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hii!! I was wondering ( if u are comfortable with if ofc!!) if you would be ok writing a comfort/hurt fic with dottore and a reader who is struggling with an eating disorder? If not then no worries!! I really loved your dottore sh x reader fic (as someone who has struggled with sh in the past ) it was so beautifully written!!
💕🙃
໒⦂ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐔𝐏 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄.
notes. hello anon, tysm for the request! glad to hear that you enjoyed the sh fic & i hope that you are doing better now! as for your request- i can do my best! although there are several eating disorders so i’m going to try and keep this as vague as possible so that it’s inclusive to all types- hope thats ok!
genre. hurt / comfort
tw. eating disorder, starvation / loss of appetite, nausea, forced feeding, mentions of vomiting ( vaguely described ), panic attack, use of ‘dear’, self degradation, mentioned dissection ( dw nothing happens ), injection ( just electrolytes )
dottore x gn!reader.
gripping the fabric of your clothing beneath the table, your gaze fell to the spread that had been placed before you, watching as each of the harbingers present served themselves- your partner included.
a dinner party, dottore had mentioned only a few hours ago with a sigh, as though it had been interfering with his work in some way, which was.. mostly true — he was in the middle of something when the invitation had been delivered to his lab, but it was at the request of her majesty.
and if he wanted to continue his research without complications, unfortunately he had to comply with these social gatherings. even when he knew he was not entirely welcomed by his fellow colleagues, apart from the ninth.
though that might have been diplomacy from having replaced his lungs and prolonged his life, for all he knew. but it mattered little- he had you to attend with him and make the ordeal just slightly more bearable.
but you were silently falling apart in your seat, feeling your stomach ache in protest of the many dishes — so beautifully crafted.. you were almost sure that the staff had spent the entire day cooking to perfection for the most important figures of the nation.
and all you could do was stare down at delicate porcelain — the finest of quality, straight out of liyue. perhaps a gift from one of the harbingers during one of their expeditions.
maybe.. maybe if they spoke among another and busied themselves with the food — it might deplete quick enough. where conversation would tune out your existence and the food would diminish into nothing.
alas, your lover never missed a beat, no matter how newly established your relationship was.. he picked up on even the smallest of details.
usually.
because of how busy he was, it was relatively easy to get away with some of your habits. he often ate on his own terms due to his irregular work roster, and since you had work of your own — it was easy to not draw much attention to your own, near nonexistent meal schedule.
but now — met with an occurrence that drew attention to the one thing you’d been carefully trying to hide from him.. it was putting you on a spot that you prayed you would never have to face.
just a little longer until your habits were gone with the winds of time, you kept trying to tell yourself.. and the day has never come.
nor would it ever.
“oh dear, has your head floated off into the clouds?” dottore inquired lightly, snapping you from your thoughts as your frame stiffened, gaze lifting to your left before looking down.
pristine ceramic.
..there was no denying it now, was there?
observing silently behind the mask he wore, the second harbinger leaned over to pick a little bit off of each entree when you didn’t act, placing them carefully atop your plate in the way he often would at back at the lab.. when dissecting subjects or constructing devices.
however, it reminded you more of a parent instead. making sure that their kid ate their vegetables, truthfully, which made your face burn with shame, as he was your lover- not your father.
several sets of eyes drifted towards your exchange with him, and with each passing second, you couldn’t help but feel impossibly smaller.
was it too impolite to excuse yourself without having eaten or spoken much? would the tsaritsa think you to be disrespectful or ungrateful for her generosity? would the harbingers begin to whisper among themselves while your lover dealt with the humiliation? would you disappoint your him no less with the condition you had never been able to bring yourself to tell him — a doctor — about?
your world was spinning.
“lovely, that should do it. no need to shy away from partaking, there’s plenty to go around, and my colleagues would certainly not want you to starve..” he encouraged, returning his silverware to his own plate — half eaten.
more than you’ve held down in the past week.
the mini selection taken from each dish gazed up at you invitingly, and your stomach growled in want equally as it did in warning.
“it would be rude to not eat after he went out of his way.”
“you would not want to be ungrateful, would you?”
“people are truly starving elsewhere without access to food.”
picking up your fork and knife with shaky hands, you nodded despite yourself, lowering your head. “sorry, guess i was lost in my own thoughts..” you tried apologizing, plastering a smile that you’d hoped might be convincing enough of your case. there were too many people around, making it far to easy to be picked apart from where you sat — vulnerable to characters that had power comparable to that of the gods.
your partner included.
cutting into the piece of meat that he’d taken for you, you swallowed down your nerves, bringing the piece past your lips as you chewed slowly.
pleasant, as expected.. yet poisonous all at the same time — weighing your tongue as though on the precipice of booking your next trip to the nearest washroom.
but you couldn’t just sit there, silent and pretty for the rest of the night with a singular bite of food awaiting to be spat the minute everyone retired to their chambers. you were expected to eat, and by most table manners.. finish what was on your plate.
pained as you were, humiliating your partner and yourself by association was not what you wanted tonight — not ever, for that matter.
and so you cut into another piece.
savory, quality venom slid down your throat, and the rest followed — each quicker than the last. you were hungry, after all, no matter the never ending lack of appetite.
porcelain, now marred with residual hues stared back up at you almost mockingly, and it took all of you to remain in your place. leaving abruptly after scarfing down your plate was far too sudden, greatly suspicious, and highly offensive. they would piece it together quicker than bullets could pierce flesh; patience was necessary.
even if you could feel it knocking in the back of your throat, warning you through the way your stomach twisted itself into knots of that all too familiar nausea.
every ounce of your being pleaded silently for time to be kind just this once — to tick faster on that ancient clock, but it only seemed to go slower. a wicked mockery.
conversation dragged on without any intent of being saved for another gathering, although your lover had seemed.. more attentive than ever before.
in fact, while you ate — there was just this sliver of crimson that you could swear was in the peripheral of your gaze each time you leaned forward for a bite.
nothing slipped by him.
nearly digging your nails through the fibers of your attire, right into the flesh of your thighs, you nearly jumped when dottore suddenly rose from his seat, black-azure appearing before your eyes. “would you join me on the terrace, my dear? some fresh air might do us good, it’s a full moon tonight, after all.”
lifting your gaze from his hand to his masked face, you silently thanked whoever might have been watching over you for being ushered away from the dinner table, though you’d cursed them all the same.
he was going to find out.
your hand lowered tentatively into his as you stood from your own seat, nodding slowly. “i’d like for that, yes.” you muttered back, turning to his coworkers before tipping your head forward. “t-thank you for the meal.” it felt like pulling teeth to get the words out, but you had to. for dottore, and your own credibility.
the halls were quiet, save for the measured click of boots, as you kept to his side. but rather than the balcony, like he’d mentioned.. you found yourself being brought elsewhere.
an all too familiar venue.
your heart nearly stopped, shriveled and crumbled in your chest.
