Greg House - Blog Posts

hey so i

Doctor calls you with your bloodwork results and just says “I’m really mad at you” and then hangs up

so many things happening in this scene and i don't even know where to start

guys whenever I take my birth control it makes me feel like house when he pops a vicodin

I always do his lil sigh of relief after too 💔

He's soooo self-loathing

These two posts following eachother were meant to be

A bad meme made after a burst of inspiration

hello freaky alex! 😃 can you draw more hilson mpreg so i can print it out and anonymously mail it to my best friend?

I wasn't sure which one you wanted to be pregnant... Please tell me their response if you do mail it...

dying at wilson obliviously eating his sandwich while house is sitting there consumed with lust trying to use blatant homoerotic imagery to blast the idea of hot gay sex directly into wilson's brain

in his defence your honour, he was feeling extra silly that day

Yassified house

Once again thinking about House + food issues

House grew up in a household where “if you were two minutes late for dinner, you didn’t eat.” It follows there would have been other rules surrounding food, likely things like “this is what’s for dinner, eat it or you don’t eat” and “you have to finish what’s on your plate.”

I feel like this would be a possible explanation for why he steals Wilson’s food so often.

House is conditioned to eat whatever is on his plate and finish it. House is smart guy though, and would likely find work arounds to his own issues/behaviours, ie: if it’s not on HIS plate the rules don’t apply.

It would explain why House sometimes eats off Wilson’s plate and sometimes gets his own. If House likes what’s available in the cafeteria and feels he can finish a portion of it he makes Wilson buy him lunch.

However, if he is unsure if he likes what’s available he’ll eat off Wilson’s plate and if he doesn’t like it it’s okay because it isn’t his meal, there is no pressure to eat more.

Same goes for if House isn’t particularly hungry but recognizes he should eat something (could be lots of reasons for this but gotta throw in my personal headcanon of autistic House having poor interoception so he doesn’t always feel hunger, thirst etc but will sometimes go “I haven’t eaten in a while, I probably should.”) and so he tries a bite of Wilson’s food and if he likes it, he steals half. The small portion is more manageable when he is experiencing low appetite and is less stressful to need to finish.

uh oh uh oh looks like we have our selves a puppy boy!!! it's a pubby booy and his kitty frieeend!! uhh oh oh nooo!! someone sound the puppy alarm!!!!

Im on season 8 of house, this shit is scary but hay at least house and Wilson is friendship didn’t die like Wilson wanted

Kinktober 23 :)

You can also request thing too!!!!!!!

Enjoy 😏😏

Wet dream- Greg house x black reader ( oct1)

Fingering- spencer Reid x black reader ( oct 2)

Choking- rick grimes x black reader (oct 3)

Spanking- Greg house x black reader ( oct 4)

Blowjob- rick grimes x black reader ( Oct 5)

First time- Greg house x black reader ( Oct 6)

stubborn

“Greg sit still or get hurt some more” why is always getting punched “I can't sit still when your sitting on my lap” he smirk at me “if you keep moving it's going to hurt” “oww” “See stop moving” I said as I held his face still “it didn't hurt i just yawned” he wince with pain “See I'm all done you big baby” I said as I am getting up but Greg pulled me down and kiss me “you know you’re really stubborn” I said as a cross my arm “and you’re really kissable” Greg said as he kissed me again.

Heyyy, can i request a dr house x reader smut where she picks him up at a bar and they sleep together and then the next day is her first day at a new job and he is her boss (yes this is the plot of the first episode of greys anatomy)

HERE WE GO AGAIN I'm so sorry it took me so long to finish this but i did and sorry about if i miss spell something That was my last night getting drink, and my first and last time bring someone Home. “wake up you have to leave and i have to go work” what time is it….8:07 Shit  “five more minutes” he groans “you need to get up and go, or i'm going to be more late than i am”  where is my bra? “I think you're looking for this,” he said as he held my bra in his hand. “Thank you but, seriously you have to go” shit it’s 8:19 “don’t worry about being late” he said as he put his shirt on “what do you mean ?”  i say as i make my way to the bathroom “don’t worry about getting in trouble” he claim as he limp toward me “when i'm done peeing i will leave” “I still don't understand” i said looking confused “you don’t need to understand, just have a good day, ok foxy” and with that he walks out of the bathroom and leaves.

