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punk-in-docs · 2 years

Note

I am OBSESSED with your Prince Paul series. I've been reading and re-reading them. I can only hope there's more coming! Like I'd love to see them dealing with the wedding preparations, all the related stress and Catherine being Catherine. Or the first time they say LOVE? Or the first time they see each other nekkid? Or, or, or, anything!! I just love your writing sooooo muuuuuch. (I am also getting inspired to write fan fic or your fan fic, if that's okay???)

🥀 And The Stars Sighed In Unison 🥀

Authors Note: That’s more than ok my love. I’m so flattered! That’s amazing. I’m so humbled the muse has struck you as a consequence of my foolish little words. So here I give you in no particular order; Wedding day planning. Stag party drunken naughtiness, and in general the excitement of the big day. Hope it meets the mark-

TW: m receiving oral, PIV , dirty talk, clit slapping, much flirting, naughty ren-dez-vous, little dirty in places I mean, c’mon now, it’s Paul x Tsarevna. Don’t be expecting saintly behavior from them (or me) now.

The Palace shimmers. These snake pit halls and cloaking walls, that will never really be home to you, are teaming with bliss. Air full of it. Perched on the precipice of your marital joy.

A royal wedding in December. Anticipation hangs heavy indeed. Heavier than the clouds above distended with snow.

You’ll be married in that snow, Catherine says. Bedecked in white and silver. Because that’s the way things were done here; most babes here learned to keep warm before they learned how to walk.

Lavish affair like no other. It will be ripe with nobility. Snow studded, crept with frost. How appropriate-

The great ballroom is packed with flowers. Crammed to choking. Quite literally. Stuffing the space with pollen and nectar. Outside the trees are thinned brittle with cold. Basked in snow. Icicles on the windows. Inside it’s like there’s been a second sunny waft of spring.

Catherine wanted silver and white inside here. Everything wearing ice. Staining these great baroque halls. A nice occasion that will perhaps wipe through the rusted blood smears, and gloss over her treachery for daring to rob this heaving sow of a country from a man.

Dark walls hung with garlands of scented white flowers, tender tendrils of creamy sweet peas, tulips, and roses. Strung with thick cream ribbons. The best silverware being polished by the servants to a high shine. Flowers wait in vases. The glassware winks like far off stars from the ice smooth linen tables.

You walk obediently alongside her, when she tuts and snaps her fingers at a maid and shoved a poorly polished candlestick back at her, to have it done again.

Her predator eyes on the prowl, nasty tongue in step with it; she never missed a single thing. Countess and you, by her side.

“Do it again. And get it right, or I will have you whipped.” She cuts low. It’s terrifying how calm she is with wintry rage.

Fuck the frost. Catherine’s demeanour bit more than frost could ever dare.

You’re too busy marvelling at the flowers. You’ve never seen the like. Not in the scrappy leaky roofed Manor House you call home in Rostov. This whole environment was groaning with imperial snobbery at a whole new gilded level. Bloated with pomp and circumstance.

Every touch is artful. The flowers, the candles, the feast that’s been planned. Four boozy fruit cakes with hand crafted marzipan icing. Eight types of wine. Shipped from Portugal and France. Vodka unloaded by the barrel full - naturally.

Roast pigs turned on the spits for main, with marjoram, apple and cognac sauce. Haunches of deeply red venison with stewed blackberries and rosemary. The kitchens are fired up night and day for this. The maids on a strict rotation to clean and ready the halls to a gleaming spectacle.

Your dress, Paul’s robes. One of a kind and being worked on by no less than ten dressmakers and tailors, each. It’s all truly beautiful, and mad. And you are struggling to believe - to comprehend - these efforts are being ground to the bone, to satisfy the tune of your own wedding day.

Eyes turned to the ceiling where the flowers are being strung up. Five strands meeting in the gathered centre of the ballroom. Floors being soapy scrubbed and polished to a mirror shine. Every step reflected back. Observed.

This circus court would be watching keenly in attendance. Which makes you want to gouge your eyes out with one of those very spotless fish knives, or a bouillon spoon. Whatever’s closer.

The wedding that is but two precious angst filled days away.

You’ll cease to be a Voronsky. From now on, you’re to be known as the Tsarevna. You turned your nose up when someone tried to call you princess. They quickly found better words in odes to your sharp displeasure.

Call me that again and I will cut your tongue off.

Yes, Tsarevna.

Catherine turns her attention back to you, as you wander along the tables. Drinking in the madness and the beauty.

The Countess is with you and she’s nattering guest lists of who’ve confirmed attendance, at you.

Royal protocol and what that dictates for the drowning numbers of nobles and the statute of those invited to your ceremony.

People will travel in from all over Europe for this. Brave the snow. Nobility came flocking from every corner to pick at the nuptials. Faff over the bride. Congratulate the groom. Throw toasts and hurl wishes. Gorge on the finery.

Then the Countess suddenly sucks air through her teeth seeing a certain princely name appear on her page.

“That will prove tricky-“ She remarks like a vixen, when she comes to the certain name of a royal Swede.

The one who left here jilted, several weeks back.

Catherine is not amused.

“I’m not dancing on eggshells for the ego of one swede. Let the prick come see her happiness. Be done with it.”

You smuggle a secret smile to yourself as you drape your fingertips over the petal of a dainty sweet pea in one of the table arrangements. Fragrance of it so sickly.

“He’s recently engaged, so I’m told. That flame is well and truly doused, I assure you.” You tell.

It never even began to flicker, you think.

“On your side, it may.” Catherine suggests with a pithy smirk. She saw how taken the boy was with you.

“My eyes wander to no other.” You smile at your Empress in law. “And the Countess tells me he was quite struck with that Petrovka girl.”

“Cuntstruck I said. Petrovka had her legs behind her ears since the day she joined court. And she’s sawdust for brains” The Countess took sordid detail in revealing.

Catherine sneered. “Better he found his easy prize. Left us with our Russian gem.” She walks up to you and lays her hand softly on your arm.

You’re not stupid. You know Catherine had her hand on the rudder of your early courtship for far longer than she pretended too.

And well, there’s certainly a great deal more than sawdust between your ears. There’s blade angles of femininity, blazing gunpowder wit, deep unending pools of ideas and intelligence in swathes. Cunning too, some diplomacy, and fistful upon fistfuls of hardy bravery.

“I’m very proud to see you take all this on. My dear. Many would envy you. But do not forget that the task placed ahead is a great one.” Empress reminds you.

“Must run in the family. Rising to greatness.” You answer. Petting her hand with your own. Her draconic red smile widens. Eyes wrinkle pinched at the corners in glee.

“I do enjoy you so.” She chuckles as she pats your hand like you’re one of her little perching obedient dogs. “How do you like the flowers?”

“Divine.” You remark as you wander your eyes around the huge room.

“We can have no less than. Cause people will fucking talk and bitch. They do nothing else when they come to a royal wedding. They want their flawless show of it all and they’ll pick pick pick at it like starved crows.” She comments. Inspecting a polished wine glass.

“You must recall your own.” You ask her as you dance your fingers over a place setting. Gold leaf on the China. Sapphire leaf accents.

“Short, swift. Painless. Much the same to be said for the wedding night.” She mocked. The countess cackled.

Charming.

“Do we need to give you any instruction on the matter?” The Countess winked at you. Dry chuckle as she attended her lists.

“I think I’ve gleaned enough by now. My new lady in waiting, is most vivacious in her manner of stories.” You concede. Lady Dimitrova was as unstinting to talking about sex, as she was formidable. Both were high measures indeed.

“One dare say they contain a prick of truth.” You add in a way that makes them both leer laughter.

“The veritable picture of a modest blushing bride.” The Countess remarks. Preening in delight at you.

“I heartily concur.” Interjects a voice you know all too well.

You turn your head and see none other than your beautiful intended drawing near,

Four male figures darken the golden horizon of this grand room. Paul and his usual party of scurrying sycophants and paper-pushing bureaucrats. Pillars by his side. Minister Panin, stout General Abramov, and a weedy bespectacled civil servant by the name of Berensky.

Paul wanders over to greet you with his party in tow. His arms clasped behind his back. Draped today in his glass green coat, accented with carmine-red. The clack of his boots joins in the wedding hubbub rioting noisily around you.

The red slash of a royal order dangling jewels and honour around his neck and the sea blue silk of his sash running from shoulder to hip. You like it when he’s all shiny and preening in ceremonial garb. Coiffed soldier. Sword swinging at his side all golden. He looks so pristine.

Only you grin because this was the same shiny and polished prince, who had spat in your cunt this very morning, and fucked you as if he were a beast. He went hard. It was bliss.

Handprints blazing their sting on your ass. Bruises on your thighs. Getting you dopey and all cock drunk before you had to scurry on back to your chambers.

Sustaining the false illusion that you’d spent the night there, and not sat on his cock, sobbing his name to kingdom come - as you then did.

Every slam of his hips into you was a fiery agony cracking across your skin - and oh, how it made the pleasure burn that much sweeter.

