#BIG CONGRATS PEDRO!!!

[jksprincess10]

Meeting Pedro at the Oscar’s after party 👀 maybe he invites you back for drunk food hehe, a dream.

Hope this fits your vision !! I loved writing more Pedro, being a CONSENT KING here.

CW: Age gap, drinking, making out, sexual tension.

The night had felt like a fever dream, especially when you got to the after party and you got even closer to all these celebrities. Your movie hadn’t won, but you were still thankful to be there as a young and upcoming actress. You felt loved.

The lights were colorful, the music was loud. The bodies danced, the glitter of their dresses and the striking white of their shirts shining through the dim lighting. You had come with your costar, but had somehow lost her in the crowd.

A man you didn’t recognize at first waved at you. He had greying curly hair, a patchy beard and wore thick black glasses. When your vision finally adjusted, you recognized Pedro Pascal. You had talked to him a few times, as you had found yourselves in the same parties in the last months.

You went up to him with a smile and pulled him for a tight hug. His big hands rested on your shoulders; he was always so respectful.

“Congrats on the nomination, you must be so proud.” He had to talk pretty close to your ear and pretty loud for you to hear it.

“I still can’t believe it. You did great when you presented tonight!”

“I was so fucking nervous…” He admitted, stroking the back of his head. “Can I get you a drink? Do you need to sit down?”

“Yes and yes. Those heels are killing me. And I can’t wait to take off that dress.”

You were wearing a beautiful black dress. The long skirt was made of fluffy tulle and the top was a corset, the bottom of it made of mesh with beautiful embroidery. You had gold heels that matched your jewelry.

He laughed. “Go sit there, darling, I’ll get you a drink.”

You took a seat and took off your heels to massage your red feet as you waited for Pedro. He was such a gentleman, you didn’t mind spending more time with him. He came back with two red wine glasses, that you drank over a conversation.

**

Maybe the third glass was too much for you to handle. Pedro was also tispy, but you were far worse than him. Maybe you had danced close to him. Maybe you had shaken your butt against him. You weren’t sure if you had dreamed it in your drunken state.

“Was thinking of heading home and ordering food, you in?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” You winked clumsily, which made him laugh.

**

Once at his place, you two ordered junk food and waited in his living room.

“Take off your dress, I’ll give you spare clothes.”

“Jeez, take me to dinner first, Pedro.”

He laughed, cheeks red, before he held your hand and brought you to his room. He pulled out an oversized t-shirt from his drawers and gave it to you.  You turned around to let him help you undo your corset that was crushing your ribs. You felt his fingers brush the skin of your back lightly as he pushed your hair out of the way, which made you shiver.

“I’ll give you some space and change elsewhere.”

Your blurred mind wanted to tell him to stay, but you managed to keep your mouth shut.

You stepped off your dress when he closed the door behind him and replaced it with an oversized Lakers shirt. It stopped at your thighs.

When you went back to the living room, Pedro was already sitting on the couch, wearing more laid-back clothes. He managed not to stare at your thighs and your body, but all failed when you climbed on his lap. There was barely any fabric between your two bodies.

He put his strong hands on your shoulders, like to keep you away. You pouted.

“You’re very drunk. And I’m very old.”

“Also very hot. ”

Maybe the strength of his arm had gave in or maybe his willpower to push you away disappeared. He wanted this; he couldn’t lie to himself. His body was reacting to the attention you were giving him.

Your mouth met his in a hungry kiss. His hands rested on your waist, resisting the urge to pull at the fabric you were wearing. You rested your hands on his rough cheeks as you deepened the kiss. You were heating up, and you clearly felt his arousal through the thin pajama pants he was wearing.

“Okay okay, let’s calm down, food’s coming…” He said between kisses and drunken giggles.

You let go of his mouth finally, but instead, your red painted lips found his throat, where tension was making a vein pop out more. You felt him breathe heavily under you.

His phone rang, indicating that your food was at the front. You finally had to let go, letting your clumsy body slump on his couch. You weren’t hungry for food anymore.

You watched as Pedro got out to get the pizza you ordered. When he came back, he laid the pizza on the table in the kitchen and joined you at your initial spot, sitting beside you when you gave him some space.

“You want pizza?”

“M’not really hungry for food anymore.”

He was trying really hard to be good about this.

“Look, honey… Let’s wait until you’re not drunk and see if you still want this.” The actor spoke softly, not trying to look like he was rejecting you.

“Okay…”

“We’ll eat and get you to sleep.”

**

The next morning, you had woken up in Pedro’s bed, still all dressed up in his clothes. When he felt you move, he turned around to look at you with a sleepy smile and tired, soft eyes.

“You still want this?” He asked, voice raspy from sleep.

As an answer, you threw one of your legs around him to bring him closer, your lips trapping his in a passionate kiss.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x actress ! reader #pedro pascal x actress!reader #pedro pascal x yn #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #writing requests

[chronically-ghosted]

in another life . . .

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.

warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed 

a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”

🤍Masterlist

. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled. 

“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”

You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder. 

“I’m sure of it.”

All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.

“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.” 

“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.” 

Partner. 

That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. 

And then he met you and the definition changed again. 

You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why. 

You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).

“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”

And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days. 

“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions. 

Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts. 

Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed. 

Which could be:

Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.

Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here. 

He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.

Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging

Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?

Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.

And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.

