#mari’s spot of tea

[marion-go-round]

this blog is severely cluttered- i'll do a blog clean up soon o7

[warriorfujoshi]

6 hours into gs4. Um. I feel like I’m fucking up. Badly.

[peachesofteal]

ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / prev here / masterlist

Six thirty in the morning might be your favorite time of day. 

It’s the before.

Before anyone else comes in, before the morning rush, before the chime of the front door’s bell, before the shop is filled with lines of people, before it all upends you.

At six thirty in the morning, you sit in the back, perched on the prep table, with a fresh cup of coffee. You leave the side door open, screen separating you from the world, fresh air mixing with the smell of strawberry basil scones, cinnamon coffee cake and mini kolaches, fruited with whatever jam you’ve managed to throw together. Steam rises, semolina spills, the sun dawns, and the world wakes… all well after you’ve had your breakfast.

This corner of the city is busy, and the shop always hums like a well-oiled machine in the dregs of a rush, the front counter team churning out specialty coffees and teas effortlessly. It’s cyclical, similar faces every day, morning commuters rushing in and out, locals settling in a nook with their laptops and lattes, people swinging in for a quick bite. You hide in the back, usually, elbow deep in sudsy warm water with your mountain of dishes, answering the occasional shout of 'do we have more of-' and 'just sold the last-'

This morning in particular, cranberry orange scones, pumpkin muffins and mini quiches are the only things left cooling on the speed racks, waiting patiently for their turn to be placed in the display case, an endless cycle of replenishment lasting until the rush dies down, morning fading into afternoon, triple shot monstrosities turning into decaf coffees. 

It’s laborious, this routine. Five, six, sometimes seven days a week, going to bed with the sun, rising before it. Your wrists ache from rolling dough, cutting dough, scraping dough. Your back weeps when you lift the bowl from the mixer stand every morning, and your joints fare no better. You need new boots, and new insoles for your new boots, and probably a new standing mat, though you know your boss will never go for it. 

You’re tired.

The exhaustion settles into your bones easily today, wearing you down until you’re allowing your eyes to close, wilting atop the butcher’s block- 

The shop phone rings. 

You heave yourself down and swing through the double doors to the front, scrambling for the classic corded receiver, nearly fumbling it in your hands. 

“Hello?” Shit. You always forget to answer with the shop’s name. You’re not exactly the customer facing part of the operation. “Galaxy’s.” You correct and… wait. 

There’s no response. 

You think you can hear someone breathing, something rustling, but it’s too faint and difficult to make out. 

“’Lo?” You try again, but still, there’s silence. It’s an unending moment, you on one end… who knows what on the other, and you hold your breath, straining to hear, to listen. 

The line clicks dead in the next second. 

Odd. 

The shop girl is chewing gum. 

You’ve told her a million times not to chew gum when she’s working the counter, but clearly, she’s never heard of norovirus, and you’re not the boss, or the owner, so being the broken record only gets you so far. 

“There’s someone out front to see you.” She snaps it between her front teeth, and your molars grind together like stone. 

“Who?” You toss a clean towel on the stainless steel table in the middle of the kitchen with a frown. You don’t really get visitors here, most of your friends are in the same industry, and either work the line too late to be up in time to even get coffee somewhere, or are already at work, buried beneath a bain-marie and the never-ending sound of a ticket printer. 

There’s dried, caulked dough caked to your fingers, shoved up underneath your nails, and you brush them self-consciously against the ratty old apron stretched across your waist. 

The surprise lingers on your tongue, and then explodes when you spot the massive dusky blonde from the other day, the one who was with the guy who split the coffee all over your favorite dress. He’s too tall, and too broad, and too imposing, everything in your sense of self-preservation screaming at you to run when he notices you approaching, gleam of a predator sparkling in his eyes.  

Still, somewhere, tucked away, it thrills you, the idea of them, the balancing act, two halves of a whole. He’s etched from stone, strong and steady, while his partner is saporous, vibrant, and riotous, crystal blue eyes sparkling in the mid-day sun. 

You wonder what they're like. What they talk about. What they do.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Your skin prickles once you fall into his orbit, immobilized by the molten toffee pooling around his irises. You float for a second, tracing his knife’s edged jaw, the fullness of his lips, imperfect pieces puzzled together to make a masterpiece, and then crash back to earth quickly, realizing you’re standing in front of him… staring. 

“Uh. Hi.” What is he doing here? How did he know where to find you?

“Sorry to barge in on you at work.” He starts immediately, wallet appearing from his back pocket like a magic trick. “Wanted to make sure we settled up.” Thick fingers hold a folded nest of notes, and you stare down at them, slowly processing what he means.

Cash? 

“Oh, I… I have… venmo. Or we could use apple pay, you didn’t have to come all the-“ 

“Don’t have venmo.” His mouth tilts, and you go with it, head listing to the side like a wayward buoy. “This is easier.” He pushes it into your hand, peeling your fingers back to enclose the money in your palm, heat sparking up your spine. 

“How did you know where I worked?” You blurt, unable to keep it at bay any longer. The question singes, settles uncomfortably in the sparks between you. 

“Saw you in the back yesterday, when we were in for a cuppa.” Oh. Suspicion sheds, snakeskin left behind on a cold, dusty trail, suspension of disbelief settling in the back of your mind. Sure. After all, this is where you ran into them last week, on your day off. They do come here. 

“Well. Thanks.” 

“It’s our pleasure. Hope the stain came out okay.” 

“Oh, yeah. It’s… still at the cleaners.” This is absolutely false, but he doesn’t need to know that. The spare bills will probably go towards your energy bill, and the ruined dress will go in the trash. 

It is what it is. 

“Couldn’t help but notice when I was comin’ through the parking lot that the back door is open.” His voice swoops low, dropping into a rumble, and you blink, lips parting. 

“Oh, um y-yeah. I like the breeze.” He shakes his head, a simple rejection, leaving you spinning. 

“City’s not the safest right now, yeah?” Oh, yeah. Of course, you knew. Rival factions of organized crime were leaving a red sea of bodies in their wake all over town, a new murder popping up in the headlines nearly every week. 

But you were safe. You were fine. Galaxy’s had never been stained with the bloody touch of any of them, and you took it as fact. Permanence. 

You agree reluctantly, watching the storm clouds roil on across his expression before evaporating. You shrug, hands clutched in your apron, doubt and skepticism clear on your face.

His expression shutters. His eyes turn cold.   

His thumb and forefinger dart through the air, latching onto your chin. 

You freeze. You should tug away, jerk backwards, yell and scream and hiss, but all you can do is stand there, caught in a trap and trembling as he leans forward to murmur in your ear. 

“Lock the door, little doe.” 

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Why would Mary invite the Circuit Chaps to find her?

To have a spot of tea and scones? ’Cause, there is no chance Daeif will negotiate anything.

[kyouka-supremacy]

BSD Anthologies Masterlist

I couldn't find a comprehensive (and with still working links) masterlist of the translated anthology chapters so. Here we go! Biggest shoutout to this other masterlist by @/yokohama-drip for most of the chapter references and to bsd-bibliophile for chapters 7 and 12 of the first and second anthologies. Titles translation credits go to the bsd wiki. Happy reading!

Edit: Thank you so much @amythedemisimp for the precious additions!!!

1-5 raws

First Anthology -Rei-

Don't Get a Stomachache to Gain a Friend by Hideki

The Things I Hate, the Things I Like by Ichi Kotoko

The Devil Comes and Takes Care by KanaiNeco

Kenji 100% by Enya Uraki

The Detective Agency's Manju Incident by Ui Kashima

A Quiz During Work by Mito Aoi

Karl's Resentment by Tsubata Nozaki /// alternative translation

The Things I Like by Con Kitora

Me and the Cake and Sometimes the Pug by Kazuki Tōgō

Jun'ichirō Tanizaki's Suffering by Akamaru

Fortune-telling Will Bring Good Luck by Yūto Masagishi

Icy Weather by Tam Chashibu

What is a Partner...? by Akaza Samamiya

Second Anthology -Hana-

The Detective Agency and the Port Mafia's Holidays by Mikan Aka

Time Sale is a Battlefield by Guru Mizoguchi

Q's Stroll Day by Kazusa Subaru

Osamu Dazai Quiz Tournament by Hinoki Kino

Ruler! Fitzgerald's Room by KanaiNeco

Thirty-two. Episode Five by Kakashi Tano

Ichiyō Higuchi's Off Duty Top Secret Mission by Ataru Hida

A Restaurant with Many Literary Masters by Ko Nikaido

A Timid Person's Day by Masahiro Jinno

Hot Pots and Holidays by Sho Kimiduka

The Tiger's Repayment by Kotaro

Sweet Outing by Yuzuru Kuzukiri /// alternative translation

Bungos' Joint Social Gathering by Hideki

Stray Dogs' Lucky Spot Disagreement by Noka Nogami

Third Anthology -Rin-

Mother by Hideki /// alternative translation

The Mafia Inadvertently Read a Novel Written on a Whim and Reincarnated in a Parallel Universe by Hinoki Kino /// alternative translation

As You Wear It by Akira Hirahara /// alternative translation

The Devil's Automatic Door by Nanora /// alternative transaltion

How to Find Happiness by Kanae Ikushima /// alternative translation

Hello, Again Winter Dreams. by Pyaa /// alternative translation

The Visitor in the Rain by Togekinoko /// alternative translation

Because My Senior's Healthcare is Also My Job by Roku Sakura /// alternative translation

Good Weather, Cat Storm by Osawa /// alternative translation

Breakfast Situation by Miki Daichi /// alternative translation

Elise-chan, a Smartphone Application by KanaiNeco /// alternative translation

Q's Suffering by Hiko Nekome /// alternative translation

Tiger, Sometimes Cat by Taichi Miya /// alternative translation

The Port Mafia's Medical Check-up by Sakurana Haru

With a Hat, a Man and a Beef Bowl by Oda

Fourth Anthology -Akatsuki-

Poe and Ranpo and Enter and Black Tea by Imaru Adachi /// alternative translation

Apple Demon by Nykken

A Little Break by Siroisora

Exciting Grab Bag by Toriyasu

All Quiet on the Black Cloth Front by Mari Araki

Hirotsu-san's Coffee Shop by Yashino Ayashiro

The Client is a Cute Ghost by Otakumi

The Little Visitor in the Rain by Togekinoko

Fully Automatic Suicide Machine by Zero Akabane

Why Did You Come to Japan? by KanaiNeco

The Story of Kunikida Falling Asleep by Saru Hashino

A Hunting Dogs' Holiday by Hinoki Kino

Infernal Day by Asuka Keigen

The Decision is an Oblate that Enwraps the Pain of Life by Hideki

Fifth Anthology -Kanade-

Masterlist by @/zilinks

Sixth Anthology -Mutsumi-

Given to You Based on Your Level and Love by KanaiNeco

Detective Agency Radio by Yu Kira

GET UP LUCY!! by Kabotya

Poe, Wine and the Setting Sun by Imaru Adachi

Shindafuri Dai Sakusen by Yuri Tsukushiro

Hanachidori by iyutani

What Style Are You? by Kiyo Hasui

'Hitori' yori 'hanbun' by Neno

The Angel's Rest by Mari Araki

Mottomo Erai Egoisuto by Mutsuki Higashioji

Magomusume Sakusen, Zokkō-chū ni Tsuki by Eku Hachida

Boo no Yū by Asato Konami

Do S! Erisu-chan!! by Kakeru Sora

Young Ranpo Wants to Be Praised by Tsuki Anmi (incomplete)

[velvetures]

could i request a ghost x “strawberry/cutecore/hello kitty” reader?! basically just everything is pink and they are super bubbly :>

pls and ty 🙏🏻

Simon "Ghost" Riley & Cutecore/Hyperfeminine Aesthetic

a/n: I loved this request... but it was my first attempt at the aesthetic/vibe as a whole and I'm not sure if I hit the mark. I used this pic as my inspo. ):( Summary: What it's like for Ghost to have an "everything in pink, please." gf, and what kind of feelings go along with it. TW's: suggestive content 18+ ONLY, established relationship, possessiveness?, def not proofread (the usual), fem!reader.

Of all the women that Simon ever entertained the thought of being, one like you didn’t initially even present itself as a remotely interesting option. The idea of someone such much different from himself sounded like nothing less than a good way of fucking up someone else’s -otherwise- normal life by inserting himself into it. You just always seemed so damn happy and excited about even the smallest of things; Practically amplifying the good feelings floating around in the air and blasting them right back at him. Never without something pink on and dressed up like you were minutes away from attending some kind of fairy party literally scared Ghost away from having anything to do with you.

You on the other hand, weren’t exactly sure what it was that made Ghost so averse to speaking to you more than a few words at a time. Yet made it your very private little mission of sorts to snoop and poke around until you found some kind of answer as to why such a massive and expertly lethal man couldn’t bear to stand within arms reach of you. He just intrigued you for some reason or another. Only getting glimpses of the man’s real self in his eyes -the only visible part of him- and having to make your next moves based off of nothing more than gut-feelings and the hope that you were reading his signals correctly.

At first, it crossed your mind that your preferred aesthetic of sorts could be a bit of the problem. For most people it might appear a bit too much, and when looking at Ghost dressed almost head to to in black with a skull painted on his masked face… there was good reason to assume it in the first place. What you didn’t know was that it was so much deeper than your affinity for lace-trimmed socks, Mary Jane’s, pearls, and practically anything hyper-feminine and in a shade of pink. Ghost didn’t believe you were weak or predisposed to acting childish. You held a massively significant job in journalism and worked harder than most people he knew at what you did. You just happened to enjoy everything around you looking like some damn cotton-candy tea party.

What bothered him was your sweet personality and an intrinsic value he held for just how fucking innocent you were towards him and everyone else around you. People could be utterly horrible right to your face, and you’d silently keep the hurt to yourself and never fight back against what they’d done. Revenge wasn’t something you cared for, while it was essential to Ghost’s motivation in his work and private life. For a long time he couldn’t balance his morals of being involved with you at all with the thoughts in the back of his mind about how much he might twist and form you into something unrecognizable. Something a lot less… pink. A person that didn’t enjoy such small little things like how a skirt had small pink flowers embroidered on it, or if the little bows you’d stick in your hair had a lace fringe on the edges.

Oh but how things changed when Ghost finally couldn’t stand looking at you without thinking about how nice it would be to have his arm wrapped around you, pulling you tight up against him to keep everyone from staring. The Lieutenant always had a weak spot for you and your sugar-sweet personality and looks. But goddamn did he start loving the color pink more than a professional murderer should. All the hues and tones of that fucking color began reminding him of you no matter where he was, or what he was doing. For the longest time, he’d been worried that he would be the one that changed you, all the while he was too deep inside his own mind to recognize that you were the one controlling the direction things were headed.

Just looking at you made him shudder with feelings of possessiveness and adoration. Standing there happy as could be with thigh-high white socks and a fluffy pink skirt, all dressed up just to go out to eat at a little late-night pub because he couldn’t stand the idea of having to show his face in the bright daylight. You knew to a certain extent that Ghost appreciated the way you lived your life just a bit more feminine than average… but the depths of his thoughts and ideas about you were surface level to say the least. He just knew what you looked like clinging to his arm walking down the street; His polar opposite and yet so happy to be close to him. A darling smile… pretty and glossed lips… frilly things on almost every piece of clothing you wore and just utterly adorable to him.