It’s so decadent a memory it’s got you wet at the mere sight of him. The glide of your chemise and dress on your raw ass cheeks has been a tender and delicious reminder all morning.

And no one needs to know that the cute silky lilac ribbon tied around your neck, dainty sweet, is actually there concealing fingertip bruises, churning to the colour of ripe mulberries.

“How well your bride looks. Does she not? Tsarevich?” The Countess beams at Paul. “All this wedding joy has cast such a lovely glow to her expression.”

“It has indeed. May I please request that you impart even more of it onto her. It becomes her quite dearly.” Paul charms.

“Radiant and pretty as ever.” He added. Overloading you with sickly sugar words. Churning honey off his silver tongue.

He’d said that this morning too. How pretty you look. Especially with his hand viced around your throat, til eyes fluttered, and you nearly passed out.

Catherine looks like she wants to roll her eyes back in her head and come back when this conversation has shifted elsewhere.

“I was warned by my mother that flattery was the infantry of negotiation.” You narrow your eyes playfully. Nothing slips you by. You’re too sharp to let it.

“As a military man, I do have much appreciation for such a diplomatic resource. Gets us out a lot of scrapes.” He explains.

“What cheek.” You surmise.

“Paul.” Catherine bites in her usual tone she reserved for him.

“I would make my goodbyes to your fiancée were I you. For soon we’re going to steal her away and lock her out your sight, until you’re walking to that altar.”

“And I believe, the men of court have planned a similar merry making event in your bachelor celebration.” She tilts her head and rakes her sherry eyes over Minister Panin. In the way she does that drags and curdles blood if anyone dares disagree.

The Minister leaps to words. “Of course. Empress.”

“Get to it. We have the dressmakers final fitting in half an hour, petal.” Catherine waves her hands at you. A warning.

She drifts away as does the Countess. Just enough edge to her sandpaper words to incite action.

Paul strides closer. Plucks a white sweet pea from out the table arrangement vases, and hands it over to you in offering.

“To match that bloom in your cheeks. Though it can seldom be rivalled by anything sweeter.” He smiles. Perhaps giddy. Totally enraptured by you, that was for sure.

Like he’s some stupid peasant boy gifting the girl he’s wooing, a simple picked flower. It’s actually quite fucking sweet of him. Simple things sometimes.

You pluck it out his hand, lift it up to inhale the sickle sweetness off its giving petals.

“You quote a sonnet at me, my love, I will have to go and be sick in the closest corner.” You warn with flirt traced on your lips.

He smiles back. It’s all doe eyed flirt. “Shall I compare thee to a summers day?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You threaten nicely.

“Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under.” He decided instead.

“Much more me, you have to concede.” You state.

You step closer and lean across to peck a sweet kiss on his cheek. Such paltry stuffy affection, but it’s all you can show at present.

His chest bounces with a sudden intake of air. That darkly lustful hunger seizing his eyes. You’re the same. One whiff of his shaving foam cologne and the gut clenching nearness, and you feel slick as ever between your legs.

“I shall see you at the altar then.” You decide when you pull back. Twiddling the flower between your fingertips. Swirling the petals.

Oh no you fucking won’t.

You imperceptibly jerk your head to the doors leading back to the royal chambers. Your eyes flick across and then back to him so suavely it’s like butter wouldn’t even dare melt on your tongue.

“You will.” He answers. Following your gesture.

“Good day. Gentleman.” You say loudly. Turning to his companions. Inclining your head to them. And then him.

“Tsarevich.” You smirk. Running the flower petals across your lips. Saying his full title like a sultry purr like some empty headed courtesan. All wide open legs and easiness.

You twirl on your heel and crossing away to another part of the room.

He watches the delicious drag of your blue skirts sweep the polished floors. All those silken vines laid on cobalt, crowded with plump pink roses on your bodice. The teasing slip of your perfume leaving notes of peaches and orchid musk in your wake. The way your coiled hair lays down the back of your neck. Bounces when you glide away.

“Darya.” You call out to your maid.

She stands to attention with a nodded bob of her linen clothed head. Hands folded serenely behind her back. Walnut eyes whip to you.

“Perhaps some tea in my rooms before the dressmaker comes.” You request.

“Yes my Lady.” And she scurries away to do your bidding. You walk across the room and busy yourself talking to another group of maidens about the flowers.

Paul turns and drifts back to the men accompanying him. Minister Panin says how well you look with the upcoming joy of the nuptials. You sparkle with it. Paul agrees.

They walk along and discuss more treaties and the current state of the affairs in Kyrol.

You watch from the corners of your eyes as him and his entourage leave the room. You smirk.

Leaving it a few moments as you gaze at said buckets of flowers before you decide to depart the room also. Darya returns from laying the tray of tea in your chambers.

“Please inform the Empress I will be on time for the dressmaker.” You beam as you sway to the doors.

She steps to scamper after you. You call back without turning around.

“Unaccompanied, Darya. Go and have some cake or something.” Waft of your hand. You instruct her. Knowing full well you just left her floundering in what to do next.

She notices there’s definitely a sway in your step as you stride away, and out along the echoing gilded halls. She goes and finds something else to do. Keep busy.

You step one foot through the doors leading to the royal chambers. And suddenly arms are snatching you around the waist.

Tugged out the doorway and off path into the snug concealed by the edge of the doors.

“Oh you fucker-“ Is the gasped outburst he’s torn from you in surprise. You told him to go wait for you. You didn’t know he was going to pounce.

“Such an elegant mouth.” He croons. Before kissing you like he’s not taken any single ounce of air since he saw you last.

He walks you back in quick step, shoves your hips painfully up against a table. Clatters the candlesticks stood on it. Hands on your bodice. Smoothing your silk back. Plump lips sweet and hot, seeking yours.

Smothered to him in a hungry slamming kiss. Messy sloppy. When you break away with a moan and the parting sound of wet meeting lips.

“I have a dagger in my garter, careful sneaking up on me, or else I’ll use it.” You threaten with a silky purr.

He paws your ass over your blue skirts crudely to make you squeak.

“I am more than aware of your dangerous inclinations. Should you like to plunge it into my back or my heart, beloved?“ He offers. Eyeing up your lush mouth again. The long doe flick of those carob colour lashes. Fuck, he’s pretty.

You smirk, sharp like rose thorns, all angles and gleaming. You’re so terrifyingly beautiful. So Russian in that regard. You like when others think you dangerous - it means they have grasped the right impression of you.

“Throat. Dear heart. I always, always, go for the throat.” You whisper all flirtily as you lean in and kiss the corner of his pouting mouth.

He finds your mouth again with his. It didn’t take more than a nudge and he’s on you. You whine into his mouth. You wrap your hand around his back. The table scrapes against the floor with a loud scuff. His hips rut to yours.

“Any chance we’ll be caught? What of your guards?” You ask. Desperately gulping for air as he kisses your neck and makes your toes curl in your beautiful shoes.

“Dismissed.” He sighs into a kiss under your ear.

“So you have a few moments?” You seek.

“Yes. Why?” He grunts.

“Because you’re going to spend them inside me.” You fist the front of his jacket and medals bite your palm. You snag your lower lip between your teeth in a positively filthy grin.

You yank him, stumble him in his shiny boots, to an even more discreet corner. Hidden by large waterfalls of draperies. Shadows drawn in baroque arches from the side of a great branching candelabra.

You claw your your skirts into gathered silk fistfuls. Bunched in your hands. Face the grazing threads of the tapestry clad wall. Arch your back. Jut your hips. Pussy just throbbing for the bliss of his touch.

He pasted his body to you, enclosed, and his hand snuck under your skirts. Lips perched at the shell of your ear. He hums all pleased when he finds you sticky wet. Silky and slipping over his fingers. Plump lips grazed between his fingertips.

“Are you still sore from our session last night?” He cooed all low. Cupping you crudely, and enjoying the way you tipped your head back. Pushing into his hand for more.

Your hair catching in his lips. He kisses your neck so sweetly. It belies the way he’s grabbing at your cunt like you’re some common street wench he’d pay pennies for.

That little split of pain - you’re such a drooling whore for it and he certainly knows how to give it. Knows when to knock his hips rougher and truly start to rearrange your guts. Knows when his words need to come out nastier, when he needs to grab and spank, and when to still his hand.

Paul rips at the falls of his own breeches. Messed up all those neat gold buttons. Theres your good toy soldier.

There’s the wonderful sting where he palms your ass as he crushes right up to you. His cock finding purchase to slide into your cunt with one breaching snap of his hips. You whine. He sighs. Your fingernails dig into the threaded wall. Snag on the fabric.

God, your pussy is gorgeous. Like wet velvet or warm satin. Or silky creamy peaches and butter sunshine. All good glorious things when he pushes deep into you.

“Fuck, my love, you’re incredible. You feel incredible. Holy god.”

“Don’t let the Patriarch hear you. He’ll have you in that chapel on your knees til you’re black and blue.” You sigh smartly.

Your hand reaches between you to rub slow pressing circles on your swelling clit. It makes his thrusts come harder because you’re throbbing tighter, fist tight, around the girthy drive of him.

