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grogusmum · 10 months

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JULY: Buck Moon

Frankie Morales x gn!Reader (nicknamed Rocket)

W/C: 1200ish

RATED: M

WARNINGS: Smut, missionary, unprotected sex because it's fantasy. If I've inadvertently indicated gender please DM me and let me know, and as always if there is something I missed please let me know in my DMs and I will add it.

A/N: Here is the July installment of The Wheel of the Year, my theme for @yearofcreation2023. Organized by the effervescent @oonajaeadira and @writeforfandoms

This is a companion to my one shot Your Spot Okay, I should admit from the jump. This is not all that pagany. It’s smut. Sorry. But not really. Oops. I just, okay, this is what happened on Frankie Friday, I was thinking about him and Rocket. I also kind of got interested in the challenge of writing a smut for a gender neutral reader, if I could manage it. Fingers crossed.

“Why is it the Buck Moon?” Frankie wondered aloud, sitting by the fire in his camp chair, watching the full moon rise.

“It’s called that by some North American tribes, its also called the berry moon and salmon moon by others. Cuz it’s berry pickin time and like spawning season- you know how salmon are,” you laughed. "Anyway, it's the Buck moon because, you know how they drop their antlers each year… then new antlers grow and are bigger? July’s when the male deer’s antlers are at their peak size,” you explained as you held up two bottles of beer, "want one?”

Frankie nodded.

You sat, handing him the beer, he murmurs his thanks as you clinked the bottles together.

“Peak size you say?” Frankie said after taking a long pull from the bottle, his cocked eyebrow and smirk didnt go unnoticed.

You snorted a laugh.

You and he had decided to take it slow, but there were definitely times when putting on the breaks was getting more challenging, especially since you did so much camping together. There was a lot of necking and humping like teenagers. Since there was no benchmark either of you were waiting for, frankly, the question no one was asking but mostly definitely wondering at this point was why?

“Like it represents, virility … abundance… passion”

“So, mmmm what do people do?”

You swallowed, “well, you know we’re doin it. We caught fish and grilled it along with the veggies we picked from your garden- which is amazing. Did you know you had such a green thumb?”

Frankie tucked his beer in the little holder on the arm of the canvas chair. Then he took yours, and did the same, his warm hand came to your jaw, turning your face to his-

“What else might someone do?”

“Well, you know people … just try … to tap into that energy and you know start something new?”

Frankies lips pressed against yours to punctuate every word-

“Tap virility?”

“Yeah” you whispered after he pulled away infintesably.

“Tap passion?”

Your ‘mhm’ was swallowed by Frankie sealing his mouth to yours. When he pulled away he pulled you out of your chair, and ran his hands down your sides.

“Are we done waiting?”

“Yyyyeahh” you groaned.

As it was a perfect July night, you had planned to sleep under that moon and the stars, with no tent. So you both just tumbled onto your bedrolls. The clearing, your spot, was so protected, so out of the way that neither of you held any self-consciousness at pulling at each other's clothes until you were both completely undressed. The large moon shown on his body, his broad shoulders, and the slight curve of his belly. Sitting on his knees in front of you, your eyes traveled lower to the part of him you have only ever seen and felt through his clothes, above his strong thighs his length jutted proudly, to your mind perfect in size, with an enticing curve. You knelt before him, and when your eyes came back to his face, he wasn’t smug, though with your mouth hanging open, he probably had every right. He was busy looking at your body, fully naked for the first time in front of him. It was worshipful. When his eyes met yours, there was a question.

Am I enough?

You shuffled over to him, taking the forgotten ball cap off his head, and ran your fingers through his hair. Then, you climbed onto his lap. Caging his hips with your thighs, his hard shaft pressed against you made you both moan into each other's mouth. He gave an involuntary buck, and you gasped at the feeling.

“Which way do you want me,” you asked.

Frankie groaned at the question, and in a swift move, he had you on your back, your legs high for full access.

“I want to look at your face, Rocket,” he murmured, rutting up against your opening. “See you come undone, and you can see what you do to me.” His hands ran down your chest, then his teeth grazed one of your nipples, raising it. He licked his hand and brought it between your legs, preparing your entrance for him. A finger entered slowly, and then he pressed another into you as you whined at the stretch of his thick fingers.

