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punk-in-docs · 2 years

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-EDDIE MASTERLIST-

🕷Super Freak Series🕷

🕸 Your Web, I’m Caught (the 1st) 🕸

Summary: The one where you’re miserable and drinking on your own at a party. And you run into maybe the last person you’d have expected on the outskirts. 7.6k words.

🕸 Is It My Body (the 2nd) 🕸

Summary: The one where Eddie gives you a ride home after your friend ditched you at a terrible party. 6.9k words.

🕸 Power of Suggestion (the 3rd) 🕸

Summary: You see Eddie at school after he gave you a lift home the other night. There’s definitely something you need to resolve. It’s mind over matter and there’s something you’re both after. 5.3k words.

🕸 Head Over Heels (the 4th) 🕸

Summary: Eddie visits you at the record store where you work. You end up making out in the storage room. 7.6k words.

🕸 Was it Love or Nicotine? (The 5th) 🕸

Summary: Eddie can’t seem to see you at school. He thinks you’re avoiding him til he finds out you’re sick. And he climbs in your window one night to bring you a can of soup. 12k words.

🕸Wolf Men & Secret Heists (the 6th)🕸

Summary: You and Eddie enjoy a rendezvous in a storage closet at school. Some inevitably dirty stuff happens. 9.2k words (smut)

🕸 Don’t need telling twice (the 7th)🕸

Summary: You go over to Eddie’s for a Movie Night date. And apparently, you’re both terrible at keeping quiet about what you want. 10.4k words. (No smut just sheer fluff)

🕸️ Vanilla Tobacco (the 8th) 🕸️

Summary: Eddie collects you for your ice cream/arcade date, he also gets to meet your mom. 10.9k words

🕸️Star Studded Gazes & Metal Men (the 9th) 🕸️

Summary: Your date goes very well- maybe a little to well under the stars at skull rock. 10.5k words (smut!)

🕸️ Girlfriend is Better (The 10th) 🕸️

Summary: You and Eddie face an unseen obstacle, which you manage to overcome with some hard cold vengeance. and then you hit him with an interesting offer... 10.k words (angst/tw violcence past assault)

🕸️ Can’t leave you in the wrong hands, baby (The 11th) 🕸️ OUT NOW!!!!

Summary: You and Eddie take the definitive step towards boyfriend and girlfriend. An empty house and a evening alone yields to a perfect evening of a first time, and much much more (11.2k words, so much SMUTTT)

-Drabbles/One Shots-

🕷Green is the Colour 🕷 - Eddie x Pencils Drabble - 6.6k words

Summary: Eddie being jealous that everyone in Hawkins is apparently getting a slice of Pencils after they start dating. (Jealous!Eddie themes) ends with fluff.

🚬 Messy Eddie Headcanons🚬

🎼🎙 Eddie working in the record store with Sal Headcanons = a.k.a sheer Chaos 🎙🎼

🔥NSFW Eddie Headcanons🔥

🎃 Trick? Or Treat? 🎃

Summary: Eddie’s friends are having trouble believing you’re really dating. They require a little proof- 3k. Funky little drabble really.

🍁 Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little boy like you 🍁

Summary: you celebrate your two year anniversary with Eddie at the place where it all began- At the Hawkins Fall carnival.

🍂 Halloween Headcanon’s for Eddie 🍂

Summary: Pretty much what it says on the tin. Halloween Headcanons with Eddie.

❤️ My Funny Valentine ❤️

Summary: A requested ask/drabble- Valentines Day- and suddenly you have a not so secret admirer.

❤️‍🔥 Drawing Mr. Munson ❤️‍🔥

Short drabble: what would drawing Eddie be like? In a nutshell, a challenge.

🩸VAMPIRE!EDDIE🩸One shot; 10k words- also on AO3 if you fancy-

🩸Love like Blood🩸

Summary; !! Dark fic !! Vamp!Eddie x Reader. 10k words. He fully believes hell has opened its snake jaw and devoured him whole- cause this is, just, unbelievable.

Okay, maybe he hasn’t been swallowed into hell.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s that hell has chewed him up, and spat him back out.

He tried to stand and is amazed when he can. Bearing his own weight again. Stood tall. Slowly creaking and cracking to life.

