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harrysmmm · 9 months

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𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 | 𝒅.𝒎

Draco Malfoy x Y/N (f!reader)

Setting: Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince

Summary: where Draco has had a crush on you since forever, but you were dating Harry, until you two break up.

A/N: I wrote this in a day. Hope you like it! I might make a part two if you want it :) happy reading!

W/C: 4.6K

masterlist here

“But I am in love with you Y/N!”

“We’re always fighting Harry; it’s actually getting too much at this point.”

You and Harry had been dating since fourth year, when he asked you to the Yull Ball, but you’d had a crush on each other since you met. However, since fifth year, when the Order of the Phoenix was created within Hogwarts and Harry became more dedicated to Voldemort’s pursue, things had gotten out of hand between you two. You were constantly getting into arguments – Harry not communicating anything with you and you having to rip the thoughts out of him. You felt like you came as Harry’s last priority and although you had much love for him, you were sick of the ongoing difficult tension between the two of you.

“It’s not because we fight a lot that it means I don’t love you, Y/N,” Harry exclaimed.

You were both in Harry’s dorm, everyone having dinner at the Great Hall.

“But it does Harry, it does!” you added. “I understand you’re going through a lot but you’re always rude towards me, you don’t talk to me about anything that is going on and you expect me to know what to say to you, what to do all the goddamn time, I’m done!”

“Fine! We’re done then! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed – you know where to find the door,” he said getting in bed as if you weren’t standing there.

“You’re unbelievable. Good fucking night.” You slammed the door behind you and left to your dorm.

You spent the night crying under the sheets – heartbroken by the person you had loved the most.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Y/N the Sopophorus bean shouldn’t be added now,” Hermione told you.

“Huh?” You were too distracted with glancing at Harry that Potions’ class was put on the background.

“Okay, that’s it, you need to stop looking at Harry. In fact, you need to stop everything that includes Harry,” she snapped at you.

You didn’t say anything because you knew it was true.

“It has been a month since you broke up, Y/N. And fine, Ron and I can deal with you both not talking to each other but you need to seriously start moving on.”

“Okay, okay, no need of a lecture.”

“What’s gotten into you today? You’re looking at him more than usual.” Hermione looked at Harry who was also looking at their direction. “And he’s looking at you more than usual.”

“It’s not the time, Hermione. I think Draco can hear us,” you whispered. Draco was always sitting behind you two.

“He’s focused on the potion, he’s not listening. Tell me,” Hermione said, seeing Draco carefully stirring the potion.

“Well, I don’t know if he’s told you, but I know he’s dating someone. I saw them both making out by the lake yesterday.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say.

“But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is who he’s dating,” you continued.

“Who?” Hermione asked, very shocked by the turn of events.

You stared at her before saying it. “Ginny.”

Hermione didn’t say a word, speechless about the confession.

“Yep,” you simply said, going back to the potion in front of you both.

It was a wild twist in the story because Ginny, Hermione and you were very close, and Ginny had been one of the girls that had comforted you since the breakup. The moment you saw both of them snogging you felt like something died within you. Not only because it clearly stated that Harry had moved on from you, but also that one of your best friends had been lying and pretending in front of you for no one knew how long. You hadn’t talked to Ginny and the tension between you and Harry had majorly grown since.

Hermione and you continued to work on the potion, unaware of the fact that Draco had heard every single word of the conversation.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Draco had been in love with you since he set foot at Hogwarts. Long before he knew what love meant and how it felt, he had tried to impress you indirectly, by flying up to the sky with Neville’s personal belongings, by applying for Quidditch’ seeker position, by walking up to Hagrid’s hippogriff and trying to ride it, by facing up Potter when he became a Triwizard champion and had asked you to the Yull Ball and by applying to Umbridge’s little inquisitory group to try and dismantle the order. He did all that for you, and although you were totally unaware of the boy’s feelings, he didn’t know of any other way to get to you. In his mind, you were absolutely unreachable. He was aware of how other boys in class talked about you – because needless to say, you had been categorized as the prettiest girl in class. Draco’s enmity with Harry had developed because of Draco’s jealousy on your relationship with him. You had been a close friend of the chosen one since first year, and even Professors had always thought that you two would make a lovely couple. Draco had had to bear the flirtatious looks of you and Harry during class; how you would clap at him when he was about to catch the snitch during a match; how you would kiss him at the Great Hall during breakfast; how you would both giggle together running through the hallways of the castle; how you would become very worried when Harry was told to face detention by Umbridge. But even if Draco knew that he didn’t really exist for you despite of all his acts, he couldn’t forget about you because you were the only light that he felt he had in his life. The thought of you loving him one day was what kept him living each day that went by. He would constantly daydream about you before bed, during class, in the Slytherin common room, during lunch – he was just so enamored by you. However, deep down he felt like he didn’t deserve you, that was the ultimate reason to why he had never approached you. And all his jealousy, fury and sadness tended to be projected onto Potter, the boy that had conquered your heart.

He had overheard your conversation with Hermione during Potions. He had seen your light diminish since the breakup but the day you had told Hermione you had caught Harry with Ginny, he had seen you at your worst. He couldn’t comprehend how Potter had treated you so poorly during the last year of your relationship and how he could’ve gone behind your back kissing the Weasley girl. He felt so protective over you he decided to confront Harry by the lake, where he knew he could find him snogging with Ginny.

“Potter and a Weasley. Pathetic. Does your brother know about this, red-hair?”

“Malfoy, get the fuck out of here,” said Harry, looking for his wand in his pocket.

“You,” he talked to Ginny. “You should be ashamed of how pathetic you are as a friend. Does Y/L/N know about this?”

Ginny didn’t respond knowing he was right.

“That’s it, septum-” Harry started saying, being interrupted by Draco.

“Expelliermus!” Draco unarmed Harry.

Harry approached Draco and they both started to fight with each other physically. Draco punched Harry on the nose but before he could leave Harry kicked Draco, the latter falling on the ground.

They didn’t stop until they were both incapable of getting up.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Will you stop eating?!” asked Hermione to Ron, hitting him with a book. “Your best friend is missing!”

“Oi! Turn around, you lunatic” said Ron, seeing Harry enter the Great Hall.

He sat down in front of Hermione with a bleeding nose and bleeding wounds everywhere.

“Where have you been?” asked Hermione.

“Nowhere,” replied Harry.

You were sitting down a few seats away from the scene, wondering what in the world had happened to Harry. The answer was revealed when a certain bleached one entered the Great Hall, also bleeding.

“What happened Harry? Did you fight with Malfoy?” asked Hermione, having seen the blonde’s entrance.

“He was looking for it,” replied Harry.

Hermione looked over at you worried. You shrugged your shoulders in response. Hermione looked back at Harry.

“Harry, you should report this to Professor McGonagall.”

Harry didn’t reply and kept eating. Hermione looked back at you worried. You mouthed to her “I got this”. You thought Malfoy’s rivalry with Harry had cooled down that year but based on what had happened that afternoon you were worried it had something to do with the conversation you had had with Hermione during Potions’ class, even if you didn’t know why.

Dinner ended and students started to periodically get up from their seats and head towards their common rooms. You waited until Draco got up and followed him through the hallways. When no one was with you two, you called him.

“Malfoy!”

He turned around and looked at you, only to look away and keep walking.

You ran up to him.

“I want to talk to you,” you said.

“Why?” he replied, still not looking at you and walking straight.

“Can we stop for a second and talk? I can’t keep up your pace.”

He stopped and looked at you annoyed.

“What?” he repeated.

“I know you got into a fight with Harry.”

He rolled his eyes and kept walking.

“What happened, exactly?” you asked, running after him.

He didn’t reply.

“Draco!”

He stopped when you said his name.

“Why do you wanna know, Y/L/N?”

“I know you two were leaving each other alone until today. I wanna know why you fought.”

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore. We don’t talk.”

“That’s not my fucking problem,” he replied.

“Did you hear anything I told Hermione during Potions?”

Draco startled but tried to hide it. You still noticed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied.

“Then why did you two fight?”

“I’m getting bored of this conversation already.” He kept walking.

“Fine, just so you know, if you did it for what I said during Potions class, that was not the way to go,” you said, still standing up. He kept walking. “But thank you nonetheless.”

He kept walking, still having heard your words. A smirk got on his face as he walked towards his common room.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

A week later, you were eating in the Great Hall with Hermione.

“Have you already confronted Ginny about the whole thing?” Hermione asked you.

“No, not yet, have you?”

“Of course not, I don’t wanna get mingled,” she replied.

You looked up and saw Draco walking through the corridor. His eyes met yours as he sat down for lunch.

“How could Harry be so insensitive? And how come Ginny never talked to you before anything happened?” Hermione was still ranting about it – your gaze was still on Draco, as was his.

You didn’t know what had exactly changed since the day you talked to him but suddenly his eyes were speaking to you and you found yourself intrigued by his presence.

He looked away from you and focused on what his friend was telling him.

You engaged in conversation with Hermione.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You were studying for a Transfiguration test out on the grass field. You were trying to turn a cup into a flower but the more you tried, the less it seemed to work. You knew that you needed to have a calmed mind in order to work but you couldn’t stop overthinking Harry’s thing with Ginny and your encounter with Malfoy.

In the distance, you saw Draco walking down gripping on some books. He saw you studying but quickly looked away. You debated in your head whether you should go up to him but you thought you’d look stupid without having anything to say, so you decided not to.

You noticed another boy was also looking at you. He came towards you.

“Hi, Y/N” Harry said.

“Hey, Harry” you replied, without looking at him.

“Hum… I just came to apologize,” he mumbled.

“For what?” you asked.

“You know for what,” he replied.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Harry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to study.”

“Always making things so difficult, I’m trying to do the right thing here,” he finally said, getting pissed.

“Are you though? Because as far as I know the right thing had to be done months ago, now it’s not the time Harry!”

“You don’t know what I’ve had to bear with-”

“You never bothered to share it with me in the first place!”

“It’s not that simple Y/N.”

“Nothing is ever simple with you Harry.”

“Hasn’t she told you to go, Potter?” Draco appeared behind Harry.

Harry turned around. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

“I have a pending conversation with Y/L/N. Besides, this is not your yard, scar head.”

“Whatever,” Harry looked back at you. “Enjoy your time with Malfoy.” He left.

“What was that for?” you asked Draco.

“He was being a git, can’t bare it.”

You stayed in silence and looked at his books. “You wanna… perhaps… study with me?”

He looked at you for a few seconds. “I’m good.” He also left.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It was one a.m. at night – you couldn’t sleep, your mind going back to different moments of the last few months. You decided to get up and head to the kitchen. You had befriended some of the elves and as they were cleaning up maybe they could give you a cup of hot milk. You went down the stairs, exited the common room and walked through the hallways. While you were walking, someone carrying a torch approached you.

“What are you doing here?” Malfoy was standing in front of you.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, still bothered he ditched you the other day.

“I am patrolling. I am a prefect,” he replied.

Right. You had forgotten about that. “I was just going to get a glass of milk.”

“Where?”

“To the kitchen,” you simply replied.

“Students don’t go to the kitchen. Especially at this time of the night,” Draco said, with disgust on his face.

“Draco, I just want a glass of milk. I can’t sleep,” you tried to convince him.

“You’re not going to the kitchen, Y/L/N,” he directly said. “Don’t make me give you detention.”

“Fine,” you replied, turning around. “Thanks for your help, Malfoy.”

“Anytime Y/L/N,” he replied.

When you had left his sight, you turned to another corridor that also led to the kitchen. You were going down the stairs when suddenly you heard a voice behind you.

“Do you think I’m stupid or what?” Draco snapped at you.

“I’m going to bed!” you lied.

“That’s not the way to your bed, Y/N/L, unless you’re sleeping in the Slytherin dorms – which you’re not.”

“Who says I’m not?” you teased.

Draco looked at you being fed up.

“You’re not a Slytherin.”

“That doesn’t matter. I can still sleep there.”

“Where exactly?”

“That’s none of your business,” you replied.

“It is because you’re lurking in the hallway at one fucking a.m. in the morning!”

“You told me to go to bed, I’m going to bed!” you replied, slightly having fun with the conversation.

“That’s not the way to your bed!”

“I’m sleeping with someone!”

“Who?” he asked.

“A Slytherin,” you replied.

“Who?” he repeated.

“You don’t know him.”

“Oh, I can assure you if he’s a Slytherin I do know him.”

“His name is Tom.” You couldn’t think of any other name.

“Well, either way, I’m not letting you go sleep in someone else’s room.”

“But I won’t tell, I swear.”

“You just want your glass of milk and you’ve made up a whole story to convince me,” he ended up saying.

“Please Draco, I’m really thirsty.”

He sighed. “I am going with you then. If you get on my nerves I’m calling Snape, Y/L/N. And don’t lie to me again,” he finally said, giving up.

“Thank you Draco, really appreciate it.”

He went down the stairs with you, and headed towards the kitchen. The elves had already left.

“Alright, go grab the milk and we go,” he said, leaning over the counter.

You started looking for the milk in different cupboards until you found it. You grabbed a cup and poured yourself some milk.

“Don’t you have to patrol with Pansy?” you asked him.

“Why are you asking questions?”

“I’m curious. I thought you had to patrol with another prefect,” you replied.

“Well yeah, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be the one in the same house as you. I’m patrolling with Weasley tonight but each of us go our separate ways.”

“I didn’t know Ron was patrolling tonight,” you added, realizing how long it had been since you had talked to Ron after the incident with Harry.

“I assume you’re still not talking to Potter,” he added.

“Nope. Not missing it either.”

“I have to ask, how is that you dated him? What did you see in him?” Well, that was an interesting question coming from Malfoy. “I can’t imagine dating someone like Potter, what a twat.”

“Well, I fell in love, I guess. I mean, he’s good looking, brave, passionate-”

Draco laughed. “Pff, sure thing.”

“And why is that you two hate each other so much?” you asked him in return.

“He’s always going around as if the world belongs to him for being the chosen one.”

“Don’t you do the same though?” you asked.

He startled. “No, I’m the one who puts him on his place.”

“He could say the same about you,” you added.

“What are you guys talking about?” Ron appeared in the kitchen. “I heard some noises, I thought they were first years out of bed.”

“Just came down to the kitchen to give Y/L/N some milk, she couldn’t sleep.”

“Since when do you do that for anyone, Malfoy?” asked Ron.

“I’ll suggest you keep your mouth shut, Weaslebee,” he replied.

“Well, I’m done here guys, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll go to bed now.”

“Go with her, I don’t trust her a bit,” Draco said to Ron.

“Good night Draco,” you said to him before leaving.

“Whatever,” he replied.

Once you were out of sight, he let himself relax again. Even if he showed the opposite, that had been one the best moments he had experienced in at least the last year.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It was Christmas break, you were in the Hogwarts Express to go back home. You were sitting in a wagon with Hermione talking to you about the past exams but all you could think about was Draco. You were constantly replaying in your mind what happened in the hallways at night when you two bumped into each other and you were slightly convinced he also had a crush on you by the way he acted. The urge to see him was so intense that you told Hermione you were going to buy something to eat and left the wagon.

You went to the Slytherin wagon and found him sitting down with Blaise and Pansy, two of his friends. You walked through the corridor to the other side of the wagon, peripherally having a look at him. You noticed he was also looking at you.

“This is not your wagon, Gryffindork” Pansy told you as you were passing.

“I’m just passing through,” you replied.

“Right.”

You hoped that Draco would say something but nothing came out of his mouth. You turned back and left the wagon.

What a prick. After all, he was still a pureblood Slytherin, and one of the worst kind, what were you thinking?

You went back to your wagon.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It was the day that students came back from Christmas break to Hogwarts. You had spent a lovely holiday with your family and you felt ready to face whatever was about to happen. Whatever except for what happened.

“Y/N, I miss you.” Harry was standing in front of you in the hallway.

“What?” you replied.

“I’ve been giving our situation some thought and realized I acted as a prick with you and wanted to amend things.”

“Aren’t you with Ginny?”

“We haven’t talked during the break,” he replied.

“Well, I’m not some kind of rebound, Harry.”

“No, of course not. That’s not what I meant.”

“Besides, I like someone else now.” It was painful to say but it was true. You were over the hills for a certain blonde.

“Who?” he asked.

“It’s none of your business, Harry.”

“Y/N, we can work it out.”

“No, we can’t. We’re done Harry, you need to move on.”

He stood up as you left. The whole situation had given you a sense of control that had made you feeling unstoppable. You felt this urge of confessing, for some odd reason. It had felt to so good to state out loud what you felt for Draco that now the only person that was left to tell was him. You didn’t really think of what his reaction could be, you just wanted to spread the word to him.

You roamed in the hallways looking for his face until minutes later you spotted him with Blaise and Pansy. You walked up to him.

“Malfoy.”

Pansy and Blaise, as well as Draco, looked surprise.

“What?” he replied.

“Can I talk to you, in private?” Blaise and Pansy looked at each other, confused.

