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Halloween Costume Headcanons| Madman!Lalo & Princesa

Pairing: Lalo Salamanca/Princesa (the reader insert character of @richeeduvie 's Madman!Au) Notes: I am not the author of Madman! But I do think about it a lot. More than a healthy person, for sure. Anyways, these are just my thoughts on couples costumes for Lalo and Princesa!

Lalo is not big on hosting parties or even going to them, especially not now that he has Princesa. But he does love to show her off, and a little Halloween party at the hacienda once a year is a perfect way to do that.

Neither of them did much to celebrate Halloween as kids, but seeing it in so many movies, Princesa always dreamed about having a perfect costume, of dressing like her favorite characters from the silver screen.

Obviously her relationship with her dad, and the way that he was, wasn’t one in which he would ever be buying her a costume or taking her out to trick-or-treat. Not to mention, they didn’t exactly live in a great neighborhood for it.

So dressing Princesa up for halloween and having a party– it’s another way that Lalo’s being a good papi for her. The man is a little obsessed with healing her inner child. In a way, he wants to overwrite all of that suffering from before she knew him– making her life with him perfect in a way it never could’ve been without him.

And of course, he’s never going to say no to an opportunity to buy her more clothes and jewelry.

When she brings up the idea of couple’s costumes, it’s something he hadn’t really thought much about. Dressing up is a little silly for him, no? Perfect for her, she’s just a sweet little thing who can look cute in anything. But him? 

He hadn’t intended to do any real dressing up at first, but of course he loves the idea of him and Princesa living basically within the context of each other. Makes him a little crazy– the thought that even when she’s playing a part, wearing a costume, that she needs him to be next to her– a part of the story. So it’s gonna be only couples costumes from here on out lol

And he still doesn’t want to look silly, so he’s not going to go too crazy with outfits and he’s not gonna wear no fuckin’ face paint or wigs. Besides, she thinks he’s perfectly handsome the way he is, no? Not gonna scare his girl by looking like a completely different guy.

Cowboy and Cow (Lalo)

This one is Lalo’s idea, through and through. His Princesa is just a sweet, cute, helpless little thing that needs to be herded around and kept safe, you know? Not to mention when her tears cling to her lashes when she cries, and her nose gets a little wet– just like a scared little vaca, no? 

His Princesa wears little cow ears, a cow print dress with a fluffy skirt and an apron, a little tail on the back. Most importantly: she’s got a collar with a little bell on it that he just can’t stop playing with. And he’s got a lasso around her waist that he holds onto all night long– like a freak. He likes to see her nearly stumble when he tugs on it. He did it because she was wandering too far.

The costume for Lalo is minimal. We all know he owns cowboy boots, he’s probably got a hat and a vest he can dig up, and plenty of jeans.

This costume is definitely making a comeback when his girl gets pregnant and she’s actually milkable.

Dracula and Mina (Princesa)

Princesa’s idea– very classic, and very classy. Lalo very graciously lets her color in just a smidge of widow’s peak for him and puts in some fangs. He’ll probably take them out almost instantly as soon as he feels them getting in the way of him talking.

You don’t want to know what the vintage nightgown cost. It’s authentic– off white with age, floor length, detailed with lace and ruffles. Lalo’s gonna tell everyone exactly how much it cost, with some teasing about how his Princesa has such exquisite taste.

“She’s got such a way of– of restoring them to their original beauty, no? Unbelievable,” he says with adoration and a kiss to the crown of her  head.

She and Lalo are the only ones who know that the bite mark is real.

And yeah, it’s Princesa’s idea. But let’s not pretend that Lalo has never thought about coming quietly into their room while she’s sleeping in a pretty nightgown and drinking her blood. In fact, he’s probably already done it– just not from her neck.

Morticia and Gomez (Princesa)

Principally Princesa’s idea, but Lalo likes it when she suggests it. He tries to hide it, but he likes enjoying her little romance movies with her. And he’ll admit to the similarities– Morticia and Gomez so in love that they’re seemingly on an endless honeymoon.

He will, however, insist on amending your dress to be less clinging. Something more shapeless, demure, cute. Not that he doesn’t want to see a dress like that on her, but assuming they’ll be at a party, he doesn’t want people seeing his girl like that.

Once again, a very minimal costume for Lalo. Just a pinstripe suit– he can tolerate that to see his Princesa so happy.

Hello Kitty and Dear Daniel (Princesa)

This is an “I’m sorry” type of costume. Like Lalo probably hugely jumped to some sort of conclusion (which is crazy because he’d never do that right lol) that wasn’t true, and his innocent gatita cried for it. So he’s giving her some more leeway with the halloween costume selection this year. 

Let’s be real, though. While he may not be thrilled about wearing the kitty ears and the tail and having a couple of whiskers drawn on, his Princesa is also wearing all of those things, which is something he didn’t know he needed. Those costume pieces are ending up in a drawer in the bedroom.

Cop and Robber (Lalo)

Lalo’s not ashamed to admit that he’s always thought he’d be hot in uniform. And he’s completely correct. And he knows his girl agrees.

This is also a great excuse to keep her handcuffed to him, which is something he probably thinks about doing every time she leaves the compound with him.

For all of the party guests, this is Lalo’s most insufferable costume. He’s constantly fake arresting people for literally any reason. And honestly– despite not being much of a costume guy, I can see him getting really into it in a very annoying way. Like he has a flashlight he’s shining directly into people’s eyes, and he’s sticking post-it note tickets onto people’s backs all night

Holly Golightly and Paul (Princesa) [Breakfast at Tiffany's]

This is the perfect costume for them. Because Lalo basically just has to wear regular clothes, while completely spoiling Princesa rotten with a beautiful vintage dress, gloves, shoes, and real vintage Tiffany jewelry pieces. And it’s just like at Eladio’s party when he took her– he brings her around to everyone so he can show her off, telling everyone to look at how completely radiant she is.

This is definitely one of those moments where Lalo is the most smug in his ability to provide for her, how well he knows her, and how perfectly suited for her he is. His cute little caterpillar, and with him he fed her, rested her, pleased her, and kept her safe so she could metamorphose into this beautiful angelic butterfly. Tonight, all eyes are on her for a moment, but he’s the only man in the world who’s seen deep inside her, felt the tender and fluttering pulse of her heart.

Nick and Nora Charles (Princesa) [The Thin Man]

We can’t have a Madman!Halloween without at least one couples costume featuring a cock with a mustache.

Once again, Lalo in a suit, and Princesa decked out in expensive vintage with her hair immaculately styled.

Lili and Paul (Princesa) [Lili]

Lili (1953) is one of those movies that I think gets to Lalo. He sees a lot of Princesa in Lili. A frightened, helpless girl left alone in the world by a dead father. She makes mistakes, doesn’t know what’s good for her. An adult but still very much naive, not able to see the meal the world wishes to make of her. And despite all of her misfortune, she has an endless font of sincerity that endears her to just about everyone.

And yet again, she’s in a lovely little vintage costume– a very modest and plain dress with a lacy collar and cuffs and a cute hat, while he just needs a button down shirt and some slacks.

And you know what? Lalo can keep a puppet on his hand for this. That's minimal enough.

Bonus!

These are my insanely unrealistic ideas that i cant let go of lol

Patrick Bateman and Jeanine (???) [American Psycho]

Not going to pretend this one is a realistic idea. Don’t think Lalo likes the idea of his girl watching that kind of thing. But you’ve gotta admit that Lalo would slay in a suit and a clear raincoat, face splattered with prop blood. All while he’s got his Princesa next to him in a pale pink sweater and pencil skirt.

And once again, the relationship parallels. A sociopathic murderer and the innocent girl who cares too much about him. The big difference is that Jean’s genuine nature saves her from Patrick, but Princesa’s made it so she’d never be safe from Lalo.

Quentin and Leaven (???) [Cube]

Just want you to think about Lalo as Quentin, Princesa as Leaven, and Nacho as Worth. That’s all.

King Arthur and Guinevere (Princesa)

Just want you to think about Lalo as Arthur, Princesa and Guinevere, and Nacho as Lancelot. That’s all.

[bizarrebaby]

I know you’ve touched on Lalo seeing Princesa’s favorite old movie stars (and how she clearly has a type and it’s cock with mustache lmao) and just like. It’s a good thing Princesa likes old movies and these actors are already dead lol imagine if Princesa was fawning over like. Pedro Pascal. Man would be in danger!!!

Anyways, I like to imagine that Princesa likes lots of romantic movies with heartthrob stars— Tom Conway, Errol Flynn, Cary Grant, Peter O’toole— and at first it makes Lalo a little jealous because of course it does. Lalo is the type of dude who won’t buy Princesa Frosted Flakes bc why does she need some buff tiger man on her cereal. Could see her reading the very hungry caterpillar and be mad she’s reading abt other men. She’s like “you’re the handsomest man I know” and he’s like “you know other men???”

But then one day Princesa says something that totally changes his whole perception of it.

