HELLO HELLO HELLO! I Have A Fucked Up Fic Request! (heavy Heavy Angst) Because I Think My Trauma Would

"Broken A/C" p. hockstetter Oneshot

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“Admit it, you totally wanna blow me.” 

“I totally do not.” Y/N scoffed and adjusted her crossed arms, leaning back farther on the cold counter. It was the middle of the night and 82 degrees in Derry, and the air conditioning at her house had broken down from overuse.

Her dad, being the man he is, suggested they stayed at his friend’s house. Y/N didn’t remember her name, but her father told her to call her Mrs. Hockstetter. 

Y/N’s only objective was to get out of her awful hot house, so she agreed and packed a bag. She packed short shorts, a couple tank tops, a sketchbook, and her homework into a bag.

She thought she’d spend the night on Mrs. Hockstetter’s hopefully cold couch, but what her father had failed to mention was that she had a son Y/N’s age.

She was introduced to him when she and her father got into the house, and she wasn’t a big fan of his lingering gaze on her chest. She eventually stopped caring when she was greeted by the wonderful arms of air conditioning.

She had set up camp on the couch while her father and Mrs. Hockstetter talked to each other in the master bedroom, and while Patrick was up in his room doing only God knows what.

Y/N was sketching a bird in her notebook on the couch when she heard an odd thunk from the walls, and when she heard the air conditioning turn off.

Groaning, she rolled onto her stomach and shoved her face into the cushion, the immediate rush of hot air hitting her back. She threw her notebook off the couch and sat up before reaching into her bag and pulling out her short shorts and a white tank top.

She stood up and made her way to the upstairs bathroom to change when she heard noises coming from Patrick’s room. His head lights were off, but there was a small glow that emitted from underneath the door. She tilted her head and tried to be more silent as to hear what he was doing when she heard a very low and raspy “fuck” come from him.

Realizing what he was doing, she turned around quickly and went into the bathroom, softly closing the door and shaking her head. She changed into the clothes when she realized that she had grabbed her old tank top that she wore as a kid that no longer fit her, and that she had also grown out of the shorts.

They were supposed to be shorter than most, but they definitely weren’t supposed to show the underside of her ass. Y/N tried pulling them down to make them less revealing, but she gave up and accepted the fact that they rode up when she walked. 

She left the bathroom and was going to walk down the stairs when she saw that Patrick’s door was open and that he was no longer in there. Thinking nothing of it, she went down the stairs and back into the living room when she saw him looking through her sketchbook. She froze, and he noticed she was standing in front of him and grinned.

“I’m guessing birds are your favorite animal?” Patrick mocked, flipping the book around to reveal her recent drawing.

“Set it down, Patrick.” She sighed, and let out a breath of relief when he did. What made her tense again was when he walked into the kitchen that was conjoined with the living room and opened a cupboard to grab a glass.

She watched as he turned on the sink faucet and filled the cup to the brim before he steadily walked back to her and held it out for her.

“Thirsty?” He grinned, his gaze burning her as she licked her dry lips.

“A bit…” Y/N admitted and grabbed the glass, confused as to why he didn’t let go as well. She gasped loudly when he tilted it towards her and spilled some of it on her shirt, cursing him out as she walked into the kitchen to grab a towel.

He watched her wipe her chest off with the useless piece of fabric, and grinned even more when she realized it was doing nothing to absorb the water. 

She didn’t wear a bra as her tank top was too tight for one, and now her entire chest was revealed to a guy she barely knew at all. She groaned and threw the towel onto the counter, crossing her arms to keep at least a bit of her dignity.

She refused to look Patrick in the eyes, too embarrassed that she didn’t have anything to cover up and that she let a mistake like this happen. The guy in question frowned and walked towards her, leaning on the opposite counter that she was so that they stood in front of each other.

“Aw, ya shy?” He taunted, snickering at her face of disgust. 

