Pedro-Tober #3

Mister Fantastic

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! Oh man, we are EATING this week. It's a feast! An embarrassment of riches! I confess Pedge is a little over-stimulated and has needed lots of down time, and Reed Richards is here to provide...

Moody Max

Am I currently working on the exciting Marcus Pike "Roll the Dice" fic inspired by @burntheedges and @yopossum? No. Am I adding to my "Afterglow" Series with a new Pedro Boy? No. Am I writing the 3rd installment for The New York, New York Series with "Purple Rain"? No. But here's a Mood Board for a potential Halloween Fic for a character that scares me from a movie I haven't yet seen. Cause #PedroPascal...

What Happened to Belen?

Thank you to @auteurdelabre for our beautiful coloring book! I so enjoyed reading Pedro Pascal's book recommendation "What Happened to Belen?" and found it particularly insightful. For those of us Joel girls in mourning I wrote a pivot fiction for Pena you might check out at Pedge's Bookshop! Pair it with Pena's Playlist for the full Narcos experience :)

“Two days from now will be the first anniversary of the date I effectively regained my freedom. How will I ever forget the day I set foot on the street again, with my angels! How will I ever forget how much they helped me! How will I ever forget all the women who spent hours waiting to welcome me outside! How will I forget my fellow inmates, police guards and the night we said goodbye! How will I ever forget my family, who was anxiously waiting for me! How will I ever forget that day! Everyone awaited my return after two and half years of unjust imprisonment. How will I ever forget that was the day…I WAS REBORN! How will I ever forget the day one of my angels put a pencil to paper and wrote down the words I couldn’t speak! A year after my release I can only give thanks to God and my angels. Who is it that said we don’t have angels? I can testify today that they exist. How will I ever forget that amidst all the anxiety and distress my angels were there with me, holding my hand and listening. I am eternally grateful. Thank you! Thanks to every woman and every organization, to the women’s movements and to all the people who did their part to help me, who put on their “Freedom For Belen” T-shirts and went into the street to fight for my freedom.”

"What Happened to Belen" is written by Ana Elena Correa

@littlemisspascal  @lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

My Darling Muse,

Dieter is in LOVE. He's just not sure if he's met them yet. But in the interim, he's keeping a journal to house all of his inspiration, poetry and recipes, before they fly out of his head. And once he meets the ONE...or ONES...this is going to be his gift to you. Along with those sexy time IOU's he's always handing out. Love this post @for-a-longlongtime, and inspired by the Trope-Off (Dieter Bravo/Pen Pals)

Trigger: it's Dieter bub so this series will DEFINITELY include profanity, drugs, alcohol, sex, smut and any meanderings D wants...He's endlessly inspired by art, poetry, songs, sex and YOU!

My Darling Muse (ii) My Darling Muse (iii) My Darling Muse (iv) My Darling Muse (v) My Darling Muse (vi) My Darling Muse + Pedge's Jukebox My Darling Muse (vii) My Darling Muse, My Darling Dieter My Darling Muse, My Darling Dieter (ii) My Darling Muse, My Darling Dieter (iii) Dieter's Art Studio; Where is D?

*Goya's "Saturn", *thanks @thecutestgrotto for the cool dividers

My Darling Muse,

The night awakens my deepest darkest desires I claw at my own skin, desperate to be released Into your embrace, into your cavernous heart You devour me, I devour you. We ravage each other in the stillness of the night Howling, yawping, digging into the recesses of our passion Chewing me up, Spitting me out I unravel at your touch, disintegrate in your kiss. I sink my teeth into your supple flesh Drinking in your life, your blood The carnality of our existence My eyes are wide with terror in vulnerability I hold you in my dangling grasp as you hold me Headless, thoughtless, armless, shoeless Less and less, and more and more I die to to you, to myself, and am reborn in your arms.

(scribbled in margins: New tattoo? Metaphor for drinking pussy? Am I a cannibal? How much semen would you have to drink, if you were stranded on a desert island? Out of red paint. Was Goya bi? Okay to eat acrylic paint? New sexy position hurting back...)

The General's Genre

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 don't know about you but I am NOT ready for the Gladiator 2 premier. Maybe this will get me in the mood for writing all those saucy fics...

