#catherine the great x reader

[princesssmars]

love's philosophy

a catherine the great x reader

during a political trip to russia, you meet the rather peculiar emperor and his no less than extraordinary new bride.

wc: 5.779

contains: fluff bc catherine is a cutie who can do no wrong. me hating on peter. peter cheats (boo). catherine almost cheats (yay). i binged the show months ago so some things might not be accurate im sorry yall.

the only thing you could see outside of the carriage window were woods. cold, thin, and mostly dead.

what you guess would be the typical landscape for an russian spring.

but, occasionally, youd catch the patches of green of the rising grass, the small buds of blooming tree blossoms, and the rare small animal making its way from its winter slumber.

you hoped these signs of new and returning life were signs of what was to happen on this trip.

you and two of your most entrusted advisors had been sent to negotiate some new trade deals with peter, the emperor of russia. he had taken the throne after his fathers passing a few years ago, and youd heard many things about him through the grapevine.

(granted, none of the things you heard were very pleasant. in your opinion, he sounded like a bit of a man-child, unfit for the throne after his father's passing. but you kept these thoughts to you. this would help your country prosper, and create a hopefully helpful alliance.)

"i just want to remind you, princess, that things work very differently here in russia," your best friend and first advisor, anna, whispers from beside you, her big fur coat and scarf nearly obstructing your view of her face. her worried eyes peeked out from the gaps and you'd had to try not to laugh when you saw it. "its nothing like genovia here. the people are crass, rude, vulgar-"

"sounds like this will be a fun trip then." you jest, cutting off your dear friends ramblings and smiling when she glares at you. she always was a bit of a worrywart. but it was endearing.

"normally id critique our dear annas worrying, but this time she is right." a deep voice pipes up from in front of you both. the person in question is your other friend and advisor, thomas. he was the more critical and pessimistic of the two, but he was a softie at heart. "things work differently here, so we should tread wuth caution. i should give you some warnings before we enter the palace."

"alright, what do i need to know?" you sigh, relaxing into your seat. this could take a while.

"as you most likely already know, the new czar peter has taken over after the death of his father, also named peter. stop smiling, yn. the boy is much different than his father, known for his rather...extravagant ways. just try not to piss him off. he should be a bit more mello after marrying his new bride."

your head perks up. "bride? i didn't hear anything about a bride. why haven't i heard that hes been married? shouldn't you have told me this?"

thomas' eyes widen as he tries to argue against it before realizing that yes, he somehow forgot to tell you. he tries to ignore anna's teasing face.

"my apologies for forgetting, princess. yes, he has recently married a girl from france. her name is catherine. from what i've heard shes a rather timid girl, at least to russian standards. there should be no trouble on the front."

his knowing stare on you makes you pout. so yes, you might have slightly flirted with the wife of the ruler of italy. and you might have ended up in the same bed with her. whoops. but to be fair, she told you how dreadfully boring her husband was and how she was looking for something exciting and new in her life, looking at you with those big, wanting eyes...

"yn! stop daydreaming!" annas elbow nudges you, pulling you from your memory. your face feels hot when both of your friends laugh at you.

"oh please, you both know me. ill be on my best behavior. princess's promise."

.

.

.

so you might have fumbled with the promise. just a little.

after a long...loooong ride, you all had finally arrived at the russian winter palace, the grand estate nearly taking your breath away. or maybe that was the biting cold. your admiration was cut short by a gruff voice welcoming you. it came from a tall and stout man, his white wig contrasting against his flushed face and permanent frown.

"welcome to the palace, your royal highness. my name is velementov, peters war general. i've been tasked with escorting you inside safely. if you'll follow me."

he immediately starts towards the entrance, forgetting to check if you were following. as hes walking he nearly trips over some of the gravel on the ground. thomas whips his head over to you and anna when he hears a muffled giggle.

"sorry, that one was me." anna whispers, trying to compose herself.

you and your party follow the general in to the palace, walking through the grand halls and admiring the art within them. including the massive statue of peter the first.

"oh, this is just a great piece of work," anna awes, craning her neck up to observe the statue in greater detail. "how long did it take to complete?"

"i don't really remember. maybe two years." the general grunts, taking a pause before continuing on his way. the look on thomas' face makes you think hes regretting this decision.

eventually the peculiar general stops at two large doors, leading to what you presume is peters chambers.

"um, shouldn't we do this somewhere more formal? a meeting room or parlor, for example." thomas says, walking a bit faster while speaking to walk directly next to velementov.

"ideally yes, but first i must check if the prince is ready to meet you. he could still be hungover. or fucking. or both."

the three of you are a bit too stunned to react.

when velementov opens the doors, the muffled sounds of grunting, moaning, and a loud thumping on the walls rings through the hallway leading to peters bedroom. velemontov grunts, whispering something to one of the guards before escorting the three of you back into the wider hallways.

"peters busy. until he's ready you may be escorted by a guard around the toyr of the palace. they will lead you to the meeting room when we're ready. goodbye."

velementov briskly (as briskly as a clearly hungover man can go) walks away, not even checking to see if what he said was alright with you. three guards come up to you, their faces and postures remaining stoic.

"ohhhhhkay. alright, this is fine!" anna chirps, clearly trying to hold herself and the two of you together. "we are just. alone in a strangers castle in a strange country. this is ok. i wont freak out."

"good, because there is nothing to freak out about." thomas reassures her, sounding more like hes trying to convince himself. "we expected this, so lets make the most of it, hm? its a beautiful palace, and we can explore it while each looking for some of peters advisors."

"so try to find the people who hopefully have common sense?" you question, eyeing the way the guards eyebrows raise in shock at your not so subtle disrespect.

"exactly." thomas agrees, the three of you agreeing before heading off in seperate directions of the russian castle.

what you see along your short journey is nothing short of shocking yet amusing. multiple couples unsuccessfully hiding in the shadows while having intercourse, drunk soldiers and children running through the halls, with parents and hungover residents looking on in annoyance.

eventually you pass two large open doors which you can see lead to a library. walking in you see its quite expansive, with practically no one inside.

(to be expected, you didn't think most of the people here could read a paragraph let alone complete a book.)

you walk inside and observe, walking through the aisles and touching the spines of the novels. most of it seems to be in russian, of course, but maybe there was an international section...

while thinking, your mind spaces out and is only brought back when the body of another knocks into yours, the books they were carrying falling to the floor.

"oh my gosh, im so sorry. i wasn't looking where i was headed, here let me help you with those," rushes from your mouth, quickly dropping to the floor to help pick up the books for them; A Guide To Russian History and The Insides of Russian Aristocracy.

"no, no, don't apologize. I wasn't looking where i was headed because i was reading this book about...nevermind." the stranger says before joining you on the floor before also trying to pick up their books.

its only after the stranger speaks and you see their pale, slender hand on top of yours that you look up to meet eyes, your e/c meeting piercing blue.

its a woman, and not just any woman but a gorgeous one. she has fair skin, smooth and with nearly no blemishes at all, surprising since most of the other members of the court you've passed at least had a tint to their cheeks whether it be from sickness, alcohol, or both.

she has a striking face, both angular yet soft. it makes her beauty both intimidating yet welcoming. and at this moment you don't know which one you feel.

the both of you still for a moment, observing the other for longer than what was most likely deemed polite. you were speechless until you noticed one of the most striking things about her - her naturally blonde hair. youve seen a few other women here who were blonde but you could tell they were wearing wigs. with no shame of course, it was a regular among members of court life nowadays. but hers had that growth and effortlessness that let you know it was all hers.

"you aren't from here, are you? im guessing western europe, maybe france, germany?" you suddenly ask, finding yourself intrigued with this beautiful stranger you've met in an otherwise empty library. her face lights up at your question, making you glad she didn't find it rude.

"yes, born and raised in germany, how could you tell?" her questions makes you raise your brow, looking from her eyes to her hair. she catches on and laughs, looking down in slight embarrassment. "right, sorry. silly question."

"it wasn't silly, don't worry. i just asked because i was curious why you don't look like the rest of the court members. are you visiting from your home?" you quickly reassure her, not liking the slightly sad look that appeared on her face when she called herself silly. she looked much better with a smile.

her brows slightly scrunch together, looking to the floor before back to you with a sure smile. "yes, im visiting for a while. sent to study the russian culture and all, trying to help with politics."

"another thing we have in common, and thank god for it. i swear i was so nervous about me and my party being the only foreigners here." you exclaim, resting your hands on the mystery woman's shoulders in excitement. "would you mind chatting with me and telling me what you've learned? im sure there's some things i can tell you as well."

her eyes are wide and her face is bright as she stares into your eyes, nodding along to answer your questions. its just when you realize your hands are still on her shoulders and when she reaches hers up to gently grab your elbows, yet again dropping the books in her hands. you both look at the fallen materials for a second before looking back to each other and giggling.

.

.

.

you had spent who knows how many hours talking with the blonde woman, who you'd come to know was named sophie, about subjects ranging from politics to your home countries to even your favorite foods. you found her point of view on things interesting, her positivity coming off a bit naive but refreshing. but beneath it you sense a bit of sadness.

"are you feeling alright?" your questions cuts her off from what she was saying. she was enthusing about how she misses the landscapes form her home, how when she looks out the palace windows she can feel bits of herself start to wither away just like the outside landscape. she says it so calmly that you cant help but ask the question.

in response shes quiet, staring at you like you just asked her is she preferred to eat chicken eggs or duck eggs for breakfast.

"jesus, when's the last time someone asked you that question?" you put a hand on her shoulder, your tone playful in the hope she wouldn't answer. but the look on her face gave you your answer.

"if im being honest...it's been quite a while. if i tell you this, will you promise to keep it secret?" she asks, her voice unsteady with the hesitance of telling a stranger the problems of her current life.

"cross my heart and hope to die." you dramatically cross your hands over your bust, smiling when she manages a laugh at your theatrics.

she sighs, putting her hands in her lap and closing her eyes. "i have a husband, back home. arranged marriage." her eyes peak open to look at you, and you hurry to fix the look on your face from one of disappointment to understanding. "i was so hopeful before the wedding, but then i met and moved in with him and it's nothing how i imagined it would be. he's nothing like i hoped for. and i know i now have a duty to my country and people but i only have one other person to voice my sadness and just...anger to. but it doesn't feel like enough. i feel like i need to do more to fix my life or i'll go insane."

at the end of her rant she lets out a long sigh, relaxing her shoulders and slumping back into the wall behind you. she looks at you for your reaction to see you smiling at her. "what could possibly be amusing right now?"

"nothing, nothing. it's not everyday you meet a beautiful monarch on the edge of killing her husband. well, i take that back." she rolls her eyes and gently smacks your arm at your jest.

"i just poured out feelings i've only told my most trusted servant and you're going to joke around with me?"

"i've found that during the most dire times, nothing makes me feel better than saying 'fuck all' and laughing."

she sits in silence, staring at you as she seems to think over your words. it feels like the two of you are drifting closer together, her blue eyes flicking from your eyes to lower to lower-

"yn! yn are you nearby?" the loud voice of anna from outside the library causes both of you to flinch and look to the doors, waiting with held breaths as the sounds of annas heels pass by. the sound of her crying out your name grows quieter, but you both know you have to depart soon.

"i suppose that means i have to go now," you groan, standing up and smoothing out the fabric of your dress as you look sophie. shes just looking at you with those big blue eyes of hers until she collects herself as well, "its time for me to see the emperor, i suppose. will i see you around the palace any time soon?"

"yes, you'll be seeing me around. at least i hope so." her gentle admission makes you smile, and she clasps her hands together in slight nervousness. "i don't have many friends here. its nice to talk to someone who understands."

you smile at each other for a few seconds more until the sound of anna's voice rings out in the halls again. wanting to stop her before she causes a ruckus, you sidestep sophie and leave the library quickly, heading towards your duties and leaving her behind in the library.

.

.

.

“where have you been? i've been looking for you all over this god-forsaken palace!” annas harsh whisper spits at you, the shorter woman grabbing your arm and yanking you towards her as she continues walking down one of the wide halls of the palace.

"im sure they heard you over in india, my dear friend," you tease, letting out a squeak when she pinches your arm, "i was just in the library and having a very interesting conversation with a young woman when-"

"dont even finish that sentence. i dont want to to know what you get up to in the shadows with young women." anna groans and stops walking when you get to a quaint but grandiose set of doors. she pushes them open to reveal a grand bedroom, fit with a small area to converse with others over tea and snacks, a wide desk near the window with your bags containing your papers and documents set beside it, and the back of the room contains a large bed and intricate designs on the bedframe and sheets.

“nice of him to give us a grand room after his grand absence.” you deadpan, nodding thanks to anna and flopping down on the chaise near the fireplace. you kick your feet up and let out a long groan, closing your eyes and resting your arm over your eyes.

“dont talk like that, I heard he has spies inside of the walls,” anna jokes, closing the chamber doors and striding to sit in the armchair next to you. “besides, we’ve been formally invited to dine with the emperor, and his wife tonight, along with some of the other important members of his court. this could be your chance to judge his character, see what he's like to plan how you’ll go about your proposals with him for trading.”

you groan louder, smiling over at anna’s burst of laughter. “i have the feeling he'll be too consumed in drinking himself silly and doing whatever else these russians do."

"well then, lets at least get you dressed to the nines so he'll feel completely embarrassed that he turned down the chance to speak to you earlier." anna gets up and moves to your bags, propping them open and pulling out a gown that's not too gaudy but just lavish enough for a dinner with an emperor.

you smile, already imagining the look on the emperors' face when he realizes what an idiot he was for turning you down.

.

.

.

so, it turns out that peter was a bigger idiot than you thought.

upon entering the dining hall you come to see that the room is still mostly empty, save for a few maids preparing the table for dinner and what looks to be the chef getting into a heated debate with another servant.

walking over, the pair seem to stop speaking instantly when they notice you, bowing over as a sign of respect and not moving until you ask them a question.

“hello, i’m princess y/n. i was told i was to dine with the emperor and company, am i too early?”

“n-no your highness, i believe the emperor is a tad bit busy at the moment. he should be joining you soon.” the servant tells you, stuttering over some of his words as he fixes his position to look at you while speaking.

anna quickly takes her place in front of you, clearly able to tell by the shift in your stance that your mood has quickly soured upon hearing that peter has the gall to do this again. shes right in the middle of explaining when noises from the kitchen cause her and the room to go silent. you're on the verge of asking what it was when it comes about again.

moaning.

very damn loud moaning.

if you weren't so furious you'd be laughing your ass off, and by the way anna’s posture goes rigid you can tell she's holding herself back from doing the same. the chef and servant look so red you wouldn't be surprised if they were the tomatoes that were on the menu. you got the feeling that the embarrassment was from you having to bear witness, and that they'd likely been through this before.

“i think…we are going to find our seats now.” you let out a long exhale from your nose and smooth off your dress, putting on an amused and polite smile.

you roughly grab anna’s arm and pull her to the end of one of the tables, you sit yourself down in a chair in the middle of one of the side tables and she sits in the one to your left.

“look, your highness, we can walk through the gardens, w-we can go for another roundabout this damn gaudy castle, but can we please not stay here and listen to russian lovemaking session? and you've got that scheming look in your eye that you know i hate-”

“we’re staying here.” you cut her off, your tone letting her know your say is final. she fake pouts and sits correctly in her seat, staring at the wall ahead of her as you both try to ignore the familiar sounds of skin meeting and the rampant onslaught of moaning and groaning.

it feels like the longest few minutes of your life. as the seconds tick by a few more people slowly start to enter, all wearing posh clothing and powdered wigs that make it seem like they'd walked right out of a cheaper version of france. but you remain polite, smile, and do the basic introductions when they come up to you. you notice how they all ignore the unmistakable sounds of ecstasy from the kitchen as well.

you have to press your lips in a thin line when thomas rushes into the room and sits in the other chair next to you, hurriedly giving his greetings to the other court members and turning to you. he raises his brow in confusion at your teasing look, then follows your eyesight to the timid orlo who had entered the room and had sat near the head table. thomas’s face flushes when he turns back to you.

“stop it, nothing happened,” he whispers,” we discussed what's going to be addressed at your meeting with peter.”

your brow twitches.

“i think emperor peter has his hands full with other responsibilities.”

thomas’s mouth opens to ask you to elaborate when an “oh god, yes!” booms from the kitchen. anna snorts as his face shows mass embarrassment.

“he did tell us russians were very different, y/n.” anna jokes, butting her head from your side to look directly at thomas. “they’re crass, rude, and what was it, T? oh yes, vulgar.”

you’re on the brink of closing your eyes and banging your head on the table when the site of a familiar mop of bright blonde hair grabs your attention and nearly makes you sit straight up from your seat. you don't even hear the sound of your friends asking what the matter is, all you can hear is the sound of your heart beating erratically. it’d scare you half to death if you weren't so excited.

she makes eye contact with you and you smile, nodding politely. she nods back, looking on edge as she moves farther into the room.

“that's the woman i was talking to earlier,” you say, turning your head towards anna. she nods and smiles, and you decide not to acknowledge how it's the you've got another crush don't you bitch smile.

“she’s pretty.” anna whispers.

“she’s sophie.” you tell her.

“she’s princess catherine.” thomas butts in.

what.

you don't get the chance to question him when a man burst through the doors of the hall, his clothes in disarray and his hair even more so.

peter.

his beady blue eyes connect with yours, the man smiling as he would at an old friend and clapping his hands before raising them above his head.

“ah! your highness! welcome to the palace, i hope you've found your stay comfortable so far.” he greets you too little too late, getting distracted halfway through his sentence as a brunette woman in the same state of dishevelment, the pair smiling at each other as she passes to sit next to another man, his smile strained as she presses a kiss to his cheek.

“it’s certainly been memorable so far, your majesty,” you answer, your eyes following him as he moves next to soph-catherine, whose eyes dart between you and her apparent husband. she sits down, seeming to decide there’s no point in making eye contact as she stares at the china on the table.

“well, i hope during your stay you find many more things to remember. boris! bring us our food!” peter shouts, clapping his hands together as he turns toward the kitchen. it's a struggle to keep a courteous smile on your face.

the dinner is odd, to say the least. throughout most of it, peter is boasting about himself and his accomplishments, which honestly don't sound like anything important to you and more like thing your child brother was worrying about the last time you saw him. but he wasn't completely an idiot. just mostly.

the other half of your amusement comes from your new blonde friend. over the course of the dinner she continues to avoid you like the plague, only joining in conversation with you when prompted by peter. you aren't a fool, you know most diplomatic marriages are purely that, but you can help but notice the way she looks at him when he speaks. it's not just fatigue or distaste, its something more. something sharper.

when you and the other nobles have finished eating peter insists on moving the festivities to a parlor room, giving you some semblance of hope for a normal evening. which was quickly thwarted by the dancers and loud music and even more alcohol. its not all bad though, you get to see anna convince thomas to drink some hard liquor, resulting in him spouting from a chair about the history of the wood it was made from.

while laughing you notice from the corner of your eye catherine whisper something to one of the guards near the door before rushing out. looking around you, you see how no one seems to take much notice to the empress’s quick disappearance, so you simply stand up and walk out the door as well.

you underestimate how quickly the empress can walk, only able to catch glimpses of her skirts as she darts around hallway corners. after a few minutes of trailing her you find yourself in the palace gardens, only getting a few seconds to admire the hedges. catherine starts to slow down to catch a breather and you can faintly hear her muttering something to herself before you come up behind her.

“going for a little late night stroll, your majesty?” you question, keeping a cool smile when she turns around and looks at you like a startled doe.

“y/n, i mean, your highness, i didn't take you for a person who admires gardens.”

“and i didn't take you for someone to lie so easily, but i guess today is the day for surprises.”

you both go silent at your rebuttal, only the sounds of crickets in the garden and the faint noise of the still partying emperor in the distance being heard.

“i apologize, your majesty,” you sigh, remembering that you're here to make peace with the Russian and getting catty with them isn't the best idea. “i didn't mean to be rude. I'm just upset that you lied to me about who you were when i made it very clear who i was.”

catherine sighs as well, wringing her hands together as she steps closer yo you. “im sorry as well. for lying to you and avoiding you. its just that…you’re different than the other people around here.”

“i hadn't noticed. was it my complexion or my soberness?” you joke, laughing along with the empress when she giggles.

“more than that, you listened to me.”

the simple sentence felt like a light punch to the gut. it reminds you of the countless times you would sneak away to the village from your palace, conversing with the people in the market so you could have a normal conversation without someone sucking up to you. how you’d even settle for someone telling you off for bumping into their shoulders was appreciated because it was so real. you had to admit you had even found some joy and amusement in peter’s complete disregard for your visitation.

“i understand. truly, i do.” you mimic her previous actions and step closer, the distance between the two of you only about a few feet at this point. you take the chance to take her in more. they fly away hairs that frame her face, the few freckles that dust across her nose, and the softness of her lips…

she starts speaking again, causing you to compose yourself. slightly.

“thank god. it was just that as soon as you started talking to me like a human being i couldn't get enough of it.” she blurts, her lips pursing at the implications of what she said.

“its alright, i felt the same. i still do. I'm up for another chat as we walk if you are.”

she smiles. “i think i’ll take you up on that offer.”

the two of you talk about everything and nothing as you walk, with you teasing her for her rather foolish husband and her laughing along and agreeing. she tells you how often she’s found herself sick of him these past few weeks and that darkness returns to her eyes.

“i mean I've truly met some incompetent leaders but your husband truly takes the cake,” you chuckle as you slightly kick away a pebble. “im surprised no ones tried to overthrow him at this point.”

you keep walking for a few more steps before you notice catherine has stopped behind you, frozen in place. her face is conflicted, her lips in a pout and creases forming between her brows. you gently call her name and are shocked at the sudden intensity behind her eyes. even more so when her head darts to look around in all directions before she rushes to you and pulls you behind a bush and holds you by your shoulders.

“if i tell you something, something that could change you life, do you promise to keep it between us?”

“yes of course,” you answer, and you'd be slightly embarrassed at the speed of your answer if your brain wasn't preoccupied with her closeness.

“if i told you that someone was planning to revolt against peter, what would you say? honestly?”

“that it seems rather overdue at this point.”

her eyes scan your face, looking for something before she lets out a breath. “im planning a coup. against peter.”

you don't reply. you simply look at her, waiting for the crack of a smile or an eye roll or anything she didn't mean what she just said. but it doesn't come.

“you’re quite serious?” you ask.

“deadly. me, my handmaiden, and one of his advisors have been talking about it. we should have one of the generals on our side shortly and i thought with your support as well-”

“my support? catherine as much as i don't think that man should be on the throne, you do realize if this fails i could be targeted and killed?”

“we won't fail,” she states and says it with such assurance you find yourself fully believing her.

“well, how am i supposed to help from all the way in my country? it doesn't seem like peter is much interested in an alliance so me giving you resources isn't exactly on the table.”

“leave that to me. he’s done some horrible things to me in the last few weeks so if i ask for this as a gift i’m sure he’ll accept.” she tells, her grip on your shoulders steady as she gives you a bright smile.

you grin. “you really are something extraordinary, empress catherine.”

“sophie. you can call me sophie.”

her words are no more than a whisper, and its silent yet again. your eyes quickly look from her eyes to her lips to back, and you catch her doing the same. her head starts to lean in, and you slowly start to do the same until her lips graze yours-

“your majesty? catherine where are you?”

its almost violent the way you pull apart from each other, your respective hands quickly smoothing out your clothes to make sure you look presentable. when you finish your eyes look at each other, and she still has that dark look in hers with an added dash of a hunger you know all too well.