“No, I’m mortified. You just spilled water all over me and made me flash you.” She deadpanned, unimpressed with his actions. 

“Not my fault you dressed like a whore.” Patrick only shrugged and let his eyes roam the rest of her body, from her head to her well manicured toes. “Cute nipple piercings, by the way. I really like the hearts.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Y/N sneered, readjusting her arms so that they covered more.

“D’ya want my shirt? It might make you less…cold.” He teased, watching her face turn bright red. Y/N rolled her eyes as he taunted her more and more.

That was how they got into their positions now, with her in his lap making out with him in the hot, thick aired living on the couch. His hands roamed over her torso, and hers grabbed onto the hair behind his head.

Patrick groaned when she tugged a bit too hard, and he bit her lip and grinded her hips down onto him as a response. She winced with a gasp and pulled away to catch her breath, his hands still moving her back and forth. He showed her the same devilish grin he had earlier in the night, and then the lights came on.

“Patrick!” “Y/N!” 

“Dammit!” “Dad!”

"Inseparable" Part One

Y/N L/N and Patrick Hockstetter had been friends since they were in kindergarten. Their friendship began the day he gave her a pencil bag filled with dead flies in Mrs. Smith’s class.

He had always enjoyed teasing Y/N, since the minute they met. Yet for some odd reason, she had always tried to befriend him. Nobody understood why, granted he always pulled on her pigtails, but she never minded it. 

They were Derry’s dynamic duo, terrifying twins, even. They were always in the same location. If Patrick was there, Y/N was dragging him along and arguing with him about something stupid. If Y/N was there, Patrick was right next to her, giggling at others' misfortune around them.

They were inseparable. They had a bond no one could ever achieve with them. Nobody understood it, they always fought, bickered, even fist-fought. But they always remained together, no matter how many sucker punches they threw at each other.

A while after Patrick started screwing with her and giving her dead bugs, and sometimes rodents, she started giving him trinkets too. Except, socially accepted things, like jewelry.

The first ever piece of jewelry she gave him was a ring when they were in the second grade; it was purple and silver. She got it for a dime at one of those cheap candy and toy machines while leaving a grocery store with her mother.

She assumed he liked it because she never saw him take it off, and when he outgrew it he put it on a necklace. He always denied liking it though, giving excuses that she was just so annoying that he didn’t want to hear her complain about him not wearing it.

Y/N knew better, and always smiled when she saw it around his neck.

That was until now. Y/N paced around her room in a state of panic, gnawing at her fingernails and being lost in her thoughts. It’d been a week and three days since anybody had seen Patrick, and she was a nervous wreck.

Usually, this wouldn’t have made her so scared, Patrick could take care of himself, hell he’d gone four days without telling anyone where he went. But more kidnappings and murders of children and teens around town made her worry.

Y/N had asked his mom if he had gotten home on Tuesday night after hanging out with her at the barrens, but Patrick’s mom said she hadn’t seen him since he left with her.

 “Oh my fucking God,” She whispered to herself, stopping her feet from the circle she was walking in, “Jesus Christ, he’s one of the missing kids.” 

The rest of the Bowers gang had stopped looking for him after the second day; they knew he’d come back with only a few scratches. But Y/N had a gut feeling she couldn’t ignore. She fiddled with one of the rings he had given her, biting her lip as she looked at her door.

Y/N cursed, grabbed a flashlight, and put on her shoes. As she was running down her stairs, she almost tripped when she saw what seemed to be Patrick going into her kitchen.

“Patrick?” Her voice was shaky and hopeful, but when she entered the room it was empty. Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair and making her way out of her front door. She jogged on the path she and Patrick would usually walk on when they were bored. 

They’d talk about stupid shit, never sticking to one topic for a conversation. Then they’d make it to the park and laugh at the kids falling, especially when one of the two was upset over something. She always enjoyed seeing his eyes light up when one of them would cry, no matter how odd it seemed.

