#She learned how to run on fucking water
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Ava Silva | Warrior Nun Season 2
#Warrior Nun#Warrior Nun spoilers#Ava isn’t goofing around in season 2 indeed#She not only learned how to swim#She learned how to run on fucking water#Upgrade babyyyy#Ava Silva#Alba Baptista#Warrior Nun edit#WN video#My edit
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@foulbearobservation turn on your location
#what. the fuck bro#i am really thinking about night sky with exit wounds#‘if we make it to shore i will name our son after this water. i will learn to love a monster’#‘there are hands fluttering between the constellations#trying to hold on’#‘maybe the body is the only question an answer can’t extinguish’#& lilith thinking of herself as an entry wound. looking everywhere for an exit. old manuals in her hands#titled ‘how to check if a body is dying’#& how she punctures into the world nearby the people she loves#voyeur. & how when she comes back it is with a mouthful of blood#this way no one will want to kiss me#and if they do it will also be a wound#lilith who comes home because to run away you need something to run towards#or you will never stop running#cam w the line: sorry about thr blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine
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every so often im struck by the memory of one of my college professors getting very angry with our class (art history of pompeii 250) because when she excitedly detailed the ingenious roman invention of heated floors in bathhouses via hearths in small crawlspaces, we asked who was tending the fires. she said "oh, slaves i suppose. but that isnt the point". and we said that it actually very much was the point. she had just told us that in roman society there were dozens of people, maybe hundreds, who spent every day of their enslaved lives crawling in cramped, hot, smoky tunnels to light fires to warm pools of water (which they were not allowed to swim in). how could that not be the point?
she wanted us to focus on the art, on the innovation of heated plumbing, on the tiles and decorations of the bathhouses, and all we wanted to do was learn more about the people under the floors. and she didn't know anything more about that. in fact, she said she thought we were focusing too much on superfluous details.
it feels almost hokey to put too fine a point on the idea im getting at here but i will anyway: There are a lot of people who are still under the floors. all these beautiful, convenient, brilliant innovations of modern society (think fast fashion, chatgpt, uber, doordash) are still powered by people working in inhumane, untenable conditions.
the people who run these systems want you to focus on the good - who doesnt love warm water? - but if anything is going to improve or change in our lifetimes, you need to examine these things with an attentive, critical, and empathetic eye. and for fucks sake stop ordering from amazon
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imagine a dashboard for alligators. what do you think that would look like
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🍏gatoridae Follow
Controversial opinion. If you're doing nothing but eating meat, what are you even doing. Remember to include bugs, fruits, and legumes into your diet in order to help aid digestion of the meat that you get from snakes, fish, and mammals.
Just because we have the reputation for eating lots of meat, that doesn't mean we have to stick to it.
🥒biting-you-biting-you Follow
counterpoint: fuit yucky
🪵blog-from-a-bog Follow
wdym reputation of eating meat. i float lik ea log thats what im known for
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🌿swamp-ass Follow
asked dad if i could go and steal some Floridian guy's lunch and he said "we have prey at home" girl we have been doing shit ALL DAY i am an awesome 600 pounds and I need some meat left on me to deathroll with. let me get a quick snack that i don't need to kill mmmmmmm burgers I want people food soooooo badddd....... i know they shouldn't feed it to me but I have such a lovely smile oh please oh please give me your burger.........
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🥗aliali-seeyoulater Follow
mom says it was cold the season she laid me so i have to be a girl. because girls are always born from eggs laid during cold seasons.
cope and seethe mother first of all, second of all, the reason i am transgender is because you kept me too fucking snuggly warm in the nest.
#i guess if you wanted a daughter you should have. idk. made a shittier nest? #thats not really my fault man
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⛰fuckyeahhugesnout Follow
You'll never guess how I just learned that we have the honor of being the "loudest reptiles in the world"
🫑teethem Follow
Yeah yeah, the 90 decibel mating bellow, we've all heard it.
🤢ch0mper Follow
we've all heard the what
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🩲gaytorrr Follow
this guy asked if i wanted to see his gator hole and i said fuck yes. why this boy take me into a 65 foot long hole in the mud at the bottom of the lake
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🏞daily-clawsitivity
✨Remember to take it easy sometimes!✨We thrive in slow-moving waters!✨Even though we can run fast, we get tired fast too-- it's okay to let yourself take breaks!✨Let yourself relax, that's how we made it this far as a species.
mud-rocks-deactivated20140706
Yeah, imagine telling your prehistoric great great great great great great great great great great grandpa or something to calm down and relax when he should be doing nothing but deathrolls. the longevity of the species should be your only goal. It's irresponsible to encourage your fucking species to fall behind even more than it already has? Have some pride, you're not a crocodile.
scalesssss-deactivated20150310
jesus christ calm down
alidile-crocogator-deactvated20140709
Okay, this post has a lot of misconceptions in it. There aren't as many differences between crocodiles and alligators than you think. It's really harmful to think that we have nothing in common with each other. So what if they're carnivores and we're closer to omnivores, or their snouts are more U shaped while ours are V shaped. We're both badass miracles of nature that have no reason to be pit against one another all the time.
Don't listen to guys like this. It's just hateful and small-minded.
stop-jawlock-androll-deactivated20140911
crocs are like. like them shoes that float right
wetlandia898 Follow
i wish i was a crocodile because i could have a virgin birth and i wanted to see what it would be like to eat an immaculate conception.
bigchallengesrealblog-deactivated20190412
welcome to the no notes gator/croc discourse post.
🦖l8rg8tr-z Follow
omg this is the post.... i can't believe i would see this naturally on my dash
🎍taildraggers Follow
Uh are we just going to ignore the virgin birth reply orrrrrrrrr
🐊gator-heritage-posts
gator heritage post
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aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Follow
hgwiow h
hsfhjs
howw ws i nbevyrboy tyopingssaog oo vd wi hhrth rh thrre cl alawas ?>>
🌴a-l-g-t-r Follow
lmao this idiot never learned how to use their tail to type
#/j lol yeah its kind of hard at first #actually i'd say cut your losses and forget how to type bring the laptop back to the dumpster its not worth it
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🐍bellowbellowmygoodfellow Follow
am i fucking stupid. i just learned theres another species of alligator other than just me and the guys in my swamp. and i said "oh wow I didn't know that! which one of the two are we haha" and my buddy just stared at me like I was a fucking idiot. how am i supposed to know if no one ever tells me this . WHICH AM I
🍖meet-eat3r Follow
there are only 70-80 mature chinese gators in existence while there are 750,00-1 million mature american gators . do the math.
🐍bellowbellowmygoodfellow Follow
i could have just hatched you don't know me.
20,570 notes
🍀gatortears Follow
a group of queer gators in church call that a congregaytion
#reblogging this one bc none of you appreciate me
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👞makemeintoshoesdaddy Follow
I'm seeing the no notes gator/croc post circulate again and ha ha yes it's very funny, but we are NOT starting gator/croc discourse in 2024. lets leave that shit in the past. i know that's not what the post really ended up being about but i am soooooo sick of it.
🌾clawstothewalls Follow
okay, so the one with a fetish for getting turned into handbags is gonna talk down to us now.
👞 makemeintoshoesdaddy Follow
Not to be a pedant but its Shoes Actually. It even says so in the name. Shoes.
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it's just that there's a few more steps you have to take that other people don't have to take, but they don't see the steps, so they think you should be able to hop from moment to moment, a chickadee.
it isn't getting out of bed. it is the weight, the hook in your chest, the anchor. you have to move the anchor first. you have to silence your alarm, but your phone is in your hand, which means now you have to put the phone down, which is too-hard. you get stuck in there for a while, the white screen, mindlessly scrolling. you don't even like this activity, have tried a few other options but - here you are, and time is passing.
you've googled iron deficiency causes depression and if i drink enough water does it help with mental illness and anxiety but no caffiene within the last two weeks, like how you googled am i gay quiz at 17.
it isn't just calling the doctor back, it's the anxiety, it's these little moths in your lung cavities, furious and fluttering. you need to figure out how to capture your fingers from between their nervous bodies. you are an adult, you can say the words yes hi, i'm calling because i need - but you need to practice first. maybe write it down because what if you misspeak, wouldn't that be embarrassing. write it down, but you need to find a pen first. well, actually, your desk is kind of messy. you should get a new pen. you should get a new organizational system. you should try journaling.
your grades in school were always strange. the way teachers would say things like it feels like you're not trying. you could touch stars in the stuff you cared about. well, sometimes. god be willing. homework average zero. oops! your english teacher's wrinkled brow: i know you know this stuff. what the fuck are you doing?
it isn't the showering, it's the mirror before the shower and the soft horrible pull of your naked physique. you have to avoid eye contact completely or else it'll be 93 minutes later and you'll have picked at your skin until every little pore is bleeding. you have to stand up but standing is tiring and also you should have remembered to buy more soap but you never remember anything. maybe get out of the shower and while it's still running and you're still dripping wet, use your phone to take a note. make a note to get your groceries. let the shower run while you stand half-in half-out and get lost in your phone for a moment. come back out when the water runs cold and now you have to sprint to get ready.
your grandmother's frown. you're just being lazy. protestant work ethics in a house that isn't even protestant. she says she just learned different but she means learned better, doesn't she.
it's not that you can't send the email, it's that your hands have been hurting lately and the desk really is messy and also why the fuck would you even care about this thing? doesn't everyone else feel like they're drowning? hi brendon thanks so much for sending! will review and get back to you shortly. but now you're on the internet, close the tab with tumblr on it. go on, close it. feel the little soft vapor of boredom come up and over your eyeteeth and make everything overwhelming and itchy.
literally all you have to do is put on shoes to go outside. you're literally already dressed, that's the hard part of this whole thing. literally just put the shoes on. just... do it! do it! this shit is easy!
it's literally that easy. just stop taking all those stupid invisible steps. stop following your strange made-up rules. times like this, even you're positive you're faking. you just don't want to bother with the cleaning and the cooking and the being-an-adult.
but then - shouldn't you be able to put these stupid shoes on? nobody's even looking. go on kid. life is out there! just take the leap!
get moving.
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always amazed at how little my sister knows about d&d for someone who's been playing for a few years and then I remember no, it's just that I was hyperfixated on it for many months at a time multiple times and so I memorized all the information whereas she just played a couple times because she was bored and then decided with no precedent or prior knowledge to be a dungeon master for twenty third graders this year
#she's running a campaign at a school for some kids#and I have had to teach her SO MUCH#because she's never dmed before and my dad doesn't know 5th edition#so she's constantly messaging me like 'what a proficiency' and 'how do they buy equipment'#and I'm always shocked before I remember that she and I both learned on 3.5 edition#and even that was the most watered down version possible for her#because she didn't understand it#so now it's my 'i spent years of my life memorizing stat blocks and book layouts'#vs her 'what in the goddamn FUCK is a background and how do I get my money'
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Hole Practice (or: Golf Lessons) – Rafe Cameron x Reader
Summary: You want to learn how to golf better. Rafe teaches you a different kind of lesson. Rafe's pov
Warnings: mdni! – heavy smut, sorta toxic relationship, possessiveness, jealousy, spanking, rough sex, fingering, anal (first time), oral (rafe receiving), p in v, cream pie, degrading (reader is called whore by rafe), daddy kink, mean!rafe, bratty!reader, dom!rafe
Word count: 4.3k
“Hey, ain't that your girl, Rafe?”
“What?” Rafe put down the bottle of water he was drinking from and looked at Topper, then his gaze wandered to where Topper was pointing at.
“Over there. The one that is holding up everyone at hole 9.”
“Fucking hell,” Rafe grumbled under his breath when he spotted you. Several hundred yards away, there you stood with a golf club in hand, bending down to place the ball on the ground.
“She got a terrible swing but a real nice ass, real nice.” Kelce snickered and Rafe's head spun round, glaring at him.
Kelce defensively lifted his hands and slowly walked backwards. “Hey dude, chill. I'm just saying those shorts suit her nicely, just paying compliments. Respectfully.”
Rafe tossed the water bottle away, clenching his fists, stomping forward, every muscle in his body tensed up. He was frowning as he felt hot rage coursing through his veins. Rafe was about to beat the living shit out of one of his best friends when a sound made him stop and turn your way again. The wind had carried the sound of your laughter over to him. And Rafe watched you giggle and joke around with some guy, your caddie from the looks of it.
Rafe's hands balled into fists as he watched the two of you talk. That guy had put down the golf bag he was carrying for you and stepped closer. Stepped very close. Too close. He stood behind you, directly behind you, with your ass only covered by those ridiculously tiny shorts pressing against his crotch as his arms wrapped around you, his hands on yours, holding the golf club.
Rafe let out an angry scream that wasn't even a real curse and ran over to the golf cart, got in and started driving over the hilly course towards you.
“Yeah, man, take the fucking cart, so we have to walk!” Topper yelled behind Rafe, but Rafe didn't even bother to turn around. “Fucking unbelievable,” were the last words he heard from Topper, and Kelce's snickering in response. Rafe's hands gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles showing white on his right hand, his other hand coverd by his golf glove.
He drove at full speed, which wasn't that fast with this damn golf cart, but at least faster than running. Racing over the greens, he didn't pay attention whether he was interrupting other people's games. His gaze was fixed on you and that fucking caddie that was practically dry humping you on the golf course.
The cart came to a halt close to you, Rafe jumped off, took a club from the bag at the back and stormed towards you and the caddie, raising the club, fuming with rage.
You and the caddie turned, looking at Rafe stunned and shocked. While you opened your mouth to say something to Rafe, the caddie muttered a curse, his eyes widened as he saw Rafe with the golf club swinging at him. The guy quickly pushed you out of the way, so you fell on the ground, landing on the grass, while he ran, ran as fast as he could with a yelling Rafe chasing him. And Rafe would've gotten him, would have beaten him to death, if it wasn't for your whining noises that made him stop and turn, lower his golf club and walk back to you.
Rafe was towering you, casting his long shadow over you, as you were sitting on the ground, rubbing your ass on which you obviously had fallen, looking up at your tall boyfriend with large eyes.
“I'm hurt,” you mouthed and sniffled.
Rafe grunted, reached down and picked you up. With so much vigor that you practically crashed against his chest. Bracing yourself, your hands touched Rafe's heaving chest, felt those tense muscles underneath the fabric of his expensive polo shirt. You looked up at him with big eyes. He clenched his jaws and his large hands gripped your hips as he held you close. He was still fuming with rage.
