#pedro pacal

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Omg, I love this! The detail is amazing! 😍😍😍

too bad you’re just daydreaming.

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

What the actual fuck?

I usually try to stay away from these topics (and any drama or politics for that matter) for my own wellbeing because it really gets my blood pressure up, but not today.

What am I talking about you ask? This:

Just once, I would like to open this app, where I come for an escape, and not see this absolute horrendous bullshit going on. It’s not ok. You assholes that keep sending these sickening anons have some serious issues and you need to get that checked. The fact that you take pleasure in hurting others with your words in this way makes you a disgusting human and I have very real concerns for your mental health.

I have a feeling this is probably a single person or a couple of people working together to be little cunts and get off on bullying people. They aren’t getting the attention they want so they are seeking to get it in other ways. Karma is a bitch and I hope they get what they give.

We have lost so many amazing content creators over this kind of behavior, and it’s heartbreaking. I don’t even think it comes down to these anons not liking someone’s work, it’s all jealousy and attention seeking behavior based on some idea they have built up in their heads.

This behavior is not healthy anons, go touch some grass, make some friends, and learn how to be a productive and supportive member of society. You’ll get further in life if you learn how to do that. It will be more fulfilling too.

@gothcsz, @penvisions, and @joeloverture (and anyone else who might have received this bullshit) I am so sorry you received these anons. You have our support. Don’t let one little asshat troll who lives a miserable existence get you down. They are not worth a second thought. Their words are empty and hold no truth to anyone but themselves.🫂💜

I’ll get off my soap box now.

💜Mysty

P.S. Yes, I’m abusing tags in hopes those assholes see this. If you do, please seek counseling. You need it.

[ellies-enrichment]

[legally-lupin]

Protector - Din Djarin x fem!reader

Everyone knew the beskar-covered Mandalorian always had an eye on you. wherever you went. He went. He was like a guard dog always checking who was looking at you in a way he doesn’t like or just looking in general.

When you wanted some space when exploring the markets and conversing with the villagers on the planets you travel to he gives it to you but he is only a few feet behind always watching. You didn’t mind it at all. You loved it. You felt safe under his gaze the fact he was always there to protect you if anything went down.

Something did go down one day making him swear to never leave your side again whether you like it or not. You and Grogu were wandering the town in Navarro when a group of pirates cornered you.

“Well. Well. And where are you going gorgeous?” The man smirked hints of gold showing as he eyed you up and down

“And why does that concern you?” You bit back not looking at the man as you held onto grogu

“Feisty one eh. Always the attractive ones” his comrades laughed as the circle tightened around you. You looked around frantically for din. You couldn’t see him anywhere. He’s never not been near. Where was he?! You were grabbed by one of them and started screaming and thrashing your body around hoping to get anyone’s attention. Most looked away. Scared of the pirates. Your chest heaved as one of them brought a knife across your cheek you whimpered as a stinging sensation hit blood dripped down your cheek.

“I do love it when they-

“Let her go” a dark modulated voice spoke making the pirates all look at who dared to speak out

“Din” you whispered looking at him.

“And who do you think-“ BAM blaster shots went out and all 5 of them went down. Dead. Dins body collided with yours in a tight embrace. You panted as tears rolled down your eyes

“Mesh’la I’m so sorry I was buying something and I looked to see where you were and you were gone I’m so sorry.” He hand went to your head as he cradled it. He checked you and grogu over before taking you both to the ship his hand never leaving you.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” He lifted his helmet slightly so he can place a kiss to your forehead.

[zoloft3]

the last | joel miller x reader

summary: joel gives you the comfort you’ve been needing

warnings: none, gn! reader, reader has implied virginity with men and relationships with them (very self indulgent bare with me)

——

“I don’t believe you,” He chuckled as if already catching the supposed falsity in my words.

“I’m not lying,” I tried not to smile when he gave me a sidewards glance.

“Sure,” He scoffed, “You totally have never fucked a guy, yeah right.”

“It’s true!” You held your hands out in omission, “Why would I lie, Joel?”

You looked away in embarrassment. This was something you didn’t speak of often. You thought it would be weird, seeing how people reacted to your virginity when it came to relationships with men. You watched the fire with glassy eyes for a moment. Jackson was quiet most of the time, but in this moment all you could hear was the blood roaring in your ears. The bird and cricket sound drowned out by the waves of your own emotional motion sickness.

His eyes fixated on yours for a long minute, then it seemed to click, “Shit. You’re not, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” You wrapped your arms around you, sinking as far as you could into his couch. Tonight was just supposed to be a simple dinner with the millers. And now with Ellie in bed, and your heart laid open to the only man you’d ever truly gotten close to, everything seemed to be falling apart.

“Jesus I-“ His fingers carded through his hair nervously, “I just thought- since… since you’re so- so beautiful- how could-“

You cut him off with your eyes gliding back to his. The words died in his throat as he saw the tears in your eyes.

“Fuck, baby,” He slid closer to you, his arms outstretched, “C’mere.”

You accepted the embrace as graciously as you could with the sobs that threatened to burst out. You couldn’t even explain why you were crying, but something about this topic of conversation with the one person you could be vulnerable with, it felt like someone had pressed just the right nerve, in order to send you limp and defenseless.