His eyes would crinkle, sometimes small tears would form, he’d show off his teeth, his lips would tighten. His lips looked soft, yet they’d be chapped and dried over all the time. Y/N would ask Patrick if he wanted some when she’d apply her chapstick, but he’d always tell her no. Sometimes Y/N would catch him staring at her lips a little too long when she’d apply it, and she’d wonder if he actually really wanted some-

A screech from two of the swings on the swingset pulled her away from her thoughts, and she stopped to stare at the playground. Her and Patrick used to sit on the swings all day long after school when they were kids, and they’d compete to see who could get the highest.

Y/N  pointed her flashlight at them and watched the two swings slowly go back and forth, a red balloon tied to the one Patrick would always sit on. 

She tilted her head at it, a confused look on her face. She could’ve sworn she’d seen that balloon before. Y/N then shook her head, realizing she was getting off track. 

“No, he wouldn’t be here. I’d have found him already.” She whispered to herself and looked sideways to the path she was following, then grimaced. “Or a cop would’ve…”

Y/N continued on the path, putting her hands in the pockets of the jacket she was wearing. She almost tripped over a rock and bit her lip in frustration, cursing and kicking it against a tree.

When she did, she smiled when she saw which tree it was. Patrick and her had marked it up with profanity when they were younger, and they used it as a guide to get to the barrens.

She stood by one of the sewage tunnels, peering into it and sighing. She hated the smell and what she’d find in there, but Patrick always grabbed her wrist and dragged her into it anyway.

They’d smoke and get high in there, every now and then stealing a bottle of whiskey from the store and drinking together. Not caring that her shoes were getting soaked in the gunk water, Y/N walked inside. 

“Patrick!” She called out, stepping in further and further. It took about twelve minutes of yelling before she thought she’d heard him.

It very well could’ve been desperation and her brain playing tricks on her, but she cried out again. She murmured a small 'dammit', and started to turn around until she heard him clearly.

“Nessie?” She heard him call, and she whipped her head around and ran further.

There he was, covered in blood, dirt, and only god knows what else. 

“Jesus fucking Christ Patrick!” She sharply cried, running over to him. “The hell are you doing here?! Don’t ever run away like that again-”

Patrick panicked and shushed her, putting his hand over her mouth and looking behind him in a fear she’d never seen before. 

“We need to get the fuck out of here. Right now,” He hissed quietly, taking his hand off of her.

“Where’s the damn exit?” She looked at him weirdly and was going to ask him what was wrong but decided against it, taking his hand and leading him out.

 The clock said 8:46 pm as Y/N sat on Patrick's bed, playing with a loose string on his black blanket. She chewed on her lip, and let go of the string, standing up to walk out of his room and to the linen closet in his hallway.

After grabbing the safety kit she forced him to keep when he first got hurt with her, she sat it on his bed and opened it, laying out all the supplies she would need to fix Patrick up.

She heard the pipes creak when Patrick turned off the water, and a while later walked out with a towel around his waist. She watched him as he grabbed clothes from his dresser, and he looked at her, and then the kit on the bed.

“Fuck. No.”

--

She eventually got him to sit on the bed, even though he whined and groaned about it. He huffed when she gave him a hair tie, and he roughly took it from her hand as he put his hair up in a bun so she could have access to his neck. 

“You know if you wanted me to eat you out, you could’ve asked.” He snickered, smirking at her as she flashed him a look of disgust.

“If I wanted to fuck you, I’d have done it already.” Tightly smiling, she uncapped a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and put it on a cotton ball. Y/N started to dab it on his cuts, sticking her tongue out in focus.

Patrick stared at her, a blank look on his face. He didn’t even notice that she was done until she ripped open a pack of gauges and placed one on a stitched-up cut he got in the sewer. 

“When the hell did’ja do that?” His eyebrows furrowed, his hand pushing away the cotton pad and inspecting the stitched cut.

