Frankie Morales - Blog Posts

i’m selling oscar and pedro dogtags and stickers again!!!

(and maybe one adam driver sticker) and here’s a horrible graphic to catch your eye ;)

for dogtags, we have poe, santi, and frankie<3 designed to look like actual tags they would’ve carried during their service, they come on a 16-18 inch chain so you can wear them around your neck or hang them to display. they’re $12 each and that includes shipping!! obviously click on the pics to see the finer details ;)

for stickers, they’re $3 each and also include shipping! they’re very thick, very nice quality stickers and a great addition to your water bottle

please let me know through messages if you would like to purchase and we can talk payment details and such :) there might also be a few freebies included with your purchase, you never knowwww

I've fallen into both the Pedro Pascal and Supernatural holes, and it looks I'm not gonna find my way out any time soon....well been in the Pedro hole for two years now and the Supernatural one for three... may need help, will keep posted

a steadfast heart will conquer

summary: you show up at frankie’s doorstep in the middle of the night after your boyfriend gets violent. he invites you in and lets you stay with him.

pairings: frankie morales x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of bruises

At midnight, you speak in fragments.

“I’m at your front door.”

He’s more asleep than awake. He doesn’t have the brain to question you.

“It’s raining.”

He can tell. He can hear it through the phone and from his bedroom window.

“Can you come let me in? Please?” You ask, and before he can say anything, you hang up. He stares at his phone, but figures there’s a girl at his front door, waiting to be let in.

He takes a second to unlock the door, in his groggy state, and sure enough, there you are, in all your midnight glory, on his front doorstep. It’s more romantic in movies, he thinks.

There’s nobody outside except for you. The streets are desolate, and the lamplight is obscured by the pouring rain. It thuds off of your car that’s parked in his driveway, and he knows it’ll bleed in through the crack in the door that doesn’t quite meet the frame.

He’ll help you fix it tomorrow.

But right now, you lean into him, slowly, and wrap your arms around his neck. You're wet, he notes. Wet and cold. He’s sure you're soaked down to your socks. Hair, jacket, shoes, all dripping onto his hardwood floor. You're still on the steps, so he pulls you in, but you refuse to untangle yourself from him. The wind sounds even harder now with the two of you inside.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he mutters, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He pulls back to look at your face, but you're buried deep in his chest. He wishes it was under different circumstances.

The pouring rain punctuates every silence. He can feel you shaking.

You don’t answer.

He lets you not answer.

There’s a storm brewing in his chest. He has a sickening premonition as to why you’re here. He tries to ignore it, but his gut instinct is always right.

He shuffles awkwardly to close the door, and it muffles the rain. He can hear you sniffling now.

“What happened?”

There is only moonlight streaming in from the window over the couch. You keep your face buried in his chest when he flicks the light on. It’s harsh and bright and he grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you back to look at him but you don't remove your face from his warm, dry chest.

So he waits.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again, softer, in your ear. You rub your forehead on his worn t-shirt, and his arms find their way around your shoulders.

You find the strength to look at him from somewhere deep inside you, eyes red and swollen, eyelashes dark with tears. You squint almost imperceptibly, adjusting to the light. You’ve never felt more safe than in his embrace. Your noses almost touch.

The last and only thing he wants to do is kiss you.

He notices the red mark right away.

On your temple. His eyes soften. You watch him look at you, almost like it’s the first time.

“He hit me,” you say, congested from the tears.

Like he doesn’t notice. Like he doesn’t feel anger shoot up into his chest, heat and warmth and fire in his fingertips, down the back of his calves and aching his face. His sickening premonition coming true. He can’t come up with a single reason as to why he would do this to you. It makes fury throb in his bones. He can see your boyfriend throwing the punch and it makes him want to vomit how enraged he is.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks sincerely.

“Want me to hurt him? I’ll hurt him, you know I will. I’ll hurt him so bad,” he trails off, jaw hard and teeth grinding. Nostrils flared and lip twitching.

“No.”

He watches you rest your head on his chest, the side that your good-for-nothing dick stick didn’t punch, and he’s so careful with you, soft hands and rigid muscles.

“I just...” you start, and he’s listening. He’s listening to every word.

“I didn’t want him to hurt me. And I didn’t want to hurt him. So I... left. I went and sat in the CVS parking lot,” you admit. He figures you needed someone to talk to. He wanted someone to listen to. He’s wide awake now. He still has fight in his blood, so he repurposes it. He holds you, securely. Strong and firm.

