#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]

Punks WIP List -

My current WIP list for anyone who is curious-

Eddie x Pencils next part, fluff and smut

Birdie x Frances next part of the storyline, smut (of course)

Salacia x Geta next part (???) idk what is happening yet, the muse has yet to reveal herself

Another part of Frances’ NSFW alphabet this chapter prominently featured a very shy bi Birdie with a hot goth chick ex girlfriend (this is for no one else but me)

Vamp Frances x Human Birdies next part (smut and horror gore)

The vaguest and I mean THE vaguest slither of a plot for another Paul x Tsarevna piece (I literally have a title and that’s all - dieu est un femme )

Lemon Suds - Eddie x Pencils; a tear off one shot of when Pencils first meets Wayne. Eddie ends up being late and leaves her sitting on the trailer doorstep.

My god I’m busy- send help

[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

[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."

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @elusivemoon @annoyingstrawberryballoon @miabiar @hyeon-yi @iluv-ace @wineyoungie @vduxx @inflatabledinosaurs19 @harrystylesfan2686 @silentmajesticfox @am-the-renegade @certainduckanchor @moons-reblog @scarletrosesposts @th3-audac1ty @darlink-xoxo @ayeputita @nanmiik @namjooningera @hermxssaa @annieleonhardtsbitch @nugget-eater123 @integers @thefunbanshee @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress @luckypeacevoid @kiki17483 @ruttteerr @yourbelloved @heyohalie // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

[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.” 

[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.”

[hellishjoel]

a tit-bit nippy

1.1k / pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

← masterlist | notifications blog | seasons of life challenge masterlist

word: marshmallow

warnings/information: fluff, winter games, cold temperatures, alcohol consumption, my more casual writing style

a/n: in honor of completing the winter section of the seasons of life challenge, I thought I'd have a little fun with my favorite Delta crew! my banners are by @saradika-graphics. shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

It’s a really stupid game, like really fucking stupid. What started as a drunken dare during a bitterly cold January training camp evolved into a full-blown tradition among Frankie and his Delta Force buddies. 

If you’ve ever seen New Girl, it has the same nonsensical, chaotic rules as True American. But the Delta Force crew call it “A Tit-Bit Nippy.”  It celebrates endurance, chaos, and sheer stupidity in the face of freezing temperatures. 

The game combines random challenges, a heavy dose of trash-talking, and a complete disregard for frostbite as the players compete to be the last one standing.

Don’t get lost in the hypotheticals or the parentheses; this is how the game works:

All players (You, Frankie, Benny, Will, Pope, and Pope’s girlfriend Samara) strip down to their underwear and boots. You form a circle around an unlit campfire (which will come into play later), and one player is chosen as the Snow Emperor, who starts the game. 

Each round, the Snow Emperor assigns a challenge, and failure to complete the challenge results in being exiled (sent back inside the snow cabin where you must wear a loser sash.

This game is not for the weak, and if there’s anything you love more, it’s making these macho military men shiver in their boots. 

After a frozen beer is used for spin the bottle, it lands on Frankie as the Snow Emperor. 

He’s quick to dash around the group as everyone groans and complains, as he was a ruthless Snow Emperor last year. But that was before you joined the group, and you’re ready to give your boyfriend the added challenge. 

“Snow Emperor 2025, bitches! Strip!” He belts, chugging the slushie beer as everyone grimaces for their torturous time ahead. 

“Why did we agree to this?” Samara asks in a whisper as she sheds her black winter coat, a shiver already traveling up her spine. “You and I could be in town shopping, drinking hot cocoa, melting away in a sauna. But instead, your merciless boyfriend is going to put us through the wringer. Frankie says he’s undefeated, but he refuses to talk about that one year Benny bested him by eating yellow snow.” 

You send her a sigh and a shrug, slowly pulling your top up and over your head, Frankie’s eyes noticeably lingering on your figure. “Because… I think I Catherine the Great his ass.” Both of you snicker before exiting the cabin, ready for the challenges ahead. 

“Hey,” Pope reprimands Benny, whose eyes are lost on Samara’s gorgeous body. “Focus on the game.” He backhands his friend’s balls, forcing a grunt up Benny’s throat as he clutches his frozen grapes in pain. 

