#prince paul x you
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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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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“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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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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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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we've talked about this plenty before, but paul's the type to have your legs in the air, holding your ankles, treating you like a whore and making you thank him for it
yes yes i agree 100%
he's got your knees by your ears, holding onto your ankles as he ruts deep into you, fucking you long and hard, you can feel him so deep inside you that it almost feels like he's fucking into your throat
i KNOW our man has a lot of anger to get out, so he's a little rough, smacking your ass and pulling your hair, and he's gonna make you cum as many times as needed before he does
he'll leave you a weeping mess and spit down into your mouth "you had better fucking thank me"
"th-thank you, your excellency"
and he pats your cheek a few times, a little too hard "good girl"
he won't kiss you, but just wait, he just has to fall in love with you first... which, after how pussydrunk you leave him, won't take long...
#jd 🥀#jd youre a slag and i love you#prince paul#catherine the great#prince paul x reader#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x reader#bex’s drabbles
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Honorable mention to Regulus Black. 🐍
Happy birthday, Timothée Chalamet!
#timothee chalamet#timothée chalamet#dune#the king#little woman#bones and all#paul atreides#laurie laurence#prince hal#regulus black#lady bird#call me by your name#timothee icons#timothee chalamet x you#timothee chalamet x reader
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Childish - [Prince Paul x Reader] (1/?)
Word count: 2.4k
Pairing: (Catherine the Great) Prince Paul x Fem!Reader / Y/N
Genre(s): Slow burn, (Slight) angst, Mutual Pining
Warnings: Strong Language, Adult Situations, (Eventual) Smut || MINORS DNI || (More warnings will be added as chapters are updated).
Summary: You’ve known Paul your whole life - known that you were to belong to him one day. He’s always gotten what he wanted, so why make it easy for him?
A/N: I haven’t written anything in yeeearrsss so apologies for being rusty! I’m thinking of making this a mini series (maybe 3/ 4 chapters?) I love slow burns but not THAT slow, y’know?
Paul is rambling about something you don’t care for again.
“Do they not know the difference?” you mumbled with thinly veiled disinterest.
Something about the line of succession in Russia, you suppose. As always. If not this, then a myriad of complaints about his mother. You prayed he would find a hobby soon. Nevertheless, you played along.
“It appears that they do not.” he huffed.
“Then perhaps they are ignorant. I suppose they are yet to realise that you are ordained by god. Born to rule. The epitome of Russian male excellence and mediocre height-” you chirp as you slowly sway from side to side to mask your restlessness. You could play this game with him for hours.
“-Oh, you suppose, do you?” His face brightens incrementally for a moment. He hoped it wasn’t obvious how much he wanted to reach out and grab you each time you leaned in close to him, reaching out to delicately grasp a flower’s petals between the tips of your fingers.
“Yes, suppose I do.” As you look away back toward the palace and your watchful mother for a moment, he seizes the opportunity to glance down at your cleavage and let out a quiet, but deep sigh.
The childish back and forth had been going on for almost an hour now. Pettily poking and prodding at whatever words the other strung together in order to force a pleasant conversation. Neither of you knew any other way to be. This was supposed to be a ‘calming stroll’ through the gardens, yet you found yourself unable to breathe your frustration out - constricted by your corset and Paul’s face centimetres from your own, relentlessly taunting you gleefully. You both must have known what this farce really was - a chemistry read. Your mother, off to one side smiling behind her fan with one of the Empresses' ladies, eyeing you both like a hawk. You were having none of it.
“Well.” He continues. “There we have it. May I say no more, lest I waste my precious breath on you.”
You glower at his proud display of childish petulance. You shouldn’t be having fun with this - you’d been informed that it wasn’t lady-like, apparently.
“Why must you be this way? It is not the fault of your father, nor your mother - what accursed thing possessed you in your childhood to have you turn out so intolerable?”
He gawked in stunned silence for a moment, before his eyes brightened and a smile broke out across his boyish face. You hated when he did that. He looked almost pretty.
'Oh here we go' you thought, begrudgingly.
“And what mewling quim did you crawl out of to foster you into the vicious harpy that you are?” finishing off with a sly smile and a smug side-eye.
For a moment, you find him handsome.
Although you hated to admonish it, that was eloquently done. Quite a sophisticated level of snark from him. Touché.
You feign a gasp as your hand is dramatically flung to your forehead and you bend yourself back as far as your silk prison of a dress would allow you, falsifying weak knees.
“Paul! My mother speaks only highly of you, how unbecoming of a gentleman. However shall we join our two houses now? Bring harmony to our court?”
In all honesty, you couldn’t for the life of you remember what you were quarrelling about in the first place - It was irrelevant now. You were bored. Or perhaps it had slipped from your mind so easily because you had caught sight of how the Tsaverich had been eyeing your lips as you spat poison his way.
“On the subject of court and harmony..” You begin, coyly. Paul raises a well-groomed brow at you.
“Your mother- the Empress has expressed a growing interest in my future betrothal. Seems she wishes to see me making some other poor soul’s life a living hell”. You foolishly seemed to think that by jesting about the topic it would soothe the thunderstorm forming over his soft, but reddening face.
“Of course she has. Can’t have me keeping the company of any friends, can she? However would she keep her control over me then?” He attempts to steady his breathing before he stutters out an irritated laugh under his breath. “Besides…are we not already engaged? You are to be mine, she cannot take you then.” He chances a glance at you before he continues on with his train of thought.
You feel your neck flush a warm pink, slightly taken aback at the all too familiar subject being brought up again.
“It has always been a suggestion by our mothers, yes. But surely that is all it is, all it has ever been? We were children then! You; 8 and I only 6 and if I recall correctly, that was the first and last time that we got along” you reasoned, with a huff. “Surely neither of us are so desperate yet.”
Daggers. He’s glaring daggers now. Brilliant. As much as you generally enjoyed taking a hammer to the Prince’s peace, the sudden shift in topics had left you feeling queasy. It was now or never, if you didn’t royally piss him off now then he would be chasing you down the halls until he had you cornered both physically and metaphorically with a ring cutting off the circulation of your left hand. On the surface, you understood what your mothers had intended for the two of you and why - had Paul become any other man and you any other woman, you would have made a handsome pair. But as things were, you would never work. You could not. You drove each other wild and not in the exciting way and you didn’t feel like developing wrinkles by the age of 20 from the stress.
You hadn’t realised that you’d both stopped walking in favour of staring at each other in open-mouthed silence, and it was beginning to become uncomfortable.
‘Please don’t ask, please don’t ask me, please please’ maybe the mental chanting would work to cast a spell of protection to evade the elephant that’s been in the room since you were both barely out of your infancy.
“I will be seeing you at the ball then, I presume? Not one to pass up the chance to sink your claws into your next potential victim, little devil.”
You successfully mask your sigh of relief through a tight smile.
Oh, he seemed proud of that one. His lips were doing that sinister little side smirk you hated so much that you couldn’t look away. And he noticed. He absolutely noticed. So he held it there to tease you.
Little devil.
“Would you miss me too much if I decided not to? Could you bear the loneliness, my sweet Prince?” you purred as you took an unnecessarily deep and exaggerated curtsey, aware of the eye-full he was getting.
An equally exaggerated eye roll and he was back to his usual bratty self.
“Couldn’t stand to miss witnessing you hunting those poor men down for sport” he laughs softly, almost to himself. “Besides, it will be a welcome distraction, perhaps you’ll cause enough of a ruckus so that I may avoid my mother’s beady gaze for the evening and find some fun in a quiet corner for myself.”
He looks at you excitedly, almost as if he were a child who knew something you did not.
But a child you were not. Sex was hardly beyond your comprehension.
You’re not exactly sure what caused the sudden flush over your chest and the following hot anger, but before you could reason with yourself you found your own voice strained and spitting venom.
