#dr. house

[florida3exclamationpoints]

House MD + text posts pt. ∞

[4m0r1m]

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

Til Death Do Us Part

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

WORD COUNT: 2,439 words

PAIRING: greg house x wife!reader

WARNINGS: angsty angsty (sorry😭)

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

But something wasn’t right.

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

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

House said nothing. Not yet.

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

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

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

Something was wrong.

Something he couldn’t diagnose by sarcasm alone.

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

Finally, he ripped it open.

Cancer.

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

He needed Wilson.

No—he needed answers.

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

House's stomach twisted.

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

“Got a sec, Doc McCheery?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

The word was sharp. Final.

House blinked. “No?”

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

House’s jaw clenched. “You’re lying.”

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

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

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

The silence that followed was deafening.

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

It wasn’t a question.

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

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

“Few weeks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

Her voice cracked.

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

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

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

The words hung between them, thick and suffocating.

Brain cancer.

Terminal.

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

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

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

Live.

As her.

Not as some hollowed-out version.

He squeezed her fingers, just once.

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

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

They barely spoke on the drive home.

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

Now, just silence.

He hated it.

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

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

Home.

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

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

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

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

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

House’s chest ached.

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

He let her make the tea.

Let her pretend.

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

House stared at her.

So alive. So herself.

And yet.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

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

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

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

His throat closed up.

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

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

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

“Like what?” he rasped.

“Like I’m already dead.”

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

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

The silence stretched, heavy, but not empty.

Finally, she spoke.

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

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

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

House’s fingers twitched.

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

But not this.

Not her.

Her hand was warm. Solid. Real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

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

Every detail was a lifeline and a knife.

At some point, she stirred, finding him awake.

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

He huffed a laugh, rough with unshed tears.

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

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

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

House closed his eyes.

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

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

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

Weeks passed.

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

But House saw the changes.

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

He fought every instinct to rush her to a hospital.

Because she asked him to let her live.

Because he loved her too much not to.

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

He held her through it all.

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

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

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

“Greg,” she said suddenly, serious.

He looked up from his medical journal.

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

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

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

House stared at her.

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

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

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

“I don’t make promises.”

She just smiled.

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

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

Hope you guys like it!💗

[petertqrk]

May yr new year have more malpractice and homoeroticism than ever 🍾🫂

[foxsicle]

Tumblr House Girlies

I need you to see something

Computer... Enhance.

WILSON HOUSE M.D. HAS FREAK NASTY EMBROIDERED ON HIS SHOULDER

[wopmia]

That Hilson scene but as jayvik

[need-him-pregnant-poll]

NEED👏THAT👏MAN👏PREGNANT ROUND 1 POLL 13

PROPAGANDA:

[House]

"He needs to be gregnant."

"Listen, I have never even watched the show. But everything I've seen of this man tells me he needs to be pregnant. I think it would be good for him."

[Zhou Zishu]

"this man awoke something in me. was fairly ambivalent towards mpreg then zhou zishu walked into my life and now i need him pregnant. idk man he's a very pretty evil man who is mommy-coded to me and I need this. like I think it works plot wise due to the fact that narratively he's portrayed in a more "mothering" way (while his husband is portrayed in a more "wife" way, so they balance out). anyways as a connoisseur of every mpreg!zishu fic on ao3 I can say that it suits him well. I think a character whose angst stems from all of the people who have died under his command should get to make life instead."

[honeybunhorror]

[vicodin-monster-truck]

House/Female Reader

Summary: Reader is a bit sexually frustrated and...nothing gets by House! Or he might just be looking for a quick pain relief...

Plot with Spice!

What you won't find in this: Dirty talk, pet names, y/n writing style.

What you will find: Bit of name calling (its house so), sex as a means to relief pain, a reader who's on the pill, no other protection, vicodin missuse. About 8.276 Words

Enjoy!:

(I had to post a link to Archive of Our Own first because this oneshot is too long for Tumblr and its gonna take a bit before im able to post it here in chapters!)

i will SOON post the chapters on here <3 sorry for the delay

tagging: (if you like ur tag to be removed please let me know)

@endingoferas

@nerdynonbinarylife

@yetusy

@kittenlittle24

@3lle-l-black

[gegewrites]

Dr.house- working after hours. (Smut)

Currently obsessed with this man, he’s been in my dreams for the past 4 days. Barely edited. I’m not a Med student, I’m a film kid. So my two hours of spotty research are prob not all that right.

