James and Reader have not been on great terms since their divorce, but an emerging situation with their son forces them to put aside their differences and work together and hope that past feelings don't resurface
𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐑 | @/shmaptainwrote
James moves into a new apartment and finds a new friend in his neighbour across the hall
Law & Medicine | @vigilante-3073
James Wilson has a secret relationship and House finally discovers it.
Attorney Reader
Pretty In Pink | @/vigilante-3073
House is curious about Wilson's newly formed relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department.
Wedding Bells Or Separations? | @/vigilante-3073
Something has changed between Wilson and the head of the Pediatrics Department. House is feeling bored and decides to investigate.
I miss us sometimes | @papriikau
You and James Wilson hadn't spoken since your divorce. You still care for him after all this time, but choose to avoid him to avoid getting hurt. But when a family emergency forces you to reconnect with your ex-husband, you struggle with your feelings for each other.
A RIDE HE WOULDN’T SURVIVE | @/papriikau
you and Wilson have been secretly dating and House keeps trying to figure out who Wilsons seeing.
You’re Hired | @star-girl-05
Mornin’ | @/star-girl-05
Loving You From Afar | @/star-girl-05
House is Cupid | @solcito-dps
wilson needs to get out of an annoying situation, luckily you came in the picture just in time.
“If you don’t stop-” | @curiouser--and--curiouser
Tiny humans | @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf
House gets to meet Wilson’s new girlfriend for the first time when his case takes him into his worst nightmare…peds. House is in for a shock at the ball of sunshine who has his best friend on a string.
James Wilson x peds!reader | @/the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf
Dr y/n y/l/n is a brilliant paediatrician at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. She is a ray of sunshine throughout the hospital. But don’t let the glitter and games fool you, she is an outstanding doctor who has the best track record out of everyone, second only to Gregory House (but she has him beat on bedside manner). No one in the hospital could believe it when she started dating the head of oncology, mr prince-charming himself! Least of all House.
You go. I go. | @/the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf
Vogler is on the warpath, his only goal; the termination of Gregory House. James won’t let this happen. But when his career is put on the line, your heart only tells you to do one thing.
Heartbeat | @kining-the-evil
Nothing brings a fighting couple together like a life threatening event
Jealous James Wilson Headcanons | @/kining-the-evil
dating wilson headcannons | @sorencd
make her mine | @gegewrites
Elevator | @bvnnyjo
I Believe What You Said | @haloshornsinkstains
Commitment | @bi-bard
(Y/n) has recently realized that their boyfriend of a few months, James, seems to be avoiding them. They confront an old friend in the hopes of getting answers and finding a way to help.
Mornings with you | @pomegranateshrimp
Finding you in the break room having a panic attack. (1) | @/pomegranateshrimp
House’s Gremlin | @specialagentlokitty
house's kid comes to visit Wilson and ends up teasing the team with her dad
Two | @/specialagentlokitty
Prompt for Wilson being in a new relationship where Wilson expects their new s/o to react to House like everyone else does, but they turn around and surprise him with their attitude.
meeting house. | @thinkingaboutbetterdays
ᝰ Robert Chase
Dr. Robert Chase x GN!Reader | @daisywrites101
houses kid! Reader, | @y13evie
KISS AND TELL | @iwritefandomimagines
after endless mutual pining, you and chase finally hooked up over the weekend. you agreed to keep it a secret while you figured things out, but it doesn’t last long with the team around.
MORE THAN THAT | @/iwritefandomimagines
when one of your best friends turns up at the hospital with her daughter unwell, you introduce chase as your colleague. considering you’ve been seeing each other for nearly five months now, he does not like that one bit.
I’m sorry I always said the wrong thing. | @audiovideodisco
You have a crush on your Aussie colleague, but have given up on ever being his type, or even someone he respects. People never change, right?
Wedding Night Excitement | @dearestro
Who knew a slip of the hand could lead to this?
