#.. based on an event earlier today

[just-peach]

Dont you just love it when youre there right on the edge about to cum so close you can taste it just a little more and you shove the fingers of your free hand down your throat while thinking its theirs and how theyd say "there we go such a pretty little thing aren't you? Atta (girl/boy)" and thats the last thought in your head as you cum

[richtofens-hips]

take this

Dempsey: i may not be a school shooter, but I got 2 guns *flexes like the dork he is*

Nikolai: *just fucking done*

Takeo: *actually amused*

Richtofen: *wondering why tank is the way he is*

[plagues01]

Grif: Blue Bells betrayed me

Simmons: ???

Grif: I thought I grabbed mint chocolate chip. I grabbed almond pistachio

[999moreyears]

*guy walking up and down multiple flights of starts voice* this is so good for my pikmin

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (4)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Illness, Azriel's pov 👀

a/n: Someone sedate me at this point. Also I'm posting this earlier than planned because I am susceptible to peer pressure

Read part one | part two | part three | part five

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel sat at the table for breakfast, his attention occupied by the window to his right. A plate of eggs, bacon, and toasted bread sat forgotten and untouched before him. To be honest, Azriel was unsure of how it even came to be in front of him. 

Cassian was saying something, the rest of the table humoring him with sleepy mumbles and raised brows. He was always so lively in the mornings, a sentiment not shared by the rest of the inner circle. 

Azriel was typically one of the more responsive people, but his shadow was late today. It had been a few weeks of sending one out to check on you every night, and this one was late. The rest of them swarmed around his feet in anticipation. 

“Az?” Mor’s voice had him breaking his stare from the window. “What are you looking at? You’ve been checked out all breakfast.” 

Azriel cleared his throat and readjusted in his seat. “Nothing. Just distracted.” 

She snorted. “That’s an understatement. You’re been distracted for weeks now. What’s been going on with you?” 

“Nothing,” Azriel repeated. He picked up his fork despite his stomach protesting, the nerves twisting it to the point of unease. 

“Hate to concur, Az, but you have been rather absent. I think this is the first time you’ve had a meal with us this week,” Rhysand chimed in. 

From beside him, Feyre shot her mate a look. 

Azriel, feeling eyes on him, glanced to his left to find Cassian leering at him with narrowed eyes. His brother leaned his head back and hooked his arm over the back of his chair, analyzing Azriel amidst his lax posture. 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “What?” 

With his tongue pressed into his cheek, Cassian let out a disbelieving huff. “You’re seeing someone,” he concluded. “Who is she? Why haven’t you said anything?” 

“I’m not seeing anyone. Why would you come to that conclusion?” 

“You answered that way too quickly to be believable.” 

“Azriel, are you seeing someone? There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that,” came Mor’s soft tone—trying to play the opposite side of the coin. 

“No, I—“ 

“He is. I know he is.” Cassian, with his assured pestering. “And don’t think I don’t notice how Rhys is being silent here. And Feyre. The only two people in the room that can read minds.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Feyre defended. 

“Yeah!” Nyx yelled, quick to defend his mother. “Nothing!” 

But Nyx’s interference only made Cassian turn his attention to the small child and knock his head to the side. 

“Nyx—“ Cassian began. In response, Nyx shoved a fork full of eggs into his mouth. “Azriel’s been taking you to school an awful lot, hasn’t he?” 

“Mmhmm,” Nyx nodded. 

“And he’s been going to all of your school events?”

Nyx nodded again, this time with a mouthful of juice. 

“Does Azriel talk to anyone when he’s at your school?” 

“He talks to Ms. Fern.” 

Cassian let out a barking laugh and turned back to Azriel with a wide grin. “Ms. Fern? Okay, Az, if that’s what does it for you. You should bring her to the house.” 

Although he felt an immense pride for Nyx keeping his secret (because Nyx had seen him talking to you countless times) a strange, hot anger licked at the bond hanging loose in his chest. 

He wasn’t seeing Ms. Fern. The reasonable part of his mind told him that it was better this way, you would feel safer, but the unreasonable side wanted to knock Cassian across the room.

You were so much better than Ms. Fern. The teacher didn’t “do it for him” and never would. It was insulting to you. 

