can yearnatron 2000 pervkovksky finally get a win and get reader in bed. for the better of all of us
fine, anon. i believe one can only stall for too long. i've always avoided writing sex because i believe it ruins the eroticism that i carefully build over these posts. but fine! i've cooked you over slow heat long enough. however you will have to forgive me, i tend to get very wordy with my sex. yearnatron 2000 pervkovsky getting reader in bed, under the cut.
as expected, the good doctor was not fond of aristocratic dinner parties.
he'd already warned you, and you promised not to subject him to such cognitive torment. this was a flagrant transgression, but could he resist? he was in need of you. you were the patron, you were the funding. so there he was; mouth in a tight line, shoulders tense, occasionally glaring at you. he'd glare, then soften. out of sense, perhaps. you could see his reason warring with his waning patience whenever you'd glance at him between your endless, empty conversations of wealth and glamour. the social season was always a place for gossip and performance, and you had brought a one-trick pony that many socialites seemed to grow fond of. he was a pretty one, very concise with his words, and not easily charmed. the rich loved a fight, you would know. after all, that was exactly what drew you to him. his audacity, his will, his ambition, his steady hands, the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his eyebrows would knit in annoyance whenever you opposed him, his voice; ice on your skin as he tells you to stay away from the board or the microscope, his skin... he was a fine one, and you were so distracted.
when you find the bachelor, he is engrossed in a conversation with a fellow doctor from austria, reminiscing about his time in the capital. you are unsurprisingly displeased, you were much happier when he was visibly bored and glaring at you like a scorned cat. you wanted to pluck him out of this conversation and drive him mad with want, on top of all that you invoked in him. alas, you relented, resorting to drink as you saw him indulge himself as well. soon enough, the bachelor was entertaining musicians, doctors, socialites, poets and all who were prone to his charm— and they were many. a crowd gathered around your protégé as he told the tale of his first experience reanimating a corpse and you were the only one away from the crowd, nursing a glass of stale champagne. you disguised your contempt by admiring a portrait on the wall, your despicable host talking your ears off about the portrait, but not without a comment about the bachelor's sudden fame among her guests. she knew that would make you bristle. you grimace more than smile, and wait it out.
daniil is flushed with life at the end of the evening, his eyes alight with renewed vigor. the wonders of being the life of the party, you thought. he rode with you back to the capital, posture as straight as ever despite being slightly inebriated. he held his liquor well, you remarked. it didn't matter.
"i must say, i was not expecting to enjoy myself as thoroughly as i did this evening," he says, glancing out of the window, "i could make another compromise on my condition for dinner parties in the future." he looks up at you, attempting a joke but you do not react and it confuses him. you are often gracing him with laughter, and a better joke when you felt like it. this evening you were quiet, slightly flushed from the drink, and still. daniil clears his throat and shifts in his seat, suddenly uneasy.
"is something the matter, dear benefactor? the baroness can have quite the sharp tongue, so i wouldn't-" he tries again, with that reserved smile. the poor man's attempt at sympathy is shut down by your steady voice, as you in turn try to let nothing slip.
"nothing is the matter, bachelor dankovsky." you glance out of the window at the darkness of the night, your face of stone. you see him stiffen at the way you address him, taking a short breath.
"very well, then. as i said, my condition regarding dinner parties needs amendment." you can hear that arrogant smirk in his voice as he speaks. you want to strip him bare of all dignity and make him beg you for mercy, for release, for anything at all.
"and since when are you fond of dinner parties?" you scoff, and it comes out bitter. jealous. do they know that he is yours? should you make it known? was he even aware of it? sitting across from you, here in the carriage as he fiddles with his hands. his tone may be arrogant, but he is tense. he should be, since you were the reason he even went to that godforsaken congress in Vienna that he was boasting about. that, and the lab, and the papers he's been publishing, and the job at the imperial college. all you, all for him. you'd familiarized yourself with the bachelor so much that he was your preferred company for anything; the theatre, the balls, the dinner parties, the races... you'd drag him out of his research for a short getaway, and he was always by your side. providing snide comments about the glitterati that surrounded you in such high society events, being the only constant in a sea of variables, or the only presence you trusted amidst a crowd of people who couldn't care less for you. you liked him, you couldn't stand your status. you wished to do away with it entirely, but then what would become of him? and so, you'd held onto this life for the sake of your protégé.
"i am not fond of them," he corrects in that tone of voice that makes him sound as though he was lecturing, "i merely realized that such events could have the right crowd, which then brings about the right conversations. i detest high society still." he folds his hands in his lap as he concludes, and you attempt to dress up your next words only to fail; utterly.
