Carmy & Richie + Text Posts

As an autistic person, The Accountant was my Black Panther.

Persephone hanging out with the puppies at night.

Din Djarin + Text Posts (2/?)

a boy who's nice that breathes, i swear he's nowhere to be seen

Cherished

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: You see Pero for who he really is under his gruff exterior.

Warnings: canon time period, protective!pero, mention of past violence (not by pero), unsafe horse riding position so suspend belief lol, unprotected p in v, pull out method, fluff, soft!pero, the picture does not depict reader, no y/n, barely edited because it was more for fun/to try something new than anything else

a/n: a failed drabble because i have too much to say. my first attempt at Pero but it's really just a fun little nothing.

*dividers by @firefly-graphics

Tracks of dried tears paint your cheeks as you sit far back from the circle of men situated around the fire. The cold air of the darkened desert brings chills through the thin fabric of your dress.  In an attempt to stay warm, you pull your arms tighter around your body and try to ignore the rumbles of your stomach. 

The blonde haired one – William – looks your way again, “Miss, you need to sit by the fire or at least accept our furs, otherwise you will never survive the night.”

“I want to go home.”

Through a mouth full of bread, “You do not have a home any longer.”

William harshly nudges his fellow mercenary, the one with the long scar down his face, “Pero,” he hisses at the man in disapproval.

Pero glares at his friend, “¿Qué? She does not.”

Anger and sadness consume you, “Then take me back to what is left of it!”

Hours earlier, it had been Pero and William, along with their group, who came to the rescue of your tiny village.  The billowing smoke luring them in to discover a gang of bandits had destroyed every home and building while murdering any person they came across.  Their victims included your father and younger brother. 

Pero was the one who had heard your tormented screams, riding his horse towards the heart wrenching sound to find a burly, bearded man grabbing you by the hair to subdue you, no question as to the man’s intention with you. 

The grip on your hair loosened when Pero rode by and swiped his sword clean through the bandit’s neck.  Turning his horse, he rode back to you and extended his hand, “Vamos! Now!”

As you started to stutter out about your slain family, Pero again urgently, and now annoyed, repeated his demand.  A quick look around showed the carnage of the place you once called home, bandits now fighting with these newly arrived men.  Without thinking any further, you grabbed Pero’s hand and he practically lifted you on strength alone. As you swung your leg over the saddle behind him, he shouted at you over his shoulder to hold on tight.

Shivering, you hug yourself tighter, eyes glancing around the campsite before returning to keep vigilance on the group of men before you.  Just because they seemingly saved you, does not mean they are not looking to abuse you in some way. 

The man in their group with the green tunic laughs, “I will take her back if that is what she wants.”

The words would have excited you had it not come from this man, because you have seen how he has been eyeing you since Pero helped you off the horse once you all made it to the campsite. 

Pero eyes the man with disdain, “You go anywhere near her and you will die of blood loss, amigo.” 

Hearing the threat surprises you.  Maybe Pero’s taken notice, too…and maybe Pero’s the one who wants to claim you. 

The man laughs at the Spainard, “Just because you brought her here does not mean she is yours.”

Pero’s glare darkens, “She is no one’s.”

“Every woman belongs to a man.  She now needs a new one to claim her,” he taunts Pero, “I volunteer.”

As William goes to scold the man, Pero stands and kicks at the flames to successfully hit the man with burning hot tinders, “Try it and die!”

As the men argue, you take that time to grab a nearby fur.  Wrapping it around yourself, you use the cover of darkness to quietly sneak away from your spot a few feet away.  As soon as you are out of sight, you begin to run as fast as possible which is hindered by the damn sand. 

You run until you can no longer breathe easy.  Slowing to a walk, you realize now how much of a terrible idea this probably was.  The stars provide minimal light and the fur does nothing to keep your legs and hands warm. 

It shouldn’t have surprised you when you heard movement far back behind you.  The unmistakable sound of a sword thumping against a strong thigh as the sound of galloping is dampened by the sands.

“Just let her go, William,” Pero grunts just as he and William reach you on their horses.  Ignoring his Spanish friend, William brings his horse to cut in front of your path, “Miss, it really is not wise to be running off on your own.  Let alone in the darkness of the night.” 

Pulling the stolen fur closer around your shoulders, you look up between him and Pero, “I do not care! My family has been murdered! I cannot leave them lying on the ground like they were.  They deserve a proper burial,” you begin to whimper at the memory of their slain bodies surrounded by blood.

William sighs, his heart broken for you, but at the same time knowing the decision is a reckless one, “I am so deeply sorry for your loss, but going back is an unfeasible option.”

Just as you open your mouth to protest more, Pero interjects, “I will take her.”

The words have both you and William in shock as you look to the gruff man. 

“Pero,” William warns at his decision.

Pero’s eyes are on yours and even in the dim light of the moon, you think you see compassion in them. He gives a small nod, before looking to his blonde friend, “We leave now and we have a good chance of making it back by morning.  Maybe this will settle her down,” he adds in typical Pero attitude. 

The roll of your eyes at those last words cannot be helped.  You almost believed him to be changing to a kinder soul until he finished his thoughts.

Pero hums in annoyance, “Or perhaps I take back my furs you have stolen there, and allow you to carry on alone?”

He had spotted your ungrateful expression it seems. 

“You touch me and I will slit your throat with your own sword,” you warn him before he takes you any further.

A humorless laugh from the scarred man, “I will hand you the sword myself.  But fear not, I have no want to touch you, señorita.  Not every man falls upon your feet.” The satisfied smirk on his face is in response to the clear offense you take at him insinuating your think so highly of yourself. 

With a groan, he pushes down on his saddle and slides backwards making room in front of him.  He then reaches an open hand down to you, “We leave now.”

“Why am I not to be behind you?”

Pero sighs heavily with simmering aggravation, “You just threatened to kill me with my own weaponry.  Better I have you where I can keep an eye on you.”

Irritated, you take his hand with a huff, and just as earlier, he’s practically lifting you on his own strength alone until your legs are spread over the saddle, your back to his chest. 