Azriel ground his teeth. He knew this reaction was more borne from the fact his shadow hadn’t returned and the worry he was feeling was paralyzing, but reasoning with himself did nothing. 

“I will not be—“ 

Sick, sad, help. 

A whisper at his ear made Azriel rein in his words. 

Alone, alone, alone. 

Azriel snapped his head to the side to find his missing shadow whisking down to join the rest, the hoard of them now rising to leave. To get to you, he realized. He had to— 

“What is it?” Rhysand asked. 

Azriel could feel his talons scratch along the barrier of his mind, but there was no time to let Rhysand hear what he’d heard. In one fluid motion, Azriel was up from the table and out of the house, his wings spread wide behind him as he flew to the outskirts of Velaris where you resided. 

One of the first things he would suggest after he got you to trust him was for you to move. 

He’d already reinforced your locks and checked your neighbors, but you were still so far and that side of Velaris wasn’t the best. 

He’d ask you to move into the House of Wind, but he knew that’d be pushing it. Obviously. 

His back ached as he pressed his wings further, desperate to make it to you. He flung his body one way and then the other to dodge buildings as he went, flying low to save time. Luckily, the streets were barren this early. 

But it wasn’t early enough for your shop to be closed, an all too alarming fact when faced with the “closed” sign on the front door. He yanked on the knob anyways, but the door wouldn’t budge. 

He cursed himself for ensuring their stability. 

He started knocking next—soft at first and then with a blistering urgency. He knocked and knocked and was moments away from flying up to your window and possibly scaring you off for good when the door wrenched open.

You looked beyond disheveled, bone-tired, and frankly gaunt as you stared up at him with an incredulous gaze. Your gaze softened a fraction when you saw it was Azriel beating down your door, but a tinge of irritation remained hazing your eyes. 

“Azriel, we’re closed for—” 

“Are you okay?” he rushed out.

Since the open house, Azriel had been more open with his vies to take care of you. If he were being honest, the intrinsic need to protect you and Melanie was overwhelming and he was barely scratching the surface of all he wanted to do, but you became guarded any time he got too intense. So, he walked you home and asked you about your family and he didn’t care if he got a stonewall in response. 

But right now, you did not look well. 

Right now, there was no Melanie peaking behind your legs as you stood at the apothecary door. 

So, right now, Azriel didn’t have a mind to be subtle. 

“Where is Melanie? Are you hurt?” he asked before you could formulate a response. 

He watched your knuckles pale as you gripped the door. You breathed in deeply. “Mel has been sick all night. I’m not sure what it is and I’ve been trying everything. I’m about two seconds away from calling a healer but…” 

Azriel knew that tell—the way your eyes shifted and your expression pinched. 

More people. 

Anytime you were confronted with introducing more people into Melanie’s life, you crumbled. 

“Let me come see her,” Azriel requested, the tension leaking from his voice into a softer tone. Now that he knew the two of you weren’t dying, there was some relief. Some. 

You shook your head, pressing your lips into a firm line as you deflated. “I don’t want to get you sick. I think I'm already a lost cause, but you—you have important things to do.” 

If only you knew how important you were to him. 

Azriel felt his fists clench at the defeated look in your eye. “If you’re sick, you can’t take care of her. Just let me come in. Let me help, y/n.”  

“Azriel…” 

“Please. Let me take care of you.”

He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, afraid of you drawing back in fear, but they were already lingering in the space between you. Azriel decided you must have been truly exhausted because your only reply was a pained sigh followed by your door swinging open to let him in. 

You didn’t even send him a sidelong glance. 

Azirel’s hand twitched as he followed you up the stairs to your apartment, the urge to press his fingers along your back stifling. 

One step at a time, Azriel—you were only just letting him into your house. 

Any examination of your apartment abruptly halted as soon as his feet met the threshold of the sitting room. Melanie was lying on the couch looking worse for wear with a cloth along her forehead and a flush to her cheeks that did not sit well with the Shadowsinger. His chest caved in at the sight, a feeling that intensified when her small voice filled the space. 

“Mr. Azriel?” she croaked, attempting to lift her head. You rushed over to press her back down, running your fingers through her hair. “He’s always at my house,” Melanie said, turning to look at you. “Always.” 

You let out a breathy laugh as Melanie shut her eyes and began to softly snore against the arm of the loveseat. Azriel’s shadows rushed to the girl and brushed against her forehead and arms, offering the cool wind they provided. 