“What the hell were you doing?”
You lowered your head, then looked up, with just your eyes.
“I was just practicing holes.”
Rafe's eyebrows raised and he almost choked.
“You what?”
Your eyes went to his chest and your finger was idly drawing circles on Rafe's shirt. You shrugged and innocently explained, “I’m taking some practice lessons. I wanted to get better at golf, so that you would take me with you when you and the boys play.”
You stopped your drawings on Rafe's chest and looked up at him with pouty lips.
“Are you mad at me?”
Instead of answering, Rafe growled and frowned.
You smirked at him, you cocky little brat.
“What are you wearing anyway? Every bastard on this course is staring at your ass.”
“Don't you like my golf outfit, Rafey?” You knew he hated it when you called him that and you did it anyway. His jaws clenched.
You wore a collared blue shirt but instead of a matching skirt or proper golf shorts, you wore the tiniest shorts possible, tightly snugging your curves, barely covering your panties.
“This is no proper outfit for golfing. Those shorts scream ‘fuck me'.”
Rafe's right hand slapped hard on your exposed ass cheek, surely leaving his hand print.
You flinched and winced, then pouted, and struggled to free yourself from Rafe’s grip, but he was stronger and pulled you closer and slapped your ass again. His palm tingled, and from the look on your face, your cheek must be burning.
His fingers grabbed your chin to lift your face as he leaned down.
“I’m gonna teach you holes now,” he whispered, darkly, close to your lips.
Your cheeks flushed. He grinned devilishly. With all your bratty behavior and cockiness, Rafe was still able to make you blush. His mouth claimed yours in a hungry kiss, tongue pushing in, he took what was his, as he held your body close.
When he let go, your cheeks were still flushed, your lips swollen and you were slightly out of breath.
“Since you have chased my caddie away, you will have to carry my golf bag,” you announced and turned to look for your ball.
Rafe grumbled but shouldered the damn golf bag and followed you.
“Where's that damn thing anyway?” He asked when he had caught up with you.
“There,” you pointed at the gorse.
Rafe exhaled. “We're not getting it out of there. Just take a new one.”
“No, that would be cheating, I'm gonna get it.”
“Y/n, fucking don't!”
But you ignored his words and stomped onwards, right into the gorse – and with every step you took, your ass was bouncing invitingly.
“Fuck's sake,” Rafe grumbled and followed you.
He found you bent over, legs straight, head down, ass up, hands touching the high grass, looking for your ball.
Rafe's own balls tightened at the sight. That perky ass, those tiny shorts hardly covering anything, that red mark on your bare skin – he had been correct, his hand print was showing.
His growl made you turn your head at him, but not lift your upper body.
“I think I've found it, but it's stuck.”
Rafe grumbled, walked closer. Walking with his dick getting harder was damn uncomfortable.
“Fuck's sake,” he repeated.
“What?” You asked innocently, wriggling your fine ass.
“Enough,” Rafe barked and you flinched at his harsh tone.
Before you could get up, he grabbed you, threw you over his shoulder. You squealed and his hand smacked your ass several times, making you mewl. Rafe carried you out of the gorse, over the greens to the golf cart.
“Ouch,” you mouthed and pulled a face as you were seated on your ass, sore from his spanking.
He got in the cart, sat behind the steering wheel and shot you a sideways glance. His eyes narrowed.
“Stop complaining, that was nothing yet.”
“Where are we going?” You sniffled.
“To the club,” he stated tersely. He knew he wouldn't make it back home to Tanny Hill, with his dick already achingly hard. A room at the club would do, and he knew there would always be one available – the perks of being a premium member.
“But what about my lessons?” You looked at Rafe, sulking.
“Oh, your lessons ain't over yet.”
He could see you nibbling at your bottom lip, something you did when you were nervous or excited or both.
While he was driving across the course, he tried to look where he was going, but you kept on wriggling in your seat, which was fucking irritating.
“Stop that!” He faced you briefly and lifted his hand, a warning gesture.
“Sorry, daddy,” you said sweetly, leaned forward, and your mouth covered Rafe's finger. Sucking on it, you looked at him with large eyes, your lips closed tightly around the digit, your tongue swirling around it.
“Jesusfuckingchrist!” Rafe almost ran over some gaffer – not that he would've cared.
Rafe tried to get back on track while his cock was pulsing. You took his hand, guided it between your legs, rubbing over your thighs as you spread them. His hand touched the fabric of those damn shorts, and Rafe could feel that you were already soaking wet, those layers of clothing couldn't even hide that.
You began moaning as you were rubbing his hand against your core.
He pulled it away, raised it, finger pointing, and glared at you angrily.
“Don't!”
You pouted, crossed your arms in front of your chest and looked away. But Rafe grabbed your jaw forcefully, turning your face to look at him, pressing harder than necessary, which made you wince and gaze at him.
“You don't touch yourself unless I allow you. You know the rules.”
He kept his eyes on you while still driving.
“You hear me?” His voice loud and intimidating.
You cast your eyes down and mumbled, “Yes, daddy.”
His cock twitched in his pants, which were getting too damn tight by now.
When he let go, you added, hardly audible, “But I didn't touch myself, it was your hand…”
You probably thought that he didn't hear that as he didn't react to it right away, but he did hear it, and it drove him fucking insane. And you would experience soon enough how mad he was because of you.
Rafe parked the golf cart close to entrance of the main building, got out, grabbed your arm, so hard he would leave bruises, and dragged you along with him. You could hardly keep up, he was walking so quickly, and with his tall legs, he was able to make longer strides.
At the reception no one questioned why Rafe was holding you in such a tight grip while you were obviously struggling to escape. He asked for the key card to a room and he got it and on top of that, the receptionist wished him a pleasant day. Rafe growled in response.
He shoved you towards the elevator and got inside with you. It cost him a lot not to ravish you the moment the doors closed. The grip around your arm was iron. When the doors opened, he pushed you out, along the corridor to the room. After opening it with the key card, he forcefully pushed you inside. You stumbled and almost fell, but caught yourself on the edge of the king-size bed.
Right after he had let go off you, he started to undress himself, pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his shoes.
“Take off those goddamn shorts and get on the bed. Now.” His commanding voice left you no choice but to obey. You looked at him, eyes wandering over his naked body as you undressed yourself, taking the shorts together with the panties off last. He frowned at you, but your eyes were on his rock hard cock that he was stroking, while glaring at you.
You climbed onto the bed. Impatiently, he walked over and grabbed you, moved you around as he wanted to have you, flipping you over, then pulling your body up, so you were on all fours now, while he kneeled behind your spread legs.
Rafe leaned over your body, his chest touching your back, his hand grabbed your throat, forcing your head up, a restrained sound coming from your opened mouth.
“You gonna be a good whore, right?” He cooed into your ear.
With his free hand, he guided his hard length between your legs, rubbing it along your dripping wet slit, covering it nicely in your juices. You mewled and started wriggling.
“Please,” you moaned, already so needy.
He turned your face to shut those desperate moans with his greedy kiss, while his cock was replaced by his fingers, which where rubbing along your slit, parting your folds, but never quite entering and never touching your clit. You were so incredibly wet, his fingers were practically dripping as he pulled them away and sat up behind you, letting go off your throat, leaving you with a confused look on your face.
“I still need to teach you a lesson.”
You opened your mouth, trying to say something, but Rafe continued, a sardonic grin on his face.
“The lesson is: If you wear such tiny shorts, hardly covering your ass, but showing it off, inviting everyone to fuck it, you get fucked up the ass, like the whore you are.”
“But –” you started to complain, but a slap of his hand on your ass made you cry out instead.
Despite it being such a fine piece of flesh, Rafe had never fucked your ass before, only put a finger or two inside your tight hole once or twice. You didn't have proper training yet, but you needed to learn that your teasing had consequences.
He spat on his already wet fingers and stroked between your ass cheeks. You whined, but he knew that it was a sound you made when you were impatient. You wouldn't have to wait long – though it wasn't what you actually waited for, he knew that. Rafe gripped you by the hip, as his fingers pushed against your back entrance. Your muscle was tense and instead of opening up for him, it closed. Rafe growled and he felt your body shudder. His grip got firmer, preventing you from retreating as his index finger pushed inside, stretching your tight ring.
“It hurts, daddy,” you whined and craned your neck to look back at Rafe.
He slowly moved his finger back and forth inside you. Your breathing hitched as he curled that finger in your tight hole. Your muscle was clenching so hard around his digit, it almost made it impossible to move it.
He let go off your hip to hit your ass cheek.
“Relax! Or it'll just hurt more.”
Your answer was a whining sound and you let your head hang between your shoulders.
Rafe pushed your legs further apart to get better access, pressed on your lower back and you obeyed by arching your back nicely. He grinned at the sight. You were completely exposed to him and at his mercy.
He pulled his finger out, only to push back in two fingers, thrusting deep and hard.
You let out a scream and started begging.
“Daddy, daddy, please,” you whined.
His fingers fucking your ass, he let his hard cock teasingly brush along your pussy, never applying too much pressure, just enough to tease you. When he pulled back, his cock was covered in your wetness.
“So wet for me. Such a needy whore you are.”
His fingers left your hole, the tight muscle pulsing invitingly. He rubbed some more spit on it and felt you shiver under his touch.
He took his cock in his hand, guiding it, stroking your round ass cheeks with it, before pressing the wet tip against your throbbing little hole.
“You gonna take it like the good whore you are, hm? Your my little whore, right?”
You mewled and panted.
He waited.
“Daddy, daddy,” you whined.
Then he heard you inhale and exhale deeply, pushing your ass up, that little hole twitched and opened up, inviting him in, and he pushed in.
You cried out as his cock's thick head stretched your tender muscle. He needed both his hands now to grip your hip, fingers digging into your flesh, holding you in place, as he greedily watched his thick cock slowly pushing into your fine ass.
Your screaming turned into an irregular whimpering as the thick head was practically sucked into your ass.
“So, good,” Rafe praised you, his own breathing heavy. “You're doing so good, baby, taking me so good. Such a good whore.”
His thumb caressed your hip, he felt you relax just the tiniest bit. He tensed up, tightened his grip again and thrust his hip forward, making your body almost jump forward by the force, if he hadn't held you that firmly.
He growled as your walls clenched around his cock, but he pushed deeper. Pulling back, he gasped as your sensitive muscle was clamping so hard around his thick cock.
“So good, baby,” he said under heavy breathing.
He pushed in, watching with greedy fascination how his too big cock vanished inch by inch into your perfect ass, stretching your too tight hole mercilessly.
“Daddy! I can't!” You cried out, sobbing now.
“You can and you will.”
He began moving in a steady rhythm, fucking your tight ass good and hard. He didn't push too hard though, knowing well what you could take. You were sobbing and crying and whining, but he didn't stop, he knew your body better than you did, and he knew that you could do this. Your little protests, your screams and moans and whimpers made him only go harder.
He couldn't get it all in though, you were too tight and not trained, and he was too big. Part of him got angry about that, but you felt so damn good, he could use you so damn well that it seemed enough.
Then he saw your hand move between your legs, you were desperately trying to touch yourself. But Rafe didn't let you.
He angrily growled, slapped your ass hard, making you flinch. Then he grabbed your hand by the wrist, twisting your arm behind your back and holding it there.
You cried out in pain.
“I told you not to do that!” He growled between clenched teeth. You were driving him mad, so fucking mad.
Your body shook and trembled under his hard thrusts as he took what was his, took you without mercy. Pounding you harder, his growing anger made him lose all restraint.
You were so tight, the friction was so intense, the sounds you made were so hot, Rafe felt his climax approaching and he didn't hold back. He felt his every muscle tense up, then let go, gasping for air, as he reached his orgasm, shooting his cum into you. His whole body electrified and in that post orgasmic bliss, he pushed again into your well-used hole, once, twice, driving his load deeper into you, before pulling out. When he let go off you, you just face down collapsed onto the bed, breathing hard, a fucking mess. He grinned at the sight of you.
“My whore,” he whispered into your ear, leaning down, kissing your damp hair, before he got up. His own breathing slowing down eventually.
Watching you lie there, and wriggle and pant, he knew you hadn't reached your climax yet.
“Don't you dare move”, his voice a dark command.
He waited for a moment. And this time it seemed you were actually listening, probably fearing the consequences. Had you learned your lesson after all? He doubted that, you were such a brat and would always be. Since you didn't move, just lay there panting, Rafe went into the adjoining bathroom to clean himself.
When he came back, you were lying in the same position on the bed, on your stomach, arms away from your body, legs apart, your body raising and falling from your exhausted breathing, cum dripping out of your hole between your reddened cheeks. Rafe grinned at the sight of the mess he had turned you into.
He sat down on the bed, still naked, back resting against the headboard, his legs on the bed, he was sitting next to you, not touching you, but you could definitely feel the bed tilt from his weight, feel his proximity, as he felt the heat radiating from your body.
You lifted your head, turned your face to gaze at him with teary eyes.
“You're such a mess,” he grinned at you, his hand caressing your face.
“Did you cum?” He asked, but already knew the answer.
You shook your head.
“You wanna cum?”
You nodded eagerly.
“Then you know what to do,” he simply said.
You got up on your knees next to him, sat down on your heels, flinching as they poked into your sore ass cheeks.
“Please daddy can I cum?” You looked at him with pleading eyes.
“And how do you wanna cum?” It wasn't a real question, more of a test.
Still, you seemed to contemplate the answer, biting your bottom lip. Your gaze turned to his cock, though not hard, still impressive. Then your eyes moved to his hands. Those hands that knew how to hold you, to touch you. Then your look was on his face. Yours was a beautiful mess. Your lips swollen, your cheeks flushed, your eyes teary and bloodshot, tears and sweat had ruined your makeup and smeared mascara all over your face. God, you were so beautiful.
“With your cock inside me.”
The way you said those words, with such sincerity and almost solemn honesty, it made his cock twitch in response.
But words weren't enough.
“Then work for it.”
In an inviting, almost generous gesture, he pointed at his crotch.
You very willingly accepted the invitation, moved closer, bent over, and Rafe hissed as your greedy little mouth took in his thick cock, sucking hard at it, tongue swirling along the tip. One hand clasping the thick shaft, you steadied yourself with the other hand on his thigh. You gazed sideways up at him, when you began bobbing your head.