“You know, I used to put on this movie and dream of being just like her. A handsome man showing up out of nowhere and sweeping me away somewhere… and my dream came true.”

“ I used to depend so much on these movies because… they kept me company. While I was waiting for you to find me— for us to meet, you know?”

And then it’s like Lalo can’t bring himself to hate all these ancient gringos from the movies. Because he knows little Princesa was so lonely and just as needy as she is now— but she didn’t have anyone (once again his hands are always flexing when he thinks about poor little girl Princesa). So they kept her company while she was waiting on her guy, yeah? They’re not so bad. And now, she doesn’t even need them anymore. But he’ll still keep buying her movies. It’s good that she has something to do that can keep her inside.

Also— I think Lalo is so in love with Princesa (love is what we’re calling it to be nice lol) that he definitely thinks they’re like a fated pair and he’s basically the only man in the entire world who can give her what she needs, so their meeting was like destiny. And to hear that she kinda thinks the same way— that her life up until Lalo was her waiting for Lalo? That makes him so happy it’s almost sick. And he’s definitely bringing it up when they fuck (cough cough make love) for the next eternity.

I think it helps Lalo's jealousy that her old hollywood stars always end up looking at him or exist in his image. Suave man with a mustache, cock with a mustache. I think it also gets at him cause he hates to think he's believing Princesa is made for him and they're soulmates - it's so weak of a thought for a big, strong man like him to have. You know, the way he thinks of himself. But him thinking that while Princesa's attraction to him was based on her childhood crushes. But I love this!

The idea of Lalo being cautious of the Frosted Flakes Tiger cause he's ripped has me cracking up though. Tony's got some chesticles idk what to say-

"You know...it was just that I used to put on this movie and dream of being just like her. I know it's childish...which is fair, I guess. I was a little girl. But I would just think about someone coming, someone kind and...everything, and they'd take me away, even if it was just for day. I think it happened, it came true, maybe."

She sniffles. Even after all this time, Princesa can't meet Lalo's eyes when she talks like this in his arms.

"They kept me company, I didn't really have a way with making friends. For the most part. But then I grew up and they were still company - noise, while I was waiting for us to...meet, you know?"

Lalo stares down at her.

There is no possible way that they didn't make love that night.

The thought thrives in Lalo's head, that they are meant to be. She's made for him, and all of his life up until he met her was to make sure that he'd be able to take care of you. He wouldn't exactly say it, the words would make him too open, weak in the head and arms. But he feels it and his ego, his delusion in his obsession revels at Princesa's words. She's braver than him to say it.

Then the way little Princesa was alone as a little girl that takes up space in his head. She's so needy now, he's gotta think a child that needs a mama and papa and friends would be even needier, but she didn't have anyone to come and save her...no good papa and no mama at all, and all she had were movies to keep her company?

Yeah, not a good thought.

"Now you don't need these movies anymore, no? Just me?"

"...Lalo."

"Just saying."

[bizarrebaby]

Pillowcases | Lalo Salamanca/Reader

Pairing: Madman!Lalo Salamanca/Reader Warnings: NSFT. Lalo is a straight up freak in this. Blood kink EXTREME. Unsanitary. Summary: The dry season has hit Mexico, and it's not doing you any favors. Three times you get a nosebleed around Lalo-- and what he's gonna do about it. Notes: The Madman!AU belongs to @richeeduvie (let me know if you want me to stop tagging you every time I rip off your content lol). This contains references to Madman but can be read as a separate thing.

1– You lean forward a little too suddenly for Lalo’s liking, hand cupping the bottom half of your face. He’s caught in a trance for just a moment, seeing the red drip between your fingers and onto the ceramic floor with a quiet plat plat. He grabs some tissues from the box on the coffee table, his free hand finding the small of your back.

“Ai, pobrecita– it’s the dry season now, baby. You must not be used to it, huh?” Lalo brings the tissues up to your face.

He helps you over to the sink so you can remove your hand, the pooled blood splattering against the steel. He can’t help the anger that simmers in his gut as you turn on the sink, and the blood swirls with water down the drain. Part of his princesa, lost.

Lalo cups your chin, turning you to face him. He presses his lips to yours, pulling the red tissues away. He licks the blood from your lips.

“Lalo!” you gasp. He laughs, low in his throat, wiping his thumb above your lip.

“Look at that, princesa. Your nose stopped bleeding, hm?” a calm covers his voice. Disappointment? You’re not sure.

“I-I don’t think it’s good for you to lick that stuff,” you confess quietly. “It’s not, uhm… I don’t know, sanitary? I think…” 

Lalo grabs a paper towel and wets it under the sink just barely, wiping at the blood drying on your face, his other hand around your waist to keep you close. He laughs at how you scrunch your nose at the sensation of the cold water.

“You don’t sound so sure about that, pretty girl. And besides– how could it be bad? la sangre de la mujer que amo? Don’t worry so much, princesa.”

2– Lalo feels like such an old fuck, falling asleep for once. Maybe dozing is the better term. He groans, stretching out as he sits up. Today was one of those days that he wanted to get a good look at his girl before he went back to holding her.

Red fills his vision.

A large stain under your face, a few reddish streaks around from when you’d moved in the night. He watches as another rivulet of blood rolls down your cupid’s bow, joining the rest. Lalo knows it can’t be good for you, but before he can stop himself, he’s kissing just above your lip. The blood fills the gap between his lips before finding its way into his mouth and onto his tongue.

He groans like a sick fuck, feeling the taste of copper force his own bloodflow elsewhere.

It’ll be fine as long as he cooks you a big breakfast, yeah? Something with steak.

Like a man possessed, Lalo finds himself undoing his pants, pushing up your shirt (really one of his, now complete with your signature red on the collar from your tossing and turning). He reaches down to feel you bare cunt– his sweet little pussy– just about as warm and sticky as the blood flowing down his throat from you. Lalo pulls out his cock and rubs it against you gently, smiling beneath the red when he feels your arousal coating him. Never took much with you, did it? Not when it was him. And god help the world if it was ever someone else.

He parts from your stream of elixir vitae just in time to see you blink. His sleepy princesa, dazed and staring at him from beneath her lashes. You whine at the taste of yourself, eyesight focusing as Lalo’s tongue pokes out of his mouth to catch some of your blood from the corner of his lips.

“Still sleepy? Poor princesa. Don’t worry– Papi’s taking care of it, huh? His girl’s just too sweet. Qué hermoso y jodido lío de sangre.”

Your cheek is blushed and ruddy from laying against the pillow as you bled. Lalo dives back down to press his lips to yours, licking into your mouth as the blood drips in. Your faces must be patterned with the same rorschach by now. One of his hands pins your thigh back as he pushes himself into you– always so fucking warm and ready for him, he never wants to leave.

You twist your head as the taste and heat becomes too much, but his free hand grips your chin to keep you in place. His sweet girl wouldn’t leave, would she? Not when he still has to clean her up. Sick. No one else can have her this way. Esta dulce sangre es toda mía.

Your moans are muffled by his mouth. Lalo’s hips snap into yours, not nearly as gentle as he usually is this early in the morning. He wants to get as deep as he can. His cock pulses as he remembers the state of the sheets after he took you for the first time. Lalo wants your azoth, his libation, to keep flowing. He’ll pray at your altar for as long as he has to.

You curl up, face drawn in as little hot breaths escape your lips. Poor princesa. His sweet girl is just so sensitive under him, he can’t help but want to push her. So cute.

Yeah, he’s not gonna last, try as he might to make this go one forever. He slaps your cunt, leaning up and spitting where your bodies meet so he can see some of your red coating him. Lalo’s thumb finds a steady pace against your clit that has you mewling.

“Fuck, so good for Papi, hm? Be a good princesita, cum all over my cock. Déjame pintar tus entrañas, princesa.”

You don’t hold yourself back with Lalo, not unless he’s telling you to. When you cum, he sighs like this is what his whole life has been leading up to. Maybe it is. He keeps his thumb on you until you start to sob, and he can’t stop himself, not when the sound of his girl being all helpless and needing him fucking chars his heart an awful black.

Lalo fills you like it’s what he was born to do, growling like a rutting wolf on top of you. Between the sobbing, the blood, and the sounds he makes– an outsider looking in might think he was killing you.

You sniffle, and what must be love makes his chest heavy, like his ribs are going to crack.

Lalo cups your cheek while his other hand goes beneath you, pulling you up so he can hold you, chest to chest. So early in the day and you’ve already had so much more than you can handle, huh? Good thing your guy doesn’t have anywhere to be today. Nowhere but your side, where he should be.

“There, baby. Está bien, princesita. Your guy just couldn’t help himself, you know? Seeing you looking so pretty like that. Goteando y rojo…”

“I… I f-feel like such a mess, Lalo.” The first thing you say to him this morning, and it’s that. But he can’t be mad, he did make a fucking mess of you.

“You’re still my pretty girl, princesa. I’ll run you a bath… cook you something good, huh? Don’t worry. You got me to do all of the worrying for you.” Lalo rubs your back as you start to quiet and calm again. Maybe he’ll get you back into bed after you’ve had something to eat. And after he changes your pillowcase.