Then dark. And light.

You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all. 

He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.

“Hey, you’re home.” 

You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime. 

“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath. 

“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”

“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee. 

“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold. 

He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.” 

Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.

“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”

In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee. 

“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets. 

“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night. 

He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.

“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids. 

“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it. 

Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since. 

Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks. 

Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair. 

Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation. 

Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay. 

Something stronger than light.

Stronger than gold. 

You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love. 

So much fucking love.

In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants. 

You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.

The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare. 

“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.

Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him. 

“Baby–,” 

He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,

I’m not worth this 

With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall. 

You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer. 

His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.

Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in. 

You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle. 

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.

Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut. 

This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars. 

This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day. 

That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.

And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.

He just wonders how stable it really is. 

His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.

“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”

Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head. 

“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful. 

Grateful.

Grateful that he is kissing you. 

Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you. 

You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees. 

But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now. 

His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it. 

He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch. 

Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart. 

The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips. 

“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs. 

Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes. 

His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it. 

He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford. 

Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair. 

“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.” 

He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.

He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole. 

In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair. 

“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh. 

“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty. 

Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible. 

He didn’t know he could feel like this.

One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean. 

He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face. 

You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine. 

You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point. 

Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now. 

His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level. 

You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.

“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls. 

But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest. 

His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table. 

Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock. 

“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?” 

At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich. 

“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.

“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.” 

“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.” 

His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork. 

It almost brings him to his knees.

“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”

He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.

Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist. 

You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.  

“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”

It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.

“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain. 

He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.  

“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.” 

You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.” 

He is covered in gold. Dripping with it. 

His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done. 

“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.

“I wanna fucking marry you.” 

With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.

He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow. 

“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy. 

The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire. 

He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust. 

He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again. 

You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.

The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm. 

“B-baby, please–,” 

Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer. 

“No crying until after I’ve made you come.” 

“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.” 

“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him. 

Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.

“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”

And he unravels, divinity calling his name. 

His pace is slow, then rough, then deep. 

The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again. 

Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more. 

Baby, please.

The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst. 

With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs. 

The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet. 

Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling. 

“Fuck, Frankie . . .”

He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor. 

His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull. 

“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face. 

“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.” 

You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest. 

“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”

“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.

“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.” 

Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips. 

You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all. 

You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed. 

“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you. 

“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.” 

Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.

He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach. 

Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.

“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”

“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”

His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.

“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.” 

He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.

Yeah, who knew?

#frankie morales #fransisco morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales smut #triple frontier #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader

[louloulemons-posts]

Congrats! 🩷

Can I ask for Eddie Munson with 16. prompt “i don’t want them! i want you!”?

thank youuu! 🫶🏻

1k celebration prompts list

16 : ‘i don’t want them, i want you!’

W/Eddie Munson

a/n : have you guys seen the pic of joe with pedro pascal i can’t breathe!!!!

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

you’d had feelings for him for a while now, how couldn’t you?

he was sweet, funny, kind, beautiful inside and out - he was just eddie.

but he liked her. and that made perfect sense. chrissy was beautiful too.

she was charismatic, and outgoing. the best cheerleader this school had seen in years. half of the boys in your class were in love with her - hell even some of the girls.

you couldn’t even be mad at him, or her, because it just made sense.

you picked at your nails as you stood by your locker, spotting the blonde haired girl walk past with her friend, a huge grin on her face.

sighing you dropped your head back against the metal, this was gonna be a long day - thank god it was friday.

“hey,” a voice said, making you jump.

looking up you met eddies eyes, “hi.”

“you good?” he asked.

“mhm, yeah. just half asleep still.”

a loud laugh echoed down the hall, making you and eddie turn your heads. chrissy and her friends were giggling away.

you saw the boys cheeks become rosy, a small smile reaching his lips.

“i gotta get to class, i’ll see you later,” you said, quickly walking away.

the boy was confused, “but we have the same class?” he said to himself.

“in trouble with the wife?” gareth said from besides him. “i don’t know what’s going on,” eddie said.

“you will, you’re just being stupid right now.”

“what else is new?”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“you’re avoiding him. very mature.”

“hello to you too gareth, nice to see you. yeah having a great day thanks.”

“yeah yeah whatever. so when are you gonna tell him?”

“tell who what?” this made the boy cock his brow at you. “what?”

“eddie. you’re in love with him.”

“am not.”

“we’ve been friends since the first grade, you can’t lie to me. you love him. what’s the big deal.”

“he’s in love with chrissy.”

gareth snorted, “oh yeah.” you glared at the boy, “it’s not funny.”

“it is, a bit. you’re silly sometimes you know, you should just talk to him.”

“i’d rather not. now have good weekend, i’ll see you monday.”

“mhm, see you.”

you walked away from the boy. not looking back, just wanting to lie on your bed and mope.

“hey!” a voice called. god.

“hi,” you said.

“so you’ve been busy today huh?”

“not really.”

“oh.”

“did you need something eddie?”

“wanted to see if you wanted a ride home.”

“i’m good, i need the walk.”

“oh. okay then. i’ll call you later?”

“sure, bye.”

“bye?”

gareth appeared - again. putting a hand on his shoulder, “that was maybe one of the most tragic things i’ve ever seen.”

“what’s going on?”

“you’re still haven’t figured that out?”

