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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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mypoisonedvine · 11 months

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buhhh jd you had me THINKING with that prince paul drabble. would love to see more of him being stern with reader, like, maybe she makes a little joke at his expense in front catherine (which catherine thinks is so funny) while they're at dinner and just has to set her straight. something about a warning looks or words and knowing what's coming later is -- truly doing something for me.

ugh yes I relate I want him to wreck me

warnings: smut (18+ only), oral m receiving, choking, dom/sub dynamics, degradation

"You found that amusing, did you?" Paul growled in your ear, tightening his grip on your arms until you whimpered slightly. "Need I remind you how insubordination is dealt with in this regime?"

You had to hide your small smile from him, worried that if he knew you'd wanted him to punish you for your comment all along, that he might not.

You'd been waiting for it since you said it-- since he gave you that icy stare, hiding it with a half-smile as he pretended to take the joke well. But just the way he'd met your gaze from across the table, his fist clenching around his salad fork for a second, made your thighs clench together in anticipation. You wanted that hand tightening around your throat, those smirking lips against your ear as he warned you that he didn't have the patience to be gentle.

And, for the most part, it worked-- you were in his bedchambers now, bracing for your punishment. The only thing was, just when you expected him to bend you over his bed, he turned you around and pushed you onto your knees.

You looked up at him expectantly as he worked to get his trousers out of the way-- why did fancy royal clothes have to be so complicated?-- and pull out his cock for you. It wasn't fully hard yet, but considering it was in your mouth a second later, it didn't take too long before he was erect and throbbing against your lips; Paul moaned, tangling his fingers into your hair as he guided your movements. "I like this mouth better when it's pleasing me, instead of insulting me," Paul cooed at you as he pet your swollen bottom lip with his thumb. "This is what these pretty lips ought to be doing-- getting stretched out around your prince's cock, yes?"

You hummed and nodded in agreement, though you whined when he yanked your head back by your hair, gripping his cock tightly as he stared down at you.

"I'd like to hear you say it," he demanded.

"M-my lips should be pleasing you, my liege, serving your cock-- not insulting you," you promised.

"And this throat," he continued, making you swallow nervously as he ran his fingers over your neck. "You always come the hardest when I choke you with my hands, but there are other ways. Why don't you show me how good of a whore you can be, and choke for me?"

Choke you did; he only gave you breaks when you absolutely needed them, smirking down at you when you gasped and spluttered, and then got right back to fucking your throat recklessly. You tolerated the discomfort because, for one, it turned you on for some unknowable reason, being used like this; and two, the way he loudly moaned and bit his lip as he slid his cock deeper in your mouth was simply too addictive to stop.

Only when his come was spilling from your abused lips did he seem satisfied, sweetly asking you if you'd learned your lesson as he watched you try to swallow down all the seed he'd given you. First, you thanked him for his come-- something you never forgot to do after that one punishment that left you limping for a week-- and then you agreed that, yes, you'd learned your lesson not to embarrass him especially in front of his mother.

"All right," he nodded, "now get on the bed."

You raised your eyebrows. "My prince, but--"

"That was just to teach you your place, whore," he explained with a frown. "Now I'll have my real fun with you."

#prince paul x reader #paul tsarevich x reader #prince paul smut #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut

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emmywrites-blog · 2 years

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our duty

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

word count: 5.2k

genre: angst, fluff, & smut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#prince paul angst #prince paul fluff #prince paul x you #prince paul #prince paul x reader #smut #prince paul smut #prince paul fic #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you

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stardancerluv · 6 months

Text

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

Part Six: New developments for Paul and his wife.

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

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

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

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

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

“I never did before.”

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

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

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

His mouth formed a line.

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

“What if I don’t go?”

“I will make you.”

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

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

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

He turned on his heal and left the room.

*******

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stiffened and felt as his hold tightened.

“I tried to refuse.”

“She’d never let you.”

He nodded. “Though I had to try.”

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

“I will dispatch messengers with letters.” You promised

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

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

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

*******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*******

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

“And I shall as well.” You nodded.

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

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

******

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

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

******

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

*****

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

@amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfic #prince paul #prince paul fanfiction #prince paul fanfic #prince paul fluff #prince paul smut #prince paul angst #prince paul x reader #prince paul x you #prince paul x y/n #catherine the great #catherine the great fanfiction #joe quinn fanfic

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helpwhatsthis · 2 years

Note

just watched Catherine the Great today and that party scene.

god, can I get a Prince Paul x Fem!Reader where she rips that dress off him in their bedchambers and we’ll just full on smut.

my darling- p.p.

i got way too fucking carried away with this lmao. i hope you like it!

warnings: sub!paul, dom!reader, mommy kink, reference to his pecks as tits like once, slight blood, google translation of russian like twice, very very small mention of death, unprotected p in v (obvi), probably spelling errors, best friends to lovers, pinning as fuck (mutual) let me know if you think i need to add any!

was it really so wrong to be in love with your best friend? well for most people, no; but what about if he was a prince, a ragging asshole, and set to marry a princess in less than three months? yeah, that kinda seems like an issue.

the biggest problem lied within the fact that there wasn't a single royal bone in your whole body. the daughter of one of catherins' most trusted guards, orphaned after his death protecting her from an assassination. no one, not a single soul, had expected her to take in his unruly, boyish, and snarky daughter; let alone treat her as one of her own. all of those things people saw a large flaws in your character had only made her love you more. she felt she had a debt to pay to the man who'd saved her life, and she more than paid it off through you every day.

that's how you'd ended up here, in a black and red dressing suit, watching paul grumble about how his dress made him appear to have notable cleavage. it's endearing really, the way you watch him try to balance the extravagant wig on his head while simultaneously keep his corset pulled up.

"how the hell do you do this every day?" he growls, slapping away the hand of panin, who’s trying to fix his makeup.

“i try not to, unless it’s necessary.” you hum, trying to bite back your laughter at his expense. “i sit in a room full of men talking about war every day, so there’s not exactly a need for pretty dresses.” you move in front of him, helping him to pull his collar into place.

“can’t breathe in this damn thing.” he groans, now that the canvas squeezes his ribs.

“for what it’s worth, you look lovely, your excellency.” you giggle, smoothing down the skirt of the gown to avoid looking in his eyes. he rolls them, letting out an annoyed huff.

“you know i hate when you call me that.” he leans down to capture your gaze with his, causing your heart to pick up speed.

“technically, i’m here on business. so i have to.” you whisper, face merely an inch from his.

“y/n! darling, could you come here for a moment?” catherin shouts.

“don’t fall apart without me.” you laugh, finger gesturing up and down his outfit. you maneuver your way through the sea of guests, attempting to find where she’d called you from. she snags your wrist and pulls you close.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed.

“oh, nothing!” she laughs, hand moving to her chest. “just couldn’t stand to watch you make schoolgirl eyes at one another anymore.” you look away bashfully, eyes inevitably landing on paul. “my offer still stands by the way, love. just say the word and i’ll call off his wedding.” she persuades, bumping your shoulder with her own.

“i can’t ask you to do that.” you whisper, trying to sound less defeated than the conversation always makes you feel. “i know my place.”

“all too well, apparently.” she chuckles, “all i’m saying-” she starts, noticing your discomfort, “there’s no woman i’d rather have betrothed to my son than you. you’d keep his mind in check... and give him good babies.” she laughs again at the gasp you let out. “he’d be happy.”

“there are plenty of women who can make him happy... and give him babies.” you huff, beginning to walk off. you suddenly don’t feel in the mood to stay at the party.

you press your fingers to your eyes, trying to concentrate on the book in your lap instead of the sleepiness threatening to overtake you. a rapid knock at your door makes you spring out of bed quickly, momentarily checking the decency of your sleep clothes in the mirror. you pull back the door, seeing paul standing on the other side. his wig and makeup are long gone, but he’s still adorning his dress.

“can’t get this stupid this off.” he whimpers embarrassedly. you giggle, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and grabbing his hand. he lets you lead him back to his bedchambers, occasionally letting out little growls of annoyance when he trips over the end of the gown.

he finally stands in front of his mirror, pulling off the cover over his corset.

“how was the rest of the party?” you ask absentmindedly, beginning to undo the tight knot of strings holding the canvas around his back. the intricacy of the strings filling you with annoyance.

“nearly unbearable after you left.” he recounts, eyes flicking to watch your refection. he hears you let out a small grunt of agitation over the ribbons. “some girl wouldn’t stop flirting with me. clearly being engaged means nothing to he-” he’s cut off by the way you release a loud growl, gripping the top of the material and ripping. the sound of the tere pulls your eyes to his in the mirror.

“enough.” you snap, watching the way the canvas falls forward, exposing the expanse of his tone torso. you squint your eyes shut, trying to breath away the anger quickly filling your stomach. you open them again to see he’s still watching you, a small smirk on his face. “what?” you hiss.

“it’s adorable how much you fancy me.” he grins. your face falls, breath hitching. “my mother just told me all about it.” he turns to look at you, “not as if i needed her too; but the confirmation was nice.” he turns, taking your chin in his hand and angling your face up to his.

“i’m sorry.” you whisper sadly, he only smiles.

“s’really flattering.” he hums, thumb stroking your bottom lip. before you can protest or defend yourself, he slams his lips into yours. it takes you a moment to properly kiss him back, relishing in the taste of cherries and vodka. you finally sink in, throwing your arms around his bare shoulders, as well as your false morality out the window. when he pulls back, he’s got the most arrogant smile on his face. you decide you’re going to wipe it off.

“off. now.” you demand, tugging roughly at the skirt of his gown.

“oh yeah?” he smirks. you reach up, gripping his jaw tightly and glaring daggers at him.

“be a good boy and take the dress off.” you snap. his eyes flutter shut, a soft moan leaving his lips at your words. you press a short kiss to his cheek, then move back to watch him undress. he does so quickly, hands trembling as he pulls down the dress and stockings.

“there’s my obedient boy.” you coo, sitting on the end of his bed. he stands, gulping harshly and trying not to make it obvious how much your words are affecting him. the evidence is obvious though, standing at attention and twitching in his underwear. “c’mere, my dorogoy.” you whisper, arms extending to pull him between your legs.

he looks down at you tentively, through hooded eyes and long lashes. you hold searing eye contact with him, fingers hooking in his waistband. a small whine leaves his throat when your fingernails scrape the soft skin of his hips. you grin up at him sadistically, pulling the fabric down his legs. his cock snaps up, slapping the skin of his stomach. you admire it, pink, thick, and leaking an embarrassing amount at the slit.

“did i tell you how pretty your tits’ looked in that dress?” you ask, the endless smirk still on your lips. you reach up and begin to tweak one of his nipples between your thumb and forefinger.

“t-thank you.” he mumbles, lust overshadowing embarrassment. you stand, tummy pressing against his cock through your thin nightshirt.

“this looks painful, baby boy.” you muse, hand snaking between your bodies to grasp firmly at his shaft. he makes a high preening sound in the back of his throat at your touch. “what? nothing cocky to say now that i’m touching it?” he throws his head back, moaning as you start to stroke him. the needy sound makes your clit throb.

“please, y/n-” he begs. you reach up, cupping his jaw and guiding him to look at you.

“not my name, lover.” you hum against his lips.

“mommy-” he cries softly, tears filling his eyes as you jerk him harder. you nod, placing a kiss to his chin. you can feel your wetness running down your thighs, no doubt ruining your pants.

“lay on the bed, lyubovnik.” he follows your order without question, crawling beside you and positioning himself on the pillows. you practically purr, admiring him. his curls are delicately fallen over his forehead, a huge contrast to the way he pants erratically and wiggles his hips in discomfort from his throbbing cock. you take your time, undressing slowly.

“mommy, please!” he cries out when you free your breasts from the confides of your shirt.

“patience, needy boy.” you tut, crawling up his body and straddling his thighs. “i know it’s never been one of your virtues, but i need you to try for mommy.” he nods, tears starting to fall at his own need. you lean down, breasts pressing against his chest as you kiss him passionately. he moans into the kiss, hips thrusting up into the plush part of your belly.

“s-sorry.” he whispers into your mouth.

“s’alright, little one. i’ll let it pass.” you coo, pressing a sweet kiss to his nose. without warning, you drop your hip down. the girth of his cock stretches you painfully. he cries, high and needy as one hand moves to pinch your clit and the other rests on your him. tears of your own surface at the pain. you glance down, a small line of blood runs from where you’re connected, pooling at the base of his cock and mixing with your arousal.

“you okay?” he asks, comfortingly squeezing at your love handle.

“i’m fine, baby boy.” you hum, “only strings a bit, it’s been a while.” you promise, starting to rock your hips softly. his head falls back, worry completely forgotten.

he babbles as you continue your fast rhythm. the sounds of your wetness working up and down his girth lewd and sinful, only urging you on. he desperately attempts to work your clit, rolling it in shaky circles. you reach between you, guiding his hand to rest on your abdomen.

“can feel you in my stomach, angel.” you purr, biting softly at his collarbone.

“mommy, i’m gonna-” he sobs, tears of pleasure running down the sides of his face.

“i know, darling. cum for me.” you urge, but he rapidly shakes his head.

“don’t wanna before you do.” he whimpers. you shake your head, biting his bottom lip.

“it’s fine, little one. let go for mommy.” you whisper against his mouth. he gasps, hands moving to hold you down on him as he fills you up. you hide your head in his neck, panting into the skin and the warmth fills your insides. you sit like that for a while, holding him and tracing your fingers over the skin of his pecks.

a thought hits you, making you stand from the bed abruptly and pull your clothes on.

“where in gods’ name are you going?” he asks, sitting up and starting to panic.

“need to talk to catherin.” you state shortly, causing his face to contort in confusion. “you are not getting married to that fucking princess.” you growl, pulling your shirt over your head. his eyes widen, mouth falling open in realization. you lean forward, pressing a rushed kiss onto his lips. “i’ll be right back, i love you.” you hum, hurrying out of the room.

he grins, throwing himself back onto the pillows and laughing lightly.

“i love you too, y/n.” he whispers into the thick air.

#prince paul x reader #prince paul #catherin the great #joseph quinn #prince paul smut #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x reader #josephquinn #joe quinn

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foundtherightwords · 1 month

Text

The Firebird - Chapter 12

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 3.2k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Chapter 12 - The Realm of Stone

Paul decided to keep Baba Yaga's story to himself. It didn't matter that she no longer had power. After all, she was helping them in every way she could, as she had made clear from the start. It was no use worrying Zhara further. And soon, other, more pressing matters came to occupy them all, so Paul pushed the truth about Baba Yaga and Koschei to the back of his mind.

The landscape around the house was changing. Craggy mountains, not quite as tall or foreboding as Perun's Crowns, but bleak and hostile-looking nonetheless, rose on either side of them. Dark pines broke through here and there amongst the rocks like bristly eyebrows or mustaches on a giant's face, bordering narrow, foamy rapids that rushed past in a race to the sea. The occasional stone hut peeped through the pines, though it seemed deserted.

The first hint of destruction came the next day—a stone bridge, leading from a pine forest to a small village, lay broken in half in the middle of a wide stream. No smoke curled from the chimneys of the village, no livestock or pets milled about, and there was no trace of people.

The forest gave way to rocky hills that led down to a rocky beach, overlooking a gray, stormy sea. The path now followed the shore toward a series of tall cliffs, rising out of the sea in the distance like the walls of a fortress, topped by a castle of gleaming white stone. They passed a town that curved along a breakwater overlooking the beach, lining the slopes leading to the cliffs. The houses here were bigger and better built than the stone huts of the forest but stood in the same eerie silence. Some had their doors and windows tightly shut, others were left wide open, their front yard strewn with clothes and belongings as though the owners had fled in a great hurry or were driven out. The only sign of life were the flocks of carrion birds that circled these houses like a kaleidoscope of death, their mournful cries made all the more mournful as they echoed over the murmurs of the sea. White bones could be glimpsed here and there amongst the pebbles on the beach, though it was impossible to tell if they were human or animal.

The heavy rain—the first rain Paul had seen since his arrival in Lukomorye—did nothing to deter the birds. For the humans, it only made things worse, as it kept them indoors, where there was nothing to do but to look at those horrors outside the window, like watching some macabre magic lantern show.

"Saints," Paul breathed out. "What is this place?"

"Arthania," Ilya replied.

Paul's heart dropped. Too absorbed by the scene outside, he had completely forgotten about Zhara. Now he saw her frozen on the windowsill, as though the display of death and destruction were a basilisk's gaze turning her into stone. He quickly closed the shutters and reached out to comfort her, but before he could touch her, she'd flown away with an alarmed chirp and settled on the rafter. Her eyes, as they looked down at him, bore no trace of recognition. Paul felt his heart seized in fear.

"Zhara, it's me," he said softly. Zhara seemed to shake herself, and some human awareness came back into her eyes, but she didn't fly to him. She went into the small backroom that she shared with Elena, and avoided their company for the rest of the day.

After supper that night, Baba Yaga declared that the house was going to stop for a while, for they were now close to Buyan Island and needed to prepare to face Illarion. Paul rather wished she had chosen to rest the house anywhere else, but dared not criticize her. Sometimes, the old woman's gimlet eyes reminded him too uncomfortably of his mother's.

Paul went to bed with thoughts of the battle ahead swirling around his mind, turning his blood into ice water and his heart into a quivering mess. Despite Ilya's tutelage, Paul knew he was no fighter. He would gladly stay away from it all, were it not for the fear that Zhara would think him a coward and never look at him again if he did.

A creak of the door startled him. Opening his eyes, he caught the end of Zhara's red braid as she slipped outside. Where was she going at this time of night? Surely she wasn't thinking of going to face Illarion by herself? Paul sprang up from his cot and followed her.

The rain had stopped, but the lawn was still wet, droplets of water clinging to the grass, sparkling under the moonlight like diamonds. Under their shelter behind the house, the horses were sleeping peacefully, having no care for the danger ahead. Paul only had eyes for Zhara though, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he found her standing by the linden tree, looking at her kingdom beyond the fence, while her fist kept clenching and unclenching on the linden's rough bark. Hearing Paul's footsteps, she half-turned her head, before looking back toward the cliffs and the silent castle shining pale in the distance.

"The Seven Sisters," she said, nodding at the cliffs, as Paul came to stand beside her. "As children, Lariosha and I used to play on top of them, bringing back the chalk to draw on the walls of our nursery, to the despair of our governesses. We used to have such fun..." Her voice trembled and cracked. "What happened? What went wrong? How did he become so bitter and cruel? Perhaps it was my fault, I was closest to him—"

"No. Don't blame yourself." Paul took her hand in his, trying to pull her back from that dark path. "You can't have foreseen this. Some people—some people just turn out bad." Did I turn out bad as well? he wondered. He had grown up believing it. Why else did his mother hate him so? But now, standing here with Zhara, he felt that he was, if not good, then at least not entirely bad, not as bad as he'd once thought.

Zhara looked down at his hand. He was afraid she was going to pull away, but some of the dark fire went out of her eyes, and she put her other hand over his and stroked his knuckles with her thumb. She had never done so before.

"Thank you," she said.