“Shhhhit, Frankie.”

“Rocket, you- fuck, you feel good.”

His fingers slid in and out, languid and purposeful, and your breath quickened. Frankie watched you as he lined himself up and slowly pressed into you. The stretch was exquisite but not painful. Frankie had made sure of that. But it’s his eyes that had your chest heaving, those dark chestnut eyes, the crinkle that is almost permanently etched between his brows, searching for your face, for discomfort, for whatever else he can offer you. Full seated, he rested his forehead on yours, grinding his hips slow and deliberate. The way he does everything. Thoughtfully, with purpose. When you pushed back and it was like you flipped a switch, he began to piston into you, deep, hard. His hands on the back of your knees hold you legs high, opening you completely, you held on for dear life. His open mouth on your shoulders and neck.

“Gods Frankie don’t stop-” you gasped as delicious friction pushed you closer and closer to your peak, at that moment he tipped your hips just a bit more and hit your walls at a different angle and the next thrust sent fireworks behind your eyelids, toppling you over the edge. Frankie felt you tighten around him, and the warmth of your release. He let go of your legs and caged your torso holding you in place, grounding you.

You knew he was getting closer, his rhythm became erratic, until the rubberband within snapped. Frankie fell forward, covering you, murmuring your name, your real one, peppering you with kisses.

Finally, your breathing slowed, your heart beating at a restful pace -

"So, um, whadoya wanna do for the sturgeon moon?"

Frankie's shoulders quaked with silent laughter, and he rolled off you and onto his side, though his strong arm kept you close, tucked into his chest.

"Whatever you want, Rocket."

You both lay sleeping, in the early hours. In the night Frankie had rolled over and you took over as "big spoon", your arm wrapped around his ribcage, legs tucked behind his.

"Rocket," he murmured, patting your arm, his voice rough from sleep, " Rocket, ten o'clock."

Your eyes opened, and you muttered the words back to him in confusion.

"At ten o'clock, Rocket. Look," he whispered with urgency.

His words clicked, and you looked up, away from "twelve o'clock" and saw a twelve point buck in the clearing, morning mist surrounding him.

Your arm tightened around him, and his warm hand that covered yours squeezed in return.

💚THANK YOU FOR READING💚REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED💚

If you care to read more of my Frankie stories or any of my writing you can find my masterlist here and if you would like to be tagged for any of my fics you can find my handy dandy taglist form here.

#wheel of the year series #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x gn!reader #frankie morales x you #year of creation 2023

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blackbeardsballs · 5 months

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My comfort characters of 2023 are:

Joel Miller (show or video game) who is violent when he has to be, and soft when the brutality of the world he lives in allows it. He'll do whatever it takes anything to avoid feeling loss again. Where is a cowboy fic where you ride him I need that urgently.

Mobius M. Mobius. This man knows he's a silverfox and he KNOWS he's sexy as hell. He has your back, will talk you through it ;) and teach how to truely trust someone.

#i also want them so bad #like please #who were your comfort characters of 2023?#the fact mine are older men #you know what I don't care #the last of us #joel miller #pedro pascal #loki #mobuis m Mobius #Mobius #lokius #end of the year wrap #comfort characters

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nicolethered · 1 year

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Pedro has a realization

#pedro pascal #bella ramsey #the last of us hbo #let’s make 2023 another year of realizing things #tlou spoilers

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hopeamarsu · 10 months

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First Dance

Part of the Year of Themed Creation challenge by @yearofcreation2023

Oberyn Martell x gn!reader

Word count 779

Warnings It's Oberyn, that's pretty much all the warning I can give. In the end, it's very tame so... Summary: You find yourself with the Red Viper of Dorne. What would you ask from him?

He sits languidly on his throne, head tipped back in pleasure as you slip a ripe grape between his lush lips. The strong, callous hand grips your bare thigh under your clothes and the warmth seeps right into your bones. It feels like a brand, how hot his body runs but you welcome the heat.