Knowing that gave him… fantasies.

Wanting to see all of the things he could buy for you to wear for him. Dress you up almost like his own little doll and get to show you off to anyone who’d look, only to have the pleasure of threatening them to do more than take one good glance. So delectable, squeezable; but for him and him alone. You were the princess Simon didn’t realize he wanted and unlocked this strange and insatiable urge to spoil the fuck out of you with every pretty pink or glittery thing you could wish for, just so he could take you home and watch you try it all on for him while sipping a bourbon on the couch.

Fuck… There wasn’t a better way to spend an evening. Well, almost.

Perfect didn’t count unless he got to see you under him, laying back on pink silk sheets you’d been adamant about buying for his house, watching your eyes roll back with every moment he made. Damn if he couldn’t make it more than fifteen minutes without needing to calm himself down, before needing to put you on your hands and knees so those pretty little fucking faces you made wouldn’t make him finish before he got started. If he was lucky he could leave hot and pink handprints on your ass for making him feel so good. Simon knew you weren’t sheltered. But to him you were still innocent. Kind in so many ways he didn’t comprehend or believe was humanly possible. For fuck’s sake, you allowed him to come into your life.

Him with his scarred hands, bullet holes, shitty disposition. A man who preferred destruction and death for it’s permanence and certainty. Simon, with his need to hide his own face and go by a name that lacked humanity. All of him starkly contrasted you in so many ways it made him spin with confusion and oftentimes guilt. Questioning why he’d been so weak as to touch you in the first place. Allow himself the chance at someone so full of life who could see the world -literally- through rose-colored lenses.

Yet you brought forth happiness and fulfillment that the soldier hadn’t found in his years of searching desperately for a purpose. He found someone he could visually see, and palpably touch who hadn’t been torn down or beaten into submission in one way or another. Sweet and innocent you had found such a simple yet powerful way of living life the way you wanted to. Ghost felt like he could protect you. Not only in the genuine aspect of loving you so much that he got physically ill at the thought of losing you to anything; but also because you were so full of life and love to give to everyone around you. He needed you. Selfishly. Then again, there needed to be more softness and genuine innocence and happiness too. And so long as he was alive and breathing, he’d always make sure you were safe.

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated <3

[magics-neptunes-things]

Turmeric or Turmeric? (Prompt)

Hi guys!

You can find the request for this one here :) And the prompt here too!

For the context, it was from a TikTok Mary Earps posted a few weeks ago. Mary, Maya and Alessia were supposed to drink an awful thing with turmeric, pepper and others horrible ingredients.

Enjoy!

TW : None, pur fluff.

______________________________________________________________

"We are the hot shot threesome" Mary says happily before getting up to cut the camera on her phone, finishing her TikTok.

"I need some lip balm" Maya says before starting to look for it in her bag.

Alessia, on her side, falls on the bed with a moan of discomfort. Unlike Mary who seems to have enjoyed the content of the "shot" and Maya who drank it in one shot, she had more difficulty drinking it in its entirety. And did it only under the insistence of her teammates, not to kill the fun.

"Is she dead?" Mary asks Maya, laughing.

Smiling softly, Maya leans towards the blonde to pinch her ribs, making her growl while pushing her hand back.

"No, she looks okay" Maya laughs softly

Still with a grimace on her face, Alessia sits back on the bed to grab the bottle of tea and drink new long sips, hoping to pass the horrible taste that remains in her mouth.

"It was awful" says Alessia with a grimace before finally getting up

"It was really not good" confirms Maya, drinking too from the bottle.

"You are babies. I liked it" Mary says

Alessia smiles softly shaking her head. Heading towards the door, she is about to greet her friends when Mary jump from the bed in her turn.

"Where are you going?"

"Find Y/N. Why, you have another horrible challenge to offer me?" teases Alessia.

"No, but I have a better idea" Mary replies with a huge smile that really doesn't announce anything good.

********

"Mary there is no way in the world that I'm doing that to my girlfriend" Alessia frown.

"Come oooon, it could be fun!"

Alessia turns to Maya hoping to get some help, but she just smiles and shrugs. She understands Alessia’s reluctance but on the other hand she cannot help but find Mary’s idea rather amusing.

"Come on Less, all you have to do is find Y/N and kiss her so we can see her reaction"

"But I didn’t even wash my teeth" Alessia whines

"That’s the point" smiled Mary

"She’ll never want to kiss me again after that"

"Oh I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you" laughs Maya gently. "Y/N has been crazy about you for years, long before you opened your eyes to the nature of your respective feelings."

Alessia groan for any answer. Maya is right and she knows it, you have developed a crush for her for years, maybe even since the first time you saw her. But until a year ago, when Alessia’s behavior towards you changed, you were content to live one-way feelings, dating around, hoping to get over the feelings you had for Alessia. It never worked out.

Seeing that Alessia begins to hesitate, Mary leads the attacker into the common room where you are. Sitting on a stool and leaning at the coffee bar, you are in full discussion with Esme when the trio arrives at the entrance of the room.

"But she’s busy! She’s talking to Esme, I don't want to interrupt" Alessia tries, hoping to escape what she was asked.

"For God’s sake, Alessia, go kiss your girlfriend"

Alessia sighs gently and shakes her head before shyly entering the room. Satisfied, Mary grabs her phone to film the scene. She can thus have a perfect vision of Alessia’s hesitant steps in your direction.

For your part, you end up spotting the silhouette of your girlfriend who approaches you. You address her a big smile while still talking to Esme.

Before you really understand what is happening, Alessia finally arrives next to you and positions herself between Esme and you who are face to face on your respective stools. Even sitting, thanks to your seat, your face is almost the same height as Alessia's who is standing.

Alessia gently grabs your face by taking it in her hands and gently raises your chin before putting a kiss on your lips. You blow your nose under surprise, usually you don’t kiss in public. Unlike hugs or gestures of affection, it's not uncommon to see Alessia’s arms around your waist or to see you sleep on the shoulder of the blonde during your trips or movie nights.

Your arm passed around her waist, you look for Alessia's eyes after your kiss that lasts a few seconds and you prepare to question her before frowning. Her lips taste strange, far from the sweet taste they usually have.

"Did you eat something special?" you ask your girlfriend curiously.

But Alessia doesn't have time to answer that Mary’s laughter is heard. Maya appears smiling behind her and both of them approach you, drawing the attention of the other girls in the room.

"What’s going on?" you ask, a little lost.

Alessia informed you that she was going to do a TikTok with Mary and Maya, without really telling you what it was. When Mary throws you one of the bottles they drank and you catch it easily with your free hand.

"Hot shot threesome" Maya grins as you read the ingredients on the bottle with a grimace.

"I’m sorry Baby, they made me do it" Alessia plead, turning a little bit to look at Mary and Maya.

Mary snorts while you look up at Alessia with a little smile. She seems worried about your reaction, which really doesn’t matter. You’re pretty calm by nature, Esme is your best friend and it’s not for nothing.

"Don’t worry" you smile affectionately at her before gently kissing her cheek.

Alessia hums as she tightens against you, briefly pressing her temple against your forehead. You take the opportunity to deposit a new kiss, on the corner of her jaw this time.

You don’t really listen when Mary, Maya and Esme start talking about the drink and spicy food they’ve eaten so far. Alessia sometimes gets involved in the discussion as well. But you, you just watch your girlfriend. You’re obsessed with the blue of her eyes and the different features of her face. You feel your expression soften when she laughs and you pass your second arm around her waist after a few minutes.

It draws Alessia’s attention to look and smile at you, gently kissing your forehead.

God, you are so in love.

When Alessia shifts her attention back to the conversation, you listen to them with a distracted ear. You aren't surprised when Ella comes to mingle in the conversation, but you quickly turn away to admire Alessia. After so many years of trying to reason yourself about your feelings for her, you still can’t believe you can finally consider her "yours".

Unable to resist, you put your lips on her cheek again. Then you slide your lips all the way up to her jaw to finish in the hollow of her neck. You feel Alessia shivering, you know how sensitive she is here. Her hair is loose so no one can see what you just did, but Alessia is giving you a warning look.

"Sorry" you whisper softly before kissing her shoulder this time.

"Not here" whispers Alessia in return, forgetting in turn your teammates. "You can have all the kisses you want when we get back to the room"

"Mh… after you brush your teeth then. You taste weird" you smile maliciously.

"Don't talk about it… I didn’t want to finish, they forced me" Alessia pouts, very aware that she just drew Mary and Maya’s attention to you.

"Oh, really?" you coos, kissing your girlfriend’s cheek again.

"Yes, they were very mean"

"My poor little love" you laugh softly, gently tightening Alessia in your arms.

"You’re so dramatic" Mary sighs.

But Alessia gives her an ironic smile as you continue to hold her protectively against you. The blonde even lets herself go a little against you, standing impossibly close to you. Mary rolls her eyes and throws a ball napkin in your direction.

"Can't you stop two seconds from reminding others how single they are for god's sake?"

[604to647]

Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Third Movement (Presto agitato)

11K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: What do you do now that you realize you have feelings for the Barón?

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Pining and Angst. Semi public kissing, groping and sex. Someone comes in his breeches 🤷🏻‍♀️. F!oral, fingering, thigh riding, unprotected PiV. Pet names (spanish), Pero catches reader and gives her a little twirl once.

A/N: I'm sorry for the word count 😅😅 I feel like the pacing of this final part is kind of like season 1 of Bridgerton where it was like 5 episodes of flirting and then SMUTSMUTSMUT 🤭🤭 Just wanted to give our Spaniard and his Dulce a HEA, that's all! Please please correct my Spanish!! Google won't be offended! Thank you for reading along and hope you're looking forward to Season 3 of Bridgerton next week!

Series Masterlist 🎼 First Movement 🎼 Second Movement 🎼

The following morning you wake to your ladies’ maid gently shaking you and a massive headache.  Barely able open your eyes, so puffy from crying, you’re sure you gave her a terrible fright.  After asking for and drinking some water, you try using the cool glass to depuff your eyes and alleviate the pounding in your head, but no difference is made; you continue to feel positively awful.  Daphne comes into your room at the behest of the maid and immediately sees you’re much too unwell to entertain visitors today; it’s an easy decision to send all your suitors away and have them come back when you’re better.  When you start to apologize for causing a fuss, she immediately shushes you and insists you get rest - she will have the maids bring up some soothing tea.  You lay back down, exhausted, and drift off in the middle of telling her how much you love her.

---

Pero steps into Bridgerton House just as several young men are leaving; as they brush past him, he spots Colin speaking with a maid in the main foyer.

“Tovar! It’s been ages – how have you been?” Colin beams when he sees his friend. 

In truth, Pero is here to see you; he can’t quite get over the look of distress on your face when you left him last night.  Not for the first time, Pero silently curses Lord Ridlington for having sent over women to his house unsolicited last night, his apparent idea of a prank.  Leaving the women to themselves in a waiting room, Pero had been discussing with his butler the next course of action when you had surprised him beneath his window.  After you left, he made the proper arrangements for the women to leave discreetly, and had gone to bed thinking of you as usual. 

“I’ve been well, thank you.  Hope things have been going well here?  Have today’s suitors started their visits earlier than usual?” He gestures to another three men now descending the stairs and making towards the exit in an orderly line.

“No, my Lord,” the maid explains, “Miss is ill today.  Her suitors have been sent away and asked to return when she has recovered and is ready to receive visitors again.”

“Ill?!” How could you have taken ill when he just saw you?  Instantly Pero admonishes himself for having kept you standing outside last night - the night chill must have disagreed with you.  “Please,” he begs, “take me to see her.”

The maid looks panic stricken.  Surely this Spanish nobleman must understand the impropriety of a man being let in to the bed chambers of an unmarried woman.

Colin diverts her attention, “Marie, it will be okay.  Barón Tovar is an old family friend of the Count’s.  There is nothing improper afoot.  The door will remain open and you and I shall both be but a step away.”

With Mr. Bridgerton’s assurance, Marie the maid leads the two men to your door and opens it wide before stepping back to wait outside with Colin.  Pero walks into darkness, the curtains still drawn to help you sleep and ease the pain of your headache, but your magnetic pull leads him to you with no issue.

Kneeling by your bedside, Pero says your name softly, but you do not stir.  He goes to push aside some hair that’s fallen across your forehead and is alarmed when it feels hot to the touch; using the back of his hand to check your forehead and cheeks, he finds you clammy and feverish.  Shouting for Marie, both Colin and the maid rush in to Pero’s call, “Please find the Duchess!  Her friend is running a fever and a doctor needs to be called.  And please bring me a basin of cold water and a clean washcloth at once!”

Daphne rushes in minutes later to find Pero dabbing your forehead with the wet cloth that Marie procured, “Oh no!  I saw her this morning and knew she was unwell, but I did not think to check for a temperature!”

Shaking his head softly, Pero entreats the Duchess, “Do not blame yourself, your Grace.  Likely this morning she was not feverish when you saw her.  Please, has a doctor been called?”

The Duchess nods tearfully, grateful for Pero’s kind words and feeling a kinship with this man who clearly shares her tremendous concern for your well being. 

When the doctor arrives, Daphne stays in the room and gives Pero a nod of reassurance; he leaves begrudgingly though he knows you are in safe hands with the Duchess.  Hovering impatiently never more than a step away from the door, Pero breathes a sigh of relief when he overhears the doctor say that your temperature is no longer increasing, and that if kept cool and comfortable, your fever should easily break over the next day or two.  He vows to ensure both conditions are met to the best of his abilities until the moment you awake.

After the doctor leaves and Daphne has gone in search of a servant to fetch your father, Pero stays by your side, continuously stroking your hair gently and dabbing your hot skin with a cool cloth.  Every time Daphne passes by the open door of your room, she looks in to find Pero watching over you, brows furrowed, eyes full of concern and worry.  Sometimes the Duchess will see Pero’s lips moving, speaking gently to you - though she never hears the words he says, she can tell they’re heartfelt.  It becomes crystal clear to her that two weeks ago she had simply asked the Barón the wrong question; instead of “Do you intend to court her?”, she should have asked Pero: “Do you love her?”  The answer obvious. 

Pero never leaves your side, not when the Bridgerton women visit, or even when your father comes.  He just tucks himself into the corner of the room until their visits are over, as if afraid to leave you.  When it’s just him and you alone, he tries his best to make sure you’re comfortable, arranging your blankets nicely and propping up your pillows so that your sleep is restful and serene.  He requests that cool water and clean cloths are at his constant disposal, and makes sure to dab your face, neck, and decolletage at consistent intervals in order to keep your temperature down.  And while he does so, Pero continuously talks to you, encouraging you to get better, coaxing you back to him. 

He calls you carino, hermosa, princesa, mi reina, mi amor, and all the other endearments he doesn’t ever let himself call you save for in his head.  He lavishes you with compliments and words of praise that he's never allowed to slip past his lips - how perfect you are, how sweet and smart, that he doesn’t know anyone else like you and that your cheerful demeanor and melodic voice are the only things that can ever make him smile.  He tells you how he hasn’t smiled as much as he has since he reunited with you at the Danbury ball in years.  He confesses that every time he holds you while you dance, he has trouble letting go when the music ends, and when he sees another man take your hand and spin you around the room, he has to hold himself back from physically stepping in and pulling you back into his arms.  He tells you that he finds you beautiful and intoxicating, and describes every last inch of you that he can’t stop dreaming about, but lingers the longest in his description of your eyes and the richness of expressions they make that leave him breathless.  He tells you all these things because if he doesn’t say them out loud, he thinks he will burst from having to hold his feelings in all the time.  He tells you these things because he knows you will never hear them.

