#because i don't write for these two but I always wonder

[00valentina-writes00]

My God, your writings are wonderful, the way you express yourself in letters should be rewarded with an award

I'm so excited about pregnancy writing. Is there a way to know how Sevika would behave with an injured reader when she is pregnant or when she gives birth to her baby? I thank heaven that put you on my profile, I read this every night before going to sleep (don't judge me for being so weird ￣(=∵=)￣ )

✞⛧ Sevika with a pregnant girl ✞⛧

An: girl I understand (me too fr- I love writing stuff like this)

✞⛧ Sevika is protective as hell, always on guard when you’re around. The idea of you carrying her child brings out a deeper, fiercer side to her.

✞⛧ She’s not great at expressing her feelings verbally but shows her care through actions. For example, when you’re pregnant, she’ll make sure you’re never doing too much, offering to handle any physical tasks.

✞⛧ If you get hurt while pregnant, she’s livid. She’ll immediately jump into action, her protective instincts taking over. Sevika is usually stoic, but if you’re hurt in any way, you’ll see a more vulnerable side of her—concern, anger, fear.

✞⛧ In those moments, Sevika’s eyes will burn with anger, and she’ll make sure to stay by your side until you’re safe and sound. If it’s a more serious injury, she’ll insist on taking care of you herself, even if it means staying up all night.

✞⛧ She’ll be hovering around you during labor, but in her own way—staying close but not overly dramatic. Sevika has a quiet intensity, trying to stay strong for you while she watches you go through something as intense as childbirth

✞⛧ During labor, Sevika has a firm hand on your back, rubbing circles to calm you down, though she’s visibly on edge. She might not say much, but her presence is comforting in a way you can’t quite put into words.

✞⛧ She’s not one for saying sweet things, but you can tell she’s paying attention to every little thing, from your breathing to how you’re holding up.

✞⛧ Her reaction when the baby is born is nothing short of awe. She’s trying to be tough about it, but there’s no hiding how she’s completely taken by this tiny human you both made.

✞⛧ Sevika’s hand is right there when the baby is handed to you, and the way she looks at the two of you—her child, her family—tells you everything you need to know about how much she cares.

✞⛧ After the baby is born, Sevika is surprisingly tender with the little one. She may not be the most openly affectionate person, but with her child, it’s different. You’ll see her carefully hold the baby, as though she’s learning how to be gentle.

✞⛧ She takes on a lot of the heavier work at home, but always with the unspoken promise to keep you both safe and well. She might do things like bring you food or clean the house without you asking, all because she knows you’re doing the most important work: nurturing.

✞⛧ She’s not exactly cuddly, but when the baby’s in your arms, Sevika will give you both soft looks from across the room. Her love for the two of you is clear in her eyes, even if her expression is more reserved than anything.

✞⛧ If the baby cries, Sevika’s instinct is to quickly check and see what’s wrong, almost like she’s scanning the room for danger. She can be a bit paranoid about protecting the baby but has the best of intentions.

✞⛧ Sevika will fight anyone who tries to harm you or your baby, no question. If anyone dares to cross her or her family, they’ll regret it immediately.

✞⛧ When you’re up late with the baby, Sevika will always offer to take the night shift. She knows how hard it is, and though she’s not the best with soothing techniques, her strong, steady presence gives you some peace.

✞⛧ As the baby grows, Sevika will be the kind of mom who’s constantly teaching them, showing them how to be tough, resilient, and smart.

✞⛧ She’ll teach them about the world in a way that’s practical—how to defend themselves, how to survive in a harsh world—but also instill in them a deep sense of loyalty and respect for others.

✞⛧ When the baby takes their first steps, Sevika will act like it’s no big deal, but her eyes will soften just a little. It’s one of those small moments where her pride in her child shows through.

✞⛧ She might not say it often, but you’ll hear her whisper “I love you” to the baby when she thinks you’re not paying attention. It’s a rare moment of softness that she keeps for her family.

✞⛧ She’ll always be the one to ensure that both you and the baby are physically protected. When people in Piltover or Zaun look at you with a hint of judgment, Sevika doesn’t flinch. She gives a glare that makes them think twice.

✞⛧ She’s a very practical mother, not one for over-the-top displays of affection, but the way she looks after the baby shows how deeply she cares.

✞⛧ When the baby gets older, Sevika is there for every milestone, though she might play it off like it’s no big deal. But you’ll catch that proud look she gives when the baby shows their first sign of strength.

✞⛧ Sevika will be the first one to defend the baby’s honor—if someone tries to mess with them, Sevika will be the one to step in and put them in their place.

✞⛧ When you’re resting, Sevika is right there beside you, making sure the baby is fed, happy, and safe while you get the rest you need.

✞⛧ She’s surprisingly sentimental about keepsakes—if you manage to get her to keep something like a baby blanket or a little toy, it’s something she holds onto tightly, even when the baby’s grown.

✞⛧ Despite being a hardened individual, when Sevika sees her child laugh, she can’t help but soften. That sound fills her with something she’s not used to—complete, overwhelming love.

✞⛧ In her quiet moments, you’ll sometimes catch her staring at the baby with that same sense of awe she had when they were born.

✞⛧ Sevika is a fierce protector, but she’s also a caring and capable mother who does her best to provide stability and strength for her family.

✞⛧ She’ll stay up late with the baby, rocking them to sleep in her arms, her stern demeanor softening in the quiet of the night.

✞⛧ Sevika will protect you both fiercely and provide for you, though you’ll often need to coax her into being a little more affectionate. She’s still getting used to showing that side of herself, but for you and the baby, she’ll always go to any length.

[cherie-doll]

Hi! I hope you’re doing really, really well, beautiful. So, I was wondering if you could write something about what the COD guys would be like on their wedding day. Maybe how their weddings would go—whether they’d be big or small, or where they’d get married? I’ll leave it up to your imagination. Thanks so much!!!🤍💌^^

what a lovely thing to imagine <3

(sorry i am getting to these so late, i've been so incredibly busy bc i forget that im somehow an adult and i have to do adult things, there's just kind of a lot on my plate rn, if only y’all could see the mess my desk is in with trying to write and the paperwork everywhere but this was so fun to write tysm for this ask <33)

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Their Wedding Day

༢ུ· Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

I'd like to think that Price would have a pretty big wedding, I mean just think of all the people he knows and has met along the years coming to celebrate this day, there's some people he's close with and even consider his family, of course they won't miss out on this opportunity to be there for him, the speeches would take forever because everyone wants to say something

He's just so happy on this day that he can't think of anything else, he doesn't care about whether the wedding is at a venue, church, barn, outdoors, he just cares that everything turns out alright, so he'll be perfectly fine if you decide to go with something simpler

If you're nervous while walking down the aisle he'll be waiting for you at the altar, smiling and looking at you the entire time, gazes meeting and transmitting a warmth and calming energy that everything has and will turn out just how you want it

He just considers himself the luckiest man alive to be able to marry you

Ghost

His wedding wouldn't be big, something on the more average/small size, he has his close friends by his side and doesn't want to bother inviting anyone else he hasn't talked to in the past year, he knows exactly who truly cares and who deserves to be there

He'd groan seeing Johnny stand up to give a speech knowing he's about to sit through some embarrassingly horrid stories this man is about to spill

That is unless you have a lot of people you know, he wouldn't be at all against you inviting your share of people to the wedding he just doesn't want the reception to last too long to the point he's feeling more drained or stressed on the joyous occasion

After the ceremony and eating he'd be fine for MAYBE three hours max before suggesting y'all sneak off and just go to your room for the night, doesn't give a single fuck that it's his wedding he's going to let the guests have their fun while you have yours a little earlier than what you planned

Soap

He'd be nervous on the day, he's standing there, nervously smiling as he fidgets with his fingers, fixing his tie, his eyes wandering about the room until he hears the crowd gasp and he looks to the other side and sees you standing there, he is in awe of how you look, and when you get to stand in front of him he tells you how breathtaking you look, you jokingly ask if you don't always look breathtaking and he responds that you look especially radiant today

He's so lost in your eyes that when he has to answer "I do" he doesn't even hear the question, his mind not registering anything other than how stunning you look, the crowd laughs when he has to snap out of it and stammer an "I do"

When he goes in for the kiss he goes a bit too far and it almost turns into a heated kiss but you have to tap his shoulder reminding him that there's probably a kid or two among the guests

He is so happy he doesn't even care who is or isn't amongst the crowd, that lame ex of yours who somehow snuck in when you didn't even invite him? He barely bats and eye at it and just pulled you close for a kiss whenever they came near

Gaz

Both of you just keep sharing deep, meaningful looks as you see all the people you're the closest with arriving, he probably gets emotional when he was trying his best trying to keep it in and not lose it while he listened to your say your vows, especially when you momentary look up at him to say it