The challenges and eliminations are as follows:

Frankie hosts a snow angel relay, and the first person to make a perfect snow angel without screaming wins. Will won, the infamous Ironhead making a tall and broad snow angel with a mute expression. His brother, Benny, wasn’t so lucky, screaming after a minute and shivering all the way back inside. 

Next, the Snow Emperor has his loyal subjects guess the temperature outside. The farthest guess loses and, therefore, has to belly-flop into a large snow pile. Samara, bless her heart, is from a warmer climate and guessed far too low. She was thus sent to her execution (snowflop). 

Frankie won his icicle duel against Pope, and you won yours against Will. 

To warm up, you both took a shot of god-awful vodka. If it were tequila, you would have been fine, but this tasted like nail polish remover and bleach. 

“Second place gets the sled of shame,” Frankie smirks as he stares across the unlit campfire at you, both pale, cold, and shivering with the freezing temperatures. 

Despite it all, you’re smiling because this is the most fun you’ve had in winter since you were a little kid. “What the fuck is the sled of shame?”

“Runner-up gets tied to a sled and dragged around the frozen lake by everyone else while we all scream shame!” He laughs maniacally, putting his hands together and blowing warm air against his palms. 

You eagerly smack his hands away and narrow your eyes on the tyrant. “Quit the chit-chat. How do we end this, Morales?” A puff of warm air leaves your mouth and moves like a ghost in the wind, everyone watching from the window of the snow cabin to see who will come out on top. 

Frankie wears a wicked smirk and reaches down for a handful of snow. “Snowball sniper. One round, end-all. No blocking with your hands. First one hit, loses.”

This would be a snow war to end all wars. He would not win. You swore to Samara you would try, and try you must. 

You find safety behind a stack of wooden logs, readying up some preparatory snowballs as Frankie aims for your head and misses. You throw one, two, three snowballs, but he’s more agile than he looks. He chases you around the cabin, both of you breathless and panting. His fail was slipping on some ice, groaning in pain as he lay helpless in a blanket of fresh snow. 

You slowly cross over to the fallen soldier, the snow crunching under your boots. He looks at you with soft eyes, the sun setting behind the clouds for good as he grimaces at the sight of a large snowball in your hand. “Just… get it over with.”

“Shame to see it end like this,” you mutter. With respect to the Emperor, you fall to your knees and kiss him, purely a distraction to give the final blow: a snowball to his hat-covered head. 

Cheers erupt from the warm cabin, everyone sprinting from the warmth and wrapping their arms around you and Frankie as the men rejoice in a rendition of “War is Over.” 

“All hail the Nippy Queen!” Frankie proclaims, lifting his beer in a triumphant toast. The rest of the group cheers, now bundled up and gathered around the roaring campfire, where marshmallows crackle and glow in the heat of victory.

He turns to you with a teasing grin, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight. “What is your first royal decree, my love?”

The others lean in expectantly, smirking and elbowing each other, waiting for your answer. You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

“My first decree,” you announce with mock authority, “is that next year, we celebrate New Year’s on a tropical island!”

The camp erupts into laughter, everyone already dreaming of sandy beaches and piña coladas—anything but another round of A Tit-Bit Nippy.

← masterlist | notifications blog | seasons of life challenge masterlist

[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.”

[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]

I miss ur writing especially paul

Ok much more and you’ll make me cry. (I miss him too) if you have any saucy prompts. Pls drop them in my inbox so I can squeal and melt into a puddle and die of horniness

(spoilt puppy absolutely needs a smack - and maybe a kiss if he’s been good)

[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

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

honey bunch. ( gil grissom x reader )

gif belongs to me

Before you started dating the team had noticed the tension between you both, and wondered when and if you would ever get together. After placing bets and pulling their hair out waiting for the answer, it was Catherine who saw the way Gil smiled down at you when you showed him a reconstruction as he listened to you excitedly explain your findings. And she knew from the way you turned to meet his gaze, the smile you sent his way, that you were finally dating.

They were relieved when the tension was replaced with light flirting. Gil often slipped and called you any nickname he could think of at the time.

You always referred to him as Gil at work, but lately, you wanted to find a term of endearment that showed how you cared about him. You hadn't expected it to be so difficult.

