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deans-queen · 29 days

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One Night Stand - (Thomas Shelby Version) 🥃💋

Paring: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: Reader (Y/N) is one of the popular “servant” girls at the infamous Arrow House, and the leader of the Peaky Blinders, Thomas Shelby, puts in a request for her services.

Warnings: SMUT, p in v (wrap it up kids), oral (male receiving), mature and sexual language.

It was a wild night here at the Arrow house and tons of men were grateful for your services.

You had just got done pleasuring a policeman (which they do tip very well), when you came out of the room and walked into the main area, you saw him. The infamous Thomas Shelby, the handsome leader of the Irish Gang the Peaky Blinders.

He was talking to a manager of the place, when you noticed his eyes on you.

He pointed at you and heard the manager say something.

“Yes yes, Mr. Shelby, you’ll be very impressed with Miss (Y/N’s) services, she is quite popular.”

He took a whiff of his cigarette and blew out the smoke seductively. “Perfect mate, now if you’ll excuse me.”

He walked towards you, you were leaning on the column of the wall seductively.

“Why hello Mr. Shelby. Tell me what can I do for you?”

He placed a strong hand on your waist as his ocean blue eyes looked into yours.

“So love, the manager tells me you're very popular with your clients eh?”

“Yes Mr. Shelby, I can pleasure you in the greatest of ways.”

“Is that so love?” He leaned in and whispered in your ear, “So let’s fuck?”

You could feel yourself getting wet by the second, your body craved his touch. You needed him now.

“Yes, sir.”

You took his hand and led him to the room where you pleasured your clients. It was a very nice luxurious room and it made your clients feel the most comfortable. After shutting the door, you stood before him, letting him run his eyes up and down your body.

“Now, undress for me.” He commanded, while taking off his hat and coat and his suit jacket, placing them on a chair near the bed. He placed the cigarette he had in his mouth, in an ash tray on the nightstand.

You watched his actions as you untied the silk robe from your body, letting it pool by your feet. His eyes grew wide as he looked at your lingerie set, running them up and down your body. You allowed him to get a good look at you. You could tell he liked what he saw.

It was a black lacy corset, with lacy panties to match, and some black stockings that went up to your thighs, and straps that linked up to them.

He traced his index finger along the line of your collarbone, then slowly brought it down to above your cleavage. Goosebumps formed as he touched you.

“Lay down the bed for me love.”

You laid down on the bed and Thomas crawled on top of you. He began kissing down your jawline and sucking your neck, leaving love marks along it, he took a hand and started playing with your boobs. He pulled down your corset bra, exposing your breasts. Your nipples were hard already and Thomas could tell. He took one in his hand and began massaging it

“Mr. Shelby, you’re turning me on already.”

“Please, call me Tommy.” He said breathlessly. “Your tits are so perfect, nipples nice and hard for me eh?” He sucked and flicked lightly on each nipple, causing you to moan in pleasure. Your pussy was getting soaked by the minute.

You reached at the buttons of his shirt unbuttoning each one. You admired his strong chest and his freckles, tracing each one. You reached for the belt on his pants, undoing it and pushing them down revealing his britches. You pushed them down and his cock sprang free, it was so big and thick. Your mouth was watering at the sight of it.

“Lay back Tommy, I need to taste you.”

“Yes love.” He did as he was told and you took a hold of his cock. Gliding your tongue along the slit licking the pre-cum that came out of him.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good.”

“It's about to feel even better.” You teased, and you took all of him in your mouth and began sucking him like a lollipop. He groaned and moaned in pleasure, his cock twitching in your mouth. He grabbed a fist full of your hair, and yanked it as your head bobbed up and down.

“You’re so good for me, taking my cock in your mouth like that.” He said in a husky voice. “Use that pretty little mouth, sweetheart” Groaning his head back in pleasure.

You kept going sucking and groping faster and faster until he cummed in your mouth.

“Oh fuck, love….” He breathed heavily. You swallowed every last drop of him, and he wiped some of it off your chin with his thumb, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“That’s my good girl, now lay down for me eh? Take those panties off….I need to be inside of you.” You did as you were told and spread your legs open, and he admired your glistening pussy. He teased you a bit, going in and out at first rubbing the tip on your clit. He then pushed hard inside of your walls, hitting your g-spot with ease.

“You are so tight for me love, your pussy is so perfect.”

“You feel so fucking good Tommy, keep going don't you dare stop.”

He continued to grind against you, moans filled the room and you didn't care how loud you were. You dug your nails into his back, leaving marks, you clung onto him like he was your lifeline. His strong hands gripped your waist tight as he thrusted in and out of you. Your legs were getting weak, you could feel the moment come to you.

“I’m so close, ohh my god!”

“Fuck, me too. Where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside me please, Tommy. Fill up this tight little pussy."

"Yes, sweetheart, I will." He said while growling.

And he did, as he pulled out he looked down at the glistening liquid that was coming out of your pussy. He bent down and sucked up all of your juices, as you moaned back in pleasure. After both of you came back from your orgasm highs, you laid next to each other.

“So how did you enjoy your services, Mr. Shelby?”

“I would say they were quite up to my standards.” He said. He grabbed a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it up.

He brought it to your lips as he offered you a puff of it.

“Will I get to see you again?” You said with a hopeful tone in your voice, blowing the smoke. The aroma of smoke was filling the room.

“Yes, love you will. I’ll be back soon.” He said, and he pulled you in for another kiss.

Authors Note:

Hope you enjoyed this story!

Feel free to let me know what you think!

Like & follow for more !! Xoxo

Check out my other stories!

Master list 📝

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 5 days

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Rubrum

Pairings: Drilla “Dan” Moloney x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 551 words

Warnings: +18 smut, explicit adult content and language, mild degradation, public sex, dirty talk.

A/N: This will probably get zero interactions, however, I needed to at least get it out of my system. Even if it was a small drabble.

Tags: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @bayleymania , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore

Beneath the red lighting, the dirty mirror had a foggy reflection. The smoke of his cigarette being blown against the skin of your neck added a much-needed warmth to your body. His hands traveled up your torso, soon closing around your covered breasts and squeezing the soft flesh with his calloused fingers.

His chest was pressed against your back, and his grunts filled up the bathroom as you circled your hips around his clothed erection. Upon the half-lit mirror, your reflections danced as your bodies moved to the rhythm of the music playing in the pub’s speakers.

“Pull it up” Dan whispered against your ear, toying with the hem of your vinyl skirt before tossing the cigarette bud over his shoulder. One of his tanned hands closed around your hip, squeezing the soft flesh and reveling in the feeling of it filling up his hand, as the other locked on your hair, tugging at the scalp until your eyes met in the mirror.

“Keep looking at me, just like that. I want to see your face as you take every inch of my cock”.

The hand against your hip quickly traveled down to push your purple lace thong to the side, holding it in place as he aimed his tip against your entrance. “Don’t move!” Dan gave a warning tug on your hair before slowly entering you.

“Fuck” You whisper, grabbing onto the sink for some kind of support. “Slow, please”, Your hand reached back to hold onto his hair, “I want to feel every inch of you inside of me”.

His animalistic growl rumbled against your ear “Feeling greedy, aren’t we? My little mouse wants to be filled with cock?”.

Dan’s teeth closed around your ear lobe as you nodded in response. “I want all of it”

“I’ll give you all of it” He sank deeper into you, pushing your body closer to the sink, making you moan.