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

Pedge's Jukebox

The General's Genre

*General Acacius would not be caught dead singing, even in his youth, but can occasionally be found spurring his men to victory by the glorious retelling of Roman mythology or battles of yore *As the head mistress in Acacius’ household you endeavor to have servants and entertainers ready when the General returns from battle. The welcome is always appreciated, but Acacius almost always dismisses the entire household in favor of sharing a warm bath, a simple meal and relations with you *Occasionally he will allow the court musician to stay, including the lyre which is his favorite instrument. Although he will never admit it, he enjoys making love while listening to the dulcet tones of the lyre lilting in from the outdoor courtyard *While music might not be an instrumental part of his life, rhythm is a huge component of victory on the battlefield. There is a certain musicality to strategy, including the percussive nature of swordplay, rallying cries and the repetitive drumming of the oarsmen *Acacius can tell when his weapons have been polished and maintained to the height of their glory. Swords and other armaments are pitched at a certain purity when untarnished by rust and blood. *When waging war for extended periods of time, the General often composes love sonnets and poetry specifically for your ears. He does not write these down, for fear of capture or manipulation, but commits them to memory in the hopes of seeing you in the near future *When making love, Acacius employs his many talents, sheathing his heat rhythmically into you at a fierce volley. He is attuned to your cries of pleasure and surrender, waiting until the breaking point to fully conquer your body, as per your request. When you return the favor, there is no battle from him whatsoever, having spent his aggressions on the battlefield. He is completely beholden to you, body and soul.

Pedro Posts, Polls and Prompts...

Let's rock the vote y'all! I am so inspired by my fellow Tumblr writers, and y'all come up with some GREAT prompts. Please feel free to make a specific request, and jump on the bandwagon!

Pinterest Mood Board Bingo Card Dieter's Sky High Brownie Delights Pedro Party! Charcuterie Challenge WIP Poll Roll-a-Trope Challenge Married Joel Sits On You 2024 Hallo-Weenie Pedge PP Fandom Bingo Trope-Off WIP WIP Poll Pike's Place Trope-Off 2024 Pedge, Painter, Poet...Writer? Pedge Tease Boxed or Unboxed? Sexiest Man Alive Treasure Hunt The Boopage Wars Vote for Pedro! Moody Moreno + WIP Poll WIP Friday; What's With the Tags? Dead Dove December WIP Wednesday: Pedge's Bookshop Pedge's Fave 2024 Things A Year of 1sts Pedro's Holiday Feast Pedge's Tree and Christmas Card Pedro Stories Secret Santa Pining In Progress Get to Know Your Moots WIP; Pedge's Plays

Dead Dove December: The Deepest Cut

Thanks @romana-after-dark for the cool event! Pedge is feeling dark this December and wants to join in on the fun! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, or DDDNE has its origins from a meme referencing "Arrested Development". The character Michael Bluth opens a paper bag labeled "DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT" and, upon discovering that there is a dead dove inside the bag, says, deadpan, "I don't know what I expected." - fanlore.org

Triggers: Ideation, SH, little smut, spiritual concepts, profanity, PTSD, reference to scars/violence/gun/death, post-apocalyptic world with Joel, implied domme, nakedness, anxiety attack, hurt/care trope...truthfully, we just gotta get through some sh@t before we get to the light...

@toomanystoriessolittletime has a great prompt, "He lifted your chin with two fingers brushing the tears from your cheek asking, 'Who did this to you?' trembling with a nearly feral rage". I wanted to turn it on its head a bit...

The end of the world was filled with so much more Love than you were anticipating. Not the frilly, inconsequential or meandering love of your youth. A darker, deeper, more translucent death than you had ever imagined. And with it, so many other endings had begun to rebirth themselves into a new hesitant light. Joel was the prism through which you had started viewing yourself, and with that blurry and enigmatic nuance your personhood had begun to focus. Within those shadows a burning ember of your own light had re-emerged, not in contrast, but in intimate synergy. You just didn’t understand any of it.  

Gazing down at your body in the sudsy film of a long awaited bath, your fingertips feathered over the many scars covering your body. Pre-apocalypse had afforded you the luxury of only interacting with your body as an instrument. As circumstances plodded along in repetitious doldrum, your emotional life cascaded in opposition. In the internal landscape of emotional chaos, self harm was the treasure that afforded the illusion of control. A sort of subterranean analgesic. You never really understood it, but sacredly knew it by name. It was dark, lush and seductive and it was yours. A way to announce, if to no one other than yourself; this body is mine. MINE. I hurt her as I please. You will not break me, if I constantly break and rebuild myself.

