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writing-rat · 6 months

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Car Troubles

Pairing: Camila Montes x Reader

Content warning: Car sex, semi-public sex, fingering, sex, G!P Camila, Scratching

Summary: Your car breaks down so you hire the local company when you realise you don't have enough cash

You sighed in anger. Your car had broken down again for the second time that week and you finally caved. You were going to take it to a mechanics. You only knew one close by and had heard good reviews so you gave it a chance. Calling Auto-Repair, a voice quickly picked up. “Hello, my name is Camila. How may I help you today?” the voicenasked, an obvious accent there. You admittedly got flustered at it but didn’t make it obvious, answering the girl.

“Hi. My car has broken down. I’m only 2 miles down the road,” you spoke, embarrassed at your predicament. “I’ll get my truck and tow you to my shop then,” the voice responded before it hung up. You sighed in relief before waiting for her, deciding to browse on your phone, a yawn slipping out of your mouth.

That was when a big truck pulled up and a shorter girl walking out the car. “Alright, let’s get her towed up and then we can discuss prices, that ok?” the girl, Camila you assumed, asked. You nodded.

“Yep,” you spoke with a smile.

“Come. Join me in my truck,” she stated then walked away. You nodded before looking her up and down. She was wearing a pair of clearly old, blue jeans and an old top as well that was covered in oil. She was definitely working on cars as proven by that. Quickly following behind her, you watched as she had already hooked up your car while you admitted her. You hoped she didn’t notice you checking her out before you went into the passenger’s side. Relaxing, you let her drive and didn’t dare talk as a random Spanish song was playing.

After 5 minutes you were at the shop. “Take a seat, I’ll be quick with your vehicle and give you an invoice quick. You are in no rush right?” she asked you. You shook your head.

“No. Was just going to get groceries but that can wait,” you spoke. She nodded and was quick to exit in the back. That’s when you realised you only brought enough money for groceries. You wondered how else you would pay and that made you nervous. How would you pay? Would she threaten you? You decided to not think about that at the time being as she went to work on your car. That’s when you went on your phone and just relaxed, listening to your favourite band.

An hour later, your shoulder was touched which caused you to jump. “Your car is ready, now we can talk payment,” the Latina spoke. You flushed red. “I um… only have enough for groceries,” you admitted, embarrassed. That’s when you saw a smirk appear on her face, making you embarrassed. You thought something was going to go wrong, until she shifted and sat down next to you. She seemed to be shuffling a lot however so you looked down… to be greeted with a dick straining against the jeans. “Why don’t you pay with your body?” she asked, humming. You blushed hard. “You do this to people often who don’t have money to pay?” you asked raising an eyebrow. Camila shook her head. “Nope, I give them an invoice usually. But you have caught my attention,” she admitted. You thought about it as you rubbed her thigh, leading to her dick. You noticed it twith as she gasped before you nodded.

“I always wanted to do it in a car,” you hummed out innocently enough. Camila was excited as she was nodding immediately then. “Yours or mine?” she asked. You just stood up and held her hand, leading her to your car. “I see,” she spoke as she was soon unlocking it. That’s when her confidence rise as she shoved you against the car gently enough to not hurt it before she was pressed up against you. “No one gets to dominate me,” she growled out. Whimpering, you nodded embarrassed as you felt her grind her bulge against your ass. “Now get in the car and be good,” she spoke. You immediately nodded, embarrassed as you let her dominate. You were in the back of your car, already stripping down as Camila joined after pulling her jeans down and pulling off her top revealing no bra. You gulped as you saw it, slowly getting more and more needy for the girl. Camila trailed her eyes up and down your body before she laid down on you and kissed you deep.

Kissing back, you moaned when you felt her fingers rub at your clit, slowly making you wetter. You knew she was going to make you loose enough for her dick so you didn’t mind. You were a virgin after all. Slowly but surely she slowly entered entered a finger in, her thumb still rubbing your clit. Gasping and moaning, you threw your head back and closed your eyes due to pleasure as you opened your legs wider for her. Camila was seeing that as it was soon fully inside, just thrusting it in slowly but surely. She was being gentle as she was kissing your jaw down to your neck and was sucking gently. “Good girl,” she praised quietly as she was soon trying to enter a second one in. A whimper slipped out your mouth but she was kissing you after that to help distract… and it worked.

After a while she was done fingering you and was making sure you was loose enough for her. “Ready baby?” she asked. You nodded, eager. Immediately she entered in fully, soon letting you adjust as quick as she had entered. You whimpered, clenching onto her forearms before lifting your arms over onto her back and scratching it. Camila let out a grunt as she liked the scratching and was soon enoug bruising your lips. She was doing slow and gentle thrusts as she was holding your sides, her hand soon running up to your breast and groping it before her other hand also went down and rubbed at your clit. A whimper came out of your mouth, causing you to let out a small moan before moving with Camila’s movement. She was moaning louder as hse noticed that and was also getting more pleasure from that. She was soon starting to kiss you again, licking your bottom lip before you let her dominate your mouth. You gasped louder when she hit your sweet spot, before you felt her smirk. That’s when she went rougher and faster.

You widened your eyes as a light moan slipped out and you had to open yor legs the widest they could go in the back of the car before you held her tighter, nails digging in and causing red scratches down the Latina’s back, who didn’t even care. She was just pounding into you, grabbing your breast and rubbing your clit. She was soon moving her hand on your clit to your ass and groped at it while having a better hold as she went deeper while hitting your sweet spot. You whimpered in pleasure before you couldn’t help but cum all over her dick.

“Want me to cum inside or outside?” she asked, moaning out loud as she was going harder, riding out your high.

“However you want,” you moaned out, not caring at all. That’s when you felt her tense up then she came inside you. You was panting as you soon held her closer, tired now. You held onto her for a while before she finally spoke. “Want to keep doing this? Also need food and water?” she asked with a smile. You nodded.

“Yeah, we can do this. We can have some takeout and cuddles after?” you offered. Camila nodded with a grin.

“Great, let’s go!” she spoke and was quickly changing you.

You felt happy.

#g!p camila montes #camila montes #camila montes x reader #camila montes x reader smut #ratboy writing #ratboy writes #american carnage

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bazaarwords · 1 year

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thank you @why-does-it-matterr! i think i got a little carried away, but i hope you enjoy!

cw: descriptions of injuries

There was a place she used to go to after the Order had days like these. Bad days. Ones that left her numb.

