#and prince paul

[punk-in-docs]

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

[whumpypepsigal]

Avatar: The Last Airbender (2024) s01e04 “Everything I need is on this boat.”

#whumpedit #atlaedit #avatar the last airbender #atla spoilers #atla #whump #uncle iroh #prince zuko #paul sun hyung lee #dallas liu #family #teary eyed #emotional whump #my wailing heart… this scene was everything #I LOVE SOFT MOMENTS LIKE THIS! #my gifs #so far ​im enjoying this series very much

[cassie48]

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻

King Hal x fem reader.

A/N: In which the king isn’t happy with how his wife, the queen is treated.

(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(

You were chosen to be queen. Hal himself wanted you. But, in some ways, a lot of ways actually, you felt you weren’t meant to be a queen. You were very quiet and innocent, to scared to correct someone or stand up for yourself.

Now, Hal was always there to stand up for you, he was really very protective of you. He threatened men that mocked you, and declared to the people of England that you were his wife, and that they must accept that.

On this particular day, you were sat on a bench in a secluded area of the gardens, hiding from everyone, crying. Earlier that day there had been an incident, leading you to hide away from your husband and those he would send to look for you.

You had been on a stroll, earlier that day. You often went on strolls when Hal would have meetings. On this particular morning, you bumped into a man that served Paul. He was a sort of advisor and helped him stay in order. George, was his name.

You had never really warmed to him, as he constantly made you uncomfortable. He would send you odd looks, when Hal wasn’t looking, sometimes in places that no man but Hal should be looking.

“Sorry George” You said looking at the ground.

“Oh it’s fine your majesty, it’s my fault” he said with a disgusting smirk.

“Do you know where Hal is?” Your sweet voice said, wanting to see your husband.

“He’s busy right now” he told you.

You nodded turning to continue on your walk, when his voice continued.

“I could accompany you, you know” George said not even bothering to address you respectfully.

“Oh, it’s fine, really” you said going to turn.

“Are you sure, I’d like to” he said, clearly wanting you to agree to go with him.

“No really, it would be…improper” you said, with a polite smile, trying to leave.

But, to your shock, he grabbed your upper arm roughly, tracing his finger over your body.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re quite the improper girl” he whispered, his fingers sickly travelling all over you.

“W-What?” You said your voice trembling, pulling back slightly, but it didn’t work.

“The men talk, say that you’ve been quite 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳” he said with a menacing smile.

This was when you lost it, you stared to ball your eyes out, ripping yourself away from his hold, running off to hide in the gardens, crying as you did, that’s where you found the little bench.

(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.

At that same time, Paul was leaving his meeting room, going to see you in your chambers. This was a daily routine for him, he truly loved him.

But a scowl made its way on his face when you weren’t there. “Where is the queen?” He yelled at the servants in the room.

“We, aren’t sure, your majesty” a man answered staring at the ground in fear.

“Is it not your job to take care of her when I’m not?” He yelled rage dripping from his voice as he grew more worried.

“Find her” he demanded with a cold voice.

They all scrambled, running in all directions to search for you, fearing for their lives if they didn’t.

Around an hour later, there was still no sign of you, Hal was getting very impatient. So he went to look for you himself.

He knew your favourite places in the castle and he knew one of which was the gardens, so he made his way there. He had searched almost all the gardens, until her heard a soft crying.

Hal eventually found you on that bench, as soon as he saw you, he was 𝘔𝘢𝘥.

“My love? What’s wrong?” He asked as he sat on the bench too, placing you on his lap.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, continuing to cry loudly into his chest.

“Are you hurt?” He asked with a concerned look on his face.

You nodded your head no and hugged onto him tighter, as the tears fell down your face.

“Love, you have to tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it” he said kissing your head.

“It was…g-george” you cried.

“What about 𝘎𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦?” He said, his face suddenly becoming cold.