Life? Or Death?

Other Characters

Detective (Murderer) Quinn

- Tainted Love, Part I

Summary: Inspired entirely by this post which I glimpsed via @ravensfromvalhalla from @ceriseheaven. As in the gif, what if Detective Quinn was actually a crazy psycho killer. Set in the 1980’s LA. Det Quinn x Reader.

‼️You don’t know I’m no good ‼️ Part II

Summary: Danger is far closer than you realise ‼️ TW: dark vibes, murder, death, violence, stalking ‼️ 3.6k words.

‼️Hungry like the wolf‼️ Part III

Summary: Quinn gets up close and personal. But he has an ulterior motive of course. ‼️TW dark vibes, knife violence and threatening ‼️ 4.1k words.

‼️ Like a fist. Like a Knife ‼️ Part IIII

Summary: Birdie is on the case - Quinn is onto her. The plot thickens- Slutty chaos ensues.

‼️ Hit me like a bad trip‼️ Part V

Summary: Some questions lead Birdie to the wrong side of town, good thing she’s got someone watching her back. Whether she wants them or not- turns out to be a good thing. Knights in shiny red Porsches. 7.2k words.

‼️ Girl in trouble (is a temporary thing) ‼️ Part VI

Summary: Birdie patches a bloodied Quinn up at her place. There’s nakedness, too much Bourbon, and a whole lot of smut involved. 9.9k words.

‼️ Have a horny little XXXmas - Det Quinn x Birdie festive one shot ‼️

‼️ NSFW ALPHABET ‼️ - For Detective Quinn - so much smut and filth

‼️ Hold the Bourbon‼️ Detective Quinn x Reader, Drabble.

Summary: Drabble from an ask, Detective Quinn laughing during sex - with an edge. ‼️TW ‼️Pure filth. Much smut.

‼️ Det Quinn Ask Drabble ‼️

Drabble/ask about Detective Quinn making you squirt

‼️Det Quinn Ask Drabble‼️ (so filthy)

Detective Quinn and how he would utterly devour you at all times (TW very filthy ask I LOVE IT)

‼️ Tied Up Too Tight‼️

Detective Quinn x Birdies first date? Sort of. Quick hint: Porsche hood, nasty sex and handcuffs. ‼️TW ‼️lots of filth oh lord. Seriously.

🔪❤️‍🩹 better watch out babes-

🥀 Pick Your Poison 🥀Prince Paul x Reader || Part I, 9.2k words

Summary: You have Mother Russia melted deep into the marrow of your bones, and you’re not afraid to grit your teeth and have a scrappy fight. Draw out a little of that pumping hot slavic blood you’re so proud of.

“Charmed.” You smile at him with your perfectly rouged lips. You sneer him like a viper. Like you’re another one of the delicious black widows formed from these courtly, poison-skated walls.

He stalks off and Minister Panin bows to you all. Scurries along after him like a puppy.

Catherine isn’t displeased or discouraged by her sons frosty behaviour. She was expecting it.

You watch him stride away. Sip your champagne and drag your eyes over his back. He must store such tension in those reedy shoulders. Keeps it stored under that ridiculous wig maybe.

All of Russia is owed to him by birth and he’s kept a hairs breadth from clutching it.

🥀 Keep watch over the door of my lips 🥀 Prince Paul x Reader, Drabble.

Summary: Newlyweds, noble jealousy, and vicious court gossip. They seldom mix. 1.7k words. (Only a dash of smut)

🥀 Necessary Evils 🥀 Prince Paul x Reader, Drabble.

Summary: Short drabble: Prince Paul + Tsarevna + Pregnancy sex = F I L T H

🥀 The Matter of a Good Taste 🥀

Summary: Short drabble: Prince Paul + Tsarevna + some let me make you feel better oral sex. (Filthy but sweet married filth)

🥀 And the stars sighed in unison 🥀

Summary: Short drabble: Prince Paul + Tsarevna + some pre-wedding sex and general naughtiness. (Fiancé filth)

🥀 Blessed be the bitter fruit 🥀 Prince Paul x Reader || Part II, 7.8k Words

Summary: Your marriage to Prince Paul and all the intimacy that follows, being love drunk newlyweds. (So much porn ok)

🥀Qualities of Mercy🥀

Summary: Prince Paul x Tsarevna Drabble inspired by the prompt: “If you want to come, you better beg.”

