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maximilfisms · 5 months

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draw me like i'm one of your french girls | thérèse raquin x fem!reader

Summary: Thérèse, trapped in her unwanted marriage to Camille, seeks comfort in Y/N, the talented artist who painted her husband's portrait, in the form of an illicit rendezvous. Or a glimpse on one of those nights where Y/N would sneak into Madame Raquin's shop, fulfill Thérèse's needs, and disappear like ghosts in the air.

Word count: 2k+

Tags: 18+, smut, fingering, cheating, semi-public sex? idk, but they almost got caught, bottom!thérèse, top!reader, what's proofreading?, MDNI!

this is my first fic, and i honestly don't even know what i am doing rip

The moonlight shone its faint light to the labyrinthine streets of Paris, where gaslights cast flickering shadows upon the cobblestone alleys, and the whispers of clandestine affairs lingered like the fragrance of aged wine. Thérèse found solace in the hidden corners of a city draped in secrets. The narrow passages, cloaked in the heavy scent of impending rain, and the hushed murmur of distant voices all served as the backdrop for her forbidden love. It was within this maze of dimly lit alleyways, where the echoes of the footsteps of busy Parisians harmonized with the nocturnal symphony of the city, that she navigated the complexities of their entangled destinies.

The bedroom, perched on the second floor of her aunt, Madame Raquin's shop, became their clandestine haven—a sanctuary veiled in heavy drapes, the creaking sighs of weathered floorboards, and the gaslights flickered outside, transforming her marital bedroom into a cocoon where the artistry of their passion unfolded. The ambient glow painted an intimate tapestry upon the walls, revealing the shared vulnerability of two souls seeking refuge in the shadows.

The air itself seemed to hold the whispers of lovers from eras past, a blend of the city's musky perfume and the intoxicating aroma of forbidden desire. Thérèse, adorned in the trappings of societal expectations, stood before her woman with a yearning that mirrored the palpable tension of the quiet night. Y/N, the painter with fingers that could evoke emotion from pigments, gazed at Thérèse as if deciphering the poetry etched upon her soul. The dim light filtered through the bedroom's heavy drapes, casting Thérèse's silhouette in a dance of shadows that accentuated the soft curves of her vulnerability, and Y/N, a connoisseur of emotion, observed with an artist's discerning eye—a voyeur capturing the essence of clandestine passion in each subtle movement.

"Draw me like I'm one of your French girls," Thérèse whispered, her voice a soft plea that echoed in the dimly lit room, where their secret unfolded against the backdrop of Paris's clandestine allure.

Y/N, attuned to the nuances of their surroundings, nodded in silent agreement despite the subtle yet genuine smile that graced her lips. The room, a haven shrouded in the mysteries of the night, bore witness to the illicit dance of two souls—a dance painted with the strokes of desire, vulnerability, and the unspoken language of their love.

Y/N's hands moved with purpose, much like the strokes of a brush in a canvas that became an intimate exploration of Thérèse's essence. Her slender fingers brushed Thérèse's shoulders, sliding off the brunette's dress off of it, watching as the fabric fell onto her feet. Y/N's eyes glimmered with sheer affection for the woman, her point finger tracing Thérèse's prominent collarbones, down to her sternum, where the valley's of her breasts lay, waiting to be worshiped.

“You truly are a work of art, mon amour,” The artist whispered as she leaned in to place chaste kisses on her soft neck, and Y/N's hands palmed the supple flesh of Thérèse's breasts, touch as tender as the stroke of an artist's brush. Each caress of the canvas mirrored the unspoken language that flowed between them—the language of love that dared not speak its name in the harsh light of day.

Yet, the threat of discovery loomed above them like a guillotine, sharp and unforgiving. Camille, Thérèse's unsuspecting husband, engaged in games just outside, unaware of the symphony of passion that played out on the shop's second floor, on their marital bed.

"We must be cautious," Thérèse whispered, her eyes darting towards the creaking floorboards below. "Madame Raquin and Camille must not suspect."

Y/N, whose heart beat in rhythm with Thérèse's, nodded solemnly. "Our love is a secret garden, Thérèse, one that flourishes in the shadows but withers in the harsh light of judgment.” She spoke as her hands went to cradle Thérèse's cheeks. “I promise to be careful.”

The bedroom, once a marital sanctuary for Thérèse and Camille, transformed into the backdrop of an illicit affair. The fear of discovery heightened the intensity of their connection, turning stolen kisses into acts of rebellion against a world that sought to confine them.

Outside, the city's heartbeat continued, oblivious to the symphony of emotions that echoed within the four walls of the bedroom. Thérèse, her heart torn between duty and desire, reached out to Y/N, their fingers entwining in a silent vow that defied the constraints of their reality.

With the air thick of passion, tender affections, and fear, all that had happened went on like a blur. Both women couldn't remember who leaned in first to trap their lips into a fiery but loving embrace, and yet, the flickering candlelight cast an ethereal glow upon their entangled bodies, the shadows playing upon the tapestry of their clandestine love. Y/N dared to speak, to try and use the last of her reason, to attempt at stopping herself despite knowing that she had gone far too deep, but, Thérèse, overcome by the weight of societal expectations, pressed a trembling finger to Y/N's lips, silencing the unspoken fears that lingered between them.

No words were needed as the artist took the initiative and resumed their kiss, her lips brushing against Thérèse's as the bedroom became a cocoon, shielding them from the judgmental eyes of society. The intimacy between them, though a spark in the vast darkness, burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Y/N carefully lay the woman beneath her to the plush bed, hands exploring Thérèse's skin like a caveman threading a path in the unfamiliar wilderness. The tips of her fingertips toyed with Thérèse's hardened nipples, eliciting held back whimpers from the woman laying beneath her.

“Y/N…” Thérèse whispered, but she only gave her woman a smile in response, taking the other nipple to her mouth, and sucking on it like a newborn starved. Thérèse closed her eyes shut, body overwhelmed by the sensations of Y/N's worship, only for those brown orbs to flutter open along with her mouth as two fingers eased their way to her core.

A sly smile tugged in the corners of Y/N's pink lips, gazing up at Thérèse whose pupils were blown wide, and mouth covered with one hand, containing the noises that ought to escape her with each thrust of the artist's long and slender fingers in her tight pussy.

Thérèse's labored breathing, accompanied with the wet sloshing sounds created by her dripping entrance and Y/N's fingers, were the only sounds heard in the stillness of the night. That was before a sudden creaking of the weathered floorboards interrupted the women's intimate bubble, sending shivers down Thérèse's spine. Her eyes widened, but Y/N did not pull back even as her breath was caught in the suspense of the moment. Instead, her fingers only went faster, opting to guide the writhing woman below her to the pinnacle of her high, and the contracting of Thérèse's pussy against her fingers only served as an indication that she was on the right track.

Thérèse struggled to finish the sentence as she held back her moans in between, "Our world would crumble." Y/N hummed in approval as she leaned in to Thérèse's clit, using her tongue to stimulate the woman's bundle of nerves that only made it harder for the latter to control her sounds, more so as she came all over Y/N's face and fingers, legs trembling as the artist's fingers slowed down its thrusts, prolonging the release.

"Quiet, amour," Y/N whispered breathily, a twinge of worry in their voice amidst the obvious arousal. "If Madame Raquin or Camille were to hear—"

The bedroom, though once a haven for marital vows, now bore witness to a love that dared to defy the norms of its time. Thérèse and Y/N, in the quiet moments between heartbeats, exchanged vows that resonated with the soulful ache of a love that existed in the shadows. The night wore on, and with each passing moment, the threat of exposure intensified. Thérèse, torn between the intoxication of love and the fear of societal retribution, felt the weight of their clandestine affair like a stone pressing against her chest. The gaslights outside continued to flicker, casting a gentle glow upon the tangled sheets that bore witness to the stolen moments of Thérèse and Y/N's clandestine affair. The night, though silent, echoed with the lingering whispers of a love that dared to exist in the shadows of the city.

In the quiet aftermath of their shared passion, the room held the remnants of their intimate communion. Thérèse, her senses heightened by the mingling scents of jasmine and musk, traced her fingers along Y/N's bare chest—the contours of a lover and confidante. The air, once heavy with fear, now carried the sweet echo of their shared pleasure. Y/N, eyes filled with a tenderness that mirrored Thérèse's, brushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face.

"You don't know what you do to me, Thérèse," Y/N murmured, their voice a soothing melody that hung in the air. "I hear your voice in my dreams, feel the ghosts of your touch on my body, and crave you like I haven't satiated myself in years."

Thérèse, still lost in the aftermath of their intimacy, met Y/N's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and longing. The world outside, with its judgmental eyes and societal expectations, felt distant—a mere whisper in the night.

"Promise me, Y/N," Thérèse pleaded, her voice a fragile whisper. "Promise me that our love will endure, that it will be a persevering flame against the winds of adversity."

Y/N, caressing Thérèse's cheek with a touch that bordered on reverence, responded, "I don't have to promise anything, Thérèse. Like the stars above, I know our hearts will shine even in the darkest nights."

The bedroom, once charged with the tension of secrecy, now cradled the two lovers in a post-coital embrace. Their entangled limbs spoke of a passion that transcended societal norms, a love that flourished in the clandestine corners of their shared existence.

In the silence that followed, Y/N traced circles on Thérèse's skin, each touch a reassurance of their shared vulnerability. The room, steeped in the essence of their intimacy, held the echoes of their whispered promises and the delicate symphony of their love. The shadows, once a cloak for their secret desires, now danced upon the walls like witnesses to a tale written in the language of tender glances and lingering touches.

Thérèse, her senses attuned to the lingering traces of their passion, gazed into Y/N's eyes as if searching for the permanence of their connection. Y/N, the artist who knew how to breathe life into moments, held Thérèse with a gaze that mirrored the profound depth of their shared intimacy.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of soft pink, Thérèse and Y/N lay intertwined, bodies and souls entwined in a tapestry of shared vulnerability. The air, now tinged with the promise of a new day, carried the remnants of their intimacy—a scent that lingered like a secret between them.

"Promise me you'll come when I call again," Thérèse pleaded, her gaze locking with Y/N's in a silent pact. "When I need you the most, when I feel my cage even more… promise me you'll come running.”

Y/N, brushing a stray strand of hair from Thérèse's face, nodded with a smile etched on her face. "I'll be here before you know it."

As the sun rose, casting its golden rays upon the city of Paris, Thérèse and Y/N knew that the world awaited their departure from the intimate cocoon they had woven together. With a final, lingering kiss, Thérèse and Y/N parted ways, slipping into the daylight as if reentering a world that demanded conformity. The bedroom, now silent and empty, held the memories of their stolen moments—a gallery of passion that defied the limitations of societal norms.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x female reader #thérèse raquin #therese raquin #wanda maximoff x female reader #smut #in secret #wlw

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pedgito · 1 year

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Request idea for Eddie and reader where one day she gets him a few new things like band tees a new pair of jeans a pair of sweat pants and maybe a pack of socks, and Eddie is so confused like why did you do this? I can’t really give you anything in return and she’s just like I was just thinking of you, I love you. And he’s never really had a thoughtful gesture like that.

author’s note: crying at the thought of this, i hope this does your request justice, i was too invested in the storyline of this lol.

cw: 18+ (to be safe) mentions of sex/roleplaying, sad eddie headcanons, reader being the best partner, eddie doesn’t know how to accept gifts, established relationship, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 1.7k

Eddie wasn’t used to new things. Everything he owned was either hand-me downs or well-loved from a secondhand store—or stolen, because yeah, he’d never had the easiest life. He lived in a mess, compiling almost too much stuff at a certain point, too afraid to part with anything because every piece had some type of meaning to him and he was scared to lose things. Everything always left him, people included, and it was a constant fear that he lived with.

When he meets you, he latches on immediately. But, you start to recognize the patterns early, his obsessive nature with collecting and always taking what was offered to him without question, even if he didn’t really need it, even if didn’t really want it. Eddie had always been raised to appreciate everything, even the most mundane.

Wayne bought him his first guitar, used and always slightly out tune, but it was his first love. So, when he wanted more and couldn’t scrounge up the money, he improvised. He’s never been proud of his habits, even if he didn’t steal anymore—it was a reminder of where he came from, the obvious missing piece in his life that reminded him how unwanted he was. His father left him alone, his mother having been taken much too soon. Wayne was there to mend the broken state of that boy, but he was never well and truly fixed.

His jacket is the one thing he has that’s semi-new. He’d collected the pieces over time, a true creation of his own. There wasn’t a single thing like it in the world, that’s why it was considered new—even if it was falling apart at the seams and constantly having to be sewn back up.

He hates when you clean up his room, afraid he might lose something important—but the whole idea was that you wanted to make sure everything was organized, to relieve the panic he always felt when he couldn’t find something.

When he finally relents, it’s a mountain of discoveries that lead you to the final decision. Eddie needed something new, something untouched and untainted, all his own.

Holes in his socks, his boxers—rips in old shirts that clearly didn’t fit him anymore, jeans marked up in sharpie and shoes that were barely hanging on, worn down to the sole. Despite the obsessive amount of graphic shirts he owned, he always cycled through the same eight or nine, one for each of his favorite bands and a couple Hellfire shirts. His jeans were all black, accompanied with the same rips, though in unique places for each pair. He didn’t own a suit, nothing of the sort—not even a fancy jacket or nice dress shirt.

He always complained about wanting to dress up for you but feeling like it wasn’t worth it, knowing he’d ultimately look like a fool. It wasn’t true, Eddie just didn’t have the money to manage treating himself to something nice. Wayne worked long hours but the pay was horrible, only managing enough to pay bills and put food on the table—and Eddie’s dealing business wasn’t exactly booming, especially when half of his profits went back to Rick.

Luckily you were slightly better off, having never fallen on hardships as hard as Eddie. You didn’t have to work, didn’t have to worry, and Eddie envied you greatly. But, he always noted how you were different from the others at school—the ones who had money, showed it off. You were humble, you kept to yourself, and you never tried to shove it in Eddie’s face.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that you wanted so desperately to treat Eddie, even if he ended up hating you for it. Because if there was anyone he’d refuse to receive gifts from, it was you.

Unfortunately, you weren’t putting up with it this time.

Eddie comes home late on a Friday night, fresh off the adrenaline of his performance at The Hideout, practically bouncing with the lingering energy. He pounces onto you immediately, hands slipping up under your thighs to lift you up, a surprised squeal leaving your mouth.