Draco just sighed and stood up – both of you going to a quieter and more intimate place.

“What’s going on Y/L/N?” he asked you.

“Okay, so I’m about to say something to you. I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it, but I’m still taking the risk. Trust me, this comes as a surprise to me as well as it will come to you.”

“Alright,” he replied. “What is it?”

You sighed, your heartbeat being all over the moon.

“I like you, Draco.”

“What?” he said.

“I like you.”

“I heard you, but what does that mean?”

You started to feel the regret coming.

“I might have a crush on you.”

“You have a crush on me?” he repeated.

“That’s what I said, yep.”

“Alright.”

You stood in silence. “Alright?”

“Yeah, what do you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Well, thank you for telling me. I’m going then.”

“Okay, see you.”

“Bye.”

You stood up there not understanding what had just happened.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

A month went by and you hadn’t talked to Draco again. You felt so ashamed about confessing to him that you had tried to avoid him at any cost. He had left you so pathetically that you couldn’t bare the thought of him knowing what you felt. It was eating you inside. You hadn’t told Hermione about the situation. Instead, you might’ve agreed on going out with Harry again. You just needed to show Draco (and yourself) that you weren’t desperately crying in a corner about what happened.

You started then dating Harry again.

You were walking down a hallway when you found yourself facing Draco. You looked down hoping to avoid him.

“Y/L/N,” he said to you.

“What?”

“Hadn’t seen you in a while, where have you been?”

“Around,” you replied.

“I’ve seen you’ve got back with scarhead.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought that was over for you.”

“Well, it’s clearly not,” you replied.

“Good,” he said.

You wanted to die at that exact moment. “Goodbye Malfoy.”

You left withholding some tears.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It had been two months since the last time you had spoken to Draco. You were still dating Harry, trying to go back to how it used to be but things had profoundly changed within you. Your heart belonged to someone else.

You had gone to Hogsmeade to clear your thoughts. You were walking around the different stores and pubs until you saw Draco talking to Pansy in front of the Three Broomsticks. Something pounded in your heart when you saw how close they were. He saw you walking but didn’t engage in conversation.

An hour later you were tired of walking around and you were going back to the castle until someone stop you halfway.

“Y/L/N!” You turned around and saw Draco walking up to you. “What’s up?”

“Hi,” you replied.

“Enjoying the day?”

“Fairly,” you replied.

“You came alone? Where’s the funny trio?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not even the boyfriend came?”

“Do you see Harry anywhere nearby?” you snapped.

“Merlin, what has gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” You kept walking.

“Tell me, I’m curious.”

“I said nothing, Malfoy.”

He remained silent for a bit. “Is it because of what you told me a few months ago?”

“What did I tell you?”

“That you liked me.”

“Whatever,” you replied.

“You’re with Potter now, everything is fine, isn’t it?” he kept going.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Malfoy.”

“I mean, you were the one that got back with Potter, I don’t know what I’ve done in the story.”

“I said drop it,” you replied.

“Alright, alright,” he said, still walking by your side. “But if you want to tell me something, just say it.

You snapped. “Oh, so you’re expecting that I smile and laugh with you after I told you that I liked you and you literally left me standing there?”

“What did you want me to say? Besides, you got back with Potter!”

“You could’ve handled things differently!”

“Like how?”

“Like talking to me about how you felt, even if it was not reciprocated.”

“You didn’t ask me, you just told me you liked me, what do you answer to that?”

“You say something, you do something, for Merlin’s beard!” you exclaimed.

“Well now you’re with Potter, right?”

You didn’t answer.

“Because if you’re not, maybe we can talk about it.”

“Talk about what?” you asked.

“About us.”

Something lit up in you.

“What is it with us?”

“I don’t know, what do you want it to be?”

“Draco, stop asking me abstract questions.”

“I might want something with you, Y/N.”

You stopped and looked at him. “Something like what?”

“Like maybe dating, if that’s what you want.”

“You want to date me? Do you like me?”

“If I’m asking you to date me it’s because I like you, Y/N.”

“Since when?” you asked.

“I don’t really know.” He did know though, since you had said your first words in class almost.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, why would I be fooling you?”

“I don’t know Draco, I don’t know.”

He got closer to you.

“So, what are you gonna do? Are you gonna date me or stay with Potter?”

You looked at him, he was partly smiling. You thought he was looking gorgeous.

“I like you, it’s not working between Harry and I,” you ended up saying.

“So you’re gonna break up with him?” he asked.

“Yes.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He took both your hands and rubbed his thumb, caressing your fingers.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time,” he said.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I never thought you felt the same.”

“But I told you I did.”

“I was too scared. Besides, you got with Potter so I thought you were in love with him.”

“Right, I’m not.”

He got closer to you, his lips approaching yours as he placed a short peck on them.

You laughed.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you replied.

“Right.”

And that’s how you both went back to the castle, both your hands tangled with one another.

#draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy smut #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #hogwarts imagine

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rynwritesstuff · 4 months

Text

Unknown

Billy The Kid x Reader

Warnings: Feisty!Reader, General outlaw stuff (guns, cursing, threats), Mentions of sex work/brothels, Smut (PIV sex, unprotected sex, rough sex), Hint of fluff, Imprisonment, Jailbreak

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: After discovering Billy Antrim one night, you persuade him to travel with you. A wild and interesting adventure ensues.

Author's Note: I've spent the past several weeks reading the most incredible Billy x Reader fics, and I wanted to try my hand at writing for him. I wanted to tag a few of my favorite Billy writers, because they have inspired me to give this a try. (Thank you @billysgun @atrwriting and @goosita you guys are incredible, I admire you so much, keep doing what you're doing <3)

“It ain’t the being alone. It ain’t the empty home, baby, you know I’m good on my own. You know, it’s more the being unknown. So much of the living, love, is the being unknown.” - Unknown / Nth, Hozier

When he hears it – the footsteps – Billy’s head snaps to the side. A million thoughts run through his head. Robbers, outlaws, all-around no good men . . . They could be anywhere. They could be everywhere. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for the gun at his hip. He barely has time to touch it before the sound of a gun cocking comes from behind him. He pauses.

“Don’t. Move,” comes your voice. Billy swallows harshly as he freezes. It’s dark aside from the campfire in front of him and the moon and stars sparkling in the sky. Billy keeps his breathing even and steady as footsteps come closer.

“I need money,” you say.

“You’ve got the wrong man, miss,” Billy says, unmoving. “I’ve got nothin’.”

“Food, then. Got any food?”

Billy nods towards the small pot beside the fire.

“There’s a bit left over there.”

You circle him, and when you do, he catches a glimpse of your face, slightly shielded by an old hat. Your hair is pulled back and you wear men’s clothing. Your too-big boots thud against the grass. Even like this, Billy can tell that you're beautiful, the kind of beautiful that would bring a God-fearing man to his knees.

You keep your gun pointed at him as you look down into the pot and then back up at BIlly.

“It’s not enough.”

“It’s what I’ve got.”

“You’re lying,” you say easily. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way you came this far with so little food. You think I’m an idiot, boy?”

“No,” Billy shakes his head. “I mean it. That’s the last of my food.”

You chuckle dryly, then approach Billy.

“Keep your hands up,” you warn. You tug his gun from his holster, then step back towards the fire. Billy is now completely unarmed. He couldn’t shoot you even if he wanted to. You crouch down beside the pot. It’ll have to do, you decide, and reach in with your bare hand to scoop up the beans and bring them to your mouth. You sigh. They’re salty and warm and earthy, and they soothe the ache in your stomach.

Billy moves slightly, you see him out of the corner of your eye, and you bring your gun up again. He freezes.

“I was just shiftin’,” he tells you. Wordlessly, you look back down at the pot and continue to eat. Billy watches you curiously. Where are you coming from? Where are you going? And, perhaps most importantly, who are you on the run from?

“Billy the Kid,” you say finally, wiping your hand on the grass as you get to your feet. “Hm. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Do I know you?” Billy asks.

“No. But damn near everyone in the West knows you. Ya shouldn’t be surprised.” You slowly make your way over to his horse. You open his saddle bag as Billy turns to watch you. You pull out his shotgun, humming to yourself. You set it aside, and Billy’s heart begins to race.

“The ring,” he says quickly, making you pause, “please don’t take it. It was my ma’s.”

You halt. How strange it is, to hear William Antrim speak so desperately. You stare at him as you pull the small gold band from his bag. You hold it in your palm, and Billy watches you with a pained expression.

“Please. She’s gone, she’s dead. It’s all I got left of ‘er.”

You shake your head.

“I’m not heartless, Billy,” you say, and Billy nearly laughs. No, woman holding me at gunpoint, he thinks. Of course you’re not.

“I’ve lost people, too,” you tell him. You toss the ring to him, and he catches it, clutching it tightly. “I’ll advise you to keep it closer to you, though. People like me aren’t always so understanding.”

You go back to digging through his bag but don't find much; an apple, a pocket watch, a few shirts and a pair of pants. You huff, keeping only the apple, and shove everything back into the saddle bag, including the shotgun.

“You’re shit out of luck, Billy,” you say, stepping towards him as you bite into the apple. You wipe a bit of juice from the corner of your mouth. “No food, no water–”

“I have water.”

“Oh, well excuse me, then. I apologize,” you say sarcastically. Billy clenches his jaw. You sit down a good five feet away from Billy, gun still in-hand as you eat the apple.

“God, fuck,” you breathe. Billy glances at you. “Haven’t had fruit in a month.”

“Neither have I,” Billy says flatly.

“Mm. As I was sayin’ . . . You’re kinda fucked right now. Where’re you headed?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Liar,” you say. You’re confident while you have the gun in your hand, and although you know that Billy could scramble for his shotgun, you also know that you could blow his head off before he got there. If he tries something, anything, he’s a dead man. He must know it, too.

“The next town over,” Billy says finally. “I need somewhere to stay for a while.”

“It’s about fifteen miles East,” you say. You bite into the apple again. “You know where you’re going? How to get there?”

“I prefer to travel alone,” Billy says as he watches you. For a moment, a small, brief, fleeting moment, he wonders what you look like beneath the tattered button-up shirt. He’s only slept with a handful of women, and it’s been a long while since he’s touched himself, much less had someone else touch him. He swallows harshly.

You lap your tongue over the dripping apple to gather the juice, then speak.

“Right. Well, I need a man to come with me East. Nobody takes women seriously in that town, I was there a while back.”

“Surely you don’t want to risk being recognized, then,” Billy says. You chuckle.

“Unlike you, Antrim, I’m moving from town to town by choice. I've got nothing to hide.”

Well. That seems to answer Billy’s questions. He sighs, then looks away. Perhaps this is a good thing. Maybe a woman is what he needs. A fiery, feisty woman who will try to keep him in-line.

“What’s in it for me?” he asks.

You shrug.

“Money, probably. Food. A roof over your head.”

“Until I get caught.”

“I’ll try to keep you out of trouble if you promise to try, too.”

Billy looks over at you.

“I don’t even know your name.”

You smile softly, looking at him kindly for the first time all evening. You tell him your name, and when you do, he tests how it feels to say it. You nod.

“Right,” you say. “Ya got it.”

Billy hums.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” he says.

“No,” you say, tossing him back his gun. “I’d hope not. You wouldn’t be a very good outlaw if you trusted someone that easily.”

Billy slips his gun back into his holster, feeling better now that he has his firearm again. You take another bite of the apple.

“Let’s leave at dawn,” you tell him. Billy still isn’t completely convinced that this is a good idea, but he doesn’t want to argue. He doesn’t want to upset you or set you off.

“Fine,” he says. You nudge him.

“Where are those manners you had a bit ago?” you tease, tossing the apple core aside. “‘Miss’ and ‘ma’am’. Your mama raised you right.”

“Yes, ma’am, she did,” Billy says, offering you a small, teasing smile.

***

Dawn comes, as it always does. You wake before Billy, and take it upon yourself to tidy up his things from the night before. The pot is washed and the fire is out when Billy’s eyes open, and he glances around for a moment. He sees you, and you offer him a nod.

“Get up,” you tell him as you guide his horse over. “I’d like to get there as soon as possible.”

Billy groans softly as he sits up on the blanket that separates him from the grass.

“You don’t have a horse? You came all this way on foot?”

You sigh, leaning against Billy’s horse.

“She got stolen a few miles back,” you say. “I was surprised they didn’t get yours, too.”

“Mm. Sorry to hear that,” he says as he folds up the blanket and attaches it to his saddle bag. You shake your head.

“Not much that can be done about it now. Ya ready to go, Billy?”

He nods as he puts on his hat and approaches his horse. He holds his hand out to you and helps you up onto the saddle. He knows that you can get up yourself, but you shouldn’t have to do such a thing. Not when there’s a man around to help you.

Knowing that you won’t both fit on the saddle, Billy decides to walk. You watch him as he guides his horse. The muscles in his strong arms flex as he goes, and you find yourself staring at him more than the scenery around you. You know what this likely means, of course, but you don’t want to think about it.

You don’t want to complicate things.

Hours pass. The pair of you reach a town. Dust is kicked up as Billy’s horse trots through, and people bustle busily. You glance around. People stare at the two of you, and you wonder if it’s because they recognize Billy, or perhaps you from when you were here previously. You wipe sweat from your brow.

“There’s a brothel that way,” you say, pointing to the right. “Rooms are cheap there.”

“I thought you didn’t have much money,” Billy says, guiding his horse in the direction you pointed in.

“I don’t,” you say. “But I have enough for us to stay somewhere for a week or so.”

You hear Billy sigh, and you clench your jaw.

“You got a better idea?” you ask.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it,” you say. Men are so finicky, you think. You arrive at the brothel just after noon, and you get off the horse. Billy goes to follow you, and you hold your hand up.

“Don’t. You’ll get swarmed by whores. Just stay here, let me do the talking.”

Billy’s brow furrows slightly.

“What if there’s trouble?” he asks. You tap the gun holstered at your hip.

“I can handle myself.”

Without another word, you head into the brothel. You locate the owner and speak to her about a room for you and your friend. Just as you remembered, the rooms are cheap, cheap enough for you to rent a room for longer than you thought you’d be able to. You pay the owner, then step back outside.

“Get our stuff,” you tell Billy. “I’ll take your horse to the stable.”

Wordlessly, Billy obeys, gathering the bags before you lead his horse around the building. He steps inside. Just as you predicted, a few whores approach him.

They gush at him, telling him how incredibly handsome he is, and how he must be tired, and how he looks like he needs a good blowjob. He politely turns them down, his cheeks warming slightly. One of the whores, a blonde woman, runs her hand over his chest. He tries not to stare at her bare breasts.

“You stayin’ awhile?” she asks. Billy nods. She hums. “Come n’ see me sometime, won’t ya?”

Billy offers her a kind smile.

“I’m a busy man, I’m afraid. Don’t have time for that.”

He hears footsteps behind him, and moments later, he’s being tugged towards the stairs of the brothel.

“Told ya they’d flock to you,” you say as you and Billy go up to the room. You unlock the door.

“They’re just doing their job,” he says as he steps into the room and sets the bags down. You sigh as you re-lock the door. You put your hands on your hips as you walk around the room, inspecting it. It’s not nice by any means, but it’s a roof over your head and a bed to sleep in, and that’s enough for now.

“I’ll take the floor,” he offers. You glance at him. “Y’know. When we sleep.”

You shake your head with a sigh as you take off your hat.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I don’t particularly care if we share a bed,” you say. Billy doesn’t say anything. You glance at him. He’s staring at you. “What?”

Just as he had noticed last night, you’re beautiful. And if you look this nice like this, he can only imagine what you’d look like all dolled up, or even just freshly bathed. He wonders what it would be like to touch you, to feel you beneath him, to have your body canting up towards his.

He shakes his head slightly.

“Nothing. Just . . . Nothing.”

“If you want the floor, you can have it–”

“No, no, I don’t mind either,” he says. You sit down at the edge of the bed, then lie back on it with a drawn-out sigh.

“I’m gonna sleep good tonight,” you chuckle. Billy finds himself smiling softly.

“Is it comfortable?” he asks. You laugh again.

“Not at all, but it’s better than the ground.”

Billy approaches the bed and sits down beside you, leaving a gap between your bodies. He bounces a bit, and the bed frame squeaks. He hums as he stops.

“Well?” you ask, looking up at him.

“You’re right, it’s awful.”

You hum, rubbing your eyes.

“I know.” You sigh. “Why don’t you go downstairs and eat?”

“What’re you gonna do?” he asks.

“Take a bath,” you say. Billy nods. He knows he should bathe too, especially if he’s going to be sleeping beside you, but he’s so, so hungry . . .

“I’ll go after you, then,” he says, getting to his feet. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

“Hang on.”

Billy pauses, glancing back at you as you sit up. You gesture for him to come back towards the bed. He obliges. There is a foot or so of space between your bodies, and you look up at him with a twinkle in your eye. You know what you want to tell him, but you don’t know how to say it. You know what you want to do, but you don’t know how to get there.

