gene with a ferocity that left him beyond saving. This was your last play. The final card you never intended to show him.

"Please-" he gasped, refusing to fight back.

How could he? When his heart still called your name, no matter the universe.

You were his. The person who held every piece of his heart to kill on a whim if you so wished it. The woman who he'd die beside.

He just never thought it would be your mutant variant. He never expected you would be the one to deliver that final blow.

Air filled his lungs when you pulled away. His body healing instantly—the spots of age now fading along his paled skin. Whatever you had planned, it wasn't going to start with his death. Logan knew you better than you knew yourself; a fact you seemed to have forgotten.

You may have been kind—loving once. But final grand shows of vengeance were your ploy. No matter the situation...you wouldn't give away the ending even if he begged.

He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. "Where is she? I-I'll...do anything-"

"You love her," you murmured, regarding him with an expression of pity.

"Yes."

"What a shame."

His head rose, eyes wide as time began to slow. "Fortuna-"

"I'll give her your regards Logan." Your lips pressed to his cheek, breath a familiar warm caress against his skin. He felt his heart shatter.

"Fortuna!"

Staggering to his feet—his heart trapped in his throat—he felt time stop. And any hope he held in his heart...ceased to exist.

The crack of wood jolted you from the darkness you were trapped in. Fear trailed up your spine, wrapping around your heart tight enough to blister in searing pain. Your wrists and ankles were bound, body attached to a chair, and you blinked through the haze to see an empty abandoned room. The cold air stung the bare skin of your thighs as you sat there encased in only Logan's flannel—your skin raw from the rope.

Broken furniture was scattered through the room. A couch stripped of its fabric, walls with torn wallpaper, and you leaning against the wall your head cocked with intrigue.

"W-Who are you?" you stumbled over your words, shivering from the cold.

The echo of boots made the hair rise on the back of your neck, your eyes going wide at the sight of blue spilling off this person's frame. There was no need for her to answer. No response to give, because you knew who stood before you. She wore your face. Spoke in your voice and emanated a power you'd only seen once before.

"Logan once called me honey once," she murmured, milky eyes flashing blue. "He calls you that doesn't he?"

You nodded, shuddering as she dropped to squat in front of you, hands braced on the arms of the air. She didn't regard you with anger like before. Though it still lingered beneath the surface, she watched you as if you were someone to learn from. Someone to figure out.

"Why am I here?" you whispered, voice hoarse.

"Pathetic he would choose to love your kind. After what they did.” Fear struck your chest at the malice in her words, the wrath that now faced you head on. “You can call me Fortuna," she murmured, finger stroking down the side of your face. The place where no scar rested—no mark of torture that echoed from a past she couldn't escape.

"Please." The sting of hot tears burned your eyes. "I don't know what I did-"

A bark of laughter ripped from her throat. "Oh sweetie. You didn't do anything." She stood, loosening the whip from her body. "You're merely collateral damage. No need to take it so personal."

"Collateral-" You gasped as the whip flicked forward, wrapping around your waist. "Wait! Y-You're the woman Logan loved. He told me about you."

The smile that curved her lips forced nausea to the surface of your stomach. "Yes I suppose he would. So guilt ridden by what he couldn't do."

"It's not his fault."

Another laugh had tears slipping down your cheeks. "Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. The humans were the ones to kill your family. Not him."

The whip tightened around your body, pain slicing at your skin. "Oh I'm very well aware of what the humans are capable of."

Scars littered her skin, some larger than others, and suddenly you understood what happened. What she meant by it all. Logan couldn't save her. He wasn't able to keep her from the human's harm. Because he decided to wallow in his own grief than share in hers.

Fortuna had become Logan's worst nightmare. His walking shame that continued to haunt him even in this universe. No wonder he felt so afraid of what might happen the longer he remained with you.

"Do you know this place?" She glanced at the room—the staircase that was tucked away in the corner that led to a second story. "An old farmhouse near the mansion. Abandoned here, but not where I'm from."

"It's..."

"Ours."

Your heart dropped, tears spilling over faster than you could stop them. "Oh..."

"He didn't mention that part did he human?" She stepped closer, leaning over your cowering form with a smile that you felt tear at your heart. "We were going to live here together. You see...I have the one thing you will never be able to give him." Her hand cupped your cheek, wiping at the tears with rough strokes. "I will never die."

You shook your head. "He doesn't-"

"Care?" She clicked her tongue, disappointment flooding her features. "He'll say that now human. But what happens when you're sixty? Seventy? What happens when you outlive the Wolverine? What will he do then?"

"The Logan I know wouldn't leave me because of time."

"I am time," she snapped, gripping your chin. "I have lived as long as he has. I will continue to live even longer. Time means nothing when you are the physical embodiment of it."

"No-"

Wrapping the whip around her clenched fist, she pulled until the power began to split through your nerves. A sob broke past your cracked lips, pain burning through your body, lighting you with a fire only she could put out. She watched with a smile, her power flickering to life as the years began to seep from your body.

Second by second.

Minute by minute.

She stole what little time you could have held with Logan. What might have existed now began to bleed into the air as her whip cut into your skin. The crimson stain of blood seeped into Logan's brown flannel shirt, staining the fabric permanently. A scream tore from your throat—eyes squeezing shut as you tried to block out the sensation that intended to ingrain itself in your mind.

"You are nothing but a replacement." She yanked another inch of the whip closer to her chest—blood pooling beneath the chair and seeping into the wood.

"PLEASE!" you screamed, body wracked with tremors that weren't there before. White began to seep into your hair, streaking down to the base in a long strip—staining you with an age you might never reach. "Please! I-I'll do anything."

She tutted under her breath, her face now at your eye level. "That's where you're wrong. You can't do anything that hasn't already been done honey."

Tears blurred your vision. "W-What?"

"He wouldn't save me." Silence echoed in the still air of the room. The pain slowed to a dull ache as you slumped forward. "So I'm going to make sure he can't save you."

"N-No-"

"Like I said...collateral damage."

Your scream pierced the air like a knife, shattering what peace might have remained, as time began to form around Fortuna. Permanently altering the future that once shone with a light by plunging it into a darkness with no escape. And you were trapped in the center. Unable to claw your way free, to break from the one thing no one could run from.

A hell of time’s own making.

note: i am sorry. we will have a happy ending. just not yet.

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #my writing

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cupidsworstcrime · 6 months ago

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Greg House Headcanons - 💊

---

sfw

He's not big on PDA, but once when you were going to have lunch with him, he was so exhausted that he actually kissed your forehead in the middle of the hall.

He doesn't believe in pet names, he (affectionately) calls you dumbass

You're the one that asked him out, he stood you up. Twice. You gave up, but then he asked you out, you were tempted to stand him up, but Wilson convinced you that he was actually going to show up

You've offered to have an open relationship, cause him and Wilson seem too close for their own good, he turned it down. But considering Wilson is his 'soulmate' you don't consider it cheating. It's just you, your boyfriend, and your boyfriend's husband.

Surprisingly, he "doesn't" pick favorites at work, he has yelled at you more times than you care to remember. He's just a good doctor, it has nothing to do with your relationship. (He definitely has favorites.)

nsfw

A surprising amount of stamina, annoyingly so. You LOVE that he lasts longer than a minute, but after 3 hours when your cunt is sore, you're drooling into a pillow and he still has more to give, you genuinely think about killing him.

He once called you Wilson during sex, sparking that 'open relationship' conversation again.

He once called you Cuddy once during sex. Which you did not understand as much as the Wilson thing (He made it up to you after you refused to cuddle him)

You're like 87% sure he's into cucking but he denies it.

He's not super kinky, he likes breeding, tying your wrists sometimes, but he's not one to be rough.

#greg house x reader #gregory house #house md #greg house #greg house x you #hatecrimes md #dr house #hilson #malpractice md #house headcanons #send asks #request

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americas1suiteheart · 1 month ago

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I Think I Love You?

James Wilson x Reader

Summary; After working together for so long, Y/n finally starts to realize just how much she loves Wilson.

Notes; This is a fem reader but it can be read as a gender neutral reader, too. House M.D brainrot has been corrupting me lately..

Warnings; Mild language, "prescription" drugs, angst, pining, and innuendos.

Word Count; 3,802

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"Hey, you! I need you to help out Taub and Kutner with patients in the ICU hall." House shouts from behind you.

You turn around and sigh, glaring at him.

"House. You've known me for god knows how long, use my name. And no, I'm busy, I have stuff to do over here,"

House hobbles over and scoffs. "No you don't. Now go down and help those poor, poor doctors," He said, making a "sad" face.

He was right. You had nothing to do so far other than paperwork that you definitely didn't want to do right now, but would definitely rather than have to deal with House's antics.

"Fine, fine. But-"

"L/n! I need your help with a patient. There are no other nurses available and-" Wilson jogged towards you and House, though quickly being cut off.

"Nope! Uh-uh-uh, I called dibs on her first. L/n, go help Taub and Kutner." House pointed his cane at you.

"What? There are plenty of nurses down there and I'm pretty sure that Kutner and Taub can handle whatever is going on by themselves. They're more responsible than you are!"

You watch the two bicker back and forth, already feeling a headache come on just by looking at them.

Leaving would be the best idea. Avoid your paperwork, avoid House, avoid Wilson. Avoid them acting like a divorced couple fighting over a child.

You decided to walk away, them clearly not noticing just by hearing them continuing to argue.

You open the door to Cuddy's office, not even bothering to knock just due to working for her for so long.. and as well as not caring.

"What happened with House now?" Cuddy asked, looking up from a file to meet your eyes as you tiredly stood at her doorway.

"Not only House, but Wilson too. House wants me to help Taub and Kutner in the ICU, and Wilson wants me to help with a patient of his. Now they're fighting on 'who gets to have me'. I just needed a break from it real quick," You pinched the bridge of your nose as you sat on her couch and hunched over.

