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sp1rit-realm · 1 day

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༻¨*:· 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 remus is used to the same day, and then you come into his life.

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 please give me some grace. i havent written a full on fic in... a hot second 𖦹 record shop owner!remus x fem!reader (she/her prns) 𖦹 sirius uses he/they prns 𖦹 also. reader moves to england so she doesnt have british accent. yeah. 𖦹 lily evans being the best 𖦹 FLUFF (everyone cheered!) 𖦹 [brief] ANGST (everyone cried!) 𖦹 not proofread

༻¨*:· words ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 2.7k

Routine—a very familiar word to Remus. His days were the same. Wake up, go to work, go home, shower, then sleep. He ate the same thing for breakfast and the same thing for lunch. Dinner was the only thing he frequently changed—maybe one day, he would have pasta, and the next, he would have chicken. He hung out with friends on Saturday, and they went to the same pub every time. The topics were usually the same. Sirius met someone new, someone they claimed to be "The One," only for that person to leave their life. James usually talked about training, Lily, and updates on her pregnancy. Since school ended, things had become... predictable.

You walked into the rickety old record shop, intent on finding your favorite album. It broke on the move to the UK, and you needed it desperately.

Upon hearing the bell ring, Remus looked up. It was part of his routine—to see who had entered his shop—and there you stood, tote bag in hand with messy, windblown hair.

After searching through the Rock section for ages, you practically squeal when you see the album.

Remus looks up as you walk to the counter, "Hi."

"Hi," You smile. Your accent throws Remus off, and he smiles.

He looks at the record, then puts it down, "We have this in a white vinyl," He says, "I— I didn't mark it as colored, so you probably didn't see it. I can go grab it for you?"

You eagerly nod, "That would be fantastic!"

He stands, and you realize how tall he is—it's like he's towering over you.

A moment later, he returns with the other record, "They're hard to come by," He scrawls something on the record sheet, then rings up the album.

You thank him and pay, leaving him to wonder if you'll be back.

The next time you see him, he's with a pretty girl. She's got bleached blonde hair and a cute button nose. She's beautiful. Of course, you recognize the tall man—how could you not? He and the girl make their way to the counter; they both order.

"For Remus," A woman calls out.

Remus—that's his name.

Remus steals glances at you the entire time he's at the coffee shop.

"Who's that?" Marlene asks with a coy smirk.

"I don't know. Came into the shop a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh, so you have a little crush." Marlene is full-on smirking now.

Remus goes red, "What? No." He shakes his head, "No," He repeats, trying to reassure himself that he doesn't have feelings for you.

"Sure," Marlene mutters, taking a sip of her drink.

Remus rolls his eyes.

About a month passes by until you see one another again. You walk into the shop. Remus looks up when the bell rings, and he smiles.

Sirius is there today, and they go up to you.

"What're you looking for?"

You answer, and he leads you to the section as if you don't know the alphabet. He doesn't mean it that way, you know that.

Still, you tease them about it, and their face goes stark red, "Sorry. I just— Sometimes record shops can be confusing in how they order things. Like, when it goes from 'C' to 'D,' does the 'D' section continue on the other side, or does it continue straight across? You know?"

"I'm kidding around," You smile, "I've been here before. Granted, it was just once, but I know how it works. Thank you, though."

"But of course," Sirius curtsies, "Anything for you..."

"Y/n," You introduce yourself.

"I'm Sirius. Like the star," He clarifies, "Like, that's my name. S-i-r-i-u-s," They spell out.

You giggle, "Nice to meet you, Sirius."

"Nice to meet you. I love your silly accent, by the way."

"You're the one with the silly accent," You shoot back.

"Not when my accent is outnumbering yours."

You tilt your head and hum, "Strangely, I understand what you mean."

"It'd be concerning if you didn't."

"Do you frequent this shop a lot?" You ask, flipping through albums.

"My friend is the owner." Sirius shrugs.

You perk up, "Remus?"

Sirius quirks their brow, "You know him?"

You get hot, "No."

He narrows his eyes, "So, how do you know his name is Remus?"

"Well," You whisper, "I came in a while ago. He was really nice when I checked out. Then, a couple of weeks later, I saw him at a coffee shop, and they said his name when his drink was ready."

"You're a creep," Sirius raises his eyebrows.

"No!" You argue.

"Such a creep." Sirius begins walking away; you rush to follow him, "I'm telling him." He says.

You begin to panic, "Wait! No!"

Sirius keeps walking to the front.

"Sirius," You whine, "Stop!"

"Remus!"

You silently will him to stop.

"Remus!" Sirius calls again.

"Lovely lady over here has something to tell you," He smirks.

If looks could kill, Sirius would be six feet under.

"I just– um–" You sputter out, "I just wanted to thank you for helping me with the record last time I was here."

You swear he blushes, but you don't want to look to find out.

"It was no problem," He smiles, "Maybe I could give you a call if any of their other records come in?"

Sirius smirks from the sidelines.

"Um..." It takes a moment to process, "Sure." You nod assertively, "Yeah. I would love that!"

Remus's world has turned upside down—you keep him on his toes. He stays up because, maybe, you'll call tonight. You eat lunch with him sometimes, and gone are the days when he eats the same thing every day. Gone are the days when he closes up shop at 7:00. Gone is routine.

"Do you want to have dinner tonight?" You ask, wrapping the cord around your finger.

"I'm actually going out," Remus responds. You frown, and your imagination runs wild. What if he's going on a date?

"Hello?" He asks, and you realize you've blocked him out.

"Huh? Sorry?"

