#she’s not an actress and she’s not a director

[ancientpansy]

Musidora, was a French actress, film director, and writer. She is best known for her acting in silent films, and rose to public attention for roles in the Louis Feuillade serials Les Vampires as Irma Vep.

Les Vampires (1915)

[darkbluekies]

MR KRABSSS I HAVE AN IDEAAAAAA!

SO, hedwig has always wanted to be a model, right? What if she's finally establishing a name for herself, getting booked, walking for big designers, and she always bringing darling to her shows. What if darling catches another models eye? they're VERY interested in darling, making hedwig choose between her career and her partner. Which one does she value more? how does she handle the jealousy (not well, obviously). How would our hedwig react to having to choose between her dream job or her dream person?

TEEEHEE I HOPE THIS HELPS IF NOT I HAVE MORE

No tracebacks, no takebacks

Yandere!richgirl oc x fem!reader

Summary: Hedwig has brought you with her on a show in Milano, but another model has set her eyes on you ... and Hedwig has to do her first killing alone.

Warnings: jealousy, drugging/killing, hitmen, Hedwig being very unstable, guilt, Hedwig is very clingy

Word count: 3k

A/N: guys I'm fighting with my phone's keyboard, it autocorrects nonsense, like hedwig to shell. Please dont mind the weird autocorrects ive missed :(

Milano fashion week. First row. Nestled between an influencer and an actress. Easier said than done. Your phone buzzes.

“My turn in 1 minute!! Promise you'll watch!! Take pictures too please I want to post them!!”

You can imagine how she looks, standing backstage in some ridiculously expensive outfit she'll beg to take home, just because she wants to give it to you, nearly jumping with excitement. It's not the first time you've been sitting here, but it hasn't gotten boring yet. The outfits are often interesting. Sometimes funny. Never boring.

She walks out, walking confidently. She always shines, but there's something different about her on the runway. She takes on a role that is different from her normal bubblegum self. Something bolder, almost sexier. They've told her behind the stage to exaggerate it, since her face is often too soft for the harsher themes. But they never deny her. How could they? Heiress to the Carter-fortune? Just having her face on the covers of the runway is enough to pull in seemingly bigger names. 

Hedwig, though, never brags about it. But you can tell on her face that she's well aware of that fact.

She disappears backstage again. Your phone buzzes again.

“Come backstage!! I want my well done kiss”

You rise from your seat and make your way backstage. After telling the guards, and showing a picture of Hedwig kissing you for proof, you’re allowed in. Backstage is always booked and busy. You look around for her. People zoom past you in a blur.

“Oh, hey”, a woman says.

You turn your head. She's a few years older than Hedwig—twenty two at most—and wears an outfit more extravagant than Hedwig's.

“I saw you in the crowd, first row”, she says. “I haven't seen you before. What's your name?”

“Y/N”, you say and try to look behind her, searching for Hedwig.

“Mind if I get your number? I’m in town a few more days for a holiday, why dont we catch up and do something?”

“Well, actually—”

“—actually, she's with me.”

Hedwig's British accent cuts in, cutting the thick tension, but just like cutting hair it grows back twice as thick. She comes up behind the other model and takes your hand, pecking your lips. She gives you a quick smile and then turns to the woman.

“The director wants to speak with you”, she says. “Urgently. Thank you for keeping my girlfriend company.”

With that said, Hedwig turns you and walks. 

“What did she say?” Hedwig asks.

“She asked for my number.”

“Oh, did she now? Bold.” She shakes her head and smiles. “Look what I managed to get you.”

You haven't even noticed the thing slung over her arm.

“Its the cardigan I wore on the runway”, she smiles. “Hold out your arms, let me see you wear it.”

You open, holding out your arms like a scarecrow. She places it on you and takes a step back, smiling ear to ear.

“Actually, I think it fits you better than it did me”, she says and hooks her arm in yours as the two of you start to walk. “Keep it on, let's go back to the hotel, I'm starving.”

“You didn't eat? I made you a snack kit …”

“No, I know, but i forgot it on the counter and I didn't want to bother you to bring it with you. I'll eat it too, don’t worry. My stomach fits both dinner and snacks.”

She holds your hand during the cab ride, leaning onto you and kissing you more than normal. Her mind drifts to the model, who she had found pleasant all afternoon, and finding herself liking her less and less. Her eyes had been watching you with such enthusiasm, those eyes that had been sure she'd get your number. Someone like her isn't used to being told ‘no’. Hedwig would know, she’s the same.

“You’re quiet”, you say.

“Mm … tired”, she hums and nuzzles her face into your shoulder. 

She thanks and pays the driver as the car stops outside the hotel. You had made the mistake of googling your suite before coming and had to rub the screen to make sure there really were those many zeroes.

“What are you feeling like?” Hedwig asks you walk into the giant hall of your hotel “room”. “I could go for salmon … maybe some baked potatoes, but at this point they're optional. I just want fish.”

“Fish and chips?”

She gives you a quick, playful glare.

“When I'm finally out of England?” she chuckles.

“Why go for fish then?” you ask and lie down in bed. “We are in Italy. Didn't you talk about pasta all week?”

“I don't know, I'm not so interested in Italian food anymore … actually, I'm pretty ready to go home.”

“Why? You were so excited. What happened?”

Hedwig sighs and stumbles over to the bed, laying down with her head in your lap. 

“Promise you won’t think I’m dumb”, she mumbles. 

“Of course not”, you reassure her. 

“That woman … who asked for your number … I felt like I was going to explode right there. She didn’t know that you were taken … but she looked at you with such certainty … as if, if she just asked you you’d give it to her without question. As if she expected it. And maybe you would have, if you weren’t with me … or maybe you would have either way—”

“Hedwig.”

