#pedro pacal

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

This was such a good read! Highly recommend.

My dear @musings-of-a-rose turned out a better plot than G2 gave us. Loved the OFC (Cornelia) and the role she has to play. I love the way the original plot is still there and woven into the fic but altered enough to keep you on the edge of your seat and engaged as a reader. 👏👏👏

This is the ending our good General deserved. 💜

A New Life

After her husband's quick death, Cornelia finds herself back in her childhood home. But when her father passes, her cruel brother Cato becomes Lord of the city. She feels trapped, hopeless, destined for nothing as her brother tortures her day in and out. Until one day, a certain renowned General comes to claim her city in the name of Rome. When her brother hastily offers her up in surrender to the stoic General, Cornelia happily complies. Anything to get away from her brother. But will the General accept her? What fate lies in store for her in the hands of General who has never lost a battle? And will she be able to survive Rome itself?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

[ellies-enrichment]

[legally-lupin]

Protector - Din Djarin x fem!reader

Everyone knew the beskar-covered Mandalorian always had an eye on you. wherever you went. He went. He was like a guard dog always checking who was looking at you in a way he doesn’t like or just looking in general.

When you wanted some space when exploring the markets and conversing with the villagers on the planets you travel to he gives it to you but he is only a few feet behind always watching. You didn’t mind it at all. You loved it. You felt safe under his gaze the fact he was always there to protect you if anything went down.

Something did go down one day making him swear to never leave your side again whether you like it or not. You and Grogu were wandering the town in Navarro when a group of pirates cornered you.

“Well. Well. And where are you going gorgeous?” The man smirked hints of gold showing as he eyed you up and down

“And why does that concern you?” You bit back not looking at the man as you held onto grogu

“Feisty one eh. Always the attractive ones” his comrades laughed as the circle tightened around you. You looked around frantically for din. You couldn’t see him anywhere. He’s never not been near. Where was he?! You were grabbed by one of them and started screaming and thrashing your body around hoping to get anyone’s attention. Most looked away. Scared of the pirates. Your chest heaved as one of them brought a knife across your cheek you whimpered as a stinging sensation hit blood dripped down your cheek.

“I do love it when they-

“Let her go” a dark modulated voice spoke making the pirates all look at who dared to speak out

“Din” you whispered looking at him.

“And who do you think-“ BAM blaster shots went out and all 5 of them went down. Dead. Dins body collided with yours in a tight embrace. You panted as tears rolled down your eyes

“Mesh’la I’m so sorry I was buying something and I looked to see where you were and you were gone I’m so sorry.” He hand went to your head as he cradled it. He checked you and grogu over before taking you both to the ship his hand never leaving you.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” He lifted his helmet slightly so he can place a kiss to your forehead.

[zoloft3]

the last | joel miller x reader

summary: joel gives you the comfort you’ve been needing

warnings: none, gn! reader, reader has implied virginity with men and relationships with them (very self indulgent bare with me)

——

“I don’t believe you,” He chuckled as if already catching the supposed falsity in my words.

“I’m not lying,” I tried not to smile when he gave me a sidewards glance.

“Sure,” He scoffed, “You totally have never fucked a guy, yeah right.”

“It’s true!” You held your hands out in omission, “Why would I lie, Joel?”

You looked away in embarrassment. This was something you didn’t speak of often. You thought it would be weird, seeing how people reacted to your virginity when it came to relationships with men. You watched the fire with glassy eyes for a moment. Jackson was quiet most of the time, but in this moment all you could hear was the blood roaring in your ears. The bird and cricket sound drowned out by the waves of your own emotional motion sickness.

His eyes fixated on yours for a long minute, then it seemed to click, “Shit. You’re not, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” You wrapped your arms around you, sinking as far as you could into his couch. Tonight was just supposed to be a simple dinner with the millers. And now with Ellie in bed, and your heart laid open to the only man you’d ever truly gotten close to, everything seemed to be falling apart.

