#hot irishman

[denimbex1986]

'He starred in one of the year’s most profoundly moving films, All of Us Strangers, and won praise for bringing Uncle Vanya to the London stage. Now Andrew Scott continues an impressive run of work by giving audiences a fresh take on one of the most iconic characters of them all.

Since US novelist Patricia Highsmith first brought Tom Ripley to life in a series of novels, the shrewd criminal and con-artist has enthralled readers and audiences alike.

Over the years, actors including Alain Delon, John Malkovich and Matt Damon have brought Ripley to the screen. Now the Dublin actor takes a deep dive into Ripley in a new series for Netflix - and characteristically makes the role his own. Not only does Scott take on an American accent for the role - impressively, he learned to speak Italian to play the character, who moves to the Mediterranean in the late 1950s.

“I had a wonderful Italian teacher and learned it for three or four months before we started just so you could understand it. It's a beautiful language to speak. And then of course, when you're around it, you become more interested in it," says Scott.

“It's one of the things you have to get used to a little bit as an actor - you've got to become really adept at something for a particular period, and then you have to move on to something else. I love that about acting, actually. But I'll try to keep it, I'm going to go back to Italy this year.”

Scott has given us a Ripley for the ages in the suspenseful series. It’s written and directed by Steven Zaillian, whose previous screenwriting credits include Schindler’s List, The Irishman and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

Zaillian brings Hitchcockian levels of tension to the storytelling, shot in black and white and striking in its attention to detail.

“It's the most extraordinary character and we spend so much time inside his mind and inside his world,” says Scott of taking on Ripley. “I think that's what's remarkable about it. Sometimes in a television series where there's eight hours of this, it might be about a couple, or a police department, or a family, or a hospital. This is really based on one person. We spend so much time with this guy, the character's in 95% of the eight hours, that's an awful lot of time to spend with one character.

“And so the challenge of it is to not blot the copybook too much in relation to how wonderful the mystery of the man is, as well as what we do know about him, which is that he is an enduring character that people love. But I think the questions about him, and his mysteriousness and his secretiveness, are a reason that he's so fascinating to play.”

Understandably, he opted not to watch other performances depicting Tom Ripley, though he had seen Alain Delon in Purple Noon and Matt Damon in The Talented Mr Ripley years previously.

“I love both those versions for different reasons. It's happened before in relation to Shakespearean characters, you think: ‘Oh, I don't want to see that’. You want to be able to put your own stamp on it.

“I was very lucky because I received the full eight hours of scripts, a big pile of scripts to read, which is very unusual for an actor. You usually get maybe one or two episodes. I had the whole thing mapped out and I knew immediately how extraordinarily written they were and sparsely written.

“I love the film noir-ish element to it. It's absolutely exquisite to look at and I love the opaqueness of playing this character. It felt like a real departure for me.”

The series was shot in New York and various glamorous locations throughout Italy including Rome, Capri, the Amalfi Coast and Palermo, as Scott’s Tom Ripley travels to Europe to seek out an old acquaintance, the wealthy and privileged Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn).

As a boy, a shy Scott took up acting classes and quickly fell in love with the craft - playing the Tin Man in one of his first ever performances.

Years later, he went on to star in several Irish dramas including Jimmy’s Hall and Handsome Devil. He gave us the villainous Moriarty in a TV adaptation of Sherlock and the legendary ‘hot priest’ in Fleabag.

“I think we all as human beings want to do something that's of use to other people,” he says of his career. “You want to do something that's useful in the world. I suppose I appreciate more now, how much this can be of use to people, and how it genuinely helps.

“I do feel like I try to force myself sometimes into appreciating that what I do can be of use to people and it's not a frivolous thing, because I know that actors and artists of all different persuasions have really helped me.”

There have been many memorable screen performances from the Irish actor, but theatre is at the very heart of what he does, and his recent successes include an award-winning run of Vanya, which also screened widely in cinemas.

“It's just like injecting the atmosphere straight into your veins,” he says of live performance. “You don't wait around - you're the chief artist, if I'm honest, as an actor. In the theatre, you're in charge.

“If the audience is getting bored, it's your job to pick the pace up, it's your job to be sort of all seeing, and there's nothing like that. If you don't exercise those muscles, you lose them and I don't want to lose them. I find it just the purest form of storytelling. Vanya was exhilarating, and exhausting, and all the things.”

Scott brought audiences one of the finest screen performances of the year in All of Us Strangers, which audiences are falling in love with on streaming services following its successful cinema run. He and his friend and co-star Paul Mescal entertained fans with their banter while publicising the film.

“It's been extraordinary,” says Scott of the film’s reception. “I’m still processing that actually, how affecting the film was for people. I suppose I understand for my own personal reasons more now why it affected people so much.

“I did that project with people that I really love - Paul especially. And when we brought it back to Ireland it was completely magical for both of us. It was very, very special. I'm very grateful to have just been part of it, not just the film, but the process and the reception and everything about it.”

Ripley comes to Netflix from Thursday, April 4. www.netflix.com/Ripley.'

#Andrew Scott #Netflix #Ripley #Paul Mescal #All of Us Strangers #The Talented Mr Ripley #Patricia Highsmith #Steven Zaillian #Alain Delon #John Malkovich #Uncle Vanya #Vanya #West End #The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo #Schindler's List #The Irishman #Rome #Capri #Amalfi Coast #Purple Noon #Matt Damon #Palermo #Jimmy's Hall #Moriarty #Sherlock #Handsome Devil #Fleabag #Hot Priest #Dickie Greenleaf #Johnny Flynn

[spicedddrum]

started watching taskmaster series 7 again cuz a coworker reminded james acasters in it but i stayed cuz rhod gilberts unhinged and im in love with him

#the way he lays face down to think #amazing #hot old unhinged irishman

[absurdthirst]

The Irish Escape {Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.9k

Warnings: Rudeness, Pero being an asshole, prejudice against Americans, hypothermia, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, rough sex

Comments: Freshly arrived in Ireland to visit the cottage your estranged grandmother has willed you, you run into a rude Spaniard. Unsure of why he hates Americans and why you seemingly can't stop running into him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s raining when you arrive in Dingle, County Kerry. You curse your suitcase as you try to drag it along the garden path that leads up to the small cottage known as Fairy Lodge. You fumble to find the key under the mat and work quickly to unlock the door, shivering as you step into the entrance, dragging your case behind you. You shut the door and shrug off your coat, wiping your boots on the mat. The cottage - tiny and cute - was left to you by your grandmother. She recently passed but you hadn’t seen her since you were ten after she decided to follow her dream and buy a house in Ireland. She left it to you in her will with the note, “always follow your dreams” and you decided to take a vacation and check the place out. It’s beautiful, even in the rain, and you are looking forward to exploring the area your grandma loved so much. After drying off and opening up the cottage. It’s quaint in the best way and you check the cupboards to find nothing, not even a pack of cookies. With a sigh, you look out of the window to find the rain has stopped so you put your coat on and make your way out onto the damp streets. You aren’t sure where to go but you googled a small pub nearby so you make your way over to it, hungry and desperate for a drink after traveling.

“Come on, mate.” William rolls his eyes and shakes his head, putting his pint down to slap his friend on his shoulder. “You should stay and drink. The rain’s gonna start again and it’s not like you can work.” He chuckles, imagining how much the Spaniard would curse working out in the rain. When Pero had shown up at his door nearly a year ago, angry and adrift with no plan for his life, he had taken in his old friend. Let him live with him until he had purchased a cottage down the road from the Garin farm. “Nothin’ better to do than drink.” Pero grumbles, shaking his head as he stands up, pushing his chair back. “No.” He huffs, pulling his coat off the back of the chair and shrugging into it before jamming his flat billed hat onto his head. “I’m not paying for your beers.” He glares at the Irishman, knowing that if he stays, he will be left paying the tab. He turns and strides towards the door, not noticing the woman turning away from the counter with a hot coffee in her hands. 

You gasp as the man knocks into you and your coffee spills over his front, soaking his jeans, and you immediately bounce back. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I- shit.” You place the cup down on the counter and you reach for the napkins, turning back to try and help the man mop up the mess you made of him.

The accent makes him immediately seeth in rage, barely even paying attention to your remorseful expression as you shove the napkins at his crotch. Pero slaps your hands away, hissing at the heat of the coffee. “Fucking Americans.” He spits, shooting you a deadly glare. “Ruining fucking everything.” Shoving past you, he slams out of the door and out of sight. 

Your jaw drops and you stare at the door as he swings on the hinges. You can’t believe what he spat at you and you turn to look at the men gathered around the bar. “I- I didn’t see him behind me.” You choke and the blonde man shakes his head, “don’t mind the miserable Spanish bastard. He’s just not a fan of Yankees at the moment.” He chuckles and gulps down the rest of his pint. “Not your fault, lass.” He tells you and you sigh, “he made that crystal clear.” 

The bartender shakes his head, “Garin, that Spanish git needs to apologize to the lady.” 

William scoffs, “you tell him that.” 

You huff, “doesn’t matter. Can I get another cup?” You ask the bartender who nods. You sigh as you finally sit down in the corner, your annoyance at the rude Spaniard fading as you relax.

William decides that he needs to make up for his friend’s rude behavior. He stands up and groans, carrying his pint back to the bar for a refill. He nods to the bartender and slides it down to where he’s pouring you another coffee. “So.” He leans against the rubbed worn wood and shoots you what he knows is a charming grin. “Tourin’ Ireland, are ya?” He asks, making his accent slightly thicker. “Passin’ through, or will ya be stayin’ awhile?” 

“Actually, I - my grandma had a cottage down the road. Fairy Lodge? She left it to me after she recently died and I needed to get away so I came to check on the house.” You explain.

William nods, “oh that tiny little place on the corner? I remember the old lady who owned it.” He nods, “sweet old gal.” He takes the pint from the bartender and comes over, sitting down opposite you. “How long you plannin’ on being here?” He asks you and you shrug, “not sure. I can work remotely so I’ll probably be here a couple of weeks before I head home. I’m going to put the home on the market. I won’t be able to get out here to maintain the home so I think I’ll sell it.” You confess, setting your mug down.

“Oh, you should stay awhile for sure.” William advises. “Make sure the land doesn’t grow on you.” He has to admit, having a younger, attractive woman in the village would be a good thing. But he also doesn’t want the home sold to someone who would not respect the land, or the people. He can’t imagine your granny raising anyone who would disrespect the lady she had adopted as her own. “Besides, ye can always ask your neighbor to check on things. We take care of each other ‘round here.”

You offer him a soft smile, “yeah…except for ‘fucking Americans’” You scoff softly as you quote his companion. 

William shakes his head, “ignore Tovar. He’s a grumpy fucker.” 

You tap your fingers against the mug, “well, he clearly doesn’t like Americans so maybe it’s best that I sell up.” You hum and William sighs, “well, see how ya feel. You might turn out to love it here. I know I do. I served in Iraq and all I wanted to do was come home.” He confesses and you smile again, “it is a beautiful place. I’ll see how things go.”

He nods, reaching for the beer that has been put in front of him. “Well, if you’re needing anything, I’m at the Garin farm. Ask anyone and they’ll point you in my direction.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” You offer William a smile and he makes his way back over to his friends. You settle in to continue reading your book and you thank the landlady for your meal as she brings it over to you. You eat and thankfully the rain has stopped when you decide to make your way back to Fairy Lodge. Tomorrow, you’ll get some groceries but for now, you’re exhausted. You quickly get ready for bed and settle in, falling asleep within minutes.

The next morning, Pero grumbles to himself as he walks up the lane towards the village. Needing some groceries, he wants to see if old man Sawyer had gotten in those wines that he had asked for. It was hard to make some of his dishes without the Spanish wines and he was looking forward to getting them.

You carry your basket around the small grocery store and you gasp when you walk around the corner to see the asshole from last night nearly walk into you again. "Do you make a habit of walking into people?" He growls and you huff, "only rude bastards who don't notice anyone in their peripheral." You hiss back, stomach twisting with annoyance at the man.

He purses his lips at you and narrows his eyes. “What’s an American like you doing in a grocery store like this?” He demands, annoyed that your mere presence makes him feel guilty for yesterday and it just irritates him more. “They don’t have all the fancy shit you would want here. Best go to Dublin and take your demanding, childish ways with you.” 

You narrow your eyes and grip the basket in your hand a little tighter. "Listen, I don't know what the fuck I did to you yesterday that makes you act like a rude prick but I accidentally spilled my coffee over you and you act like I just pissed in your cornflakes. I am here because my grandma left me her house so you'll be seeing more of me around the village. Get used to it, asshole." You growl, spinning on your heel to find the ground coffee.

The news that you will be here even longer than he would like puts Pero in a mood. “Hijo de puta.” He spits, his own basket handle nearly broken as he grips it tight in his fist. The last thing he needs is some stuck up, American bitch hanging around and causing trouble. Old man Sawyer comes into view and he stomps over to him to see if the wine came in. 

You don’t notice the man has left when you go to pay for your groceries and the old man starts to ring everything up. “I noticed there’s a bit of tension between you and Tovar.” He says softly and looks up at you. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in a small town - the gossiping and everyone knowing each other - but you sigh, holding your wallet. “I accidentally spilled my coffee over him in the pub last night and he seems to hate me without even knowing my name.” You huff, “I’m not the kind of woman that’s gonna bow over and beg for forgiveness when I already apologized.” You explain and Sawyer nods, “he’s a grumpy git. He, uh, has had a lot going on from what I have heard.” You snort, “haven’t we all? Still not enough of a reason for him to be a prick.” You say and Sawyer chuckles, “you’re fiery. You’ll fit in just fine around here.” He winks and hands you your change. “Thanks.” You say and make your way back to Fairy Lodge, wondering what happened to make Tovar such an asshole.

Pero is passing by the gate to William’s house, his own groceries in a bag on his arm and lost in his thoughts when his friend calls out to him. “Missed a bit of gossip after pouting off into the night.” He looks over at where William is pushing his best sheep, Nell, out of the way and walking towards the stone wall. He rolls his eyes. 

“What, did she manage to spill a beer on you?” He huffs, smirking slightly in amusement at the idea. 

“No, but she did tell me that she’s going to be in town.” 

His smirk slides away and he scowls. “Sí, I know that.” He grumbles, sighing as he walks off the road and towards the wall to talk. The lane was narrow and lorries love to careen around the corners recklessly. 

“How did you find out?” William is grinning, about to tease Pero for being interested in the American. “She nearly ran me over in Sawyer’s.” He snorts. “Woman - women - are menaces. Especially stuck-up, American bitches.” 

“Now mate, you and I both know that’s not fair. She’s not your ex wife.” William shakes his head, “not all Americans are stuck up bitches…or cheaters.” He raises his eyebrows at his Spanish friend who came to him years ago after finding his wife in bed with their neighbor. “Besides, you always told me you wanted to move from Seville. Said you felt trapped. So you came here to bother my ass.”

“I can always kill you so you aren’t bothered anymore.” Pero threatens, only making William laugh. He knows the Spaniard won’t actually kill him and therein lies the problem. They had been in the military together, serving on the same military bases in Iraq and somehow had become friends. Or as close to friends as Pero could have. Knowing the Irishman wouldn’t pity him like so many he had known would, he had decided to sulk in the Irishman’s home village and ended up staying. “She’s just like her.” He predicts. “All pretty smiles and batting eyelashes to get her way and then she shoves the knife in your ribs. She’ll sell the cottage to some developer who will want to put some god awful monstrosity where her granny’s cottage is. Only hope it's far away from my own.” 

William snorts, “she doesn’t seem money hungry to me, mate. She’s not like her. From what you’ve told me, she was charming and drew you in with a fake personality. This one seems real. She doesn’t seem to be faking anything.” William observes, “she’s not your ex wife. She just happens to be American.”

Pero rolls his eyes, knowing that William won’t understand. He’s not been betrayed like he has and had his heart ripped out. Even more to find that the baby she had just told him about wasn’t his. She had just been planning on using him. “I’ve got better things to do than to argue with you, amigo.” He grumbles, pushing away from the wall and walking towards the road. 

“All I’m saying is to just give her a chance.” William shouts at Pero’s retreating form and he sighs, looking down at Nell. “He really is a stubborn bastard.” 

**** 

You decide to spend the day in the cottage, checking out things that your grandma left here and cleaning it up. You look through the photos she left there of your family. You haven’t seen her for years but she had an album of photos your parents must have sent her over the years. You caress the book, wishing you’d known her more and you wonder why she left you the cottage. She didn’t even leave you a note in her will when you got the keys.

