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[snandle]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH !!! Here’s more trans Spock because this headcanon is so very important to me .

[snandle]

You know that fic i was writing? We'll im by no means done but I really wanted to post what I had so far. I've spent roughly 3 months on this fic. It's about 5.5k words long. I do wanna preference that this fic is about House willingly hurting himself to get Wilson to kiss him which could be considered SH. Essentially in the same way he broke his hand in the first season when Cuddy bet him he couldn't go a week without his Vicodin.

If this could potentially trigger you, please don't read. This is why I have the fic labeled as Mature. If you do decide to read it do hope you enjoy and remember this is still a WIP and in its writing/editing stages

:3

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The punch had been well deserved. And intentional. How else would House had proved the patients father had liver cysts. Which would prove that his patient had heart cysts. And besides, how else would House get to hit a patient's father with his cane in the stomach. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

Only now, House was walking around with a bruise on his face. People smirked at him as he passed by them, no doubt pleased by the evidence of the punch. Most believed he deserved it, scratch that, everyone believes that.

House limps into his office after he's already been thoroughly chewed out by Cuddy. Apparently, you can't hit patients ever, even if it saves their son's life. Go figure. He sets his cane to the side and just sits there. Thinking. No soap operas or juggling balls. Just him and his thoughts. That is, until he hears the door open and his eyes gingerly look up to see Wilson standing there. The door closing behind him. He doesn't take a step forward, just stands there with his arms crossed.

"If you're here to tell me hitting a patient with a cane is bad, save it. Cuddy already got you covered. Killjoys, the both of you," He says, leaning back in his chair.

"I was going to ask if you planned on leaving anytime soon," Wilson counters, nodding towards the dark sky behind House. House just hums, his eyes glancing over towards the clock. Almost 7:30 at night. No way he had been sitting there pondering for literal hours. Although, House argues to himself, it wasn't uncharacteristic of him. House could get lost in his thoughts and space out on one single thing for an entire day if you let him. Drugged up or not. He's done it, plenty times before, ever since his late childhood.

"I did your clinic hours for you, by the way," Wilson interjects. His voice wrangled House out of his thoughts once more. Wilson isn't expecting a thank you. He's not that stupid. House just hums in response, not really focused on words or sarcastic humor at the moment. Wilson had rarely seen House like this before, but when it happened he knew better than to ask. Because in reality, sometimes it just....happened.

“Did you ice your cheek at least," He asks with a sigh, walking over towards House's desk.

"What do you think," is House's response. Wilson sighs and rolls his eyes once more.

"I should've known. You never take care of yourself," He mutters.

"Yeah yeah mom," House says sarcastically, his jaw clenching at the remark.

"Does it hurt," Wilsons asks. House doesn't know when Wilson has ended up right beside him. But the feeling of his hands maneuvering his head alert him to that fact. Wilson was leaned in close, inspecting the bruise even closer as his thumb ran over the discolored skin.

"Like a bitch," House confirms.

"Well, it doesn't look like it's broken, so that's a good sign," Wilson says, letting go of House. House knew that, he was a doctor too you know.

"Still hurts," came the reply.

"Take a Vicodin,"

"Already have,"

Wilson sighs and looks down at House. And House meets his gaze with a challenge. Wilson was, if nothing else, a caregiver. Being a doctor was the right field for Wilson given his need to be needed. To be relied upon. Although maybe oncology wasn't the best choice. House thinks Wilson would do well in hospice care or an old folks home. But then who would he have to prank and annoy all the time.

"So what do you want me to do about it," Wilson asks.

"Kiss it better," House suggests, sarcastic sad eyes looking up at Wilson.

"If it'll make you shut up," Wilson sighs. He leans in and presses a quick, chaste kiss to the bruise. And House swears he can still feel Wilson's lips on his cheek. He's too shocked to say anything but quick thinking helps him come out with;

"Gay,"

"You suggested it,"

"I was joking! I always am,"

"I'll see you tomorrow, House. And ice your damn cheek won't you,"

And now, House finds he has a lot to think about. Especially as he swears he can still feel Wilson's lips on his cheek as he speeds past on his motorcycle. Going way over the speed limit as he always does. The cold New Jersey air made his face feel numb. A flush on his cheek going from one straight across to the other.