🥀 Traps with Baited Jaws 🥀 Prince Paul x Reader || Part III, 14.8k words,

Summary: There’s a snake in the palace garden. Blood spattered on Catherine’s pet rosebushes. Reader learns that Ruling all of Russia comes at a gutting price- (TW so much subby!Paul smut, violence, mentions of gore/death)

🍾 Ralph x Reader 🍾 short drabble/anon ask

Set in the 1920’s. Meeting Ralph at a wild party

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josephandjamie · 2 years

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Joseph Quinn as Prince Paul on Catherine The Great (2019)

#Joseph Quinn #joe quinn #catherine the great #Catherine The Great 2019 #do i tag my gifs i dont remember💀#i think i do #mine #mto lindo

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dingusfreakhxrrington · 2 years

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some prince paul icons

i’m definitely going to make more, i just need to get some good pics of him

like, comment and/or reblog if you save

#icons #prince paul #catherine the great 2019 #prince paul catherine the great #prince paul joseph quinn #joseph quinn #prince paul icons #joseph quinn icons #layout #layouts

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kazz-brekker · 8 months

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watching english language tv shows set in russia is always funny because the actors are like *very posh british accent* i am proud to russian and this country and its culture are very important to me

#yes this is about catherine the great 2019 #and YES i'm aware that catherine was not russian by birth but she definitely didn't have a british accent #same thing with the shadow and bone tv show (although the side actors DID have russian accents???)#pie says stuff #catherine the great 2019

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ryan-waddell11 · 9 months

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NEW CONTENT FROM HOARD!!! I CANT WAIT TO SEE IT.

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kwistowee · 1 year

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Mean Girls reboot looks amazing JOSEPH QUINN as PRINCE PAUL CATHERINE THE GREAT (2019)

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world-of-wales · 5 days

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HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY TO THE LITTLE CUPCAKE HRH PRINCE LOUIS ARTHUR CHARLES OF WALES ♡

On 23 April 2018, Prince Louis was born to Catherine and William, then known as Duke and Duchess of Cambridge in St Mary's Hospital, London, at 11:01 BST. He was born during the reign of his paternal great-grandmother Elizabeth II as the third child and second son of Will & Cat. The new prince's name was announced as Louis Arthur Charles in honour of his 3rd-great-uncle Earl Mountbatten of Burma - Louis, his father - Prince William and his paternal grandfather - Charles. The 11 week old little prince was christened by the archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, on 9 July in the Chapel Royal at St James's Palace. He wore the handmade replica of the Royal Christening Robe, and the Lily Font and water from the River Jordan were used during the baptism. Louis spent the early years of his life at Apartment IA at Kensington Palace and Anmer Hall. He started at Willcocks Nursery School near Kensington Palace in April 2021. In 2022, the family relocated to Adelaide Cottage in Windsor, after which he started at Lambrook School along with his older siblings. Born as a Prince of Cambridge, he became HRH Prince Louis of Wales after his his grandfather conferred his parents with the titles of the Prince and Princess of Wales. Louis is currently fourth in line to the throne. He made his official royal debut at the Trooping of Colour in 2019 and since then has accompanied his parents and siblings for engagements and events including his great-grandmother's Platinum Jubilee in 2022 and his grandfather's Coronation in 2023. Louis, who enjoys being outdoors, is known to be mad about rugby and loves cricket and tennis. As per his mother, he's got the signature ballboy pose down perfectly. He is also 'very quick' on his scooter and loves gardening. The little cutie is very proud of his sunflowers.

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babybluebex · 2 years

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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.”

#prince paul #prince paul x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #catherine the great #also yes the title is from great comet what about it #listening to obscene levels of this musical as i write #*my writing

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princess-josephina · 1 year

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JOSEPH QUINN as PRINCE PAUL in Catherine the Great (2019)

#joseph quinn #catherine the great #prince paul #misha-bawlins gifs #mishabawlinsgifs #one perfect tear worthy of dean winchester #gifset

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haveyouseenthishorrormovie · 5 months

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do u have any horror recs for other mediums? tv, podcasts, books, youtube shorts, etc

I'm really gonna show my ass in this regard because most of my recommendations are going to be TV shows or short stories because I haven't branched out much beyond that if I'm honest.

