#doctor strange x f!reader

[darsynia]

Upside Down and Backwards | Oneshot

I'm glad I worked out the angle that made this story less a rehash of Animate Objects, because I enjoyed writing it and wanted to share! I wanted to add I am deeply honored that you suggested that I write one of your OCs. I was so touched I kind of blocked that out the first time, my dear @sobeautifullyobsessed, because I didn't know what to say, and I feel like that was a disservice to you.

Summary: Stephen understands why the best place to train new devotees to the Mystic Arts is Kamar Taj when he impulsively saves the life of a young woman. It turns out he trained himself on all sorts of mindfulness-- except for the kind where he sees someone he wants and steals her from fate's grasp without thought to the consequences.

Length/Warnings: 2,544 / rated T for swearing

UPSIDE DOWN AND BACKWARDS

The problem with having access to actual magic is that in the real world, you’re not instantly granted the discernment to use it un-chaotically.

In retrospect, that was probably why the Ancient One and her predecessors trained people in Kamar Taj: to keep large mistakes at a minimum.

It’s not that Stephen thinks of himself as a novice, it’s just that he’s recently gone through a sequence of life-changing events, and that kind of thing changes a man. Enough to make him incapable of watching someone else go through a life- ending event without intervening.

The moment had been simple enough; one second he was standing in front of his favorite cafe with a to-go cup, the next he was sending you into the mirror dimension with a sweep of his hand. The old man’s sedan didn’t hit you, instead crashing into the building across the street with considerably less energy than it would have without Stephen’s interference. Everything happened fast enough that he was able to jog across the street, enter the mirror dimension to find you standing dumbstruck and confused. He’d led you out through a portal back to a nearby alleyway, and before you could say anything, Stephen had portaled back to the Sanctum.

It wasn't until he went to take his first sip of his coffee that he noticed it was gone.

A mysterious stranger saved your life. He’d also given you coffee.

It’s days later, and you’re still bemused. You’d gone home and looked up ‘Avengers’ in an incognito window, but none of the pictures had looked familiar. Statistically speaking, those particular heroes are unlikely to be the only ones who exist, but you’re understandably obsessed by how and why you were saved. 

The only other clue you have is the coffee he’d handed you, and since today is your day off, you head down to the cafe it came from, seeking answers. 

You’re in luck: the barista recognizes your description of the man (you’re not surprised. He’s distinctive and handsome, certainly memorable), remembers the drink he usually gets, and only then thinks to tell you that he’d been there ten minutes ago.

“Do you know where he came from?” you ask, and the barista gives you a sly look. “He saved my life,” you explain, feeling oddly like that should be a secret between yourself and the stranger, somehow. “I ended up with his coffee-- I just want to return the favor.” --and ask him a million questions, confront him about how in the heck he did what he did, where he came from, where he’s going, whether he’d maybe like to have coffee WITH you sometime--

This seems to earn you the young woman’s trust, and she points out which way to head. You don’t think you can catch up, but it’s a nice day, and you don’t know how else to find him.

Five minutes into your hurried pace, though, you suddenly find yourself in a garden, with no idea how you got there. You catch a glimpse of golden sparks in your peripheral vision, and alarm floods your senses. Determined not to go down without a fight, you take the lid off of your piping hot coffee, tossing the liquid at the tall figure that’s approaching you.

“Aurghhhh!” the man hollers, as you drop into the kind of fighting stance you’ve seen on tv shows. He moves his hands in a strange way, and an odd blue light flickers to life, bathing his body in its glow for a few seconds, before he straightens and frowns at you. “I suppose I deserved that.”

It’s your handsome (somehow dry and un-stained) stranger.

“What do you want?” you say, snatching your keys from your pocket and trying to arrange them between your knuckles like you’d seen in a YouTube video once. The man is silent, and you look over to see his skeptical expression, complete with expressive eyebrows. “Just because you have magical powers doesn’t mean I give in without a fight!” you grumble.

“No, no, I’m impressed,” your captor says.

He sounds anything but. You try to take in your surroundings in a way that won’t reveal your next move, but he gestures to the courtyard that borders the small garden you’re standing inside.

“I thought the garden would be soothing. A non-threatening space.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Are there mountains in the distance? You back up a little bit, adjusting your stance so there’s a column in the way of the view you refuse to believe is real. The man before you is similarly unrealistic; handsome, clearly powerful in a mysterious way, and confident. Your fatal weakness.

The man is nodding. “All right, in retrospect, kidnapping you after wordlessly saving your life using inexplicable means is the opposite of reassuring. I swear, when I planned this, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way!”

“So you’re admitting to premeditated kidnapping? Smooth, real smooth,” you say, sidestepping to stand next to instead of in front of the plant you’d been cowering near. There’s a wooden sign on a stake planted in the ground next to it, and you intend on grabbing it in a minute. Unfortunately, you’ve telegraphed your intentions.

“Will you just--” he says in an exasperated voice-- and suddenly, you’re being lifted in midair in a haze of golden magic. “Listen to me?”

“You’re really used to getting your way, aren’t you?” you blurt out. For some reason, the man’s bizarre blunders and frustration are reassuring in ways his grandiose displays are not. Not that you’re going to tell him that. He’d probably look smug and then you’d really be in trouble.

His brows are furrowed. “Yes, actually.”

“How long has it been since you’ve needed to say please?” The man’s hands drop to his sides, consequently dropping you to your feet. You’re rather proud of the way you manage to keep your balance, in the face of all of this. To press your advantage, you say, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I was taught the golden rule. Do unto others, and all that. So: please explain what the everliving heck is going on?”

He should be angry. He should be affronted. Instead, Stephen’s captivated. You are uncowed, unsoothable, and somehow undaunted in the face of everything he’s done. Hell, he’d almost accidentally dropped you on your ass, and you’d landed on your feet.

“‘What’s going on?’ I thought I saved a damsel in distress, but it turns out I’ve abducted a wildcat instead!” he says, just to see what your reaction will be. 

“Exactly what would you expect a person to do in this situation?” You are incredulous, but even so, you seem to be looking around for a weapon of some sort.

All of a sudden, it strikes him that you might be unconsciously ramping up based on his own vehemence. Taking in a deep breath, he connects with the mindfulness he’d only touched lightly back in his surgeon days, the kind he’d perfected in his first months at Kamar Taj. You’d been tensing up like you were about to run, maybe grab hold of something nearby, but you let out a breath of your own and watch him.

“Frankly, I’d expect you to be afraid of my power,” he says quietly, sliding a casual hand into his trouser pocket. “I’m not in the whole sorcerer getup today.” Stephen leans forward conspiratorially, adding, “I feel certain if I were, you’d have been a little cowed.”

“I do recall some kind of blue contraption,” you muse.

Contraption! He almost, almost gets upset, but as Stephen circles you to slough off some of his frustration, he sees a bit of a twinkle in your eyes. You do seem attuned to him-- but that doesn’t mean you’ve ceased fighting back.

You’re just doing it in a different way.

“All right, Java Joe the All Powerful, what do you really want? I could have plans you’re disrupting with this, you know.”

Java Joe? You fight dirty, it seems. He stops in his tracks to slowly turn toward you. For a long moment, the two of you look at each other, and he watches the signs of embarrassment rise in your body language. Even so, you don’t look away despite starting to shift your weight from foot to foot, and he feels something stir deep inside.

Right as your hands start to jitter at your sides, Stephen raises a single eyebrow.

You burst out laughing.

Stephen grits his teeth and waits, but not because he’s annoyed. Oh, no. It’s worse than that. He grits his teeth to prevent a smile. You’re a handful, and he’s been alone a long time.

“Well played,” you finally say, lifting your chin. “I’d ask forgiveness for the shitty coffee nickname, but I don’t think your dignity suffered a whit there. I just have to ask: have you ever looked at yourself when you lift an eyebrow like that? It’s just the most--” 

“Go on.”

You angle your head sideways at the tone of his voice, your eyes narrowing, and Stephen’s breath catches. Is there a way you can sense his inner turmoil?

It seems that you can, because you step forward. “I was going to say it was very dramatic, maybe even villainous, but I’ve changed my mind about you. You’re no villain.”

“Am I meant to be disappointed?” Stephen can’t help but ask.

Your smile is lovely, sending another tremor toward his heart’s hastily-erected sheath of armor. “Not at all, because I think you know that heroes are still dangerous. I can rephrase, if you like.” With a regal dignity that makes him mentally dress you as some kind of Roman empress, you bow before him, pulling yourself back up to a stand as you say, “All Powerful one, tell me why I’m here?” You meet his gaze and brazenly raise a single eyebrow of your own.

In that moment, Stephen understands why he’d saved you. He wants you. He’d somehow known that in the split second your paths crossed-- but would he have done it if he’d realized that by saving your life, he might end up being responsible for it?

“Hardly ‘all powerful,’ but close,” he says smoothly, walking closer. Only when he’s inches away and you’re still standing tall and unafraid does Stephen speak again. “I wanted to know what you thought happened that day. Then I didn’t want you to lash out before I got to--” he breaks off, surprised at himself. The things he wants to say, the things he wants to do, they’re not ‘day we met’ kinds of things.

They might be, though, if your time is short.

“What is it?” you murmur, looking worried again.

Stephen smiles, feeling the sweetness along with the bitter realization that his gut is usually right. If it is, he might have a fight with fate on his hands.

“I stole you away,” he whispers. It’s been forever since he’s done this, snatched someone from death’s grasp. Usually he puts them back together better than nature had. He’s never put someone back together with magic before. “I suppose I’m afraid I don’t get to keep you.”

The words fall out before he can stop them, but you drift forward rather than back, as though the seismic sway he’s been feeling might have harmony to it.

“Before I react to that, tell me what you mean?” you say, your eyes searching his.

“I hadn’t meant to say--” Stephen starts, but shakes his head decisively. “I’ve saved lives before, with skill. I don’t know whether there are different rules for lives saved with magic.”

Your eyes widen, but with awe, not fear. “So you really mean ‘keep,’ don’t you! You think some sort of Cosmic Conservator will come and fix the glitch?” Stephen nods. “Who says you’re not the Conservator?”

With the same split-second impulsiveness that he used to save your life, Stephen reaches out and draws the back of his fingers across your cheek. The touch is electric, stunning his vocal cords to a deeper register. 

“Would a Conservator do this?” he says, right before his lips brush yours.

You’re delighted by the shocking heat of his touch. There’s an instant yearning that takes over both of you after that first testing press, as though it could be possible to attune to a person’s charge within seconds of tasting them.

Somehow, without knowing his name, you trust this man, both as a function of seeing his frustration (something almost as intimate as feeling the prickle of his beard as the kiss goes on), and knowing he’s saved you at least once. There’s something desperately moral about him, almost arrogantly so, and you tug him closer, hoping to spark more frustration and thus another thrill.

From across the courtyard, there’s the sound of voices, of many feet, and you slide your hands down from clutching his collar to press on his chest, reluctant to stop but unsure of your surroundings. The man gentles the kiss so sweetly that you’re left reeling when he does pull back.

“My name is Stephen,” he whispers with a thin, vulnerable smile. “I’m doing this all out of order, and I have to make you angry with me again, because--”

Breaking off without explanation, Stephen pulls you to his side and swings one hand in a circle in front of you, drawing up the golden electricity you’d seen more than once before. It leads to the very spot he’d kidnapped you from.

“You left me with a coffee, last time. Is the kiss more valuable, do you think?” you say, clasping your arms around yourself to bolster your stung confidence. 

Stephen’s response is another unexpected kiss, brief but heartfelt. He leads you through the sparking archway right afterwards, his expression stern but earnest as he takes your hand.

“Why do I feel like I’m already in danger of leaving my heart behind?” he whispers, shaking his head as though he’s as stunned at the possibility as you are. It feels right, though, and you want to tell him that, but Stephen stops you. “Hold still, I--” 

His hands are already moving, generating neon runic symbols in the air that hover for a few seconds before rushing towards you to disappear in splashes of magical light.

“Protection spell. I have to go, but something tells me you'll subsist on curiosity and fury until I can step away again.”

“That’s a given,” you manage to say through the spinning of your heart and head. Things like this don’t happen to ordinary people like you, but you suppose that no one is ordinary, once Stephen takes notice of them. “Stephen?” you blurt out, after he steps back, obviously about to leave. He lifts his eyebrows, and you say, “Take care of it, will you?”

“Of?”

“The part of my heart you stole away. We still have to find out whether it belongs to you or Death, right?”

Stephen’s grin is blinding. “Right. I’ll, ah…” he steps back into the halo of his portal and lifts his chin, a picture of utter confidence. “I’ll pull some strings.”

His smile is the last thing you see as the whirl of the portal closes between you.

#stephen strange imagine #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x f!reader #stephen strange fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x f!reader #doctor strange x reader #meet cute #first kiss #exasperation as a love language #mild kidnapping

[mxynxz]

Dr Strange x f!reader oneshot || gentle smut

MY FIRST SMUT ONESHOT ! i showed my friends and they said its rlly good so I feel comfortable enough to post it-

there's some spelling mistakes in there but that should be it-

wordcount: 1.5k

"fuck.." you whispered from underneath your heavy breathing, you came all over Stephens mattress. you got so lost thinking about him that you didn't even realize you started fingering yourself. you came so much it even slipped through your panties. making his bed a whole mess.

just before you could start cleaning up, Stephen walked in. ''shit..'' you though, ''I totally ruined it now''

''looks like someone had been having a fun time without me, did you enjoy yourself?''. he walked over to you, looking down on you and the mess you made.

''i thought you were busy talking with Wong.. and I really missed you''

he smirked and pinned you back down on the bed and crawled on top of you without hesitation. He grabbed your dirty hand and started sucking the juice off while continuing to look deep into your e/c eyes. You couldn't help but loose eye contact to look at his bulge growing

''now now..'' he stopped licking of your fingers and grabbed your jaw ''what did i say about loosing eye contact?''

''Stephen.. I'm sorr-''.

before you could finish your sentence he had already both your legs in his hands, he laid them on his shoulders, making it so his bulge pressed hard against your soaking wet panties. ''ill show you what your little fingers can't do'' he started rubbing your clit in circles with his thumb, making you moan slightly. you continued looking into his green eyes as he scanned your whole body.

he placed both his hands on the collar of your shirt, and literally ripped it off of you, exposing your whole chest.

he looked at your boobs, at your face, and back at your chest again.

his cock grew so big there was a lot of pressure on his pants, so he took them off.

''you can look now''. you smiled slightly and without hesitation your eyes were locked on his throbbing bulge. He leaned in forward to kiss you, ''I love you''

''I love you t-'', you cut your own sentence off with a loud moan, he started moving back and forth, pressing his bulge against your wet pussy. you heard him chuckle from on top of you.

he kissed his way down to you chest, he started nibbling on one nipple, and squeezing/pulling the other with his right hand. You love it when he pulls on your nipples. its kinda painful, but nice.

''Stephen.. please…''

he stopped and tilted his head to look at you, still massaging your other boob ''hmm? what's wrong sweetheart?''

''please.. please give me it.''

he smirked and teased ''give you what exactly..?''

you couldn't hold it no longer, you want him so bad.

''your big veiny cock.. please Stephen.. please put it in me'' you begged him like a little kitten meowing for wet food

he kissed you ''will you be a good girl for me?''

you nodded quickly, ''yes! yes.. I promise.. please..'' you begged him again ''I promise ill be good''

he sat up ''alright then'' saying with a smirk.

he tried to tease you as much as possible, taking out his cock really slow, but it wasn't that easy since it was rock hard and throbbing fast as fuck

you almost started drooling, it was so big and veiny, you couldn't wait any longer.

he pulled your panty to the side and rubbed his tip against your entrance, teasing you even more. you know he loves teasing you

''I know you want it. but you gotta be patient..'' he said. ''eyes on me''

your eyes quickly shifted from his cock to his eyes again. his free hand grabbed yours, while the other was still rubbing your clit.

he looked down, ''all this for me? you just came and you're already soaking wet'' he grinned.

before you could answer he was already inside of you, you gasped for air while holding his hand tight and the other hand above your head.

he pushed deeper into you, you bit your lip while tears started forming

''just say the word, and ill stop'' he said gently

''no.. please don't stop..''

he chuckled, ''alright then''. without a warning the thrusted into you real hard. in and out. slowly and gently.

your walls started adjusting to his size. ''it fits so perfectly'' he groaned while thrusting into you again, in and out.

your boobs bounced up and down with the rhythm of his movements. you couldn't help but moan out his name ''Stephen.. please''

you didn't need to give any more instructions. he knew exactly what you meant. he put both his hands on your hips while he thrusts in and out of you faster, which let to sending vibrations throughout your whole body. you started getting goosebumps, he feels so good and knows exactly when its too much. but not now, you didn't want him to stop.

''such a good girl..'' he grunted out. you felt his grip tighten on your waist when he felt your walls clench around him.

Stephen was close. he groaned so lowly, your whole body was vibrating.

he thrusted into you one more time deeper than ever, and came inside of you. followed by your own orgasm.

he slowly pulled his cock out. but immediately stuffed 3 fingers back in, ''you're not gonna let any spill out. you know a punishment follows if you do.'' your legs were shaking and could barely move. but you clenched your walls together one more time making sure none of his warm seed leaks out.

he took out his fingers and you released a big sigh of relief. none of the seed slipped out. "good girl'' he praised.

you grabbed his hand and put it in your mouth, sucking off all the seamen. he put another hand on your jaw ''wanna go take a bath together?''

-AFTER CARE PART- (fluff only but mentions of sex)

you nod and he picked you up like a baby

he placed you in the bathtub and let it fill with water, not too warm since you guys were already sweating. his cock was already rock hard again seeing you being all wet. he sat behind you and hugged you tightly ''I love you, not only for the sex. I love your personality, everything about you'' you laughed silently ''i love you too Stephen, and also not just for the sex. you make me feel comfortable and loved''

he started kissing your neck and back while washing it with water. the bathtub was already full.

he started washing your hair wish shampoo, ''you're beautiful, you know that right?''.

you laughed again, ''Stephen.. you cant even see my face right now''

''hmm.. I can actually'' he opened up a portal in front of his face and yours. making it so you guys can see each other. he leaned in for a kiss.

''gosh.. you and your magic..''

he raised an eyebrow ''what's wrong with it''

''no no I don't mean it that way! I love your magic and I really wish I could do the same..'' you started playing with your fingers underwater as you waited for the same response. ''you know its too dangerous..''

''yes, Stephen. I know..'' a tear started forming and you tried to hide it by washing your face with water

of course he saw, ''don't cry baby. I know you want to. I just cant always protect you, what if they kill you? or worse, kidnap and torture you? what if you die? I can't live without you y/n..'' he sighed. ''if you really want to, I can teach you. but I'm not letting you fight evil, I cant risk it''

you turned around to see his real face, instead of the one in the portal

''would you really??''

he sighed, ''yes.. but promise me, you'll always listen to what I say, and if we do fight danger. you stand behind me. okay?''

''i promise'' you kissed him and he kissed you back.

#dr strange #drstrange #stephen strange #stephenstrange #dsitmom #dr strange x reader #dr strange x y/n #drstrange x y/m #drstrange x reader #dr strange x f!reader #dr strange fluff #dr stephen strange #doctorstrange #doctor strange #shifting #shifter #shift #universe #reality #mulitverse #multiverse of madness

[naerwenia]

Eldritch Girl (Stephen Strange X F!OC)

“What are you?” Stephen asked, his hand tugged by tentacles he could barely see, made out of magic or matter he had never seen before, but even the slightest touch filled him with immense horror. Before the girl could answer, he used his hand to cut the tentacle, almost unconsciously fighting back, making the choice to fight rather than flee, but the slash he gave only made things worse, as her answer came out with a scream of pain. The tentacles let go of Strange, retreating to help the girl, wrapping around her side, seemingly fusing back to her. A drop of blood fell down on the street as some stained the girl’s dress, but it seemed to stop as soon as it had started, like the magic in the tentacles had stopped the bleeding, like cutting them had hurt her. Before Stephen could step forward to asses her injuries, having completely forgotten the horror that had clouded his mind just a moment ago, she held out her hand, telling him to stay there, not to take a step.

“It’s going to be just fine, ah, this isn’t the first time” she said sweetly, like Stephen had just accidentally bumped into her and not cut her abdomen. “I’m Leila Ostman, the daughter of herr Wilhuff Ostman,” she offered, but had a moment of contemplation before adding, “He’s a doctor too”.

Stephen Strange looked at her, trying to find any sign of deception or discomfort on Leila’s face while his mind tried to think if he knew any doctor Ostmans, but no one reputable came to his mind. Still, he wanted to keep the conversation up to learn more.

“Sorry, I don’t think I know him, only one that popped up in my mind was a grave robber in New Orleans in the 19th century, but...” he said and she cut him off with a smile filled with excitement.

“That’s him! Though he would prefer the title of resurrectionist”, she said, clearly unaware how ridiculous the statement sounded. “He then worked a bit everywhere, trying to perfect his craft, and I’m just a hair strand away from perfect.” Again, a moment of silence, like something immensely sad, a sea of darkness, was hidden behind her words, and in a heartbeat, she was back to her sweet self. There was something weird in the way she spoke, like she was stopping herself from revealing too much, even when she just told him her father was from the 19th century. 

“But I’m sorry to have bothered you here, in the middle of the day, you must have a lot more important things to do than look after me, Doctor Strange. I hope it’s not too much to ask, but if you could...” she started, but he stopped her, not letting her go. Hell, he had way too many questions and there was no way this was anything other than a magical problem, maybe witchcraft, and on top of that she seemed way too naïve to survive by herself in New York.

“Out of the question, I’m sorry to say. There’s too many unknowns at the moment for me to let you just leave alone. It would be safer for you to stay, at least for the night. I can’t just let a girl who fell from the sky walk away without checking she’s alright. I’m a doctor first and foremost”, Stephen interjected, and her face showed confusion, but nodded in agreement, followed again by a sweet smile. Still, there was a distance she had to him, and only now Stephen acknowledged that he too was keeping his distance to her. Normally he would have offered his hand out to help her up from the street, but something was keeping them apart. Fascinating, he thought, yet terrifying. It was magic, but what kind of? 

Stephen Strange led Leila inside his apartment, changing his attire from the sorcerer tunic to a more casual mix of trousers and long sleeved shirt. Leila didn’t seem alarmed, just curious of the fact Strange used his talents so casually in her presence. It wasn’t something she was used to. This elaborate version of magic was fascinating, but also scary to her. What if he too had tapped into the same source and just wielded it so carelessly? Wouldn’t the gods wake up? Inside the elevator she quickly glanced at Stephen, who was eyeing her, trying to find the right questions to ask, as not to overwhelm her and send her running away, or make her powers go haywire, like it was the case with most young mutants and inhumans when they felt threatened. But she wasn’t either, she was something completely different, and as their eyes met once again, Stephen was once again pushed away from her by an almost invisible force, as the eye contact made her blush and sparks flew in the air, like a gas catching fire around her, but as soon as it had pushed him away and Leila focused her gaze on the floor, it stopped.

Inside Stephen’s apartment he offered her coffee, setting it on the table in front of her. She took it closer only when Stephen sat down with her. 

“So”, Stephen started again, “Who are you, really?”

Leila Ostman is actually my larp character I created for a larp campaign that never went anywhere. Evil’s Playground was a parallel reality that could be accessed through a travelling circus, but you could never get out. She was actually created by Doctor Ostman, an immortal scientist who created Leila as the 6th generation of an experiment, mixing human and Elder God Nyarlathotep’s seed, where the human side was diluted every generation. Leila was supposed to be the portal for the Elder Gods in the end, but Doctor Ostman used her to as a way to pull Eldritch magic to the Human realm for experiments. Even when she’s mostly made out of an Elder God, she’s the sweetest thing ever, wearing a maid outfit made out of long, black dress and a frilly apron. While the larp was mostly inspired by a tv series The Tribe, gang wars between young adult gangs in post-apocalyptic/circus outfits, my game was psychological horror and spreading madness. Also, I really want to mention, Doctor had an assistant, Billy-Bob-Jo, a redneck “wizard”, and Lady, a leg, just a leg.

I got this idea to mix Leila and Doctor Stange yesterday on my way to social anxiety support group (how ironic...), but checked the Marvel magic system, realised the magic Strange and other sorcerers use is called Eldritch magic, so I would need to think of other words to use. So this is just a drabble to get the idea out. I was also thinking about making Leila into a reader-insert, but it’s almost too specific.

#stephen strange #doctor strange #fanfic #x reader #female oc #drabble #f!oc

[ghouljams]

Courting (Letters from Lt. Riley)

tags: regency au, Ghost x f!reader/OC, courting, letters, Ghost flirting and also being so weird with it, courting gifts

summary: You told Ghost he could write you. He does.

The maids drop off the letter while you're in the study. The wax seal on the front is unbroken, which you find strange. Aren't parents normally supposed inspect courting letters? You suppose you should be thankful your mother isn't a noble by birth, she doesn't have the same care for propriety you know others do. She's always maintained that love is for the people involved and no one else. Though, love is a far stretch for your feelings as far as you're concerned.

Ghost seems to go out of his way to aggravate and annoy you. You will say... you've never enjoyed conversations quite so much as you enjoy them with him, and you've never had a man entertain your debating so well, and you suppose his eyes are rather warm and honeyed enough to catch attention. You like that you can see the curve of his lips under his mask when he smiles, and that the lines beside his eyes crease when he looks at you. And you like his hands, you suppose, if you had to pick something.

You break the seal of the letter and unfold the thick paper. There's a thin sheet of silver paper covering the actual writing and you scoff at the precaution. Surely the man isn't saying anything so scandalous as to need more protection from prying eyes. Still, you're careful removing the tissue-y layer.

Your breath catches in your throat, fingers hovering to trace carefully over the lines of charcoal covering the page. It dirties your glove and you're quick to avoid touching the paper directly, lest you sully the careful work of portraiture. It's you, your profile staring determined off into the distance, a slight frown on your lovingly shaped lips and a gentle crease to your brow. You wonder what your charcoal double must be thinking to have such an expression. You recognize the necklace he's haphazardly rendered, a gift from your mother you wore at the first party of the season.

How long has he been thinking of you?