“I was gonna fight back... but I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I really didn’t.” you say. He closes his eyes. He steadies his breathing. How could someone so sweet, so powerful, so kind, end up with the exact antithesis of all of those things?

“I know,” he reassures, “I know you didn’t.”

You sigh shakily into his chest. He’s there for you. He’s steadfast and unwavering. You could collapse into him and you trust he would catch you, help you up, dust you off, or in your case, dry you off. But you don’t. You stand strong with him, and you let herself be supported by him. You yourself whole still. Shaky, and faltering, but whole, all by yourself. With him there, you feel a little steadier, resolute in your decisions. He supports you, and you love him for it.

“Can I stay here?” you ask.

“Of course,” he replies.

His clothes don’t fit you, but you don’t mind and neither does he.

Your hair smells like roses and rain.

You take his bed; he takes the couch.

It’s hard for him to fall asleep there, but he doesn’t mind that, either.

It’s four AM when you wake him up for the second time this morning. The grogginess is stronger than before, it seems. You’re on your knees in front of the couch, face level with him, and he jerks back in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” you say, placing a hand on his chest. His bare chest. His shirt is somewhere, he doesn’t care where. It got hot, he recalls.

“Y’scared me,” he mumbles. Would this girl let him get any sleep?

“Come sleep with me. I feel bad,” you say.

“Woke me up ‘cause y’feel bad?” he asks, and you can tell he’s irritated, but tired more than anything. Sleep carries heavily through his voice.

“No,” you clarify, “I woke you up ‘cause I had a nightmare.”

Now he’s the one that feels bad.

He lets you lead him to his own bed, but he makes a pit stop on the way to use the bathroom. He finds you curled up under his covers, staring at the doorway, waiting for him.

He smiles and joins you. He sleeps on his back. You sleep on your stomach.

He has one pillow. you have one too.

You both listen to each other breathe.

You throw an arm over his stomach. He rubs his thumb over your hand.

It’s not storming anymore, but you can both feel the electricity in the sky.

The old, squeaky mattress creaks as you move, swapping your pillow for his shoulder. It’s not as bony as you thought it would be.

You only wake up when his alarm goes off on the nightstand beside you.

You groan, and realize you’re curled up with someone in a bed that’s not your own. Your face aches as you relive the events of last night.

He wakes up when you shift to turn off the alarm, taking his time to notice you.

“Hey,” you say, in his shirt.

“Morning,” he yawns, not in his shirt.

“Thank you,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No no no, don’t do that, don’t make it...” he trails, sitting up in bed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes again. All things considered, he got some decent sleep. He thinks it might have something to do with the warm body that was pressed up against him all night.

“No, really,” you say. You sit criss-cross on your side of the bed, and he has to remind himself that it’s his own bed (singular), not your bed (plural), and the whole bed is his bed. But for now, he can say it’s your side of the bed. At least to himself.

“Thank you for being there for me.” you say finally. He smiles at you.

“Of course.” He whines as he yawns, and things are okay for now. The storm is over.

“You want breakfast?” He asks, getting up and stopping at his dresser to put on shorts. His boxers were fine last night, but now that the sun is shining through the window, it’s kind of weird. He pulls on a shirt too.

“I have taquitos,” he says walking into his kitchen, and you squint at him, hot on his tail.

“Taquitos for breakfast?” you ask skeptically, and he makes his way over to the freezer.

“Taquito time is all the time.” He clarifies, taking the cardboard box from underneath a tub of ice cream and a bag of frozen peas. He freezes, before he turns around to look at you.

“Do you, uh, want some ice for that?” He says, and it takes you a second to realize what he means.

You touch the bruise softly, applying light pressure and wincing when it hurts.

He notices and puts the box down on the counter, wrapping the peas thoroughly in paper towels before handing them to you.

You nod a thank you, and hop up on his counter, holding them to your face.

He notices his shirt on you again, and his shorts on you, and how domestic this would be if that mistake hadn’t laid his hands on you. Though he does admit, you probably wouldn’t have been here in the first place without that run in.

He thinks he’d rather never see you again rather than have you come to him hurt like that.

He moves over to you, and carefully moves your head away from the cabinets holding the dish ware so he can open it. There’s tension in the air. He plates the taquitos and you listen to the buzz of the microwave as they warm up.