“zandik — why are we-”
“rest assured that you have my word on us going to the terrace, but i’d like to assess you first, dear.” the man in question cut in, lab doors hissing open with the scent of antiseptic permeating the air.
swallowing back the acid teasing cruelly at your oesophagus, you followed with shaky steps towards the examination table.
dottore’s hand seemed to leave yours when you stopped in front of it, a soft hum leaving his lips. “take a seat, i’m going to get a few things. when i return, i better find you in this exact spot and upright. am i understood?”
it wasn’t to say that you’d never heard him speak this way before. if you were ever injured or feeling unwell — it was like flicking a switch from lover to doctor. frightening, but strangely caring.
maybe a little more frightening this time around, however.
you obliged nonetheless. “yes, zandik.”
cold metal blanketed by a thin sanitary sheet greeted your rear as you shivered despite the warmth of your attire, willing your nerves to remain confined to your stomach. an effort you had yet to master, truthfully.. but you had to try — even if this lab had seen worse than someone’s coughed up dinner.
the thought alone had a hand clamping over your mouth, tears prickling at the corners of your lashes.
thankfully, dottore was ever the attentive type, arriving without delay wheeling a small trolley of things. a cup of mint tea, a cloth floating in bowl of icy water, a syringe of a something you couldn’t name, rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs and a bucket.
he knew.
the harbinger started by bringing the cloth to your forehead, pushing back whatever hairs might have been in the way to place with the cool towel. “you forced the food down.” he remarked without delay, not wanting to beat around for once.
which was typical when it came to health related exchanges.
biting back a whimper, you nodded because what good was lying to him now, averting your gaze. “i.. didn’t want to make a scene.”
a pensive noise left him, hands withdrawing from your forehead to reach for the needle. “and how long has this been going on for?” he then followed up, clinically, holding his hand out for you to offer your arm.
you did, still facing away as not to witness the injection. “awhile..” came your murmured response, eyes squeezing shut at the prick that broke your skin with such frightening precision.
he was quiet after that, running a dampened ball of fluff on the puncture before returning your arm to your side. “were you ashamed to tell me?”
chewing on your bottom lip, your head bobbed thrice in agreement, brows knitted together. “i thought i could break out of it on my own and leave it a distant memory once i was better.” you paused, cradling your hand in your lap. “but it just.. persisted, and now here we are.” caught red handed, under the care of your partner when he was meant to be with his colleagues.
a sigh left his lips as he shook his head, discarding the cotton. “foolish thing. i’ve told you plenty of times before to come to me no matter the issue — certainly over something that has carried on for this long.” he muttered, reaching for the teacup as he held it out to you. “at least if i knew, i would have come up with a viable excuse for the two of us to skip out on this dinner, and i..” a slow breath. “would not have forced that meal upon you.”
taking the ceramic into your hands, you stared down at your warped reflection for only a second before placing the cup beside your thigh, taking his cheeks into your hands.
like clockwork, he leaned down just a little to meet your lips, unable to reject the exchange — especially if he had brought you, his beloved, discomfort.
the one person he had wished to never hurt.
“it’s not your fault — i.. should have told you this sooner, rather than opted to handle it all on my own..” you spoke up after breaking away not long after for breath, if only to spare him.
he understood it well enough, back away to give your space with a hand lingering at your thigh for reassurance. “i hope dragging you away for treatment might make up for my actions, then.”
taking the cup back into your hands, you nodded slowly, allowing your appendages to quirk with something more real, albeit tiny. “i appreciate it, even if it made my anxiety spike up a little..” you chuckled quietly, bringing the porcelain to your lips for a small, careful sip. “that said, i’d still like to go outside after this.”
“then we shall, after you’re stable enough and ready.” he promised, gently squeezing your leg. “for now, slow sips for me.”
notes. this was longer than expected but i’m hoping i explored this okay — and if you are dealing with this ( and anyone else reading ), please be sure to seek out the necessary help to take care of yourselves🫶 don’t try to handle it all on your own.
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
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HI OMG maybe this is unnecessary but i was the anon who requested the sh fic w/ dottore 😭♥️ I COMPLETELY FORGOT ALL ABT IT UNTIL I OPENED UR PAGE AND SAW SOMEONE COMPLIMENTING IT !!! BUT IM SOSO HAPPY THANK U
hello anon!! omg no, you’re always welcome to just pop in the inbox just to pop in! i really appreciate the message!! glad to hear that you enjoyed it and that it made you happy<3 hope you are doing ok!! please take care of yourself!🫶🫶
Hello Queen🧘🏻♀️ i was wondering if you could write a nfsw about Dottore being a professor at the akademiya? I am OBSESSED with image of Dottore being yk sassy professor🤤🤤
✶ ʾ ៹ 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁!
notes. hello anon!! super sorry for the delay, i’ve been trying to unscramble my brain since i finished the sem last week aaa professor!dottie sounds so yum.. thinking bout him got me thinking nonsense..
tw. degradation, praise, slight age gap, use of ‘dear’, oral ( m receiving! ), asphyxiation, doggy style, hair pulling, semi-public sex, humiliation, orgasm denial if you squint, um.. boot riding?
uncomfy or -18? dni! this is def not for you homeslice..
professor!dottore x afab!reader.
there was a dull ache festering in both your knees and scalp, possibly now at the back of your throat as well with every snap of your professor’s hips. but that was just it — a dull, negligible pain that you couldn’t bother to fixate on; not when warm flesh slotted so perfectly into your mouth, seafoam tresses tickling your nose as it did.
you’d be lying if you said you weren’t sure how you’d gotten yourself into this mess. most might call it a last ditch attempt at saving your final grade, extra credit, maybe even your gpa.. but no, not really.
you were just incredibly down bad for your professor.
how couldn’t you be? among shriveled prunes with a foot in a retirement home ( possibly even a grave with how stubborn some of these sages were ), the man you were choking on was a ripened plum. sour-sweet, with plenty of juice left in him to pump you full of his load.
tugging at the roots of your hair, dottore heaved out a blend between a sigh and hiss, unable to quite stop the low chuckle that followed. “what a lovely mouth you had, my dear.. using it so eagerly to answer all of my questions while everyone else cowered in their seats, and look at you now,” he spoke up, delivering a particularly powerful thrust that had tears the shade of the feathers adorning his attire gathering at the corners of your lashes. “stuffed beyond comprehension, subjecting yourself so willingly to carnal desires.. what if someone heard you? your fellow alumni? professors?” he prompted, giving the roots of your hair a taunting tug. “they’d surely whisper among themselves about what a filthy slut their classmate and student is.. but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
nearly feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head when the tip of his shoe pressed against your clothed, dampened clit, you could do nothing more but moan against him, nodding mindlessly. what could you say anyway? nothing intelligible, at least, and dottore was sure to take another jab at your intellect.
but not saying anything seemed to have the same effect regardless. “oh? what was that, dear? several semesters with me already, and you still don’t know how to use your words?” the seafoam haired male continued, scoffing lightly. “surely you would try harder if this was worth a grade.. an oral exam, if you would.. perhaps that would motivate you more?”
grinding down on his boot, you whined back pathetically against him, digging your manicured nails into his cotton clad thighs. if this were an exam, you’d surely fail — unless he were grading you on the basis of the noises you let out.
which in that case.. you’d pass with flying colors. maybe.
dottore all but tilted his head down at you, chest rising and falling at the vibrations on his dick. he had to give it to you for attempting, it seemed to do the trick well enough, because after four more thrusts, he was emptying himself down your throat.
pale cerulean locks spilled behind him as he threw his head back with a low groan, loosening his hold just enough on your head for you to detach your lips with an echoing pop.
