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blackbloodredpepper · 1 month

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okay, you want proof from me that Linda was raised catholic?

The clip where Bob's "principles" lead to him yelling at the pastor

Gayle quite literally wore a shrimp dress to mass

The family's italian? c'mon guys

linda coughed a communion wafer onto her boob

Do i prefer the hc that Linda's Jewish, but it's really just an hc (though I personally feel that Judaism would suit her character more). Canonically, Linda is a born and raised catholic woman even if she doesn't really practice anymore

#sorry i get mad when people try and fight me on this #Give me all of your jewish linda hc please i truly do live for them #bobs burgers #bob’s burgers #linda belcher

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marciabrady · 1 year

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it's wild to me that modern critics have brainwashed so many people into thinking true love, as presented in the classic princess movies, is toxic. we go from snow white's prince calling their love "constant and true" and never giving up on his search for the lost princess throughout endless seasons and forests aimlessly until he finds her, charming tearing apart the entire kingdom when all he had was one slipper that had been left behind because he couldn't imagine a life without cinderella, and phillip fighting a literal fire breathing dragon for aurora.

to appear more "realistic", and effectively more sensible i guess??? disney made the couples afterward decidedly spikey. beast and belle are nothing if not enemies to lovers with their courtship starting with belle literally giving her life to the beast so her father would be spared, jasmine and aladdin have a lot of friction over his lies, i don't even want to get started on john smith and pocahontas nor meg working for the literal devil against hercules's best interest...but that wasn't enough and they continued to suck anything appealing out of these love stories until we reach naveen and tiana trying to kill each other in a swamp as frogs and not liking each other and even being visibly repulsed at one another, rapunzel inflicting physical violence upon flynn with her frying pan in a "cute!" and "quirky" way, and hans being used as a plot device to make us believe a prince charming for us doesn't exist which ends in anna punching him.

and...it's that astounding these bad faith criticisms have been given so much weight and power that they're literally now effectively tearing apart true love in these films to the point where it's now just bickering and physical violence with straight couples that have no chemistry but gay people still don't have a single explicitly "out" couple/storyline :)

#progress #i swear romance is becoming obliterated while gay people are just trying to fight to exist and for basic rights #i feel like there gets to be a point where certain groups are so privileged that their is actually reductive #like we went from true love to enemies to lovers to str8 ppl who don't even like each other and have no business being together #AND THAT IS PROGRESS??#while gay people literally still don't have a single hting #and this is 2022 #i'm sick of hearing about the 9th first gay pixar character that always ends up being a monster with 2 lines #also the remakes now and newer stories are just obliterating romance all together #and it just all rings of homophobia to me #i will never trust linda woolverton feminists #but also it just all comes across as like. a corporate person devoid of creativity that's convinced love doesn't exist and has no value #and feels they need to inflict that messaging on everyone else

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ohblahdo · 2 years

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wait why was there hostility between paul and yoko in 1990?

So, in the immediate aftermath of John's death, I feel like things were pretty civil in Beatleland for a bit, but by 1985, the lawsuits and sniping were back in full swing.

A few notable events:

In 1985, Michael Jackson outbid Paul and Yoko for the publishing rights to the Lennon-McCartney Beatles songs. In "You Never Give Me Your Money", Yoko is quoted as saying, "Paul probably suspects there was some sort of alliance between Michael and me," suggesting that things weren't great behind the scenes, and that Yoko, at least, thought Paul blamed her for them losing the rights.

Also in 1985, George, Ringo, and Yoko sued Paul because he'd gotten an increase in his royalty rate from EMI/Capitol. That didn't impact their own royalties and was a reward/incentive for him for remaining with the label, but they sued him anyway, either for the publicity or just as punishment. Paul still reportedly helped them negotiate better rates.

In 1987, Yoko gave her blessing to Nike's use of 'Revolution' in sneaker commercials, which Paul, George, and Ringo were opposed to. She then joined them in trying to sue, which didn't work… and then licensed 'Instant Karma!' to Nike for another ad campaign. Paul talked in interviews about how he disliked seeing Beatles songs used in ads and thought it cheapened them.

In 1988, the Beatles were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and Paul refused to participate because the others were suing him again. I'm not clear if this was the 1985 lawsuit rearing its head or if it was a new one - I saw one mention of it being George individually suing Paul - but anyway, things were awkward and people were obviously not getting along. Yoko made a remark about how if John was still alive, he would certainly have been there, unlike Paul.

(Additional tangents: the latter half of the 80s was also the era during which Julian Lennon was launching his musical career, and he didn't have much nice to say about Yoko. It was also the time when Paul started pushing back against the "John was The Beatles" narrative, and some big cracks were put in the St. John facade with the publication of "The Lives of John Lennon" in 1988. Paul defended John on that front, but the book is a particularly unflattering portrayal of Yoko, and it can't have done much good for her general mood in the late eighties. This was also a low point in George and Paul's relationship, and Ringo was hitting rock bottom in terms of his substance abuse problems. Not great times all around.)

Which brings us to 1990, the tenth anniversary of John's death and what would have been his 50th birthday. According to her book, Cynthia Lennon wanted to organize a charity tribute concert to mark the occasion, and she said Paul agreed to participate, along with various other big names. But apparently when she told Yoko, Yoko slammed the project in the press and it ended up getting canceled. Yoko then organized her own concert in Liverpool, but Paul and Ringo only sent videotaped greetings (George sent nothing), tickets didn't sell, and it was a bit of a flop. Paul also made some remarks in interviews about how he wasn't sure John would have enjoyed it or would have appreciated some of the artists Yoko booked (which felt a bit pointed from someone who's usually diplomatic with the media). And then Paul did a concert in Liverpool himself as part of his massively successful world tour and performed a medley of John's songs (including Give Peace a Chance) to a significantly bigger audience.