He cleared his throat, not wishing to notice how the caress of her soft, warm fingers was sending shivers all along his arm, or show her how much he was enjoying it. "So... how far are we from Buyan?" he asked, still keeping his hand nestled between her palms.

"It's just beyond the Seven Sisters. We should reach it by midday tomorrow." She lifted his hand to her lips as though to kiss it, but changed her mind and put it down again. She opened her mouth and hesitated, looking like she wanted to say something but didn't know how to. "You should stay here with Baba and Elena," eventually she said. "Ilya can accompany me."

"No!" Paul exclaimed, pulling his hand away. "I'm not staying behind like some coward!"

"Nobody will think ill of you."

"Are you afraid I'm going to get in the way?"

"No, it's not that." Zhara looked at him with beseeching eyes. "It's too dangerous. You may get hurt."

"What of it?" he said sullenly. In his mind, he could hear his mother mocking him for drilling with his toy soldiers, as clearly as though she were standing next to him. "Why should you care if I'm hurt or not? My life is worth nothing here. At least let me contribute something."

Zhara's eyes turned gentle. "Do you think people only care for you if you're worth something to them?" she said softly.

He'd never considered it, but now that he thought about it, it was true. "My nurses and tutors and the servants only took care of me because I'm the heir to the throne," he said, the painful truth coming out slowly. "My mother—my mother is the same. As long as I'm alive, her position is secure." He asked himself, not for the first time, how his mother had been coping with his disappearance. Was she searching for him, or had she come up with some lies to cover it up, as she had with his father? Had she brought out an illegitimate child in an attempt to replace him?

He could feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes and looked down, ashamed of his weakness. Zhara put a finger to his chin, her touch feather-light, lifting his face up so they were eye-to-eye. "I don't care because you're the heir to some throne," she said. "I care because you're you."

Those words went straight to his heart, making it thump painfully in his chest. "But why?" he asked. "Why me?" There were other men around her, braver, cleverer men willing to lay down their lives for her. Why would she pay attention to a foolish, cowardly boy like him?

"Because you always try to be better. Because when you look at me, you don't see a tsarevna or a half-vila, you only see a frightened girl, but you do your best to help her anyway, although there is nothing in it for you." It wasn't completely true; in the early days, he had clung to her because she was his only hope of getting home. But that had changed. So much had changed.

"And although sometimes she exasperates me to the point of madness," he added, and Zhara laughed, a soft, tinkling sound that he couldn't get enough of.

"Yes," she said. "And because"—here she paused to trace her finger along his cheek and his jaw—"the heart wants what it wants," she whispered.

As her finger stopped at his lips, Paul's heart seemed to stop as well. Without saying another word, he leaned forward and kissed her.

No shy, fleeting kiss for them this time. No more hesitating or checking to see if anyone could see them. Her lips parted, her tongue darted into his mouth, and he chased after her, meeting her tongue with his own. She tasted of birch sap and berries, of wood smoke and pine needles, of fire and sun, and he drew her into his arms, pressing her soft body close to him, drinking her in, feeling intoxicated, insatiable. This was all he wanted, all he'd ever wanted, and it was too much and not enough, never enough.

Then he ran out of breath and had to pull back.

"And that," he said, gasping, "is why you must let me go with you." He was already missing the feel of her mouth under his.

Zhara curled her fingers around the front of his shirt, holding him close. "But if anything should happen, I don't want to lose you," she said, nuzzling against his cheeks. His heart lurched. There was real fear in her voice, but he couldn't concentrate, because she was brushing her lips over his in a way that made his pulse race like a wild horse and split into two, one pounding in his heart, and another, lower down.

He'd felt like a coward before. Now, with her in his arms, he felt like he could take on an entire army.

"Who says I'm yours to lose?" he whispered, smiling against her lips, teasing her, wanting to draw her attention away from the scene of destruction before them, from the coming battle.

It seemed to be working, for the fearful look left her eyes and she grinned back, the familiar crooked grin he'd grown to love, only with a wicked edge to it that set his blood aflame. "You will be," she said.

She drew him to her, and now it was her turn to kiss him, her mouth burning and hungry. Paul sank to his knees on the soft, moss-covered ground beneath the linden and pulled her down with him. The moss was damp under his back, but the heat from their bodies soon dried it out.

Paul was not untried when it came to women. Despite what his mother may have said, he was still the most eligible bachelor in the empire, and there were plenty of ladies at court, and servant girls as well, who thought it would be a great conquest to seduce the tsarevich, and he let them, for it flattered his ego.

He didn't realize how different it was, to be with someone who actually wanted him for him.

Zhara dropped hundreds of scorching kisses on his neck, his torso, and he found himself on his back, with her on top of him, her hair framing her face like a fiery halo while she rocked against his growing hardness and fumbled to loosen his clothes and her own. He brushed a curl out of her eyes, and the look in those eyes, blazing down on him like the sun coming out from behind a bank of clouds, made him want to cry.

He did cry out, a moment later, when their bodies finally found each other. He sat up, his back against the trunk of the linden, his hands clenching at her hips so he could better match her movements, while he sank into her velvety warmth and she buried her hot face in his damp neck, her mouth trailing little kisses along his jaw and begging him don't stop, please don't stop, each kiss, each whispery plea pushing him closer and closer to the edge. The tree shook with them, the lingering raindrops dripping over them, falling down their bare skin, streaking their cheeks like tears. Paul caught a drop on Zhara's shoulder with his tongue, and it burst into a bubble of sweetness, flooding his mouth with her taste.

So they may be going to their death the next day. So he may never see his home again. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered but the way her pulse fluttered against his, the way she enfolded him in her whole being, and the pleasure that surged through both of them like wildfire, sweeping everything else away.

Afterward, they fell asleep on the grass, there in the shadow of that kingdom of ruins, her head on his chest, her body bathing him in heat as though she had stored up the sun in her skin.

He woke before sunrise. The Night horse must have left already, for the dark gray sky was starting to tinge with blue. His arms automatically closed around Zhara, afraid to find a bird there instead of a girl. No, blessed be the Saints, she was still in her human form. His stirrings had woken her as well. She stretched luxuriously against him, and he delighted in the way her body moved in his arms.

"Are you cold?" she said, voice still thick with sleep. "We can go inside."

"Cold, with you in my arms, my Zhar-ptitsa? Never."

He felt her smile on his chest. Then she yawned. Even her yawn sounded lovely.

"Don't go back to sleep," he said. "Stay with me."

"I'm not going back to sleep."

They were both quiet for a while. By her sighs, he knew that she, like him, was thinking of what lay ahead, dreading it. He was trying to find something to take her mind off it, when she spoke.

"Paul?"

"Yes?"

"What do you desire the most?"

He thought about it, and realized that, at that very moment, there was one thing he desired.

"To see the dawn with you."

She lifted her head to look at him. The blaze of hope in her eyes would stay with him for as long as he lived. "Perhaps we can, one da—"

She never finished her sentence. At that very moment, the Sun horse vaulted over the sky, followed closely by the Day horse, and the weight of Zhara's body on him reduced to nothingness. For a heartbeat, the firebird remained on his chest, looking at him with those human, heartbreaking eyes. Then she flapped her wings and took off in a flash of burnished gold.

Paul sat under the linden for a while longer, feeling chilled and lonely without Zhara's reassuring warmth on him. Then, with a sigh, he went into the house for breakfast.

Though it was early still, everybody was up, and not only up, but also waiting for him, it seemed. By the time Paul came into the kitchen, Ilya was lifting the kettle down from the stove to make tea. "There he is," the knight said with a knowing grin and winked at Paul. Even Elena showed a faint smile on her lips as she wished Paul a good morning. Paul felt his face going crimson and busied himself with cutting the bread. Zhara also seemed shyer than usual and didn't come to his side at the breakfast table, but remained at the window, where Elena brought her some seeds and berries. Only Baba Yaga was as impassive as ever and didn't seem to notice anything. After breakfast, she knocked on the ceiling for the house to start moving again.

Paul cleaned up the breakfast things with Elena and went into the yard, where Ilya was restringing his bow.

"Can I do anything to help?" Paul asked.

"You can help by keeping the tsarevna company," Ilya said, nodding toward Zhara at the window. "She's going to need the courage, and I'd say you're more qualified than any of us to give it to her."

Paul blushed again. Was he relegated to the role of a royal lover, like Vasilchikov and so many others he'd sneered at in his mother's court, assigned only to keep the Empress's bed warm? "I suppose you think me a fool," he said without bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"No," replied the knight sincerely, his black, crinkled eyes looking straight at Paul. "It is never foolish to love, my friend. In fact, in these dark days, to love and be loved may be the wisest thing you can do, for you never know how short our time may be on earth. Just look at my brothers. I'm glad that Dobrynya had at least known love, no matter how briefly. And I'm glad that you and the tsarevna have this chance."

Paul hadn't thought about it that way. The stories always ended with "And they lived happily ever after," never "And they lived happily for now," but he supposed there was wisdom in what Ilya said.

While Paul was pondering the words of the bogatyr, Ilya looked up, and his face hardened at something he saw over Paul's shoulder. Paul turned around, and his heart faltered. The house had rounded the cliffs and now stood on a small shingle beach, facing the steel-gray sea. In the distance, an island stood amidst the waves. It was little more than a single boulder, most of it taken up by a gigantic, ancient oak tree, yet against that pewter sky, still heavy with unshed rain, with the white-crested waves crashing against it, the island gave off such a foreboding air that Paul could very well believe it to be the source of a powerful magic.

"Buyan Island," Ilya said, getting to his feet. "We have arrived."

Chapter 13

Taglist: @ali-r3n

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul smut #prince paul x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn smut

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heresathreebee · 1 year

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Prince Paul I | Catherine the Great (miniseries 2019) || Free Choice: Teratophilia!

Mermaid!Reader; 6.5k words (really got away from me, huh); NO BETA/ SELF- EDITED, Swearing, Pirates, Catherine The Great/The Great Crossover, Paul And Peter Are Brothers, Pervert Peter, Misogynistic Language, Mentions of Dismemberment, Cannibalism (mermaids eat humans), Fear Kink, Faux Zoology/ Mermaid Anatomy, Fingering, Manhandling, Amazon Position, Rough Sex, Loss of Virginity, No Contraception, Creampie

Previous Masterlist 🎃 Challenge Completed 🎃

The princes of the Russian empire were exactly the kind of spoiled brats one expects them to be. To toughen them up (or rather to provide the palace with a few weeks of peace), their mother Queen Catherine sent them to the now conquered Crimea. A former pirate turned sea captain for the Empress' glory gave the princes a tour of the facilities that would soon be available for tourism, which was currently only crudely made wooden rooms with glass windows on the floor to see the sea bed below.

Peter, ever observant when he chose to be, pointed through the large viewing window on the floor and screamed, "am I going insane or does that fish have tits?!"

The Captain (who felt as though he was living at the end of a noose since the princes' arrival) tried very hard not to roll his eyes at prince Peter's outburst. "Aye, your highness. There be mermaids about these waters. They mostly keep to themselves, and as long as you don't go hunting for them or otherwise antagonize them, they don't bother us much."

"Have you fucked one?" Peter's hopeful face looked at his brother Paul, who had been sulking since before they left the palace. "How do we fuck one? Get your men to capture one so that we may fuck it."

Again, the Captain reigned in his deep annoyance and tried to answer with only a hint of patronization beneath his wooden smile. "Yes, your highness, technically you can fuck them– but they are extremely vicious and vengeful predators of the ocean who bow to no crown, not even yours, your highness."

He continued as another of the creatures swam across the bottom of the bed, shimmering tail flicking light all around it. Paul watched it snatch a blinded fish that came too near with nearly human hands and bite its head clean off. He flinched and held his stomach as he became suddenly queasy.

"–If'n you were to pursue them, there is only one mermaid who likes to trade with us. If you give her something of value– preferably shiny– you may ask a favor of her."

"To fuck her, you mean?" Peter demanded. "That will be no problem, women love me!"

"Surely, your highness." The Captain nodded at one of his underlings who removed a glove, revealing not one but three missing fingers. "But know this: she is no woman, she is a beast. And every man who has fucked her usually loses more than he bargained for. A few fingers, a chunk of their flesh, their cock. She's what we here call… a biter."

…

Paul was still queasy over luncheon while Peter relayed in exorbitant detail the many gruesome disfigurements of the Captain's men. "There is a man who is missing the head, Paul! The mushroom tip of his cock bitten clean off! A-and you see that fucker there! He is missing half of his cock. That's why they call him Halfcock! The Captain called the bits that the mermaid took from the men trophies."

Disturbed, Paul pushed out of his chair hurriedly. "I am deeply sick and you are not helping. For God's sake, Peter, there are plenty of human whores for you to fuck, stop obsessing over the fish girl! And get away from me!"

Paul ran away and tried to rest his sickness away… but though he screamed at Peter, he was not as immune to the mermaid as he pretended to be. Half fish, half woman, all predator. Paul’s favorite bedtime stories were always about mermaids (and when he hit puberty, the court girl who read him the stories was used for more than just her voice to put him to sleep). Even now, he feels his cock twitch thinking about it– about the Trader, even if it would be stupid to dare a monster with such intentions.

Yet as poor Paul slept, he dreamed of the princess he was betrothed to– the girl who broke his heart in two– swimming to him as he drowned in the water and giving him the kiss of life. And he was sad and aching with need when he woke up alone to the reality that she had betrayed him. In his need to feel something other than sadness (if only for a little while), Paul found himself asking Halfcock where he could go to trade with the mermaid.

The man raised a single eyebrow but guided prince to an open grotto anyway, where all sorts of beautiful gems glistened along the cave walls. “Water’s always cold. You’ll need to swim to that rock in the middle and wait. Remember your highness that she is not a servant of your kingdom and does not recognize your authority– she may never come at all.”

Paul sighed at the stupidity of his own plan. “Very well. And if she tries to kill me?”

Halfcock shrugged. “Mermaids drag men to their deaths at the bottom of the bed. You’d be dead before any one of us could help you.”

“Oh! Well that’s good to know,” the prince replied sarcastically. “You may as well leave me then.”

Once he was alone, Paul divested himself of his boots, wig, stockings and doublet, edging into the freezing water and swimming the short distance to the small, half submerged perch to sit and clutching his treasure in his hand like a lifeline. This was beyond foolish. He may only be the second son– the spare to the heir– but he was still important and higher than nearly any other in the line of succession. But here he was acting just as idiodic as his dumb older brother. No, worse! Because even Peter had heard how he might be disfigured or killed and chose self preservation over fish fucking…

Paul realized he could see eyes looking at him from under the water and nearly pissed himself (nearly). The creature was a hundred times more frightening without the protection of land or glass to keep him safe, and she– you– were more silent in the water than any known predator on land.

It made his cock twitch in his breeches.

Paul whimpered accidentally as he stared back at you. The glassy still surface of the grotto's pool did not allow much of the weak candlelight to penetrate deeper than four or five feet below the water, so most of your eerily inhuman form was in shadow. You were unmoving yet you floated nearer and your eyes never left his. Though he knew better, he still held himself stiff as a rock as though it might trick you into thinking he is not prey (while behaving exactly as prey would).

The tension in his body was making his muscles ache and Paul tried his hardest to end this horrible staring contest. With a perfectly weak and trembling voice, he announced, "I have come to trade…"

He scolds himself in his head– could you hear or even understand him from the depths?- but evidently you heard something as your tail flicked (his only indication being a second of shimmering that appeared behind you from the errant black of the water) and then you began to circle him.

It did not put him at ease. In fact, quite the opposite, for as soon as he could not turn his head to see you anymore, he whipped around and floundered, fearing he had lost sight of you and you were no doubt attacking him. But no! You still swam, unhurriedly around him like a shark circles its prey (or so he had heard from many a sailor's tale on the way to Crimea).

Paul clutched the cross in his hands tighter and began to pray. And that is the only time your eyes left him– a glint of human greed shining past the animal hunger. You edged closer to him and Paul scrambled away as much as he could having trapped himself on this rocky outcrop.

"Ah-ah!" He held the cross before him as protection but far from your reach below the water. "Enough of this awful game! I know you can speak, devil, so do it plainly. You'll get nothing if you do not cease this, this intimidation!"

Finally, finally, your pretty humanlike head breached the water and you rolled your eyes in annoyance (something he imagines you learned from humans, possibly the Captain himself). Your arms crossed and you motioned with a brief gesture for him to sit before you swam a little closer but kept your distance. You seemed weary of his legs as he siat back down, and it gave him some ease knowing if you decided to make a meal of him and simply take his treasure, you would at least not enjoy being kicked.

"Tell me what you have to trade," you bark at him in a clear, commanding voice, "and I will decide if it is worth something. Only then may you ask me for your favor."

Your predatory eyes narrow. "And do not think you can trade one human object for another in my collection. It has already been asked by a dozen others, and I pick my teeth with the bones of the arguers."

Paul shivered at the implication (and grew hard again). "I am Prince Paul of the great empire of Russia, the first of his name, son of the Emperor Peter the Third and Empress Catherine who-calls-herself–the-Great."

You rolled your eyes at his title but Paul assumed you were rolling your eyes at his mother's title (as he thought you should). And he continued, "and I have brought you this…" he held aloft the larger ornate silver cross, "it was the cross used at my christening when I was a babe. Mother had a new one made for each of her sons to keep. My brother tells me I used to chew on it when I was teething to cut my teeth out."

"It was– it is important to me," he finished at last.

Heartless creature that you are, you raised an eyebrow and held out your hand boredly. "Your sentiment is endearing, but not of value to me."

Paul's grip on the cross tightened again and he scoffed at your outstretched hand. "Then it is made from purest silver and encrusted with twenty rubies, four emeralds, four sapphires, and see here– " he pointed to the yellow gem situated at the apex of the center where all the beams meet, "two citrines. One of each side. It holds greater value than anything you might have rotting in your sea drown collection."

For a moment, your eyes darkened, but Paul held strong and you dropped your hand into the water with an irritated splash. "Fine! I accept your trade. Now give me this cross and think hard about what you will ask of me."

He handed it over and was shocked when you disappeared beneath the water, whipping around so fast that a tornado of bubbles formed in your wake and your tail fin nearly slapped him across handsome his face. For a moment he sat there, stunned, but he had never heard anyone talk of the mermaid robbing a man blind before, so he waited for you to come back. And sure as the briny water was cold, the predator returned and you leaned against the rock some distance behind him.

"Now. What do you want of me, little prince?"

There was a knowing look on your features, or perhaps it was anticipatory, instead. How many men had the princes met who had missing parts of their genitals because they could not resist the allure of sex with such a fantastical beast?

It's not like Paul has been very good at hiding himself…

"Go on, little prince," you purred somewhat menacingly, "ask me for your favor."

Why did you take flesh from some of your trades? The question had plagued him harder the more he learned about it. If you disagreed with the value of the favor, would you not simply turn it down? You are very good at rolling your eyes. And you sounded and seemed far too powerful to be forced to give in to anything.

Paul chose his words carefully, something he could back out of if he chickened out (which he knows he should). "... I wish to… study you."

At that, you turned your head sideways like a dog (did you know what a dog was? Actually, you've probably eaten one if he recalls a few stories from the sailors). "Study me?"