You sat for a long while with his arms around you. His smell of pine and woodsmoke and sweat invading your nose. It made you think of how sexy he’d be with a cigarette habit...

Jesus, you were deplorable.

His hands made gentle circles in your back as you let out muffled cries. You even felt him place a small kiss on your neck after you’d released a particularly hacked breath. Which was strange for your weird friends-but-slightly-more-of-a-relationship of awkward glances and finger brushing.

“I just, it’s not something I’m proud of, you know?” You admitted, finding the courage out of nowhere.

“What do you mean, darlin’?” He questioned, almost a whisper.

“The fact that I haven’t been with any guys, it wasn’t a choice, it just- I feel like it’s my fault.”

He pushed you back to look in your eyes, his hands moving to hold your cheeks, “Why? How could that be your fault?”

“I’m- I know I’m not the prettiest-“ You held back the tears in order to speak, “An- and, I know some people think I’m annoying… I guess nobody’s ever, really… wanted me like that.“

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His words didn’t match the soft look on his face. His eyes open and wide in a way you’d never seen before. “You are the prettiest, most gorgeous, fucking-“

He let out a frustrated sigh, “And you’re wrong, because I do. I want you.”

A comet hit my chest with a rush of flooding questions. When was the last time someone said anything like that? About you? And did he really want to be the first?

“You don’t mind?” You asked, plucking his heart strings with tear soaked fingertips.

“What would I mind about you?”

“That you’d be the first,” Your eyes looked anywhere but his, “The first person I’d ever get to truly love? To know?”

He smiled, the light coming through the cracks he’d left in your heart, “Darlin’, I wouldn’t care about any order, just that I’m last.”

—

thanks for reading, a repost would make my day if you should care to do so :)

[beefrobeefcal]

Frankie walking into his room and honey is already in there, laying on his bed in lingerie with whipped cream and a bowl of strawberries on the bedside table. Mayhaps even already seductively licking whipped cream off a strawberry as he just stands there watching before flashing a huge smile and pouncing on her 😏🍓🍰

Prinny, you are top banana 🍌

THIS THOT SINGLEHANDEDLY HAS CATAPOLTED ME TO MY HIGHEST FORM.

I AM BORN ANEW.

the absolute inhuman noise i let out when i read this. my cats are concerned. my husband is concerned. my neighbours are concerned.

AND WHY THE HELL WOULD THIS NOT BE CANNON, @xdaddysprincessxx??? YOU GOT IT, BABY. DONE AND DONE.

I'M-NOT-OKAY-I'M-NOT-O-FUCKIN-KAY regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

For reference to Prinny's THOT, read On the Waterfront here

[beefrobeefcal]

Beefro's Bistro: Upcoming Items

September ‘23 (in no particular order)

Chubby!Dieter Bravo Premier: Untitled

Chubby!Dave York : Untitled

October '23 (in no particular order)

Dark!Frankie - On the Waterfront, Ch 2, Ch3, Ch 4

Chubby!Joel : Untitled

Chubby!Max Lord Premier: Untitled

Werewolf/Chubby!Frankie One Shot: Untitled

And of course, should the THOT TANK become over run with generous contributions, more will come to fruition!

Lay-all-your-love-on-me regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

[rrrrosie]

I WANT BOFFEM

[milla-frenchy]

Rotten luck

4k1 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: forced to work for Escobar's men as a driver until the day you escape, a DEA agent finds you in the countryside, at the home of friends you've been hiding. You yearn to start over and get a visa, but things aren't so easy, especially when feelings complicate the situation

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Angst, slow burn, La Quica kills a cop, oral (f), piv, masturbation (m), cumplay, Javi is a broken man emotionally, closed towards other people, cold/soft Javi

a/n: this is written for @almostfoxglove 's Let's get angsty challenge- thank you for the event Freya 🙏🧡 your mood board was the perfect inspo and absolutely gorgeous, so I kept it 😌 | Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 | dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏

Same Javi as in And all that could have been. This story happens after the events of that fic but it can be read alone

You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have done what they told you to do, but what other choice did you have, in the end? Say no? Fucking joke.

You couldn’t even complain about your bad luck in knowing someone who was involved in Escobar’s business, because the guy was everywhere. Everyone probably knew someone who was involved with him. 

There were surely a lot of people like you, used because their record was clean, because they were doing legal work, because they seemed innocent. And innocent they were, until one of Pablo’s henchmen got their hands on them and blackmailed them. Just like they did with you.

Until a cop approached the car you were about to drive, and La Quica blew the cop’s brains out, leaving you covered in blood and in shock, unable to drive. He yelled at you to start the car but it just increased your shaking. He got out and opened your door, grabbed your elbow and left you on the sidewalk, your white top now covered in red.

So you did the only thing you could think of, you packed a bag of clothes and headed out into the countryside to some of your friend's farm. You were so scared for your life that it was the only option you could think of. You left your apartment, your job, your other friends, everything. 

It was four days ago. 