Fluff | @rosedpetal
all worth it | @saorsawrites
Lazy evenings with chase after a long day of being annoyed by House
a winning bet. | @thinkingaboutbetterdays
ᝰ Dr House
“that’s my girl!” | @stxrshxpxd
house can’t stay focused on the case when something more interesting is distracting him, but reader knows how to put up a fight in the vicious bantering and flirting match that ensues
feelings are scary. | @thinkingaboutbetterdays
Masterlist | @kittenlittle24
Colleagues | @/kittenlittle24
Perfect for him, | @biahouse
You're House's girlfriend. Wilson doesn't like you, but... 3 times Wilson realized you were the perfect person for house, +1 time he finally admits it
I’m Eepy | @thatgenericwriter
House and the reader have a 4 year old child that definitely takes after her father
When Time Stops | @/thatgenericwriter
reader is at home when they get a surprise visit
Girl!Dad House | @multi-fandom-imagine
Supporting | @specialagentlokitty
Surprise? | @skywwwalker
what i want | @/skywwwalker
The unexpected | @frost-queen
do you yield? | @cmkren
Unsurprisingly, a night out between House and Wilson doesn’t end up uneventful. Tensions were strung in a-- stranger way, now with Amber in the picture. One of House's grand schemes goes sideways when the person he provokes ends up punching him right in the face. In an attempt to get Wilson in trouble (due to the whole curfew agreement), House got ahead of himself and now Wilson dumps him onto someone else rather than face the wrath of his girlfriend.
a human’s touch | @/cmkren
Maybe in some other lifetime romanticism wasn’t lost to House. That he had grown into a man capable of giving clear-cut affections— and capable of receiving it as well. The first ever puzzle he never wanted to solve, and it was of his heart. You, on the other hand, couldn’t give a damn about it all. You tied yourself to him after all.
House being secretly sweet would include… | @justanescapism
Bump in the Road | @cas-kingdom
You notice something which may mean you have cancer, and Wilson’s the only one you can logically turn to.
Split | @/cas-kingdom
For three years, you’ve kept the fact that Stacy married Mark from House. When he finds out, he’s not happy.
Stubborn | @writeyouin
Mirror Image Part 1 of 2 | @/writeyouin
do better | @crossingthedreams
a relationship between the boss and his employee has a million ways to go wrong. one, in particular, hurt them the most.
i could do it i could bring star trek back from the brink of riverdaleisation and revive it with beautiful practical effects and meaningful political and philosophical questions and of course sick ass aliens but no one will give me the rights to the franchise because i have "zero writing or production experience" and "who even are you" and "how did you get past security". but i could do it.
𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ◞ therapist & patient dynamic. p in v. power imbalance. creampie. comfort sex… but toxic. tabletop position. dacryphilia. semi public setting. crying. emotional manipulation. praise. icky soft dom wilson.
𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍 fucking the sorrow out of you—his client—like it isn’t the most wildly inappropriate, professionally ruinous thing either of you have ever done.
You’re strung out across the very edge of his desk, legs crooked around his waist, spread wide and pliant as he rocks into you with a languid rhythm that borders on cruel. The desk creaks beneath the strain, file folders scattered to the floor in paper-thin flurries of shame. Somewhere, a forgotten mug trembles on the corner, half-full and barely hanging on. Like you.
Each movement lands with a soft metallic clink of his belt buckle tapping the wood, the wet slap of your bodies colliding, and the breathless, bitten-off whimpers you can’t quite swallow. You’re soaked—humiliatingly so—the squelch of his cock working in and out of your soppy cunt echoes through the hush of his office.
“We’re gonna get in trouble, Doctor Wilson… we should stop… I feel bad…” you sniffle, bottom lip quivering, blinking up at him with eyes too big and wet with grief.
Wilson hums in response, murmuring into the crook of your neck as if coaxing a frightened fawn into staying still.
“Shhh… of course you feel bad,” he whispered, voice tinged with a resonant, butter-soft timbre, the kind that could talk someone down from a ledge. Or into bed. “You’ve taught yourself to be ashamed of needing comfort. To flinch when someone’s gentle.”
Your eyes flicker down, wet lashes catching in the low light as your lips cinch into a pout. “Yeah, but…”
“No buts,” He gently cuts in. “We talked about this. That feeling? It isn’t real. That’s your nervous system replaying an old script. Trauma’s a terrible narrator. We don’t let her drive anymore, remember?”