“You’re the most handsome outlaw I’ve dealt with, y’know,” you say finally, voice soft. Billy is surprised but most certainly not disappointed. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“How many outlaws have you dealt with?” Billy asks.

“Quite a few.”

He hums.

“I suppose that means I should be thanking you, then," he says. You reach out and tug on his belt loops, pulling him closer. You put your hands on his hips and look up at him.

“Yes. You should.”

Billy leans down a bit.

“Thank you, then, miss,” he says quietly. You feel his breath against you, and you let out a soft sigh as heat blooms between your thighs. Hesitantly, you bring your hand up to touch his cheek. You feel the stubble near his chin and jaw as you look into his eyes.

“Can I–?”

“You don’t even havta ask,” Billy tells you softly. He leans forward and presses his lips against yours. You inhale sharply as you pull him closer. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, like a man dying. You touch him wherever you can: His cheeks, his jaw, the sides of his throat, his shoulders. He gets on top of you as you scoot back on the bed. You keep one of your hands on the back of his head, which ensures that his lips stay pressed against yours while the two of you move and adjust.

Billy tosses his hat to the side, and once he’s done that, you tug at his suspenders. You push them off of his shoulders, and you spread your legs a bit more to make room for him to comfortably fit between them. He kisses you again, hot and heavy, and you moan against his lips.

“Please,” you sigh. He nods as he unbuttons your shirt.

“I’ve got ya,” Billy reassures you. You kiss him as a sense of safety and security washes over you. He’s got you. He’s got you. You let him unbutton your shirt, and when your breasts are revealed, he leans down to kiss at them. You sigh at the feeling of his chapped lips on your smooth skin. You shrug the shirt all the way off so that your torso is bare, then run your fingers through his dark curls.

“Billy,” you sigh, eyes fluttering. He hums. You want to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. You grab his collar and pull him back up so you can kiss him. You fumble with his buttons, and when you get his shirt off, you yank off his undershirt, too. You grip his bare shoulders, your hands running down to his biceps.

“Fuck,” you breathe. He smiles softly.

“Like what ya see?” he asks. You nod.

“Sure do,” you tell him. When he stands back to undo his trousers, you quickly kick off your boots and stand up to push down your pants to leave you nude. You get on the bed once you’re naked, and when Billy looks back up at you, cock in-hand, he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, a sound of pleasure. You smile as you spread your legs, feeling a bit bashful but excited nonetheless.

Billy says your name, then. It’s a whisper, a sigh, a prayer. He gets back on top of you, and his dripping cock presses against you as he leans down to kiss you. You groan.

“I want you inside me,” you tell him, giving his hair a gentle tug. He nods, pressing his tip against your entrance. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission, and you smile softly.

“Billy, I love that you’re bein’ a gentleman, but I really need you to ruin me right now. We can be polite to each other later, okay?” you tell him. This makes him chuckle, a quiet, hearty sound, and he nods.

“Okay,” he says, pushing his tip in. “Understood.”

You hum, hands moving down to his biceps. You grip him tightly as he pushes in further.

“Oh, fuck, Billy . . .”

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head.

“No, no, just go slow at first. Ease it in, y’know?”

Billy nods.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes teasingly, pushing in further. Your wetness coats his cock easily, and he groans at the feeling of your wet heat engulfing him. “Jesus ffffuckin’ . . .”

Your grip on him tightens as he pushes his cock all the way inside of you. You moan softly as his tip presses against the sweet spot inside of you.

“Oh, god,” you hum. “Mm, Billy . . . Move . . .”

His hand fits into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and he holds you there as he begins to roll his hips. He is slow at first, gentle, but his pace quickly picks up. The bed frame creaks and groans, and you moan loudly.

“How is it?" he asks breathily, wanting to hear your praise.

“F-Feels good,” you groan as he hits that sweet spot. Your legs and thighs tremble. Your breasts bounce. Your heart races. Billy’s body is firm and strong above you, and his hold on you tightens. You lean up to kiss him, moaning against his lips.

“So needy,” Billy says against your mouth. You moan. “Mm. S-So wet for me . . . Needed this bad, didn’t ya?”

You nod, clinging to him as if you’re the only thing keeping him here, as if he could disappear at any moment and leave you aching for more.

“Ohmygod, Billy . . . F-Faster, I need it faster . . .”

“Mm . . . Ask nicely . . .”

His words go straight to your core, and you clench around him just to hear him grunt. You reach up to tug at his hair, and he turns his head to suck at your jaw. You let him.

“Please,” you sigh. “P-Please, Billy . . . Make me f-feel good . . . Fuck me f-faster . . .”

Billy hums as he pulls away from your jaw.

“Atta girl,” he breathes. He’s pounding you, now, fucking you so hard that you begin to worry that the damn bed with break. People can probably hear you, but it’s a fucking brothel, you remind yourself, and you cry out loudly. Your face is hot as Billy’s hips slam against yours. He’s grunting and groaning, and his brows are furrowed in pleasure, and you’re positive that it’s the most wonderful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, fffffuck. Billy, B-Billy, Billy . . .”

“Mm, that’s it,” he groans lowly. “Let everyone know who it is that’s makin’ you feel good.”

Your grip on his hair tightens, and he bites and sucks at your throat as he chases his orgasm quickly. Clumsily and shakily, you reach down between your bodies to rub your clit. Your hips jerk and tears of pleasure fill your eyes as you begin to rub yourself hurriedly. You know Billy is close – his thrusts are getting sloppy – and you want to cum, too.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Billy admits. He reaches for your hand that isn’t on your clit, which surprises you. His fingers intertwine with yours, and he pins you down. He’s holding my hand. He’s about to cum, and he’s holding my hand, you think. Somehow, this small act feels more intimate than anything else the two of you have done in the past several minutes.

“Billy . . . ‘M gonna cum,” you breathe. He nods against you.

“Do it,” he says, encouraging you. “Please. Wanna feel it.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back. Billy kisses and nibbles at your throat again, his thrusts get harder and faster, and you apply a bit more pressure to the circles you’re rubbing on your clit–

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out loudly. Your body tenses for a moment before you relax against the mattress, pleasure coursing through you. Heat moves over you like a blanket, warming you from head to toe. You’re shaking, trembling as Billy takes you through it.

Before you know it, he’s moaning in your ear and pulling his cock from your pussy. He jerks himself off for one second, two, three, and then he’s cumming on your stomach with a cry of your name. You watch him fall apart above you, and you never were a religious person, but this? This sight is enough to bring you to your knees. You’d worship him if it were an option. That glow, that body, that smile . . . It makes you want to weep.

Billy grunts, stroking himself until his orgasm is over, and he shakily lies down beside you with a huff. You stare up at the ceiling, still catching your breath as his arm touches yours. The reality of what the two of you have just done hits you. You just fucked Billy Antrim. And you liked it.

You look over at him. He’s already staring. You smile.

“Good?” he asks. You nod.

“So good.”

He hums and wipes a bit of sweat from your brow.

“I didn’t think a woman like you would wanna be taken like that,” he says gently. You have to give it to him, he really is a gentleman. Even after you held him at gunpoint, and told him to escort you here, and bossed him around, he's still treating you kindly. He’s still here, he isn’t getting up to leave. In fact, he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out his handkerchief. He hands it over to you, then gestures to your cum-covered stomach. You smile softly, wipe it up, then set the handkerchief aside.

“I’ll wash this,” you tell him. He nods, humming. His cheeks are red. You like seeing him like this, all flustered and tired.

He sits up slowly, and you watch the muscles in his back ripple as he does. He stands up and tucks his cock back into his trousers before reaching for his undershirt. Your smile fades, and he notices.

“I’m just hungry,” he says. “You want somethin’ from downstairs?”

You lean up on your elbows.

“Something to drink, maybe,” you say. You smile. “And whatever food you can find. I’m in no position to be picky.”

He nods as he puts on his button-up and begins to do it up.

“I’ll do my best,” he says. Once he’s redressed, Billy glances back at you. “You gonna be okay?”

You nod, reaching for your shirt and draping it over your naked body as you lie back against the pillows.

“Mhm. You know I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to.”

You smile widely. Such a charmer.

“Go, before I undress you again,” you tell him again. He chuckles.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You hum, getting comfortable as Billy leaves. You hear the door open and close, and you sigh. Your eyes are heavy, and the mattress feels so soft and comforting compared to what you’ve been having, and it’s so quiet . . .

***

It’s dark when you wake. You stir, put off by the blackness. You’re still naked, and when you realize this, you haphazardly pull your button-up back on. You do it up as you move over, feeling the other side of the bed.

“Billy,” you say into the dark. There is no response. You roll your eyes. That damn bastard. You thought he was different. You thought he was a good man, a kind man. If he wanted more sex, he could have just woken you up, but no, he left you up here in the pitch black. He’s probably downstairs, drinking wine and fucking whores.

You clench your jaw as you fumble around. You start up the lamp on the bedside table, and grab your pants off the floor. You yank them on, along with your boots, then glance around.

“Fucking asshole,” you mutter. “Couldn’t even bring me water.”

You grab the room key and your gun holster off of the bedside table, then yank open the door and start downstairs. The brothel is bustling now that it’s dark outside. Men and naked women are everywhere. You pull a lady aside as you buckle your holster around your hips.

“The guy I was with,” you say to her, “where’s he at?”

She shrugs, then pulls away. Anger boils inside of you. You push your way through and get to the bar. The woman behind it seems to recognize you.

“You got water?” you ask, frustrated by the entire situation. The woman nods, then silently pours you a glass. She hands it over. You down half of it, then set the glass on the bar and wipe your mouth.

“You’re the lady who came here with Billy Antrim,” she says finally. You look up. You’re positive that Billy wouldn’t give out his name, let alone his full name, in a place like this. You remain neutral and calm.

“Who?”

“The man,” the lady behind the bar says. “The one who went upstairs with you, that was Billy Antrim.”

You cock your head.

“What’re you getting at?”

She blinks at you.

“Don’t you know?” she asks.

Your brows furrow.

“Did something happen?”

She nearly laughs.

“Where have you been? Asleep?”

“Where is he?” you ask sharply. Your heart is beginning to race. You have a pit in your stomach. Deep down, you know something bad has happened. The woman watches you carefully.

“You care about him. It’s dangerous to care about people like that–”

“Tell me where the fuck he is!” you snap, right hand reaching down to rest at your holstered gun. The woman behind the bar clenches her jaw.

“Someone turned him in,” she says flatly. “He was taken away a few hours ago.”

Fuck. You should have been awake, you should have been with him. You could have vouched for him, told them that they had the wrong guy. You told him you’d keep him out of trouble, and now . . .

You storm away from the bar, hurrying upstairs to get yours’ and Billy’s things. You leave in a tizzy, adrenaline pumping through you as you fetch Billy’s horse from the stable. You secure everything to the saddle, pull yourself on, and take off towards the jail.

You tie Billy’s horse outside, then step inside. You glance around for a moment, and the jailkeep looks at you, seemingly irritated by your presence. You offer him a charming smile.

“Sir,” you say, nodding politely as he looks you up and down. “I–”

“Visiting hours are over,” he says flatly. You hum, glancing around. You spot Billy, and your eyes linger on him for a moment. He grips the bars of the cell, watching you intently. You’ve got a look in your eyes, he realizes. He hopes you aren’t going to do what he thinks you’re going to do. He doesn’t think he’s worth the trouble.

You look at the jailkeep again. You’re silent for a moment, and before he can tell you to get out, you’re reaching for your gun. You pull it on him and cock it. He stiffens.

“Unlock his cell,” you say firmly. The man doesn’t move, too surprised. “Now!”

Billy watches you with wide eyes. The jailkeep rises to his feet slowly, and you keep the cocked gun pointed at him as he steps over to Billy’s cell.

“Unlock it,” you tell him again. “Hurry up.”

His hands tremble as he finds the right key and unlocks Billy’s cell. Billy steps out quickly, then grabs the keys from the man and shoves him into the cell. He locks him in, and you take a small step back.

“Don’t yell,” you warn the jailkeep. “I’ll kill you, I swear to God, I’ll do it.”

While you threaten the man, Billy hurries over to the desk to find his gun. He grabs the jailkeep’s holster off the desk, too, while he’s at it.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, woman,” the man says. You hum.

“Damn right I am.” You glance at Billy. “Let’s go.”

Billy takes the keys with him, and the two of you leave the jail quickly.

“There’s another horse over there,” you tell Billy as he runs towards his horse. He nods.

“Go, I’ll keep watch,” he says. You fetch the horse, which you have to guess belonged to the jailkeep, and you hoist yourself up. You ride up beside Billy.

“C’mon, haul ass,” you say, riding past him. His horse gallops after yours, and the two of you ride into the darkness.

The severity of the situation is not lost on Billy. You’re in trouble, now. You broke the law to help him, to get him out, and you did it without hesitation. He would’ve been dead by morning if you hadn’t come to get him, and now you’re an outlaw, too. Guilt claws at him as the two of you leave town.

“You didn’t havta do that,” he says over the sound of hooves hitting the ground.

“I couldn’t leave you.”

Billy shakes his head. He doesn’t understand.

“You don’t even know me,” he says, almost frustrated. What a stupid thing you just did. What a thoughtless, dangerous act.

“I know you’re a good man,” you tell him. “And I know you don’t deserve to hang.”

Billy glances at you, his body bouncing as his horse runs up beside yours. Your eyes meet for just a moment before you look forward again.

“I hope you’re not thinkin’ of ditching me, Antrim,” you say. He can’t help but smile softly. He wouldn’t even dream of doing such a thing. He owes you his life.

“‘Course not,” he says. You hum.

“Then stop lookin’ at me like that and let’s focus on getting the fuck outta here.”

God, where have you been all his life? You’re everything he’s ever needed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

#rynwritesstuff #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #tom blyth fanfiction #william bonney #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #billy the kid smut #billy the kid mgm #billy the kid x you #william bonney x reader #tom blyth #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid fic #billy the kid fluff #william bonney x you #william h bonney x you #william bonney smut

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oldmannapping · 6 months

Text

Directly riffing off this post, my brain wouldn’t stop. The idea of Jason furiously becoming a superstar HR manager for his goons gives me such pure joy.

The Adventures of Jason Todd And His Goons

Jason: “Shut the FUCK UP. What do you mean you’ve never had dental cover? This is fucking bullshit. Get me the paperwork right now, do I have to do everything my fucking self? God. You have three kids, right? Of course they��re going on your fucking plan, what do you think this is?”

Jason: “You guys want fucking CAKE on your birthdays? Are you shitting me right now? Are you fucking looking me in the eye and asking for cake on your birthday? You’re not fucking WORKING on your birthday, dumbshit, that’s a paid day off. Buy your own damn cake, eat it with your family, Jesus Christ.”

Jason: “Is that a dog? Did you bring a fucking dog in here? What the everloving pissfuck. Who decided to have a bring your pet to work day and not tell me so I could have treats ready for the very good boy, yes you are, you’re a very good boy. See now I feel like an asshole, I don’t have a treat for you, and you’re such a beautiful doggy yes you are, yes you are. I’m only gonna say this once: EVERY day is now bring your pet to work day. EVERY DAMN DAY.”

Jason: “Did someone set up a crib over there? Is that a crib in my warehouse next to the fridge where we keep our severed heads and leftover bean casseroles? Steve! STEVE! Show the new guy where the daycare room is. Jesus Christ. It’s like I didn’t spend four days last winter teaching you fucks about how to induct the new guys.”

Jason: “Someone signed us up to have a FLOAT IN THE PRIDE PARADE? I’ve been voted a fucking EMPLOYER OF CHOICE??? Fuck. The bar is so low, man. I just treat people with basic human fucking respect… Shouldn’t get a fucking award for that. And who the hell signed us up for this with only two weeks’ notice, how the fuck am I meant to make a custom rainbow helmet in two weeks? You think this shit’s gonna bedazzle itself? There better be a hot glue gun in my hand in the next three minutes or I swear to god I’m cancelling paintball this week.”

#jason todd #red hood #batfamily headcanons #red hood headcanon #Jason Todd is a good boss #red hood and his goons #red hood is an ally #Gotham pride parade

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writingwithcolor · 1 year

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Thanksgiving/Day of Mourning

Last year, I made a very quick, basic post about thanksgiving: Indigenous Day of Mourning aka Thanksgiving. if you want the sources for what I’m about to say, check there.

This post will be about why you cannot just go “fuck the pilgrims, we deserve a harvest festival no matter the origin” or anything else that tries to sanitize the holiday.

You Are Still On Stolen Land

As a result, you are still actively profiting off the genocide the pilgrims committed.

I don’t care how educated about racial issues you profess you are. I don’t care how you behave the other 364 days of the year. If you try to distance yourself from the origins of Thanksgiving simply because it makes you uncomfortable to see the blood under the tablecloth, you’re not practised in sitting with actually being anti-racist. You know what to say, but you don’t practice what you preach.