“Make your best effort to avoid the headache of bringing along some bastard for both our sakes while you’re off having this ‘fun’.” You scowl. “I would hate to give anyone any more reason to chain us together under the eyes of god. No getting out of that one I’m afraid, so do try to keep yourself out of the wrong maid”
Ah, that was a tad cruel.
“I wasn’t planning on- planning to-” Paul found himself floundering now, desperate for his eyes to not betray him and sink back down to watch your lips curve smoothly as you whispered your increasingly harsh ‘japes’.
You’re jealous.
He’s flustered, but not in the way you found yourself wanting him to be. Where that sudden thought came from, you would ruminate in the privacy of your chamber tonight.
‘Little devil’ you mused again. You liked that.
“No? Good. Now, I have other matters to attend to, I must be off.” You really didn’t want to leave him so soon, his reactions were starting to get interesting.
“Now just a moment-” Without thinking, he’s extending his arm to reach blindly for your hand, never once breaking eye contact. Are his eyes becoming glassy? He’s adorable, you want to see him like this more often, you think.
Now you’re feeling mean.
A chance to make him panic.
Maybe you can make him cry.
“Can’t keep your mother waiting, we have much to discuss. Good day, Tsarevich.”
“Tsarevna.” He mumbles softly, his cheeks dusting a soft pink as he looks down at his feet in a slight bow.
But you catch none of it - already marching back toward your grinning mother and her ever growing gaggle of gossipers. She looks proud, at least. Most likely mistaking the physical closeness of yourself and Paul to be playful attempts at stealing shy kisses, rather than hissing curses to each other through an awkward tension you’d never experienced before. Well, not with him of all people.
“My darling girl-” she sings softly into your ear as she embraces you just a tad too tightly to call it lovingly.
“Matushka” you attempt to bow your head slightly in gentle acknowledgement.
“I see your outing went well with your Prince, he couldn’t keep his gaze off of you - not even for a moment, we all found it so absolutely precious.” Her eyes flicker back down the gravel path and to Paul for the briefest moment before meeting your anxious but expectant gaze again. “Whatever spell you have cast over him, keep that up. We shall make a Princess of you yet, it was meant to be as our Patriarch told your father and I on the day we-”
“-On the first day you brought me to court - yes mother, god forbid I ever forget my true purpose here.”
“Good girl. Now, I’ve been informed that the Empress personally invited you to a joint dress fitting for the festivities. You shouldn’t keep her waiting and you can’t afford to miss this appointment, you must aim to be the most eye-catching cherub in the room - mustn't let another steal his affections.”
It hurt. You were hurt. As much as you willed it to be different, it would never be. You were not brought here to make friends, to find your place. You were here to be groomed into the position of Tsarevna - the future wife of Tsarevich Paul. As immature as you knew you had been, you knew deep down that this is why you had never allowed yourself to become close to him in the way you had wanted to - you wanted to be his friend so desperately, whilst growing up. You just could not allow yourself to blindly follow the path that had been designed for you by your puppet-master parents and their equally scheming Empress.
Perhaps you wouldn’t have much in the way of control over your life, but you’ll take the small victories by making the desires of your betters just that little bit more difficult to attain. They cannot force your happiness, therefore it had been decided by you that should you be forever chained to Paul - you would have him live to regret it.
Of course, that had been the plan. Throughout your childhood, you had always found Paul to be rather unpleasant to look at. The way his face would scrunch up in tandem with his fists whenever he had a temper-tantrum, his cheeks and neck turning an ugly shade of plum as his anger rose - which was constant. You had always towered over him - he was a shy little thing, shook like a leaf at the slightest confrontation from the other children. This led to you becoming his protector, naturally. He was never quite the Prince who was supposed to sweep you off of your feet one day.
Every summer, you would make the lengthy trip back to the palace and make good with the lords and ladies of court, be sweet to the royal family, unwittingly court their son and then be on your way back home with your parents and nanny. That is, until your father received an invitation for a permanent position at court and your mother - a long time friend to the Empress, to be welcomed into her tight-knit circle of vipers-in-waiting.
3 years had passed since you had last found yourself here, you had quite been enjoying your education in France and felt reluctant to return.
Yet, somehow. At some point, the rug had been swept from under your feet. That morning, as Catherine had come to greet you all for the final time at the main entryway to the palace, the eyes you had met 100 times over her shoulder were not the same angry little black dots that you had grown so familiar with. Instead, your breathing had stilled as you struggled to maintain a mask of polite indifference.
Were they always so big, like a baby deer’s? So vibrant. Did you spot flecks of gold now that he was out here standing in the sun? His jaw had sharpened too - and he was taller, taller than you. Much taller than you and broad. Now possessing a strange but alluring confidence - no, arrogance that really should not have had you standing there, openly staring with not a single word forming in your mouth or brain. Paul was handsome. 3 years and he was handsome.
Not one to usually be self-conscious, you suddenly find your eyes flitting over yourself. Did you fill out your dress nicely? Was the light shade of lilac adorning your tightly-fitted gown a fashionable choice? Was the wind carrying your perfume and was it to his liking or perhaps it was too overwhelming?
Unbeknownst to you, Paul was suffering through his own internal crisis. You had made it no secret to him in your adolescence just how unbecoming his face and attitude was, how your own face soured around him and how it was doing something similar in this moment. His mother was talking but all he could hear was white noise and his own stifled breathing as he rapidly and openly scanned over you. In some twist of fate, the two of you had shared a thought that morning as you stood together, bowing to each other in your matching shades of purple as if you were two flowers from the same meadow. A romantic thought had crossed his mind for a moment, but only for a moment - of this being fate. A romantic however, he was not as he’d let the notion slip away from his mind as easily as it had entered.
A/N ii: this one goes out to all of my argumentative girlies, fighting means flirting here & you’re in a safe space to be as mean as you want to your boy toys <3
#childish fanfic#you waaaaant eachother#reader hates Paul’s wig#she’s just waiting for the right moment to tell him#prince paul x reader#joseph quinn#x reader#catherine the great#mini series#joseph quinn characters#joseph quinn x reader#prince paul
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It's my day off! What should I work on next because i'm an indecisive ho
#boops on the dash#i ran out to put prince paul x margaery tyrell / koner x margaery tyrell#so comment if you want either of those#tho judging by the last poll...most of ya'll did not lmao
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𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
— * indicates smut
(*) chambermaid!reader and paul (infidelity)
#prince paul x you#prince paul x reader#prince paul#catherine the great#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn x you#joseph quinn smut#masterlist
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Of Messiahs and Seeds II (Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader)
Summary: Emperor Paul of House Atreides has set forth with expansion of his empire on the planets that have resisted and has now come across the last stronghold that resists him: Terra Millennium...
Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW dark!fic, obsessed Paul, yandere! Paul, eventual forced marriage, eventual pregnancy, talks of war, eventual NONCON/DUB CON
A/N: I'm basing Paul and Reader off of Usagi and Prince Demond's relationship of how obsessed he was with her just from her expression and power
Dividers by @firefly-graphics Banner by @vase-of-lilies
Picking up from Last Time
"You will relinquish your place as Queen", Paul said, walking up towards the women. "I will make sure you are well-cared for or you will become the beggar Queen you are."
Y/N raised a brow as she walked towards the Emperor, anger flowing through her but Lord York had always said to remain a neutral stance as possible to not let the enemy know your next move.
"We are not here to discuss terms of surrender", Lord York said, "we are here to discuss terms of peace."
"And those terms are to relinquish your right to Terra Millennium", Paul said before motioning to a Reverend Mother holding a newborn behind him. "And allow the Beneit Gesserit to spread truth and the Fremen people, my people find their Paradise."
"Obviously, we didn't communicate well", she said, looking at the dark-haired Emperor. "When we said war would happen, we met war will come to the Empire, not Terra Millennium."
She saw the man chuckle, actually the entire Atreides fleet chuckled and Y/N felt more anger, but she knew she would be the one chuckling in just a few moments.
