Nerd, lesbo, 28. She/They. // Simping for buff women/the women of AC Valhalla, AC Odyssey, and Far Cry 6, and at this rate who knows whom else (Jesse Faden looking at you...respectfully). // I learned how to make GIFs and never looked back // Minors DNI, them's the breaks // AO3: mrsdanirojas // I do not take requests.
finally in London and I feel like the only thing y’all need to know about me is yesterday I joined the rally I accidentally walked into when I stepped out of the train station lmao
camila montero x reader || 18+, minors & men do NOT interact
author’s note: this idea has been haunting me for weeks now. i finally gave in and decided to write a lil bit. 😭
shelves of supplies. the rigidity of the table you’re sat upon that knocks against the wall behind you. a beat-up television in the corner with a stool in front of it. the handsome brunette seated in between your legs. a white board. your legs hanging over her shoulders. a noisy ceiling fan. her gloved hand pressing down on your abdomen. her blade resting beside your thigh… the room feels like it’s spinning… wait, why’d she stop?
“mierda…” she finally says, glancing up at you. “do you want the entire camp to hear you?”
maybe, you consider, but then realise that you are both running out of excuses to tell. you simply respond with an apologetic glare, scared that if you were to open your mouth, a moan of her name might escape.
you realise that she expected an actual answer when she stands from her crouched position and places both of her hands beside your hips. she leans in, faintly brushing her lips across yours, but never quite closing the distance. you let out a disappointed moan, which was quickly met with her hand around your neck.
she loved this… she loved to have this sort of power. sure, she led an entire camp of guerrillas, but this was different. it was passionate. it was invigorating…
…it was just an arrangement that two guerrillas settled upon after one too many cervezas. one that you discussed further after your first time - it was meant to be a way to let off steam and relax during these trying times… and camila needed to let off steam a lot.
you both secretly wanted this to be more… but neither of you dared to say a word and risk ruining the routine you’ve grown accustomed to. you needed this.
welcome to flufftober everyone! this is my first time doing this and i am super excited for all the far cry 6 content to come !!
INTRODUCTION
firstly i wanna credit @creativepromptsforwriting for their amazing otp prompt which i morphed to fit this! they are the best for inspo
this page will act as a masterlist for this series and a checkpoint to cross off days! these next few months are very busy so there might be some delays/irregular posting but i will try to keep up as best i can! <3 and i will link to AO3 eventually!
please note! these are not requests, i’ve spent months planning which characters are getting which days, every draft is written and some will be prewritten prior to this being posted as i’m very busy and want to be organised.
however if you would like to be tagged pls either comment on this post, put it in an ask (non-anon) or message me!
some background info:
— every reader will be gender neutral with no specific body parts defined (i want everyone to enjoy and read these!!) and there are no ships for these prompts
— dani will have a mix of both male! and fem! versions however not at the same time
— i have prioritised/picked who i believe are the most popular characters as double-ups but i am using this to try new and underrated characters as well!!
i understand not everyone’s preferred character is not there or on a prompt you’d like. this is a huge project for me and i’ve picked what works for me with characters in and out of my comfort zone ! respect and support is important <3
— these are short stories (aiming for 500-1000 words) and will probably impact requests for a little while but i will try to keep up as best i can !
Summary: In a chance meeting days after a devastating loss, Yara's favorite guerrilla asks you dance – and then she asks you to fuck. What would you say?
Notes:
A sequel to my first child, Yara Libre. That first snippet wasn't meant to be anything more than a cute scene. Now, thanks in large part to the deeply kind encouragement and support of @garnetro9, it's this thing I'm trying out where I add in a semblance of a plot. *pats seat next to me* Join me on this journey.
*Sigh* I keep working on a different fic and it keeps spawning mini fics in defiance so this is the latest evil fic spawn.
Content Notes: Explicit – minors do not interact or I will smite you. Alcohol; car sex; face-riding; fingering; a lil heartbreak, as treat <3
Word count: 1496
On AO3.
Had Dani Rojas been any other guerrilla, and had she caught you on any other night, you’d be in the car together, ripping off of her the progressively maddening layers of clothes in which she’d shown up to Segunda, tossing with abandon and not a small amount of unhinged satisfaction boot after jacket after glove arcing high behind you to land near the dashboard. Two Yara libres and three dances in, you’d found yourself admiring the alluring trails of zippers, buckles, and stitches before you – each one a promise of silken treasure within – wrapping smartly all around the legendary guerrilla’s frame, losing yourself in visions of undoing each promise one by one. Of course you’d fuck in her car.
You had even settled on where you’d start: simultaneously with Dani’s steady, searching gaze and with the zipper jutting out from the towering neckline resting just below her defined jaw. You’d banked on hypnotizing her, as you’d done all night on the dancefloor, with the combined intensity of your fuck-me eyes and the fingers of an outstretched hand landing softly, here, there – now on the tattoo on her arm, now on her scuffed elbow, now on her warm hand. To her credit, Dani had made valiant efforts to conceal the effect your regard and your feather-light touches had on her, the subtle freezing of her entire body whenever your fingertips made contact with her limbs the only thing giving her away.