There's tight cursive at the bottom of the page, "I have nothing to say, except that you're the most beautiful creature I've ever had the misfortune of knowing. -Lt. Riley"

Your heart flutters so hard, batters so aggressively against your rib cage, that you don't even notice the heat in your cheeks. You call rush to find pen and paper to write back.

-

You're having breakfast with your parents when the maid brings you a letter. You recognize the red wax seal immediately and slide your fingers under the paper's fold to break it quickly. The crack of wax fills the silent room, and you look up from your work to see your parents watching you. You father rests his chin on his laced fingers, and your mother quietly sips her tea. The letter is carefully placed to the side and your mother smiles, setting down her cup to draw one of your father's hands into her own grip.

"Don't let us keep you," You father rumbles, you can't tell if he's upset or pleased. His voice carefully neutral.

"It can wait until after breakfast," You tell him peaceably, picking up your fork again.

"Give it a read now dear, you'll upset your stomach rushing through meals." Your mother, ever the doctor, encourages. You tamp down your smile and unfold the letter, your fingers feeling for another sheet of silver paper. You're almost disappointed not to find one. You suppose you can't expect a gift of that quality every time. Once again the actual letter is short and neatly penned,

"Arguing with me won't make me march down there princess. Not that the idea hasn't crossed my mind, but I'd be gone as soon as I saw you, lost as soon as you opened your mouth. You make me lose all rational thought, and yet you consume my every waking moment. There is no distance I could travel that I would not still be haunted by the memory of you. If I'd never been assigned to your escort I would have been a saner man, miserable for never having known you. Argue with that.

Did you miss every one of your penmanship lessons?

Lt. Riley"

You smile to yourself, your thumb rubbing against the paper. He's pressed little flowers into the folds, their colors bleeding into the page and their petals falling into your lap. You pluck them carefully from your skirt, dutifully avoiding thoughts of your suitor, and place them back in the folds of Ghost's letter. You'll have to write him later, you know he's egging you on, but really he should know better than to criticize a lady's calligraphy.

You look up from your work and meet your parent's stares. Your mother's thumb rubs against the back of your father's hand, you've always hoped for a match like theirs.

"Something nice?" Your mother asks, and you smile at her.

"Never," You tell her, "Lieutenant Riley is as rude in his letters as he was as an escort."

Your father hums, but you think you see the edge of a smile under his beard.

-

There's very little awkwardness in the letters between you and Ghost. He writes better than he speaks, but the bluntness is still there, the charm that made you first agree to this courtship. He makes your stomach clench, makes your heart flutter. He's rude and argumentative, and you find yourself hoping for every letter he sends you.

He's sweet.

He's terrible.

You hide his letters under your pillows, the ones that talk about kissing you, "Everywhere but your mouth," he writes, "so that I can still hear you." You sit on the chaise and chew your thumb reading the letters that promise you devotion, "you'd never worry where I was, I never wish to stray from your side." You hear your friends discussing suitor gifts, the scandalous things that pass through their aunt's inspection first, that their fathers shake their head at.

You think of the modesty panel laced into your stays, the carefully inked words along the edge of the gift, "if my lips were here they'd never leave."

You pluck Ghost's letter from the tray before your maid can even offer it. Your fingers quick to break the wax seal before you even find a place to sit. He never writes as much as you do, but he's purposeful with his words in a way that makes your heart sing.

"If it's the Scot I think it is your friend is fine. We can discuss when I pick you up this afternoon. Wear walking shoes. Love, Lt. Riley"

You snort, quite a way with words your lover. You nearly trip on your way up the stairs staring at his signature. "Love" be still your heart.

#x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod x oc #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #oc: goose #regency au #return of ghost being an artist which is my personal favorite thing

[melodygatesauthor]

The Only One

Dark - Duke Leto Atreides X f!Reader

Not Beta Read

PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!

Summary

The duke needs an heir, or Caladan will fall under the rule of his enemies. There's one woman is capable of saving the planet...she's the only one.

Tags/Warnings

Disclaimers: This fic does not comply with canon, throw everything you thought you knew about the Dune lore out the window. The duke is (in my opinion) in character for this situation, despite the obsessive tendencies. There is heavy non-con in this fic, it's not for everyone. If you're sensitive to that sort of thing in fanfiction, please keep on scrolling thanks. NSFW, non-con, rape, kidnapping, sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, praise kink, lactation kink, pregnancy, blood kink, cockwarming, forced pregnancy, non-consensual bondage, porn with some plot, smut, creampie, body worship, pregnant sex, oral sex (f receiving), Dark fic, Dark Duke Leto Atreides. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (that means that what you see in the tags WILL be in the fic, don't act surprised when you get exactly what you were warned about.)

Word Count: 6k

Prelude

After many years of trying for an heir, Duke Leto has begun to give up hope. Without an heir, the emperor threatens to give away his birthright, strip him of his title, and hand Caladan to his enemies. He has been given only one final year to produce a son who will carry on his family name. While searching for someone who could give him what he needs, he happens upon a mysterious woman. The strange woman tells of a prophecy, one that Leto takes very seriously, because he has no other choice. "In a village, not far from here, my lord, there's a girl. She is not of noble birth, but I have seen her future, and she will give you many sons." Duke Leto, a kind and gentle man, would never hurt someone so innocent on purpose, but when faced with the choice of taking you, or losing Caladan to those who meant to oppress it, he must set aside his morality for the greater good...

The duke entered his chambers where you were suspended from the lofty ceiling, as he’d requested his men to do once they found you. A warm smile spread across his face at the sight of you, so beautiful, so scared. Leto stepped forward, nearly jumping when your head shot up and your tear-stained eyes locked on with his. He held one hand behind his back in a regal manner, holding the other out to touch your cheek as he closed in on you slowly.

“W-wh…” you cleared your throat, “where…”

“Shh,” he whispered softly, brushing his thumb over the soft skin of your beautiful face, “you’re safe now. There’s no need to panic.”

Despite his words, it was clear you were terrified, struggling to breath in a normal, even heave. No matter the fear you displayed in your eyes, the duke’s expression remained calm, and filled with adoration.

“I know you’re frightened. It is…expected,” he said softly, standing up straight and casually walking to his wardrobe. “Would you care for some wine perhaps? Or I can call for the doctor, he could provide you with a mild sedative?”

He turned to look at you, your head was hung downward once again, naked body trembling and rattling the chains that held you in place. He wasn’t a cruel man, though he suspected you thought he was. He’d never done something like this before, sending his guards out to retrieve a young woman to keep in his chambers indefinitely. A nearly inaudible sob escaped your lips.

“No need to cry my dear, you’re not in any danger,” he said, beginning to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the metal piercing through the room. “In fact, you’re going to be very well taken care of here. Do you have any idea just how lucky you are?”

You cried harder, sobs becoming even louder as you looked up at him again. He removed his shirt, revealing his warm, sunkissed skin. It was hard to tell, but he appeared handsome through the blur of your tears. You dropped your head again, your neck aching from the position you were in. Your arms were pinned behind your back, body bent forward at the hips, leaving your rear exposed and open. Your thighs ached, legs spread wide, forced open by a metal pole secured between your knees. The ache in your chest from your labored breathing was horrid enough, only made worse by the chains wrapped around you, keeping your torso held upward and parallel to the stone floor.

“You don’t even realize that you are the most important piece to maintaining our way of life of Caladan,” he continued, removing his pants completely and letting them fall to the ground. “I have been unable to find anyone compatible. Perhaps it’s that my genetics are too much for the average woman to carry to term.” He stepped closer to you, cock bobbing heavily with every stride. “But you’re not average, are you my dear?”

“P-please,” you croaked, “I…I…”

“No no, not another word. You’re frightened now, yes, but you’ll soon realize the important work that you were made for,” he walked past you, running his hand along your arm and to your hip as he did. “The important job you’ll be doing for me…”

You whimpered, struggling slightly against your restraints but to no avail. The duke used to pride himself on being an honorable man, and even in this morally reprehensible moment, he felt justified in his actions. He didn’t always like what his duty called him to do, but knowing it was for the greater good, he would do almost anything.

“You see my dear,” he cooed, “you were found for me, a beautiful, fertile woman who is prophesied to give me many children��” he leaned into your ear, “many.” His tone turned to a low rumble. “So even though this may seem sudden, you will realize with time that you’re fulfilling your purpose…your destiny.”

His right palm splayed over the globe of your cheek, moving toward where your body was spread in two. He didn’t like hearing you cry, but he knew it was inevitable. No normal girl would consent to being abducted and restrained in a man’s bedroom, not even the duke’s bedroom. He saw your puckered hole, and he pressed his index finger to it gently, inciting a gasp from you, followed by the rattling of the chains. You cried out, begging him to release you, but your wails fell on deaf ears.

“I know you care about Caladan, our people. I know you care about the Atreides legacy, and you know…” he spit between your crack, letting his warm saliva trickle from your rim down between your folds, “you know I need a strong, healthy heir.”

Leto positioned himself behind you, using his hand to fist the fat tip of his cock at your glistening entrance. The metal pole keeping your legs spread for him creaked with tension as you struggled to close your thighs, a pointless endeavor. He sighed heavily, gliding his head between each crevice of your pretty little cunt, making himself slick with your arousal.

“You must think me to be a cruel man, but you’re mistaken darling. I don’t want to hurt you, and if you’ll relax this will be much less painful for you.” His breath was ragged with an almost animalistic desire. “You must understand, however, that I care far too much about the future of my people not to provide them with an Atreides heir.”

No matter how hard you tried to escape the flesh splitting thrust of his wide girth, your attempts were futile. A pained scream echoed off the walls of his chambers, followed shortly by the warmth of your blood against his thighs as he slapped them against yours loudly. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he wanted to get your first time over with, and not drag it out any longer than necessary. He slowed down after a moment, once your screaming turned to soft whimpers.

“You’re doing so well…” he huffed through his nostrils harshly “…I know this isn’t easy for you,” Leto leaned forward, grabbing one of your hanging breasts in his large hand, pinching the nipple gently, “b-but your body was built for this…it was built for me…”

“No, n-no…” you trailed off, feeling your head fall back down, neck aching still from the strain. A small moan left your lips, despite your attempts to keep it in.

“O-oh sweetheart is…is it starting to feel good?” The roll of his hips remained at a steady pace. “That’s wonderful, it will help with the pain, and your time will be more enjoyable for you if you can gain some pleasure from this as well, I don’t want you to feel misery if I can help it.”

“S-stop, please, my lord…”

“Shh,” he whispered softly, continuing to palm at your breast.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the soft skin of your spine. He could feel your tied-back hands fidgeting against his ribcage. His free hand moved to your left hip, holding it tightly to angle himself deeper.

“I’m going to fill you with every bit of me , every-single-drop,” he punctuated each word with a harder thrust. “I need to make sure you get it all, need to make sure it takes…mmph!”

Surely your noisy whimpers could be heard in the halls, yet no one came to help you. They all knew what was happening in there. You were to be the mother of the next Atreides heir. You would be made to bear child after child for the legacy obsessed duke. A breeding vessel for a desperate nobleman, torn between his kind nature and his need for the security and wellbeing of his people.

“The emperor will take everything I have if I can't secure my bloodline. He’ll give it t-to the…” he whimpered and gulped deeply, “Harkonnens, and I can’t let that happen to my people.”

You could hear nothing over your whimpers save for the wet slapping of his skin against yours as his pace quickened. You didn’t know what he was going on about - destiny, legacy, an Atreides heir? - He snapped forward again, a gravelly rumble falling from his chest. He moved to an upright position, letting your breast hang loosely once more. You wailed loudly, the feeling of his thick fingers leaving their impressions in the flesh of your hip.

“M-my lord, my lord…it hurts so…s-so-much-s-sir!”

“I know, but you’re taking me so well anyway aren’t you?” He looked down where your puffy little hole swallowed his crimson painted cock. “Look at that.”

His index finger touched where you were stretched around him, that little bit of skin that held onto his cock like it never meant to let go. You whimpered, chains rattling around you as your body involuntarily moved, only serving to sink you down further on his length once more. He could hear you hyperventilating, a panic-stricken whine punching out of your chest that he felt a tad guilty for inciting.

Until he remembered what your purpose was…the reason he’d had you brought to his castle in the first place.

He reached an arm around your leg, sinking the pad of his finger into the wet, bloody mess between the slippery lips of your cunt. In the sea of your arousal, he found the swollen bud that made your walls flutter around him. You gasped, and seemingly on their own, his hips slid forward, chasing that delicious feeling of your body finally accepting him, pulling him deeper inside.

“You like that don’t you?” He bit his lip, a breathy chuckle escaping through his teeth with the knowledge that he’d found a way to settle your terror, if only for a moment. “I promise, no matter how terrible this may be, that I won’t allow you to stay like this…and-s-suffer-oh-my…”

He felt your body squeezing tighter, walls contracting around his cock. He thrust forward again, shuddering at the way you were taking him, pulling him deeper, like your body was begging for his cum, like you needed him to feed your hole until you were stuffed and overflowing.

“Mmm-m-my-lord…p-please–”

Your tone was different now, more sultry and full of desire. It was good to hear you like that, moaning instead of crying, grunting with pleasure instead of pain. This would be so much better for you once you gave in, he knew that much. He could give you everything: make your body shake with orgasm after orgasm, clothes made from the finest silks, and comforts that were reserved for only the lords and ladies of Caladan.

“Your pleas don’t go unnoticed sweetheart, don’t think me cruel, I wouldn’t do this if the circumstances were different,” he huffed, breathing becoming more ragged with every glide of his hips. “I need you…Caladan needs you–needs-you-full-ah!”

The smooth roll of his hips slowed as his seed spilled into you. You felt it, warm and slick as it coated your insides white. You felt a sensation you’d never felt, rolling over your entire body and pooling in your core, causing your legs to shake and your mind to go blank. It was euphoric; a reprieve from the pain you’d endured for what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than several minutes.

Leto felt your pussy walls squeezing, crushing down over his girth in waves while you moaned. What a sweet sound, one that made him feel mental relief that he’d given you something in return for your suffering. His finger slowed around your hardened clit, letting you come down slowly from your high.

As your pleasured whines subsided, you thought he would remove himself from you, letting your hole relax after such an ordeal, but he didn’t. The duke stayed there, hips pressed flush against your rear, making no motion to release you from his hold. You moved slightly, but he gripped tightly on your hips, keeping you firmly in place.

“No, no darling, no.” His voice was calm but raspy, still settling after his climax. “I’m going to stay like this for a moment longer, just to make sure it takes. We wouldn’t want to waste it.”

He looked down, seeing the way your body had bled on his, coating his pubic hair in a deep red shade. He felt for you, truly he did, but once you realized what an honor it was to be in your position, he knew you’d find it was worth the sacrifice. Your breathing was slowing, going back to normal, and after several moments he pulled back, letting his limp cock fall from where it had torn you open. 

You groaned, feeling yourself become empty all at once. Your head hung down, neck finally too tired to hold it up any longer. You heard the duke tsk behind you, his palms pressing against your cheeks and spreading them further. The sound of dripping cum on the floor echoed through the room.

“Let’s keep it all inside, sweet one, I need you to give me a son,” he pushed his spend back inside you with his finger, what little was still there and had not fallen to the floor.

You winced and hissed, the metal holding you in place rattling once more. His thick middle-finger slid in deep, Leto shuddered as your hole clenched in response. He could hear you crying, a soft, defeated sound he wished one day would stop. But he couldn’t expect that from you, not now as he broke you in for the first time. He expected you would be like this for a while until you were used to him, used to his size, used to the way he kept you as full as possible, as often as possible.

“Your body handled me very, very well darling,” he said, idly fingering you as he spoke, continuing to push his spend back inside you. “Looks like I’ve made quite the mess of you, but don’t worry, I’ll have you cleaned up in a moment.”

He kept true to his word, once he was thoroughly satisied he’d kept his cum in you long enough, the duke turned onto his back, positioned himself between your thighs, and propped himself up on his elbows so his lips could reach your cunt with ease. A gasp shot from your lungs, the feeling of his warm mouth enveloping your sore folds bringing comfort to the ache. You moaned, a sound that represented more than just sexual pleasure, but a sound that told him you were at least accepting your fate…for the moment.

He was right, there was no more fighting, and it was clear your words weren’t going to change his goal oriented mind. His desire to have an heir was stronger than his desire to act honorably. His tongue went flat, you felt it soothing the tear of your hymen, then dragging upward and flicking once it reached the peak of your folds. You exhaled a sigh, cunt throbbing in response to the way he lapped at you masterfully.

“You know not many,” he kissed your pussy lips, “can say,” another peck, “they’ve been lucky enough to carry such an important role for Caladan. Even I’m not as important as you are right now.”

His hand reached up and pressed against your stomach while his mouth continued to melt into your cunt, soothing you even more as he cleaned you. He never felt such pride as he did in that moment, knowing that this was a good effort, even if it didn’t take. The sheer amount that he ate from you, in combination with his already discarded seed on the floor underneath him, gave the duke a sense of relief to know that he was producing sufficiently on his end. It wouldn’t take long for you to give him a healthy child, if you were indeed the girl the old woman had told him about.

You whimpered still when his tongue would touch your wound, though it was always followed with the relief of him dragging it over your clit. He slurped quietly as he continued, not making an indication that he would be stopping any time soon, despite the likelihood of you being clean already. The hand on your stomach moved, reaching up and cupping your breast, holding it and squeezing softly.

“Oh, my lord, y-yes…”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the heat pooling at the base of your abdomen once again. Was it even worth trying to deny the way it felt? He was the Duke of Caladan after all. If he wanted a hundred concubines tied up to his ceiling he could take them, and no one would stop him. You should be grateful it was he who took you, and not someone who might’ve been much more cruel in their claiming of your body.

He hummed into your folds, breathing heavily through his nose as he did. His hand slid over to your waist, gripping around you and holding tight. The vibration from his moans, and the brush of his peppery beard against your thighs was causing your body to near release once more. That would only be the second time in your life that you’d felt it, and you wanted it more than you could bear.

“Mm, let yourself go my dear, I only want you to feel good from now on, now that I broke you in a little.”

His mouth never left your cunt as he spoke, his words only serving to draw your next climax from your body faster. You felt it fall over you, warm and heavy, making your body melt once more, going limp save for the involuntary crashing of your walls around the emptiness the duke had left behind. He didn’t stop until he was sure you were fully satisfied, head hanging down again and breathing returned to normal. 

With a grunt he rose from beneath you. You heard him padding on his bare feet to the wardrobe on the far side of the room. If you turned your head just a little you could see him, much clearer now than before. He looked at you as he put a loose cotton shirt over his shoulders, then leaning down to pull his trousers over his legs.

“You’re simply the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said in a gentle baritone, moving back to kneel in front of you. “I do not kneel for many, but I’ll kneel for the mother of my children.”

You strained your neck to look at him once again. He cupped your cheeks to help you, seeing your struggle and feeling sorry for the part he played in your suffering. He kissed your forehead, feeling the salt from your sweaty brow upon his lips.

“I’ll return every day, at least until I’m sure you’re pregnant,” his lips curled into a compassionate smirk, “then I’ll let you rest while your belly grows.”

He stood, striding to the washroom and leaving you hanging there, like a prized animal on display. Before long, the same men who’d captured you returned, undoing most of your bonds, save for the ones holding your hands behind your back. They weren’t rough, just like before when they’d abducted you. You felt your entire body sigh, your bones and muscles feeling relieved to fall back into place. 

You weren’t sure when exactly you’d conceived. It must’ve happened at some point between that first time when he tore you apart, and the following month when your period didn’t arrive when it should’ve. By then you’d become, not unlike, a piece of furniture in Duke Leto’s chambers, restraints much less restrictive and painful than your first meeting. Only a week after he’d broken you, you’d become more willing for him, crying less when he came to take you. 

“I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here, despite your situation, and since you’ve become so compliant, I think I can afford to make you more comfortable,” he’d explained.

And so he had you moved to the bed. Though you weren’t completely free. That was a risk the duke could not afford. So he had metal cuffs around your wrists, and chains that connected them to the stone wall behind the bed. You could move easier, but you could never leave.

When another week went by, two weeks after your torment began, he was swelling with pride, seeing you spreading your legs upon his entry into his chambers without prompt. You said you appreciated the silken evening dress he’d had the servants craft for you, the one that fell open on either side of your hips when you presented your cunt to him. He wasn’t supposed to love you - it wasn’t necessary for him to love you - but he felt himself overwhelmed with feelings he couldn’t contain every time he saw you.

Three weeks after that first meeting, you kissed him. It was clear he’d been holding back, allowing you to maintain some level of autonomy, despite having taken your body for himself so many times. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, force you to be intimate with him if that wasn’t what you wished.

So it was a shock when he was several moments into fucking you, cock sliding wetly along your walls in a desperation to fill you with him again, and you grabbed his face on either side. His hooded eyes shot up, meeting with yours but then quickly flicking down to see your precious lips closing in. You closed your eyes, and so did he, and everything seemed to slow down for a moment, including the pace that he thrust into you.

The slow roll of his hips was heavenly, and was soon accompanied by the feeling of his hand on the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss, gliding his tongue inside your mouth so he could taste you. The duke filled you faster than ever that night, being so engulfed in the moment that he couldn’t hold on any longer.

And now, it was just over a month beyond your arrival to Castle Caladan, you were sitting with the physician while he examined you, confirming that yours and the duke’s efforts had been fruitful.

The way Leto looked at you in that moment, was a look you’d never seen before. His dark brows turned up and stitched together, soft lips parted just before a smirk curled over them. He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, the glossy sheen of tears apparent in his eyes.

“After years of trying to produce an heir, I finally found a perfect vessel, such a precious thing,” he cooed, touching your stomach before leaning in and finding your lips with his own. “My most wonderful treasure.”

Leto heard nothing else as the doctor murmured about you, voice seeming background to where his focus lied. Part of him was still shocked that the old woman was right. She told him in his search of her prophecy that you, a normal village girl, would produce many sons for him, and she was right. 

That night, the duke did everything he could for you. His kisses were softer, less desperate and more deliberate. His hands didn’t grab your flesh as a means to hold you, but rather to feel you. And when he sunk his cock into you, he did so in a way that emphasized your pleasure over his own, angling for those spots that made your body quiver.

You may not have been of noble birth, but to the duke, that night you were his empress. There wasn’t an inch of your skin that hadn’t been brushed by the coarse hair of his bearded chin. He worshiped you, giving you an evening dedicated to only your satisfaction.

For many weeks he would come into his chambers and ramble on about how proud he was, and how well you were doing. He would whisper the most depraved, while beautiful, things in your ear about how the people of Caladan owed you their lives, and how he couldn’t wait until it was time to breed you all over again. All of that praise was nothing though, not compared to the way he looked at you after coming back from his trip to Arrakis.

When he walked into his chambers, and you were there on his bed, only a couple short months away from birth, he stopped dead in his tracks. He felt like the words were trapped in his throat, and his feet were stuck to the floor. All he could do was stare, and take in the beauty before him. You were simply radiant, pregnant belly full with his son, his heir; swelling breasts nearly spilling out of your dress.

Once he found the ability to move again he slowly walked over to you, taking off his coat as he sat beside you.

“Look at you…” his voice trailed off.

“Hello my lord,” you greeted softly.

His hand reached for yours, and he was quickly reminded that you’d been a captive there, metal cuffs still wrapped around your wrists, rattling as he held you. He felt a pang in his chest, wanting desperately to release you. Every time the thought crossed his mind though, he worried you would run. You didn’t seem like you would try to leave, having become much more docile since your arrival months ago. There was also the glaring fact that you were pregnant, and it wouldn’t be easy for you to get away even if you managed to pass every one of the guards who might see you before reaching the doors of Leto’s home.

There was always that small chance though, no matter how slim, that you would leave. It was a risk he couldn’t afford to take.

He looked back at your body, eyes wide and trained on your stomach. The duke leaned in, kissing just above your navel, a satisfied hum escaping his lungs as he did. It was hard not to like him, and that was what you hated about him the most. The man was dedicated to his people, to his title, and his legacy more than anything. The longer you were around him, and the more time you’d spent under his care, the more you’d begun to understand your purpose within his walls.

The idea of the Harkonnens, or any other house for that matter, claiming the right to Caladan, should House Atreides produce no heir, was a frightful one. He broke you from your thoughts, eyes trailing up your chest and to your eyes. Your breath caught in your throat, he looked so handsome, lips slightly parted with a few stray hairs falling into his dark eyes. Despite holding you captive for the sole purpose of breeding an heir from you, you’d begun to fall for Leto Atreides, against all odds.

“My sweet girl, my darling, you’re doing so well, growing my child in your womb. I couldn’t have asked for a better woman to give me a son, to give House Atreides its heir,” he whispered, cupping your cheek, bringing his forehead to yours. “I’ve been disappointed so many times.”

“Thank you my lo-”

“No sweetheart, no, shh…” he pressed a finger to your lips gently before replacing it with a tender kiss, “you should be worshiped by Caladan, it's people…I want to worship you.”

His hand grabbed at your waist, pulling you against him into a deeper kiss. You felt his growing arousal against your thigh, followed by an involuntary rut of his hips. You whined, trying not to be bothered by the incessant ache in your chest, your engorged tits becoming too heavy and painful to bear. It was hard to focus on the duke’s soothing touch when you felt such discomfort.

He stopped kissing you, looking at you with concern, “are you alright sweet one?” His eyes trailed to your tits, “are they sore? Oh you poor thing.”

You nodded and whimpered, wincing as he pulled one of your straps down and pulled a heavy breast from its confines. Your puffy nipple had a bead of white sitting on it, threatening to trickle down the mound. His pink tongue darted out, lapping up the milk that nearly fell from your breast, and humming in approval of its taste.

“Let me help you my dear,” he said softly, leaning in and latching his mouth over your chest.

You gasped at first, the coarse brush of his beard stinging against the sensitive skin, but it very quickly gave way to a much better, more soothing sensation. You sighed in relief, feeling him suckling at your flesh, drawing out the milk that had been causing your breasts to swell beyond belief. He moaned against your skin, rolling his hips idly as he did. This was very unusual for him, to be so needy and desperate for you, clinging onto your body the way he was.