For fourty-some year old men, they sure acted like complete children.

"As long as they don't find you and bother me about it, I'm completely fine with you staying in here. But why don't you just lock yourself in your office?"

"That'd be the first place they'd check when they realize I'm gone. Even if I lock myself in there, House won't stop bugging until he gets what he wants." You sigh.

Cuddy hums as she sits back and organizes her files.

It only took mere minutes for Wilson and House to spot you through the windows of Cuddy's office and barge in, interrupting both yours and her, short lived peace.

"I need L/n in the ICU, stat!" House demands, hobbling in with Wilson following behind.

"No. There are plenty of nurses down there. I need her up here to help me with a patient in radiology," Wilson argued immediately after.

You and Cuddy sigh. Unfortunately you were right, House wouldn't leave you alone. But what made it even worse was the same urgency Wilson had.

Maybe if you left like last time they would give up? No, not with House's stubbornness you wouldn't.

"Why do you need L/n specifically? Can't you just get Foreman or Thirteen to help? They weren't doing anything the last time I checked 15 minutes ago." Cuddy asked, looking at the two with disappointment.

The gears turned in the two's heads, thinking of why they wanted your help specifically, inevitably and unfortunately, House was the first to come up with his reason.

"Because she has a nice ass?" House shrugged, earning a glare from you and Wilson.

"Not a valid reason. House, you could "borrow" her momentarily for whatever it is you need so badly." Cuddy sighed once more, dismissing the three of you.

"Wait, wait, what? You just said House's reason wasn't valid, though? Where does that leave me?"

You look at Wilson, then up at Cuddy from your spot in disbelief, "Dr. Cuddy, I'm not just some-"

Cuddy gave you a look and you sighed, getting up from the firm couch to leave the office with House and Wilson.

You stomp on House's left foot, earning a grunt from him. "Ow! What was that for?"

"For that stupid, very unprofessional, comment. Keep those words to yourself at least." You huff, crossing your arms.

"Oh, come on. Anyone else here would agree with me. Right, Wilson?"

Wilson stares dumbfoundedly at him with his mouth hanging open, his cheeks and ears turning a bright red. "T-that's a highly inappropriate thing to ask." He stutters, shifting his standing position.

House shoots a wink with a smirk on his face before hobbling away.

You smile and roll your eyes, following behind him.

You turn your head around to see Wilson following behind you.

"Where're you going? You're supposed to be on your side of the hospital, aren't you?" You laugh.

"I'm getting lunch." He shrugs.

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"James, it's 10 am.." You stop and turn to him, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

Wilson's heart skipped a beat with the use of his first name, though he wouldn't admit that.

"Well, then do you want to get lunch with me later on?"

"Sure thing. I'll see you in a bit if not sooner depending on how long House will yap on and on about his nonsense. 'It's not this, it's not that, it's not Lupus, run tests that don't need to be ran, blah blah blah, I'm on drugs, my leg hurts.'" You mock House.

You and Wilson laugh and continue to walk together.

You sigh, "You should get back to what you were doing, now. Don't want to keep your patient waiting,"

Wilson looks at you with a puzzled look on his face. "What patient?"

You raise a brow, "You had a patient you *begged* me to help you with, remember?"

"O-ohh, you mean that patient, yup, I'll uh, I'll get right to them. Right now," Wilson spills.

You grin at him and his newfound awkwardness. 'I kinda like it when he gets like that.'

Wait.

What?

"So, see you at lunch?" Wilson says, stopping in his tracks.

"See you at lunch, Wilson." You smile before departing ways.

What on earth.

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

"This is what you needed me for, House? Are you kidding me?" You glare at him.

After following him and listening to him yap, you go into the ICU to find only 3 patients that Taub and Kutner had already taken care of.

He just wanted to annoy you and waste your time.

"Hmm, I guess they were able to handle it. Anyways-" House says as he pops 2 Vicodin in his mouth, an obvious hint of sarcasm highly apparent.

Though, when wasn't he.

"Seriously, House. Why'd you come to bother me?"

"Why do you think?"

"Because you're annoying and had nothing else to do?" You huff with a smirk.

"Almost! I think- and when I say think, I am sure of it- that you have a thing for James Wilson, the head of Oncology." House says loudly, leaning towards you, as if he were announcing it to the whole ICU.

Your eyes widen and you suddenly feel every single part of your face start to become increasingly warm, other nurses in the area looking at you and House.

"What the hell are you talking about?" You whisper angrily to him.

House gives a shit eating grin, "Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I'm saying that you've got the hots for Wilson."

"How much Vicodin are you already on now?" You ask.

"You get red, sweaty, your breathing is off, you don't talk, and you glance or look at him every chance you can get. You're absolutely pathetic at hiding it. If Wilson weren't so dumb he would've definitely known. And I've had 6 of these in the past 2 hours if that's your concern." House scoffs.

"Why do you have to over analyse everything? How do you know I'm not sick with some untreatable disease?"

"Because I know you, but even anyone that doesn't would know, because you're pathetic." House hobbles off to the ICU room Taub was currently residing in.

"..Anyway, you have a new helper. Do whatever you do while L/n does the rest of the work for you." House announces.

"House! What the hell do you-" House leaves and closes the door before you could pursuit him.

You take a deep breath in and out, pinching the bridge of your nose and turn to Taub. "Okay. What happened with this guy?"

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

You loved helping out patients, but sometimes it was boring, and this was one of the days where it was boring. You and Taub just changed IV's and checked patient's blood pressure and heart bpm. Nothing like what House had exaggerated about.

And finally, it was your lunch break. 1:06 pm. You stood in the lunch line and grabbed your usual food, the cafeteria servers already knowing what you'd get. Simply just a sandwich with black forest ham, sourdough bread and horse radish. And a bag of chips and chocolate chip cookie as a small "reward" to yourself for not killing House yet.

You pay and grab your tray, heading to an empty table, beginning to eat.

"Hey," Wilson says, sitting across from you and putting his food down.

"Hey, Wilson. What's up?" You smile at him.

"Me right now." House says before Wilson could respond, taking a seat next to you and grabbing a bite of your sandwich.

He was really getting on your nerves now.

You stomped on his foot the second time today, earning the same noise and look from him as he did earlier this morning.

"Jeez. Little feisty today, aren't you?" House says.

You glare at him and he sticks his tounge out to you in response. Like a child.

Wilson clears his throat, "..So, what happened in the ICU that House needed you so desperately for?"

You groan and give House a dirty look. "There wasn't anything serious. Just changing IV's and the boring stuff."

"Wouldn't have been if Cuddy had given you to me." Wilson mumbles before taking a bite of his salad.

"Hmm?"

Wilson had been acting odd lately. Even more odd than House already was and you still can't quite place your finger on what it was.

House nudges your arm and gives you a look you definitely don't like and very obviously points to Wilson, not even bothering to hide what he was doing.

"What? What did I do?" Wilson asks, furrowing his eyebrows, making him look like a confused puppy.

God, you loved when he looked like that.

You shift in your seat, trying to stop yourself from going red.

"Better question; what didn't you do?" House says.

Wilson huffs and continues to eat his salad, clearly frustrated about something.

This was supposed to be a you and Wilson thing after all. Maybe that was the reason, because it sure definitely bothered you.

"Whoof, the tension here is high and it's unfortunately not sexual. I don't have the time for that. I'm going to go and relax in my office or bug Foreman maybe. You guys are boring." House rolls his eyes and slowly gets up from his seat. Leaving you and Wilson alone together.

You suddenly didn't know what to say.

Shit, maybe House was right..

You take another bite of your sandwich to occupy yourself and not make any conversation, in fear of saying something stupid.

If it weren't for House telling you something you probably wouldn't be acting this way in the first place. Goddamn it.

"It's quiet when House isn't here to disturb the peace,"

You look up at Wilson to see him finishing up his food and cleaning up.

"Honestly, I just think he's here to bug, but sometimes you can have an actual intelligent conversation with him."

You laugh, "Yeah, an intelligent conversation when he's not high."

Wilson chuckles, crinkling his nose.

You smile. He looked so cute.

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

It had been weeks since you'd had that conversation with House and you rapidly started to realize your feelings for him. It felt wrong, of course since not only was he one of your best friends, but also your colleague. It would be highly inappropriate to even talk about what you felt for him.

So, you got a "bright" idea and figured that maybe you would be able to rid of these feelings by avoiding him. Can't have feelings for someone you no longer speak or interact with, right?

Taking late or early lunches, sometimes even just not eating, showing up to work earlier or later than he does, straying away from areas he's typically in, staying out of your office and busying yourself with things where he typically is never in.

You thought it was working. You no longer had any of those more than PG-13 thoughts of him, you no longer stayed up late at night trying to get him out of your head, you no longer even thought about him altogether.

You were in your office sorting out some paperwork, simple patient forms and bills you didn't have enough time to do at home, separating them into neat little piles despite your mind being a mess with stress. But you had a CD mix on right now and that seemed to silence most of the stress. Key word: most.

*knock, knock, knock, knock, knock* you hear before someone barges in.

"What's wrong with you?"

House. Of course it had to be House to be bothering you right now, immedietly disrupting your peace.

You sigh. It always was a sigh with this man, it was hard not to.

"Wow. Is the Greg House actually being concerned and sympathetic for one of his friends? This has to be a miracle!" You say sarcastically, still looking at your paperwork.

"Correction: colleague. And no, there's just something wrong with you." House corrects.

"Nothing is wrong with me, and if there was; I would only tell a friend what it was." You roll your eyes, looking up at House to make it clear that you didn't want him in your office.

"If there was nothing wrong with you then you wouldn't be saying that if there was you would only tell a friend, would you?"

"God, you're so annoying how does Wilson put up with you?"

"That brings me to my point. Wilson. That's the first time you've even mentioned him in weeks, let alone talk to him. Now, what is wrong with you?"