You Are Eating Our Food

Pumpkins/squash, beans, turkey, cranberries, potatoes, corn, sweet potatoes, pecans, maple syrup?

Those are all Native American foods that we taught you how to grow and harvest.

You wouldn’t have any of your traditional Thanksgiving foods without us. The ideal meal of Thanksgiving is ripped right from Indigenous practices and cannot be separated from it.

The fact that these foods have been taken out of Indigenous hands and appropriated by colonizers as the bounties they somehow deserve for landing here is a tragedy, and people need to remember where their food comes from and who had been growing it for thousands of years.

You Had So Much Because Of Massacre

Thanksgiving became an annual tradition after 700 Pequot men, women, children, and elders were killed, freeing up acres of land that colonizers promptly took over. The sheer amount of extra acreage that colonizers had because of their genocide contributed to the excess of food experienced during Thanksgiving. That land had been structured to support more people originally.

Colonizers had never, ever, deserved that much food. They were taking more than they needed, not leaving much behind for the animals that depended on a balance to be held with humans. They took far more than was needed, throwing the balance off in nature.

Maybe I’m reaching. But I think that if you suddenly had 700 less people in the area, after all of the growing and planting for the total population had been done, you’d have excess food? Or even before the growing, you’d have land set up to support 700, that I’d assume you’d still use, when you were a much smaller population?

Sit With Your Own Grief

If this makes you feel bad and that you shouldn’t celebrate Thanksgiving? Sit with that.

I’m not telling you that you have to give up Thanksgiving traditions. I’m telling you that you cannot divorce them from Indigenous people.

You are giving thanks for our massacre. You are giving thanks for stealing so much from us that you had this excess.

Yes, you can need a break; yes, you can need time with family and friends. None of this is inherently bad.

It’s not even bad to eat local food from Turtle Island! Part of having a sustainable diet is eating locally, in time with the seasons.

But remember, it is Indigenous people who first gave this to you—and then you stole far more than you ever needed from us, killing us to get what you felt you deserved.

Do not divorce Thanksgiving from Indigenous people for your own comfort.

We are still here. We must live with the aftermath of colonizers stealing from us every single day.

If you feel this way hearing about our history, imagine what we feel like living it.

Donate to a local org/Indigenous person this Thanksgiving

I (again) don’t have the spoons to compile a list of vetted charities, but look for local tribe language revival programs, COVID relief funds, and activism around the Indian Child Welfare Act currently in front of the Supreme Court.

Pay reparations for what you have taken, and remember. It is also Indigenous Day of Mourning.

Indigenous people, drop your links below.

~Lesya

#thanksgiving #native american #Holidays #ally #Indigenous day of mourning #genocide #cultural appropriation

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surshica · 1 year

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RUMOR HAS IT..

: CL16

genre: fluff,angst? (if you squint),social media (smau) + written

warnings: translated french and korean,cussing

A/N: imma just add angst just in case i forget but if you squint maybe it’ll be there? also broken humor here i made this in the morning soo excuse any typos..not proofread btw!

synopsis: charles is in a new relationship with a runway model and fashion icon reader—all is well until a rumor comes around saying he is cheating on you with your bestie.. (fc: tingting_lai)

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc,yourbestie,lilymhe,pierregasly and 828,927 others

yourusername yacht trips with you are always wonderful <3

tagged charles_leclerc

yourbestie y’all are so cute it makes me wanna puke <3

alex_albon werent you there with them…

yourbestie yeah but that doesn’t mean i wasnt third wheeling half the time…

yourusername you literally invited your bf..

yourbestie he fell asleep 😒

arthur_leclerc …slanderous.

charles_leclerc everyday with you is a wonder day mon ange <3

liked by yourusername

pierregasly i think imma throw up

maxverstappen1 me too

landonorris me three

charles_leclerc go away.😐

f1wags beautiful as always!!

user5 check your dms bestie…

user3 drop the workout routine.

user2 okay BUT how does he bag someone like you. TELL ME THE SECRETS

user4 right the math isn’t mathing !

user1 he fr must of bribed her with like a castle in monaco or smthing

liked by yourusername

yourusername i wish 🫤 i kinda just got stuck babysitting him

charles_leclerc that’s not true and you know that…

view 67,223 comments

f1wags

liked by pierregasly,yourusername, and 30,743 others

f1wags was dmed a photo of what looks to be yourbestie and charles staring at eachother lovingly while yn is away! is this the case of playboy charles returning after years of being in a relationship with yn 👀😉🫣

user1 doesn’t yourbestie have a bf…

user6 yeah and it’s charles’ brother!!

user5 SOMETHING DOESNT FEEL RIGHT

user1 nah..she a brother hopper😭, yn and arthur deserve better

user8 idk where yall seeing the love like eye contact because i for-one do not see it!!

user9 RIGHT like it doesn’t make sense, it was yourbestie who introduced charles to yn so why would she want to get with him now when she had all those years ago to get with him? ppl making stuff up.

user8 it’s like you were reading my mind!

user10 it shouldn’t be our business too!

user3 PIERRE LIKED THIS?!:!he probably knows something we don’t…

user5 @pierregasly spill the beans mister; i know you know all the f1 gossip

user4 okay but why did yn like it too? does she know something too?

user2 yn liking this is definitely giving hot girl revenge arc!!

yourusername now wtf is this?

user13 SHE REPLIED. OMG SHE KNOWS.

user4 YN REVENGE ARC YESSS

user3 charles gonna regret he hurt this girls feelings

user9 we love a good villain arc!

user10 her replying is iconic

view 8,628 comments

yourbestie

liked by charles_leclerc,yourusername,lilymhe, arthur_leclerc,lewishamiliton and 682,167 others

yourbestie cheers to an 14 year friendship! you truly are the world to me, you are like the sister i’ve always wanted. i cherish every memory with you, i am greatful for everything you do for me! i can’t wait to see what the future leads us too~ 너무 사랑해요!! i love you so much

yourusername YOURE SO ADORABLE. :( i wish you weren’t busy so we could hang out today, 나는 당신을 더 사랑 !!! i love you more

yourbestie I KNOW IM SORRY something came up last minute but i promise to make it up to you in a girls day<3

yourusername yeah you better.

yourbestie anything for you!

yourusername @charles_leclerc take notes!

charles_leclerc you two are literally just flirting with eachother in the comments…what more do you want me to do:(

arthur_leclerc feel my pain

user3 aint no way she posted this while quiet literally fcking her bff’s bf behind her back..

user7 THIS IS SO CUTE IM SOBBING

user12 not until you find out she flirting with charles.

user9 can y’all take these negative ass comments somewhere else and just enjoy the fact ITS AN 14 YR FRIENDSHIP.

liked by yourbestie,arthur_leclerc,charles_leclerc

user13 i want what they have.

user4 brother hopper!!!😂

view 32,296 comments

yourusername just posted a story

f1wags

liked by arthur_leclerc,yourusername and 29,628 others

f1wags charles leclerc and your bestie spotted roaming around monaco ‼️ charles and your bestie were reported to go on a shopping spree and they looked very happy and giggly. reportedly they came out of cartier with two bags, both were holding a bag. maybe this a sign that these two are actually together 👀🔥

user1 no fcking way..

user3 ON THE FRIEND-VERSARY ??

user6 didn’t she tell yn she was busy..

user13 busy fcking charles..thats for sure

user5 this is more disgusting than i thought

user9 imma give them the benefit of the doubt maybe we weren’t supposed to see these photos!!

user10 we should fr respect their privacy, idc if he is cheating on her or not this is fr creepy.

user7 okay but coming out of Cartier with bags?! now i’m even more suspicious..

user11 i feel so bad for yn and arthur, the fact they liked this too. they need to find better bf and gf fr😭

yourusername 진심이야, 이거 진짜야? 🫠 seriously, is this real?

arthur_leclerc lets not get ahead of ourselves, you guys don’t know what’s going on..

user6 arthur you know what is going on between these two? and what they are doing together?

arthur_leclerc yeah, i know the plans but i don’t like that you guys are jumping to conclusions like this

yourusername 🤔

view 11,278 comments

a small pout formed onto your lips, ohone in hand screen frozen on the f1wag page. a part of you wanted to be in disbelief of what you saw. charles had told you that he something important to do and bestie name had said she was busy as well. the dots were slowly connecting as if it was a game of squares.

the thought of your boyfriend of almost two and a half years cheating on you with your best friend was not a pleasing thought, scowling at the idea of it. you were sitting down on the couch knees tucked into you, your head resting on them staring down at the phone screen. dozens of thoughts flooded your brain.

is he cheating on me? how long? does arthur know he is being cheated on? are they for sure cheating on me? they’re childhood friends i don’t think he is cheating on me! bestie name doesn’t even like charles like that! am i being played? the thoughts had flooded your brain you had completely forgotten to get ready. the vibration of your phone had broken you out of your dazed state. looking at the caller id it was him. it was charles, the words in bold “lover boy<3” had popped up with a cute picture of him. pressing the accept button you put it on speaker,

yn : hello?

lover boy<3 : mon ange! are you ready?

yn : ..uh yeah im almost ready!

lover boy<3 : okay i’ll be there to pick you up in 15 minutes~

his voice sounded deeper through the phone, a small smile formed onto your lips

yn : where did you go charlie? you’ve been out for a while..

lover boy<3 : have i? désolé chérie je devais faire quelque chose d'important, sorry honey i had to do something important why? are you worried about me? how sweet

charles had a small smirk formed on his lips, he just dropped off your bestie name at her house as he called you.

yn : who said that? no i was just curious, thats all.

yn’s smile slowly formed back to a pout. he didn’t tell her but rather just said something important, it didn’t make her feel any better.

yn : (sigh)

lover boy<3 : what’s wrong mon-

yn : 꿀 honey i’ll you back i need to go to the bathroom.

you quickly ended the call ruffling your hair taking in a deep inhale before getting up to go get ready quickly.

after rummaging through your closet you found a cute brown pleated skirt, to match with it you grabbed a white tank top and black and white cardigan with a black beret. looking at the mirror you smiled at the outfit heading to the bathroom to do some quick makeup. nothing too fancy

charles furrowed his brows at the erupted ending of the call. he didn’t think much of it shrugging it off. maybe you were just tired was a thought he had, not once did he think you found out he was with your bestie name.

you had just finished in time, charles texted you that he was outside. grabbing a small purse putting your wallet and phone in there pranced your way to the front putting on a pair of brown boots you had just bought. the walk to the car felt dreadful. the more you stepped closer more thoughts flew over your head, you were starting to convince yourself that maybe he was cheating on you with her.

you needed to shake the idea out of your head and you had to do it now, your hand was on the car door handle but you hesitated. charles noticed your hesitation, his brows furrowed some more as he leaned over to the other seat opening the door for you. “mon angé are you alright?” he watched you climb into the seat buckling up. one thing about charles, he is a person who is very expressive from the body language to the faces to the voice itself. yn looked at him placing a small peck on his cheek, “yeah im just a little tired that’s all”

charles stared you down he was trying to see if you were lying or not, “well tu sais tu peux toujours me dire n'importe quoi mon ange, si ça te dérange tellement dis le moi. you know you can always tell me anything my angel, if it bothers you so much tell me.” he tucked a piece of your hair behind your exposing your cheek that got what felt like a genuine kiss. the ride to wherever you were going was suffocating, both of you hated it. you cleared your thought brushing your hand against his free hand. “so mister charles where was this important place you went to today?” you wanted answers so you kept pushing for him to tell the truth.

charles quickly looked and you before looking back at the road, “if i tell you where i was and what i was doing it wouldn’t be a secret mon ange!” he was being very smiley, your lips formed an o shape. “why do you wanna know? are you trying to stalk me?” charles snickered his shoulders slowly bouncing up and down. you shook your head clearing your throat, “i don’t need to do that i already have someone for that..” your tone was bitterly.

you were staring out the window, you didn’t want to bare the sight of him. what if questions flew everywhere you got more upset with yourself you didn’t want them, charles noticed the shift in attitude; “mon ange seriously tell me what’s wrong,” concern laced his voice as he grabbed your hand placing mini kisses on them “, i don’t like seeing you upset. i can any questions you have just talk to me..”

a sigh escaped your lips looking at the pouty monegasque, “why were you with bestie name today? she said she was busy and you said you had an important thing to do today. are the two of you you kn—” your throat throbbed as each word managed to escape your throat, “what?” was all charles could reply with, he quickly parked the car before facing yn.

“rumor has it you were with bestie name today at a mall together..there of pictures of the two of you together charlie” his grip on your hands tightened as each word flowed out of your mouth. “chérie im not cheating on you with bestie name, i would never.” his heart broke seeing you think of all that, “okay but what was important that the two of you had to go to the mall together?” you just wanted to few reassurance.

“well..fuck i cant say it but its a surpise. you weren’t supposed to see those photos seriously, im not cheating on you when i went to the mall with her earlier. we went to go get some gifts for arthur you can even ask him mon amor!” he watched as her shoulders that were tensed up became relaxed. “oh. i’m sorry that i jumped to conclusions so fast it wa—”

charles chuckled letting go of her hand, “it’s okay mon ange. its those stupid fan accounts fault for making you think that.” he said getting out of the car to go open the door for you.

he had taken you to a nice small cafe, it wasn’t very popular but it was one of your favorites. the honey outside atmosphere was definitely to die for, the way green plants coated everywhere. the two of you sat at what was a four person table. pointing at the two empty seats charles just smiled, “two people will be joining us but they’re running a little late..”

“i didnt get to say this but you look beautiful my love” charles who grabbed your hand the table fiddling with it. “am i never beautiful to you?” you scoffed playfully—charles was taken aback from that comment “no no you’re always beautiful you just look extra beautiful!” charles justified or well he believed. “so you don’t think i’m extra beautiful whenever?” you pouted playfully. charles who was lost for words “no you are just so—you know what i mean mon amour!!” he sighed frustratedly causing you to giggle at his frustration.

“you’re so mean mon chérie~” he scrunched up his face to make it look like he was upset, “i’m not mean you are just easy to pick at!” you justified, “mean.” “no” “mean” “no” “charlie we sound like children..” “well you started it” he smirked making you roll your eyes at him. a comfortable silence fell between the two, you started to believe the other two were just not going to come at all.

“you have pretty eyes charlie” you blurted out without a care, a blush crept onto his face. he didn’t know if it was the compliment or if it was the fact you were staring at him as if he was the only thing that mattered in the world, maybe it was both. “you think so chérie?” he felt the grip of his hand that had been interlocked with yours tighten. “i don’t think so i know so” she had such loving stares it made charles weak to his knees. the stares she gives him make his heart flutter like a teenage boy seeing his school crush, he was always lost for words, he was little butter melting in your touch and stares.

the truth is, he was upset with himself finding out that you had these thoughts, these thoughts that he was cheating on you with your best friend. he wanted to get you a gift and he didn’t want to fuck it up; he believed bringing someone who you held dear to your heart and who knew you best would’ve been the right choice—he didn’t think once you would take it as him cheating on you with her bestie. it hurt him inside.

he had always wanted to show you how appreciative he was of you, he never had the time but now he does. you do so much for him and he wants to thank you for that, the states you give him; they were loving and warmly. the way you love him throughout his career taking time to visit his races it did something to him. from how you looked at him, touched him, smiled and laughed at his jokes, how you talk about him so much to family, how you make playlist about him, and even made sure he felt like he was the priority in everything—it did something for him. since the first day he met you he knew you were the one for him.

the way you made sure you’re there for him after the races and that you were okay made his heart skip beats. he had always felt like the knight in shining armor in previous relationships but with you he felt like the princess and you were the knight. he loved everything about that; it was something new to him something he never would’ve thought he would love. the small cartier box warmed in his pockets. you are always doing stuff for him he just wants to do one simple thing for you, is that too much for him to ask for? he knew he had to wait for arthur and bestie name to get here but he seriously couldn’t.

he thought any longer he waited he would spill the beans about everything, “chérie you know how much i love you right?” his lips parted as his hand slowly made his way to his pocket grabbing the small cartier box. “always know, you tell me like every hour even on the race track” you had teased a smile evident on your lips. “tu sais à quel point je t'aime mais sais-tu à quel point je t'aime ? Je te chéris tellement, j'aime tout ce que tu fais pour moi, j'aime la façon dont tu es toujours là pour moi, peu importe à quel point je fais mal sur la piste de course ou je suis contrarié. tu fais tellement pour moi, c'est vraiment comme un cadeau! you know how much i love you but do you know how much i love you? I cherish you so much, I love everything you do for me, I love how you are always there for me no matter how badly I do on the racetrack or how upset I am. you do so much for me, it's really like a gift.”

