#doctor james possible

[wilsonsmcgillsweatshirt]

I will never recover from the knowledge that thymoma generally has a very high survival rate, and in most cases that it becomes fatal, the patient has unknowingly lived with the cancer for years. There's a chance that Wilson was sick for half the series and didn't even know it.

[not-equippedforthis]

pleaaasee tell me someone has a pretty gif of kirk going 'how many fingers am i holding up?' before giving mccoy the fucking vulcan ta'al

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

A Series of Unfortunate Events (the events being Shadow).

[rosetyler42]

ALEX. XD His dad could rattle off the SQUARE ROOT of Pi.

Possibly Meg, James, and Lily too. They're probably the smartest of my OCs.

Which OC can recite several digits of pi on demand?

[dorothylarouge]

US Presidents as Dril Tweets

George Washington: another day volunteering at the betsy ross museum. everyone keeps asking me if they can fuck the flag. buddy, they wont even let me fuck it

John Adams: "ah boo hoo hoo i want to post Foul comments to content leaders" Fat Chance, Dimwit. I will annihilate you under bulwark of the Law and God.

Thomas Jefferson: Q: If your post was proven by a counsil of wise men to be racist, or bullshit, would you bar it from the record? A: I do not delete my posts

James Madison: (sniffing a crumpled up one dollar bill i found on the floor of a dog kennel) ah.. thats greenbacks baby

James Monroe: for decades i have traversed the unforgiving mountains and rivers of south america, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fabled "ass downloader"

John Quincy Adams: "This Whole Thing Smacks Of Gender," i holler as i overturn my uncle's barbeque grill and turn the 4th of July into the 4th of Shit

Andrew Jackson: handing Faves over to my enemies is FRAUD !! base, contemptible FRAUD!

Martin Van Buren: Food $200

Data $150

Rent $800

Candles $3,600

Utility $150

someone who is good at the economy please help me budget this. my family is dying

William Henry Harrison: (spends all of 7 seconds skimming some blog posts) yep. just as i knew all along. having pnuamonia is good

John Tyler: fuck "jokes". everything i tweet is real. raw insight without the horse shit. no, i will NOT follow trolls. twitter dot com. i live for this

James K. Polk: thhere is no such thing as charisma, and art is fake. the only metrics by which we must determine the worth of a man are Strength and Wisdom

Zachary Taylor: the doctor reveals my blood pressure is 420 over 69. i hoot & holler outta the building while a bunch of losers tell me that im dying

Millard Fillmore: trying to heal..... please donate to my go fund me... $10 will make me less racist... $100 will make me extremely less racist...thank you...

Franklin Pierce: blocked. blocked. blocked. youre all blocked. none of you are free of sin

James Buchanan: #NationalGirlfriendDay please cherish your gal's.. in honor of us, the single Boys who must sacrifice all companionship to #CarryTheBrand...

Abraham Lincoln: unloading an entire belt of ammo at me with a minigun or some such device will now get you "Blocked"

Andrew Johnson: who the fuck is scraeming "LOG OFF" at my house. show yourself, coward. i will never log off

Ulysses S. Grant: i regret being tasked the emotional burden of maintaining the final bastion of morality and Nice manners in this endless ocean of human SHIT

Rutherford B. Hayes: using the toilet when i hear Our national anthem start to play. i do what i must. i stand tall in complete agony; as shit runs down my leg,

James A. Garfield: too much truth in such little time. feeling the heat cominh down to silence me... signing off........ for now

Chester A. Arthur: i WILL wise the fuck up. i WILL super charge my content for 2017. i WILL get blue check mark

Grover Cleveland: the way i see it, people who come on here and submit content that is not up to par, could possibly be considered the "Villains" of this site

Benjamin Harrison: i help every body, im not racist, i keep myself nice, and when i ask for a single re-tweet in return i am told to fuck off, fuck myself, etc

William McKinley: boy oh boy do i love purchasing large amounnts of Fool's Gold. wait a minute... fools gold fucking sucks. this stuff is no good..!! Fuck !!!

Theodore Roosevelt: IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL

William H. Taft: ah.. the perfect Souffle! cant wait to dig in to t(*EVERY PIPE IN MY HOUSE EXPLODES AT THE SAME TIME, COVERING ME IN SHIT AND BOILING WATER*

Woodrow Wilson: the conflicted supersoldier stares over the horizon as he smokes a cigarette. "war is the most fucked up thing ever." he takes a sip of beer

Warren G. Harding: somebody please Bribe me

Calvin Coolidge: aggressively joyless oaf hhere. painfully obnoxious respect demander checkign in. extremely dim witted frowning man looking for pals

Herbert Hoover: it is really quite astonishing that I have yet to win The Lottery, given how good I am at selecting six numbers and saying them out loud

Franklin D. Roosevelt: ive never heard of this “europe” but it sounds like a big bunch of shit to me

Harry Truman: everybody wants to be the guy to write the tweet that solves racism once and for all because it would look good as hell on a resume

Dwight D. Eisenhower: my "F*&k It!! Let's Go Golfin" t-shirt maintains a tenacious stranglehold on my life. after 1,125 days of Golf my body is twisted, deformed

John F. Kennedy: when you do sutuff like... shoot my jaw clean off of my face with a sniper rifle, it mostly reflects poorly on your self

Lyndon B. Johnson: incredibly handsome , charismatic famous boy credited with ending income inequality after saying that slumlords should be called "dumblords"

Richard Nixon: i attribute the complete failure of my brand to the actions of detractors, oor my “trolls”, as it were, as well as my own constant fuckups

Gerald Ford: shutting computer down until the shitty moods & attitudes can fuck off., if you need me ill be on my other computer, sititng 60° to my right

Jimmy Carter: i warnned you all that bad things would happen if you kept letting your wives wear jeans. AND NOW LOOK! the damn gas prices are up again

Ronald Reagan: spend a lot of time thinking about how sometimes even war criminals can be heroes sometimes... Dont like it? Click the unfollow buttobn

George H.W. Bush: just thought off an idea i believe to be bad ass. lets find the address of the leader of isis, and mail him/ her pieces of our SHIT

Bill Clinton: were at the point now, that when i offer to impregnate my girl followers, people assume my motives are sexual. disgusting, grow the fuck up,

George W. Bush: friday night gathering up together a big pile of things i like to respect (flags, crucifixes ,etc) and just roll around in it ,give kisses,

Barack Obama: my IQ has increased 10 points ever since i stopped tollerating people mucking about, on the time line

Donald Trump: THERAPIST: your problem is, that youre perfect, and everyone is jealous of your good posts, and that makes you rightfully upset.

ME: I agree

Joe Biden: I will shut the fuck up , IF , it will restore the Harmony. I will get on my knees like a dog and make that sacrifice, for the sake of Calm

[rosetyler42]

Van Dracula Twins: October 13th (Friday the 13th)

Lily Lipsky: November 16th

Long Twins: January 29th

Alex Tyler: August 21st (Date of the 2017 solar eclipse)

The Pelekai Pups: December 19th

James Wilde-Gru: December 28th

Those are the ones I have on hand right now.

When is your OC’s birthday?

[oatski]

old man bucky barnes x fem!reader (fluff) wc: 841

   "you know, alcohol affects older individuals to a higher degree than younger people," you look towards your next patient, working for sam wilson came with many perks and many surprising interactions.

  you had heard of buchanan barnes, seen him on tv, but nothing would've prepared for the first in-person interaction. especially in the middle of nowhere, inside of a giant building that rivals your apartment building. however, the scariest thing in the room was his icy stare as he comprehends what you said. his hand stops with his drink just a few inches from his lips, "excuse me, what?"

  tempting fate, you rub hand sanitizer between your hands, looking back over at him, "well, you're what, two hundred? as you get older, there's an increased chance of alcohol poisoning, impaired vision, constant possibilities of falling... and more. so, as your temporary physician, i have to advice against alcohol."

  his eyebrows furrow, hand setting down the glass of whiskey. he mentally acknowledges that setting it down was not due to your instructions, but rather his surprise at your combative personality. "i'm not even close to two hundred, and can we stick to the broken ribs? i've had alcohol plenty of times and am yet to fall and break a hip," bucky walks towards you and the makeshift doctor's office you've created.

  "there's a first time for everything," you whisper under your breath, stepping back as he sits down on a table, the padding only being a few couch pillows. 

  bucky looks away, shaking his head. he now understands why sam wanted to bring you along, your sharp wit and fiery tongue left much to be desired for anyone but him. however, even as his hears you whisper your objections, he feels intrigued by you. by how you're willing to mess with him despite your unfortunate situation of being in the middle of a country you've never been in before.

  "now, lift your shirt so i can see if there's bruising and any superficial damage," you pull on a pair of gloves as you wait for him to follow your instructions. 

  he cautiously pulls off his crew neck shirt, unable to see you nervously looking away, trying not to let the situation get too awkward. the awkwardness immediately fizzles away as soon as you see a large bruise around his chest. it carries an array of colors, deep purples and blues mixed within the bruise. narrowing your eyes, you reach forward, "do you mind if i-?"

  "do what you need to do so we can get this over with," bucky looks away, chest moving as his body seemingly clenches, waiting for the painful touch of your fingers against his body.

  frowning, you lean forward, barely grazing your fingers against the bruise. goosebumps start to form along his skin, head still turned away from you. "let me know if any of this hurts," you press one of your fingers against the center of the bruise, barely pushing into it when he breathes sharply inward, "james- if you don't tell me what hurts, then i can't help you. so talk to me like i'm someone trying to help you."

  finally, he looks back towards you, unsure if it's because of what you said or you calling out his first name. most people in his life no longer call him james, it's unnatural, unusual for him. "okay, it hurts, a lot."

  "thank you, now if you want to stop hurting, you'll have to refrain from anymore physical contact. and you'll have to go to an actual hospital to get x-rays and properly treated," you lean back against a nearby wall, tilting your head as he digests the information, "starting with an ice pack and some pain medication will help at first, but you'll have to get help in a medical environment. especially if your rib punctured something."

  bucky clenches his jaw, looking down at the ground. he never held much against hospitals, there was just something about the way they irked him. he doesn't answer for a moment, leaving you to lean towards him, "this would be just like any of your other procedures that you've needed in your line of work."