"I asked if you wanted to come with me. You can meet my mates. If you want." He spits out. Saying it once is nerve-wracking enough; saying it twice is terrifying because what if you say no? What if you don't want to meet his friends? What if–

"I'd love to!" You cut his frantic thoughts off, and his heart swells.

"Really?" He asks.

"Of course!"

So, now, you're standing in front of a random pub, wondering if he's pranking you. It's been about five minutes, and you know that's not a long time to wait, but your anxiety is getting the better of you.

Then, five turns to fifteen, and you're wondering how pathetic you look.

"Y/n?"

Your head whips to the door, "Sirius? When'd you get here?"

Sirius checks their wrist like they're checking a watch, "'Bout half an hour ago. Did the dimwit not tell you to meet us inside?"

You shake your head, "He said to meet him at the bar. So, I guess he didn't quite specify." You shrug.

"Well, come on in," He holds the door open for you.

You thank Sirius and look around for Remus. He's not hard to spot, and Sirius jogs over to their booth before whispering something into Remus's ear. He looks up and smiles brightly.

"You're here!" He exclaims.

"You're here." You say, tone almost scolding him.

Sirius whispers something else to him.

His face drops, "Oh... sorry for not telling you to meet us inside." His mouth quirks to one side in a guilty expression.

You smile, "It's okay. I forgive you." You sit next to him.

"Oh, thank god," He rests his hand on his chest, "A pretty girl being mad at me would've been my death."

Heat blossoms in your chest.

"So..." James begins, "Now that flirt time is over, can I say hello?"

"Ha!" Sirius barks out, "Flirt time!"

Remus gets warm, "This is James, another one of my school friends. James, this is y/n."

All James says is: "You're his lock screen, y'know?"

Remus kicks him under the table.

"I mean–" James smiles, "Hello, it's nice to meet you. I have never seen your face before."

"Smooth," Sirius whispers to James.

You smile at Remus's red face.

"Ignore him, please?" He begs.

You nod.

Sirius and James tell you embarrassing stories about Remus for the rest of the night, and the boy starts to regret introducing you to them as a pair.

At the end of the night, he drops you off.

Rubbing his face, he sighs, "I hope they weren't too much."

You smile brightly, and Remus feels like he could fall to his knees, "I had an amazing time. They're really fun, Remus."

You leave him with a kiss on the cheek—he puts his hand up to the spot and smiles the whole way home.

"I've missed you," You say into the phone.

"I've missed you, too. You should just let me come over." Remus begs for the umpteenth time.

"I don't want to get you sick," You frown, "That would be horrible."

"It wouldn't be the end of the world. We could quarantine together," He smirks, "I could make you soup, and we could cuddle together on the couch and watch some ridiculous rom-com."

"Take a girl out on a date first!" You joke.

"I would if you weren't so busy being poorly." Remus groans.

"So you're asking me out on a date?" You smile and do a little happy dance.

"I guess I am."

He's smug, and you can tell.

A week later, you sit in a fancy restaurant—the kind where the prices aren't even on the menu. Remus is fidgety. He's wearing his nicest button-down, and you think it looks funny on him. He gets red at your comment and looks down at the table with pursed lips.

"I just meant that I'm so used to you wearing those comfy sweaters. You look good, though." You earnestly smile at him.

"You look nice tonight, yourself."

"Well, I'm going on a date with this charming boy. I wanted to impress him."

"I hear he's very impressed."

You insist on paying, but he won't let you. As soon as you pull out your wallet, he snatches it from you.

He kisses you before leaving you at your car, and you don't want it to stop. It's soft and tender, and it's everything you hoped it would be.

One date turns to two, which turns to five, and now you're anxiously pacing in your flat. You're dating Remus; you have been for a few months, and you're not sure when it's an appropriate time to ask the question, but you'll ask tonight. Except Remus doesn't come. He doesn't call, either.

After an hour of worrying, you call Sirius.

"Hello?" He answers—it's obvious he's high.

"Hi. Do you know where Remus is?"

Sirius laughs, "Right here."

"Can I talk to him?"

You hear rustling as Sirius passes the phone.

"Hello?"

"Remus," You whine.

"Hey there. What's going on?" He's calm—too calm. He's also high.

"You were supposed to come over tonight." You frown—it's a fruitless effort. He can't see you.

"Shit. 'M sorry, baby," He frowns, too. You can hear it.

"'S okay. I was just really looking forward to seeing you." You dramatically slide down your wall into a crouching position.

"I'd come over, but, y'know," He wanders off.

"You're so high you can barely walk?" You offer.

He takes it, "Yes."

"It's alright," You sigh, and Remus feels terrible, "Promise you'll come over tomorrow?"

"Promise," He answers.

But then tomorrow comes, and Remus has yet to show up. So you dial his number, but he doesn't pick up. An hour passes until your phone rings, and you're anxious and giddy and hopeful as you pick it up.

"Sorry." Remus's voice is gruff, and you can hear the guilt in his tone.

"It's okay. You can still come over. It's not too late."

"No," He sighs, "I'm sorry, but I can't... I have to break up with you."

Your face drops with your stomach, "What?"

"I can't be with you. I'm— I'm sorry."

"No!" Tears blur your vision, "You can't just tell me we're over. Explain yourself!"

"I just can't do it anymore. It's too hard."

You choke out a sob, "What's too hard? Loving me?"

"No," He sighs, and he sounds tired, oh so tired, "I'm incapable of giving you what you need."

"And who gets to say what I need?"

"Y/n, for your sake, I'm ending this. I can't provide for you in the way you'll need me to."

"Remus," You sigh, "I don't understand. What do you mean you 'can't provide' for me?"

"I can't emotionally be there for you. I'm sorry."

And as you hear the dial tone, you let your sobs out.