His arms circle you as he reaches around you to hold the reins.  Bidding goodbye for now to William, Pero begins the ninety-minute journey back to your village. 

No words are spoken, nor do you want there to be.  The imagery of the slaughter of your village replays over and over in your mind. Emotions are welling in your chest with every mile you’re closer. 

By the time you make it back, the sun has still not risen.  Pero cautiously looks around for any lingering enemies as his horse trots back into the destroyed village.  He remembers exactly where he found you and brings you back to your home.  Before the horse has even fully stopped, you’re bringing your leg over to slide off the saddle even as Pero attempts to grab you to help your descent.  Falling to your knees, you abandon the furs, and quickly rise to run towards the remnants of what was once your home.  Half the roof has been burned, collapsing inside the abode you grew up in.  Two of the walls have collapsed along with it and the bodies of your family are amongst the rubble – killed first before the home was destroyed around them.

Pero stands on the stirrup to swing his leg around, dismounting while watching you, “Querida, be careful!” he shouts a warning from behind.  The structure is easily no longer as stable as it once stood.  With a hand on his sword’s handle, he approaches your home, ducking under a fallen beam as you had to enter inside the portion still upright.  There you are, back on your knees, sobbing over the dead bodies of your father and brother. 

He would be no man if he did not admit that his heart hurts for your loss.  No one deserves to see their family brutally killed like that.  Leaving you to grieve, he walks the main beaten path of the village, checking each home for the items he seeks.  The shovel he finds laying on the ground near a burned body and the cloths hanging up as if put to dry – most likely by the woman lying dead nearby.   

You aren’t exactly aware of how much time has passed since you got there, but by the time your tears have finally dried there’s a peek of sunlight at the horizon.  Pero’s footsteps as he leans down to enter has you gasp in momentary fear, forgetting briefly just how you got there.

Tucked under his arm is a bundle of cloths.  Pero shifts his elbow in gesture and with the gentlest tone you’ve heard him use so far since the short time you’ve known him, he utters, “To wrap them in.”

Nodding, you wipe at the final drying tears on your face.  He’s over to you in two strides and takes a gentle knee as he begins to unfurl the sheets when your hand on his shoulder pauses him briefly.  With a sniffle that cracks his heart, you lean down to press a light kiss to his cheek, onto the part of his scar that sits below his eye.

“Thank you,” you whisper with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder.

With emotions swirling in his chest, all he can do is give you a short nod in return.  Together, you and Pero wrap their bodies, as gently and caringly as you would hope he would.  Upon finishing, you remind him, “I need to dig their – their graves, now,” the words getting stuck in your throat at the finality of them.

“It’s already done,” he shares.  

You look to him where he stares back at you, a silent understanding of your unspoken gratitude for his labor. 

It is Pero who carries each one outside for you, guiding them each down into their own resting place right outside.  When you grab the shovel before him, he steps back and allows you this as you cover each one back up with the disturbed dirt.  He gives you a few minutes once you’re finished before he has to speak up, “Querida, we need to leave now. Or – or do you want to stay here alone?” he questions.  No one said you absolutely had to return with him.  They had taken you out of precaution for your safety – it was by no means a kidnapping. 

Looking at the two mounds of fresh dirt, tears fill your eyes, but you look at Pero anyway, “What would you do with a woman like me amongst your group?”

 His eyes soften, “Not what you are fearing.  We can teach you to fight like us, survival skills.  Make you useful or to eventually have you head off on your own.”

That man they have though, “The one in the green tunic.  I fear I am not safe around him.  I heard how he spoke of me back at the fire.”

An anger passes through Pero’s eyes, but you know it is not towards you, “I will speak to William about him.  Until then, I promise you that he and I will protect you.”

“You do not like me, why would you do that?”

“I never said I did not like you,” he quietly protests, “Though it seems you do not like me.”

“That is not true,” you look at him, “You are gruff and rude, but it does not stop me from appreciating your soft moments.”

There’s a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth at your blunt honesty and roundabout way of saying that you don’t mind him without actually saying that you “like” him.  He steps closer, reaching out to close a hand around the shovel’s handle, “So what is your choice then, querida?”

The steady motion of the horse lulls you to sleep on your return journey back with Pero.  Seated in front of him once again, the furs stolen from him wrapped around your shoulders, you lean heavily against him.  Your head has turned, pressed against his neck and jaw.  The small, tickling breaths from your parted lips sending chills throughout his body at having you so intimately close. 

It’s the splashes of cold water that awaken you.  Rain drops pelt your linen dress and the parts of your skin that are uncovered as Pero’s Spanish is said in annoyance as he looks up to the darkened sky. 

“I need you to trust me.  Spin around and hook your legs and arms around me,” he instructs somewhat hurriedly. 

“Why?” you ask in surprise.

“Because we will freeze to death once the rain picks up unless I get us to shelter.  I cannot speed up the horse with the way you are sitting.  Too risky of you falling off.”

The rain does become heavier and Pero’s waiting for you to fight him some more when to his surprise you do as he says.  He pulls the horse to a brief stop to help steady you with an arm around your waist as you swing your legs up and over a few times until your thighs are draped over his and your arms circle his neck. 

There’s a warm buzz settling between you as your faces are as close as they’ve ever been, eyes seeking out the other’s.  Droplets cascade down the skin of you both before Pero is shaken from his daze by a crack of thunder. 

“You hold on tight,” he instructs before he cracks the reins and leads the horse into a fast gallop in a new direction.  As told, you hug your body to him, your cheek pressed to his as he grips the reins, guiding the horse into a fast gallop. 

The clicks of his tongue and the occasional, “Aye!” towards the animal causes a warmth to spread along your body.  The shivers follow when a few times, Pero’s hand presses to your back briefly as he praises you, “You’re doing well, hermosa. Just like that.”

The harsh movements of riding have your clothed cunt lightly bouncing against his chainmail.  While you manage to bite your lip for most of the ride, there’s been a few embarrassed moments where a moan has slipped out right next to Pero’s ear. 

He makes no indication he heard you, but he has.  The chainmail hiding the half-hard member he’s sporting from the sinful sounds you’ve treated him with. 