For over a week you changed the nickname from Sweet Pea to Sugar, and you were determined to find the perfect nickname. You didn't understand how Gil could do it so easily and you feared that he would feel as if you didn't care about him as much as he did you.

"Gilford!"

Gil was following Nick and Warrick to watch their experiment when you called out to him. Warrick and Nick chuckled as they looked at you and Gil wet his lips, shaking his head as he met your mischievous gaze.

"You won't believe what I found."

"My birth certificate? Because last time I checked my name was Gil."

You merely sent him a smile, "Come on," You nodded to the desk you were working at, recovering waterlogged photographs. "You'll be really impressed. Well, more than usual."

"What's impressive is your humility." Warrick jested.

"Don't worry, babe, you'll be as great as I am one day." You turned on your heel and Gil looked at the two amused CSIs. Ever since your relationship became public knowledge, the tension around the lab was released with flirting energy and now and then you would become bolder.

Gil fell into step beside you and you sent your boyfriend a smile. "I'm expecting my mind to be blown."

"Have I ever let you down?"

Gil shook his head, "Did you have to call me Gilford?"

"Do you prefer Gilly?"

"I prefer Gil."

"I thought I was only supposed to call you Grissom at work?"

"I think we've passed that stage when you ran down the corridor, shouting Gilford."

You smiled as you approached the computer and Gil pulled up a chair beside you. "Okay, Gil," You glanced at him with a grin, "I reconstructed the photographs recovered from the water."

"Okay..."

"Are you ready?"

"You've been spending too much time in the lab with Greg."

You smiled as you showed him the first photograph you recovered. A group of sophomore students smiling together. "That's our victim." You pointed to a blonde girl who was standing between two guys with dixie cups. "And this," You zoomed into the guy on the right. "is our tech mogul."

"This had to be taken the night of the murder," Gil stated, seeing the victim was wearing the same clothes as the body.

You nodded in agreement. "I reconstructed more." You clicked on another photograph, enlarged it, and cleaned the pixels a little to reveal the transaction happening in the photograph. "There's our tech mogul. Recognise the other one?"

"Our drive-thru king." Gil looked at you when you turned on your chair, facing him.

"I looked into his high school and college records. He's an MIT graduate."

Gil shook his head, "How does an MIT graduate end up working at a drive-thru? And what does it have to do with our victim?" He tilted his head thoughtfully, "Unless she took the pictures."

"She blackmailed him?"

"He would've lost everything. He would make a lot of money."

"Been featured in the biggest magazines." You slowly smiled. "Mind blown?"

Gil stood up, mimicking his mind being blown and you giggled as you walked out of the room with him. "Come on, you could use some time away from the lab." He pointed at you when you opened your mouth to speak, "Do not call me Gilford."

You pouted, "Gilly?"

Gil raised an eyebrow at you and you suppressed a smile as you walked down the hallway. "Can I call you honey bunch?"

He sighed, tilting his head to the side as he considered it before slowly nodding. You grinned excitedly, and he shook his head with a smile.

"Where to first, honey bunch?" You placed your hands on your hips and Gil shook his head as he stopped by the elevator, entering when it was empty.

"We have the element of surprise on our side. We'll stop by his office."

"Ooh, straight to the dragon's lair. Cool." You stood next to him and he glanced at you.

"You really need to spend less time with Greg."

You giggled when he pressed the button for the garage. You were surprised when he took your hand, turning your head to meet his gaze. "I know why you are trying to find a nickname for me. And while I appreciate the thought and effort you've been putting into it, I don't need one. I know how you feel about me without needing words."

"How?"

"Your eyes." He stated with a smile. "They're portals to how you feel or what you're thinking. I don't need to hear it, when I can see it."

"Being so easy to read probably doesn't make me a good CSI."

Gil shook his head, "You're great at what you do. You're passionate about it. You're always excited to see where the evidence takes you."

You smiled softly, glancing at the ground when the doors opened and you stepped into the garage. "You know what I'm thinking just by looking into my eyes?" You turned, standing in front of him, "What am I thinking right now?"

Gil held your gaze for a moment before a smile formed on his lips. "You want to say that your work isn't the only thing you're passionate about." He paused, "And yes, you can still call me honey bunch."

His smile grew when you kissed his cheek before walking to a car, and Gil tugged your hand, leading you to the right one. You smiled when he tilted your chin, kissing you tenderly.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

“A Better Future” Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Angst. Read at your own discretion.