You respond with a slow small nod, too wrought with feeling to find words.
“And you’re not doing anything wrong,” he cups your face, touch tender, his tone even more so—so gentle it doesn’t register as wrong. “You’re just… letting someone take care of you. That’s all. Let me take care of you.” He says, trailing kisses up the slope of your throat to the tender hinge of your jaw where tear-stained skin still glows.
But it doesn’t stop the crying. If anything, it makes it worse.
Your sobs hitch on a series of snap and grind from Wilson’s hips as he thrusts a little harder—cock driving into you just enough to jolt your frame back, where the edge of the desk bites into your flesh. Tears bead along your lashes, sliding hot and soundless down your cheeks. Not from the sex, not from the pleasure, but from the weight of what you told him just minutes ago. About feeling unwanted and unseen. A walking cliche stitched together by abandonment and father-shaped holes.
And now he’s inside you. Filling you. Cradling you with the tenderness of someone who thinks this might pass for healing.
So maybe it does, to someone as fucked up as you at least.
You press a hand to his broad chest, palm catching the rise and fall of his breath. Your fingertips caress the loosened knot of his tie—once pristine, now crooked and slack, nearly undone. Like him.
This was the same man who used to sit across from you, witnessing you sob through stories you couldn’t look him in the eye to tell. He shouldn’t be the same person pinning you to polished wood, stretching your cunt slow enough to savor it.
And yet, as he rocks into you, you can’t help but wonder… is he even getting off on you? Or is he getting off on the taste of your misery?
Doesn’t matter. The thought splinters the moment his hand curls under your thigh, hiking one leg higher as he folds you raw and open, slamming back in with a force that feels less like desire and more like penance. The new angle wrings a ragged gasp out your vocal cords, his thick shaft punches deep—too deep—right into that devastatingly nerve-rich cluster he’s already learned to find, over and over.
His thumb glides down between your slick folds and nudges at your puffy clit, circling at the nub like he’s tuning you to the right frequency, drawing out the helpless notes from the well of your chest until you’re mewling into his shoulder.
“Wilson—! …ah, ngh… please…” you cry out, spine arching hard off the desk you nearly knock that trembling mug to its grave. You’re loud enough that someone outside could potentially hear. Hell, they probably already have by now. You should care, but you don’t. Not when he’s wrecking your pussy, soothing your emotional wounds, and probably giving you brand new ones to unpack with the next poor bastard you call a therapist.
“That’s it, such a good girl,” He purrs, all syrupy-sweet and utterly knowing, his gaze never leaving the ruddied planes of your face as pleasure cauterizes the doubt from your marrow, burning it out of you one tremor at a time. “You don’t have to fight it,” he coos. “Just let me do the work, sweetheart. That’s what I’m here for.”
Wilson drags your knees towards him in a smooth pull, pelvis slotting bruisingly tight to yours, coarse hairs at the base of him scraping against your sensitive clit. His gaze dips, pupils yawning greedily wide at your slick heat drooling onto the desk, soaking loose papers and whatever’s left of your dignity.
“Mmf… you should see yourself right now,” he exhales, not quite speaking to you—more so a private awe he can’t hold back.
“You were just like this earlier. Sitting there with your hands in your lap, voice all small and shaky…”
A groan escapes him as his eyelids shuddered closed, a shadow of something jagged and ugly slithers through the cracks of the man he’s trying to be. “You were crying like the world was ending. And all I could think was how badly I wanted to touch you.”
“G-God, I got so fucking hard.”
Yet his words barely register, drowned out by an endless, fraying hum that crests and shreds when the head of his dick bumps too far in, grazing your cervix on the upswing that has your nails clawing grooves into the desk.
“…Sl-slow down, wait—I’m gonna—agh, I can’t—!” Your plea disintegrates mid-moan, a weak stammer hoarse and thinned out beneath the static flooding your skull.
Wilson’s rhythm falters, thrusts tapering off as tension snaps and motion ceases completely, his cock pulsing so hard it rips the world out from under you. The next breath you drag is choked with sensation as he finally comes, spilling into you in searing, viscous bursts.