And he's waiting for when the officiant says he can kiss you so he can reach out, one arm around your waist and another cupping your face as he places a tender kiss on your lips just so when he pulls back you see the brightest smile on his face

I think a beach wedding would be ideal for him, idk he just seems like the outdoorsy type, and this is the best place he could come up with when asked where he'd like to get married, that or maybe in the mountains where he can see the beautiful scenery as you say yours vows

He'd love it if you watched the sunset together that day, as if nature were also sealing this promise between you, the scenery would one day serve as a nostalgic memory on which he can think back fondly of, everything from the soft breeze in the air, whether it be the sound of waves crashing as they reach his feet at the beach or the smell of pine trees in the mountainside

Roach

Omg y'all would would the cutest outdoor wedding, just imagine having it in a garden or by a beautiful lake with the golden sun that shines not in a harsh way but instead in a pleasant manner

And you both have your little quirks added in here and there, you compliment each other super well in that aspect that it's not even seen as unusual if the other references something because you totally get it

He'd have imagined this a million times, the night before he rehearsed his vows over and over again, he doesn't look up quotes or what to say, no this man lies on the floor and waits for the words to come to him, and the phrases that he writes come so naturally that he's having a hard time keeping it on only one sheet of paper

He'd probably go off the script, saying more than he intended until you're having to control yourself before you tackle and press kisses all over his face from now much you love him

He closes his eyes and feels incredibly lucky to have lived long enough to meet you and survive long enough through those missions to earn his moment of happiness that he hopes will last for the rest of his life

Alejandro

Have you heard of Mexican weddings? Anyone who finds out about the wedding is attending even if they weren’t originally invited and that last bit of dancing and drinking? It could go on until the next day

Forget getting any sleep, there is so much to stress over because the amount of people arriving could almost count for a festival itself, so much food is being prepared for all the guests that it’s overwhelming

And Alejandro would love every second of it, it’s all fun having so many people come together to celebrate and wish you all a happy marriage

The ideal place for Alejandro to get married would be at a cathedral, obviously it's only an option but it's where he's remembered weddings traditionally taking place at since he was a kid, he's always imagined it'd be him one day walking through those doors after getting married and having people throw rice at him as a newlywed

He behaves himself most of the time but as the evening turns into night his fingertips brush along your sides and you feel his breath on your nape as he whispers naughty things into your ears

Rudy

I'd like to imagine that Rudy would let you invite as many or as little people as you'd like, he wouldn't put a limit to any of it, and when you start getting stressed over wedding preparations he's able to just hold your hands in his and remind you how lucky he is to have you marry him, that anything will do and that it will all be a memory one day, so why worry and instead focus on making it a delightful one?

And after all the partying and celebrating, you're both left standing there alone in the venue, he takes your hand gently, his eyes gazing softly into yours as you dance to a song that he saved for only the two of you to dance to alone, I can imagine it being a song you listened to on the first date as he drove you home and now it's playing on your wedding day

You've probably held hands all day, from the moment you joined hands when at the altar, to walking down the aisle, to entering the dance floor for the first dance, and while you're both off to the side just sipping your drinks and still holding hands

But he wants to take a moment after all the guests have left to bask in this moment and soak in the feeling, asking you if everything turned out to your liking, just imagine laying in his arms as he holds you and you're both stargazing; a serene end to your night

Phillip Graves

The biggest, fattest wedding you can think of, everyone and their mothers are there, or in this case his Shadows and possibly anyone who's had at least one interaction with him, he's practically announcing it to the entire world

And I may be stereotypical when I say this but it's a barn wedding, the amount of times I've seen southern people go for barn weddings is insane I can't- my old riding place hosted those

It's beautiful nonetheless, he doesn't care who ends up going or not but all his Shadows are more than enthusiastic to celebrate with their boss, they've been teasing him nonstop since they found out he was dating you and now they won't stop especially since you're getting married

Tons of gifts and presents that you receive you swear you probably won't ever have to buy anything ever again, this is THE wedding that no wedding you've attended before or you'll attend in the future will ever compare to, it's that picture perfect that the venue owners ask to use the pictures on their website for advertisement

Makarov

I really feel like he'd be more the type to have it be a private wedding, that doesn't mean it isn't luxurious if anything he doesn't have a budget at all when trying to make you happy, he just leaves all the choices up to you, as long as you don't get stressed, the actual wedding planning is left to a wedding planner he hires you just have to sit there, look pretty and choose what ribbons you think would go best with the theme

As the wedding date approaches he gets more serious, and you worry he'd rethinking this whole thing or maybe he's stressed? On the day of turns out he had planned surprise after surprise for you, even though you thought you had been the one to choose most of the wedding theme and decoration turns out he himself had gone out and done a few things as well

He'd have hired a live band to play the music of your choice as you walk down the aisle, you're mesmerized by how it turned out, the adornments make the place look beautiful, but while you're admiring all this you don't notice him looking at you, you're the most extraordinary person he's met and he'll get to spend the rest of his life with you

Keegan

You guys eloped, originally the plan had been for a small, private wedding, you already had the list of people you would invite, but halfway through planning it you both stopped, looked at each other and just threw the plan away, you married with an officiant and two witnesses who happened to walk by

Even if people told you that you would later regret not having planned and waited for a big wedding you're the happiest you've ever been in this moment, the excitement rushing through not only yours but his veins that make every small detail seem perfect in this moment

People are probably wondering if you're both insane as you run together hand in hand down the streets, laughing and just happy that you're being carefree in this moment, just two souls in the expanse of this universe who have formed a deep connection in one another, what's not to be joyful about?

The future may be uncertain but it doesn't matter to neither of you, you've both had your difficult times but you deserve your happy epilogue

König

He's not one for big weddings, he cares more about the quality of it, which means he's very picky at the people who'll attend, he knows that at these events people tend to try and have their way when it's not even theirs, he simply doesn't want to deal with any unpleasant surprises when people he doesn't even know show up

When you appear he thinks there is no heaven greater than the one he is experiencing now, he thinks about all the chances there were before and now fortunate he is to meet you in your time and find each other when the world is so vast and time is fleeting

The vows he says in front of everyone are different from the ones he says only for you to hear in private that night, that's when he truly gets to be honest and say what he couldn't in front of all those people

There are many lovers in the world but none like you

Horangi

He's super passive about everything, you're sort of annoyed that he can never be bothered to worry about anything as much you do, colors for the wedding theme? He just shrugs and says a horrid color combination that could never work, it took him a three minutes max to choose what he would wear, BUT THEN on the day of when you're both in your separate rooms getting ready he's trying to get himself together because he's so overwhelmed by all the emotions he's experiencing right now

I think overall the wedding wouldn't be neither too big nor small, just the right amount of people from his side that are family members who have supported or come around to support him on this occasion and members he's close to

He's able to pull himself together though and try not to let his emotions get the best of him, he gets quite into the dancing along with you he swears he's never before felt as alive in the moment, he's grateful he was able to get his life together for you

Nikto

He wouldn't say anything about how he wants the wedding to be, whether it's big or small that's up to you, he doesn't care who you invite either, just as long as his favorite foods are served and he gets to enjoy good music for a little while before heading home with you is all that matters, oh and drinks, don't forget the alcohol

At some point throughout the night he sits back and watches as you dance with a friend of family member of yours and he thinks how funny it is that he ended up marrying you, when he first met you he couldn't have imagined that a single interaction with you could have let to this lifechanging moment

He can sleep calmly with you by his side, in his arms, safe and with no one to harm you if he's there, he may not admit it but this marriage only means he'll be like velcro to your side, that line he had always dreamed of securing? It'd be hard to get away from him

As long as this world continues he'll gladly be stuck with you, you've accepted him not matter how broken and scarred he is and he'll spend the rest of his life demonstrating with acts how much you mean to him, after all, it is the little things and acts in life that have made it truly worth living

[lavenderprose]

At some point, for some reason, Rook had misinterpreted the term 'letters'.

Perhaps it was because Bellara had said it so breathlessly--though Bellara says lots of things breathlessly, given she speaks at about the speed of magic itself. Perhaps it was the smile she'd used when she said 'the Professor'. But Bellara smiles most of the time. In the end it doesn't matter how it happened. The result was the same: Rook heard Bellara talk about these letters, this necromancer she was writing to, and figured they were passing love letters. Odd, very lingo-heavy love letters that contained a lot of side conversation about magical artifacts and the stability of the Veil, but love letters nonetheless.

Rook meets Emmrich and hears him call Bellara 'dear' and knows it must be true. Rook also meets Emmrich and wants to climb him like a tree, but she's always been into that kind of academic, willowy, never-met-the-sun kind of look. Necromancers. Rook's always been into necromancers. She is one. It's pretty normal.