As the doctor predicted, the fever breaks late the following day and you start to stir shortly after.  Blinking your eyes open slowly, they come into focus to your father’s worry lined face and you watch as it cracks with relief, “Welcome back, dearest.  How do you feel?”

Not sure you can trust your voice right now, you give your father a small smile and nod when he says he needs to get the doctor.  In the few minutes you have alone, you try to get your bearings; the last thing you remember is waking to a terrible headache and falling back asleep after Daphne told you she would be sending your suitors away.  You swear you have vague memories of Pero’s voice and soft touch, but that couldn’t have been real.  Pero.  Oh.  You remember now the reason for having woken up before feeling empty and sad, but you don’t have too long to linger on it because your father returns swiftly with the doctor.

After declaring you well on your way to a full recovery, the doctor leaves you with your father; the Count, looking like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders, hugs you tightly and clasps his hands tightly over yours, “I am so glad you are better, dearest.  Now, will you please tell your suffering father what is troubling that heart of yours?”

You’re shocked.  How could your father know about your feelings for Pero when you only realized them a few nights ago?  Your surprise must be written all over your face because the Count gently explains, “My dear, in the entirety of your life, you have only ever had such a fever twice, both times due to crying yourself sick from heartbreak.  The first time was when you were a young girl and I read you The Little Mermaid - the ending saddened you to tears.  The other was when we were leaving Portugal and I didn’t let you keep the stray puppy you had been feeding for a month.  This is how I know something ails your heart terribly.  Please.  Tell your father so he can help you.”

Your heart swells with affection for your father - he has always been the most loving and caring man, attentive to your feelings and understanding of your nature.  There is no one on this earth who you trust so whole heartedly and with whom you feel so safe.  Except for Pero, you suddenly realize. 

You tell your father everything.  You tell him about how Pero lets you be yourself without reservation, and that with him you don’t need to temper down your enthusiasm for your interests or make your experiences seem smaller than they are.  How he encourages you in everything you do and makes you feel like you’re capable of anything and everything.  He respects you and approaches you with kindness, always making you feel safe and taken care of.  That he makes you laugh all the time.  And that you’ve taken Pero and his wonderfulness for granted, not realizing just how rare and valuable all his amazing qualities are because if you had you would have figured out earlier that you’re completely in love with him.  You cry softly and confess to your father that your heart is broken because you’re in love with a man who will never see you more than a childhood compatriot, and that you may never get over this sad truth.

The Count listens to you sympathetically, and when you’re finished, he simply tilts his head thoughtfully and asks, “How do you know he does not care for you in the same manner?”

You can hardly tell your father that you snuck out of Bridgerton House and interrupted Pero when he had company over, so you have to cite another reason you’re so certain of how Pero feels about you.  But you find yourself struggling to come up with any concrete examples or reasoning that satisfy even yourself; all you can say is, “Because he wishes for me to find a husband.  He encourages me to do so.  I’m simply the daughter of his father’s friend.”

Something like bemusement dances over your father’s face, “It seems to a me that a man who thinks of you as simply the daughter of his father’s friend would not have purchased my shares in the fleet.”

You’re absolutely stunned.  Pero purchased your father’s shares?  But why?  There was no inherent income from the investment, the dividends benefitted you and your future children only, “Why would Pero do that?”

“You will have to ask him yourself, dearest.  It shouldn’t be too long before he visits himself now that he’s likely heard you’re awake.  He had not left your bedside for nearly two days and it was only at my insistence that he let me sit vigil so he could go home and change his clothes.”

Again, you’re astonished; is it possible that your vague recollections of Pero’s voice and gentle touches while you were ill are real? 

“I will say, when I asked him the same question of why, his answer was that he did not want the hard work you and I put into our happy venture to be squandered.  He said he knew that would break your heart.”

It’s true, it would.

“With his experience, I know the fleet would be in good hands.”

Nodding, you have to agree.

“… and you would be in good hands.”

You look up to see your father looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place.  You’re about to ask him about it when you hear a quiet knocking and you look over to see Pero standing in the open doorway, as if you had summoned him with your conversation.

“My apologies, I do not mean to interrupt.  I thought I heard your voice and wanted to see if you were awake,” Pero looks tired, but hopeful.

The Count waves him in and gets up, whispering in your ear, “Be kind to him, dearest.  The man has been in anguish and has not left your bedside for more than a few minutes these past two days.”  Kissing you on the cheek, he tells you he will go and find the Duchess to give her the good news of your recovery if the doctor has not yet done so himself.  After he pulls away, you notice for the first time that your room is filled with peonies, every flat surface covered with the most splendid displays in the prettiest pastel colours – your heart soars at the sight.  When Pero takes your father’s place in the chair across from you, neither of you notice that the Count closes the door behind him.

“Dulce, how are you feeling,” asks Pero with as much feeling as you’ve ever heard from him.

You tell him you’re much better, and that although no one has said so explicitly, you suspect that much of your recovery is due to his diligent care and watch over you.

“It was nothing, Dulce.  I was worried about you.  I am glad you are okay now,” he says, relief evident in his voice.

“Thank you for taking care of me.  I really don't know what I have done to deserve your kindness, Pero.  And not only these past two days when I’ve taken ill, but over the entire course of this season – I do not think I have ever properly thanked you for being there for me, supporting and encouraging me, and bringing me such peace and joy so that I did not buckle under the pressure of my debut.  Please allow me to do so right now.  Thank you, Pero,” you look at him with adoration and admiration, pouring all your feelings out and disguising them as simple gratitude.

“It has been my absolute pleasure, truly.  I am so very proud of the woman you have grown up to be: beautiful, smart, funny, and so, so very caring.  You are one of kind, Dulce – and the lucky man who marries you needs to know just how special you are.  There isn’t anyone else who has your vibrant spirit, your sweet disposition, your fun-loving heart.  He needs to know and nurture all these wonderful qualities so that your light never goes out,” Pero espouses your virtues and merits with eyes fixed upon yours, wishing he could express just how deep his admiration truly runs.

To say you’re affected would be an understatement, and it makes you bold and brave.

“Pero, I cannot tell you how much your kind words mean to me.  I have never known a man to be more genuine and earnest that you; when you say something, you mean it.  I find you so very thoughtful this way.  And in other ways as well – I know, for example, it must have been you who filled this room with my favourite flowers.”  Pero nods indulgently and you carry on, “… and I know you purchased the shares in the fleet from my father.  Thank you, Pero.”

Pero is surprised, although he had not asked the Count to keep the sale from you, he didn’t expect you to know already.

You’re looking at him with an expression he won’t let himself name, eyes soft, almost pleading, “Why would you do something so generous, Pero?”

Pero remains quiet, as if wrestling with how he wishes to answer and you wait patiently, not sure what to expect.

“The owner of the shares has custody of a great gift.  The fleet is an impressive venture - it has potential to do considerable good in this world, and much of that is thanks to you and your father’s dedication and contributions – the holder of these shares cannot squander that opportunity; he needs to honour you and your father’s legacy by carrying on the good work you’ve started together.  But that in and of itself is not the gift.  The man who holds these shares is also given the gift of being able to take care of you, to have a small hand in ensuring a prosperous future for you and your children.  I… could not take the risk that someone who did not understand the honour of this charge would hold these shares.  I hope you can understand and not think it imprudent of me.”

You don’t know what to say.  Pero is so generous and considerate – how could he ever think you would view his gesture as anything but deeply caring?  Unsure of your silence, Pero attempts to lighten the mood, “This way, I can still be in your life.  I can come to see you when I need to discuss matters of the fleet.”

“Pero, you’re my friend!  You do not need to have a business pretense to see me.”

He shakes his head sadly, “You will be married, Dulce.  Your husband would not like a man like me visiting his wife frequently.”

“A man like you?” you’re not sure what he means.

“A man who looks at you the way I look at you.”

You inhale sharply, hardly allowing yourself to breathe, “And how do you look at me, Pero?”

“Like you are the sun, Dulce.  Like everything you touch is made brighter and better from the light of your smile and the warmth of your sweet laugh.  As if under your care and attention, everything and everyone, including me, grows – stronger, brighter, better.  I look at you like I dream about the graceful notes of your voice every night and wish to hear your melody of thoughts and opinions on all things.  I look at you like I am hypnotized just by the sway of your hips and even the lilt of your fingers.  Everyday, I’m ever more enchanted with the tilt of your head and curve of your mouth.  I look at you like I could never get enough.”

“And what if I don’t want that?”

“Then I will stay away, mi reina.  Anything you wish,” though crushed, Pero knows that he would do whatever you asked.

“No, Pero, you misunderstand.  What if I don’t want a husband who does not want you looking at me like that?  What if I want you to look at me like that?  What if I do not want a husband who isn’t you?”

“Dulce…” Pero’s heart has leapt into his throat, he can hardly allow himself to believe what he’s hearing, “… you do not know what you’re saying.  You would not want me for a husband.”

You smile kindly, “And why not?”

Pero looks at you so sadly it breaks your heart, “You would not wish to separate from your friends and leave England to be mistress of a lowly Barón’s estate in a foreign land where you know no one and do not speak the language.  Not when you have suitors with much grander fortunes, with estates nearer to your friends, and where you and your children would grow up in the style befitting the daughter of a British Count.  You would not want a husband who is never home and spends more time on the seas and in far off lands than he does on home soil; one you never see and for whom you would worry all the time, not knowing where he is or what he is doing.”

“Would you not be willing to take me with you on your travels, Pero?”

“Of course, I would,” Pero never second guesses his answer.

Heart still aflutter at Pero’s romantic declarations, you press ahead, determined.  “Well.  It seems then that no one would be better suited to be my husband than you!  You must know me well enough to know that I do not care for grand fortunes and estates, and my dear father and now you have made sure that I will never be financially dependent on any husband.  What I care for is freedom and adventure!  And exploration and not being kept from the joys this life has to offer because I am a woman, or just somebody’s wife.  As for my friends, I can always visit!  And I am fortunate enough that the strength of our bonds is not dependent on having to see each other constantly.  Honestly!  This would not be the first time in my life I have gone to live in a foreign country where I do not speak the native tongue – it’s practically second nature to me now!  But I can see how it would be useful to be able to fluently converse with servants and locals - I suppose I would just have to commit myself to learning Spanish.  That is,” you’re suddenly embarrassed upon realizing that Pero hasn’t actually asked you to be his wife, and instead, you’re espousing all the reasons you find the match to be agreeable when he himself hasn’t expressed any desire for it, “if you would wish to have me.” 

“Dulce, all I have done since the moment I laid eyes on you at the Danbury Ball is wish to have you.  Do you know how hard it was for me to see you entertaining all those suitors when I was certain none of them could ever appreciate you for even half the wonderful person you are?  None of them had any idea what a smar-“

You crash your lips to his, and after the initial surprise, Pero kisses you back with the fervent need that’s been building in his soul the past few months.  Throwing your arms around him, you open your mouth to his just as his hands pull you flush to his chest; it’s the warmest, hungriest first kiss to have ever been kissed.  Your mind having only recently caught up to your heart, and Pero’s constrained feelings finally being set free, your tongues press together over and over, spilling all the unspoken words between the both of you.  On instinct you fist Pero’s shirt and pull him down with you onto the bed, Pero’s eyes darkening as he climbs on top of you, placing one knee in between your legs while keeping the other on the ground.  You finally run your hands through his soft curls and it feels as incredible as you had imagined two nights ago; you both moan softly at the sensation.

“Dulce, you make the prettiest noises…”

You purr softly at Pero’s praise, leading him to groan deeper into your mouth and you feel the hand that isn’t braced on the pillow next to your head start to skate up your side, landing near your breast and tentatively drawing circles on the underside of your plush curves with its thumb. You arch into Pero’s hand to encourage him to touch you, and he responds as he always promised he would if he had the chance which is to give in to your every desire.  Groping your breast and finding your nipple between his fingers, Pero rolls and pinches so expertly that you can’t help but writhe beneath him.  He shifts to kiss down your neck as he continues his attentions on your peak and when his knee brushes your throbbing centre, you gasp loudly before covering your mouth with your hands.  Still breathing heavily, the two of you giggle and smile stupidly at each other in the tender moment.  Pressing his forehead against yours, Pero whispers, “Mi reina, we should stop, I still need to ask your father for your hand.  Tomorrow, I am sure he will come here for breakfast and I will ask to speak with him after.”

Looking deep into is eyes, you nod; you know Pero’s right, though there’s a warmth radiating from your very being that wishes to invite scandal and tell him to never stop touching you, knowing by the way he’s making you feel right now that it would be worth it.

Not without regret, Pero pulls himself off of you and stands; after he helps you sit up, Pero tips your chin with his finger so you look at him squarely.  A seriousness takes over his face, an expression he usually reserves for others, “Are you sure you want me, mi amor?  You have so many suitors, so many options.”

Your eyes shine with sincerity and so much softness for this man that does not seem to understand just how much you love him.  You vow to spend the rest of your days showing him, “There are no options when there’s you, Pero.”

You can’t help but shriek a little in laughter as Pero falls on you and crushes his lips to yours, pinning your body to your bed with his large and solid frame.  Kissing you over and over, Pero punctuates his affection with barely strung together words of love - So perfect.  So perfect.  Can’t believe it.  How.  How did I get so.  Damn.  Lucky.  Beautiful. Perfect girl.

Right before your giggles can turn into moans, a knock on your door freezes you both.  The noise is quickly followed by the Duchess’ slightly amused voice, “Is everything okay?  We have brought up dinner.  Please let me know when it is decent for us to come in.”

Giving you one last peck on your lips before chuckling lightly, Pero pulls you up and whispers, “Tomorrow,” before going to open the door for Daphne.

The next morning you find Pero waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs when you come down.  Checking quickly to make sure there aren’t any lingering servants, you step off the third to last step and fling yourself into his arms.  Pero catches you easily and gives you a twirl before placing you gently on your feet, then places a less gentle kiss to your lips.  With a few hurried murmurings of devotion - I missed you.  You look beautiful. I still can’t believe you’re mine - you break apart and head to breakfast.

When the two of you enter the dining room, you’re greeted exuberantly by your friends congratulating you on your recovery and expressing their delight that you’re well enough to rejoin them.  Your father hugs you and you think you detect a knowing smile gracing his face, but you’re too soon seated with platters of food being offered and pushed towards you for you to be sure.  It’s a happy occasion but also slightly awkward – you’re seated next to Pero, but you have to pretend that nothing has changed between the two of you.  Trying to cheerfully chat with your father and friends, you find yourself unable to give the conversation your full attention because you trying with all your might to hold in the most wonderful news of your life, and with it, your overflowing happiness.  It doesn’t help that Pero finds increasingly mischievous ways to secretly touch you throughout breakfast: foot reaching over to playfully nudge yours, gently squeezing your thigh under the table.  When he purposefully brushes his hand down your arm and over yours in order to reach for the butter dish, you gasp in surprise - his touch out in the open sending a warm thrill through to your heart.  In response to your friends’ concerns, you have to lie and say you may still be feeling fatigued, and Pero, ever the menace, pats your shoulder affectionately and reminds you not to overexert yourself before buttering his scone with a smirk.