Historically, the place is both tangible and not—a lonely tower at the Cat’s Cradle, and once there, a few long moments of contemplation. But her old home is a long way away, and so Beatrice finds the part of her mind that needs this kind of treatment and sends it elsewhere. As for her body, she deigns to get to work instead of separating herself. The OCS may not be her world anymore, but there are wounded. People she cares for.

In the wreckage of their makeshift hideout, Beatrice wonders if maybe it’s never been the events of the day that seep the feeling from her. Maybe it’s always been this—this thing she must do to herself in order to succeed. Months of wandering have not divested her of the need to perform. The months have, however, been a reminder of all she’s lost.

She sets her feelings aside. There are things to do.

The first order of business: Camila’s shoulder is out of socket, and for all their collective expertise, Beatrice remains the best candidate to set it. Years ago, before the Order had swept her away, she’d spent a long summer volunteering in a hospital. It’s not the medical training she’d received afterwards, but the exposure was, at the very least, an advantage.

“Ready?” She asks, although she knows that Camila is always ready.

Camila, in the kind way she does all things, just smiles as if Beatrice is the one that needs the reassurance. She nods. “Go for it.”

Camila doesn’t flinch. She lets out a long, measured breath and she says, “ow” and she laughs at herself. Beatrice would like to take the time to laugh with her, but her joy is locked up in that faraway place. She squeezes Camila’s other shoulder, helps her into a sling made of a torn shirt, and moves on to the next.

Sister Dora has twisted her wrist. It’s discolored and swollen, but her bones are, thankfully, intact.

“A tarask,” she explains, “I thought it’d… well, I thought it’d kill me but…”

But she came back, Beatrice thinks to herself, searching the wreckage for wood to make a splint. She saved you.

She blinks that away—she has to. Sister Dora must notice her reticence. She doesn’t complete her thought. So Beatrice secures Sister Dora’s arm, and she moves on.

Yasmine has taken a glancing blow to the head, and Mother Superion has opted to stay up with her in the wake of the fight to monitor the damage.

“I’m okay,” Yasmine says when Beatrice comes by, holding up a placating hand. “I mean—I remember my name, so. So that’s good, right?”

Superion offers the smallest of smirks. It’s fond, not hard-won. “Yes, Yasmine,” she says, and rises up on unsteady footing. It’s not the new, halo-resurrected Superion.

“What happened?” Beatrice asks, firmer than she’d meant to. Emotions are nebulous when she settles into this way.

Superion shakes her head. “Nothing that should concern you. A few bruises.” She gives Beatrice a meaningful look—one she’s not present enough to catalogue. “There’s a cot in the back. Rest. We’re fine here.”

It sounds like an order, and even though she’s put the church behind her, she still respects Mother Superion. She can still recognize that she’s done all she can for the group, within reason. So she makes her way to the back room, feeling nothing. She sits on the edge of the cot, feeling nothing. She shrugs off her outer layers, feeling nothing.

Her mind has been in that faraway place, however, and as she returns to herself, everything sinks in.

While information comes in in pieces, on thing is for certain—there’s pain, everywhere. It would make the most sense to take stock of the worst places, the ones that need her immediate attention, but when feeling rushes back into her, the only thing she can think is that she needs to get out of this room and to wherever she’s gone—

There’s a jolt, razor sharp in the already excruciating throb of her abdomen. It’s quite obviously from when she’d been launched across a courtyard. The intensity winds her halfway to standing and her hip smarts as soon as she’s fallen back to the cot. She tells herself several times that she needs to get herself back in that empty place, that world where she feels nothing. Above all things, she needs to be there because she needs to find Ava.

A week prior, there had been a desperate call for help, a train from the small Finnish town she’d wandered into the month before, and Beatrice had found herself right back in the fray. Seeing the faces of her friends again after all their time apart had been bittersweet. When the fight had come to them, she’d remembered the last words Lilith had said to her. A holy war.

Despite her best efforts, she’s in the middle of it.

“Fuck,” she says, because she curses now. Because she knows that her knee is going to give out if she tries to stand. Because she’s effectively trapped herself in this room.

Frustration wells up in her like a lit fuse.

Assess the damage, she thinks, because what the hell else can she do?

The buttons of her shirt are slow work, her hands are weak from gripping her machine gun, her knives, the side of a building as she hoisted herself and Yasmine back to safety.

God is lost to her now, but it is a miracle that none of her injuries have drawn blood. A massive swath of skin along her side is purple and yellow but unbroken—it is the very worst of things. It hurts to draw breath, and hurts even more to bend and pull her pant leg up past her knee, to find the skin there in much the same condition. Upon further inspection, her hip, too, is a wild mess of bruises.

She’s a wreck, and what do they have to show for it? A few inches of ground? A few battered nuns, scrounging up whatever tools they can find?

Ava.

They have Ava. She just… doesn’t know where.

Beatrice had seen it happen as if in a dream.

The blinding light from above, the shockwave that had sent the tarasks flying in all directions, but hadn’t so much as nudged the sisters. When she’d looked, it was Ava’s form in the center of the light—Beatrice would know it anywhere, in any world—flickering in and out. She remembers shouting, desperate, stumbling through the wreckage. The details from there are hard to recollect. It’s when she’d been grabbed and thrown, it’s when the fight had resumed and she’d lost sight of Ava.

But she had seen her. That she’s certain of.

She closes her eyes, wincing as she tilts her head to the ceiling. The breath she tries to take is shallow and does nothing to steady herself.

“Beatrice?”

The pain of movement is forgotten, the voice like a ribbon of gold around her heart.

There’s Ava. There’s Ava.

The breath is gone in a rush, and Beatrice forgets the rest of the pain and she tries desperately to stand, to run, to move. Her leg gives out and Ava’s on her in a second, easing her back down.

“Ava,” she says, voice breaking, throat tight, “Ava.”

Ava kneels in front of her and she takes Ava’s face in her hands and she can’t look away. Suddenly, that place she goes—the one that is empty and lonely is filled with life. Filled with Ava. And she’s here, she’s real and alive and breathtaking in all the ways that Beatrice has loved. Loves. She feels nothing but it, looking at Ava.

“Bea,” Ava says, fingers wrapped around Beatrice’s wrists like they’ve been fused there. “Bea, you—you’re hurt.”

“You’re here,” Beatrice responds—nothing else matters. “Ava, you’re—“ She doesn’t have other words.

