#amos' language of love is words of affirmation‚ pass it on

[siempre-pedro]

Spanish Study Methods

Pedro Pascal x Reader College AU! SMUT

Summary: It’s midterms and like everyone else you’re cramming in the library. Pedro, the kind boyfriend that he is offers to help you study... in the back of the library with his hands all over you. 

Warnings:  SMUT. 

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: I’m a slut for this man and college au’s what more can I say! My Spanish skills are at like a 1 don’t roast me. Also had a dream about this so there’s that. 

Strong coffee flowed through your veins, proven by how fast your pink highlighter was tapping on your open Spanish textbook. Your hair was a mess and face red from the frustration at the words in front of you. 6 weeks of your Spanish 1 class and you felt like you learned nothing, with your midterm in 2 days cramming in the NYU library was your only option.

Glancing up with tired eyes you spot Pedro talking to one of the volunteer librarians, you perked up knowing that he could help you with the language “Pedro!” you shouted in a hushed tone. The man looked in your direction and took out one of his earbuds, making his way over to your table. “¿Qué onda?” he asks cooly, sitting across from you. What the fuck did he just say? Pedro chuckles and leans back in the chair “What’s up?” he translates.

“I need your help,” you plead. “My exam is in 2 days and I forgot everything,” you shove the textbook in his direction and he looks down, shaking his head.

“It’s Spanish,” he remarks with a knowing smirk.

“I know that dipshit,” you groan, “please help me Pedro.”

“You know if you weren’t going out with that theatre guy every night you might get shit done.” Your eyes lower in frustration and toss your pen to the side, topping it off with a kick to his shin. “That’s you,” you whine. “Please.”

Feeling the satisfaction Pedro grins and takes the text book in his hands, flipping back to the first page “Te ves estresada,” he notices, looking at you sympathetically. You took a moment to pick out the phrase. “I feel stressed,” you answer slowly, every word coming out like a question.

An idea sparks inside the Chilean’s head, it was a win-win situation…you practice for your test and you both get off. The thrill of what he wanted to do was bubbling inside him. Pedro closes the book and takes his foot, running it up to leg until he moved your thighs apart.

“What are you doing?” You ask, sitting up straight. “Ah ah ah, in Spanish,” he taunts.

“Uh… ¿Qué haces?”

“Muy bein, come with me,” he orders, standing up and taking a look at his surroundings. the library was mostly empty, 8:30 on a Tuesday night, 30 minutes before close wasn’t the most lively scene but it did make for a nice quickie in the history section in the back.

You follow behind him, your phone tucked into one of the pockets of your powder blue sundress and a textbook tucked under your arm. Pedro ignored every question and every complaint as he walked towards the back of the building. The farther you got, the fewer people you saw and it really made you wonder when you passed the language section.

“Pedro, why are we here?” you demand. Pedro like before doesn’t answer, instead he grabs your wrist and pulls you to the end of the aisle and pins you against the cold wall “P-Pedro.”

Pedro’s soft lips connect with the side of your neck, his hands holding you in place by your waist. His teeth nibble at your soft skin, quietly letting out a pleased moan "Pedro? What do you call me?" he asks quietly, spreading your legs apart with his jean-clad knee.

Your mouth hangs open slightly, your chest rising "P-Papi," you answer with a hushed moan. Pedro pulls back and grins, one of his hands releasing your waist and connecting it with your jaw. "Papi?" he repeats in a mocking shocked tone "Very naughty, Princesa... don't be so vulgar in a library," he chuckles, trailing his hand from your jaw, down your throat, making it's way to the valley of your breasts and your heart was beating strongly through your chest.

You roll your eyes and run your fingers through his brown hair "Mi Amor," you call him, a smile gracing your lips. That smile turns into a twisted face of pleasure when he touches your clothed core.

"Now. How this is going to work, Princesa is every time you answer correctly I'm going to make you feel so good," he growls, "if you get it wrong... I take one of these books and drop it on the ground. You don't want one of these librarians to find you with my cock inside you, do you?" His eyes look up at you wide and innocent, the man was far, far from innocent. His middle finger stroking along your panties, slowly, almost painful from the anticipation.  

"N-no," you pant.

"Good girl, are you ready?"