"You must be excited to finally meet him in person," Rook says to Bellara while they're following Emmrich through the Shrouded Halls. Emmrich extols the wonder of life and death in between completely demolishing Venatori in a way that feels bone-shatteringly powerful.

"Oh yeah," Bellara says, and grins. "Arlathan is pretty far from Nevarra, so I didn't think we'd ever actually meet, but it's pretty cool that we did! Professor Emmrich is really knowledgeable, not just about the Fade, but music and art and--"

"Hmm neat!" Rook says, instead of Alright girl keep it in your pants because she actually really likes Bellara and she can't blame her. Emmrich Volkarin is six-foot-three, hazel-eyed and has a voice like candlelit red wine. He'd be a dream come true for any young mage with a little too much to say and a few too many nights alone in their recent past.

Of which there are two in the room.

Anyway.

It's not a big deal. The others don't really seem fussed over the fact that Bellara has brought her sneaky link into the fold and Emmrich is bonkers capable, so it doesn't really matter whether or not he's sourced from some horny letters. He also comes highly recommended from the Mourn Watch, and that's enough for Rook.

They keep things pretty subtle too. Rook never sees them kiss or even really touch, and Bellara seems too busy with the archive spirit to do much other than tinker with it outside of missions. Emmrich always seems to have something to be doing as well. If anything, he seems to spend more time with Rook than Bellara--and this is the source of the issue.

The spark of attraction in the Necropolis grows to nothing short of a blazing inferno. Emmrich invites Rook to the Memorial Gardens, performs the rituals with her, calls her recitation of the rites masterful. He takes her arm in the crook of his own as they walk the paths. He finds her in the kitchen in the evenings and sits next to her, legs crossed in that neat and proper way, and she sits there and lets the heat of his thigh burn into hers until she has to get up and go find something to occupy her hands. He does everything short of lay his jacket over puddles for her like some prince in a storybook--though even that, she wouldn't put past him. She sees him staring at her during a soaking downpour in Minrathous one time, but it's always raining in Minrathous.

Jealousy is an insidious emotion that the Mourn Watch warns against specifically. It will make a monster of the most benevolent, if it takes hold. Rook struggles not to let it. This gets harder and harder, the more time she spends in Emmrich's company and the more he seeks her out. He'll say, "I'm so pleased to have a fellow Watcher to talk to, Rook," and she'll smile and pretend she isn't actively resisting the urge to stare at his lips. He'll say, "I am continually impressed by your keen skills of observation, my dear" and she'll only be capable of nodding because she's trying to clear a daydream from her head. Something about him and one of the geothermal underground pools in the Necropolis and a mysteriously disappearing set of clothing. He'll say, "I find myself continually waiting for the next time we'll have one of our chats, Rook--they're becoming something I find great comfort in," and Rook won't even hear what he's saying, because she's trying so hard to shove him, the concept of him, into a little box in her head labeled Bellara's--Do Not Touch.

It gets a little ridiculous. She stops taking them on missions together, because the sound of them chattering on about Fade harmonics behind her makes her want to absolutely chew glass. On the off chance she sees one of them come out of the other's room, which does not happen very often at all but has, on a handful of occasions, she'll turn herself around and sit herself down on Solas' stupid fuck-ugly green meditation couch until she feels a little less like her head is going to pop off. One time, she falls asleep while doing this and has to deal with a particularly weird conversation with Solas where she's too keyed up to do much more than grunt along to his typical long-winded pontification and he ends the conversation with something along the lines of, "Perhaps you should reexamine some details of your situation that you have taken as fact. You may find them not so."

"Could you just say something that's not buried under five layers of innuendo," Rook thinks, and unfortunately also says out loud, because she's not actually allowed to think just in her head in these Solas-dreams. He scowls at her and rolls his eyes. They're both doing the Fade-space equivalent of blowing raspberries at each other by the time she wakes up.

It all comes to a head in Arlathan, because they've camped with the Veil Jumpers for the night and Rook needs to ask Bellara a question. She thinks nothing of whipping open the flap to Bellara's tent, because Bellara is almost always awake until the stars have been overhead for hours and Emmrich--who was obliged to come along, just this once, because they're in Arlathan specifically for haunting-related reasons--is visible across the camp, wiggling carrots through the bars of Gus the Nug's cage. There is a small, tender smile on his face as he listens to the nug snort and whuffle. Rook suddenly remembers the story about the pig he used to hug as a kid, and then her heart jumps a little, and--

Well, anyway, there shouldn't be a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

There is, in fact, a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

That reason is named Irelin, whose body Rook now knows about in much more expansive detail than she did a few minutes ago. Bellara's too, though most of that was covered by--well, by Irelin.

"Maker!" they all three scream in unison, and Rook all but sommersaults back out of the tent.

"Sorry," she yells through the flap. "Sor--sorry, I didn't--"

"It's fiiine," Bellara yells back. Her head pokes through after a minute. Her hair is down and disappears somewhere back inside the tent. She looks like an almost completely different person with it framing her face like that. "Hey, um--you could, like...knock next time? I mean, I know you can't really knock on a tent--"

"Everything alright over here?" Emmrich has appeared, and Rook's tongue seems to grow three sizes in her mouth.

Oh shit! is all her brain will supply, so she doesn't really respond. She thinks she's willing enough to respect Girl Code, such as it is, that she won't tell Emmrich about the whole Irelin thing. Because maybe that's how their relationship works, or maybe Emmrich already knows, or maybe it's none of her business--

Or maybe something really weird is happening, because Bellara looks at Emmrich and her expression does nothing but get a little more annoyed, and she sighs, "It's fine. No worries, Professor. Just, could you guys--y'know, privacy?"

Then Irelin makes a noise from inside the tent, and it's pretty clear at that point what's just happened, but Emmrich just blushes a little and says, "Ah," and then wraps his hand around Rook's arm and leads her away, back towards the cage with Gus.

"Okay," Rook says, as Gus sniffs her boot on the off chance it contains carrots. "That was weird."

"I fear there are bound to be clashes when multiple cultures blend, my dear," Emmrich tells her, a low murmur directly into her ear. "We in Nevarra, especially amongst the Mourn Watch, are slightly more--shall we say, open? Don't take it personally that Bellara withheld the information of her liaison with Irelin. I don't think it was done maliciously."

"No, I mean--why aren't you--upset?"

Emmrich's brows furrow. "Whyever would I be upset? I'm hardly a prude, Rook. These are difficult times, and any small piece of comfort one can find should be readily taken. A tent in the middle of a busy camp is an...interesting location, but I understand our dear Bellara has history with Irelin, and should the object of my affections be willing--"

"No, no, I mean--you're not--are you okay with this? You and Bellara have some kind of..." Rook scrambles about for an accurate word. "Agreement? About this kind of stuff?"

Emmrich's eyebrows do an odd, fluttery sort of thing that reminds Rook of a puppet she once saw being manipulated by a group of playful wisps. Sort of like his face is trying to show half a dozen emotions at once.

"Why on earth would Bellara and I have ever spoken about her sex life," he says flatly, and far more bluntly than Rook is used to him being. Heat floods her body as she realizes that she has, somewhere along the way, wildly misunderstood something.

"I," says Rook, "have made a mistake."

"Rook," he says, with a voice like he's trying to diffuse a spell primed to explode, "Darling. If you thought Bellara and I were involved, would you mind enlightening me exactly as to...what you think my intentions were when I took you to the Memorial Gardens."

Rook wonders if Gus the nug could be persuaded to eat her whole.

"Enrichment?" she mutters.

"Enrichment," Emmrich sighs under his breath.

There is a long, gravid beat of silence.

"That clearing we passed earlier," Rook mumbles under her breath, once the world is done tilting on its axis. "Looked enriching."

"Quite," Emmrich says promptly. He grabs her by the hand and only grins a little when she releases a frantic, giddy giggle as he pulls her away from the camp.

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

I'm so excited for you, my friend!! Thank you for diving in. 🥰

I like this line, because it's what made Dean stop. In my head I feel like this version of Dean has pushed away so many people and the reader is the first person in a long time to genuinely say that she was "worried" about him, and it strikes something in his chest because he couldn't remember the last time it happened. That's the headcanon in my head anyway lol.

Oh yeah, that's a totally accurate observation, poor Dean. 🥲 He hasn't allowed himself to be "worried about" in a long time, since he and Sam started up their own lives.

Also the spice was.... 😱🌶️🔥. I literally cannot write smut to save my life, but you always write it so well! I also liked that you didn't do it as intense as omegaverse usually is, because we both know how it can be 👀

ahaha thank youuu 😘 It's really not easy for me, but I write it when I feel the story warrants it. And totally, the more subtle approach was what I was going for loll! I don't think I could write the aggressive smut that omegaverse fics tend to be. 🤪

OH MY WORD DEAN SHUT UP! I promise it's okay! She loves you and she can see that you're not a bad person because you literally have been nursing her back to health with her broken ankle 😭 Not to mention you guys are fated! She's not going to let you go no matter what you do.

