Artemy would see this thing and she would trigger parental instincts in him so hard he might shed a single tear because this baby pink bitch is the only mf who would hug him during his Tormentous Nightmare. MEANWHILE
Daniil is having full-blown arguments with this thing, only to go to bed curled up with each other every night. Both will deny this. AND-
Clara is causing all sorts of mischief with this one. Her real twin
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.
Daniil lost his dangerous experimental laboratory in a battle with starfleet court. Luckily, he wasn't prisoned: he was sent to some kind of exile to DS9 to be simple plain second doctor on the station [its all before dominion war]. At the same time some weird desease started on the Bajor.
About half-bajoran starfleet dropout Artemij, who sucseeded in bajoran resistance as a healer, you'll know later, when I'll know how to draw all of this