but not before leather tipped fingers were reaching for your chin, forcing your gaze to his burning rubies. a warning. “ah-ah-ah, you wouldn’t want to be expelled and have me fired if the cleaners were stumble upon this mess, would you?” he tutted, wagging his index finger in the way he sometimes did when making a point in class. “swallow, my dear. i don’t want to see a drop wasted, unless you’d prefer to be left high and dry..” he trailed off, slowing the movement against your swollen folds — separated by sullied panties that were under the threat of quite possibly never being removed to feel him inside you.
which would be horrible.
your head shook violently in protest as his pearly seed slid down your oesophagus, lips parting seconds after to show him your tongue. “a-all gone, sir — just as you asked..!”
smiling down at you, he let his thumb brush the bottom of your lip before letting out a satisfied hum. “well done, my dear. it seems your intelligence is still mostly in tact.” he praised, shifting his hand to pet your head gently before rising from his seat, “let’s see how long that holds up.”
part of you wanted to ask what that meant, but the other half that indulged in the type of literature that scenes like these derived from knew well enough what your professor meant.
you followed without much protest, and before you knew it, papers were sliding off the desk along with stray pens and the apple you so courteously brought at the start of your meeting. an offering as much as it was a provocation — now on the floor while your front was meeting the cypress table- imported upon request from fontaine, according to your professor.
following closely behind, dottore lined himself up with your clothed sex, pulling your undergarments to the side as he leaned over until his lips met the shell of your ear. “now, don’t shy away from vocalizing how well i fill you up, my dear.. but be sure to use your inside voice for me, yes?”
notes. might romanticize uni a little more if dottore was there, honestly. if only he was into arts & humanities💔 im not built for stem😔
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask
hii!! I was wondering ( if u are comfortable with if ofc!!) if you would be ok writing a comfort/hurt fic with dottore and a reader who is struggling with an eating disorder? If not then no worries!! I really loved your dottore sh x reader fic (as someone who has struggled with sh in the past ) it was so beautifully written!!
💕🙃
໒⦂ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐔𝐏 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄.
notes. hello anon, tysm for the request! glad to hear that you enjoyed the sh fic & i hope that you are doing better now! as for your request- i can do my best! although there are several eating disorders so i’m going to try and keep this as vague as possible so that it’s inclusive to all types- hope thats ok!
genre. hurt / comfort
tw. eating disorder, starvation / loss of appetite, nausea, forced feeding, mentions of vomiting ( vaguely described ), panic attack, use of ‘dear’, self degradation, mentioned dissection ( dw nothing happens ), injection ( just electrolytes )
dottore x gn!reader.
gripping the fabric of your clothing beneath the table, your gaze fell to the spread that had been placed before you, watching as each of the harbingers present served themselves- your partner included.
a dinner party, dottore had mentioned only a few hours ago with a sigh, as though it had been interfering with his work in some way, which was.. mostly true — he was in the middle of something when the invitation had been delivered to his lab, but it was at the request of her majesty.
and if he wanted to continue his research without complications, unfortunately he had to comply with these social gatherings. even when he knew he was not entirely welcomed by his fellow colleagues, apart from the ninth.
though that might have been diplomacy from having replaced his lungs and prolonged his life, for all he knew. but it mattered little- he had you to attend with him and make the ordeal just slightly more bearable.
but you were silently falling apart in your seat, feeling your stomach ache in protest of the many dishes — so beautifully crafted.. you were almost sure that the staff had spent the entire day cooking to perfection for the most important figures of the nation.
and all you could do was stare down at delicate porcelain — the finest of quality, straight out of liyue. perhaps a gift from one of the harbingers during one of their expeditions.
maybe.. maybe if they spoke among another and busied themselves with the food — it might deplete quick enough. where conversation would tune out your existence and the food would diminish into nothing.
alas, your lover never missed a beat, no matter how newly established your relationship was.. he picked up on even the smallest of details.
usually.
because of how busy he was, it was relatively easy to get away with some of your habits. he often ate on his own terms due to his irregular work roster, and since you had work of your own — it was easy to not draw much attention to your own, near nonexistent meal schedule.
but now — met with an occurrence that drew attention to the one thing you’d been carefully trying to hide from him.. it was putting you on a spot that you prayed you would never have to face.
just a little longer until your habits were gone with the winds of time, you kept trying to tell yourself.. and the day has never come.
nor would it ever.
“oh dear, has your head floated off into the clouds?” dottore inquired lightly, snapping you from your thoughts as your frame stiffened, gaze lifting to your left before looking down.
pristine ceramic.
..there was no denying it now, was there?
observing silently behind the mask he wore, the second harbinger leaned over to pick a little bit off of each entree when you didn’t act, placing them carefully atop your plate in the way he often would at back at the lab.. when dissecting subjects or constructing devices.
however, it reminded you more of a parent instead. making sure that their kid ate their vegetables, truthfully, which made your face burn with shame, as he was your lover- not your father.
several sets of eyes drifted towards your exchange with him, and with each passing second, you couldn’t help but feel impossibly smaller.
was it too impolite to excuse yourself without having eaten or spoken much? would the tsaritsa think you to be disrespectful or ungrateful for her generosity? would the harbingers begin to whisper among themselves while your lover dealt with the humiliation? would you disappoint your him no less with the condition you had never been able to bring yourself to tell him — a doctor — about?
your world was spinning.
“lovely, that should do it. no need to shy away from partaking, there’s plenty to go around, and my colleagues would certainly not want you to starve..” he encouraged, returning his silverware to his own plate — half eaten.
more than you’ve held down in the past week.
the mini selection taken from each dish gazed up at you invitingly, and your stomach growled in want equally as it did in warning.
“it would be rude to not eat after he went out of his way.”
“you would not want to be ungrateful, would you?”
“people are truly starving elsewhere without access to food.”
picking up your fork and knife with shaky hands, you nodded despite yourself, lowering your head. “sorry, guess i was lost in my own thoughts..” you tried apologizing, plastering a smile that you’d hoped might be convincing enough of your case. there were too many people around, making it far to easy to be picked apart from where you sat — vulnerable to characters that had power comparable to that of the gods.
your partner included.
cutting into the piece of meat that he’d taken for you, you swallowed down your nerves, bringing the piece past your lips as you chewed slowly.
pleasant, as expected.. yet poisonous all at the same time — weighing your tongue as though on the precipice of booking your next trip to the nearest washroom.
but you couldn’t just sit there, silent and pretty for the rest of the night with a singular bite of food awaiting to be spat the minute everyone retired to their chambers. you were expected to eat, and by most table manners.. finish what was on your plate.
pained as you were, humiliating your partner and yourself by association was not what you wanted tonight — not ever, for that matter.
and so you cut into another piece.
savory, quality venom slid down your throat, and the rest followed — each quicker than the last. you were hungry, after all, no matter the never ending lack of appetite.
porcelain, now marred with residual hues stared back up at you almost mockingly, and it took all of you to remain in your place. leaving abruptly after scarfing down your plate was far too sudden, greatly suspicious, and highly offensive. they would piece it together quicker than bullets could pierce flesh; patience was necessary.
even if you could feel it knocking in the back of your throat, warning you through the way your stomach twisted itself into knots of that all too familiar nausea.