The place was surrounded by fields and valleys, no other houses in sight. So when a car pulled onto the road, your blood ran cold. You didn’t know where to go, they would see you if you ran to the fields. The sheepfold was the only place you could hide so you hurried there, hiding behind bales of straw.

When the door to the barn opened, you covered your mouth with your hand to prevent your cry from crossing the barrier of your lips. You heard a lamb bleat, then a male voice.

“What are you doing here all alone?” 

You didn’t know if he was talking to you or the lamb, didn’t recognize the voice, but that didn’t change anything. You didn’t know all of Escobar’s men anyway.

“I know you’re here. I saw you running towards this place.”

The male voice was calm, low. And you were terrified. All he had to do was to step a little further into the shadows of the barn, pass the straw, and he’d find you.

“My name is Javier Peña. DEA. I’m not one of Escobar’s men.” He paused before adding “I guess they’d say the same,” he chuckled, but his tone was cold. 

“But you and I both know that those men wouldn’t have the patience to wait for you to come out of the hay, or waste their time petting a lamb. They'd just pull out their guns and shoot in your direction.”

You were fucked. Either he was one of Escobar’s men and that game of hide-and-seek would end soon, or he really was DEA… and who knew what would happen.

You slowly came out of the darkness and found yourself face to face with him. A dark-haired man with a moustache and an indefinable stare.

He put the lamb on the ground and took out his badge. DEA.

“See?” he said. “You’re not safe, here.”

“What do you mean?” you stammered.

“We found you,” he added with a shrug. “They’ll find you too when they start looking for you.”

He explained that they followed a lead that gave them two locations. His partner had gone to check the second one.

He took you to a safe house after calling the DEA. You were lost, wondering how long you would stay there. How long before you could resume a normal life, if you ever could. You asked him if they could get you a visa. There was nothing left for you there anyway, and you didn’t want to put your few friends in danger. If it wasn’t too late for that.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he told you abruptly as you were sitting at the kitchen table in the safe house, facing him and his partner who had joined you. Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. You didn't know if you could trust them, but for now you had no other choice anyway. They wanted information, wanted you to give them something useful. You told them everything you knew.

A few days passed where you couldn't go out for your safety, until one day Javier came over, anxious, checking the windows. He told you to pack your things, that you had to move quickly. Steve was waiting for you in the car.

“What’s going on?” you asked once seated in the back seat.

“We intercepted a conversation between La Quica and some other Escobar’s men,” Steve told you as he started to drive. “The safe house is compromised.”

“Where are you taking me?” you questioned, your gaze going from one man to the other.

They looked at each other, and Javier shook his head.

“We have no choice, Javi. And it won’t happen again, we’re prepared this time, it’s different.”

Javi scoffed at Steve's words but didn’t reply when you asked what they were talking about. He grabbed a cigarette nervously, rolling the flint of his lighter several times before managing to light it.

“You’re gonna stay at my place,” he told you. “For a while. But we have to make sure no one follows us, that no one sees you go in.” He threw you a large sweatshirt and a cap.

“Put these on, that will do it.” His tone was sharper than ever.

“Why don't I go to Steve's, since you can't stand me?” you asked him aggressively. He'd always been so cold with you, and the idea of ​​living in the same apartment as him for the next few days or weeks didn't appeal to you.

“Steve’s got a wife and a kid. We can't put them in danger.”

So you settled there. 

He was rarely present, coming back home late and leaving early. He slept on the couch of his one bed apartment and sometimes he didn't even come home at night. When he was there, you felt like you were looking at a cat, bored by the company he was being forced to deal with.

One evening while you were having dinner together, which happened rarely, you couldn't contain your worry, even if he clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“Do you know when I’ll get a visa? I’m scared here... They’ll kill me if they find me.”

“I don’t. But they don’t know you’re here, we made sure of it,” he answered coldly once again, your need for comfort and warmth remaining unfulfilled. You went to bed, trying to calm your anxiety and forget how lonely you were, but you ended up crying face against the pillow. You didn't want him to hear you. Didn’t need to annoy him even more.

You started to transfer your thoughts on paper. Hoping that writing them down would help you to process them, in a way. You had no one to talk about your feelings, so you expressed them to yourself. It was better than nothing.

One night you heard him come home and turn on the TV. You fell back asleep, and when you woke up a couple hours later, the TV was still on. You got up and saw him sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette. He seemed lost in his thoughts. Sad. 

He looked up when he heard you.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked after clearing his throat.

“No, no. I was thirsty.” You hesitated then added “Can I sit down?”

“Sure.”

You stared at the TV, your glass of water in your hand, then asked if he knew how long you would be staying at his place. 

“I don’t know.”

You knew he hadn’t cared about you, since the moment you’d met, but seeing day after day that it wasn't changing was weighing on you.

“Aren’t you ever afraid of coming home one day and finding your door broken, and me dead in your apartment?”

“No. I doubt they think we’re stupid enough to hide you at a DEA agent's place.”

Oddly enough that made you both laugh, and you watched the TV with him for a few minutes before going back to bed.