After your father finishes his meal, you nervously watch Pero hastily shove his last piece of food into his mouth before asking the Viscount for use of his office, and entreats your father for a word.  Finishing your own breakfast as quickly as you can without drawing suspicion, you find your way to the closed office doors and pace outside impatiently.  Try as you may, you cannot make out any of what is being spoken in the office, even when you press your ear up to the door.  After what feels like an eternity, the door opens and Pero exits; not the least bit surprise to find you outside, he whispers in your ear as he walks by, “Your father wishes to see you now, Dulce.  Come find me afterwards.  I will be upstairs writing a letter.”

The Count welcomes you into the office with open arms and you immediately fly into your father’s loving embrace.  As he continues to envelope you in the warmth of his joy, he chuckles, “Well, dearest, I think your old father deserves some acknowledgement for being right.”

Pulling away from him, you look at the face that’s so much like your own, eyes crinkled in mirth and a smile big enough to rival yours, “I concede, Father - you were right.  And I have never been so happy to have been wrong!”

Your father’s already expressive eyes shine with an extra brightness, “All I have ever hoped for is your happiness, my dear.  Pero is a good man, like his father before him and he has given me every assurance that he will cherish and take care of you the way you deserve.  I shall rest easily knowing that you will be in his capable hands… and he in yours.”

What did you ever do to deserve such a brilliant father who has given you the most wonderful life?  You ponder this as you walk up the stairs after telling your father that you love him and saying goodbye for the day.  You suspect you’ll never discover a satisfactory answer, but can only hope you can one day bestow the same unconditional love and support upon your own children.

You find Pero sitting at the corner desk in the drawing room where some of the Bridgertons are relaxing: Eloise and Colin reading, Francesca tinkering at the piano forte, Daphne looking over some correspondence of her own.  Approaching him silently, you look over his shoulder and whisper, “Mi rey, to whom are you writing?”

Smiling at your Spanish endearment of choice, Pero responds without looking up from his task, “I am writing my king, Dulce, and asking him for his permission to marry.”

Ah right, you consider that the Count could very well be penning a similar letter to the queen at this same moment, “What happens if he refuses, Pero?” 

“Then I abscond with my new bride and we live like pirates on the run,” smiles Pero, still not looking up.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you grin.

Pero finally sets his soft gaze upon you, “Nothing can be so bad if you are by my side, mi reina.”

He looks at you with such devotion and affection, you can’t help yourself - you cup his perfect face in your hands and bend down to kiss him.  Pero returns your soft, gentle kisses with his own, nothing urgent, nothing hurried – just a moment of tenderness that couldn’t have been restrained.

You don’t break apart even when you hear the successive gasps of your friends or even when Colin cheers, unable to part from Pero’s lips even a moment sooner than you need to.  When the two of your finally look up, it’s to the sight of the Duchess standing with her hands on her hips and a beaming smile on her face, “Do you two have something to tell us?”

You and Pero attend all of the remaining season events as a happily engaged couple.  Pero, no longer scowling all by his lonesome against the wall, but standing tall and proud next to you; his hand laced through yours or comforting and firm on your lower back as the two of you receive congratulations from the ton.  He drinks in the jealous looks from your former suitors and inwardly chuckles a little at the conceding grumbles from the mamas who proclaim with surprise that they didn’t know he had been looking for a wife.  His stoic countenance cracking just a little at their poorly concealed scandalized faces when he replies that he hadn’t been.  For your part, you don’t notice any of this; you only have eyes and ears for Pero.  Your face hurts from smiling so much – it’s all you can do to tear your eyes away from your handsome fiancé in order to respond politely to the questions you receive from curious members of the ton.

You still dance every dance, floating on air as you traverse the floor in the strong arms of your dashing Spaniard; now that there is no danger of some other man whisking you away from him for the next dance, Pero quite enjoys the dance floor.  He holds you closer than he probably should, chests touching and faces so close that the gentle fan of your breath curls over his lips; his hands find themselves placed low on your back during the waltz, dipping scandalously close to where he really wants them to be, itching to squeeze the plush globes of your ass.  If anyone was to make a comment to you about it, you would giggle and simply say that your fiancé is a passionate man.

And he is.  A passionate man, that is.  Under his grave and steely visage, Pero is a man who yearns for and craves the woman he loves, hungry for you at all times.  Such a man is not made of infinite restraint - the limits of Pero’s self control having already been sorely tested for the past few months.  As such, whenever an opportunity to escape the rigid formality of these events would arise, Pero wasted no time whisking you away for himself.

At the Grand Picnic, he steals you away to a secluded spot in the gardens where he proceeds to kiss you so fervently and passionately that you actually get dizzy.  He presses you against the base of some winged sculpture and hungrily licks and sucks down your neck, all while you cover your mouth with your hands, hoping against hope to contain your moans and soft whimpers.  The stone angel watches from its perch as Pero trails his mouth down past your collar towards the swell of your breasts, already rapidly rising and falling.  Pressing feather light kisses to the tops of your breasts, Pero drinks in your breathy giggles when his scruff tickles you, before diving in devilishly, lapping at your ample curves and the valley in between.  As you start to pant from arousal, Pero finds himself most ardently wishing that your tits would break free of their fine silk confines and spill into his mouth. 

A la mierda, he thinks and glides his tongue into the sliver of space between your dress and skin, dragging it across your chest until he hits your hardened nipple; having found his prize, Pero dives in, straining with his tongue to stroke your peak harder and faster.  When he leverages enough space with his chin to wedge in between your soft skin and the fabric of your dress, Pero takes your breast into his mouth and sucks while groping your other breast with his hand, finding the twin nipple already straining against your gown, aching to be played with.  The combined sensation has you grabbing at Pero’s hair and pressing him closer to you; with your hands now otherwise occupied, your gasps and moans spill unfiltered from your open mouth.  The obscene sounds Pero pulls from you must start to carry, because soon you hear voices getting nearer to where you and Pero have now frozen, his mouth buried in your chest; he places one last chaste kiss to tops of each of your breasts before the two of you giggle and run hand-in-hand out of the gardens.

At the Opera, Pero secures a box on the second mezzanine for the two of you.  With most of the ton preferring the orchestra seats or boxes closer to the stage, you find yourselves alone in the secluded alcove nearer to the house balcony.  Once the lights dim and the overture starts, Pero takes your hand in his and you lean on his shoulder, relaxing into his closeness.  By the time the audience is enjoying the soprano’s heart-breaking aria in the third act, Pero has his left arm thrown around you and the knuckles of his right hand are ghosting over the front of your panties where he finds them already damp from want. 

“Keep your eyes on the stage, Dulce,” he whispers in your ear as his thumb draws slow circles over your clit.  You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out, trying with all your might not to let your whole body react to Pero’s teasing lest it draws the attention of the opera house attendees sitting on the balcony or in the boxes on the opposite side of the hall.

Pero is patient.  And thorough.  He takes an inordinate time exploring the shape of your pussy - running his thumb then fingers over the outline of your slit and the hardening form of your clit, eventually cupping your mound and letting you grind down on his palm to give you some of the friction you so desperately seek.  He toys with you over the fabric of your underwear for the remainder of the 3rd act until your panties are completely soaked through.  Only once the 4th act is underway does he slip his hand down the front of your underwear and start to run his forefinger through your folds.

“Pero…” you sigh, spreading your legs wider to allow him more freedom of movement.

“Doing so good for me, mi amor,” he whispers back, continuing his smooth, teasing strokes, dragging your sticky arousal through the valleys of your seam and trailing it up to your clit, spreading it over and around your bundle of nerves before returning his fingers to your wet core.  He repeats this over and over, alternating the speed and pressure of his fingers, never letting you settle into a complacent state.  Quite the opposite – you feel like your body is on fire. 

Willing yourself to breathe through your nose as evenly as you can, you focus on the soprano’s finale song before the ensemble gathers for the finale; just as the singer hits the high notes of her solo with a warm vibrato, Pero pushes a finger straight into your heat and you whine in harmony with her.  Slowly he pumps his finger in and out of your tight hole, nearly losing control with the way you clench as he drags along your warm warms; Pero feels you hum around him as pleasure you’ve never felt before radiates throughout your entire body.  The squelching sound of Pero working your cunt are thankfully masked by the musical drama unfolding on the stage, and Pero uses the opportunity to ask you if you’re ready for another. 

Seeing you nod as subtly as you can, Pero murmurs, “Good girl,” before adding a second finger to join the first.  Oh.  You’re so full.  It’s a stretch, but the sting pairs perfectly with the devastating pleasure now coursing through your veins as Pero slowly drives his fingers into you.  Staying with a slower pace until you start dripping down his wrist, Pero’s fingers now start to thrust faster, keeping tempo with the musical build that the ton in the orchestra is enjoying, clueless to your lascivious activities above them.

When Pero presses his thumb to your slippery clit, you surge forward and grab onto the balcony banister for stability, nearly in danger of drawing the attention of unwanted eyes.  Refusing to ease up in his efforts on your cunt, Pero continues to push you closer and closer to your high, his fingers never faltering from their punishing pace until you come and cry out in tune with the finale’s final chorus.  While the rest of the audience applauses when the curtain falls, Pero’s praise is only for you - purring that you did so good for him and kissing you gently as his slips his slick covered hand back into his glove. 

At the Hastings Ball, you’re the one feeling bold.  Having arrived at your friend’s estate a week prior to help the Duchess with preparations, you familiarize yourself with the grounds and all the intimate, secret corners perfect for intimate, secret things.  Once all the guests have arrived and the festivities have begun in earnest, you sneak off with your fiancé, leading him down a hidden staircase into the Duke’s impressive wine cellar.  With all of tonight’s refreshments having already been pulled from inventory, you know no one will be coming down here during the ball; you’re free to touch, feel and love on Pero in all the ways you desire.  Once Pero realizes the amount of privacy you’ve been afforded, he’s like a dog unleashed, stalking and cornering you into a wall with a growl, sniping at your neck with his teeth and lips, pawing at your soft curves already on display for him in your pretty ballgown. 

Here in the cellar, while you still cannot be loud, but you don’t have to be quiet – the cavernous room echos your quiet moans and Pero’s deep grunts like a soundtrack of pleasure that’s percussed by heavy breathing as the two of you drown in one another.  Lips attached to yours, but eyes kept open to take in your lustful expression, Pero spies an unopened crate out of the corner of his eye and smiles against your mouth, “Come here, Dulce.  Let me show you something.”

After letting him lead you to the crate, you allow Pero to help you on top before scooting you back so your legs no longer dangle over the edge.   Grinning, you ask playfully, “What, pray tell, do you wish to show me, Barón?”

“Want to show you how I’m going to make my pretty wife feel good every day we are married,” Pero looks at you, eyes dark, as his starts to ruffle up the many layers of your dress.  You giggle as his pushes through the yards of fabric with a feigned annoyance, bunching it up for you to hold against your chest like an overstuffed pillow.  Once Pero is satisfied with his unfettered access, he gently pushes you to lean back on your elbows, hands still laid prettily on your pillow of dress skirts, eyes watching your handsome fiancé’s movements.  Pero leans over the edge of the crate and rubs your silk stocking covered calves with his big firm hands as he starts kissing up your leg starting from where your stockings end mid thigh.  Every kiss he leaves on your skin gives you a shiver as the cool cellar air hits the imprint his lips leaves behind; then, as he gets closer to your heat, he starts to open mouth kiss where you’re the most sensitive, dragging his tongue back and forth over these tender spot and leading you to throw you head back and close your eyes in heady desire.  When he repeats this fog inducing pattern on the inside of your other thigh, you start begging, “Pero, please… please, my Lord, ple-pl-please!”

Nipping at your sensitive flesh with his teeth, Pero smirks against your leg, “What do you need, mi reina?”

Opening your eyes, you nearly buck into his face when you see Pero’s roguish expression peeking up at you from between your wide spread legs, “Touch me please, mi rey.”

“Here?” he asks, with pretend innocence before he dives in and starts devouring your pussy over the fabric of your underwear without waiting for your answer.  This feels different.  So much like his fingers but even more sensual, intimate, wild.  Pero mouths and nuzzles your cunt with a precision only rivalled by that of his tongue; his tongue has a mind of his own, gently prodding, exploring, reaching where his lips can’t. Pero's hands reach up your legs and hook under the band of your soaked panties and you catch him look at you before he murmurs “May I?” directly into your cunt.  The vibrations of his question run through to your chest and it’s all you can do to nod quickly before you watch him pull the frilly undergarment down your legs and have them drop to the ground.  Already completely wrecked, Pero takes in your glistening folds, wet and primed, and growls, “Look at this perfect pussy.  And she’s all mine.”

You run one hand through his soft curls and grip his hair so he’ll look at you, smiling lazily, already unbelievably blissed out, you promise, “All yours.”

“Mine,” Pero repeats, and then he buries his face into heaven.

The sensation is overwhelming in the very best way.  Pero is eating you, no, devouring you like a man starved; every press of his lips to your pussy somehow deeper and hungrier than the last, as his tongue licks every crest and wave of your core and marks them for his own.  Your slick pools from you, down your backside and dampens your gown beneath you; the wet noises from Pero’s mouth against your folds echo obscenely around you and your voice cannot help but try to add in its own harmony.  All of this makes you feel like a worshiped goddess about to ascend her alter and simultaneously like a wanton whore who knows that true heaven lies in the bodily pleasures of this mortal realm.  Then, as Pero’s mouth closes over your clit and he starts to flick your throbbing nub with his tongue, you realize in your daze that no, what you are is something better than either of those two things: you’re the woman who is marrying Barón Pero Tovar.  That’s the thought that overflows from your thumping heart and pushes you over the edge, coming on Pero’s face as you chant his name in a grateful prayer.

After the Ball, you’re positively exhausted from purposefully overdoing the socializing after returning from the wine cellar so no one would recall your long absence.  Yawning, you’re giving your hair a final brush when you hear a soft clink against your bedroom window, followed shortly by another, then another. 

Confused, you approach your window with slight trepidation, and upon looking out, you think at first that your tired eyes must be deceiving you.  Below your window, gazing up at you, is Pero.  He looks devastatingly handsome; yet to undress – Pero is still in his formal breeches, but his white shirt has been unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing his smooth, tanned skin to your admiring gaze.  You might lick your lips at the sight.  Giggling as you tiptoe down the stairs, you walk out onto the terrace that hangs off the sitting room directly below your bedroom, greeted by Pero’s blinding smile, “Barón, what are you doing here?”

It's an easy climb up the side of the wall to the terrace level for Pero and his long legs; once he’s standing directly in front of you, he answers, “I could not sleep without seeing you one last time, Dulce.”

Where did this man who adores you so openly and without reservation come from?  You throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a gleeful kiss; you adore him too, after all. 

Still grinning, Pero jokes, “And as I recall, it is my turn to call upon you in the dead of night from beneath your window in order to rouse you from the comfort of your bed chamber.”

