Latest Posts by arayaturner - Page 2
green is not your colour (1) - coriolanus snow.
Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.
Warning: Implied cheating.
Summary: You've been engaged to Coriolanus Snow for a few short weeks and have been living together for even shorter but, the betrothal is put through its first test when Coriolanus's affair makes itself known. Part (1/2).
Wordcount: 1.3k.
A/N: This takes place in the 'You Keep Him There' universe. A couple of months before Christmas Kiss. Please tell me you catch the Yellowstone reference.
11 months ago.
The stone bench cuts into the skin of your exposed thigh, one leg crossed over the other as your arm rests along the back of the garden seat. Goosebumps cover the length of your body; remnants of last night’s cold snap are still evident as the icy blanket that covers the Manor’s grounds slowly melt away with the slow rising sun.
Of course, the cold was of no concern. Not when you had your new found habit to keep you warm.
Taking a drag from the lit cigarette between your fingers, your gaze is unwavering as you stare down the anxious chauffeur who had pulled into the driveway of your new home at the same time that you did - belonging neither to you or Coriolanus.
It had taken you all of 30 seconds to piece together what was going on and who the car belonged to - after all, you weren’t supposed to be home until the afternoon. You aren’t surprised Coriolanus would do this but, it doesn’t make it hurt any less; doesn’t temper the green eyed monster threatening to rear its ugly head.
Sure, you didn’t like him but, the two of you had known each other your entire lives; would marry in less than a year, he belonged to you- you'd hoped those things would at least mean something to him too but, it doesn’t and again, that doesn’t surprise you but, you are disappointed. Disappointed that he would bring this into your home.
The chauffeur fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves, unsure of where to look as his gaze shifts nervously between you and the front doors until finally, they open and he relaxes slightly, eager to escape the weight of your stare as he wrenches the car door open for his passenger.
You watch, hidden from their view as she emerges from your home, bidding farewell to your fiance. Crushing the cigarette, you wait until she’s about to enter the car to make your presence known.
“I always suspected there may be something more between the two of you but, to become his mistress?” You stand, making your way over to her.
Stopping a metre out, you drag your gaze lazily over her figure until you meet her own surprised one.
“My, my, Clemensia, I never expected that from you,” you tut. “Although, I won’t lie. After your… stint in the hospital back in our academy days, I didn’t think he’d ever look at you again.”
She flinches at your words but it doesn’t keep her down for long. The red-eyed, puffy-cheeked beauty straightening her back and puffing her chest with an air of arrogance that you did not appreciate.
“What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” you repeat, laughing at the nerve of her. “Clemensia, this is my house. I can come and go as I please but, you? Well, we are going to have a problem if I see you around here again.”
"You can't stop me. He was mine first."
You take an intimidating step closer.
“You want to sleep with Coriolanus? Fine. That’s your choice but, not in my house. Affairs are for hotels not homes, and if you ever step foot in mine again, I will make sure you never take another step again. Got it?”
She swallows thickly but nods her understanding.
"Good. Now get off of my property before, I have you removed from it."
You don’t wait for her to go, sights immediately set on the fool you were to take as your husband in less than a year.
“Coriolanus,” you yell, throwing the doors open, anger finally revealing itself. “Coriolanus!”
You find him sitting at the head of the dining table, looking equally as surprised as his whore to see you. Unlike her however, he’s quick to hide it.
“When did you-”
“You keep your whores out of my house, Coriolanus,” you warn him. “You keep your whores out of my house or I will teach you a lesson that I promise you will never forget.”
-
You spend the rest of the day sleeping, too tired from the morning's events and traveling to do anything else but rest, so it’s dark out by the time you leave your room.
Padding down the staircase, your tummy makes its hunger known, growling out for anyone awake to hear. Sleepily, you make your way to the kitchen, not noticing the dim light emitting from the space until you're already inside with an unwanted guest.
You look at him for a moment, thinking about whether to tuck tail and turn away or continue on your journey for food- your stomach makes your decision for you however, when it growls again.
Coriolanus is the first to speak. “There's a plate in the fridge for you.”
You don’t acknowledge him, opening the fridge in silence and indeed finding the plate of food inside. You pretend he’s not there as you move around the kitchen to warm your food up. When everything is ready, you take a seat at the kitchen bench- it’s then that Coriolanus decides to speak again.
“I think we should talk about this morning.”
“We have,” you answer him, tone clipped. “And I told you not to bring your whores into my house again.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
You breathe a laugh of disbelief. Was it not enough to discover what you did this morning now, he wanted to discuss it too? Picking up your plate, you make to leave- there were other rooms in this place that you could eat peacefully in.
“It’s over-” he follows after you, blocking your path. “Me and Clemmie. I ended things with her.”
“Clemmie,” you scoff the name. “How very considerate of you. Does she know that?”
“She does and I didn’t end it because of what happened this morning- I ended things weeks ago. She’s just having a hard time letting go but, I promise it is. I’m with you.”
You pause- pinching the bridge of your nose.
“You should’ve ended it months ago, well before we even got engaged.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
You nod but don't forgive him and he uses your silence to keep talking.
“I want to make this work, I want us to get along, I want-” he hesitates, taking your free hand. “I want you to like me.”
“What makes you think I don’t?”
“You made it very clear in the Academy that you don’t, I doubt your opinion of me has changed much since.”
You smile bitterly down at your joined hands. Your dislike for Coriolanus in school differed vastly from why you disliked him now.
You wonder if it would ever be possible to like Coriolanus Snow now.
It was hard to see the possibility when your entire being now depended on marrying him. Your grandparents had already loved him, he was Old Guard, cut from the same cloth and as he got older, they saw the future in Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panem. And that was before the proposal was even brought to them. Once it was… they would be damned if you married anyone else. When you attempted to go against it, they had made it known that they were more than willing to reduce you to nothing; taking steps to ensure you couldn’t refuse by hinging your inheritance of the Blizzard Telecommunications and Mass Media Empire and wealth on marrying him. Coriolanus Snow had snatched any freedom or hope for the future you envisioned for yourself away from you and he didn’t even know it.
Maybe one day you’d move past it or maybe one day he'd accept that you never would but, for now you settle for “maybe you can start with buying me a new house.”
Coriolanus chuckles but you're being serious and he agrees, "soon."
“And Coriolanus?”
“Yeah?”
“I don't ever want to see you with Clemensia Dovecote again. I don’t take kindly to those who you would threaten to take what is mine. Green is not my colour and, I promise you won’t like seeing me in it either.”
-
All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.
Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.
bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.