“How can I say no to that? I can’t. Mousey always gets what she wants” Dan laid an open mouth kiss on your cheek before he continued “That tight cunt is so fucking perfect. No matter how much I fuck it, it’s always so tight and wet for me. Fuck, you’re perfect”.

His dark brown eyes were fixed on your reflection at the same time his hand let go of your hair to close around your neck, “So fucking beautiful” Dan praised, your back arching to fit more of him.

His hand traveled forward stopping at your bundle of nerves, he circled around the engorged flesh with a grunt, “See what you do to me, mousey? You make me so fucking hard for you”.

Your legs trembled from pleasure, your mouth hung open in a silent ‘o’ shape, and your hand closed around Dan’s hair to pull his face closer to yours. Turning your face to the side, you pulled him down for a heated kiss.

“You’re mine, all mine”. He whispered against your parted lips before kissing it again. His warm saliva touched your taste buds as a glob of spit fell onto your tongue. Your wicked smile made his cock throb, “Fuck me like a plaything, sir. Your plaything”.

The last thing you saw before your face was pressed against the mirror was the satisfied smirk plastered on Dan’s lips.

#drilla moloney #drilla moloney x reader #drilla moloney imagine #drilla moloney fanfiction #drilla dan moloney #daniel moloney #masochist writes

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an-spideog · 3 months

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Hi! I saw your post before and I thought it was very kind of you to have the time and patience to offer your knowledge and help!

I'm finding I'm plodding through Irish fairly okay. However, there is one thing I cannot seem to wrap my head around - and that's When to use séimhiú or urú.

I'm not sure if this is just something that will come with time and continuous exposure, or if there are some basic rules I could be made aware of to help with knowing when to use these? Any advice or tips would be greatly appreciated.

Thank-you again!

Hi, this is a great question, and a really common one for learners too, I wrote a post about Initial Mutations (Séimhiú and Urú) a long time ago on another website but I've got to update it at some point. The main thing I would recommend is to think of Séimhiú and Urú as like tools in a toolbox, they're just changes that can be applied in certain situations, and those situations don't necessarily have a link. So for example, lots of prepositions apply séimhiú (do, ó, de, ar), but also some verb tenses take séimhiú (past, conditional), but also in certain cases and genders nouns cause and take séimhiú (an bhean mhór - the big woman) and so on. There's a lot of different situations. This isn't to say that there aren't rules, but I think the rules are better learned in relation to those individual things, e.g:

I'm learning the preposition ar and I see that it lenites (séimhiú) nouns after it - "ar Sheán" (on Seán), and with the singular article (ar an) it eclipses (urú) - "ar an mbord" (on the table).* Trying to group all the different situations together doesn't tend to help with learning because they're so disparate, it'd be like trying to learn "When does english add -s to the end of a word" and looking at "Cat -> cats" and "See -> sees". You will also definitely get more used to these changes with exposure, so like some people starting out forget whether "ní" eclipses or lenites and will say "ní mbeidh" or things like that, but as you hear and read more of the language you just notice when it sounds wrong and "ní bheidh" will be the obvious choice. tl;dr - I'd recommend learning the mutations that relate to particular situations as you learn about those situations, so when you're learning about a tense or a preposition or some grammatical feature, look for the mutations. Rather than learning the mutations and trying to note down every situation all together.

*footnote: This was just an example but the mutations with prepositions are different in different dialects, so you get ar an mbord in munster but ar an bhord in ulster

#gaeilge #irish language #gaelainn #learning irish

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skyeslittlecorner · 3 months

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Tails for all! - Gehenna edition

Sitri

In Ars Goetia he is related to leopards, so let's keep it that way! A white spotted tail, fluffy, mid-calf length. Equal thickness, only the end is a little fluffier.

The fur is white and silky, but when held up to the light it has blue reflections, just like his hair.

The nobles of Gehenna thought he was a kitten, and he hated it. Leraye tried to shove catnip up his nose. Also, because they spend a lot of time together, Satan has learned to wag his tail like a cat from him.

He uses it for balancing, have you seen his heels? Exactly.

This.

Sensitiveness 9/10. Have you ever tried holding a cat by its tail? He's usually calm, but pull on him and he'll completely lose his cool. And you lose your hand.

Not suitable for sex, but best for cuddling. He will tickle you if you are naughty. Also, extremely warm. He will wrap it around your cold hands to warm them.

Belial

A beautiful man with a beautiful tail. Do you remember Toothless from How to train a dragon? Similar tail, except the fins are a little smaller.

Not necessarily scales, more like smooth, hard skin. Homogeneous, only when you touch it you feel small bumps.

Like Beelzebub, he can pull a needle from the tip of his tail. Sometimes, when he's bored, he takes vinyl records and a record player and tries to use this sting like a record player needle.

It works great in the water while swimming.

He had Jjyu on his tail for a while, but the little demon made a lot of enemies behind his back (literally).

Sensitiveness 5/10. He will talk to you with his tail if he can't talk to you with his mouth. He will wrap it around your ankle or stroke your cheek. You would create your own secret love language of gestures. And, it's perfect for grinding.

Paimon

Long, strong tail, with a flowy hair like an irish setter. It looks beautiful, but it is strong enough to break a rib.

It's blonde at the base, but the closer it gets to the end, the more it turns pink. Nobody knows if it's natural or dyed.

A lot of colorful pins and hairbands are attached to it, the back is braided. Smells sweet, as if he washed it with bubblegum shampoo.

He loves using his tail instead of a tripod or hand for selfies.

Sometimes, when fighting arm in arm with Leraye and surrounded by enemies, they can stand with their backs to each other and intertwine with their tails. Just to protect their backs.

Sensitiveness 4/10. He will stab you with his tail to taunt you or wrap around your waist so you can't escape. And he’d love you to brush it.

Leraye

We all know he's a puppy, so of course he'll get a kangaroo tail. Maybe not exactly, but similar in strength and agility. Longer than his legs, thick at the base like a thigh. Very short bristles, similar to Paimon, blond at the base, the further away, the darker.

When he wanted to get a piercing on his tail, he finally learned not to do it with a gun. Sitri had to help him anyway again, because he can't turn around that much.

His piercing is three spikes, smaller than his horn, on his back, a hand's distance from each other and from the base. Of course, he has teddy bears there.

His shooting position is incomprehensible to others because he leans on his tail to aim better.

He treats that tail like a chair. If his legs were as strong, he would have no problem running.

Sensitiveness 4/10. He likes it when you scratch him, especially in the opposite direction to the bristles. He'll wag that big tail like a dog.

Zagan

He is depicted as a griffin-winged bull. Let his tail be long and silver, with a white ponytail at the end. Similar to a lion's, but much larger.

If he wanted to, he can use his ponytail as a brush, but it is difficult to remove the paint from the long fur.

The silver fur is a little longer on the bottom. Compared to ponytail, it is more slippery.

Paimon really wanted to dye it, and Zagan didn't have the heart to refuse, so for half a year he wore a pink ponytail at the end. (That's why he knows how hard it is to wash it off.) Interestingly, the angels fled even more at the sight of him. It is known that the cuter the demon, the more dangerous it is.

He has a protective pattern painted on the back of his tail, near the base, just like on his talismans. He repaints it every morning, it's his little ritual.

