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luxcuriousao3 · 6 months ago

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Fevered Mistakes

Summary: Ghost, a formidable Alpha, is captured and dosed with rut inducers. You are the omega he's tossed into a cell with. WC: 3429 Warnings: a/b/o, graphic nonconsensual sex, nonconsensual drugging, unprotected PIV sex, referenced torture/experimentation, blood, vomit, death, hurt no comfort, background ghoap, POV switches denoted by triple asterisks (***) Notes: Based off the first half of this post that I made a bit ago. Ngl, I don't really like how this one turned out, but y'all were begging for it so, so I feel bad just letting it rot in my google docs lol. There are two scrapped versions of a second chapter that would make this fic farrrrr less angsty, but idk if I'm ever gonna continue this, so I'm treating this like it's a one-shot with the warnings. If I ever do post a continuation, it will be linked on my masterlist, so you can check for it there. And hey, maybe if y'all share your thoughts about this in my inbox or whatever, it might entice the brainworms again lol. Taglist: @captainsherlockwinchester110283

There was a girl in the cell.

She was small and soft in the way that almost all omegas were, though it was her scent that really gave her status away. Sweet and alluring but soured by fear, it invaded his nostrils and made him all the more dazed. The blow to his head, the one that had landed him in this situation, would have been hard enough to kill him, had he not been an Alpha.

He’d been sloppy. Let his feelings for Johnny get in the way of procedure. But seeing his beta, laid out on the floor, bleeding from his head, still as a corpse… he couldn’t have controlled himself if he tried. And at that point, he hadn’t wanted to try.

He’d gotten distracted, and he’d paid the price.

It had been three days since he'd been captured, by his best estimate. It was hard to measure, between the head injury and being kept in a room with no windows. All he had to go off of was how often someone came in to torture him for information. He never gave any up, of course. Even compromised, he never would. He'd been trained far better than that.

Still, he wasn’t in very good shape. Beaten to hell and back, his head scrambled… his feet dragged uselessly as he was pressed up against the bars, one of his captors unlocking the cuffs on his wrists while the other two kept him restrained. The fourth jammed a syringe into his neck, injecting him with some unknown substance. Ghost tried to break free, to throw a punch or a kick, anything, but his reflexes were sluggish, his thoughts painfully slow. All he succeeded in doing was annoying them, and he got an elbow to the back of his neck for the trouble.

He was no omega, couldn’t be immobilized by a simple scruffing, but fuck if that shit didn’t still hurt like a bitch. He collapsed to the concrete floor of the cell with an animalistic howl, and the sourness in the omega’s scent spiked, her heart rate speeding up. Ghost couldn’t find it in himself to care—the very last of rational thought was beginning to abandon him as the pain spread from the back of his neck throughout his entire body, growing unbearable as it reached his groin. He felt like there was fire raging just beneath his skin, and his senses sharpened as his dark gaze locked onto the wide-eyed omega curled up in the corner, neck cracking unsettlingly with the speed at which he turned. He had time for only one more thought before instincts took over, his heart dropping out his arse as dread turned the blood in his veins to ice before it began to boil all over again.

Rut inducers.

***

When you woke up, you were escorted to the cell in which you spend your heats. That confused you, since your next heat wasn’t supposed to be for another month at least.

It also terrified you.

Though you didn’t remember much of what happened during your heats, you did remember the pain. The desperate, burning need for an Alpha’s knot, and the aching, gaping emptiness when you were denied it, the only thing that could bring you any relief. This cell held nothing but bad memories, and you didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

But you had no choice. For as long as you could remember, you did as you were told, the way a good omega should. In your sleep, you thought maybe you saw glimpses of a time when things were different, when there were no scientists in white coats and men and women in military uniforms controlling your life. But you knew those were just dreams. None of it was real.

You sat on the thin mattress in the cold, dank cell for hours before something finally happened that could explain why you were there. A man was brought in—massive and with a terrifying skull mask on his face—and you barely had to take a whiff of him as he was shoved into your cell with you to know that he was an Alpha. There was that familiar smell of damp, scorched earth after a lightning strike, and you knew from the intensity of it that he was angry. No, not just angry. Furious. The very air reeked of electricity and burning plastic, overwhelming any hint of his natural scent. This was an Alpha that was ready to rip, rend, tear, kill. And you were stuck alone in a cell with him.

“Не сопротивляйтесь,” one of the uniformed men told you, expression entirely unsympathetic. It was almost worse than the look of sadistic, scientific glee on the face of the white coat next to him. “Ты сделаешь только хуже.”

Don’t fight back. You’ll only make it worse.

Your eyes widened, and you barely had a chance to shake your head before the unfamiliar Alpha was on you, grabbing your ankle in a brutal grip and dragging you away from the corner you’d curled up in. You screamed in pain as you felt the bone snap like a twig under his large palm, instinctively hitting your hands against his broad chest as you tried to fight him off. If you had been in heat, you wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have even felt the pain from him breaking you, would have spread your legs and begged him to knot you. But you weren’t, and so your survival instincts overtook those of your omega. You knew you would be punished later for disobeying, but at the moment, you didn’t care. Anything was better than being knotted by the feral Alpha on top of you. He would maul you to death while he fucked you, you just knew it.

The Alpha grabbed your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. The other ripped your shirt off, causing your back to arch and your tits to spill out of your bra. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply and letting out a satisfied growl. You tried to headbutt him, and he snarled in your face, wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing tight enough to make your vision go black around the edges in less than ten seconds. By the time you caught your breath and were able to think again, his hands were busy yanking down your pants and underwear in one harsh tug. You let out a hoarse shriek of fear, flipping onto your belly to try and crawl away, ignoring the searing pain in your shattered ankle. But that was your fatal mistake. His beefy palm met the back of your neck, fingers digging in as he lifted you slightly by it, his other hand coming around to roughly grope your breasts.

And you stopped.

You stopped moving, stopped screaming, you nearly stopped breathing. You were limp as a ragdoll as he scruffed you, utterly and completely paralyzed. You could do nothing but take it as he shoved your face into the dirty concrete, pried your legs apart, and forced himself inside you. You could feel the agonizing pain as his cock practically tore you in half, could feel the ice cold fear freezing every cell of your body, could feel his blunt nails digging into the ultra-sensitive skin of your nape. You could feel everything. But you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

It seemed to go on forever, and yet take no time at all. One second, you were pliant and supine beneath the Alpha as he pounded into you, his weight constricting your lungs and making it difficult to breathe. The next, the restrictive grip on your neck was gone, replaced by a sharp pain at the junction of it and your shoulder as his teeth sunk into your flesh. Into your mating gland. Your own screams were echoing in the tiny cell, now, no longer confined to your head.

“M’sorry, M’sorry, M’sorry,” a rough, wet voice chanted in your ear. It was the Alpha, speaking to you in English. You could understand it, even if you couldn't speak it. He was still on top of you, still inside you, his knot stretching you far beyond your limits. And yet he was… apologizing? You stopped screaming in your confusion, the terrified screeching replaced by the sound of your heaving sobs.

“M’sorry, M’so sorry, they dosed me, M’sorry,” the Alpha continued, voice slurred. You struggled to focus on his words, distracted by the liquid you could feel dripping down your thighs. It was probably blood, you realized distantly. His knot wouldn’t have let any of his seed escape. That’s what it was there for.

That, and to keep you from running.

The Alpha’s voice grew more and more gravelly as his knot began to deflate, his apologies interrupted by grunts as he began to move his hips again, thrusting in and out of you shallowly. You whined, clawing at the floor, trying to wriggle free, but he just settled nearly his entire weight on top of you.

“Don’ fight,” he growled, and you could tell from the strain in his voice that he was at least trying to resist his instincts. It didn’t make you feel any better, especially not when his fingers inched closer and closer to your nape again. “Don’t, or m’gonna have to— fuck, I don’t— fuckin’ be a good omega an’ take it— m’sorry, fuck— don’t fuckin’ fight me—”

You were still sobbing, shrieking like a dying thing with every quick, brutal snap of his hips against yours. Too out of it from being scruffed, you missed the warning in his jumbled plea threat, continuing to struggle underneath him. You felt your ribs crack as he pressed the rest of his considerable weight onto you, and the strangled, stuttering gasp that left your throat was the kind of sound that belonged in a horror film.

The Alpha seemed to think so too, as he moaned in a horrid mixture of pleasure and abject misery before he scruffed you again. You went still, once more trapped in your own body. It was the worst sensation you’d ever felt, worse than the experiments the white coats ran on you, worse than your punishments, worse than your heats spent alone. Worse than the shattered ankle or broken ribs, worse even than the feeling of him ripping you apart from the inside. You were always helpless and vulnerable, being an omega, but this… when you were scruffed, you were no longer a person. You were just an object, to be used as your Alpha saw fit.

Your Alpha.

The man on top of you—who was knotting you for the second time now—was your Alpha. He’d claimed you, the pain in your shoulder was proof of that. You would wear his mark forever, now. You would belong to him for the rest of your life.

You prayed that it was short.

Your Alpha released his painful grip on your nape again, but you didn’t try to get away this time. You were far too disoriented. Being scruffed once was bad enough, but twice in as many minutes? You could easily go into shock from that. You probably were in shock, but you didn't panic, feeling too distant and floaty. The ice in your veins was numbing you from the inside. That was nice… you leaned into it, letting your blankly staring eyes flutter shut—

“Omega!”

Your eyes snapped back open and you whimpered, trying to curl in on yourself. That only caused pain to flare up all over your body, the burning between your legs as you tugged on his knot pulling another scream from you.

“Stay still,” the same harsh voice ordered, and your instincts forced you to obey. The command was a little more collected this time, a little more coherent, even if he was still groaning and slurring.

“Don' move,” your Alpha panted, each word sounding like it was dragged out of him. He started to fuck you once more. “Don’— don’ wanna scruff you ‘gain.”

You didn’t have it in you to be grateful. Didn’t have it in you to be sympathetic to his situation either, not while he was still rutting into you like an animal.

They dosed me, he’d said. You wished they’d dosed you. At least then you wouldn't feel the pain…

***

Simon had never hated being an Alpha more than in that moment.