“She was beautiful. I won’t deny that. She is famous too. I wouldn’t blame you if you got tempted. That’s why I feel so icky. I wasn’t ready for others to look at you the way I do. I don’t know.”

“Hedwig.”

She hugs your waist tightly, hiding her face into your chest, shivering and breathing irregularly. 

“I can’t live without you”, she breathes out. “I don’t even want to imagine it. I can’t. I can’t. I want you forever.”

“Hedwig, will you let me speak?”

“What?”

“You’re Hedwig Carter.”

“So? My name didn’t draw you to me. Why would it stop you from going to someone else?”

“Hedwig, honestly? Listen to yourself.”

She nuzzles closer, listening to your heart beating beneath your ribs and breathes out. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart”, she whispers. “I just can’t imagine life without you. I need you more than anything else.”

“You’re exhausted”, you say. “You’ve been up on your feet all day and you haven’t eaten. That’s why you’re feeling like this.”

No, it isn’t, Hedwig thinks. I think like this because I’m born like this … and I can’t deny it. I can’t get rid of it. And, oh, how I want to give in to it. It hurts.

“Should I call for room service?” you ask. “You can take a shower in the mean time? I think some warm water will help you relax.”

You’re about to leave the bed when her hand grabs your wrist. 

“Take it with me?” she asks quietly. “Please?”

You nod. She pulls you gently into the bathroom. She’s clingier than normal. If that’s possible. 

You’re both in identical white silk pyjamas. Hedwig loves to match whenever she can, and loves to put you in her clothes. She doesn’t bother to get out of bed to eat. The two of you sit together and watch a movie on the TV with your plates in your laps. She feeds you and wipes your lips with her thumbs, smiling widely. You’re so adorable, her heart can’t take it. She gets cuteness aggression whenever she looks at you. 

You’ve rested your head on her chest halfway into the movie. 

“Sleepy?” Hedwig asks softly and runs her hands through your hair. “It’s okay, you can sleep, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to miss the movie …”

“We can rewatch it tomorrow. Sleep, if you’re tired.”

Almost as on signal, you fall asleep with your head still lying on her shoulder. Hedwig holds you close, still staring at the TV-screen but not paying any attention. She imagined that woman holding you like this, being able to hold you while you’re sleeping. The thought awoken that familiar burning ice in her. Her heart beats quicker, heavier. Pounding against her ribs. Her hand shakes as she pets your hair. She recognises it. The year to kill. Hedwig licks her lips nervously and looks around, trying to remind herself where she is. She’s not at home. She doesn’t have her hitmen. She’s alone. 

Slowly, she leaves the bed, making sure not to wake you. You mumble something softly and she hushes, gently laying your head down on the pillow. 

“It’s okay, my love”, she whispers as she tucks you in. “Everything’s okay. Just sleep. You’re okay.”

But she isn’t. 

She paces back and forth in the dimly lit hotel suite, arms tightly wrapped around her. 

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What the fuck do I do?

Shakingly, she runs her hands through her hair.

I want her dead. I want her dead for even thinking that she could snatch her from me.

Hedwig scoffs, turning her head up against the ceiling, still walking back and forth. 

Miss Perfect has never gotten rejected before and was so sure that this wouldn’t be the first time. Thought that what was mine would be easy to take. Yeah, sure. In that case, you haven’t met me before.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the window, the dark night outside it making it into a mirror, and she stops moving. Hedwig tells herself that it’s the lack of light that makes her look like a ghost, but she knows that it very well could be her. 

She didn’t know. It was harmless, wasn’t it? If she had known, she probably wouldn’t have asked Y/N. 

But what if she did it anyways? What if she didn’t care? What if she thought she could have her anyway? That she could steal her? That it didn’t matter if Y/N was in a relationship because she could easily take her? 

I only spoke to her for two hours. 

The modeling world is small. I will meet her again. She will meet Y/N again. She could slip her number to them. They could start talking. She could take her from me. I have to get rid of her before anything happens. 

Hedwig bites her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. She picks up her phone. All model’s numbers are listed in the email she got, incase she wanted to widen her connections. She copies the number and goes into messages. 

“Hi, it’s Hedwig Carter, I was wondering if you wanted to catch a drink real quick?”

She doesn’t have to wait long for an answer.

“yeah, sure! i’m at an after party for some book release right now, meet me after?”

“Of course.”

Hedwig clicks away the messages and goes into dial. She calls a hidden number at the bottom. Quickly, she glances back at the bed. You’re still sleeping. Her heart swells at the sight of your head on the large pillows. You look so small. So protectable. 

“Miss Hedwig?” a rough voice answers. 

“I am going to do something really terrible”, she whispers. 

“What are you going to do?”

“I am …” She looks at you again, making sure. “I am going to kill someone.”

“By yourself?”

“Yes. I-I can’t let this go on. I have to prevent damage.”

“Are you sure? Can’t this wait? You could come back to England, set up a meeting with us and let us handle it.”

“I can’t wait that long. If I don’t do something now … I might explode. I feel like I’m going to scream. I can’t think. I have to get rid of her. I need help. What do I do? How do I make sure it doesn’t trace back?”

The hitman gives her suggestions. If the model has been at a party, giving her a drug overdose won’t be too suspicious. She could very well have gotten it at the party. It could work. Hedwig does not want to stab anyone. The less blood, the less tracing back. 

“I do have a contact in Milano that I could message”, the hitman says. “He won’t do the job for you, but he will get you what you need.”