You feel empty. Your only friends are Remus's; now you feel like you can't talk to them.

"You're daft," Sirius scolds, "Y/n was lovely, and you break up with her over the phone?!"

Remus hangs his head in shame, "Yeah, I did."

Then Remus looked up and was met with one of his worst fears. He'd been on Lily Evans's bad side more than once, but never like this. He'd only seen this stare a handful of times, but not once was it directed at him, until now.

She marches over to the booth, never breaking her stare, leans close to Remus, and slaps him, "You twat!"

He doesn't know what to say, so he holds his cheek and waits for her to continue.

"You hurt an exceptionally lovely girl for what?! Because you're insecure? Because it was too scary to feel loved so deeply? That girl gave you her all, Remus! And this is how you treat her?" Lily's face is red at the end of her rant, and Sirius tries to hold in their snickers.

Lily narrows her eyes at Remus, "I can read you like a book, Remus Lupin. I know what's going on in that magnificently stupid head of yours! Go apologize to her!"

"I can't," He murmurs, "I've already ruined it."

She rolls her eyes, "You won't know unless you try, and not knowing will eat at you, and you will die confused, sad, and alone."

"She has a point," Sirius agrees, "I mean... we all know you'll just mope around until we push you to talk to her, but by then, it'll be too late. She will have found somebody, and they'll get married, and you'll just be that bloke from when she moved here. Go talk to her."

"What do I say?"

It's almost midnight when a knocking at your door wakes you. Groaning, you get out of bed and make your way to the door.

You undo the bottom lock, keeping the chain in place.

"Yes?" You peek through the crack, surprised to see Remus holding flowers on the other side.

"I'm sorry."

He thinks he's surely blown it when you close the door, but he hears the chain clanking as you fully unlock it.

"What are you doing here?"

Remus wants to cry at the sight of you. Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy, with red tracing your waterline.

"I—" He has a whole script planned out but seems to have forgotten every word, "I have flowers," He settles on.

"For me?"

He nods.

"What are you doing here?" You ask again, taking the flowers.

"I'm here to apologize. I was a dick the other day."

You tilt your head, "You mean the other day when you broke up with me?"

Remus almost doesn't catch the sarcasm, "I'm sorry. I get so caught up in my head—"

You turn from him, "Come in," You mutter as you walk into your kitchen.

He closes the door behind him and toes his shoes off, "I get scared when I let somebody get too close."

"Tea?"

"Yes, please."

He watches as you move around your kitchen, grabbing cups and boiling the water. He's missed you.

"Why let me get close at all, then?"

"Because I like you."

You turn and look at him, "Do you, now?"

Remus sighs, "Look, I fucked up, I know that. Do you think we can try again?"

You walk over to him, "You said you can't give me what I need. What does that mean, Remus?"

"I'm unfit to be with somebody."

"I don't think so. You were wonderful the past three months. So wonderful that I think, if you work on yourself, we can give this another go."

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, leaning in.

"I look terrible," You laugh.

"No," He rests his forehead against yours, "You're always beautiful."

"Kiss me."

hi guys sorry if this is bad😇😇

my lovely mutuals <33 @sepptember @violetteshoneybee @ay0nha @maroon-winestain @prongsio @imabee-oralizard @storyofaromance @queerpumpkinnn @doyouknowwhoyouare13 @zvdvdlvr @reysdriver @g1rld1ary @starsval @vampieteeth @maddipoof @bruisedboys @ell0ra-br3kk3r

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madame-fear · 2 days

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𐙚 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐓, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.ᐟ

ೀ amira speaks.ᐟ : author has NO idea how strip clubs work so I had to do some research and ask for help,, honourary mention to my love @lady-ashfade for helping me out ♡ also,, this fic was inspired in the song Vegas by Joseline Hernández !! I badly cringed at myself the entire time but hope you guys like it ahhdjfkf rip ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : you are Fran’s favourite stripper; and he’s your favourite client who seems to adore you a bit too much. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 2.4k

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : smut. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Francisco Romero x Stripper!Reader

WARNING.ᐟ THIS FIC CONTAINS ; Fran being a little bit obsessed with you, him begging to cum inside of you, unprotected sex, P in V, cowgirl position, him being a bit possesive over you, profanity, dirty talk, use of pet names, creampie.— let me know if I forgot about something else!

The blonde haired Argentine was often referred to as your “favourite, most exclusive client”.

The very first moment your sight spotted his presence amidst the large crowd of swooning men in the strip club where you worked, you felt surprised of seeing him. Surprised, because of how much of a sweet angel he seemed— if you saw him outside your work, you would never expect him to be a frequent visitor to strip clubs, or be as filthy as he was. His sweet light green eyes and delicate features were nastily deceptive.

Just like Francisco had grown to become your favourite client, you were his one and only favourite girl. It had quickly became an habit for him to pay you great amounts of money all the time, gift you small things for you to wear or have, often visit you — almost daily —, and the Argentine always had the most gentle, yet dominant treat with you; keeping the perfect balance. He had his ways of spoiling you, there was no denying about it.

Francisco paid extra money for you to give him priority over any other man, and even to spend more time with you. Though, often, you always expected him at the end of your shift; and that way, you would be with no one else after him. You could make him go bankrupt, and he wouldn’t be able to care any less. Most of his paychecks fell right into your hands, or slipped under the waistband of your underwear.

That devotion, and the constant worshipping Fran gave you, was what made you helplessly show more interest over him than over anyone else. The man knew how to make you feel special, as well as he knew the exact things you liked, and disliked.