Pero takes you to a cave he’s used before for shelter.  He trots the horse right in and his hand spreads against your lower back as the rain is finally cut off.  Both of you are drenched and he can feel you shivering against his palm. 

“Querida, we need to stay here until the weather clears.  And I need to get you warm before you fall ill.” 

With the motion of the horse still, you now realize your teeth are chattering a bit.  With a nod, you don’t utter a word when he slowly slides his hands along your skirt-covered thighs, guiding you back enough so you can swing your leg over.  As you sit side-saddle, he has you grip his hand this time before you slip off.  His grip helps you glide down instead of falling to your knees as before.  As he descends right after you, he ties the reins to a branch sticking inside the cave and then walks over to a pile of logs that seems to have been re-used over and over.  In no time, he has started a fire.   He guides you over to stand near it before opening the saddle bags and pulling out two blankets that were tucked inside. 

The surprising gentleman, Pero spreads one down on the ground before telling you to sit.  He then lays the other over your shoulders.  You thank him, and scooch closer to the flames as you watch him rid himself of the heavy chainmail, leaving him in his thin tunic that is slightly damp.  He sits on the opposite side of the fire, holding his large hands out to warm up. 

“Pero,” you call sweetly to him.  The brown of his eyes sparkle in the firelight as he looks to you across the flames. 

Opening your arm and the blanket, you silently invite him to join you.  There’s no reason he should allow you to hog it.

“You need it more,” he nods. 

“You’ve given me both.  As noble as it is, it is unnecessary for me not to share.”

Looking at you once more, confirming in your expression that you’re comfortable with the idea, he slowly stands and makes his way over to you.  Taking a seat right next to you, he takes hold of his end of the blanket and wraps it around himself.

“Gracias, hermosa.”

“I hope the names you call me are not entirely dreadful,” you tease as you glance at him.

It makes the closest thing to a smile appear on his face, “I promise they are nowhere near.”

Despite the fire and the blankets, he can see and feel you still shivering. 

A clear of his throat, “Your dress is soaked through - you will never warm with it on.  I can turn my back and allow you to disrobe so it may dry more quickly. You may have the blanket to yourself to stay covered.”

He’s right.  And when you turn your head to look at him, he keeps a point to stare straight ahead at the dancing flames. 

“Very well,” you agree.  He glances at you and gives a short nod before standing and walking a few feet away where he turns around as promised. 

It’s only a couple minutes before he hears you announce, “You can turn back around now.”

As he does so, his breath catches in his throat.  You stand before him completely nude.  The flames paint your soft skin in colors of strength, dancing along your body like a dream.

“Querida –“ he breathes, eyes unable to stop from roaming from your full breasts to the patch of hair between your beautiful thighs. 

You take slow steps towards him, “Pero, I trust you to warm me up.  Unless, you believe the blanket is the best way.”

As you come to stand right in front of him, his eyes land on yours.  You watch as his throat moves with a swallow.  His arms stay glued to his sides and you begin to worry you’ve taken a terrible leap of faith.

“Do I not attract you?” you take a step back, lips beginning to frown.

He licks his lips before the grit of his voice speaks up, “I fear I may not be able to stop once you allow me to start.  Are you certain you want me?”

That beautiful mouth of yours turns into a sinful grin as you step back into him.  Your eyes never leave his as you reach for his hand and bring it up to cup your breast.  His eyes instantly darken with lust as you press it against the weight of your flesh.  His fingers close around it, squeezing the delicacy. 

The sudden gasp from your lips surprises you both. 

“Pero, take me,” you breathlessly urge. 

His hands hurriedly fit to your face as he steps into your body, lips landing on yours as he kisses you fiercely.  Gripping his hips, you press yourself to him.  The hard line of him presses against your cunt causing you to moan against his mouth.  Grabbing the hem of his tunic, you pull it up and he only breaks from your sweet lips to allow you to void him of it.  He trembles when your hands run from his torso to his chest before your arms surround his neck.  The perk of your nipples press against his firm chest and his tongue licks into your mouth before your tasting his in return.  Eager hands grab at your ass, squeezing hard before they’re flying up to run gently down the back of your head, “You truly thought you did not attract me?” he mumbles hastily into the heated kiss. His lips then drag from your mouth across your jaw.

A sharp inhale of arousal, “You told me you had no interest,” you grip the back of his head as he ruts his hips against you. 

He nips at your skin, “I was hoping to convince myself,” he admits.  He leaves a wet kiss where your shoulder meets your neck and then he makes your squeak in surprise when he lifts you into his arms.  He carries you over to the blanket, taking a knee before gently laying you down.  You welcome him as he hovers above you, nails dragging down his ribcage to the slim lines of his waist.  He slots his lips over yours, tasting you slower this time.  The tips of your fingers slip into his waistband and push the calfskin down until his cock springs free and his ass is uncovered. 

The kiss is halted when his lips instead part and hover over your own as you wrap your hand around him, pumping him as his groans of pleasure coast across your mouth. 

As soon as your hands are sliding back up his bare chest, his mouth crushes to yours. 

“May I fuck you, querida? Bury myself inside your beautiful body?”

Your already spread legs open wider and he feels your heels hook around his calves, “I want every inch of you inside me.  Fuck me with the same energy you’d use to protect me.  Prove to me that I belong with you.” 

He sweetly smooths a hand across your temple, “Then you’ll have every part of me, hermosa.” 

As he guides his cock to your soaking pussy, you gasp at just how thick of a head he has when he breeches your puffy lips.  Your whine in approval, hips lifting in a bid to get him inside faster.  Pero chuckles and soothes you with a kiss.  Once the tip of him is inside your slickness, he settles between your legs. 

“My sweet girl,” is all he whispers before he snaps his hips forward and sheathes himself entirely within your velvet walls.  Your body arches in intensity as your keep eye contact with him, a deep moan falling from your open mouth. 

“Oh, Pero,” you whine, clawing at his back as he pulls out and once again buries himself deep and fast inside of you. 