“Dose anyone knows where doctor house office is” i really hope i don't get fired take the elevator two three floors up and take a right right down the hall” one of the nurse tell me “hi im sorry im lat…” you got to be fucking kidding me. “House this is good you have a six year old who had a heart attack, and just had a heart transplant” the brunette girl said “hold on cameron '' he said as he turned my way “see foxy i told you dont worry about being late”. He said with smirk. Flashback to last night

“You need to get out more and have fun” my friend said “you know i'm a homebody, i like to stay home and read, not being outside with people '' i hate it here. “Let’s play a game, it's called find your man” she said as she take a sip of her drink “alright” i said as i roll my eyes “look 3 o'clock” she said and oh my god this man was 6 feet, salt and pepper thing going on with his hair, and the scrub would be so nice in between my leg, and those eye are so blue and powerful i would do anything he asked. “Ok now what?” i asked “you get up go on the dance floor and dance and hopefully he’ll get behind that” she said happily “alright here i go”  i said as I took a shot.

I got on the floor and the DJ started to grind with me and I started to feel the music. I sway my hips from side to side running my hands through my hair. I feel someone walking behind me ‘I've been seeing you eye me from the side of the room, pretty bold” he says as he puts his hands on my waist and starts to flow with me ‘while I have a good eye for good things” I say as I back into him more. “Well  I like to play with good and pretty things” he whispered in to my ear “well how bout you come back to my place and play with me” i say as i turn around and wrap my arms around his neck “lead the way”.

Time skip

This man has a mouth on him i thought as he work his tongue into my mouth “mmm” i moan into his  “your lips are soft, i wonder if the ones between your legs are the too” he said as he makes his way down my neck “take this off” i say as a unbuckle his belt. Wow” is what i say when i seen his cock " Take a picture it'll longer” he said with a wink. I started with a long lick from the base to the top of the shaft “shit” he said as he looked down at me. I took as much as i could down my throat which as lot “fuck” he said as he throw his had back “mmmm” i started to hum.

on his dick which made him push hand father down his cock and i began to gag “thats a good girl, letting me fuc- shit- fuck your throat” his legs began to shake “fuck baby im bout to cum” i start to play with his balls to make him cum quicker “shit shit shit fuck” he say out loud and push my head down as his cum shot into the back of my throat “be a good girl and sallow it” i sallow it and open to show him “come on show me your bedroom”  he said as he help me up. I led him to my room “strip and get on the bed for me” I gave him a little strip and made my way to the bed. He takes the rest of his clothes and climbs on top of me. “You got a condom or something?” he asks “im on birth control” i say with a smile. He push the tip in and my god is it big “oh shit” i say as he pushes himself all the way in. he began to rock his hip back and forth into me shit “your tight” he said as he grunt into my neck “more please more” i moan out loud. This man is making my bed rock “fuck im going to cum” i tell him as i look him the eyes “come on cum on this cock” and thats all i need to cum “FUCCCCK!!!!” i just now that the neighbors are going to be mad in the moring “fuck im close” He say as he speeds up the paced “oh shit oh shit oh-” he filled me with all his cum and fell on top of my  “that was good.. I am crushing?“ he asks as he kisses my neck “not at all” i say with a smile. “Where are you going?” I asked as he got up and walked away “to pee” he said as he limped away. He return back with a towel and cleaned me off. “Can’t leave you all stick” he said as throw the towel on the floor. I move closer to him and laid my head on his chest. “This isn't bad for the first one night” i said as i closed my eyes “yeah me too” he said as drift to sleep. “I told you not to worry foxy” and that's how i ended up here if feel like this isn't my best work

🇺🇸Some of the few drawings I've made of the couple!! (Inspired by a Pinterest post that I lost)

🇲🇽¡Algunos de los pocos dibujos que les he hecho a la parejita! 😍😍 Cómo los amo. (Inspirado en una publicación de Pinterest que perdí)

wilson and house are acting like children half of their screen time and I love it so much. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND they are PRECIOUS!!!!!!!!! ots a pity that I already know what happens in next seasons.

guys update I watched like one and a half season of house md and house and Wilson are gay af.

I started watching House MD recently and gave a shot at drawing House in my style. he's surprisingly hard to draw, his vibe his hard to capture but I did my best.

reposting so i can come back to it🙏🏻

Housefic where House is dosed with truth serum and is unable to lie but nobody really notices? because he's still talking about how much he wants to fuck Wilson just as much as he did before

Wilson only figures it out because House is openly talking about how much he's struggling with his chronic pain that day and/or is earnestly talking about his emotions

“maybe i don’t want to push this till it breaks”

…MAYBE I DONT WANT TO PUSH THIS TILL BREAKS????? YOU MIGHTVE WELL HAVE CRAWLED OVER ON YOUR KNEES PULLED HIS PANTS DOWN AND START SUCKING HIS FUCKING DICK GODDAMN

this is horrible…

MORE.

house: i think you’re confusing me with jake gyllenhaal.