Sensitiveness 5/10. He likes petting the underside of the tail the most, where he has longer, soft fur.

Astaroth

Let's go crazy, shall we? There is no more snake demon than him. We know that demons are shapeshifters, and I feel like he would gladly trade his legs for a snake tail.

Its strands may be a good ten meters long, but no one has been brave enough to measure it. Black scales with a white belly.

He has no tail in his human form, he would feel too uncomfortable with so many limbs.

From him came the legends not only about Santa Claus, but also about the nagas, i.e. snake-like deities.

Elegant and distinguished and lazy. Like Belial, he likes to swim, especially at noon when the sun warms his scales. You can use him like a mattress or a pontoon.

Sensitiveness 2/10 back, 10/10 belly. Especially where the human body turns into a snake one. You know what I'm getting at. Along with the tail, of course, come fangs and poison. Don't try to kiss him and don't let it bite you. He'd tangle you in his embrace and wouldn't let you go.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb shitpost #whb sitri #whb paimon #whb belial #whb leraye #whb zagan #whb astaroth #it's fun to experiment with them

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jo-the-bass-stealer · 1 month

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cillian murphy's oscar is important.

listen, I know the oscars is an american awards show. the nominees are predominantly american (or yk. english), as well as being cishet white men. usually I don't pay much attention to the winners as a result, until this year.

I stayed up until 3am to watch the whole show with my mam. we had popcorn and orange juice and lit the fire, really made an event out of it. why? because an irish man was up for best actor, and he was tipped to win.

and then he did win.

in his acceptance speech, he said:

"You know, we made a film about the man who created the atomic bomb and for better or for worse we’re all living in Oppenheimer’s world, so I’d really like to dedicate this to the peacemakers everywhere. Go raibh míle maith agaibh."

he spoke irish at the ACADEMY AWARDS. I genuinely don't know how to convey how incredible, how overwhelming it was to hear someone speak my native language and to know that millions of other people heard him speak it too. and this is on the back of an cailín ciúin (the quiet girl) getting nominated for best international feature last year, and irish-speaking rap group kneecap winning the audience award at sundance this year for their satirical biopic.

I feel like there's something poetic about ireland gaining its independence from britain around the same time as the birth of cinema, and now a hundred years later, ireland can stand on the biggest stage in the film world and caint as gaeilge.

the irish language is not dead, and it will never die. mol an óige agus tiocfaidh siad.

#cillian murphy #oscars #oscars 2024 #academy awards #oppenheimer #ireland #irish #gaeilge

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zablife · 1 year

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I Wanna Do Bad Things To You

Alfie x reader (Shelby sister)

Summary: You have a plan to betray your powerful brother with the help of Alfie Solomons, but your impetuous and infuriating behavior is far too dramatic for the mad baker. What happens when he puts you in your place?

Author’s Note: Written for the lovely Alex @cillmequick 6 month milestone celebration. Congrats, darl! Prompt “And what would people say if they listened through the wall?” Oxytocin by Billie Eilish. Inspiration taken from the whole song as well. Porn with little to no plot. Bit of a twisted love story.

Warning: 🔞, language, drinking, smut- impact play, fingering, degradation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, exhibitionism (if you squint), dom Alfie, mean Alfie

Before Alfie could answer the loud rapping upon his door, it opened suddenly, the fading rays of the afternoon sun outlining your shapely figure in a heavenly glow. However, A Shelby at his door was rarely a good omen and Alfie surmised you were no angel. The ample cleavage spilling over the top of your tightly fitting bodice and the bottle of Irish whisky in your hand only confirmed his suspicions.

Slamming the door behind you, you sauntered toward him confidently, hips swaying seductively with each step. Alfie eyed you suspiciously, pressing the tips of his fingers together in anticipation of some unreasonable demand or another sent straight from Tommy. “Hello, Miss Shelby. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said greeting you with a tip of his head.

You giggled and shook your head, playfully chiding, “So formal, Alfie. You should call me Y/n.” Alfie watched you remove your coat slowly and throw it over a chair as you continued. “I think we’re going to become very close you and I.”

“And why would that be?” Alfie asked, leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his stomach.

“I have a business proposition for you,” you said with excitement, boldly taking a seat on the edge of his desk.

Alfie exhaled loudly muttering, “You Shelbys,” with a shake of his head. “Listen, pet, your brothers thieve my oxygen far too much as it is. Never satisfied with their lot. So you can trot on and tell that cunt Tommy we’re done dealin.’” He motioned to the door with a flick of his wrist, turning his attention to the stack of papers at his elbow.

Undeterred, you placed the whisky bottle on the desk with a thud, running a fingertip around the edge of the cap lazily as you asked, “What if I told you the deal wasn’t with Tommy? I agree that he’s gotten far too greedy and it’s time we did something about that.” You took a breath before emphasizing, “A more permanent solution.” Your eyes flicked to Alfie to gauge his reaction, but he remained impassive. However, he hadn’t thrown you out yet, so you took that as an encouraging sign.

Opening the bottle before you with a flourish, you grabbed a nearby glass and began pouring a shot. You slid it across the table, presumptuously asking, “A toast to new partners?”

He frowned, sliding it back to you with two fingers. “Nah,” he replied dismissively.

You tossed your head back with a bubbly laugh, kicking off the desk and slowly approaching Alfie’s chair. He tracked your movement with just his eyes, irritation building at your inability to take a hint that he was uninterested in your scheming. He looked you up and down carefully as you stood before him, noticing how you leaned over to ensure he got a look down your dress.

You smiled to yourself as you traced a manicured hand along his shirt front, toying with the buttons, one by one. “If you find it hard to swallow, I can loosen up your collar,” you offered. You received a short grunt in reply, perhaps his body betraying his logical mind. Picking up the glass, you offered it to him again with a sweet smile. “It’s the first drop that kills you so there’s no harm in the last,” you joked.

“Wasn’t talking about the whisky, was I?” he asked in a low voice. Then pushing your hand away from his chest he added, “I’m sayin’ no to you, treacle.”

Your smile faded as you struggled to comprehend his sudden rejection. You weren’t used to hearing the word no. Standing to your full height, you pursed your lips in obvious displeasure and attempted to regain composure. “Then tell me why,” you said in a tight voice.

“I could write you a book, but I ain’t got the time. Suffice it to say, I just don’t fucking trust you,” he spat, leaning forward and placing his palms on the desk for emphasis. He stood, signaling the end of your meeting, but you were far from done.

“I hate Tommy as much as you do and I can be valuable to you,” you proclaimed, jutting your chin out with haughty insistence.

Alfie scoffed, “Tommy Shelby’s little sister? Darlin’, this is a man’s world.”

Your blood began to boil that you weren’t being taken seriously. With your plan quickly unraveling, you reached for the glass and downed its contents. But the burn of the alcohol only fueled your rage. You hurled the glass against the wall beside Alfie’s head as you shouted, “You arsehole! You don’t know what I’m capable of!”

Faster than you thought possible, Alfie’s heavy boots thudded against the floorboards in warning. Suddenly his hulking form was towering over you, one large calloused hand reaching out to capture both your wrists in one swift movement. His long fingers encircled you like a rope and tightened with considerable strength, eliciting a whimper from you as you fought to free yourself. He jerked you toward him with a grunt, a dangerous gleam in his eye.