"Yes." Pedro frowns and slaps the side of your thigh "Si!" you shriek. He sets the book and study guide against the books on the shelf next to him and starts out nice and easy. You deserve the pleasure after the countless caffeine fueled study sessions.

"Let's start with vocabulary... how do you say focus?"

"Uh....  el enfoque?"

"Very good, Baby." Pedro drops to his knees and nudges your legs apart. A finger slips into your panties and pulls them aside, and with a satisfied moan, he gets close and licks a long stripe up your pussy.

A moan threatens to leave your lips, your eyes flutter upward and your lips slightly part "Pedro," you moan quietly. Pedro pulls back and looks at the study guide.

"La entrada de blog?"

"B-blog entry," you moan, knowing you got it right. He doesn't respond with affirmation that she got it right, but he does take his tongue and slowly starts to lap at your aching clit. "Fuck- Pedro you're so good at this," you whisper, your fingers finding their way to his soft brown hair, pulling him in more.

His warm hands trail up the soft skin of your thighs, tongue flicking your sensitive clit. It felt so good to feel him like this in a risky setting and it made it even more fun that he was on his knees for you. "I-I need more Pedro. Please, Mi Amor. Please," you beg, your breaths becoming shallow. Your boyfriend laughs and pulls away "Ok last one before I turn the page... comprar?"

Fuck. You look up at the ceiling and bit your lip, you had no idea but you went with what it sounded like "to compare." Pedro slowly shakes his head and those innocent eyes lowered. He takes a thick book from off the shelf and slams it on the ground next to you. You jump and pulls his hair to move him away, clenching your legs and lowering your skirt. Pedro laughed and turned his head to make sure no one was coming to find what the noise was. Your eyes flickered rapidly, checking from side to side, the heat o pleasure and embarrassment rising to your cheeks. Once the coast was clear Pedro turns to you "Don't get it wrong, Hermosa. They'll come find us," he taunts before pulling up your dress again. "Tell me you love me."

"Te amo, Pedro," you whisper, "That's not on the study guide."

"I know... I just like to hear you say it," he grumbles before pulling your panties aside and pushing in a finger into your wanting cunt. Your moans was music to his ears and he worked his finger up and down into you nice and slow.

"I'm ready for another," you pant, "I need another finger, p-please!" "Phrases. Today is Saturday."

"Hoy es sábado," you reply correctly, earning her another finger. His pointer and middle finger made a 'come here' motion inside her, brushing against her g-spot.

"Oh fuck. O-oh that feels so good." Your legs began to shake as he moved them faster. Oh God you wanted to cum so bad, the butterflies started to fill your stomach, knowing him, he would stop as soon as told him that you wanted to cum.

"You look tense... are you going to cum for me?" He pouts, his lips forming a small pout.

"Y-yes. I want to c-um...fuck! Pedro please more, more, more," you quietly squeal, your hand reaching down to cover his.

"Yo necesito un telefolo...translate and I'll fuck that pretty pussy of yours," he offered.

"I need a telephone. Now fuck me."

Pedro pulls his fingers out and quickly rises to his feet, taking a look around before his eyes lock onto your red cheeks. He chuckles lowly a takes his wet fingers and presses them to your lips "Chupar," he commands. Your lips part and allow him to fuck your mouth with your fingers like he said to do.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growls. He took his free hand and pulled out another book, a thin paperback one that looked brand new. New in the history section? It made you laugh. He slams the book, making a louder sound than you thought on the ground and you push him away.

"You didn't ask me anything," you gasp. The man chuckles and cups your breast, leaning in to place a sloppy kiss on your lips. If Pedro knew anything it was how to kiss, one kiss like the one he just gave you and you were putty in his hands. You pressed the bulge in his jeans  

"That one was just for fun," he tells you before turning you to the side. Though the books to you could see the librarians station in the distance. The girl sat with her nose in a book, completely unaware. Or so you thought until Pedro dropped another book on the ground. The smack was so loud the librarian looked up from her book and looked around her. You gasp and duck your head, blending in with the books.

Pero snickers and takes a fistful of your hair, pulling you up "Should we continue?" You moan and do your best to nod through the tight grip he had on your hair.

"¿Qué te gusta leer?"

"Do you like to read?"