“I can’t wait two days. Can’t fucking wait that long to have you again.” He babbles. Cuntstruck by you already.

You huff a laugh. “Mmm. Give me that over a dry sonnet any day.” You plead.

“I can’t go long without you. I walk through my day listening to treatises and proclamations. Yet all I can concentrate on is how you taste, and kiss, and, ugh fuck, how I just want to pin you to the bed with your ankles behind your ears...” He growls with a particularly knocking thrust that makes stars skip on your skin and your belly.

His praise and need cracked a heat over your throbbing hard nipples. Nestled in your stays, swaying and chafing when he fucks.

He tore a shocked gasp right out your mouth when he starts even harder punching thrusts and then bites your neck. Hard.

“More marks a ribbon can’t hide, hmm?” You remark archly. Turning your head to the side. Coaxing out that spit of spoilt fire you adore.

He pulls back and sees the purple-red of blood rushing into the crescents of his teeth marks, welted deep in your skin.

“They’ll look beautiful on our wedding day.” He huffs against your ear.

“Fucker-“ you grin and tip your head back and a loud, a too loud, moan, slid out your throat before you could stop it. Ran away from you.

It haunts the room. Haunts you. Echoing. Humiliating you with mocking. He makes you produce noises like an unbidden harlot.

Paul slams a hand over your mouth. Wet lips kissing your ear as he speaks. “Keep rubbing your cunt. I may not have the time I want to fuck you endlessly. But you will cum over my cock and be thankful for it. Do you hear me?”

Oh you could kiss him.

You nod like a demon is gripping your glass bones and you’ll shatter with it soon.

He felt how those words made you clutch down on him. Pussy choking his cock. Like you never wanted to let him leave.

Swallow him up and keep going til you have all of him. Sinking. Despair. A man whose love struck and who cannot ignore the ocean even as it’s drowning him alive. You are too knotted in everything. Tangled and twisted up inside him with that vital string.

He takes you fast and hard and he doesn’t let up for even a damn second. Perfect boy, he knows exactly what you needed.

Your little gasping cries. His grunts. The smack of hips and skin. The clutch of his palm on your handful hip. The dainty clack of your shoes on the floors. Unable to think about anything but chasing that fiery gut punch of pleasure.

“You like it when I give you orders…hmm” He huffs out suddenly. A statement as opposed to a question. Spoilt mouth at your jawbone. He takes his hand from your mouth to require an answer.

“Only sometimes.” You reply. Mouth slipping into an oval shape. Browns drawn. Searing liquid heat slaps and sloshes low in your gut. Spilling from you and dripping along his cock.

He pierced you so deep it’s like he’s prodding at the back of your throat. Prick of tears is looming in your eyes from this feral fuck.

“You love it when I say nasty filth as I fuck you deep? About how I want to to tie your hands to my bedposts, like a tamed wild thing, keep you edged for hours til you beg to finally cum. To rut you like I loathe you.”

As he whispers to you, his hand drifts and joins yours over your clit. He urges your hand out the way and gives your soaking pussy an open handed tap, that leaves you reeling. Clit stinging.

Your animalistic moan eats into his palm all slippery. Your eyes flutter in your head.

“Or is it you prefer my sweetness? How I would drag you to the edge of the bed, and feast on your cunt for days? Lick you so slow and tender, digging my tongue in you, call you by loving names, hold your thighs open and eat, until you flood my mouth.”

Another moan of yours sinks into his hand. It’s over your mouth once more. It sounds suspiciously like the warbled shape of his name. He tempers you with another little slap that makes you lurch.

He hums against your neck as pleasure begins to bend, and dip, and take him too. Drawing the same opium daze out of him. The ludicrously loud wet squelch of your cunt is signifying your climax is bearing down fast, also.

He buries his mouth in your shoulder as his strokes get harder and faster. Crumpling your body into the wall before you both. Strands of thread plucking under your nails. White knuckles. Drooling in his hand.

He’s cursing, spewing out filthy whispers and groans, because you get so crushing tight when you’re about to cum. Doesn’t relinquish his hand clamped on your mouth. Nor your clit. He’s pinching it and rolling under fingertips and you’re going mindless. Brain wiping out.

“Yes my love. That’s it. That’s it- fuck.” He pants as he feels you spasm and snap down on him.

Scream bitten in his palm. Spurt of your release slicking his cock, rolling down the tight sac of his balls too. He pounds even harder to chase his own release, and tears bite the corner of your eyes. Cock piercing somewhere so deep inside you it’s fiery bliss. Punching a spot that just makes your whole gut melt.

He sinks deep and thrusts hard. Fucking the hard beast of his orgasm so far inside you. You’re held up, back pasted to his chest as you’re licked entirely in sweat and sagging to the wall with a blissed out sigh. Muggy wet across his palm. Cries melt into his skin.

Your nails bite into his coated arm. The other snagging the tapestry. He takes his hand away and his lips retrace your ear. Indulging himself in the last few spasms of your climax as it fizzes away. Slowly dripping the evidence of the encounter down the insides of your thighs, and his.

“Fuck me-“ You rasp out. Voice still laced with pleasure. Airy and dancing on a laugh too. An unbelievable one. He loves it when you go all gooey and soft. It’s so unlike your usual hard as steel state.

“There’s not going to be a room in this palace we’re going to leave unsullied is there?” He asks you.

“I highly doubt it.” You preen. Lower lip caught between your teeth as he finished petting gentle circles around your clit. Cupping your whole peachy shape in his hand. The short fuzz of your curls nestling against the arc of his palm.

“Now I really feel like I should be in church. On my knees. Praying our shared sins away to the Patriarch.” He said. Ghosting his plump lips down your ear.

“You’ll need to be on your knees for eternity for marrying the likes of me.”

“I don’t plan on atoning for anything regarding you. Tsarevna.” He insists as he scoops you in.

Kisses you once before he pulls back. You fight to right your clothes. Feeling him slip further and further down your legs. You fix your skirts. He rights his breeches. And hastily does up all those buttons.

“Enjoy your stag merrymaking.” You offer with a sly grin. “Try not to get carried away with your rutting in those remaining hours of singledom.” You tease, with flirt skated on your voice.

You thumb the corner of his mouth where he’s all spit wet. Looking at you like you’re every sort of devilish temptation he’s been warned to resist.

“Although if you share this gorgeous cock with any of those painted whores. I will have to punish you.” You sharpen your already pointed eyes at him.

“I think my sore head tomorrow will be punishment enough.” He skims his hands over your back. Settling in the slope of you there.

“Good boy.” You wrinkle his coat where you grab it in a fist and drag him in for a kiss. Devouring and sloppy kiss that makes sparks shoot to your knees and throb your veins.

When you’re done with him you rudely pull away and he stumbles. Kiss drunk. It makes you grin.

You slink away. A long straight walk along the corridor, aiming in the direction of your rooms. Best you snap to action before his mother sends someone to root you out.

He watches every step as you leave him aching, heart pounding war drums in his chest for more, blood fired. He wants you again as he admires the sway of your hips that was definitely deliberate.

“I do so enjoy the length of these hallways.” He calls in flirt after you.

You cross your hands behind your back and turn over your shoulder and smoulder at him.

“Careful. Tsarevich. I’m a taken woman.” You purr at him. Laughing as you glide away. Biting your lip.

“So I’ve heard.” He calls at your retreat.

He’s so drunk. He’s so beyond drunk he doesn’t think he’s ever felt a sensation like this before. Such a loss of faculties and control.

His head is swimming. A whirling drag that doesn’t keep up where he moves. When he turns his eyes it’s all blurred distortion.

Gorky kept pressing drinks to his hands. Abramov made rousing toast after toast which ended in all the men breaking into jeers, and slamming their emptied vodka glasses on the floor to the tune of his name.

The room is spinning endlessly. There’s bawdy chorus singing of a lewd folk song. The painted whores and their shrill laughter raising to brush the gold ceiling. He watched Count Orlov across the room perch one on his knee. Her dress was petal pink. Undone at the low bodice. Lips cherry red. He stuffed his hand up her skirts as she nibbled on his ear.

They kept smirking at him all night. The ladies. Some of them draped themselves across his lap. He shuffled away and the men roared laughter.

“Saving yourself for that firecracker of a Voronsky you’ve won?” Lord Petrova asks, slurring.

Paul won’t say that actually, yes, it’s something along those lines. He drinks til there’s nothing left in his glass.

“Enjoy the warm cunt of that plump Italian whore before you’re shackled to that fiesty bitch.” He barks out. Paul eyes him tiredly.

“Fetch me another drink, why don’t you.” Paul requested. Shoving his glass at the foul mouthed lord.

“That thing between your Tsarevna’s legs probably bites.” The man claps his shoulder and cackles as he walks away. Stopping to place an open handed slap on the ass of a whore stood drinking with his fellow nobles.

Paul glares. He gets this jagged feeling of protectiveness in his gut. Wants to stroppily tell him to fuck off and that your cunt is heaven and a fat oaf like him could never be so lucky.

Some are dancing to the sharp chirp of music. The air sways with songs. All of the men are as gone on drink as he is. It’s a riot of Russian revelry.