5/21/23

Your pov-

It was about twelve am, maybe even one. I was sitting in Dr.Houses office. Seated directly in his chair, my elbows resting on the glass top desk, my chin sitting on top of my hands as I looked down at the file in front of me.

Our current patient, Craig Sanders, forty-five, male. He travels often for work. Earlier today he had a heart attack at home, in the garage. Pronounced dead for 7 minutes. Gotta be some kind of record. He’s loosing vision and feeling in his limbs, loss of memory but none of it stays. It comes and goes.

Because I had clinic duty today I didn’t get to fully focus on the patient, only for the beginning. I got to view the scans quickly but was paged to the clinic, so now I’m catching up.

I didn’t look up when the glass door opened, it knew it was house because who else would just walk into a office that has its blinds closed, let alone at 1 am.

“In my chair, now I really can’t ignore you.” He commented, I gave a light scoff as ket my eyes at the paper, not really reading it, just thinking,”shouldn’t you be home?”

“Shouldn’t you?” I looked up at him. he was standing in front of the desk, leaning on his left leg, his grip of his cane shifting, he gazed down at the file in front of me.

“Touché.” He stood for a few seconds longer before we walked away. I didn’t watch him, but I heard his bottle of whiskey open as he poured it into a glass.

“How much sense does this case make to you?” I asked, leaning back in the chair, we was leaning against the desk behind me glass in hand,”his heart is finally semi stable, so It’s not having sn effect of anything at the moment, but , his brains loosing funct-“

“I think I’d be able to think better if you got out of my chair, hiked that pretty skirt up, and sat down on me.” He clicked his tongue,”Should really get my brain going.”

I was kind of taken by surprise, house and I have fucked more times then you can count on one hand. In The Broom closets, his car, his house, on his piano, but never in his office.

I knew from the moment I walked into the office today this skirt was gonna get him. pencil skirt, stopped just above my knees. A dark grey so you could see any lines, which he didn’t. I caught him looking on more then one occasion.

Earlier/11 am-

Houses Pov-

My grip on the head of my cane shifted as I watched (l/n) write on the board. Her writing on the board was fine, she’s been here for nine years, she knows what she’s doing and she picked up this patient. But, I couldn’t keep my eyes in the board or my attention on foreman, Cameron, or chase. No, my eyes and brain were more focused on her ass. I’d occasionally look the board or around to cover it but I kept getting pulled back.

Pencil skirt, Dark grey, tight…and short.

It’s not like she hasn’t worn pencil skirts before, I’ve seen her with one hiked up around her waist as she gets it from behind. first “date” two years ago actually. Wine Red. Nice color on her.

You see this one, this one was different. usually you can see panty lines under tight clothing like dresses or skirts, she’s usually got a slight thong line, and I’ve been looking for it.

“What do you think?” I was taken out by (l/n) question. I looked at her, hands sturdily placed in her hips, and I looked at the white board.

Memory loss, weakened heart muscles, low blood cell count, numbness in fingers and toes, and loss of eye sight, intermittently.

Those were just the main ones.

“EKG, stress test, keep an eye on his ECGs.” I stood up,” get all the cardiac makers. Dementia, Alzheimer’s, and multiple sclerosis. Let’s start there.” They didn’t move, just looked at me,”move, I have to get to the clinic or Cuddy will have my balls.”

“Alright.” Foreman said as he got up from his chair, Cameron and chase followed. (l/n) stuck around for a bit and looked at the board before she followed.

“Hey.” I called to catch her attention, she stopped and looked at me,”that new?”

“What?”

“The skirt, it’s nice.” I let my eyes fall from her face to her hips, where her black button up was tucked in. She grabbed her white coat from the chair at the end of the table.

“Thank you.” She smiled as she turned around,”I saw you looking the whole time,” she started to walk away,”we all saw.”

“Hard not too, especially when it seems like youre not wearing anything under it.” I followed her into my office, she was already at the open door.

“I am, it’s just thin.”

Now-

Your pov-

“Perfect, just Fuckin perfect.” He groaned, relaxed into the rolling chair, his hands placed on my waist. His finger tips pressed in and out of my clothed skin. My pussy was clenched around his cock, buried inside of me as I was sitting tightly on his lap. My thong moved to the side. The record player was on, playing one of his blues records, mainly instrumental.