"Everyday is a fucking migraine with you, House. Get out so I can finish what I'm doing. My job." You dismiss him.

"Get over yourself and admit that there's something wrong with you. You know there is-" House says as he hobbles over to your desk, before being interrupted by knocking on the door.

"L/n- oh, uh, am I interrupting something here?" Wilson says, you shooting your head to the door to look at him.

"Yes," "No," You and House say at the same time.

"I just finished up what I was saying, she's all yours Wilson!" House says before leaving.

"But, House!-" You shout as House slams the door to your office.

You suddenly feel claustrophobic in your own space, for once wishing that it was just House bugging you instead of being stuck in the same room alone with Wilson.

"L/n.."

"I'm sorry, Wilson, but I have some stuff I need to do." You quickly say, grabbing some random files to make some suddenly "urgent" copies of.

"L/n, please-"

You rush out of your office with the papers in your hands, making your way to the furthest printers in the building.

"L/n!" Wilson shouts, trying to keep up with you.

Nurses and other doctors turned to look at the scene, finding it odd especially because they haven't seen any interaction between the two of you for weeks.

You began to walk faster, only for Wilson to catch up with you and startle you, making you drop your papers all over the floor.

"Shit.." You mutter under your breath as you look down at the dropped papers.

"Shit, I'm sorry!"

"It's fine, Wilson. Just- just go, please?" You begin to pick up the scattered papers, other doctors and nurses basically jumping over them.

"Please, L/n. You haven't talked to or even looked at me in weeks. Can we just- ..talk?" Wilson says with pleading eyes.

You suddenly realised just how stupid you were to try and ignore him. How did you do that for this long,

You sigh and quickly pick up the remaining papers, "Fine. Just- let's go to my office."

Wilson let's out a sigh of relief, offering to help you up once you'd finished, but you decline.

Wilson followed behind, practically looking like a kicked puppy, even when you had both arrived inside of your office.

You quickly closed your blinds and locked your door to the balcony that you were just lucky enough to share with House.

You inhaled sharply before letting out a deep exhale, going behind your desk and looking towards Wilson who was standing in front of your door awkwardly.

"What did you want?" You didn't want to sound rude, you just wanted him to leave so you couldn't think any of the thoughts that flooded your mind. You looked everywhere but at him, trying to distract yourself.

"I- I just want to talk to you, L/n.." Wilson seemed upset, not in an aggravated way, but in one of sadness. "We don't talk anymore, or even see eachother in the hallways anymore. I feel like you've been avoiding me. You even talk to House, and that's saying something,"

House. Oh, God, what did he tell him this time.

"...I miss talking to you. I miss our conversations. I miss you. Please, at least tell me if I did anything wrong. Something, anything?" Wilson begged. He looked so cute like that.

"Wilson, I-" You couldn't even finish your own sentence. You couldn't tell him why you've been avoiding him. It would only make him avoid you, though it would be deserved. It was a lose-lose situation..

Maybe him not talking to you would be a good thing.

"..You did nothing wrong, Wilson. It's all my fault I'm sorry. I just- ugh, fuck.." You were struggling to say it, let alone think about it. You were totally fucked.

Wilson looked at you curiously, "Y/n, anything you do or say won't change anything, I promise you. I just- please, L/n.."

You look at him with anxiousness and fear boiling in the pit of your stomach. Your legs began to feel like jelly and you were sure you were about to collapse. 'Just say it to get it over with.'

"I think I love you.." You just blurted it out. You didn't even put any thought of how to try and make it sound less.. creepy. Those five words, which could've easily been described so much better were all that came out.

Wilson looked dumbfounded. You'd never seen that look on his face.

'Fuck. I just ruined everything. He lied to me.'

You were already scared out of your wits, and this didn't make it any better. You began to feel a lump in your throat that pained you to swallow each time, you were suddenly having a hard time breathing, and your fingernails were digging into the palms of your hands, making blood draw.

Wilson heaved a sigh, closing his eyes momentarily before smiling. A genuine smile, that was.

"Oh God, I thought I did something wrong," Wilson was relieved, not only at the fact that you weren't upset with him, but because you loved him.

Anyone else in the entire faculty or even outside of work could've told him the same thing with explanation and he would react differently. But with you, it made butterflies in his stomach and sudden warm cheeks appear.

He loved you too.

"I thought you were upset with me, that you didn't want to be around me anymore because of something I must've done, but this.. this is so much better." Wilson sighed, walking to you before taking your slightly bloodied hands into his.

You perk up and tilt your head to the side, confused at the totally different response from him. His expression changed from one of sadness and fear, into one of relief and awe, making you feel so much more relaxed.

"..gosh, we need to fix this up," he mumbled to himself as he examined your hands, grabbing the first aid kit from your shelf and getting everything to fix the small self inflicted incisions.

You stared at him in awe as he fixed you up. He wasn't disgusted or off put by your statement.

Wilson turned over your hands and placed a kiss on top of each one before looking at you, his hands still holding yours gently.

"I think I love you, too.." Wilson stated, his smile getting bigger and his cheeks getting redder as he said it.

You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding and that lump stuck in your throat was now gone. He looked at you with those soft brown eyes that you could just get stuck looking at.

Before you knew it, you were leaning over your desk, one of your hands on his cheek, cupping it gently and vice versa with him. Both of your lips fit perfectly together like puzzle pieces, and you could get a faint taste of sweetened coffee on his lips.

The kiss was gentle yet full of passion, hunger, and obvious bottled up feelings. It was something that you'd never experienced before. It was beautiful.

You pull away slowly, opening your eyes to see a flustered James Wilson, his lips swollen and lightly coated in saliva, presumably yours. He looked so gorgeous.

"You're amazing, Y/n,"

You smile and press your forehead to his.

"You too, James,"

"God, I love when you call me that." Wilson groans.

"James,"

Wilson licks his lips and goes around your desk, now holding your waist with one hand, and the back of your neck with the other.

"God, Y/n.."

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

Okay, first Wilson fic? What do y'all think? I kinda did a little research for this, but am also just used to how most of the hospitals usually work. Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed it! It took me a while for me to finish this one, but it was pretty fun.

#James Wilson x reader #wilson x reader #house md #james wilson #greg house #robert sean leonard

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gayeddieagenda · 3 months ago

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for your consideration… 🍻📽️😳 + 55: tracing the lines on the other’s hand

another scene prompt game! this one is for real long sorryyyyy. also it features the actual smallest amount of blood u can imagine, but it IS there. and it IS plot critical.

“You’re right,” Buck called. “They’re all Pokemon.”

“I’m really fine,” Eddie said.

Buck came back into the living room, box of band-aids and Eddie’s first aid kit—not the everyday one, the big one, from way in the back of the cabinet under the sink—in hand. Eddie didn’t even know how he’d known where to find that one. “No,” Buck said. “You’re getting Pokemon.”

Eddie pulled a face.

It really, really was not a big deal. It was a Friday night with no Christopher around—Denny and some mutual friends were doing a video game night and sleepover at the Wilson’s—so Buck had shown up at Eddie’s at seven with takeout from the banh mi place, the good one that he had to drive nearly to Chim and Maddie’s to get. Eddie swung the grocery store after dropping off Chris and picked them up plenty of beer—a pack of Buck’s usual brand and then a weird one, whatever seasonal flavor Eddie could find that he knew Buck would love trying just as much as he would hate actually having to drink it.

They ate at the dining room table, decanting the takeout onto real plates. After cleanup, they settled into the living room couch like they meant to stay there a while. Eddie made a show out of squabbling with Buck over the movie choice, before making just as much of a show out of giving in.

It was a Friday night. It was a well-worn routine, as comfortable as the old t-shirts Eddie had had almost as long as he’d had Christopher. Tonight was the same as every other night they’d had for the past six, seven years. It was pretty much Eddie’s definition of perfect.

Until—

Something happened with the bottle opener. Eddie still wasn’t sure what, only that he’d been trying to open the beer and watch the screen and talk to Buck all at once, and then suddenly something slipped and now he had a shallow scrape running the length of three knuckles on the back of his left hand, weakly leaking blood.

“Hand,” Buck said now. Eddie rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, holding out his hand to Buck.

Buck settled himself back on the couch next to Eddie. He took Eddie’s hand and set it gingerly in his lap.

Gently, he pressed a cloth against Eddie’s knuckles. Three little spots of blood soaked slowly into it, each smaller than the last.

“See,” Eddie said. “It’s nothing.”

Buck ignored him. When he was satisfied the bleeding had stopped—in Eddie’s opinion, it had barely started—he got the Neosporin spray out of the first aid kit. After the Neosporin was on, it was Pokemon time. Eddie got a Pikachu, a Magikarp, and a round blue guy he didn’t recognize, carefully Tetris’d together to cover the scrapes around the ridges of Eddie’s knuckles.

“Will I make it?” Eddie said drily.

“Consider yourself lucky there was a firefighter in the house,” Buck said.

He was still holding Eddie’s hand.

Neither of them had bothered to pause the movie when Eddie started bleeding. On the screen, a car spun out of control dramatically, then exploded.

Buck turned Eddie’s hand in his, flipping it so his palm was facing the ceiling. His eyes were on the TV. Eddie almost could’ve convinced himself he didn’t realize he was doing it, fidgeting with Eddie’s hand the way he sometimes did with pens or a walkie-talkie at work, if it weren’t for how carefully he was touching Eddie.

Buck’s thumb found the soft center of Eddie’s palm. He ran his thumb up Eddie’s hand, following the curved line that outlined the meat of Eddie’s thumb. His touch was feather-light.

Eddie couldn’t help it. He shivered, and Buck looked up.

“Sorry,” Eddie said.

Buck’s nose crinkled. “I can stop,” he said, not moving.

“I, uh.” Another explosion on the screen, lighting the side of Buck’s face up in orange. “I don’t mind.”