"but not enough to refuse to play jester for them, it seems." your voice is biting, and he stiffens before countering you.
"are you cross with me?" it's a fair question, he says it like it's a fact he cannot believe. you'd argued with the bachelor countless times before, but never out of jealousy. the mere thought of it makes you cringe; jealous of the air he breathes, were you?
"why on earth would i be cross with you?" you laugh as though it's the most ridiculous thing you've heard all evening, when you spent the better of it witnessing bourgeois ridicule. the bachelor rubs his eyes, your smile fades.
"perhaps because you've been looking like a cat which has had its tail stepped on?" he fixes you with a weary gaze, "pray tell; what social faux pas have i committed this time, benefactor? i shall punish myself for you. i only ask that you refrain from looking the way you do, it's disconcerting." he crosses his arms, and your face burns. the sheer nerve, the audacity of this man; the reason you wanted him so desperately and the reason you wished to smack him across the face until his cheek bore the mark of your hand.
"you forget yourself, bachelor." you hiss, watching the way his weariness leaves him in one harsh breath.
"and you do not? what have i done to earn your scorn? have i transgressed against you in any way tonight, benefactor?" his gaze is intense, pinning you to the plush velvet of your seat and your tongue barely moves to answer him.
"as usual, you are greatly overestimating yourself," you do not recognize the words that come out of your mouth, but they continue anyway, "i am not scorned. i am tired and have had enough talk for one day. i don't share your vigor for one moment and you assume i am... cross with you." you make a dismissive motion with your hand and he laughs, the sound long and sardonic. you suddenly shrink under his gaze, disappearing into your fur coat. of course he wasn't going to believe that, have you forgotten how much time you've spent with the man? he could read you better than anyone you've ever known.
"are you trying to fool me, or yourself? you don't call me 'bachelor dankovsky' unless i have been a complete imbecile," he leans in as you retreat, "i am always 'daniil' to you, 'danya' when you've had far too much to drink or when you announce yourself in my lab, and 'daniil dmitrievich' when we've got company. i have not been 'bachelor dankovsky' for a year now." his eyes never leave yours, refusing to let you off easy. his gaze is not unsympathetic, and it softens even further when he asks you again.
"what have i done, my dear?" you want to crumble at the way he says it, his voice so close, "tell me what i've done." he repeats, and it drains all sense from you as your hands grab onto the lapels of his coat to pull him into a bruising kiss. daniil sighs, dissolving into your mouth like a sugar cube; like he'd been practicing restraint for a very, very long time. he drops to his knees in front of you, his gloved hands cupping your face as he kisses you with reckless abandon.
"you've abandoned me," you whisper against his mouth and he gasps, "you've left me behind with that awful baroness, made yourself a name without me." every word of yours makes him whine into your mouth, and the sound makes a delicious heat pulse between your legs.
"i would never," he whispers, his kisses raining on you abundantly, "not in a million years. but, forgive me all the same, dearest." he kisses a trail down to your neck as his hands pry away the coat you'd been hiding under, all while pleading with you to forgive him. you shiver as his mouth lingers on your collarbone, as if in worship. he inhales, pausing for a few seconds.
"what is it, daniil?" your hand cards through his hair, and he leans into it, his eyes closing. the sight makes your breath catch.
"merely... composing myself." he kisses every finger of yours as he takes your hand, then your palm. he looks so wonderful, you think. kneeling against the carpeted floor of the carriage; it occasionally jostles the two of you and you both laugh when it does.
daniil exposes enough of you to disappear between your legs, kissing his way down every inch of your skin as you arch into him. he settles, holding your legs apart; the leather of his gloves against your skin making you throb. when his mouth finds you, all breath leaves you in a sharp exhale. he barely cares to tease you, preoccupied with finding whatever makes you cry for him the way you do.
"daniil..." you whisper shakily and he hums in reply, the vibrations of his voice tearing another broken sound out of your throat. you had meant to warn him that you were close, but knowing him, he was already aware of it.
his thumbs rub circles on your thighs as his mouth works you faster, and you have to bite your lip so you don't scream as your orgasm rips through you, making you tremble. he holds you down as he laps at you, grateful. he then reemerges; breathless, lips stained with you, looking like he could spend a lifetime on his knees with you as his sole sustenance.
"would you like to come-"
"yes. please." he doesn't even let you finish the question, and you smile sheepishly because of course he would like to come home with you. fucking in a carriage was out of the question, you two had already toed the line with you've just done. and besides, you'd fantasized about getting him in bed for the better half of this year. you'd be a fool not to let him come.
so you spare some politeness to greet your servants before you disappear into your quarters with him on some flimsy excuse like "private library book exchange" and whatnot. the moment that door closes, he is on you as you both try to wrestle each other out of every inch of fabric existing between the two of you. you fall on the bed as a mess of limbs and heated touches, his hands knowing exactly where to touch and how to touch despite of the lustful delirium overtaking the both of you.