So things were pretty bitchy, they'd all been suing each other for five years, and then Paul stole Yoko's thunder during a period where he was back on a career upswing. She could beat out Cynthia in a battle of the widows, but she'd always have a harder time with Paul, which was probably slightly galling. When she came back with "Paul never actually cared about John, he's just pretending because John's so famous and beloved now that he's dead," I don't think that was a particularly objective judgement. I think it was just a continuation of them sniping at each other.

#paul and yoko #long answer sorry #sue me sue you blues #they kept fighting about songwriting credits in the 90s #and then Paul didn't invite Yoko to Linda's memorial service #they started playing nicer in later years #but tbh I don't think they like each other at all

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olliecoded · 5 months

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LAST THING. for now. but like it is just so crazy to me that linda's landlady HATES her fucking guts. cannot stand her and is sooooo so unbelievably mean to her. clearly wants to jump her husband. and then her husband comes home and ... flirts with the landlady? lets the landlady slap his ass and acts like he can't do anything to stop it? IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE WHO IS CONSTANTLY BEING BELITTLED AND TORMENTED BY THIS WOMAN? and then casually hands linda the trash from the meal that he just got from their landlady. and she just took that. she just took it and mooned over him. fucking. christ dude

#one of the saddest scenes in the show to me. i have to fight hard not to cry sometimes #and like it's not that sad a scene? it's kinda funny from the outside to watch this 50 year old flirt with a 21 year old #but linda is standing right there. just watching it happen and taking it. just makes me so so so unbelievably sad #one of the more insidious moments where it's like. not too big a deal if u aren't looking for it but taken in the context of the rest of the #show is just one of the more poignant examples of linda being treated like a fucking dog #sometimes hits worse than the actual panic attack scene that's MEANT to be awful and upsetting #the magic tower

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maddy-ferguson · 9 months

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you know how people compare people saying sex scenes shouldn't be a thing to someone being like action scenes are useless let's stop doing action scenes to make the let's stop doing sex scenes thing sound dumb? i don't know if the comparison is actually as widespread as i made it sound but i know there's like one post saying this that has a lot of notes and i think about it often because the someone saying that about action scenes is literally me i can't focus on action scenes like when it's people fighting i literally can't do more than 30 seconds i can never care it's been this way for many years

#i remember when they announced that linda something was gonna be in s5 people were like wdym you don't know her have you not seen the #terminator and it's like no i do not and i haven't you would have to pay me to watch the terminator movies they are not for me #it's almost like westerns except i've actually seen action movies and there's fight scenes that bore me in a lot of things i've watched #voluntarily #and like i say: brf slt

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heritageposts · 2 months

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A week ago, US President Joe Biden claimed that a “ceasefire” deal in Gaza was imminent and could take effect as soon as March 4. “My national security adviser tells me we are close,” he told reporters while eating ice cream in New York City. But ice cream or not, Biden’s actual position was not nearly that sweet. A subsequent statement by a senior Biden administration official claimed Israel had “basically accepted” a proposal for a temporary pause in fighting. But as of March 4, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his Mossad director were still refusing to send a delegation to Cairo, where talks with Hamas were under way. The Biden administration’s eagerness to claim victory in its search for some kind of temporary truce indicates how much it is feeling the heat of the rising global and domestic pressure demanding an immediate ceasefire, an end to the Israeli genocide, an end to the threat of a new escalation against refugee-packed Rafah, and an end to the siege of Gaza and immediate unhindered provision of massive levels of humanitarian aid. Despite Washington’s vain hopes for March 4 and the unofficial goal of a ceasefire by the beginning of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan on March 10, the deal remains elusive. Media reports indicate Biden is telling the Qatari and Egyptian leaders that he is putting pressure on Israel to agree to a truce and a captives swap. But his claim of pressuring Israel is undermined by the continuing US vetoes of ceasefire resolutions at the United Nations Security Council, most recently on February 20, as well as the continuing flow of United States weapons and money to Israel to enable its assault.

And, on the alternative resolution the Biden admin has put forth after vetoing Algeria's resolution (which called for an "immediate humanitarian ceasefire," "forced displacement of the Palestinian civilian population," and "unhindered humanitarian access to Gaza."):

[...] Linda Thomas-Greenfield, Biden’s ambassador to the UN, cast the sole veto against the Algerian resolution, and instead put forward an alternative US text, claiming it also supported a ceasefire. But the proposed US language does not call for an immediate or permanent ceasefire or an end to Israeli genocide; it does not prevent an attack on Rafah or end the Israeli siege. The proposed US resolution is not designed to end the murderous Israeli war against Gaza – nor is the deal that is currently being negotiated in Cairo. To the contrary, the provisions of the US draft resolution reflect the true intentions of the Biden administration vis-a-vis its continuing support of Israel, and reveal the limitations of the truce it is trying to orchestrate. While the US draft resolution does use the dreaded word “ceasefire” – which had been prohibited in the White House for months – it does not call for an immediate halt in the bombing, only “as soon as practicable”, with no indication of when that might be. It does not call for a permanent ceasefire either, leaving Israel free to resume its genocidal bombing – presumably with continuing US support. Virtually everything the US draft calls for is undercut by what is left out. The demand for “lifting all barriers to the provision of humanitarian assistance at scale” in Gaza certainly sounds appropriately robust. But that’s only until you realise that the text’s failure to challenge or even name the principal barrier to aid getting in – Israel’s bombardment – means that this is not a serious plan to end Israel’s deadly siege. It should not surprise anyone that “the Biden administration is not planning to punish Israel if it launches a military campaign in Rafah without ensuring civilian safety” – as Politico reported – despite claiming it wants a credible plan to ensure Palestinian safety. No one in the Biden administration has even hinted at imposing consequences for Israel’s constant rejection of the insipid appeals for restraint – such as conditioning aid on human rights standards (as required by US law) or cutting US military aid altogether. That’s what real pressure would look like. A more accurate picture of Washington’s approach to Israel’s war against Gaza is the continuing US pipeline of weapons to make Israel’s murderous assault on Gaza more effective, more efficient, and more deadly. According to the Wall Street Journal, the “Biden administration is preparing to send bombs and other weapons to Israel that would add to its military arsenal even as the US pushes for a ceasefire in Gaza.” The arms the US intends to hand over to the Israeli army include MK-82 bombs, KMU-572 Joint Direct Attack Munitions and FMU-139 bomb fuses, worth tens of millions of dollars. It is more than likely that the administration will do another end run around US Congress to send the weapons without relying on congressional approval, as it did on at least two occasions last December.