3- You pad down the stairs near silently. It’s the middle of the night, and Lalo’s on the couch, taking a phone call. If you were in a better mood, you might’ve found it funny how quickly he whipped his head around when he heard you sniffle.

“Call me back tomorrow, yeah?” he says, not waiting for a response before shutting and tossing his phone to the side. Blood is dripping down your face in two telltale tracks, over your lips and down your chin. A large crimson stain blooms from the collar of the shirt you’re sleeping in– one of his plain whites (which he’s surprised he owns). Tears drip down your cheeks, making a wet shine on the skin of your neck. 

Lalo’s heart and cock swell so much and so quickly that he should’ve passed out.

“Ai– come here, sweet girl,” he coos, beckoning you into his lap. You perch on his thigh easily, naturally, but avoid curling up into him the way he knows you want to. He’s not having that.

Lalo pulls you into his embrace. He wouldn’t be in the business he was if he cared about blood on his shirt. And the fact that it’s yours…

“Another nosebleed, huh, princesa? Poor baby… Why the tears, hm? You know your guy doesn’t care if you make a mess, mi pequeña niña sangrienta.” He brushes some hair away from your face so he can see his pretty girl.

“This, i-it keeps happening, and I keep ruining your things… you’ve had to get so many new pillowcases for me, Lalo.” He tries to keep his amusement to himself– at the fact that you think that could possibly bother him. Especially when he’s kept each and every one of the things you’ve ‘ruined’. Ai– but he knows you’re so sensitive. Laughter from him would bring more tears. Not that he minds those, but his princesa needs to calm down so he can clean her up and tuck her back into bed.

“To be honest, princesa… I just can’t bring myself to care about those things you ruin. And my sweet girl, she can’t help being so sensitive to the dry air, hm? You can’t help it, baby, Papi knows you can’t.”

Lalo kisses your cheeks, wiping away some of the tears, tasking them. Because when he tells himself that he’s a man of great restraint when it comes to you, it’s a lie. He nearly purrs what he says next.

“And Papi is so proud of you for coming to him, princesita. I know you get a little stupid when I’m not around– getting stuck in your head, thinking you don’t need your guy. But you came to me this time, no? I’ve got you. Your guy is gonna take care of his sweet, bleeding girl.”

As much as Lalo would like to see you bleed some more, he can see the tiredness in your eyes. And these nosebleeds are getting a little excessive– he’s worried you might start running out, not that he would ever mind giving you some of his. He grabs a tissue from the box on the table by the couch, pinching your nose with it. Your brows draw together in discomfort, huffing gentle little metallic breaths through your mouth. His other hand spreads your legs, leading you to mindlessly straddle his thigh. He knows what his girl needs.

“Papi,” you murmur, your voice a little funny from your covered nose. Lalo slowly pulls the tissue away, setting it on the table once he sees the bloodflow has stopped.

“There, see? You’re fine, pretty girl… Just a little red, that’s all.” His hand on your hip guides you to start rocking yourself against his thigh. Got him feeling a little nostalgic, you know? He remembers the first time you used him to make yourself cum, and him thinking it had to be a trick. His sneaky girl, just trying to distract him from all of the lying she did back then. That was before Lalo knew just how helpless and sweet you really were. He finds it harder and harder to believe such a time existed as the days go on.

You mewl, hiding your face in his neck as you take what you need from him. The way you should. His hand flexes, squeezing your hip, helping you quicken the pace just a little. He loves you in his lap like this, but he likes seeing you at peace in bed even more, especially this late. Lalo’s free hand drifts, this thumb settling on your clit, feeling your wetness cling to his finger through the thin cotton.

Your moans get pitchy– his girl is so tired, so overwhelmed. Needs to be held and pleasured, or she just can’t relax. Lalo chooses not to think about the sleepless nights you suffered through before he met you.

Your orgasm hits you in a way that makes a shiver run up your body, your panties and Lalo’s jeans sticky with the evidence in a way he’ll never fucking get tired of. He wants to wear your clear on his jeans for the rest of his life.

You settle against him, like a good girl, and that’s how he knows you’re ready to go back upstairs in his arms. If you never wanted to walk again, he’d be fine with that. Lalo sets you down on the bed, leaving for a few moments to grab a washcloth and wet it with some warm water. The room is dark, but he’s worked in less ideal conditions.

You hear the soft sound of rustling fabric as Lalo undoes the buttons on the shirt your wearing, tenderly shrugging it off of your shoulders before tossing it aside. He wipes at your face and chest with the washcloth. You blink slow at Lalo, and his hands burn for every second he has to keep you awake. He picks a new shirt out of the closet, dressing you like a doll. Pulls your panties off, stuffing them shamelessly in his back pocket. He’d keep you naked, but he knows his sensitive girl gets cold at night.

Lalo doesn’t wipe the slick from between your legs for the same reason he doesn’t put a new pair of underwear on you. He swaps your pillow for his– it’s not like he’s using it. And he’d rest his head on hot coals if it meant his princesa was comfortable. He’ll rescue your old pillowcase tomorrow. A kiss lands on your temple as you’re laid back, comforter tugged over you. 

“Mi niña bonita y dormida,” Lalo says to the darkness. He sighs, laying himself beside you, pulling you against him. You sleep better that way, and he likes having something soft and warm to hold onto.

[bizarrebaby]

reblog to reblog from the person you reblogged from

[bizarrebaby]

I imagine it’s almost impossible for Lalo to get emotional during a movie, but the closest he gets is when there’s a little girl in a movie that’s crying and scared and alone. Alice in wonderland got to him just a little. Pan’s labyrinth DESTROYED this man inside.

Because every time he sees a little girl crying and scared he thinks of princesa when she called him on the night he killed her father. And he thinks of how many times princesa must have cried as a little girl, all alone and scared, before she grew up and Lalo found her. Before he even knew she existed. And it makes Lalo burn. He wants to dig up her father and kill him again 1000 different ways, but it still wouldn’t be enough.

This is Not for Tears - blurb

You catch Lalo almost crying at the movie you're watching. You don't know why. anon ily and ur thinking, everything comes back to Princesa lets be fr.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

It's a harsh scene, but you're also thinking on how good of an actress that little girl is. She's crying, eyes squeezing shut and there's just something different, something more of a heartbreaking when a child cries - especially her, she's alone in the story now.

"Please, I'm sorry! Come back!"

You swallow, letting your head fall to Lalo's shoulder, arm locked with his.

You pride yourself, as stupid as it is, that you can really focus when it comes to film and TV, but the grip of Lalo's hand on his knee catches your eye.

But it's his eyes, the tensity that burns into the screen.

"Lalo?"

It's like he could break his jeans with the hold of his palm, the pulsing of his fingers.

"Are you okay?"

Lalo takes in a breath he doesn't let go. He doesn't share the air with you...almost like its wrong to breathe when he's angry like this.

"...This is a bad movie."

You blink, sitting back up. "What?"

He sniffs harshly, straightening out his body against the couch. "Why are they making this niñita cry like this?"

"Because...she - or the character...she's going through a lot. She just got lost in the la-"

"It's a bad movie, Princesa. Little girls shouldn't cry like that."

...You don't know what to do, you barely know what to think when it comes to what Lalo must be feeling. You sniffle.

"It is sad."

Lalo huffs before he shakes his head once.

"No kidding."

In the dark, it's almost impossible to see everything that makes up Lalo's face right now - but when the screen flashes bright, you see a...dewiness on the edge of his waterlines.

Like he's about to cry.

But that can't be it. Lalo doesn't cry. Not over movies, anyway - but you've never seen him cry before.

And you know him, you know you shouldn't mention it at all.

Lalo sniffs again.

"Lalo? Is it really that sad-"

"What kind of people think of a story where there's a niñita crying throughout half of it, huh? What kind of sick mind is that?"

You swallow again.

"I don't know, when I was little - I used to write things like that, before I realized I liked drawing better. But I know, it is a lot."

You sniffle again. Lalo turns to you, turns to stare into your eyes before getting up. You pause the movie to get up with him. He wipes his nose.

"It's just...it's not no story that should be real."

His body takes you to the kitchen, Lalo opens the fridge to take out two beers. Not for one for him and one for you, both to share one bottle.

"You want your slice of cake?"

From the other day when you were craving cake.

"Now?"

"...You want your slice."

Lalo takes it out to put it on the table. You sit down.

"You and me can watch some late night TV later. But Princesa, you..."

Lalo smiles, head tilting to the side and tilting low. He pinches your nose, holding it for five seconds or so.

"I what?"

There's nothing on his face before he smiles, off to grab a fork. He comes back to sit at your side, pulling his chair so close. The air between the both of you is little, but it tickles.

He takes a piece of the cake over on the fork, you know to open your mouth.

"Nothing."

And you believe him for the cake slice and the two beers, then the third. Then the fourth.

The fifth is where you can only bare focus to the hilarity of the TV, choking on giggles against Lalo's chest. The fifth is where he spills, even though you don't really know it.