Lol RIGHT?! How many times do we have to go over this, Dean???? 😭

But again... on brand for Dean to hate himself and to think he's not good enough -sigh- just means that you get to spend more time wrapped up with him trying to convince him 😊😉. I also believe that Dean loves intimac, that he does crave that connection with someone, not to mention I still love what you do in your Midnight Espresso series with Dean being a little touch starved for non-sexual touch. I feel like you've also implied this here and it is marvelous!

This is where I have to beat down the "not worthy" aspect of Dean's personality when it comes to love and intimacy. 😭 But I SO agree with you -- he craves it, even though he doesn't feel like he deserves it half the time. That's a big theme in Midnight Espresso, so I love you so much for enjoying that aspect in that series and in this one. 🥹💓💓

I'm literally cackling. I can hear Dean saying this to his significant other. Meeting Baby for the first time holds the same place in his heart as meeting Sam for the first time 🤣 ALSO, I wasn't ready for the palm kiss. Palm kisses and forehead kisses DESTROY me.

LOL this part of the scene was so vivid in my mind -- I have no doubt he'd be just like this when his girl meets his Baby. 🤣🤣 Oh same. I LOVE hand kisses and forehead kisses. They're so wholesome. 🥹

I like that this was an alternate ending to the dumpster fire that was the end of Supernatural. That it's Dean and his girl out on the open road listening to a Led Zeppelin song holding hands in the front seat of Baby was just beautiful in the best way and a perfect ending to this mini-series my wonderful friend!! I am going to miss this couple so much, but it really was a fitting end for them 🥰

Honestly that's the biggest compliment I could get on this story! 💕💕 It's the two of them riding into the subset to some Zep tunes, on their way to see Sam and his new little family. I might come back to write their little reunion, but until then, I'm so glad you've enjoyed this snowy, angsty ride. 😘❄️💜💜

Against the Wind - Part 4

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: The grand finale...

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, knotting, claiming, fluff and feels.

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Part 4: Running to Live

His cold hands are warming on your skin as he slides them underneath your sweater. They move smoothly up your back, bunching up the material. You break from his kiss only to help him get the sweater off you, followed closely by his pants.

Your sweatpants slide down your legs with just a sharp tug, baring most of your body to his gaze. His eyes drag over your exposed neck and shoulders, your breasts cupped in your bra, down to your panties and bare thighs.

A shiver runs through you, both from his heated gaze, and from being exposed to the cooler air. Even with the fire going and the heater running in the cabin, the frigid air outside is unforgiving.

You have no problem with the way Dean guides you down from the chaise to take advantage of your nest on the floor, right in front of the fire. He draws you into a sensuous kiss, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and grazing with teeth.

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return. You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the prickling of his stubble. Your fingers thread into his hair, and you pull him back down for a devouring kiss.

Dean’s brows furrow as he holds you to him, wanting to feel every part of your skin against his. His calloused fingers map their way down your side, and across your back to unhook your bra. His lips veer away from yours to burn a wet, heated trail along your neck. His teeth come out to graze your skin, down your throat, down the lovely valley between your breasts.

“Dean,” you gasp, encouraging him when his hand cups one of your breasts. He explores the other with his mouth, teasing a pebbled nipple with his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your thighs rubbing together between the cage of his knees in the mess of blankets. Already you feel slick forming at the apex of your thighs and slipping down in between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You can’t help but smile. Your face warms either from the fire dancing shadows across your bodies, or from him, his attention, his warmth, and the heat in his eyes when they meet your again. His hand slides down your body, over your hip and squeezing your thigh as he opens you up further for him.

“Tell me what you want, Omega.” While I still have control, his tone implies. His voice is gravel and sin while his hand moves swiftly and smoothly up the inside of your thigh.

“Touch me,” you breathe.

Nodding, he hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties and slides them down. You help him kick them off. Afterward, his thumb brushes over your mound, making you sharply inhale and squeeze his shoulders encouragingly. His fingers dip inside your wet heat, his brows raising with a smirk, as he feels the sheer amount of your slick already coating his digits.

“Fuck. This all for me, baby?” he remarks.

You hold onto the back of his neck with both hands as you nod, biting your lip. Your hips begin to cant against his hand on reflex, urging him to touch you.

“Alpha, please…” you implore, in a ragged whisper. He swallows your plea with a ravaging kiss, but he still gives you what you want. His thumb circles your clit, earning a moan from you into his mouth.

Soon, two of his fingers plunge slowly inside you, working you open, drawing more gasps and shudders of pleasure from your body. His length continues to strain hard against your thigh, but for him, it’s worth it to draw every sound, every time your body writhes and arches against him, craving release.

With a few more purposeful strokes, your inner walls clamp tight on his hand, and a flood of slick coats his knuckles even more. You gasp his name, your hands squeezing his arms just as tight as your pussy around his fingers.

Your skin is beginning to get dewy with sweat, and he kisses some of it off you when he trails down your chest. You stroke down his arms, down his back, whatever you can reach as you catch your breath. But then, his name falls from your lips with a firmer tone.

Dean raises his head, and you gently push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, only for it to be replaced with a smile of surprise when you curl a thigh over his hip and guide him onto his back. His head just manages to fall on one of your pillows, but he still utters a small grunt. You giggle down at him, bowing to meet him for a kiss.

He smirks and holds onto your hips, playfully squeezing your ass. “My wily omega.”

“Thought I was your cheeky omega,” you tease.

He snorts. “That too.”

You giggle some more as you treat him to the same path of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Except this time, you hook a hand behind his neck, and you trail your tongue around his mating gland. You feel his jolt of surprise, as well as his instinctive growl of pleasure in response to his mate. Or at least, not yet…

His heart pounds in his chest.

“Omega,” he says, a warning not to tease as his grip tightens on your hips.

The command in his voice makes you shiver, but you smile and nuzzle his cheek in affection. You kiss your way down his body, playing special attention to his nipples, his stomach, the soft V and the happy trail of light brown fuzz leading you down between his hips.

Your fingers slide down his hardened desire through his underwear, earning a grunt from him, along with a shifting of his body against the blankets. Your lips curve as you nuzzle him there as well, letting your lips drag across his impressive length.

His fingers tangle in your hair when you hook your nails around the waistband and free his cock from its confines. His boxers join the rest of your clothes somewhere, and finally you get to see all of him, as much as he takes in all of you. Your hand wraps around his girth, your thumb circling around the sensitive, weeping head of it. Dean groans, a sound from deep in his chest.

You don’t know this, but it’s been a while since anyone but his own hand has touched him. That’s not the only reason his body has been calling to yours, but it plays a part in how fucking good it feels, and how much more he wants you.

He feels your intentions when your hand moves down his shaft in a teasing caress, your fingers tracing around his knot. A shudder rattles down his spine, makes his desire burn hotter in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t fucking take it anymore. He needs you, needs to be inside you. Needs to take you the way his instincts demand.

He grasps your shoulder before you put your mouth on him. You blink up at him, with a question forming on your lips, but he hefts you up onto his chest by your arms. He cages you there with a kiss filled with abject need.

“I can’t. Can’t wait anymore,” he says. He drags his fingers through your folds and earns another moan from your when he finds your clit. “You ready for me, Omega? Need my knot?”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing against his lips. “Need you, Alpha—”

No sooner had the words escaped your lips, when Dean rolls you back underneath him. But this time, he guides you onto your stomach, then raises up your hips, until you’re on your hands and knees. You catch your breath as you regain your bearings, shooting an incredulous smile over your shoulder at Dean. He smirks back at you, but his gaze is intense, his pupils darkened with the alpha inside him. 

Still, he soothes a hand down your back and steadies you with a hold on your hip. You feel him slot himself behind you, guiding his cock at your entrance. His chest presses hotly against your back.

“Last chance, Omega,” he says, his voice tight with restraint.

You look back at him again over your shoulder, your mouth threatening to frown. You reach back and sink your fingers into his hair with a sharp tug. “Do it.”

He sinks into you with one smooth plunge. It’s a relief for both of you, your mingled moans echoing in the near silence. All that’s left is the sound of your quickening breaths, of skin against sweat-slick skin as you move together.

Dean brushes your hair away from your neck. He kisses and licks his way along your bare shoulder, and finally the back of your neck. You’re trembling by the time his lips find the sensitive flesh of your mating gland. It echoes with the pulsing from your core as he continues to drive into you.

“Alpha,” you gasp on reflex. You squeeze his arm; he has it wrapped tight around your middle. Your pleasure builds ever closer to that crescendo, especially as his thrusts become ragged, at an angle that zips delicious tingles through your core. “Close…just…I need…”

Dean isn’t so far gone. He hears you, and helps you, reaching his hand around to strum his fingers insistently on your clit, along with his final thrusts.