After that night, you started to talk a little more. He was less cold and came back home earlier. Step by step, you began looking at him differently, maybe because he was the only person around. Or because you felt alone. Or maybe because you didn't really see him as an asshole anymore. You put his attitude into perspective by telling yourself that it might have pissed you off too, if you were forced to live with a stranger because of your work.

You started to look at him, to really look at him, days after days. And one night, after slipping your hand into your panties, longing for a physical touch that you missed terribly, it was Javier you were thinking about. Imagining his hands on you, wondering how he would touch you.

The next morning, you didn't dare to meet his eyes, and he noticed immediately, like a hunting dog smelling the scent of prey.

"What's going on?" he asked. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks and he stared at you as if he knew. You cleared the table before returning to your room.

He often came home exhausted, and one morning, he seemed as tired as the night before. You wondered if he was sleeping properly and you told him that he could have his bedroom back, that you could sleep on the couch. He refused but when you saw his under eye bags you couldn't help yourself and placed your hand on his to give him a little warmth, a little empathy, a bit of comfort. He looked at your hand for a few moments and you were sure he was going to pull it away, but his gaze rose to yours, and you could read clearly what was in them.

His lips crashed against yours, and he led you to the bedroom where he removed your clothes and asked you to lie down on the bed, before throwing off his own. You looked over his body, your legs slightly apart, arousal already flowing from your folds. He was magnificent, to the point that you thought his body must have been sculpted by an artist. Your throat was dry as your gaze moved slowly from his lips to his chest, his biceps, his happy trail. When your eyes landed on his cock, a low "fuck" escaped your lips. It was gorgeous too, thick, hard, and you were wondering how it would feel when he pushed inside you. Your gaze moved back up to his face to find some doubt in his eyes, as if he wasn't so sure it was a good idea anymore.

Doubt turned into desire and he knelt on the bed, squeezed your thighs between his hands and licked your pussy until you came in a shamefully short time, back arched, toes curled, fingers lost in his hair. Your trembling hadn't stopped yet when he settled between your thighs, sinking in slowly, his gaze lowered towards you. It wasn't affectionate. Just two bodies needing to release some pressure. You came a second time under his fingers while he was thrusting in you, and it was more intimacy than you'd had in weeks.

The next night you heard him come home, hoping he'd join you, but in vain. You touched yourself, thinking of the night before.

The night after that, you called him as he settled down on the couch. A few seconds later, his broad frame was in the crack of the bedroom door.

And then you started having sex every day. Morning, evening, or night. He began to sleep with you after you told him it was ridiculous to stay on the couch. You found yourself curled up against him in the night. He was way softer with you now, showing a side that you could never imagine. You loved when he kissed your cheek or forehead, rubbed his nose against yours. You started calling him Javi, and that was probably even more intimate than anything else.

You wondered a few times if he was seeing someone else, until you felt the blade of jealousy dive slowly, painfully in your heart. You didn't expect it. It couldn't lead you to anything good, so you pushed it away.

Sometimes he could see your hands shaking. “I’ll protect you from them,” he used to say, wrapping you in his arms or holding your hands in his. He was comforting, using a confident voice that made you believe it.

One night, you saw that something was bothering him, but he didn’t bring it up until you pushed,

“Javi, please. What’s going on?”

He sighed then said “Another safe house is available. But... I'd like you to stay here. I want to be sure you're ok and I don't trust anyone else to protect you.”

You nodded. Of course you’d stay here, with him. He was your everyday life, your protector. 

He called you ‘baby’ now and your heart was melting.

Weeks passed. Not everything was perfect. He often came home stressed, losing himself in cigarettes or alcohol. Or between your thighs. 

You were ok with that. But even when he was thrusting into you, his gaze was sometimes vacant. You would have liked to tear away the worry that flowed through his veins, and you would often take his face in your hands to make him focus on you and on the present moment. You succeeded, more and more often, but irremediably his stare would wander off again, at one point or another.

You didn't care that sometimes as soon as he got home he would kiss you and quickly press you against the wall, pushing his cock inside you. You needed it as much as he did, whatever was between the two of you. It made you feel alive.

Nevertheless when you fucked, it seemed like it meant something.

You often had late night talks, and sometimes he would tell you about his day. The horrors he had to face, the deaths he had to witness. His impression of an endless and unequal war.

Something had been lingering on your mind for several weeks now, and you couldn't resist talking about it lying in bed, while he was having an after sex cigarette.

“The day you brought me here… Steve said it wouldn’t happen again,” you started to say. He shook his head as if to dismiss the subject.

“Please, Javi,” you insisted. “Tell me.”

He brushed his moustache with his thumb, considering his reply. 

“I can hear it, whatever this is,” you added in a soft voice.

He sighed, then said “ok, ok. There was a woman… I put her in a safe house. I thought she would be ok there. Escobar’s men found her….” He lowered his head, unable to say more, but he didn’t have to. His body was tense and his eyes filled with sadness.

“I’m sorry, Javi,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m afraid sometimes…” he added, his voice shaky. “Afraid I won’t be able to protect you either, afraid to fail again.”

“Hey.” You cupped his cheeks with your hands. “I’m safe here, I know I am.” You searched for his eyes, showing unwavering determination in yours. “They won’t find me, you hear me?”