"I did have a hard life when I was a boy. I didn't think nothing of it. Still don't." Lalo coughs and rubs your back, a soothing motion you curl into. He's got warm hands. "But little Princesa had a hard life too. Hard, hard life."

He says it into your hair, you feel the rumble of his chest, the coarseness of his goatee.

"You tell me things about you as a little girl, sweet girl...and you laugh on it. You don't think I think about it. Hm?"

He taps on your spine. You don't know if he wants to respond to whatever he's saying. But he's...calm. Sure of his words. They're low.

You blink into his chest, fingers curling over his shirt.

"I don't think you know that I would do what I did to your papa over and over again."

You don't know whatever he sees you don't know. You believe him. You smile warm when he kisses your hair and wraps his arms around you tighter.

"You don't know."

"Mhm."

You can't help but smile even wider when Lalo kisses you one more time under a pause in the dark.

[bizarrebaby]

Backstitch | Nacho Varga/Reader

Pairing: Nacho/Reader Warnings: none. its a little spicy. Summary: Nacho is helping you learn how to sew.

“You’ve got the bobbin the wrong way around,” Nacho remarks evenly, having to suppress the urge to just quickly put it right for you. You’re supposed to be learning. 

“It matters?” You mutter, taking it out from the bed of the machine and turning it around. You pout when you concentrate— it’s cute. 

“Yes it matters, chiquita. Direction is everything in sewing.” Anyone else might not be able to see the subtle smile playing on his lips. You smile back. 

“Sorry— I must not be a very good student, huh?”

“Nah,” he scoffs, “you’re quick. Pretty soon you won’t need me anymore…. And even if you weren’t, I don’t mind,” he hums with a quick kiss to your temple. “It’s nice, you know? Having someone to teach this to.”

Nacho takes a lot of pride in the skill he has with his hands. You know that all too well. But he can really talk to cartel guys about fucking sewing. He’s been getting shit about that since he was a kid. 

“You think if things had been a little different… if you’d never been a part of the game. You would’ve wanted to take over the family business?” He mulls it over, like he’s done lots of times before. 

“Whether I wanted to or not— it’s what I would’ve done. It’s what you do, as a son. I dunno.”

“Well, if we still met in that world, I would’ve been happy to do it with you. Not that I’d be any good at leatherwork— I can barely handle linen,” you snort, laying another set of sewn squares onto your little pile of imperfect puzzle pieces. Ignacio stares at you for what feels like forever, and not long enough at all. 

“You got a good eye, though. You know colors,” he says a little lamely, quick to speak up again when you start to laugh. “I mean it! What was that color you said my shirt was the other day?”

“Prussian blue,” you say with your teeth showing through your smile. 

“See? I don’t know shit like that… you would’ve been great. Would’ve made my papà so proud.” You take your foot off of the pedal of the machine, turning to kiss him. He meets you, suddenly open mouthed and hungry after a few moments against your lips. You push him to lie back on the couch. 

Nacho smiles, sparks in his eyes and running through his hands as he moves them over your body. “Ai— what about your quilt?”

“We live in fucking New Mexico. The quilt can wait.”

[bizarrebaby]

Lobita | Lalo Salamanca/Reader

Pairing: Lalo Salamanca/Reader (third person, female pronouns) Warnings: blood, somewhat graphic violence, NSFT. Usual Lalo warnings lol Summary: You and Lalo are on the road back to Mexico. Back home. But long car rides are never uneventful with Lalo, are they?

Author's notes: This is basically all for @richeeduvie who has BEWITCHED me with her writing for all the BCS characters. This was based pretty heavily on Lalo and Princesa in Madman, but I gave her a different pet name to differentiate because I wanted to make her a little more unhinged and violent, even if she's still Lalo's helpless sweet girl <3

They’d been caught off guard. No use in denying it– it happens to everyone. It’s been one of those long, quiet drives between New Mexico and, well, Old Mexico. Just Lalo and his girl (the way it should be, no?) and nothing around for miles except for an old farm or the remains of some abandoned building in the desert. He keeps one hand on the wheel, relaxed for the stretch of lonely road, a hand on her thigh so she can play with his fingers– a way to keep those silly little thoughts out of her head during the silence. He hates to put an end to her focus.

“Ai– gonna pull over, querida,” he hums, turning over his hand so he can loosely squeeze hers for a moment. “Been on the road for a while– gotta stretch those beautiful legs of yours, hm? Asegúrate de ser amable y flexible. And– not to be crude– but your guy’s gotta take a piss, cariño.” She hums in response, a little tired. Just how he likes her.

He stops by one of those old buildings, nice and gentle. He’d hate to jolt his girl when she’s just gotten so relaxed. He unbuckles himself, then her. “C’mon, mi pequeña niña dormida, let’s go for a little walk.” She rubs at her eyes as she nods, fuck, does she have any idea what that can do to a guy? You would think she does, seeing as she does cute shit like that all the time.

He opens the door to help her out, holding her hand for a bit while she stretches and yawns like a gatita. His little kitty. But he’s gotta stop thinking about pussies, or he’s not gonna last the drive home without being all over her. She just walks and twirls a little, loosening up while he undoes his belt to take care of things. The side of this building sure as fuck isn’t gonna mind.

Night has fallen over the desert, but the headlights of his car are on. His eyes adjust quickly anyways. But not before some boar of a guy tackles him to the ground– the fuck?

They must’ve been hiding out. Waiting for him– must’ve scouted out his way home fucking good to catch him off guard. No car around, either– guess they were dropped off. But they’re not getting picked up, that’s for damned sure. Lalo’s blood runs hot when he hears his querida’s muffled cries, the fabric rustling as she thrashes and kicks. He’s just barely able to see past his own assailant to witness a knife flick open as he covers her mouth with his free hand.

With all of her twisting and squirming, one of his fingers finds its way into her open mouth. He’s gonna wind up wishing he’d never been born, hijo de puta, for invading his girl– his pequeña querida that way.

And then her teeth find their way into that sacred space, where tendon and cartilage separate bone from bone. And they sever.

Hot red fills her mouth while the attacker staggers– she’s able to pull from him and grab the knife from his hold, slicing open her palm in the process. By some miracle, fumbling and bleeding in the dark, she’s able to pass the knife to her other hand and push herself forward just enough to plunge it into the back of el cerdo on top of him before she’s grabbed again. The bastard howls alongside his friend. A symphony of pain to Lalo’s ears, and they grant the few precious moments he needs to reach into the holster at his side and start unloading point blank into the sternum of the man on top of him.

Lalo rolls him off into the dirt as he becomes a corpse, training his sights on the man with his arm around her neck, cursing you with insults she can’t understand, but that he’ll regret. He squeezes the trigger when she pulls him into the blinding beams of the headlights, granting Lalo a clean shot into his shoulder. She shrugs him off and scrambles the few feet it takes to get to Lalo’s side, an arm around her waist to greet her as he unloads a few more bullets into the guy.

Why couldn’t Nacho have been third wheeling them, for once? He’s not gonna wrestle this guy into his car for further interrogation. Not when his girl is needing him. He squeezes her hip. 

She spits out the finger. And a healthy amount of blood. Well, not healthy for the guy it came from. 

Tears spring to her eyes as their minute-long battle draws to a close. She curls into him, like always, and sniffles against his shirt. She tries to pull away after a moment, gasping as Lalo keeps her close. No, you’re not leaving. Not when you need me, poor little thing.

“Lalo, I-I’m sorry– the blood– I’m getting it a-all–” Of course his sweet girl is worrying about making a mess at a time like this. So silly.

“Ai, querida– I have a closet full of these. But there’s only one of you, pretty girl. Which one you think I’m concerned about, hm?” He’s able to say with a smile. His smile drops when he feels the blood continue to soak  his side, and he remembers her palm. He peels it off of himself so he can take a look, and she peeks from his shoulder, eyes shiny with tears. Poor little querida. He scoops her up so he can take her back to the car. Fuck, his pants are still undone. He hears a quiet little sniffle against his neck, and it makes the blood surge so hard he can feel his own pulse.

He sits her down in the passenger side, pulling the first aid shit from the glove box. Never hurts to be prepared, huh? He kisses her palm, and can’t help himself from licking it once or twice to clean her up. He pulls open the gauze packet with his teeth before wrapping it around her cut. He glances up to see the drying blood around her mouth. 

Lalo feels heat rise and burn in his chest at the thought of her consuming a part of another man. Of drinking something made by someone other than him. His blood is hers the same way her blood is his.

He wipes away the blood with his thumb. Her tears make it easy. He shushes her, leaning up to kiss her cheeks and taste her salt. “I have myself a little wolf girl, huh? Una lobita. Tearing into people for me, Dios mio… You know how to make a guy feel special, huh, querida?” Her tears slow with her bleeding.