"i have lived in torment," he whispers, "for as long as i can remember. do you know?" he mouths at your neck, "were you ever aware of the restraint i had exercised in your presence, every time?" he sounds tortured and you are burning for him, aching to feel him and take all of his agony away. you kiss him like you're starving, messily and carelessly.
"can i beg for your forgiveness?" you ask, and he reacts as though you'd insulted him.
"you never have to beg me for anything." his voice breaks, hands trembling from the sheer want as he holds your thigh, and you are strangely endeared.
"then..." you trail off, and his head dips as he burrows into your neck, the tips of his ear red. you'd never imagined he'd be shy in bed. you'd imagined him as cold, clinical; with the touch of a surgeon as he knew exactly where to touch. but shy? you had to hold back a smile only for it to be wiped off your face when he pressed into you.
"i know," he gasps with you, breath hot against your skin, "can you blame me when you are this enticing? if i wasn't pacing myself i would've..." he moans, deep and filthy as he bottoms out inside you. your hands grip his shoulders as he moves, deliberately slow to make you feel him. he presses kisses everywhere he can reach, hands holding your legs open as he fucks into you with a pace that makes the two of you even more desperate. your legs hook around his waist and he mewls, the sound muffled by your skin as he shifts you into a new angle, making you arch.
"you've stripped me of everything," he looks up, speaking with feverish cadence, "everything, my dear. you've made me the man i am, but not without taking all that i was away from me. now, all that i am is-"
"mine!" you gasp, pulling him close as if trying to crawl into his skin, "mine." and he sinks deeper, deeper, making you see stars.
"yours," he nods, panting, "all that i am is yours, yours to do anything with. anything, anything, anything..." he babbles, just as delirious as you are and you kiss the moans out of his mouth as his hips stutter against yours, his thrusts out of pace.
"i want you for the rest of my days," you moan, with half a mind, "danya, i couldn't bear this life without you." your legs pull him even closer, heels digging into his back and the sound that leaves him is close to a sob as he comes hard against you, with you following suit.
"have you gone mad?" he murmurs breathlessly, collapsing against you but you aren't listening. you swim in a haze of utter ecstasy until he brings you back with a kiss on your jaw.
"hm?" you hum drowsily, and he laughs.
"your mouth. i've always been of the opinion that you should... be careful with it." he says, further melting into you as your hand traces shapes on his back.
"i can't exactly be careful when you are stripping me of sense in more ways than one." you quip, and he relents, his mind unable to conjure up anything to counter you but mainly because your embrace is the most peace he's felt in his life. you close your eyes, letting him bask in it and neither of you dared to break the comfortable silence for a while.
eva confessed to dankovsky but maria interrupted (while NOT having a crush on him) and now theyre married. burakh had a crush on yulia, aglaya AND nina and got rejected by all of them. peter is dating ivan, sure man.
probably ooc but do you have obsessive daniil thoughts
very much so, yes. i do not worry about him being "ooc" since i found that focusing too much on making sure it's "in character" prevents me from expressing myself fully. obsessive, worshipful daniil under the cut, as you wish.
you make him sick. mad, completely beyond reason. this was the fifth quarrel of the day, and you were very much gone. not forever, of course. he hoped. but gone nonetheless, and he was barely keeping it together.
the first hour, he is pacing the lab. he mutters to himself about theories he'd thought up and somehow it all leads to you; your mouth, your hands, your eyes, the way you take breath, your heartbeat, every blemish on your skin. he could name every bone in your body, you loved when he did that. you'd say his name so breathlessly, like it could be the last thing you say and you're happy with that. the way you say his name, the way he'd make you say his name, your voice, your voice, your voice. even when you're cross with him, daniil would not admit to you the way his blood burns when your voice raises. the way his breath shudders when it's not "danya", nor "daniil" but "daniil dmitrievich". his breath catches at the memory, and his fingers dig into his own wrist. curse you, curse you and your beautiful mouth. he paces like he wants to break through the floorboards, a cold sweat forming on his brow that he convinces himself is normal. it's normal, so are the tremors. all is normal. he is normal.