— is it a crime? | III.
pairing: austin butler inspired male oc x kat graham inspired fem oc (calisto and alcacia) summary: it’s been some time since calisto and alcacia have spoken. even with the distance between them and the ongoing heartache she felt at the hands of the man she loved, she can’t seem to let him go. warnings: toxic relationship. emotional manipulation. nsfw themes (no smut though). alcohol consumption.language. potential tag list (these people tend to interact the most. let me know if you want to be added/removed): @neeville @dulcewrites @crash-and-cure @cvpidspearl l @blackwriter48 @wonderprince @venus2eros @adoreyouusugar @sunshinetoday1 @cosmic-parker @wacoshuffle @kaitaesupremacy
note: long time so see :)
Calisto’s guilt ate at him like an animal after its prey. He wasn’t stupid. She used every tactic in the Book of Avoidance to delay their meeting and interactions. He practically wrote the novel himself.
He hardly knew why he was so offended when she swerved past him once she walked through the large double doors of his luxury home. Her green eyes stayed ahead of her and the only thing he caught was the sway of her hips and a whiff of her strong perfume. It wasn’t soft and gentle like he was used to. It exuded dominance and authority.
She sat across from him, eyes focused on the people adjacent to her, the steak ahead of her, and the wine accompanying her. He found it difficult to keep his eyes off her blood-painted lips. She was never a red lipstick person; he wondered whatchanged. How much she had changed.
Her voice was raspier than he recognized. She spoke slower and with more intention, like she learned a thing or two. He was mesmerized. He was for her, what she was for him just months prior. However, he was more than aware of how things changed when she cursed him in the bathroom after he followed her.
The version of himself that neglected and abused her emotions would have been confused as to why his smoldering eyes didn’t cause her knees to buckle in adoration, but for her lips to twist in disgust. After months of reflection, he realized that the pain he caused was a simple effect of his own selfishness and pride. Not only had he lost the woman who’d never loved him to begin with, but he lost the one whom he’d known since childhood and loved him into adulthood. He had never known anyone to be that foolish, save for himself. Such a shame.
He found himself staring at her phone number off and on for hours. The screen would lock and he’d scramble to come face to face with her name and number again. It taunted him. It knew he didn’t have the guts to call or text. How could he? He saw it in her eyes--she thought of him as the scum of the earth.
And to some extent, she was right.
let me love you, major john egan
pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (amelia mae egan)
content: what man wouldn't want to love on his wife?
an: 18+. steaaaaamy. @turn-thy-paige I'm doing your idea for gale :0
tags: to maintain your place on the taglist, you're expected to interact! @turn-thy-paige @neeville @ineedafictionalman @ihe4rtisa
Her side of the bed was empty. He slid his hand over the place where she once rested. It was still warm. He groaned lowly and ran a heavy hand across his bare chest before rubbing his eye with the stump of his hand. His movements were slow when he sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. His hands swept the floor for his pants, which were tossed near the foot of the bed. He slid them over his legs and trudged out of the bedroom.
John looked curiously throughout their home for his wife, who seemingly disappeared during the early hours. Her soft hums coming from the kitchen led him straight to her. “Morning, baby,” she spoke once she noticed his presence. She gave him a tired smile and continued grabbing utensils from the drawers to begin making breakfast. John’s eyes glanced at the wall clock above her head. 6:28am.
“What’re you doing up so early?”
Amelia shrugged, stating she wasn’t extremely tired and wanted to occupy herself while he got rest. John hummed lowly and slipped past the counter to stand behind her. His strong arms traveled around her midsection, one hand rested on her lower stomach, while the other came dangerously close to chest that was covered by a thin nightgown.
Amelia shivered at his touch. He was meticulous with the way he touched her. Even the simplest graze of his thumb against the peaks on her chest made her breath hitch. “John…” Her tone was warning. Her tone was warning yet she made no attempt to interrupt his movements. Rather she pressed against him.
“I just want to love on you for a second, doll. Can I do that?” He was an experienced man. The anatomy of a woman was engrained in his mind; he knew it like the back of his hand. Women were different, this he knew, but his familiarity with the body of a woman opened an entryway to a sacred world of pleasure and euphoria that he only felt with her.
Amelia didn’t respond. John brought his lips to her neck, soft and warm. One of her hands fell from the counter and gripped one of his hands which lowered to caress the front of her thigh. Her chest heaved and her breathing pattern shifted. Unamused, John said, “You didn’t answer me.”
“Yes,” she finally replied, allowing her head to fall against his shoulder. There it is. John hummed. He turned her body to face him, his hand now against the base of her neck. “Bedroom, doll.”
Amelia turned on the balls of her feet, his fingers laced through hers, and walked to the bedroom. John’s eyes fell to her waist, focused on the way her hips swayed like the water. She pushed the door open, dropped her shaw on the floor, and laid on the disheveled sheets; looking like an angel in the all-white covers.
“I love you,” John whispered against her lips as he hovered above her.
She smiled softly and carded her fingers through his hair. “I love you more.”
sad girl, major john egan
pairing: major john "bucky" egan x amelia mae
content: in the beginning stages of their relationship, amelia finds herself questioning john and the nature of their relationship.
song reference: sad girl by lana del rey
an: idk this song does something to me. should I make a tag list?
John Egan was an enigma. A puzzle that was impossible to solve. A language she couldn’t translate. A concept she couldn’t grasp. It angered her. It sent her into emotional overload and overwhelmed her mind. She couldn’t make sense of him and it pained her.
She found herself in her head, swimming through the sea of intrusive thoughts that invaded her mind. He wasn’t serious about her. He wasn’t capable of loving her. That was evident by the way his eyes followed the silhouette of a pretty blonde at the pub while she washed dishes and served drinks to the armymen. He didn’t know she noticed. Why would he? To him, she was nothing but a girl he’d gone on a few dates with. They weren’t committed; he owed her no loyalty.
Her attempts at keeping her facial expressions at bay were a failure. When she rose her head, she caught the sympathetic eyes of the emphatic Gale Cleven. The smile on her face quivered as she turned her back and continued with her task.
And his hesitancy, oh God, his hesitancy to decline a dance from a woman broke her even further. Sure, she should have been glad that he declined the brunette’s advances regardless, but the fact that he took the time to think. To ponder. To debate, made her sick to her stomach.
She wept like a child that night. She accepted his peck on the cheek at the end of the evening, “You alright, doll?” His voice sent a chill down her spine. It stayed with her until she went home, then wept like a child.
She was asked about him by her best friend. If only she could describe all that he was, and all that he wasn’t. He was a complex case that needed to be studied. Dissected and picked apart like an experiment. She nodded once and said, “He is a beautiful human, truly. Bold and wild like a fire. He walks in it with pride and warms everyone he comes in contact with.”
Her friend sensed the sadness laced in her words. With a small voice, she asked in return, “It sounds like you aren’t too happy about that. What’s that about?”