His lips leave soft kisses around your face, “You fit perfectly with me, querida, do you not agree?”  You quickly nod, “You have me stretched so full – so full, it feels incredible,” you moan, lips pressing to his.  One of his large palms glides from your waist down the line of your body until he’s holding your thigh to his hip.  He wraps his other hand under the back of your neck, kissing you deeply before his starts pounding into you. 

“Yes, Pero!,” you cry out, your wails echoing off the cavern walls.  You grasp his face and pull him into a wet, sloppy kiss before giving him quick encouraging nods as your high-pitched gasps urge him on.  Every punch of his cock sends an erotic moan spilling from your throat.  Somehow he fucks you even faster and you need to sink your nails into his broad back to hold on. 

He feels it then, the slow pulsating of your walls before they’re beginning to close tighter around him. 

“Oh! I’m so close – I’m – I’m – Pero, oh fuck, I’m coming!” you mewl just as your cunt hugs his cock tight.  Your body trembles below him, a scream of pleasure caught in your throat as your mouth forms a perfect O while your body seizes before trembling once more. 

“Ohhhh!” finally releases from your body.  Pero’s hips don’t stop until he’s gripping himself and pulling out.  With deep groans, his spend shoots from the reddened tip and covers your stomach up between your breasts.  The milky white substance rolling down your left hip and onto the blanket below. 

“Querida,” he breathes in exhaustion as he presses himself against you, his cum sliding between your torsos, as he kisses you.  His semi-soft length nestles against your mound while your fingers trail across the few minor scratches you’ve branded his back with. 

“Have I hurt you?” you ask with small worry, fingers running over the scratches to slide over the curve of his ass, tilting your hips up to catch your clit against the veins of his cock.  It’s pleasure for you both – your lips parting for a small moan as his jaw tightens with a muffled grunt.

He drags his lips along your chin, “Not in the slightest.  Only pleasure you have given me.”

“Then in return, may I keep your furs?” your nails drag up over his ass before moving to hook your arms around his neck. 

Pero’s brows scrunch in confusion and worry that you have only wanted him to gain something.  The glimpse of the smile breaking open on your face has him realizing how wrong he is – and how clever you think you are as you let out a small laugh, entirely too amused with yourself. 

The man above you may roll his eyes, but it’s paired with a lopsided grin as he can’t help but let out a quick breath of humor. 

Still softly laughing, you nip at his jaw to get his eyes back on you.  His eyes stay drawn to yours when you next lightly drag a fingertip down the line of his scar that leads down his cheek. 

Leaning on his forearm, he glides his calloused fingertips along your side, drifting down your thigh. 

Pero licks his lips, “Does it frighten you?”

The shake of your head starts before you speak, “Not at all.  In fact, I find it makes you even more handsome.”

The corner of his mouth curves up, “Ah, so you are a little out of your mind, yes?”

“Oh, so you are quite funny as well,” your reply sarcastic, before you break into a smile and a soft laugh escapes you. 

Pero smiles fondly before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, “You are beautiful, querida,” a large palm sweeping tenderly over the crown of your head.

Twirling your fingertip around the ends of the hairs at the back of his head, you gaze up into his eyes, “Still being funny?”

The way he smiles at you stirs something in your chest, “I could not be any more serious.”

It’s at that moment, your stomach grumbles, widening your eyes at the embarrassment before you squeeze your eyes shut and press your hand to your face.

Pero laughs above you, his warm hand curling around your wrist and pulling it away, “You are also hungry,” he grins, “Let me feed you, my sweet girl,” he kisses your heated cheek.  Looking to him, “I’m sorry.  That was unexpected.”

The kiss he gives you is deeper than the last, followed by a tender one to the tip of your nose, “You are out of your mind for apologizing for needing food. I will take care of you.  But first, we should clean ourselves, no?” Looking between your bodies where his spend is coating your stomachs.

Pero looks towards the cave’s entrance, the rain still coming down hard, and back to you.  With a big smile, he pushes off his hands and you watch with surprise as he jogs his fully naked self right out into the pouring rain.  Leaning up on your elbows, you can’t help but laugh at his craziness. 

Pero swipes his hands over his hair, slicking it back as he shakes his head of the constant raindrops on his face.  You watch as he uses the rainwater to clean him of his semen, hands wiping it clear of his stomach. 

The squeal you let out at the cold water drenching your skin as his head snap up only to see you’ve joined him under the tears of mother nature.

“You are the one out of your mind!” you say loud enough for him to hear you over the roar of the rain. He also hears the excited laugh you give right after.

Pero steps in front of you, hands grasping your bare hips, “Yet here you are right here with me!” smiling at your ability to match him.

“I know,” you say a little softer, eyes blinking quickly from the droplets, but still staring into his own.  His hands lift quickly to fit to your face, pulling you into a heated kiss.

Gripping his muscular biceps, you return it with fervor before he’s pulling back, “Quickly, hermosa. If you get ill, I’ll never forgive myself,” and he begins to swipe your stomach clean of his seed. As soon as he’s done, he’s taking your hand and running off with you back inside.

He releases you only to quickly grab one of the blankets bringing it to you, swinging it around your shoulders and wrapping you up.  You watch as he turns around and walks over to the saddlebags, reaching in and pulling out a wrapped bundle of linen.  On his way back to you, he scoops his tunic off the ground, draping it over his shoulder. 

There’s a smirk sitting on your face and he questions the cause.

“Pero Tovar, you have a very attractive butt.”

He shakes his head as his cheeks pinken, “You need to eat, you’re becoming delirious,” but then he looks at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh yes, that must be it,” you tease in return with a wink.  Pero places the bundle down and then removes his tunic from his shoulder.  He hands it to you, as his other hand is held open.  Understanding, you hand him in the blanket and take his clothing, pulling it on before accepting the blanket back.  He then leans down to pick up his pants, pulling them on.

The two of you settle against the rock wall, with Pero behind you keeping you tucked between his spread legs.  His arms have found a home around your body as you share the contents of the linen bundle – a few pieces of bread and cured meat.

“Pero?” you turn your head towards him.

“Sí, yes, querida?” he kisses your shoulder where the blanket has slipped from.