every ounce of your being pleaded silently for time to be kind just this once — to tick faster on that ancient clock, but it only seemed to go slower. a wicked mockery.
conversation dragged on without any intent of being saved for another gathering, although your lover had seemed.. more attentive than ever before.
in fact, while you ate — there was just this sliver of crimson that you could swear was in the peripheral of your gaze each time you leaned forward for a bite.
nothing slipped by him.
nearly digging your nails through the fibers of your attire, right into the flesh of your thighs, you nearly jumped when dottore suddenly rose from his seat, black-azure appearing before your eyes. “would you join me on the terrace, my dear? some fresh air might do us good, it’s a full moon tonight, after all.”
lifting your gaze from his hand to his masked face, you silently thanked whoever might have been watching over you for being ushered away from the dinner table, though you’d cursed them all the same.
he was going to find out.
your hand lowered tentatively into his as you stood from your own seat, nodding slowly. “i’d like for that, yes.” you muttered back, turning to his coworkers before tipping your head forward. “t-thank you for the meal.” it felt like pulling teeth to get the words out, but you had to. for dottore, and your own credibility.
the halls were quiet, save for the measured click of boots, as you kept to his side. but rather than the balcony, like he’d mentioned.. you found yourself being brought elsewhere.
an all too familiar venue.
your heart nearly stopped, shriveled and crumbled in your chest.
“zandik — why are we-”
“rest assured that you have my word on us going to the terrace, but i’d like to assess you first, dear.” the man in question cut in, lab doors hissing open with the scent of antiseptic permeating the air.
swallowing back the acid teasing cruelly at your oesophagus, you followed with shaky steps towards the examination table.
dottore’s hand seemed to leave yours when you stopped in front of it, a soft hum leaving his lips. “take a seat, i’m going to get a few things. when i return, i better find you in this exact spot and upright. am i understood?”
it wasn’t to say that you’d never heard him speak this way before. if you were ever injured or feeling unwell — it was like flicking a switch from lover to doctor. frightening, but strangely caring.
maybe a little more frightening this time around, however.
you obliged nonetheless. “yes, zandik.”
cold metal blanketed by a thin sanitary sheet greeted your rear as you shivered despite the warmth of your attire, willing your nerves to remain confined to your stomach. an effort you had yet to master, truthfully.. but you had to try — even if this lab had seen worse than someone’s coughed up dinner.
the thought alone had a hand clamping over your mouth, tears prickling at the corners of your lashes.
thankfully, dottore was ever the attentive type, arriving without delay wheeling a small trolley of things. a cup of mint tea, a cloth floating in bowl of icy water, a syringe of a something you couldn’t name, rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs and a bucket.
he knew.
the harbinger started by bringing the cloth to your forehead, pushing back whatever hairs might have been in the way to place with the cool towel. “you forced the food down.” he remarked without delay, not wanting to beat around for once.
which was typical when it came to health related exchanges.
biting back a whimper, you nodded because what good was lying to him now, averting your gaze. “i.. didn’t want to make a scene.”
a pensive noise left him, hands withdrawing from your forehead to reach for the needle. “and how long has this been going on for?” he then followed up, clinically, holding his hand out for you to offer your arm.
you did, still facing away as not to witness the injection. “awhile..” came your murmured response, eyes squeezing shut at the prick that broke your skin with such frightening precision.
he was quiet after that, running a dampened ball of fluff on the puncture before returning your arm to your side. “were you ashamed to tell me?”
chewing on your bottom lip, your head bobbed thrice in agreement, brows knitted together. “i thought i could break out of it on my own and leave it a distant memory once i was better.” you paused, cradling your hand in your lap. “but it just.. persisted, and now here we are.” caught red handed, under the care of your partner when he was meant to be with his colleagues.
a sigh left his lips as he shook his head, discarding the cotton. “foolish thing. i’ve told you plenty of times before to come to me no matter the issue — certainly over something that has carried on for this long.” he muttered, reaching for the teacup as he held it out to you. “at least if i knew, i would have come up with a viable excuse for the two of us to skip out on this dinner, and i..” a slow breath. “would not have forced that meal upon you.”
taking the ceramic into your hands, you stared down at your warped reflection for only a second before placing the cup beside your thigh, taking his cheeks into your hands.
like clockwork, he leaned down just a little to meet your lips, unable to reject the exchange — especially if he had brought you, his beloved, discomfort.
the one person he had wished to never hurt.
“it’s not your fault — i.. should have told you this sooner, rather than opted to handle it all on my own..” you spoke up after breaking away not long after for breath, if only to spare him.
he understood it well enough, back away to give your space with a hand lingering at your thigh for reassurance. “i hope dragging you away for treatment might make up for my actions, then.”
taking the cup back into your hands, you nodded slowly, allowing your appendages to quirk with something more real, albeit tiny. “i appreciate it, even if it made my anxiety spike up a little..” you chuckled quietly, bringing the porcelain to your lips for a small, careful sip. “that said, i’d still like to go outside after this.”
“then we shall, after you’re stable enough and ready.” he promised, gently squeezing your leg. “for now, slow sips for me.”
notes. this was longer than expected but i’m hoping i explored this okay — and if you are dealing with this ( and anyone else reading ), please be sure to seek out the necessary help to take care of yourselves🫶 don’t try to handle it all on your own.
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
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info: you find yourself in a dilemma when you try to figure out just who is writing about you on your school's confession page. the signoff seems hard to decipher, just who is the defender of justice? it doesn't help how well known you are at school, will this comp science major hack his way into your heart?
college au! mystic messenger smau: various tropes involved here. hope you all enjoy and send me an ask or comment below to be added in the taglist! :)
warnings: depression, anxiety, ptsd, abandonment issues, potentially more cause i'm gonna make this semi canon to mm's lore :,) will update as this smau goes on!
hii!! I was wondering ( if u are comfortable with if ofc!!) if you would be ok writing a comfort/hurt fic with dottore and a reader who is struggling with an eating disorder? If not then no worries!! I really loved your dottore sh x reader fic (as someone who has struggled with sh in the past ) it was so beautifully written!!
💕🙃
໒⦂ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐔𝐏 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄.
notes. hello anon, tysm for the request! glad to hear that you enjoyed the sh fic & i hope that you are doing better now! as for your request- i can do my best! although there are several eating disorders so i’m going to try and keep this as vague as possible so that it’s inclusive to all types- hope thats ok!
genre. hurt / comfort
tw. eating disorder, starvation / loss of appetite, nausea, forced feeding, mentions of vomiting ( vaguely described ), panic attack, use of ‘dear’, self degradation, mentioned dissection ( dw nothing happens ), injection ( just electrolytes )
dottore x gn!reader.
gripping the fabric of your clothing beneath the table, your gaze fell to the spread that had been placed before you, watching as each of the harbingers present served themselves- your partner included.
a dinner party, dottore had mentioned only a few hours ago with a sigh, as though it had been interfering with his work in some way, which was.. mostly true — he was in the middle of something when the invitation had been delivered to his lab, but it was at the request of her majesty.
and if he wanted to continue his research without complications, unfortunately he had to comply with these social gatherings. even when he knew he was not entirely welcomed by his fellow colleagues, apart from the ninth.