"I imagine that you are finding this difficult", Paul said, leaning down in her face. "Your reign as Queen is over."
She heard the roar of Draco coming closer and she let a little smirk out.
"My reign has just begun, Emperor Paul."
Just then Draco swooped in, letting out a mighty roar as he landed on the ground behind her, roaring another roar as he spotted Paul...
The mighty beast was unlike anything Paul had seen as it landed next to the Queen, it leaned it's scaly head next to her affectionately before she turned as it lowered a large wing, allowing her to climb onto its back as he stumbled back as it roared at him, he could see the impossibly sharp teeth.
He could hear Stilgar let out a prayer as the beast began to flap its wings and run on its legs before taking off into the sky.
He watched in slight horror as he heard the sound of more beasts and saw two more in the air, flying behind its sibling in the air as it looked like it was circling one of his ships.
What was she making it do? Could she command them?
His answer soon came as the three mighty beast found one of his ships and breathed down a holy fire, he watched in anger and a little horror as his ship began to literally melt, the spice stored in the ship destroyed.
"I believe we have made ourselves clear", the shorter man said, "Terra Millennium will remain ours. It is in your best interest to take the mercy our Queen has shown, and let the Houses know of the mercy and kindness our Queen has shown you."
🌎
"Muad'Dib", Stilgar said once they had retreated back into the remaining ships. "We must formulate a new plan of attack."
Paul rubbed his chin as he sat in a chair, a hologram image of Terra Millennium was pulled up as he began to hear everyone discuss their next move as the ships hovered in orbit over the planet, but Paul could not think at the moment.
Such raw power at the hands of just one woman, Paul could not fathom that. It was like she was made to be the equal of a great ruler, an equal crafted just for him. Irulan was too mouthy and if he was honest, too submissive at times thanks to the Beneit Gesserit and Chani had given in too easily to his love.
But Amaris, oh... she posed a challenge for Paul, a challenge he wanted to conquer, to fuck until she understood her place underneath him, to breed heirs into her. She looked like she could carry children well from the wide hips she had as Paul allowed for these thoughts to course through his mind.
He needed to see those cold eyes again, he needed to watch as they melted into fear, into desire, into submission. She would understand soon enough, the Fremen would soon find their Paradise here in this planet and that only left the one problem: Irulan.
"I believe we need to find a way outside of their reach", Paul finally said, "look towards their colonies and start at the weakest one."
And Paul had the perfect way to get rid of her and that elderly father of hers...
She heard the sound of the ocean crashing against the sandy beaches of her world, the smell of the salt in her nose as she heard a palm tree rustle in her ears. She felt the water licking at her feet, the wet sand in her toes.
"Together, we could rule all this", a familiar voice breathed into her. "Together, this universe would bow at our feet."
A pair of hands wandered, grasping at her soft flesh as a pair of lips kissed at her neck, a nose nuzzling at her.
"All you have to do is say yes..."
Y/N felt hazy like her mind was underwater as the voice continued assaulting her with sweet words, their hands massaging and rubbing at her body.
"Just say yes to me..."
She turned her head and her eyes widened as she saw Paul, a dark look of desire and power in his eyes.
"Either way, you belong to me. It's up to you how many die along the way."
With a shaky breath, Y/N snapped her eyes open as she quickly sat up and looked around, seeing that she was in her room as her heart was beating in her chest.
She could still feel his lips against her body, his breath... still hear his voice in her mind.
Outside, she could hear the rumble of Draco, Aria and Perseus sleeping near her window; those three dragons probably curled up in a little scaly pile of cuddles that always made her laugh and right now brought her comfort.
Getting out of her bed, her nightgown fell around her as she walked towards her balcony, feeling the autumn breeze brush against her as she hugged her body.
The last Emperor had stood no chance against Terra M last night, but Y/N knew it was different this time. Paul had gained all the Great Houses and the Fremen, she had her army and the colonies, but would it be enough?
The colonies... she would check on them in the morning. She just hoped all would still be well in the morning...
TAGLIST
@ninastyless @james-bucky-barnackle @astarborntowrite @maggiecc @radiantdanvers @croatianprincess
#reader insert#x reader#chubby reader#dune part ii#dune part 2#dune movie#dune 2#paul atreides#paul atredies x reader#paul atreides x you#timothee chalamet#timothee x reader#fem!reader
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Prince Paul spreading his wife over a dining table so he can eat her relentlessly 🤤🤤🤤
🥀The Matter of a Good Taste 🥀
AN: relentlessly you say? *Cracks knuckles*
I’ve written so much Prince Paul pussy eating I’m starting to think it’s my kink that I always seem to get this man on his knees to give some amazingly fantastic head when irl he probably never even ate a pussy once but you know what? Fuck it. Also this came out far sweeter than I had intended? Idk how. TW: none really apart from some serious pent up need oral.
Nights at the palace slip in all soft. Slippery and holding the gentle density of clouds.
It’s a rather stark change to the brutality of court in the day. All the velvet draped daggers and sugar faked smiles. The grins that then vanish in passing.
Snide acidic comments designed to poke like sharp gleaming needles. Designed to find the space between the ribs. Whispers wriggle like hissing snakes at your bodiced silk back.
Mornings are a parting wrench. You don your costume to please them all. Tie the stays tight. Lip rouge the colour of split blood. Heartthrob red.
You far prefer the nights. Time that narrows down - tapers, whittled - right the way down to you and Paul. When the candles burn their tongues of gold and spin the room to shadow and gems. Sparkling like the Crown Jewels.
You sit down to dine together and pour way too much wine. A heavy dinner. Always heavy. The same pallid creamy white soup. Roast meat - bloody and smothered sticky with dark wine sauce. Potatoes and onions with thyme and sage. A meal that sits heavy and clunking in your belly.
You chat about your days. You tell him about the tea party for the girls orphanage, and the earned shreds of gossip whispered out the side of Milena’s mouth. He tells you about the military coup, the uprisings. The jagged feeling towards the crown.
When the staff fade away with their chattering’s and cease heavy footfalls on the parquet. That’s your favourite. When peace descends. Thick like a smothering eiderdown.
The exquisite squeeze when your maid undoes your stays. When you can finally breathe out. The hot steam of a bath clearing your sinuses. Clean spice of tuberose soap and being wrapped in a cool cloaking chemise for bed. The smooth cotton sheets crisp and cold that you slide into, as you wait on Paul to join you.
You’d never tell him your habit. That each night as you lay in your bed, you listen out for his footfalls. You smile when you hear them coming closer outside the doors.
And you wait an awful long wait, tonight.
He doesn’t appear to be coming.
The carriage clock on the huge golden mantel strikes twelve. The chimes mock you with their tinny echoing cry. He should be in here, arms stuck wrapped around your back. Lips in your neck. Maybe a rough tumbling fuck if the day has been hellish.
Another half hour. And before the next can come, you throw the covers off and go in search of your absent husband.
Padding barefoot over the numerous antique rugs. Through the gilded doors. You find him in the dining room. Firelight shines wetly off the polished surface of the table. Ripping and curling orange. He’s staring. Transfixed by it.
He’s sat there in his shirt, undone waistcoat, and breeches. Ruffled neck wide open. Whisky eyes cast and doused in flame. Dormant like one of the outer crust of the stuffed animals displayed on these walls. The brushed hyde of glassy eyed stags or the great still plumage of some exotic bird eternally perched.
You lean against the huge door. Hips pressed to the golden handle. Stay to your silence. Watching him for a moment.
When day was done it was a release for you. An undressing. Unwind. For Paul it seemed less so.
Sometimes the tranquility that undid you, paved the way for a whole crush of thoughts in his head. Sisyphus and his boulder up that hill. The press of a frown pinching brows.
Heavy was the head that cannot yet seize the crown.
No one else gets this view of him. You made your mind up to adore it. He was all cherubim beauty. So striking. You thought the very same thing the first time you laid eyes on him. Definitely not a weak chin.