Ever since his green eyes laid on your own, and his thin, long fingers caressed your skin for the first time, it began existing inside of him the constant struggle between feeling heavy lust, and a fervent adoration for you— hell, Fran had even grown to despise the other men trying to woo you constantly, showering you with their money whenever you pulled out a show on the pole. Could it be classified as a growing obsession? Perhaps. Did you care? Quite the contrary, you appreciated the special attention from him, and in return, you would gladly reciprocate it by serving him in any way he desired.

“Your favourite man is here,” a coworker announced quickly, with a small grin, before disappearing from sight to focus on other clients— letting the blonde haired Argentine enter the private room where you served your own exclusive clients. The mere sight of his — rather tall — presence was more than enough to lift your mood. A toothy grin was immediatly spread widely across your features.

“Hello, sweet bunny.” how come the simple sound of his loving voice was enough to make you melt? Let alone the nicknames Fran graced you with often. The sound of the blaring music coming from the speakers of the strip club became a faint background noise as you could only focus on him at the moment. The rest of your surroundings couldn’t matter less, as you approached closer to him.

“Hope you aren’t too tired for me?” you scoffed at the silly, teasing question. His arms were wrapped around your waist, immediatly pulling you against his body as tightly as possible. Your hands clawed at his clothing, encouraging him to approach the large bed with you. A smile grew wider on the corner of your lips, feeling a growing bulge on his trousers meekly poke your stomach.

How sweet it was, having him all horny and desperately needy for you already.

“I could never be tired for my favourite client.” you said, pulling his clothing towards you. “Actually, I’ve been waiting all day long for you. We shouldn’t be wasting any more time.” a satisfied smirk appeared on his thin rosy lips. Pride filled him almost immediatly at hearing those words spurring from your lips— the entirety of your being made him painfully dread his erection, strained by his pants. “No, we shouldn’t.” he retorted, quietly.

Swiftly, you managed to gently push him against the bed right behind of him. Foreplay was something you both fervently enjoyed, and often engaged in right before fucking as it made the experience more pleasurable; but at the moment, there was no need for any foreplay. There was no denying that you were equally horny for each other, all you needed was to be in the same room together for you to already grow moist and him, to grow hard.

The Argentine’s back rested against the silk sheets of the large bed, his bright green eyes admiring the way you smoothly crawled on top of him. There was no doubt about why so many men swooned right behind of you, despite the jealousy he felt for each one of them— you were such a temptress, and you were quite good at every single little thing you did.

As you leaned closer towards his face, grasping your lips against his own in a teasing manner, allowing your hot breathing to hit against his sensitive skin, you leisurely rubbed yourself against his notoriously growing bulge. The hot fabric of your underwear was moist enough for him to feel it through his still clothed erection with each friction, the same way you could already feel his precum staining his own pants.

“Please let me cum inside of you today,” he muttered in a plea against your lips, “I will pay you even more than the usual, if necessary.”

Involuntarily, his hips moved desperately against your own, as his hands firmly took hold of your waist; groaning quietly as your cunt ached to feel his cock buried inside of you already. A scoff spurred from your lips at his proposal, inevitably feeling a wave of pride at the sight of him desperately begging to fill you with his hot fluids.

“Deal.” you whispered against his lips approvingly, as a sigh of relief hit faintly against your own skin. The idea of it seemed tempting enough— after all, you had to admit the thought of having his cum oozing out of you made your underwear become wetter.

As one o your hands fervidly caressed his chest, you sat properly enough to prepare yourself to ride him. Moving your sight downwards, your hands wasted no time in unbuttoning his trousers, and immediatly lowering them. The sweet sight of his prominent erection brought pure satisfaction to you— teasingly using your fingers to slip them under the waistband of his boxers, and slowly lower them.

“I will never get tired of seeing you so desperate to bury your cock inside of me, gorgeous.” you teased, finally lowering his underwear enough for his erection to be freed from being painfully strained against the clothing, with precum already leaking from the tip. “Don’t tease, please.” he begged, observing how you removed your own panties in the slowest manner possible, only to throw them somewhere across the room and leave them long forgotten.

Widely spreading your legs, you aligned your own aching pussy with his hardened cock. Firmly brushing the entrance of your cunt against his leaking tip, lubricating it slightly with your moistness, your eyes moved their sight towards his own. “Don’t worry, my sweet love. I won’t be teasing much.” you mumbled, gasping softly as his hands held a tight grip on your waist. “I plan on fucking you until I can fully dry out your cock.”

Gently, your hips moved downwards. A groan deeply escaped from your throat as his cock began entering you. His rosy lips were partly open, allowing a satisfied gasp to escape from them as his head was thrown back— fluttering his eyes shut, his hips moved upwards while his hands guided your own to bury himself deeper. The feeling of your inner walls engulfing his own member was something Fran could never get bored of.

“Fuck,” you heard the blonde Argentine muttering. Countless of times you had him fucking you fervently in every corner of the room, in every position you could imagine— yet, every time where Fran fucked you again, it managed to be even better than the last time. Gods, your cunt felt almost like a pool from all the wetness dripping; helping him slide his cock inside you more easily, working as a lubricant.

Another groan spurred helplessly from your lips, reaching all the way down his cock, now throwing your own head back from the overwhleming wave of pleasure you received. The way you took the entirety of his shaft could be considered a grace to the sight. “You are such a fucking whore, aren’t you?” Fran remarked, beginning to slowly slide in, and out of your pussy. “Taking my cock so well, like a good slut.”

As one of his hands kept itself gripping hard from your waist, his other hand moved upwards towards one of your breasts, which moved along your own body while you rode him— lowering part of your bra to expose your tit, he took it into his hand, and began gropping it possesively as his shaft increased the pace in which it penetrated you, occasionally passing his thumb through your nipple to stimulate you further. “But you are my good slut, and no one will ever fuck you as I do.”

