Me Core

“HOPE” found in Washington D.C.

I’m so fucking done with men who the fuck does that I’m so done like I don’t want to have a reputation because if him I hate I hate I hate him I can’t like I just can’t. How do you a man that knows how much I don’t want anything to do with you I have you blocked on everything but you still some how I find a way to post a video of me and you from last summer on your STORY AND IT GETS SENT TO ME he took it down but still how do you find a way after everything to still tick me off.

Drabble for Multi

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Trying to sneak into your boyfriend's office while making sure none of his coworkers can see you is not the brightest idea you've ever had especially when you're carrying a lunch for him meaning you only have one hand free.

Dr. Gregory House, Many people know him for his sarcastic voice and dominating way especially when it comes to his patients. Most don't seem to know that one of the nurses that he seems to always ignore is his serious girlfriend whom he's been dating for the past 2 years.

That girlfriend has noticed for the past few days that House's sleeping schedule is even more chaotic than usual dark bags have settled beneath his eyes and he's been eating less and less as House desperately tries to figure out what's wrong with one of his newest patients.

Even after cracking the case and starting to fill out the paperwork for the patient, so they can be released back to their family he still hasn't fully settled back to his old sleeping schedule. House seems to be still very stressed out and ignoring his need for food so that's why you've decided to break into his office and force-feed him.

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You really didn't think this through, somehow while arguing with House you ended up on your knees with his cock down your throats.

Your pants are shoved down to your ankles and your hand begins to cramp as you desperately attempted to finger your soaking wet cunt needing to cum.

You watch tears in your eyes and falling down your face, as House groans and throws back his head.

You chock as the fingers he buried into your hair tighten, House is now desperately trying to release his stress into your mouth as his cock pounds its way into your spasming throat. House pulls out slightly to smirk down at your flushed and teary-eyed face letting out a moan as he wraps a hand around his cock as he watches you whine and grind down onto your fingers.

Before he can shove into your mouth again someone knocks at the door causing you both to freeze up.

Before you can truly start panicking house shoves his cock back into his boxers and helps you stand up after you start shifting your pants up before you can even try to start buttoning your pants back on House is soon shoving you beneath his desk and sitting down on his chair.

Gathering the cold food that had been placed on his desk in front of him to pretend that he was eating after opening up the food containers and making sure that you can't be seen beneath his desk and that you're somewhat comfortable he then calls out for the person to enter.

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(Yeah, I'm not the best but hey I tried and I'm getting better)

{ THIS IS WONDERFUL STOP }

I just need to say I love your work it’s so good and the way you write Joe too? Don’t even get me started. Could you maybe do one where the reader has a bad day and hasn’t slipped in a way and Joe kinda has to help them slip and he’s really sweet to her and kind (very much fannon Joe) by yk Joe being Joe he thinks about what he’s gonna due to the person that made your day bad if you could that would be great! No rush!!!!

A/N: Thank you!!! Again I LOVE getting Joe requests, I put a lot of effort into writing them, there's no sfw content anywhere for him so I take great pleasure in making it for people! Joe's great to write for too because his character is just soooo unique so it makes it easier to get that inside voice he has right if that makes sense. Ok I'm rambling, enjoy!

Worth It

Pairings: Cg! Joe Goldberg x Fem! Little!reader

Word Count:1.1k

Warnings: usual warning for Joe! Language, reader is called stupid (not by Joe), implied violence.

Joe's waiting for you when you come home from work as always. He likes to wait for you with a homemade meal or simply a warm smile. You have a stressful job and he helps you relax afterwards because that's just the kind of boyfriend he is. Usually you come home stressed, giving him a weary smile and a kiss before heading to the shower to wash off your long day. But not today.

He can tell somethings off when you walk in. You're biting your lip anxiously, not giving him your usual loving greeting. Something's up with you.

"Hey baby, you ok?" He questions softly, moving towards you for a hug.

Before he even gets to you you break down into tears. "He was s-so mean to me!" You cry, clutching on to Joe when he pulls you to his chest.

"Who was baby?" Joe questions, a hint of panic lacing his voice. "What happened?"

Who hurt his girl?

"My boss." You say, voice breaking as you say it. "He literally s-screamed at me in front of everyone. He made me feel so stupid." You sob, burying you face into his shirt, body shaking with the impact of your sobs. Joe brings his arms around you, kissing your head while shushing you. He's incensed.

What kind of low life fuck gets off on making a pretty, smart little thing like you cry? When all you do is work your ass off to please him? This is not gonna fly.

"Oh baby I am so fucking sorry. Why would he do that? You've been working so hard recently."

You shrug your shoulders, shaking your head. "He s-said my work wasn't good enough n that I-I didn't try hard enough but I did Joe I promise." You look up at him, your oh-so-innocent eyes now bloodshot and puffy.