With a sad smile pulled at her lips. Amelia shrugged and dropped her hands into her lap defeatedly. Quietly she admitted, "I don't know if he can love me the way I love him. I think...my worst fear is that he'll light me on fire and leave me to burn in the flames...."
---
likes are nice, but please share feedback, friends!
Can you write a fic where John and Amelia meet each other’s families?
promise of love, major john egan
pairing: major john "bucky" egan x amelia mae
content: john meets amelia's parents, but one of them is reluctant to give him their blessing.
an: hope you enjoyed, anon!
“I believe any man that she is with should be bringing something to her life. If you aren’t a positive addition to her life, then what are you? What are you contributing to her life?”
Amelia’s eyes closed at the question of her father. Her chest heaved as her heart rate increased. She prayed like a saint day and night, begging God to ensure that the meeting would be beneficial, filled with love and understanding. Yet, the tension was thicker than the snow outside.
Thankfully, Amelia’s mother adored John; she welcomed him with a warm hug and gentle kiss. His charm swept her mother off her feet and had her just as weak in the knees as Amelia often found herself to be. Her father was the opposite. His stare was stone cold and his handshake was stiff. The one thing she wanted to avoid, failed to be avoided.
Amelia glanced at her lover, who seemed not affected by the stoic nature of her father. John Egan was a soldier. He wasn’t easily intimidated. He was strong mentally, emotionally, and physically. He knew how to fight for what he wanted and was trained to never back down from a challenge. With a soft sigh, John leaned pressed his back against the wooden chair.
“With all due respect, sir,” he started. Amelia inhaled sharply. “Relationships are necessary in every aspect of life. You know, you learn, grow, and experience life with another person on a deeper level. Amelia doesn’t need me at all; if anything I need her. I can’t offer her a million dollars and the newest car, but I can give her the love, honor, and respect she deserves. She’s the most important person in my life and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. I swear by my life.”
Amelia's father remained silent, his stern expression unchanged. He recognized where Amelia got her strong gaze from. Her father’s deep eyes bore into John's much lighter ones with an intensity that could intimidate even the bravest of souls. Yet, John held his ground, his gaze unwavering as he spoke from the depths of his heart. Amelia felt a mixture of anxiety and pride swell within her chest, grateful for John's unwavering commitment to her. Her hand dropped to his thigh, giving him a reassuring caress.
After what felt like an eternity, her father finally spoke, his voice gruff but tinged with a hint of begrudging respect. "Words are easy, son. Actions speak louder. You say you'll honor and respect my daughter, but can you prove it?"
Without hesitation, John met her father's gaze head-on. "Sir, I understand that trust is earned, not given. I may not have all the answers now, but I promise to show you through my actions that I am worthy of your daughter's love and trust. I'll stand by her side through thick and thin, and I'll do whatever it takes to make her happy."
Amelia's heart swelled with uinsung pride. She reached out and gently squeezed his hand, silently conveying her gratitude and love. In that moment, she knew that no matter the challenges they faced, they would overcome them together.
From the corner of her eye, she saw her mother nod in approval. Slowly, his father did the same, saying lowly, “I hold you to that, son.”
John nodded. “Yes sir, you’ve got my word.”
“Now that that’s out of the way,” Amelia said slowly with a small smile. She pointed toward the velvety dessert in the middle of the table. “Cake?”
Amelia's invitation to broke the tension in the room, providing a much-needed moment of levity. John flashed a grateful smile at her, relieved to move past the intense scrutiny of her father. With a nod, he accepted the offer, knowing that this simple gesture was a step towards building a bridge between himself and Amelia's family.
Soon, the atmosphere softened, filled with the warmth of familial love and acceptance. Amelia's mother beamed at the sight of her daughter and John, her heart filled with joy at seeing her child happy and loved.
With a sense of hope and commitment, John reached for Amelia's hand, intertwining their fingers as they shared a silent vow to face whatever challenges lay ahead together.
With her father's reluctant approval and her mother's warm encouragement, Amelia felt a sense of peace wash over her. She knew that John was the one for her, and together, they would navigate the complexities of life no matter what.
Basically.............
He's my husband xxxx
special moments, joe rantz
pairing: joe rantz (the boys in the boat) x black fem oc (cleotha jean)
content: cleotha has the opportunity to enter joe's world just for a moment.
an: for the joe lovers out there.
He was rattled by the day’s events. His mouth didn’t have to move for her to know. She could see the pain in his eyes. It was like he was a young boy again, confused as to why his father abandoned him with no regard. Rejection covered him like a blanket and he wore it all day long. It was a sad sight to see.
Their date ended early that day. As much as she wanted to press the matter, she knew that space was what she could provide. But, after not hearing from him for hours, she found herself walking to the bunks of the rowing team.
Cleotha grunted as she trudged through the grass to the board house. Through the back door, up the steps, through a side door, and down the hallway. Her footsteps were gentle as she tiptoed through the hoard house. When she arrived at the bedroom door, it was cracked, and his bed was empty. She furrowed her eyebrows.
Turning on the ball of her feet, she padded down the opposite side of the hallway. She hummed a soft tune and sped down the hallway. A room with a window lit dimly caught her attention. Her movements slowed as she saw movement in the room. Then, a head of platinum hair came into view.
Cleotha’s eyes lit up. She stuck her hand out and twisted the doorknob. “Hey…” her voice caused his head to rise. He was startled, but his eyes softened as she stepped in. She clutched her blanket around her body and smiled weakly.
“Hi.” Joe placed the object against the newly constructed boat and walked toward her. He wrapped his strong arms around her and inhaled deeply, basking in her scent of vanilla and cinnamon. “How’d you know I was here?”
Cleotha shrugged. “Weren’t in your room. Walked a little further and found the light on. You’re the only one who’d marry a boat if you could.” For the first time, Joe laughed.
“Something like that,” he replied once they separated. “I don’t know…gives me peace, I guess.” Joe picked up the sanding block again but began to sand the bottom of the boat.
Cleotha nodded and watched him work. He was focused and so dedicated to the craft. She couldn’t help but smile. His arms flexed with every stroke of the sandblock against the beautiful craven wood.
“Wanna try?” he asked, feeling her eyes on him. Cleotha grinned and placed her blanket on a nearby surface. Joe opened up, allowing her to rest her back against his chest. She felt small beneath his stature but she leaned into his body just the same. “You wanna try to swipe in one direction. From the back forward.”
Cleotha’s body warmed when he covered her hand with his own to direct her movements. “Just like that.”
Moments like these were her favorite. Where time stood still and they were in their own world just basking in the presence of the other. It was a simple thing, but she loved it all the same.
It took an hour to finish sanding the underside of the boat. Her arms were sore and stiff and she was sure she sweated out her undergarments, but seeing the look of pride on her boyfriend's face was worth it all. Especially after the turmoil he’d gone through earlier in the day.