though that might have been diplomacy from having replaced his lungs and prolonged his life, for all he knew. but it mattered little- he had you to attend with him and make the ordeal just slightly more bearable.
but you were silently falling apart in your seat, feeling your stomach ache in protest of the many dishes — so beautifully crafted.. you were almost sure that the staff had spent the entire day cooking to perfection for the most important figures of the nation.
and all you could do was stare down at delicate porcelain — the finest of quality, straight out of liyue. perhaps a gift from one of the harbingers during one of their expeditions.
maybe.. maybe if they spoke among another and busied themselves with the food — it might deplete quick enough. where conversation would tune out your existence and the food would diminish into nothing.
alas, your lover never missed a beat, no matter how newly established your relationship was.. he picked up on even the smallest of details.
usually.
because of how busy he was, it was relatively easy to get away with some of your habits. he often ate on his own terms due to his irregular work roster, and since you had work of your own — it was easy to not draw much attention to your own, near nonexistent meal schedule.
but now — met with an occurrence that drew attention to the one thing you’d been carefully trying to hide from him.. it was putting you on a spot that you prayed you would never have to face.
just a little longer until your habits were gone with the winds of time, you kept trying to tell yourself.. and the day has never come.
nor would it ever.
“oh dear, has your head floated off into the clouds?” dottore inquired lightly, snapping you from your thoughts as your frame stiffened, gaze lifting to your left before looking down.
pristine ceramic.
..there was no denying it now, was there?
observing silently behind the mask he wore, the second harbinger leaned over to pick a little bit off of each entree when you didn’t act, placing them carefully atop your plate in the way he often would at back at the lab.. when dissecting subjects or constructing devices.
however, it reminded you more of a parent instead. making sure that their kid ate their vegetables, truthfully, which made your face burn with shame, as he was your lover- not your father.
several sets of eyes drifted towards your exchange with him, and with each passing second, you couldn’t help but feel impossibly smaller.
was it too impolite to excuse yourself without having eaten or spoken much? would the tsaritsa think you to be disrespectful or ungrateful for her generosity? would the harbingers begin to whisper among themselves while your lover dealt with the humiliation? would you disappoint your him no less with the condition you had never been able to bring yourself to tell him — a doctor — about?
your world was spinning.
“lovely, that should do it. no need to shy away from partaking, there’s plenty to go around, and my colleagues would certainly not want you to starve..” he encouraged, returning his silverware to his own plate — half eaten.
more than you’ve held down in the past week.
the mini selection taken from each dish gazed up at you invitingly, and your stomach growled in want equally as it did in warning.
“it would be rude to not eat after he went out of his way.”
“you would not want to be ungrateful, would you?”
“people are truly starving elsewhere without access to food.”
picking up your fork and knife with shaky hands, you nodded despite yourself, lowering your head. “sorry, guess i was lost in my own thoughts..” you tried apologizing, plastering a smile that you’d hoped might be convincing enough of your case. there were too many people around, making it far to easy to be picked apart from where you sat — vulnerable to characters that had power comparable to that of the gods.
your partner included.
cutting into the piece of meat that he’d taken for you, you swallowed down your nerves, bringing the piece past your lips as you chewed slowly.
pleasant, as expected.. yet poisonous all at the same time — weighing your tongue as though on the precipice of booking your next trip to the nearest washroom.
but you couldn’t just sit there, silent and pretty for the rest of the night with a singular bite of food awaiting to be spat the minute everyone retired to their chambers. you were expected to eat, and by most table manners.. finish what was on your plate.
pained as you were, humiliating your partner and yourself by association was not what you wanted tonight — not ever, for that matter.
and so you cut into another piece.
savory, quality venom slid down your throat, and the rest followed — each quicker than the last. you were hungry, after all, no matter the never ending lack of appetite.
porcelain, now marred with residual hues stared back up at you almost mockingly, and it took all of you to remain in your place. leaving abruptly after scarfing down your plate was far too sudden, greatly suspicious, and highly offensive. they would piece it together quicker than bullets could pierce flesh; patience was necessary.
even if you could feel it knocking in the back of your throat, warning you through the way your stomach twisted itself into knots of that all too familiar nausea.
every ounce of your being pleaded silently for time to be kind just this once — to tick faster on that ancient clock, but it only seemed to go slower. a wicked mockery.
conversation dragged on without any intent of being saved for another gathering, although your lover had seemed.. more attentive than ever before.
in fact, while you ate — there was just this sliver of crimson that you could swear was in the peripheral of your gaze each time you leaned forward for a bite.
nothing slipped by him.
nearly digging your nails through the fibers of your attire, right into the flesh of your thighs, you nearly jumped when dottore suddenly rose from his seat, black-azure appearing before your eyes. “would you join me on the terrace, my dear? some fresh air might do us good, it’s a full moon tonight, after all.”
lifting your gaze from his hand to his masked face, you silently thanked whoever might have been watching over you for being ushered away from the dinner table, though you’d cursed them all the same.
he was going to find out.
your hand lowered tentatively into his as you stood from your own seat, nodding slowly. “i’d like for that, yes.” you muttered back, turning to his coworkers before tipping your head forward. “t-thank you for the meal.” it felt like pulling teeth to get the words out, but you had to. for dottore, and your own credibility.
the halls were quiet, save for the measured click of boots, as you kept to his side. but rather than the balcony, like he’d mentioned.. you found yourself being brought elsewhere.
an all too familiar venue.
your heart nearly stopped, shriveled and crumbled in your chest.
“zandik — why are we-”
“rest assured that you have my word on us going to the terrace, but i’d like to assess you first, dear.” the man in question cut in, lab doors hissing open with the scent of antiseptic permeating the air.
swallowing back the acid teasing cruelly at your oesophagus, you followed with shaky steps towards the examination table.
dottore’s hand seemed to leave yours when you stopped in front of it, a soft hum leaving his lips. “take a seat, i’m going to get a few things. when i return, i better find you in this exact spot and upright. am i understood?”
it wasn’t to say that you’d never heard him speak this way before. if you were ever injured or feeling unwell — it was like flicking a switch from lover to doctor. frightening, but strangely caring.
maybe a little more frightening this time around, however.
you obliged nonetheless. “yes, zandik.”
cold metal blanketed by a thin sanitary sheet greeted your rear as you shivered despite the warmth of your attire, willing your nerves to remain confined to your stomach. an effort you had yet to master, truthfully.. but you had to try — even if this lab had seen worse than someone’s coughed up dinner.
the thought alone had a hand clamping over your mouth, tears prickling at the corners of your lashes.
thankfully, dottore was ever the attentive type, arriving without delay wheeling a small trolley of things. a cup of mint tea, a cloth floating in bowl of icy water, a syringe of a something you couldn’t name, rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs and a bucket.
he knew.
the harbinger started by bringing the cloth to your forehead, pushing back whatever hairs might have been in the way to place with the cool towel. “you forced the food down.” he remarked without delay, not wanting to beat around for once.
which was typical when it came to health related exchanges.
biting back a whimper, you nodded because what good was lying to him now, averting your gaze. “i.. didn’t want to make a scene.”
a pensive noise left him, hands withdrawing from your forehead to reach for the needle. “and how long has this been going on for?” he then followed up, clinically, holding his hand out for you to offer your arm.