“When you were fantasizing about your porn stash,” She scoffed and rolled her eyes, continuing to put the gauge back on his cut. She taped it up, and jokingly slapped it. “Doctor Miller is finished with her work. How satisfied are you with my service?” 

“I’d be much happier with a blow job, if it isn’t too unprofessional?” Patrick leaned his head to the side, a hopeful smile on his face. 

“I’d rather kill myself-”  Y/N stood up, placing all of the supplies back into the kit and starting her walk to the closet.

“You should get dressed, and then I wanna talk.” He sighed, grabbed the pile of clothes he had set out earlier, and went back into his bathroom to change.

When Patrick walked out in a pair of skinny jeans and no shirt, he walked over to the pile of his original clothes and pulled out the chain with his ring on it from a pocket of pants. He clasped it on and sat down on the edge of his bed, dramatically flopping on his back to look at Y/N. She was sitting at the bed’s headboard, picking at her nails. 

“So,” She refused to look at his eyes, already knowing that they were filled with either frustration or anger. “What the hell happened to you back there?”

"on the run" t. todoroki mha smau

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Summary: You and Touya get chased by U.A kids 😨

Warnings: Vulgar language, mentioned "plug"

A/N: your pookies back and in business

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"Birthday" a. cameron Oneshot

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“Do you think House is gonna be mad at us?” Cameron questioned, attaching the blue birthday streamer up onto the ceiling.

“Probably.” I answered her while holding the chair she was standing on.

It was five in the morning and we had come into work early so that we could decorate for House’s birthday. Cameron thought it would be nice to try to celebrate it, and because I couldn’t say no to her, here we were. 

We set up all the decorations she bought, excluding the canes in wrapping paper that I bought because she thought it was insensitive to him, which I scoffed at. 

“Oh, come on! He’ll love them.”

“Absolutely not.”

She always enjoyed celebrating birthdays because she thought it was a nice reminder to the person that they’re important. And I loved her too much to tell her that he’d probably appreciate a couple of fancy cigars more than the decorations. 

“And we’re done!” Cameron got off the chair and looked at her handy work as I put the chair back in its place. I stood behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, putting my face in her neck and breathing in her faint perfume that smelled like fresh laundry.

She smiled and put her hands on my arms, rubbing her thumb on them. “I think he’ll like them.”

“Whatever you say, Alli.”

–

“What the hell is all of this?” House stood in front of the table where Chase, Foreman, and I sat, holding a yellow file in his hand.

“Well, a while ago you said that your birthday was going to be today, so I thought it’d be nice if me and Y/N decorated.” Cameron leaned against the counter, stirring her cup of coffee. 

House deadpanned at her, and then glanced over at me.

“Happy birthday, asshole.” I shrugged and took a sip of my own coffee. 

He shook his head and moved one of the balloons on the ground with his cane, throwing the folder on the table. 

“It would’ve been better if you two made a porno with each other and gave it to me.” House raised his eyebrows and grinned.

I rolled my eyes and looked at my pager when it beeped, telling me to go to Cuddy’s office to talk to her. I sighed and stood up, stretching my back. 

“Cuddy needs me, so I’ll catch up with the files when I’m done.” I inform House, walking over to Cameron.

“Bye, babe.” I kiss her goodbye, and she smiles and tells me good bye back.

“Now send me a compilation of that and I’ll be the happiest birthday boy alive.” House pulled out one of the chairs and sat on it, watching me walk past him.

“Me and my girlfriend aren’t sending you a porno anytime soon, Gregory.” I tightly smiled and winked at him, opening the door and leaving while Chase and Foreman snicker and laugh.

guys we need new names for ticci toby. it's the name his bullies used to use and it low key is really tacky. 😭

drop suggestions in the notes please, I want really cool axe murderer names, like "The Hatchet's Weilder" or something. 🙏

"fuckass picture" t. todoroki mha smau

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Summary: apparently eraserhead patrols the neighborhood near your hideout?? 😨

Warnings: Vulgar language, mention of smoking

A/N: somebody needs to fucking sedate me. one-sided eraserdust has my heart idc.