. . . full article on Al Jazeera (4 Mar 2024)

#free palestine #palestine #israel #gaza

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swiftispunk · 1 year

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let me | javier peña x f!reader

part two

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: reader is inexperienced, javi helps you out. you know, like a gentleman.

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

warnings etc: filthy smut, unprotected p in v sex, masturbation, fingering, oral (f receiving), loss of “virginity,” soft!javi, also rough!javi, smoking, alcohol, choking if you squint, mentions of torture (oops), also mentions of drugs. probably bad spanish (please correct me). NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: guys. idk guys. idk what this is. in my mind, javi is just a very experienced and attentive lover and that’s why this exists. honestly they should have never let me watch narcos (it’s me, i’m they).

word count: 4.9k

The after-work drinks had led where they so often do: you and Peña, alone at a bar not far from the embassy, locked in a war of words after the rest of your colleagues had called it a night.

“It’s really not any of your business, Peña.”

“Javi, baby.”

“Sorry, Javi. And I’m not saying anything else.”

“That’s fine, you don’t have to. I mean, it’s obvious. Can’t believe I didn’t see it before, honestly.”

“How is it obvious?”

Tonight, somehow, the conversation has landed on your sex life, a topic you’d rather not get into, seeing as you’re not exactly what you - or anyone else for that matter - would call “experienced.”

You’d made the fatal flaw, after your third beer, of letting that fact slip. Now Peña, ever the opportunist, is pressing you for details.

“I’ve fucked a lot of whores, baby, so believe me. I know a virgin when I see one.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, swigging back a mouthful of his beer.

“What makes you so sure?” you challenge him, fighting for your life to maintain the upper hand in an argument you are almost definitely losing.

“Princesa, it’s written all over you.”

“I don’t see how.”

You’re being coy, but of course he’s right. You hate to admit it because it feels embarrassing, even more so knowing Peña’s...colourful history. You’ve heard all about his escapades through the other women at the embassy, and he isn’t exactly quiet about it himself. Half his intel came from the women he’d slept with, and he had no shame admitting that.

It’s not like you’re against the idea of sex or anything, you’ve fooled around here and there. You just...never got around to crossing that one particular threshold.

But you’ve definitely thought about crossing it with the sensuous man sitting across from you now.

Javi leans back in his chair, the fabric of his tight shirt stretching deliciously over his tan chest. It takes all your strength to keep your eyes on the beer bottle in your hands and not on his neck, where the thinnest sheen of sweat is glistening in the Colombian heat.

“The way you are with me, for one thing,” he drawls, lighting a cigarette and taking a languid pull.

Fuck.

“What - I don’t -”

“You can deny it, querida, but I’ve got eyes,” he says matter-of-factly, like he’s assessing the evidence of a crime scene. “All jumpy and nervous around me like a teenager or some shit. It’s alright, es linda.”

God-fucking-damnit. He’s right again, much to your chagrin. You know you haven’t been subtle with the way you’ve been pining after him, but still. Of course he’s noticed you blushing and bumbling violently every time he so much as greets you with an “hola, querida” or places a hand on your lower back when he passes you in the office.

Not that he hasn’t been taking complete advantage of your obvious crushing, openly flirting at work or insisting you stay for “one more drink, hermosa,” at work functions like this.

That’s why you can’t bear to tell him the truth.

He smirks while you fumble for your words, and yeah, you’re definitely not winning this argument.

“Look, Peña, I -”

“Javi.”

“Sorry, Javi -”

“And there’s that,” he interjects, leaning forward and pointing at you accusingly with the cigarette trapped between his fingers.

“What?”

“You give in so easy, querida,” he practically purrs, leaning even closer to you across the little table, your body responding to the proximity, blush flooding your cheeks and heart beating out an unsteady rhythm. “No fight in you at all. You know what that says?”

You shake your head no.

“It says you’re dying to get fucked.”

His bluntness catches you off guard, and your breath leaves you in a quick exhale as you back away from him, far enough to get some air.

Then the truth is pouring from your lips before you can stop it.

“Well it hasn’t been for a lack of offers, okay?” you say, flustered and frustrated. Over Javier Peña. What else is new?

“Oh, I’m sure,” he reassures you, but you can see the triumphant glint in his eyes that he’s got the admission from you. Javi stays right where he is on the edge of his chair, so close your knees brush. He takes another long drag off his cigarette, the smoke filling the hot air around you as he exhales.

“Or for lack of wanting to, actually,” you admit.

“What’s stopping you?” he asks, with what sounds like genuine curiousity.

