Please please do a Greg house x reader where theyâre together but only Wilson knows, maybe youâre married and have a kid together?
A Secret Life (Gregory House x Female! Reader)
Summary: You and House have some alone time together after your daughter's finally fallen asleep.
The apartment was unusually quiet. Quieter than it had been in weeks. Your daughter had fallen asleep, her soft breathing steady in the crib down the hall. For once, both you and House had a reprieve from the endless cycle of crying and late-night pacing. The silence felt delicate, almost too precious to disturb, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
It was a blessing to have her in your lives, though she demanded nearly all of your energy. When she was born, you gave up your job, partly because Houseâs schedule was already merciless, also because you knew neither of you would have enough hours in the day otherwise. You were younger and didn't have a particulary special job. The choice had been easy, but the secrecy was harder. Only Wilson knew about the baby. To everyone else, she didnât exist. House insisted it was better that way, less gossip, less interference, less attention he had no patience for.
And yet, for all his grumbling, he cared for her in ways that were unmistakable if you knew how to look. Youâd caught him more than once lingering by her crib, cane forgotten at his side, watching her sleep with an expression so unguarded it startled you. For a man who had built his life on cynicism, your daughter had carved out a place in his heart he didnât even try to explain.
Now, with her tucked safely away, the apartment felt like it belonged to just the two of you again. House was sprawled across the couch, his cane leaning against the armrest, one leg propped carelessly on the coffee table. He looked exhausted, hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, but his eyes found you the moment you crossed the room.
âYouâre staring,â he said, voice low and teasing.
You felt warmth rush to your cheeks as you sat beside him. âAm not.â
âAre too. Youâve got that guilty look. Like I caught you daydreaming about how great Iâd look folding laundry.â
You laughed, a soft, embarrassed sound, and nudged his shoulder. âTrust me, you donât look that great folding laundry.â
He smirked, satisfied, but when you leaned into him, resting your head lightly against his shoulder, he didnât move away. Instead, after a moment, his hand found yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.
The simple contact made your chest flutter in a way you werenât prepared for. Youâd been together long enough to share a life, even a baby, and yet sometimes the smallest gestures still felt new, shy, like you were both discovering how to be close all over again.
For a while, you just sat there, breathing together in the hush of the apartment. The city sounds outside were muffled, the heater humming quietly in the background. His heartbeat was steady beneath the fabric of his shirt, grounding you.
âYou know,â he said finally, his voice softer than usual, âI didnât think I could do this. The diapers, the screaming, the endless parade of bottles⊠I thought it would all feel like too much.â He shifted slightly, turning his head so his stubble brushed your hair. âBut then she smiles. And you.â His voice faltered, a rare hesitation. âYou make it seem⊠possible.â
You lifted your head, surprised by the gentleness threading through his words. His eyes met yours, and for once, there was no sarcasm hiding there. Just honesty, raw and a little uncertain.
Your throat tightened. âThatâs⊠probably the sweetest thing youâve ever said to me.â
âDonât get used to it,â he muttered quickly, though the corner of his mouth curved upward. Still, he looked away, almost shy, like he wasnât used to being caught in the act of caring.
You smiled and let your fingers tighten around his. For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt warmer, charged with something delicate but steady. Then, slowly, cautiously, you leaned in closer. He met you halfway, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was almost hesitant, like both of you were testing the waters again.
It wasnât fiery or rushed, it was soft, lingering, a reminder that beneath the exhaustion and chaos, there was still something fragile and real tying you together.
When you pulled back, your cheeks burned. He studied you with quiet amusement, but his thumb continued tracing slow circles against your hand, as though he didnât want to let go.
âGuess weâre not completely hopeless after all,â he murmured, and this time, when you laughed, it was softer, steadier, full of something that felt very much like love.
andulkaphoto
blakekathryn
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