Finally, it tumbles you over. Your inner walls become impossibly tight around him as he draws out your second release—one that triggers his own. Dean groans into your ear; his knot swells and locks into place, and he spends himself deep inside you. He pants hot against your neck, but even though he fastens his lips there, he hesitates, once again making you shudder. 

“Do it,” you repeat, in a coarse whisper. You’re close to tears. “Please. Want you, Alpha. Need you…”

Once again, he hears you.

His teeth sink into the back of your neck, making you cry out. But your pain is quickly overshadowed by a deepest pleasure, thrumming along with his.

 Afterward, Dean holds you in his arms. The warm glow of the fire paints your skin in its light, despite the utter darkness in the rest of the house. 

While you both wait for his knot to subside, you revel in the fact that you know he’s content. You can feel it through the newly formed bond. He traces random shapes in your skin, which still glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. The fire he stoked doesn’t help to cool you down, but you don’t care.

Nothing else matters but this. You turn your head toward him over your shoulder. He meets you there with a gentle kiss, much more gentle than any other you’ve shared before. It feels right. 

When he parts from you, he presses another kiss to your forehead. Then he leans back a little and sighs. You feel his thumb trace the raw flesh around the claiming mark on your neck. A small shiver runs through your body. Maybe on another day, you’ll mark him in return.

“It’s too damn late,” he says, breaking the silence. “You realize that right?”

You shoot him a frown. “Too late for what?”

“For me to let you go,” he says. 

His words both warm you and make you sad. Just how little does he think of himself?

“Dean,” you say, endeavoring to be patient. “You’re my true mate. Do you know how rare it is that we’ve actually found each other?”

Dean remains quiet.

“And after everything you’ve done for me,” you add, “how can I not think you’re a good man? How can I not think this is right?”

He seems to consider your question. His gaze briefly falls, then meets your eyes again.

“You don’t know me that well,” is his answer, with a wry turn of his lips. 

You reach back to caress his cheek. “Then tell me. Tell me about, um…tell me about how you became a hunter. From your dad’s journal, I got the sense that it’s a family thing.”

A vendetta, you wanted to say, but you keep that thought inside.

Dean chuckles, dropping another kiss onto your shoulder. You feel the pleasurable rasp of his stubble.

“Yeah, more like a family business,” he says. 

He tells you why John Winchester started writing in that journal in the first place. Dean explains it in his own words, of what his family was before and after a demon broke into his brother’s nursery. Your heart continues to break for him, over and over, the more story he tells. Your shock can only reach new heights when he tells you about angels and demons and everything in between. 

There are moments where he pauses, needing the time to find his words. He’s talked for so long that his knot finally softens, allowing you to withdraw from him, just to turn in his arms and be able to see his face. He bundles you in the blankets to keep you warm, but he also keeps you close, with a loose arm around your waist as he continues. 

You sense that he’s not telling you everything. How could he? A lifetime of blood and wins and incredible losses; family gained, and family lost, endless saves, and so many near misses. You listen with rapt attention (and a lot of shock) to everything he can share, but your heart twinges when you see how he struggles to talk about his mother’s most recent death. Then his best friend Cas. 

You realize that this man, for all his self-deprecation, is a hero. More so than you already knew.

“After the whole Chuck thing was done, I thought we’d just…go back to status quo. Me and Sam against the world, you know?” Dean says. He gives a rueful smile. “Then Sammy tells me he knocked up his mate.”

You smile. “You’re happy for him though.”

“Course I am,” Dean nods. “He never thought he’d get to have all that. A badass chick who can keep him on his toes, a house, the kid, the whole damn thing. He’s downright respectable again.”

His brotherly pride and his humor are tinged with something else though. You think you begin to understand. His losses have weighed him down, leaving him aimless and living in that in between, not unlike the ghosts he used to hunt. You know the feeling. 

You thread your fingers with his, earning his attention. 

“You can have that too, you know,” you say. “I mean, I don’t want to skip ahead, but I feel like things are going well here, despite the whole busted ankle thing.” 

Dean slowly smiles, shaking his head. He brings your hand up to his lips. 

“Okay, enough about my Hallmark movie life. What about you?” he asks. 

So you tell him. 

You two continue to share and explore, both in words and with your bodies, until morning comes. 

It’s another week in the cabin before Dean insists on helping you down the mountain. Your ankle has gotten a little better, but at this point, you need to see a doctor. It takes a couple of days, going as slow as you need to. He ends up carrying you for most of the way anyway. You tell him over and over that he doesn’t have to, but your alpha is stubborn. 

Once he gets you back to the city, you two take a shuttle to the nearest hospital. X-rays are taken, and you get a new cast for your officially fractured ankle. At the very least, you don’t need surgery. You’re able to call your mom from there and let her know where you’ve been, that you’re all right, and best of all…that you’ve found your mate. 

You cry along with her on the phone, this time for a good reason. The best reason. 

When you’re eventually released from the hospital, Dean picks you up in a sleek, black Chevy that has your eyes wide. 

He grins at the look on your face. “Hey, sweetheart. Come meet my Baby.” 

He parks the car and keeps the heater running while he comes around to you in swift strides. He takes your crutches and slides them into the backseat, then helps you into the passenger seat. 

“It’s beautiful, but my God, how old is this thing?”

“She. She’s a she.”

“Oh, pardon me,” you say in amusement. “Do I have some competition here?”

Dean gives you a teasing smirk. “Well, technically, she’s been with me a lot longer than you.” 

You scoff incredulously. He laughs and takes your hand, pressing a kiss into your palm. You discreetly study him and marvel at how much lighter he seems. You don’t know how much is because of this, what your hand in his symbolizes, and how much is because he’s reunited with something important to him. 

“It’s okay, Omega mine,” he says, with a measure of desire in his eyes. “From now on, you’re my priority.”

Your spine prickles with the same arousal you can feel from him through the bond. You lean across the way and share a thorough kiss. 

Until a horn honks loudly from behind. You both jolt, but Dean’s face falls into annoyance. He shoots up a choice finger at the car behind him in the rearview mirror. You laugh as he begins to peel out of the curved pick-up and drop-off zone in front of the hospital. 

“Where are we going, Dean?” you ask, still smiling in amusement. 

“Wherever we damn well please.” He turns to you with a hint of a smile reforming on his lips. “Want me to take you back home? We can sort out the logistics on, uh…well, this.”

You think about it. He poses a good idea, but at the same time, you’re not quite ready for this part of the adventure to end. 

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Sam?” you ask.

Dean blinks at your question. He whistles lowly. “About a year. Jesus, since my nephew was born.”

You smile and reach over, resting your hand on his thigh. 

“Let’s go see him, then,” you say. “I want to meet your family. Then you can meet mine.”

After that, you two can figure out the rest, like where to live, and how you’ll live. 

Dean raises a brow. “Really? That’s like, a thirteen-hour drive.”

You shrug. “I’ve always wanted to go on a real road trip. Can we get some food first though? I’m starving.” 

He laughs and nods as he stops the car at a red light.

“What do you know? A woman after my own heart,” he says. His amusement eases into a gentler smile the longer he stares at you. You smile back, and you give into the urge to lean in again, meeting your lips with his. He brushes your cheek tenderly with his thumb. 

“I know what this needs,” he says lowly. Your brows draw together in a silent question. 

He pulls away to reach into the side compartment along the driver door. He fishes out a cassette tape labelled Zeppelin IV. You bite your lip and try not to say anything smartassed.

Damn, this man is old school. 

He skips ahead until he finds Track 7, just as the light turns green. A melodious guitar riff fills the car as he turns onto the main road with your hand wrapped in his. 

Made up my mind to make a new start.

Going to California with an aching in my heart…

AN: And that's all, folks! 🥹 I truly hope you enjoyed Against the Wind!

Like I said in a recent update, I have more stories in store for you guys. January 3 will be Part 1 of Outlander -- sequel to The Honorable Choice -- a Western AU with Dean as our resident cowboy! I'll post a sneak peek on that one soon.~

But in the meantime, I hope you'll let me know what you thought of ATW! 💜💜

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[dilf-docs]

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: I/II

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

*i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

[covenofagatha]

practice makes perfect was so fucking hot. i woke up, checked my notifications, started playing with my tits, finished it, and then had to reply messages like my underwear wasn't soaked. curse you and your incredible writing for the millionth time smh 🙄

regardless, that experience + the fic + my latest brainworm + the puppy ideas = evolved tiny brain worm for your reward. consider:

(degradation, petplay, collar mention, spit, we love titties, body fluid mixing (its precum and saliva. no piss! i respect miss covenofagatha 🙏), cum on face lol)

titjob with desperate! puppy! g!p reader.

reader who's whining, pawing at agatha needily, embarrassed at how hard you've gotten just by looking at her. agatha mocks you, talking about how you're "more pathetic than a common whore" and "how could you ever handle yourself without me, pup?"

she tugs at your collar, cooing at you condescendingly, "is it all sticky down there, my sweet girl?" or "awwww, poor baby, can't control yourself, can you?" while she guides you to her chest. your breast fixation is a little unhealthy and you latch on needily, sucking and kneading, but she grips a handful of hair and tugs you off, drool collecting at your mouth.