Neither of you touch your respective phones while you eat your taquitos. There are decisions to be made that will have consequences. You glance at your phone, but look away each time. Your eyes never meet. You both focus on the plate of miniature crunchy tortillas made with fake corn, filled with beef that was probably artificial. Neither of you mind.

After breakfast, or what could be sufficed as breakfast, he watches you finally check your phone.

“seventeen missed calls,” you read, “and thirty something texts.”

“Wow.”

“Not as crazy as I expected,” you note.

“Wanna see if he left any batshit voicemails?” you ask, grinning. He’s less than excited. Your smile falters as you read the texts.

“What? What’d he say?” he asks, getting up from the table to read over your shoulder. You make no move to hide the texts from him and something like relief floods his veins for a split second.

“Nothing,” you clarify, “just that... he’s so sorry… how he’s such a terrible person, that he’ll never do it again.”

He stares at you.

You ignore the messages and lock your phone.

You look up at Frankie.

“So?” he asks.

“So?” you ask back. He clears his throat.

“What are you gonna tell him?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, grabbing the empty plate and sliding past him. You turn on the faucet in the sink and wait for it to get hot.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, but you don’t respond.

You add soap to a sponge and start washing the minimal dishes there: a bowl, a few spoons, your plate, a whisky glass.

He stands by you, grabbing a hand towel from the countertop and wiping the dishes down before putting them away.

“Why don’t you have a drying rack?” you ask, as he puts away the last of the glasses.

“I dunno,” he says, “I don’t have that many plates and forks and stuff, so I just dry it and put it away as I go.”

“Hmm,” you remark, and turn off the faucet. He hands you the dish towel and you wipe your hands dry before folding it and placing it on the counter. You look at him and sigh. The elephant in the room is demanding your attention.

“What do you think I should tell him?”

He stares at your bruise, and he feels the anger from last night bubble up in his throat again.

“That you’re gonna send me to beat him the fuck up.” He says, and you roll your eyes, staring at him endearingly.

“I’m not getting back together with him.” you say, and he feels his heart do some weird stuff in his chest.

“It’s over for us. I’m breaking up with him the next time I see him.” you say, a finality in your words that make him confident you would do as you said.

“Good.” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one side.

“Should I go see him today?” you ask.

“Do you want to?” he questions. You sigh and shake your head.

“You’re no help.”

“Hey! I’m so much help,” he defends, and you smile at him.

“Sure.”

“I can go with you if you want,” he says seriously. You stare at him.

“If you want,” you offer, and he nods his head.

“Okay.” you say.

He watches you grab your phone and your now dry clothes and make your way into his bathroom. He listens as you close the door and waits until he hears the water start running, accompanied by soft music.

He squeezes the bridge of his nose and takes a second to examine the thawing bag of peas on his kitchen table.

He smiles to himself as he makes out the lyrics of your song.

As he puts the bag back in his freezer, he runs a nervous hand through his hair and stares at your car in his driveway.

He wants nothing more than to bruise you up himself, his mouth on your skin, his hands on your hips.

But that thought is fleeting. He gets closer to the bathroom and can hear you singing clearly, and he takes a second to listen before he speaks.

“Hey, I’m gonna go take a quick look at your car, okay?”

The water turns off.

“What?”

“I’m—I’m gonna go look at your car!” he says loudly, “the leaky door!”

There’s quiet for a moment before you’re unlocking the door, in only a towel. His towel.

“Thank you!” you beam, and with one hand clutching the towel to your chest, you hand him your car keys.

“They were in my pocket. It’d be kinda hard to get in without them,” you joke.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He grins lopsidedly, keeping his eyes a respectable distance from your naked torso.

With a smile, you close the door in his face.

The music resumes, as does the water, and Frankie breathes.

It would be a miracle if he made it through the day without sending someone to the hospital.