Bollocks deep in a pretty little omega, one already stuffed full of his come and wearing his mark… he wished fervently that this was just another of his nightmares, the ones that stuck with him like a bad smell even after escaping Roba.

Between the disorientation from his forced rut and the nasty head injury, he almost let himself believe that it was. If it was a dream, he could give in, and he wouldn’t actually be hurting anyone. He could just ride it out, come in trousers wherever he was sleeping, and hopefully, it would end faster.

But her screams were far too real.

She wailed like she was being flayed alive as she struggled underneath him, and his Alpha—after being denied a partner for his ruts for over a decade—was brutal and swift in its response. Scruffing her like a scrappy mutt, growling in pleasure at the way she submitted to him—the way she was forced to submit to him.

It was nearly impossible to think around how fucked his head was—by instinct and injury both—but after he'd knotted her for the second time, he was able to act a little more like the trained soldier he was, and not like a panicked civvie.

He didn’t argue with himself any longer. He accepted the reality of the situation as it was. He was in rut. He was trapped with an omega. He had brutalized and claimed her. If he kept focusing on trying to stop himself altogether, he was going to kill her. He needed to give up on that and instead just try to minimize the damage.

Starting with stopping her from going into shock, and then stopping her from fighting back. It only made his Alpha all the more eager to dominate her—by any means necessary.

It sickened Simon that that part of him existed. Deep down, he feared that it always had. That Roba hadn’t created it, back in the desert. That he’d just unearthed it. All of Simon’s evilness, all his wicked desires…

It was why he’d never taken an omega before. Never even let himself date one, back when that was something he did.

Johnny was perfect, in that way. In many ways, really, but him being a beta—it soothed Simon’s fears. The fears that were being proved true.

He didn’t know how long passed before the rut inducers wore off. It had to have been hours. The omega—his omega—was still facedown on the ground when he pulled out of her for the last time. She was bleeding from where he’d bitten her, and where he’d bred her, his cock drenched in her blood, her own thighs stained with a mix of it and his come.

Simon threw up at the sight. He told himself it was just from the head injury.

He was naked, except for his mask, which was pushed up past his nose. He didn't remember taking off his trousers, though he recalled that his shirt had been cut to shreds the first day of his captivity by his torturer. He didn’t remember a lot of his mini-rut, as was common when it was induced. But the evidence of what he’d done was right in front of him. The omega—not mine, not my omega, not mine—was clad in nothing but the scraps of her clothes. Her side, hips, wrists, and the back of her neck were bruised. Her ankle was bent at a funny angle. A small patch of hair near her nape was missing, leaving her scalp red and raw. Simon looked at his hands, and found the strands woven between his fingers.

She didn’t move.

Simon pulled his mask into position and Ghost took over. He moved towards the girl, feeling for a pulse. She flinched violently when he touched her neck, and he felt relief—and guilt—reverberate through him. Ghost was good at ignoring his feelings, though.

“S’over,” he told her, voice gruff. “S’done now. Promise.��

The omega didn’t acknowledge his words, just kept her shoulders tucked up by her ears, guarding her neck. Ghost didn't protest, simply felt along her spine for any breaks. He didn’t find any, so he carefully rolled her over.

Her breasts were red and raw, nipples bleeding from being scraped back and forth across the floor. There was a hand shaped bruise around her throat, and petechiae in the whites of her glassy eyes. Ghost ignored his horror at the sight, and began to palpate her ribs. She inhaled sharply when he touched the eighth and ninth ones, a pitiful, pained whine escaping her.

The ribs were probably fractured, if not broken. The bruising above them was clue enough. There was another massive bruise low on her belly, and Ghost swore. Internal bleeding. He may have actually fucked this poor omega to death. There was no way she survived the night if she wasn't treated soon.

He got his pants and trousers on, hoping it would help her believe the worst was over, and then got to work doing what he could—wrapping her ribs with the dirty blanket in the corner, and holding the scraps of her shirt between her legs to try and stem the bleeding there. It wasn't enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. He didn’t even know if it was really worth the discomfort it caused her—but he couldn't bring himself to just let her die. She was his omega.

Not mine, not mine, not mine.

He talked to her as she faded. Tried to keep her awake with the sound of his voice, though he knew it was probably the last thing she wanted to hear. He told her stories from his childhood—the few good ones there were—told her the plot of the last film he and Johnny had watched, told her about Johnny. That was the topic he lingered on the longest. It was far easier to talk about his beta than himself. And by the time her eyes slipped closed and her shallow breathing stopped, it was Simon that was holding her, not Ghost, despite the mask on his face.

It was Simon that watched her die.

It was Simon that realized he didn't even know her name.

And it was Simon that howled with grief and rage, clutching the broken body of the omega—my omega, my omega, mine—against his chest.

Footsteps rapidly approached the cell, and Simon snarled like a rabid animal as he turned towards the bars. He barely had a second to pull his omega—dead, dead, dead, she was mine and I killed her, she was innocent and I killed her—behind him before a familiar voice rang out. The only voice that could have possibly reached him in this state, that could stop him from giving into his instincts completely and going feral.

“Simon?”

“Johnny,” Simon growled, sounding desperate and broken. He felt broken. This little omega had managed to do what Roba and a hundred others had failed at. And she hadn't even tried.

“Let us help her, Si,” Johnny coaxed, moving closer while Price and Gaz hung back. Wise, because Simon could barely keep himself from baring his teeth at his own beta. Johnny didn't back down. “Si. Let us help her.”

Simon hesitated for a long moment, fighting his overwhelming instincts, before moving away. Johnny rushed in, immediately checking the omega’s pulse and starting compressions when he couldn’t find it. Simon tried to struggle to his feet, but he nearly fell over, Gaz and Price catching him. He snarled, weakly pulling away from them, but they held fast.

“We got you, soldier,” Price’s deep voice rumbled in his ear. “Stand down.”

Simon slumped, unable to hold himself up anymore, all his injuries catching up to him.

“I killed her,” he whispered raggedly, eyelids falling shut. He felt Gaz shake him to try and keep him awake, but he simply didn't have the willpower, anymore. “She was mine and I killed her.”

The mantra rang in his head even as he lost consciousness, and her screams of pain and the look of fear on her face as she lay dying followed him into his dreams.

less angsty ending

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley angst #simon ghost angst #simon ghost x you #ghost angst #ghost x you #ghost x reader #alpha ghost #cod fanfic #cod fic #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic

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witchy-worm · 7 months ago

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I had the pleasure of claiming @destielpiebitch's incredible fic Paging Doctor Novak in this years DCBB! I've always loved a medical story of any variety, and I have a soft spot for nurse!Dean, so I was immediately drawn to this fic when I saw the claims gallery. It was such a delight to work with this author, and I feel truly honoured that I got to make the art for this incredible fic!

Go check it out here: LINK TO FIC

This fic also inspired me to make chapter headers for the first time! I made the stethoscope and clipboard in illustrator and added the watercolour-y background colours in photoshop.

Banner and fic info behind the cut!

Title: Paging Doctor Novak

Author: Salamitsunami1

Artist: WitchyWorm

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa, past Dean/Rhonda

Length: 51,314

Warnings: Graphic and accurate depictions of medicine, medical emergencies, and medical procedures. Past unfaithful Dean. Minor character death

Tags: Rom-com, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Hospital AU, Sexual Tension, Doctor Sexy M.D., Getting Together

Posting Date: October 31, 2024

Summary: Dean Winchester is many things — a nurse, an in-charge on the medical-surgical floor, and a big fan of the ladies. What he’s not is a commitment kind of guy, and he’s definitely not a night duty kind of guy. Things change when a hook-up-gone-wrong gets him lumped on night duty for an entire month, and to make matters worse, he’s been lumped on night duty with a brand new intern. As with all interns, Doctor Castiel Novak is cocky at best and dangerous at worst, but for some reason, and maybe it’s just the way his ass looks in those teal scrubs, Dean’s got a soft spot for the guy. Or a really hard one. Either way, it’s not long before Dean’s new roster is the least of his concerns; he wants that dorky doctor guy, and fuck, he wants him for real.

#destiel #destiel fanart #dcbb 2024 #spn fanart #supernatural fanart #dean fanart #dean winchester #castiel #castiel fanart #supernatural #spn #nurse!dean #DEAN IN DINOSAUR SCRUBS #bang art #destiel au #dr sexy #Cas in tight scrubs

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naughtyjjk · 1 year ago

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just a massage (pt. 1)

characters: nanami x reader warnings: 18+, smut, massage, sexual tension, dirty talk, fingering, masturbation this fic is planned to have 3 parts. if you want to be tagged when i update (and for future posts in general) just leave a comment! read part 2 here

it’s not your first time coming to the massage parlor, but you still feel a little out of place, even if you know how all of this goes.

there’s no one in the room with you, yet. on the bed, you go to lie down on your stomach with only a towel tied around your waist. this is the procedure—you get undressed first, almost completely naked, stripping free of your stresses so that you're ready to fully relax and alleviate any soreness in your body. but you can’t help feeling a little self-conscious every time you start.

what you don't expect is for the masseuse to appear through the doorway completely shirtless, wearing only a pair of tight shorts. nothing is left to the imagination, so you can see everything that he has to offer. it’s hard not to stare. he’s... well, he's hot, your brain supplies unhelpfully.

you take a moment to appreciate the sight of him. the man's blond hair is stylized in a clean look, and he has sharp eyes and an even sharper jawline. his chest is toned, his abs look delicious, and his thighs are thick and strong. it's obvious that he works out regularly. and you didn’t intend to check him out so thoroughly, but your gaze drifts to his arms, the veins that are visible there, and down to his hands.

in a moment, those hands are going to be on you. all over your body. you swallow at the mere thought of it.

before you know it, the man has made his way to the massage bed, standing right next to you. he nods at you in acknowledgement and says nothing else as he grabs all the items he needs from the counter to the side.

you know that his name is nanami kento because it had showed up when you booked the appointment, but it's still a little strange that he doesn't introduce himself whatsoever. he seems to be the quiet type, but from the way he moves, there's confidence, too. he must be skilled at his job.

watching him, you find that you can't look away. it's embarrassing to admit, but you've been fighting to keep your thoughts pure this whole time, and it's quickly becoming a losing battle.

his back is turned to you and you watch his muscles flex as he moves. there are dirty thoughts swimming all through your head; you can't help it, not when there's such an attractive man in front of you on full display. you feel guilty too, because it's not like you came here for anything other than a massage, and nanami is so serious looking that you can tell he holds himself to a high degree of professionality. there's no way he would go after a client. the thought probably never even crosses his mind.

knowing this, you tell yourself to calm down. don't stare at him too much. don't let him realize how you're practically lusting after his body.

he gestures at you and that's when you finally snap out of it. he's telling you to get comfortable on the bed and you do as you’re told, sighing once you're in position. there’s gentle instrumental music playing in the background, a soothing tone that could probably lull you to sleep after a while. right now though, sleeping wouldn’t be possible, given how you’re hyperaware that nanami's full attention has turned to you.

a second later, without any warning, you feel cool liquid hitting your back and you almost gasp aloud. following that, a pair of warm hands begin to spread it all over your skin. up and down, nanami moves slowly, rubbing across your shoulder blades, along your spine, fingers splayed out. occasionally, they’ll wrap around your ribs, tickling the sides of your breasts.

once the oil is spread out evenly, nanami focuses on your shoulders, kneading into the muscles there. he’s skilled, you can tell that much. somehow, he manages to hit all the right places, working out knots in your muscles that you didn’t even know were there.