Rafe's breathing quickened, as he felt his cock growing in your mouth. His hands clutched the expensive bedsheets, stopping himself from forcing your head down further. You were already gagging on his length, not nearly half of it in your mouth.
Your efforts did some good, but he wasn't ready yet.
He grabbed you by the hair to pull you up, made you whimper, spit dripping from your swollen lips, as you were gazing at him.
“Ride it.”
His command made you freeze and visibly shudder, but you hurried to follow his order. As he let go off your hair, you straddled him, mewling when his thick length pressed against your sensitive core, too long neglected, it seemed.
He gripped your jaws hard, made you focus on him. His piercing eyes glaring at you.
“Don't you dare cum before I’m inside of you. Understood?”
You tried to nod, which was hard with his tight grip at your jaws, but your pleading eyes told him, you had understood him.
“Good.” He leaned forward to kiss you hard, before letting go and leaning back in the pillows.
Your hands ran over his muscular torso. You bit your lips, looking at his hard abs, as you began rocking your hips against him, your tits bouncing nicely. He grabbed them, kneaded them with both his hands, felt how you flinched and tensed up, as you felt his greedy hunger. His cock pulsing under you.
You closed your eyes, as if you would focus on the slick sounds your pussy made when slapping against his hard dick.
“Turn around.” Rafe's voice made your eyes flutter open. “Let me see that ass that you want the whole golf club to fuck. Let me see that ass that only belongs to me.”
Rafe added an encouraging slap on your ass to stress his command. He even helped you to turn, sit down, astride with your back to him, while you did nothing more than make those small needy sounds that drove him insane with lust.
His hand pushed on your upper back, making you bent down a bit, holding onto his legs.
He had the perfect view of your ass and pussy. His cum dripping from your ass mixing with your own wetness dripping from your pussy.
Two fingers dipped into your cunt, making you squirm and mewl and beg.
“Daddy…”
You clenched around his digits and he slapped your ass.
Pulling out his fingers, he lifted you up, pushed you into position, guiding his now rock hard cock to your pussy and pushed in. Rafe grabbed your hair to get you into an upright position again. His hands on your hips, guiding your movements as his hips rocked hard against yours, pushing his whole length into you as you sank down onto him.
“Rafe, Daddy, fuck,” you stammered, your whole body shuddered and you were completely undone, cumming all over his cock just from his first thrust into you.
And he fucked you through your high, not stopping when you were all spent. Using you over and over again.
You were such a good whore for him. And all your holes were his.
a/n: writing this was a lot of fun. i don't know shit about golf. thanks for reading. i hope you enjoyed it. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated, and likes too! i've only been doing this for 2 weeks now and i'm kinda overwhelmed that my first x reader smut fic got over 1k notes! thank you all so much! i got ideas for many more fics. let me know what you'd like to read! p.s. happy kinktober!
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe fanfiction#drew starkey#rafe cameron x reader#dark rafe cameron#outer banks#obx#obx fic#outerbanks rafe#rafe x you#rafe x reader#toxic relationship#smut fic#obx fanfiction#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#dom rafe cameron
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hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry!
premise. in which you manage to make neuvillette feel better at the expense of your dignity. (a fair trade, really.)
word count. 1.5k
note. do umbrellas exist at teyvat. i really don't know.
You've never taken Monsieur Neuvillette as the type to dramatically brood in the rain when he gets sad, but to be fair, you don't know much about him at all.
You clutch onto your umbrella, contemplating. So, uh... Are you supposed to approach him now? Shield him from the rain with your umbrella? That doesn't sound too bad, actually. But then what? Ask him if his pet fish died and now he's mourning his loss? That's hardly appropriate to say to the Chief of Justice... But it would be creepier to just stand there without saying anything, right?
You could leave and pretend you didn't see anything. Of course, that's an option too. It's possible he prefers to be left alone when he's unhappy.
But sulking while standing in the rain just gives “I want someone's attention” vibes, doesn't it?!
With a fit of reckless courage and a “fuck it” mindset, you advance your way forward to where he stands.
Regretting something as soon as you do it is on-brand for you, you realize as you soon come to learn you have to be on the tip of your toes to have the umbrella barely raising over his head instead of hanging from him. You must make a pathetic sight, attempting to shield both yourself and this hulking tower of a man from the rain with a tiny umbrella.
“...What are you doing?” Neuvillette turns around, taken aback when you're in much closer proximity than he expected. Panic flares in his eyes, and like the gentleman that he is, he steps back to create some distance. His head presses against the edge of the umbrella.
“Hey, you shouldn't move away!” You follow his movements, closing the gap. His head is now safely within the umbrella's reach, but you're an inch away from being pressed up against his chest. “I miscalculated. This thing's too small for us.”
When the initial shock wears off, his shoulders slump, a sign of him lowering his guard. “If you know that much, you should use it for yourself and go home.”
That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Appealing, even. You've never felt so silly in your entire life and the option to run away is looking more enticing with each second that ticks by.
Still.
“It's dangerous to walk alone at this hour. Won't you accompany me, sir?”
...Not the best excuse you could've come up with, but your mouth runs faster than your brain. Neuvillette, being the considerate person he is, actually takes some time to think about it, and you hurry to say, “If you leave me alone now, you could have another disappearance case in your hands tomorrow. Would you really like more work on your desk rather than some company tonight?”
He gives you a long, suffering stare that looks suspiciously like the one he gives to Lady Furina when she disappoints him, but he doesn't say no. His hand wraps around the umbrella handle, overlapping with your fingers. It takes another two seconds of that stare before you get the message and you let go, finally able to rest the balls of your feet on the ground as you stand on normal footing.
“I hope you don't make a hobby of coercion,” he hums as you walk together, your shoulders brushing every so often. “Or else I'd see you as a criminal suspect tomorrow instead of a victim.”
“I see that jokes aren't your strong suit, Monsieur Neuvillette.” You laugh awkwardly, your nervousness spiking to an all-time high throughout your entire interaction with him. It's been barely ten minutes.
Silence ensues.
“Do you like showers, sir?”
You should've just kept your mouth shut, damn it.
“I like them the same amount as the average person, I suppose.” The ridiculous question doesn't phase him, and you don't know how he's able to keep a straight face while saying that.
You decide to push your luck. “...Do you prefer bathing with cold or hot water?”
Finally, you draw out a light chuckle from him, the sound deep and pleased. It almost makes playing the fool worth it. “I've been told I'm not the best with small talk, but you seem to be worse than I am.”
Your head snaps up to look at him, affronted. “It wasn't a bad question!”
“Certainly not as bad as talking about the weather. Do you want me to praise you?”
Was the Chief Justice always this sassy? “You're making fun of me,” you point out the obvious, turning away and crossing your arms. “I asked about showers because you were standing in the rain.”
“You thought I liked showers because I was in the rain?”
“Well, I didn't know for sure. That's why I asked.” Even you can tell you're sounding more and more ridiculous by the minute. Was your house always this far? You can't wait to dive to your bed and pretend this encounter never happened. “I think I'll just shut up now.”
“Really, now?”
“Every time I open my mouth around you, I embarrass myself further. I think it's for the best.”
You hear another chuckle as heat crawls up to your cheeks, spreading to your ears. “For what it's worth, you did put me out of my terrible mood. You're quite funny.”
“That's a nice way to say you think I'm being strange.” You hide your face with your hands, peeking at Neuvillette's expression between your fingers. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, he looks straight out of a painting, even with wet hair and drenched clothes.
You've never seen him up close, never even dreamed of standing next to him. Now, you're exchanging jabs at each other like it's the most normal thing in the world, like you weren't just thinking he was someone out of reach when you watched his court trial in amazement. Now, he's so close that you can almost feel the heat from his body, so much more tangible than just a figure you admired from afar.
“But I do have your strangeness to thank,” he admits, looking off into the distance. The stars shine bright in his eyes. “Had it not been for you squeezing me under your umbrella and forcing me to walk you home, I'd surely still be under the rain.”
“...Couldn't you have phrased that better?”
“In court, I only state facts.”
You laugh dryly. “You could spare me some dignity by embellishing the story a bit... Oh, we're here.” You were so occupied defending yourself from his witty comments that you didn't realize you had already arrived home until your door was right at your face. You glance at Neuvillette, who then nods towards the door. If he's disappointed to have the stroll cut short, he doesn't show it.
“Go in. It is rather late.” He closes the umbrella and offers it back to you, a gentle smile on his face. The sight is almost like a reward for your efforts; the small upturn of the corners of his lips makes all the difference, his sharp, cold gaze softening into something more affectionate. The rainbow after the storm. The gratitude for a small kindness.
“You have to get home, too,” you utter, pushing it back to him.
“The rain stopped a few minutes ago,” he insists, gesturing behind him. You blink owlishly, observing the still pools of rainwater. You didn't even notice. Why didn't he say so? You didn't have to squeeze together under such a tiny umbrella, then.
“You should still keep it.”
He raises an eyebrow, inquisitive. “Why?”
You unlock your door, stepping inside, but still not closing it shut. “Well, it gives you an incentive to see me again.” You grin at him mischievously, like you thought of a genius plan. “I work at the cafe in the main street. I'm sure we have some tea that will strike your fancy. Make sure you're not moping next time we meet, yeah?”
Not for the first time, he seems taken aback. But his gaze softens once more, his expression molding into something pleased. “Very well.”
And so, he leaves with a small umbrella in his hand, a smile on his lips, and the clear skies over his head.
The next time you see Neuvillette, the sun is high in the sky. Compared to that night, you can see him a little better now.
That's how you notice he looks unusually shy with a bouquet of flowers in his arms and a pink blush high on his cheeks. “...Good afternoon,” he starts, his lips curving to a beginning of a smile. “The weather is great today, isn't it?”
You stare. You stare some more. And when the sight finally processes in your mind, your twinkling laughter rings in the air, as sweet as the aroma of freshly baked muffins. “And who stooped so low to talk about the weather this time, huh?”
Neuvillette can't even pretend to feel bad about it, not when you're jumping off the seat in the counter to show him a table for two. “Your silliness is infectious, it seems.”
“Hey!”
(You've never taken Monsieur Neuvillette as the type to be smart-mouthed, the type to be indulgent to your whims, the type to be romantic towards the person he's interested in—
But now you have all the time in the world to get to know him better.)
#neuvillette x reader#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact imagines#genshin x reader#genshin impact scenarios#neuvillette#neuvillette fluff#neuvillette x you#genshin impact x you
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Can we please please please get some more Simon x single mother au? Possibly him helping in the garden/ keeping emmaline out of trouble while Mom works in the garden
Light on - single mom/neighbor fic
Simon Riley/female reader
18+ mdni / mild sexual content
“Ow! fuck!”
Your hand jerks, drawing back to your mouth with a hiss.
“What is it?” He forces himself still, staring daggers at where the tip of your finger has started to leak blood, a thick drop dripping down the side before you bring it to your mouth, lush lips wrapping around your injury. “Are you alright?” His tone is tightly controlled, even keeled, nonchalant, but on the inside, worry gnaws away at his stomach, chewing through the organ until it’s spilling free and running rampant through his body.
“There’s a piece of glass in here.” In the garden bed? “Some of the other tenants, hang around up here at night. They usually leave bottles or cans behind.” The worry turns to anger, a simple plan slowly taking shape in his mind, a strategy to find the rooftop partiers, and ensure they never leave glass in your garden again.
Emmaline cries, nose and brows wrinkled in irritation, and you turn to coo at her, finger still half in your mouth.
“It’s okay, little pea. Just give me a second.” She continues to fuss, and you sigh, wilting like one of your own little flowers, left too long in the sun without water. You blink, and it’s like you’ve shed your sunlit skin for an exhausted shell. Oh, sweetheart. I know it’s hard, but you don’t have to do it on your own anymore.
I’m here now.
“Can I?” He asks softly, warming at how your face lights with relief.
“Yes, please.” You point to the bottle that’s tucked in the side of the backpack, and he unbuckles her from the bouncer that you lugged up the four flights of stairs earlier, even though he had texted you an hour before and politely suggested you wait for him to be finished his phone call, so he could help you.
You went up anyway, much to his displeasure. Displeasure, that he had to swallow, permanently.
You’re not his. Not yet. He can’t be disappointed by resistance or refusal when you don’t even know all the ways he can be there for you yet. He knows you’ll learn. You’re a smart girl. His smart girl.
Emmaline lays nestled in the crook of his elbow, slightly elevated on her back, and he pops the cap of the bottle easily, rubbing his index finger against her cheek to trigger the reflex that will open her mouth. When it does, he keeps it at the right angle to ensure the formula doesn’t flow too fast into her belly.
“You’ve done this before.” You murmur, reaching into the backpack for a band aid. You’re studying him, tracing over his face, his hands that are nearly the size of your baby, and he can feel the scrutiny, the curious intensity of your gaze.
“Had a nephew. I was around a lot, when he was this age.” He had a brother too. And a mother. A sister-in-law. A family.
Emmaline gurgles around the nipple, and he slips it free, sitting her mostly upright, giving her a gentle pat on the back amid her protestations, little grunts that he’s sure she means as ‘feed me’ and ‘more’. He waits for you to ask him the dreaded questions, the focus on the word had, the inevitable conversation about loss and family and pain, guilt and grief that can make a man feel like he’s been buried alive.
You don’t.
Instead, you simply say,
“Emmaline had a dad once, too.”
It’s nearly 2100 when you knock on his door later, baby monitor in one hand, two amber colored bottles in another.
“Hey. You busy?” His heart does a double tap inside his chest. Bad timing, the worst. Your sweet mouth is slightly open, hopeful, teeth parted just barely to reveal a flash of tongue, and his jaw clenches against the wild need that catapults through his veins to his cock. What do you taste like? What do you feel like? You motion to the monitor. “Just went down. Figure I have about an hour before I pass out myself and could use some adult time.” Shit. The duffel bag next to the door practically speaks for him, irritatingly reminding him he has a plane to catch in less than two hours.
“I can’t, I’m about to head out.” Your brow furrows, confusion churning into understanding within a moment, disappointment flickering across your expression before it smooths out.
“Right. Okay.”
“I want to.” He hurries the words. “But I travel… for work and I have to be on a flight in a few hours.” You’re already half turning away, slinking off to your apartment, giving him a soft agreement as you go.