“Well, sweetheart, I think we’re done.” Joe gave her a smile and wiped his hands on a rag. She smiled back. “I see why you do it. It’s therapeutic.”
Joe admired his work. “It is.”
“Whenever you work on the next one, I’ll sneak in here and join you,” Cleotha winked. She grabbed her blanket and tossed it over her shoulders. Joe followed her steps toward the door.
“I’d like that,” he replied.
“Good.” She grabbed his hand. “Now, take me to bed, Boat Boy. I’m sleepy.”
Joe pressed a kiss against her temple and turned off the light behind them. “Yes ma’am.”
Okay but Billy with an innocent reader>>>>>>>> LIKE HES SO PROTECTIVE OML
billy + innocent!reader
stop i love this. this should be an au hell i may just write more for it
tw— for use of a gun, toothrotting fluff
request
"go ahead, honey. pull the trigger." billy's voice is sweet against your ear.
your face morphs into a coy apprehension, "and you're sure this won't send me flying on my rear?"
he chuckles, straightening your arms a bit, "m'right here, i won't let that happen."
your eyes focus in on the three rusty cans in the distance, set atop a dry rotting log. you know there's no way you're going to hit them all. you'd be lucky to hit one.
but billy is adamant in both that you need to learn how to shoot, and that you’ll be a ‘natural’. his driving objective, however, being that since he can't be with you from sun up to sun down, he'll have to settle with teaching you how to fend for yourself.
it's not unlike him to behave this way. in the months you've known the gunslinger, you've come to find that his urge to protect you is enormous.
his protection isn't reserved just against the infamous wild men of the west, but rather, anything and anyone. if it could possibly do you harm, physically or mentally, he's there to guard and defend.
like a knight out of the princess tales your mother used to tell you.
you let out a harsh breath before your finger begins to press into the trigger. too soft at first, the metal remains in its' spot, you muster up all your courage and pull the trigger. your eyes are screwed shut as the bullet whistles away, and you quickly turn into billy.
his arms ensnare you, wrapping you tight, "what're you hidin' for? you hit it dead center, sweetheart!"
you lift your head, staring unabashedly into his blue eyes, "did i really?"
he hums, using his dominant hand to steer your gaze away from him and toward the target. sure enough, the can on the left side has a small hole right in its middle.
billy chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back, "told you, my girl's a natural."
you can't help but grin, the tension releasing from your shoulders, "or i've got a good teacher." you tease.
he gives you a squeeze before letting go, gesturing toward the cans, "c'mon, let's see if you can do it again."
emboldened by your first success, you square your shoulders and take aim. this time, you focus a bit more, remembering the sensation of the recoil and trying to replicate it. the shot rings out, and you open your eyes to find another can hit.
billy lightly claps you on the back, "see? just like that, sweetheart."
as you reload, you can't help but appreciate the way the afternoon sun plays on his weathered hat, casting thin rays upon his lips, "m’not as hopeless as i thought."
he grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "do i e’ver lie to you?”
you ignore his sly remark, focusing back in on your targets. with newfound confidence, you continue to practice, the rhythmic sound of gunshots filling the air. as the sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow over the landscape.
the sounds of gunfire continue, each shot feeling more controlled and confident than the last. with every successful hit, billy's pride in your progress shines through his loving stare. he stands by your side, offering guidance and encouragement, a quiet guardian in the backdrop of your learning.
as the sun dips even lower, casting a dim hue over the landscape, you catch a glimpse of billy watching you with a softness in his eyes. he often got this way, completely lost in you. especially when you're doing things his way— not in the way you'd normally feel inclined. you're rather tame and harmless in comparison to billy, the entire west, really.
growing up away from the fast-growing townships and travelers, when you met billy he completely flipped your world upside down. you gave him all your firsts, shooting his pistol only adds to the expansive list of firsts you've given him.
you go to take aim again, eyes closing as you shoot, still too frightened to keep them open— your bullet flies past your targets, missing entirely. you've grown used to the sound of a hit and when you open your eyes to find the miss, you groan.
billy's safeguarding nature becomes even more apparent as you meet his winsome eyes, his gaze lingers on you, subtle worry etched on his features.
he knows you're inexperienced, a stark contrast to the harsh realities of the world he's accustomed to. he knows it isn't, but if this were a shootout, that big of a miss would have cost you your life.
the mere thought of you in that situation is something he's not willing to entertain.
"you're doing mighty fine, sweetheart," he reassures, a tenderness in his voice that speaks volumes, "but remember, there's more to this than cans and targets. gotta keep those pretty eyes of yours open, alright?"
you nod, appreciating his concern and the earnest care he extends. it dawns on you that learning to shoot isn't just a practical skill— it's a testament to the depth of billy's affection. he's arming you with more than just a handgun— he's giving you a piece of his own resilience and determination.
as the sun sets, casting long shadows across the landscape, you take a moment to stand side by side with billy, appreciating the warmth of his presence. the sky paints hues of orange and pink, a picturesque backdrop to the bond that's been forged between you.
"thanks, billy," you say, sincerity lacing your words. "for teaching me, for being patient."
he smiles, a softness in his expression that contrasts with the rugged exterior, "my pleasure, sweetheart. always want you to be able to take care of yourself."
with the last rays of sunlight fading, you holster the gun, feeling a newfound sense of empowerment. billy wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding you back towards the homestead. as you walk together, the echoes of gunshots in the ears serve as a reminder that you're not just learning to shoot— you're learning to navigate billy's world, and with his protection, you're sure you'll do just fine.
—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !
sleep well tonight, lt. curtis biddick
pairing: lt. curtis “curt” biddick x black fem oc
content: curtis isn’t a writer, but he’ll do whatever it takes to keep in contact with his wife during the water.
an: thanks to @turn-thy-paige, we’ve got some new content. thank you for the ideas!
Curtis wasn’t much of a writer. Most of his expression came verbally through run-on sentences or curt responses. But that wasn’t so easy being thousands of miles away from home with no access to a telephone. He hated writing, but he did it for her. He’d do anything for her.
The barracks were quiet. Most of the men had fallen asleep long before he had. The sky was dark, like a blanket had covered the sun. The sounds of wolves howling in the distance and insects chirping in the grass were a gentle melody to his ears.
Curtis tapped the blank paper on the bedside table and brought a pen in his hand. Slowly, he began to write.
Hey honey,
It’s been a long day. I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours and I still can’t seem to go to sleep. Crazy, right? I’ll try my best once I finish this letter.
How have you been? I hope you’re keeping that beautiful smile on your face and staying in the highest of hopes. I miss you dearly. It’s hard to sleep without you; but I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been married to someone for so long. I’ll be back soon, believe me.