Quietly, almost afraid to speak it into the universe, “Will we be safe here until the rain clears? Will anyone find us?” The implication clear that what happened to you yesterday has found a permanent home in your mind.

The strong arms around you pull tighter to your figure, “As long as I’m here, you are forever safe,” his accented voice promises between you.

Pero sees the clear emotion in your eyes as you whisper your thanks to him.  He kisses your forehead before thinking to ask, “You have not – you did not give yourself to me as simply a return for helping you?” his tone inflecting a mild worry that he has read this situation all wrong. 

“No,” you quick to reassure him, hand sliding along his jaw to cup his cheek, “You are handsome and brash,” your lips leaving a light kiss to his lips, “But you showed me the real kind of man you are with how you treated me and with how caring you were to help me honor my family.  I believe you to be a good man, Pero, and I like you because of it.”

All he does is stare into your eyes, a grin curving to the side of his mouth. 

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you at his expression, “Do you like me? Or do you only want me for what my body can give you?” the latter said with a light poke to his chest as you don’t truly believe it with this man.

One hand glides up your spine, following the line up along your neck until his thick fingers are buried into your hair, “I very much like you.  There is a draw to you, querida. You are nothing short of enchanting, stubbornness, and all,” his words grow softer the closer he leans into you.    

The hand at his cheek rests to his nape as you pull him in even closer, a light nudge of the tip of your nose against his, a soft smile at your lips, “I do not believe I have ever had a man call me enchanting and stubborn in the same breath.”

Pero lets his mouth brush tenderly against yours, “Than no man has seen you deeply enough.  You would not be you without both.  And you, my sweet girl, are easy to adore just as you are.”

Your mouth presses to his, kissing him fiercely while he cherishes your very being. Pero holds you tight against his chest, lips tasting you over and over as his heart beats rapidly in his chest.

staring at the blank page before you open up the dirty window let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find reaching for something in the distance so close you can almost taste it release your inhibitions feel the rain on your skin no one else can feel it for you only you can let it in no one else no one else can speak the words on your lips drench yourself in words unspoken live your life with arms wide open today is where your book begins the rest is still unwritten

How Sebastian Stan Survived Communism and Became Hollywood’s Most Daring Shape-Shifter

So you need somebody who can play the Winter Soldier, Trump, and Tommy Lee? We’ve got the guy.

Sebastian Stan, who can currently be seen in Marvel’s Thunderbolts*, photographed in February in Palmdale, California. Jacket by Prada; vintage T-shirt from Stock Vintage.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

The sun is going down fast, and Sebastian Stan is trying to get inside a locked Romanian church. This windblown Monday in late February would have been his late father’s 70th birthday, and before the day is gone, he is determined to light a candle and say a prayer in the old man’s memory at a place that had meaning for them both. Stan was born and raised in Romania, where faith and superstition became rooted together for him. “Whenever I’m in a church, I have to go like this three times,” he says, making the sign of the cross with his right hand. “I have to do it. And I have to do it three times before I get on a plane.”

Just before we arrived at this Southern California church in pursuit of the sacred, Stan was indulging the profane. Is there another way to describe an encounter with a remote-controlled talking penis? The actor is based in New York, so when he visits LA, as he’s doing now to attend the Academy Awards, he has a full to-do list. Today, that includes a visit to the makeup studio Autonomous FX, which won an Emmy for transforming Stan and Lily James into Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson for the Hulu series Pam & Tommy. The whole day is a microcosm of what has established Stan as one of the more daring and endearing actors working today. He thinks deeply but has a wild side too.

We’ll get back to the robo-penis later.

Jacket by Dior Men; belt by Artemas Quibble; vintage T-shirt from Stock Vintage; vintage pants from Front General Store.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

It’s getting late, and Stan has to hurry through rush-hour traffic to get right with God for his father’s birthday. The Biserica Ortodoxă Română Sfânta Treime (or Holy Trinity Romanian Orthodox Church) that he wants to visit to light the tribute to his father is meaningful to the Romanian immigrants who founded it, but it’s no soaring cathedral. It’s tiny, a single-story white stucco structure with a squat steeple that’s hidden behind much taller trees. Across the street is the headquarters of the Bilt-Well Roofing company, which is a comparatively much bigger operation.

Stan left Romania more than three decades ago, but it’s still a core part of him. So is the uncertainty of growing up in a place where the government dominated and demoralized its own citizens—which makes him especially attuned to authoritarianism in his adopted country of the United States. His old accent is gone, of course. Few who have seen him onscreen as the Winter Soldier in a decade and a half of Marvel movies—including the upcoming outcast team-up adventure Thunderbolts*—could find a trace of it. Stan’s character of Bucky Barnes is as all-American as his closest friend, Captain America. The character was a Brooklyn native, but Stan took on a neighboring Queens inflection for another famous (or infamous) performance, playing young Donald Trump in the scathing true-life drama The Apprentice. The role earned him both a best-actor Oscar nomination this year and the enduring rage of a vengeful, unchecked president.

Suit by Emporio Armani; shirt by Giorgio Armani; necklace and watch by Cartier. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

New faces and new voices were exactly what drew Stan to acting in high school. He moved to the US in the 1990s, and—as an immigrant kid still struggling to adapt to the language and culture—it was a lot more fun to be Bum Number Two in a production of Little Shop of Horrors than it was to be himself. “I just remember how fun it was to try to change everything,” he says. Being onstage turned a shy kid into a scene-stealing extrovert—and he was good at it. His mother sent him to summer theater camp not far from their new home just outside New York City, and by the end of high school, he was being cast as the lead in Cyrano de Bergerac. He was a good-looking kid, but he still loved hiding his face beneath Cyrano’s oversized nose. “You’re dressing up, you’re putting on fake beards, you’re walking differently, you’re changing,” he tells me. “You take big swings. You take bigger swings than you do when you’re a young actor coming to LA to go on pilot season auditions and they try to cast you as yourself—and you’re only allowed to play yourself.”

“SEBASTIAN HAS ALWAYS BEEN REALLY FEARLESS,” SAYS CHRIS EVANS. “YOU CAN SEE THAT IN HIS CHOICES. HE TAKES BIG SWINGS.”