“catherine? are you over here-there you are. I've been looking everywhere for you.” orlo comes from around the corner, looking exasperated as he rests his hands on his hips. when he notices you however he resumes an appropriate posture. “your highness, im terribly sorry that i didn't see you. catherine, i will talk to you later-”

“its alright, orlo. i told her and she’s agreed to join us.”

“you what?”

.

.

.

the emperor's discussion room is wide and bright, the sun shining in the windows and creating a warm feeling. it could be because your friends are on both sides of you, or because catherine is sitting beside peter with a barely concealed look of excitement on her face.

“princess y/n! i apologize for yesterday. i was very busy, as you could see.” peter clasps his hands together and smiles at you like you understand his excuses.

“all is well, your majesty. i know that certain pleasures can distract us from our responsibilities. i don't mind. is there a reason you called me here?”

his eyes squint. “why yes. there is. i would like to officially form an alliance with genovia immediately. my wife here was telling me about your encounters yesterday and how you seem like a more than perfect ally.”

you and catherine share a look.

“where do i sign?”

its a rather quick process to sign a piece of paper that changes history, and when its over things feel different. permanent. peter gives you a handshake before departing, just leaving catherine. she warily opens her arms for a hug, and you envelop her in your arms.

“welcome to the winning side of history,” she whispers in your ear, and you can help the excitement that rushes through you.

[punk-in-docs]

“if you want to come you better beg” x prince paul cause i need this filth 😩👀

🥀Qualities of Mercy🥀

Prince Paul x Tsarevna // smut drabble - Bugger me sideways @usedtobecooler only the best for you babes crème de la crème - Prince Prick and some bratty behaviour culminating in angry!hate!fucking coming up. Also short? I don’t think I can write short drabble a about this man. I’m having a lot of feelings ok.

Some babes I know may want to see this @indouloureux @munsonswhore86 @heyndrix @lunatictardis @creme-bruhlee @callmeloverr @roanniom

It’s an odd relief to see the signs of war increase with each gained mile, burnt out patches of land and artillery tracks wedged into the mud. Foul air, fire, and rifle smoke; it means you’re closing in on your goal.

It means you’re that much closer to your husband.

Foul boggy mud, and nipping winds that cut to bone. You’re rumbling your way along treacherous roads, ever closer.

The terrain is dismal. There’s not even any sweetly soft birdsong chirping from the trees. There’s no kind nature. There’s only war and man, and guttural cries of the wounded. A landscape drizzled with slanted misty rain. Stubby felled larch trees and splintered bark.

The soldiers encamped, look like misshapen beasts. Blood crusted black, and the wounded wearing filthy yellowed bandages. Eyes missing, limbs turned to stumps. Squatting and huddling in clumps in the woods. Shivering under canvas with pithy licks of orange campfires staining the air with spicy woodsmoke.

They watch the carriage pass with rapt fascination. But too cold to react.

You weren’t expected.

That fact is writ plain as day all over the face of the dirt smeared soldier who trudged up to the carriage window. The soldier on watch. Who’d been pissing up against as tree when you rolled up.

His eyebrows buoy in surprise as you drop your fur lined hood.

“My Lady-“ He rasped in surprise.

“Tsarevna.” Your second maid, Maricel, leaned forward and snipped. Voice like a barking hound. Just as dogged.

She was eternally bolshy and hard edged. Hated you not being given the proper due politesse as deserving of your rank. She took great offence to those who didn’t understand the severity of your position.

“I’m here to see my husband. Kindly take me to him.”

“I’m not sure he’ll want- he’s occupied with many important matters.“ He fumbles for an excuse.

Maricel’s words come locked in impatience.

“Are you suggesting the Tsarevna of Russia is unimportant?” She tests.

“No- I.”

“He will carve out the time for his wife, you dumb prick.” She points out. Rubbing her shivering hands.

“Now, now.” You scold her.

She merely rolls her eyes. Not frightened by you whatsoever. Just pissy cause she’s cold.

The solider shuffles on his feet. Breaks eye contact. “I’m not sure I have the authority to-“

“Are you going to make me repeat myself.” You warn. Ire threaded into every word.

You stare him down with slicing diamond eyes. Tips sharpened and designed to cut.

A look you’ve thieved and mastered from Catherine’s own brand of venom. Don’t budge an inch.

It’s enough to get him to snap his mouth shut.

“No. Uh. Of course. This way, Tsarevna.”

You clambered out that boxy royal carriage. Door encrusted in a golden crest. Dainty sky blue heel sinking into earth. Hem sodden and dragged with it in no time. Maricel follows you dutifully. Your guard dog.

“Cunt.” Maricel bites out at the solider as she shuffled after you. Trudging into the muck.

“Put your forked tongue away.” You suggest.

She moodily deigns to do as you say.

You fold your gloved hands. Pretty pearl buttons march along your wrists now seeming contemptuous among all this. You rub at them to spark up some warmth in your numb fingers, as you looked around for the cluster of carmine coated generals.

Slipping and staining your skirts with slodgy mud as you followed the dismal soldier who’d take you to him. Your heels slip up, your feet get bogged. The stench of this place is curdling your lungs. Burnt larch trees and smoke and decay.

You press on. Determined.

The men swim their their groggy eyes to you. This place is used to viscera and gummy black blood, and mud crusted ash.

By comparison you look like a chunk of pure silken teal sky, fallen to earth. Precious and spotless. A drop of stunning sapphire wedged into all this dirt and death.

You squelch your way through tents and surgeon tents where men lay gouged and exposed. Rotting alive and shivering under the canvas as they cried out to the chowder thick sky. Rain melting on their eyelashes.

The smoke cleared past you, drifting. And then your overly elegant shape comes moulded out the congealing blood and smog of his hell. Pearl buttons, satin, and floral petal perfume. A wrenching juxtaposition coinciding.

You see your husband. Through the cloth mouth of one of the larger tents. No mistaking those puddle eyes for anyone else. The white scratchy wig. The cut of his powder blue coat and red royal medals slashing blood.

He’s gathered with men around a map table staked out with battle plans. This fare is all simplicity. Battle for blood and the vicinity of conquering men.

This is a land shuttered to the gaze of your sex. Your kind do not come roaming here. Not noble women anyway. The generals of mild importance probably had their favourite whores fetched in, however.

You stand and his eyes travel at last to yours. You smile lightly.

His expression altered into bitterness. Eyes lost their walnut warmth. Jaw clenched. Mood spiked sour.

He told you distinctly not to fucking come.

Yet here you stand.

You meet his burnt umber gaze and the sparky fire flecked there, scalds you.

“Tsarevich.” You greet him. Breath whipped to silver. You’re standing in the misty rain.

Waiting to see what comes spat back.

The generals clustering him, all bow in confusion and politely bob their unkempt wigged heads.

Not Paul.

His jaw clenched. Expression stiff. Posture as rigid as a Siberian Larch.

You’re fucking in for it now.

~

You batted at the sopping stretch of canvas. Hurling it out the way. Rain crashes down into your sprouting feathered hat and onto your shoulders.

Every squelch of your step into the oozing mud came sharp. Striking as a gut punch.

He’s following, hot on your heels, and you want to turn around and swing a punch into the angelic cherubim face you’d missed all these lonely long eight months.

His anger set off your own. Silky black gunpowder meeting roaring flame.

He’s livid.

You stand in his quarters. His tent is this huge beast of a thing. Clean and comfortable. A room with a table and maps and trunks takes up one. Green and gold tapestries make the walls slightly more habitable. More sophisticated. A cut above the desolate forest and the miseries of the wounded.

An emerald velvet curtain shields off the area where his ornate downy bed must be. He was still a Prince after all. He’ll be among his men. But he’s not sleeping in a frozen bedroll in the muck like an animal.

He storms into this space behind you and slaps the canvas closed. Words snapping out his mouth, that flimsy tent walls and steadily dripping rain will not conceal.

“This is not a place for you. You’re not supposed to be here.”

You don’t twist back to him as you angrily shed your gloves. Ripping them off like it was your own skin.

“Heaven forfend. I travel for two days in an uncomfortable carriage in the fucking driving rain to come see my husband and this is the thanks I get?”

“I told you not to come!” His words stamp out his mouth. He stabs a finger in the air. Aiming it as you.

“A lovely welcome.” You stab back.

He’s toe to toe with you. Muddy boots. Those chocolate eyes are all bitter. Not skated in love. Cold as all this terrible mud you’re bogged into.

“I don’t need you here. I have enough to deal with on my plate as it is fighting these Turks. I don’t need my wife by my side whilst I’m engaged in matters of battle.”

You steel your wilful jaw and bathe in the burnt brown shadow of his scowl.

“I am your wife. I have been left rotting at court. In misery now you’re gone. I decided to come and see you. To be here, by your side. In sickness and in health and even in battle. I don’t consider that as an action that deserves censure.”

“Yes it fucking is. I don’t need you here.” He shouts.

The burn of tears stings at your chest. Rips at your eyes. The man you’ve missed and ached after for months now and this is his choice of words levelled at you. It’s cutting.

“Lovely.” You bite out. “Well then. I won’t waste my time loitering around for you to yell at me.” You grip your gloves and turn back to him.

“Fuck you, Paul. Good day. Go back to your warring, and muddy filth.” You finish acidly. Your throat is full of clotting fire. Your rage. In situ with your wounded pride.

You shove at his coated chest, dull gold buttons. Go to move past him. Wipe your boots on his fine rug floors on the way out.

Your ruined shoes stick on the spot. He’s banded a hand around your wrist. It tugs. Burns skin.

“Let go.” You seethe. Pull your arm. You don’t look at him. Jaw grit.

He does not.

You wrench again. It brings you closer to him. You snarl. He stills your arm.

You do meet his gaze. The glint of fire - raked embers - returns to his eyes.

“No.” He decided.

Oh, now he’s in for it.

Anger spumes out of you like raining cursed hellfire. He should be terrified. You are mighty. Goddess of war backed with wrath. Angrier than Ares. These men should cower under your golden gaze. Desolation writ into you so heavily they should run for the hills.

“Thought you didn’t need me? Why would the mighty Tsarevich need his dumb bitch of a wife at his side? Run out of good whores have you?”

It was too late for niceties.

“Just be quiet.” He snaps.

Stepping very close. Close enough to touch only he doesn’t. His eyes move to your mouth. His hand seeks for your waist. Reels you in.

You don’t want too. But you clam up. You want to rear back and swing your fist to strike him. Preferably with a knife.

“I have never known a woman as disobedient. Nor as wilfully stubborn as you are. It’s infuriating.” He snipes.

His breath warms your mouth. He smells like his woody spice soap and bitter brush of smoke, and sweat. Still Paul. Underneath all things.

“Good.” You snarl with a nod. “I’m glad to have been such an inconvenience.”

“Constant dagger in my side.”

“Fuck you.” You announce passionately.

“I have had enough of your inability to listen to my orders.” He comments.

“Tough shit.” You snark.

“Elegant verbiage.” He insults.

His gaze is swimming into something steel black and lethal. You hate how much you like looking at him like this. It almost makes him look intimidating and handsome.

At this point, you’re half desire, half pure lightning hot rage.

“Get back to me when I don’t want to stick a knife in your thigh. Maybe my vocabulary will improve.” You hiss.

You’re so locked and entwined with this man. Tug his strings and it’s sure enough to jerk some distant part of you, merely by extension.

“Are you wet right now?” He asks. Head tilting His lashes shutter his eyes as he scans you. From the dirt crusted hem, sweeping upwards.

Your mouth is dry as tumbling scorched sands. Clench your teeth to dust. Heart ramming your tonsils.

He spies that twitch in your face. “Am I to take that as a yes, Tsarevna?”

If looks could kill.

“I’m going to fuck you. I know how plaint and weak it makes you when I work that delicious cunt open with my cock.” He steps you back. Hands tugged in your dress. Leading.

“I will fuck every disobedient word and thought out that head. Wife.” He sneers.

He pushes you to one of the wooden columns. Shunts a breath out of you. Hands digging through your skirts. Searching for your pussy.

You rake your nails into the nape of his neck. Hope it stings. Pray it brings blood.

“Be careful what you wish for.” You warn.

He smiles.

~

He’s fucking you not two minutes later.

Naturally, it didn’t take him long. You succumbed way too easy. Melted like butter, really.

He’s slithered to the gaps in your armour and snuck beneath with all the cunning adroitness of a serpent. You detest it.

He doesn’t give you what you need. Of course not. He doesn’t make this easy. His actions are all dipped in mocking taunt and brat.

He splayed you open, and rubs the fat leaking head of his cock against your trembling pussy. Eight months of nothing your your own fingers and he’s making you sit and beg like a trained lapdog.

Slapping it to your clit and smiling when you lurch. Unwilling to feed the head into you just yet.

It’s fucking agony.

You’re ready to slit his throat by the time he rewards you with sinking to the hilt in one ramming surge of his hips. The anger dissipates - a little.

You soothe the rest of it by leaning up and gnashing your teeth into his neck. Clamp down hard- force him to fuck you harder.

He cursed when sliding into you. Mumbled wisely about how conflict always made you so juicy wet for him. He pulled back and taunted you with your own greediness for his cock. The shine of your arousal coating him all glossy. A pretty sight, that.

“Hear how wet you are my love?” He lurches and slams you. A sharp stroke that wracked every vertebrae of your spine.

The sounds that come keening from you make your eyes flick back into your head. Enough to make him more smug.

“Utterly filthy. Soaking.” He huffs in gasps. “Making wet patches on my bed like a damn harlot.”

“Can’t believe you. Hmm- fucking brat. Yelling at me for coming here.” You manage to gasp. Cheeks blistering hot with this anger spurned arousal. Nails clawed into the carved headboard.

A hiccup snags the back of your throat as he knees closer.

Pushes your legs almost crushed up to your tits. Your stays almost strangling you. You cry loud because of this new angle. Makes him punch a spot inside that almost aches.

“I think this cunt is more pleased to see me than you are.” He smirks. Hands with dirty nails digging into your thighs. Ten half moons socketed into your quivering flesh.

“Fucking hell.” Spews out your mouth. Unguarded. He’s severing every strong steel thread of your resolve.

“I’ll take that as yes.” He says. Hair falls choppy in front of his wild eyes. Tiger eyes. Frightful fierce. Hands clamped to your thighs. He spreads you and sits up to stuff himself deeper. Harder. Faster.

The noises he’s getting out of you are just growing and growing. Rising in pitch and volume. So much so you’re swirling your hips to him to get feedback off that friction. That burgeoning pleasure begins to slice mean into your belly.

“How you moan for me when I give you my cock. Never gets old.” He grins.

“Never too late to punish my disobedient-“ he huffs and fucks hard inbetween his words. “Petulant. Stubborn. Wife.” He insists with a playful leer.

He can tell by the wails how close you are. Enough to taste it now. That eye rolling pressure ready to snap.

His cock stretched you just right. Stabbed into the gaping cup of your womb. You’re so treacherously close to that blissful peak you go rigid trying to chase it down and let the sensation ruin you.

It was mind meltingly good. Close and looming closer. Heat wrapping your limbs and warping your mind to bend to him. Every atom of you trained for this pleasure to come-

He yanks his cock out of you so fast, you want to shriek.

That coal hot glow of orgasm withers and curls to ash. He’s back to slipping his fat head around your cit again. Smearing your cunt in a sticky taste he’ll find and devour later.

“You fucking-“ you glare up at him all blissed and edged. Cunt clenching on nothing but air. He smooths both his thumbs over your pretty and dripping pussy lips. Making you throb.

“If you want to cum, you better beg.” He insists.

“I could kill you.” You seethe. Words dressed in a growl.

He tilts his head. Teasing. “Yes?”

You yelp when his cock slams into you once more. Puff for breath. God fucking dammit.

“How about now?” He checks as he folds you in half, yet again. Cock rooted deep.

The start of a long night, to be sure.

-

Hours later, darkness wraps you up. Comforting tenebrous blanket. Candles are lit. Dozy gold and matte dark pours into the tent.

He has you food brought in as an apology.

Someone ducks in the tent with a tray of it. He pulls on his boots to go fetch it. Leaves you boneless on his goose feather plumped bed.

There’s a bottle of wine with dinner too. Not the best but you’re not complaining. Dry hard biscuits and a salty wedge of goats cheese was your lot in the carriage ride here.

There’s a thick milky porridge with creamy oats and nutmeg and warming spices. A slab of pink roasted meat glistening with fat and golden globs of plain boiled potatoes barely salted. Sided with some hunk of brown hardy bread smeared in greasy butter.

This food is hot and warm and fills your belly well. He feeds it to you.

It’s how he soothes. But it’s not the only way he wants to offer you comfort.

He gets naked and climbs under the covers. Always bathed you in limitless comforts and luxuries after a rough fuck. The calm sweetness after a raging storm of passion and stinging claws and slamming hate. When the blood has dried to rust, along with the nasty words.

He slips between your legs under the sheets to tongue at your cunt like it’s a juicy honeycomb treat that drips honey.

It’s dripping him.

He eats it out of you. You sigh all dreamy and elongate your neck back to pillows that smell like his shaving soap, to moan his name.

Slipping your nails over the short brown thorns of hair. Rake over his scalp.

You gasp his name and you know the soldiers will have heard the sound sneak out the tent flaps. You don’t care.

His tongue slithers and laps through your puffy sex. Fully nursing your clit with the curl of his tongue. Brushes through the tactile scratch of your curls there. He loves burying his nose in them.

When he’s done he slinks up from under his furs and sheets. Wiping his mouth in the back of his hand. Still a little bit of both of you combined is smeared wetly across one cheek.

It catches in the flickering murky light. Candles are spinning red gold in the dim. Rain is a steady pat on the tent roof.

You look down at him. His gaze is all warmth and tenderness again. A knowing smile slopes the corner of his mouth.

“Did you really travel all this way just so I could fuck you?” He asks all smug.

You smirk. “Got what I wanted, now didn’t I.” You dismiss archly.

But you both know it seats a little deeper than that. There’s definite skin both of you have sunk into this game. It might even be the gummy beating walls of your hearts involved.

“You do know you’re a walking fucking nightmare.” He tells you.

Slotting himself between your hips. Seeking to hold your hands as he rolls into you. Makes your cunt clench.

Your hand slips from stroking his hair, downwards. Vicing your cruel hand around his soft throat. His eyes blaze again.

“Don’t you dare fucking forget it.” You sneer.

He sends you home sore - five days after your arrival.

[stardancerluv]

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

Part Six: New developments for Paul and his wife.

Notes/Warning: Sometimes one gets sent away early into their marriages. One does not refuse their queen…even her son.

18+ only please. Consensual. P in V sex.

Once again…ty so much for reading. ❤️s and reblogs are very appreciated. Along with any comments/feedback! Enjoy!

“Mother, there is no valid reason for me to go and see the Crimea.”

“You are the future king of Russia you need to visit your army.”

“I never did before.”

“Well, you are now married. The role has grown bigger.”

His fingers rolled into a fist and then relaxed before he did it again.”But my wife.”

Catherine made an exaggerated sound. “She will be fine without you.”

His mouth formed a line.

“She has her ladies and there is also the ones in court. She will be fine.”

“What if I don’t go?”

“I will make you.”

She looked up from the map that she had been hovering over. Her eyes were colder then the winter that would soon be upon them.

“When is my coach ready?” Defeat filled him. His mother won this round.

“Dawn.” She replied once again, she eyed the map.

He turned on his heal and left the room.

*******

The sun’s warmth fell over you, as you worked on a handkerchief. There was more you wished to do or to attend to, but with the possibility of Paul leaving; this distracted you. Your personal handmaiden’s words did not bring any reassurance.

The ladies of the court, had sly smiles splashed across their faces. Despite Paul, not paying them any mind. Some still hoped to garner him with their charms.

There was barely a sound, but you could tell that the huge doors near you opened. You glanced up. Relief filled you. Your heart began to pick up speed. It was Paul.

His hand cut through the air. The patter of boots and the swish of skirts filled their otherwise silent room. With a warmth only your handmaiden was possible to have, she closed the door.

Placing the needle, the cloth and thread aside and you got up. You barely took a few steps and you were in Paul’s arms. Despite your heart at quite the beat, your body relaxed.

“I have to go.” His breath felt warm on your throat.

You stiffened and felt as his hold tightened.

“I tried to refuse.”

“She’d never let you.”

He nodded. “Though I had to try.”

You pulled back enough, just enough to meet his eyes. There was hardly any of the warm brown. They had grown dark with his turbulent emotions over leaving.

“I will dispatch messengers with letters.” You promised

“They will return with my own letters.” He replied with his own, stepping aside he pulled off his waist coat, he tossed it onto a nearby chair.

“At least we have tonight. It will be a very lonely, few months.“

You knew it would be. But the knots in your stomach were still there and they hurt.

*******

As Paul moved above you, you tried to hold onto the moment. It hurt your heart to know you didn’t know when you would see your husband, your beloved again.

“I love you.” Paul, managed. His voice was tight with his pleasure.

His eyes met yours and just as your bodies were one, his lips met yours and the kisses you shared were rough, hungry.

“I love you.” You breathed, arching against him before kissing him again.

Your body tightened, your pleasure was growing sharper. Your moans grew louder.

“Sounds like you are growing close love, give yourself up to it. I want to feel you.”

“Yes, oh Paul!” You were breathless and you erupted in your pleasure. His name became a moan as you became undone.

Trembling you wrapped your arms around him. You held him close as he thrust into you chasing his own release.

Your sounds caused his own release to rip through from him. As your hearts beat hard, you melted in the afterglow of your passion.

*******

He held you close, his fingertips caressing your naked hip. “I don’t know how long I will be gone.” He finally said, resting his chin gently on the top of your head.

“I know. Alot of anguish will fill my heart till we can be together again.” You swallowed. “Is there no way you can have a coach come to retrieve me?” You glanced back at.

“No, he said softly. There have been several violent engagements along that border. I could not bare the idea of you being hurt or worse.”

You tightened your arm around his middle. Desperately, you didn’t want to let him go.

******

Be pressed a kiss to your bare knuckles as he held your hand through the open window of the carriage. Your eyes had filled with tears but you were not let them fall in front of Catherine or the court.

“I will think of you each day till we are together again.”

“And I shall as well.” You nodded.

He gave your hand a final squeeze, then glanced down. “Keep her safe boys.” He said softly to Soot and Cinder who sat proudly on either side of you. Grimacing, he tapped the roof of the coach and sat back into it. The coach man called out and you stepped back.

You waited till his coach passed the gates. Then turning with the hounds close on your heels you made quick haste back to your chambers.

******

Sitting at your vanity you finally let the tears come. With a shaky hand you pulled the pins from your hair. You would not leave your chambers today. A day for your heart was needed.

Looking down at your brush that sat on your vanity, you found a note scrawled sitting beside it. Your heart lifted. Your lips curved into a smile, making the tears pause as you read Paul’s sweet words of love.

******

A week later, when you found yourself lonely in court you had the letter tucked into your bodice and you didn’t feel so terribly alone. The other girls who vied for Paul’s affection or to catch Catherine’s eye giggled behind gloved hands and fans in one corner while you stood, occasionally glancing out the grand windows with your heart warmed by the sweet words Paul left you in that note.

*****

His lips were wrinkled in disgust as he stalked through the muddy ground. His men were in different to his presence. They barely took mind of him when he walked past them. It had been a very long week since the two of you said good bye. He was eager to return to you.

@amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998

[pedgito]

𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

— * indicates smut

(*) chambermaid!reader and paul (infidelity)

[ho-for-joequinn-fics]

I would be such a good little wife for him, let him breed me every single day 😩

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 | 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | marrying the prince of russia would be dream if he wasn’t such a dick, but a late night conversation leads to a mutual understanding. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | prince paul (catherine the great, 2019) x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 | smut (minors dni— p in v sex, unprotected sex, choking, breeding kink) hatefucking, possessiveness, mentions of death, mentions of blood 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | i wrote most of this after i drank a coffee at midnight so if it’s nigh incoherent don’t worry about it 

From the first glance, you did not like Prince Paul of Russia. And, apparently, he didn’t like you. 

The first glimpse you got of him was at court, as you were being introduced. Your sole purpose in Russia was to be the prince’s wife and, while you resented your reasons for being in Russia, you had been treated well. Bathed and clothed in fine silk, there were worse fates for a girl. But there was something about the look of him that was offsetting to you. 

For one, the powdered wig was a bit much. Along with the smeared triangle of rouge on his cheeks and the dab of it in the middle of his lips, it was a sight you weren’t familiar with. Your family was well-off, but not nearly important enough for your brothers or father to dress that way. It was just… Wrong. It wasn’t what you knew. 

The way he stood and presented himself was another awful thing you spotted about him. He looked annoyed,  almost as if he didn’t want to be there and had other things that he could have been doing. One of his hands was situated in the pocket of his ornate green jacket, the blue sash stretched across his chest, and the other hand  hung at his side, tapping his fingers impatiently. You spotted the decorative sword that hung on his hip, and you held in laughter. He was the prince; of course he would have his weapon, even if it likely was fake. 

Altogether, there was something off-putting about Prince Paul, and you didn’t like it. 

You had to like him, though, or at least pretend to. He was the only reason you were brought from Germany— he was your husband. You had been married with the hope of giving him a child, and, even though the carriage ride from your home to Moscow had been long and tedious, you had hoped that at least Paul would be kind and that would make up for everything else. 

There weren’t many accounts of the Russian prince, even fewer that painted him in a good light, but you had decided that you were going to make the decision for yourself whether Paul was a good man or not. And, so far, the way he was looking at you, with disdain and almost hatred in his owlish brown eyes, was not indicative of someone who would enjoy your company. 

You didn’t get to have a proper conversation with him until after dinner. Even though you sat next to him and tried to engage him, he would never answer you, only curling up his lip and ignoring you. You knew better than to confront him in front of everyone, so you had to wait until after dinner, when you were alone with him. 

Thankfully, your apartments in the palace were directly next to each other, and you opened the shared doors to see Paul. He was sitting at his desk, already dressed for bed, only the hints of rouge left on his lips as he read something by the light of the candles. 

“Can I speak to you?” you started, and Paul turned to you, like he hadn’t heard you open the heavy wooden doors. He certainly knew you were there the whole time and only brought his attention to you when you demanded it; like an asshole. 

“About what?” Paul asked. “There is nothing to discuss.”

“I think there is something,” you told him. “Are we not to discuss the marriage? Our expectations, our needs…?”

“Must we?” Paul said, and you frowned. “Fine. I only ask that you never make that face again.” He turned fully to you then, setting down his paper, and he gestured to you. “Out with it, then.” 

You tilted your head as you watched him, and you crossed your arms over your chest. “You could lose your foul attitude,” you started. “You act like you do not want to be married.”

“I don’t, but go on,” Paul interjected, and you huffed. 

“Why not?” you asked. “Why don’t you wish to be married?” 

“I’d rather not discuss it with you,” Paul said, and you rolled your eyes. 

“We’ll never thrive if we keep on like this,” you told him, and Paul knitted his eyebrows in annoyance. “Not that our marriage has to be strictly successful, but I would prefer it if my husband didn’t despise even the sight of me.” 

“You shouldn’t have accepted my proposal, then,” Paul told you flippantly, and anger suddenly burned in your chest. 

“You act as if I had a choice,” you sneered. “I was not asked if I wanted to be married, I was suddenly told a week ago that I was already married to you.”

“As is your role,” Paul insisted. He stood from his chair in all of his self-righteous glory, and he strode across the room to you until he was right on top of you. You took a step back, but he only followed you. 

Something about being in his space was almost intoxicating, and you felt dizzy with his presence. Maybe it was the anger radiating hot off of his chest, or maybe it was his own princely aura, but something affected you greatly the closer that Paul got.

 “Your role requires you to marry and bear children, preferably boys, and you’ve already succeeded at one of those things,” Paul spat at you. “You don’t get a choice in this.” 

You sighed heavily, and shame radiated in your stomach when you realized that you had been staring at Paul’s mouth and his rouge-stained lips. “You still have lipstick on your mouth,” you told him; maybe if you played it as smug, he wouldn’t notice the way you trembled under his gaze.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” Paul asked. “You don’t get a choice, neither do I, and neither does any of the other fucking people in this palace.” 

That stopped you dead in your smug tracks, and your face softened. “You didn’t have a choice?” you asked. “Is that why you resent me so?” 

“Yes,” Paul started, but then squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t resent you, exactly, but I resent what you stand for. My first marriage...” Paul finally sighed, and he slunked over to his desk once more. “I’d rather not speak of it now, actually.”

“Oh,” you said softly. “I wasn’t told of your first marriage.”

“And I didn’t think that you had been,” Paul replied. “But now you know. So, no, I do not want to be married, I do not like you— if you returned to Germany tomorrow, that would please me— and I did not have a choice in this matter at all. The only choice I got was who I married, and even that was decided definitely by my mother.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“I mean, I was shown your portrait,” Paul sighed, turning to you once more. “I thought you looked lovely, so I said you, but my mother had the final say. If she had said no, then I would have had to pick a different girl.” 

“It was decided for you,” you said slowly, and Paul nodded. “Neither of us quite know what autonomy is, do we?”

Finally, a smile cracked across Paul’s face, and he chuckled bitterly. “No, I suppose we don’t,” he said. “Now, leave me, I have things I need to do.” 

“Like what?” you asked curiously, and Paul sighed heavily. It seemed your moment of levity was over, and that tepid, boiling anger returned. 

“Nothing that concerns you,” Paul told you, shuffling his papers around. From your vantage point, you could spot another’s handwriting on the paper, much more feminine than anything that you were sure Paul was capable of, and your breath caught in your throat. 

“What are those?” you asked. 

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Paul replied, and he shuffled them around once more to hide them from your view. 

“Paul, please,” you said. You moved closer to him, further into the room, and you watched Paul gather up the papers and shove them into a drawer of the desk. “Are they business?”

“I said not to worry about it,” Paul said, and you could tell that he was seething. His chest rose and fell rapidly with angry breaths, and his cheeks were red; this time, though, it wasn’t the rouge. 

“Paul—”

“You don’t know when to stop, do you?” Paul asked, his bitter laughter returning. “You don’t need to know, so you won’t. Leave my apartments, go to your own, and forget you ever saw them, do I make myself clear?” 

“You can’t command me,” you said. Your own anger was starting to boil over, but there was an odd extra feeling, the heat from your angry belly slothing down between your legs. You couldn’t possibly find Paul’s anger arousing. He was your enemy, your sworn husband and biggest foe, he was not arousing. And yet, the way his eyes were dark, a different sort of darkness than before, made the feeling pool in your cunt.

“Would you like to bet?” Paul spat. He was right up on you again, his anger radiating in waves off of him, and the ugly feeling in your chest only got worse. “You infuriate me, woman, how are we to be married for even long enough for you to give me a son?” 

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Go ahead, do it, get it over with. I know that’s the real reason you chose me; you saw my portrait and thought I would look nice on my back. Isn’t that right?”

“Don’t you dare presume why I chose you,” Paul said. “I told you, I thought you were beautiful; who knew you had a serpent’s tongue?”

“Beautiful?” you echoed. “Or fuckable?”

Within an instant, Paul was on you. For a moment, you expected him to hurt you, for his anger to have come to a high point and for his emotions to make him do something to harm you, but that wasn’t the case. Paul pounced on you, his hands grabbing your face, but he kissed you. He didn't even kiss you at the wedding  ceremony. His mouth was searing hot, his kiss heavy and hungry, and you couldn’t help but kiss him back. You fisted at his shirt and drew him close, and you groaned as he opened his mouth against yours, his tongue snaking past your lips. 

You had been kissed before, but never like this. Paul’s hands fell from your face and touched every bit of your body that he could find, your hips and shoulders and neck, and his hand finally found purchase around your throat. You gasped, his fingers digging into the flesh on the sides of your throat, and your heartbeat became loud in your ears. He wasn’t choking you; no, he was cutting off blood supply. As suspect as the action was, it made that hotness pool even heavier between your legs, and you felt dampness touch you. 

“I’ll make this quick,” Paul told you, his lips lingering mere centimeters from yours. 

“Make what quick?” you asked breathlessly, and Paul used his free hand to grab at your nightgown, all bare underneath. Quickly, your brain caught up with him, and you gasped. “Oh!”

“You’re so worried about being fuckable,” Paul said, and he pushed you to his bed. It was soft under your touch as he shoved you down onto your back, and you gasped as his kisses attacked your neck. “I’ll put that worry out of your mind, darling.” The nickname sounded venomous coming from Paul’s flushed mouth, but you dragged him but his curls back down into a searing kiss. 

His hand fell from your throat in favor of tugging your nightgown up and off, and he chuckled lowly at the sight of your bare body. “What a thing to see,” he said, and his hand fell down to your waist and lower, and you writhed as his fingers swiped at your leaking slit. “Oh, and already so wet. You love fighting with me, don’t you? Do you find it a pleasure when we fight?”

“Paul,” you whimpered, and your back arched as he sank a finger into your wet heat. You had never had somebody inside you and the feeling was beautiful, exactly what you needed, and you felt your anger melt away as he worked his finger inside you. 

“Be a good wife,” Paul said, his hand skating up our thigh to open your legs wider. You felt small under his hungry and lustful  gaze, but something about it was reassuring. He would take care of you, you were sure of it. “Take me inside you. Just like this, darling, yes.”

You grabbed at the silken sheets and furs on the bed to try to ground yourself, keep yourself from floating into the stars with the glorious feeling he was giving you, and your mouth fell open when you felt his second finger prod at you. He pressed his second finger in without much resistance, and you whimpered at the foreign stretch. As odd as it felt though, it made the fire burn hot in your belly, and your thighs quivered. 

“Jesus,” Paul laughed. His wide eyes were exploring your bare body, and he quickly leaned down to you and pressed a kiss to your chest. “I was told you were a virgin, but you react so beautifully, I can’t help but know it’s true. What would you do if I did… This?” He cocked his fingers inside you, pressing up towards your belly, and you cried out as a bolt of lightning stuck your belly and cunt. 

“Fuck!” you cried, and Paul smiled wickedly down at you. “Paul, oh my God—”

“I know, pet, I know,” Paul whispered, shushing you and your whining. “It feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“More,” you choked out, and Paul, again without warning, withdrew his fingers from you. You felt almost sick at the emptiness that invaded your body, but, before you could even complain, Paul was undoing the buttons on his pants. 

“I’ll give you more,” Paul told you. “Don’t worry, darling, more is coming.”

Your skin thrummed with excitement and arousal, and you slid yourself further up the bed carefully. Paul smiled at you, his eyes wide and blown-out, and he climbed up onto the bed to chase after you. His pants halfway unbuttoned, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the bed, and you giggled at his playfulness. 

“Open your legs,” Paul told you. One of his hands stayed on your wrist, but the other went down to his pants, finishing up with the buttons. You did as he instructed, parting your legs open wide for him, and he sighed at the sight of your weeping cunt. “So wet. My little wife is so wet for me, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” you gasped. If it were anybody else, you would hate being spoken to that way, but something about Paul in that moment permitted him to speak to you in any way he pleased. “Oh, Paul, please—”

Paul shushed you gently, and he abandoned his pants, now fully open and allowing you a peak of the coarse hair inside, in order to grab your thighs. He pulled your legs up, pressing your knees close to your ears, and his arms settled in the crook of your legs, holding you there and open for him. “Good girl,” he whispered, and you winced at the pull on your tendons and muscles. 

All pain was forgotten, though, when Paul pulled out his cock. You had never seen a man’s cock before, and your husband’s was beautiful, thick and cut, flushed dark red with arousal. He didn’t say anything as he touched the burning head of his cock to your open hole, and his eyes connected with yours for a moment.”It might hurt,” he whispered. 

“I can take it,” you told him. 

Paul nodded, and your chest flushed warm at his words. He was concerned about you. As angry as he had started, he had softened his demeanor for you. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he told you, and he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your mouth. It wasn’t like the angry kisses from earlier, it was softer, no tongue and no hot breath. Maybe he did care after all. 

Finally, Paul pushed himself into you, sliding in easily with your slick arousal, and the stretch and burn made you whimper in pain. Paul shushed you, putting another soft kiss on your lips, and he whispered, “Give it a moment, it’ll feel better soon.” 

“Paul,” you whined, and your hands went up to grasp his short curls. Your breaths came rapidly as he sank further into you, and you moaned softly at the exquisite feeling of him so deep inside you. It was something truly beautiful, and you pulled at his hair.

That didn’t seem to deter him at all, in fact, it seemed to spur him on. “Good, good,” he whispered. “Taking me so well… I was right, darling; you do look beautiful on your back.” 

“You—” you started, mildly annoyed that he was now confirming a theory that angered you so, but his but his hands grasped at your hips and he slowly began to properly fuck you. His thrusts were shallow at first, getting you used to the feeling, and every press inside you made you moan. “Paul, fuck.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” Paul hissed. “God, you feel like heaven.”

“Fuck me,” you whispered, pulling him into a frenzied kiss. “Please, husband, please—”

“I am, pet,” Paul told you, and he snapped his hips quickly into you, filling you with him in a single moment. You threw your head back, moaning, and Paul’s tongue came out to touch his teeth. “You wanted it, you’ll get it.” 

He quickly gained a rhythm, fucking you hard enough for whole body to shift with each thrust. His hands came to rest by your head, gripping the fur blanket, and he bared his teeth as he fucked you fast. 

You could feel every inch of him inside you, burying deep in your body, and you whimpered and cried as his pace became relentless. He was chasing his own orgasm, you knew it, and you wondered if he would even care for you. That didn’t seem likely, but you were too distracted to properly ask him. 

However, it seemed as if he could read your mind, because his hand came from your hip and settled above your cunt, and his thumb expertly touched a nerve on you. The feeling of it made your back arch as much as possible in your position, and you cried out his name. “Paul!” you mewled, and he grinned wickedly. “Oh my God, what—”

“You really know nothing about sex, do you?” Paul asked. “Oh, my sweet little whore, your head is so empty. So’s your cunt, but I can fix that.”

His finger played with your sensitive nerve as he fucked you, drawing you closer and closer still to your release. You knew little about sex, he was right, but you knew enough to be sure that he was going to make you cum quickly. “Paul,” you whimpered out, and you grabbed at the bedsheets as his thrusts became quicker than before, hitting home inside you and making lightning strike your whole body. “I’m close,” you told him, and the prince nodded. 

“I can feel it,” Paul told you, and your face burned. “Your cunt is getting tighter than before… Didn’t know that was possible.” He huffed out his breaths, his cheeks red with exertion, but his eyes were blown wide, and he looked truly beautiful. 

“You look good like this,” you told him, your hands lifting to tangle in his hair. “M-Maybe I look good on my back, and you look good above me.” 

“Aren’t we a pair?” Paul chuckled. “Fuck, are you going to let me breed you? You’re going to give me my son?” You nodded, and Paul gave you that same wicked smile from before. “Good,” he whispered. “You’re mine.”He shoved himself deep inside you, so deep that you could feel it in your throat, and you moaned at him. You couldn’t tell whether you were moaning in pain or pleasure, but it all felt the same. “Right, darling? You’re mine, nobody else’s.”

“I’m yours,” you assured him, and Paul made a noise, almost like a growl of sorts, right into your neck. 

“Fuck,” Paul whispered. He rutted deep into you, drawing those pained moans from you once more, and his hands came up to grab your ankles. Your legs were still wide open to fit him, and he held onto your ankles as he fucked you, long and hard. “You’re mine, you’re mine… Nobody else’s, just mine… All mine…” 

Before you knew it, the lightning bolts in your belly became too much, and you grabbed at Paul’s messy hair as you bit your lip hard, hard enough to taste blood. “P-Paul…” you managed to mumble, and one more fuck into you had you unraveling. Your heartbeat was wild in your chest as heat flooded your whole body, starting in your curled toes until it reached your head. Your moans turned into sobs as he continued to fuck you through your release, the new wetness adding lewd volume to his fucks. 

“Good girl,” Paul whispered once your cries died down, and your hips lifted and shook as he fucked you harder still. “You’re going to take my cum, you’ll give me a son… Fuck…” He seemed like he was talking more to himself than to you, reassuring himself that you would do all of those things, just as you promised, and you tugged him by his hair down to you. You kissed him softly, both of your mouths slick with spit, but you didn’t accept his tongue when he tried. 

“I’ll give you everything you want,” you whispered. “Everything. I promise.”

Paul’s moan was wrecked and broken as he came, fucking his release deep inside you, and you held him tight as his fucking slowed down to a stop. He was panting, as were you, and you giggled just a bit as you wiped at sweat that hung on his forehead. He carefully pulled himself from you, hissing a bit with the assured oversensitivity of his cock, and he rolled off of you to lay on his back on the bed. Your hands shook as you helped undress him, and he smiled softly at you, exhausted, as his own hands aided you in your efforts.

Paul’s chest was slick with sweat as you settled your head over his heart, and you listened to his steady heartbeat. He sighed heavily, but you knew that it wasn’t a sigh of exhaustion. He had something he needed to say. 

“I apologize for getting angry with you before,” Paul said softly, his finger lightly grazing over your bare back. “I only… My first marriage is not an easy topic for me.” 

“Tell me,” you whispered. “What happened to make you so bitter, my love?” 

“My first wife,” he began softly. “She was… Everything. She was beautiful, she was kind… You remind me of her. But she was always very close with my close friend, Andrei. I never thought anything of it, but apparently everybody else did, because they all saw something I didn’t. Natalia became pregnant, and I was… Happy. So happy. I was so ready to be a father, but it…” He paused, his back teeth clenching with restraint. “It wasn’t meant to be. He was born, but Natalia did not survive the encounter, and neither did… Neither did my son. And, as I am mourning, not two weeks, my mother tells me to read Natalia’s letters, and that I would find evidence of her having an affair with Andrei. My mother even said that my child was Andrei’s. But I know he was mine. I feel it in my chest that the boy was mine.” 

Your heart sank into your stomach as you listened, and you pressed a gentle kiss to Paul’s chest, just over his racing heart. Suddenly, everything made sense. The anger, the possessiveness; he was hurt.  “And those documents you were reading,” you began softly. “At your desk…” 

Paul shook his head. “Natalia’s letters, proving my mother right,” he said. “I wish that I were kinder to you earlier. But I was angry from reading, and you were defying me, and I… I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

“I understand,” you told him. “It’s alright—”

“No, it isn’t,” Paul said. “The way I spoke to you, no man should speak to his wife that way. I apologize for it. I will do better. I have to.” 

“You will,” you reassured him. “You will do much better, and our son will be born with you at my side.”

Paul nodded, and he buried a kiss in your sweaty and messy hair. “Stay with me tonight?” he whispered. 

“I would love nothing more.” 

[awearywritersworld]

do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you

sukuna x reader summary: the higher ups succeed in kidnapping you and sukuna doesn't know if he'll get you back alive. w/c: 2.85k tags/warnings: fluff and angst. reader is kidnapped and gravely injured. depictions of blood. canon typical violence. "good girl". cursing. ft gojo. aged up!yuuji. fem!reader. not canon compliant. no use of y/n. *please mind the warnings for this chapter* a/n: and finally folks, we've reached the climax of the series. there will only be one more official chapter after this one, so i hope this lives up to expectations. this could maybe be read as a stand alone, but it's certainly better when serving as a culmination to the other chapters. i'm a little nervous posting this, so i'd love to hear your thoughts :) series masterlist // masterlist

brontë

sukuna isn't sure at first why the name is familiar, but he soon realizes that a great many of the books on your shelf are authored by women of that name, including jane eyre.

though he finds your copy of wuthering heights, written by an emily brontë, tucked away in the drawer of your nightstand, the headphones you'd asked him grab lying on top of it.

he pulls the book from its spot with care, as the cover is worn and frayed at the edges. flipping through the pages, there are quite a few quotes underlined and countless scribbles in the margins.

while you'd forced him to read jane eyre, he tucks wuthering heights under his arm of his own volition. he isn't sure if it's because you've kept this one separate from the others, or because it might give him an opportunity to know you better, or because he's positive it will make you happy, but he does it all the same.

when he steps back into the living room, he drops your headphones in your lap and takes the seat beside you, wasting no time in beginning the first chapter.

"what've you got there?" you eventually question, even though you know the answer.

he doesn't spare you a glance when he responds, "a book."

"oh, yeah? what kind of book?"

he elects to ignore you, which only serves to encourage your mischievous tone. "i thought romance novels were beneath you and your refined taste."

finally looking at you, he narrows his eyes at your childish taunt. "do you want me to read it or not?"

"of course—"

"then i suggest you be a good girl and behave yourself."

your mouth snaps shut so abruptly that your teeth click as they meet, something sukuna takes note of with a raised brow. you're thankful when he returns to reading rather than saying anything more.

so without any additional interruptions, he delves into the tragic story of heathcliff and catherine. or more precisely, the pain and destruction that follows it.

the further he reads, the better he discerns that while you seem to have a penchant for the brontë sisters, they seem to have a penchant for writing about men that are wicked and callous.

the very notion makes him chuckle.

maybe it explains why he's sitting here with your feet in his lap, while you try and fail (rather cutely) to stifle your giggles at some stupid youtube video.

"what?" you ask, taking out one of your headphones once you notice he's staring at you with a small smile.

"nothing. just enjoying the story."

the way you beam in response makes his mouth go dry.

"hah! i knew it! you're a romantic at heart."

you make a big show of pressing your hands to your chest and swooning.

"settle down there," he chides, his hand patting your thigh. "you're getting ahead of yourself."

two days later, sukuna feels that something isn't quite right. it's barely perceptible, nothing more than a minute shift in the atmosphere, but it grows more palpable as time stretches on.

yuuji's mission takes him farther from home than usual, to a little town about two hours outside of the city.

the curse he exorcises upon his arrival is much weaker than he's grown accustomed to, probably only a third or fourth grade.

yuuji doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, or at least, he pretends not to. sukuna thinks that's the problem with optimists— they don't take action quickly enough, too busy wasting their time hoping for the best.

when he returns home late that afternoon only to find your apartment door slightly ajar, his hand hesitates before pushing it open.

he discovers that the living room is littered with residuals, but it's eerie how nothing else is out of place... save for you, who is no where to be found.

in a disbelieving panic, he begins checking all the rooms, not hearing sukuna's frantic voice even though it's coming from inside his own head. "she's not here... idiot, she's not here. we have to go. we have to go now."

he eventually finds a note lying on the coffee table, but even this he hardly processes— something about surrendering himself and sukuna to the higher ups at headquarters in exchange for your life.

"listen to me, brat... you're wasting time... idiot!"

"what?" he barks abruptly.

"she isn't far, a couple blocks to the east at most—"

"it doesn't matter. headquarters is to the west. that's where we need to go."

"have you failed to comprehend a single thing i've said about the higher ups?" sukuna sneers. "they'll kill us, then kill her too. she knows too much about jujutsu society. they won't let her live, and that's if she's not... if she isn't already..."

he can't get the word out.

"no... no, they wouldn't..."