“figure what out?” this caused gareth to groan.

“do you like chrissy?”

“cunningham? no, she’s a good client but nah she’s not my type.”

“and your type is?”

“well … uh i-”

“y/n. yes i know i know. and her type is you. but she sees you looking at your favourite client and feels awful about herself. feeling all blue, and then doesn’t want to be around you to stop those horrible feelings - and everyone’s best bud gareth gets it in the neck.”

“i- what?”

“she. likes. you.”

“well shit.” the pair stood there in silence.

“go after her then.”

“oh yeah right. thanks man. i owe you one!” eddie said jogging over to his van. “i should become a therapist,” gareth said.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“hey!”

jesus this was the third time today.

“eddie.”

“can you get in the van?”

“why?”

“we should talk.”

“about?”

“just stuff, come on i’ll buy you a shake.”

you sighed, nodding slightly before hopping into the van, not looking up to meet eddies gaze.

“so-”he began, but you cut him off, “buy me a shake and then we can talk.”

he smiled, nodding his head. “okay i can do that.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

you were sat across the table from each other, drinking shakes, not really speaking or looking at each other - more so you than eddie.

the bell above the door rang, signalling someone coming in. a familiar voice made you want to burst into tears. “oh hey eddie!”

“chrissy. hi.”

“how are you?”

“i’m good, you?”

“great yeah.”

“oh hey, y/n right?”

“uh yeah, hi,” you said, looking up.

“well i’ll get out of your guys’ way,” the blonde said, but you pushed yourself up from the table. “no need, i’m just going. thanks for the shake eddie.”

“hang on a sec-” he said, but you were out of there.

“relationship issues?” chrissy said.

“what?”

“they’re your partner right?”

“no?”

“oh, well i just assumed, well you’re like one of the most loved relationships in the schools. or you will be when you ask them out.”

“thank you!” he said, rushing out of the diner, to catch up with you.

“y/n wait!”

“i’m busy eddie.”

“will you please just wait a sec.”

“you should go back to chrissy.”

“what are you talking about?”

“you’re dating right?”

“what? no!”

“well you should ask her out.”

“why?”

“cause you clearly like her.”

“oh my god, can you just stop walking.”

“no i’ve gotta go home,” you didn’t want to stop, didn’t want him to see your red eyes.

“for fuck sake, y/n i don’t want them i want you!” he shouted, holding your hand so you were stuck in place.

“what?” you said quietly.

“i like you! i love you god dammit.”

“love me?”

“yes!”

“why didn’t you tell me?” you said, spinning to face him.

“i didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

“well i do!”

“good.”

“great.”

“i’m gonna kiss you now.”

he did just that, cupping your cheeks and smashing your lips to his. it was soft but intense, butterflies swarming your stomach.

“i love you, not chrissy. and i’d really like to take you out, if you’d let me?”

“i’d like that.”

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #joe quinn #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x yn #joe quinn imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie x y/n #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson blurb #oneshot #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn #joesph quinn imagine #joesph quinn #strsnger things #strangerthings #blurb #imagine #fluff #louloulemons #1k follower celebration #1k celebration

[rosepascal]

first of all babe congrats on 1k followers 💕

🍀 who do you think would have a thing for big girls?? 🍀

Thank you!!

🍀- (18+ Only) Kink talk hehehe. Send me a kink + a Pedro Character and i’ll write a small blurb about their opinions on said kink or them in action 😉

join my 1K Celebration

Joel Miller 100% has a thing for big girls and you cannot convince me otherwise. He's particular in what he likes and he likes thicker women for sure. He's really bad at expressing his emotions but trust me, he wants it bad.

Din Djarin too. He loves curves. Hes touched starved and so when he's looking for a partner he needs all the love he can get. He's strong and a total simp so he'll be tripping over his words trying to talk to you.

Oberyn Martell def loves all body types but I get the vibe he especially enjoys big girls. He's a sexy man with an insatiable sexual appetite and he'd treat you like a goddess. There's more to love and Oberyn has a lot of love to give.

Agent Whiskey does not discriminate in body types. He loves all kinds of women and that includes big girls. He's a total flirt so he'll turn on the southern charm and charm his why right into your arms (and bed)

Max Lord is also into big girls. I'm not great at explaining this but Max gives me those vibes. He's a businessman so he's smart but he's put up with a lot of bullshit in his life so he's pretty sure of what he wants. In life and in a woman.

Max Phillips too. He's a cocky little shit and kind of an asshole but he totally has a thing for bigger woman. They taste sweeter in his opinion. He makes crude jokes and very flirty comments but not in a demeaning way. He's just sales man.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels #agent whiskey x reader #max lord #max lord x reader #max phillips #max phillips x reader #1k celebration

[pedroshotwifey]

I’m so pissed rn

Pedro has worked so, so hard to get to this point, and seeing that bit of disappointment when his name wasn’t called is heartbreaking. He’s probably sitting there doubting himself and it kills me that nobody is swooning over him telling him he deserves the world, because he does. He has literally changed so many lives with his acting and love. He is honestly the most amazing person ever and he deserves to have won this award. We as a fandom just need to do our job with sending him love around social media just in case there’s a chance he might see something to make him smile. I’m sorry if I sound insane rn but I love him so much and just want him to be happy and proud of who he is. He will get the big spotlight when the time is right! ❤️

(Also want to put it here that I do not mean Kieran doesn’t deserve the award!!) Congrats all around, I was just rooting for Pedge!