I love The Haunting of Hill House (Nell Crain is my favourite horror character full stop) and The Fall of the House of Usher from Mike Flanagan (most of his shows are incredible but these two are my favourite).

THOHH: Flashing between past and present, a fractured family confronts haunting memories of their old home and the terrifying events that drove them from it.

TFOTHOU: To secure their fortune (and future) two ruthless siblings build a family dynasty that begins to crumble when their heirs mysteriously die, one by one.

The Exorcist (2016) was great!

The Exorcist follows two very different priests tackling one family's case of horrifying demonic possession. Father Tomas Ortega is the new face of the Catholic Church: progressive, ambitious and compassionate. He runs a small, but loyal, parish in the suburbs of Chicago. Father Marcus Keane is an orphan raised since childhood by the Vatican to wage war against its enemies. He is everything Father Tomas is not: relentless, abrasive and utterly consumed by his mission.

I really liked American Horror Story: Asylum, can't say the same for the other seasons.

AHS: Asylum takes place in 1964 and follows the stories of the staff and inmates who occupy the fictional mental institution Briarcliff Manor, and intercuts with events in the past and present.

I also liked a few South Korean shows I saw on Netflix.

Kingdom (2019): While strange rumors about their ill King grip a kingdom, the crown prince becomes their only hope against a mysterious plague overtaking the land.

All of Us Are Dead (2022): A high school becomes ground zero for a zombie virus outbreak. Trapped students must fight their way out or turn into one of the rabid infected.

Hellbound (2021): People hear predictions on when they will die. When that time comes, a death angel appears in front of them and kills them.

I loved Interview with a Vampire (especially because it does everything the movie didn't, which is why I didn't like the movie). it's very gay, it plays heavily into the themes of vampirism and sexuality, and I love Sam Reid and Jacob Anderson as Lestat and Louis.

In terms of other media, I really like the Dead Meat channel (if I haven't said it enough already), I also like the Scream Dreams Podcast with Catherine Corcoran (from Terrifier), James A. Janisse (from Dead Meat) and Barbara Crampton (prolific and stunning horror actor).

I know it's a little over done now, but that original series of 'The Backrooms' by KanePixels was great.

Some other horror channels/channels that explore horror as well as other topics are SpookyRice, MistaGG, Wendigoon, ElvisTheAlien, BionicPIG, Trin Lovell, KennieJD, MertKayKay, and AmandaTheJedi.

With books, I'm such a basic bitch, so I've really only read Stephen King's horror books. I'm not sure of this is horror or just very bleak and depressing but I'm Thinking of Ending Things was an incredible reading experience. And at this point it goes without saying House of Leaves is so fucking mindblowing!

H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe were terrible people, but their short stories are truly so dark and well-written, the cosmic horror Lovecraft is known translates best in his writing. Ambrose Bierce is the father of psychological horror as we know it, his short stories are great. My favourite short horror story is The Yellow Wallpaper. If you are interested in an audio version of it, listen to Chelsea from the Dead Meat channel with headphones (headphones are vital to that experience).

That's all I can think of off the top of my head for now! I'm sure others will give their own recommendations.

#not a poll #ask #recommendations #ask the mods

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punk-in-docs · 2 years

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Prince Paul spreading his wife over a dining table so he can eat her relentlessly 🤤🤤🤤

🥀The Matter of a Good Taste 🥀

AN: relentlessly you say? *Cracks knuckles*

I’ve written so much Prince Paul pussy eating I’m starting to think it’s my kink that I always seem to get this man on his knees to give some amazingly fantastic head when irl he probably never even ate a pussy once but you know what? Fuck it. Also this came out far sweeter than I had intended? Idk how. TW: none really apart from some serious pent up need oral.

Nights at the palace slip in all soft. Slippery and holding the gentle density of clouds.

It’s a rather stark change to the brutality of court in the day. All the velvet draped daggers and sugar faked smiles. The grins that then vanish in passing.