"now is not the time for your blind faith in the integrity of others." sukuna tries again and again to assume control of his vessel, and while the force behind it makes yuuji's head pound, it's no use. "for fuck's sake— please, yuuji!"

it's the first time he's heard the curse occupying his body say his actual name or use the word please, and in a strange way, it seems to ground him to some degree.

itadori yuuji has always been uncannily fast, but as soon as he makes his way out onto the street, it's like his feet aren't even touching the pavement. he appears as a blur to the people he passes by and it happens so briefly that they more than likely disregard it as a trick of the light.

the ruby decorating your neck leads them right to you, a low hum of frequency that only sukuna can hear.

yuuji comes to a stop in front of an old warehouse building. there are several wooden boards nailed across the main entrance, which splinter and fall to the earth under the impact of his impatient fist.

although the people down the hall quiet themselves upon hearing the crash, he can still sense their energy. he just can't seem to pick up on yours.

maybe sukuna is wrong? maybe you're not here after all.

"no," comes sukuna's voice, cold and hard. "she's here."

he makes his way down the stretch of hallway and to an open door where he stops, both of his feet planting firmly on the ground. everything appears to be frozen as he stares at ten sorcerers who quietly stare back.

it's clear they were not expecting yuuji, but he knows the higher ups assigned so many sorcerers just in case he did somehow figure out where they brought you.

he recognizes many of their faces and even knows some of their names, their familiarity no doubt intended to discourage him from engaging them.

after a few moments, yuuji's eyes land on your figure— motionless on the floor.

he has to admit, the higher up have put together a fairly sound plan. it's just that there's one small detail they failed to account for.

a curious and constraining sensation erupts from the center of his chest, and yuuji doesn't quite understand what's happening until he registers he's no longer the one in control of his body.

the king of curses remains completely still as he studies you from afar with a slight tilt of his head, his mind refusing to believe the scene right before his eyes.

when the gravity of the situation finally settles in, a gut churning agony blossoms in his stomach and bleeds into every part of his body. every bone. every pore. every vein.

the entirety of him burns, both inside and out.

the air in the room is heavy, overburdened with hostility and raw power. it makes the sorcerers' knees buckle and they nearly collapse beneath the immense pressure.

as sukuna takes a step toward the nearest person, the edges of his vision turn white.

he moves with deadly precision, at a speed which very few people on earth could even begin to comprehend.

it's a joke how quickly it's all over.

some of them are in pieces. others have exploded into nothingness. a few are burnt to ash.

in his haste, sukuna nearly misses the final sorcerer. he's probably the youngest of them all, cowering in the corner of the room. his eyes are wide with horror and his body shakes with fear.

"p-please, spare m-me. i didn't touch her," he sputters out.

the laugh that follows is utterly humorless. "do you actually believe that makes a difference to me?"

"i told t-them not to hurt her! i swear. that's how i got this." he points to his bottom lip, busted open and swollen. "she even told me she was sorry that i got hurt... that i didn't have to defend her."

this gives sukuna pause and his jaw clenches as he considers what you would tell him right now were you conscious.

so even as every fiber of his being screams at him to end the sorcerer's miserable, pathetic life... he restrains himself and pins him to the wall instead, pressing a forearm to his throat.

"go back to the higher ups. go and tell them that if anyone lays a hand on her ever again, i will ruin them," he spits, venom lacing each word. "i'll slaughter every last one of them. i'll level their homes. i'll take everything from them. tell them this is a promise they shouldn't take lightly."

when sukuna takes a step back, the young sorcerer crumbles to the ground. "i- i- i will."

"then get out of my sight," he growls.

returning his attention to you, his demeanor shifts in every respect.

you're going to be okay. you're going to wake up. he's going to take you home and it will be like none of this ever happened.

but when he falls to your side, his knees meeting the ground so brutally that it cracks beneath his weight, his conviction falters.

your blood is spilt onto the concrete. your skin is cold. he can't tell if you're breathing. he can't feel your heartbeat.

he determines that the gash across your side deserves his attention first and his hands tremble as they move to cover it.

he puts every ounce of power he has into his reverse cursed technique, but your eyes don't flutter and your chest doesn't rise nor fall.

his palms stain crimson, and while blood has never bothered him before, the fact that it's yours forces the bile to rise from his stomach and into his throat.

and his face is wet.

why is his face wet?

why are his lips trembling?

why is his vision blurred?

he wipes at his cheeks, leaving a trail of your blood across his face in the process.

"no," he chokes out. "please, don't do this. you're fine. please, you have to be fine. please."

the king of curses begs, but he has no idea who his desperation is directed toward. maybe it's you. maybe it's the gods. maybe it's some entity that's unknowable to him.

hell, maybe it's just whoever will listen to him. there has to be someone out there, right? something.

unbeknownst to him, and poetic in sorrowful sort of a way, his next pleas are reminiscent of heathcliff's after he learns of catherine's death.

"be with me always"

"stay with me, angel. please don't go."

"take any form"

"hate me for this if you want, for being the reason you're in this mess. you can't hate me anymore than i already hate myself."

"drive me mad"

"i'll read every single stupid romance novel on your bookshelf. i promise i'll play all of your ridiculous card games."

"only do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you!"

"just don't leave me here without you. i don't want to be here without you.

"oh, god! it is unutterable!"

"please," he whimpers.

"i cannot live without my life!"

"you're everything. you are everything. you can't leave me with nothing."

"i cannot live without my soul!"

"i love you," sukuna laments. "i love you."

he doesn't even comprehend the words that have been tumbling past his lips, because they're coming from a part of himself that he long believed to be dead and buried.

it's the part of him that can feel suffering and regret and loss and love.

it's the part of him that you've been painstakingly unearthing whenever you send a smile his way. whenever you curl into his side. whenever you press your lips to his.

and he's so undeserving of it each and every time. he's known that. god, has he known that.

he thinks bitterly of the night you'd walked to the park together hand in hand— when you told him the universe had sent you to knock him down a peg.

turns out you were wrong.

the universe gave you to him, but only so it could take you away too.

and it won't just knock him down a peg. it will fucking destroy him. it will completely and irrevocably destroy him.

this is what he does deserve.

how is it that you can be both his salvation and his undoing?

"i love you," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

it's ironic that the three words he's never once said in his entire life are the only ones he can manage in this moment.

he hears a quiet sigh escape your lips, but he knows that it's just his imagination— nothing more than the universe playing its final sick joke.

the sun is out and its rays are peeking through the window of your bedroom. sukuna thinks it's despicable.

everything should be cold and dark today.

you're lying in bed half dead and the only thing keeping sukuna's sanity intact is the shallow rise and fall of your chest.

he should go to jujutsu headquarters and deliver a slow, painful death to every single person involved in yesterday's events. then he should turn their headquarters to ash and stand there watching until the wind blows every last bit away.

but more than that, he should be by your side, so that's where he's remained.

it's been nearly a day and you still haven't woken up, so he's taken to performing reverse cursed technique on you every few hours.

yuuji had shoko come by last night and she assured him your body just needs time, but sukuna doesn't intend on taking any chances. aside from the brat, there isn't a single sorcerer he trusts.

so naturally when gojo teleports directly in the middle of your living room unannounced, sukuna moves swiftly to his feet and blocks the doorway to your room.

gojo regards him nonchalantly, hiding his surprise that yuuji is not the one to greet him. "what are you doing... out and about?"

"that's none of your concern."

"right. well, i came to check in."

"that's not necessary."

the two men watch one another carefully, before gojo eventually chuckles. "god, you actually care about her. i guess the whole soul thing should have been proof enough, but i couldn't bring myself to really believe it until now."

sukuna doesn't respond, so the other man continues. "you should know that the threat to her has been... dealt with."

"that so?" sukuna asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"mhmmm. word of this spread to the three clans and they agreed civilians have no place in jujutsu politics if it can be helped. not to mention your little... messenger. it all caused quite the ruckus for the higher ups."

"i don't think ruckus is enough to deter them." his tone makes it clear that he feels gojo is wasting his time.

"this isn't the heian era anymore, you know. the higher ups may still be the figureheads of jujutsu society, but they have little say when all three clans concur on a matter." receiving nothing more than a blank stare, he adds, "besides, i'm rather fond of her myself, so i may or may not have made certain threats of my own."

sukuna's eye twitches. "anything else you feel compelled to share before you leave?"

"can i at least see her before i go?" gojo questions, peering over sukuna's shoulder.

"if you do not value your life, i welcome you to try."

a sly grin breaks out on gojo's face.

"eager to make good on your promise of killing me from all those years ago?" he pauses, his hand coming to rest on his chin as if he's pondering something of great importance. "as much as i'd love to see you try, we shouldn't wake our precious sleeping beauty before she's ready, so maybe another time."

with that, he disappears, leaving a very irritated sukuna in his wake.

"our," he repeats under his breath, shaking his head. "that unbearable imbecile."

when he turns on his heel, however, the malicious look is immediately wiped from his face because you're awake.

you're awake and peering at him from behind heavy lids.

"hey," you greet in a small voice.

his eyes grow impossibly soft and he sits on the bed beside you, his hand moving to caress your cheek. your skin is warm again.

"hey, angel."

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[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

You Get Me Closer to God

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: France

Warnings: Words & Actions that will damn me to hell; Poorly written smut; blasphemy

Summary: Father Daryl wasn’t an ordinary priest. He drew out your curiosity and curiosity killed the cat…but satisfaction brought it back.

A/N: I am going to hell. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200

gif by @mcbride

The smoke stung your eyes a little as it wafted upward from the cigarette hanging between your lips. Your eyes narrowed as you watched the priest arrive with two sisters and a young boy. A strange combination, but not the strangest you had ever seen wander into the walls. 

You had been with this same group of nuns since just after the end of the old world. You had traveled from America just before the turn, backpacking and adventuring with your boyfriend and the friends you shared. Partying, sex, drugs, and copious amounts of alcohol and bad decisions. 

You were the only one left now. 

The sisters had taken you off the street, quite literally. Half dead, beaten, and left for the hungry ones who would eventually stumble upon you. Sister Catherine had ensured your stay, even when you balked against most of their beliefs and practices once you were well enough to attend sermons and lessons. 

Though Sister Catherine still tried to persuade you to join them, they had all but given up, Mother Superior only allowing you to remain because it would be nothing short of a sin to cast you out into the clutches of the sick that wandered in search of flesh. You did your chores and kept your nose clean, well enough. 

You plucked the cigarette from your mouth and crushed it beneath your boot heel, following the sisters and their guests further into the compound by way of the narrow trail in the small garden. 

The sisters carried weapons, which was odd enough, but the priest laden with them, his scrutinizing gaze taking in every inch of the area around him. You knew that look well. Memorizing entrances, exits, weaknesses. 

You fell in behind the group as they entered the makeshift sanctuary, keeping enough distance to not be detected. Something told you (the way he turned his head and angled it, listening) that the priest knew you were there regardless. 

Father Daryl, you learned, observing from one of the pews in the back. The four were passing through, on a mission of which they would not divulge the details. Sister Catherine was content enough with letting it go, leading the group to their quarters for the night. While the sisters and boy bowed their heads with the sign of the cross, Father Daryl did nothing more than observe. Your eyes narrowed, following them as they approached. 

“Ah, this is Y/N. Our resident non-believer.” Sister Catherine gave you a teasing smile as the strangers took you in, no doubt wondering about your outfit of a cut off tank top, leather jacket, and black distressed jeans that disappeared into well worn combat boots. 

“I believe, sister.” You shot back. “I just don’t go about it with a constant stick up my—” Sister Catherine cleared her throat sharply and pinned you down with a look. “Sorry.” You muttered, the grin you wore anything but. Risking a glance at Father Daryl found one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.

Curiouser and curiouser. 

You stood but remained inside as the group was led away. You didn’t miss Father Daryl sparing you one last glance over his shoulder. 

After Compline, when the sisters had retired to their chambers for the Great Silence, you slipped out your door as you did most nights. A cigarette already hanging from your lips, you walked along the loggia, bringing your lighter up toward your mouth. You never lit the thing, eyes narrowed at the small cloud of smoke billowing up from the terrace below. 

You leaned over the thick banister, spotting Father Daryl easily. He was sitting on the back of one of the stone benches, his boots on the seat. Your first thought was to leave him be. It was late and engaging in conversation during the Great Silence was severely frowned upon. Even guests were asked to participate. 

But Father Daryl wasn’t just a guest. He was a priest. 

You kept your steps light as you descended the stairs and made your way outside. The tip of his cigarette glowed red before diminishing and he held the smoke in a little longer before exhaling. He was savoring it. 

He was flicking the ashes by the time you stood behind him, opening your mouth with snark on the end of your tongue. 

“Ain’t easy to sneak up on me.” He drawled, never turning to face you. 

You straightened, eyes blinking wide. “You’re American.”

“Get that a lot.” He mused in a low voice. Cigarette between his thumb and middle finger, he flicked it to disappear somewhere in the shadows. “Whaddaya want?”

“You’re a priest.” You stated plainly, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Appears so.” The way he grumbled out the remark was unexpected. You crossed the last few steps and climbed into the back of the bench next to him, leaving ample space in between. 

You could feel his eyes on you though he had yet to move. “You’re smoking. Didn’t you take a vow to refrain from voluntary destruction of your body or some shit?”

One corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk as he pointed toward the dark, starry sky. “We got a arrangement.”

“Uh huh. And what about the Great Silence?” You probed further. 

“Th’fuck’s that?” 

To your bewilderment, he didn’t bat an eye at what you initially presumed was a slip of the tongue, however unlikely. You were stunned into silence, mouth agape while continuing to stare at the man with eyes like saucers. When you never found words, he simply shrugged a shoulder and looked back to the stars. 

“S’diff’rent in America.”

You snapped your jaw shut with an audible click of your teeth. Something was definitely off here. You didn’t know much about the man in front of you but he was no priest. He didn’t seem to care much about hiding that fact either. You could sense he was dangerous. Anyone who would need a disguise yet care so little to keep it had to be. Still, you didn’t feel threatened. 

“I see.” You whispered, continuing to study him. He was an attractive man. Older than you, certainly. Your wandering gaze made it to his hand hanging off the end of his knee when you were struck with an idea. One that could benefit him but would definitely benefit you. 

After all, it had been a long, long time. 

“How different?” You asked, scooting close enough that your shoulders were nearly touching. He glanced down at the decreased space between the two of you and then looked at you from under his lashes. 

“Diff’rent. Why?”

“It’s just… we haven’t had a priest here in so long and…” you shifted to angle your knees toward him, giving him your best doe eyes, “would you take my confession, Father Daryl?”

His back went straight, jaw ticking with how hard he was clenching his teeth. “Nah. Don’t think that’s—”

“Please, Father! I don’t know how long I’ve got left in this world. None of us do. I’m so scared that if I don’t confess, I’ll—” You buried your face in your hands, shoulders trembling as small broken sobs escaped from between your fingers. 

“Okay, alright. Just… stop all that.” He made a gesture toward, well, you in general just as you lowered your hands to your lap. 

Gotcha.

“Follow me. I’ll show you to the confessional.” You hopped down from the bench, adding a bit of extra sway to your hips the moment you heard his boots against the concrete behind you. “We really should wait until tomorrow for this, rules and all.” You whispered as you guided him into the chapel. “I’m sure the sisters would understand, though, given I haven’t been the most…devout during my stay.”

Daryl simply nodded, shifting his weight from foot to foot under your gaze. “S’this the thing?” He motioned to the booth with a sweep of his hand, looking as if he might bolt at any given moment. 

“Mhm.” You nodded, opening the door for him to enter. The fact he didn’t yet realize he’d been busted was amusing, but you weren’t just out for a laugh. 

“Right.” He cleared his throat and stepped inside. With a sly grin, you followed right behind him and pulled the door closed with your back pressed against it. There was about enough room for him to turn and look at you with wide, blue eyes. “Pretty sure you’re s’posed to be on the other side.”

“Nah, I like this side.” You slipped off your jacket and pulled your shirt over your head, letting both fall to the small area by your feet. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” You purred as you pressed flush against him. Daryl held his hands out away from you as far as he could in the limited space. “What’s wrong, Father? Don’t you want me?”

“Ya know I ain’t no priest.”

“Mhm.” You ran your thumb over his bottom lip while your tongue traced your own. “If you don’t want me, I can go. Do you want me to go?” 

“No.”

“Then sit down and let me tell you my sins.” He allowed you to grip his shoulders and push him onto the small bench. With hardly enough room to bend, you had to do some maneuvering to toe off your boots and shimmy your jeans down your legs to lift your feet out of them, pulling the rosary Sister Catherine had given you from the pocket first. 

Daryl was watching you silently. When you twisted an arm behind yourself and unclasped your bra, his hands moved to his belt buckle. You didn’t wait and straddled his lap wearing nothing but your modest cotton panties. He was still working at his zipper when your clothed cunt brushed the top of his knuckles. 

“Damn, woman, ain’t even touched ya yet.” His trousers were open but his cock was still held captive in the confines of his underwear. 

“I’ve been a bad girl, Father.” You purred, rolling your hips against his groin as your mouth slanted over his. He responded with equal fervor, licking your bottom lip before tugging it with his teeth. You couldn’t have stopped the full body shiver if you tried. A gloved hand palmed your breast, his bare fingertips warm as they rolled and pinched your nipples. “I’ve lusted after a man. A dangerous man.”

With a smile against his mouth, you worked a hand between your bodies and into his pants, stroking him languidly while you draped the rosary over his head, twisting it to press tightly against his throat. Daryl growled, his hips bucking into your hand when you pulled him free. 

Large hands drifted over your ribs and down to your hips, fingers dipping into the waistband of your panties. “Off.” He demanded leaning forward to capture your lips as he pulled the garment down over your ass, holding you steady while you lifted one leg and then the other, letting them dangle from your ankle. 

You didn’t wait, found that you didn’t want to; sinking onto him with your jaw slack and eyes closed. The initial stretch burned, it had been so long since you’d taken a lover. Daryl filled you perfectly, your dripping cunt molding around his length. 

“Fuck.” He breathed, his head falling back against the wall. Apparently it had been a while for him as well. “You’re fuckin’ tight.”

You smirked and rolled your hips, gasping when his fingertips pressed into the skin there. “Such language, Father. So unbecoming.” A moan punched out of you when he thrust upwards, jarring you suddenly but hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. 

“Shuddup.” He snapped. His hands slid around to cup your ass, kneading and spreading you open, digging in his fingertips to manage a firm hold. With his help, you set a brutal pace, moans and whimpers echoing in the empty chapel. 

You twisted the rosary again, the beads digging into his throat. Using it as a leash, you pulled him to you, licking inside his mouth. “Fuck, you feel amazing.” You keened, enjoying the painful grip digging into your ass that only tightened with your words. 

Daryl growled, the sound strained against the pressure on his throat. His face was slightly red from exertion and lack of oxygen, but the twitch of his cock within you didn’t lie. He liked it. 

You felt the scorching heat begin pooling in your belly, the frantic way you were riding him quickly coaxing your orgasm to the surface. The twitch and slow pulse moving against your velvety walls gave away that he was soon to follow. His jaw was set, grunts and breathy whimpers spilling out of him each time your ass slapped his clothed thighs. 

Biting your lip, you stared into his lust blown eyes before placing your mouth directly in front of his. “For Thee have I kept the purity of my body, and to Thee have I entrusted my soul; wherefore, preserve Thou Thy lamb, O good Shepherd.” Making a choked noise against the rosary constricting even tighter, Daryl used his hold on your ass to lift you, pounding up into you from below. Your words were jarred and fragmented, breaths coming faster as you neared the precipice. “Do not permit…the beast which seeketh to devour me…to consume me, and…grant me to prevail over the evil desires of my flesh!” The last word broke off into a shout of his name. Seconds later, you felt him pulsing within you, warmth spreading and coating your walls while your pussy milked him dry. 

Panting, you released your grip on the rosary and fell against his shoulder, your body moving back and forth with each heaving breath he managed. “Amen.” He croaked. You chuckled but remained as you were for a moment, relishing the feel of him softening inside you. Letting him cum in you was probably one of the worst decisions you’d ever made but you had a track record of those a mile long. “Don’t think ya can say enough’a them hail Mary’s or whatever for what just happened.”

This time you gave a hearty laugh, sitting up on his lap while he slipped out of you. You kept him pinned where he sat but he didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he appeared to be quite content. Holding onto the silly scarf he wore, you leaned back to grab your jacket, smiling when his hands came up to ensure you didn’t fall. 

Plucking a cigarette from the coat pocket, you dropped it back to the floor and struck the lighter, inhaling as the paper lit up and burned down.  You even felt inclined to share, turning your hand to let him have a draw after every one of your own. 

“I hope you realize,” you paused to blow out the smoke, “that I’m coming with you when you leave.” His brow drew inward as he took the offered hit. 

“Ya don’t even know me or what we’re doing.”

You shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Sick of being cooped up here.” The man hummed, but didn’t exactly agree. “Look, you can let me go with you willingly, or I can sneak off and follow you afterward. Your pick.”

He stared for a moment, eyes narrowed behind the smoke that billowed from his mouth. “Don’t leave me much of a choice, does it?”

“Nope.” You grinned. “Besides, I may need to confess every once in a while.” 

[imaginesforeons]

The thing with the tongue (Yandere!Geto x Reader)

~You're bored, but Geto is right there. You decide to put him to work~

This is actually inspired from the tv show The Great. There's one scene where Catherine demands that her husband "do the thing with the tongue", so I wanted to write something similar.

CW: Abusive Relationship. Kidnapping. Oral sex. AFAB reader. Face sitting.

Word Count: 1,259

18+ only

Reqs are OPEN! At the top of my page you can see what fandoms I write for, so DM me with your ideas!

Buy me a coffee?

.-.-.

Never, you mused, had you ever been so bored.

To your left you hear the rustling of papers, and look over to see Geto, the man who had kidnapped you six months ago, shuffling through a stack of papers. You were in his office with him, set aside and forgotten on a plush couch like some type of trinket. Your eyes narrowed into a glare, but if he was aware of your gaze, Geto didn’t do anything to show it. He just absently clicked a pen, dabbing the tip on his tongue before signing a paper for who-knew-what.

A couple minutes later, he did the same thing again, stretching out his pink tongue to lick the nub of a pen. Next, he licked his finger, a quick, nimble stripe against the pad of his pointer. Before he went to turn a page, you saw the wetness of his spit gleaming on his skin in the office lights.

You chewed on your lip in a moment of indecision before you sighed, standing and brushing invisible dust off your clothes before walking up to him.

“Hey,” you said, kicking the side of his desk to get his attention.

Geto blinked, and looked up from his stack of papers. “Yes?”

You felt a heat rising to your cheeks, but you plowed forward. “Do the thing with the tongue.”

“Oh?” A cheshire grin spread across his face. “I’m afraid there are lots of ‘things with the tongue’. You’ll have to be more specific, pet.”

You hissed a breath between your teeth. “Get on the couch, lay down, and let me sit on your face,” you snapped. “Then do the thing with the tongue.”

Geto laughed, but that was all he did. You were grateful, though you’d never let him know it. If he had said anything else you’d have probably run from the room, hot from shame, all to hide away until Geto felt like finding you again.

Sex with Geto was a relatively new development. Even though you had been with Geto six months - six months, one week, and five days, to be exact - anything sexual with him hadn’t happened until a few weeks ago, give or take. That wasn’t to say Geto hadn’t tried. He had tried a lot, in fact, since the moment he had stolen you away, with a determination and patience that you would call impressive, if you weren’t the recipient of it. He would trail his hand along the small of your back, give you romantic gifts of flowers and chocolates, or hold you in his lap. At night, when the two of you were in bed - in the same bed, because Geto had never allowed you your own room - he’d offer you massages, or try to press kisses against your lips, your brow, the corners of your eyes.