The corners of Buck’s mouth lifted, a smile so small it could barely be called a smile.

He looked down at his lap, where he was still holding Eddie’s hand in both of his own. Eddie followed his gaze.

It was just Eddie’s hand. The lines across his palm showed up clear and mostly unbroken, which his abuela used to tell him meant something. Eddie couldn’t remember what. He had calluses on his palms, some from work, some from the gym. On his index finger, he had a thin scar, a relic of a kitchen chopping mishap when he was twenty.

Buck began moving his thumbs in small circles across Eddie’s palm. He started light, barely brushing Eddie’s skin, so gently that it was almost uncomfortable.

Eddie breathed in slowly through his nose and tried not to move.

When Buck dug his right thumb in a little deeper, right at the joints where Eddie’s fingers connected his palm, where his hands got stiff after a particularly long day, Eddie made a quiet, involuntary noise.

Buck looked up.

This, they didn’t do. They were physical with each other, always had been, in ways that Eddie never thought bore commenting on. They were on top of each other on the job, more often than they weren’t, squeezed in knee-to-knee in the truck and reaching over each other with practiced ease in the field. At home, they were even worse. Fridays had room for a lot of things—for knocking into each other in the kitchen when they cleaned up after dinner and tussling for the best seat on the couch. Elbows bumping together on the couch, hands brushing when Eddie handed Buck another beer. Sometimes, Buck fell asleep on Eddie halfway through the second movie, his head a heavy weight on Eddie’s shoulder. Sometimes, they fought over the remote, wrestling each other on the couch until one of them dragged the other all the way down to the living room rug.

Touching Buck—being touched by Buck—was nothing new to Eddie. This, though…

Eddie could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Eddie had an old feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach—the yawning sense that they were standing on the brink of something.

Somewhere in the back of Eddie’s head, he’d been waiting for something like this. For a moment, when all the things they’d been holding back between the two of them came bubbling up to the surface. He’d never said it outright, not even in his own head, but sometimes, Buck looked at him and Eddie just knew that something was coming. A breaking point. When Buck would look at him and Eddie would look back and they would both know—okay, now. here we go.

This, though—he wasn't sure this felt like it.

This was...this was nothing. This was a Friday night. This was pumpkin beer and Eddie's bandaged knuckles and the stupid action movie still playing on the TV. This was so totally, spectacularly unremarkable.

He’d thought, when it was time, that he would know. It would be something they couldn’t ignore. They both knew what it felt like to experience the world at scale. Earthquakes, tsunamis, fire and lightning. This wasn’t that.

If something as small as Buck holding Eddie’s hand was enough to break open this thing between them, it would’ve happened a long, long time ago.

Wouldn’t it?

Eddie looked down. Buck was still holding Eddie’s hand in his lap, his thumb making little aimless circles in the center of his palm.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked.

Buck stilled. “I don’t know.”

Eddie tried again. “What, uh. What are we doing?”

Buck shook his head, wordlessly.

Eddie tilted his head back up to look at him. His eyes were huge in the half-light, the glow of the TV and the light from the hall he’d left on when he went looking for the first aid kit. They stared at each other for a long, drawn-out moment.

Then Buck giggled. The tension broke. And suddenly, Eddie wasn’t uncertain anymore.

He closed his hand around Buck’s. Eddie looked at him.

“Okay,” Eddie said quietly. “I’m just gonna…”

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving Buck all the time in the world to figure out where he was going with this. Buck didn’t move, didn’t pull away, didn’t blink. When Eddie kissed Buck, it was barely a kiss, putting his mouth on Buck’s as lightly as Buck had first touched Eddie’s hand.

Buck made a quiet noise into Eddie’s mouth and then they were kissing for real, Buck pressing into him almost hard enough to knock their teeth together.

It was a good feeling, kissing Buck, the kind of raw good feeling that Eddie couldn’t remember feeling in a long, long time. Maybe he’d never felt something quite like this. Eddie could get lost in this, he was pretty sure, in the closeness, in the feeling of Buck’s mouth opening under his, in the quiet noise Buck made when Eddie put his hand in the short hairs at the back of his neck.

When they finally separated, Buck’s face was flushed a bright red. Eddie had a feeling he looked about the same.

Eddie swallowed. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Was that okay?”

“No, it was awful,” Buck said. “What the hell do you mean, was it okay?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “We haven’t done that before, jackass,” he said. “I mean, should we talk about this?”

“Oh,” Buck said. “Sure.” He picked at the hem of his shorts with his free hand, the one that wasn’t still holding Eddie’s hand between them. His eyes flicked down to Eddie’s mouth and back up again. “We can talk, if that’s what you want to do.”

Eddie let out a sigh, faux-exasperated. “Shut up,” he said, and hauled Buck back into a kiss, both of them smiling into it.

They kissed and kissed and kissed. They didn’t stop when the movie credits started rolling or when the TV switched itself off automatically, the room darkening around them. They didn’t stop until Buck had kissed the scars on Eddie’s shoulder and the one on his wrist and the goddamn Pokemon band-aids across his knuckles and a lot of other places besides.

It was a Friday night. They’d had a lot of good Friday nights over the years. Eddie had a feeling this one was going to be pretty hard to beat.

#my fic tag #how r we tagging this #emoji prompt fic #buddie #buddie fic #ITS LONG ITS SILLY ITS GOOFY #also i wrote it in airports on either side of a red eye flight so if it doesn't make sense blame that

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munsster · 1 year ago

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Hiiiiiiii loved your Eddie munson x wealthy!reader fix, I was wondering if you could do a billy Hargrove one? Thank you bby💗

billy with a wealthy s/o

A/N: its 100% giving reluctant allies to lovers gif cred: @selinasdalton

Warnings: partying, drinking/smoking, insults (mostly playful), pet names (sweetheart), implied sex

the FIRST thing i thought of was reader rolling with the popular crowd

ie harrington, tommy, carol etc

and seeing billy for the first time at a party

honestly, he probably offers you a drink or better yet a smoke

and you’re disgusted (horny)

and he thinks he’s totally gonna score (you accepted his drink offer)

neither of you really remember how or when it started

you can never agree on an anniversary date

but you both know he fell first

mainly because he was absolutely floored by just how many insults you had ready in your back pocket

“the ball goes in the basket, airhead” “you look like rob lowe if he was a woman and a munch” “my dog could sink more free throws than you and he’s 20 years old”

honestly, he was a little flattered by your creativity

which is why he knew he had to get in your pants somehow

and the first time you invited him over to your house, you wouldn’t hear the end of it

“hey, richie rich, where’s your robot maid?”

“oh, it’s her day off”

“…”

“i’m kidding,” you tease, “she’s not a robot”

he does not know how to handle the amount of shit you spoil him with

“billy… i really like your necklace”

“…”

“i can buy you a new—”

“i dont need a new one, sweetheart”

and you don’t know how to handle the fact that he doesn’t want to be spoiled

but you eventually figure out how to be sneaky with it

making him lunches (con caviar), ‘accidentally’ misplacing his shoes so you have to buy him new ones, taking him to fancy barbershops and paying half the cost so it still seems like he’s paying the full price

some may say it’s manipulative. you say it’s loving.

and the first time he buys you a meaningful, mildly expensive gift, you tear up a little bit

you bringing him to the golf course and finding out 1) he’s really good at golf and 2) he is excellent cougar bait

not that you want the over 60’s hitting on your man, but it’s very sweet when they send him drinks and call him a handsome young man

you definitely encourage him to play into it with some “how are you young ladies this evening?” and “don’t you have to be 21 to sit at the bar?” action

he has his fun with it, but he really only does it ‘cause it makes you smile

would never BEG for anything…. but he DOES get really sad when you don’t bring him to the mall to watch you try on shoes or sweaters or whatever.

yeah, if there’s something he’d beg for, it’s that

he lives for the moment you walk out of the dressing room, do a twirl, and ask (like clockwork) “do you like it?”

his answer is always yes, but you claim to know the differences in his tone that indicate what he actually likes

sometimes, if he’s lucky, you’ll let him sit inside the dressing room. watching you change. watching you change.

he is the reason you’re both banned from sears at starcourt

the first really expensive watch you gift him is INSANE

it has like four dials and you said something about alligator leather and 18 carat gold

he can’t decide between wearing it on special occasions to preserve its value or never taking it off because he loves you

when you do stay at his house, usually no ones home

but you have met max

and she likes to stay away from you

but you took her to get a new skateboard and you think that might’ve helped her warm up to you

just a smidge

now she lets you gossip about stupid boys and watch shitty action movies with her

she even promised she would go as croft’s robin for halloween if you swore you’d go as wilson’s batman

that was an interesting halloween for billy

your mansion house has this shiny ass gramophone in one of the downstairs offices

and you told billy that the last thing that had played on it was a glenn miller ‘best of’ album

and that was just not good enough for billy

so one night, he brought over his twisted sister vinyl and convinced you to dance with him while what you don’t know blasted through the brassy pavillon

he also may or may not have convinced you to make out with him while the rest of the record played

even though you drive a brand new, cherry red benz (convertible, he might add), you still love it when he drives the two of you in his camaro

but you also let him drive your car whenever he wants. and he wants to most of the time.

in fact, he’s pretty sure he drives your car more than you do

he also loves to let you dress him up

and do his hair (please practice that cute hairstyle you saw on him. he’ll think about your hands in his hair for hours on end)

even if youre just going on a chill diner date, you still drag him into your (now shared) walk-in closet and pick out these satin shirts and pressed slacks and the shiniest shoes he’s ever seen

but of course, most of your dates are lavish and breathtakingly creative, anyway, so he’s already dressed accordingly

his new catch phrase is something along the lines of “what happened to eating somewhere normal. like pizza hut”

sometimes, his only requirement is “as long as there’s no chandelier”

you flatter him so often, he gets grumpy on days you forget to call him handsome (or pretty boy, which has really grown on him)

typically, he wouldnt go for all the fuss and feathers, but he likes to see you happy.

and boy, does prettying him up make you happy

seriously, you get the wildest look on your face. it’s fulfilling enough that billy feels safe to say he’s content being your ken doll forever

if you’d let him

masterlist

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #stranger things #x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #fluff #x fem!reader #billy hargrove headcanons #billy hargrove headcanon #fanfic #fanfiction

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the-hopeless-haze · 2 years ago

Text

Let’s Spend the Night Together

Chapter 3 of If You Want It, You Can Bleed on Me

Greg House x Reader

Word count: 6.5k ??? what did I do

NSFW - smut

“Where does she live?” Greg asks James.