“I don’t know, Javi, work...life...things got in the way.” It’s not untrue; cushy government jobs like yours didn’t come easy, especially not the ones that see you working with the team in charge of taking down the biggest cocaine empire in history. Distractions in your personal life had never been an option. “You might find it hard to believe but there are more important things in this world than fucking.”

“Sure,” he says agreeably, with another drag of his smoke. “But if you had offers - and it’s obvious why you’d have offers, hermosa - why didn’t you?”

He sounds so earnest, like he’s really trying to understand. It’s that sincerity that keeps the truth coming before you can stop it.

“They just weren’t the right people,” you shrug. It really was that simple. You had just...never wanted to settle.

“So let me ask you this,” he says, putting out his cigarette and silencing you with a hand on your knee under the table.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“What’s stopping you right now?” he croons. “If I’m offering.”

You can hardly breathe as his gentle touch inches up your leg, his long fingers finding their way just under the hem of your pencil skirt. Your skin tingles at his touch, his palm still somewhat cold from the beer he’d been holding a moment ago.

You can’t speak or even move as his hand moves further up under your skirt, sliding between your legs, pinky finger just caressing the edge of your underwear, dangerously close to the spot you know has started to become wet with arousal.

He’s never been this overt with you before.

“W-what like -,” Your voice comes out weak, betraying you as you try to keep it together “- you seriously think you’re the right person, Peña?”

“Has anyone ever even made you come, cariño?” he implores, ignoring your question.

You swallow harshly as you battle with yourself to keep your composure, answering his question with another question.

“Um - you mean - besides myself?”

Javi grins like the devil himself, dark brown eyes glinting with menace as his fingers twitch knowingly closer to the edge of your panties.

He’s enjoying this.

“Sure, besides yourself. But put a pin in that, querida.”

Had his hand felt cold a moment ago? Now it feels hot as a branding iron on your thigh, snaking completely between your legs and forcing you to uncross them.

“I - I don’t want to say,” you lie.

His gaze locked tightly with yours, Javi squeezes your inner thigh then, feather light but with enough force that you gasp loudly and your entire body tenses.

He isn’t smiling anymore.

“Dime,” he commands you.

You suddenly imagine yourself as some sicario he’s interrogating for information, his grip on your thigh its own form of cruel torture, eliciting confessions from you like a criminal under the knife.

“N-no,” you stammer dumbly. “No one but me has ever...”

“Ever...?”

Fuck. He wants you to say it. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin between your legs, coaxing the words out of you with ease.

“No one but me has ever made me come,” you say in a rushed breath.

He spreads your legs a little wider, and you don’t fight it.

“Are you turned on right now, hermosa?”

You nod wordlessly. What’s the point in lying now? You’re so wet anyway, you’re surprised the entire bar can’t sense your arousal.

He chuckles darkly, finally sitting back and taking his hand away with him. You take a breath for what feels like the first time in minutes, body aching from the need to have his touch back.

“Como dije, too easy,” he says, dropping the dark edge in his voice and lighting another cigarette coolly.

“Javi -”

“Finish your drink, querida.”

For the second time that evening, you find yourself alone with Javi.

Only this time it’s on his couch, and instead of beer, you’re clutching for dear life to a crystal glass of bourbon as Javi brushes your hair off your shoulder to delicately kiss your neck.

Somewhere between the teasing in the bar and the teasing in his car, you’d agreed to let Javi “fix your little problem” (his words, not yours). Not that it had been a particularly hard sell. But now it’s actually happening and you need to at least attempt to set some ground rules.

“Javi, wait.”

“Mmmm?” He doesn’t move away from you, his breath sending shivers down your spine as you struggle to remember what it was you’d been trying to say.

“I’m...not one of your whores,” you say breathlessly.

“Lo sé, hermosa.”

“And I waited a long time for this,” you manage.

He continues kissing along your jaw, simultaneously snatching the drink from your hands and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Say what’s on your mind, baby.” You hear the implication behind his words: it’s now or never.

With every ounce of willpower you have, you push him off you with a hand on his chest, partially exposed under his beige shirt, to look him in his smoldering brown eyes. The sight of him nearly takes you out, his lips parted and brows furrowed, the gleam in his eyes nothing short of hungry.

“I just want to make sure you know what this is,” you say firmly, feigning enough bravado to take on Escobar himself. “This is for me.”

Javi smirks, seemingly endeared by your efforts to take control of the situation.

“Corazón,” he hums, brushing both his hands over your cheekbones softly. “How little do you think of me? Hm? I’m not gonna use you. I want to help you.”

You can barely choke out a breathy, “Good,” before his lips are on yours, silencing you for what feels like the hundredth time that night. He kisses you deeply, slowly but assuredly, his tongue finding its way into your mouth with no resistance from you.

His breath is warm and all-encompassing, the taste of beer and bourbon mixed with cigarette smoke lacing his lips as they move competently against yours. He’s gentle, to your surprise, his hands still resting on either side of your face, holding you steady as you lose yourself in him.

He kisses you like that for what feels like hours, taking his time, letting his hands tangle in your hair as yours feel their way along his muscled arms.

With your head spinning from just his kiss, you can’t contain your moan when he trails one hand over your clavicle and under your collared shirt, fingers ghosting just over your breast. You gasp for air when he breaks the kiss, moving to graze his lips over your chest and up your neck, across your jaw and finally behind your ear, where he stops.

“You said you’ve made yourself come, right?” he whispers hotly in your ear, his hand over your breast finally squeezing with the faintest pressure.

You nod.

“Words, hermosa,” he presses you, gently tugging at the thick hair at the nape of your neck with his other hand, tangling his fingers in there.

“I’ve made myself come,” you say shakily, daring yourself to look at him.