Although he has no such intent, Pero’s words immediately transport you back to the night you realized your feelings for him… and how you had left his house, devastated upon the discovery that he was not alone.  Stilling in your movements, you shrink away from Pero a little; none of this goes without notice.

“Dulce, are you okay?  I’m sorry, I did not mean to imply there was anything wrong with these late-night meetings, but if you prefer to go back inside, I understand.”

You shake your head to let him know you’re not upset by that, but still your expression remains slightly sad and hurt.  Pero bends at the knee to meet your eye, “Mi amor?”

You’ve never lied or kept anything from Pero in all the time you’ve known him, and now that you’re his fiancé, you’re not about to start.  Looking at the ground next to you, you mumble, “I’m sorry, I was just remembering the night you’re alluding to; when I interrupted you… with those two women.”

When Pero doesn’t answer, you wonder if he’s upset with you for having disturbed him that night, and you look up to meet his eye finally, trying to give him a brave smile, “Please do not be upset with me.  I did not know you had company, which would have been entirely your private business, to which I know I am not entitled.  But if I must be honest, I do not particularly enjoy imagining you with other women.”

Pero has to stifle a laugh; if only you understood the war that raged in his chest every time a suitor placed his hand on your waist for a dance or when you would laugh at their jokes with that twinkle in your eye he loves so much – then you would not feel as if you had to hide these feelings from him.

Stroking your jaw gently, Pero tips your face to his, “Dulce, I could never be upset with you.  Firstly, you are entitled to all my business, private or not.  Secondly, the women to which you refer were not there by my invitation – Lord Ridlington had sent them to my house that evening as some sort of prank.  In his words, maybe if the Barón got laid, he would not be such a stick in the mud.  Nothing happened with those women, I promise, mi amor.  When you arrived, I was right in the middle of arranging for a carriage to take them home.  And thirdly,” Pero walks you backward until your back hits the wall; he braces an arm above your head, and towering over you, grips firmly onto your waist with his other hand, “how could I ever even think of another woman when there is you?  You with your pretty face, and your sweet smile, and your heavenly laugh.  You with your witty quips, and your melodic voice that says the smartest things, and this gorgeous body…” 

Pero’s voice trails off as he starts to kiss down your neck and his strong hands start to move up and down your sides in unison, then separating so one can reach up to massage your breast and the other down to grope your ass.  Your head tips back to allow Pero more access as you melt into his touch - he’s everywhere at once, overwhelming all of your senses.  Kissing down to your breasts, Pero finds them available to him in a way he has yet to experience, your thin night dress much flimsier than the gowns you wear during the day; he can already see your nipples poking up through the fabric, hard and inviting.  Without warning, he ducks and takes one in his mouth, teasing and sucking in tandem with your loud gasps and moans.

“Oh Pero, right there, oh- nghhh, please that feels so good!” you cry out breathily.  Spurned on by your praise, Pero frantically rucks up the skirts of your nightgown and slots his thigh between your legs, pulling you down to sit.  The pressure and friction on your cunt sends a wave of pleasure through you, amplified and extended by Pero’s tongue and lips laving their attention on your breasts.  He encourages you to rock against his thigh, using his grip on your waist to help you find an enjoyable rhythm, and once you’ve found one that catches your clit on the flex of his leg, his hands leave you to your work and travel up your body to pull down the front of your night dress, exposing your tits to the cool night air and Pero’s darkened gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, as he leans back to admire everything before him: your naked curves, your hardened peaks begging for his attention, and the sight of the woman he loves getting off by rubbing her pretty pussy all over his thigh.  He thinks he’s minutes away from combusting.

Instead, he dives right into your chest, mouth and tongue licking, kissing and nibbling, hands groping, pinching and pulling all your delicious parts so that he can bring you to your second orgasm of the night.  While tugging at your nipple with his teeth, he hisses low, “Were you jealous, Dulce?”

Half out of your mind from pleasure you gasp back, “Yes!”

Growling, “Good,” Pero sucks in a mouthful of your breast and kneads what he can’t fit into his mouth with his hands, panting out words when he should be taking in breaths of much needed air -

Now you know how I felt.

When some other man would touch you.

When you would smile at your suitors.

When you didn’t know I would burn the world for you.

You cry out at his confessions, gripping the back of his head and pulling him closer to you still; increasing your rocking, you’re chasing your own high when your knee brushes up against something hard, something big.  When it jumps at your touch, you use your knee to stroke Pero’s length with every pass of your pussy over his thigh. 

Your breasts now wet from Pero’s mouth, the cool night air’s chill against your skin causes you to tighten in Pero’s arms as he continues to electrify you with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, his words -

Never need to be jealous ever again, Dulce.

There’s only you.

Never want anyone else.

Don’t need anyone else.

You’re my everything.

Mine.

You come to his loving and possessive declarations, singing back your own - Yours, yours, yours.  Body violently seizing and shuddering, Pero holds you close as you ride out your high.  As you continue to buck against him, he crests to your desperate whimpers and breathless panting – his eyes never leaving your face, mesmerized by the sweet blissed out expression that he pulled from you.  Finally opening your eyes, you grin lazily at the sight of your lover smiling at you, calming down from his own summit; and when you feel the dampness of his trousers against your bare knee, you giggle in pride and pull Pero back to you lips for a flutter of happy kisses.  As he walks you to the door to the waiting room, you hardly give him a moment without a light peck on his lips, cheeks, neck – not sure you’ll be able to stand being apart from Pero for even a few hours of sleep.

Before he leaves you, Pero cups your face in his large hands, whispering against your lips, “I’m yours,” and you smile back and press your mouth to his before returning, “Mine.”

You marry at the end of the season in late June with the blessing of the Spanish king to do so in England.  The ceremony itself is wonderful and your gown is gorgeous, but you hardly remember anything save for how handsome Pero looks waiting for you at the end of the aisle and how he and the Count both had tears in their eyes for most of the wedding.  What you remember much more vividly is the fun you and your friends had when preparing for the nuptials.  Days and nights filled with laughter, play fighting over flower arrangements, tearful promises to never let distance impact your friendship – you thank the Bridgertons over and over for their love and support during this season and bringing you to Pero; you can never repay them.  When you board the ship to your new home, it’s not without tears as you say goodbye to your friends and father; everyone sends you off with mirroring sentiments and promises to visit soon.

If the Tovar estate servants had any concerns or misgivings about having a foreigner as mistress of the house, you soon win them over with your kind and gentle nature; your cheerful and easy-going demeanor overriding any language barrier, which with their help and your dedication, you were overcoming more and more every day.  And if there were any remaining whispers, be they among the members of the Spanish court, villagers, or any one else, they were quickly quieted once the concerned party bore witness to the ferocity of your love for your husband and his obvious and complete devotion to you.  The older house staff observed quite readily that they hadn’t seen the Barón smile as much as he did since he was a boy.  The newer servants declared that prior to his marriage, they had not seen him smile at all.

One morning, only two months after landing in Spain, you wake to find yourself alone in bed for the first time since you and Pero got married.  Deciding it unnecessary to ring for your ladies’ maid (Lucia, a delightful woman whose English was improving as much as your Spanish), you throw on a dressing robe over your night dress and pad downstairs, sure you’ll find your husband in the dining room having breakfast. 

As usual, you’re right; for a few minutes you remain standing in the doorway, admiring your handsome hulk of a husband as he shovels the remainder of his breakfast into his mouth.  You love the way he eats… everything - with voracity, unabashed hunger, like he can never get enough.  Strolling in only when you see him push aside his empty plate in favour of a pile of letters and paperwork to begin reading, you thank the footman who had already seen you and plated you a warm breakfast, before you approach Pero’s chair.  Dancing your fingers across his broad shoulders, you slide onto your husband’s lap before laying a soft morning kiss to his lips, “Buenos días, mi rey.”

“Buenos días, mi reina,” Pero kisses back, turning his full attention to you as he always does.

“Te echo de menos esta mañana (I missed you this morning),” you pout, although you’re not really upset with him in any way.

Pero smiles at you indulgently, “I thought you might like to get some extra sleep.”  He nuzzles your ear and you can hear him smile, “Considered you might be tired after your activities last night, Baronesa.”

You giggle and pull him in for another kiss, your cheeks get hot just thinking about the multiple orgasms that Pero pulled from you with his talented fingers, mouth and cock; you purr back and pepper his scruff with kisses, “Very thoughtful of you, Barón.”  Your eyes soften, “No me gusta despertar sin ti, Pero (I hate waking up without you, Pero).”

Pero kisses your temple, “My apologies, Dulce.  How can I make it up to my pretty wife?”

You squirm in his lap; a thrill still runs through you when you hear him refer to you as his wife, and you start to plant breathy kisses to the spot right behind his ear that you know drives him crazy.

“Already?  Is my wife so insatiable?” chuckles Pero, though his voice his has dropped to that low baritone register that makes your stomach flip.  You nod into his neck and start to run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging impatiently at the ones at the base of his neck.

“Déjanos por favor (leave us please),” Pero calls out politely.  The servants in the dining room leave at once and close the doors, some smirking - all the servants having gotten used to their master and new mistress’ voracious appetite for one another.  The younger servants were mainly amused and some even found it romantic; the older servants acting scandalized, but secretly pleased to see such a happy marriage on the estate after so long.

 “Sit up here, mi amor,” Pero pulls you off his lap gently and directs you up onto the dining room table; you move his papers aside and push his flatware out of the way.  Teasing him, you quip, “I thought you already had breakfast, my lord?”

“I’m ready for seconds,” growls Pero as he pulls up his chair and seats himself between your legs.  Licking his lips greedily, he unties your robe and peels it open to reveal your lacey nightgown underneath. Lifting up the skirt to reveal your already wet and waiting naked cunt, he murmurs, "Delicious," before lowering himself to meet you where you already need him so desperately.  Aware that you might still be sensitive from the previous night’s sex, Pero is careful with you – his licks and strokes to your folds are gentle and slow, he mouths and sucks your clit with tenderness and reverence, and when he presses two, then three fingers into your tight hole, he does so with restrained worship.  It’s only when you cry out for more, more, more, that he quickens his pace and fully presses his mouth to you, tongue tangling with your sensitive bud before nibbling it between his teeth.  Your moans and debauched sounds of rapture have never been restrained in this house, your house – and you come with a desperate and enchanting scream befitting the blinding pleasure now electrifying your body. 

Kissing up your nightgown and planting loving open mouth kisses to your breasts before letting you taste yourself, Pero licks into your mouth and whispers, “Te amo, mi reina,” before standing back to unlace his pants.

Your mouth waters as you watch your husband free his cock; no matter how many times you’ve taken him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt, you’re still in awe of its size and the things that Pero’s length can do to you.  Whenever you feel the stretch of him entering you, you always recall the first time and how gentle he was as he pushed in.  When you remember the tenderness in his voice and face as he made sure you were comfortable, putting your pleasure before his – your heart always blooms with overflowing love for this man.  How did you get so lucky?  Pero would of course always say that he’s the lucky one, and then show you just how deep his affection for you runs by thrusting with intensity, punching that spot inside that makes you see stars, over and over – the exact way he’s doing so now.  “¡Cómo te amo, Pero!” you whimper again and again, and by the way he continues to drive into you, you know he believes you.  Folding himself over you so that he can bury his face into your neck and nip at the delicate spot at the base, Pero's pants and groans have you arching your back and fisting his hair just for something to hold on to lest you float away.

“I’m close, Dulce.  Come with me,” Pero growls, snaking a hand between your bodies and finding your clit with ease.  Drawing quick circles over your swollen nub, you feel the coil beneath your belly tighten and tighten until it snaps and you throw you head back chanting your husband’s name as you fall over the cliff.  Not far behind, Pero’s pace falters before he spills into you with a long and low grunt in your ear that shoots straight to where you’re joined as one. 

Weak, limp and perfectly satisfied, you let Pero pull you into a sitting position and kiss him deeply and sweetly as both of your breaths start to even, the heaving of your chests slowing in unison.

Forehead resting against yours, Pero catches your still dazed eyes and gives a small nod towards the papers that had been pushed aside and forgotten, “Dulce, I’ve been charged with accompanying His Majesty’s naval fleet to Naples, Italy.  Would you join me?”

Smiling because you know he already knows the answer, you nod, “Of course, mi amor.  I’ll start making the necessary arrangements today.”

Pero tilts his head, eyes soft and reassuring, “Are you okay with leaving?  We will have only been home for a few short months.”

Cupping your husband’s face in your hands, you gaze adoringly into his eyes, “My home is where you are, Pero.”

Pero closes his eyes and pulls you flush against him, with him still softening inside you, you’re as close as two people can be.  He tips your face to his and whispers, “You’re my home, Dulce,” and all you can do is sigh in unsurpassable happiness as he presses his lips to yours once again.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @stcrrjoon @anoverwhelmingdin

@callsignmedusa @wintersquirrel @toobsessedsstuff @starwarslover-81 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

[universalitgirlsblog2]

💗🐰CREATION IS FINISHED🐰💗

💗This post is inspired by Edward art - " Why “Creation Is Finished” May Be The Most Important Understanding Of All" post on reddit. To read the full post by Edward on Reddit - click me !

🐰There are a truly infinite amount of versions. Only within consciousness is it able to hold all the infinite versions. In order to even be able to grow, we need consciousness and these versions. They are not separate beings but One. The person you are now, is the only version that exists physically as far as I am aware. However, within your consciousness exist an infinite amount of versions. These versions can be so similar in detail that we may not notice any change. For example, there may be a version of you where you are now but instead the color of your shirt is different, or one single hair is in a different spot. If you can conceptualize it, it must exist. These are so minute in detail that we will never truly question the nature of our reality.

💗Maybe you are 18 years old, maybe 48, it does not matter. Go back one year and realize that one year ago, the Version you are now, existed when you were 17 or 47 years old. Did you not have the freedom to be a different version? If so, do you not have that same freedom now? You always have the freedom to be a different version regardless of your age.

🐰We move from these Versions of ourselves through Consciousness by the action of Awareness.

💗Prayer is when you just decide to appropriate and become Aware of Being the version you wish to be .It is not a petition, it is an acceptance of the fact that you are NOW this other Version of YOURSELF. There is no “Being” you must ask to receive . These are all different versions of yourself, so they are yours truly. Don't beg for something that is yours. It is like you bought a cake with your money and asked someone from the sky If you could eat it. It is almost madness to ask for. There is nothing to ask, nothing to work for .You do not have to be perfect or have some physical achievements in order to become Aware of Being a different Version. Use your imagination to grow and raise yourself to version you want to be.

🐰it should be important to note that we are not regressing but progressing. When we alter our past in Consciousness, we are altering it to change our future. There has to be a Version of yourself that did not make that certain mistake, that did not say those words, that did not experience that pain etc. If you can conceptualize a different past, just as you can conceptualize a different future, it must exist. So, if you are consistently repeating the past, it is because you are dwelling on it.

💗There is no " future " or " past " , don't confuse with the only time you can experience which is Now. We can only experience Consciousness. When we dwell on a past mistake, we are essentially becoming Re-Aware of Being that Version in the Now.

🐰What we experience NOW, is what we are Aware of Being, which Version we are Aware of Being. What we are Aware of Being, manifests.