  "right, well we've always had someone working for tony."

  "i can come with you if you want me to. if you feel uncomfortable within the general medical community, as it's been five thousand years by now, i can come with," you smile to yourself, trying to lighten the mood as you see him slowly look over at you, a fake-disgusted look washing over his face.

  bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head, "you're lucky you're sam's physician."

  "so i'm taking that as a yes then?" your eyebrows raise, hands clasped behind your back.

  his shoulders drop, almost bringing your eyes down to what could be an awkward conversation. shaking his head slightly, bucky lets out a very quiet 'alright' just loud enough for you to hear. and for a second, you realize that there's more to james buchanan barnes than you would've expected.

[vigilante-3073]

Wilson with an intern f!reader imagine maybe? 🤍

Internships & Relationships

James Wilson x Female Intern Reader

Summary: Wilson takes on a medical intern and the lines of professionalism begin to blur.

TW: Workplace relationships, inappropriate jokes.

James Wilson had a medical intern. He didn't usually take on interns and he had a very good reason for it. That reason was his best friend, Doctor Gregory House. House was a walking HR violation and would likely scar whatever poor intern he came across.

Cuddy was reluctant to bring the offer of an intern to Wilson at first. She knew that he was extraordinarily good at his job, but House already commandeered the majority of Wilson's time.

House was a loose cannon that could not be controlled, but Wilson hoped that it wouldn't ruin this apiring Oncologist's experience. Wilson agreed and Y/N started her 8-week long internship with him the following day. She worked alongside him, sitting in on meetings and looking after his patients. Y/N was an amazing doctor and she got along swimmingly with hospital staff.

Wilson knew that she would be an excellent Oncologist and that her patients would be given the best possible treatment.

Cancer was dehumanizing and Y/N understood that. She didn't beat around the bush, but she also had the ability to relay news in a way that made sure her patients understood. Y/N was extraordinary with a light within her that needed to be protected, which is exactly why he had been hiding her from House.

By the sixth week of her internship, keeping her away from House had become exhausting. The man may have had a limp, but he was certainly tenacious enough to figure out what Wilson was hiding.

...

Wilson stepped into his office with Y/N following closely behind him. They had been seeing patients all day long and were finally going to take a moment to go over some patient files.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" House questioned, spinning around in Wilson's desk chair to face them.

Wilson sighed, "House, this is my Intern, Y/N. Y/N this is Doctor House, he's the head of Diagnostic Medicine," Wilson said.

"Nice to meet you, Doctor House," Y/N said.

House stared at her for a moment, "Wow, you are gorgeous. Up top, Wilson," House said, holding up his hand for a high-five.

Wilson shook his head, "I'm not giving you a high-five, House," He said.

House dropped his hand before sitting forward in the chair, "Tell me, you aspiring do-gooder, did you have to send in head shots to land this gig? Wilson is pretty specific about the students that he chooses to sleep with," House said.

Wilson scoffed, "You are just so out of line right now. I don't even- I am so sorry, Y/N," Wilson said.

"No, it's- It's fine, Doctor Wilson, really," Y/N assured.

"House, get out. Now," Wilson snapped.

"Fine, I'll let you two lovebirds enjoy some time alone," House said, standing up and making his way out of the office.

"I am so incredibly sorry about him. I've been trying to keep him away from you, but he's like a dog with a bone," Wilson huffed, sitting down in his desk chair.

"You don't have to worry, Doctor Wilson. Doctor Cuddy warned me about him before I started working with you," Y/N said.

"I'm so sorry... I am mortified that he would even think that was something okay to say to you," Wilson said.

"I mean, you're a very beautiful young lady and anyone would be lucky to be with you like that. I just- I'm your mentor and it would be wrong of me to take advantage of you," Wilson amended quickly.

"Doctor Wilson, we can just pretend this never happened if that would be easier," Y/N offered.

Wilson sighed, "Yeah, that would be amazing," He said.

"Consider it forgotten then," Y/N said, sitting down on one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Wilson watched her as she ordered her patient files on her lap, preparing to go over them after their morning rounds. The interaction with House didn't even seem to phase her and Wilson found himself questioning why.

Cuddy may have made her aware of House's existence before she started her placement, but no amount of preparation could get anyone ready for an interaction with House. He was abrasive, misogynistic and could be incredibly rude whenever it suited him. Y/N heard every remark he made, but they didn't seem to bother her.

Wilson certainly wouldn't be disappointed if Y/N chose to stay at Princeton-Plainsboro after she completed her schooling. He could always use some backup when it came to dealing with House.

...

The final weeks of Y/N's internship flew by and her last day was one that saddened not only the staff, but the patients too. Wilson made sure to get a cake for the occasion and gather everyone in the staff room to celebrate her accomplishment.

Y/N would be great.

There was no doubt about just how amazing she would be. Y/N cared and that would make her an extraordinary Oncologist.

They leaned back on the countertop beside each other as they both ate small pieces of cake. Wilson looked over at her, watching as she took a small bite of her slice.

"Have you given anymore thought to where you want to apply after graduation?" He asked.

"I was waiting until the end of the day to tell you, but I talked to Cuddy a few weeks ago... She actually offered me a job here," Y/N said.

Wilson turned towards her, "Please tell me that you said yes," He said.

"Of course I did," Y/N replied.

"That's amazing! Congratulations, Y/N. You're going to be great... Are you planning on staying in the Oncology department?" Wilson asked.

"I am," Y/N said.

"Really? That's awesome!" Wilson said.

"I'm looking foward to working with you, Doctor Wilson," Y/N said.

"Me too," He replied with a gentle smile.

A heavy feeling had suddenly settled in his stomach, it wasn't until a moment later when he realized what it was.

Wilson was disappointed.

He was interested in Y/N in a way that he shouldn't have been. Wilson was her superior and he would remain in that position for the forseeable future.

Wilson knew that he would never be able to be completely impartial, he always led with his heart and it tended to get him into trouble. Wilson had been walked over by House and Cuddy at times because of their relationship within the workplace. He hoped that if he still harbored these feelings for Y/N that their relationship would follow the same pattern.

If she had chosen to work somewhere else, he may have been able to cope with it, but at Princeton-Plainsboro would the limited distance overwhelm him? Or could this finally be the time he gets it right?

Before he could stop himself, he had opened his mouth and the words came tumbling out.

"Would you like to go for dinner tonight? With me?" Wilson asked.

A stunned look crossed her face and his heart began to pound in his chest. She was his student and he just asked her on a date.

"Oh, I-I'm so sorry. That was completely inappropriate and I am just so stupid for putting you on the spot," He began.

"Wilson," She said softly, he quickly closed his mouth despite wanting to explain himself further and take back his question.

"Are you asking me on a date?" Y/N questioned.

"I- Yes, I was, but you don't have to respond and I promise that I'll never bring it up again," He assured.

"I'd love to go out with you, Wilson," Y/N said.

"Really?" He asked.

She smiled, "You're a really nice guy and if I'm being honest, I've had a bit of a crush on you since I started," Y/N admitted.

Wilson huffed a laugh, "This is the best day of my life," He said.

"You can pick the place, just let me know how fancy I need to dress," Y/N said.

"Yeah, I can do that," Wilson nodded.

The door to the staff room opened, "Y/N, come here, honey. We got you a little something," One of the nurses called.

Y/N nodded, "I'll be right there," She replied, setting her plate down on the counter.

"You can feel free to take off after this," Wilson said.

"Are you sure?" Y/N questioned.

"Of course, it's your last day. Just text me your address and I'll come pick you up after I'm done here," Wilson said.

"Okay, I'll see you tonight," She smiled.

Wilson watched her walk out of the break room with a lovesick smile on his face. Little did he know that in a few short years she would become the fourth, and final, Mrs. Wilson.

[moonstruckme]

Hi I just discovered your blog and i’m obsessed with your writing, like the talent?? unmatched.

Could you do a longer fic about doctor remus and reader? Maybe he is graduating from med school and reader is so excited and proud of him and being insistent on taking a million pictures of him in his graduation gown? Or reader is pregnant and he is total helicopter parent, making sure he is up to date on everything and knows all the proper procedures for keeping their baby safe?

Or honestly anything!! I love your writing :)

Thank you sooooo much

Hi lovely! I realize you asked for a longer fic and this is not that, but thank you for the idea and I hope you like it anyway :)

med student!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 434 words

“Dove.” Remus sounds exasperated, but he’s smiling. “That’s enough.” 

“Just a few more,” you negotiate. You’re standing outside the venue of your boyfriend’s graduation ceremony, forcing him to pose in front of a fountain. “Throw your cap in the air!” 

“I’m not doing that.” 

“C’mon, be a sport,” James urges him. 

“I think, traditionally, you’re not supposed to do that until after the ceremony.” 

“Oh, traditionally,” Sirius drawls. “He goes and gets a fancy degree, and now he’s all about convention and decorum. What a tosser.” 

Remus snickers, and Sirius grins. “There, do it, do it!” 

You snap as many pictures as you can get of Remus smiling, though he rolls his eyes once he realizes he’s fallen for a ploy. 

“Alright,” he argues, blushing. “You’ve already taken pictures at home, and again on the way here. How much storage can you possibly have left?” 

“Enough for pictures of you walking the stage,” you say. “We’ll need some after the ceremony, too.” 

Remus heaves a long-suffering, and you laugh. 

“It’s an occasion! We’re going to want pictures of you in your cap and gown.” 

He gives the large gown he’s wearing a distasteful glance. It’s more of a robe, really, with velvet trim and large, billowy sleeves. “I look like a pompous prick.” 

“Can’t argue with you there,” says Sirius. 

“Piss off.” 

“You look distinguished,” you say. “And handsome.” 

“He is handsome.” James reaches forward, pinching Remus’ cheek and giving it a little shake before his hand is knocked away. “He’s our handsome guy.” 

“Ooh.” Sirius points to some trees in front of the building. “That lighting looks nice. Maybe we should get a few there.” 

“No,” says Remus, at the same time as you clap your hands and say, “Perfect!”

He sighs again. “Fine. But those are the last ones. Then we go inside.” 

“Deal.” You take his hand, drawing him close as you walk towards the new spot. “Thanks for humoring us. We’re proud of you, you know?” 