He pulls out, chest heaving as he admires how his cum seeps in lazy white trails from your gaping, used hole. His tongue darts out instinctively, hand cupping your mound—two fingers lazily pushing his release back into you, curling with a pressure that’s more intimate than erotic now.
“…Hah… don’t waste it,” his words fled on an airless chuckle, hovering between humor and sincerity. Perhaps a bit too sincere. “Would be a shame to let any of it go.”
His other hand rests against your thigh, anchoring you with the weight of it, like he’s still pretending this means something clean.
“You’ll feel better soon,” he says quietly, brushing your hair away from your damp temple. “Sometimes it just… takes a little push to get there.”
𝐀/𝐍 ◞ the reader was a bit of a self insert moment SORYY LMAOOOO. my lack of father figure possessed me again, couldn’t help it guys- also I feel like this is kinda rusty but whatever it’s been awhile bleh
We talk about this a lot at the zoo! Bread is bad for birds, including ducks. I’ve sometimes told people that it’s a great way to get rid of that not-quite-fresh-enough-for-salads-but-still-kinda-edible veg you have in the fridge. The ducks aren’t picky.
Your poll about rats (rare in my experience) reminded me of my kids' favorite memory from a trip to Baltimore. A rat scurried across the path & when we got to where it disappeared we found 2 shiny pennies. The kids dubbed it Birthday Rat and made up a song about it (O Christmas Tree tune) "O Birthday Rat, O Birthday Rat, you bring us all 2 pennies (x2) / the sight of you in Baltimore / just makes us want to come here more / O Birthday Rat, O Birthday Rat, you bring us all 2 pennies."
You silently take two more slices of bread out of the package and make another sandwich. You put it on a plate with a handful of potato chips and hand it to the demon. He takes the sandwich, smiles and vanishes in a puff of demonic smoke. The next day you get that job promotion you were after. There was no contract. No words spoken. You owe nothing. But every now and then, another demon pops in for lunch. Demons don’t often get homemade sandwiches.
Can I keep this going? I’m going to keep this going.
It would be a little annoying, if they weren’t so nice about it. You don’t know what you expected demons to be like, but you certainly didn’t expect them to be nice about it. There’s no demands, no voices like wailing babies, no blood on the walls (well, there was that one time, but Balthazak was very apologetic about the whole thing and cleaned it up right quick). Just the occasional demon stopping by for lunch. In fact, you could almost forget that they weren’t just ordinary people, the way they act. Nice people, too.
You start talking with them, as time goes on. In the beginning you carefully pick your words so they couldn’t be spun to even imply a contract or reference a soul, but when they seem politely eager to have a normal chat, your words become a bit looser. You even begin gossiping with them - turns out, demons have breakroom gossip just like anyone else. You listened to Rek’ththththtyr’s account of Drokyarix’s torrid affair with Irkilliz, and Ferkiyan didn’t even know what Drory was doing behind his back, poor dear, and you kept quiet and let Ferkiyan cry on your shoulder after Drokyarix finally broke up with him (the shirt was a bit of a loss, demon tears are ruinous to cloth, but Ferkiyan’s a good sort and you couldn’t just turn him away). You even managed to talk him down from going and starting a fight with Irkiliz, who didn’t even know that Drokyarix was in a relationship, and who was almost as horrified as Rek’ththththtyr.
After that event in particular, you start to get a sort of a reputation as a place where a demon can come to relax, talk, and - of course - get a sandwich. Your sandwich-making skills have really improved since this whole thing began. Your luck seems to have improved too - you’re not sure if you can attribute the whole thing to the sandwiches and the reputation, but you don’t really want to know anyway.
One day, there’s a bright flash of light from your living room. Nothing unusual in itself - most of the younger demons haven’t quite got the style of their elders, and usually just go for a materialization in a flash of hellfire over your fireplace - except that it’s white instead of the usual red. You look up, and who do you see but an angel looking at you with a spear in his hand. Shrugging, you tell him to sit down and you’ll have a sandwich for him shortly, and meanwhile he can just tell you all about what’s on his mind. This clearly is not at all what he was expecting, but after a moment’s thought, he decides to take you up on your offer and starts talking. Apparently, he’d been dispatched to take care of some demon summoner in the neighborhood, and while he’d evidently got the wrong house the right one shouldn’t be hard to find - have you seen anyone practicing satanic rituals nearby? You laugh, a little, and tell him that you don’t really summon them, they just come on their own. They do like their sandwiches, and they’re quite nice folk.
