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theonewiththefanfics · 3 months ago

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An Itch You Can't Scratch (one-shot)

Synopsis: After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader (age-gap relationship (Reader is 26, Robby is implied 46-48))

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: descriptions of wounds (open breaks), puke, swearing, etc., SMUT

Word count: 13,319 (yeah, this sort of started out like a cute little chaotic story and became... this. I might make more parts to these two, people like it enough, because I already have some ideas, and ideas for other stories too also, let's please pretend like Robby didn't have the worst shift of his life and everyone is happy and alive :) )

Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

Catch Pt 2 here :)

In all honesty, Y/N thought Sara was overreacting. There was no need to be hauled to the ER on a Monday morning, at seven AM. So, what if she’d slipped in the shower? So, what if she’d hit her head against the towel rack? So, what if she’d sprained her ankle? Y/N could just pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her merry way, but no.

When Sara had heard the thud and the subsequent crash of shampoo and conditioner bottles, she’d rushed inside the bathroom only to find Y/N sprawled out in all her naked glory. She cursed the stupid bathroom latch their landlord refused to change.

After Sara had had her fill of laughter, she helped Y/N stand, get somewhat dressed (a loose cotton shirt and some shorts), and helped her hobble down the stairs of their apartment, her leg in a make-shift splint of dishtowels and left-over wood paneling from an IKEA dresser.

A groan of protest escaped her as Sara parked in the hospital parking lot and rushed to the passenger door, opening it for Y/N and helping her get out.

“You are worse than my mother,” she huffed as she leaned her weight onto her good leg. “I am completely fine.”

Sara sighed, and Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. “My love,” she said. “My other half. The Yin to my Yang, the milk to my matcha. My partner in crime for whom I would kill and/or dispose of a body. I can quite literally see the fucking bone sticking out of your lower leg.”

“It’s a sprain,” Y/N gritted through clenched teeth.

“It’s an open fucking break and the fact that you refused to have an ambulance called, boggles my fucking mind, yet here we are.”

To that, Y/N had nothing to say, but still, she thought Sara was being way too overdramatic. And honestly, if she kept mentioning the real situation of her sprain, making her remember the sound of the snap, how it had been the worst sound she’d ever heard, and Y/N had spent more than twenty years listening to her brother singing in the shower, before she moved to Pittsburg for her job, she would put Sara in a hospital bed herself. And then they could be the ED besties.

But the worst was the pain that came when Sara reminded Y/N of why she had to go to the hospital.

It had been a miracle no neighbor had called the cops or the EMTs themselves, though it didn’t necessarily comfort Y/N either. If she could scream bloody murder like that and nobody batted an eye, it didn’t say anything good about the complex they lived in.

One look down had confirmed Y/N’s worst fears – she had, in fact, broken her leg. Not only that, it was an open break where part of her bone was sticking right out of the meat of her calf. For the first few moments, she’d been in such a shock, that the only thought running through her head was – I look like a poor man’s version of a Disney turkey leg. Then she’d started screaming. And that had made her puke.

Right then and there, still lying half out of the shower, half on the floor, she’d emptied her stomach. There hadn’t been much in it, just the cup of water she’d drank when she’d awoken, but still. At least Y/N had been in the bathroom when it had happened. Tiles were easier to clean up than carpet, and she already felt bad enough Sara would have to wash the floor.

But now, as some form of punishment, no doubt, Sara was helping Y/N hobble towards the emergency department of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital, when a sad-looking man noticed them and rushed inside, grabbing a wheelchair, and getting by Y/N’s side in a matter of a second.

“Here, sit down.” The man, Dennis Whitaker he introduced himself, took hold of her other bicep and moved the wheelchair behind her.

“I’m fine,” she groaned. “I’m not an invalid. I can make it inside on my own. Besides, that wheelchair could be used for someone that actually needs it.”

“You actually need it.” Sara levelled a gaze at her. “And I will make you a fucking invalid because I will clock you so hard in the head, you will have a concussion, if you don’t have one from the fall.”

For a tense second, Y/N stood (or wobbled) her ground, Y/E/C eyes locked onto Sara’s hazel ones which were slowly narrowing with each passing moment until she cursed and said, “Alright fine.” Together Whitaker and Sara lowered the injured woman into the wheelchair. “God, I hate your mom-stares.”

“It’s the only way to get you to do anything in terms of taking care of yourself.”

“It’s not!” Y/N protested. “I’ll have you know, I made myself an omelet yesterday for breakfast. Veggies and all.”

“Yeah, after I berated you that a stale Coke from three days ago, isn’t actual breakfast.” Sara walked side by side as Whitaker pushed the wheelchair into the madhouse that was the emergency department.

It was fascinating to observe the situation as an outsider – nurses and doctors were like level-headed owls, their heads swiveling this way and that way, as they assessed the patients and their statuses, while the residents and patients themselves, not all, but quite a bunch, were like headless chickens, rushing around and trying to prioritize afflictions or become a priority to the doctors.

Codes were called left and right, people moved from one side to the other, snapping on gloves and donning protective gear, and in the center of it all, was the command post – the nurse’s station which Whitaker had wheeled her to.

“Dana, is there a room available?” he addressed a slim, blonde woman, probably the one in charge.

“Room six is available, what’s the, oh,” she stopped mid-sentence as she noticed Y/N and the bone sticking out of her leg.

“I don’t mind waiting,” she gave her a sheepish smile. “There’s probably loads of people before me. Besides, it’s just a sprain.”

“Well, that’s probably one of the worst sprains I’ve ever seen,” Dana deadpanned as she motioned with her head towards someone behind them.

Y/N shrugged. “Well, I am just special like that.”

“Yeah, maybe in the head,” Sara grumbled as she gave the charge nurse all the necessary info for the moment. “Speaking of which – she also hit her head when she went down with her… sprain.”

Dana’s lips quirked up as she hummed and tapped something on her iPad, weaving around the table, leaving Whitaker to follow her like a lost puppy as they moved to the room Y/N was now assigned to. “We’ll schedule you a CT ASAP.”

Y/N turned her head to look at her best friend. “Given how this little trip was your idea, you’re paying off my medical debt.”

“Just let these nice doctors and nurses take care of you.” Sara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because quite honestly, I’m not too into the idea of searching for a new roommate. Do you know how many creeps I’d have to go through? And what if the one normal one I find has a fatal flaw?”

“Such as?”

“I dunno. What if they hate musicals?”

“Oh, the tragedy.” Y/N pressed a hand against her chest as they wheeled her inside the room.

There was another presence there, a young doctor, probably late twenties or early thirties. A cute little dimple on his chin, dark hair, and blue eyes. Reminded her a bit of the guy from Air Bud, if she squinted a bit.

“My name’s Dr. Langdon,” he introduced himself, giving Y/N a reassuring smile. “And this is Dennis Whitaker, our fourth-year medical student. Would it be alright, if he and another one of our residents observed the situation today? This is a teaching hospital, but it is well within your rights to refuse.”

She shook her head. “Observe away. Not much I can hide.”

“Alright, thank you.” He ventured out for a quick second only to come back with a young woman who introduced herself as Dr. Mel King, a second-year resident. “Okay,” Dr. Langdon said. “Let’s get you onto the bed and see what we’re working with.”

The three medical professionals surrounded her and helped Y/N move from the wheelchair on the paper-covered bed, without jostling her leg too much, but it was enough.

So far, she’d been able to take her mind off the pain by distracting herself – she bickered with Sara, recited the script of The Hunger Games movie in her head while fantasising about a blond Josh Hutcherson, because Peeta was just elite like that. She’d even gone so far as to go over the division table, but now, as more attention was being placed on the broken leg, it started to hurt more and more. It was like Y/N mind-over-mattered an itching spot left by a mosquito by chanting “It’s not itchy” over and over in her head, but the second she stopped, the itching came back in full force.

“So,” Dr. Dimple, she nicknamed him in her head, started. “What happened?”

Y/N sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Can I just give you the not-humiliating version and say I’m a klutz?”

He gave her a charming smile as a nurse prepped an IV line. “Unfortunately, we need to know beyond “clumsy”. The environment where this accident happened is important.”

"It could introduce pathogens into the wound," Mel, as Dr. King had requested to be called, said.

Y/N chewed on her bottom lip before muttering, “I slipped in the shower and sprained my leg. And then got assaulted by some shampoo and conditioner bottles… and then I threw up.”

“And don’t forget the head!” Sara said from the door where she still stood, observing the work happening.

Y/N threw her a knowing smirk. “Never do. And I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

“The throwing up could indicate a concussion,” Whitaker said. “Dana’s already scheduled a CT. And in terms of the leg, you actually have an open fra-,”

Y/N took hold of Whitaker’s bicep like he’d done so for her when he’d helped wheel her inside the emergency department. “Please listen to me when I say this – unless you want me to hurl all over you, and trust me, I can aim, the only thing I have, is a sprain. Got it?”

He gulped and nodded, stepping away from Y/N like a man who’d gotten sprayed by too many fluids in one day and didn’t want to be anywhere near the danger zone. “Loud and clear Miss Sprained-Ankle-Woman.”

“Good.” The nausea that’d started creeping up her belly subsided. “Because I can deal with you people having to do things, but if I have to actually listen to any of it, or think about it, I will be sick.”

“We can give you some anti-nausea medication for that,” Dr. Dimple soothed. “But first, we’ll get you a CT, and then we’ll have a surgery room prepped for you because you need to get this reset as quickly as possible. You will probably have some metal plates and screws to hold the uh… sprain together, and then a cast for about six to eight weeks.”

“Great,” Y/N grumbled. “This is just fucking great. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my vacation, before, oh… oh, absolutely not.” Y/N’s eyes widened to a comically large size as she looked past her room and into the waiting area. “Sara, you need to get me out of here right the fuck now.”

“Hey, woah, what is going on?” Dr. Langdon rushed to where Y/N was trying to get the IV line out. “Please don't do that, you'll only hurt yourself more.”

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Sara’s brows were pulled tight in a frown, as she tried to help Dr. King get the oxygen monitor back onto her finger. “You need surgery, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s him,” she hissed, not taking her gaze away from where it’d locked on. “And I don’t want to spend a second anywhere near the dick.”

“Who?” Sara swiveled her head to look beyond the glass separating them from the chaos beyond. “Who’s the dick?”

“Him.”

And then four pairs of eyes locked onto the man standing and talking with the charge nurse at The Hub, Y/N was glaring at.

“Do – do you two know each other?” Dr. Dimple asked. “Do you feel unsafe with him around?”

“Yeah, you could say we know one another,” she scowled and crossed her arms as Mel managed to finally reattach the oxygen monitor, all of their attention onto her. “That’s the dude I hooked up with two weeks ago, and completely ghosted me that same morning.”

Every single head snapped to look back at Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, who’d also finally noticed Y/N was at his workplace, as a patient no less. His eyebrows were right up to his hairline, brown eyes wide with disbelief and mouth agape as she glowered at the older man.

It was quite a surreal moment – all of these capable doctors and residents and nurses, stunned by the information so bad, that they almost seemed to forget Y/N was there. She wondered what was going through their heads, as this seemed like it wasn’t a regular occurrence. Which stung even more – if Michael had been a fuckboy, she could take it, but it didn’t seem so. So, what was wrong with Y/N that had made him run away after the night they’d spent together?

When they’d met at the bar, he had told her he was an emergency department attending. The big boss of his little duckling residents, dutifully running the hospital department with the help of the nurses.

Why, when Sara had finally managed to get Y/N inside the car, it hadn’t occurred to her, he would work in this particular hospital. Just why?

Y/N couldn’t say. Maybe she’d hoped he worked the night shifts. Maybe she’d hoped, he worked somewhere else, or even out of town, but, of course, for whatever sins she’d committed, karma couldn’t do her a solid one.

Sara gasped, rushing by her side as Y/N watched Michael flounder and try and decide what to do – whether to interfere and face the music or run away from the hospital. He apparently chose the latter as he twisted on his heel and high-tailed it to the other end of the department, leaving a cackling Dana behind.

“That’s him?” Sara strained her neck. “That’s the hot doctor?”

Y/N scoffed. “The one and only. Couldn’t even leave a fucking note or something. Like I can take a hint a one-night-stand is a one-night-stand, alright? But don’t just fucking bolt out of the door like your ass is on fire before the other party wakes up. Fucking dickhead.”

“Well, maybe it wasn’t as fun of a night for him, as you thought, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Sara raised a brow.

“Oh, trust me,” Y/N smirked. “It was a very fun night for him. I would know. I was there, and you can’t fake the kind of shaking. Four hours will do that to a guy,” she winked and touched the tips of her pointer finger and thumb in an A-Okay sign.

“Yeah,” it was Dr. Dimple smiling at her, the grin on his face almost wolfish in nature. “Yeah, you are absolutely my new favorite person in the world.”

However, whatever he wanted to say or ask, was cut short when Dana returned to inform that her CT slot was coming up, and so Y/N was wheeled away, not daring to look at Michael as they passed one another in the hallway.

As the results came back for a minor concussion, the anesthesiologist informed, that they recommended a spinal for the surgery, while the team prepper, but Y/N shot it down immediately.

“Absolutely not. Look, I know it’s not safe to go to sleep after a concussion, but I will not be listening to the sounds of some bone-carpenter crunching on my leg. Put me under,” she gave him her most pathetic look. “Please.”

The specialist still tried to argue, but he couldn’t do it much longer, as Y/N needed surgery as soon as possible, so after five minutes of strongly recommending the spinal, he relented and in half an hour, Y/N had managed to get hers – she was out like a light, without a sound in her ears.

It was the best sleep she’d ever had in her life. Like floating on a cloud, surrounded by doves and angels singing her lullabies. She never wanted to wake up, but something was rousing her out of the blissful state.

A large warm hand around her palm, thumb rubbing the top of it, was soothing her senses. It was like hot chocolate after being out in the sow. Or sitting by a fireplace with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Good afternoon, Miss Sprained-Ankle,” a low, rumbly voice greeted Y/N as she floated back into consciousness. Her eyes locked onto two gentle, brown ones, and despite the medication, she knew she wasn’t hallucinating him.

Michael’s face was beard-covered like it had been when they’d met. He still had the same worry lines on his forehead and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Y/N had said she liked those the best.

“It shows you’ve smiled and laughed despite everything else,” she’d informed him over the rim of her Pornstar Martini.

She couldn’t truly imagine just how draining his line of work was, both physically and mentally, but the laugh lines she could see hiding under the beard, harmonizing with those around his eyes, was a feature Y/N had noticed first.

“So,” she slurred her tongue a swollen mass of sandpaper in her mouth, and Michael noticed that, holding a cup of water against her lips until she’d had her fill. “Do I have to keep breaking bones to wake up with you next to me?”

“I hope not.” With gentleness Y/N knew he possessed, yet didn’t expect, he brushed away a droplet that’d slipped past her mouth, and onto her cheek. “I hope this is the only time I ever have to see you in such a state.”

“Can’t promise that,” she shook her head. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah?” amusement was evident on his weary face. “And what kind of reputation is that?”

“When I was in first grade, on the first day of school, I broke my arm. And then like a few months later, I smashed my face against a radiator and split my lip open. Still have a scar,” she pointed right below her right nostril where a sliver of lighter skin was. “And then, but that was like third grade or something, I smashed my head against a metal railing and split my head open. I could even push my fingers inside and scrape my -,”

“Okay, I understand,” Michael interrupted her and pulled the hand that was tapping against the hairline on her forehead. “You are an ED connoisseur, but please, don’t make this a habit.”

“Damn, straight I am.” Y/N gave a confident nod, but before Michael could ask anything else, she said, “You know what I don’t get? Like why did my leg bone hurt while sticking out of my body, but my teeth that are sticking out right now, don’t?” She clacked them for emphasis. “They’re outside bones.”

A soft smile bloomed on Michael’s face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. She could feel someone had put her hair in a protective style and had to wonder if it had been the man beside her. But that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he care like that for her?

“For one,” he muttered. “You broke your fibula – the smaller bone in your lower leg, and in doing so, hurt the surrounding things like muscles and skin. That is one reason why you felt such pain. And two – if you broke a tooth, it would hurt too. Your cavities hurt, don’t they?”

“Mmm,” a self-satisfied smile bloomed on Y/N’s face. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a cavity.”

“That’s good. Dentists aren’t cheap.” As a response she just clacked her teeth again, making Michael laugh. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Nausea?”

“Nope, I am A-Okay. Honestly, that was like the best sleep of my life. Well…” Y/N pouted, taking her gaze away from Michael’s. “That night when I fell asleep with you is also up in the Top 5, but then I woke up and… you know… you weren’t there.”

She was obviously delirious from the medication being pumped through her veins, but much like when Y/N was drunk, she was a throw-up-remember-everything kind of a girl, instead of a black-out-drunk. Besides, it wasn’t like she could run anywhere. Quite literally.

Michael sighed, dragging a hand down his face, visibly cringing at her words. “About that… I – yeah, I think the only thing I can say is I’m sorry. For, you know, ghosting, as you youngsters say.”

“ ‘S alright.” Y/N shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, as if the second she’d seen him, she hadn’t been ready to bolt. “I’m over it.”

“No, no it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done that. Because that night was… great. It was amazing, actually. And everything leading up to the uh, you… you know, the...” he cleared his throat, and a smirk pulled up on Y/N’s lips.

“The sex? Come on, you can say it in your big old man age. It’s just three letters.”

“Jesus Christ.” Michael rubbed his neck as a slight pink shade crawled up his neck, which made Y/N let out a chuckle at how uncomfortable he looked talking about this. Maybe it was time to let this go, for his sake and her own sanity.

“Look, if it makes you feel any better,” Y/N shifted to the edge of the mattress and patted the side of her bed, so he could sit down. After asking if she was sure, he did take the offered space. “I – I’ve been treating you a bit unfairly with this. I think my ego was a bit crushed after waking up and not having you there, but, umm… you’re off the hook. Besides, I think I’m in your debt with all of this. Your team is amazing.”

“They’re pretty great, aren’t they?” he mumbled, one of his hands having moved to toy with the wristband the hospital had assigned to Y/N. “But still, how I reacted then, and even earlier in the morning… it wasn’t right. I mean, I’m pushing fifty for fuck’s sake. That’s not what someone my age does.”

“So what?” she raised a brow. “The issue is you think you’re a cradle-robber? Because you’re no more that than I am a grave robber. I’m twenty-six, Michael,” she turned her palm up hoping he’d accept it and slide his hand in hers. After a moment of hesitancy, he did, and Y/N squeezed it in reassurance. “I mean, if you think you’re doing something bad, by having slept with someone two decades younger than you, I’ll have you know, according to regency times, as a woman who’ll be turning twenty-seven this year, I’m pretty much a decrepit old spinster.”

Michael let out a soft laugh as his fingers trailed the lines on Y/N’s palm. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Me? I’m your probably dad’s age.”

“And looking hotter than ever, if you ask me.”

“Yeah? You think so?” He asked as Y/N hummed in affirmation. “Well then, for a decrepit old spinster, you are beautiful. And acting with much more grace than I deserved or deserve.”

Something in the way he said those last few words made her heart squeeze. “Michael… of course you deserve grace.”

“You’re being far too good to me… you’re far too good for me…”

Y/N’s brows furrowed at that. Slowly, she attempted to rise in a sitting position, but she didn’t get far before Michael had his arms around her waist, like they’d been two weeks ago, pushing a pillow to stabilize the small of her back. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he opened an apple juice box and handed it to her.

“To get your sugar up.”

But she just stared at him, only reaching for the little carton after he’d resumed his previous sitting position. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Some insecurity you think I deserve better than you? Because I can decide those things for myself. I am an adult. With a fully-developed frontal lobe, mind you.”

He took in a deep breath, held it for a second, then released it, and Y/N watched that whatever kind of decision he’d come to, had released a certain tension that’d been accumulating in his body. “Kind of, I guess. But mostly…” he swallowed, then nodded to himself, eyes trained on her wristband. “Mostly I got scared.”

“Of what?” Y/N tilted her head. “I mean, I know my morning breath probably isn’t that attractive, and the smeared makeup made me look like a coked-out raccoon, but -,”

“No,” Michael shook his head, chuckling. His cheeks were reddish at her words, but as he lifted his eyes to hers, there was a grateful look to them. Like he was thankful she wasn’t making fun of him even in his ripe old age. “You,” he stumbled over his words a bit, “when I saw you there, sleeping by my side like you belonged… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than that. And that’s when I thought to myself – if I worked up the courage, could there be more mornings like that? Could I make you breakfast and coffee one day? Maybe I’d get the privilege of falling asleep next to you as we watch movies at night. And that scared me.”

“The possible future?”

“Wanting that possible future, because that feeling, the one that started to grow right here,” he tapped the center of his chest. “I couldn’t think straight. So, I had to go.”

“I mean,” Y/N swallowed hard. “That is a lot to imagine after only a few hours together.”

“Does that… creep you out? ‘Cause it’s totally understandable if it does. I mean Jesus, I’m old… and you’re so young.”

“No, it doesn’t.” And she meant it when she said it. “I find it actually quite endearing, but you can stop being so hung-up on the age difference. If you think there might be some daddy issues on my side, I can assure you – there’s none. I quite like my dad, and I definitely don’t see you as such a figure. Not after the things you did to me. ‘Cause, quite honestly, sex with you was probably the best dicking-down I’ve had in a year.”

If Michael had been drinking anything, Y/N was sure he would have choked with how he sputtered at her words. “Well, uh, yeah, I uh… I’m glad you… enjoyed it.”

“I did. And I know you enjoyed it too,” her smile was nothing short of wicked.

“Yeah, and apparently now the rest of the residents and nurses and doctors know it too?” Michael raised his brows at her.

It took Y/N a while to realize he was talking about when she’d gotten admitted and spilt the beans on their night together, implying their copious amount of copulation. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, but I’d like to think your reputation has now gone sky-high between the female nurses and doctors. Maybe the guys and theys as well. But I do apologize for talking about your private life while at your work. In my defense, until that very moment, I didn’t know you worked here. And well, I was pissed.”

“You and your mouth will get you in trouble one day,” Michael pointed at her.

“Yeah? Would you like to put something in it, to shut me up? Last time, you really liked it when I -,”

“Okay, trouble, that’s enough.” Even though his words had a finality to them, humor glowed on his features. He seemed relaxed. Content even, as he took the now empty apple juice box Y/N had been sipping on this whole time.

“You on a break?” She started scooting down the bed once more, and Michael instantly helped her get situated.

“Want to get rid of me so quickly?”

“No. It’s just you’re spending an awfully long time with me. Don’t you have other patients to check in on? I don’t want you to waste your time if you need to get to someone else. Or maybe grab a bite to eat? I’m fairly sure doctors don’t know how to have a good work-life balance, despite continuously recommending it to us, mere mortals.”

“Time with you isn’t a waste.”

Oh.

Oh, how badly did Y/N want to rip off the little wires connecting her to the heart monitor, because had Michael not turned the sound off, she was sure the whole hospital would be hearing it go nuts at his words, the squiggling beat of it a treat for only Michael this time, because when he noticed it, a smirk bloomed on his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to, not when he murmured, twining their fingers together, “I want to kiss you so bad.”