“Sure, yeah.”
“Wait, sweetheart,” You startle at the pet name, eyes going wide at the inferred affection. “when I get back, let’s… have a drink.” You nod, and he smiles a real smile, barely tugging his lips upward, probably hardly visible to you. The kind of smile he’s been wearing around you these past two weeks, the kind of smile he tries to give Emmaline when she stares at him.
“Alright, sounds good then.” Your key finds your lock, and he steps out into the hallway, trapping your gaze with his own.
“You girls be good.” He says, a parting instruction, and a bashful, bewildered smile of your own curves across your mouth.
“We will.”
#light on#peaches asks#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#peaches writes
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GirlDad!Jason who supports you all throughout your pregnancy; holding your hair when you get sick, rubbing your sore feet and ankles, holding you through cramps/braxton hicks, buying you everything you craved etc.
GirlDad!Jason who cried for hours after she was born. His little girl, just as beautiful as you, all bundled up in soft blankets. He never believed he could love someone so much, it was like his entire body was burning with love and compassion for this little bean in his arms. For once, the world stopped, just for him.
GirlDad!Jason drives the most carefully he ever has in his life when coming back from the hospital. Despite your incessant giggling about how you've never seen him so scared, he drove like a damn senior citizen. He was carrying the most precious cargo, could you blame him?
GirlDad!Jason who changes diapers, feeds, bathes and plays with your daughter. He never leaves her for more than 5 minutes, and is involved to the point of mild annoyance. You would put your daughter down for 5 seconds and return to her gone, and in his arms. It's the most adorable thing though, you wouldn't trade it for the world.
GirlDad!Jason who can't stand to see your daughter upset. It's a trait he developed when she got to the toddler age, always fussing about everything she can't have and Jason giving in. Every time.
GirlDad!Jason who cries on her first day of kindergarten. Would never admit it though, but he hates seeing her grow up. He dreaded the day she learned how to tie her shoes and zip up her coat independently. It makes him feel like she doesn't need him anymore :(
GirlDad!Jason who will, without fail, play princesses, hair salon, tea party and barbies with his daughter. It doesn't matter if the world needs saving or if Bruce is up his ass, his daughter comes second to nothing. Even if it's to kiss a minor booboo she got while running around the house.
GirlDad!Jason who always brings back little trinkets and toys for his daughter. Her bedroom will be cluttered with stuffed animals and shiny things that caught his eye or reminded him of her. She would anticipate his key in the door which meant daddy brought home something for her. No matter how old she gets, he won't stop.
GirlDad!Jason who absolutely fucks up bullies. Be it in kindergarten or in college, Jason will make sure she and her friends are never bothered again. I cannot disclose his methods for legal reasons.
GirlDad!Jason who doesn't freak out about periods. He's so loving and supportive and doesn't ever make her feel ashamed about it. He'll bring her tea, hot chocolate, hot water bottles, painkillers, heating pads and rub her back if she's in a lot of pain. He'll take the day off to stay with her, and never force her to go to school on those days.
GirlDad!Jason who absolutely spoils his daughter shamelessly. Mom said no more sweets? Well dad sure isn't going to place a bag of candy under her pillow the next day. She wants a car for her 16th birthday? His baby gets a pink Porsche with a bow on top. She's obsessed with X artist? All the merch in the world miraculously ends up in her room.
GirlDad!Jason who will tower menacingly over her first partner. It doesn't matter how much you or your daughter like them, Jason's imagining a thousand ways to hide their dismembered body.
GirlDad!Jason who needs to be talked down from killing said partner when he finds his daughter balled up in a crying mess on her bed when they break up. Nobody makes his precious girl sad. He'll definitely egg their house without your knowledge. He buys her everything she could ever ask for to make her feel better, no matter how stupidly expensive.
GirlDad!Jason who's always up to a conversation. No matter how embarrassing or personal, he'll listen and give honest advice. Because he's so open, your daughter almost never hides anything from him.
GirlDad!Jason who bawls after dropping her off at university. Again, would never admit it, but sleeps on the floor of her bedroom for the first month she's away. He can't help but miss his little (adult) girl. He also flips through pictures and videos on his phone of when your daughter was little and sheds a few tears. Honestly it only makes you love him more.
GirlDad!Jason who still doesn't like your daughter's college partner. He's better this time around, but still. Don't put murder past him. Yet.
GirlDad!Jason who cries when your daughter shows him her shiny new engagement ring. He's so excited yet terrified. His baby girl is all grown up now.
GirlDad!Jason who walks your daughter down the isle with the brightest smile on his face. He slowly comes around to liking her fiancé(é) and honestly wishes them well.
GirlDad!Jason who meets your daughter at the hospital, ready to meet his new granddaughter for the first time. He holds her in his arms, just like he did his daughter, and gleams knowing the cycle is repeating itself. He couldn't be more excited.
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a/n: sequel to this post i guess??? i needed something cute with jason and his daughter bc..... well..... we don't talk about my own father :D
night night guys
#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason peter todd#red hood#jason todd x you#red hood x reader#dcu#jason todd comfort#robin jason todd#dc robin#dad jason todd#daddy issues lol#arkham knight x reader#arkham knight#in som niyah
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hii i have a little ellie request. so can we maybe have an enemies to lovers where reader and ellie “hate each other” but in reality ellie just wants to be with reader and she ends up using the strap roughly bc reader didn’t wanna confess after years? (sorry this seems long😭)
i absolutely love this idea omg??
ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER
PART1ONE
part 2two
mdni please<3
warnings: 18+!! smut, 'enemies' to lovers, strap (r!receiving), mean!ellie kinda??, rough!ellie, reader is also mean at first !!
writers note: i love receiving requests like yall are so creative and idkk its just easier to write a req than my own idea🫣🫣 also this turned out to be longer than i expected (my longest fanfic yet!) but even the anon said it seems long so ig thats how its supposed to be🙏
It was another PE lesson you hate so much. It wouldn't be that bad, if not the fact that you're in the same team with Ellie. Ellie fucking Williams.
She would get mad at you for every little mistake you made. You absolutely hated her.
You had to admit she was... pretty. Especially when she had the mix of mad and stern expression on her face. Sometimes you provoked her just to watch her insult every little thing about you she could but you didn't mind. You just sat there with a smirk, sometimes making a mockingly worried face to piss her off even more. Sometimes. Sometimes you weren't in mood for that and you'd actually get offended. Sometimes even hurt. But you couldn't really blame her, that's how it works.
This day, you were literally rescuing your team. Every point was because of you. Every 'that was close' situation was only 'close' because of you. But your luck, or whatever made you win, had to run out eventually. You missed one time.
"What happened? Got holes in your hands? Tired? Not so good anymore?" Ellie asked you with that mocking tone.
Everyone ignored your interaction - they knew what's starting and they didn't want to get involved in that.
"I've done pretty much everything for this team, and the only thing you do is complain, Williams." You said and you could feel your temper rising.
Ellie didn't hesitate to respond to that.
"Well at least I don't do a half-ass job like you. You're really so full of yourself, aren't you? Why not just give up and let someone actually capable take over, huh?" She barked sarcastically.
The other team members didn't even try to hide their excitement now, they just sat back and enjoyed the show, even the teacher was having a hard time holding back the grin on his face whenever Ellie came up with a new insult.
And now, there was no going back.
"Oh, I'm sorry Williams, did your precious little ego get hurt from that? Are my skills threatening your so-called pride? Well if you don't like it, suck it up." You shot back.
If this kept up, you were going to end up with another detention for sure. Everyone knew that you two were like oil and water, but nobody really expected you to get into a shouting match over PE class. Especially, not this early in the morning.
The teacher finally decided that it was enough trouble, and he stepped between the two.
"Ladies, settle down! If you can't figure out how to work well together in a simple PE session, then you'll need more than one detention to figure it out. Go sit down." He ordered, and you two sat down, next to each other.
As if following a silent order, all the other students just went about their business and pretended like nothing had happened.
"You should learn how to shut up sometimes." You said quietly, nervously playing with your fingers.
"You should stop thinking you're so damn important." She snapped back, completely ignoring your advice as she stared at you with the same icy cold look as before.
The teacher came over to the two of you and handed you a form, which you quickly read over. "Maybe it's rough but that's what you both deserve after arguing in every single class. And if that won't help... I don't know what will. Someone will check in on you from time to time, so don't even think about anything, understood?."
In short, the file was saying you'll have spent a month after school doing little school works, like cleaning the gym, with her. It was a frequent way of dealing with problematic students in your school.
You weren't even surprised - the teacher was right. Your little bickers were the main gossip topic and there was no way they'll go unnoticed.
Still, you couldn't help but frown.
"You've got to be kidding me." You muttered under your breath. Spending a month after school doing odd jobs with Ellie was literally the last thing you wanted to do. You knew there was some sort of punishment coming, but this was extreme.
Ellie overheard your muttering, and she rolled her eyes. "It's just a bunch of cleaning, what's wrong, can't handle a little hard work?" She mocked.
"And why are you so happy? Maybe you wished to spend more time with me?" You chuckled, finally looking up at her.
Ellie seemed caught off guard, but she quickly recomposed herself. "Who said I was happy? Sure, I'll love to see you grovel and scrub floors while I sit back and relax." She replied in a sarcastic tone.
You decided to press your advantage, and give Ellie a dose of her own medicine. "Aww, is someone actually admitting that they like spending time with me? I'm so honored." You said with an overdramatized fake fluster.
Ellie didn't even let you finish your sentence before she cut in with her usual sarcastic tone. "Pfff, don't get so ahead of yourself there." She chided. Even then, you could hear some slight annoyance in her voice.
Ellie may have been a jerk, but there was something about her you couldn't help but like. You couldn't explain it, but you liked this banter between the two of you.
Oh, who were you trying to lie to? You liked her. You were just good at hiding it.
You were just about to open your mouth to respond to Ellie's last snarky remark, when you were cut off again.
"Enough."
You both turned to see the teacher staring at the two of you. He sounded more annoyed than before, and you decided it was better to stop your feud before you got in any more trouble.
"You two are already going to spend a month together doing odd jobs. The last thing we need is for you to add another week to that sentence." He warned.
You wanted to say something back, but you decided to shut up before the teacher had to make it worse. You and Ellie just looked at each other for a couple of seconds, before you rolled your eyes and got up from your seat.
After a few more classes, the time of fulfilling your penalty came. You sat down at the gym benches, waiting for Ellie. You waited, and waited, but no one came.
Ellie was faster than you with getting up. She smirked and said; "Well it's not like you actually had anything worth saying anyway, so it's easier for you." With that parting jab, she walked out of the gym.
You expected something like that from her, so you stood up and a few minutes later you were standing in front of her room. You knocked to the door, patiently waiting for her to answer.
After a few moments, you heard footsteps, before the door finally opened. Ellie stood in front of you, her face as annoyed as ever.
"What do you want?" she grumbled, clearly not in the mood to be bothered right now.
"Uh, hello? We're supposed to be doing the clean-up, remember? You haven't forgotten, right?" You said, trying to stay as polite as you could.
She sighed and motioned for you to come in, clearly not ready to go just yet.
You slowly stepped into Ellie's room, your eyes taking in the decorations and mess. It was clear that this was Ellie's world, but you couldn't help but feel a slight curiosity towards her.
"So, why exactly weren't you at the gym?" You asked, finally breaking the tension. You didn't want her thinking you were here to start another argument.
"I had stuff to do." Was the terse response you were met with, nothing else.
"Yeah, of course." You rolled your eyes. "Your room could use some cleaning too."
Ellie smirked when your tone turned from polite to annoyed when she gave you her response, but you couldn't help but notice that she slightly recoiled when you mention how messy her room was. For someone with such a sharp tongue, she sure wasn't enjoying that same kind of treatment.
"Oh yeah? So maybe we should have you clean my room instead." She shot back.
"Actually, boarding school is still school, so that'd count too." You smirked, not so sarcastically anymore. You'd really rather stay in her room than running all over the building with a mop and dirty cloths.
Ellie raised one eyebrow at your reply, clearly not expecting you to just accept it without some kind of snarky remark or argument.
"Alright then." She replied simply, and she walked over to her bed and started to clear out the clutter. You couldn't really deny that her room was in a pretty messy state.
You explored the room, looking for something to start with.
Just then, near other scattered clothes, you saw feminine underwear. Clearly not hers.
"Um, Ellie..." You laughed. "Who's this?"
She walked up to you, not seeming surprised or embarrased at all. "I dunno. There's lots of girls visiting." She smirked.
You knew the smart thing to do would be just to drop the topic, but your curiosity got the best of you. Just who was Ellie Williams hanging out with?
"Really? And how many of them leave a pair of underwear in your room as a souvenir?" You asked, trying to keep a straight face, but you couldn't help but be amused by the situation.
Ellie just laughed, and you couldn't help but grin at her confidence in that moment.
"If you're asking if I'm dating someone," Ellie said, looking at you with an amused expression, "then no. I wouldn't call it dating."
You knew Ellie was always too stubborn and proud to just admit it normally, so you decided to push her just a little bit further.
"So it's not just a single person then? What's it? A new girl every day?" you asked with a smirk, knowing you'd hit a nerve there.
The slight flicker of annoyance on Ellie's face told you that you'd hit the mark.
"So what if it is? Are you jealous?" She teased in response, just adding fuel to the fire.
Now, she had the smirk on her face, and you just knew you'll regret what you started.
"Not really. Everyone knows you fuck every girl in the school anyways. Well, almost every." You suggestively pointed at yourself. "That's honestly sad. You should focus on one person, don't you think?"
Ellie took this as a challenge, she just couldn't resist it when you made yourself the exception.
"Oh, you think you're a special case? How cute." She snickered, and you couldn't help but feel somewhat pleased with that response after how much you two had been annoying each other for the past month.
"What do you think, should I consider dating you? It seems like you're interested, isn't that why you keep sticking around?" She asked, looking at you, knowing very well what kind of effect her words were gonna have on you.
"Me? Interested? You're the one finding excuses to talk to me every day, even if it's just another argument!" You shook your head and looked down, trying to hide that your smirk turns into a honest smile.
You felt Ellie's eyes studying your face as you tried to hide your genuine happiness, you tried to play it off, but you knew that it wasn't working in your favor. You couldn't even deny it, because it was true, you were interested in Ellie. Maybe not at first, but after spending time together, you grew to like her, her arrogance, her wit, the snarky smile on her face... and her eyes.