“Jesus I-“ His fingers carded through his hair nervously, “I just thought- since… since you’re so- so beautiful- how could-“

You cut him off with your eyes gliding back to his. The words died in his throat as he saw the tears in your eyes.

“Fuck, baby,” He slid closer to you, his arms outstretched, “C��mere.”

You accepted the embrace as graciously as you could with the sobs that threatened to burst out. You couldn’t even explain why you were crying, but something about this topic of conversation with the one person you could be vulnerable with, it felt like someone had pressed just the right nerve, in order to send you limp and defenseless.

You sat for a long while with his arms around you. His smell of pine and woodsmoke and sweat invading your nose. It made you think of how sexy he’d be with a cigarette habit...

Jesus, you were deplorable.

His hands made gentle circles in your back as you let out muffled cries. You even felt him place a small kiss on your neck after you’d released a particularly hacked breath. Which was strange for your weird friends-but-slightly-more-of-a-relationship of awkward glances and finger brushing.

“I just, it’s not something I’m proud of, you know?” You admitted, finding the courage out of nowhere.

“What do you mean, darlin’?” He questioned, almost a whisper.

“The fact that I haven’t been with any guys, it wasn’t a choice, it just- I feel like it’s my fault.”

He pushed you back to look in your eyes, his hands moving to hold your cheeks, “Why? How could that be your fault?”

“I’m- I know I’m not the prettiest-“ You held back the tears in order to speak, “An- and, I know some people think I’m annoying… I guess nobody’s ever, really… wanted me like that.“

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His words didn’t match the soft look on his face. His eyes open and wide in a way you’d never seen before. “You are the prettiest, most gorgeous, fucking-“

He let out a frustrated sigh, “And you’re wrong, because I do. I want you.”

A comet hit my chest with a rush of flooding questions. When was the last time someone said anything like that? About you? And did he really want to be the first?

“You don’t mind?” You asked, plucking his heart strings with tear soaked fingertips.

“What would I mind about you?”

“That you’d be the first,” Your eyes looked anywhere but his, “The first person I’d ever get to truly love? To know?”

He smiled, the light coming through the cracks he’d left in your heart, “Darlin’, I wouldn’t care about any order, just that I’m last.”

—

thanks for reading, a repost would make my day if you should care to do so :)

[beefrobeefcal]

Frankie walking into his room and honey is already in there, laying on his bed in lingerie with whipped cream and a bowl of strawberries on the bedside table. Mayhaps even already seductively licking whipped cream off a strawberry as he just stands there watching before flashing a huge smile and pouncing on her 😏🍓🍰

Prinny, you are top banana 🍌

THIS THOT SINGLEHANDEDLY HAS CATAPOLTED ME TO MY HIGHEST FORM.

I AM BORN ANEW.

the absolute inhuman noise i let out when i read this. my cats are concerned. my husband is concerned. my neighbours are concerned.

AND WHY THE HELL WOULD THIS NOT BE CANNON, @xdaddysprincessxx??? YOU GOT IT, BABY. DONE AND DONE.

I'M-NOT-OKAY-I'M-NOT-O-FUCKIN-KAY regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

For reference to Prinny's THOT, read On the Waterfront here

[buckymilf]

so time heals all wounds, i guess.

it wasn't time that did it.

my commissions are open and you can support me on ko-fi

[thelovebelove]

[antidepressantswhore]

tlou ft cannibalism

[beefrobeefcal]

Beefro's Bistro: Upcoming Items

September ‘23 (in no particular order)

Chubby!Dieter Bravo Premier: Untitled

Chubby!Dave York : Untitled

October '23 (in no particular order)

Dark!Frankie - On the Waterfront, Ch 2, Ch3, Ch 4

Chubby!Joel : Untitled

Chubby!Max Lord Premier: Untitled

Werewolf/Chubby!Frankie One Shot: Untitled

And of course, should the THOT TANK become over run with generous contributions, more will come to fruition!