“I definitely won’t be opposed to that.” Y/N’s answer might have come way too quickly, but she was beyond feeling embarrassed about wanting him. “You have permission to kiss away. For as long as possible. All day, every day, whenever you want to.”

“Well, thank you for that,” Michael chuckled, cupping her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. “But… not right now. Let me take you out on a proper date. Let me do this right.”

“Oh my God, seriously?” Y/N whined throwing her head back. “You’re gonna make me wait? Especially after that whole speech and whatnot? You are a cruel, cruel man Dr. Michael Robinavitch.”

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he leaned to hover over Y/N, a golden necklace slipping from the inside of his shirt and dangling before her. She wanted to pull it between her teeth like she’d done so during their one night together. It took every dwindling ounce of willpower not to.

“Maybe, I just want you aching. And yearning. You were the one who said men don’t yearn enough nowadays. But I have. For you, for two whole god-damned weeks. Now it’s your turn.”

It was pathetic how Y/N wanted to cry and whimper. “But I didn’t even do anything! You were the one that ran out! Why am I being punished for your actions?”

“Do you – do you not want to go on a date with me?”

“I do, but I’d rather you rail me as soon as possible.”

“Well, for one,” Michael tried to continue on as if Y/N’s words hadn’t made heat creep up his face, but he could only do so much. He was a human, after all. “You’re not allowed any strenuous activities until you’ve got a clean bill of health. And two, all teasing aside, I want to do this properly. I want to do right by you this time.”

“Why would you?” she exasperated. “I wasn’t complaining when you didn’t do it right by me, and I’m certainly not going to if you suddenly decide to stop being chivalrous. Maybe even right here. We could recreate some scene from Grey’s Anatomy?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him, eliciting a deep rumble of a chuckle.

“Grey’s is just a malpractice lawsuit after a malpractice lawsuit, and I, unlike the characters there, don’t want my medical license to be revoked. Until you get discharged, I’m one of your doctors.”

“My hot doctor, you mean.”

The sigh that left Michael was not weary or a worn-out kind of noise. Rather it was a resigned I-guess-this-is-my-life-now kind of a sigh, especially combined with the endearing look on his face, it made Y/N feel warm all over.

Slowly, as they talked a bit more, her eyes began to droop, exhaustion from the morning, from the surgery and the subsequent consequences settling in once more. “Will you stay?” she asked as Michael brushed a knuckle along her jaw. “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Michael took her hand in his, sitting down by her side again, as he pressed a kiss to her wrist. “And I… I wish I could promise I’ll be here when you wake up, but I, -”

“I know,” Y/N interrupted him with a soft and understating smile. “By that point, you’ll probably be off saving lives. It’s why I’m not asking you to.”

“I’ll try though.” He promised.

“Okay.”

And with her hand still in Michael’s, Y/N drifted off once again without even realizing it was pitch-black outside, and Michael hadn’t been wearing his shift scrubs. He should have long been home resting, and yet, he hadn’t been able to leave her. Not like he did before.

By the time she awoke early the next morning, Y/N was clearheaded, and yet all her thoughts mulled over the conversation she’d had with Michael the previous night. Would he go back on his word? Had he only talked with her like that because she was high on pain meds, and maybe thought she wouldn’t remember their discussions?

She knew he hadn’t promised to be there when she awoke, so Y/N didn’t hold it against him, but she couldn’t deny the sting. But that was immediately soothed by the hoodie that’d been laid over the back of a chair.

His hoodie.

A promise he would at least have a reason to come back and check in on her. It was Dana, the charge nurse, peeking her head inside that pulled Y/N back into the present. “How are we feeling today? Ready to be discharged? Dr. Langdon will be with you shortly for a follow-up.”

The woman in the hospital bed groaned. “Can’t I just stay here? Like you people – you are normal. Sara will be a mother hen on crack. I am willing to brave hospital food, as long as I don’t have to go home to all that fussing. She’s probably already bullied our landlord into installing a lift or something.”

“She cares for you,” it was Dr. Langdon piping in, as he entered her room, pulling on a pair of gloves and nodding to Dana in thanks. “You’re pretty lucky to have a friend like her.”

“Yeah, I know,” Y/N sighed as Dr. Langdon looked over her leg, asked some questions about pain levels and talked her through the post-op care. “But in my defense, she has a tendency to overreact.”

“I’d say you have a tendency to underreact, but that’s just my professional opinion.”

She rolled her eyes as Dr. Langdon finished his assessment and handed off her chart to Dana, so they could start the discharge process. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.”

“In any case, I do think the whole ED is in debt to Sara.”

To that she raised a brow.

“Well, had she not made you come in, I don’t know if Dr. Robby would have had a chance of seeing you again. Because, if I have to be honest, we’ve all been scratching our heads the past couple of weeks trying to figure out why he’s been in such a mood. Now we know why.”

“You two shit-talking me?” Michael’s soft tone interrupted the conversation, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the entryway. “How are you feeling?”

She tried and failed to hide the heat creeping up her veins. Even if Y/N had succeeded, that damned monitor, the sound no doubt having been turned back on by Michael before he left, to make sure if anything went awry at night, someone was there for her, betrayed her anyway. God, she wanted to punch the smile off both the men's faces.

“Fine.” She turned her head to look at the wall, as a nurse stepped in and removed the IV catheter and wrapped her hand in gauze. “Not looking forward to the itching that will appear, in what? Three days?”

“No scratching,” Dr. Dimple pointed at her with a pen. “You could injure yourself and cause a serious infection. No rulers, no knitting needles, no crochet needles, no twigs or branches, no nothing.”

“But what about -,”

“No nothing,” he emphasized. “Or I will have to recommend Dr. Robby make a house call on you. Though that isn’t much of a threat for you two, is it?”

“Okay, Frank? Scram. Now. There’re patients that need checking on. I can take care of Y/N.”

“Yeah, I bet you can,” Dr. Langdon let out a laugh but was out of the room before either she or Michael could say anything.

The only thing Y/N was happy about, was that the comment had made not only her flustered, but Michael as well, as he shifted on his feet and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous tick. In the end, he gave her a smile that said “Sorry about him” and padded over to where he’d left his hoodie.

And that only made her even more flustered, because seeing a man like him, so level-headed and sure, get visibly nervous over her, did things to Y/N. Which made her want to do things to Michael, but then Dana returned, two crutches in hand, Whitaker wheeling a wheelchair once more, and all passion slipped away.

“Right, thanks.” She eyed the crutches like they were cow-eating pythons. “I fucking hate my life.”

Low, warm laughter filtered through the room as Dana helped Y/N get redressed and situated her in the wheelchair, crutches placed over her knees as she was rolled to the nurse’s station.

“I uh, took the liberty of calling Sara for you,” Michael said as he leaned against the table. When Y/N raised a brow in question, he elaborated, “She’s in your emergency contacts. Should be here in fifteen or so.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know,” he smiled. “But I wanted to.”

And there it was again, that warmth that blossomed in her chest, only this time she let it spread, let it wrap around her heart and wash away that bitterness, that’d been there since the morning Y/N had woken up cold and alone.

It hadn’t been just the sex, though that night Michael had given her some of the most earth-shattering orgasms she’d ever had (thankfully, Sara had been away with her girlfriend, so she didn’t have to suffer through the teasing).

It was the conversations leading up to it, the sense of ease Y/N felt around Michael. He was witty and sarcastic, his humor dry, but not at the expense of others while being engaging and thought-provoking at the same time. What had sealed the deal for her though was when he actually engaged in the debate, she presented him – if he had to kiss a fish-spider hybrid, what would he choose – fish head, spider body or fish body, spider head?

He’d made her laugh so hard she cried, and when Y/N had deemed it was time to call an Uber and go home, she’d taken the risk and asked if he wanted to come to her place. And after a few moments where she wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole, he’d nodded.

Together they waited for the cab, standing side by side, yet not touching. He’d opened the car door for her, before slipping in himself.

The tension could be cut with a knife, and afterwards, Y/N had given the driver five stars for enduring it, while the whole way, one of Michael’s palms had slowly moved to rest against her thigh, and she’d had to clench them together because if she didn’t, there would be a noticeable wet spot underneath.

After an agonizing half an hour's drive, they finally got to her place. Michael held the door open for her, and insisted on paying for the Uber, no matter how much Y/N protested.

Every step towards the apartment she was renting on the fourth floor of the complex, was agony. As she fumbled for her keys, Michael’s fingers were slowly skimming the side of her dress where the zipper rested.

Y/N’s whole body was a live-wire, and she wondered how in the world had the lock not melted from the heat, as it slid in place and she unlocked the door, the motion now forever having a sexual connotation, for in that moment Michael was the key that would unlock her desires.

Together, they stepped beyond the threshold, and yet still, he never once removed his touch from her body. From that damned little black number. She’d only worn it because she’d been set up on a blind date. They were supposed to meet up at the bar for a drink before going to a play, but as it turns out, even guys who like theatre can ghost.

When Y/N realized the situation, she wanted to go home, as her date was the one who had the tickets, pull this thing off and drink the already opened bottle of wine that was in the fridge, but she could have at least one good cocktail before that.

That’s when Dr. Robby, or as he’d asked her to call him by his first name, Michael, slid into the seat next to her. They didn’t talk for the first five minutes, not until she’d been scrolling through Instagram and some post had caught her eye. Something about green tea enemas and glowing skin, and the man beside had released a heavy-duty sigh, accompanied by “fucking Dr. Google.”

It’s when slowly but surely, they’d struck up a conversation, which had now resulted in Y/N having Michael towering over her, his beard scratching against the crook of her neck where he’d placed his chin.

When his hands wove and settled against her stomach, any sort of resolve she’d had, snapped. Instantly, she turned, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers in a bruising kind of kiss. The kind that left you breathless and dizzy and wanting more.

She felt an insatiable thrill rush down her spine as Michael responded with just as much vigor, the pads of his fingers digging deep into her hips and pulling her to be flush against his chest, so much so, that Y/N could feel his own desire growing in his groin.

“I’ve never hated clothes more than I do right now,” she giggled as Michael grappled with the door handle and pushed it close without disconnecting from one another.

“Then let’s get them off, shall we?”

The way he dragged the side zipper open, was almost reverent, worshipping even. Like he wanted to prolong the build-up between them, and Y/N couldn’t lie – she was loving it, even if she was losing her mind. So many times, when she’d had hook-ups, guys tended to just get her naked as fast as possible, which was fine. She was down for it, but there was something indescribable about how Michael reveled in feeling her slowly start to tremble, in how he kissed up and down her neck, while his fingers took their sweet time. It drove her insane with want, in an amount she’d never felt before.

His pointer finger dragged its way up Y/N’s bicep, making goosebumps erupt all over before he slowly slid a strap down. Then the other, until the dress was pooling around her waist, and still, where usually she’d be helping the guy shimmy herself out of the dress, Michael didn’t rush. He simply allowed his hands to explore her body, skimming along her ribs and up to the black lacy number she’d worn, then right back down.

“You counting if I have all my ribs in place, Dr. Robby?” Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to alleviate the gathered tension, for she was just about to combust, but all she got was a soft smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck where her pulse was visibly thrumming.

“I don’t have much time in my day to stop and admire art. So please, indulge me. And art, which I’m allowed to touch, should be revered even more so.”

Her eyes may or may not have rolled to the back of her head at his words, and he hadn’t even gotten his head between her legs yet. Yeah, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, the attending of a trauma centre, would be the death of her.

Name of the deceased - Y/N Y/L/N. Date of death - 4th of April, 2025. Cause of death – self-combustion. Reason for self-combustion – a sexy as fuck doctor.

Quite honestly, if that was how she was going to go, so be it.

Finally, though, after what felt like ages, her dress was shed, leaving her only in her underwear and strappy high-heels she’d worn.

“If there is one thing I hate, it’s not having a photographic memory,” Michael grumbled as his hands skimmed along the waistband of her panties. “But trust me when I say this, I will be picturing this moment for decades to come.”

“You are more than welcome to have a look at what’s hiding underneath,” Y/N said. Or that is what she would have said, had she not simply whimpered in response. Not very sexy of her, but the feeling of his chest rumbling with a laugh, totally made up for it.

She gathered enough of her bearings to step out of the fabric around her feet and move them along to her room. Never did his eyes leave her, never did his gaze waver or wander as they faced one another, her queen-sized bed behind her.

“You are awfully overdressed,” Y/N mumbled, allowing herself the luxury of running her palms along the still-covered planed of his chest. His breathing was steady, but to feel the erratic thumping of his heart excited her beyond measure. It meant all that composure was just an act, and she was thrilled she’d be the one to crack it.

She was just about to move her fingers to the buttons of his shirt when Michael slid down to his knees. If his hands hadn’t been resting against her thighs, she was sure she would’ve buckled and crashed. And Michael, damn the man to hell and back, knew it, if only by the smirk that stretched his face as he unlaced the strappy heels she had on and helped her stand on her feet.

Y/N covered her face and groaned, throwing her head back. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Torturing me?”

“Torturing you?” A kiss against her navel. “The only person being tortured tonight has been me. At the bar. In the car. Even now, you’re driving me crazy. So, if this is torture, simply consider it payback.”

With the gentlest of touches, only a doctor could manage, Michael skimmed over Y/N’s stretchmarks, scars and blemishes – pieces of herself she didn’t particularly like, but the way he touched her… it was like he was mapping out the carve-marks of a Michelangelo statue. She was Venus and those – the history of her life.

By the time he got back up to her mouth, she was a trembling mess, her nails digging into the muscles of his back, as finally, to her relief, he allowed her to rid him of the shirt.

Much like he’d done to her, Y/N allowed herself the pleasure of exploring his body, mapping out the ridges and slopes of his chest and abdomen, before moving around to his back, and once they made their way to the small of it, she dug her nails against the skin there. The groan she was rewarded with, was sweeter than the cocktail he’d bought her.

“Is it okay, if I touch you here?” Michael’s fingers slipped along the tops of her breasts before they moved to her back where they toyed with the clasp of the garment.

“More than,” Y/N’s words were a breathless whisper by that point, and her inhale stuttered in her chest as she deftly snapped it open.

It was clear he had experience, and not just because he was two decades her senior, but probably also because he’d done so in the trauma center, he worked at. For a brief, stupid second, she wondered how he could still find such acts pleasurable when he’d no doubt had to have done it during horrendous emergencies, yet all that was wiped away when Michael lowered his head and his teeth grazed a nipple.

Her sharp gasp echoed around them, and Y/N weaved her fingers through his hair, pushing his face closer, as he lavished at her chest. The next day, she was sure, there would be bruises and love bites blooming like flowers across her chest and sternum, not to mention the delicious beard burn.

Y/N moaned as he pulled the peak into his mouth, but when an uninhibited thought entered, it made her throw it back in a deep groan.

“That feel good?”

“So fucking good, but also, so yeah, I,” she stammered trying to get her brain to cooperate and create a coherent sentence. “Okay, so I just imagined you in glasses, and this got like ten times hotter.”

“Glasses?” Michael chuckled, pulling slightly back and looking up at her. “That’s what does it for you?”

“Correction – you in glasses. Though you right now are so doing it for me too. But that image just… yeah… kinda glad you don’t have any on. I’d probably be a pile of ash by this point.”

“Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” He said, slowly moving to her other breast, but not neglecting the one he’d already loved on, by cupping it in his large palm. “I mean, I’m just getting started.”

Yeah, Y/N was dead and done for.

As he continued licking at her chest, the hand that’d been fondling one of them, slid down her front and tentatively brushed against her clothed core. It was a single knuckle right against where her clit was, but it was enough for her to jolt in his grasp. Michael just steadied her and held tighter around her waist.

Once he deemed Y/N’s breasts worshipped enough, he trailed back up between them and covered her mouth with his, yet the knuckle, that damned fucking knuckle, still slid against her pussy. He could no doubt feel how wet she was, the material, though there wasn’t much of it anyway, soaked through so bad, her thighs were already sticky.

“Michael please,” Y/N was now openly begging. She was way beyond feeling embarrassed for such a move when in the span of half an hour, he’d reduced her to liquid fire. No one had ever made her feel this wanted. This needed. And she desperately wanted and needed him too.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, as he pushed his thumbs beyond the waistband of her panties and started to lower them down. The cool air hit her exposed core, and Y/N released a breathless moan. “You gotta tell me what you want and don’t want. I’m not gonna go any further until you do.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

She could feel him smirk as his hands took hold of the globes of her ass and squeezed.

“No, I want you to touch me there,” Y/N whined and tried to chase his mouth with hers, but Michael pulled back, shaking his head.

“Gotta be more specific than that, sweetheart.”

She debated on pulling away completely, on not giving him what he wanted either, but she was pathetic for this man. So, instead, she took one of his hands and guided it from where it rested against her ass, towards the front, sighing in relief as he let her do so. With her fingers guiding his, they slid to rest between her legs as Michael slowly, ever so exploratory, found her clit. She pressed her hand harder against his, so he could match the pressure on her core, and when he did so, overwhelming pleasure flooded her veins.

“There,” Y/N breathed. “I want you to touch me there. And then,” she moved his hand deeper, by the wrist, until she could feel the pads of his fingers nudging against her entrance. “I want you to put three of your fingers inside me, while you suck on my clit, until I’m a crying mess.”

As Y/N lifted her head back to look at him, there was absolutely no sign of the warm brown irises that’d looked at her so gently at the bar. Sure, it was dark in the apartment, yet even in bright daylight, she’d bet all her student loans, only two black abysses would be staring back at her, especially with how fast his chest was rising and falling.

“And then?”

God, had his voice dropped even lower? How did he manage to make it so gravelly, yet smooth as the darkest, most succulent chocolate?

“And then…” Her fingers trembled as she moved her hands to the front of his pants, undoing the buckle and flipping open the button, lowering the zipper as she went. All the while, Michael applied steady pressure on her clit, circling the bundle of nerves just enough to drive her towards the edge, but not enough for release to come. “And uhm, then…” She pushed his pants down as far as they would go, letting them bunch around his knees.

It took barely a moment for him to step out of them completely, kicking them to some forgotten corner of her room, leaving him in only his boxers. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the shoes and socks, but Y/N wasn’t about to go and hunt for them. Not with how he still circled her clit with those experienced appendages.

“Yes?” He raised a brow and pressed harder against her clit, making her pull in a sharp breath.

“And then,” Y/N trailed a teasing finger along the band of his boxers, for once delighting in how his abdomen muscles went taut, and his obviously hard dick twitched inside the confines. “And then I want you to fuck me. However, you want to. As long as by the end of it, neither of us know up from down and left from right.”

When she cupped him over the clothes he still had left on, it seemed like it snapped something in Michael, some taut, already fragile wire, that’d begun fraying ever since she’d invited him back to her place. Because this time when he kissed Y/N, it was a hungry kiss. A man starved being served the most lavish meal of all.

She was on the mattress in a matter of seconds, body covered by his towering frame. They molded perfectly together, Y/N thought. When she rolled her hips up to get at least some form of friction, he responded in kind, clearly searching to satiate his own desire.

Michael’s hands slid from her shoulders down the length of her arms before intertwining their fingers and bringing them up and over Y/N’s head, not once disconnecting from the kiss.

“You keep them there,” he instructed, breathing the words into her mouth. “And when I’m done with my appetizer, we’ll move on to the first of the main courses.”

“Appetizer?” Y/N squeaked out. A good hook-up in her books was at least two orgasms, usually only having one. But calling eating her out an appetizer, and then having a numbered list of courses, was something else completely.

Michael’s only response was that same damned smirk she’d learned could only mean torture, as he made his way between her legs, and without wasting another second, diving in between them.

The first lick of his tongue was a broad, all-encompassing one. And Y/N could only hope her neighbors had some good noise-cancelling headphones at the ready.

His forearms had settled against her hips and palms splayed themselves over her stomach to push her down against the bed, as she tried to chase his mouth.

And what a mouth it was.

Who knew the soft-spoken trauma doctor she’d met on a random Friday night at a bar while waiting for a date that never came, would be the creation of the Devil himself?

But when he pushed two thick fingers inside, shortly followed by a third, just like Y/N had asked, all thoughts flew out of the window. The way he curled them in an attempt at finding that spot that made her gasp and choke on air, the way he scissored them, stretching her, preparing her for the first course he had in mind, was diabolical.

Her first orgasm came unexpectedly. She could feel it like a wave – pushing and pulling – but she hadn’t expected the moment it crested and shattered against the rocks, swift and sharp, coming without a warning, all due to the teasing that’d happened before, no doubt.

Michael rode it out with Y/N, until her hips stopped grinding against his mouth, and he could gently remove his fingers from her pussy.

He placed a soft kiss against the inside of her thigh, the skin raw and tender from his beard, that now glistened with her juices.

“ ‘M sorry,” Y/N mumbled, an arm thrown over her eyes as she came down from her high and tears streamed down to her temples, just like she’d requested.

“Whatever for?”

“Didn’t warn you I was coming.”

As the aftershocks receded, and she removed her arm, she found Michael looking up at her completely puzzled. “And why would I need a warning? I could tell, you know.” He rose to hover over her. “The way you were clenching. Fucking proud of it too.”

“No, I mean,” she huffed, trailing a hand down his chest. “Sometimes guys don’t want to… you know… have that in their mouth. They’d rather finish a girl off with their fingers and not have to… taste it.”

Now that was one way to kill a mood, but Y/N had already opened her big mouth and the words were out.

“And why wouldn’t I want to taste it, hmm?” Michael tilted his head at her, as his hands drifted up and down her sides, over her breasts and clavicles, to skim along her neck and finally settle on the pillow beside her head. “Why wouldn’t I want that, when it’s the end goal? You got your tears,” he kissed the corners of her eyes where the salt still lingered. “And I got my wine.”

Her gaze drifted to the beard, the one she would be feeling for days to come, as she went about her life. The one that was glistening with the remnants of her orgasm even in the dark, and Y/N wondered, what it would be like to sit atop it. To have him pull her down by the waist as she claimed his mouth for her throne. They were such salacious thoughts, for a moment, embarrassment flushed through her, but come on! After such an eating out, Y/N was allowed to fantasize.

“And by the end of this, if you let me,” Michael mumbled, a golden chain dangling in between them. Quickly she snatched it between her teeth and pulled, making him come closer. “I’d like to do so at least once more.”

“You are absolutely welcome to it. Morning, noon and night.”

But at that moment, Y/N had no intentions of allowing him to go for another round, as when he leaned down for a kiss, she lifted a leg over his hip and twisted, throwing Michael off his balance and onto his back, with her now on top.

“But right now… you had your starter.” She gave him a wicked grin. “And I’ve yet to still have mine.”

“Fuck me,” was all he managed to groan out as he threaded a hand through his hair, head pressed tight against her silk-covered pillows while Y/N rid him of his boxers.

His length sprang free, thick and aching. It slapped against his abdomen and her hand curled around it immediately to give him some sort of relief, precum dripping from the tip. Or maybe, she intended to do quite the opposite.