House parks the motorcycle on the curb in front of 221 complex B. His apartment. Grabs his cane and makes his way to the door. He fumbles with his keys, too focused on the fact that he could see his own breath and his apartment was warm and inviting. House hates the cold with a passion. He won't confront the reason why. Won't admit it was because of his dad. That means he would have to unpack baggage and there was never a right time for that. Nor did he want to do that to begin with. So he blames it on his leg. Says the cold makes it hurt when anyone asks.

He practically breaks the door down when he finally gets the key to turn. Letting the warm air give him a breath of fresh air. His leg really did hurt as he tried to limp to his piano. A glass already on the top waiting to be topped off with the alcohol of his choice. House curses to himself about his leg as he pulls out the orange bottle from his leather jacket, placing 2 of them in the palm of his hand. He tilts his head back and down the hatch they go.

After getting settled, he finds himself thinking once more. His fingers going from the keys of the piano to the bruise on his cheek. Specifically the place Wilson had kissed him. Slowly, a smile crosses his face as he comes up with a plan.

Operation "Get Wilson to kiss me again" is a go.

He waits until the bruise from his cheek heals before putting the plan into motion. He breaks his hand. Again. Only this time he uses the head statue he has that has the different parts of the brain on it. A groan gets stuck in his throat as pain blossoms in his hand. His eyes going wide as he holds his wrist.

Step 1. Complete.

Step 2?

House takes a deep breath and stands up, forgoing his cane as he limps out of his office. He didn't need it anyway, not just yet. His brain was too busy whining about his hand to pay attention to his leg. He goes next door, the words "James Wilson M.D, Head of Oncology," plastered to the wood.

"Wilson, open up," he calls out.

"Go away House, I'm busy," is the response he gets. House scoffs and rolls his eyes, thinking for a moment.

"I broke my hand,"

Silence. That is until he hears shuffling from inside. A smirk crosses his face as he gets the desired reaction he had been hoping for. Slowly the door opens and Wilson stares at him in disbelief.

"You broke your hand," He deadpans, looking House up and down before resting his eyes on the man's hand. It only took one look to know that House's hand was indeed broken.

"What don't believe me? Wanna high five and find out," House asks sarcastically. Wilson sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning against the doorframe.

"How," he asks reluctantly, almost as if he didn't want the answer.

"Had a disagreement with the magic 8 ball. And then George called me mean names so I punched him," House responds.

"George," Wilson asks, raising a brow.

"Phrenology head. You know, my marble head that shows the parts of the head. I'd name it Wilson but that's already taken," he says. Wilson gives him a look of disbelief and gestures inside.

Step 2? Complete.

"I know what a Phrenology head is. Next time you get angry, maybe don't break your hand," Wilson grumbles, going over to his desk where he has a box of supplies for situations just like this.

"Smoking again," House asks, ignoring Wilson's retort. His head nods to the blunts Wilson had been in the middle of rolling on his desk.

"They're for a patient, I told you that before," Wilson retorts with a scowl.

"You can't tell me you've never swiped one," House smirks. He gets a glare from Wilson.

"Not even tempted?" He continues. Wilson looks away.

"Ah hah! I knew it! Even goody two shoes Wilson isn't perfect," he exclaims, a proud smile on his face.

"Oh yes, says the vicodin addict," he retorts. House rolls his eyes and slumps back on the couch.

"Come on, let me see your hand," Wilson states, kneeling down in front of the couch, his attention focused entirely on the broken hand House was holding. Thankfully, this time, it was his own hand instead of one he had stolen from the morgue. That... was definitely a day.

"I already asked how, now the question is why," Wilson says as he gently unravels the gauze tape.

"I already told you, George-"

"No. I want a real answer. You have your vicodin, you're not detoxing or anything like that. You have literally no reason to break your hand,” Wilson states. House could feel the concern dripping from Wilsons lips. And he almost feels sorry. Almost.

"I was bored," House shrugs. Wilson stops what he's doing in a moment, his head tilting upwards to look at House. He had only gotten the bottom of the older mans wrist wrapped.