Lay-all-your-love-on-me regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

[rrrrosie]

I WANT BOFFEM

[lola-lola-lola]

Also want to lick here:

And here:

Maybe a little chomp too 😬

“Recovery” Pedro style from risemovement IG

[solisaureums]

back after 2 years, not that anyone’s missed me or anything ofc but hey y’all! maybe I should start posting bullshit again :))

[my-wild-imagination1996]

Here's a little preview for yall

Y/N, a young actress, finds herself in a thrilling love triangle with her co-stars, Hugh and Pedro. Their on-screen chemistry spills into real life, leading to a passionate adventure. As filming progresses, y/n discovers a deep connection with both men, each offering unique pleasures.

[peachy-ash]

𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧

[lola-lola-lola]

Paging @fuckyeahdindjarin come get your our cowboy

[deanwinchesterscumrag]

One Last Night

word count: 2k

warnings: drug use and idfk

a/n I just started reading conversations with freinds and I couldn’t stop picturing Nick as Pedro Pascal and I need this. I can finally sleep now. 

summary: Kenndy and Dylan have been bestfreind since they were kids. They started acting from a young age and one night after an after party for a show they filmed a photographer, Eleanor, asked to write a piece about them. After Kenndy met Eleanor’s longtime boyfriend, Pedro something seems to be happening between them. 

Dylan and I first met Eleanor at an after party, for a show we were filming. Eleanor took our photo outside, with Dylan and me smoking. I was checked out, holding my cigarette in my right hand gripping my left wrist for dear life, as if my wrist was going to get away from me.

Eleanor used a big professional camera and had multiple expensive-looking lenses in her special camera pouch. She talked to us and smoked while taking our pictures. She complimented our performance and we talked about her work, which we had come across online. When the bar closed Eleanor told us we were welcome to come back to her place for a drink. 

We all got a uber back to Eleanor's place. Dylan sat in the middle with his head turned to speak to Eleanor, so I could see the back of his neck. Eleanor gave the driver an address in Tribeca and I turned to look out the window. I felt excited, ready for the challenge of listing a stranger’s home, already preparing compliments and certain facial expressions to make myself seem charming. The house seems insignificant, it was a red-brick building with a scrawny tree outside. Under the streetlight, the leaves looked orange and fake. I was a big fan of seeing inside of other people's houses, especially people with money. As soon as I step into her house I decided I was going to remember everything about here home, so I could describe it to my other friends later and Dylan could agree. 

When Eleanor let us in, a little red spaniel came racing up the hall and started barking at us. The hallway was warm up the lights were on. Next to the door was a low table where someone had left a stack of change, a hairbrush, and an open tube of lipstick. There was a Modigliani print hanging over the staircase, a nude woman reclining. I thought: this is a whole house. A family could live here, “We have guests!” Eleanor called down the corridor. No one appeared so we followed her into the kitchen. I remember seeing a dark wooden bowl filled with ripe fruit, and noticing the glass conservatory. Rich people, I thought. I was always thinking about rich people then. The dog had followed us to the kitchen and was snuffling around at our feet, but Eleanor didn't mention the dog so neither did we, “Wine?” Eleanor said, ”White or red?”

She poured huge, bowl-sized glasses and we all sat around a low table. Eleanor asked us how we'd started out acting. We had grown up together and both and had a love for acting and as child, I was a Broadway actor, as teens we both got casted into a teen show and we’ve been acting ever since.

Eleanor had her camera on the table and occasionally lifted it to take a photograph, laughing self-deprecatingly about being a "work addict." She lit a cigarette and tipped the ash into a kitschy-looking glass ashtray. The house didn't smell of smoke at all and I wondered if she usually smoked in there or not. “I made some new friends”, she said.

Her boyfriend was in the kitchen doorway. He held up his hand to acknowledge us and the dog started yelping and whining and running around in circles. “This is Kennady”, said Eleanor, “And this is Dylan. They're actors.” He took a bottle of beer out of the fridge and opened it on the countertop.

“Come and sit with us,” Eleanor said.

“Yeah, I'd love to,” he said,” but I should try and get some sleep before this flight.”