“tu es un cadeau que je dois protéger de tout ce qui arrive, je n'ai jamais été doué avec les mots mais chaque fois que tu es avec moi, je fond. tu as sur moi cet effet que je n'avais jamais ressenti auparavant dans les relations que j'avais. you are a gift that i have to protect from everything that happens, i have never been good with words but every time you are with me i melt. you have this effect on me that i have never felt before in the relationships i had.” charles titled his head to the side closing his eyes taking a deep breathe, “charlie what’s this about?” you had questioned sitting up properly instead of slouching. “just promise me something mon amour. promise me that you will be with me no matter how hard times are.” charles slowly pulled out the red velvet textured box from his pocket.

it was a small rectangular box with gold like lettering saying “cartier”. charles had placed it into your hands, “you do so much for me so the least i could do is buy a promise ring.” his voice turned soft, it was silky soft. the box on the other hand was in your grasp you were staring at it, a prominent smile rushed to your face, “charlie..” you had opened the box to see a singular gold band with jewels graves into it, “its a promise ring, a promise that i will love you endlessly.” charles held up his hand showing how he was already wearing his.

“its beautiful…charlie. i love it” you took the ring out of the box putting it on a one your right index finger, “and i promise to love you endlessly.” a blush creeped onto your cheeks, “thank you 아기. 사랑해요 baby. i love you” charles wasnt fluent i.n korean that’s for sure but he knows how to say he loves you, “i love you too mon ange.” he grabbed your hand with the ring on it placing a soft kiss, smiling to himself.

“CHARLES I TOLD YOU WAIT TILL WE GOT HERE.” you heard your bestie name’s voice boom near you, it startled you but it made you giggle. “well you two were taking too long and i got impatient…hurry up next time” he scoffed, your bestie name didn’t let that slide and she started to punch him lightly. “i hope you didn’t fuck it up. be glad i went with you to get the proper ring size!” your bestie grabbed his ear and the two started to fight.

it truly did feel like home with them, “i’m guessing he gave you the ring?” arthur said standing behind you with his hands in his pockets, “you knew?” yn looked at him your lips forming an a line. “of course i knew thats why i tried to defend them but it was no use at that point, people jump to conclusions too much” he shortened a chuckle. “yeah you’re right they do.”

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername,yourbestie,lewishamiliton, alex_albon,pierregasly,maxverstappen1 and 1,827,289 others

charles_leclerc its always rumor charles is cheating on his gf but never rumor has it that charles is still and forever madly in love with his girlfriend of two years.

user8 SEE YALL WERE WRONG ADMIT IT.

liked by charles_leclerc

user9 they’ll forever be happily in love yall are just haters!!

liked by charles_leclerc and yourbestie

user10 my cuties ㅠㅠ

user15 charles yn defender till i die.

user4 SO CUTE OMG

user1 is that a promise ring?? that’s so..i’m melting

yourusername 나는 내 아름다운 소년을 너무 사랑 !! <3 i love my beautiful boy so much

maxverstappen1 soo i dont get to yell at him for cheating on you?:(

yourusername LMAOO NO

charles_leclerc HUH WHATD I MISS MAXIE?

maxverstappen1 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

user13 get me someone who looks at me the way charles looks at yn.

liked by yourusername

pierregasly listen if charles was gonna fumble this one i would whole heartily become a homie hopper‼️

lewishamiliton agreed

charles_leclerc i know where the both of you live…

lilymhe stop i was ready to fight him after what i saw. the two of you are so cute !

charles_leclerc WHY IS EVERYONE TRYING TO FIGHT ME OR STEAL MY GF??

yourbestie okay where is my thank you? i helped you 😒

charles_leclerc do you not see these comments??

yourbestie i agree tho if you fumbled her i would’ve ended you🤷‍♀️

landonorris we need you on the grid more

view 528,298 comments

yourusername

liked by yourbestie,danielricardo,charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 926,518 others

yourusername 기다리는 자에게 좋은 일이 생긴다<3 good things happen to those who wait<3

tagged charles_leclerc,arthur_leclerc,yourbestie

arthur_leclerc SEE THEY CAME OUT GOOD!

yourusername thank you my little photographer!!

charles_leclerc i thought i was your photographer?

yourusername you were busy fighting bestie name…

yourbestie so beautiful they grow up so fast ㅠㅠ

charles_leclerc the loml truly is beautiful ❤️

liked by yourusername

comments are limited

@ surshica | rb & follow.

#- surshica ♥︎#IMAGINES 💌 ୧ ˚₊#🎐 ։ ONESHOTS · ᘞ #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #formula one #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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togrowoldinv · 7 days

Text

Flower Girl

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

You and Nat find out your young daughter and her friends staged a wedding at recess

Note: This is inspired by a story my coworker told me today about her niece lol. Enjoy it!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

“So, how was school today?” You ask your daughter as you drive off from the parking lot.

“It was good,” Ali replies.

“Yeah? I’m glad. Did you do anything fun?”

“Well, recess was fun,” she says. She wears a smirk on her face.

“I heard about recess today. We’re going to talk about it with Mama when we get home,” you tell her. You keep your voice level.

Ali nods and gets distracted singing along to the radio. By the time you get home, you’re sure she completely misses the point that recess shouldn’t have been as fun as it was today.

You go inside and find Natasha sitting on the couch and playing with your young son. Ali runs off towards the steps but you stop her.

“Not so fast, flower girl,” you say. She stops in her tracks. She’s been caught.

“How did you know?” Ali asks.

“Your teacher. Come on let’s talk to Mama.”

She follows you to the couch where Nat waits expectantly for Ali to spill the beans.

“What’s up, malyshka?” Nat asks her.

“Nothing,” she says innocently.

“Tell us about today’s events please,” you say.

“I was just the flower girl.”

“Like in a wedding?” Nat leads her to continue.

“Yes ma’am,” Ali replies. “My friend wanted to get married to her boyfriend.”

“So you were in the wedding at recess?” You ask.

Ali nods. “I wanted to be the preacher but someone else already was.”

You try to hold back a laugh at the barbarity of it all. Who knew 4th graders would be so involved in a wedding ceremony?

“Well, sweetheart, as much as we love that you want your friends to be happy and married, you guys are too young to be married. And there’s definitely no getting married allowed again at recess okay?” Natasha explains.

“Why not? It’s just a wedding.”

“Because, baby, it’s not something that the school wants to happen. It can lead to some trouble,” you further explain. “Understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Ali says. “Can I go play now?”

“Yes,” Nat answers. You both drop a kiss to Ali’s head before she runs off.

You sit on the couch with Nat. She kisses your temple and wraps an arm around you.

“At least she wasn’t the bride,” you joke.

“Absolutely,” Nat says. “I wish I could’ve seen this wedding. It sounds impressive.”

You both laugh at the entire situation and at your daughter’s innocent involvement in it. There’s always something fun happening with the kids around.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff comfort #soft mama Nat

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nejibaby · 15 days

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lost

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x gn!reader

“It’s been eight days since his return. Eight days since he was successfully saved in Marineford. Eight days since you’ve had him back in your life, in your arms, on your bed.”

Word count: 0.6k

When the sun is down and the sea is calm, it’s easy to lull pirates to sleep. It’s easy to succumb to the blanket of security that the evening offers.

But for the afflicted souls, it poses a bit of a challenge.

The sunset only serves as a reminder of what is to come — another night with troubled sleep and if unlucky, perhaps another bout of unshed tears.

It’s been 46 days since Ace left the ship against the crew’s wishes, and 33 days since you’ve started getting nightmares. So much time has passed to the point where you’ve somewhat established a routine after the nightly recurrence of your night terrors.

It starts with you waking up with a gasp, a hand automatically going to where your heart is, and the other gripping your flimsy sheets. Your head instinctively turns to Ace’s side of the bed and your chest constricts with the realization that he’s not there. You then stare at the weird bean-shaped dent on the wall Ace happened to create in one of his very vivid dreams. And you lose track of time doing just that until your head starts to ache. You take this as a signal that it’s time to get up and go about your day.

At least it’s easier to get lost through the motions during the day. You could fool yourself into thinking that Ace is just on a mission to rescue an ally or that he’s just on the other side of the ship, dilly dallying with the other Commanders while you’re doing your daily chores.

But even then, you’ve grown quite numb without his presence. You couldn’t find it in you to smile genuinely or to chuckle halfheartedly to jokes. And not just that, tears seem to evade you as well.

His absence has drained every emotion out of you — reduced you to a being almost incapable of feeling.

Almost.

Only in the dead of the night do you find yourself overwhelmed with everything that was, is, and could be.

But now, it’s been eight days since his return. Eight days since he was successfully saved in Marineford. Eight days since you’ve had him back in your life, in your arms, on your bed.

You’ve always thought that having him beside you again would equate to going back to the good old days where you’d bicker like an old married couple or play pranks on random crew members or simply talk about nonsensical things. There’d be no point in worrying about nightmares. You won’t have to reach out on his side of the bed because you’re sure he’d now be there.

You’ve hoped that with him back, you’d get a fraction of your old self back.

You suppose now that that’s just wishful thinking. Ace’s absence has changed you in more ways than one. It altered the chemistry in your brain. It threw you out of orbit. It shifted something in you.

You’ve modified your life to revolve around a world without him. And while this reality is much more miserable and pathetic, you’re uncertain of how to turn back.

You lost yourself when you lost him.

And now that he’s back, how can you even find your old self again when the times have changed you so much?

It makes you wonder, will all those godforsaken nights you spent trying to get over all the pain be for nothing? Will it just be thrown under the rug for his sake?

Because it probably shouldn’t matter, right? What’s important is that Ace is back, and he’s safe and sound. That’s all that matters, right?

Or is it?

i haven’t written anything in so longggg, i’m not sure if i did it right? pls lmk what you think 🥺

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mp0625 · 5 months

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Pass the Cranberries

Oscar Piastri x reader

Taglist. Masterlist.

A/N: To everyone that voted Oscar you were correct! Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate!!

“So I’m meeting your parents today?” Oscar asked, looking at you from the passenger seat.

“Yes, and my brother and sister, my grandparents on both sides, my aunt and uncle from my mom’s side and my great aunt and uncle will be there Thursday.” You list keeping your eyes on the road watching for deer as you wind down the country road.

“How much farther?” He questions after you hit another pothole.

“We are here!” You said as you pull off the larger dirt road onto a smaller one lane dirt road.

“So this is where you grew up?” He looked over at you questionly.

“Yup, born and raised.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“Weekend before Vegas, while you were at the factory Zac let me go home early, I was able to do most of the work from home.” You said as you go farther up the driveway, as you pass a barn you mention. “That barn is one my great grandpa built, that we used to house cows. But now my mom wants to fix it up and create an air BnB.” As you pull up to the house you put the car in park, and you pop the trunk. As you are getting your suitcases out of the car you hear the front door open.

“Y/N” “Come hear I missed you!” Your mom is now standing on the front porch.

“You saw me two weeks ago.” You said as you walked over to give her a hug.

“Oh, me and your dad saw you on TV, they showed the analysts on the McLaren pit wall and we recognized you.” Your mom said holding you at arm's length. “Come inside, it’s chilly out here. Can I get y’all a drink?” She said opening the front door. As Oscar comes up the stairs behind you carrying your bag.

“Thank you.” Giving him a kiss on the cheek, you grab your bag from him and head inside.

The next morning, as you are drinking your coffee on the front porch. You hear mom call, “Y/N, can you run up to the gas station and grab a couple bags of ice? Please.”

“Yes ma’am.” You said standing up finishing your last sip of coffee. “Oscar, do you want to go with me? It’s about a 20 minute ride there and back.”

“Sure, let me grab my jumper.” He said heading into the house.

Once y’all were on y’all way back Oscar broke the comfortable silence by saying. “I didn’t realize you grew up this far out of town.”

“Yeah it was a little hard to do sports and stuff, but I loved it and wouldn’t have it any other way.” You said with a smile.

Once you pull in and get the ice unloaded. Your mom asks Oscar. “Can you help me with the mashed potatoes by peeling the potatoes? Please.”

“Sure.” He says coming into the kitchen. After a few minutes he asks. “Hey Y/N, am I doing this right?” Showing you a half peeled potatoe.

“Yeah, it looks perfect.” You said.

Thursday morning Oscar woke up to absolute chaos, you and your mom running around putting pots on the stove and turning crock pots on and firing up the smoker, even though y’all did most of the cooking yesterday. As you were putting the green beans on you heard someone pulling up the gravel driveway. You hear your dad shout from the front porch, “They’re here.” After everyone comes in and says hi and gets hugs, y’all settle on the couch and catch up while your aunt puts her food in the oven to keep warm.

In the middle of dinner You and Oscar were talking about one of the races from earlier this year, to your aunt. You hear your sister start up. “They Shouldn’t have done that, that's what caused him to crash!”

“You're just saying that because he’s your favorite.” Your brother shouted back.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

As they continue to get louder you start to call their names but they aren't listening so you have to resort to. “Will you please pass the cranberries?” “Will you please pass the cranberries?” “Please pass the cranberries!” You said hitting your hands on the table after every word.

Taglist: @studioreader @honethatty12 @slafgoalskybaby @swissboyhisch @topguncultleader @wondershells @cixrosie

#f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #hockey girlies discord

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year

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Can you do weathervane employee!reader when Xavier is there on outreach day?

I’m almost out of Xavier requests!! Keep them coming and fill this form if you want to be on my taglists. Would anyone be interested in Xavier x Reader x Ajax? Should I start writing for Ajax too? Let me know <3

keep sending requests for Xavier

—

Outreach Day was the Jericho citizens' least favorite day. It wasn’t a secret that Nevermore Academy wasn’t very loved by the normies — as the outcasts would call them —, but Nevermore insisted on having their students volunteering in town every year.

You were busy cleaning the coffee beans you had spilled five minutes ago when the café’s bell jingled, announcing a customer. ‘’Welcome to Weathervane. Please hold in your order or else I’m gonna get fired for making another mess.’’

Your back was turned so you didn’t see the Nevermore student, mistaking him for a customer.

‘’Eh, I’m not here for coffee,’’ a boy’s voice said. ‘’I’m here for Outreach Day. I’ve been assigned to volunteer here.’’

Shit. You had completely forgotten about Outreach Day. Your co-worker had grumbled about it while helping you with the closing, but it had slipped out of your mind during the night.

You quickly wiped the rest of the coffee grounds and tossed them in the trash. Where was Tyler? He’s the assistant manager. Shouldn’t he be the one taking care of the Nevermore student?

When you finally turned, you were pleasantly surprised to see a boy with shoulder length hair and the prettiest green eyes.

‘’Hi. Welcome to Weathervane.’’ You flashed him a smile, completely forgetting you had already greeted him with those exact words when he walked in. Why must you do embarrassing things?

‘’Hi,’’ he greeted back, returning your smile. ‘’Do you need help with those spilled coffee grounds?’’

You shook your head. ‘’I’m good. It’s all cleaned up.’’

‘’Then you’ll get to keep your job,’’ he inferred with a small smile on his face. ‘’I’m Xavier, by the way.’’

Your smile twitched at the corner. Not only was he handsome, but also effortlessly charming. How were you going to get through your day?

‘’Y/N,’’ you said in return. ‘’I’m gonna go fetch you a shirt and apron in the backroom and then I’ll teach you the basics of coffee making. I’ll be right back.’’

On your way, you crossed paths with Tyler who was coming out of the backroom with a box of to-go cups and lids to restock behind the counter. His eyes overlooked over your shoulder, recognizing the familiar face in the café and making a displeased face.

‘’Ugh, great. Out of all the Nevermore students, it’s him we’re stuck with.’’

‘’You know him?’’

His reaction gave you the impression that he already had personal issues with the Nevermore student. Perhaps a past fight over a girl. All you knew was that it was more than just school rivalry.

Tyler nodded, but didn’t give out any details. ‘’Make him wear a hairnet, it's unhygienic. We don't want a hair in the coffees we serve.’’

You narrowed your eyes at him. Your hair was longer than Xavier��s and Tyler didn’t have an issue with it. ‘’Your attempt at ridiculing him in your environment is pitiful. Whatever beef there is between you and him, keep it outside of work.’’

‘’There’s nothing between us.’’

You huffed, not believing him. ‘’If you say so.’’

Behind you, the bell jingled again and Tyler used it as an excuse to end your conversation. ‘’There’s customers. I gotta go.’’

‘’You’re just jealous he’s gonna get more tips than you at the end of the day,’’ you said as Tyler walked away.

The brown shirt somehow looked great on Xavier. It matched his hair perfectly. His apron was tied wrong, but it didn’t matter. He’s probably never worn one before.

You both stood at the coffee bar where the espresso machine was. Beside the machine, syrups lined up and white mugs with the café's name on it were lined up, right at hand's reach.

‘’Okay, Xavier. Tell me everything that you know about coffee.’’

As cute as he was, you really hoped Xavier had some kind of knowledge about coffee-making.

Xavier hesitated. He didn’t want to come off as an ignorant idiot, but coffee was not his thing. ‘’People pay a ridiculously high price for something they can make at home?’’

You held in a laugh. He wasn't wrong. Some coffee drinks on the Weathervane menu were over eight dollars. That’s crazy. Who in their sane mind pays that much for coffee?