Oh this fucker has to die. Of course you tried! You always try you're his, he loves you because you try- ok Joe gotta focus. She needs you.

"Oh baby I know. You've don't have to explain to me I know you've been trying. It's not you're fault that your boss is an idiot."

"Was so mean." You mumble. "Do you think I'm stupid Joe?" You look into his eyes with that borderline puppy-dog expression on your face and you look oh so sad.

You just need his reassurance. Your dumbass boss doesn't get to make you feel like this. He's going to make sure it never happens again. After he makes you feel better.

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, cupping your face. "Of course not baby. It's your boss who's stupid. He doesn't know how good he's got it."

You sniffle, shaking your head. "Bad day."

Joe nods. "I know." He coos, wiping stray tears from your cheeks using his thumbs. "But you're home now. Daddy's here baby."

You don't know when you started slipping but it's happening. Joe can always tell, he's good with things like that. "Gotta get changed." You mumble tiredly.

"Want some help?" Joe offers with a slight smile. You respond by simply holding your arms out towards him. He picks you up swiftly and carries you into the bathroom, grabbing you some pjs on the way.

He places you down onto the granite counter top beside the sink, turning on the warm water and wetting a cloth before helping you wipe your make-up off. When it's all off he rinses it out and puts it under cold water.

"Close your eyes, good girl." You do as he says, letting out a muted whine as you feel your eyes instantly cool as he places the cloth on them. After a minute he lifts the cloth back up and you feel him put something cold on your face. You open one eye, keeping the other screwed shut, looking up at Joe.

He chuckles. "It's just your moisturizer baby, don't give me that look."

This makes you smile, closing your eye again as you let him rub the moisturizer into your skin in small, languid circles.

"There's that smile." Joe murmurs, finishing up with your skincare and tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ears.

You open your eyes, feeling thoroughly smaller now.

God. You're adorable. How could anyone purposely hurt you ?

"You want me to help you get dressed little one?" You nod your head, thumb drifting up to rest on your lips, dangerously close to slipping into your mouth.

Joe gently takes your wrist and pulls it down. "Uh uh" he reprimands quietly, lifting you down from the counter and helping you into your pjs. You lift your hand up to your lips again but you stop when you see the look Joe's giving you. You can't help the little frustrated whine that escapes you but Joe is quick to soothe.

"Shh shh, I'll get you your pacifier soon, ok? C'mon, let's fix your hair."

He softly pulls a comb through your hair, detailing the knots and putting it up into a bun.

"There." He says when he's finished, booping your nose, smiling when you giggle at him.

"Beautiful baby."

You blush at the attention, burrowing your head into his shoulder.

"Alright, c'mon kiddo" he says, sweeping you up into his arms yet again and bringing you into the kitchen, not before grabbing your pacifier from your bedroom. He makes you a sippee cup full of hot chocolate and gives you a snack.

"Thank you Daddy" you say in between bites, looking up at him with a smile, mouth covered in hot chocolate.

Joe's heart clenches. Even when you're small you're so polite. You just want to please. That's all you ever want to do. His minds starts spiralling again at the thought of your boss. You worked overtime! You clearly put huge amounts of effort into that project, just needing some recognition and your he called you stupid? The jackass with a comb over called his little girl stupid? No wonder his wife left him, guy has the emotional intelligence of a fork.

He's roused from his thoughts by your voice.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah pumpkin?"

"Colour now?"

Joe smiles. "Of course sweetheart." He cleans off your face with a napkin before pulling out your colouring books and crayons to let you scribble happily beside him, occasionally calling out to him so he can see your masterpieces. As the evening wears on you slow down, pacifier in and colouring abandoned, breathing slow and even as you sleep in his arms.

Two weeks later your boss doesn't show up for work and you never see him again. Joe seems to share your slight worry but that's immediately overshadowed by the fact that you were promoted to your bosses old position.

That night Joe falls asleep with a smile on his face.

Worth it.

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

bitches have complicated feelings about me due to my inconsistent swag

I CANT DO THIS RN GUYS

artrick phone sex

I gotchu, my love <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! First time dynamics, angst, Art has avoidance issues like me.

Apologies this may be too long and full of my own personal angst I fear.

—-

“Art?” It’s Patrick.

Art feels his stomach sinking and now he wishes he’d avoided his call, again. He rolls over on his bed and looks at the sparsely decorated wall of his dorm room. It’s his first time talking to Patrick since… since…

He shivers and tries to put it out of his mind.

“Hey,” Art says and clears his throat. “What’s up?”

Patrick chuckles.

Art shivers again. Did his voice always sound that way? Or is Art just crazy still? He’s been really crazy lately. It’s been two weeks and he’s still…

“Really? What’s up?” Patrick mimics. “That’s all you have to say?”