“hmm. you have a lot of tension in this area,” nanami murmurs, pressing down. “where else do you usually feel discomfort or pain?”

he asked a question, but all you can think in the moment is, god, his voice. it's low and a bit rough and it does something to you, awakens something in the pit of your stomach.

your eyelids have fluttered shut, melting under his touch. you feel so comfortable here that you almost forget to reply. “mm… a bit lower.”

following your directions, nanami slides down to your lower back, palms dragging against your skin as if to pull all the tension away from your body. he reaches the dip where your hipbones start, rubbing the skin with his thumbs.

“here?” nanami asks, and you hum in confirmation. “let me know if it hurts, but i’m going to go a bit deeper. usually, it’s most effective when you press hard…”

somehow, the pressure is just right that it makes you let out a soft moan, entirely unintentional. embarrassed, you mumble, “s-sorry.”

“don't worry, sweetheart,” nanami reassures you, and that nickname has you melting. he presses at the same place once more. “it's better not to hold back your sounds. letting it out can help make you feel better as well.”

so, even though it still makes you slightly self-conscious, you allow yourself to freely vocalize your appreciation for nanami's work whenever he hits a particularly good spot. after a while, you hardly even notice your own noises, too engrossed in everything nanami is doing that’s making you more and more relaxed… and maybe something else, too.

you don't know if it’s caused by the increased blood flow from nanami warming up your body or what, but you start to notice something stirring inside you. something that you recognize and can only be described as getting turned on. fuck, you curse mentally. this isn’t right. nanami may be insanely attractive, and he's treating you so well, but in the end, he’s only doing his job.

“try not to move so much.” nanami holds you still, bringing your thoughts back to the present. his voice lowers in pitch, just a whisper when he adds, “i know you can be good for me.”

and that—you swallow thickly. you can’t tell if nanami said it on purpose or if you're just interpreting it the wrong way because you're starting to get all hot and bothered now, fighting to keep your growing arousal in check.

but nanami only moves on as normal. he slides both hands down one of your legs, then back up. he does the same for the other leg. again and again, he continues, alternating between the right and left sides. each time, his hands seem to move further inward until he’s fully concentrated on the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

for a brief second, nanami's hands snake under your towel, brushing against your ass. it happens so quickly that he has already retreated before you can even process it. but then it’s there again—a slight pressure on your ass, just grazing it with his fingertips. so light that it could be passed off as an accident. this time, you gasp, feeling tingles spread from the place of contact.

“does it feel good?” nanami's voice is suddenly right beside you, whispering in your ear. the tone is low and sultry—seductive, even. there’s something inherently sexual about those choice of words, the way he says it, the implications behind them.

“ah—y-yeah.” you shudder making a physical effort to keep your breathing even. “feels good.”

satisfied, nanami asks, “want me to keep going?”

and, you think, is this really happening? maybe you were wrong about him. maybe he's not as serious as you thought he'd be, because he clearly knows what he's doing to you. he has to… right?

your heart is racing, and all nanami does is wait patiently for your answer. so, you shift on the bed, spreading your legs apart just the slightest, but it’s an obvious invitation that you know nanami will pick up on. “please.”

without even seeing him, you just know that nanami is smirking.

you moan when he slicks his hands with more oil and begins to run them along your thighs again. heat rushes between your legs and you hadn’t noticed until now, but there’s definitely a wetness there. and it’s not just from the oil—you're dripping, no doubt caused by nanami's sensual motions.

the rational part of you thinks, fuck. this is so inappropriate. you shouldn’t be getting aroused from this, all turned on and riled up in a massage parlor of all places. but the two of you have already gone well past what’s appropriate and there’s no denying that you want more.

“mm… n-nanami,” you try to convey with urgency.

"kento," he corrects you. "call me kento."

shuddering, you moan out, "kento."

nanami's breath hitches at the sound of his name around your lips and it's the first real sign that he's affected by all this, too.

“good girl,” he says, voice low and soothing. the praise sends shivers up your spine. “just relax and focus on my hands.”

it’s not like you can really concentrate on anything else even if you wanted to, especially with the way nanami is being so distracting. your mind is going blank more often than not, but still, you have to ask, “i-is this something you do regularly with your clients?”

“give massages? that’s kind of my job.” nanami chuckles, hands never stopping even once. he’s deliberately missing the point, even though it’s obvious that he’s aware how this is quickly veering away from being a normal session. “now, stop thinking so much and just feel.”

his hands meet in the middle where they rub along your inner thighs, brushing against the sensitive skin, sliding dangerously close to your pussy. moaning, you let himself get lost in the sensations, finally giving in.

“ngh—there,” you mumble. “o-oh… fuck…”

“that’s it, let yourself enjoy it. there’s nothing to be worried about.” nanami's movements have grown more daring, not at all matching his words. “remember, this is just a massage.”

nanami moves higher and higher, nudging the towel until it’s riding up on your hips, exposing your ass fully. he pauses as if to admire the view before warm hands caress your cheeks, rubbing in circular motions. the oil makes everything feel even better, a smooth glide across your skin as anticipation boils inside you.

it’s hard to tell how long this goes on for. nanami seems content just touching you, holding the mounds of your ass in his hands and alternating between gentle scrapes of his fingertips and hard squeezes with his palms.

soon, the rhythm of his movements begins to change, and it takes you a moment to realize that nanami is subtly spreading your pussy apart. you hold your breath as he trails a finger slowly, slowly along the outside of your opening.

“you have a nice pussy,” nanami says appreciatively, almost like he’s just making normal conversation, and you go hot at the compliment. “so wet and tight…”

fuck. you can’t help it; arousal washes through you and you have to bite back a moan as nanami continues working his magic. you're being seduced—every dirty word insinuating something more is calculated, every touch on your body is meant to break you down—and you're hardly even resisting. the sexual tension is palpable in the air. it’s no surprise that you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter.

you swallow, mouth dry. you remind yourself to take slow, steady breaths.

it’s just a massage, you think helplessly as nanami brushes past your pussy again and again and again, merciless in his assault, leaving you trembling on the bed. without fail, your body flinches every time those skilled fingers come in contact with your most sensitive spot. it’s torturously repetitive, and you may know exactly what’s coming, but the effect it has on you is still the same.

just a massage, you think as nanami traces around your opening, applying almost enough pressure to push inside. groaning, you lift your hips subconsciously, trying to get him to go further. nanami only chuckles at how eager you are and removes his hands altogether. it's fucking agonizing.

just a massage, you think. except it’s not. not with the way nanami is playing with your pussy, feeling the wetness there. he brushes a single finger past your clit, igniting every nerve in your body, and you jolt at the sensation. you feel yourself throb with need, so fucking turned on.

“oh—mm, kento…”

“look at how much tension you have here,” nanami says. “you’re all pent up, aren’t you? is that why you’re… looking for some release?”

moaning, you're finding it increasingly harder to concentrate on anything other than the hands that are teasing you. and it is teasing—every action slow and languid like nanami has all the time in the world to take you apart. you can’t help but get impatient, frustrated at the fact that you're both still keeping up the pretense of treating this like a regular appointment.

because what you really want is for nanami to pound you into the bed already, use those skilled hands of his to slip inside you and finger you as deep as he can go. talk dirty to you as the two of you fuck while forcing yourselves to be quiet at the same time in case anyone could hear them from outside the room. god, just imagining it has you getting more wet, your pussy pulsing and begging for more of his contact.

any chance you had of holding back is gone. you're only getting more turned on by the minute, given the suggestive tone of nanami's words and the way he seems to know all of your weak spots, taking full advantage of them. fuck, nanami has made you so horny.

but nanami seems to decide that he’s done playing with your pussy for now. he goes back to rubbing your ass, then shifts to your lower back, higher until he reaches your shoulder blades. and down after that, both palms flat, drawing parallel lines on either side of your spine, over your ass, along your legs.

squirming on the spot, you wait rather impatiently for nanami to touch you where you want it again. but what he does next surprises you—he pulls at the towel and wraps it tightly around your waist, securing it in place as if nothing had happened. then he steps back and clears his throat.

nanami says, simply, “all done.”

"wh-wha—?” your eyes flutter open for the first time since you started. your head is still clouded with arousal as you turn around to try and get a look at nanami.

“your session is over,” he informs you like he didn’t purposely stop as soon as he got you all worked up. “you can get dressed and go now.”

“but i—” you pause, unsure of what to say. you don't want to leave yet. you're beyond aroused, dripping between your legs, aching for more, and you want nanami's hands back on you until you—fuck, until you come.

nanami licks his lips, eyes darkening as he takes in the desperate state you're in. “i know you might still have some… kinks you want to work out, but our time is up for today,” he says, gesturing at the clock on the wall. “please feel free to book another appointment for yourself if you'd like more of my services."

blinking, you slowly push yourself up from the bed, still processing everything. it’s true that you hadn’t exactly expected to get laid when you came for a massage, but nanami was the one who started it, and he got you to this state—so aroused and turned on that you can hardly think properly. he should take responsibility. but as it is, all nanami does is give you space to gather yourself, back turned to you as he busies himself with setting up for the next appointment.

shuffling awkwardly off the bed, you feel like you just went through one of the hottest experiences of your life only to get denied in the end. your pussy isn’t happy with it either, still throbbing between your legs, begging for attention.