In the past, Leto would’ve just taken you if he wanted to, but with your body so soft and full with his child, he would resist. Of course he knew you could take it, you weren’t made of glass, but he wanted to give you nothing but comfort, emptying you instead of filling you with more than he already had in the past. He felt your hand reach up and grab the back of his head, delicate fingers massaging between his peppery locks.

“Mm, my darling, so sweet,” he muttered against your tit, a little milk dribbling down his lips.

You felt his hips moving more, now more deliberate before, as though he were accepting of his primal urges to find release, rather than suppress it, but still unwilling to ask you for help.

“It’s alright my lord, you haven’t…mmph…you haven’t been satisfied in some time. Do what you must.”

Even though he was trying to remain stoic and refined, your permission was all he needed to throw all that aside. With his free hand he tugged at his belt, keeping his lips pursed around your nipple as he did. You heard the unmistakable clanking and rattling metal as he found success, pulling the leather from the loops and tossing it to the ground. His dexterous fingers then made quick work of his pants, pulling them to his thighs.

Leto Atreides was a nobleman, not one to give in to such animalistic delights so easily, but something about drinking from your chest, and how perfect you were serving him and his house with your pregnancy made him feral for you. His hands were shaking as he tried to bring his cock to your hole. He’d done it so many times before, why was he struggling now?

“Sir…” you pushed him off your breast, biting your lip at the sight of him as he looked up at you.

His eyes were hooded, milk-drunk and heavy. The lips that had been suckling for a while were now pink, puffy, and covered in a white, glossy sheen. You lifted your leg, sliding yourself into a position that you were both parallel to one another. You wrapped your leg around his hip, angling his fat tip to your slippery entrance.

“You’re too precious, too g-good…oh…” His hips stuttered forward, opening you wide around his cock once again.

You hadn’t been with him in so long, your body had nearly forgotten how to take him. You winced, needing to readjust once again, but he was patient, holding himself flush against your hips while your walls moved aside for his girth. He let out, what sounded like, a low growl as he mouthed at your neglected tit. His hips remained in place, making no attempt to retreat, nor to glide in further. His cock rested there contentedly, throbbing every now and then.

He gulped, humming into your breast as he drank more, the ache in your chest slowly subsiding with every moment that passed. Eventually he moved his hips lazily, pulling back after a time before rolling back forward.

What the duke was feeling with you in that moment was more than a simple sex act. What he felt now was comfort, his cock buried in your soaking, slippery heat, and his lips pursed around your nipple. Leto swirled his tongue in a slow roll over your peaked mound, taking a moment to inhale several shaky breaths before going in for more.

The way he drew more and more milk out of you was causing your body to relax further, your walls becoming more open to his slow movements and deep strokes. A low moan escaped you, forcing his eyes to shoot up, still so dark in their feral hunger. You tugged his hair, forcing him to pull off your breast with a loud pop. Without hesitation, you kissed him, filling your mouth with a combination of your sweet fluids and the duke’s own signature taste 

“You’re like no other. Not a day goes by that I don’t want to hold you close sweetheart…”

He brushed his nose against yours, eyes moving slowly from your lips, to your eyes, and back again. A swell of emotion poured through him, his desires going beyond just wanting to give you his seed, but it was something more. Your last name…it was wrong. He never wanted to take a wife, in fact, he’d vowed never to do such a thing, but you’d changed the very fiber of his being from the moment he’d found you.

“After my son is born, I’ll give you the best gift I can, the only gift I can give a woman of such importance…oh my…g…”

The duke lost himself, holding you tightly against him, though careful not to squeeze against your stomach too harshly. His choked moans vibrated against your chest while he filled you, pumping your body with his cum once again. You felt your own climax wash over your body, inspired by his own, drawing everything it could from him as it did, both of you a trembling, moaning mess.

He sighed with contentment after his mind cleared. He looked at you once more. 

“I’m going to keep you,” he kissed your lips breathlessly, “I’m going to keep you here with me. I’m going to give you my name, and until the day I die you’ll be mine, my precious thing.” He pecked you again, and then pressed his lips to your stomach.

“I can’t wait to have your name, sir, and to be able to walk around the castle freely,” you said softly.

Leto’s blood ran cold. 

Walk around freely…

Perhaps you’d misunderstood him, in fact, he was certain of it. He could see how his words may have been misconstrued. Evidently he would need to be more clear with you. The duke’s gaze darkened when he looked back into your eyes.

“My sweet girl.” He cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead. “Until the day you are barren, I cannot risk any harm to you, nor your body.” His words were chilling, but his gaze was warm. 

“You’ll never leave this room, so long as I can help it.”

Duke Leto Atreides Masterlist

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#duke leto atreides #duke leto x reader #duke leto #duke leto x you #duke leto atreides x reader #leto atreides x reader #duke leto atreides x you #duke leto atreides smut #leto atreides smut #leto atreides fanfiction #duke leto atreides fanfiction #dune 2021 #dune movie #dune #dune fanfiction #dune fanfic #dune fan fiction #duke leto fan fiction #duke leto fan fic #oscar isaac #duke leto atreides fan fiction #leto atreides #leto atreides fan fiction #leto atreides headcanon #leto atreides x female reader #duke leto atredies x reader #duke leto atreides x female reader #fanfiction #fan fiction

[moonydustx]

Good Medicine

Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

warnings: F!reader is sick, Law has some problems taking action to take care of her. Pre-established relationship, mentions of disgusting things about being sick (basically vomiting) , fluff

a/n: maybe I'll rewrite this better later, I just needed to get it out there to see if it sparked my creativity.

requests open | one piece masterlist

Today was one of those days where you woke up already knowing something was wrong, your only mission was to find out what. The plate in front of you looked strange that morning. The same coffee, the same bread, everything seemed wrong. The same went for your body, it seemed to weigh tons and your stomach was boiling with something that went beyond the hot drink in front of you.

"Are you okay?" Shachi snapped you out of your reverie, watching you roll a piece of the sandwich from one side to the other.

"I just need to get some air." You stood up, not having the trouble to even take your plate off the table.

With hurried steps, you reached the bathroom with just enough time to open the toilet seat before all your breakfast went away. You just hoped that like a good hangover, emptying it would be enough to improve but apparently you were wrong.

You had recently left the last island you had visited, which meant more things to keep: more work for you. In those days, you knew that rest would be scarce, as would the times you would meet your captain - who also served as your boyfriend in his spare time. Chills ran through your body as you struggled to stack two boxes of medical supplies, your body seemed to sweat more than usual. You heard your name being called in the distance, needing to focus a few times before you saw Law approaching.

"Are you ok?" He analyzed you from top to bottom. Pale lips, deep dark circles, something was wrong.

"Yes captain." you replied, respecting your treaty for when you were in public. "Just some heartburn."

"Keep an eye on it. You know where to find the medicine." he simply responded, analyzing you once more before leaving.

You finished putting away the boxes and leaned against the wall, trying to regain the air and strength lost in the whole process. Following the quick orders your captain had given, you swallowed some pills and continued with your tasks, even though your body seemed to fight against every movement.

You loved Law and you knew he loved you too, but sometimes it was a little difficult to deal with how methodical he could be especially when it came to being sick. On days like these, he tended to be more of a doctor than a boyfriend and you hated that. Ignoring the thoughts, you made your way to your shared room, reaching the bed and seeing Ikkaku hanging from the top.

"What ghost scared you?"

"What you mean?" you threw yourself against the pillows, using the blanket.

"You're pale, you look like you're going to disappear." She came down, standing in front of you and placing her hand on your forehead. "And you're burning up with a fever."

"I've already taken my medicine." you covered your head, trying to escape the cold that only you felt. "I just need to get some sleep."

"Did you eat anything bad?" She pulled your blanket back. "Or are you pregnant?"

"I'm betting more on the first hypothesis." you immediately reassured her, knowing that for the other proposal, you and Law were always responsible in terms of protecting each other. "I think it's just a virus."

"Did you warn Law?"

"He asked me to..." you sat down, to continue talking, but again your stomach turned.

Without responding, you ran once again towards the bathroom, this time Ikkaku's hurried footsteps followed you.

"Open the door." she asked and even though she didn't see it, you shook your head. A few minutes passed before it knocked again.

"I am worried." she warned. "Open the door or I'll have to call him here."

"It is not necessary." you reached up, unlocking the lock. "I'm just a little dizzy."

"Let me help you." Ikkaku pulled you, supporting your body as you washed your face. "Are you sure the medicine alone is enough?"

"Yes." you replied with clear discouragement in your voice.

"I'm going back to my room, maybe getting some sleep will help me."

Walking a few meters from the bathroom, the two of you came face to face with Law followed by Bepo, both discussing something about the likely next island they would find.

"Are you feeling ok?" Bepo was the first to ask and you just nodded. Law's gaze burned over you again, analyzing every inch of your body.

He knew there was something wrong, but he didn't know how far he wanted to intervene, for fear that you would feel uncomfortable.

"Do you need any help?" he asked in your direction, waiting for you to say yes.

"It's okay captain." you replied before Ikkaku spoke for you, giving what was your best smile for the moment.

he two of you walked away from him and it didn't take long for you to reach the bedroom. Ikkaku helped you get to the bed and watched you cover yourself up to your head. Being one of the only two people who knew about your relationship with the captain, she sat at the foot of the bed, watching you.

"Are you sure you don't want to ask him for help?"

"He's going to medicate me, probably tell me to eat and rest. I've already done almost all of that." you answered. "I don't want to be a problem for him, I know it's not in his profile to take care of someone like that, in a more intimate way."

"But it's what you need right now." she replied, walking away. "Get some rest, I'll ask them to prepare something light for you to eat."

The lights went out and you remained there in a light doze bothered by the fever. Ikkaku followed with firm steps, finding the captain heading towards his room, approaching him halfway and pretending to be angry.

"Captain, I need to talk to you."

She tried to appear more imposing in order to advocate for her friend, but she knew that would be a bit difficult when the person you want to impose yourself on is your captain. Law just gave her space to enter the room, closing the door for her.

"What happened?"

"Are you really going to let your girlfriend walk around dying?" she crossed her arms, indignant.

"She said it was just heartburn."

"That was her talking to her doctor. With her boyfriend she would definitely ask for help. Can I give some unsolicited advice captain?" Ikkaku leaned on the table, taking the opportunity to look around.

"I guess I have no choice, right?"

"She's burning up with a fever in her room, she vomited her guts out and can't stand up." with each new symptom, Law was the one who seemed to get paler and more worried. "Take care of her a little. A little affection is also good medicine."

"Right..." he seemed to analyze, waiting for more answers from the woman in front of him.

"I'll ask them to prepare some soup for her and leave it in her room, okay?"

"Could it be." Law turned his back to Ikkaku, ready to leave. "Thank you. This time I won't throw you into the sea out of insolence." he joked, earning a few laughs from the woman.

Law knew something was wrong, now he needed to find out why you didn't ask for his help. He walked quickly and felt his heart shatter when he found you curled up and shaking under the blanket.

"Just let me sleep Ikkaku, I don't know if I can eat right now." your dejected voice murmured, squeezing Law's heart even more.

Now it was all so clear, so obvious that part of the doctor felt ashamed for not having noticed it before. You were so careful with anyone who even cut a piece of their finger, it was obvious you wanted the same treatment.

"Hey, sorry it took me so long." he whispered. You opened your eyes and found Law bent down on your bed, his fingers were removing the strands stuck to your face by sweat. "I'm going to do a quick scan on you."

He warned and then used the sword he carried, analyzing every millimeter of your body. It seemed to be a virus and a resistant one. That would explain the fever and the tremors.

"Let me take proper care of you."

"No." you murmured, feeling his arms go around your legs and back, picking you up. "I already took medicine."

"I know."

"And I don't want to be tied up in an IV." you tried to pull away from him, feeling your stomach drop at the movement.

"I'm not going to medicate you." the blue dome appeared around the two of you.

"And I think I need to throw up."

At the last second, Law changed your fate, taking you to the bathroom. As soon as the gray walls of your room turned into the walls of the bathroom, you reached the floor again, leaning over the toilet and despite the immense urge your body didn't seem to have any more bile to be expelled. It took him a few seconds to follow you, but soon his hands found your hair, holding it with one hand while the other passed your forehead.

"Law." you called and flinched, pressing your own body against yourself. "It hurts."

"I'm so sorry sweetheart." he placed his hand on top of yours, which was pressed against your stomach. "You still have a fever and haven't eaten anything, we need energy for your body." he confirmed, gently lifting you off the ground. "Come on, I'll give you a bath.

"I'm disgusting."

"That's the point." Law spoke and saw you laugh, albeit lightly, which was already a relief for him. "I'm just kidding. Let's try to get this fever down."

Knowing that you didn't have enough strength to even talk, Law guided you to the shower, taking off your clothes while you leaned on him. As soon as the cold water came into contact with your body, you tried to escape and were immediately held by your boyfriend.

"Law!"

"Just a little, I know it's pretty cold." he allowed you to hug him even more and consequently get him wet in the process. "I promise, just a few minutes and I'll take you back to our room."

"If I survive until then."

"Do not say that." He scolded you, even though he knew that your way of dealing with problems was always sarcastic - sometimes even too much.

Law slowly turned off the shower. The first breeze that hit your damp skin made you cling against him and whimper, Law's usually colder skin this time was a warm pleasure to your body.

You felt a drastic difference in the environment and broke away from the man, seeing that you were in his room. Law guided you to sit on the bed and pulled a small blanket over your shoulders while he looked for some clothes for you to wear. Taking advantage of the comfort, you lay down and watched him walk from one side to the other.

"Can you sit down?" He knelt in front of you, using a small towel to dry your still damp skin.

Leaning on his shoulders, you sat on the bed and for a few minutes, you felt like a delicate, small doll. Using the extra strength he had that you lacked, Law dressed your body piece by piece, like a delicate puzzle. Even with the simple touch of your hand on your shoulder, Law could feel you tremble, probably due to the weakness that the virus brought to you.

A few minutes later, you were dressed. A pair of baggy black sweatpants and a blouse of the same size. Surprising you by showing that he had more pieces than the hat adorned with black circles, Law placed a black cap on your head, adjusting your ears so that they were also warm in the fabric.

"Unfortunately, we can't use that." he pushed away the blanket you were about to use. "If you cover yourself up and get hotter than that, it will only make your fever worse."

Avoiding your grumble, Law sat with his coat against the wall and pulled you to sit against his chest. Watching you curl up against his body, Law picked up the small bowl on the table next to him that Ikkaku had probably left as they agreed.

"I do not want it." you tried to move it away with your hand, having used your strength in vain as Law didn't move an inch. "I just want to sleep, just a little."

"Just a few spoonfuls and I'll let you sleep. It's that or more medicine." He warned, seeing you pout at the time. "Come on, I'll help you."

"Sorry to bring you into this."

"You don't need to say sorry." Law wished he could get rid of that virus right away when he saw you grunting in pain when you swallowed the first spoonful of food. "I should have noticed sooner, I know I can be more distant sometimes, but I need you to make it clear when you need me in moments like this."

"But what about the others, if they suspect something?" you accepted the other spoonful of food, the discomfort this time was smaller but still present.

"It's okay as long as you're okay."

Supporting the bowl of soup in one hand and the spoon in the other, Law convinced you to eat just five more spoonfuls, the last one being enough for him to see you push the bowl away and writhe in pain again. Law placed the bowl in the same room he was in before and saw you cling to his body, your eyes already heavy.

"Law you're going to get sick." you mumbled, already practically giving in to sleep.

"Don't worry about that." the last thing you felt was his lips on your forehead. "And if I stay, it will be worth staying with you."

#fiction #reader insert #one piece #no use of y/n #requests open #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #female reader

[netherfeildren]

How to Endure Ardor:

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you how to love him.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Post outbreak; QZ Joel Miller; I'm saying this, but the setting is sort of ambiguous anyways, Stream of consciousness, Character Study, Alternating POVs; PIV sex; The troubles and toils of breaking up and then making up with a fucked up old man; Uncaring Joel; Mentions of painful sex; Toxic relationships or situationships or whatever you want to call it; I think I'm addicted to the idea of a Joel who'll never love you and I should probably see a doctor about it

A/N: she remembers how to write, who'd of thought!

Word Count: 1.3K

Read on AO3

This is a lesson:

“Tell me again,” she says, and it’s a begging.

A begging like what? Something that carries shame and smallness in the shape of it. Stay a little longer. It humiliates him for the wretchedness it pulls from him. Joel, please. Seeping blood the color of her supplication. Please, she says, please. And who else says please to him anymore? Who asks him for anything anymore but her? The only ones who ever had are long past and gone, and he can’t even barely remember they were ever really there to ask anything of him to begin with—can’t remember what it feels like to owe someone something and want to give it to them in a way that will actually make him. 

Tell me what again? That I want you? That I’ll stay? That I love you? I’ll come back, he says instead, the only thing he can promise and keep. And he wonders if it humiliates her too, the way he lies, the way he runs, the way he swears, the way he always comes back and comes back but never returns with the things she needs. A humiliation just like it is a begging. 

The thing they have: it’s strange, fickle, honest in its lies, very, very ugly. An ugliness that is shocking in a world gone to rot already. The sky doesn’t shine anymore and they bask in it. 

But also, and, the thing they have: it’s physical, saving.

This is obvious too, even if only to them.

He slides inside and you’re what? Hot and wet and slick, and—yes, a thing like a dream, but still only a thing. Something to have, something close to desire, but not quite, more like biological want. Woman turned possession. In his mind this is an excuse, a reason, a begetting. Like, what—like what? Like when you want a thing very badly but it is very bad for you, and you need to make up any excuse to have it, lie and lie and lie—to your mother, your best friend, the mirror—a begetting like that. Easy to understand only if you’ve been there. 

It started simple, it started like nothing, it started like the first time you meet someone and you know they’ll matter, you know they’ll mean something. So it started like what? Like a lie. 

Shifts at the QZ, long and toiling and reminders of the sort of life that died in an outbreak of monsters, only if for how unlike that past it was. Humans or fungus or—

—men who hurt—you, men who refuse your love, Joel Miller.

The crutch of your age, of you being weaker or smaller or in need, him being easily felled, wooed, easily conquered by something young and given without a try because there was never the opportunity for trying before. 

Now, it is like this: you take my cock and you take my come and you take my nothing, and I give so little and yet you still find a way to take and take and take, leech of a girl, dream of a girl, hungry. And with the excuse that it’s only in a way you contrive for your own self. But in the end, what does that make you? What do I make you into? 

These are the things he asks himself. 

Perhaps she goes away for a time, tries the route of escape, of variety. But when she inevitably comes back because addiction is riddled always in the same sorts of ways: did you try different bodies? Did you try different flavors and sounds? Did you look for me in all of them? 

The answer is usually yes.

At reunion’s turn: he rolls her over to face her, Joel, damp and panting and trying to be something—perhaps better, more honest—after a season of variety and honest attempts and shut eyes. He’s so hard for her, always is. 

Again: he slides inside and you’re what? His, undeniably. Not yours. Something to want but not desire because it’s too romantic a notion, and yes, there’s a difference even if he can’t put into words what that difference specifically is. Body and heart, perhaps, definitions that differ between disparate anatomical parts or levels of deniability. 

Nothing either of you have ever been able to put into words when lust and love aren’t things you can even say out loud for the shame of them, even if they exist within said same anatomy. 

You come together, the season passed, the separation passed but still kept at hand for the next time the closeness becomes too much. 

“Tell me again,” she says, and this time he remembers what she’s asking for.

“I fucking missed you, baby. Missed this pussy.” Because he can’t say it’s her heart he missed. Because Joel Miller does not have honesty in his arsenal. 

He spreads you wide, knee to shoulder so it hurts and pulls, so it’ll be sore and reminding tomorrow. The slap of his pelvis against the back of your thighs is obscene, wet and lewd, a string of girl cum keeping you connected, such togetherness, curve of your ass to the root of his cock—the two of you are together again. 

You know what I thought, when I tried to go away, you say. He doesn’t want to know, but he doesn't tell you so either, only slides in again, the mouth of your womb right there, threatening. I’m never going to feel like this again, and I hate how certainly I know that. He wonders if the unsaid part is that he’s the recipient of that feeling, the hate. 

He wonders if the pinch inside him is hurt. He wonders if the throb is love. 

All he says because he can’t say the rest is, I missed you, I missed you, and if he could look himself in the mirror—something that’s twenty years past lost—he’d ask: are you alright? Just tell me you’re okay. And it sounds in your own voice and with your own care and the feel of your own warmth. Is there anything I can do?

Other times, he sees himself through your own eyes, and then he knows for certain that the throb is love 

So he makes up for lost time, hard—and if it was a thing he knew how to be— loving. Mouth to cunt first, primed and soft and begging, making you come again and then another once more, then inside of you. Slow, splitting you open, red cunt like a wound, balls slapping wet, pulling out to watch the gape of the space he’s carved for himself. His cock is so hard and missing you something desperate. And he’s reminded of what it is to really miss something in a way he hadn’t been in twenty years of apocalypse, he’s forced to realized that it’s been so long since he’d had something to love that he’d not realized the feeling of missing that long past someone had gone away, only faint memory remained. 

Violent, is what this makes him after that realization—thrusts turning hard and punishing. How dare you give yourself to me? How dare you then take yourself away? You come around him again, the gift of your orgasm. How dare you not be able to accept the little I’m able to give when I’m trying so desperately fucking hard to give you even just this? 

He fucks you mean, he fucks you in the way of a man who doesnt know how to say the things he needs to say, in a way that’s confusing, that could make a less discerning woman feel only the hurt. 

But then again, you know him.

Fucks you in a way that is a little bit like love.

And so, amidst all of it, there is an honesty amongst the lies. A truth unspoken that they both know—I’ll come back because I need you, because you’re the only one who can give me the things I'm not strong enough to ask for out loud. 

You’re not sure which of the two of you is the one saying it.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

#vic fic #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader

[ssweetleaf]

doll parts.

summary: you agree to let dr crane experiment on you for ‘scientific purposes’.

jonathan crane x fem!reader

includes: SMUT 18+, based on this ask here <3, dub-con, clit play, fingering, overstimulation, kinda innocent!reader, doctor kink, jon being a condescending ass, unprotected p in v

˖ ࣪⭑

When you agreed to let Dr Crane experiment on you, you certainly hadn’t had anything remotely crude on your mind. A few tests, you thought, maybe he’d take your bloods— anything to help his scientific studies along and you agreed to be his little guinea pig for the day.

So, when he had you undress and get upon his silver operating table, it was quite the shock.

“Push your knees up to your chest,” he hummed, having you hold them in place while he analysed your pussy, “gotta make sure these tests are thorough, don’t wanna miss a thing.”

Jonathan ran a knuckle through your folds watching them flutter around his digit and coat it in your sweet slick, clit throbbing in anticipation just waiting for his touch.

“D-Dr Crane,” you stuttered out, finding it hard to keep your mewls choked down when he used a thumb and forefinger to spread you open, inspecting you even deeper. “I don’t think this is appropriate.”

You didn’t notice the flicker of a smirk that lifted his mouth before he pouted at you, mocking you, though you had no idea.

“But you said you’d let me experiment on you, sweetheart,” he cooed, using his other hand to pat at your thigh, attempting to somewhat calm your heavy breaths and wide eyes. “It’s for scientific purposes, you know that.”

You bit your lip, unsure.

“For science?” You repeated hopefully, staring at him with glistening eyes, eager to help the young scientist in any way, even if it did mean touching your most private parts.

“For science.” He nodded, “now be a good little patient and let the doctor carry on with his tests.”

Your cheeks burned, but you nodded anyway.

“O-of course, doctor.”

You resumed your position, chest already heaving from the tense atmosphere, peering down at his trailing hands when they squeezed at the fat of your thighs.

Jonathan’s thumb and forefinger parted your pussy lips, opening you up for him and exposing the pretty little pearl of your clit. With his other hand, he pressed his thumb to it, rubbing in figure eights, watching your facial expressions and how they changed with such simple touches, soft whines escaping the confines of your throat.

His eyes flitted back to your cunt, watching your arousal seep with each circle of his thumb, your hole clenching, desperate to be filled.

So he did just that and slipped a finger inside you, curling the digit upwards as it hit the base of his knuckle, and he smirked when you gasped at the sudden intrusion, your wetness just letting him slip right in, having him easily add another finger on his outward thrust.

“Oh, doctor,” you breathed, clenching hard around his fingers, the crude squelching causing your cheeks to burn.

“How do you feel, dear?” He asked, the tips of his fingers prodding at the spongy wall of your g-spot.

“F-feels good,” you managed to choke out, bashfully meeting his smug gaze. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

A virgin, he thought. Of course you were, pathetic little lamb— with the way you shivered from just his words alone he should’ve known. Hell, it made him harder, cock growing and forming a tent underneath his slacks, throbbing hotly and just begging to be released.

“I’m so glad to hear it, dear,” he cooed, reaching up to pat at your cheek with his palm, a little too hard, though you were sure he didn’t mean a thing by it.

With each passing moment, your belly started to tighten, growing warm and tingly, butterflies were flapping around and you felt like you needed to pee.

“Dr Crane, I feel strange,” you pouted, tears threatening to ebb over your waterline, it felt so good, but so unfamiliar.

“Just let go, darling,” he said, “this is what I was hoping for— my tests are going absolutely splendidly.”

Before you knew it, your orgasm rushed over you, your slick gushing along his fingers and down his wrist, your pussy clenching and spasming around his still prodding digits and you heaved out sobs. The feeling was so intense, so good, you hadn’t realised anything could feel as good as what Jonathan had made you feel.

“Say thank you, dear, it’s only polite.” He was smirking, though you somehow mistook it for a smile.

You nodded your head, staring at him with big, glassy eyes.

“Of course,” you breathed, “thank you, doctor.”

You had started to settle, your breathing and heartbeat evening out, until Jonathan’s thumb pressed to your clit once again, rolling and playing with the sensitive nub.

You whined out, you didn’t think you had it in you to go again. You grabbed onto his wrist, clawing at his skin and gasping into the stuffy air.

“In our agreement you said you’d take whatever I gave you, correct?” He spoke, an unoccupied hand grabbing at your cheeks, your lips jutting out into a pout.