He is always doing anything but his job

House trapping Wilson in a comedically large fishing net like a wilie coyote and Roadrunner cartoon is so fucking funny to me

House x m!reader

mostly angst , house isnt allowed happiness

You were the case he shouldn’t have taken.

Not because it wasn’t interesting—God no, you were fascinating. A rapid, degenerative decline with no clear cause, organs failing like dominoes, bloodwork that didn’t make sense. A real puzzle.

But you were also charming. Razor-sharp. Witty in a way that felt intentional—like you were sparring with him, not trying to impress. You didn’t flinch at his sarcasm, didn’t soften around the edges like most patients did. You met him eye to eye and made him feel seen, which was worse than being ignored.

And now you were dying.

No diagnosis. No answers. Just a firm deadline hanging over you like a guillotine.

House stood at the foot of your hospital bed, watching the slow, mechanical rise and fall of your chest. The monitors beeped softly—too softly. The air felt wrong without your usual quips, your dry smile, your “what do you want now, more blood?”

You hadn’t woken up all day.

Wilson entered quietly. “You know you can’t fix this one.”

House didn’t look at him. “People said the same about cancer. Then someone invented chemo. Maybe I’ll invent something in the next twenty-four hours.”

Wilson was quiet a moment, watching him. “You’re not angry because you can’t solve the case.”

House’s shoulders stiffened.

“You’re angry because it’s him.”

House finally turned, expression cold. “I’m angry because I’m surrounded by idiots who can’t figure out what’s killing a man in front of them.”

“You can’t figure it out.”

The silence between them stretched. Wilson, as always, wasn’t afraid to twist the knife.

House swallowed thickly and turned back to you. “He was making jokes about death three days ago. Asked me if I’d write his eulogy and call everyone at the funeral idiots.”

“That sounds like him.”

“He said he’d haunt me. Said he’d rattle my cane at night just to piss me off.”

House's voice caught at the end, almost imperceptibly. He cleared his throat like he could swallow the grief.

“You cared about him.”

“I don’t care.” The words came too fast. Too loud. “He’s a patient. A dying patient. Dying patients die. That’s what they do.”

“Greg—”

“He’s going to die, and I’m not going to cry over someone I’ve only known two weeks.”

Wilson looked at him for a long moment, then sighed and left.

House stood alone at your bedside, silence pressing down on him like gravity. His hand hovered above yours but never touched.

“I hate you for being smart,” he said quietly. “I hate you for being funnier than me. I hate you for looking at me like you saw right through all of it.”

Your breathing hitched in your sleep. Just slightly.

House leaned in, the tiniest crack in his voice:

“I hate that it's going to suck when you die.”

The room smells like antiseptic and late afternoon sun. You’re propped up in bed, barely able to sit upright without your lungs burning like you’ve run a marathon. Every breath feels like it takes negotiation. The beeping monitors have become your ambient soundtrack.

Then the door creaks open, and Thirteen walks in with something big cradled in a to-go box, grinning like she’s just broken the rules. Because she has.

You raise an eyebrow. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

She plops it down on the tray table with ceremony. “Bacon double cheeseburger. Extra onion rings. Triple patty. I threw in a milkshake just to make nurses yell at me later.”

You let out a weak, hoarse laugh. “This is gonna kill my cholesterol.”

She doesn’t laugh back right away. Just smiles. Softly. The kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

You both know what this is. Not recovery. Not hope. It’s a parting gift. Something indulgent and alive, for someone who's already fading. It means: you mattered. It means: we’re saying goodbye, but not with tears just yet.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for a fry, and Thirteen gently helps you bring it to your lips. It tastes like everything you’ve been denied—grease, heat, life.

You chew slowly. “Tell House he still owes me a better eulogy.”

Thirteen nods, her voice thick. “He’ll pretend he doesn’t care.”

You manage a smirk. “He’ll write it anyway.”

And you both sit in the fading sunlight, sharing the best worst meal of your life.

God, this is such a soft, aching scene. The slow procession of goodbye, disguised in humor and shared memories. Here's how that might look:

You're not sure who sends out the signal, but somehow, one by one, they all come.

Foreman is first. Ever the professional, even now. He checks your chart, updates your IV with practiced hands. You pretend not to notice the way he lingers, as if fixing the machines might fix you too. He doesn’t say much—never really did—but his hand rests on your shoulder longer than necessary when he leaves.