"god, you're so fucking dirty," she groans, loving how depraved you look. with her permission, you slot your dick neatly between her tits, and her firm hands on your hips control your pace. "can't do it without me, can you, pup?" and you watch as she spits down, her saliva mixing with your residual ones in the space between her breasts, cause you to jerk upwards at the molten heat that sears in you.

"need you, please, please-" you jumble up your words as she digs her hands into your ass, jolting you through the cavity, spurring you on as your rapidly building precum mixes with her and your spit, dick gliding back and forth.

you thrust, and god, you don't even need to squeeze her tits together, the space just perfect for your cock, and the thought that she was made for you makes you throb. "filthy little dog," agatha snarls, and you whimper in response, because god, it's so fucking hot to be reduced to her desperate little pup, rutting on her chest, her brand littered across your back, her collar clasped tightly around your neck.

she owns you, and that, combined with the feeling of her soft, supple tits against your hard, veiny cock and the knowledge that your fluids are mixing with hers, is what sends you over the edge. "gonna- ngh- please-" is what she hears before a sheen of white covers her face, and the look of her drenched in your cum sends your sensitive dick a surge of desire, and you meekly shoot out another load.

"pathetic," she scoffs, and you grow embarrassingly hard at the way her eyes narrow, her brows furrowing in mock frustration, and when she yanks you by your collar, you lap up your cum off her face obediently, while she mutters about what a dirty little puppy you are.

-

small one this time because I've just barely woken up, but i had to get this out or i would be distracted all day. wonderful job with mean! agatha, i loved the degradation and thought you would like a bit more of it. good luck for your exam that i assume is coming up again in a day or two 💜

-lots of love, worm anon :)

So sorry about that predicament (except not at all 🤭) and I am so glad you liked (most of the fics I have written over the past few days have been inspired by your brainworm that has infected me too so I love knowing that you like them)

Your rewards are so good 🫠 I really just need to compile them into a few fics because fuck I can’t stop thinking about the ideas you have (I always appreciate/like more)

Lots of love right back to you for all your delicious thoughts 💜

[emsdevs]

As someone who's southern, yr thoughts about Luke and Nico w Appalachian reader is making my brain worms wriggle. Thinking abt Quinn with someone from the area and the memes of him staring on the bench during the games is him trying to decipher what the fresh fuck you just said to him. I have a Canadian friend and I always giggle at her slightly accent and trying to explain certain things to her that they just don't have. Quinn would be so lost about boiled peanuts and buying them off the side of the road🤚🏻

Boiled Peanuts

a/n: here to let everyone know that I'll write southern and/or Appalachian reader any time for anyone!! it's one of my favs!! sorry for the wait nonnie!!

masterlist | NHL Masterlists | Quinn Hughes Masterlist

Quinn was sitting on the bench in between shifts. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the pictures being taken. He knew it wouldn’t be long before it was the latest “Quinn Hughes is seeing ghosts” picture, but he honestly didn’t care. Truly, most of the time when he was zoned out like this, he was trying to keep his focus on the game, even though he wasn’t playing, but right now, it’s something totally different that has him looking like he’s in another realm. He can’t get your conversation from earlier in the day out of his head.

~~

He was eating some lunch before going to take his pregame nap when he noticed you heading back to the stove, ready to cook something else.

“What are you making, baby? If you want more food, you could’ve just asked for some of mine,” he was a little hurt you’d try to make yourself something extra without telling him he was hogging all the food.

“I didn’t eat a lot because I was saving room for what I’m about to make, and I would’ve offered you some, but I don’t really think you’d like it,” you shrugged.

“Well, I still wanna know,” he was genuinely curious, wondering why you’re being secretive.

“I’m gonna boil some peanuts,” you laughed as you spoke, knowing Quinn would think that’s a weird answer.

He’s silent for a moment, and you can see the confusion on his face. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s good, Quinny. We used to buy them at stands on the side of the road all the time back home.”

“You WHAT?” Quinn couldn’t believe his ears. He was fully aware that the southern parts of the U.S. had a completely different culture from the northern part he grew up in, and that awareness had only grown since he began dating you. He had heard all kinds of stories from before you moved to Vancouver, and he swore each one shocked him more than the last. This one, though, might take the cake. “Babe, you can’t just stop at stands on the side of the highway and buy stuff. That’s so dangerous.”

“Sweetheart, everyone does it all the time where I’m from. I mean, Lordy, someone’s probably doin’ it right now. Besides, I didn’t say highway. It was a two-lane road, honey.”

~~

The shock hadn’t worn off at all. He spent every second he had on the bench concerned for your safety and wondering what in the world made you want to try boiled peanuts. He had heard you say some truly insane phrases, and he didn’t question the weird suspicions you grew up with. He doesn’t know if he can let this go, though. 

Boiled Peanuts??

taglist: @heartsforjh @fofiquierellorar @justxpaulina @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @coldheartedmar @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @one-sweet-gubler @pickedapuck @alexxavicry @dancerbailey3 @madebyhappymeals @ccomandercody @kirajessie @beenucks @bookshlmc

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[thegildedbee]

{S1/S2} & {S3/S4} Fics: [Questions] .......................................................................

[well, instead of a few thoughts about the "whys" for the Parentlock fic recs that were the point of starting this post, and then a list of and comments about the recs, this turned into a longer meta -- which, we don't really do meta any more, do we, except in passing? fwiw, then, a throwback post, I guess?]

........................................................................................................... I've been thinking some about differences in Sherlockian fic treatments, when comparing the S1/S2 period to the S3/S4 period - in general, this means 2014 as a dividing line, although that's not a hard-and-fast cut-off point: for example, there were fics that were conceptualized or well-along-the-wip-road prior to S3 that carried on from within the earlier canon-space even if they were completed a year or so later; and there were fic authors who were publishing circa 2015 who had shrugged off S3 when it was being aired, and couldn't have cared less about post-S3 [often disputatious] meta discussions/ speculations.* So, by my figuring, 2014-2015 is a transitional phase, with my guess being that it would be late in 2015 when fics written by authors engaging with S3 canon began merging into a critical mass, creating a second, S1/2/3-transformed foundational reference point for many fics going forward -- and, the later in time one ventures, the reference point for most fics.

It's not that I've been wondering/pondering about the differences because I think pre- or post-S3 fics are better or worse -- to say the least :-) I feel positively about fic from both time periods! It's partly curiosity about the writing of fic in the two different creative contexts: in the "before time" or the "after time" of BBCS' post-Reichenbach canon decisions. And it's also partly curiosity about the differences in length that now exist for the two periods: about 4 years for pre-S3 fic -- which will always remain so, along with the amount of fic it contains [minus deletions and disappearances of specific fic] -- and going on 11 years now (and always stretching further, with increasing content) for post-S3 fic.

I think that one impulse prompting my curiosity is the fact that, realistically, at this point in time [the start of 2025] new canon is unlikely to appear. When BBCS was still in motion as an evolving source for its own canon (in actuality and in potentia), fics were brought to life within a contingent canonical landscape (whether authors were adapting to it or subverting it or anticipating it or transforming it or appropriating it or moving at tangents to it). Of course, the canonical landscape was rendered static when BBCS pulled over to the side of the motorway and killed the engine.

What I'm not saying is that fic is in stasis -- it can't ever be, for lots of reasons! One reason is that, as time passes, the world changes, and we change, and what we see when we look at traditional canon changes . . . and so the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) A second reason is that new people come along to write fic and to comment on fic, and to meta about fic, and their contributions augment and reshape the cumulative corpus . . . and so the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) A third reason is that, through our encounters with other imaginative realms, old and new (novels and films and series and other enthusiasms) and then with each other, there's a continuous glamouring that shimmers the atmosphere . . . and so (say it again :-) the fandom dynamic of fic evolution continues :-) Even so, I've been a bit wistful these days about experiencing Sherlockian canon-in-the-making . . . which is maybe what's prompted me (?) to return to the ur-source, which, because it's been so long since I've visited there, can conjure up that kind of magic :-) And so I've been doing some weekly mini-wanderings through ACD canon, and reading between the lines in a kind of what's-old-is-new-again-familiar-unfamiliarity that's been rewarding :-) But more on point for this post (ha! if you've read this far you've been wondering, is there a point? . . . ) is a sense I have that re-visiting S1/S2 fic is another way of accessing a bit of a present-day sense of canon-in-the-making, because it is far enough in the past now, and because of the post-S3's-interpolated-foundation-for-fic has itself extended outward so far, that pre-S3 fic can be visited in a what's-old-is-new-again kind of way (S1/S2 has familiar beats to it, but when visiting I somehow feel whisperings of a mrs. hudson-like smile of "but we see things somewhat differently here, dear" :-)

Okay, enough with all the preliminaries! All that being said: So, what's an example? Here's one I've come back to many times: One major shift is in fics where Sherlock is a parent, or is interacting with a child of John's, because pre-S3 means pre-Mary [at least the "Mary the (former?) assassin" of BBC Sherlock] and pre-"Rosie." [It is the case that some pre-S3 authors have a "Mary," but it's a version that's drawn from ACD canon, and, as such, is usually a much more understated presence; re kids from ACD canon, that's a null consideration.]