And then…the end. In one searing moment your life had been plunged into an apocalyptic quest for survival. All of sudden, you weren’t the only one bent on your self-destruction, and within you something had begun to solidify. A raging desire. A longing. A yearning…for life. It was like a molten lava, primal and ancient and even more delightedly terrifying than whatever small deaths you had previously endured. And it was all yours. 

Until Joel. He was the flame that seemed to replenish the oxygen within you. Within Joel seethed a depth of suffering and even depravity that graced the periphery of his existence, seemingly holding hands with yours. There was an animalistic magnetism that transcended words, and it crackled in the atmosphere the more you experienced him. That had been five years ago, and since that time, Joel had tenderly invaded every territory you had previously partitioned off, even to yourself. Circumstances might now rage out of control, but your inner demons had begun to quiet in relative submission. Because of Joel.

You couldn’t remember the last time the word relaxation had permeated your consciousness. But it had incrementally, and in sloth-like fashion begun to wrap its lazy tentacles around your pulsing heart. A home (beat). A bathtub (beat). A book (beat). A community of support (beat) And Joel (beat). But could you accept what had so long eluded you in the past? Could light and dark exist in the same space? Could you somehow let it wash over you, rather than attempting to contain it? 

Joel had never pushed the conversation. Already a man of few words, both of you were covered in enough physical and emotional scars to last a lifetime. But you had caught more than a few concerned glances, as his hands delicately fingered the unique patterned scars littering your forearms and quads. Different, but the same. And now, after so many years of evolution, you wondered if this new end was on the horizon. A way to finally say goodbye, not to life, but to death. Your eyes flickered to the small pocket knife you had laid on the bathtub rim. Your pupils were blown wide with anticipation and lust, biting at your lower lip in frenzied tumult. The darkest part of your self that you wanted to submerge into oblivion, trembled on the brink of acknowledgement. If death had been your former lover, couldn’t you impale it on itself? Couldn’t you once again, ask death to die?

You flicked the pocket knife open lazily, feigning nonchalance and gazing at your forearms appraisingly. You felt like an alcoholic, considering that final drink. Not much new territory to explore, you chastised yourself, remembering routines of long ago. Not too low, don’t nick a vein. Not too deep, to avoid suspicion. Symmetrical for the aesthetic. Your breath hitched in your throat momentarily, paralyzed with years of abstinence. Were you really going to do this again, after so many years of control? Self harm was never really about punishment or death at all, but even control had its limits. You needed to know if you had finally stepped into an existence that could include someone else; with intimacy and freedom. A darkness that understood your own, and cancelled one another out. You had given your body to Joel more times than you could count, but could you really give something you un-assuredly possessed? Biting down on your lip you made a quick, skilled cut to your upper arm, feather light and barely pricking the surface.

You held your breath awaiting the numbing relief or the conflicted tears of release, but found a joyful, humming laughter emanating from your sternum instead. Nothing. You dropped the pocket knife to the floor, gazing at the lone bead of blood dripping slowly down your forearm and licking it away tenderly. No. You didn’t want this anymore. You didn’t need it. It hurt. It actually hurt, you smiled. You could experience the scars you already had, without generating new ones. They were ALL yours. Your own story carved into the recesses of your heart, and sharing them with Joel had been the best decision you ever made. You reached over for a washcloth, pressing it firmly to your arm, the flow of blood already stopping. No more. A death to death itself. Only life remained, and it blazed in bright red as a testament to your new covenant of self. A life that included Joel. Holding your arm aloft you dropped the washcloth to the ground, content with your small victory and submerging your face and body in the warm water. Never again. Only life.

Joel tiredly crossed the threshold of your shared home, kicking his boots to the side. No point in dragging mud into the house. It had been an uneventful patrol, and he had spent the entirety of the day thinking about you. Smelling your sweet fragrance. Kneading your plush skin. Basking in the glow of your loving gaze. I’m gettin’ soft in my old age, he reasoned, somehow happy for the unexpected transition.