"Oh, so you do care!" She quickly cut in, sensing your weakness as your smile grew.
"Come on, don't tell me you've been enjoying this little game of ours, haven't you? Don't you look forward to it every day? Don't you love the adrenaline that kicks in when you're about to say something that's bound to start an argument?" She asked, taking a step closer to you and lowering her voice.
You could almost see the sparks fly as the two of you stared at each other, both feeling the tension in the air. You were almost tempted to take her up on the offer, but your pride got the best of you.
"You're just full of yourself, aren't you? Thinking everybody craves that attention." You said after taking a deep breath.
Ellie just smiled and walked straight to you, getting up close and personal.
"Well, I know you want it. So stop putting up a facade and admit it."
"I'm not like these sluts you fuck, Williams." You said, trying to keep your voice steady and calm.
Ellie just smirked in response. "You're right, you're not like them. You're better than them. And maybe you are a little special, considering how much you manage to piss me off everyday." She took a step back and looked you up and down. "I kinda like it." She said, and you couldn't help but feel your heart rate go up a little when she said that.
You just stared back at Ellie, not really sure what else to say in this situation. Both of your egos were too big to give the other one satisfaction, and neither would be making the first move.
She finally spoke up; "Your turn to be honest now. Admit you're into me."
She was awfully close to you now, daring you to say something.
"Don't push it, Ellie." You told her confidently, and even though you really wanted to say it, your pride was holding you back from admitting it.
Ellie just smirked and moved even closer to you, until her face was just an inch away from yours. "Say it." She whispered.
You felt your heart pounding faster as you just looked at her, not able to break her stare.
You shook your head. "No way."
She just chuckled at your response. "I knew you'd say that. And now, I'm gonna make you say it yourself."
Before you could even comprehend what was happening, Ellie pulled you close, just enough to make your lips meet. You just stood there, completely stunned by how bold she was, but at the same time, the feeling of her lips against yours was so new and so good as well. You hadn't felt this type of rush before, and you didn't want it to end.
You couldn't stop yourself from letting out a gasp followed by a moan into the kiss, which made her even bolder.
"I'll show you how lucky those so-called by you sluts are." She whispered after pulling away from you, but not for long.
While Ellie's mouth aggresively covered yours, you felt her slowly pushing you towards the bed.
You were barely able to think now, as your adrenaline was pumping through your whole body. Your back hit the mattress, and Ellie continued to push you down as she climbed up onto the bed on top of you.
That's when it hit you.
You realized that your little feud with Ellie wasn't going to end after all, except this time you weren't fighting her.
Instead, you were just enjoying the moment with someone you could almost call a friend.
It felt like there was nothing else in the universe, just a rush of new sensations that you didn't want to end.
Ellie was the one in control now, as you felt her body pressing up against you, her lips pressing against yours, her hands moving around your body without hesitation. You weren't even thinking straight anymore, you just let her embrace you, letting her take control entirely.
You felt her break the kiss for a moment, just to whisper something in your ear. "Say it."
You knew what she wanted you to say, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do so.
Before you could answer, you felt her slowly undressing you. Her lips were tracing paths along your throat, not letting you let out a logical word from it - only little whimpers.
You felt every curve of her body as you felt her lips against your neck, every touch sending chills down your spine.
When you felt her hands move towards your pants, you felt your body respond in the only way you could.
You couldn't think of anything else but her embrace, her warm breath against your neck, and your body slowly being freed from clothing.
Ellie knew exactly how to push your buttons.
Before you could catch your breath, you were left shaking, as her hand slipped into your underwear, which was soon on the floor too. She was teasing your clit in almost painful slow way, watching you squirm.
"Speak up, babe." She whispered mockingly.
But you couldn't. Not because you didn't want, or because your ego didn't let you - you just couldn't. You even asked yourself 'What does this girl wants from me?' as you already forgotten her previous wish. You just weren't thinking straight.
"Come on, do this for me." She kept looking at you with overdramatic concern. You saw her fastening her belt and sliding of her jeans, revealing an obviously-way-too-big strap, which purple color didn't surprise you at all as you imagined it the same way in your dreams.
When you finally came back to your senses, you constructed a whole full sentence answer. But as soon as she saw you opening your mouth to speak up, she slid a few inches of her toy into your soaking cunt. Your planned reply quickly got replaced with another gasp.
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" She smirked, her hips started thrusting. She had some sympathy for you, so she didn't make it too painful, but she wasn't also so merciful.
You cried out, at first clenching your thighs from surprise, but she was too strong for you to actually succeed.
You leaned your head back against the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut causing a few of your pathetic tears soak into the sheets.
She held your hips, so she won't miss your sensitive spot, but her grip was so hard you swore you can already see the bruises creating right beneath her fingers.
"Honestly, I'm really happy it ended like that. You have no idea how often I'd imagine you instead of some random girl. But it's good to have you really there." She chuckled, not slowing down but not speeding up either.
Your eyes opened wide at this confession. Before today, the nicest thing she said to you was 'what's wrong?', even though it was in an obviously mocking way. And know it turns out she liked you for a long time. Just like you liked her.
"W...Wh- What?" You managed to stutter out, leaning on your elbows to look at her before your vision turned blurry again so you fell back on the pillow.
"You didn't know?" She laughed. "I mean, you were always oblivious, so I shouldn't be shocked but... I thought it was clear." She was speaking slower than usual as every single word coming from her mouth was synced with the moves of her hips. While saying this simple thing, she pushed her strap into you at least twenty times. And she wasn't taking her time, oh, no. She was fast and rough, like you're just a sex toy without feelings. Did you mind? Hmmm...
When you started getting used to the size of her cock and your mind wasn't completely blank anymore, you remembered one important thing your PE teacher said. 'Someone will check in on you from time to time, so don't even think about anything.' None of you were either at the gym or putting up flyers around school. They're going to think you ditched it. Even though you'd rather get into more trouble than end whatever you were doing now, you felt you need to tell Ellie, just in case.
"El-s..." You moaned out and quickly realised it won't be easy.
"What is it?" She asked, seeming honestly interested in what you got to say. "Ready to admit you're absolutely obsessed with me?"
You clenched your fists, squeezing the bed sheets between your fingers.
"Th- no... We should..." You couldn't help but cry out again.
As soon as she heard the two keywords - 'we should' (and she hated when someone was telling her what to do, so that pissed her off) - she understood what you're trying to say.
"Behave? Fulfill our duties? Or...?" She chuckled.
You wanted to speak up, just to not feel so vulnerable as you really were. You only managed to mumble 'we' before one of her hands started rubbing your clit, just like at the start - painfully slow. The feeling made your thighs tense and move closer to each other, wanting to close the gap between them. But Ellie didn't let that happen as she quickly separated your legs.
Her hips also didn't stop moving, and all the sensations connected made you go silent again. Well, not silent - unable to speak. And that were two completely different things.
"I'd take that as a 'we should continue what we're doing right now'. Isn't that what you want?" Even though you're eyes were closed, you could feel her intense stare on you. Then, her mocking tone came back. "What is it with you being so quiet all of sudden? You spent a few of the past years yelling at me, and you can't even say a word now?"
"I ju-st..." You said but then she hit your g spot again, and again, and again... making you go silent.
Your stomach started feeling funny - probably because of how deep in it Ellie's strap was. At this point, you thought you can even feel it in your throat and that's what's blocking your words from coming out. But the funny feeling had a different origin - your release was getting awfully close, and it didn't go unnoticed.
"We're going to have lots of fun this month." She whispered, leaning in to stroke your cheek.
#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x y/n#ellie williams x you#ellie x reader#ellie x y/n#ellie tlou#ellie williams#reqs open#wlw smut#ellie the last of us#ellie williams smut#enemies to lovers#ellie smut#smut#strap#strap r!receiving#ellie strap#ellie williams strap#imagine#oneshot#one shot#fan fiction#fanfic#send anons#i love you nonnie#mean!ellie#mean!ellie williams#mean!ellie x reader#mean!ellie williams x reader
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Princess.
Trevante Rhodes x BLACK!FEM!reader
WARNINGS: SUB!reader, DOM!trevante, thigh riding, size kink, breeding kink, rough s*x, reader and Tre are married but it isn’t implied, daddy kink, no protection(wrap it before ya smack it), just really nasty chile…
SUMMARY: how Trevante acts with his pretty princess <3 (I was in heat writing this, sorry in advance)
Ps. Inspo from @notapradagurl7 recent fic <3
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He’s so exhausted when he comes home from his big boy job but seeing her gives him so much energy. He just wants to pull her into his lap and hold her, letting her ramble about her day and tell him all about the new things she learned and all the things she bought when she went out shopping.
“Tell daddy what you got” He’d say as she bounced excitedly on his thighs, innocent and unknowingly waking up a demon that was kept under wraps since early that morning. He just didn’t wanna wake his baby so early. She’d go on and on about all the cute clothes she found and the purses she bought online, the good food she ate and the nap she took before he arrived. He’d listen and pretend his dick wasn’t growing hard under her ass.
How he’d run baths for her when he was home, adding her favorite scent and bubbles to the water as she’d put her hair in a ponytail to avoid wetting it. She’d ask nicely to be carried to the tub because her legs were just too sore after being fucked until she blacked out and forgot her name. Her knees also aching from being on them for so long, taking his dick deep down her throat until she choked and a strong gag forced him to pull out before he was painting her face with his cum. She already felt so full of him even with his essence leaking out of her and dripping down her thigh, there was no way she would make it to the bathroom.
When she’d do something that was on the “no-no” list and he’d make her pick her own punishments. He’d ask if she deserved an easy one and she’d nod with teary eyes, already having a stinging bottom from the spankings he gave her earlier for touching herself while he was at work. He’d shake his head with a ‘tsk’ and simply throw her over his shoulder, carrying her to their playroom.
And that time she had made him play with her, forcing a game of hide and seek before he’d give up in frustration from not finding her for over ten minutes. She’d giggle and reveal she was hiding in the coat closet the whole time and as obvious as it was, he still hadn’t found her.
He wasn’t always a nice daddy. He had his limits when she just wouldn’t listen. Those were the times where he either made her cum back to back with no break until their sheets were soaking wet or he’d refuse to let her cum at all, watching her cry and beg as he’d take the vibrator away from her swollen and overstimulated clit any time she made that face.
He loved when she was desperate for him. She was just too cute. There were times where he’d go on business trips for days and come back to her needy than ever. She’d do anything for him just to have a simple touch.
When he suspected her to have touched herself in that time of need and he’d refuse to give her what she wanted, but he’d let her ride his thigh like the needy crybaby she was. Her panties were so damn wet that when she rose up off of him she left a wet spot on his slacks, proof of how much she had came just from that little bit of release.
“You miss daddy? I know you did, princess” He smiles, those pearly whites shining at her. She melts from the sight.
He loved her reaction when he’d fill her up unexpectedly. He slams into her with that last rough stroke and she’d let a small gasp fall from those plump lips that were once glossed before Trevante had basically kissed it all off. She could feel the liquid threatening to drip from her entrance and she could only hope that was what would get her pregnant with his baby.
She couldn’t help but think of carrying his seed and getting turned on. Sometimes she’d purposely make him cum inside of her so he’d go to work with empty balls and she’d get to run errands filled to the brim with him. Sometimes she’d even stop by a few maternity stores while she was at it too, just out of curiosity(not) before scurrying off to do something else.
He was so sweet. He’d buy her gifts she had been wanting for a long time, no matter how useless or weird it was to him or anybody else, he knew she wanted it and anything princess wanted, princess got. She even had her own room, decorated how she liked with her favorite colors and favorite things.
He was only ever rough with her when she wanted him to be, which was most of the time, but there were times where she wanted to be soft too, and he supplied that also. Some small gestures like fixing the bow in her hair or helping her reach something on the top shelf….or slowly fucking into her as he cradled her head in his large hands, looking into her soft eyes while she pouted, her tummy feeling butterflies every time he’d hit her special spot. He was so tired and fucked out, but he couldn’t stop until he and his princess was drained completely.
The way he ate her out alone was soft. He licked and slurped on her pretty little pearl, complementing her on how good she tasted and how daddy could eat her for hours. She would try not to close her legs and push him away.
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🏷️ @thatone-girly @notapradagurl7 @swavydadon @miyahmaraj @planetblaque @msinterludee @milkiboo @bloodripleygal @stevelacyballs @naj-ay444 @blackelysian @shaolyninferno
#black fanfic writer#black fanfiction#black!reader#black reader#black!fem!reader#masterlist#black!oc#black actors#trevante rhodes fan fiction#trevante rhodes smut#trevante rhodes imagines#trevante rhodes fic#trevante x reader#trevante rhodes x reader#trevante rhodes#actor smut#smut masterlist#black smut#smut blog#smutty#henneseyhoe
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╰┈➤ rafe picking up his drunk girlfriend
warnings: swearing. alcohol, underage drinking.
summary: much to rafe’s dismay, his girlfriend had always been close with the pogues, drinking with them, fishing with them and so on. one particular night, y/n gets a bit too drunk and rafe has to pick her up.
the fire crackled away infront of them as the group chattered amongst themselves, empty beer bottles scattered around behind them. jj and y/n drowned out the others in a drunken attempt to sing some sort of old song, neither knowing the correct words. taking notice of this, the others broke out in hysterics, however this only further egged them on.
y/n sang, or slurred as her friends might say, at the top of her lungs, beginning to twirl around the fire they had made out of rotten wood and pizza boxes. making her way around her friends, she reached out to pope, determined to make him get up and dance.
“you’re wasted y/n, you should sit down” kie called from her place on a tree stump. turning her head, y/n’s face contorted. “you’re wasted y/n, sit down” she mimicked her friend. nevertheless, it was a fact. the pogues knew y/n couldn’t really handle alcohol, it was only in the last few months that she had decided to come out of her shell a bit more. she’d spent the majority of her life sticking to rules, doing as she was told. that was until her close friends from school had convinced her to live out her teenage years in style.
“i-i am not drubk, ‘m having f-fun kie” y/n mumbled, yet the hiccups interrupting her words said otherwise. her friends chuckled at this, allowing her to go on for a little longer. that is until she let out a small scream.
their heads snapped quickly to where y/n was, they would’ve thought she’d disappeared into thin air if it wasn’t for her drunken cries coming from the other side of a large fallen tree. john b, pope and kie jumped out of their places around the fire, attending to their lightweight friend as quickly as possible. jj on the other hand, was also too shitfaced to even realise she’d taken a tumble.