"You were bored," he repeats, the disbelief evident. House doesn't respond, just looks away. He knows Wilson knows he's hiding something. It's just not as dark or deep as Wilson thought. Not that he was going to say that.

"Do you even know what that implies? You broke your hand for no good reason! That's self harm," Wilson exclaims.

"Oh please, it's not as if I'm making my wrist a cutting board," House scoffs.

"House. You harmed yourself. Self harm. Plain and simple. Jesus," Wilson responds.

"I thought you were a jew," House scoffs.

"Shut up, this is serious," Wilson retorts. They both don't speak. House focuses on Wilson. The way he's taking great effort into not hurting House. Well, as much as he could with wrapping a broken hand in gauze. The wrap is firm and tight just like it should be, but Wilson was gentle with it. Just like House knew he would be. Just like he knows Wilson is going to go to Cuddy with this. Just like he knows Cuddy won't do anything. Not really anyway. She'll have a heart to heart with him and hope it sticks.

“There,” Wilson says, leaning back on his feet as he studies the wrap he did*

“Obviously you're gonna need a cast, not that you'll actually get one,” He says, resting his hands on his knees to help himself up.

Step 3?

“What, no kiss this time?” House asks sarcastically as he looks up Wilson.

“Stacy would get jealous,” Wilson retorts sarcastically. House scoffs and rolls his eyes*

“She has Mark,” he states.

“You were literally spending most of your free time at her house catching a sick rat. You're trying to get into her pants so bad and now…what? All of a sudden that doesn't matter?” Wilson questions. House swallows hard and looks away, a hint of rare seriousness on his face.

“Already did that. And she was gonna choose me. But i told her to choose Mark, hes better for her. Besides who wants to deal with all that legal bullshit,” House explains, his voice slightly raspy as he spoke. He clears his throat and scales his head. Wilson doesn't say anything, just stands there, processing what he heard.

“So you gonna kiss it better or not,” House asks, looking up at Wilson. Wilson continues to just stand there for a moment and for the first time since they met, House finds himself studying Wilson's face. The man had changed since they first met. His face had become more defined while still keeping that soft look about him. His jawline sharper than what it had been close to 20 years or so. There were wrinkles where wrinkles hadn't been before and yet he still looked like he was probably mid thirties.

House accredited that to the ungodly long routine Wilson does in the morning. The man probably spent more time in the mirror than any of his wives did. But he supposes that what kept the man looking like he did. His boyish charms mixed with way more maturity someone his age has.

House is snapped out of his thoughts when Wilson says something he doesn't quite catch. Curse his mind for wondering off again, he'll figure out what was said later. The next thing he knows, Wilson is bending down once more like he did when he was wrapping House's hand. He takes his wrist and with an annoyed huff, presses his lips to where House's knuckles were.

Step 3? Complete

House thinks he might get addicted to the feeling of Wilson kissing him. Hes in denial, he was already addicted the moment Wilson had kissed his cheek. After all, why would he go through the trouble of breaking his hand just for this 3 second moment. But just like before, a thought bubbles up in the back of his mind. House had been too shocked last time to pull it out but this time he grabs hold and doesn't let go.

His lips are soft

“Thanks I use chapstick,” Wilson says sarcastically as he stands up. And House realizes he said that last part out loud.

“You use chapstick?” House asks in disbelief as he rests his hand on his leg. The skin where his knuckles were was tingling. He hadn't felt that since his first kiss when he was 15.

“Yes, sue me. I don't like having chapped lips,” Wilson rolls his eyes at the rebuttal he knows is going to come from Houses mouth.

“What are you a 12 year old girl? Just use your spit like I do,”

The insult comes right on time, right as Wilson expected.

“That's because you're still in the stone ages,” Wilson retorts and House lets out a huff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. And before he can say something, there's a knock on his door and the door slowly creeps open. A girl, no more than 13, peaks her head through the door. There's a stretchable headband around her head with rhinestones on top. Not a strand of hair on her head. House instantly knows it's one of Wilson's patients.

“MacKenzie, come in. It's ok, my friend here was just leaving,” Wilson says, putting on that warm, safe smile he does for his younger patients.