“Darlin’?” his deep voice bounced off the cavernous living room which was strangely quiet. You usually had already prepared dinner and Joel licked his lips with anticipation. No matter. He WAS home early. He lumbered up the stairs, achingly slowly and rubbing at his lower back. He could use a bath. He caught sight of the sliver of light piercing the upstairs darkness from the bathroom. Caught ya. Joel knocked tentatively on the door, nudging it open hesitantly.

Joel’s stomach dropped with a sickening fervor, quickly taking in the myriad of sights. Knife. Blood. Washcloth. You. You. You. He nearly wretched, dropping to his knees, immediately ignoring every ache in his body, grasping you around the waist and neck and pulling you abruptly from the languid womb of sudsy water. Your eyes flew open in surprise, splashing water and soap sloppily over the rim of the bathtub and dousing Joel’s flannel and jeans.

“J-Joel!…” you sputtered helplessly, looking into his face that was stained with pain, betrayal and confusion.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YA DOIN’????!!!!” Joel nearly screamed, his eyes a dark black of terror and misunderstanding, roughly running his hands over the totality of your body looking for bruises and lacerations and finding none.

“Oh God, honey I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” you sobbed immediately, grasping at the forearms of his flannel and wiping the soap suds out of your eyes. “This….this is NOT what it looks like…” you hiccuped, eyes darting wildly to his face, taking any purchase of him you could find. You were gripping fiercely at his neck, his face, his arms, his chest. If you could explain, if you just had a moment to explain…

Joel paused as a feverish cry escaped his lips unbidden, smashing your body roughly against his chest and collapsing on the floor in a heap beside the tub. He was rocking you silently like a small child, so you let your body hang loosely over the tub, against him for what felt like an eternity. Your skin began to prune and goose-bump, but you held your breath timidly, willing Joel to understand. You would MAKE him understand. You bit back your own sobs thinking on Sarah….Ellie….the gun. You had NEVER intended him to see you like this. Things finally quieted down as the water sloshed coldly against your knees. Feeling your light shivers, Joel pulled back slightly gazing into your eyes fixedly and drawing his fingers across your forehead. Circling his thumbs at your whitened complexion, he lifted your chin with two fingers brushing the tears from your cheek.

“Who did this to you?” Joel asked, trembling with a nearly feral rage, willing the answer to be different than his expectation.

“M-me” you whispered, furrowing your brow with intensity, terrified at Joel’s next reaction. You felt like you were negotiating with a wounded animal. Watching Joel’s body sag with exhaustion he released you slightly to drag his hand over his face in confusion. He closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe slowly, his thumb grazing the light pinkish mark on your upper arm.

“How m’I gonna protect you from yourself?” his voice cracked in defeat, turning his head away from you in pent up anger. Anger at his helplessness. Anger at you, FOR you, WITH you…he couldn’t steel himself against the barrage.

“You don’t have to” you sat up on your knees, cooling water now cascading over the lip of the bathtub and taking his face in your hands, scratching at his patchy beard. “Let me explain…”

“Do you wanna die?” Joel pleaded, absentmindedly scratching at the scar on his own temple and feeling that familiar tightening sensation in his chest. No. Not another panic attack. Not now. He desperately needed to understand. He needed an enemy to fight.

“Joel…” you took his hand in your own drawing it to your chest and gripping the back of his neck with the other. “I’m. NOT. Going. Anywhere…” you pressed your forehead to his, breathing intently and fixedly slowing his. Joel took a deep shuddering breath, grateful for a chance. A second chance. A chance to catch his breath and LIVE, with you, even just for one more moment.

A few minutes passed before Joel tentatively asked, “Is it me?”

You pulled back, your eyes widening in distress. HOW could you possibly answer that question? Was it him? Well, of course it was him. HE was your continued reason for life, you just desperately wanted to add yourself to the equation. Seeing Joel’s love for you, had only inspired your own. Not to live just for the purpose of someone else but for YOU. For Love itself.

“It’s ME, honey. I’m the reason. I’m saving myself…” you swallowed dryly, unsure how to articulate the answer that had eluded you for so long, and desperately hoping that Joel could somehow divine what you meant. You needed him, even more than before. And now you felt you could bring your whole self to the relationship. Everything dark would draw out the light, and Joel might be the only person who could truly understand that.