“y/n are you okay?” pope asked, poking his head over the tree to take in the sight of his friend flat on her back, sprawled out on the floor. despite the flowing tears, she managed a thumbs up. “c’mon y/n, that’s two fights you’ve lost with a tree now, when are you gonna learn?” john b mocked while reaching down to help her up.
kie stepped over the tree, also helping y/n up off the floor as she lolled about like deadweight. pope and john b shared a knowing glance as they all pulled y/n back up. once she was up, kiara helped feed her some water, hopefully sobering her up a bit before she went home.
“you know what we’re gonna have to do right? john b?” pope whispered as they stepped away from the girls. to this, john b let out a deep sigh, knowing exactly what they were gonna have to do. “yeah i know” john b grumbled. “who’s gonna do it though? im not, i did it last time.” pope protested quickly.
both boys glanced over to kie, she quickly shook her head however, already knowing what they were going to ask. “no, no way. you can do it this time john b, he almost bit my head off last time i spoke to him.” before john b had anytime to argue, kiara had tossed y/n’s unlocked phone into his hands, looking at him expectantly.
pacing around the fire, john b reluctantly tapped the screen a few times before holding the phone up to his ear and letting it ring. after a few tries, the recipient finally answered the call. “hey baby, you okay?” a raspy voice called out through the phone, earning a small chuckle from pope as he overheard.
“hey rafe..um, it’s john b” he mumbled, knowing how this was going to go. “why the fuck do you have y/n’s phone?” rafe sneered, blood boiling at all the possible situations running through his head. “yeah, i- um, i think you need to come pick her up, she’s a bit wasted and she’s hurt herself.”
overhearing this, y/n’s face contorted, her mind clearing for a second as she realised what was going on. “are you telling my fucking boyfriend on me john b?” she slurred, her voice loud enough for rafe to hear. before john b could get another word in, rafe put the phone down on him. “asshole” he muttered, already dreading rafe’s arrival.
fifteen minutes go by and y/n had been in a huff every single second, she knew rafe would jump at the chance to argue with her friends, so john b calling him to come get her was not the most intelligent idea.
the pogue’s heads turn at the sound of a car engine pulling up not to far from them. sharing looks as they heard a car door slam. y/n jumped at the sound, the dreading feeling gone as excitement to see her baby took over. the leaves behind her rustled and she leaped from the camping chair, just about falling into rafe’s arms. “hiiii babyyy” y/n sang as he helped her back up, stabling her. sparing his angel a quick smile, he turned to narrow his eyes at her friends.
“what the fuck did you give her!” rafe bellowed, waking jj from his wasted slumber. the blonde boy stood up, stalking over to rafe, well..trying to atleast. “who the fuck do you think you are cameron? talking to us like that?” jj growled through gritted teeth, chest heaving. rafe chuckled to himself lowly, squaring up as he did. “you’re fucking lucky she’s here maybank, or i’d have already punched your face into the ground” he retorted.
pope and john b had situated themselves in the middle before jj could lunge at him. “heyyy! h-hey! stop it! you guys gotta accept that i love you bothhhh! your my b-boyfriend and these g-guys are my besties!” y/n sang from besides rafe, throwing an arm around both rafe and jj. attempting to de-escalate the situation.
rafe’s nostrils flared as he took a step back, throwing a glare in the pogue’s direction before leading his girlfriend away. “bye guys! see you so-ooon!” she yelled while following rafe to the car.
stepping into the drivers side, rafe gathered himself for a second, not wanting to lash out at her for something so small. releasing a harsh breath, he turned to her, intent on lecturing her about drinking so much when his eyes met her puppy dog gaze. his thought out words suddenly crumbled away. sighing, he intertwined his free hand with hers and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. “seatbelt” rafe ordered, his tone teetering on harsh. “yes sir!” she giggled before doing what he asked.
as they drove, rafe felt the anger in his veins dissipating as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “rafe?” she mumbled. humming in response, he glanced at her before turning back to the road. “do you think you could make me a sandwich when we get back? pretty pleaseeee” y/n pleaded, half expecting him to say no.
“of course baby, anything for you”
#dom!rafe#rafe cameron x reader#soft!rafe cameron#rafe cameron#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron x fem!reader#rafe x y/n#rafecameron#obx#outer banks
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some examples i can think of brotherhood crimes of doing riza(and royai) dirty in my opinion that's the absolute truth in the universe. consciously excluding stuff i think are minor but annoy me just as bad or else this post would be too exhausting:
being ugly in general
not including her time travel joke from when they learn that the elrics are kids and not adults on their way to recruiting them
not including the scene where roy meets her after she calls him when she meets barry the chopper and threatens to burn him out of jealousy
changing the dialogue after roy saves her from gluttony from:
to:
LIKE...... if brotherhood has the habit of cutting off scenes to make it shorter then WHY they would change this scene to become BIGGER AND WORSE. the dialogue in manga is a clear example of their trust and wordless care for each other. while in broho it's just ?????? roy being an asshole????? to his wife?????? whom he just left his post running for bc he sensed she was in danger???? whoever chose to change this dialogue. kill yourself
riza being nice to alphonse when they are at 3rd laboratory:
not including the only time in the whole series roy calls her by her first name only:
the WHOLE ishval arc. riza telling ed about ishval lasts a whole ass volume while it's barely an entire episode in anime like... hm.. for starters the way roy and riza meet again there is different. in manga she saves roy and hughes from a surprise attack, and only realizes it's roy when she sees him through the scope. then hughes tells roy that they brought a talented sniper from the academy and goes after her to thank her for saving them. in anime riza suddenly shows up to roy when he was talking to hughes and like... not necessarily a bad thing i guess but...... yeah.... also this whole conversation is cut off if i remember right.. among a lot of other things LOL i hate how ishval arc is played down in BH
riza being funny and cute not being included again
this scene when they reach 3rd lab again in promised day and roy jokes about wanting to see her honest tears again and riza replies saying water makes him useless BUT in manga she's all cute and blushy while in anime they make her be all # girlbaws about it because that's all brotherhood riza is about lmao they took away her moeness...crime
in manga, after roy gives up killing envy upon realizing it would lead to riza shooting him then killing herself, it shows him lowering her gun without the glove he previously had on. symbolizing that he lowered his weapon before he could lower hers. in anime he still has his gloves on
EDIT I FORGOT THE MOST IMPORTANT PANEL OF THEM ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
RIZA BEING INSUBORDINATE AND A BRAT SHE'S SO CUTE THIS PANEL IS WHAT INSPIRED MY USERNAME... SHE'S SO CUTE...... brotherhood is so scared of letting riza be cute and moe because she would be too powerful if they let her
EDIT 222222 BECAUSE I WOKE UP IN COLD SWEAT AT REMEMBERING I FORGOT THIS TOO
roy visits madame christmas' bar looking down and she asks him why doesn't he and elizabeth go someplace fun... we all know who elizabeth is right... and he says miserably that another man took elizabeth away from him(referring to riza being kept hostage by bradley) and at that the other girl asks if that means she has a chance with him now. everyone knows that roy is so wifepilled he won't look any other way if riza is in the picture lmao also how embarrassing it is that even your mom knows you're fucking your subordinate
i'm convinced somebody at BH staff hated riza's ass because of how often riza and royai scenes are changed or ignored... i know it's common for anime adaptations to cut off moments from manga but for an anime that whole premise is to be The Better Adaptation, doing it so often makes it bad to me. if you repeatedly exclude scenes that tell more about the characters because they're "not relevant to the plot", eventually there will be no actual personality left, only characters that are plot props
THERE'S A LOT MORE i wanted to include but this is already long enough and i got tired LMFAO a lot of things(most not included) are non issues because are mostly about riza being a bit silly, or showing more expression than she does in anime in a scene that otherwise doesn't change anything. but they still annoy me because by repeatedly excluding and changing these moments add to the view people have of her being nagging and stoic, at an attempt to make her a cool flawless Good Woman Character. what for.
#tecotalk#fma#riza hawkeye#throwing in the tag because fuck it#not hiding anything under the cut everyone will be subjected to this
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in my room
javier peña x f!reader | masterlist
summary: Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.
wordcount: 6.2k (im so sorry, this was meant to be short)
warnings: explicit. smut + angst. colleagues who fuck for stress relief. grumpy-ish javi. file room shenanigans. unprotected p in v. oral!f receiving, mention of m!receiving. javi’s hand being a necklace. cum eating (by Javi), mild rough sex? mentions of grief (due to canon-compliant death), season two compliant/spoilers for season two. javi has a filthy mouth. joetics (jo and her poetic nature, credit to @/goodwithcheese for the name), no use of y/n but javi calls you princesa/baby.
an: dedicated to javi-edit-anon, hope you're doing okay.
It begins swarmed in grief.
A chest full of conflicting emotions, fingers itching for another smoke. It is all put into motion by the same person who became the catalyst—the match to the flame, the cause of the inferno.
He doesn’t usually wander around the building. But, today was a lot of firsts. Jaw clenched. Fingers digging into his palm at the memory, the realisation—the fucking play-by-play—of how he’d been played, fucked over, used.
Now, he’s left riddled with the knowledge that he’d lost a friend a few hours ago because of something he did. The understanding of it rusting in his stomach, right next door to the place disgrace is building a home where his gut had been.
He’s not thinking, not seeking—a desperation to run and hide, yet has nowhere to go.
And then he comes across you.
Finds you in the hallway like you were sent to save him. To pull him out of the water, pump the liquid from his lungs and smother the flames from burning his skin.
The two of you having stopped, paused in your travels.
Just two isolated shadows in the middle of the corridor—an invisible line being drawn, a noticeable white mark—backlit by sorrow and emptiness.
You don’t tear your eyes from him. Stubborn, even on your loss. Purposefully, intentionally, holding his gaze across the empty corridor.
Usually, you're so put together he feels contempt at how you seem unfazed at being surrounded by the shit they all have to do daily. But now, you look every bit as undone as him—shirt untucked, sadness stitched into your usually tight, rigid frame.
The only thing similar is the way you look at him, just like you did when the hours ticked on during those late nights you were forced to work together.
Files opened, documents scoured. Two eyes fairing better than one in their search. The toe of your shoe tapping against his desk, your fingers circling the rim of your mug full of coffee (never liquor, only coffee), pen clicking and clicking—
It had been Carrillo who had paired the two of you. Handing him a task, a surname—one Javi hadn’t heard—and the option of an extra pair of hands: you’ll see she’s good, and we don’t want her poached.
Then, he’d laid eyes on you.
You who’d he’d seen around, but never the chance to talk to. Had no reason to. You forever moved in any direction but the one he was heading in whenever he came into sight. That had been well over a month ago, weeks now.
In that time, he learnt your snark, your laugh—the way you take your coffee and your petulance for sugar after 8 pm—all proper in how you handle yourself, like royalty.
It’s then he learned that you hated being called princesa. Lips curling when it dripped from his lips, back straightening—all close to fracturing, snapping. So naturally, he called it you more.
It became—like the rest of it—a habit. He dropped the name as easily as he began pushing some of his shit to the side for you, so you had a space, a small corner of his desk you could commandeer when you joined him.
It didn’t mean anything. A thing be recited, thought to himself as he buried himself inside Gabriela—who looked nothing like you.
Then, a week ago, you were already there before he got back. The soles of his shoes had come to a standstill at the top of the steps, staring at the back of you—taking you in.
There was no need to see your face, Javi knew that you knew he was there. Not saying a thing when he seated himself down, the same way he didn’t with each tap of your shoes’ toe against the metal frame and you bit the end of your pen. He’d decided weeks ago, when you wore a shirt you felt the need to undo two buttons off, that if you weren’t paired with him to torture him, he wasn’t sure what else you were sitting next to him to test him for. But he’d find out, work it out.
Then you cracked it—found it, the anomaly, the name, a connection. A semblance of something in a sea of shit. A straw to grasp, to pull—your lips, likely stained from coffee and ink, twisting into a grin, one he couldn’t help but admire.
“¿Cómo?”
Pulling a face, he had only shrugged, feeling you watch him, answering with a, “You’re good.”
“You just realised? You just notice I got tits, too?”
Leaning back in his chair, he shifts his jaw to the side. Watching you stack papers before holding his stare, letting you see him flick his eyes from yours to your lips. Suddenly all unsure how to even begin telling you that he’d noticed you—had done so since they were all forced into this fucking building.
But you’d caught him, snapped him in plain sight with those beautiful eyes of yours. “Resorting to kissing colleagues now. Fucking whores not doing it for you, Peña?”
He had smirked, wider, but it had been tough. Leaning forward, he traced his bottom lip with his thumb. “You heard about that.”
Nodding, you’d smiled—cockily, full of something other than kindness. “Half the women will be lining up if they think you have free time.”
“But not you?”
Then, you’d stood, head tilted, files in the neatest pile compared to the rest of his desk, as you rolled your lips. “No. Not me. Goodnight, Peña.”
That exchange had been before things had gone to shit.
Before his cock had undone it all, left several people dead and the person who’d paired you together, gone. Taken—leaving a widow and children without a father.
Snorting, he focuses on clearing his throat as he replays it all. How much of a fever dream it all feels, his other hand pinching his thigh as he stares at you studying him, not scurrying off like he half expects.
And the fact you don’t makes his fingers itch at his side.
A part of him, suddenly stronger than all other parts, battles to move closer to you—like he needs to see what your mouth feels like on his. Like he’s been without his fill. It’s why even as much as he wants you to close the gap, he doesn’t move. Wants you to have an out—an escape.
A chance to choose whether you want to wake up with regret. Because even he knows sleeping with him ends in two ways, and shame is usually one of them.
“You should go inside your room.”
But of course you don’t. Instead, it’s the soles of your shoes on the floor that get louder, closer.
“Do you want me to, Peña?”
It’s building, rising. His eyes trailing up and down you, mouth chewing his tongue as he gets another taste of liquor, as he finally lets his gaze land back on yours.
“You want me to walk away from you?”
No. It’s final. Gruff. More spat out than said—laced with failure and remorse—but you hear him. Loud and fucking clear.
So much so, your lips twist up, smirking more devilish than he knows what to do with. “Good.”