“Eddie, put me down,” You beg through a weak laugh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, feet hitting the floor soon after, “thank you.”

He smiles slightly, eyes darkening with excitement—you knew what he wanted, what he needed, but you needed to get out your surprise first and let him decide then. He doesn’t even notice how spotless the trailer is until he’s peeking into the fridge, the normal, mucky smell now gone.

“Don’t tell me Wayne started sleeping with that one lady again,” Eddie says offhandedly, because you knew just as much about that situation as he did, having lived through the chaos, “last thing we need is her stealing from my stash again, even if she does clean the place spotless.”

“Wayne would never,” You assure him, “not after that shit we gave him for it.”

Wayne was lonely—but it wasn’t lost on him that he had Eddie, and you by association. He’d retired from the dating life soon after a few bad run-ins, settling for nights in with both of you and home-cooked meals when Eddie was busy with his own stuff and you couldn’t keep your hands and feet out of the kitchen.

“It was me,” You shrug, “I got bored and this place reeked.”

“Yeah—and now it smells like a fuckin’ lemon cake.” Eddie grimaces slightly, nose scrunching up in minor disgust.

Your eyes narrow a little, threateningly as you approach him.

“I mean, not that I don’t appreciate it.” Eddie recovers, “fuckin’ love lemons, you know?”

“Uh huh,” You answer mockingly, draping your arms over his neck and forcing him to look at you, eyes gliding over your expression curiously, “—I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Eddie perks up at that, “Please tell me it involves sex.”

His fingers are crossed from where they rest at your waist, wishing and hoping.

“Not quite,” You tell him with a short laugh, “it’s not off the table, though.”

And Eddie doesn’t have any idea what it could be if not that, letting you drag him by his hand to his room, forcing his eyes closed as you cross the threshold.

You reach for the stack of clothes and new pair of shoes and place them into his waiting hands, his face turning up in confusion as he feels it out with his thumbs.

“Role playing, babe—“ Eddie smiles widely, “you really shouldn’t have.”

“No, it’s—“

But, Eddie continues on.

“I know I mentioned something about an elf princess and a knight but we need to, like, plan that out—I had a script planned and everything—“

“Eddie, it’s not clothes for role playing.” You tell him monotone, patting his cheek lightly until his eyes flutter open, glancing down at the clothes briefly before it clicks with him, eyes turning up to you wide and bereft.

“Hey, no—“ Eddie says immediately, voice soft, “I told you no gifts, I don't need them.”

“Shut it, Munson.” You warn lovingly, pushing the clothes back toward his chest that he extends to you, “You don’t get to treat me to things without at least getting something in return.”

“Eating in the parking lot of Benny’s is pretty lame, you know.”

You smile fondly, thinking of all the small, practical dinners you’d have after a long day at school—finding it best to unwind over a burger, feet propped up over Eddie’s lap, the wrapper of his burger resting over the top of your shins and sometimes he’d drop a topping on purpose just to find a reason to touch you. It never failed to make you laugh, watching his tongue swipe against your skin to wipe it clean.

“It’s not,” You tell him honestly, “it’s what I love about you.”

Eddie huffs slightly at that, looking down at the clothes with a tinge of sadness.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Eddie insists, “I have plenty of clothes.”

“But nothing new,” You point out, “fresh off the rack, tags attached—I even got you a new pair of Reebok’s.”

Eddie can’t deny how crisp they look, so drastically different from the shoes on his own feet—a half size to small now and ripping at the seams.

“They are nice,” He smirks slightly, “I just—I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say thank you,” You tell him, “I know it’s implied.”

Eddie drops the clothes abruptly on the bed, opting to grab your face with his hands, touching as gently as ever.

“I love you.” The words hit just as strong each time, his eyes watering slightly but not quite reaching the point of tears.

“I know,” You smile, bottom lip pulled between your teeth briefly, “they can be your dress up clothes, yeah?”

Eddie snorts, pressing his mouth against your forehead—not kissing, only touching, pulling you into a warm hug.

“It’s just some socks and underwear—a couple shirts and a pair of jeans, too. I can’t stand the holes, Eddie. I can’t.” Eddie nods knowingly, though the laugh he gives you is full of amusement at your obvious annoyance with the matter.

“I hope you weren’t trying to turn this into an opportunity for really sappy sex,” Eddie says, arms squeezing around your waist to lift you again, “I can’t do slow tonight, sweetheart.”

You nod slowly, “I hate slow,” You didn’t—it was actually nice, the tenderness Eddie showed when he took his time; soft touches, longing looks that made your face heat in embarrassment, knowing how badly he affected you, but the dirty sex was just as good, if not better, “you know that.”

Eddie kisses you quickly, fully, his hands squeezing at your thighs as he bounces you slightly, adjusting his hold on you.

“I meant what I said about the roleplay, by the way.” Eddie interjects, “I’ve got this vision and—“

If you didn’t stop him now, it would never end—so you kiss him quick, deeply, tongue dipping into his mouth and igniting a fire in the low pit of your belly that has Eddie moaning into your mouth.

“Shutting up, got it.” Eddie nods, finally taking the hint.

He doesn’t complain when you buy him new clothes anymore, accepting them with a soft smile and shy acknowledgement of appreciation—because he deserves it and he deserves you.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #my writing

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kaidatheghostdragon · 9 days

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Weird thought that I attempted to work out the logistics of, but what if cultists try to kill json because there can only be one balance at that is their king?

So, ghost king danny, Who Is The Balance, other random titles, yadda yadda. He's got unwanted and unhinged cults springing up to worship him, and it's a whole ordeal. They know via his titles and stuff that he's paradoxically both alive and dead, but maybe don't grasp the concept of liminality and/or halfas? They just think he's some ancient being that has unique qualities because of the concepts he represents or something.

So this cult is looking for a sacrifice to appease their god, eyes land on the bats, you know the story. They're doing their definitely-made-up-on-the-spot rituals, created by their amatuer wizard member who has just enough knowledge to pull off a few basic spells.

Something is off about the bats. The spells register them as mostly alive but also a tiny bit dead. That isn't really a problem because the wizard guy is intelligent enough to understand that people who have been clinically dead will register on the spell as a tiny bit dead. Vigilantes are always risking their lives, so its not a surprise that this includes them. No, the problem is that Red Hood, in particular, measures almost exactly equally half-and-half.

The cult gets together to discuss this discovery, whether its a sign, or a prophecy, or a blessing from their god, etc. Its decided that they need to ask Red Hood some questions and, against all odds and basic logic, they manage to kidnap Hood.

It's very immediately apparent the Hood had never heard of their God and thinks that the cultists are bat quano crazy. This is absolute blasphemy. Clearly, Hood is either blatently disrespecting a great blessing from their God... or he's secretly trying to usurp them.

This cannot stand. There is only One True Balance. Any other is a fraud or usurper. Hood must die to appease their god.

Hood by now has largely extracted himself from the restraints, and is almost ready to run when they turn on him. That's just par for the course from his perspective, of course the crazy cultists want to kill him. Since when has a cult ever kidnapped someone to give them tea and cookies?

What is a surprise is that they manage to draw blood - his blood - and at the moment they had done so, he happened to be on top of the summoning sigil.

It activates, and Hood knows he's screwed.

So we now have Hood injured and sacrificed to some eldritch god, the cultists think they are getting an A+ in culting (which is totally normal to want and possible to achieve), and danny is about to meet a new halfa that was almost killed by his unwanted soliciters for the crime of unknowingly being the fourth member of their species.

#dpxdc #dp x dc

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magickkate · 4 months

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A Beginner's Guide: Exploring the Basics of Witchcraft

Are you intrigued by the mystical world of witchcraft and eager to begin your magical journey? Whether you're drawn to the art of spellcasting, divination, or connecting with nature's energies, the basics of witchcraft provide a solid foundation for your exploration. Here's a beginner's guide to help you embark on this enchanting path:

1. Understanding Witchcraft:

Witchcraft is a spiritual practice that encompasses a diverse range of traditions, each with its own beliefs and practices. It is fundamentally about harnessing personal power, connecting with nature, and creating positive change.

2. Embracing Your Path:

Witchcraft is highly personal, and there is no one-size-fits-all approach. Explore different traditions, read books, and listen to your intuition to discover what resonates with you. Your journey is uniquely yours.

3. The Power of Intention:

At the heart of witchcraft is intention. Your thoughts and feelings shape the energy you put into the universe. Clarify your goals, visualize your desires, and set clear intentions for your magical work.

4. Working with Energy:

We believe in the existence of energy that flows through everything. Learn to sense and manipulate this energy through practices like grounding, centering, and visualization.

5. Tools of the Craft:

While not mandatory, many witches use tools such as candles, crystals, herbs, and tarot cards to amplify their intentions. Familiarize yourself with these tools and choose the ones that resonate with you. Intention is your most powerful tool.

6. Moon Phases and Timing:

The phases of the moon play a significant role in witchcraft. Learn about the energy associated with each phase (new moon for beginnings, full moon for culmination) and align your magical workings accordingly.

7. Spellcasting Basics:

Spellcasting involves directing energy toward a specific goal. Start with simple spells, focusing on your intentions. Remember, the more aligned your actions are with your intention, the more powerful the spell.

8. Meditation and Visualization:

Cultivate a regular meditation practice to quiet the mind and enhance your ability to visualize. Visualization is a potent tool in spellcasting and energy work. This is so important for overall focus and mental clarity.

9. Protection and Grounding:

Before delving into magical practices, establish protection and grounding techniques. This ensures you are anchored in the present and shielded from unwanted energies.

10. Building an Altar:

An altar serves as a sacred space for your magical work. Personalize it with items that hold significance for you—crystals, candles, symbols, and representations of the elements.

11. Respect for Nature:

Witches often have a deep connection with nature. Spend time outdoors, observe the changing seasons, and incorporate natural elements into your practice.

12. Research and Learning:

Knowledge is a cornerstone of witchcraft. Read books, join online communities, and attend local events to expand your understanding of different traditions, rituals, and practices.

13. Ethics and Responsibility:

Ethical considerations are crucial in witchcraft. Respect the free will of others and act with responsibility and integrity.

14. Journaling Your Journey:

Keep a magical journal to document your experiences, spells, and reflections. This becomes a valuable resource for tracking your progress and understanding patterns in your magical work.

15. Embrace Your Unique Path:

Witchcraft is an ever-evolving journey. Embrace your uniqueness, trust your intuition, and allow your path to unfold organically. There are no rigid rules—only the ones you choose to follow on your enchanted journey.

Remember, the essence of witchcraft lies in the exploration of the self, the connection with the natural world, and the pursuit of personal growth. May your journey into witchcraft be filled with wonder, discovery, and the magic of self-discovery. 🔮🌙✨

My messages are open for questions and ideas! Happy Witching!

#queue the magick #witchcraft #witch #witchblr #magickkate #kitchen witch #sigils #protection magic #witchcore

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gladiolidiaries · 9 months

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When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter.

Freedom to be by Quicksilvermaid 169k

Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. 12 years after the war, he's become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends. Only nothing feels perfect. Until one day he stumbles across a club called Release and begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre 122k

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

The Claiming of Grimmauld Place by bixgirl1 74k

When Grimmauld Place begins fighting against Harry’s ownership of it, he decides he needs help to train the historic home — but little does he expect that it’ll be Malfoy who’s most suitable for the challenge. However, as Malfoy and Harry get closer, Harry comes to understand that expectations aren’t always the best path by which to guide his heart — and in the process learns just what is needed to make a house a home.

Lumos by birdsofshore 41k

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

9 ½ Days by magpie_fngrl 69k

After the events at the Manor, Harry and Draco find themselves stranded in the countryside with a broken wand and Death Eaters on their tail. This is the story of an uneasy truce, featuring faerie forests, seaside caves, Romani camps, kind old ladies, and a shared bed in an attic. Or how two boys fell in love in the midst of a bloody coup.

The Sleeping Beauty Curse by who_la_hoop 152k

When Draco Malfoy falls into a cursed sleep and can only be woken – at least, according to the Daily Prophet, that impeccable source of truth – by ‘true love’s kiss’, Harry Potter knows there’s no way on earth he’s the answer to this particular riddle. Is he . . . ?

The Nightmare Club by Elle Gray (Elle_Gray) 85k

Hermione and Ron are going back to Hogwarts to do N.E.W.T.s, Ginny isn't. Harry hasn't decided, until he has, in front of the Wizengamot and now he's responsible for Malfoy as well. A tale of enemies who learn to get along, get it wrong and get it on. Everything is purple, some things are on fire and no-one is sleeping properly. But don't worry, there's tea!

That Old Black Magic by bixgirl1 77k

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

Tales from the Special Branch by Femme (femmequixotic) 257k

Three months after their brief encounter, Draco has almost forgotten about Potter--or so he tells himself. Then a Dark wizard shows up on the Auror radar and all hell breaks loose. Draco will have to choose between everything he holds dear--everything he's worked so hard for--and a few stolen moments of passion with a certain green-eyed Inspector, once his sworn enemy and now something rather different entirely. He'll make the right choice, won't he? Who is he kidding? He'll ruin everything, as per usual. Bad choices and the name Malfoy go hand in hand.

Men Who Love Dragons Too Much by fencer_x 522k

‘Kill Albus Dumbledore’ is less a challenging task and more a suicide mission, so when Draco Malfoy is presented with the option to either dispatch his Headmaster or suffer an excruciating and most ignominious death of his own, along with his parents, he reaches deep into his black little Slytherin heart and manages to scrape together enough courage to go with option C instead: Spend Sixth Year secretly studying Animagecraft in the hopes he’ll turn into something sufficiently imposing even the Dark Lord himself won’t be able to keep Draco under his thumb. But just his luck, his Animagus form turns out to be a dragon, and a rather randy juvenile at that, intent on finding its mate: one Harry James Potter.

#this post will interest maybe 3 anons but it was fun making it #drarry #harry x draco #hpdm #harry potter

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insidefernweh · 2 years

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Well, hello.

A couple months ago one silly woman (me) decided that it’s time for creativity to take a hold of her and let something cool into this world.

And that’s how I decided to give birth to…a The Amazing Devil blanket. Or I might have dreamed it whilst being feverish. Who knows.