I don't have time at the moment to read this but fuuuuuck I want to (THE VOICES). Reblogging so I can get back to this later and share it with ya'll

I can already feel the brainrot taking root just from the small blurbs and drabbles I've read already–

Catalyst - Masterlist

After falling into bed together on the night of Frankie’s 40th birthday party, you, Joel, and Frankie start a relationship.

series rating: E (see warnings in individual installments)

a/n: no outbreak AU! this is one of those relaxed fit type fics. they’ll be in chronological event order here, but there’s no correct way to read them, as there’s no real over-arcing plot. Just three people trying to figure out how to communicate and be together. And to fuck each other’s brains out in the best ways. 💕

Individual Fics

catalyst - You've been nursing a crush on one of your closest friends, Frankie Morales, for a year now. At his 40th birthday party, you finally meet his new friend and neighbor, Joel Miller, who Frankie hasn't been able to stop talking about. You hit it off a little too well.

some part of me came alive - Frankie asks Joel on a date with your blessing. Joel admits he’s never really been with another man, and Frankie is more than willing to help him with that.

here - It’s hard feeling like a third wheel.

breakfast - Joel tells Sarah about you and Frankie, and Sarah shares some news of her own.

frankie can’t stop thinking about what color panties you’re wearing (drabble)

DAD® mode activated

Masterlist

Find all of my writing HERE

18+ only.

So far we have:

A  Mummy//Indiana Jones Jack Daniels

An Alien (Isolation) Ezra

A Regency Din Djarin

A Mature Student // Competent Frankie Morales

A Scottish Station Meet Cute Ezra

A Christmas Eve Max Lord who is awful and yet…

A Security Consultant in Switzerland Santiago Garcia  

Friendly Frankie

Ooooh, @auteurdelabre told me they are working on a SECOND coloring book for us!? I'm not even done with the first! An embarrassment of riches! I don't write for Frankie very often, but when I do...I seem to be gushing about it. If you're looking for something saucy, don't forget to check out my "Moody Frankie Fic". Coulda used him last night....Pair it with Frankie's Favorites for the full experience and enjoy :)

PedgesJukebox

I think we're done with this trend, but Pedge and I still like it, and invite you to check out Pedge's Jukebox when you you get a chance!

I love combining reality with fantasy, and while I'm sure this isn't a new Tumblr concept, I'm going to be cataloguing our Pedro Boys as per Pedge's suggestions! All playlists will attempt to utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy! I also am secretly hoping writers might utilize this playlists for inspiration. I can't write with music in the background, but some people can. Every Spotify list comes with it's own triggers and literary short for our favorite characters interaction with the arts...

Series Masterlist

WIP Wednesday Pedge's Bookshop

We are going to begin "Pedge's Book Shop" which features Bookstore AU and a discussion of all things....literary. Looks like Joel is our grumpy shopkeeper!

WIP Wednesday...Thursday...Friday

Ooop. Thanks @joelalorian for the tag! I've been having some health problems, and the only thing that would distract my body for a millisecond was my foam roller and Tumblr, so THANK YOU.

Still working Pedge's Jukebox, and hoping to add the General in time for Gladiator 2!

Hoping to "Get Dieter Sober", at least for one week in November! Dieter is understandably dragging his feet, but I know it will do him some good...and J, his PA could use the break.

We're enjoying our little Family Dinners for "Pedro's Holiday Feast"! Two left before Thanksgiving :)

And thinking about joining "Dead Dove December" if I'm feeling dark. I got some ideaology and SH I wanna work out with Frankie, and he's just the boy to help me.

AND NOW FOR SOMESING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT...

"What do you think is the meaning of life?” Pike whispered, closing his eyes and burying himself in the shampooed vanilla fragrances of your hair.

You chuckled in bittersweet acknowledgement, shrugging your shoulders with curiosity. “Is hypothermia starting to set in, Agent Pike?” you halfheartedly questioned, acknowledging the looming possibility in the recesses of your mind. “What do YOU think the meaning of life is?” you felt yourself melting into the moment, fixated on the beautiful features of his face, the candlelight beginning to blur everything around you in a hypnotic haze.

“I don’t know” he stated lowly, licking his lips dryly and admiring the cinnamon freckles dotting the bridge of your nose…and perhaps elsewhere. “None of the artists I work to protect are even alive anymore. But their beauty…” he paused to touch your face delicately, watching your eyelids flutter shut. “…their beauty lives on and on. The things we love. The purpose we give ourselves…Some of it kind of goes on forever and ever, I think. So I guess it’s…love. The meaning of life is love, actually”…

And then you were kissing...

Pike's Place; Episode 6 Love Actually Thanksgiving Day

Pedro's Holiday Feast Family Dinner

Hey folks! Welcome to our first Family Dinner! We're just starting easy with an appetizer, an entree and a yummy dessert. But don't forget to keep tagging @pedges-world and #pedrosholidayfeast for all of your yummy treats!

Appetizer

Our guy is a snack. Enough said.

*thanks Paula and Buzzfeed for this yummy treat!