“Okay”, Hedwig breathes out. “Thank you.”

She hangs up and walks over to the bed, quickly changing into a black dress. You look so absolutely wonderful in the bed. Hedwig blinks away a few tears and tucks you in even cozier, leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

“I will be back soon”, she whispers to your sleeping form. “I will make things right. I will always protect you. No matter the price. I will pay it. Always. I will be back before you know it.”

She leaves the suite, heart pounding in her chest. When she stands in the elevator, she gets the message from the contact. He’ll be waiting outside the hotel. Hedwig shrugs off the guilt and walks out to meet him. He doesn’t seem surprised to see her. Her hitman must have told him a lot about her. 

“This will be enough”, he says and gives her a pill. “It’s basically poison in a pill capsule.”

“And it won’t be traceable?” Hedwig asks, looking up at him. 

“Most likely not. These can be found here and there. I think you’ll be fine. And if not, you have the money for a lawyer.”

“I don’t care about that. I don’t want a rumour. It won’t matter if it’s traceable or not. If I’m connected to a murder rumour … I’m doomed.”

“In that case, make sure to give the victim it as soon as possible. The longer you wait, the less likely it’ll look like it comes from the party.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She runs off. Better hurry up. 

The woman meets her outside the club. She hugs Hedwig, and she has no choice but to hug back, rolling her eyes behind the woman’s head. Hedwig insists on going inside to check it out, deciding that it’ll be better if the ordeal happens at the club. Much easier to get away with it.

“Why don’t we buy a drink here?” Hedwig asks. “Before we leave?”

“Yes, sure, what do you want?”

“Anything is fine.”

The woman buys two dark drinks, to Hedwig’s delight. In the dark lights of the club, nothing will be visible in the drink. They sit down together by a round table. Hedwig takes small, small sips of her own drink and slips the pill in when the woman isn’t looking. Her head spins with fear. 

“I didn’t know the cutiepie was yours”, the woman says. “She looked quite … misplaced.”

“What do you mean?” Hedwig asks suspiciously. 

“You could tell that she isn’t used to the modeling world. It was kind of cute. She reminded me of a little deer caught in headlight.”

And suddenly Hedwig hates deers. 

“Actually, she’s more of a bunny”, Hedwig mutters and takes a sip of her drink. 

“Have you been together long?”

“Yes.”

“Lucky you.”

Hedwig looks at her up and down. “Yes. Lucky me, indeed.”

She indulges in more small talk about the modeling industry and Hedwig’s family history, but doesn’t talk about you. If the woman tries, Hedwig is quick to steer it away.

“I have to go now”, she says after a while. “My girlfriend is sleeping at our hotel, I shouldn’t leave her alone too long.”

“Yes … of course not”, the woman clears her throat. “Well, thank you for keeping me company.”

“Sure. Bye.”

Hedwig turns and walks. Quickly. The night air hits her like sharp knives. She breaks out into a smile. She did it … and she didn’t get caught. Her first murder executed by herself. 

Damn, don’t get too excited.

She hurries back to the hotel, feet almost stumbling over the cobblestone, wanting nothing more than to curl up beside you again, be in your arms, feel your skin against hers and be able to kiss your pretty lips. She’s almost giddy, which she knows that she shouldn’t, but she can’t help it. 

She changed out of the black dress and back into her silk pyjamas as soon as she gets back into the dimly lit suite. You haven’t moved an inch and you sleep so soundly she’s afraid breathing too loud will wake you. Before climbing into bed, she takes a picture of you, needing to capture your squishy appearance forever. 

“Where were you …?” you mumble tiredly as Hedwig climbs into bed. 

“I was just out on the balcony for some fresh air”, she replies and pulls you into her arms. “Did I frighten you?”

“I missed you …”

Hedwig grimaces, heart swelling out of her ribs and spilling out into her throat. Her mind makes up. She absolutely did the right thing tonight. She can’t imagine anyone else hearing your voice in this soft, vulnerable way. The fact that you don’t even open your eyes, that you trust her enough to know that it’s her, makes her heart ache. 

“It’s okay, my love”, she whispers and kisses your lips over and over again before leaning her head on yours. “I’m back now. I’m here. I won’t let you go for a second.”

Tomorrow morning, the news will be plastered with the news of the dead model and Hedwig will have to pretend to be distraught and mortified. But for now, she doesn’t hide her smile as she nuzzles closer to your warm, soft body, kissing you over and over again. Her own baby, her pretty girl. All for her again. No one, ever, will be able to have you like this. Only Hedwig. She always wins.

[fic-girlie]

Hi there!! I want to request something for Pedro Pascal x Actress!reader since pretty soon the fantastic 4 movie will come out.

So, this is the first time Pedro and reader work as costars, they never had a project together before. And they are gonna act as Reed Richard’s and Sue Storm. They finish filming and is more than obvious how affectionate Pedro is with his wife at conventions, interviews, etc. and the rest of the cast is like: “yeah they are always like that”

Fall in love again

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x actress!wife!reader Summary: You and Pedro steal the spotlight with your undeniable affection while promoting your first film together. Warnings: established relationship, fluff

The set is still humming with the last whir of production lights when Pedro pulls you into his arms, right there in the middle of the soundstage. You’re half-laughing, half-exhausted, makeup slightly smudged under the overhead gels, but you melt into him like it’s instinct—because it is. His arms come around your waist, fingers splaying across the back of your bodysuit where the zipper was just tugged down minutes ago. His mouth brushes against your temple, soft and low and entirely yours.

“That’s a wrap, mi amor,” he murmurs, lips curved against your skin.