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"RSV" g. house/j. wilson Oneshot

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The cold atmosphere surrounding the two men dampened the mood plenty, and the harsh coughs of the patient in front of them made it worse.

House had taken a case of a seven year old girl who hadn’t been able to walk since she was three. Whenever pressure was put on her left leg she would get a shooting pain all the way up to her spine.

No doctor knew why, other than that it was immovable and that she would probably never use it again. She and her mom had come into the clinic due to a respiratory infection, and House found her background ‘interesting.’ 

After a plethora of examinations and not-so-legal operations, he and his team found a tumor in her calf and in the middle of her spinal cord. How all of her other doctors missed them baffled the man, truly.

But that was how he was now sitting next to the girl showing her magic tricks as Wilson discussed with her mom possible treatments. 

“We could remove them and the dead tissue that surrounds the tumors, but it’s a tough and long operation that doesn’t have the highest chance of working.” Wilson stated lowly to the crying woman.

“How high?” She choked out, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

“A good, twenty-percent chance.” He estimated and thought about the severity of the girl's illness. “Her respiratory infection also doesn’t help much in the process, but if we don’t take those tumors out now, they might not be able to come out at all.”

The mother looked over at her daughter and watched as House pulled out a card from behind her ear, and then she saw him flick the girl’s forehead when she said it was the wrong card. Her mother laughed slightly, and then looked back at Wilson.

“Where do I sign?” Wilson smiled at her words and nodded to the door, “I’ll show you the reception.”

=======

The woman came back to the room and hugged her daughter, kissing her forehead. “Are you ready to get better, sweetie?”

The girl nodded her head and grinned, a tear falling from her eye.

Wilson walked in and snorted at House, who had fallen asleep in the chair with cards spread out all over him. 

“House.” He called out to the man, repeating it louder again. House still didn’t wake up, and Wilson scoffed before looking at the girl and the woman. 

“It’s about to get a little loud.” He warned them before he stood in front of the girl and offered his hand out. She took it, and he used his other to take off a cord that connected her to her heart monitor. It beeped loudly, repetitively, and House jolted awake. 

“Huh?”

“Welcome back, we almost lost you there.” Wilson said sarcastically, and House rolled his eyes. Wilson looked back at the girl, and he and House both grimaced when she coughed on his face. 

“I am so sorry.” The girl said and covered her mouth as she finished coughing. 

Wilson smiled tightly at her and connected her back to the heart monitor, “It’s all right, it happens more than you think.”

=======

“Where’s Wilson?” House barged into Cuddy’s office, completely ignoring the man she was with.

“House!” She scolded him, gesturing to the other man. “I’m in a meeting with someone. Knock next time.” 

“Oh, really? In that shirt I thought you were trying to proposition him a little something-something, if you catch my drift.” He raised his eyebrows to punctuate his sentence and grinned.

Cuddy gritted her teeth, and excused herself from the other man before walking out of the office with House trailing behind her.

“Wilson is at home sick with RSV. I told him to leave when I saw him this morning with eyebags heavier than yours and when I heard him cough his lungs out in his office from outside his door.” 

House looked at her and hummed before taking off without a word. The woman groaned and turned around, stopping one of the assistants. “Clock Dr. House out of work, please.”

=========

House lifted his cane up to Wilson’s door and knocked to the tune of ‘Shave and a Haircut’. He didn’t get a response, so he jiggled the handle and opened the door when he noticed it was unlocked. 

“You know, I could kill and rob you right now.” He shouted out as he walked into Wilson’s living room. It was eerily quiet, and he didn’t like it. The man thudded his cane on the ground three times and heard a faint cough as three other knocks followed from Wilson’s bedroom wall.