For a long time, you fought him, hiding or running, but that never worked, at least not for the long-term. It made you so, so tired to always be in fight or flight, and you never knew how lonely it could be without someone by your side. So, finally, you gave in. One night a few weeks ago, you were sprawled across Geto in bed, the man languidly playing with your hair. When he pressed a coaxing kiss against your lips, you pressed back. After that, it was all heat and sensation and Geto.

You cried afterwards. You did it in the bathroom where no one saw, but you’re pretty sure Geto still knew about it. After that, you and Geto had done things together more and more often, but this was the first time you initiated.

As Geto got on the couch, you didn’t bother with any of your clothes but your panties, sliding them down your legs and around your shoes to toss them in some forgotten corner of the room. Climbing on the couch, you straddled his chest, looking into a dark pair of eyes for only a split second before looking away again, scared at the emotion in them.

“Well?” Geto asked, laying down fully and patting his face. “Come use me to your heart’s content.”

You only scooted forward in reply, spreading your legs and already feeling a deep ache in your core. With a sigh, you settled on his face, feeling his breath fan between your legs. 

Geto grabbed your thighs, impatience eating at him, and laved his hot tongue across the entirety of your pussy. You squeaked, whimpered, and felt Geto tease at your clit. With a groan you threw your head back, but you could feel him staring at you. Those endless, dark eyes would be looking up at you, a spark of something unnameable deep in their depths, the man beneath you devouring you in more ways than one. 

You were wearing a skirt today, and you think it’s perfect for the occasion. Geto liked to dress you. He liked to dress you and feed you and spoil you like a pampered pet, and it drove you close to insanity almost every day. You would fight back, snarling and spitting in his face, only to get that infuriatingly bland smile of his no matter how hard you sought a different reaction. This morning you had been too tired to fight, and you had let him coax you gently into a flowy, knee-length skirt, much to Geto’s delight.

For once, you were actually glad you listened to him as you lifted the skirt and draped it over him, covering the top half of Geto’s face. From between your legs you heard him bark out a laugh, and in response you ground your hips down, shuddering at the sensation. Now you could pretend it was just you in this empty room. You and the exuisiteness lapping at your sex.

Muscled arms looped around your thighs, pulling you forwards and down, his tongue circling around your entrance. You whimpered, then jerked as Geto firmly sucked on your clit, massaging your ass while he did so. Soon the two of you settled into a rhythm, the firm pressure of Geto’s tongue matching the erratic movement of your hips. The room filled with your barely suppressed whines, while beneath you the occasional grunt or groan from Geto was muffled by your skirt.

Geto flicked his tongue against your clit one more time before he delved into your pussy, fucking in and out of it like it was all he had ever dreamed of. His movements were raw, primal, and seemed to grow faster by the second. His hands on you squeezed hard once, as if in warning, before he suddenly forced you onto his face with so much strength you would have lost your balance if his hands had not been so firm.

This made his tongue go impossibly deeper, and when Geto groaned you let out a cry as you felt it vibrate up into you. You wouldn’t last much longer, your hands scrabbling desperately for something to hang onto until you found his hair. Clenching it between your fingers, you mewled as your climax pulsed through you, Geto’s tongue pumping in and out of your pussy at an impossible speed.

Finally, your spasming ceased, as did Geto’s ministrations. You allowed yourself only a few seconds of respite before you were up and off Geto, stubbornly ignoring the wet sheen coating the bottom half of his face.

Geto swiped his thumb over his bottom lip before popping it into his mouth, sucking it clean. When he smiled, he looked a little feral. “Delicious.”

[ho-for-joequinn-fics]

Paul thinking she wasn’t happy being married to him. Please 😩

our duty

pairing: prince paul (catherine the great) x fem!reader

word count: 5.2k

genre: angst, fluff, & smut

summary: your brief marriage to Prince Paul of Russia has consisted of minimal interactions between the both of you. you decide that confronting your husband was the only way to come to a conclusion of what your marriage would be.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI. cursing, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f recieving), fingering, dirty talk.

a/n: this is my first time writing smut so PLEASE leave some feedback, it is very much appreciated.

You had spent the past month in preparation for your marriage to Prince Paul of Russia. It wasn’t a marriage you had any say in, not that most women did. Your parents were happy enough to marry you off to a wealthy man, let alone a Prince. It guaranteed them financial stability and a high reigning status. In their opinion, it was a win-win for everyone involved. They no longer worried about their reputation, you fulfilled your duty as a woman, and Paul would eventually receive an heir.

Your interactions with Prince Paul were minuscule and brief, consisting of simple introductions and hello’s. You couldn’t say whether you liked the man or simply tolerated him. Your opinions of him surrounded his seemingly tasteless personality. Paul was quiet, but not in a way that would conclude him as shy, no…it seemed as though he only interacted with those that he deemed ‘worthy’, and you? Well you had no idea where you were placed on that list. Surely not high.

Even on your wedding night, you barely spoke after the ceremony. The longest conversation you had was when Paul decided that you two would be retiring for the night, 

“I believe we both have had enough of these affairs today, we might as well retire for the night.” Paul spoke, his hands clasped behind his back as his eyes scanned the room, landing anywhere except your face. 

You weren’t surprised, he hadn’t even made eye contact with you earlier that day as you both stood in front of the priest. He had caused many thought’s to rush through your brain while the priest's mumbling echoed through the columns of your ears, ‘Was I pretty enough? Did he like my dress? God, my makeup must be horrid’. All the while, Paul kept his eyes on your cheek. 

You nodded at his request and gave a polite smile to the people around you, “Yes, of course.” You responded and let him lead the way to your bed chambers. 

It had been a whole week since the wedding, and the only words you exchanged were in passing. Paul spent most of his time in his office, working with finances or whatever it was a Prince did. You attended the introductions, meeting people of high standing. It was quite boring. At the end of the day you both would retire to your separate bed chambers, the only thing separating you was the large wooden door that connected both of your rooms. 

You were now pacing the hardwood floors of your room, thinking of a way, any way, that you could get Paul to like you. It was clear he didn’t, he couldn’t, not with the amount of time he spent away from you. You slid your hands down the front of your dress, as though it was a fragile piece of linen. 

It was an expensive gown, made of baby blue fabric that had a subtle shine to it. It was nicer than any other dress you ever had at home. Strands of your hair fell along your chest, detached from the bun you had diligently been forced to wear earlier that morning by your dressing maids. 

You took a deep breath and took the few brief steps towards the door that connected yours and Paul's room. You lifted your hand, placing a rhythmic knock along the hard wood with your knuckles. 

“Yes?” You could hear spoken from inside, causing your mind to flood with all the possible annoyances you had already caused Paul. Was he annoyed by the mere sound of your knock? Would he be annoyed by the sound of your voice?

You cleared your throat before speaking, “Can I come in?” You asked through the door, feeling as though it was silly to be acting like this with your husband. You were having a conversation through a door. After not hearing an answer, you snatched the door knob in your palm and turned it, pulling the door wide open. 

Paul was stood by the desk in his chambers, hands fiddling with multiple, seemingly important, papers. He was dressed as he would normally be in his boldly coloured suit, the decorative sword hanging from his hip. He lacked his obnoxious wig though, his soft brown curls on display. 

Paul looked up almost immediately when you opened the door, raising a brow on his pale face, “Is there something I could be of assistance with?” He asked, clearly not feeling the need to have a casual conversation with you. It wasn’t shocking. 

You shook your head and clasped your hands just below your breasts as you took a few steps into his bed chambers, your heels clacking softly, “We just haven’t talked much, or at all, really.” You began, your voice a bit shaky with unsurety, “I wanted to confirm that I hadn’t done anything wrong, to anger you. It’s just- I find it strange…”

Paul placed a hand on his hip and held his papers loosely in one hand, staring at you. You were framed perfectly in the large doorway, causing him to hesitate before speaking, “You find what strange?” He inquired, “I don’t have time for silly games.” 

Your mouth gaped open for a moment, not entirely expecting the attitude that was radiating off of Paul’s figure, “I find it strange that we haven’t spent time together,” You admitted, shaking your head a bit, “And I don’t just mean having dinner together or drinking tea, you haven’t even…we haven’t…” You trailed off, hoping Paul would know what you were getting at. 

He let out a low groan and threw his papers on his desk, both hands on his hips now, “Use your words, woman.” He demanded.

Your face grew red, the embarrassment of what you were going to say rushing through you as though it was in your blood, “We haven’t consummated our wedding.” You stated simply, picking at your fingernails anxiously, “Why?”

Paul tilted his head to the side as he listened to you speak. This was the first time that you actually felt as though he was listening to you, looking at you, and of course it had to be the one time you mentioned sex, “So that’s what you want? To have sex?” He asked you. It almost sounded as though he was teasing you. Amused at your expense.

You shook your hand and breathed deep, causing your breasts to push against the neckline of your dress, “No,” You challenged, shaking your head, “Why did you marry me? Did you even want a wife? It feels as though you see me as nothing more than a stranger.” 

Paul took slow and steady steps towards you, but he kept a fair amount of distance, “Did I want a wife?” He asked, clarifying your question, “It doesn’t matter if I wanted a wife, does it? It is my duty to marry, and you are the one I married.”

You dropped your hands to your side, looking up at Paul's face, “I am nothing more than a duty?” You tested, letting the small amount of anger slip past your lips in a hiss, “That is not how a marriage works, Paul. Not how it should work. My duty is to give you an heir, so why haven’t you touched me? You haven’t even held my hand!”

Paul watched you as though you were a toddler throwing a tantrum, a brow cocked in amusement, “You are a fiery woman.” He stated simply, his eyes examining over your body swiftly, “Our marriage has no need to consist of those things, not until it is necessary.” 

You knitted your brows together, causing a crease to form between them, “Until it is necessary?” You repeated, shaking your head softly, “Without any care, you have subjected both of us to a life without love? Why won’t you try, Paul? Can you not see yourself loving me?”

Paul suddenly stepped closer to you, a gentle grasp making its way around your jaw. It wasn’t aggressive, not like how you would have expected from Paul, it was calm and soft, “Have I said that I do not love you?” He asked, his brown eyes gazing into yours for what felt like the first time. 

You shook your head and felt yourself shudder slightly under Paul’s touch, “You haven’t said that you do…” You whispered, your breath cascading over Paul's hand that held your jaw, “You do not act like you love me. You refused my gaze on our wedding night. You haven’t had a conversation with me that has been anything more than formalities. You sleep in the room right next to mine though you have yet to come visit me. You expect me to believe that you love me?” 

“You want that from me?” Paul inquired, moving his hand so he was cupping your cheek, “You want me to tell you how intimidated I was by your beauty? How I was sure you must have had a love back home, someone you were longing to hold again? How every night I dreamt of the way you looked in that white dress?”

You felt confusion invade your features, spilling itself across your forehead, “You dreamt of me?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You saw the pure expression of admiration on Paul’s face, the way his eyes wandered over your sparse freckles, occasionally splitting down to your collarbone. 

“Everynight.” Paul repeated, nodding, “I believed you wouldn’t want me to touch you, or to even look at you. You were so beautiful at our wedding…Like an angel.” Paul's demeanour had seemed to switch swiftly from that of teasing and mockery, to pure longing. 

You reached up, letting your hand fit perfectly against Paul's jaw, your thumb stroking against his skin, “Why didn’t you just try?” You asked him, noticing the quick splash of fear in his eyes. 

“A forced marriage isn’t exactly a woman’s dream.” Paul joked, letting his hands mould onto the waist of your dress, bringing you closer to his body with a careful tug.

You couldn’t help but smile at his stupidity. He believed you wouldn’t want him? Had he seen himself? You tilted your head to the side, “Are you telling me that you do indeed love me?” You finally coaxed. 

Paul leaned into the touch of your hand, “Completely.” He whispered before leaning forward, securing your lips in a long awaited kiss. His lips were soft like silk as they moved against yours, his hands tightening themselves on your waist, “I’m sorry I left you waiting.” He apologized through kisses. 

Your stomach fluttered as his sudden display of longing, the way his hands grabbed at you as if you were his life line, “You’re here now.” You replied before slipping your hands to his jacket, pushing it down his shoulders so it hung at his elbows. 

“Eager.” Your husband spoke with a hint of playfulness, causing you to gently push his chest. Paul took off his jacket and let it hit the floor before slipping his hands to the back of your dress, his fingers playing out over the buttons that secured your bodice, “They make these as difficult as possible…” 

You looked up at Paul before turning around so your back was facing him. He lifted his hands to your neck, pushing away the stray strands of hair that had fallen from your bun. He leaned over you, placing a delicate kiss where your collarbone and shoulder meet. Paul worked his fingers down the row of buttons, swiftly getting them undone so he could push your bodice down. 

You blushed at the circumstances, feeling as though this was too much work, it would have been easier in your nightgown, “I should have visited you later tonight.” You whispered softly as another gentle kiss landed on the back of your neck, causing you to let out a content sigh. 

The cold air hit your chest, leaving goosebumps behind in its wake. You helped Paul push your bodice down your body, your skirt following. The material hit the wood floor, leaving you in your undergarment and heels. 

“No, now was the perfect time.” Paul responded, his breath moving across the back of your neck and along your shoulders. He placed his hands on your covered hips, the only thing separating his calloused hands from your soft skin being the thin material of cotton you wore. Paul pressed his chest to your back, pressing his lips to the spot just behind your ear, “You’re so beautiful…”

You turned in Paul's arms, looking up at him with those soft eyes he had fallen for the moment he saw you for the first time. You smiled sheepishly, “All I wanted was to be in your arms. To have you hold me.”

Paul raised a brow and looked down your body curiously, “That’s all?” He teased before taking your hand, leading you closer to his bed. He swiftly pushed your thighs against the edge of his mattress, causing you to fall back onto his bed, “I find it hard to believe that all you wanted was for me to hold you. You came in here raving about sex, surely that has to do with it as well, no?”

A tint of red quickly spread across your face as you rested on your elbows, allowing yourself to look at Paul from where he stood by your legs, “I…I was just confused…” You challenged nervously, shaking your head at the notion that what you wanted from him was sex. You wanted him, all of him. You wanted the longing gazes and the tantalizing touches. You wanted your fingers to be interlocked as you walked the halls of your home. 

Paul’s hands gripped one of your ankles before pulling off the heel that had been torturing your feet all day. His hot breath ran along your calf before he placed a clean kiss to your ankle, “Confused? Or curious?” He asked for clarification, but his tone held an underlying tinge of taunting. 

Your husband moved on to your other leg, taking off your painful shoe before placing a similar kiss to that ankle as well. He took his time to appreciate you, letting his undoubtedly hungry eyes scan your body similarly to the way he scanned boring documents. Paul snaked kisses along your calves, appreciating the silkiness of your skin.

Your eyes gazed at him, taking in his appearance. He looked like a painted portrait, the kind you would see in an age-old palace. The sun shining in from the windows illuminated his skin with a warm glow, his brown hair was effortlessly unstyled, and his bottom lip was pulled gently between his teeth as he focused his chocolatey brown eyes on your body. 

“Paul,” You started, your voice breathy and unsure, “I find it…unfair, that you are completely dressed.” You sucked in a deep breath, almost as though what you said was wrong, not something you were supposed to say. It was incredibly normalised for women to talk about how little they enjoyed their husbands touching them, how they simply let them get off as soon as possible, how they laid in the bed and let their husbands have their way, but you wanted to like it, love it even. 

Your husband didn’t attempt to hide the smirk that formed on his face at your discovery, “Well yes, you’re quite right.” He stated before gently letting your legs drop to the bed, his hands now sliding up the length of his torso. He started at his vest, unbuttoning it with delicate yet efficient fingers, throwing it to the floor once he was done. He was left in his cream undershirt and incredibly obnoxious green pants. Paul's hands slid under the hem of his pants though, pulling out his shirt so it was untucked. 

You craved him, the feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. You were aware of the intricacies of sex, not that you had ever experienced it, but spending your time as a rebellious young socialite had allowed you to hear some things along the way. 

You lifted yourself so you were sitting and moved closer to Paul, now kneeling on the mattress. Your hands lifted to the collar of his undershirt, playing with the frayed strings and loose stitching, “Do you want this?” You then inquired, letting your unsurety get the best of you, clouding your thoughts with unnecessary questions, “Do you want, or desire, to have sex with me?”

Paul’s eyes gaze down at you as though you were insane, his brows knitted across his forehead in a confused expression, “Do I want to? Darling, I’ve dreamt of this.” He admitted, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face. 

You instinctively leaned into his touch, looking at him through your lashes, “Then make your dream come to life…” You whispered, barely loud enough for either of you to hear, but Paul did, he heard you. 

And with that, he pressed his lips to yours in a passionate and hungry kiss, his other hand coming around your body, holding you close to him. The kiss alighted butterflies in your stomach, swirling angrily yet excitedly. Paul’s tongue along your bottom lip only made the feeling heavier, initiating a soft sigh to escape past your lips. Your tongues moved in sync, happily fighting as you tasted each other for the first time. 

Paul lifted your chemise, slowly pushing it up the length of your body, exposing your skin to the temperature of the room. You let him lift it over your head and immediately tucked your bottom lip between your teeth while he leaned back, taking you in. 

His eyes gazed at every inch of you, the whole of your body exposed to his longing eyes. He settled his hands on your hips, his rough fingers squeezing softly at your supple skin, “Even more beautiful than I had imagined…” He revealed, causing your heart to race. 

You moved your hands to Paul’s pants, unbuttoning them swiftly, “Take them off.” You commanded, earning a cheeky smile from your husband. He did as you said and took off his pants, sliding them down his legs before stepping out. His undershirt conveniently covered his groin, stopping at his mid thigh.  

Paul wrapped his arms around you and laid you on the bed, making sure to softly set your head on a pillow. He attached his lips to the column of your throat, leaving sloppy and wet splotches wherever he went. Paul neared your ear, his hot breath causing your body to shiver, “I like when you’re bossy.” He whispered, his words throaty. 

You moaned out as he nipped at your ear lobe, shifting his hips in between your legs. You could feel his growing erection as it pressed against your cunt, the wetness of your arousal spreading onto the length of it, “Paul…” You shuddered, his lips attacking your collarbone. 

He just hummed and moved his lips down your body, coming to your breasts. Paul sucked on the base of your breast before slowly taking your nipple into his mouth. He looked up at you with those beautiful brown eyes while continuing to assault your breast with his tongue. 

You moved a hand to his hair while your other rested on his shoulder, your fingertips digging into his skin, “Ah, fuck…” You moaned out, your eyes fluttering closed as your back arched. Paul swirled his tongue around your nipple, lightly nipping at it occasionally, eliciting gasps from your throat. 

“Open your eyes my love, look at me.” Paul urged, reaching the hand that wasn’t playing with your other breast, setting it on your jaw. He swiped his thumb along your bottom lip before pushing it past your parted lips, “Suck.”

You immediately did as he said, wrapping your lips around his thumb, swirling your tongue along the tip of it while he tended to your other breast. Your moaning was muffled into hums as you watched Paul, his cheeks caving slightly while his lips secured themselves around your nipple. 

Paul placed a kiss in the middle of your chest and placed both of his hands under your knees, pushing your thighs closer to your torso as his plump lips moved closer to your clit. 

You gasped softly as the realization hit you, the realization of what Paul was going to do, “You don’t have to…” Your shaky voice offered. You knew men didn’t attend to their wives needs, just got on with what they wanted and finished quickly. Surely Paul was the same. 

Paul looked into your eyes from where his lips were connected just under your belly button, “Have to?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow before moving lower, his lips just above your clit, “No baby, I want to.” And with that, he placed a small kiss to your clit, a gasp immediately passing your lips. 

You tangled your fingers into his brown curls, “Yes, yes…” You moaned as Paul flicked his tongue out, lapping at your clit hungrily. He was acting as though you were his life source, as though if he didn’t please you as much as he could, he would surely turn to dust. 

Paul sucked on your clit before moving his mouth down, pushing his tongue in between the folds of your pussy, happily cleaning up any of the arousal that was lingering at your entrance. He left one hand on your thigh while the other moved to your pubic bone. Paul flicked his thumb against your clit, causing you to arch your back. 

“You are so pretty,” Paul started, his breath running over the sensitive skin between your legs, “I love hearing you moan.” 

You smiled lazily at his words and connected your eyes with his, “You’re so good.” You praised, earning a smirk from your husband. 

Paul played with your clit slowly before lowering his hand, pressing the tip of his middle finger to your entrance, “I can be better. I wanna hear you moan my name.” His middle finger pushed all of the way into you, his index and ring finger pressed against the lips of your cunt. 

You gasped and threw your head back at the unfamiliar feeling. You had never had anything inside of you, and you had never expected it to feel this good. You looked back down at Paul and moaned at the grin he had on his face, watching you revel in the way he could make you feel, “Paul, please.” You moaned. 

Paul slowly pulled his finger out so only the tip of it was inside you, “Please what?” He asked, the power of making you feel good getting to his head, “You have to tell me what you want me to do.” His request made you whine, feeling embarrassed at the thought of saying what it was you truly wanted. 

“I want you. I want you to make me feel good, please.” You begged, your voice going up an octave to Paul’s delight. He slowly pushed his finger back into your sopping cunt, feeling the way you welcomed him and pulled him in. Paul began his torment, pushing his finger in and out of you at a slow pace, “Faster.”

Paul kept his pace, refusing your request all while pushing in his ring finger. You arched your back and gasped, your breath shuddering at the feeling, “Ask properly. Use your manners.” 

Paul’s attitude made you even more aroused. The way he demanded things from you while he pleased you in a way no other man could. You could just tell, he fucking loved the way he was making you feel, “Please go faster.” You finally breathed out, your breath turning to a moan as Paul quickened his pace. 

A knot started to build in your stomach at the pace of his fingers, the way he curled them inside of you, the way he pressed gentle kisses to your clit. Paul flattened his tongue against your clit, causing you to pull his head closer if that was even possible. His fingers sped up on their own, his lips wrapped around your clit as they sucked harshly. 

“Come on my love,” Paul spoke softly, feeling the way your walls clenched around his fingers. He could tell you were close, just by the way you moved your hips against his hand and whispered his name, “Cum for me.”

You did just as he asked and moaned out loudly while your body shuddered, cumming all over his fingers, “Yes, Paul!” You called out, tugging at his chocolate curls. You panted, your legs shaking as Paul pulled his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth, “Fuck.”

Paul smirked and watched your reaction to his actions, slowly crawling up your body until his face was hovering over yours, “Such a filthy mouth.” He teased before leaning down, securing your lips in a short but sweet kiss, “You want me?” Paul asked and pulled the hem of his shirt over his head, throwing the fabric to the floor. 

His body was finally revealed to you, his toned chest and abdomen, the trail of brown hair that led to his erect cock. It was huge, definitely bigger than you had expected. You hadn’t ever seen a man's dick, so you didn’t know what to expect, but this…this was something else.

As if sensing your concern at his size, Paul placed a hand on the side of your face, making you look at him, “We will go slow.” He assured, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of doubt, anything that told him you no longer wanted him, “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pulled him in for a kiss, your brows furrowing at the pure admiration you felt, “I want you,” You told him, your tone full of surety, “Don’t you want me to…well…” You trailed off as your face grew hot, turning beet red. 

Paul looked down at you with a confused expression before understanding what you were saying. He smirked at the embarrassment evident on your face, finding it cute, “Do I want you to blow me?” He asked, his assumption being confirmed as you shyly nodded, “No, no. Today is about you.”