The crew’s still scattering—PAs coiling cables, makeup artists making last passes with blotting paper, the director somewhere behind the monitor shouting thank-yous. But Pedro only sees you. His forehead presses against yours, and even though you’re both technically still in costume—him with silver-painted streaks in his hair, you in a suit that still clings to your curves—you could be anywhere.

“You know,” you tease, fingers slipping up his chest to rest there,“this might be the first movie we’ve done together, but I’m not sure the fans are going to believe we kept it professional.”

He huffs out a warm, amused breath, and that dimple you love carves itself deep into his cheek. “Let them believe whatever they want, cariño. They’ll figure it out the moment they see how I look at you in the press junket.”

He’s not wrong.

Because two weeks later, when the cast is assembled backstage at Comic-Con—name cards lined up, microphones waiting, cameras poised—Pedro is sitting with his knee pressed to yours, arm draped casually over the back of your chair like you’re already halfway in his lap. And you’re not moving. You don’t want to. You lean into the way his fingers absently stroke along your spine, featherlight and familiar, while the moderator reads off fan questions.

It’s not the first time today he’s touched you like this. It’s not even the tenth.

At the photo call this morning, he pulled you in at the last second, wide-palmed and warm against your waist, and kissed your cheek with a smirk that said just because I can. When you sat for the Variety cast interview, he shifted his chair closer without thinking, your knees bumping every time he crossed and uncrossed his legs—and then didn’t apologize when he left his hand on your thigh during someone else’s answer.

You were Sue Storm on screen. But off screen, you were always his.

And the rest of the cast? They’ve started to treat it like background noise. Like rain in the distance or the low hum of a refrigerator—perpetual, expected, sometimes even comforting.

Joseph snorts, elbowing Ebon. “At one point I looked up from a take and thought we were filming something way more romantic. Turns out, no—Pedro was just looking at her like she hung the stars.”

Pedro doesn't even deny it. He glances over at you with that little half-smile, the one that curls just his mouth but softens every line in his face, and says, “That’s because she did.”

You roll your eyes but your hand is already reaching for his, fingers sliding between his like your whole body already knows the shape of the fit. Which it does. You’ve been married three years now. Three full years of late-night scripts and early morning shoots, of red carpets and long-distance FaceTimes, of quiet dinners in sweatpants and loud reunions at airport gates. Three years of watching him love you so openly, so endlessly, that you’ve stopped pretending he ever tries to hide it.

And maybe this is your favorite part of all of it—being on this stage, being this version of yourselves. Surrounded by press and fans and hot lights, but still anchored to each other. Not as Sue and Reed, not as co-stars, but as you and Pedro.

You lean in during one of the questions—something about character development or some scene they all loved—and you whisper just under your breath, “You realize they’re all clocking how you haven’t let go of me this entire time.”

He doesn’t even look at you when he answers, just smiles a little deeper and squeezes your hand under the table. “Good. I want them to.”

Later, when the cast is filing out behind the curtain and the flashbulbs are still popping in the hallway, Pedro tugs you back by your wrist. The others keep walking, half-distracted by handlers and costume bags and the chaos of the press corridor—but you stop. Because he did. Because he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that makes sense in the whirlwind.

He backs you gently against the wall behind one of the partition curtains, hands framing your face, and kisses you once, slow and deliberate, like there’s no one around to see it. Like time doesn’t exist for him when his mouth is on yours.

When he finally pulls back, his voice is low, rough-edged and a little breathless. “I loved filming with you. Every single second.”

You press your forehead to his, feeling the warmth of his hands against your jaw, the scent of his cologne and coffee and whatever product Coco used in the makeup room to slick back his hair. “I loved watching you fall in love with me again—on screen.”

Pedro smiles against your cheek. “Joke’s on you. I never stopped.”

You laugh, full and quiet and slightly overwhelmed. His arms slip around your waist, pulling you in until you’re chest to chest, heart to heart, and you let yourself sink into it. Let yourself feel how real it is, how effortless it’s always been with him, no matter where you are.

Backstage at a convention.

In a hotel lobby where fans are shouting both your names.

On a set where the cameras catch everything—except the way he whispers “mi vida” against your ear when no one’s looking.

The rest of the cast might tease. The press might speculate. The fans might edit together every glance and grazing touch. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter what they see.

Because you see it. You feel it. You live it.

You’re his, and he’s yours.

Always like that.

[dina-winchester]

That’s Not in the Script

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x you // Established relationship

Summary: When a co-star crosses the line with an unexpected kiss on set, Jensen pulls you away to remind you both what real connection feels like.

Warnings: On-set tension, unwanted physical contact (non-consensual kiss), emotional distress/jealousy, sexual tension/intimate kiss

The set was colder than you expected, but Jensen’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders helped.

You loved watching him work.

There was something magnetic about seeing Jensen slip into character—charming, charismatic, completely in control. You’d visited the set a few times before, always staying out of the way, tucked behind the monitors or perched quietly in a director’s chair with a headset. Today was supposed to be more of the same: a quick lunch date on his break, maybe sneak in a few kisses in his trailer before he had to jump back into costume.

But that plan derailed fast.

You were watching the scene unfold through a monitor off-set. A flirty exchange between Jensen’s character and his female co-star—some actress they’d just brought in for a few episodes. You didn’t know her well, only that she was new and tried a little too hard every time you crossed paths. Flashing too-white smiles. Laughing too loud. Giving Jensen touches on the arm that lasted a beat too long—like she didn’t know the difference between flirting for the scene and flirting for real.

You tried not to care.

They were mid-scene. A little banter, some scripted chemistry, and then—bam. Her hands were in his hair, she stepped in close, and kissed him.