He’d taken his sweet fucking time riling her up. She could take hers. But it was the way he let out the smallest of “please”, the way his eyes locked onto hers, practically begging to put him out of his misery, that did her in. She’d tease him come morning. For now, she was way too aroused herself to deprive her body of his any longer.

Y/N gathered a bit of saliva in her mouth and let it drip down onto his length, before dragging her tongue along the vein at the base of it, her lips wrapping around the tip as she made her way up and giving it a gentle, yet firm, suck.

Michael’s hips jolted, and a hand grasped onto her head. He didn’t push it down or pull her hair in any way, more so it seemed he needed something solid to hold onto as she pulled his length into her mouth, until it hit the back of her throat, making both of them choke.

“You don’t need to do that,” Michael started, ready to pull Y/N away if it became too much for her, but she stayed there, relaxing her muscles bit by bit, until he was so deep down her throat, her nose brushed against the hairs of his pelvis.

“Fucking. Hell.” Those were the only two words he managed to express before Y/N trailed her mouth up and started to really suck him off. After that, it was just grunts and groans, his hand tightening and then unclenching in her hair, but never pressing, never pushing her to take more than she wanted to. Michael was completely immersed with her pace, and ready to take whatever she gave him.

That sort of power could make anyone lightheaded, and when Y/N started to feel him twitch in her mouth, she pulled completely off.

Instantly, his eyes snapped open, head rising to look at how she climbed his body and settled her knees around his hips, pressing her core down against his length. She was just about ready to let it slide inside when Michael’s hands closed around her waist and stopped her.

“Condom,” he breathed out, chest rising and falling rapidly, probably the only word he could manage, which was great, because at least one of them still had some thinking skills left.

“Shit. Fuck. Right, yeah.”

Leaning over to her nightstand, Y/N half-fell over the bed to open the lowest drawer. In between her panties and vibrator, was a little foil packet which she fished out. She was glad of Michael’s unwavering hold, because the way she was precariously dangling over the edge, could end badly and with a stupidly gotten concussion.

When she was back to straddling him, opening the packet and rolling the condom on his length, their eyes met.

Michael rubbed his thumb in a circle on her hip. “We can always stop if you don’t want to go any further.”

“I’m not a quitter,” Y/N scoffed, yet it didn’t elicit the smile she was aiming for, as he rose into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her, hers resting onto his shoulders.

“And this isn’t some race or competition. You can revoke consent anytime you want. And so can I.”

“I know that,” Y/N nodded, her gaze softening at his words. He could easily create a power imbalance between them. With double the decades of age and experience on her, Michael could be pushing at her limits, trying to twist things into teaching her how to properly please a guy and so on, yet throughout all of it, his focus had been zeroed in on her wants and needs. She shifted a bit in her lap at the thought that she hadn’t checked in with him. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” His voice was soft but sure, and then, after a moment of him searching her eyes, the smile she’d hoped for, formed on his face. “But uh, and that is obviously if you are alright with it, I wouldn’t be opposed to adding your… friend… to our activities sometime later.”

“My friend?” Y/N tilted her head in confusion. “Oh…” A furious heat exploded through her body, and not because of the fact Michael’s cock was slowly rubbing against her clit, the head nudging just right for pleasure to zing through her.

He’d obviously noticed her vibrator, though the bright purple shade would be hard to miss. “You’re not turned off by it?”

“Why would I be? You’re a woman who has needs. And if that’s how you take care of them, it’s completely fine. I mean, as long as you’re being hygienic and safe about it. Besides,” Michael breathed against her neck, as his hand slid between their bodies and he grasped himself, lining the tip up with Y/N’s entrance. “Real men see them as tools to use to their advantage, not competition. And well, not to stroke my own ego,” he smirked, “but I don’t think I have any competition here.”

Y/N wanted to call him out for that statement, but he wasn’t lying. Not with the way his length stretched her out as he pushed inside. The fingering beforehand was incomparable to the feel of Michael sliding inside at a slow and agonizing pace, but one she desperately needed and welcomed.

He was thick and veiny, all ridges and girth, and so, so perfect for her.

It took a minute for him to be fully sheathed, and a minute more for Y/N to adjust, her forehead pressed against his, while he rubbed his hands up and down her back while she settled.

This wasn’t fucking. This was sex. This was intimate, and it was something she hadn’t known she’d wanted from a partner. Usually, it was fast and hard, leaving both her and the guy she was with, panting against the sheets. Satisfied in the sense that both (hopefully) had had orgasms, but something was always missing. Now, Y/N knew it was this – time.

Time spent exploring one another, time spent learning and teaching, and time spent simply enjoying each other’s bodies.

“You good?” Michael muttered, shifting ever so slightly and making the tip catch a spot inside of her, Y/N had only reached with her purple “friend”.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You?”

“Yeah.” Michael kissed her. Whether as an affirmation of his words or simply because he could, she didn’t know. But neither did she care. He was the best kisser she’d had the opportunity to enjoy, so she’d take it.

While they kissed, Michael started moving. At first, it was slow rolls of hips, figuring out what movements made both of their breaths hitch and hearts pound, but it wasn’t long before Michael was on his back, knees bent as Y/N bounced up and down, his thumb pressed against her clit the whole time.

Her second orgasm of the night was a more controlled approach. She could feel the coil tightening in her abdomen, and when Michael started lifting his hips up to meet hers, Y/N listed forward, balancing herself against his chest.

“You gonna come?” he breathed against her ear as she pressed her chest against his, Michael’s hands wrapping along the small of her back and holding onto it, so he could fuck up into her pussy. “I can feel you clenching around me. Fuck, you feel good.”

“Michael,” Y/N moaned his name. Not Dr. Robby or Robby how he’d explained the people in his life called him, but the name he’d asked her to call him. His real name.

One snap, two, three. That was all it took for heat to explode. The only grounding thing in the world was his scent – some form of cheap cologne, antiseptic and sweat, but she knew she still had a long way before she came down, with how he was drilling up inside of her, chasing his own release.

It elicited another, albeit smaller orgasm, but the most pleasure she got was when she realized he’d come with her as his palms grabbed onto her ass and pulled her sharply down, her name a sweet grunt on his lips against her ear.

Yeah. Y/N needed to go out with more doctors. At least they knew where to find the clit and not neglect it once they had.

He brought a hand up to her face and pulled her by the cheek to meet his mouth, a satisfied sigh leaving her as he did so.

“That was the best one yet,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

“And the night’s still young.”

They went three more rounds after that (because she only had three more condoms, and she’d rather use them on one man who knew how to make her come three more times, than three men, who would have trouble getting one out of her).

Michael was also a man of his word, as he had her vibrator join in on the fun. Y/N had her ass up in the air while he railed her from behind, an arm wrapped around her middle, pressing the toy to her clit, the vibrations sending pleasure unlike any other through her.

His front was flush to her back, beard having left delicious burns down her spine, as he’d kissed her there, before eating her out once more in between the rounds and pushing his again-hard cock inside.

That was the final orgasm she could manage, and it seemed Michael knew it. It was the kind that not only made her legs, but her whole body shake, leaving Y/N a trembling mess against the sheets, while he soothed her through the aftershocks.

“You with me, sweetheart?” he mumbled against her temple as he gathered her in his arms and laid them side by side.

“Jus’ give me a momen’,” Y/N slurred while Michael brushed a finger from her cheek to her jaw and back. “I think I’m a medical fucking miracle with how you just fucked my brains out, and yet, I can still function. Barely though.”

Michael’s chuckle reverberated through her body, as after she’d recovered slightly, he gathered her up and moved them to where she instructed the bathroom was, to make sure she peed and didn’t get a UTI. If these had been normal circumstances, she would have never let a guy see her peeing, but quite honestly, Y/N wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back from the toilet seat on her own.

“You’re more than welcome to have a shower if you want. Of course, only if you’re down with smelling like peaches or passion fruit.” Y/N nudged her chin towards the shower gels lining the floor, one hers, the other Sara’s.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to, but only if you join me.”

She hissed, biting her lip. “I don’t have any condoms left. Besides, from what I’ve heard and read, shower sex can be quite precarious. I’m surprised that you as a trauma doctor would risk such a thing.”

“I’m not asking to have sex,” Michale laughed and helped her stand on her still wobbly legs after she flushed. “I’m asking for you to shower with me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

And that’s what they actually did. They simply had a shower. Michael washed her back and she washed his, along with his hair. When she did so, the blissful look on his face, the way he allowed himself to melt against her touch, sent a new kind of thrill through her. But it also made her wonder – when was the last time he allowed someone to take care of him?

By the time they got out from under the water, it was close to four in the morning, so they dried themselves down and went to bed. Y/N’s down duvet was a warm and fluffy cloud around them. Sure, she could have asked him to leave, but why would she, when he seemed so content to be there? Whether anything came from it once they awoke, didn’t matter. If he didn’t want to leave at that moment, Y/N would be the last person to push him to.

She drifted off almost instantly, warm and safe in Michael’s hold, but when the real morning came and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, body sore and satiated, she was met with a cold spot next to her.

There was no fucking sign on Michael, and judging by how she’d been tucked in, he’d left a while back.

Her dress and underwear had been neatly laid out on the chair in her room, heels tucked beneath it. As she ventured into the apartment, there were absolutely no signs of him, except for a cup of tea on the kitchenette. She knew it’d been made for her – it was filled to the brim, but much like the sheets, it was also already cold.

Sourness settled in her mouth as she poured the liquid down the drain. Not even a single fucking note. It was like they’d never even met.

Y/N hadn’t expected him to leave his phone number, God forbid, his address, what with how he’d laughed when she’d told him she was twenty-six, and he’d responded that he could be her father with that age gap. She knew she was some kind of spur-of-the-moment mistake he’d made. A weakness in his judgement, but fucking hell, she at least deserved an “it was great meeting you, wish you all the best,” note. Especially because he knew the only reason she’d gone to the bar was because she’d been ghosted by a date.

And now – now Michael was also a ghost, an unscratchable, unreachable itch under her skin she couldn’t get to.

That was the real reason Y/N’d felt so bitter for the past two weeks. If he’d been a bad lay, or maybe she’d been the bad party, she would understand the one-and-done-dump, but something about falling asleep while being wrapped up in one another, and then just leaving without so much as a goodbye, was crueler than if he’d left while she was still coming down from her release.

Now though, as she watched him while they waited at the nurse’s station, she noted how his fingers twitched by his side. She wondered whether he wanted to touch her as badly as she wanted to touch him, but then horrible reality kicked in – there wouldn’t be any sort of touching for a while.

She was stuck with her leg in a cast, and a scheduled check-up with Dr. Langdon in a week to take it off and remove the stitches, before it would get swaddled again for a month or more.

Y/N cursed the day she’d met Dr. Michael Robinavitch, for he’d released a monster of carnal urges, she didn’t even really know resided in her. And he was the only one who knew how to properly tame it because even in his scrubs and hoodie, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and all sorts of bodily fluids she didn’t want to think about, all she wanted to do was grab him by the neck and get him to some supply closet to have her way with him like they were actually in Grey’s Anatomy.

“Michael, I,” Y/N started but got cut off by Sara waltzing into the emergency department.

“How’s my pirate doing?” She threw her arms around her shoulders and squeezed. “They assign you a parrot yet?”

“I don’t have a fucking peg-leg.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she signed a final form. With that, Sara took the wheelchair handles, gave Dana a salute and wheeled her out of the hospital, making Y/N crane her neck back and shout a final thank you to the nurse.

She was just about to ask Sara to slow down as she needed to talk to Michael, when she felt his presence moving with them, silent, steady and strong, his hands taking hold of the crutches as the automatic doors opened.

He followed them out and once they got to Sara’s car, helped Y/N settle in the front seat.

“You good?” He tucked a strand behind her ear.

“Yeah.” She gave him a genuine smile, and her heart pounded in her chest as his eyes trailed to trace her lips. “I am. Thank you. For taking care of me in there.”

“Honestly, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the only time I’d like to see you back here is for your check-ups.”

Y/N nodded, suppressing a smile. “Duly noted. No shower karaoke for me.”

“I’m serious. You have an appointment with Frank in a week, but other than that, please take care of yourself, alright?”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” She nudged her head towards Sara who was wrangling the crutches inside the boot of the car. “Mother hen is on the job.”

“Good.” Michael nodded and before Y/N could properly prepare herself, he’d leaned down, cupping her jaw in his hands and kissed her.

Her brain short-circuited at that, but when his tongue probed against the seal of her lips, she had to start wondering if she’d actually died when she’d hit her head in the shower. It didn’t take more than that though for her to open up, for her arms to brush against his scrubs and weave into the salt-and-pepper hair.

By the time Michael pulled back, both their lips were kiss-swollen.

“Let me take you out on a date.”

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “What happened to the doctor-patient thing?”

Michael only smirked. “You’ve been discharged. You’re no longer a patient of mine.”

“Okay, but even so – what would we do? My leg’s in a cast, and I can barely hobble around with the crutches.”

“I can carry you. I don’t mind.”

“And throw out your back, old man?”

“Hey, I’m not that old!” Michael protested, and when he noted the smile on her mouth, he pressed his against it once more.

“How about this,” Y/N proposed, “when you’re done with your shift, you could come over to my place, and -,”

“Our place,” Sara butted in, sliding into the driver’s seat. “So, whatever you have in mind – no hanky-panky with me next door.”

If Y/N rolled her eyes any harder they would get stuck in the back of her head, but she returned her attention to the awaiting attendant. “And we order some take-out. We watch a movie and then just… go to sleep?”

“It might be very late by the time I’m off.”

When she raised her hand and cupped his rugged cheek, it took him no time at all to lean into her touch. “I can wait.” She pecked his lips. “I’m in no rush.” She could only hope he understood the double meaning behind what she meant with it.

Later that night as Y/N sat by the TV, the glow of the screen illuminating her face, she fell asleep with her head against Michael’s chest.

And when she awoke, her sheets were warm with the remnants of his body, even if he wasn't there anymore.

She was alone, yes, but atop the pillow rested a note:

Shift started at 8. Sorry, I can’t be there to wake up with you. I’ll be home by 9.

It was almost impossible to wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the day.

Even as the itching under the cast started.

-----

Tags: are open :) if you wish to be tagged in further fics, please drop a comment under the fic or message me or leave me an ask :)

A/N: I have arisen

if you wish to know how this man makes me feel, please listen to Slutty by The Scarlet Opera.

I am FERAL.

P.S. I hope you enjoyed it :) feedback/constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

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cosmic-dust-poltergeist · 3 months ago

Text

Pt 2 of Danny being sort of reincarnated in the DC universe. Tim's pov of Danny and his weirdness. Ft Damian and setting up a play date [pt 1 here] [pt3 here]

Tim can honestly say he's enjoyed the last few months. His newest little brother is a delight and managed to get everyone wrapped around his little finger. The funniest, and saddest if Tim was honest, part of it all is that Danny has no idea. He hasn't seemed to realize how devastatingly cute he is while exploring the world. Add in the fact Tim found a speech therapist for him, so sometimes he will actually say something instead of just writing, and you can actively hear/see the scary Gotham vigilantes crumble every single time.

Danny follows whoever he deems "safe" like a weird glowing duckling. The kid had no idea how the world works and knows it, attaching to family in fear and googling anything and everything to understand. Tim really wants to get the kid help for his anxiety, but Danny is refusing currently. Tim can't really blame him, Danny has so much medical trauma.

The downside of being deemed as "safe" and non judgemental early on is Tim knows the most of the horrible details. It'd not much, but between what Danny has let slip and what he's searched on different mental health and trauma, Tim has a very ugly picture of what happened during his time in the lab. On the plus side, if he's asking questions and trying to work on/understand his mental health, then Tim is sure he'll be willing to see a specialist eventually. Tim is willing to go at Danny's pace and protect the kid as much as possible. He debriefs the rest of the family whenever he discovers a new trauma so no one accidentally triggers Danny into another panic attack. He has far too many of them daily already, and Cass is the best at calming him down, but she's not always available.

A less sad, and more interesting development is Danny's features have been changing from Damian's. Whoever made Danny really fucked up. Genetically he's still a clone of Damian, but visually, he looks like someone tried to draw Damian from memory and decided to make him part fae or something. Danny's eyes faded to a pale celadon blue, his ears are slightly pointed, his teeth are sharper than the should be, he gained freckles that glow Lazarus Pit green when he gets emotional, his hair curled and turned the darkest black Tim has ever seen while also gaining glittering white tuffs throughout, and his constant soft glowing are just a few things that shifted and changed over time. Tim has a theory that Danny has a higher concentration of Lazarus waters in his body than any of his predecessors and that caused him to mutate. Unfortunately, it's just a theory because Danny had a massive panic attack and dissociation episode the one time they tried to draw some of his blood. No one was willing to push it after that. So until Danny is healed enough mentally for it, there will be no tests.

Danny also freaked out and hid in his closet for 3 days straight when he realized how uncanny he's looking. He was terrified they'd hurt him for it or the flickers of developing powers when he's emotionally, which is often, and it took an insane amount of reassurances and bribes to get the kid to come out. Duke was actually the one who got Danny to calm down enough to talk about what he's developed so far. Duke talked about his own powers and how they developed; he's also taken to using them around the manor more to help the baby realize it's okay. It's now fairly common to see both use their powers, even if Danny's usage is still unintentional. Tim wonders if he should ask one of the Martians to help Danny control his, so far Danny has shown invisibility, floating, and phasing through things, he was startled into using them every single time they've manifested. Tim is holding off on contacting anyone yet because Duke and Tim have been double teaming to get Danny comfortable with his powers and making progress.

Plus, Danny regresses every time back into the mute, anxious wreck hiding behind his "safe" person like the first night any time someone new is introduced. So Tim makes sure both Cass and him are present for any introductions. Though, he does think introducing Danny to aliens would go smoother than most others. The kid is absolutely obsessed with everything space related. He lives in space themed clothes and has his own section in the family library because of all the space, physics, and alien culture books he's collected/been gifted. He's read every single one at least twice and is actively trying to learn Martian and Kryptonian, mostly their written language currently since talking is still an ongoing battle. Tim can hardly wait to introduce Danny to Kon.

Speaking of ongoing battles.

"Please, anki, you need a proper name." Damian sounds desperate, "I made a list of names that you can keep your nickname with. Please just pick one."

"Don't wanna." Danny whines quietly. Despite the kid technically being the same physical age as Damian, Danny never acts it, ping-pongs between behaving like literal 4 year old and young teen. Have you tried to tell a 4 year old they need to pick a different name for themselves or stuffed animal or pet or something? It's a battle of patience.

"Please.." Tim blinks as Damian pulls out his saddest puppy eyes. Tim has literally never seen Damian do that. It's not very good, but Danny is the definition of a people pleaser.

"...okay..." Danny reluctantly takes the list from Damian.

"Thank you." Damian gives a small satisfied smile.

"Danny, do you mind if I borrow Damian?" Tim asks in amusement. "Oh, shit!" is clear in Damian's body language, but the lack of real panic in Damian and the teasing vibes Tim is sure he's putting off keeps Danny from panicking. Kid can give Cass a run for her money in reading body language.

"Okay... I'll look at the names while you're gone.." Danny's voice starts fading out by the end of his sentence. Tim expects Danny is going to be mute for the rest of the day. He's come a long way since arriving, but speaking is still hard on him. Tim is positive it's a trauma thing. Another reason to try to convince him to see a therapist.

"We'll be right back." Tim smiles and pulls Damian out of the room and a little ways down the hall. "You taking lessons from the baby?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." Damian grumps.

So Tim puts on his best approximation of the face Damian pulled and in his most pathetic voice goes, "Please..."

Damian turns an interesting shade of red. "Shut up."

"I think it's cute." Tim's face hurts a little from his grinning. He has to shove down the anxiety at that realization, remembering what his own therapist has told him in relation to grinning reminding him of JJ.

"I'll stab you again."

"And upset the baby? Heartless." Tim teases before switching topics. "Do you think you could have Jon visit?"

"Probably, why?"

"I think it's time to introduce Danny to people outside of the family. Jon is a ball of sunshine and an alien, I think he'd be a good start." Tim explains.

"Why not Kon? I'm sure Anki would love to meet a clone like him. Especially one who is an alien and is as different from his template as Danny is to me." Damian points out. "As well as being connected to one of his "security people"."

"I thought about that, but I was also thinking about Jon being closer to his physical age." They discovered Danny has an intense distrust of adults, and while Kon is chronologically closer in age to Danny, he's mentally and physically a 19 year old. He knows Danny will love Kon and vice-versa, but he feels it's worth starting with someone younger.

"... I shall call Jon tonight. I assume Friday after school is acceptable?"

"Yeah, Cass should be hanging out with him all day and I can get off early. Tam knows we got a traumatized baby with separation anxiety." Tim chuckles, "I think she's happy I've been taking care of myself more because of Danny."

"Why have you been doing that?" Damian tilts his head. "It's not a bad thing, but it's out of character."

"I realized I can't be Bruce."

"Wha-?"

"I can't let my worst habits affect a kid that is dependent on my ability to help him figure out his place in the world." Tim feels tired. "How can I help him if I won't help myself?"

"... I see. When you put it that way, I understand." Damian looks thoughtful. "Perhaps I should look into getting a therapist as well."

"I'll send you a list of people I've vetted." Tim says and starts heading back to the room they left Danny in. "Now, let's check on the baby."

Danny is frowning at the list Damian gave him. It's an interesting sight, several names are blacked out with extreme prejudice, and his iPad is opened to the search engine. He seems to be looking up the remaining names' meanings and hating most of them. Any he doesn't hate, he writes the meaning next to with a frown. Tim and Damian occupy themselves while he does this, Danny hates being stared at, especially while working on something.

The silence is broken when Danny crushes the paper. A glance shows he copied 5 of the names and their meanings down in a note app. Danny opens the drawing app he prefers to communicate with while nonverbal.

[I want to think on these. I'll make a decision by dinner tomorrow.]

"Decide on what lastname or names you want and I'll set up a paper trail to prove your identity during the weekend. Damian wouldn't let me or Barb set one up til you picked a "proper" name."

[Ugh! Fine!]

"What do you mean? Anki will have the Wayne last name!"

"Yeah, but he might want mine or Cass's name too. Or maybe he'll decide to take the Al Gul name out of spite." Tim shrugs. "Names have power. Cass and mine would be an extra layer of protection, but he's technically an Al Gul. Kon took the El name to spite Clark and Clark couldn't do shit about it since Kon is technically blood."

"I suppose..." Damian does not look happy about this.

[Your friend's name meanings hope's abomination or false hope?] Danny looks so concerned.

"Yeah. He picked it out himself. He's a clone of Kal-El, better known as Superman or Clark Kent." Tim tries to keep his anger at Clark under wraps, but Danny's weary look tells him he didn't succeed. "Clark and Kon have a better relationship now, but Clark was awful to him for simply existing at first. It's fine for him to feel violated and angry, but it wasn't acceptable that he took it out on a kid who didn't ask to be made."

[Is cloning common?] Danny is intrigued.

"Only in the hero communities. Villains seem to like trying their hand at it. It's hit or miss on how the clone ends up. Some are mindless puppets, some are actually programmed to be an evil version, some literally are just the hero with some "fun" new trauma, and some might be completely unaware their clone statuses. Then there's the clones who know they're clones and are completely different than their DNA donor, but still want to do what's right." Tim explains. "The categories can overlap or a clone can start in one and end up in another."