“If I tell you, am I assisting you in a crime?” James asks in response, barely looking up from his desk.

“I’m sure she told you about our date later.”

James huffs in frustration, finally looking up at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Did you like her? Is that it?” Greg questions, trying to get to the bottom of his friend’s snarky behavior. Not that this wasn’t the usual from him. It was one of the things Greg loved about him, that he was always a little fed up with him, always preemptively aggravated, always in a state of annoyance. It was harder to piss someone off that was always a little pissed with him at baseline.

“Is that what you think? Because if that’s the reason you’re taking her out… you’re more fucked than I thought.”

“The correct answer would have been, ‘no, Greg, I do not want to sleep with her because I am married’ but we’ll go with that.”

James sighs, looking up at him. “Yes. She’s very attractive. But no, I had no intention of entertaining her.”

“Then what’s your issue?”

“Because I don’t know why you’re doing this. You sick of your prostitutes?”

Greg scoffs. “This isn’t about sex.”

“It’s not? I’m mistaken then, because you were flirting with her, made comments about her body, called her to your office…”

“Okay,” he corrects. “It’s not just about sex.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want to date her without saying the words? Because if so… congratulations.”

“No. I want to figure her out.”

“Just look in her chart. Save both of you the trouble.”

“It’s no fun if I learn all the answers at once.”

“Do you ever wonder why you’re single?” James asks.

“Do you ever wonder why you’re unhappily married?” Greg counters. “And. About that. Either her psychiatry training gave her some leg-up here or you tipped her off. She went through her files already. All that she left was a med list.”

“You already looked?” James asks, incredulous.

“Yeah. No birth control. Wonder what that’s about? Propranolol. Maybe some blood pressure issue… she’s young for that and that’s not first line. Idiopathic tachycardia? Maybe. Anxiety?”

“She can’t have an interesting med list. Stop looking for zebras. She’s barely thirty.”

“No birth control and barely thirty? Either she’s not getting any or she’s tied her tubes already.”

“Or… if she does have a blood pressure issue she can’t be on it. Or she has an IUD. Actually… don’t drag me into this.”

“Lamotrigine. Seizures. Bipolar disorder. What’s more likely?”

“lamotrigine isn’t the first-line med for either. Maybe you’ll have to talk to her.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “No fun. Hey… she’s on Vicodin.”

“A match made in hell,” Wilson grumbles, running his hands over his face.

“Well. She was. Eight years ago.”

“Most people don’t stay on it indefinitely.”

“Why would she leave that on there? It’s just these three meds.”

“Don’t you have an actual patient?”

He shrugs. “I need her address. I’m picking her up in three hours.”

“At least buy her dinner. Do not just bring her to your apartment.”

“I can’t learn anything if I just have sex with her. I mean, I’ll definitely learn some things, but…”

“Well, I don’t have her address.”

“You’ve got to have her address. You hired her.”

“Nope. I’m not her direct supervisor since she’s a consult. You’d have to talk to the head of psychiatry or Cuddy. And no. I’m not losing my job searching for it.”

“She took it out of her medical records,” he says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling. “I guess she likes to play.”

——————

“So let me get this straight. You want me to risk the safety of one of my employees so you can drive by her apartment?”

Greg looks at Cuddy for a moment, as if he’s actually thinking about her summary of his request and he nods. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Sighing, she says, “I shouldn’t be shocked you live the rest of your life like you practice medicine, but I don’t care about the results here. The answer is no, House.”

“It’ll be worth your while.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because… if I get laid I’m in a better mood which means I’m less likely to cause you issues.”

“Right. Hm. Surprising, but that didn’t persuade me.”

“Have you met her?”

“Is that supposed to convince me?” she asks, looking up at him for a second.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. She does work in psychiatry. For someone who constantly loves to tell me I have a drug problem and there’s something wrong with me I’d think you’d want to make sure this relationship runs smoothly.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I feel like you and I both know you’re not doing this for the emotional healing.”

“I won’t be doing anything if no one gives me her address,” he grumbles. He doesn’t tell her but for once he can’t believe how stupid he was that he fell for that, that he thought you might be interested.

“Hm. Well. I’m busy, House.”

He walks out without a word, heading back to his office. It’s 7:00.

Well. Alone again. Not much different than the last night or the night before that.

And he knows he could have Cameron. She’s been not so subtle in trying to get his attention, and yes, he certainly didn’t help matters by telling her she’s beautiful. Sure. But she isn’t… she’s not what he wants. He doesn’t need someone to take him on like a charity case.

You… you were fucking with him. And it’s fair, maybe he even deserves it. Maybe you got off on this, being a Walmart version of a femme-fatale, wounding men’s egos, seeing which ones would chase you and which ones would give up after a little pain.

Doesn’t really ease the sting of the ache of rejection, though. That you’d brush him off that easy, leave him without an avenue to reach you.

Sighing, he turns on the TV, trying and failing to focus on the screen, but you’d taken over his mind like a case he was on the brink of solving and just couldn’t get there.

8:15. He gets a page from your number. “YOURE LATE”. It reads.

Well. Screw that. He still had a way to reach you after all.

Possibly.

Smiling to himself, he calls down to the psych ward, asking for you. You’re not there, they say, but they’ll be happy to transfer him to your extension if you’re still in the building.

“I thought hookers took pride in their punctuality,” you say when you answer the phone.

“You’re kind of a bitch, huh?” He asks, trying not to let his chuckle be so audible in the receiver.

“You keep Wilson around. You love bitches.”

“Funny. Would’ve thought you’d been swooning, begging him to leave his wife by now.”

“I’m not so easily charmed.”

“Those big brown eyes don’t do it for you?”

“Sounds like they do it for you. Something you want to tell me, Gregory?”

“Don’t ever call me that,” he sighs.

“Not going to deny the gay allegations but you’ll draw the line at me calling you by your first name? What gives, House?”

“You can call me Greg.”

“Wow, could I? What an honor that we’re on first name basis.”

“Not many get the privilege.”

“Still haven’t denied the gay allegation.”

“Don’t really see the point. You’ll believe what you believe regardless.”

“Wow. Truly. A disaster of a man in all other regards but you’re comfortable in your sexuality? Greg is 1 for 0.”

“I have one male best friend and I’ve been single for five years. I embrace the gay jokes at this point.”

“Five years?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while for you too, huh?”

“What makes you so sure?”

“No reason,” he lies.

“Right.”

“You’re single now.”

“Moved here less than a year ago. Haven’t really had the chance to meet people.”

“Okay. What hellhole did you crawl out of to willingly move to Jersey?”

“Maybe I just like Frank Sinatra.”

“He’s dead. You didn’t come here for something. You left something and you came here to make sure whatever it was didn’t follow you.”

“Is this really the date you had in mind?” you ask.

“Nice deflection.”

“I just moved. No story there.”

“Also. Almost a year? And no one’s asked you out?”

“I can say no, you know.”

“You didn’t say no to me.”

“Maybe I should’ve.”

“Cold. Come down here. I’ll walk you out to my car.”

————-

“Ah. The bitch arrives,” he says, looking you up and down again, not hiding his checking you out. You’d changed, red blouse with a leather jacket and most likely the same black slacks you were wearing earlier. “Not quite slutty enough.”

“Could say the same for you. Where’s the assless chaps?”

“I could never pull that off,” he says. “You could, though.”

He’d changed, too, a button down with slacks for once instead of jeans... at Wilson’s nagging of course.

“Here,” he says, handing you a bouquet of flowers he thought for a second were going to wilt away at his desk.

“Flowers? don’t tell me you went all out. Maybe you’re not as much of a disaster as I thought.”

“I shouldn’t give them to you since you stood me, a cripple, up.”

“Stood you up? You didn’t come get me.”

“You never told me where to get you. Ergo… you stood me up.”

“You were supposed to figure it out.”

“Yeah. Right. Wilson didn’t know and Cuddy wouldn’t put out. And you knew I wouldn’t figure it out. That’s why you stayed here.”

“You actually asked Cuddy?”

“What? I’ve asked her for much worse.”

You shake your head, smiling. “Falling head over heels for me already, Greg?”

“Puzzles are no fun if you can’t figure out the answer.” He doesn’t say that the unsolved cases haunt him, nag him and he sees them where they’re not.

One day he knows you’ll haunt him, too. One day, when you leave, when he pushes this until it breaks.

“Mm. Try harder then,” you say.

“You gave me an unsolvable puzzle.”

“Mm. Not really. You gave it to yourself. You said you were picking me up at my place. I stayed here and gave you the easy way out.”

“You could’ve left it—“ he cuts himself off, lest he incriminate himself.

“Left it where, Greg?” you ask, bemused.

“Nowhere.”

“Right,” you laugh. “So what opiate do you pop constantly?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.��

“Funny.”

“Why would that be funny, Greg?”

“Let me sleep with you first.”

“Absolutely not,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, I shouldn’t have thought you’d be easy if you’ve put me through hell just to take you out,” he sighs.

“Don’t think I’ll leave you completely wanting, though,” you say, reaching out to touch his face, his stubble scratching your hand pleasantly, a shiver running down your spine. You run your thumb over his bottom lip gently.