💗For Example ( from the Neville's lecture “The Art Of Dying March 23, 1959,”) A lady who burned her hand and then "unburned" it. She poured boiling water on her hand. She lay on the couch and tried to undo mentally what had been done. It was difficult because of the pain but she kept trying. She redid the scene and poured the boiling water on the tea and brewed it and then she drank the tea. She did it over and over and finally in the act of thus making the tea she fell asleep. When she awoke some hours later there was no trace of the burn. She wrote: "You would have thought I should go right to the hospital, but now there is not even a sign of the burn." The past and present are one in a greater moment.” Mary decided to go into the only reality, and rearrange the past. Since she is in consciousness, she is not in the past but in reality. She became Aware of Being this other Mary and then this rearrangement of the memory altered her future.

🐰If we are not receiving our desire, there are several factors for why we are not, but the one that we all share is that we are not Aware of Being that Version that has those desires. For whatever reason, misunderstanding, unbelief, doubting its fulfillment etc. We should not focus why we are not receiving but instead becoming Aware of Being of the Version of Yourself that has received.

💗Whenever you have an unlovely thought or I am experiencing something you do not wish, you reassure myself that there is a Version of you that is thinking a lovelier thought and is experiencing a lovelier experience. Then you simply assume that you are that Version of yourself.I have to be because you are Aware and it is YOU.

[melodyanqel]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ── ✧ sh. (i. spring day)

congratulations! you have been invited to the romance reality show 'We Got Married' where you will live with your co-star like a married couple. but what will you do when you find out you are marrying your favorite idol?

✿ pairing: idol!seonghwa x fem!idol!oc

✿ genre/tags: fluff, developing relationship, idol au, fake marriage, reality show

✿ word count: 1.3k words

✿ note: the first chapter is here! i honestly wasn't expecting to grab so many people's attention or be interested in the story. but tysm and i hope you all enjoy!

✿ melodyanqel taglist: @hwa-stars @forever-atiny @moonvol6

❪ March, 2024 ❫

Spring awakens with a chatterbox of greens, cherry blossoms are bright and lively, and the winter snow uncovers a new beauty of nature.

The place is cozy with the delicious smell of fresh baked pastries, and brewing teas and coffee. Soon enough, a young beautiful woman steps inside the cafe like a radiant goddess.

All decked out in a spring outfit which consists of a pink flower dress, white cardigan, frilly socks, and black Mary Jane shoes. Her pretty face etched a timid smile. “Hello.” She politely greeted the employees behind the counter. 

But she didn’t notice that someone had been waiting for her. 

2 hours ago - KQ Building

“Okay, let’s take a ten-minute break!”

A male voice tells his seven members. He was panting heavily and paused the music on the computer. His aura gives off such confidence and demand yet with a loyal heart, like a true captain. Hongjoong takes a sip from his water bottle and his dark brown eyes watch his members. Some talked about the dance while some were lying on the floor to catch a breath.

Suddenly, Hongjoong notices a bright red object outside. The practice room’s door was a bit see-through, so he could spot it clear as day. Hongjoong puts down the water bottle on the desk to check it out. 

As soon as the captain takes a look, a whole PD crew is in front of him. A big smile draws on his handsome makeup-free face. “Oh! Hello!” Hongjoong politely greeted. The producer points at the red mailbox by the door to take it. Hongjoong snickers and brings in the object.

“What is that, hyung?” 

The maknae, Jongho, his eyes widened owlishly at the mysterious mailbox. Yunho, San, and Wooyoung looked bewildered at their captain.

Hongjoong shrugged. “I don’t know, but we will find out together. Everyone in the middle.” He tells them and they obey his command. After setting down the mailbox, Hongjoong opens it to pull out a pink envelope with a sticker sealing the letter. 

Yeosang’s eyes brighten. “Guys, look! It’s from We Got Married if you remember the show.” He points his finger at the iconic logo as a sticker. 

Mingi furrowed his full eyebrows. “There’s a new season?” The deep-voice rapper is bemused. Hongjoong responded, “Let’s see if you are correct, Mingi-ya.” He tears open the envelope to read the letter inside. 

Congratulations!

You are selected to join Korea’s #1 romance reality show “We Got Married” where you’ll spend a whole year with your co-star, living as a married couple. We will be sure to provide safety and care throughout the love journey. Plus, there are missions and thrilling events along the way. We hope you have a happy and healthy marriage, 🐰⭐

The emojis reveal who is chosen as the husband and groom. 

“Eh?! Seonghwa hyung?!” San perks his head at the oldest member.

Instantly, all eyes were on him. Seonghwa is speechless with boba eyes popping out of his socket. 

But within seconds, the members all burst out cheering for him. Jongho carries the still-shocked Seonghwa in bridal style and twirls him. Yunho and Mingi played with the lights while Hongjoong, Yeosang, San, and Wooyoung did a conga line and chanted, “Park Seonghwa is getting married!” 

After their mini-celebration, the group sat on the floor and discussed the future of Seonghwa’s future marriage. The PD crew even asked him who would be the lucky bride and sister-in-law. They all assumed it would be someone close to Seonghwa’s ideal type. But he admits to them, “I honestly don’t mind if they are not because I’ll still love them for who they are.” His response made the guys awestruck.

“Wow, hyung. I didn’t know you were that manly.” Jongho spoke with sarcasm. 

The guys laughed out loud when Seonghwa sighed in displeasure. 

He has the letter in his hands and keeps looking at it. Hongjoong could sense the uneasiness of his best friend. The captain pats the oldest’s right shoulder. “Hey, you should be excited. Why are you so nervous for?” He giggles lightheartedly. Seonghwa can get nervous, but this is the most he has ever been. 

His skittish behavior caught everyone’s attention. They had worrisome faces because Seonghwa was more than the oldest member of ATEEZ. He is like their big brother, whose gentleness and softness have so much adoration by many. Seonghwa shares his thoughts. “There was a moment when we talked about relationships. You all considered that I’ll be the best husband to my spouse. So, I’m uncertain if I can live up to the statement.” He confesses his vulnerability. 

Yunho is on his right and pats his other shoulder like Hongjoong. “You’ll do great, hyung. Not everyone is perfect or understands how marriage works at first. We also don’t know as well. But we can give you support and help if you need it.” He assured Seonghwa. 

Of course, they’re ATEEZ and more than just a group. 

A family and a safe place. 

Wooyoung hops out of his spot to back-hug Seonghwa. “We love you, hyung! We want you to be happy!” He presses a sweet kiss on the eldest forehead. Seonghwa grimaced by his overly affectionate friend. In a sincere voice, “Thank you.” He says and is forever grateful. In unison, the guys came to Seonghwa in a big, suffocating group hug.

“Yah!! I can’t breathe!!” He yells out loud and tries to move himself. Despite literally getting crushed by love, he is enjoying it. 

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

-Interview-

Replacing the casual look with a dapper appearance, Seonghwa sits on the stool and is wearing a refined dark gray blazer, white dress shirt, black pants, and dress shoes. His ebony locks are elegantly curled and set in place. 

“Hello, I’m Seonghwa of ATEEZ.” The man’s deep, velvety greets the viewers that are watching. 

Q. Are you familiar with We Got Married?

Seonghwa nodded. “Yes. I didn’t fully watch the show when it aired because I was still in school and training under the company. I’ve only seen clips of legendary artists paired up, and I was intrigued by how they handle marriage while having an idol life.” 

Q. Do you think you’ll live up to your group’s statement?

A sheepish laugh escapes from his plump lips. “At first, I thought it was a joke because we make up silly sayings. But I didn’t expect it to come true.” He takes a deep breath to compromise himself. “I’ll do whatever I can to make my wife feel like she is the luckiest woman.” Seonghwa declared genuinely. 

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

Mission of The Day: Try to surprise your bride.

When the producer explained about the task, Seonghwa was giddy yet anxious. He’ll disguise himself as a barista at a dog-centric cafe and surprise his future bride. 

After freshening up, as in putting Seonghwa in a uniform and a mask to hide his face, the PD crew drives him to the destination. A camera on the headliner records him texting his members. Seonghwa says, “My group is eager.” He chuckles merrily. “They want all the information about today. It feels like they’re my parents.” In which, he is unsure to tell them about this reality show. 

Will he introduce his wife to his family?

Even though it’s for entertainment, Seonghwa becomes curious if they’re interested to know more about his fake spouse. Well, that has to wait. He brushes it off and cares more about the current time.

Subsequently, the producer announced the arrival at The Wal’z dog cafe. “We are here. Good luck, Seonghwa.” They give him their best wishes. He thanked them wholeheartedly because he hadn’t stopped the nerves from skyrocketing. 

When he enters the place, he is greeted by adorable furry friends. “Hi~” Seonghwa immediately bends down to pet their soft fur. “Wow. I feel less nervous now.” He is convinced that he just needs some comfort from the dogs. 

Seonghwa pouts, “I’m sorry. I have to work now.” He apologizes to the smiling furballs. However, they didn’t seem to care because they wanted pets. 

Eventually, the male idol begins his mission by heading to the counter and pretending to act like he is a barista. Although it may be for the show, Seonghwa actually wanted to learn how to make the drinks and pastries. 

He’ll possibly make them for his wife. 

series masterlist

[marion-go-round]

uhhhh wowee

jin kamurai....wow.....hes pretty....

name twin playing tokyo debunker 👀

[fatalitysficbakery]

𓆰♥︎𓆪 Bad For Me. —

Jordan Li x Black Fem!Y/n

genre: angst (questionable, not there)/fluff/SMUT.

warnings: enemies to lovers, car sex, slight humor, possessive dom!jordan, got your tea bitch sub!y/n.

synopsis: jordan hates your guts or wants to rearrange them. they haven’t decided yet. (yes they have).

↳ 𓆰 Fatalitysficbakery navigation menu 𓆪.

↳ 𓆰 Fatalitysficbakery multifandomed &&’ oc menu #2 𓆪.

❦ ⌫ ❦

She forces her way through the crowds, feeling herself bump into more than one frat boy being obnoxious on the dance floor, when she's finally pushed her way from everyone, her eyes darting around to the bar's seating area, not too many were there on account of the drinks keeping them busied.

She sighs until her attention is taken by a friend waving her over. Fixing the cowboy hat on her head, she makes her way over to them, a gentle smile on her face taking one of the seats next to Emma.

She doesn't notice them at first until she looks up and her smile immediately drops when they wink at her.

"Y/n? Earth to Y/n?" Marie snaps in front of her taking her attention away from the supe.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

"I'm here, ma. I was...distracted. Far too many frat boys in that crowd."

"You didn't see anything you liked out there?" Emma asked, draping her arm around Y/n and passing her a shot.

Y/n smirks, downing her shot, head leaned against Emma's when she speaks, her eyes close for a second, meeting Emma's the moment they open again, shaking her head, "Nah, sweetheart. Ain't nothing for me on that floor, you know me."

"I do. You're very picky."

"I like it that way."

As she talks, a pair of eyes track her every movement like a hawk's, eyes barely leaving her to scope out the scene, when they do look away, it's like something pulls them right back to her, which was the wildest thing to them in all honesty. They'd disliked the supe the moment they first met. There was something about her that just pissed them off.

"You been awfully quiet, Jor." Cate speaks up, leaning forward to observe their every move. "Shifty eyes too. What's up?"

"I just need a shot. That reason enough?"

"I'll take it. For now."

Jordan's eyes roll, and now they're really trying their hardest not to look over at the witch, she had psychic abilities, they were sure she'd had them pinned the moment they talked, and if she did, she didn't let it on, looking at them curiously for a fraction of a moment that felt like hours in Jordan's eyes, every time her eyes met them it felt like she could see through to their soul, rip them open and dissect every flaw.

"I could...go get us some?" She offers, moving from her spot leaned on Emma, legs crossed one over the other. Cate's eyes break from Jordan knowingly, but no one really says a word, what's understood, after all...

"You stare any harder your eyes will pop out of your skull, kid." Cate pats the poor thing on the shoulder, grin stretching cheek to cheek.

↳

Jordan despises you, they despise your very existence, the way your platinum blonde curls frame your face, making your dark brown skin pop out in a way that could distract God from his toughest battles, your lips full and always glossed, black lipliner a staple combo for you, they'd noticed. They'd noticed a lot about you and that's what they hated. You were insufferable in a way that left their mouth watering for more.

A puzzle they were determined to solve.

When you had come back with the shots, they weren't surprised that you caught somebody's eyes. That's another thing they hated about you, they hated that anybody else could look at you and notice the beauty they'd been trying their damndest not to notice.

When you were about to sit down again, some jock who Jordan noticed had been eyeing you for quite some time comes over, and Jordan wasn't exactly happy about it.

It happened so quick, everyone and no one was surprised when it did.

"I was wondering, if you, pretty thing would like to dance with little ole me?" He had the most infuriating southern accent possible and Jordan's jaw set immediately upon hearing it, stood up before you could utter an sentence in response, their form towering over you now as they look up at the douchebag, blonde with blue eyes and overwhelming steroids abuse.

"Move along, alright?" Jordan has a grin of all things on their face, like this was merely entertainment to them, their arms casually draping across your shoulder as if it was meant to be there.

"I was talking to the lady, Li."

"Yeah? You're talking to me now, Jeremy. You okay with that?"

Throughout this all, Y/n hadn't really uttered word, in complete shock that this was happening, I mean this was the same person that had just called you a nuisance a day prior.

"Man, I don't want a problem."

"So don't make one." Jordan's gaze burns into his soul, jaw clenched and eyes darker than they'd been before, they smile, eyes narrowing further.

Jeremy scoffs, turning to walk back off with his friends.

You just look up at Jordan in disbelief, mouth opened slightly.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

After that night Jordan was strangely quiet, you hadn't heard a peep out of them since then, no smartass remark, insult, it was complete silence. Though they lingered. Loomed.

It wasn't until you were pulled into an empty classroom, their scent taking up residence in your every sense, it's hard to pin what it reminds you of but you know what it feels like, and it's the most cliche thought you've ever had.

They just stared at you for a moment like they're trying to get a read on you, size you up, you feel exposed, naked as the day you were born despite the sweater she wore.

"You...You make me so unbelievably angry."

"I do? That's what this is? Anger?" You cock your head to the side, a smile threatening to appear on your lips, eyes so deep they drown in them. Jordan hisses, bringing you closer to them, their breath tickling your skin.

"Yeah that's what that is. Anger. We need to talk."

"I agree. Let's."

Jordan hoists you up onto the table, staring you down like it was their job to, before they speak, you beat them to the punch. "That was wild...What you did last weekend at the bar. For you especially. Wanna address it?"

"What? I didn't want him anywhere near you. So?"

"Since when did I become your problem?" You ask, your hands in your lap almost protectively like you were skeptical of how the situation would go, they could pratically smell the nerves on you, and it made them all the more...needy. Like you were the sundae to satiate their sweet tooth, before they knew it, their arm was snaking around your waist tugging you closer to them.

"You became my problem the second you got here, and I can't seem to get rid of you. I don't know what you're doing to me, darlin' but I..."

"You what?"

Their forehead presses against yours, holding you even tighter against them like you'd crumble if they were to let you go, something so fragile that only they could protect it. That's what you were to them. "I need you. Horribly. And it fucking sucks to have to admit it but there's...there's something about your freshie. Something that latches onto me and doesn't let go. Can't you feel it?"