#pedro pascal #golden globes #pls dont take this to heart im just sappy as shit #im not actually pissed #just wish pedro won

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Hello lovely,

Congrats on the awesome milestone! It’s of no surprise, when you’re a gem and your writing is amazing!!

Can I please request a moodboard?

I’m thinking of a magical accident, a fateful meet of kinds; bumping into one of Pedro’s characters over coffee or a misplaced coffee order and the rest is history? (I.e. idiots to lovers, book lovers, art lovers, archives and libraries aesthetic)

Could be Oberon back in the day, Whiskey out on the ranch, Mr Ben at the university, Pike at the local cafe. I’ll let you decide.

But of course, pls don’t stop the writing either.

TYSM and congrats again 🥳😘 xxx

Omg, hi sweet friend!!! Thank you so so much!! 🥺💕🫶🏻 This is such a cute idea!! I've been on a big Frankie kick lately, and I love the idea of you and Frankie accidentally grabbing each other's coffee orders and how sweet and bashful he would be trying to switch with you, and you can't help but fall head over heels for him immediately 🥺😩

I Love You A Latte- Meet Cute w/ Frankie Morales at the Coffee Shop

part of madeline's 1.5K celebration!! 🥳

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco morales x you #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #madeline's 1.5k celebration

[vadersaber]

I'm so fucking tired of y'all bitches leaking pictures of strange way of life, obsessing over it. Congrats for finally seeing a butt and realizing someone has a dick. Big day for you.

Now please stop spreading the leaked photos and link, THIS IS THEFT AND IT'S PUNISHABLE BY LAW. This hurts Almodóvar, Pedro AND Ethan. STOP.

#pedro pascal #strange way of life #extraña forma de vida #ethan hawke

[rhoorl]

Week in Review | September 17

Another week in the books! My Sunday started off early and abruptly as my daughter got sick all over herself and her crib 😬 She seems to be in good spirits (even though we're on three outfit changes and counting. We've also gone through a full roll of paper towels and a package of water wipes). Hopefully, she can get over whatever stomach bug this is quickly. Never a dull moment …

I spent the majority of the last week away from home for work. The week went well, for the most part, and I’m glad my big events are finally done. 

I didn’t get much writing done, but I got a good amount of reading in!

Fics I read this week:

Frankie Morales

The Pilot and His Girl by @avastrasposts I've sung the praises of this TLOU/TF crossover before and finally caught up on the latest chapters while at the airport!

(Some kind of) addiction by @legendary-pink-dot In a little under 700 words I fell even more in love with Frankie, I just want to give him a hug. 

To the Bride and Groom by @linzels-blog An unexpected addition to the Just a Number series, this was such a cute look into the bachelor and bachelorette parties. I don't want to spoil it, but the shirts the boys had made are hilarious and so on brand.

Joel Miller

The Hunted by @patti7dc - Finally got around to reading this which has been on my TBR list for a while. It's a little spooky and a little smutty with a twist I didn't see coming!

Javier Peña

It's Never Too Late by @javierpena-inatacvest I love this series with sweet fluffy Javi. The latest chapter cracked me up because as someone who grew up in the Midwest Osita's family reminded me so much of people I knew growing up.

Marcus Pike

I'm fully entrenched in the Pike Puddle thanks to @secretelephanttattoo and these two fics..

Personal Best Super cute run in with Marcus, a dog, and some jazzy gloves. 

Open Mic Night Marcusssss in a band. That it all. That's the recap.

Tim Rockford

Private Dick by @wardenparker and @absurdthirst - I'm pretty sure this was my first Tim Rockford fic and I'm hooked. Tim was so body-positive and supportive in this!

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels

The House by @gemmahale continues to be such a great read. I can't wait to learn more about the history between Andie and Jack.

Dieter Bravo 

Destiny & Deliverance by @mysterious-moonstruck-musings My companion in the Dieter Dumpster. I eagerly await the chapter teasers to try and suss out what’s happening next. This is such a great story and I have been hooked since the beginning. 

Ezra 

Exposed by @maggiemayhemnj Fresh off my watch of Prospect, I was excited to read this beautiful story. I loved the way everything was pieced together…what a great first fic, congrats on posting! 👏

Mr. Ben

Visiting by @ladamedusoif This continues to be such a joy to read. I absolutely love these two and the little world around them. 

Benny Miller

How Good It Is by @wildemaven This is a continuation from another fic and it is so good! I love seeing where the relationship between these two is going!

Things I watched:

Like many of us, The Sixth Gun entered my life this week and took it by storm. Agent Ortega is … something. And I promptly added a few fics I saw pop up to my TBR, so expect those in weeks to come. But seriously, how does this man make a bowler hat look this good?

I watched WW84 on the plane – it had been a while since I spent time with Max Lord. When I got home, I streamed Prospect. I recruited my husband to watch it with me. Now that I have Ezra fresher in my brain, I’m looking forward to reading some of his fics.

I also watched The Gentlemen, which has Charlie Hunnam in it among others. If you are familiar with Guy Ritchie movies then you'll like this, it has several tropes from his other films. 

Posts from this week:

A big thank you to @morallyinept who has compiled a few master lists of Pedro character fics. I felt so honored to have Working Title make the Dieter list!