You shook your head to move the fringe from your eyes, realizing he was close enough to feel your pounding heart. However, it wasn’t fear that gripped you in that moment. It was pure adrenaline and excitement. You could feel the heat building in your core as you waited to see what he would do.

Alfie leaned down to speak to you, jaw clenched with fury. “You’re behaving like a fucking child,” he told you in a low voice. His eyes bore a hole through you and the intensity of it was so great you couldn’t look away. Your chest rose and fell against him, breasts pushing against his broad chest.

He took your chin in his hand harshly, eyes narrowing as he searched your face. “Is that how I should treat you? Like a naughty little girl?” You licked your lips as he continued in a hushed voice, hot breath fanning over your face. “Because I have to admit, right now I want to do very bad things to you, you fucking brat.” As he spoke his eyes darkened with unmistakable lust and you were certain he could feel you bending to his will.

You nodded as best you could with his iron like grip on your jaw. "Yes, I want it," you said breathily. Pleased with your submission, he leaned in to kiss you, pressing his full lips to you insistently and pushing his tongue into your warm, waiting mouth. As he began to pull away he bit your bottom lip harshly as he murmured against the swollen flesh, “You should really run away.” But the wickedness of his words had the opposite effect. You were rooted to the spot, ready for your punishment.

He threw your head away hard enough to turn it and you glimpsed shadows through the frosted glass window. Reality came crashing in on you and you bit your lip as you wondered if Alfie’s employees might be able to see or hear you with their boss. Keeping your eyes trained on the door you asked in a quivering voice, “What would people say if they listened through the wall?”

Alfie’s lips brushed your ear as he growled, “I don’t give a fuck who knows I’m ruining you in here. In fact, I wanna make you yell.” The vibration of his voice sent shock waves straight to your pussy and you felt wetness begin to pool between your legs at his debauchery. You rubbed your thighs together to get some much needed friction, too preoccupied to remember Alfie’s earlier promise of punishment.

You heard the jingle of his belt buckle before you saw the flash of silver beneath his palm and you became aware of Alfie removing his belt, easily sliding the leather strap from his waist. Your breath caught in your chest with a little thrill, knowing you’d thoroughly provoked him. In one swift motion he turned you to face his desk and roughly placed your hands onto the polished wooden surface. He wasted no time turning your skirt up over your waist, exposing you to the cold air. The sudden chill hit and a shiver ran through you.

Alfie stood in silence for a few moments, taking in the sight of you laid out before him. A devilish smirk crossed his lips at the thought of you coming in here without any underwear and he realized he was right to assume you were not as innocent as you seemed. He was going to see how much you could take. How far he could push you. He allowed the anticipation to grow, watching you quiver.

The only sounds came from the distillery, grinding machines and men’s voices shouting to one another. Someone dropped a crate of bottles at the bottom of the stairs, distracting you as the first crack of the strap hit your thigh with a painful sting. You gripped the corners of the desk tightly as a tear sprang to your eye, but you didn’t make a sound as the next blow rained down on your ass. Four more fell in rapid succession and Alfie watched the flesh jiggle with satisfaction. Unable to stop himself, he reached out to grab a handful of you and squeezed appreciatively as you whined at the contact, crying out as he kneaded the sensitive flesh in his rough hands.

The belt dropped to the floor with a clank and he resumed his work, landing a harsh smack along your thigh so close to your pussy, you felt it begin to throb with need. He waited for you to flinch, but you remained perfectly still, wanting to please him. He stood for a moment stroking his beard as he watched you, feeling his trousers tighten, but he wasn’t finished.

Raising a ringed hand to you once more, he continued, his open palm landing slaps hard enough to move your body forward along the desk, the edge digging into your hipbones. The sound of Alfie’s grunts and groans of exertion behind you had your mind twisted in confusion. You felt your clit pulse, desperate for attention. As he connected with your ass once more, you began to tear up thinking how close his thick fingers were to where you needed them most. Too frustrated and turned on to remain still any longer, you arched your back, letting out a moan so loud it bordered on a shout.

Alfie stopped with a jerk, stepping toward you slowly and brought a strong arm to your waist to lift you from the desk. He unlaced your dress as he cooed in your ear, “All finished, pet. You took it so well.” He discarded the material on the floor, erection digging into your burning ass cheek as he carefully ran a hand over the other. You hissed as his cool rings made contact with your sore, reddened flesh and you heard him inhale before exclaiming, “Fucking beautiful sight.” The arm around your waist tightened as a cobra around prey, but his voice remained soft as he hushed you, pushing the hair from your shoulders.

He left a trail of open mouthed kisses down the nape of your neck before moving on to the crease at your shoulder, the tickling sensation making you squirm. His dominance returned as he began sucking a deep bruise into the thin skin along your collarbone. The sudden intensity of it, causing your hands to fly to his arm, digging your nails in sharply. You panted out little moans for him with each swirl of his tongue, every one of your pretty noises making his cock twitch against you. He rewarded you with another bruise below your ear, his free hand rolling and pinching your exposed nipples to feel them stiffen to a pleasing hardness.

By the time he switched to the other side of your neck, you were thoroughly marked up and bucking wildly against him from overstimulation. The inside of your upper thighs felt slick with arousal and you were clenching around nothing. If this was part of his discipline, it was not what you had bargained for. You waited in agony, needing to feel him seated within you, the comforting fullness stretching you properly.

Alfie must have read your mind, turning you to face him. He wiped a tear that escaped the corner of your eye, smiling to himself at the sight of your neediness. Then mercifully he ran a finger along your dripping slit to capture your juices, pushing two thick fingers inside your velvet heat to give you some relief. You sighed softly as he curled his fingers inside you dragging against your inner wall slowly until he found a delicious spot that made your jaw drop in silent ecstasy. As he gave a bit more pressure you swallowed harshly, attempting to sink further onto his hand, but he stopped you, clamping his other hand on your hip.

With an obscene squelching sound, he withdrew his fingers cruelly, swirling his fingertips over your clit to tease you. “I think you must be enjoying this cause you’re making a a fucking mess on my desk,” he chided you. He brought his digits to your eye level to show you the juices dripping off him as proof. Then he placed his fingers on your tongue as he commanded, “Clean it up.” You obediently swirled your tongue over his fingers tasting yourself with every lick. Making eye contact with him you gently sucked with hollowed cheeks as you hummed around his digits. The corners of your lips curled, knowing the vibrations were going straight to his aching cock. “Do you like this, naughty girl?” he asked with a dark chuckle. He watched your pupils blow wide and he nodded, “Good, cause we ain’t finished yet.”

He pulled his fingers from you with a pop, smearing saliva and lipstick across your mouth, and you watched with bated breath as he removed his shirt and trousers. The moment you saw his cock spring free, you reached out to touch him, but he swatted you away. His hand wrapped around his shaft, pumping himself in front of you as an added bit of torture before he ordered you to the sofa in the corner. You scrambled to the shabby piece of furniture as Alfie growled, “On your fucking hands and knees.” As soon as you were in place, you felt the springs dip beneath you with his weight and then you felt his warm hand splayed across the small of your back holding you in place.