How’s the baby doing? I’m hoping this will all be over by the time you go into labor. I try not to think about the possibility of me missing the birth of my son. And yes, it’s a boy and you can’t fight me on it, either. I can’t wait to see what he looks like. Will he have my eyes and your curly hair? Or will he surprise us both and look like a distant family member? Who knows; I’ll love him just the same.
The newbies are interesting to work with. Every time they put on their gear, they start shaking like a leaf. Their fantasies are gone and reality has sunk in. War isn’t for the weak. To be a soldier is more than saluting the flag and shooting guns. It’s a way of life. But, it gets tiresome.
I’m getting tired now and my hand is starting to cramp, but, whatever you do, keep the faith and rest easy. I’ll be home before you know it.
Sleep well tonight.
Love yours forever,
Curt
a symphony of regret, corioloanus snow
pairing: young!coriolanus snow x black fem oc (illia furdoix). warning: book accurate snow, arranged marriage, toxic!coriolanus. trigger warning: stupid coriolanus. content: it's been weeks since their tense interaction, which has allowed coriolanus to ponder about his marriage with illia, and he begins to realize what he could lose.
an: I got an ask from @ietss about these two and figured I'd come out of temporary retirement to post it. anyway, I was listening to the "scheming" instrumental and this is what came to mind. by the way, this is long.
tags: @snowlandsontopp @babyzzlove @hlstead @rosewine-5 @unicornqueen05 @thegabbyh @neeville @fastlikealambo @urfavesim to keep your spot on the tag list, you are expected to interact! reblog and comment for continued work!
The air in Coriolanus Snow's office hung heavy with the scent of authority, a blend of polished mahogany and the subtle fragrance of Capitol roses. The room itself was a testament to his ascendancy—ornate furniture, walls adorned with portraits of influential figures, including that of his father, and the sprawling view of the Capitol below from the towering windows.
Coriolanus sat behind his desk, fingertips pressed together in contemplation. The city sprawled before him, a chessboard of power, each move calculated and premeditated.
His piercing blue eyes, cold as the ice in his veins, scanned the landscape below. The serenity of the evening concealed the storm brewing within him. It was a symphony of power and regret, a melody only he could decipher.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of crimson and burnt orange across the sky, Coriolanus's gaze fixated on a figure below. A siren dressed in all black, a stark contrast to the opulence of the Capitol. Illia Furdoix, his wife.
She moved with ethereal grace, scarlet heels clicking against the pavement in a cadence that echoed in his mind. He could recognize its cadence with ease. Her dark hair, meticulously blown out, danced in the evening breeze. A new bag adorned her arm, a silent testament to his observation. When they were engaged, he caught her eyes dancing across the details as they passed through a boutique.
But it was the wedding set on her left hand that held his attention—the flawless oval diamond in a high setting, a public symbol of their union. Only he knew the intricate secret engraved within the bands—his name etched into hers, hers into his. A silent vow, a binding commitment, a show that ended without applause once the audience was no longer around.
On her lips was a smile. It was bright and gleaming as she spoke to the individual in front of her. A man. Another man. A man who was not him. A man who was not him, that made her smile so wide that her dimples made a rare appearance.
Her head flew back in laughter. A sound he was not sure he could recognize by memory. What man didn't recognize his wife's smile and sound of laughter? A man who could only recognize the sound of his wife's cries. Cries that he provoked with ease.
Coriolanus felt a pang of recognition, a revelation unfolding. The grandeur of the Capitol office faded into the background as the weight of his regrets settled upon his shoulders. The realization was a slow burn, a dawning awareness that he had been blind to the depth of his own failings.
He was a terrible husband.
Coriolanus was used to control. He was used to fixing problems immediately, hovering over every move until it was completed to his standard. But, this, his marriage; was the one thing he couldn't control. The potential of losing his marriage, of losing his wife, was great. What could he do to combat that?
No amount of gifts, money, or luxury would change her mind. He couldn't buy her forgiveness. Coriolanus was many things but he was far from a fool. None of that would work on her. He wouldn't be convinced that it would work on him if the roles were reversed.
If the roles were reversed, he pondered. How would he feel? Having been fed a lie by a gold spoon. Having dreams of perfect love and marriage shattered by the hand of the one who was supposed to the heart with care and compassion. Could he imagine her brushing past him as she walked through the door when all he wanted was to feel her lips against his? What about her dismissing his attempts at conversation so she could bury her head in paperwork? Or if she only responded to his touch to get a release and not to feel their souls coming together as one? If she'd bullied him the way he had done her.
His world would crumble.
Coriolanus sat back in his white chair, the cold veneer of authority crumbling alongside the fragments of his self-assuredness. The sun had surrendered to the night, casting long shadows that mirrored the looming darkness enveloping his conscience.
Below, the Capitol glittered with its false promises, a city built on illusions that mirrored his own life. Illia continued her conversation, oblivious to the turmoil she stirred within him. The man by her side, a mere spectator in this intricate dance of revelation, remained blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in the nation's most powerful man.
Coriolanus' eyes, once icy and calculating, betrayed a vulnerability not often seen. A husband's failures, a leader's regrets—all laid bare in the privacy of his office.
Amid the turmoil, a determination ignited within him. He was a political strategist. A machine that could not be shut down or destroyed, If he, the most powerful man in the nation, he could figure out how to control the fate of his marriage. A plan unfolded, a strategy born of desperation and remorse. He would win her back, not with gifts or grand gestures, but with a genuine reformation of character.
The clinking of Illia's scarlet heels against the pavement below echoed in his ears, a haunting reminder of the distance that had grown between them. He rose from his chair, the crimson hues of the city below mirroring the resolve in his eyes. His eyes followed her as she made her way to the Capitol building.
It was not long before he heard soft chatter outside the door. "Is my husband in his office?" Her voice was soft, low.
"Yes, Mrs. Snow." Peacekeepers scrambled to open the door for her. The two doors peeled open, revealing Illia Furdoix Snow in all her wonder. Coriolanus' heart increased in rate for the first time in a long time.
Once the doors closed, the pleasant smile on Illia's lips dropped to a straight line. Her fingers brushed the flyaway hairs away from her face, then gripped her purse. "I cooked. Then I came to the city to look for new towels for the bathroom. Wanted to let you know your plate will be in the oven whenever you get back. I assume I'll see you in the morning, so be safe tonight."
Illia's tone was emotionless and it made his nerves spike. Was this how she felt all this time?
Coriolanus cleared his throat and walked around his desk. His dress shoes kissed the marble floor as he made his way to her. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. "I, um, I planned on coming home tonight. And eating dinner with you."
Illia's head jerked back and her eyebrows raised. The shock was written over her features like a book. Her lips parted but words did not flow from them. She wasn't convinced.