You nodded, eyes wide like saucers and you shifted from all the fondling to your poor clit.

“Am I correct?” He repeated, much more stern that time, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing from underneath his lenses.

“Y-yes, doctor.” You nodded.

“Well then,” he muttered, letting go of your face, directing his attention to your quivering cunt. “You’ll be a good girl and do just that.”

Quickly, another orgasm approached, simply by him playing with your abused little clit, urging you to cum for him and watch your hole quiver around nothing.

One after the other, over and over again, you came around his fingers and on his hand, your body heaving and jolting from the constant painful pleasure, he had to restrain you with a hand to your stomach, pinning you to the table and forcing you to ride out each orgasm.

Jonathan’s cock was painfully hard, and he reached down to palm at himself, smirking when he caught you staring, pussy fluttering at the sight.

“Now for my last experiment,” he pulled at his belt, tugging it from the loops and unzipping his fly, grasping at his cock, he pulled it from his briefs, pumping himself a few times, little beads of pearlescent pre-cum dripping from his tip.

You were babbling, completely inebriated from his touch— he was so long, and just the right amount of thickness, veins protruding along either side and underneath, his tip a pretty shade of red that had your mouth watering.

“Let’s see if you can take this, hm?” He mocked you, pouting down at your pathetic form, tears streaming down your cheeks, long lines of mascara staining your skin all the way down your neck. “M’sure you can— been so greedy for everything I’ve given you so far.”

He tapped his cock against your pussy, the wetness splashing up against your thighs, the obscene sounds of your sopping cunt had you blushing.

He pushed into you without a warning, to the hilt with no resistance, your creamy pussy letting him slip right inside, the mushroomed head of his pretty cock nudging at your spot so deep inside, even his fingers couldn’t reach.

Oh, you felt so full.

“Such a good little patient.” He groaned. “On second thoughts, I might need you to stay overnight— get a much more thorough examination.”

#jonathan crane blurb #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane imagine #cillian murphy blurb #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader

[yuutx]

ೀ ׅ ۫ . 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 ? ! (𝐼𝐿 𝒟𝒪𝒯𝒯𝒪𝑅𝐸)

il dottore x f!reader ﾉ 18+ content. ﾉ nsfw + unprotected sex / raw sex ﾉ female masturbation ﾉ test subject x mad scientist ﾉ degrading kink ﾉ clit play ﾉ dirty talk ﾉ size kink ﾉ mdom + fsub ﾉ not proofread ! ૮꒰ྀི ◡ ˶ ◡ ꒱ྀི১

i wrote this a while ago 'n i just found it in my drafts 2 day so i figured i should finally post it ! i wld srsly do anything 'n everything 2 be dottore's test stubject he is soo perfect. art credits go to the lovely @/lllOhara ! ♡ + ↻ are rlly appreciated ! !

Piercing red orbs scanned the room, scrutinizing every detail. His lips curled into a slight smirk as he saw your figure curled up, encapsulated within a metal cage, and suspended by thick ropes. You looked so small and frail, like a little bird locked away in its gilded cage. The man could hardly suppress a laugh as his eyes trailed up your naked figure, stopping when he saw your head hanging low. It was obvious you were still unconscious, but it wouldn't be long before you awoke. Your breathing had evened out, and the wounds you'd received were beginning to stitch themselves back together. It would seem that you had more fight in you than he'd initially anticipated, and for a brief moment he'd been afraid that he'd made a mistake by attempting to bring you here. But alas, his worries were unfounded. The Doctor was always right.

"Y/N," the man spoke, his voice a deep baritone. His words hung in the air as he waited for you to reply. When you didn't stir, his smirk only grew. "I know you're awake, pet," the Doctor spoke again, this time more clearly, "You're a terrible liar, my dear. Now, stop playing pretend and look at me."

His command was sharp and commanding, yet soft and inviting, and it forced you to comply. Slowly, you raised your head, eyes fluttering open, and met the Doctor's gaze. As your eyes landed on his form, you felt a rush of emotions wash over you, ranging from anger, to fear, and even a sense of longing. You couldn't help but notice the way the light reflected off of his ruby red irises, making them shine like the most brilliant of gems. It was then that you realized just how handsome the Doctor was. His features were sharp and chiseled, his expression serious and brooding, yet his mouth was pulled into a devious smile that made your heart race. The man's appearance was nothing short of regal, and he commanded respect from all who were lucky enough to meet him.

The mask he usually wore was gone, revealing his face in its entirety. You noticed how his lips were set into a thin line, and the way his nose curved downward towards his pointed chin. He was tall, much taller than you were, and his shoulders were broad and powerful. You found yourself mesmerized by the man before you, unable to take your eyes off him, even as your heart pounded wildly in your chest. It was a strange sensation, this mixture of fear and desire, and you had no idea what to do with it. Were you attracted to the Doctor? Perhaps… perhaps not, but something inside of you wanted him, that was for certain.

Your body betrayed you as you shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, drawing his attention to your nudity. Your nipples had hardened, and your core throbbed with need, aching for release. It wasn't right, you thought to yourself, you shouldn't feel this way about someone who'd captured you, imprisoned you, and planned on experimenting on you. But the longer you stared, the more you wanted him, and the more your mind seemed to lose focus on anything else. Your vision swam as a haze clouded your thoughts, leaving you completely intoxicated with desire. And just like that, you lost control. Your legs parted instinctively, and your hips bucked upward, grinding against the bars of your prison. It was almost as if your body had a mind of its own. You'd never felt anything like it before. The sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn't stop yourself. It was like you'd gone mad, your body reacting on its own accord, no longer caring about consequences or rational thought. And the worst part was, you loved every second of it. Your cheeks flushed crimson as you writhed beneath him, the cool metal of the cage rubbing against your sex, sending shivers down your spine.

You could feel his gaze upon you, watching as your breasts bounced and jiggled while you rode the bars of the cage, grinding yourself against them. Your moans grew louder, and your breathing became labored. It was so good, you thought to yourself, too good. You couldn't help but wonder, had you really gone insane? Were you really willing to sacrifice yourself just for the sake of pleasure? And yet, here you were, doing exactly that. And the man watched, his expression unchanging, save for the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes. His lips twitched, fighting back a smile as he enjoyed your performance. Your moans echoed throughout the laboratory, drowning out the sounds of the machines and equipment around you. It was beautiful, he thought, how could something so lewd and vulgar be so breathtakingly gorgeous? You were like a living work of art, and he could watch you for hours.

You felt your climax approaching, and you tried desperately to stave it off, not wanting the Doctor to see you in such a state. However, you were powerless to stop it. Your orgasm tore through your body, causing your limbs to spasm uncontrollably. Your head lolled forward, and your jaw fell open, letting loose a series of breathy whimpers. Your hips bucked upwards, slamming into the bars, forcing your body against the cold metal. The pleasure was indescribable, unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. It was intense, raw, and powerful, and it left you panting heavily. You could feel the slickness coating the bars, and the smell of your arousal permeated the air. You were completely spent, utterly exhausted from the force of your orgasm, and yet somehow you felt invigorated. You couldn't remember the last time you had came so hard, and the intensity of it took your breath away.

A low rumble reverberated throughout the laboratory, and you could feel the vibrations travel up your spine. The machine beside you was whirring to life, and a loud clicking sound filled the room as its gears began to turn. You couldn't understand what it was doing, or what it meant, but the Doctor seemed pleased by whatever results were displayed. He walked over to you, his eyes never leaving yours, and knelt down beside the cage. He placed his gloved hands against the bars, gripping them tightly, and leaned in close. "That was quite impressive," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear, "Now, let's see what other noises I can pull from that pretty little mouth of yours."

Dottore pressed a button, and the cage was lowered to the ground. You looked up at him, and your eyes met his, and his hand moved to the lock, sliding a key inside. The door opened with a loud click, and he stepped back, allowing you to crawl out. Once you were free, the Doctor grabbed hold of your hair, yanking you forward. You stumbled slightly, and fell into his arms. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you firmly against him, causing your dripping cunt to rub against his groin. A moan escaped your lips as his erection pressed into you, and you felt him twitch in response. "Ahh.." he breathed, his grip tightening around you, "I'm afraid I can't wait any longer."

With one fluid motion, he lifted you into the air, and carried you across the room. He set you down onto a large, cushioned table, and began removing his clothes. You watched him closely, taking in every detail of his muscular frame, admiring the way his muscles rippled under his pale skin. The Doctor's gaze remained locked on yours, and his pupils were dilated, filled with lust. You noticed the prominent bulge in his pants, and your mouth watered as he unzipped his trousers, revealing his swollen member. His cock was massive, thick and long, and it stood proudly at attention, leaking precum down the shaft. He stroked himself lazily, and a deep growl rumbled from his throat. "Do you see what you've done to me, pet?" he asked, his voice husky with desire, "This is all because of you."

You swallowed hard, and nodded, biting your lip as he stroked himself faster. He continued pumping his fist, until his cock glistened with precum. His hand traveled lower, and he cupped his balls, massaging them gently. "Such a naughty little thing, making me hard like this.." he purred, his voice low and husky, "You'll have to pay for that.." The Doctor grabbed hold of your wrists, and forced you onto all fours, getting on the table behind you. "I'm going to break your fucking mind, pet." He growled, "You'll be too fucked up to think straight when I'm done with you." His words sent shivers down your spine, and you whimpered softly as his cock brushed against your slit. He pushed inside of you, and you gasped at the sudden intrusion. His length stretched you to the limit, filling you completely. You cried out in pleasure as his cock slammed into you, burying itself inside your wet cunt. Your walls clenched around him, and his hands gripped your hips tightly, digging into your skin. His thrusts were slow and steady, his pace leisurely, and his eyes never left yours. Your head rolled back, and your body shuddered beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

Dottore's heavy balls smacked against your clit, all while his cock reached places inside of you that hadn't been touched in a long time. He groaned as he bottomed out, pushing deep into your depths, making sure his full length was seethed inside of you. His movements were unhurried, but firm, cock swelling with need as he fucked into your cunt. Your hands clawed at the table, nails digging into the leather, leaving long scratches across the surface. You moaned loudly, unable to contain your sounds of pleasure. "Fuck.." he cursed, "Your pussy's so damn tight.." Your walls squeezed around him, pulling him deeper, causing his hips to stutter. He grunted, and began pumping his hips, pistoning into your core with renewed vigor. His cock slammed into you over and over again, until he finally released a torrent of hot cum into your womb, coating your insides with his seed. His grip tightened around your hips, and he pulled you closer, pressing his chest against your back. "That's it," he growled, his breath hot against your neck, "Take all of it." His words were like music to your ears, and you did as he commanded, letting him fill you up with his thick load. Your body shook, and your eyes rolled back as you fucked yourself onto his dick, slamming yourself back against his groin. He growled low in his throat, and began thrusting harder, using you like a living fleshlight. Your moans grew louder, echoing through the laboratory, filling the air with lewd, obscene sounds. Your juices flowed freely, mixing with his cum, creating a sticky mess between your legs. He pounded into you with such force that the table rattled beneath you, causing it to shake violently.

"Ohhh..oh fuck…fuck, mm-! L-Love it, I love it so muchhh..!" you gasped, tears stinging your eyes as he fucked your brains out, your walls milking his cock, "'m gonna cum..c- h-haahh…so-so close…w-wanna cum on y-your cock…" Your words were slurred, and incoherent, and your body trembled uncontrollably as you neared your peak. "Mm? Is that so?" the Doctor questioned, "Are you gonna cum for your dear Dottore?" You nodded frantically, a hand jumping to your clit, pinching the sensitive nub between your fingers. "Y-Yes…please…p-plea- please make me cum.." you begged, voice strained and shaky, "C-Can't wait..need to…n-nowww..!!" Your words were cut off as your back arched, body trembling as your squirted, splattering him with your juices. Your body went rigid, and your mouth hung open, a scream escaping your lips as he pumped another load of his thick cum into your used hole. "Oh, you little slut," he laughed, his cock still buried deep inside you, "What a mess you've made, Y/N." He held you in place as his seed seeped out of you, dribbling down the front of the table. You couldn't move, your legs had given out, and you collapsed onto the table, panting heavily. Your body was covered in sweat, and your cheeks flushed red, and you could barely keep your eyes open. The Doctor chuckled, and kissed the back of your neck.

"Mmh, don't go falling asleep on me now.." he chided, "We're far from finished."

#୧ ‧₊˚ ☆ athena's creations ! #genshin impact #genshin #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader smut #dottore smut #dottore x reader #dottore x reader smut #dottore #il dottore #il dottore smut #il dottore x reader #il dottore x reader smut #fatui harbingers #genshin fatui #fatui #genshin impact fatui

[lostfracturess]

【 ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ 】 ch. 04

x pairing professor!gojo x med student f!reader (medical au)

x summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

x wc 7.9 k

x warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

x author's note has anyone asked for a bit of angst? dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

It had been a week since you had your unconventional date with Gojo. You were back in practical class, relieved that it didn't involve drawing blood like the last time. 

Yuta surely was thankful for that.

Doctor Kento was demonstrating how to perform various types of stitches. You paid close attention, even though you knew most of the stitches by heart. When it was time for the students to try, you picked up the needle and thread, grabbed an orange and began to stitch.

You never learned to suture on fruit before, but it must be easier than working on actual human skin, right?

"Bet I can finish my stitches before all of you," Yuta chimed in, a grin spreading across his face as he expertly threaded his needle.

Maki glanced at him. "You're on, Okkotsu. But don't come crying to me when I beat you."

The two worked with newfound speed, their needles weaving through the orange peel. Yuta finished his line first. "See, what did I tell you?" he said with a smile.

Maki leaned closer to inspect his stitching. "Not bad," she admitted. "But check out your spacing here, Yuta. It's a bit off."

Yuta squinted at his work. "Ah, you're right. Gotta work on that."

"And... done!" you said, holding up your perfectly sutured orange.

Yuta turned to look at your work. "Wow, that's some neat stitching. Makes mine look like child's play."

"Impressive," Toge said.

Maki paused her stitching to glance at your handiwork. "Seriously impressive," she commented. "How'd you get so good?"

You smiled. "I had to learn a few things on my own before university," you explained. "And I guess some practice outside of class helped too."

As you finished your set of stitches, doctor Kento came over to inspect your work. His eyebrows raised as he examined the neat line of sutures. "Excellent work," he said. "And I thought you were a failure in practical class, after the mess you made with the blood withdrawal."

Ouch. 

Why was he always so direct. 

You and your friends were fully engaged in the session, focused on perfecting your suturing techniques. Suddenly, the door opened and professor Gojo entered. He moved towards Kento's desk, as if to retrieve something.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Gojo's gaze found you across the room. His eyes met yours, and a small smile appeared on his lips. You watched him as he walked over to Kento.

Maki leaned closer to you. "Oh, look, Dr. Handsome graces us with his presence," she said. "Isn't it strange how often he shows up around you?"

"Only strange coincidences," you replied, but Maki's raised eyebrow told you she wasn't entirely convinced.

Gojo finished his brief conversation with Kento and made his way over to your group. The others paused, needles in mid-air, as he approached.

"Hello there." His gaze swept over the group and then rested on you. "I see you're all making good progress with your suturing."

Yuta leaned back in his chair. "We're doing our best, professor. But she over here is putting us all to shame," he said, nodding towards you.

Gojo's smile broadened. "Is that so?"

He walked over to you, a bit too close for the classroom setting. He picked up one of your stitched oranges, turning it over in his hands. "Impressive precision."

"But perhaps a bit basic for your skill level," he added, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he picked up another orange from the table. He pulled a chair up to your table, sitting down close enough that his knee brushed against yours under the table.

"Have you ever tried a subcuticular suture?"

"No, I haven't."

Gojo grabbed an unused needle and thread. "Let me show you."

Your friends gathered around, watching as Gojo skillfully maneuvered the needle through the orange peel. "Subcuticular suturing is an intradermal suture that minimizes scarring. You need a steady hand and some patience to do it."

The needle dipped in and out of the orange peel, leaving a nearly invisible line on the surface. "The key is consistent tension," he explained. "Imagine you're weaving, each pass of the needle equidistant to the last, and the thread tension must be just enough to approximate the edges without puckering the tissue."

Once finished, he held up the orange for everyone to see. "See?"

He tossed another orange towards you. Your caught it just in time. "Your turn," he said.

Gojo leaned further towards you, his leg touching yours under the table. Then you felt a hand resting on your thigh. You jumped slightly and immediately kicked him with your foot under the table.

God, Gojo, keep it professional, at least in class.

He received the message and gave you a quick, sly smile that you hoped would go unnoticed by your friends.

With Gojo still watching closely, you began to work on the orange, trying to mirror the technique he had just demonstrated. The stitch was more complex than you were used to. And it didn't help that Gojo was so close. 

"Angle the needle a bit more... that's it. Now, even tension as you pull through," he said. You were acutely aware of every comment, every slight touch as he pointed out adjustments. 

When you finished, Gojo examined your work, his fingers brushing lightly against your hands as he reached for the orange. "Well done," he said. "You're a quick learner. Or perhaps I'm just a good teacher?"

Sure.

At that moment, Kento approached your table, his gaze lingering on the two of you for a brief second. "Taking over my class, Gojo?"

Gojo straightened, turning to face Kento with a relaxed posture. "Not in the slightest, Kento," he replied. "Only sharing a new technique with the students."

"Well, ensure it doesn't become a regular occurrence," he said. "Managing these students is challenging enough. I don't need any additional burdens."

"Understood, Kento," Gojo said, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I'll leave the teaching to the experts, then."

He turned his attention back to you and your friends. "Keep practicing, students," he said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. As Gojo moved to leave the classroom, he cast one last glance in your direction, his smile lingering.

After he left, Maki leaned closer to you, a suspicious look in her eyes. "You know, he looks at you a bit too long to be just your research partner," she observed in a low voice.

Your stomach fluttered. "Does he?"

Maki leaned back, her eyes studying you closely. "Yeah, It's pretty obvious."

You hesitated, searching for the right words. "We've just gotten to know each other better recently. That's all."

"Uh huh," Maki replied. "Just be careful, okay? He's your professor, after all."

The conversation came to an abrupt halt as Kento redirected the class's attention to the front.

─── ·✧· ───

Later that day, the campus was bathed in warm sunlight, the air filled with the chatter and laughter of students enjoying a break between classes. You were sprawled out on a blanket in the grass with your friends, Toge, Maki, and Yuta, basking in the pleasant warmth of the early afternoon sun.

The breeze, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, rustled through the leaves of the trees. Birds high above scurried and chirped. The world seemed to slow down for a moment, allowing you all to enjoy this brief respite from the university's hustle.

As you lay there, soaking up the sun, your phone buzzed with a new message. Glancing at the screen, you saw Gojo's name. Your stomach fluttered. You sat up, shielding your phone from the sunlight to read the message.

[3:12 PM] Gojo: Why aren't you here?

[3:12 PM] You: Where?

[3:12 PM] Gojo: With me.

[3:13 PM] You: Just done with class.

[3:13 PM] Gojo: Done with class, but not with me. How about we change that?

[3:14 PM] You: Is that an invitation or a challenge?

[3:14 PM] Gojo: Consider it both. I'm at the cafe, and it's missing your presence.

[3:15 PM] You: How tragic. Perhaps, I could be persuaded to change scenery.

[3:15 PM] Gojo: I'm sure I can provide a few persuasive arguments.

[3:16 PM] You: Such as?

[3:16 PM] Gojo: The best coffee on campus, for starters. And, of course, the pleasure of my company.

[3:17 PM] You: Tempting, professor.

[3:17 PM] Gojo: I aim to convince. Join me, and let's see if I can sway your decision further.

[3:18 PM] You: Give me 5 minutes.

[3:18 PM] Gojo: I'll be waiting, first-year.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Slipping your phone into your pocket, you turned to your friends. "I've got to step out for a bit."

Maki raised an eyebrow. "Mysterious meeting with a certain professor?"

You laughed it off, feeling the warmth of a blush creeping up your cheeks. "Just a coffee break. Nothing to gossip about," you replied, gathering your things.

As you stood up, Maki gave you a knowing look, but she didn't press further. "See you later then," she said with a smile.

You made your way to the campus cafe. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the trees that lined the path, casting dappled shadows on the ground. As you approached, you spotted Gojo waiting outside, casually leaning against a wall. His eyes scanned the crowd until they settled on you.

A smile played on his lips as he pushed off the wall and strolled over to you. "I was starting to think you'd ditched me," he teased, his snow-white hair falling loosely across his forehead.

"Ditching my favorite professor? Never," you quipped back, falling into step beside him. Entering the campus cafe, you both queued up to grab coffees.

"So I'm your favorite, huh?" he said. "I'm flattered."

"Well, you do make things more interesting."

"Is that so?" He leaned in slightly closer. "I'm not just an interesting professor, you know."

"Oh?" you responded, your tone feigning innocence. "Pray, enlighten me, professor Gojo."

His lips curved into a sly smile. "Well, that's a conversation for a different setting."

"Such a tease, professor."

The barista called out for the next order. "An americano for me, and whatever she's having," he said to the woman behind the counter, already reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

"You know I can pay for myself."

He glanced at you. "I know, but I don't want you to."

After picking up your coffees, Gojo guided you through the campus towards its back garden. "Thought we could use a bit of privacy," he said. "Less chance of running into nosy students or colleagues."

As you followed him, the firm pavement turned into a lush, vibrant green carpet of grass and flowers. The garden was in full bloom, with knee-high blossoms exuding a sweet scent that wafted through the air.

Suddenly, he strayed off the path and into the grass. Without a word, he lay down, almost disappearing among the colorful blossoms. He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, gazing up at the cerulean sky.

"You're really just going to lie down there?"

He looked up at you with a relaxed smile. "Why not? It's a beautiful day. Come, join me."

Hesitantly, you sat down beside him, tucking your legs to the side. The grass was soft and cool beneath you, and the floral scent enveloped you. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the nearby trees, casting playful, dappled shadows across the two of you.

Your gaze flicked around the area, half-expecting someone to appear. "Aren't you worried about someone seeing us?"

He chuckled, his eyes still fixed on the sky. "There's no one around. And even if there was, we're just two people enjoying a beautiful day. Nothing wrong with that."

Yeah, nothing wrong with a young, stupidly attractive professor and one of his students lying on the grass together.

You watched him for a moment.

Gojo wore his usual white button-down shirt, which accentuated his well-built physique, the top few buttons casually undone. Dark designer sunglasses adorned the bridge of his nose. His sleek white hair was tousled by the gentle breeze that caressed the garden.

As he reclined amid the flourishing garden, the shifting patterns of light and shadow played a mesmerizing dance upon his skin. He seemed to savour every ray of sunlight that touched his skin. The corners of his lips curled upward.

"We have a potential case," he began, shifting to a more serious tone. "There's a patient who might be a perfect candidate for the neurotransplant procedure."

You glanced at his bandaged hand. "Are you sure you're ready for that? With your hand still healing?"

He lifted his hand, testing its movement as he flexed his fingers. "It's healing better than expected. It has to be okay," he said. "Besides, Principal Yaga is really breathing down both mine and Geto's necks about it. He wants to see results."

"And you're okay with that?"

"There's no other way."

You pondered for a second.

"The patient's young, only sixteen," he revealed.

"Sixteen? That's so young," you murmured.

"I know, but he's a perfect fit for this surgery. He wants this chance, and we owe it to him to give our best."

Your brows furrowed.

"I know you're worried," he began. "But trust me, we'll take every necessary precaution. And this time, we have the advantage of everything we've learned so far. We're in this together, and I'll be right there by your side every step of the way."

You smiled faintly.

Gojo propped himself up on one elbow to face you. "What happened to your fearless spirit? When we first met, you suggested an approach in surgery that even I hadn't considered. It was bold, a bit crazy even."

"It was a different situation. That patient was dead either way. So it didn't really matter".

He lay back down, gazing up at the sky. "Wow, how pragmatic of you."

"Aren't you scared? That we mess this up?"

"No, not really. I trust you."

You huffed. Yeah, if only you could have his confidence.

"Why does it always seem like you're so carefree?" you asked him.

He let out a soft chuckle. "Me, carefree? Not exactly. It's more that I've stopped giving a fuck about the small stuff. Stick around in research long enough, and you'll learn to do the same."

"Stopped giving a fuck, huh?" you mused, raising an eyebrow. "That's one way to live a careless life, I suppose."

"It's not about being careless. It's about choosing what deserves your energy and what doesn't."

"And what deserves the energy of one of the most famous neurosurgeons?"

His smile deepened. "Challenging surgeries, medical mysteries and, of course," he paused, " intriguing students who keep me on my toes."

Before you could react, Gojo grasped your shoulders in a swift, unexpected move and pushed you back down onto the grass. Suddenly, you were looking up at him, his face inches from yours, his eyes holding yours in a captivating gaze. Your heart raced.

"Are you insane? What if someone sees us like this?" Panic tinged your voice as you instinctively tried to push him away, but he remained steadfast.

Gojo's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Would it really be that bad?"

He was surely insane.

Yet, your breath caught in your throat as Gojo's eyes burned into yours. You could see the raw desire in his eyes, mirroring your own.

"You're always so tense, first-year," he teased. "Need someone to help you relax?"

"Gojo, we really shouldn't—," you tried to protest. But your body betrayed you, responding to his closeness. You felt your core heating up.

His lips grazed your earlobe, sending delightful shivers cascading down your spine. "Shouldn't what?" he whispered. "Have a little fun?"

Your heart raced as his lips traced a tantalizing path along your jawline, leaving a trail of heated anticipation in their wake. "Gojo," you breathed out, torn between desire and restraint.

Suddenly, Gojo's hand reached out, grasping your wrists that were still pushing against his chest. He pinned your hands above your head, pressing them into the lush grass. 

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above yours. "Tell me to stop," he challenged softly.

You swallowed hard, acutely aware of his presence, his warm breath, and his other hand that found its way between your legs. "Gojo, seriously," you whispered. "We're in public."

Yet you couldn't stop yourself from letting your head fall back. Your back arched into him as his fingers traced a slow path along the inside of your leg. "Thrilling isn't it?" His lips moved ever so slightly against the curve of your neck. "Didn't hear the word 'stop' yet."