The pillow set of pink lips made to mouth at. Made to bite. The melty eyes that swing between venom and boyish levelled at you. The lush line of his jaw and the way his hair is set with a natural curl. The flick of doe lashes that really should be flecked with dew, they’re so girlish-pretty.
“Something vexes you?” You ask. Crossing your arms and gently intruding into the room. Hair loose down your back tickling your waist.
He looks over at you like he’s startled. Eyes all big and flame captured. Lips part softly. Like he’s a bunny been caught out by the hawk.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He asks. His tone ripe with accusation. Throat bobs where he swallows.
You lay your vicious tongue to rest tonight. There’s no need for your dagger sharp words.
“You don’t escape my notice that easily.” You level shrewdly.
Not like how you escape hers.
The woman who is surely preying on his head right now. The glorious Empress, whose long casting shadow governs and hovers his every tiny step.
He doesn’t really respond. In the way he does when he can’t lay his thoughts to bed. Where his head is too heavy and buzzing full to lay on the pillow beside yours. Too itinerant.
You walk to his side. Hesitate before touching him. In case he snaps and insists he needs his space.
He tips his eyes across your body. Sees you whole where you’re stood.
The fire brushed strokes of fuzzy apricot across your chemise. He can see the shape of your naked body barely concealed underneath. Soap skimmed skin. Pillow crease caught in your cheek. Warm dewy from rest.
“Rough day.” He finally answers.
You nod. Just nod.
“Shall I keep to my rooms tonight, Tsarevich?” You enquire. Face a cold bed. Space gaping. Unfilled on the pillow opposite.
You say it without teasing. Without jest. You don’t purr flirt at him. You ask genuinely.
“Don’t.” He answers weakly. Throat bobs again.
You tip your head to the side.
Decide finally to slide towards him and run your fingers through his hair. Hip against the table. Stroking fingers through his pretty curls. The fire shot yellow gold some of the tresses. Chestnut too.
You want to tell him to lay it to rest. Whatever it is. Be done with it now. That the beast plaguing him will seem less daunting - will have its sharp teeth blunted by the dawn after a full night of rest.
He leans to you. Hands come for your hips and tugs you in.
Rests his head against your belly. Rubs his forehead into you there. Mashes his face to your soft body. Rolls to you the way the tide rushes to meet the shore. Breathes perfume and soap. You.
You in pure gunpowder shot form. Dynamite strong. Closes his eyes. Hugs you like he’s been lost at sea for months. Drugged on nearness.
Intoxicated on the fact you’re impossible and bolshy. Hardest, sharpest woman he’s ever met; yet you’re being so easy for him now. No challenge laid before him.
“Anything I can do?” You ask. Feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms where you slide down his shoulders. Kneading skin. Nails withdrawn tonight.
The air shifts on those words. Tumbles away like ash on the breeze.
He pulls back and gazes up at you. Flick of long lashes. Something stirs in his eyes. He looks up at you before suddenly he’s rising to his feet with the scrape of the chair slicing into the silence.
He cups the back of your neck and kisses you firmly. Cotton sleeves drape to your body as he pressed his whole self to you. His lips becomes insistent. Kiss warps into hunger.
He’s ripping away to nip your neck and lick kisses at your shoulders. Back pressed firmly up against the hard edge of the table. His body keeps you there. He’s pawing at your chemise. Melting his mouth to yours again as fumbled hands slip your skirts up.
He’s giving you kisses that make your heart slip to warm treacle. Pouring down your ribs and melting. Stunning your lips drunk that this is how he wants to soothe a bad day. With the endless press and utterly blotting sensation of you.
His cheeks are furiously pink. Eyes black savage pits. Lips all sore. He keeps his hold on your mouth and makes your breath come short.
He plucks you up off the floor and spreads you on the table like you’re the next dinner course. Whips your chemise up to your knees. Lays you back.
You gasp. “Paul. Here?”
He can offer no answer.
His eyes burn shiny with the newly unveiled skin of your thighs right down to your toes. The arch of your legs. Plump thigh. Shapely calves. Delicious pussy all bare. Lips plump and cast in firelight. Ready for him.
He throws one of your chunky thighs over his back, and takes to one knee to eat you out.
Bliss bites right through you - clean through - spiking your blushes to top pitch. Making you shiver. Thighs seek to curl around his head and your hand shoots up to rake your nails through his silky hair.
You groan with the puffy glide of his fat tongue over your pussy. Lathing and searching. Swiping for your taste and diving for more. You taste like every tart sweet fruit - sugared and full with juice. Ripe to burst.
He doesn’t rush a single thing about this; takes his time to prod his tongue into you. Spread you open with tongue alone. Opens the bowl of your hips wide, wider, with his hands digging to the meat on your thighs. Fingers leaving dips in flesh.
Licks and laps at the new fresh slick he coaxed free. He’s chasing your pleasure. Not his. He’s going on search of it; a determined conquest. Touching you like you’re the holiest thing he’s ever known. Ever tasted.
You’re all sighs and easy moans as he digs his face into your mons. Inhaling the smell of your soap that clings to your curls. Eyes flutter closed with the pleasure of it.
“I love when you melt for me.” He says. Breath bursts in warm puffs over your pussy when he speaks. When you uncurl from being impossible and stubborn.
You catch sight of his lips. Glossy. He’s wearing a wet orange smear in the low amber light of the fire.
“I don’t melt for anyone. My angel.” You sigh. Hips leaping to his face as he suckles your clit like a nursing babe. Whining high as you slip your fingers through his scalp.
“Just you.” You gasp. Bliss draped upon every word.
His spit squelches into you. He spits and drools to make you wetter. He likes it. Spitting frothy globs into you, and scooping it out with his tongue when the taste has changed entirely to you. Swirling it around because he loves to have you dripping.
Juices are flowing out of you and dribbling slowly to leave a slippery stain on this shiny table. When he next eats a meal here, in this very chair. He’ll smile remembering this moment.
He twists his head to lap at a new angle. Eyes focused on yours. And it hurts to tear away. You watch him and it makes him want to cum in his breeches right then and there.
It’s hypnotic to have him work you over with his mouth. You adore it when there’s hate-fucking and anger involved; you simply shatter to incomprehensible pieces when there’s slow romantic passion, mixed into the bargain.
He eats you like he’s trying to study you with his tongue. Like he can root out some answers in your taste. That heady flavour of flesh and sex and woman - somehow tangy somehow sweet. Elixir of life;
He swirls tiny sloppy circles around the swelling bead of your clit. Fingertips coming into play - the man was a studying military strategist. That came into use in times like these; rubbing your folds - up down up down - before pushing those slick fingertips in. Sinking deep enough to earn a rise out of you.
He eases back, takes his tongue away to watch as he used just his fingers instead. Watching your face. Watching the glide and pump of curling them to you until he finds a rhythm that drags that silken and soaked giving spot a teasing tickle inside you.
When your hips start to jump and you start squirming. He knows he’s found what he’s after.
That divine spread inside you that rose with every knuckle deep thrust of his fingers. Every vicious swipe with his tongue that cracks flickers of lightning across your nerves. Makes you throb with it. God he’s good.
Suction coming relentless and heavy from his mouth, scorching patterns in harsh zig-zags across your swollen lips. Fingers encouraging that all encompassing pang of pleasure that will wipe out your brain to blank when you cum.
He’s digging his face right in and eating determinedly - relentlessly, to get after that leg shaking portion of your climax that’s steadily growing.
Terrifying trapping fingers travelling up your cunt walls as they flutter fast on his fingers. You’re laying back on the dining room table, near sobbing with the need to cum.
He’s just drinking in every sensation soaked second as he gulps you down. Half to ease away his tensions; half because making you cum has become an occupation that’s scored its devotion on his heart. When he dies he hopes they crack open his chest and find it sat there in bleeding tattooed letters. It feels like it should be.