"Would you be willing to meet Kon-El?"

[Maybe? Is he nice?]

"He's one of Drake's paramours."

"Damian!"

[What's a paramour?]

"He means he's one of my boyfriends." Tim can feel how red his face is.

[Pural???] Danny looks like a whole new realm of possibilities just opened up. It's adorable.

"Yeah, I have 2 boyfriends." Tim smiles, "Having multiple partners is completely fine so long as everyone is in the know and consenting, otherwise that's cheating."

"Stop corrupting my Anki" Damian complains with no heat. And Tim can't let that "challenge" slide.

"Look up the polyamory and being polyamorous, if you want to know more. Also, gender is a lie and sexuality is a mess. Do whatever makes you happy so long as it doesn't hurt you or anyone else." Tim says with the tone of someone commenting on pleasant weather. It makes Danny giggle before he opens the search bar to Google what he can on those three topics, wanting to fill his gap in knowledge. Damian and Tim share a fond look. This isn't nearly the first time Danny went on a research binge after a conversation. He has some vast gaps in his knowledge, and he takes it as a personal challenge every time he finds a new hole. It's admirable and adorable to see him so enthusiastic about learning. He has an air of child-like wonder, even if he dislikes the topic.

"Before we lose you to the allure of learning, anki, I'd like to ask if you'd be alright if I brought my best friend over after school on Friday?" Danny looks at Damian in surprise. Tim jumps in.

"His name is Jon, he's kryptonian and Kon's sort of brother and/or nephew. He's Clark's son, but he's always been accepting of Kon, so he'll be nice to you. Especially since Damian cares about you." Danny cautiously studies them before nodding. "Awesome. I plan to be home before them and Cass will definitely be here all day, so if something happens, we will be here."

Danny looks relieved.

"Now, enjoy your research."

#tim drake #batfam #batfam shenanigans #damian wayne #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #dpxdc

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mandoalorian · 3 months ago

Text

the perfect fit [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: While preparing for an important congressional dinner, Bucky takes his personal assistant shopping for the perfect dress. But when the tension between them becomes unbearable, they find themselves tangled in a moment of reckless passion inside a dressing room. As professionalism crumbles, Bucky makes it clear—he’s done holding back.

Word Count: 2200

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, p in v, f receiving oral, exhibitionism kind of\sex in public, body worship, bucky is sooooo obsessed with you.

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The morning after Tokyo was a delicate thing—silent, tentative, and wrapped in the weight of everything that had been said and done. You had woken up with Bucky’s arm draped over your waist, his body warm and solid behind you. For a few perfect moments, it felt like something real. Something permanent.

But then reality came crashing back in.

You had pulled away first, slipping from the bed before the morning light could make things more complicated than they already were. Bucky had let you go, watching you dress in silence, his blue eyes dark with something unreadable, yet recognisable. And just like that, you had fallen back into your roles—assistant and congressman, professional and detached, as if the night before hadn’t happened.

Only, it had happened. And no amount of careful distance could change that.

The rest of the day had been routine, filled with meetings and preparations for the upcoming professional dinner with members of Congress. The event was a crucial one, meant to secure relationships and reinforce Bucky’s place in the political world. You had spent the afternoon coordinating details, ensuring everything ran smoothly, pretending not to feel the way his gaze lingered on you whenever you walked into a room.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Bucky called for you.

"We need to get you something to wear for tonight," he reminded, standing near the window of his hotel suite, his tie loosened just enough to make him look devastatingly good. "I want you to look nice."

You blinked. “Is it really essential I attend the dinner? It’s you that they want to see.”

Bucky frowned. “Where I go, you go. I’m not spending an evening with those stuck-up politicians without you by my side. Besides, if things go haywire, I need you there.”

You hesitated, knowing he was right. Bucky knew how to behave, but sometimes, when challenged, he could act a little irrationally, especially when it came to the campaign. His fight was so important to him. Bucky represented every person who had ever been misunderstood.

“I could borrow a dress from Tara, I suppose.” You shrugged. Truthfully, you’d been sort of intimidated by Tara. She had golden tan skin and long legs and honey blonde hair. Asking her to borrow a dress would have been your own personal nightmare, but you’d rather do that than have Bucky spend his money on you.

‘Tara doesn’t have any dresses either,” He gave you a look that made your stomach twist. “At least, not the kind of dress that I want you to wear."

That should not have sent heat rushing to your core. But it did. He was really adamant about seeing you in this dress.

You swallowed hard, gathering your composure. "Fine. I’ll find something."

"I’ll take you."

That made you pause. "You don’t have to—"

"I want to," he cut in, voice low. "Come on."

You knew it was a bad idea. But you followed him anyway.

———-<3———-

The boutique was upscale, discreet, and filled with racks of elegant evening wear. You had tried to refuse when Bucky insisted on taking you shopping for the formal congressional dinner that evening, but he had been adamant. "I want to do this for you," he'd said, and that was that.

Now, you stood in front of a three-way mirror, examining yourself in a sleek, midnight blue dress that hugged every curve. Small Swarvoski crystals delicately outlined the hem of the dress, and as it caught the light, it sparkled. It was undoubtedly stunning—but you barely noticed. Your focus was on the man sitting in a plush chair a few feet away, his sharp gaze locked on you like a predator watching his prey.

Bucky had been quiet the entire time, watching you try on different dresses with an unreadable expression. But this time? This time, you saw it. The way his jaw tightened. The way his fingers flexed against the armrest. The way his blue eyes darkened with something unmistakable.

Heat pooled in your stomach.

You swallowed hard, adjusting the thin straps of the dress. "What do you think?” You were nervous to ask.

Bucky stood slowly, his movements controlled, deliberate. He stepped toward you, his warmth pressing against your back as his hands ghosted over your bare shoulders. His eyes met yours in the mirror.

"You know exactly what I think," he murmured, his voice a low rasp.

A shiver ran down your spine. "Bucky—"

"Shh," he whispered, his hands trailing down your arms, then lower, fingertips grazing the sides of your waist. "Turn around."

You obeyed, heart pounding. The moment you faced him, his hands slid to your hips, fingers pressing possessively into the fabric.

"You shouldn't look at me like that," you breathed.

"Like what?" His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. His question was innocently taunting.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat. ”Like you’re about to ruin me."

A slow, wicked smirk tugged at his lips. "Doll, you have no idea."

Before you could protest, he was backing you into the nearest fitting room, the heavy curtain falling shut behind him. His mouth crashed into yours, all restraint crumbling as he kissed you with desperate, unrelenting hunger. His hands roamed, gripping, teasing, pulling you impossibly closer.

You gasped as he spun you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands were on your thighs, bunching up the silky fabric of your dress, pushing it higher and higher until his fingers met bare skin.

"Bucky, someone could hear—"

"Let 'em." His lips trailed down your neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. "You’re mine, sweetheart. I don’t care who knows it."

Your mind spun, torn between the scandal of it and the undeniable, dizzying need for him. Your hands clawed at his shirt, tugging it loose as his fingers slid under the fabric of your panties, teasing, tormenting.

You muffled a moan against his shoulder, and he chuckled darkly. "That’s right, baby. Be quiet for me. Think you can do that?"

Bucky dropped to his knees before you, his large hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the silky fabric of the dress higher until it bunched around your hips. He exhaled heavily, eyes dark and filled with reverence as he took you in.

This was madness. Reckless. Completely unprofessional.

And yet, you knew—there was no stopping him. No stopping this.

The dinner could wait. Right now, you had far more pressing matters to attend to.

And just like that, the last bit of restraint between you shattered.

"You're perfect," he murmured, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His stubble scraped deliciously, sending a shiver up your spine.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping the expensive fabric of his suit as his lips trailed higher, his breath warm against your bare skin. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down with agonizing slowness. The anticipation sent heat pooling between your legs, your breath coming in soft, desperate gasps.

Bucky glanced up, his pupils blown wide. "Gotta be quiet for me, sweetheart. Think you can do that?"

You barely had time to nod before his mouth was on you, his tongue sweeping through your folds in a slow, deliberate stroke. A strangled moan caught in your throat, your body arching as pleasure flooded through you.

He hummed against you, his grip tightening on your thighs to keep you steady. "That's it, baby. Just let me take care of you."

The way he worshipped you—every flick of his tongue, every gentle suck—had you unraveling too fast, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled you deeper into the blissful haze of him. And when his lips closed around your clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, you bit down on your own wrist to stifle the cry threatening to spill free.

Bucky groaned against you, his own restraint barely hanging by a thread. "So fuckin' sweet," he muttered, the vibrations sending you spiraling over the edge.

You came undone with a silent cry, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you. Bucky didn't stop, drawing out every last aftershock until you were nothing but a boneless mess against the mirror.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, his eyes were full of something dark and dangerous. He pressed a kiss to your thigh before rising to his feet, his hands framing your face as he kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"I could do that all day," he rasped against your lips. "But we’ve got a dinner to get to."

Your breath came in shaky gasps as he smirked, smoothing down your dress like nothing had happened. But the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

This was far from over.

Before you could catch your breath, Bucky’s hands slid back down your body, gripping your thighs as he hoisted you up against the wall. A gasp slipped from your lips, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pressed his body flush against yours.

"Still want me to stop?" he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and teasing.

Your fingers tangled in his hair. "No," you whispered. "Please, don’t stop."

That was all he needed. With a desperate groan, Bucky hiked your dress up further, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between them. The sharp sound of his belt unbuckling filled the small dressing room, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric as he freed himself.

The first push was slow, agonizing, stretching you around him in a way that had your nails digging into his shoulders. He cursed under his breath, his forehead dropping to yours as he sank in inch by inch, savouring the way your body clenched around him.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he ground out, his voice strained. "You feel so fuckin’ good."

Your legs tightened around his waist as he started to move, each thrust deliberate, controlled—like he was savouring every moment. But you could feel the tension in him, the barely restrained hunger threatening to snap.

"Look at you," he murmured, tilting your chin up so he could watch your expression in the mirror. "Wearing this pretty little dress just for me… and now I’m ruining it."

The words sent heat shooting through you, your head falling back as he picked up the pace, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate. The silk of the dress bunched around your waist, the delicate fabric caught between your bodies as he fucked you hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to ensure you’d feel him for days.

"Bucky—" You barely choked out his name before he silenced you with a bruising kiss, swallowing every moan, every broken gasp.

The coil of pleasure tightened low in your stomach, winding dangerously tight as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. His grip on your thighs tightened, his metal hand cool against overheated skin as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.

"Come for me, baby," he rasped against your lips. "Let me feel it."

And just like that, you shattered, your body arching as pleasure crashed over you in waves, dragging him down with you. He groaned against your neck, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you, his breath ragged and uneven.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in the aftermath, your bodies slick with sweat and desire.

Then, with a lazy smirk, Bucky reached down, smoothing the crumpled fabric of your dress. "Guess we’re buying this one."

You laughed breathlessly, resting your forehead against his. "Yeah, no way we’re leaving it behind now."

His hands lingered on your hips, his eyes dark with something that looked dangerously close to devotion. "You really are somethin’ else, sweetheart."

And as much as you knew this was reckless, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You hummed, lacing your fingers in his hand and bringing it up to your face, pressing a chaste kiss across his knuckles.

“Does this feel wrong to you?” You asked, out of nowhere. “What we’re doing… I feel like it’s supposed to feel wrong but it doesn’t. It actually feels right. For once it feels like I’m doing the right thing.”

His hand was so much bigger than yours. Before Bucky could reply, you gasped, noticing the time on his wristwatch.

“Shit, we’re gonna be so late for dinner. We have to go now!”

Bucky stayed still. “It’s okay if we’re a little late, no?”

“No Buck,” you laughed softly. “You have to make a good impression. There’s going to be senators at this dinner.”

Bucky grumbled. “I’m not dressed.”

“Well, we’re at the tailors. I say it’s your turn. Let’s grab you a tuxedo.” You beamed, staying in the dress that you’d be wearing for dinner and pulling the Congressman out of the fitting room. “I’m thinking something dark blue… so we can match each other?” You suggested; lips pursed into a smirk.

“Whatever you want, darling.” He replied, following you out of the fitting room.

———-<3———-

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @mybuckynotyours @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog

[if you want to be added or removed from taglist, lmk<3]

#bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #sebastian stan #smut #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #congressman #congressman bucky #avengers #thunderbolts

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misshuntereevee · 3 months ago

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The Winner Takes it All, part 2.

( part 1. )

Synopsis: You look like the MC, and you actually remember bits and pieces of the myth (not all.) But MC finally shows up, with no memory, and Sylus can’t help but be drawn in. What will happen?

Notes: Thank you guys so much for the love. Part 3 will be coming probably in a few days as I prepare to start a new series for Raf. However, there has been some interest in a taglist for this series. I won’t be doing this at this time, but I will keep considering. Comments, likes and reblogs are encouraged but not necessary. Enjoy the groveling. (Also don’t forget I’m not beta-read.)

Sylus knows he fucked up. The moment you were gone -- Miss Hunter ceased to exist. Multiple calls from her went unanswered. And he didn’t even wonder once if she was okay. But every moment since you’ve been gone, Sylus has been searching.

If you’re mad at him, that’s one thing. But he has a duty to you to make sure that Ever never lays a hand on you. And no matter how mad you are at him, he refuses to let that promise go. If he has to rebuild the trust… he will. Brick by brick.

But the pit in his stomach doesn’t subside when he sees you. He’s not a jealous man, never felt the need to be. But right now -- he understands he’s the closest he’s ever been to losing you. And he is feeling envy creep up into his veins.

You were flirting with the cashier. Well, he started it but you definitely were returning it. In all honesty… the attention felt nice. It had been a few weeks since you felt like you got this sort of attention.

The cashier is already blushing. “You know, I get off around -,”

“We don’t care,” a smooth voice comes from behind you, and a shiver runs down your spine. Sylus. You hate that it elicits such a reaction, but there would never be a day it didn’t. Your memories of your past life were hazy at best, but his voice — you don’t remember a single time it didn’t made you fall head over heels.

A hand comes to rest on your shoulder but with a loud huff, you yank it off spinning around. You’re angry. Passionately so. “Don’t you dare,” you hiss at him. “You don’t have a right—,”

“Keep the change,” Sylus tells the cashier, ignoring you.

The cashier looks between you both before he lets out an awkward low whistle and backs up. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’m not risking my life for a date with you.” And with that he leaves the customer service desk, leaving the two of you alone. You swivel around to face him, and you notice a swirl of emotions around his face.

Relief. Anger. Annoyance. Relief again. Adoration. And then finally in lands on one thing you didn’t expect —

“You were actually flirting with him,” he points out, his eyes looking… hurt somewhere underneath an accusatory jealousy. You don’t say anything. In fact, you grab the book you purchased and start walking out the door. He follows you, and you try to put your earbuds in. He takes them immediately with his Evol. You scowl at him and yank him into a nearby alleyway.

“What the hell are you doing?” You spit at him. “Leave me alone. If I wanted to talk to you, I’d answer my phone.”

A flicker of hurt crosses his face for a moment. But finally, he forces a calm look on his face. “My little bird, I know I forgot our —,”

A flicker of surprise crosses his face when you laugh loudly and bitterly. “Are you kidding me? You think that’s all I’m upset about?” He stays quiet, seeming to realize you aren’t done with him yet. In all honesty, he needs to hear what you say. Sylus knows he can’t fix anything until he knows how you’re feeling.

You frown at him before continuing: “She comes along and just because she looks like me she grabs your attention? Oh and that stupid fucking linkage bond thing ---,” How could you forget? You could resonate with him, yes, but there has never been any physical bondage connecting the two of you. That was new -- something only Miss Hunter had. And you had wondered —

Was it enough that you should doubt? Your fears were confirmed when he forgot your anniversary to take her home after a mission.

“And Ever wants you both,” he adds, his eyes narrowing. “Which was enough for me to wonder if you left… or disappeared.”

“Ha, no, more like your ego couldn’t handle that I left!” You say, poking his chest. He scowls at you. “And you know what -- I fucking remember. Does she?! I might not remember everything, but I remember! She can’t… she’ll never —”

You stop, your voice about to shake with tears. A lump forms in your throat, your chest tightening. You remember when he forced the blade through his heart. You remember slaying the dragon. And you remember the pain your past self carried -- everywhere. “Does she remember losing you like I do? However hazy it may be, she doesn’t carry that pain.”

And that’s when you turn away from him. A hand comes up, pushing tears away. “Oh, my little bird,” he murmurs behind you, his voice sounding raw. He can’t stand the fact you’re crying… over him. Self-loathing was the only thing swirling in Sylus’ red eyes right now. “I’m sorry.”

“No. I don’t forgive you. I’m not willing to fight with another version of myself for you. Go away,” you spit. You need time. And you start to walk away from him. However -- You’re only about two feet away from him when you’re yanked backwards. Something is tethering around your wrist, pulling you back.

“Stop it,” you hiss at Sylus. “Let me go!” But as you turn around completely, you can tell — this is not his Evol. You’d be able to resonate with him and make him stop. This isn’t that.

Sylus stares at it for a moment before there’s a small smirk on his face. “Well,” he says. “It looks like you’ll have to hear me out now.” A linkage.

***

“No, don’t you even start,” you say to him, staring at the link. “I’m sure if I just resonated with you — when you finally resonated with her, it went away right?”

You try to resonate with him but —

“You’re blocking it!” You accuse him. “You’re trying not to resonate with me.”

“What can I say? If my little bird flies away before I can tell her how sorry I am, that just won’t do,” he nearly purrs.

“Oh, I hate you. Stop this!”

“You have every right to be angry,” Sylus starts. Granted, you weren’t expecting that, so your response doesn’t come quickly. He keeps talking. “I admit… seeing her threw me off. But anything drawing me to her was pure curiosity, nothing more. Any other pull I felt — it felt empty. Like it belonged to you. Because it does.”

You cross your arms, pretending not to be fazed by his declarations. He leans down, gripping your chin. “You’re right, my Queen. You remember me,” he says. The other hand — the hand linked to yours by the bond — laces fingers with yours. You don’t lace them back right away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “If you wish for me to never see her again, I’ll let someone else investigate her appearance for me. I have to know — for both our sakes why she’s here. Just please -- I can’t lose you. You’re right.”

“Sylus —,”

“Please. You don’t understand. These last two weeks have been — eye opening.” He lets out a deep, ragged breath. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I mean it.”

A deep breath. Your thoughts are so consumed with confusion. Because you’re also curious to why there seems to be two of you - albeit two crazily different lives. You mean, she had her life and you certainly had yours.

But you also missed him. Your dragon. And the look on his face. You found it remarkable how this crime boss of a man could look like a kicked puppy, begging for forgiveness. And you absolutely hate how much you’re softening. How much you’re still attracted and pulled to him.

“Mhm. Fine. Come back tomorrow and apologize again just as passionately… and I’ll think about it,” you finally say.

His mouth opens and closes. “My little bird — okay. If that’s what you want.” And he takes your hand, ready to resonate and undo the linkage so he can leave you for the night. Sylus doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to give you a single chance to overthink it and -- not forgive him. But he also knows -- if he pushes this, he could lose you forever.

The glow of resonating begins — but nothing happens. Your heart drops. It’s not working. So… it wasn’t Sylus that was holding it together. A brief moment of confusion flits across his face.

He remembers what the scientists had told him when he failed to resonate with the hunter. That they wouldn’t be able to resonate because she was disgusted and angry with him. And in striking clarity -- he knows for a fact that it’s not him holding them back from resonating like he previously thought. It’s you.

“What’s happening?” You says, seeming a little panicked as the bond only tightens the more you try to pull away. In fact, the link tightens so much that you stumble forward into his arms. The more you try to get away from him, the closer you get.

“Hm.” Sylus says, staring at it. He’s currently trying to make sure he isn’t smiling -- this might be a small win, and he knows he has more opportunities to remedy your relationship. “I have a theory.”

“Okay -- so spill,” you say, your eyes widening at him. “I have work tomorrow, and I can’t bring you with me! You’re a crime boss!”

“We’re linked because you’re mad at me,” he finally says. “Or disgusted. Or --- you hate me.” He almost can’t get the words out. Because you can’t. You can’t hate him. There is so much he never got to do with you. You blink at him several times before it clicks -- you’re both bonded until he can fix what he broke.

#lads fanfiction #lads fanfic #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #sylus fanfic #guess who got this done anyway :)#hope y’al like it uwu

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emacrow · 4 months ago

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It took the Justice League 5 months to catch the two kids who were stalking Flash.

After Batman has figured out why a little girl were stalking and air kicking flash in the middle of attempting a time run while the other one, a little boy beat the problem in like it a rabid animal.

Superman need 2 hour to physically calm himself the first time he caught the girl once as carefully as he could, only for her heart to stop completely, become inverted, going through his hands with her body literally melting like some sort elderitch horror film hearing that scream if it weren't for the little boy flew by catching her at high speed and diving into a emerging green portal that disappeared.

Clark broke down right there and than, chokes with tears dripping heavy like a child in front of batman with his hands shakenly uncontrollable coated in blood and lararus pits goop. Batman and Diana comforted him as much as he could as he had lois and his adopted parents on sped dial.

Later Clark refused to let go as he kept hugging Jon for 5 hours straight with Conner petting his head and Lois comforting him after he went home. Ma kent making pies in the kitchen like there was annual pie competition.

Diana had tried to talk to them a couple times softly, only to end up fighting in the most impressive yet terrifying amazonian fight she has ever went through against two kids that made her mother talk of battle seem like childplay.

She was fully convinced on the theory they're demigods that Flash somehow erase their existence.

Surprising the one who has caught them long enough to actually convince them to come was J'onn.

Mainly due to the little boy rambling question with the pace of 60 mph with literally stars in his eyes wrapped, tightly wrapped to J'onn's arm like a snake and one little girl, stuffing her face with a bat burger on J'onn's left shoulder.

Apparently due to Flash's time running that he saved a wandering pilgrim man from falling off a cliff that would've led the discovery and making of their modern town. All their loves ones, friends and life were erased out of existence is what Elle, 3 and half now currently told them.

Danny, the sleepy 7 year old boy who still wrapped around J'onn's arm, is going through a crash after a obsession induce manic high because he is an Alien! A real life Alien!! There wasn't any in his timeline, but why did they get real living Alien in this one?! They're in space in a space station!!

Elle is very sorry for traumatizing the flying guy with her destabilizing a bit, she wasn't supposed to change into ghost form yet, but she did what she had to do to escape his grasped.

Frostbite and clockwork did fixed her up thankfully or else danny would've destroyed the world like a grape.

The Justice League concerned looks didn't help when she laughed a bit nervously about it.