Lord Dymov stumbled up, smirked and clasped Paul’s very unsteady hand as he poured a great shaking glug of vodka into it. Spilled half over his lap and hand.

He tips it down his neck. Warmth fizzes low in his belly. His limbs feel too small and slick and he’s aching for sleep.

And you- he does so ache after thoughts of you. He’s laying back staring at the swirled gilding on the ceiling. How it fractures into patterns; into jewels and precious swirling white and gold. Like gem studded crowns and butter yellow autumn leaves twirling off the trees.

He doesn’t realise he’s speaking, a stream of words just dribbling out his mouth of how lucky he feels, how he’s going to be married. He’s going to have a wife. He’s going to have make heirs and spares, and all of this terrifying icy Russia will be writ into his future. Just like his father before him.

Gorky comes and hauls him up. “Come on my friend. I’d say you need your bed.”

“I need my wife.” Paul slurred with a thick and fat feeling tongue.

“She’s not your wife yet.” Gorky told him. Paul slurred something, snuffled, into his shoulder Gorky didn’t catch it.

He tries to stand. It’s like a newborn deer - knock kneed and incredibly ungainly - in his nice shiny soled boots over glass shards that crunch and crack under his weight. The floor is littered with broken glass from all the toasts.

It’s early by their standards. The party will continue on without its Prince. Slings an arm around his shoulder and dips to lever him off the chaise he’s sprawled on. Wig askew. Coat all rumpled. Vodka stained hands and mouth. They trip and stagger out the hall and along to the Tsarevich’s rooms.

Gorky hauls him through the doors and clumsily drops him on the bed. Discards the wig. Yanks off his boots. Off with the coat too. Leaves him sprawled on the mattress in his shirt and breeches.

“Sweet dreams, dear groom.” He sing-songs as he slipped out the pocket doors. Paul thinks he raised his hand to wave. He can’t be sure. His arms won’t follow his brains directions anymore. There’s fluffy-stuffy cotton where his limbs once were.

He sinks into the bed. The warm, lushness of his luxury bed. Stares at the heavy drape of canopy. It’s crushing sapphire blue weighing down his vision. Drowning him like the sea would. A sea of vodka. That sounded nice. That sounded like his salty, entirely alcohol laced bloodstream at the moment.

A slow knock rams against the inside of his very muzzy head.

He tells the door to go away.

“I don’t want to be disturbed.” Comes melting out his mouth off his tongue with the slowness of hot sticky honey.

The door opens anyway. It closes. He struggled to sit up on his elbows. Slanting vision tipping all over the place shows him the stretch of the door.

And you-

Stood there in a swathing lilac dressing gown. Hair loose. Silk ribbon tied around your neck. You’re stood there looking like some sainted angel whose walked right out a stained glass window in the church.

Botticelli’s Venus climbing out her shell and the waves. Skin stroked in candlelight like a glowing Raphael. La fornarina. La velata.

Paul finds his woolly tongue. “Tsarevna.” He nods his head. Belly erupting into a tangled hot jungle of his feelings for you. The drink seems to have amplified their intensity. His heart could crawl up these very walls it crashes so loud like waves in the cage of his chest.

You look at him with a mild expression of amusement. But there’s warmth there, too. A stunning amount.

“I take it your evening was pleasant?” You ask.

He nods. Taking in the state of your gown.

“Shouldn’t you have….more on?” He asks disguising a drunken hiccup in the middle of his sentence. His voice dips with it.

When he thinks about you walking through the palace for the guards to see you like that, he wants to go and have their eyes put out with a poker.

You smirk. He watches it curl up one side of your mouth. He thinks he hears harps.

“I was just thinking about all that bachelor fun you’d be having tonight.” You say as you reach for the sides of your gown. And slowly open them. Dropping your one item of clothing to the floor.

Paul’s eyes don’t know where to rest on your entirely naked body that you’re offering up to him.

Your nipples are hard. He watches the quake of your plump thighs where you move. The c-bout of your hip to waist.

You’re walking, padding slow, big cat slow, towards the end of the bed. Predator hunger glimmers sharp in your eyes.

“I wanted to make sure that you didn’t spend all night writhing under a painted whore. When you could spend all night under me instead.” You beam brightly.

“Did I make you envious?” He asks in sheer alarm in those big brown eyes. Like he’s looking for the matching puzzle pieces.

You narrow your eyes. Tilt your head. “Maybe a little. I told you. I’m a bitch and I don’t care for sharing my husband-to-be.”

“I didn’t go near them.” He insists boldly.

“Aren’t you sweet.” You coo.

Paul’s certain his tongue has shrivelled to dust. It’s taken his brain with it. And every drop of blood in his body rushed, beating to somewhere entirely south of his head.

You stand right between his legs. Kneeling yourself onto the floor. Soft antique rug catching your knees. Trailing fingers up his thighs.

You rip open his breeches. He squirms. His lungs cease to function. It’s like he’s breathing in claggy sand.

“May I suck your cock, my darling?” You ask with a genuine panthers grin.

He actually shivers when you ruck the clothing down his hips. Freeing that gorgeous cock laying flushed with blood up against his thigh. Head already leaking for you - shiny even in the dozy gold low light.

His mouth falls open when you suck him deep into your mouth. You twirl your tongue around around the swollen pink tip like the taste of him is your favourite thing in the world. It is. You moan at the heat of him. At that taste.

You suck him deep. An obscene gargle where he jams into your mouth. You’re flushed with pride when he bucks off the bed. He cant control himself. He’s humming and squirming from that strong hungry suction.

You pull off him. Lap the head with kitten licks. Then swallow him again. Tears prick your eyes when you relax enough to nudge him right down.

You flick your eyes up at him through your lashes. Lips glossy red. Eyes vibrant and watering with each slide and glug that comes so lewdly out your mouth. Your nose brushing against the short sweat-damp curls of his groin.

He’s jammed his fingers into your pretty hair. He can’t contain himself. He’s a mess.

Laying back on this bed and just sloppily fucking his hips up into your face. Calling for god in every way he knows how. Praying and stumbling, cursing.

“Oh my love. Your mouth, you’re so- better than any whore- even better cause you’re all mine. Christ.”

You pull back off him with a pop before he can spill into you. He follows your pull back with a thrust of his hips. Looking at you with shining puppy puddles for eyes.

You grip him by the base and lick a hot stripe right up him. Collecting one last taste.

You climb onto him and straddle his waist. Run your nails right up his chest. Digging in just a little - for fun.

“I did think you might want to fuck a Voronsky. One last time.” You purr. Sitting on his thighs. Your eyes gleam, it looks wicked. Snake eyes sharp. Sly smile.

He’s definitely fucked.

My taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @greenishghostey @callmeloverr

#prince paul fanfiction #prince paul catherine the great #prince paul imagine #prince paul fanfic #prince paul x you #prince paul smut #prince paul x oc #Prince Paul x Tsarevna #punkwrites #Joseph Quinn #prince paul x reader #prince paul #wedding planning #royal wedding #winter wedding

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honeybunniii333 · 4 months

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ED ANGST

(GLADLY, he's my favorite to torture, actually. Aside from Nevin! It's my love language ❤️)

Pain, burning piercing pain in his stomach. It hurt... it hurt really fucking bad. It was so bad that he couldn't hold in the pained cry that the force of the blade drew out of him. His gaze slowly drifted down to stare at the blade embedded deeply into his stomach before it shot back up to the perpetrator of said action. "James..." he choked out. The boy looked mortified, in as much shock as Ed was. They'd been arguing again in the midst of yet another supernatural mishap in the kitchen of the home ec room when James had angrily drawn a knife. Ed had assumed it was a bluff as James had never dared to get physically violent with him. He'd threatened, sure, but it had only ever been just that, a threat. So when James had gotten angrier and angrier and approached closer and closer with said weapon, Edward had not been afraid. Why would he be scared of his friend? Perhaps he should have been...

As James seemed to finally register the depth of what he'd just done, he panicked. Yanking the blade back out of his 'boss', which resulted in another pained noise and Ed's legs giving out on him as he pressed his hands to the wound to try and slow the bleeding. "james.." he wheezed again. "I didn't..boss.. I didn't mean.. I-" His long stammering session was quickly interrupted by a horrified shout. "ED!?" Dez, Cody and Isaac, they'd gotten separated during the commotion, and the trio had finally managed to find them again, only to stumble upon quite the scene. James turned to face them, dropping the bloody knife in his hands as he stumbled back. "holy...shit.." Isaac whispered before they were all surrounding him. He was still processing what was happening as Dez gently pushed him back to lean back against the counter behind him. "Shit shit shit.. oh god..." Dez stuttered out as she brushed Ed's hands away to put pressure on the wound.