Tentatively, he reaches out for you, too, copying your movements, hand on your cheek, thumb over your lips, but then your tongue darts out to run over the pad of his thumb and he thinks he might die right there. “Dirty girl,” he chuckles, smirking.

“Mm. You’re pretty, Greg,” you say, with enough sincerity he almost believes you’re not bullshitting him.

“Pretty? That’s a first.”

“Like no one’s ever told you.”

“Maybe ten years ago.”

“Mm. It’s those eyes,” you say, stepping a little closer to him, letting your breath mingle with his, snaking your hand around the back of his neck. Your lips almost touch, once, twice, wordlessly. “You gonna kiss me or not, Greg?”

You expect him to be rougher but he’s soft, testing the waters, lips still barely touching yours until he gives in, gives you what you want, kisses you like he means it. God, it’s been too long, and you missed it, the thrill of kissing somebody new, and you can feel his anticipation, electricity from your skin to his.

“Come on,” he says, breaking away from you after a few minutes. “I said I’d take you to dinner.”

———

“So what is it? Percs?” you ask once you’ve been seated and get waters. It’s a nice place he chose, somewhere a little out of the way, mostly serving Italian fare and seafood. It’s where men who haven’t been on a date in a while would choose to bring a woman, you figure.

“Percs? You do some time on the street?” he asks.

“So what if I did?” you counter.

He shakes his head. “Not your story. I’m not buying that.”

“Fine. Used to work at an addiction treatment facility when I was a nurse. Everyone calls them percs, though. Not exactly some down low street name.”

“It’s Vicodin.”

“Nasty drug,” you say.

“Really? I think they’re yummy.”

“You would.”

“What’s your personal aversion to them? They take you on a bad date?”

“Got them prescribed after a motorcycle accident. Didn’t agree with me.”

“Hm. You driving?”

“No.”

“What’d you break?”

“My leg.”

“Which one?”

“Right femur.”

Wilson was going to have a field day. Match made in hell, alright. Wilson’s personal hell, that is.

“Femurs are hard to break.”

“When your partner is drunk and doesn’t care about anything it’s not that hard,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “Lucky I didn’t die. I mean, not that I cared so much then.”

“Partner? What were you, 19?”

“22,” you say, silently cursing yourself for not just saying boyfriend.

“Did they not make it?”

You look at him questioningly but don’t say anything about his use of the gender neutral. You don’t want to have that conversation tonight. “No. Life support for a couple weeks until they pulled it.”

“Hm. So that wasn’t the reason you left.”

“No. There was no reason. I just needed a change of scenery.”

“Right,” he says. “Jersey isn’t usually the place people pick for a change of scenery.”

“How’d you end up here, then?”

“There was a job opening,” he answers.

“You were running away from something, too.”

“No, I was running to something. I needed a place to hire me and Cuddy was the only one insane enough to take me on at that point.”

“You’ve always been discourteous and unprofessional?”

“Those are my middle names,” he snarks.

There’s a natural break in the conversation as the waiter comes back to take orders. Greg takes notice of what you order, a baked scrod, certainly not the least expensive thing you could have ordered but not the most, either. It’s an assessment of how you value yourself, he thinks. Average. Average is boring.

Or you could just like scrod, he supposes.

“Why are you single?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Life was busy. Didn’t have time for relationships,” you say, shrugging. “Why are you?”

“Myriad of reasons.”

“Give me one.”

“My leg,” he responds indignantly.

“What happened to it?” you ask.”

“That’s a second date conversation.”

"You're in pain."

"How'd you know?" He asks sarcastically.

"Was it the cane? The Vicodin?"

'I think it was your charming personality.

Anyway. If you're going to cite your leg as a reason you're single, I'd love to know why."

"I was with someone when it happened. It's a long story."

"We've got nothing but time,” you say.

"You really won't sleep with me if I don't tell you?" House asks.

"Nope. Keep pushing me and I never will.

Tell me."

House sighs dramatically. "I had an infarction in my thigh muscle. No one knew what it was, I diagnosed it, but... so much of the muscle was dead already. I didn't want an amputation, I wanted a bypass. I didn't care about the pain. I just wanted to be able to use my leg. I asked them to put me under sedation to cope with the pain at the time... and the woman I was with decided it would be a good idea to remove the dead muscle completely."

"You made her your medical proxy?”

"Mm. Stupid decision on my part,” he says.

"Any medical background?"

"Nope."

"Then yes. Stupid decision,” you agree.

"I'm sure you've made plenty of stupid decisions. Getting on that motorcycle, for one,” he says, adding a jab at the end so to help heal his wounded ego a little.

"We all make mistakes. It's human. So... what's the reason now? You resent people who can walk without pain so you don't get close to anybody? It interferes with sex? You feel like no woman would want to deal with it long term?"

House sighs and rolls his eyes. "Do you really think it interferes with sex? Is that what you're worried about?"

"No. I'm asking if that's what you-"

"No. You see me as a potential sexual partner, correct?"

"I never said that."

"We're going with it. You ask me as if you're posing the question to me... but you're projecting."

"And you're deflecting. I asked you three questions and you didn't answer one" you point out.

"No. It doesn't interfere with sex, at least not to the point where you have to worry if I

can get you off or not. Whenever you decide to spread your legs for me... you'll see."

You feel your cheeks redden a little and cough. "I asked you two other questions."

"They weren't what you were getting at."

"Entertain me."

"No. It's not that I resent people. Am I jealous? Sometimes. I'd love to know what it's like to wake up in the morning without pain. But I'm not going to wake up every morning wanting to kill my partner because she jogs every morning and I can't."

"Is it because you've been able to accept it?

Was it an issue with your girlfriend at the time, coming to terms with it?"

"What do you think?"

"Yes."

Greg shrugs. “Not hard to put that together. I bet I could get a psychiatric nursing degree too.”

"Third question? You feel like no woman would want to deal with it?"

"Mm. Or she'd want to deal with it for the wrong reasons, take me on like I'm a charity case. That's unattractive for an abundance of reasons. You could go that way, I think, or you used to."

"You think I'm taking you on as a charity case? You pursued me.”

"You agreed. You didn't think for a second,

'well, he's a cripple, I'd better at least give him a shot'?"

"Your leg is not the reason I am here," you say firmly.

"What is it then, my deep blue eyes? This big, thick cane? My ray of sunshine personality?"

You chuckle. "It's your drive. You barely knew me, decided I was interesting and pursued me without abandon. That is attractive."

"You're not curious as to why you?"

"Little tits and ass, as Keith Richards would say?" You ask. "I'm used to being objectified. Pretty privilege is a thing. I'm sure you have noticed that yourself. If there's something deeper, enlighten me."

"Well, you are attractive, there's no doubting that. But I intend to find out why you're in the medical field, and psychiatry at that. It's like Cameron, on my team. You're gorgeous enough to have become an actress, marry a millionaire. Something happened to you to make you choose this."

"Did you take Cameron out until you figured what her deal was?"

"No. Cameron pities me. I have no interest in her that way."

"Well. Why do you assume brilliant minds reside only in unattractive faces? Why do you assume I worked my ass off to get here because of some past trauma when this could have just been a goal of mine like it could've been if I wasn't as hot as you think l am?”

"Okay. Then why did you choose psychiatry?"

"That's a second date conversation." You quip.

He smiles wryly at you. "You coaxed my issue out of me. Come on."

“I hold fast to my principles. You're weak,” you say, grinning back. “Why are you a doctor, then, hm?”

“I’m not a beautiful woman.”

“Right…” you say. “Chase is pretty. Foreman is too, you know. Either of them could’ve done something easier.”

“Chase is trying desperately to fill his father’s shoes. His father was a doctor, and well, you know how that story goes. And Foreman is an overcoming adversity case. He could’ve been a hood rat. He was on that path.”

“You know… women just started to be able to open credit cards in 1971. Maybe I don’t want to have to rely on a man to make a living.”

“No. Believe me, I get that. My point was there’s easier ways to make money. You chose the hard way,” he says. “And unpopular way. People become doctors and they fantasize about cutting people open and diagnosing infections, not getting hit and restraining children.”

“Your hypothesis is stupid. Maybe I don’t want to be an actor or model… or an infectious disease specialist,” you say. “And I think we’re all damaged. All of us. No one gets out unscathed.”

“No one just chooses psychiatry because it’s such a good time.”

“They do when it can make them ridiculous money without as many hardships as medical school. I could be using my degree to write suboxone scripts and make more than I’m making right now. I know a lot of people who went back for that.”

“Proving my point. Why are you doing things the hard way?”

“You take on the most difficult cases across the country, cases no one else can solve. You’re doing things the hard way, too. Why? Because the easy way is boring.”

Greg smiles at that. “Fair enough.”

“Yeah. Fair enough.”

—————

You don’t quite know how you got here. Or well, you do. Greg asked you to come back to his place for drinks, and you agreed, and you should’ve known better but it’s been years and you can’t really care too much when his warm body is underneath you, his tongue down your throat, his hands everywhere he can reach.

“How bad are you hurting?” you ask him, breathlessly.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” he whispers back, reaching a hand back to touch your chin. “What do you want to come of tonight?”

“Let’s just see where this leads us,” you say, leaning back to kiss him again.

But he stops you, gentle pressure on your jaw to prevent you from closing the space between your lips. “I need to know what you want.”

You sigh, pressing your elbow in his chest as leverage to lift yourself off him, and you sit next to his feet on the other side of the couch. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I don’t want this to head somewhere we can’t get back from. Move over,” he says, and winces, moving his legs back over to sit beside you again.

“It wasn’t sexual trauma,” you huff, aggravated. “You can say I’m damaged all you want but that doesn’t mean you have to treat me like glass.”

“I tried to take your shirt off and you pushed me away but you kept kissing me. What do you want?”

“What do you want?” You ask, glaring at him.