Feral corner:

Young Joel continues to run rampant on my feed like here and here - sorry not sorry. Thank you to @trulybetty for being my go-to Young Joel ™️ aficionado.

There were those series of gifs of Javi. And thank you @wildemaven for pointing out how he bites her lip in the third one, my brain short circuited after that realization. Speaking of Javi, this kiss will always make me 🫠

I also had some thots after seeing Tim and his holster again. How cute is Pedro in these Strange Way of Life photos? I see Dieter when I look at them, but then again that fool is always on my mind. This man also is incapable of taking a bad photo, especially if it's in black and white. 

And finally, in a late addition, @mysterious-moonstruck-musings brought this video of Oscar Isaac prepping for his role of MoonKnight into my life. 

Things I'm excited for:

My husband and I are celebrating our sixth wedding anniversary in a few weeks and we finally made our plans to celebrate. We’re going to be doing a behind-the-scenes tour of the TLOU Halloween Horror Nights house at Universal Studios! I can’t wait to see all of the details and hidden Easter eggs. We’re taking the whole day off of work while our daughter is at daycare. Let the countdown begin! 

Fic updates:

If everything goes well, I plan on publishing the next chapter of Working Title by Monday 9/18, and then Delta Landscaping sometime during the week (for those who were curious about Santi, we’ll find out what he was up to). I also have a Frankie one-shot I’ve been working on here and there that I may actually post this week. I’ve tossed around the idea of that story being in the Delta Landscaping universe, but we’ll see … it could also just be left as a one-shot separate from that world.

Yay! You made it all the way to the end of my ramblings, thank you for reading! Hope you have a great week! 

#rhoorl week in review #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[undercoverpena]

Hi Jo! Congrats on passing your exam and thank you for sharing positivity with your Happy Hour asks!

A positive thing that happened to me this week was that beautiful note my wonder twin, @goodwithcheese sent in. She’s so awesome - I just love her!💜 Following her example, and because I want to help spread the joy, I wanted to give a big shoutout to her and a few other beautiful souls I’ve been fortunate enough to connect with in my short time here. (I’ll combine them so I don’t bombard your inbox with asks) 😁

In addition to all of the following being amazing writers of some of my all-time favorite fics, I would consider myself lucky to also call them friends. I’m still amazed at how much we can connect with people we’ve never met, and how many lovely people I’ve met on this site and in this fandom… we totally rock.

@goodwithcheese - Your posts and messages always make me smile and I am in awe of your writing skills. It is truly uncanny how many things we have in common - but I can’t think of a nicer person to have for my twin. The universe apparently knew there was too much awesomeness to fit into one person, so it just decided to make two of us. 😜

@kteague - You know I’m a fan of the stories you write, but more importantly, your lovely personality and beautiful replies made me a fan of you. I love seeing your interactions on my dash and always enjoy hearing from you. You did good, K. 😜

@firstofficerwiggles - I first discovered your Boba Fett & Mandalorian stories on AO3 (which are still some of my favorites) and you were the first person I was brave enough to compliment in a message on this site. Since then, you have helped me with so many of my questions about this platform and always humor me when I send you my random ramblings in your inbox. Thanks to your positive replies, I found the courage to unleash reblogs, comments, and asks on several other lovely people! ☺️

@katareyoudrilling - I haven’t known you very long, but I just love your “year of asks” and all the ‘game’ tags you send me. I know I don’t always get a response out very quickly, but I greatly appreciate you thinking of me!

There are others I could call out, but I don’t mean to take up your whole happy hour with one ask. (I’m going to hear music start anytime now as my hint to shut up and get off the stage…) 😬 I will just close with how much I do greatly appreciate all the people I have connected with here - and I’m sending you all a big hug!! 🫂 It doesn’t surprise me that an actor who seems to be one of the nicest people on the planet has some of the nicest people as his fans….thank goodness for all the amazing people in the Pedro fandom. And thank you for letting me be part of your positivity #happyhour!

thank you so much for the congrats, and I’m glad you liked this idea! and I love this, 🥹 this is so sweet and so considerate, what a lovely message this is! I’m not gonna add anymore to it, I think your kindness speaks for itself 🩷✨ (thank you for sending this in)

jo’s happy hour… continued

#jo’s happy hour of positivity #asked and answered

[pedropascal24-7]

Need The Materialists to happen! Pedro is clearly such a big fan!

Congrats to Celine for winning a DGA last night!

Pedro IG story 2/11/24

#pedro pascal #celine song #instagram

[oodlyenough]

the last of us 1x06: kin

surprisingly don't think i have a ton to say about this ep of the last of us but i feel like i should continue posting for posterity at this point lol. (eta: i said that, then started writing my thoughts, and wrote a gazillion words anyway.)

side note: any canadians watching on crave? isn't it fucking terrible. trash service

anyway: 1x06!