Warnings: Brief mentions of war and  injuries | Hair loss as a form of punishment

Wordcount : 2.8k words

Summary: Thranduil brings y/n to Greenwood the Great and Amon Lanc. His father calls for an inquiry.

A/n: I thought of adding the hair loss event written in this post.

Y/n’s plea was partly inspired by Catherine of Aragorn’s speech at the Legatine Court of Blackfriars.

Thranduil’s POV

The days had been hot, the days had been windy, and the days finally grew cold even as they traveled. One season waned while the other waxed, brilliant and glorious as ever. The leaves of Greenwood the Great were turning vivid shades of orange and gold and crimson by the time Thranduil and his retinue rode down familiar paths to Amon Lanc. The crown prince closed his eyes and took a deep breath of sweet-smelling autumn air. The delicate scents of wild geraniums and asters mingled with the duskier scents of fallen leaves and wet bark and fresh moss. The birds sang softly. An owl hooted in the distance. A gentle gust of wind tossed his hair. He sighed in contentment. It was wonderful to be home again.

That sweet feeling slowly disappeared when he looked over his shoulder and his gaze rested on y/n. She kept to herself and rode a little away from the others. Thranduil’s mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. Y/n’s very presence in Amon Lanc would unleash a storm upon his head, and his lord father would be the one to do it. 

My father is a forgiving man, Thranduil thought, but I cannot see him forgiving this. 

Thranduil did not need to be told the reason. He was there during the second kinslaying. He bore arms and helped his father carve a way out for survivors. His scars lay hidden beneath his robes. The memories from that dark time still haunted his dreams.  

And he did not understand why he put himself through such trouble. Oh, the gold itself was never an issue. The final sum was but a drop in the ocean that was now the royal treasury. Thranduil did not understand why he stopped when he heard the gossip and why he rode on to the auction house. He certainly did not understand what compelled him to save her. She was one of the exiles. Her father served under Celegorm. There were dark tales surrounding his deeds, including the part he supposedly played in the seizure of Dior’s children. Thranduil shivered.  

Wolves, all of them. And now I bring one of their pups to my Lord Father’s doors.   

He looked over his shoulder at y/n again. The masters of the auction house answered his questions as best they could. Y/n had played no part in the slaughter, so they said, and had been forced to wander the land for longer than she could remember. She had no armor and wielded no arms. What little coin she had went to keeping her clothed and fed. She placed herself at the mercy of a man who turned out to be a slaver in the end. Kept perfectly still while that wretched Lady Githa grabbed her and looked her over like she was nothing more than a horse for sale. After having been given food and drink and new garments, she stood to the side, silent and meek, while Thranduil spoke with the masters of the auction house and the final flourish was given to the matter of coin. During their journey, y/n did not speak to any of them the entire time. When they set up camp, she was quiet. When they broke bread, she was quiet. When they sang and laughed and exchanged stories, she was quiet. Oh, she helped, of course, always appearing by Thranduil’s shoulder before he even realized he needed some task carried out. Y/n was quick and did her duties well, but without uttering a sound. She did not even dare look any of them in the eye. If she was grateful to them for what they did, she did not show it. 

Thranduil felt his hands turn to fists. Wretched thing, he thought bitterly. Unable to muster a single word of gratitude. 

He could not linger on such misgivings. The gates to his father’s halls soon loomed ahead of them. The first autumn rain started to fall, drenching the dark earth and feeding the rivers and streams. The air grew crisp and cool. Thranduil reveled in this as well and threw off his hood so he could feel the fat drops of water plop over his skin. He heard a familiar bellow. His lord father had ridden out to greet them. Oropher sat atop his milky white courser, clad in velvet robes of gold and silver. Thranduil sighed. His father was in a high mood this day, and he was sure to dampen it with his news. He sat up straight and girded himself before racing ahead to meet his king and sire. 

Oropher heard his son out on the ride back to his halls. And Oropher bit his tongue until he and his son were safely ensconced within the walls of his council room. And when the doors closed on them Oropher did not hold back, not by any measure. The king was exceedingly wroth, purpling and raging for hours on end. Thranduil acted without his father’s leave and freed the child of a kinslayer. He had promised gold from the royal coffers for this very purpose. Brought her with him to Greenwood, and possibly endangered them all.  