It’s quick—you’re quick. Yanking him close as he forces you flush against him. His mouth crashes, steals and takes as his lips sear themselves to yours. And he learns, quickly, you’re not soft, but biting.
You are all jagged sweetness that throws a curve ball in how he knows how to handle this. You. Your lips taste of sadness, tears and liquor, all cheap—so very unlike what he imagines for you—and you make a knot tighten in his core as your palm flattens over his hardening cock in his jeans.
“You tested?” he asks, hand cupping your jaw, tilting your eyes up, pulse racing against his wrist—skin warm, scorching.
“Are you!?” you spit, and he almost snorts until your fingers knot in the base of his hair, pulling, likely hoping it hurts.
And it does.
Makes him groan—but he’s quick to smother it in the back of his throat. Flatten it, hide and conceal. Getting his answer for an exchange of your own.
“We should go inside my room,” you say in response to him, pulling down on him, Javi finding he bends with far too much ease as his ear finds itself close to your lips, “I’m not quiet when I’m enjoying myself.”
Twisting you, he flattens your back to his chest, rough, hearing you breathlessly laugh. “You know what you’re doing, baby, huh?”
And you’re silent, brain whirring as he begins walking you, till your chest is almost against your door.
Open it, he whispers, watching your hand dig for the key, his mouth latching to your neck, swirling a circle on your skin, tasting lingering perfume and sweat as he grips your waist.
“Last chance.”
He hears you laugh, low, buried somewhere in your throat just as the door unlocks, all loud, cutting through the silence other than both of your racing breaths. It’s why, he supposes, his words echo in his stare as you turn your head. Rolling your lips. It's all so reminiscent of the stare you gave him at the foot of his desk—but this time, you collide your mouth with his.
Not leaving—not doing anything except turning in the space between your door and him. Those nails, the ones that tapped now scrape across his hair, burying, carding, as you lightly pull on strands—forcing a groan to bury itself in your throat, find a new home, live there.
It's quick, practically animalistic the way he sheds your layers—baring you, finding (unsurprising) that even in misery you still match. His fingers run over it on your hip, rolling his lips, the tip of his tongue swiping across as he admires, as he steals a second to commit you to his mind.
Because he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to again.
“Last chance,” you echo.
Repeating his words, using them against him. Flicking the fabric against your skin, he snorts and he flips you. Sharply telling you to get on your bed, all-fours—bend over, hermosa.
“This how you pictured it at your desk?”
He barely registers your words until he’s behind you, bare, hand sliding between your thighs as he smirks at the noise you make. How you take him, all the way up to his knuckles—his free hand stroking himself to the in and out his other hand sets, desperation mixing with a need to forget—for a moment peace from thinking, existing, being.
And you’re drenched. Practically desperate. Hips moving with his movements and strokes, the air tinged with the littlest whimpers before replacing his fingers with the head of his cock, dragging it, skating it spitefully over your slick folds.
That’s when it meets his ears, those distinct words—ones he doesn’t know will haunt him just yet—I want to feel you inside me, Peña.
It unlocks something—floods him. Taking in a breath before he glides in, burying himself in you, right to the hilt, going deep.
He revels in your tightness. The way you gasp at the feel of him—fingers digging, scrunching them into your sheets, before he wrenches you up off your hands, needing your back flush with his—a move he realises, painstakingly, he’s done before.
Softening his palm anchored on your hip, lips pressing to your jaw—the other hand busy feeling, enjoying, basking in how you swallow against his palm on your neck.
“You like that, princesa?”
You moan as his hips snap, taking him so well, so perfectly—a thing he tells you, a rush of good girl, good princesa taking me like this. And he expects a bite, a flurry of insults—an exchange that would mean this would shift from stress relief to hate fucking.
But it never arrives. Instead, it’s a barrage of chants, all yes, please, yes, painting the shitty room—giving the crumbling paint something to be disgusted at, other than its own despair. The metal legs of the bed squeal against the floor, the headboard hammering, and cluttering, leaving a mess of years of repainting along the cheap flooring.
“Take me so well. Y’know that?”
Fingers just above your collarbone, pressing, feeling your head resting on his shoulder, eyes seeking his, determined to locate them and take something from him for it. He lets you. Briefly, just enough.
“Harder, Peña,” you hiss, shoving it out through clenched teeth, blinking, breaking the eye line.
“Javi,” he hisses deep into your ear, hand sliding down between your thighs—above where the two of you are joined.
Thumb expertly swirling, tracing the letters of his name against your throbbing clit—the sound of his cock fucking into you growing louder, sloppier. Arm thrown around your waist, feeling the way your skin is sheened in sweat, practically a mess from head to fucking toe, all because of him. Crown slid, shattered in a thousand parts across the floor, because of him.
A realisation that almost nears him to the edge, to bursting, to emptying inside your perfect fucking pussy and stuffing you full of him.
Teeth gritted together, jaw tight as he peers at the place your bodies join—watching, in admiration, as you take him, suck him in, barely let him able to leave your tight pussy as your heart hammers against his forearm.
“When I’m doing this to you,” he grunts, teeth pinching at your ear, your hand gripping his wrist—thumb still swirling, the A and V being a favourite from the way you clench around him tighter, and tighter, “You call me Javi.”
It undoes you. It ripples and then bursts through you—clenching all around him, tightening, squeezing him until his vision blurs and your name curls somewhere on his tongue, all set to be spat, spoken, even fucking whispered. Somehow able to swallow it when it unfurls through him, when it shoots up his spine and surges through every nerve and muscle.
The two of you collapsing against the shitty mattress, the squealing bed, as you turn in his grasp—lips finding his, burying words against him, only soft murmurs finding his ears.
He’s hard to avoid.
More so, when a part of you wishes to be a puzzle—a thing he cannot crack. Something that would take time to understand and figure out. Because then you’d be interesting, layered, something that could matter.
All of which, you suspect he knows when he kisses you after having his face buried before your thighs, tongue saturated in you, now licking into your mouth.
There’s something truthful in it, in the way his palm cups your entire jaw and chin, holding you, keeping you rooted for a few moments before you taste yourself on his tongue and can take note of what he’s done to you. For you.
Except, you don’t meet his eyes. Somehow fearful the space between your thighs has spilled all your secrets to him. Because he’s a connoisseur, likely gifted in being able to decipher the text on your inner walls. Hooked nose dragging along your slick core before coming up for air and seeing how ordinary you were, how boring, how average. He’s likely traced the pads of his fingers over the etchings of all the things that haunt your mind, the things that thrum and go bump in the fucking night.
But he comes back. Again, and again.
And you can't understand why.
You don’t ask either. Instead, you bury any of that against his tongue, and when it’s desperate to come out, a wish to ask him, you instead choose with fluttering lashes and parted lips if you can suck his cock. If he can fuck your throat, if he can stuff you full in one end before the other—
Words can’t escape if your tongue is occupied.
A thing harder to do in the day-to-day. As things around the place return to normal—other priorities sweep over and make people forget their sadness.
It’s why you’re not avoiding him, but you haven’t sought him out.
Too afraid of what you’ll confess when you’re not on your knees. A simple softening of his brown eyes almost forces words to rip up your throat and colour the air.
It won’t do any good. No words will. Not after waking again entangled in an empty sheet. All evidence of his presence gone except the littering of bruises on your hips and thighs and the mess between your legs.
It’s easier, less complicated to keep it like this—a thing you tell yourself as you brush your teeth and wash the leftover tang of him from your mouth.
Stress release, an undoing, an antidote to sadness and a bandage that allows you a moment to heal. You don’t judge him, because he doesn’t judge you either—not the first time, the second or the tenth. Because like recognises like—eyes deciphering how you’re not that different from him.
On the surface, you may pretend to be. Layer secrets and annoyances on top of the other, until it slips into something perfect—a mask, one that any of them can’t peer through and see that you see them all. Because working here is more than hard, it’s more than difficult and often rough.
It’s mornings with your forehead resting on your door wondering if you have it in you and moments alone in dark corners silently wiping away tears.
Most people don’t see your brain, your skills all too quickly forgotten, discarded on the same bit of paper the rest of your history lived when you approached for the role.
You reckon he sees you.
Not because you hoped for it—or because of some teenage fantasy. But, because of the way he looked that night at his desk. Not surprised, but confused as to why you were mainly pushing paper, why you weren’t based where he was, doing what he does. All questions you’ve asked yourself late at night, when your mind doesn’t stop ticking, stop whirring.
You suspect he ticks too. Another thing in common.
While he may have begun his dalliances to gain words, secrets, and stories, you have come to recognise it’s more than that. You know he knows all the names of them—likely lingers in their room. Offering them more than a good time and some money, but something he seeks from them too—companionship, a moment where he’s not DEA and rather something akin to a lover.
From the way he holds himself, Javi doesn’t think he shares that information. But it rolls from him in constant waves when he lights another smoke and drowns his throat in whatever is in his mug. He likes to think he’s effortless and austere, all too weighed down, while being complex, brilliant and wonderful.
It’s why you had wanted to fuck him. Why you had fucked him.
Because, objectively, he is beautiful. All soft in places and firm in others; he has scorching eyes and can offer searing touches. But, under all of that is what made heat blossom up your spine and commanded your thighs to press together for relief.
The way he thinks. The way he shifts his jaw from side to side and traces his finger down the length of his nose. It’s the way he holds himself when he doesn’t have to hold himself at all that makes you want him.
As it makes you feel less alone.
Less like an oddity in how you need to carve your nails into something. Your palm, other people’s flesh; wood, your sheets. All of it just so you become grounded, so there was pain, so there were feelings, so you didn’t float off or drown in a sea of mistakes, regrets and guilt.
It was a combination of both that floating and drowning as to why it happened that first time.
It had been a simultaneous tangling of limbs, a battle, a war both of you attempted to claim—a fight with your mouths, thighs, hands, tongues and bodies. Only stopped when you were both slick with sweat, the tops of your thighs coated with him and your breaths laboured. Your ear to his chest, hearing it—the way he beats, the way he lives. How blood rushes through him, all alive, real, not a fabrication.
Now, though, it’s different.
The grief is lessoned, yet you still find yourself pretending it's as rife as that first night.
A compromise, an opportunity to pretend that’s the reason the two of you do this. When in truth, the reason you don’t judge him, is because you too use sex to feel something. Needed it to claim something, prove something to yourself—that you’re desirable, attractive and fucking wanted. That you’re more than a sharp tongue and a brilliant mind, more than compliments through your way that never land—
That you’re worthy of being fucked to the point you cannot walk straight.
And, he does that so well, twists you, bends you—makes your ears ring with how attractive you are, how good you are, how perfect. A sin that rages a storm in his dreams and a thought he can’t silence.
So you avoid him. Fearful that you no longer wish to feel worthy of being fucked, but be worthy of being fucked by him.
And then he finds you instead.
Palm shoving open the file room door, all loud, like an announcement, before he lets it click into place. Allowing the air to tighten, to squeeze—all so thickening—before he’s charging, so much so the breath is knocked from your lungs with far too much ease when he flattens your back to the wall. The dust blowing from the shelves next to you from the sudden movement, the room quaking, shaking and fucking trembling as his brown eyes flick from one eye to the next.
As though he’s seeking something out.
Some truth, perhaps? A reason, a rhyme.
He splays his fingers across your hip, a hiss trying to escape from your pursed lips as your body threatens to betray you—wishing to curl into him, feel him flush, all warm and easy to escape to. Then, the other finds a home on the wall beside your head, no place to move to, to go—not that you fucking want to.
“I don’t fuck in file rooms, Peña.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. All well-versed, practically a library of quick retorts. “Where do you fuck then? Just your room?”
Surrounded by him, in all the ways that could torture. Nose smothered in the scent that is unabashedly him; eyes unable to look anywhere but him. Slowly, bothersomely, he begins to easily unpick the carefully placed resolve, practically cracking through like it was made of paper and not woven each night as you attempt to stop thinking about him.
Sometimes, it’s easier to think about him.
To snake your hand inside your underwear and ride your fingers with how much you loathe how good he feels. His name is both a curse and a fucking blessing on the tip of your tongue when you come—heat licking up your spine, washing you in something you suspect should be a shame.
But it never is.
Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.
Instead, you leave that, fold it up, and make it as small as it can be, before you undress for him. Then you fixate on his eyes, on the darkness, the way his pupils swallow the colour you know all the flecks off. You stare, because you hope to see yourself in them—an outline, a shadow, evidence of living, remaining, not chipped away until you’re just stiff work attire and coffee. Something, anything—
Especially when you’re bare. When he stares at you like you’ve been carved for him, by him. When he makes you feel weightless and also like you are never allowed to be anywhere but right here.
It’s an illusion though. A trick of your mind—a delusion where want, need and hope all blend into a concoction that is sold in pink bottles and smells like fruit.
Lifting your chin, you want to chill your eyes and harden your expression. Neither happens.
You’re thrown from your axis, deep brown managing to shroud you, make your mind empty, clear.
“We don’t have to fuck,” he continues, letting it slide from his tongue—slither out, practically hissing. “There’s plenty of ways I can make you moan.”
“I’m sure there is. You’ve paid for the practice, after all.”
His chuckle does nothing to stem the fire—the one out of control somewhere in the pit of your stomach. Clothes suddenly uncomfortable on your skin, your earlier standpoint waning, thinning to the point of transparency.
“Yeah, but I bet you’ve been getting off to thoughts of me—us. How fucking good we are,” he retorts.
Your face blanks, and you hope it’s unreadable.
Because you already have witnessed how skilful he is. Had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing him hold his desk phone since, how he grips his gun, marvelling at the memory of how his fingers feel inside of you, both long and thick. How they engulf yours, practically able to grasp both your wrists in his one hand if he wishes.
But, from the glint in his eye, he’s seen you. Already solved you—cracked you.
“You only had to ask, princesa. Would never leave you wanting.”
You snarl. And it’s that which forces your lips to crash against his, steal more lines from his tongue and tease his mind. Ridding him for once, shaking him empty as your hands clutch the sides of his cheeks. Thankful, more than you care to fucking admit, that his tongue slides past your lips, moves past the back of your teeth—accompanied, and wrapped with it, a groan that vibrates down to your oesophagus.
Bodies pressed together, his mouth slanting over yours as though he’s been wishing to do this for as long as you have. Dizzying, heart-stopping—that’s what kissing him feels like. That’s what indulging feels like.