Yes. 

Fuck.

Please stop. 

Please be the reasonable one of you two.

Because you surely were not able to.

"Gojo, this is crazy." You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to still the rapid beating of your heart. "We can't... not here."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes still locked with yours. "Then tell me to stop."

You knew you should push him away, end this dangerous game before it went any further. But the desire to give in was overwhelming. His fingers continued their slow, deliberate path, now dangerously close to your core. "I'm waiting, first-year."

His touch ventured higher, feather-light yet electrifying, teasing over your most sensitive spot between your legs. A soft moan broke from your lips. Instantly, his hand clamped over your mouth.

"Shh, sweetheart," he cautioned, his breath hot against your lips. "What if someone hears us? We wouldn't want to get caught, now would we?"

With a sly smirk, Gojo pulled back, granting you a moment to catch your breath. He sat upright. "Seems I can't trust you to keep quiet."

Your heart raced as you watched him, unable to form a coherent response. Gojo had a way of leaving you breathless and wanting more, and you couldn't deny that you were drawn to the dangerous game he was playing.

Eventually, Gojo stood up, casually brushing off grass from his clothes. "Break's over," he said, glancing at his watch. "I've got a lecture in 15 minutes."

He extended a hand toward you, offering to help you up. You took his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Standing close, your eyes locked once more, though your gaze briefly dropped, noticing something.

"You can't go lecture like that."

Looking down, Gojo sighed. "Yeah, it always happens with you. Don't worry, I'll just remember your clumsy attempt to draw blood from Okkotsu's arm. That should take care of it."

Oh, how funny.

"By the way, we're starting the surgical practice again tomorrow, right after your last class," he added. "Wear something nice and easy to get rid of."

─── ·✧· ───

You pulled on your surgical gloves, positioning yourself in front of today's human brain test subject. The sun was beginning to set, casting a crimson glow through the windows and onto the sterile surfaces of the lab.

You went straight into action. You stabilized the tissue as Gojo proceeded to implant the neurotransplant into the cerebral cortex. You breathed slowly, trying to keep your hands as still as possible.

You and Gojo worked together in silence. Every muscle tensed. Gojo successfully placed the neuroimplant in the intended location in the brain. However, when it came time to test the connection between the implant and the biometric arm that the patient would eventually use, something went wrong.

The neural signals fluctuated, failing to align with the anticipated patterns. After double-checking the connections and recalibrating the equipment, you traced the issue back to the placement of the implant.

"Looks like the placement is slightly off," you said, examining the data on the screen. "The implant is a bit too far to the right. That's why we're not getting a proper signal."

Gojo sighed. "A fraction of a millimeter off, and it makes all the difference," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the brain before him. "Let's redo this part. We need to make sure we get this right."

You retrieved a fresh brain from the lab's refrigerator. You sure were spending these brains like you get them at the supermarket.

But Gojo wanted perfection. And so did you.

You made the first incision, exposing the underlying area of the brain where the neuroimplant would be placed. Gojo followed with another incision, providing access to the targeted cortical area as you stabilized the tissue. Gojo then carefully placed the neuroimplant in place.

You watched Gojo closely. It was then that you noticed a subtle tremble in his hand.

"Gojo, your hand..."

He glanced at his hand briefly. "It's nothing to worry about," he said. "Just a slight tremor. It'll pass."

He paused for a moment and took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. You watched him, noticing the small beads of sweat that formed on his forehead.

"Gojo, if your hand isn't ready, we should—"

"I know. Just give me a second," he cut you off.

Despite his words, Gojo's hand continued to tremble more noticeably as the procedure carried on. The strain on his face became more evident.

At a crucial point in the procedure, when precision was essential, Gojo's hand shook erratically. He tried to steady it, but the tremor proved too severe. After a moment's hesitation, he abruptly withdrew his hand. He muttered a curse under his breath.

He tore off his surgical gloves, tossing them into the trash with unnecessary force. The sound of his heavy breathing filled the otherwise quiet lab.

You watched him, the room enveloped in stillness.

Gojo leaned heavily against the lab counter, his head hanging low. After a minute, he ran his hands through his hair and met your gaze. "Let's switch roles. I'll take care of the parts I can do with one hand, and you'll handle the critical aspects."

What?

"You mean I should try the implant placement?"

"Yeah," Gojo confirmed. "You've got steady hands, and we just need to ensure it's placed correctly. My hand will heal by the time of the actual surgery."

"I'm not sure, Gojo."

He walked over to you. "We'll need to practice," he continued. "I want to make sure we have every step down perfectly."

"Okay, then let's try it."

So, you prepared again, this time with you in the lead and Gojo at your side, standing close. You glanced at his hand. "Are you sure you can manage with just one hand?"

He smirked. "One hand is all I need to get the job done."

You didn't give him the satisfaction on answering to that.

You began the procedure. 

"You're doing well," he said as you carefully maneuvered the tools. His voice close and calm. Every so often, you caught Gojo flexing his injured hand, working through the discomfort.  Yet, he remained focused on guiding you through the process. "A steeper angle gives you better access... yes, perfect."

The session progressed more smoothly than you had anticipated. As you completed the practice run, a sense of accomplishment washed over you. You had successfully completed the implant placement.

"We make a good team," Gojo remarked. "I knew you could do it."

You found yourself smiling. "Thanks to your guidance, professor."

"Let's try again just to make sure."

You both prepared for another round of practice. As you repeated the procedure, you became acutely aware of Gojo inching closer. His focus seemed to shift away from the procedure to something other.

"Gojo what are you doing?"

Suddenly, you felt him lean in closer from behind. His breath was warm on the back of your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You could feel him subtly inhaling, as if taking in your scent.

"Did you change your shampoo?"

His question caught you off guard, causing a momentary lapse in your focus. "Ehm, yeah."

"Hm. Change it back. I liked the other one better."

You cleared your throat, trying to ease the flutter in your stomach. "We should really focus on—"

Without warning, he reached out and took the surgical tools from your hands. "We've practiced enough for today."

You turned around to face him. "We could still use some more time to—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, closing the space between you. "I think there are other things we should be focusing on right now, wouldn't you agree?" he said, his voice a husky whisper.

He set the surgical tools down on the table behind you. Gojo inched even closer, his lips hovering over yours. "Sometimes, first-year," he whispered, his breath mingling with yours, "—it's important to know when to take a break and enjoy the moment."

In a fluid motion, he lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the lab table. His hands were planted firmly on either side of you. Your pulse quickened as you looked up into his crystal blue eyes, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

"Hard work should be rewarded," he went on. "Don't you think so?"

You couldn't find the words to respond, your breaths growing shallow. He reached up, his fingers grasping your hair at the nape of your neck. His tilted your head back, exposing the delicate skin of your neck to his gaze. 

"Tell me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck, "where should I start?" His mouth met your skin, planting deliberate, slow kisses along your neck. Your breath hitched.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his. His fingers began to explore the skin underneath your shirt. The sensation of his touch was like fire, sparking a heat within you that you hadn't known before.

He trailed his lips down to your collarbone, each kiss a question. "Should I start here?"

Your arms found their way around his neck, pulling him even closer. The realization that you were crossing a line was there, in the back of your mind, but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming need to be close to him.

Breathless, hearts racing, you both surrendered to the moment. He pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. In an instant, his lips found your collarbone once more, trailing down to your chest. "Or here?" His warm, wet breath brushed against your skin. His fingers dug into your hips.

"Gojo," you breathed out, unable to say anything other than his name.

"What is it, sweetheart? Tell me, where do you need it?" He placed soft, lingering kisses down your chest until he reached your breasts. The sensation sent a wave of warmth through you as he kissed the skin right above the hem of your bra.

Then, in one fluid motion, Gojo knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours. He lifted one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder. With his hand, he pushed the other away, spreading your legs apart. Unable to support yourself on the table any longer, you leaned back.

He continued, placing kisses over the fabric of your jeans, from your knee up to your thighs. "How do you like it here?"

He persisted in his journey up to your sensitive spot, mere inches away from it, his face nestled between your legs. "Tell me, should I start here, sweetheart?"

Overwhelmed, you leaned back further on the table, resting on your elbows for support. Then, accidentally, you pushed the glass container holding the brain, causing it to tip over. The preservative liquid spilled across the table, drenching both of you. You sat up abruptly.

Gojo pulled back. "Did you just spill brain fluid on us?"

"I guess I did," you admitted, still trying to process what had just happened. Here you were, in the middle of a lab, drenched in preservation fluid from a human brain, right before... well, you'd rather not think about it.

Gojo stood up, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Well, that's one way to cool down." He offered you a hand to help you stand up properly. "We should call it quits for today."

You stood, glancing down at your drenched jeans, still feeling the remnants of his kisses and touches on your heated skin.

He leaned in. "You know, if you wanted to get me wet, there are far more enjoyable ways to do it." Then he backed away with a playful smirk.

Back home, you tossed your shampoo bottle into the trash.

─── ·✧· ───

The day of the surgery had finally arrived.

You methodically scrubbed your hands and arms, the sterile scent of the hospital soap filling the room. Through the window, you could see the young patient being prepared in the operating room. He smiled nervously as the nurse inserted the anesthesia needle into his arm. 

Is he more nervous or are you? Perhaps you.

The observation gallery was filling up with hospital staff and the usual press, setting up cameras to document the high-stakes surgery. The weight of their gazes, even from a distance, was palpable, intensifying the pressure.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Gojo hadn't arrived yet. Your heart rate quickened slightly. You reminded yourself that Gojo's hand had been functioning perfectly in the days leading up to the surgery. There was nothing to worry about, right?

Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm yourself. As you continued your preparations, the door to the washing room opened, and Geto stepped in.

"Geto," you greeted him, trying to mask your surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to wish you luck," he replied with an easy smile. "But I guess you're so prepared you won't need any."

"Thank you."

"I'll be cheering on you from the observation gallery."

You nodded. After a moment of silence, you said, "Do you know where Gojo is? He should have been here by now."

Geto's brow furrowed. "Hm? I'm not sure, actually. He didn't mention anything to me about being late."

Your stomach turned. It was unlike Gojo to be late, especially on a day like this. "I need to find him," you said, removing your gloves.

"Should I come with you?"

"No, I'll be fine."

You hurried out of the washing room, your mind racing. Where could Gojo be? Was it because of his hand? Or something else? You quickened your pace, moving through the corridors of the hospital, checking every possible place where Gojo could be.

Pulling out your phone, you called Gojo's number. But he didn't answer. You tried calling again, each ring echoing your growing anxiety. Still, silence.

You reached his office. The door was shut and no one answered when you knocked. Taking a deep breath, you cautiously opened it and peered into the dimly lit room.

The blinds were drawn, casting the office in near darkness. Your eyes adjusted, and that's when you saw him—Gojo, slumped against the wall, his legs sprawled on the floor, head tilted back.

Your heart sank as you saw him.

No.

No.

This can't be real.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. You knelt in front of him. Gently, you cupped his pale face in your hands, urging him to look at you. His usually sharp eyes were unfocused as they struggled to fix on you.

No doubt.

"Satoru," you whispered, his first name escaping your lips. There was no need to address him by his last name anymore, was there?

Not anymore.

His slightly glassy eyes flickered, showing a glimmer of recognition, but he seemed distant, lost in a world of his own—clouded by whatever substance he had taken.

The realization hit you hard.

"Satoru," you called his name again, more urgently this time. 

His lips parted, an attempt at speech, but only a slurred, indistinct sound emerged. It was painful to see him like this, to witness the downfall of a person you respected and cared so deeply for. Your skin run cold with fear.

"Fuck, Satoru what are you doing?" you asked, your fingers tenderly stroking his cheek. You needed answers, but more than that, you needed to understand why. 

Why? 

Why today?

Why Satoru?

You shook him slightly, trying to get any response from him. "Satoru, answer me!"

His focus sharpened slightly, and he murmured, "God, you look so beautiful today."

You shook your head. "What are you saying?"

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, fighting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm you. Right now, you needed to be strong—for him, for the patient waiting in the OR, and for the team depending on you both.

"We need to call this surgery off," you said as you tried to stand up but his grip on your wrist halted you.

"No, wait!" he said. "We can't call it off."

"What?"

"There's too much at stake. If we don't go through with it today, the project will be dead. The funding, everything we've worked for, will be lost."

"Are you insane? You're fucking high, you can't operate!"

He tilted his head up to meet your gaze. "You can."

Gojo's words hit you like a ton of bricks. "You are insane." You stared at him. "I can't do that."

"You're prepared for this," he countered, gaining a semblance of clarity in his speech. "You know the procedure inside and out. You've practically done it already."

"Don't ask this of me, Satoru," you pleaded, feeling the weight of the responsibility he was trying to place on your shoulders.

Shakily, he stood up, his hands gripping your shoulders. "You can do it," he insisted. "I know you can and I'll be there to assist you."

"Geto is also here, he should do it. "

"Suguru hasn't trained for this specific approach. He won't be able to do it without harming the patient. But you can."

"Then we call it off!" you raised your voice, feeling trapped.

"No, you should do it. You need to do this."

You stared at him, lost for words. The intensity in Gojo's eyes was undeniable, his grip on your shoulders firm yet pleading. "You are the only one who can do this now. And I'll be there to guide you. You have the skills, the knowledge. You've done it before, you can do it again."

"This is insane. You can't assist in your condition," you whispered, holding back tears.

"Give me a few minutes and I'll be ready. I swear."

You studied his face, the redness in his eyes betraying his current state. "Fuck, Satoru. Why are you making me do this?"

"You can do it, I know you can."

Silence.

You nodded.

Stepping into the OR your heart raced. Sweat broke out on your forehead. You moved as if in a trance, the reality of the situation numbing your senses. You and Gojo scrubbed up, then walked into the OR where the patient lay prepped and waiting.

You took your position at the operating table where Satoru was supposed to stand. You could feel the weight of numerous eyes on you; could hear them whispering, but no one dared to say anything. Not with Satoru Gojo beside you. No one dared to question him.

Your eyes darted to the gallery. You saw Geto rise from his seat, his brows furrowed as he stepped closer to the glass in front of him.

"Ignore him," Gojo whispered beside you. "Focus on what's in front of you."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you turned your attention back to the patient, the ridiculous young patient lying open skull in front of you.

Then you held out your hand to Satoru. "Scalpel, please."

─── ·✧· ───

The clapping around you was a distant sound, barely reaching your ears as you stepped back from the operating table. The surgery was a success. Stress and adrenaline abruptly left your body, leaving you feeling suddenly empty and nauseous.

You run over to the corner of the OR, barely making it to the trash bin before succumbing to the overwhelming urge to vomit. Your body shook with each heave.

The whole room suddenly fell silent.

After vomiting into the trash bin, your body shaking from the sudden release of tension, you pushed your way out of the OR. You heard Satoru call your name, but chose to ignore it. You needed space; you needed to get away from him.

You rushed through the sterile corridors of the hospital. Finally reaching a bathroom, you locked yourself in, pressing your back against the door as you fought to steady your breathing.

The clinical smell of the bathroom was sickening. 

The sterile exterior felt sickening. 

Everything felt sickening in that moment.

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the remnants of nausea and regain your composure.

Fuck, you whispered. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

Fuck!

Your hands clenched tightly around the edge of the sink, knuckles white with tension. Tears brimmed in your eyes, threatening to spill over, but you willed them back.

Why did it feel like your heart was being torn to shreds?

Your breaths came in rapid succession, shallow and uneven, as panic threatened to take over. But you couldn't let it. Not now. Falling apart was not an option. You forced yourself to take slow, deliberate breaths.

Inhale. Exhale. 

Inhale. Exhale.

With one final, deep breath, you pushed open the bathroom door. Pulling out your phone, you called Geto without hesitation. "Where are you?" you demanded, cutting through any pleasantries.

"In my office."

You hung up and marched straight to his office, pushing the door open without bothering to knock.

"When did you want to tell me he's a fucking addict?" You yelled at him.

Geto stood up, his hands planted firmly on his desk. "When did you want to tell me you're fucking him?" he shot back, his voice equally furious.

You didn't even spend the breath to correct him. 

You approached him. "I didn't know my love life concerns you that much."

"Don't you get it? He's your professor, he's lecturing you, you're working on this project together that could shape your whole career. What was that even about just now? Why did you do the surgery?"

"Because Gojo was high, damn it! He was fucking high!" Your frustration boiled over, your hands tugging at your hair as you paced the room.

"You should have called off the surgery! What were you thinking?"

"Huh?" You turned to him. "What I was thinking? What were you thinking? Why didn't you tell me? You knew, didn't you?"

He sank back into his chair, tilting his head back as he let out a heavy sigh. "I thought he had it under control."

Was he for real?

"Under control?" you hissed. "Since when do addicts have their addiction under control?"

The room fell silent.

"You should have told me, Geto," you said as you sat down on the chair in from of his desk. 

Geto leaned forward, rummaging through his coat pocket. He retrieved a cigarette and lighter. As he lit it, the flame briefly illuminated his face in a warm, orange glow. The cigarette's tip crackled softly, the smoke curling upwards in lazy spirals.

"Smoking in the office now?"

As he took a slow drag, the cigarette's cherry end burned brighter, and he inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs. A sense of calm seemed to wash over him, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly as he exhaled a thin plume of smoke into the room.

"Does it matter anymore?" he said as he took another drag from his cigarette. He leaned back, the creak of the leather chair punctuating the silence. His dark eyes were fixed on you. Wisps of smoke curled around him.

"When did it start? With Gojo?" you asked him.

His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly as he continued to study you. Then his eyes drifted away for a moment.

"It started back in our university days," he finally said. "Satoru was always the charismatic one, the life of every gathering. Back then, it was just for fun, a way to let off steam, to unwind after exam periods."

The ember of his cigarette glowed brighter with each drag, casting a faint light on his face. "But over time it got worse. The occasional use became more frequent, and he lost control. He started needing the drugs just to get through the day. On good days, he could mask it, but on the bad ones..."

He trailed off.

"He tried to quit, to get clean, but it's... he developed such a high tolerance for it that he could easily take drugs and still function. Eventually, he became an expert at hiding his addiction."

Your stomach tightened. The truth felt like a heavy stone on your chest, and it refused to go away. Then your phone rang with a message. Startled, you reached for it. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw the name.

[5:43 PM] Gojo: Where are you?

"Message from your lover?" Geto asked dryly, rising from his seat to get something out of a cupboard.

You tucked your phone back into your pocket. "He wants to know where I am." 

"Of course he wants to know." Geto remarked, returning to his desk with a bottle and two glasses. He poured a rich, dark liquid into the glasses, sliding one towards you.

"I don't really drink," you said, observing him take a sip of his whiskey.

"What a shame."

"What happens to the project now?" 

Geto laughed. "The project? It was a full success, wasn't it? The neurotranplant worked. The surgery worked. The media will love the story of a young, brilliant surgeon performing such a groundbreaking procedure. They'll be even more fascinated when they find out you're still a student."

"You find this amusing?"

"Not really. It's my project, after all," he replied, taking another sip. He set his glass down, his gaze meeting yours. "They'll want you to lead more surgeries like this one, to further validate the technique."

"I don't think I can do that again. Just the thought of it makes me sick."

Your phone vibrated again.

[5:48 PM] Gojo: Where the hell are you?

[5:48 PM] Gojo: Talk to me.

You stared at the screen.

"You want to go to him?"

"No." Without hesitation, you reached for the glass of liquor, tilted your head back, and swallowed the drink in one fluid motion. The alcohol burned in your throat. "I want to leave."

"Should I drive you home?" 

"No, I'm fine," you said, setting the empty glass back on the desk with a slight clink.

─── ·✧· ───

After leaving Geto's office, you made your way to the elevator, lost in thought. The doors slid open, and you were jolted back to reality by the sight of Satoru leaning against the wall inside the elevator. His eyes looked up at you.

No way.

Before you could react or step aside, the people behind you, caught up in their own hurry, pushed forward, shoving you into the elevator. The confined space forced you to stand close to Satoru, your back to him.

The elevator began its descent. The people around you chattered, but you felt that the silence between you and Satoru was louder. You could feel his presence only centimeters away. The close quarters left no room for avoidance, and you were acutely aware of every breath Satoru took.

The elevator ride felt like an eternity, each second stretching out as you struggled to maintain your composure.

"You smell like smoke," Satoru observed quietly.

"Are you still high?" you retorted under your breath, not turning to face him.

"I'm good."

"You're good?" you echoed. "How can you even say that after what happened today?"

"You're angry."

"Angry is an understatement," you replied, turning slightly.

He leaned closer, wrinkling his nose. "Did you drink?" he asked, a bit too loudly. "Are you drunk?"

"It's none of your business, Satoru."

As the elevator stopped and its doors slid open, you saw your chance to escape and quickly maneuvered through the crowd. You wanted to put as much distance between you and him as possible.

The lobby of the hospital was a blur as you rushed through it, Satoru's voice calling after you, but you ignored him. You wanted nothing more than to get away from him.

You pushed through the exit doors and stepped outside, only to be greeted by a heavy downpour. The rain drenched you almost instantly, but you hardly noticed.

His footsteps splashed behind you. "Talk to me!" he called out, his voice barely audible over the sound of the pouring rain.

You quickened your pace, the rain streaming down your face. Your heart ached as you tried to distance yourself from the situation, from Satoru, from everything.

"Enough of this crap already! Talk to me!"

"Leave me alone, Satoru!"

"Then just tell me!" he implored, his tone desperate. "Tell me, will it ever stop?"

You halted, but didn't turn to face him. The rain was relentless, soaking through your clothes, matting your hair against your face. "What do you mean?" you called over the downpour.

"Wanting you—every damn second of every fucking day. I don't think I can take it anymore."

His words cut through the sound of the rain, raw and unguarded. For a moment, you were speechless, his confession hanging heavily in the air between you. You slowly turned to face him, seeing in his eyes a tumult of emotions that mirrored your own.

"Satoru—," your voice barely rose above the rain.

"I can't ignore it," he said, taking a step towards you, closing the gap. "I've tried, believe me, I've tried. But it's always there—you are always there."

Your heart pounded against your chest as he stopped mere inches away from you. Raindrops trickled down his face, cascaded down his striking white hair, which clung to his forehead and temples.

"So tell me," he urged. "Will it ever stop? Because I don't know if I can take it much longer."

You were both soaked to the skin, standing in the middle of the downpour, the world around you blurring into insignificance.

"It's killing me, pretending not to want you is killing me," he said quietly.

He stepped closer. His hands reached out, gently cupping your face.

Then, he kissed you.

Without warning, without permission.

Without even deciding to do it, simply because he couldn't not do it.

His lips pressed firmly against yours, molding to their contours as if they had been crafted to fit together. The world around you faded away, leaving only the sensation of his warm breath mingling with yours, the electrifying touch of his fingers on your cheek, and the intoxicating taste of his mouth.

Your hands found their way to his rain-soaked shirt, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. His mouth moved hungrily against yours, and you responded in kind, as if trying to convey all the unspoken words and feelings that had lingered between you for far too long.

As the rain poured down, you tasted rainwater mixed with his unique flavor, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. You finally gave in to the undeniable pull that had drawn you together, allowing it to consume you completely.

Because that's how it felt. Satoru Gojo consumed you.

His tongue grazed your lower lip, seeking permission to explore further, and you willingly granted access. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth, caressing and teasing, his urgency and intensity increasing with each passing second.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. Your bodies pressed closer together. His hands roamed your body with a newfound boldness, tracing the curve of your waist, the small of your back, and the nape of your neck. Each touch sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but respond in kind, your fingers tangling in his hair.

But as you kissed, the reality of what had just happened crashed over you like the waves of the rainstorm around you. In that fleeting moment, you hesitated, and Satoru pulled back.

Separated now, both of you stood there, breathless and drenched by the rain. He lowered his forehead to rest against yours. His arms remained loosely around you. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No, it's... don't speak."

You both stood there under the relentless downpour, the rain streaming down your face, mirroring the tears that had started to well up in your eyes. Satoru reached up to tenderly brush away the tears that slipped down your cheeks.

The silence stretched between you, filled with words you were too afraid to say.

Then you pushed away and turned.

You walked away.

He didn't follow you.

─── ·✧· ───

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

x a/n: let the angsty and hurtful part of the story begin haha. as always thank you for reading ♡

🏷️  @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved

#gojo saturo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #professor satoru gojo #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo #jjk x you #jjk

[mxynxz]

Dr. Strange HC’S (both fluff and smut)

I was talking about some hc’s with me and my friend @prplequinox about strange and some were so good i figured im going to list them all in one message! have fun!

warnings !!  (these warnings are only for the ones listed under the smut part. so don't worry if you're only here for the fluff) 

bondage // chocking // public sex // face fucking 

(let me know if i forgot any warnings lol)

FLUFF:

● he LOVES calling you by nicknames, hun, darling, baby, sweetheart, ect. he’d literally forget your name bcus he never uses it (˵ᵕ̴᷄ ᗜ ᵕ̴᷅˵)

● like everybody knows, he is the Master of the Sanctuary in New York. but obviously hes also yours.. "I'm the master of this sanctuary, yeah, but also yours"

● i guess he COULD have a daddy kink..? i mean, imagine him say this: ‘‘everybody calls me doctor, but you should call me daddy.’‘

IDK ITS JUST AAHHHGFSFHJGAFDSAJ ᵉʰᵉʰᵉ(*/∇＼⭒)

● he really cares SO MUCH of you, he would shush you when you had a bad nightmare. maybe he’ll even take you to an universe where this thing lives and murders it right in front of you.

‘‘dont worry, its dead now. you dont have to be scared anymore, mkay?’‘ *hug*

 ‘’Stephen! you're all covered in monster guts.. now i smell like trash!’’

 ‘’oops... i guess we’ll have to shower then.. together.’’

● so, Stephen finally got over Christine, but you cant help to be extra flirty with him whenever shes around. showing her what shes missing... he knows what youre up to, so he’ll gladly play along.

● AFTER CARE !!! like mentioned earlier he cares so much abt u and he would want you to be as comfortable as possible. so after... yk.. you guys did ur thing. he’d grab water and snacks for you. and even tho you like laying on his chest most. he’ll grab lots of pillows for you to get comfy with. 

maybe he’ll even treat you with a shower afterwards.