"And now we may have to feed and house the lady," Oropher declared after having taken a while to finally compose himself. Attendants walked in carrying trays filled with refreshments. The king waited until they had taken their leave before speaking again. "Since you made yourself responsible for her and she truly has nowhere else to go," he turned to face his son. "Tell me, my son. What even compelled you to save her?" 

What indeed. Throughout their journey, Thranduil had reflected on his actions and failed to devise an answer that could satisfy anyone, least of all himself. "I do not know, my lord," he confessed. "All I do know is that I could not simply ride away and abandon her to her fate. You know of Lady Githa, and what her pleasure house is like." 

"To be sure," Oropher wrinkled his face in distaste. "That woman is one of the most evil creatures to have ever been birthed by one of the Edain." 

He rejoined his son at the council table and took his customary place at the head of it. Oropher steepled his fingers beneath his chin and soon lost himself in deep thought. Thranduil did not utter a word while his father sat as if he had been hewed out of stone. Oropher was reflecting on the choices he had had to make; his son was certain of it.   

"I may consider letting her stay," Oropher finally said, "but we need to learn how much she knew of her father’s actions. Send word to my courtiers and have them all meet me in the throne room. I believe an inquiry is in order."  

An hour later, Thranduil took his place by his father’s right hand. He watched while members of the court and other elves poured into the cavernous throne room. Guards stood to attention, spears and shields in hand, and clad in gleaming armor chased in green and gold. The lamps burned as brightly as they always did. Y/n was escorted by a small complement of armed warriors. She was made to drop to her knees while the others watched. Y/n bowed her head, silent and respectful. Thranduil heard hushed, excited tones. There had never been an inquiry before. No one had done anything to even justify the need for one.

Many of the elves studied y/n with barely disguised curiosity. Save for the survivors of Doriath, very few had encountered the exiles. Now they were seeing one for the first time in the flesh. The court scribes took their appointed places, parchment and quills and new ink already placed upon their little tables. They would write down every word spoken at the inquiry and preserve the records for the use of others. Once Oropher had been satisfied with the number of witnesses, he called the inquiry to order. 

The king leaned forward and began with the usual questions: questions about y/n’s life, her home, and her family. Y/n answered as best as she could. She spoke of their home, about her father, about her mother. Oropher questioned y/n about the sons of Fëanor, and if her father or mother had ever hosted them in their home. Y/n withered under the king’s sharp gaze, but there was nothing she could do but answer.  

"Lord Celegorm would sometimes dine with father," y/n replied after a great deal of hesitancy. "Other times, Lord Curufin would join him." 

"I see." Oropher frowned. "And were you a party to these gatherings?" 

"No… your grace," y/n answered in fits and starts, as if her tongue had tied itself up in knots. "My father… he said he thought I was too young to be privy to such discussions." 

"But did you meet either of these lords?" 

"Yes. My father… he introduced me to them. And to others in their retinue." 

Oropher was curious, as was Thranduil. "Pray tell me why?" 

Y/n faltered. A guard thumped the butt of his spear into the ground, forcing her to answer. "My… my father had hopes of my marrying one of Lord Fëanor’s unwed sons… or… or the grandson." 

"Your father entertained the notion of you marrying one of them?" Oropher shot back bluntly. "And you would have agreed had any of them asked for your hand?"

Y/n swallowed, and said, "Yes, your grace. Many an… unwed maiden in our clans would have… c-considered it an honor. They were of Lord Fëanor’s b-blood after all." 

Thranduil sputtered and would have retorted had his father not given him a look of warning. He composed himself and heard the king say, "An honor? Were you ignorant of the things they did before the second kinslaying?" 

"Everyone knew… your grace," y/n replied, her eyes wide with fear. "M-mothers would tell their children tales of Alqualondë and the great crossing. They… they all believed in Lord Fëanor’s cause." 

"Do you believe in Lord Fëanor’s cause to retrieve the hallowed jewels no matter what the cost?" Oropher asked in harsh tones. "And do not lie to me. Life in Amon Lanc will go very badly for you if you do." 

Y/n did not answer, not for a long while, not until Oropher harrumphed with impatience. "I… I did… at the beginning," she confessed. "The… the silmarils were Lord Fëanor’s by right… after all."   