With each passing second, his cock began burying itself deeper and faster inside of you, provoking a fleshy sound to be hard across the room, hitting that certain soft spot that made whiny pleas escape from your lips so beautifully. His name was faintly heard under your breath, continously moaning it as your legs began trembling. Francisco knew exactly the spot where you were the most sensitive, and he would endlessly abuse it.

“Fuck—” you growled in between your teeth. Both your hands rested on his chest, seeking some sort of balance, nearly clawing at his remaining clothes, as his slick-coated cock increased the pace in which it slipped in and out of your stimulated pussy. A knot slowly formed on your stomach with the passing of the time, while your body violenty trembled. A proud grin occupied his lips at the sight of you nibbling on your lowr lip, holding back soft grunts and pants.

“Mine, all mine. Right?” he teased in between his panting, using his thumb to lazily caress your hip. “A-All yours,” you replied back weakly, helplessly allowing some slightly high-pitched whines to escape. With each hit that your inner soft spot received, the feeling of the knot increased, tightening on your stomach. This man had the ability of nearly making you melt above him with each one of his words, his groans, moans, and his actions. You were quite privileged, knowing all of his attention could only go to you.

“I-I’m about to cum,” you heard him murmur between his grunts, barely being able to mutter a coherent response due to your own mind fog from the sexual act. You could feel his cock beginning to twitch inside of you as his movements became swifter; your inner walls warmly tightening around his member.

His other hand went back again to taking hold of your hip, and you knew that from the way both hands gripped your hips to move you up and down his cock, you would have some bruises.

A wave of heat tightened your chest as your body became weaker, practically allowing Fran to move you in whichever way pleased him, while your continously dripping slick managed to coat his shaft entirely. His fingernails dug deep on your skin as his hips slightly moved upwards, and his hands forced your body all the way down his cock, keeping you still— feeling the way it violently pulsated inside of you, his cum brought a warm sensation to your stomach.

Throwing your head back as you felt the knot on your stomach abruptly untightening, while his cum simultaneously filled your insides, from your lips spurred a — rather loud — groan, deep from your throat; the same sound the Argentine made as he released his seed in you. You could get used to the pleasant feeling of his fluids staining your inner walls, thank God you had agreed to it.

While his hands firmly continued to hold your hips, allowing his head to fall against the mattress to rest, you remained quietly still on top of him, not getting off just yet. The only sound that filled the room was that of both your panting, trying to catch your breath. Your hands and legs equally trembled, feeling your heart pounding loudly against your chest.

There was no doubt Fran was your favourite client— each time he gave you a visit, you felt exhaustingly pleased. You were left needing for more, almost as if it were impossible for you to want to let him go.

Helplessly, you gently collapsed against his body. Both your arms were lazily wrapped around him, placing your head against his chest. His fluids oozed out of your pussy slowly, sliding through your inner thighs, as his cock remained buried inside of you. With one last heavy pant, his green eyes looked down at you.

One of his hands rested on your back, using his fingertips to trace mindless shapes on your skin, as his other hand went to delicately stroke your hair. “Hope you enjoyed that, mi amor?” he inquired softly, as you kept quietly panting. You scoffed in response— what a silly question, you enjoyed every single one of his frequent visits. The mere thought of not clinging to his side throughout the whole day lately seemed dreadful. “Have I ever not enjoyed anything you do to me?” you retortes playfully, earning a chuckle from him.

A brief moment of silence loomed between the two of you. Your eyes fluttered shut peacefully, enjoying how lovingly his fingers twirled strands of your hair, and caressed your head. A little smile grew back on his lips, before interrupting the silence, looking down at you, resting your gracefully delicate body against his own.

“Would you be up to a second round if I paid you extra, sweet love?”

Moving your head to stare attentively into his light green eyes, you widely grinned back. Then again, what a silly question. How could you ever deny any of his tempting proposals?

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` taglist .ᐟ

@luceracastro @castawaycherry @creative-heart @cyliarys-starlight @deepinsideyourbeing @chiquititamia @koiibiito @lastflowrr

#彡 ꒰ ✒ amira writes ; francisco romero.── ꒱#francisco romero smut #francisco romero x reader #fran romero smut #fran romero x reader #francisco romero fanfic #fran romero fanfic #fran romero x stripper!reader #francisco romero x stripper!reader #stripper!reader #lsdln x reader #lsdln imagine #lsdln smut

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 6 hours

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Ed and Stede visit a penguin exhibit at the zoo 🐧 im sorry about your kidney stones im sending healing vibes !!

"Holy shit, Stede, look at these guys!"

Stede couldn't help his beaming smile as Ed pulled his hand out of Stede's in his haste to run right up to the glass, laughing in pure joy at the sight of a few fat penguins waddling behind the water-speckled glass.

They'd only been dating for a few weeks, but Ed had already changed the entire world, as far as Stede was concerned. Take this place - he'd been to this zoo more times than he could count, taking his kids here until he was almost bored with it, but Ed's simple joy was infectious. It had already been the best zoo trip of his life, just from how happy Ed was to trade facts from the placards next to the exhibits back and forth with each other and how he carefully repeated the Latin names of each species he saw. How soon was too soon to know when you loved someone?

Ed looked back from the penguin exhibit just to make sure Stede was watching, his smile so big it made his nose wrinkle. "Are you seeing this?"

"They're pretty cool," Stede laughed, hurrying to join his boyfriend next to the glass, his heart swelling at the way Ed leaned right up next to it, his mouth falling open as they watched the penguins dive and swim under the water. He needed a selfie while Ed was still smiling like that.