"Yes, for…" what was he going to say, science? Yeah, right, "there are hundreds of stories about mermaids that are nothing more than queries. What they look like and what they do, speculating if you have souls or if they were lost. I… want to ask you questions and… touch you– i-if that's not too much to ask!"

You made a contemplative hum before slipping back into the black water. Paul can see you gliding through the cold below, circling him but this time in thought. You breached the surface and floated along on your back. Paul had a view of the entire length of you from tail tip to head, and it made him shiver again.

Your tail was different from the depictions of the mermaids in the Grecian vases he has at home. It was longer than human legs would be but not by too much, and it had a similar thickness to your upper half, with a pair of small fins along the underside. The big caudal fin at the end of your tail is wide and broom-like, and there were rays of fins spanning the length of your sides and another taller and spinier fin on your back side.

So distracted was he by your decorated tail that he only caught a glimpse of your hard nipples before you were rolling over onto your belly and swimming back past him. There was a cat-like grin on your lips that made him blush down to his chest.

"I agree to your favor, little prince," you reply. "And when your questions grow dull, I will answer you no further."

Paul gulped and nodded his head, wishing he still had his cross or something for his hands to fidget with other than using them to cover his interested manhood.

"Do you have one? A soul, I mean?," he asked.

In reply, you shrugged and carried on with your lazy float, flipping from your belly to your back and giving him a good view of your whole body from closer than he had before. "I don't know."

From here, Paul can see your scales don't align with the iridescent shine they give off. They refract light more like opals rather than the glint of mail armor but they must be as hard as teeth bones judging by the look of your scars and they seem to get softer towards your human half.

Paul bit the inside of his cheek, a little annoyed by your lame answer. "Were you born this way? Some say mermaids are human girls who drown at sea. Do you remember your life on land? Or when you drowned?"

Your hum echoed like a pretty note running over and over in the flooded grotto. "I have no memory of another life on land, only this one I have in the sea."

Well, it was not not answer. "What do you eat? Fish, I surmise."

You smiled wickedly. "And men. You taste better the harder you scream and fight to live."

Paul's cock twitched under his hand not despite but because of the obvious threat– and you fucking notice– eyes dropping low as if you sensed the disturbance in the water. It only served to make him feel queasy and rush more of his royal blood to his cock. Your impish grin only widened.

"Do you want to touch it, little prince?"

"Y-your tail, you mean?," he stammered.

"If you like," you shrugged non-chalantly.

Inching closer, your tail flicked close to his hand. It was so close that he could see at the end, where the tail thins between the base and the caudal fin, that there are half a dozen small spines running along the bottom, probably used for hunting or self defense. One powerful swipe could cut flesh into a jagged half.

And he touched them, careful not to nick himself lest you decide he would make a good meal after all. He took his hand and petted along your scales. Paul gasped as his hand glides right over your slippery tail, completely unable to get a hand hold even as his fingers nearly touch at its thinnest.

"You're slimy!," he exclaimed in wonderous awe and a tiny bit of disgust.

"Thank you," you replied, and drew yourself into another lazy float, this time across his waterlogged lap to give him more to touch. "It's a sign of health."

He petted you again until just your tail remained close and he drew his scrutinous gaze over the fin ray on your side. The gelatinous parts are a soft ray fin, he realized, but longer and spined near your hips. He theorized that the soft ray reacts like whiskers to keep you from getting your fins caught in nets or other animal's jaws.

Very gently, he ran a finger along the soft ray and watched powerful muscles flex beneath the body of your tail and twitch reflexively away from his touch.

"Fascinating," Paul whispered as you slip back into his lap. The prince gently hooked an arm behind your waist to keep you near and you responded by sitting up and planting yourself there. "Do these help you make tight turns?"

He pointed to the ridge where your side fins were spined. "I think so? I knew a girl– or a fish, as you call me– who had none. She struggled in the Great Open Salt, but she lived to be fat and happy in the Green Shallows. Not so many predators to escape and lots of places to hide."

"An estuary, you mean." You gave him a confused look and he explained as he continied to stroke your tail, "it's where saltwater meets and mixes with freshwater from the rivers. Briny blue water turns a brackish green and there's less salt, different species. Does that mean you can swim upriver? Acclimate in an estuary like a sturgeon or a trout and survive in fresher waters? Or was she perhaps a different species of mermaid?"

You shook your head. "No. Only fools swim up river. I hear the water is good but different, the food is unlike anything else, but it is far too dangerous."

"But what makes it dangerous?," he asked and you lifted your chin silently. "Oh. Men."

You folded an arm over his shoulders and your eyes fell to his petting hand. He watched too, out of questions for the moment and hoping that you cannot feel the press of his manhood under you. He was right about your scales, they were hard beneath the slime but near your belly they were softer– a lot softer. The flexible fins there slapped at him when he tried to examine them and he went back to petting. Then his hand swiped just a little harder over the apex of your tail and something new caught his eye.

A slit, but this one seems natural and deep unlike the scars and abrasions on the surface of your body. Paul set his fingers to the sides and tried to pry them apart, catching a glimpse again of unscaly flesh. You don't seem to mind his curiosity, in fact you seem deeply amused by it.

Paul nibbled on his bottom lip before he adjusted his hold so he could use both hands to explore this unique part of your anatomy. The slit is guarded by the fin pair, flexing at his touches but not attacking him yet, and thinking back to the diagrams of normal fish anatomy… he had some clue as to what may lie between…

But that would be silly! As neither a full woman nor a full fish, this thing could be anything! And he knew he probably should not just stick his finger in it, but given you hadn't pulled away or bitten him yet, he figured… well…

A exploratory finger pressed into the slit and rubbed up and down along it. There was a fleshy bump at the top of the slit and a hole at the bottom. His finger slipped into the hole all the way down to the knuckle and his gaze flitted uncertainly to yours.

"...you don't need this to breathe, do you?"

Your chest expanded and fell like a deep sigh. "No. I have breath sacs like you that I sometimes use for buoyancy and my gills are here," you pointed to the small series of ridges under your arms.

Paul absentmindedly curled his buried finger and began to sweat. "...so… what is this, then?"

He slipped his finger out until the first knuckle before delving it back in a little deeper and felt your muscles twitch around him, feeling around with his thumb for that bump again.

"The way you are playing with it tells me you know exactly what it is," you replied hotly.

Now the cold of the seawater could not be felt by the prince, for his body flushed white hot down to his toes and he whimpered pathetically. His fear rising only served to make him stupider as he pulled his finger out only to gently stuff it back in with the accompaniment of another, longer one. Your channel twitched and something decidedly hard pressed up against his knuckles once his hand was fully seated again.

"Oh," he says dumbly. "Your cunt…"

The glittery end of your tail flicked and splashed water over his back. Paul barely noticed as he gazed at your face, completely dumbstruck despite knowing that other men have come to you for that exact reason. He felt unable to pull away or move for fear of waking from this perfect and nightmarish dream.

"Can I… may I…" Paul swallowed the drool that threatened to spill from his slackened jaw. "I won't ask if it will offend you and get my head removed."

And why not his head? There was a sailor missing his entire hand. Paul asked a dozen times how you could have fit it all into your mouth to bite it off at the wrist, but the sailor was traumatized and he had seen the way your body shifted between the water and the air. The fins behind your ears melted like a mirage when you held it out of the water. For all he knew, you could probably unhinge your jaw too…

"I think it is my turn to explore you, little prince," you replied instead, and slipped quickly out of his grasp.

Leaving him to hiss and look at the stinging, shallow cuts about an inch long on the backs of his fingers. Stranger… he must have caught them on your scales or something…

The feeling of human-ish hands on his thighs made him spread his legs– and then promptly try close them around your neck by accident. You startled him! There was indeed webbing between your submerged fingers that hadn't been there before, fins just behind your ears and glittering scales on your forehead. You glared meaningfully at him and shoved his protective hand away from his groin, revealing what you always knew was waiting and begging for your touch.

You pulled the ties of his breeches with practiced ease, and Paul nervously sank lower into the water, bringing it up to his collarbone instead of his chest to give you more access.

Which you should have less of given you're literally a creature he knows is responsible for biting men's cocks off, and yet here he is presenting himself to you. Perhaps the siren's song is not a song at all but a man's idiocy.

Paul's gasp quickly turned into a moan upon feeling the slimy cold touch of your webbed hands on his stiff cock. It only made him harder the way you turned your head, your expression was harder to read given the presentation of your less human features but he pretended you were impressed by his length and girth.

His fast coming breathes rippled the water and muddled his view, but he thought he saw your head draw closer to his cock until he felt an unexpectedly warm swipe of a tongue on the sensitive frenulum of his mushroom tip.

"No, stop!"

Paul scrambled back, trying to get as far up and out of the water as he could (which was futile, the topmost part of the rock barely breached the surface and only in one by one feet squared). You flicked your tail in annoyance and rose your head above the water, waiting silently for an explanation.

"Please," Paul held his manhood protectively close to his body, "d-don't bite it off. I'm very fond of my cock and I would like to keep it… for when I have a wife someday…"

Acquiesce. You rolled your eyes again and dipped dramatically back into the water. Paul feared a moment that you were going completely away, until you reappeared far closer than he was comfortable with.

"Have you finished in your exploration then, little prince?" Your tail rolled languidly below you, fin spines arched at the ready. "Have you no more questions to bore me with?"

“No wait!” Paul attempted to chase after you when you slipped back into the depths of the black water below. He watched your tail ghost between the rock and tried to follow you from above, shouting above the waterline, “it’s self preservation! You don’t seriously think I haven’t seen what you’ve done to the sailors here, have you? I am… I’m desperate, not stupid!”

A splashing behind him had him tripping, falling to his knees and turning his head in shock. You looked at him thoroughly amused. “I think you are both.”

Paul’s jaw dropped in offense. “I beg your pardon–”

The princes’ moment of bravado ended abruptly as you began to slither towards him. “Go on then, little prince. Beg.”

If he weren’t already kneeling, he would have fallen to his knees. As it happens, he has nowhere to run or hide from you as you crawl closer and closer. His teeth chatter as you come face to face and slide an arm around his neck, your upper body slotting against him and soaking clean through his drenched thin cotton shirt and rubbing your scaly slit over his ruddy cock.

“Please…” Paul gulped and his eyes fixated on your lips.

“Do not kiss me,” you command, “a mermaid’s kiss is powerful magic and you will not find it so easy to take. Ask the men with missing faces.”

Paul shuddered and pointedly rubbed his nose on your cheek leading up to your ear. “May I kiss you elsewhere?”

“... you may.”

Paul wasted no more time and latched his lips to the soft skin behind your ear. His mind floated on a gentle wave and was unaware of your maneuvering both of your bodies so long as you kept his head above water. It was odd– from your smell to your taste was sea salt and animal, your flesh soft and human and slimy, tough scales are cold. Yet when he leans his nose near your ear, you smell of summer and when you held him tight against your chest, there was a hint of warmth that seeped back into him.

And your cunt was scorching like a lit hearth.

“What are you…” Paul slipped from his dreamy exploration to find himself held firmly with his back against the flat of the rock and your hand wrapped around his cock at exactly the moment you pushed his head into your slippery cavern. “Oh, that.”

Chuckling, you took more of him, your walls clung to his cock invitingly and sucked him up greedily. His mouth opened uselessly and he gasped for breath as he bottomed out. Scorching, just like it had been around his fingers.

"Fu-ck," his voice got stuck in his throat as you started to move.

You hummed. "So pretty like this. Completely at my mercy and loving it."

The prince's hands fumbled for purchase, needing to ground himself. They settled between your shoulder blades and his face turned scarlet when he realized the position he was in. Aside from the rough limestone at his back, you are the only thing holding him up, hands gripping his ass firmly as you move.

He is the one being fucked– he is the one being used for your pleasure. And yeah, he loves it.

You watched Paul leaning to the left distractedly and giggled. "What are you doing?"

"Your tail…" Paul dug his teeth into his bottom lip watching you work. Your thrusts were powered by a rhythmic rolling motion starting at the weaponized end of your tail and rising swiftly up to your hips. The muscles are clearly stronger and it's fascinating and brilliant and "you won't tire as quickly as you would using your upper body in the water."

You blinked at him and he frowned. "I've been talking aloud, haven't I?"

"It's uhm, it's cute."

"Yes well," he sputtered, "can you fuck me faster? Or just… t-take what you need. I want to feel you squeeze me."

He hoped h was making sense because everything he knew about sex, he had to learn from Peter's unstoppable bragging, not experience. He grunted when you started moving again, faster, hips bludgeoning against his and winding him.

"Like this, little prince?," you purred.

Paul whimpered and tried to hold off the incessant throbbing in his loins. He had been dying to know about this female orgasm business Peter once talked about. His toes curled and he tried to imagine anything else except this favorite fantasy playing out before him.

"Are you close, matuschka?," Paul's voice was pleading, his lip worried until blood welled and your eyes darkened instantly, your tongue lapping it up as quickly as it appeared. "I-I don't think I can take much more."

His words were choppy from your harsh movements and his hands gripped the sides of your face. You snatched his wrists and pulled them down until he held palmfuls of your chest. Around his cock, your cunt twitched more and more frequently, he can only hope it means you nearing your end.

"Touch me, little prince," you commanded.

Paul moaned as he squeezed your tits. This was more familiar to his fantasies. His pruned fingers plucked at the hard buds and rolled them gently and squished them flat until you were growling and locked your arms around him.

Paul gasped just before he was pulled under the water. He held his breath with his heart pounding in his ears and tried not to assume the worst. Then his attention was ensnared by the repetitive and quite delicious choking feeling your cunt gave his buried cock. Wave after wave, Paul's eyelids fluttered and he was reminded of his brother's description.

'It feels like lots and lots of tiny, warm hugs.'

Peter had never mentioned the feeling of hard nubs like smooth rocks clutching at the base of his cock. They were just beyond the entrance of your cunt, the muscles behind them seemed to have a mind of their own.

But then Paul felt his lungs screaming for air and he chuffed a torrent of bubbles into your face. You blinked at him and released him, pulling him back to the surface and holding him up to set him back on the rock top.

"Fuck," Paul gasped. Air had never tasted sweeter to him. He rubbed at the salty water that invaded his eyes and began to turn the cornea pink. "Fuck, that was magnificent."

You flicked your tail sheepishly while he was distracted, feeling a small amount of conflict building in you. You hadn't meant to pull him under, you were too overcome by your orgasm to release him as your body seized pleasurably. But he wasn't angry, nay, he was elated! And still full of so much energy…

"You did not spill your seed, little prince? Most men feel so good that they finish, too," you say, deliberately leaving out the part where only a few cared to make you feel good at all.

Paul dropped his hand from his eyes with a splash and gave you a big, dopey grin. "I held it off! I have never felt a woman like this before, and I didn't want to be distracted by my own pleasure."

Never felt… "are you a virgin, my little prince?"

The lilt of your voice was teasing and Paul's pretty milky complexion once again tipped rosey. "Well I'm not now…"

His quiet rebuttal caused you to laugh– though not maliciously. "Oh dear..."

You sat yourself between his spread legs and held his face in your hands. "You have been so good for me, little prince."

"Tsarevich," he corrects you. "In my mother tongue, I am the Tsarevich."

"If you like, Tsarevich." You leaned in towards his throat and scraped your teeth over his pulse point, causing him to shiver. "You can try to finish one more time."

Paul's head started to spin as you left him alone again. His cock has been so hard since the beginning and the water wasn't getting warmer. He needed you, needed to be closer to you.

A giant splash made him turn his dizzy head. He found you had leaped into a shallow side pool, rolling onto your back and beckoning him over. The prince stood on shaking legs and threw off the rest of his clothes. He jumped back into the water to swim to you, feeling his gut flutter again as your caudal fin brushed him from knee to chest. He climbed the rocky wall and sighed in relief having finally left the frighteningly black water and a more safer ground.

"Still worried about losing your cock, Tsarevich?" You smiled slyly but offered him no reassurance.

He straddled your tail and crawled on hands and knees up your body. "Are you sure? I'm not pushing for too much?"

Paul dipped his head down and stuck his tongue out to drag it across your puffing slit, filling his mouth with saltwater and slime. At last, he sat on your hips and watched your eyes flit hungrily to the leaking ruddy cock pointing at you.

Soft waves of water lapped at your bodies as Paul grasped the base of his cock and pushed the tip back into your stretched hole. Watching him moan in satisfaction as he bottomed out and his whole face go slack with peace.

"So good…" Paul’s hips stuttered, trying to push himself as deep into your cunt as he could. “Feel like hot velvet.”

“Go on then, Tsarevich,” you said, panting slightly, “fuck this velvety cunt.”

Paul couldn't help all of the little whimpers and grunts that scratched out of his throat. He giggled in surprise when the little pair of flexible fins latch onto his thighs, wanting to keep him close. His hips moved arhythmically, unsure of what to do and how to do it. With just a little guidance, you get him to settle into a more effective position so he can thrust more easily without straining himself. He was pretty like this, using you like his toy but gently, like you were a beloved one.

"That's perfect, Tsarevich."

His cock glided in and out of your walls with ease, unhurried as he savors the moment for just a little longer than most virgins do. His thick head bumped a spongy spot deep inside you that caused your tail curl over his back. His arms shook as cold droplets pelt between his shoulder blades and he was once more reminded that you are not human.

The prince was too inexperienced or completely unaware that the polite thing to do would be to ask where he could spill his seed, but you wanted it deep inside you anyways. When he came, he whimpered pathetically and his eyes rolled back into his head. You were caught by surprise by your own orgasm washing over you and milking his royal manhood of all its seed until he fell against your chest, gasping.

You cradled him in your arms and ran your fingers through his copper locks. "Well done, little prince," you praise and stroke the apple of his cheek. "Was the trade completed to your satisfaction?"

Paul nuzzled against you, and his tongue slipped out to flick one of your nipples. "Yes. I would take you home, matuschka, if the journey was not so long and you did not need a body of water to survive it."

You hum sadly. "Pity that."

…

Paul stumbled into the Captain's quarters for supper on shaking legs. He could not wash the smell of sea water from his hands but it mattered not– everything here smelled of sea water. He sat heavily in the last empty chair at the table and dug ravenously into dishes of pork pies and pierogies and sweetmeats.

"Hungry are we?," the Captain said cautiously.

Paul grunted in acknowledgement and shoved a fistful of shredded crab meat and melted butter into his mouth. He hadn't eaten anything the previous night and felt savage for it. Peter stared, the Captain stared, even the servants and the few guests invited stared at him.

"What?," his muffled curse was met with many glances away, but not from his brother Peter.

"Halfcock said you were with the fish girl," his brother finally said. "Seeing as there would be no reason to go other than to fuck her, I can't understand why you're not writhing in pain from having your cock mutiliated. Aha hah, perhaps you did not know where to put it!"

Some of the guests laughed nervously (it was rude but as the heir apparent, the Tsarsevich, Peter was of higher status and needed to be pleased at all costs). The Captain could not wipe his look of suspicion and disbelief from his face.

Paul rolled his eyes. "I know where to put it, and put it, I did. And do you know what I discovered? It was marvelous! And really, Peter, it was a simple solution: she can hardly bite my cock off if she doesn't put it in her mouth, can she?"

