#house md tv show

[jameslongforjimshortforgabriel]

he's talking abt house btw

[zombeedog]

i cannot draw house, hes such an oddly shaped human

[holywoodelevator]

This is my bitch wife we are on the verge of getting divorced but that doesn’t matter bcz she’s hot 🩷

[xyber116]

I like this show's legacy is interesting. It was really popular and talked about a lot when it was on. But now that time has passed and if someone asks what your favorite show was from this era, I don't think I've heard anyone list this show. I watched it when it aired and I've never had the desire to re-watch it (and I've re-watched Lost like 3 times).

[gibbygabs]

House M.D. fanart at my Goodwill?? 🫣

[kkrusteva]

rip House you'd have loved coughing on people in the COVID 19 pandemic

[swanparties]

obsessed with how my mom watches house md because she's a professor of oncology and pharmacy + she likes to see how they diagnose and treat things, whereas i watch house md for the old man queerbaiting

[ainasluv]

HOUSE M.D. (2004) S02xEP08

[zombie-bait]

The best part of tumblr imo is very much the niche shit you find on here. Like yeah "fandom" is mainstream these days, the internet is flooded with Star Wars content but where the fuck else am I supposed to find the most unhinged gay shitposts about the old men from 2000s hit tv show House MD. Who in the year of our lord 2023 is thinking about Ben from Lost?? ME and 12 other incredible ppl on this hellsite, that's who

[wtfishouse]

it's dangerous out there. take this *gives you these pictures printed out, wet and smelling like coins* :)

[4ever-feral]

Not only can I fix him but Being houses controversially young girlfriend would fix me IM ON MY KNEES FOR YOU SIR 🧎🏽‍♀️

[dollerinna]

❪ 小薇 ❫ I’M NOT A BAD MAN : I’M JUST OVERWHELMED

— 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝚑𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝚑𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 .

𝓘ames wilson ੭୧ f! reader ┇ p in v ⋆ somno ⋆ non-con

JAMES WILSON’S larger frame drapes over you, pulling you close in your unconscious state. His warmth envelops you like a blanket of fire, the heat of his body melding into yours in a way that makes your pulse spike before your mind can even catch up. The room is hushed, every sound muted by the gravity of his presence—except for his breaths. Hot and uneven, they tease the shell of your ear, stirring the hair along your temple with a hunger that feels barely leashed. His hand tightens on your hip, fingernails leaving a trail of crescent-shaped imprints into your flesh, as if his very skin demands yours.

His cock stirs, painfully hard beneath the confines of his pants, the dull throb of arousal building into something that demands attention. Each rapid thump of his heart feeds the tension coiling tighter in his core, a steady pulse of white-hot need spreading from the pit of his stomach down to the ache between his legs. He bites down on a groan, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, but the sound still claws free anyway—a feeble, borderline pathetic noise that makes him feel as though he's coming undone, thread by thread.

The image of him plunging his cock into your tight little cunt plays on an endless loop in his head, delirious and unrelenting, like the world’s worst porno he can’t turn off. It’s agonizing, this carnal itch he was powerless to soothe, a hunger gnawing at him from the inside out. And it’s your fault—cruel, unknowing, perfect you. Why did you always have to look so devastatingly, effortlessly fuckable? Even now. Even like this. He's supposed to be better than this. He swears he is better than this. Or at least, he was. But you're ruining him, turning him into something base, something unrecognizable—a mutt in heat, panting after scraps of you like his life depended on it.

With trembling hands, he shoves his pants down just enough to free himself, a stinging hitch of breath catching in his throat as the cool air hits his angry, leaking cock. It stands thick and flushed in a mess of brown, slapping against his belly with a humiliating, wet sound that reminds him of how far gone he is—and yet it only spurs him on, the tingling buzz in his ears swelling akin to static, drowning out the last whispers of reason.

His jaw locks as he carefully eases himself between your legs, gliding the slippery head of his shaft over your folds with a slow, surgical precision only a doctor could have. A weak moan betrays him when your entrance flutters helplessly, involuntarily clenching around the aching emptiness he’s yet to fill. It's a maddening kind of torture, one that leaves his knees jittery and his resolve fractured.