"Babe, holy shit, look at that guy!" Ed grabbed Stede's arm in excitement, pointing up to where they could just see a macaroni penguin waddling around on the dry land portion of their exhibit, and he giggled as he held his hands to his forehead, spreading his fingers to imitate its feathers.

Oh, shit, Stede was in love. It was undeniable.

He must've been quiet for a bit too long, trying to figure out how to breathe while his heart felt like it was fixing to beat out of his chest, because Ed's smile dipped.

Ed hunched over, a bit, tucking his hands hastily back into his pockets, looking at the ground as if he had any need to be embarrassed Stede had seen him being absolutely adorable. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Acting like a -"

Stede didn't want to hear what Ed thought he'd been acting like, so he gently cupped his hands around Ed's cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss.

"I love you," Stede whispered against Ed's lips when they finally pulled apart.

And then Ed was laughing, happy and ringing and perfect, wrapping his arms tight around Stede's middle. "Love you, too."

Maybe later, Stede would tell Ed that he'd never think he was too much, or berate him for acting childish, or anything like that. Later, he'd tell Ed that his silly, sweet goofiness was what made him realize he loved him.

For now, watching in helpless adoration as Ed excitedly read him back the pengiun info on the placards and pointed in delight at their swimming and snapped his legs together to imitate a cute little pengiun waddle...

For now, Stede was too caught up in planning for a fall wedding.

#ofmd #loved this one! thank you so much!!#and thank you for the healing vibes! <3 #pccp's kidney stone fics

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kayawolfhorse · 15 hours

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Everything You Thought You Knew | Read on Ao3

—☾—

The moon’s big.

Really big, in fact. Its edges encompass and stretch beyond what’s possible to carve out of the observatory’s dome roof without cutting into the wall that supports it, and while being crushed by a ginormous moon isn’t Grian’s choice of death, he might prefer being buried in rubble even less.

Well, that’s not quite true. If it were only the observatory to collapse, the rest of the world would go on as usual, and Grian would respawn and laugh over a silly death with the silly friends that he calls his family. Just about anything is preferable to death by the big moon, anyway.

By Grian’s unscientific calculations—and unscientific they are, if one wants scientific they ought to approach Cub—the moon is going to crash into and destroy the server in its entirety tomorrow night. That puts just about twenty four hours on a particularly gruesome clock hanging over their heads. Grian doesn’t wear a watch, but Impulse, he knows, does. Grian wonders if Impulse feels their impending doom with every tick against the pulse of his wrist.

There’s no reason for Grian to linger; the observatory’s usefulness outlived. The etches on the ceiling have no new information to give him, and it’s been a long time since he’s needed the telescope to make out details upon the moon’s surface.

Taking flight, Grian beats his wings and tries to feel some semblance of control over the floaty feeling that grabs hold of him in the current bout of gravity-weirdness. And the sound. Grian’s half-tempted to plug his ears against it. The terrible groan and crash of the earth tearing itself apart holds a sort of building crescendo to it; this is far from the worst it can get.

Even so close to the end of the world, even as blocks of the natural terrain are lifted upwards and dropped back into place beneath the ever-looming moon, Boatem is beautiful, and Grian can’t help but admire it as a wave of affection washes over him. An entire rainbow of build styles and personal touches create a vibrant conglomerate full of life and love, its chaos harmonious in its own way. He’s proud of what he’s made this season, what they’ve all made.

Down below, in front of her starter boat, Grian spots Pearl, swerving to avoid a levitating block while balancing a stack of shulker boxes in her arms, only her fluffy antennae visible above them. Swooping down, Grian lands in front of her and jumps up to relieve her of two of her boxes.

Peeking around a grey shulker, Pearl smiles when she catches sight of him. “Oh, hey, Grian!”

“Hi, Pearl,” Grian greets back, and is surprised to find his voice so tight. “Moon’s big.”

“Really? Hadn’t noticed.” Pearl’s banterous sarcasm doesn’t often fail to lift Grian’s mood, an opportunity to trade a quip of his own and laugh together as their conversation grows more ridiculous, but it does now, and Pearl notices, her smile tipping downwards as she places the boxes at her feet.

Pearl isn’t one to prompt, not like how Scar and Mumbo tend to when someone’s upset. She stands and she waits, and it doesn’t take long for Grian to say, “The world’s ending tomorrow.”

“I know.” She does, everyone does. The entire server can feel the tension breathing down their necks.

“I don’t know if there will be any survivors.” This isn’t like jumping into the Boatem hole or flying into a wall too hard or dueling with a friend. The server protects the hermits; softens the pain of dying and negates the permanence of it. If the server itself is what’s being killed? Grian doesn’t know.

“There will be. We’ll find a way.” Pearl’s looking at him, her expression determined, but the fear that squeezes Grian’s chest is reflected in her ocean-blue eyes.

“How can you promise that, Pearl?” Grian thinks he might sound like he’s pleading, but his voice is tinny within his own ears. “I’m sorry, this isn’t how it was meant to go, this is your first season and it’s ending like this—”

Grian’s head is eased into Pearl’s shoulder, and arms wrap around his middle. Her starry pajama shirt is soft against his face as he presses into it, soaking up as much of Pearl’s solid warmth as he can.

“I’m going to call a meeting,” Pearl says from above him.

“In the Boatem hole?” Grian asks. He’s not sure they have the time to set up another meeting room, nor if it matters at all.

Pearl pauses. “…No. In my base. My mega one. I just finished the interior. It’s very cozy, you know.”

The arms around Grian tense slightly as Pearl types into her communicator, messaging the other three members of their little group. Grian knows the message has been received when the communicator vibrates thrice against his back, assumedly from confirmations of assent.

Pearl hums and holds Grian a bit closer, and Grian squeezes back with all he has.

