Bugs

Baelor:

Baelor felt incredibly terrible that you couldn’t reach your peak. Telling you over and over that he was going to do whatever he could to make sure you were feeling nothing but pleasure. His mouth sucking on your breasts, and swirling his tongue around your nipple. Then once he heard your moans and whimpers, he couldn’t stop. Going until they were raw and hard, and even biting then just hard enough for the pain to turn into pleasure, and then feeling you gush around him like a waterfall. Surprised that was all that it took to get you there.

“My darling wife, who knew these lovely breasts were the key to unlock this door.”

Daeron:

Daeron became upset when you couldn’t quite get there with him. Beating himself up and drinking even more to the point he couldn’t even perform. Trying different things to see what you liked the most, and what didn’t get you wet. And when you were riding him deep and hard, he looked up at you with such admiration an inspiration, he reached a hand up to grab your neck, and wrap his fingers around your throat. Immediately feeling your legs trembling beside him, like a volcano about to burst. Applying slightly more pressure until he saw your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and your body shaking.

“I knew my wife could get there. All she needed was my hands wrapped around her pretty throat.”

Duncan:

He was incredibly quiet and was almost ashamed every time. Putting his head in his hands and too afraid to even look you in the eyes. Not saying a word as he would leave, and start beating his sword against a tree. And since he was quiet anyway he felt he needed to place your body on top of his face, and keep you pinned to his mouth as you rode his delicious tongue until you could feel your body quiver with ecstasy. Hands gripping his hair as he kept his hands on your thighs groaning into you, the vibration making your toes curl. Only growling into your lips as he slurped everything that came out of you.

“If my tongue is what gives you the most pleasure, then you shall sit on it like a throne.”

Lyonel:

Lyonel didn’t say anything exactly, he would laugh out loud in annoyance. It wasn’t towards you it was more towards himself. Wondering what else he could do to accomplish the task of giving you an orgasm. And he had whipped you around on your back, and his hand came down suddenly and spanked your cunt. A sharp shock rocking across your body, and so he did it again, and this time you cried out like a wild animal. Grinning knowing this was what you desired from the beginning, and how you probably didn’t even know yourself.

“My sweet wife, just needed a good spanking to get what she’s always wanted.”

Maekar:

The whole kingdom felt his wrath when he couldn’t give you an orgasm. Shouting and yelling that he was going to do whatever it took for you to soak him with your arousal. Bending you over the bed as he took you hard and fast, and when nothing was happening, he spread your cheeks wide, and watched your other hole puckering, and he smirked before slowly sticking a finger in, and thrusting it deep and slow until you clenched tightly around him, and gripped the sheets until your knuckles turned white. It was new and different and very exciting, and all you needed.

“This has been a long time coming my burning flame, and you won’t want any longer.”

Valarr:

He was actually quite embarrassed, and worried word would get around the kingdom, and everyone would think he wasn’t a man. It frightened him that they would say he’s not fit to rule if he can’t give his woman an orgasm. Then one night Valarr had more to drink than usual, and he threw you on the bed, and started thrusting deep and hard. His mouth by your ear whispering everything he wanted to do to you, and kissing your neck and nibbling your ear. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head, and your nails clawing down his back, and legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

they start off strong with their taunts. “you payin’ her sammy?” and “how much prison time did ya threaten her with if she didn’t date you?”. sammy is beet red at this point. he’s about to snap and pull up the sex tape the two of you made last night where you were sobbing from how good he made you feel, when the new rookie chimes in. “yeah bryant. do you even know what to do with all that?”

“of course i do!” his angry yell rings out through the backyard. everyone turns their head at the noise. sammy looks around sheepishly at the wide eyes he gets. he finds yours that are filled with concern “everything okay sammy?”. he nods once, then turns back to the grill as the other detectives double over in laughter.

little do they know, on the other side of the pool you’re telling the other women that sammy bryant knows exactly what to do with ‘all that’.

"you've seriously gotten a noise complaint!?" one of the wives asks you. you giggle through your response, probs too tipsy and oversharing. "we've gotten so many i stopped keeping track! what can i say? he always makes me scream." all jaws drop to the floor, mascara'd eyes blowing wide at your words. "really?" a blonde asks you in disbelief. you scoff and shrug casually as if what you're about to say is the bare minimum. “big time. it’s because he makes sure i come at least twice before he even tries to have sex. never settles ladies." all female eyes curiously trail across the yard to your boyfriend with a newfound respect for the man that apparently keeps you more than satisfied.

you're feeling wayyy too comfortable at this point, so you're a little glad when you hear sammy's voice cut through your next admission. "oh and! he does this thing with his tongue that makes me literally black out right when he-" "baby?" your head snaps to your boyfriend who is now only a few feet away. he has a plate of food put together for you of everything you like without you even having to ask. all the women clock it, then glare at their partners who are already eating at the outdoor table. sammy looks very flushed as he hands it to you, most definitely from hearing your words.

actually, all of the detectives hear your words. but not from you. nope, sammys coworkers got an earful about your amazing sex life later that night at home from their spouses. the next day at the station, they all stare at sammy as if they've never seen him before.