the second hour, he returns to work and has to brace himself against your handwriting on your joint notes, and the casual intimacy of seeing his name produced by your pen, in your hand. daniil feels like he is spiraling, and he says it out loud to acknowledge it. the papers are tempting. what an absurd thing to think. he is not tempted by your notes. he would like not to be anyway, as all he wants to do is press close to where your hand was on the paper and breathe you in. it's an itch, a very real one that makes him shed his waist coat and walk to the window as he loosens the cravat around his neck. the cold air does nothing, neither does the view. he thinks he has two choices here; jump out of the window, or chase whatever is left of you in your notes. he almost stumbles on himself as he prostrates before you, sweet you in the form of cursive and he feels like he can finally breathe. the smell of ink and parchment, but you are there. unmistakably.
the third hour, daniil is still. you had left a scarf behind that he found and set over his pillow. the smell of your hair is so within reach, yet so far away. he gets up in one motion, driven by nothing but instinct. mad beyond reason, he looks for you again amidst his belongings, for the twentieth time that evening hoping to find something to hold him back from finding you.
the fourth hour, daniil is still. the desperation wears off, and he sits eerily still as he works. to anyone he looks composed, but had you been here you would've immediately pulled him out of whatever he was doing until he regained lucidity. he tends to go quiet like this when dealing with a great blow. you would've known. you always know. what will he do?
the fifth hour, daniil reminisces over the way you met. he remembers asking every living being who'd encountered you on that day about you. the receptionist at the hotel you were staying at, the bellboys, the barkeeper, the random noble lady you briefly chatted with in the lobby, anyone. every trace of you, he followed until you were his. but he would never say it. every time you'd asked him what drew him to you, his answer was the same "you were the only person with sense in that godforsaken congress, my dearest. i tire of old hermits and their ceaseless babble during such events." you had listened to his ceaseless babble with great interest however, as you were open to the unorthodox when it came to medicine. daniil was enraptured with you at first glance, the way you were just as unafraid to express yourself as he was, just as eccentric. he lies down on his bed, the thought of you like a boulder on his chest, making him sink further and further down into the mattress until it seems like he's in the netherworld. daniil thinks he is, to a certain degree. how unbearable.
it is not the sixth hour yet, and daniil is up again in a singular motion. he moves through his quarters in a flurry of fabric and leather until he's out, and he finds you, sweet cruel you in the lab. you wanted to return, it seemed. you were only biding your time, pretending to work as you refuse to look him in the eye and mutter about his inefficiency. you are both pathetic, and both of you think that as he melts into you in an embrace, and you can barely contain him, sinking down to his knees as his gaze remains on you. he kisses your hands until they're warm enough, pressing them to his face as he asks for forgiveness in a way that is too religious for an apostate. he almost wants to tell you not to blink, not after this. not after you had deserted him for hours. and what choice do you have but to absolve him again, just so he'd pick himself up and come back to you in all of his pretentious glory? the same pretentiousness that puts you in this situation every time? however, daniil promises you restraint and more thought before speaking in the future. he beckons you to bed and tells you to leave everything to the morning, and you go willingly because you are tired and that is what you say. what you do not say is that you had missed him and that you shouldn't have left, but daniil voices that for you; "strike me if you must, but do not leave in anger. i cannot bear it, not for a second. i wouldn't have known how to live with myself if you had deserted me, my dearest. do not make me imagine it." his voice is soft, raw against your neck, and your hand moves down his back in the way that makes him inhale sharply before he dissolves, and you contain him like you always do. you did not have to say anything, neither of you needed language for this, after all.
your cases generator repeats a name but the second name has no last name so I’m wondering if this is a bug?
oh! well, i didnt actually expect anyone to click on that haha
no its actually intentional! i made up like 30ish patho sounding names (incl the canon names of patients) but then i thought "hmm just first names sound pretty awkward, even tho the game does it too" so i made up a few last names that get appended 20% of the time!
im not sure where the website is going ngl, but thank you for the interst and checking it out omg!
one thing i noticed with this slog of a fic im writing is that the main conflict is uncomfortably close to how i act with people. its helping me write the dialogue better, but im genuinely really uncomfortable with the fact that i default to the same behavior as the person whos obviously in the wrong
one thing i noticed with this slog of a fic im writing is that the main conflict is uncomfortably close to how i act with people. its helping me write the dialogue better, but im genuinely really uncomfortable with the fact that i default to the same behavior as the person whos obviously in the wrong
Это фан-проект по созданию визуальной новеллы по игре "Pathologic"
Super excited to have worked on the team that was able to bring the english translation to all our fellow Pathologic enjoyers! This dating sim has definitely earned a special place in my heart, and I'm so beyond thrilled that it's available in english now!
The devs did such an incredible job, go check it out ♥️
see the thing is i am a bad writer because when i think about daniil my brain just zooms in omn his face and i think over and over 'man, what if he didnt pull out'. no creative sources here, when left alone, a bicture with a dick photoshopped on him would do it for me.
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