‘’Can you tell an americano from a macchiato?’’

‘’Do I have to use the espresso machine for those?’’

‘’I'll take that for a no.’’ You grabbed the filter from the machine and the coffee grounds, careful to not spill them this time. ‘’It's not rocket science. Once you know how to make a shot of espresso, you can basically make any drink,’’ you explained. ‘’Take this filter and fill it with grounds. Use the tamper to pack them tight.’’

Xavier took the items from you and did as he was instructed, filling the filter and pressing them down with the tamper. Once it was filled to the brim, he glanced up at you. ‘’What now?’’

‘’You steam the milk.’’

Xavier was a fast learner. Twenty minutes later, he was on his own, making lattes and cappuccinos as if he had been working there for months. His effortless charm worked in his favor with the customers. In two hours, he had made more tips than Tyler usually did in a full day. A girl even gave him her number, but he crumpled the paper and chucked it in the trash. Perhaps he already had a girlfriend?

Soon enough, it was close to 4pm and Outreach Day was almost over. You felt sad to have to say goodbye to Xavier, but his time at Weathervane was only for a day.

‘’My time here is up in ten minutes,’’ he said, bringing the dirty dishes he had collected from the tables after you had just finished with a customer. ‘’Would I be out of line to ask for your number?’’

His question came to you as a surprise.

You never gave your number to customers. You were there to make money and — in a near future — get out of Jericho, not find love. But Xavier was not a customer and he was also not a real employee, which wouldn’t go against company policy.

His green eyes were looking at you, waiting for your answer. You didn’t want today to be the last time you saw him.

You pulled a marker from your apron’s pocket and grabbed Xavier’s arm, scribbling your number on his skin. A piece of paper would have been more favorable, but with your number right on his arm, there’s no way he’ll forget about you.

Xavier looked down at his arm, not expecting you to do this. ‘’Normal people use paper, you know?’’

‘’What’s the fun in that? Besides, you don’t have a way to lose my number…unless you lose your arm.’’

He shook his head and grinned. ‘’I don’t plan on it. It’s my good hand so it would be very unfortunate for me.’’

A loud throat clearing came from the side of the café where Tyler was passing a mop, breaking the moment. ‘’No personal business on working hours.’’

—

Xavier Thorpe taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo---uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n @poppet05

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x you #xavier wednesday #wednesday #wednesday imagine #wednesday netflix #percy hynes white

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ghostchems · 3 months

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the cream in cardinal copia’s coffee - cardi x f!reader

you are blessed with the task of making the new cardinal his coffee each morning and on your first day, you forget the evaporated milk.

a/n: the working title of this was "yucky cardi". this is nsfw. the cardinal has returned. blow jobs. rough sex. and more! he is nasty in this. i have not written smut in so long so bear with me! also some of this is just... silly lol. 3k words. ao3 link!

You adjust your habit in the mirror, making sure to tuck any stray hairs inside of it. Today is the first morning you will be delivering the new Cardinal’s coffee and you want to make sure you look perfect. A ghoul had delivered the news the night before, right to your door, and you couldn’t help but feel like it was your chance to show the clergy leadership how devoted you are to your beliefs. The task is an important one, given that the Cardinal is a mere week into his new position here. You are excited to welcome him and show him what sets this branch of the ministry apart from the others.

The abbey has been rife with gossip since Cardinal Copia has arrived. It’s been months since the Papal position had been vacated yet your faith never wavered, even as the uncertainty seeped into all aspects of daily life. There had been no Black Mass, no confessional, no figurehead. Just as the tension started to reach a fever pitch, the Cardinal was there with his cane that he tapped alongside him as he surveyed the halls with a silent, menacing glare. He has the blessing: the white eye bestowed upon those touched by Lucifer himself and is an accomplished member of the Clergy in his own right — all signs that point to his potential to lead.

You suck in a sharp breath, holding it deep in your chest as you try to ease your nerves. One last look at yourself in the mirror and you’re off down the hall to the kitchens. You pause at the espresso machine and fish the paper with the instructions out of your pocket: a latte with half a sugar in the raw. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? A mug is plucked off the shelf and you start with the sugar in the raw, ripping a pack in half to dump one into the bottom of the mug and to throw the other away. You set the mug below the espresso drip, making sure there are enough beans before pulling the shots. The machine starts to whir and you take the opportunity to open the fridge and stare at the milk options. Nothing was specified in the instructions. You grab whole milk, assuming it’s a safe choice and pour some into the milk frother, sealing it shut and then turning it on. The milk starts to fluff up as the shots finish pulling and the thought crosses your mind that maybe you’re too good at this. It doesn’t take long for the milk to be done frothing, taking the frother and then carefully pouring the milk into the mug.

Voila, a latte.

You let the milk settle for one second longer and then pick up the mug securely in both hands. Perfect. And now, an anxiety filled walk to The Cardinal’s office. Not much is known about him. During his arrival address he spoke only of furthering the agenda of the Morningstar. No personal anecdotes. You’ve caught glimpses of him since his arrival, a few times in the hallway and once in the courtyard, where you finally got a good look at his face — dramatic nose, sideburns and all. A serious man with a serious face is all you could think. Coming face to face with that man has your stomach in knots now but there is still that underlying feeling of excitement. You make it to his office door and give it a shy knock, making sure your other hand grips the mug.

“Entra.”

You push the door open and slowly walk into his eerie office. The bookcases are covered with dust, papers are everywhere and there’s piles of dust in each corner of the room. You’d think Sister Imperator would have taken the time to have his office cleaned prior to arrival. At least you are here now with his coffee, directions followed to a T. The Cardinal is leaned against his deck, a book opened in front of him but his eyes are focused on you. He’s dressed in a tight, red outfit, one that is more casual than the usual cassock, with a sparkling grucifx on the left of his chest. He says nothing as he reaches for the coffee. All business. You hold it out for him, his smooth leather gloves brushing against your fingers, plucking it from your hands and turning from you as he brings it to his lips. Your heart stops once he takes a sip and…

The Cardinal launches the mug across his office and it shatters against the wall. You stand there mortified, a hand clasping over your mouth from being thrown off. His head wrenches in your direction, the most harrowing anger you’ve ever seen in his fiery eyes.

“I-I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Cardinal.” Your voice is shattered, your breath trembling as more apologies spill out of you.

One of his gloved hands without warning knocks your habit off your head, grabbing you by the hair and wrenches your head back, your back tilted and true fear in your eyes as he forces you to meet his gaze. Your scalp burns from how tight his grip on your hair is and your knees wobble from the awkward position he has you in. Instinct takes over, fight or flight, your hand connecting with his cheek in a deafening slap. He releases you from his grasp and you fall onto your back as he stumbles backwards. This time you don’t say sorry. You sit up and try to catch your breath, adrenaline still pumping through you. The Cardinal rubs at his cheek, his eyes wild and glued to you.

“The coffee was that bad?”

“Evaporated milk.” He snarls, his tight leather gloves balling into fists.

“What?”

“I only drink evaporated. milk.”

All this over evaporated milk? You angrily reach into your pocket and pull out the note with instructions, waving it erratically in the air.

“Evaporated milk is not in the instructions!” You fling your arm to throw the crumpled note but it slowly drifts to the carpeted floor in front of you.

“Are you being smart with me, cretina?” There’s a strange playfulness in his voice, nestled deep in his growl. He takes a few slow steps toward you, the tension in the air rising. You blink a few times and start to inch away from him but he starts to move further in your direction. Your legs scramble beneath you to bring yourself to your feet, still startled from his advances. There’s no way he’s going to… chase you, right?

As if he could read your mind, his lips curl into a sinister grin and he bolts toward you. You nearly trip over your own feet as you take off in the opposite direction. Adrenaline is pumping through you, dodging obstacles (desk, chair, other chairs) and keeping him out of arm’s reach is only making you feel more insane. This situation is ridiculous and yet you are still terrified of him catching you, keeping your eyes forward to avoid even glancing in his direction. What the fuck is happening? You’ve never heard of any situations like this happening with previous ministry leaders. No stories, no rumors, nothing other than the Papas and Sister treating everyone with the utmost respect, with perhaps a few instances of tensions flaring — but nothing compared to whatever this is.

You round his desk again when, to your horror, the Cardinal leaps into the air, one foot landing on the seat of his chair that propels him to land two feet on top of his desk. A gasp rips from your throat as he lurches towards you, arms outstretched and fingers wiggling. He crashes into you, dragging you to the ground with him as you finally let out a scream. It all feels so — exhilarating in the most perverse way, a way that makes you feel shameful underneath all the fear. The carpet softens your impact but it still hurts, giving another shocked, pained cry after he falls on top of you. A gloved hand forcefully covers your mouth and you finally focus on him, having pinned you to the ground beneath him. The Cardinal’s nose presses against your cheek and he gives a rough growl.

“You have been quite insubordinate in your short time with this task.” His words are venomous and you can feel his spittle on your cheek. You whimper and struggle against him while he uses his body weight to pin you to the floor, his hips digging into yours to keep you in place. Something throbs against your upper thigh. Your head jerks to meet his sneering gaze, glee in his dark eyes. “You know… I have an idea of how you could make it up to me, bambina.” His words send a shiver down your spine but… but you can’t help the sudden ache between your thighs. Adrenaline is still pumping through your veins and you’re completely overwhelmed by your conflicting senses. The Cardinal’s body relaxes and his grip on you loosens, giving you a chance to break free of his hand over your mouth.

“I’ll remake your latte. I’ll get it right this time.” The panic is evident in your voice and you try to wiggle out from beneath him. He laughs —- laughs —- in your face and brushes his thumb over your soft lips, drawing a shuddered breath from your lungs.

“That won’t do, sorella, you know that.” The Cardinal purrs and pushes himself to his feet, wiping off imaginary dust from his outfit. His hard cock strains in his tight pants, nearly bursting from the seams. It’s hard to keep your eyes off of it but he tears your attention back to his gaze as he grabs you by the collar of your habit and yanks you to your knees. Your head is spinning, trying desperately to catch up with the situation. He grabs you by the chin and forces your attention thin on his face, his eyes hungry as he works his pants down with his other hand. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, pressing your thighs together as your core pulses.

“Will you obey now, sorella?” He whispers almost sweetly while his thumb presses down on your tongue. You’ve been able to hold yourself together so far but this, the taste of his leather gloves on your tongue forces a shameless groan from your mouth. The Cardinal blinks, surprised by your reaction but his lips twitch into a grin. “Oh, you will. You’ll do anything I ask, won’t you?” He removes his thumb to your dismay but he quickly replaces it with three of his gloved fingers that push far back into your mouth. Your eyes water as you gag on them and he gives a satisfied grunt. You watch as he removes them from your mouth only to use your slick to pump his cock. The Cardinal is smiling down at you, angling his hips to brush the weeping head across your cheek, drawing another moan deep from you.

“You know how to make it better.” His voice has dropped to a low rumble as he settles himself against your lips. You swallow thickly, then slowly part your lips for him, taking him into your mouth inch by inch. The Cardinal gives a hum of approval, his hand falling to rest in your hair with a far more gentle touch than you were expecting. You sink further down his length, easing your jaw and relaxing your throat until your nose is pressed against his neat pubic hair. He exhales sharply through his nose, a breath catching as you swallow around him. His cock twitches in your mouth and he gives a shallow thrust, causing you to gag. From then on, the Cardinal is relentless.

His hand knots in your hair as he fucks your face, your fingers digging into the fabric of his pants trying to hold yourself in place. Your tongue runs along the length of his cock with each thrust, his grunts and groans filling your ears. You feel so deliciously used, knees digging into the carpet and the inside of your thighs slick with arousal. The Cardinal breath starts to grow ragged, his hips stuttering as he forces your head up, meeting his gaze from beneath heavy lashes. His hazy white eye glows, the Dark One’s blessing reveling in the invocation lust, and his lips part, smeared with his black paint. You moan around his cock, nails raking down his thighs and he gives a choked growl.

“P-putana, so fucking e-eager to please.” The Cardinal hisses, tugging sharply at your hair making you whimper. “You w-want me so badly, eh, s-sorella? Sucking your Cardinal’s cock l-like a good, ah, girl.” He pulls you off of him by your hair and you stumble onto your ass again. “Don’t you? Don’t you want my cock, sorella?” He lazily strokes himself, tilting his head as he hovers over you, standing between your legs. Your heart thunders in your chest, sucking in a deep breath while your knees tremble. You know what you want to say. You want him to fuck you right here on the carpet. You want him to keep talking dirty to you. But you can’t bring yourself to speak so instead you chew on your swollen bottom lip and nod shyly.

The Cardinal has you by the hips in the blink of an eye and he flips you over so that you’re on your stomach. He hikes up your habit above the swell of your ass and toys with the hem of your panties as he presses his cock against your inner thigh.

“Ah, so wet for your Cardinal.” He hisses, his fingers grazing your slick folds. Your mouth drops open, whining as your eyes fall shut. With a surprising amount of care, the Cardinal slides your underwear down your thighs, leaving them at your knees before running his hands back up your thighs to settle them on your hips. You lean back into his touch, feeling the head of his cock against your entrance. “S-so fucking eager f-for me to take you.” He chuckles then thrusts into you without warning, burying himself to the hilt. You lurch forward, your fingers digging into the carpet, screaming out in surprise. He fills you completely, taking a moment to get used to his size while you feel him throb against your walls. “Tell me. T-tell me how badly you want this.”

“Please.” You gasp, arching your back to try and press further into him. “C-Cardinal, please.” He’s heard enough, his grip on your hips bruising as he bucks into you at a frenzied pace. His strong thighs slamming against your ass, each snap of his hips sending you forward, nearly getting fucked across the floor. You can’t stop moaning, tears streaming down your face as waves of pleasure crash over you.

He shoves your head to the floor, your cheek flush against the soft carpet, angling his hips to fuck into you even deeper. The way he moves is violent, your fingers digging into the carpet to keep yourself from collapsing. You feel your muscles start to tighten, tensing up as your legs tremble and drool starts to drip from the corner of your mouth. Cardinal… oh, Cardinal… you’re whimpering for him over and over, a stark change from the defiance you slapped him with earlier.

“S-such a fucking obedient little pup.” He hums and leans over you to press his chest against your back, his strangled breaths and moans filling your ears. The truth is, Cardinal Copia has been thinking about this — about you whimpering beneath him as he filled you — the moment he first saw you. The courtyard. The way you nearly gawked at him made his cock twitch in his cassock. He thought about what was beneath your modest habit, what sounds you make when you’re excited and needy, how your tight pussy would feel around him. He signaled a ghoul shortly thereafter to provide you with the good news and he provided the incorrect instructions himself. The Cardinal knew your type upon laying eyes on you, always so eager to follow directions, proud of your minuscule contributions to the ministry. He knew he could reduce you to this — a mess beneath him.

Your climax rips through you, burning hot currents flowing through you before collapsing beneath him as he tries to hold you upright to chase his own release. He’s so rough, so violent with you, his hips pistoning into you with such force that you’re sure your ass is going to bruise. The Cardinal is nothing more than a beast of lust in this moment, taking and taking from you until he can’t take anymore. He pulls out and ropes of cum land on your exposed, red behind. You’re frozen on the floor, heartbeat in your ears just waiting for him to make his next move, the fear starting to slowly seep back into your mind. He catches his breath behind you, fingers starting to play with your panties again before pulling them back up gingerly, trapping his cum inside you.

“Keep these on all day, sorella. That is an order.” The Cardinal purrs, giving your ass a playful slap and then rises to his feet.” You shift yourself up to your hands and knees, shakily looking over your shoulder at him. He is grinning from ear to ear, his white eye still shining. “I’ll know if you disobey.” He winks then reaches a gloved hand out to you. You don’t hesitate, taking it and allowing him to help him to your feet but you stay silent, vigilant even, in case he is going to try anything else. He gives your hand a tight squeeze once you’re to your feet and lets go, sauntering back over to his desk to pick up the book he had been reading prior to your visit.

“You’ll get my coffee 100% corretto tomorrow, si?” The Cardinal quirks a knowing brow at you, a smile still playing on his lips. You nod silently. His smile only grows and he waves his hand at you, dismissing you from his office and sinking back into his all business demeanor. You waste no time, shuffling out of the room and finally allowing yourself to breath again once the door shuts behind you.

Are you terrified of what tomorrow could bring? Yes.

Still, you can’t help but wonder how he would punish you if next time you purposefully screw up his coffee.

#cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia #copia x reader #the band ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia x female reader #papa emeritus iv

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 3 months

Note

Any enemies to lovers future AU Sterek fics? At first they annoy each other just as much as they used to, but ofc that changes. Thanks, ur awesome

Oh definitely.

magical protection at the hands of a snarky spark by sychia_rin

(1? I 341 I General)

Stiles stormed his way through the room. The ward he literally just made felt broken.