"I'm okay.." he croaked out, and the glare Isaac shot at him made him shrink a little. "You are literally bleeding out." he hissed, though Edward was pretty sure it was because he was worried and stressed. Isaac got pissy when he was stressed, so he chose not to take it personally. He coughed a bit. He was starting to feel really tired and woozy. Figures, they always seemed to need Drew anytime he wasn't with them. His senses felt dulled, his vision was blurry, and his head felt heavy and fuzzy. He knew he was losing blood pretty fast and partially registered the sound of Dez frantically chattering with someone on her phone, her hand reaching out to squeeze his in an attempt to keep him present. He didn't understand. He'd been so certain James wouldn't hurt him. Where was he anyway? Ed couldn't see him anywhere nearby, nor hear his rambling anymore either. He started to sink into his thoughts more and more until those thoughts started to fizzle out halfway through. His eye lids started to get heavy as he began to feel a bit chilly, shivering as he let his head fall back fully against the counter wall behind him.

"Hey, look at me." Isaac's voice drew him out of his dazed half thoughts. He forced himself to look up at the blonde hovering beside him. "Mn lookin.." he mumbled, Isaac's form looked hazy in his blurry vision, but he could still make out the boy's worry. Isaac tended to always look annoyed. He had an awful case of resting bitch face. But Edward had always found that to be an odd concept because he personally didn't think anyone looked very friendly when their expressions were blank. But maybe it was just him, Ed tended to think differently than everyone else, it seemed. "Ed..." A harsh grip on his arm startled him back to reality yet again. He'd hardly noticed his eyes starting to drift shut as his mind spiraled. "Mn here." he croaked out, his voice didn't sound like him... at least he didn't think so. It sounded weak, barely there. He'd have been embarrassed if he wasn't so out of it. Isaac looked somewhat panicked like he was scrambling for the answer to a question. He could hear Dez still talking and registered that at some point, Isaac's Flannel had been taken and tied against his wound to hold stop the bleeding. It didn't look to be working well, but neither were hands... Speaking of hands... Isaac had one on his face now, drawing his attention back to him as his own blood was subsequently wiped across his cheek. "Hey..uh.. uhm.. Stars!" he blurted out, and Ed couldn't help but wheeze out a laugh at the randomness of it. Laughter hurt, and his head hurt really bad, too. "Stars?"

"Yeah, stars.. tell me about them." he insisted like talking about stars was the most important thing ever. And in that moment, it was. God, as long as Ed kept talking, it was. Isaac had never ever thought he'd be praying for Edward Quinton to keep talking, but here he was... Ed winced as a shiver and a cough racked through him again, before speaking finally. "Well...There are about 9,096 stars visible to the naked eye in the entire sky... and.." he trailed off for a second. "The color of... stars can range from red to white to blue. But... I... know the colors are usually the... the opposite... but... Red is actually the coldest, and Blue is the ...the hottest." He continued on, and when he'd start to trail off between words or slur them around a little too much, He'd feel Isaac's grip tighten and try with all his might to will himself to keep talking. He talked.. and talked... until talking started to get really hard. His head was practically resting against Isaac at this point. He wasn't sure when he'd ended up like that. He could feel hands in his hair, too. "Ed.. cmon... you're almost there... stars?" he whispered, he sounded.. strained? Kind of... But his head was too foggy to piece together why. "Stars ...a..re..." he tried, but his eyes were nearly shut by this point, and staying awake sounded like such a pain. His head felt like it was full of static, and he couldn't move anymore. He just wanted to go to sleep. He knew Isaac was talking to him, telling him to stay awake. He could faintly register the sound of sirens.. and the hands on his face again, but that was it as he blacked out, finally.

The next thing he heard was the slow and steady beeping of a heart monitor. His eyes slowly fluttered open, and everything still felt kind of hazy. Not quite the same as before, though. He squinted, trying to take in his surroundings in the dim room. It took a moment for him to register he in a hospital room. And even longer to register, there was a hand holding his. His eyes trailed over to find Isaac. Resting against the bed holding his hand as he slept. Dez was across the room and passed out in an armchair. They both looked like wrecks, and Edward felt a pang of guilt as he realized it was because of him...His shifting seemed to wake Isaac. "Hey.." his voice sounded so soft it almost felt wrong coming from him. Not that Edward disliked it... "You gave us a real scare, Asshole." he grumbled, and that sounded a lot more like Isaac. He frowned, wincing in guilt and glancing away. "I'm... sorry.." he whispered. "How long.. have I been out?" He added after a short pause of silence. "About a day... everyone's been to visit. Your brother and Janet went for food. They'll be back soon..." he hadn't let go of his hand. Their fingers still laced together. "Fuck... haha.. guess I'm gonna get quite a few lectures huh?" He wheezed out a laugh. He smiled but was definitely not looking forward to that. "I don't think they'll be super hard on you..." Isaac assured quietly, which was followed by another long pause.

"... Have you been here this whole time?" He asked. Noting that Isaac's clothes hadn't changed at all. "...for the most part.. I've left to get food a couple of times." he admitted. Edward felt the urge to scold him for it bubble up in his chest, but he felt currently he had no right to lecture on self-preservation at the moment, considering where he was. "Dez needed someone to swap watching over you with, and I didn't have anything better to do." he insisted using the age-old excuse of boredom. "Isaac..." he sighed. "What?" The blonde huffed back indignantly. "Thank you." He hummed, letting his eyes fall shut and weakly squeezing the smaller teens' hand. Isaac's expression faltered, and he let his head sink back down to rest against the bed. "... Yeah..."

#ibvs #ibvs posts #isaac beamer versus the supernatural #edward quinton #isaac beamer #dez gonzalez #Edward gets fucking stabbed #also probably not super medically accurate #ive never been seriously stabbed sooo #i did do basic research tho

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lchufflepuffcorn · 1 year

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Star Wars and languages

An imagine with Din, Obi-Wan, Poe and Boba.

Words: 1, 552k

Warning: Fluff.

Author's note: The gifs are not mine, they belong to their creators and/or their owner. The italic text means it's another language being spoken.

Masterlist OGW Masterlist

Okay, so I have a question.

I know there is a Basic language in the Star Wars universe and/or some implant to provide instant translation between two species. In that case, you can't tell me that EVERYBODY speaks basic or that EVERYBODY has enough money to buy AND install an implant. Just think of the countries that have to pay for urgent medical interventions. Or where (in the same country) they speak two (or more) different languages and can have difficulties understanding each other? And think of the people on Tattooine who can't afford the implant and speak just limited basic and some cocktail of languages necessary to have a successful business. Or the people with even less connection to the commercialized area of space. I also really liked that Boba Fett needs/wants protocol droids so it can translate for him. But again, people who aren't talented with the mechanic or don't have to money to pay for them still exist. So, I thought of something: what about some Star Wars characters with a good but still not perfect knowledge of the Basic language because they come from a planet in the outer rim territories, or just because, you know, not everybody is good with languages at its a fucking complex skill to have, speaking more than one so…

Din Djarren:

Din would start a bit annoyed that his S/O has difficulties with the basic language. He thought being a bounty hunter/babysitter was already enough to deal with without needing to translate everything back to you in words you could understand and learn from.

"Mando! Where the... the... you know... *Insert word for tea here*."

"We don't have that!"

And then there's grumbling on both ends.

He would also be particularly displeased -at the start of your... relation- if you asked questions after someone just finished explaining something in a language you don't understand.

The Hapans incident was one of them. Really it wasn't your fault, hapan is a complex language, and honestly, why were you out of the ship anyway?

He also finds it cuter and cuter the way you find to describe the world around you. Especially if you're tending to the kid and babbling away about things from your homeworld. Sometimes slipping back to your favoured language as if the kid could understand. Or the way your hands fly all around you when you just can't describe a word any more than you already did before, so you're mimicking it to the best of your capacities.

"No, I know you don't sell horses. I mean the thing *hands flapping around in a circular-ish square before your face* that helps the ship fly... the rolling, running..."

"The motor." He would then say. His hands would settle down on his hips, and he'd stare at the mechanic through his visor. Daring them to laugh at your struggle.

But also, when you'd lose yourself in an explanation or a theory, talking fast as the passion comes out of you, and your eyes shining like the stars surrounding you, and you just start forgetting words because: what is time, really, when you're floating in space? Chef kiss.

"But if the Twi'lek have the courage, and the people, to rebel, why are most of them still ensla... ens... urg... offers not paid services? Why not just fight the power and be free? Why working in dez...dess.. euh... gross condition...s?"

Yeah, that'd make him fall in love even more... It doesn't even matter to him anymore. He'd just learn to live with the weird speech fluctuation between your first language and basic without a hitch.

Obi-Wan Kenobi:

Probably one of the most patient out of everyone on this list. When I tell you that this man is SOOO fine!!!!!!!!

But yeah, he'd probably translate back to you when he knows very well that the basic spoken before you is pretty specific and not necessarily part of the basics you use daily.

"It's a Delta-7 Aethersprite-class light interceptor. It has fewer internal systems, which makes it easier to control." He'd tell you in a low voice.

Now, you'd be pretty sure that the words he translated it to are far more straightforward than those the mechanic uttered with his hands flailing about, but you'd have that conversation later.

Or when you're off-world, and there is a menu that is not basic in front of you, and the guy at the cantina only speaks limited basics too. Obi-Wan will help you there too.