Wordlessly, he brutally shoved you to the knife edge of your orgasm that has you literally bursting. The shudder of your hips betrays it first. How he doesn’t alter his pace; he keeps steady as he coaxed you through: the way you taught him.
Don’t speed up just because I’m close. Keep steady with whatever it is you’re doing.
You’d taught him that on your honeymoon hazy watercolour memories all misty to recall. With your clit captured in his mouth and your fingers fisted in his hair.
He’s a good student. He makes you gush into and all over his mouth. Spurting across the table top and he hums with the bliss of your release and doesn’t stop just because you do.
He drives and drags and slurps up every tender drop. Nurses you into the aftershocks with his tongue. Gentle gathered little noises as he swallows and gains his breath again. Tries to take control of his heart and the buzzing in his ears.
You’re slowly fading from shouts to whines. Fingers grappled into his on your now clammy thighs. Where you’d thrashed and wailed. Your hands held firm to him like anchors.
“My god, you give good head, my love.” You sigh. Back arching and your eyes still flicked closed.
“I was instructed by the best.” He insists. Before dropping an open mouthed kiss right on your cunt.
“Same time tomorrow?“ You ask with an impetuous smile. The clock strikes two.
He gazes back at from between your legs. Smile finally having returned. Eyes all slippery warm with passion.
“Minx.”
“Yes, but entirely yours.”
“Bed?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
~
JQ taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver
#Prince Paul#prince paul x you#prince paul x reader#prince paul x oc#prince paul fanfiction#prince paul smut#joseph quinn#prince paul catherine the great#catherine the great 2019#prince paul imagine#prince paul fanfic#and prince paul#smutty#so much smut#so much hatefucking
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Hey hon! Could I request Prince Paul during the birth of his first child? I think he’d be adorable with a daughter
absolutely!! i love this idea so much and might even do little blurbs of his daughter growing up? do we like that idea??
_____________
word count: 1.3k
genre: fluff!
summary: labour isn’t fun for anyone, but once you see your husbands reaction to your ray of sunshine, you decide it just might be worth it.
warnings: mentions of pregnancy, depictions of labour, cursing, children?
notes: had so much fun writing this
“Don’t touch me!” You screamed out just as your husband went to take your hand in his, attempting to console you as much as he could, “Do not put your hands on me.”
Pregnancy was a bitch. The day that you discovered you were pregnant was magical, especially when you had told your husband, Prince Paul. He was ecstatic. Paul was a sweet man under his tough exterior, so when you revealed to him that you were expecting, he reacted with such blissful happiness that you felt your heart would fall out of your chest.
“The maids believe me to be pregnant.” You whispered softly from where you stood in front of Paul’s desk. It wasn’t often that you interrupted him when he was in his office, but this simply couldn’t wait, “They say it seems as though I’m five months, they can’t be sure though. I know it is sooner than you wanted, especially with you going overseas in a month.”
Paul looked up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. There were a few papers in his hands that he was previously gazing over, “Pregnant?” He asked. He rushed to set the papers down, standing from his seat across the desk from you.
You clasped your hands in front of your stomach, nodding, “Yes.” You attempted to hide the smile on your face, but you just couldn’t. You wanted nothing more than to raise a child, especially with Paul by your side. You wanted to see him exhibit softness and care towards his very own child, the same softness he exhibited towards you.
Paul rounded the table and looked at your stomach quickly, “A child.” He whispered, his words low, barely audible for even him to hear, “Our very own…Oh, this will be wonderful! To see you glow will be so amazing, and to hold our little love in a few months? I am staying home, I’ll stay home.”
And so, the rest of your pregnancy consisted of Paul taking care of you as much as possible. He refused to let the maids make your baths, taking it into his own hands. He would deliver your breakfast when you felt you couldn’t get out of bed. He would constantly bring you the prettiest flowers from the garden, ones he had picked himself.
Not only this, but he put up with your incredible mood changes, taking the harsh criticisms with pride as well as getting used to simply saying ‘Yes dear’.
So here you were, sprawled on the large bed in your own personal bedchamber, not the one that you and Paul shared. You had maids surrounding you, prepping towels and wet clothes while a doctor sat at the end of the bed, waiting between your legs until he could tell you to push.
Paul was right by your side, refusing to leave you, even if you asked him to. He barely looked like the Prince Paul that he portrayed to the outside world. He had on a loose, white bed shirt, as well as suit pants. The most beautiful part though, was how he was makeup free, as well as his own brown curls sitting upon his head, instead of that horrid wig he wore.
“My love, I am just trying to comfort you.” Paul reassured you, gently wiping a wet cloth along your forehead, wiping the glistening sweat off your face, “You look so gorgeous.”
You narrowed your eyes at him and scoffed, “Gorgeous? I look like a drowned camel! I have sweat dripping down my face and into places I didn’t know existed, my skin is sticky and red, and you are going to sit there and tell me I look gorgeous!? I am soon pushing a human out of my vagina!”
Paul’s eyes widened and he looked around the room awkwardly, “Darling, you-...you always look gorgeous.” He stammered, looking over you for a moment in admiration. He loved you always, even now as you laid on the bed, nightgown pulled just between your belly and breasts, strands of hair clinging to your sweaty forehead.
You took his gaze of admiration as a look of disgust though, in your very cloudy and very pregnant brain, “You think I look horrible.” You whispered, eyes beginning to water with salty tears. They threatened to spill like heavy waterfalls.
Paul quickly shook his head and leaned down, pressing a brief but passionate kiss to your lips, attempting the to show the pure love he felt for you, “Not at all. I think you look like the prettiest woman alive.” He reasoned, pressing another kiss to your lips just as you screamed out in pain.
“Princess Y/N, it is time.” The doctor spoke at the end of the bed, earning an unsatisfied grumble from you.
-
Your eyes fluttered open in the dim lighting of the bedroom, the surroundings much quieter and comforting than they had been hours previously. You rubbed your eyes but kept still due to the pain in your lower half, laying on your side.
The room was lit up by the lanterns placed around the room, as well as the golden sunlight shining through the tall windows. It was comforting with how dim it was. It felt intimate.
Your eyes caught onto movement in the middle of the room. It was Paul, his back to you as he slowly swayed, murmurs coming from his pink lips, “Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?” His pitch heightened with the next few words of his lullaby, his voice singing out through the room, “Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full!”
You smiled happily, watching as Paul spun around softly, holding your child in his arms as he recited the lyrics to the traditional lullaby, one you had heard many times as a child. Albeit by your maids, but that didn’t matter.
“Shall we check on mama? Hm? See if she is awake…” Paul whispered softly, as his feet pattered closer to the bed, “She is getting some much needed rest after dealing with us, hm?”
You hummed and carefully sat up, “I am awake.” You revealed, earning an incredibly attractive smile from your husband. It was full of love and care, pure admiration, but it never ceased to make you swoon, “Did I not get to hold them?” You questioned, not remembering anything after hearing crying.
Paul shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed next to you, his arms wrapped securely around your sleeping newborn, “You fell asleep almost immediately after pushing her out, I was worried at first until the doctor checked you out.” He explained to you how quickly you had passed out due to exhaustion, “Had my heart racing, just thinking that I may have lost you.”
You reached a hand out and caressed his cheek lovingly stroking your thumb along his cheekbone, “I am right here. You won’t get rid of me that easy, angel.” Your eyes moved down to the child in his arms, the physical display of your love for each other, “‘Her’?” You repeated.
Paul’s eyes scanned your face, nodding softly, “Her.” He confirmed, his gaze turning back to the infant in his arms, “Gorgeous, isn’t she? Perfection. Just absolute perfection.”
“I feel as though she might steal you away from me.” You laughed softly, the scratchiness of your throat coming through. You had screamed a lot.