"No, I'd rather fuck you in a library than read," he jokes, unbuckling his belt and letting his hard cock free. He moans at the relief and bends you over, gripping the soft flesh of your ass "Fuck. So pretty, and all mine." The tip of his cock slowly began to push inside you, and your pussy stretched around him nicely. The slight pain of his girth made you wince, an uncomfortable groan reaching his ears "¿Estás bien?"

"Si," you groan.

He lovingly rubbed your back, his cock now fully settled inside you. His moans made you smile, they were so...pretty.  "You feel so good," he moans.

"Move. Please I-I need it."

Pedro tsk's and looks down at the study guide "¿Qué hora tienes?"

"What time is it?" You answer, pushing back on his dick. He grips your hips tightly, slowly rocking his hips. "Mas. Mas, Pedro," you whisper desperately.

"Patience, Hermosa. We've got a couple of minutes before this place closes. How do say you say...f-fuck- God you feel so good," his sentence is cut off by a low growl when you clenched around his length. He couldn't resist going a little faster to build his orgasm. You smile in pride and turn to look at his pleasure etched expression. His hair pushed back and tiny beads of sweat forming at the top of his forehead. He looked so sexy like this, a blush on his cheeks and that vein in his neck popping.

"Fuck the study guide, Pedro! I want to cum," you tell him sternly. He obliges and speeds up his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping threatening to alert someone.

You moan breathlessly and let your fingernails claw at the cold metal of the bookshelf "You feel so good. O-ohh-oh fuck me, Pedro." The pads of his fingers dig into your flesh, you were bound to let small round bruises in the morning. But fuck you wanted them! Every time he left bruises after sex he made sure to kiss them in the morning and tell you he was sorry.

One of his hands snake up her chest, they were so smooth, you noticed as his large hand grips your throat. Pulling you up, your back connects with his chest. His small grunts and growls flooding your ears, you reach down to touch your clit and rub it quickly, his noises alone could make you cum.

He finds your lips and captures them with his, a sloppy dominating kiss. The position made the tip of his cock tough the right place inside you. Letting out a small gasp you whisper to him "Right there, Pedro. Right there. I-I'm going to cum."

"Cum on my cock, Princesa. Don't let them hear you." The pleasure pooled in your core, swirling around your clit until your legs went weak. A quiet, erotic moan left your lips as your orgasm washed over you. Exhausted you lean forward...too forward. Your hand extends and knocks several books off the shelf. Your wide eyes flash up to the librarian who was putting her book down to come investigate.

Pushing Pedro away you started breathing heavily "She's coming!" you tell him panicked. Pedro quickly pulled out and fumbled with his pants. There was no escape, she would catch you two as you tried to make a run for it. " Mi Amor," he calls, tossing a book in your direction. You catch it and sat down, nice and innocent of the floor, opening the book in the center. Quickly fixing your hair and wiping the sweat off of you while Pedro opened a book and leaned against the shelf, crossing his legs in such a way the obvious bulge couldn't be seen.

"Are you two ok?" The librarian asks with concern as she stood at the entrance of the aisle. Pedro looks up from his book in mock shock, he laughs and looks at the hole of missing books.

"We're fine," he says casually "I didn't want to put the book down it was really interesting. We'll pick those up and be on our way." That charming bastard.

You look at him with a knowing smile and turned the page. The librarian pushed her glasses higher on her nose and nodded her head "Have a goodnight, kids."

"We will. Thank you, Ma'am," Pedro closes the book and puts it back on the shelf, grabbing your textbook and study guide when she walked away. You stand up and put your book next to the one he put away. You lean in and press your bodies together, pouting at him.

"Do you think I'll pass?" you ask.

"Of course, your Spanish is awful but this shit's easy."

You snort "Helpful," you respond sarcastically.

"You did fine, Y/N. How about we go home and finish what we started?" He lowers his head and kisses you softly on the lips.

"The sex or studying?" you ask as you pull away.