It’s been three months of stitching, embroidering, sewing, unmaking the mistakes, cursing, saying ‘waahheeey’ at the end of the complete step, cursing again and enjoying the hell out of the process of something being made into the realness.

It is literally the embodiment of me. I love it and hate it equally. It has got my favourite quotes from the songs. Yes, that’s me — your favourite girl with maelstrom of lyrics instead of a brain. It also has got some of my blood somewhere along the stitches (did i do it on purpose to please the fae gods aka Joey and Madeleine? you’ll never know. hashtag blood magic.) I wanted to get it done for the Ruin Appreciation Week (though it contains lyrics from all albums) so that was me last week because it was very FAR from being done:

I’m posting the bigger picture + close ups of smaller details and songs’ lyrics. Please feel free to reach out if you want to see a better close up or just to pat me on the head.

I’m posting a video too. It’s silly so enjoey. (ha! see what I did here. that was a typing accident. it’s 1am now. forgive me my jokes.)

warning: the video include some probably offensive actions to the professional seamstresses. i’m only a humble ignorant person who decided to sew for the first time in her life. i do hope you’ll like it.

references used:

the central embroidery: TAD’s old picture from some posters back in the love run era + some sage and forget-me-nots

top right and left bottom corners: pictures of joey and madeleine

songs: secret worlds, the calling, inkpot gods, drinking song for the socially anxious, chords, farewell wanderlust, not yet/love run (reprise), that unwanted animal, battle cries, elsa’s song, wild blue yonder

UPD: A few of you have been asking about the quotes I used on my blanket/quilt and why I chose them so here I am:

If you ask me for my fire, just watch me burn — you know what, I recently started to interpret this line in a positive way? It was a recent thing I understood about myself. I always thought I was good at working/doing things well in the long run, when you have to do it patiently and for years but in my journey of self-discovery I realized that in reality I’m much better as a sprinter — someone who does an incredible job while being under the vast amount of pressure and when you need to do it in a restricted period of time; I will give all of myself to this project/work, every bit of passion I have, every bit of patience. So yeah. If you ask me for my fire — just watch me burn. But then I’ll hibernate for a month.

Can’t you hear it howling? — OKAY HANDS DOWN PROBABLY MY FAVOURITE LYRICS/MELODY SECTION FROM THE WHOLE RUIN ALBUM. Even not the part that is sung by Madeleine, but the back voices Joey’s harmonies sing in the final chorus at 4:28 and till the end. OOOOH WHY SO GOOD.

If I don’t make it back from where i’ve gone just know I loved you all along — this is such a beautiful closing of the song. also such a tormenting thought. i love it.

Such endless blue — I’ve always been drawn to the dark blue colours, especially when I paint. I always run out of the blue watercolour because contrary to this song, it’s not endless :D I’m manifesting an abyss of blue watercolour for myself here lol

You say the words so often but I barely know the meaning — okay so Elsa’ Song is primarily pretty heartbreaking right? The more heartbreaking part being that it is sung as a lullaby. Who didn’t have that moment when the meaning of the words you’re saying slips through your fingers just because you said them too often? Who didn’t have that sad awakening moment of losing trust in a person just because they always promised something and never did it?

After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last — I’ve been thinking about tattooing this quote for quite a while now. It reminds me of my depressive state which very often returned to me in summer and every time it slowly creeped away, I felt the hunger for life in the early autumn. Every time felt like an eternity.

Is nought but fumble-falls and guns and tumbleweeds, love, run — my favourite quote from the superior use of the English language that is that section in Love Run. I am in love with it. All the phonetic twirls makes me shiver sometimes.

Well, hello my hollow Holofernes — ALLITERATION SUPREMACY!!

I’ll sing silence and ask my glass of wine for guidance — i love to sit at home alone and stare into my glass. it doesn’t answer though. what about it. and again — to sing silence? OXYMORONS GIVE ME THEM

Go tell me how we fucked you up and oh my god, it’s so unfair — ah. the hardship of parenting/teaching. I was there, I remember it all too well.

Let’s us waltz for the dead — the oxymoronic style of this line IS JUST A CHEF’S KISS. WALTZ? VERY SOPHISTICATED THING? FOR THE DEAD? NOT THAT PLEASANT TYPE OF A THING? mister batey let me boop you affectionately on the nose you are so clever.

#the amazing devil #joey batey #madeleine hyland #embroidery #ruinanniversary2022

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justcallmeanobsessor · 9 months

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-A Deal With The Devil-

-Trigger Warnings: Dud-Con, Sexual Content, Size Difference, Mentions of Claws, oral sex

-Pairings: Demon! Male x gn Witch! reader

INTRO:

Only an orange glow of candle light lit up the sight in front of me. His yellow eyes stared up at me with hunger, claws digging into my thighs as his tongue dipped deeper into my depths. Reaching every spot it can, he left no crevice untouched as if he was claiming me for himself. This wasn't how I thought this would go. All I wanted was a simple contract to help me with my endeavors, instead I have this demonic creature on his knees, groaning at the taste of me.

Many would say my thirst for knowledge knows no bounds for what I am about to attempt but others would say I'm just plain stupid and maybe I am. It's not every day that you call on the forces of hell to help you with discovering the secrets of the universe and accomplish your life goals but I also guess for my kind it's just as natural as adopting a new cat. Though this cat is much larger and has a few tricks up its sleeves that most definitely shouldn't be taken lightly unless you want to be left with a few less limbs.

In a cottage, I knelt beside a pentagram that sat in the midst of a circle of dark red candles. A book of seances and spells sat in my hands. My courage to go on with the summons was starting to slowly fade as everything became a bit more real but the thoughts of what I'd gain from this pushed me to finally start the chanting.

After a while I had gotten to the end of the lengthy paragraphs written in old latin. Nothing happened. Not even a flicker of candle light. ‘Great, Well this was a waste of time’ I thought as I stood from my kneeling position moving to start cleaning up the mess I had made, no need to start an unwanted conspiracy by someone stumbling upon this sight.

Just as I was about to smudge a line in the pentagram a strong light emitted from it painting the walls of the room in blood red. My wonder was short lived for just like it had started in only a few seconds it was gone even sooner.

My eyes took a couple of seconds to adjust again but once they did what stood before me left me in awe. A beautiful man was standing there and a scowl of what looked to be annoyance sat on his pale face. He narrowed his brightly glowing eyes at me examining my body and then moving to the room around us, glancing and inspecting every crevice yet not moving a foot from where he stood. ‘Why have I been summoned, Witch.’ he spat out the word ‘witch’ with absolute disgust, crossing his arms in the process. “I-i-i…..” I stammered trying to get the words out but failing miserably. “Well! Spit it out, I don't have all day!” His annoyance with this whole situation seemed to increase exponentially more with every passing second. “I-um I want to make a contract with you!” The end of my sentence came out rushed and more demanding than I had wanted.

He crosses his arms and stands straighter, looming over me. “You, an insolent little witch, want to make a contract with me?” “Yes, I do.” I straighten my posture as well, looking up into his golden eyes. “I want you to help me with my discoveries, I want knowledge and nothing more.” I started to get a bit more confident but the sudden condescending laugh he let out diminished that quickly. “And what do you have that I would want in return for giving you this ‘knowledge’ that you desperately seek?” I froze, I had entirely forgotten that I needed to give something in exchange. How could I forget this?!

Most witches would use a valuable object or artifact in return for the demon's help but I had yet to obtain anything of the sort. I didn't have anything that would be of value to a demon, all that I really owned was myself and the clothes on my back, everything else belonged to the coven. Wait. “Well, what do you have, little witch?” This may be the stupidest idea ever but this is my last and only chance. “I'll give you myself.” “What?” He looked down at me with shock and confusion. “My body and soul are yours if only you complete my requests and help me in my endeavors!” his shock turns into a smug grin mockingly. “Do you even know what you are proposing little witch?” “Yes-yes I do!” I'm unsure of what he means by that. I'm basically offering myself up as a puppet for his biddings. “I'm unsure if you know the extent of what you have offered me but I guess that's more fun.” confusion washes across my face. Damn demons and their games. “Well, do you agree?” He closes his eyes, holding his chin in between his clawed thumb and pointer finger in thought. “It seems with such a precious offer I have no other choice but to accept.” He purred, holding out his hand to seal the contract between us. I lift mine into his and as he holds my hand our difference in size becomes even more noticeable. He could break me in half with little to no effort.

Our hands were wrapped in a golden light, scaring the skin below and ceiling the contract with it. I had moved to pull my hand from his, he had different plans. Pulling my smaller frame into his chest and bringing his mouth to my ear he spoke. “I think it's time to show you exactly what you have offered up.” I still was utterly confused as to what he was talking about but everything became more obvious to what he had been alluding to when his tongue licked up the side of my ear, his teeth nibbling on the tip causing a moan to ripple from throat. My hands came up to my mouth, horrified at the noise I had just made. The demon chuckled, prying my hands off my mouth. “Don't hide those pretty noises from me, little witch.” With those growled words a blush had made its way to my face and a fog of lust began to wash over my mind.

He went back to his work, licking at the shell of my ear then moving downwards leaving kisses and bites in his path. As he got to the base of my neck he sucked hard enough to leave a deep bruise that would be noticeable to anyone who even glanced at it, in a way, he seemed to be marking me as his.

He was slow with his actions but they were calculated and rough, making me shiver with pure pleasure. No matter how much one half of me wanted to refuse, I just couldn't bring myself to, not even as he removed my shirt and made his way down to my chest. Not even as his tongue circled around my nipple, sucking and nibbling at it while his hand tugged and twisted the other between his fingers. I had no knowledge of just how sensitive I was until this very moment, with both the work of his mouth and hands sending waves after waves of pleasure towards my nethers. My knees had begun to buckle underneath me but before I had the chance to be taken by the pleasure completely and fall to the ground below, he caught me in his arms leading me to lay on the wooden planks of the cottage as he finished stripping me of my clothing.

He knelt between my legs spreading my thighs apart, groaning at the sight of my throbbing hole. He wasted no time in dipping his head down and liking at my entrance causing a moan to fall from my lips. He lifted his golden eyes to look at me, a smirk forming on his face as he plunged his tongue into my depths not moving his eyes away from me.

My head whipped back as I held myself up on my elbows. His tongue licked over every inch of my insides not leaving anything untouched, claiming everything he could reach. Hitting every pleasurable spot inside me, taking all I am for his own and leaving me only wanting more so much more. “Please please!” He pulled his tongue out from my hole leaving me whining to be filled again. “Please what? Use your words little witch.” “Please, more.” I whined just wanting something inside me. “Hmm I don't think you deserve more just yet.” What was he talking about? He can't be serious, is he really playing games right now? “Fuck! I'll do anything Just do something!” I yelled out in frustration. “I don't like being ordered around, little witch.” He growled lowly as he pulled me up by my hair, shoving my face into his crotch. His hard cock resting against my cheek. “Suck.” He commanded. I didn't fight back, licking a line up to his head and then suckling on the tip. Swirling my tongue as he groaned, putting his hand on the back of my head and shoving me down his length till my nose hit his pelvis.

As I was Gagging and struggling to breath he pulled back thrusting into my throat again. I breathed through my nose as he continued his relentless thrusts. My fingernails digging into his thighs leaving crescent indents. Tears pricked my eyes with the strength he was using, my lips starting to get sore. As his thrusts started to spasm he shoved his whole cock in my mouth when a thick warm liquid ran down my throat. “Swallow.” he demanded, then removed his length from my mouth. I did as he said, gulping down the salty liquid and opening my mouth to him to prove that I had. “Good, little witch, maybe next time I'll reward you.” Wait he isnt going to leave me like this is he? “What? but i-!”

“You didn't actually think I'd give you something in return after how you spoke to me?” I went quiet, looking down in shame and frustration as he started to clean himself up. “Like I said you don't deserve it yet, little witch.” This smug ass fucker. The next thing I knew he was gone leaving me desperate and frustrated. This is not at all how I thought this would turn out.

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queenshelby · 7 months

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Our Little Secret (Part 13)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Two weeks had passed and you had almost moved on with your life which did not involve your family.

Your mother had kicked you out of her own house following your tryst with Cillian. But as luck would have it, your cousin Lukas had offered you a place to stay after Emma's parents too would not allow you to remain at their family home for more than a week.

You had to find a job quickly to sustain yourself and fortunately, you managed to secure employment at a local bookstore. The hours were flexible, and they paid decently, making your living situation somewhat manageable under these circumstances.

School, however, had to give way to your new lifestyle and you chose to transfer to college in the evening in an attempt to finish your education.

As far as Cillian was concerned, you had not heard from him since that afternoon, leaving you in a state of limbo regarding your relationship status with him.

From the local papers, you since learned that he had finally left Danielle and was now publicly fighting for custody of his son Max who the columns claimed was not his actual son at all.

Yet none of this mattered as you sat there staring blankly into space, haunted by memories and regret. Overwhelmed by guilt and confusion, you tried to block out the past few months - how you became entangled in such a mess with no future, only moments spent locked away from the world. But, it wasn’t easy. It felt as though the entire universe conspired to punish you for daring to experience passion beyond societal norms, yet you continued searching deep inside yourself for answers that wouldn't come easily.

You were pregnant with Cillian's child and an abortion was not currently something you could afford emotionally nor financially, forcing you to confront your reality alone. For the first time in years, the choices you made seemed to echo hollowly in your ears as you attempted to navigate this complex web of deceit, betrayal, and self-discovery.

"Em, I do not know what to do," you admitted honestly, breaking down in tears as she visited you, just like she did every day after you finished work.

Emma pulled you close, offering comfort as she held you tight.

"We're going to figure this out together," she assured you reassuringly, wiping away your tears. "But I honestly think that you need to tell Cillian," Emma added cautiously. "He has a right to know."

Her advice struck a chord in you, causing you to sit upright and nod thoughtfully.

"I asked him if he could meet, about a week ago, and he never got back to me, Em!" you said, feeling worthless and unwanted.

"He is going through a lot himself and he doesn't know about you carrying his child. Maybe you should try and give him a call again?" Emma interjected, attempting to mediate.

Despite Emma's suggestion, you remained hesitant, unsure whether reaching out to Cillian was the right decision. Nevertheless, you decided to pick up your phone and call him regardless of the consequences.

After a series of rings, someone else picked up on the other end – a stranger.

“Hello, can I speak to Cillian please?” you asked politely, trying hard to maintain composure amidst growing anxiety.