The uproar that followed from the survivors was deafening. Some demanded that y/n be sent away from Amon Lanc. Others demanded that she be thrown into a cell for the remainder of her days. More warriors thumped the butts of their spears against the polished stone floor to bring about some order to the proceedings. The sounds they made were drowned out by the cries of angry elves. Oropher’s face darkened even as he remained silent. Thranduil prickled with anger and decided to put an end to the clamor. 

"Enough!" he bellowed. The others turned to face him and his father, having quietened themselves little by little. The scribes all turned as one to face the prince, waiting to hear what he had to say.  

"I was right," the prince went on. There were soft scratching noises from quills scrawling over thick parchment. "Your lot is nothing but a pack of wolves, forever on the prowl for your next prey. I would even go as far to wager you may be no better than your father and the masters he served." 

Y/n flinched back as if she had been slapped. "But… but you saved me from her," she sniffed. 

"Yes," Thranduil replied, unmoved by the sorrow in her eyes. Still, he felt strange when she spoke to him directly. It was the first time she had done so since he purchased her freedom. "I confess, however, that I do not know the reason why." 

"Tis is a question for another time," Oropher interceded. "Let us carry on with the proceedings for now. Lady y/n, do you have anything to add? Anything you wish to say in your defense?" 

Y/n looked around her and shivered. "I do not know… your grace." She wrung her hands and picked at the beds of her nails before turning her gaze to the floor. "I… I only knew what my father and mother told me. As for what… my father did in Doriath… I did not know what he was going to do until after the act. Mother and I only learned of it after he was slain. I… do not ask for much… save for some compassion… for I was born somewhere other than this kingdom, and have neither coin nor friend to my name. I... all I ask is for a safe place to stay… and I will be… well pleased and content with whatever kindness that…that is given to me. But if you do not wish for me to stay here you… you need only say the word, your grace. I will depart… and manage. Somehow."  

Oropher sat there with his sharp gray eyes pining her to where she stood. He grew silent again, this time debating his verdict. Later, it was said that the silence that followed was so heavy that it weighed down on everyone present.  

"Will you swear to never take up arms against us?" The king spoke slowly.  

"Yes," she whispered.  

Oropher nodded. "And will you be content with whatever task that is given to you while you remain with us?"  

Y/n hesitated, but gave her answer to the king. "Yes. I… I will be content. And g-grateful." 

"Grateful?" Thranduil snorted bitterly. "Like the gratitude you showed us after we saved you from that vile place?"  

Y/n was startled. She opened her mouth to form a reply, and struggled to find the right words. Thranduil glanced at his father. The king had grown weary. It showed in the shadows beneath his eyes. Oropher sighed softly and signaled for the guards to help her to her feet.  

"I have come to a decision, but it is not a decision I make lightly," the king began. "Y/n, you may stay here with us, and you will make yourself useful in the kitchens and serve us." 

The relief on her face was palpable.  

"But," Oropher raised a hand and continued, clearly not finished with his verdict. "I need to make an example of you, should other followers of the sons of Fëanor turn up at our door. They need to see that our mercy does not come freely. Therefore, I have decided your hair must be shorn. Just above the neck should do." 

Y/n lowered her head and trembled. "I accept." 

It did not take long to find two ellith willing to carry out the king’s verdict. All those who had gathered in the throne room looked in silence while they came forth, each holding a golden pair of scissors in their hands. One stood by y/n’s right, and the other stood to her left. They turned to face the king. When Oropher gestured, they went straight to work.  

Pins were removed. Braids slowly loosened. All anyone heard after that was the crisp, snip snip snip of two pairs of scissors clicking. The elves watched, utterly enthralled by the scene unfolding before their eyes. Lustrous long hair was seen as the ideal when it came to elven beauty, and to have even a little cut as a form of punishment was both debasing and humiliating. And elven hair took so long to grow out. Y/n’s hair would take years to grow back to its former glory, and if it saddened her, she did not show it, not at that moment. Y/n simply stood like a stone statue while thick locks of her hair slowly drifted to the floor and gathered in small clumps. 