“Thanks, dove.” He drops a kiss on your head, cheeks glowing pink. “I’m glad you—careful.” He catches you as the heel of your shoe gets caught in a crack in the pavement. “You’ll break your neck.” 

“He knows that sort of thing now,” you boast to Sirius and James. “He’s a doctor.” 

“Not until after the ceremony,” James teases. 

“Handsome, distinguished, and educated.” Sirius whistles. “You really snagged a good one, babe.” 

“You’re all ridiculous,” Remus mumbles embarrassedly. 

“I know,” you chirp as if he hasn’t spoken. You go up on your toes, pressing your lips to his cheekbone. “Sorry, boys, he’s all mine.”

[bucksangel]

Okay but imagine bunny has just been feeling so ill :((( and she’s so so sorry Bucky has to take care of her like this :( but she still tries to make him meals and keep up with her chores and be good for him :( even though he’s adamant that she not lift a finger until she’s better

Maybe he comes home one day and she’s crying and she’s apologizing because she knows he’s so stressed already with work and she’s just so so sorry for adding to that :(

And he’s just like “what are you talking about? why are you sorry”

And then she just hands him a positive pregnancy test and keeps apologizing for giving him one more thing to worry about

But he’s just immediately thrilled and is already thinking about how to decorate the nursery and he can’t wait to fuck the tears away while calling her his little mama

Anyway… I’ll see myself out… splendid writing as always my dear!!! <3

I’m literally laying on my stomach with my legs in the air and i’m kicking them and giggling, you’re so kind. And i looooove this idea so here’s a lil drabble :) (also you are always welcome to come back😭😭)

Title: An Odd Flu

pairing: sofdark!ceo!bucky x naive!assistant!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: 18+ so minors dni, mentions of vomiting and being sick, so much fluff, minor angst, hints of abortion though it’s not said outright (only 2-3 sentences), soft love-making, sir kink, petnames (bunny, mama (but not in a mommy kink way)), fingering, dom!bucky, sub!reader, aftercare

main masterlist | run little bunny masterlist

-

Originally, you thought it was an odd case of the flu. You weren’t running a fever and you weren’t feeling overheated or freezing cold, but you were so tired all the time that you’d have to take a midday nap in order to stay awake long enough to have dinner with James. Then it was the vomiting, you’d wake up around seven in the morning and rush to the bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach.

What made things better was that James had been there for you, waiting on you hand and foot whenever he was home. He’d draw you baths and massage your back to relieve your sore muscles. He’d make you soup and tea, going so far as to feed you by hand. He would even cancel meetings if you were feeling especially awful.

But that’s where the problem lies. Leading up to your flu James had been stressed. There was meeting after meeting, paperwork the height of the Empire State Building, and calls coming in after the previous one ended. You already felt physically bad, but the fact that he’s become stretched even thinner has you feeling bad emotionally.

This morning in particular has been the worst of the last three weeks. You gagged when you went downstairs and smelt the eggs James was cooking and had to rush to the bathroom. Your headache felt more like a migraine and all you really want to do is curl up next to James in bed and have him rub your back.

But that’s not possible today. James had a meeting that he had been trying to organize for the past month and it was with people outside of the U.S., so there was no way he could miss it. He still offered to stay home anyway and let his right-hand man, Steve, take over, but you nearly cried when he suggested it. You didn’t want to mess anything up just because you were sick. So, at your insistence, he left with a kiss on your forehead and made you promise to call him if anything got worse.

The only stipulation was that you had to see a doctor while he was gone. His personal doctor, because of course he’s rich enough to have a personal doctor, agreed to come over and check you out.

It was when she got there that things started to feel… off. She noted your symptoms with a glint in her eye that told you she immediately knew what was going on. When she put away her tools, she reached into a different pocket in her bag, giving it to you with a small, knowing smile.

It was a pregnancy test. And suddenly you’re questioning everything. The morning sickness, the aversion to foods you once craved, the crying spells.

Then, you remember your period was supposed to start two days ago. When it didn’t come you just assumed it was because you were ill. Now, though, things are making sense.

That doesn’t stop the insecurities from creeping in. James has been so busy with work lately and this is just one more stressor to add to that. And on top of that, you haven’t been able to do as much cleaning or cooking as you normally do, as much as you want to do. James has been insistent that you not overexert yourself by doing your daily tasks, but you feel so bad that he has to come home from a long day of work to the house being a mess.

When you go to the bathroom, your hands are shaking as you hold the test in the proper position. You’ve always wanted kids, and you can’t imagine having babies with anyone else except James. He always takes care of you, is always lovely and patient even when he’s exhausted and snapping at everyone else, he’s the perfect man and would make a perfect father.

Your hands continue to shake as you wash them, and your whole body vibrates with nerves as you walk back out into the living room to see Doctor Romanoff packing the rest of her things. Her eyes are sympathetic when she senses your anxiety, and she carefully takes the test from you.

The five-minute wait is agonizing, you’re unable to sit still so you’ve been pacing back and forth around the living room awaiting the results. And when the timer goes off, your whole body goes rigid. Your back is to Doctor Romanoff when you hear her hum thoughtfully.

You know what that sound means.

It takes all your effort to turn around, but when you do you find her arm outstretched, offering you the test.

“I’m not sure if it’s the answer you want, but I’m here for whatever you need.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to take the test from her. And, with a big breath, you look down to see the little pink plus sign staring back at you, and tears immediately fill your eyes. You know that James wants kids, he’s very bad at dropping hints when you go to the store and pass by the baby aisle. But, he’s overworked right now, constantly answering calls and responding to emails, and you’re doubting if now is the right time to have a baby.

“Um, th-thank you,” You say weakly, looking up at her with a wavering smile. She nods, and you lead her to the front door and wave her goodbye.

The tears start falling when the door closes behind her, and you quickly rush to your room. You’re staring at the test through your clouded vision, worrying yourself over how to tell him. You know you need to, you want to. So, once you’ve calmed down you pull out your laptop and search for different ideas.

“Bunny, I’m home!” James sounds tired, exhausted really, though you hope the smell of chicken and vegetables will help him wake up a little.

“I’m in the kitchen!” Your hands are shaking so badly when you take the pan out of the oven, and you have to hurry to place it on the counter before you drop it. Suddenly, James’ arms wrap around your waist, pressing his chest to your back and tucking his face into your neck to breathe in your perfume.

“What did I say about overexerting yourself?” His voice is soft, even though he’s clearly tired you know he’s about to march you upstairs and tuck you into bed. “You need your rest.”

“Well, I feel bad for not cleaning as much as I used to, and you’ve been so tired lately.” You pause, taking a large breath and turning in his arms so you can loop your arms around his neck. Your eyes start to water when you see his eyebrows furrow with concern. “Besides, it’s not going to go away any time soon. Google says that morning sickness can last up to 20 weeks and your doctor says I’m only five weeks along.”

James opens his mouth to say something, then promptly closes it when he registers your words. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his hold on you slightly loosening as he flounders for a minute. You can see in his eyes that he’s trying to piece together all of your symptoms from the last few weeks, and he’s a smart man, so it’s not a surprise that he figures it out pretty quickly.

“Are… Are you…?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Time seems to stand still, James seems to have frozen in place trying to sink in your words. And the longer the silence goes on the more worried you become, and a few tears slide down your cheeks.

“I-I know this isn’t the ideal time, and you’re extremely busy with work, but it just happened. I’m so sorry, I know this is just going to make you even more stressed, and I-I don’t know what you want to do, but –” You’re cut off by James pressing his lips to yours, his arms tightening around your body and pulling you into his chest.

The kiss is frantic, desperate, excited. And when James pulls back you can’t help but follow his lips with yours, trying to keep the kiss going. But James doesn’t give in, instead, he leans back enough to be able to look into your eyes. And his are glassy, filled with unshed tears as he brings up one hand to brush away yours with his thumb.

“Fuck, bunny. Don’t be sorry, never be sorry for this. Bunny, you’re – you’re giving me everything I’ve wanted since I first saw you.”

Loosening his arms around your waist, he drops to his knees, placing one hand on your hip and covering your stomach with the other. He stares at your belly with amazement, then pushes up your shirt so he can kiss your belly. Your hands immediately find their way into his hair, rubbing his scalp and running your fingers through it. After a couple of minutes, he finally moves back to look up at you.

“You’re really pregnant?” He smiles wide when you nod, more tears involuntarily sliding down your cheeks.

“I’m really pregnant.” Your voice wavers, but you’re finally at ease, no longer worried about how James would react.

“Fuck, bunny,” He whispers, slowly rising to his feet and grabbing your hips. He leans down, brushing his lips over yours and smiling a little when you whine. “You’re going to be such a pretty mama.”

James is unable to stop himself from lifting you up, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. You bury your face in his neck, kissing and nibbling on his skin until he gets to your room and lays you gently on the bed.

He doesn’t immediately climb onto the bed, he just stands at the end of the bed and stares at you with a mixture of love and lust. A few moments of silence goes by before you finally whine, wiggling your hips to hopefully entice him.

It works. James shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt, smirking at you the whole time because your eyes are roaming over his bare chest, and you’re practically drooling when he gets to his pants.

“See something you like?” He chuckles when you glare at him.

“You know I do, so please hurry up. I want you inside me.” While you were teasing, you know you’ve made a mistake when his smile drops and one of his eyebrows raises.

“Where are those manners, bunny? Just because I knocked you up doesn’t mean I’m not still your Sir.”

“I’m sorry, sir! I-I didn’t mean to - I just -“ You stumble over your words, not worried about him punishing you physically, but you know he’s not above edging you for hours on end, and you’re sure you’ll actually cry if that happens.

“I know, bunny,” James coos, finally stepping out of his pants and boxers and kicking them to the side. Before you can say anything he grabs you by your ankles, then tugs you down the bed until your legs are dangling off the edge. “It’s okay, you’re still my good little bunny.”

You moan at his words, a pleasant fuzziness clouding your head. And then James helps you sit up a little so he can unzip your dress — his favorite floral one — and slide the straps down your arms. When he lays you back down he pulls the dress down and off your body, groaning when he sees your bare body, just as he likes it. One of his rules about living with him is that you’re not to wear panties or a bra, you have to always be ready for him.

You and James have never been more grateful for it.