He looked at you intently, searching for any hesitancy, and finding none. “You’re not trying to kill yourself?” his eyes hovered about your face appraisingly.

“No” you smiled tenderly, feeling the emotional tides begin to shift.

“Are you going to…do this again?” he asked, a pained expression flashing across his face darkly.

“Absolutely not. Never again” your whole self finally answering back. Joel waited. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. He knew he could trust you, but his heart was still thumping dully in his chest. “I swear” you nodded, lacing your fingers through the graying tendrils of his hair. Joel finally closed his eyes in relief, slumping against the bathroom wall. You sighed heavily, shaking your head in amazement. This wasn’t the triumphant moment of victory you had planned, but the end of the world had been so much more unexpected than you predicted. Now Joel knew everything, and you were still in one piece. Love had prevailed. Bumpily. Messily. Painfully. But prevailing nonetheless. You stood up shakily, happy to emerge from the cooling soap suds, a new version of yourself. Towering precariously and dripping on the wooden floor, you kicked Joel’s foot good-naturedly.

Joel squinted up at you, finally relaxing into a tender smile, admiring your dripping form. “Help me up, darlin’” he almost teased, hooking his hand around the back of your knee and beginning to prop himself against the wall. You smirked, attempting to hoist Joel’s broad figure without slipping and sliding as he rested his hands loosely on the curvature of your backside, drawing you to him securely. “You’re all wet…” he intoned, swaying from side to side and reaching behind him for a towel, drawing it comfortingly around you. “Tell me more…” he whispered quietly, stroking your cheek. How could you articulate what you were only beginning to understand yourself?

“I didn’t really…accept myself before…” you haltingly began, looking into Joel’s penetrative eyes and shivering. He gripped you tightly, tucking you further still into the warmth of the towel and his body heat. “But after…the fall…it helped me to regain the sense of balance I needed.  Losing control helped me to find my own. It’s like my survival instinct finally kicked into gear…”.

He held your gaze, nodding his head once in determination. He trusted you, the way you trusted him, and nothing was going to break that. You rested your head on his chest delicately, mumbling into his sternum. “What do you want for dinner?” you sighed, planting feather-light kisses between flannel buttons and drawing away timidly.

“You know what I want” Joel smirked, the oft repeated joke tantalizing his lips, which he hungrily licked. You blushed with immediate acknowledgement, happy to be enjoying your easy rapport once again. “What do YOU want?” he countered, pinching your lower lip between two calloused fingers. You furrowed your brow in consternation, perplexed at his meaning. You didn't want for ANYTHING. You finally had it. You had each other.

“What if I could give it to you?” he ventured, pursing his lips mischievously. 

“Give me what?” you questioned, curiosity peaked.

“Control”. 

A gasp quivered in your throat as arousal pulsed between your legs heatedly. “What?”

“You heard me. I can give you control…” he swallowed dryly starting to walk you backwards to the bedroom.

“Joel…” you didn’t get out any more words before he smashed his lips to yours roughly, kicking the door shut behind him.

*Resources for Anyone Struggling

Baby's Beats

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 utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your Apple earbuds and enjoy!

Triggers: music may involve profanity and adult topics, short description of character's interactions with music, smut, substances--RPF vibes but Pedge is just my fictional avatar for the glory that is Pedro Pascal...

Pedge's Jukebox

Baby's Beats (Spotify)

*Baby Pedge, who will not be caught DEAD singing karoake in public...unless he's bored...or lonely...or tipsy.... *Pedge who cannot help himself if the Xanadu Soundtrack starts, and will immediately begin dancing and biting his lower lip *Pedge who MUST have earbuds at all times, not just to eventually secure his Apple gig, but also to listen to tunes on the busy New York streets *Obviously spent a summer in Madrid as a go-go dancer and cannot shake those groovy 70's vibes...who would want to? *Listens to his favorite soundtracks to hype himself up for important auditions *Creates a different playlist for every theatrical and cinematic character he plays, in order to get in the right headspace *Enjoys a night of relaxation with a substance/beverage of choice, whether alone or partnered with the soundtrack of the evening *When dating or friendshipping, enjoys making a playlist for his beloveds, as something to remember him during work absences *Is VERY nostalgic when listening to music that moves him, and sometimes cannot do so in public without bursting into tears *Is happiest when on the dance floor, with friends, drink in hand, pulsing to the music and forgetting his troubles *Would be delighted to learn about his future dancing opportunities with "Happy Socks" and "Apple", but disgruntled to learn that he somewhat missed his musical cue on SNL 50 Special...#heyheyheyman

*thank you @kodaswrld for the cool dividers!