It should hurt to speak. It should hurt to lean forward, but then her lips are on Ava’s and nothing hurts, everything aches. Ava makes a small noise that lets loose something in Beatrice’s chest, and she wants to draw Ava closer, but her body betrays her, her whole side lighting up as if on fire. As if to remind her that respite is fleeting. But she doesn’t care, nothing else matters—

Ava notices her wince and pulls away. It hurts to try to pull her back, but still Beatrice tries. “Fuck,” Ava says, voice shaky, “Bea—hold on. You need—“

“I need you to not leave. I’m fine, I promise.”

“I’m not—you’re not fine, your—oh, God, Bea your side—“

Another Beatrice might have taken modesty into consideration. Her shirt is wide open, her trousers undone, and Ava is knelt before her, a hand on her bare knee. She just—she just wants so keenly that the constant, painful reminders of her body’s journey through battle feel like they’re killing her. She wants to pull Ava up and on to her lap, she wants Ava’s mouth on hers again, she wants, she wants, she wants. And maybe it’s her pilgrimage and her seperation from the church that’s allowing her this clear revelation, or maybe it’s just the relief to be in the same room as the girl she loves. Maybe that’s all it’s ever been.

“Let me… shit, I don’t know how good I am at this yet.” Ava focuses down on Beatrice’s splotchy, wounded knee, and the dark room is slowly illuminated by the glow of the Halo.

It feels… itchy, at first. It’s not a scab, but the injury takes on the properties of one—Beatrice tamps down the overwhelming need to scratch or pat at it, but then—as soon as it began—it’s gone. Ava pulls her hand away and the skin is as normal as it’s ever been. An oblong scar where bone is closest to skin from one too many skinned knees, but other than that? Nothing.

“How did you…” Beatrice trails off, swinging her leg back and forth easily.

“I’d… you know, I’d really like to explain it, but, uh. I have no fucking idea.”

Beatrice can’t help it, she laughs, a little hysterical. And then she wants to throw up.

“Don’t—no laughing. Stop it,” Ava says with a worried smile. She sets the tips of her fingers at the massive bruise on Beatrice’s side, and Beatrice can’t tamp down the shiver that rockets through her at the feeling. “Sorry. Sorry, I just need to...” Ava says, her voice thick, “just let me…”

The Halo does its work again, scrubbing her pain from her, raw and red until it’s not anymore. Beatrice takes a breath, and there is no pain.

“Good?” Ava asks.

“Good,” Beatrice responds. She wants that to be the end of it, but when she tries to move in again—“I think there’s another…”

Herein lies the problem. Her hip.

Ava looks down, and they’re in the middle of a war, but Beatrice wonders if she closes her eyes for just a moment, maybe they’ll be back in the Alps. Maybe there, this touch is necessary for another reason. Maybe Ava is looking up at her like this and maybe nothing has ever been wrong.

But they’re in the blown-out remains of a church, and there are demons everywhere, and in her darkest moments she’d worried that this—her and Ava—was lost for good.

Ava hovers over her bruise, and Beatrice nods. Ava is delicate, fingers light over her hipbone. This is not the time to wish for another life, but still she does. And for the first time in months, the wish has legs. It climbs out of that place she goes and it smiles at her, and Ava smiles at her too, proud of her work.

Beatrice draws her in, and the war rages on, but there are no more lonely places.

She has Ava. It’s enough.

#warrior nun #warrior nun fic #warrior nun fanfic #warrior nun fanfiction #ava silva #sister beatrice #avatrice #avatrice fanfiction #avatrice fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fics #sister camila #sister yasmine #mother superion #wn #save warrior nun #my fics #my writing

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withered-tears · 7 months

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When Camila asked the kids about their favorite foods, she was just hoping to ask Luz for help to try and find any human substitute/equivalent to try and replicate it for them.

He was expecting to hear some bizarre names. (Seriously, fairy pie? What would one even use to substitute fairies? Shrimp, maybe?)

What she wasn't expecting was Hunter looking serious and focused enough as a man on the battlefield.

He was muttering to himself while tapping his finger to his lips, seemingly giving the question far more importance than Camila thought necessary.

He kept at it for a few seconds until finally, with a resolute nod to himself, he replied.

"Rootknot fruit."

Camila wasn't surprised when she didn't recognize the name. But she was a bit surprised to find that Amity, Gus, Luz, and Vee looked as lost as she did.

She was even more surprised at Willow's borderline offended look.

"Rootknot fruit? Really?"

Hunter perked up in the way he did every time he got to speak about a particular interest of his.

"Yeah! It grows all over the isles, and it's relatively easy to forage. The fruit is really dense, so a single bite can be enough to push away hunger for a whole day. Also, in case of emergency, if you chew the skin into a paste and use it as a salve between bandages, it makes any wound close faster to stop bleeding. It's a great food source to find in any mission."

Everyone blinked.

"Ah, that sounds great, mijo. And do you like the taste?"

"Oh no, it tastes awful. Like chewing on rotten wood. It's terrible."

Hunter was still smiling as he told her that his favorite food tasted terrible.

"Oh. Well, do you have any food from the demon realm you really like the taste of?"

Hunter now looked pensive. Apparently, taste never occurred to him as a factor when choosing a favorite food.

"Um. Gus once gave me a really good sandwich?"

#toh #the owl house #hunter #hunter noceda #camila noceda #i did it i wrote something toh related #anyway #hunter's lived his whole life on soldier diet so he never once considered taste as a relevant part of food #my writing

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kind-without-box · 8 days

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#teyana taylor #portal 2 #sakusa x reader #writing ideas #twice icons #corey taylor #one day at a time #muscle #pay to fuck #genshin fanart #camila mendes #the lorax #bts army

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meropegaaunt · 1 year

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WEST COAST

Billy Dunne x reader

Implied eventual Graham Dunne x reader

Summary: The love between two best friends toes the line between platonic and romantic.

Warnings: Kid on kid violence, fighting, angst, alcohol, and attempted kissing

Word Count: 2,359 words

GRAHAM DUNNE (lead guitar, The Six): Growing up, Y/N and Billy were, like, best friends. I mean, God, they were close, so close you never saw one without the other.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

You, Y/N L/N, grew up in a small suburb outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Said suburb was small, quaint, filled with red-brick houses and white picket fences. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone. The rich thrived, having two or three properties in their name and far too many zeros in their checking accounts, but the majority struggled to make ends meet, to even keep a roof over their heads. You were part of the majority, but your father, F/N L/N, did everything in his power to ensure that you lived in blissful ignorance, unaware of the struggles that weighed so heavily upon his shoulders. He had two jobs, one as a music teacher and one as a bar manager. Endless hours had been spent slaving away at those jobs in an attempt to ensure you were given every opportunity to succeed, and luckily, you were.