you did, still facing away as not to witness the injection. “awhile..” came your murmured response, eyes squeezing shut at the prick that broke your skin with such frightening precision.
he was quiet after that, running a dampened ball of fluff on the puncture before returning your arm to your side. “were you ashamed to tell me?”
chewing on your bottom lip, your head bobbed thrice in agreement, brows knitted together. “i thought i could break out of it on my own and leave it a distant memory once i was better.” you paused, cradling your hand in your lap. “but it just.. persisted, and now here we are.” caught red handed, under the care of your partner when he was meant to be with his colleagues.
a sigh left his lips as he shook his head, discarding the cotton. “foolish thing. i’ve told you plenty of times before to come to me no matter the issue — certainly over something that has carried on for this long.” he muttered, reaching for the teacup as he held it out to you. “at least if i knew, i would have come up with a viable excuse for the two of us to skip out on this dinner, and i..” a slow breath. “would not have forced that meal upon you.”
taking the ceramic into your hands, you stared down at your warped reflection for only a second before placing the cup beside your thigh, taking his cheeks into your hands.
like clockwork, he leaned down just a little to meet your lips, unable to reject the exchange — especially if he had brought you, his beloved, discomfort.
the one person he had wished to never hurt.
“it’s not your fault — i.. should have told you this sooner, rather than opted to handle it all on my own..” you spoke up after breaking away not long after for breath, if only to spare him.
he understood it well enough, back away to give your space with a hand lingering at your thigh for reassurance. “i hope dragging you away for treatment might make up for my actions, then.”
taking the cup back into your hands, you nodded slowly, allowing your appendages to quirk with something more real, albeit tiny. “i appreciate it, even if it made my anxiety spike up a little..” you chuckled quietly, bringing the porcelain to your lips for a small, careful sip. “that said, i’d still like to go outside after this.”
“then we shall, after you’re stable enough and ready.” he promised, gently squeezing your leg. “for now, slow sips for me.”
notes. this was longer than expected but i’m hoping i explored this okay — and if you are dealing with this ( and anyone else reading ), please be sure to seek out the necessary help to take care of yourselves🫶 don’t try to handle it all on your own.
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask
Hello Queen🧘🏻♀️ i was wondering if you could write a nfsw about Dottore being a professor at the akademiya? I am OBSESSED with image of Dottore being yk sassy professor🤤🤤
✶ ʾ ៹ 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁!
notes. hello anon!! super sorry for the delay, i’ve been trying to unscramble my brain since i finished the sem last week aaa professor!dottie sounds so yum.. thinking bout him got me thinking nonsense..
tw. degradation, praise, slight age gap, use of ‘dear’, oral ( m receiving! ), asphyxiation, doggy style, hair pulling, semi-public sex, humiliation, orgasm denial if you squint, um.. boot riding?
uncomfy or -18? dni! this is def not for you homeslice..
professor!dottore x afab!reader
there was a dull ache festering in both your knees and scalp, possibly now at the back of your throat as well with every snap of your professor’s hips. but that was just it — a dull, negligible pain that you couldn’t bother to fixate on; not when warm flesh slotted so perfectly into your mouth, seafoam tresses tickling your nose as it did.
you’d be lying if you said you weren’t sure how you’d gotten yourself into this mess. most might call it a last ditch attempt at saving your final grade, extra credit, maybe even your gpa.. but no, not really.
you were just incredibly down bad for your professor.
how couldn’t you be? among shriveled prunes with a foot in a retirement home ( possibly even a grave with how stubborn some of these sages were ), the man you were choking on was a ripened plum. sour-sweet, with plenty of juice left in him to pump you full of his load.
tugging at the roots of your hair, dottore heaved out a blend between a sigh and hiss, unable to quite stop the low chuckle that followed. “what a lovely mouth you had, my dear.. using it so eagerly to answer all of my questions while everyone else cowered in their seats, and look at you now,” he spoke up, delivering a particularly powerful thrust that had tears the shade of the feathers adorning his attire gathering at the corners of your lashes. “stuffed beyond comprehension, subjecting yourself so willingly to carnal desires.. what if someone heard you? your fellow alumni? professors?” he prompted, giving the roots of your hair a taunting tug. “they’d surely whisper among themselves about what a filthy slut their classmate and student is.. but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
nearly feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head when the tip of his shoe pressed against your clothed, dampened clit, you could do nothing more but moan against him, nodding mindlessly. what could you say anyway? nothing intelligible, at least, and dottore was sure to take another jab at your intellect.
but not saying anything seemed to have the same effect regardless. “oh? what was that, dear? several semesters with me already, and you still don’t know how to use your words?” the seafoam haired male continued, scoffing lightly. “surely you would try harder if this was worth a grade.. an oral exam, if you would.. perhaps that would motivate you more?”
grinding down on his boot, you whined back pathetically against him, digging your manicured nails into his cotton clad thighs. if this were an exam, you’d surely fail — unless he were grading you on the basis of the noises you let out.
which in that case.. you’d pass with flying colors. maybe.
dottore all but tilted his head down at you, chest rising and falling at the vibrations on his dick. he had to give it to you for attempting, it seemed to do the trick well enough, because after four more thrusts, he was emptying himself down your throat.
pale cerulean locks spilled behind him as he threw his head back with a low groan, loosening his hold just enough on your head for you to detach your lips with an echoing pop.
but not before leather tipped fingers were reaching for your chin, forcing your gaze to his burning rubies. a warning. “ah-ah-ah, you wouldn’t want to be expelled and have me fired if the cleaners were stumble upon this mess, would you?” he tutted, wagging his index finger in the way he sometimes did when making a point in class. “swallow, my dear. i don’t want to see a drop wasted, unless you’d prefer to be left high and dry..” he trailed off, slowing the movement against your swollen folds — separated by sullied panties that were under the threat of quite possibly never being removed to feel him inside you.
which would be horrible.
your head shook violently in protest as his pearly seed slid down your oesophagus, lips parting seconds after to show him your tongue. “a-all gone, sir — just as you asked..!”
smiling down at you, he let his thumb brush the bottom of your lip before letting out a satisfied hum. “well done, my dear. it seems your intelligence is still mostly in tact.” he praised, shifting his hand to pet your head gently before rising from his seat, “let’s see how long that holds up.”
part of you wanted to ask what that meant, but the other half that indulged in the type of literature that scenes like these derived from knew well enough what your professor meant.
you followed without much protest, and before you knew it, papers were sliding off the desk along with stray pens and the apple you so courteously brought at the start of your meeting. an offering as much as it was a provocation — now on the floor while your front was meeting the cypress table- imported upon request from fontaine, according to your professor.
following closely behind, dottore lined himself up with your clothed sex, pulling your undergarments to the side as he leaned over until his lips met the shell of your ear. “now, don’t shy away from vocalizing how well i fill you up, my dear.. but be sure to use your inside voice for me, yes?”
notes. might romanticize uni a little more if dottore was there, honestly. if only he was into arts & humanities💔 im not built for stem😔
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
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huwwo! been considering commissioning you but was wondering if you had any other examples of writing anaxa (particularly like speech n mannerisms) beyond the one request? 🤔
omg hello!! i have only written something of him once so far which was for a reverse isekai setting! it’s in a headcanon format rather than a full drabble but it can give somewhat of an idea i hope! i would very much love to write more for him tho!<3 thank you so much for the ask!