There’s movement in the Fairy Cottage. Pero had noticed it when he was moving some more kindling under the lean-to on the back of the cottage. The sweet older lady that had lived there had been an American, but he hadn’t held it against the feisty old woman. A light comes on and he narrows his eyes in anger. People need to respect that a house is empty without molesting it. He grabs the crowbar he had been pulling old boards off the interior walls to redo. Ready to go confront the thief and make sure they don’t walk away with anything. 

You hear the back door open with a creak and you inhale sharply, unable to believe that someone is breaking into the tiny cottage in the tiny village that you believed was as safe as could be. Everyone knows each other for fucks sake. You pick up the nearest thing - a book - and make your way down the stairs to confront the invader. When you get to the bottom step, you see the shadow and throw the book, a scream escaping your lips.

Pero curses when the book comes out of nowhere and hits him on the head. Turning and swinging the crowbar threateningly. “You had better make your peace with God if you think you are stealing anything from this house!” He shouts, lunging forward to grab the criminal who has broken into the cottage. “Got you!” 

You scream as he grabs the back of your sweater and you try to hit him. “Get the fuck off of me!” You tell, slapping anywhere you can reach. “Get off!”

He drops the crowbar just as soon as he hears that accent, immediately aware that he has a woman and despite everything, he couldn’t hurt one. “Ow! Ow!” He yelps, throwing his arm up to block the jarringly accurate slaps as they strike his skin. “Stop your hitting, woman!” He growls, finally grabbing your arm so you can stop slapping his face. 

You can’t believe it’s him. “Oh my God, it’s you. You bastard!” You growl, trying to wrench your arm from his grip. “What the hell are you breaking into my cottage?” You demand to know, “what the fuck, Tovar?”

He would be surprised you know his name, but that bastard William has a big mouth. “Your cottage?” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know it was your cottage. The old gal that lived here died just two months….” He trails off, remembering you had said you inherited a cottage from your grandmother. That sweet old woman was your granny? He lets go of your arm and grunts. “Thought you were a thief.” He tells you. “Wanted to run them off before they could steal anything.” 

You are slightly touched that he’d put himself in danger to protect your grandmother’s cottage but you are also annoyed that he broke in without any warning. “Well, it’s just me. Although I’m surprised you didn’t take the opportunity to whack me.” You scoff as he lets go of your arm and you reach up to rub it. 

He snorts, bending down to pick up the crowbar and glares at you. Hating that it was you that he had run into again. No doubt you will be telling everyone what a fool he is, or perhaps calling the police on him for entering your cottage. “Might should have.” He grunts at you. “How do I know you even own this property?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at you again. “Wouldn’t be the first con artist American I’ve run into.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “Wow. You’re a grade A prick.” You scoff, “my grandma left it for me and you - I don’t have to explain anything to you.” You huff, staring at him and you get a proper look at him for the first time. He’s handsome, even with that scar on his eye, and you hate that he’s handsome. “Did you, uh, did you know my grandma well?” You ask softly after a moment. The curiosity gets the better of you.

Pero stares at you for a moment before nodding. “I fixed her roof the first year she was here.” He tells you. “Delivered her peat moss to burn and made sure that she was okay when bad weather rolled in.” He rocks his jaw, having to admit to himself that he could see the family resemblance and thinks that he had seen a picture of you when you were younger. “I-” he swallows. “I’m the one who- who found her.” Sadness fills his eyes as he remembers that day. At least she had passed peacefully in her sleep. 

You inhale sharply, tears stinging in your eyes for the grandmother you didn’t get to know properly. “I- I hadn’t seen her since I was ten. My parents divorced and my mom…she didn’t let my dad take me to see her when she moved here. I- I wish I could’ve known her better.” You sigh, stepping back from Tovar. “Anyway…you must be sick of me by now. The ironic thing is you don’t even know my name.”

Pero recalls the stories she had told him about her family, producing your name with an ease that startled him. “She talked about you.” He tells you. “Never stopped loving you and talking about when you were young.” The least he can do is not let you think the old woman didn’t care about you. “Maybe that’s why she left you the cottage.” He offers. 

You nod, biting your lip as tears sting in your eyes when you think about your grandmother. “Thanks for telling me that.” You say, sniffing as you try to not cry. “I - I appreciate it. Do you, uh, I really am sorry about spilling my coffee over you.”

He can’t snap at you when your eyes are watering and you look like you are about to cry. “Don’t worry about it.” He tells you. “I’m sorry for breaking into your cottage.” He tells you as he shuffles uncomfortably. He’s never been good at apologies, but he owes you that. “I’ll leave you to your day then.” He tells you. 

You nod, uncrossing your arms as you escort Pero to the back door. “That - I’ll fix that.” You say, not even sure of where to start to fix the door he had broken when trying to protect the cottage from faux thieves.

Shaking his head, he opens the door and bends down to examine it. “I’ll have the door fixed in an hour.” He tells you. “Need to go get some things from my tool shed and I’ll have it sturdier than it’s ever been.” He looks up and shrugs. “My fault anyway.” 

You accept his offer, knowing you won’t be able to fix the door, especially not tonight, so you let him go grab his tool box and when he comes back, you’re preparing some tea. “You want some tea?” You ask, knowing the nights are turning colder here.

“Do you know how to make it?” He asks seriously. “American tea is very sweet….and cold.” He grimaces, remembering when his ex would try to make tea and he had to drink it in order to make her happy. He had hated it. 

You chuckle, “I can make hot tea. Iced tea is for hot days. Or I can make some coffee?” You offer, not sure what he wants and you wonder when he had iced tea. It’s not something you’ve encountered so far in Ireland.

“Hot tea.” Pero nods. “I don’t understand how someone drinks tea that is thick like syrup.” He chuckles and then thinks to add, “thank you. I’ll get your door fixed, I’ve got another one that will fit.” He promises, opening the door and examining the frame. He had been about to replace his own door but he could always go get another one. 

You nod, getting to work on boiling the water on the stove. Your hatred of Pero fades a little since you’ve managed to talk to him and you still don’t understand his apparent dislike of anyone and anything American. When he comes back, you are a little chilly and you pour the brewed tea. “Do you like milk or no?” You ask, wondering how the Spaniard likes his tea.

His nose curls and he shakes his head. “No milk.” He insists. “I cannot have it.” His sensitive stomach was something that made William laugh but milk curdled on him. It was not pleasant and he didn’t want to risk it. “Please.” He adds when he remembers that manners are important to Americans.

You nod, setting the cup of tea down on the kitchen counter for him. "It's not poisoned." You tease, "although it was tempting." Tovar scoffs and picks up the cup, taking a sip. "So...what brought you to Ireland?" You ask, curious and nosey despite knowing you risk him shutting down on you.

“My friend.” He shrugs, looking down at the cup and then back up at you. “You can actually make a cup of tea that's not shit.” He grunts, knowing that is a compliment from him. “He lived here and I wanted a change so I came and decided to stay.” 

You don't push him, sensing there's more to it and you don't want to risk your newfound ceasefire. "Fair enough. I wanted a change too." You confess and lean against the counter with your cup. "I got tired of the hustle bustle living in the city...it was exhausting."

“You won’t find that here.” Pero promises, pulling his hammer out to start prying the broken piece of wood off the frame. “Unless you count when Garvin’s sheep get out and run amok in your vegetable garden.” He snorts. “Nell, his favorite, never fails to end up walking into the pub like she’s gonna order a pint.” 

You chuckle, "she sounds like a riot." Pero snorts, "a handful." You watch him work, his broad back muscles moving and you bite your lip, suddenly attracted to him. He's been an asshole but you think he's sexy in a mysterious asshole way. "You like it here." You observe, a statement more than a question.

“It’s quiet.” He shrugs slightly, not willing to admit that he’s found more peace here than he had when he returned to his ‘home’ in Spain. “I like quiet. Most are bored to death by it, but there's a tranquility in a slower pace of life.” 

"Sounds like a little piece of heaven." You sigh, cradling the cup of tea in your palms. "Quiet is underrated. People want to live fast but I want to stop and smell the roses...take my time with life. Sorry...too many goddamn cliches." You scoff at yourself.

“People say that, but then they get pissed when there’s no new clubs to go to or activities that aren’t for ‘old people’.” He rolls his eyes and grunts as he measures the wood. “I should go get a piece to replace this and grab that door.” 

You nod, “sure.” You don’t question him anymore or ask anymore questions, deciding to focus on starting a fire to ward off the chilly fall air especially since the door is open. You’re bending over the fireplace when Pero comes back in but you don’t hear him as you remain bent over as you poke the kindling.

Pero frowns, watching you poke at the fire. “You-” He huffs and sets the wood down and walks over to the fireplace. “You’re smothering the fire.” He tells you, taking the poker out of your hand. “It’s not like a wood fire. Peat is finicky, but it burns longer.” 

You want to roll your eyes at him as he tries to tell you how to start the fire. Tired of men explaining shit to you at work, you stand up and let him take over with a huff. “I know how to start a fire. Did it enough times back home. God, you really can’t let people make mistakes, can you?” You ask, confused about why he’s so critical all the time.

Pero snorts and shakes his head. “If you want your cottage to be full of smoke, be my guest.” He snarks back at you, waiting to see if you will take over again. When you don’t, he kneels down and reaches into the fireplace. Pulling out the kindling and the hunks of peat to restack them and pulling his lighter out of his pocket. 

You watch him with intrigue, noticing his strong jawline as he clenches his jaw in concentration. You observe what he does and you take notes for when you start another fire. The hearth is soon full of warmth and Tovar stands up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Thank you.” You tell him, placing your hand on his arm, “sorry I- I’m not good at not being good at things.” You admit softly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He huffs out a small laugh. “Took your grandmother nearly a month of freezing to accept my offer to help her with the chimney.” He has to admit that you seem like you are self-sufficient. Strong-willed. 

You chuckle, “she was stubborn. My dad got that from her. Guess I did too.” You sigh and bite your lip as you lower your hand from his arm. “It’s too damn cold to mess around being that stubborn.” You confess, “even I can admit that.”

“Well, the new door will keep out the wind better and with a good peat fire, your cottage will be nice and cozy.” He promises. “Irish winters aren’t warm, but there is a beauty to them.”

“So I’ve heard. I’m not sure if I’ll be here long enough to see its full beauty. I haven’t decided what I’m gonna do.” You confess and cross your arms, watching as Tovar continues working on the door. “You’re from Spain?” You guess from his accent.

“Sí.” He frowns as he fits the wood in and marks it with the pencil he tucked behind his ear to trim a small sliver off. He grabs his hacksaw and looks up at you. “Seville originally.”

“I’ve never been to Spain. I’ve heard it’s gorgeous. And I think they used Seville for some Game of Thrones locations. There’s so many places I haven’t been that I want to go to.” You sigh, leaning back against the counter. “You must’ve been a lot of places, having such easy access to Europe.”

“It is not hard to travel.” He admits. “But your country is larger than all of Europe combined.” He had been amazed when he had come over to meet his ex’s family. “The flights are short if you want to go on a holiday.”

You shrug, “and expensive as hell. Two hundred bucks average for a flight to another state and nothing as old as what Europe has to offer. I am thinking I might travel to Germany or Austria. Check out the Christmas markets.” You admit, “I miss home but I needed a change.”

“Sounds like more than an inherited house brings you over the pond.” Pero finishes cutting the piece and fits it back into the frame, grunting happily when it fits snugly. He nails it in place as he waits for you to answer him.

You sigh, “I wasn’t happy. I was working twelve hour days. Going on endless first and second dates but couldn’t find a man ready to commit. I was working hard to pay my rent but had nothing left to enjoy myself and I- I got sick of the rat race. I needed to leave the city before it killed me. That kind of life…it gets to you eventually. The loneliness.” You mutter, glancing over at the fire.

He snorts, having no problem being alone himself, but that was after the betrayal. Before then, he had imagined spending the rest of his life with his ex. “If you're alone, only you can disappoint yourself.” He tells you, knocking the last nail in place and starting to take the door off the hinges.

You sense there’s more to his words than he’s letting on but you ignore it, sipping your tea while he works on the door. It doesn’t take him long to get the new one swinging and he adjusts the lock. “There you go, señorita. A new door.” He announces and you snort, “least you could do since you’re the one who tore it off its hinges.”

“It was a shit door.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck before he bends down and picks up his tool box. “Next time I’ll knock to scare away potential thieves.” He tells you before he nods. “Thanks for the tea.” He murmurs before stepping out and closing the door behind him. He had lost a few hours of work fixing your door and now he needs to get back to it.

You huff as he shuts the door behind him, not even saying goodbye and you glance over at the fire. Just when you thought he could be a decent person to talk to, he shuts up again. “Whatever.” You mutter to yourself and get ready to settle in on the sofa to read before you go to bed. You’re not here to be friends with Tovar. You’re here to find yourself.

****

Over the next few days, Pero keeps busy. His home is still a work in progress, the addition done poorly so he’s having to redo a lot of it. Helping William out on his farm when he needs. Keeping busy and keeping his mind off the neighbor. Sure, he’s checked on the cottage when he’s outside or looking out those windows, but he doesn’t make any effort to speak to you again, knowing that you’re nothing but trouble. 

Your days are filled with exploring the village and then working remotely in the afternoon. You’ve actually never felt so at peace. You don’t see Tovar, which is a blessing in disguise. The man still rubs you the wrong way but you find yourself thinking about those brown eyes…even when they are narrowed in hatred towards you. You close your laptop, glancing out at the beautiful sky. It’s cloudy today but still gorgeous so you decide to go for a walk, explore the area some more. After putting on your boots and coat, you lock up the cottage and get started on your exploration.

Pero grumbles at the sky, loading his truck to go help William with the roof of his barn. Wanting to get it done before the rains came again. He gets behind the wheel and starts down the road towards his farm. Traveling about a mile before he sees a figure walking along the wrong side of the road. He scoffs and shakes his head, knowing exactly who it is. Slowing down, he rolls down his window and sticks his head out. “You’re gonna get wet.” He shouts. “Go home.”

You turn your head to see Tovar and you shake your head, looking up at the sky. “Only woman to get wet around you in a while, huh?” You tease with a smirk and he huffs, gripping the steering wheel. “Fine. If you want to get rained on.” You nod, “all part of the experience.” You tell him, “the Irish way of life.”

Pero snorts. “Crazy Americans.” He huffs, handing his hand out the window as he drives past you. You’ll learn. Your coat isn’t enough for the rain that is coming and you will look like a drowned rat if you get caught out in it.

You are stubborn. Something your mother told you was just like your father. Much to her annoyance. You continue walking after Tovar drives off and the wind starts to pick up. You shiver, pulling your coat tighter around you and you look up at the sky as the rain clouds come in. "Bastard." You curse Tovar for being right as you decide to head back to the village.

The last piece of roofing was being nailed into place when the first splatters of rain hit Tovar’s back. “Mierda.” He hisses, glancing up and wincing when a droplet hits him in the eye. 

“Good thing we finished. It’s gonna be a blustery one for sure.” William agrees, wiping his forehead and shoving his hammer back into his tool belt. “You should go home. The sheep will come back and file into their barn quickly and I’m gonna shower and build my fire up.” He tells his friend. “You should do the same.”

You shiver as the rain comes down and you struggle to get back to cottage. The wind is strong and pushing you back as you try to get back as the rain pelts at your face. You curse Tovar for being right. You wish you had gotten a ride.

The rain is coming down in sheets, making it nearly impossible to see in front of the truck as Pero makes his way back to his cottage. He has to admit that he had gotten busy and didn’t look for you like he had thought to. Surely you had turned back and was cozy and warm in your cottage. He believes that until he damn near hits you. Swerving and nearly running off the road to keep from killing you because you’re walking in the damn middle. Cursing, Pero slams out of the truck, instantly drenched by the downpour. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” He yells, running up and grabbing your arms.

Your teeth are chattering so hard you can barely speak as Tovar grabs you and drags you into his van. You shake so hard your vision is blurry as the windscreen wipers work overtime. He slams the door shut and drives towards the village, cursing that he's soaking wet and you know you're both going to get sick from this chill.

The heater in his little lorry barely works, but Tovar blasts it, pointing the vents towards you. “Idiot.” He hisses. “You should have your pants pulled down and your ass whipped until you cannot sit.” He wipes his face and presses the gas, needing to get you home and out of those soaked clothes. “I told you to go home, but you’re too fucking pig-headed to listen.”