Truth be told, you had not the faintest idea of your dire living circumstances, because your father showered you in love and affection, making everything, even the most mundane tasks, seem like an adventure. He had a way with people, a way that he passed on to you, which was why at school, you got on well with your classmates. You got on best with Billy and Graham Dunne, though, two brothers that shared your true love: music.

(Your friendship did not have an easy beginning, though. Not by a long shot, because even at a young age, Billy had trouble letting people close. Your first encounter with him was in passing. Names had been exchanged, but there was no inkling of what would bloom between the two of you. That inkling did not come until a boy two years older than you and Billy and four years older than Graham came around looking to give Billy a hard time. He found Graham instead, who became his victim of circumstance. You happened upon the scene just in time to see the boy deliver a harsh kick to Graham’s ribs, and that sight alone was enough for you to see red and abandon all common sense. It mattered not that he was your superior in both age and size. All that mattered was that Graham, who had only ever shown you kindness and civility, was frightened and bleeding and needed help, which was why you threw caution to the wind, ran forward, and thundered, “Hey, that’s my friend you’re kicking!” In an instant, you two were on the ground, grappling violently atop the dirt path. The boy pawed at your face, pulling at your locks while you pressed on his throat. His efforts broke your skin and knocked your nose askew, yet your hold stayed firm, just as F/N had shown you. You hunched forward, pale with rage as he writhed about, trying futilely to get free. Each action made his throat tighter, though, so his attempts hastily slowed down. He gasped, his eyes growing hazy from the wild thrumming of the blood in his head. It was only after oxygen escaped him for a beat that you lessened your grip and retreated with Graham, though, your feet flying over the earth until you found Billy. That day, covered in blood and dirt, he deemed you all right.)

Seeing your love for music, your father found and salvaged an old guitar for you, a Gibson Les Paul that had seen far better days. It had suffered much hurt and misuse, but he searched out alternatives for each decaying piece, eventually returning it to its former glory. You basked in its glory, showing it off to the Dunne brothers with stars in your eyes and a smile that rivaled the sun in intensity. They had an old Silvertone guitar, so the three of you began learning how to play, going through much trial and error before discovering what worked and what did not.

Your musical range evolved as you entered your teenage years, especially when Billy and Graham’s mother, Marlene, bought them an old Strat. Armed with three guitars, you delved into songwriting, thus laying the foundation for what eventually became one of the world’s most beloved rock bands.

You were there at the nanscene of the Dunne Brothers band, long before its first additions — drummer Warren Rhodes, bassist Chuck Williams, and rhythm guitarist Eddie Roundtree — were brought on. You did not have a designated title, though. Instead, you played whatever part was needed, whether that be a singer, guitarist, or keyboardist. The band worked whatever gig it could, whether that be at house parties, seedy bars, or dance clubs.

Around that time, you had noticed that you had physically changed, had grown into your own. Your friends had, too, but you did not realize until one of the nights when the band had played at a seedy bar. There had been various acts of violence committed at said bar, but this particular night, a man who was out of his mind on drugs had started swinging. Hands had been thrown, landing hits upon bar attendants, but then, he had come for you . . . You had not seen it coming, too engrossed in your music, which was why there was no time for you to react, to defend yourself. Your eyes snapped up, catching sight of the fist flying your way, but it never made contact with your face. Before it could, Billy collided with the man, hitting him with enough force that he was sent crashing to the ground.

You blinked once, twice, thrice, pure, unfettered shock keeping you rooted in place. It was only when a warm, familiar hand landed upon your shoulder that you snapped out of it, the shock wearing off. “Thanks, Billy,” you breathed, your eyes rising to meet his emerald ones. “I owe you one.”

“It’s nothing,” he shrugged, a mischievous look flitting across his face. “Couldn’t let him take you out before I do.”

“Ah, that’s not happening,” you remarked, unable to conceal your amusement. He had tried to sweet talk you before, had even gone as far to use his go-to pick-up line: If you let me take you out I’ll write a song about you. The pick-up line had not worked, though, for you had shot back: No, thanks, Dunne. If I want there to be a song about me, I’ll write it myself. “The day we start dating bandmates is the day the Dunne Brothers is over.”

Perhaps if he was being serious, you would consider going on a date with him, but you truly believed that he was not, that he was simply being his typical coquettish self. Despite this, in the future, you will think that this perhaps was the moment when you first realized that you loved him, that you were in love with him . . .

─── ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ───

BILLY DUNNE (lead singer, The Six): We got hired for this wedding. It was a big deal. A wedding meant we were gonna be heard by, you know, a hundred people. I think I was nineteen.

We had auditioned for this couple with our best song. It was this slower, folkier song Y/N and I had written called “Nevermore.” Just thinking about it makes me cringe. Truly. I was writing about the Catonsville Nine and things like that. I thought I was Dylan. But we got this gig.

And about halfway through our show at this wedding, this fifty-something guy catches Y/N on a water break and pulls them onto the dance floor. I see and think, Does this guy know what a creep he looks like? And then I realize it’s my dad.

GRAHAM: Our father was there, all over Y/N, completely unaware he was making them uncomfortable. I realized it before Billy, I think. Recognized him from the pictures our mom kept in the shoe box under her bed.

Y/N L/N (singer, The Six): I didn’t originally know it was Mr. Dunne that had pulled me onto the dance floor that night. I mean, plenty of older men go after younger people. It’s not great, it’s just how it is. Not wanting to start a scene, I danced with him until Billy came down off the stage and pulled me away. Afterward, he told me who he was, and it just . . . made me sick. Mr. Dunne looked right at Billy, his son, and didn’t recognize him. How is that possible? How is that fair?

BILLY: I couldn’t believe it. He’d been gone ten years by that point. And he was supposed to be in Georgia. The asshole was just standing in the middle of the dance floor, no idea his sons were up onstage or that he was dancing with their best friend. I put an end to that. I got off stage and pulled them apart. Y/N was confused as hell, but I explained who he was.

GRAHAM: Billy asked a few people at the wedding about him. Turns out our father had been living a few towns over. Friends with the bride or something. Y/N was furious, saying, “You know what, fuck him. You guys are the best. If he can’t see that, that’s his problem, not yours.” They were right. He was a drunk asshole anyway. So good riddance to him.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Seeing the response — or lack thereof — from Mr. Dunne infuriated you. He had laid eyes upon his sons for the first time in a decade, and there had been no recognition, no remorse. He had helped bring them into the world, had raised them for five and seven years respectively, but then, when given the opportunity to reconnect, he treated them like strangers, like they meant nothing.