“He, he said I was an improper lady! And h-he was touching me Hal” you hiccuped.

Hals phase froze in anger and shock. George was in the room when Hal first threatened everyone about going near his wife. He made it very clear she was to be shown respect. George was one of his most trusted men. 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

“I’ll deal with him, this won’t happen again” he said kissing your hand.

You eventually lifted your head from his chest, as he wiped your tears from your cheeks.

“C-Can we go for a walk?” Your gentle voice asked.

“Of course, anything for you” Hal answered lifting her off his lap onto the ground, and taking her hand in his.

They walked the grounds talking about everything and anything, happy to be in each others company.

You hugged his side, yawning, suddenly becoming very tired.

“Do you want to retire” he said, his arm around your waist.

You only nodded in response, and you both headed back to your chambers.

He ordered the maids to run a bath for you, before kissing you softly, telling you he had something to take care of, and he’d be back later.

Around one hour later, you lay in the bath, the bubbles covering your naked body, and your eyes closed, enjoying the heat.

The door swung open to reveal your husband once more, but this time with blood on his hands.

“Hal?” Your little voice squeaked.

“It’s not my blood, I only took care of something that needed to be handled” he said sitting beside you, and giving you a kiss on the forehead.

You nodded, your eyes heavy as you leaned into his touch. You yearned to be in bed.

Hal caught onto this, and ordered the maids to help you prepare for bed, and get into your nightdress.

“What did you do to him, George I mean” you whispered, playing with your fingers.

Hal smiled before saying “I taught him a lesson” and giving you a long kiss, and bidding you goodnight.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭,

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯.

A/n

I hope you all enjoyed, I’ve been wanting to write for Hal for some time now so finally I did!!

#timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet #prince hal #king hal #henry v x reader #2024 #dune 2024 #paul atreides #timmy chalamet #the king 2019

[soupy-sez]

Prince, First Avenue, Minneapolis, June 7th, 1984, © Paul Natkin

#prince #prince rogers nelson #1980s #80s #music #pics #soupy's #paul natkin #minneapolis #minnesota

[thecinamonroe]

Marilyn Monroe at the premiere of “The Prince and the Showgirl”, 1957. Photo by Paul Slade.

#marilyn monroe #1950s #50s #1957 #vintage #retro #old hollywood #Old Hollywood glamour #paul slade #The Prince and The Showgirl

[smallearthboundfindings]

Anyway, I found these pictures in yet another strategy guide. Please enjoy them.

#mother series #earthbound #mother 2 #small earthbound findings #nintendo #paula jones #jeff andonuts #prince poo #tracy earthbound #tony earthbound #king earthbound #porky minch #picky minch #apple kid #orange kid #racheal earthbound #ness's mom #paul jones #isabella jones #aloysius minch #lardna minch #there are some more minor characters in there but ill post them later due to space #yes no ness #dont ask for ness #strangely he aint here

[sableeira]

rimlaine’s gay tension was too strong so they had to be separated into two different light novels. rimlaine’s gay tension was too strong so Rimbaud had to forget all his memories of Verlaine otherwise he would have continued his “I don’t need to fix him I can love him the way he is” campaign. rimlaine’s gay tension was too strong so by the time Verlaine realized his feelings, Rimbaud had to be dead because they would have been too powerful and insufferable together.

#something something ​doomed yaoi etc etc #100% lovers if the universe wasn’t out to get them. #rimlaine’s gay tension was too strong so they had to be stopped otherwise it would have led to apocalyptic levels of gayness in Yokohama #and Yokohama can’t even handle bsd average levels of gayness because that leads to shit like a dragon attack on Yokohama because SOMEONE. #needed to roleplay princess gets rescued by prince again…….. #rimlaine #bungou stray dogs #bsd stormbringer #bsd fifteen #bsd #paul verlaine #bsd verlaine #arthur rimbaud #bsd rimbaud

[bugcowboyart]

Is this not how Nona ended?