Paul simply shook his head, softly sliding the fingertips of his right hand against your daughter's cheek, earning a scrunched nose in response, “No one could ever steal me away from you…except, maybe, her.” He laughed as well, finally moving his head to look at you, “Hold her, she feels like sunshine.”
Your husband placed the bundle of joy in your arms as you held them out. You carefully leaned back against the headboard, a content sigh emanating from your lips. Paul moved so he was sitting next to you, his chin resting on your shoulder while he placed a hand on your knee.
You sat in silence for a moment before Paul spoke, “I am so proud of you.” He informed you, turning his head up so he could look at you, “You did so well, my love. Had me falling even more in love with you. Had no idea that was possible.”
You gazed at Paul, taking in his appearance, savouring it. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “Thank you for being there, despite my yelling.”
Paul just waved you off with a happy smile, settling back on your shoulder, “Ah, it was all worth it. Lovely little princess.” He whispered and reached forward, stroking his hand over her swaddled form.
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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
#joseph quinn#joseph quinn fanfiction#joseph quinn fanfic#josepj quinn imagine#prince paul#prince paul x reader#prince paul x y/n#prince paul x you#prince paul au#prince paul fanfiction#prince paul fanfic#prince paul fluff#prince paul smut#catherine the great#catherine the great imagine#catherine the great fanfiction#catherine the great fanfic#by the light of the silvery moon#part five#joe quinn fanfic
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the rage of a harkonnen (dune: part two)
pairings: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Fem!Reader
summary: The Emperor’s second born daughter, Harauna, has never been truly seen by her father; Her light always being dimmed by the shine of her older sister, Irulan. As Maud’Dib continues fighting on Arrakis and her father’s spot falls farther into jeopardy, Princess Harauna sees an opportunity to finally find her place in the Imperium…Wife of the possible Emperor, ruling alongside Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. (3.9k)
a/n: i’ve already seen this movie twice and i’m going again😛 austin’s performance is so compelling, i couldn’t take my eyes off of him whenever he was on screen. i hope you all liked feyd-rautha as much as i do…otherwise i may be crazy. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3
warnings: blood, death, abuse
in this story, yn is: Harauna Corrino (Harkonnen)
10191 // month 1 // 📍kaitan
“Paul Atreides is not our only prospect.” Reverend Mother Mohiam reveals, standing before you and your sister. “The Baron’s youngest nephew, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, will inherit Arrakis. He may be the answer.”
Your eyes open wide, the name itself sending shivers down your spine. You, along with all of your family, knew of Feyd-Rautha - Knew of the Sadistic Harkonnen, known for slaughtering anyone who challenges him, even his own people.
“Feyd-Rautha?” Irulan furrows her brows, “He’s psychotic.”
“That’s irrelevant. The question is…can we control him?”
You stare up at the Reverend Mother’s black veil, an idea striking you.
Since a child, it’s always been Princess Irulan - The Emperor’s daughter. Irulan will inherit the thrones, Irulan will marry Paul Atreides, Irulan will rule the empire. Never once has your father taken the time to look at you. Never once has he asked the Reverend Mother how you are as a Bene Gesserit. If he did, he’d come to learn that you’re just as equipped to take on the role of Empress as your sister.
You know what you know - You know how impossible it is to ever be worthy of attention in your father’s eyes. The sound of marrying the prince, possibly the future Emperor, doesn’t seem distasteful. Is he a terrible man, yes. May he turn out to be a worse husband, yes. But God forgive you if you choose being the possible ruler of the empire over being second best.
“I will marry Feyd-Rautha…” You suggest, coming out as more of a squeak.
Their eyes dart to yours, Irulan’s gaze feeling more like knives piercing your head.
“Young Harauna-“
“No.” Your sister interjects, turning your body toward hers. “Are you crazy? Feyd-Rautha is the last man you need to marry.”
“Irulan, I want to.” You push back, your voice low. “He may be Emperor one day, we need to secure that opportunity. Do we not, Reverend Mother?”
“We absolutely do, Harauna.”
Irulan’s jaw hangs open, looking between the two of you.
“Are you serious? Reverend Mother, you know Feyd-Rautha. You’ve seen him with your own eyes - You want Hara anywhere near that?”
“She’s thinking of the Imperium, Irulan. Should Paul Atreides be alive, he will want the throne.”
“Feyd-Rautha won’t go down without a fight…” You finish for her.
“Precisely. If he loses, Paul will have a bride awaiting him.” She gestures to your sister. “But if he reigns supreme, he’ll have a Corrino by his side.”
Irulan only shakes her head, disbelief glossing in her eyes.
“Hara…”
“Sister, I need to do this.” You whisper, softly squeezing her hands. “I can’t make decisions like you…I’m not you.”
“W- What does that mean, Hara? I don’t understand-“
“If I get in line for the throne…” You begin. “If I secure a spot for myself in the Empire, I will be nearly equal to you in father’s eyes. I’ll mean something to someone.”
A tear threatens to fall as she struggles to find words.
“You mean something to me.” She shrugs, now wondering if that holds any value to you. “If I lose you to the Harkonnens…If I have to stay here alone while you’re on Giedi Prime I don’t know how I’ll-“ She quickly wipes her eyes, taking a breath. “I don’t know how I’ll survive this impending war without you, Hara.”
You tilt your head, bringing your hand to Irulan’s cheek.
“Write to me, Irulan.” You smile, forcing back your own tears as you solidify this departure in your head. “Send messages to Giedi Prime, will you? Write them like you do your entries and I swear to you I’ll read each one. No matter what happens with the Harkonnen’s, I’ll always have my sister back home on my side, right?”
A thick silence falls upon the three of you, Irulan fighting between perplex and terror as her hands began to quiver in yours.
“I’ll alert the Emperor.” Reverend Mother says, leaving the two of you.
Alone, your sister pulls you into an embrace, one of the tighter ones. She allows her tears to land on your garments, her shoulders trembling as small whimpers escape her lips.
“Don’t do this, Hara.”
10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime
“On your birthday of all days. The Baron should know better than to jeopardize his soon to be Planetary Governor in such a public manner. You could’ve died.”
“I would not have died.” Your husband fiddles with his blade.
“All slaves should be drugged, should they not?” You remind him. “It’d have taken only one swift slash of the Atreides’ blade and The Baron would’ve lost his heir. He’s insane.”
“Careful, wife.” He warns, “The Baron is flawed but his promises are rich.”
“What could he possibly promise you that’s more important than the entirety of this planet?”
He stares, his eyes scanning you up and down as a small smirk grows on his face.
“The entirety of Arrakis.”
Creases form on your forehead, your words coming out as stammers.
“…He promises you…Arrakis?”
“If I manage to control spice production.” He explains, reveling in your dumbfounded expression.
Your mind immediately imagines your life on Arrakis, a fate you’ve never considered. The plan was to marry Feyd-Rautha, be by his side when he defeats his opponents, have your father kneel to him, and rule the Imperium from the planet of the Harkonnens. But now, thoughts of working from the dune covered planet makes the hair on the back of your neck rise.
“But-“ You clear your throat, “Um - Is that not Rabban’s job?”
“Rabban failed.” He seethes. “He humiliates house Harkonnen with each Fremen attack he allows. With me ruling the mission, there will be no more.”
“What’s the plan? Once you’re on Arrakis who’s to say my father won’t order you out? What if he doesn’t like how you handle-“
“The Emperor has a set fate too, Harauna. If we were to expose what he did to the Atreides’, the houses would explode. A rise against the Emperor would ensue.” He nears you, looking down at your wide eyes as he bares his blackened mouth. “The throne would be ours to take.”
You don’t know if he meant to admit to what he’s admitted to. Though, you have no doubt he’d tell you his plans to kill your father to your face, indifferent to what you might think. But even Feyd-Rautha should have some sort of limit, shouldn’t he?