Full-on, open-mouthed, tongue.

Your stomach flipped.

Jensen stiffened immediately. You saw it in the tension in his shoulders, the way his arm didn’t touch her waist the way the script said it should. He didn’t kiss her back—not really—but the cameras were rolling. He had to get through the take.

The director yelled cut.

You expected him to laugh it off. To shake it off and move on.

But Jensen pulled back from her slowly, jaw tight.

“That wasn’t in the script,” he said, voice clipped.

She just smiled, all charm and faux innocence. “Oh no, did we overshoot it a little? It just felt like the characters were in it, y’know?”

Jensen’s jaw twitched.

“There’s a rule,” he said, voice low—calm, but cold. “No tongue. You know that.”

She blinked. “Oh, come on. It’s not like—”

“You pulled that shit on camera,” he cut in, sharp enough to draw blood. “With my girl standing right there.”

The silence that followed was instant. Crew members froze. The lighting guy shifted uncomfortably. She opened her mouth—maybe to argue—but Jensen was already looking past her.

His eyes found you through the haze of crew and cables—and the second they did, something in him snapped.

He didn’t say a word. Just moved.

Straight toward you, cutting through the set like nothing else existed. His hand found your waist the second he reached you.

“Come with me,” he muttered.

You followed him down the hallway, around a corner, into his trailer. The door slammed shut behind you.

You barely had time to turn before he was in front of you—hands on your face, eyes scanning yours like he needed to make sure you were okay.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said, low and rough. “I didn’t know she was gonna do that.”

“I know.” You placed your hands on his chest. “I saw the whole thing. You didn’t kiss her back.”

His jaw ticked. “She knows the rules. Everyone knows the rules. No tongue, ever. That’s not acting, that’s crossing a line.”

“She crossed it.”

“Yeah. And I didn’t stop it fast enough.”

You saw it then—the guilt underneath his anger. The way his brows pulled together like he was mad at himself for not shoving her off sooner.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “It wasn’t your fault, Jensen. You were on camera. You handled it.”

His hands slipped down to your hips, gripping tighter than usual. “I didn’t like the way she touched me. Didn’t like her hands in my hair. I wanted to pull away the second it happened.”

You tilted your head, hand resting on his shoulder, thumb brushing his neck softly. “It’s okay, baby. The take would’ve been ruined. You had to handle it professionally.”

He exhaled slowly, voice lower now. “All I could think about was getting through it so I could get to you.”

Your heart twisted. “Baby…”

“I swear to God, if she ever tries that again—” He broke off, growling under his breath. “I’ve had some forward co-stars, but that? That was disrespectful.”

His hands slid lower, fingers curling behind your thighs. With one smooth motion, he lifted you—your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, like your body already knew exactly where it belonged. His grip tightened as he tugged you closer, crowding you gently against the wall. He held you there, secure against him, like letting go wasn’t even an option.

“I hate that she touched me like that with you right there. Hate that you had to see it.”

You cupped his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “I don’t really care. She doesn’t get you. I do.”

He kissed you then—slow and deep, nothing like what you’d just seen. His mouth moved with reverence, like he was trying to erase the memory, rewrite it with something real. His tongue teased gently into your mouth, barely there. His hand fisted in your hair as he tilted your head, deepening the kiss further, tongue sliding slow and sure against yours, pulling a soft, broken sound from the back of your throat.

He groaned low at the way you melted into him, pressing you harder against the wall, his mouth devouring yours with something hotter than anger, deeper than jealousy. His tongue moved with purpose—exploring, teasing, tasting you like he never wanted to stop.

When he finally broke the kiss, he stayed close, his breath ragged against your lips.

“You feel that?” he murmured against your lips. “That’s what it’s supposed to be.”

“Yeah, I feel it.” You murmured quietly, fingers slowly carding through the hair on the nape of his neck.

His thumb swept softly over your cheek, eyes locked with yours. “She doesn’t get that. Not a second of it,” he said. “Only ever want it to be like that—with you.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered. “Only yours.”

And just like that, the tension eased. You weren’t thinking about the scene anymore.

Just him. Just this.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Starting at the End Ch. 5

Summary: Lily Crawford has been receiving disturbing letters from a worrisome fan. On the advice of an acquaintance she goes to Winchester Private Security and seeks out Dean Winchester to keep her safe. Will this troubled ex-marine be able to save her, and can she save him too?

Series Warnings: Angst. Smut. Fluff. (as usual, of course!) Discussion of war, loss, trauma, PTSD, grief. Stalking. Obsession.

Chapter Warnings: Some violence. PTSD briefly mentioned but not discussed.

Pairing: Dean x ofc (Lily Crawford)

Word Count: 2,426

A/N: This is my Dean "Bodyguard" AU. (Technically he calls himself Private Security and not a Bodyguard, but 🤷‍♀️) I've never written a bodyguard AU before, so I hope you all enjoy this one. It's been a while since I've written an ofc, so I hope you like Lily. I'm enjoying writing her. I know OC's aren't the fandoms favourite, but I really felt like I needed Lily to be Lily in this one. Hope you give it a chance anyway. ❤️

POSTING EVERY FRIDAY! ❤️

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Dean walked through the door first, re-arming the alarm as soon as Lily closed the door behind herself. She walked over to her coffee table to drop her purse, letting her keys fall beside it. She stood quietly for a minute, until Dean cleared his throat. 

“How are you?” He asked tentatively. “Can I make you a cup of coffee? Or, uh…some kind of tea?”

Lily smiled softly. “No, thanks. I'm good.” She sighed loudly. “I think I'm just gonna go soak in a hot bath for a while and then call it a very early night.”