He popped two of his Vicodin right before he yanked up my skirt, he was definitely enjoying all of this right now. The door wasn’t locked, but the blinds were closed. A little risky considering Wilson is still around, his wife is gonna be mad when he gets home but he’s got reports to do.

I went to rock my hips to get some pleasure but his grip stopped me.

“Greg.” I sighed out and he hummed, pressing his chest against my back.

“Just sit, go over the information.” His hands ran up my shirt, over my breasts as he started unbuttoning it, exposing my skin and black bra. His lips kissed my neck, his beard tickling my skin as he untucked my shirt from my skirt,”you changed a hair product.”

“My conditioner.” I answered as I switched between tests, comparing and contrasting, trying to make things fit.

He stopped talking after that, running his hands up and down my sides, grazing over fabric and my skin.

I drowned out into the music and the feeling of his cock deep inside me, the littlest shift and he’s rubbing into my gspot. He was relaxed back into the chair, glass of whiskey in his hand as the other held onto my waist.

I looked over to the light board, scans of his heart and brain trying to pick it apart from where I was seated…at least I was. I stopped paying attention when I felt his hand slip from my waist, down to my thigh. His middle finger slipped through my lips and started slowly rubbing my clit in a circular motion.

“Please don’t stop.” I begged out in a breath.

“But what’s the fun in that?” He leaned forward, putting his glass in the desk while making sure he was pressed firmly inside me, making a pitiful whimper leave my mouth,”look at his temporal and parietal lobe in the lateral view,” he turned the chair, I grabbed onto the arms,” along with his cerebellum in the inferior view. Look hard.”

“It’s dying, we know that.” My voice had a slight shiver to it, my legs were also starting to tremble, he still hasn’t stopped rubbing my clit.

“Why?” He started rubbing harder, I was getting wetter, my walls fluttering around him, I stayed nearly silent, besides the small gasps which were starting to turn into moans,”he’s started loosing control of his limbs, impulsive reflex’s cause by the brain, loss of vision intermittently, why?”

“Brain death?” My eyes shot from the lateral view to his inferior view,”His brain stem…he had a heart attack a-alone….” My breathing became deeper,”took the family two minutes to get to him, another five before the para-Ah fuck- medics came.” I answered,”the brain lost oxygen when his heart stopped.”

“Alright, keep going.” He rocked his hips up into me, being extra sure to use his good leg only. Now I was feeling it, my hips started rocking down onto him, his finger was moving fast and hard, I could feel my mind slipping from me.

“There’s no-othing we can do.” I kept the moan that was trying to escape out, wouldve felt wrong saying it with a moan.

“Sure it’s brain death?”

“Yes greg.” My eyes closed on their own, my back arched slightly. He stopped moving, completely,”fuck, come on.” He grabbed into my waist, keeping me still.

“You wanna cum, then give me the right answer, his brain is going to die if you don’t. Key word, going. It hasn’t yet.” He spoke close to my ear,”this is why clinic duty sucks, you get lost in the progress of a patient.”

“What?”

“He had a heart attack, we know that. The heart attack is not closely connected to this, so get that out of your head.” His tone was stern,”he’s slowly declining at the moment, recount his history, what does he do for work?” My eyes shifted around as I thought,”is your brain going dead by how deep my cock is inside of you? Should I take it out? Let you think?”

“No!” I yelped out,” he travels for business but he gets his shots.”

“Not all.” He reached to the desk and then handed me the folder whilst pulling me flush against his chest, his palm pressed to my lower stomach as I flipped through to find his travel history,”were was he a few months ago?”

“Mexico.”

“What vaccine is he missing?”

“I don’t know.”

“He got sick in Mexico, had what seemed like a cold, so he was required to get a flu vaccine by his work. It’s not on the list he didn’t feel like he needed to list it.” I blinked a few times.

“So it’s from the vaccine?” The recorded fades out and started playing a new song. He grabbed his glass of whiskey.

“Ding ding.” He threw back the rest of the glass and put it on the desk,” AMAN, found mostly in children. It causing damage to the nerve fibers, which instead of staying in his limbs, progressed to his brain-“

“Which was set off by the heart attack? Being dead for that amount of time set off his immune system?” He rolled his hips into me.

“What do we have to do?” He took the file from me and put it back on the desk,”we don’t act within the next 2 hours, he’s gonna die”.