Art shrugs for the benefit of no one but himself. “What—um— what’s wrong with that?”

“Oh I don’t know…” Patrick hums and then he sighs. “Okay fuck it. I’ll go with it. Are you okay?”

Art is still anxious, his stomach still uneasy. It’s just Patrick. His oldest and closest and best friend and yet he can’t relax. He can’t settle down and they're just talking on the phone. He can’t imagine seeing him in person when he inevitably shows up to Stanford again to watch Tashi play. Everything is different now.

“I’m fine, Patrick.” He lies.

“But you don’t want to talk to me?” Patrick sounds weird. Worried? A little. Disappointed? Probably. Sad? Definitely.

Art sighs, he doesn’t want Patrick to be sad. “No I— I’ve just been busy. We had finals last week. And um…. practice has been crazy. I’m um… I started seeing this girl and—” he hears Patrick huff a laugh but barrels through, ignoring it. “Sorry I missed your calls.”

“And texts,” Patrick adds.

“I’m sorry,” Art says again.

They’re quiet for a while. Art turns back to look at the tv. He was watching Sports Center, they were talking about gymnastics. Apparently there had just been some kind of qualifier competition.

“Who’s this new girl your seeing?” Patrick asks. This time Art can’t tell what his tone is.

“Uh well she’s nice, pretty. She’s actually not on the team. She’s an English major.”

“Sounds hot,” Patrick says, flatly.

“Yeah, she’s um— she’s nice,” Art says. “Are you—are you high?”

“A little. I won’t lie. Me and the buddy I was telling you about we smoked a couple and then went and got tacos and Margaritas. So fucking good. Who knew Dallas was a food town?”

Art laughs. He begins to relax, this feels more like best friend stuff. Maybe he was overreacting. Avoiding him for two weeks. But of course that wasn’t the only reason Art was avoiding him. “What happened to your match?”

“Uh well— I lost again. This shit is so fucking rigged.” Patrick complains.

“Dude that fucking sucks,” Art says. He sits up on his bed and looks around for his own weed stash.

“Yeah, it’s fine though. I’m going against this guy tomorrow, stats are all over the place but I think I can take him.”

“Whats his name?”

“Moussa or Mousso… I can’t remember but he’s French. Kinda hot, actually.”

Art feels his stomach flip flop again. “Uh… so what about Tashi?”

“She’s good, she actually answers my calls. I mean not tonight but she told me her cousin would be in town so…”

”Do you want me to beg for forgiveness or something?” Art says, smirking.

Patrick takes a breath and doesn’t say anything while Art is rummaging through the bottom drawer of his night stand. He finds the baggy he was looking for and sits up on the bed, legs crossed as he opens it.

“I’m sorry but I was honestly busy.” Art adds when Patrick still hasn’t said anything.

“Are we ever gonna talk about it?” Patrick asks.

Art stops moving. His stomach begins doing all kinds of things again.

“Look I don’t want to… I don’t want it to be weird,” Patrick continues. “I can do whatever you need. If you want me to pretend I didn’t fuck you… okay fine. But you have to talk to me because I’m going fucking crazy.”

Art stares at the television but he’s not seeing anything. He gives up on the weed and tosses it on the nightstand. “Yeah um… okay.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Art mutters. “I’m— we can talk.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Art says. “I—“ he lays back down on his side and looks at the wall, pulling his knees up. He wishes with everything in him that they hadn’t done it in here. In his fucking bed.

He’s got it on a loop playing in his head all the time. Patrick crawling between his legs. The way he looked, hair still damp from the shower, freckles all over, pupils too big, blue eyes all sparkly. How he smelled, like vanilla soap and cigarettes. What he sounded like, voice so much deeper and softer than normal, saying stupid things like “You’re so fucking pretty”, “Gonna make you scream my name,” and then moaning when he got it in.

And how it felt.

God.

How it felt.

That’s the part that stays with him. How much it hurt. And then how much it didn’t hurt at all. By the end Patrick was touching something inside him and he was seeing stars. In between consciousness and some other plane of existence is how good it felt. That was the silly part. Feeling like he wanted it again and again and again.

He let Patrick do it again in the morning. Patrick’s arms wrapped around his waist fucking him on his side while he stared at this wall his whole body blooming with pleasure. And then just sitting with it for the rest of the day. The ache. The stretch. The feeling like everyone could tell. Patrick left that afternoon for the airport, sent Art a text. Well that was fun. Which he ignored. Called him that evening. Also ignored.

Art had been trying to avoid thinking about it ever since (it was impossible). He’s thrown himself into school, tennis, he’s even tried to talk to a new girl. It didn’t go anywhere. In his worst moments he’s even tried to flirt with Tashi. But then he remembers she’s fucking Patrick and his mind swings right back around to the way Patrick fucked him. And that makes him more crazy because now he doesn’t know what the fuck he actually wants.