The angel’s jaw drops, and you remind him to chew with his mouth closed.
And I’m going to take this even further. Here we go.
It took a bit of explaining with the first angel to arrive. Telling him about the first accidental summoning and then how the demons just started stopping by around lunch time on your days off. But once he understood what’s been going on (and finished his sandwich) he nodded solemnly and said he would get this all straightened out “upstairs.”
You eventually start getting more angels coming around for lunch. Sometimes they bring a small dessert for you to share after the sandwiches, and the dishes are always magically clean and back in the cupboard when they leave.
You lean that angels don’t have much of their own drama, but they do know all the truths about human tabloid drama and they’re more than willing to dish on what the Kardashians have been up to.
The first time an angel and a demon show up for lunch on the same day is a little tense. You tell them that ALL are welcome for lunch in your house and that you would prefer it to be a no-conflict zone. It takes a while for them to settle, but eventually they grow comfortable enough to start chatting. Which is when you learn that because demons are technically fallen angels, you’ve been having two sides of an estranged family over for lunch regularly.
Soon, you have an angel and a demon at every lunch. Old friends and estranged siblings meeting up to reconnect over a sandwich at your dinning room table. You help the ones who had a falling out reach an understanding, and you get to hear wild stories of what the “old realm” was like.
One day, as you’re pulling out the bread and cheese, a messenger demon appears. You greet him and tell him a sandwich will be ready soon, but he declines. He is here on behalf of Lucifer to ask if it’s alright by you for him to “enter your dwelling so as to meet with his brother Michael over sandwiches.”
A little stunned, you agree. The demon disappears and you prepare three sandwiches, setting them at the table.
When Lucifer (the actual devil!) appears in small puff of smoke, you welcome him and ask what he’d like to drink. As you’re fetching the apple juice, a blinding flash of light comes from the dinning room indicating Michael’s arrival. You grab a second cup and walk back in to find a tense stand off between the brothers. You set down the cups and juice while calmly reminding them that this is a conflict-free zone, and if they are going to fight, please take it to an alternate plane of existence.
They don’t fight. They sit and enjoy the sandwiches and talk about what happened. You learn a lot about why creation started, what the purpose of humanity was and what it’s grown to be. You only have to diffuse two arguments. And at the end when it’s time for them to leave, they hug each other, agreeing to meet up again somewhere else.
In the following weeks you have the usual assortment of demons and angels stopping by. The regulars ask how you’re mom is doing and if your friend is settling in to their new apartment nicely. At some point during each visit though, they ask if it’s true. Did Lucifer and Michael really come for lunch? You tell them yes, but won’t say what was talked about. They’re disappointed, everyone likes the gossip, but they understand. Before they leave, you ask each angel and demon about this idea you have for the summer, what if you had a barbecue on the back patio for everyone who wanted to come? They think it sounds like a fun idea.
Everyone had a lot of fun at the barbecue. There wasn’t much fighting, but some sparks and noises made you grateful your neighbors were either out of town or older/deaf. There was a great three-legged race and a small football game with parties on all sides involved, you’d never fixed so much food before.
Then, two latecomers. Angels and demons alike gasped in shock and parted like the Red Sea (Which, apparently, is a VERY exaggerated story) to let them pass.
You smile warmly and ask what they’d like. Both decline to answer that, looking at each other awkwardly. The demon bows its head to let the angel speak first.
God Himself heard the fun and wanted to come join the barbecue.
You look at the messenger demon, the same one as before, and as you insist that “Oh, you really should stay this time!”, you’re told that Lucifer ALSO wants to come to your barbecue.
You look between the two. You tell them you won’t deny one or the other, but that they must keep in mind that this is a neutral zone and you won’t have their conflicts interfere with the atmosphere.
Both vanish momentarily (after each taking a plate of food). There’s a long, awkward silence.