"Illia," Coriolanus said lowly. "I owe you an apology. It's long overdue and it won't make up for what I've put you through, but I..."
Her gaze remained fixed on him, a mix of skepticism and curiosity playing in her eyes. Coriolanus swallowed the lump forming in his throat, acutely aware of the gravity of his words.
"I've taken you for granted, disregarded your feelings, and failed as a husband. "The man you've seen, the man who rarely came home and when he did, brought nothing but a cold presence—I don't want to be that man anymore."
Coriolanus paused, allowing his words to hang in the air. The vulnerability he displayed was unfamiliar, a crack in the stoic facade he wore so effortlessly. Illia's teeth caught her bottom lip as her eyes welled with tears. She began to rock back and forth on the balls of her feet in anxiousness. Was this truly a reality?
"You deserve more than a distant husband. You deserve someone who cherishes you, who respects you, and who appreciates the warmth and love you bring into our home," he continued, his gaze never leaving hers. "I want to be that person for you. I know you may not believe it right now, I know actions speak louder than words, but I am going to show you that I want to be and can be the man you dreamt of having as a husband...if you'll let me."
The weight of the moment hung in the air, the room silent except for the distant hum of the Capitol outside. Coriolanus awaited her response, his heart pounding with a vulnerability he hadn't felt in years.
For the first time, she cracked a smile in his presence. It was small- and only showed a few of her teeth, but she smiled. She smiled because of him. Illia smiled because of him.
"Thank you for your apology," she started. "Accountability is important when trying to change. I can't make any promises to you, Coriolanus, of how long it will take for me to trust you or for us to get to the point where we would like to be, but, I do believe you're being sincere. So, we'll take it a day at a time."
Coriolanus released the breath he was unaware he held tight within his chest. Maybe he did have control over something after all.
"Let's go home, Coriolanus." Home. The word resonated with a chance at redemption. Taking her hand, Coriolanus followed Illia out of the office, leaving the weight of the past behind and stepping into the uncertain but hopeful future.
quiet acts of love that make me cry 🫂
prompt list by @novelbear
always giving the other the first bite of their food
^ or the last bite
gently resting their head on their shoulder when taking a picture/peeking at something
kisses. on. the. tip. of. the. nose.
zipping or buttoning their jacket for them
when they follow the sidewalk rule :(
^ like imagine realizing it as they gently take the other's wrist and guide them to the other side...omg
waiting until they safely reach the front of the door or get inside before driving off
"did you eat today?"
softly dusting crumbs from their cheeks when eating
^ or even better: kissing it off
"wear a jacket, it's cold out."
watching a movie or show that they know they're interested in.
^ not because they asked them to, but to be able to engage in more conversation related to it when they adorably ramble on and on.
doing their makeup for them
"i brought you flowers." "for what?" "there has to be a reason?"
keeping a few of their favorite snacks in the house for when they visit.
opening the door for them or pulling their seat out before they sit down
lifting the shorter one up so they can be seen in photos
absentmindedly playing with their hair at all times
fixing their clothes a little for them when noticing something is off
He's so sweet and lovely 🎀🎀
I'm just uterus with fertile eggs
I’M SALIVATING STOP ITTT
“you forgive her too easily”
she’s my mum, i reply, who else will if i won’t?
.
Hot take but… “Gale was a teen soldier who got brainwashed, by a manipulative dictator, into the idea that sacrificing a small number of troops was worth it to definitively stop the government that had spent years ruining the lives of him and his people” and “Gale’s gross disregard for human life directly led to the death of Prim and thousands of other civilians including children, and Katniss is justified in her anger and has no obligation to ever forgive him” are two statements that can and should coexist together.
Octavia deserved SO much better than how everyone(especially Bellamy) treated her in seasons 5-6. She was instantly being judged because of the bunker without anyone trying to understand what she’d been through and what she’d had to sacrifice or even just showing a little bit of empathy. She was cast aside in season 6 like she was worth nothing with barely anyone caring. And what’s worse is that Bellamy, after he abandoned her, had the audacity to act all sad about it and use that as an excuse for treating Echo like shit. And the only thing Octavia did wrong in season 5 was burn down the farm and even that was understandable. Like a lot of people view it as a decision she made because she was power hungry and I disagree. The bunker is the source of Octavia’s greatest trauma, it represents all the darkest parts of her and it’s the place that forced her into becoming something she never wanted to be so that her people could survive. Of course she’s not going to want to stay there. Octavia needed Wonkru to reach Eden and she needed to be the one to lead them there because if she didn’t then her sacrifice was for nothing, she turned herself into Blodreina for nothing. She needed her sacrifices to mean something good for her people, that she didn’t suffer and that her people didn’t suffer in the bunker for nothing. Ever since Octavia became Osleya, people had been telling her that she was going to be the one to lead them to salvation after the bunker (Gaia in the dark year episode) and Octavia believed that and internalized that and she used that to drive her through those years in the bunker. Octavia was hurt, and she had lost her way, but that didn’t make her evil. It didn’t make her undeserving of redemption or sympathy or understanding and I hate that they treated her that way in season 6.
“is this all you got? they locked me under the floor for sixteen years just for being born!” - octavia blake
favourite characters one / three the best of the hundred
More photos from VMAN Magazine
Soo....ummm
Let's talk abut Boys in the Boat and Masters of the Air because why are the release dates so far away. Someone tell me why hasn't BITB done any press or whtv
You guys don't understand.
I would do ANYTHINGGG for this man
How does this white boy have a hold over me
Callum, this. Are you hearing me sir? MORE OF THIS.
If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 5
Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.
Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia
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Summary: Javier, Candy, and Santi kiss and make up. Except Javi and Santi don't kiss. Yet.
Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia
For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.
Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.
Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.
ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!: Santi's panicy trauma response. Nothing crazy he just needs Javi to like him so so bad. Food and eating. SMUT! Fingering, reach around hand job, multiple orgasms, edging, praising, talking you through it, talking HIM through it, more hints at homoerotic subtext.
Thank you as always to my beloved Fen <3 I couldn't do this without your encouragement.
2.5 words
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******************************
Santi and Javier had been working in total silence for 4 hours.
As soon as Javi had walked in, Santiago looked up from his paperwork with his large eyes attempting to catch Javier’s but to no avail. Javi ignored him, and continued to ignore him most of the day. He felt bad, he really did, and he missed his friend. It was hard sitting across two desks pushed together, and seeing Santiago right there looking so sad was difficult. Santi was fidgety, unfocused, obviously not paying attention to his work. He’d stare at a page for ages, knee bouncing almost in time to his tapping finger. The boy was going to drive him insane.