She smiled again as she passed by Dean on her way to the bathroom. As she reached the hallway, Dean called her back.

“Lily?”

She looked at him with a weary, quizzical brow raised. 

Dean shook his head. “Why do you…keep doing this?”

She frowned. “Doing what?”

Dean spread his arms wide. “This. This, with this asshole producer, and the other jerks you put up with. I mean, I've heard some of the conversations you've had with directors and stuff, they’re so condescending and rude half the time.” 

He thumbed behind him towards the door. “You said this wasn't the first time you've dealt with someone like this. So, why keep coming back to it? Why keep putting yourself through it if it makes you miserable?”

Lily bristled at the questions. “Because why would I let asshole producers and rude directors determine my life? Besides, I’m not miserable.”

Dean grunted out a sound that said he didn’t believe her.

“I’m not!” Lily argued. “Look, are there aspects of the industry that I don’t like? Sure. Are there times it’s frustrating? Yeah. But I’m an actress, it was what I’ve wanted to do my whole life. It’s like…a calling.”

She lifted her hand towards him. “You were a Marine, right? Don’t you think you were called to serve your country? Like a feeling in your gut that just tells you that you’re doing the right thing?”

Dean’s face shuttered and lost all expression. Lily suddenly realized what she was saying. She waved her hands back and forth. 

“Not that I’m saying it’s the same, at all. Obviously, being an actress and being a Marine are not the same level of importance or dedication. I just meant that, I mean there must have been things about being in the military that you didn’t like, right? But it didn’t stop you from serving. Right? Even if sometimes it made you miserable?”

Dean was silent for a moment, before he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s really none of my business. Sorry.”

He looked at the front door. “Okay, everything is locked up and armed, so I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight.”

He was almost in the bedroom before she thought to answer. “Goodnight.” 

But his door was already closed. It was the first time in two weeks he went to bed before she did. 

***

It was nearly three o'clock in the morning and Dean sat on the floor, back against the wall, knees up, with his elbows resting there. Even after all these years out of the service, there were still times that a bed felt too soft, almost like it was going to swallow him up. When he felt like that, he’d sleep on the floor.

That’s how he’d ended up down there. He’d started off trying to sleep, but after an hour of tossing and turning, he knew it was pointless and grabbed a bottle of whiskey out of his big duffle bag. 

Now he was most of the way through the bottle of Jack. He took another gulp of the fiery liquid and swallowed it down slowly, wishing the burn could black out some of the memories running rampant through his mind. But he knew it wouldn’t; it never did. It just made them a bit fuzzy around the edges. 

But he could still see Sammy’s face, the way it looked when his little brother had been pleading with him.

“Dean, I hate it. I hate it all so much. I’m so miserable there.”

Dean would give anything to stop his next angry words, but they echoed hollowly through his mind just the same, far too late to change them.

“Jesus Christ, Sammy! You can’t just quit the fucking Marines! This isn’t like your job at the taco stand, or that call center place! This is the fucking Marines. Quitting is called ‘deserting’.” 

“I didn’t want to join in the first place! Dad made me!”

“For fuck’s sake, Sam! You’re a grown ass man! Take some responsibility for your actions. Dad made you?”

“Yes! And you made me! I did it to make you happy, so I’d stop disappointing you both so much.”

Dean set the bottle heavily on the floor beside him, and buried his head in his arms where they rested on his knees. The memory of his next words stabbed him through the heart as they did every time.

“Well, you haven’t finished disappointing me yet, Sam. You’re running from this the same way you’ve run from every responsibility you’ve ever had. For once in your life, dammit, stick something out.” 

His little brother’s heartbroken face, his hazel eyes pleading for understanding, floated through Dean’s consciousness, no matter how much he tried to drown the vision in alcohol. Flashes of Sam’s pale, bloodless face took its place sometimes, drawing the direct link for Dean as though he didn’t already know it.

Sam was dead because of him. Sam died, rather than disappoint him. Dean picked up the bottle again, in the feeble hope that it would dull that one, unwavering truth.

***

Lily sipped her coffee and stared at Dean’s closed door. 

She was almost in shock this morning when she woke up and Dean still hadn’t emerged from his room. She thought about waking him up, but then she decided to just let him sleep. She knew she’d hit a nerve last night, and she felt bad. 

In the light of day, without an exhausted, disappointed brain, she realized that she knew nothing about Dean’s time in the service, including how and why he’d left. She grimaced; it was terribly unthinking and tactless of her to just bring it up and compare it to working in Hollywood. She knew they weren't remotely the same.

She’d just been bothered by his questions because they were all ones she’d asked herself many times over the years.

But still, she should have known better; it was entirely possible Dean suffered from some form of PTSD from his time as a Marine, many soldiers did. She did some mental math, guessing at Dean’s age, and figured he likely served in Iraq or Afghanistan.

She mentally kicked herself again as she took another sip of her coffee. “Dumbass.” She mumbled to herself.

So, she let Dean sleep. 

But then around ten o’clock she got a call from her agent. The director of Eternal Night was calling her up for the chemistry read with Tom Ridgely.

Lily cleared her throat. “Uh, Nancy, you know I had a meeting with Ethan Braun yesterday and it didn’t uh…well, it didn’t go very well.”

Nancy’s voice was confused. “What do you mean? His production company pulled out of the project a week ago.”

Lily felt her stomach drop. “What? What do you mean he pulled out of the project?”

“Just that. He’s not involved anymore.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, I see. Well, there must have been some kind of miscommunication.”

“That’s why all meetings should be scheduled through me, Lily.” Nancy scolded.