"I always have." You respond coolly, your hand wrapping around their bicep, and it's absolutely far too late to turn back now nor do either of you want to. Neither of you want to ruin this.

"Then the jokes on me, huh Pretty girl?" They chuckle, pushing your legs apart to stand between them, they trap you between their arms their face unbelievably close to yours, "How could I not understand just how badly I needed you, sweetheart? You're something worse than a drug and I think we need to leave before I tear you apart right here right now." Their voice is deep in your ears, something that vibrates within you like a freight train.

There was nothing in their tone to suggest that they weren't completely serious in their quest to drag you off, you could see their self control dwindling before your very eyes and you knew that if it weren't soon, you'd be bent over a desk in some room a poor janitor would have to clean up later.

It's silent for a breath, but their hold on you only grows tighter, possessive like they were afraid of you vanishing.

Their breath kisses your skin, words a soft promise of their undoing.

"My place."

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

It wasn't my fault, I don't know when the lines had become so muddied but having her by my side just felt insanely right to me, her perfume blanketing over me and imbedding every fucking detail of the witch into my psyche so deep I can never seem to get rid of it, and as she sat beside me singing her heart out to the radio, it furthers my obsession, she, my vice, and the neverending subject of my every thought.

She says something but I don't quite hear it, her scent drowns it all out, euphoria washes over me, and I can hear her rambling on about everything and nothing like she's already so comfortable in my presence.

My hand rests on her thigh, and I tune back in just enough to hear her ask me with a knowing smirk on her face like she could see right through me and then some, and I wouldn't be shocked if she could. That was the thing about her, she was always one step ahead and that's what pulled me to her.

"You weren't listening to a damn thing I said were you, Li?" She asked, leaning forward to look at me better, observing me so intensely I could feel myself growing an unbelievably deep shade of red that kinda irritated me. Maybe that's why I disliked her so much at first. She was the first person here to make me feel things I didn't wanna allow myself to ever feel, especially not with the path my life was headed.

It was her that made me wanna break all my rules, and I've always been a control freak. It was annoying to feel her pushing so hard at walls I thought I'd built so indestructibly. -- Now here she was looking at me with that damned smile of hers, staring through me and making me question everything I've ever known.

"I- Yeah, Um nah. I was a little distracted, I admit." I chuckle too nervously for my own liking, one hand on the wheel and the other squeezing the pretty thing's thigh; I always get a hit when she looks at me like I hold the world in the palm of my hands, and I can just feel my throat squeezing shut, my self control something so fragile when I'm near her.

"I see. What's on your mind?"

She asked me what was on my mind, I think that's when it snapped. I knew about this little hideaway, a spot away from the lights and the threat of being seen, and before I even realized it that's where we were, a shaded space away from everything with the woman I'd been fantasizing about for way too damned long for my liking, she was gonna be the fucking death of me if I didn't fix this.

"Cute. You know what's on my mind. Get your ass over here."

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

She was in their lap within a breath or two, the car wasn't particularly spacious but it was enough for the two of them, a mess of desire ripping off each other's clothes with intent, it was almost like something necessary needed for them survive, something akin to oxygen itself.

Their hand reaches up to tug her head back, hands entangled in her curls, forcing her to look into their eyes directly.

"Ride me." The statement was so simple, so effortlessly whispered between them and it didn't...it didn't get to hang in the air too long either, unrequited was something this situation knew nothing of.

Her body was pressed so closely against them it was almost suffocating, her forehead against theirs when she was fully on top of them. Her chest heaves, their breathing and the sound of the music the only thing heard in the car, and it seemed they were determined to be the loudest things there.

They let out a sharp hiss when their cock is finally exposed to the air and it takes not even a moment for her cunt, dripping so shamelessly, to hover over their hardened length, leaving a heat so lethal to wash over them.

They grip their hand around her neck, tugging her even closer, eyes searching hers with an intensity so palpable it could be cut with a knife. Their hands roam over her like they'd been itching to explore her for a while now and god had they ever been. They'd been absolutely thirsting for it.

"Safeword. Let me hear it."

"I don't know, fucking lime?"

She and Jordan look at each other silently, the hand on the clock ticking ahead before both burst into laughter, Jordan's hands gripping her hips tightly within their palms, the way they look at each other intense, heated, and filled with mutual affection for the other party. "Lime? Fucking lime?"

"You asked for a safeword, I panicked!"

"Yeah?" Their finger trails down her neckline, eyes locking on hers, hands moving her hips in time with their thrusts, a low groan tumbling out of their lips, fingers digging into her asscheeks, pulling as close as they could get her. Closer, if possible.

The way her words die out on her lips, their free hand wrapping around her neck, taking in Y/n's scent, they get closer.

"God you're so fucking cute. Look at that, you're speechless for once in your life. No talking back right now, sweetheart?"

"You...I want you to kiss my ass." She responds, but her voice is weakened, an air of vulnerability washing over her. Jordan catches onto it without much effort on their part, one look at the poor thing and it was clear she was nothing more than putty in their hands. Melting right between their fingers.

"You and I both know you can do better than that. You have done better than that...Where's that spark now, doll?"

Their hand reaches down to pinch her clit between their fingers, breath ghosting over their lips, a shit-eating mischievous-looking smirk on their face, they can practically feel her ending begin.

"Speak up, baby. Be loud for me."

Their hips angle for her g-spot, and with a particularly hard push, they feel her clench around them, cock twitching sensitively when she grips them like a vice and she obliges their requests, singing a pretty little song, all for their utter euphoria.

The way her face twists up, eyebrows knitting, and eyes squeezed tight, lips parted to let a scream out, one so desperately needy it sends them over the edge immediately, their seed spilling into the witch and arms grabbing her tighter without any intent to let go.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

They had to spar the day after, the little witch could feel her limbs aching with every step she'd taken and unfortunately it was only going to get worse; She could see Jordan looking at her with a determination so familiar in their gaze that it made her shiver. She knew she wasn't safe despite what had happened last night.

"Seriously?" She glances at them, narrowing her eyes their way.

"You're not safe because you're sexy, get your ass up."

Y/n silently nods to herself, standing up to get herself prepared, sighing airily, that familiar confident grin shows up on her face. "Fine. Let me beat your ass and shut you the fuck up."

"That shouldn't be so... C'mon, let's go. You're going down, freshie."

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

A/N: happy 21st birthday to me bitchhhh!!!!!!!!!!! here's my lil late lil birthday fic I guess <33.

[gravehags]

smitten by the blackest force

Pairing: Mary Goore x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: witch reader, cemetery sex, deals with the devil, rough sex, devil's marks, mary goore being some kind of supernatural being...?

Words: 2,861

Summary: If this is your Mephistopheles well...just call you Doctor Faustus.