It was hardly the most vulgar thing said at the table but the room became eerily silent and some silverware clattered to the floor. This time, Paul stopped all shoving of food into his mouth and looked around at all of the shocked and uncomfortable faces around him. "...what?"

"Oh my god, you don't know… you didn't know?!" Peter clapped his hands merrily and laughed until his sides hurt. "That is fucking fantastic! Paul, you stupid fuck! The sailors didn't lose their cocks from the teeth in her mouth."

Paul's stomach gurgled uncomfortably. "W-what do you mean?"

A highly amused Peter slapped his hand on the table. "All those fucking lessons in the palace and you didn't realize. Mermaids have vagina dentata! Do you know what that means, little brother? It means she has teeth in her cunt!"

Paul blanched instantly. The scratches on his knuckles… the weird pressure he felt squeezing him at your entrance… it couldn't be true.

The man was so gobsmacked about his brush with death that he didn't notice when all eyes turning to the opening door in complete terror. he didn't notice anything was amiss until a cool body plopped down in his lap and the smell of summer and seasalt washed over him.

You… hair still dripping, wearing nothing but a scratchy, open white shirt caked in salt clusters from extended submergence, fucking legs underneath you. His hand fell to your knee to make sure it was real and felt human skin with a little protective layer of slime covering it.

And you simply plucked a sweetmeat from a nearby plate and popped it onto your tongue while everyone watched. "Hello again, Tsarevich. Captain."

Paul sputtered and shook against your body until you tilted his head to make him look in your eyes. "What, the legs? It is a simple magic, easily undone if you miss my tail so much. I believe you promised to take me to your home."

The Empress was going to kill him. It was the last thought that crossed his startled mind, and Paul fainted on the spot.

Previous Masterlist Thank You For Celebrating Halloween With Me!

Holy shit I did it I finally posted this 2 weeks late but it's out there it's out of the bag. I'm so proud of myself for completing this challenge and I hope to get more fics like this posted if not for the fandom than for myself. If you stuck around to the end or were only interested in this one, thank you for reading and I hope you were thoroughly entertained 🧡

#three bees writing #kinktober 2022 challenge #prince paul smut #prince paul x female reader #tppkinktober2022 #joseph quinn character fiction #black reader insert

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beelicious-and-fictitious · 1 year

Text

Okay I didn't want to write Holiday stuff but my brain refused to allow me to write anything else 😅

We got smutty reader inserts inbound, no telling when I'll drop them seeing as the reason for the season is approaching rapidly

Stuck with Kurt Kunkle | Porn without Plot Smut: You're trying to impress Kurt's extended family this holiday but suppressing your voracious lust for your boyfriend is hard

Special Christmas Gift with Kurt Kunkle | PWP: College roommate Kurt has the strangest Christmas wish he asks of you

Second No More with Prince Paul | PWP: Paul is sick of being second best at everything and aims to become his mother's favorite son by giving her her 1st grandchild

Water Bed with Steve Harrington | Smut: Eddie's career is starting to take off and you and Steve end up sharing a hotel bed and confessing some feelings

The first three I'm going to try and post in the next five days, Water Bed I will probably post a week after Christmas

#WIP update #bee's archive of fiction #🐝🐝🐝✏#prince paul smut #kurt kunkle smut #steve harrington smut

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punk-in-docs · 1 year

Note

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

🥀Qualities of Mercy🥀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t expected.

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

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

“My Lady-“ He rasped in surprise.

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

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

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

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

Maricel’s words come locked in impatience.

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

“No- I.”

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

“Now, now.” You scold her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put your forked tongue away.” You suggest.

She moodily deigns to do as you say.

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

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

You press on. Determined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He told you distinctly not to fucking come.

Yet here you stand.

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

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

Waiting to see what comes spat back.

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

Not Paul.

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

You’re fucking in for it now.

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

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

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

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

He’s livid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A lovely welcome.” You stab back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does not.

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

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

“No.” He decided.

Oh, now he’s in for it.

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

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

It was too late for niceties.

“Just be quiet.” He snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

“Constant dagger in my side.”

“Fuck you.” You announce passionately.

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

“Tough shit.” You snark.

“Elegant verbiage.” He insults.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If looks could kill.

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles.

He’s fucking you not two minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s fucking agony.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tilts his head. Teasing. “Yes?”

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

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

The start of a long night, to be sure.

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

He has you food brought in as an apology.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s dripping him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#punkwrites #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 reader #prince paul #i would die for this man #such a brat #he’s such a filthy ho #such a hottie #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn

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strawberriescherrieskiwi · 2 months

Note

what kinda kinks do U think all of Timmy's characters have?

Oh, I think they are all a bunch of kinky lads.

Paul- knife play, primal play, Breeding, impact, sadism

Laurie- Dom/sub, bondage, Erotic asphyxiation CNC, Breeding, impact, sadism

Hal - Dagger play, CNC, Breeding, Erotic asphyxiation, sadism

Lee- Cuckolding, blood play, pain play, masochism, Praise

Wonka-sitophilia(duh), Sensory deprivation, Praise,Sploshing

Kyle-Role-play of any kind, degrading, Breeding, Edging, Impact

There are probably a lot more that are not coming to mind.

What are some kinks you guys think they have?

#timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet imagine #paul atreides smut #laurie laurence smut #lee fics #wonka smut #kyle scheible smut #prince hal #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet x reader #timmy x reader #strawberriescherrieskiwi gamenight

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pedgito · 1 year

Note

i have a request 🫣 prince paul having an affair with his chamber maid, and he’s extra mean and arrogant because she’s the help. maybe it starts out with him requesting (demanding) she wear skimpier clothes in his presence and it just escalates from there 👀

author’s note: honestly never forgiving you for this. <3

cw: 18+ (minors dni) period typical drama (you don’t need to have seen the show to understand), chambermaid!reader, lots of degrading (not in a nice way), adultery/infidelity, mentions of reader being infertile, lots of tension, bratty!paul (he’s such an ass), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, power imbalance, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 5.5k

He’s not quite the man you expect at first glance. Paul, that is. His mother was an atrocious being, soft for show and nothing but hard edges, laced with ill-intent at every turn, opportunity—every chance she had, she was betraying the semblance of trust she had built.

And maybe that was her plan after all, the reason why she rules the way she did—but people talked and you heard every bit of it.

No one cared for chambermaids, especially not the one addressed to a tantrum prone young prince who despite his misfortunes still had the attitude and personality of a spoilt-child, all condescending tone and disregard for basic human decency.

But, it’s your normal—and it’s easy to fall into that routine, his voice is like white noise as you work, if he had the nerve to notice you. He’s often caught up in his own thoughts, scowl on his face as he brushes past you with no acknowledgment, not that you expect it. He’s cold at first, brisker—more than he has been lately, but your place was recognized.

Paul didn’t have the time to talk to the likes of you.

Yet, that’s exactly why he did—though, it wasn’t without your own valiant effort.

The first time it happens you almost jump out of your skin, pressing fresh sheets on his bedside chair to redress his bed, his pouting figure perched at the end, head bowed.

“Can you believe her?” He asks, voice soft but tense. You turn back, thinking he’s talking to someone—anyone but you.

There’s no one.

So, you say, “She’s quite evil, isn’t she?”

It’s a solid enough response to get a reaction out of him, even if it’s barely noticeable. His shoulders shake with the chuckle he holds back.

“She’d have your head if she was to hear that,” Paul points out, tipping his head back over his shoulder, eyes still downturned toward his floor, “careful what you say.”

“Sir, I need to change your bedding,” You urged, hands gripping the silk duvet, destined to rip that blanket away whether he moved or not, “please?” You ask softly and he’s standing silently, rounding the bed to reach for the gold plated goblet at his bedside, sipping what you could only assume was a fruitful, fancy wine from their large collection.

He watches silently, intently as you rip the old sheets away and replace them with new ones, body stretching over the bed as you fold in the corners, breasts pushed tight against the fabric and hips peeking out through the stiffly tailored dress, the itchy material driving you crazy every day.

His lips are perched on the rim, dark eyes glaring from a distance as you glance up at him briefly, met with his heated stare. You blush slightly—no man has ever looked at you in such a way.

You clear your throat quietly, flipping the blanket over the sheets and smoothing it out until it’s pristine—and you almost make it out without consequences or crude commentary.

“Lose the dress next time,” Paul orders, “it’s unbecoming of you.”

“Pardon?” You ask shakily, dirty fabric balled up and held tight against your chest, “Sir—er, Prince Paul, your majesty…I don’t think that is appropriate.”

“You’re my chambermaid,” His expression changes quickly, speaking through clenched teeth, “you do as you’re told.”

You nod obediently, though slow.

“Only here,” He clarifies, “Close the door from now on, only come at night—do you understand?”

You nod.

“Good,” His face changed on a dime, softening slightly as he stepped toward you, ringed fingers clinging against the metal of his cup as he tilted it toward you, pressing it against your lips, “drink.”

You’ve never tasted alcohol, not allowed those luxuries. It’s bitter as it hits your tongue, the tartness of the wine causing you to grimace slightly, lips stained a deep red as your tongue peeks out when Paul pulls the goblet away.

“Obedient,” He notes with amusement, snorting softly through his nose, “that is…useful.”

He doesn’t elaborate, nodding for you to leave as his expression hardens again, eyebrows drawn together tight.

“Mutter off,” He grumbles, “and do as you’re told.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from him, the situation souring in a matter of seconds as you walked away quickly, disappearing down a dark hall to rid yourself of the dirty laundry, avoiding the judging gaze of the consort as they walked by, ducking your head in a effort to hide in plain sight.

Before that encounter, Paul hid himself away after the death of his first wife and child—and while his wife had been horribly unfaithful, you could never wish that on anymore. Paul constantly grumbled about having a child to serve the purpose that his mother wanted, he’d finally accomplished it and then it was being swept out from under him in such a brutal manner.

It didn’t soften the blow of infedelity any less, or that he’d lost his son, a potential heir to his throne.

And for a while you barely see him, either tucked up under his covers and refusing to let you inside, or gone on some task with his army of men—you couldn’t be bothered to care.

You were poor, lowly, at the bottom of the pecking order and never destined step foot outside of this place, that much was obvious. It’s taught you to be mindful and overly observant—you knew Paul’s wife was cheating on him from the beginning, small inclinations that things were arye, but it wasn’t fully confirmed until you walked into a vacant room to his unfaithful wife being fucked by his bestfriend. As horrible as Paul may be, you weren’t sure he deserved that.

The period between then and now is tense, but manageable. You’ve got plenty of duties to keep yourself busy outside of his room, helping set tables for one of the many extravagant parties the council had weekly, tidying up the main rooms and helping greet guests from time to time. You were always presentable, clean, hair pulled back in a loose bun and any strays tucked behind your ear. It added an extra softness to your face, bare of any makeup—Catherine always commented on how beautiful you were, too pretty to be in the position you were now. You could never tell if she was lying or not, her first nature is always to make connections first and destroy them later.

She wastes no time in finding Paul a new wife, much to his initial dismay. He becomes rebellious during the time before, not that he wasn’t already the cause of most issues, but you quickly become used to it.

You find yourself picking up two pairs of clothes rather than one, slipping into his bedroom in the early mornings while he’s still tucked under the duvet, a naked, nameless woman wrapped around him and much less covered.

His mother would have a stroke if she knew he was finding sexual comfort in the likes of paid sex rather than putting his efforts forth to find an acceptable replacement, someone who is fertile and willing to submit.

And you can always slip in and out without being noticed, returning at night to finish up the more tedious and difficult tasks, avoiding conversation and his eyes at all costs.

Until you walk into an unfortunate situation one night, Paul buried in the cunt of a woman who’s much too loud, his pale legs tensing with every rough thrust of his hips—and sex wasn’t foreign, but it was private. It was a private, sacred act that should be kept between the two parties, but for Paul, that’s not the case.

He hears the door creak open, your eyes wide as he glances back at you, a deep smirk on his face.

His clothes are clutched to your chest along with his necessities for his bath—you’d normally start it for him by now, but you’re frozen, eyes stuck on the sight before you.

“She’s watching,” Paul says to the woman quietly and she moans softly in response, “—do not let me stop you,” Paul says, voice labored slightly as he wraps his hands around her thighs, pulling her impossibly more flush, his body blushing a bright shade of red, similar to the fake blush you patted on most morning as you helped him dress—though this, it’s so much better, “I’m nearly done.”

Your mouth is slightly agape, tongue feeling dry as you try to regain your composure, shaking your head as you slip past—the noises grow louder, heavier, and you quickly shut the bathroom door out of fear you might be caught again, eyes drawing toward him without meaning to.

You draw the bath, scolding hot as he liked and dip your fingers in to test the temperature, shaking the water from your fingertips as the door creaks open.

He’s still naked, unashamed as he walks toward you. It wasn’t the first time you’ve seen Paul naked, but it feels different. He’s not as showy, and more often than not he’ll shove you away, order you to busy yourself as he washes up—he doesn’t say a word this time, lifting his legs to step into the tub, softening cock bouncing against his thigh. He’s large, girthy and uncut. You’ve never heard many of the women talk about him in such a manner, so it comes as a surprise the first time you see it. It’s nothing like the older men you’ve seen undressing from their loins during your rounds—he’s younger, leaner, and oozing with an unbelievable confidence.

You still barely spoke to him then, handing over the washcloth and soap silently as you walked about, filling up his glass with the alcohol he usually requested; an awful tasting red wine that was much more bitter than it was sweet.

It was quite poetic, actually. It represented Paul perfectly.

His eyes drag up your coveted figure as he reaches for the glasses, stopping on your face, cheeks hot from the stuffy temperature of the room.

“Stay,” He says fiercely, catching you by surprise, “you can help, be of use finally.”

When he turns to sip and sit the drink down you roll your eyes, fist clenching tightly.

“Do you mind?” He asks, holding up the soaked washcloth toward you.

“Your majesty…you want me to bathe you?” You ask slowly, carefully.

“Are you hard of hearing or something?” He asks coarsely, teeth biting through his words as he bared them to you.

It was hard to know what would set Paul off, even the littlest things a trigger.

“No, no.” You reply softly, not bothering to finish your sentence as you squeezed the washcloth over his back, his shoulders stretching slightly as he rolled them, lifting his arms up on the edge of the tub.

“Not quite used to that?” Paul asks curiously, tone softer now.

“Sir, I’m not sure what you’re referring to—“

“No use being coy.” He notes, looking back at your briefly.

You weren’t nearly as timid as he assumed you were, not in the slightest. But, you appreciated the life you had, that you were living, and you weren’t going to jeopardize that by letting your sharp mouth get the better of you.

“Not necessarily, no.” You tell him honestly, “I’ve caught Potemkin in some…strange situations, but I usually excuse myself quickly—“ Paul leans back slightly to give you access to his chest, the wetness of his hair dampening your dress, “sex is private, s’not meant to be intruded on.”

Paul hums a soft noise, eyes linger over your body as you stretch and rub at his chest with the soap, smoothing out the washcloth over his skin before your hand dips under the water, reaching the soft skin of his stomach.

“You’re much too shy,” Paul teases, “you cannot be that way here, not with who I am—with who my mother is.”

“I do my duties and stay in my room, your majesty. It is important, also, to be mindful of where you stick your nose.”

It earns a laugh from him, genuine and unrestrained. His wet fingers loop around your wrist as it resurfaces from the water, and he’s pushing your sleeve up slightly, wetting the fabric.

“I tend to enjoy it,” Paul admits, “what a better way to remind people of what’s rightfully mine, yes?”

You snort at that, glancing down at him. Every signal in your brain is telling you to shut up, but your mouth moves anyway.

“Mmm, I assume paying for it also translates over to it being your property, correct?” He scoffs lightly, not as angry as you were expecting, but his grip tightens.

“Correct,” He seethes, tilting his chin up daringly, dragging you closer abruptly while your hands shoot out to catch yourself, gasping sharply as his face is mere inches from your own now, “—need I remind you that you are also my property?”

“I’m well aware, your majesty.” You bite back, “That does not allow you access to my body if you wish to lose a limb—“

“A delicate thing like you—“

You shake your head slowly, the words dying on his tongue.

“If you would like to keep fucking women in your bed, or at all, I would be careful with your next few words, sir.”

Paul smirks slightly, pushing you away with ease.

“I never said anything about force, you know,” He hints at, “I’m not that evil, not in that sense, at least.”

“As you shouldn’t be,” You retort, “Are we done here?”

Paul stands as you reach for the weak excuse for towel, cock resting proud against his stomach as both of his hands cup himself, allowing himself some decency—though it’s blatantly obvious.

You’re not sure whether to be flattered or offended, handing the towel off silently and dragging your feet toward the door.

“You can leave, yes—“ He hesitates for a moment, and your eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“Is everything okay, your majesty?”

Paul smirks darkly, eyes drifting away from you.

“Just a thought—I shall keep it to myself,” Paul says cryptically, “—‘less I risk losing an appendage as promised.”

Your laugh curtly, a subtle smile creeping onto your own face.

“You’re very smart, sir.” You tease.

“If only my mother would think as such,” He responds bitterly, mood shifting quickly, “—leave me, busy yourself.”

It’s not as harsh, but you don’t linger any longer than needed.

It’s the first time you manage to have a semi-normal conversation with Paul—though, nothing was ever conventional with him.

He remarried a few months after the encounter in the bath, your small conversations coming to an abrupt stop, his demeanor flat and angry more often than not.

No more random ladies in his bed, no more late nights perched on his desk table letting him ramble on about how much he hated his mother—you didn’t exist anymore.

He’s being the good little boy his mother asked him to be and promises her another heir, hoping this one holds up. And his wife seems kind-hearted at first, but that quickly sours.

It’s how you were in the position you were now, in his chambers stripped down to nearly nothing, as he’d asked, and going on about your business as if nothing was different. You didn’t have the luxury to question Paul’s orders, being as obedient as you could—as you were always taught to be.

He’d been angry the night before, about his mother but…something else. It lingered, you didn’t ask, and now it was itching at your mind, bugging you to no end.

Paul catches you when you’re bent over to grab a piece of stray stationary that had fell to the floor, making a noise you can’t decipher before speaking.

“Good,” He chide, “you listen.”

You weren’t sure what Paul was capable of, truly—and you didn’t want to find out. Because being the spawn of his mother, those tendencies were there at the surface, if not already exposed.

You turn slowly, breasts pressed together in the thin bra, underwear clinging to your hips and you curtsy slightly.

“Your excellency.”

You were laying it on thick, wondering what his angle was.

Paul examines the room carefully, stumbling a bit as he walks.

Drunk. He was drunk.

Not so much that he couldn’t speak or think for himself, but he seemed looser, less perturbed. His face was flush from the effects of the alcohol as he slipped his glass up along a random shelf.

“Fresh linens—you’ve even got my outfits lined up for the ceremony tomorrow,” His eyebrows quirks up interest, “you have been very busy.”

“It is just my job, sir.” You explain softly, hands clasped in front of you tightly, the cold draft in the room making you shiver.

Paul approaches slowly, plucking the stray paper from the desk and examining it, “Seems someone has been rummaging through my belongings again.”