Your teeth chatter but you manage to say “fu-fuck you. I- I was on the way home.” You tell him and place your hands closer to his air vents. You desperately want the heat to seep into your bones and you shiver as Tovar races to your cottage.

“You would have already been home if you had listened to me.” He reminds you, taking one hand off the wheel to start shrugging out of his coat. It’s damp, but it has to be warmer than what you have on. “Stubborn Americans who think they know it all.” 

You gasp, inhaling the warm air from the heater. "Wha- what th- the hell is wrong with - why the fu- fuck do you hate Am- Americans?" You ask him, still shaking. You watch as he hands his coat to you. "Put this on." He growls and you don't argue, wrapping his coat around you.

Pero whips his van into the small spot that is closest to your cottage and hisses a curse as he jumps out to run around to your door. Knowing that he needs to get you inside as quickly as possible. Get a fire started and get you stripped out of those clothes. Yanking your door open, he drags you out of the seat and tries to shield you from the rain as much as possible. You are shaking violently and he knows you’re close to, if not already, hypothermic. “Inside.” 

You nod, letting him take you inside. You didn’t lock the cottage - having heard from the villagers that nothing happens - so Pero shuffles you inside and immediately starts to strip off the coats. You should be embarrassed and angry that he’s stripping clothes off of you but you’re so freezing you don’t care. You shiver and he helps you out of your boots. “Wh-why are you doing this?” You ask, watching him as he leaves you in your soaking wet jeans to work on getting the fire going.

“You could die.” He spits, his hands working quick and steady as he stacks the peat and kindling to light. He needs to get you warm and dry as fast as he can. The damp chill could have you sick with pneumonia within a day if you aren’t careful. As soon as the tender starts to smoke, he turns towards you and unbuttons his flannel shirt. Body head is needed. Stomping off towards your bedroom, he strips the quilts and blankets off of it before coming back into the main room. “Can you take your clothes off, or do I need to do it?” 

Your eyes widen at his broad chest as he comes back into the living room with the blankets. You nod, teeth still shattering as you work on removing your wet clothes until you are in your underwear, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Sur-surprised you - you care so much.” You choke out, still freezing cold.

He grunts, rolling his eyes and nearly tells you that he doesn’t care but that wouldn’t be truthful. He doesn’t want to find another member of your family dead. He spreads a blanket on the floor in front of the fire and pushes you towards it. “Lay down.” He orders, immediately starting to strip off the rest of his clothes, including his underwear. He knows you might be prudish like most Americans, but when you are trying to warm up, you can't wear any wet clothes and your panties look soaked. He ignores your gasp and drops to his knees, gathering the rest of the blankets at his back and reaches for your panties, pulling at them to take them off and they shred apart in his hands. 

You gasp, knowing you should push him away but when he pulls you close, into his body, into his warmth, you shudder and inhale deeply. Feeling the sensations come back into your body as you give in and curl around him. Breathing him in, you lift your leg over his, trying to get even closer to him, seeking his warmth.

His hands start rubbing, massaging heat and feeling back into your body. He thinks about anything but the softness of your breasts pressed against him. Knowing that if it weren’t for this serious situation, you would not be naked in his arms. “You’ll get warm.” He promises, feeling you shake and your teeth chatter. Your body is like ice and he shudders slightly as he transfers his heat to you under the weight of the blankets. 

You breathe him in, thankful for him showing up to save you even if you’ve not gotten along so far. His hands rubbing all over your back and you eventually relax, the shivering stopping as you warm up. You kiss his chest, silently thanking him for finding you even if you can’t vocalize that right now as you curl around him, seeking his warmth.

He knows you will get sleepy, it’s your body’s way to try to recover from the energy it had expelled to try to keep you warm. “Go to sleep, espléndida.” He murmurs quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.” He knows that he can’t pull away right now. Even though you are warmer, you still need more of his body heat to fully warm up. 

You mumble into his chest, listening to his beating heart as you fall asleep in his grip, feeling safe despite the man curled around you being insufferable in every interaction you’ve had. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been asleep when you wake up alone, the blankets wrapped around you, the fire roaring and you hear noise coming from the tiny kitchen. “What - Tovar?” You croak, wondering where he went.

His boxers on his hips, Pero appears in the doorway as soon as you call him. “Wait.” He orders, not wanting you to get up. Disappearing again and within seconds, he is coming back into the room with a tray. It was one your grandmother had often served him tea on, so he was familiar with it. Your cup of tea is in addition to a mug of soup. You need something warm in you. The hearty stew was one that your grandmother had canned two years ago, so he knew the rich broth would be good. 

You sit up, keeping the blanket tight to your chest as he carries the tray over and he has his boxers on. Shit, he’s attractive. More than that…he’s hot. Really hot. You swallow harshly, throat dry as he sets the tray down in front of you. “Thank you.” You tell him, looking at him as he sits down next to you. “This is - you poison it?” You tease softly, voice a little raw from the cold wind you breathed in earlier.

He snorts and shakes his head. “Not poisoned.” He huffs. “I just saved your life, why would I poison you?” He asks, picking up the tea and handing it to you. “It’s got honey and lemon in it, your throat will be raw.” He murmurs, blowing on the steaming liquid slightly before he hands it off. 

You take it, your fingers brushing his, and you moan softly as the tea soothes your sore throat. “I- I don’t really know how to start saying thank you for saving my life. I would’ve frozen out there. I didn’t think the storm would come in so quick.” You confess, watching him as the flames and shadows flicker over his face. “I guess I can start by saying thank you.” You say after taking another sip.

“You’re welcome.” Pero is slightly surprised that there’s no sarcasm in your statement. “Almost ran to my house to get some whiskey to pour in it, but it’s still raining outside.” He tells you, the rain beating against the windows. “So, it’s not quite as good as it could be. But I made you some stew.” 

You set the tea down and pick up the mug of broth, taking a sip and you groan. “You made this?” You ask and he shakes his head. “Your grandmother. She made it. Canned it a couple of years ago. She gave me some jars.” He reveals and your eyes widen as you look down at the cup in your hands, “I wish I could’ve known her better.” You sigh, “she seemed like a great woman. I- I’m writing a book about her. That’s why I came here. She fell in love with Ireland and I’m writing a romance novel based on her life.” You confess, “her grand escape to Ireland after divorcing her husband.”

He’s surprised by that, lifting his brows and humming. “A romance?” He should scoff, but he can’t manage the sound to come out of his throat. “I guess Ireland would be a romantic place to escape. If you’re looking for that.” 

You sip your broth before you look at him. “I must admit I had my wild fantasies dreaming about meeting a handsome man in Ireland and shacking up in a cottage to love our lives away but I- I know that’s - it’s silly.” You shake your head, “especially when I literally bumped into you and you hate Americans.”

“You would hate Spaniards if your ex was one.” Pero tells you. “Especially if he had cheated on you. Even though he would be an idiot to cheat.” 

You frown, setting the broth mug down. “You think…your ex was American?” You ask, confused and curious. “And she - shit - she cheated on you?”

Pero sighs, looking out the window. “Sí.” He murmurs. “We were- I met her when we were both stationed on the same base in Iraq. She was with the Americans, I was with …anyway,” he shakes his head. “We got married. She was pregnant. They made her leave her military position and we went to Spain.” He blows out a sigh. “And I found out later that she was cheating on me and the baby wasn’t even mine.”

You inhale sharply, “shit. I- I'm so sorry. That's - Wow. What a shitty thing to do. It’s - that’s monstrous. I’m so sorry Tovar-” You ramble and he cuts you off. “Pero. My first name is Pero.” He says and you nod, “Pero.” You say softly, “I’m sorry that happened to you. No one deserves that. Is that why…why you hate me? Because of my accent? My homeland?”

“She was just as stubborn as you are. Always right and having to have her way.” He shrugs. “I guess that I just don’t like women right now.” He admits after a moment. “I gave my heart to that woman and she tried to pass off the proof of her infidelity as my child.” He growls.

You shake your head, shifting closer to him to reach for his hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Pero. No one deserves that. I - I can understand why I triggered that anger in you. That’s unforgivable and I’m sorry someone did that to you.”

That bastard William had told him that you weren’t his ex. Pero rubs his cheek. “It’s not your fault.” He admits quietly. “You aren’t her and I shouldn’t have been an asshole to you,”

You sigh, letting go of his hand, “and I shouldn’t have been a bitch but I’ve never been good at people not giving me a chance.” You confess and sip your tea. “Can we start again?” You ask and he stares at you so you set your cup down, holding out your name. You introduce yourself, “and you are?” You ask, offering him a playful smile.

He grunts, watching you for a moment. “Pero Tovar.” He tells you. “Grumpy asshole from Spain.”

You chuckle, “great to meet you, grumpy asshole from Spain who saved my life.” You add and he shakes your hand. You stare at him, your smile fading as his grip on your hand is tight, reluctant to let go. You keep holding his hand, your eyes searching his as you keep the blankets close to your chest to keep you covered up until you let it drop, exposing your skin to his eyes.

Pero’s eyes widen and drop down to your breasts for a moment before he jerks his gaze back up to your face. “Hermosa….” He grunts, confused as to why you are showing him your body. “You don’t owe me anything.” He promises.

You nod, "I know. I- I'm not saying thank you. Well, I am. But not like that. I - I think you're handsome." You confess, "...sexy." You add and he frowns softly. "If you don't..." You trail off and reach to pull the blankets up your body, standing up on shaky legs. "Do you want a drink? I think my grandma had a bottle of brandy." You make your way into the kitchen, blanket wrapped around your body.

He thinks he’s embarrassed you and he doesn’t want that. He can’t deny you’re beautiful and he had been fighting an erection the entire time you were asleep once you were warm. Standing up, Pero pulls off his boxers and follows you into the kitchen to find you standing at your grandmother’s drink cabinet. “Do you want me to touch you, hermosa?” He asks, bracing his arms on the counter and trapping you against it,  his lips close to your ear. “You are a beautiful woman, and I would enjoy finding out what makes you shake in pleasure.”

You whimper, unable to control the shiver that runs along your spine as he hovers behind you. You want him to touch you. He's been a bastard but you would be dead if it weren't for him. You understand now why he was antagonized by you and you forgive him for his barbs. You lean back against him after letting the blanket drop from your body. "I want you to touch me." You whisper, turning your head to look at him, your lips brushing his chin.

“I’m not gentle.” He warns, knowing that it’s been too long since he has touched anyone and he’s not a suave lover like Garin claims to be. He slides his hand up to grab your breast and squeezes the flesh.

“I don’t need gentle. I don’t want gentle.” You tell him, covering his hand over your breast and you squeeze a little harder. “I want you.” You add, kissing his jaw.

Pero growls, his hardening cock pressing against your ass. “Drop the blanket.”  He orders, pulling you away from the counter and dragging you towards the main room. If he’s going to touch you, it will be in front of that fire so you stay warm. 

You follow his order, nearly tripping over the blanket as he guides you into the living room and you whimper as he lays you down on the blankets you still have piled near the fire. You lay down, waiting for him to touch you as he kneels down near you. “Pero.” You whisper, biting your lip as you wait for him to make the first move.

He watches you for a moment before he lunges forward, his lips smashing against yours in a hard kiss. Covering your body with his and pushing your thighs apart with his knee to settle between them. Groaning into your mouth at the taste of you as his hands fill themselves with your breasts and hips.

You moan into his mouth, your hands caressing his back as he kneels over you, his hands squeezing your flesh. His tongue slides into your mouth and you eagerly grant him access with a low groan of his name muffled against your lips. Your hands slide down to his ass, squeezing and bringing him closer so his cock is pressing against your thigh.

Pero rocks against your thigh, groaning and pinching your nipple harshly. Kissing down your throat and biting down on your shoulder before he ducks his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth to bite.

"Fuck." You hiss in pleasure as he grinds against you and sucks on your nipple, paying it attention until you are swapping over to suck on the neglected one. "Shit baby." You pant, reaching between you to wrap your fingers around his thick cock.

Pero groans at the feel of your hand. It’s been so long since he’s felt any touch but his own. His cock twitches and his hips buck into your grip. He lavishes attention on you, loving the way you moan.

You twist your arm, trying to jerk him off as he surrounds you, the spicy scent of his skin combined with the smoke from the fire he started. Your free hand slides through his hair as he kisses the skin below your breast and you whimper, getting wetter with each kiss.

Pero is a harsh lover, he bites and scratches and fucks hard, but he’s also attentive. He wants his partner to feel good. To drown in him. Scattering bites over your skin, he works his way south, nipping your hip bone. “When was the last time you were devoured, hermosa?” He demands, cutting his dark gaze back up to your face.

Your chest heaves as you look into his dark eyes, hungry with desire for you and you don't remember the last time you were devoured. You shake your head, "I- too long ago. My ex...he didn't - he didn't do that." You confess breathlessly.

Pero snorts, shaking his head at your worthless ex. “Then you will remember this.” He promises. His tongue slides around your hip bone, dragging across your stomach as he settles his broad shoulders between your thighs and pushes them up to rest there. Making a show of settling in to look down at you glistening cunt. “Such a pretty cunt too.” He smirks, looking up at you again as he lowers his mouth to your folds and winking right before he dives in.

"Shit!" You squeak, thighs clenching against his head in surprise as he licks into you like a man starved. "Pero." You gasp as he flattens his tongue against your clit until he decides to suck it between his lips. Your hands tangle in his hair as you slump back to look up at the wooden beams on the ceiling.

He loves eating a woman out. Loves her taste and the way she responds to his touch and effort to make her scream. His fingers slide around your entrance for a moment and then he buries two down to the knuckle and curls up inside you.

You cry out as his thick fingers curl inside of you. Making you moan his name loud enough for the entire village to hear as you buck your hips into his face. His free hand slides up to squeeze your breast and your hand covers his, eyes squeezed shut as he laps at your clit.

Groaning into your cunt, he samples you. Tastes you like you are the finest whiskey or his precious Spanish wines. Pumping his fingers inside you to find the spot that makes your body spasm in pleasure and growling when he finds it

"Fuck. Oh shit!" You hiss, walls fluttering around his digits as he curls them to find that spot that makes you moan. Your chest heaving as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing him further into your cunt. "So- yes. There. Cl-close." You pant, stomach clenching.

He growls, sucking your clit in his mouth and pulling on it harshly, before he twirls his tongue around it and starts to flick his tongue over the little bundle of nerves. Pumping his fingers into you faster and harder, wanting to see how hard you break.

You fall apart within seconds. “Oh my fuck - fuck!” You squeal as you clamp down on his fingers, soaking them as you cum for the first time in a long time. Nearly pulling his hair out as you cry out.

He snarls, lapping at you faster and pushing his fingers deeper when you start to cum. Feeling you soak his face as his cock throbs against the blanket on the floor. Working and pushing you through your orgasm with the determination of a man possessed.

He pushes you higher until you have to push his head away, overstimulated, and you feel like your body is on fire from his attentions. “Fuck, I- Pero. I need you.” You beg, “let me - I need you inside of me.”

He grunts, smirking as he crawls up your body. Aching to push inside you and feel those tight walls squeezing his cock like they had his fingers.

You grab the back of his neck when he’s hovering over you to drag him down to kiss him. Your tongue slides against his to taste yourself on his mouth. You reach down to grip his cock again, pumping him as you kiss him.

Pero groans your name into your mouth, almost like a plea. Rocking his hips into your hand and lowering down so you can guide him in. When you notch him at your entrance, he bites your bottom lip as he drills his cock deep into your wet cunt.

You moan into each other’s mouth as he pushes deep in one thrust, making you cling to him as he stretches you out. He’s thick and you are certain you’ll feel him tomorrow if he’s as rough as he claims to be. You wrap your legs around him, the blankets crumpling up beneath you as he starts to move.

Pero doesn’t hesitate. Bracing his hands on the floor beside you, he starts pounding into you at a rough, hard pace. Feeling your walls giving with every deep thrust as he drives himself into you over and over, groaning over how well you are taking him. “Mierda.”

He’s rough and takes what he wants but fuck, you love it. You whine, throwing your head back and he wastes no time leaning in to bite down on the skin above your pulse. Your walls clench around him every time he pushes deep and hits something devastating inside you that no one else has found. “Pero. Shit. Oh God. I- it’s so good.” You almost vibrate as you speak, shaken by his thrusts.

Hissing, he tries to hang onto his control. Feeling it slip as he continues to rock into you. You're so fucking good and it has been the best sex he's had in ....ever. Not even his ex felt like you do. Dropping down to his elbows, he shoves his hands under your back and starts biting along your shoulder, leaving imprints of his teeth with every piercing thrust of his cock.