He licks his lips and removes his hand from under your shirt, letting it run over the front of your body, where he uses it to hike your skirt higher up on your thighs, revealing your panties underneath.

“Show me,” he commands. “Show me how you play with your pussy. Show me how you like it.”

His words send sparks flying to your core, but you don’t have time to absorb them, because then he’s ducking back to crush his mouth to yours again, guiding one of your hands between your legs with his own.

You whimper as you feel how soaked you are through your underwear, which causes Javi to smirk as he kisses you. His hand hovers over yours as you circle your clit through the fabric till you’re floating with the sensation of it, giving in to the feeling of Javi against your mouth and your own hand against your clothed folds.

He pulls back after a moment, helping you wiggle free from your underwear and spreading your legs wider so you’re fully on display for him.

“Bonita,” he whispers, taking in the sight of you, skirt hiked up to nearly your belly now, wet cunt glistening in the low light of his apartment. “Fuck,” he growls, voice dripping with awe and arousal. “Keep going, pretty girl.”

His encouragement keeps you from feeling embarrassed, even as you dip two fingers inside yourself, how you would if you were alone.

“Yeah, baby,” Javi groans. You chance a glance at him to find he’s palming himself through his tight jeans, watching you like a warrior lusting for battle. “You like that? Want someone to fill that pussy up, don’t you?”

You can only respond with a soft moan, your eyes fluttering closed as you lose yourself in the feeling and the sound of his voice. You’re distantly aware of him leaning over you, unbuttoning your shirt and palming your tits through your bra, sending a new wave of pleasure through you while you fuck yourself with your fingers.

You’re so far gone that you aren’t prepared for the moment he shoves your hand away, pinning it on the couch beside you, suddenly replacing your fingers with his mouth.

“Fuck, Javi!” you cry as his tongue darts into your cunt before licking up towards your clit, where he mimics the small circles you’d demonstrated with your fingers just moments before.

He moans against you, igniting another new sensation, sending electric shocks through you, a tightness starting to build deep inside your core.

But then he’s slipping two fingers inside you, two fingers that are much thicker and longer than your own. His tongue keeps working circles around your clit, distracting you from the slight pain of his fingers spreading you open. But the pain is quickly replaced with pleasure when he hooks them inside you just so, reaching a new spot that has you flying, squirming under him as your orgasm threatens to overcome you.

“You taste so good, hermosa,” he groans, pulling his mouth away to kiss at your inner thighs, nipping the skin there ravenously. “Has anyone ever eaten your pussy like this, baby?”

“No one like you, Javi,” you promise him, gazing down at him fully clothed between your legs, your wetness caught in his mustache, his fingers still hooked inside you like an anchor.

“I want you come on my mouth, can you do that for me, cariño?”

You nod furiously in response and Javi grins up at you before diving down to circle languidly over your clit with his tongue again, fingers fucking in and out of you, unrelentingly, till there’s only him, him, him, inside you and around you, making your head spin and your toes curl. When you come, you arch up off the couch, crying out a string of expletives mingled with his name. It’s miles beyond anything you’ve ever made yourself feel with just your own meager fingers.

Javi doesn’t pull away or slow his motions as you finish, lapping you up greedily, only backing off when he feels your hands in his hair, a silent plea as the sensation starts to feel like too much.

“Oh…my god,” is all you can say when the wave finishes passing over you.

“Good?” he asks then, gazing up at you as you try to catch your breath.

“Yes, Javi, fuck, so fucking good,” you keen, waves of pleasure still sending shockwaves through you as Javi moves up your body to reunite your lips with his. You taste yourself on his tongue when he licks inside your mouth, and fuck, that’s new.

“You’ve kind of got a mouth on you, don’t you?” Javi observes after a moment. You had been cursing a little more than you usually did, but what did he expect after he’d made you come like that? He really must have just seen you as some fucking prude at work.

“What can I say, Javi?” you lilt, indulging him. “You made a chica mala out of me.” You hope Javi will appreciate the seductive edge you’ve adopted in your post-ograsm haze.

“Listen to you, baby,” Javi whispers with a smile, cupping your face with his hand, letting his thumb glide over your lips and coax your mouth open. “Sweet girl.” He leans in to kiss you again, like he can’t help himself.

He kisses you like that for a long while, and then you can’t wait. You start to fumble with the belt on his jeans, signaling how ready you are for what you know is coming next.

“M’not gonna take your virginity on the goddamn couch, querida,” he says against your mouth.

“Then take me to bed,” you all but beg.

He growls and the butterflies in your stomach dance at the desperate sound. It occurs to you then that maybe he wants this as much as you do, the hard line of his cock in his jeans alone a clear indication of that. You eye it with a mixture of fear and exhilaration, which he catches, grinning at the need written all over your face.

He helps you off the couch and guides you to the bedroom by the hand, a move that feels chaste, all things considered.

In the bedroom, Javi’s mouth finds yours again, intoxicating you with his kiss so you hardly notice him removing your shirt, sliding your skirt down your legs and unhooking your bra behind you. But then he pulls away to assess your naked body and your diffidence flares in your exposed state.

But Javi wastes no time putting you at ease.

“You’re fucking perfect, cariño,” he breathes, his hands moving up your sides to grab your tits with wonder, his eyes glazing over and cock twitching at just the sight of you. You’re blushing like a teenager again at his reverence, as if he hadn’t just eaten you out in the living room.

“Javi -,” you gasp, when he ducks down to kiss one of your nipples hungrily. “Why are you still wearing all those clothes?”

“You want them off, mi amor?” he teases, punctuating the question with a squeeze of your ass. “Get on the bed.”

You don’t argue. You lie back on the bed so he’s standing over you and you watch with nervous fascination as he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving you.