“Where's mom,” He asks, looking around as House gets up

“She's getting a snack but she'll be right up,” MacKenzie explains as she makes her way into the office. Wilson makes quick work of disposing the joints into his drawer. House just looks down at the girl, hand tightening on his cane. She looks up at him, that all too familiar “I'm just entering my teen years and I'm fearless,” look in her eyes.

“What's with you,” He asks, knowing full well Wilson had just asked him to leave.

“You first, what's with the leg,” She retorts. Wilson just looks at the two and sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Never go golfing, your turn,”House states.

“Leukemia,” She says and House nods his head.

“House, please leave,” Wilson says with a sigh. He would rather not have him here when MacKenzies mother gets back.

“Yeah yeah I'm leaving,” House grumbles.

As it turns out, getting bruises for your best friend to kiss is exceedingly harder than House anticipated. Well, it was less about the bruises and more about the excuses he was giving to Wilson. Cuddy had already called him into her office like he had expected. To no one's surprised, her and Wilson were “concerned for your mental wellbeing,”. House had promised to be on his best behavior and had walked out with a warning.

It was almost too easy. But now he had to get creative with it.

Walking down the hallway, House was trying to plan his next move. His hand had healed and he was itching to put his plan into motion again.

“Operation; Get Wilson to kiss me,” is being revamped and coming back in full swing. He stops for a moment, a nurse almost bumps into him at his sudden stop. He just glances at her as she huffs and makes her way around House. Her ponytail bobbing with every exaggerated step she took.

He had stopped to think that maybe, just maybe giving yourself bruises and breaking your hand to get your best friend to kiss them just so you can get him to kiss you might not be the best way to spend your free time. Or the healthiest. Or the straightest.

Ehh fuck it, he'll come back to that one later.

And with that, House starts forward once more. Albeit, not without a grunt of pain. His leg had been acting up particularly bad today. He had known it was going to when he woke up. Laying in bed with the dullest ache in his thigh. He hadn't been hurting nearly as much as he normally does.

Other people would've taken that as a win. Not House. He knows chronic pain by now. And he knows injuries. He knew the pain was just ramping it's engines waiting for the time to strike. And it had, while he was standing in front of his team writing something on the whiteboard.

The pain had been so intense, so mind numbing, that his leg bucked out from underneath him. He was on the floor in seconds, A series of curses escaping his lips as his jaw became taut and tight. The word he had been writing was ruined now. The “p” in Lupus now had a squiggly tail that went all the way down to the bottom of the whiteboard where House had finally dropped the marker.

Cameron was the first one out of her seat, at Houses side in an instant helping him sit up. Until he swatted at her.

“House, you-” is all she gets out before House interrupts her.

“Im fucking fine,” He grits out, his hand massaging his thigh harshly. His voice was tense, more than he could cover up. He was lying, it was obvious. And to make matters worse, when he reached into his pocket to pull out his Vicodin, it was empty. He silently curses to himself wondering how this could even happen.

“It's a sign,” he says, forcing himself up with a grunt as he hides just how much pain he's in. He's leaning against his cane extra hard, trying to put the least amount of pressure on his throbbing thigh. Zings of pain went through him like a metronome set to 120 bpm and the music sheet had the indicator “allegro”. He sends a glare towards Foreman.

“It's a sign. Not Lupus,” he grits out. He needed to see Wilson.

Pondering how he was going to get Wilson to kiss him again was just to distract himself. You see, Wilson's office had been temporarily moved due to “toxins of unknown origins”. Aka, House had placed a stick bomb in Wilson's office and this was his punishment. Being moved away from his “Boytoy” as Foreman had put it. That was yesterday and today he was regretting it. He pushes the down button with the butt of his cane. He rubs his thigh once more, this time a little less inconspicuously. From the wrong angle he didn't want people to get the wrong idea.

It feels like hours before the door opens. He walks inside and punches the button with the butt of cane. He allows himself to lean against the railing of the elevator, his eyes closing as he grimaced when the elevator finally took off. The pain was so intense his stomach felt turned inside out. One mention of pickles and his Ruben would be on the floor. The door finally opens and he straightens himself up. With clenched teeth, he makes his way to Wilsons new office.