“Mmm, delicious,” Oberyn mumbles, keeping his eyes closed while he savors the fruit. The corner of your mouth tips up in a smile, a little secretive and a little appreciative as you watch his throat swallow. A pink tongue peeks out from between his lips and he chases the taste of the fruit, or maybe the taste of your fingers where they brushed over him earlier. With Oberyn, it could be either one.

“More?” You ask softly, twisting your hips and bottom on his lap, rubbing his rising erection deliberately. His hand tightens on your thigh when it slips higher, a warning and permission rolled into one. “You know me, I hardly ever say no to anything.”

His voice like silk, Oberyn’s eyes fall open and he peers into yours, the deep brown in his irises sparkling like the most decadent wine imported from Essos.

But there is danger in those eyes also as he holds your gaze captive and you are suddenly reminded of the fact that this is the Viper’s lap you are perched on. An apex predator who has seen its prey and now waits for the perfect moment to strike. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. For some inexplicable reason, the knowledge of how lethal he is makes you feel safe in this nest of poisonous snakes.

With that, you slip another fruit past his lips, watching in awed silence as the hint of danger slips back into indulgence when the flesh and taste burst in his mouth. “Decadent,” Oberyn hums and his hand slips up an inch or two. It’s getting closer to where the tops of your thighs meet and you shiver in anticipation. He must feel it and his low chuckle makes your stomach swoop. The tell-take twitch of the hardened flesh underneath you confirms he’s doing this on purpose.

“My Prince, could we dance?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. It’s an abrupt change of events but one you can’t deny you haven’t desired for a while. The man is a work of art and the way he moves betray his talents as a skilled dancer. And you are parched for it.

“Why?” His eyebrow raises in curiosity. His muscles remain relaxed and loose while he sits but you know you have him now. Oberyn is interested and you lean into that. “It’s rare to find oneself so close to the Red Viper and…” You let your gaze caress his open chest and the gold that adorns his neck. Placing a hand on the smooth flesh, you peer up at him from between your eyelashes, letting your fingers dance their own tune on his skin.

“… and while stories of your tantalizing exploits have reached us far and wide…” you continue with a husky tone while pressing down on his lap, earning a soft grunt as your prize. Leaning in a fraction, you let your breath ghost over his stubbles jaw when you move closer to his ear. “I would love to claim a dance of a different sort first.” You let your hips roll again, showing him just how much you will enjoy his moves here and later.

He laughs then, a deep rumbling sound that vibrates your core and you feel your body responding in arousal. The sounds travels in the vast space around you while wrapping you up in a cocoon together. It slowly dies out into a delighted huff and Oberyn turns to kiss your neck. “Well now, sweet thing, how I can refuse you?”

Rising up on his throne, he moves you until bodies press against one another. You can feel his perfect hardness and matching softness simultaneously with every cell of your body and it makes you feel dizzy.

Almost like he knows the effect he has on you, one of Oberyn’s hands rests on the small of your back while the other settles at the nape of your neck. You are caged in but never want to escape and knowing that sends yet another stream of heat through your veins. He glances into your eyes, the dark wine once more flickering in his irises with passion and delight.

“A first dance, of many I hope,” Oberyn whispers in your ear before moving your bodies in a tune heard by no one but the two of you.

#year of firsts #year of themed creation #year of creation 2023 #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn martell fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #my writing #hopeamarsu

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la-la-dusty · 1 year

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The Last of Us being a palate cleanser for all of tumblr after what the Velma show did to us

#HBO #can only make one good show a year #enjoy while it lasts #hbo velma #velma 2023 #velma show #Velma #scooby doo #the last of us #pedro pascal

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insomniamamma · 10 months

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Circle, Circle: Dieter Bravo X f!reader

A/n: written for my @yearofcreation2023 Year of Kisses. This prompt was a kiss for comfort, and a whole lot of real life happened between when I started this and now. This is a love letter to the theater nerds I knew in high school and the theater nerd I became later in life. This one turned out different than I thought it would. This story refused to be smutty. This story refused to be sexy. I don't make the rules. Inspired largely by this.

warnings: drug and alcohol use, angst, implied fatphobia, insecurity, cuddles and fluff, being dieter's best friend implies it's own warning.