In a few steps, Azriel took a knee beside you. He looked at you first—at the way you hovered over your daughter with furrowed brows—and then let his gaze wash over Melanie. Against his better judgment, he wrapped his scarred fingers around her tiny hands. 

No poison, his shadows reported, although he didn’t expect it to be. She was feverish, hadn’t eaten since last night, couldn’t keep anything down; it was rare for fae to get so sick, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t concerning. 

Even more worrisome was the fever emanating from you. Azriel could feel the heat on his shoulder and he could tell you hadn’t stopped to rest. 

“I know a healer that can help. She wouldn’t say anything to anyone,” Azriel said after a beat of silence. 

You paused your fingers in Melanie’s hair. “Do you promise?” 

The sickness had worn you down, taking the fight and fear right out of you. 

“I promise on everything. I wouldn’t bring someone here that wasn’t safe.” 

Azriel called Majda. 

Majda arrived in a few minutes, much to your surprise. Azriel had gotten the door upon her knock, his eyes catching the way your knees shook as you went to stand. 

Majda kneeled in front of the couch where you and Azriel once were, her healing magic lighting up the room. Behind her, Azriel stood with you and he watched. 

He watched your worried brow and the way you picked at your fingers. He watched the flush on your face get worse and worse as your daughter’s illness gradually got you sicker. He watched the way you tracked each of Majda’s movements, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. 

He watched your body shake as it held you up. 

He watched his mate and saw how alone you were. 

Azriel reached up and tucked a hair behind your pointed ear, using the ploy to feel for the temperature on your cheek. You turned to look up at him and he felt the way his expression strained. 

“You should let her look at you too,” he said, voice low and calm.

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” 

“You aren’t.” 

You turned back to your daughter, looking on. 

Azriel no longer cared for the farce he’d been putting on. He stepped closer and let his palm rest on the small of your back if only to support you from collapsing. He saw you glance at him from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to step away. 

It took Majda 13 minutes to come to a conclusion. Azriel knew that because he had been counting. 

“Well, first of all, she will be okay. As will you, as I see you may have the same illness,” the older healer spoke, rising from the ground with a grunt. “It is most unusual—what ails you. Do you have Autumn's blood?” 

The fingers you had pressed to your mouth were abruptly dropped. You looked up to Azriel with panic in your eyes, a question clear in your expression. 

He hadn’t known where you were from, but he had guessed, and you were looking at him as if he knew—as if he knew and you wanted to know if it was safe for the healer to know as well. 

Azriel nodded his head and ignored the bittersweet feeling in his chest. 

He had wanted you to tell him when you were ready. 

“Yes,” you uttered, shaking your head much faster than you spoke. “We both are. Is that—does that have something to do with it?”

Majda offered you a thin smile. “You have Autumn fever. Something to do with the fire that lingers in your blood. Sometimes it does not align with the other courts and your body revolts. It will pass in a few days as most. Uncomfortable bugger to be sure, but nothing that cannot be managed.” 

You sagged against Azriel in relief, the shadowsinger catching your weight as your knees buckled. He pulled you closer to his front but didn’t feel complete until he guided you back to the couch and leaned over Melanie as she slept. 

“She’ll be okay?” you asked. 

Azriel thought the question was for Majda, but when he looked to his side you were staring directly at him, fear and fever in your gaze. 

He lost his breath and captured your face in his hands. “She’ll be okay,” he assured. You were so hot against his skin. “You will too. I’ll fix it.” 

Something righted in your expression—something softened. For the first time since he entered your house, you let out a full breath and allowed your eyelids to drop. It was barely thirty seconds before your head fell as well, your forehead landing on Azriel’s collarbone. He trailed his hand up to rest against your hair and placed his other on Melanie’s knee as he stayed beside the couch. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Shadowsinger,” Majda crooned. “That’s a whole lot of responsibility. A lot of secrets.” 

Azriel tightened his hold on you. “Do you have herbs that would help? To lessen fever or pain?” 

Majda hummed. “I will leave a few.” A pause. The floorboards creaked as Majda went to make her exit. “Heed my words, Azriel.” 

