#tagging this as day 12 again bc technically its day 12’s prompt

[bazzleman]

Hatchetfield Femslash Fortnight Day 13 - Happy Ending (again)

i had one happy ending day but i couldn’t figure out who to give it to so i just did two happy ending days.. sorry

anyways them… they deserve to get their little picket fence life! they deserve to move in together and get a cat!! they can plant a garden and make each other food and ughhhhh they make me sick

[angelicspaceprince]

Bruised

Author:   Ama 

Title: Bruised

Pairing: Doctor Martin Whitly x Reader

Character/s: Doctor Martin Whitly, mentions of Malcolm Whitly/Bright and Ainsley Whitly.

Word Count: 2, 649 words

Warnings: Spanking, some sexual stuff (18+ only please), some BDSM tones, Doctor being a title like Master or Sir

Tags:  @trelaney  

Prompt: You’d promised Doctor Whitly that you’d be good but you can’t help but bend the rules. The Doctor has had enough, and its time to be punished.

Notes: So I’m going to try and do Kinktober this year but I’m already late so they are all gonna be drabbles and randomised bc lol love it. See the full list of what to expect and what pairings, plus what kinks, here plus my two (hopefully to be released on Halloween) specials on the same page.

Also I know Martin is a serial killer, I know he’s an asshole but he’s a charming asshole that makes me want to sit on his face. So no, I hold no shame in this.

  Buy Me a Coffee 

Bruised

Being married to Martin was a chore some days. Being a step-mother to his two beautiful children that he had to his last wife after she mysteriously died was a challenge. But you loved every single minute.

Sure, stepping into the role of mother to two young ones when the youngest was only 12 weeks old wasn’t ideal but you loved Martin and Martin loved you, any challenge could be over come because surely you could work it out together.

The thing that annoyed you the most that, even after two years of being married to the love of your life, was the rules that he had in place that were iron tight and never bending (which was half the fun of having rules in the first place, you thought). You and the children weren’t allowed in his hobby room, for example. If you wanted his attention, you went to the door and called for him and he came to you. Family time is family time, was another. No distractions from your work or his allowed. That he had to be involved with every decision made regarding the children. They were, after all, his children and you were still, technically, the newcomer. Martin was very big on co-parenting so he always made sure your thoughts, opinions and needs were met but also ensured that his were too. The one that was the hardest one to abide by, however, was his rules about contacting him at work. Never during surgery, never during a consultation and never unless it was an emergency.

You understood the rules. You understood why they were there. And sure, the kinky stuff that happened when you broke the rules was fun. But it was also frustrating. You got frustrated when you called during a surgery because Ainsley had a fever and wouldn’t stop crying. You weren’t sure what to do and he hung up on you to deal with it yourself, followed by a screaming match that evening because you broke one of his precious rules because you panicked and didn’t know what to do. But after that, you spoke and came up with a system, so you knew when was appropriate to call him and when wasn’t. After all, you aren’t medically trained and had never dealt with a sick child before. He granted you a little slack.

So, today, when Malcolm was, for the twelfth time that morning, puking his guts up in the toilet, you called Martin to let him know Malcolm was going to have the day off of school. When the nurse picked up and informed you that you just missed him and he’d gone into the surgery that he had been prepping for for weeks now due to the intensity of the procedure, and she asked if you wanted to speak to him you swore under your breath before reassuring her. No. It’s fine. In fact, don’t even tell him I called.

Malcolm can have a sick day, Martin would never know.

Malcolm stopped vomiting around lunch time, and was all but better by dinner. Martin still hadn’t returned and you got a call from the night nurse to tell you that he was probably not going to make it home before midnight. Great. You got the kids ready for bed and slipped into bed shortly after, promising to tell Martin in the morning what happened with Malcolm. You woke up slightly after feeling Martin kiss you good night as he also slipped into bed after a long day, quickly noting that it was closer to 3am than midnight. You asked him quietly as he holds you close to him how it all went and the grumble that came with it suggests that it wasn’t a success. You move to grab his hand and rub your thumb against his arm in comfort as you both drift back off to sleep.

Martin insisted on taking Malcolm to school the next morning, having barely had three hours sleep but needing to be with his son for that thirty-minute trip to school before heading to work. You got Ainsley to preschool before heading off to your work for the day, coming home after picking up the kids, helping Malcolm with his homework as you cooked dinner and had family time as per Martin’s request. All was quiet and easy, just a regular day. Content, you were convinced you managed to get away with bending Martin’s rule slightly. Then the kids were in bed. And it was like the atmosphere had changed.