Doesn't bother knocking as he bursts through the door. Wilson was with a patient, MacKenzie from last time. Her mother just stares at House, as does Wilson.

“If you'll excuse me for a moment,” he says politely. Once Wilson leads House out of his office and closes the door.

“What the hell are you doing House,” Wilson hisses, looking back at the door.

“I'm with a patient,” He says.

“Your death kid can wait. I need a prescription,” House states, clenching his teeth.

“Are you- no. You're not getting a prescription until after I'm done,” Wilson states. House was about to go off, scream about his pain but his mind quickly comes up with a new tactic.

“Please,”

Wilson's eyes nearly pop out of his eyes. He actually pinches himself and looks back at House.

“Holy shit. How bad,” he asks.

“I fell,” House reluctantly admits with a grunt.

“My fucking leg bucked out from underneath me,” He grumbles once more. Wilson looks down at his leg and House can see the look in his eyes softening.

He hates it.

With a sigh, Wilson pulls a pen out from his pocket protector and pulls out his script pad. The things they say about doctors script weren't true about Wilson's. Even for all the years he's been an oncologist his handwriting is need and loopy. House has teased him about it on more than one occasion. But right now he just wanted the paper in his hands and wants you already be at the pharmacy. Somehow Wilson can see that so he pops his head back in his office and House can hear him mention something about a consultation.

“Sit down, I'll get you your script,” Wilson says and House almost argues. Almost. Usually he'd make a comment about how he's “crippled not an invalid,” but right now his leg was killing him so much, going the maybe 20 feet to the pharmacy felt like 100 miles. So he does. He sits down in one of the waiting chairs and…well..waits. He watches Wilson walk away and leans his head against the wall. His hand methodically rubbing his thigh. Less for the massage and more for the repeated motion of it. It was therapeutic in a way.

“Are you ok,” comes a voice. He opens one eye and sees MacKenzie standing there, her mother in the doorway.

“What does it look like,” he grumbles. He would rather spend these moments in quiet.

“Do you want an ibuprofen?” she asks, digging into her backpack that was back in the office. She pulls out a mushroom decorated portable pill case and pops it open. House recognizes most of the different colored pills in there as different medications for her leukemia. She pulls out a couple of ibuprofen and hands them to House.

“Thanks but I have something stronger on the way,” he says with a grunt.

“Fair enough. They're for my headaches from the chemo,” She explains. House just nods his head, not showing any interest in the conversation because it was the exact opposite of interesting.

“How do you do it,” she asks.

“Do what,”

“Deal with the pain,”

Oh. House didn't expect that. He sits up straight and grimaces. His first instinct was to give out some sarcastic retort but he decides against it. This was one of those rare moments that he decides to actually be honest.

“There's nothing you can do. Besides pain meds,” He says and he can see the girls face drop.

“Once you go into remission it should go away,” House states. MacKenzie nods her head, a small smile gracing her lips. A forced smile unfortunately.

“Dr. Wilson says that too. He says the chemo is helping but…” She sighs, letting her head drop as she shrugs. House had seen this before, usually in older patients. Getting tired of treatment, wanting to give up on it. Hell House had done that with his leg.

“Look, I'm sure Wilson has told you it only gets worse before it gets better,” House states, leaning back in the couch.

“So…when's yours gonna get better,” She asks, glancing down at Houses leg, that was very much still throbbing.

“As soon as Wilson gets back,” he grits out. He lets out a breath, looks at MacKenzie and then down at his leg. A deep sigh escapes him.

“Never,” he admits finally.

“What do you mean by that,” MacKenzie asks, taking a seat next to House's in the makeshift seating area Cuddy had set up.

“What do you think it means kid,” House snaps, a bit harsher than he intended to. Sue him, his leg currently felt like it was being burned up while simultaneously being put in a wood chipper in a pool of vinegar. Ok maybe he was exaggerating a little bit, but right now that was the only comparison his brain could come up with.

Instead of exhibiting any of the normal reactions he expected. A scoff of annoyance, a little anger. Maybe even backing up a little at his harsh sounding response. MacKenzie shifts in her seat and looks at him.