“Touch yourself,” he instructs you gruffly. Again, you don’t argue. You’re not sure you’d deny him anything now.

You run your fingers over your throbbing cunt, still so sensitive, while Javi unbuttons his shirt. He tosses it aside before sliding his jeans and boxers down, his rock hard cock springing free, confirming a rumour you’d heard but never known for sure:

Javi is big.

Well, fuck.

Your eyes widen as he strokes himself a few times at the sight of you still playing with yourself, while you try to contain the sudden flood of anxiety threatening to take hold of you. You have no doubt Javi is the right person to do this for you, but the sight of his size has your nerves flaring all over again. What if you couldn’t do it?

Perhaps sensing your unease, Javi climbs up the bed so you’re face to face, stroking your cheek lightly with his fingers and planting a tender kiss to your lips.

“You still want this, baby?” he breathes.

You nod, head swimming with a confusing mixture of need for Javi and fear of failing.

He tuts, brushing your hair off your face with the softest of touches. “Need to hear you say it, mi amor.”

You take a deep, steadying breath, willing yourself to be calm. Javi’s done nothing but take perfect care of you so far, and you’ve waited too long to back out now.

“I want you, Javi,” you say with as much conviction as you can muster, and it’s true, even if the slight quiver in your voice reveals your true consternation.

He nods once before moving in to kiss your mouth, and you think you’ll never get tired of the feeling of his lips on yours. He kisses you until the nerves are melting away, peeling back layers of unease with each brush of his hands on your tits, every gentle pinch of your nipples, every indent of his fingernails on your hips.

He takes his time, getting you soaking wet as he works over your body, finally sliding his hand down between your legs to insert a finger inside you.

“I’m gonna get you ready for me, okay, sweet girl?” His voice is like honey in your ear, sickly sweet and sultry as he adds a second finger. “Relájate.”

Relax, you tell yourself.

And it’s surprisingly easy to do, as his fingers spread and move inside you, coaxing you open in preparation for him. You moan at the feeling, and Javi moans with you, like he can feel it too. Your nerves start to feel like anticipation, your desire to have his cock inside you taking over. You can feel him, hard, pressed against your side, and your want very quickly turns to need.

“Javi,” you groan. “I’m ready, please, fuck me.”

You can see the need in his own eyes looking back at you, his response nothing more than a soft grunt as he moves on the bed to position himself between your legs. He runs the tip of his cock through your wet folds, the feeling of him grazing your clit drawing out a loud moan from you. The lingering pleasure distracts you momentarily from the very real sting of him slipping the tip of his cock inside you. Your breath hitches then, and so does Javi’s.

“Fuck me,” Javi snarls followed by a litany of curse words in Spanish you don’t recognize. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He has to work hard to focus on you, staying completely still while you adjust to his size.

“Open your eyes, hermosa,” he implores you, voice strained. You hadn’t even realized you’d closed them. You force your lids open to look up at him, his strong arms on either side of you, his expression a combination of pleasure and concern for you. “Are you good?”

You’re not so sure. It hurts, there’s no getting around that. You can feel his cock stretching you open, splitting you apart at the seams and it’s too much, too overwhelming, too unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

But it’s not...bad. In spite of the pain, your body is begging out an incessant plea to your mind: more.

“I’m good - I just - need you to move.”

You think it’s true. Already the pain is dissipating back into pleasure, and you want to feel more of him. You want to be full of him.

Javi dips to kiss you as he slowly, devastatingly, pushes his hips forward, his length gradually filling you inch by inch, till he’s almost all the way inside. Never taking his eyes off yours, he pulls out nearly completely, thrusting back in at the same pernicious pace. You throw your head back when he bottoms out, finally feeling all of him inside you, a fullness unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

Fuck the pain, you decide then.

“More,” you beg out loud, letting Javi hear your inner pleas.

Javi groans and begins to thrust in and out of you in earnest then, maintaining a slow but steady pace, till your head is spinning and the ache subsides. Then it’s just good, the feeling of him inside you, the constrained look of ecstasy on his face, his body over yours like a safe haven.

“Is it everything you hoped for?” he teases as he fucks you, the huskiness in his voice driving you wild, causing heat to rise in your core again.

“Shut up and don’t stop,” you try to tease back, but you sound so breathless as the pleasure in you mounts, giving you away.

“Mouthy,” he chides you, biting down gently on your earlobe. “Think you can come again, mi chica mala?”

“I think - I - yeah, just -,” he shifts his hips slightly so he’s hitting that spot in you again, thrusting into you over and over at an devastatingly unhurried tempo - “right there - fuck!”

You don’t stand a chance when he starts rubbing his thumb over your clit, the rhythm of his hips picking up speed as you cry out, your second orgasm edging closer. Javi’s movements are so certain, so meticulous, so competent, and you think it must have been worth the wait if it meant your first time got to be this.

“Javi, fuck, I’m gonna -,”

“Come for me, hermosa, come on my dick,” he instructs you as the warmth builds in your core and reaches a fever pitch, your entire body jerking as you come again, soaking and squeezing his cock as you do. “Good girl,” Javi praises you while you come, his movements never ceasing as he fucks you through it, losing himself in the feeling. “That’s so good, baby.”

You feel tears sprout at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming euphoria of it all. Unconsciously, your hands trace Javi’s chest, his arms, his back, anywhere you can reach to feel more of him. His movements, still so methodically slow, become less precise and more hasty as his own climax approaches.

“M’close, hermosa, where do you want me?” he whispers, voice wavering.

“What do you want, Javi?”

He chuckles once minaciously.

“You don’t want what I want, sweet girl.”

“Try me, Peña,” you say, hoping the use of his last name will bring out the reaction you’re looking for.