Snide acidic comments designed to poke like sharp gleaming needles. Designed to find the space between the ribs. Whispers wriggle like hissing snakes at your bodiced silk back.

Mornings are a parting wrench. You don your costume to please them all. Tie the stays tight. Lip rouge the colour of split blood. Heartthrob red.

You far prefer the nights. Time that narrows down - tapers, whittled - right the way down to you and Paul. When the candles burn their tongues of gold and spin the room to shadow and gems. Sparkling like the Crown Jewels.

You sit down to dine together and pour way too much wine. A heavy dinner. Always heavy. The same pallid creamy white soup. Roast meat - bloody and smothered sticky with dark wine sauce. Potatoes and onions with thyme and sage. A meal that sits heavy and clunking in your belly.

You chat about your days. You tell him about the tea party for the girls orphanage, and the earned shreds of gossip whispered out the side of Milena’s mouth. He tells you about the military coup, the uprisings. The jagged feeling towards the crown.

When the staff fade away with their chattering’s and cease heavy footfalls on the parquet. That’s your favourite. When peace descends. Thick like a smothering eiderdown.

The exquisite squeeze when your maid undoes your stays. When you can finally breathe out. The hot steam of a bath clearing your sinuses. Clean spice of tuberose soap and being wrapped in a cool cloaking chemise for bed. The smooth cotton sheets crisp and cold that you slide into, as you wait on Paul to join you.

You’d never tell him your habit. That each night as you lay in your bed, you listen out for his footfalls. You smile when you hear them coming closer outside the doors.

And you wait an awful long wait, tonight.

He doesn’t appear to be coming.

The carriage clock on the huge golden mantel strikes twelve. The chimes mock you with their tinny echoing cry. He should be in here, arms stuck wrapped around your back. Lips in your neck. Maybe a rough tumbling fuck if the day has been hellish.

Another half hour. And before the next can come, you throw the covers off and go in search of your absent husband.

Padding barefoot over the numerous antique rugs. Through the gilded doors. You find him in the dining room. Firelight shines wetly off the polished surface of the table. Ripping and curling orange. He’s staring. Transfixed by it.

He’s sat there in his shirt, undone waistcoat, and breeches. Ruffled neck wide open. Whisky eyes cast and doused in flame. Dormant like one of the outer crust of the stuffed animals displayed on these walls. The brushed hyde of glassy eyed stags or the great still plumage of some exotic bird eternally perched.

You lean against the huge door. Hips pressed to the golden handle. Stay to your silence. Watching him for a moment.

When day was done it was a release for you. An undressing. Unwind. For Paul it seemed less so.

Sometimes the tranquility that undid you, paved the way for a whole crush of thoughts in his head. Sisyphus and his boulder up that hill. The press of a frown pinching brows.

Heavy was the head that cannot yet seize the crown.

No one else gets this view of him. You made your mind up to adore it. He was all cherubim beauty. So striking. You thought the very same thing the first time you laid eyes on him. Definitely not a weak chin.

The pillow set of pink lips made to mouth at. Made to bite. The melty eyes that swing between venom and boyish levelled at you. The lush line of his jaw and the way his hair is set with a natural curl. The flick of doe lashes that really should be flecked with dew, they’re so girlish-pretty.

“Something vexes you?” You ask. Crossing your arms and gently intruding into the room. Hair loose down your back tickling your waist.

He looks over at you like he’s startled. Eyes all big and flame captured. Lips part softly. Like he’s a bunny been caught out by the hawk.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He asks. His tone ripe with accusation. Throat bobs where he swallows.

You lay your vicious tongue to rest tonight. There’s no need for your dagger sharp words.

“You don’t escape my notice that easily.” You level shrewdly.

Not like how you escape hers.

The woman who is surely preying on his head right now. The glorious Empress, whose long casting shadow governs and hovers his every tiny step.

He doesn’t really respond. In the way he does when he can’t lay his thoughts to bed. Where his head is too heavy and buzzing full to lay on the pillow beside yours. Too itinerant.

You walk to his side. Hesitate before touching him. In case he snaps and insists he needs his space.

He tips his eyes across your body. Sees you whole where you’re stood.