Hello Queen🧘🏻♀️ i was wondering if you could write a nfsw about Dottore being a professor at the akademiya? I am OBSESSED with image of Dottore being yk sassy professor🤤🤤
✶ ʾ ៹ 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁!
notes. hello anon!! super sorry for the delay, i’ve been trying to unscramble my brain since i finished the sem last week aaa professor!dottie sounds so yum.. thinking bout him got me thinking nonsense..
tw. degradation, praise, slight age gap, use of ‘dear’, oral ( m receiving! ), asphyxiation, doggy style, hair pulling, semi-public sex, humiliation, orgasm denial if you squint, um.. boot riding?
uncomfy or -18? dni! this is def not for you homeslice..
professor!dottore x afab!reader
there was a dull ache festering in both your knees and scalp, possibly now at the back of your throat as well with every snap of your professor’s hips. but that was just it — a dull, negligible pain that you couldn’t bother to fixate on; not when warm flesh slotted so perfectly into your mouth, seafoam tresses tickling your nose as it did.
you’d be lying if you said you weren’t sure how you’d gotten yourself into this mess. most might call it a last ditch attempt at saving your final grade, extra credit, maybe even your gpa.. but no, not really.
you were just incredibly down bad for your professor.
how couldn’t you be? among shriveled prunes with a foot in a retirement home ( possibly even a grave with how stubborn some of these sages were ), the man you were choking on was a ripened plum. sour-sweet, with plenty of juice left in him to pump you full of his load.
tugging at the roots of your hair, dottore heaved out a blend between a sigh and hiss, unable to quite stop the low chuckle that followed. “what a lovely mouth you had, my dear.. using it so eagerly to answer all of my questions while everyone else cowered in their seats, and look at you now,” he spoke up, delivering a particularly powerful thrust that had tears the shade of the feathers adorning his attire gathering at the corners of your lashes. “stuffed beyond comprehension, subjecting yourself so willingly to carnal desires.. what if someone heard you? your fellow alumni? professors?” he prompted, giving the roots of your hair a taunting tug. “they’d surely whisper among themselves about what a filthy slut their classmate and student is.. but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
nearly feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head when the tip of his shoe pressed against your clothed, dampened clit, you could do nothing more but moan against him, nodding mindlessly. what could you say anyway? nothing intelligible, at least, and dottore was sure to take another jab at your intellect.
but not saying anything seemed to have the same effect regardless. “oh? what was that, dear? several semesters with me already, and you still don’t know how to use your words?” the seafoam haired male continued, scoffing lightly. “surely you would try harder if this was worth a grade.. an oral exam, if you would.. perhaps that would motivate you more?”
grinding down on his boot, you whined back pathetically against him, digging your manicured nails into his cotton clad thighs. if this were an exam, you’d surely fail — unless he were grading you on the basis of the noises you let out.
which in that case.. you’d pass with flying colors. maybe.
dottore all but tilted his head down at you, chest rising and falling at the vibrations on his dick. he had to give it to you for attempting, it seemed to do the trick well enough, because after four more thrusts, he was emptying himself down your throat.
pale cerulean locks spilled behind him as he threw his head back with a low groan, loosening his hold just enough on your head for you to detach your lips with an echoing pop.
but not before leather tipped fingers were reaching for your chin, forcing your gaze to his burning rubies. a warning. “ah-ah-ah, you wouldn’t want to be expelled and have me fired if the cleaners were stumble upon this mess, would you?” he tutted, wagging his index finger in the way he sometimes did when making a point in class. “swallow, my dear. i don’t want to see a drop wasted, unless you’d prefer to be left high and dry..” he trailed off, slowing the movement against your swollen folds — separated by sullied panties that were under the threat of quite possibly never being removed to feel him inside you.
which would be horrible.
your head shook violently in protest as his pearly seed slid down your oesophagus, lips parting seconds after to show him your tongue. “a-all gone, sir — just as you asked..!”
smiling down at you, he let his thumb brush the bottom of your lip before letting out a satisfied hum. “well done, my dear. it seems your intelligence is still mostly in tact.” he praised, shifting his hand to pet your head gently before rising from his seat, “let’s see how long that holds up.”
part of you wanted to ask what that meant, but the other half that indulged in the type of literature that scenes like these derived from knew well enough what your professor meant.
you followed without much protest, and before you knew it, papers were sliding off the desk along with stray pens and the apple you so courteously brought at the start of your meeting. an offering as much as it was a provocation — now on the floor while your front was meeting the cypress table- imported upon request from fontaine, according to your professor.
following closely behind, dottore lined himself up with your clothed sex, pulling your undergarments to the side as he leaned over until his lips met the shell of your ear. “now, don’t shy away from vocalizing how well i fill you up, my dear.. but be sure to use your inside voice for me, yes?”
notes. might romanticize uni a little more if dottore was there, honestly. if only he was into arts & humanities💔 im not built for stem😔
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
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do you like pantalonee?? would you write smth for him in the future
hello anon!! hmm i think he’s an interesting ( and beautiful ) character and i can definitely see the appeal in him! i might just be a little petty that he was debuted only for dottore to get doomed by power of friendship</3 but i wouldn’t let that stop me from writing him if ppl wanna see him!
in fact- have written smtn for him once so far! so if there is further demand for him, aka asks, then i will write for him again! but on a whim? probably not since that’s usually just me with current muses ahaha
hope this clears things up! and if you wanna ask for him, you’re welcome to!
Hello Queen🧘🏻♀️ i was wondering if you could write a nfsw about Dottore being a professor at the akademiya? I am OBSESSED with image of Dottore being yk sassy professor🤤🤤
✶ ʾ ៹ 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁!
notes. hello anon!! super sorry for the delay, i’ve been trying to unscramble my brain since i finished the sem last week aaa professor!dottie sounds so yum.. thinking bout him got me thinking nonsense..
tw. degradation, praise, slight age gap, use of ‘dear’, oral ( m receiving! ), asphyxiation, doggy style, hair pulling, semi-public sex, humiliation, orgasm denial if you squint, um.. boot riding?
uncomfy or -18? dni! this is def not for you homeslice..
professor!dottore x afab!reader.
there was a dull ache festering in both your knees and scalp, possibly now at the back of your throat as well with every snap of your professor’s hips. but that was just it — a dull, negligible pain that you couldn’t bother to fixate on; not when warm flesh slotted so perfectly into your mouth, seafoam tresses tickling your nose as it did.
you’d be lying if you said you weren’t sure how you’d gotten yourself into this mess. most might call it a last ditch attempt at saving your final grade, extra credit, maybe even your gpa.. but no, not really.
you were just incredibly down bad for your professor.
how couldn’t you be? among shriveled prunes with a foot in a retirement home ( possibly even a grave with how stubborn some of these sages were ), the man you were choking on was a ripened plum. sour-sweet, with plenty of juice left in him to pump you full of his load.