"Who am I speaking to?" replied the unfamiliar voice, curiosity evident in her tone.

”This is Y/N and I really need to speak with him,” you introduced yourself, taking a deep breath in preparation for what might follow. “Is Cillian available, please?” you begged and, just after you did, there was silence on the line for several seconds before the woman spoke up again.

"So, you are the homewrecker?" she snarled bitterly, anger radiating from her voice.

You flinched upon hearing those harsh words directed at you. You didn't expect the person answering Cillian's phone to actually know who you were, but then again, you did not know about the woman on the other line either.

"Listen, my brother isn't available. Don't call again. Please don't bother him anymore," came the venomous reply. Taken aback by the hostility, you couldn't understand why she reacted so aggressively when you hadn't even spoken poorly of Cillian. After a momentary pause, you found your voice.

"Actually, it's important we talk, whether you like it or not," you stated resolutely, ignoring the sharp edge in her voice. There was another brief silence followed by a mocking laughter that broke the air.

"Listen sweetheart, Cillian is going through legal proceedings against his wife, Danielle, because of you. He should not be speaking to you and if you call this phone again, I will provide you with a cease-and-desist letter on my brother's behalf. Any further contact will be considered as harassment, " she threatened ominously making you realise that the woman on the other end of the line was not only Cillian's sister, but also his solicitor, handling his custody case.

You recalled having met her at the funeral a few weeks ago. Her name was Alison and she worked at one of the largest law firms in Dublin.

As the conversation progressed, it became apparent that she despised you with an intensity that took you off guard. To make matters worse, she insisted you ceased communication with Cillian altogether. This was problematic considering she served as both Cillian's attorney and sister, putting her in a unique and potentially influential position.

You struggled to comprehend the full extent of your predicament until now. How were you supposed to inform Cillian about the child growing inside you without incurring the wrath of his sister?

It appeared impossible. Nonetheless, you had to reach out somehow, eventually, and hope for understanding from both sides despite their conflicted history.

As days turned into weeks, you grew increasingly anxious and restless, worrying constantly about how you were going to break the news to Cillian as the dire three-month mark drew nearer and you had yet another appointment with a local social worker to discuss your situation.

She offered you both, a community funded loan to carry out the procedure you needed or the option of putting you in touch with an adoption agency so that, further down the track, you could give up your child if you desired to do so.

Although it may seem cruel, it seemed practical and logical in light of your situation and, in the end, even Emma agreed with you on that front. The idea that you could choose whether or not to become a parent appealed to your desire for control over your destiny. However, this was easier said than done. Having a baby meant drastically altering your course forever, but you also knew that, not having the baby, might cause you regret.

The choice loomed large, casting its shadow over your daily existence. You frequently found yourself pondering the gravity of your options while walking along the quiet streets surrounding your temporary residence late at night. You often stopped in your tracks, contemplating your fate as a result of your irresponsible actions.

Life seemed determined to play itself out according to the chaos you created. Every passing day brought you closer to facing the inevitable truth and this truth was now something you had to confront by yourself. Without the man who caused all this by your site.

Tags:

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian fanfic #cillianmurphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction

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adventuringblind · 7 months

Text

Drive With You Forever

Chapter 8.5: Play Rough

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri

Chapter summary: four go two a bar, two end up covered in marks

Warnings: PinV, dom/sub, rough sex, marking, possessive behavior, sub space, hair pulling, titles (daddy, sir)

Notes: gotta have some self-discovery, ya know?

Masterlist

This was not how she thought their night would be ending. Just stopping in at the after-party and then coming back to the room for some well-deserved sleep.

There was no sleep happening in this hotel room tonight.

They had gone to the after party. She was wearing a dress in a pretty blue color that she felt confident in. It wasn't revealing. The insecure part of her brain told her that she would be an embarrassment if she showed off her skin and scars anymore than she already was.

They all looked good, in her honest opinion. The other three had her feeling all sorts of things with just their clothes.

The group had split into pairs. Her and Lando went up to the bar. Nothing strong for them, neither of them quite like the feeling of alcohol.

Charles and Max have a tendency to keep putting away the alcohol and the younger two end up dragging them back to bed. So they get the privilege of going first while the olders meet up with their mates.

"You look pretty tonight. Is there a special someone you're dressing for?" He winks comically bad. He knows the answer to his question. She'd done it for herself, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try and make her blush.

The reason they travel in pairs is because places like this have a tendency to lower people's filters. They up the creepy and stupid factor by too much on most occasions.

Her first experience at a club was horrendous. She was not prepared for the amount of close proximity encounters and men touching her waist.

She didn't know why she flinched so hard. Almost as if her body was on auto pilot for something she had no clue about.

Regardless, he touched her and tried to steal her away from Max. His mistake, really. The Dutch doesn't particularly like sharing with strangers.

Max is possessive. It's not in a bad way. He's just extremely protective. She'd confided in him and had shared her fears with him. If something made her scared or uncomfortable, then he had every intention of fixing the problem.

He'd punched him, and then they left.

Max had done something similar with Lando, though much less aggressive.

The Brit struggles to make himself heard at times. His natural instinct is to keep the peace if someone gets aggressive with him. Unless it's him being a brat on purpose to get Max to be rough with him.

Again, they'd decided to go out with some friends to a club. Lando had found himself alone at the bar waiting for a drink. His loneliness lasted seconds.

A woman, who she'd found beautiful herself, had approached him. She'd started the unwanted advances on him, and he could not get the idea through to her that he wasn't interested.

She'd continued, though. She went as far as to run her fingers along his patches of skin that his t-shirt didn't cover.

He wanted to scream at her to stop, but his voice kept getting caught in his throat.

She'd seen it escalate farther. The vision hitting her like a train. She'd tapped Max's should and simply said 'Lando' and 'help'.

Max was gone in an instant, putting himself between Lando and the obnoxious woman. Then, he proceeded to tell her off. He didn't care who was looking. If someone asked, he was defending a friend.

Charles and the female ended up making a trip to the store that night. Lando had so many hickies and a good few that needed to be covered.

After those couple incidents, they travel in pairs. It didn't matter who or where. They always have a buddy, as Lando likes to call it.

But even the buddy system can't always save them.

Despite the empty seats at the bar, a couple of similar age to them sit down on either side of the two. It felt oddly like a trap, and she was already uncomfortable. She catches how Lando drops his hand down to the side and she discreetly takes it.

Her and Lando had come up with a secret language a while back. It allows them to talk during conversations with other people or about Charles and Max when they are in the room.

She threw a few rapid taps into his palm. 'Unsafe'

'Copy. Leave?'

Before she can respond, the two are striking up an incredibly forward conversation.

"Are you two together?" Smirks the male.

For publicty reasons. "No, just friends."

"What a shame, you're both just too adorable." Purrs the woman next to her. "Maybe you want to come get some advice about bedroom performance? Or just to have some fun."

She feels sick. "I have a boyfriend." She settles for. A line Hana actually told her to use. The majority of unwanted advances can be stopped with just that line. Even if they keep talking, they are less likely to try anything.

"And it’s not the fine, young man?" The man on the other side of Lando starts messing with Lando's collar. His freeze response kicking in hard.

"No, but he'll be over here shortly." She tries to smile politely, so this doesn't escalate.

"But you're both so pretty. I really don't want to let this opportunity go to waste." The girl assumes that the woman now pawing at the hem of her dress and thighs is delusional.

Her response is much different from Lando. She has a tendency to fight if people start touching her. More aggressive than she likes, but its sort of deserved on their end.

She's shoving th woman away from her. Batting her hands away from her thighs. Yet the woman still persists, and she can see that they are using it as a distraction to put something in the drinks in front of them.

Max and Charles enter the bar area and see them struggling. Charles is quick to grab Max's shoulder to stop him from doing something rash.

Both of them stride over, and it looks oddly intimidating. She man and woman halt their actions as they approach.

"I don't think they like that very much." Charles crosses his arms over his chest.

"I'm giving you a chance to get away." Seethes Max.

Then, the couple is scrambling to get away. Leaving the younger two in shock and distress.

She vaugly remembers something about 'Claiming them' being said on the ride back to the hotel.

Which is where they are now. Clothes scattered about. The sun is gone, and the only light is now a dim lamp.

"I feel like I've done something wrong." Admits the Brit. He's sitting on the bed in his boxers, waiting for anything to happen. His back is to her, and she's sitting in the exact same position on the opposite side of the bed.

"Nope, but that interaction had us wanting you both." Expresses Charles. "Might leave a few marks to show everyone that you're taken."

Charles winks at her and leaves her a blushy mess. Sometimes, she hates what they do to her. Yet she simultaneously loves it.

"You know Charles, I think we ought to remind them why it is they chose us and not people like them." He suggests.

Max basically manhandles Lando into where he wants him. Underneath and pleading with his eyes.

Max attacks his collar bone. She can her the Dutch doing his best to mark him. She can't see them since her back is turned, but she listens.

Charles eyes her up and down before doing the same. Though he is much more gentle. They are all gentle with her. Sometimes, she wishes they'd be rough with her also.

She looks away from Charles for a second and gazes over at the other two with jealousy.

"Words, amour."

"Can we- do like they're doing? I guess." She stutters out.

Charles grabs her chin and brings her gaze back to him. "You want me to be rough?"

She nods yes eagerly. The anticapation building up inside her is insane. She feels like she might spontaneously combust.

"Tell me if you don't like it and we'll stop, okay?"

"Okay."

Then Charles is doing the same to her. Tossing her limbs around to get her situated where he wants her. He trails kisses and marks a path down to the waistband of her underwear. He peels them off of her and tosses them aside.

"I think someone likes this." He winks. Once again, leaving her to blush.

He teases her with the tip of his finger. She almost whines at the feeling, but she can't as he decides to thrust his fingers inside her with an intense speed.

She looks next to her where Lando is getting more of the same treatment from Max. The Brits moans only grow from watching her and Charles.

"I think they like this, Charlie." Smirks Max. The cheeky Dutch is listening to some of his favorite sounds at the moment, and he never wants it to end.

She can hardly register what's happening. Charles has more than one finger in her, and she knows she's not going to last much longer.

Much to her dismay, he pulls out of her. She looks at him with curiosity as he starts stripping himself of his clothes.

Max turns his attention to the Monegasque and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss. He helps Charles out of his clothes and then discards his own. It's clumsy, but they could care less.

She takes a second to look at Lando. The bright red marks already blossoming around his skin. She can't help herself and reaches out to caress the biggest mark on his collarbone. She'd had a fascination with how a bruise can be pretty.

Lando throws her a smile. Her curiosity is one of his favorite things about her.

The older two finally turn their attention back to them. The look on endearingly as the female continues to study each mark. On the Brit.

"You wanna leave one?" Max asks her. She'd never left a mark on any of them. To scared she'd hurt them or do it wrong.

But seeing how Lando is enjoying it makes her want to. She nods her head yes, and the odd bit of excitement of doing something new comes back.

"Why don't you put it on the bottom of his neck. He likes it there." Max guides her, and she does as suggested.

As soon as she her lips hit the spot, Lando is a mess again. One of his hands finding the back of her head and strokes her hair.

She takes her time deliberately licking, sucking, and biting. She can feel Lando squirming and feeling the moans in his throat. It only intensifies when the older two find their way back to them. Their hands now roaming everywhere.

Max is the one that pulls her off. "See, isn't that a pretty mark?" She smiles at her work and the out of breath Lando.

Then Lando lands a kiss to her lips. It's sloppy and hungry, and she has no idea what to do next.

Max and Charles guide them. Her lips are still on Landos even as they are moved.

The fact that they've done this before and it still feels new every time makes a mess of her. Charles is taking her from behind. she and Lando are attempting to have contact, but it's difficult when he's also being taken by Max. It's rough, and it's hot, and she hasn't even finished and is still in a state of bliss.

Charles' grip on her hips and thighs is bruising, and his pace is once again relentless. She can't help but fall further into the mattress.

Charles doesn't let that slide and is pulling on her hair to bring her back up. It hurts a little, but she likes it and can stop the heavy moan that leaves her lips because of it.

"Look at Lando. Look at the mess you've helped make of him." He leans down and whispers into her skin.

She wants to think about it more. She wants to think about Lando's whines of pleasure and the sounds of Max and Charles' sloppy kisses above her.

But she can't because she's fuzzy in the head and on the verge of falling over the edge into complete bliss.

"Can I- please- need to."

Charles redirects his attention to her. His hand. Slips around the front, forcing her jaw upwards as Max mirrors the motion. She is now staring straight into Lando's eyes.

She might die here, she thinks.

"Beg for it. Need to hear how bad you want it Chéri." Charles punctuates with a deep guttural moan.

"Please, I want it so bad- please, Daddy Mm need it." The name does things to Charles, and she knows it.

The title of sorts came before Lando joined. It was originally Max's, and occasionally, it still is, but when they are both dominant like this, then Max is sir, and Charles is daddy because they have to differentiate somehow.

Regardless, she lets it slip and then Charles' hips stutter. She registers the permission she needs, and then she's gone. Lando is falling with her. She would love to see it, but her vision is going blurry as Charles gets her through the high.

It's all heavy panting for a moment. Then Lando is whining, and Max and Charles are whispering to each other.

She sometimes hates herself for getting so deep into the headspace that she can't think of anything else. And the not lack of touch is making her want to cry.

Until the familiar feeling of Max's rough hand is palming at her ass. He flips her with ease. Something she's yet to get used to. Then, he caresses her face gently. Lando is already moaning heavily once again, followed by the familiar moans of Charles.

"Gonna let sir take care of you, yeah?" And who is she to say no? She mumbles a slew of 'yes' and 'please', but it's not at all coherent.

"Want sir in me, please." She manages through small pants and whines. And Max is never one to waste time. She's already stretched, so he doesn't wait. He immediately sets an inhuman pace.

She finds her gaze drifting to other places only for it to be brought back to Max by force. "Eyes stay on me." Somehow, the eye contact only increases the pleasure.

It's like her mind has overridden itself. Wanting nothing more than to hear the praise she craves and is willing to do anything to get it.

"Don't need to ask."

The part of her mind that can't form coherent words becomes relieved. She's not sure she could ask if she wanted to.

Max's hands grip into her hip and thigh. Again, she can hear more than she sees. Lando has found his peek again, presumably, by the whiny scream he lets out. The next is Charles, who is shockingly not as vocal tonight. Yet the French swearing gives him away.