Caressing his cheeks with your thumbs, you added “you will keep me safe. I know it.” 

His eyes were still showing concern, so you persisted. “Javi! Listen to me. I know I’m safe. Nothing will happen to me, baby.”

His brows furrowed as he looked at you, seeing determination and certainty in your stare. He nodded, hugged you, and kissed your forehead.

Sex became different. Intimate. He was passionate and generous. 

You knew you were falling in love with him, a little more each day, even if a part of him remained a mystery, an insurmountable block, even in these moments. You didn't tell him about your feelings, afraid of pushing him away. Even though he wasn't as distant as before, it was still difficult to fully know him.

His apartment often echoed with your moans and sweaty bodies.

His hands were soft on you, and you started to think that maybe you became dear to him. During the day you thought of him, craved him, eager to feel his body every time he got back home. 

You realized that he did, too, one evening, when he hurried to you as soon as he threw his keys on the cabinet.

“I need to… need to taste you. To eat you.”

He looked wrecked, his hair disheveled, his shirt collar unbuttoned, messy. 

“I can't think of anything else. Every day, every hour, I think about you and your cunt. About your scent lingering on my moustache after I made you come on my tongue in the morning, before leaving. And I can't… couldn’t focus at work, I need to be between your legs all the time. I'm fucking obsessed with your cunt. Wanna drink it all day long. Please… please, baby. Can I eat you out?”

You nodded, stunned by his statement. Your pussy wasn't questioning it, drooling as soon as you heard his key in the lock.

He took off his jacket and shirt then his pants, letting them fall to the floor, as he walked over to the couch where you were sitting. You weren't sure if he wanted to go to the bedroom and didn't move, but he knelt as soon as he was within reach, grabbed the elastic of your pants and pulled them off. He paused for a moment as he looked at your panties, and the gaze he gave you electrified your body. Animalistic, feline. A wild beast ready to devour you. 

His fingers grasped the waistband of your panties but didn't remove them. Holding onto them, he leaned down and when his tongue lapped at the fabric, you couldn't hold back a deep moan. 

His fingers tightened on your panties when he heard you, still lapping, to the point where your folds were outlined by the fabric, soaked by his saliva and your need.

He forced himself to slow down, just long enough to push your panties to the side, grunting, before finally licking your folds with nothing between his tongue and your skin.

“Javi,” you whined, gripping his hair, rolling your hips towards him.

You were almost on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by your emotions. His greed and eagerness were radiating from his body as he was pushing his tongue into you. Licking, lapping, sucking, keeping your folds open with his thumbs, his nose rubbing deliciously against your clit.

“Javi…” you begged.

“Tell me,” he murmured against your folds, without stopping.

“Fingers, please…”

He lapped at your cunt again, slowly, so slowly you thought you might faint.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

He placed them against your pussy, without moving at first, just letting you feel the warmth of his digits, and kissed your clit. He didn’t lick, didn’t suck. Just peppered kissed over it, and his moustache lightly tickled your skin. Each light kiss was giving you goosebumps. You heard him chuckle.

“So needy, baby… just like me.”

Then he slid his fingers down to your entrance, his middle finger already slick with your arousal slipped between your folds and he pushed in a knuckle, making you gasp. His lips curved around your clit, sucking lightly, barely more than a touch. He pushed his finger in and started pumping.

“Oh god,” you whined. Your clit was throbbing under his tongue as he was pushing in your pussy faster and deeper. A second finger joined the first, rubbing perfectly where you needed it.

You vaguely felt his other hand leave your hip and when you opened your eyes, you saw him spread the precum on his shaft. He gripped it with his firm hand and began slowly jerking himself, his eyes closed as he sucked on your clit and kept fucking you with his fingers.

“I’ll never get enough of your cunt,” he murmured, before playing with your clit with the tip of his tongue.

You looked down at him. This gorgeous, protective, caring man. So eager to please you, to make you come. You couldn't believe the worst day of your life had led you to cross paths with him. 

Your mind went blank. You could only vaguely hear the indecent sounds of his fingers in your soaked pussy, and his wrist fucking his shaft. His grunts faded into moans, until he came, cum spraying against the floor and down his fist. 

Thinking that he had been unable to stop himself from coming was the last straw and you came, arching your back against the couch, fingers hooked in his hair. Panting, trembling against his mouth, clenching on his fingers.

“Javi, I need your cum,” you whined without realizing it. And his cum-covered fingers replaced the ones coated in your juices. He was fucking you with his digits dripping cum.

“Fuck, baby,” he said. Grabbing your hand with his, squeezing it, until he slowed his thrusting between your thighs, feeling that you were on the verge of overstimulation. You cupped his face in your hands, pulled him to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips and his moustache.

He lay on top of you, catching his breath against your breasts.

You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, as much as it echoed in your own body. You wondered if he understood the meaning of that rhythm, so fast and so strong.

You wondered if his was beating as strongly, and for the same reasons.

His hand found your breast, cupping it carefully, as if it was something precious.

You thought about the time when fate had brought you together, and smiled as you stroked his hair.

Two days later, when he came back home, you felt that something was wrong. 