Lalo sighs, pulling her into his lap as he takes her place in the car seat. He holds her so they’re chest to chest. His heart thrums as he feels the tiny little kisses being placed on his jaw. His pretty girl starts to rub herself on him, the way she’s so used to. Her skirt rides up, one hand on her hip to help her along while the other strokes her hair. Just needs her guy to take her mind off of things, hm? He’ll let her use him whenever and however she pleases.

He’d fuck her now, but he wants to stay alert. And besides, she deserves a real bed, their bed, to be under her the next time they make love. Making love. He’d never been able to bring himself to call it that before her. Didn’t feel right. But with his girl that’s the only thing it can be. He coos at her.

“That’s right, gatita… Just use your guy. Take what you need, hm? Papi’s got you, baby. I’ve got you.” The fabric of his jeans catches on her clit, just like always, making her mewl and whine in a way that nearly forces a growl out of him.

“Lalo, I– Papi– I’m gonna cum,” she confesses quietly into the fabric of his collar, as if she were afraid that anyone but him would hear.

“Go ahead, querida. Take what you need. Get yourself nice and relaxed. Cum on me, sweet girl.”

With a shiver and a sharp inhale, she does, like such a good girl, it makes Lalo’s hand flex against her hip. She goes more or less limp against him. He waits a few moments before pulling her out of his lap. He swears he can see her wetness string from the cotton of her panties to his jeans. He smoothes out her skirt, kissing her forehead before buckling her up. He does his own pants back up after he closes her door, walking around to the other side to get in. For a second, he sees the finger on the ground and thinks of taking it. His lobita’s first trophy.

He eyes the bodies in the dust without much thought. He’ll call someone once she’s asleep– get someone to come here and check it out. He starts to pull back onto the road, giving his hand to querida for her to hold.

“Lalo, will we be home soon?”

Home. Her home. Their home. Seems a little empty with just the two of them, but he’ll fix that soon.

“Before you know it, querida. Just close your eyes. You’ll dream a good dream for me, no?”

[bizarrebaby]

Sylvian Weave | Pt. 3

Pairing: Gale/Tav Ao3 Link Summary: Astarion is in the mix and he's stirring it up as usual Warnings: again. Fear & Hunger material heehee

“So, where did you learn your skills with the blade? I’ll readily admit I was never so attuned to the physical arts— most people inclined to magic aren’t— so I find it quite impressive that you can hold your own with either,” Gale says in a jovial, complimentary tone. 

No better time than looting one’s enemies to engage in a bit of bonding.  Gale spies Astarion from the corner of his view, rolling his eyes at what he perceives as a blatant attempt at sucking up to Tav. 

Truly, though, it was a little terrifying when Tav used a sword near the end of the day, as this often meant she had little remaining mental fortitude to speak of. 

“Swords? Oh, uhm… From an old boyfriend. Boyfriends, actually. And a girlfriend. Wait— those aren’t…..” she withdraws to think on it further for a few seconds, tapping her blade in the dirt as she considers her next words. “Party members! That’s a better term. I learned it from my old party members,” she said with a shrug and a smile as if her response hadn’t caused more questions than it had provided answers to. She sheathes her sword, beginning to walk on, their combat diversion at an end. Astarion quickens his pace a bit to catch up with her, walking at her side. 

“Tav, you dog,” he teases, a pretend scandalized tone coloring his words, “Just how many paramours did you have at once within your last group? I certainly hope you don’t intend to attempt the same maneuver with our little band of murderers,” he says with a playful smirk. Gale hurriedly put away the scroll he’d picked from a fallen foe, coming to walk abreast with the two of them. 

“I wouldn’t say ‘paramours’ is exactly accurate… There was a degree of love involved, with some more than others, but it was complicated. And highly circumstantial. With the way things are here, I doubt the same could happen. But never say never, I guess!”

“So you…. Wouldn’t say your preference is to take more than one lover at a time, then?” Gale supposes gently, casually, hoping that his own fragility isn’t plain on his voice. But it certainly is— to Astarion, at least. The wizard fusses with tucking his hair out of the way like a schoolgirl. 

“Why do you ask, Gale? Afraid of a little more-than-friendly competition?” The vampire goads. Gale almost breathes a sigh of relief when Tav more or less ignores Astarion’s ribbing. 

“No, it’s certainly not my preference. I’m not against the idea— I just don’t think it’s for me. I’d like to give my attentions to one person, and vice versa. I don’t think I really have the social fortitude to handle having more than one true love…” Gale stares at her intently at her mention of true love. Could it be that she had the same desires as him when it came to looking for companionship? The look in his eyes is sickening to Astarion, that much is for certain.

“Darling, you were telling me about that Sylvian the other night– shouldn’t a devotee to the god of sex be a little more giving with their affections? Not to mention all those parties you spoke of with those masks,” he smiles like a devil– No offense to Wyll, of course– as Gale’s face pales at his words.

“I told you I only did that once! And it was only with– you know what? You’re not tricking me into telling this story again,” she humphs, turning away with her nose up. Astarion laughs heartily, throwing his head back, tossing his alabaster curls with a delicate touch to the chest.

“Oh please, darling, I’m begging you to tell it again. If only to see the look on the wizard’s face.”

Gale closes his eyes for just a moment to collect himself. He remembers the way she held his shoulders when she whispered in his ears. The thrumming in his ears as his heart filled to burst with singing blood. The ambrosia– the ichor that Mystra once denied him. He feels divine. He straightens himself out.

“While I always endeavor to deliver nothing but the finest of entertainment to our traveling companions, I think you should save that story for later tonight. For when we talk at my tent, after dinner? I’ll provide the wine, you can provide the riveting tales of your exploits in faraway lands.” He quickens his pace just a tad to go on ahead before he completely loses all that bravado he was able to build. 

Karlach waves at him from the tree she found herself under. She was still so unable to get over just how bright and beautiful the surface could be after all that time down in the pits. She smiles, wide as  ever.

“I heard you back there, wizard. Getting some tonight, aren’t you?”

[bizarrebaby]

Sylvian Weave | Pt 2

Pairing: Gale/Tav Ao3 Link Summary: Gale and Mystra talk about you heehee Warnings: Once again Tav being freaky

“Cavorting with a dark priestess. You do poorly to refute the expectation that an interest in netherese magic leads to ruin, Gale of Waterdeep.”

“Excuse me— I don’t recall prostrating myself at a statue and begging for an audience with you. So I’ll have to ask— to what do I owe the pleasure, Mystra?”

“I come to warn you, my former chosen,” she says with an acrid bite to her chosen words, “before you once again meddle with ancient arts that have irreversible consequences. Or have you already forgotten the orb?”

Gale shifts his stance, a million oft-reviewed retorts dancing on his lips, none of them able to find purchase on his tongue. What he manages to spit out holds none of the steadiness and composure he wants it to. 

“You don’t know a thing about her. Perhaps you feel threatened, is that it? Her telling me the truth— that some gods can be slain, that ascension is possible.”

“And did you ever stop to ask what she did to obtain such knowledge? She has indulged in acts you cannot imagine. She’s been brought low— to depths that devolved her to little more than animal. The kind of depths one cannot return from.”

Gale huffs. He can’t pretend he doesn’t wonder about her own pursuits of knowledge. Their conversations are often dominated by his own needs, his own miseries— in reality, he knows so little of her despite how much he’s come to depend on her. He finds it harder by the day to ignore how haunted she is— his greatest wish is to give her just a fraction of the comfort she’s given him. 

She meticulously scouts their camping grounds before they settle. She always takes first watch, but barely ever closes both eyes even when it’s her turn to rest. He often cooks the camp their meals, he’s always enjoyed cooking and it brings him comfort to be useful. But she is the one meticulously carrying every shred of food they can find, keeping a detailed mental inventory of how much they have and of what, an internal calendar of what will spoil when. The only time he had ever seen Shadowheart nearly outraged rather than simply vexed was when she forced Tav to give up her growing stash of rotten meat. Thanks to Tav, they had always been well fed with an unprecedented excess of supplies, which made it all the more perplexing when she nearly broke down in tears at the notion of throwing away things that weren’t fit for even Scratch to consume. 

She didn’t flinch when informed that the meat on the spit in the goblin camp was from a dwarf. She stared at it for a long time before leaving when they looted the cleared area the next day. 

The calling of ravens makes her twitch. 

“She’ll tell me in due time. I’ve no intention of forcing her to reveal such sensitive information as her past traumas even a moment before she trusts them to me implicitly. And unlike you, I don’t feel entitled to knowing such things about my partner.” He crossed his arms in a way he’s willing to admit seems a bit petulant, especially when considering that he’s being given what is essentially a scolding. 

“No matter,” the goddess says with a line in her brow that suggests it is anything but, “I cannot protect you from a grim fate you seem determined to bring yourself to. I can only forewarn you. Hers is a path sewn to shadows and pain. The deeper you involve yourself, the further you will fall in the end.”

He looks at her with amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“You know, Tara said something quite similar about you, long ago.”

Gale wakes up with a sudden, sobering inhale— as if he’d just been held underwater. Tav isn’t truly asleep, she barely ever is, and she’s on him in an instant, cradling his face as he stares dazed at the cloth ceiling of his tent. 