“I know what I’m doing—what I’m getting myself into.” He dropped his nose to your temple, listening to your breath as you slept. His shadows continued their mission of cooling Melanie’s feverish skin. 

“Do you?” 

Azriel considered the question, and no, he didn’t know. 

But he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

part five

[oswalish]

oh my god i am so homosexual i love men holy fuccck i need me some boyfriends mama mia

[pathologicalreid]

for the fear of falling apart | epilogue

good things come to those who wait, and you're finally getting your happy ending

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: fluff (there's a first time for everything) content warnings: spoilers for criminal minds evolution but nothing super detailed, dad!spencer, babies, breastfeeding, takes place during s16, cancer, spencer's "special assignment" is just him being a dad word count: 1.74k a/n: the spencer reid dilf agenda is at the center of the universe. i cant believe ffofa is over. this is just a short and sweet look into what r and spencer are doing during cme - aka being parents. (the gif has nothing to do with the chapter he just looks so sexy)

“Where is she?” Spencer asked, minding the hour as he hung his token leather satchel in the entryway. He peeked around the living room before making his way to where you were in the kitchen, closing up your book of crosswords before he saw the clues and gave you all of the answers – a habit of his that you had been begging him to break.

Affixing your pen to the cover of the puzzle book, you hummed in response to his question, “It’s nine p.m., she’s asleep, in her crib.” You turned to face him, “And you may not go up there and get her,” you caught at his hand as you noticed him moving toward the stairs, “You will not wake that baby up, Spencer Reid.”

He accepted his defeat, coming back and gently wrapping his arms around you, “Did she go down okay?”

“No,” you answered bluntly, reciprocating his hug by reaching your arms up and slinging them over his shoulders. “She never does when you’re not home,” you added, providing a fact that he was already well aware of.

Spencer chuckled softly into the crook of your neck, “I thought I would’ve been able to get away earlier.”

You were unbothered, leaning into his touch, “Bedtime is at 7:30, you never would’ve made it in time.” His faculty event at school started at seven. It had been scheduled to run until midnight, but Spencer always made the effort to be home with you at the end of every day. The two of you hadn’t missed a tea date since before your daughter was born.

“But now it’s too late for us to do anything of substance,” he said, separating himself from you to switch on the electric kettle, looking over his shoulder at you, silently asking if you wanted tea.

Nodding at him, you watched as he pulled two mugs from the cabinet and dropped tea bags in each of them, “We can watch that documentary you were talking about last night.”

“You’ll fall asleep,” he countered. It was a symptom of motherhood that you hadn’t seen coming, falling asleep while watching anything.

You shrugged, “She’ll wake up to eat, I’ll wake up to feed her.” While your otherwise perfect daughter had mastered sleeping through the night within her first few months earthside, teething had ruined any semblance of a sleep schedule she had, so, she started crying to eat in the middle of the night.

Your husband didn’t seem convinced, but he grabbed the kettle off of its base and poured the hot water into your mugs, sliding a bureau-branded one toward you and keeping the octopus mug for himself. “Last time you fell asleep on the couch and I tried to get you to bed you threw things at me,” he reminded you, stirring honey into his tea before handing the sweetener to you.

“I threw a pillow at you,” you disputed, drizzling the honey into your mug before asking him to put the dish back up in the cabinet.

He rolled his eyes, leaning over the counter and smiling at you, a sweet, dopey, Harlequin romance smile. “I probably deserved it,” he acquiesced, bringing his mug to his lips and taking a sip of the lavender tea.

Spinning your mug on the counter in front of you, you raised your eyebrows and considered changing the subject, but you were lacking any kind of segue material, “So, JJ called me today,” you said.

Spencer set his octopus mug on the counter and frowned, “Are they still having problems?” He asked, resting his chin in his hands and keeping his attention on you.

Nodding, you shared a knowing look with him. Havoc had been wreaked on the BAU since Penelope left. You were lucky enough to be on maternity leave while administrators tore your unit apart and Spencer was on a special assignment – playing the long game on a case that the bureau felt needed to be closed. “I still can’t believe they dragged Penelope back, she was so content with SOAR,” you griped, knowing how much the techie’s life had improved since leaving the FBI.

“I can,” Spencer admitted, “There’s no BAU without Penelope Garcia. There were four people in that tech room trying to do the work she did,” he said, picking his mug back up before making his way around the kitchen island and sitting in the bar stool next to yours.