Each bite on your skin has you clenching around him and you struggle to maintain control until you give in. Whines escape your lips as his pelvis drops into just the right position that he’s grinding against your clit and your heels dig into his ass. “I’m gonna - oh fuck. Pero. Pero!” You cry out, clamping down on his cock and practically shaking beneath him as you soak him with your orgasm.

The shout Pero lets out is hoarse and rough, pushing deep and grinding even deeper for a split second before he is ripping free of your cunt. Panting as he realized he had not spoken with you about birth control and he could not risk filling you up. Coating your belly, breasts and thighs with ropes of his hot seed as he spits out another curse.

You pant, watching him as he pumps his cock to paint you with every drop of seed that drips from his body. His chest heaving and you stare up at him in awe. He’s incredible and you know that all your previous fighting means nothing compared to this perfect moment of bliss. “You- you could’ve cum inside me. I’m on birth control.” You tell him breathlessly, knowing it’s too late now.

“Shit.” Pero hisses, huffing slightly and dropping his head against your shoulder. “I didn’t- we hadn’t- fuck.” He grumbles, rolling off to the side and onto his back to reach off his undershirt to wipe your skin clean.

You watch him clean you up and you turn onto your side to look at him, “it’s okay. Maybe next time you could…?” You trail off, biting your lip as you wait for his reaction. Unsure if there will be a next time.

Pero smirks and nods. “Next time.” He agrees, tossing the shirt off to the side and rubs a hand down your side. “How are you feeling?”

You hum, closing your eyes with a smile on your face. “Better. A lot better. I’m warm and satisfied and - thank you again for rescuing me.” You say as you open one eye to look at him, “you’re not too bad for a grumpy asshole.” You smirk, closing your eyes again.

He snorts, rolling his eyes and sighing, “you’re not bad.” He admits. “For an American.” He adds, smirking himself as he moves his arm and nudges you slightly, seeing if you want to curl against him.

You take the hint, shifting to curl into his side and he quickly pulls the blanket over you. You sigh, breathing him in and kiss his chest, exhausted again after his rigorous fucking. You’ve turned a corner with the Spaniard and you’re interested to see how things go from now on. 

**** 

The sunlight starts to shine through the windows of the cottage, the gap in the curtains letting in light that makes you wince as you wake up. “Pero.” You murmur, shifting to sit up and you pat the space beside you only to find the man you fell asleep with is gone. You frown, calling his name again and when there’s no response, you huff. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, you stand on shaky legs and head upstairs to get ready for the day. Perhaps he had an early start.

“You slipped out of the house like a thief?” William shakes his head and frowns at his friend. “Why would you do that? She deserves better.” 

Pero huffs and rolls his eyes, shuffling guiltily as he looks up the road towards your cottage. “She’ll be going back to America.” He reminds the Irishman. “I don’t need to be getting myself involved in that mess.” 

William snorts, eyeing Pero suspiciously. “I’ve never known you to turn down pleasure. A fling of some kind. Unless you like her more than you are admitting.” Pero scowls again and shuffles, not answering.

It’s been a couple of days since you’ve seen him, which is an accomplishment in the tiny village. You are in the grocery store when old man Sawyer tells you about the village fete. “It’s the harvest festival. In the church hall. There’ll be food and booze of course.” He winks and you chuckle, wondering if Pero would be there. It’s unlikely as he doesn’t like people. “Maybe I’ll see you there.” You tell the older man as you pay for your groceries. “See you there.” He says with a chuckle and you take your bags, pondering if you’ll go to the fete. 

You decide later that you won’t hide away so you get dressed and make your way over to the church hall, shrugging off your coat once you’re inside and there’s music from the local band of teenagers and various tables with food and drinks. You immediately feel eager to mingle. That is until you look around to see Pero standing there with William, his dark eyes focused on you.

“Go talk to her.” William shoves at Pero’s arm, making him stumble. 

Turning, he glares at his best friend. “Amigo….” He growls, warning him not to mess with him tonight. He’s been busy trying to avoid you and here you are, looking prettier than ever. 

“If you don’t, someone else will.” William warns him.

You avert your eyes, pissed off he didn’t even come to see you after he slept with you. You walk over to the drinks table, greeting Gladys who lives down the road from you and she hands you a cup of hot cider. “How are you dearie?” She asks and you sigh, “confused.” You confess and she frowns, “what?” You shake your head, “I’m good, Gladys.” You tell her and she smiles at you, nodding until her gaze shifts to behind you. You turn your head to look and your eyes meet Pero’s. “Hi.” You murmur, fingers flexing around the cup.

Pero looks at you for a moment, studying the anger in your eyes and he feels guilty, guilty for avoiding you. “You’re still here.” That’s what he comes up with to answer you. Hating it the moment it comes out of his mouth, but he won’t take it back.

You stare at him for a second, “I’m still here.” You observe, glancing around the room until your eyes meet his again. “So…you've been busy?” You ask, a little sarcastic but you’ve never been known to be timid, especially when it comes to men who run away from your bed.

“Busy enough.” He grunts, not sure why he even came over. You don’t seem happy to see him at all, not that he can blame you. It’s not like he’s gone out of his way to check in after the other day. He had convinced himself that you still hated him, and had run with it.

You nod, "busy enough to not even stay for a cup of coffee?" You ask, raising your eyebrows at him, "or was it just pity? You felt sorry that I nearly froze to death and you decided to fuck me...or was it so you could brag to William? Tell him you tamed the bitch in Fairy Lodge?" You snort, keeping your eyes on his, refusing to look away.

Eyes widening, he glances over at Gladys to see if she is listening. Shame making his face burn, and in turn, pissing him off. “Nothing could tame you.” He snorts. “I’m not a magician.”

You chuckle, “clearly you are since you made yourself disappear.” You huff, taking a sip of the cider. “If you regretted it, you could’ve just come to see me and tell me that instead of leaving me to think I did something wrong or…or I wasn’t good enough.” You finish quietly.

The sound of your voice is what makes his anger deflate. “I- you’re leaving.” He murmurs quietly. “I - I’m not a casual lover. I don’t sleep around anymore.”

“I’m not gonna stick around and be treated like shit.” You snort, “I could go back to America and deal with American men if I wanted that.” You tell him, setting down the cup of cider just as the band starts to play.

Pero narrows his eyes, hating that you are comparing him to American men. He’s not a boy who plays games, but apparently that’s what he’s been doing with you. “Fine.” He grunts, grabbing your hand. “Let’s dance.”

You let him drag you onto the makeshift dance floor and there's a few elderly couples dancing but everyone has their eyes on you and Pero. "Everyone is looking at us." You murmur and he stares at you, not looking around. 

"Let them." He says, pulling you closer and you don't push him away. 

"You don't care?" You ask, keeping your eyes on him.

“Why would I?” He asks. “People stare because of my scar. They stare because I’m a mean looking bastard.” He shrugs, used to the looks. “Or they stare because I’m holding the prettiest girl here.”

You offer him a soft smile as he looks at you and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. "Your scar makes you look dangerous...and sexy. And you look grumpy...not mean. And you think you are not good enough but you are...and I- I wish you would let people in to see that." You finish, cutting your gaze across the room to see Gladys smiling at you and Pero dancing.

“I'm not the man you think I am.” Pero grumbles. “I have done a lot of shitty things, even to you.” He reminds you. He doesn’t want you to think he’s some white knight when he’s not.

You look at him again, “no one is perfect. Hell, you know I’m not. I know you’re not. But…but I think you are good deep down. You’re just hurt.” You murmur, “and I know why but I didn’t - we started off on the wrong foot. We were both mean to the other.”

“We should not fight.” Pero agrees, nodding. Even if he doesn’t feel like you know him enough to make that judgment, it’s nice to have someone besides William believe in him.

“I- I’m supposed to go back to America on Monday.” You tell him quietly, wondering if he will pack your bags for you to get you out of Ireland and away from him, from his mistake of rescuing you…sleeping with you.

“Oh.” Pero frowns and swallows harshly. Knowing that he’s wasted time that he could have been spending with you and quite possibly made this better than it had been. “Big plans back there?” He asks.

“Just work and…and I don’t have to go back. I can change my return flight…or cancel it…” You trail off, “unless you don’t want an American living here full time?” You test him, wondering what his reaction will be.

“You still don’t know how to make a fire worth a damn.” Pero tells you, watching your brows pull together in confusion. “It would be hard for you to learn over there. Bet you don’t even have a fireplace.”

You shake your head as he rocks you both to the beat. “I don’t. I wouldn’t be able to make a fire…I’d definitely forget. So…I think I need to stay to make sure I learn properly. Perhaps you could teach me?” You ask him quietly, preparing yourself for him to practically escort you back to the airport.

“It’ll take a long time.” He cautions, pulling you closer to him. “I’d probably need to check on the fires during the night. Make sure you don’t burn down your granny’s cottage.”

“What a gentleman.” You smile, tilting your head towards his, “I definitely think you’d need to check on them nightly. I don’t think anyone in the village wants a fire. So…it looks like I’m staying - for fire starting purposes only.” You tease, taking a chance to kiss his neck as you lean closer.

Pero groans at the light contact of your lips, turning his head and capturing your mouth in a kiss for everyone here to see. Not caring if they do and telling them all that he wants you. Claiming you in front of them so that there are no misconceptions about what he wants. You.

You cup his cheek, responding to the kiss, and you let everyone see that you are with him. The parishioners all stare and you smile against his mouth. “Come home with me.” You murmur when he pulls back but keeps his forehead against yours.

“Are you sure, hermosa?” He asks quietly, knowing that he had hurt you the last time he had slept with you.

You nod, “I’m sure. I want you to come home with me and show me how to start a fire.” You murmur, stopping as the song comes to an end and you let go of Pero to clap your hands, waiting for his answer.

Pero smirks, willing to take a risk with you when you are also taking a risk on him. Nodding, he motions towards your cottage. “Let’s go, I need to show you a lot of things if you’re going to live in Ireland.” He grunts. “Starting with how to properly leave a party.” It’s all the warning he gives you before he bends down, scooping you over his shoulder before marching off the dance floor with you like a medieval mercenary carrying off his kidnapped bride.

You squeal, giggling as he carries you out of the hall and you cling to him as he strides down the hall. “Where are we going?” You ask as you tilt your head and notice he’s not carrying you to your cottage. “My place.” He says and you are surprised but let him continue his journey, the wind whipping cool on your skin.

You've never been to his cottage, he's well aware of that. Marching down the road and not slowing down a bit. "Best place to start teaching you is where I am comfortable." He admits, slapping your ass. "Kept expecting your granny to come out and catch me with my ass showing."

You chuckle as he sets you down so he can unlock his door. You lean against the wall as he fumbles with his keys, “she definitely would’ve told you to put some pants on.” You tease and he finally opens the door, “and what’s my next lesson?” You inquire as he guides you inside and you see the masculine but cozy cottage he lives in.

He hadn't really thought much beyond taking you home. Getting you here. He hums, his own fire slowly smoldering and the inside of the cottage warm. "Temperature control." He decides. "What to do when it's too hot."

You smirk, licking your lips as you look at him, “and what do you do when it’s too hot.” He smirks back at you, “get naked.” You nod, slipping off your shoes and you work on the buttons of your dress. “I think that’s a smart idea.”

"It is." He grunts, taking off his jacket and then lifting his shirt over his head. "Getting too hot is just as bad as being too cold." He rolls his eyes towards you. "And you know how that feels."

You glare at him playfully and you shrug your dress off, letting it fall to the floor and you move to push your tights down but Pero scoops you into his arms. “I’m still hot.” You tell him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

"Yes, you are." He won't deny that, arms coming around you and sliding down your sides to your hips. "Your panties and bra are what's keeping you hot." He murmurs.

You giggle, “yes. They are.” You let him reach behind you to unclasp your bra as you caress his chest and you lean in to kiss his clavicle as he slides the bra down your arms. You squeal when he grabs your ass, lifting you over to his sofa and he lays you down on it. “Fuck. These need to go.” He growls, pushing your legs apart so he can grab the thin material of your pantyhose and he rips them, making you gasp and wet your panties in arousal.

"Oops." Pero snorts, not even slightly sorry about ripping your pantyhose. He never understands why women wear them, although he can understand under your dress since you are unused to the chill of the Irish weather. He grins and pulls them off your feed and tosses them aside. "Need to teach you to quit wearing that shit." He grunts. "Harder to get to you."

You giggle as he drags your panties down your legs and you spread your legs further apart once he tosses them over his shoulder to expose you to his hungry eyes. “Need to see you too.” You tell him, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.

"Yeah?" He lets you undo his belt, feeling like you want him and it's a thing to savor. It might be a fling, but the look in your eyes is telling him that he should trust that it will be more. "Taken with me?"

You scoff, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, Tovar.” You tell him, working on unbuttoning his pants after you toss the belt aside. You reach into his pants to pull his hard cock out, groaning as you get to see him properly. “I want to suck you off.” You tell him, meeting those dark eyes.

"You don't have to do that." Every blow job he's had in the last few years has been begrudgingly given. Complaints about sore jaws or him always wanting head. He had stopped asking for them, stopped her from giving them if she tried to initiate and it's almost like a reflex. Nothing that can be held over his head, until he takes your wrist and realizes what he's doing. "Uh...my ex..." he bites his lips. "She would always complain about it. Or use it to guilt me into something."

You scoff, “she sounds…wow. Lay down.” You order, pushing on his chest and he nods, shifting to lay down on the sofa and you straddle him. “Too Goddamn sexy for your own good. Definitely for my good.” You chuckle, leaning down to kiss him. You slide your tongue against his until you are kissing along his jaw, down his neck, and down his stomach until you reach his cock resting against his stomach. “I want to give you a blowjob. I want to make you feel good. For nothing in return.” You promise and take him into your hand, squeezing him as you look into his eyes as you press your tongue against the slit, tasting his pre-cum.

"Shit." Pero hisses, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he opens them again. Needing to see you touch him. To see how eagerly you want to touch him. It's not all Americans that are horrible, it was his ex. She was a bad apple. He reaches down and cups your cheek. "Fuck baby," he pants, "So fucking pretty and sweet."

You hum around him as you take him deeper. Loving the way he groans and reaches down to caress your cheek. You love the way his jaw clenches and his cock twitches inside of you as you widen your jaw to take more of his length until he’s hitting the back of your throat and you gag, unused to giving head to a long cock like his.

"Pull off, hermosa." He urges, pulling your cheek up but you shake your head and continue to bob up and down on him. Making him groan as he feels the exquisite bliss of your mouth around him.

You want to make him feel good, look after him like he did looking after you when you nearly froze to death. You moan around him, caressing his chest and you bob your head a little faster.

"Hermosa...." he groans, feeling you starting to pull his orgasm out of him and he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to make sure that you cum first. "Ride me." He begs quietly, twitching in your throat at the thought.

You won’t deny him. You pull off of his cock, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and you straddle him. His cock pressing between your folds and you are soaking wet. You look down at him and his hands immediately find your tits. You lift up to position him at your entrance and you slowly sink down onto his cock.

"Mierda." He hisses, rocking his hips up to thrust up into you. Bouncing you slightly and sinking deeper into your tight cunt. "You are so pretty sitting on my cock."

“Not bad for an American?” You tease, starting to rock your hips on top of him. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look down at him and you know you couldn’t leave. Not with this unspoken thing between you. It’s not quite love but it feels like it could easily evolve into it. You lean down to kiss him, bracing your hands on the arm of the sofa behind his head.

He doesn't answer because he wouldn't even know how to answer. It's not because you are an American, but because you are just you. His hands slide up your sides and he holds the back of your head, deepening the kiss as you start to slide your tongue against his.

You rock back onto his cock, your tongue sliding against his and your hands tangle in his hair, moaning into his mouth as you find an angle that makes the head of his cock rub against your g-spot.

“Shiiiiiiiit.” His moan is muffled and he throbs inside you. Loving how you clench down around him and he squeezes your hip with his free hand.

You moan into his mouth, rocking back onto him and he slips out of you. You whine at the loss of pleasure but he reaches down to push himself back into you and you swivel your hips to find the same angle. You soon find it and rock back onto him, getting closer and closer to cumming.

“That’s it, hermosa.” He grunts out, leaning in to bite your shoulder. He lets go of your head, reaching down to start rubbing your clit. Wanting you to cum for him before he spills inside of you,

You whine when his fingers rub your clit just right and you are close. Grinding back onto his cock, trapping his hand between you, you get closer and closer until you cry out his name. “Fuck!” You choke, clamping down on his cock as you soak him with your orgasm.