—☾—

The interior is cozy. Despite the white walls and high ceilings, Pearl’s added enough warmly colored carpets, potted plants, and wooden accents that the inside of her lighthouse palace feels wonderfully welcoming. Grian could definitely stand to live here forever.

Not that forever is a term he can longer afford in this doomed world.

Soft murmuring floats from the room beyond the entryway, and Pearl and Grian step into it to find Scar, Impulse, and Mumbo settled on the large, curved living room couch, talking quietly amongst themselves. Boatem is a lot of things, but quiet isn’t one of them. The moon doesn’t weigh on Grian’s mind alone.

“Hey, gang.” Grian raises a hand in a wave as three heads turn towards him and Pearl.

Impulse grins, but it’s strained around the edges. “Hey, guys! Great to see you.” Grian saw Impulse last about three hours ago. Still, he agrees—it is nice to see them. The knot of anxiety in his chest loosens ever so slightly.

Once Grian and Pearl have settled onto the couch with the rest of them, Pearl hugging her knees between Impulse and Mumbo and Grian leaning on Scar, Mumbo asks, “So, Pearl, what’s the meeting for?”

Grian expects her to propose an escape route, or go over the grim inevitabilities of the day to come, and from the look on everyone else’s faces, so do they, but instead Pearl says, “You’re all invited to my sleepover! Happening right here, right now.”

“A sleepover?” Impulse asks, incredulous. The purple of his bowtie makes the circles under his eyes appear darker. They’d all given up this Mooner business a couple days ago, when it was apparent that nothing would change for it, but the lack of sleep had yet to leave most of their faces.

Pearl shrugs. “The moon’s going to crash into the world tomorrow night. Might as well enjoy the last good one we have, right? Cousin or not, I’m not going to sit around and let it ruin a night that could be spent with friends.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Mumbo says. “If anything, it’s another night of rest.”

“Tactical sleeping, I like it!” Scar’s eyes aren’t marred by darkness. Grian silently harrumphs at this.

“Not just sleeping!” Pearl laughs. Quieter, she adds, “I was thinking we could grab snacks and watch a movie, or something.” A distraction, and something to drown out the awful noises outside.

“A movie sounds good,” Grian says. Anything to stop hearing the world falling apart beyond Pearl’s arched windows.

Impulse and Pearl move to set it up, Pearl crouching in front of the cabinet the movie collection is stored in, Impulse fiddling with the remote, while Mumbo and Scar raid the pantry and Grian stacks extra pillows and blankets on the couch.

After deciding on one, Pearl hands the movie disk to Impulse, who slides it into its player beneath the television and presses play. The screen remains dark and silent. Grian can see his reflection within its glassy surface. He looks terrible.

“Ah.” Impulse heaves a sigh that floats upon something heavier. “Of course it’d affect all of the redstone; all of my overworld farms have stopped working, too.”

This is news to Grian, whose most complicated farm this season had been a couple beehives in front of dispensers with shears, and he hasn’t checked that thing in ages.

Pearl rocks back on her heels. “Well, that’s a bust, then. Why the redstone?”

Impulse shrugs. “Beyond me. Guess there’s no precedent for all of this; anything goes.”

“At least it’s only the redstone—imagine if it would’ve done something like sponge up all the water or blow out all of the torches!”

In unison, all three of them glance up at the lanterns hanging above the couch.

“That would’ve been hilarious,” Grian admits, after the lanterns remain unsurprisingly unchanged. Impulse and Pearl nod their agreement.

They share the news with Mumbo and Scar, who return with an armload of candy courtesy of Impulse’s factory, potatoes Pearl had sliced and fries into chips, and whatever other junk food they’d managed to find.

Looking utterly perplexed, Mumbo says, “That explains why my door stopped working. Ran straight into it the other day and died!”

“Oh, redstone, you frackle thing,” Scar muses in sympathy with Impulse and Mumbo, nodding solemnly.

“Frackle—? Fickle. Fickle thing, Scar,” Grian corrects, shaking his head, but the corners of his mouth lift in a way they hadn’t all night.

“Of course, of course,” Scar agrees and smiles back, and a bit more of the burden nestled next to Grian’s heart dissipates.

“Failing a movie,” Impulse ventures, after a moment, “What could we do?”

After a brief trip back to their own bases to change into proper pajamas, a nest is made on the couch and the snacks are piled onto the table in front of it, soft light from the lanterns illuminating the tired faces of the Boatem crew from where they sit around the curve of the sofa. Even as the end of the world roars outside, conversation comes to them easily, and naturally turns to reminiscing on the season they’ve lived.

Mumbo tells stories of end crystals and terraforming, of potatoes and the time he briefly spent moonlighting as a vigilante that quickly fell apart with no real laws to uphold. Impulse recounts a narrative of magic pigs and candy shards, the road to perfecting the server’s best candy bar and the joy of sharing it with friends. Pearl speaks of llamas, clock heists, magic pumpkins, and the instances completely unrelated to her in which all of the animals were mysteriously turned upside down.

Scar weaves a tale of fantastic sales owed to his patented traveling Swaggon. “Everyone loves the Swaggon!” he proclaims, after sharing a deal that, if it were offered by anyone else, would have never been accepted.

“Everyone loves you, Scar, which is how you got away with that one,” Mumbo says with a laugh. The rest of the group laughs with him, and Scar waves a bashful hand.

When the attention falls to Grian, he talks about the G-Train and the Midnight Alley and the lengths he went through to collect mobs for the Magical Menagerie, charged creeper shenanigans with Scar included. He talks about pretend-sleep adventures and mini-games and everything in between.