@lizette50 @beefrobeefcal @sawymredfox @anelva @wordywarriorwrites @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @timelordfreya  @schnarfer @devineconjuring @mermaidgirl30 @galaxyedging @joelalorian @joelmillerisapunk @jennaispunk @sheepdogchick3 @marcus-is-my-muse @guiltyasdave  @copperhalfcent @bluesweaters15 @drewharrisonwriter @darkheartgatita @harriedandharassed @brittmb115 @confusedpuffin @yorksgirl @quicax3 @shaunasflannel @shinyanchorobject

Intoxicated

As we continue our therapeutic series, please proceed with caution. This blurb is not written to romanticize the disease of alcoholism, but to speak to concepts of control, intimacy and consent.

Triggers: alcohol, mostly fluff, implied smut, loss of control, intoxication, hmmm...maybe infantilism, if you squint...

Weeeeeeeee! You were drunk. Drunkity, drunk, drunk, drunk, druuuuuunk. You were flying high. Buzzing, floating, tipsying, trip-sying…Literally so, as Pedge grasped you around the waist, fumbling with the keys as your head lolled onto his shoulder.

“I feel goooooood…” you smiled into his neck.

“Gooood, pobrecita. Let’s get you some water and get you to bed so you can feel even better…”

“Bed…We've shared a bed…I like sleeping. We share sleeping too.”

“Mmmmhmmm…” he hummed, finally jarring the door opening and practically carrying you over the threshold.

“You’re so pretty…” you mumbled, as he awkwardly fumbled for the lights, propping you up against the wall and attempting to shut the door. “I’m pretty?” he questioned, grinning dolefully and placing a hand across your forehead, checking your temperature. “Are you hot? Do you want a shower first?”

“Yourrrr hawt…” you drawled, placing your hands on his stomach and jamming your fingers into the waistband of his jeans. He grabbed you around the waist again before you fell over, and started walking backwards towards the bedroom. “Is my little girl feeling frisky?” he pecked at your lips, innocently, attempting to maneuver you down the hallway.

“Frisky!” you repeated, immediately shutting your eyes as the room spun sideways AND backwards. You missed a few moments, finding yourself now prostrate on the bed as Pedge removed your shoes carefully, massaging your calves.

“Druuuuunk!” you sang out, accidentally kicking him in the face.

“Ouch!” he grabbed his jaw, rubbing carefully and grabbing your other foot before it connected with his chest. You were a lightweight, to be sure, generally only getting drunk…actually, he wasn’t sure if he’d EVER seen you this drunk. There was an industry event and you were coming straight from work having missed every meal, except a stale granola bar. Needless to say, the open bar had originally seemed like a good idea, but he wanted to make sure you didn’t regret it in the morning. He had other plans for the morning BUT he wasn’t sure about your preferences during intoxicated sexy time so he was playing it safe. But damn if you weren’t making this decision challenging.

“Are you mad at me?” you shifted gears dramatically, propping yourself up on your elbows, haphazardly rubbing your eyelids and smearing your mascara sideways.

“What? No! Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know….hashtagdrunk” you pouted, swallowing dryly.

“I’m mad that I let you get dehydrated and had to spend most of that event talking with people I didn’t know, rather than dancing with you…” he admitted, grabbing your hands and pulling you forward gently.

You slumped against his chest as he pulled down the zipper at the back of your dress.

“You smell nice” you slurred, sucking on his shoulder blade, through his dress shirt. He rubbed small circles against your back, breathing deeply and pulling the shoulders of the dress down to your waist. You leaned back, your bare breasts on display for him as he held the back of your neck, lowering you back on the bed.

“Do I smell nice?” you batted your eyelashes seductively, looking up into his countenance.

“Ay Dios mio, yes” he chuckled, kissing you lightly on the lips and pulling your dress off the rest of the way. He hung it lightly on the bedside chair and returned to find you dangling your feet off the side of the bed.