You, the darling sweetheart of the ER, with your stupid twin French braids, tied off with pink rubber bands like a preschooler. Your soft, pink t-shirt under your grey scrubs, and the cutesy, cartoon bandaid charm on the end of your badge. An anthropomorphic bandaid, no less, sporting a hair bow and a toothy smile, all varying shades of —no surprise here— pink. 

Trinity keeps her back to you once she clears the threshold, busying herself with cracking the ice tray from the freezer. The very second her first cube clunks to the bottom of her stainless steel water bottle, you sniffle. 

"What's wrong," says Trinity flatly, making the effort to turn on the faucet the moment you start speaking. 

"I'm fine," you mumble, nearly drowned out by the running water. She snaps her bottle shut, then turns to face you, leaning back against the sink. 

"Sure you are," Trinity scoffs. 

The countertop bites into the small of her back as she crosses her arms over her chest, black nylon stretching taut across her slender arms. 

You notice. 

You always notice when it comes to her. 

Two years you've been a nurse at this ER, and you've never met anyone quite like Dr. Santos. She came in hot, a seismic shift in your day-to-day, in a place you'd finally gotten the hang of. She's self-assured and ambitious, she reeks of a superiority complex, and bares her teeth when you get too close. 

She does not like you, and you can't quite figure out why. You think it's because you're impervious to her bad moods, when she comes skulking in to the ER and barks at anybody who offers support. 

You always shrug your shoulders when she attacks, tells you that you're too perky to be in this hellhole, why don't you go up to Pedes, what kind of self-respecting woman actually comes in to work with a smile on her face. Then masks it as a joke when you call her out on it. Oh, come on, I pick on everybody. It's how I show affection! You should count yourself lucky.

You think she sees weakness in your softness and wants to squash it.

You think it has more to do with her than it actually does with you. 

But today you can't be sanctimonious about Hurricane Santos, because you're too encapsulated in your own rotten mood. 

"You don't actually care," you challenge, arching a perfectly sculpted brow in her direction. Something fizzles beneath Trinity's ribs at this newfound brattiness coming out of you. 

Usually you're so… amenable. Affable. Utterly unflappable. Other Austenian words that describe the demure older sister from Pride & Prejudice who, quite frankly, Trinity found fucking nauseating.

"Try me," Trinity bites back, sidling over and perching herself on the chair opposite you. 

You lower your feet to the ground, then square up to the round table separating her feline frame from yours. 

Seriously, she always has that look of a cat about to tip over a glass of water. She just needs to hear one more 'don't!' to knock it over the edge. 

"Dana says I can't care for our male patients without somebody else present," your voice drops, and so too do your round, doe eyes. 

Trinity doesn't think she's ever seen a more humanoid Bambi in her life.

God, that'd make Huckleberry Thumper, wouldn't it?

She rattles the image out of her head. "Excuse me?" 

"I keep getting, like, harassed, or whatever, so she isn't letting me treat male patients by myself anymore," you explain. You run your fingers down the vertebrae of your left braid, gaze still fixed on the tabletop. 

Trinity's throat bobs. "Who's been harassing you?" She asks, her voice taking on a different kind of edge. 

"Just, like, patients," you shrug, leaning back in the chair, caving in on yourself. 

"No," Trinity says your name, and splays her palm across the table. "Hey, this isn't a just or a whatever situation. I haven't heard about any of this." 

Scuttlebutt usually finds its way around this ER in minutes —one singular hour, max— but she truly hasn't heard any rumblings of anyone harassing you. 

Embarrassment crushes into you, flushing your whole face a pink brighter than… well, your whole ensemble, save for the grey scrubs. 

"It's nothing," you insist, taken back to the several times you told Dana the exact same thing. 

"It's not nothing," Trinity softens, the angles of her jaw and her chin rounding out. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but it's not nothing. You deserve to work here and feel comfortable doing so," she pauses and reconsiders, "well, as comfortable as someone could be in the seventh ring of hell." 