Stan prefers to push himself to the background. He is not an oversharer. He’ll talk about characters or stunts or the meaning he sees in a particular movie or TV show, but while fans know every detail about the lives of other performers they adore, Stan has built a following while keeping the specifics of his own life somewhat obscure. The pilgrimage to light a candle for his dad is something he would ordinarily have done by himself. But Stan agreed to share something of himself for this story, in defiance of the actorly part of his personality that wishes when you looked at him, you’d see someone else.

He pulls on the handle of Holy Trinity’s main doorway. It doesn’t budge. “Doesn’t look very open,” he says. He’s not ready to give up. He walks around the church’s property and finds an older man sweeping up outside the congregation’s neighboring all-purpose hall.

Stan opens his arms and addresses him with a traditional Romanian greeting of respect: “Sărut mâna…”

I kiss your hand.

Coat by Miu Miu; belt by Artemas Quibble; necklace and watch by Cartier; vintage pants by Carhartt from Front General Store.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

A week later, Stan is wearing a Prada tuxedo. It’s the night of the Academy Awards at the Vanity Fair Oscar Party, and instead of trying to win over a skeptical church janitor, he’s trying to reassure his fellow actors and filmmakers that he is just fine, despite losing best actor to Adrien Brody earlier in the evening. (The VF Oscar Party is off-the-record, but Stan gave us permission to set the scene.) Most well-wishers now come to him with condolences, but he didn’t expect to win, and in some ways he may have avoided a bigger headache.

Trump has made political retribution a hallmark of his new term in the White House, and he was enraged by the sheer fact of The Apprentice’s existence. The movie, written by veteran journalist and Vanity Fair special correspondent Gabriel Sherman, depicts Trump in the 1970s as a needy wannabe mogul, eager to escape the shadow of his powerful father and being taught by Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong) that underhanded tactics are a shortcut to success. When the movie was released last October, a month before the election, the once and future president unloaded on it via Truth Social, calling it “a cheap, defamatory, and politically disgusting hatchet job,” and adding: “So sad that HUMAN SCUM, like the people involved in this hopefully unsuccessful enterprise, are allowed to say and do whatever they want.”

It’s unlikely that Trump had actually seen the movie at that point, but Stan has little doubt that he’s watched it since. “I would put money down he’s seen it 100 fucking times, of course, because he’s a narcissist,” Stan told me the previous week. “And I bet you there’s certain things he likes about it.” Such as? “How he looked,” Stan replies with a smile.

Pants by Brunello Cucinelli; vintage T-shirt and boots from Stock Vintage. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

He is too modest to say it directly, but he’s more handsome than Trump ever was, even with the prosthetic makeup that thickened the actor’s neck and dental devices called plumpers that pooched out his lips and jowls. Autonomous FX did those makeup effects too, allowing him to look more like the disco-era version of Trump. Capturing him physically, while also surfacing the scared and desperate young man beneath that exterior, is what earned Stan his Oscar nomination. “He loses his humanity. I guess that’s essentially what happens,” Stan said of the movie. “As an actor, all you’re trying to do is just look at these very human things and identify with them.”

That doesn’t mean he wants Trump to put him at the top of his enemies list. Before the Academy Awards, Stan said he was trying not to worry about potential retribution and didn’t think it would happen, unless…“I don’t know, maybe if I win the Oscar, which is like 0.0000 percent.”

“HE’S WILLING TO PLAY UNLIKABLE CHARACTERS,” SAYS JESSICA CHASTAIN. “HE’S NOT HAPPY TO JUST BE A CONVENTIONAL MOVIE STAR.”

So yes, he’s feeling fine at the party. He took with him other honors from the backslapping season, like when Jane Fonda name-dropped him while accepting a lifetime achievement award at the Screen Actors Guild Awards. “While you may hate the behavior of your character, you have to understand and empathize with the traumatized person you’re playing. Thinking of Sebastian Stan in The Apprentice,” she said.

Stan said her shout-out was “maybe better than winning an Oscar.” “I wasn’t at the SAG Awards,” he continued. “I wasn’t nominated. I didn’t go. But somebody told me to turn on the TV because Jane Fonda mentioned my name. I would never have thought in my life that she would know who I am.”

Jacket by Prada; vintage T-shirt and boots from Stock Vintage; pants by Prada; belt by Artemas Quibble; necklace and watch by Cartier. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

Then there was the actual trophy he won, a Golden Globe for best actor in a musical or comedy, bestowed on him not for The Apprentice but for A Different Man, in which he plays a man with a disfiguring genetic condition who undergoes a radical medical procedure to look more “normal.” The back-to-back recognition caught the attention of Hollywood’s power brokers, including Marvel Studios president Kevin Feige, who has been working with him for nearly 15 years now. “To see him winning a Golden Globe for one movie and then being nominated for an Academy Award for another movie in the same year is pretty darn impressive,” Feige says.

The Golden Globe win stirred unexpected emotions in Stan. “You never really think that you’re going to be up there,” he’s told me. “I realized from that Golden Globe moment that when it happens, it’s massive. You can’t help but reflect on everything and everyone that contributed to you getting there.”

One of them is Annabelle Wallis, Stan’s partner of several years. The couple had kept their relationship private before the Globes, when she accompanied him and got an “I love you” callout from him on the stage. Wallis joined Stan at the Oscars as well, wearing a forget-me-not blue Grecian-style gown, and he introduces her happily to me at the Oscar party. (She has heard all about our adventure trying to get into the Romanian church.) Wallis is an actor herself, best known for The Tudors and Peaky Blinders, but their relationship is not something either of them discusses. “I feel like it’s really difficult nowadays to be able to have any privacy whatsoever,” he said. “It’s the one part of my life that I try to keep somewhat for myself, even though it sort of ends up being out there.”

Stan gets that protective streak from another person who helped him get where he is—his mother, Georgeta Orlovschi, who also accompanied him to the Oscars. She raised him for many years as a single mom after she split from his father when Stan was young. “They were both very strong individuals with very strong personalities,” he says. “Neither wanted to be justified by the other. I think they both had a rebellious spirit.”