Part 1 here <-

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #dcxdp #danny is the ghost king #de aged danny #de aged ellie #flash accidentally erased amity parj history #Danny's timelie doesnt exist anymore #but he still the ghost king #elle is destabilizing the more she spent out the infinite realm due to her existence an anomaly #Frostbite and Clockwork fixed her up but she now more younger then she was already de aged into #danny is still upset and holding back mass trauma but there's is a real life alien in this timeline #they're in space! actual space!#danny whisper to J'onn can i keep you in my former haunt?#please he need this at this time

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fairuzfan · 9 months ago

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I'm to the point where if I hear you're endorsing/voting for Kamala Harris and you're publicly getting mad at people for not voting for her, I'm not even going to listen what you have to say, you've made it clear you have to strong principles to guide your decisions beyond "what's worse for me personally?" I think Harris voters have no actual ideologies to live by, despite claiming they do, and I fundamentally don't respect them for it. It's one thing to be angry at people who won't vote for Harris, but it's another thing to pretend you're doing it because you have some sort of moral authority and not basing it off pure selfishness. You think that solidarity is posting about things and that's it. You refuse to make yourself uncomfortable, even momentarily. And you get mad at people who are willing to go through discomfort for the sake of others. You call them names, ans claim that THEY are the selfish ones in this scenario. You've given up on making a change in the world for the better, or maybe you were never interested in it. All of your arguments pale in comparison to reality, because Harris is actively funding a genocide. She has even refused to acknowledge a reality in which she does not fund that genocide. Has made such a thing clearer and clearer. All my problems here in the imperial core are secondary to that. I'm about to go through multiple personal issues that are made increasingly hard by political factors and I still think that's nothing in comparison to what Palestinians and Lebanese are going through overseas. You've placed yourselves as the ultimate victims in the world and to me it's laughable and completely out of touch with just how fucked everyone else is because of the imperial beast that is Amerikkka. And speak nothing of the way the victims of Amerikkkan imperialism on Turtle Island bear the brunt of societies' woes for your personal comfort and refusal to make any meaningful change. Not ev baby steps! You think trump is an accidental anomaly and not a product of a larger issue within white amerikkkan politics. Is it not shocking to you that so many people here are voting for trump so enthusiastically?

Seeing things like the weaponization of personal identity, like "Muslims for Harris," used so plainly is an insult to the ideas of internationalism that you all claim to follow. What use is solidarity with the victims of imperialism if you refuse to acknowledge the entirety of the imperial complex? That includes the democrats you hold so dear as well as the Republicans? What use is any of this if you only think for yourself?

You claim to be thinking of others, and that's why you vote for Harris... but what is so incomprehensible to me is the comfort in which you accept the inevitability of Palestinian deaths. Why are you so willing to accept that reality? Why are you comfortable with that reality? It shocks me and disgusts me in a way that I can not really describe. You lot argue and argue and argue, but in the end, the difference between you and me is that I refuse to engage in a reality where Palestinians must die in any case. You have yet to refuse that. In actuality, you all refuse the baby steps, the bare minimum, of refusal to engage in continuation of that reality. And because of that, I do not take you seriously, nor do I view you as being moral in your decision to sacrifice Palestinians.

#palestine

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misstycloud · 1 year ago

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Imagine yandere vampire hunter finding out he married one of the creatures he vowed to destroy. The very monster he dedicated his entire life to kill.

“…no..i-it can’t be..” his voice was barely a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear as if he was right next to you.

You stood still in the darkness, your face was a mask of indifference. If you hadn’t been blinking he would have mistook you for a statue. It appeared you’d been careless and let yourself be seen- by him no less. You could still feel the warmth of the blood dripping down you chin; a curtain of red fell down the front of your dress and stained it.

“Please tell me this isn’t real..” your husband let his eyes wander to the soon-lifeless body laying not far away. Small puffs of air was seen coming for the person, indicating they were not yet dead. The disgusting sound of gurgling in one’s own blood sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes met yours, searching for any sort of confirmation that everything was indeed a figment of his imagination.

“It is, I’m afraid.” You said.

He let out a devestatd choke, muttering ‘no’ over and over while shaking his head, clearly in denial.

You reminded yourself not to show any emotion and stepped forward. “I will not lie to you and therefor I will utter the clear truth in front of you. I am a vampire.”

“No, no you’re not.” He refused to believe it. If it had been his friend, he would prioritise duty before friendship. If it was his brother, he would do the same. Even if it was his own parents, he would die before letting insensible things such as emotions to come in the way of doing what is right. But this was different. It was you. It can’t be you. It could never be you.

But it was. Clearly. The evidence- the body- was right in front of him, unblinking and unmoving.

“You cannot look away from what is in front of you-“

“Stop saying that!” He suddenly shouted, surprising you with the sudden change in tone. “You can’t be one of….them.” He expressed in great repulsion.

Despite knowing how evil your kind is, you still though of yourself as quite good- well, as good as you can be when you’re a blood sucking, murderous creature of the night. So your husbands disdain awoke some sort of defensiveness in you.

“Wel, I am. And I have been for a while now.”

He seemed to think for a moment. Then he asked, “how long? How long have you been a…a vampire?” He furrowed his brow at the end, not believing he’d ever connect ‘you’ and the word ‘vampire’ in his life.

“36 years. Not as long as some others, but it should still count as something.”

“Oh god..”

It meant that you were one since the start- no before- your marriage. Was he truly that blind? Had love taken such hold of him that he could no longer do his job properly?

How many vampires had he killed during you union? All that while simultaneously being wed to one himself. While loving one, caring for one and even making passionate love to one. It was like some fucked-up punishment tailor-made for him.

He knew what he had to do.

The first tear fell down his cheek, betraying his stern expression and showcasing his endless sorrow. “You are evil,” he raised his crossbow, “and now you have to be judged for your crimes.” How ironic of him to talk about committing crimes of slaughter as if he wasn’t doing exactly the same. He wasn’t stupid, not all immortals were pure darkness, it wasn’t that simple. They do what they have to in order to survive. Only some killed more than they had to. Still, it didn’t change the fact that they all need to be destroyed.

Your eyes widened when he pointed the weapon straight at you. You expected this. Of course he would kill you. However, a part of you could not stop from hoping he wouldn’t think of you as a monster. That perhaps you’d finally find somewhere you can call home and be accepted for what you are. It was a naive dream. Weren’t you his wife before you were a monster? Apparently not, because an arrow shot at you at incredible speed. It hit you in the arm and you cried out in pain.

While you had physical advantages, it doesn’t mean you are immune to pain.

Ripping it out, you studied the black liquid staining it. Your husband swore and immediately prepared to launch another. You felt your fangs grow in length and you hissed at him. Throwing yourself at him the two of you rolled around on the floor, each trying to restrain the other. You managed to get ahold of his crossbow and threw it away form his reach.

Your husband quickly dug into his pockets to grab a dagger, and tried to stab you. Luckily you stopped him in time, fighting him with your vampiric strength. You had to give it to him, he was surprisingly strong for a human. Despite you having supernatural gifts, he was definitely a match and you had a hard time holding you down. If it was any other situation you would have been impressed and rather seduced by his sheer strength, unfortunately this was not a good situation for you.

You leaned down, planning to bite him, but his fast reflexes let him use his free arm to keep you at a distance. He was now on the floor with you straddling him and trying with all your might to end his life.

Your husband knocked your heads together which was the distraction he needed to kick you off of him. You clenched you forehead in pain and backed away. But there was no more time to dwell on that pain, because it was minor compared to what you felt next. Agony was in your side, accompanied by the dagger you had previously defended yourself against.

Your lover was close. Enough for you to feel his breath, and enough for you to see tears running down his regretful face.

“Why was it you?”

Whether he referred to you being a vampire or you being the one he married, you did not know. It hardly mattered anyway.

In a way, you did love your husband. It was probably not in the normal spousal way but it was there. Maybe if you weren’t a blood-sucker you two would have been truly happy together. Too bad fate had other plans. Even though it was true that you were probably evil, you wanted to live. And despite the one threatening your existence was none other than the man who’d showed you the devotion and love you thought you’d never find again, this was not where you wanted it to end.

With a shriek, you used all your power to push him as hard as you could. He flew backwards into the wall. You supposed he’d fainted from the force since he wasn’t making any move to get up. You clutched your side and groaned. You had to get out of there; somewhere safe.

You stumbled to the window and put your foot on the ledge. The dagger he’d stabbed you with must be silver, otherwise it wouldn’t have made as much damage. The wound in your side burned and sizzled with pain. You had no idea if your body would be able to fully heal you in time for when you need blood again- or even at all.

“Ugh….”

You heard a cough from behind you. It was your dearest. He must be sturdier than he looks to have woken up so quickly. He had rolled over to lay on his stomach and had his arms pathetically stretched in your direction.

“D-don’t go.”

You scoffed at his audacity. “What, so you can finally finish me off?”

He whimpered pathetically, “ N-no, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that- why did I do that?” The last part appeared to be a criticism on himself. Nevertheless he continued, “please, I won’t do it again. I was wrong, you’re not evil I know that, I don’t know why I said that. I’m so sorry, please..”

A frown adorned your face. “It’s okay. I’m not evil, but I know I’m far from good- I’m not that delusional.” Then you turned back to the view of the outside world.

“Wait, no-“

“I have to go. I really mean it when I say this, ‘thank you for all these years together, they have been the happiest days I am now able to remember’.

“My love, don’t-“

You ignored his pleas as you jumped from the window. You landed in the dirt outside. You looked back at the house which you’d just escaped from and as you prepared to run off to another town and build up a new life (until you’d eventually have to run again) you listened to the scream of the man who’d been your husband for six years.

What was he screaming? What else if not your name.

#oc #male yandere #obsessed #yandere oc #possesive #misstycloud oc #yandere husband #vampire hunter husband #vampire reader #wife reader #vampire wife reader #yandere x reader #toxic #yandere husband x wife reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere imagine #fantasy #yandere human x vampire reader

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feathersandblue · 7 months ago

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So, full disclosure, I haven't been a Solas fan before.

I am now.

And that's because of Veilguard and the many, many ways in which I felt let down by this game.

The aspect that bothers me most is the reduction of nuance and complexity.

Rook's hero's cakewalk (because “journey” really isn't the right word) is a ready-made path that offers no deviation at all and never challenges the player in any meaningful way.

Sure, you can spend some time pondering the pros and cons of saving Treviso or Minrathous. Ultimately, it makes no difference. Rook does their best, they just can’t be in two places at once.

Same with the companion character arcs. What does it mean if you decide to you turn Emmrich into a lich? For the most part, it's idle musing. Indulgence. He’ll be happy either way, there are no real stakes. Yeah, your actions do have consequences, just not the sort of consequences that make a substantial difference. It’s the illusion of choice – reduced to cosmetics.

The problems with decisions that cost nothing is that they don’t feel like an accomplishment. They also don’t allow for character growth. Rook doesn’t change, they remain static. Even the section in the Fade where Rooks faces their regrets is easy and comparatively lightweight. Varric was killed by Solas, Harding resp. Davrin died in combat and either Bellara or Neve was abducted by Elgar’nan. It’s not like Rook’s decisions actually caused these events, it’s not like Rook actually failed through a choice they had to make that turned out to be the wrong one. Everyone was there willingly and volunteered to fight the good fight. Rook’s regrets are not about real guilt, they are about feeling sad and guilty. And that – it needs to be said – is not the same thing. At all.

At the same time, the story carefully avoids any kind of true ethical dilemma.

It's not even about the lack of mean or edgy dialogue options; that’s just a symptom. The cause is the writers’ unwillingness to let realism intrude in Rook’s fairytale – the lack of anything that would require Rook to compromise on morals, or fight temptation. Rook is never faced with any sort of moral conundrum, or allowed to act out any kind of vice that realistic characters have. In its straight-path simplicity, Rook's story is apparently written for children and people who remain child-like in their yearning for simple, uncontested truths.

Of all the sorts of conflicts that a story can offer, Veilguard carefully avoids the most realistic and (in my opinion) interesting ones: Character vs. self and character vs. society, aka, politics. The game firmly refuses to go there. To the point where it creates a completely unrealistic consensus on all sides that eliminates yet another sort of conflict: character vs. character.

If Rook and their companions would talk politics, they’d all be on the exact same side. In a two party state, they’d all cast the same vote.

I am sure that there are many players who feel comforted and reassured by that fact, who sincerely believe that this is how stories should be written. That stories should reflect the world not as it is but as they think it should be. But for everyone who likes their stories a little more realistic, that lack of meaningful interpersonal conflict, that lack of real diversity which comes not from appearance but from different cultures and opposing viewpoints amounts to a frankly cringe-worthy, artificial and juvenile surface-level interaction between characters. Or, to phrase it differently: the diversity remains skin-deep and doesn’t extend to the philosophical, and even in the few instances where it does, it shies away from the political.

Which means that the only conflicts that remain are the most boring and stereotypical ones: character vs. monsters resp. the supernatural, where all foes are evil in the blandest way (Supremacist Venatori! Fascist renegade qunari! Power-hungry necromancers!). These conflicts are resolved through exploring maps and endless, repetitive combat.

The only thing that brings a bit of nuance to the game is Solas’s story. And there is an element of character vs. character in Rook’s and Solas’s relationship, but the sad truth is that what could have been a fascinating mirrored character journey falls flat for all the reasons already explained – because where Solas is a character as layered and controversial as it gets, Rook is anything but.

Solas’s story shows how even people with the best intentions and the greatest integrity are ultimately broken by what life throws at them, both by the decisions that are forced upon them and the choices they make on their own. It shows how a prolonged war is always a sunk cost fallacy: I’ve gone this far, if I stop now, it was all for nothing.

Rook’s victories, on the other hand, come without a cost – both in terms of moral corruption and in accountability. The guilt Solas bears is real. The fight against the titans, followed by his war against the Evanuris, requires compromising his own morals, one day at a time, one century after another, he’s trying to save the world yet doomed to fail. Sacrificing the spirits to win a battle after the war has gone this far? Every single war leader around the globe would make the same decision. In fact, all of them do: They do sacrifice the lives of others if it will help them win, they do send soldies into the trenches to die, whether these soldiers want to or not, and they are rarely, if ever, truthful about the reasons why.

In a certain way, the story of the spirit of wisdom turned flesh is reminiscent of the biblical Fall of Man: the original sin. Solas has fallen, and he’s broken. In trying to heal the world, he’s trying to heal himself. The burden is too heavy, the responsibility to great, the knowledge that he is responsible for all of it too devastating. Solas’s greatest conflict is character vs. self. It has the potential to be great. In a way, it is. It’s the single redeeming quality that, depending on your interpretation of what went on behind the scenes, the writers managed to salvage from the original concept of Dreadwolf or the lone pillar that withstood all their attempts to bring it down.

Only sadly, infuriatingly, in the end, that fallen hero’s ending is put into the hands of a protagonist who judges him from the perspective of someone who has never even stumbled – not because they are wiser, braver, or kinder. No, just because the writers were gracious – or cowardly? – enough to never let them fail.

The game gives Rook a moral high ground which isn’t earned in the slightest because Rook never had to walk even a quarter of a mile in Solas’s shoes. They don’t know what they would have done in his stead, they have no idea what it actually means to see the sorry shape the world is in and know that it was your hands that shaped it. And even where Rook might actually be culpable – the interruption of Solas’s ritual that freed the remaining Evanuris – anyone is quick to assure Rook that it wasn’t their fault.

Whatever regrets Rook carries, they’re born from self-doubt and trauma response. Survivor’s guilt, mostly. When compared to Solas’s immense guilt, Rook’s regrets are, for lack of a better term, insignificant. That Rook manages to face them doesn’t mean that they are more truthful or emotionally mature, it just means that Rook’s story is a tale for children and Solas’s is not.

It’s not that I’m necessarily opposed to the idea that the player decides Solas’s fate through their actions. It’s the injustice of it all that bothers me: The player is led through a game that provides a safe space for their character, one that is devoid of any interpersonal conflict and any ethical quandary. Rooks succeeds through kindness and heroism and taking their companions on team bonding exercises.

As if Solas could have won the war against the Evanuris if he’d taken the time to take his companions on coffee dates.

The juxtaposition – Rook vs. Solas – fails, simply because of this deep divide. Rook’s story is detached from reality and yet Rook gets to be Solas’s judge, jury, and executioner. On what grounds?

As I said, right in the beginning, I haven’t been a Solas fan before. But by the end of Veilguard, I was firmly, irrevocably, Team Solas, just because I was so annoyed that the narrative put Rook in a position of moral superiority. I detested my own character. Jesus, what a goody two-shoes! I was rooting for Solas simply because his story was so much more: a genuine tragedy, a study in complexity. Rook, on the other hand, remains bland, snotty, unchanged. Untried.

The thing is, I don’t believe that my reaction was one the writers had intended. I strongly feel that they didn’t mean for me to pick up on their double standard, that they expected me to walk away fully satisfied, convinced that Rook and The Team were the Good Guys because they went on picnics and petted the griffon, their final victory well-earned and just. If only Solas had had a Team and taken care of their emotional needs – he could have taken down the Evanuris with nary a scratch!

It’s all so very disingenuous.

Rook and, by extension, the player exist in a bubble of sanitized content. That is clearly deliberate. The player is meant to like it there. (In that sense, it’s only logical that they changed the title from Dreadwolf to Veilguard.) And clearly, it does resonate with a certain kind of their player base: mostly with people, I think, who would like their real life to be a bubble too and whose only experience with moral corruption is when they find it in others.

#solas #veilguard #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #datv #datv critical

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homemadesterekpie · 2 months ago

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okay but Stiles starting feeling like a slut or like “easy” because he can’t say no to Derek anytime he wants to have sex…

like they’re not dating yet and maybe they’re both not doing really well mentally either and won’t sit down to have a decent conversation.

on top of that, Stiles’ home life isn’t great, him and his dad aren’t really speaking these days and there’s always disappointment in his eyes when he looks at Stiles now.

They can’t hang out for anything without Stiles ending up under Derek fighting for his life as Derek fucks him. and it’s always so good. so so good but after Derek leaves, Stiles always feels like he should have put up some sort of a fight. right? that’s what he should do but he’s never able to.

Derek just has to look at him in the way he does and Stiles is already baring his neck and Derek is there, nuzzling and grazing his teeth on the delicate skin and it’s game over for Stiles.

that uneasiness Stiles feels starts to accumulate until Stiles can’t even look at Derek in the eyes anymore when they’re together, fucking or not.

the next time they fuck Derek tries to push Stiles’ face up with his nose so they can look at eachother but Stiles looks at a point on the ceiling beside Derek’s head. but Derek still tries to catch his eyes so he just ends up pushing at Derek’s shoulders so he can let Stiles roll onto his belly to change the position.

Derek doesn’t enter him again right away, he splays a big hand to Stiles’ back and his thumb caresses his skin, back and forth, back and forth.

Stiles starts shaking a little and he’s like “just fuck me! please just… just fuck me, Derek.” and he means it, he wants Derek he wants him so so much. so after only hesitating again for one more second Derek slides into him again.

Usually in this position it doesn’t take long for them to finish, but this time Derek takes it slow. any time Stiles tries to make him pick up the pace by arching into the thrusts Derek pushes his hips back to the bed and keeps him in place.

it’s agonizing, Stiles hides his face in his pillow because there might be tears involved but Derek doesn’t let him hide for long, he circles a hand around Stiles’ throat and lifts a little giving Stiles no choice but to turn his face to the side.

Stiles’ face crumples and more tears fall and Derek falters in his movements making Stiles immediately say “no please, don’t stop!” and again he means it. he doesn’t want Derek to stop but he also can’t stop crying and his heart hurts and he doesn’t really know why. he just knows that later when he’ll be left alone he’ll start feeling like shit about letting Derek have him again.

Derek does stop tho but he doesn’t pull out. he brushes his nose to Stiles cheek softly and says Stiles’ name just as softly. Stiles’ lips wobbles a little and he starts apologizing. but Derek just says “talk to me”.

and Stiles just cries and shakes for a few seconds but finally asks Derek why he always has to leave after. his voice is barely a whisper but the words are coming from somewhere down deep, somewhere Stiles had refused to look at for a while now.

Derek goes very still on top of him, his nose lifting from Stiles’ skin for a few beats before he asks Stiles if he wants him to stay after. Stiles just nods in his pillow, cheek rubbing.

Derek’s nose comes back to nuzzle Stiles’ cheek and just says “okay i’ll stay” before slowly thrusting into Stiles again making him gasp.

This time Derek does pick up the pace and fucks into him hard, leaving Stiles moaning brokenly into his pillow until he’s coming untouched into the sheets while Derek spills into him so so deep with a growl.

Derek is true to his word and stays after. he pulls Stiles to him and pillows Stiles’ head to his chest and runs his fingers up and down Stiles’ back for a long time while Stiles plays with Derek’s chest hair absentmindedly.

later, Derek asks if he’s hungry and Stiles says he could eat so Derek takes him to the diner on main street for some curly fries and a burger.

when Derek drops him home after, he kisses Stiles on the lips softly before leaving.

that night, Stiles goes to bed without even once feeling like shit or like he should have put up a fight.

#and then they live happily ever after the end #eternalsterek #sterek #my writing #personal

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makishimu · 2 months ago

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Just some observations I made about Megane's latest Rota Fortunae crumbs after going back to it over and over again (if you haven't read it yet, go check it out first). Maybe you'll already have noticed most of it, but hopefully not everything. Either way, I really just feel like rambling.

First of all, this is clearly set before their trip to Sunday's shelter. In fact, it's most likely the earliest part of the timeline we've had so far. It's noticeable through the fact Aven just got the glasses and doesn't appear to have the earring he has on his ref sheet and during the animation.

About the earring, if you look at this panel:

You'll notice that Human!Aven (let's call him that for now) has a peacock feathers earrings. It's not exactly the same Android!Aven has, but it's a similar style. Now, there's two conclusions you can make of that: either Android!Aven bought it himself because it fits his style and he most likely subconsciously remembers his past to an extent, or Ratio gave it to him because it reminded him of the one Human!Aven used to wear.

Now, onto this Human!Aven if you will, because how do I know he's human? It's somewhat easy to guess, but there are still some signs: first, his eyes. As an android, Aven's eyes become magenta and cyan when behind glasses, but here it's a reflection. It would seem his human appearance naturally had the Avgin eyes (if Avgins even exist in the Rota Fortunae lore). But there is a second sign that this Aven is human: his wrist.

If you look at this panel, you'll notice Aven's wrist has a joint (weirdly enough, there doesn't seem to be any joints on his elbow, but it's hard to see so maybe Megane just didn't feel like drawing it?) that isn't here on Human!Aven. Now, how did he go from being a human to being an android? We can only speculate on that, but the general guess seems to be that Aven died and Ratio transferred his consciousness in an android body. I love that theory, but only time (and Megane) can tell how right it is.

But I'm not done with my observations! Let's talk about Ratio! Though, I'll keep aside all the speculations about why he refuses to repair Aven himself. It's most likely out of guilt, but we can't know more than that for sure.

Just a silly little thing I noticed about him is that his hair curls when wet. It's such a small detail, but it's really adorable.