Her eyes are still firmly placed on Max. His eyes glazed over with nothing but lust. He presses his body further into hers. The skin on skin lighting every one of her nerves on fire.

Max grips onto her collar bone with his teeth. The suddenness of it causes her back to arch. Her vision goes fuzzy as she finds herself jumping off the ledge into a pool of bliss and pleasure.

It's beautiful. Her boys are beautiful. It's the only thought her mind can grab onto as Max slows.

He pulls out of her slowly, then crawls down the length of her body. Kissing every scar along the way. The feeling makes her ever more drowsy.

He takes the opportunity to bite and suck in a few different places. Leaving marks every Charles and Lando had yet to leave any. Her body was clearly marked.

"No falling asleep yet. We need to clean up and get liquids in us." Max pulls himself away from her, and she almost cries at no longer being able to feel anyone's skin on hers.

Charles splays his ringed fingers on her thigh. The new sensation makes her shiver.

The two are exchanging words and endearing looks. Charles and Max are cute like that.

"We're going to clean up and grab a few things. We'll be back in two minutes to help the two of you, okay?" She shakes her head yes, not completely understanding, but she heard him, which is the important part right now.

Charles replaces his hand with Lando's. Who ultimately just drags her body into his for more contact.

Something about post sex cuddles makes her feel fluttery. Specifically with Lando because usually he's just as out of it as her.

"Don't think I'll be walking tomorrow." He mumbles into her shoulder. "Did you like it rough? I'll beat 'em up if you didn't."

"It was... fun? I'm not sure how else to describe it." She forgets sometimes that Sex doesn't have to be serious. She can have fun and still feel good.

"Next, I'll teach you how to say 'make me'."

Max and Charles come out from wherever they and a loud 'absolutely not' can be heard from the two in unison.

Tags: @styles-sunflower @purplephantomwolf @boiohboii @reblog-princess-blog @jayda12 @faithm120601 @eugene-emt-roe @lpab @yaaadii @80sloverry @spongebeck3101 @eviethetheatrefreak @chanshintien @vellicora @hollie911 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @be-your-coffee-pot

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hlficlibrary · 2 months

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✤ Fake Relationship Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Escapade by dolce_piccante / @haydolce {M, 146k}

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

2️⃣ And Then a Bit by @infinitelymint {E, 158k}

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

3️⃣ California Sold by @isthatyoularry {M, 123k}

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

4️⃣ Paint Me In A Million Dreams by green_feelings / @greenfeelings {M, 112k}

Harry's one of Hollywood's biggest actors, has made a name for himself in prestigious films and lives the life of a superstar. There's just one thing missing to make it picture-perfect, but the one Harry's in love with is completely out of reach for him. Enter Louis, one of Hollywood's biggest actors himself, who just came out of the closet and taps new genres in the industry. When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese's next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity?

In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food.

5️⃣ Faking It by TheCellarDoor / @donotdialnine {M, 46k}

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 this charade (was never going to last) by @scrunchyharry {E, 68k}

On the surface, CitizenX, an international caritative nonprofit, looked like any other nonprofit, funding humanitarian missions worldwide and striving to make the world a better place, one donation at a time.

At least, that was what Harry thought, until he was hired as a computer specialist for a spinoff agency called carish, whose true purpose was to reveal CitizenX’s tangled web of lies.

As if the whole ‘industrial spy’ business was not stressful enough, Harry found himself in a hatred-at-first-sight relationship with one of his new coworkers, Louis, a man intent on detesting Harry.

When the worst happened and Harry and Louis found themselves thrown together in hiding, with only each other to rely on, Harry never could have predicted the turn their relationship would take.

Nor could he anticipate that it would all be taken away from him and he would have to decide how far he was willing to go to get Louis back.

💎 Love Is a Winning Game by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings {M, 47k}

Before their broken engagement, Harry had his head stuck so far in the clouds that he doesn’t even remember entering him and Louis for something as crazy as a couple's gameshow until a series of bad, post-breakup decisions puts Harry in the awkward position of needing the help of his ex-fiancé to try and fix the mess he has made.

💎 Wed’n Walk (Or, We Went to Amsterdam Together) by @hellolovers13 {E, 11k}

When Harry had first started planning his honeymoon to Amsterdam, he had not envisioned ending up there with his best friend.

Or getting fake-married to him for 24 hours.

💎 Every Line, Every Word, Everything by lsforever / @kingonafiftymetreroad {G, 10k}

“I just fucking came out of the closet to the whole world so I wouldn’t have to parade around fake relationships anymore and that’s what you’re trying to put on me again?!”

or, the AU where Harry's team suggests that he should have a fake boyfriend after he's just come out. Who would've thought it would be his best friend?

💎 Just To See That Smile by @homosociallyyours {NR, 6k}

It's Coming Out Week at university, and Harry's taken on a lot of responsibilities to make everything run smoothly. Finding his roommate's boyfriend attractive is making that a bit difficult, unfortunately. It might help if he realized that said boyfriend (Louis) is really just there to help said roommate (Liam) figure out if Liam's crush (Zayn) likes him back.

But that would make things too easy.

A fic where a hastily faked relationship and a lot of miscommunication almost ruins a perfectly good dance.

#ficrec #fakerelationship #homosociallyyours #lsforever #scrunchyharry #hellolovers13 #rearviewdreamer #thecellardoor #dolcepiccante #isthatyoularry #infinitelymint #greenfeelings

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chemicalreal · 2 months

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The jedi: the flawed order that failed the chosen one

Anakin's descent into darkness in Episode 3 goes beyond his personal journey and sheds light on the similarities between Anakin and the Jedi as well as the Sith and the Jedi. Anakin's ability to intuit and foresee the future primarily manifests through his dreams, significantly influencing his subsequent actions. Similarly, the Jedi's perception and knowledge of future events set the stage for a series of plots that culminate in the climactic events of Revenge of the Sith.

Anakin's immediate regret over killing an unarmed Count Dooku and later on Mace Windu echoing the same words as Palpatine did in the beginning, justifying the murder of an unarmed enemy, highlights the skewed perception he forms of the jedi order, portraying them as power-hungry and selfish, akin to the Chancellor, as well as the biggest hypocrites when it comes to their code.

Although Anakin recognizes that Sidious is malevolent and acting out of self-interest, he ultimately places the Jedi and the Sith on the same ethical level and his personal motive of saving Padme becomes the decisive factor in his decisions, leading him down a path of darkness where he rationalizes his terrible deeds with this premise.

The Jedi's inherent distrust of Anakin from his first day stemmed from their perception that his remarkable affinity with the Force posed a potential threat to their established order. However, this initial judgment proved to be a significant mistake that will lead to their failure, especially considering their recent discovery of an active Sith presence recruiting individuals to their cause. Anakin's journey into darkness begins with a profound sense of rejection by the Jedi Order, stemming from their inability to see beyond their arbitrary requirements and fully embrace his capabilities.

Apart from Qui-Gon Jinn, who recognizes Anakin's potential, the rest of the Jedi show little faith in him, leaving him feeling isolated and unwanted. Even Obi-Wan's decision to mentor Anakin is more out of duty to his late master's final wish than a genuine connection or belief in Anakin's abilities. Both Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order fell into the same trap as Anakin did in Episode 3 regarding their perceptions of the future, ultimately fulfilling their own fears regarding him and his perceived role. Qui-Gon makes the right call in his belief that an uncertain future doesn't inherently spell doom but rather depends on the choices individuals make. This contrasts sharply with the Jedi Order's fear of the unknown, a poignant irony given their professed stoicism and obsessive rejection of human emotions.

This mindset causes them to overlook significant aspects of their new apprentice, assuming they could simply be disregarded – such as neglecting the natural bond between parent and child. They believed that by finally admitting Anakin into their ranks, they could simply train him similarly to the young children who didn't develop yet long term memory to remember their parents. However, they lacked the empathy and the compassion to address his concerns about his mother, and they never attempted to create conditions that would allow him to let go of that worry, such as freeing her and ensuring her well-being in a comfortable planet of the Republic. Despite Anakin's valuable contributions to the Jedi on Tatooine and the Naboo army in episode 1, freely offering his assistance without seeking anything in return, the only jedi who was aware they owed him a lot and showed genuine care for him and his mother died in the midst of it all.

The avoidable circumstances surrounding his mother's death result in an irreparable rift, leading Anakin to lose trust in the Jedi when faced with similar situation involving his wife and the need to divulge the true nature of their relationship.

Qui-Gon's advice to live in the present, attuned to the living Force, echoes throughout the original trilogy, notably paralleled by Yoda in Episode 5. The 20 years spent in contemplative exile prior to his meeting with Luke make Yoda acknowledge some of his own past mistakes during the Clone Wars and learn from them, proving that no matter the age, life will always provide new lessons to learn. Initially prone to projecting into the future, Yoda's prejudiced view of Anakin in Episode 1 results in a series of missteps that contribute to his own failures. In contrast, by Episode 5, Yoda adopts a similar attitude to Qui-Gon's, counseling Luke that the future remains uncertain and emphasizing the importance of self-belief, confidence and trust in the force, exemplified when he explains that Luke's inability to move his ship with the Force stems from a lack of belief in himself.

#star wars #star wars prequels #sw prequels #yoda #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #mace windu #darth sidious #palpatine #darth vader #jedi order #qui gon jinn #padme amidala #shmi skywalker #luke skywalker #revenge of the sith #the phantom menace #attack of the clones #empire strikes back

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canarydarity · 5 months

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(Thought a little bit too hard about Romeo and Juliet ranchers...)

Keeping his head low and his tread light, Tango ducks from tree to tree under the cover of dark from the canopy, protecting him from the spotlight of the moon and therefore his discovery. Behind his back, leftover laughter from Skizz and Etho drifts further away; the volume of Skizz’s last protests, however, remains annoyingly the same as it continues to plague his mind, as does the memory of Etho’s agreement that Tango was—for lack of a better word—fucked.

Louder than all of that, though, more insistent, more pressing, was the ghost of Jimmy’s lips against his. The sole force of it drove him on, his heart tripping in anticipation when around the trunk of a tree he’d glimpse the stone of the house of Solidarity, or through a break in the leaves he’d catch a glimpse of light from a brazier.

Voices draw near just as the treeline breaks at last, and Tango ducks behind the nearest trunk as two servants meander by, following a worn path toward the back of the manor; his courage returns to him as they fade, and as if pulled by some rope falling taught or some string being coiled, Tango draws as close as he dares to the base of the stone without giving up the shade of the last tree. He kneels.

Now that he’s here, he must admit, his mind draws blank of any possible plan for continuing on. It’s not like he can wander the house of Solidarity unattended, making it clear in every way that he did not belong, and, on top of that, with one of Verona’s most recognizably unwanted faces.

Idiot, Skizz had called him; blinded, his friend had laughed. Always the most cautious of them, Etho had recalled that even a masquerade hadn’t been enough to conceal his presence from Grian.

And Tango hadn’t really until now heard a word.

Movement in the far window, the unmistakable shifting of the curtains, drawn by an imaginary force—the manmade wind of someone passing through. After a moment, a more permanent form takes shape, and Tango finds himself wondering how he could have stayed still for so long, how the sun could possibly have risen while he had been unaware.

But it of course is not the sun. He blinks and darkness is restored around him as his eyes adjust to the sight.

Jimmy, framed in beiges and creams and white—the masonry, the curtains, his blouse—fair as any portrait, as any bolt of silk, as any fine jewel. The slightly damp flop of his hair, the color like spun gold; the curve of his shoulder, the tan glow of skin shimmering beneath the cotton—he’s breathtaking, breath-robbing, even at such distance away, and Tango wobbles enough in his stance that he places a hand on the ground for stability.

How clear it is that this is a setting in which he doesn’t belong; how envious must be the moon for how dull it shines in comparison. Its colors—silver, the cool tones it usually accompanies—they were despicable in their wrongness. Tango thinks he’d be suited more enveloped by heat; in open fields of flowers, stranded in miles of wild wheat and tall grass, in places without trees, without shade, without reprieve.

The masquerade, Tango thinks, was not to foster intrigue amongst the guests, but to shield them from such raw beauty, to protect them from its temptation.

Jimmy’s chest bellows with what Tango imagines a sigh, and he continues on, momentarily disappearing from Tango’s view only to appear again in the following window, and then the one after. Tango follows, and they walk together along the length of the manor, albeit separated by its walls.

Bound, tethered, Tango’s heart tugs him along.

A corner is turned, and instead of a further row of windows through which to watch, Tango finds a balcony jutting out of the stonework, grand and open to the air. He swallows as Jimmy steps out onto it; stares, enraptured, as Jimmy wanders over to the railing, balances his elbows on top of it, and then drops his head into his hands.

Through the stillness of the moment comes an unmistakable and truly inspired groan, and Tango startles and glances around expecting to be caught by a rather resentful servant before realization alerts him to its source.

Jimmy drops his hands and sighs again, and this time Tango can hear the puff of his breath as he exhales.

“Stupid,” he mutters, “so incredibly stupid. Why did I…” He shakes his head and decides better than finishing the thought, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as if he can will the arrival of more to a complete halt with just enough concentration.

Tango is familiar with this method, and, he’s gotta say, it is not as successful as he’d like it to be.

Jimmy’s lips move again, but too little sound comes out for any of it to be heard, and Tango finds himself wandering closer before he can arrive at any of the reasons why he absolutely should not—too distracted by the thought of those lips touching his mere hours before.

Just as he’s braving closer ground, Jimmy’s voice rises to exclaim “Tango!” and Tango’s foot finds false purchase over a well-placed root and he slips, catching himself on the cool dewy grass. His head raises slowly, ready to be forever expelled from the grounds—or more likely stuffed and made to decorate Grian’s quarters—but Jimmy’s gaze remains safely away, off into the distance beyond. “Why did it have to be Tango?”

Tango does not dare move.

Jimmy grabs the balcony railing with both hands and leans back, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. When he opens them, he draws himself back in and lets his arms go slack. His brow furrows in thought, his nose forming a little scrunch by the action, like his tutor’s just posed him a particularly troubling set. “But…it’s not Tango that’s the problem, is it? It’s just his name…Tek.”

Should he be listening to this? Tango doesn’t bother thinking about it, he already knows the answer; not that that stops him, or compels him to turn around and proceed the way he came—for how could he when he’s hearing the echo of his own musings? An utterance of reciprocation for the feelings to which he’s fallen victim? Shared dismay at the grandeur of their circumstance?

