Captain Arthur Hastings Is So ADHD Coded.

I've got this Idea for a Shaun Murphy x reader or x oc or something like that fic, which is basically a good doctor lie to me crossover, where the reader works at the lightman group or at least, can read micro-expressions and that stuff and they somehow meet and become friends and maybe fall in love. I think it would be really interesting because he doesn't really see or understand facial expressions but the other person is so aware of them all the time. I'm not good at writing in English but I might someday write it anyways. So if someone wants to write this or has written something like that pls tell me.

Doctor's Orders

a james wilson x gn!reader one-shot

SUMMARY: Wilson sprains his ankle, and you get to take care of him.

WARNINGS: minor injury (a sprained ankle)

WORD COUNT: 1217

The sound of faint laughter and televisions echoing through the hallways of your building made you feel at ease. It had been a long day, and to say you were relieved to finally be home was an understatement. You reciprocated James’ warm smile as you walked through the door he was holding open to your condo complex. 

"Oh, do we need to check the mailbox?" you asked him, in a half-whisper. He shook his head, and you ascended the well-worn staircase leading to your cozy condo, with James trailing just a step behind.

“Anyway, like I was saying, I think it gets too much hate. It was a fun movie,” you exclaimed, continuing up the stairs. James responded with a disapproving shake of his head.

“Agree to disagree,” he retorted playfully.

You sighed. “I’m never going to be able to convince you otherwise, am I?”

“Not a chance,” he replied, allowing his gaze to momentarily linger from the stairs to admire your presence. “And I’m never going to forgive them for what they did to–”

Suddenly, a resonant thud echoed behind you, followed by a pained groan. You gasped, and your hand instinctively flew to cover your mouth.

“Oh– James, are you okay?”

He groaned in pain. Your heart pounded as you leaned your bag against the post at the top of the staircase before you rushed to help him.

“Here, let me help you up,” you offered, placing his arm around your shoulders and assisting him back onto his feet. He winced as his injured foot touched the ground, and you gripped the handrail tightly as you bore his weight.

"These damn stairs,” James muttered, “I really should learn to be more careful.”

"It happens to the best of us,” you reassured him, sympathetically. “Let’s get you inside and sit you down, then we can take a look at it.”

You left him waiting at the top of the stairs as you descended again to retrieve his briefcase. 

“Thanks,” he said softly, smiling fondly at you as you picked up your own bag and helped him limp to the door to his condo. Once inside, you eased him onto the sofa.

Sitting across from him on a cushioned footstool, you looked at him expectantly as he carefully examined his injury for a few minutes. You were comforted by the familiar impression of intense focus on his face; you’d seen it in his eyes doing everything from the New York Times crossword puzzle to diagnosing his cancer patients. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain when the radiator's subtle hum, unnoticed until then, ceased, leaving behind a quiet void in your condo. After a few more minutes, the weight of the silence finally became unbearably uncomfortable, and you asked:

“So… what is it?”

“Well,” he sighed, looking up at you, “I don’t think it’s broken. It feels like it’s just a sprain. Some ice, compression, rest… and I should be fully healed in a few weeks,” he said, before lifting himself onto his feet. You got up from your seat and stopped him before he could make another move.

“Okay, but the acronym is RICE. Which, if I remember correctly, means the the first rule of healing a sprained ankle… is to rest,” you pointed out, matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah, but the next one is ice. I’m going to get ice before I res–”

“Hey,” you said, looking at him with feigned sternness. His eternally pleading eyes made it so hard to get genuinely angry with him. You placed your hand on his chest and lightly coaxed him back down onto the sofa. He pursed his lips and obliged, never breaking eye contact. 

“I know you’re a fancy doctor and everything but just… let me take care of you, okay? Relax, I’ll get you what you need,” you said, softening your tone and tenderly stroking his face with your thumb. You sealed your sentiment with a gentle kiss on his cheek before heading to the kitchen to get ice. James’ gaze softened and he smiled as he watched you make your way to the freezer before he picked up the nearest magazine. He swiveled on the sofa to lay back and let his injured foot rest on the armrest.

When you returned with some ice wrapped in a towel and a compression wrap, you found James nodded off with his magazine open on his stomach. You lightened your footsteps as you approached him to avoid disturbing him, a gentle smile creeping onto your face. Kneeling on the floor by his head, you cupped his face with your hand and gingerly stroked his cheek, then lightly ran your fingers through his soft curls, stirring him awake. 

“Hmm?” 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” Your fingers tingled as you felt him melt under your touch. “I got some ice and a bandage. For compression, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his eyes. You got up off the ground, pulled the footstool over to the sofa’s armrest, and applied the ice to his ankle. He lifted his head just barely enough to see what you were doing. There was a subtle glint of worry in his eye, and you reassured him it was going to be okay.

“You can go back to sleep, you know,” you whispered. James let his head fall backwards and stared blankly at the ceiling, letting his thoughts wander, first shuffling through his list of dying patients, then to plotting how he was going to get back at House for that stupid prank he had pulled on him earlier, then to how he forgot to ask Cuddy about the budget for new equipment for the oncology department, and finally back to you. Every aspect of his job as an oncologist dictated that he was to be a caretaker, and to have someone take care of him was overwhelming, in a good way. As a generally independent person, he wasn’t used to being shown this level of compassion. He felt his heart grow warm thinking about how lucky he was to have you looking after him, how good you were to him, and how much he loved you.

“All done,” you whispered, satisfied with your work. Wilson once again looked up at his now-bandaged foot, then at you. His movement startled you briefly, as you assumed he had gone back to sleep like you had suggested.

“Woah, I thought you were asleep? I was just about to go get a sticker for you, you were very well behaved,” you grinned.

He rolled his eyes playfully and unsuccessfuly tried to suppress a smile. “That’s a solid wrapping job, perfect even.” he approved. Your eyes sparkled with pride, and he instantly felt a familiar warm, fuzzy sensation coursing through him. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, you planted a tender kiss on his lips that left him feeling entirely flushed, and as you were about to walk away, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back in for another kiss, this time more passionate. 

“Mmm… just what the doctor ordered.” His warm breath lingered against your skin, and his expression turned more serious as he looked into your eyes. “I love you, you know,” he confessed, earnestly.

“I know,” you giggled. “I love you too.”

@iamthatonefangirl @dr-juliaogden

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sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

also the horrible sensation of your nails being filed (don't know if that's the correct word)

Autistic struggles when visiting the nail salon

(Add yours in the comments)

Pre-visit:

having to make a phone call to arrange an appointment

actually getting there on time

During visit:

having nothing in common with your servicer, so you just awkwardly spent the whole time in silence

your cuticles bleeding because they file too close to your sensitive skin

the burning sensation the first time your nails enter the UV lamp after gel application

not able to stim or fidget cause your hands are always occupied

Post visit:

that one nail that looks a little asymmetrical than the rest of the nails 🥲

"I hope your god has asked for your mercy. I hope you have refused to forgive him" Instagram reel by stvksn

lifehack: when you see a Take One candy bowl in a restaurant, wait until noones looking and shovel candy into your pockets. god may judge you but his sins outnumber your own