You saw the clip. Annika belting Dieter in the chops in the middle of some posh party while Kate looked on with the kind of face you make when your drunken best friend barfs in a potted plant at your parents house. You never loved me! You never loved me at all! Dieter's hands thrown up in self defense, grinning at the cameras as security goons hook their arms around Annika's waist and pull her out of the shot. Day in the life.You saw the clip and knew what was coming. Dieter fuckin Bravo.

You've known D since middle school, gravitating towards each other because no one else wanted anything to do with either of you. The girls called you stupid and fat and ugly. The boys called him faggot. So you'd banded together, smoking cigarettes you stole out of your Gramma's dresser, smoking shake-weed out of pop-can pipes at the edge of school grounds, right under that stupid sign that read 'drug free school zone' and then kicking it into the tall grass when some terminally bored teacher's aide came to round up you and D and the rest of the burnouts. Nobody ever gave you more than the cursory straighten up and fly right speech. Neither of you were actively failing so no one cared. Then, in high school Dieter discovered the theater program and so did you.

You saw the clip and knew your phone would ring eventually. Or buzz rather. Coming home, he texts. Can you pick me up? Sure. What time? Knowing exactly what will happen. He'll say he won't be any trouble, that he'll book a room at the holiday inn and you'll tell him no and invite him to stay. Because you always do. Because home has turned on him for getting out. He's won an Oscar out in the world, but here? He's sneered at, deep well of contempt for those who strike out and fail and come home licking their wounds. Who does he think he is? Who do you think you are? Hurts less for you because you never tried to leave as much as you wanted to.

You should try out, you told him. If I'm trying out you should too, he told you. Little Shop of Horrors. He was gunning for Seymour so you learned Audrey, so you could practice the songs with him. I can't try out are you kidding me? You can, D told you, you sound...rested his hand on your upper arm the way someone might touch a live nuclear warhead. You sound good. We sound good together. You know that right? And inside you do. The way his voice weaves through yours, the way you can let go when it's just the two of you. His garage or your basement, singing over the piano track the music teacher made.

He's a mess. He looks about four days out from his last shower, his curls sticking up in greasy quills, his eyes are red-rimmed, from drugs or crying, you can't tell. This is how it is for him. He fucks up spectacularly and then he comes slinking home. No one cares here. No one gives a shit about his Oscar here. Just that no good Bravo boy limping home like a kicked dog. But you care. Dragging his carry-on along behind him, broad shoulders slumped, you feel that unwilling, unwitting spike of pity lodge in your chest.

They'd laughed. At the audition. When you and Dieter took your positions on stage, a bit of rough blocking you'd worked out between the two of you. Not loud braying laughter, snickers and titters of girls expecting a debacle and you feel your chest constrict and your eyes burn--

"Lift up your head Wash off your mascara Here, take my Kleenex, wipe that lipstick away Show me your face, clean as the morning I know things were bad, but now they're okay--"

But Dieter has you, grips your chin with finger and thumb just like you practiced, those big brown eyes terrified and deadly serious hold yours as he draws you to your feet. Audrey's lines pour out of you in a rush, the accompaniment a hair slower than the recording, I blew it, I blew the song and then you find the tempo, you find your voice and it rings out like it did all the times you and Dieter ran it together, belting it over the cast recording, rings out into the dark auditorium, the way you've heard it in your head this whole time, and you feel your skin prickle as Dieter's voices threads through yours like a grounding touch, and you finish together, singing into each other's faces.

The accompaniment stops and there's polite applause.

"You saw?" "Everybody saw--" "Fuck."

He smells like stale beer, fast food and no sleep. "You knew it wasn't gonna last with her right?" You keep your eyes on the road, but you can feel D bristle in the passenger's seat. "How do you mean?" "Come on, man, she's, like, half your age. Even if you hadn't cheated on her with Kate--" "Hey--" "You and her have nothing in common other than being trapped in that weird quarantine bubble," you say, "That's not love, that's fucking Stockholm syndrome." "You're probably right." "I'm always right. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

"This is some bullshit!" Dieter jabs a chipped black fingernail at the list of names tacked to the bulletin board outside the auditorium. "Your name is nowhere on that list. We sounded so good together! They--" "Dieter it's fine," you say. "They cast Emmy Lancaster as Audrey! What the fuck?" "Emmy's fine. She's got a nice voice." "Yeah, but she's not you! How'm I gonna do it if it's not you?" "D! Stop it!"You grab him by his upper arms and shake him a little, and those big brown eyes lock onto yours and he looks like he's drowning. "You've got this. I know you, dude, you're gonna be great." His eyes flick back and forth like he's searching for something. "Will you still run lines with me?" "Of course I will, you asshole."