continuing to enjoy joel and ellie a lot. the further we get into the show i think the more they've come into the roles and evolved into their own versions of the characters, which is fine. good even. i think bella ramsey and pedro pascal have very fun chemistry together, and i think bella carries the comedy beats really well, which means i've been enjoying seeing more and more of those. i also really like those scenes because they feel familiar without being complete retreads of the game dialogue (which inherently invites me to make comparisons on delivery, etc)

so this joel is much more openly vulnerable. i think this change works to go with what we've seen in the show so far and places where the show is presumably going. and, i'll be honest, i find show joel a much more likable character. 🤷🏼‍♀️

the "not my daughter" scene hit differently... tbh i think it hit less, but not really through any fault of the show's, if that makes sense. it's just one where beat by beat i know the words as delivered by troy and ashley and my brain is super imposing them

loved the opening with the Indigenous couple, they were so funny, and the idea of florence seeing joel puffed up like an angry bird and identifying zero threat and making him soup lmfaoooooo hkghlkg. honestly w game joel i don't think that would work, lol, but w show joel it did. such a funny way to use the map easter egg, and the "there are firefly people?" followed by the couple laughing at their own joke killed me lol

also loved ellie's indignation about how they probably don't know anything because they're "a thousand" and they don't even know the fireflies, who are probably a total nonentity outside select QZs. extreme kid energy. they haven't even HEARD of paw patrol can you believe it. what do they know. also, congrats to them escaping joel and ellie mostly unscathed... minus a rabbit. (rude, ellie.)

show maria was great idc. imo game maria is not much of a character, so the show had plenty of room to expand, and i liked how they did it. i see some people reacting badly to her skepticism of joel and forgiveness of tommy, but we also don't really know what exactly she's been told by tommy. maria being pregnant is also a more solid reason for why tommy can't take ellie than we got in the game.

i can't really evaluate tommy or maria as characters without factoring in part 2 and at this point there's enough difference that who knows where the show will go with tommy and maria in s2, so, it's all kinda fair game imo

the university scene felt a bit rushed but i guess there really isn't that much to do there when you're not rearranging dumpsters and killing infected. it was the first time the show felt notably rushed to me, and i suspect that feeling will get worse in the back third of the show. ah well.

joel's injury and the fight felt anticlimatic compared to the big action set piece of the game, BUT i think it worked much better in context (joel's explicit fears in this ep becoming manifest), and also, game joel's injury is sooooooooooo ludicrous and video game it just wouldn't work on tv lmao. i kind of wish we'd seen ellie land any of her shots on those guys, but i have my theories as to why we didn't. tbd

misc other thoughts:

diva cup scene... excellent. was worried about those musty tampons.

SALLY FUCKIN' RIDE lmaoooooo ellie. u lesbian. ilu

like everyone i was beyonce.gif DINA?!?!?!? in the cafeteria scene. 100% that was dina, there's no way it wasn't. it might not be the final cast actress (i can see them not wanting to cast a major role so far in advance for a cameo, and they have a time skip to justify any appearance changes), but as a character that was surely meant to be dina. ellie that's ur WOMAN

we're 10000% getting some other cameos in the finale. i'm ready 👀👀👀👀👀

lastly: can't wait for this weekend's episode. the one i've most anticipated. left behind DLC my beloved...

#the last of us hbo #the last of us

[judgementdaysunshine]

Hey there! Congrats on 304 followers! Could I please get a tree 🎄for stranger things, marvel, criminal minds and Pedro Pascal characters? I'm a straight female and my pronouns are she/her

I'm fairly introverted and it takes me a while to warm up to people. I love reading, my room is filled with stacks of books. I especially enjoy true crime, poetry and Russian literature!I adore adventures, witty and playful banter, pulling harmless pranks, joking around and having indepth discussions on anything and everything. I love helping out and people come to me to vent or for advice and comfort. I'd consider myself really smart and I'm very ambitious; I love being the best at everything I do. I daydream a lot and I'm a hopeless romantic! I enjoy all forms of art and I have quite a few creative hobbies! I'm 5'9 and I have long and curly dark brown hair and brown eyes. I dress mostly in relaxed suits, blazers and coats and I love the occasional dress or sweaters layered over a white button down! I'm a taurus sun, my mbti is infp I'm a ravenclaw!

Thank you very much! I hope you have a lovely day ❤️

Thank you! First I ship you with Derek Morgan! 😊

He always gets you some type painting or art gift whenever he is off on a case with the team even Penelope has painted a few little things from flowers and animals to a cartoon and anime portrait of you and derek making you smile

He loves whenever you wear a dress of course he loves seeing you in any and everything but when he sees you in a dress he might as well think he is in heaven with how beautiful you are reminding him of an angel

He never gets enough of how smart you are even if it's the most simplest of things when you had more to it that only few people would know

He always feels a sense of calm and somehow safety when he looks into your brown eyes that instantly make his worry and stresses melt away

He doesn't mind you being short but he will take a few chances to tease you for it but will make up for it by a sweet kiss

He likes to mindlessly play and run his fingers through your hair especially when he wakes up in the morning and you're still asleep next to him until you wake up

He loves how you never mind helping others whether it's listening to listening to them vent or just hugging them during a rough day

He loves how much of a hopeless romantic you are even if he thought it was ridiculous at first until he met you

Next I ship you with Jim Hopper! 🖤

He loves your helping and caring personality never minding to help the kids or him with anything at all no matter how crazy it is

Your brown eyes make him feel like home which he never understood until later on when he realized that no matter where the two of you were as long as you were with him that's what home is to him

He likes your hopeless romantic attitude always making him feel like a lovesick teenager most of the time instead of a head over heeled man

He likes running his fingers in your hair whether it's long or short wet or dry he doesn't care at all it not only comforts and grounds you but also it helped him sleep better other than you being there

He likes seeing you in different types of clothing but his personal favorites are you in dresses and in his clothes despite his being way too big for you

Every time he is stressed all he has to do is just look at you smiling or hold you in his arms and he feels better than he did before

He doesn't care about you being short or tall but he will always put you over his shoulder or do more than he needs to just to kiss you

He has met quite a few smart people some of them being the kids you both look after and took under your wings but you were one of the few people he can say was both crazy and scary smart with what you know of life and many other things

Now I ship you with Javi Gutierrez! 🧡

He likes you being a hopeless romantic even when the two of you got together you still showed love in a very raw yet unreal way from how much you loved him

He always feels his heart swell when you wear his clothes whether it's to sleep in or just to wear around the house the only other things he likes seeing you wear is anything that compliments your body and facial features

He is in awe of how smart you are with so many things whether it's things you like, the people you care about, quotes of movies, medicines, or life in general he is always a smiling mess listening to you

It doesn't matter if you're shorter or taller than him he will still carry you or lean you back while you dance together even if you are taller

He is always amazed how he managed to find and fall in love with such a truly beautiful kind and wonderful human as you when he sees you with family and friends especially

He is always looking at or in your brown eyes especially in the sun as he says that when the sun hits them it brings out your wonderful beautiful and your truly rare soul through your eyes

He never gets enough of running his hands or doing something with your hair whether it's braiding little parts of it, tucking small strands behind your ear while you sleep, or running his fingers through every strand when you shower together

He can never understand why but every time you massage his pulled or sore muscles only a few seconds later he is passed out asleep

And finally I ship you with T'challa! 💜

He always makes sure to hug and lift you from behind whether your short or tall at all

He likes your hopeless romantic type of behavior when it comes to love and he also responds the same way writing little notes and poems to you which you also respond

He is just purely and truly amazed by your smarts even bringing you with him and having you work with Shuri in the lab due to your high smarts

No matter the reason he is always doing traditional Wakandan hairstyles with your hair from braids, twists, ponytails, and many different types of cultural hairstyles

Speaking of hair he likes when you run your fingers through his hair and rub his scalp but he really loves running his fingers through your hair gently massaging your scalp even until you fall asleep unless your showering but he does it after you get out, dry off, and lay in bed

He feels like the luckiest man alive to not only have met and know you but that you chose him to be with you and love you for the rest of both of your lives

He likes seeing you in his clothes and traditional wakandan clothes always smiling so big when he sees you in the dress and headpiece of his country

He loves how your eyes show such emotion and feeling and how beautiful they are now understanding the phrase the eyes are the mirror to the soul cause every time he sees your brown irises he feels himself floating and falling in love again

#jim hopper x reader #derek morgan #pedro pascal x reader #marvel #criminal minds x reader #tchalla #stranger things x reader #derek morgan x reader #tchalla x reader #jim hopper #javi gutierrez x reader #micheleamidalajedi's 304 follower celebration

[radiowallet]

Can I ask why you are on the fence. I am too and I just wanna see what other people are thinking 😂😂😂😂😂

Hi nonnie!

Let me preface this by saying two things: I NEVER EVER root for a movie or an actor to do badly. I genuinely would love to see this be a big role for Pedro, and I honestly have no doubt he could act the hell out of this. Reed Richards is a narcissistic ass but also a good guy, and that is the kind of morally grey stuff Pedro eats up. Also, this is just my feelings on the subject. I love that people are excited and I love seeing the fandom excited. I think for me it's three-fold.

There is undoubtedly a fatigue with superheroes + Marvel seems directionless at this point. They've lost the thread and are so desperate to work towards "a big ending" that good stories are falling to a lesser priority. I want more things like Loki Season 2 but I don't know if Fantastic 4 can be that. I hope that it can.

I'm terrified this is stunt casting on Marvel's part. Congrats to Pedro because it's a big deal and it's a healthy paycheck and there's no doubt he's worked hard and deserves this moment. The MCU train seems to come for everyone at some point or another, but again this goes back to them being so desperate to have butts in the seats. I genuinely hope he read for the role and was right for it, and they don't just want someone because they're popular.

And this one is definitely the biggest "ME problem." The fandom is already in an odd spot, and I fear what this will mean going forward.

#cat answers #lovely nonnie

[mountaincryptid]

initial thoughts on benidorm 2024 participants. under the cut 'cause it's gonna be looong

Almacór

his genre i don't listen to often, but sometimes a song can hit me regardless. not many expectations here tho

Angy Fernández

first of all, she had an emo phase in 2008-10, so we STAN

(sidenote: ever since i got the new phone i basically gave up on trying to take screenshot without that volume sign it's so hard :(()

I also listened to her most recent song (Dualidad) and based on that the potential of me liking her song is HIGH

Dellacruz

could be some good pop. mildly excited for him.

Jorge González

based on the songs i've heard and the vibes i'm getting from him is we're either gonna get a standard basic latin pop song or a bland ballad (every benidorm needs to have a conventionally attractive man with a bland ballad, maybe he's the one)

Lérica

their most popular songs are collabs and i don't like to base my opinion on artists only on those, but i'm vibing. i found some songs that are just by them and i like them less. oops. there's still some hope i like their song tho.

Mantra

their music feels like that type of pop that's pleasant enough to play in the background but it just doesn't do much for anyone. (anyone maybe being just me, idk.)