“It's ok. People can be mean when they're in pain,” She says. And when House looks at her, he sees a sense of understanding in her eyes. An understanding you can only have if you've been through the same thing.

It makes him sick.

And just when he's about to speak, Wilson is speedwalking towards the two, a prescription pill bottle in his hands. He glances at MacKenzie, and then returns his attention towards Wilson, holding his hand out expectantly. And the bottle is dropped in his hands, pills clanking around inside. He doesn't bother saying thank you, Wilson already got a please and House had a reputation to uphold. He uncapped the bottle and puts a few pills into his cupped hand. He tilts his head back and swallows them dry. It had been awkward The first time he had done that, swallowing pills dry. But it didn't take long for his body to get used to it. His gag reflex almost nonexistent at this point.

“And no Wilson, I don't want a lollipop from your secret stash behind your desk,” He says loudly before Wilson can speak. His eyes going from Wilson to MacKenzie before he winks dramatically. MacKenzie smiles, he can see the mother smiling as well, but that doesn't seem nearly as important. When he looks back at Wilson he's met with an unimpressed look.

“Well you're obviously feeling better,” he scoffs. House bites back a remark because, in fact, he wasn't feeling better. And to keep a secret, he was worried the vicodin wasn't going to do anything. On bad days like these, sometimes the vicodin didn't even touch it.

On days like those he left early. And if Cuddy said something, all he had to do was curtly reply “I'm in pain”. Was it an excuse he used before? Yes. Did he abuse that excuse? Maybe. Did Cuddy ever stop him? No.

“Well I have to go disprove Foreman's theory of Lupus, don't miss me too much dear," House says, leaning heavily on his cane to stand up.

“And why can't it be Lupus?” Wilson asks.

“Please, it's never Lupus,” House scoffs before limping away.

Turns out it was Sjögren's syndrome. A very similar yet very different autoimmune disease. And oh how smug House was when they figured it out. Foreman being the main source House's smugness was directed towards.

Now he sat at his desk, Gameboy in hand as he passes level 9 of whatever game he was on. Some platformer. Wilson had gotten the game for him when they were in med school together.

He's beaten the game about 15 times since then. He knows all the levels by heart. And the game never fails to amuse him.

Speak of the devil, Wilson walks in and House doesn't even have to look up to know it was him. He could recognize the man by his footsteps. Wilson tended to have lighter footsteps than everyone else, almost as if he were tiptoeing. House silently reminds himself to bring Wilson on a heist one of these days.

“How's the leg,” Wilson asks, taking a seat on the chair in front of Houses desk. He crosses His arms and rests his feet on top of the wooden desk.

“Oh don't worry I don't feel a thing! Especially with the lack of muscle, that helps a lot,” House retorts with a roll of his eyes. The sound of his video game character dying comes from the game console. House scowls And tosses it on the desk, his eyes meeting Wilson's.

The first thing he notices is the fact that Wilson isn't wearing his signature doctors coat. No pocket protector in sight. Wilson must be done with his shift then, otherwise he doesn't take the doctors coat for anything but lunch so he doesn't get it dirty.

The next thing he notices is the fact that there's dark circles under the mans eyes. His shoulders a bit tighter than usual. Something happened today, that's for sure.

“You need me to drive you home,” Wilson asks and House lets out an offended scoff at that.

“I'm perfectly capable of riding home Wilson. Besides, I rode my bike here and I really don't feel like asking for a ride tomorrow,” House states and Wilson shifts in his seat.

“I was thinking I could stay the night,” He shrugs, looking away for a moment. House raises a brow and smirks.

“My my Wilson. One beautiful night together and now you can't get enough of me. Or rather, little House on the Prairie down there,” House says, leaning back in his chair, his legs spreading slightly. Wilson rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“Oh yes please, House. I can't get enough,” Wilson retorts sarcastically.

“Why,” House asks, narrowing his eyes as he leans forward. He rests his head on his fists, inspecting Wilson closely. Wilson opens his mouth to speak but pauses. With a tilt of his head, he squints his eyes, silently asking for House to elaborate.