Walking up to the bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel something akinned to dread filling the pit of your stomach. When you entered your shared room, Martin was there removing his cuff links and humming to yourself. Just anxiety, you tell yourself. Everything is fine.

You go about your usual nightly routine silently, both in your own thoughts. Martin is the one to break the silence.

“You’ll never guess what Malcolm’s teacher told me today.” You hum in acknowledgement, not completely listening as you come out from the bathroom and towards the bed. “She said that it was great to see Malcolm feeling so much better after having to stay home yesterday.”

Your heart stops. Shit. You knew you forgot to tell him something this morning. The look on his face is positively feral as you try to get your words together.

“I’m so sorry Martin, I called but you were in surgery, and I-” Your words come tumbling out in a large mess as you try to explain

“Oh no love. I don’t think you deserve to call me that tonight.” His voice is low, dark, and you know instantly, you’re going to be punished. And not in a good way.

You swallow and try again as he slowly makes his way over to you, eyes never leaving you. “Sorry, Doctor Whitly. I called to explain the situation, but you had already started surgery. I didn’t think you wanted to be interrupted, so I called Malcolm in sick. I was going to tell you this morning but with the rush and you didn’t get in until 3 I thought perhaps, I could just let it slide for now, tell you maybe tomorrow when things were calmer. He was really very sick.” You finished before adding a smaller apology at the end of your ramble which causes him to send you a small, firm smile as he rubs the sides of both your upper arms in a comforting manner.

“I know you are, love.” His voice seems to calm you for a second. “Unfortunately, you still need to be punished.”

You aren’t sure if you’re excited or nervous as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed and pats his lap expectedly. “Mar-” The look on his face makes you change your tactic. “Doctor Whitly, is this really necessary?” His look darkens, clearly about to give you your first warning. You tried, with very little success, to drape yourself across his lap with some dignity. He moves your hips until your hips rest tilted up towards him in his lap as the rest of your body drapes across and dangles either side of him.

“You’ve been so disobedient; do you really think you could get away without some form of punishment?” He chides you as he harshly yanks down your shorts and panties, leaving your ass bare. “Do you remember what I expect of you?”

You nod and yelp as you get a warning tap to your rear, not hard enough to sting but enough to prompt you to verbalise. “Count, thank, apologise.” You recite. “Be truthful with colour checks, green is good, yellow is ok, red is stop. Safe word is thoracic.” He rubs your thigh as praise as you go through your script before tapping at them to get you to spread them slightly for better balance.

“Let’s see, you called me during a very important, career changing surgery, only to hang up and waste the nurse’s time. You made an important parenting decision for my son without consulting me first. You then forgot to tell me the following day and I had to find out from Malcolm’s teacher. You have refused to address me properly twice just this evening. Five strikes for each count I believe is fair, don’t you dearest?” You knew that it was a trick question, if Martin thought the punishment was fair, that’s the punishment you’re going to get. Nonetheless, he always asks if you agreed.

“Yes, Doctor Whitly.” You state quietly as you prepare for the punishment to begin.

You can hear your husband hum happily at your words before lifting his hand, ready for the first strike. “Don’t forget, Y/N, if you miss one, we start again.”

You squeak when the first smack hits your left cheek, the sting instant and the heat follows soon after. Your face seems to heat up in embarrassment as you breathe and prepare for the second, not realising what you had forgotten until Martin clears his throat. Quickly, you fix your mistake. “One. Thank you, Doctor Whitly. Sorry, Doctor Whitly.” 

Its rushed, but the words are all there. He is tempted to have you start again and add another five to the list. You seem to be shaking as you wait for him to either smack you again or tell you to start again. “I will forgive your forgetfulness this one time, pet.” He states somewhat kindly before his hand makes contact with your right cheek, again the sting appearing before the heat.

“Two. Thank you, Doctor Whitly. Sorry, Doctor Whitly.”

Martin continues with your punishment, stopping for long enough for you to state the number you were up to, thank him for your punishment and apologise for your transgressions. The power he got from you calling him by his medical title is something he’s never been able to find elsewhere, and he is enjoying every moment. He made sure never to hit the same place twice and watches as your flesh seems to ripple against his hand in an appealing manner. Your skin is slowly turning redder by his hand as he moves down to mark up your thighs to match your now cherry red ass. Such a nice colour, his favourite colour on you.