"Perfecto." He groans, rocking his hips up and driving his cock deeper into you as he takes over. Letting you collapse against his chest as he wraps both arms around you and fucks you through, chasing his own orgasm. Panting out your name as he thrusts one last time, burying his cock deep as he paints your walls with his cum.

You whimper, kissing his jaw as he pants into your ear. “Cum for me, Pero. Cum. Wan- wanna feel it.” You beg, grinding back to try and egg him on as his cock twitches inside of you.

You moan, loving how it feels to have him paint your walls with his hot seed, silently thanking your IUD as he pulses deep. You kiss along his jaw, “feels so good.” You pant, relaxing on top of him.

"Stay." He murmurs, panting as he tries to catch his breath. "I want you to stay, hermosa." He presses his lips to yours again. "I want to be grumpy to everyone else. Not you."

You nod, pressing your lips to his again. “I’ll stay. All you had to do was ask. I’ll stay and I want to see where this goes.” You tell him, kissing his chin. “You’re a grumpy bastard but you’re my grumpy bastard.” You tease, caressing his cheek. You never imagined you’d come to Ireland and find the man you spend the rest of your life with but you have and you don’t know it yet but you have a beautiful life ahead of you with Pero in Fairy Lodge.

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#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar smut #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar fic #modern pero tovar #modern au

[arcielee]

Insatiable

Summary: Osferth finally has a moment with the barmaid he has been pining for. Paring: Osferth x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 1575 Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, titty sucking, grinding, pre ejaculation because baby monk is thrumming with life being tucked between your thighs, implied sexual themes. Author's Note: This was requested by the lovely, the wonderful @helaelaemond 💜 I hope this does justice to your request. Thank you @aemondsbabe for being my beloved beta reader for this hot mess I wrote at 1 in the morning and thank you @myfandomprompts for the title! 🥰 Dividers by @saradika

They prefer your tavern and its reputation, your wit and your hired help–always the loveliest of girls you gave sanctuary too. In return, you enjoyed both their coin and their company, which was something all encompassing whenever they would enter your establishment.

On this night, it was the tittering of your barmaids that alerts you before the bawdy Irishman announces their arrival. He fills the door frame, his dark eyes settling onto you and you returning his cheeky grin. 

“Lord Uhtred and his pretty boys,” you greet and he guffaws. You begin to pull empty tankards from the shelves behind. “To what do we owe the honor?” 

Finan pushes up towards the bar, his teeth bright beneath his dark beard. “My lady, tonight we are celebrating!” 

“What are we celebrating?” You fill up a mug and pass it over to his wide grasp. 

He begins to gulp it down, ale spilling the corners of his mouth before setting it down, his smile roguish when he says: “First bloodshed.” 

Osferth had slain the great Dane, Sigefrid Thurgilson, and its tale was already webbing throughout the cities that settled along the river bank of the Temes, rising from the ashes of Beamfleot. 

Your brow raises with your surprise. The warrior monk was a recent addition to the motley swart of men that shadowed Lord Uhtred’s steps. Osferth was a solemn addition, tall and lean, with piercing blue eyes that would cut through the crowd, searching for you whenever they visited. 

You could not help but favor him out of all the men that served Lord Uhtred. He was handsome with his sharp features, but you noticed how they softened with your voice whenever you spoke with him. You relish his reaction, the soft pink hues that stained his cheeks, his soft timbre to answer you, and you actually began to mourn him, assuming his inevitable demise at the end of a blade. 

But instead, Osferth showed himself to be so much more. 

The wooden walls begin to vibrate with the jubilation of surviving another day as the locals pour through the doors, adding to the cheers of their heroism. Lord Uhtred and his men preen under the attention, always adoring your pretty help, your girls flutter throughout to refill mugs or fall into an empty lap. 

You were watching, sipping at your own cup, dressed to complement your curves, the low neckline of your blouse to draw the eye to your heavy bust, aglow with the umpteenth retelling of baby monk’s bravery. Only then did you notice that Finan was trying to call your attention. 

“Please,” his lilt was thick as he began to beg, his ruddy cheeks burning and his dark eyes finally pulling away from your cleavage to meet with your own. “Osferth has been so hopelessly besotted with you. I was thinking you should give him a kiss to congratulate that he is now truly a man.” 

His words, partnered with the ale, warm your blood with the realization, flushing your cheeks and your cleavage. It propels your feet forward, pushing through the crowd towards Osferth, whose eyes were already trained to you. They widen, bright and beautiful and blue, to drink in the sight when you lean over, his skin prickling with your whisper to his ear, “Come with me,” and he is quick to stand and follow after you. 

The cheers of his comrades are drowned out with the call for another round, and you leave it to your help to tend and to fawn over the rest of the men as you pull Osferth away.  

The oak door shuts out the noise and you look back to see his lithe frame leaning against the wood. In the intimacy of the room, you could smell the musk of the battle won, lining his angular features, his sandy locks disheveled with the uneven new growth of his old religious style. 

You reach for his hand, pulling him towards the bed, and he follows, towering over you, watching as your hands pull at the collar of his alb; he helps you peel it off, showing the pale planes of his chest beneath.

Even as he sinks to sit on the edge of the bed, he is still so very tall, and you blush, turning to grab a clean cloth from the basin, coming back to touch his jaw and to wipe away the ash smeared across his face. 

Osferth hums with your touch, leaning into your palm, and your blood thickens beneath your skin with his close proximity. Your eyes watch the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breath, and when he finally looks back up at you, you can see the lustful black swallowing the cerulean coloring of his eyes; they wash over you, drinking in your curves, and a bashfulness stricken your bones with his heady gaze.  

You take a step back to return the cloth, and only then does Osferth dare to push up, towering over you. His large palm catches your elbow and pulls you back towards him. “May I–?” but his question stops on his tongue, your hands already moving to pull him close enough to kiss. 

The taste of ale is present, but not overwhelming, his mouth pleasantly warm and his lips soft to press against your own. You melt against his chest and a soft sigh escapes, allowing his clever tongue to curl, to deepen the kiss and find its tandem with your own. His large hands move, respectful but appreciative of the tactile nature of your figure, touching your soft waist, moving to settle on your hips with a firm hold as he continues to draw the very breath from your lungs. 

You break away for air, for who knew he would kiss like a man starved? You see his lips still pursed, kiss swollen, the hue now darkening to a red stain on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. 

“Forgive me,” he says after a movement with the same sweet diction you were always fond of, and he grows shy with his admittance, “but I have thought often of how you would taste and I now find myself insatiable.” 

You close the space between, finding his mouth once again, and his palms roam, his stance staggering as he follows the pull backwards, until you both fall onto the bed. 

His arms cage you against the mattress and he dips forward for another desperate kiss; your blouse laces are pulled to allow the natural slope of your breasts, your hands rutting your skirt up so he can slot his slender waist between your plush thighs. You softly whine with the pressure of his length against your clothed cunt, and his deft fingers travel to remove your smallclothes. Osferth then pulls back with a pause, a moment of admiration with the enticing way of how you now spill from your clothes. 

You burn under his gaze, your fingers bold to loosen his ties, his length straining against the crotch of his slacks, now flush and upright towards his bellybutton. Osferth melts against you with his soft groan, your own soft sighs echoing with the delicious pressure of him against your slick folds. Your fingertips move to dig into the divots of his lower back, pulling him to rock against you with the genial glide of the underside of his cock against your warmth, rubbing your clit, and a pleasure begins to lick at the base of your spine. 

He is lost in the rhythm, the now crimson flush spilling from his face to his neck to his chest, panting and trembling against you; his eyes search for your face and you pull him in for another quick kiss. Osferth groans into your mouth, breaking away to return his attention to the tops of your breasts, his hot mouth leaving blooms of color as he suckles and savors every bit of your skin now showing. 

You squirm beneath him, your soft moans spurring his motion, and his brows knit with a focus on your pleasure, your sweet sounds, but it shatters so easily with your breathless whisper of his name that tickles his ear, “Oh, Osferth…” 

With a strangled cry, you can feel the hot pulse of his spend between your thighs. You tighten them around his waist, supporting him as he lowers his weight on top of you. “Forgive me,” he is panting against your flush skin, the ripple of gooseflesh in the wake of his exhale. “Forgive me, my lady, it is no excuse but I…have been thinking about this, about you, for so long…” 

You press a finger against his lips and Osferth is quick to kiss the pad. You smile with his gesture, your hand moving to curl the back of his neck, bringing his lips to your own for another sweet kiss. “Would you like to make it up to me?” Your voice is sultry, velvet, and you can feel the twitch of his cock in response.

His eyes are soulful and wide, with the returning blue a stark contrast to the flush of red that remains on his face. “More than anything,” he vows, “I will spend all night right here, if you wish it.” 

And you kiss him again, unable to help the giggle that spills from your lips. “I wish it,” you whisper and you can feel his smile in return. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch

#osferth x you #osferth x reader #osferth x plus size reader #plus size reader #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #insatiable

[leo-muscle]

Hey, I love your stories so far :)

I'm visiting France right now, and I'm struggling feeling like I stand out. But maybe an encounter with King Dom can make me feel more at home with the locals?

The moment you got off the plane in Paris, you didn't feel like France was going to be nice to you. Each Frenchman eyed you with a look of disgruntlement, or even gave you an eye-roll and a groan of "Tourists." You wished you knew how to make them like you.

One night at a gay bar, you were nursing a drink when an enormous Irishman slid into the seat next to you. His biceps looked like they could crush your skull with ease, and all of his shirtless body was covered in a fine coat of red hair. He was beautiful.

"Is this seat taken?" He asked you.

"N-no..." You replied. "Never was, uh, never will be."

"Thanks, mate." He said. "What's a handsome man like you doing alone on a late night?"

"Uh... me?" You stammered. "The... the french don't really like me. They see me as nothing but a tourist."

"A tourist, eh?" The Irishman said. "Well, let me fix that and give you a proper greeting to the country. Come on back."

He beckoned you to the bathroom, and soon, you were on your knees in front of his monolithic cock. You worshipped and licked every inch of his gorgeous Irish sausage, while he pinched his nipple and pushed your head further onto his cock.

"Good boy..." he moaned. "You'll be a proper Frenchman when I'm done with you... ach!"

His cock exploded in your mouth, filling your insides with hot, sticky, emerald cum.

"Thank... you..." You moaned as he put his pants back on.

"It was no problem. Now, you better put that gift of yours to good use." He said, then walked out of the bathroom.

You turned to follow him, when a wave of pleasure washed over your entire body. Your muscles contracted and expanded, contracted and expanded, shredding your clothes to pieces with every pulse and twitch as they grew to match even bodybuilders in size. Experimentally, you touched your enormous bicep, and it felt as hard as any rock. Your legs had grown powerful and strong, able to kick down the feeble walls of the bathroom with ease.

Brown hair, a far cry from your normal blond, exploded from your chest, forming a light, but obvious pelt around your enormous, voluptuous pecs. You began to stroke and pet your new pelt as your pecs and abs continued expanding, tweaking your nipples as you went. Your pecs had become a tertiary sex organ, easily capable of delivering pleasure to match your cock and ass.

Speaking of, another wave of pleasure washed over your cock and ass, forcing a moan of pleasure from your thicker lips. One of your meaty paws began stroking your mediocre cock, while the other began fingering your tight hole. Slowly, with every stroke, your cock expanded and thickened, becoming a mighty pillar of masculinity, easily capable of rendering any man unable to walk for days after sex. Your ass then became thicker and bouncier with every thrust your massive, cock-sized finger gave it. It was bigger than the ass of any woman, so hypnotizing and voluptuous that even straight men would be tempted to fuck it.

As your height expanded from 5'5 to an enormous 6'3, your hair began to shorten as your beard grew. Your voice became tinged with a sexy french accent, perfect for you to whisper sweet nothings in the ears of men as you pounded them. Your mind filled with knowledge of the French language and culture, ensuring that no self-respecting Frenchman would turn down advances from such a pinnacle of French masculinity as yourself.

You stroked and fingered yourself harder and harder, until your cock finally burst with a torrent of cum far larger than you had ever came before.

You were forever grateful to your new King for giving you this second chance.

#male tf #male transformation #race change #french tf #pec growth #butt growth #bear tf #kings of the world #asker tf

[floralcyanide]

― 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢

⌯ pairing: cillian murphy/ gn!reader ⌯ warnings: langauge, argument ⌯ word count: 227 ⌯ summary: based on this prompt: “pushing me away will not help you.” you and cillian have an argument. ⌯ author’s note: here's a little something for cilly (:

divider credit: @arminsumi | @firefly-graphics | @cafekitsune ⌯ masterlist

Anger boils in your veins, hot and wild. Sometimes, Cillian didn’t seem to care enough about the things you cared about. And this time, instead of letting the anger leave your mouth, you keep it inside. You turn on your heel and simply walk away. And, of course, Cillian, being the stubborn Irishman he is, decides to comment on your exit.

“Where are you going?”

You don’t respond, ascending the stairs of your shared home to the bedroom. You decided to delve into the book you’re currently reading. But Cillian has other plans, following you upstairs.

“Come on, you can’t just ignore me, love.”

Still no response from you. You lie on the bed and open your book, trying your best to get into it, but you can’t.

“Pushing me away will not help you.”

You glance up at Cillian from your book, “I’m not pushing you away.”

“Ah, they speak,” Cillian raises his eyebrows at you, “You are pushing me away by ignoring me.”

“Well, if you’d actually give a fuck about something for once, maybe I’d feel like talking to you.”

“Look,” Cillian sits on the bed next to you, “I’m sorry I’m not super animated about my feelings about certain things. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

You lay your book down, looking at Cillian with a soft look, “It’s okay. Sometimes I just forget you’re more reserved than others at times.”

Cillian leans over to kiss your lips, to which you kiss back. He then moves to go back downstairs to give you space.

“Hey,” you call to him, and he turns around.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you too.”

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy fanfic #ciliian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #floralcyanide writes #pop up workshop

[alexagirlie]

"Figure You Out - Part Two" - Sihtric x Whore!Reader x Finan

A/N: Part 2 is finally here! Was fun to do something different and do a reader fic. Please let me know if you would like to see more? Or maybe drop me a requests?

Summary: Sihtric finishes his lesson on how to please a woman and now you have one more lesson in mind for him. Find Part One Here

TW: Whore reader. Virgin Sihtric. Ladies man Finan. Light dom reader. Light fem dom. P in V sex. Oral sex (m receiving). M/M. Hand jobs. Friends to lovers.

Word count: 1,630

Taglist: @valeskafics @gemini-mama [ please let me know if you would to be added to my taglist(s) ]

You couldn't help the way you stared as Sihtric followed your command without hesitation and stripped off his clothes hastily. You watched the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders as he pulled his tunic over his head. You longed to run your tongue over the valley and dips of his chests and stomach. Your mouth watered as his cock sprung free of its confines and stood to attention, the head already red and weeping. You wanted to know what he tasted like but that was a thought for another time, for now you were eager to have it inside you, stretching you open.

You pet the soft furs beside you encouragingly. “That's a good boy, Sihtric. Now, come here.” You smiled as the Dane complied, crawling up the bed and into the cradle of your thighs. Thighs which were wet with your arousal and still faintly trembling from the aftershock of your first two orgasms.

Together you maneuvered so that you were flat on your back and you hooked your legs over the curve of Sihtric's hips as he guided his cock inside you. He started so sweet and gentle, just brushing the head of his cock through your folds and shuddering at how wet you were for him.

You helped guide him to your entrance and he eased his way into you, his cock stretched you open in the most pleasurable ways, pressing against your walls and sinking into you inch by inch. It felt just as good as you hoped it would and you moaned as his hips pressed flush against yours. He was thick and so hard and you could feel how his whole body trembled as he waited for you to tell him to move. Such an obedient boy he was.

You cupped his angular face between your palms and pulled him down into a kiss, a chaste press of lips before you bit his lip, hard. It pulled the sweetest groan from the Dane’s throat so you did it again before pulling back and looking him straight in his beautiful, mismatched eyes.

“Fuck me”

You were so hot and tight around Sihtric's cock as he pulled back until only the tip remained in the clutch of your cunt before thrusting forward and sinking into the hilt again. Gentle at first, but as you moaned and arched your back under him he gained more confidence and began to move faster, harder.

