#DONT U KNOW THIS WILL TAKE ME APART

[almostfoxglove]

I am so deeply unwell and all that will cure me is THIS javi give me ONE CHANCE

touch me. move me.

javier peña x f!reader wordcount: 910 warnings: smut. just ridin', after thigh ridin'.

Javier’s mouth lingers against your breastbone, his warm breath unfurling in soft trails along your skin.

Thick beads of sweat slip down your spine, skimming and sliding as his fingers dig further into your hip. It’s almost bruising, biting, likely leaving a pattern as you bear down. Hoping later you’ll be able to run your hands over each mark, even if his grip is nothing but guiding, aiding.

He’s perfect inside of you.

Real; something that's not formed of dreams or fantasies, chest heaving as you sink down, slow, inch by inch, a roll of your hips—dragging your needy, swollen pussy up and down, up and down.

There are still lines of silvery pre-come scratched across his lower stomach, drying in the hair around his naval. It’s there from when you’d stained his jeans, dragged your slickened folds against the rough fabric—him wanting his pleasure drawn out, wanna watch you come first. A glint in his eyes, lips moulding over yours until he’d whispered, no demanded—úsame, hermosa, you can use me.

You did, had done. Riding his thigh, chin lifted, eyes taking in his ceiling and the fan which struggled to disperse the thickening heat. His sofa had groaned when his leg raised, forcing his covered thigh up against you, scratchy, your chest heaving—pleasure desperate, it trying to rip its way through you, clawing. One hand on your waist, ribs expanding as you choke on mews, the other hand on his freed cock, it twitching, not able to take his fucking eyes from you—need to fuck you, Peña.

Now you are. A reward for being good, he’d smirked. His eyes now taking you in atop him, brown depths, holes. Enough to dive into, drown. Ravenous, incensed, it’s all utterly maddening as his thrusts meet yours, his fingers sliding up your neck. They catch, his nails, as your pussy makes vulgar noises around him, it grounding you as his lewd mouth slants over yours. Overcome by it all, every scent, every sound and the pleasure that shouldn’t be there for him, but it is, it is, it is.

You disliked him, or you did half a year ago. It had changed thirteen weeks ago, having found yourself introduced to his bedsheets, to how his bedframe clangs against the wall—plaster crumbling as he hissed in your ear.

The way the two of you have been, you’re surprised it’s not a crater, a cavity signed with your initials and his.

Been thinking about you all day. A shiver sparks down your throat as his voice pulls you back, his teeth grazing against your jaw—eyes finding yours, dark, voracious. You're lightheaded from it, your pussy spasms as a whine forcing its way out.

Too good, you think. Too good at this.

At knowing the spots, the ways he can undo you, turning you into a tangled mess, a puddle, a mess. The room is thick with sin, sweat, all heady—his thumb pressing to your swollen nerves, circling, nodding as you emit a needy cry as if knowing. Taunting. Always cocky, always having a right to be.

But beneath that hardened exterior, you know a truth few others see: he’s sweet—or can be. Less gruff, less heavy, a man who, in another life, might laugh deeply instead of hiding it behind a snort. He licks into your mouth, carrying a faint trace of smoke, a dark, lingering burnt taste. A dusky stain—one you cling to, let the hint of fire and ash burn your lungs.

Your movement flows in reaction, molten, magnetic, sticky fingers pressing to your neck as he leaves your clit. His eyes lock on you, a silent devotion, mouth agape as you take him to the root, fluttering, pressure building.

It builds, feverish—humming in your ears, a rush in your veins.

He’s so deep it’s unforgiving, hitting deep, skin prickling. Close, I’m close. His voice an anchor, eyes meeting his, body rolling with him, fingers tangled in the longer strands close to his neck. I know, let me have it. Hips snapping to his, almost trembling—face buried in his neck as you moan. The pace faster, praise there nestled between hisses, occasionally breaking through, forming words, good girl, like that.

You keen. Aware, distantly, of nails digging into his skin, piercing, leaving half-moons as your skin burns, it all thick around your neck as your lower stomach becomes nothing but molten heat, lungs utterly breathless. His hand, large, all deft fingers, palms at your breast, nipple pinched between thumb and finger, tongue laving at your neck, teeth grazing. It building, and building. It overtaking, mind rendering—

You tighten, clench—hearing nothing but white noise.