House’s eyebrows furrowed and he went to see the sick oncologist, roughly opening the door and turning on the lights. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”

Wilson groaned loudly and grabbed one of his pillows to cover his head with, coughing underneath it. He groaned even louder when House poked him with his cane, right before House jabbed it into his side.

“Ow! House!” Wilson uncovered his head and looked at the other man, holding up his hand to the light above them. He coughed a bit, and House let out a quick ‘yikes’ when he saw just how bad Wilson looked. 

The man in question had eyebags darker than his own hair, and his eyes were incredibly red and puffy. His lips were dry and cracked, and he had dried drool on his chin. His cheeks were red as well, and his hair was tousled like he just got thrown off a bull. 

“Jesus Christ.” House murmured, taking in the sight of his best friend. The said man had only grunted and thrown his face back into his pillow, coughing into it. 

“If you’re gonna gawk, at least turn the lights off.” His voice was muffled, but House understood it enough to flick the light switch and leave the room.

The man stood there for a second, staring at the door before going into the kitchen and grabbing Wilson’s keys from the glass bowl, and leaving to go to his own house.

=======

Wilson’s eyes opened when he heard his front door slam shut, and he inhaled deeply and sat up. He ran his hands through his tangled hair and carefully stood up, making his way to his bathroom. Washing his hands when he was finished with his business, he turned off the water and dried his hands while trying to sniff the air.

He couldn’t smell or breathe very well, but there was a slight smell of Thai food that caught his attention. He fixed his hair and left the bathroom, and wobbled to his kitchen, where he saw House sitting down on his sofa and eating noodles while watching ‘General Hospital.’

“Save any for me?” He croaked out and cleared his throat. 

“Fridge.” Was the only thing House said through a mouthful of noodles, and Wilson made his way to his fridge.

He pulled out a box of more noodles, and noticed the grocery bag on his counter. He reached out for it, and pulled out a bottle of Nyquill, Aspirin, Tylenol, allergy medications, and Motrin.

He opened the bottle of Tylenol and grabbed two, tossing them into his mouth and fitting his head under the sink to down them with the tap water. He grabbed the Thai noodles and sat down next to House, digging into his food. 

They both sat there in enjoyable silence until Wilson noticed all of the new pillows and blankets that sat on his reclinable sofa and spoke up.

“What’s all that for?” He mumbled through his noodles. 

“Doesn’t matter.” House said simply, pushing himself off the couch with his cane and taking his trash and bowl to the kitchen. Wilson stared at the cushions and shrugged, continuing to watch the TV. 

When he was finished, he got up and also took his bowl to the kitchen, and he coughed into his elbow as he placed his bowl in the sink. “Are you going to pay rent, at least?”

“Nope.” House popped the P and typed away on Wilson’s laptop, not bothering to look at the man. Wilson deadpanned at House until he decided to walk away and go back to his room, flopping onto his bed and falling asleep there.

The other man was searching for drug cocktails that he could inject his friend with to get him better, and he grinned devilishly when he found one that he had access to all of the drugs.

He leaned over slightly to see if Wilson’s door was open or not, and stood up and quickly made way to his bag when he saw it was closed. He pulled out what should have been a med-kit, and took out the drugs in it. He chose what he needed, and made sure all of the right ingredients were put into a syringe.

He slowly limped to Wilson’s room, opting out of using his cane so that he didn’t cause too much noise and wake him up. House opened his door carefully, and his nerves eased when he heard the loudest snore he’s ever heard in his life.

 He ticked his tongue and made his way to Wilson, pulling out a sanitisation packet from his pocket. He lifted the sleeping man’s shirt and carefully rubbed it onto his back, freezing when he stirred. Pulling out the other packet, he wiped down the needle slowly and injected Wilson with the cocktail quickly. 

He froze again, expecting Wilson to wake up and yell at him, but he didn’t. He was still fast asleep, and still snoring. House smiled in success and tossed the syringe into the trashcan by Wilson’s bed, and covered it up with crinkled tissues. He then left the room and closed the door, and went back into the kitchen where the laptop was. 