● talking abt showers... 

so, you're both showering. you can’t quite reach his head to wash his hair. so he bows down for you, he loves it when you wash his hair and massage his head.

but i think we all know the true reason why hes bowing his head down.. (*°ヮ° *)

● its winter, you’re sitting on his lap in a big armchair near the fireplace. even tho the fires burning and his arms are wrapped tightly around you, you're still freezing cold. Stephen notices you're goosebumps and shivers, so he grabs his big warm cloak and wraps it around you.

● this one is more from my perspective, since i dont only think strange is hot. i also thinks hes so fucking awesome and cool (im a huge nerd abt astronomy n the mutliverse ect soo-)

you'd be looking up to him, you also want to be able to use magic and fight by his side. tho he keeps refusing. he wants to protect you and get you as far as possible from any danger.

● he loves showing everyone you're his. when going to a party with him he cannot get his hands off of you, they’re either on your shoulder or your butt.

he also hates it when your male friends touch you, even if its just a hug or massage, he’ll get annoyed and throw his drink all over him using his magic.

● you’re literally his teddy bear, he loves to hold you when sleeping and wont let go

● he loves it when you trace his scars on his hands with your fingers slowly

SMUT:

● he LOVES chocking you/pinning you down, but he does really care about you. so once he sees you're uncomfortable he will stop immediately

● imagine his cloak tying you up or holding your legs open..  (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

● he loves to fuck you in public places. but you're still uncomfortable about the fact that people could just be walking by and seeing you 2. so he opens a mirror dimension and fucks you there (˵ᵕ̴᷄ ᗜ ᵕ̴᷅˵)

● this one is really kinky... yk the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak right? the armor thingy strange threw on Kaecilius which made him unable to move.. (you can see where this is going). he would throw it on you and face fuck you definitely. (if you search up an immage of it you can see that your head would be at the exact height of his crotch.... TOES ARE CURLING AT THIS ONE SHDJSHA

● you guys are both feeling kinda horny so you start kissing, strange pushes you back (into which you were thinking was a wall) but instead he opened a portal behind you making you fall onto his bed.. and there it continues~

● he would def groan when you make him feel good, but groaning as in like.. little growls if yk what I mean (I'm not sure how to explain)

● THIS ONE IS DEF MY FAV- 

hes just done with you, you look like a mess. so he uses The Eye of Agamotto on you to reverse it and clean you up. but hes not done.. hes going in for a second round.. maybe even 3rd after...

● he absolutely loves your eye contact.. staring into you're e/c eyes makes him comfortable. 

but one look away and a punishment awaits..

THATS IT GUYS I HOPE U ENJOYED DHGJAGHDAGHDAS this is the link to my friends account who helped me think of the hcs!

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/prplequinox

#doctorstrange #drstrange #stephenstrange #doctorstephenstrange #dr strange #doctor strange #marvel #dr strange hc #multiverse of madness #MoM #DSITMOM #dr strange x y/n #dr strange x reader #dr strange x f!reader

[strawberrystepmom]

izuku x f!reader. reader is referred to as wife, he is referred to as husband, reader has a defined and briefly mentioned career. wife guy deku compilation indeed.

Hey, have you seen this?

Your screen lights up with a text message from one of your closest friends, another message with a link to a video following quickly after and you tilt your head to the side at your desk reading the title of the video.

“Deku Wife Guy Compilation”

It makes you chuckle to see these terms stitched together, something that would probably not make much sense to your blissfully offline-as-he-can-be husband, but you understand what it means and press the link to open the video. It takes a moment to load and you jiggle your foot impatiently as it does, abandoning what you were last working on to focus as he comes onto the rectangle screen.

“My wife is the best,” filters through your phone speakers as clear as day and you smile despite yourself, the familiar butterflies you get every time you look at him blooming beneath your ribs.

“First of all, I want to thank my wife.”

“My wife is the true savior in our household, she’s a doctor…”

“My beautiful ____, my wife, my heart.”

“None of this would be possible without my wife so please give her a hand.”

It’s a three minute video stitching together every time he has mentioned you in victory speeches and press interviews and the like and it makes you wonder what people could be saying. You’re no stranger to running into the stray hater online yet you scroll down to the comments section, eyes widening when you see it filled with nothing but admiration for the strong foundation of love your marriage is built upon.

iluvchargebolt: man, i hope i’m loved like this someday :’)

momospantyliner: The way his eyes light up when he says her name at 0:48…beautiful.

Allmightisalright07: Reminds me of how i used to talk about my wife when she was still with us. They are certainly soulmates.

In comparison to other comment sections you’ve scanned in the past, this one makes you feel very warm in comparison and you feel the need to look away after being perceived by so many people who don’t even know you. Izuku’s love is so evident for you even strangers see it from a mile away, they can hear it in the soft way his tongue caresses your name like he’s kissing you every time he says it.

You put your phone down and turn back to your work, letting the video play over the speaker just to hear his voice when your screen lights up again and vibrates on top of your desk. Another text from the same friend, another link.

There are 10 of these omg

Another link pops up on your screen in a blue bubble, this time to a playlist containing videos in the same fashion as the first. Deku Wifeguy Compilation 1-10. Giggling to yourself, you press play and let the playlist run, each video growing in length with the shortest at 3 minutes and the longest at just over 10, your eyes widening realizing that he loves you so much there are videos worth of him simply stating it over and over and over again.

The same compulsion that led you to check the comments section on the first video takes over and you decide to pause the playlist and read, scanning the comments for anything you could potentially use as fodder to be angry about later.

shotopleasereturnmycalls: damn…i really am single.

Redriotsarmpithair9680: Love like this is rare. So glad our beacon of hope has a safe place to land after he’s done keeping us safe <3

You don’t dare to go any further lest you do see something you won’t like, keeping the video paused and locking your phone to set it aside and reflect. It’s strange to live a life so public and private all at once, hiding some parts and sharing the others, but you’re grateful the most consistent thing about Izuku is that he has never wanted to do anything but shine his light on you, to make you the spotlight of his world and everything about him.

Abruptly you pick your phone up and slide the screen upward, the messages app filling your screen. You click out of the thread with your friend and into the one with Izuku and you type out three simple words, the ones that you feel all day every day.

You: I love you.

Miles away, he looks down at his phone screen and snaps a quick picture of himself grinning, scrunching his nose, freckles barely visible thanks to the low light and bad angle but it’s all him - silly and sweet and sincere. He sends it off with the three simple words he feels about you in return, all day every day.

Izuku: I love you too, my perfect wife.

#deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #kendall writes

[akunoniwa]

Doctor's Note

Synopsis: In which you get diagnosed and treated by your local Dr. Demon

Pairing: Gaap (Ars Goetia) x fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, essentially just... demon fucking...

WC: ~4.5k

He’d already know your body too well, exactly where to touch and how, seeing as he’s a seasoned doctor. It didn’t matter that you’d only visited him just this once, he knew exactly what ailed you. 

An excuse.

You’d read all about him, as you’d heard he takes phenomenal care of his patients, but an unusual sense of pride kept you from submitting to your curiosity. Until now.

“It’s strange…” He began, his voice buoyant despite its density. He’d done all of the typical procedures, asking about your medical history, taking your blood pressure, but he feigned ignorance of your real intent. He wanted to entertain your coyness, as it’s nothing new… But you seemed particularly delectable, as he recognized you’re not one easily swayed.

His wanting to change the subject naturally had you alert, waiting for him to continue with suspended brows.

“You’d made this appointment with an air of reasoning as if I’d find something wrong?” His eyes did not raise, as his gaze was focused on his pen lacing ink into quick, ornate letters on the report. The sound of the dextrous and hasty ballpoint imprinting strings of words onto the page somehow spoke of his personality to you… It was oddly fascinating to watch.

You were skeptical of this remark, as you’d made no obvious note of this being your motive, it’s merely a regular physical, “I just haven’t been keeping up with my health, and you were recommended to me…”

He gently huffed out what almost seemed to be a smug scoff, setting his clipboard on the counter behind him. You still sat propped up on the observation table, feeling almost infantilized by the way your feet barely reached the step-down.

“There’s just one last step, I need to check your lungs and heart…” You noted that he didn’t keep the stethoscope around his neck but rather it was hung on the wall. 

Within your reading up on him, you were quickly put on to why he was so ‘renowned’. Yes, he was genuinely an accomplished scholar, particularly in women’s health, but… Men and women alike would rave about how he’d ‘take care of them’ like no one else… You couldn’t snuff these thoughts out as he neared you from the side.

“If I may pry, who recommended me?” He hesitated to place the diaphragm against you. You felt disgusted by the way you were becoming increasingly aware of his proximity. 

“Just a coworker, we were chatting about how negligent I am when it comes to my doctor visits… I know I need to pay more attention.” You gave an earnest response, trying to dilute any suggestive thoughts, though they were growing unbearably potent.

He hummed in acknowledgment with a considering pout, carrying on with checking your upper back, the cold of the bell piece cutting through your blouse, “Deep breath in…” He guided, almost lifting you with his voice

“And despite having a previous physician, you chose me?” He paused, “Breathe out.” He repositioned the diaphragm slowly against your back. He noticed your breath was tense instantly, trying to stifle any satisfaction in this. Your heart rate undeniably went up as he neared questionable territory with his interrogating.

“I was intrigued, my last doctor was not the most compassionate.” Your reasoning was quick, perhaps justified, but he liked the way your breath hitched as he moved around your back.

“One last breath in…” His voice rose as if he was holding the same breath, “And out.”

He rounded to your front, standing before you, “Just breathe as you normally would here.” He placed the piece in the center of your chest as you tried to avoid looking directly at his face. He was so close, you were in his sphere of scent, a delicately botanic, smoky kind.

“I said to breathe normally.” He asserted again with a small grin, “You just cannot seem to relax…”

“A doctor’s office isn’t particularly comforting.” Your eyes shot as far away from seeing his expression as possible, your cheeks tarnished with faint embarrassment.

“Is that what it is? Your blood pressure was entirely normal earlier… Perhaps there is something amiss with you…” His words dragged and coiled around you, reminiscent of his handwriting, aptly stringing you along.

You’ve been caught, pressing your lips together in a bashful attempt to not say something ridiculous, “And what might that be.” You maintained a level tone as best as you could.

He still held the scope in place, enjoying how you writhed, your breaths smaller, not so much frantic, but unsteady. He was surely staring at your face from his elevated angle, you could feel his gaze on you as if you were an ant under a magnifying glass.

His prior facade of professionalism dropped elegantly like a theater curtain, heavy as he leaned into you, his lips inches from your ear, “You know exactly why you came here, how long would you like to continue rehearsing this scene?”

Your frenzied heart rate was enough to drive him wild, but he knew how to keep tempo.

“... I…,” You were at a loss, not wanting to hear much more of your meek voice. His heat radiated over your whole body, voice seeping into you.

“I’ll show you compassion just this once,” His words were bowed with an audible grin, “Only if you can report to me what exactly brought you here. Truly.” He finally hung the scope to idle around his neck, wanting to hear your every syllable, even if they wavered.

Your words certainly didn’t come easily, “I was curious why you’d received such appraise… And I wanted to find out for myself.”

“You know what I am and what I do, and still sit here as if I have to evaluate you to find out your pitiful deficiencies.” You hadn’t noticed your legs instinctually parted to allow him closer, “You want me to assess your body, in more ways than one.”

“Is this not malpractice, you acting this way, doctor?” Your voice had surely withered under the weight of anticipation.

He was more moved by your calling him ‘doctor’ than he should have been, as it’s something he hears all the time… Your voice, strained and borderline needy, rearranged the word in his mind, “I’ll give you any version of malpractice you prefer, darling.” He finally distanced his face to align with yours, seeing your slipping guise from inches away.

“What would you prescribe to someone with my so-called pitiful deficiencies?” You playfully continued the bit, you both intertwined in the teasing like strands of a rope.

“Hmm… I may need a closer look, after all, just to ensure… May I?” You were caught off guard by his genuine concern about touching you.

“I can’t just go home untreated, can I? Whatever you need to do to cure me of these deficiencies, please…” You realized you’d properly left your decency and pride tied to a light post outside of the clinic.

He took in a breath himself, overwhelmed by your eager presence… No demon should have this much power without checks and balances… He salivated at the thought of ravaging you, tipped by your trailed ‘please’.

His hand, gloved in blue latex, rose to rest against your cheek as he showed you a doting look, “Stand up for me…”

You managed to still have a tinge of reservation, hesitating for barely a second. But, you both knew why you were here, there were no secrets to hang onto. You obliged as his hand fell, he stepped back allowing you some room. You had to admit, you were susceptible to his towering height as he scanned over you, somehow the silence served more to tension than awkwardness.

“To ascertain accurate results… These lovely clothes just won’t do, I regret to say…” He continued his character pretending to be upset by this. He stepped into you once again, an index finger pulling at your belt to undo the buckle, snaking it off of you through the loops. Even the mere sensation of this in tandem with your anticipation was starting to gnaw at you.

Along with the stethoscope, he hung your belt around his neck, “Perhaps this could be useful… Go ahead and strip for me darling, this could serve my research well.”

You committed to this energy, removing everything that clouded your bare form as he watched, head cocked observingly as he leaned back against the counter. Only the sound of clothes slipping against skin flooded the space. His eyes swayed and lingered over every detail, his hands anchored to the counter’s edge at either side of him, looking nonchalantly imposing.

“Any prognosis?” You called to him as he had to tear his eyes from your body.

“Oh, it’s severe, seeing as you just willingly stripped naked for someone of my ilk.” He closed in on you again, unable to resist playing with you.

His rubbery hands reached to entrap you, starting from your ribcage, thumbs briefly brushing over your nipples. He spared no specific attention to any one thing, sliding down over your waist, to your hips. He watched his hands as you watched his faded eyes, even his blinks were languid as he felt you observing him.

“Turn around.” It was an order, but his voice still floated above your head as you obeyed, turning in his grasp.

He hummed, pleased as his touch rose to your shoulders, then dragged torturously to your ass. Although you were not instructed, it felt as if you were once again holding onto a breath, releasing as composed as you could manage as his hands groped your flesh, “These are quite nice… Typically they look better in a red… Or maybe…” His words wandered off to somewhere unknown, a hand rising to push at your upper back, forcing you to bend forward.

“You’re very compliant, darling.” You felt an acidic wave of lust roll through you at his thoughtless praise.

By the silence, you judged he was certainly made aware of your most deficient parts, your cunt probably more obviously intrigued than anything else.

“Hmm… This is most likely where your problem lies…” A latex-clad finger made faint contact with your clit, causing your thighs to twitch at the attention, to which he chuckled through his nose, “Severe indeed.” His hand pushed you down further causing you to be on maximum display as his feather-light touch grazed up to find your glistening hole. You bit your lip, but harder on a groan you attempted to constrict.

“Don’t hold back, I need you to communicate with me so I can know what’s wrong.” You were still caught up by how nice his fanned hand forcing you down onto the observation table made you feel, let alone his meandering touch. You could envision how lewd it looked, the image making you falter.

His index finger still lingered around your hole in no particular manner, as if he was genuinely taking note of your anatomy, “Surely you’re aware… Typically when your cunt is this soaked…” His upper half leaned over your folded form, wringing you out with his heady demeanor, “It means you desire something desperately.”

Your head inadvertently raised to try and close any gap between you, craning up in aroused dejection. You could feel him pressed against you, he was undoubtedly having his fun.

“Does this align with your symptoms?” A hand wound under your left arm, snaking to wrap underneath your jaw, forcing you closer to his voice, “Tell me.”

“Yes, doctor.” You choked out, noticing his eyes bloom when you called him that earlier, you decided to use your own trump card.

He groaned above you, his voice blanketing you, “There’s only one thing I know of to treat cases like yours…” He pushed his hips ever so slightly into your backside causing your eyes to flicker, “But you self-diagnosed before you even came to my clinic… Dirty little thing.”

He lifted himself to straighten, “It’s phenomenal, this human form… But it seems you are more excited by my barbaric, obscene interior…” A pair of fingers played at your hole once again, barely pushing into you, “You can’t be satiated by just a human… You want something more. Something diabolic.” Slowly, his fingers progressed as he continued to whirl on, driving you mad with his words.

He could feel that you were clenching, smiling with amusement, “Is this true? You’d prefer to be fucked by a beast like myself?”

How you’d answer that outright, you were initially unsure, but his fingers curled down, adeptly pushing into a perfect spot, “I-I… Yes, I would.” You loved the idea of him fucking you with his latex gloves, something about how sterilizing and surgical it felt.

“You’d like that?” He pressed, establishing a crawling pace with his hand.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“Your cunt is so hot and wet, darling, you may just melt these gloves off…” He mused, basking in your pleasure.

You couldn’t help but let your body sway into his fingers, meeting his pace. Your whole being was throbbing, letting your satisfaction leave you as pants. You were growing more desperate to cum, wanting to coat his fingers with your release, though he pulled his hand away.

“Stand and turn for me, darling,” You did so, though slowly so as to not underestimate your delirium, forced to make eyes with him as he tasted you, “Utterly divine, you taste so sweet…”

You couldn’t help but feel scorn towards him, being made to watch him clean your juices thoroughly from his fingers, “Jesus…” He looked gorgeous, just like that.

“Not quite.” He jested, his fingertips reaching to play at your bottom lip until you allowed access, taking his lithe fingers in your mouth. He watched you intently, beyond himself as it set in that such a pretty little human would stoop so eagerly down to his level.

He gradually pulled his hand away, watching the way your lips wrapped so nicely until the heat of your mouth was but a ghost. He painted a trail of your saliva down your chin, making a mess of you, “Your breasts are lovely too, I must say.” 

He stretched his gloves off, exposing skin with markings that resembled black, veiny cracks. You were not repulsed, quite the contrary, his skin looked like a glass mosaic, his bare hands cupping your breasts. Feeling the rough texture of his skin against yours only amplified his effect.

“Your reactions are too much for me, it’s making it hard for me to keep composure…” He played at your nipples between his thumb and index, making you squirm.

“I didn’t come here for your composure.” You placed your hands on his kintsugi skin, hoping to urge him on.

“I am… well aware, darling.” His hands left you, shouldering off his lab coat, setting your belt to still be within reach, “You’ll need to be fucked back into health.”

As he continued to remove his work attire, he continued to reveal his increasingly onyx skin, the closer to his chest, the more dense the black. It was incredible, you couldn’t help but gawk, to which he smirked almost sheepishly, “Why don’t you sit pretty for me back on the table…”

You were balancing on his every command at this point, loving the feeling that embraced your body in this moment. You hopped back up on the table to face him, spreading your legs to taunt him. He moved routinely to his lower half, adoring how you watched as his trousers fell for him to push aside along with his shoes. You wouldn’t say you were shocked, but his cock was surely not human, three knots that staggered in increasing size from his tip to the base. Immediately, the irresistible thought of him pushing you open, feeling those crevices move your insides… You didn’t think you could grow any wetter.

“I love that expression you’re wearing… The only thing I’ll allow.” His hand wrapped around himself, pumping his bulbous length. You had a paradoxically innocent urge to simply stroke him, of course never having seen this before. You felt sordid for being turned on at the sight of him touching himself right before you.

You took it upon yourself to let a hand find your clit, seeing if this would induce any reaction from him. It most certainly did, an inferno sparked in his chest, let alone his cock, as he watched you play with yourself so deviantly. He was debating… Should he keep dragging you around with his antics… Or are you in such a grave state that you must be cured right this instant? His own heart raved at the possibilities, mind flooded with a mirage of your pretty body doing such horrific things for him.

“What’s on your mind…?” He asked, his hand still cycling in a fluid motion in a stalemate.

“You.” You grinned, “What’s this cure you spoke of?”

Your being direct stoked him, causing him to chuckle deep from his chest, “I think I need to cure you until you’re properly bedridden, darling.”

You pushed your middle and ring finger into your beckoning cunt as you propped a leg up on the table, causing his eyes to immediately shoot to yours, almost in warning, “Please, doctor, I’m at your mercy.”

He let out an undeniable scoff this time, taking a few steps to near you as he grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away, “I fucking hate how you call me that.” He aligned the tip of his alien-looking cock with your hole, that being enough to send shockwaves through you, “Keep doing it.” 

He decided to channel his teasing into you, only pushing his girthy tip inside at a molasses pace, finally coaxing out the most beautiful sounds from you. You both had unanimous thoughts of how good the other felt, your pussy was impossibly soft and plush, his length surprisingly velvety as he angled himself to hit that same delicious spot. You felt your hole stretch around his first, modest knot as he’d continuously remove himself completely to shove himself back inside you.

“Do you think you need more? How do you feel, darling?” His hand gripped your thigh that still rested on the table, squeezing out your reply.

“It feels so good, doctor, but…”

He was awed by the fact you could still be embarrassed to express your needs, he found it almost endearing, “But…?” He pulled out to admire his tip glistening with your creamy slick, waiting for you.

He was going to make you say it, regardless. Even just the sight of his shaft that curved upward so enticingly made you quiver, “I need more.” God, you sounded so whiny and small.

His strong grip on your thigh was alarming, but not unexpected as his first knot slid in with ease once more, though the second demanded more of you. Paired with the stretch, he was starting to push fairly deep into you, finally starting to reorganize your insides as you imagined. You couldn’t tie down a labored ‘fuck’ as he began to thrust at a steady pace. Every time he pushed back into you, an indescribably foreign feeling of being perfectly spread by each knot exploded inside you. You decided to place your hands on his shoulders to keep balance as he hunched over your starved form.

Your moans were of a heavenly timbre he’d never know otherwise as he experimented with pace and angle to see which would make you sing. Your wetness coated the very beginning of his final, large knot as he thrust into you, but you couldn’t imagine it actually managing to fit. Because of its shape, his cock accentuated the squelches from your cunt, the crude sounds seeming to bounce off the walls.

He found another spot deep inside you, concocting a burn, itch, smolder… Every sensation was being triggered as he sheathed into you repeatedly, knowing he had found your sweetest spot, “You can’t even cry… How adorable…” His hand found your cheek once more as his eyes seemed to reach into you, cradling your gaze.

He wasn’t unfazed, in fact, your broken moans were like shards of glassy pleasure in his lower abdomen, he felt deific as he took you. And you took him so well… He’d almost plead to the gods himself if it meant that you’d clench onto him like this eternally. For a demon, he was quite considerate, as he’d never force you, but he wanted so desperately for you to absorb all he had, his final knot prodding at your cunt.

His hands slid to your knees, urging you to wrap your legs around his torso, lifting you as soon as you followed. Gravity lent itself to the intensity as you were slammed down onto him, his hands spread on either side of your ass. While you found yourself nearly unable to make a sound, finally he seemed to begin to crack, his deep moans touching a whole new kind of place inside you.

“You look so cute, your wasted expression…” He held you with one arm wrapped around your back, his other hand playing with your lips, “I wonder how sweet you look when you cum…?”

You could only give him an imploring look, your body being split open.

“My sick little darling…” You felt his final knot manage to slip in a bit further, causing you to cry out in pleasure, “Cum on my cock…” His voice wavered in time with his thrusts.

If you were to refer to any orgasm as explosive, this could be the only one, having never been spread that wide. Luckily he could easily support your form as you convulsed and shattered around him. You could almost immediately be thrown over again as his last knot slipped entirely inside your cunt.

“F-fuck, darling–” He stammered, his face contorted with frustration as he tried not to cum just yet wanting to prolong this moment. You felt so complete as he held you, your head resting on his void for a chest, warming his knots. You wanted to feel his searing load paint your insides, but he merely held your hips in place as you felt his cock tremble inside you.

He managed to move, setting you back down on the table letting you lay back.

“How do you feel…?” His words sounded as if they were squashed and dragged under a shoe, so incredibly tense as he gave your gleaming body a once… or twice over.

You couldn’t control how your cunt continued to squeeze, “So good…”

He wanted more. More of your voice, more of your touch. He decided to pull out, painstakingly slow, somehow, much to his surprise, managing not to implode. You both shared a groan of delight as the sliding friction tore at each other. A ring of your creamy sweet decorated the base of his cock, he watched as your wetness seemed to pour from you as he vacated your hole.

You wanted him to feel good… You had a fiery urge to ensure he was satisfied, almost to a point of not being able to recognize your own mind’s voice.

“Can you stand up one last time… for me?” He sounded pathetic… No human had ever obliterated his senses like this before, he didn’t think it was possible. He found humans to be amusing little toys… Not that you weren’t, but…

You obliged without question, watching as he turned away briefly to grab your belt. Of course his body was chiseled, something he knew appealed to mortal toys like yourself, you got another chance to study him until he faced you again.

He grabbed your wrists, binding them with your belt, and raised them above your head in one hand. He turned you with his other, walking you to the landscape window in his third-story office, having always wanted to do something like this. A foot or two away, he stopped, pressing your top half forward at your wrists, the side of your face and breasts pressed against the freezing glass. You felt so shameless… And so empty as you waited for him to fill you.

“Do you like being humiliated?” His familiar tip danced at your used hole, “Answer.” His domineering words ignited you.

“By you.” You answered candidly, words slightly distorted from your face being held against the window.

“Such a good, slutty little patient you are.” He plunged the entirety of his cock back into you swiftly, obsessed with how his largest knot was absorbed so easily.

“I want you to cum inside me, doctor…” You whined impatiently, completely lost in him.

“I’m sure you fucking do.” His words were shredded between his teeth, “You’d love that. I wish someone could see how fucking bad you want my cum.”

“Please…” You urged him to move, still in disbelief that he buried himself so far.

He was nearly at his own wit’s end, thrusting himself up into you, his hips colliding forcefully against your ass. His free hand was soldered to your waist, ensuring you remain as a statue in this unpleasant pose, it being uncomfortable somehow adding to the storm surge brewing inside you.

“Are you going to cum again, darling?” Your eyes were squeezed shut, just nodding worthlessly against the glass as he cooed so sinfully. “I love seeing you dance so beautifully on my cock, give me all of you.”