“Fuck, bunny,” James groans and takes hold of his achingly hard cock, squeezing the base. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Going to make such a beautiful mama.”

“Sir, please.” Your eyes water, this time from frustration. You need him inside you immediately.

“Okay, bunny, okay, don’t worry your pretty little head.” James climbs onto the bed and arranges your bodies so he’s sitting against the headboard and you’re sitting on his lap, your back to his chest and your pussy resting over his throbbing dick.

It takes everything in you not to roll your hips against his, the only reason you don’t is because you want to be good for him. He seems to recognize this and lovingly kisses your cheek, humming softly.

“My good girl, my perfect girl,” James mumbles into your ear, placing his hands on the inside of your thighs and spreading them wide open, hooking your ankles around his calves. He drags one hand up to rest lightly on your stomach, his other stroking your thigh, climbing higher and higher until you’re practically vibrating with need.

“Sir.” You’re already sounding pathetic, but, to be fair, James has that effect on you. With only a few touches he can render you dumb, but you love it.

“What do you need, bunny?” James asks as though he doesn’t already know what you need. What you crave.

“You, sir. Always you.” Tears spring to your eyes, damn your hormones.

James sighs behind you, trailing his lips to your cheek, down to your jaw, and then your neck.

“You have me, pretty mama. You always have me. I’m yours as much as you are mine.” His words make you sniffle, a few tears sliding down your cheeks.

You’re so lucky.

“Come here, bunny.” James urges you off his lap, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying down and he’s hovering over you. He leans on one elbow and reaches up with his other hand to wipe away a few tears, smiling softly when you nuzzle his palm.

“Are you going to let me love on you, pretty mama?”

“Y-Yes, please. Please!” You’re slipping even further into that soft space where nothing else matters except for James, except for Sir.

James leans down, brushing his lips against yours and chuckling when you whine. The moment he finally kisses you he slides his hand down your neck to your breasts, lighting tugging at one of your nipples before sliding down further until he can spread your legs. He only pulls back when his hand makes it to the inside of one of your thighs, cooing when you whimper.

“It’s okay, bunny. I’m going to give you everything you need.” He’s slow and careful when he inches closer to your soaking pussy, running his thumb along your lips and dipping in to gently rub your clit.

He teases you for a long while, staring into your eyes when he dips two fingers in your hole easily due to how wet you are. He’s slow and methodical as he slips in another finger, kissing your cheeks every so often to catch stray tears. When he finally decides you’ve had enough teasing he starts thrusting his fingers faster, crooking them upwards to hit your special spot.

It doesn’t take long at all for you to cum, both because of James’ expert fingering and because of his husky voice whispering praises in your ear. And it’s an intense orgasm, your body going so far as to squirt liquid all over his hand.

It does take a bit for you to come down from your high, your mind is too clouded and fuzzy from pleasure. But when you do come to your senses you’re in the bathtub, your back to his chest as you soak in the warm water. James’ hands are on your stomach, rubbing over it as though it holds a priceless gem.

And, to be fair, there is. The little baby growing inside you is going to be the most loved child in the world.

“James?” Your voice is soft, not wanting to disturb the peace.

“Yes, bunny?” He kisses your neck, and you lean against him further.

“What, um—“ You wiggle a little, feeling his now only semi-hard cock against your lower back. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” James hums, suckling at your skin. “Tonight is about you, pretty mama.”

You’ll never understand how it’s possible to love someone as much as you love James, let alone be loved by such a perfect man, but you won’t question it.

tagging: @hisredheadedgoddess28

[the-houserat]

St. James Infirmary (pt. 1)

Summary: Y/N is in an accident

Notes: This fic is based loosely on a song cover by Hugh Laurie with the same title

Word count: 2.9k

You wake up so early in the morning that not even the sun is there to greet you. As a doctor this is your duty; While everyone else is asleep, you're awake giving others a chance at a new tomorrow.

You are a longtime employee at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, however for the past 6 months you've been recruited by Dr. Gregory House to join his Department of Diagnostics Medicine.

These mornings before the hospital have become so routine that you unconsciously start your day and are only brought back by the closing of your car door. You instantly flip through the radio stations after turning on the ignition before settling on blues to accompany your morning commute. You follow your regular route, stopping and turning at all the usual places. Right after you stop at a red light ,10 minutes away from your destination, you hear a song you enjoy come on. You lean down to turn the volume knob to the right and then lean back slightly in your chair as the melody relaxes you and drowns out the worries clouding your busy mind.

Your attention is directed back up to the changing colors of the red light to green. You press your foot onto the accelerator and ease into a comfortable speed. Before you're able to fully leave the intersection, however, a semi truck rams into the back of your car.

You feel nothing.

Time slows, but hours pass like minutes.

—

Dr. Lisa Cuddy sits at her desk filing paperwork. Her telephone rings. She swiftly answers, rubbing her temples at the sudden intrusion to her work. Her face falls when she hears the doctor on the other end of the line's words.

She tentatively grabs her pager to request Dr. House's presence in her office. Quite a while later, he hobbles in while speaking with his head positioned downward and his usual frown, “What is it now, Cuddy? You've already interrupted my nap twice.”

“Greg…” She says softly before being cut off by him.

He rests his weight on his cane as he places his opposite hand on his waist, falsely showing interest. “Come on now I've got patients to attend to,” he says pointing towards a nonexistent watch on his wrist.

She raises an eyebrow at him before stating, “Thought you were napping.”

He moves closer to her desk while explaining, “I said you interrupted me doing so twice. It's quite presumptuous of you to assume this was a third time.”

As much as Cuddy would love to shoot a witty remark back, more pressing matters are at hand. She shifts slightly in her seat and places her hands together, bracing herself to deliver the news as calmly as possible, “Y/N has been in a wreck and has been sent to St. James Infirmary. Police found their employee I.D. and called to let us know.”

House unexpectedly laughs before rubbing his chin and shaking his head.

“I'm not joking, House.” She says.

He pauses, shocked, before silently pulling himself together, “What's the damage?”

Cuddy looks at him with concern in her eyes, “They didn't say.”

He furrows his brows in annoyance at her vague statement, “What do you mean ‘they didn't say’? You called me to your office to tell me my employee is in the hospital and you aren't able to tell me what's wrong with them?”

“I can't tell you something I don't know, House. If you care so much, why don't you go visit them?” She retorts.

A flicker of annoyance with a hint of worry quickly flashes across his face. “And do what? There's no patient over there, just an idiot who probably thought it was okay to cross a red light and get themselves run over,” he says, attempting to feign indifference.

Cuddy leans back in her chair as she crosses her arms, “If you really think they're capable of such a mistake, why are they on your team?”

“Not many people are as smart as them, but everybody is an idiot.” All Cuddy does is nod her head with narrowing eyes, but House takes it as a threat. “They're my employee, an asset to the team, and they're not more important than any of the other people on it. Which reminds me, which one of them gets to deal with their patients?”

Cuddy lightly presses her lips into a smirk as she says, “That would be you.”

“Of course it is,” he sighs. He doesn't protest his departure any longer, though. He just needed a way to make it seem like he didn't want to see you, like it wasn't his first instinct, like he cares… because he doesn't.

House doesn't give a fuck about anyone else but himself.

At least, that's what you originally thought…

He turns around to exit Cuddy's office before she asks, “Leaving for the day?” He simply nods and continues to leave.

—

Memories of the accident flood your unconscious mind and seep into your dreams. Shards of glass surround you in scenes you won't remember when you wake. Your eyes jolt open as you feel a sudden stab in your arm.

As the world around you comes into focus, the image of your boss standing above you twirling a pen comes into view. “Rise and shine.” He says louder than you wish he had.

You groggily sit up, rubbing your head and putting the puzzle in front of you together. “I'm not in a coma, House, no need to poke me awake.”

House stills his twirling of the pen to point it at you, “Can never be too sure, Y/N.”

“Thanks for the advice, I'll be sure to keep it in mind for my future coma.” You look around trying to place where you are as House vigorously shakes the pen.

He goes to write something down, but no ink leaves the pen. “You're at St. James Infirmary- stupid pen.” He shakes the pen again and attempts to write once more before throwing it away. “You don't remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” You ask, “The hospital or the pen?”

“You can answer for both if it makes you happy.” He answers sarcastically as he goes to sit down in the chair to the left of your bed.

You rub your head as you're about to answer, just to realize the butterfly needle stuck into the vein of your hand is connected to an IV drip. As you attempt to run that hand through your hair, it catches on the wings of the needle. “Ow-” you yelp at the pain, “It's not like the first thing I do after a wreck is ask where I am. I assumed you of all people would know pain meds come first.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused by both your jab at him, as well as your struggle with your hair. “Now that you have your pain meds, would you care to recount the events that led to this? Unless, of course, you forgot that too.”

As House's icy blue eyes stare at you, you begin to feel small and self conscious. You have tiny scrapes on your face, likely due to shattered glass, and your hair is just a mess. The more you try to detangle it, the worse it gets, and the dark circles under your eyes from your late night shifts at the hospital further accentuate your disastrous state.

Why do you care what he thinks of you right now? Why is your mind swarming with anxiety about what you look like in front of him? You are in a hospital, and you still care about physical appearances?

He stands up which draws your attention back to his tall frame and away from your racing thoughts. You watch as he limps over to the side of your bed and sits down. You wonder what he's doing as you stare at the back of his head as he looks away from you. That is, until you feel another poke to your skin.

“What the hell House?!” You question

“You were quiet,” he answers “It was only appropriate to make sure you were still alive.”

“Are you sure I'm alive? Because this is pretty close to what I imagine hell is like.”

“Weird. I imagined more hookers,” he quips. He reaches the back of his hand to your forehead, the contact unexpectedly making your cheeks flush. “You're warm enough for life as far as I can tell.” His hand lingers there for a moment longer than what's usual for taking someone's temperature and he looks at you with an unreadable expression. He removes his hand, but not his gaze. He scans your body as you continue to struggle with your hair.

A man wearing hospital scrubs walks in after lightly knocking. He seems to be in his mid 20's with a muscular physique. Blonde, mid length hair frames his face. He enters holding a clipboard. After looking at it for a moment, he looks at you, “Y/N L/N?”

“That’s me,” you say smiling politely.

House raises himself off your bed after the intrusion and stands to face the both of you. The blonde man checks the monitor with your vitals.