Snip snip snip. More hair had to be cut. The ellith worked effortlessly until y/n’s hair was just beneath her chin and a small pile had formed around her feet. Y/n did not speak, and she did not raise her voice to curse them. She simply bowed her head and endured the entire time. When they were finally finished, when they put away their scissors and stepped away, she lifted her head. Her lips had been quivering, and her eyes had been filled with unshed tears. Thranduil shifted uncomfortably in his seat after having experienced a sudden pang of conscience. He had called her a wolf, but was she truly one? Or was she simply guilty of being born into the wrong family? 

"Find yourself a room in the servants’ quarters," Oropher ordered. "Appropriate clothing will be provided to you, as well as food. You will start your duties on the morrow." 

The guards took her to hand and escorted her through the crowd and down a narrow passageway leading to the kitchens and the servants’ rooms. A maid rushed into the hall and swept away the shorn locks of hair. The throne room was beginning to empty. The elves talked about the inquiry and what transpired before they departed for their dwellings. The scribes sanded their parchment before rolling each and every one of them carefully. Once the great hall had been cleared of all the other elves, Oropher leaned over to whisper in his son’s ear.  

"Keep a close eye on her," he commanded. "We cannot take any chances." 

Thranduil nodded in agreement.

If you enjoyed this, please consider commenting/reblogging it!

tags: @deadlymistletoe​ @lemonivall​ @coopsgirl​ @tigereyesf​ @thranduilseyebrows​ @cupids-got-me​ @jane0error​ @asianbutnotjapanese

[ho-for-joequinn-fics]

I love him your Majesty 😩

Hey hon! Could I request Prince Paul during the birth of his first child? I think he’d be adorable with a daughter

absolutely!! i love this idea so much and might even do little blurbs of his daughter growing up? do we like that idea??

_____________

word count: 1.3k

genre: fluff!

summary: labour isn’t fun for anyone, but once you see your husbands reaction to your ray of sunshine, you decide it just might be worth it.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, depictions of labour, cursing, children?

notes: had so much fun writing this

“Don’t touch me!” You screamed out just as your husband went to take your hand in his, attempting to console you as much as he could, “Do not put your hands on me.” 

Pregnancy was a bitch. The day that you discovered you were pregnant was magical, especially when you had told your husband, Prince Paul. He was ecstatic. Paul was a sweet man under his tough exterior, so when you revealed to him that you were expecting, he reacted with such blissful happiness that you felt your heart would fall out of your chest. 

“The maids believe me to be pregnant.” You whispered softly from where you stood in front of Paul’s desk. It wasn’t often that you interrupted him when he was in his office, but this simply couldn’t wait, “They say it seems as though I’m five months, they can’t be sure though. I know it is sooner than you wanted, especially with you going overseas in a month.”

Paul looked up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. There were a few papers in his hands that he was previously gazing over, “Pregnant?” He asked. He rushed to set the papers down, standing from his seat across the desk from you. 

You clasped your hands in front of your stomach, nodding, “Yes.” You attempted to hide the smile on your face, but you just couldn’t. You wanted nothing more than to raise a child, especially with Paul by your side. You wanted to see him exhibit softness and care towards his very own child, the same softness he exhibited towards you. 

Paul rounded the table and looked at your stomach quickly, “A child.” He whispered, his words low, barely audible for even him to hear, “Our very own…Oh, this will be wonderful! To see you glow will be so amazing, and to hold our little love in a few months? I am staying home, I’ll stay home.”

And so, the rest of your pregnancy consisted of Paul taking care of you as much as possible. He refused to let the maids make your baths, taking it into his own hands. He would deliver your breakfast when you felt you couldn’t get out of bed. He would constantly bring you the prettiest flowers from the garden, ones he had picked himself. 

Not only this, but he put up with your incredible mood changes, taking the harsh criticisms with pride as well as getting used to simply saying ‘Yes dear’. 

So here you were, sprawled on the large bed in your own personal bedchamber, not the one that you and Paul shared. You had maids surrounding you, prepping towels and wet clothes while a doctor sat at the end of the bed, waiting between your legs until he could tell you to push. 

Paul was right by your side, refusing to leave you, even if you asked him to. He barely looked like the Prince Paul that he portrayed to the outside world. He had on a loose, white bed shirt, as well as suit pants. The most beautiful part though, was how he was makeup free, as well as his own brown curls sitting upon his head, instead of that horrid wig he wore. 