“Why do you want to stay over mine? You have a perfectly good apartment,” House asks, leaning back slightly.

“We're friends. Friends sleep over, especially when one is concerned for the other,” Wilson states.

“We're in our late 30's Wilson. We're not teenagers having a sleepover,” House scoffs.

“Fine,” Wilson sighs.

“ I signed the final divorce papers today.And I really don't want to go home to an empty apartment. Happy?” He asks with annoyance. House smiles and leans back ever further, tapping his cane against the ground.

“Fine. You can stay over, but no sex,” He says.

“Because you're so irresistible,” Wilson mutters sarcastically.

“And no radio talk shows when we have to go to work tomorrow,” House states as he gets up, leaning on his cane heavily. He lets out a breath and looks at Wilson expectantly.

The ride to House's is quiet except for the low volume radio playing ABBA in the background. House mainly looks out the window, watching the scenery pass by. Occasionally he glances back at Wilson, his eyes focusing in on Wilson's lips.

This was a perfect chance to get going on “Operation; Get Wilson to kiss me revamped,” going. An opportunity he couldn't pass up. His mind immediately starts coming up with ways he could “accidentally” hurt himself to get Wilson to kiss him. He could always let a pot fall on his head taking it out of the cupboard. He doesn't cook, that won't work. Close his finger in the door on the way home? Maybe. Accidentally smack his hand against the counter?

No what he really needed to do was figure out how to bruise his lip. Unfortunately for him the only way he could think to do that was to get punched. And with getting punched;

A)that hurts

B) how would he get the person to punch him specially on his lips (maybe he could pay someone?)

C) he's Unfortunately used all of his "Get punched without consequences free" card for the next few months.

Before he knows it they're pulling up outside of House's apartment. House grumbles to himself before getting out. A despising brush of cold air hitting his face. Thank whoever was in charge of this shit weather that spring was coming soon.

[snandle]

This post is about polyglot House

Just saw a post analyzing that Wilson went to McGill and most likely knows french and now im thinking....House is a known polyglot in the show. Multiple languages, some fluent some not. It's not far off to imagine he knows French (I'm only on s2/3 idk yet).

Imagine Hilson having an argument and one of Cuddy's rules is "don't bring it to work" but House being house can't help himself. So he makes comments. In French. Just to rile Wilson up and it turns into this full blown argument in French, sometimes in front of the ducklings who are just so confused. They know its an argument they just don't know wtf its about.

And if House doesn't know French he would absolutely learn the language just to fuck with Wilson. Like, him and Wilson are eating lunch and House will just add in a comment in french and Wilson passes right by it because he's too engrossed in something until later in his office he's sitting there thinking and all of a sudden House hears "WAIT A MINUTE" before Wilson storms into thw room and goes "YOU KNOW FRENCH?!?". And then once he fully processes this information, goes; "Hey wait a minute, all those times you picked on me for knowing french..." (House calls Wilson a nerd quite often because of this)

I also think he knows chinese?? Manderin if I'm not mistaken. And with the amount of times I've seen him and Wilson eating Chinese takeout i like to imagine he orders in Chinese.

To impress wilson.

So they don't mess up his order. And also he genuinely enjoys the obvious surprise. It fuels his ego. The Chinese restaurant doesn't know where he is. He's never going in person. No harm no foul

Also Wilson being Wilson is so fascinated by House being a polyglot but he won't express it for fear of House's ego. You cannot convince me this man doesn't like hearing House speaking in a different language. That's just a headcanon though

[snandle]

omegaverse themed heavy metal band called slickknot

[snandle]

I just realized.

For Wilson to go to McGill he'd have to live in Montréal for a number of years. I know McGill is an Anglo institution, so he undoubtedly did his studies in English, but it's kind of unavoidable not to need at least a bit of French when you're living in the city.

Do you guys figure he bought some grammar tapes when he found out he was accepted, or did he just show up and muddle his way through?

I imagine him studying the language and speaking grammatically excellent Parisian French with absolute dogshit pronunciation. His Québécois classmates automatically switch back to English whenever he tries chiming in in French, saving themselves the agony of hearing it.