“Are you planning on kicking me again, or can I get you some Advil first?”

Your hands balled up in fists beside you, “SEEE! You’re mad at meeeee!” you whined, beginning to tear up.

“Okay, okay, shhhh” he lowered his weight on top of you, stroking your hair and tucking it behind your ears. “I’m not mad. I’m dehydrated. I’M thirsty. Aren’t you thirsty?”

“Drinks!” you piped up, nearly kneeing him in the crotch.

“Ah!” he grabbed your leg deftly, sliding his hand up to your ass and giving a little spank. “Caught ya that time, Ali!” he planted a small kiss on your nose.

As though transported by magic, you opened your eyes to find him vanished, immediately complaining, “Where’d you goooo? I’m lonely.”

“I know, pobrecita, I’m finding the Advil!” his voice drifted in from the bathroom as he rummaged around the medicine cabinet, drawing a glass of water.

“I’m cold!” you shivered, covering yourself with your arms and curling up into a ball.

“Shit, sorry baby…” he came back in with the Advil and water and immediately started wrapping you in the comforter.

“I’m a burrito!” you joked, scrunching your face like a small child.

“My breakfast burrito…” he teased, kissing your face and neck and forehead, and scooping you up into an embrace.

“Where’s my drink?” you confusedly pouted, unsure of…most things at this point.

“Here at Casa de Pedro we offer bedside service, please be sure to tip your waiter at your earliest convenience…” he reached over for the water and medicine. “Drink, please”.

“Bossy staff…” you managed to retort before gratefully accepting and closing your eyes contentedly. He sat back against the headboard, rocking you slightly and humming to himself for a while.

“Am I floating?” you mumbled, into his chest, grabbing at this dress shirt.

“Yes, pobrecita, we are on a cloud. We are hydrated and sleepy, very sleepy.”

“Yeah, we’re drinky…” you agreed. “BUT…that means we’re a rain cloud…and have to pee….”

“Okay” he chuckled, groaning slightly with the weight of both your bodies. Rising from a sitting position and dropping the comforter he carried you like a sack of potatoes into the bathroom. “But after this, we’re going to bed…”

“Bed!” you exclaimed eyes closed, “floating” into the restroom. He tried to set you down gently on the toilet, but you were having difficulty balancing yourself. He braced your chest with his forearm and reached over for the wet wipes. 

“You’re gonna kill me if I let you go to bed without removing that eye make-up” he said, nearly to himself.

“It’sssss raining!” you droned, finally able to relieve yourself and resting both hands on his broad shoulders, swaying a little with the effort.

“Mmmhmmm…” he murmured, pursing his lips and concentrating on cleaning your face delicately. “Is that better?”

You smiled with affection, opening your eyes dopily. But now the rain cloud started tearing up again, lips wobbling and cascading into a full on ugly cry.

“What happened?” he questioned, amusedly concerned at the shifting waters of emotion he found himself happily wading into. He stroked your face, wiping the fat, salty tears that were running every which way.

“I’m not a rain cloud. I’m ruining everythinggggg…” you whined, dropping your head on his shoulder and sobbing quietly.

“You’re not ruining anything” he comforted, rubbing your back and eventually pulling you to a standing position, steadying you as much as possible.

“But I’m a drunk rain cloud!” you cried, hiccuping slightly and collapsing your weight into his hips.

“Yes, but you’re MY drunk rain cloud” he twinkled, kissing you on the forehead.

“I am?” you muttered, now finding yourself back on the bed, unsure of how you arrived there.

“Arms up!” he encouraged, caressing the sides of your torso in an upward motion and dropping one of his large, Lakers shirts over your head. Disastrously, you tried to assist the dressing process as he wrangled you into sleepwear. Needless to say, there was a lot of giggling, hiccuping and sniffling in this endeavor, before you found yourself lying against his chest, fully ensconced in bed and floating towards happy oblivion.

“Mmmm, floaty cloud…” you droned, pulling his face towards you in a tender kiss.

“Good night, pobrecita” he smiled into your mouth, gripping you around the waist.

“Yes, good night both of us” you sloppily reached down to grab his crotch, with abandon, but noticing him stiffen in more ways than one. He wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling back, slightly. “No, pobrecita, time for sleeping” he encouraged.