Your father had loved you dearly, had done everything in his power to protect you, which was why such a poor excuse of a man was hard to wrap your head around. You tried, though, even going as far as to snag a bottle of whiskey in an attempt to lessen your inhibitions, to think outside of the box. Unfortunately, the whiskey did not offer any answers about Mr. Dunne, but it did cause your budding feelings for Billy to spill out, to make themselves known.

He too had taken in alcohol, had consumed beer after beer, but Billy, for a reason you did not know, held his alcohol better. That was why when you took a seat next to him with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in hand, he looked relatively put together. You, on the other hand, looked simultaneously attractive and disheveled. It was paradoxical, but the sight of you, with your warm cheeks and wild hair, lit a fire within him, a fire whose flames threatened to consume him, to devour him whole.

“Billy,” you breathed his name, leaning through the dark so that your faces were mere millimeters apart, causing your breaths to mingle. “Your dad is a real prick, but I’m — I’m glad you’re not like him. You’re a real great guy. The best.”

“I’m not,” he refuted, knowing that your tongue had been loosened by the alcohol. When sober, you were generous with your words, but not like this. Not to this degree. “I’ve made some dumbass decisions. You know that better than anyone—“

“And yet, I still love you,” you cut him off, leaning impossibly closer. You had contemplated kissing him a handful of times since that night in the bar, but had yet to work up enough nerve to do so. Now, when you were feeling brazen, it would be so quick, so easy. All you had to do was bridge the gap between your faces . . . You made to do so, to press your lips to his, but he pulled away, moving out of your range. A mixture of hurt and confusion crossed your features then, followed by uncertainty. “Do you not want to—“

“Not like this,” he shook his head, because even though the flirtatious comments sent your way held truth, he would not allow you to make such a drastic move when drunk. Not with him. “If you remember this tomorrow, we can figure things out, Y/N.”

In a perfect world, you would remember this conversation the next day. You and Billy would communicate and sort out your feelings together, but this world was not perfect. In this world, you did not remember your advances on Billy, which was why when he met the foxy, dark-haired Camila Martinez, he pursued her . . .

─── ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ───

WARREN RHODES (drummer, The Six): In the summer and fall of ‘69, we were all really starting to get laid, man. And Billy was taking himself off the market. We’d all be with chicks and he’d be sitting there, smoking a joint, having a beer to keep himself busy. I came out of a girl’s room one time, zipping my pants up, and Billy was sitting on the sofa, watching Dick Cavett. I knew Y/N loved Billy. Hell, by that point, I think everyone except Billy knew. So I said, “Man, you gotta ditch that girlfriend.” Don’t get me wrong; we all liked Camila, she was foxy and she’d tell you your business right to your face, which I liked. But c’mon. Y/N isn’t the sort of person you want to miss out on an opportunity with.

Y/N: I wanted to hate Camila. It would have been easier that way, if she was terrible to Billy, if she made him unhappy, but she didn’t. She grounded him, made him a better version of himself, so there really was no choice but for me to take a step back, to put some distance between Billy and I.

GRAHAM: It killed Y/N to give Billy and Camila space, but they did. Because they loved him, and that . . . that took a lot of selflessness. I think, maybe, that might have been when I started falling in love with them.

#daisy jones and the six #djats #djats spoilers #billy dunne #graham dunne #warren rhodes #daisy jones headers #x reader #sam claflin #writing #writing requests #open requests #angst #rockband #camila dunne

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enchantedchocolatebars · 1 month

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Based on this text: @talisman975.

Context:

(All au based).

A small smirk grew on Belos's face when he saw Camila in the vulnerable state she was currently in.

He knew precisely what words to use to lure her to his side and into his arms.

Although he felt genuine care and sympathy for the mother, this was the perfect opportunity for him to retaliate against Luz without putting a finger on her.

"Luz doesn't see you as family now," he gently began, coming to her side.

"Why should you do the same?"

"B-But that's not..." Camila said, wanting to argue, but slowly stopped.

As much as she didn't want to admit it, he did have a point.

"True?" Belos finished her sentence, his voice softer than silk as he curled a gauntlet finger under her chin.

Dark shades of brown began to tint both of Camila's cheeks as she felt the emperor grip her chin with such gentleness.

"Are you certain that it's not?" he asked before continuing.

"Look at who she selected to be her family. Despite all that you did for her, she still chose to betray you. Stabbed you right in the back."

He gave a small pinch to her jaw when he said the word 'stabbed,' but nothing that would harm her.

He valued her too highly for that.

A glimmer sparkled in Camila's brown eyes the more she looked into Belos's blue ones.

She obviously held onto every word he said like a kitten grasping onto a tree branch for dear life.

She was nearly hypnotized by the man.

"Aren't you tired of being nice, Camila? Doesn't Luz's actions make you want to..."

Belos didn't want such a word like "ape shit" to slip from his lips.

He was a gentleman, after all.

"Snap?" he asked.

Camila began to think. "Th... They... they do." she quietly admits.

Belos let out a hum, satisfied by her answer.

"You know, there's this question I've been meaning to ask you, but now I believe is the perfect time to do so. Camila, how would you like to...," he whispered the question into her ear.

Camila didn't respond right away to the offer.

In fact, she was hesitant to do so, but after finding out that Luz had not only chosen to stay in the Demon Realm, but also lied to her about where she was and decided that criminals meant more to her than she did?

Camila let out a sigh, the anger within her bubbling as she narrowed her lips.

"I'm listening..." she slowly growled, her dark tone laced with interest.

She's finally had enough.

#(belos vc: give into the dark side)#(this is a little messy but fun!)#the owl house #owl house #toh #emperor belos #belos #philip wittebane #old man belos #belosfanstakeover #camila noceda #camielos #camila x belos #belos x camila #writing #my writing

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crimeronan · 2 months

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"It seems like he's good for you," Camila says.

The Luz sitting at the kitchen table is certainly different from the one Camila has gotten to know over the past few months. The hope in her expression is guarded, still, like she's scared to feel anything good - but it's a thousand times better than her usual listless stare.

"He's my best friend," Luz says. Then, more cautiously, "I need him to stay here. With me."

The boy is the reason that Camila's search history has just gotten very peculiar and probably put her on a watch list. Things like Stahl's ear and oculocutaneous albinism next to unsolved missing children 2000s connecticut. That last one pulls up way too many current-day news pieces about Luz for comfort.