“Maybe…maybe if he weren’t Tango.”

Even before Jimmy drops his head in defeat, Tango knows that line of thinking is for naught. Maybe if he wasn’t Jimmy, maybe if his cousin wasn’t Grian, maybe if his name wasn’t Solidarity and his very existence meant to be an offense. Maybe if the sun didn’t shine, or the moon didn’t beam, or resentment didn’t flow through the streets like blood spilled. Maybe did not stand the test of time nor outlast the memory of a grudge.

“Perhaps, should I not call him Tango, but assign him some other name…”

If only Skizz was there to witness Tango blurt out, “You can call me anything you’d like.” Idiotic and blind would not have been the only adjectives he was assigned if he had. A few immediately come to Tango’s mind himself—stupid, insane, absolutely and completely screwed.

He has no memory of deciding to speak, but the words have undeniably come out of his mouth, and there’s no hope of them not having been heard based on the way Jimmy rises to attention.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Alert and understandably perhaps a little frightened, Jimmy's eyes scan the treeline in which Tango dwells.

Intelligently, Tango replies, “uhh.”

“Who are you?”

Tango flounders, his voice raising a dozen octaves, becoming high and stringent as he at once wheezes out, “God, why has that question become so complicated all of a sudden?”

Jimmy shuffles to the corner of the balcony, his waist pressed against the perpendicular juncture of stone as he leans over the railing to squint into the orchard. “Wait—Tango?”

Tango is left with no other option than to abandon his haven of trees and shade and step into the torch light of the Solidarity’s garden, lest he’d rather Jimmy lean so far over the balcony that he falls. He catches the moment that Jimmy sees him—the softening of his features, fear being overtaken by the more welcome feeling of surprise, the nervous tightening of his jaw, the biting of his lip.

If he thought revealing his presence would mean less of Jimmy’s precarious balancing act, then he thought wrong; Jimmy doubles over more, if possible, and Tango throws his hands out in a gesture he hopes is universally interpreted as stay put while some sort of alarmed squeaking comes out of his mouth. But Jimmy just fervently whispers, “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?!”

“Are you?!” Tango whisper-shouts back. “You’re giving me a heart attack here, lean back wouldya?”

Jimmy thankfully returns his upper body to a standing position safely behind the balcony’s edge, but his voice gets no less intense, his words no less urgent. “They will kill you if they see you here, you know that right?”

In return, Tango can only nod as if this realization has only just, for him, come to light. Of course, it hasn’t—Skizz and Etho had been trying to tell him since they left him outside the Solidarity’s walls, and by instinct alone he knew to hide if he suspected someone walking too close by, and yet. His frantic nodding does not cease as he says, “You know, I hadn’t really thought about it…to be quite honest.”

“You hadn’t thought about it?!” Jimmy grabs at his hair, incredulous, and Tango is momentarily distracted for the amount of time it takes to imagine doing it himself and wonder at what it would feel like. “I can’t believe this.”

Shaking his head, desperately trying to restore function, Tango delivers the only defense with which he’s come equipped. “I just—I had to see you!”

Once more, Tango curses the moon for its inadequacy, for what must be its deliberate hindrance to the wonder of this scene. Because, though it’s too dark to really tell, firelight falling much to short, Tango swears that Jimmy begins to blush.

Since he can’t completely be sure, he’ll have to make due with admiring this: the way Jimmy tucks his head down, closer to his shoulder, the shifting of his weight from one foot to another; how his eyes seemingly impossibly get a fraction of an inch bigger, wider.

He doesn’t quite look back at Tango when he says, “You really mean that?”

Tango smiles, “I do, I swear it.”

Whatever modesty was held in his expression before disperses and Jimmys face holds room for little more than mirth when he turns back and demands, “On what?”

“On…” Tango draws his shoulders higher, his hands raising with them as if attached by puppeteers string. They suspend there momentarily, waiting to be released by the arrival of a coherent thought that unfortunately never comes. “I don’t know…”

Tango bites the inside of his cheek. “What would you want me to swear on? Name it and it’s done.” He holds his hands up in pure complacency, a promise and an offer; take me, im yours.

Jimmy laughs at his near madness, and Tango swears that it moves like wind through the orchard, rippling across all the branches and leaves of all the trees; he sways on his feet to the music of it, doesn’t bother to curb the urge to smile harder at it—his face a perfect mosaic of every feeling he’s every felt.

With a shake of his head, Jimmy admits, “I dont know either.”

“Ah, an impasse.”

Though his head doesn’t move, Jimmy’s eyes duck away again, seeking safer purchase as he instills the night sky with his reply. Tango doesn’t mind, for it’s easier then for him to continue to to watch. “Maybe just…say it again then. Instead.”

“I came because I had to see you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s eyes dart back and then away again, needing to see Tango to truly be sure, but needing privacy to be able to comprehend. “Alright…” He glances back into the room behind him, whatever is beyond the curtains that are all Tango can see. “They’ll come looking for me soon, you really should go.”

Playfully outraged, Tango sputters, “What! That’s it, I don’t get anything in return?”

The dramatics earn Tango an eye roll, but Jimmy also begins bouncing a little in place—resevoired anxiety that lets Tango know he was serious about the chance that someone would soon seek him out. Whatever stolen time they had managed to accrue was fleeting and not a second more.

Even so, Jimmy plays along. “And what am I supposed to give?”

“I don’t know, something!”

“You’re very helpful, has anyone ever told you that?”

Tango laughs, “A fair hit.” He watches as Jimmy turns around again to assure their privacy once more, understands for both of their sakes the importance of not overstaying his welcome, and his hands tucked behind his back, comes up with, “alright, just tell me this: are you glad I came?”

Jimmy turns back to him, and this time Tango is absolutely certain of the blush present on his cheeks by the way Jimmy raises a hand as if to feel his own temperature on instinct, or to hopelessly pat it away with the back of his hand. He’s smiling, but it’s clear he’s trying not to, and that’s all the answer Tango needs.

Before Jimmy can, in his bashfulness, form a verbal reply, from inside a voice does indeed call “Jimmy?”

Bliss turns to panic in an instant, and instead of earliers soft tone Jimmy near hisses when he says “Tango!”

If he was smart, he would heed the warning and go, but Tango is still drunk on their proximity alone, on the events of the night—all of which were set in motion by the taking of a chance on an innocently shared kiss. He figures if this is where one chance has gotten him, then he can stand to risk another.

“I mean, I’m perfectly content to wait, Jimmy.” Tango steps to the nearest tree and leans against it like he’s planning to stay for some time, tries not to laugh as Jimmy’s eyes practically bug out of his head.

“You—” Jimmy’s head swivels back and forth, caught between the harmlessness in the tease and the actual realistic harm in its consequences if Tango legitimately followed through. Of course, he isn’t going to—the second Tango sees another silhouette in the window he’s out of there, blending back the way he’d come into the trees—but where was the fun in it if there wasn’t just a little bit of real life pressure? “You’re insane,” Jimmy berates, but before he turns and disappears behind his walls that are meant to keep out Tango and Tango specifically, he whispers, “Yes, I’m glad you came.”

Jimmy’s already gone, but when Tango says, “That’s all I needed,” its more to himself than anything as he turns to go back the way he’d come.

He did not imagine when the night began that he’d find himself betraying the one rule his family had ever demanded he follow, nor did he expect to feel little concern for himself in spite of this fact, but he did know he’d be helpless but to do it again had the situation started anew, because Tango doesn’t know what greater purpose he could have than to love this man. It wasn’t just the remembrance of a kiss that drove Tango to Jimmy’s window, but the sense that it was only the first, and where there was one would come more. Of this, Tango was certain: attending the masquerade, glimpsing Jimmy through the party-goers, risking following him through the crowd and delighting in that first, perfect kiss had set off more than the events of tonight, one singular night, but rather of whatever was in store for him—for them—all the rest of their lives.

(gonna put "can translate Shakespearean English into gamer speak" on my resume under special skills. [read on ao3 here])

#worm writes #so this is what i was doing. in that blissful period where i hadnt yet learned jimmy died btw.#this is where thinking jimmy is alive and well gets me #and now its just incrdibly funny that instead of mourning i was straihgt up like giggling to myself like haha rancher balcony scene !!!#like...oh my god #team rancher #team rancher fic #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #tango tek #double life fic #romeo and juliet au #edit:#realized I should probably also tag this —>#trafficshipping #just in case

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Mi Galleta (Part 2 - White Chocolate Macadamia)

7.5K / Modern AU Grumpy Bouncer!Pero Tovar x Sunshine-Rich Girl!reader

Summary: Pero helps you out with a sticky situation at the restaurant and you get to know him better.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please), very minor angst, unwanted physical touching (not from Pero), petnames (Cookie, baby, princesa, etc.), kissing, oral (f receiving), unprotected PiV (discussed), cum eating, reader can wear Pero's jacket and it's long on her, Biker!Pero comes with his own warning.

A/N: I don't know anything about bikes! (Also does anyone have any non-dark biker romance book recs?) Series Masterlist

Pero doesn’t call. Or text. Not that night. Or over the weekend. By the time the work week rolls around, you make a vow to yourself that you won’t go to visit him during the day unless he does, and consequently you don’t go at all.

Feeling a little hurt, you wonder if maybe you made a bit too much out of what you thought was mutual flirtation. It was his job, after all, to make it hard to gain access to the restaurant; perhaps he thought that your time together and all your efforts with the cookies and lunches were just a means to an end, and that once you were successful, desire on either of your parts to interact should cease. That thought makes you even sadder; even though you were trying to find a way upstairs, your daily meet ups with Pero had become more - you had liked him. He was gruff for sure, but you had enjoyed getting to know him and the discovery that he seemed to be softer than he appeared. You had thought he enjoyed getting to know you as well.

“I’m sorry he didn’t call, babe,” Dorothy laments, giving you a big hug.

“It’s okay,” you pout, crushed, “…maybe I read too much into it.”

“You’re always so sweet, giving people the benefit of the doubt,” says Eloise, “He really ought to have messaged.”

“Do you think… you would be up for going to Lin? To eat and drink, I mean,” Dorothy asks, sheepishly.

“Dorothy!!” exclaims Eloise, “We agreed not to-”

“Not to what?” you ask, curious.

The two women look at each other; Eloise looking exasperated and Dorothy trying to look innocent. “Okay, out with it,” you grin.

“So… you know how my friends from college are coming in from out of town this weekend? I thought… it might be nice to take them to Lin! It’s this super hot restaurant, still so exclusive, and the food was soooo good last week! We all loved it! And they have that extended cocktails list we said we wanted to try, remember? I feel like it would be such a perfect place to take them!” Dorothy finishes in a hurry.

“You’re right,” you say softly. You would have given Pero a similar rave review if you had had a chance, “They would love it. You should totally take them there.”

“The thing is…” Dorothy chews her lower lip, which is generally a sign that she knows she’s about to ask something completely unreasonable, “… we still don’t know how to get it. Just because we got in once, does that mean we automatically get in again? Regardless… our chances of getting in or even just finding out how to are probably better if… you’re there?”

Eloise shoots Dorothy a death glare.

“…but if you rather not see the bouncer guy… it’s totally okay,” Dorothy adds on quickly.

You sigh, but it’s not one of exasperation but of indulgence. You know if you refuse, the girls would truly let it go, never holding it against you. But… it’s also such a simple thing for you to do, you can’t really find it within yourself not to acquiesce. You’ve always been this way: not a people pleaser per say (it’s not in your nature to do anything that truly makes you uncomfortable or against your character), but genuinely happy to extend yourself for others. If you were to really analyze things, it’s probably that deep down you feel that with the advantages you’ve been afforded, your true grievances in life are little to none; the little things that may be troublesome to you are nothing compared to life’s real misfortunes that you’ve been lucky enough to have avoided. Why not help if you can, your grateful heart always asks.

And, it’s not like you have to see Pero for more than a minute or two.

“Ok, we can go,” you smile. The way Dorothy’s face breaks into an expression of pure joy confirms for you that you’re doing a good thing. Eloise is a little more cautious; she triple-checks with you later that you’re sure, and you reassure her that you really, truly are.

Pero recognizes Dorothy right away when she strides into the building lobby. She’s heading up a good-sized group, maybe seven or eight people, and he’s hoping that you’re among the crowd. As the rest of the party starts to file into the elevator bank, his heart leaps when he sees you bringing up the rear.

You make brief eye contact with Pero as you pass his desk; the look in your eyes unreadable, but he thinks they’re missing a brightness he’s used to. Pero wants to talk to you, ask you how you’ve been. Tell you it’s only been a week but he’s missed you. Apologize for not calling. But then he sees Paul’s hand on the small of your back, guiding you after the group. As he follows, he can’t take his eyes off the sway of your hips and the way this guy is touching you with such familiarity. Who is this guy, anyways? Is he your date? Your boyfriend?

Seething, he reaches in the elevator to swipe the fob and press the button to the restaurant floor, keeping eye contact with you as he wordlessly steps back out into the hall. You can’t look away from Pero either; you’re not sure if this is the scowl he normally wears to maintain his bouncer authority or if he’s genuinely displeased.

“Man, I’d love a mindless, easy job. Thanks, pal,” chirps Paul.

You nearly snap your neck turning your head so quickly, unbelieving of Dorothy’s old classmate’s rudeness. It seems that everyone but Paul takes notice of your horrified expression; you turn to face Pero again, hopefully conveying an apologetic look as the elevator doors close.

---

Pero decides he’s done for the evening. He calls in someone to cover the rest of his shift and goes upstairs to clock out. He saw via the computer that you and your friends have been seated in a private room, and he’s sure that you’re in for a fun night of cocktails and good food, maybe even some dancing – he’s not in the mood to see you come downstairs after a night a reverie with that smarmy guy hanging all over you. Who the hell was that asshole?

Getting his backpack, Pero exchanges his suit jacket for a motorcycle jacket before going by the kitchens to say goodnight to the kitchen and wait staff. That’s when he spots you. You’ve tucked yourself against the wall at the very end of the kitchen serving window where the overhang of the counter creates a little nook you’re sinking into. Pero watches you play on your phone, periodically looking up and scanning the hallway that leads back to the dining room, and that’s when he realizes you’re hiding here. He can’t think of anything down this way for restaurant goers: there are no patron washrooms, and you don’t appear to be in need of any assistance – there are plenty of staff coming and going but you haven’t made any movement to flag anyone down for help.