Finan was a welcome presence at his side, offering advice and encouraging words. He instructed the Dane to throw your legs over his shoulders and tilt your hips for the best angle. Sihtric gritted his teeth against the pleasure as you writhed around his cock. His powerful hips thrusting into you over and over again, each press against your sweet spot pulling a gasp or whine from your throat.

You were the most beautiful thing Sihtric had ever seen, face flushed with arousal and body beaded with exertion. Combined with the warmth of his best friend at his side, intimate and heady, pushing him closer and closer to spilling between your soaking wet thighs.

The Irishman was not idle and ran light fingers down over your breasts, tugging at a perk nipple making you toss your head and moan, breathless and desperate. You whined in disappointment as talented fingers left your tender nipples too soon and continued their path down your body. You were torn between moving your hips against the press of Sihtric's cock inside you and Finan's fingers as they reached the apex of your thighs and rubbed teasing circles over your nub.

You could barely catch a breath as your body was overwhelmed by sensation, the attention from the two warriors making this the best fuck you've ever had. Finan’s minstrations combined with the perfect stretch of Sihtric cock inside pushed you to a third, mind shattering finish and you fell over the edge, screaming out as you shook and trembled under them.

You dug your nails into Sihtric's arms with a scream, thrashing in his hold as you fell apart around his cock. He groaned at the bite of pain, hips stuttering out of their rhythm as he fell over the edge after you. The clenching and unclenching of your cunt milking him dry.

Once the dane had found his satisfaction between your thighs you gently knocked him to the side with a breathless laugh. You let him catch his breath before you decided to turn the tables a little bit and enact your little scheme.

You could see Finan's cock straining the front of his trousers and grinned. He had been so very helpful after all, he deserved to cum down Sihtric's throat.

You reached out and tugged on the end of Finan's tunic.

“Get naked Irishman” you commanded.

Finan rushed to comply, his cock springing free, heavy with arousal and pulsing as you took it in. He was long and thick, it would be a challenge for anyone to swallow it down but you had a feeling Sihtric would prove as much a natural here as he had with eating your cunt.

You must look as wrecked as you feel for Sihtric placed a gentle hand on your arm. “Are you sure you're okay to continue, miss?”

You giggled happily, “Oh I'm just going to lay here,” you explained. “You'll be a good boy for me and help your friend out, won't you?”

They both seemed a touch hesitant at what you were insinuating but you could see their desire written plainly on their bodies. How Finan went red under his stubble and how his cock throbbed harder between his thighs and got even wetter at the head at the idea of his fellow warrior getting his mouth on him. At the barely contained hunger in Sihtric's eyes and the way his spent cock twitched against his thigh.

“It's only fair since you've completely worn me out,” you explained, one last little push to get them to agree.

And agree they did, all it took was a smile and Sihtric watched as you grabbed Finan by the hand to guide him onto the bed until he was splayed out on his back then gestured for Sihtric to kneel between his thighs. The Dane marveled at the heat which emitted from the Irishman, at how good he looked stretched out and at Sihtric's mercy. All his hard won muscles catching the flickering candle light.

He felt his soft cock twitch and it filled to full hardness again as he stared at Finan's hard cock, at the idea of getting his mouth on Finan and taking him into his throat. He had never acknowledged it outloud but the other warrior had made multiple appearances in Sihtric's mind, when he touched himself late at night, alone in his bed. He never thought he would be given the opportunity to act on his most shameful fantasy but the gods have blessed him with putting you in his path.

He didn't have time to feel intimidated by the task ahead of him as the firm press of your hand on the back of his head guided Sihtric down. This time it was you guiding him, instructing him on how to best treat the hard cock below his mouth.

He pressed wet, open mouthed kisses along the side before he licked and sucked at the head, groaning as the salty taste spread across his tongue. Sihtric's cock throbbed at the deep groan his action pulled from Finan's throat, the sound vibrating through the older man's whole body.

You instructed him to suck saliva into his mouth, to get everything nice and wet and slick before he took the head fully into his mouth and slid it across his tongue in a smooth glide. How to breath slowly through his nose and relax his throat as he sank his mouth down around his friend's cock, taking Finan to the root.

Finan cock was heavy on his tongue, it filled his mouth and made breathing difficult but it was so worth it for Sihtric to hear the strangled noise Finan let out as his nose pressed to his stomach. Thick fingers tangled in his dark hair and pulled, sharply, the bite of pain making Sihtric groan. This in turn caused Finan to buck his hips and Sihtric gagged and was forced to pull back coughing before he set to work again.

“Don't take too much.” You warned as you ran fingers down his spine and between his arse cheeks to circle around his rim, teasing the sensitive flesh but not pressing inside. Not this time.

He pushed back into your fingers and made the most beautiful muffled whine around the cock in his mouth. You tsked before removing your fingers. “Stay focused, that's a good boy. Next time I will teach you how to properly take a cock.” You grinned as both men groaned at your words and Finan's muscles tensed and his grip on Sihtric hair tightened as he flooded the Dane's mouth with his spend.

Sihtric's hand was working furiously over his own cock and you pulled his mouth off Finan’s softening cock and stole his mouth in a devouring kiss, licking the taste of the other man's seeds from his lips. Suddenly he let out a loud whine and pulled away from you sharply. You see Finan pressed to Sihtric's back and the Irishman's hand had joined the Dane's working over his cock until Sihtric spilled over their joined fingers with a shudder and a moan.

You ran a hand down your front and slipped between your legs and you shivered as your fingers brushed past your throbbing nub and you wondered if the two warriors would be up for another round.

#kirstin's chronicles #the last kingdom #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric #finan #finan the agile #sihtric x reader #x reader #finan x sihtric #finan/sihtric #m/f #m/m

[londonlingo]

Differences in Irish English vs British English

-Prepositions:

Irish people use more prepositions. It’s anecdotal but my Dad always likes to reference the joke of a parent saying to their kid: “get out from behind that thing behind which you are currently stood”

-Tenses (To be or not to be after doing?)

Where a Brit has “just done something”, and Irishman will “after doing” it. For example, in his  1988 novel “The Commitments”, Roddy Doyle writes: “I'm after rememberin'. I forgot to bring mine back. It's under me bed.”  That is to say that character just remembered in that moment.

-Yes/No

For the Portuguese reader this may seem natural; in Ireland they are less likely to use yes or no. Instead they opt for using the verb again. Think: “Would you like a cup of tea?” “I would”. This may stem from the Irish language’s lack of the words yes and no.

-Religious influences in everyday speech:

Irish has been known to be “the most Catholic country in the world” so its like surprise that such phrases have entered into everyday vernacular:

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, - This is used to expressed surprise 

Jesus H. Christ - This is used in anger, surprise, frustration or for humour (I would if Jesus has different initials internationally!)

-Individual bits of vocab

Press = Cupboard 

Hot press = Airing cupboard

Gas = Great

To give out = To tell off a child 

Yer man/yer wan = Any man/ woman that you’re referring to

Grand = Good/fine

Acting the maggot = Messing around or acting up

On the lash = Out drinking

Give it a lash= Give it a go

Now we’re suckin’ diesel = Now this is a phrase to mean something has started to go right

Effin’ and blindin’ = Swearing

Eejit = An insult for an idiot

I’ve been feeling homesick so here’s a list of differences between Irish English and British English inspired by my Irish da. Anyways go watch The Banshees of Inisherin -a good Irish film (pronounced fillum)

#irish #ireland #irish english #english language #irish accent #irish people #lingblr #langblr #linguistness #linguistic #linguistics #multilingual #linguist #language #language learning #learning languages

[sednonamoris]

love, too, will ruin us

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: You and Price take advantage of a rare sunny day in England over leave. The brief foray into civilian life has your imagination running wild.

Warnings: Penetrative sex (vague), strong language, mild angst, fluff, two raging nationalists in a relationship

Word count: 1,497

A/N: Resposting the fourth installment of my ‘hellhound’ series (cross-posted to AO3) bc tumblr ate the end of the last one and I didn’t catch it until just now 🤦‍♀️ Reading the others isn’t technically necessary but they do provide context for Price and Hound’s relationship - cheers!!

—

It’s cruel to let yourself dream of domesticity, but when he fucks you slow in late morning light it’s hard not to imagine every day starting this way. Images of a shared flat join the stars behind your eyelids when pleasure overwhelms your senses. Breakfasts for two accompany the taste of him on your tongue. You hear phantom rows over whose turn it is to do dishes between hot breaths panted into your neck.

War brought you together, so long ago now, but who might you be without it? Is there a future where you won’t watch him bleed out full of bullet holes? Where you both come home for mornings like this and stay? 

John’s teeth graze the skin of your neck and you shiver.

“Distracted, are we?” he teases past the dark blue lust in his eyes. 

“Oh, you know,” you say like you weren’t just lost in maybes and almosts and wouldn’t it be nice somedays. “Fancied a birdwatch this morning, but someone just couldn’t get enough of me. All I’ve seen so far is the English Morning-Woodcock.” 

The roll of his eyes is heavier than the press of his warm body on yours, and you can’t help the grin that steals across your face.

“You think you’re so clever,” he groans. 

“Up here for thinkin’,” you quip back, half breathless. It becomes a moan when he pistons his hips into yours just so. 

“Down there for dancing, is that how it goes?” Smug bastard.

“We’ll make a proper Irishman of you yet.”

He shakes his head to hide a smile, crooked and unguarded in the lines of too-bright sunshine that peek through slatted blinds. “Shut up and let me fuck you.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Cheeky,” he warns before kissing the smile off your lips. 

You can’t find it in yourself to mind as he guides your body to the peak of its pleasure, hands tracing familiar skin, scars, sins. Yours wander over him as well, fingers running against the hairs on his chest, palms smoothing over battle scars, nails raking down the span of his shoulders. He comes undone with a sigh of your name so sweet that the pleasant ache between your legs dulls in comparison to the one in your chest. 

You’ll never get tired of how much you love him. You’ll never not want to keep him here with you in these quiet moments forever.

But this, as ever, is a momentary reprieve. You settle back into crisp white hotel sheets and stretch your limbs after a morning spent twisted in every position. John presses a warm kiss to your forehead before he rolls over to use the bathroom. He comes back with a wet rag - just the perfect temperature - to clean you up. 

“Did you have anything else planned over leave?” you ask.

He looks up from between your bare thighs with a spark of mischief in his eyes. “The only thing I ever plan on is you, love. Could stay here all day if you let me.”

The smile that overtakes your face is wide and entirely sappy and you see it mirrored in the creases at the corners of his eyes. 

“Well I have plans,” you say. “Get dressed, you’re coming, too.”

—

“Please tell me your plans involve more than going to the chippy up the road,” Price says. 

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes at him as you join the queue. “We’ll have a nice stroll in the park, too. Can’t stay inside the one day it isn’t pissing rain in England.”

He shakes his head. “Coming from a Paddy.”

“Your Paddy, so watch it, cunt.” 

The woman behind the counter interrupts your bickering to ask after your orders. John pays for you both, but not without a cheeky comment from you about reparations that even the chip lady laughs at. 

When you step back out into the street the hustle and bustle of London greets you. The sun shines bright and unabashed by the smattering of clouds in the early afternoon sky - fluffy and white, for once. The shopfronts you pass by are crowded, full up with loudly dressed passers-by and lively conversations that echo across busy streets. Everyone and their mother is out enjoying the day. After so long on the job crowds like this can set your teeth on edge, but the park isn’t that far, now.

Parents and lovers and little old ladies have set up on blankets across the sprawling green lawns. Children race across the green with wild shrieking laughter. Some play tag and others pilot kites and more still chant childhood songs and beg their parents to join in. Wicker baskets with packed lunches wrapped in wax paper and love dot the landscape, one for every picnic blanket making its biannual appearance along with the sunshine. 

John’s hand is warm in yours as you drag him over to the one unoccupied bench. Dappled sunlight filters through the shade of the chestnut trees that line the little paved path and streaks the blue of his eyes with gold when he looks over at you. Side by side, the two of you enjoy the day. You eat your meal in pleasant quiet, occasionally stealing one of John’s chips just to see that fond exasperation he saves for you cross his face.

He takes the trash for the both of you to the bin once you’ve finished. You take the time to appreciate his soldier’s physique in light civilian clothes. His smile is warmer than the sun on his return, and you feel yourself burn up with it.

“Thank you for this, love.”

You lean into his side and watch the old man feeding the pigeons and the single mother wrangling her gaggle of children and the teens awkwardly holding hands. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget why we do it. What we fight for,” you say.

He hums something like an affirmative. 

“I like stealing moments like this,” you continue. “Neither of us is ready to retire - might not ever be, and that’s the truth - but it’s nice to imagine, you know? Getting old and settling down and doing daft shite like taking a weekend off and going to the park.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and squeezes, leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

“You could have that with someone else, you know,” he says with the quiet sadness that eats at him always. 

“What’s an old war criminal like me got to offer anyone but an old war criminal like you?” you scoff, only half teasing. He doesn’t laugh. “Thought you’d figured out by now, I don’t want that with someone else - anyone else.”

The sigh he lets out rattles his whole body. He turns, then, taking your hands in his and looking you right in the eye. You suddenly feel exposed in the wake of such a confession, even though you’ve lost count of the times and ways you’ve told John you love him. There’s a seriousness and gravity to his expression that has you holding your breath. 

“I love you, too,” John Price says. There’s an apology in the depths of his eyes - for taking so long, for wasting the time you’ve had together, for a thousand other things you’ve already forgiven him for - but all you can think is finally. Finally he says it. Out loud. In the park. Under the sun in the sky for everyone to see. “Can’t promise you anything but myself, and it’s a poor prize, but you’re just mad enough to want it.” 

You grin so wide it hurts, and he can’t help but mirror with a smile of his own, eyes crinkled and sparkling.

“Barking mad,” you agree, and kiss him before he can complain about the awful pun at a time like this. 

It’s chaste - you’re still in public - but it somehow feels more passionate than the open-mouthed kisses you’d branded on each other’s bodies just a few hours earlier with only skin to separate you. Right there on the park bench you tear your heart out of your chest and hand it to him, dripping and bloody and raw but his all the same. 

You’re still smiling when you pull away. He ducks his head, cheeks flushed. Even after so long together he’s unprepared to take the full force of your affection.

“In this imaginary retirement of yours,” he asks after a moment, “do we have a flat?”

You hum an affirmative. “A nice cosy one. In Ireland, obviously. You won’t catch me dead retired in fucking England.” 

“Oh?” he challenges with a crooked smile. “Had my heart set on Liverpool, right next to the stadium. I’ll get us season tickets, we can go to every game.”

“I’ll fly you out to every bloody game if that’s what it takes, just spare me, please,” you groan. 

He laughs. It’s a sound so easy to imagine forever to. 

For the second time today, you let yourself.

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #fran writes #it was only missing a few lines but they are SO IMPORTANT OMG #anyways. have this again #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mwii x reader

[denimbex1986]

'Andrew Scott is reinforcing one of cinema’s oldest truisms in his new Netflix series, Ripley: never trust anyone when they say they’re an accountant. The All Of Us Strangers star is returning to his Sherlock-era criminal mastermind roots as Tom Ripley, a grifter who descends into a life of fraud, deception, and murder after he’s hired by a wealthy man to return his debaucherous son home from Italy.

If this setup sounds familiar, there’s a pretty good reason for that. Ripley is yet another adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s popular Tom Ripley novels, which also inspired 1999's The Talented Mr. Ripley, starring Matt Damon. And, if you haven’t seen that film and still feel a little bit of déjà vu, Emerald Fennell’s Saltburn employs a similar conceit in its tale of a lower-class obsessive slowly worming his way into the lives and milieu of a wealthy family. The new, black-and-white, 1960s-set series seems far too classy for a “Murder On The Dancefloor”-esque victory scene, but there is a shot of Scott near a bathtub, so... anything is possible.

Ripley’s trailer sees Scott arrive at Dickie Greenleaf’s (Johnny Flynn) beautiful house, wherein he immediately starts impersonating the lifestyle and affect of the aristocrats around him. While the Sherlock alum has primarily been playing good, likable characters for a while now (we miss you, hot priest from Fleabag!), he’s still perfectly suited for the sinister, and it’s fun to see him flex those chops here.

All eight episodes of the series were written and directed by Steven Zaillian, co-creator of HBO’s The Night Of and writer of Schindler’s List, The Irishman, Moneyball, and more. The show also stars Dakota Fanning, Eliot Sumner, Maurizio Lombardi, Margherita Buy, and John Malkovich.'

