#mcd gene

To the person who said that Shadow Knights should be able to bathe in lava, I love you for giving me this idea :D

Also had this on loop for hours on end while drawing this

He blinks, once, twice, as if trying to reprocess your words, his eyes rounded as he stares at you. It takes a few moments of him stammering before he finally finds a sliver of composure.

“Husband?”

You hum in agreement, lacing your hands together and batting your eyelashes. A part of you feels guilty in teasing the reserved man so much, but you can’t help but push him a little further, giving a faux pout. “Do you not like me calling you that?”

“No!” he quickly says, clearing his throat and looking to the side in timidness for his loud outburst. “I do not dislike it in the slightest. I just… It’s unexpected.”

You tilt your head, inching closer to him with an air of innocent curiosity, though if he took the time to look you in the eye (which the poor man was struggling in doing this very moment), he may notice the twinkle of pure mischief in your irises. “Is it?”

“I… did not know you took your feelings for me so seriously.” He sucks in a breath, looking up at you through his thick blonde lashes. “Unless you didn’t mean it?”

His serious tone stops you in your tracks, and you suddenly feel a little guilty. You almost gasp at the look he’s giving you, the sight comparable to a kicked puppy, and you rush forward to cup his cheeks in your hands.

“I do mean it! I’ll admit, I was teasing you, but I truly do wish to call you my husband!”

He looks down at the grass beneath your feet, his eyebrows still furrowed as he reaches up to cup your hands in his. After a moment, you watch his face slowly relax, before… a smile slowly curls up on his lips. In fact, he looks a bit smug.

Realization dawns when his previous worry is nowhere to be found in his expression.

“You—!”

Garroth closes his eyes, tilting his head into your palm. His ears are still a bright red, and his fingers tremble over yours, but his expression is purely content. Oh. He got you good.

“You’re going to be my undoing, my darling…” he sighs, giving a shy glance at the empty road once again before pressing a kiss against your fingers. “Though I will gladly make your wishes come true. Any and all that you can give me. And if one of them is to make me your husband, I am more than willing to comply.”

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄

“My husband doesn’t care for those, thank you…” You raise a polite hand to the marketplace vendor offering you some fresh vegetables. “I’ll just keep what I’ve already bought.”

“How considerate…” Gene’s deep voice practically purrs by your ear, his hands clasping around your shoulders. “For you to remember my preferences.”

You blink, eyeing him from the corner of your peripheral vision as he leans forward, smiling at the vendor. “Isn’t that the sweetest?”

“Ah, yes…” The vendor uncomfortably nods, setting down the basket he had been trying to barter with an awkward smile.

“Thank you for your services today. Now, I have husbandly duties to attend to, so we’ll be off.”

The vendor’s face turns red at the implication, and you’re sure yours is a similar color as you whip your head towards Gene with wide eyes. He merely smirks, fingers still almost possessively curled around your arms as he guides you back towards the street.

“Those are bold words, sweetie…” You stumble along with him, and you sense your small little prank may be unfolding into something you didn’t expect. “Are you willing to go through with your claims?”

“Ah, hm…?” you shakily hum, daring to meet his piercing gaze as he grins at you. You swear you catch a glint of red, the color possessive and deep.

“If I’m your husband, I’d have to whisk you away with me every time I leave, wouldn’t I?”

You swallow, nodding quickly at the idea. “I’ve been asking you for months.”

He looks down, tucking you into his side as you leave the crowd, the dirt road that eventually leads to your cabin a familiar sight under your feet. Though the tight grip Gene has on you is new, his touch burns into your skin—a dominating and almost overwhelming feeling.

“And once again, I’ll tell you you don’t know what that means,” he murmurs lowly.

You frown at his words. “But I want to be with you.”

It should be concerning that you truly don’t know much about the details of his job, especially with how much he cautions you about it. You know you’ve asked him about it before. Still, anytime you try to remember the conversations, it feels like soft cotton fills your brain, the memories hazy before slipping away altogether.