You gazed at the man hovering over you, feeling love filling your chest. He just wanted to make you feel good. He didn’t care about receiving anything. You felt as though Paul was truly the most perfect man, fighting all of the judgements you had made about him. He wanted you to be happy, that was the exact reason he had avoided you all along. He never believed he could be the reason for your happiness. 

You kissed him swiftly and cupped his face in your hands, attempting to pour all of the love you felt for him into that one kiss. Paul kissed you back, one hand holding himself up while the other settled on a comfortable spot on your waist. 

“Show me.” You breathed, shifting slightly underneath Paul, making sure that you were comfortable. 

You felt Paul’s confused look on you, “Show you what?”

You smiled and ran your thumbs along his cheeks lovingly, “Show me you love me.” You requested, moving your legs so they were wrapped around Paul’s waist. 

Paul’s expression turned to that of blissful happiness before pressing a kiss to your lips. He reached between the two of you, swiping his thumb along your clit. His mind became cloudy with lust as you moaned into his mouth. 

You looked down as you felt Paul push the head of his cock against your entrance, “Tell me if you need me to stop.” He spoke from above you before swiftly sliding the head of his erection into you. 

You gasped at the feeling, the way your walls immediately tightened around him, leaving you with a burning feeling as he slid deeper into you. You were about to tell him to stop, to give you a moment, until you heard the groan that came from Paul’s throat. It awakened this need inside you, the need to hear it again. 

You slipped your hands around his waist, pulling him closer to you, “Please,” You whispered, turning your gaze up to him, “I want to feel all of you.” 

Paul obliged and pushed himself into you, as far as he could go until his balls were pressed against your ass. He rested his face in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily, “You feel so goddamn good,” He shuddered, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of your neck. 

He gave you a moment to get used to his size as you let out shaky breaths. The pain of him soon turned to pleasure and you pushed at his chest, “I’m okay, please,” You nodded, gulping as you looked down where you two were joined together, “Love me, Paul.”

Paul readjusted how he was sitting. He knelt on his knees and placed his hands on your hips, beginning to slowly move back and forth, taking his time with you. He let out a shaky moan as he sped up a bit, “God, you are so good.” He whispered, looking at your face as he thrusted into you. 

You moaned, reaching out so you could take one of the hands he had on your hips. You interlocked your fingers while your other hand gripped the sheets on his bed, “Paul,” You felt another climax building already, so quickly after your last orgasm.

Your husband started to pound into you, the sound of your bodies connecting echoed throughout the room. He lifted your interlocked hand to the space next to your face, holding your hands there as he gripped your hip with his other hand. The tips of his fingers dug into the skin on your hip, just causing you to moan even louder than you had been before.

Paul threw his head back as his pace sped up, “You’re so beautiful,” He started, his words coming out as a moan, “You feel so good around my cock. Perfect.” 

His words made your body flush and your back arch, your belly knotting once again, “I’m gonna cum, Paul…” You whispered out, embarrassed at how easily he made you feel good. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna cum from my cock?” He asked, moving his eyes to where you connected, a growl escaping his throat, “You look so pretty when you cum.” 

Paul’s words caused you to gasp, gripping his hand tighter as your legs shook, the orgasm taking over your body. Your husband just continued to pound into you, groans filling the air around you. His own orgasm was building quickly, his hips moving inconsistently while thrusting into you. 

“Fuck, yes,” Paul moaned as he pushed all of his length into you, releasing his cum inside of you. White streams flowing inside of you. He leaned down and placed a slow kiss to your lips, both of you breathing heavily, “You were so good, my love.” 

Paul soon pulled out of you and rolled onto his back next to you, lifting an arm to rest behind his head. He turned his gaze to you, taking in your appearance. How strands of your hair stuck to your neck, how your body gleamed with a thin sheet of sweat, how your hands rested on your stomach. 

“Come here,” Paul suggested before slipping his arm around your torso, pulling you to him. You intertwined your legs, his cock pressed softly against your thigh while your arm wrapped around his waist, your head resting on his chest, “Sleep my love, we’ll have an early breakfast tomorrow. Go for a walk around the garden.”

You looked up at him, a content smile spreading across your lips, “Together?”

Paul nodded, placing a kiss on your forehead, “Together.”

[unamused-boss]

I have a idea! So billy x reader and they have been dateing for 3 years each year you try to get the lead role in the school play so it's your now it's your fourth year doing this and you finally get the lead role and you and billy celebrate :)

Where for art thou... Juliet?

Billy Hargrove x Reader

disclaimer: doesn't follow stranger things plot, billy maybe oc, and apologize if this is short! Reader is GN just because they are trying out for Juliet doesn't mean reader is completely fem, its only for the story! I was also a kid in theatre, so I can insult my people lol

Summary: You and Billy have been dating for a while now. You have been apart of the drama club for all of high school, trying for every lead only to get the supporting roles or side roles. Now being a Senior in high school you have finally gotten your lead role. And Billy is 100% supporting you... well most of it.

..............................................................................................................................

You and Billy have been the IT couple of Hawkins High School for years. It surprised everyone when in the last two months of freshmen year you got Billy Hargrove to go on a date with you. As well to find out you asked him, some kid that was apart of the theatre club, which Billy liked very much. Billy liked his little nerd.

In those four years of being together you and Billy have supported each other through everything. You went to every basketball game Billy played in; cheered for him as loud as you could. Even when his team fumbled the ball at the lat second of the state championship game, which you had to comfort Billy through. But today isn't about Billy, no, today is about his sweetheart auditioning for the spring production of their final year of high school today.

"So do you think I'll do good?" You ask nervously, you been tugging at the sleeve of your jacket all morning as the other students around you make their way into the school as you sat at the hood of Billy's car with him. For the past week you have been going over and studying your lines for the auditions for Romeo and Juliet today. You are auditioning for Juliet today, the role of your dreams (deal with it).

"You're gonna do great, baby." Billy reassured, "Don't doubt yourself, you are talented."

"But what if I fuck up..." You sighed.

"You're not going to fuck up, babe." Billy said softly. "Listen your the best fuckin person they got in there."

"You're just saying that cause you're dating me, silly."

"No I'm not, you are going to do great in there." Billy said turning to face you. "Who gives a shit about Tammy Thompson, or Catherine, or who ever else you think is going to out shine you... you are going to do great and rock that shit."

"You really think so." You smile up to him. You got all giddy in your stomach when he was soft with you. Billy started to put his arms around your waist bring you in close for a hug. Billy kisses the top of your head making you giggle.

"I'll see you after four o'clock okay, and maybe we can have a movie night to calm your nerves a bit." Billy suggested.

"I would love that." You smiled and pecked his lips. Letting go of his hold to make your way into the school.

.................................................................................................................

Your day went by pretty slow. For one not having Billy in any classes and two Billy skipping half way through the day so you didn't see him for lunch. But that did not matter, the dreaded time has arrived. Auditions. The director was not doing a cold read like she did every year, this time you had a month in advance to learn the lines of your desired part. You made your way to the drama room to wait for your name to be called.

"Catherine Shuort!" The director called. Catherine got up an mad her way out. There is not way you are getting this role, you can't be half as good as some of these girl. Catherine had a lead role in sophomore year! You were starting to freak out a bit.

"Hey!" A voice shouted you out of your own head. You look up to see your long time friend, Eddie Munson. Who is also a member of the drama club for the past few years.

"What's got you so worked up?" He asked.

"I just want to do good." You responded.

"You gonna do great, hell I sometimes question casting cause of how good you are." He said, casually looking down to his script.

"What do you mean?" You questioned.

"Tabitha Thompson!" The voice shouted, directing Tammy to get up to go audition.

"You so should have gotten a better role last year then, you should've at least gotten Jo or Laurie!" Eddie seemed baffled at the casting last year when you performed Little Women. You received the role as the girls mother as well as played someones uncle.

"You really think." You said.

"Um. Absolutely." Eddie nodded his head to the statement. "You like really good, better than Tammy "muppet" Thompson out there." You giggle at his remark of Tammy's voice.

"Thanks Eddie, you're a great friend." You smiled.

"Eh, it's no trouble, you did help me ask Chrissy out." He said...

"Y/N L/N!" You hear your name be shouted from the outside. You take a deep breath before making your way out. Remembering what Billy was saying to you this morning. You stepped out on stage, the old wooden panels creaking underneath your shoes.

"Hello, my name is Y/N L/N and I will be auditioning for Juliet today."

"Alright, when ever your ready..."

.....................................................................................................................

It has been three days since the audition. All you have done is wait in suspense for the cast list to be posted. You caught wind from Tammy it should be posted today. Once the bell rang, signaling that the day was over. You hopped out of your seat straight to your locker to put your books away. You were about to leave when.

"Whoa, whoa, Hey sweet thing." Billy said bringing you into a tight hug. "Where you off to?"

"The cast list is being posted today." You say, wrapping your arms around Billy. He smiled down to you.

"Alright, but you have to kiss me before." He teased. You complied happily, placing a sweet kiss on his lips. When you parted you said your goodbyes saying you will meet him at his car in a few minutes. You ran to the drama room to see the cast list be put up.

Romeo ............................................ Edward Munson

Juliet .............................................................. Y/N L/N

Mercutio .............................................. Dylan Fowler

Tybalt .............................................. Catherine Stern

Lady Capulet ............................. Tabitha Thompson

Capulet ..................................… Fredric McShallows

You couldn't believe it. You got Juliet! You got the lead! You ran straight passed everyone. Passed Catherine who looked pissed off at her role. Pass Dylan, the freshmen, that looked shocked he got an on stage character role. Passed everyone, none of them matter to you at the moment. You only cared about seeing one persons and one person only. Your boyfriend, Billy. You slam passed the doors to his car with the biggest smile on your face. Billy sees you and has no time to react as you throw yourself into his arms.

"I got it! I got the lead! I'm Juliet!" You cheered.

"I knew you would get it baby! I knew you would!" He held you closer. "Let's go out on a date tonight."

Really?!" You said.

"Hell yeah, my baby got the lead role." He cheered with s smile on your face, "Get in the car!" Taking you over to the passenger seat of the car, opening the door for you then making his way to the drivers side. Turing the engine on to roar the camaro right out of the school parking lot. Billy took you to a nice place to eat. Well as nice as a high schooler that works at the public pool can get, but it was still nice. You and Billy currently sat in a booth with your food in front of you.

"So, tell me about this Romeo and Juliet shit." Billy said, he may have seemed harsh about it but he has sat through every rant for every play you've been in. Billy loves listening to you talk about anything, literally you could talk about paint drying; he will continue to look at you with hearts in his eyes.

"Well it's about two lovers in Verona that can't be together but choose to anyway." You answered. You were about to eat more of your fry when Billy said, "So you're playing one of the lovers?"

"Yes."

"So do the lovers... at any point... uh kiss?" This confused you. Billy has seen you with an onstage "lover" before. What's so different?

"I mean... maybe once, but it's at the end?" You answer looking at him. Then you see it in his eyes and lips, he was being so jelly. You started laughing at him.

"What's funny?" He smiled to you.

"You know the Romeo has a girlfriend, right?" You answered.

"Who?"

"Eddie? You know who he is." You said.

"You have to kiss Munson?!" Billy said.

"Billy you have nothing to worry about, are you scared he's gonna kiss better than you?" You teased.

"No." He snorted, " I just love you a lot, and I don't want another guy to kiss you the way I do."

"Aww Billy Hargrove has a heart." You joked. Billy just rolled his eyes to you. "Seriously, I don't think Edward Munson will replace you." You get up from your side of the booth to make your way over to his side. Sitting next to him and giving him a smooch on the cheek. Billy just smiled to you as you did to him. You both finished up your night with food and fun. You and Billy really did love each other. It came with the time you both have been together. Nothing could change your mind about Billy Hargrove. As well as nothing could change his name about you.

So when the time came of your final bow came on stage, Billy was waiting for you outside with the biggest bouquet of roses just for you. Even if the three second kiss peeved him a little but he can easily get over that. Since he will be with you for the rest of his life.

"You were absolutely amazing, baby." Billy smiled with you in his arms.

"Well, Eddie might have gotten the role of Romeo but I think you fit far better." You smiled up to him. You both brought your lips together for a sweet yet passionate kiss.

.....................................................................................................................

hope you enjoyed the Fic!

[princesssmars]

this my longest fic yet and im not even done...sapphics with a crush on her you are in luck because i will hopefully be done with this cath x reader soon 😭<3

[punk-in-docs]

enjolras or prince paul?

You know what I’m really getting into this guy lately- so option one I think is looking pretty good 👀 vive la revolution mon amour 🇫🇷

[stardancerluv]

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

Part 5

Summary: Prince Paul is married.

Notes/Warning: I read and I imagined the wedding…and celebrations that would commence. I also added a dash of what I’d like to imagine. Please do not take it for at all historically accurate. I used Almond Blossoms for fertility, Red Lilies for Passion & Love, Peonies for Marriage. Dated concepts of marriage.

You can still imagine the dynamic between Paul and reader. I just thought it would be cute that now without shoes and/or boots, that she is a lot shorter

18+ only please. Consensual. P in V sex. Paul takes reader’s virginity. I make reference to how he may eventually be more dommy & his temper.

Once again…ty so much for reading. ❤️s and reblogs are very appreciated. Along with any comments/feedback! Enjoy!

His fingers grazed your gloved ones. His breath caught in his throat at this brief moment that transpired. Your pinkies entwined. Your eyes met, exhaled and your fingers separated.

“May safety and health be on your side as you travel home.”

You turned, your lips gave him the gentlest of smiles. “Your words bring warmth to my heart. They will help in travels.”

*******

The air was crisp, leaves chased each other like the letters the two of you sent each other.

….with this being our final letter my beloved.

I look forward to the day, when I am able to finally lift your vail on our wedding day.

May these final days fly on the wings of a hawk.

With relish, he put his quill back into the inkwell. A smile played on his lips as he sealed with wax and had it sent off.

The next few days did indeed fly by. The last stitches were made in his wedding coat. The buttons were polished. His boots were as well.

Soon opulent banquets, balls were held. The festivities were held. All of it was terribly exciting, yet he yearned for the day; you would finally be man and wife.

******

As he laid against the bath, his heart thudded hard in his chest. His excitement consumed him. The warm stones pulled a sigh from him as he allowed himself to relax. The eucalyptus filled the air, clearing his mind. A small smiled played on his lips. He would be fresh and clean for you, his wife. He looked forward to this new chapter in his life.

******

He combed down his unruly short curls, while eyeing his reflection. Everything, looked sharp. This would be a good look for a portrait. He will have to call on the artist and have him do a portrait of you and him in the grand hall.

******

Murmurs filled the air. They grew louder when he turned and saw you approach with your mother and father. Relatives, dignitaries and various members of the court filled the room. Though, you stood truly apart from all of it. You were so beautiful.

Soon the priest led the two of you. Your hands were bound and the crowns were placed, the ceremonial prayers were spoken. His promise you from the depths of his heart were finally said aloud. Hearing your promise and words of loved filled him with joy.

Lifting your veil, his heart beat even faster as his eyes met yours. He would never tire of looking into them. Gently, he lifted your chin and inhaling he placed a kiss on your lips.

******

The rest of the night was a blur of food and vodka. You both had twirled about the room. He had relished the feel of having his arm finally wrapped around your middle. Your warmth and softness felt so good against him. You giggled and shared smiles the entire night. He was also grateful that your ladies in waiting, finally appeared to be enjoying themselves.

*******

In the blur of the vodka and all the food, voices of excitement bounced off the walls of the estate. During, which he was grateful that during the festivities he had been able to loose his bothersome wig. He hated pinning it to his short curls. It was a touch of formality that irked him.

His friends and servants formed their own little group as did your friends and servants and together they bounced the two of you around. Smiles, twinkles in the eyes and laughter joined and became one between you and him.

As the candles melted to half strength, half their height, he found himself along with you and all your companions being moved to his private chambers. He gad been warned this would happened. He hoped you had been too. The pain was still fresh when he saw how violated you had felt after the physician had seen you. He would never want you to experience that ever again. He didn’t know exactly when the time came, but it was time to head to his chambers.

He drew close to you, in the fuzziness of his vodka and food, he whispered you what he had been told was expected. He brushed aside a wisp of your hair.

“Love, we climb in and pull the blankets up to our waists. That should be more then enough.”

Your eyes shone and your cheeks, was dusted in a darker hue of red. He knew some was from the merriment. But it was also from the words he spoke.

“Ya.” Your German snuck out for the briefest of moments as you said yes. But then soon glancing away before glancing back him you nodded. “Yes, that shall be fine. Our life is on the cusp of several new traditions.”

He nodded. Inwardly he sighed. You spoke of what both of you knew as your future together. “Maybe if you allow I shall give you a kiss and then they all with hope in my heart finally leave and give us time finally for just the two of us. If that is alright with you?”

“Yes, that would be wonderfully pleasant.”

*******

He let his entourage of companions move him. Your hands finally parted and soon you met each other’s eyes over the expanse of the large bed. His and your personal servants pulled aside the blankets. He took a breath, his life would never be the same after this. He would be a husband, one day a father and soon king of his great nation. Russia is and always will be above all else.

Sitting down, his servant stopped him and removed his boots. As he felt the bed give as you sat down on the other side of the bed, he glanced at you over his shoulder. His heart thudded harder.

Soon, both of you sat back he noticed they had undid the laces on your shoes as well. You both sat with your backs against the headboard. He reached out and took your glover hand. A sigh came from him as he felt you interlace your fingers.

Looking at you, he was about to speak when his door whispered open. Young women, he recognized from court and the like carried baskets filled with flowers. Then a silence fell over the room like a candle’s light being snuffed out as his mother walked in.

“May your marriage bed be blessed. May these flowers bless my son, Paul and his wife.”

Soon he watched as the young women with a gentle air scattered the petals of peonies, red lilies and almond blossoms that he had all seen being grown in the various gardens. Some were new transplants in the gardens. They had prickled his interest but figured it had been something his mother fancied and didn’t bother asking. Now it all made sense.

The petals fell here and there. Some fell on him, on you. Though neither of you moved to shrug them off. Though it certainly added an more colorful array in the room.

Once the girls were finished scattering the flowers, his mother clapped her hands the sharp sound, like thunder brought all eyes to her once again.

“Now, be loving and fruitful. May you consummate your wedding, your union.”

With a swish of her dress, she left and soon did the others. It was his private servant who he had for as long as he could remember give the final bow and closed the door.

His heart was beating harder then when he was crowned prince. He never had to worry about another. Now he did. Not letting go of your hand, he turned towards you; he saw how the flower petals had definitely fell upon you.

As your eyes met a soft laugh came from you. You brought a hand up to try and stifle it. Its sound and the twinkle in your eyes made his stop racing and it skipped.

Reaching, gently he pulled your hand away. “Don’t I like the sound of your laugh.” His voice after all the merriment and cheers was just above a whisper.

You flushed. “As you wish, my dear husband.”

He felt a tremble course through you as he still held your hand. He pressed his lips together.

“Beloved.”

He stopped. The word blossomed in his mouth but felt very good. Glancing, he saw the familiar pink dusting your cheek he had grown to enjoy seeing. He continued.

“If you wish to call me that you shall but you can call me Paul as well.”

You smile and nod. “I will enjoy hearing you call me beloved.” Your smile grew. “I shall see what comes from my heart.”

“I shall look forward to seeing how your heart speaks to me.”

He found himself moving closer to you. Some of the petals, fell in front of his eyes. He gave you a half smile, raising his eyebrows.

“Am I covered?“

You nod and you finally move closer.

It wasn’t long before you both were gently removing petals from here and there. Sharing a look, you both smiled as you realized how the petals had truly been rained down on the two of you.

As he looked at you, more then ever before did he want to kiss you. During the ceremony, it had not been enough.

“Beloved, would permit me to kiss you ?”

“Please.”

Gently, he cupping your soft cheek he easily caressed it with his thumb. “You are so beautiful.” He murmured and brought his lips to yours.

Soon he felt as your body was pressed against his. It felt so right, far better then anything he could have imagined.

With not a thought he reached up and winced. One of your hair pins pricked him. You parted, and she took your wounded hand.

“Oh, I am so sorry. Those pins can be horrible things.” His heart skipped once more as you placed a soft kiss on his wounded finger. “Shall I remove these dreadful things?”

He nodded. “Yes, though I do enjoy you holding my hand so.”

“I shall not be long.”

Going to one of his small tables he watched you. It dawned on him you were shorter then he realized. Your shoes had given you some height. It made him chuckle when he did, you paused.

“Yes, my dear husband ?”

Getting up then, he strode over. Seeing the difference then, he was amused.

“I never realized how much taller I was.”

“Oh? Oh!” You glanced at the mirror. “Yes, you are quite tall.”

“I am.” He was very amused.

Glancing down at your hair, he saw just how twisted and twined. It was lovely but now that he focused on it. He saw the complexity of it. “Shall I risk being wounded again and help you?”

“Only if you wish it? My lady in waiting showed me how to do and undo my hair.”

“Handy for when she is not around.”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Soon bejeweled pins, silken ribbons were in a small pile. Your hair fell in soft waves down your back. It was a lovely as the rest of you.

Gently, having seen it in paintings and even read it in stories, he pulled you close. Soon your lips met once again. So soft. Distantly, he could taste the sweets you had enjoyed over the course of the celebrations.

******

Easily far easier then he had expected he shed his most of his clothes and found himself laying beside you. Clad, in only his undershirt and breeches he marveled at finally seeing the silhouette of your curves that were a shadow under your chemise.

His passions had been steadily growing, though he didn’t want to cause you any distress. The afternoon, when the physician had inspected you in such a cold, reserved manner still caused a chill in him.

He eased himself up onto his elbow. “Beloved. It is not because of our duty or even tradition, though I do hold those very dear.”

He gently ran his fingers along your arm that rested on your side. “I wish I could have learned, grew along his side but I did not. However, I do wish you to know that ever since I saw you. My heart took flight.”

“Oh, Paul it was the same for me.” By surprise you took his hand and your soft lips on his knuckles made little blossoms of pleasure bloom within in him.

“Then shall we became one tonight and forever?” He tilted his head and met your eyes.

“Yes, till the end.”

He climbed and settled between your legs. With your help, he brought your chemise to your waist. Once you were free of your undergarment, you gently shook. He paused.

“Beloved ?”

You looked away.

“Don’t look away from me. I am your husband.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. His voice came out harsher then he expected.

Your eyes were big as you looked back at him.

“I had not meant to sound so angry.” He grimaced. “I am just as nervous as you are. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I understand softly. I am just scared it will hurt.” You admitted.

“I won’t let happen or last. We are together forever, I us to have a union of love.”

The hatred and angst his mother had rained down on him was not what he wanted with you. He was already so fond of you

“Then, yes let us become one.”

He shook himself as he finally opened his breeches and released his arousal. His stomach knotted the more as his need for you grew.

Bracing himself on the bed beside you, he leaned in close. “Perhaps, if we share a a kiss, our union won’t bring as much pain.” He softly suggested, meeting your eyes.

The kiss had felt so good. It would surely lessen any effect of him filling you and making the two of you one.

“Yes, lets try.” You whispered back.

Gently, he rubbed himself against you. Thoughts of coming undone right there was almost possibly. It was by far of the best things he had ever felt in his life. Distantly he became aware that you clung onto him made him feel so powerful.

It only made the sensation of him gently sliding into you better as he kissed you. Blinking, he looked at you as he felt you tremble; your breathes were hard and hot but they were followed by eager kisses he tried to desperately meet. Once he was enveloped by you he paused to gather his breath and make sure you were ok.

“Beloved.” Though he meant it to be a question it came out more of a statement for the pleasure that throbbed around his arousal.