Hat by Nick Fouquet; necklace by Cartier.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

His father later disappeared completely, going into exile in the States. Constantin Stan was a cargo-ship worker who helped fellow countrymen evade government persecution that pervaded Romania in the decades after World War II. “He was a bit of a hero in my town,” Stan says. “My parents were part of the youth that were standing up to Communism. My father was helping people escape the country illegally, to the point where he was a wanted man. And he himself had to flee.”

Stan grew up not really knowing the man everyone else knew by the nickname “Tino,” apart from occasional telephone calls. But if his dad could vanish, it seemed plausible that his mother might too. Then one day she did.

Stan was about eight years old when his mother fled Romania to set up a new life for them abroad. Throughout his childhood, government mismanagement and corruption had led to food scarcity, fuel shortages, and electricity blackouts. The eventual revolution culminated in the downfall and execution of dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu in 1989. “I watched him get shot on television,” Stan says. “I remember that.”

The aftermath wasn’t necessarily better. “It was chaos,” Stan says, noting “how many orphaned kids were in Bucharest after the revolution because everybody didn’t have money. Nobody knew how to live. They’d been so suppressed.” He spent a year with his grandparents before joining his mother in Austria. “She came and got me when she finally had a job and established herself enough there in Vienna,” he says.

Sweater by Loro Piana; pants by Schott NYC; necklace and watch by Cartier; vintage tank top from Stock Vintage.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

The anxiety he felt about losing her continued even after they were reunited. “She was working. She was playing piano at night when she could, and then she was teaching piano all day long. So at 9 or 10 years old, I was taking the trolley to school myself. I was taking the subway back myself,” Stan recalls. “Then I was coming home and I was alone, and I would have to make myself food and I’d do my homework and I’d wait for her to come home. That was a lot of alone time for a kid in a foreign country.”

He learned independence, but it scarred him too. “I remember waiting for her to get home and worrying: What if she doesn’t come home? I can see how that’s worked against me in certain ways and how it’s totally benefited me in other ways. You have a lot of time with your imagination when you’re a kid like that alone. So I feel I’m very good at using my imagination to believe certain things, which helps me in a way. But then there are times where I’m feeling a degree of uncertainty and lack of control over my life that can be paralyzing.”

“MY PARENTS WERE PART OF THE YOUTH STANDING UP TO COMMUNISM,” HE SAYS OF HIS ROMANIAN CHILDHOOD. “MY FATHER WAS HELPING PEOPLE ESCAPE THE COUNTRY ILLEGALLY—TO THE POINT HE HIMSELF HAD TO FLEE.”

Stan was around 12 when his mother began dating a man named Anthony Fruhauf, who was the headmaster of a small private high school in central New York. When they got married, Stan’s mother made plans to move with her son once again, this time to the United States. “He was really kind. My stepdad was a real influence in a good way,” Stan says. “In those early years in America, speaking English with him at home I think probably led to how I lost my accent.” He was all right seeing it go. He wanted to belong.

All this surfaced when Stan was onstage accepting his Golden Globe. “This is for my mom who left Romania in search of a better life, and for my stepfather, Tony, who took on a single mom and a grown-up kid,” he said, hoisting his award as his voice broke. Pointing heavenward, he added: “Thank you for being a real man.”

Coat by Bottega Veneta; belt by Artemas Quibble; necklace and watch by Cartier; vintage T-shirt from Stock Vintage; vintage pants from Front General Store. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

Despite craving stability, Stan learned the value of taking chances, which has earned him a daredevil reputation among his actor friends. “Sebastian has always been really fearless,” says Chris Evans, who first appeared opposite Stan in 2011’s Captain America: The First Avenger and costarred with him repeatedly as the Marvel Cinematic Universe expanded. “You can see that in his choices. He takes big swings. When that Trump movie was kicking around, I remember thinking, I wonder who is going to take this job? It’s just got so many strings attached to it. And I was so unsurprised when I heard it was Sebastian.”

The devil on Stan’s shoulder urging him forward was Jessica Chastain, who became a close friend after they worked together on 2015’s The Martian and later the 2022 spy thriller The 355. “When we were on set for The 355, that’s when he first told me he had had the offer to play Donald Trump. A thing about Sebastian that people might not realize is he’s very, very thoughtful, almost to a point where he overthinks things. It could cause a little bit of stress. He was like, ‘Well, what do you think? What would you do?’ I said, ‘Do it.’ I was like, ‘What do you have to lose? Take a risk.’ As long as it doesn’t cause you physical danger, if something scares you—do it.”

Chastain saw Stan do that very thing in 2017’s I, Tonya, in which he played Tonya Harding’s then husband, who hatched the scheme to sabotage her rival, Nancy Kerrigan. “When so many people are trying to make you this conventional movie star, it’s a risk to do something that isn’t that,” Chastain says. “He’s willing to play unlikable characters. I find that executives have trouble with characters that may be complex and have dark sides to them. He really embraces that. He’s not happy to just be a conventional movie star.”

Coat by Loewe. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

Marvel Studios was looking for a dark side when they were casting the role of Bucky Barnes in the first Captain America movie in 2010. Stan was a relative unknown, though he’d had a recurring role on Gossip Girl as a pathological liar of a rich kid. “You could see that he has so much inside him and so much behind his eyes. I’ll never forget that,” Feige says. “I said to Stephen Broussard, who was one of the producers on Captain America, ‘He’s going to be a good Bucky, but he’s going to be a great Winter Soldier.’ ”

Bucky evolves into that villainous alter ego in subsequent MCU stories, going from fearless soldier to shell-shocked prisoner of war and, eventually, mind-controlled assassin who struggles to break his programming and redeem himself. Getting the part was beyond game-changing for the actor. “I was actually struggling with work,” Stan says. “I had just gotten off the phone with my business manager, who told me I was saved by $65,000 that came in residuals from Hot Tub Time Machine.” He’d played the smarmy bully in that comedy a year before. Now it was his salvation.