He rolls his eyes and starts to walk away, putting his arm around you to make you go with him "Sex of course."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal au! #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine

[nrcssasblck-blog]

» BASICS

FULL NAME: Narcissa Walburga Black NICKNAME(S): Cissa, Cissy, Princess AGE: Twenty-five DATE OF BIRTH: August 8th, 1957 GENDER: Cis-female PRONOUNS: She / Her NATIONALITY: British ETHNICITY: Caucasian SEXUALITY: Heteroflexible

» APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: Margot Robbie HEIGHT: 5′7 BUILD: Slim, slender DOMINANT HAND: Right EYE COLOR: Blue HAIR COLOR: Blonde BIRTHMARKS/SCARS: Freckles atop her shoulders, a small mole on her left collarbone.

» PERSONALITY

ZODIAC: Leo MBTI TYPE: ENFP TEMPERAMENT: Choleric MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral ARCHETYPE(S): Tastemaker, Royal ELEMENT: Fire HOUSE: Slytherin; ambitious and cunning, shrewd but devious WAND: 12¾", Elm & dragon heartstring, reasonably supple PATRONUS: Lioness; individualistic and self-aware, blunt and protective AMORENTIA: Freshly baked pastries, crisp leather, cherry wine, pressed white roses in the pages of an old book, cigar smoke and whiskey +/- TRAITS: tbd

» MORE INFORMATION

RESIDENCE: Malfoy Manor OCCUPATION: Socialite SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): Lucius — tbd; Sirius — tbd; Amos — tbd; Hestia — tbd; Crouch — tbd; FAMILY: Cygnus — tbd; Druella — tbd; Andromeda — tbd; Bellatrix (npc) — tbd; 

» TIMELINE

1958: Born 1969: First year at Hogwarts 1976: Last year at Hogwarts TBD:

» HEADCANONS/BIO

ONE OF A KIND — Her sisters have always been her favorite people and she puts her family—her blood—above all else. She’s strong-willed, with a mile-long list of her own beliefs and affirmations, but she knows better than to share her ideals for a bat of her lashes and a coy smile have always gotten her much farther in life. But her mind—her thoughts, her goals, her dreams—have always been her own, no one else’s, not to be shared or judged or gawked at. They can have her words, but only what she’s willing to divulge and the rest belongs to her. 

PRIMADONNA — Her youth was spent donned in the finest clothes, littered with the most expensive things, dazzling with luxury and sophistication. To say she was spoiled would be a grave understatement for there was nothing in the world forbidden to Narcissa, and the word no was never once uttered in her direction. Can I have more? Yes. Will you buy me this? Yes. Am I the prettiest? Yes. So sweet, so tempting. So innocent, so captivating. So manipulative, so charming. She had the world wrapped around her finger, pulling it tighter and tighter whenever she pleased. She was raised a princess, given opportunities any other girl would have killed for. She grew into a lover of all things beautiful: clothes, food, people; became a master of all things elegant: Parisian travel, fine wine, satin sheets. And she did it all with a natural, wind-whipped tousle to her blonde curls, perfectly lined lips and a smile that could have surely burned Rome to the ground. The spitting image of Druella, all doe-eyed blues and champagne curls, she coasted through life on her long, sun-kissed locks and her naive smile, always drawing people near only to have them lay down at her feet. A lover of  all things posh, she keeps up with the latest trends in fashion which helps her create a quite envious sense of style. And to this day she’s Narcissa, the apple of her mother’s eye and the princess her father had always wanted; perfect in every sense of the word.

WORLD TRAVELER — At a young age, she developed quite the passion for languages, mainly those considered the languages of love: French, Italian, Spanish. She’s only mastered French, able to speak, read and write in the tongue, but her Italian is still spotty. She’s unable to read or write it, but can speak it beautifully. She’s been to each country as well, traveling to Paris for the first time at the tender age of eight where she fell madly in love with the city. And to this day, she still travels there often, begging Lucius to go along with her or even sneaking away every now and then when she needs a fresh breath of that Parisian air. Next to a quiet night at home beside her husband, Paris is her favorite place on Earth.