"You hungry?" "Starving." "Mabels?" "Mabels."

"Oh, man, I forgot how good this is."

You and Dieter order the same thing as ever, garbage omelets with and order of biscuits and gravy split between you. D slathers his plate in hot sauce and you wrinkle your nose like you always do. And the question comes up as it always does. Can I stay with you? Just for a little bit-- and the answer is always yes, because D is a disaster but he's your disaster.

He's held your hair while you puked, you babied him when his girl dumped him right before senior prom. You ran lines together, even though you couldn't act with him. You don't have the right look for Audrey, they told you, but we do need a stage manager, and you threw yourself into it even though it hurt, because what where you expecting? And you had a knack for it, which surprised you and everyone else. The Audrey Two puppets were rented, but everything else had to be built and you found that you loved it, sketching out the sets, figuring out how to make the pieces light enough for you and the half-dozen other nerds you'd press-ganged into being stage crew to lift easily. We can do most of it with scrims, paint right on the fabric and then light it on from the back, or we could project the images right on them, like what Nine Inch Nails does. We can get with the AV club, see what they think.

"You can always stay with me, Dieter." You reach across the sticky table and wrap your hand around his forearm, "You know that right?" And there's a flicker across his face that says no, and it feels like a spike in your belly--

"Everyone's saying-- Christ. It's like everything I touch turns to shit."

"C'mon, that's crap and you know it, Hunger Strike--"

"That was different!" He surges forward and takes your hands in his, a bit of coffee sloshed between you, turned ears and cocked heads of the few patrons haunting Mabel's this time of night. "I had something there! It was like, something entirely outside of me--"

"Like catching lightning in a bottle?"

"Exactly like that!" And he smiles, brilliantly, the real one, not the cool little smirk reserved for the red carpet, for the press junkets, the smile that lights him up, the one you remember from way back when the lights came up and the orchestra played the main theme, the cast linked arm and arm, ready to take their bows and Dieter broke ranks, deviated from what you'd done in the previews, running the show for a cadre of bored teachers who'd rather be doing just about anything else, he sees you in the wings and catches your eye, waves you out two handed, a huge clownish gesture that requires a response, so you and the tech crew pour onto the stage, while the actors slide down to make room for you and you dip your outstretched hands to the orchestra and raise them again to the soundboard and spot operator the way you've seen every night this run and then everyone links arms and bows in a wave and suddenly Dieter's arms are locked around you, releases you and then turns to the crowd, raises your hand and his together, as the applause comes up.

"Do you know how that feels?" And you remember the way you and him sounded together, how Audrey poured out of your lungs like she had always been there-- "Yeah, D, I do," and his eyes flicking back and forth across your face still and hold yours, his hands warm in your grasp.

"Yeah," he says, and squeezes your fingers in his, "Yeah, I think you do." And you stay like that a beat, hands folded together across the sticky table, ancient cigarette smoke and old coffee and hand sanitizer. The waitress brings the check. One of Mabel's spray tanned granddaughters. You draw your hands away like you've been caught.

You've kissed Dieter exactly once, under the much-graffitied overpass, neon slurs and pentagrams and pigeon shit, both of you drunk on Wild Irish Rose, him smelling of weed and his mouth was warm, tentative against yours, and you'd laughed about it afterwards, circle-circle dot-dot now i've got my cootie shot, and you'd leaned together with your arms around each other, warm and solid against each other.

During tech week you'd pulled double duty, running lines with Dieter because outside of the auditorium Emmy Lancaster wouldn't even look at him, rolled her eyes all through rehearsal as if she was doing the world a favor by being there. She wanted nothing to do with him outside of scheduled rehearsals and Dieter was scared. The tech crew you'd rounded up was a different story all together, the lights are down and they can't see us so go nuts, so backstage you'd gone full goth, all black and dramatic makeup, and some of the others had followed suit, a little bit of rebellion behind the curtain where no one could look at you.