It works, or at least, he seems to clue in to what you’re trying to do. His eyes go dark and you see something shift in him.

“You call me Javi when I’m fucking you, sweetheart,” he says in a voice you haven’t heard him use with you yet. He’s been so careful, so restrained with you so far. But you want to see the real Javi, the one who’s “fucked so many whores that he knows a virgin when he sees one,” the Javi who’s been teasing you for months, the one who’s got his cock in you so deep right now that you’ll let him take you how ever he wants.

“Turn over,” he orders you, and without hesitation you’re flipping onto all fours, Javi wasting no time in slipping his cock back inside you.

“Fuck, Javi,” you moan as he fucks you with new intensity, his thrusts coming hard and fast, his hips pounding against your ass with enough force to knock the air out of you.

“This what you want, baby, huh?” he grunts as he holds you steady with his big hands on your sides, reaching under you to palm your tits before pulling you upright so your back is flush against his broad chest. He holds you there while he fucks you punishingly, skin slapping on skin obscenely, his heavy breath tickling your ear as his hands trail over your chest and very lightly over your throat.

You can’t find the words to answer him, and for once, he doesn’t make you. He just keeps fucking you at that same tenacious pace, his breath growing more ragged and his moans more disjointed.

He doesn’t warn you when he’s about to come, just suddenly pushes you off him so your face is flush against the mattress, his strong hand on the back of your neck forcing you to stay put there. He pulls out and you hear him stroke himself ferociously until his hot come is coating your ass and back and he’s moaning out another string of curse words you can’t make out.

It sounds like a fucking symphony to your pleasure-drunk mind.

“Goddamn, hermosa,” you hear him sigh when he finishes, releasing his hand from the vice grip it has on the back of your neck, pulling you up by your arms so you’re sitting back on your knees.

“You good, baby?” he breathes in your ear and you hum a quiet “yes” in response.

You really, really are.

With a firm hand on your chin, he tilts your face back to kiss you again, a kiss that feels so familiar now that it’s like coming home. He wraps his arms around you from behind, ignoring the sticky come between your bodies, his embrace a stabling ballast as you both catch your breath.

“Thank you, Javi,” you whisper after a long moment, letting your head fall back lazily against his shoulder. You don’t know what compels you to say it, but it’s true. Also, you haven’t exactly made it this far before; was it customary to express gratitude after getting your brains fucked out by your co-worker?

Javi just snickers lightly and presses a gentle kiss to your neck.

“Anytime, hermosa,” he says. “But next time, we’re finding something to do with that mouth of yours.”

Your tummy flutters at the thought of “next time” and you smirk up at him.

“Well lucky for you, I do have some experience in that department,” you assure him.

END.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fic #narcos fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #other creatives on pedro’s birthday: beautiful gif sets edits and artwork #me: what if it was javier pena smut?#also ask me how tf a joel miller reference ended up in here #narcos smut #4K

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starrystevie · 9 months

Text

steve's desperate, okay?

he's officially running late for his first date with linda because he couldn't find his car keys and the shirt he wanted to wear just wasn't working so he had to grab something out of his hamper and throw it on blindly which then messed up his hair and he almost forgot to brush his teeth again but remembered as he opened the front door and-

he only realizes he forgot to put on cologne once he makes it halfway to her house and smells himself. the shirt from the hamper smells stale, not bad, just stale. and steve in his normal, non-rushed state wouldn't have noticed because his trusty calvin klein would have covered it up but today is apparently not a day for things to go right.

with a sigh of frustration, steve pulls into the hook's drugstore a little too quickly and it makes his stomach lurch the tiniest bit before sliding into an open parking sport at the front door. he rushes in, pushing the door open with too much force and books it to the fragrance aisle.

"this is so fucking stupid," he mutters to himself, unable to be heard by any surrounding shoppers over the annoyingly loud jingle playing through the speakers.

steve skids to halt in front of the cologne section, crouching down and scanning quickly over the tester bottles for obsession. once he spots the amber bottle, he yanks it towards himself, spraying as much as he can onto his chest given the awkward angle he's at. as he stands back up, steve pulls his shirt collar up towards his nose and the ball of nerves in his stomach loosens at the familiar smell. he may be late but he feels like he's back in the game.

checking his watch, he sees just how late he is and makes a beeline for the door, nearly running into an older lady with far too many rolls of toilet paper in her tiny arms. as he dodges around her and extends his arm to push open the door, he hears a loud voice over the intercom.

"you're not going to buy anything after stealing cologne?"

steve stops, freezes where he is and frantically turns his head around to spot the cashier grinning at him. he has long hair and a bright red hook's drugstore vest over a denim vest which doesn't look very comfortable. he has chains in his jeans and handcuffs holding his belt closed and a smirk that is trying to kill him and oh-

"wait, stealing cologne?" steve shakes himself back into existence as the old lady pushes by him without dropping a single roll on the way back to her car. "you're going to call me putting on a few sprays stealing?"

the cashier's smile just gets bigger, like a cat hunting down a canary. steve's never felt like a canary before but can't deny that it's an exciting feeling.