“I got your visa,” he said harshly. His eyes were off, so was his whole body. He was distant, and fear grabbed your weak heart in its hands. Squeezing it hard.

“What?” you asked in a trembling voice.

He avoided your  gaze, and added “you wanted a visa, right? And you can't stay here, it's not safe. We knew that.”

“What?” You repeated. “Wait a minute, can we talk about it?”

He shook his head, without even looking at you.

“What are you doing, Javi?” you insisted, your heart begging for help, for answers. 

“You can leave Colombia, be safe. Go on with your life.”

“Please, Javi, don't do it. Not like that. I'm not… I'm not her. What happened was awful but please let us talk about it.”

“Steve is waiting for you downstairs. He'll take you to the airport,” he said stubbornly.

“Javi…”

Tears obscured your vision and you could only see a blurry shape of him, standing a few feet away from you. Out of reach. Your Javi wasn't there anymore, he had shut down all his emotions.

Your heart was ripped in two, the pain so intense that you wondered if that Javi had ever existed. And right now, there was nothing left for him to give you.

You packed your things, unable to believe what was happening, hoping it was a nightmare. You looked at him from time to time. Brows furrowed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Have you ever felt anything for me? Have these last weeks meant anything to you?” you asked. He didn't reply, and barely glanced at you. You never thought his confession two days ago would lead to this. 

Your mind knew what was making him act like this, but you couldn't accept that he was cutting it all off.

You slammed the door when you left, a “fuck you” escaping your lips.

He thought about the whisky he was going to drink to forget. Forget how he could have done it to you in such a cruel way. He liked to tell himself he was good at compartmentalizing. But tonight, lonely in his apartment, he couldn't believe it anymore.

A few days later he found the letters you had written to yourself. He sat down on his bed and read them all. 

He was reading about your growing feelings, the complete trust you'd had towards him over the past few weeks. He wondered if you'd left them there on purpose, or if you had forgotten them, but he quickly shook the thoughts from his mind. It didn't change anything. He wanted you safe, now you would be. No matter the price you had to pay. Or he had to pay.

He burnt the letters and poured himself some whiskey.

If you wanna know more about what happened to the woman Javi speaks of: And all that could have been

javi p masterlist

More Javi angst: The constant

Thank you for reading 🙏

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npt: tagging those who showed interest in the wip wednesday post, love you ❤️

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[my-wild-imagination1996]

Here's a little preview for yall

Y/N, a young actress, finds herself in a thrilling love triangle with her co-stars, Hugh and Pedro. Their on-screen chemistry spills into real life, leading to a passionate adventure. As filming progresses, y/n discovers a deep connection with both men, each offering unique pleasures.

[beefrobeefcal]

Congratulations on your 100 followers!!

I really appreciate your page and writing. I've always had a kink/preference/THING for tummies, and I've always carried some shame about it. I've tried to "train myself out of it" again and again in the past to no avail. To find a place where tummy love--specifically with the characters of the hottest actor on the planet-- isn't just accepted, but celebrated, by at LEAST a hundred other people, is amazing 💖🥰

Cheers to you and what you've created! And thank you for graciously receiving my feral Thots 😅

Rebby, you got me right in the gosh darn feels!

Thank you, lovely @rebel-held. Are we the same person? I have spent so long hiding my appreciation of a good tummy, but I couldn't hold back when I started seeing others talking about Mr. Pascal + his love of frozen pizzas. 🍕🍴💜

We're 100+ strong and even if the Bistro doesn't grow beyond that, I think we have a pretty nifty little corner of the internet carved out for our selves. 💜🥩💜🥩💜🥩💜🥩💜

Thank you, Rebby! and know it is NEVER a chore to receive your generous contributions to the THOT TANK - we all benefit GREATLY from your THOTS 🥵🥵🫠🫠🥵🥵

All-my-lovin'-I-will-give-to-you regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

[peachy-ash]

𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧

[itsharleystuff]

tell me why I have: three Javi Peña fanfics, one din djarin and part two of World Class sinner all in my drafts WHEN I SHOULD BE STUDYING FOR MY TOPIK CERTIFICATION.

[henrycangelbaby]

In which: “It's not that the amount of love I had changed, but I feel so proud about it now, like that I want to shout from the rooftops and tell everyone of my loved ones how much I love my wife, MY wife, ya know?”

Or

An interview gives unique insight into Pedro Pascal and his vast amount of love for his wife

I make my way through meeting the cast of HBO's unexpected hit “The Last Of Us” rather easily.

Bella Ramsey lives in a far nicer apartment in London than anything I would have been able to afford at the same age. Despite their fame and talent, they remain settled and down to earth, dressed in an outfit a little too cool for me to understand and eager to show me around their lovely apartment that is decorated in a way that I quite liked but I'm sure my baby boomer father would find offensive. I even end up meeting Ramsey's girlfriend, a fellow actor (who I admittedly had never heard of) who is equally as young and pretty as Ramsey is. They are both lovely and down to earth, a sentiment I don't often find relatable working with celebrities.