Truth was, you were using him, maybe just like he was using you. You hadn’t had the opportunity to make quite as bad of a decision as sleeping with the man in front of you in a long time. And as bad decisions go, he wasn’t so terrible anyway. You like him so far, you think he’s attractive. But you know Wilson is right, that he might drag you down to places you haven’t been in a long time.

Still.

It’s been a while since you’ve felt something. You want the hating yourself in the morning for giving yourself away so soon, you want the walk of shame as he drives you back to the hospital where you left your car, you want to revel in the fact that Greg will be telling people how you were in bed, bragging that he got you in between his sheets. You want the dopamine hit and the subsequent crash.

You spent so long getting healthy but you had to keep everyone at arm’s length to do it. It was probably the worst idea to try to get close to someone else who also isolated people and couldn’t even be healthy then.

Why didn’t he just want it to be easy? Just fuck you and be done with it, continue if it’s convenient and worth the effort. Easy is boring, sure, but sex isn’t boring even if it’s easy (if so, he wouldn’t be seeing hookers, would he?). And you know he wants to fuck you, but why he wants to make it difficult… it’s beyond your reach at this moment.

“I want… I don’t know,” he admits, because he doesn’t.

Prostitutes were one thing. Vulnerability there didn’t really matter. They were doing a job and they didn’t even take a second glance at his leg. As long as they were getting paid. If he wanted attention drawn to it, they’d kiss it red with their lipstick but because he tells them to leave it alone… they do.

Sleeping with somebody new… it’s so much harder. It’s so much easier with someone you know. Or someone you don’t have an obligation to know.

With an aim to please rather than take, he doesn’t know how he’d perform.

Looking at his face, reading the ambivalence there, it suddenly clicks. If Wilson knew the truth, if you really are the first woman since his injury, there’s a lot of insecurity in being seen.

And you know all about being seen.

It’s easy to come off with bravado and arrogance but when you’re actually in the situation, when you’re called to be vulnerable… it’s something else entirely.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” you ask quietly.

“Yes. God yes,” he affirms, nodding his head. “Don’t take tonight as an indication.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” you say, nodding.

“That doesn’t mean… that doesn’t mean I can’t help you get off.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s still sex.”

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “If you’re in high school.”

“What do you think lesbians do?”

He raises his eyebrows, chucking a little. “Are you a lesbian?”

“You wish,” you laugh. “Say you could be the one that changed me.”

“I would. Except people don’t change.”

“Yeah. They do. They change all the time,” you counter, shrugging your shoulders. “Every day, every hour, every moment… it changes you. They’re minuscule changes, changes you don’t see immediately, but you look back a decade and then it clicks.”

“Right. Maybe. But fundamentally people don’t change. The parts change, but the whole never does.”

You want to say that he has been changed, that his leg injury changed him, that he holds so steadfast to that belief that people never change so he can convince himself he was always this miserable. Sure, you get the feeling he was fucked before, but this did change him. Made him worse. Made him push people away.

You don’t say that, though. You know deep down he knows it and doesn’t want to face it.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” he asks, insecurity creeping in, and he doesn’t know why this is so difficult or why he cares at all. He could pay for what he wanted, live his hedonistic lifestyle and not have to worry if the woman in front of him wanted to fuck him or not.

You aren’t boring.

But that’s not true, anyway, that’s not why he keeps people at arms length. Routine medical cases are boring, but people aren’t. It’s why he went through all the files he could of the applicants for his team, trying to pick the combination that would interest him the most, play off each other in ways he could live vicariously through. They weren’t the most deserving, or the most academically gifted, they were the most interesting. It’s why he loves gossip, loves knowing about things that don’t concern him, always living life like it’s a spectator sport and he’s got front row seats.

It’s always the people that love to watch that hate to be seen.

“I could be convinced,” you say, in that bitchy tone he knows hes going to love to hate. You soften; though, turn to him, your hair falling a little in your face, kiss him gently on the mouth.

Greg responds in kind, deepening the kiss, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling lightly before traveling to your breasts, kneading your flesh through your shirt.

“Could you be convinced to have lesbian sex with me right now?” he asks.

You’d burst out laughing if you also weren’t so admittedly and ashamedly turned on right now. “Yeah. Sure. Think you’d have an easier time in bed though.”

“You treat me like all your girls?” he asks, a glint in his eye, and oh, there’s the being seen. You’re not a fan, either. You’re surprised he’s not being forthright about what he no doubt is putting together, but ultimately you’re thankful.

“A slut’s a slut,” you quip as he leans back in, his mouth barely touching yours and he chuckles against your skin.

“You really are a bitch.”

“Mm,” you agree, closing the distance between you again, pulling him to stand up with you, letting him lean on you as he puts weight on it again.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, without thinking, never one to apologize for his actions but never one to let his disability affect others, either.

“It’s okay, Greg,” you whisper. “I got you.”

“No, I’ll go get—“

You stop him, holding his jaw gently in your hand. “It’s okay.”

Empathy. Not sympathy.

You had been here, in a way. Femur fractures take a good six months to heal. You walked half a year in his shoes on the same medication he was on.

Now it all clicks, what James had done, keeping you two apart to bring you together, doing something by not doing anything, letting it all happen by chance. He had been patient enough to let time do most of the work, something Greg could never do, but something that ultimately worked in his favor.

It’s okay. We all need someone we can lean on. If you want it, you can lean on me.

You still lived a life without pain.

Greg hates it, hates it all, and if you had had just the slightest twinge of force, the slightest indication that you were saying it was okay just to say something he would’ve told you to get out. He hates the way it kills intimacy, makes him older, more decrepit, makes him dependent, in a way. There’s certain things he can never do, or that he’d need help to do, and it’s something a woman would leave him for.

It’s something a woman did leave him for.

He wants to hug you, but that would feel too much, too intimate, too soon, so he kisses you again instead, and then the two of you hobble on to his bedroom. It hurts. God, it hurts, aches like it always does, maybe more so—the last pill he took was at dinner, but you make it, helping him ease onto the bed and wasting no time, knowing he was insecure, wasting no time to prove you still wanted him, mouth on his, your legs straddling his good thigh, moving on to his neck, laving your tongue over his skin, biting gently, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt.

“Hey,” Greg says, stopping your hand’s ministrations.

“I’m only taking your shirt off,” you assure him. “I won’t go further than that.”

“Fine. Not much to see there, either,” he mutters.

“I like tits,” you blurt without thinking. Jesus Christ. You have to stop doing that.

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling. “Sure you do. Good thing mine are bigger than Cuddy’s.”

“They absolutely are not.”

“You familiar with their size?”

You stop yourself just in time before you say “I wish.”

He lets you finish, helping you take his shirt off, take his undershirt off, shivering as you kiss down the length of his torso to the top of his pants. “I’ll show you mine,” you say, unbuttoning your pants and slipping them off, throwing them on the floor haphazardly. You move over so he can see the scar down the side of your leg, deep gash where they cut you open, you were a month away from a nursing license and you were in the OR, someone’s patient before you could ever be on the side you studied for.

You were lucky, they kept saying. You didn’t feel lucky at all.

Tentatively, his hand comes to touch your skin and you nod, silent agreement that he could touch. He’s gentle even though he doesn’t need to be, touching carefully, tracing the line of the scar up and down, hard keloid under his skin.

“This isn’t what you don’t want me to see,” Greg says.

“Hm?”

“Your upper body. That’s why you didn’t want me to take your shirt off.”

Oh. Yeah. That.

“I don’t care,” you lie.

“Yes, you do,” he counters immediately, looking at you knowingly. “Why are you lying?”

You sigh, pulling him back to you, kissing him hard, hoping he’ll shut up if you don’t give him the chance to speak. “Just touch me already.”

It would be so much easier if he just fucked you, fucked you over, fucked you up all within the course of a month. You get the feeling right now, as your tongue is down his throat and you’re letting out moans against his lips you try to suppress as his fingers enter you, stretch you out, reach angles you couldn’t reach by yourself, you get the feeling this is going to be for the long haul. Not that he’s necessarily going to be down on one knee, but that he’s going to drag out hurting you like he’s dragging his fingers against your walls, drawing you closer and closer to the edge but never quite bringing you there.

“You okay?” you ask him, breathless, head hazy, you just want him, want him closer than this, want him deep in you.

“Shh,” Greg whispers, almost a little irritated. “I’m busy right now.”

You can’t really focus on coming up with a retort because he starts rubbing your clit and as you tilt your head back into the pillows, he starts biting at the flesh he can now easily access, starting gentle but then applying more pressure with his teeth, smirking as you whimper.

Sweat trickles down your back and you wish this was different, but he’s naked from the waist up and you’re unclothed from the waist down, and it’s stupid, you know it’s dumb, that you’re letting this man fuck you with his fingers before you let him see you fully naked. It’s not like no one has before. It’s just a conversation you don’t want to have again.

Still. All this is making you a little too hot to be half-clothed.

Greg wonders why he let you in at all. Why he went through the trouble, bought you dinner, why he’s trying to get you off right now. Maybe it’s to fuck with James. Sure, it was originally, but now he feels like it was James who fucked with him, set him up, used predictable behaviors to create a predictable outcome. Still. If you’d been professional with him instead of giving him crassness right back, he would’ve decided to make your life a living hell instead of getting you in between his sheets. Either way, he was going to make someone miserable.

Himself, first and foremost.

Not that he can really be miserable right now. It’s not terrible being needed in this sense, he’s remembering.

You weren’t like Stacy, though, not here. You’re louder, not in a patronizing way where you exaggerate your moans to try and stroke a man’s ego, but it’s like you genuinely can’t hold yourself back. It’s hot. It’s unreserved. It’s… passionate in a way Stacy just wasn’t. She loved him, he knows that, but when things got hard and he got mean instead of fighting back she got cold and walked away.

Not that he can glean exactly how you’d be in an argument from how you act in bed, but he has a feeling you don’t let go of things easily.