"oh, one last thing," nanami says. he steps closer and closer toward you until he has you pinned against the wall, lining up your hips together and grinding into you, just once.

gasping, you throw your head back, feeling exactly how hard nanami has gotten in his pants. the contact of his erection against your aching pussy is delicious, and you let out an utterly wrecked sound, moaning openly at the much-needed friction. “ah—f-fuck—”

mouth right by you ear now, nanami whispers, “i’ll be waiting for you to come back. next time, i'll give your pussy the attention it deserves.”

as nanami steps away, you feel the muscles in your legs giving out on you. you have to hold onto the wall to stand upright. your head is swimming, dizzy with arousal from nanami's parting words, arousal reignited by his actions.

in the changing room, before putting on your clothes, you slip a hand under the towel and don't think twice as you begin to masturbate yourself, far too turned on to wait any longer. your movements are restricted, but you don't untie the towel yet because it feels more taboo this way, like you're committing a forbidden act, and it gets you off more than you'd like to admit.

the setting makes you hyperaware of your surroundings; people are constantly going back and forth in the hallway, and this is a public changeroom. someone could walk in on you at any time. fuck, the whole scenario shouldn’t be this damn hot.

you're already wet and dripping so it doesn't take much to slip a finger inside yourself, pumping it in and out, slow at first. agonizingly slow, like how nanami would do it if he were here. but even that feels so fucking good, to finally give your pussy some stimulation and relief for being pent up for so long.

breaths coming out ragged and uneven, you close your eyes and lets the desire overtake you as you add a second finger. you replay everything that nanami did during their session, the ghost of his touches still lingering on your body. warm hands up and down your back, your legs, your inner thighs… your pussy. oh, the way he deliberately didn’t give you what you wanted but still teased you, teased you, teased you. you have a lot of tension here…

and then you imagine what the two of you would do if you had more time, if you didn’t care about breaking the rules and gave yourselves over to lust completely. the heat of nanami's body flush against yours, his cock rubbing against you, penetrating you, stretching you open as he fucks you, hips moving frantically until you both inevitably come—

the visual proves to be too much and you moan, low and drawn out, free hand moving quickly to cover your mouth so that you muffle the sound of your pleasure. fuck, you want nanami so bad. you want to lie down on the bed again and spread your legs and feel those enticing fingers caress every part of your body until you're begging for his cock to go inside you. hard and rough. filthy.

your hand leaves your mouth as it trails down to circle your clit, shuddering as you play with the swollen nub there. the pace of your thrusts has sped up significantly, trembling as you lean against the wall for support. your hips rock back and forth, both hands moving in tandem as you finger yourself and pleasure your clit, chasing the high of your orgasm.

somewhere out of sight, you hear nanami talking to a stranger, a colleague, another client, maybe. it’s impossible to make out what he’s saying, but just the sound of his voice, low and sultry and so fucking seductive, is enough to send you right to the edge.

“k-kento…” you moan. god, he’s right there, on the other side of the wall. and it’s more than likely that he could hear you if you're too loud, if you lose yourself and fuck, you might as well admit it: you want nanami to hear you. you want nanami to know that you couldn’t even wait to go home because the session had been unbearable for you and you're just that horny. you would give anything to drag him in here and beg him to make you come.

and it’s coming, your release; you're really feeling it now. your pussy is throbbing hard and fuck, fuck, you're close. so dangerously close. moans spill out of your mouth, panting as you thrust into yourself even faster. you can’t take it anymore. you can’t hold on any longer. your hand draws tight circles around your clit, and a jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine, and then your hips are stuttering, head thrown back, mouth falling open as it all rushes through you at once. o-oh, fuck—

you come to the image of nanami fucking you hard in your mind, smooth rolls of his hips as his cock pushes deep into you, again and again. you come all over your hand, your arousal dripping down your leg, onto the floor. the noise that slips past your lips would be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

slowly regaining your breath and returning to your senses, you look down at the mess you've made, a puddle of your wetness beneath you. you clean yourself up as best as you can and quickly get dressed, grabbing all of your belongings and heading to the door.

as soon as you step outside the changing room, you stop in your tracks. because waiting by the entrance is nanami, alone. the other person must have left already. nanami isn’t saying anything, but the expression on his face tells you that he knows exactly what you've done.

swallowing hard, you walk past him, all the way to the main lobby and out the door of the massage parlor. your pussy is still throbbing faintly in your pants, a lingering echo of your orgasm. you think about the towel and the wetness on the floor you left behind in the changing room for nanami to find, proof of your desire and lust. the self-pleasure you indulged in while fantasizing about nanami.

next time, you think with resolve, you won’t be getting off on your own in a locked room. you're going to have the real thing.

next time… you’ll make sure that nanami won’t be able to resist fucking you.

after you’ve left, nanami runs a hand through his hair and lets out a shaky breath, cursing. he doesn’t know what came over him. as part of his job, he sees a lot of naked bodies, but he’s always been able to keep a distance and maintain a sense of professionalism. but you—the minute he first saw you, he couldn’t deny his attraction to your body, and that feeling only grew over time as he got started on your massage.

he loved the feeling of lathering oil all over your body, running his hands over your smooth skin and around your curves like he couldn’t get enough of you. he loved watching as you relaxed under his touch, as you undeniably became more and more turned on when he took his time teasing you.

just thinking about it again has him groaning. he glances down at his shorts, at the obvious tent between his legs. the bulge there is obscene, fabric stretched to its limit, and he feels like he could burst at any moment. there’s a wet spot where the tip is and and the fabric shifts as he twitches. he doesn’t remember the last time he had been this painfully hard.

and nanami tries to resist, he really does, but he can’t take it anymore. he’s so fucking aroused that he can’t think straight at all. pushing down his pants, he lets out a sigh once his cock is finally free, springing up now that it’s no longer restricted within its confines.

it stands tall between his legs, rigid and rock hard, curving upward. the veins are prominent and he’s leaking uncontrollably, precum pooling at the head and spilling down his shaft in a steady stream.

standing by the bed where you had been lying not long ago, nanami closes his eyes and thinks of you in his mind. he doesn’t touch himself yet; instead, his hands start on his neck, trailing down to his collarbones and chest, pausing to play with his nipples. the jolt of pleasure there causes his cock to twitch in anticipation. then he goes further, down his stomach to his hips, brushing against the base of his cock...

his hips thrust forward into the air, into nothing, as he imagines himself climbing on top of you on the bed, pinning your hands so that you can’t escape. he lines up his cock with your pussy and pushes into your entrance slowly, slowly.

here, nanami finally allows a hand to touch himself. he’s waited long enough; he’s about to go crazy with arousal and can’t fucking take it anymore. fingers wrapping around his length, he gives himself a firm squeeze, moaning, feeling his cock throbbing hard in return.

and then he snaps, the last bit of his self-control withering away. he pumps his cock with purpose, fast, faster, until his hips start moving in time with his hand, bucking forward at every stroke. he’s fucking you, fucking into that tight pussy of yours, watching as you squirm and tremble and moan beneath him.

breathing hard, nanami twists his hand and circles his cockhead. the action makes his hips stutter, a rush of pleasure washing over him. his whole body is burning hot. he’s getting close, working himself right up to the edge, so close to coming now—

his balls feel so heavy and full. he has to use his free hand to hold onto the side of the bed as he feels his knees going weak, stroking steadily, never stopping or slowing down. his cock aches, throbbing in his grasp. one finger swipes over his slit and his mouth falls open, head thrown back as he whines and cries out.

he thinks about what you’d look like when you come, begging him for your release. p-please, kento, fuck me harder—i need your cock—i-i’m so close, i’m gonna—gonna come—

“f-fuck,” he grunts. and nanami is coming with you, choking out a broken moan as his cock pulses and pulses. with two more strokes, all the tension in his body is released at once, ropes of white splattering in front of him. he comes in spurts, emptying everything he has all over the massage bed, and it’s absolutely filthy.

he’s still panting by the time he’s done, coming down from the high of his orgasm. looking around, he remembers where he is and feels dirty for jerking himself off at work. quickly, nanami cleans up the evidence, wiping and sanitizing the bed so that it’ll be presentable for future appointments.

looking at the door, he’s grateful that no one walked in on him because he’s not sure whether or not he would’ve been able to stop in the moment. it had felt so good. he had been so fucking horny, all because of you.

he doesn’t regret doing it. he just can’t let it happen again.

part 2 here! part 3 coming soon

tag list: @megumisdivinedogs @urlilwhore @l0rdgeosupport3rr @purple-obsidian

(comment to be added)

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk men #jjk smut #jjk imagine #nanami kento #nanami smut #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #naughtyjjk

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bi-julius-caesar · 28 days ago

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Kinda

#okay so #there was a post referencing how #square hammer was likely referring to the Pope Hammer ™️#I’d have to find it #but also #the faith lyric video has a lobotomy procedure in the background #anyway there was a whole joke about do you even need to check with the hammer if one is literally decapitated?#teehee autism #caesarspeaks #mutuals

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partiallysame · 2 months ago

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I absolutely love your work and Price’s little wife! I just had my Gallbladder removed. So could you do something about them all taking care of the Missus and making her get up and walk like she’s supposed to?

Ohhh I hate the get up to walk like I’m post surgery leave me alone. Hope your healing is going well!!