Kaitlin Denver is in her late 20s and still looks like she could be in high school. She lives in a shared house with her sister, whom she also shares a music career with. Despite the controversy surrounding her character in the show, she seems to remain completely unfazed by the backlash and threats that surround Abby Anderson. Denver merley shrugs when I ask her how she deals with it, leaving me to assume her vices when it comes to dealing with unprecedented hate.

I meet other stars of the show too. Gabriel Luna has all the southern charm of Tommy Miller and more, making me question whether he really does any acting when playing the sweeter, younger Texan brother. Isabela Merced is very beautiful in person and is also far shorter than I had imagined. What she lacks in height she makes up for in personality and charm.

Of course, when you think of the stars of The Last Of Us, there is probably someone else that comes to mind. Securing an interview with Pedro Pascal is probably one of the harder things I have had to do in recent years. It's not that Pacal is hard to come by; in fact, in recent years we haven't been able to escape him. I originally doubted that I would even be able to secure an interview with the internet's "daddy." Pascal has had a busy few years, and this one is no different. With multiple projects coming out this year, including the new season of The Last Of Us and his highly anticipated entry into the MCU as the iconic Richard Reed, it seems that everyone wants a piece of him. While all the other actors on this list do have notable careers outside of the show, the point of this interview series was to be able to interview the main cast members of the show in anticipation for the new season; however, I found that same sentiment hard to carry across when interviewing Pascal. I don't want to spoil the show for anyone, but I will just say that he won't be back next season. Whether that's due to internal conflicts or simply being too booked, we’ll never know.

I was rather ecstatic to receive a phone call from someone on his team letting me know the time and date for our interview. Like normal, I'm given an NDA to sign before receiving any personal information, such as his address (which I did require for the purpose of the interview). But everything else seems to go off without a hitch. 

I was admittedly nervous to meet him. In the best way possible, his reputation definitely proceeds him. Pascal is only ever described as kind, loving, funny, and any other positive synonyms for a massive sweetheart that you can think of. I personally have been a big fan of his work since he played forever thirsted over narcos agent Javier Paner. I know they say you shouldn't meet your idols (and trust me, I've had my fair share of heartbreaking realizations that someone I once admired is actually a piece of shit), but I had high hopes for meeting Pedro. And I am happy to report that it did not disappoint. 

I arrived at his home in Los Angeles ten minutes earlier than I should have. Not that I'm kept waiting, as before I can get a second knock in on the door, a young woman flings it open, smiling at me tightly. She quickly lets me in, introducing herself as Pascal's assistant, offering me tea or coffee, and ushering me to sit down on the comfy-looking couch while I wait for her boss to arrive (which she insists should not be too long). I take a moment to look around the room while I'm waiting. The room is sweet and welcoming, much like the rest of the home, which feels very well... homely (like stepping into your best friend's house and chatting with their parents at the dinner table). It's a hard feeling to describe, such a sense of nostalgia from a place that I had never been in before. It feels fitting though that a man so beloved as Pedro Pascal should have a home that feels so nice. I snoop to get a closer look at the photos that hang up on the walls and sit on cabinets. Most of them seem normal. There are a few faces I recognize within the photos; Oscar Iscac can be spotted alongside a younger-looking Pascal in one of the photos on the wall. I spot John Favro amongst a few people in a photo that looks to have been taken on the set of The Mandelorian, but apart from that, the photos seem normal. They depict family and friends in various places over various years; it appears that Pascal cherishes his relationships with loved ones above all else. 

I'm stopped in my snooping by another face in one of the photos, a face I recognize instantly, a face that has been all over the internet and tabloids for some time now. Pedro's wife. The photo is the first one in which she features prominently, sitting alongside what I can only assume to be one of her husband's sisters. It's a sweet photo, one that I can imagine Pedro was on the other side of, grinning wildly while taking. Y/N Pascal is an elusive figure that the media and her husband's fans have been trying to know better for a few years now. She is what is best described as a "normie," that is to say that she is just like you and me; that is perhaps what makes her so interesting to fans. She doesn't appear to have any ties to the industry; she isn't some big-wig producer's daughter; in fact, despite their insistence, fans have been unable to find anything on her. She has no public social media accounts, no company profiles online, and no one she went to high school with has come forward with a tik tok horror story (yet!). The couple are shrouded in mystery; no one seems to know how they met, where Y/N is from, or even the highly shrouded question of her age. She certainly appears younger than Pascal by a good few years, and I'm sure that I could find thousands of posts online speculating (or being downright nasty) about how young she is. But out of respect for the happy couple, I leave it a mystery. 

The sharp heels of the sensible shoes that Pascal's assistant is wearing suddenly come back into earshot. She warns me to be ready with my stuff as “they” will be home soon. I don't think twice about her words before hauling ass back to the couch and trying to pull myself together. It's not long before I hear the front door open. Amy (Pascal's assistant that I had only just remembered the name of) runs to the door. I walk slower behind awkwardly, not wanting to intrude (despite the fact that I had spent the last ten minutes snooping around what was essentially a stranger's house). I peek round the corner to be greeted with Pascal's broad back. He is facing away from me, talking to his assistant lowly. His assistant finishes speaking and moves past me, wishing me luck in passing. Pascal doesn't turn around to greet me yet; in fact, he drops down onto one knee to reveal to my utmost shock his wife. Neither of them pay me any mind as he begins untying her shoes for her, ever the gentleman everyone believes he is. 