Entree

You've made a delightful meal for your man, but the changing of the seasons has made you wonder if you've overstayed your welcome.

"Moody Joel" @pedges-world

Dessert

This is a part of a lovely series I invite you to check out! Dinner wouldn't be complete without a little dessert...

"As Easy As Pie" @inept-the-magnificent

*thanks @strangergraphics for the cool dividers!

Frankie's Favorites

I love combining reality with fantasy, and while I'm sure this isn't a new Tumblr concept, I'm going to be cataloguing our Pedro Boys as per Pedge's suggestions! All playlists will attempt to utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy! Don't forget to check out our fic "Moody Frankie", and listen along!

Triggers: music may involve profanity and adult topics, short description of character's interactions with music, smut

Pedge's Jukebox

Frankie's Favorites (Spotify)

*Frankie, who absolutely MUST listen to his favorites when making his famous chili. He says it adds the real spice. This is the only dish he can actually make, other than peanut butter and jelly. *Contrary to popular belief Frankie hates to fly with music. He says it distracts him from important vibrations and the feel of the wind flux. *Always enjoys listening to music while making love, but keeps it at a low volume so he can draw your moans and sighs above it. *If given enough beers or whiskey will become JUST bold enough to join you on the dance floor, drink in hand, barely swaying, eyes closed, one hand on your waist. *Cannot sing to save his life, but is somewhat adept at drumming. Took some lessons in high school, but never pursued. What can we say? The man has good rhythm. *Can occasionally be dragged to the random concert, so long as he gets to go with you. He pretends to enjoy the band onstage, but he’s secretly looking at you whenever he can. *Enjoys rap because it reminds him of military cadence and structured life. Anything that gives him stability feels like a plus, and that includes you. *Always wanted to start a big family, but is unsure if he can measure up. Has even gone so far as to imagine the music played at his wedding, but will probably never share with anyone. *Occasionally drawn into a living room slow dance, if cajoled. Needs no music whatsoever, and prefers silence.


*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers!

Pedro-Tober #4

Inspired by @alyssamariag and @norththelemon I've decided to feature curated pics/art, juxtaposed with fics and AI inspired Bitmoji. So much artistry to celebrate this October, look at these amazing artists! Also, it's the last week to "Trick or Treat"! Hit me up!

20.) Frankie Morales IG: VanessaDraws, "Moody Frankie" @pedges-world

21.) Curls @norththelemon

22.) Gladiator @southparkpedro

23.) Din Jarin IG: Tealspy

24.) Sundance IG: Vanessa Draws

25.) Javier Pena IG: Junes.Pegasus, Afterglow Series @pedges-world

Series Masterlist

Pedge's Juke Box

I love combining reality with fantasy, and while I'm sure this isn't a new Tumblr concept, I'm going to be cataloguing our Pedro Boys as per Pedge's suggestions! All playlists will attempt to utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy! I also am secretly hoping writers might utilize this playlists for inspiration. I can't write with music in the background, but some people can...

Pena's Playlist Max's Mix Joel's Jives Maxwell's Music J's Jams Frankie's Favorites Dieter's Deets Silva's Songs Pike's Playlist The General's Genre Baby's Beats

*Please keep singing darling, we LOVE It....(our DJ)

Pedro Boys

Pedge and I have FINALLY started writing fics for the Pedro Boys and we wanted to have a spot where they could all catch up! Check out the masterlist below!

Pedro Pascal Pedge Cuddle Couch New York, New York Series Baby's Beats (short) Javi Gutierrez Afterglow: Phoenix Rising Marcus Pike Charcuterie Challenge A Different Happy Ending Pike's Place Pike's Playlist (short)

Frankie Morales Moody Frankie Frankie's Favorites (short) Joel Miller Moody Joel Peach and Apple Pie Crime and Punishment Joel's Jives (short) Max Phillips Blood Sucking Witch Max's Mix (short) Javier Pena Afterglow Series Pena's Playlist (short) Dieter Bravo Yes Chef! My Darling Muse Dieter's Deets (short) Marcus Moreno Thanksgiving Delights Din Djarin Unmasked Platonic Love

Moody Frankie

Ohhh I needed this. I've never written for Frankie, but I can see the Pedro Boys are going to need more of my attention if they are going to be so...attentive to us.

Triggers: smut, friends to lovers trope, fingering (f receiving), quick exit (friends with benefits?), slight profanity...