Noon hit, and Javi went to lunch, walking down the street to a cart to grab a empañanda. Fuck it, some churros too. His doctor said he needed to start watching his sweets, but it’d been a week. He’d burn off some calories with someone tonight. Not wanting to go back to the office during his lunch hour, Javier walked a few blocks to a small park and parked himself under a tree for some shade as he stuffed his face.
Javier tried to pinpoint exactly what had made him so angry at his young coworker. Maybe part of it is the betrayal. Santi went through his things, his contact information and found one of his girls. His. Candy was his. Javier Peña took pride in protecting his girls, whether or not they were his informants. Helena’s attack had scarred him, the image of her beaten and naked body was something that kept him awake at night. He couldn’t let that happen to Candy. Javi had tried to check in on Helena, knowing the DEA had gotten her a visa to the US, but she wanted no contact with him. Maybe it was the fact: if Santi found his contact information for his girls, and that meant that anyone could. What if it had been a drug lord? Lorea knew the DEA was after him next, what if they had found Candy and brutally raped her like Helena, or killed her?
Javier flicked an ant off his arm.
Maybe it was the fact it felt like he didn’t really know Santi. He called him Pope as a nickname, a call to his church going, the way he was nearly a blushing virgin, he always avoided his eye with topics of sex. The young, naive kid he knew was soliciting prostitutes? It was hard to justify the two pictures in his head.
Maybe it was the fact it was Candy. Candy of all people. Candy was special to him, a favorite and someone he enjoyed seeing even outside of sex.
Or maybe it was that fact it was Santi. His partner, his friend, someone he trusted with his very life and liked working with.
He knew both of them, he knew they would connect. He knew they would enjoy each other's company, he knew they’d treat each other well… How could Candy not want someone like Pope? Some as good as Santiago, as kind, as attractive…
Shaking the thoughts away, Peña gathered up his trash, shoved the rest of his churro in his mouth and returned to the pulpit to sit in silence for another 4 hours. Then he saw Santi.
For the first time that day, Javier got a good look at him when he stepped under the arch of the open doorway and watched the boy as he acted, thinking he wasn’t watched.
Santiago was a fucking mess. He had bags under his eyes, his normally well dressed and ironed shirt was wrinkled and it was evident Santi had not shaved since the start of the weekend a few days ago. Santi’s face was always well groomed, a trim, neat mustache surrounded by freshly shaven cheeks and neck showing off his youthful skin; now he looked older. Tired. Worn out. He hadn’t even worn a tie. Nervous ticks were all over him, but what got Javier was that Santi hadn’t moved.
He hadn’t eaten yet.
All his anger at Santiago melted away, and Javier felt sorry for him.
*
“Haven't you had enough calories today, Peña?” The lady at the food cart said.
Javier rolled his eyes as he paid the money. “It’s not for me.”
She glanced at his stomach; it was not as flat as it used to be, that’s for sure. “Sure.”
As Javier approached the open door of their shared office again, he made sure to squeak his shoes so Santi knew he was coming before he rounded the corner.
Without looking up, Santi muttered his first words of the day. “You’re late. Your lunch is only an hour, you know that right?”
“I took part of yours, since you didn’t go.”
Santi muttered something about actually doing his work, but Javi knew today had been Santi’s least productive day since starting. He tossed the brown paper on Santi's desk, and at first Santi begins to complain about the grease on his paperwork, but then he opens the bag.
“What’s this?”
“Your lunch.”
Santi looked up to him, his endearing youth still evident despite the disheveled appearance. “You brought me lunch?”
Javi tried to wave him off as he sat down. “Don’t worry about it.”
The younger man stared up at him, mouth hesitating as if he wanted to say something, but then stopping, then starting, then stopping, then- “I’m sorry!” The words begin spilling out of him. “I’m sorry I went through your things, I really really am! I just didn’t want someone random and-
He raised a hand to stop him. “Garcia, stop. Listen…” He shook his hand and leaned against his desk. Santi looked up at him, desperate and wide-eyed, mouth parted. “She was right. I can’t control her… or you. It’s none of my business who you see…” Javi clears his throat. “And you are still seeing her?”
Santiago stood up, frantic still. Javier wasn’t into weed, but he thought Santi needed to have a smoke. “I’ll stop! Just say the word and I’ll stop!”
“No, Garcia, I get it. I know how it is with her, she’s special. Candy’s important.”
“Not as important as you!”
Santiago’s sudden admission shocked Javier. What did he mean by that? Did he mean… no, Santi wasn't like that, right? “What are you talking about?”
“I mean…” His excited edge gave way to anxiety. “I just mean, we’re friends, right? Partners. We have a good thing going right now and I don’t wanna ruin it.”
Oh. “I see.” He couldn’t help feel a little disappointed. “Yeah, we do have a good thing going. Let’s just drop it, alright? I doubt Candy will schedule us on the same day again. We can just pretend it didn’t happen.”
Javier was already moving to sit at his desk as Santi eagerly agreed. “Yes! I- uh, I mean, yeah, perfect.”
Javi snickered a bit. They sat in silence for a moment before Javier decided to bring it up just one more time… “Just… be careful, alright? And treat her good?”
“I do.” Santi was quick to assure. “And I’ll be careful.”
*
The knock on your door made you immediately nervous. No one just showed up, except Señora Perez bringing leftovers for you… when you peaked through the peephole and saw a nervous looking Javi, you sigh. Dumbass. Annoying dumbass. Annoying dumb who fucked really well and was actually super sweet and you enjoyed his company most days…
“I know you’re home, Candy.” Of course he did.
You open the door, immediately crossing your arms and leaning against the door frame. “What do you want? Santi isn’t here.”
“I know.” He assured you, then held out a rolled up, large poster. “I wanted to…” Apologize? Javi didn’t say he was sorry. Wasn’t the type. “I brought you this.” He held out the rolled up paper.
Tentatively, Javier held out his gift, which you took suspiciously. It was the Audrey Heffburn poster he promised you. “Javi… I thought you’d throw it away after how I yelled at you…” You were touched at how he thought of you, bringing you posters of artists he knew you loved to liven up your apartment.
“Never, querida.” He promised. “And I’m sorry for making a scene in your home, in front of your neighbors.”
You smile softly, relaxing a bit. He was so kind, so handsome… “I forgive you, just mind your business next time, comprende?”
“Comprendo, Candy.”
Your body language eased. “You and Santi kiss and make up?”
Javier couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. “Si, minus the kissing.”
“You’ll get there.” You wink, and make enough room in the doorway. “You wanna come in?”
Of course he did. He always did. And you always wanted him to.
*
Javi spread you open. After he sat you on his lap, you wrapped your legs around him and as he spread his legs, yours went with it. It was tender, the way he touched you, calloused fingers running the length of your body and taking you apart on his fingers. Whiskers tickled your neck as he nudged, fingers entering you. Filling you. Taking you. You were his.