Ok ok first of all they tried to lock down the hospital while you were there. No simon we do not need a sniper watching the door. It’s a common and fast procedure. No john the doctors don’t need a background check (they all passed it anyway). But now you are home and they can all breathe. Kyle made copies of the care instructions they sent home with you. And each man has been assigned something. Silly you thinking you would skip or half ass your recovery “protocol.” And now you are surround by 4 giant men standing with hands on hips bc no you don’t wanna stand up and walk around. It hurts and you’re tired. What happened to the sweet giants who just held your straw for you when drinking water??? You are (gently) lifted from the couch and being propped to stand. “Let’s go love. One step after the other” giving them death glares bc you were watching your show. I’m sure the walking can wait till after. Nope the timer they set went off so now every two hours you are being walked around the house. Stupid big men who love you taking care of you

#prices lil wife #cod x reader #blurb #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #john soap mactavish #tf 141 #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod x you #poly!141

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pucksandpower · 2 years ago

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Under the Influence

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc knows three things (1) wisdom teeth have nothing to do with being wise (2) his face looks like a chipmunk and (3) he really really really loves his girlfriend

Warnings: mention of minor medical procedure

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing on the nightstand. Bleary eyed, you reach for it and squint at the screen. 37 missed calls and too many texts to count, all from Charles.

It’s the big day — your boyfriend is finally getting his wisdom teeth removed this morning. You had wanted to go with him to the oral surgeon but Charles insisted he would be fine on his own.

Clearly, that was not the case.

The phone starts vibrating again and you swipe to answer. Before you can even say hello, Charles’ slurred voice comes through the speaker. “Ma choupinette! I misssss you!” He draws out the last word for several seconds. You stifle a laugh at how loopy he sounds from the painkillers.

“Hi, my love. How are you feeling?” You ask gently.

You hear some shuffling on his end of the line.

“I feel ... so good! I can’t feel my face though. Is it still there?” More shuffling noises. “Yep, still here! Wow, my cheeks are soooo big and fluffy now!” He descends into a fit of giggles.

You grin and shake your head. Your poor Charles is definitely still under the influence of the drugs. “I’m glad you’re not in any pain. Are you home already?”

“Yep! Safe and sound in my bed. But it’s so lonely without you here. You should come over and cuddle me!” His words come out muffled, no doubt because his mouth is still numb.

You glance at the clock — it’s still relatively early in the morning. “I would love to but I have a few things to take care of first. I’ll come by this afternoon to check on you though, okay?”

Charles lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiine. Hey, did you know you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world? And you’re so nice too! I’m the luckiest ...” He trails off into incomprehensible mumbling.

You have to press your hand to your mouth to hold in your laughter. Anesthetized Charles is even more adorable than regular Charles. “Thank you, my love. You’re very kind. Now get some rest, I’ll see you soon.”

“Okayyyy, bye bye gorgeous!” Charles singsongs before hanging up. Still chuckling, you set your phone down to start getting ready for the day. Your productivity is short lived however, as your phone immediately starts buzzing again.

Charles is calling you back.

With a mix of amusement and exasperation, you answer the call. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Charles’ cheerful voice exclaims, “I forgot to tell you I love you!”

You can’t help but laugh out loud this time. “I love you too, Charles.”

“Yay!” He cheers. In the background, you hear a woman’s voice telling Charles to stay in bed and get some rest. It must be his mother looking after him. Thank goodness for her help today.

You talk Charles into hanging up and leaving you be for now. As entertaining as loopy Charles is, you do need to run some errands. You eventually make it out the door and head into town. While perusing the aisles of the grocery store, your phone buzzes again. Expecting it to be Charles, you don’t even look at the screen before answering with an amused, “Yes, my love?”

Instead of your boyfriend’s sleepy voice, you hear numerous screams and squeals on the other end. Before you can ask what’s happening, the chaos turns into a bunch of people chanting “Say it again! Say it again! Say it again!”

Your stomach drops. You pull the phone away to look at the screen. Sure enough, Charles is broadcasting on Instagram Live and waving at an alarmingly large crowd of fans gathered below his apartment. Dreading what you’re about to witness, you bring the phone back to your ear. The chanting continues until Charles finally obliges.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I love you sooooo much! You’re the bestest, most bootiful, charming girl in the whole universe and I love you more than racing!” His confession is met with deafening squeals from his adoring devotees. You stand frozen in the cheese aisle, one hand clutching your grocery basket, cheeks flaming red. This is not exactly how you hoped your relationship would go public.

Charles is still slurring sluggishly into the phone, rambling on about how perfect and wonderful you are. You try to get a word in edgewise to stop him but his fans keep egging him on.

“Charles, honey, maybe you should get off Live and rest ...” you attempt feebly.

He gasps dramatically. “Wait, are you my girlfriend? Y/N? Is that you?”

You sigh, resigned to your fate. “Yes Charles, it’s me.”

The screams somehow increase in volume at this admission. Charles laughs with delight. “Guys, this is my girlfriend! Isn’t she the coolest? I’m the luckiest guy ever!”

Despite your embarrassment, you can’t help but melt a little at his ear-to-ear grin and heart eyes on the screen. He looks utterly smitten, even in his disoriented, post-op state. His fans seem to be eating it up too, flooding the comments with things like “My life won’t be complete until someone looks at me the way that Charles looks at Y/N” and “Charles is boyfriend of the year!”

You spend the next 15 minutes gently trying to persuade Charles to end the livestream and rest to no avail. He is having far too much fun gushing about you and interacting with his followers. You field a few questions from curious fans, keeping your answers light to avoid revealing too much. It’s clear they are enthralled by this lovestruck version of the normally private Ferrari driver.

Finally, after Charles has told the story of your first date no less than five times, his mother comes to your rescue. She appears on camera and tenderly tells Charles the “show” is over and he needs to sleep. He pouts adorably but allows her to tuck him back into bed and take away his phone. Just before the Live ends, he blows a loopy kiss to the camera and says “Love you, mon chouchou!” The fans go wild in the chat before the feed cuts out.

You slump against your shopping cart in relief. Your phone is already flooded with texts from friends and family who saw the Instagram fiasco. You shoot off some quick reassurances that you’re both fine and it was just the medication talking. Bagging the rest of your abandoned groceries, you check out as fast as possible. There’s somewhere you need to be right now.

Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on the door of Charles’ apartment. His mother opens it with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry about earlier dear, the anesthesia made him a bit out of it as I’m sure you noticed.”

Charles perks up when you enter his bedroom. “You came!” He mumbles happily, making grabby hands at you. You settle onto the bed next to him and he immediately nuzzles into you like an affectionate kitten. His mother slips out to give you two some privacy.

You run your fingers soothingly through his hair. “How are you feeling now, my love?”

“Mmm ... sleepy. And really happy you’re here." He smiles dopily up at you. “Did I do something silly earlier? I don’t really remember.”

You debate downplaying it but figure he’ll find out eventually when the internet explodes. “You may have repeatedly declared your undying love for me on an Instagram Live ...” you say sheepishly.

Charles’ eyes go wide. “No way, really? Wow ...” He blinks slowly, processing this new information. A sly grin spreads across his swollen face. “Well it’s true. I meant every word.”

You kiss his forehead tenderly. “I know you did. Now get some more rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Charles looks up at you adoringly. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you more,” you boop him on the nose.

He giggles. “No way. I love you more-er.”

“Impossible. I love you most,” you insist.

“Nuh-uh,” Charles protests. “I love you most-est.”

You laugh at his stubborn persistence. “Alright, you win. Now close your eyes.”

Charles snuggles impossibly closer into your side and soon his breathing evens out as he drifts back to sleep. You brush a few curls off his forehead and whisper “I love you most-est-est.”

You make sure the blankets are wrapped securely around him and shake your head affectionately at your adorable, clueless boyfriend. Today certainly didn’t go as expected but you wouldn’t trade your Charles for anything in the world.

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 9 months ago

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Sources for images: |Ace| |Kid| |Zoro| |Law| |Sanji|

This is a series focused on five different love interests. Here's how it works: there's five introductory chapters where we get to know the female reader's background and, in each chapter, she meets one of the love interests. Just a first meet-cute.

Then, I will write a different love story for each, as if they're different timelines, continuing from the last chapter of the introductory chapters!

Summary: You had your life in Grand Line City all figured out. A wonderful job, a fiancé and a shared apartment. Until you found out he was cheating. Your father, Shanks, had a horse riding accident and you decided that this was just the right time to return home. You were expecting a peaceful, uneventful life back in the Calm Belt, but, fate had other plans. Think of all the rom/coms that make you feel good because you know the couple will end together. This is it. Enjoy!

Firestarter - Ace's Story (Complete! 53+k words)

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You intended to have some alone time, to reflect and heal, but your childhood friend's older brother, Ace, seems to be there just to upset that fragile peace you're striving for. He's a flirt and a womaniser. But why does he also have to be so handsome and perfect? And how long can you resist his charms?

The Great Pretender - Law's Story (Complete 83+k words)

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Trouble - Zoro's Story (Complete 76k+ words)

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Check out this beautiful Zoro fanart for the story Trouble by @laidenbreecatchall

Source for pic

Imperfect - Kid's Story (ongoing)

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. Then there's Kid, the gruff, hot-headed mechanic, who gets under your skin in more ways than one. The chemistry between you is undeniable and you can't keep your hands to yourselves. Until he starts to push you away. Each time you think he's let you in, he just shoves you further, it's such a maddening, dizzying push and pull that you don't know how much more your heart can take before it crumbles.

Check out these beautiful fanarts by @igiulss for the story Imperfect: Here, here and here

Bonus - Lament - A Meet-Cute Spoiler

|Drabble|

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #op #ace x reader #ace x you #modern day au #the meet cute #kid x reader #kid x you #law x reader #law x you #zoro x reader #zoro x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you

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affordablebackgroundchecks · 1 year ago

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Discover how background checks safeguard online daters. Ensure safety by verifying identities, crosschecking details, and creating trust. Background checks offer comprehensive profiles, reduce relationship stress, and protect privacy. With early red flag detection, empower informed decision-making and maintain a secure online dating environment.

https://visual.ly/community/Infographics/lifestyle/online-dating-precautions-how-background-checks-can-safeguard-you

#dating #online dating #background check #dating background check #background check benefits #background check procedure

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whenmemorydies · 2 months ago

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A tale of two sex scenes

Following on from @fairestbeard's stunning meta series on sex in The Bear and the discussions on those posts (if you haven't already checked them out, see here, here, here and here), I was thinking about the under-the-table scene in 2x09 Omelette and how this is presented as a foil to Carmy and Claire's mailbox sex scene in 2x05 Pop. We are even explicitly told that the sex scene in 2x05 is a replacement, a stand-in for something else. What am I on about? Come, join me on this subtextual bender...