But what I mostly wanted to talk about is his tattoo (or whatever it is) because there's something really interesting about it. Let's take these two panels:

If you look closely at how far the tattoo reaches up his neck in the second image, you'll most likely notice that it doesn't appear to be there on the first image. Of course, maybe he just had it tattooed later, and it's a plausible explanation. But there's just something odd about the way Ratio uncovers that specific shoulder in that scene:

Maybe I'm just over interpreting. It's entirely possible. But the way he uncovers his tattooed shoulder like that kind of makes me think that it might be uncomfortable to keep covered. Kind of like when you have a healing scar and you don't like the sensation of the fabric rubbing against sensitive skin. In that case, maybe it's more than just a tattoo? Maybe it holds more meanings in relation to the Android rebellion? After all, there are some laurel symbols on the walls of wherever they are in that scene:

It's most likely linked to a faction such as the Intelligentsia Guild or the Genius Society (I'd lean more towards the former) as Megane suggested in the comments of that thread, but it's still interesting to note that tattoo wasn't there before the rebellion.

Now, a final observation about Aven and his eyes and it's that the brightness of his pupils seems to change depending on the situation:

Funnily enough, it appears to always brighten whenever he looks at Ratio (smitten much) at the exception of that one panel where he plays with Numby. This leads me to believe it might be some sort of emotional response (bright red eyes mean positive emotion and dark red eyes mean negative emotions. If I recall, the androids in the Rota Fortunae animation had dark red pupils) and it's just kind of cute to see how differently he looks at his Doctor.

Anyway, that's enough rambling for now (if only I could come up with that many words when I write my essays). I was supposed to be writing my fanfic's next chapter but I guess that won't be for tonight lmao. Of course, credit for all the images used in that small analysis goes to Megane. Go check out their work if you haven't already, it's definitely worth it.

Thanks for reading!

#Maki Talks #maki theories #honkai star rail #HSR #Rota Fortunae #Aventurine #HSR Aventurine #Veritas Ratio #Dr Ratio #Hsr Dr Ratio #Ratiorine #Aventio #Golden Ratio #I wrote all of this on my phone at 3am #Hence why the images aren't always in a logical order #And everything is so unstructured #But oh well #I wanted to show stuff I noticed and I did just that #Don't hesitate to point out stuff I missed or misinterpreted

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lilliankoo · 2 months ago

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play you like a game, boy • jeon jungkook.

chapter 4/8

genre: antagonist tribe leader jk x princess reader

word count: 4.9k

previous chapter 3 link

synopsis: the blessed leader of forest tribe "lav" jeon jungkook wants you and will do anything and everything to make you his wife. he’s blessed by the goddess, even a leaf cannot move without his permission but he worships the ground you walk on. now, there are two paths presented to you; marry him & return his love or refuse and watch him conquer your father's kingdom. power is like an evil yet a tempting apple and now its in your hands. are you going to take a bite; taste the sweet poison or will you use it to tempt him? its an evil world with evil options.. do you think you can handle him?

warnings: smut !!!! obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, yn visits a harem, slight objectification, jealousy, emotional distress, forced marriage, mention of a knife, possessiveness, manipulation, lowkey toxic, emotional vulnerability.. pheww let me know if i missed anything !

—————————

You’re back in your chambers, still reeling from the events that just unfolded. Jungkook left immediately after, citing tasks that needed his attention. Now, sitting on the edge of your bed, you’re lost in thought, your mind fixated on the woman by the lake. The image of her lingers, but you force yourself to shake it off, to focus on something else.

Rising from the bed, you decide to take a bath, Afterward, you reach for a dress. It's simple, nothing like the elaborate corseted gowns and heavy silks you’re used to. The fabric is soft, unadorned, and unpretentious. It’s the kind of dress you’d never dare to wear at home, but you’re not home anymore, are you? With your hair still damp, you slip into the dress and step out of the room. The weight of the palace seems to press down on you once again.

As you walk, the moon is already visible, casting its silvery glow over the path. It’s not yet night, but the sky is deepening with the approaching dusk. The long hallway is dimly lit by hanging lamps, their soft light flickering like stars caught in the grandness of the palace. You pause for a moment, glancing out over the garden. The fountains shimmer, water cascading in soft, rhythmic patterns, the only sound in the stillness. It’s eerily quiet; too quiet. You don’t hear footsteps, voices, or the usual hum of activity. As you walk, you come to a stop, your eyes catching sight of a gathering ahead. A group of people sit around a fire, speaking softly, perhaps eating. On the opposite side, you spot a building that isn’t attached to the main palace. It’s unlike any other structure in the palace complex, and a sense of curiosity tugs at you.

Your feet move before you can stop them, leading you toward the building. As you cross the threshold, you immediately feel the change in the atmosphere. The air is different here- heavy with a quiet sort of tension. The space is adorned with dim lamps, their glow casting long shadows along the walls. Roses, jasmine, and countless other flowers fill the air with a sweet, intoxicating fragrance.

In the center of the courtyard, a large fountain splashes gently, the sound soothing, like a heartbeat. Some women sit along the edge, their gazes distant as they relax in the soft glow of the lamps. Some linger by the doorways, leaning against the frames with an air of nonchalance, their expressions unreadable.

As you look around, your attention is drawn to them. They are striking and exotic; dressed in sultry clothing that clings to their forms, sparkling with jewelry, and veiled in a way that only accentuates their beauty. Most of them have long, dark hair, cascading like silk over their shoulders, their faces glowing with a quiet allure. They don’t seem to acknowledge you at first, but you can feel their eyes on you. Some look you up and down, their gazes lingering with an intensity that’s hard to ignore. Whispers stir in the air, soft murmurs that you can’t quite catch.

One of the women finally stands and walks toward you. Her movements are fluid, graceful, and she bows when she reaches you. “Princess, how can I help you?” she asks, her voice soft, almost melodic.

You raise an eyebrow. It’s the first time anyone has addressed you as "Princess" instead of the usual “Mother.” The title feels strange to your ears, but not unwelcome.

You study her as she stands. Her dark hair falls in waves around her face, her doe-like eyes framed by sharp, striking features.

“What is this place?” you ask, your voice steady, betraying none of the unease that stirs in your chest.

“It is a harem,” she replies, offering a warm smile.

Your eyebrows raise automatically at the word. The harem. The term is not unfamiliar, but seeing it with your own eyes... it’s different. You scan the place again, taking in the women, the soft lamplight, the scent of flowers. You suddenly feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, as if you’ve walked into a space that’s both beautiful and dangerous. Your gaze shifts between the women, their eyes fleetingly meeting yours before they turn away. It’s clear they know who you are- the princess, the mother, the wife to the most powerful man—but it doesn’t stop the intrigue in their eyes.

The woman who addressed you stands still, waiting for your next words, a subtle smile playing at the corners of her lips. You notice how her posture is perfect, poised in a way that almost feels practiced, as if the very art of being watched is second nature to her.

"A harem," you repeat, more to yourself than to her.

"Are you happy here?" you ask, surprising yourself with the question. It’s not something you had intended to ask, but it slips out nonetheless.

The woman before you—her name still a mystery—seems to consider it for a moment. Her eyes soften, and she gives you a gentle nod. "It is not a life for all, but for some, it is paradise." You raise an eyebrow at her choice of words. Paradise? You try to picture it—the luxury, the beauty, the gifts and wonder if it truly could feel like paradise. But something in the back of your mind whispers that this is not a place of freedom, not a place of love, but something else entirely.

You open your mouth to speak, but just then, a slight movement catches your attention from the corner of the room; a woman walking toward you, her body language confident, but with a subtle sense of purpose. She moves gracefully, like she’s accustomed to the quiet reverence she commands. As she approaches, you take a step back instinctively, your posture shifting into something more guarded. She stops before you, her gaze unwavering. There is something cold and calculating in the way she observes you, but it is quickly replaced by a tight smile.

"Ah, the new bride of the leader," she says, her voice smooth, almost too smooth. "How fortunate you are to have captured his heart. Not all of us are so lucky."

Her words sting more than they should. The woman’s smile widens as she watches your reaction, like she’s testing you, waiting for a crack in your composure. The silence between you thickens.

You decide to head back to your chambers, As you turn to walk back toward the entrance, the woman who had first greeted you watches you with a mixture of curiosity and something you can’t quite place. You don’t bother turning back to her, though; you feel the eyes of every woman in the place following you as you leave.

As you turn to leave, something suddenly clicks in your mind. "Not all of us are lucky?" The phrase echoes in your head, and a surge of suspicion floods you. Could Jungkook have been here? The realization sinks in with a cold, sharp edge. The idea of him, your husband, being with other women, sleeping with them after he’s made all those declarations of love to you—it makes your blood boil.

You can feel the pulse in your temples as you quickly turn around to face the woman who greeted you earlier. She's still standing there, watching you with her calm, knowing eyes.

"What’s your name?" you ask, your voice steady but laced with an underlying edge of coldness.

"May," she replies softly, her voice almost a whisper in the heavy silence.

The name lingers in the air, but it’s not enough. “Has Jungkook been here?” You ask, your tone sharper this time. “Has he spent time in this place?” The question hangs between you, charged with emotion.

May gulps, clearly uncomfortable with the question. You can see the hesitation in her posture, her eyes flickering downward before she slowly looks back up at you.

"Why don’t you come inside and we can talk?" she suggests.

You need answers, and you won't leave without them. Without another word, she turns and leads you further into the building.

—-------------------------------------------------

The space is lavishly decorated, far more extravagant than you could have imagined—a large, open room adorned with rich tapestries, turkish carpets, gold accents, and plush cushions. Incense burns in the corners, the scent mingling with the delicate perfume of flowers that seem to fill every corner. Soft, dim lamps illuminate the space, casting long shadows along the walls. A large bed sits in the center of the room, draped in rich, embroidered fabrics.

You see them—the women. Seven in total, including May. They are seated around the room, some reclining, others standing idly by the walls. Each of them is stunningly beautiful, their clothing revealing much, yet leaving something to the imagination. Their skin is soft and radiant under the flickering lights, and their long black hair cascades in smooth waves over their shoulders. They all seem so confident, almost serene in their beauty.

One of the women steps forward, her voice smooth as she speaks with practiced grace. "We are concubines for Jungkook, my name is Juliette," she says simply, the words out in the open, like a confession.

The revelation feels like a punch to your chest. Concubines. Your mind struggles to reconcile the man you married with the reality unfolding in front of you. Your pulse quickens, and a familiar heat rises to your cheeks- anger, jealousy, betrayal. It boils beneath your skin, but you bite your tongue, trying to keep control.

Before you can react, Juliette speaks quickly, almost as if she’s afraid of your reaction. "But Jungkook has never stepped foot in this place," she adds, her voice tinged with a sense of urgency. "He’s never slept with any of us."

You blink in disbelief, the anger still seething inside you but now mixed with confusion. Now, May speaks up, her voice softer, almost apologetic. "It’s a tradition of the tribe. The leader and his officials take concubines to relieve their frustrations. When Jungkook became the leader, it was simply... expected." She hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with her words. "He was assigned to us, as part of his role."

Before you can respond, the other women begin to introduce themselves, one by one. Each of them gives you a name, a polite smile, but there’s something empty in their eyes. "We’re from the desert," one of them says when you ask where they are from. "From a distant tribe, far from here." The admission stuns you. You’ve heard of tribes from the desert—wild, isolated communities that follow their own rules, their own traditions—but never thought it would have anything to do with Jungkook’s tribe.

One of the women- sofiya- leans forward and holds your hand, "We all knew about you. We knew Jungkook was going to marry you." She smiles faintly, but there’s a sadness to it. "He fell in love with you the moment he saw you."

Another woman steps in, her tone calm and measured, almost sympathetic. "Jungkook asked your father for your hand in marriage many times." She pauses, letting the words settle in the space between you. "Every time, your father refused him. He called him a barbarian, said that he would never marry his daughter—an educated beautiful woman—to a tribe leader. Your father made it clear that Jungkook would never be worthy of you."

May speaks up, her voice tinged with respect. "Jungkook was determined to prove himself to you. He studied, learned multiple languages, trained himself in the ways of your kingdom. He even gave up the traditional leather clothing of his tribe and started wearing finer silks and furs, all to blend in with your world. He did everything he could to prove that he was worthy of you."

You want to speak, to challenge these words, but your throat feels tight, as though you can’t find the right words.

"He tried again, Jungkook went to your father once more. He asked for your hand, but your father refused again. So Jungkook chose another way to marry you."

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with the weight of those words. You’re too stunned to respond.

Then another woman’s voice- maya- cuts through the quiet. "Jungkook knew about the many kings and princes who sought you. He had connections in far-off places, and whenever a king sent a proposal, Jungkook would visit their kingdom. Sometimes he paid them off, other times he used his influence to threaten them, ensuring they wouldn’t marry you. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else having you."

The final pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Jungkook, for all his charm and charisma, was driven by a relentless, obsessive love for you. He sacrificed so much to win your father’s approval, to be worthy of you. And all the while, he fought to protect you from suitors, from the world, from the politics that surrounded you.

The weight of the information is too much to bear. It’s like an avalanche, each word stacking on top of the other, burying you under the overwhelming truth. The air feels thick with everything you’ve learned, and your chest tightens with a mix of confusion, betrayal, and hurt. You can barely process it all.

Without thinking, your feet move on their own, guiding you toward the door. You don’t want to stay here any longer. The silence that follows the women’s revelations is suffocating, heavy with too many unspoken things. As if the room itself is pressing down on you, suffocating you in its opulence and secrets.

—--------------------------------

You finally reach your door, your hand shaking as you push it open. The familiar sight of your chamber greets you, but something—someone—immediately catches your attention. Jungkook is sitting on the edge of the bed. The sight of him is jarring, his usual attire replaced by a simple cotton tunic and pants. He immediately sets aside the parchment he had been writing on, his hands shaking slightly as he stands. His expression softens, his eyes wide with something unreadable, but as soon as you make eye contact, his lips part, and he asks in a voice thick with something deeper than just concern.

"Where were you, my love?" The words are whispered as if they hold more weight than the world itself, and his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

You feel your heart beat faster in your chest, as if it’s trying to escape. You swallow, trying to steady yourself. The words come out before you can stop them, filled with a frustration you’ve been holding in for far too long.

"I went to the harem. I spoke to the concubines." The words taste bitter as they leave your lips, and you can't stop them. "They told me everything. About you. How long have you known about me? Tell me everything, and I want the truth, Jungkook”.

the look on Jungkook's face shifts. He doesn’t look angry or defensive. He looks... hurt. "I didn’t want you to find out like this," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with regret. But then he takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours as if he’s trying to find a way to make it right.

"I was there," Jungkook says, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "I was in disguise the first time I saw you. It was at a spring festival in your kingdom. I saw you from afar... standing on the balcony, waving at the crowd. You were like a vision, like something from a dream. You were so radiant. So beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off you." He takes a step closer, and this time, you don’t pull away. His eyes are filled with something indescribable; longing, tenderness, and something so raw it’s almost painful to witness.

"You were unlike anyone I had ever seen. I knew right then I knew I had to have you. But not just as my wife. No. I needed you as my everything, you were something I could never dream of being worthy of." His voice is trembling now, the words spilling from him as if he can no longer keep them inside. "I would have given up anything to have you in my life. To have you beside me." He reaches for your hand, his fingers trembling as they clasp around yours, pulling you closer.

He steps closer still, his chest brushing against yours, and you can feel the weight of his emotions surrounding you, enveloping you in a warmth that is both comforting and overwhelming.

"I fell in love with you at that moment," he whispers, his voice barely audible, as if confessing a secret he’s kept hidden for years. "And I spent years trying to be someone worthy of you." His breath hitches, and you see something shimmering in his eyes—a tear. It catches in the light, and for a moment, you’re unsure if it’s a reflection of your own emotions or his.

His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and when they open again, there is a rawness to them—an openness that takes you by surprise. His voice cracks as he continues, each word carrying the weight of years of longing. "I gave up my old ways, I shed everything I was just to stand in front of you. Just to be worthy of even a glance from you, You are my world. I would tear apart empires, break mountains, and drown in oceans just to be close to you. No other woman- no other woman could ever compare to you”.

You feel your own breath catch as his hands gently caress your face, as if afraid to break the fragile connection between you. His eyes never leave yours, as if he’s memorizing every detail of your face. He leans in slightly, his lips brushing yours with a tender passionate kiss that feels like a promise.

"And even now," he murmurs, his voice breaking, "I would give up everything for you." The tears in his eyes are no longer a subtle shimmer—they’re there, clear as day, rolling down his cheeks, betraying the depth of his feelings. He wipes them away quickly, but it’s no use. They keep falling, like a dam that’s been broken.

"I worship you," he says, his voice desperate, almost a plea. "I love you more than I can say. You are everything to me. I would burn kingdoms to the ground just to see you smile, you are everything to me. My heart, my soul, my love.”

His voice shakes now, and the vulnerability in it breaks your heart. "I see you, and I see perfection. I see my heart. And I will never, ever stop loving you." The way he says it makes you believe it, makes you feel the depth of his devotion.

"I’ve loved you for so long, and I will continue to love you until my last breath."

At his last sentence, your body involuntarily shudders. It's all too much. He forcibly married you yet here he was standing in front of you and saying all these things. you think about your life so fair, always taken for granted, always having to live in your mother’s shadow, no one listening to what you have to say and now having someone who loves you this much does confuse you a bit.

You stand there, frozen for a moment, the weight of his confessions settling over you like a blanket. Tears burn in your eyes, but you don’t wipe them away. Instead, you step toward him, your hands reaching for him and without a word you reach to kiss him, he leans down, his gaze never leaving yours. your hand moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, his arms wrapping around as he breathed into the kiss. His hold tightens onto you to ensure that all of this happening is real and not just a dream.

Jungkook responded in desperation, his tongue brushing against yours, moaning into the kiss, tasting you, claiming you. your hands roamed his chest, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. Jungkook groaned softly, his hands moving to grip your hips, pulling even closer. He could feel the warmth of your body against his, the softness of your curves molding perfectly into his hardness. It was a sensation that both soothed and ignited him, a paradox he couldn’t—and didn’t want to—resolve.

“Yn,” he murmured against your lips, your name a plea and a promise all at once.

you smiled against his mouth, teeth grazing his lower lip before you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his. “Make me yours” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper. Jungkook gulps and his thumb brushes your cheek, his gaze intense. “are you sure you want this? I don't want you to feel pressured” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

your eyes flickered, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “Yes” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “Make me yours so I know this is real”. your words were like a spark to kindle, setting his blood on fire. Jungkook’s lips crashed back down on yours, his kiss hungry and possessive. He backed you against the nearest wall, his body pressing against yours, leaving no doubt about his desire. you moaned softly, hands tangling in his hair, holding him close as if you feared he might disappear. His hands moved down your body, tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips. He cupped your ass, lifting you slightly so that you was flush against him, and you gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his scalp. Jungkook chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine.

in your mind all you can think about is how this is unfolding. You know what you are doing is wrong- you know he is vulnerable and letting him claim you like this will only make this difficult. But, you also need to take control over him, gain his trust, break him and eventually leave this place. and It is not like you dont want this- him to fuck you like his life depends on it- you also need to make sure he stays whipped, so you get back to work.

Jungkook,” you panted, voice desperate. “Please, baby”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want, anything i will give it to you” he demanded, his voice low and commanding.

“I want you,” you said, voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “All of you. Now.”

Jungkook’s lips curved into a predatory smile. “Then take me baby, i'm yours to use” said, his voice a challenge. you didn’t hesitate. you pushed him back towards the bed, hands moving to the ties of his tunic, undoing them with ease. The fabric fell away, revealing his chiseled chest and the ridges of his abs. You ran your tongue over his neck, sucking and leaving marks, Jungkook hissed at the sensation, his head falling back as he exposed his neck to you.

“Your turn,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the laces of your dress, movements slow and deliberate. The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you standing before him in nothing. Jungkook’s gaze devoured you, his eyes tracing every curve, every inch of exposed skin. “So so pretty, how did I get so lucky,” he breathed, his hands reaching out to cup your breasts. you arched into his touch, head falling back as a soft moan escaped your lips. His thumbs brushed your nipples, already tight and aching, you gasped,your hands gripping his wrists. His mouth latched onto your tits as he sucked them one by one. he looks up at you whilst sucking on your left breasts like his life depends on it, you have to admit he looks incredibly handsome with his disheveled hair and the desperate expression, suddenly something comes to your mind and you push at his shoulders making him fall onto the bed, making him release your tit with a pop sound.

You flash him a cryptic smile as you get up from the bed and head towards your dresser, jungkook looks at you in confusion but it is soon replaced with surprise when you emerge with a silver knife in your hand. It is a beautiful engraved knife with an embroidered handle and a white satin ribbon tied on its base. It is one of your favourite knives. Jungkook looks at you with a serious expression on his face, he is not scared but you know he is waiting for your next move. you get on the bed and straddle his waist as you sit in his lap with the knife still in your hand. his hands reach for your waist as he looks at you lovingly- unfazed by the knife in your hand. You lift the knife to his throat, tracing his neck and then his jawline. You expect jungkook to resist or even snatch the knife from your hand but he lets you do whatever you want. You place it on his neck and look him right into his eyes; jungkook does nothing but leans into the knife and maintains eye contact.

“Do whatever you want to me” Jungkook says, his voice filled with passion and love.

your hands are shaking as you look at him, he has been nothing but nice to you. For a moment you think about it doing then and there but you control yourself. Instead, you drop the knife on the bed and kiss him, the kiss is quick as you have other plans in your head. you reach for the waistband of his pants. Jungkook hurriedly helps you remove them and helps you put his cock in your throbbing cunt. your mouth is left agape as you take him all in, you blink as you try to adjust hands automatically holding jungkook’s shoulders. Jungkook's hands rub your waist as he says soothing words in his language. you bounce a few times but you are too tired to carry on. Jungkook chuckles at you as he lifts you up to lay you on your back on the bed.

“You really are a princess, just want to be taken care of, yeah?” Jungkook says, chuckling while sitting up between your legs and scooting his hips closer to yours.

You roll your eyes at his words and mask your smile.

“And here I thought you would take care of me and do everything I say” you say while sitting up on your forearms.

“I would do anything for you and you know that” jungkook says while rubbing your legs.

just as jungkook is about to put the tip in, he changes his mind and sits back on his feet.

“Can you sit on my face” jungkook says with a serious expression.

and thats how you find yourself sitting on jungkook’s face with his mouth deep in your pussy. Jungkook latched his mouth onto your clit, which made you moan loudly, he gently sucked it into his mouth again. Jungkook sucked on your clit like a hungry man and it's all too much for you. Jungkook has his hands wrapped around your waist, eyes trained on your face and he moans every time he hears your whimpers. Jungkook started to move the tip of his tongue up and down your clit, Jungkook smiled, his tongue still latched onto your clit, his tongue took turns licking and teasing your clit and labia “oh lord” you moan, your mouth left agape- you are already sensitive and jungkook has not even started yet, you arch your back and moan his name, eyes closing. Jungkook continues his abuse on your pussy; nibbling and sucking your clit and in no time you cum all over his face. you are embarrassed and try to get off but jungkook makes a disapproving sound, tightening his hold around you as he laps on your now soaked cunt. You were already sensitive and now with Jungkook's actions you were on the verge of tears and gasping for air. Jungkook stops and you take the cue to get off. right away your head falls on the pillow and you softly moan at the sensation. Jungkook chuckles, his face glistening with your cum.