There weren’t words for description, but you were quite the sight for sore eyes. Ponytail hidden beneath his oversized hoodie, sweat pants, smeared mascara and finger poised, hovering just above the doorbell. You and Frankie had a standing date every Friday night to watch wrestling. Well, it wasn’t a date. You were friends. Good friends. But tonight was different. You sniffled awkwardly, a ball of emotions, cinematic masterpiece, standing in the rain. The rain for f@cks sake. Jesus Christ. What are you even doing? Your hand trembled slightly as you considered your options: quietly run back to your car, text Frankie that you had a searing headache, claim that…

“You’re late, chica!” The door swung open abruptly catching you wide eyed and unprepared, as Frankie stared at the flickering television screen, beer in hand. Swallowing dryly you quickly stepped inside, relieved that he hadn’t made eye contact with you. One look and the jig was up. Frankie was the friend you had always wanted. Somehow he didn’t treat you like one of the boys, but also never made you feel uncomfortable for being one of the girls. Of course, there was that one time at the bar, playing pool, when his hand had grazed your ass “accidentally” after a few too many beers. But that was just fun and games. Tonight was anything but. Tonight, you were unhinged, but Frankie was unaware. As usual. You wondered how long you could keep up the facade.

“That was TOTALLY illegal!” Frankie bellowed from the doorway, slamming it shut and jamming a beer into your hands. “Sorry it’s lukewarm” he stated matter-a-factly, eyes trained on the television and shoving magazines and pillows off of the couch for your convenience. “How was work?”

Here you had encountered a problem. Words. Frankie was expecting words. And you were all worded out. The day had gone colossally wrong. You HAD been plagued by a searing headache, yelled at by your boss, attempted to circumnavigate the Friday existential crisis, and found yourself red-rimmed and hiccuping at Frankie’s doorway. Frankie. His oversized hoodie draped over your hands as you fidgeted nervously with the beer bottle. Maybe if you just kept quiet the wrestling match would keep him occupied long enough to pass out on the couch. Just a little longer…the silence seemingly stretched into eternity.

“Helloooo?” he chattered, slapping your knee good heartedly and turning down the volume slightly. “I haven’t ordered pizza yet, but we never seem to go wrong with pepperoni” he reached up to tug at the hoodie and froze mid sentence as he took in your disheveled appearance. “Dude. Are you…?” he caught you mid hyperventilation as you stilled, attempting to blend into the couch like camouflage.

“J?” he muted the tv and leaned into your personal space, splaying his hand across your abdomen. You bit your lip painfully, twisting your head to the side in discomfort. Don’t make a sound, you thought ruefully, your hand twitching at your side. Wouldn’t know what to say anyways, you chastised, somehow delusional that you could keep up this act for much longer.

He grabbed the collar drawstrings with a gentle tug, turning your head back to center. “What the…?” he paused taking in your smeared mascara and wobbling lower lip. “Talk to me” he intoned, grabbing your knees with one hand and pulling them towards himself.

You opened your mouth but only produced a small, pathetic whimper as no words materialized. Paralyzed with indecision. What were you even doing here? 

Frankie’s countenance immediately softened, his brown eyes somehow growing warmer still as you looked around the room for escape. You sobbed, mouth closed, trying to appear less unraveled than you already were, but the day had completely bulldozed your resolve. You grasped the edges of the hoodie sleeves, hanging on for dear life. 

“Have you been drinking?” he asked lowly, gently taking the beer from your hands and setting it on the coffee table.

You shook your head from side to side profusely. Wouldn’t that be nice for an excuse. Nope. This was all you. Deranged. Disheveled. Unraveling at your Friday date. That wasn’t a date. Sobbing during wrestling.

“Okay” he acquiesced, leaning back slightly and taking in your full deregulated vibe. “It’s like a guessing game” he mused, trying to lift your spirits slightly. You tilted your head onto the couch  drawing your knees to your chest in exhaustion, willing him to telepathically interpret.

"Work was a shit show” he smiled dolefully as you nodded with placation. “Your boss continued to be an asshole” he nearly chuckled as a small smile tinged at the corner of your mouth “and you had another migraine” he guessed, drawing one finger across your forehead compassionately.

Your smile shattered into a thousand pieces as he guessed EVERY SINGLE DISASTER OF THE DAY, burying your head into the sleeves of his hoodie and drinking in the fragrance of cologne and beer.