You got mail?

What sex scene was in 2x05?, you ask. I referred to it on a reblog of @fairestbeard's meta but for ease of reference, I'll break it down below.

The scene involves Carmy and Claire driving out to a PO box to deliver a liquor, beer and wine permit application for The Bear. In other words, its where Carmy gets Claire to help him insert a package into a mail slot. The subtext here is that 'package' = slang for a guy's genitalia and 'slot' = slang for vagina...and the act of inserting one into the other is slang for bow-chicka-bow-bow.

Lets look closer at the scene:

In the still above, Claire and Carmy arrive at the location of their delivery. Its cold, sterile and full of artificial lighting. I dunno about you, but the ambience here was definitely screaming sexytimes to me. /snort

What's notable here is Carmy's admission:

I was expecting like a dark alleyway or something.

Carmy says this right after getting out of a car with Claire who spent almost the entire ride talking about:

getting an adrenaline hit from resetting a patient's tibia; and

enjoying the risk associated with her own horrible driving.

The script choices here are purposeful (as always with this show) and highlight for us that the idea of a relationship and sex with Claire is a thrilling (and maybe even, scary) prospect for Carmy.

Note: post-2x05 mail delivery, Carmy and Claire will continue talking about her adrenaline addiction: how she enjoys the thrill of shoplifting, how being cool = setting things on fire. Carmy, you're in danger boy. Get out.

Claire then describes what they're doing with that package and that slot:

Well, bureaucracy, baby.

Bureaucracy is a term for describing government decision-making. It also refers to a system or standard of administrative procedure. In the context of delivering a liquor, beer and wine permit application, it makes total sense to describe the delivery that way.

But this is The Bear, so there's always subtext in the writing. And in this case, that means Claire is actually saying that the mail delivery sex act that she and Carmy are about to partake in is standard procedure. Womp. Is this saucy foreplay getting anyone else flustered? I didn't think so lmao.

Well Storer and Calo don't care about our arousal (or lack thereof) because here's Carmy coming in hot with his package:

...And Claire could not look more disinterested. Carmy even says "Phew!" in relief once he's done.

And then we get this literal summary of the whole affair:

Claire: That was so anticlimactic.

Carmy: Yes, very, uh, underwhelming.

So yes, we do have a sex scene in 2x05 Pop and it was cold, sterile and perfunctory. This will later be mirrored in Carmy and Claire's only actual sex scene in the show, at the start of 2x09 Omelette (right down to the same cold, blue lighting).

Tim, the drywall guy: patron saint of Sydcarmies everywhere

What is striking to me is how the above sex scene in 2x05 Pop is set up earlier in the same episode.

Recall Syd contemplating plates and bowls in 2x05:

Syd is not alone in the room while she's comparing tableware. In the background are Fak and Tim, the drywall guy. Fak has been tasked by Natalie to prevent Tim from leaving (on the only day that he's available) so that Tim can install drywall after the electricity and plumbing are installed at The Bear. Fak's stalling attempt involves trapping Tim in a conversation about the former's favourite albums by 80s punk rock/alt-rock band The Replacements:

Fak: My first favourite album is "Pleased to Meet Me" which has the greatest, like, high school song ever written "Can't Hardly Wait."

At this point, Carmy enters the room and Sydney asks him,

Can I get your eyes on this?

...which is an unnecessarily suggestive way of saying, "look at this". Sydney, you flirt. I see you.

Then Tim pipes up, and this is where things get more interesting. Because as is often the case on this show, the next section of dialogue is in reference to two different things at the same time.

Tim: Hey, if this isn't happening today, I really should get going.

Carmy: This is happening today, Tim. Right, Fak?

Fak: Yes, it is gonna happen.

What is the "it" that Tim is asking about and that Carmy wants to happen today? On the surface, its the drywall getting installed. In the subtext, its sex/love/a relationship for our boy Carmy. Stick with me and I'll explain how I got to this conclusion.

So now, Nat joins the crew and gives Carmy the liquor, beer and wine permit application to deliver. Recall that that application has actually been fast-tracked for the Berzattos by Uncle Jimmy (after Nat hilariously butters him up for help earlier in the episode). Its a shortcut and Syd clocks this right away:

Sydney: Oh, great. Doesn't look shady at all.

Now also recall, that piece of mail/package is a stand-in for Claire and Carmy's first sexual escapade which is soon to follow. And here we have Sydney, telling Carmy that that idea - a superficial hook up because you can't hardly wait and want instant gratification - is shady.

So what's Carmy's response? Well, it sounds very familiar:

Carmy: I think its standard procedure these days.

Roflmao. Carmy and Claire both clock that what they're both about to do is average, ordinary, bureaucratic even. In the subtextual world, this means run-of-the-mill sex that maybe a lot of other folks are having and probably not getting a whole lot of satisfaction out of. Shady, indeed.

This immediately brought me back to 1x01 System and Carmy wanting to ditch spaghetti from the menu because,

I hate to break your hearts motherfuckers but that gooey, mushy bullshit is not bailing us out this time.

Of course, as is so brilliantly explained by @outmakingmoonshine in their May 2024 reblog meta, spaghetti here is a stand-in for the easy romance that is usually a television show's "biggest seller" for shippers but that showrunners Storer and Calo clearly state, "doesn't make any sense on" this show.

In season 1, Carmy may have been after something other than easy spaghetti but by 2x05 Pop, he wants easy, he wants what everyone else is having.

Still, Sydcarmies know that in his heart of hearts, Carmy needs passion, he needs fire, he needs electricity. You know who else knows this? Tim, the drywall guy.

Jumping back to 2x05 Pop, as Carmy is about to call Claire and get some instant gratification, Fak and Tim continue their convo about music. Fak, crucially, says the following:

I'm saying stuff and you're thinking about electrical...its Replacements, right? This is where we are right now.

Fak is telling Tim to stop thinking about the electricity or rather, the passionate love and relationship that Carmy needs. This is because where we are right now - where Carmy's head is at right now - is on a replacement for that long-game, good stuff. Carmy's replacement is rooted in what Fak described earlier: the greatest high school song ever written which is all about impatience. The fact that Carmy, can't hardly wait (which is also the song that is heard playing over the end of 2x05 when Claire and Carmy finally kiss).

And then Tim, hilariously, says:

I mean, I'm more into, like, kinda like Chingy, you know.

And what's Chingy's most popular song? His claim to fame?

Right Thurr.

And who was right thurr before Carmy decided to go find a replacement for his package?

Name a greater fumble. Not even 2x01's locker-gate comes close lmao.

And just in case it wasn't clear by now how average, asinine and standard the Claire/Carmy plot was going to be, later in 2x05, those two ding dongs end up at what looks like a high school house party where they share a stereotypical, teen romcom moment next to a whole ass tub of literal cheeseballs:

Chris Storer and Joanna Calo absolutely know what the fuck they're doing here. For them, Claire and Carmy are a phase. And a cheesy, predictable one at that.

The real deal, the electricity

So what is the 2x05 Pop sex scene a replacement for? What do we have to contrast it with? At first I thought we hadn't gotten that comparison yet but then I re-read @outmakingmoonshine's reblog meta on 1x01 System and changed my mind. In that meta, the contrast is made between Carmy and Claire's actual sex scene in 2x09 with Carmy and Syd's under-the-table-scene in that same episode. I think that comparison still stands. But I reckon, given the subtext in Sydney and Carmy's time under the table in 2x09, its illuminating to compare it to the subtextual sex happening in 2x05.

The under-the-table-scene in 2x09 has been broken down as a sex scene by lots of folks on this platform but I'll highlight the below meta which are the earliest analyses about it that I've found on Tumblr:

@sydcarmyfan's August 2023 meta clocking Syd and Carmy's scenes in 2x09 as foreplay and sex scenes; and

@thoughtfulchaos773's August 2023 meta comparing the under-the-table scene to a Renaissance painting (complete with post-coital exhaustion).

Also check out @thoughtfulchaos773's meta on Richie as a fellow Sydcarmy stan who tries to help these two with their electricity repeatedly over the course of the show.

Contrasting these two sex scenes, where we had this in 2x05:

We got this in 2x09:

Carmy and Sydney's full focus on each other, flowers, warm natural lighting and a whole lot of wood,

professions of love and loyalty,

giggles and so much fucking sighing,

dirty talk,

and then eye contact and longing so overwhelming, Carmy needed to break it.

In other words, we finally got some of the electricity that Fak was trying to distract Tim/Carmy/the viewers from in 2x05 Pop.

Now the fandom just has to wait for season 4 where we will hopefully get a literal sex scene between these two star-crossed lovers. Because honestly, while I froth for subtext and critical analysis, my brain is starting to fucking hurt LOL. Please Storer and Calo, put me out of my misery.

#i'm subtexted out lmao #sydcarmy #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear meta #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #carmy x sydney #anti claire bear #carmen x sydney #carmen x claire #carmy berzatto #sydney x carmy

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supernova41st · 16 days ago

Text

Don’t worry Darling ⊹ .

Medic x Nosocomephobia!Reader

Now playing • My Elixir—Sons of Raphael ♪

A/n: Trust me this was a request but I CANNOT find the question for this one. It followed the idea of medic x paranoid reader and I liked the idea so I decided to make it reader with Nosocomephobia (fear of hospitals) I hope I executed them well. <3

Warnings: None

Divider creds ~ @saradika

Meeting

𓄼 Hospitals have always irked you since you were a kid. Something about the ambience, smell, and atmosphere of them made you uncomfortable. You could handle blood and violence, but hospitals? Hell no.

𓄼 Now, when you signed up to be a mercenary you did prepare yourself for some medical stuff to occur, however, nothing could’ve prepared you for whatever Medic was on that made you so terrified. He was like the embodiment of everything you didn’t like about hospitals x10. And after finding out his way of doing his procedures it only made you more nervous..

“Hang on—I have to be alive for the whole thing??”

“Now now (Y/N), no need to worry, as long as you play your part the surgery will be swift!”