“I’m good. It hurt but its much better now.”

He rested his forehead against yours gently. “As you wish.”

He began to move then. Sounds came from you and him, they also became one. He felt as you tightened below him making him really see you once again through the haze of his pleasure. Your grip tightened before fluttered around his member, and soon he lost what little control he had managed to hold onto, and he soon called out a mixture of your name and the pet name that became so normal for him in such a short amount of time. He emptied himself inside of you. Gasping he melted against your softness. And soon with a strangled, pleasure filled breath he managed to then settle beside you for worry of crushing or hurting. He laid their panting. His curls and body soaked in sweat.

*******

Later, the candles having burned low. He found you nestled against him and soundly asleep. It was alien to him but you were so soft, and beautiful and he enjoyed the sight, it made his heart swell. He managed to pull up a blanket and cover the two of you before falling back into the velvety blackness of sleep.

@laura-naruto-fan1998 @amethyst-serenade

[800tz]

LOVE BUZZED

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Pair: Jesus Christo x F reader

Fandom: Clone high

Warnings: None

Additional: N/N=nickname, H/S=hairstyle, the teacher name is just a random ass name i came up with, also Gandhi's back😝

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The day started off just as any normal Friday morning would, the halls busseling with the familiar faces of Vlad the Impaler and Napoleon, just the usual.

"Y/N! doesn't today seem like it's gonna be crazy? I mean nothing interesting has happened since the nip slip at the rally last week, somethings gotta be coming y'know?" Frida grabbed her skateboard, leaning against the locker next to yours.

"I don't know, I mean I can't really think of a reason for it to be a special day... Besides that Biology test, by the way, did you get it?"

You asked, refering to the answer key you asked her to steal for educational reasons.

"Of course I did, here" as she hands the answer key over, you slide her a piece of bubble gum, her favorite thing in the whole wide world besides her trusty skateboard.

You were walking to class with Frida slowly skating next to you, how days usually started, that was until an unusual interaction would start a chain of events...

"Heyyyy Y/N..so I know I still owe you that 5 dollars, and I promise I'm working on it! but I need a favor.." Gandhi appeared in front of you, out of nowhere, blocking your path.

rolling your eyes, you thought 'what more could he possibly need' he looked at you with his sad attempt at puppy dog eyes.

"What" you ask blankly, "Well, I need you to meet Joan in the bathroom..." he states. You noticed his nervous stance, he was visibly sweaty, tapping his pointer fingers together, avoiding eye contact.

"Ok, what tim-" immediately you were cut off by being shoved to the girls room "like right now" he blurts. Soon enough you were standing in a stall with Joan.

"Whats up" you asked tiredly, Joan didn't look half as nervous as Gandhi did, probably because she hasn't owed you $5 since the 6th grade.

"Ok, before you judge me, let me explain what happened first!" she says with wide eyes

"Basically, what happened was... "

FLASHBACK

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"Did you hear about that party Catherine the Great's throwing" Gandhi whispered, Abe looked at him quickly, "No? She's throwing a party? When? Is Cleo gonna be there?!" he babbled.

"Probably, but I doubt she'd invite us... Unless we had a way in" Joan smiled to herself, "I have an idea" Joan said.

"Yeah! Last weeks trip was sooooo wild right Gandhi?" Joan exclaimed loudly, Gandhi looked at all the eyes on him and immediately hid himself behind some menus.

"Right Gandhi??" Joan pushed, "O-oh yeah, totally! What did we do? Acid was it?" he yelled, "What are you guys talking about? We didn't do anything last wee-ouch!" Joan kicked Abe in the shin from beneath the table.

"Yeah! Huh thank goodness I brought the stuff!" Joan continues. Now, more than a few eyes were on them, almost the whole diner was looking their direction.

"Oh yeah, I know TONS of dealers!" Joan exclaimed, Catherine looked at her with the biggest smile ever, "You do!?" she overheard Joan talking at the table behind her.

Catherine jumped into the booth next to Joan, "Yeah, I do, why? do you need anything?" asked Joan.

"Yeah I do actually! I don't know if you heard but I'm throwing this party next Friday, and it would be totally lame without something to spice it up" Catherine frowned

"But if you have something, you guys could totally come" she says with a smile, "YES! Yes! We can totally have some by next Friday!" Gandhi declares, while standing on the booth.

"Wait-" Joan could barely get a word out before Catherine interrupted her with a clap, "Cool! You guys are totally invited! Don't forget the stuff or else I'll be totally pissed, anyways, thanks! See you at the party!" Catherine swiftly grabbed her purse and exited the diner.

"Gandhi.... Why would you do that! How are we supposed to get that much weed by next Friday?!" Joan whisper yelled across the table. "Uhhh I don't know... You think she's into me?" he asks, smiling very widely.

"No Gandhi, she's not- never mind that! You realize the entire school is going to be at this party? There's no way we're gonna get it in time!" Joan sighs.

Gandhi gulps, realizing the gravity of is rash decision making, "W-well, I think I know someone"

END OF FLASHBACK

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"So yeah.. That's what happened" Joan sighed, you rubbed your face, the situation already stressing you out to the max

"And you waited till Friday morning to tell me?" you ask. "Well Gandhi wouldn't stop getting all scared to ask you! Just please help me out, I'll do your homework for the whole rest of the year if you do this ONE LITTLE thing for me!" Joan begs.

"I wish I could but I don't even smoke sooo I don't know why Gandhi would even tell you to ask me, I'm sorry but I wish I could-" Joan grabbed your shoulders tightly.

"What do you mean you don't smoke? You mean you know people who do right? Gandhi told me you were close friends with Jesus" Joan panicked.

"What? No I went to middle school with Jesus, but we weren't close, and no, I don't know anyone who does" you tell her.

"Ah! That's it! I'll go talk to Jesus! He'll have something!" she cheered. The more you thought about it, the more you just couldn't shake it, why on earth would Gandhi think you were close with Jesus?

"Hey Joan! Before you go, did Gandhi tell you why he thought Jesus and I were close?" Joan quickly gathered her things before heading out to class.

"He said he talks about you a lot or something, anyways thank you so much! I'll see you at the party tonight right?" she asks,"Yup" and just like that she was gone.

You sat down next to Frida, only a few minutes later than usual. "What was that all about?" Frida whispers over the monotone teacher's lecture.

"It's kind of a long story but basically, Catherine the Great is throwing a party tonight, and Gandhi told her he has a ton of weed that he could take to the party" you explain.

"Ok? So what does that have to do with you?" Frida asks, "Well, the problem is Gandhi doesn't have any weed, so he asked me if I had anything because... Because apparently he thought I was 'close' with Jesus" you say.

"Jesus Christo?" she looks at me shocked, "Yeah, isn't that weird? Joan said he talks about me a lot or something" you say.

"Huh weird, maybe he likes you!" Frida teases,"No way! Shut up" you giggle "Anyways, we're going to that party right?" Frida asks, "Oh for sure" you smile, fist bumping Frida.

"Kahlo, L/N, something you wanna share?" Mr Bonner asks, Frida only pops a bubble loudly in response. "Alrighty" Mr Bonner moves on quickly.

LUNCH TIME

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"Why did you tell me that she knew a guy?" Joan quizzed, Gandhi rubbed his head "Well it's not my fault! Jesus won't shut up about some girl in English! Maybe it wasn't her!" Gandhi sighed, "We're totally not gonna make it to that party huh" he whined.

"We will as soon as you go talk to Jesus-" Joan starts, Gandhi stands up triumphantly, "That's it! I'll go talk to Jesus!" he says, walking towards his table.

"Almost like that's what I just said" Joan sighs while putting a spoonful of peas into her mouth.

Jesus was sitting pretty deep into the cafeteria, with a group of other stoner kids, he was surprisingly sober. "Hey, can I talk to you... Alone" all the laughing stopped immediately.

"Of course homes, whats going on?" he asks with his usual fluid voice, ending up in the hallway together, Gandhi began to explain the circumstance he found himself in.

"You smoke weed right?" Gandhi awkwardly asks, "'Course I do homes"... "Well uh, I'm kind of in a tough spot.. You see I kinda...overestimated... And I’m gonna need some- a lot of weed actually, I can pay you! I just- please man" Gandhi explains.

Jesus hums to himself, "oohhh I see, you promised someone a lot of stuff but then you actually didn't have anything but you need it cuz if you don't they'll get all angry? I been there before homes I been there" he says.

"So you'll help me?! Thanks man! You have no idea-" Gandhi's cheers were quickly interrupted, "Ehh I would, tch but I'm fresh out homes, and my plugs outta town" Jesus shrugs.

"Dude! Are you serious right now?!" Gandhi whines, "Stone cold homes" Jesus says bluntly, Gandhi whines loudly.

Jesus laughs loudly, "Haha! You shoulda seen your face homes! You were all like uuughhhhhh!" he laughs. "Wait so you were joking?" Gandhi looks up at him with hopeful eyes.

"Of course man, but I'll only help you on one condition ey" Gandhi looks at him, he would do absolutely anything to get laid at this point, "Whatever it is, I'll do it just tell me who I have to kill-"

"Woah relax, take a hit! You say you'll do anything ey?" Jesus holds out his pinky finger, "Anything" Gandhi pinky promises.

"That was a pinky promise homes, that means it's sacred ey, if you break it, something bad will happen, something very very bad" he puts his arm around Gandhi.

Gandhi gulps, "Of course man!" he says nervously, having absolutely no idea what he's getting himself into.

"Alright alright, I want you to set me up with that one super hot chick with the H/S, Y/N, man I had my eye on her since middle school homes, I just been too scared to talk to her and you pinky promised so now you have to homes" Jesus smiled

Gandhi was relieved it wasn't something as bad as he thought it would be, but don't get him twisted it was still a very difficult feat.

"Y/N?" Gandhi asks, Jesus pulls his wallet out, he fumbled with it for a moment before unfolding a yearbook page, he slid his finger down the page before reaching her picture.

The yearbook page had been from years before, it was a middle school picture of you, braces gleaming embarrassingly bright, almost popping off the page.

"Ooohh Y/N?! You have a crush on Y/N!?-" Jesus put his hand over Gandhi's Mouth almost immediately, "Shhh ey be quiet homes! Not so loud!" Jesus said.

Gandhi nodded, "ooooohhh I got you man! Your secrets safe with me! You won't regret it!" Gandhi led Jesus out the back door of the school, not to be seen by a single soul.

END OF SCHOOL DAY

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"Do you wanna come over?" you ask Frida, "Nah, I'll skate home today, see you at the party" Frida says her goodbyes before skating away.

Who wouldn't be excited for a party, today was the best day ever!

Oops, spoke too soon...

"Aw come on! Are you kidding me!" the tires were slashed, absolutely demolished, "Well it looks like I'll be getting a ride... Hey Joan! Can I ride with you! My tires are slashed!" you yelled over to the red headed girl.

"Sure, hop in" she says, you hopped into the passenger seat feeling lucky that you wouldn't have to walk home.

The ride to your house was quiet because you couldn't quiet get Jesus off of your mind, you've only spoken like once, what if he really did have a crush on you? I mean why though? you don't know each other at all! Whatever, it's basically the weekend, you should be focusing on yourself right now, yeah!

As Joan pulled up to your house, you thanked her and walked towards the door, thankfully your foster parents were on vacation so you were free to party!

When you check your backpack for your house keys, it's almost like over night you became the most unlucky person on earth because of course your keys were missing!

"For fucks sake" you mumbled to yourself, walking over to Joan's car and stepping back in, "Welp looks like I'm locked out" you smiled to her, "Its cool, now we can get ready for Catherines party together!" you smiled at each other as you drove to Joan’s house.

JOANS HOUSE

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It was almost time for the party, you had put on some makeup, but you couldn't really eat anything because you still couldn't stop thinking about Jesus, what was going on?

"Ugh" Joan grunts next to you, looking at her flip phone with a stressed out expression. "What is it? Did you get the whole weed situation figured out?" you ask

"Yup! Everythings fine! Totally fine I promise!" Joans reaction weren't exactly what you wanted to hear, but it was enough for you not to worry too much.

The minutes ticked by quickly, soon enough you were in Joan’s car listening to the plans for who you were picking up.

"Ok so we're gonna drive to Gandhi's house, park there, pick up his van, and then we're picking up Abe and Jesus. Gandhi said we were taking a quick pitstop somewhere but he didn't say where" Joan explains.

You didn't think before you spoke "Wait Jesus is coming with us?" you blurt out. Joan looked at you confused, "Yeah, is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, nothing, also whats that pitstop? He didn't say anything about it?" you asked, as Joan put the car in drive, she looked at you and smiled, "Nope!"

Soon enough you were in a sticky van with Abe, Joan, Ghandi and Jesus. "Ok so where is this pitstop? You said it was on the way" Joan says.

Jesus leaned over the passenger seat from the back, pointing towards street ahead, "Just keep going this way homes, I'll tell you when to stop" the car was mostly silent other than Abe and Ghandi talking about all the girls they would bang at the party.

"Eyy how have you been Y/N, I haven't seen you since the 8th grade homes, how's it going" Jesus was sprawled across the van from me, picking the shag carpet lightly.

You're eyes widened suddenly at the sudden sound of your name "Well I've been alright, how about you" I replied shyly, Jesus sighs "Nothing much..." he trails off, still picking the carpet.

"I see you grew out that catfish stash" you joke, "Eyy don't trash Jesus Junior" he laughed while combing his goatee.

"Ey you remember when that one guy with the bug eyes threw up in gym and the teacher got all angry cuz he was throwing up everywhere and then bug eyed kid threw up on the teacher?" he giggles

"Kinda, wasn't that Tommy G?" you thought, "Yeah! Oh man, I'll never forget the look on your face, you were all like" Jesus widened his eyes an made an over exaggerated shocked expression with his mouth.

"I did not look like that!" you pushed his shoulder slightly, "Eh I think you did N/N" he pokes. N/N?...N/N, he gave you a nickname, and you actually liked it.

Jesus wasn't as serious as you thought he'd be, he looks a little intimidating from the outside, but now that you'd talked talked to him he was actually really cool!

"Ey stop right there homes" Jesus leaned over the passenger seat, Joan stopped the car quickly. "That's his place, we gotta break in there and get the stuff" Jesus says calmly.

"Break in?! I thought you said you were joking!" Ghandi panicks, "I lied, sorry about that, but ey relax it'll be easy, we'll need someone to distract the guard dog while I sneak in and get it" Jesus explains.

It was about 9 o'clock at night, the neighborhood was very sketchy, definitely not the best place for a group of teenagers to be.

After a lot of yelling and "not its" Gandhi spoke up, "I'll go" he sighs, everyone looked at him shocked "I'm the one who got us into this, and I'm gonna get us to that party or die trying!" he declares.

"Gandhi.." Joan whispers, Jesus smiles, "Great, lets go". Gandhi and Jesus stepped out of the van, sneaking over to the side of the house.

"Ok, I'm gonna put you over the fence and then I'm gonna go in through the window and let the dog out, you have to keep him busy for about 5 minutes homes, you think you can do that?" Jesus explained the plan to him.

Gandhi high fived Jesus and nodded. I watched from the window as Gandhi hopped onto Jesus's shoulders dropping into the backyard.

Jesus snuck in through an open window, the big dog barked loudly at Gandhi outside of the screen door, Jesus opened it and from the van all we heard was...

"Ahh!!! Good boy! Ouch come on hurry up man!" Gandhi was running in circles away from the angry dog.

A few minutes of loud barking was interrupted by Jesus jumping over the fence with a half naked Gandhi.

They jumped into the van almost so fast that you didn't see them, "GO! GO DRIVE JOAN HURRY!" Gandhi yelled.

The van sped off, throwing you and Gandhi onto Jesus, you looked up at him, he smiled widely, not in a creepy way but in more of an 'it's cool' sorta way.

The car gradually slowed down, "Did you get it" Gandhi huffs, Jesus reaches into his jacket, pulling out a big bag of weed, "I got rolling paper too, N/N's gonna help me roll them!" he puts his arm around me in a friendly way.

There I was, in the back of a van rolling blunts with Jesus and a mostly naked Gandhi.

As soon as we arrived at the party, everyone nearly went feral at the sight of a blunt, everyone plunged their gross teenage hands into the bag, by the time everyone was satisfied there was only one left.

"Ey N/N, wanna hit this with me?" Jesus offers, you had never smoked before...but you wanted to seem cool to him right now so you swallowed your fear and went for it.

"Sure" Jesus smiled, pulling out his lighter and lead you out of the house, "I've got a perfect spot, check this out homes" Jesus grins

"Ey Gandhi, hold onto this for me, thanks man" Jesus tossed Gandhi his flip phone. Gandhi gave Jesus a thumbs up and a smile, Jesus copied him and continued on his journey.

TIMESKIP

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The party was a full on hit, almost everyone at school was here, on the dance floor was Gandhi, still only in his boxers and socks, but that didn't matter now! It was party time!

'BZZZZT! BZZZZT!'

Jesus's phone buzzed in Gandhis sweaty boxers, causing him to forget that it wasn't his phone "Hey! Wuzzzaaapp!!!" he slurs into the speaker.

"Ey wussup homie, yo check this, I'm heading home in a few, I gotta new stash of some real crazy shiz, herbal blend type shit, anways, you should stop by homes I'll be at the crib in a few" the voice on the other line spoke.

Gandhi's heart dropped for the millionth time that night, "T-totally, ey I gotta go bye" he hung up quickly, saving his ass in the process.

Gandhi shoved his way through the crowd to the kitchen where he found Joan downing a can of beer, "uh Joan?" Gandhi yells over the music.

"Heyy, hows it goin~ do you think I should dye my hair blue??? Or is it just me-you know I feel great right now-" Joan immediately lurched over the sink and puked herself sober

"Joan! We have a serious problem!" Gandhi yells, Joan wearily lifts her head up, "What is it this time" she asks.

"Well uh, Jesus's plug is coming back... Tonight.... Right now.." He explains, Joan looked at him with wide eyes, "oh my god! Were gonna go to jail for breaking and entering! We're criminals Gandhi! Filthy! Dirty criminals!" Joan cries.

Gandhi thinks for a second, "Well not if we put it all back!" he proposes, Joan furrowed her brows "Lets go!" she drags Gandhi by his shoulder back to the van.

"What about Jesus and Y/N?! We can't just leave the-" Joan put her finger up to Gandhi's lips, "There's no time! We gotta hurry! Hop in the back and start putting the little crumbs into the bag-"

As Joan pulled the van doors open widely, a shocking scene appeared, you were only in your bra and bottoms, you're shirt thrown off to the side lazily, along with Jesus's jacket. You were placed on his lap, him holding himself up on his elbows.

Joan looked at the two of you with wide eyes, "Eyy up top!" Gandhi holds his hand up expectingly, only to be shoved into the van.

As the car sped off, you swiftly grabbed your shirt and tried your best to fan the herbal mist out the window. "Sooo did you guys go.....all the way?" Gandhi asks with a perverted grin.

You thought back at the moments before they arrived, your adrenaline still pumping from the excitement of doing something you weren't supposed to.

FLASHBACK

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Jesus led you back out to Gandhi's van. He opened the back doors for you, letting you in first then soon hopping in behind. "Ey we can hotbox" he smiles.

You were quite nervous, this being one of the rare occasions of you being alone with a boy. "Ey have you ever done this before? You look hella nervous" Jesus says while preparing to flick the lighter

"What are you talking about? I-I do this all the time" you lie, he looks at you blankly for a moment, "Kidding.. " you cringe at yourself, why would you say that, like why?

Jesus lights the joint, the herbal smell already filling the vehicle, he takes a long, beep breath in, sighing happily when he's finished.

"Here" he hands the joint to you, you take it cautiously, not really knowing what to do. Building your courage up, you slowly drew the joint closer to your lips, 'don't embarrass yourself'

"HACK HACK!" as soon as you tried to take a deep breath in, violent coughs errupted from your throat, this could't possibly get any worse

"Woah, you alright?" he pats your back gently, "no" you strain. Jesus sits you up gently, taking the joint from your hands he smiles.

"Tch, no need to be embarrassed, it happens to everyone" he grins. You tried your best to not run out of the van and into oncoming traffic.

"Ey how about we shotgun" he suggests, you look at him curiously, what the hell is shotgunning? You just looked at him blankly.

"Come here" he says gently, you sat uncomfortably close to him face to face, your cheeks getting warmer by the second.

You watched as he placed the joint between his soft lips, you couldn't help but look into his deep black eyes, wondering what kind of person layed behind them, just out of your reach.

He as he breathed in, crazy thoughts ran through your mind, you thought about kissing him....With tongue!

He came a little bit closer and blew the smoke into your face, you breathed it in, the task now feeling a lot easier.

"Tch see, I knew you could do it" he jokes, you laugh a little causing you to cough lightly. "Wanna try again?" he grins expectantly.

You thought about it, even if you guys did make out, it probably wouldn't turn into anything, but that might be a better reason to do it! But it's just all so confusing!

"Sure" you smile as he came closer. Nothing could stop you now, you would have his tongue in your mouth by the end of the night, even if it killed you!

Just like before, he dragged the smoke into his mouth, then he blew the smoke into your face, getting just a little bit closer than last time.

You couldn't tell if it was the marijuana, or if it was some newly grown balls, but you knew that the next shotgun, you would kiss him.

And sure enough when he came close, and blew the smoke into your face, you pressed your lips gently onto his, moving your lips gently on his.

The joint was long forgotten by the time you held onto his jacket, pulling his lips closer. It felt liberating! You pulled away, his face was slightly red, his hat and halo shitfed slightly.

His eyes were glued to you, he couldn't believe this was happening, Y/N L/N was making out with him in a van outside of Catherine the Greats house!

He leaned up, not wanting this moment to end, he kissed you passionately, holding your cheeks softly, he couldn't get enough of you.

The two of you ended up on the floor, you on top of him. He held onto your hips as you removed your shirt revealing your lacy bra. Jesus's eyes widened, you felt something unfamiliarly hard beneath your crotch, but you and I both know what that was.

He sat himself on his elbows, watching as you unbuttoned his jacket tantalisingly slow. With each button, you kissed him.

He lifted his hand up to move some stray pieces of hair out of your face, that's when the van doors suddenly opened. "Ah!" you yelped, Jesus only looked at the figures with a shocked expression.

The figures turned out to be Gandhi and Joan. Joan looked at the two of you with disgust, while Gandhi grined widely "Eyy! Up top!" he puts his hand up expectingly, only to be shoved into the back by Joan.

END OF FLASHBACK

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"What with the rush homes?" Jesus questions, Gandhi fills the two of you in on the situation, you not being able to focus too well thanks to the events that occured prior.

"Where are we supposed to get all of that? Is he gonna kill us? This is totally freaking me out!" Joan panicks. The car swerves wildly throughout the city, both Gandhi and Joan screaming with fear.

This situation had sobered you slightly, you thought carefully about what you could do to fix the situation, you thought a little bit but then you remembered!

"STOP THE CAR!" you yelled, the whole car went silent at the sound of your loud voice. Joan pulled over cautiously, as soon as the car came to a halt, everyone looked back at you expectantly.

"I have an idea"

TIMESKIP

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There you Jesus, Joan, and Gandhi were in all black, ski masks keeping your identities a secret. The four of you stood outside of the hospital, "If I'm correct, theres medical marijuana in there, and I know it might not be the same thing but its our last hope" you sigh.

All four of you walked up to the window, you held Gandhi up to the window, "Remember, try to be stealthy!" you whisper, he nods, holding his hand like a gun, "agent tan incoming" he says

That's when he dove through the window, shattering it loudly, the three of you left outside cringed, but it was too late to chicken out.