Then, it’s blistering heat. Every other sense fading, dissolving—pleasure flooding you. It spurns, rips up from somewhere. All static, a choked wail in your throat as you uncoil and his grip tightens, likely deepening the shade of your skin under the pressure as his cock pushes you through it, chanting his name, Javier, Javier, Javier.

Over-blissed, you feel his release. A pulse, him spilling into you with a grunt that’s bitten back—hissing it through his teeth, tip of his tongue there as his hips shudder, jolt.

You don’t dare move, simply melt into him, muscles yielding as you dissolve together into a seamless tangle of limbs. Skin sweat-slicked, seeing the wrecked look on his face—admiring it.

His gaze drops to where the two of you meet, yours following. Seeing the sight of his and your pleasure on the inside of your thighs, leaking out—staring down as he pulls himself from you with a whimper—seeing how it glistens, shimmers. His fingers are the second reason you gasp, two of them, swiping across your flesh as he lifts it, playing with it, coating his touch in your two’s pleasure, bringing it to his lips as you watch, in awe, captivated.

Then you crash your mouth to his, lips bruising��devouring, feasting.

“Stay,” he asks.

You smile against his mouth.

AN: drabbles may be posted here. but series/one shots will still live over on AO3.

[skunkes]

[bunnihearted]

i've also realized that there is no therapy that can fix what's broken inside of me

[daily-nicotine]

THIS IS BASICALLY WHAT HAPPENED RIGHT??????

[volfoss]

my #analysis or whatever but its really interesting with how much they cut out of the Jon at the banquet 1x01 scene compared to (at least the leaked version online) the original pilot and book. like not to be like yeah grrm put this much detail in there for a reason but a lot of the detail that they removed really hurts jon as a character and its so jarring to see how much they cut to take the chapter down to about 3 minutes of the episode.

[orcelito]

Gonna also get my license soon. This time for real.

Need to find that sheet of the driving times... hmmm

[weldfists]

thinking abt sett and cannibalism as a metaphor for love

[chiistarri]

what if instead of messaging me in the middle of the night about your stupid fucking girlfriend and your stupid fucking problems with her you actually act like my fucking friend and message me like how you message everyone else in our group

[hollowfairybabybat]

im high n fuck it uhh ill stay 2 the left of them as much i can n i get caught i get caught ill b a shitty person n use everything as a cut me slack rn pls n just b so normal for a lil n by normal i mean high enuff i dont feel real emotions or i dont care yk

[nomaishuttle]

sometimes u put yr playlist on shuffle a song comes up and you have to put another song in the queue immediately as soon as it comes on bc it makes you think of that song

[jrueships]

oh to be a fly on the wall to this popular mean girl gossip

[valveposts]

the irony of me having the hots for tarantulas when i used to have such terrible arachnophobia that i;d refuse to leave the house and hallucinate spiderwebs. and now im like damn son what those eight legs do

[bunnihearted]

🐰🌧️

[modernsleepingbeauty]

i feel personally offended when people claim to love robespierre. I LOVE HIM. ITS DIFFERENT UOU DONT LOVE HIM LIKE I DO WERE KINDERED SPIRITS, SOULMATES THAT DEFY THE PASSAGE OF TIME ITSELF. HE TALKS TO ME IN MY HEAD. YOU WILL NEVER LOVE HIM LIKE IIIIII DO

[lesbianraskolnikov]

i cannot stand the convo on goth clothing here sometimes for so many reasons but, and while i can understand it in some contexts, i like the goth isnt actually expensive talk. Goth is primarily focused in music and  the range of styles is massive- If you want that victorian  / lolita style then yeah that, will be expensive. Goth is more than Trad Goth?!

Actually thinking about it any time this comes up goth is always paired with punk and like, while theirs similarities theres also. Differences. Punk is DIY some goth fashion like trad is DIY but obviously sometimes it will be pricier.

[robotpussy]

my uni has finally given those who want to pitch to be production designers a script to work with and its so boring 😭😭 so i have to be over the top in my presentation to get this role