"And what's that?" You'd ask, pointing to the letters splattered on the pages given to your table. 'Looks like a grafitti.' Was your following mumble. You weren't too happy with your current hiding place, mainly because you seemed not to be hiding.

"It's a shepherd's pie... with chandrilian meat."

"'With what meat?' This is expensive!! We are supposed to be hiding!! Not feasting! 'You're going to kill me'.."

"I'm only joking. It's nerf stew."

He'd use your inability to speak every language possible to mess with you. All in the name of fun, of course.

In the end, he'd be pretty good at going from and to you with words and explanations, even between gentle jokes with plays of words or even full-on leading you on about something.

Now, I believe you'd somehow find a way to procure yourself a translating chip, or whatever, at some point during your relationship with Obi-Wan, but believe me when I say that this man will 100% forget and continue to translate things back to you.

"That's not what she said! She said that they'd made an arrangement so the turbo blaster turrets would rotate in two seconds instead of three and that they'd see if they can make it more precise for the closer range firing shots in the try-outs."

"I told you that exactly."

"No! You said: turrets rotate faster and shoot better at closer range. That's not very detailed..."

Somehow, while he'd try to explain himself on that belief, you get the sense that maybe he knows just enough of your language to seem knowledgable. He was just trying to impress you...

Poe Dameron:

Would one hundred percent fire you up just so you'd lose your words and starts speaking in your first language because he finds it cute. He'd purposely make you jump out of your skin, give you a good scare by creeping behind you, or pinching the soft skin of your hips to tickle you, just to hear you curse.

'Ah! Son of... if you do this again, you won't laugh for long!'

Or he'll put his hands on your shoulder while passing behind you when you don't expect it.

'You fucker!!'

Will, however, get a little bit exasperated if he has to translate long messages back to you during missions. He'll also keep upsetting information from you "for your own good." That weird impression that if you don't speak a language well, then you are some kind of childish representation of yourself is what Poe reflects on most of the time.

He does get frustrated when he's under pressure and will push you away to reduce his stress. Poe will gravitate back toward you after an hour or two of being with people that are just plain annoying for no reason.

During your free time, Poe would love to help you with your basic language classes, especially if he gets paid in kisses, but he'd also love to learn your language.

He would melt if you used your first language to tell him how much he counts for you. Domesticity done your way will be the best way to a soft Poe whenever.

Boba Fett:

"Princess, I can't understand what your saying..."

He will look at Fennec like a lost puppy until you finally get to be understood by one or the other. Fennec is actually better than him at understanding other languages. That protocol droid does come in handy when and where Boba doesn't have the time to play riddles with you.

He never has the time, except for later in the night.

Boba is the type of man that comes up with gestures to help you communicate your ideas better. It also helps when you're in crowded areas and trying to be discreet.

So what if you don't speak ubese? He'll sign you the more important things you need to know about immediately, and - if times are considerate enough, he'll take the time to translate them.

Boba is actually very patient when it comes to learning. He'll take the time you need and always circle back to you, checking if you understood the words he tells you. Or the situation you're in. He'll even make sure you're never left out in convos by always signing to you the basic information or the questions you're asked.

He likes hearing you talk in your languages, and because he's good at learning new things, he would get the basics of your mother tongue swiftly and could probably hold small conversations with you and even follow some of your rambles.

"And then Fennec was like 'whoosh' and 'plink, plink plink.' And there was a big explosion nearby, and then I swooped in, holding the bomb like you showed me and threw it as far as I could."

" I'm proud of you, Princess."

#Star Wars x reader #Star Wars imagine #Star Wars franchise #Poe Dameron x reader #Poe Dameron imagine #Obi-Wan kenobi x reader #Obi-Wan Kenobi imagine #Din Djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #Boba Fett imagine #Boba Fett x reader #fluff #existential crisis questions

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reydoll · 20 days

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some art of Dez and Elizabeth, lol.

she's not quite Dr. Blakk's daughter, but she's pretty close! I believe they met before Blakk even defeated Viggo Dare. They've been dealing with each other awhile. I've referred to her as his deputy a couple times

Dez and Elizabeth have also been dealing with each other awhile! She'd happily call him her best friend, but he would hesitate to call her the same (he cares for her nonetheless)

#digital art #original character #fanart #slugterra #madame elizabeth noire #desmond dez stanger #blakk industries #slugterra oc

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thoughtswordsaction · 5 months

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Dez Dare Shared New Single "Got A Fire In My Socket"

UK psych-punk Dez Dare shares the first single and video today from his forthcoming new album A Billion Goats. A Billion Sparks. Fin worldwide. Watch & share “Got a Fire In My Socket” via YouTube HERE & hear on all DSPs HERE. Dez Dare kicks off UK tour dates in April, with more to follow in the EU and Australia. Please see current dates below. A Billion Goats. A Billion Sparks. Fin. features 11…

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#DEZ DARE #NEWS #PSYCH PUNK #PSYCH ROCK #PUNK ROCK

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pixievi · 1 year

Text

I've nothing fully finished BUT I will show you guys some unfinished stuff because you gays deserve it after I've been gone for so long 😏 all of these are or will be smut, so come get yall shit

PIXIEVI PREVIEWS

SOMA JARLSKONA - DRABBLE

(just some thoughts about how filthy Soma is behind doors 🥰)

There’s something about the collected, stoic Soma Jarlskona being a sexual deviant behind closed doors…

Her steady smile she shows her clansmen with the same lips that smiled sadistically at your pathetic moans under her. The same hand she uses to greet an ally and down an enemy leaves its painfully red imprint on your ass as you join her in strategic meetings.

JUNKERQUEEN / ODESSA STONE - EXHIBITION KINK

(part of an exhibition kink request that also features Caitlyn Kiramman and Sevika, Dez wants to show the man who keeps advancing on her Queen who she belongs to. And what he's missing)

“I think you’ve forgotten who my Queen belongs to”

Every movement that came with Dez’s possessive speech to the man practically cowering in his place had you fighting to keep your moans down. She didn’t want you to make any sounds or movements just yet. So you listened to her angry snarls and watched the man jerk nervously between staring at Dez’s boots to your comfortable form on her lap. You bit your lip as she sat forward, her favourite strap sliding further into you. Your back was facing him, but there was no way he didn’t realise that Dez had you stuffed full right in front of him. Something he would never, ever get to do. You both wanted him to know that. She kissed your cheek sweetly, with a small smile just for you before she turned back to him with a scowl.

“You just couldn’t take no for an answer, could ya? You pestering, yapping mutt”

She growled the last word. Making you clench around her, slightly thrusting upwards. The drag drawing a sigh of pleasure from you. Your warm breath fanned her neck and she smiled, tightening her already vicelike grip around your waist to stop your movements. She knew how eager you were, her precious love. But she wanted to draw this out as much as she could. Enjoying the power she had over this rat. To show him what he could never have. He could have a taste all right. He can decide if what comes after makes it all worth it. Dez smiled, trailing her index finger down your spine, lightly scraping it. You squirmed, kissing her neck in the heat of your want. You brushed your fingers up and down her broad arms, watching as the man followed your movements. Somehow still having the audacity to fume at your affections towards her. You smiled, squeezing her biceps before laying your head back down on her shoulder. Dez caught that, the flare of anger in his eyes. She chuckled, patting your ass.

“Go on darling”, she murmured, bunching up your dress and exposing your lower half to all eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare look away rat”

You immediately got to work, sighing in relief as you bounced on her cock. The ridges dragged deliciously against all of your sweet spots. Dez watched you with a wolfish grin. She pulled down the front of your dress, releasing your tits to the cold air. Her eyes followed them hungrily as they bounced. Your moans and pleasure stricken variations of her name echoed through the spacious room. You were as generous as you could be with Dez’s name, wanting it to be the only thing he remembers. Despite his growing resentment, he couldn’t look away from the way you dripped all over the Queen’s thighs.

EIVOR WOLFKISSED / VARINSDOTTIR - 'THE FRUITS OF HER LABOUR'

(you're a recently crowned queen/ruler, all thanks to eivor)

“Are you not joining in on the merriment, my lady?”

Eivor had appeared in the throne room silently, her features illuminated by the flames of the many braziers in the room. She wore a proud smirk, the victory from earlier in the day obviously still sung through her veins. Rowdy shouts and songs of battle faintly filled the room from the longhouse. It sounded like the whole town was in there. You were sat comfortably in your new position, on your throne. Reading through various letters from the townsfolk, in which most welcomed their new Queen. That was until Eivor’s gentle voice joined the crackling of the fires. She strolled towards you as her eyes took in your domestic form, pleasantly surprised. She was used to seeing you in noble wear. Thick cloaks sewn with delicate designs and with the softest furs, tunics bearing rich colours, thick pants made to withstand the seasons and jewellery that vociferated of your status. Now, you donned a plain tunic and pants. You looked soft, she thought, as warmth filled her chest.