“His brain is being paralyzed which is mimicking it dying,.plasmapheresis or IVIG, remove the antibodies from the blood.” His finger went back to my clit, regaining the speed and pressure from before.

“Perfect.” He started moving my hips so I started moving them faster, rocking up and down,”oh fuck.”

It felt like electricity was shooting up my spine, simply having his cock inside me gets me so worked up. Moans left my mouth with no warning or control. Slick coated the inside of my thighs and the sounds coming from where we were connected were obscene, but they turned me on even more.

“Gotta start doin’ this to you more, so fucking wet.” He groaned,”Fuckin squeezing me,”

I couldn’t respond, just nodded quickly while ecstasy started taking over my body, my nerves felt like they were on fire. I just kept riding him , my brain focused on finally reaching my climax.

“Greg, m’ close.” I sighed out and he let out a throaty groan. his breathing became a bit faster and so did my movements.

“I can feel it.” His index finger joined his middle finger as he rubbed my clit harshly and quickly,”I know you’re there so just let go. Cum all over my Fuckin cock like I know you want to.”

“Perfect!” I moaned out as my muscles tightened, my grip on the arms of the chair were tight, knuckles turning white. I threw my head back, my eyes were clamped shut, my movements started slowly so he took hold of my hips and kept my pace for me, even with the lack of pleasure to clit, my orgasm was still running through me.

I felt his cock start twitching, his groans becoming louder and more noticeable.

“Hope you took the pill this morning.” He commented, his nails digging into my skin as he finally came. Spilling deep inside of me, keeping most of his cock inside as he filled me up.

Soon he stopped moving me, kept me sat on his lap as his arms wrapped around my waist, holding his hands together as I grabbed one of his wrists. We were both catching our breath in the dim lit office. My body had a tremble to it, and he placed a kiss against my shoulder.

“I’d love to sit here and savor the feeling of your amazing pussy, but I have to clear a businessman’s blood so his brain can start working again.”

I let out a sigh as I shakily got off of him, his cock slid out of me and immediately I felt his cum drip down the inside of my thighs. I grabbed the edge of the desk as he fixed my thong and pulled my skirt back down. I turned around and leaned against the desk as he stood up fixing his boxers and pants.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he grabbed his cane and started walking away,”we’ll go to my house tonight.”

He left me with that, the door closed behind him and he walked away to the patients room. I sat down in the chair, my thighs pressing together and my head resting on the head of the chair. I don’t think working after hours is gonna be such a bad thing anymore.

[florida3exclamationpoints]

[4m0r1m]

Closed Doors

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

WORD COUNT: 1,116 words

PAIRING: greg house x reader

WARNINGS: a little heated moment but nothing too bad.

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

This morning was no exception.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind closed doors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then silence.

Frowning, he knocked.

“House?” he called out.

No response.

He tried the door.

It was unlocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been sleeping with her?”

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

“Does she know you’re emotionally stunted?”

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, nothing was confirmed. Nothing could be.

House still insulted her in front of patients.

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

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

The way her eyes lingered a moment too long.

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

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

Even though it was never locked.

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

[petertqrk]

diagnosed with thought too hard about That old man syndrome.⬆️yea no it’s late stage. incurable

[icequeenlila]

Wilson defenitely thinking about some kissin here

[shadowcats4]

THE FULL BOX SET OF ALL SEASONS OF HOUSE HAVE JUST ARRIVED

What the fuck is this?!

[3lle-l-black]

I love Fandoms where people will say things like

"Puppies 🤏🏻, they are my babies, babygirls, my boys are so cute"

And then they're talking about the first couple of animals that Noah put on the ark

Eu adoro Fandoms aonde as pessoas vão dizer coisas tipo "Meus bebês, babygirl, meus meninos são tão fofos" e então eles estarão falando sobre o primeiro casal de animais que Noé colocou na arca

[tinfoil-jones]

Jerk Ford AU: Jerk M.D

Once, I got that one ask/comment about Jerk Ford being Dr. House coded. And it made me think about an alternate timeline where Jerk Ford, against all odds, and everyone (Except Stanley) telling him no please don't do this, he decided to use his genius to be a medical doctor instead.

Anyways this is how I imagine what Dr. Pines would be like if he was a Doctor of Medicine:

[Video by elliott_heck]