The fire brushed strokes of fuzzy apricot across your chemise. He can see the shape of your naked body barely concealed underneath. Soap skimmed skin. Pillow crease caught in your cheek. Warm dewy from rest.

“Rough day.” He finally answers.

You nod. Just nod.

“Shall I keep to my rooms tonight, Tsarevich?” You enquire. Face a cold bed. Space gaping. Unfilled on the pillow opposite.

You say it without teasing. Without jest. You don’t purr flirt at him. You ask genuinely.

“Don’t.” He answers weakly. Throat bobs again.

You tip your head to the side.

Decide finally to slide towards him and run your fingers through his hair. Hip against the table. Stroking fingers through his pretty curls. The fire shot yellow gold some of the tresses. Chestnut too.

You want to tell him to lay it to rest. Whatever it is. Be done with it now. That the beast plaguing him will seem less daunting - will have its sharp teeth blunted by the dawn after a full night of rest.

He leans to you. Hands come for your hips and tugs you in.

Rests his head against your belly. Rubs his forehead into you there. Mashes his face to your soft body. Rolls to you the way the tide rushes to meet the shore. Breathes perfume and soap. You.

You in pure gunpowder shot form. Dynamite strong. Closes his eyes. Hugs you like he’s been lost at sea for months. Drugged on nearness.

Intoxicated on the fact you’re impossible and bolshy. Hardest, sharpest woman he’s ever met; yet you’re being so easy for him now. No challenge laid before him.

“Anything I can do?” You ask. Feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms where you slide down his shoulders. Kneading skin. Nails withdrawn tonight.

The air shifts on those words. Tumbles away like ash on the breeze.

He pulls back and gazes up at you. Flick of long lashes. Something stirs in his eyes. He looks up at you before suddenly he’s rising to his feet with the scrape of the chair slicing into the silence.

He cups the back of your neck and kisses you firmly. Cotton sleeves drape to your body as he pressed his whole self to you. His lips becomes insistent. Kiss warps into hunger.

He’s ripping away to nip your neck and lick kisses at your shoulders. Back pressed firmly up against the hard edge of the table. His body keeps you there. He’s pawing at your chemise. Melting his mouth to yours again as fumbled hands slip your skirts up.

He’s giving you kisses that make your heart slip to warm treacle. Pouring down your ribs and melting. Stunning your lips drunk that this is how he wants to soothe a bad day. With the endless press and utterly blotting sensation of you.

His cheeks are furiously pink. Eyes black savage pits. Lips all sore. He keeps his hold on your mouth and makes your breath come short.

He plucks you up off the floor and spreads you on the table like you’re the next dinner course. Whips your chemise up to your knees. Lays you back.

You gasp. “Paul. Here?”

He can offer no answer.

His eyes burn shiny with the newly unveiled skin of your thighs right down to your toes. The arch of your legs. Plump thigh. Shapely calves. Delicious pussy all bare. Lips plump and cast in firelight. Ready for him.

He throws one of your chunky thighs over his back, and takes to one knee to eat you out.

Bliss bites right through you - clean through - spiking your blushes to top pitch. Making you shiver. Thighs seek to curl around his head and your hand shoots up to rake your nails through his silky hair.

You groan with the puffy glide of his fat tongue over your pussy. Lathing and searching. Swiping for your taste and diving for more. You taste like every tart sweet fruit - sugared and full with juice. Ripe to burst.

He doesn’t rush a single thing about this; takes his time to prod his tongue into you. Spread you open with tongue alone. Opens the bowl of your hips wide, wider, with his hands digging to the meat on your thighs. Fingers leaving dips in flesh.

Licks and laps at the new fresh slick he coaxed free. He’s chasing your pleasure. Not his. He’s going on search of it; a determined conquest. Touching you like you’re the holiest thing he’s ever known. Ever tasted.

You’re all sighs and easy moans as he digs his face into your mons. Inhaling the smell of your soap that clings to your curls. Eyes flutter closed with the pleasure of it.

“I love when you melt for me.” He says. Breath bursts in warm puffs over your pussy when he speaks. When you uncurl from being impossible and stubborn.

You catch sight of his lips. Glossy. He’s wearing a wet orange smear in the low amber light of the fire.