“Are you alright, my love” Jungkook asks you while planting kisses all over your face. He gives you a long smooch on your lips and trials his lips down your neck. “Jungkook, go wash your face” you say softly and he obeys. He comes back with a cloth, cleans you up and helps you dress. you turn on your side and see jungkook putting logs of wood into the fireplace to keep the fire going. You and Jungkook don't sleep in the same chambers; you never asked why but you know it is Jungkook's way of respecting you. “Come lay with me” you mumble as you are on the brink of sleeping. Jungkook shifts on his feet and makes way towards your bed. Jungkook gets under the blanket and hugs you from behind, his head resting near your neck. He kisses your cheek and mumbles a good night.

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Next chapter: acceptance

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author’s note: haiii im back :D sorry for the delay truuustt chapter 5 will be posted early (probably next week-ish) in the upcoming chapters, we will see a different side of jungkook aka his tribe leader side! anddd i tried my best to write smut please i hope da freaks like it anddddddd dw they will get even more 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 in upcoming chapters. Im also thinking about making a playlist and a moodboard post for this fic!!

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Taglist 💌: @jincapableoflove @voitier @koocreampie @kookxin @mysticprincessstrawberry @imwutim @synamon @withmuchluv-tannie @taekritimin123 @somehowukook @jungshaking @junecat18 @ilyjhseok @darklove2020 @lilyalone @yikes-ukiyo @icandoitwithabrokenhearttt @lilalouti @mar-lo-pap @onlyoursol-ace @margaretro23 @whatsupandy @thegreedyhibiscus @hoelychildofgod @bgfdcvbnjk @investedreader @geniejunn @somehowukook @jungshaking @recklesselfless @jksmilkshake @seagulljk @ttanniett

let me know if you would like to be tagged!

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krysmcscience · 1 year ago

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It’s finally done, guys – five whole pages of Narilamb AU comic AND MORE be upon you! (If you have trouble reading any of the text, view the full-size! These pages are huge!)

Yeesh, this took forever. <:)

There’s probably a ton of inconsistencies and anatomy/perspective wonkeries, but this was mostly just comic practice, so Oh Hekkin Well, Lol <:D

(Yes, I am aware the Gateway’s door isn’t present in the Afterlife, and the actual way in is just a pentagram portal. Yes, I put the door in there anyway because Artistic License, i.e. it felt more impactful for there to be a prison door of sorts to walk through to freedom, rather than just a bland boring portal on the ground. 😠)

anyway, i hate backgrounds so much lmao

Alternate ending and a buttload of bonus art under the cut, followed by goofy AU rambles and headcanon stuff:

I’m calling it the Revival AU. It’s not all that creative a title, and someone else has probably used it already, but I am too lazy to really care, LOL

Alternate ending page, which you will Definitely need to view the full-size for, Whoopsie Daisy:

The alternate ending was actually the first ending I finished things off with, because I had a brief badbrain moment where I forgot the emotional beat I initially wanted the comic to end on, and I tend to write comedy, anyway. I later remembered and drew out the proper ending, but I preserved and finished this one, too, because it still makes me giggle.

They had to go back for the followers off-screen in the AU’s real ending. And by ‘they’ I mean just the Lamb, because they weren’t about to ask three newly freed cats to go back into what used to be their prison. The Lamb DID spend some time watching Narinder and the bois enjoying the outdoors first, though:

In other news, here’s the Lamb and me making fun of my anatomy-drawing ‘skills’:

Meanwhile, if you’re wondering why the Lamb is just a-okay with how things went down vis a vis Their Murder, this bonus comic should answer at least some of your questions:

Ah, yes, also this is how they get engaged outside of the alternate ending. Forgot to mention that bit. XD (I already refuse to believe that Narinder is capable of flirting normally, so why would his initial marriage proposal be any better???)

Oh, and before any of them get a chance to actually head back to the cult grounds, there is one potential problem:

And by ‘problem’ I mean something Narinder intends to ignore for At Minimum a thousand years. Cuz he’s a petty bitch like that. :D

what do you mean i drew the lamb too tall compared to the background? clearly they’re standing on top of baal and aym lmao, why else would you think those two aren’t in this one??? (aym and baal got way too excited about finally being outside, you see, and their silly modes are nothing to sneeze at)

And, speaking of heading back to the cult grounds, I’m sure y’all would love to know how the Lamb’s followers felt about the brand new change in management:

It all went better than expected. <:D Tiny ramble now, feel free to skip down to the next comic.

Before you ask, no, the Lamb does not have any actual powers anymore, other than the immortality Narinder definitely grants them. The Red Crown just thinks it’s funny to suggest otherwise, and Narinder does nothing to discourage this. Also, the Lamb and Narinder aren’t actually married here yet, but, uh. Pretty safe to say that particular ritual directly follows the events of this comic. XD

Given how quickly he mellows out in canon, Narinder probably chills out a lot in this AU once he’s in charge of the cult, too, if only because 1.) He’s finally free, and 2.) He’s equally smitten with and distracted by the Lamb. He’s definitely in charge at least 95% of the time, though, because the Lamb never actually wanted to be a cult leader and, now that their time as a vessel is done, they just want to be a normal(ish) sheep who’s wholly devoted to their hot new divine husband.

Some followers do still have some valid concerns about these two being together, though, which I’m sure at least a few of you might share…

Unfortunately for any such concerns, the Lamb is a bonafide masochist in this AU. :D

They’re also 100% a sub, obviously

Anyone at all: Your relationship is problematic and potentially toxic

The Lamb: fuck yeah it is, it’s so hot~ OuO

Here’s just the last panel, made transparent for whatever nefarious purposes y’all might have for it:

Additional exchange Narinder and the Lamb have at some point, probably after the Lamb does a fatal whoopsie while out on a mission trip or in response to things getting a little too sadistic in the bedroom, ahaha:

Look, there is a very important distinction between life and death, and if you don’t understand that, then you’re probably not worthy of being the God of Death, anyway. (At least, according to Narinder, and ONLY Narinder.)

Last but not least, have these shittens:

~Such creative naming conventions I have utilized, lololol~ :D Anyway, there's a few deets on them in the rambles down below.

The rest is all ramble, so before I get to that, I’ll just say – likes and especially reblogs are very much appreciated!!! :D If you happen to really really REALLY like my stuff, meanwhile, I do have a link in my bio to my ko-fi page, where I’m accepting commissions and donations if you’re especially generous… ÓuÒ

Now, BE FREE IF YOU AIN’T DOWN FOR READING MY GOOFY RAMBLES

First ramble is re: Baal’s question of ‘Did it really work?’, since I didn’t feel like expanding on it in the comic proper, and it’s arguably pretty vague? He doesn’t ask because he doubts Narinder or his capabilities, exactly, but because neither Baal nor Aym have ever actually seen their god at full power before (he’s still technically not at full power here, either). It’s not expressly stated how soon the brothers were brought to Narinder after his imprisonment, but whether it was early on or after a length of time for Shamura to (somewhat) recover from his attack, he must have already been weakened, since I have no doubts that there was a huge battle that accompanied the Bishops working together to trap him. So, between that fight with all four of his siblings, sharing his power with a variety of vessels over time, and being chained immobile for a thousand years, he must have been severely weakened by the time he lent the Red Crown out to the Lamb, which would have only weakened him further.

I like to think this is how the Lamb is able to defeat him if they refuse to be sacrificed, despite how it took all four Bishops working together to subdue and chain Narinder in the first place.

All that aside, the three cats have been trapped in the Afterlife for so long that Baal also wanted verbal reassurance that they are all, indeed, actually able to leave it now – something that I headcanon isn’t possible without a significant amount of power (i.e. the Red Crown’s cooperation with its bearer/vessel).

(On a semi-related note, I don’t headcanon Aym and Baal as twins. I like sweetheart big bro Baal and snarky little goth bro Aym too much to have them be that close in age.)

Ah, teeny thing: If you noticed I switched up the art style for Narinder on the second page, that was intentional. It's sort of a visual indicator that there has been a Big Change for him - that being, how much power he has after sacrificing the Lamb. As for why I changed up his arms in the grass rollin' pic, I don't really subscribe to the notion that his arms are spooky bones because they're horrifically injured (beyond chain-chafing scars, that is), but rather just because he's the Bishop of Death, so he can change how normal-to-spooky they look at will. At some point I might doodle out how I imagine his appearance to range between least to most eldritch... 🤔

Next ramble, regarding Narinder’s feelings towards the Lamb...he was initially too focused on being freed from his imprisonment to form any real attachment to them. They were a tool for his use, first and foremost, but he did notice their intense devotion towards him. It was impossible not to notice, because the Lamb was always very happy to see him, even if it was because they died during a crusade (yet again). He wasn’t originally planning to revive them once he was freed, either, because he saw no real point to it – after all, they were already dead when they first met him, just as any other mortal would be when meeting him in the Afterlife, so death has very little real consequence in his eyes. But, once the chains were off, and it really sank in that he stood to lose the most devoted follower he’s ever had, he decided…why put their soul to rest for good or leave them stuck in the Afterlife when he could just as easily revive them again? And why not reward them for their hard work, anyway? Not only would it cost him nothing by comparison, but the future devotion that could come of it would surely make up for his (bare minimum) effort in reviving them.

He wasn’t expecting to get a full dose of that devotion and a smiling face so soon after killing them, though~ :3c (because the Lamb is a bonafide freak, and not-so-secretly into the fucked up power dynamics going on here, lol)

I should mention here that I am firmly of the belief that any non-god/vessel who crosses through the Gateway and into the Afterlife just straight up dies. So, Aym and Baal? Also straight up dead, from the second Shamura brought them through. Their souls were just never put to rest so that Narinder could have some company – if only according to Shamura. Narinder kept the two around mostly out of bewilderment, because honestly, who are these kittens, and what is Shamura’s game here, anyway??? They never even explained anything, they just tossed these kittens into the Afterlife and LEFT!!! At any rate, Aym and Baal being dead is how I explain why their souls apparently become lost in the void if they’re killed, along with the added complications required to revive the two because of it.

So, with those deets in mind, and given a bit of time, if Narinder hadn’t chosen to revive the Lamb, and also hadn’t chosen to put their soul to rest, they still would have woken up at some point, despite being as straight up dead as Aym and Baal. Who, don’t worry, were also properly revived while Narinder was waiting for the Lamb to wake up. Because I am also firmly of the belief that, first, the dead cannot leave the Afterlife without the use of a ritual/relic (and can't stay in the living world for long regardless), and second, dead followers’ devotion isn’t anywhere near as potent as that of the living, given how much more the living stand to lose.

Final ramble, regarding the Lamb’s feelings towards Narinder, and why they’re so devoted to him…

Well, you don’t spend most of your life on the run with your steadily-dwindling herd, trying to evade the ongoing genocide of your species, without becoming a little fucked up in the head. Maybe a lot fucked up in the head. Life is suffering, so might as well have fun with it, right? Maybe start finding death and pain to be kind of hilarious, even a little bit hot, once everyone you know and love is dead and gone, leaving you all alone? And maybe after that, there’s something comforting in how, despite the cold, cruel uncertainties of life, at least you can always count on the inevitability of death, patiently waiting for you until your very last breath? Who knows. Either way, as soon as the Lamb was killed, and they learned that the literal God of Death was offering them a second chance at life and vengeance via effective immortality, they were 100% ride-or-die-devoted all at once. Turns out death is kinder than life – go figure. (Of course, it helps that Narinder is 100% their type.)

They weren’t put off by Narinder’s thinly-veiled sadism or manipulations, either – they’re not too different in those regards, albeit opting for vastly different methods. It’s a very ‘two sides of the same coin’ sort of deal. In order to stay alive once they were made the last of their kind, the Lamb had no qualms with using others to their advantage, and that did not change once they were revived and expected to run a cult. They didn’t care for the position of authority, though – being a sheep and all, they’re much more of a follower than a leader, and thus greatly appreciated Narinder’s need for control. With how they had to keep on their toes for so long, the Lamb was also pretty good at reading people by the time they died, so they could recognize that a lot of Narinder’s posturing was just that – posturing. Dude’s 95% bluster and only 5% bite. He could obviously be vicious when he wanted or needed to (the Bishops' injuries were clear proof of that), but underneath his outer layer of cruelty was a generous layer of tsundere, and underneath all THAT was a soft squishy middle sibling velcro cat in desperate need of attention and affection.

(Which, for the record, he Did Not feel comfortable getting from Aym and Baal – Narinder still has no idea why the fuck Shamura sent them to him, beyond acting as keepers at best or trying to sabotage his attempts to escape at worst. Which, he thought HE sabotaged in turn, by guiding the kittens into being his devoted disciples instead. He thought he was very clever for it. ‘I outsmarted Shamura!’ he thought, despite that there was never anything there to outsmart. ‘What do you mean, Shamura sent your kittens to me for company?’ he demands of Forneus later. It may or may not lead him to pull Shamura out of Purgatory just so he can shake them and scream about how they should have Fucking Explained that!!!)

But, getting back on track as to why the Lamb was so willing to be sacrificed, I cannot stress this enough – if you pay even a minimal amount of attention to what he’s saying, Narinder is REALLY NOT SUBTLE about his intentions. ‘Death is of little consequence.’ ‘Followers are for you to use to your advantage.’ ‘Sacrifice a follower to absorb more power.’ So, yeah, the Lamb knew exactly what would be expected of them once the other Bishops were dead. They knew Narinder would expect them to die for him one last time. But, after all, death is of little consequence (not to mention hot), so when the time came, they wanted to see him freed, even if it meant oblivion for them in the end.

He’d given them a second life, and the ability to avenge their kin, and they felt indebted to him for that – so, while they were still pretty glum about the possibility that they might not get to see him free of his chains, nothing beyond their devotion and debt to him mattered. They never wanted all the drama and expectations that came with the Red Crown’s power, anyway, so, better for Narinder to have it back so that he could deal with it. What he did with the Lamb afterward would be up to him, and seeing as he was their god, they’d accept his decision gladly.

Were they in love with him by that point? Oh, obsessively so, but only in the devotional sense – romance was nowhere on their mind nor radar. That is, until he unexpectedly revived them again, told them he still needed them, and then offered down his hand to help them up.

The Lamb fell HARD for him in that moment. :3c

And now, a tiny shitten ramble. Lu and Li are twins, because sheep tend to have those a lot, and are conceived not long after the Lamb and Narinder’s marriage ceremony. Lu is the minutes older one, but Li is much more mature. I have put no further thought into these two, other than that they are utter menaces, birthed by the Lamb, cling hard to both their parents but especially Narinder (who spoils them rotten), and they are both genderfluid, using whichever pronouns/names they feel like at any given time. They are also both intersex, same as the Lamb, who was initially infertile up until Something Something Vague Magic, which I have also put no further thought into ¯\_(シ)_/¯

oh, and before anyone tries to suggest i headcanon this AU’s lamb as trending more female due to them giving birth or whatever, no, no, a thousand times no, they might have a vag, but they've also got a dick, and even if it's not as big as they'd like, they still know how to use it

Finally, the very tentative name for the Lamb in this AU is Yazdi, which is really just another name for the Baluchi breed of sheep XD (Not that the Lamb is this specific breed, I just didn’t like any of the other sheep-related names I found, ahaha...)

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW (collapses into an exhausted pile of goopy limbs)

#fanart #comics #cult of the lamb #cotl #narilamb #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #cotl shitten #cotl mystic seller #cotl aym #cotl baal #aym and baal #this is why i have been especially quiet lately XD #even just the bonus stuff took several days to finish because i don't know the meaning of DOODLE anymore apparently #everything must be fully inked and colored with backgrounds I Fukken Guess #at least using medibang's sumi brush keeps me from focusing on making my lines perfect :\#and yeah i copy-pasta'd a lot of my own backgrounds don't at me bro #if you're on desktop and want to full view but don't know how: right click the image - open in new tab - zoom in as needed :)#feel free to ask questions about the AU if you want - but uh - this is basically the extent to which i've thought it through LOL #edit: oh right - aym and baal really out there assuming narinder already put the lamb's soul to rest so the body's just fodder now lmao #last edit i hope: fixed the transparent cult certified freak image 8|#nope - one more edit: there is one (1) loophole for how living mortals can be in the afterlife without dying #that loophole is currently narinder XD #'sorry universe but the god of death says i can be in here so back off with your rules and regulations'

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balteredsworld · 1 year ago

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turning point. gregory house

🥼🩺 | you and house despise each other. today's supposed to be any other night, but house kisses you.

warnings/tags! light enemies-to-lovers, angst if you squint your eyes, younger woman x older man, emotional revelations, no dialogue, and they kiss!

masterlist : greg house n all

a/n: i can't believe people are sending in things in my inbox wow if you have any requests/ideas or little topics of conversations don't shy away and send them my way! enjoy ducklings <3

house reaches for your wrist, taking you into his grasp, and pulling you flush against his body. you jolt at the sudden motion, left hand landing and pressing on his chest. sure eyes linger on your face for a fraction of a second. beauty eclipsing any and all thought working the cogs in his busy mind. all he thinks to himself is how breathtaking you are in this moment.

many a time the two of you would rather bicker, almost estranged in your sidings with cuddy. but you were legally bound by contract to side with her, serving as a board member this year.

tonight’s no different, you’re here because of house’s opposition to a hospital policy you and the board proposed. he’s been on a childish campaign to get you to concede to his wishes, after all he does whatever he wants in the hospital. but he makes a deductive confession that changes the tune of your usual argument. and tonight’s a little different, with it being the annual gala.

you wear this burgundy dress off some runway that he makes note of, and he’s in his well-pressed, well-tailored suit. you came here to declare a truce, but instead you let house press your buttons, somehow finding yourself ending the argument against his chest.

house’s hand snakes its way to the nook of your back. then, his lips were latched onto yours. he's kissing you.

gregory house is kissing you.

your tense body melts into his touch, reciprocating the kiss despite your initial surprise. you loop an arm around his neck, pushing him closer to you, causing the two of you to wobble, but he steadies your weight and deepens the kiss.

it’s sweet, passionate, and almost desparate, as if this was years of yearning. but you’re not so illusioned that you mistake this as something other than all your anger and hostility towards each other finally being squeeze out by the force of your locked lips—into this kiss.

it’s a kiss the two of you unknowingly wanted, hidden underneath the veneer of your harsh and clashing words. you’re not afraid to argue with house, equally venomous with your tongue during your time as a defence lawyer. and house is the same, sharpened tongue to prove his correctness in principle.

but you two fear that you’ve exposed yourselves to the possibility of tragedy. maybe it's because you two have been really eyeing each other all along, testing how you could handle each other. never once have you failed, nor has house. that scared you shitless, but the moment’s well worth it. house makes good work with his lips, and you float in some sort of heaven, feeling the frustration finally rupture. and he feels the same.

slowly, you both pull away from each other, breathless and flushed. you don’t pull away immediately, staying interlocked in his grasp. your eyes are both down cast, not quite refusing to look at the other, but rather frozen and unsure where to look. despite it, house’s eyes radiate blue.

it’s too intimate for you and house, and yet you keep still. he’s kept to himself all these years, only to have you cut into his bubble between the hookers he distracts himself with. he thinks that’s where his resentment of you stems from, but it’s never really been quite hatred, he realizes. you’re the same, lonelier than you would like to admit. no one, so it seemed, could tug on your heartstrings except this man you found nothing but annoyance for.

house is perplexed. his mouth is agape, nothing quite registering to allow his neurons to fire and form words. something of his old self manifests, and a warm feeling feathers his heart. a touch like this was no stranger to that ghost, but all the other flirtations he makes falls in comparison. there’s only you and him

his sense are faint yet heightened, just from his proximity to you. biologically speaking, he’s doing really well, and he can hear his pulse pounding, and feel yours mirror his. he’s forgotten what this feels like, but sure it was this, and that makes his heart race faster. it’s almost dizzying.

house continues to direct his eyes on your curled hair, unsure of how to look at you. he considers leaving without another word, but he feels stuck to you.

you mirror house, too dazed to do anything. an overwhelming euphoria shoots through you, the sort of nervous excitement that makes you feel like a teenager. you’re younger than house, and you bite your cheek like you were 17 with your crush. you’re all too aware of your inexperience now, unsure with your wild heart. nevertheless, you muster the courage to finally break your trance. so you push on his chest lightly, finally meeting his eyes.

you blink. he’s tall.

the realization makes you swallow nervously. you open your mouth, but like house, nothing quite comes out. your hand still rests on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his pulsing heart. you try again, this time with house. both of your lips fall open, tongue failing again. but his eyes are enough. all you want to do is kiss him, so you lean in and kiss him again.

luckily for you, house always wants to kiss you.

#house md #gregory house #gregory house x you #gregory house x reader #greg house #greg house x reader #gregory house fic #netflix #house md x reader #house md fic #dr house #hugh laurie

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hihhasotherfixations · 4 months ago

Text

Relight the fire - King! Price x Princess! Reader | NSFW

Synopsis: Growing up in the neighbouring kingdom, you and Price go a long way back, practically growing up together. From rambunctious kids who play together, to teenagers exploring each other. Now, a decade later, you finally reunite after your parents proposed an arranged marriage to the now king. His memory of you however is still coloured and he intends to relive it.

CW: fem! reader, arranged marriage, p in v, yearning, lots of kisses, sort of a quickie?

Word Count: 5499

Sitting in the carriage, your eyes were cast out at the roads passing by. Familiar but oh so foreign streets rolled across your view. Streets you remember running down, yet had changed so much in the last decade.

It had been a while since you’d last visited the kingdom of Onferon. When was the last time again? Glancing to the right, you saw your mother – the queen – seated beside her husband. They were the reason you were last here too. You must have been a teenager when you last travelled here, accompanying your parents for business. Or was it a young adult? You don’t remember. Either way, at least ten years must have passed at this point.

“It’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

Your father’s voice pulled you out of your reminiscing and you looked over at him, a questioning look on your face that made him smile gently.

“We’ve had communications with king Price. He’s eager to see you again.”

Right. King. It seemed so long ago now that the two of you were running around through the streets, evading the guards who were desperately chasing you, trying to keep an eye on you for a safety neither of you cared about. But now, that boy you knew was a king.

Knowing your father was waiting for an answer, you replied. “As I am him.” You spoke back, though the neutrality in your tone betrayed some of your inner thoughts. A lot of time passed. You weren’t getting any younger, neither was he. Which is why – to your brother’s dismay – you were here today.

An arranged marriage. Proposed and set up by your parents. With your history, they hoped that John Price would accept, strengthening your own kingdom in the process.

Not that you blamed your parents. What was needed was needed. With your brother in line for the throne, you knew there was only one way for you to go as princess.

Just then, the carriage passed through the gates onto the castle grounds, cobbled streets making way for lush green gardens and hedges.

“I don’t like this.” Your brother then murmured, much to the dismay of your parents.

“Hush now. Your sour attitude will compromise this all. The marriage isn’t finalised. King Price refused to do so until he saw her again.” Your mother motioned her hand at you, making your brother huff and cross his arms like a petulant child. “Behave.” She scolded – without effect.