Lucifer arrives first, flash of fire in the firepit, coming over to get a burger. He doesn’t look… displeased. But he’s not necessarily happy.
There’s a beautiful flash of white light and a rainbow, and then God descends onto your back porch. Your long-dead flowers spring back to life in His presence. Shit, now you actually have to go back to taking care of them.
The two regard each other from across the backyard. There’s still complete silence from the crowd of angels and demons.
You clear your throat. “What do you two want to eat? I have burgers, hot dogs, chicken, and some vegetarian alternatives.”
They slowly look at you. You return each of their gazes. “This is a no-conflict zone. We’re all here to have a good time at a good barbecue.”
More silence. Then, Lucifer dishes himself a burger and goes to prepare it the way he wants. God approaches calmly and looks over your vegetarian palette (Not the best, but it would do in a quick pinch, you found out just yesterday that some of the attendees would be vegetarian), fixing Himself some food as well.
As this goes on, the others begin to relax, and soon, everyone goes back to having a good time. The food is great, desserts brought by your angelic guests really compliment the meals you cooked, nobody starts sacrificing anybody or arguements (except later there’s a massive water gun/water balloon fight that knocked Michael into the fire pit and got ashes all over his bRAND NEW ROBES, DROKYARIX! but everyone laughed it off and carried on), and as you sit on your porch, taking in the sights, you wonder to yourself if you should do this kind of thing more often, and if you would have had this situation any other way.
Nope, you decide, when God hits Lucifer with a water balloon as he’s trying to refill his super soaker, you really wouldn’t have this any other way.
It was only when the party started to die down that you realised your dilemma.
Your garden is a mess. There are plastic cups littering the floor and the furniture is soaked. The few flowers struggling to survive in your garden had experienced being trampled on by demons and then reborn by God, only to be crushed by demons again. You looked around in horror, thinking of all the work you were going to have to do to get it all cleaned up. Sighing, you set to work, collecting plastic plates and solo cups to throw away.
“Woah woah woah- Wait! Hold up!”
Startled, you turn around to see Jesus elbowing his Father, “It would take you forever to clean up this mess!”, He frowns, “Dad! C'mon, it’s the least you can do!”
God sighs deeply, looking at his son with a mix of annoyance and pride, “Alright, Stand back”.
With one wave of His hand the garden is covered in an ethereal glowing light, when the light clears you see your garden has been cleared of the mess- but not just that, you see that the troubled flowers were now proud and in full bloom, the shrubs at the end of the garden were twining round the fence like ivy and every plate and cup and piece of cutlery had been neatly stacked atop each other in a pile at your feet.
Delighted, you thank God and offer for him to stay a little longer. He simply smiles and announces He’ll be using your loo before he goes.
baby trapper wilson... oh i'm unwell, oh take me to the hospital
you're wilson's pretty young thing. you're the arm candy he carries around, the kind of girl that gets stared at wherever she goes. and he's him, he's the sweetest man ever, the most caring, gentle, kind man you've ever dated. you're young and naive and he's divorced thrice, that's not lost on him. or you. but you like it, you like that he's older. but for how much longer? how much longer will you let him subliminally make all your decisions? even when you think you want something, you scarcely realize that he's the one who put the idea there in the first place. you're so fucking naive, so fucking stupid, he thinks sometimes. and he loves it. you don't talk taxes or bills or medicine or divorces. he likes that. you talk about inconsequential things that you'll grow out of a month or two later. he's always afraid he's one of them. he's so afraid of you growing up or changing or anything because he knows deep down that he's alone at his big age and you've got the whole world wanting you, if only you stopped seeing him, if only you stepped outside to the world he's shielding you from.
it starts that way. it starts with that fear.
that's why he doesn't let you take birth control. he strictly advises against it, purely his medical opinion of course. he'll wear a condom, he doesn't want your hormones to be so imbalanced, that's dangerous. and god forbid your taste in men changes and suddenly you feel stupid for wanting this old man as much as you do. so you shouldn't take pills. and iuds are too scary. he pledges to always wear a rubber, for your sake and his. you don't doubt him once. why would you? james wilson, doctor james wilson, is the most responsible, sensible and well adjusted man you've met. you trust him, always, to be good to you and only want the best for you. so you agree, and he tells you that he loves you. because he does, the guilt is caught like rheum in the back of his throat.