He eyed the tall man standing on the balcony as he turned to face him, he quirked up an eyebrow looking as shocked as that grumpy face could get him. He must be some newbie guard.

"I just put that ward there shitface. Shoo," Stiles motioned for him to move. The guard stood in place, watching Stiles as he stomped closer.

....

Where an overworked Stiles works for the (royalish?) Hale family doing magical tasks. Vaguely Merlin inspired if you squint.

royal blue fits better with Derek by 08JustLizeth80

(1/1 I 3,129 I Mature)

Where Derek Hale is the prince of England and Stiles is the (extremely) ineloquent and mouthy first son of the United States.

Where Stiles thinks royalty is such an archaic concept it shouldn’t even exist (which has nothing to do with his inadequate and totally not existing crush on the prince).

Knot Your Typical College Romance by stilesanderek (minxxx)

(1/1 I 51,546 I Explicit)

In which Stiles loves studying at Beacon Hills Supernatural University and even though he loves his group of friends, he just wishes that Derek wasn't included in it. Stiles hates the guy fiercely, and he knows it's completely mutual, and what he also knows it's completely mutual is the hate boner they both have going on for each other. What happens after they finally hookup after years of tension, though, isn't something Stiles ever signed up for.

“Shut the fuck up, Stilinski,” Derek hisses, their foreheads less than half a dozen of inches apart.

“Oh yeah, big guy?” Stiles says, stuffing his chest in defiance, licking his mouth once and then finally saying, “Make me.”

all you have is your fire by hansuckss

(7/? I 20,624 I Mature)

“Why wouldn’t I? I mean, if it’s a matter of saving someone’s life. You know,” Derek smirked. “There are lots of things I can do for an hour.”

Everyone knows they can count on Stiles Stilinski, the most composed paramedic at the fire station, and he takes pride in his work. At least until a new firefighter shows up. The newest firefighter-in-training, Derek Hale, is a former football player with a huge hero complex and limitless energy. And until fate brings them together, Stiles can put up with the man's presence. Sparks fly—not in a positive way. The fact that Derek is hotter than the fires he puts out and annoyingly charming doesn't help.

Help Wanted (But Not Really) by reillyblack

(9/9 I 26,096 I Mature)

"Stiles, I'll clear up your confusion about the position. Derek here needs someone to live with him. He's a difficult person to live with, so I won't sugarcoat that. But his responsibilities at the company right now make it impossible for him to actually take care of himself and his home. That would be your job," Laura explained.

Both Stiles and Derek objected at the same time.

Five Times Detective Stilinski and Fire Captain Hale Had Sex In Public, and One Time They Did It In A Bed by bleep0bleep

(7/7 I 32,853 I Explicit)

"Did you say--" Stiles starts.

"What?" Derek growls.

"We're not a couple!" they both retort in unison.

"We're not together," Stiles insists.

Lydia coughs pointedly. "An incident report filed by 87th Precinct Captain Erica Reyes. March twenty-fifth, eight p.m. Came back to the precinct to grab my coat, only to hear Stilinski banging his new boyfriend in the holding cell."

Words Cannot Espresso How Much You Bean to Me by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 68,366 I Teen)

“You’re late,” Derek informed him coldly, jaw clenched. He barely even moved his mouth to speak. This guy was seriously scary.

And because Stiles was suicidal, he said, “No, I’m Stiles.”

The look he got could’ve curdled milk. Stiles even noticed that Derek’s muscles were tensing, arms bulging even more and wow this guy was scary and hot but mostly scary holy shit.

“You’re not funny,” Derek informed him coldly.

Stiles shrugged. “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”

Like it or Not by Halevetica

(56/56 I 80,902 I Not Rated)

Stiles works as the editorial assistant at Vogue. He loves everything about his job except for his boss, Derek Hale. Derek Hale is the worst and Stiles hates him. But when Derek drags him to the yearly awards dinner within the company, he is forced to play boyfriend for the night to make Derek's ex jealous. Things couldn't get much worse...or so Stiles thought.

(Fuck you they said) As they threw their threads from their wedding bed by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)

(9/9 I 96,199 I Mature)

First Son Stiles Stilinski just accidentally caused an international incident. And apparently the only way to save human-werewolf relations is to marry him off to Prince Derek of Triskele. Stiles is going to need all of his acting skills to make the marriage look real, because the Prince is kind of a fucking asshole.

Enemy Lines by qhuinn (tekla)

(17/17 I 149,179 I Explicit)

This is the story of werewolf Derek Hale and human Stiles Stilinski: two people who grew up in the same town but completely different worlds, their realities split by the war between men and wolves.

Years later when Derek returns to Beacon Hills, he does it as Alpha of a military pack on a mission to capture those responsible for the region’s resistance. With his main objective, Sheriff Stilinski, out of sight, he settles for the next best thing: his son, Stiles.

Neither of them suspects they’ll need to trust each other if they want to make it out this alive.

The Final Pack by Kedreeva

(33/33 I 428,148 I Mature)

Humankind is fighting its way back from near extinction against the supernatural beings that fed upon the remaining humans in the aftermath of the 2012 apocalypse. On the front lines, Stiles' best friend gets bitten by a werewolf and Stiles must strike a bargain with wolves in order to save him.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #enemies to lovers #anon

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

Text

Napoleonville [Chapter 8: The New House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, kids, parenthood, historical topics like violence and discrimination, Cakes with Christabel, angst?? Who am I kidding. Angst!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @gemini-mama @daenysx @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbelll @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥰🧁

“I have no idea what he’s thinking,” Christabel tells Alicent, a low furtive murmur around nibbles of a cinnamon French toast cupcake. They are both sitting at the kitchen counter as you scuttle around wiping down burners and handles and knobs, trying not to listen in, unable to help yourself. At the table, Amir is frosting a Lady Baltimore cake and chatting with Criston, who has eaten no less than three miniature cherry pies in the past fifteen minutes. Amir keeps casting you wide-eyed, flummoxed glances. He means: Can you believe these people? No, you can’t.

Alicent sips the glass of sweet tea you poured for her and gazes vaguely around the room. “Oh, you know how Aemond is, dear. He works so hard. He’s so consumed by the Lake Verret project.”

“But shouldn’t he talk to me?” Christabel’s large blue eyes are luminous, persistent.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Of course he talks to you.”

“Sure,” Christabel says, frowning. “He talks to me about the weather and the garden and the koi in the fish pond. He asks if I listen to Dire Straights or AC/DC. Nothing of consequence, nothing revealing. And he never touches me. Alright, fine, there’s a hand on my shoulder or my waist once in a while, for a moment. There are quick, courteous kisses. But that’s all. And he’s so…so…” She struggles to decide on a word. “Formal!”

“Have you tried the cannoli cupcake yet?” Alicent asks, sliding the plate towards Christabel. “It’s just divine. I absolutely adore it.”

“When we’re apart he says he misses me, but he hardly ever calls. He tells me that he loves me, but only if I say it first.”

“He’s marrying you!” Alicent declares as she restlessly twists her assortment of glittering rings, gold and diamonds and emeralds. “What more is there to say, dear?”

“Surely there must be something,” Christabel mumbles. She obediently samples the cannoli cupcake, carving away a tiny sliver with her fork. “Oh, that is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s my favorite one yet.”

They have twelve flavors to choose from, some familiar and some new: vanilla bean and triple chocolate of course, the classics, and then also cannoli, cinnamon French toast, carrot, red velvet, Boston cream pie, apple cobbler, peanut butter and grape jelly, Neapolitan, Louisiana crunch, and hummingbird. Christabel surveys the selection and then looks to where you are vigorously scrubbing an already clean stovetop. “Aemond mentioned something about banana bread cupcakes. Do you have one of those we could try?”

And again, you are amazed by how much he remembers: the very first cupcake from the very first night. “Um…I’m not sure, actually. Amir, didn’t we make a batch earlier this week? Are there any still on the table?”

Amir checks the cake plates, lifting glass covers, until he locates a single remaining banana bread cupcake for your customers. He ferries it to the kitchen counter with great ceremony. “Everyone raves about this flavor! And it’s so quintessentially southern. Perfect for a Louisiana wedding.” You give him a miserable, deadened stare and he offers a millisecond smirk of commiseration. What else can we do? Amir means. And you think: Nothing.

Christabel samples the cupcake, an infinitesimal morsel speared on the very tip of her fork. You recall how Aemond tasted like sugar and honey and cinnamon when he kissed you on the night you met, rough, dominating, irresistible, without the aching weight of disappointments or betrayals. If time was a cobweb you could rip and walk through, you’d be back in that May dusk in an instant, you’d live there forever and never leave.

“That’s it.” Christabel grins as she licks cream cheese frosting from her full, pink lips. “This one. I want a banana bread cake.”

“Mmm,” Alicent agrees, taking a bite. “It has so many dimensions! Sweet with just a touch of salt, light and fluffy but with a certain substantial, rustic quality, don’t you think? It’s the cinnamon, perhaps.”

You make a note on your yellow legal pad—a reminder you don’t need—so you can avoid Christabel’s benign, guileless gaze. “Is there a design you’d like for the frosting?”

“Wildflowers.”

Amir emits a startled gasp before he can swallow it back down. You look up at Christabel. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Just like the vanilla bean cake you made for the engagement party.” She draws blossoms in the air with her fingers, whimsical like a fairytale. “There was white icing and then all these gorgeous flowers in a dozen different colors. You could do that for a wedding cake, couldn’t you?”

“Of course.” And then you amend: “Well, Amir can. He’s our Picasso.”

“You’ll need something for the rehearsal dinner too, dear,” Alicent tells Christabel. Then she turns to you, tugging anxiously at one of her auburn ringlets. “You’re the expert, love. What would you recommend to impress upon our guests all the history and mystique of the Deep South?”

Your mind is blank, your thoughts gnarled up with visions of Christabel meeting Aemond at the end of an aisle. Amir sees this and he saves you.

“A Napoleon cake,” he announces with his best salesman enthusiasm, powerful enough to sweep everyone else along with him.

Alicent claps her hands, elated. “Oh, just like the town!”

“It has layers of puff pastry and rich custard cream, very French, very elegant and sophisticated, but also a nod to Napoleonville. And we can add a cherry jam to make it more romantic, if you like.”

“Doesn’t that just sound heavenly, darling?”

“Does Aemond like cherries?” Christabel asks Alicent. You know he does, but you don’t say anything.

“I think so. We’ll ask him tonight to be sure.” Alicent is opening her clutch purse to get the cash to pay you; she is eager to have this errand finished, you believe. “And can you put wildflowers on top of the Napoleon cake as well?”

“You can have the Declaration of Independence written on it if that is your heart’s desire,” Amir says, then steals a glimpse of you. You’re jotting the order down and then tracing over your own letters again and again.

“That’s the color scheme,” Christabel says a bit dreamily, forever woolgathering. “Wildflowers. And I think you suggested it at the engagement party,” she tells you, appreciative. In your recollection, it was less of a suggestion than a confession of what you once dared to hope for. “Everything has to have wildflowers. Even the dress.”

Alicent groans. “Oh, Christabel, not this again.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so resistant, those dresses were spectacular.”

“Whoever heard of a multicolored wedding dress?” Alicent asks you, Amir, Criston. “It’s absurd. The bride always wears pure white, everyone knows that. It’s tradition! It’s dignified!”

“Well now I get to solicit opinions too.” Christabel reaches into her own purse—a quilted shoulder bag, light blue with red roses and a label reading Souleiado stitched inside—and produces several polaroid photographs. She gives them to you; they are all of her posing in different wedding dresses, stylish white gowns freckled with wildflowers like splashes of paint. “All anyone can talk about is what I should wear, what the guests will expect, what they will chatter about when they gossip afterwards,” Christabel tells you. And in her vast, shimmering eyes you can detect no resentment or slyness, only quiet desperation. “But you’re a real person. So be honest with me, because there’s only one thing I really care about. Will my husband think I look ravishing in any of them?”

“These theatrics,” Alicent sighs to herself, lighting a Marlboro cigarette. Again, she is peering aimlessly around the kitchen. Amir fidgets with the dogwood flower in his hair as he watches you wearily. Criston compulsively eats another miniature cherry pie.

You study the polaroid photos. Each one feels like a split lip, a fractured rib, the shredding elephantine pressure of a contraction. You wait to speak until you’re sure your voice won’t break. “They’re all stunning. But this one…” You place one picture on top of the pile. “This dress was made for you. Just look at your face. Glowing like a lightning bug.”

“Thank you,” Christabel says, beaming, immensely grateful, and she takes the photos back. She seems pacified. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“I was, yes. Briefly. Not very happily, I must admit. But it was worth it to get my daughter.”

She smiles. There’s no uneasiness; she doesn’t shy away from displays of human frailty. “I’d like a few daughters one day. We could all dress up together and style each other’s hair.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. If I tried that, I’d get my hands chewed off.”

Christabel laughs. She wears a casual blue t-shirt, blue gingham capri trousers, and white flat pumps. Her eyeshadow is a sparkling gold, her mascara flaking onto the apples of her cheeks. She is still marveling at you with those aquamarine eyes when Alicent pulls a list out of her clutch and grudgingly crosses off items with a black ballpoint pen.

“So we’ve got a wedding cake, a rehearsal dinner cake, a dress, a venue, flowers, photographers…I still need to call about hair and makeup…and we need to pick out candles…”

“Where are you getting married?” you ask Christabel.

“The most unique, picturesque, atmospheric place in the entire state of Louisiana, I’m sure of it.”

“We took a drive to visit that church you mentioned,” Alicent says to you. “And it was absolutely perfect. None of our guest will have ever seen anything like it. And it’s so historic! Over 150 years old! The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens.”

Amir squeals, a distressed mewing that he stifles with a feigned cough into his elbow. You stand shellshocked for a few seconds before managing a generic encouragement: “Really! Wow! Amazing! Great!”

Now Christabel is rather melancholy again. She scrutinizes her engagement ring, a large teardrop emerald with a gold band. Her voice is low, like she’s talking to herself. “I just wish…I don’t know. That we had more time together before the wedding, I suppose. Then I think I’d feel like I had more of a handle on things. It’s all been such a whirlwind, such a shock. A good shock, but still. We hardly know each other.”

Alicent prompts her: “You care for Aemond, don’t you, dear?”

“I’m in awe of him,” Christabel replies, a little dazed, a little defenseless. “He’s so clever and gallant. He’s the most inspiring man I’ve ever known. And the scar…it gives him quite a roguish look, doesn’t it? Like a Bond villain. It’s not a detriment in the least.”

“Yes, yes,” Alicent says impatiently, like she’s waiting for the conversation to be over. “Then there’s nothing more to worry about. You care for him, he cares for you, and you’ll have the honeymoon to get better acquainted. Criston, would you go outside and start the Lexus, please?” He dutifully departs.

Honeymoon. Your stomach lurches, the sea in a storm. You can see Aemond’s hands on Christabel’s face, in her hair, skating up her bare thighs. You can hear him moaning her name.

“We’re going to Greece,” Christabel informs you, thinking she’s being polite. “Athens, Mykonos, Santorini, and Corfu. Have you ever been?”

I’ve never been anywhere. But instead you say, forcing a smile: “Not yet.”

When Christabel, Alicent, and Criston have gone, you look to Amir. Your blood has turned to cement: cold, heavy, immobile, trapped. “You realize she’s getting my wedding, right? The one I always wanted. The wildflowers. The candles. The chapel.”

“And she’ll even be taking your favorite dick home at the end of the night.”

You cover your face with both hands and shake your head, trying to clear it, to drive out mirages of someone else’s oasis. This can’t be real. I can’t handle it, I can’t survive it.

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, gently now: “If we’re catering dessert, we’ll have to go to the wedding. The rehearsal dinner too.”

“Why would they want that? How can they not see how insanely awkward and wrong this is?”

He shrugs. “They probably think it’s normal. Wasn’t Camilla at Charles and Diana’s wedding?”

“If one more person tries to talk to me about Camilla Parker Bowles, I’m going to feed myself to the gator.”

“You’ll have to come to terms with it or you’ll have to end it. Those are the only options.”

“Yeah.” And it’s not just about me. It’s Cadi’s life too.

Amir sits down at the kitchen table, crosses one leg over the other, kicks his foot nervously. He rests an elbow on the tabletop and his chin on the knuckles of his left hand. “I hate to give you more bad news.”

You already know what he’s going to say. You’ve been dreading it for months. “You have enough money saved for San Franscisco.”

“I do.”

You exhale, your shoulders collapsing, tapping your fingertips against the counter. The air conditioner whirrs; the cicadas shriek in the trees outside. The house is hushed and still. Cadi is away at horse camp. Each day you receive a postcard in the mail that you assume the employees forced her to write at gunpoint. “When are you leaving?”

“The end of July. I’ll wait until after the wedding, once all the dust has settled. But I can’t wait any longer than that.”

“I want you to be happy,” you say. “I really do. But I’m going to miss you so much. You’ve been my best friend for a decade. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a partner in life.”