His tactic of plunging his entire length into you repeatedly was something you were particularly susceptible to, his knots rolling effortlessly through you, “Fuck… Yes...” His voice was as smoky as his scent, fogging your mind. He slammed into you one final time, holding you tightly against him as you both reached your highs. His thick seed was so hot, coating your walls so deliciously, his pants raining down against your back. You felt strangely resolved like you had served a divine purpose by receiving his cum so impossibly deep.

He pulled your body close by your bound wrists, his chest flush with your back, potting sweet kisses from your neck to your shoulder. It felt as if you could nearly be bound to his pelvis from how tightly you were wound around his shaft. A hand dragged down, letting your arms finally rest as he delicately caressed your breasts, your head falling back against the top of his chest.

“I think you may need a follow-up evaluation,” He cracked softly near your ear, “Your case is particularly serious.”

#wrote this a while ago and tried putting it up on other past blogs... #gaap #ars goetia #monster fucker #monster smut #demon smut #demon x fem!reader #demon x reader #作文

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader, White Wolf x f!reader Word Count: 4k Summary: You meet Bucky while you're in Wakanda and you just can't resist his wolfish charms! Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, dirty talk, role-play, oral sex, fingering, biting (mild) Author's note: This is a gift for @samodivaa, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

You had seen him long before you ever spoke with him. He worked the Alkama Fields on the borders of Wakanda, long strands of brown hair strewn across his face, a small sash tied across his muscular chest. The children called him White Wolf, at least that is what you had overheard. Initially, the adults didn’t speak much about him, preferring to hush you with dismissive gestures.

Your multiple doctorates in anthropology and linguistics had made you one of the top choices to visit the advanced society that had been kept so carefully hidden for so long. King T’Challa had allowed you to visit his kingdom where you would spend a year learning about their culture, languages and history. As soon as you had settled into the guest living quarters you’d been offered, you had gone shopping, wanting to fully immerse yourself into the Wakandan lifestyle and fashion.

It hadn’t taken too long before you had been fully accepted into their society, your cheery demeanor and your willingness to be of assistance to anyone you saw granted you access to places where others may have been shunned as an outsider.

The Dora Milaje had immediately fascinated you, the all-female special forces for Wakanda. They had kindly allowed you to observe their training and you had befriended a few members of the elite squad, including Ayo, Yama and Nomble. It was through them that you learned more about Bucky Barnes. It was only after you heard his name that the memories of the Winter Soldier swam to the forefront of your mind. 

The only reason you had met him was because Ayo had suggested you learn one of the native languages by attending one of the rural schools. You had entered sheepishly and been introduced to the class, who had responded with smiles and waves. It was only when you were directed to a seat in the back that you noticed the supersoldier hunched over and squeezed into a desk in the corner.

He watched your hips swish slightly as you weaved your way between the little bodies dispersed throughout the room. You were wearing your favorite red dress and soon enough it became Bucky's.

*

"I don't normally do this, you know," you smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Bucky held down the button which opened the door to your humble living space, letting you enter before following.

"Do what?" he teased. "Never take strange men home?"

You rolled your eyes and let out a dramatic sigh, nudging him slightly with your elbow as you spoke. "I never let stray dogs into my home. Maybe I ought to put you back outside."

"Out in the cold?" he pouted.

"It doesn't get cold here," you scoffed.

"Well you never know," Bucky shrugged, then flashed you a mischievous grin. "And even if you did, you'd spend all night listening to me scratch and whine at the door. You wouldn't get much sleep."

In Bucky’s mind, the most beautiful sound burst from your lips as you laughed at his words.

"Maybe my puppy dog eyes will work better on you? But be warned, they are pretty powerful," he tilted his head down so his gaze was looking up at yours, lips pouted a little.

"Oh I'm done for now," you feigned a swoon. "Reign it in there buddy, the White Wolf should be using his powers for the greater good."

"I couldn't think of a better cause than being here with you."

You turned around to slip off your shoes while Bucky gazed around at your studio apartment, furnished with some classic Wakandan sofas and woven tapestries adorned the walls. It was beautiful how well the traditional and technological aspects of the culture meshed together.  

"That dress looks pretty special on you, Red."

"Red? You think I'm Little Red Riding Hood?" you asked incredulously.

Bucky shrugged.

"And I suppose that makes you the Big Bad Wolf?"

That made Bucky laugh, a deep unrestrained guffaw. It wasn't a sound you'd heard from him and you wanted to hear it again.

"You think I'm bad?" There was a twinkle in his eye when he voiced the question but there was a touch of hesitation in his voice.

You walked right up to him, until your face was inches away from his, your eyes gazed directly at his lips for a moment or two before you looked up at him and batted your eyelids in a coquettish manner. “I think you can be,” you purred seductively. “You can be big,” you pushed your hand lightly over his crotch, “and bad.” You bit your lip waiting for his response. Every fiber of your being told you that the White Wolf had a wild side, but it was one he kept restrained out of fear of his past. You hope he would trust you to explore it with him.

Slowly but surely, a smile spread across his lips. Bucky tilted his head down to look at you through his eyebrows, a mask of menace painted across his face. “And what brings you to my forest, Red?” he growled.

“I’m sorry for intruding. I was on a little field trip and I think I might be a little lost.” You turned a little to glance around the room in a mock survey of your surroundings. “Do you think you can help me, Mister Wolf?”

Bucky took a step to the side, silent and graceful, creeping around you in a circle, like a predator stalking its prey, sizing you up like his next meal - the curve of your ass, the swell of your breast, the way your throat was highlighted by the neckline of that blood red dress you wore. He was vigilant of your vulnerability, your exposure, his own hunger and desire - the urge to reach out, to touch you, to hold you, to fuck you, was overwhelming.

“You’ll have to pay the price for trespassing in my neck of the woods.”

“But I have nothing to give you, Mister Wolf,” you puffed out your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“How about that pretty red dress you’re wearing? I think that will do very nicely.” Bucky licked his lips, the salacious intent audible in his tone.

“But this is my favorite dress,” you whined.

“Give me the dress, Red. Or I’ll eat you up.”

Bucky took a step forward, towering over you. Even with one arm missing he had a presence, a presence which made your heart flutter uncontrollably. Your breath hitched as you caught a whiff of his scent, his own earthy musk mingled with a hit of sweat from having worked on the fields all day. You could feel your body responding to his proximity as beads of sweat erupted from your skin and the space between your legs throbbed with a desire to be filled. It was as though you craved his touch. He took another step closing the remaining distance between you.

You were so distracted by his closeness that you almost missed him repeating his question. “The dress, Red. Or would you prefer I eat you?”

“What’s to stop you from eating me even after I’ve given you my dress?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

You spun around slowly, allowing Bucky the time to admire your curves. You bit back the moan that tried to escape as his fingers brushed your hips as you turned. He slid them across your waist, trailing them up your back until they landed on the zipper on the back. He pinched the tiny pull between his fingers and tugged it downwards but it barely moved. He tried again with little success. His nose was so pressed so close to your ear that you could hear the quiet growl of frustration in his throat.

“You need help back there, Mister Wolf?”

“No!” he barked, taking the zipper pull between his teeth, while his hand supported the lacy material.

The top of your dress fell from your shoulders in an instant exposing your back and bra. The rest followed with ease, pooling to the floor in a shimmering heap. Bucky smiled, the way your muscles flexed in response to your exposure. He couldn’t help but noticed a dark patch on the front of your panties and how you pushed back into him as he came up behind you.

“You have my dress now, Mister Wolf. Can I go now?” you whimpered.

Bucky wrapped his hand around his waist. “I want more, Red. I want your body.”

It was almost involuntary, how your body responded to his words. You pushed back into him, grinding onto the swell in his pants. Bucky ached, for you to kiss him, for you to let him devour you. He held you closer.

You hummed, “what big arms you have.”

“The better to hold you with.” He covered your breast with his giant palm, kneading your flesh with a longing that had you clenching involuntarily. 

He nibbled your ear and you couldn’t hold your moans in any longer. “Ohh Mister Wolf, what big teeth you have!”

“The better to eat you with.”

You squealed loudly as Bucky’s arm enveloped your waist and lifted you clean off the ground. He practically threw you onto the large round beanbag armchair, your landing softened by the multitude of cushions which cradled your fall.

“No more teasing, Red. You’re going to have to pay with more than that sexy dress.”

He straddled your hips, hovering over you, trapping you. Your body’s instinct was to struggle but it was in vain. His weight had you pinned helplessly to the couch, his throbbing cock pushed against your core. Soaked panties, wet lips, grinding hips. His fist was in your hair as he held you up to his chest. He kissed you, hard - long and deep. It felt like he was sucking the air right out of your lungs. 

“Please, Mister Wolf.” You had no idea what you were begging for at this point, words strewn with lust. “What are you going to do to me?”

The way you looked under him had Bucky seriously testing his control, his cock now painfully hard and straining against the tight material of his pants. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in you, to stretch you out, to hear you scream his name. That animal instinct that he had buried deep inside was clawing its way to the surface, you’d woken the beast and it was hungry after all its years of slumber. You had freed the wolf and now you would feed it.

Bucky grinned at you devilishly. “I’m going to eat you. As stunning as your lips taste, I have my eyes on something sweeter.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he trailed his tongue down your neck, stopping around your breast to suck and nibble at your nipple. Your whole body tingled under his ministrations.

You moaned loudly, no restraint in conveying your pleasure. "More."

"What was that, Red?"

"I want more, Mister Wolf. I've been a bad girl."

He breathed in your perfume, it permeated his nostrils, but he had caught another scent which had attracted his attention, the scent of your arousal. Suddenly he was on his knees on the floor with a grip on your waist, firm but not painful. And the way his fingers curved under your pelvis and pulled you down with ease had you writhing desperately. You lifted your hips expectantly and he ripped off your skimpy panties, exposing you to his salivating mouth. His teeth grazed his lower lip, tongue coating them with the product of his ravenous appetite.

“Please?” you whispered. A hint of uncertainty in your voice as he hovered over you with the stillness of a dangerous predator waiting to pounce.

He smiled, the lecherous glint in his eyes replaced with one of kindness, almost affectionate. He took your left ankle in his hand, lifting your leg, guiding it up and out until he had room to hook his shoulder under your knee. He glanced up at you and nodded his head at your other leg indicating that he wanted you to do the same. You didn’t need to be told twice and matched his actions, linking your feet together on his back.

Immediately his mouth was on your lips with a yearning of a man starved of passion. He licked the full length of them with his broad tongue before pushing his nose between them, nuzzling your pussy with the growing stubble on his chin. He blew against your clit.

“Fuck Bucky, what was that?” you cried, breaking from your character. Impatience and frustration dripped off your words. “Eat me, damn it!”

“What’s the matter, Red? You sound desperate.”

“Please,” you whispered. It was a thinly veiled plea and for once, Bucky was happy to comply.

One last look into your lustblown eyes and he lowered his head, attention focused on you. You tasted of salt and honey with a hint of lemon. He pushed a finger between your folds, tantalizingly rubbing it along the length of your slit before pushing it deep into you. With each thrust he added another digit, testing your stretch.

“Tongue,” you mumbled.

“Mmmm?” Bucky hummed.

“Use your mouth,” you enunciated.

“Your wish is my command,” he grinned.

“Talk less, lick more.”

Bucky pried you apart and planted his lips firmly over your clit, sucking your sweet nectar into his mouth. His tongue lapped you as he slid his fingers in and out.

“Yes, yes, just like that,” you closed your eyes and moaned, tilting your hips to let his fingers push deeper inside you. 

He pressed his face closer, wanting a taste of every part of you. Finally withdrawing his fingers when he couldn’t quite fit both. You barely had time to whine about feeling empty as he grabbed your hips and pulled you right into his face, licking and sucking as though his life depended on drinking every drop of your precious elixir.

You moaned - it was so long and sensual that Bucky felt it inside him. He felt the wolf inside him rising to the surface. He had spent years watching; relentless, trying to find his way inside. You had let him in and now he finally felt alive. He growled, a deep guttural sound which filled you as he devored you. His head undulated as he tried to encompass you with his mouth, upper lip covering your clit as his jaw stretched and tongue pushed inside you. He ravaged you until he had no air left in his lungs.

Bucky’s cock throbbed as he felt the way you clenched against him. He slid his fingers back inside you, his other hand pulling apart your lips and exposing your clit to a fresh assault from his tongue. He could feel your clit pulse, your walls close in around him as he curled his fingers upwards to match the beat you had set with your heart. He was playing you like an instrument and the whimpers and groans that left your lips was music to his ears.

You pushed yourself on him and he ate you like a ravenous creature until-

“Oh Buck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna - Buck, Buck!” Your voice rose in a crescendo. Legs shaking as you tightened and clenched around his thick fingers. “I’m coming, Bucky, I’m coming! Now!”

Bucky watched you as every single one of your muscles contracted and relaxed as waves of pleasure crashed through you, eyes rolled back and mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy.

As you finally came down from your high, you opened your eyes, locking your gaze on his. You lay on your back, limp and naked and tingling all over. Sighing, as the aftermath of your climax finally ebbed away. You lifted your legs off Bucky’s shoulders and patted the space beside you. There was no hesitation as he crawled up beside you.

"That was kinda intense," you smiled at him.

"I wouldn't mind seconds," he smirked, eyes wandering over your face.

You sat up and for a brief frightening moment, Bucky thought you had had enough. But you stretched your arms and arched your back slightly before turning to face him. “So, you think I can take the Wolf for a ride?”

You placed your hand over his still covered cock, rubbing your hand over the tent in his pants making him gasp at your touch. Reflexively, his hips bucked into your hand. “Maybe I should get my pants off first?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” you answered, not taking your hands off him.

Bucky sat up so that his face was inches from yours. “Just need a moment, Red.”

He was up in an instant, lamenting the loss of contact of your hand on his crotch. He unbuttoned and dropped his pants with ease, before turning to face you. The sharp breath you took as you came face to face with his fully freed cock did a lot to stroke his ego. He reveled in the brightness of anticipation in your eyes.

“You really like your Wolf, huh?”

For the first time a blush crossed your cheeks and you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Bucky took a step closer so that there was nowhere for you to avert your gaze. 

"May I?" You looked up at him for permission. 

He nodded, heart pounding from the thought of your touch.

You wrapped your hand around his shaft, feeling him jump with excitement. "That feel good, Mister Wolf?" A sudden surge of confidence had you feeling aroused again.

"Need more, Red."

You didn't need to be told twice. His already leaking tip looked too tantalizing and you were eager to taste your Wolf. With the same enthusiasm, you took him into your mouth, starting with a few soft licks, before sucking hard. Bucky thought he was going to come right at that moment.

“Red, w-wait!” he stuttered as the waves of pleasure encompassed him.

There was a faint popping sound as you released him from your mouth, looking up at him with an all knowing smile. He sat down beside you, spending the next few moments in an intimate silence with light touches. As his breathing became less ragged, you placed your palms on his chest, pushing him down onto his back. You climbed over and straddled his lap so that your entrance brushed over the base of his cock.

You leaned down and whispered in his ear. "So is my White Wolf going to let me ride him?"

Bucky's pupils dilated so fast that the image of you blurred slightly. It was only when you came back into focus that he was able to growl out the words. "I want you."

He held himself up as you lined your entrance up to his leaking member, slowly sinking down and basking in the stretch you felt. So much more than what his fingers had given you, you wondered if he would tear you in half. After a few careful thrusts, you picked up the pace, riding him with vigor.

"Fuck, Red, you feel so good!" Bucky looked up at you.

You were a sight to behold, flushed with strands of sweat coated hair strewn across your face. But it was your eyes that had him mesmerized, the way you looked back at him with voracity laced with a tenderness he hadn't seen in years.

"Harder!"

You complied with his request, matching your bounces with a thrust of his hips. Bucky admired the way your breasts followed your movements, unable to resist the urge, he reached up to squeeze your left nipple. 

After several minutes of energetic thrusting, Bucky caught you slowing down. He slipped his hand down to your waist in an attempt to stay your movements. 

"Can we try something different?” you asked, breathing heavily as you leaned forwards to pull air into your burning lungs and ease the pain in your aching thighs.

“Just gimme a few more. ‘M close.”

“Trust me, Mister Wolf? I wanna give something else a try.”

He removed his grip from your waist, watching as you climbed off his lap and crawled over to the arm rest and planted your hands firmly on it. You looked over your shoulder and wiggled your ass at him.

"Mount me, Mister Wolf."

Bucky didn't need to be told twice. He splayed his fingers across one cheek of your beautifully round ass and kneaded the muscle as you pushed back towards him, waiting with anticipation for him to enter you. But Bucky’s inner wolf had been freed and he let its spirit guide him. He leant forwards and sank his teeth into your other cheek, deep enough for you to yelp with pain but not enough to break your skin. He proceeded to cover the area with his lips in an attempt to kiss it better.

"You want to mark me?"

"You're mine, Red. All mine. Got that?" He rubbed his cock against your leaking lips.

“Yo-”

Before you had the chance to finish giving him an answer, he was inside you. One swift thrust. The cry that left your lips was much more pained and Bucky worried for a moment that his strength had been too much for you.

"It's fine, keep going. Fuck me, please."

Bucky was a little more careful on the second try, but each trust made him more confident, aided and abetted by your lusty moans and encouraging words.

“Bucky-”

“You sound so pretty like that,” he pushed into you repeatedly. “Whining and moaning my name.”

“Bucky!”

“What happened to your Wolf?”

"Please… Bucky… please, I need you,, you know I'm aching for you to take me, to pull me apart, whatever pleases you, just… please just don't deny me!”

It felt so fucking good, having Bucky’s cock inside you. Your brain was nothing but mush, focused solely on just how good he felt inside you. You shuddered, your hips pushing backwards as Bucky presses against your clit. His fingers smooth out around your folds, pressing into them slightly, as if holding them open so he can push into you better. You felt your arms going weak at the stimulation, it was getting harder to support yourself as Bucky pushed deeper and deeper inside you.

“Faster!” you cried, but you could barely hear your own words over the sound of skin slapping together, the wet sounds of Bucky’s cock thrusting in and out of you.

“Fuck, Red, I’m getting close…”

"…Ohhh fuck, please," you gasped out, instinctively. "Buck… I need you. But… I'm yours, all yours…"

Your legs trembled as Bucky’s words had you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, your juices covering his cock, his thrusts were passionate, wild, frenzied.

“That’s right. Mine! I’m going to fill you up. That’s it, Red. Come on my cock. I want to hear you come.”

Raucous moans caught in your throat, your eyes closed as you took in all of Bucky. Your vision clouded and your body felt limp as he pushed you over the edge once again. It felt as though the world had ceased to exist except for the two of you, together, as one being. Bucky held you close as you squeezed his cock triggering his climax. With a howl, ropes of white hot cum shot from him, filling you until it was dripping out of you and down your leg. He fell into you and you both collapsed onto the sofa, heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard in the room for several minutes.

Finally you caught your breath, recovered some semblance of feeling in your limbs. Bucky’s arm was still wrapped around your waist in a powerful embrace and he hadn't made any moves to extract himself from inside you.

"I should probably be getting back," Bucky mumbled regrettably after a long silence.

But neither of you made a move to free yourselves from the other's arms.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #kinktober #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #white wolf

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : dad!Lee Minho x F!Reader TW : childbirth ; slighty suggestive humor once ; it's just fluffy ; it's cute ; Word Count : 1.9k Request : Anonny : okay but i really like that minho pregnancy angst…. do you plan on making part 2 like the after reunited life, her parents’ response or anything? like the post natal life, the moment he held his daughter for the very first time hihi is it too much to ask??? A/N : I absolutely DO plan on making a part two and here it is!! Woohoo!!! Thank you for requesting! It's definitely not too much to ask! Also! I got so choked up writing this, it made me so happy and at the same time so sad that I don't have a man like the fictional Minho in this story!!!

“I’ll be right back, love. I’m just gonna call the guys and let them know she’s here so they won’t make my phone go off all night.” He whispered as softly as possible, not wanting to wake his daughter that he had just laid in the little cot beside your hospital bed. You hummed tiredly in response, already nestling into the pillow that definitely wasn’t as soft as the ones you had at home, but right now, after 12 hours of active labor and a slightly wonky epidural, the entire hospital bed was like laying on a cloud.

 Minho couldn’t be prouder though, seeing you go through all of that, he commended every woman who had ever been in labor, and after checking the time and seeing how early in the morning it was, he made a mental reminder to call his mother and thank her for having him. 

Stepping outside of the room, he leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, his throat still slightly sore from crying when he had first laid eyes on his daughter, tears of happiness streaming down his face, unable to pull his eyes away from her as the doctors carried her over to the little table to clean her up. He was grateful that he had been given a second chance, that he got to hold your hand through the entire process, that he was able to be in the room when his daughter was brought into the world, and he swore that he wouldn’t mess up and he sure as hell would never leave again. 

“Minho…” His name had him finally looking around the hall, meeting eyes with your father and your mother who sat in the waiting chairs beside your door. He hadn’t seen your father since the day he had pushed the door shut against him, and while he had been meaning to meet up with your parents to apologize for the way he had been, he had just never gotten around to it. “How is our daughter and our granddaughter? Are they resting?” 

Minho quickly bowed his head to your parents, acknowledging them with a quiet “Sir…” and “Ma’am”, the awkwardness felt between the two hung in the air like a thick cloud that could be felt by everyone in the vicinity. “They’re both doing great… Y/N is getting some rest right now, yes, and the baby is sleeping.” He kept his head lowered, slightly fearful of looking your dad in the eyes. “I’d like to apologize… For the way that I behaved… For hurting Y/N. I love her so much… And our daughter will take top priority over everything else.” 

He finally raised his head, and when he did, he saw your father staring at him, it almost felt like he was being judged, but your mother shook her head, standing from her chair to embrace Minho in a quick hug. “Now, don’t you pay attention to him right now. He’s just grumpy because it’s past his bedtime.” She teased, and it was strange how your mothers presence and her words, much like your own, could so easily calm him down and make him feel relaxed. “I’m happy that Y/N has you, and that our granddaughter has you as her father. I know that you’ll take great care of them both. Welcome to the family.” 

///

“Are you just gonna carry her around all the time?” You asked lightly as you watched Minho walk by, your daughter seemed to be in a perpetual state of being carried by him in the little sling that was across his chest. “It’s been three weeks and the only time you put her down is when you use the bathroom or when you go to bed. You’re gonna spoil her.” You warned, but you also wanted to hold your daughter as well. Hell, you even had to practically race to the nursery to be the one to get her in the middle of the night since that was the only time you actually got to hold her since being in the hospital. 

“And? Our princess deserves to be spoiled, doesn’t she?” He flashed you your favorite smile before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Plus I go back to work next week, let me just love her a bit longer. I won’t be able to see her as much.” He was right, and you knew that he was dreading when this week was up, that’s why he stayed up so late, as if the longer he was awake it would keep the coming days at bay. 

You couldn’t blame him though, you’d do the same thing. Neither of you could fully wrap your head around how fast time had gone, you couldn’t believe that it had already been three weeks since you had given birth to her. You could see it in his eyes, with each passing day he’d get sadder and sadder, and you felt the same way. The house wouldn’t be the same without him in it, and you actually grew used to the sight of him walking around the house, doing his daily activities with your daughter strapped to his chest. 

“Well it’s almost her feeding time, can you at least let me hold her for fifteen minutes or so?” You posed, sitting up a little more on the couch and grabbing the little burp cloth off the side to drape over your shoulder as you got ready to have her in your arms. 

“Just whip your boob out and come over here. Or I’ll bring her to your boob.” He said with a snort, and you rolled your eyes as your head fell back against the couch. “Don’t be so shy, love. I was suckin’ on ‘em before she came.” He teased, and maybe it was the fact that you were now a mom that had you growing extremely embarrassed at the mention of your sex life, but you quickly shushed him as your hands moved to cover your face which only had him laughing even more. “I’m like 99.9% sure she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. But, I’ll cover her ears if it makes you feel better.” 

“Oh my gosh, shut up, Minho.” You groaned, but you couldn’t hide the fact that you were laughing as well, and the more you thought about how it would be after the week was up, the more you started to miss him already, and he hadn’t even gone back to work yet. 

///

Pink balloons were tied to every single chair that was set up in the backyard. The buffet table was lined with snacks and drinks for everyone that was there, although you didn’t really anticipate so many people to show up. The grill was fired up already and Bangchan and Felix had begun making the main course for the party while everyone else kind of took turns helping you decorate and ogling at your daughter. 

“Have you seen Minho?” You asked Jisung as he stepped out of the house, multiple beer cans held in both his hands and under his arms as he walked over to you. Your eyes had scanned over everyone that had filled your backyard multiple times and none of those times had your eyes landed on your husband in the crowd. 

“When I came outside he was sitting on the couch. I think he was crying a bit…” Jisung said, his lips drawing together in a thin line after he had answered. This wasn’t the first time he had done it, and according to the guys, the entire week leading up to today he’d disappear during work and one of them would usually find him hiding somewhere and crying by himself. 

“Right… Can you and the boys help finish setting everything up. I’m almost done… I just don’t want to leave him by himself.” Jisung nodded and you quickly scooped your daughter up, holding her on your hip as you walked into the house, and there he was. His head was lowered and you could hear the sniffles coming from where he sat. As you moved closer you could see the photo album of your daughter's first year sitting on his lap, his hands shakily flipping through the pages one by one. “Honey…” You murmured, and his head slowly raised to look at you, his eyes puffy and slightly red when they met yours. 

“Sorry…” He muttered, and you shook your head at his apology, coming closer to sit on the couch beside him, your daughter propped on your lap. His finger slipped into her hand, her own tiny fingers wrapping around it as she waved his hand around, babbling loudly as she looked up at him. “When did she get so big?” He questioned with a small gasp, his head tilted as he watched her with a bittersweet smile. 

You sighed softly, the sudden urge to cry taking hold of you as you looked at him. “She’s not that big yet… She’s still our baby…” You mused, trying your best to not only make him feel better, but to keep yourself from crying along with him. You glanced over at the book on his lap, scanning over the pictures on the page. “Oh, I remember that…” 

His eyes followed yours and he chuckled, although it sounded more sad than usual. “Our tour in Australia and… I refused to be away from you two for a whole month… So me and the guys at the last minute begged the managers to let you both go.” Most of the pictures were of the other members holding her and in most of them she looked like she was on the verge of crying. “She was only 6 months old… It’s only been 6 months since then…” His fingers brushed over the picture of himself holding her, his smile so wide as he sat on the beach with her, his tears freely falling down his cheeks as the memory played over in his mind. 