Since then, the Winter Soldier has become one of the most beloved and relatable characters in the MCU, even though his story is far from the traditional everyman narrative. Bucky resonates because he’s damaged goods—the patron saint of fuckups struggling to do right. The arc culminates in his new lead role in Thunderbolts*, with Bucky leading a team of former troublemakers and outcasts. Feige says that, without Stan, the character’s strange journey wouldn’t have been the emotional gut punch it is.

After lunch, Stan goes to his appointment at Autonomous FX. The headquarters is tucked near an ice warehouse and a scrapyard in an industrial neighborhood of Van Nuys. Stan is trying on a pair of fake teeth that slip over his perfect pearly whites. The goal is to give him a more regular-guy look for Fjord, the movie he’s shooting in Norway with filmmaker Cristian Mungiu, a fellow native of Romania.

There’s a story behind these teeth—dating back to before Stan got braces as an adult. “When I got Invisalign, I was so obsessed with them,” he says. “The more you wear them, the faster they work. So I actually wore them at the fucking Captain America: The Winter Soldier premiere. I have them in and I’m smiling with them and people can tell. I was self-conscious because my teeth were always a little….” He splays his fingers into crooked angles.

The prosthetic teeth are modeled on Stan’s own before he fixed them. Stan has another blast from his past waiting for him too. After the fitting, Jason Collins, the founder and lead creative force behind Autonomous FX, takes Stan through the workshops, where sculptors are making limbs, bodies, and demonic babies. On the shelves, busts of other actors like Christian Bale and Annette Bening, used for previous projects, stare down with vacant eyes.

Collins and his company essentially provide the level-up version of the fake beards and noses that Stan first loved about acting in high school—except occasionally X-rated. As part of this nostalgia trip, Collins brings out a plastic tub with the remains of the robotic erection from Pam & Tommy. The latex has dried out and decayed away. This penis “character” was voiced by Jason Mantzoukas and had strong opinions about the Mötley Crüe drummer’s romance with the Baywatch star. It was a risky creative choice by the showrunners but added levity to the series and was inspired by Lee’s own autobiography, in which he banters philosophically with his sex organ.

The makeup team and the actor forged a bond along the way. “It really becomes a partnership,” Collins says. “We stare at him for weeks and months at a time. So we know the physical structure. We know what the span of his legs is and all that other stuff.”

“You get to know the actor very well,” says Stan. Their earliest meeting involved figuring out how to fit a prosthetic over his actual privates and snake cables for the controls down his backside. “When I first came here, they made a replica to work on. So they had to cast this,” Stan says, gesturing to his crotch. “I remember you’re like, ’All right buddy, well, I guess it’s good to meet you.’”

Jacket by Bottega Veneta; vintage T-shirt and boots from Stock Vintage; belt by Artemas Quibble; necklace and watch by Cartier. PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

After the makeup shop, Stan heads for the last stop of the day, the Orthodox church. After a persuasive conversation in Romanian, the custodian agrees to unlock the chapel for him. “Vezi ca pana,” Stan says. You’ll see it’s only for a moment.

As the doors swing open, the faces of saints stare down at us from rows of miniature shrines, not unlike the busts of the famous actors in the prosthetics lab. Both places represent things Stan believes in—the ability to transform into something new and a yearning to connect with something beyond yourself.

Stan doesn’t claim to be especially religious, but the Holy Trinity chapel takes him back to that fearful time living under Communist dictatorship, when he put his faith in higher powers and prayed for the best. “We would go to church a lot when I was little,” he says. “It’s still tied into certain things for me, because I felt such a degree of powerlessness over decisions being made early on.”

STAN IS NOT AN OVERSHARER. BUT HE AGREED TO SHARE SOMETHING OF HIMSELF HERE, IN DEFIANCE OF THE ACTORLY PART OF HIM THAT WISHES WHEN YOU LOOKED AT HIM, YOU’D SEE SOMEONE ELSE.

Stan and the man he wants to commemorate with a candle were estranged for years. He and his father finally reconnected when Stan was around 18 and began visiting Los Angeles for auditions. The New York kid would save money by staying with his father, who had settled in the San Fernando Valley (not far from the makeup shop, actually) and worked, once again, in shipping. The periodic visits brought them closer, and the relationship stayed tight until his dad died unexpectedly from COVID on a trip back to Romania in 2021.

Stan sometimes thinks his father’s story might make a good movie. In Romania, Tino was legendary for sneaking contraband Western goods like blue jeans and bananas into the country while smuggling dissidents out aboard the same vessels. “He worked hard and he loved America and he believed in being free,” Stan says. “I have always made the argument that immigrants to some extent are more patriotic than even the people that are born here because they don’t take things for granted. At least that’s what I saw in my father.”

The janitor guides us to the back of the church, where there’s a small side room with a votive stand arrayed with unlit candles.

“Can you give me one second? I’ll be right back,” Stan says.

He disappears into the shadowy alcove and strikes a light.

Later, driving away from the chapel, Stan tries to explain why he felt so compelled to go there. “I think it’s just the acknowledgment of how fragile we all are. Sometimes you go somewhere where it’s really not about you. It’s a moment to let go. Turn off for a while,” he says. “You don’t have to be anything in there. You don’t have to think any which way.”

Jacket by Balenciaga; belt by Artemas Quibble; vintage T-shirt from Stock Vintage; vintage pants by Carhartt from Front General Store. Throughout: hair products by Rōz; grooming products by Tom Ford Beauty.PHOTOGRAPH BY NORMAN JEAN ROY, STYLED BY EDWARD BOWLEG III.

He says something similar via text two weeks later, when he’s in Norway, starting work on his new role in Fjord—with his new teeth that resemble his old teeth.

“The feeling is always the same. Like it’s the first time,” Stan writes. “It’s always a mix of fear and hope. It’s losing yourself. It’s a free fall. Every time.”

You are at a bar, and are asked to hook up by the person selected by this wheel. What's your response?

Like remember when it was pretty well understood by men who were actually chill to be around that like obviously I hate all men wasn’t universal and if women felt comfortable saying that around you it meant you were cool and now instead every fuckin loser dude is like actually by saying men suck you’re enforcing bioessentialism and the patriarchy or some shit. Shut up you fucking crybaby