His local flatmates, however, think it's hilarious and take it upon themselves to teach him the most toe-curling joual slang and curses to help him fit in. To this day when he spills a drink or stubs his toe, he'll let out a hearty "TABARNAK!"

[snandle]

Guys why do I be doing genuine research for certain medications and the way they react to other medications for my fucking DAYDREAMS! I'm not even writing anything I just need everything to be accurate as I'm acting out my scenarios

[snandle]

writers are creatures that feed on comments by the way. if you want more of your blorbo from them, give them lovely comments. they love that and will most likely give you more fics about your blorbo

[snandle]

My boyfriend and I flirt by calling each other autistic

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Wilson would have those cute little charms that people hang off of their phone PURELY because a child patient made one for him and House BULLIES HIM TO DEATH about it.

Also I’m pretty sure I’m not remembering this correctly but I SWEAR Wilson had an iPod at some point.

If House ever got an iPod/iPhone, I feel like it would be cracked and dented.

He’d have one (1) iPod/iPhone case. It wouldn’t be anything special, just the first case he saw when buying one— but from that day forward he REFUSED to have any other one.

Once the case broke, he’d use it anyway. It would be missing pieces off the case, peeling, cracked, whatever— the only time he’d take it off is when it literally would not stay on his phone anymore.

And he would REFUSE any other case. It would have to be that EXACT case, brand, colour & all or he wouldn’t use it.

So his phone is just damaged 24/7 because he couldn’t find the same exact case again.

[snandle]

So apparently I'm on the side of TikTok where people are shipping Sam Winchester and Robert Chase and honestly I'm all for it.

I miss crackshipping yall 😭

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HUDDDDYYYYYYYY

Huddy sketch I don’t really like but I’m posting anyway because they’ve infected my brain .

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Everytime someone describes House's behaviour as obsessive, I fight the urge to go on a whole ramble about my OCD headcanon for him. I KNOW it's not canon but it's literally the #1 hc I project through .

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Hilson WIP I’ll probably never touch again. But I love drawing flustered House 🫡🫡🫡

I really like this brush actually !!!! :>>>

[snandle]

house barges into wilson’s office with a couple ducklings trailing behind. wilson knows it’s him so he doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. house asks him for money (because i don’t know he needs money for some reason, it’s related to a patient). wilson still does not look up. he says “is that how you ask?”

house glances at the doorway, grins to himself, and puts on a sickeningly sweet voice. “can i pleaaaase have my allowance?”

wilson hands over his wallet. “good boy”

house is barely concealing laughter. “thank you sir”

“you’re welcome princess” wilson finally looks up. he sees the door wide open with multiple doctors just staring at him, and a stupid shit-eating grin on house’s face.

wilson puts his head down on his desk and contemplates resigning as they walk away.

[snandle]

House having an awful pain day, full of stress and anxiety and unable to relax; coming home to Wilson and for once in a very, VERY long time— lets Wilson take care of him.

Wilson’s happy to do so; and even though House is mostly zoned out and in pain, he still manages to shoot a few sarcastic comments his way.

But House lets Wilson cuddle with him. Lets Wilson run a bath for him and make dinner; and even though House is embarrassed and oddly quiet at times, Wilson keeps the conversation going even if House doesn’t reply. He wants to make him comfortable and let him know he’s allowed to have bad days.

They watch House’s favourite soap opera and Wilson listens to House’s rambles about the plot direction and the inaccurate medical descriptions and the way the main character stands in a different spot EVERY time the camera angle switches!!!

But House is happy, and he isn’t as uncomfortable as he was when he first came home; and that makes Wilson happy.

[snandle]

House’s oral fixation but not in a sexy—sucks on a lollipop—way; in a autistic—his teeth are damaged from putting random shit in his mouth— way.

[snandle]

I was inspired after reading @stressed-and-queer ‘s headcanons about my beloved trans House. So I bring you A DRAWING. Not coloured because I have Benadryl in my system and I will be falling asleep momentarily but. I wanted to post this because ILOVEHIMSOMUCH I AM SUCH A TRANS HOUSE TRUTHER. TRANS HOUSE TRUTHERS RISE !!!