“I don’t like you.”
Smirking, he runs it over your swollen lips, traces his confidence over your mouth. “Your pussy does though.”
His hand moves, snakes between the two of you—fingers proficient, unwavering from their mission—undoing your trousers, zip sliding down, cutting between the silence as your mouths part, lips ghosting, breaths twisting together in the small gap.
The space is filled with a moan when his hand slides inside your underwear, fingers brushing the delicate nerves that make his name illuminate in your head like it’s been spelt out in light—in candles.
“See? Soaked. Drenched, aren’t you, princesa?”
Your head spins, legs weaken. Body betraying you as it rocks against his movements, curling, craving—desperate and hungry. Because you knew it would be good, that he’d be good. There’s no smoke without fire, and there’d be no discussion over shitty baked cake and decent coffee about his skills if he weren’t best-in-class.
“So fuckin’ needy for me, aren’t you?”
It’s there, ebbing on your tongue, yes, yes yes.
And fuck, you didn’t have him down to be like this. To have you at his mercy, practically dumbfounded, his name and a yes the only things you know, think or say. It falls, rolling from your tongue before his lips busy yours. Kissing you as if he’s starved, as if he wishes to coat his tongue in the way you moan against him—his hand getting slicker, coated in your faux hatred and practised indifference that holds no weight now.
Because you want him. Would gladly let him spin you around and, press your face against a case file box and kick your legs apart. You’d beg for it, want him to hold your hands behind your back as he spears his cock in and out of you, not giving a single fuck that someone could come in—
“Stop thinkin’ about what I could do to you, and more what I am doing to you.”
His eyes on you, blown, full of lust and shimmering with a desire that embeds into your skin until it reaches a whole new temperature. Your tongue is heavy and thick, as your throat struggles to swallow.
If anything, it proves he can listen—just to what he wants. And apparently, that is you. Making it flicker, it suddenly impending, slamming itself onto the track with a focus on its station.
“Think y'like being naughty and letting me do this here.”
Your nerves ablaze, legs quaking as your trousers slide a little further past your knee, pooling at your ankles—his breath dancing across your neck and little hairs.
In vengeance, you nip at his lips, charming kisses that leave him chasing—breaths tangling, teeth biting your bottom lip as you tilt your head. But, he’s resilient, unwavering, hand all but burning inside your underwear, fingers rough, middle and trigger finger calloused and pressed against your swollen nerves as you dig your toes into your shoes so you don’t unravel.
So he doesn’t get to have this so easily.
He knows.
You know he does. Likely knows your brain is firing, tension building, muscles all but quaking in faux-determination. Just barely present to hear what he whispers, but you know it pushes you over.
Gently guides you over the edge as your hips still, throat hoarse as it whispers moans, falling, descending from you as you quickly lose control. He makes you feel alive, full of electricity—blood pumping in your ears as he tastes the way you moan his name. Waves hammering against you, suddenly needing to crash, and they do, they do—
“Fuck, I love making you come.”
His chest rising and falling, pebbled sweat on his brow as he retracts his hand, offers a finger to you—finding you wrap your mouth around it, basking in how he says you’re his good girl.
You suppose that’s why he ends up at your base door past midnight—a silent exchange, a non-verbal promise.
Him and you. You and him.
A brown bag in hand; corruption and a need to not sleep present in his eyes. Drinking you in, lingering his eyes up and down your frame—a sheet clutched against your chest.
You suspect he knows that under this thin fabric, its lace, all ready to be snapped, thrown into some corner, the places they sat covering replaced by the wet expanse of his mouth.
It’s why you let him in, mouth conjoining to his, hearing the door slam behind him as you ruck the leather from his shoulders, down his arms, floor.
“He estado pensando en ti toda la noche.”
A part of you knew he’d come—sensing it. Dressing for the occasion, sliding the lace into place.
Because you know him as much as he understands you.
It’s why you smile, if only to yourself, when he spreads your thighs, coats his cock in your want, and sinks deep into you, rectifying all that is wrong, groaning into your neck as you feel thankful for being full again.
He shouldn’t think you’re a vision, but he does.
Javi learned it quickly, but ignored it at a speed faster than that. Not wanting to be in awe, not wanting to allow himself the chance to think of himself worthy of it.
Except, he’s forever salivating for more of you—desperate for another chance to taste, to hear how your whimpers sound, feel the way your fingers card through his hair, gripping, twisting, pulling.
If someone asked him, he’d confess it on his knees that it’s all he’s thought about. The way your nails feel, how your skin feels. The noises—fuck, the noises you make—and the way your eyes glisten, shimmer, bloom and explode with fucking desire.
“Javier…”
I know, he soothes. The sheet ripped from between the of you, discarded, removed from play as your fingers work his buttons open—more and more skin appearing until he can feel the warmth of your body, your tits against him, nipples peaked as the back of your legs meets the bed.
He’s surprised at the ease you fold for him. Dragging him down, and then you’re under him. Obedient, waiting, needy. He knows it. You know it.
Just like it’s probably obvious that you make him want. That he’s ticking, watching you, unable to tear his eyes away, more so since the other night. Your face close, eyes on the file, cogs turning, brain firing on all cylinders—and when you’d slid your eyes over, he hadn’t been able to not drop his sight to your lips.
The same way he suspects you hadn’t been able to fight doing the same yourself.
It’s why he fucks you with an increased pace, skin slapping, moans more deranged than usual. The drenched fabric between your legs pushed to the side as he drags moan from your lips, wringing them out, stuffing them into some cabinet in his mind that he only opens when he can’t have this, you, writhing, squirming as he fills you to the brim, stuffs you.
“Gotta taste you.” His tongue slides a line down your breastbone, eyes on you, fixated, waiting. “Can I?”
He’s fucking grateful that you nod. Moving, sinking to his knees on the hard floor of your base room—cock hard, dripping, all but throbbing and practically fucking angry. Fingers teasing the fabric, his mouth latching, lace and the taste of him and your desire singeing on his tongue.
And you’re heavenly—a rolling thought which appears as he licks, hearing you react, capturing it all, pocketing it.
Waiting, and waiting, until he feels it—you carding your nails through his hair, tracing lines you likely already suspect others have walked themselves. He wonders if you’re thinking it must be nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary for him, except it was, is.
Because it’s you, they were your fingers—your nails. The ones that type up his reports these days because he can’t type for shit, now typing a story into his scalp, leaving a tale for him to decipher when he tried to sleep later.
He doesn’t look up, too fearful of the sight that he’ll find and never be able to rid of. He keeps his head buried between your thighs, focused, panties still hooked on one thigh, hanging there, pointless and occasionally catching on his palm as he grasps and squeezes your leg. All focused, moving his tongue, working it on you, in you, as though attempting to sort out a kink in the chain—attempting to unravel you in the same way he has done others.
Except, Javi learns, you’re not like them. You’re not something linear, you’re not easy to understand, and there’s no transaction at the end. You’re more than a concept, more than a thing he can undo and figure out just with his tongue, but fuck, he’s sure you would let him try—or at least, he hoped you would.
Right now, he’s enamoured with a task that he finds more rewarding than asking: making you come.
Tongue sinking in, tasting you, coating all of his mouth that he can with you as your hips buck into his face. Nails all perfectly manicured and in a lighter shade than when it was wrapped around his cock last week, drag through his hair. The air punctured with his name—all Javi and Javier’s, not Peña’s and Putas.
He wonders as he spells it on your bundle of nerves, whether you feel it too. This thing—this pulsating, breathing, existing thing that is there all on its own.
A click of his jaw when you laugh at someone else; a flex of his fingers when he finds you in the heart of danger.
Javi reflects—thinks.
But then it goes, fades from mind like dust when you tug on him to move closer, so close your thighs are trembling—likely dangling on the edge of release.
“Need your cock, Javi.”
He doesn’t think about feelings, emotions or the flame he carries for you again—not until you’ve left, leaving him alone, sated, the memory and scent of you being all he has.
The base of his palm presses against his forehead, kneading, cigarette billowing in his other hand because it’s all a fucking mess. From the fact that the fantasy has turned into a reality; the dream has coloured itself until it has become true.
He knew this was real, not concocted by some blackened part of his imagination looking for an escape because you say his name more sweetly than you do in his reverie.
It’s a secret—not known, a thing kept unseen. His walls and sheets know, but not a living soul. And he suddenly wants to change that. Says so much as he moans that you’re mine.
Eyes widening as they stare down at him, hands poised on his chest, hips steadying as you remain seated—filled with him, tits slowly not bouncing.
So he repeats it, “You’re mine.”
No question, no ask.
Watching you swallow, painted in yellow-light which makes the sweat shimmer like glitter.
Rolling your hips, you hold his gaze, consider it, likely question your own goddamn sanity. But then you say it:
“Yours, Peña. I’m yours.”
And he knows he liked it. More than he’ll ever admit. Coming so hard and so quick inside of you once your mouth has twisted into an O and your nails have branded lines into his chest. Hearing it, over and over as he spills into you, relishes in it.
It’s only after, when Javi runs his knuckles along the underside of his jaw, thoughts populating, appearing and popping like balloons, he realises he doesn’t just like it.
It’s more than that.
And that’s why, more than he likely should, he wished he’d asked you to stay. To remain beside him. Let him hold you and make your morning a little better.
Javi could ask. Could half-dress and hammer his fist on your door.
But he doesn’t.
There’s always next time, though.
an: grins wickedly, thought i'd try something new.
#javier peña x reader#javier pena x reader#javi peña x reader#javier peña x reader smut#javi peña x you#javier peña x you#narcos x reader#javier pena x you#javier peña smut#javi pena x reader#narcos javier x reader#narcos javier#pedro pascal x reader#narcos fanfiction#pedrostories#javier peña fanfiction#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfic
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ALTA Live Action Season 1 Initial Thoughts (Spoilers)
I just finished the season, and holy shit!
Quick things that need to be addressed/debunked:
“Sokka is no longer sexist”
I dont know what people were talking about when they talked about Sokka’s “sexism” being removed. It’s still there! But not in the overly exaggerated comical way it was in the original.
In fact, it’s more in line with ancient practices of indigenous tribes where men are seen as protectors and providers while women are expected to nurture. It’s not the same “boys are better than girls” narrative in the original.
Additionally, Suki still beats the fuck out of Sokka and humbled him really quick. They’re super cute by the way. And I love Suki’s “I like my men a little stupid” vibe. She’s great.
“Aang doesn’t run away like the original!”
That is not true. He does run away, but not because he’s trying to get away from the temple but instead to get some air because he feels overwhelmed. He’s more like taking a quick break and planning to come back. It’s not exactly the same, but almost. It also is done in a way where his guilt feels more justified.
“Katara doesn’t talk about her mom anymore like the original”
This is true… BECAUSE THEY SHOW INSTEAD OF TELL. I was honestly not prepared to see the death Kya in such graphic detail and how Katara was in the room hiding when it happened. It’s honestly really sad and more heartbreaking.
Plot:
The timeline seems to be ambiguous compared to the original series where it was “end of current year.” In fact, they repeat “three years” a few times, which makes me think if the series get greenlit for more seasons, it would be over a three year period.
Jet is still villainized but given more nuance and not a simple "good v bad" way like the original.
Zuko’s story about how he got his scar has additional lore that makes him come across as even more selfless and compassionate. The additional context of the platoon he advocated for in the war meeting, becoming his current crew, really added to the story.
Eradicated the nepotism baby plot point with Pakku only training Katara when he finds out he used to date her grandma. Instead, Katara proves herself and ends up teaching the other male fighters the techniques she learned from watching other benders use their elements and mimics them.
This season doesn’t have Aang learning any waterbending, but rather facing his trauma and the consequences of his actions. He get roasted by all his past lives. Which is an interesting choice, but I think it works well in how they executed it.
This season seems to actually be Katara focused and her journey of learning waterbending which I honestly loved because it really hits home the element of “water” being the story of an untrained waterbender learning her element. But, I do think Aang could’ve learned a little bending. It felt a little off.
Katara ends up advocating for all waterbending women and ends up leading an army of both men and women during the siege. She’s really bad ass and is given the title of master without being formally trained by Pakku. She made herself a master.
I think the timeline is a little wonky because of how much they had to fit in with the limited episodes they had.
Kuruk is given respect! I loved that.
June actually seems into Iroh which I thought was a funny but cool way to flip the script from the original.
The relationship between Zuko and Iroh is really beautifully executed. I love the depth they added with flashback scenes and their bond prior to the Agni Kai. It also wasn’t as frustrating watching Iroh and Zuko’s dynamic because Iroh communicated with Zuko in a way he could understand with straight answers rather than seeming to actively sabotage him with cryptic puns and shenanigans like the original.
They changed the love triangle with Yue Hahn and Sokka to be very healthy. They gave Yue autonomy and a choice in her relationship- which- again- is much more in line with indigenous cultures. Also, Hahn and Sokka’s relationship is really supportive and full of respect and no ill will.
They way they handled grief and the realities of war with the loss of life was very well done and really drove home the point that this is a war and these are child soldiers.
There’s a lot more but these are my initial thoughts. Will probably post more later.
Shipping:
Kataang is all but removed. Literally DOA. There is no indication of a crust on either side. It’s painted like a sibling relationship, which is like the original, but this time everyone seems to be on the same page. But, I swear the writers had to have read ZK fics because damn.
They canonized a popular Zutara theory/hc about the cave of two lovers and how the crystals would light up once it went completely dark instead of a “kiss” activating the crystal glow.
Speaking of the Cave of two lovers. They keep the Oma and Shu story with red and blue coloring. Making it come across more as foreshadowing than a direct link to the present tunnel story.
Sokka is put in Aang’s place with Katara in the tunnels and turned it into a story about the love of family and sibling bonds. Aang wasn’t even present.
Zuko and Katara share a meaningful look when they first see each other and continue to have a Katara centric scene followed by a Zuko centric scene and vice versa.
The scarf scene. I will not be elaborating further. If you know, you know.
Zuko and Katara fight scene in the North is epic. He still taunts her with almost the exact same dialogue but it’s so sassy- I love the banter.
Suki and Sokka were really cute and the actors had great chemistry. I think Yue and Sokka was really rushed and didn’t really feel anything about them, honestly. But I attribute that to lack of episodes to develop all that plot.
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