Taylor Swift x Reader Imagines(GxG)

Please Doctor (Smut)

G!p Taylor

Smut contains:
- Breeding
- Mommy kink
- Bondage

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Here I was, nervously perched on an exam table in a sterile room, fiddling with the hem of my hoodie, waiting for Dr. Swift

When she walked in, I almost forgot to breathe. 

Dr. Swift was nothing like the white-coated, distant figures I had expected. She was stunning—tall, with light hair pulled into a sleek ponytail and warm hazel eyes framed by sharp glasses. Her scrubs fit her perfectly, hinting at an athletic build beneath the professional attire. She carried herself with such confidence that I felt a little dizzy. 

“Hi, I’m Dr. Swift,” she said, flashing a smile that made my heart race. “You must be Y/N. Let’s see what’s going on with that leg of yours.” 

Her voice was smooth and professional, but there was a warmth to it that put me at ease—or at least, as much ease as I could manage while internally melting. 

She pulled up a stool and rolled closer, gently lifting my leg to examine it. Her hands were cool but soft, and I couldn’t stop staring at the way her brow furrowed in concentration. 

“Does this hurt?” she asked, pressing lightly along my shin. 

“Not really,” I managed to croak, my voice embarrassingly squeaky. I cleared my throat and tried again. “It’s mostly stiff.” 

She nodded thoughtfully, her gaze flicking up to meet mine. “You’ve been overcompensating, which is pretty common with this kind of injury. The muscles around your knee are tightening up to protect it. I’ll give you some stretches to help loosen them.” 

As she talked, I nodded along, but most of her words blurred together. I was too focused on her lips, the curve of her jaw, the way she seemed so assured and capable. I felt ridiculous—she was my doctor, for crying out loud—but I couldn’t help the way my stomach flipped every time she looked at me. 

“All right, Y/N,” she said, straightening up after finishing her examination. “The good news is that you’re healing well. No major issues, just a bit of work to get you back to full strength.” 

The next appointment should be in two weeks.

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Two weeks felt like an eternity, but somehow, the day of my follow-up appointment with Dr. Swift had arrived. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to overthink it this time, but as I sat in the waiting room, my palms were already sweaty, and my heart was racing. I kept telling myself she was just my doctor—a professional doing her job. But that logic fell apart the moment she walked into the exam room. 

“Hi, Y/N” she said, her smile as warm and disarming as ever. “Good to see you again. How’s the leg feeling?” 

“Better,” I said quickly, my voice too eager. I tried to rein it in. “Still a little tight, though.” 

She nodded, her brow furrowing slightly as she gestured for me to sit on the table. Her ponytail swayed as she moved, and I caught the faintest whiff of her shampoo. The ache in my leg seemed to dissolve under the nervous excitement her presence stirred in me. 

“Let’s take a look,” she said, pulling her stool closer. 

Her hands were on my leg again, firm yet careful, and I swear I felt my pulse skip. She worked her way up, pressing and stretching, her touch lingering in a way that sent heat pooling in my chest.