After one particularly grueling night, you and Dieter find yourselves side by side on the futon in your basement. Your bedroom proper is upstairs but your folks have let you build a nest down here so won't bother the rest of the house. They've mostly given up on you but that gives you some freedom.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he says, looking up at the crappy drop ceiling and glow in the dark stars that you've decorated it with. "Emmy hates my guts. She thinks I'm a creep. How'm I supposed to make this work?"

"Pretend she's me."

"What?"

"Pretend. She's. Me. You're good singing and running lines with me, so just imagine it's me and not Emmy fuckin Lancaster up there with you."

"Will that work?"

"Dude, I don't fuckin know, but you better figure it out quick. We open in a week."

The ride home is silent save for the scrape of windshield wipers, low, warm spit of rain, winding back roads and Dieter's fallen asleep, head turned away, slumped against the window, comes blearily awake at the sound of your tires on the gravel driveway.

"Hey, D, we're home." He stretches in the passenger's seat and yawns hugely.

"I can still get a hotel. I don't want to be a problem--"

"Too late. C'mon."

You fall asleep under fake plastic glowing stars and wake to find you and him wrapped together, his forehead pressed to yours, your arms tucked around his ribs, his hand folded over the curve of your hip, his breath warm against your face, and you're not sure how this makes you feel, because you've never been close with someone quite like this and you're not sure what might happen next, but at the same time this is Dieter and you've known each other for what feels like a million years and he looks so different asleep, face all slack like a little kid who's zonked out in the back on the car on some long road trip.

"I'll take the couch." "The fuck you will. I know the wire-work on Cliff Beasts 6 tweaked your back." "Was it that obvious?" "I could tell." "You can always tell."

"D. Hey, D." You try to squirm out of his grip without waking him, but you haveto resort to a good hard poke in the ribs. His eyes fly open and the two of you launch up and out of bed and away from each other like two magnets forced pole to pole.

"hoooomygod. Oh shit I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--" "Dude, it's okay, I didn't mean either-" "I was just so tired holy shit," his eyes are wide and his cheeks are fire engine red and you can feel the embarrassment and anxiety pouring off him like radiation. You start laughing. You can't help it. "What?" "You remember that scene from Planes, Trains & Automobiles?" Dieter brays laughter and the embarrassment flicks out like a candle flame.

You offer your hand and he takes it. You lead him upstairs. You need to get cleaned up. You smell like the floor of a taxi-cab, and Dieter laughs, a small one that just barely touches his eyes, his big be-ringed hand folded around yours, stroking your knuckles with the pad of his thumb, eyes down-turned.

"You always let me come back to you. No matter how bad I fuck up. You don't have to- you shouldn't--"

"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do Dieter Bravo. You can always come to me. Unless you become a serial killer. Which seems unlikely considering how squeamy blood makes you."

Dieter laughs, a real one this time, that dimples his scruffy cheek and crinkles his eyes closed, and he knows you're talking about the time in Mrs. Wilson's home economics class when Lola Stevens sliced her thumb opening a can of peaches to make cobbler and Dieter got one good look at the running blood and slithered bonelessly out of his chair, eyes rolled up to the whites.

He laughs and pulls you into a crushing hug, his arms banded around your back, pressing you into him and it catches you off guard and you stumble against him, sorry. I didn't mean, and you don't give him space to elaborate, tuck your face into his neck, wind your arms just as tight around his middle. He smells like skunk weed and whiskey sweat and fast food and exhaustion but also like home, like those fevered days leading up to opening night, like when your first serious boyfriend had dumped you, like when he'd held your hair while you puked in the weeds by the side of the road, walking back home from a kegger that he cops broke up, the two of you creeping into the basement, got you a big sweating plastic tumbler of water in the ugly yellow light from the range hood, his eyes big and dark and serious, afraid of waking the rest of the house, and laughter had come bubbling up silent giggles that he caught like the plague, did you see the way Greggie ran?-- shut up you're gonna get us caught--

"Christ I missed you." "Missed you too, D, but you really need to shower." "That bad, huh?" "Yeah, that bad."