“Do you perhaps have a working pen?” House abruptly asks. The man nods and hands him one from his pocket. He notices the tangled mess you've created in your hair and offers his help. You happily accept, glad to have someone assist you. He untangles your hair, his touch a gentle balance between delicate and focused. “I need to get a little closer, is that okay?” He asks. You nod your head.

While he meticulously works, House carries an even more sour expression than usual. He stomps his cane on the ground to bring attention back to him before clearing his throat, “Well, doc, I'm waiting to hear what's wrong with your patient.” He continues, “Unless you'd prefer it if I left so you can have sex with them instead.”

The man pulls away from you at his snarky comment, “Excuse me?”

“Just asking a question.” House responds before sitting back down in his chair.

You look at House before turning back to the man, “Could you give us a moment?”

The man gets up, but before leaving he turns around and says, “I'm the nurse by the way.”

He leaves and you immediately turn to the older man next to you angrily, “What the hell?”

“I know right, “ he says with both hands resting on his cane, “A male nurse? Feminism's come a long way.”

You pinch your nose bridge. “House, why are you here?”

“To brighten your day,” He replies snarkily.

Silence awkwardly fills the room after that last remark.Your gaze drifts away from him, guided by both your anger for him and shame for yourself.

Your anger prompted by House's behavior, and the shame brought on by your reaction to it. You know how he is. You have been working with this man for six months and his deportment has yet to change; This is how he always is. However, something in you had slight hope that it would somehow shift- that these circumstances would solidify every word unspoken in your stolen glances.

While lost in your own thoughts, you don't even notice him come to sit next to you. He lightly shakes your shoulder, “Stop dozing off before you make me accidentally call a code blue.”

You look back at him with your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, “Are you my doctor now, house?”

“No. I'm not here as your doctor,” your gaze softens at his reply. He's concerned about you, that must mean- “I'm here as someone annoyed at you for getting run over by a truck.”

Oh.

Your wishful thinking was quickly shoved away by the continuation of his sentence. You know you should've expected as much from him, but the way he so quickly threw away any notion of genuine care for you left a sour expression on your face. Here you sit having practically tasted death and yet he still refuses to crack away this miserable wall between you.

He notices the look on your face and actively disregards it. “You should stand up,” he says.

“House, I'm tired,” you reply in a harsh tone as you turn your head away from him.

“I didn’t ask you if you were tired, I asked you to stand up. I'd like to check if you have a back injury. It's important to see if it's just a regular ol’ aspirin fixer upper or a spinal cord injury that could lead you paralyzed,” He lightly guides your face back to look at him.“I don't think these idiots could tell the difference between a headache and a gunshot wound.”

You swat away his hands, annoyed at his tiny hint of warmth after his previously cold comment . “You didn't ask me anything, you demanded. I'm serious, House, I'm fucking tired.”

He raises his hands in defeat. “Well, let's not get into semantics. And you can't go to sleep until I've made sure you didn't mess up your spine in the crash.” He stands up with one hand resting on his cane and the other urging you to follow him in rising off the hospital bed, “Now stop being difficult and just stand up, because I've got better things to do than worry about you.”

“Then leave.” The words leave your mouth as soon as he says that last sentence. You didn't even have time to register your own words before understanding his. He's only here to make sure you can still work after all of this is said and done; He only cares about how well his diagnostics team is working on patients, not about the members themselves. Everything people said about him that you had refused to accept is true: He's a narcissistic asshole who can't bother to care about anyone else but himself.

“Don't be an idiot,” he says with a laugh of disbelief.

You glare at him, “I'm serious. You have better things to do, so leave. I didn't ask you to come here and I sure as hell didn't ask you to worry about me.”

“If I didn't care, I wouldn't have come here.” he sighs and for a moment it feels like you see that wall come down, “You're a part of my team.”

Your voice is quiet, but stable, “I almost died…and you can't even find the decency to be nice to me. You still feel the need to add a belittling quip at the end of every somewhat kind comment.” You turn your head away from him and face forward in your bed as you lay back onto the cheap hospital pillow, “You have better things to do, House, so go do them.”

He stares at you for a moment, taken aback by your words. His gaze softens before swiftly transitioning into a stormy rebuttal. He snaps, irritation coating his voice, “What the hell did you want from me? A warm hug and comforting words? This is me you're talking to! The nicest I've been to you since you started working for me was 3 months ago when I let you have the rest of the coffee- And that was because I'd had 2 espressos from the cafeteria!”

Your composed stature remained, as each of his words brought back the feeling of glass in your skin. They pierced through you like a needle through cloth. “I don't know what I was expecting, House.”

He continues to berate you almost as if attempting to prove his own point, “You can pray that someday I'll wake up and be a nicer person, but that's not what you're getting today. All you're getting is the usual cold, miserable bastard who's only here to ensure that you're only dealing with minor back pain and not a spinal cord injury that could leave you paralyzed.” He scoffs, clinging to his distant demeanor as he pulls the pen he received from the nurse earlier and a piece of paper from his pocket. He writes down what seems to be a sentence, but at his reveal it turns out to be a singular word: pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.

All you could give him was a near scowl.

“Do you recognize this disease? This is actually a fictitious disease made to mock medical names, however it's now deemed as the longest word in the English dictionary.” He says while holding the card to face him, “Funny how people just make things up. Much like you are now,”

You relax your shoulders and breathe, shaking off your emotions, “I don't want to do this right now, House. I'm mourning the fact that for a second I truly believed death was knocking on my door; I appreciate you feigning interest in my well-being, but I assure you that I am fine and I don't need your care right now for a case that you have no interest in. Go save some poor patient who's dying of some rare condition that no one can figure out and leave the simple car crash to idiots.”

House's eyes narrow slightly, his jaw clenching as he thinks of how to respond. For a brief moment, it looks like he's about to reach out to you, but his cold facade returns almost as quickly as it left. He steps back away from you and takes a deep breath, followed by his exit.

[rose24207]

I saw requests and I've read some of your Mafia Lando fics, can you do something where reader and Lando broke up and a few days later reader gets into a accident and the hospital calls him because he's next of kin when they were dating and when he gets there he's freaked and the doctors surprises him by saying the baby's fine.

Bound by blood and fate

Summary: After a devastating breakup, Lando is pulled back into your life when an accident reveals not only your fragile state but also the existence of the baby he never knew you carried, forcing him to confront his love for you and his vow to protect his growing family

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, car accident, pregnancy

A/N: thank youuu for the request. I really love all of your ideas! I hope you like it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The breakup had been ugly.

Ugly and inevitable, or so it seemed. The constant arguments, Lando’s late nights, the secrets he wouldn’t share—it all built up until the tension became unbearable. When you’d finally walked out of his penthouse a few nights ago, neither of you had looked back.

You told yourself it was for the best. You weren’t meant to live in Lando’s dangerous world.

He had tried to shield you from it, tried to convince you that his darker dealings wouldn’t touch your life. But the cracks in his promises had widened over time, and you couldn’t ignore the risks anymore.

The days since then had passed in a blur of loneliness and regret.

Each moment away from him felt like a weight pressing down on your chest, but you reminded yourself why you’d left.

You couldn’t stay in the shadow of his empire.

You couldn’t live in fear.

But even as you repeated those words to yourself like a mantra, there was something you hadn’t told him. Something that made your stomach churn with every passing hour.

You were pregnant.

You’d found out two days before the breakup. The test had been positive, and your mind had spiraled in every direction—joy, fear, uncertainty. You’d planned to tell him that night, but the fight had derailed everything.

And now? Now it was too late. Lando was gone.

The accident happened on the fourth day after the breakup.

It was raining hard as you drove down the winding roads outside the city. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up, and visibility was poor. You had been heading to your doctor’s appointment, determined to make sense of your next steps alone.

But fate had other plans.

Your car skidded on the slick pavement as you rounded a corner, the tires losing traction. You tried to correct the steering, but it was too late. The vehicle spun out of control, slamming into a guardrail before flipping over and landing in a ditch.

The world went black.

When Lando’s phone rang, he almost didn’t answer it. He had been drowning in his own misery since you’d left, throwing himself into work to avoid thinking about you.

But something about the unknown number on the screen made him pause.

“Hello?” His voice was sharp, impatient.

“Is this Lando Norris?” a calm, clinical voice asked.

“Yes,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“This is St. James Hospital. You’ve been listed as the emergency contact for [Y/N]. She’s been in an accident.”

The blood drained from his face. “What? Is she—” His voice cracked. “Is she okay?”

“She’s stable, but she’s in critical care,” the doctor replied. “We need you to come in as soon as possible.”

He didn’t think twice. Grabbing his keys, he was out the door in minutes, driving faster than he had in his entire life.

Lando burst into the hospital, his heart racing as he approached the front desk.

“[Y/N] [L/N],” he said, barely able to keep his voice steady. “I’m her emergency contact. Where is she?”

The nurse nodded, quickly directing him to the ICU. He didn’t even thank her, his focus solely on reaching you.

When he stepped into the room, the sight of you lying in the hospital bed made his chest tighten painfully.

You looked so small, so fragile, your face pale against the stark white sheets.

A doctor stood at your bedside, checking your vitals. He turned as Lando entered, offering a calm but serious expression.

“You’re Mr. Norris?” the doctor asked.

Lando nodded. “What happened? Is she going to be okay?”

“She suffered a concussion and a few broken ribs, but she’s stable,” the doctor explained. “We’ll need to monitor her closely for the next 24 hours, but she’s a fighter.”

Relief flooded through Lando, but it was short-lived as the doctor continued.

“And the baby is fine as well,” the doctor added.

Lando froze. “The… what?”

The doctor frowned slightly. “You didn’t know? She’s about 10 weeks pregnant. The impact was severe, but there’s no sign of harm to the baby. It’s a miracle, really.”

Lando’s world tilted on its axis. Pregnant? You were pregnant? His heart pounded as he looked at you, the realization sinking in like a punch to the gut.

He sat by your bedside for hours, his hands trembling as he held yours. Memories of your last fight replayed in his mind, and guilt twisted in his chest.

If he had known… If you had told him…

But it didn’t matter now.

All that mattered was that you were okay, that both of you were okay.