His eyes widened in concern seeing the distress of the day in real time, gathering you up into his arms and placing you neatly on his lap as you dissolved into fits and sobs.

“Okay, okay, okay” he nurtured, rocking you back and forth slowly, bringing his hand up under your knees in a basket hold. “This was NOT what I was expecting for Friday Night Fights..” he joked, bringing a hand to the back of your neck and shushing you quietly.

You were too embarrassed to say a word, but tried to steady your breathing. NONE of the guys could know about this. What a f@cking mess. You couldn’t believe how out of line you were, but you felt yourself melting into his embrace, incapable of offering excuses of any kind. The two of you must have stayed that way for 5 or 10 minutes, in complete silence as you tried to reason your way out of this predicament. You needed him. Right now. This was about more than the day’s disasters, this was an accident waiting to happen, and you needed it to happen NOW.

You tilted your head up, locking eyes with him imploringly, wondering how far his telepathy extended. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob hungrily in his throat as his eyes darkened with lust. He chewed his lower lip in a moment’s hesitation. “Do you need more?” he rasped, wrapping his hand dangerously around your upper thigh, fingers dangling precariously close to your need. A primal grunt throbbed in the back of your throat as you nodded quiveringly. Frankie licked his lips, pausing to consider the ramifications of his next actions as your eyes widened to doe-like saucers, pleading, pleading, pleading.

Without another hesitation, he aggressively reached up past the elastic waistband, digging his fingers into the arousal soaked lining of your sweatpants. Groaning with desire, he notched his fingers at your entrance, touching his forehead to yours. “You sure?” he questioned one last time, feathering his fingers around your folds and teasing your clit. Your eyes rolled back into your head as it lolled to one side against his shoulder. “K” he decided, a near military precision to his actions, sinking two fingers quickly into your heat.

Something between a moan and sob escaped your lips as he scissored and circled your heat in practiced strokes. Your body seized up in immediate pleasure, writhing and crying with need as he grasped you underneath your legs. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you” he repeated over and over again as you lost yourself in the repetition. “You’ve got me, you’ve got me” you silently mouthed the words over and over again as wave after wave crested over you with a powerful comfort. You couldn’t believe how quickly you were coming in his arms, weak from the day’s exhaustion, mascara’d tears dripping sloppily down your face. “There you are…” he croaked, circling his hand to a better position as you clenched and throbbed around his fingers, dripping down his wrist. “Feel that?” he pointedly asked as your eyes shot open in surprise. Oh yes, you most definitely felt that. A hot pressure cascading through your body that was quickly overtaking any stresses you had brought with you until 3…2….1…

You cried out in euphoric anguish, gushing over his fingers and hand, not able to register any embarrassment in the shadow of the overwhelming warmth and ecstasy flooding through your body. 

Frankie, Frankie, Frankie…The thought swirled in your mind, keeping time with the circular ministrations of his fingers, over and over and over again. He continued rocking you in a basket hold as the television lightly flickered in the darkening room. You drifted into a contented haze, safe in his arms and humming contentedly into his neck. At some point you felt yourself floating onto the couch, draped with a blanket and kissed lightly on the forehead. You tried to respond in gratitude but words continued to elude you. 

Hours later your eyes sleepily drifted open to see empty beer bottles, magazines, a half finished pizza and…post it note? You cleared your throat, sitting up sloppily and gazing around the room. Frankie’s tell-tale hat was missing as you blinked rapidly, trying to make out his haphazard writing:

Work emergency. Gone for a week. Drink water. Talk soon.

You sniffled messily, rubbing your eyes with irritation and clocking the small water bottle sitting at your feet. You chuckled with chagrin, astonished at the night’s developments.

Talk soon, you thought, jamming a cold piece of pizza in your mouth for breakfast and nibbling at the corners. Talk soon.

Happy Birthday!

Ah, our beloved Joel just had a little birthday on the 26th and Tumblr is alight with his beautiful gifties! Pedge wants to give something back, does anyone need a little special attention from Joel Miller?

Pick your color scheme and occasion and Pedge and I are going to craft you a special greeting card! As always, Pedge is a self made man (if you count Bitmoji...). I'm going to keep this request open for the rest of the year for anyone who needs it!

Don't forget to include your color scheme and what occasion we are recognizing. It doesn't have to be one of celebration if you are experiencing a loss, or a bad day or just want a quickie (#ahem encouragement). Pedge is not opposed to sexy exhortations either. Ope, Pedge has already dusted off the crayons and scissors I better get back! PM me for a little pick me up!