Amir smiles faintly. “Come over here.”

When you sit beside him, he takes your hands in his; and you remember how he visited you in the hospital after Cadi was born, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers he picked himself and a Tupperware container full of crawfish pistolettes. He had been just a casual friend before you found out you were pregnant, one of a group, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t keep him at an arm’s length. Amir was different, and not in a way that you fully understood or accepted yet. But he was the only friend who had no judgment for you when you told him you were pregnant, who cared about how you felt, who wanted to be a part of whatever would happen next. He was the only one who stayed.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Amir tells you. “I’ve never even been on a date, not once. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never had sex that wasn’t a one night stand in a New Orleans club or the back seat of my Ford Escort because those were the only places we had to go. And I’m starting to believe that people like me can’t have more than that. So I have to go someplace where I can have more, where I will have more. I don’t want love to be something that only other people get to experience. I don’t want to be afraid of leaving my house after dark or wake up every day wondering if someone has broken a window out of my car again. I have to go. There’s no future for me here. If I stay in Napoleonville, this place will kill me, one way or the other.”

Okay, you think. I can let him go. After everything he’s done for me, this is how I can be the friend that he deserves in return. “You should leave, Amir,” you say, tears stinging in your eyes. “I hear you, I understand you. I just wish I could go with you.”

“No, don’t cry, don’t cry! This isn’t the end. I’ll fly back to visit, you know that. Grandma’s still here, you and Cadi are here. And you can visit me too. Maybe you’ll even settle down on the West Coast someday. Eight more years and you’re free.”

You try to imagine your life then: Cadi headed off to college—and she will go to college, you’ve already decided that—and your tether to Willis weakened, closer to 40 years old than 30, Aemond and Christabel nearing their anniversary. How many children will they have by then? Three? Four? And the Lake Verret project will be well-established and no longer in need of so much of Aemond’s attention, and the house they call The Last Desire will sit empty on the lakeshore, warm draughts breathing through it like blood in veins. “I wouldn’t know how to exist anywhere else.”

“You’d learn,” Amir says confidently. “Now, have you ever made a Napoleon cake before?”

“I don’t think so. Not that I can remember.” You consider this. “My mom might have a recipe lying around somewhere. I’ll call and ask her.”

“Yes, do that,” Amir agrees. “If she doesn’t, I’ll try to dig one up at the library. We’ll want to have a few practice runs before the rehearsal dinner. Gotta impress the Rockefellers and their soulless millionaire ilk. Unless you were planning to have a homicidal meltdown and make the custard out of antifreeze or something.”

You chuckle. “No. Probably not.”

“It would be difficult to blame you.” And he turns on the little pink Panasonic radio: Alone by Heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

In a spacious corner booth of the Olive Garden in Gonzales, Aemond is talking about Lake Verret as you pick at your Tour of Italy and Frank Sinatra pipes through the speakers. You could swear they have the same three songs playing on a loop: Fly Me To The Moon, My Way, Luck Be A Lady, back to outer space again.

“But by total coincidence, Daeron has been researching desalination techniques for his latest article. Apparently there are ways to try to mitigate the damage and reduce the brackishness of the water, so we’re going to be—”

Abruptly, you ask: “Where does Christabel think you are right now?”

Aemond’s forehead crinkles, his fork hovers above his plate of herb-grilled salmon. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and his Marlboro jacket, jeans, Adidas sneakers. “Why do you care?”

“She’s getting the wedding I always wanted, did you even notice? She’s getting married at the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens in Belle River. She’s getting wildflowers and flickering candles.” And she’s getting you too.

“Okay,” Aemond says slowly. “I’m not involved in any of that.”

“I think you are, actually, because you’re kind of the groom.”

“But I don’t do the wedding planning,” he insists. “I have no idea what Christabel has arranged. My job is to be there on the day in a suit and that’s just about the extent of the real estate it takes up in my brain.”

“She’s never mentioned any of that to you? Not once? You’d swear on your life?”

He sets down his fork with a clang and stares fixedly at you. Your waitress glances over from several tables away where she is refilling a couple’s sweet tea glasses. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry you had good ideas and other people liked them. It fucking sucks that you didn’t get the wedding you wanted when you were seventeen. But that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know you yet, and you didn’t know me. You can’t blame me for what Willis or anyone else did.”

“But it’s not fair,” you choke out, sounding weak and juvenile, and you hate it but you can’t stop. “I understand that you’re marrying her, I get that, but she can’t have everything.”

“Look…” Aemond laces his hands together on top of the table, and his voice softens. “Even if Christabel didn’t exist, even if you were from my world, even if you were a duchess or a socialite or the daughter of the president of the United States of America, I still couldn’t marry you.”

You scoff; it’s despicable. “Because of Cadi?”

“No,” Aemond says, like that’s preposterous, like he’d never consider her to be a liability. “Because I have to have heirs.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss with vitriol that stuns him. Now the waitress is gawking. “You’re going to manipulate Christabel into walking down that aisle and then immediately get her pregnant?”

“Why are you mad at me?! I’m listening to you, I’m respecting you! You don’t want to have any more children of your own, fine, completely reasonable, I would never ask you to have a baby and go through all of that again for the sake of the Targaryen dynasty, but somebody has to!”

“You really don’t understand why I would empathize with a teenage girl trying to raise a child when she’s lonely and exhausted and confused about why the man she married isn’t turning out to be who she expected?”

Aemond shakes his head like it’s not a valid comparison. “She wants this.”

“She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t understand what she’s signing up for.”

“Everyone from a family like mine goes through this,” Aemond says. “My grandparents did, my mum and dad did, Aegon did, even bloody Charles and Diana did, and now it’s my turn. There are growing pains, but people adjust and it all works out eventually. Christabel will learn to manage her expectations, and once the children are born she can find happiness wherever and with whoever she wants to.”

“But you’ll be with her,” you forced out, voice fracturing, and at first Aemond doesn’t grasp what you mean. “You’ll…you’ll sleep with her. You’ll touch her, you’ll kiss her, you’ll do everything with her.”

“Surely you, as someone who called up a stranger from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal, comprehends that sex can be a solely physical act under the right circumstances.”

“So what, you’ll fuck me and then go home to her? Or you’ll fuck her and come home to me? And I’m supposed to live like that?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s simple, like it’s easy.

You gaze morosely out of the restaurant window. In the distance is a Dollar General, a Burger King, the Kmart where you had to buy your own engagement ring.

“Do you want me to tell Christabel to change the wedding?”

“No.”

“Because if I tell her to pick a new venue, new flowers, new cakes, whatever, she’ll do it.”

“No. She likes her wedding. I can’t take that away from her. She thinks I’m her friend.”

“Cupcake,” Aemond says, tenderly now. You turn back to him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m going to be gone for a while, four or five days. I have to fly to Norway and inspect some of the offshore rigs we have up there.”

“In the North Sea?” you ask, alarmed. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I mean, it’s oil drilling. It’s one of the most deadly professions in the world. But that’s how we built our fortune, our legacy. I’ve survived before, I’m sure I will again. If you need anything while I’m gone, you can call the house. Criston knows that you’re to be taken care of.”

“No one else can go to Norway instead of you?”

“I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

“Because Viserys told you to?”

“They amount to the same thing.”

“I don’t think you should listen to him.”

“I have to go,” Aemond says again. He takes out his wallet and lays $30 on the table. “But there’s something I need to show you first.”

As Aemond’s red Audi Quattro barrels down Route 70 southbound towards Napoleonville, you say very little to each other. Once you were strangers, and the words flowed easily and your bodies intertwined with effortless need, and now you have known each other for nearly two months and shared days and nights and confessions and yet every ghost filled up the space between you until it was a splinter, a gap, a gulf, a chasm. You miss the person he was when he showed up on your sloping, creaking porch steps back in May. You miss the person you were before you found out about Christabel.

A Men At Work song comes on the car radio, and it takes you a moment to figure out which one. It’s Down Under, a bewildering hit from 1981. “I never understood this song,” you say, staring through the open window as a jungle of southern live oaks, dogwoods, and cypresses rolls by. Rivulets of opaque, slow-moving bayou water snake through the wild green. Pelicans flap their wings in the pink-golden dusk sky. “What’s a head full of zombie? What’s a Vegemite sandwich?”

Aemond laughs, a smoldering Marlboro Red nestled in his left hand. You wonder if once he’s married he’ll wear a gold band on his ring finger, if he’ll take it off when he cheats with you. “Cupcake, it’s obviously about Australia.”

“What?”

“Down Under? As in, literally below the rest of us in the Southern Hemisphere? Head full of zombie means they’ve been smoking weed. Vegemite is a kind of yeast spread they put on sandwiches. I’ve had it, it’s disgusting. The whole song is in Australian slang. Everyone knows it’s about Australia.”

I didn’t. You look out your window again. Aemond takes note and swiftly backpedals.

“But I mean, I can see how an American wouldn’t know that. No big deal, okay? To anyone in the Commonwealth, Australia is like our fuckup sibling. It’s our Aegon. But you guys probably don’t really learn about Australia in school. So…yeah. It’s probably not as obvious as I assumed.”

“Maybe I missed that lesson,” you say. Maybe I missed that year.

In a brand new neighborhood just outside the town center of Napoleonville, Aemond parks in the paved driveway of a ranch house on a three or four acre lot. The yard is bordered by a white masonry fence with chicken wire around the base to keep snakes and gators out. There are a few dogwood and bay laurel trees, and one monstrous southern live oak that’s probably two hundred years old. Aemond cuts the Audi Quattro’s engine and steps out into the twilight.

“Aemond? What are we doing here?”

“Follow me.”

“Why?”

He walks around to your side of the car, opens the door, and leans down to grab your face with his right hand, his fingers hooked around the curve of your jaw. Instantly, there is a bolt down your spine: hunger, warmth, weakness, momentum that is thoughtless like falling from a great height. “Follow me,” he repeats, grinning mischievously. “Right now.”

Aemond has a key that unlocks the front door. Inside is rose pink carpeting and mauve walls, a sunken conversation pit, popcorn ceilings, mini blinds on the windows, closet doors covered with mirrors. You can see your face reflected in them, puzzled.

“This is the living room, clearly,” Aemond says as he continues briskly through the house. As an afterthought, he kicks off his Adidas sneakers so he doesn’t track any dirt inside. You do the same, sliding off your cheap flats from Kmart. He points down a hallway. “There are two guest bedrooms down there, and then a big one at the other end of the house with its own private bath. Here’s the kitchen…” He leads you through it, mint green with pristine black and white tiles on the floor. “And over there is the dining room.” It’s a kind, golden yellow like dawn or sunset.

“Aemond, what—?”

“Bedroom next,” he interrupts, hurrying you along.

At the end of the hall, he opens a door to reveal a sprawling chamber. It is blue like his bedroom in the Targaryen mansion, but not a deep, vivid sapphire color; it is a pale blue like prairie flax or a clear midday sky. The carpet is lush and soft. There are mirrors on the ceiling.

“Those are optional,” Aemond clarifies, pointing upwards. “But personally, I like them.”

“Aemond, whose house is this?”

“It’s yours,” he says.

“It’s what?!”

“Well, technically, it isn’t yours quite yet,” he admits. “I bought it in cash, it will close in a week or two. At that point I’ll sell it to you for $1—the same price as one of your cupcakes, incidentally—and then it will officially be your house. And it doesn’t even have a sinking foundation or any alligators. Imagine the possibilities.”

“But…but…”

“Cadi’s bedroom is green, like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I’ve been told the yard is big enough for one horse, or two very small horses. Ponies, I guess.”

“You cannot buy me a house,” you say, aghast.

“I think I already did.” He holds out the key to you, resting in his palm among lines of prophesy.

You are paralyzed; it takes you forever to find your words. “Aemond, I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s a gift, not a trade,” he says, the key still lying in his outstretched hand. “Every cent I spend on you, every second I spend with you, is solely because I want to do it and for no other reason. There’s no obligation. There’s no quid pro quo. And that’s what I feel like you don’t understand. I have no logical reason to keep you in my life, absolutely none, aside from the fact that I want you to be here. And I want that with everything I’m made of. I never stop wanting it. So let me help you. Take the key. Take the house.”

His right eye is on you, imploring, commanding. At last, you lift the key from his palm. Studying it like the cryptic letter of a foreign language, you murmur: “You shouldn’t have done this.”

Aemond rakes his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up towards his, skims his lips feather-lightly from your cheekbone down to your lips—though he doesn’t kiss you, only ghosts his flesh over yours, a taste, a taunt—and then up to the curl of your ear. His whispered voice is colored with wicked scarlet desire. “You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you what to do.”

If he yanked off your t-shirt you would let him. If he unzipped your denim shorts and slipped his artful fingers inside them he would find panties soaked through for him. You would let him do anything he wanted to you, here in this glass-fragile liminality before he becomes Christabel’s in law, in body, in inked and inerasable history. But it would not be because you want to, not because you feel ready in your bones, not because you trust him again. It would only be because you could not bring yourself to resist.

Aemond reads this on your face; he stops before you have to tell him to.

~~~~~~~~~~

On July 1st, Cascade Stables is swarming with parents as they descend upon the property to collect their children and meet the horses they’ve spent the past week with. There is a stereo somewhere blaring Your Love by The Outfield; apparently, this does not disturb the horses. You find Cadi beside the stall of a very tall, willowy beast, ears upright and alert, one bulging eye onyx and the other a striking icy blue. Its coat is white with a splattering of rust-colored stains. Even its mane and tail are comprised of alternating strands, dark, light, earth, clouds, cocoa powder, granulated sugar.

“His name is Patches,” Cadi tells you proudly as she pets the leviathan’s velvety muzzle. “He has a wall eye. And he’s a real handful and usually they only allow the experienced campers to ride him, but they let me try and he listened so well I got to keep him all week!”

“Wow, that’s incredible! Good job! Did you learn a lot about how to take care of him?”

“Yeah. They taught me how to feed Patches and clean his hooves and put a saddle on him. And how to hit him with a hairbrush when he tries to bite me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Right. Okay.”

“Can we buy him? He’s for sale. Probably because of all the biting.”

“Who, Patches?” You definitely cannot afford to board a horse; and then you remember the new house. “I’ll think about it.”

Cadi peeks around you. “Daddy isn’t here too?”

“No, honey, I’m sorry. He had to work. But he really wanted to see the horses and he is looking forward to hearing all about your adventures.” This is a lie—Willis seems only dimly aware of the concept of a horse camp, and he is staunchly incurious by nature—but a compassionate one.

Cadi accepts the explanation readily enough. “Alright. Is Aemond your boyfriend yet?”

“Um.” You thread the horse’s forelock through your fingers to buy yourself time. It seems unwise to try to deceive her again; Cadi will learn about Christabel sooner or later. “No, we’re still just friends.” You pause. She watches you, knowing there’s more. “Actually, he’s getting married this month.”

“What?!” Cadi is shocked, but she’s outraged too. “To who?!”

“To a nice lady named Christabel. And I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.” Another lie. And you think for the first time: If I settle for being Aemond’s mistress, if I let it tear me to pieces…what am I teaching Cadi?

Your daughter doesn’t say anything for a long time. She pets Patches’ speckled face, her own expression tense and thoughtful, lines and worries that should be far beyond her age. At last she says quietly: “Is it because of me?”

You are mystified. “What, honey?”

“Is the reason why you and Aemond can’t get married because of me?”

There is a flash of crimson wrath in your skull—protective, animalistic, wronged on her behalf—but no one to direct it at. “No. No, absolutely not. Why would you say that?”

Cadi shrugs, and you recognize it as her self-preservation, faux-flippant shrug. “I don’t know. One time I heard Michelle’s mom talking about how no decent man wants to deal with some other guy’s kids. And that’s me when I’m at your house. Another guy’s kid.”

Oh, fuck you, Janet. “No,” you say again. “Aemond likes you a lot, Cadi. He cares about you.” He picked out a house that could accommodate a horse for you. “You’re the opposite of a problem. He actually likes me more because of you, I think.”

“Okay.” And she’s relieved, although she’s trying not to show it. “Then why is he marrying someone else?”

“Well…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Where the hell do I start? “Aemond and I are very different people,” you tell Cadi. “And we want different things out of life. We like to spend time together, but that doesn’t mean that we’d be able to share our whole lives…homes, careers, values, everything. His family has a lot of expectations of him that I don’t feel right supporting, but Aemond wants to respect their rules. And, you know. He’s a robber baron.”

“But he doesn’t talk about Jade Dragon Energy or oil around me. He talks about history.”

You sigh, watching dust motes swirl through the hot, sunlit stable air, listening to horses nicker and huff. “I know, honey.”

“I don’t even think he wants to be a robber baron. I think he wants to be something else.”

“Like what?” you ask, picking stray bits of yellow straw out of her short, disheveled hair. And remarkably, Cadi tolerates this.

“I don’t know, just…just…” She battles with the words, then finds one she likes. “Free, I guess. Just free.”

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