When you finally stirred, your eyes fluttering open, his breath hitched. He leaned forward, his face hovering inches from yours.

“Lando?” Your voice was weak, but the surprise in your tone was unmistakable.

“I’m here,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “I’m here, love.”

Tears welled in your eyes as the reality of your situation came rushing back. “The baby—”

“Is fine,” he interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re both fine. But why didn’t you tell me?”

Fresh tears spilled over as you looked away. “We were already falling apart. I didn’t think it would change anything.”

“Change anything?” Lando’s voice cracked with emotion. “Everything changes, [Y/N]. You and this baby—you’re my everything.”

You turned back to him, searching his eyes for the truth. “But your world, Lando… it’s dangerous. I didn’t want to bring a child into it.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he considered your words. “You’re right. My world is dangerous. But I’ll protect you—both of you—with everything I have. I swear it.”

Your lip quivered, but before you could respond, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve lost too much already. I can’t lose you,” he whispered.

The days that followed were a blur of recovery and quiet conversations. Lando rarely left your side, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive.

He made calls, tightening security around your home and ensuring that anyone who even thought of causing trouble would think twice.

You saw a new side of him—a man willing to go to any lengths for the people he loved. And as much as you’d tried to deny it before, you realized that love had never stopped between the two of you.

It wasn’t going to be easy. There were still battles to fight, both within and outside of Lando’s world.

But as he sat beside you, his hand resting gently on your stomach, you knew one thing for certain:

You weren’t alone anymore.

Thank you for reading!

[rosetyler42]

Most of mine don't wear glasses, but Lily does. She has eye problems similar to her dad and Grandmother. We never find out EXACTLY what those are, however.

It's possible either Aaron or Connie might need glasses when they're older since the Stoppable family has glasses, most likely for astigmatism. But Ron mentions he's not going to need to get glasses in high school, though he IS shown wearing them in the future. Now, Kim does at one point CLAIM to wear contacts, but I'm not sure if that's TRUE or just part of a ruse in that episode.

James Wilde-Gru is another possibility to have glasses when he's older since his Grandmother wears them, but if so, it's not until his golden years as Gru and Dru don't.

Alex ALSO wears glasses, though he most likely doesn't have to wear them all the time.

Lizzie and/or Jaren MIGHT have to wear glasses since Jake's dad did, but neither of their parents appear to wear them. It's also possible that being dragons could protect them from eye trouble.

Does your OC wear glasses, contact lenses, both or neither?

[daenysx]

hi hello gorgeous <3

Can i request a James x fem reader who calls him shortly after she leaves for work because she fell hard on a pavement and scratched her knee and elbow and hurt her wrist and he comes to get her and finds her crying on the pavement and poor thing is so worried for her and takes care of her?

(This exact thing happened to me today but only i was going to a final and i sat and cried but only difference is THAT I DO NOT HAVE JAMES POTTER Im sobbing)

hi baby, i hope you're okay!! thank you for requesting, here's our perfect fictional boyfriend for you, i hope you enjoy <333

james potter x fem!reader ♡

"jamie?"

james drops the plate he has in his hand on the counter. are you crying? you sound like you're crying and that's literally his worst nightmare.

"baby?" he says quickly. "what happened? are you okay?"

your voice sounds muffled through the phone. james hears you take a deep breath before speaking. "i fell."

"where are you?" he asks, panicking. "are you okay?"

you try to walk out of people's way as you speak to james. your unoccupied wrist hurts very much and you feel something warm in your sweater.

"i couldn't get to work." you say to him. "i'm in front of the flower shop next to the park now."

"i'm coming." he says, grabbing the car keys. "10 minutes, okay? can you wait for me?"

"yes." you say. "don't rush, i'm fine."

you don't sound fine but james is sane enough to drive carefully. he prays to traffic fairies for empty roads, he can see the florist' shop in almost 9 minutes. he sees you next thing, you're sitting on the edge of a pavement with a small tear on your jeans.

he parks the car with half a mind, rushes to your side. your eyes look puffy, cheeks blushed with adrenaline and possibly pain. you hold your wrist in your other palm, james can see a tiny bit of blood dripping from your knee.

"angel." he says, cupping your cheeks. "are you okay? does it hurt too badly?"

you don't answer, instead you put your head on james's chest and cry slowly against him. you called your boss while waiting for james and thank god she's nice enough to tell you to take the day off. james holds you, the street is not too crowded and people prefer using the other side of the pavement. you cry your embarrasment and hurting on your boyfriend as he gently tries to calm you down.

"we need to see a doctor." james says before kissing your forehead. "your knee looks bad."

"it's not actually that bad." you say, sniffing. "it's just a scratch. my wrist hurts a bit."

"angel." he says, he uses his trying-to-be-convincing voice. "please don't be stubborn. they can at least make sure nothing's wrong."

"i'm fine, jamie." you say, using your better hand to dry your tears. "i'm mostly crying because of embarrassment. can we please go home?"

you're looking at him with widened eyes and james has nothing else to say. "but if you still feel pain we will go to a hospital, okay?"

you nod obediently. james helps you stand up, he takes your bag on his shoulder. you hold his hand as he leads you to car. he makes sure you're okay before sitting on the driver' seat.

he holds your hand the entire way. your tears are almost gone, you're not hurting anywhere badly but your body feels sore. you dream of your warm bed and a cup of hot tea. james's thumb rubs the back of your hand. you look at his face, his side profile is something out of heaven. you squeeze his fingers, he gives you a perfect smile. "i'm gonna take care of you so well, you'll feel better than ever." he promises you sweetly.

"i know, jamie." you say. "thank you for picking me up."

"please, angel." he scoffs. "in what world i'm leaving my girl alone in the street when she falls?"

you bring his hand to your lips to give him a little kiss. his heartbeat fastens. he's gonna give you the nicest doctor treatment when you get home. he'll probably be stuck to your side until you get sick of him.

the smell of home has never felt better. you go to the bathroom first thing, james comes after you. "let's get you out of these clothes."

"been waiting for that, haven't you?" you tease. james deserves a few jokes, he's been worried too much.

"since the minute you left for work." he says. he helps you until you are left in your panties and your little tank top.

"baby." he whispers when he sees your knee clearly. he makes a pitiful sound. your knee is scratched and it looks a bit bloody. your wrist feels better but it's definitely gonna need ice. you show james your elbow, it has a tinier scratch too. james starts cleaning up your knee first with you sitting on the closed lid of the toilet.

"tell me if it hurts." he says. he has big hands but he knows how to use them gently. you don't make a sound when he cleans up your knee. "do you think we can use the cream we got for my hand on your scratches?" he asks. james once hit his hand on the sharp side of his locker in gym and he had to use a cream for his scar. you think it might be work for you. you nod.

he cleans up your elbow too, you're thankful none of your little scars need wrapping. james brings the cream and he applies it on your skin. you both wash your hands when james finishes up. he takes your dirty clothes from the bathroom floor before leaving.

"i think i need ice for my wrist." you say. "can you get me an ice pack, handsome?"

"of course." he says. "go to bed, sweetheart, i'll be right back."

your entire body relaxes when it hits the bed, you are careful when you settle down but still it feels so nice to be home. falling down in the street is something so suddenly happened, you think it's funny how you can remember the exact moment and the embarrassment you felt on the pavement. it's okay, though. it's normal.

your hero comes back with an ice pack. he sits on your side of bed, takes your wrist to his free hand softly. he presses the ice pack on the slight swollen skin. you let out a shaky breath.

"does it hurt?" he asks, his brows raised.

"no, just cold." you answer. you're gonna be okay.

james kisses your forehead. his hand still holds the ice pack. "are you hungry?" he asks. "can i get you anything?"

you shake your head. "i just wanna sleep, jamie. get under the blanket?" you ask with a hopeful look and a gentle voice. two things james can never resist.

he joins you under the blanket. he has to be the big spoon to hold the ice pack still on your wrist. he kisses your head affectionally. "do you feel better?" he asks. it doesn't hurt to be sure.

you nod. "i'm fine, promise."

sleep comes easily, especially when james draws shapes on your arm with his free hand. you love the occasional kisses he brushes on your head. he holds the ice on your skin until it starts melting, no matter how freezing it is against his hand. it's nothing more painful than seeing his girl cry.

[felassan]

Thread: Sylvia Feketekuty on the influences of Emmrich and the Mourn Watch

The rest of this post is under a cut due to length and possible spoilers.

Sylvia Feketekuty: "I think I've gotten to most people’s questions, and I promised I'd talk about influences on Emmrich and the Mourn Watch before wrapping this up. So here we go! It took me while to figure out Emmrich's character voice. I'm happy with where I landed, but he was a tough one. A few books helped me out. MR James' Collected Ghost Stories (1890-1930) My favourite ghost stories of all time. James excels at building dread, at writing people finding strange things in books, or around the corner, or in the old lane at night."

"He was also an antiquarian and a scholar at Cambridge. I wanted Emmrich and the Watchers to feel formal, but not like they were from another epoch. James’ language, polished by a rich academic career, was an excellent benchmark for 'older, but not ancient'. E.g.: if using contractions was appropriate for James' time, it was appropriate for Emmrich. It freed me up, mentally speaking, to deploy them whenever they improved cadence or flow. Thomas Ligotti's Songs of a Dead Dreamer Fellow Ligotti fans may already be thinking Emmrich doesn't really share the philosophy underpinning Ligotti's work, and they’re right. However!"

"Songs of a Dead Dreamer is filled with fantastical imagery that’s a bit lusher than that found in Ligotti's later works. It was really good at bringing to mind the kind of moody, expansive dreamscapes I think our necromancer mentally occupies. It’s from a different book (Noctuary), but Ligotti’s “The Spectral Estate” also merits a mention. If you plunked it down in front of Emmrich to read, he’d know exactly what it was on about. The Romantic poets (or any poetry on similar themes: overpowering swells of emotion, the grandeur and awe of nature, love and loss and grief.) Palgrave's Golden Treasury was usually in reach."

"If I was in a jam, or psyching myself up for a scene, sometimes I’d read a few poems to get into the proper head space. Or just for the pleasure of it. Poems are great! Please take a link to Shelley's "A Dream of the Unknown", one of my favourites. [link] I also read a few books by morticians and funerary directors. A friend lent me Smoke Gets in your Eyes and From Here to Eternity by Caitlin Doughty (probably the most famous mortician on the internet?) I also checked out Nine Years Under: Coming of Age in an Inner-city Funeral Home by Sheri Booker."