Pero takes a moment to admire how beautiful you look tonight; maybe even prettier than he remembers. Despite not knowing where the two of you stand, he doesn’t think he can pass up this opportunity to speak to you; and although he’s finding your somewhat squirrely behaviour to be adorable, he tells himself that it’s his gentlemanly duty to make sure you’re okay. Never mind that the dress you’re wearing is doing wonders for your curves, and absolutely nothing for his self control.

“How come you’re hiding by the kitchen?”

Surprised by Pero’s sudden appearance, you answer a little bit haughtier than you intend, “I’m not hiding!”

“You are!” He can’t help but be playful with you, “Why else would you be tucked away down this-” Pero cuts himself off; he’s just noticed that you’re fidgeting with the hemline of your dress, and not just tugging it down, but wrapping your fingers around a large piece of torn fabric, “How did your dress get ripped?”

You look up at him, eyes wide; you didn't realize it was that noticeable.

“Who did that, Cookie?” Pero’s voice is tight, barely masking his anger, but his eyes are soft, full of concern, “Are you okay?”

Suddenly you don’t care that he didn’t call - Pero’s here now and he looks like he’s about to kill someone for you; maybe that’s why you drop the hem of your dress and reach for him. When your hand connects with his chest, it feels so solid and comforting; your body automatically follows, wrapping your arms around his waist and laying your head against his chest. Though caught off guard by your actions, Pero instinctively takes you into his arms, pulling you in close; he brings his lips to your hair and rubs your back soothingly.

“What happened, Cookie?” he asks again when you pull away to look at him with your beautiful, shining eyes, “Who do I have to hurt?”

“Don’t hurt anyone, please. It’s not worth it,” you lay your head back on Pero’s chest.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

You nod, but you seem tired.

“There’s a little terrace where some of us go to take breaks, you want to talk there?” Pero offers. A quiet spot sounds lovely to you.

Pero keeps his arms encircled protectively around you as he guides you past the kitchens, through what looks like the staff locker room and lounge and onto an adjoining terrace, “No one will bother you here, Cookie. I promise.” You sigh comfortably as you take a seat on the patio seating; Pero takes the suit jacket he was wearing earlier out from his backpack and drapes it over your shoulders.

You smile at him gratefully, his presence alone relaxing you. Pero waits for you to tell him what happened; he doesn’t press or push, just sits across from you and holds your small hands in his.

Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, you feel finally comfortable enough to fill Pero in, “The group I’m with tonight, most of them are Dorothy’s friends from college. They’re fun and nice enough, but there’s this one guy that’s always been a bit handsy.”

Pero’s eyes darken as you continue, “Dorothy, Eloise and I call it ‘octopus hands’. Just always touching and trying to grab. Suckers for hands practically. He’s been like this every time we get together with that group, which thankfully is not very often. Anyways, I had had enough of having to dodge him, so I pushed him away… he grabbed onto my dress and it ripped. It was an accident.” You shrug, as if describing the actions of a petulant child.

“And you were hiding from him because you think he might try something? Get aggressive?” If he were an animal, you would definitely describe Pero’s hackles as being up.

You chuckle, “No, I told you I’m not hiding! I’m avoiding the room. It’s totally different.”

“Is that so?” smiles Pero.

“I’m trying to avoid the room because I don’t want to try to act like I’m not pissed. Pretend like things are cool, because that feels annoying to do and I probably won’t be able to do a very good job at it if I’m being honest. And then there would be a scene,” you say, making a face.

“You don’t think Dorothy will take your side?”

You wave off this concern, “Oh no, I’m not worried about that. She’s got my back. And I’ll definitely tell her about it, but I don’t think it’s the right time right now: in front of other people that are friends with Paul, and where everyone has been drinking. I’d rather not put myself or Dorothy in that position.”

Pero admires the care you’re showing for your friends; if you appeared more upset or avoidant of what had happened, he might gently push you to ignore their feelings and give yourself more consideration. As it is, you seem fairly in control of your feelings and the situation, so he doesn’t push.

“So, I was just waiting by the kitchens and thought I would go back in with our food when it was ready. That way I would have something to focus on… instead of punching him in the face,” you finish.

“I’d like to have seen that,” grins Pero, “Is this the same guy who was touching you in the elevator? The one who wanted an ‘easy job’?”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry about that, Pero. That was so unbelievably offensive, I was ready to sock him then. Yeah, that’s Paul. I’m sorry,” you look pained at the memory of Paul’s rudeness.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Cookie. Glad to know that’s not the kind of guy you go for.”

“Nope,” you scrunch you nose up good-naturedly, “I only go for guys who take my number but don’t ever text or call.”

“Oh princesa, I’m so sorry. I wanted to text, I really tried… I can’t find your number in my phone,” Pero looks down, embarrassed.

“What do you mean?”

Pero unlocks his phone and holds it out opened to the Contacts app, “I looked under your name, then I tried ‘Cookie’, then I just started looking for different cookies: Chocolate Chip, Sugar, Ginger Molasses… I couldn’t find you.”

You take the phone from him and look at him dubiously but ultimately decide that he’s being sincere, “I put it under the cookie emoji.”

“The emoji? Where is it?” Pero really couldn’t look more confused.

Scrolling to the bottom of his contacts list, you show him it’s under ‘#’ and you when you pull it up, the top of the screen displays the silly selfie you took as the contact photo.

“Oh, Cookie… I feel so dumb. I’m sorry,” Pero looks so much like a dog that’s been scolded that you soften and forgive him immediately. “I should have just texted you right away when you gave it to me,” he types out a quick message and sends it with a whoosh.

When the notification comes in, you look down at your phone: I’m sorry. Forgive me, Cookie? :(

You laugh so hard. Who would have thought that the scary bouncer with the menacing scar over his eye could be so adorable. And sweet. And protective. And hot. Your body moves with a mind of its own; to answer his question, you close the space between the two of you and kiss him.

Pero doesn’t know how it’s possible, but your lips are sweeter than your cookies. He kisses you back softly at first, a gentle introduction of your mouths as he becomes increasingly familiar with the plush feel of your lips, the curve of your soft smile. When your mouth relaxes into a sigh, followed by an oh, he presses deeper, tongue seeking an invitation; as you open up for him, he pulls you closer and lets his tongue do the talking, saying all the words that he wasn’t able to this past week. Your hands wrap around his neck and thread through Pero’s hair as you let out a soft hum of contentment; Pero smiles at the sound and strokes your tongue with his a few more times before pulling off your lips, chasing after them with a couple of light pecks. Opening your eyes, you answer with a flutter of soft kisses to the corner of his upturned mouth before snuggling in under his jaw, “You’re forgiven.”

“Do you want to get out of here, princesa?”

You begin to nod but then stop yourself, “Oh, I would love to, Pero, but… I already ordered and I wouldn’t want that food to go to waste. Also, do you think I could just pay for it separate so I don’t stick the others with the bill? Still… it would be a waste. I hate food waste. Plus, I can’t just ghost Dorothy and Eloise… I have to at least say good bye…”

“What did you order?” Pero asks, simply.

“The Chilean sea bass. Oooh noooo… just thinking about it is making my mouth water. Ok, I’ll admit it, I don’t want to leave because I want to eat it so badly,” you joke.

“Will you let me take care of it, Cookie?” You nod even though you don’t know what he means to do.

“I’ll be 5-10 minutes, you can stay out here or in the lounge if you want. No need to hide by the kitchen.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” you smile as Pero bends down to kiss you lightly.

“Fine, you can avoid in here if you want. I’ll be back soon, hermosa,” and he leaves before you can ask about this new nickname that he’s added to the ever-growing roster.

When Pero is gone, you check your phone and see a few messages from the girls:

Where did you go?

Are you okay?

Was Paul being weird?

You type back a quick response: I’m fine! Yes, he was being a weirdo! But Pero found me, so…

A string of exclamation points and celebratory gif responses come in in quick succession. You’re giggling and typing out responses as fast as you can when Pero returns with a heavy paper bag in his hand, “It’s all taken care of, princesa.”

You peek in the bag while Pero puts on his backpack, “I didn’t order all that.”

“I have to eat too, you know,” Pero pretends to scowl at you before kissing you quickly, “plus there’s a few appies and a dessert thrown in there, too.”

“Can… I pay?” It looks like a full feast.

“Don’t worry about it, Cookie. Staff perk.”

Not sure you believe him, you look at Pero skeptically, but he cups your face with his hands and strokes your cheek gently before giving you a deep kiss that leaves you dizzy, so you decide to just go with it.

“Ready to go say goodbye to your friends?” Nodding, you take Pero’s outstretched hand; he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before leading you back to the dining room your friends are in.

When you walk through the door, Pero drops your hand in favour of curling his palm around your waist protectively and walking a step behind you like a watchful guard dog. You can only imagine the glower on his face as the room quiets and everyone stares at you; you would roll your eyes and laugh if not for the fact that you see Paul get up from his seat, only to sit down immediately with one glare from Pero.

“I’m going to go, babes,” you say apologetically when Dorothy and Eloise come to give you hugs. They both give you big smiles and so many kisses, never begrudging you for leaving – their only request that you promise to text when you make it home. Blowing them kisses and waving to everyone, even Paul, you breeze out of the room tucked under Pero’s arm with his lips pressed to your hair.

In the elevator on the way down, Pero helps you button up his jacket that you still have draped over your shoulders before pulling you in by his collar for another searing kiss that lasts the entire way to the ground floor; still light headed from his affection, it takes you a moment to register that he’s walking you towards to a sports bike parked just outside the doors. Pero is pulling a black bike helmet out of his backpack when you stutter, “We’re going on that?”

“You ever been on a bike before, Cookie?” Pero smirks.

You shake your head, shyly, “Just scooters and stuff… never… a crotch rocket.”

Pero laughs uproariously, “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.” And you believe him.

Taking a walk around the bike, you can’t help but admire its sleek design as you run your fingers over the letters on the front frame. Even though the engine is off, you can feel the bike’s power emanating off the metal; you don’t know anything about bikes, but you can appreciate a well-designed machine when you see one. You can tell that a lot of care and time has been poured into this vehicle - loving upkeep and carefully selected mods (even though you have no idea what those would be); this motorcycle is clearly a labour of love and you’re starting to feel excited about getting to take a ride on it. Pero watches you as you take in his bike, appreciating the way your gentle fingers skim over the frame, the handlebars, and then the seat of his Ducati; he spies the glint in your eyes go from trepidation, to awe, to excitement and suddenly he can’t wait to take you out on the open road.

“How do I get on?”

Pero points to the little foot peg over the back wheel and holds out his arm to help you up. You’re incredibly grateful for the extra coverage from the length of Pero’s jacket as you grab a hold of Pero’s steady forearm, hike up your left leg to step on the foot peg and swing yourself over the backseat as you would a horse. Planting your foot firmly on the peg on the other side of the bike, you immediately close your legs; you’re almost thankful for the rip in your dress since it provides you with a little more give to spread you legs over the smooth back seat slant without flashing everyone on the street. As it is, your dress is hiked up near the top of your thighs and you’re depending on the flaps of Pero’s jacket for some semblance of modesty. Pero is kneeling next to the bike putting the food in his backpack when he sees you drop your foot from the peg and let your bare leg dangle down, lightly swinging it without your heels ever touching the ground. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything sexier in his whole life. You’re using both your hands to hold your dress to the seat, leaning forward following the natural decline of the seat and smiling broadly at him, “Where are we going?”

Straightening up, Pero grins, “I can take you anywhere you like, princesa. If you want to go home and have dinner by yourself, I’ll take you. But if you’re up for it, we can go to a nice terrace with a view and have ourselves a little picnic?”

You nod at that option and bite your lip a little at how cute Pero looks as he puts on his backpack so it sits on his front like a baby carrier. Then he does something a little unexpected: he reaches out with his helmet in both hands and holds it over your head, “Cookie, I only have one helmet, so this will have to do, okay?” When you nod, Pero slowly lowers the helmet over your head then pops open the visor so you can still see him as he adjusts the strap under your chin. It’s not bad but there’s definitely a little room for your head to wobble around; the inside of the helmet smells vaguely like Pero’s cologne and you feel a warmth spread through you as breath his scent in – when Pero leans back to inspect his handiwork, you give a little giggle and wobble you head around, “I’m a bobblehead.”

Pero laughs and reaches in through the visor opening to pinch your nose, “Ok, when we’re riding, keep your legs on the pegs and hold on to me tight, okay? If anything’s wrong, tap my arm, and if you want me to slow down, tap my leg. Ready?”

You give him a big smile that you’re not sure he can see and an enthusiastic thumbs up; before Pero flips down the helmet visor, he definitely sees your bright eyes shining with excitement. Even though he knows you’re perfectly capable, he makes a show of helping raise your leg up and placing your foot back on the foot peg. One of his strong hands holds onto your ankle while the other gently runs up your calf and brushes your knee, sending a shiver down your spine. When Pero repeats the action with your other leg, you let him have complete control to handle and position you any way he wants and he feels his crotch start with how good it feels to have you soft and pliant in his hands. Once satisfied with your positioning, Pero skates his hand up your thigh, skirting your raised hemline, and when he gives you a light squeeze to let you know he’s done, you inhale sharply and clench down on nothing.

After Pero swings his leg over the frame of the bike and puts on his gloves, he waits for you to wrap your arms securely around his middle before starting the ignition. As the bike roars to life, you give a little squeal of delight that Pero can hear even through the helmet and he smiles to himself. Revving the engine a few times for effect, he takes off carefully but still feels you grip him tighter as you’re jerked back slightly; he can’t say he’s sorry. Picking up speed as he weaves through the streets, he feels you rest your helmet on his upper back and his chest swells at how easily you’re taking to riding.

After about 15 minutes, Pero pulls up to another office building and cuts the engine. Helping you take off the helmet, he finds you giddy with a big smile on your face; as you smooth down your hair, you exclaim, “That was so much fun!!” The ride had been thrilling; you know Pero wasn’t going that fast for your sake, but you found the rush of the wind blowing past you and the freedom and danger of being so open on the road to be exhilarating all on its own. The hum of the engine had been an unexpected comfort and the vibrations of motor reverberating through you had kept you alert and excited throughout your short journey. Not to mention that being so close to Pero and his warmth, sinking in to the feeling of security he provides, has you turned on and tingling. Finding your enthusiasm infectious, Pero helps you off the bike and leads you up to the building to which he gains access with a swipe of a fob he produces from his jacket pocket.