Jesus lifted you up into the window, next was Joan, then finally you and Joan pulled Jesus up. Gandhi stood there against the wall, holding his hands like guns, "I told you to be quiet! Theres security here!" you scold.

Gandhi keeps his mouth shut, still playing into his stoic agent act." alright, my foster mom works here, she talks about the stash all the time, it should be on the third floor" you say.

The four of you tiptoed through the hospital, trying your best not to be caught by staff or patients, but it was getting pretty hard since Gandhi was apparently addicted to acting stupid.

Once you made it to the third floor, you took a bag each, jackpot! You all quietly celebrated, thats when you heard keys jingling at the door.

You, Joan and Jesus all dove behind some shelves, Gandhi stood in front of the door. The door opened revealing a tall muscular man in a security guard outfit.

"Stop right there! You have the right to remain tan!" Gandhi shouts while diving out the window, you face palmed. But it wasn't the time for shenanigans, it was now or never.

The three of you ran for it, exiting the hospital swiftly, on your way out you found Gandhi hanging on a tree branch, you grabbed him and ran to the van, making a swift getaway!

As soon as you guys made it to calm ground, you all took a big breath of relief, but there was still one last thing to do.

As Joan drove towards the drug dealers home, a calming silence fell amongst you. You sat next to Jesus, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He tapped you on your leg, you looked into his eyes, "When this is all over, wanna hangout sometime?" he asks shyly, you smile "sure" you whisper.

Closing your eyes gently for just a moment to collect your mind. Unbeknownst to you, Gandhi gave Jesus a thumbs up, Jesus doing the same.

Once the car parked, Joan looked back "Jesus, this is it, don't fail us now" she says seriously, he just nods and heads off into the home through the window.

You all waited with anticipation, watching silently. Thats when a red car suddenly pulled up, it was the dealer! You started to sweat, what if he got caught? Or worse...shot?

You could tell that Gandhi and Joan were thinking the same thoughts, thats when suddenly, out of the shadows, Jesus came rushing out from behind the home!

He hopped into the van with all of us cheering for our victory, "Drive!" we all yelled.

We ended up at The Grassy Knoll, parked in the parking lot enjoying our shakes and fries.

"That was crazy! Did you guys see how I dove out of that window! I was so badass! I was like 'shing! bam! Kapow!' stop right there" he says the last part with an over exaggerated deep voice.

We all laughed at his interpretation of the situation, we all sat watching the sun rise together peacefully.

"Wait, wheres Abe?" Gandhi pipes up.

MEANWHILE

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"Where am I?" a disgruntled Abraham Lincoln asks. He was fully naked on a pool floaty, beer cans surrounding him in the water.

"Joan? Y/N?! GANDHI?!"

THE END

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[elvisabutler]

What about reader who's the on the costuming team for Elvis, and is put in charge of making and tailoring Austin's costumes. As time goes on Austin low-key starts sexting her in the outfits, starting with something like "am I wearing this right?" and needing to be shown how to tie a crop top in the baby blue outfit to "it's feeling a little tight in certain areas and I think i desperately need a tailor ;)" in one of the Vegas Jumpsuits.

clothes make the man

summary: austin butler is an asshole. austin butler is attractive. you wish both of these things were not true together. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: asshole! austin butler x female reader word count: 4193 i don't know what came over me i thought this was 2k before the oral but apparently not! warnings: austin is an asshole. austin being a bit of a manslut. austin calling the reader a slut. generally speaking there's a bit of derogatory language. talk about p in v sex ( unprotected ). talk about creampies. inappropriate use of costumes. brief austin x olivia mention. brief mention of vanessa. slightly unwanted in the beginning sexual advances before there's a 180 about them. oral ( m receiving ). talk about cum eating. fade to black p in v sex ( unprotected ). swallowing. i think that's everything. author’s note: so first off anon, thank you for this prompt! i had actually considered telling you that i couldn't do it because it's a tricky one to do without erring a little too much in sort of an unwanted sexual advances way ( at least for me ) but i think i managed to strike a healthy enough balance. shout out to @blurredcolour, my lovely graceland queens and @eliseinmemphis for being cheerleaders. but especially elise for screaming HOW IN THE FUCK ARE YOU SO GOOD AT ASSHOLE AUSTIN. to which i say, i do not even remotely know because i'll remind everyone i pretty much write him as a damn puppy of a man. hell that's one of my tags for him. though this was toned down from attempt number one. that one had boot licking in the notes. apologies if this isn't your cup of tea but i do hope you enjoy it anon!

There is something uniquely attractive about Austin Butler, something that makes you forget that you really shouldn't get involved with him. You've noticed this from the girls he flirts with, the extras he flirts with and takes to his dressing room like he actually was Elvis Presley in his prime hoe days. You've noticed this in the way he managed to charm the actress playing Priscilla- Olivia- into sleeping with him at least once or twice. You've noticed this in the way that despite knowing you need to keep thing professional and that you've seen him be a complete and utter ass to the girls who don't suit his needs any more- that he's finished with- you still flirt with him. It's easy enough, you have to be up close and personal with the man, making sure Catherine's designs fit him correctly and that he hasn't put on weight or lost too much. You know the exact level of tightness that needs to exist to make these costumes feel as if they're on Elvis Presley, not on Austin playing Elvis Presley.

"If you wanted to be this close to me you didn't have pretend my arm's gotten longer." Austin says midway through you sliding his arm through a leather jacket. "It fit yesterday, you just wanna feel up my muscles."

"I don't know what you're talking about." You feel your lips purse even as you feel your body getting warmer at the insinuation. "I'm just doing my job."

"Your job is feeling me up and staring at me. Yeah, you do a great job at that." He nods, looking down at you where you're pulling down the front of the jacket, testing to see if it needs to be let out a little for a different drape of the fabric. "Careful, get much lower and-"

You roll your eyes and move to stand up. "I don't feel you up or stare at you any more than I did with Kelvin or Alton or Kodi or Oliv-"

"Little Livvy! Oh- I didn't even realize you swung that way, I'm sure she'd love to have a-" You pull yourself back up to a standing position and place your finger on his lip as if to shush him.

"Don't even say the next words, Mr. Butler. I'm not trying to hit on you." Not- technically- or at least not in these circumstances. It's not as if you wouldn't do it if given the opportunity. But that's not necessarily something you feel like he deserves to know when he's being this much of a pain in your ass.

His eyes focus in on your finger on his lips looking cross eyed as he does before he raises an eyebrow and nips at your finger with the biggest smirk you've ever seen. Your first instinct is to pull away and hold your hand because for a nip his teeth are surprisingly painful. You stop yourself though, and instead just roll your eyes.

"I know that probably works on every other girl, but unlike some people, I'm a little more professional. Try again." Your eyes run from his shoulders to the bottom of his pants, taking note that the hem is a little too high in the leg and making a note in it in the back of your mind to fix it once he's out of the clothes. "Strip, Mr. Butler."

In a second you realize that was the wrong word to say when you hear Austin chuckling and you just sigh as he pulls off his pants and jacket and tosses them at you. "You want me completely-"

"I want you to get your street clothes on and leave, Mr. Butler." Cutting off whatever words he planned on saying and shooting a glare at him. "I don't have time for this."

"I'm the star of the movie, playing the Elvis Presley, I think everyone would forgive you for taking a little extra time with me." He watches as you stand up, grabbing some needles to mark where you need to adjust things. It's easy enough to pull on his clothes and walk up behind you as you're too focused on your work to notice him until you feel his warm breath against your ear. "You need my measurements to be exact. What better way than feeling them firsthand? Feeling how they rest in your hand. In your mouth, in your-"

You can't help the way your body shudders involuntarily at the warmth of his breath and the way his lean body is pressed against your and you swear you can feel Austin's delight at your reaction despite not hearing a bit of laughter. He probably has that stupid little smirk he perpetually wears around the set, acting as if he's God's gift to acting. It always makes you wonder if he's always been like that or if exposure to Ms. Mad About Covid Ruining Coachella is what made him this way. Or maybe it was just him taking on the role of a man who might have been a good man but was also supposedly the cockiest womanizing bastard on the planet.

"Mr. Austin Robert Butler. I'm finished with you today. Go run your lines or do movement stuff with Polly. I'm-" A shaky breath leaves your mouth. "I don't need any extra time with you today."

Sure enough when you look up from the pants and into the mirror you see a smirk on Austin's face and see him tilting his head just sow almost like he's studying you before he pulls out a sheet of paper from his jean pocket and moves to set it down on the pants, making sure his arm brushes against yours. "Here's my number if you need it later tonight, then. Because I'd hate for you to get in trouble with Catherine over something going wrong with the costumes."

"I'm throwing this away." Your voice is smaller than you mean it to be but trusting yourself to say the statement loudly feels like something impossible in this moment. It feels like if you do try and get any louder he'll call you on your bluff, tell you that you won't be throwing it away because you want to talk to him, want to hear him tell you all about how he figures you want to have him bend you over this vanity and fuck you. That won't do though, so you try and stay quiet as can be. "As soon as you leave."

He tries to meet your eyes again in the mirror before shrugging. "Your job, not mine." Your job at stake is what you swear he means and it has your eyebrows furrowing before he breathes one final sentence in your ear. "Relax. Wouldn't dream of getting you fired."

He leaves as if he didn't drop a bomb on you that you hadn't been thinking about, that he didn't tease the idea that maybe he'd try and get you fired. He- he might be an asshole but that was coercion in a way that even the biggest of assholes wouldn't do, let alone someone you could swear had to have something going for him. Still, you can't help the way you lean over the pants and stare at the number he left, frowning just slightly as you do. You should throw it away- you should and yet you don't.

You don't and instead you text him that night and the night after and the night after until you develop what has got to be the strangest professional and personal rapport you think you've ever had with someone. You have the night off, it's before a shoot that you know is going to run him, Catherine and yourself ragged but Baz understands that despite the deadlines you all have to meet that a rest day is in order. Usually when Austin has one of these days off he's silent, too busy- you figure- fucking some other woman and you try and not let the jealousy twist in your gut at the idea. However, tonight is different and for reasons you don't pretend to understand you are interrupted from your binge watching session of a show to a notification from Austin asking you what you're wearing. There's a heat that swirls in your lower half, drifting from your stomach down to between your legs and it takes you a minute to answer. A part of you wants to say something cute and sexy but you know he's just asking this to mess with you- to mess with you and mock you for dressing up when you're not with anyone. So you tell him the simple truth of a ratty t-shirt, you don't clarify on the state of your underwear, figuring he'll fill in whatever blank he wants. After about a minute there's a simple text of pic?

Austin Butler is not trying to sext you, you are hallucinating this, a consequence of too much wine and not getting laid since that one lighting guy like a month ago. You don't respond for five minutes only to get another text from him, "wanna see." Wanna see what? You? The ugly t-shirt you have on? You take another minute before you take your best selfie showing off how threadbare the shirt is and making sure your lower half is covered by a blanket. His next response that follows is a voice memo that you shouldn't listen to but you do.

"That's practically see through. I can see your nipples poking through it. You cold, Y/N? Or wanting to tease me?" His breath is shaky in a way you only identify with someone playing with themselves and you can't help the way your hand starts to move down your torso and in between your legs. "You don't have any panties on. Fuckin' slut, know I'm gonna text you and knew you had to take a pic and you don't put fuckin' panties on. You hear me, babe? Fuck, should get you to come over here, tell Catherine I need to fix a costume for tomorrow, bend you over my bathroom counter and fuck you. Make you go back to your apartment with my come dripping down your legs. Bet ya got your hands in between your legs. Wish it was me helping you. Fucking you through this."

The words he says start to be drowned out by the rush of your heartbeat before you realize the recording has stopped and that you've got five more messages from him, each talking about how his hand isn't a match for how tight your pussy is even if you fucked the lighting guy, it's been long enough. How his spit isn't anything like how your saliva would be around his cock and how he's made a mess of his pants and torso and how you should be in bed with him to lick it off to clean him up like you make sure those boots of his are clean for the costumes.

You come harder than you have in years and don't respond. He doesn't say anything that next day and yet you can't help the way your eyes avert themselves from his when he catches your gaze. It goes back to normal, you think, with your rapport edging toward fond on your end maybe fond on his or at least as fond as he gets with anyone. True mystery of the ages, do assholes actually treat anyone fondly or is everyone just a means to an ends with them? You've yet to solve that specific mystery when it comes to Austin even if you think you may be inching closer.

That is until he texts you while you are sick. It's not COVID but as a precaution you stay home only to get a picture of him in Elvis's robe circa 72 or 73, half open revealing his underwear and his cock just there- it's not erect but you see the length of it soft and the girth of it soft and hold back a whine even with your runny nose. His text with it is a simple "am I wearing this right" like he doesn't know all he has to do is shut the damn thing for the scene or that he doesn't know how much seeing him like this feels like a cruel tease.

It takes you a good five minutes- or maybe ten, the runny nose is making your brain fog something fierce, before you manage a response.

"Tie it up. Loosely. You have it too loose, AB." AB because Mr. Butler feels too formal but Austin feels too intimate and you're trying to not think about how you wish you were there, how you wish you could see his cock stand to attention in that outfit. You take a sip of your water as you hear the ding of your phone telling you that you have another message, this time with Austin having it tied up correctly but somehow his underwear has shifted down just enough for you to see the hair on his pubic area and you have to shut your eyes for a moment. He doesn't say anything else but you at least give him a thumbs up in response followed by a plea for him to pull up his underwear. You don't hear any complaints the next day when you come in though the second Austin sees you he's decided that despite you still being a bit under the weather he needs to crowd behind you reminiscent of that time with the pants.

"Didn't realize you were looking so low, babe. Sure you don't want to have fun? See what it feels like against that skin of yours?" His arm slithers around your waist for a moment before lifting up your shirt and playing with your the skin of your stomach. "Might even clean up whatever mess I make on you while you clean up the mess on me. If you're good." If your knees buckle a little you don't notice as he grips your waist a little tighter. "Oh, there she is, all I gotta do is tell you're a good girl to make you admit you want me? But you gotta earn me saying that. Have to stop being so frigid, baby."

"I'm not-" You shake your head. "Let go, Austin. I have work I need to do and you've- I'm still sick. So get out of this room."

He opens his mouth to say something before pursing his lips and giving your waist another squeeze before pulling away and sneering as he waves. "Just so you don't get me sick with whatever one of the guys you fucked gave you. Bye, Y/N."

Later on your mind wonders how he knows you fucked someone else on the crew and you choose not to dwell on it just this once. In fact, you choose not to dwell on how Austin seems to be keeping his distance physically even if he keeps practically sexting you images of him in costumes as you recover until the day he's in the blue suit and Baz has put you in charge of taking pictures. Except Austin can't seem to tie his blue suit correctly and you find yourself on your knees batting his hands away so that you can get the proper angle you can't manage standing up. Your eyes stay focused on the knot your forming with the suit even as you swear you feel Austin's breath quickening as your hands touch his torso. "Calm down, Austin. It's not-"

"You know you can do more than tie the shirt and the suit. While you're down there." His voice is no more than a whisper as you see him take slow deliberate breaths. It almost sounds like a command and you feel your mouth water as your eyes flick down to see his cock starting to press against the pants. This is professional, your relationship with him is supposed to be professional and you're not- you're not going to be like half the crew who have fallen into his arms. His stupid asshole arms where he fucks a girl and leaves her and acts like he didn't lead them on with maybe promises of more. "Know you want to taste it. Been thinking of your mouth on it-"

You quickly stand up and shut your eyes shaking your head as you back away, your tying job complete. Getting out of this room should be your first priority but Austin won't force you into anything if you tell him no, you don't think. And you have a job to finish, you have to take the pictures of him in the outfit so Baz can see. It's easy enough, you don't even need to be near Austin to shoot the photos. "Don't- Just. I'm going to do my job, Mr. Butler." Mr. Butler, not Austin because that's why he's trying to pull this, he thinks he can, he thinks he's wormed his way into your head.

He has but that's not the point. He has but you are not going to fall into his stupid arms because you might actually like him and he's a movie star and you don't have time for this. You meet Austin's eyes and he rolls his before striking a pose in front of the mirror. If you didn't know any better you'd think he was showing off, trying to impress you with how he looked, but he wouldn't be doing that, not for you, not just to get into your pants. The whole ordeal is over faster than you think it is and if you run off as soon as Austin hands you the outfit on the hanger, well, that's between you, God, and Catherine and Baz.

He ignores you when you text him for the next week. He ignores you as you do his fittings. He ignores you when you try and talk to him in between scenes and you find yourself feeling anxious over it. You may think he's an asshole and he may be one but you were also getting very used to having him around and in your life. It's probably why while annoyed after a long day on set you leave him a voicemail message cursing him out and asking why he's so angry about you not sucking his cock among other choice words before you get a simple text back.

He's wearing the black butterfly/black pyramid jumpsuit. You know this because you specifically double checked the measurements to make sure they fit him. The pic he sends reminds you that you didn't anticipate his cock being hard in them.

"Was just with Catherine before you sent that. Wasn't tight before but now it's feeling a little too tight. I'm in desperate need of a tailor or I think I might split the pants. :)"

The speed that you use to get yourself back on set is one you doubt you will ever manage again. By now you unfortunately know where Austin's trailer is and pray to god it's unlocked as you march yourself to it and swing the door open only to find Austin with the jumpsuit half unzipped waiting for you.

"My favorite little tailor. Come to fix my problem?" He asks a smirk so firmly on his face that you want to slap it off of him but you'll settle for just having it be replaced by his mouth opened in pleasure. You snarl some word at him before finishing unzipping the jumpsuit and having his cock smack you in the face, smearing precum on your cheek. "Didn't bother with underwear, oops."

If looks could kill the one you give him through your eyelashes as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock would have murdered him. As it is though, all it does is earn a laugh out of him as he moves to grab the back of your head, guiding your mouth to his cock. "That's it. Fix the problem you made. Getting so angry with me like the frigid little bitch you've been. Could have been doing this for months. Could have-" His words are cut off as you take the tip of him in your mouth and he groans low, his hips struggling to not immediately buck. He doesn't trust that you can handle him that quickly and he's not about to have you do something gross on his cock. "Were you practicing on the lighting boys? Practicing on everyone else? Wanted to give me the best blow job? Give me what I earned for putting up with you doing this back and forth?"

All you want Austin to do is shut up and somehow he's not. Somehow he's maintaining enough brain power to spew insults at you that are landing far more harshly than you're willing to admit. Your hand moves to play with his balls as your tongue works the tip of his cock and that vein on the underside that has him cursing your name as he finally lets his hips buck into your mouth. You sputter a little, not necessarily prepared for the sudden force of his cock hitting your palette or the back of your throat, you don't know which if you're being entirely honest. All you know is there's a few tears forming in your eyes and your nose is running but you have a job to do that you refuse to fail at. It takes a moment for your throat to relax as you inch your way up his cock until your nose is nuzzling at that patch of hair you saw in the robe and you allow yourself a moment to just inhale his unique scent of sweat and soap. You feel his hand tighten against your head and do it once more as he tries to pull you off his cock, trying to gain an upper hand again only for you to grip his thigh and allow your teeth to graze his cock.

Austin does what can only be described as a growl and a groan mixed together as he realizes he can't pull you off the way you have your teeth. Right now it's pleasurable but if he tries to pull you any more it won't be. Goddamn he underestimated you. Instead he just leans back, trying to focus on the way your tongue feels playing with the tip of his cock, how it feels having you hollow out your cheeks, how it feels to have your mouth enveloping him so tight and warm and god, he feels himself about to come the more he feels your hand play with his balls. If you were someone else, if you were someone else he might warn you but you won't let him pull you off and so maybe you deserve to have his cum slide down your throat, maybe he wants to see it drip out the side of your mouth because you can't swallow it all. He can paint your face later. He can paint your body with his cum later.

You feel the warmth of his cum unexpectedly even though you had felt him twitching in your mouth. A part of you wants to be offended, wants to yell at him for not warning you but you take this as a challenge, trying not to choke as you swallow because his hand isn't moving from the back of your head. You know what he wants, he wants to see you be a good little slut, a good little girl and swallow his cum. That's easy enough except it isn't as you choke a little and feel some leak out the sides of your mouth before he's finally spent and he finally lets go of the back of your head. In a moment you pull off of him and are about to lick the sides of your lips before he rubs it off onto his thumb and puts it on your lower lip, the implication of suck vividly clear. Your tongue darts out and licks his thumb clean before sucking just once and letting it go with a light pop.

Austin is still trying to catch his breath as you shift on your knees, trying to gain some friction to ease the ache you feel between them. You try to be subtle but when he looks up at you he notices and smiles like he's a villian in some new movie.

"You want help with that?" A simple question but a loaded one that has you staring at his mouth and staring at his cock that's starting to stir again before you answer with a shrug.

"If you think you still need help making sure the costume fits, Butler." Not Austin, not AB, not Mr. Butler, just Butler, something that feels uniquely correct for this situation and from the way he smirks, you think he agrees.

"I'd hate to ruin all of Catherine's work because someone's tailoring job sucked." He pats his lap. "Ride me, Y/N. We've got all night."

taglist: @eliseinmemphis, @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @purejasmine, @lindszeppelin, i don't know it's asshole austin who even knows which of y'all wanna read this.

[babybluebex]

𝐣𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 (𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬) 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

༻ ralph penbury (timewasters, 2017)

wizard: at ralph’s birthday party, you feel the need to apologize for what you’ve done. ralph, meanwhile, has a question to ask you. (fluff)

making waves: before a party, you do ralph's hair. (fluff)

marking ralph's cheeks with lipstick (fluff)

punishing ralphie for misbehaving (smut)

coked up ralphie fucks your ass (smut)

༻ jamie sampson (kin, 2017)

jamie tells you about harry (angst)

༻ koner (game of thrones, 2017)

only you series masterlist (koner x fem!reader): your secret relationship with a winterfell guard is threatened when your father marries you off to another man, and you do everything you can to stay with him and keep your love strong. (retired)

༻ peter grunauer (overlord, 2018)

reuniting after peter goes to war (angst)

sweet awkward reunion sex (smut)

༻ enjolras (bbc les miserables, 2018)

don't call it love: your latin tutor is one of those revolutionaries that your father despises and, after he invites you to a citizen’s meeting, his true intentions are revealed.(angst)

༻ prince paul (catherine the great, 2019)

out of the dark: marrying the prince of russia would be dream if he wasn’t such a dick, but a late night conversation leads to a mutual understanding. (smut)

paul yells at you (angst)

paul punishes you for flirting with someone else (smut)

༻ tom grant (make up, 2019)

5 minutes in heaven: your boyfriend finds an empty closet at work, and he convinces you to play a game of 7 (or 5) minutes in heaven. (smut)

stupid for you: you and tom get into a fight and, after he says something especially nasty to you, he makes it up to you in the best way. (smut)

boyfriend!tom headcanons (fluff)

teaching tom how to go down on you (smut)

tom convinces you to try anal (smut)

tom takes care of you when you're sick (fluff)

making you smile after a hard day (fluff)

cuddling with tom (fluff)

༻ pub!charlie (best move along, 2019)

pub!charlie headcanons(fluff)

nsfw pub!charlie headcanons(smut)

༻ billy knight (cb strike, 2020)

breeding kink (smut)

handjobs (smut)

camilla (fluff)

༻ eric (a quiet place: day one, 2024)

a medium place: your husband, eric, spends too much time at the office, and he assures you that you’re a priority in his life. (smut)

needs and wants: in the direct aftermath of the apocalypse, you meet a man who's worse for wear in just about every regard. even though you can't do too much to heal his injuries, it's possible that you can heal his heart. (smut)