“Don’t you have anesthesia to give me or something?”

“Ha! No. I’m afraid that is out of our budget”

“..Okay, um.. will it hurt?”

“Hahaha!! Oh my, you.. you’re quite comical my friend, hah… yes.”

𓄼 You began to dread the day that was coming, you could barely handle dentist appointments! Now some creep you don’t know basically rummage around your guts for a few hours? This was going to be hell, you just knew it.

𓄼 During that fateful day, you decided to press through. You did nearly everything you could do to get over the anxiety of it all. Breathing, Counting to 10, Naming 5 things you see, etc. And as soon as you laid onto that operating table..

Thud!

“Goodness! Are you alright—….”

𓄼 You passed out. Yeah, he didn’t even lay out any medical supplies, the texture of the operating table against your skin was already too much to bear.

Headcanons

𓄼 You’re both victims in this situation (maybe one more than the other). He tries his best to make sure you don’t pass out every time you see him, but if anything his attempts make it worse.

“Why do you have a syringe?? I thought we were just checking up on how the uber device was working!”

“It’s nothing, darling. It’s simply some Midazolam, I went out to purchase it just for you! Now if you’ll just hold still..”

𓄼 You passed out as soon as he the needle graced your skin. I mean.. at least it kinda worked?

𓄼 Even when you get use to his appointments (meaning not passing out as much) he’s still more gentle around you.

𓄼 He’ll warn you about what he’s about to do and will give you a heads up on if there will be anything startling involved. He also makes sure to bring nitrous gas to help you calm down if needed.

𓄼 He feels guilty about it, but he enjoys talking you through giving you shots. Not in an arousing way, but he enjoys the idea of you being comforted by him. And god, he loves it when you hold his hand, he’ll sometimes worry that he’d be too focus on you holding onto him than injecting you.

“It’s alright, (Y/N), deep breaths..”

“sigh Okay..”

“You’re almost there, you’re doing very well, my love.. and done! See? As I said, only a pinch”

𓄼 If the smell of his clinic disturbs you, then he’ll also remember to light a candle at least an hour before your appointments. He’d specifically choose lavender to help soothe your nerves.

𓄼 He’ll also play some classical music in the background, not only does it calm your nerves but it also helps him focus. He’d remember your favorites and play them more often then other..

“You’ve been playing that one a lot lately”

“How could I not? It has a very nice tone, and I’ve grown tiresome of the other ones”

“Aww, you sure you’re not playing it just for me?”

“Hm, who’s to say”

#*NovaWrites #tf2 #tf2 x reader #medic x reader #medic tf2 #medic x reader Headcanons #team fortress 2

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theeartuaist · 11 days ago

Text

The Most Terrifying Yandere: When They Have ACTUAL Power

I've rambled before about the yanderes that both fascinate me and keep me up at night – the manipulative ones who isolate you so gradually you don't notice until it's too late, the ones who are SO self-aware that they can't be reasoned with because they KNOW exactly what they're doing...

But there's another type that genuinely makes my skin crawl in the best/worst way possible: The yandere with actual POWER.

I'm not talking about yanderes with supernatural abilities (though they are terrifying, too - I'll maje a post dedicated to them another day). I'm talking about yanderes who hold positions of REAL institutional authority and can use legitimate systems against you. The ones who don't just stalk you – they have the means to LEGALLY monitor you. They don't need to break into your house – they have the AUTHORITY to enter it.

Think about it:

A methodical, calculated MENACE of a police officer yandere. They don't need to install hidden cameras in your home – they can park a patrol car outside your house and call it "routine surveillance."

They have access to traffic cams and license plate readers. They can run background checks on anyone who comes near you. They know exactly how long they can detain someone without cause. Every new friend in your life gets pulled over for a "broken taillight" and subtly threatened. Your ex suddenly has outstanding warrants. And if you try to report them? Guess who takes the report. Guess whose colleagues handle the investigation. Guess who knows exactly how to make evidence disappear.

Or a judge yandere doesn't need to break the law to ruin you – they ARE the law. They can sign warrants to search your property, freeze your assets for "ongoing investigations," and grant themselves custody if you have children together. They know every legal loophole, every procedural delay tactic. Their colleagues trust their judgment implicitly. Every legal avenue of escape gets mysteriously blocked by "proper procedure."

Or consider a psychiatrist yandere – the absolute nightmare of someone who can literally have you committed. Who can diagnose you with paranoid delusions when you try to expose them. Who has detailed notes on every vulnerability you've ever shared. Who can prescribe medications that make you foggy, compliant, dependent. "You're experiencing paranoid thoughts about me? That's a symptom we discussed in our session last week. I'm concerned your condition is worsening. I think we need to adjust your medication." And everyone – EVERYONE – believes them over you, because they're the expert on your mental health.

Or worse, what about a government official yandere. They don't need to hack your accounts – they have legal access to your data. Every email, every search, every location ping. They can flag you as a person of interest the moment you try to flee. They can ensure you're "randomly selected" for additional screening at every airport. They can see every conversation you have asking for help and be waiting when you arrive at the "safe place" someone offered. Maybe they can even flag your passport, freeze your accounts for "suspicious activity," and make you a person of interest the moment you try to flee.

The absolute nightmare of having someone obsessed with you who can also leverage entire SYSTEMS to keep you. Someone whose authority is rarely questioned. Someone who doesn't need to hide their surveillance because it's LITERALLY THEIR JOB to watch people.

What makes these scenarios so much more terrifying than the typical yandere is that you can't even prove anything wrong is happening. It all looks legitimate on paper. It all follows protocols and procedures. There's always a plausible, professional explanation:

"We received an anonymous tip about your friend's involvement in illegal activities."

"These medications are standard treatment for your condition."

"This restraining order against your family member is based on documented threats."

"Your passport has been flagged due to identity verification concerns."

While they systematically cut off every escape route you might have.

The nightmare scenario isn't just being trapped by someone's obsession – it's being trapped by their obsession and the entire infrastructure of society backing them up because of their position. It's having your reality slowly rewritten not just by one person but by records, documents, and systems designed to be trusted.

What defence do you have when the very institutions meant to protect you become the architecture of your prison? When the person obsessed with you doesn't have to hide in the shadows because they have an office with their name on the door and the authority to keep you right where they want you?

#yandere #yandere x reader #my writing #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yan blog #yandere x y/n #yancore #yandere headcanons #psychological horror

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ambiguous-avery · 1 month ago

Note

HI HI BESTIE - I'VE GOT A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION FOR YOU:

Picture this: Dean on his last hunt had to bite on a hammer's handle (huh, I wonder where that one came from?) and CRACK - of course, one of his teeth cracked in half. Now he's forced to go to a dental clinic. How do you think would he manage the appointment?

Probably the weirdest question I've ever asked so far but you do with it what you want, it's your problem now. 🤡 //runs like the wind

Hello, hello bestie!

Wow, what a question! And I mean that in a good way lol hopefully you’re talking about the handle of a regular ol’ hammer and not Mjolnir. At least a wooden handle of a hammer would be less damaging! What a niche question - I love it!

Bit of background for anyone who doesn’t know, but I work in the dental field, so this is right up my alley! I couldn’t decide how I wanted to respond to this, so have an extended drabble! Sorry, it turned into a really long piece.

Tooth Hurty

No Pairings | WC: 2520

Summary: Dean goes to the dentist

Tags/Warnings: Dental terms, detailed dental procedure, Dean’s got a fear of dentists, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Title comes from the punch line of “When’s the best time to go to the dentist?”

Dean had been through a lot. He knew pain. He had dealt with being stabbed and shot and thrown against various things in his life. He’d been through literal Hell before.

But this? This was something else.

This was deeper. More profound. An ache that throbbed everytime he moved his jaw. And he used his jaw for like... everything. Eating, talking, hell, even when he swallowed. Mouth pain was a totally different ball game than any other kind of pain.

“You should really get that checked out, Dean,” Sam said without bothering to look up from his book. Dean rolled his eyes at him over it. Some Advil and Tylenol would be fine, and everything would be better in a couple days.

It wasn’t.

By day three, Dean was ready to rip the tooth out himself. When he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t see much, even with a flashlight. He wasn’t a professional, but there was definitely something wrong in there. His gums were red and swollen, and when he pressed gently around his back molar, a shock of pain made him grip the bathroom sink with white knuckles.

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed, his eyes watering involuntarily.

He stumbled back into the motel room to find Sam staring at him with that patented little-brother concern that always made Dean feel like he was five again.

“Dude, seriously. It’s not going to get better on its own.”

“It’s just a toothache, Sammy. Not exactly apocalyptic.” Sam closed his laptop with a definitive click.

“No, but infections can spread. Remember that hunter in Nebraska? Bobby said he lost half his jaw because he was too stubborn to see a dentist.”

Dean winced, partly from the pain shooting through his jaw as he clenched it and partly from the unwelcome image Sam had just planted in his head.

“That was different,” Dean argued. “That guy got his teeth knocked out by a werewolf. Mine’s probably just a cavity or something.” Sam gave him a look, the one that said he wasn’t buying any of Dean’s crap.

“Then it should be a quick fix. I already found a dentist in town who can see you tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Dean’s voice definitely didn’t crack. No, siree, it didn’t. “Don’t they need like... weeks of notice?”

“I told them it was an emergency.” Sam’s expression softened. “Look, I know you hate dentists–”

“I don’t hate dentists,” Dean cut in far too quickly.

“Right... And I don’t hate clowns.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Just go. Get it fixed. Then we can focus on the case.” Dean muttered something under his breath that might have been an agreement or might have been a string of curses. With the way his tooth was throbbing, even he wasn’t totally sure.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. Every position seemed to make the pain worse. Around 2 AM, Dean gave up and shuffled to the bathroom, fumbling through his toiletry bag until he found the small flask he kept for emergencies. This definitely qualified. The whisky burned going down, but the warmth that spread through his chest was worth it. He took another swig, hoping that the alcohol would numb the pain enough to catch a few hours of sleep before his appointment.

When the morning came, Dean was a mess of nerves and lingering pain. He downed another shot of whiskey with his coffee while Sam pretended not to notice.