You felt the tip of his cock slide through your wet folds, gathering your juices and you shimmied your ass to entice him. Suddenly he was pushing into you all at once, his thickness splitting you open around him. Alfie groaned at the sight of you spread wide for him, unable to stop himself from pulling out and slamming back into you to hear you cry out. His animalistic nature took over, driving into you sharply with a snap of his hips, the force of it causing his balls to slap against your clit over and over. The repeated motion had you panting and moaning in no time and you could practically hear the smirk as he rumbled, “Such a pretty little whore. Let me hear ya.” You clenched around him, mewling at the sensation of him thrusting deep enough to feel in your stomach. Alfie stilled momentarily, enjoying the pulse around his cock and making note of how you gripped him like a vice after he degraded you. Fuck, you liked this and he would give you more.

Soon he began to move within you again at a slower pace, dragging his length within you as you arched your back for him. Alfie leaned forward gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail and gave a harsh tug on your roots. That was all it took for you to push back against him for more greedily. “You get off on being filthy, do ya?” he asked, voice dripping with condescension. You didn’t speak, too overcome by sensation to respond, but Alfie knew your secret now. “Squeezing me so tight, pet. I think you enjoy being a whore for me,” he grunted wrapping your locks around his fist to tilt your head back at a precarious angle.

“Show me now. Make yourself cum on my cock like a good little whore,” he goaded you. You didn’t need to be told again, hand flying to your swollen nub and rubbing tight circles. Your eyes squeezed shut as you listened to the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room. Alfie’s grunts didn’t grow any louder as he sped up his pace, urging you on, but your cries reached a deafening crescendo as you felt your lower belly pool with heat, desperate to be released.

“Wanna cum. I need to cum, please, please,” you babbled feeling Alfie pound into you with reckless abandon.

Yanking you up by your hair so your back was flush with his chest, Alfie huffed, “Not yet,” clearly annoyed at your pleas. You bit your lip trying to stave off your orgasm, but it was building faster than you could stop it. Feeling the fluttering resume around his cock, Alfie warned, “You better hold it, naughty girl.”

Reaching behind you to grab onto him for stability you whined, “I can’t…I can’t." Alfie’s balls tightened at the sound of your pathetic cries and his hips stuttered suddenly, rhythm lost in the tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume him.

Bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear he panted out, “Now…cum right fucking now….with me.” Your fingers flew over your clit, needing only a few light strokes to begin shaking in pleasure. As Alfie released inside you, he bit down on your shoulder. Your jaw went slack as he fucked you through the aftershocks. A primal grunt left his lips at the feeling of your tight pussy milking him of every drop.

Collapsing back onto the sofa, Alfie dragged you with him, making you straddle his lap. You draped your arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder, feeling your body becoming heavy with exhaustion. He ran a hand along your back soothingly until your heart rates returned to normal, then you heard his voice low and rasped rumble from deep within his chest. “Fuck me, treacle, I could have you like that every day.”

You smiled to yourself wondering if he might reconsider your earlier offer. You sat up to look him in the eye and in a determined voice you ventured, “Alfie, I meant what I said about getting rid of Tommy. We should be partners.”

“Careful, pet, can’t take it back once it’s been set in motion,” Alfie warned you, a hint of his dark nature returning. Then you felt his hand clamp around your throat possessively as he snaked his tongue into your mouth, sparking a desperate clash for dominance and ending with your eventual surrender for air.

“You and I are the same, Alfie,” you gasped as you balanced a hand on his sweaty chest. Nuzzling his nose with yours you continued, “We need each other for this, the oxytocin.” Nibbling at his lip you admitted wantonly, “I like it when you do bad things to me.”

He gripped your face as he forced you to look up at him. “Think you might be right, but let’s get one thing straight cause I’m a dodgy fucker myself. As long as you’re still breathing, don’t ever think of leaving me.” The low rumble of his voice hypnotized you in such a way you couldn’t deny him. You held his intense gaze as you shook your head.

“Never,” you vowed.

And that’s how the evening began, plotting to take Tommy’s crown so you could become Alfie’s queen.

--------------------------------

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Alfie Solomons fanfic #Alfie Solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons x Shelby sis #Alfie Solomons x you #Alfie Solomons x y/n #Alfie Solomons x reader

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briosca-sa-speir · 11 months

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Dia duit! I'm trying hard to learn Gaelige, but I'm having a super difficult time getting familiar with the phonetics of the language and of being able to recognise sounds into words. I can read and write alright, but speaking and listening remains super hard for me. I was hoping I could ask if you had any references or tips for helping me out with this. I have found a few helpful sites to help with phonetics, but I'm still struggling and I was hoping maybe I could get some pointers. Go raibh maith agat!

Dia 's Muire duit!

I'm by no means an expert in learning techniques, what I think could help you associate words with sounds in a rather passive way is to start using subtitles as training wheels. TG4 and Cúla4 offer a variety of different kids shows and cartoons with Irish subtitles (if you're lucky some even have the double option Irish/English). They're both free but you might need a VPN if you live outside of Ireland.

Audiobooks are just as great a tool, but if you're just starting out maybe some visual cues would help make the process a bit more enjoyable. But then again, there is no fixed magic formula and you don’t have to go through like three hours of Spongebob every day, I think you just have to find what works best for you with the time you decide to dedicate to the task. That said, it takes time. It might be a little boring at first and it's normal, but as you gradually start to familiarise yourself with words and to associate them with speech patterns and sounds in general, I think you'll find that in the long run the game is worth the candle.

(I'm sure there are some books dedicated entirely to pronunciation and some grammar books with an audio accompaniment. Buntús Cainte is famous enough but other than that I wouldn't know where to direct you on this one.... it would be nice to get some feedback from someone who maybe is already familiar with one book in particular!)

As for speaking... having someone to talk to irl would help immensely, but I think there are apps out there aimed at connecting learners with native speakers in a sort of language trading. I think Tandem is free and offers a few different communication options, like chats and voice messages (I'm not too sure on how it works though, the source here is my sister, who's about as reliable as a chocolate fireguard).

Practising by yourself is also a great way to get started, repeating words and sentences as you hear them, reading out loud, singing songs, everything helps!

Last but not least, you can always take a peek at the tags #tips and #resources

Ádh mór le do thuras teanga <3

#bosca poist #tips #resources

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pennyserenade · 7 months

Text

heaven holds a place for those who break.

chapter three - fade into you | ao3 link

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella) rating: m (mature) tags/warnings: talk of sex, language, self-depreciation, talk of depression word count: 4.4k summary: javier & mariella paint her classroom. some of their old habits die hard in familiar places. a/n: i love chaotic characters & i hope you do too. the title comes from the fact that i misheard the lyric ‘heaven holds a place for those who pray’ in the song mrs. robinson by simon & garfunkel. i liked it

A red hibiscus plant sits, shrouded in the soft morning sunlight on the Sanchez porch. Junie Sanchez, who has been growing the plant in earnest since the end of March, sways serenely in the decades old rocking chair her husband Eduardo had gifted her for their fiftieth anniversary. She watches it like an attentive mother, as if this final chapter of her life is meant to be bookended by its presence.

Mornings like this since her Eduardo died make Junie feel in a state of fullness, something that his death has taken from her. The air and the wind and the sun, and this little plant that she put in the dirt as a seed and watered until it was something , appear to be pieces of thread tying together her dying heart.

At the age of eighty, Junie has no real conception of how many tomorrows there will be, and she lives with an attentiveness to that small detail. She makes two cups of coffee every day, one the way her late husband loved it, and one the way she prefers, and then she comes out to this creaking porch with them both. Here, in this home, in this town, Junie works not to just endure, but to live even without her other half. He had asked this much of her.