And… well. Takes one to know one.

Who would give in, though?

His relationship with Stacy worked before his leg because Stacy would accommodate, she would compromise herself for him. It’s why his friendship with James works now. Sure. Both of them gave him some pushback — it’s not like they in good conscience could let him get away with all the things he wanted to do. And eventually he pushed Stacy until she broke.

You, though? You don’t seem like you shatter easily. If anything you seem like you’d harden like a scar, healing over stronger, uglier, thicker, nothing really hurting you because you’d just put more walls up. You’d fight him to the bitter end.

And you know, maybe he wants that. Someone he’s not afraid to push too far because he knows you’ll push right back the second he gets even an inch.

All he really knows is your vague med list, that you got into a motorcycle accident almost a decade ago, and that you chose to be a psychiatric provider among all other things you could have been. And yet… he feels like he can glean much more.

All he really knows in this moment is that you’re coming apart under his fingers, gripping his forearm with your hands as he drags out your orgasm, trying to get him away from your now overstimulated cunt.

“She comes in colors everywhere,” he mutters, smirking lazily at you, dragging his fingers out of you, finally, then brings them to his mouth, sucking slowly on each one.

You scoff at his comment, but just as quickly he sees the light turn green again and you straddle his left thigh, coming to kiss his mouth, hard, bare cunt against his slacks and he can’t help it, he’s thinking about you wrecking them, thinking about your wet pussy on what could’ve been his bare thigh… and he groans despite himself, in pain, yes, but also pleasure - and he’s pulling you closer by the collar of your shirt, and he begins to remember why men put themselves through what could very well be the potential torture of dating a woman.

It’s just so much better when it’s with someone you know. Or… someone you need to know everything about, need to memorize like they’re an extension of yourself.

You’re not soulmates. It’s not love. It’s not romance, like James would decree.

You won’t fix him. He sure as hell won’t fix you.

But you’ll do something to each other, alright.

#greg house x reader #house x reader #greg house x you #gregory house x reader #house md #gregory house

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shmaptainwrites · 10 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x Reader (no pronouns used)

SUMMARY — James comes home just in time to help with dinner

WARNINGS — one almost dirty joke

NOTE — This is a request from the winner of my fic lottery @anayame The concept was so cute to write and I hope you like it!

Middle picture credit goes to @shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey

It had been a while since James could confidently say he had come home to the smell of food being cooked in the kitchen. The sound of onions sizzling and sauces bubbling was like a fanfare welcoming and inviting him into the space.

“Hey, you got back home just in time,” he heard your voice call from the kitchen. “I need an extra pair of hands, get in here.”

“Normally when people say that it means the food is already finished cooking,” James teased, after having taken off his shoes and rolled up his sleeves so that you could put him to work.

“And let you miss out on this fun?” you scoffed. “No way.”

“Where do you need me?” he asked, coming to stand behind you, placing his hands on your hips and pressing a kiss behind your ear. “Cause I’m more than happy to just keep doing this.”

“Ease up, lover boy,” you chuckled. “Steak needs searing and I know how particular you get about your perfect medium.”

“Steak, are we celebrating?” he asked.

“Yes, the fact that you made it home on time for dinner,” you looked over at him to gauge his reaction and he couldn’t fight back a smile and shook his head.

“How was work?” he asked, side-stepping your comment.

“My arch-nemesis is an eight-year-old named Justin, how do you think work went?” you asked and James laughed at your response. “I’m kidding, it was alright, Justin has a cold so he wasn’t in class today.”

“I’m excited to come in for career day and meet all these eight-year-olds that occupy every story you tell,” he said. “Who knows, maybe Justin will like me.”

“I doubt it, he only likes his friend Asante and even then sometimes Asante still gets caught up in his whirlwind. Kind of like you and House actually.”

“I do not get caught up in his whirlwind,” James looked at you, offended, and you looked over at him to ask if he was serious.

“You lied to the police for him, you most definitely got caught up in it.”

James opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but shut it seeing as you had made a very valid point.

“How was your day at work?” you asked. “Did Cuddy finally approve that expansion for the playroom?”

“Not quite yet, but I think I’m almost there. Maybe if I throw House under the bus when he goes behind her back that’ll sweeten the deal,” he thought to himself.

“But at what cost, House is gonna fight back and you’re gonna regret every decision you ever made.”

James weighed his options before giving up and saying he’d decide what to do about it later.

You moved over to the stove where James was to pour some pureed tomatoes into the onions frying on the stove to make a sauce to go on the side with the vegetables and the steak. What you didn’t realize is that James, in his haste to turn down the heat on the stove, would knock the spoon out of your hand, making it fall in the dish and making the tomatoes splatter all over your shirt.

“Oh my God,” James’ eyes went wide, seeing the splotch on your shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

“I should have known having you in the kitchen would only result in disaster,” you teased, not at all upset by the mess. “It’s nothing a little TLC can’t take care of.”

“Can I make it up to you?” James asked. “I know how much you liked that shirt.”

You used your finger to scoop off some of the pureed tomato off your shirt and place it on his nose.

“I don’t know, can you?” you asked with raised brows.

James wiped the sauce off his nose before grabbing your sleeves and giving you a signal with his eyes for you to slip your arms out of them before he helped pull the shirt off your head without contaminating anything else, leaving you in a thin tank top.

“I think you’re just making it up to yourself,” you laughed, looking down at what you were wearing.

“If I were making it up to myself, I would have done this,” he took the spoon out of the tomato sauce and flicked it at you, now getting your undershirt dirty. “Oops.”

“Oh, you’re so going to pay for that,” you shook your head and just to spite him you kept the tank top on even though it was dirty.

By then the butter in James’ pan had melted and was beginning to bubble so he turned his attention back to the stove so that he could begin searing the steak. You cooked in tandem for a while, and once the steak was cooked James stole a few kisses from you, apologizing again for your shirt and you assured him he could take it off later if he really wanted to.

“Do you want me to set the table?” James asked, after washing his hands and having set the steak off to the side.

“That would be nice, it could be like a little home date,” you smiled while putting some potatoes in the oven to cook.

You watched as James dug around the cupboards for a tablecloth and candles, carefully setting everything up on the dining room table so that it was just right.

Slowly, one by one, the dishes made their way onto the table as they were ready and when everything was set up you looked down at yourself and wondered if maybe you were a bit underdressed.

“Maybe I should change into something a little nicer,” you said while James lit the candles on the table.

“Change, what for?”

“I’ve got tomato all over my shirt, James. I thought that one was pretty obvious.”

“No, I mean this is a home date, isn’t the whole point that it can be as messy as we want it to be?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t have to wear this tie,” he pointed to it as he came closer to you, prompting you to take it between your fingers and feel the fabric before helping him untie it and throw it off to the side.

You unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and for good measure he took a spoon of the sauce and poured it on his shirt.

“There, we match.”

“And need to do a load of laundry after this,” you chuckled and pulled him in by the collar of his shirt for a kiss. “I love you, and I love cooking with you.”

“Me too, to both of those things,” James agreed and you grinned before turning him around and pushing him in the direction of his seat, insisting that you were starving and needed to eat. “So, I was thinking,” James started while serving you some sides.

“Oh, that’s dangerous.”

“I was thinking,” he repeated. “Our anniversary is coming up. Do you want to do something special?”

“Hmm,” you thought for a moment. “We could both take a sick day,” you suggested. “Or a few, go up to Connecticut, rent a cabin.”

“Cook all day,” James teased and you smiled. “I think that sounds like a great plan. We’ve always talked about doing something like that haven’t we?”

“Yeah, it just…I don’t know, never seemed like the right time.”

“You sure you won’t miss your kiddos too much?” he asked.

“As much as I love them, a few days just the two of us is too enticing to pass up,” you sipped your drink.

Eating dinner was not nearly as fun as cooking it together, but you both made do with what you could and James stories were nothing short of interesting especially when they included House and his team.

“Alright, I think I’m stuffed now,” you leaned back in your seat. “But we should clean this up before I go into a food coma.”

“I wash, you rinse?” James asked.

“We have a dishwasher, James,” you chuckled.

“I know, I just thought you might want to spend more time, but I know when my company isn’t wanted,” he feigned offence.

“Awe, that’s actually really sweet,” you let out a small laugh. “Alright, I’ll suffer through dishwashing for you, Wilson.”

“Just for that, you’re washing and I’m rinsing,” he gave you a look and you conceded, standing up from the table and clearing the leftovers before getting started on what was in the sink.

“James, be careful with that, you’re accidentally spraying water all over me,” you nudged him with your hip.

“Oh sorry I meant to actually spray water all over you,” he turned the moveable faucet in your direction and you gasped when the water hit your shirt. “I mean you did say we needed to do laundry.”

“Is this why you wanted to wash dishes? To get me wet?-I heard it James don’t you dare make a comment,” you immediately amended and he fought back a chuckle.

“I love you,” he smiled again and you wished he would wipe that stupid grin off of his face because it made it really hard to be annoyed with him.

“You think you can just say I love you and it’s gonna make it all better?” you asked. “Cause you’re right, it is,” you grabbed his face with your soapy hands and pressed a kiss to his lips, sandwiched between smiles and chuckles.

To say you both looked ridiculous by the end was an understatement, but James couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun at dinner and it became very clear that maybe he needed to come home a little early more often.

TAGLIST —

@cuntyvicodin @paola-carter @kiddbegins @il0vebeingdelulu @illicit4ff4irs @lynnsthoughts @miarabanana @iwmflbb @/shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey

#james wilson #james wilson x reader #house md #house md x reader #house md fanfiction #james wilson fanfiction #james wilson fanfic #dr wilson x reader #dr wilson x you #james wilson x you #james wilson fic #dr wilson fanfiction #hate crimes md

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lanawinterscigarettes · 3 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There you go, good job."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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