You both knew where this would end: inside the Beaumont, lips upon yours, Dani upon you, tongues and arms and thighs wrapped tight around each other to put to shame the sleek black garments previously wrapped around Dani. Once freed of her suit, Dani would pull you, panting, onto her lap; one side of her mouth curling fondly, sweetly upward as you spread your legs and settled on her thigh before it even hit you she was taking advantage of the freshly bared skin of her legs. From there it would only be too easy to invite you closer, higher – to lean back across the expanse of the worn back seat and allow you full access to the top of her thigh, to help you straddle her firm abdomen so she could feel how hot and how slick you were with want, to caress your breasts as she kissed you from her prime position below. Would be only too easy to pull you full on top of her blazing parted mouth.
You would ride her face, and then her fingers, and then finally, perhaps, an actual ride home in the Beaumont before she’d be pulled away to whatever godforsaken operation necessitated that captivating, maddening suit. You missed her already, before she had even come, before she had even gone, but that’s a night in the life of a guerrilla, right?
But Dani Rojas was not just any other guerrilla. This was not any other night.
Hard as you might try, there was no mistaking, no wishing away or undoing the torture she’d hushed against your ear after some time on the pulsing crowded dance floor: that yes, she already knew your name; that she’d been sent to help you retake nearby Santa María fort; that in true guerrilla style she of course didn’t mind mixing work with a little fun. Did you?
Really, then, Dani hadn't been the only one to freeze. Your heart ballooned rapidly in your chest and pushed up into your throat as everything around you fell away, or rather, fell in. Booming music crashed inside your ears and scattered over your skin; there were too many people whirling altogether too close to your spot in between Dani’s scalding arms. Overwhelmed, you made to pull away, but she cleaved to you, twirling you once as she led you to the edge of the dance floor. You thought you would die. When you finally came apart, chests heaving lightly – hers from the effort of dancing and yours from the effort of holding the screaming yawning pit opening in the seat of your stomach – her expression was serious, though her gaze remained soft.
Her question lay unanswered in the newly forged chasm between you both.
She was Yara’s favorite guerrilla. You had just single handedly lost the southern fist of Cruz del Salvador, amongst other things. You both had work to do the next day, and the next. You had to stand in the unbearable burning light of her presence. You didn’t want to fuck. You wanted to run far the fuck away.
“No, I don’t,” you admitted finally, holding Dani’s gaze, noting with a pang the lingering gentle divot on her brow even as her mouth curled into a smile. You felt something fall into place. You confirmed your next move and touched her arm, beckoning, “Let’s go get some air. You’ve danced me out.”
Dani smiled then, fully, opposite corner of her mouth finally accompanying the other as she pushed her weight off of the wall.
—
You find your air lifting off of the waves pressing onto shore, ocean breeze brushing your skin and bringing Dani’s hair clinging to her cheeks. The familiar scent of brine and kelp and seafoam tickles your nose, laps over your roaring mind like a balm. Away from the noise and the lights of the crowded merry dance floor, the light of the waxing moon shines even brighter riding on the backs of the waves, waving gently in its own unhurried dance.
You’re devastated to learn how easy it is to talk to her: brow furrowing and hand rushing to her arm when at your prompting she tells you about her day; expression softening and laughter floating up to be caught by the breeze when she cracks a joke to put you both back at ease; bashful chin tucking into your chest when she asks about you, how you came to Libertad and then to Segunda. She almost makes you forget yourself, when you talk. Almost.
It’s only when Dani clasps your hand in hers to help you escape an enthusiastic unexpected wave charging toward your thighs, other hand closing lightly around your waist to steady you on the dry side of that wave, that comprehension washes over you. You were so focused on guarding your heart that you missed entirely her subtle presence in your space, the steady and gentle pressure of the length of her arm and edge of her shoulder pressed against your own as you walked, the lingering gazes that left you both agitated and distracted enough to be left only with a sense of ringing despair. Respectful and subtle enough to let you know she’d take your lead; present enough to let you know she was ready to unravel you through to your throbbing core at your command. And you, from the noise in your head to the blood in your veins, had risen to meet her at every touch, every press, every glance. You didn’t mind mixing work with fun, it was true.
“Qué pasa, mamita?” Dani asks, voice quiet and tinged with tenderness bordering on apprehension. The pet name almost doesn’t register, and when it does, it snatches the air from your body, awakens an ache between your legs to rival the one in your chest.
She’s made you forget yourself. It’s so easy to connect, to relate, over the shared struggles of being a guerrilla and under the cool blanket of night.
But she isn’t just any guerrilla, and this isn’t just any other night.
Tonight the pressure in your chest roars over that in your core. Your heady blushing coalesces and remains, frustratingly, in your head, cheeks, ears. You both have work to do the next day. You have to stand in the unbearable burning light of her presence. You don’t want to fuck. You don’t want to ride home in the Beaumont. You don’t want to run away.
What you want is Dani Rojas.
So you begin, as intended, with the zipper sitting atop her neckline. Reaching up, you tug on it, ever so lightly, to bring her face close to yours as you lean forward. The kiss you touch to her lips, short enough to foreclose her pulling you in but just long enough to taste the depth of her desire burning beneath the rum, opens a hole in your chest through to your stomach. Eyes burning, stomach tightening, heart exploding in your throat, you pull away.
Long eyelashes catch the moonlight as Dani focuses on your lips, perhaps as if to will them back to her own. You’re amused, briefly, to find her mesmerized, slight frown returning as she half-blinks, thoughtful. “Your pulse is really strong,” she manages, voice husky. A finger lights upon your throat, trails the spot where your blood rushes just beneath your skin. The sensation sends a shiver through you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