She is not crazy enough to think this plant is Eduardo, but romantic enough to want to. His cup of coffee sits, black as the night on the opposite rocking chair, its steam wafting pensively. Junie imagines the comforting sway of his chair lulling her in, sees how he’d be sitting there, watching her watching the plant, waiting for his turn. Yesterday the chapel was half-full, the soft murmurs of gossip as sticky as the heat. Eduardo, God bless him, was a beautiful chismoso. The brim of his hat would always tip when his laughter bubbled out over his words as he told her what he had heard; this was his favorite pastime.

“Tawes’ daughter, Mariella…” he would begin, softly pushing out the words with the preciseness of an expert gossiper. She would roll her eyes, focus in on whatever it was that she was looking at it before, but this would not dissuade her husband. He would push forth, especially about this . How he loved James Tawes, that white man with a handful of Spanish phrases and so much ardor behind his black eyes. The Irish, they had once joked together, are a little like Mexicans with that passion. “I hope she knows about Javier Peña, you know?”

Junie Sanchez inhabits the hobbies of her late husband with ease this morning, piecing together their conversation with tenderness. “I’m sure she does,” she would respond, an active listener if not a willing participant.

“He is a good boy, Junie, pero…”

“They say he went to Colombia, got smart. Did a good thing for this country with Pablo Escobar. I think you’re being too hard on him.”

His hum of understanding, followed by the thought he’d been itching to say since he started: “But you know about Mariella. Her divorce, the way she came here to sort it out and never left. And they say more than just about Pablo Escobar when the subject of Javier and Colombia come up, too. Where’s his wife, Junie? He’s too old not to have a wife.”

“Kids are different now, these days. They don’t do that the way we did. Maybe he was like Mariella, got married and then didn’t.”

“And you think Chucho wouldn’t say that? He loves Javier.”

“But he knows not everyone in the town has always been in the kid’s corner.”

“Because he was a troublemaker, Junie. You know that. And Mariella is such a nice girl.”

Junie would smile there, remembering how nice of a girl she had been – and equally how much Eduardo liked to make her do things nice girls supposedly wouldn’t. “I think they will be good for one another, Lalo. Some girls need a bit of trouble before they get to the good stuff.”

“You mean marriage? She won’t be able to marry in the church. Especially not with him.”

“No, Lalo,” she’d agreed, and that would be that. They’d both drink their coffees, watching this plant of hers, loving each other deeply and quietly, the way they had for decades.

Junie misses him more than she has the words to express, in either Spanish or English. For Mariella and Javier, she hopes for an enduring memory of the best of whatever it is everyone seems to be saying they’re doing.

“It is so important to live, to remember, to love,” she would’ve told her Lalo after that long silence. The way she always did, about these people, about these things. Then she’d finish it off with her sage advice: “Let them be young.”

The wind brushes against her red hibiscus and it moves accordingly with it. She smiles as she takes a sip of her coffee.

He always did agree with her in the end.

—-

The causality of real life stuns Javier. Hell, maybe it even terrifies him. Mariella greets her co-workers with a mouthful of early morning glee, holds her paintbrush with steady, focused hands, and can hold a good, mundane conversation. In this school of hers, she is as a real as anything could ever be, and he is in awe of her. If Laredo is the stage of life, and he and she are actors in its play, he’s got no doubt in his mind that she’s doing so much better than him at it. For all the practice he’s had, it does him no good. He half envies her ability to merely exist so well.

He’s mounted a ladder for her, and occupies himself with a paintbrush and the tricky corners close to the ceiling. She works at the bottom of the room, detailing around the haphazardly covered light switches and trim. The conversation they make has been switching been serious and causal.

This reminds him of stakeouts, being tucked away in a jeep, or a trench, or the vast greenery of a Colombian forest with another person. Just waiting. Just talking. It’s all there was to ever do on most them: talk. The midday summer air breezes through the opened windows, and the box fans brrr on in the background. He thinks of the things that make him interesting and figures what the hell. She is like a partner. He tells her what everyone wants to hear.

“When I first got to Colombia, they handed me a key to this apartment in Bogotá. I never had to do anything like this. It was all furnished and painted. I miss it sometimes. It was big, had a nice view.” The cream white paint coats the side of his hand as he leans too close to the wall. Instead of hissing an obscenity, he wipes it on his shirt. The blue flannel has been lost to the tragedy of his unsteady fingers, and he uses it like a napkin knowingly.

Down at the bottom, Mariella hums in interest. Maybe she ought to be hungry for this information, latching on to every word that comes after Colombia. The blue painter’s tape is splattered with her mistakes because her mind is up there with Javier. It’s not that she’s not paying attention. It’s just that his time in Colombia pales comparison to his time in here, up on the ladder, telling her about Colombia.

They’ve been at this for two hours, a third of the large room painted a fresh cream white, with the other, smaller section still the old, pale gray. Mariella tries not to analyze people—likes to take them as they are—but with Javier it’s hard not to wonder. His reputation had preceded him, and he’s brooded around as the town mystic for months, tight lipped and humble, if not polite, about what he’s been doing elsewhere. She listens because he sounds like he needs someone to.

Her answers aren’t meant to pry more out of him, but to acknowledge him, showing that she’s listening. “I had an apartment like that once, back in college,” she tells him, going to her knees. The overalls she’s wearing are fit for an art teacher, pre stained and torn at the knees, but she’s keeping them miraculously clean today. She scoots her paint pan over. She continues her story as she re-coats her brush. “I shared it with a boyfriend. It was the first time I had lived by myself like that, away from home.”

“I got my first apartment here. I don’t think the buildings exist anymore. If they do, they shouldn’t because it was a shit—“ Javier halts. The elementary school is void of children, yet the atmosphere seems to warrant his best behavior. “It was rundown. Ugly. But it only cost a hundred dollars a month, and it had two bedrooms. Though it could’ve costed a thousand and I would’ve taken it. It felt like freedom.”

“Mine too,” Mariella agrees. “I lived on campus for awhile, which was okay but I liked the apartment more.”

Javier looks over his shoulder at her. “What school?”

“University of Pudget Sound.”

“Where’s that?”

“Washington.”

“And you liked it?”

Mariella nods. “Sure. It was pretty and the teachers were great. We lived in Tacoma, before Laredo, so I got to go to visit my grandparents sometimes when I was feeling homesick. I really loved that.”

“I never did feel homesick,” Javier says quietly. The admission feels like a betrayal to Chucho, and he doesn’t know why he’s said it, but he feels like he’s meaning to say for a long time. He rests an arm on one of the rings and inspects his work through squinted eyes. “I went to college for awhile, too but then I came back. Then I left again.”

“I stopped feeling homesick, after a bit,” she admits. “I ended up staying in Washington for a long time. A really long time, truthfully, longer than I intended. I worked at this little private school in Tacoma as a kindergarten teacher. Had a house and everything.”

“What happened?” he asks.

Her features soften. “Oh, life,” she evades.

“I know a thing or two about that,” he responds, letting her off. He begins his climb down the ladder, holding onto the black pan with one hand and the steps with another. “I think it looks alright, don’t you?”

Mariella turns around. She grins, giving him a thumb’s up. The action is so teacher-like he can’t help but chuff out a laugh. “What?” she asks, smiling quizzically.