You freeze, eyes tracking his every movement with regret, knowing that you were likely to blame—it could be a hit this time, a few stinging words and a night without a meal, you braced for impact.

“Do you women really think of yourself as the smarter species?” Paul asks, curiously but his voice is laced with an edge, a motive. “That us men are that dim.”

“Uh—“ You start quietly, stammering for the right words.

“She’s fucking the cook, you know.” Paul drops on you, making everything click in one fleeting moment. “The help. Like you.”

You bow your head, your normal snarky response subdued for the moment.

“She’s been writing letters, just the same as the other filthy fuckin’ whore I used to be bethrothed to.” The smell of liquor was strong as it fell from his breath, but his eyes still connected with you, flicking with life.

He always looked sad, small in comparison to most of the royals despite his attitude and harsh manner of dealing with things and people and really anything that bothered him. He was just as vile as he was kind—most of it being an act.

You knew he wasn’t being sweet to you out of the goodness of his heart, he had reasons. He was calculated in the most deceiving ways.

“How—how do you know?” You ask softly.

Paul huffs a small laugh, dropping the paper back onto the desk and allowing his other to trail up your front, finger wrapping around the material that joined your breasts together—if he pulled hard enough it would snap, the weak fabric no match against his strength.

“Caught them.” He spits out viciously, plump lips pouting around the words as he tugs you toward him, you move easily.

You weren’t scared of Paul—that was never the case. But, you knew it wasn’t smart to go against his actions, the things that he wanted. Because really, you weren’t sure how badly you wanted them either, until his fingertips were touching your skin, his eyes roaming your nearly naked frame.

“But sir, she’s—“

“With my child.” He answers for you, pausing for a moment to catch the stutter in your breath, his hand smoothing down over your stomach, your skin ice cold underneath his scolding touch. “No more sir, or your majesty—or whatever bullshit they teach you to say to me.”

You nod jerkily, head dipping down to watch his fingers trailer further and further, breath quickening with every movement.

“Considering my first son was not even my son, I shouldn’t be surprised,” Paul says lowly, his hand cupping your cunt light, the delicate touch of his fingertips tracing along the seam of your underwear, “it seems no woman can understand the concept of faithfulness.”

And you had to give him that—as much of a tyrant he could, he’d never tried to be unfaithful in his relationships. He had his indulges during those long, lonely in between periods, but never during.

Yet, here he was. A married man, touching you in ways that felt…too good. He was no different than his wife, but maybe that’s what he wanted.

“I must admit you are much prettier than the previous help, solnishko.” His free hand reaches up to tilt your chin up confidently, eyes connecting with him surrounded by an intensity you haven’t felt before. “I would much like to keep you around.”

“Unless I disobey,” You counter softly, “you would not hesitate to order my beheading, yes?”

Paul shrugs carelessly, “You wouldn’t be the first, I can assure you it would not be the last.”

His thumb rubs over your chin, rising to your lip, saliva wetting his finger as it stilled there, giving him a glimpse of your clenched teeth, not realizing your fist had been curled so tight at your sides until he’s speaking again.

“Relax,” He comforts, though it’s nothing but a mockery, “I would not hurt you, not unless I’m given reason.”

Your eyes squint slightly, narrowing on his bluff.

“Say it,” He orders, “say what is on your mind.”

“You are a scared boy,” You challenge, his demeanor faltering for a half-second before he recovers, “all talk and nothing else.”

The gentle hand on your face quickly turns to stone, slipping around your throat in warning, squeezing lightly. Your eyes close, trying to ignore how unbothered you are.

It wasn’t the first time your life has been threatened, it was all old news.

His fingers move quickly, slipping under your panties to touch bare skin. Paul snickers evilly at the wetness pooling between your folds, the soft noise your throat makes when his finger drags through—warm and thick.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Paul says smugly, “how long?”

“I’m afraid I might need you to elaborate, sir.”

The squeeze is light, but tense. A warning to your words.

“Paul,” You correct yourself quickly, “I apologize—old habits.”

“How long have you wanted this?” He asks slowly, tongue and teeth enunciating every word like he’s spitting venom at you.

You couldn’t give him a period of time, because there wasn’t one. The attraction was a surprise to yourself, from the moment he touched you after stepping into the room, you knew. You could handle the not so subtle glances he took, the teasing words and throw them right back—but you both had never crossed this line. Sure, Paul could be coarse and suggestive more often than not, but part of him never expected you to follow through on his commands, even if it meant your life.

He’s intrigued by you, enthralled. He hates himself for it more than he cares to admit. But, all good things did come in moderation.

“Must you ruin the mystery of it all?” You retort playfully, eyes lighting up as he tilts his head, trying to decipher the growing smirk on your face. “May I ask you a question, your—er, Paul?”

“So long as you choose your words wisely.”

“Why ask me here in such a state?” You ask, “If the others knew—if they found out, you would surely face consequences yourself.”

“I won’t,” He forces out through clenched teeth, jaw flexing underneath the skin, “this stays here, understood?”

“What exactly is this?”

He can see the way you’re relaxing under his hold, more comfortable speaking to him in such a tone. He’s used to being talked down upon, constantly disregarded—never challenged.

“Madam, whatever I want it to be.” He smiles, sickeningly sweet, proving his point by dipping a finger into your entrance.

You gasp softly, back hitting the edge of the bed as he maneuvers you the short distance there.

“But, your wife—“ You interrupted in a hushed tone, his mouth hanging open slightly as he glared up at you, “how does this make anything better?”

“Not better, even.”

You nod obediently, moaning softly at the loss of contact as he stands, wiping his hand along the front of his trousers.

“Undress yourself.” He orders, seating himself on the edge of the bed as you turn, switching positions with him.

Your eyes glance toward the door briefly, the light from the moon shining in through the stained glass, the candlelight dim—if anyone walked by, they would assume Paul was sleeping, but behind closed doors…it made your heart skip a beat in anticipation, excitement even.

It was reckless, but you didn’t care.

Paul unbuttons his trousers swiftly, already down to a few layers rather than his several, regal waistcoat and all—it was just his loose white shirt and a faded pair of tan pants that cuffed at his ankles.

He’s not shy in the slightest, cock already half-hard as he palms himself, squeezing lightly at his balls before fisting himself tightly, raising a foot up on the bed frame to steady him, free hand coming to rest beside him.

Your bra goes first, loose straps falling down your shoulders with no resistance, pulling at the string holding the material together tied behind your back. The cold air has the soft buds of your nipples hardening instantly, skin prickled with goosebumps. Paul makes an appreciative noise, thumb rubbing at the thick head of his cock, the uncut skin allowing for an easy slide as he works up a harsh rhythm, cheeks flushed an even deeper red than earlier—there’s more than just alcohol affecting his system.

He doesn’t speak a word, only nodding his head to urge you further, slipping your underwear down and beyond your ankles quickly.

“You are—“ His voice catches, grunt slipping past his lips, “divine.”

You smile slightly, a surge of pride rushing through your body at the sight of him, clearly unhinged by you.

“Would you like your cock sucked?” You ask bluntly, adding the endearment for extra measure. “Sir.”

Paul grins widely, reaching forward to tug you by your wrist, “Get over here.” He urges, settling to your knees impatiently, never one for niceties.

But, you didn’t need that. You didn’t expect it from him.

“How do you like it?” You ask curiously, nudging his hand away to replace it with your own, eyes watching the small, glistening bed of precum that leaked from the tip.

“I’m sure you’ve sucked a cock or two before.”

“I’m asking you,” You challenge, “What do you like?”

“Control,” He answers quickly, without hesitation, “going to let me fuck your mouth, milaya?”

The softness of the word makes you smile, though it’s subtle.

“As you wish, your excellency.”

He hates the terms, the formality of it, but it only eggs you on further. He was still Paul in your eyes, but this was easier. It kept a level of disconnection you need.

His hand roots into your hair roughly, gripping a decent chunk before pulling you forward, his large hand enveloping your own to rub the head of his cock against your lips.

“Open,” He orders, pressing your mouth open, “further—-there, good.”

You moan at the guidance of his hand along your jaw as he presses himself further into your mouth, “I know,” He soothes, “it’s much larger than what you’re used to, isn’t it?”

And he was, by far—but you’re also not exactly inclined to say yes, not allowing another boost to his ever growing ego.

You moan softly, eyes falling shut when the head of his cock nudges against the back of your throat, breathing deeply through your nose as he watches, waiting for you to pull away.

It never comes.

You can see the burning flames of fire in his pupils, deep set behind those wide brown eyes. He’s speechless, for once.

He pulls you back harshly, allowing you a small gasp of air as the corners of your mouth quirk up in amusement.

“Does that answer your question?” You say teasingly, a mocking need to your tone that Paul has never heard before. But, he can’t be bothered to reprimand you, too busy wallowing in his own desperate need for pleasure, release—human connection, even.

Paul growls low through closed lips, pressing his cock back inside your mouth with ease, the warm, flat of your tongue running along the underside of it, a faint taste of his cum rendering you thoughtless.

It’s been long, far too long.

And you’d do just about anything for a moment of blissful peace, drowning in your own arousal.

His thrusts are pointed, lacking the delicate touch you’re used to, but it’s everything you need, swatting his hand away finally to cover what your mouth couldn’t possibly reach, his other still firmly fisted in your hair. It had to be a mess now, pulled from its bun and glowing over your shoulders.

Paul wasn’t trying his best to stay quiet either, groaning a flurry of obscenities above your head—“Fuckfuck—need to have you,” He begs, “I will not finish this night off without knowing every piece of you, darling.”

He pulls you away suddenly, lips flushed and covered in spit.

“Maybe I’ll make my mother happier with another heir,” He jokes lightly, pulling you to your feet, shoving you promptly onto the edge of the bed until you’re settled on your back, ass flush with his hips, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your thigh, “—it’s only a joke, you may laugh.”

“I am unable to bare children, Paul.” You tell him openly, “Why do you think I have this job? Because I enjoy it?”

His fingers slip over your cunt wordlessly, pressing into you slowly. Two fingers instead of one, but the stretch is welcomed.

“What a shame,” He comments quietly, your breasts bouncing slightly bad your gripped the sheets beside your head, hips rocking with the steady movement of his fingers, “wish there were more help like you.”

“So you could fuck them, your majesty?” You retort.

It strikes a nerve, his cock replacing his fingers rather quickly, without warning. You gasp ruggedly, hand reaching out to grasp at his wrist, his hands smoothing over the tops of your thighs to pull you close, his brows drawn together in concentration, short blonde curls stick to his forehead.

“Watch your mouth.” He warns, eyes darkening with his words.

“Or what?”

You must’ve had a death wish, but Paul can’t even be bothered to act upset.

“I assure you, you do not want to find out.”

And with that, Paul swats your hand away, his own circling around the backs of your thighs to push them higher, his eyes dragging toward the point of connection, and you’re gripping him better than anyone he’s ever had, the warmth like a vice as he grunts, sharp thrusts producing the loud slaps of skin against skin mixed with your own desperate moans.

Paul doesn’t try to quiet you, only spurring him further into madness.

“Just as fucking mouthy as I thought,” He tells you, “why must you challenge me so much?”

“It’s—it’s,” You stammer, his hand muffling out the scream that threatened to escape, his eyes examining you until his thrusts slow slightly, allowing you to continue, “You like it too, I can see it.”

“So what?” He asks redundantly, breath labored, “Does that make you special?”

You reach for his white tunic, thighs widening to pull yourself upright, forcing him even deeper inside you. He watches you intently, your face stopping a few inches from his.

“You tell me, sir.”

“Paul,” He tells you, eyes rolling back as you squeeze yourself around him, the hand not busied with his shirt wrapping over his shoulder, pulling him to you, “say my name.”

“Paul,” You relent, adding a dangerous comment to hopefully spur him further into his growing addiction for you, “you shall be king soon, yes?”

He nods absently, his mouth reaching for you, tilting your head up to give him access to your neck, feeling that mouth to mouth might be too far, despite your current situation.

“Then fuck me like one.”

There’s a noise that settles in his throat, deep and suffocated as he grips the long tresses of your hair, pulling it taught as he fucked into you wildly, “You are dangerous, milaya.”

“I know,” You smirk viciously, head dipping down until your eyes connect, “—so come inside me. I will walk around the halls and no one will know, it will be our secret, sir.”

His face buried into your neck, one hand gripping at your thigh painfully tight as he slips one between you both, drifting over your clit gently, the small touch igniting a spark inside you.

It’s never something most men paid attention to, or yourself even, to busy with your duties to allow time like this to yourself—it doesn’t take much, a few quick, precise circles before your clenching around him tight, forcing him into his own orgasm, his teeth peeking out to bite against the skin of your neck softly, his groans muffled by the action.

There’s a moment of calm that washes over, Paul’s hips moving slowly as he comes back down, removing himself from you just as gently.

“Secrets.” He corrects. “I will never be done with you.”

You laugh softly, tilting your chin up dangerously close, lips barely grazing his own.

“I never asked you to be, milaya.” You retort, repeating his earlier term of endearment.

“Tell me,” He starts, eyes raking down your figure and back to your face, “do you understand Russian?”

You nod shyly.

“You are going to get me in trouble, my little darling.”

If only he knew how right he was.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #prince paul x reader #prince paul #prince paul x you #joseph quinn smut #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #eddie munson #my writing

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stardancerluv · 7 months

Text

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

Part 5

Summary: Prince Paul is married.

Notes/Warning: I read and I imagined the wedding…and celebrations that would commence. I also added a dash of what I’d like to imagine. Please do not take it for at all historically accurate. I used Almond Blossoms for fertility, Red Lilies for Passion & Love, Peonies for Marriage. Dated concepts of marriage.

You can still imagine the dynamic between Paul and reader. I just thought it would be cute that now without shoes and/or boots, that she is a lot shorter

18+ only please. Consensual. P in V sex. Paul takes reader’s virginity. I make reference to how he may eventually be more dommy & his temper.

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

His fingers grazed your gloved ones. His breath caught in his throat at this brief moment that transpired. Your pinkies entwined. Your eyes met, exhaled and your fingers separated.

“May safety and health be on your side as you travel home.”

You turned, your lips gave him the gentlest of smiles. “Your words bring warmth to my heart. They will help in travels.”

*******

The air was crisp, leaves chased each other like the letters the two of you sent each other.

….with this being our final letter my beloved.

I look forward to the day, when I am able to finally lift your vail on our wedding day.

May these final days fly on the wings of a hawk.

With relish, he put his quill back into the inkwell. A smile played on his lips as he sealed with wax and had it sent off.

The next few days did indeed fly by. The last stitches were made in his wedding coat. The buttons were polished. His boots were as well.

Soon opulent banquets, balls were held. The festivities were held. All of it was terribly exciting, yet he yearned for the day; you would finally be man and wife.

******

As he laid against the bath, his heart thudded hard in his chest. His excitement consumed him. The warm stones pulled a sigh from him as he allowed himself to relax. The eucalyptus filled the air, clearing his mind. A small smiled played on his lips. He would be fresh and clean for you, his wife. He looked forward to this new chapter in his life.

******

He combed down his unruly short curls, while eyeing his reflection. Everything, looked sharp. This would be a good look for a portrait. He will have to call on the artist and have him do a portrait of you and him in the grand hall.

******

Murmurs filled the air. They grew louder when he turned and saw you approach with your mother and father. Relatives, dignitaries and various members of the court filled the room. Though, you stood truly apart from all of it. You were so beautiful.

Soon the priest led the two of you. Your hands were bound and the crowns were placed, the ceremonial prayers were spoken. His promise you from the depths of his heart were finally said aloud. Hearing your promise and words of loved filled him with joy.

Lifting your veil, his heart beat even faster as his eyes met yours. He would never tire of looking into them. Gently, he lifted your chin and inhaling he placed a kiss on your lips.

******

The rest of the night was a blur of food and vodka. You both had twirled about the room. He had relished the feel of having his arm finally wrapped around your middle. Your warmth and softness felt so good against him. You giggled and shared smiles the entire night. He was also grateful that your ladies in waiting, finally appeared to be enjoying themselves.

*******

In the blur of the vodka and all the food, voices of excitement bounced off the walls of the estate. During, which he was grateful that during the festivities he had been able to loose his bothersome wig. He hated pinning it to his short curls. It was a touch of formality that irked him.

His friends and servants formed their own little group as did your friends and servants and together they bounced the two of you around. Smiles, twinkles in the eyes and laughter joined and became one between you and him.

As the candles melted to half strength, half their height, he found himself along with you and all your companions being moved to his private chambers. He gad been warned this would happened. He hoped you had been too. The pain was still fresh when he saw how violated you had felt after the physician had seen you. He would never want you to experience that ever again. He didn’t know exactly when the time came, but it was time to head to his chambers.

He drew close to you, in the fuzziness of his vodka and food, he whispered you what he had been told was expected. He brushed aside a wisp of your hair.

“Love, we climb in and pull the blankets up to our waists. That should be more then enough.”

Your eyes shone and your cheeks, was dusted in a darker hue of red. He knew some was from the merriment. But it was also from the words he spoke.

“Ya.” Your German snuck out for the briefest of moments as you said yes. But then soon glancing away before glancing back him you nodded. “Yes, that shall be fine. Our life is on the cusp of several new traditions.”

He nodded. Inwardly he sighed. You spoke of what both of you knew as your future together. “Maybe if you allow I shall give you a kiss and then they all with hope in my heart finally leave and give us time finally for just the two of us. If that is alright with you?”

“Yes, that would be wonderfully pleasant.”

*******

He let his entourage of companions move him. Your hands finally parted and soon you met each other’s eyes over the expanse of the large bed. His and your personal servants pulled aside the blankets. He took a breath, his life would never be the same after this. He would be a husband, one day a father and soon king of his great nation. Russia is and always will be above all else.

Sitting down, his servant stopped him and removed his boots. As he felt the bed give as you sat down on the other side of the bed, he glanced at you over his shoulder. His heart thudded harder.

Soon, both of you sat back he noticed they had undid the laces on your shoes as well. You both sat with your backs against the headboard. He reached out and took your glover hand. A sigh came from him as he felt you interlace your fingers.

Looking at you, he was about to speak when his door whispered open. Young women, he recognized from court and the like carried baskets filled with flowers. Then a silence fell over the room like a candle’s light being snuffed out as his mother walked in.

“May your marriage bed be blessed. May these flowers bless my son, Paul and his wife.”

Soon he watched as the young women with a gentle air scattered the petals of peonies, red lilies and almond blossoms that he had all seen being grown in the various gardens. Some were new transplants in the gardens. They had prickled his interest but figured it had been something his mother fancied and didn’t bother asking. Now it all made sense.

The petals fell here and there. Some fell on him, on you. Though neither of you moved to shrug them off. Though it certainly added an more colorful array in the room.

Once the girls were finished scattering the flowers, his mother clapped her hands the sharp sound, like thunder brought all eyes to her once again.

“Now, be loving and fruitful. May you consummate your wedding, your union.”

With a swish of her dress, she left and soon did the others. It was his private servant who he had for as long as he could remember give the final bow and closed the door.

His heart was beating harder then when he was crowned prince. He never had to worry about another. Now he did. Not letting go of your hand, he turned towards you; he saw how the flower petals had definitely fell upon you.