Most of all, Grian talks about Boatem. From the first stacking of the Boatem pole, to the many Boatem hole-related antics, to the chaos of every meeting and prank, the Boatem crew has become family, as the village has become home.

“I’m gonna miss it,” Impulse says.

“It was all really fun.” Scar smiles, and the corners of his eyes are crinkled with sadness-tinged fondness.

“Now, don’t be saying that like a goodbye, mate,” Pearl says, and her voice is crinkled with it, too.

“It’s not a goodbye to us,” Scar clarifies. “Boatem will live on forever. We’ll all find each other again in that great, big, beautiful tomorrow.”

“Promise?” Grian asks.

“Promise.”

—☾—

Morning drags forward after a night of cuddled rest. Grian’s the second awake, beaten only by Pearl, who stands with her hands braced around a mug at the kitchen counter, looking out across nothing.

“The world’s to end today,” Grian says.

“Yeah, I know,” she responds. “Coffee?”

(They make it, in the void following the end. On another world, an alchemist, an elf, an alien, a dwarf, and the server’s richest man huddle together atop a nest of blankets within a giant mushroom the alien calls home. Laughter dances in the air around them as stories and snacks alike are swapped between them, catching up on what this world has become beneath their hands. The moon hangs high and small above them, a beautiful cloudless night. The world carries on as usual. The Boatem crew is safe.)

#i loved the part when they said it’s boatem time and boatem’d all over the place #it was so nice writing this… it became my late-night comfort fic to work on #i don’t normally give docs silly working titles but this one’s was ‘moon: cold and hard sleepover: soft and warm’#my writing #hermitcraft #grian #pearlescentmoon #goodtimeswithscar #impulsesv #mumbo jumbo #boatem

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punkeropercyjackson · 2 days

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As said yes when i asked my new moot @tubvoids,here is why Percy is autistic and in fact,objectively the most autistic-coded character in the entire franchise!

'Troubled kid' literally just means 'autistic kid who faces peer abuse and even adult abuse for it'.It's Percy's entire character and lingers into his adulthood

Was a bully beater and stayed that way no matter how many times he got expelled

Ass at school but really smart in every other area

Has his intellegence insulted nonstop his whole life and just takes it despite what a strong backbone he has because he thinks he deserves it

Anger issues and general emotional regulation issues

Mama's boy who's mom dosen't quite always understand how he works or why he is the way he is but loves and is good to him anyway and considers his differences from normal people a gift instead of a flaw or something that needs to be 'cured'

Canon safe food(blue food)and Resting Bitch Face(the 'scary default expression' he inhereted from Poseidon)

Dosen't even try to understand social norms because he thinks they're stupid as fuck

Super kind and earnest in a way that gets on normies' nerves both in-universe and irl because they think he's 'corny' and 'unrealistic'

Has a beyond weird as all fuck sense of humor that's just natural instead of actively trying to be funny and always lands

Wears layers/heavy clothes all the time

Complex feelings on morality leaning towards chaotic good but he's done some fucked up shit that was technically justified in the contexts but beats himself up over anyone even though the others deserved it

Dated Rachel because she made him feel normal for once and he specified what made him love her was her brutal honesty and enthutiasm that gave way for healthy communication on both ends

Hates traditional masculinity and wants to be free of it and acts a lot like a trans femme egg,including finding hypermasculinity on men gross and unappealing and often wonders what makes people attracted to boys(Gender fuckery and also even just binary transfeminity are common combos with autism)

Very goofy,silly,chaotic and unrestrained with kiddy interests and a digust towards 'true maturity' but also loves punk shit

Can never tell when someone is attracted to him but when he loves them back he's Rizz City

Anarchist who hates the rich,privilege and power and does activism and direct action both in the mythos world and the mortal world(the former onscreen/the aformentioned bully beating and implied to participate with Rachel in her protests and charity events)

Gets along so well with younger people he basically adopts them as younger siblings and pseudo-kids(P*rcico shippers please stop being jesters,Nico and Percy are peak transmasc 4 transfem and autistic 4 autistic found family realness,they're the BLUEPRINT for it and y'all wildin' for thinking Hazel's not autistic too like hellooooooo she's literally a creepy cute middle school weirdgirl who was outcasted from other kids,even the fellow black ones?Ofc she's autistic)

Dare i say.The fandom's denial of his blatant autism is in of itself proof he HAS autism and is audhd.They're always calling him stupid and insisting it's meant affectionaly when he's stated a millions of times he does NOT like it,they turn his special interests that's so important to him for coping growing up and now too into him being a childish ass mf with no culture(that is also racist with how popular afrolatino Percy but they don't care just like they don't care about making him actually look black lmao),defang his anger issues and meaness and brutality and anti-authority mentality to turn him into nothing but an idiot and give all the credit to Annabeth(and that's misogynistic cause it makes her boring)and finally infantalizing him as if HE'S not fatherly one in the mcs.I don't even mean making him younger,i mean making him act like a little kid and his friends literally parenting him.It's all textbook rethoric and bullying tactics to irl autistic people and they only say he's allistic so they don't gotta feel bad instead of growing tf up and being nice to mentally disabled folks they can't relate to perfectly and to develop senses of humor outside of John Mulaney bits

Is literally the protagonist of a book series that's ultimate purpose is representation for neurodivergent kids as their role model that grows up with them and showed us we can live good lives like he is now????????The idea of allistic Percy is genuinely incomprehensible ong

'Good Kid' from the musical?Yeah,it's literally a song about an autistic kid who can't mask and gets abused by everybody for it no matter how hard they try to be good

I'm exactly like Percy Jackson and always have been and i'm autistic.So,autistic Percy Jackson is canon.End👏🏼Of👏🏼Discussion!!!!👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

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