you're all over him, giddy at his touch and so wet and pliable under him and he knows you're ovulating. even if he wasn't tracking your cycle, he saw you were in your best mood. so hungry for him, and he intended to give you exactly what you wanted. but to break the promise he made, the one he never intended to keep, he had to make you cum as many times as possible. till you became a weak puddle of desire and need. till you became incapable of responsibility. he devours you. his tongue and fingers work tirelessly to bring his plan into fruition. he's fucking you like he knows he'll be missing out on nine months of this. and you're begging him to be inside you, fill you up. it's till you're tugging at his hair and pleading inside, please james, inside... me till he thinks you're ready. or he is.
he kisses you, tasting of you, smelling like you. you taste like nothing, just yourself; clean, pure, just the way he likes you. his tip ghosts your entrance and you're quick to buck your hips to meet his. that is, until god knows who reminds you to be responsible. you gesture at the drawer next to the king sized bed. you don't trust yourself to be coherent. wilson sighs, it's the silent kind of sigh he does when he knows his patient is dying or house is going to do something stupid and reckless. for a moment there he really hoped it would've been that easy.
he began rubbing circles on your clit. you looked away teary eyes, overstimulated, overwhelmed. you pleaded, you begged. he shushed you, he shushed you like a crying child. he placed small, soft kisses on your body, almost as if he was afraid. he opened the drawer, took out a condom. he tore the wrapper and watched you exhale, relieved. you spread your legs instinctively at the sound.
wilson enters you, bare. and fast. so you don't dwell on the feeling of his tip for too long. his hands run along your sides to soothe you, as him. his head falls forward at the sensation of your tight, spasming cunt and he sees reason in doing this all over again. his forehead touches yours. it's all so tender, you think, all so sweet and beautiful like james himself. you open your eyes to look at him. his graying hair sticks to his forehead, glued by the sweat. there's a sheen around his mouth from where it once was. he has these fine wrinkles that seem more prominent in the low light. he has those rough, experienced hands that hold you in place, because you need to be held in place. you need to be pinned down where you belong because you're restless and young and hungry for more more more. you touched his hair, his cheeks, his face, his lips. all of it.
"i love you," you told him, your voice small.
and that fear dissipated into the steamy, sex-smelling air. it was his fucked up way of thinking you wanted this. his strokes were deep, hard and punctuated with grunts, just the way you liked. he took things slow, promising to make you feel every inch of him. you clenched around him in that painfully delicious way that made him cum in minutes. he muttered a string of profanities.
he looked down at your messy, glistening cunt and thought, this is what it will look like. this is the sight he'll see in a few seconds when he fills you up and lets it drip out of you. he lets his eyes rake over the rest of you, all changed and plump in due time. and then he'll have you, he'll have baby wilson and all the people in the hospital to brag to. he'll take you wherever he goes, conferences, talks, medical stuff you never had to attended before. he imagines being seen with you and your creation in the hotel lobbies. "doctor james wilson," he'll introduce "and my wife." he'll say with a loving, doting smile. it could all be so perfect and sappy and comforting.
his hand now pressed your thighs into a gruelling mating press. he had to go as deep as he could. he was close, he could feel it. his paced switched from slow caresses to hard smacks. your body pained in this new position for a while, but you liked it so very much. you arched your back, you moaned so loud the walls reverberated them back to you. god, he fucked so good when he wanted to. you wonder why he never pushed you this far before.
"i'm gonna cum. baby, i'm gonna cum." he left inside you unspoken.
you nodded, feeling yourself close for the hundredth time today. his cusses turned into i love you's. he threw his head back, his hot, white seed spurred inside you. comfortably. like that was where it belonged anyway. you came seconds later, on the verge of passing out. he stayed perfectly still inside you. he exhaled, almost like a sigh. he couldn't pull out of you, not until he's sure you're going to get pregnant.
your lips utter a silent thank you, almost like a prayer. wilson shakes his head, telling you there's no need. he kisses you on the cheek before finally pulling out. you fall asleep in seconds. so peaceful, so oblivious.
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