"Baby, I know you don't like to talk about it," Camila starts, and Luz tenses. "You don't have to answer me if you don't want to. But have you been missing him this whole time? I would have found him, mija. I know you don't like the police, I don't either. But if I needed to find a way, I'd find a way."

Luz blinks rapidly, pressing her palms to her cheeks.

"Is there anyone else you're looking for?" Camila asks, very gently, very non-judgmentally. "Maybe someone you don't want to get in trouble?"

Luz shakes her head and clears her throat. Then she smiles in the peculiar, diplomatic way that never reaches her eyes.

"I just thought he was dead," she says lightly. "Silly me. I should have remembered humans don't kill people. I got some bad intel."

"Okay," Camila says. "Do you understand why that was a concerning thing to say?"

Luz shrugs.

"He has a lot of scars," Camila adds.

Another shrug.

"Baby," she says, "I need to know at least a little bit. I can't keep guessing forever."

Luz's mouth crumples. "I'm not what you think I am," she whispers.

"That's okay." Camila takes a seat across from her, exhaling softly. "I'm all ears."

#toh #princess luz au #princess luz au worst timeline #not doing a full fic but. woe snippet of the various scenes playing in my head be upon ye #my writing #horrible mindscape trauma pals #camila noceda #luz noceda

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fandomsandflyingstingrays · 11 months

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I got some requests for more Raine living in the Owl House headcanons and I’d like to take this moment to thank you for enabling me because I could literally talk about this forever

Lilith got a bit overprotective when Raine first moved in and sent Hooty to see how things were going. Hooty appeared in the window while Raine was washing dishes, coughed his typewriter onto the windowsill, and launched into an array of startlingly personal questions. Raine still hasn’t recovered

This is a bit of a specific callback, but does anyone remember that one scene in Understanding Willow where Eda was playing like ten bells at the same time? Raine finds those in a closet one day and just starts playing them. Eda and King hear the noise and it turns into a whole group symphony. It becomes a family tradition that when one person is angry they just start swinging the bells and everyone else joins in. Great emotional release

Upon realizing that their whistle is similar to King’s “WEH”, Raine starts teaching him bard theories and exercises to strengthen his voice. King didn’t expect to have any help or understanding with his power, so he loves it

The first time Raine hears King refer to them and Eda as his parents, they cry about it for a full hour

Luz and King call Raine “Ray-Ray” when they want something. It works every time

Raine and Luz have a lesson hour each week where Raine spends half an hour teaching Luz about bard magic and Luz spends half an hour teaching Raine Spanish

Raine asks Camila to teach them how to cook some of the kids’ favorite human realm foods and the two of them discover that they have the exact same taste in food. After that, they spend a lot of free time learning each other’s recipes

#the owl house #toh #raine whispers #eda clawthorne #king clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #luz noceda #camila noceda #toh hooty #ray rambles #ray writes

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probablyhuntersmom · 1 year

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It's me again. The therapist/illustrator who can't stop squeaking and screaming about her beloved son Hunter.

I've been thinking nonstop about him finding the terrible grimwalker graveyard, imagining what would be going through my mind if I were him. Sifting through whatever moments, dialogue and frames that I can find from the existing material, along with references outside of the show, to formulate what an offscreen scene would've been like.. (And seeing if I can find editable and salvageable enough backgrounds so I could perhaps even depict this scene one day)

A soul like him who not only wants to help others, but also acquire knowledge:

heading back here to see the graveyard:

You can't tell me that this wouldn't still be on his mind, and he's even anxious while saying this below, scratching his face a little:

Whether he follows up on this or not, also depends on how he looks back on being shown this:

And is he just going to go cold turkey and totally drop these leads he was pursuing in the episodes before the finale? :

Three things prompted me to finally write this post:

@polyhexian's and @ashanimus's analyses of Hunter's fight scenes in Hunting Palismen and Eclipse Lake (links here and here, they're really cool to read!!), based on their years of experience with martial arts. Reading those was a revelation to me because learning about how high Hunter's skill level is, how in touch with his body he is by default, portrayed so well thanks to the crew...that allows me to make far more educated guesses about his mental health in the early stages of the pre-epilogue gap of about 4 years. Because he is so used to high activity and being on high alert, no thanks to having C-PTSD.

Observing how light and free Hunter's expressions are, and how transformed his demeanor became, in the epilogue sequence. That transformation is an indication to me of the magnitude of grief which had to be transformed within him. To be put back together, in order to be so radiant, generous and self-actualized in the epilogue...imagine how much had to be deconstructed and further broken beforehand. He wouldn't have room to fill his life up with all that amazing newness if the old isn't emptied out first.

This psychoeducational video by my fave author, also a practicing therapist, who specializes in traumatic grief: link. Hearing her address the topic of entering the second year after a bereavement vs. the first year, was interesting. Definitely confirms to me that Hunter wouldn't have carved Waffles until past the 2nd year of navigating his bereavement.

In the years that pass before the epilogue, Hunter will not be able to understand why the efforts he puts into all the rebuilding work, coordinating and leading others, and trying to have fun - only cycle back to him experiencing a mix of a restlessness and emptiness in the deepest layer of his mind. It'll exhaust his energy bit by bit. I bet he's going to generally look as tired as depressed Luz does below, even if he's had an acceptable hours of sleep per night:

That restlessness will be an awful psychological itch that he'll be unable to scratch, caused by losing Flapjack and now also Belos. This is the same as what happened with his anger in For the Future, except Belos was still alive back then. It will be harder to understand and messier to navigate the bereavement this time round. It'll be something gnawing into his soul which I really think only professional help can heal, especially since the show promotes that it's okay to not be okay, and more than okay to seek professional help (Steve and Lilith's conversation in Edge of the World).

He will be trying to claw his way out of that C-PTSD pit, but he'll be aware deep down that he simply cannot reach any emotional high points for long, and something will be blocking his feelings of connection with his loved ones. He won't feel nearly as free and easy the way he used to be in the human realm:

Having a routine like he used to in the Castle, and moving around a lot, was what helped him survive. However, he won't have the awareness that the shift resulting from Belos passing away has been at such a fundamental level: to the point that those old, supposedly tried-and-true methods no longer serve him in any positive way. At least, not until his mental health will be back in better shape.

As he puts in more and more effort to escape that restless emptiness, getting annoyed at himself because he doesn't know what's going on...he'll use up the rest of his strength and eventually crash. That itch won't be solved by going back to overworking tendencies, and like how it is with addiction cycles, he would need some kind of fix for the deep restlessness within. The answer? Productivity to feel useful, which we have seen even in his efforts to fix damaged clothing and well, making stuff in general.