“Feyd…” You murmur, “What will happen to him? What will happen to my house? My Reverend Mother, my sisters? They’re innocent they don’t deserve-“
He rolls his eyes, turning away in the midst of your oration. “Princess Harauna asks too many questions.” He returns to his spot across the room. “If you want to sit next to me as Empress, I suggest you straighten out a bit, hm?”
10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime
14 hours later
Feyd-Rautha’s room reeks of deceased Harkonnen bodies and dried blood as you storm in, a scowl on your face.
Inside, you see your husband squatted by a dead servant, one that if you look too close you may realize is an acquaintance of yours.
‘FEYD-RAUTHA RABBA HARKO-‘ He’s carved into her pale white skin, his letters bleeding into each other.
The Princess Harauna 3 months ago would scream at the sight. She’d turn and run, alerting her Reverend Mother and father that a cold blooded murderer has gotten into your home. Only…this is home. The man carving names into bodies isn’t a stranger, not an intruder, but the man you married.
Though you’re not sure he knows it, seeing as you can practically taste the Bene Gesserit on him.
You shove, hard, knocking Feyd-Rautha off balance and onto the concrete floor.
“What the-
“Seriously!?” You shout, watching his bewildered expression looking back at you. “You’ve not been of age for one whole day and you’ve already betrayed me!”
“You watch yourself, woman.” He warns you, spite in his eyes.
“I can smell her on you.” You say, knowing all of the signs of a Bene Gesserit’s work, and a sexually vulnerable Feyd-Rautha. “She could be carrying your child!”
Your husband quickly calms himself, seemingly deciding not to waste energy on someone like you. On someone like his wife.
“Would you stop that yelling?” He mumbles, turning and beginning to smear the blood across the mutilated arm.
“How dare you.” You scoff. “I’m meant to be your princess. I’m meant to be your queen Feyd-Rautha! Not some girl who was on a mission. A Bene Gesserit who was here to test you and didn’t want you for more than one night-“
“You’re not any better!” He rises, his demeanor changing like night and day in a split second.
The minute he gets angry, his energy dominates the room. “Don’t you ever think you’re a better woman for being a power hungry leech who called dibs on the heir before anyone else.” He jabs, lowering until he’s in your face.
Your jaw hangs open, offense quickly overpowering the fear that you often feel in the presence of an angry Feyd-Rautha. Or any Feyd-Rautha, at that.
“I don’t need you.” Your eyes pierce his, flames igniting in yours. “I’m the Emperor’s daughter, I was second in line for the throne. If anything, you needed me to get to where you-“
The wind is knocked out of you as your husband grabs your neck, instantly cutting off your words. He grins, nearly frothing at the mouth as he always does at the slightest hint of violence. He feeds off of violence, in the face of which most people quiver he greets it with a big smile, he yearns for violence, he is violence.
“I needed you, huh?” His face about brushes yours, his saliva dripping onto you. “I wasn’t at home being neglected by daddy, Harauna. I wasn’t the second choice. I didn’t need to marry to get power. I wasn’t worthless.”
He’s entranced, his hand on your throat tightening with each sentence until you’re sure it’ll snap. You claw at his stained hands, collecting the blood of his servants under your nails.
“Husband-“ You croak, feeling the pressure in your head increase.
Feyd-Rautha only smiles, adrenaline rushing throughout him as he contemplates letting this be the end of you. Maybe he should rid himself of this royal burden before she sits with him at the top.
“Know your place, princess.” He whispers before letting you go with a shove.
You drop to the floor, crashing into the bloody bodies on the ground and fighting for your pipes to reopen. You frantically heave as he looks down at you once more, evil in his eyes, before he leaves you where you are.
Weeps escape you, feeling selfish as you cry in the presence of women who got it much worse.
But you don’t dare complain. For you asked for this. Your sister warned you, your logic warned you. Nevertheless, in times like this, the possibility of being ruler of the Imperium outweighs the possibility of dying due to your attempts.
“Be the worst position in the highest room.” Your father used to tell you, “For some never make it to the room.”
10191 // month 4 // 📍starship
The low hum of the frigate gives the cold ambience some character. Rabban lounges across the kitchen table, his feet up on the marble. Your husband sits a few chairs down from you, sheathing and unsheathing his blade, creating a repetitive sound for the two of you to suffer through.
“Princess Harauna.” You hear as the grand doors within the starship open. A servant enters, seemingly a younger version of the Baron, with a thin metal tube in his hand.
The big man hands it to you, bowing slightly before shuffling away.
“Say thanks to the piggy.” Feyd-Rautha teases, a devilish grin on his face.
Rabban slightly chuckles as you eye your husband, sighing before opening the letter.
“To my sister, Hara.”
Your eyes gleam, seeming to scan faster and faster the more and more you read. The two men in the room with you don’t seem to notice, mindlessly engaging in their own boredom as the ship heats up in the weather of Arrakis.
You shut the tube with a click, looking down at it as you weakly attempt to process what you’ve just read.
“Paul Atreides…is coming.” You reveal, catching the attention of Rabban and Feyd-Rautha. “He makes his way from the south.”
“Paul Atreides is dead.” Rabban corrects you.
“He didn’t die in the attack-“
“I know that, woman!” He abruptly shouts, banging the table. “I saw to it myself, him and his mother died in the-“
“Sandstorm.” You finish, much quieter than he began. “But he didn’t.”
Your husband has turned his body toward you, now intently listening.
“They live - And they challenge my father now.” You look up at the two of them, “Him. He must be this Maud’Dib, this Lisan-Al-Gaib. Who else would it be?”
“Wait,” Feyd speaks up, “Challenge your father for what, exactly?”
You meet his gaze before reopening the letter, searching for the Irulan’s line on the challenge:
Paul Atreides will arrive unannounced when we land in Arrakis in a challenge for the throne.
Rabban shakes his head. “There’s no longer a need for the Emperor on Arrakis.” He misses the point, “We’ve got the spice production under control. The old bastard can stay home.”
Feyd-Rautha leans his elbows in his knees, looking up at you with that same evil look he gets whenever a dangerous plan arises.
“Atreides’,” He thinks aloud, “They’re little rats. Insects that keep popping up no matter how many times you exterminate.”
“Should I alert the Baron?” Rabban asks, speaking quicker than his acute brain can think.
“You will do no such thing.” Feyd demands, conjuring up his plan in his much more suitable brain. “Since the Emperor is deciding to pay us a visit despite the work l've done here…Maybe the Atreides' will do the bloody work for us. Keep us in the good graces of the Great Houses."
Bloody work, he says. The exposure and diminishing of your father’s name he means.
“Brother.” Rabban counters, “The Atreides’ - The Fremen - They’ll have us outnumbered. Uncle should be aware-“
“You will do no such thing.” His brother orders, now loosely pointing his blade toward Rabban. “The throne is mine therefore the throne is yours. The Baron won’t make Harkonnen the greatest house, brother. I will” He leers.
“Husband,” You voice reason, seeing all of the ways you could lose your promised spot to this scheme. “If it comes to a fight and Paul beats you-“
“He won’t beat me.”
“But if this challenge doesn’t go our way,” You hypothesize, “We could lose everything. Paul Atreides won’t let my father live, not after what he’s done. My family will hold no power, my sister will be-“
"I will remain unharmed, will I not? As will my brother.” He redirects. “Are we not your biggest concern anymore? Are we not your family, Harauna?"
…
The ship gets hotter and hotter as you near Arrakeen. Feyd-Rautha meddles with his torso buttons on the opposite side of the room as you stare at the screen in your bedroom, broadcasting the sandy terrain of the new planet.
“What would your plans be as Emperor, Feyd-Rautha?” You query, eyes locked on the family owned land.
He sighs as he always does when you open your mouth, as if nothing his wife says is worthwhile.
“Princess Harauna asks too many questions.” He repeats.
“Just answer me…Please.” You urge, the question having appeared in your mind minutes ago and hasn’t stopped nagging since.