“Nothing. You’re just good at your job,” he tells her, shaking his head. Down on the ground again, he puts the pan on one of clusters of desks. His itch for a cigarette returns with a vengeance and he knows it must be close to lunch by the way his stomach growls. “You think you’ve got it in you to take a lunch break?” Instinctively he pats his pockets for the missing cigarette pack and frowns when he can’t find them.

With the back of her hand, she moves a fallen strand of hair. Her black bandana is doing a poor job of keeping it all in and she’s been doing this all morning, the evidence of which can be found in the strip of paint gathered above her brow. Javier smiles but says nothing. “I didn’t realize it was so late already. My God. Of course. By no means let me keep you,” she tells him. She pats her hands on the legs of her overalls, rising.

Javier stalls. “Do you want to come with? It’ll be on me this time.”

“Why don’t you come to mine, actually? It’s just down the road from here and I’ve already made it. It’s just a sandwich, so if you’re not feeling that I get it, but it’d be nice.”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t. You already paid for my lunch once.”

She clicks her tongue. “Please, Javi. You’ve painted my classroom! That’s worth two lunches at least.”

He gives serious thought to it. Friends go to their friend’s house. Plus they’re both paint-coated and slick with a sheen of sweat.

“It might cause rumors,” he teases, though his tone borders on apprehension more than anything.

“I’m thirty-four, which is full grown last I checked. I’m sure my neighbors won’t mind if I feed a man lunch.”

He watches as she covers up the paint with the edge of the cloth tarp. She’s right, he knows. If they’re going to be friends, they’re going to get here eventually.

“Sure,” he concedes, smiling softly.

“Perfect,” she smiles, “It was my turn to drive anyway.”

—-

Unlike his once bachelor apartment and Chucho’s house, Mariella’s place is this side of quaint, white picket fence included. The interior, while less antiquated, promises home without the homely; beige cloth couch, red patterned chairs, wooden coffee table with carefully selected magazines spread against the front. There’s a hodgepodge of colors that never clash, immaculately cleaned surfaces, and a fresh but positively manufactured scent. Warm, vanilla-like, covering any life that might wish to will itself inside.

He hadn’t imagined her place before but if he had he’s not sure he’d think of something so…pristine. It had been hard enough to keep his own place clean by himself, and his color palette had been more on the brown side. Even her carpets are a lighter hue.

When he had first walked in he had half expected to be paraded with rules: coat here, shoes there. But all she did was tell him where he might put any of those if he liked, and informed him that the bathroom was down the hall, to the right if he needed it.

Even her fucking hand towels are too clean. He splashes as much water as he can into the bowl and wipes the rest on his jeans. “Nice house,” he calls to her, turning off the light. This he means, however intimidated he is by it. He finds her in the kitchen, making two plates. “You ever considered getting it pictured?”

She smiles, amused. “I clean when I’m bored and I’m bored a lot,” she confesses. “Want a coke? A beer?”

“Coke,” he replies. He pulls out one of the wooden stools in front of island and passes him a plate with a sandwich and chips. While she’s getting him the coke, he licks his lips and considers her. Considers all of this. It’s been so long since he’s been truly friendly with someone and he knows it should be easy, but it isn’t. It’s hard to know how much to say and when to say it. Hard to know what’s right and what’s wrong here when, for so long, his life had been a whirlwind of rights and wrongs that were life and death. Everything seems so futile.

He’s been to the doctor and they think he’s depressed. If he and Chucho talked, Chucho would agree. He’s not one of those obstinate, hardheaded old men who don’t believe in that sort of thing. No, that’s a spot reserved for Javier himself. He’s just having a hard time. A long, tiring hard time.

He’s trying, and that’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?

“How long have you lived here?” He takes a stab at conversation. Mariella places the soda in front of him and then sits opposite of him, on the other side of the island. A healthy, decent divide. He’s not sure how long it’s been since a woman invited him in and there’d been this much space between them.

“About four years. I used to live with my parents, too,” she tells him. “It’s not so bad here, doing that. I like this town because of it. Lots of people think I’m strange for living on my own now, but I needed it. I love my father and Tamara but being on my own — it’s important to me.”

“I’ve thought about getting something of my own too, but I don’t know if I want it to be here or not. Pop is getting up there in age and I know I probably should just accept that I’m going to be here, but I don’t know.” He shrugs. He picks at the sandwich, doesn’t dare look up. “It’s interesting, being here like this now. After all of that.”

Mariella doesn’t ask him to explain. Her own memory fills in the gaps. Six years ago she had come back to Laredo a different person, defeated and world-weary, more her thirty-four years of age than the twenty-eight she’d been then. Something about life and expectation tearing you down forms in her head, but she doesn’t say any of it. Sitting across from her, his intense features looked softened enough by the blow of memory.

They fall into silence as they eat, her watching outside the window into the backyard, and him glancing around inconspicuously. His detective eyes catch onto things another might not: the lack of familial pictures on the wall, the ABC magnets strewn against the white fridge, spelling out ‘LATE.’ Her notepad by the telephone, scribbled with reminders and phone numbers. In another life, he was meant to be a psychologist. The act of breaking another person apart like this has fascinated him since he was young. He wonders what kind of life she leads, in the clinical, unromantic way psychology warrants. If he was a better friend, he might just ask.

“Thank you for lunch,” he tells her, “You didn’t have to do that but it was good.”

She looks back at him, her dark brown eyes warm. “Of course,” she replies, smiling. She gathers her half eaten sandwich and the peppering of chips she’s left, and puts it beside the sink. He can’t imagine she’s going to leave it there, not the way her home looks, feels, smells like. Things don’t get left out here.

Or do they? Had she cleaned it this intensely for his benefit? Did she expect to invite him over? Probably not, but maybe. And maybe is enough.

He hands her his empty plate with a half grin. Her smile picks up again. They look at each other for a long second before she grows self conscious under his searching gaze. He struggles to read what it is she expects from him, if anything at all. Maybe just friends means something vastly different in her vocabulary than it does his own.

“Mariella,” he says quietly, leaning against her tiled countertop. She raises her head, looking back in his direction with a soft furrow between her brows. The paint strip is still on her bare face. “At the risk of sounding a bit of an asshole, can I ask you something?”

She laughs awkwardly. “That’s never a good way to start anything,” she jokes, “But sure.”

Javier stares at her, letting the thought digest before it becomes a conversation. He chews the inside of his cheek. Just friends. A mantra that repeats in cycles. He’s been doing such a good job. No cigarettes in a week, no sex for months. “I better not.” He decides against it.

She wipes her hand off on a stray dish towel. “I doubt I’ll think you’re an asshole,” she tells him softly. “Go ahead, shoot.”

The wrinkles between his eyes grow more prominent as he considers the weight of this question in his mind. He likes Mariella, feels strangely at ease in her company, and this might ruin all of that. She could tell her dad. Her dad could tell Chucho. In Laredo, the entire landscape of his life is intertwined. Maybe he does this as a form of rebellion, just because he can. As surely as Mariella allowed him into her home, he wants to ask her this.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m probably being presumptuous and maybe even a bit forward in asking you this, and I know that. You haven’t really done much to give me this impression, so I don’t want you to feel like you have,” he assures, looking at her directly, “But do you…Is friends all you want to be, or maybe is this something more? Maybe not..not anything serious but something?”

The question makes her cheeks tint and she averts her eyes. Looking down at the dishes, she begins to fiddle with the handles on the sink. The water interrupts the stream of awkwardness, but not enough to will it away.