“Gale, what’s the matter? You sounded like you were being hurt— just before you woke up. Was it a nightmare?”

His breathing evens as he relaxes back against the bedroll. He places a hand gently on the back of her head to pull her into a kiss that lasts about as long as his lungs can stand. 

“Something like that,” he answers tiredly. 

[bizarrebaby]

Sylvian Weave

Pairing: Gale/Tav Ao3 Link

Summary: Tav comes from a place so far away, she's never even heard of Mystra. And Gale thinks that's just fascinating. Warnings: This is a little bit of a Fear & Hunger crossover, so there's some far-out kinda descriptions of injury and madness lol

From the moment Gale had felt her magic wash over the portal that had become his prison, he knew her magic was different. He could feel it all around him— a suffocating, rotting presence that eroded the pure weave he was trapped in. Gale was an arch wizard, and as such, learned in all schools of magic, even those considered forbidden. There were entire libraries and departments of universities dedicated to unethical magic, necromancy, shadow magic, and how best to limit their falling into the wrong hands. 

Even if her magic had fallen into one of those categories, were her hands truly the wrong ones? Though its effects were gruesome and maddening at times, he had only seen her use them in self defense. How could he criticize what he understood so little about? How could he condemn her magic when she had used it to protect him at his weakest and soothe his affliction? Perhaps most poignant of all points— how could he judge her when he himself had meddled with ancient, forbidden artifacts?

And he refused to be ashamed of his own curiosity as a scholar of the arcane. A form of magic, entirely alien to the study he’d dedicated most of his life to, and yet so inextricably connected to it. 

Maybe it was his damnable curiosity. Maybe it was his loneliness, no, his neediness coming off of the coattails of his flawed relationship with Mystra shattering his body and sense of self. Maybe the tantalizing idea that Mystra was in fact not the end-all-be-all when it came to magic. 

Maybe it was because she was so kind to him. Especially when they had first started out, when it had just been her, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae’zel, and Astarion. He could feel the judgment in their eyes as they looked down on him for his weaker physical constitution, for his affliction, for how it made him quick to tire. By any and all accounts he was less useful, and caring for his curse was a sink of time and resources that their merry band of infected vagabonds didn’t need. 

Yes, they had seen him as little better than Scratch— a pathetic whelp Tav had taken pity on because she couldn’t help herself around helpless creatures. Worst of all was Astarion— who saw the umbrella of Tav’s protection to be a finite resource, and was determined for a time to edge Gale out from under it. 

In those early days, Shadowheart’s talents had been stretched thin, and as the one in least physical proximity to danger, Gale often fell in priority when it came to receiving her aid. It was at those times that Tav sat up late with him by the fire, cradling him with her own dark whispers. Unlike the healing magic he had known, hers came with a sensation that was numbing, painful, and addictive all at once. It deafened him to the rest of the world beyond her words. It created a dull, throbbing ache in the untouched corners of his heart. Then, as suddenly as he fell under the spell, it was broken. While he felt stronger than he had in years, he also felt a gnawing sense of loss as soon as the whispers stopped— as if he was suddenly aware how upsetting it could be to be alone in his own body. 

In return, he stayed with her as the mental toll overtook her. On days that she had strained herself, she would rock back and forth clutching her head with her eyes darting around, as if she would suddenly be able to catch whatever devil had been drilling holes into the base of her skull. He had even learned how to pack her pipe for her. 

“Your magic… it isn’t weave, is it?” He once probed gently, unable to hold the question back after one of their late night sessions as she relaxed with her pipe. She exhaled a beat after he asked. 

“Weave… that’s what the people in Toril use, right?” She asked. Her talent for magic made her ignorance baffling to him. 

“Yes. Though not everyone worships Mystra… that’s more of a wizard-specific thing. Had you truly never heard of her before we met?” It’s a question he’s mulled over in his head every day since they’d first started discussing magic together. 

“No. I am from a place so far away that we worship a different pantheon altogether— and our worship is very different to what I’ve seen here. Magic can come from your worship, but there’s more than one way to learn spells.” She tiredly leans her head on his shoulder. His heart soars when she depends on him in this small way, but he’s still naive enough to think it’s just the human contact after a year of complete abstinence that’s making him react so strongly. “I worship Sylvian, personally. God of love, sex, marriage… though I doubt I’ll ever be a part of a Sylvian marriage myself.”

“Why is that? Don’t think you’ll land yourself a suitor? I can assure you that’s far from the truth,” he says in a tone he tells himself is smooth and alluring. She laughs. It sounds precious, like the babbling of a brook. 

“It’s because I don’t think I’ll ever be desperate enough to perform the ritual. Say, is there healing magic that can reattach limbs here?” His brows furrow thoughtfully in response, his confusion set aside as he browses his mental catalogue of spells. 

“Seeing as there are spells for resurrection… surely, there must be something for reattaching limbs— mustn’t there?” He says with a smile. 

“You said you had your own huge wizard tower full of books. I bet one of them must have something on the subject…. Unless your collection isn’t as comprehensive as you claim,” she teases. 

“Unfortunately, my filling system isn’t quite as robust as I’d like— and things tend to end up all over the place… maybe you’d be interested in stopping by to help me look for such a spell someday? Once this tadpole business is sorted, of course,” he suggests with unprecedented boldness, by his recent standards. 

“It might have to be a sleepover. I don’t think I’ll be able to help myself from trying to put things in order…. Which I gather could take a while.”

Gale found himself fantasizing about tearing his library asunder so that she’d stay forever. 

[bizarrebaby]

@auty-ren @tintinwrites COME AND GET Y’ALLS RELIGION KINK

Sinner [Dark!Din Djarin x F!Reader] *SMUT*

Summary: The Mandalorian has been attending confession for weeks now, with the sole intensive purpose to see you. 

Rating: 18+ smut

Warnings: Dark!Din, implied age difference, religion kink (don’t come for me…), sex in a place of worship, smut: loss of virginity, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation, unprotected p in v, cunningless, death mention, alcohol mention, brothel mention. 

Word Count: 4000+

Masterlist

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!<3

He’d been coming to confess for about a year now. He’d gone off the rails when he lost the kid. You’d heard rumours about the Mandalorian — strong, fierce, brave… a warrior. You certainly wouldn’t have pinned him for a man of faith. You’d seen him a few times when you were shadowing your father in church. He was tall, broad shouldered, and only came during the dead of night, when the abbey was completely isolated.

“Hello,” you greeted him, your soft voice echoing throughout the chambers. Your crimson red heels clicked against the marble floor beneath you as you approached the masked figure. Curtseying politely and removing your hood, you couldn’t help but bat your eyelashes in the direction the Mandalorian. “It’s quite late. I was just closing for the night.” you admitted, biting down on your lower lip in hope that he’d understand.

Keep reading

[bizarrebaby]

Preview!

Pairing: VampireHunter!Whiskey/Vampire!Reader

Warnings: reference to suicide

Summary: This is sort of a Castlevania/medieval kind of AU. Whiskey comes from a long long line of vampire slayers, and after the death of his pregnant wife at the hands of one of those monsters, he intends on keeping the tradition going. Then he meets you.

You were tense as you walked beside Whiskey towards the heart of the nearby forest. His face was illuminated by the moonlight that broke through the trees, serious and contemplative. You were waiting for him to change his mind and slay you where you stood. You endeavored to look away whenever his eyes drifted back to you. He saw your ears twitch when you turned your head.

Meanwhile, Jack is trying to reason with himself, and maybe find out what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Was he really ignoring a lifetime, no, generations of belief for the sake of a pretty face? No, it was more than that. Whiskey had seen pretty vampires. Plenty of them, beautiful enough to drive mortals to madness. But that beauty has always been backed by intent, it existed for pride, and to be used against others. 

But there was something about you that seemed different. Maybe it was those sad eyes, that nervous pout, but you weren’t pretty like an angler’s lure or a thorned rose. You were pretty like pictures of angels on stained glass windows, like fresh garden strawberries in summer. The kind of pretty a man could grow to look forward to, and protect. 

Before he knew it, you’d reached the clearing in the forest’s center. You walked ahead before turning to face him.

“That village knows about you. It’d be safer if you moved on, sweetheart. I… I won’t follow you.”

“Thank you, but…” you trailed, looking to the moon as if it would understand better than him. “If not you, there will always be someone. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I wish you’d end it now. I’m too much of a coward to do it.”

It broke his fucking heart. You, a monster without soul or heartbeat, without love or virtue, called to his humanity more than most humans had. To leave you in such a state… He’d regret it.

“Then stay with me. Stay and… And I’ll protect you,” he swore, finding himself hoping desperately that you’d say yes. In the back of his mind he wondered if this was all a part of your spell, if he’d finally met his match, a power even he couldn’t resist.

A million questions rose up from the back of your throat, to the tip of your tongue. What would he do when he had to face other hunters? Would he face rejection from his own kind for a stranger? Would he wither before you, leaving you alone again, or be turned and reject his own humanity? But you held your mouth shut. The first rule to life eternal is that the present is the only real time. To ponder all futures and regret all pasts is to die a true death.

“Okay...okay.”

[bizarrebaby]

HAPPY 46TH BIRTHDAY JOSÉ PEDRO BALMACEDA PASCAL 2nd APRIL, 1975

[bizarrebaby]

Look at this picture of snails eating mushrooms with little forks and knives and maybe you’ll calm down

I and all the Pedro characters will be taking @bizarrebaby in a fight

[bizarrebaby]

I want to say “what did I do”....... but I think I know.

I and all the Pedro characters will be taking @bizarrebaby in a fight

[bizarrebaby]

I love this so much, and I am SO SO SO excited to see where this goes! I’m not a huge Marcus fan, but I love max, and this is making me feel... complicated..... I can’t wait for more!

a dangerous game | Marcus Pike x Reader x Max Phillips | Part One

A/N: This is gonna be a very naughty angsty fic gdsighskjf

Rating: 18+

Warning: Fem!Reader. This is based on Jekyll and Hyde with Max being Hyde so he’s an asshole. This shouldn’t be a warning but reader is a prostitute hello we support sex workers in this house (tho men are assholes about it and there is mention of that ugh). Some sexual references. Naughty words. Pining. Angst.

Word count: 3,260, apparently!!

Summary: Marcus likes you and you like him, but you’re both too cautious to admit it. When Marcus takes a pill to make himself more confident, it changes him completely.

GIF credit: ^ Please let me know if you don’t want me using your GIF!

Tags: @phoenixhalliwell​ @grandfanficstation​ @reader-s-cantina​ @an-author-of-stars @readsalot73​ @supernaturalgirl​ @star-wars-hell​ @vonschweetz​ @meshlamando​ @kindablackenedsuperhero @03stepedwa @popascal​ @alexisinorbit​ @zoovweemomma​ @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind​ @thefineandnobleartofavoidance​ @tiredbutwannaimagine​ @pure-ethereal​ @ghostwiththemostbitch​ @writingletterstothefire​ @pedro4ever​ @djjarins​ @morrison-mercury​ @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @you-and-i-deserve-the-world​ @freeshavocadoooo​ @ajeff855​ @codenamewife @heresathreebee​ @giselatropicana​

                                                  ——————

Marcus was never the type to be shy; he was sweet, but not shy.

When it came to what he wanted, he went for it and was maybe a little bit pushy. Maybe he moved a little too fast so he wouldn’t waste his time.

But with a divorce and a broken-off engagement under his belt, he wondered if that approach wasn’t really working for him.

If he wanted too much, if he pushed too hard even if he convinced himself he wasn’t putting pressure on people, if he moved uncomfortably fast, if he was so focused on falling in love that he was choosing people who didn’t want the same things as him.

Keep reading

[bizarrebaby]

Untouched

Pairing: Pero Tovar/Virgin!Reader

Work Count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Pero spend your first night together, which is your first night with anyone.

Warnings: you guys have penis in vagina sex. Some descriptions/mentions of violence, reference to painful loss of virginity, but we all know Pero’s too good to do that to you

You were a walking contradiction. Nothing was more confusing or intriguing to Pero Tovar than how you managed to exist in these times.

When he’d been introduced to you (it was generous to call it an introduction, seeing as Tovar more or less refused to acknowledge you at the time) he saw you the way he saw most everyone: an annoyance at best, a punishment from god at worst. When he glanced at you, he saw just a little thing, a girl who ought to be at home, out of her depths.

He first beheld your beauty through a veil of bloodshed. On the battlefield you had no equal. People throughout his travels often equated grace to beauty, but in observing you, Pero found that simply wasn’t so. You did not dance with the blade, like twirled silk. What you did was not akin to dancing. It was heavy and destructive, you took to you enemies with the crushing force of a mortar and pestle. You wielded the heavy and challenging kanabo, the force of which caved armor and shattered bones, man and beast alike. When you swung the heavy bat, you looked as a healer pounding medicine. The force itself was destructive, but it was delivered with the righteousness of someone who was preserving life.

You could not always use the kanabo, and you most certainly could not spar with it, for your opponents would be crippled by even a sporting blow. So Tovar sometimes saw your prowess with the sword, the staff, anything nearby. You made many an arrogant man eat their words.

Now, when he was to imagine a beautiful woman, he did not think of flowing locks and fair skin wrapped in silks. He saw sword-cut hair, an oversized tunic, the loosening laces on leather armor.

And beyond the fighting, you did not often make with revelry. Tense in the company of most others in your band of mercenaries, you kept away when they became excited. When you approached him, scowling as he wolfed down his food alone, he dreaded having to endure niceties, persuasions, and prattel from you, and had already decided to be as disagreeable as possible. To his utter surprise, you said nothing to him at all as you kept a couple of meters distance and ate your own meal. You did so day after day, and at first he had been paranoid that this was some plot at inching your way closer, that one day you would ruin this silence and reveal your true intentions. Until one night, Tovar found himself doing something unthinkable: initiating conversation. Or at least, speaking unprompted.

“You do not chatter like the others,” he stated almost mindlessly, not knowing what he was expecting by saying so.

“I try not to talk when I have nothing to say,” you admitted. You looked towards him, half illuminated by the distant, flickering fire.

He found himself studying every detail of your face from the corner of his eye. It was terrifying, for once wanting to observe and actually caring if he was noticed doing so.

“And,” you continued quietly, “they say you do not like to be disturbed.” That was a very kind way of rephrasing how he was often spoken of. In all likelihood, what you were actually told was probably more along the lines of ‘he’s a mean, miserable bastard who doesn’t like anyone’. Tovar didn’t know how he felt about your twisting such words into something that sounded… reasonable.

Understood.

“I don’t like being disturbed either.”

Now, when he was to imagine a beautiful woman, he did not think of lip rouge and silent, unnoticed steps, or curled, dark lashes, of coquettish smirks. He thought of a split lip, and the uneven pace of worn leather kicking at stray pebbles, of tired eyes rubbed with the back of the hand after looking into the fire too long, of the struggle to hold back a wide-mouthed yawn.

Through a few well placed miracles and the incessant meddling of others (William) the two of you had ended up together. And this was when Pero discovered what a contradiction you were. 

You knew death in every facet… except for la petite mort. 

While other girls snuck off with their paramours in experimental forays of intimacy, you were studying the blade, the staff, the bow, the kusarigama. Raised by a father and uncles who loved you, but did not know how to raise a young lady. Only how to raise a fighter. 

When you didn’t scare off any potential suitors, they certainly did. 

While younger than Pero, you were still fully grown, and had yet to even kiss a man until Pero had claimed your lips in a passionate fury on the night of his confession. 

Pero did not fancy himself a teacher, he saw himself as a taker, one with no patience for uncertainties and incompetence. But for you, he would be anything. And regardless of what he was, what you deserved was a gentle touch. Subtle, comforting, patient, and understanding. 

All words that had never been used to describe him. 

Over time, the kisses grew deeper, the touches flirted further beneath the clothes, until the night came where he held you against him in his bed, eyes begging for more as you looked to him for guidance. Never had he been so frightened at the thought of bedding a woman. He was a scoundrel with hands only fit for killing, and he was terrified of hurting you somehow.

But he’d be damned if anyone else took this honor.

With every piece of clothing he stripped your body of, you looked at him with such trust. He felt your heart beating in his rough palms, like the flutter of a bird’s wings. Never before had he been responsible for something so pure, so delicate. His relations before you were intimacies he had paid for in coin, encounters that didn’t require any gentleness on his part, where he cared little about any pleasure or pain besides his own. If he were to do one thing in his life with tact and delicacy, it would be this, he promised himself. 

“Tell me again, hermosa, how many before me have seen this beautiful body?”

“N-none. You’re the first, Pero.” 

He hums in satisfaction, running his hands up your stomach to cup your breasts. His thumbs stroke over the hardening peaks, causing a hitch in your breath as you shudder. 

“Oh, mi conejita, so sensitive,” he descends, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking almost harshly for just a moment before pulling away, admiring how your breast shines with his spit. You squeak out a shaking moan. “I wonder if you’re this sensitive everywhere else? Don’t tell me. I’ll find out myself.”

You feel your cheeks heat at his words, feeling the urge to curl in on yourself and hide. But Pero keeps you bare to him as he lavishes eager attention on your breasts, enjoying the whines half-caught in your throat. By the time your nipples are perked and wet from Pero’s hot mouth, your blush has spread down to your collar. He pulls away slightly, gently guiding you to lay down. He takes your thighs in his strong hands and spreads them further apart. His thumbs spread your lips so get a good look at your pink, silky hole twitching with a need you’ve never known before. 

Your breath hitches as one of his fingers traces along your sensitive lips, brushing against your clit briefly before beginning to sink into you slowly. He rocks it back and forth gently while admiring the rise and fall of your chest, the way your eyelids flutter as you go between wanting to watch and being too bashful to. His thumb gently strokes your clit as he works to ease in another finger, and you tense harshly at the new intrusion. He leans down to press a few reassuring kisses against your neck.

“Relax, querida. Let me in.” He whispers, moving his lips to your mouth in an effort to distract you as he coaxes you open. His cock was heavy and hard against the laces of his trousers. You would see it soon, but Pero doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Not yet, anyways.

You breathe deeply in an attempt to relax your muscles as Pero’s fingers reach farther than yours ever could, and it feels as if he holds all of your bodily feelings in the palm of his hand. He continues to coo endearments against your neck to comfort you. 

“Bueno, bueno… you’ve gotten nice and wet for me, cariño, so good for me,” a smirk spreads across his face as he feels you tighten with his words. “Oh, you like it when I talk, niña?” He teases, increasing the pace as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the tight circles he’s rubbing into your clit on the verge of driving you mad. 

He parts from your neck to take a look at your face in pleasure, and finds himself enraptured by the slight furrow of your brows and the way your eyelids flutter when he strokes the right part of your insides. Your quiet huffing and mewling, combined with the way your cunt is gripping at his fingers, has him more riled up than he’d like to admit. 

“Pero, I-I I think I’m gonna cum,” you whine, looking at him with pleading eyes. He bristles with pride as your hips move to meet the palm of his hand while chasing the pleasure he gives you. 

“Cum then, muñeca. Cum for me.”

The coil in your belly winds so tightly it snaps, and white hot pleasure floods your system. Pero groans as you cream on his fingers, feeling his cock throb harshly for the umpteenth time tonight. A tremor wracks your body as the mercenary continues rocking his fingers gently to help you ride out your climax. When they withdraw, he doesn’t hesitate to lick them clean, much to your embarrassment. The sight of his tongue against your slick on his hand gives you… ideas. Ideas that will have to wait until another night, maybe. 

He leans down to plant a chaste kiss to your lips before bringing you to sit up. He wants to see what else you’ve never done. Wants to know how curious you are. 

Pero places one of your hands (which feel so small in his) against the tent in his pants, encouraging you to explore his body the way you’ve so graciously allowed him to explore yours. His tunic is already off, but of course, you’ve seen men shirtless before. His cock feels hot and hard through his trousers, and the apprehension is probably clear on your flustered face, but Tovar finds this entire situation incredibly arousing. 

He’s no stranger to sex, but most of his previous sexual encounters had been paid for and, thusly, were with experienced (and sometimes jaded) partners. Though the size of his cock may have impressed a few, it had never been the first they’d seen, touched, or taken. This was different. 

His eyes never leave your face as you bite your lip, occasionally looking to him for approval as you move to undo the laces on his trousers. His eyes are lidded and dark with desire, and a smile crosses his face, a little more genuine than the usual smirks he throws in your direction. 

“Go on,” he urges, more gently than he knew himself capable. You finally slip down his waistband and smallclothes, and his cock lands heavy against his stomach as he reclines just slightly. You try to contain your startled gasp, attempting to seem less like the blushing virgin you clearly are. The way your lips part ever so slightly as you examine his red, leaking cock with nervous interest sends the mercenary reeling. 

Pero almost takes your hesitance as fear, which he’s determined to quell, before you finally reach your hands out to run them along the hard length, drawing a ragged groan from him.

For a moment, Pero feels the strongest compulsion to take charge of you. To guide your head down and order you to get his cock nice and wet before he takes you, to see tears prick at your eyes while you struggle to take his cock in your little mouth. 

But, somewhat regrettably, he remembers his first time with a woman well. He remembers the nerves burning against his skin like a thousand needles, the fear of performing well and doing things he’d never even imagined doing. He can only imagine that fear to be tenfold for a girl. You’ve spent years in the company of brash mercenaries, uncouth enough that they brag of their rough, bruising conquests. He knows the type. And what women you do meet often speak of intimacy with dread, or reflect on the pain of their first times.

You are one of the few things in Pero Tovar’s life that he has ever really cared for. And his greatest wish is to make you feel cared for. He has never known patience. But for you, he shall have it in spades. You’ll have plenty of time to play rough later. Or never, if that’s what you want.

Not to mention, he’s just about as hard as he’s ever been in his entire life, and he doubts he would last in your mouth, not with the passionate stare you’re giving him. You have, after all, always been a quick learner when it came to the sword. The way you start experimentally moving your hands along his cock confirm this, as he sighs in pleasure from the light pressure you’re giving him.

“This the first cock you’ve seen up close, hermosa?” you nod, and that teasing smile is once again set on his face. “What do you think of it?”

Your eyes widen just slightly at the question. He takes one of your hands and spits in it before letting you continue to stroke his cock, still patiently awaiting an answer.

“Are they all… like this?” Pero has a feeling he knows what you mean, but he wants you to say it.

“Like what, preciosa?” 

“Big.”

He chuckles quietly before cupping your chin in his hand and bringing you towards him for another bout of fervent kisses. In these moments, and most others, he looks at you and sees everything he’s ever wanted. He presses his forehead to yours when he finally parts from your lips.

“No, amor, not all,” he pauses in thought, somewhat uncharacteristically. “Are you worried?”

“...Yes.” The mercenary appreciates your honesty. For your entire life, you have had to be brave. He doesn’t want you to have to be brave with him. He’s never been trusted with something as precious as you. He calls your name with the same softness he feels for you.

“I will never hurt you,” he promises. “And…” his need causes him to struggle with the next part. He’s still not used to being sensitive, not used to caring so much. “We do not have to do this.”

Pero can see the fire ignite in your eyes, that same passion he sees when you get up right after being knocked down.

“I want to, Pero, I want to. Will you take care of me?” his eyes have their own fire now. He guides you down onto your back once again and leans over you. His cock leaks against the soft skin of your belly as he kisses up your neck, sucking in marks as he goes.

“Forever,” he swears.

Pero hoists himself up to look into your eyes as his cock catches at your entrance for the first time. He pushes himself in just barely, giving you a little more each time as he shallowly rocks into you. He watches, feeling lovestruck, as your breasts rise and fall with each short breath you take as he eases himself deeper into your heat. 

When Pero Tovar met you, he didn’t exactly respect you, but he wouldn’t have called you soft. You proved quickly that you were a better warrior than most men he’d met, and despite the roughness and inconveniences of mercenary life, you didn’t complain. In those early days, he’d have scarcely called you a woman at all. 

But here you were beneath him, soft and warm, and everything he’d never imagined he could be trusted with. Long ago you reached your hands into his hardened chest, with all of its armor, and gripped his heart with all of the hope and reverence of a devout finding comfort in a rosary. The vice of your wet cunt on his cock was an extension of that. An inescapable binding that he had no desire to leave. 

“You feel so good, querida, so tight and perfect against my cock.”

And so you pant, looking cherubic against the sheets with your splayed hair and flushed cheeks, lips plumped from Pero’s incessant kissing. The wet noises coming from between the two of you are obscene, and you love it. 

“So good for me, amor, taking everything I have to give you.”

He wouldn’t last long. Not waiting as long as he has, not with you looking, sounding, and feeling the way you do. His thrusts aren’t punishing, but they sure as hell aren’t gentle, as he can only restrain himself from wrecking you for so long. And from the way he’s hitting that place inside that makes you sing, you won’t last either.  

“Pero, I’m gonna— mmm I’m gonna cum again!” You keen, calling him back from his animalistic fervor. Pero stares into your eyes with a fire roaring behind his gaze. 

“I want you to soak my cock, hermosa. Cum. Give me your pleasure, let me make you mine!”

“God— oh, fuck, I love you—“ you pant as he feels you clench deliciously around him. Any hope he had of holding on has fled now. 

“Mi amor, let me cum in you, please, querida—“

“Please, do it Pero,”

You can feel the skin of his hips slap against yours as he pistons himself in and out of you, babbling about how beautiful you are and how good you feel until he can’t stand it anymore. 

“Te amo, te amo, te amo!” He growls, ceasing his hips as he fills you with everything he has. You jolt at the sensation before relaxing again, his hot cum painting your walls. His elbows stop him from collapsing right onto you, but he can feel your breasts brush against his chest with every breath the both of you take. 

He basks in this moment for a while longer before pulling himself out gently, resolving to clean the both of you properly later. Pero lets himself fall beside you in bed, still breathing a little heavily. 

“Come here, querida.”

Pero stares at the ceiling as your weight comes to rest against his chest, warm in ways he cannot describe. The arm around you tightens, as if he wishes to pull you further into him.

“Are you… do you feel alright, mi amor? I didn’t hurt you?”

“Never, Pero. I feel wonderful. Was it ok? For you, I mean. I know I’m… you’re probably not used to being with someone so inexperienced,” you trail off, feeling palpably insecure. He gently puts his hand beneath your chin to coax you into looking up at him from his chest.

“You don’t have to be anything more than what you are to be perfect for me, amor.”

Taglist:

Pedro Pascal: @auty-ren

From the preview post: @josepedropascal @tintinwrites @computeringturtle @kiwi-the-first​