“Nooooo!” you whined, pushing your breasts up against his torso and bouncing haphazardly.

“Excuse me” he doubled down, grasping your hands in front of you and kissing your mouth softly. “No thank you, rain cloud, I would like to go to sleep”.

You froze, mid bounce, completely overwhelmed with every alcohol fueled emotion that seemed possible. Fear. Guilt. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Exhaustion. Nausea. But unable to metabolize any of it, you immediately sat up, on overload.

“You don’t want me?” you swayed from side to side, nearly knocking into the headboard.

“That is most definitely NOT the case” he smirked, grabbing your head before it hit the bedpost and massaging your scalp.

“You’re pretty and I’m not!” you moaned, starting to struggle in his grasp with petulance and scooting backwards. “You don’t want me!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…not true. Please sit still…” 

…but you were having none of it, as adrenaline pumped into your intoxicated system, fueling a small temper tantrum. Losing your grip, you fell backwards out of the bed onto the carpeted floor, pushing yourself into a teetering tower of emotion.

“Careful, hermosa, I take great care of my breakfast burritos, please come back to bed.”

“No” you pouted, crossing your arms over your chest, stumbling forward and backwards. Pedge took a deep breath, unsure of how to coax a burrito OR a rain cloud back to bed, but doubly sure of its necessity as you confidently staggered in place.

He propped his head up on one hand, gazing at you mischievously. “Okay it’s time for a game.”

You pursed your lips, half-heartedly irritated, “I like games”.

“I know you do, pobrecita” he shifted to the edge of the bed, sitting up. “If you can walk a straight line from the wall to the bed we can continue this conversation horizontally…”

“Oooh!” you clapped your hands enthusiastically, rushing over to the wall, bumping into several items en route. Strangely enough, you found Pedge waiting for you, arms outstretched.

“Wow! Yourrrrr really fast, you already won the first game…” you pouted, collapsing slightly into his embrace.

“Well, I like games too” he grinned, holding you in a soft hug. “For this game, we’re gonna count to ten and then start walking, okay?”

You sleepily nodded your head into his chest, “Okay, m’ready…”

“1…2….3….4….7, 6, 5…2…”

You sighed heavily, blinking your eyes rapidly in confusion. “Those numbers are funny…you’re doing it wrong…” you complained, beginning to drift again.

“I am? Well, you’re distracting me, hermosa. Okay I better start over…1…2…3…4….3….”

Not only were your eyelids getting heavier, your whole body felt like a ton of bricks as you felt him swaying you side to side, inching towards the bed.

“M’floating straight, right?” you blearily asked, legs buckling slightly beneath you.

“Oh yes, you are definitely winning this game” he cupped his hands under your ass, carrying you back to bed “but now I’ve lost count so I have to start over again…1…2…3…3.5…”.

“I like this game” you sighed, pecking at his neck with whatever energy you had left.

“I like YOU” he whispered in your ear, tucking you back into bed with a small kiss.

“I don’t have any arms” you observed, content to keep your eyes shut, but furrowing your brow in consternation.

“Rain clouds don’t need any arms, hermosa” you felt the mattress dip beneath you as he settled in for the night beside you, pulling your torso against his chest. Not five seconds transpired before you immediately burst into tears again.

“I’m sorrrryyyyyyyyy” you wailed, suddenly embarrassed and guilty that you had been so needy. AND that you had apparently lost the game.

You heard some soft tittering behind you, and kisses at the nape of your neck. “Pobrecita, please try to be a little nicer to yourself. If I have to keep attending this many events with an open bar and an empty stomach we’re BOTH gonna need some help.”

“Ammmm…M’I…stilllll….your…break (hiccup) fast….burrrrito?” you huffed, starting to hyperventilate.

“If you feel up to it, I have BIG plans for breakfast tomorrow and they most assuredly involve eating you.”

You stopped abruptly, hiccuping into your pillow. 

“That’s your reward for winning the game” he smiled, gripping you tightly around the waist.

“I won?” you smirked, starting to drift into a heavy sleep.

“My plans for your morning wake-up involve a win for both of us…” he teased “Are you ready for the next game?”

“Mmmhhmmmm” you intoned, floating into a hazy dream.

“The first one to fall asleep wins in 5…4….3…2….”.