a/n: mary please return my calls i desperately need to get fucked in a cemetery. mary are you there? mary?

~~~

You like this cemetery.

It’s old. Quiet. Set back in the oak trees off the dirt road with ivy entwined in the wrought-iron fencing. You liked to come here often - even on the occasions where you weren’t conducting rituals - sometimes packing a sandwich and an Arizona tea and just sitting on the grass - keeping the spirits whose names have long worn off the headstones company. You’ve never seen anyone else visit but somehow the grass is always trimmed back, never overgrown. Even the local teenagers don’t fuck with this place, your little hideout, and for that you’re extremely grateful. There are some rumors among the townspeople about devil worshippers in the area but considering the questionable nature of your own practice, you aren’t too worried about them (if they even exist at all.) 

Right now you’ve got a blanket spread out to sit on, a knitted shawl around your shoulders, and your various bottles and crystals surrounding you. You hauled out a few camping lanterns from your car to keep the spot well-lit as the sun dips down below the forested horizon. Sighing you lay back against the blanket beneath you, breathing in the evening air and the quiet.

Snap.

The sound has you shooting up, clutching your shawl and eyes darting. The only thing you can hear is the sound of nature around you - crickets and cicadas. You open your mouth with the intention of asking if anyone is there before you promptly close it, thinking better of it. You’ve been out here at night before - countless times - and never encountered anything sinister but you’re not stupid and inviting anything in. Besides, you think as your shoulders sag, it was probably an animal. You scoot back on your blanket until your back is flush with the tall mossy headstone behind you, feeling more secure with its protection. A few minutes pass and you yawn, watching the blink of fireflies in the distance. You slump against the stone, and you feel so cozy and content as your eyelids slide close you only vaguely register the low chuckle coming from somewhere behind you. You’re in the beginning stages of drifting off when a teasing whistle winds its way through the gravestones. You jolt upwards, head whipping around but neither seeing nor hearing anything. That is, until a soft tsk-ing sound comes from behind you and you watch as thick, beat-up boot soles stroll into your line of vision. You crawl away from the person, heart thundering in your chest and your anxiety thrumming through your veins reminding you that you’re probably going to die. When the figure stops at a nearby tall headstone and leans back against it, crossing their legs at the ankles, they speak.

“Kind of a shitty witch who falls asleep in a fucking cemetery,” they smirk, crossing their arms. Thanks to a nearby lantern you’re able to get a better look at them - skinny, but not tall, wearing torn up jeans and a ratty band shirt with the sleeves cut off. Most of their face is hidden by the messy black lock of hair that hangs down over their forehead but you swear they’re wearing some kind of face paint and was that…blood?

“Who the fuck are you?” you snap, eyes darting around for anything you can use as a weapon.

“Oh she’s a mean little thing,” they crow, pushing off the headstone and stepping towards you. The panic is really starting to set in and you wonder if you’d be able to make it to one of the lanterns and hit them in th–

“Relax, sweetheart,” they say, crouching into a squat a few feet from you, “if I wanted you dead you’d be dead one of the other dozen times I’ve seen you alone out here.”

Your blood runs cold as you remind yourself there are things worse than death.

“You’ve been watching me? W-where there’s never anyone around–”

“Forest is big,” they say casually, dropping to their knees and sitting back on their haunches. “Lots of spots between the trees. And I’m real quiet.”

All of this is…troubling information to say the least but their first words stand out to you.

“How did you know I’m a witch?”

They nod, large pale hands resting on their thighs.

“We’ve been watching you for a while. Kind of a…local weirdo in this area, aren’t you? Small town shit seems a little beneath someone like you.”

You snort.

“I like the quiet. And most people mind their fucking business out here. Sorry, did you say ‘we’ve’ been watching?”

“Oh yeah, y’know, the uh,” they bring their hands up to their head and make horns with their fingers, “devil worshippers.”

Huh.

Intriguing.

You scoot a little closer to them and notice the way their full lips twitch in a minute smile.

“The old folk of the town talk about you guys but I never gave it any credence. Thought it was just leftover Satanic panic horseshit from the eighties.”

“Mmm well,” they begin, “we’re not your typical uh…Satan worshippers. It’s kind of more of a big deal than that. Actually, a lot of a big deal.”

“Oh yeah?” There's something magnetic about this slender creature whose green eyes glint in the lantern light. While you’re not necessarily soothed by their presence you cannot deny that you are drawn in.

“Yeah,” they confirm, “I’ll tell you more about it later but uh, let’s talk about you, huh?”

“What about me?” you ask, some of your caution returning.

“Well we’ve seen what you do. Got eyes on you. And we’d like to offer you a place at the Ministry. Our practices aren’t so different, are they?”

No, you think to yourself, no they’re not. You’re no stranger to demon work and after all what is Lucifer but the demon to end all demons? And all your dealings with them have always led to successful rituals and outcomes.

“So what do I get out of it? And why didn’t you just come to my house or my work to ask me all this?”

The slightly sinister chuckle that comes out of them stirs something within you.

“Protection. Power. The ability to do whatever you want, whenever you want to. A home.”

That last one hits you hard but you stay silent.

“Are you interested?”

A moment passes.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I want to live deliciously or whatever?”

They tilt their head back and laugh, slapping their thighs with their palms.

“Haven’t told you how we seal the deal yet, sweetheart.”

“Oh? And that would be…?”

“A surprise. Which you’ll find out about when you answer my question. Are you in?”

You were supposed to be charging your crystals in the moonlight and collecting cemetery dirt tonight, not making a fucking deal with the Devil. But, you think as you look at the figure eyeing you intently, everything happens for a reason.

“Yes. Yes I’m in.”

They give you a wide, sharp grin.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me down, gorgeous. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

Before you can ask what they mean, they’re crawling towards you like some kind of spindly cryptid. You’d be lying if it didn’t arouse you even as you back up against a headstone with nowhere else to go.

“C’mon sweetheart,” they purr, wrapping their fingers around your ankle. “Time to give the Devil his due.”

You yelp as they yank your body towards them, their hand sliding along the curve of your calf and up to your knee. 

“And you’re the Devil are you?” you breathe, watching them slither up your body and settle between your legs.

“Me? Nah. I’m just the poster guy who gets to reap all the rewards.”

“And what do I call you?”

They lean in to inhale deep at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and you have to bite back a moan.

“Wanna know what name you’ll be screaming out tonight, huh?”

“Think pretty highly of yourself,” you murmur, bringing a hand up to drag your fingernails along their back. When they growl and grind their denim-covered cock against you, you grin.

“You’re awfully mouthy, aren’t you?”

“Thought you wanted to hear my voice?”

They’ve got their hands on the hem of your shirt, fingers grazing the skin of your belly, when they look at you with a wicked smile.

“Take this off before I rip it off,” they growl, raising the fabric insistently. You gleefully acquiesce, watching their eyes boggle as your bare breasts sway in front of them. Leaning back on your elbows you blink innocently up at them, watching their tongue dart out to smear the paint near their lips.

“Fucking finally,” they grouse before falling upon you and taking your pebbled nipple in their mouth. 

“You–ah–never answered my question.”

They slide off your breast and grin up at you.

“Call me Mary.”

There’s no softness in their attentions, all hard sucking and teeth nipping but fuck if it isn’t exactly what you need. It’s been a while - much longer than you’d like to admit - ever since you moved to this podunk little town. The selection wasn’t exactly uh, bountiful. You’ve got your head tilted back as they suck pretty dark bruises into your flesh but when they give your unattended nipple a sharp pinch your eyes fly to theirs.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart. Want you to remember exactly who fucked you this good.”

You laugh.

“Haven’t done any fucking yet, have you? I’m withholding my judgment.”

Instantly, they pull away and sit back on their haunches.

“You little bitch,” they crow with a crooked grin, “Oh you’re gonna be fun to have around.”

You’ve propped yourself up once more, watching Mary as they rub the bulge in their jeans.

“Drooling a little, huh baby?”

Maybe. But you’ll be damned if they know it.

“Yeah, out of boredom. Are you gonna sit there rubbing one out all night?”

They squeeze their cock, grinning down at you.

“Maybe I should fill your mouth instead of your cunt? Stuff you so full of me you’ll really be drooling. I’ll shut you up then, huh?”

You’re not totally opposed to the idea but the ache between your thighs needs attention before any other extracurricular activities occur.

“I’ll be good–” you say, reaching down to wiggle your joggers and underwear off your hips. When the heat of you is exposed to their gaze, you slide your fingers between your folds to gather the slick that has accumulated. Satisfied, you raise your hand to your mouth and slowly slide the digits between your lips onto your tongue, “--I promise.”

Mary’s panting now, the heavy rise and fall of their chest hypnotic as they drink you in. They’ve still got their hand to their bulge, lazily squeezing their cock through the fabric. Suddenly their fingers are viciously unbuttoning and unzipping their pants and you both sigh as they take their cock out. It’s a pretty thing, all red and swollen and dripping, and you know it’s going to look even prettier inside you. They stroke it, smearing the pre down the shaft with their lips curled into a grin.

“That’s all it takes to make you pipe down? A nice dick?”

“Who said anything about it being nice?” you say, but your breathy tone gives away your true feelings. They look altogether too pleased with themselves as they scoot forward and drag the tip through your wet folds. When they nudge your clit with the head your hips buck up and you whine.

“Now that’s more like it,” they smirk, pressing against your entrance. “Beg for it,” they snarl, pushing in the tip.

“Fuck Mary, please. I need it, need your fucking cock to fill me up, please, please, please.”

They laugh, the sound jarring in the near darkness.

“Damn, could’ve stopped at the first ‘please’ but you sounded so pretty doing it, think I’ll give you an extra good ride tonight.”

You’re about to say something caustic but before the words can even leave your mouth, they slam their cock into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. True to their word, they set a brutal pace, gripping your thighs and eyes flicking between your bouncing breasts and where they disappear inside of you.

“B-been awhile, huh?” they pant, hips snapping into yours. “Almost like you’ve been w-waiting for me. Saving it up.”

You don’t have it in you to be snarky anymore, too stuffed dumb. So you nod frantically.

“Mmhmm,” you whimper, “all for you Mare, fuck right there.”

“Shoulda done this weeks ago,” they growl, “Instead of jerking off in the–augh–fucking woods. Never–fuck–never thought you’d be so easy.”

You’re not sure if they mean your deal with the Devil or the fucking but honestly you can’t bring yourself to care about anything right now that isn’t their cock pounding into you at a furious rate. They’re relentless, wrenching noises out of you you didn’t even know you could make. When they drag their hand to where you’re joined and dip a thumb in to rub at your clit your body arches off the grass.

“Fuck, Mary!”

“Know you’re close,” they grunt, “can f-feel you. Come on baby, let go. Give yourself to me. Give yourself to Him.”

The entire situation - the damp slide of the grass under your fingertips, the thick night air, the deal you just made, the cock currently hammering inside you - hits you all at once and your hips spasm.

“Don’t stop, Mare, please holy fuck yes, right there.”

Your hands fly to your breasts, cupping the weight of them and viciously pinching at the taut buds, making your lover groan and their hips stutter against you.

“C’mon yeah, play with those pretty fuckin’ tits, sweetheart. Oh fuck.”

You’re clenching around them now as they frantically rub at your clit and piston in and out of you, your moans increasing in volume and pitch. You feel as if you’re levitating, mouth hung open in a silent scream as you come undone, chanting their name.

“That’s it baby,” they snarl, gritting their teeth, “Cum for me, cum all over this cock–ah!”

You’re still riding your own high when you feel their cock twitch inside of you, flooding you with their seed. Their hoarse moans nearly send you into your second orgasm and your eyes slide shut, enjoying the feeling of them emptying inside you when–

They’re gone.

You heave a gasp as if taking a breath after being held underwater, hands flying to the ground beneath you. Mary’s gone–just fucking…gone. The only remnant of them currently dripping out of your used cunt onto the grass. You’re trembling while simultaneously being flooded with warmth as if you’ve been overcome by an awful fever. You ease yourself onto your side and curl into a fetal position, watching a ladybug crawl over the stone next to you. You’re not sure how long you lie there, shivering in the dark, but when your mind finally comes to you see the rosy planes of dawn stretching out through the trees. With great effort you push yourself off the ground - using the headstone for stabilization - your knees nearly giving way when you finally manage to stand. Sluggishly, you pull your underwear and pants up and spot your t-shirt a couple feet away crumpled in a pile. All your little vials and crystals stand as silent witnesses to the depravity that occurred last night and you hastily snatch them up and pile them into your tote bag. Your mind is a haze - too much of a haze to gather the blanket and lanterns - so you stumble out of the gate and head towards your car.

You don’t remember driving home but when you push the door open to the old house you rent, you feel…filthy. You’re not sure if it’s from your encounter with Mary or something else but you know one thing - you desperately need a shower. Your bags get dropped in the living room and you mechanically strip as you head to your bathroom. The shower is just what you needed - the firm stream of scalding hot water on your hair and body rejuvenating. When you step out into your steamy bathroom, you let out a deep sigh. The further you got from the events of last night the more they felt like some kind of wild dream, and you would be content to convince yourself of this were it not for the purple bruises peppered across your breasts that you spotted in the shower. You drop your towel and pad out into your bedroom to look for something clean and comfy to wear when you walk past your full-length mirror and stop dead in your tracks. There’s something on you - you think maybe it’s a tick or mud - so you turn the bedroom light on. High on your thigh, right in the center is a perfectly round mark, the size of a pencil eraser.

You don’t have any birthmarks.

Your stomach floods with panic and you fall to your knees on the rug, still naked and damp.

There’s a knock at your door.

[otrtbs]

okay thinking about the secret art history au fic idea i've had again and like yeah.

pandora taking them all out into the woods and taking a bite out of a raw deer heart for a performance art piece (james being absolutely horrified)

james running into regulus on day one who says "cubitum eamus?" instantly and james is like "??????"

peter turning up dead after betraying the art history group bc duh

marlene mckinnon breaking into a professor's art show and slashing all his paintings with a meat cleaver

all of the group meeting at sirius and regulus' elaborately decorated apartment the night before exams because it's a tradition to study doing drunk flashcards (they all show up to tests hungover except for dorcas and peter who never seem affected no matter how much they drink)

barty being a nepo baby and by being a descendant of michael knoedler and having a lavish country house everyone visits to drink whiskey out of tea cups and hold seances to talk to dead artists

the group running a little shop of forgeries that mary swears is just for practice at being an art restorationist but ,,, some of the fakes keep conveniently going missing

james staying over the winter break in a freezing vermont apartment with no heating before regulus shows up on his doorstep like 'come stay w me'

the group in charge of identifying 17th century prints for a project and sabotaging each other because the winner curates the university's next art show

lily taking james to a burger king parking lot to do cocaine after he starts spiraling about peter's death

instead of a bacchanal there's a heist challenge (most expensive work stolen wins) and people wind up in JAIL but regulus and sirius use their bajillion dollars to bail them out

pandora volunteering at a hospital to watch patients die so she can depict the changeover from life to death better in her artworks

their exams being all-intensive spot the forgery, restore this artwork, bring in a miniature of a gallery space u designed with artworks and an explanation of ur curatorial process

[calaisreno]

Yes and No

“Do you love her?”

It had taken them less than thirty minutes to go from the Rizla game to just asking each other random questions. The only celebrities that Sherlock knew were nineteenth-century chemists and twentieth-century criminals, which had more or less spoiled the game, and Sherlock had declared it pointless.

Then he suggested Yes or No, which at least required some deductive reasoning, and John agreed. But Sherlock was very good at this game, having deduced nearly everything about John in the first days of their acquaintance. Without asking any question, he deduced that John would choose violin, a human liver, Mrs Hudson’s nephew, and Sherlock’s old mouse-coloured dressing gown.

John gives up. “Fine. What don’t you know about me?”

Do you love her is a real question, he gathers— from the look on Sherlock’s face, which is serious and a bit sad.

The answer, which should be yes, of course I love her, instead comes out, “I’m marrying her.”

“People marry for reasons other than—“ Sherlock stops, appearing to realise he is going in a direction that can only lead to bad feelings. “Sorry, not a fair question. Better: When did you know that you loved her?”

He remembers grief. The intense pain of the days after he saw Sherlock die on the sidewalk in front of Barts. There are few details he can recall after that moment. It was as if the pain had receded just enough to let him breathe, and a kind of grey fog had descended. Pain, then sorrow.

Somewhere during the sorrow part, Mary had appeared. She may have been there sooner, but he hadn’t noticed. At some point he became aware of her bringing him coffee, talking to him, urging him to come out for lunch. Always there, cheerfully bullying him back into life. Eventually he noticed that he wasn’t quite as sad, and that she was rather pretty.

But the pain was still there, a tender spot in his memory, and most days he still felt defeated. Mary helped, though, and he thought that if she stayed, everything would be easier. He didn’t need to explain; she understood. He could keep the memories at bay when she was around.

By then he was having sex with her. He didn’t remember exactly how that had begun. Maybe it was a pity fuck one night when he’d had too much to drink. He woke up in her bed hungover, waiting for the darkness to descend like a weight on his chest, and she was there, making him a cup of tea, urging him to have some toast, sweetly solicitous and not accepting any excuses.

Does he love her?

Sherlock is still looking at him, the question in his eyes.

“She was there when I needed someone,” he says. “I just knew.”

He’d known that morning that he needed to move on, to leave what had happened in the past and live his life. And there she was.

“Your turn,” Sherlock says.

John thinks of all the things he’s ever wanted to know about Sherlock, but has never asked because it has never seemed a good time. Sherlock has a way of warding off questions with just a look. An armour that does not allow anyone in, not even John. He’s wondered about a lot of things, but asking has never been an option. Sherlock never has to ask; he simply deduces. John is terrible at deductions, as Sherlock often reminds him.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Twice.”

“That was a yes-no question, so I get follow-up. So, the first. Who was he?”

Sherlock smiles. “You’re assuming it was a man.”

“Wasn’t it? I thought… you’re… erm…”

“Gay? Yes, I am.”

“You loved a man,” John says. Obviously.

“Well, a boy. I was twelve. I suppose it wasn’t love so much as infatuation and hormones. His name was Victor. I never told him until I met him again at uni.” He gives John one of those looks that makes him feel like he is being x-rayed. “Have you ever kissed a man?”

“I’m not gay,” he says at once. “I mean, why would I kiss a man if I knew I wasn’t gay?”

“Follow-up question, then. When did you know you were not gay?”

John’s mouth may have been open for a bit. It’s an odd question. Everybody knows they’re straight until something happens and they know they’re not. Isn’t that the way it works? “I just knew. When did you know you were gay?”

“When I was twelve. I was at a stupid birthday party my mother made me attend, and we were playing Forfeit. I was asked a question I didn’t like to answer and took the forfeit. Up until then the penalties were stupid things like singing a song or doing a dance, but this time it was kissing a girl. The girl was willing, and I was curious, so I agreed. That was when I realised girls weren’t my cup of tea, so to speak. I wanted to kiss Victor.”

John says nothing, though it’s his turn. He remembers a similar party, a boy who wanted to kiss him, and feeling terrified that his parents would find out if he did. Harry had just come out, and he was trying very hard to make up for all of her shortcomings.

Sherlock asks, “How do you know you’re not gay if you’ve never kissed a man?”

“I’ve kissed lots of women,” he replies. “I don’t need to kiss a man to know I’m not gay.”

Sherlock shrugs. “I assumed that I was like everyone else, that some day I would meet the right girl, get married, and have children. That was how it was supposed to work, and I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn’t like girls that way. All my fantasies were about boys, but I thought I would eventually be attracted to girls as I got older. That kiss told me I would never love a woman.”

“You think I should kiss a man just to see if I’m a bit gay?” He laughs.

“It’s your forfeit, for not having an answer.”

“I’m not going to kiss some random bloke just because you—“

“Not a random bloke. Me. Kiss me.”

This is dangerous ground. Somewhere in his libido lies something that he’s thought about. Maybe he’s even fantasised about kissing a man. Having sex with a man. Just a lark, maybe. Don’t lots of men go through that? It doesn’t mean anything.

But, Sherlock. He lived with him for a year and a half, and they’d been friends. And he grieved when Sherlock died. Not grieved like a friend. He’d lost friends before, and this was nothing like those losses. Pain, darkness, unending regret. Even after Mary, some of that darkness remained. Moments when he remembered something Sherlock had said or done, a stab of pain. If it hadn’t been for Mary—

And it came to him. Mary was balm for his wounds. She brought him back from the edge. He is grateful to her. But gratitude isn’t love. Being in such pain for so long, and then a bit of light— that isn’t love, it’s relief. He’s seen patients in physical pain become almost giddy when given a dose of something that takes their agony away, not even enough to make them high. Relief feels like intoxication when pain has gone on so long.

If it hadn’t been for Mary, he would have understood what he’d only begun to see. She helped him, saved him even. But she was a distraction from the pain, not a cure.

He glances at Sherlock, who is pulling back, looking like he wishes he hadn’t just asked for a kiss. Maybe he’ll make a joke about their game, move them towards goodnight, goodbye, see you at the wedding.

“Yes,” he says. It’s an answer to everything— regret, grief, sorrow, love. It’s an apology for not seeing sooner, for the night at the Landmark, for his anger and cruel rejection of the man he has loved for years. “Kiss me.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Sherlock is right. The kiss tells John things he’s tried hard to forget. It tells him that has loved men before, but called it friendship, that he has wanted to touch men and kiss them, and called it lust, or fantasy, or a phase that all men go through. Women attract him too, and he grabbed onto heterosexuality like a life-raft because he was afraid of the alternative. His sister and his father, yelling. Harry thrown out of the house. His father, looking at him, saying not you too. Never you, my boy.

The kiss tells him that has already met the love of his life.

“I need to call Mary,” he says when they break away.

Sherlock looks sad. He nods. “Of course.”

“One more question,” John says. “Who was the second person you loved?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he says. “I’m about to call my fiancee and break our engagement just days before the wedding because I’m in love with my best friend. So please, answer the question.”

Sherlock’s face does something John has never seen. It crumples and tears fill his eyes, and then he’s laughing and crying and not able to speak.

John kisses him again.

Author note: This is an old ficlet, from Trifles, posted here.

[shebeafancyflapjack]

The ideal Ghosts Ending Montage.

If all the ghosts get sucked off in the final episode, I want a super sweet glimpse of how they're all getting on in the after-afterlife, cut between images of Alison and Mike raising their family.

- We see Julian at a party seemingly back to his old ways, drinking and living it up, but then his daughter appears and he leaves it to be with her (time is irrelevant here so this happens after Rachel has died years later). Yes, he now has trousers.

- We see Thomas reading his poetry to a crowd of adoring fans who are hanging off his every word. He catches the eye of one particular person; Isabel Higham.

- We see Pat catching up with his son and going on a family camping trip. He has an unlimited supply of tea and biscuits.

- We see Kitty reunited with Eleanor who tearfully begs for her forgiveness but Kitty is just thrilled to play with her again.

- We see Fanny doing a true Lady Godiva, riding her horse Montague across a field, naked, hair unbound hair flowing behind her as Dante and her other pets follow.

- Robin is reunited with his tribe, his sister, his thirty children all hanging off him. He spots two figures waving at him and we see Annie and Mary together, hand in hand.

- Humphrey is just...whole again. He's just running around being a happy little guy whose head is no longer falling off. Maybe Sophie is watching and laughing with him.

- The most emotional shot; Captain being reunited with Havers, true Titanic-ending style, kissing him as their old troop breaks into applause.

- We go back to Button House in time to see Alison on her death bed, an old grandmother, surrounded by family and friends with Mike holding her hand. She slips away, camera zooms in on her face as she's bathed in heavenly light, transporting her. She opens her eyes and grins; "Hi guys...Thanks for waiting."

Bonus

After-credits scene shows the Plague Ghosts still in the basement. But they're fine, as usual.