Where the grimwalker graveyard comes in is...once he hears news about its existence, he will stubbornly insist to want to help in investigating it, saying he has already read a bunch of books about them, and can be useful, etc. Worse, if his offer to help to investigate is refused, he will do what he did in Eclipse Lake. Go to the location anyway, to fill that deep void within.

Old habits die hard.

I don't know if he may hear from King (who he'll be seeing fairly often, I think!), The Collector or even Kikimora about it. Since they were the three characters who went all the way down there in King's Tide, and The Collector already knew about these horrors for literal centuries. King and The Collector are also still young kids! Will they have the sensitivity and awareness about breaking this news to Hunter?!

On the other hand, I don't know how the timing will be with Darius, Raine and Eberwolf..Darius will want to get serious about investigating his mentor's disappearance. Once the searching and scouring extends to the location of the Head of the Titan, they will find the evidence staring them in the face. If they want to scour every inch of the Isles, there's also a high chance they'll find the godforsaken grimwalker lab.

Worst of all, Darius would be aware by then of how much Hunter loves to help out in operations like this to be productive. At the same time, Darius's own grief will surface even more, I'm not sure he'll be able to hide that, and Hunter is highly observant. If Darius is trying to hide his own priority of finding closure re: his mentor, I think Hunter will sense that.

Therefore I wonder if this will happen except it's Hunter with Darius:

and then this poor beloved skrunkly son of mine, who so famously said these words at the beginning of his arc:

is probably going to get reckless, and endanger his mental health...not unlike moments like this:

by venturing to the graveyard, whether stealthily or accompanying the grownups, because he'll rationalize it as "getting closure" and once again "being useful". Remember how used he is to moving around so much and being active, combined with growing up isolated so that asking for help can still be a foreign concept to him. He would be anxious about grinding to a halt, and he'd want to be on the move instead.

He may demand to see the graveyard, and holy Titan I'm not sure any dilemma will be as tricky for Camila and Darius to navigate as this one. Because preventing him from seeing something he already knows exists is, in a very twisted way, also an unhelpful form of avoidance. Avoidance is a hallmark criterion for diagnosing both PTSD and C-PTSD.

How far do they go in protecting him from himself? Where do they draw that line? They might reach a compromise where Camila and Darius accompany him there. Once he sees it, it'll hit harder than this:

Letting him see it means his new parents would have to fall with him, in the sense that they follow him to that emotional place: but while he figuratively does not have a safety harness when falling into this deep dark hole, Camila and Darius are equipped with harnesses a.k.a. higher maturity, less of a trauma history, and some tools to help him get better, navigate the trauma, and manage his symptoms.

Camila will have the warmth and sensitivity to catch and meet him as he falls (she interacts with animals in her profession, who don't have the capacity for human language, in a similar way to how serious trauma can't even be put into words at times: it makes you voiceless). Darius's shared past living in the Castle and grieving over his mentor will help Hunter not feel as alone once he has seen these horrors.

And because his heart generally became more open to receiving love and support,

I doubt he'll close himself off almost completely, the way he did in the first two-thirds of For the Future (god, remember these deleted storyboards??):

It wouldn't surprise me if he weeps and panics as soon as he sees the graveyard, and his parents give him maximum support through that breakdown. As complicated as it would be for Camila and Darius to give in to his desire to see the graveyard, a response like this from him - a child seeking attachment with proper timing - is a good sign of growing into healthy attachment with parental figures.

It is an arguably better response than one of the hardest aspects of C-PTSD: where the outpouring of grief only happens after a delay, sometimes a significant delay, at very inconvenient or strange times. Hell...if I were Hunter, I'd probably want Camila and Darius to just hold me close in wordless silence for half an hour until my initial distress and shock passes.

If I use King - a child who is securely attached to Eda, who's definitely had a more stable upbringing - as a control experiment here, he could have the appropriate response immediately in Echoes of the Past and expressed his emotional needs clearly enough:

Whereas this is what Hunter has to now learn, at twice King's age, as he settles in with new parents who take care of him instead of mistreating him the way Belos did. Hell, I can't imagine what kind of Belos punishment awaited him if he cried to demand attachment.

(I need to use more King scenes as a comparison to Hunter's upbringing in my next metas! I realize this can make my explanations clearer)

Anyway, what may happen next after he can't unsee the graveyard is...Hunter will then swing to the other extreme of high activity. I.e. being passive, physically inactive and psychologically crashing into depression, which may translate into habits such as oversleeping (catching up on all that lost sleep...but at what cost?). Supposedly sliding deeper into the C-PTSD pit. A place from which he has to express the desire to seek the forms of help he needs.

Remember that this kid has only known extremes for most of his life. Until he settles in properly with his found family and attends therapy, he has no clear reference point for more balanced approaches in living.

The trauma he went through is a quadruple whammy for a 16-year-old who just survived growing up in a cult. It would be so much. I can't see him not falling into months of deep dark depression, as unfortunate as this sounds.

Grieving over Flapjack, grieving over Belos, over his childhood/upbringing, and now a grisly memory of his predecessors who didn't make it (to add to what he saw in Belos's mindscape). I simply cannot see him handling a load like this without a highly-equipped and sensitive professional, paired with his support network of family, friends and even possibly the wider community at times. Especially now that we've seen him in action during the epilogue.

The epilogue sequence would've had a different feel (and in my opinion, a not-so-good feel) for me if Dana had established that the grimwalker graveyard was still untouched after those 3.5-4 years and if Hunter never found out about it. Something like that is different compared to Dana mentioning in the recent Post-Hoot that in the he does not know about Caleb and Evelyn, or that he is related to the Clawthornes. Mysteries like the Clawthorne heritage can remain an eerie secret that only us in the audience know about, but I wouldn't feel comfy if this were the case for the graveyard as well.

To quote @idlescree's video essay about Hunter's death (link), the show's writers didn't pull any punches when it came to Hunter's development arc. Which means they had to take his story to the "categorically appropriate place for him to overcome" his greatest challenges.

Something tells me that with respect to the grimwalker graveyard and the avoidance theme in C-PTSD recovery, Hunter would've had to put in more work to confront a number of terrifying foes even beyond his Thanks to Them speech. One of which was the graveyard containing the remains of his predecessors.

PS: This is a spontaneous post which branches out from my giant post-finale meta (link) that I pinned to my blog, I suppose.