Moody Pena

I've been having so much fun with mood boards, I hope writers can utilize them for inspiration! Appropriately titled, one of my favorite authors is @jolapeno and I've saved a billion of their fics for late night sexy literature. I hope you will check some of them out and stay tuned for our next installment of New York, New York. Pedge finds himself auditioning for "Narcos" in the Big Apple and needs YOUR help...

Make Me Like the Holidays Soft Joel The Day Frankie Came Home Can You Ever Really Know? I Like the Way You... It's the Sniffles Late Night Texts Do Me Yourself Unwrap Me Now Don't Move Honey Just Thinking... Fifteen Hundred and One There's Nothing Blue About You

Moody Pedge

Mood Boards are something new I'm trying for those literary moments I want to do a shout out or a quick vibe of Pedro Fun! Pedge is obviously a self-made man but I haven't had the heart to tell him that Bitmoji is also involved. He might be moody, but chocolate chip cookies always seem to regulate him...

Rainy Day Moody Dieter Moody Pena Moody Joel Moody Javi Moody Frankie Moody Marcus Moody Max Moody Dave Moody Silva Moody Acacius Moody Moreno Moody Mom Moody Oberyn Moody Maxwell Moody Dio Moody Lucien Moody Bi Moody Whiskey Moody SNL Moody Met Moody Rockford Moody Thespian Moody SAG Awards Moody Fall Moody Witch Moody Ricky Moody Gladiator Moody Nathan Moody Zodiac (Dieter style) Moody Pirate Pedge (Halloween short) Moody Thanksgiving Moody Fink Moody Theater Moody Superbowl

Writers, please feel free to use any of these mood boards for inspiration! Just give me a tag so I can read your AMAZING fics! Let's get writing!

Hey beauties! Welcome to Pedge's World, our little corner of the digital universe where healing, freedom and chocolate chip cookies reign supreme! Pedge helps me sort through all of my sad, sexy, angry, euphoric, hungry, cranky, spiritual, creative moods! I hope you will join us! 18+, no minors!

Sexy Series Masterlist (RPF)

Let's Stick Together!

Art Projects Dieter's Art Studio; My Darling Muse

Afterglow Series Dead Dove December; The Deepest Cut

Pedge's Campsite

Fun With Mood Boards!

Pedro Boys

Pedro Posts, Polls and Prompts

Pedge's Juke Box

Pedge Tweets!

Pedge's Bookshop

Pedge's Cinema

Pedro Scouts Glamping

A big thank you to @pedroscouts for this fun summer time activity! I ran into Pedge and he gently mentioned that my solo tent was a bit messy. He suggested some after care and a light massage because I was such a hot mess, so I've organized myself a bit more.

Ranks/Pledge I Pledge to Pedge Song Fic Use SomebodyPedge's Favorites Fan Art Papi Pascal Personal ArtJoel Miller @norththelemon Ellie and Joel @pebblume Din and Grogu @lupinsuniverse Game of Thrones Era @craftingwithamyc Esquire Magazine @saminadorazahi Beldro Ramscal Marcus Moreno We Can Be Heroes @firsttarotreader Cockwarming @flightlessangelwings Coffee Shop Coffee Shop Date @mermaidgirl30 Routine @endlessthxxghts Dieter Salt, Shot, Lime @freelancearsonist Enemies to Lovers Enjoy the Silence @strang3lov3 Whiskey Daniels How Much Does Devotion Weigh? @anabdaniels Ezra How to Write for Ezra @morallyinept Helianthus Fan Art @millersblud Sex Pollen Scarlet Haze @katiexpunk Only One Bed Killing Me Softly Series @alltheirdamn Frankie Morales Do You Feel It Too? @burntheedges Fluff + Smut Is Joel Okay? @djarinmuse Hurt/Comfort I Know Who You Are Series @punkshortChronicSweet DreamsNothing Hits Quite Like That First Kiss @backtothefanfictionYou're My Stranger In the Dark @lady-of-glass-and-bone Slow Burn Pike's Place Joel Miller Somewhere to Run @punkshortJust Ralphy @ameerawrites

Now, if you'll excuse me, it's very important that I continue earning badges. Pedge assures me that the reward of personal hard work is quite fulfilling and I'm not just talking about scout cookies. Happy summer activities!