"well, on a good day i wouldn't. but i'm bored and you didn't buy a single thing so technically, yes. you're stealing, pretty boy."

steve fights the urge to roll his eyes and put his hands on his hips, so instead he crosses them over his chest, cologne wafting up from the movement and reminding him that he doesn't have time for this no matter how cute the cashier may be.

he makes his way over to the counter, grabs a pack of gum and slams it on the counter. without breaking eye contact with eddie, as his nametag suggests, he throws him a salty smile of his own and pulls his wallet out from his back pocket.

eddie's eyes are a deep brown with a glimmer of something behind them and his hands are covered in rings making his fingers look long and strong. the jeans he has on are ripped on one of the the thighs, showing a hint of a tattoo to match the ones crawling up his arms. steve's no stranger to thinking men are attractive but this guy? he's on a new level. his heart thumps painfully in his chest when eddie's grin grows larger as he watches steve give him a once over. it thumps even harder when eddie gives him a once over of his own.

the clock above the register shows that he's officially 20 minutes late to picking up... laura? lisa?

no, linda. damnit.

eddie looks down at the gum and then back up at steve, quirking up an eyebrow. "i hardly think this monetarily equates to a bottle of cologne but-"

"oh come on!" steve huffs. eddie laughs and it's clear and bright, ringing off the cinderblock walls louder than the annoying jingle that's still playing. whatever fight steve may have had left in him drains away at the sound and suddenly he isn't thinking about the clock anymore. he feels his shoulders fall down to a more relaxed state, feels himself shift his weight on his feet to look more natural than ready to run at a moments notice.

"just kidding, man." eddie rings up the gum quickly and hands it back to steve. "sorry, you looked like you were in a rush. i shouldn't have created a scene just because i'm bored."

steve chuckles. "i'm already supremely late for my date so what's another five minutes. especially if it gets me..." he looks at the gum packet to look at what he even picked up in the first place. "... spearmint freshen-up gum."

"well there you go," eddie says, grin smaller than before, "a perfect thing to get for a date. everyone likes their date to be minty fresh for that first kiss."

it strikes somewhere in steve that he isn't expecting. the beemer is still out in the parking lot running so he didn't have to waste time, his watch on his wrist feels heavy, the scent of obsession overpowering. but he can't make himself move. he wants to stay and talk to eddie, wants to learn about what makes him tick.

"can i borrow your phone?" steve asks. eddie's eyebrows furrow but he reaches for the store phone and places the console on top of the counter.

"for what?"

steve look through his wallet, finding the piece of paper with linda's number on it. holding the receiver between his shoulder and ear, he dials in her number and holds his pointer finger up at eddie, signaling that he'll need a second. steve then brings the finger to his lips and shushes with his cheek pulling up in a smirk. eddie's eyes zero in on the motion and it feels like steve's gone from being the canary back to the cat.

"linda? hey it's steve."

he watches as eddie mouths steve back at him and then nods to himself when he gets the confirmation that it is indeed his name. steve throws him a wink for good measure.

"i know i'm late and i'm really really sorry to cancel last minute but-. oh. yeah, sure. have a good time. okay bye li-."

on the other end of the line, linda slams down the phone without waiting for steve to finish talking and it makes him wince with how loud it is in his ear. he gives eddie a sheepish smile, all toothy and guilt-ridden, and gently puts the receiver back down.

"what was that?" eddie asks with a disbelieving look on his face. steve shrugs.

"she got tired of waiting so she already had another guy lined up to come pick her up."

eddie sucks in air through his teeth and mimes getting shot in the heart. it has steve laughing as he falls over on the counter, hair covering his face. he turns his head to peer up at steve through the curtain of curls, the one brown eye that's visible twinkling in the harsh overhead light.

"was it true love? are you just absolutely heartbroken?"

steve thinks about it for less than a second. watches how eddie curls back up one vertebrae at a time before placing his elbows on the counter and leaning over. watches how eddie's eyes flit between his own and his lips. watches how he focuses on the latter for a little while too long.

"why would i be heartbroken," steve starts. he's being too forward, too brash, but with eddie looking at him that way, he knows he can be. "when you'll probably be on break soon and can make it up to me? you know, for making me even more late and all."

eddie's grin grows wide again. "oh really?"

steve shrugs once more with a playful look of consideration on his face, resting on his elbows to match eddie on the counter. "yes, really. this is your payback for being bored and taking it out on me."

it's later when eddie's on break and steve hasn't left the drugstore in over an hour and they're sitting in his car with bowie playing through the speakers that eddie looks up at him with a look steve knows well.

"you do smell really good, y'know." his voice is softer than steve's heard it all day.

"so are you glad i came in to steal cologne?" steve leans closer over the center console to get into eddie's personal space. there's a hand curling over his bicep and pulling him even closer, their faces only centimeters apart.

"i guess i'll let it slide this time, thief."

and when they kiss for the first time, it tastes like the freshen-up gum they both had been nonstop chewing ever since steve paid for it.

#did drugstores back then have fragrance aisles let alone samplers? who's to say just go with it #inspired by me looking cute for work today and forgetting to put on my perfume and wondering if i should stop in to target on my way in #steddie #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #steddie fic #is this realistic? absolutely not but ignore that for the blorbos sake #stranger things #stranger things fic

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blazingpeter · 2 months

Text

@sm-baby

To me, Carnival Ragatha, especially once she's reset, reminds me of all the shit I heard as a kid about 'how girls should behave.'

I was given a sticker book for Christmas called 'All Things Pink for girls, which was filled with stickers of makeup, shoes, dresses, and other stereotypical female things. As a kid, I did like pink but I was either up in the tree or sitting in mud/sand. I hated makeup and shit like that. My aunt who no longer is my aunt (fuck you Linda) would buy me everything in pink, everything that was 'for girls'. It made it hard for me to openly like anything else.

I dont wear much pink anymore. I like blue. It's a better colour.

Fuck being told that girls wear pink. We can wear what we want.

sorry for the rant. I love her design. Give Ragatha more knives please. Let her fuck more shit up.

My headcanon is that once she baked with Pomni and they both ended up having a flour fight after Pomni accidentally dropped some flour onto Ragatha's dress.

#firey doodles #carnival au #tadc ragatha #Let the girlboss free

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