As your eyes met a soft laugh came from you. You brought a hand up to try and stifle it. Its sound and the twinkle in your eyes made his stop racing and it skipped.

Reaching, gently he pulled your hand away. “Don’t I like the sound of your laugh.” His voice after all the merriment and cheers was just above a whisper.

You flushed. “As you wish, my dear husband.”

He felt a tremble course through you as he still held your hand. He pressed his lips together.

“Beloved.”

He stopped. The word blossomed in his mouth but felt very good. Glancing, he saw the familiar pink dusting your cheek he had grown to enjoy seeing. He continued.

“If you wish to call me that you shall but you can call me Paul as well.”

You smile and nod. “I will enjoy hearing you call me beloved.” Your smile grew. “I shall see what comes from my heart.”

“I shall look forward to seeing how your heart speaks to me.”

He found himself moving closer to you. Some of the petals, fell in front of his eyes. He gave you a half smile, raising his eyebrows.

“Am I covered?“

You nod and you finally move closer.

It wasn’t long before you both were gently removing petals from here and there. Sharing a look, you both smiled as you realized how the petals had truly been rained down on the two of you.

As he looked at you, more then ever before did he want to kiss you. During the ceremony, it had not been enough.

“Beloved, would permit me to kiss you ?”

“Please.”

Gently, he cupping your soft cheek he easily caressed it with his thumb. “You are so beautiful.” He murmured and brought his lips to yours.

Soon he felt as your body was pressed against his. It felt so right, far better then anything he could have imagined.

With not a thought he reached up and winced. One of your hair pins pricked him. You parted, and she took your wounded hand.

“Oh, I am so sorry. Those pins can be horrible things.” His heart skipped once more as you placed a soft kiss on his wounded finger. “Shall I remove these dreadful things?”

He nodded. “Yes, though I do enjoy you holding my hand so.”

“I shall not be long.”

Going to one of his small tables he watched you. It dawned on him you were shorter then he realized. Your shoes had given you some height. It made him chuckle when he did, you paused.

“Yes, my dear husband ?”

Getting up then, he strode over. Seeing the difference then, he was amused.

“I never realized how much taller I was.”

“Oh? Oh!” You glanced at the mirror. “Yes, you are quite tall.”

“I am.” He was very amused.

Glancing down at your hair, he saw just how twisted and twined. It was lovely but now that he focused on it. He saw the complexity of it. “Shall I risk being wounded again and help you?”

“Only if you wish it? My lady in waiting showed me how to do and undo my hair.”

“Handy for when she is not around.”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Soon bejeweled pins, silken ribbons were in a small pile. Your hair fell in soft waves down your back. It was a lovely as the rest of you.

Gently, having seen it in paintings and even read it in stories, he pulled you close. Soon your lips met once again. So soft. Distantly, he could taste the sweets you had enjoyed over the course of the celebrations.

******

Easily far easier then he had expected he shed his most of his clothes and found himself laying beside you. Clad, in only his undershirt and breeches he marveled at finally seeing the silhouette of your curves that were a shadow under your chemise.

His passions had been steadily growing, though he didn’t want to cause you any distress. The afternoon, when the physician had inspected you in such a cold, reserved manner still caused a chill in him.

He eased himself up onto his elbow. “Beloved. It is not because of our duty or even tradition, though I do hold those very dear.”

He gently ran his fingers along your arm that rested on your side. “I wish I could have learned, grew along his side but I did not. However, I do wish you to know that ever since I saw you. My heart took flight.”

“Oh, Paul it was the same for me.” By surprise you took his hand and your soft lips on his knuckles made little blossoms of pleasure bloom within in him.

“Then shall we became one tonight and forever?” He tilted his head and met your eyes.

“Yes, till the end.”

He climbed and settled between your legs. With your help, he brought your chemise to your waist. Once you were free of your undergarment, you gently shook. He paused.

“Beloved ?”

You looked away.

“Don’t look away from me. I am your husband.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. His voice came out harsher then he expected.

Your eyes were big as you looked back at him.

“I had not meant to sound so angry.” He grimaced. “I am just as nervous as you are. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I understand softly. I am just scared it will hurt.” You admitted.

“I won’t let happen or last. We are together forever, I us to have a union of love.”

The hatred and angst his mother had rained down on him was not what he wanted with you. He was already so fond of you

“Then, yes let us become one.”

He shook himself as he finally opened his breeches and released his arousal. His stomach knotted the more as his need for you grew.

Bracing himself on the bed beside you, he leaned in close. “Perhaps, if we share a a kiss, our union won’t bring as much pain.” He softly suggested, meeting your eyes.

The kiss had felt so good. It would surely lessen any effect of him filling you and making the two of you one.

“Yes, lets try.” You whispered back.

Gently, he rubbed himself against you. Thoughts of coming undone right there was almost possibly. It was by far of the best things he had ever felt in his life. Distantly he became aware that you clung onto him made him feel so powerful.

It only made the sensation of him gently sliding into you better as he kissed you. Blinking, he looked at you as he felt you tremble; your breathes were hard and hot but they were followed by eager kisses he tried to desperately meet. Once he was enveloped by you he paused to gather his breath and make sure you were ok.

“Beloved.” Though he meant it to be a question it came out more of a statement for the pleasure that throbbed around his arousal.

“I’m good. It hurt but its much better now.”

He rested his forehead against yours gently. “As you wish.”

He began to move then. Sounds came from you and him, they also became one. He felt as you tightened below him making him really see you once again through the haze of his pleasure. Your grip tightened before fluttered around his member, and soon he lost what little control he had managed to hold onto, and he soon called out a mixture of your name and the pet name that became so normal for him in such a short amount of time. He emptied himself inside of you. Gasping he melted against your softness. And soon with a strangled, pleasure filled breath he managed to then settle beside you for worry of crushing or hurting. He laid their panting. His curls and body soaked in sweat.

*******

Later, the candles having burned low. He found you nestled against him and soundly asleep. It was alien to him but you were so soft, and beautiful and he enjoyed the sight, it made his heart swell. He managed to pull up a blanket and cover the two of you before falling back into the velvety blackness of sleep.

@laura-naruto-fan1998 @amethyst-serenade

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helpwhatsthis · 2 years

Text

joseph quinn m.l.

eddie munson:

love divides (series)- a series following the life of hoppers' adopted daughter as she navigates her way through high school and battles monsters.

e.m. nsfw headcanons- basically his kinks, what i think he'd like, and a few scenarios with an afab!reader.

eddies' sugar mommy hcs- general hcs for how eddie met his sugar mommy and what their relationship would be like.

fourth of july- eddie dies in y/ns' arms, but not before he asks for a promise.

eddie munson fluff hcs: one, two

hard dom! eddie and soft dom! chrissy

tom grant:

jealousy headcanons!

dating headcanons!

prince paul:

jealousy headcanons!

my darling- reader rips off sub!pauls' dress after the party.

dating headcanons!

others characters and stories will be added soon!

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usedtobecooler · 1 year

Text

a crying shame | prince paul x fem!reader

Pairing | Prince Paul x Fem!Reader

Warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), DUBCON, power dynamics (royalty and the help), coercion, general nastiness, use of derogatory classist terms, unprotected piv sex, fingering f receiving, hair pulling, dirty talk, pussy/clit slapping, spanking, orgasm denial, breeding kink. also brief mentions of deceased characters.

Word Count | 3.2k

A/N | oh look... another new character to add to the evergrowing list. i know this fic won't be for everybody, but i felt it was maybe a different take on our petulant prince that we were yet to see.

It was a peaceful Tuesday afternoon, when it happened. Things had been… quiet, since your mistresses passing. Days were spent being kept busy with stripping linen, emptying wardrobes and general upkeep in her chambers. Though the Royals were not known to be fair, nice or even gracious – Lady Alexeievna was always a wonderful woman. She wasn’t like the others were, she was polite, kind and was somebody that once you could’ve even called a friend.

You were sad to hear of her and her unborn son's tragic and untimely deaths, even sadder when you were summoned to the quarters to strip off the soiled sheets and scrub the wooden bedframe clean. Since, you spent every day dreading how soon it would be before the spoilt, petulant, obnoxious Prince were to be wed again.

Catherine would waste no time, Natalia was barely cold before she was snapping fingers and ordering her army of minions to look for the next suitable woman to become the future Queen. It was to be only a matter of time before he were to be married and another woman would grace these four walls, hopefully with the same kindness Natalia had.

Paul had only ever entered this wing once, and that was in the days after the deaths. You dreaded him ever coming back – it was an unpleasant encounter, hard to watch from the sidelines with the other women, and you knew in your heart that anger was boiling in his heart, getting closer to bubbling out as time went on.

You’re busying yourself with folding Natalia’s array of dresses, though you can’t see why you’re bothering. Money aside, they would be burned in a wooden pit in the coming days along with any other trace of her, by the request of Catherine and her son.

The noise of doors being burst open down the halls pluck your interest, though your brows furrow when you realise they’re edging closer and closer. You brace yourself, awaiting the impending slam of the doors into the bedroom – which finally come seconds later. An angry looking figure storming through on the back of the harsh clatter.

"Your —” You stutter, panicking for a moment, struggling to compose yourself, with the sudden burst of the doors, your heart racing and hammering against your ribcage like a rabbit running from its stalker, “Your Majesty, I was not expecting you."

You curtsey, eyes down toward the floor, as the Prince makes haste of entering the room, like a man on a mission. He reels, anger etched all over his face, nose scrunched up in distaste, a deep red flush down to his chest.

He takes no notice of you, waving you off, gunning straight for his late wife's beauty table, rummaging around like a mad man in her jewellery box. He throws things around, the various gold pieces falling to the wooden floors with dull thuds. You cringe silently, aware of the price of such luxuries that he is willingly tarnishing, battering up and breaking.

You watch under half lidded eyes as he stomps around aimlessly, clearly whatever he was looking for was not within eyesight and he would have to ask the help. He was a man who simply did not waste his time or breath on those beneath him, unless it was his army. The older ladies of the chambers told you he was colours of his father, but mostly Catherine, as much as the woman would never admit to that.

Paul had not been the same since the morning his mother had dragged him into his deceased wife's chambers and exposed her illicit affair with the Count. Not only had his wife and son perished, but he had to bear the knowledge now of understanding she was a harlot and their son was most likely not his at all.

He was an idiot. Everybody knew about Natalia and her discrepancies, all of the help included. So he could wander around like a pompous, stuck up arsehole however he pleased. He was a laughing stock, despite how he wandered these halls with a turned up nose and a sense of entitlement.

"Go on then, woman. You're bound to know where it is." Paul seethes, snapping you out of your thoughts. You don't look him in the eye, instead setting your sights just past his left shoulder.

"May I ask what 'it' is, Your Majesty?" You ask, fanning your delicate fingers over the fronts of your velvet mauve-coloured skirts. You glance over slightly, realising Paul is simply in a sheer night shirt and tights, not a speckle of rouge on his cheeks and his natural, dirty blonde curls unruly atop his head.

He was pretty, you had to admit. Underneath all of the garish clothing and the wigs and the makeup. He was a good looking man, regardless of what the Queen had said. Though his petulant attitude diminished his physical beauty in an instant.

"Don't act smart with me, girl. You know what." Paul's nostrils flare, and you finally lock eyes with him, watching as the emotions swirl around in his pretty brown eyes. You must have a confused look etched on your face, because he rolls his eyes and scoffs, "The fucking wedding band."

You suck in a sharp breath, your nervousness starting to diminish and in its place anger begins to take hold, "Your Majesty, it was at the Queen's request that Lady Alexeievna be buried wearing that band. She was –"

"You took my mothers orders over my own?" He's close to you now, breath fanning across your face. He's looking at you like he wants to grab you by the throat and throw you across the room, and you wait on baited breath for the assault, by now you had grown accustomed to the handsy men in the palace, "Answer me."

"She is the Queen, Your Excellency. She would - she would've had me beheaded, had I not done as requested." Your voice waivers slightly, a wince escaping you when Paul's large hand comes out to grab at your cheeks, squishing them beneath his harsh grip – his gold rings bite into your soft skin, sure to leave behind marks in their wake. Your lips puff together under the pressure, breathing jagged as your nostrils flare in a desperate attempt to breathe.

"You work for me. For my wife. Not my fucking mother." Paul spits in your face, and your bosom heaves as you desperately try to suck in a breath. You whimper quietly, as his other hand comes out to grip at your corseted waist, thumb dancing lightly over the satin ribbons that tied you in properly, "Hmm, such pretty garments for a nobody. Is this where my money was going? Making the scum at the bottom look pretty by my wife's request?"

Paul shakes your head for good measure before he loosens his grip to allow you to breathe, to talk, "She was a kind woman, Your Majesty. She was good to all of us ladies." Your voice is quiet, nerves shot as he plucks at the ribbons on your corset, tugging them loose. Your breasts spill out once the pressure is released, your scratchy undergarments the only material left to keep your modesty.

Paul stalks around your body, fingers playing with the ties on the back of your skirt as he speaks, quiet yet dominant, so close you can feel his breath on your ear, “Peasants such as yourself shouldn’t wear such luxuries. Such fine fabrics are made for the upper class, and as beautiful as you are, darling — you’re the furthest thing from it.”

The skirt drops to the floor and you wince, mortified by what’s happening. You’re powerless to stop it, the Prince would have you hung for treason if you so much as attempted to stop him. You’d hate to think what he’d do if you uttered a word of what was about to happen, after.

“Please, Your Excellency. You don’t have to—“ Your words are cut short when he grips at your undershirt, exposing your tits to the cool air in the room and leaving you gasping. It’s terrifying to admit that you’re not as scared as you should be, as he slithers back around your body until you’re toe to toe, his wide eyes drinking in the soft curve of your breast, the peak of your nipples, hardened in the chill.

“My, my,” He muses, and you make to cover yourself up with your arms, but he grips at your wrists and tugs them back down to your sides, tutting as he does so, “I don’t think so, malyshka. You’ll do as I tell you to, hmm? Otherwise there will be consequences.”

And you almost scoff at the rude pet name. Almost. Yet you find your thighs clenching beneath your underskirt as he soaks in every single square inch of your skin with his pretty, awestruck eyes. He backs you towards the edge of the bed, hands releasing your wrists in favour of tugging at the last of your undergarments and you let him, minimal fuss or resistance. It’s embarrassing, the way he clouds your brain and makes your cunt gush wet when he’s forcing himself onto you under the premise of death if you refuse.

“I’ll make this easy on you, darling, I promise.” He soothes, once the remainders of your clothing are pooled at your feet. You know better than to wait for him to demand you to finish the job, so you toe your worn in pumps off and slide the bundle of fabrics across the hardwood flooring. He watches you the entire time, a smug smirk playing on his lips as you almost willingly strip for him. He grabs at your wide hips, eyeing them – and he doesn’t even need to speak. You know what he’s thinking.

Perfect child bearing hips. Clearly not a virgin. But unmarried. So a harlot it is.

He spins you around with this almost grotesque salacious grin on his face, one hand removing itself from your hip to instead splay in between your shoulder blades, pushing your upper body onto the bed. You’re face down, quiet, ass in the air, like he clearly wanted.

The next move the Prince takes is unexpected. The hand remaining on your hips begins to run deftly along your ass, fingertips tracing your skin softly – a complete juxtaposition from the harsh way he’d spoken to and handled you previously. His pointer and middle finger run along the seam of your cunt, dipping into your folds and causing a gasp to fall from your lips.

“I told you I’d make this easy on you, malyshka,” There’s his god awful, condescending tone again, and you want for it to make you feel sick but all it does is make your tummy brew with want, “You don’t get to come, though. If you do, I'll spank you so hard you’ll not be able to sit for a week.”

Paul emphasises his words with a tap to your cunt, his fingertips slapping your clit almost perfectly, and it elicits a quiet moan in return. He hums, tsking under his breath, before slipping two thick fingers into your pussy, taking you by surprise. You cry out, lifting up onto your toes, squealing as he sets a fast pace.

“Your soaked cunt could almost be proof you’re enjoying this, darling,” Paul’s voice is giddy as he crooks his fingers down, running the tips along your frontal wall until you’re pushing your hips back into his hand. He skates his other hand down your back to place just above the curve of your ass, pushing your hips down, a warning, “Act the brat and see what happens, malyshka.”

You can’t help it – your guts churn, a tingling in your belly as he marks his words, you almost want to act up, just to see what the punishment would be. Lust is overtaking your whole body, clearly, because every last bit of nerve and fear diminishes, “S-Sorry, Your Excellency,” Your voice is wet as you apologise, his relentless fingers sliding in and out of your slick walls sending you reeling.

Paul clearly appreciates that you aren’t enough of a brat to address him as anything but his title, even with his fingers buried deep in your pussy – he pushes the curve of his hard cock into the supple flesh of your ass, grunting a little at the slight bit of relief it provides, “You will be if you keep it up.”

You let yourself go limp, allowing the pleasure of his fingers sinking into you to overtake your senses. It feels nice, he’s not as harsh as he could be and he’s still pressing onto all the right spots, despite his warnings of not letting you come. His cool rings catch on your entrance, causing you to shudder, and a sick part of you almost wants him to slide them into you, too, shove his fingers in as deep as they can go.

In your pleasure, you don’t hear or feel him shuffling behind you to shove down his own underwear, not realising until his fingers slip out of you and leave a drool of your own juices trailing down to your mound. You stay quiet, awaiting the head of his cock catching on your cunt.

It happens faster than anticipated and you clench on instinct once the tip slides through the mess you’ve made, running up and down the seam of your pussy and catching on your clit, just enough to make you whine. Paul tuts at that, grips onto your hip tightly with his hand, the other gripping the base of his cock and he’s sliding in, the size of him catching you by surprise as he splits you open.

“Oh, god,” You wail, fingers gripping into the sheets tightly as he sinks into you in one swift motion, knocking the breath right out of you. He gives you no time to adjust, he pulls out and shoves back in just as quickly, as harsh. Your tight cunt sucks him in, stretching comfortably to the sheer size and thickness of his cock.

Paul winds a hand tight in your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail, snapping your head back so it’s lifted off the plush sheets for him to see, “Filthy, malyshka. So wet for me, for a man who has forced himself on you? Pathetic.” It’s odd, how he can still sound so composed even as he rails into you, fucking you so hard and so rough that the noises echo in the large, mostly empty room, bouncing off the wooden walls and invading your ears.

Your eyes roll into your skull, you can’t help it. He fucks you like he hates you, and he probably does, but it makes it all the more delicious. You can feel every single ridge of his cock pressed tight in your cunt, the mushroom tip slipping against your g-spot over and over as he sinks in and out of you, making things even slicker. You know your pussy is dripping, probably pooling onto the floor too – just another mess for you to clean once he leaves.

He grunts as his hips clap against your ass, mesmerised and unable to tear his wide eyes away from where your bodies meet, the ripple of your supple flesh with every harsh thrust, “My, my,” He moans, slapping a firm hand on your ass just to hear you cry out, “How beautiful you’d look carrying my bastard child.”

You gasp, unable to contain it, cunt fluttering at the Prince’s words – and you know he felt it too, with the way his hips stutter and he chuckles darkly behind you. He winds your hair tighter in his other hand, pulls your head back even further until your neck is popping and he can watch your flushed face as he fucks you.