“And we have so many more months, so many years to keep making more memories with her…” You whispered, using one of your free hands to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Like today… She only gets a first birthday once, honey. I’m sure that when she looks back at her photos, she’ll want you to be in the pictures too.” 

He took a deep shaky breath, nodding his head before running his hands over his face. “Right… You’re right…” He slowly closed the book, placing it on the coffee table before grabbing your daughter off your lap and lifting her high in the air before bringing her back down and hugging her tight against his chest, eliciting a loud squeal mixed with laughter from her. “My princess is ready to party and so am I, let’s go!” 

His hand held onto hers as he playfully danced his way out to the backyard, the cheers from everyone at his and your daughters appearance were loud enough to be heard in the living room where you still sat, your eyes glued to the back of your husband as he practically skipped down the stairs, innocently dodging everyone who came towards him with their arms outstretched to take the baby. 

Minho was the perfect man, the perfect husband, the perfect father. There was no one else in the world that you could imagine loving you or your daughter the way he did, there was no one else in the entire universe who was everything a man should be, everything anyone would want their man to be… Minho was the most amazing, loving, devoted husband and father, and you were beyond grateful that he had come back into your life, that you had gotten a second chance with him, and more than anything, that your daughter was able to live a life with him as her father.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz x reader #skz x you #dad!skz #dad!stray kids #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz headcanons #skz fic #skz fluff #skz drabble #stray kids imagine #stray kids headcanons #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fic #stray kids fluff #stray kids drabble #lee know #lee minho #dad!lee know #dad!minho #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #lee know headcanons #lee know imagines

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Trigger Points

Pairing: Erotic Massage Therapist Ezra x f!reader (not romantic)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Medical kink, massage kink (is that a thing?), erotic massage, mentions of sexual dysfunction and difficulty orgasming, consent forms, the clinical is erotic now, power imbalance due to the masseur/patient dynamic, mentions of uhhh *checks notes* anal massage, lots of vaginal fingering I mean massaging, pelvic floor massaging but make it erotic, dubcon only in the sense that Ezra says orgasm is not the goal and then definitely deliberately gives her one anyway, g-spot orgasms, squirting, Penny gets on her soapbox at the end

Summary: Ezra is a massage therapist. What kind, you ask? Internal massage. That’s it that’s the fic.

A/N: I wrote this in twenty-four hours in a horny unhinged writing frenzy. Am I embarrassed that this came from my brain? Yes. Am I posting it anyway? Also yes. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for the beta (and all of the screaming) and to @leslie-lyman for egging on the medical kink that I definitely don't have.

Masterlist

You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.

This isn’t like you.

As you stare at the nondescript building–no sign, no name on the door–you think back to the seemingly random circumstances that brought you here.

The party you hadn’t wanted to go to. 

The friend–acquaintance–who insisted.

The man with a distinctive blonde streak that kept lingering by the snack table and popping cocktail shrimp into his mouth with an enthusiasm that had made you look twice in wary amusement.

Like so many men, he’d taken your glance in his direction as an invitation to come over and start a conversation, but the resulting discussion was decidedly unlike any other man–or human–you’d come across.

Loquacious to the point of being humorous, the man–Ezra, he told you–was disarming and insightful. You opened up to him immediately; he seemed to have this uncanny ability to pull your life’s story from your lips, much to your surprise and chagrin. Did you really tell a strange man at a party that you’ve been from doctor to doctor, complaining of sexual pain and dysfunction, only to be given dismissive, unhelpful advice? Have a glass of wine, one said. Use different soap, said another. Make sure your laundry detergent is fragrance-free. 

“I think I’m just built wrong,” you said bitterly, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Anyway, it’s fine. You didn’t sign up to listen to a stranger’s problems at some house party.”

“On the contrary,” Ezra replied mysteriously, raising one eyebrow as he regarded you with amusement. “I think our fortuitous meeting must have been arranged by the universe itself.”

Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, he had handed you a business card that had only his first name–Ezra, no last name, and a phone number.

“I just happen to be a certified massage therapist, trained to assist with the very complaints of which you speak.”

“What kind of massage?” you’d asked, scrunching up your face in skepticism.

“Internal massage.”

You may have told him to fuck off then and there. You may have made your excuses and left the party in your embarrassment over having spilled your heart to a stranger with a questionable line of work, to say the very least. 

…You may have called two weeks later to inquire about an appointment.

The woman who answered the phone in that same kind of warm, soothing tone that seems to be common in so many legitimate massage practices made you feel slightly less insane about calling. The lengthy consent form she emailed after hanging up, however, sent you spiraling again.

Extensive questions about sexual history, your beliefs about sex, your relationship to sex, your experience with pain, dysfunction, your sexuality, etc. Check boxes indicating your level of experience and comfort with a number of sexual acts and situations. And at the end, three check boxes asking whether you would like to be massaged vaginally, anally, or both. 

A bell tinkles pleasantly when you open the door, and the scent of lavender fills your nose. Soft, soothing music plays from a hidden speaker somewhere, and one of those self-contained rock garden water fountains bubbles away in the corner of the brightly lit waiting room.

A woman behind the desk greets you–it must be the same one you’d spoken to on the phone–and checks you in. She walks you through what to expect during the appointment–first, you’ll meet with Ezra to discuss the consent form, then you’ll be asked to disrobe and lay on the massage table under a sheet. The type of care you’re given, she tells you, depends on what you put down on the consent form, which of course she hasn’t read, so she can’t tell you any specifics. 

“But he specializes in women with sexual dysfunction?” you ask skeptically. It had said as much on the forms. 

“Oh, yes,” the woman nods enthusiastically. “I know it’s an unusual service he provides, but Ezra is a professional, conscientious, and passionate about the work he does.”

You nod slowly, and she flashes you a warm, comforting smile before instructing you to sit anywhere.

You do, trying not to look too nervous as you wait.

Thankfully, you aren’t there for too long before a door opens, and Ezra softly calls your name.

Your nerves cause you to babble as you follow the man to the quiet, dimly-lit massage room. “Sorry I told you to fuck off,” you say. “That was pretty rude, and I’m sure it’s weird that I’m here now even though I clearly thought you were a pervert at the party, and–” you trail off, standing awkwardly beside the massage table as Ezra sits on a rolling stool.

“Now, now. Water under the bridge, I assure you, sprite. My profession is often met with skepticism at best and outright hostility at worst, but I let the testimonials speak for themselves. I assume you’ve read them?”

You nod, thinking back to the paragraphs of women saying they’d never known their bodies were capable of such pleasure before experiencing what they had called erotic massage.

“And I have read your consent form very carefully; I like to commit these things to heart, you see. Helps me do my job to the very best of my ability. Now, I did have a question about your very last answer: you made a checkmark indicating you were interested in vaginal massage only, but drew in a little question-mark next to anal massage.”

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, too quickly, jumbling the words together. “Depends on how… how…”

“How everything goes. Of course.” Ezra nods, making a quick note on your form. “I’ll consider you to be a vaginal-only patient for now, to be revisited at a later date if so desired.”

“Kay,” you squeak.

“Allright, let me give you a rundown of how this works. I’m not a sex worker; my job isn’t to make you orgasm. Like any massage therapist, my job is to find muscles that need to be worked out, and work them out. I just happen to specialize in muscles that other areas of practice typically ignore. This will involve both internal and external work–you might find that I might press on your lower abdomen, for example, with the other hand inside you. I always start slow with new patients; I’ll begin externally, massaging the entire pubic area and finding spots that might require extra attention. When you’re ready, we’ll move to an internal massage starting with one finger and seeing how many is most comfortable for you right now. Eventually, as we progress through your appointments, the goal is for the internal massage to involve two hands.

“Now, all that being said, the goal of these sessions might not be orgasm, but I want to let you know that it is normal and okay if that happens during your massage,” Ezra continues. “This is a safe space, and your comfort and pleasure is encouraged through this process. All of that seem hunky-dory?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod rapidly.

“Perfect. If you’re ready to get started, I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed. You can undress only from the waist down if you’re comfortable, or you can disrobe completely; the rest of you will be covered by the sheet, so it’s all down to what you prefer.”

Ezra leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, and you take a few moments to steady yourself before taking off only your pants and underwear. Grimacing at the awkwardness, you tuck the underwear into your jeans and place your shoes on top of both on the spare chair in the corner of the room. Then, you lie down under the sheet and wait.

Ezra taps lightly to herald his return before opening the door. “Good,” he says, seeing you laying stiffly on the massage table. “I’m going to check in many times during this first appointment especially,” he explains. “So much so that you may tire of it. You may simply say ‘good,’ when I ask how you are feeling, and I will continue. If you do not feel good at any point, I must ask that you say so. Sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, this massage table is custom made for my area of practice specifically,” Ezra explains, reaching under the table and unfolding a pair of stirrups–the kind you’ve seen many times at the gynecologist–and you grimace.

“Ah, I know, most people on this table do not have the most positive memories associated with these,” Ezra tuts, “and if you aren’t sure about using these, we can simply rest your legs on either side of the table.”

“I think I’m okay,” you tell him, cautiously reaching your feet out until your legs are uncomfortably splayed open. 

“You tell me if that changes.” Ezra sits down on the stool and rolls it over to sit at the front of the table. “I’m going to do the external massage with the sheet down,” he says. “No need for a cold breeze if it isn’t necessary, after all. As discussed before, I’m going to feel around the entire pubic area, finding anything that needs extra attention. If you’ve gotten a regular massage, you might notice that this one is much gentler; there won’t be any harsh poking or prodding, just light pressure and rubbing. If that’s all good, sprite, say the word and I’ll begin.”

“I’m good.”

“Very good. First, we’re going to warm up a little by touching your inner thighs. All muscles in this area are interconnected, so this will help soften things up as well.” 

You keep your eyes closed and let out a slow breath through pursed lips as you feel Ezra’s large, warm hands slowly working out the tension in your thighs. The unfamiliar feeling of someone’s hands in such an intimate area is an odd one, at first, but you can’t help but slowly begin to relax as he works out the delicate muscles of the upper-most part of your legs.

“Checking in again, sprite, how are we feeling?”

“Good,” you answer, with a little more confidence this time. “It’s good.”

“Excellent,” Ezra praises. “If we’re feeling nice and comfortable about it, I’m going to start to move upward and inward. You’ll feel me touch your outer labia, your perineum, and your pubic bone as we move forward. How do we feel about that?”

“Nervous,” you admit, giggling awkwardly. “But good.”

“Of course, sprite, it’s normal to be nervous about an unfamiliar sensation. Always remember that you are able to say ‘stop’ at any time.”

At your nod, Ezra’s hands shift, his thumbs beginning to rub up and down the outside of your labia. He rubs little circles around the entire area, including–something that makes your entire body flush with heat immediately–the skin just above your little puckered hole. 

“I know, I know,” Ezra soothes. “Just trying to get a complete picture here. We aren’t doing any internal massage in this area, but you may feel my fingers on the skin around it occasionally.”

“Okay,” you agree, nodding again.

“You’re doing so well, sprite. I’m going to stay external, but we’re going to start to examine a little deeper, does that sound okay? I’ll be rubbing your inner labia this time, spreading them apart to examine your vulva, urethra, and clitoris with my fingers. This is where it might start to feel pleasurable, or it could feel odd and uncomfortable as you become accustomed to this type of massage.”

“Yep,” you say, voice tight with anxiety again.

“I need a little bit more than that, sprite,” Ezra chastises. “Are you good to continue?”

“Yes. Good.”

“I can tell you’re nervous; why don’t you take a deep breath in for me for the count of five…” he counts slowly as you obey, “...and as you let it out slowly, you’re going to feel my hands move inward.”

The feel of Ezra running his slicked fingers up and down your inner labia doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as you’d feared. You’ve never been touched like this, or even touched yourself like this. It’s an exploration of sorts, collecting some data that means something only to him, perhaps. After a short time, he pulls you apart with his thumb and forefinger, spreading you open. 

“I’m going to rub back and forth just on the surface level,” Ezra says, “You might feel my thumb press down on a few places to locate any areas to focus on later.”

You take more slow, even breaths as you feel his warm thumb move from your perineum to your clit, then back down again. In a few places, he presses down, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as he locates some unknown source of tension.

“How well you're doing,” Ezra praises warmly. “I've definitely found some areas of tension that we can work on during your sessions. This isn't the end of the external massage, per se, as I'll still want to work on some of those spots, but this is where I start to add an internal component, if you're up to it. What are we thinking?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I'm okay with that.”

“Good. As I explained before, I'm going to start very slow. I work with clients with a wide range of comfort levels and ability, and I'm not going to push anyone too far before they're ready. Not to be glib or reductive, but this is not dissimilar to a basic shoulder massage. I'll be working all along the muscles of your vaginal wall. We'll start with just one finger, and if that's comfortable for you, we'll see how it goes with two. I'm going to slowly slide one finger in, let you adjust to how that feels, and then I'll begin the massage on your right side, moving to the back, the left, and then the front, around in a little circle like so. At the same time I'll be gently pressing with my other hand so that I can get a feel for the muscles that are stiff, sore, or carry any tension. If at any point any sensation is unpleasant, please bring it to my attention immediately. In that event, I will stop and reassess. If that discomfort is the result of muscle or pelvic floor tension, we will slowly, slowly work through it without causing you any pain. Is all of this acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“And am I okay to begin your internal massage?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Just as before, I'm going to spread open your labia nice and wide, only this time you are going to feel my finger slowly enter you. Once inside, we'll take a few deep breaths together, I'll ask if you are comfortable, and I'll begin the massage.”

As Ezra speaks, he does each action in turn. You feel your labia being parted, and then one slick, warm finger slips inside. It hits a bit of resistance when he passes your pelvic floor, but doesn't cause any pain. At his instruction, he guides you through three deep breaths as you become accustomed to the sensation.

“I'm going to begin moving now,” he announces. “Beginning on your left side.”

It's an odd feeling to adjust to, the way Ezra’s finger moves inside you. With his other hand pressing sometimes on your hip, sometimes at your side, you can feel him pressing against your wall in–true to his word–the same way one might massage a shoulder. This is just… very different. Or perhaps it's the same, and your brain only perceives it as such. 

Despite the awkwardness of having someone rubbing such an intimate, deep, vulnerable part of your body, you can admit that something does feel good about this. Ezra is right, of course; there are muscles internally as well as externally, and you've never had yours attended to in such a way before. 

Ezra’s finger rubs this way and that, covering all possible knots and tense spots on that particular side. 

“Checking in, sprite,” he intones gently. “How does it feel?”

“Weird… but kinda good. I think I understand why you say it's just like a shoulder massage–I never really thought about having muscles there, but… I can feel them relaxing the same way they would as… as if it were my shoulder.”

“No physical difference between the two,” Ezra says, voicing your earlier thought. “Only up here do we make a distinction.” He taps the side of his head and gives you a sideways grin. “If we’re feeling pretty good with one, would you like to try adding one more? It all depends on your level of comfort, but it is easier to get at the muscles with two, rather than one. Would you like to try?”

The gentle loosening of the muscles you hadn't even known were tense is surprisingly soothing, so of course, you agree.

“You're doing so well at checking in with me,” Ezra says. “Take a nice deep breath for me, and we’ll switch to two fingers. Ready?”

You make a little noise of assent, and as you exhale, you feel the pressure inside you increase as Ezra slips another finger inside you. 

“Doing good, sprite. I’m going to move to the muscles at the back of your vaginal walls now, which means my other hand is going to be pressing up on your lower back and buttocks. Is this fine?”

“That’s fine, yeah,” you nod, and at your consent, Ezra goes back to his steady, methodical working of your pelvic floor. 

At this new angle, the sensations inside you are new and different from before. When he was massaging your left side, all you could really feel was the gentle push and pull as your muscles were soothed and relaxed. You can still feel the muscle tension easing away… but it’s very quickly being replaced by a different kind.

You try to focus on taking deep breaths in and out of your nose as Ezra seems to draw heat into your core with every stroke. You stop focusing on the relaxation entirely, instead concentrating every effort to not make any awkward noises that indicate how much your body is responding to his touch.

You really should have known better.

“Many people find that different areas of the vaginal wall can cause different kinds of sensations,” Ezra says quietly as he gently rubs small circles from within you while pressing just above your puckered hole. “The front vaginal wall, of course, has the tendency to produce the strongest impression because of what most people call the g-spot, but the rear wall is also very responsive. I want to remind you of what we discussed earlier; that you are welcome and encouraged to lean into those feelings. It is common for patients to come to orgasm multiple times during a session, and can be helpful for further muscle relaxation. All this to say, sprite, you don’t have to work to suppress the fact that this feels pleasurable. Of course it does. It’s far more advantageous for you to allow it to happen rather than spend the session working to rein it in. Understand?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, trying to sink back down onto the massage table again and stop fighting against your body’s automatic responses.

Even so, you don’t really believe you could orgasm from just this. Hell, you can barely orgasm during sex even when you use a vibrator. Your body’s need for intense, prolonged clitoral stimulation is simply a fact. A law, as immutable as gravity, and no amount of “internal massage” would ever have the same effect. 

“If you ever do wish to revisit that last little question on the consent form, one type of treatment that can be incredibly effective is to massage the area in between, if you take my meaning,” Ezra comments lightly, as though discussing the weather. “It’s perfectly workable through what I’m doing now, of course, but even though I’m capturing the same general area, in my years of practice I’ve actually found that anal massage is an important component in achieving a comprehensive relaxation of all pelvic muscles.”

“Okay,” you say dumbly. His words–all the more impactful because of the detached clinical tone–combined with the constant pressure of his fingers, are creating a maelstrom of pleasure in your brain. You still aren’t sure if you’re “allowed” to find this entire situation to be incredibly erotic, but you worry you’ll soon have no choice, especially if your mind keeps conjuring up how it might feel to have both of Ezra’s hands rubbing something deep within you. How full you might feel.

“Nothing that needs to be discussed now or even in the near future, sprite,” he adds. “But just something to keep in the back of your mind as we progress through treatment.”

“Mm,” you agree. It’s–oh God, are you going to come? The pressure is building, building inside you, and even though there’s nothing touching your clit, it feels as though you might be reaching that point of no return. You make a soft, whining, desperate little sound as Ezra massages your vaginal wall with methodical precision.

“I know, I know,” he soothes in that syrupy voice of his. “Take a few deep breaths for me–I promise, it’s okay to let it go. Allow your body to do what it’s meant to do.” At this, he presses down even harder, and you gasp as you suddenly begin to clench around his fingers. Your chest heaves as you ride the waves of pleasure until they subside to a gentle ebb. Ezra remains still throughout it all, waiting patiently until you stop twitching with aftershocks.

“See? So much better when you listen to your body,” he praises. “Can you feel that? It causes your muscles to relax even further, so much more effectively than even I can manage. Feel the difference right here–” he rubs a wide circle up and down your wall, “–there’s so much less tension now, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” you agree, still catching your breath.

“Let’s do a quick check-in before I move on,” Ezra suggests, “and while we do, I’d like to make a quick recommendation, if you are amenable.”

“That’s fine,” you answer. 

“Give us a quick run-down of how you’re feeling,” he says. “Any pain? Discomfort?” When you shake your head, he continues. “How about mentally? Orgasm can make us feel vulnerable, and that’s perfectly okay, of course, but not if it leads to feeling uncomfortable or unsafe.”

“It still feels a little… strange, but I’m okay.”

“Ah, of course. Now, as far as my recommendation… Now that you’re far more relaxed, I think it might be helpful to switch to three fingers. How do you feel about that?”

You swallow. “It might feel like a lot,” you admit quietly.

“Indeed,” Ezra agrees. “As a general rule, the more fingers I am able to use, the more effective the massage. The ideal internal massage would be either with all four fingers on one hand, or a combination of three and two. If you’re feeling at all apprehensive about discomfort, however, I think it would be better to wait and see, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod gratefully. 

“Moving on to your right side, sprite,” he says cheerfully. “Halfway there, and doing great.”

You can see what Ezra had been saying–you can feel that your walls are more pliant and moldable after your orgasm. However, it’s also made your nerves more sensitive to his touch, and the intense feeling of pleasure continues to flicker inside you with every gentle probe of his fingers. 

You begin to float, losing track of time and simply focusing on the sensations within you. Ezra quiets down when he senses your more meditative state, and continues to massage with minimal commentary. When his thick fingers begin to move, pressing upward toward your abdomen, however, your breath catches and your hips lift of their own accord.

“My apologies, sprite. I should have warned you I was moving to the front wall before I did so, but you were in such a state of utter relaxation that I was loathe to speak up.”

“S’fine.”

“You may find this area to be the most intense in terms of sensation,” Ezra comments. “There’s a reason I usually save it for last.”

You make a slightly garbled, strained noise of assent as his other hand rubs gentle circles on your mons pubis while the other continues its deliberate path up and down your walls, soothing out all of the tension and finding some incredibly sensitive spots as it does.

Ezra pauses over one such area, and, in such exquisite torture that makes you actually cry out into the room, curls both fingers up to apply even more pressure.

“Ah, that,” he chuckles to himself. “That thing–the little area they call the ‘g-spot’–it’s not some mysterious, unique phenomenon, nor is it mythological. What they didn’t know at the time–and far too many people still are not aware–is that the clitoris is much larger than just the little bit that we see on the outside.” His fingers rub little circles, back and forth, up and down, massaging so meticulously that it feels almost ruthless. “Sooo many nerves in one relatively small place,” he murmurs. “Stimulating the clitoris is normally the most reliable way to acheive orgasm, and yet so little of it is accessible. But here–” he presses up again, and you gasp, “–here we are able to access the other end of the organ.”

You can hardly concentrate on the original goal of muscle relaxation with so much pressure on your g-spot (or, apparently, the back of your clitoris) but you can still feel Ezra dutifully and clinically working out the tension in your pelvic floor. 

“Doing so well, sprite, so well. One nice, big, relaxing orgasm for me and then we’ll gently explore how the tension lessens afterward.”

Despite his insistence before your appointment that orgasm was not the goal of these sessions, you can’t help but notice Ezra appears to be guiding you towards one with masterful precision. With one hand applying light pressure on your abdomen and the other pressing upward to meet it, it feels as though he’s got the most sensitive organ of your body trapped between his fingers. He plays it like an instrument, each finger working independently to stroke different parts of the soft, spongy membrane. 

Finally, finally, the pressure becomes so much that you simply seem to implode; all at once, you clamp down on Ezra’s fingers like a vice as your lower back lifts from the table. A feeling of pure, hot, wet relief surges through you, and the release feels endless, as though your body simply cannot stop pulsing and contracting. Dimly, you realize that it must be the ruthless stimulation from Ezra’s hands keeping you suspended in what feels like a never-ending orgasm. His fingers press upwards, rubbing quickly and insistently back and forth against the sensitive organ, and the movement draws more and more rhythmic clenches that seem to ripple across the entire area. 

And–Oh, God–with each intense throb, little streams of fluid splash out over Ezra’s hand, and you realize with absolute mortification that the sheet, massage table, and Ezra’s white coat are already soaked with your release.

“Oh shit, I’m sorr–” you try to apologize as soon as you have the presence of mind.

“Now, now, not to worry, little sprite. Any manifestation of pleasure is welcomed and encouraged here, and I’ve been at this long enough to know that stimulating the back of the clitoris oftentimes results in strong and voluminous ejaculations…” You twitch with one last, pathetic aftershock, and Ezra soothingly rubs his fingers up and down your wall in the same way one might rub someone’s back after a long day. “But feel the difference, little sprite. Feel how supple and pliant your muscles are compared to before. This is the state we strive for, little sprite. Complete and utter relaxation. When you find yourself starting to tense up again–such is the consequence of the stressful lives we lead–I want you to call up this moment, and the way your pelvic muscles so easily move for my hand, and try to get back to this state. With enough practice on your own in between sessions, this will become easily achieved.

“I’m going to do a couple of nice, wide circles with my hand to stretch out those muscles one last time, and as I do, I’d like you to take some nice, deep, easy breaths with me. Once we get  to five nice big breaths, I’ll slowly remove my hand. Does this sound good?”

“Yuh-huh,” you nod.

“Nice big inhale,” Ezra reminds you, and you dutifully suck in a deep, cleansing breath of air as you feel his hand circle around your vaginal walls, pressing deep into the muscle as he does. You repeat the action four more times, and on your very last exhale, the light feeling of pressure within you finally abates as his fingers slip out of you. 

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty relaxed,” you say with a relieved laugh.

“Mentally?” he prods.

“I dunno, fine,” you shrug.

“Any feelings of vulnerability are normal,” he says as he stands from his stool and helps you guide your legs out of the stirrups and back onto the table under the sheet. “You may find that these feelings may be delayed by a few days, even, so be gentle with yourself for the next week or so. Light muscle soreness is also normal, in the same way it can occur after a normal massage. If at any time this light soreness transforms into pain, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Ezra picks up your consent form again and scans it briefly before setting it back down and giving you a serious, thoughtful look. “You told me three weeks ago that you were ‘built wrong,’ and you mention several times in your form that you have difficulty bringing yourself to orgasm. Little sprite, I have lost count of the number of clients who have the same complaints and who have similarly insisted their bodies were simply different from ‘normal’ people’s. Now, mind you, the sample size may be biased, but from this data I can only conclude that no human being is ‘built wrong.’ The problem lies in our minds, and more specifically, in the social conditioning we’ve all received since birth–conditioning that in no way favors the female experience of pleasure. Society has failed you, has labeled your pleasure as secondary, illusive, impossible, or even imaginary. Your sessions with me will help to reverse the physical symptoms from a lifetime of unhelpful social conditioning, and now that you know your body is not only capable of experiencing pleasure, but of doing so in ways you weren’t even aware, your mind will follow.”

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck by how different you feel. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, little sprite,” Ezra says, briefly patting your hand in a comforting manner. “When you’re ready, go ahead and open the door and I’ll walk you to the lobby to schedule your next appointment.”

#ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #pedro pascal #prospect fanfiction