You flick your eyes up to find the makings of a smile you've seen before, but never been on the receiving end of. 

Her joke coaxes you with its outstretched arms, easing you back into the conversation at hand. 

"There was this guy a couple weeks ago who asked me to give him a sponge bath," you begin, crossing your arms over your chest, capping your own shoulders in a definitive x-shape. You don't look Santos in the eye. You don't think you can. "Then somebody called me Nurse Barbie, and that guy that was brought in all coked-out yesterday grabbed my butt." 

Trinity's pretty sure her blood could heat a tea kettle right now. 

Her leg shakes uncontrollably beneath her, but she manages an expression of understanding as you go on, listing two additional instances of patients treating you like some thing for them to play with rather than an instrumental piece of their healthcare. 

It's fucking infurating, thinking about someone degrading any nurse like that, let alone you. Sweet, abhorrently kind you, who brings in homemade cookies to work and stays late to help Dana with handoff rounds and asks Perlah and Princess to teach you phrases in Tagalog during the rare moments of downtime. Just the bad words, you'd giggled as Princess helped you sound them out.

Then Trinity realizes you're crying, and suddenly her reaction to what's happened to you doesn't feel as important. 

"Hey," she speaks clearly, firmly. "Hey," she says your name again and you finally look at her. She flips her arm palm-side up, and flexes her fingers toward herself. An invitation.

Apprehensively, you lay your hand on top of hers. It's clumsy, but she tangles her fingers with yours, creating an archway on the table. She squeezes gently. 

"That's not nothing," she says again. With your free hand, you stubbornly wipe a tear away. 

"It's so embarrassing," you insist. "I feel like nobody takes me seriously." 

Trinity's soft fingers shift, so she's cradling your hand in hers. The pad of her thumb swipes across the back of your knuckles, stars shooting up and down the veins in your arms. 

You're certain her own arm must be aching, stretched across the expanse of the table for this long. 

"Dana says she doesn't want me going in to male patients' rooms alone for a while." You continue. "Until the 'dumbass man pollen' clears from the air, were her exact words." 

God, you hate that you're crying right now, that even this squeezes at your tender heart. 

"When pigs fly," Santos jokes, garnering the softest amused hum from you. It's a small victory. 

"So then what am I supposed to do?" You ask after a beat, frustratedly tugging your hand back. "I can't go looking for Perlah or Kim or Princess to join me every time I need to change a bedpan or administer medicine. It's ridiculous! We're already short-staffed as it is." 

"Let me ask you this: what do you do when these dumbass men act like dumbasses?" Trinity slides her own arm back. 

"I tell Dana." 

"No, like, in the moment. After it happens, what do you do?" She asks. 

You huff. "I-I don't know," you drag your hand over your face. "I guess I, like, do a little awkward laugh, because I'm uncomfortable, and then leave the room as soon as possible." 

When Trinity nods, an errant strand of black-brown hair falls in her face. It takes everything in you not to reach across and tuck it behind the shell of her ear. Which you can only assume is just as soft as the rest of her is turning out to be.

"How about you turn it back on them?" She suggests. 

"Ew, like, do it back?" 

"No!" Trinity shakes her head, holding up her hands. "No, I mean, call them out on it! With the exception of the coked-out guy, all the patients you just listed off were fully coherent, right?" 

You give a meek nod. 

Trinity goes on. "Okayyyy, so ask them if they'd speak like that to their sister, or their mom, or ask if they were dropped on their head as a child. Tell them they're making you uncomfortable. Make them face their behaviors head-on rather than shirking back because of it." 

The side of your mouth twists up into a little smile. "That'll do wonders for the patient satisfaction scores Robby's been harping about." 

Santos laughs. "Oh, fuck Robby," she waves it off, then laughs again when she sees your eyes widen. It's not a graceful, birdsong lilt, but a real, honest-to-god bark of a laugh. "And fuck Dana, for not teaching you how to deal with it by yourself." 

"Hey, now," you warn, looking around the otherwise empty break room, as if your nurse leader will pop out from one of the cabinets. "Dana's trying her best."

"Well, somebody needs to teach you to stand up for yourself," she arches a brow, the fluorescent lighting glinting off her glassy, smooth skin. "You deserve better than what you're given." 

She moves to rise up, then jerks her chin towards the door. The din and hum of the ER on the other side of it suddenly seems louder than ever. "C'mon, I'm pretty sure your little poutfest has a fifteen-minute time limit." 

"I wasn't pouting!" You protest as you rise to your feet. As your step past Santos, her hand brushes your shoulder.