The dog jumped up on a kitchen chair near where he was standing and he reached out absently to touch its head. He asked Eleanor if she had fed the dog, she said no. He lifted the dog into his arms and let the dog lick his neck and jaw. He said he would feed her, and he went back out the kitchen door again. “Pedro’s filming tomorrow morning in Canada,” said Eleanor.

We already knew that the boyfriend was an actor. He and Eleanor were frequently photographed together at events, and we had friends of friends who had met them. He had a big, handsome face and looked like he could comfortably pick Eleanor up under one arm and fend off interlopers with the other.

“He's taller than I thought,” Dylan said.

Eleanor smiled as if "tall" was a euphemism for something, but not necessarily something flattering. The conversation moved on. We got into a short discussion about the government and the Catholic Church. Eleanor asked us if we were religious and we said no. She said she found religious occasions, like funerals or weddings, "comforting in a kind of sedative way." “They're communal,” she said. “There's something nice about that for the neurotic individualist. And I went to a convent school so I still know most of the prayers.”

“We went to a public school,” said Dylan, “It posed issues.”

Eleanor grinned and said:” like what?”

“Well, Kennedy was a SUPER big nerd and dragged me down with her,” said Dylan, “ And Kenndey is also Jewish and went to Jewish summer camp.”

“I also don’t think I remember any of the prayers,” I said.

We sat there talking and drinking for a long time. I remember that we talked about the poet Patricia Lockwood, who we admired, and also about what Dylan disparagingly called ‘pay gap feminism’. I started to get tired and a little drunk. I couldn’t think of anything witty to say and it was hard to arrange my face in a way that would convey my sense of humor. I think I laughed and nodded a lot. Eleanor told us she was working on a new book of essays. Dylan had read her first one, but I hadn’t.

“It’s not very good,” Eleanor told me,” Wait till the next one comes out.” At about three o’clock, she showed us to the spare room and told us how great it was to meet us and how glad she was that we were staying. When we got into bed I stared up at the ceiling and felt very drunk. The room was spinning repetitively in short, consecutive spins. Once I adjusted my eyes to one rotation, another would begin immediately. I asked Bobbi if she was also having a problem with that, but she said no.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” said Dylan, “Eleanor.”

“I like her,” I said. We could hear her voice in the corridor and her footsteps taking her from room to room. Once when the dog barked we could hear her yell something, and then her husband’s voice. But after that we fell asleep. We didn’t hear him leave. ***********************************

Dylan and I had first met in pre-school. As a teen, I was very opinionated and frequently spent time in detention for a behavioral offense our school called ‘disrupting teaching and learning’. When we were Fourteen I got my nose pierced and we took up smoking. Nobody liked us. I got temporarily suspended once for writing ‘fuck the patriarchy’ on the wall by the principles office. There was no feeling of solidarity around this incident. But Dylan was considered the show-off.I found school easy, I was always smarter than the teacher and knew everything they were teaching so I found that seeking off and skipping class challenged my mind; finding a way to get off campus, seeking past the school cop, lying my way of getting out of trouble. When we were fifteen we had to attend a fundraising dance in the school assembly hall, with a partially broken disco ball casting lights on the ceiling and the barred-up windows. Dylan wore a suit that made him look like a twelve-year-old at their school graduation and looked like he hadn’t brushed his hair, but he still looked amazing. He was radiantly attractive, which meant everyone had to work hard not to pay Him any attention. I told her I liked her dress. He gave me some of the vodka he was drinking from a Coke bottle and asked if the rest of the school was locked up. We checked the door up to the back staircase and found it was open. All the lights were off and no one else was up there. We could hear the music buzzing through the floorboards, like a ringtone belonging to someone else. Dylan gave me some more of her vodka and asked me if I liked him. It was very easy to act unfazed around her. I just said: “sure.”