He hesitates, guilt rising like a bitter, choking weight in his throat. This is wrong—he knows it's wrong. You're asleep for god's sake. Sweet, innocent, and unaware, probably lost in some dream about kittens and puppies with that peaceful smile gracing your lips. But as the shame churns deep in his gut, it's quickly eclipsed by something much worse: the ugly truth—he doesn't care.

However, even at his worst, there is this tenderness in the way he moves that refuses to vanish. He wants to make you feel good—needs to, as if somehow, this could be something you’d never hate him for, no matter how far he falls. It’s a twisted kind of redemption, one that only someone like Wilson can dream about.

Slowly, he grinds into you, inch by torturous inch, flesh to flesh, your slick depths stretching to welcome him in. A shuddering sigh flees his lips as he buries himself to the hilt, reveling in how the gummy walls of your cunt clutches onto his member with an almost suffocating grip, squeezing so tightly it was as if your sleeping body wanted him here in the first place.

"Mmm... holy..." he breathes, the words faltering as they leave his lips, fragile and barely formed. "…'m sorry... I didn't want this... didn't m-mean to..." his confession splinters in the air, equal parts of guilt and lust tumbling out in hoarse murmurs, dissolving into the void with every stuttering thrust of his pelvis. Each stroke feels a perfect contradiction—a prayer answered and a sin committed, tightening his chest and clouding his mind all at once.

And then there’s you—silken, wet, and impossibly tight—wrapping around him like a second skin. Your fleshy insides mold to every pulsating ridge and vein of his cock, sucking him deeper in with the unknowing shifts of your hips. His nerves flare with a sizzling anticipation, the lewd squelch of him violating your cunt eating away at the edges of his crumbling resolve. Still, as futile as it is, he desperately clings onto what’s left of his control behind squeezed eyelids, and it takes everything in him not to spill right there—but the way his dick twitches within the deliciously, spongy muscles of your sex suggests that everything might not be enough.

After all, he's deathly afraid of crossing that final line. But in the hollow, aching pit of his chest, he knows...

He already has.

[grottomo]

"You're the only fruit on the family tree, and it's getting to you."

[thebatcreature]

Wiggle

[fmhobeus]

wilson didnt exactly plan on sticking around. he'd been going on dates at this point, whatever the internet organized, whenever he felt like releasing some tension. they never culminated in much. they had similar priorities and he was too busy to follow through. this was the routine. till once he saw a pretty girl on his screen. some arts major. young. very young. for him atleast. he should probably have let someone else take you, someone your age. but he's a bit selfish sometimes. he has to remind himself it's not wrong. house definitely tells him its not but house doesnt have morals, right?

but wilson can't help it. youre not like the rest. there's this inexplicable sadness in your eyes sometimes. there's this wretched anguish. this desire to be loved when you look at him. you already look up to him. he doesn't know if he likes it but it makes him curious. curious enough to call you again. curious enough to not fuck on the first date. curious enough to take things slow again. it makes him feel alive again. an adventure.

the more he knows about you, the more needed he feels. its a good feeling to have, if youre wilson. he likes the codependency. he likes to let you sit on his lap while you tell him how fucked you are. he likes to bore those beautiful eyes into yours when you start to choke up. he reassures you, it isnt a chore to him. he feels needed when you call him and tell him to come over because you feel scared and alone in your bed. he cares for you because he sees that you need it. he tells you to "quit hanging around a man twice your age" and "give boys your age a chance" because he wants to hear you say that you like him, you like that he's older and more mature and that you would rather spend your days getting psychoanalyzed by him over ice cream. he smiles. you follow the script. he's happy. he's needed.

and he's wilson. you already love him. you're messed up and he's just psychotically patient. he fucks, too. the sweet middle aged man you go out with really fucks. you're content. he buys you ice cream and cookies after sex. he tucks you in every night. he calls you every day.

somedays he doesn't though. just to see the progress on the codependency. it isn't mean or manipulative. but he likes to see you pout, maybe freak out a bit when he suddenly doesnt call one day or can't make it to your place. but then he returns to reassure you. he isnt leaving, of course, he says. he's just busy. head of oncology or whatever. and when you huff into his chest, his big chest; his soft but larger, stronger frame, saying whatever you just missed him. he lets you fall asleep on him, listening to his heartbeat. he's content. james wilson needs to be needed. you give him that. he's content.

[horsemotifs]

he literally said this to HIMSELF