With some coaxing Dieter sleeps beside you, curled away from your nightstand lamp. Can't ever sleep without reading a little first, a horror yarn you've read a half-dozen times, plucky hero and damsel in distress threaded through with Dieter's even breath. He looks oddly frail in the soft light, back hunched in and knees tucked up like he's cold. You kill the light and slide the book under your pillow. You already know how it ends.

You kill the light and tuck yourself against his broad back, slide your arm around and his hand finds yours, folds your fingers into his, tucked against his chest. He smells like your soap and your shampoo because his toothbrush and a hair-clotted razor were the only toiletries that made it into his tangle of luggage. Walmart, you think, need to go anyway. You feel him soften, relax into your embrace, his weight settling against you, press your lips to the back of his head before tucking your face into the warm join of his shoulder.

His voice, sleep heavy and slurred-"Did you just kiss me?"

"Circle-circle, dot-dot"

#year of kisses #year of themes 2023 #better late than never #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo best friend imagine #dieter bravo #pedro pascal

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nerdieforpedro · 5 months

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Weekend Update - 12/31/2023 - New Year’s Eve

Hey Nerdie! Looking forward to the New Year?

Hello! And yes I am, new beginning can be scary but fun. I’m looking forward it.

You have any lessons that you’re going to carry into the new year?

*Is shocked that she is being asked for advice*

Er…Not sure if you should ask a Hornado Hooligan for life advice, but I’ll do my best.

Skip number four if mentions of mental health, depression and/or suicidal ideation are triggering for you.

1. If you love something, keep doing it. Writing, singing, dancing, reading, walking, edits, watching TV and movies of a certain man with excellent hair, large hands and a prominent nose, painting, playing an instrument, whatever gives you peace and joy.

2. Write the things you want to write, all fanfics are self-indulgent. It’s encouraged, we all want to read all the things. Lord knows all my fanfics are and I would not have them any other way.

3. Find a lovely group of people to nerd out with, chat with, cry with, and have plenty of belly laughs with. The Hornado Watch (to which I am the resident hooligan who inspires many a giggle) has been saving grace for me this year with their support and care in just these last few months. 🥰

The following does contain mentions of mental health and suicidal ideation.

4. On that same note if you don’t feel quite right, mentally or physically, you should tell someone you trust and seek out help. My personal battle with mental health has been ongoing for roughly half my life, it’s hard to remember a time I didn’t feel depressed. I had been managing with medications and drowning myself in work but that will only stave the dark edges off for so long.

It was earlier this year, about August and September when I re-joined tumblr after one of my younger patients who saw my water bottle all Pedro’s characters’s stickers all over it and asked if I read any of the Fanfiction about him because that patient read Loki fics on there. I hadn’t and was surprised to note that my Tumblr log-in infor still worked. I was going through the motions of life and felt hollow to the point where for the first time since high school I had thoughts of “if I wasn’t here, would everything feel okay? Would it stop? If I don’t wake up, and everything stayed black it would be fine.” Then came the insomnia where I just wanted to sleep maybe forever and my body wouldn’t allow me as a special kind a torture. At least that’s how I thought of it at the time.

Oddly enough my first fics were posted between September and October so I was trying to work out the feelings I had which helped some but wasn’t enough so thankfully I was able to find a doctor who’s listen to me when I said my meds aren’t keeping me even keeled any more and started me on a new medication which has been working well for me.

Since then, I’ve enjoyed writing up a storm on all sorts of subjects that I’ve thought about, wanted to explore and just thought, “don’t see that anywhere, let’s do it.”

I’ll keep writing as it really does help keep me sane and interacting with all you lovely peeps 🐥 as it’s often a highlight of my day. 🫂

Especially my Hornado Watch group, I’m your resident hooligan and weather report expert. I predict more flooding and downpours of thots with some support mixed in there. A high chance of fluffy feelings and rainbows in the clouds ⛅️❤️

Stay warm, safe and see you in 2024! 💚

Love Nerdie ❤️

#Nerdie speaks #weekend update #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #new year's eve #december 2023 #2024 soon

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