And Santi was yours.
You played with Santi’s body, controlled it the way Javi controlled you. From behind. He liked it between your legs, that much was obvious. His hands, his cock, his face. He belongs there. Earlier today he had sat there, his ass between your naked legs with your back to your bed frame, Santi’s back to yours. He felt so good like this, his body firm and young and supple in your grasp and god, you loved having him. It’s no wonder Javi loved taking you like this, on his lap.
Javi liked you on his lap, liked you open for him. Your whole body. He loved to feel you clench around him, himself fully dressed and while you were completely naked.
It was different with Santi. Both of you lay bare as you jerked him off. It was vulnerable this way, both of you naked and open to each other. Santi was so vulnerable… you wanted to protect his sweet little heart, to take care of him, hear him whimper and whine just as he did now as you tease him.
You wanted Javier to devour you, to take you fully and leave nothing left, you needed to be consumed by him… and consume you he did. Javi’s mouth left nowhere untraced, your shoulders, your back, your neck, it was all sopping wet with his sloppy kisses, long fingers pumping into you.
Your fingers wrapped around Santi’s cock, swiping over the slit dripping with pre-cum in his excitement for you… That excitement excited you in turn, his enthusiasm to be explored and used… and you were grateful for him. You let him know it.
“Pretty boy, being so fucking good for me.”
“Pretty girl, being so fucking good for me.” Javier praised when you don’t cry out at the little nibble he took at your throat as he applied pressure to your clit. He knew just how to tease you, to build you up so high that your crash would be blinding. “Not yet, baby,” He coaxes you.
“Not yet baby,” You coo at Santi, tightening the base of his cock to stop his orgasm. “Can you wait just a little longer please? I want you to cum so hard, Santiago, want you to fucking explode on my hand.”
“Y-yes,” he agrees, breathy and desperate but so, so good. He was your good boy. “I can do it, Candy, I can.”
You felt up his chest, his pecs, his tight and perfect body as you jerk him. “I know you can, Santi.”
“I know you can, Candy.” Javi growls in your ear, stubble scratching at your face. “Give me one more.”
You whine, over sensitive from two orgasms on his mouth, but no less hungry for another, no less desperate for the sweet release on Javier’s fingers.
“S’too much!” Santi’s hips thrust into yours, his body beginning to writhe just as you had in Javi’s.
“It’s okay, baby, you can do it.” You coo at Santi just as Javi coos at you. Then, you both give your command. “Come for me.”
Your orgasm was blinding, clenching down on Javi so hard you weren’t sure how he could move his fingers, cum dripping out of you and onto your shitty plywood floor.
“Oh, good girl,” Javi praises. “Just feeling that pussy cum, I know it must feel so good, doesn’t it?”
“Feel’s so good, doesn’t it?” After half an hour of edging, Santi cums so hard he choked a sob out and you have to keep one arm wrapped around his slim body to keep him steady. Rops of warm cum spill out of him, covering your hand.
Javier licked his fingers clean of your um. Without so much as a care to his own erection in his jeans, he picks you up and carries you to your bed. You’re sleepy… Why were you so sleepy? Javi didn’t need to ask, finding a night dress and pulling in over you on the bed.
“Javi, let me take care of you.” You ask, tiredly. He simply gets a warm cloth to clean you up.
Sliding out from behind Santi, you make sure to place plenty of pillows under him as he relaxes back. You wash off his cock, then get in the blankets with him.
“What about you?” He asks, soft and sweet and so, so sleepy, his fingers going to the band of your pants, but you stop him.
“Sleep, precious boy.”
“Sleep, baby.” Javi kissed your forehead.
“But you didn’t even get off! C’mon, I’ll just hang my head off the bed-” You’re mostly teasing, smiling up at Javier and giggling, but he stops you.
“Rest.” It’s firmer now. “Consider this an apology.”
“Well can my apology also include you cuddling me.”
Javier smiled at that. “If you insist.”
You laid with Santi as he took a short siesta, finishing his time napping in your bed with you around him, your fingers trailing his perfect body, taking inventory of every scar. He sure had a lot of burns on his arms for a career military boy. Maybe he was a cook in high school. Good boy like him would get a part time job… so responsible. You hoped you were able to help him let go of that responsibility, if only for a little. He deserved to be wild sometimes, even if he had a lot to learn.
Javi held you until you fell asleep, remaining fully clothed and fully closed off to you. When you woke, he was gone and to your relief, he didn’t try to pay you, outside of the poster he hung up for you.
It was the first time you two had done anything that wasn’t transactional.
**************************
Thank you all for your patience, I was, WOW I WAS GOING THROUGH IT LMFAO IT WAS BAD. So I appreciate your patience as I get this out. You probably will not see anything from my as far as fics for like 2 weeks until finals are over since I am writing a fuck ton of essays. HMU in two weeks if you wanna learn about Aimee Semple McPherson or the satanic panic bc i gotta write a min 12 pages on EACH.
Anyway, until then, happy holidays! I hope you all have a wonderful and safe season celebrating any of the variety out there, or just enjoying time off, seeing family, or winter activities!
If you are in any of the horrifically dangerous areas in the world right now, know I am praying for you, and I hope you are safe.
Thank you to Fen, to Mona, to Clem, and all the people in the Oscars House Of Whores discord and the Pedro Pals discord for encouraging my insanity with these three!!! I really love the dynamics before Santi Javi and Candy and love writing this story, even if it takes me forever.
Since I like doing polls....
@runa-falls@lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolbo @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @axshadows @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12 @sub-aro @laiisleitte @itspdameronthings @heareball @comfortlessjoy @csarab615 @calaveramangonda @bit-dodgy-innit @stevngrant @nanfafnan @kirsteng42 @mrsjavierp @nanfafnan @lovable-liar @axshadows @cookielovesbook-akie
blonde callum turner so powerful he's got me seated to watch a movie about a bunch of twinks rowing a boat
I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.
-Sylvia Plath
Harsh Night
Leave me on the side of the road, pack up my bags and toss them right over, forget the scent of my clothes in your car, pry me out of the depths of your mind, breathe new life into our room we shared, I don't want to know of your new found joy, please be wary of my bare cold shoulders, for the night is harsh on me
~ mitski inspired me to write this short passage on the feeling of being replaced and on the verge of being forgotten
( constructive criticism is welcomed and much needed )
XD
art & photos are not mine - cr:
♡ top left is Testing the waters by Kim Cogan (2009)
♡ top right is Late Night Shower by Sasha Hartslief (2021)
♡ bottom picture is Interlude by Jeremy Lipking @lipking
~ Lila x
“We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back to see how far they have come.”
marina was the original Female Rage musician of the 21st century lbr