And every fucking night, late at night he’s lying in bed staring at the wall touching himself over and over… thinking about it.

He doesn’t know how to say any of this to Patrick.

“Did you die?” Patrick asks, dryly. Even now since they’ve been on the phone, just hearing Patricks stupid voice is making Art’s stomach hurt, and his cock fill up.

“No… I’m just confused okay,” Art says.

“About what?”

“I don’t know.”

”Did you hate it?” Patrick asks.

“Not really,” Art murmurs.

“You’re so fucking full of shit,” Patrick groans.

Art sighs and realizes he just mindlessly put his palm on his cock because of how gravelly Patrick’s voice sounds. And fine. Patrick can make him crazy all the way in whatever fucking city hes in however many fucking miles he is away from Palo Alto.

“I’m sorry if I don’t know how to feel. I’ve never… I’d never done any of that before.” Art says quietly.

“And yet you practically begged for it in the morning.” Patrick says softly.

Art swallows thickly.

“I can’t get it out of my head.” Patrick continues. “The way you were rubbing against my dick before you even woke up properly. Fuck. I can’t get you out of my head.”

Art’s rubbing himself now. “I can’t either,” he sighs, he’s starting to lose it again. He feels silly. Too silly to care if Patrick can tell.

“Yeah?” Patrick sounds eager, breathy.

“It was… I still… I still feel it. Is that crazy?” Art says quietly.

Patrick takes a deep breath. “Fuck. You drive me so fucking insane. Are you fucking touching yourself?”

“’m sorry. I just…” Art says, closing his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Art knows he’s never gonna recover from this but right now it doesn’t matter. He would stop if he could but he can’t.

”You still feel me?”

“Mmhm.”

“Feel me stretching you? you’re so fucking tight I don’t even know if it’s all gonna fit,” Patrick says, his voice sounds like it did. When Arts eyes are closed it’s almost like he can feel Patrick’s breath on his skin.

“Ah—“ Art gasps, grabbing himself properly. “I like the stretch.”

“You love it.” Patrick says. “You don’t even want to wait. Don’t want me to take my time, you’re just so eager you’re pushing that pretty ass back on me.”

“Yeah,” Art gasps, he rolls onto his back and puts the phone on speaker, letting one leg fall open as he jerks himself. “It feels so good—when you fuck me. Its too much. Im too full please… please I don’t think I can take anymore.”

“Oh you fucking liar,” Patrick moans. “You can take it baby. I know you can. You’re a little cock slut already and its only your first time. Fuck. You’re so tight.”

”So tight,” Art says mindlessly as he tries to ease two fingers along his ass, the way Patrick had done before he entered. “I wanna… I want you to… I—I miss you.”

”I miss you too,” Patrick says. “If I was there I’d have you on all fours taking my dick all night.”

“Ah—mmh— Patrick I’m gonna— you’re gonna make me—“ Art cries. The fingers are enough… even dry.

“Come on, yeah… fucking come on my big fat dick sweetheart… come on.. nngh…” Patrick moans.

It’s enough. Hot strings of pearly white are suddenly spurting out of him and spilling everywhere, on his fingers and clothes. On the bedspread. He’s breathless, as his whole body goes lax.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… I need to be in you again, gahhh..” Art can hear Patrick’s bed squeaking wherever he is and then he’s groaning loudly, and gasping through his own orgasm. “Oh god, oh shit… that was…”

“Yeah,” Art says breathlessly, looking up at the ceiling.

”Mm don’t fucking ignore me again,” Patrick says.

As relaxed as Art feels right now. Distantly, the pit in his stomach is returning. “Patrick… are we… I mean… are we still gonna be… friends?”

“Yeah of course,” Patrick says, easy. He yawns. “Always.”

Art feels tied up in knots but he can tell Patrick’s relaxed, sated, relieved even. If anything he’s going to be asleep in five minutes. No point getting any deeper now.

“You wanna fall asleep on the phone or—?” Patrick asks, yawning again.

“No it’s… it’s fine.” Art says. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Mmkay. Sweet dreams.”

Art bites his tongue to keep himself from saying something fucking stupid that he can’t take back. The line goes dead. Art stares at the ceiling for a minute, the three words he can’t say platonically to his best friend who he’s now fucking, are flitting about in his head. And Patrick wonders why he’s confused. He grabs his second pillow and pulls it over his face. He’s so fucked.

YES YES

'he would not fucking say that' maybe he would if he knew he was starring in his very own porn fic for the sole purpose of delighting some freaks on archive of our own dot org. maybe he'd play it up for the cameras. ever consider that

“omg you’re so creative. how do you get your ideas” i hallucinate a single scene in the taco bell drive thru and then spend 13 months trying to write it