María Peláé

unfortunately i don't really vibe with flamenco, so unless the lyrics hit me just right she's not gonna be one of my favs i'm afraid. sorry.

Marlena

first of all, their name was inspired by one of my fav Måneskin songs (Torna a casa), so congrats on good taste girls.

unfortunately, their music doesn't do much for me

Miss Caffeina

when an artist has a big discography i like to check out both their most popular and the newest stuff (if they're not one and the same). unfortunately, i liked their most popular song (from 2016) more than i liked any of their most recent ones. based on that, i don't have a lot of hope i'll love their song, but who knows - anything can still happen

Nebulossa

An Una Voce Per San Marino reject at Benidorm is too iconic tbh

I hope she's not out of tune at Benidorm and I love the 80's vibe. I'm already predicting it to be eurofans' guilty pleasure and/or the meme of the season.

Noan

okay with 5 artists left i think he's the one i'm rooting for the most at this point 🤞🏻 i like his general sound. is it slightly worrying that my favourite song of his (zero) is a cover? yes. (the way i went from 'oh hell yeah' when hearing the guitar to 'oh no i've heard this before'...) but i'm hoping and praying he's gonna deliver a true gem for benidorm.

Quique Niza

the intro on rtve's website says he has background in musical theatre and honestly that's already at least +10 points of adoration in my book. he only has one single out (under Quique Gonzalez) and it's pretty average. still, he's still a bit of an enigma musically, so i'm not losing hope we're gonna get something captivating from him.

Roger Padrós

oh some linguistic diversity finally. we're probably gonna get some mellow pop song or ballad in catalan from him. it's most likely not going to be a fave unless the lyrics hit just right.

Sofía Coll

i'm not feeling the vibe, sorry.

st. Pedro

i can't explain it logically but his song could be a huge hit for me. or a huge miss. not sure what direction his song is gonna take, but in general i like his vibes.

also, this is very important, he has a christmas album !! thank you for feeding me i'm a christmas music aficionado

Yoly Saa

hmmmm.... i feel like it's also gonna be the case of hit or miss based largely on whether or not the lyrics hit just right.

#eurovision #benidorm fest

[chronically-ghosted]

hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D

Hi patient, sweet anon!

Here is your request! Hope you enjoy it: in another life

#frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales/reader

[deakyjoe]

Episode 6 tlou spoilers ahead

My thoughts and favourite moments throughout the episode:

WHY DID WE HAVE TO START THE EPISODE THERE??

Oop three months goddamn

BRO IS THAT HARRY CLEARWATER FROM TWILIGHT

“Little psycho” 💀

The classic Pedro Pascal puppy dog eyes making an appearance

Ellie is so fucking funny

Panic attack???????

Joel gives in so easily

Crying over their conversation over the fire

Ellie doing second watch when Joel fell asleep 🥹🥹

Joel standing up like an old man (details!!)

Joel not understanding science again 🫶

ELLIE AND THE DOG

Tommy and Joel reuniting had me sobbing

“Oh, shit. Congrats! Joel say congrats.” “Congrats 😐.”

Gabriel Luna is fine as hell

Me: ah, communism Joel: so uh, communism Me: see??

OH DON’T MENTION TESS

OH HE LIED ABOUT TESS

OH HE’S LYING ABOUT ELLIE TOO

Interesting…

“I guess we’ll find out.” Killed me

Damn that went sour so easily

Not these people out here looking like SARAH

A MENSTRUAL CUP

I love this show for acknowledging that people still have periods during an apocalypse

What’s that… oh

Feeling sad over Sarah again… and poor Kevin

Messy ass haircut

Joel confessing to Tommy!!

“She’s immune.” Hit hard, I don’t know why

“It was her dyin’ wish. What the hell else was I supposed to do?”

“I was so afraid.” SCREAMING

The whole fear monologue from Joel actually. Pedro Pascal ACTING HIS HEART OUT

Crying along with Pedro right here

Learn to knock Joel 🙄

Ellie reading the old diary

“I’m not her, y’know?” Oop

YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT LOSS IS

The whole fucking interaction really

“You’re right. You’re not my daughter. And I sure as hell ain’t your dad.” I hate Joel.

Christmas tree… oh- OH

SARAH!!

Ellie leaving thinking she’s not getting a goodbye

Joel being in the stables

Ellie choosing Joel

“Adios, big brother.” Violently crying.

Joel teaching Ellie to shoot

“You gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?” She’s too funny

The landscape and cinematography are gorgeous

Ellie resting against Joel’s back

The fucking jokes about sheep 😭

A singer. He wanted to be a singer.

I WANNA HEAR PEDRO PASCAL SING AS JOEL

They really do have bad luck when it comes to the fireflies

TURNED THEM INTO MONKEYS

Oh shit

Damn he broke his neck

OH SHIT

OH FUCK

Why would he do that 😭 now bro’s bleeding out

ELLIE SHOOTING AT THEM

Joel’s looking a little pale and sickly

I laughed when he fell off the horse. Sorry.

“I can’t fucking do this without you.” My feelings are hurt

Ellie crying?? Goddamn

Depeche Mode!!

The shaky “Please. Joel, please.” OUCH

The Depeche Mode cover!!

Ayo the end??

I gotta wait another week now??

Ah, fuck ☹️

#tlou spoilers #ej waffles #nonsense by ej #regularly scheduled screaming