"These books were full of lessons about how people react to death, how different cultures treat it, how anger and grieving express differently but come from the same wellspring. Very humane looks at how we deal with loss and other people. Moving on to non-books: My First Cadaver, a podcast of stories from medical students and medical professionals."

"I listened to a few episodes My First Cadaver, and there were some incredible tales in there. Gross (I could never be a doctor) but incredible. And I was struck by was how much students working on donated cadavers got attached to them. I can’t remember if it was in MFC or not, but there was one story about a medical student introducing his date to the cadaver he was working on like she was a beloved aunt. It was very sweet! Peter Cushing in Horror of Dracula (1958) and The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) These films are filled with handsome costumes, ominous sets, and the oversized passions I associate with gothic melodrama. Cushing's perfect in them."

"His portrayals of Van Helsing and Baron Frankenstein are brisk, determined, obsessive, and brimming with energy; they’re scholars who are experts in their field, yet still men of action. They felt like natural touchstones for a professor suddenly called to grand adventure. I also ended up reading Cushing's memoirs. In a bit of strange synchronicity, there were similarities between his life and traits I'd already decided to give Emmrich. Cushing came from a working-class family, had an intense phobia (his was of the dark), was vegetarian, and so on. I'd had no idea."

"(Humans tend to pattern-match, but it was a little eerie.) A side note: I've seen people speculate Emmrich was based off of Vincent Price. There’s a bit of the good Mr. Price in there, but Cushing got to play more heroic roles than he did. He felt more right to me. A second side note: did you know Vincent Price was a gourmand who loved to entertain? He and his wife Mary put out a beautiful cooking book, A Treasury of Great Recipes, filled with warm and charming commentary. If you're interested in that kind thing, highly recommended!"

"One influence when I was pitching the Memorial Gardens to the rest of the team was Swan Point cemetery in Rhode Island. It's where Lovecraft was buried, and like many a Weird Tales nerd before me, I was curious and wanted to see it."

"I wasn't prepared for was how lush the plants and flowers were, and how beautifully landscaped everything there is. Swan Point is a historical burial place, and also a carefully tended garden and arboretum. It stunned me. I'd never been in a cemetery like it. Emmrich complains about Hezenkoss making him play complicated wargames when they were students, and that one in particular had three separate rulebooks."

"I've seen people guess whether I was referencing D&D or Warhammer 40K. D&D was formative, and I know a frankly embarrassing amount about WH40K at this point (No regrets. Necrons and Admech 4-ever.*) But the origin is even sillier. *Why yes, Mechanicus 2 IS my most anticipated upcoming game. I used to own the first edition of a board game called Mansions of Madness, and was supposed to learn the rules so I could lead my friends through it. But come the day, I’d procrastinated, and was running short on time."

"Fantasy Flight's previous game in the same vein was Arkham Horror, and AH is not a simple game. But I remember being hopeful, as I peeled the shrinkwrap off, that maybe MoM would be easier to learn than AH. Have streamlined rules, or fewer things to remember. Then the top popped off, and three separate rulebooks fell out and slithered to the floor. (The DAV game’s not meant to be MoM, but the absurdity of that moment stuck with me.) (It's not the game's fault, by any means, that I was unprepared, and the session went as well as it could have with me flipping through the books going "Okay wait...hold on...I think that was here...no, wait.") The Nevarran hazelnut torte recipe is actually a family recipe from my grandmother, on my father's side. I’m beyond delighted people have actually made it. (Our recipe uses metric measurements, but the DA style guide uses imperial, so I was worried about the conversion. Looks like it went okay.)"

"On my mother's side of the family: my grandmother cooked and cleaned for a living, and my grandfather was a butcher. He passed away before I was born, and my grandmother when I was very young. So I gave Emmrich’s parents those professions as a little nod to the grandmother I only knew very little, and the grandfather I never met at all. I would’ve liked time with them both. And to end on a lighter note, "Ever thought of becoming a hat person?" is an extremely oblique reference to a line spoken to one of gaming's greatest characters: Murray, the demon skull from Curse of Monkey Island. (Curse is the first Monkey Island game I ever played, and therefore my favourite.)"

"Small bonus: here’s the music I listened to most while working on Emmrich and the Watchers. Some of it probably only makes sense to me, some of it seems thematically obvious. (I don’t have Spotify so best I can do is an itunes screenshot.)"

"Not on the screenshot because I changed PCs halfway through, but I also listened to a lot of music from Cryo Chamber, a great dark ambient label. [link] And their sister label, Cryo Crypt, which does "Dark Fantasy Dungeon Synth." [link] And also Allicorn IS on the screenshot but I think I've listened to his stuff on every game I've worked on by now. [link]"

[thread source link]

---

Bonus: follow-up comments and exchanges -

User: "I KNEW the torte was somebody’s family recipe!!" // Sylvia: "My only regret is that the icing was originally a stove-boiled icing made with eggs and chocolate and butter emulsified together. I couldn't get it working, however, these past few years. I think we lost some crucial part of the steps when trying to write out a clean copy. So I went with ganache for the game, because I didn't want to print something that didn't work, and I've used ganache myself. It's good! But I'm going to try to replicate the original again one day." [source, two] // User: "I noticed that sometimes, ingredients doesn't react the way they used to and part of that is probably due to some "industrial" changes in the recipe for ingredients like chocolate or butter to cut the cost of making them, imho. It's sad because it means we lost a very specific way to do things..." // Sylvia: "Yeah, that was the first thing a friend who bakes a lot suggested. I wonder if I was a victim of "Buttergate" when Canadian cows were being fed so much palm oil butter was harder to spread as a result. After a long search, I found a local place that makes butter that actually tastes good, which is an incredibly sad sentence to have to type out." [source, two]

Sylvia, re: Vincent Price being a gourmand and his cooking book: "It's extremely cool. My library had a copy and I remember it being pretty big, too." [source]

User: "I was following this thread and I'm delighted about all of these facts and information. Thank you for sharing!" // Sylvia: "Aw thank you! And thanks for reading, it was nice to unpack all the stuff kicking around my mental attic." [source]

User, re: MFC: "Sorry to post again but this one got me- my mom is a doc, and i remember her telling me stories of the cadaver she worked on (evidence of different surgeries she had, the cancer she had, etc), and mom always ended her stories saying how thankful she was to her. It really does stick around." // Sylvia: "No need to apologize, I liked hearing about your mom's reaction! It's exactly what I kept hearing and reading about, a sense of reverence for the gift." [source]

Sylvia: ""The irony that I had to convert the measurements back to metric" Haha. I tried to get as close as I could. Here's the written down metric version of the cake batter. It's an older recipe so I had to try to guess what a "knife tip" ended up as." [source]

A user on the torte being a family recipe: "Oh my gosh 🥹 that makes it all even lovelier!" // Sylvia: "Thanks! I was really excited to share the family recipe, it's a bit of work but it's one of my favorites." [source]

A user under the post about MR James' Collected Ghost Stories: "So you're probably the one behind the mysterious bronze whistle, I take it?" // Sylvia: "Haha, guilty. Cameron Harris, our editor, helped me figure out a phonetic guide to the latin. (If it fails anywhere it's very likely my fault.)" [source]

User: "As an avid Emmrich lover & someone trying to write some Emmrich POVs in my Emrook fanfictions, I can not thank you ENOUGH for this wealth of info / music inspo to go off of" // Sylvia: "Thank you! (Seriously though some of those songs probably only make sense to me, they're not all thematically on point, but some are. Hope you enjoy!)" [source]

User: "As another "needs a million hours of droning ambient music to write" writer I appreciate these greatly" // Sylvia: "We both have good taste! 🎶" [source]

User: "Thank you for writing out this list!! Peter Cushing makes so much sense as an influence. I love the variety of media here, it gives me so much new stuff to check out!" // Sylvia: "Thank you for reading! If you do check out some of this stuff, hope you enjoy!" [source]

Sylvia: "thanks so much, and for reading the thread! It was fun to write." [source]

User: "Thank you for sharing these books!I was looking for a good ghost book" // Sylvia: "Thanks! Hope you enjoy James. "Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad" was the first story of his I read and I'll never forget that experience." [source] // Sylvia: "I just love the mood James could create, so much." [source]

User: "ELECTRIC SIX MENTION" // Sylvia: "My greatest favorites, now and forever." [source]

Sylvia: "Please archive away, I am intent on deleting the account eventually but it'd be nice to know people could look this stuff up later if they're curious. (Future generations need to know which Atrium Carceri tracks I listened to!)" [source]

User: "Amongst many things, not the least of which is the gratitude and delight of having your fantastic insight into the writing process of Emmrich, my grandmother’s hazelnut torte is fantastically close to the Nevarran version which was a delightful discovery." // Sylvia: "Ah now nice. I assume she was also central/eastern European then? I suspect it was a popular recipe at a certain time." [source]

User: "As an ex-mortician turned game writer, this was a FASCINATING read!" // Sylvia: "Haha, I definitely took inspiration from morticians! (Thank you for checking it out, that thread got long)" [source]

User: "ATRIUM CARCERI - Such a perfect band for the Mourn Watch!" // Sylvia: "I stumbled on Atrium Carceri when I was a student, and there's happily so much dark ambient available now, but Simon Heath's particular vibe can't be beat." [source]

User: "Rockefeller Street is just like that, man. It's sticky." // Sylvia: "Yes! It's so good, it just hits a certain mood dead center." [source]

Sylvia: "Ginkys of BlueSky has created a Spotify list of the music I listened to when writing Emmrich and the Watchers! Almost everything's on there. Thank you Ginkys. (FYI: Not everything I listened to matches the MW vibe, sometimes it was just a song that got stuck in my head for a few weeks.) - [link]" [source]

User: "I appreciate Replay being on here so muuuuch" // Sylvia: "My favorite song on the album! Though 911 was also real solid." [source]

User: "Love that there's Lady Gaga" // Sylvia: "Friend just sent me Abracadabra, I'm excited for the Gothic Camp here." [source]

Sylvia, about the torte recipe: "If it's useful, here's the full thing in metric. WARNING: Last two times I tried this cooked icing, it failed. I'm not sure whether I miscopy a crucial step, or if changes to local butter were the culprit. Either way, proceed with caution. A ganache is way safer, and very similar." [source]

^ User: "Thank you! That's helpful. I haven't baked many cakes before so I'll do some research about icing/ganache before trying. Hopefully looking at local (Swedish) recipes will give me a hint of what to be careful with." // Sylvia: "Ganache is SUPER simple (you basically heat cream and pour it over chopped chocolate), so I lean even more towards recommending you go with that instead of the cooked icing. Hope you the baking." [source]

[thread source link]

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 30: Freeuse - Winter Soldier

Summary: He was your patient. You were in charge of making sure all of his needs were met, no matter what they were.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, non-consensual elements, dubious content, freeuse, discussion of injuries, violence, masturbation, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, stalking (kinda), possessive

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

He was your priority. Hydra had recruited you with the hopes of creating an experiment to see if anyone could be trained to look after the assassin frozen in a Cyrogentic state. You were trained and kept underground to be the lead carer and doctor for the Winter Soldier. He was yours to look after, physically and mentally. After each mission you sent him on, he’d return and give you the reports. Most importantly, you were always the first face he’d see before and after being on the ice.