TOUJOURS PUR — Always pure; a mantra, a belief system, a way of life. Her family’s motto, one whispered after bedtime stories, purred among adults behind closed doors, slithered along the halls of Hogwarts. Such a thing, such a strict notion draws a line in the sand in the pretty head of a young girl, tells her who to associate with and who to avoid, lets her know who’s relevant and who isn’t, whose life matters and whose is worthless. Theirs—hers—was of the utmost relevance, their blood pure through and through, revered, worshipped as they are The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Royalty, and she a legacy, a descendant of the grandest heritage. Such a motto put her in certain social circles, gave her friends of similar backgrounds, put her in the crosshairs of boys whose families came of the same noble background. And all her life she’s been told the importance of her blood and in turn the inferiority of others’. It’s something that has been drilled into her mind since she was a child, so it was only natural for it to affect her own beliefs, her own ideas about life. Two words, both seemingly unimportant when separated, and when brought together they created an entire lifestyle, but she has never been too vocal about her prejudices mostly because she wouldn’t consider them prejudices. She wants no harm brought to those of mixed families, wishes no ill will upon mudbloods, but it is of her opinion that blood should be toujours pur.

ENCHANTRESS — In her youth, she enjoyed toying with the numerous men vying for her affection, always flirting her way through her social circle, not really looking for love but enjoying the occasional dalliance with a cute boy, that is, until she met Lucius though she did make him work for it. She’s never been a hopeless romantic, preferring attention-seeking dramatics and all-consuming passion over standard and boring and wholly ordinary trysts. She wants to be adored, and despite her current icy exterior today, she still demands a certain level of affection and this will never change for her ego was far too inflated as a young girl.

IRREPLACEABLE — She isn’t terribly sentimental save for just a few things. A golden ring in the shape of a slithering snake gifted to her by Lucius upon their first anniversary. It has made a home on the middle finger of her right hand and she hasn’t taken it off since the day he gave it to her. A silver sweeping necklace with a pink stone pendant cut in half of which the other half belongs to Andromeda. It is one of, if not the most precious thing she owns, given to her by her sister on her eleventh birthday, and she hadn’t taken it off since. But since her betrayal and subsequent shunning, it now remains in the jewelry box atop her vanity for safekeeping and she has never been able to part with it.

LIKES & DISLIKES — Silk dresses, fur coats, diamonds, fresh morning snow, pink champagne, stilettos, summer thunderstorms, french croissants, white roses, lace lingerie, menthol cigarettes, Chanel perfume and bubble baths are just a few of Narcissa’s favorite things. She detests mediocrity, liars, muggles, traitors, dark chocolate, white wine, waking up early, sleeping on anything but satin sheets, spending extended amounts of time outdoors and mudbloods.

TRUE LOVE — Her wedding was a grand affair, something out of a muggle magazine, a ten-page spread of glitter and glitz and glamour. Her dress was designer, fitting her like a glove. Her ring was enormous, the envy of every one of her friends. And her man was more handsome than any other. It was perfect; he was perfect, and though she’d be loathe to admit it to anyone but herself, she knew from the moment they’d first kissed that he would be her last. Though deeply in love, marrying a Malfoy came with certain expectations, numerous advantages and tremendous hardships. But in true Narcissa fashion, she navigated such uncharted waters with the poise and grace only a Black could have, taking on the merger of two noble families with the decorum of a princess turned serpentine queen. And oh, how easily she slid into this life, that of wife. Half trophy, half snake, she wore the title of Malfoy with pride, a badge of gory honor upon her chest. And though Black still coursed through her veins, she adapted far better than expected. She slithered her way around Lucius, holding the forbidden fruit in the palm of her hand, but it had been her who accepted the offer of intertwining not just their lives, but their souls, too. Equals in more ways than one, respectful in all aspects of their love—a romance she would have died for, killed for. A passionate, all-consuming kind of love that stops your breath and cinches your heart. No longer a girl, but a woman as strong-willed as the day she drew her first breath, a woman in love with a beast of man, but perhaps she’s become a beast, too.

DARK LORD — She’s never bore the dark mark, never lived to serve the evil deity that calls himself Voldemort—the Dark Lord, as Lucius calls him—and it isn’t because she doesn’t believe in the same ideals. She’s always been a purist at heart, truly believing crossing blood was a disgusting venture, abhorrent in every sense of the word, and it is this very reason she no longer speaks to Andromeda. It is such a strong belief that she’s cut off her own sister, tore flesh from flesh and renounced all relation to someone she’d idolized all her childhood. Her husband believes in these ideals so much that he’s willing to put himself in danger just to appease whom Narcissa would consider a madman with an even more demented band of cultish followers. And she’d have been a fool not to support Lucius. He’s of good social standing, handsome—a good jawline; he’ll pass that onto their sons someday—and most importantly, he adored her, and she him. But each time Lucius leaves the house, she’s terrified of what will happen, of what’s to come. And if they were to bring a child into this world, she has no idea if it would even be safe. What was supposed to be a happy and fruitful decision to bring life into the world has instead come to a screeching halt and part of her resents Lucius for prioritizing the rhetoric of a maniac over her, for doing the bidding of a psychopath. The ideals are what matter, she thinks. Not the bloodshed.