#Netflix #Ripley #Andrew Scott #The Irishman #Moneyball #Schindler's List #The Night Of #Steven Zaillian #Sherlock #Hot Priest #Fleabag #Dickie Greenleaf #Johnny Flynn #Dakota Fanning #John Malkovich #Eliot Sumner #Maurizio Lombardi #Margherita Buy #All of Us Strangers #The Talented Mr Ripley #Matt Damon #Patricia Highsmith

[mayiwritesomething]

Love is an Unfamiliar Name (Pt. 8)

Wordcount: 2,5 k

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Warnings: angst, just curse words as usual.

A/N: Our reader decides do give a payback, but things won’t go as planned and a little drama takes in, both making mistakes which is quite sad tbh.

And in this chapter, we have Colin Farrell as a reader’s friend. Why? Because i think Colin would be a great friend to have around haha. Have you ever watched his Hot Ones interview or his most recent ones from the Sugar press? If you haven't, just check it out.

> MASTERLIST

————-

The Irishman

On Friday night, you were on your way to Vivienne's penthouse for the show's after-party. Jenny was unusually excited, but you felt a sense of unease, haunted by guilt at the thought of meeting Pedro, especially since you hadn't spoken since his apologetic phone call. He had even texted you in the morning, suggesting a coffee meet-up, but you chose to ignore it, opting instead to scroll through Instagram reels while lying on your bed. As you chuckled to yourself in the car, watching the city lights pass by, you couldn't help but feel a bit childish in your avoidance.

"Why are you laughing?" Jenny inquired, focused on fixing her makeup. She looked stunning for the party, taking it quite seriously.

"Just thinking about how sometimes we just become exactly what we hate," you replied, a hint of seriousness in your tone.

"Wow, that was deep," she said, sensing your subdued mood. "You know, if things go south, at least Colin will be there to have your back," she added with a mischievous grin.

"I KNEW IT!" you exclaimed, understanding why she was giving her best this night. "There had to be a reason behind all of this," you teased, pointing at her.

"Stop being silly," she blushed, even in the dimly lit car.

"Poor Jeff," you chuckled. 

"He's now dating Annette from the makeup department," she shared, not caring much. "Great in bed, but not the sharpest tool in the shed... attractive, but better off not speaking," she lamented while fixing her hair. "How do I look?"

"Stunning as always," you complimented her. "By the way, Colin's single again," you mentioned casually.

"Oh, really?" she feigned surprise. "I could never know," she teased back.

You just laughed and continued, “Things with Jill weren’t working anymore; I still don’t understand what he saw in her; gosh, she was so boring.” You always shipped Colin and Jenny.

"Well, she must have been good at something, if you get me,” she laughed. "By the way, don't tell me you chose that backless dress just because you felt like it," she said 

"I felt like I should," you replied as the car pulled up to your destination. You could only think of how much that place should cost.

As you arrived, you caught sight of Colin engrossed in conversation with Vivienne. He exuded charm, and you felt Jenny's cold hand grasping yours at your back. You waved to Colin, who signaled for you to join them.

"Hey man," you greeted him with a hug, "it's been a while." You both had met years ago while working on an independent movie project, and you had formed a strong friendship, feeling comfortable and open around him.

"Hey mate, how are you doing?" Colin embraced you, then turned to acknowledge Jennifer. She seemed frozen. Jennifer, the queen of hookups, was caught off guard.

"Hello," she managed to say, her voice a bit shaky. You stood behind Colin, silently prompting her to ask how he was doing. "How are you?"

"Much better now," he replied, his gaze lingering on her as she blushed, causing you to stifle a laugh.

"Good to hear," she said, clumsily adjusting her hair. "Well, I'll go talk to Vivienne and get something to eat; do you guys want anything?"

"I'm good," you and Colin chimed in simultaneously.

Jenny hurriedly departed, resembling a rabbit fleeing from a wolf. You and Colin continued chatting about his breakup, and you shared details about your situation with Pedro. He chuckled at how you would blush at times. Both of you were in fits of laughter when you felt a familiar hand gently touch your back.

"Hi, Pedro," you greeted him, turning to acknowledge his presence.

"Hi," he responded, his eyes fixed on Colin. "How are you?" He then looked at you.

"Doing fine," you replied more politely than usual, noticing his troubled expression you decided to keep the diplomacy. "Let me introduce you guys." Facing Pedro, you gestured towards Colin. "Pedro, this is my friend Colin."

"Hi mate," Colin greeted him, shaking hands with a smile, and Pedro gave him the fakest smile back.

"And Colin, this is Pedro, who is also a friend." You emphasized the word 'friend' with a hint of cruelty. You poured yourself a shot of whiskey, feeling guilty about drinking alcohol around Colin but wanting Pedro to sense the same pain you were feeling.

"Cool, I didn't know you would meet another friend here." Pedro's words carried a sharp edge. 

"And I didn't know I had to tell you," you retorted almost immediately.

"Well, I'm talking to her because she is my bridge to Jennifer, man," Colin interjected, pointing at Jenny, sensing the tension rising. He could almost smell the impending confrontation between you and Pedro. Your eyes locked with Pedro's, and he turned to face Colin.

"Is there a problem?" Colin, not known for his patience, inquired.

"We're good, man," Pedro replied. "I guess I'm just interrupting your friendly gathering," his tone tinged with irony.

"Can we just talk later?" You asked, holding his hands, which were shaking, aware of the turmoil simmering within him. Part of you felt a tinge of satisfaction in it.

"Yes, as we should," he agreed.

"Pedro!" Oscar's voice called out to him from across the rooftop.

"Well, I should go," Pedro said as he left.

Turning back to Colin, who was now sipping his sparkling water, he said, "If this guy could just stab me now, he would." Colin said, looking over his shoulder. "What the hell did I miss?"

You shared with him the details of your last time with Pedro, how he had been mean to you, and how he attempted an apology.

"Kid," Colin chuckled, "the guy was just playing it cool, like 'I don't do relationships' kind of stuff."

"He said we're just friends with benefits," you stated angrily. "Friends, Colin, friends."

"Come on, dude's burning with jealousy right now,” he said, looking at Pedro talking to Oscar. “—and you, Mrs., now I understand the emphasis you placed on 'friend' when introducing him. Seriously? How old are you?" Colin's defense of Pedro caught you off guard.

"What?" you exclaimed.

"I'm not stupid; I could see that—and it is obvious you did it on purpose. I'm not a pawn, okay?" Colin said.

"Colin, imagine if Jill had just slept with you, and she tells you it's better not to act like a couple or anything because you're just friends." You vented your frustration. "And to top it off, she says the only thing she misses is your body!"

"Come on, you were both drunk," he pointed out. "Listen to me, both of you."

"Seriously? Come on! Why don't you adopt him then? Poor little Pedro, a grown ass man who can’t answer for his actions," you snapped in anger.

"I already have two children… and that doesn't change the fact that you also made a mistake," he said firmly.

"Oh great, he treats me like a whore, and you just brush it off, saying he was drunk. Now I'm the one labeled as vilain for making him taste his own venom," you said, frustration evident in your voice.

Colin chuckled, shaking his head. "Kid, both of you were drunk when that happened.” He then continued. “Dude called to apologize and asked you for a coffee today — Who the fuck does that with just a fuck buddy? Coffee? On a Friday morning? Wake the fuck up," he urged. "I've lost count of how many times I've done the same thing he did. Pretending to be just friends when I really wanted more."

You listened, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. "And why the hell do guys do this? It hurts, man," you muttered.

"Because everyone’s fucked up and scared, just like you are, just like he is.” He kept talking. “You like him; he likes you too. Why not just try to have a conversation about it with him?" Colin advised, sounding like an older brother.

“You even talk like Jen." You wiped away a tear, nodding. "You and her would make a great couple, you know?"

"Go talk to your guy; I'll find Jennifer and test my luck, deal?"

"Deal!" you chuckled, scanning the crowd for Pedro. Spotting Jenny, you pointed her out to Colin. However, Pedro was nowhere to be found. Then, you glimpsed a figure leaving the bar with two cups—it seemed to be him. Hurrying, you attempted to catch up as he disappeared into a secluded spot on the deck.

Brushing off a greeting, you dashed after him, rounding the corner and calling out, "Hey, Pedro—" only to freeze in disbelief as you saw him making out with one of the models.

Pain.

He looked terrified, clearly not expecting you to show up out of nowhere. Your hands were cold as the world seemed to be in slow motion—his touch, his gaze, his smile, just how he held you. Tears blurred your vision as you stood frozen.

"Hey girl, are you okay?" The woman in his arms asked, concerned. You were mad, but you knew it wasn't her fault. It was his; it was yours.

"Ye—yes," you choked out, struggling to form words. "I'm… I'm just…— I guess…." Tears overcame you. Pedro muttered something incomprehensible as he released the girl and approached you. Anger, guilt, and sadness flooded through you, making you feel utterly foolish.

"I got it man," you said, stepping back, your voice trembling with anger. "Let's just keep things as they are, right? Like they fucking are! It's working out great for you, fucker."

"Oh! You're the one with your Irish friend over there," he retorted, his anger matching yours.

"Because Colin is my friend, Pedro. He's just a goddamn friend," you shot back, your voice rising. "He was the one trying to convince me you were just scared of whatever shit we have going on and that I was being a bitch.” You were now shouting and walking in his direction; you were lucky the music was too loud. “Turns out, he was wrong." Pedro stood frozen, the girl by the wall looking confused.

"I didn't know you both had something," she interjected, trying to calm you down.

"I’m not talking to you!” You now faced her: “I don't give a fuck if you knew or not. HE is the problem here," you declared, pointing at him, your frustration boiling over.

“Babe…”

"Don't you dare call me that!" you shouted as he reached out to you. "You know what? Go ahead, screw whoever you want. I'm done. I'm so fucking done." Tears streamed down your face as he attempted to apologize. "Fuck you! Tonight was supposed to be a great night," you lamented, feeling foolish and angry. "This whole thing—us—it is just a waste of time." 

"I’m sorry—I want things to work," he muttered.

"Oh, I can see that," you laughed bitterly. "It works for YOU.” You were now pointing your finger at his face as you spilled all the anger. “You have me or anything whenever you want. We only meet when YOU can meet me.” The tears stopped, and you could feel your face burning. “You never care about MY schedule, NEVER! Everything is about you! You’re so fucking selfish man!”

“You agreed to the schedules! Wanna know why? Because you’re such a control freak! That’s why! —Seeing each other in the middle of the night? It was YOUR idea. Don’t play the innocent girl now,” he shot back angrily. “Who told me, ‘Let’s keep this between us’? Stop being a fuckin hypocrite and act like we were something else, and I betrayed you!” he added, his desperation evident. “You were the one who decided I was your dirty little secret! You cut the cards!”

"Secret?" you yelled back. "Have you ever put yourself in my position? I'm a woman working in a male-dominated industry. Do you know how it is to have people saying you got a job probably because you slept with someone? To have your competence questioned, despite your achievements? To have people assume there's a man pulling the strings behind the scenes? Have you ever had to deal with those things in your life Pedro? HAVE YOU? I don’t think so!"

"You love jumping to conclusions about others without even attempting to have a conversation!"

“Are you sure I’m the one who jumps to conclusions?” You laughed ironically. “Come on, don’t act like you care, man! You said it yourself! You only like the body and the sex, and honestly? You can have this with someone else.” Listening to these words come out of your mouth made you feel even worse. “I am not a sex doll... Maybe we expect different things from each other,” you said coldly as your eyes began tearing up again.

You continued, “I really wanted to be by your side tonight without feeling any guilty, but you found something better to do, and that is okay, I don’t think you betrayed me. I’m just disappointed. Part of me still had some hope that things could be more than whatever I had these last months… At least someday in a near future, you know? But as I said, we want different things, and now I can understand it.” 

"I didn’t mean like this. I really thought that you were—oh, damn.” In a moment of clarity, he realized his mistake. “Fuck! I… I… —I ‘m Sorry for messing this up. I really thought you and him... Fuck… I truly…I don't know—" he tried to say.

“I’ll tell you what to do: Have your fun, man. Enjoy your freedom, that’s all that matters to you at the end of the day,” you said, tears streaming down your face.

“Please, I’m sorry…” He tried once again, his hands reaching out to hold yours.

“Go ahead and enjoy your night with whoever this girl is, or whoever you want to be the stallion with,” you said ironically as you watched the girl disappear. You then noticed Colin and Jennifer, relieved to have found you.

“There you are!” Colin exclaimed, though his expression quickly turned sympathetic as he saw your tear-streaked face.

“I’m leaving—Jen, can you keep me company while I wait for my Uber?" Bye, Col. It was nice to see you,” you said, avoiding eye contact as you spoke.

“Of course, come here,” Jennifer replied, offering you support.

Meanwhile, Pedro attempted to follow you but was intercepted by Colin, who advised him to give you some space before trying to talk to you again.

“What happened?” Jen asked as you waited for the cab together.

“He thought I was with Colin,” you said sadly, brushing away the tears. “So he decided to be with someone else too. According to him, I kept him hidden as some sort of secret—where is this darn car?” Your voice was numb with shock, and his words still echoed in your head.

“Oh, my dear,” Jenny tried to comfort you. “He was a jerk, but from what Colin told me, things were already messed up when he arrived.”

“Things were messed up from the beginning of everything, Jen. I don’t even know if I can call that a beginning, because it was… I don’t even know what it was,” you muttered. “I just want to sleep, okay?.”

“Okay, will you text me when you arrive?” she asked.

“I will,” you promised.

 

“Keep reminding myself

That people are good

And when they do bad things

They're just hurting inside

Keep fooling myself

That everyone cares

And they're all full of love

It's just their patience gets tried”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedrohub #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro x reader

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭'𝐬 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: just some tomfoolery, regular mercenary activities, and spy being his regular grumpy self

↳ song: girls—beastie boys

masterlist!

• The two of you are always doing stupid shit

• There is nothing going on in either of your brains. Nothing, I say. It's just hollow space up there

• But at least you're both having fun running through the base, laughing as you try to play hot potato with one of Demomans bombs while the aforementioned irishman chases after

• Spy swears that the two of you loose what few remaining brainchild you had left when hanging around each other

• You're also a big wingman when it comes to helping Scout talk to Miss Pauling. Major best buddy vibes—helping him learn how to be a bit more of a gentleman while also getting distracted at the same time by something else

• And Scout would return the same sentiment for anyone you had your eye on. As long as it's not Spy. Dear god please let it not be Spy

• I feel like the both of you got drunk once and went out for tattoos. Scout got his infamous Tom Jones "sex bom" one and you got your own equally as misspelled tattoo

• Probably something like "no regerts" or "taem fortress two." None of you notice the mistakes until someone else points it out for you

• Scout loves to show off all of his different scars to you!!! Please ask him to share a story or two, he could talk for hours. About anything, really, but especially his scars

• "Oh yeah!" He said, grinning proudly while flexing his arm, watching as you listened happily. "And this one was from the time I took out a blue spy! The guy didn't even see me comin' at em! Got a good nick in, though."

• "Ah that's okay Scout! You killed him in the end, thats all that anyone cares about." You waved it off, a smile still plastered on your face. "Was that the spy we buried last month? The one that was missing his pants?"

• "Yeah! Him! I never did find out where his pants went though—"

• Prank wars. That's also a thing. So many fucking prank wars. It gets to the point where Medic has to threaten to swap your intestines out for a giraffes if you don't stop disturbing his experiments

• The prank wars are quick to take place outside of the base after that

#tf2 #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #tf2 x y/n #team fortress two #team fortress two x reader #team fortress two x you #team fortress two x y/n #team fortress scout #tf2 scout #scout #scout x reader #scout x you #scout x y/n #tf2 spy #tf2 medic #tf2 demoman #x reader #headcanons

[play-now-my-lord]

My favorite little Scorsese trademark is cooking tips that don't actually work in real life. I haven't seen The Irishman yet but I saw that scene where the main character's gushing about hot dogs boiled in beer and I was like "aw yeah, my boy's back in the saddle"

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Irish Wish Recap - Part 1

Remember when I did commentary on Midnight Sun? I felt like doing something similar with Irish Wish, in part because I had a great time laughing at that movie when I watched it with Bee, but also because @ali2cann asked me to share my thoughts on it. So I've decided to recap the entire film, but in parts, because that way the fun lasts longer for everyone. Please note that this is all good natured. This movie was ridiculous but I still had a lot of fun watching it.

Anywhere, here's Part 1!