Lily nodded. “I promise, from now on they will be.”

Her blood boiled and she felt sick over the fact that Ethan Braun had played her so completely. She shuddered as she thought about how much more horrified and disgusted she would have felt if she’d actually caved to his bullshit lies and slept with him out of desperation. 

Fucking snake, Lily thought as she hung up with her agent and then tried to put it all out of her mind. The callback was at noon, she needed to hustle. 

She hesitated a moment before knocking on Dean’s door. When there was no answer, she knocked again. For a minute she wondered if he’d just left. Her momentary panic made her open his door quickly, but she breathed easier as she noticed him sprawled on the floor.

He was still wearing his white button down, though it was open and no longer tucked into the suit pants he also still had on. Seeing him on the floor, she wondered briefly if he’d fallen or injured himself somehow. But then she dismissed that possibility because he was partially covered with the blanket from the bed. 

She was confused about why he was sleeping on the floor until she saw the almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels not far from his outstretched hand. She suddenly remembered that the first day she’d met him, he had seemed a bit drunk, or at least hungover. But she hadn’t seen him touch a drop since he’d been there. She frowned at the big duffel bag on the floor beside the bed. 

How many more bottles has he got in there, she wondered. Has he been drinking in here every night?

She shook her head. That didn’t matter right now. Right now, she needed him awake and moving.

“Dean.” She called softly, but he didn’t move so she called louder. Finally, she shouted his name and he moaned.

“Dean, I need you to get up now. I have a callback. It’s in less than two hours.”

He didn’t move. 

She walked over to him and shook his shoulder. “Dean.” She called, frustrated. 

He opened his eyes blearily and she tried to explain again. “Dean, you have to wake up now, we have to go.”

He just moaned again and mumbled something as he turned away from her. Lily sighed in frustration and gave up. She closed his door none too gently and ran into her bedroom to get ready. Less than an hour later, she was showered, dressed, and ready to go. She tried knocking on Dean’s door again, but she heard nothing from inside.

She shook her head. There was nothing for it, she’d have to break one of his two big rules and go on her own, but he had no one to blame for that but himself. She sent him a quick text letting him know the address where she was going and when she expected to be finished.

She felt a little nervous as she stepped out of her house for the first time in a long time without the security blanket of Dean standing close behind her. But she looked around, and everything looked normal, not that it ever looked otherwise to her. 

But it was a beautiful day, and she was very excited that the possibility of playing Alexis was still within her grasp. So, she got into her car, and pulled out of her driveway quickly, her mind busy and slightly worried about how the callback would go, especially given her disastrous meeting the day before.

But everything went perfectly. The director was friendly; she’d only met him very briefly during her screen test. But this time she’d actually had the chance to chat with him about the film and he was definitely excited about the possibility of making more than just the standard vampire horror movie. 

Even Tom Ridgely had turned out to be a surprise. Given the nepotism involved in his hiring, she’d expected him to be a bit full of himself and annoying. But he was actually just a really shy, sweet kid with a quiet and rueful sense of humor about his connection to the casting director. The characters she’d seen him play had all been a bit overwrought and dramatic. But he was clearly meant for something lighter and a bit more subversive. Their scenes together had been easy and the chemistry had been solid. At least, she thought so. 

But it seemed as though the director, casting director, and producer (the real one!) in the room had felt the same. The vibes had been very good.

So, she was riding high as she left through the rear entrance of the building to walk to her car in the surface lot. She was practically skipping and wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings.

It happened so quickly she didn’t even have the chance to really scream. 

As she opened her car door she suddenly felt a strong arm tighten around her waist and before she could react, her mouth and nose were covered by a big, meaty hand. She panicked and started thrashing, instinctively smashing her head back towards him, trying to connect with something, preferably a nose. But it wasn’t working.

He was trying to shove her into her car, but the warning she’d heard since she was a teenager, “NEVER LET THEM TAKE YOU TO A SECOND LOCATION!!”, was screaming in her mind and she struggled harder, shrieking pointlessly under the heavy hand that trapped the air inside her lungs.

There was a sudden, painful blow to the back of her head and black dots floated in front of her eyes; she went limp. Her mind was vaguely conscious as she was lifted off the ground and pushed into her front seat on her stomach. She shook her head trying to clear the fog, but it just spread the pain further and intensified it.

She felt like she was going to throw up as she was shoved further along the seat, the attacker trying to climb in behind the wheel. She was working up the energy to scream, trying to remember how, when suddenly she heard an angry shout and felt her abductor scramble out of the car again. She heard more shouting and when she realized she recognized the voice, she felt her terror dissipate a bit. She heard running footsteps and then suddenly Dean was in the car beside her.

“Lily?” He said tentatively as he helped her turn and sit up on the seat.

His face was extremely worried as he ran his hands over her, no doubt checking for broken bones or bullet holes. 

That realization, that he was right to check, that she could have ended up with something so much worse than the lump forming on the back of her head, made Lily’s teeth start chattering and her whole body start shaking.

“Just…” She was having trouble speaking as she shook. “S’jus my head.” She said, words slightly slurred, seconds before she threw up all over Dean’s wrinkled, white shirt. Before she could apologize, the darkness overtook her.

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[jewishbarbies]

yes, let’s invite the white racist popstar to be part of our secret awards club so she can help us exclude deserving minorities from getting awards!!