The first smack to your thigh surprises you. You hold back a swear as you continue you’re your count. “Nine. Thank you, Doctor Whitly. Sorry, Doctor Whitly.”

“Colour?”

“Green.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” You grunt at the next strike to your left upper thigh, you are sure this one was harder than the others. “Ten. Thank you, Doctor Whitly. Sorry, Doctor Whitly.” There seems to be a pause as you shift slightly in his lap.

“You’re not enjoying this, are you? This is supposed to be your punishment, pet.” His bemused voice fills the room as your already red face flushes further.

You had been trying to ignore the heat in your belly that had been growing with each passing strike and how you were slowly becoming wetter as time went on. “I’m sorry, Doctor Whitly, I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, but you did.” His palm lands flat against your ass again as he moves to see how wet your cunt is as you continue with your count. “You really are a bad girl, ignoring my rules, enjoying your punishment. I’m convinced you break my rules so you can be back in this position.” You bite back a moan as a finger is pushed inside of you and just held there. You don’t dare buck up against him, or grind or beg for more. This was a test. You just knew it.

Again, he chuckles as he removes his finger and smacks your thighs twice each side in quick concession. You hurry to catch up with your mantra as he sucks your juices off his finger. “Good girl.” He rewards, moving to soothe the angry red skin. “Only ten more to go, can you handle it?” You nod, looking straight at the door as you wait for the rest of your punishment.

The final ten strikes come quickly after you’ve counted, thanked and apologised Martin. You are sure you are going to have bruises and there isn’t a part of your thighs and ass that isn’t red in some way. Martin is quick to rub every red area with his hand as he soothes you, praising you for doing so well, asking if you wanted ointment to help with the bruising and pain. You hum, which he takes as a yes because soon he’s rubbing something into your skin and your shorts and panties are pulled up and over your bum again, keeping you decent. You had two little ones in your house, pyjamas weren’t optional anymore.

He pulls you up and into his lap with your knees either side his waist as he holds you and rubs your back, making sure you’re ok as he hums you small tunes and makes sure you are ok.

“Did you want me to help with that?” He asks, indicating to the wet patch clearly growing on your panties. You were absolutely dripping but the idea of anything touching you wasn’t something you were keen on right now. You shake your head.

“Just hold me?” Martin smiles at your request.

“Oh, I think I can do that. Let’s get on the bed properly love.” He brings you up to the top of the bed and towards the centre so the two of you can rest together properly as he continues to take care of you, making sure you are safe in your own mind and not in need of anything. “Tea?”

“No, I don’t know what blend you use but it always makes me super sleepy.” You complain as you yawn loudly. “And I’m sleepy enough as is. Thank you, though.” He just looks down at you with a smile as you snuggle closer to him and bring the blankets over you, you still straddling him as he holds you close. “I was going to tell you. I didn’t mean to keep it secret, I just didn’t want to interrupt your surgery and it wasn’t a big deal. Just a tummy bug, really.”

“I still would have liked to have known what was going on. He’s our son, I just want to be involved with decisions made.” He explains gently, seemingly calmer now you were talking properly again.

“I know. I just didn’t know what to do because I can’t make decisions without talking to you first, and I can’t call you during surgery. It was like being stuck between a rock and a hard place.” You explain carefully. “I do love you, and I’m sorry I forgot to tell you. I’ll work on that. But there has to be a way that you feel like I am doing the best for your – our – kids whilst taking your thoughts and concerns into consideration. I wouldn’t of kept Malcolm home if it was just a cold. He was throwing up and, although he didn’t have a fever, there was no way he was going to be able to pay attention in class.” Martin hums as you explain the situation. “What if, if something like that happens again, I call your office and leave a message? That way you’ll know before you get home and I won’t interrupt your work?”

Martin thinks over this for a second before nodding. “Seems like a good compromise.” You smile happily. “I love you too, by the way.”

“I know you do.” You yawn once more before settling on his chest.

“You’re sure you’re ok?”

“Yup. Just comfy. And sleepy.”

He laughs quietly as you quickly fall into a slumber in his arms, him following your example merely seconds later, both of you holding each other in your arms.