(And yes I ripped Kiriona’s sleeves off because I Couldn’t stand to draw sleeves that cover up her biceps)

Thanks to the Nona’s Birthday Party discord for the idea <3

#the locked tomb #barbie #tlt #nona spoilers #ianthe naberius #kiriona gaia #nona the ninth #Paul #paul the locked tomb #barbie movie #barbie movie memes #harrowhark nonagesimus #Nona #gideon nav #cw ianthe tridentarius #tower princes #the locked tomb spoilers #tlt spoilers #ntn spoilers

[joesquinns]

JOSEPH QUINN as PRINCE PAUL in Catherine The Great

#josephquinnedit #joequinnedit #jqedit #joseph quinn #joe quinn #catherine the great #prince paul #*

[fyeaheddiemunson]

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #jq #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #makeup #les mis #les miserables #catherine the great #dickensian #strike #enjolras #tom grant #howards end #prince paul #billy knight #arthur havisham #timewasters #ralph #leonard bast

[punk-in-docs]

Paul would 100% get Tsarevna pregnant again after she gives birth to 1st baby lol. Love your Paul stories. I literally read them everyday. He’s so underrated. I love their relationship.

(Thankyouuuu) Oh you are right on the money there babes. Those two will absolutely NOT stop with the reproducing. Those two will be at it like bunnies. (With a healthy dose of Paul being genuinely terrified whenever she goes into labour) these two are so disgustingly in love it’s obscene.

#punkwrites #i would die for this man #joseph quinn #thank you 💕💕💕 #thank you babe #eddie my boy #thank you so much !! #and prince paul #prince paul x reader #prince paul x oc #prince paul x tsarevna #prince paul fanfiction

[whumpypepsigal]

“I guess that's why we feel the need to hide away and protect ourselves. So we put on a mask. It's not hard to understand why. What's hard is knowing that sometimes... the mask is who you really are.”

#whumpedit #atlaedit #avatar the last airbender #atla #atla spoilers #whump #prince zuko #uncle iroh #dallas liu #paul sun hyung lee #exhaustion #head injury #angst #teary eyed #emotional whump #comfort #support #blankets #I LOVE SOFT MOMENTS LIKE THIS! #my gifs #1x06 #ngl this is my fav episode #the aang & zuko scenes + zuko and uncle iron scenes were just enjoyable to watch !love them! #oh ​zuko and uncle iroh are my two fav characters in this show

[cassie48]

|𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦|

King hal / Henry V x fem lady!reader

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𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭. 𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥, 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘢𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘎𝘰𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘱, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘺. 𝘏𝘦'𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬.

𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴. 𝘈𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘹. 𝘕𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘴 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘥.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘐𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘶𝘵. 𝘚𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗱𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲.

𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘏𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘆𝗼𝘂.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘴.

𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨.

"𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤" 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

"𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦" 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘷𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯.

"𝘉-𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴" 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

"𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦" 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥, 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦.

𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘵.

𝘌𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘺. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦.

#henry v x reader #prince hal x reader #the king netflix #timothee chalamet x reader #prince hal #timothée chalamet #king hal #timmy chalamet #paul atreides #dune part two

[kwistowee]

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

#josephquinnedit #joseph quinn #jqedit #prince paul #catherine the great #periodedit #userluke #userallisyn #useralii #usermaguire #userangelic #userfrodosam #user-lina #dailyflicks #userbbelcher #chewieblog #tvedit #cinemapix #userthing #my*gifs #josephquinncentral #this scene is SO yellow #this scene is so dark #that desaturated brownish filter is a shame because it obscures so much #why has this been in my drafts for so long?

[wh40kartwork]

Lion Vs Angron

by Paul Dainton

#imperium #chaos #khorne #battle #primarch #lion el'jonson #dark angels #world eaters #angron #daemon prince #dark imperium #warhammer #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #40k #paul dainton

[pedgito]

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