There are an overwhelming number of post-S3 fics where Sherlock-with-a-child means Sherlock&John-and-Mary's-Rosie under various scenarios. And while there are lots of different Rosie personalities, Rosie plots, and Sherlockian encounters with Rosie, a majority (or very nearly all?) post-S3 Parentlock fics share in this background rationale (more or less, to be sure) even as they play out from there in a gazillion different inventive ways. Pre-S3 Parentlock fics don't have that raison d'etre, of course, and the child characters and plottings that feature in the S1/S2 period have a generally wilder set of imaginings, and their S1/S2 fic Sherlocks have a balance of characteristics that have some subtle differences that I've always found intriguing, and keep coming back to (this can hold for Johns as well, although the emphasis is more pronounced with Sherlocks). Being pulled back into pre-S3 fic and re-visiting it through categories like Parentlock has been another way that I've re-experienced a kind of anticipatory canon-in-the-making . . . ambience? aesthetic? aura? which I've found to be intriguing. I'm not sure that looking backwards has much appeal for others -- maybe (?) In any case, I guess I thought I'd try and puzzle it out for myself by writing it down and not just having it float about in wisps in my mind palace :-)

Well, hey now, as this is an epic amount of wandering about, I think it's time to come to a rather inelegant galumphing of an endpoint! Writing up the fic recs will have to maybe happen somewhere down the road...

(For anyone who has wandered along this far as well: if you have any thoughts you'd like to share about S1/S2 and S3/S4 fic partitioning, or [the futility of?] attempts to re-surface a canon-in-the-making-vibe -- feel free to add them in! If so, borrowing these would allow this post a much more inspiriting way to finish :-)

........................................................................................

*(. . . and of course there were a significant number of authors who left the fandom after S3 -- but that's a fic trend reflection for another day :-)

.......................................................................................

@calaisreno  @totallysilvergirl  @friday411  @peanitbear  @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels  @a-victorian-girl  @keirgreeneyes  @starrla89  @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely  @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at  @jobooksncoffee  @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat  @bluebellofbakerstreet  @dragonnan  @safedistancefrombeingsmart  @jolieblack

@msladysmith  @ninasnakie  @riversong912  @dapetty .............................................................................................

[cordjefferson]

Hi! Not sure if you still answer questions on here, but I feel lost as a screenwriter right now. In my final year of film school, I’m afraid the “industry” we are about to be let out into no longer exists. I don’t want to go back to journalism, but I also don’t want to fail at screenwriting in vain. I’ll keep going, but just wondering if you’ve ever found yourself in a similar place. Hope you’re well.

A few days after Trump was elected the first time, I called my dad to complain and commiserate. He listened to me worry for a few minutes and then he said, "You know, when I was a young man, it was common to wake up and find out that Medgar Evers had been killed or that Malcolm X had been killed or that Martin Luther King Jr. had been killed, or that another person had been lynched somewhere not too far from where I grew up. It was terrible, but we had to go on living our lives."

It was a helpful reminder that shit's always sucked -- in many ways it used to suck worse. That doesn't mean your fear is unfounded. You have every right to be afraid as all the world's ghouls circle their wagons in an effort to eternalize their wealth and influence, thus making our already intractable problems feel even more intractable. But the great news is that now is the perfect time for you to make your art.

Hard times can make for excellent work. Consider that punk rock and rap blossomed under Reagan. I'm currently in the middle of a novel called The Oppermanns, which follows a trio of German-Jewish brothers in 1933 Berlin dealing with the rise of Nazism. It's a great book on its face, but the whole piece becomes even more interesting when you discover that it was written by a German-Jew in real time as the Nazis rose to power.

Even if what you write isn't taken seriously at first, making art is never a failure. Artists aren't athletes, meaning you don't need to produce your best work before you turn 35 and your knees give out. Creativity is a lifelong pursuit. You'll only get better at it the more you live, learn, and grow. And because the winds of industries and the world are always changing, allowing their vagaries to scare you into inaction would be a death sentence.

I had a very long dry spell in the year 2014. I went to meeting after meeting trying to get into a TV writers' room and was rejected over and over again. After almost nine months of being told no, I finally emailed my manager one night to say that I was going to quit "working" in TV and go back to what was left of my journalism career. He asked me to stick it out for one more month, and two weeks later I got an interview with someone who hired me. Work has fortunately been pretty steady ever since. So, of course, stubborn persistence is also a valuable tool in all of this.

I can't imagine I'm saying anything that you don't already understand somewhere in your heart. You know that you've picked a challenging career. The arts are infamously cutthroat and chancy, and many of your contemporaries are going to quit somewhere along the line. It's a tough road to hoe, and the only thing that makes it at all tolerable is the ability to find value and joy in the making of your thing, whatever that may be. If writing something feels like it's been done in vain because you don't sell it or it doesn't become a hit TV show, I recommend you don't do this work. Only do it if the doing of it is what sustains you, because the doing of it may be what has to sustain you forever.

I'm rooting for you from afar. XO

[bonnibellexox]

Writing: Things I Learnt the Hard Way #11

~Character Conflict~

Conflict is one of the biggest pitfalls in character-driven stories like romances. How often have you felt like one character flies off the handle at nothing just so they can argue? Be it jealousy, neglect or cheating, it always seems to happen shortly after the ‘will they/won't they’ has run its course. Every story needs conflict, so I guess John will get mad at Jane for being out late and they’ll almost break up over it... Or something.

Well, maybe don't do that.

Instead, you need to work on your characters themselves. Are they too generic? Are they too similar? What makes real relationships so prone to tension and conflict, even when the couple are perfect for each other? Real people fight because real people are different, no matter how much they have in common.

So here’s the formula:

1) Give your characters more rounded personalities, value and principles. This does not mean you should write polar opposites with nothing in common, it just means that people’s experiences will inevitably make them react to things differently. (This is crucial)

2) Set off a separate conflict- A traumatising event, an argument with a third party, pregnancy, illness, house burning down. Pick something that will poke them in all the right places.

3) Now, let your characters react to this. Conflict will bloom in just the approach they take in this situation. Both can have their reasons to behave the way they do, while still being at odds with the other person.

It's hard to write about two good people who still fight somehow. It feels like there's supposed to be bad guy but you dont want to ruin one of your carefully crafted sweethearts just for the book. Well the reality is that bumping into each other is human nature, especially under stress. With all the good intentions in the world, sometimes you won't see eye to eye.

The empathy you fell in love with might stop your partner from condeming peoples actions even when they hurt you. The adventous spirit that lit up your life might overheat when its forced to stay home with a sick baby for days on end. The trust you earned through months of careful affections might be lost in one moment of anger. The laid-back attitude that freed you from perfectionism might become bloodboiling when you need a situation to be taken seriously. The joy you became accustomed to might be hiding a million tiny cracks.

Use that. Let your characters discover every incompatibility and find a way to work with it. It will write your character arc for you and won’t have your audience wondering why the book is still going.