Taub sneaks in next, looking like he’s trying not to be caught. He sits at your bedside, cracks a joke about how *you* should’ve been the one cheating death, not him cheating on his wife. It’s dark, but you both laugh. You knew way too much about that man's love life by now. He leaves behind a sudoku book you can’t focus on, but it smells faintly of his cologne and cigarette smoke. Comforting, in a weird way.

Chase comes just after sunset, sunlight haloing his golden hair. He grins as he flops into the chair beside you, casual as ever.

“You’re my favorite dying guy, you know,” he says.

You grin, weakly. “You’re my favorite Aussie. Don’t tell Hugh Jackman.”

He chuckles, and the sound almost breaks you. “You don’t get many people like you. Smart, sharp. Didn’t let House get away with shit.”

“He’s still gonna win.”

“Maybe.” Chase’s smile falters a little. “But you made it hard for him. He liked you.”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever gotten.”

He squeezes your hand before leaving, thumb tracing a slow arc across your knuckles. “Get some rest.”

The room is quiet when Wilson finally steps in.

No dramatic entrance. No clipboard. No comforting lie.

Just Wilson, clutching a coffee he hasn’t touched, standing in the doorway like he’s afraid crossing the threshold will make it real.

You manage a small smile. “Didn’t think you’d come. Thought you hated watching people die.”

“I do,” he says softly, closing the door behind him. “But I hate missing the chance to say goodbye more.”

He walks over, sits down where Chase sat before him. His eyes are tired. Red-rimmed. You don’t mention it.

There’s a long silence.

Then, his voice cracks like something inside him finally gave way. “I really wish it was cancer.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t laugh. You just nod, slow and steady, because you do understand.

Cancer, at least, comes with a playbook. Chemo. Radiation. Clinical trials. Wilson’s entire life has been about fighting it, taming it, coaxing one more month, one more year, out of the cruel beast.

But you—your body’s unraveling in ways no one can name. There’s no script. No treatment. Just time, and not much of it.

“I know,” you whisper. “Me too.”

He puts the coffee down. Takes your hand like it’s glass.

“You’re not alone,” he says, voice thick. “Even if you want to be. You’re not.”

You nod again. It’s all you can do.

And for a long time, neither of you speaks. He just holds your hand, thumb brushing over your pulse, as if willing it to stay.

You’re barely there when he comes.

Not that you weren’t expecting it—House was always late from what you've heard. To consults, to court, to apologies. You weren’t sure he’d show at all.

The door creaks open. A moment passes. Then the telltale thump of his cane on tile. Steady. Slow.

You don’t bother opening your eyes.

“Thought you were done with the case,” you rasp, voice more breath than sound. The words tug at your cracked lips, forming a crooked smile.

There’s a pause. Then—

“I don’t like unfinished puzzles.”

He says it like it’s a joke. Like it’s still just another day, another file. But the pause that follows is heavy.

He walks closer, and when he sits, the leather of the chair creaks under his weight. You hear him breathe out, shaky. Like he’s been holding it the whole way here.

Your breath rattles in your chest. You manage to crack one eye open—just enough to see the gray in his stubble, the pinch in his brow.

“You look like hell,” he mutters.

“Mirror,” you wheeze, “must be broken.”

House huffs a breath that might’ve been a laugh. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. Doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t need to.

“I ran your bloodwork again,” he says, almost absently. “Still nothing. No 'miracle.' No screw-up. You’re… you’re really dying.”

There’s something unspoken at the end of that sentence. And I can’t stop it.

You let your head roll slightly toward him. “You mad at me for it?”

“No,” he says. Too quickly. Then quieter, “Yes.”

He rubs a hand over his mouth, then down the back of his neck. He looks at you like maybe if he stares hard enough, you’ll get better just to spite him.

Then, finally, he says the thing that’s been clogging his throat the whole time:

“I don’t want you to go.”

And God, it’s not romantic. It’s not tender. It’s raw and bitter and laced with all the things House can’t say right. But it’s real.

You cough, and it hurts like hell, but you manage to smile again. “You’ll have to… find a new favorite terminal case.”

“Already told the others,” he says. “You’re irreplaceable. You bastard.”

You close your eyes, and for a moment, the pain slips beneath the surface. House stays. Silent. Watching. Waiting.

And for once, he doesn’t try to fix it.

He just stays.

Your grip is barely there, papery and trembling in his palm, but House doesn't let go.

He never does things like this. Never lingers. Never touches unless it's necessary—or cruel. But here he is. Sitting at your bedside with his calloused fingers wrapped around yours, thumb brushing idly over your knuckles.

You’re more shadow than substance now. Skin yellowed with jaundice, eyes glassy, voice a thin, rasping ghost of what it was. But when you smile, he feels it like a punch to the gut.