#toh hunter #the owl house #hunter noceda #camila noceda #hunter deamonne #darius deamonne #toh analysis #grimwalkers #grimwalker graveyard #loz writes a meta

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rainymonday126 · 1 year

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Bonus:

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #sister camila #incorrect warrior nun #warrior nun crack #I'm sorry for my brain #I'm supposed to be writing

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writing-rat · 11 months

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Sneaking Out

Pairing: Camila Montes X Reader

Content warning: No spoilers, smut, 18+ content, vaginal sex, G!P Camila

REQUESTED? YES

Summary: Can you write about y/n sneaking into Camila's room at night and they have sex or whatever and they almost get caught at the end?

Sneaking out was hard in Owl Cove but you had found it easier after JP found the keys and was able to keep them. The keys alternated between you and JP then, and tonight was your turn. You proceeded to take your tracker off and left in your bed before you went over to the door and peeked out. You saw no staff member before you quickly rushed over to Camila’s door, feeling your excitement grow. She had offered for you to come to hers that night so you could see what she was like in bed, which you wasn’t going to miss. You had seen her erection some of the days due to the uniform not hiding anything. It was plain as day and she always went to the staff bathrooms whenever she got one due to not wanting to get in trouble.

You was soon at her door as you knocked on it quietly. 5 knocks just like she requested for when you was foing to come in. After a few seconds the door opened and you was let in quickly before the door was closed. You was pinned against the door immediately, feeling rough kisses on your neck. You let out a gasp and closed your eyes instinctively as you threw your head back, a whimper slipping out your mouth. “Already got you needy, hm?” Camila teased, keeping your hands pinned up against your sides as she was placing herself against you. You could feel the bulge grow against you as you bucked your hips, a moan slipping out. “Yes, you have ma-Camila,” you answered immediately. Camila stopped all movement at the near misspeak, but she was wanting to hear it. “Master? Ma’am? What was you going to say? If you don’t I won’t dick you down like you want me to. You know I won’t. You can wait 2 months actually before you get the chance to be fucked again,” Camila commanded. You blushed as you knew she was an asshole and she would restrict you from her dick. She had seen you staring at it a lot after all. “I was going to call you master,” you admitted shyly and gulped, before you felt her dick twitch against your thigh. She smirked before a hand went to your throat where she was dragging you off to the bed. She was making sure you could breathe before she let go and pushed you on the bed where you finally got a look at her. She was wearing a black bra and the white trousers that contrasted the bra. The bulge was visible and she even put water on her crotch area to emphasise it. She enjoyed the way you stared at her bulge as she put her hands on her hips. “Are you even listening to me?” Camila asked, which caused you to shake your head. “Sorry, I was distracted,” you blushed as you kept staring at her dick.

“You want my trousers off?” Camila asked, lifting your jaw up to meet her eyes. They were glazed with lust as well as passion, to which you nodded immediately. “Words,” Camila commanded.

“Please master,” you spoke as you ogled her chest as your jaw was still being held. “Good puppy,” she responded before she was removing her hand, unclipping her bra first then tugging her trousers down revealing some white boxers which were wet with water and precum. You blushed, taking it all in as you opened your legs instinctively. Camila noticed however you didn’t before she crossed her arms. “Clothes off, now. Underwear too,” Camila demanded. Obeying, you did as told and blushed as she was drinking in your looks. She also noticed how wet you was. “On the floor and on your knees. Pull down my boxers with your teeth,” Camila instructed you, to which you was immediately doing. You proceeded to grab the middle of them with your teeth, blushing bright red as you did so, feeling your face close to her dick. You soon got them down to your knees before Camila held your hair and was dragging your head up over to her dick. You predicted it so you quickly moved your head closer before licking up and down at first, making direct eye contact with Camila. You blushed as you did so. “If we were allowed phones I would definitely be recording this,” Camila grunted out as you was soon starting to take her tip in your mouth, your other hand slowly caressing her balls. You was soon taking it in your mouth, but gagged halfway. You was slowly sucking back up, your spare hand rubbing the shaft as you was planning on sucking more eventually, you would train yourself to. Camila kept gripping your hair as her moans were getting louder.

After a few more minutes, Camila was soon starting to get louder and was gripping tighter before she came into your mouth. You immediately swallowed as much as possible, blushing bright red. Once you was done however you was bent over the bed. “You better be ready for my dick,” Camila grunted out needily before she entered into you gently and slowly. She was wanting you to enjoy it after all. You let out slight moans and grunts of pleasure as you bit the bed hard, knowing you would be sore tomorrow. She was soon fully inside as she held yor hips, slowly thrusting as she was letting you take your time still.

You was soon nodding after 2 minutes, allowing her to go rougher and faster. Camila seemed to be happy about that as she sped up, gripping tighter as she was moaning, one hand going down before she was rubbing the clit. You let out a whimper as she did so, her other hand trailing to your neck before she started to choke you as she thrusted. It felt even better as you arched your back, more groans slipping out as you was taking Camila’s dick well. She was grunting as she thrusted, pressing her body against you and was effectively keeping you pinned down against the bed. She had put you in a mating press.

You loved the position as you felt yourself getting closer. “Fuck, I’m close master,” you whimpered out as you effectively begged to cum, “What would you do to cum?” Camila grunted out against your ear. “Anything,” you whined out. “I’d suck your dick anywhere, I’d jack you off anywhere, I’ll go commando for you. Hell, I’ll let you finger me at the dinner table,” you begged out as you was about to cum, but you wanted permission from Camila to cum. You felt Camila’s dick twitch at the suggestions while also getting faster before she was nodding. “You may cum,” she grunted out. Gratefully you soon came before you felt her own dick pulse due to cumming in you. You was panting as she peppered kisses all over your neck and thigh, praising you for how good you were.

You were about to speak when you heard a knock on the door. Quickly Camila went under the covers, making you also go under the sheet but curl up. “Yes?” she called out. One of the staff members proceeded to walk in. “Who’s in here?” the staff memer asked, glaring as he was looking at her. Camila feigned confusion.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“We heard moaning. Who was here?” the staff asked, even more annoyed. “Ever hard of self pleasure?” she spoke back. The staff member stood, gaping his mouth before he left, not having a response. Camila smirked before she was looking at you, who was looking up at her innocently. “Go on your side,” she commanded. Curiously you nodded before doing as told, when you was being big spooned. “Goodnight,” she spoke quietly. “Night,” you respond, a smile on your lips as you fell asleep.

#camila montes #camila montes x reader #g!p camila montes #jenna ortega x reader #ratboy writing #ratboy writes

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