tugging at the roots of your hair, dottore heaved out a blend between a sigh and hiss, unable to quite stop the low chuckle that followed. “what a lovely mouth you had, my dear.. using it so eagerly to answer all of my questions while everyone else cowered in their seats, and look at you now,” he spoke up, delivering a particularly powerful thrust that had tears the shade of the feathers adorning his attire gathering at the corners of your lashes. “stuffed beyond comprehension, subjecting yourself so willingly to carnal desires.. what if someone heard you? your fellow alumni? professors?” he prompted, giving the roots of your hair a taunting tug. “they’d surely whisper among themselves about what a filthy slut their classmate and student is.. but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
nearly feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head when the tip of his shoe pressed against your clothed, dampened clit, you could do nothing more but moan against him, nodding mindlessly. what could you say anyway? nothing intelligible, at least, and dottore was sure to take another jab at your intellect.
but not saying anything seemed to have the same effect regardless. “oh? what was that, dear? several semesters with me already, and you still don’t know how to use your words?” the seafoam haired male continued, scoffing lightly. “surely you would try harder if this was worth a grade.. an oral exam, if you would.. perhaps that would motivate you more?”
grinding down on his boot, you whined back pathetically against him, digging your manicured nails into his cotton clad thighs. if this were an exam, you’d surely fail — unless he were grading you on the basis of the noises you let out.
which in that case.. you’d pass with flying colors. maybe.
dottore all but tilted his head down at you, chest rising and falling at the vibrations on his dick. he had to give it to you for attempting, it seemed to do the trick well enough, because after four more thrusts, he was emptying himself down your throat.
pale cerulean locks spilled behind him as he threw his head back with a low groan, loosening his hold just enough on your head for you to detach your lips with an echoing pop.
but not before leather tipped fingers were reaching for your chin, forcing your gaze to his burning rubies. a warning. “ah-ah-ah, you wouldn’t want to be expelled and have me fired if the cleaners were stumble upon this mess, would you?” he tutted, wagging his index finger in the way he sometimes did when making a point in class. “swallow, my dear. i don’t want to see a drop wasted, unless you’d prefer to be left high and dry..” he trailed off, slowing the movement against your swollen folds — separated by sullied panties that were under the threat of quite possibly never being removed to feel him inside you.
which would be horrible.
your head shook violently in protest as his pearly seed slid down your oesophagus, lips parting seconds after to show him your tongue. “a-all gone, sir — just as you asked..!”
smiling down at you, he let his thumb brush the bottom of your lip before letting out a satisfied hum. “well done, my dear. it seems your intelligence is still mostly in tact.” he praised, shifting his hand to pet your head gently before rising from his seat, “let’s see how long that holds up.”
part of you wanted to ask what that meant, but the other half that indulged in the type of literature that scenes like these derived from knew well enough what your professor meant.
you followed without much protest, and before you knew it, papers were sliding off the desk along with stray pens and the apple you so courteously brought at the start of your meeting. an offering as much as it was a provocation — now on the floor while your front was meeting the cypress table- imported upon request from fontaine, according to your professor.
following closely behind, dottore lined himself up with your clothed sex, pulling your undergarments to the side as he leaned over until his lips met the shell of your ear. “now, don’t shy away from vocalizing how well i fill you up, my dear.. but be sure to use your inside voice for me, yes?”
notes. might romanticize uni a little more if dottore was there, honestly. if only he was into arts & humanities💔 im not built for stem😔
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The empty hallways echo with the sound of piano, those lonely tunes resonating through the whole wing of the palace like the howling of wolves outside. If not for the sound, it’d seem abandoned. It’s dark and cold, only the moonlight to illuminate the grandiose space. A full moon, sitting high in the sky, staring down at your isolated figures.
Dottore’s fingers command the keys with practiced precision, uncaring of the late hour, playing music that’s hardly fit for a lullaby. It makes you lean your body closer to his still, to nuzzle your face into the fur collar of his coat. Your breathing comes out in wisps of mist.
“You are to keep me company,” he reminds you without missing a beat.
“Am I not?” you hum. Testing the waters, your arms snake around his shoulders, hands meeting on his chest. “You haven’t even told me what we’re waiting for.”
You feel lazy. It may be only the cold sapping your strength. You turn your head towards the window, towards the moon domineering the heavens. Perhaps that’s got something to do with it.
“An experiment in progress,” he replies. You wait a beat but no more elaboration comes, not even a hint. It’s not surprising. Perhaps it’s not the moon, then.
“And my presence is vital for this experiment?” You decide to push regardless.
“No, I suppose not,” his voice doesn’t betray anything, not that you expect it to.
And yet you linger, like you always do. Even if he provides no warmth, if you’re cold and optional. The music he’s playing is worth it, however. You think he could’ve easily pursued music in another lifetime.
The position does nothing to chase the frost away from your body, but you don’t move. Dottore seems absorbed in the notes behind his eyelids, reading off an invisible sheet. The music grows louder, more powerful. It wraps around you, stirs unrest inside your mind as you stare at the moon. As if it was to collide with the world at any moment. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of his shirt. The sky seems ablaze with blue fire.
“You’re still here,” he says, as if to remind you of something.
“Of course,” you turn your head back towards him. The rage has subsided, you draw him closer, locks of blue hair tickling your nose. “You haven’t released me yet.”
His fingers move without hesitation, so does his tongue.
“I haven’t ordered you to stay either,” he points out. A fact to ponder.
Though is there - he hasn’t ordered to let go of him either, nor did he try to shake you off. He didn’t give the explicit permission to touch him in the first place.
“Should I only obey your orders?” you inquire. Truly you wouldn’t wish to overstep, and while he doesn’t seem like the type who’d allow it…
“Suit yourself,” he huffs. Typical.
And so you do. The music’s reached the point where its flow ebbs, trickling towards an inevitable end. You sit down on the bench, right next to him. Your legs swing on the opposite side of the bench as you lean back to look at him.
The beaked mask stares back at you, fingers stilling over the keys. The last of the notes get slowly snuffed out by the overwhelming silence of the place.
His mask that is usually pitch black glows white, reflecting the moonlight. Its sharp edge nudges forward, catching on your cheek. It doesn’t cut, not deep enough to draw blood - not yet anyway. You think he could make it so, if he tried. You’re sure of it.
Whether the doctor watches you or not, you can’t tell. The light bouncing off his mask is bright enough to make your eyes water but you don’t flinch away. Not when the beak slides over your skin and his face draws near, not when he shuffles closer and you find yourself bracketed by his arms. You only lean further back, your spine resting over the edge of the piano, not making a sound. You’d hate to disturb the peace, to erase the lingering aftermath of his playing.
His breath mingles with yours, slow inhales and exhales synchronizing. Locked in a motionless not-quite-embrace, yet not-quite-trap, you share the oxygen. The moonlight doesn’t reach the smooth surface of the mask now, at least. But you can’t read him any better in the darkness.
And maybe you don’t need to - he did tell you to suit yourself after all, and so you do because you’re tired and you’re cold.
Dottore stiffens when you shift between his arms. You merely straighten your back, your arms slip under his coat. Smile tugs at your lips upon discovering his body won’t warm you up no matter how close you get. Still, you go on and he doesn’t stop you.
You curl yourself into his side, your face half-buried into the fur of his coat, half-buried against his neck. After minutes of waiting, one of his arms finds its place around your waist. The other slowly returns to the keys of the piano. It sounds like he’s experimenting with a new melody.