House re-skimmed over the article with the side effects and he stopped when he saw something slightly alarming.

“Patient may fall unconscious for any time ranging from 16 hours to 2 days. Watch closely and monitor all the time. Any illnesses that the patient may have when the cocktail is injected will dimishness.”

“Shit.”

=======

Wilson woke up after twenty-six hours with cotton mouth, a diaper on, and no idea where he was until he saw House sitting on a chair reading a magazine. 

“House?” He grumbled, lifting himself up to look at his clock. It was late, 1:24 in the morning to be exact. He looked back at House, and the man stood up and slapped the back of his hand onto Wilson’s forehead and held it there. 

“Feels fine.” The man said, and he grabbed his cane and left the confused Wilson to his own devices. 

Wilson didn’t know what happened, or what to do, so he chose to take a shower and freshen up. When he was done, he saw a glass of water on his bedside table and downed it immediately.

He sighed and stood there, unsure of what to do once again. That was until he noticed he felt much better than when he fell asleep.

He went to find House, and saw him in the kitchen again making what he assumed was an omelet. Staring into the back of House’s head, he felt that something was wrong.

He went to sleep with RSV and the worst headache and cough of his life, and now he felt like he could run a marathon.

“What did you do?” He questioned, and locked eyes with House when he turned around.

“What, no ‘thank you?’ No, ‘Oh my goodness, House. I feel so much better, thank you for your help and kindness?’” House mocked, tossing the omelet onto a plate and holding it out for Wilson.

Wilson felt iffy taking the food, but he still did and he sat down at the table as House served him a glass of orange juice. 

“It’s two in the morning-” “I don’t care, eat your food.”

“M’kay.” Wilson didn’t argue and he grabbed his fork and ate, huffing down all of it and drinking every drop in the glass. “So, what’d you do?”

“I drugged you with seven different drugs.” House told him, grabbing Wilson’s plate and putting it in the sink before filling his glass back up with more juice. Wilson sat there and stared at him in disbelief, no words could come out of his mouth. 

“Right.” Was the only word he could say, and he downed the drink in his glass. His mind was racing with many things he wanted to tell his friend.

He was in awe that he would put him so close to death, and that he would even think of doing such a thing that could one again, put him so close to death. It was insane of him to do, and he was flabbergasted. But what came out instead of yelling was, 

“You cared that much?” House turned on the water to the sink and grabbed a sponge and soap and started doing the dishes, ignoring Wilson’s question. 

That was the only answer Wilson needed, though, and he smiled at the back of House’s head. 

“I’m telling your team when I go into work.”

“No the hell you aren’t!”

“Oh, yes the hell I am!”

Hey y'all!

I'm so sorry that I've been inactive! I've had so much school recently that I've only been able to get to the shorter fanfictions! If you requested something a little longer, just know that it's on it's way and in progress. I promise that I will get to them and that I am trying to make them the best possible!

Au revoir!

absolutely seething because I can never find any good fanfiction for a girl who isn’t some timid little fuck puppet. Like I get that some girls are hyper feminine but oh my god I just need a reader who can kick ass and hold their own. I’m not 4 foot 2 and 3 pounds I’m a decent sized female who could easily fill out the shirts of men I thirst over. I’m not cutely strolling into the room in my little pink sundress and white sandals, no dude I’m stomping into that room in jeans and a t shirt combat boots and saying the most disgusting dick joke you’ve ever heard. Sorry guys I’m not a girly girl

-WIP'S-

-Series-

"27" p. hockstetter

"Stabs and Stitches" g. foyet

"Radio Whispers" c. grimes

-Oneshots-

"Losses" c. peletier

"The Wrong Fruit" j. sully

"Desperate" g. house

"The Mattress" r. chase

"Can You Stay Silent?" n. smith