I WANT—I NEED YOU TO LIVE — As the years have passed, she’s aged with elegance, privilege still radiating from her every step, magnified tenfold with a charming flip to her curls coupled with that sweet aphroditic smile. She met, fell in love with and married the perfect boy, though as she stares at him from across the dining room table, she’d consider him a man now. Her life is a dream, save for the nights Lucius comes home beaten to a bloody pulp, ribs cracked, lips swollen. But what’s worse are the nights he doesn’t come home at all. Those are the nights she paces back and forth in the living room sipping wine and smoking one cigarette after the other, panic overwhelming all her senses. She simply cannot condone the extremism, the senseless violence and calamities this association to the Death Eaters brings. It bleeds into her daily life, takes over her every waking thought and the idea of this continuing is unbearable.

PRINCESS vs. QUEEN

I. “Primadonna girl, yeah, all I ever wanted was the world.” She floated through young adulthood like a beautiful, jasmine-scented mirage, a fever dream of pink mist and long golden curls.  Those who knew her loved her, and she would have accepted nothing less than your devotion. She surrounded herself with like-minded individuals—like-blooded—and only chose the best of friends to call her own. Adored by all, but understood by none and yet envied by everyone. Men wanted her, most of whom she indulged but only just, stringing them along and thinking very little of them. Girls wanted to be her, most of whom she paid no attention to, never really deeming their lives worth much or any of them worthy of her precious attention. A princess in all aspects. A radiant reminder of the perfection that went hand in hand with being a Black. An ethereal, utterly irresistible creature who knew just how to get what she wanted.

II. “I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.” Melancholy, the air is thick with it. It hangs over them, a looming presence, a terrible reminder of another war brewing, and she can feel it in her bones—the death, the destruction. By her husband’s hands, by her own if anything were to happen to him. Lips normally curved into a knowing smile, as if she had a salacious secret on the tip of her tongue have now fallen into a sullen, straight line. Eyes usually alight with the possibilities of tomorrow, adventure just around the corner have now hardened, no longer filled with joy, only anguish and darkened by sorrow. The high walls encasing her heart have frozen solid, turned cheeks so rosy into icy alabaster and she fears things will never be the same.

LITTLE KNOWN FACTS

01. Bellatrix has called her Cissy for as long as she can remember. 02. She never really wanted to go to Hogwarts, always harboring dreams of venturing to Beauxbatons instead mostly because of her love of France. 03. Loves the color pink. 04. Sirius was her favorite cousin when she was younger and his betrayal hit her hard, perhaps even more so than Andromeda’s. 05. She’s her parents favorite, still relishing in this fact to this day. 06. Her boggart is quite traumatizing and is the theme of most of her nightmares; her family’s lifeless bodies staring up at her, Lucius included and there is nothing she could do to stop it, nothing she could do to save them. 07. Began dating Lucius in her final year at Hogwarts; they were married a few years later. 08. On her 11th birthday, Andromeda gifted her a silver necklace with a pink stone cut in half. She wore it until the day her sister betrayed their family. 09. Enjoys old black and white muggle films; Casablanca is her favorite, but she doesn’t share such an obsession as it would hurt her carefully constructed reputation to enjoy something so frivolous and human. 10. She’s scared to start a family because of all the dangers surrounding her and her loved ones as of late, but often dreams of giving Lucius a son though she’d secretly hope for a daughter to call her own. 11. Strengths: creative, passionate, generous, alluring. 12. Weaknesses: arrogant, stubborn, selfish, narcissistic.01 Bellatrix has called her Cissy for as long as she can remember; Lucius picked up on the nickname as well and uses it often. 

#❥ narcissa — biography