The film opens with a dictionary definition of the word "wish," which is: to want something that cannot or probably will not happen, or alternatively: the website that we ordered this movie from. There is a shot of some Tourism Ireland approved scenery before we cut to stock footage of New York.

A glamorous New York book launch party is in full swing, and has absolutely been filmed at the Clarence Hotel in Dublin. I know this for a fact because Dublin is the place of my birth, the origin of my being, the city that shaped my childhood, and because the filmmakers made absolutely no effort to change the exterior, particularly the massive lintel above the entrance that bears the name "The Clarence Hotel" in great big letters. The only indication that we are actually in New York is the brief flash of a yellow cab and a cunningly placed hotdog vendor, because outside of a swanky New York book launch party is exactly where a hotdog vendor would be.

You know what? Forget what I just said. This doesn't seem to be a book launch at all. The signage near the entrance reads "A NIGHT WITH PAUL KENNEDY." So I guess it's some sort of fancy meet and greet? The book itself is already a best seller. What is this meant to be????

Anyway. Paul Kennedy. Get used to that name, because this movie is about to ram it down your fucking throat. Paul Kennedy, ladies and gentlemen. Paul Kennedy.

Maddie Kelly, played by Lindsay Lohan, arrives at the party and exits her cab. She is wearing a dress that says "fancy book party" and a scarf that says "brunch with mom."

At the same time, Paul Kennedy arrives at the event. Paul Kennedy is wearing a plaid patterned suit to subtly indicate that he, Paul Kennedy, is Irish, rather than the O'Neills GAA jersey that actually forms part of the traditional Irishman's uniform. Paul Kennedy, you see, is a stylish Irish man, a stylish Irish man named Paul Kennedy, and he wears stylish Irish clothes. Maddie is so transfixed by Paul Kennedy's rakish good looks and stylish Irish attire that she doesn't notice that her scarf has gotten caught in the cab door and is nearly garrotted when the cab drives away.

You know, I'm really glad that this mishap occurred. I was so worried that Maddie would not be a relatable character, so it came as such a relief to see that she is Clumsy, which is the most relatable trait that you can give to a female character without detracting from her hotness in some way.

Paul Kennedy greets Maddie and we hear his terrible fake Irish accent for the first time. The press goes wild upon seeing Paul Kennedy. Paul Kennedy is, as previously mentioned, a best selling author, and Maddie is his editor. Paul Kennedy pulls Maddie in front of the press and announces that he owes everything to her and her brilliant writing and editing skills, which tbh I wasn't expecting because he's clearly not the endgame love interest in this movie and that would normally qualify him as a dick from minute one. What a nice guy that Paul Kennedy is!

Just then, Maddie gets a call from her mom, who is the principal of a high school in Iowa and is inexplicably being played by Jane Seymour. Maddie asks her how she's doing and her mom launches into a story about toilet paper, so Maddie tells her to shut up because she's attending this event for work purposes and she's only just arrived. Maddie's mom, clearly aware that this event was taking place, scolds her for her bad time management. Why did she fucking call her then??!

Maddie's mom asks her if she's told Paul Kennedy how she feels about him yet, which is an absurd question to call your daughter about when she is attending a work event. Maddie tells her mom that she hasn't even told her closest friends about her romantic feelings for Paul Kennedy, and asks her to keep her secret. Maddie's mom, her accent veering wildly between possibly English and possibly American, is all, "nobody in Des Moines gives a shit about your feelings, bitch," but Maddie doesn't care about the people of Des Moines because Paul Kennedy wants to speak to her later and she's sure that he's about to make a love confession of his own. She ends the call and immediately runs into her friends, Emma Who Works in Fashion and Heather Who Did the Cover Art for Paul Kennedy's Book. Emma Who Works in Fashion gets all hot and bothered at the sight of Paul Kennedy's smouldering Irish face on the back cover of his novel while Heather Who Did the Cover Art for Paul Kennedy's Book reminds everyone that Maddie basically wrote the book for him, which I guess makes Maddie a ghostwriter/editor hybrid. Either way, Paul Kennedy didn't do shit.

Maddie meets Paul Kennedy in the hotel bar and they talk about how they make such a great team, what with her doing all of the work and him wearing the shit out of plaid suits. Paul Kennedy takes her by the hand to ask if she wants to take their relationship to the next level and Maddie practically starts foaming at the mouth in her haste to say yes. But alas! Paul Kennedy wants her to work with him on his next novel, and by "work with him," I mean conceptualise and write the thing for him so that he can devote his time to shopping for even more plaid suits. Paul Kennedy knows that Maddie wants to write her own book, but his book is far more important so he wants her to put her own ambitions to one side for now. What a shitty guy that Paul Kennedy is!

Maddie agrees to Paul Kennedy's insane request because I guess she has no self-respect and he leaves her to drown her sorrows. Meanwhile, Emma Who Works in Fashion is racing to the bathroom because one of her false eyelashes has become displaced and Heather Who Did the Cover Art for Paul Kennedy's Book is unable to help her fix it. They run into Paul Kennedy, who immediately pushes the eyelash back into place with his finger because apparently that didn't occur to either of them to do themselves.

Emma Who Works in Fashion tells Paul Kennedy that she works in fashion and they immediately fall in love at first sight.

Later, Paul Kennedy reads an excerpt from his best selling novel, Two Irish Hearts, while Maddie and Emma Who Works in Fashion watch him from the bar, their bosoms heaving lustily in unison. They all have a drink together afterwards, and the upshot is that Emma Who Works in Fashion leaves the event in raptures over her and Paul Kennedy's instant connection while Maddie gnashes her teeth with barely-concealed jealousy. They barely avoid a fatal traffic collision and suddenly it's three months and one Aer Lingus advertisement later.

Maddie arrives in Ireland, specifically Knock Airport, for the wedding of Paul Kennedy and Emma Who Works in Fashion. Paul Kennedy is dressed in a ridiculous outfit that would absolutely earn him a savage bollocking from the locals were he to wear it anywhere in his purported home country. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. We've all seen that viral Twitter thread.

Maddie is waiting for her luggage to come through baggage claim and her friends, unwilling to wait the extra twenty seconds it would have taken for her to grab her suitcase, immediately leave her to her own devices. She chases her suitcase along the luggage carousel and runs into Ed Speleers, who is also making a play for the suitcase. A tug of war ensues and the suitcase bursts open. Maddie triumphantly waves Ed Speleers' plaid boxers in the air before realising that she's not holding her favourite plaid skirt. There's so much plaid in this fucking movie. Lindsay Lohan is wearing a plaid jacket and I'm pretty sure Ed Speleers is wearing a plaid shirt with a matching colour scheme beneath his jacket and cardigan.

Anyway, Ed Speleers is all "you clumsy oaf" and gets outta there without bothering to close his case properly. I wonder if we'll see him again.

Alas, Maddie's bag has been lost by the airline, which kind of undercuts the earlier Aer Lingus advertisement. She tells Paul Kennedy to take her friends and leave, and that she'll follow them in a taxi. No taxis are available, however, so Maddie is forced to get on a rickety old bus that looks like it was found by a bunch of Irish stereotype-hungry scouts who came upon it and collectively jizzed in their pants.

Maddie hops on without paying and asks the driver to take her to a specific address, which he happily agrees to do because fuck bus routes, and fuck the other passengers who also have places to be. Just as the bus is about to leave, Ed Speleers jumps on, greets the bus driver by his first name and sits down, also without paying. Why is this bus driver so willing to take people wherever they need to go without collecting a fare? How is the bus company running with no profits?! Ed Speleers and Maddie have a brief exchange wherein Ed Speleers cheekily mentions his boxers and Maddie anxiously adjusts her jacket to hide her lustily heaving bosom, and the bus moves off, possibly in search of a passenger who is willing to pay for the privilege of riding it.

It doesn't take long before Maddie and Ed Speleers get to talking. Maddie learns that Ed Speleers is a nature photographer who smiles a lot in a disarmingly handsome way that I am not ashamed to admit I found very stirring. It also helps that he speaks in his native accent, which the majority of the characters in this movie seem completely unable to do. Maddie's copy of Two Irish Hearts falls out of her purse and Ed Speleers sees it and laughs about how shit of an author Paul Kennedy is whilst making it clear that he hasn't read the specific book that Maddie wrote for him. There is a short exchange about the UK that absolutely backs up my theory that the makers of this movie mistakenly believe that Ireland is part of the UK, which I'm disappointed about, but not remotely surprised.

Anyway, the magically altruistic bus drops Maddie directly off at Paul Kennedy's house in County Wicklow. I know it's in Wicklow because Paul Kennedy lives near Lough Tay. Which is in Wicklow. Thus marks the first of many times that a character in this movie travels from one side of the country to the other in roughly fifteen minutes.

Anyway, Maddie enters the grounds of Kennedy House and immediately happens upon a man who is carrying wood and who I could immediately tell was played by an Irish actor because all Irish men have one of roughly ten generic faces. That's a very true observation and not a joke at all. The fact that people think Niall Horan and Paul Mescal are in any way unique looking is hilarious. You'll find at least a dozen of either in Copper Face Jacks on any given night. A dozen at least. Cillian Murphy is the only outlier.

The genuine Irish man introduces himself as Paul's brother, Kory, which is a name that no Irish person would ever give to their child, and thus, Maddie is welcomed into Kennedy House.

Aaaaaaand that's it for Part 1! What on earth will happen next?!

#Sarah recaps Irish Wish

[af-answers]

Hey mod, been a hot sec, genuinely, how are you?

Also, hey gang, I asked this on the 23 of May, are your hearts all beating? Everybody alright?

MOD: I am well. Genuinely.

Artemis: "Are your hearts all beating" is a very specific turn of phrase. I'm not generally superstitious, but the Irishman in me wants to hedge my bets on this particular answer.

#artemis fowl #mod #run by MOD

[falling-heights]

☆ Arthur Morgan ☆ -  I gave you all

Pt. 2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

“E v e r y t h i n g,   i n   t i m e--

a l w a y s   d y i n g,   n e v e r   d e a d”

“Leave us," Arthur removed the sweat-stained rag, allowing it to hang from his neck. The vision of a once angelic face, now burdened with sun-aged skin was revealed. As Sean passed him by, he grabbed his arm. He whispered a slew of words, too faint to understand.

"What do you plan on doing?" Arthur only released his grip, and began to unfasten the buttons of his gloves. "Come on, Arthur. I at least deserve to know what you're gonna do with her."

"Just resolving unfinished business," From his coat pocket, he retrieved a cigarette and a lone match. He struck the head against his belt, and you watched the fire illuminate his face. 

His eyes had finally gone cold. The little body of fire reflected in his hollowed eyes, surrounding the orange glow with a halo of lurid blue. Hands idly lighting the cigarette and shielding the flame from wind, he stared into you with that sickening gaze.

Sean obeyed without contest. He waited, staring off into the tree line as his men retreated. You watched the Irishman's shadows slowly disappear. And then, just two remained in the forest. The woods, you realized, would be your only witness to what would happen now.

He dragged a long breath from his chest. Embers burned along the end of the cigarette, illuminating his face dimly in the stark night air. He thought for a moment, taking his eyes off of you, until, after taking another drag of his cigarette, he snickered at some strange thought. You always hated when he smoked.

"Not how you expected your night to go, is it, Junebug?" Eventually, once ridden down to a nub, he finished his smoke and crushed it underneath his boots. Once the embers had died and gone dim, his attention shot to you again.

You couldn't say it didn't hurt. Seeing him now, the lack of warmth in his eyes, a sight you still missed despite having such a soiled history.

"Shit, I almost feel bad for you," His ungloved hand reached out, first to run through loose strands of hair that hung over your face. There was something strange about his touch. It was something you'd heard once, that the body can only remember another person's touch for about a year before it forgets the feeling. But this man, it was like the way he felt would remain seared in your mind for lifetimes beyond your own. He was strangely gentle as he cleared away your face. Uncertain and profoundly confused, you did nothing in the moment to stop him, though you couldn't understand his motives.

One hand drifted to your chin, lifting your head just enough to be constraining. You found yourself struggling to calm your breath. Years of distress began to resurface, bubbling in your chest and causing a meek display of terror-induced tears that ran down your face in quick and silent, hot streams. There was some quiet sort of rage, the rekindling of some deep buried emotions that were beginning to resurface in his eyes. The softness of his touch was spoiled by the violence that was written in his gaze.

Nothing could nave truly been worse than this. not only to be at your knees in front of this man, but being so helpless to the sense of grief that consumed you now. How weak you must have looked now, how strange for such a creature as you. A murderer, and thief, and now, in this man's eyes, a traitor. But it was helplessness that left you sniveling at the feet of your enemy.

"But seeing you like this, well..." He dropped your head, his actions vacant of all the gentility that was used just moments before. Another laugh left him, this time pointed directly at you. "It'd be sad if it weren't so fitting."

Nothing was more unnerving than what ideas might be concocting in his head. What would he do, then?

Arthur decidedly pulled out a white, pearl-lined revolver. You knew it well. It had been a gift, after all. And it seemed fitting. That something given should be the same to take. He stared at it for a while. The weapon must have been something of a sentimental token once. Perhaps, it still was. After all, he’s kept it all these years.

"Sometimes, I get to thinking, nights when I can't sleep and nobody's around to hear my thoughts..." He counted bullets within the gun's wheel, then rolled it back into place. His thumb rested on the gun's hammer, but he waited, allowing the sight to settle in your mind. "About seeing you again, some day. A few months after, when your absence was still fresh in everyone's mind, I almost thought about going out to find you myself. For… a long while, nothing seemed better to me than the idea of putting a bullet right here."

Lightly, the barrel of the gun pressed itself in the middle of your head. It seemed, that such a violent fantasy still lingered along his fingertips. They twitched with excitement. He held it there, something toying with his mind. He stared placidly. Though his face bore a numb manner, you knew the sadistic visions that played feverishly in his head. His mind was like a rabid dog in a cage. It was like watching the approach of a hurricane through a large glass window, waiting for the illusion of safety to break.

"But, since you’re here now, you know that didn't happen." He raised the revolver away, however it remained held with a stressed hold. "But things just work like that, I guess. Makes all those years of hiding and running pointless, doesn't it?"

"And now, you're here, just wasting my time," He waved the gun in your direction, and he stepped away for a moment. His voice was shaken, tense, filled with a rage he must have been suppressing for years, waiting for the day that it could finally be let out. He spoke his next words lowly, in a gruff, sort of apathetic tone. "What do you think will happen now?" 

"I suppose you'll kill me." The fear for your life was instinctual. Really, you should have died long ago. You, for longer than you'd known, resembled something more of a walking corpse. Something that thought, by lying to itself about what it was, could convince itself it was something else.

"What I do doesn't really make a difference anymore, does it?" He was right. The growing concern of blood loss was leaving you vulnerable. It was apparent now that if you were left untreated for more than a few hours, the possibilities would narrow to one singular decision. "Now, I could just wait. Let time will finish the job for me."

"Why didn't you?" He sat against a nearby trunk and removed his hat. His hair was deeply disheveled, matted to his head from a day's worth of sweat. It was just as easily rejuvenated when he ran a hand through it a few times, revealing thick layers of hair. The gun was set to the ground beside his thigh.

"How do you mean?"

"You could have found me easily. So, why not?" A small, patient smile graced his lips.

"I don't know, Junebug." Hearing that name, though it hurt the first time, hurt worse the second. Knowing how sentimental it had been once, and then hearing it now. Such a stark contrast. "I just kept thinking karma might deal with you on my behalf. Or, maybe a little speck of something thought that maybe I'd see you again. Not like this, but-- well, doesn't matter now, anyways." 

"So, what are you waiting on now?" 

Sitting there, his eyes never left you. His expression never changed; his grimace remained steady. It was almost as though he hadn’t heard you, but you knew he was thinking. 

"A reason, maybe.”

“For why I left?” You. The answer was obvious, but he seemed inept to it. 

He opted to remain silent, staring expectantly at you. Of course. 

With eyes idly looking downward to the side, your mind lulled to memories you had not wished to relive. A grimace of a dull ire echoed behind your gaze, and haunted your visage. 

It was clear he was opting to buy himself more time, a longer chance to consider what he would do now. Perhaps, in his mind, he imagined that he was being merciful. To him, this was your chance to convince him not to kill you. 

And if you had any of the slightest intentions to survive this night, you would have to play along. 

#arthur morgan #yandere #yandere arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #yandere rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #yandere x reader #yandere red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan fanfiction