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, wincing at his own foolish behavior. “I—I don’t know why I said that. I’m not good at this. I never have been.”

She rinses his dish with a narrowed focus, the yellow sponge absorbing his words. After a stretch of time that seems an eternity she responds. “I can’t begin to tell you the things I want, Javier. Even if I knew.” She lifts her eyes. He finds an honest vulnerability that discomforts him. A terrible ache that exists in him, too, but that he hadn’t expected from her. It’s his turn to move away from it, casting his eyes to the window.

“I know the feeling,” he mutters.

He looks at her, sidelong and soft, and she nods, full of quiet understanding. She reaches over and grabs her plate, brushing against him with her shoulder. Everything moves a little slower, more intense and hushed, like a disaster is on the horizon.

The precision with which they had built division between them crashes and burns against her chestnut cabinets, an inevitable death. The cool feel of the tile beneath his hands as he pins her between his body and the sink is not sobering, not in the least. It’s comforting, pleasant. She gasps when he kisses her the first time, and its more gentle than he’s used to, half afraid that he might do something as stupid as break her heart. She’s a good girl , a cruel voice calls to him from the back of his mind.

A good girl who doesn’t know what she wants and couldn’t tell him if she did. Self punishment always felt best served up as a warm body, in some dark shadow in a decrepit corner of Colombia. But this is Laredo, and his Daddy knows her Daddy. As his fingers undo the buckles of her overalls, she looks at him with wide, earnest eyes. Glossy lipped and wild with desire, shrouded in warm daylight. He can almost imagine her at twenty-one, young and urgent and maybe in love with the man she had talked about moving in with. No dark corners here. The tile is spotless. Everything is spotless He kisses her harder the second time and she lets him. He knows he shouldn’t. He’s already so hard he aches.

“Turn around,” he whispers gruffly against the shell of her ear. He kisses her again and she obeys. The denim falls down to her waist and he assists her in undoing the buttons there while she lifts her shirt. She looks into the yard, feeling his calloused fingertips at her hips, and his warm breath against her back. Her knuckles are white, clenching the counter, anxious. Not of him. Not of this. Not really. Just the idea of it. The last man she had sex with was Henry, and before that, another teacher she had worked with in Washington. Her whole sexual history can be accounted for on two hands and all the men she has known far better and far longer than this one. She doesn’t have condoms.

She doesn’t have condoms.

“I don’t…” she breathes out, closing her eyes. “There’s no condoms.”

He wants to say it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t need to cum, to be in her. That he’s fine with getting on his knees like he intended, spreading her and pressing his tongue to her slit. Doing his very best giving. But there’s a hollowness in her tone that wards him off, and a waver that speaks of uncertainty. He rubs his hand affectionately against her side and gathers her overalls up for her..

“M’sorry.” She hangs her head, readjusting, and he frowns.

“No,” he says, quietly. “Don’t be. It doesn’t matter at all. I shouldn’t have done that. You said you wanted to be friends.”

She shrugs her shoulders, dutifully re-clipping her overalls. “It’s not your fault, either.”

“I can be a friend,” he finds himself saying, like a solemn promise. The thought of this becoming nothing seems to scare him more than he thought it would. He’s been so alone. Speaking to her, doing things with her, has felt liberating, like he’s a person again. “I wasn’t…Before that moment, I didn’t think about doing anything like that. It was just..I don’t know. I started thinking and that always leads me to places I shouldn’t be.” He smiles, but it’s humorless.

She turns around, offering him a wane smile. “It’s okay, Javi. It has nothing to do with what you did or didn’t do. I’m just a bit confused right now. That’s all. It’s me. I do things like this, confuse everyone.”

Her arms wrap around her and he feels pathetic, like he’s done something terribly wrong.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks.

“I drove you here.” This earns him a more genuine grin. A small bit of laughter, too. “It’s okay,” she reassures, the red in her cheeks dimming. He smiles, too, though it’s more of a grimace. As she reaches out to him, patting him on the arm, she says, “Let’s go paint the rest of the classroom. Rumors might start if someone walks in to see that paint job.”

Javier steps aside and she goes to get her things. There’s a panic in his chest, like there always is after he’s made a decision this stupid. It’s been so long. A whole summer of feeling nothing . He remembers why he doesn’t talk to anyone; he can’t. He fucks it up. He fucks everything up, even when he does them with the best intentions.

“Is it alright if we stop by the store?” he calls out. “I need cigarettes.”

She peeks her head around the corner, slinging her purse over her arm. “Of course,” she says. He can’t help but think about how distant she looks. His analytical mind, which had come to a grinding halt when he needed it most, works overtime now.

Yeah, he needs a fucking cigarette. Needs it like he needs a miserable bullet in his skill: urgently.

#javier peña #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x reader #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x female oc #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena #javier peña fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction

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bison-appreciation-club · 7 months

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🍄 my names and pronouns 🍄

my names are dee, beathan, silas and any abbreviations of silas (si, sile). mutuals can call me dorris alexander challenge. i use they/she pronouns, but i prefer masculine or neutral honorifics (sir, dude, mr, mx, gentleman, etc). you may call me 'my liege' if you desire

🌾 more about me 🌾

i'm white and british. at the moment i'm learning more about my scottish and irish heritage. i'm also autistic. my special interest is the nez perce war.

🌻 my interests 🌻

nature, celtic reconstructionist paganism, the wild west, medieval europe, codes and spying during ww2, the ancient egyptians, bison, small fluffy things, nature, hiking, folk music, scottish stuff, bbc and cbs ghosts, lord of the rings, animal crossing, horror novels, found footage stuff, space, plushies and the history of maize. as you can see, i am a very well-rounded individual.

🌿 dni and byf 🌿

dni: terfs, general homophobes and transphobes, racists, conspiracy theorists, anti-vaxxers, pro-lifers and zionists. ik that if anyone in that list really wants to interact with me then they will, but i promise you WILL get blocked.

byf: i do complain a lot lmao. i'm trying to escape from my family's conservative beliefs that i have believed for years. i'm very bitchy about it. also, i swear a lot, in case you haven't noticed

🌊 where else to find me 🌊

my ao3

my pinterest

my cohost

my spotify

i'm not really active on any of them but there ya go

🪻 sideblogs 🪻

@doodlebugs-and-doodleart, @heneversmiledagain, @suairceagsionadh, @the-days-of-49, @aesthetics-hypothetics, @pipistrelle-s, @wyncandel, @mus-rusticus, @be-ace-eat-cake, @moodboard-creator, @rosehips-and-autism

🦜 tags 🦜

i don't tag things regularly at all, so if you're looking for a reasonable tagging system here then you ain't getting it. however:

#dee rambles - all my own posts

#dee's history stuff - all history related posts, both my own and reblogs

#dee reads history things and #dee watches history things - self explanatory really. mostly me watching everything with black kettle in, which isn't much

#dee speaks dialects - anything to do with my regional dialect (which i am relearning) and dialects in general

#dee studies languages - me studying latin, nahuatl, cheyenne and gaeilge

⚠️ i don't censor anything, including tags. all tw's are tagged 'tw [x]'. this applies to all my blogs ⚠️

🦬 links and donations 🦬

donations:

links for palestine

palestine fundraiser (please donate to help families escape from gaza)

donate to the wampanoag langauge reclaimation project

important links: