#gregory house reader insert

Your throat gets dry as you stare into his serious blue eyes. 

“Y-you’re serious?” you manage to choke out.

He wishes he could crack his normal wiseass answer, but he just looks at you and nods. 

House can’t find the words right now, he just stares at you as you fumble through the sheets of paper.

Stage 4, pancreatic cancer, inoperable.

You take shaky breaths, trying to stay in control.

You wait for him to say something, anything. 

And when he doesn’t, you know just how bad it is. How terminal and final the situation is. 

The patient room didn’t look like any patient room that you had ever seen when the doctors finally let you in.

It was almost empty. No machines, no window blinds, not even any bedsheets on the bed.

It was all...empty.

“We were afraid he’d do something...” says Foreman from behind you. Your heart clenches at the words. 

“Oh.”

You move closer to the bed so you can see your gown-clad boyfriend better.

He was in the smallest ball he could bring himself to be in, hands over his ears as if he could hear screaming.

“He says....” Foreman hesitates. “He says the voices won’t stop. That the whispers are driving him mad.”

You nod, gently putting a hand on House’s shoulder. “Hey...it’s me.”

His bloodshot blue eyes snap open at once, grabbing your hand. You almost stumble back in surprise.

“Help me. Make it stop.”

You don’t know what to say, opening your mouth and closing it. His grip tightens as he stares up at you desperately. 

“Help me. Please.”

You nod quietly, holding his hand. 

You hold tight to him as you sway to the music. Your hair was up, you were wearing a new gown, you had on a nice perfume and you’ve done your make up for once. 

All for the Princeton Hospital Ball Fundraiser.

The music was gentle, and his warm hands rest gently on your waist.

You feel safe. 

“This feels nice.”

“It does.”

You both sway to the music, grip tight on one another for all to see before the rest of the ball’s participants.

You rest your cheek on his chest, eyes closing, enjoying the moment. 

House smelled of a lot of things since you met him. A lot of the times he suspiciously smelled like alcohol at work.

When you mentioned it once, he scoffed and told you to mind your own business. 

Other times he smelled of vomit and sweat, and those days you worry about him despite everyone telling you that he’s not worth the worry.

Sometimes he comes into work smelling of cheap perfume and cigarettes, and those days you tend to avoid him. You can’t bring yourself to figure out why.

When you both moved in together, a lot of people were shocked. Why would you date him? He’s a wreck?

Yeah, but he’s my wreck.

To your surprise, you realized under all of House’s smells, he had a very distinctive scent. The more the other smells faded into his past, the more you realized he smelled of old books, piano keys, and teakwood. 

You decided you liked this way more than the cheap perfume and cigarettes.

“What are you doing?” House asks as you bury your face into his chest, gripping him tight and inhaling.

“I’m telling you, its Lupus, House!”

He sneers at you, and even though you know he doesn’t mean it, the look on your boyfriend’s face hurts you a bit. “The patient having lupus is just as ridiculous as claiming you have a unicorn in your bag!” he says, jabbing his cane a few inches from your chest. 

The team stares between you both, unsure if they should step in. 

You stare hard at House, hurt only there for a second before it's replaced with the same stubbornness in your boyfriend’s blue eyes. “Fine.”

You turn on your heel and stalk out. 

House doesn’t call you back.

-

You ignore the knock on your door.

“C’mon, [Y/N], I know you’re in there.”

“Go away!”

He knocks harder. “I’m not leaving until you open this door!”

You’re silent, wondering if he’ll eventually give up.

The knocking gets louder. 

You scowl and wipe your face before yanking open the door. “I don’t want to talk to you!”

You barely even register that there is, in fact, a stuffed little unicorn in your face.

“Greg told me to tell you he’s very sorry for yelling at you,” says the toy in your boyfriend’s squeaky voice. 

“He’s just sorry I was right.”

““That too. But he told me he’s sorrier about the look of hurt on your face he saw earlier.”

You sigh, pushing the toy away. “You didn’t have to yell at me in front of everyone. I’m smart too, you know.”

He’s quiet. “I know. I was just so frustrated with the case.”

You nod quietly and you let him pull you to him. “Truce?” he asks hopefully, holding up the toy.

You guys fought a lot.

It was not angry fighting, just frustration getting carried away. 

But lately your fights have been taking an interesting turn.

“I hate you!” you scream at him, as you aim his stupid tennis ball at his head.

He ducks, moving closer to you. “No, you don’t.”

You growl. “I do.”

He’s closer. “You don’t.”

You push on his chest. “I do.”

His lips brush against yours as he whispers, “You don’t.”

Requested By: Anon

Open Secret

This was the third time in an hour you’ve had to kick Chase’s leg away from you.

You glare at him from across the table before returning your gaze back to House, who was animatedly miming someone being stabbed.

Same old, same old.

 Except it wasn’t. Except you and Chase had decided to pursue a relationship together but were trying to keep it under wraps. One, to avoid HR with the paperwork, and two and most importantly, to avoid House’s quips and never ending jabs the moment he finds out.

Which is why it was important that Chase stop kicking you this very instant. You shoot glares at him whenever House isn’t looking at the team but Chase pretends to be very focused on House despite his leg traveling up yours. His blue eyes briefly meets yours with a small smirk.

The faltering in House’s voice make you both shoot your gaze to the front, like students who had both been caught passing notes in class.

His eyes are narrowed slightly, and your heart stops in your chest.

“Something you want to share with the class?” he asks, voice full of snark and a tinge of delight.

The delight it what scares you. You and Chase both shake your heads in unison.

His eyes dart to Chase’s face and then back to yours, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

House doesn’t push you further after that, to your surprise.

And that’s what scares you most.

An insistent knock at the door pulls you from your warm dreams.

You wait a beat, disoriented, hoping the sound will go away.

It seems it has.

You snuggle back into Chase, his arms tight around you, and you start to drift back off into dreamland.

Knock, knock, knock.

You groan. “Go get it!”

Chase whines softly in his sleep. “You get it.”

Knock, knock, knock.

It becomes clear that Chase is not going to wake. You stumble out of bed, giving him a grumpy shove as you pass him. “You’re the worst.”

All he offers you is a sleepy groan.

Rubbing your eyes, you yank open the door. “Look whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying.”

“But you didn’t even hear what I have to sell. Or maybe you can sell something to me by the looks of it.”

You’re suddenly a hundred times more aware at the sound of your boss’s snarky voice.

“H-house, what are you doing here?”

He grins at you, leaning against his cane. “Well, I was here to talk to Chase, but I think I found something more interesting to talk about with you.”

“Hey, honey, who’s-” The warm hand on your hip slides away as Chase recognizes the face at his door.

House’s grin is nearly splitting his face in two. “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with this.” 

“Beauty and the Beast, you guys take the patient’s home.”

“Why the sudden change in teams? I always got to be with Chase,” interrupts Foreman.

“Aw, do you want to be part of the dream team, too?”

“Dream team? What?”

You and Chase both stand up as House and Foreman erupt into yet another argument for the fifth time this week. You both get out of there as fast as possible without looking suspicious. 

Requested By: Anon

In Rare Form

House sighs heavily and snaps his fingers in front of your face obnoxiously.

“Hello? Earth to [Y/N]? Anyone home?”

You blink out of your reverie, but you don’t snap at him like you normally do. “What is it?”

He rolls his eyes. “I know daydreaming about me can take all your focus, but please try to keep them to a minimum while you’re at work.” He pauses, grinning widely at you as he leans forward suggestively. “Or at least, tell me about them when they happen.”

You don’t crack a smile. You make a sweeping gaze around the table where your co-workers had already disappeared to do House’s bidding. Glancing at the whiteboard, you figure out your assigned task was to break into the patient’s home.

Probably drawn the unlucky straw because you hadn’t been paying attention. Damn.

You stand up, completely unresponsive to House’s verbal jabs.

And, perhaps if you had been more on your A-game, you would have known not to do such a thing. After all, you had just deprived House of attention.

And the whole world knows how much House needs attention.  

He grabs your arm as you turn away.

“Hey!” You’re about to unleash some of your pent up anger on your boss but the look on his face stops you.

It’s not the mocking, leering face you expected to see.

No.

This one is full of interest. Concern. Worry.

Its genuine.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at the expression on his face. Why is he looking at you like this? Does he know something about last night? Instantly your paranoia about House knowing prickles at your brain.

And just quickly as it was there, it was gone. Perhaps you’d stared too long in silence because he lets go of you in the next second, as if he’s just realized what he’s done.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You blink at him. “To break into the patient’s house?”

He pauses, sharp blue eyes studying you. “Something’s bothering you,” he says after a moment. His voice is soft. Quiet.

This doesn’t surprise you. House has the ability to read people quickly. “Yeah. I got stood up last night. I’ll get over it. And I won’t let it affect my job if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He almost looks hurt at your last comment. “I wasn’t worried. You’re a good doctor.”

You blink again. A genuine compliment from House? Impossible. At least, not without an accompanying barb to go along with it.

“I..uh..thank you.”

He waves you off. “Go on.”

You turn towards the door, not daring to ruin this rare moment of sweetness from House.

“Hey, [Y/N]?”

You don’t turn. “Yeah?”

There’s a slight pause and then, “That guy was an idiot for standing someone like you up.”

“Thanks, House.”