I wasn’t betraying anyone’s loyalties by being Dylan’s girlfriend. I didn’t have close friends and at lunchtime I read textbooks alone in the school library I was lonely and felt unworthy of real friendship. I made lists of the things I had to improve about myself. After Dylan and I started seeing each other, everything changed. No one asked for my homework anymore. At lunchtime, we walked along the car park holding hands and people looked away from us maliciously. It was fun, the first real fun I’d ever had. After school, we used to lie in his room listening to music and talking about why we liked each other. These were long and intense conversations and felt so momentous to me that I secretly transcribed parts of them from memory in the evenings. When Dylan talked about me it felt like seeing myself in a mirror for the first time. I also looked in actual mirrors more often. I started taking a close interest in my face and body, which I’d never done before. I asked Dylan questions like: “do I have long legs? Or short?”

At our school graduation ceremony, we performed a spoken word piece together. Some of the parents cried, but our classmates just looked out the assembly-room windows or talked quietly amongst themselves. Several months later, after more than a year together, Dylan and I broke up. It wasn’t of our will thought, my father didn’t approved of our relationship. He threatened me that if we didn’t separate there would be consequence. My father, Tony Fitzgerald, he is a business man. By business I mean crime, he hates when I say hes in the mob because apparently thats not what it is, “Now damnit Kenndy I’m in the ‘family business’ you stop that shit now!” He would yell at me. Me and Dylan tried to stay together but some of the men that works for my father threatened Dylan. He never told me what happened but he came back with a black eye and will not step foot inside my fathers restaurant so I can only assume what happened.

***********************************

Eleanor wanted to write a profile about us. She sent us an email asking if we were interested, and attached some of the photographs she had taken outside the bar. Alone in my room, I downloaded one of the files and opened it up to fullscreen. Dylan looked back at me, mischievous, holding a cigarette in his right hand and pulling on his fur stole with the other. Beside him, I looked bored and interesting. I tried to imagine my name appearing in a profile piece, in a serif font with thick stems. I decided I would try harder to impress Eleanor next time we met. Dylan called me almost immediately after the email arrived.

“Have you seen the photographs?” He said, “I think I’m in love with her.” I held my phone in one hand and zoomed in on Bobbi’s face with the other. It was a high-quality image but I zoomed until I could see the pixellation. “Maybe you’re just in love with your own face,” I said.

“Just because I have a beautiful face doesn’t mean I’m a narcissist.” I let that one go. I was involved in the zooming process still. I knew that Eleanor wrote for several big literary websites, and her work circulated widely online. She had written a famous essay about the Oscars which everyone reposted every year during awards season. Sometimes she also wrote local profiles, about artists who sold their work on Madson Square Garden or Time Square; these were always accompanied by beautiful photographs of her subjects, looking human and full of ‘character’. I zoomed back out and tried to look at my own face as if I were a stranger on the internet seeing it for the first time. It looked round and white, the eyebrows like overturned parentheses, myeyes averted from the lens, almost shut. Even I could see I had character.

We emailed her back saying we’d be delighted, and she invited us over for dinner to talk about our work and get some additional photographs. She asked me if I could forward some copies of our work and I sent her three or four of the best pieces. Dylan and I discussed at length what Dylan would wear to the dinner, under the guise of talking about what we should both wear. I lay in my room watching him look at herself in the mirror, moving pieces of his her hair back and forth critically.

“So when you say you’re in love with Melissa,” I said.

“I mean I have a crush on her.”

“You know she’s taken.”

“You don’t think she likes me?” said Dyan. he was holding up one of my white brushed-cotton shirts in front of the mirror.

“What do you mean likes you?” I said, “Are we being serious or just joking?”

“I am partly being serious. I think she does like me.”

“In an extramarital affair kind of way?” Dylan just laughed at that. With other people I generally had a sense of what to take seriously and what not to, but with Dylan it was impossible. He never seemed to be either fully serious or fully joking. As a result I had learned to adopt a kind of Zen acceptance of the weird things he said. I watched him take his shirt off and pull on the white shirt. He rolled up the sleeves carefully.

“Good?” he said, “Or terrible?”

“Good. It looks good.”