“I should get you a hooker,” he says, voice rough, grating. Still House. Still a dick.

You wheeze a laugh that dissolves into a wet, painful cough. “Only… if it’s one of the expensive ones.”

“Oh, naturally,” he says, faux-casual. “None of that street corner crap for you. I’m talking… a high-end escort. Ivy League education. Can quote Tolstoy while choking on your—”

You squeeze his hand. Barely. But it’s there.

“God, I’m gonna miss your mouth.”

House swallows hard. Looks away.

“Don’t,” he says.

You smile again, smaller this time. Sleepier. It’s all slipping now. Moments draining like sand in the glass.

“You were an asshole from the moment I got admitted.”

“Consistent branding,” he murmurs.

“But you held my hand.”

He looks down at where your fingers are intertwined. Doesn’t answer right away. Then, softly:

“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone. Ruins my reputation.”

Your breath hitches, not from emotion but exhaustion. He can hear it. Feels it. The end’s so close now it buzzes in the air like static.

Still, he doesn’t let go.

Doesn’t move.

Just stays. Holding on for as long as he can.

Your chest hurts more now, a pressure that suffocates rather than aches. It’s sharp, like a thousand needles, each breath a ragged gasp you can’t quite catch. The monitors beside you beep in a steady, heartless rhythm, their sound growing louder and more frantic with each passing moment.

House’s face has morphed into something you didn’t think was possible. His usual cocky, sarcastic demeanor has melted into something raw. Something… afraid. His eyes flick to the monitor, then to you, back and forth, as though willing it all to stop, willing time to go backward, for you to just wake up from this.

You can see it in the twitch of his fingers, the flex of his jaw. He wants to save you. He wants to break every rule, every order, and fight for your life as if it’s one more case to solve. But he can’t. Not this time.

You can’t hold back a weak cough, the sound of it pathetic and wet, escaping your lips in a desperate attempt to make it better—but there’s nothing left to save.

“I—” He stops. His breath catches. “I could—”

“House…” Your voice is barely a rasp, a shadow of sound. It’s hard to form the words, hard to make them come together in your failing throat.

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

You know what he wants to say. I could break the rules. I could fight for you. I could save you.

But you signed a DNR. A part of you—the part that really knew it all along—is grateful for that. Grateful that you won’t have to endure any more pain. That you’ll be allowed to go. To leave this behind. Without being hooked to machines or held hostage by the life you’ve outlived.

You squeeze his hand—weakly, pathetically, but you do it. The touch is almost nothing. But it’s everything.

“I’m here,” he says, voice thick with something—grief, regret, tenderness—maybe all of it. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, something like a prayer.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. A whisper. Too quiet. But you hear it.

You blink slowly, feeling your body grow heavier, the world dimming at the edges. It’s time. You know it is. But you want him to know, somehow, that you’re okay with this. That it’s okay for him to let you go.

With a final, shaky breath, you exhale the words you’ve never said before, not like this.

“I’m not scared.”

His hand tightens around yours in the final moments. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. There’s nothing left to say as the heart monitor flatlines and the machines scream in silence.

But he stays there, holding your hand, because that's the only thing he knows to do when the one person he couldn’t save slips away from him.

First attempt at drawing with acrylic markers and drawings Gregory House :]

POV: you wake up from a mouse bite induced coma

Every once in a while I think about the doors House MD has opened for us.

I don't know if this has been said or not but House MD is a pretty mind-blowing redesign of Sherlock Holmes as it is, and the reverse au isn't even complete.

Heres what I mean.

We've got Sherlock Holmes as a doctor. He's got his usual traits and then some. And then we've got a Watson who's amazing and I love him but he isn't really a Watson.

Because if we've got a doctor SH then we ought to get a retired police officer, now private eye JW. And since House got the addiction and the limp, this Watson should get something new too. I'm thinkin about looking more into his adrenalin addiction, because let's face it, there is stuff we could look into.

Or we could take some from Wilson and give him three ex wives and a baby that nobody asked for and none of those wives want to take care of the baby so now we've got a single father ex wife hoarder.

All in all I just think they could work. Whenever House/Sherlock is stuck on a case he goes to Wilson/Watson for input, and he will say things like 'Well this lock has definitely been tempered with so I think you should look into rare poisions' and then House/Sherlock yelps up with 'you are a genius, its bird flu from that parrot!' and rush away while Watson/Wilson just stands there like what??

Ok I hope this rambling was at least somewhat comprehensable bcuz I'm honestly not sure. But I had to get this off my chest because it was rotting my brain.

watching other medical dramas 2 fill the void but nothing hits like House MD🙏😞