[scarlettfevor]

I just saw this video talking about actresses who've had to wear sexualized outfits on film that made them uncomfortable (think Margot Robbie in Suicide Squad) and it brought up an ongoing concern of mine about how films and tv shows are way more explicit now than they've been before. Thinking about how many actresses have been topless or nude on camera when it's totally unnecessary) Like I know Hollywood is experimental and would show sex and nudity in their films, I don't have a problem with that it's just how disproportionate the amount of women vs men who have to be naked and sexualized in film is. It's misogyny, pure and simple. Forcing actresses to put their bodies and sexuality on display for the pleasure of male directors and a male audience. And I hate that you can never point out how many actresses have come out and said that no, they didn't like wearing sexualized outfits on screen, they didn't like going nude/being pressured to go nude, they don't like sex scenes or explicit rape scenes but still anytime anyone mentions this you have to fight puritan allegations because god forbid you question how a notoriously sexualized and objectified marginalized community seems to always be sexualized and objectified in media.

[mzcain27]

I guess this is lilo and stitch remake spoilers now but like part of keeping lilo with nani is also v much about Nani?

Like these are two siblings whose parents DIED. Nani has next to no support system, has child services breathing down her neck talking about taking her last family member away from her which just increases all the anxiety about the whole fkn thing like this isn’t even just about the chaos of trying to be enough for lilo she is GRIEVING on top of everything and if lilo is taken from her she is ALONE, her ohana is GONE she would NOT FUCKING DO THAT jesus CHRIST can we stop letting people who watched the originals with their fkn eyes closed remake things

[secretly-a-catamount]

Every time I remember that Wanda Maximoff isn’t Romani in the MCU a little bit of my soul dies.

[poomphuripan]

Ladies of My Stand-In (2024) dir. Pepzi Banchorn Vorasataree

[nonbinary-morro]

ok so im currently rewatching nimona in the hindi dub (thank you @sir-ballister-boldheart-boldheart for the link! everyone should check out their great posts about it too btw)

and right of off the bat, im kinda obsessed with this line change:

in the OG, Nimonas quip/joke is "The one armed club is about to get some new members"

but in the Hindi dub its changed to "Agar inmisay kisi ka basu pasand ai toh bata'dayna" (sorry if my hinglish isnt the best i dont do this kinda thing often XO)

(which translates to: "if you find a liking to any of these arms tell me")

which is not only equally as hilarious but also soso cute cause the implication shes ready to chop of any arm he wants as a fucked up kinda karma/compensation or as a replacement is just, so good. violent and in character but also establishes a side of care for him early on which is really cool.

[1111iza]

source

[anaalnathrakhs]

letterboxd users absolutely flabbergasted that a movie underlines its point about a toxic social norm with cinematography, instead of having characters say they're gonna do a Toxic with their mouth

[alowrites-sometimes]

I think is amazing how Jorge wrote EPIC (music, lyrics and everything) and also played Odysseus, I know more people have done that before, but I think that's the perfect way to be sure that your protagonist is just like you want them to be, that they sound how you want them to sound and I think Jorge did an amazing job

And also, he's such s good singer, like, half of the time I don't understand how he does the things he does with his voice cause they are so sick, his voice is amazing and I just admire him so much

[starkholme]

"Your audition tape" Maya doesn't take her eyes off the camera screen "It was brilliant, a personal favorite of mine but I'm only gonna say this once: do not improvise when you're not asked to"

"Thank you" soon she added up "I promise it won't happen again."

"And Carina? You're doing great" this time her piercing blue eyes stared directly at the lead actress, whose heart stopped for a second after recognizing the fire and sadness merging themselves behind the wall of feelings in front her.

"Thank you, director"

"Maya, you can call me Maya"

Carina felt that a tiny part of her wanted to impress Maya, do right by the end of the production. And a massive part of her wanted to get to know Maya better, break down all the walls surrounding her.

"Thank you, Maya" she smiled as she left the room not noticing the director's mirroring her smile.

Maya Bishop is known for having a mix reputation: some loved her, some hated her, few were ambivalent about her, some believed she was a genius, some believe she was just ruthless. Working with her demanded perfection, actors who worked with her confessed the challenge made them more focused on their jobs and most of them we rewarded with either Golden Globes, Oscars, Emmys, Critics Choice, anything you could imagine. On the other hand, some claimed she made the scene way too coordinated, wanting and demanding it the way she envisioned, no space for creativity outside the script. In the end, everyone had an opinion about the director, and yet none of them knew her personal life besides her producer Andy Herrera.

Carina DeLuca was not expecting Maya Bishop to be her new director. She set it up her audition tap as soon as she could, the script itself was amazing, a drama film set in Italy with a main character who had lived years apart from her family now struggles with going back to her origin country, a story much closer to home than what she anticipated. Studio 19 needed someone — preferably Italian or fluent in Italian — to be the main lead, but Maya's name was not attached in any sort of paper, and she's been enough time in spolight to have heard rumors behind the director's workplace. Although Carina never really deemed any of them to be 100% true, she was willing to learn whatever she could took from Maya's guidance, but once things start to get hazy between her and Maya, she beings to see this movie as more than just a job.

[pynkhues]

Closed set during the sex scenes? That makes so much sense now because till you said that i have been wondering how they could do these scenes in front of everyone and their mom's

(x)

Yeah, they're pretty standard these days. The idea is that it's only absolutely essential people who are there. My sister is a costume standby so one of her jobs is tucking and taping the actors to give them what little modesty she can (and robing them up between takes), so she's pretty familiar with closed sets. There can be variations of who's there outside of the director, camera operator and boom operator, like I wouldn't be surprised with the American system if, say, Rolin was there too, and for that first sex scene in 1.01, they might've had the stunt coordinator there too for the levitating scene, but I'd be surprised if there were many more people than that, especially after Jacob said that on the podcast.