“You have one of those fobs for every building in the city?” you tease.

Pero puts his finger to his lips, “Restaurant industry secret, shhhhh,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

A short elevator ride later, Pero brings you to an empty terrace with a beautiful view of the city lights; you gaze around in awe as he starts laying out the food.

It’s a wonderfully romantic dinner. The conversation flows easily, and you learn a little more about your grouchy bouncer. You’re only initially surprised to learn that William, the restaurant manager and sometimes host, is Pero’s best friend, and that the two of them have worked together for years at various different restaurants. Remembering William’s easy smile and friendly demeanor from when he sat your party both of the times you’ve dined at Lin, you giggle at the obvious dichotomy between the two friends. If only potential restaurant patrons knew that big golden retriever energy awaited them at the end of the elevator ride should they make it past the scary Cerebus downstairs. When Pero asks you what you’re laughing at, you simply ask him if he and William have always worked their current roles; apparently not - they both started out as bus boys and worked their way through the kitchen, though Pero’s never had the inclination to work front of house the way William has. “You don’t say,” you jest, to which Pero gives you his most fearsome glare. You’re not the least bit intimidated, especially when he follows up with the gentlest forehead kiss.

Between bites of the mouthwatering sea bass, you’re happy to discover that in addition to a common love of food, you and Pero have also both travelled extensively; to your mutual delight, you realize that somehow, you’ve eaten at some of the same restaurants in Europe and Asia. When you both claim to know the best udon shop in Toyko, you agree to say the name at the same time - doubling over in laughter when you both name the same hole-in-the-wall in Shinjuku. Throughout the easy flowing conversation, Pero finds ways to stay close and you welcome his every touch: a caress of your hair near the ear, a stroke of your knee under the table, a kiss to your hand. With the sun now fully set and the chilly evening air giving you goosebumps, Pero pulls you close to his side - tucking your bare legs in between his to keep you warm as you finish dessert. Pero looks into your eyes with longing as you both savour the last bites of the rich lychee flavoured flan. When he helps wipe away an errant sugar smudge near the corner of your mouth with his thumb, he brings his face so close to yours that you’re caught short of breath. He really is so handsome, you think before his mouth descends on yours and you get lost in the way he licks and softly groans into you. Your tongue chases his as you open for him, and you gasp when Pero, palm under your ass, pulls you into his lap fully one handedly.

Wrapping you arms around Pero’s neck to run your hands through his hair, you moan as his hands roam your back, pulling you closer against him still. The kissing is downright urgent: a mirage of open mouths, panting, devouring. Needing air, and a break if you’re honest with how close you are to just sinking down on him on this terrace, you bite down on Pero’s lower lip and nibble a little before murmuring, “Pero, please take me home.”

Pero’s eyes never leave you the entire time the two of you pack away the containers and make your way back to his bike, his look dark and wanting. If he takes his time helping you on the bike, letting his hands trail up and down your legs, eyes lingering on yours before he flips down the visor, who can blame him. If you press yourself tight against his back while he weaves through the streets, inching your hands lower and lower on his torso, seeking out his upper thigh for purchase when he accelerates, who can blame you.

By the time Pero parks in front of your building, the thrill of the ride and the hum of the bike between your legs has only amplified your want; you’re positively dripping for him. You can barely keep your hands to yourself on the elevator ride up and Pero is on top of you the moment your front door closes. Your hands fly to take off his jacket, his shirt, reaching down to frantically unbutton his pants without shame; stopped only when he insists on undressing you first, growling, “Need to take this dress off, hermosa. Don’t want you wearing anything another man has touched for a minute longer.”

You step right in Pero’s space, locking desperate eyes with him as he reaches behind you to undo your zipper; he drags it down slower than necessary, drawing out the process. When you whine at how long it’s taking, Pero chuckles, “Patience, princesa,” before pulling the zipper down the rest of the way and letting the fabric slip over your shoulders and pool around your feet.

“Holy shit, Cookie,” Pero breathes as he takes in your matching black lace lingerie set, “I think my heart just stopped.” Suddenly shy under his gaze, you turn away to lead him to the bedroom, but he stops you and pulls you back so suddenly you crash into his chest. Holding you flushed against him by a strong hand on the back of your neck, Pero uses his free hand to tip your chin up to look at him, murmuring, “You’re so beautiful,” before kissing you like his life depends on it. His lips crush to yours, tongue mapping every slope and dip of your mouth, his one hand now gently gripping your neck under your jaw - caging you within his hands so that you’re left to the mercy of his desire. One rough palm moves down your body to explore all your soft curves, lightly groping and claiming all the spots that make you moan into his mouth. Pero walks you slowly to the couch in the middle of your living room so gradually you don’t even notice until the back of your legs hit the cushions. He releases you at this same moment so that the soft impact has you toppling back, sat on the couch with a light bounce; you can only watch with lust hooded eyes as Pero lowers himself down to the floor onto his knees in front of you.

“Pero,” you whisper, needy.

“I’ve got you, princesa,” breath hot, Pero kisses down your neck, hands holding your legs open so he can slot his wide frame between, getting as close to your body as possible.

“Ohhhh, god, Pero… baby,” you whimper as his mouth worships your neck, nipping at your décolletage, then licking a wet stripe down to the valley between your breasts. When his hands abandon their grip on your thighs to trail up, cupping your breasts, you can’t help but buck into his abdomen, seeking more of him. Face buried in your chest, Pero chuckles, “Such an eager, pretty girl. Tell me what you need, Cookie.”

Pulling down the cups of your lace bra so that your tits spill out, Pero gropes you roughly before his fingers zero in your nipples, alternating rolling, pinching and tugging on your peaks in an excruciating delicious pattern. Smiling devilishly at you, “I’m waiting, princesa.”

“Fuc- oh, Pero, please. Please. Need your mouth, please,” you plead, desperation lacing every word.

Without warning, Pero dips his head to take a breast in his mouth, and you gasp in pleasure, hands flying to bury themselves in his hair to grip his soft curls as his nibbles and swirls your hardened nipple. Back arching off the back of the couch, you try to muffle you moans as Pero’s efforts with his mouth and hands electrify you to your core, heat pooling in your underwear.

“Don’t do that, hermosa. Want to hear you, want to hear what I do to you,” Pero comes off your breast with an obscenely wet smack of his lips before switching over to your neglected breast, his hand taking over for where his mouth left off.

“OH! Pero, feels so good! Right there, oh, ow! Oh god, yessss,” the sting of Pero’s attention on your peaks only adding to your ecstasy. Pero uses your lifted back to his advantage, his free hand now able to claw down your spine, grabbing and massaging your ass. Having his hands so close to your pussy is sending you out of your mind; Pero’s hands and mouth seem to be everywhere at once and you don’t know what to focus on. It’s almost too much and you gently push him away so you can catch your breath; the dopey, shit-eating grin he gives you tells you that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He does know, and Pero’s damn proud of it. He’s never seen anything sexier in his life than you splayed out in front of him with eyes glassy from near over stimulation, tits pulled out of your bra and lightly bouncing as you pant, all while you pussy tries to grind down onto him for some friction. He’s rock hard and he hasn’t even tasted you yet.

Pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, swollen from where you bit them to keep yourself from crying out, Pero moves back slightly so he can admire you some more. He can’t believe he’s here right now, that he gets to be the one that makes you feel this good; another smaller, possessive part of him triumphs that Paul never stood a chance - that you were always going to be his tonight. And now he’s about to show you he’s worthy.

When you look back down at Pero with a lazy grin, breathing more even, Pero presses forward, “I’m going to taste you now, okay Cookie?” Your soft ‘yes, please’, is all Pero needs to hear before he dives forward towards your dripping core. Pressing hungry kisses over your panties, Pero growls when he feels the soaked through fabric on his tongue, “So fucking wet, princesa. Is this all for me?” All you can do is moan in assent as Pero continues to make out with your pussy. His mouth never leaving you, Pero tugs off your underwear; tossing the wet scrap of lace aside to reveal your glistening cunt. Running his fingers through your folds to spread your arousal up and over your clit, he takes a moment to drink in your near pornographic sounds before he lowers his mouth and positively feasts.

You’re entire being feels like it’s been lit up. Pero’s tongue presses against your seam, dipping in and out, teasing you with broad strokes and indulgent swirls. His nose nudges at your clit over and over, as his entire head moves up and down, focused only on bringing you pleasure. You think he’s giving you a break to collect yourself when he butterfly kisses up to your now throbbing clit, but reprieve is the furthest thing from Pero’s mind. Just as you’re crying out his name in a heavenly melody, he breaches your tight hole with two of his thick fingers and seals your clit in between his lips and sucks. You squirm, trying to get away from the sudden onslaught, but Pero lays his other arm across your stomach to hold you down so that all you can do is take, take, take.

“I-I-. I’m so close, Pero. Ohhhh nghhhh, baby, ohhh, so c-close,” you’re simpering, eyes closed and head thrown back, desperate for more while simultaneously sure you can’t handle it.

“Open your eyes, princesa. Eyes on me while I eat your perfect pussy,” Pero commands, nuzzling your aching clit with the tip of his nose to get your attention. When you look down, you lock eyes with Pero as his takes your nub between his lips again, lightly flicking his tongue while his curls bouncing against his forehead from the force with which his fingers drive into you. When you grab onto his hair and pull him deeper into you, he hums his approval and the vibration does you in, you step off the cliff and let go as your orgasm washes over you, wave after wave. Pero continues to finger fuck you through your high while rising on one knee to palm at your neglected tits and kiss you long and tender.

“Oh, Pero. Ohhh, that was- oh god,” you can barely string together your words; you’re completely wrung out and spent. You’re now Pero’s pliable fuck doll, good and ready for his cock and not much else. He lifts your legs and maneuvers you into a laying position on the couch and it’s all you can do to try and keep your eyes open while you wait for him undo his pants and free his hard cock. He’s magnificent: long with an impressive girth, a thick perfect vein runs along the underside of his length, ending at a bulbous weeping head; you want to feel the heft of him on your tongue. Your hunger must show in your eyes and the way your plush lips instinctively part because Pero chuckles, “Another time, Cookie. Right now, I’m going crazy every second I’m not in this tight cunt.” He looks around the room looking for his backpack to get a condom, when, as if you’re reading his mind, you offer dreamily, “Pero, I’m clean. If you want…”

His dick jumping at your words, Pero want you to be certain, “I’m clean too, hermosa. Are you sure?”

“Want to feel you, baby,” your eyes dark with lust, “Fuck me bare, Pero.”

How’s he supposed to last when you have a mouth like that? “Fuck, princesa,” he breathes as he runs his tip through your dripping folds, adding to the sheen of leftover slick he transferred from his fingers; Pero fists his cock and coats it in your release to ready himself for your tight hole. Hovering over you, he lines himself up to your entrance and captures your mouth in a passionate kiss as he slowly pushes in. Every quick inhale of air you take to replace what he pushes out of your lungs is music to Pero’s ears. Your tight walls almost choke him as he feels you spread your legs further, one leg now dangling off the edge of the couch in order to accommodate his size. Pero is remiss to leave your lips, but he’s unable to resist the temptation to lean back and watch your face as you take his full length. You hold his gaze amid your lust-filled haze, a blissed-out smile spreads across your beautiful face that cracks only when you lips form a soft ‘oh’ before relaxing again; Pero is hypnotized by this pattern repeating itself over and over as he pushes in deeper into your cunt. When he finally bottoms out, you let out a breathy ‘Fuck’ before pulling him in for a slow and patient, soul affirming kiss.

Full. You feel so full. “Taking me so well, princesa. God you feel so perfect around my cock,” purrs Pero, peppering your face and neck with soft, soothing kisses; waiting for your go ahead to move. When you give it, he starts slow; dragging his cock nearly all the way out, before pushing back in with the same tempered control – you reward him with a call of his name and praise on how good it feels to be split open. Over and over, he thrusts into you with the restraint of saint until he feels your arousal start to drown his cock, and only then does he pick up the pace; you wrap your legs around his back, heels digging into his back to press him deeper, encouraging him to fuck you harder until he’s driving his cock into your cunt with a force that punches the air out of your lungs every time. His grunts combined with his filthy words affirming how you were made for him, how he wants to stay buried in you, how you’re creaming so pretty around him, push you closer and closer to your edge again.

Snaking his hand between your bodies to toy with your sensitive clit, Pero feels you clenching down, “Come for me, Cookie. You look so perfect when you come, need to see you come on my cock.” You want to please him so. You’ll give him everything he asks for, so long as he never stops looking at you the way he is right now: wrecked, desperate, devoted. Doubling down on his attention to your pulsating bud, Pero draws perfect circles with his thumbs as he continues to rut into you with abandon, chasing both of your releases. This time, when you come, your back lifts off the couch and Pero catches you, pulling you close as you shout out his name over and over into his shoulder, biting down and sucking into his skin so to muffle the string of obscenities rolling off your tongue.

The sting of pain from your teeth brings Pero to his precipice, and he manages to choke out, “Where do you want me, princesa,” before laying you down gently and pulling out. Still lightheaded and cock drunk, you gaze through your lashes at Pero and almost shy, request, “Paint my tits please, Pero.”

Fisting himself furiously, the timidness of your tone in contrast to the lewdness of your words sends a tightness through Pero’s whole body right before he jerks and splashes ropes of cum all over your pretty breasts.

When he’s done, he steps off from over you and kneels by your head, kissing you appreciatively. He reaches to grab a box of tissues but when he offers them to you, you giggle and swipe your fingers through his milky spend and pop your fingers in your mouth, sucking them clean. Pero feels his softening dick make a valiant attempt to jump back to life as he watches you clean every last drop of his cum from your chest, licking your fingers and swallowing with a hum. After he helps you up to your feet, you cup Pero’s face in your hands, stroking his scruff with your thumbs, and he melts under your tender affections. “Stay over?” you look up, doe eyed.

Grabbing you at your waist and sweetly kissing you as he walks you backwards toward the bedroom, Pero grins wickedly, “Of course, Cookie. I’m not done with you yet.”

#pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fic #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #modern!pero tovar #modern au #no y/n

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