“No”, you smiled at her softly. “I would much rather be in my bed”

It had been a long month and a half of strategising, travelling, battles, meetings, dealing with Ivarr’s bullshit, more battles because of said bullshit….you were ready to sleep for a month. To put it lightly. But having Eivor by your side made it all bearable. You were taken aback by her confident demeanour at first, but that same confidence soon became a comfort that quelled your anxieties. Without her, victory would not have been possible. She stopped at the bottom of the dais and her smirk grew into a smile. Mischief swirling in her eyes.

“Perhaps I could keep you company then?”

Brazen, she was. Your cheeks warmed. Damned woman. You wished you had grown used to her teasing, but how could you when everything about her made you want her to plow you until you couldn’t walk?

ELLIE WILLIAMS - 'PINK BONDS'

(you strap a clingy ellie down in this one 😏)

Ellie briskly marched ahead of you silently, but you could feel the anger radiating off her even from behind. You had no clue what was going on. You were busy all week, having to take extra jobs around Jackson because a few people on the job roster were sick. Ellie took extra shifts too, but for patrol. So all you could do together is just get into bed and sleep. This evening was the last day of the extra stuff though, which you were thankful for. You needed the rest, and you needed Ellie. You were almost home now, the crunching of the snow accompanying your thoughts of what just happened. You were laughing with Dina in the main hall and then all of a sudden Ellie appeared. Snapping at Dina and then mumbling at you to ‘let’s go home’. Shocked, you did what she said and now here she was, fumbling with the keys to her place and cursing under her breath at them.

“Ellie”, you breathed, following her through the finally open door. “The fuck was that?”

She didn’t look at you as she threw off her shoes. Something was seriously off. You closed the door before crouching in front of her while she sat on the couch. She avoided your eyes but you kept trying to catch hers. Sighing, you went to cup her cheeks gently but she jumped up. Moving away from you towards the bedroom.

“Ellie!”

“Wh-”, she started, but stopped and lowered her voice. “What?”

“What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth to speak but you stopped her, holding up your hand. “And don’t lie to me”

Defeated, Ellie looked down, picking at her palm. You wrapped your arms around.....

Just to say, I have LOADS more in my drafts, like requests and stuff, I just haven't written anything for those just yet but I'll try to get around to them ♡ and yes, I have plenty of Vi stuff 😏

#pixievi preview #soma jarlskona x reader #eivor wolfkissed x reader #junkerqueen x reader #odessa stone #vi x reader #arcane x reader #ellie williams x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #sevika x reader #junker queen x reader

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deztincoric · 3 months

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annual austin and ally fearsome four headcanons!!! (finalized now ^_~)

+ kira and carrie bc i love them too

descriptionz in more detail under the cut \^_^/

Ally

-Ally’s design is based very off her style in season one, she will always be soft colors and jean jackets to me ‘u’

- She’s wearing a guitar pick necklace, given to her by Austin :)

- They use they/she pronouns

- She's panromantic and asexual (thanks to that one person in my notes on my first hcs post, you opened my eyes, so so real).

- She was the last of the fearsome four to come out. She comes out publicly before Austin does.

- She’s a demigirl but she’s not super open about it. They won’t deny it or anything but she’s doesn’t talk about it very often.

- Ally is autistic with a special interest in music (obviously). She has misophonia (hc based on that episode where she has to fire Dallas).

- Ally and Kira are dating. Kira fell first and was the first to confess.

- They definitely listen to mostly indie pop music and I refuse to take criticism on that.

- Top Albums/Songs: Stranger in The Alps - Phoebe Bridges, Kissing Lessons - Lucy Dacus, the masquerade - mxmtoon.

Austin

- Austin is another one whose design is heavily influenced by his season one style. I don’t know why but Austin is just the color red to me so I don’t think I’ve ever drawn him in a different outfit before. His design is the only consistent one of the four XD

- Also I love making his bleach job way shittier than it is irl because it just fits him.

- His ears are pierced because he thought it would be cool, he and Dez went to Claires for the first set, the other two were done at an actual place. Ally told Austin about how bad piercing his ears at Claire's is after he had already gotten done - so his second and third ear piercings were done at a real piercer.

- He uses he/him pronouns although he doesn’t mind when people use they/them for him.

- He’s bisexual and the third of the fearsome four to come out.

- He and Ally broke up because they both lost feelings and their relationship was originally based on feeling like they had to date because of how closely they were working together (they just both catch feelings easily). It was a consensual decision that they would be better off as friends.

- He and Dez are dating, Dez obviously fell first but Austin confessed first.

- He and Dez always had a “not friends or best friends but a third thing” going on, their friendship was always a bit deeper than just being best friends but they didn’t acknowledge or explore it until after high school.

- They keep their relationship totally private for a while since he thinks neither Trish nor Ally can keep a secret. Austin isn’t public with their relationship for a long while since he didn’t want to come out publicly (as in to like fans).

- Austin has ADHD and he takes meds to help with focusing.

- He’s hyperfixated on the history of pop music, when the show started it was guitar but after making pop for so long it kind of evolved into pop music in general then into the history of pop music.

- He listens to pop and 2010s radio music (as in music that was on the radio a lot so mostly pop but there are some exceptions). And Waterparks, Austin loves Waterparks.

- Top Albums: Double Dare - Waterparks, Fine Line - Harry Styles, Doo-Waps & Hooligans - Bruno Mars.

Dez

- Dez will never have a consistent outfit, it is always different but his style doesn’t really change throughout the series so it doesn’t matter too much. Loud colors, absurd patterns, and graphic tees (me fr tbh).

- His ears are pierced, done by Carrie in the cafeteria of their high school. He also has a stick and poke on their ankle done by her although it’s very faded. (From experience they’re rarely done right and will disappear rq).

- Dez uses all pronouns: he, she, they, xe, it, neopronouns - it doesn’t matter. People tend to use he/him for them but honestly, she wants people to mix it up more (projecting a bit XD)

- They’re nonbinary :3

- He’s gay and demirose (demiaroace) (projecting again). It was the first to come out of the fearsome four, coming out as bisexual sometime in middle school. It wasn’t until late high school that Dez realized they were actually gay and then didn’t realize he was demirose until a lot later.

- Dez and Carrie dated for like two weeks before they realized they weren’t actually into each other romantically, their relationship helped solidify that Dez is gay and Carrie is a lesbian (before either knew they weren’t cis btw, enby ppl are obvi included in both of their identities). They fake-dated through the rest of high school though. It kept Carrie closeted (with the added bonus that guys at her work wouldn’t hit on her as often) and it kept Dez’s thing for Austin under wraps.

- Trish found out that Dez was into Austin relatively early on in their friendship through observation and then interrogating him.

- Dez and Austin are dating, and Dez fell first. He has had a crush on him since like the 5th grade but they didn’t date until after high school.

- He has AuDHD (Autism and ADHD). His special interest is film techniques and they’re hyperfixated on Zaliens. They are a big fan of chewlry, usually wearing a chewlry necklace.

- Dez will listen to anything but his favorites are in the alternative genres.

- Top Albums: Spirit Phone - Lemon Demon, Artists vs Turtles - Epic Rap Battles of History, Hot Freaks - Hot Freaks.

- Dez is an Annoying Orange and Fred enjoyer, it’s the truth (sorry not sorry).

Trish

- Trish isn’t fully based on any of her styles but I think it fits her ^o^ I like this one way more than any of the other ones I’ve done.

- She has a nose stud and a septum as well as ear piercings (she’s had her ears pierced since she was a baby). She also has a navel piercing, the stud is a heart. Typically she wears gold hoops with her outfits.

- She uses she/her pronouns.

- She’s a lesbian and was the second of the fearsome four to come out. She came out to Dez before anyone else (they were talking about identity crises, Dez told her about Carrie and she came out to him). She came out to Ally and then Austin shortly after.

- She and Jace stayed friends. They didn’t talk for a little while after they broke up but are on good terms now. They talk pretty frequently now.

- Trish listens to mainly rap, R&B, and pop (also mostly female artists. not on purpose it just sort of happens lol).

- Top Albums: Hot Pink - Doja Cat, Ones - Selena, Somethin’ ‘Bout Kreay - Kreayshawn.

- She’s very invested in celebrity drama and talks about celebrities like she knows them personally. Ex: “Did you hear about what Justin did?” (referring to Justin Bieber).

Kira

- Kira’s outfit isn’t my favorite, it’s a little boring I think but she’s very teal and flowy material to me so I incorporated that. I think she’d like lace a lot too (although I didn’t incorporate it into her outfit).

- She wears dangling earrings but rarely hoops.

- She uses she/her pronouns.

- She is bisexual and out publicly.

- Kira and Ally are dating, Kira fell first and confessed first too. Kira started to develop feelings for her near Beach Clubs & BFFs (the KirAlly propaganda episode <333).

- She mainly listens to pop (as is the meta for characters in this show l _ l ).

- Top Albums/Songs: Dancing in the Kitchen - LANY, Ocean Eyes - Owl City, One of the Boys - Katy Perry.

Carrie

- *Carrie doesn’t have a canon last name (beside Wade during Duets & Destiny 👎). The last name I gave her is just her and Piper’s actresses’ last names hyphenated (Hannah Kat Jones and Hayley Erin).