“What do you think my plans are, princess?” He turns toward you, his dark and threatening eyes seeming to dim the entire room. “I’m going to make the entire Imperium Harkonnen. Our family will be the most powerful spice harvesters anyone’s ever seen.” He begins, “I’ll give my Empress a child, grow our empire, and teach my princeling how to rule.”
You listen intently, trying your hardest to envision your life going from Princess of Kaitan, to wife of the heir, to Empress of the Imperium beside Feyd-Rautha, of all men.
Be the worst position in the highest room.
Your husband goes on. “Caladan will be a thing of the past. Atreides will be a thing of the past. Harkonnen will be the great house and any others will just be…Maud’Dib.” He chuckles.
“‘Your Empress’...” You point out, never having heard your name. You only wish to hear where you and your family stand in his master plan. “Would it be me?”
He gives you his undivided attention, letting go of his leather vest. “Why must you talk so much about things that don’t matter?” He asks, true indifference and apathy in his tone.
For some never make it to the room.
“…Is it me or no one?” You speak up, your voice frantically running before your mind can catch up. “Is it me or death, Feyd-Rautha?”
Your attitude shifts in the middle of your sentence as you realize where you’ve heard these exact words before.
“You or no one, Irulan.” Your father would say, stroking your sister’s hair while the rest of you sat and waited for nothing.
Never in your life did you plan to sit in a Harkonnen’s bedroom and beg for his approval. For his confirmation that you were his.
But here you are, begging the worst of men to love you the way The Emperor never did. The way he never will.
“In two moons I will be Emperor.” Feyd-Rautha strides toward you, holding your hands in his as he bores. “Harauna Harkonnen will be next to me.”
A smile grows wide on your face; An odd, yet full, feeling of acceptance spiraling throughout you.
His eyes suddenly seem to get even darker as his grip on your hands morphs into a crushing clutch. “For as long as she knows her place, she will remain.”
Ice replaces the once warm feeling in your veins. Your smile fades as his grows, watching the fear in you rise with each squeeze of your fingers. Tears form in your eyes as the reality of your situation sets in once more as it has over and over since you step foot on Giedi Prime.
But you don’t dare complain. For you asked for this. Your sister warned you, your logic warned you.
10191 // month 4 // 📍arrakeen
two days later
You all stand completely still, your heartbeat seeming to be louder than the atomics outside of the Emperor’s structure. Inside the ring of Sardukaur lies your family; Irulan hiding behind your father as Maud’Dib, in front of your eyes, holds a blade over the Baron.
You and Feyd-Rautha stand alone across the walkway, your husband seemingly hypnotized by Paul Atreides as he plunges it into his uncles neck. Your hand resting on Feyd’s lower back vibrates as his breathing heavies, being just as amazed by Paul as you are.
The both of your mouths hang open, and for once, you and your husband seem to be on the same page. Paul begins barking orders at your father as you bring your lips to Feyd’s ear, speaking in a hushed whisper to not interfere with the daring Paul Maud’Dib.
“In the event of your death…” You begin. He slightly cocks his head toward you, listening. “Would you have me marry him?”
Paul gives one last daring look at the sea of people standing against him, though, he seems as fearless as your husband as his expression never wavers from stone.
“Is he worthy?”
Feyd-Rautha doesn’t so much as flinch at your comment, new, for a man like him. You can’t help but believe it’s because you’re right. The na-Baron recognizes that the viciousness that is Paul Atreides, no matter how unexpected, is a perfect match for him. A perfect match for his wife.
Is he wrong to admit that if not him, Paul may be the closest thing to fit to be Emperor of the universe?
…
You’ve never laid eyes on a fight so glorious. The two most powerful and ferocious men on Arrakis clinking their blades again and again in a battle for the throne.
The room falls silent as your husband lodges his sword into Paul, holding him close as one of the two release an animalistic roar. His mother stands, his Fremen’s mouths hang agape, your husband just hardly smiles at you over his shoulder.
You can’t help but feel a sense of dread boiling in your stomach. Yes - You want Feyd-Rautha to reign supreme. Yes, you want to be Empress. But as you watch the devilish sneer on his face fill out as Paul’s blood stains his pasty hand, your heart seems to be pulling you in another direction. You’ve always been quite talented at telling good from bad; But Maud’Dib, you can’t seem to figure out. He lays in the gray area in between the two, you determine.
Your reflection is quickly halted as the squelching sound of an edge piercing skin fills the room. You sway to the side, eyes wide as you see Paul’s hand gripping the handle, the rest buried into your husband’s heart.
A gasp escapes many in the room, you included as a hand flies to your mouth. You and your father very well may be the only people in the room who are rooting for Feyd-Rautha. Knowing this, the smiles that sprinkle themselves on attendants throughout the room quickly after the inhale isn’t unanticipated.
“You…” His raspy voice is almost too quiet for you to catch as he fights for each breath. “You fought well…Atreides.”
He slowly turns his head just far enough to have you in his sight. Even in death, Feyd-Rautha remains as menacing as the day you first met him.
He has no words for you. He only bares that stupid, prideful, blackened smile that got him stabbed in the first place.
You seem in a trance as you watch his body thud to the floor, looking as lifeless as the women on his bedroom floor back home.
“Lisan-Al-Gaib!” A Fremen leader calls, breaking the silence as his people repeat after him.
Paul Atreides, Feyd-Rautha’s murderer, rises. He limps toward you and your family, prompting your sister to swiftly grab your free hand as the other slowly lowers from your lips.
You had no love for Feyd-Rautha, nothing real. For him you experienced nothing that you should feel for a husband. Nevertheless, the tears flow all the same.
"The life debt has been paid.” Irulan blurts, squeezing your hand as Paul nears you. “Spare my father and I will be your willing bride. The throne will be yours."
Her words snap you out of your haze, throwing you into the face of reality as it strikes you in the heart.
"I'll take the hand of your daughter. She will remain safe and we will rule together over the empire." Paul declared.
In the span of seconds you imagine the moment a trillion different ways. If only he had nodded toward you, not Irulan.
‘Where is integrity?’ You wonder.
Where is honor in sacrifice when you've given all you know to give and you still don't win. You can never seem to come out on top. You can never seem to be first…But your sister can, as she always does.
You snatch your hand away from your Irulan’s; Your eyes glued to your father, now kneeling, as rage grows within you. The rage of all of the rejection you've faced, the rage of all you have given to get to where you are, the rage of now wishing Feyd-Rautha had stuck Paul Atreides' head on a spike for all of Arrakis to see.
The rage of a Harkonnen.
#dune part two#dune movie#dune 2024#dune part 2#dune fanfiction#dune fandom#dune fic#dune part ii#feyd rautha#feyd rautha imagine#feyd x reader#feyd rautha fanfic#feyd rautha fic#dune part one
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so I just finished Catherine the great and Paul gives me the vibe of breaking into the throne room to play empress and emperor and some other things😉😏
oh yes i can see it
drinking a little too much wine with your husband and he breaks into the throne room with you in tow “paul, what’re you doing? you’re going to get in trouble!!” and he sits on his mother’s throne just to spite her, kicking his legs up over the arm, and he takes a swig of wine straight from the bottle
“no i won’t. you might get in trouble, but i won’t. now… kneel to your emperor.”
getting down on your knee in front of the throne and he laughs, his cheeks all red with the drink “look at you, doing just what you’re told to. my little wife, do you do that with everyone?”
“no,” you say and he gives you an extremely pointed look “no, your majesty”
“only your emperor,” paul chuckles. “good, i like loyalty. let’s see how far you’ll go to be loyal to your emperor… come here and suck my cock”
“if you’re emperor, i’m empress,” you tell him, and you rise to your feet and settle yourself on his lap “give your empress a kiss, your majesty”
and he’s putting down the bottle of wine and wrapping you in a tight embrace in an instant and kissing you so hard
#ugh paul being so whipped for you no matter what#i love it#bex answers#anon ask#prince paul#prince paul x reader
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