“Oh, you like the idea of that?” He laughs, words being spat like venom as you stare up at him with doe eyes, tears pricking at the corners and threatening to spill out, “Like the idea of being with child to me, hmm?”

You nod slightly, unable to rip your eyes away from him. He looks almost evil, what little softness he may have ever had was clearly gone in this moment, yet you find yourself being so attracted to it that it’s dizzying. Being treated like a worthless nothing and being told so, too. You cringe internally as your tummy begins to bloom with heat, a testament to how much you were enjoying it.

He can clearly feel it, the way your cunt begins to flutter and your ass pushes back ever so slightly, the tiny amount that the space can allow, with how deep the Prince is fucking you, grinding in deep and bruising at your cervix with every punch of his hips, “You want to come, malyshka?”

The tears finally spill from your eyes, wetting the apples of your cheeks and spilling down into your ears from how harshly snapped back your neck is, “Please, please. I’ll do anything,” You babble, voice as wet as your cunt is, and Paul grunts, beginning to lose composure. Your crying and begging clearly doing it for him, like a true sadist.

“Come then,” He says, like it’s easy. You mumble out tiny whispered ‘thank you’s, letting the pleasure start to course it’s way through your bones without repression, “You have ten seconds, you haven’t finished by then, it’s tough.”

You whine, like a petulant child, thrown off by his words. He chooses that moment in time to change his pace, because of course he does. He pushes your head back down into the mattress, near on suffocating you as he rams into you so hard you see stars.

“Seven, six…” His voice taunts you, and you try to block it out, focus on the noise of your drenched cunt sucking him in, the coil winding tighter and tighter and threatening to snap, “Three, two…”

Waves of pleasure wash over you before he can even count to one, your legs shaking and pussy spasming around his thick length as your release washes over you. You physically bite into the comforter, screaming as you come, high on your tiptoes and body going rigid. You feel the gushes of slick spilling out of you, dripping down Paul’s cock and making a mess.

He ignores you all together, fucks into you once, twice more with a harsh slap on your ass and then he’s coming, too. Burying himself impossibly deeper as his cock pulses in your spent walls, painting them with his release.

You lie there, unable to catch your breath – and he acts as if he hasn’t just fucked you into oblivion then filled you full of his seed. You cry when he slips out of you, making haste of pulling his trousers back up.

“Malyshka,” His voice almost has you jumping out of your skin, his plump lips on the shell of your ear, “You’re mine now, got that? Another man, in these halls or out of them, so much as looks at you, and you’re both dead.”

Anything you may have had to say to him dies in your throat. Lust and hope coursing through your veins at his very words.

#prince paul x you #prince paul x reader #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #my fanfic #mine #x reader #fem!reader

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foundtherightwords · 11 days

Text

The Firebird - Chapter 15

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Chapter warnings: some smut (non-explicit), Paul being an idiot

Chapter word count: 5.5k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

Chapter 15 - The Tsarina and the Fool

One of the horses—in the haze of pain and exhaustion, Paul didn't remember which—picked them up from the charred throne room and brought them back to Baba Yaga's hut. A happy surprise was waiting for them there—Ilya had survived, and with his injuries being tended to by Elena, he should make a swift recovery.

Elena tended to Zhara's wound as well, though her recovery was not as swift. Her wound was more grievous, and made by a magical weapon no less, so it was several days before it even stopped bleeding and the healing could begin. When Paul gave the others an account of what had transpired in the throne room, Baba Yaga shook her long, hooked nose and said, "The girl was lucky. Messing about with magic could have very serious consequences."

"Like what happened with Illarion?" Paul asked.

The witch nodded grimly. "My guess is that Koschei's magic was already killing him, but he didn't know it. And when he took on his sister's magic as well, it became too much. Some people aren't meant to take on such power. They can't handle it."

Paul wondered if the last sentence was a warning. He decided not to ask.

He spent most days in Zhara's room, holding her hand while she slept. Though he still wasn't quite used to the sight of her human form in full daylight yet, he couldn't get enough of watching her, marveling at how the sun brought out the gold in her hair, how it played on her freckles and sparkled in her eyes during the brief moments of wakefulness. His only worry was that although she was healing physically, her spirits remained low. Often, he would find her looking out at the sea and the dark shape of Buyan Island beyond, her lips trembling. She no longer smiled, and on the rare occasion she did, it was brief and tired, with none of her usual cheekiness. Paul could still hear Illarion's pitiful cries for help as the magic that he couldn't control coursed through him, taking away his life. He was thankful that Zhara hadn't heard those cries.

In those days, Paul learned something else that the stories never mentioned. They never told what came after the "happily ever after." They never talked about how the peasant boy failed to rule a kingdom, how the princess became bored with her husband, or how the knight longed for more adventures now that the dragon was slain. Or, in this case, how the evil wizard was still mourned after he died, because for all his evil, he was also terribly, terribly misguided, and had had to pay dearly for his mistakes.

Paul knew a part of Zhara would never stop mourning, not for what Illarion had become, but for Lariosha, for the little brother that had grown up with her and played with her and laughed with her. He also knew that nothing he could say or do would ever lift that pain from her heart. When he caught her in one of those moments, he could only offer her a kiss or an embrace, which seemed to soothe her, insufficient though they may be.

***

Once Zhara had recovered, they moved into the castle. Ilya went with them, as Zhara intended to make him the head of the Royal Guards. Elena stayed with Baba Yaga, who agreed to remain close in case they needed help, but she withdrew the hut deep into the forest to avoid being discovered. News of Illarion's defeat and Zhara's return had spread quickly, and the people of Arthania, those who had had their curses lifted or had not fled too far, were slowly making their way back home.

In the days and weeks that followed, Zhara had much to do. There was her kingdom in ruins, with most of its people killed or still scattered to all corners of the world. There was Smorodina in the south, which after Afron's death had divided into so many factions and descended into such a bloody civil war that it threatened the stability of the whole Lukomorye. There was Kostroma, who still blamed Zhara for taking Elena away and refused to lend a helping hand. There were all the boyars who had fled Arthania after Illarion's coup and were now returning, swearing up and down that they had every intention of standing behind Zhara, and she didn't quite know who to trust. Every day she worked late into the night, meeting with a few reliable boyars, or riding out to survey the damage and figuring out how to rebuild the kingdom.

Zhara was so busy that they had no chance to fulfill Paul's desire. When she came to Paul's bed-chamber at night, she was often exhausted and fell asleep in his arms right away, after mumbling, "Remember to wake me up so we can watch the dawn together, won't you?" But in the morning, either she had already left, called away by duties, or was still sleeping so soundly that he didn't have the heart to wake her.

He tried to help her when and where he could, though he became more aware than ever how woefully inadequate he was, how his mother and tutors had failed him when it came to ruling a country. To be fair, Zhara had tried to include him. The moment she presented him to her council, however, the boyars immediately raised a protest.

"Who is he?" they asked. "What does he know about our country? How can we trust his counsel?"

"I trust him," Zhara said. "That should be enough."

"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty," one of the boyars said. "He may have helped you defeat your brother, but when it comes to running the country, it's best to leave it to us."

Throughout it all, Paul could only sit like a schoolboy being called up for an examination and failing. So this was how it was for Potemkin and his mother's other lovers. He was now being sneered at, just as he had once sneered at them. But at least Potemkin could prove his worth on the battlefield, and Vasilchikov had his charms and wits. Paul had nothing. It made his blood boil, though the anger was directed at those pompous boyars or himself, he wasn't sure. The only thing keeping him from storming out of the council room was the fear that it would make him look like a petulant child and earn him even more contempt.

"I'm sorry," Zhara said that night while they were in bed together. "I shouldn't have subjected you to such humiliation. We shall find a way to convince them—"

"It doesn't matter," Paul said, hugging her close.

In the end, Zhara gave him the job of translating and cataloging the notes of Illarion's magical experiments, trunkfuls of which had been discovered all over the castle, to find out if there was anything they missed, any hidden trap or danger they might have overlooked. When some of the boyars protested that someone who did not know magic should not be given such an important task, Zhara calmly told them that they could trust Paul not to make mischief precisely because he didn't know magic. That had silenced them at last. Further, the notes were all written in Latin, a language that Zhara told Paul had not been used in Lukomorye for hundreds of years. No doubt Illarion had been counting on that to keep his experiments a secret. For all his precautions, the boy hadn't anticipated that they would be read by a mere mortal from Rus', who had learned Latin growing up.

Paul took to the task with delight. He discovered he had a knack for interpreting and organizing documents, and grew to enjoy those long hours poring over the parchments, making notes of all the different spells and enchantments, becoming in turn fascinated or horrified. Having seen what magic could do, he never once felt curious, never wondering if he could try them for himself. Zhara had been right to trust him on that count. Occasionally, he would bring some of the notes into the forest to ask for Baba Yaga's help to interpret them, though the old witch didn't see much use in writing things down.

One day, Paul opened a trunk that had been discovered just the day before, and beneath the jumble of parchments, he found something else—a round, polished silver tray, and a crystal ball that fitted into the palm of his hand. Ever cautious, he took them to the house on chicken legs and asked Baba Yaga what they were.

"Scrying tools," she said, after a brief glance at them. "You roll the crystal around the tray and it will show you the person you wish to see."

Paul's eyebrows shot up. This must be how Illarion had been able to track them and send Alyosha and Afron after them. "Can anyone use it?" he asked. "Or does one have to be magic?"

"Why don't you try it and find out?" the old witch said and returned to the cauldron she was stirring over the fire.

Feeling a little foolish, Paul picked up the crystal and rolled it around the tray. Only when the crystal had almost finished its rotation that he realized he hadn't decided what he wanted to see yet. A thought flashed through his mind involuntarily.

The polished surface of the tray rippled, then stilled. It became clear like a mirror, except it didn't show Paul his own reflection. Instead, he saw a woman, and realized why Illarion hadn't used the tray more—it wasn't very useful for spying. It only showed the person being watched, with very little of the surroundings to discern where the person may be. Here, the woman was looking at someone outside the mirror, her face drawn and haggard. It took Paul a second to recognize her. His mother. He had never seen her so subdued.

"Do you expect us to believe this, Your Majesty?" a voice, a man's, said. Paul couldn't see his face, but he recognized the voice. It was Orlov. Not his mother's former lover, Grigory, who had fallen from favor, but his brother, Alexei, who had often tried to curry favor with Paul by apologizing for helping to overthrow Paul's father and promising to support Paul once he ascended the throne.

"The tsarevich was ill with typhoid," his mother said impassively. "I do not expect you to believe anything, only the truth."

"No one has seen him in months!" Orlov shouted.

The Empress didn't blink. "He was highly contagious. Now that the danger has passed, he needs quiet and rest, so I sent him to Gatchina."

An angry murmur went around, like the buzzing of a provoked beehive. Finally, Orlov spoke up. "The council demands that we are allowed to see Tsarevich Paul, alive and well. If he is indeed in Gatchina as you said, I shall go there myself, in three days' time, to speak with him. Or you shall have to answer to us."

"Are you giving me an ultimatum, gentlemen?" Some of the old authority was back in his mother's voice. "Are you threatening me?"

"It is no threat, Your Majesty," Orlov said icily. "But I think the people will have something to say when they learn that a former Emperor and a future Emperor, father and son, have both disappeared under your watch."

His mother's face went white. The tray wobbled, and the crystal ball fell onto the table with a clatter. The image of his mother faded away as the tray became silver once more.

***

Paul didn't remember how he returned to the castle. He walked like a somnambulist, gripping the tray so hard that its edge left a mark on his palm. Rain was falling, but he hardly noticed the drops falling hard and thick on his shoulders, splattering his curls to his head. Once back in his study, he rolled the crystal ball around the tray again and saw his mother, now alone, gazing aimlessly into the distance, the expression on her face strangely similar to his own, looking as lost as he had never seen her, as lost as he felt.

So that was what his mother had been doing since he disappeared into Lukomorye. Claimed that he was ill and tried to fend off the council's suspicion until... until what? What did she hope would happen? That he would miraculously turn up? That she could convince the council that he had died and that she had nothing to do with it?

With a jolt, Paul realized this was what he'd always fantasized about. He was the only one who could help his mother. He may not have to fight for her in a coup or a peasant revolt, but she needed him now.

He could return. Baba Yaga had said she could open a door for him. Since Illarion's defeat, Paul had given the matter no thought, so caught up as he was in Zhara's recovery and then in helping her put her kingdom back together. Now, when he did think about it, he couldn't imagine leaving her, not after everything they had been through.

But he couldn't leave his mother to the wolves either. The time apart had made him tender toward her. He couldn't quite forgive her neglect, but after all, it wasn't her fault that she hadn't been allowed to raise him. And, having seen how Zhara had to fight the boyars on every decision she wanted to make for Arthania, after she had given her own life to save them, he no longer begrudged his mother her tenacious hold on power. He knew now how difficult it was for a woman to rule, regardless of which world she lived in.

And he had his duty to his empire as well. If he didn't return and his mother was deposed, what then? Would Russia descend into civil war and chaos due to the lack of an heir, like Smorodina? Or would some tyrant rise up and lead the empire into ruins, as Illarion had done to Arthania? Could Paul live with that on his conscience?

He didn't know how long he sat like that, his mind churning like the sea outside the window, forever lapping at the shore without going anywhere. He was only roused from the tangled reverie he'd sunk into when the door opened and Zhara walked in, asking, "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

Paul glanced at the window. He hadn't even noticed the sun going down. "Oh, I was thinking, that's all." For some reason, he covered up the silver tray and the crystal ball with a few sheets of parchment. He didn't want to tell Zhara about them yet.

Zhara touched her finger to a candle on the table, and it flared to life. "Thinking about what?" she asked, sitting down on the arm of his chair and playing with his curls, which were getting long.

"Lots of things. What about you?" He turned to her, wishing to change the subject. "You finished your meeting early today."

She snorted. "I ended the meeting early. Those boyars, what a clump of pompous fat crows! There is so much to do, and yet they decided the best way to occupy their time is to meddle in my personal affairs!"

"What happened?"

She looked at him, blushed, and turned away. "They want me to marry," she said quietly.

Paul felt as though he was doused in a bucket of ice water. This was something the tales never mentioned either.

"They say that, as tsarina, my most important duty is to produce an heir for Arthania," Zhara continued, sounding disgusted. "They present me with a list of suitors and tell me to choose. Now I understand perfectly well why you were so angry with your mother. Some even suggest I marry Ilya! Not once did they ask what I want!"

It was then that Paul realized his path was clear. This was where his story ended. The dragon was slain, and the knight would marry the princess. There was no place for him in this fairytale world.

"Then what do you want?" he asked dully.

"I want to marry you," Zhara said.

Paul stared at her, dumbfounded. "What?"

"Marry me," she repeated, lifting his hand to her lips for a kiss.

"The boyars will never stand for it." He wondered what would happen if his mother was to marry one of her lovers. There would be uproar in court, surely.

Zhara tossed her red braid. "Hang the boyars!"

"Zhara, you can't think like that," Paul said patiently. "Without the boyars, you won't have much of a kingdom to rule."

"I don't care. Marry me."

She leaned down to kiss him. He turned away, unable to look into her blazing eyes any longer, and her kiss glanced off his cheek instead. "I—I can't."

Her countenance changed. "Why not?"

"I don't belong here."

"Nonsense! You have held your own better than most of the native Lukomorians I know. You can convince the boyars to accept you, I'm sure of it." She squeezed both of his hands. "Think about it, Paul! We can rule together!"

"I don't want—"

Her smile disappeared, and the light in her eyes went out, like the sun that vanished behind storm clouds. "You don't want to share power with a woman, is that so?"

"No!" But even as he said it, a nagging voice, sounding horribly like his mother's, whispered in the back of his mind, It is true though. You don't want to share your power. And you shan't have to, if you return to your world.

"Then what is it?"

Paul took a deep breath. Then he cleared the parchments away from the silver tray and the crystal ball. "I found these among the papers today."

"A scrying disc?" Zhara said warily. "Did you use it?"

He nodded.

"What did you see?"

In reply, Paul rolled the crystal around the tray. As before, the silver rippled and cleared. It showed his mother again, leaning on someone—Paul could glimpse a square shoulder and an eye patch. Potemkin. She must have summoned him back. Before, the sight would have filled Paul with disgust, but now he knew it would be hypocritical of him to judge them, when he and Zhara were sitting in almost the exact same position.

"Is that—?" Zhara asked.

"My mother, yes."

"Who's the man?"

"Her—lover."

Zhara raised an eyebrow at that, but made no further comment. They fell silent and watched the scene unfold.

"Oh Grisha, what am I to do?" his mother was saying. "I should have raised the alarm when Paul first disappeared. But I didn't want to cause a panic, and I thought he would be found in time—"

"But some people knew, surely?" Potemkin said. "They could give witness that you had nothing to do with his disappearance."

"Only Panin and my most trusted servants. The council will think they are in league with me, their words mean nothing."

Potemkin was silent for a while. Then he said slowly, "Have you considered the Bobrinsky boy?"

Paul looked on, shocked, while his mother turned toward her lover. "A replacement?" she said. "Would the council be fooled?"

"He is your son as well, is he not?" Potemkin said with a shrug. "He was brought up and educated just as Paul was. You yourself have often remarked upon their resemblance. The council would have to believe it, if they know what's good for them."

To Paul's horror, his mother appeared to be actually considering it. "It's risky, to be sure, but I suppose I could—"

He'd seen enough. He lifted the crystal ball from the tray, ending the scene. Zhara looked at him, eyes full of questions and concern.

"I don't understand," she said.

"My mother has been keeping my disappearance a secret," Paul explained. "But the ministers are getting suspicious, so it seems she's—she's planning to replace me with a double."

"With this Bobrinsky? Who is he?"

"Alexei Grigorievitch Bobrinsky," said Paul. "I've only heard rumors, but I believe he's my half-brother. My mother's illegitimate son." And the rumors turned out to be true.

Zhara continued to look at him, the concern in her eyes slowly replaced by a heartbroken expression as she came to understand what he was going to do.

"You're going to return to your world, aren't you?" she said in a small voice, as though begging him to deny it.

That quiet voice and the beseeching look in her eyes pierced Paul's heart. He could only nod.

"But how?"

"Baba Yaga told me she could open a door."

Her lips trembled. He realized she had been hoping that it was impossible to find a door back into his world, that he would have no choice but to stay with her, and his reveal had shattered that hope. He took her hands and pressed them to his lips in a fervent kiss.

"I have to, Zhara."

"But why?" she whispered, tugging on his hands until they drew close together, their foreheads touching.

How could he explain? How could he tell her that he would not be able to live with himself otherwise, and that to be deserving of her, he would have to leave her?

"You know why," he said. "I have my duties, as do you."

Zhara sat up and pushed him away. "Duties? What duties would these be? To find a wife, to produce an heir?"

Her mocking words were like little red-hot irons scorching his insides. He dropped her hands.

"How are those any different than yours?" he snapped.

Zhara's eyes flashed, and Paul realized he had gone too far. He tried reaching for her hands again, but she kept her distance. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," he said. "But the council—they threaten to overthrow my mother—they only gave her three days—"

"Your mother never cares about you."