“Maybe one day, I’ll kidnap you and really show you what I’ve been hiding, like you keep naively requesting.”

You freeze at his sudden words, looking up at him once again. A part of you wants to laugh it off as a joke, but the intensity of his stare has you short of breath, and it hits you that maybe the sinister twinge of his statement is something you should take a little more seriously.

“But for now…” You stare up into red, unable to turn or look away, and his hand curls around your jaw. “I think you should forget this silly little prank of yours before you realize the man you call your husband is actually a monster.”

And as your vision goes black, that soft cotton wraps itself in your head once again.

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

“Please.” You cross your arms, a sense of possessiveness rushing over you as you stare down the bold person who dared make a move on your lover… right in front of you. “Despite the… innocence of your request, the only partner my husband will be dancing with is me.”

The festival-goer blinks in shock, a flush washing over their cheeks as their previous bravado fizzles out under your unimpressed stare. “Ah, my apologies, I didn’t know you two were actually—”

A smooth chuckle cuts them off, but before you can look back at him, Laurance pulls you back into his chest, his fingers lacing with yours.

“Yes, as a husband,” he enunciates, the shit-eating grin he most certainly has on his face evident in his amused tone. “I prioritize my loyalty over everything else. I must remain diligent to my duties as a husband, don’t I? What kind of husband would I be if I accepted a dance invite from another person?”

The person’s face has now morphed into a fully embarrassed cringe, their hands raising as if it could stop his smug rambling while they slowly back away. “I… I will take my leave, now…”

You watch the failed pursuer scurry away, not sparing either of you another glance as they disappear into the crowd. Though even if they stuck around, you have a feeling they wouldn’t be the biggest of your worries. Laurance squeezes your hand, spinning you around until you are chest to chest with him. And oh, the wide smirk on his face is enough to tell you that you’ve signed up for a war you will never win.

“My my… I didn’t know you were so possessive, my love. I can’t say I can complain, though…” He trails a finger along your cheek, inching his face closer to yours. “As your husband, this is something I should get used to, no?”

You can’t back out of this one.

“I… was just trying to get them off of you,” you huff, clearing your throat as you look anywhere but his smug face.

“Oh? Do you not want me to be your husband?” he practically whines, nudging his nose into your cheek. “My love, my light, your words wound me.”

“I didn’t say that...”

He chuckles at your quick response, and before you know it, he’s spinning you into the start of a theatrical dance, leading you into the center of the plaza. “You always keep me on my toes, don’t you? Then… should we practice the first dance of our wedding? I don’t want to waste any more time in making your claims on me a reality.”

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

It had been rough. You had three tests you were almost positive you failed (with a score way below passing), a pop quiz in Literature over your current class read (which you hadn’t gotten the chance to read the latest chapters of or look at SparkNotes for), an annoying freshman kept hitting on you during lunch (luckily, you were practically attached to Gene at the hip that hour), and drill practice had practically beaten you to the ground (the new routine was no joke).

And your sister had taken your car. She had finished robotics early and instead of waiting for you in the library like she usually did, she went out to the field, shuffled through your backpack, and took your keys without so much as a goodbye.

You were exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally. You were surprised you were able to string together the words to accept Gene’s offer of taking you home after practice. What you really needed was a mind numbing activity that forced you to relax. And, Irene, nothing was more relaxing than having your boyfriend grind against you.

It was already established in your mind as the best decision you’ve ever made, but feeling his growing need between your thighs was enough to convince you it was the best choice you’d ever make. Period, full stop. Nothing would ever compare to this.

It had started innocent. Gene had watched the last thirty minutes of your practice. You ran up to him after with a wide smile and planted a kiss on his cheek. He offered to carry your bag. Instead of walking you to your own car he walked you to his as you ranted about your day. To console you, Gene offered you a kiss.