- She was my favorite to draw, oh my gosh. I fully believe she would be Decora Kei. My first drawing of her I never posted because it wasn’t quite Decora and didn’t look right XD. But I really like this design for Carrie ^u^ Decora is so fun to draw!

- Also Carrie with braces is so real, I’m drawing her with them for forever now.

- Carrie has tons of piercings, a lot of them done by herself. 3 of her ear piercings were done on their own and so was her nose piercing. Xe tried to pierce her belly button but it got really infected and she had to take it out (it left a scar :,>). It wants more face piercings but she won’t do any other face piercings alone since it would be close to her eyes (nose bridge and eyebrow piercing).

- She also has a ton of stick and pokes of varying quality. None of them are particularly big or visible.

- Carrie uses she/it/xe and all neopronouns. She really likes glitch/clown/sparks as noun pronouns though ^3^

- She is girlflux (similar to genderfluid but her gender is never masculine).

- She’s a lesbian and she came out right after breaking up with Dez (the second time).

- There were two breakups between her and Dez. The real one which was the one they had played off as a misunderstanding and the second one was the break-off of the fake relationship.

- She was the one to suggest they keep pretending to date, even after they realized they weren’t into each other.

- Xe has ADHD and is hyperfixated on Japanese street fashions ^_^ (She wants to have her own Decora fashion line one day).

- She listens to mostly dance, J-Pop, and electronic music.

- Top Albums/Songs: Oh Yeah Baby! - Cube Natural, Tilt - Nanoray, Sigma - Reol.

(side note if you like electronic music with a lot going on Cube Natural, Nanoray, Sophiaaaahjkl;8901, and Golden Boy are such good artists you should check them out pls and thanks.)

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behindthesemasks · 6 months

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WARNINGS - BLOOD, VIOLENCE, GUNS, SHOOTING, PHYSICAL ATTACK

Fingers combed through her long dark hair, Klaus’s larger body pressing her smaller one back into the bar. Her heart was racing, she could hear the blood rushing through her ears and she loved every minute of it. There was no mistaking his passion, his restraint having come to an end when she had uttered those words. The kiss on the plane had made her heart skip, but now she was lost in him.

One hand had slid down her back and he was getting ready to lift her up onto that bar, or maybe to find her room, he didn’t care as long as he got to feel more of her. He had longed for this for too long and he wasn’t going to waste a minute more now. That thought was fully interrupted when the door to the suite slammed open enough it made them both jump.

In an instant, Mel was behind Klaus and his gun was drawn. Nic and Ambrose burst out of the study with weapons drawn as well. The look on Gabriel’s face when he drew up short was one of surprise and slight fear. He had been in such a hurry to get to them all that he hadn’t thought of their reaction to his entry. He was mentally kicking himself now for it.

“Damn it! Sorry! There’s…” His eyes cut over to where he could see Mel peaking from behind Klaus. It was kind of cute but he had to resist the urge to smile; there were three very pissed men with hairpin triggers who still had guns aimed at him. “Been an incident at the dig site, and another one here afterward.”

Nic growled as he holstered his weapon, Ambrose and Klaus doing likewise. “What? What the fuck has happened NOW!?” Annoyance and aggravation was clear in his voice.

“Sasha Dominko has been shot.” Gabe paused as he heard Mel’s gasp. Another mental kick for not thinking of a better way to state that. “And…Andreas is here. It’s not a friendly visit. Erik and Case have him in one of the rooms…talking.” The look Gabe shot to the three men said talking was the least of what they were doing.

“Wait…Andreas…no!” Klaus’s face became a mask of anger as Cam entered the room.

“Uh, Gabe.” Cam cleared his throat and looked tired. “You might want to come back in there. Like…NOW!” He turned and left after nodding at all the others.

Gabe turned and hurried out of the room, followed by everyone else. Mel had to almost jog to keep up with the men. She was several inches shorter and while she had long, dancer’s legs...she still had a hard time keeping up. Pissed off men seemed to move far faster than they should have. When they got in the room, they found out that Alexander and Caden had headed to the hospital when they’d heard of the shooting and before Andreas had arrived. Donovan and Dez had headed to the dig site. Both pairs of men had been made aware of the latest development and were on guard for any associates that Andreas might have.

“Situation update,” Ambrose barked out as soon as they were all in the room. He was handed several photos, which he looked at and then passed them to Nic.

Erik, Klaus, and Ambrose went off to the side to talk in hushed tones. Mel’s eyes swept over the man gagged and tied to the chair. How could this man she knew have done this? Sasha had never hurt anyone. She was a kind, peaceful woman who lived to dig up artifacts. She didn’t have a cruel bone in her body and never said a harsh word. How dare he hurt her like this, there was no reason. Well, sure…there was money…but who the hell would want to hurt her? Then again, she would have thought the same thing about herself before Peru. Now she knew that greed and ambition drove people to do stupid and deadly things.

Nic and Gabe tried to keep between Mel and Andreas, as if they expected him to somehow slip his bonds and attack the petite brunette. This wasn’t a part of their jobs they necessarily wanted her to see. The condition that Andreas was in wasn’t pretty. One ear and his nose were bleeding. There were bruises in various shades of purple adorning his face, and some on his neck that resembled finger marks. His shirt was torn and there was what looked like dried blood in a few places there as well. Cerebrally Mel knew what business the Parte’ Defensionis branch of the Meyers conglomerate did, and it was more than just providing bodyguards and private investigators. Still, knowing exactly who had inflicted those injuries hit a part of her deep inside. What had Andreas done that his own cousin would beat him bloody?

Cam and Case were behind and slightly to each side of the chair, the looks on their faces spoke to supreme and very finely veiled rage. Whatever had gone down, it was bad. The fact she had been allowed in the room with Andreas told her only one thing: she wasn’t the target this time. Still Mel’s mind couldn’t come to grips with what was happening. Who? Who had ordered this?

Finally the grouping off to the side broke up and the males started to come back before Andreas. As they did, the pictures Nic had been holding were laid on a table off to the side where several weapons lay as well, from Erik, Case, Cam and Gabriel from Mel’s guess. You didn’t want to give your prisoner an opportunity to get your weapon if he broke the restraints, this much she knew from listening to her cousin and grandfather. As Cam delivered a few blows to Andreas when he spit on Ambrose rather than answer the elder man’s questions regarding who had hired him, causing Andreas to be gagged once more, Mel moved the photos aside. In addition to Sasha there was a male who she didn’t recognize as anyone on the dig. Then she slid those two pictures aside…

“Andreas, you can either tell us what we want to know or we will continue to inflict pain till you are of no use to us. You know this.” Ambrose’s words were spit out with venom. The man had tired of being even the semblance of polite. “So are you going to cooperate?”

Before Andreas could answer there was the very loud and dull thunk of a high tech suppressed gunshot and a muffled howl of pain from Andreas as blood began to stain his shirt on his right shoulder. All heads turned to behind them and slowly a path was made as Mel moved forward, gun still held very steadily in front of her. Her fine features were covered in a mask of rage and hatred. She stopped right in front of Andreas and his eyes widened in fear. Never had he seen her this way and he knew instinctively it was a very bad thing to be seeing.

Nic, Ambrose, Klaus, and Erik all exchanged glances. Their eyes said that someone should probably do something, but the fact none of them moved said that none of them were going to be that someone. They knew why she was pissed, and from the look on Andreas’s face she was making quite an impression that none of the rest of them would be able to quite match. “You, absolute cocksucking son of a bitch. How fucking dare you show up here! You see this face?” She held up Alexander’s picture less than an inch from the tip of Andrea’s nose. “If a single hair on this man’s head is damaged I will kill you. I will make your last moments so painful that you will pray for death to a god that doesn’t fucking exist.” Now her face was in his and her eyes bored holes into him. True fear began to show in his eyes, Mel had finally lost it and he was about to feel the full weight of it, he was sure.

“So, you’re going to tell all these nice men what the fuck they want to know, or I’m going to start causing you pain that they won’t.” The muzzle of the gun pressed into his cock, slowly the pressure increasing. “Oh, and I won’t just shoot you…I told you I’m going to make it painful. And, see, I know where they keep the drugs that will keep your ass awake through every damn second of it. They’re all pissed, but I’m fucking crazy and none of them are going to stop me. I’ll give you a minute to think about it.” Placing her hand in the middle of his chest, she shoved him backwards, causing the chair to tip over, Case and Cam stepping back and looking at each other with raised eyebrows. Nope, neither of them was going to get in her way.

Stepping between the legs of the chair, Mel brought her foot up and then slammed it down into Andreas’s groin. All of the other men groaned, some shifting uncomfortably as Andreas howled. “That was a love tap asshole. Next time it’ll really hurt.” Turning quickly, Mel headed out of the room with the gun still held in her hand, safety off, and hammer back. Anyone got in her way of finding her best friend, she’d shoot them too. First she was going back to the suite to get changed and then she was going to find Alexander. He was going to be with Sasha, and she wasn’t going to let either of them be hurt. She was done with people being hunted and taken out like animals. The lamb was becoming the lion, and may all the gods in the heavens help whomever got in her way.

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