It's not a second later that the man of the hour turns around to greet me. He smiles widely at me, and I find myself blushing slightly at his unwavering eye contact as he introduces himself. He only introduces himself by his first name, not something I find often when meeting famous people; they are often eager to give me the name that everyone knows and loves them by. It seems a bit of a strange phenomenon in Hollywood that has missed Pascal. His wife then steps forward to introduce herself. I hate to be the bearer of bad news to the millions of jealous fans, but Y/N Pascal is strikingly beautiful; even as I meet her in her own home with no makeup, she glows ethereally with a striking smile that looks like it belongs on the cover of a magazine. In that moment meeting her I quickly see why Pascal holds her in such admiration.

Much to my disappointment, that is the first and last time I see her during the interview. Pedro ushers her away somewhere out of sight with a protective arm around her shoulder. I can hear him mutter to her lowly, promising to be quick. Before kissing her goodbye with an "I love you." It makes my heart ache with a longing. Much like the rest of the internet, I wish I had a man like Pedro Pascal. We chat for a while, while exploring his house, he speaks passionately about his career, which he clearly loves. He has a flame behind his eyes as he speaks about his long-winded love for the cinema. He tells me stories of his famous friends that are featured on his walls. We laugh together, and he very much reminds me of an old friend. Even though I should be interviewing him, I let him talk, rambling on about things that I didn't find important enough to put in this interview, but they certainly put a smile on my face. 

The house is beautiful; it's decorated nicely and feels authentic and homely. It's not massive, not overly obnoxious in the way many celebrity houses are; it's still big, the kind of size that screams loving family. I don't mean to make assumptions, but it almost feels like it's been brought with the idea of a growing family in mind. I complement the house easily. Pedro smiles at me. For the first time in the interview, he refers to his wife. He tells me that he hadn't cared where they lived; “anywhere is home when you are with someone that you love,” but insists that she had loved the house the moment they first saw it. "She has better taste than me,” he tells me with a loving glint in his eye. "She did a good job.” I compliment, he nods and smiles, "always thought I was biased 'cause I’m married to her, but glad to know it's not just me." I feel awfully privileged to get an insight into Pedro's fondness of his wife. It's not often that he speaks about her publicly; she gets mentioned in passing during interviews and is often spotted at events with him, safely away from the cameras, but it's clear to the general public that his marriage is a part of his life that he wishes to keep away from public scrutiny. 

Its towards the end of the interview that I do ask him about his marriage. We walk past a wedding photo that depicts him and his lovely bride squashed together on one seat, smiling widely at the camera. He doesn't say anything when he notices me peering at the photo. I ask him carefully if he thinks being a married man has changed him. He ponders for a second. "Probably,” he answers me carefully. It's not the response I had expected from him, so I quickly encourage him to go on. "I suppose it has in a way,” he continues. “It's not that the amount of love I had changed, but I feel so proud about it now, like that I want to shout from the rooftops and tell everyone of my loved ones how much I love my wife, MY wife, ya know?” I smile and nod at his explanation. I understand what he is saying—such a sweet sentiment that it makes my heart warm. 

We don't speak for much longer after that; he briefly mentions a few upcoming projects, which he seems excited for. I ask him what he has planned next, after his next few big projects are done. He hesitates for a second. “Truthfully,” he says, “I plan on taking a step away for a bit.” I ask if he wants to settle down more. “Yeah, that's part of it; I mean, I’m not getting any younger.” He tells me, “Things are changing soon, and I just want to be settled with my family.” He finishes. I wonder for a moment what he is referring to when he mentions these soon changes; I don't ponder on it too long; much like a crazed fan, I have a few theories floating around in my head. 

We wrap up the interview from there; he is as polite and gracious as he has been the entire time, shaking my hand and thanking me for my time. I try to thank him for the interview and for letting me into his house, but he simply shakes his head at me, insisting it was his pleasure. He disappears soon after that, saying he has something to attend to (and speed walking in the direction that his wife disappeared to). I'm left to see myself out; I don’t snoop too much after I’m left alone. I make my way back to the front of the house, peering around as I go. I peek inside one room that appears to be in the middle of some kind of renovation or do-over. There are multiple pieces of yet-to-be put together furniture on the ground as the walls look to be in the middle of being painted a pastel purple color. 

I’m about to leave when something catches my eye—on the table by the front door, which has various bits and bobs scattered over it, but none of these catch my eye. I step closer to get a clearer view of what appears to be a small black and white photo. I quickly realize what it is: tucked beneath the wallet I had seen Pedro place down before our interview began is an ultrasound. I smile knowingly as my theory is proven correct; the Pascal family is about to be adding another member. 

Congratulations to Pedro as his wife on the upcoming addition to their family.

[lola-lola-lola]

Also want to lick here:

And here:

Maybe a little chomp too 😬

“Recovery” Pedro style from risemovement IG

[papirkurven]

Pedro Pacal

📸 : JuanKr