Hearing her chastise him, your brother just grumbled and you playfully kicked his shin, making him hiss in pain before glaring at you.

Sitting up to retaliate, he was stopped by your father saying a stern “Enough!”.

Calming, both of you relaxed in your seats right as the carriage came to a stop.

With the doors opening, your mother shuffled close while the men got up to step out, her hands tenderly running over your dress, fixing a fold and tucking a hair back in place on your head.

“Remember.” She spoke softly. “Chin up, be calm, be good. It’ll be your actions who decide whether this arrangement happens or not. Answer his questions as truthful as is necessary.” With that, she smiled softly, her gloved hand gently rubbing your cheek before she too got out.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled your own gloves a little tighter up your arms before you got up from the seat and stepped out of the carriage, taking your brother’s offered hand to step down, your heals clicking on the stone walkway.

Before you, the castle towered over not just you but the entire kingdom, standing tall and proud. A pillar of the kingdom’s wealth and power. And before its doors, stood John Price.

Once you spotted him, you blinked once, your eyes shifting over his attire. A simple dark blue doublet with intricate embroidery – simple upon first glance yet hinting at wealth up close. Slowly, your gaze rose up to his face, his young visage now more weary with age, not to mention covered in intricately carved facial hair.

It took a moment too long for your eyes to look at his, finding that they’d been focused on you all along. Realising, you straightened up a little, following your parents upon their approach.

“Welcome, your majesties.” Price greeted, politely bowing his head, to which your family returned the greeting in kind, your head bowing as you sunk through your knees a bit. “Please come in, festivities have been arranged.” Price stepped aside then, the guards around you motioning you up.

Your parents were first to go, your brother and you following up the steps. There, Price led the way, walking through intricate halls and bustling staff as they ran around. Some stopped by him as he walked, hearing them out before quietly responding and sending them on their way, resuming the silent tour after.

“Your luggage is being arranged. You shall find it in your quarters.” Price smiles kindly after a moment, pausing in front of a set of double doors. As he smiled, his eyes crinkled, the corners of his mouth pulling his beard up with them, almost lighting up his face – an expression almost designed to draw you in.

You’d seen it plenty of times before. Though he seemed to have lost the cocky attitude he had before, that permanent smirk replaced with a genuine kindness that surprised you.

“Thank you.” Your father spoke and Price nodded, motioning them to pass through the doors as they were pulled open by guards.

“Many have arrived before you. Please feel free to enjoy yourselves for now. Dinner shall begin shortly.” Price spoke courteously before his eyes shifted to you. “I would like to invite you and your children to be seated by me when the time comes.”

“We would be happy to accept.” Your mother smiled and you silently took a deep breath in, feeling the man’s eyes focused on you, your hands neatly clasped at your middle, resting by your stomach.

“Sister.” Your brother then took your arm, narrowing his eyes at Price as he urged you past, the king just smiling to himself as he followed behind, being the last through the doors.

Inside, the ballroom was packed with nobility from all over the land, eating, drinking, dancing.

Quickly, your mother and father dispersed, going to mingle with the crowd. When your brother didn’t seem to move, your mother stepped back and grabbed his arm, yanking him away from you and along with her with an apologetic smile.

It wasn’t until king Price stepped up beside you on the left that you realised why. He’d been waiting to speak with you alone.

Looking over, you noticed his eyes flick upwards a second too late, his gaze now settling on your face. “Your highness.” He greets with a small smile, your fingers fidgeting slightly as the pressure placed on your shoulders mounts higher.

“Your majesty.” You greeted back, much more formal than his greeting was, even when you both used official titles. A detail that didn’t escape the man, his head tilting a little.

“It has been a while since we last spoke. You have aged beautifully.” Price started, turning to fully face you, his eyes now freely roaming down, appraising you sweetly.

“Indeed it has, and thank you. You too have changed much.” You spoke back, trying to put an easy smile on your face though it was a bit tense.

Seeing it, Price reached out, gently grabbing your gloved hand, pulling it up to press a soft kiss to the back of it, his eyes never straying from yours. “For the better, I hope?” He teased softly, his lips moving against the fabric of your glove before he pulled back a bit, still holding your hand. “Why so nervous, my princess?” He asked after a moment, stepping closer, looking down at you with gentle eyes, intelligent and perceptive.

“My apologies.” You stated softly, taking a soft breath in to try and settle the pressing feeling in your chest. Being nervous wasn’t going to convince him to accept the marriage.

Watching you take the breath, Price’s eyes softened a little, glancing around to see the busy ballroom, his head then turning back to you. “What say you we find a place less… crowded, where we can talk?”

You frowned a little at that. “But what of dinner?”

“Dinner won’t be for a while yet. We have time and they will wait.” He stated, his free hand sweeping out to guide your gaze to a door leading out of the ballroom. A gesture to follow.

“I-” You started, glancing back into the room, seeing people’s eyes on you. There was a general knowledge of what was going on, what could happen. And it didn’t help your nervousness. “I’d hate to make people wait.” You eventually murmured, making Price chuckle softly, his hand squeezing yours.

“Still the worrier you always have been.” He smiled. “The dinner is still being prepared. Half an hour extra on the slow roast won’t ruin it. Might even improve it.” He joked before turning to fully face you again, using his free hand to grab your other one, now holding both as he looked right into your eyes. “Besides, would it not be nice to announce the decision I’ve come to during dinner?” He asked with a little smile, a playful gleam in his eye as he squeezed your hands before turning to the side again, once more holding out his hand, waiting for you to accept his invitation and follow him.

Letting out a shaky breath, you nod and Price smiled, holding you tighter as he led you out of the side door into a long hallway.

“You really haven’t changed at all. Only got more beautiful.” The man murmured, looking forward as he walked.

His comment had your heart clenching a little, your heels padding along the carpet, your eyes on the back of his head. “How do you mean?”

At that, he turned to look back at you with a small grin. “I remember leading you like this before. You were oh so worried to make your parents wait. Or that other time where you didn’t want to cause trouble for the guards for losing us. Just like you’re now worrying about the guests.” He hummed, your heart starting to speed up as he so easily seemed to remember you and the past.

“That was-”

“Always for the same thing.” He interrupted you, taking a turn and leading you up a set of stairs, his arms moving behind his back to pass your hand from his right to his left. “A worry for others to hide your own nerves.”

That had you pause, your steps slowing and – sensing you were no longer following so easy – Price slowed, looking back at you.

“I-”

“Sweetheart.” His quiet voice made you look up, seeing him step down the stairs to be level with you before cupping your face. “Don’t worry, alright? It’ll be like old times. Just you and me.” He hummed lowly, a glint in his eyes as he brought your hand up and kissed the back of it again. “Be a good girl and follow, hm?”

Walking backwards up the stairs a few steps, Price led the way as you followed, a little dazed. Seeing you were, Price then pulled you a little closer once you reached the top of the staircase, his hand snaking around your waist.

Leading you down the hall, he turned left to a set of double doors, opening one and helping you step inside.

Immediately, nostalgia and memories hit, memories that made your cheeks slightly heat up as you surveyed his bedroom. It had matured, just like him. But the layout remained the same.

“Come here, love.” Price spoke, his hand around your waist shifting to your hip after locking the doors, pushing you back until you gently hit a sofa, sitting down while a fire roared in the fireplace.

Having you seated, he sat down beside you, letting out a relieved little breath as he opened the clasp by his neck, shaking out his hair a little. “There.” He grunted, getting comfortable as he sat back, his legs splaying out somewhat.

Looking over at him, you straightened up a little, clasping your hands together in your lap, knowing the talk that was coming.

Seeing it, Price chuckled softly, reaching out to pick up your hand, his fingers tracing the glove up your arm until he hooked into the edge of the fabric that rested past your elbow.

“You’re so tense, hm? Dressed all proper for today to make an impression.” His voice dropped to a lower frequency as he talked, his eyes reflecting the firelight as they followed the path of his finger.

Slowly, he shifted closer, his leg moving to sit against yours as he slowly started to push the fabric of the glove down your elbow, revealing more of your skin.

“Uh-” grasping the fabric, you looked at the man, feeling your cheeks heat up a little.

“The fire is lit and we’re eating after this. Surely these aren’t needed anymore?” Price asked, a faux kind of innocence accompanying his statement. When he felt your hold slack, he carefully pulled the glove down your arm, taking it off and humming softly as he grabbed your now bare hand. “Much better.” He murmured, bringing your hand up and gently kissing the back of it, causing you to feel the course hair of his beard gently rub against your skin.

Feeling it, a strange sort of nervousness swirled through your stomach, butterflies flitting about as you felt the hairs lift off your skin, before he gently turned your hand around, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist in a similar manner, causing your breath to quietly hitch.

“Yes. Much better.” Price concluded with a little smile. Leaning in to reach his arm over, he took off your other glove as well, laying them over the back of the couch. “It has been too long since we’ve been like this, sweetheart.” He spoke softly, his eyes slowly lifting back up to yours.

“How… How have you been?” You asked, not knowing where else to start.

Seeing it, Price shifted a little, that small smile still tugging at the corner of his lip as he shifted in his seat, leaning back. “I have been quite alright. A lot has happened since I last saw you. But I am happy to say that having you by my side still makes my day better.”

Letting out a relieved little breath, you sat up a bit, turning to him a little, accidentally pressing your legs tighter together, as Price didn’t move an inch – didn’t try to even.

“I must say, I’m surprised you remember me so. We saw each other only sparingly as kids.”

Huffing in amusement, Price leaned forward, his hand suddenly landing on your thigh, rubbing a bit. “Remember? Darling, I haven’t been able to forget you one day. However sparingly we saw each other, I cannot possibly forget our little outings, hm?”

At the mention of that, you felt your face instantly darken in blush, swallowing nervously.

Seeing it, a familiar smirk worked its way onto the brunet’s face, his hand slowly trailing higher up your thigh. Before he could however, you placed your hand over his, clearing your throat.

“Uhm, perhaps we should discuss the- the uhm, marriage.” You spoke, a chuff of amusement leaving the man.

“I see you after all these years and you want to discuss bureaucracy?” He questioned, though he acquiesced, his hold on your thigh loosening.

“We’re not teenagers anymore. There is a certain… etiquette.” You spoke, trying to stay firm, though when he leaned in, his free hand coming up to tilt your chin his way, you felt your jaw flutter in nervousness.

“There was always etiquette.” He murmured softly, his eyes carefully roaming across your face, an admiration in them that had your muscles slacking a little, your eyes turning more innocent upon his unguarded gaze. “Yet I remember as we ran down the garden, shaking guards just to get a moment alone.”

His voice was quiet, raspy as he spoke, his hand moving from your chin down to grasp the one you were using to stop his hand on your thigh. Slowly, as if scared to spook you, he let go of your leg, his hand coming up to slowly brush down your jaw, feeling the soft skin before he cradled the back of your head.

“I remember breaking every rule in the book just to have you under me.” He hummed, leaning close, his breath on your lips with every word he spoke. “Every visit to one another turning into sweaty bodies, every diplomatic outing shifted to be for us. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to feel you again.”

His murmured words had you let out a shaky breath, looking up to see his eyes half-lidded, feeling his hand on the back of your head scratch your scalp a bit.

“But… we can’t. Not until- until it’s all official. We’re grown up. You’re king.” You whispered and Price smiled, leaning his face in before he started to press deep, slow kisses to your neck, savouring every single one.

“My darling. I accepted the offer the moment your parents came with it.” He whispered against your throat, his teeth lightly raking over your skin, careful not to leave a mark.

“You did?”

Smiling, Price pressed a last kiss to your throat before he pulled back to look at you. “You think I’d lose the chance to finally make you mine? I told you back then, didn’t I?

You let out a shaky breath, a flash of a memory playing in your mind. The two of you right here in this room, younger, more stupid. Price – who was just John back then – above you, his hips rapidly moving against yours, your panted breaths mingling as teeth clacked, limbs entangled and innocence lost.

Whispered breaths of his claim. Those exact words falling from his lips back then as they did now. And fuck how you loved it then, treasuring every syllable.

Coming back to, you looked at the man before you. The king before you. Things were different. Both of you were, the circumstances were. And despite the heat you felt in your cheeks, you spoke. “That was- You can’t compare. We were just-”

“Just kids?” Price finished your sentence for you and shook his head. “Maybe to you, but not to me.” He spoke, his voice gaining an edge and you felt a panic rise.

“N-No, of course it wasn’t that to me either!”

“Then why so surprised now? Have you moved on?”

At his question, your eyes widened in shock. “No.”

“Fallen out of love?”

“No!”

“Then why so nervous, my darling?” Price whispered, his free hand snaking around your waist. “I told you I was one day going to make you mine all those years ago. And today is the day.”

Letting out a little breath, you looked up at him, seeing his eyes gaze down at you with practically devotion. To him, you were his morning breeze. The smell of rain. A flickering firelight in the winter.

“My king…” You whispered, unsure, your eyes flickering down.

Returning in kind, Price used the hand on your neck to quickly pull you in as he slanted his lips over yours, pulling you into a kiss that had your hands shoot out to cling to his clothing.

For not a single second did the king hold back, his hand around your waist tightening, pulling you close against himself as he moved his mouth against your own, pulling your head back and leaning further into the kiss.

Even back in your teenage years, John had never known restraint. And now, when he was king Price, he was still just as intense, his tongue practically begging for entrance as he held you close, rolling his body into you as he deepened the kiss, taking only small moments to suck air in before he was right back to kissing you like a man starved, pushing you back into the couch.

Pushing on his chest, you felt his hand go from the back of your head to rest on your throat, his thumb shifting up to push your chin higher as he then pulled back, panting softly, his pupils blown and eyes half-lidded.

“T-The dinner.” You panted softly and Price just smiled, leaning down to nose at your cheek, his lips pressing to the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve already instructed them to wait at least half an hour. We have plenty of time. Would be a shame to waste it with boring mingling, no?” He hummed, pulling back to look into your eyes. “Let me indulge in you, my queen, like I once did.”

Your stomach practically fluttered at his words, your breath coming out shaky as you looked up at him. “I-” You hesitated and Price groaned softly, climbing better onto the couch.

“Please. I’ve waited so long. I need you now, my love.” He whispered into your ear, his voice husky, almost breathless as he took your hand in his, entwining your fingers before bringing it up, kissing at the back of it again, his eyes shifting to yours. “I beg you now…”

His whispered words echoed in your mind, your teeth gently digging into your bottom lip as you weighed your options, feeling his weight pressing into you, heavier than you remember, his physique evolved, just like all of him did.

Waiting for your answer, Price sighed softly, closing his eyes as he pushed his forehead to yours, his hand on your waist squeezing softly.

And then you spoke the freeing words.

“Promise we won’t be late?”

Lifting his head, Price looked down at you, a smile spreading on his face as he gazed at you. “My dear, you will be seated by me at the table on time, even if I have to carry you there.” He assured, leaning into you slowly before kissing you again, your eyes closing this time as you pushed back into it.

Without hesitation, Price’s hands snaked down your body, firmly running over your ass before he got to your thighs where he hiked your legs up, a clear hint to hold on while your dress fell down to your hips.

Once your heels were kicked off and your legs crossed behind his back, Price shifted his hands under you and lifted, breaking the kiss to see where he was going around the couch before pushing you into his plush bed.

Stumbling a little near the end, his groin pushed into yours from how close you were and Price groaned in pleasure while you gasped softly, realising just how needy he really was.

Unbuckling his belt, Price tossed it aside before pushing your dress and petticoat up to your hips, his eyes landing on your delicate underwear, a wet spot forming on the fabric that had his chest heaving.

“Fuck me, darling.” He spoke, his left hand trailing from your knee, down your leg.

It almost tickled, how lightly the tips of his fingers trailed from your stockings down to and over your skin, travelling your inner thigh down until they met the juncture of your hips. There, he bypassed your underwear entirely, slipping two fingers into the waistband, pushing them down and running through your folds.

The clenching of his jaw was almost visible as he suppressed a groan, feeling how slick you were, his fingers trailing through the soft, velvety feeling of your folds, ghosting over your clit before going back down, repeating the path over and over, making your body heat up with every brush.

“John-”

“Sshh.” He soothed softly, his right hand gently gathering your wrists, moving to hold them above your head against a pillow, his face leaning down to start kissing along your exposed sternum, his teeth pulling on the loops holding your dress buttoned around your cleavage, making your breath stutter.

Pinned and at his mercy, you closed your eyes, relaxing your legs and letting them fall a little wider, creating more space for Price, his fingers dipping down, one slipping into you as he hummed. “Good girl…”

Creasing your brows together, you could feel his finger pump inside you, deeper and deeper until he was in to the knuckle, starting to gently thrust in and out, revelling in your wetness, the warmth of your channel.

Different from before, his finger felt so much thicker, though perhaps it was the time passed that warped your perception, having only had your own fingers to do what he once did. What he was doing again now.

Already feeling out of breath, you swallowed nervously as you felt him add a second finger, a strangled moan leaving you at the stretch, paired with his thumb gently laying onto your clit.

Hearing it, Price smiled, knowing he was in the right spot as he carefully started thrusting his fingers, letting that motion dictate the slow move of his thumb on your clit. A slow rock back and forth, more pressure and less in an addicting wave while his fingers filled and stretched you.

“So good for me, so patient.” Price coo’ed softly, leaning slow and steady before kissing you, the force of it pressing your head back into the pillow as his fingers sped up, thrusting faster into you, feeling your slick grow, your pussy more readily accepting, allowing the man to start to scissor the digits, opening you up more and more until he introduced a third finger. His hold on your wrists tightened before he slid it up to curl his fingers with yours, entwining the digits between both your hands, loosely holding. For more than loose was not needed. You’d stay, readily and eagerly, kissing back as you felt his tongue roll through your mouth, tasting and exploring once more.

When he curled his fingers inside you, you squeaked into his mouth, causing the brunet to chuckle against your lips, continuing the motion again and again, feeling your squirming increase, his body on top of yours the only thing keeping you in place. Though when your knee brushed past the bulge in his pants, he gasped into your mouth, pausing his movements as he felt you try to catch your breath, a whimper on your lips as the building pressure left when he froze.

“Little minx.” He whispered, a smile curling onto his face as he hummed into your skin, rubbing his beard into you softly. “Wanna mark you so bad. But I better hold off.” He murmured, his fingers instead slipping out of you, to your dismay. “Sssh, ssh. It’s okay.” He soothed, using the same hand to push your underwear down your hips and thighs, leaving them there a moment as he guided one leg up and out of the garment, letting the fabric hang where it was on your other leg, already forgotten as his hand yanked the loop out at the drawstrings of his leather pants.

Making quick work of pushing them down his thighs, he pushed his underwear down with it, his cock freed and heavy, almost throbbing as you looked down, feeling the flush on your face spread to your ears.

“I’ll take my time to worship you soon. For now, I just have to be inside you.” He groaned softly, lining up with you before glancing up, waiting for you to give the okay.

Touched, you bit your lip before nodding. Upon getting the okay, he rubbed his tip through your folds, sliding up to your clit and down once, twice as he gathered your slick on it before carefully pushing into your entrance.

Letting go of your lip, you looked down with a little gasp, seeing his length slowly sinking into you, a familiar full feeling spreading from your walls, all the way up your spine.

Price panted as he felt himself slip in so easily, having prepared you well. “There you go, taking me so well. Made for me.” He groaned out, his head thrown back as he rocked his hips, pushing deeper into you, intent to fully sink in.

“John-” You gasped, your fingers curling around his and a little moan left him that had your cunt clench.

“Yes, say it again.” He panted, his free hand holding your hip, pulling you down while he pushed deeper, almost fully inside.

“John.” You whined a little moan, so full, feeling him bottom out soon after, his balls resting against your ass as he paused, panting.

“Knew you could do it- Fuck, so good.” Price panted, his body pressing down on you, his chest to yours almost suffocating as he panted into your neck, so so tempted to bite down, mark you up. But he refrained.

Instead, he pulled back his hips before pushing back in, his cock slick with your fluids as he began to move, feeling how tightly your cunt was gripping him with every thrust, his pace starting slow and languid, though it quickly started picking up speed.

Panting, you looked down, seeing his length move out before disappearing into you, a dark smattering of hair running up to his navel as he rocked into you, a small bump visible by your stomach every time he pushed in, a moan leaving you as the tip of his cock hit a spongy spot deep inside you.

“I- ah-” You moaned, throwing your head back as your growing pleasure from before came rushing back and Price bit his lip, starting to speed up a bit more, pushing deep into you, intent on hitting that spot every time.

“My queen.” Price panted, not to address you, but possessive. A claim. You were his. His queen.

“I-” You panted, feeling a sheen of sweat start to gather at the back of your neck and by your lower back, embarrassment curling through you as so quickly you felt the pleasure grow.

Grunting with his thrusts, Price snapped his hips into you, hitting deep, pausing half a second before pulling out a repeating, not fast but deep. Hitting your sweet spot with every rock of his hips into you, his balls hitting into you with every move.

“Keep going-” You moaned, your breathing speeding up as Price began to kiss up and down your neck, his thrusts getting accompanied by groans as he felt his own pleasure grow.

Shifting his hold from your hip, the man lifted your leg up to hook over him, holding you there as he fucked into you, moaning as he hit even deeper, your own control of your noise slipping.

Every push in got a breathy moan from you, every pull out a gasp. Squeezing your hands once, the man then smashed his lips into yours while his now free hand roamed down to roll into your clit, his thumb gently moving back and forth, making you groan loudly into his mouth, the sound completely swallowed up by his greedy lips, his hips picking up speed as he started to feel his thoughts blur, blending together in a jumbled mess as he chased his high.

“Fuck, John-” You whimpered, a pressure building, an electric feeling shooting through your spine as your back started to arch, the kiss broken as Price panted into your skin, his hips snapping into you.

“There you go, come on. Cum for me.” He huffed, his thumb rolling circles onto your clit not letting up, persistent and unforgiving, a whimper leaving you as you threw your head back.

“Yes-!” You gasped, moaning out as the tight coil snapped, your walls clenching tight as you came undone.

Spasming around his cock, Price groaned out, fucking you through your orgasm as the heat in his belly spread through his whole body, chasing his high as he began to move faster, more desperate, clinging to you in desperation as he panted into you.

“Come on, come on-!” He gasped before snapping his hips into you, holding still as a low moan rolled from his lips, feeling his release hit him, pumping into you in quick spurts, his hips stuttering a few more times before he stilled inside you.

There, the two of you laid, panting into each other, breaths mingling as you tried to catch your breath, tightly holding onto one another, even as your leg slowly slipped down from his waist.

Panting, Price stayed there, his forehead pressed to yours as he could feel his seed begin to leak out around his cock still stuffed within you.

“That’s… dangerous.” You panted softly and Price chuckled softly, lifting his head away from yours to look down at you, his eyes soft and adoring.

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll be married soon anyways.” He spoke as he caught his breath, smiling down at you before leaning in to kiss you.

- - - - - -

Trying to get back into writing a bit, sorry for my absence 😔✋. Hope you enjoyed! Comments and reblogs much appreciated, thank you for reading! <3

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