It truly was normal. It’s not your fault that you fumbled against the side of his car and the door to the back seat miraculously opened and oops! You both fell inside. Nothing to be done about that.

You bit back a soft moan, teeth scraping against your bottom lip as Gene trailed his lips down your neck in gentle, featherlight touches. Your legs wrapped around his waist, hips shallowly thrusting up into his while his hands slipped under your tank top.

His hands spread against the span of your skin—large and warm and calloused and Irene you needed to feel them somewhere else.

Gene pulled away just enough to brush his lips against your ear. “How do you feel about marks?” he breathed, the sensation sending tingles down your spine.

It took a moment through your haze before your brows furrowed. What did he mean?

“Like . . . Karl Marx?” you asked, tilting your head back as far as you could to look at him. Were you dating a communist?

Gene blinked at you, his long lashes fluttering. An amused breath fell from his lips. “What?”

“What do you mean what? You just asked me my opinion on Karl Marx.”

Gene tried to bite back his laugh—he really did. He’d never been very good at that, though, and it wasn’t long until he was barking with laughter and untangling your bodies.

You sat up with him, brows still furrowed and still very confused. “What?”

“Doll, I meant love marks. Like a hickey or a bite or something. Not the Russian communist.”

Your jaw slackened. A very loud “Ohhhh” of realization fell from your lips before you covered your face with both hands. Defeated, you let yourself fall back onto the seat and curl up.

“Irene, Gene.” Your voice was muffled. It made your boyfriend laugh again, and he gave your hip a playful pat.

“Why would I be talking about Karl Marx, sweetheart?” His voice had that stupid lilt that it got whenever he was teasing or taunting you. It made your face hotter than it already was.

“Why couldn’t you ask Can I give you a hickey like a normal person?”

He laughed through his teeth that time, pulling your hands away from your face. Slowly, making sure the seatbelt buckle wouldn’t dig into your body, he flipped you onto your back.

He looked so hot above you with his unruly hair and his partially unbuttoned shirt. Gene’s uniform was typically the definition of perfect, so seeing it outside of its usual pristine condition made a surge of pride swell in your chest.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in another heated kiss that had you melting back into his leather seats. You hummed, relishing in the feel of his hand against your chest, just a hair away from wrapping around your neck.

He pulled away. You chased his lips but were unsuccessful in reclaiming them. The only response you got was another amused chuckle.

“As hot and unbelievably sexy as you are right now, I think it’s time to take you home.” Gene gave you a smile, one of his genuine ones that turned down instead of up, before pushing himself off you. He opened the car door and stepped out, extending a hand to help you out. “You’re clearly exhausted and could benefit from some sleep.”

You scoffed, taking his hand and crawling out of the car. He opened the passenger door for you, making sure you were comfortable before closing the door and moving to his side.

“I’m not that tired.”

“You just thought I asked about your thoughts on Karl Marx,” he plainly stated. You rolled your eyes as he started the car. “I think you’re a little bit beyond tired, doll.”

You didn’t respond, now upset because the best decision of your life had been ruined because you were too tired to properly think through what your boyfriend was saying. But in your defense, he was being vague! “Marks” could have meant anything! Like a hickey, or a mark on a paper, or Karl Marx . . .

Your pout made Gene smile. “If it bothers you that much, doll, I’ll give you a hickey later.”

He didn’t see the eyebrow you had raised at him. He had started driving and was focused on the road, but you were sure he felt it. Instead of responding, he let his smile widen, and he reached forward to turn the volume up on your playlist. The one of songs that reminded you of each other.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the hot and sexy heated make out you wanted or were expecting. But you were fine ending your day in Gene’s car while Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” played through his speakers. You guess you could live with that.

i was feeling a little freaky guys don’t mind this. it’s just a blip in my fic list just- just ignore it

also i think i’m actually incapable of writing anything below 1k words. it’s becoming a problem