“I don’t melt for anyone. My angel.” You sigh. Hips leaping to his face as he suckles your clit like a nursing babe. Whining high as you slip your fingers through his scalp.

“Just you.” You gasp. Bliss draped upon every word.

His spit squelches into you. He spits and drools to make you wetter. He likes it. Spitting frothy globs into you, and scooping it out with his tongue when the taste has changed entirely to you. Swirling it around because he loves to have you dripping.

Juices are flowing out of you and dribbling slowly to leave a slippery stain on this shiny table. When he next eats a meal here, in this very chair. He’ll smile remembering this moment.

He twists his head to lap at a new angle. Eyes focused on yours. And it hurts to tear away. You watch him and it makes him want to cum in his breeches right then and there.

It’s hypnotic to have him work you over with his mouth. You adore it when there’s hate-fucking and anger involved; you simply shatter to incomprehensible pieces when there’s slow romantic passion, mixed into the bargain.

He eats you like he’s trying to study you with his tongue. Like he can root out some answers in your taste. That heady flavour of flesh and sex and woman - somehow tangy somehow sweet. Elixir of life;

He swirls tiny sloppy circles around the swelling bead of your clit. Fingertips coming into play - the man was a studying military strategist. That came into use in times like these; rubbing your folds - up down up down - before pushing those slick fingertips in. Sinking deep enough to earn a rise out of you.

He eases back, takes his tongue away to watch as he used just his fingers instead. Watching your face. Watching the glide and pump of curling them to you until he finds a rhythm that drags that silken and soaked giving spot a teasing tickle inside you.

When your hips start to jump and you start squirming. He knows he’s found what he’s after.

That divine spread inside you that rose with every knuckle deep thrust of his fingers. Every vicious swipe with his tongue that cracks flickers of lightning across your nerves. Makes you throb with it. God he’s good.

Suction coming relentless and heavy from his mouth, scorching patterns in harsh zig-zags across your swollen lips. Fingers encouraging that all encompassing pang of pleasure that will wipe out your brain to blank when you cum.

He’s digging his face right in and eating determinedly - relentlessly, to get after that leg shaking portion of your climax that’s steadily growing.

Terrifying trapping fingers travelling up your cunt walls as they flutter fast on his fingers. You’re laying back on the dining room table, near sobbing with the need to cum.

He’s just drinking in every sensation soaked second as he gulps you down. Half to ease away his tensions; half because making you cum has become an occupation that’s scored its devotion on his heart. When he dies he hopes they crack open his chest and find it sat there in bleeding tattooed letters. It feels like it should be.

Wordlessly, he brutally shoved you to the knife edge of your orgasm that has you literally bursting. The shudder of your hips betrays it first. How he doesn’t alter his pace; he keeps steady as he coaxed you through: the way you taught him.

Don’t speed up just because I’m close. Keep steady with whatever it is you’re doing.

You’d taught him that on your honeymoon hazy watercolour memories all misty to recall. With your clit captured in his mouth and your fingers fisted in his hair.

He’s a good student. He makes you gush into and all over his mouth. Spurting across the table top and he hums with the bliss of your release and doesn’t stop just because you do.

He drives and drags and slurps up every tender drop. Nurses you into the aftershocks with his tongue. Gentle gathered little noises as he swallows and gains his breath again. Tries to take control of his heart and the buzzing in his ears.

You’re slowly fading from shouts to whines. Fingers grappled into his on your now clammy thighs. Where you’d thrashed and wailed. Your hands held firm to him like anchors.

“My god, you give good head, my love.” You sigh. Back arching and your eyes still flicked closed.

“I was instructed by the best.” He insists. Before dropping an open mouthed kiss right on your cunt.

“Same time tomorrow?“ You ask with an impetuous smile. The clock strikes two.

He gazes back at from between your legs. Smile finally having returned. Eyes all slippery warm with passion.

“Minx.”

“Yes, but entirely yours.”

“Bed?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

JQ 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

#Prince Paul #prince paul x you #prince paul x reader #prince paul x oc #prince paul fanfiction #prince paul smut #joseph quinn #prince paul catherine the great #catherine the great 2019 #prince paul imagine #prince paul fanfic #and prince paul #smutty #so much smut #so much hatefucking

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