“It’s at 10:30,” Sam reminded him. Dean answered with a grunt, his fingers drumming against the Impala’s keys in his pocket.

“You don’t have to come in with me,” Dean said as they pulled into the parking lot of “Smile Shack,” a name that made his stomach clench. “I’m not a kid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam muttered. He followed Dean into the office.

The waiting room was too bright. Too cheerful. With posters of perfect smiles that seemed to mock him. Dean filled out the paperwork with shaky handwriting, grateful for the lingering burn of whiskey in his system to keep him from bolting. The assistant, a perky blond with a smile too wide for her face, called his name with far too much enthusiasm.

“Dean Winchester? We’re ready for you.”

Dean rose slowly, his legs surprisingly unsteady beneath him. He seriously considered making a run for it. He’d faced down demons with more courage than he had in the present moment, but the throbbing in his jaw reminded him why he was here. The dental assistant led him to a room with an ominous-looking chair in the center. Various metal instruments were arranged neatly on a tray beside it, each one more terrifying than the one before it.

“First time in a while?” she asked kindly, noticing his hesitation.

“Something like that,” Dean managed, his throat clicking dryly. The last dentist he’d seen was in a free clinic when he was fourteen after Dad had finally noticed his swollen face from a molar that had been bothering him for weeks. The memory wasn’t exactly comforting.

“Have a seat,” the assistant instructed, motioning to the chair. “Dr. Mitchell will be with you shortly.” Dean lowered himself into the chair, gripping the armrests tightly as it automatically reclined. The ceiling lights beamed down on him like he was in an interrogation room.

“Hello,” came a cheerful voice from the doorway. “I’m Dr. Mitchell. What brings you in today?” Dr. Mitchell was younger than Dean expected with kind eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. Despite himself, Dean felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“Back molar,” he said. “Right side. Been killing me for days.”

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” She snapped on the nitrile gloves with practiced efficiency while the assistant took up a spot on Dean’s left. “Open wide for me.”

Dean complied, fighting every instinct to close his mouth as Dr. Mitchell leaned over him with a small mirror and what looked like a miniature pirate hook. His fingers dug deeper into the armrests. Dr. Mitchell made a low noise of understanding, gently probing around Dean’s aching tooth. Even her careful touch sent lightning bolts of pain through Dean’s jaw. “I see the problem. Looks like the molar has cracked. Did you bite down on something hard?”

Dean made a noncommittal sound, the best he could manage with the doctor’s instruments in his mouth.

“We’ll need to take an X-ray to see the full extent, but I suspect that the tooth needs to come out.” Dr. Mitchell removed her tools and straightened up. “Have you had any fever or swelling in your neck?”

“No,” Dean lied instinctively, ignoring the fact that his neck had felt stiff when he woke up. He’d faced worse. Much worse. Dr. Mitchell gave him a look that suggested she didn’t quite believe what Dean said but didn’t press the issue.

“The whiskey on your breath isn’t helping your case, Mr. Winchester.”

“Just a little liquid courage,” he tried to defend, though Dean felt heat rise to his face.

“I understand dental anxiety,” she said without judgement. “But alcohol thins your blood. Not ideal before oral surgery.”

“Surgery?” Dean repeated, the word sticking in his dry throat.

“Nothing invasive,” she assured him. “But the tooth needs to come out today. The infection is quite advanced.”

The assistant returned with the X-ray equipment, and Dean endured the uncomfortable process of having various plastic contraptions shoved into his mouth. Each click of the machine sounded like a death knell. When Dr. Mitchell returned with his X-rays displayed on a tablet, her expression confirmed Dean’s fears.

“As I expected, the crack extends into the root. We need to extract it today.” She pointed to the dark shadows around the tooth. “This area here shows infection. You’re lucky you came in when you did.” Dean didn’t feel lucky in the slightest. He felt like he might puke. “We can do this local anesthesia,” Dr. Mitchell continued, “but given your anxiety level, I can also offer nitrous oxide. Laughing gas.”

“I’m not anxious,” Dean protested automatically. Dr. Mitchell pointedly glanced at his white-knuckled grip on the armrests.

“Of course not. But the nitrous can make the experience more... pleasant.” Dean swallowed hard. The idea of being even slightly out of control made every hunter instinct in him scream in protest. But the persistent ache in his jaw was quickly overriding his caution.

“Fine,” he agreed. “Hit me with the gas.”

Dr. Mitchell nodded to her assistant who wheeled over a small tank with a mask attached.

“You’ll feel relaxed. Maybe a bit light-headed. But patients find things funnier than usual, but I assure you that it wears off quickly once we turn it off.” Dean nodded stiffly as the mask was placed over his nose. “Just breathe normally through your nose,” Dr. Mitchell instructed. “We’ll give it a few moments to kick in before we numb the area.”

The first few breaths felt no different than regular air. There was no strange smell, no sign that anything was any different. Dean focused on the ceiling, counting the seconds and waiting for this whole nightmare to be over. Then, gradually, something shifted. The edges of his vision softened. The ceiling stain started to look less like a problem and more like an abstract painting. Kind of fascinating, really.

“Feeling any different?” Dr. Mitchell’s voice seemed like she was both near and far at the same time.

“Maybe a little,” Dean admitted, surprised to find that his grip on the armrests had loosened. The pain was still there, but somehow it didn’t seem as important anymore.

“Good. I’m going to numb the area now. Just a small pinch.” Dean nodded, watching with detached interest as she prepared the syringe. Normally, the sight would’ve had his heart racing, but now, he found himself uncharacteristically curious about the whole process.

“You know,” he began, his voice sounding distant to his own ears, “I’ve been shot before. Stabbed, too. This shouldn’t be a big deal.” Dr. Mitchell paused, syringe halfway to Dean’s mouth.

“I’m sorry... what?”

“Hunting accident. A few of ‘em, actually,” Dean mumbled, finding it increasingly difficult to care about maintaining his usual cover story. “This one time in Pennsylvania, got tossed through a window by a–” He caught himself just in time, “–bear.”

“I see...” Dr. Mitchell said carefully. “Well, this will be much less dramatic. Small pinch now.” Dean barely felt the needle. His mind was drifting pleasantly, untethered from his usual constant vigilance. He wondered if this was how normal people felt all the time. Not scanning for threats. Not carrying the weight of the world.

“You have nice eyes,” he said to the assistant who smiled politely at him. “Very symmetrical.”

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

“Dean,” he corrected, finding himself oddly chatty. “Mr. Winchester was my dad. He’d think this was hilarious. Me freaking out over a tooth.” He guffawed, and it felt good. Like releasing pressure from a valve.

“Well I’m glad you came in despite your nerves,” the assistant said.

“The area should be getting numb now. Can you feel this?” Dr. Mitchell asked as she tapped something against his gum. Dean felt pressure but nothing more.

“Nope. ‘S weird.” His tongue felt heavy and uncooperative.

“Perfect. We’re going to get started then. You might feel some pressure, but it shouldn’t hurt at all.” Dean nodded, suddenly fascinated by the ceiling tiles again. Had they always been so intricate? He could see patterns forming and dissolving as he stared.

Time seemed to stretch and compress in strange ways. Dean was vaguely away of Dr. Mitchell working in his mouth. Pressure. The occasional sound of something cracking. Hushed instructions to her assistant. But everything felt distant. Like it was happening to someone else rather than him.

“You’re doing great,” Dr. Mitchell assured him. “Almost done.”

“My brother,” Dean found himself saying around the instruments in his mouth. “He’s the one who made me come. Always looking for me. Since we were young.”

“Mmhmm,” Dr. Mitchell responded, clearly more focused on her work than Dean’s rambling.

“Saved the world once,” Dean continued, unable to find the control to stop himself. “Well, more than once. People don’t even know. That’s the thing about... about hunting. Nobody knows when you save ‘em.”

“That’s... nice,” the assistant said uncertainly, exchanging a quick glance with Dr. Mitchell. “I’m sure everyone appreciates your... hunting.” Dean felt a strange tug in his mouth followed by a triumphant “There we go!” from Dr. Mitchell.

“Is that my tooth?” Dean asked, trying to see what she had.

“Yes, and it was definitely the culprit. We’ll irrigate the socket now and place some gauze.” She held up the extracted molar. “Would you like to keep it?” Dean stared at the bloody tooth, oddly fascinated by the shape of it.

“Yeah. Souvenir.”

The assistant placed the tooth in a small, plastic container while Dr. Mitchell went over post-extraction care. Dean nodded along, only catching every third word or so as the nitrous kept his mind pleasantly adrift.

“We’ll start tapering off the nitrous now and switch you to oxygen,” Dr. Mitchell said, adjusting something on the tank. “You’ll start to feel more alert soon.”

As promised, the foggy, pleasant sensation began to recede. And with it came the creeping awareness of what he had been saying. Had he really mentioned hunting? Saving the world? Dean grimaced internally. Hopefully they’d just chalk it up to the ramblings of a nervous man out of his mind.

“Feeling more like yourself?” Dr. Mitchell asked, removing the mask from his face.

“Yeah,” he said around the gauze in his mouth. The local anesthetic was still in effect, making half his face feel like it belonged to someone else.

“You did very well,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I’m prescribing antibiotics to clear up that infection and some pain medication for the next few days. No drinking, smoking, or using straws for at least 72 hours. You don’t want a dry socket.”

Dean nodded, taking the papers she handed to him. The room seemed overly bright now that the nitrous had worn off. Reality was setting back in.

“Your brother is waiting for you in the reception area,” the assistant informed him, helping him stand. “I’ll walk you out.” Dean followed her on slightly shaky legs, his dignity barely intact. The extraction site was beginning to throb dully beneath the numbness, a warning of the pain to come. Dean paused as they passed a small counter littered with small toys and trinkets.

“Can I have one of these?” he asked. The assistant glanced from him to the counter top.

“Sure,” she said with a smile. He grinned as best as he could before snagging one of the neon green sticky hands, the plastic crinkling in his hand. As he stepped back out into the waiting room, Sam stood up, concern etched on his face.

“You okay?” he asked, eyeing the gauze peeking out from Dean’s mouth. Dean flashed him a thumbs up and held up the tooth-shaped container and sticky hand.

“Got some souvenirs. Wanna see?”

---

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