“My love, I am just trying to comfort you.” Paul reassured you, gently wiping a wet cloth along your forehead, wiping the glistening sweat off your face, “You look so gorgeous.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and scoffed, “Gorgeous? I look like a drowned camel! I have sweat dripping down my face and into places I didn’t know existed, my skin is sticky and red, and you are going to sit there and tell me I look gorgeous!? I am soon pushing a human out of my vagina!”

Paul’s eyes widened and he looked around the room awkwardly, “Darling, you-...you always look gorgeous.” He stammered, looking over you for a moment in admiration. He loved you always, even now as you laid on the bed, nightgown pulled just between your belly and breasts, strands of hair clinging to your sweaty forehead.

You took his gaze of admiration as a look of disgust though, in your very cloudy and very pregnant brain, “You think I look horrible.” You whispered, eyes beginning to water with salty tears. They threatened to spill like heavy waterfalls. 

Paul quickly shook his head and leaned down, pressing a brief but passionate kiss to your lips, attempting the to show the pure love he felt for you, “Not at all. I think you look like the prettiest woman alive.” He reasoned, pressing another kiss to your lips just as you screamed out in pain.

“Princess Y/N, it is time.” The doctor spoke at the end of the bed, earning an unsatisfied grumble from you. 

-

Your eyes fluttered open in the dim lighting of the bedroom, the surroundings much quieter and comforting than they had been hours previously. You rubbed your eyes but kept still due to the pain in your lower half, laying on your side. 

The room was lit up by the lanterns placed around the room, as well as the golden sunlight shining through the tall windows. It was comforting with how dim it was. It felt intimate.

Your eyes caught onto movement in the middle of the room. It was Paul, his back to you as he slowly swayed, murmurs coming from his pink lips, “Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?” His pitch heightened with the next few words of his lullaby, his voice singing out through the room, “Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full!”

You smiled happily, watching as Paul spun around softly, holding your child in his arms as he recited the lyrics to the traditional lullaby, one you had heard many times as a child. Albeit by your maids, but that didn’t matter. 

“Shall we check on mama? Hm? See if she is awake…” Paul whispered softly, as his feet pattered closer to the bed, “She is getting some much needed rest after dealing with us, hm?”

You hummed and carefully sat up, “I am awake.” You revealed, earning an incredibly attractive smile from your husband. It was full of love and care, pure admiration, but it never ceased to make you swoon, “Did I not get to hold them?” You questioned, not remembering anything after hearing crying.

Paul shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed next to you, his arms wrapped securely around your sleeping newborn, “You fell asleep almost immediately after pushing her out, I was worried at first until the doctor checked you out.” He explained to you how quickly you had passed out due to exhaustion, “Had my heart racing, just thinking that I may have lost you.”

You reached a hand out and caressed his cheek lovingly stroking your thumb along his cheekbone, “I am right here. You won’t get rid of me that easy, angel.” Your eyes moved down to the child in his arms, the physical display of your love for each other, “‘Her’?” You repeated. 

Paul’s eyes scanned your face, nodding softly, “Her.” He confirmed, his gaze turning back to the infant in his arms, “Gorgeous, isn’t she? Perfection. Just absolute perfection.” 

“I feel as though she might steal you away from me.” You laughed softly, the scratchiness of your throat coming through. You had screamed a lot. 

Paul simply shook his head, softly sliding the fingertips of his right hand against your daughter's cheek, earning a scrunched nose in response, “No one could ever steal me away from you…except, maybe, her.” He laughed as well, finally moving his head to look at you, “Hold her, she feels like sunshine.” 

Your husband placed the bundle of joy in your arms as you held them out. You carefully leaned back against the headboard, a content sigh emanating from your lips. Paul moved so he was sitting next to you, his chin resting on your shoulder while he placed a hand on your knee. 

You sat in silence for a moment before Paul spoke, “I am so proud of you.” He informed you, turning his head up so he could look at you, “You did so well, my love. Had me falling even more in love with you. Had no idea that was possible.” 

You gazed at Paul, taking in his appearance, savouring it. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “Thank you for being there, despite my yelling.” 

Paul just waved you off with a happy smile, settling back on your shoulder, “Ah, it was all worth it. Lovely little princess.” He whispered and reached forward, stroking his hand over her swaddled form.

[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!