[ikemenomegas]

After seeing that rb about sakura and ino 👀. it's a guilt free way to make sure they don't end up alone when all the boys end up with alphas who actually honor their backstories. but consider also! it just works! evidence:

friends to enemies to lovers. a 10/10 trope and make it yuri? yes please we need more fun tropey girl couples

sakura is a girl failure. no i will not be taking criticism. yes, she is highly successful. So, technically, according to my girlfriend is succession's siobhan (be proud of me for spelling that without looking it up) rather successful or at least born to success. still a girlfailure. ino. gives girlwife. enough said

canon flowershop au. ino runs the family flower shop. bouquets subtly telling sakura what she thinks of her? also 10/10

kishimoto doesn't know how to write women. ino and sakura's natural competitiveness? is something that makes them very compatible. It would turns Ino on except she hates that it seems needlessly turned on her (she's great at reflecting the energy she's getting). also, sakura just riles her in a way no one else seems to do. when that tension turns more sensual 😏, well it's probably got something to do with sakura's poor impulse control and ino's suddenly realizing they're standing way too close for just their usual spat

in an omegaverse au? i haven't pinned down their designations (mostly because they could all be compelling options) but - alpha!sakura x omega!ino where ino is the one showing sakura the value of more than command in the shinobi arsenal, and helping her feel comfortable in her own skin and designation! sakura gets embrace her protective instincts and realize being an alpha doesn't have to define some of her behaviors. also omega ino carrying alpha sakura is my new favorite thing - alpha!sakura x beta!ino where suddenly ino has the best sex in her life to look forward to and sakura appreciates ino's community building beta instinct - beta!sakura x omega!ino where ino doesn't have to ever be worried about giving her independence up to an alpha and sakura gets to really know what it means for the full force of an omega's love to be hers - omega!sakura x beta!ino where ino teaches sakura not to be scare or ashamed of her omega instincts, unwinding some of that internalized prejudice, and sakura has someone who appreciates her intelligence and the things that are not "typical" for her designation. ino also gets to experience how an omega's instincts are valuable. I get this idea she might be sort of jealous of sakura for being an omega, especially since so many of the eligible bachelors around her were omegas. ino loves understanding others and reaching out to them is part of how she shows romantic interest as well, but she felt there was a wall where she didn't understand alpha/omega dynamics beyond the textbook. and she's both surprised by how intense it can be but also loves being someone omega!sakura can rely on while relying on her in turn. - omega!sakura x alpha!ino where they work through ino's protectiveness and need to pamper sakura, who feels that enjoying these things show an omega-typical weakness that she never wanted to see in herself. especially not when her two omega team mates and her omega sensei seem so bent on pretending they get along fine without such things. and alpha!ino gets to feel that this socially deemed "unfeminine" part of her actually can be whatever she wants it to be, and that a relationship between her and sakura can still be a relationship between two women. - and finally alpha for alpha and omega for omega pairings where they both work through the territorial energy sakura puts off and realize that actually? maybe losing out their mutual middle school crush is a really dumb thing to keep fighting over and masks their individual insecurities and they get to pick each other this way. also rut for rut or heat for heat intimacy? is just their brand of intense and mesy

that was a long one 😩 but it could work in literally any configuration just relying on their og series and shippuden personalities! aka op for this post was right

it also just really bleh when the only way women in a series interact is by fighting over the same man (what happened to every naruto woman's obsession with hinata's figure! they should have fought naruto for her!) or by just... fighting in general

sakura and ino are both proud kunoichi. they have very different skillsets (also how cute would is the motifs of sakura the doctor and ino the gardener? they both bring life and liveliness from their own hands) but this doesn't make one of them better than the other. having them compete to always be the best doesn't mean they can't truly appreciate how each other shine! competitive couples who love and respect each other are the cutest.

having said that they should absolutely go on a hiking date with an overnight cabin stay at the end. this isn't evidence. it's just a good idea.

i'm tired now so we'll stop here. it's a good ship though. goodnight all 😴

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

men are so disappointing in so many ways i know i shouldn't expect most of them to be dignified humans but it's crazy. i need to get over this guy he's making my sense of self crumble even faster than it usually does. like he's just so unlike my usual type and i'm pretty convinced he's stupid and slutty and not discerning whatsoever. not to mention boring like i know even if i did have a chance with him he wouldn't Get Me at all so it's a bigger waste of time that usual and i'm actually pretty tired of men in general and definitely tired of parasocial relationships because they drive me insane for months typically. thankfully it's only been like 2 weeks if that at this point. idk. sigh. i know literally virtually nothing abt him as a person and ofc liking any public figure who you know nothing about is only setting yourself for heartbreak and disappointment to begin with bc you already know nothing is gonna come from it but. in a way it's almost addictive to become obsessed with someone and not be looked at with the same level of scrutiny. i don't think anyone in real life would ever try to get to know me as much as i try to get to know people who i'll never even meet. lmao! but that's the thing... idk... i have a lot of love in my heart and it consumes me and i reject my pride usually when i'm into someone. i want to know more... like VORACIOUSLY consuming anything with information about them involved simply because i think knowing someone is a very deep form of love but of course you can never truly know anyone. not completely. and that scares me i think which is why it's always probably been easier for me to never really TRY to be with anyone or have anything real. idk. this turned into me psychoanalyzing myself real quick but SOMEONE needs to bc i need to understand what the fuck is wrong w me.

[invinciblerodent]

Y'know, puttering around with my recordings, I think I really am going to give Davrin's romance with Ver a pretty serious twisting around. Rewrite some things a bit, change things around, keep most of the "slow burn" of it intact- but also add in the "friends with benefits" elements that I feel match what he says in the check-in scene after the point of no return better.

I think I have a post from like, months before release, when all we knew about the character was "charming Warden (who may or may not have been the Storm Coast team's commander in '41)", about how I sort of expected his to be the romance that starts off more casual (with the expiration date all Wardens have, it's not surprising that someone who's been one for at least ten years would be hesitant to enter any genuine emotional entanglements, platonic or romantic), and then for him to find himself falling for Rook unexpectedly (and kind of against his will) anyway.

And from some of that late dialogue, I still think that that may have been the exact intention, initially, but maybe they didn't want to create too big a disparity between the different romance paths, or like they didn't want for it to come off like they weren't taking him as seriously as the rest, so the path sort of ended up getting a bit... I don't wanna say "subdued", but I can't think of a better word lol. Brought to match the pacing of the others and the overall story more, that's more like what I mean.

.... Anyway, I kinda think I wanna have them sleep together for the first time either after his personal quest (no more distractions, clearly established romantic interest in- and some commitment to one another, but with still an opportunity to angst about everything else) or preferably, that night after drinking with Lucanis.

I'm leaning towards the latter thought, specifically because it'd be clearly a very, very bad idea.

It'd be far too fast, far too early, I got that scene like right after the Cauldron, so deep in the thick of his personal quest- plus, the mutual interest was barely expressed like one day prior to it, and there was alcohol involved. Which all kind of makes it perfect, because it's an awful time to toss that complication in there.

But, it gives me an opportunity to have the both of them keep thinking that it being just a casual, physical thing is what the other wants (despite the "well, I could see us heading somewhere, someday" of it), and to have their feelings developing sort of in the background of it-- and then!!!!! that forest kiss can also take a role more like another complicating factor, with the "heart of a halla" line being a bit more ambiguous.

Like, casually kissing your booty call/situationship/FWB you've been secretly falling for, it's a bit more touchy-feely than the previously established [they were not established] guidelines [there are no guidelines] suggest is appropriate [none of this is appropriate], but it feels right, and that alone makes it feel weird and confusing, ykwim?

But, then the whole "Most of my life, I've gone it alone. With you... I never want to go back." thing makes more sense being where it is, after his personal quest, to me at least. Because that sounds like a confession, and with being free from worries and the griffons safe (with Eldrin, in that game), there's a great time to have a long-ish, actually serious conversation about what this is and where it's going.

.... That would also mean that some of the bed scene dialogue doesn't make as much sense ("Is this all just for show"? "Just like I imagined"? Girl you know exactly if it's for show and what his hands feel like, you've been getting dicked down semi-regularly for weeks), but I can work with some tweaks to that lol. The final parts of it, about planning the future and getting soppy still make perfect sense, it's just those lines in the leadup that need some minor tweaking.

Idk, I really liked the in-game experience I had, and I love me a good slow burn, but I can't deny that it's more my style when "slow burn" doesn't also mean ".... so sex is a thing that happens only at the very end, when all feelings are resolved". I like it adding more uncertainty and confusion into the mix, and giving a sort of "oh, this is different now" feel to that first time once the feelings are also resolved.

(The date though, I wanna keep where and how it is exactly, because he mentions he got the tip for the picnic from Evka and Antoine, and I find it really cute to imagine him just sort of looking at them after speaking with Valya like.... "... they probably have the right idea of it, don't they. While we're here, let... let me just go ask. How to, uh. Do this whole. Romance thing, I guess. Make it sound, idk, casual. And chill. We're... chill." Never mind that Evka and Antoine are literally one of the most romantic couples any of them know, but yknow, nbd.)

(And then it goes all the way sideways? Love it. Love the "hey so this tea I thought would be a fun, cute thing for us to try made her trip absolute balls for a while, so maybe this outing is not a great opportunity to like, talk. Seriously. About how I may or may not be falling a little bit in love with her. And by 'little bit', I mean 'up to the very tips of my ears'. Nbd, just gonna... postpone, spilling my guts out for her perusal, I guess." of it all. A+, no notes.)

[kyouka-supremacy]

(´･ᴗ･ ` )

[yuunnikko]

Saying Goodbye to My Mask event on project sekai may have been a premonition of having my own mental health tank to the same level as Mafuyu's because well. Let's just say. The depression. (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)