"She is my mother. I can't let her suffer—"

"She's replacing you!"

"I won't let her!" he shouted. "The throne is mine!"

In the ringing silence following those words, Paul caught a reflection of himself in the candle-lit window—nostrils flared, lips twisted in a grimace—and was horrified at its resemblance to Illarion's face. The boy had had that same look when he was taking Zhara's power from her. He couldn't be as bad as Illarion... could he?

Paul sought Zhara's eyes, hoping to apologize, to explain himself, but the look on her face made his apology evaporate in his throat. There was heartbreak there, and contempt as well, which he hadn't seen in so long.

"So that's it, isn't it?" she said, and the disappointment in her voice was so much worse than her anger. "That's what you really desire. All that talk about seeing the sunrise with me was just drivel. You want power. Like all men." Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to let them fall. "I should have known."

"Zhara, please—" Paul began, but he knew there was nothing he could say that would change this. He had to return, even if it broke her heart. Even if it broke his heart.

"I don't want to hear any more of your lies," Zhara said, and swept out of the room.

***

Paul walked through the rain to the hut on chicken legs and informed Baba Yaga of his intention. As impassive as ever, she simply told him to come back the next morning, as she needed to find a suitable portal. He nodded gratefully—if all went well, it meant he would return with one day to spare. He then took his leave of Elena and Ilya. He was touched by Ilya's shock and the knight's earnest attempt to convince Paul to change his mind, while Elena was saddened but understanding. "One day, I shall have to return to my mother and my duties in Bryansk as well," she said to Paul. "Zharissa may not understand that now, but she would come around."

Paul thanked her, though he wasn't sure if he wanted Zhara to come around. A part of him agonized over leaving things so unpleasant between them, but another part of him would rather have her hate him. It would make their parting less painful.

He returned to the castle and tidied up the study. There were still a lot of Illarion's notes left, but Paul had left extensive notes of his own, so perhaps someone diligent enough could pick it up and complete the task. This done, he went back to his bed-chamber, but he couldn't sleep. There was no packing—he had acquired nothing and would leave with the same clothes he'd worn when he first came here, minus his hat and wig. There was nothing else to do but to lie awake and wait for daybreak and try not to think of Zhara.

He had no chance of succeeding in this undertaking, for at the very moment he resolved not to think of her, the door creaked open and she walked in. Paul sat up, tried to put on an indifferent face, and failed miserably. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Ilya told me that you are leaving tomorrow," she said.

"So?"

Zhara hung on to the door handle behind her, twisting it in her palm. In the dimness of the room, he could see sparkling streaks down her face, the tears she hadn't allowed herself to shed earlier that evening now flowing freely. The sight of those tears wrung Paul's heart.

"So I've come to—apologize for what I've said." Her voice cracked. "And to say goodb—"

"No." Paul jumped off the bed, took her into his arms, and covered her mouth with his, cutting her off. "No," he repeated, once he was forced to release her to draw a breath. "No saying goodbye. Let us not make this harder than it already is."

"All right," she whispered. "Consider this your reward for your service to the crown then."

She dropped her sarafan and chemise. Underneath, she was all gold and fire. The freckles scattered across her skin were like gold flakes, flames danced in her amber eyes, and when she shook her head, her braid came loose, tumbling over her shoulders, covering her body in a fiery cape. As she pulled him toward the bed, her hair gleamed and waved like sunset on the water, giving him tantalizing glimpses of her legs, her hips, the coral tips of her breasts. There was fire on her lips as she kissed him.

"Are you trying to seduce me into staying?" he murmured.

"Is it working?" she asked, her lips grazing his mouth in the way he'd never been able to resist.

He didn't want to lie and say no, or break her heart by telling her that his mind was made up, no matter what she did. So, instead of answering, he put a hand on the slender nape of her neck, under that hair that looked like fire and felt like silk, pulled her close, and kissed her back, hard enough to leave them both breathless. Then he hooked her legs around his waist, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to the bed. She kept her legs wrapped around him even as she helped him out of his clothes, their roles now reversed—now she was the one afraid he would take wing and fly away if she let go.

He wiped away the tears glistening down her cheeks. "Don't cry," he whispered. "I'm still here."

"Prove it," she commanded, eyes fixed on him.

Her tone sent a thrill through him. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

He leaned down and kissed her again. He was as unhurried now as he'd been frantic on their first night together, taking his time with each kiss, savoring every bit of her. He kissed every single freckle on her skin, the ones he'd memorized around the corner of her mouth, across the bridge of her nose, along her shoulder, down her arms and back and chest. He kissed her fingertips and her toes. He kissed her so thoroughly that there could be no doubt in her mind of his presence. Then he settled himself between her legs once more, and slowly, slowly, they melted into each other, each measured, dreamy thrust from him was matched by a push from her, bringing them closer and closer until they were one.

"Is this proof enough for you?" he gasped, as she cried out in his arms.

She took a breath, then grinned. "Almost."

He grinned back, and they did it all over again, and again and again, until he'd memorized her taste and her scent and every inch of her, and she his.

When the sky outside turned the color of mother-of-pearl, Paul got up from the tangle of sheets and quilts, and brought Zhara to the window. He was half hoping, half afraid it was still raining and there would be no dawn to see, but the rain had stopped. "Look, Zhar-ptitsa," he said softly.

"No." She turned her face into his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her against him, skimming his mouth over her hair, as he watched the sun rise above the mountains, throwing brilliant shards of gold across the sky, sprinkling gold dust over the snow-capped peaks, the green meadow at their feet, the blue stream, and the dark, dark forest. All the while, Zhara kept turning away like a petulant child, clinging to him, pressing her face into her chest, resolutely refusing to look.

The sun finally cleared the mountains. The light was now reaching the furthest corners of the room, and there was no point in pretending anymore. Paul gently lifted Zhara's face to his. "I have achieved what I desire the most," he said. "I have seen the dawn with you. Now you must let me go."

"No, this doesn't count," she replied, stubbornly. "I haven't seen it."

"Let me go, Zhara. Please."

"I command you to stay!"

"You're not my tsarina."

She pressed her hands to his temples and gazed at him for a long, long time, her eyes fierce. Then she pulled him down for a kiss, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

"That's so you'll remember me," she said. She gathered up her clothes and went out, leaving a sting on his mouth and in his heart, as though he had been branded by her fire.

***

Paul went with Baba Yaga into the forest. The old witch plowed through the dense undergrowth, still wet with morning dew, carrying nothing but a little knife. Some part of Paul wondered whether it was wise to follow a witch to an unknown place, whether Baba Yaga was luring him somewhere to perform dark magic on him, but he knew that mistrust was baseless. What would she gain by tricking him? That sort of thing only happened to heroes in fairy tales, and he was no hero. He was not the main character, not the Chosen One. He didn't even get his happily ever after. He was just a boy, lost in a magical land, and it was now time for him to go home.

Baba Yaga stopped at a rock outcrop where the forest met the mountains, and came to stand by two rock pillars leaning against each other, forming a doorway of sorts. She pricked her fingers with the knife and smeared the blood on the rocks. She added a daub of it to Paul's cheek as well, making him recoil.

"You're waiting for an invitation, Russian boy?" she said irritably, when Paul remained where he stood.

"Is that it?" he asked, confused.

"Yes, that's it. Magic is not all thunder and lightning, Russian boy. Sometimes it's just as simple as this."

Paul took a few tentative steps forward. The trees and grass beyond the two rocks looked the same. "Will this work?" he asked.

"Why don't you try it and find out?"

Paul looked back. The white castle rose over the top of the pines behind him, but if someone was watching at one of the windows, she was too far away for him to see. So he took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway.

There was no strange sensation, no altering in the quality of the light or the air, only the briefest cessation of noise. The moment he went through, the birdsongs and the rustling of the leaves started up again. But the trees were different—in place of the dark pines and the thick, thorny bushes, he saw orderly rows of oaks and regimented privet hedges crisscrossing a green lawn. Behind him, the two rocks had vanished; instead, he appeared to have stepped out of a man-made grotto overlooking a pool. A pavilion stood across from it, and in the distance were familiar walls painted in cerulean and gold. Baba Yaga had put him on the grounds of the Summer Palace in Tsarskoye Selo. He was home.

Chapter 16

A/N: I kind of went the "Man with the Iron Mask" route here with Paul and Bobrinsky. In real life, Aleksey Grigorievich Bobrinsky was indeed Catherine II's illegitimate son with Grigory Orlov, but he was about 8 years younger than Paul. Catherine II openly acknowledged Bobrinsky as her son, and when he became tsar, Paul I made Bobrinsky a count.

The final chapter is coming next week! Stay tuned!

Taglist: @ali-r3n

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul x ofc #prince paul smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn smut

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munsonmuses · 1 year

Text

Razors and Tongues (Prince Paul x Reader)

Synopsis: Paul, much to the detest of his mother, has still been struggling to find a spouse, much less one that could carry an heir. And Catherine was desperate to end the war with the Swede’s. Why not kill two birds with one stone? That’s where the reader comes in. You, being in Catherine’s good graces, at least, enough that she won’t harm you, and treats you with a gentle hand, she decides to use you to push the narrative she holds. Unfortunately, you’re a bit vicious and viper-like in tongue, towards anyone but her. And although horrendous, absolutely detestable, and manipulative to the core, Paul can’t detach himself from the idea of you. Pursuing you like a pathetic puppy

Warnings: Cursing, mild gore, lots of references to breasts, reader is a female/has female anatomy, smut (incredibly rough, bratty, a prince gets what he wants smut)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The sound of the gun firing echoed, cracking through the quiet autumn air. Paul muttering bitterly to himself as he reloaded carefully. Aiming at the helpless buck and firing, watching it go down with a desperate cry.

“No, no I don’t want to marry some Danish Dunce of a woman, I have no clue who she might be, and I know she’s some air headed idiot-“ he told Andrey, aiming once more as he searched the wood for another helpless animal to suffer the consequence of his rage. “Or worse, she falls in line, within my mothers gaggle of vicious, barb tongued geese…” he muttered bitterly as he pulled back to look at Andrey.

Andrey shrugged lightly, looking him over carefully as he hummed to himself. “Well, nobody said you had to love her, or even like her. You merely have to fuck her.” He said as Paul scoffed, fixing his coat.

“If she’s that desperate for an heir I could fuck a common whore, we don’t have to go through all this work-“ he muttered bitterly as he stood, carefully packing away the firearm and beginning the trek back to the palace. Bitterly swallowing his detest in favor of his country, and the duty he was required to uphold.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You stared up at a portrait of the young prince, carefully swallowing the sweet peach wine within your glass. Eyes tracing every feature on his painted face. Catherine scoffing lightly.

“My son is…detestable, in appearance, to say the least duckling, but, he’s not awful. If you can overlook the weak chin, short neck, and pathetically flat cheekbones…he’s got my eyes. He’s cunning, vicious in wit, he’s gunning for the throne-“ she took a heavy sip, that would be better described as a gulp.

“-and he’s a bit of…a character. He falls relatively easy if he sees you as palatable. I know, that you don’t necessarily match that description, but he needs a strong woman to keep him in line.” Catherine mused, earning a curt nod from you.

“Don’t worry, I promise you I can provide an heir, and a placated prince…” you assured, before taking a peer at yourself in a mirror. The heavy and deep green of the dress you wore contrasting with the white lace that decorated your throat. The waxy red pigment on your lips, still in tact after your nursing of your glass.

“I can give you exactly what you-“

The doors flew open, cutting through your statement as his muddied shoes traipsed along the tile of the room. Stopping harshly and turning to look at you with a soft sneer.

Catherine, ever the diplomat, carefully approached you and took your hands, leading you over to Paul who looked you over with eyes filled with venom and malice. He expected a calm and docile sheep, desperate to please to look back at him. Instead, met with the eyes of a viper. Desperate to strike but searching for the optimal point. And for once, he felt mildly challenged.

“Paul, dear…I’d like to introduce you to the crowned princess of Sweden. Before you get smart with me, consider the opportunities it would create for our nation…” she insisted as he scoffed lightly. “There’s a month, between you both, to see how things go.”

His portrait didn’t do him justice, his face was much softer, sweeter. A soft jawline, and plush pink lips. His eyes soft, a forced hardness behind them.

“A suitable whore, a detestable wife-“ he said calmly as he looked you over.

“And you’re a pathetic excuse for a husband-“you retorted sharply.

And his breath caught in his throat, his face felt hot. But he wasn’t feverish in the slightest. He was being challenged by you, and it was ridiculously alluring. Oh good god…was he falling?

As you sauntered off, following Catherine and her close circle, looking back over your shoulder at him.

His body rigid, eyes frozen on you as you winked lightly and left. He had to have you…

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The following three weeks had been filled with stolen glances, teasing, patronizing the poor man. And he was coming undone at the seems, because good god, you were ravishing. He couldn’t keep it together.

Watching you socialize, how you would make ever so sure you were tilted far too forward, were eating precious pastries and allowing the creams inside to rest on your lips for seconds too long, and subsequently licking them off your plush lips. All while maintaining stiff and unrelenting eyecontact.

Teasing him...

Calling him...

Challenging him...

As you dismissed yourself from the table, unable to handle another second of cruel gossiping disguised under the notion of "keeping each other politically updated", you felt a pair of eyes trained on you. Looking up, the prince scowling down at you from one of the many windows and shoving the curtains shut.

Despite the disdain on his face, you knew you'd won. Carefully snatching a pastry off the tray and heading inside. Meandering what appeared to be aimlessly, up to his study, and allowing yourself inside. His back to you, but the grunt he let out signified him acknowledging your presence.

"I brought you something to eat, lord knows you need it. You lock yourself away up here..." you unceremoniously sat yourself upon his desk, and held the pastry out to him.

Though he was looking right past it.

at how your breasts spilled ever so slightly over the lace that lined the square collar of your peacock blue dress, one that matched the hue of his suit perfectly (especially since he'd had it made and sent, due to personal preference). How the whalebone of your corset cinched and pulled everything just the right way. How the gorgeous pendant that hung from your neck had made its home beautifully between your breasts.

At his refusal to take the pastry, you shoved it unceremoniously into your mouth as he scoffed loudly to himself.

"You disgust me, how you stuff your mouth, a-and you guffaw like a goose! You tease and poke a-and you pull my mind as-astray and I just-" he looked up to see if you were listening, and you weren't, unsurprisingly.

That was IT.

He yanked you towards him, his lips practically shoved onto yours as you dropped the final half of the pastry gracelessly onto the papers that had still lied upon his desk.

His kisses were feverish and rough, biting and sucking at your lower lip till it was practically puffy and raw. Pulling back, you went to look away, yet one of his hands roughly cupped your jaw.

"Aside from all those things I want you, you're to be my wife..." he said, eyes dark pools of want and unabashed need.

"Now, let's stuff that pretty mouth with something else-" before you could even get a thought out, he shoved you to your knees, his hands moving quick to rid himself of his trousers. His cock already desperately hard as he took your jaw in his hand once more, tugging gently. He was desperate, but he wasn't a monster. He'd allow you to put in your two cents, even if he couldn't outright ask.

His prayers were answered as he felt his breath catch in his throat, watching as your pretty lips left hot and warm kisses along his shaft, lightly cradling his balls as the kisses stopped at the head, taking him into your mouth.

His eyes fluttered as he slowly placed a hand on the back of your head, his fingers grasping desperately onto the ringlets upon your head, your jaw slackening as he pushed in, deeper and deeper till your nose was nestled against him, soft gags leaving you. The beautiful peach of your lipstick staining his cock as he groaned to himself, the warmth around him addictive.

"This..." he shuddered as he pulled back, "is going to be an incredible marriage..." he pushed all the way back in.

He set his steady pace, it apparent that he was somewhat unpracticed as he fucked into your throat. If this was how the stretch felt in your throat, how delicious would it feel in your sopping cunt. Moaning around him as you managed to work your hand under your mass of skirts and undergarments, cupping yourself and slowly working two fingers over your clit.

A harsh gag left you as he shoved deep, gently pinching your nose between his fingers as he looked at you. "No, you are an educated woman, not some common whore, although you look otherwise...you will wait, patiently." He ordered as you subserviently moved your hands up to his hips instead.

Allowing him to fuck your throat like a depraved animal, because lord knows he needs it...and he just looks oh so cute with his lip tugged between his teeth and lazily whimpering your name.

It wasn't much longer before he had you panting desperately as he came down your throat, pulling back slowly as it coated your lips between coughs.

"Good lord Paul, you have ridiculous stamina..." you commented, earning nothing more in reply than two strong hands lifting you, and throwing you upon the desk. Papers scattering beneath you.

"Paul what on earth are you-" He ripped a thick strip of your underskirt, shoving it into your mouth, scowling lightly. "You talk too much..." he chastised, making quick work of the rest of your skirts.

Eyes widening, he carefully pushed two fingers into your cunt. Already soaking wet at his previous ministrations. Carefully prodding, his own eyes as wide as yours.

Sure, he'd had sex before...but he'd never loved anyone he'd had sex with.

Oh shit he was in love

He looked up at you, slowly removing his fingers before disappearing into the crashing sea of cerulean and royal blue fabrics of your dress, slowly sitting yourself up...what on earth was he do-OH!

The feeling of soft kisses being placed along your slit, the warmth of his lips addictive as he stopped his kisses at your clit, taking it between his lips and suckling lazily while easing his fingers back in, slowly pumping them while working your bundle of nerves.

You gently squeezed his head between your plush thighs, your arousal soaking his hand and rolling onto his sleeves. Slowly pulling them back only to replace them with his tongue as you whined loudly. Immediately moving your gloved hand over his head through the fabric, holding his head in place.

Paul on the other hand, was eating like a man starved, sloppily sucking and lapping at your cunt, it running down his chin and pooling in a small puddle upon his desk as he laughed, sending vibrations through you. Earning a desperate moan from you, he only laughed harder.

And that was you undoing, crying out as you caught him like a vice between your thighs and came viciously hard. Panting as stars were the only thing you could see, vision clearing to reveal a both smug and wildly amused Paul.

"You talk too much, and moan not nearly enough..."

He roughly yanked you towards him once he was stood, grunting lightly as he carefully positioned himself and pushed in.

The both of you moaned in sync, the feeling of his cock sinking into you was heavenly. It was apparent he felt the same, by the twitching felt inside you. Neither of you were going to last long. with how well you'd been handling one another.

His hands took hold of your plush thighs, pressing your legs up beside your head, thrusts growing feverish and desperate as he panted and groaned loudly. The sounds of skin slapping, desperate moans, and panting for air, as Paul desperately rutted into your cunt.

Pulling the rag from your mouth, you tugged him to look at you.

"You are a bratty, brutish, villainous man...who has no use o his words...But you are also sweet, kind...a-and passionate! Y-You'll make a good husband!" You cried, pulling him down to kiss him.

That undid him, groaning into your mouth as hot ropes of cum filled you, earning a mewl from you as he let out a breathless chuckle.

"What a wonderful wife you'll be..."

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Taglist: @punk-in-docs @mypoisonedvine

#prince paul #joseph quinn #prince paul x reader #shameless smut #joseph quinn x reader

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