The Soldier would answer to you and Alexander Pierce, but even that was touchy sometimes as he would look to you before answering Pierces’ questions as if he was asking for permission to talk. 

What’s more, is that you knew who he was outside of his assassin's status. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, born in 1917, was the best friend to the one and only Captain America, Steve Rogers, who was currently alive, having been found in the ice and unbeknown to him, his best friend was also alive with similar super solider serum pumping through his veins. Steve was Bucky’s potential saviour; one day, you hoped to be there when this could become a reality; however, currently, you were watched so closely by everyone in Hydra that you’d not even been able to contemplate a plan as to how to break him out. Until then, he was your priority, keeping him out of harm's way as much as possible.

Alexander Pierce had given you strict instructions to adhere to every single need that may affect or alter the soldier's performance as the ghostly assassin. At first, you just assumed it was to feed him, wash, cut his hair, make sure he was healthy and metal arm was working to its best ability. But the basic human need for the Winter Soldier ran deeper than that, causing your role as his doctor and carer to be blurred and something more developed.

The longer he was out of the ice, the more you would notice his increasing frustrations that couldn’t be erased with a simple afternoon in the gym or sparring with other guards. There were even days when no one could calm him down, his aggression so high that he had to be sedated if you were not available to talk to him.

For example, there was once a day when you were actually off of the unit, in your new flat, having just been granted the allowance to live there when Rumlow came knocking on your door. He only gave you the courtesy of putting on your shoes before gripping your upper arm and dragging you to the office.

When you arrived, the rooms were in disarray. Equipment smashed, blood and unconscious bodies trying to be aided too. It was a mess, and you were more nearly barging down the door to get to him, shouting for the guards to stand down and leave him to you. Yes, he was a highly trained assassin, but with the trust he held in you, there was no way he would intentionally harm you.

The underground room had no windows, which you were thankful for as they would have been destroyed in his rampage. You were only dressed in your joggers and a vest top, trainers already marked with red streaks from the puddles you’d walked through. It felt like your heart would escape your mouth with how erratic it was pounding in your chest as you tried to take in his appearance.

The shirt he had previously been wearing was now ripped to shreds on the floor. The tactical trousers had tears throughout but still seemed to be held together enough that he was indecent, and combat boots that gleamed with smudges where he’d been kicking objects and people. Each of his knuckles were busted in their own way. The flesh hand was cut, and the metal fist was red with other people's blood.

You’d not seen him become this erratic since he’d been out of his cryogenic state for too long, and his memories began to return to him as he questioned his entire existence. Whereas for this example, he’d only been defrosted for several days and shouldn’t have had any cognitive issues.

Stepping closer with your hands raised to show you meant no threat, you asked in a clear, concise voice, “Soldier? Where is the threat?”

His height seemed to tower over yours, more so than usual, as he turned his deathly glare towards you. The hulking muscles of his shoulders heaved with each breath he took as if he was out of breath, which was a rare occasion as he could run for miles and continue to breathe steadily, unaffected by the strenuous exercise. Your question was supposed to help identify what his issue was, hoping he’d find you being there to create a safe space for him, but the angry charge of his massive body had you flinching back in shock.

The warm hand of his wrapped around your throat, using the momentum of his steps to push you back up against the wall. Your hands remained up, even though you were itching to tear at his wrist to relieve some pressure. He wasn’t squeezing hard enough that you were struggling to breathe, but it was still uncomfortable and unnerving.

Your mind was working on overdrive, trying to think of a way to ease the stress he was going through. Your eyes searched over his body, starting with his head and face, but there were only minor scratches and grazes from the fights. Lower your eyes explore his arms and chest until they halted, seeing something that had never been through your consideration.

His tactical pants were tented, showing the outline of his hard-on, raging just as violently as the blue of his eyes. Was this the issue of his anger? The soldier shifted his stance, hand twitching towards his crotch like he was going to move himself to be more comfortable, but stopped as he watched you closely.

Alexander Pierce had once told you that whatever the Soldier wanted or needed, you were to give it to him to ensure that he was performing to his best abilities. You cursed to yourself quietly, unsure if this was even plausible or right to do. Of course, it wasn’t right to do. He was a prisoner in his own body, but you were his doctor, and you had a job to do.

“It’s okay. I know what will help you. I’ll show you how to get rid of the pain; I won’t touch you, I promise”.

From there, you were able to explain anatomy, the ache throbbing through his abdomen and how he could relieve himself. He did. Right there in front of you, his pants by his knees and cock in hand until he came on your shoes.

You didn’t so much as blink or flinch at the action. He didn’t understand that it wasn't appropriate to cum on someone's shoes or to masturbate in a somewhat public scenario. It calmed him down enough that you could push him back onto a chair and fix the injuries that were already mostly healed.

These situations only continued to escalate, which occurred more often than not. However, the Winter Soldier only touched himself when you were around, and you were unsure if it was because you made him feel safe or for other reasons that Rumlow liked to hiss in your ear, saying that the deadly assassin had a crush on his favourite doctor.

You blew it off as gossip and nasty rumours, unprofessional at most.

This only lasted for a few months before you noticed the changes in the Soldier, and it all came to a head one night as he turned up at your apartment after a mission. You hadn’t even told him your address, and he wasn’t due back from the mission for another 24 hours, but there he was, at the end of the bed, having snuck through the window as you were halfway through having some intimate time yourself.

Your fingers were between your legs, eyes closed, and your head tipped back, not covering your moans as you didn’t think you’d need to as you were living by yourself. The assassin watched, confusion causing his brows to furrow, head tilted to the side as his fists clenched. 

The look on your face was one he’d never seen before, and he noticed the anatomy was different to his. Of course, he was aware that not everyone had the same genitals as his, but it hadn’t crossed his mind that it could be touched like this.

The only time you were aware of his presence was when the bed dipped, your eyes snapping open and legs closing as you released an almighty scream that caused the Soldier to flinch.

“Mine”, he muttered under his breath, grabbing your ankle and dragging you closer.

“What? Soldier, what are you doing here? When did you- please stop” he paused his attempts to drag you closer as he was half crawling over your body. You were trying to remain calm, but he was acting so possessive, and why was he even here? How did he get in?

“Mine”, he repeated above you again, eyes trained between your legs.

You were at a loss for words, feeling both confused and safe simultaneously, even with someone as dangerous as this. The night was one that definitely crossed the line for professionalism.

The Winter Soldier was so interested in your masturbation and different genitals that he practically begged you to continue, shouting mine and gazing at your intimate area until you continued.

You came, and then the Soldier unbuckled his belt and ejaculated over your stomach, and this was the turning point of the relationship. Your job now seemed to be a half doctor, half a sexual release. Masturbation escalated into hands in underwear until there was no point holding back the restraint, and the two of you were fucking.

It was challenging to wrap your head around, especially when the two of you were in the work environment, but if it was what he wanted and needed that you were more than happy to be face pushed into the wall, trousers and underwear by your ankles and cock shoving so far into your cunt that you saw stars.

The most significant issue was that, even though none of the workers commented on it, they all knew the sex was occurring. Mainly because the Winter Soldier didn’t seem to understand that this was supposed to be something that was for ‘behind closed doors’ and out of view of the guards and other doctors. To him, if he was to push you over the table and whisper “mine”, then this was enough warning that he wanted to fuck, even if you were unfathomably embarrassed that your coworkers had to watch you coming undone to the man they were all looking after.

The worst time had to have been when Alexander Pierce came strolling into the ‘jail’ they kept the Soldier in during his downtime. Multiple guards were surrounding him, and three doctors in lab coats were working tirelessly around the room. You’d been in there for hours. Warm, tired and ready to eat whatever take-out you could encounter on the drive home later that night.

With Pierces’ presence, however, your posture straightened, and you tried to remain as professional as possible. This was a feat easier said than done as The Soldier eyed you from across the room, staring with his unblinking glare. Eventually, he pushed past Pierce, the guards all raising their guns expecting a fight, but there was none to have as the metal fingers of his specially made hand eased into the front of your work trousers, plain underwear and pushed into your cunt.

“What are you doing?! Now is not the time and place- Ah fuck!”. There was nothing other than a hand over your mouth that could have stopped the moan pitching from your lips as his thumb circled your clit. You’d not been at all aroused, but he had learned enough about your body to know the exact way to stimulate your bundle of nerves and curl his fingers inside of you to stroke that beautiful spot that had you whimpering without any restraint.

As he pleasured you in front of all your colleagues, there was nothing you could do but painfully grip on to his metal forearm. He didn’t even smile or mutter a single word as he made you orgasm with a knee-buckling euphoria. It seemed he was just in the mood to hear your whines as he turned around and sat back in front of Pierce, who was looking between the two of you.

“It seems things have changed through here. I’m glad you have been able to … satisfy the Asset by any means necessary”.

You tried not to visibly cringe with the way he had worded it as you tried to straighten your clothes and continue with the work you had been completing before. Nothing further was thankfully said as he was given his next mission, and you were left to continue working for a further three hours with underwear that was utterly soaked due to his wandering fingers.