You leaned back in your stool, with Matt out on an assignment of his own, the BAU’s numbers had gone down drastically. “In better news, Dave went home,” you told Spencer, pointing your sock-covered foot out to nudge him gently.

His expression softened, “Good, the hotel was getting…”

“Yeah,” you agreed, sipping at your tea. Krystall had been the picture of health until she wasn’t, and losing her had nearly sent Rossi to a place you feared he’d never come back from. “Anyway, JJ asked if we were still alright with hosting Christmas this year,” you recalled from the phone call, “I said yes.”

Spencer nodded in agreement, “Have they heard anything from the oncologist?”

You frowned helplessly, “Not yet, depending on the results they might have to do more tests. I offered to take the boys next weekend if they need the time, J’s afraid mom will blab to Henry.”

“You miss it,” Spencer observed, eyes flitting over to the baby monitor on the counter.  

Rolling your eyes, “You do a job for nine years, you’re going to miss it when you take time off. Don’t act like you don’t,” you chided gently, smiling into your mug. When the bureau took everything you had been through into account, they willingly offered you an extended maternity leave, which you took without a second thought. However, you hadn’t anticipated feeling so disconnected from the team.

Spencer pursed his lips, “I do, but I like being home with you and Mila more.”

Leaning forward, you reached out and took his hand in yours, “Baby, if you want to go back to the BAU full-time, you know I’d never, ever get in the way of that.”

He shook his head dismissively, “No, not yet at least, but someday.”

The BAU was home, you knew that well enough, but now he had a home with you and Amelia. That wasn’t something he’d give up easily. You watched Spencer at he looked at the baby monitor again, “Stop praying on my downfall, she’ll wake up soon.”

Taking your empty mug in his hands, he set both yours and his in the kitchen sink, “I love you,” he told you.

Your face warmed at the expression, one of those times where there just wasn’t anything else he wanted to say – he just needed to tell you that he loved you. “I love you too,” you said, happily basking in what you assumed was your lingering new parent glow – the two of you were stronger than ever.

Quietly, Spencer loaded the rinsed mugs into the dishwasher before closing it, coming back around the counter and stopping in his tracks when a phone started to ring.

Dropping your head to the counter, you waited for the inevitable wailing to come from the nursery, when the cries started, you looked up at Spencer, “You get her, I’ll get the phone,” you negotiated.

Fishing the ringing phone – Spencer’s – off of the coffee table, you frowned at the caller ID before bringing the screen to your ear. “I need to talk to your wife,” a frantic voice said on the other end.

“Hi, Penny,” you greeted, eyes drifting to the top of the stairs where Spencer was emerging with a squawking baby in his arms.

Penelope gasped on the other end of the call, “I so very desperately need your advice. Do you remember me telling you about Tyler?” She sounded almost out of breath.

You hummed in response, “The guy from the serial killer website?” You wondered where she was going with this – technically the team wasn’t supposed to share case information with you, but that had never stopped any of them.

“Yes, that one,” she confirmed, “I kissed him.”

Surprised, you dropped down onto the couch, looking up at Spencer as you searched for an appropriate response to Penelope’s confession, “Emily is going to kill you.”

The other end of the call was silent except for Penelope trying to articulate a retort. Spencer frowned at you, swaying gently with Amelia in his arms, “What happened?”

Moving the mouthpiece away, you looked up at him, “She kissed a material witness,” you told him, watching as he clamped his lips together in a failed attempt to hide his amusement.

“This is serious,” she scolds over the phone. “I need a debrief. Coffee tomorrow?”

You nodded as the baby grew increasingly impatient in Spencer’s arms – his chest was just no good to her. “Hold on,” You said over the phone, waving for Spencer to hand the baby off to you so you could feed her.

He settled her in your arms, helping you as best he could before he was in the way, “You’ve got her?”

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your hairline when you told him you were fine, bringing the phone back up once Mila latched, “Hey, so tomorrow, nine?” You offered, peering down as the baby nursed for comfort. “I can meet you at the kiosk in front of Quantico if that’s easier.”

Penelope sighed dramatically, “As long as you bring your pretty face and your pretty baby, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lobbing the phone across the couch cushions, you leaned back slightly, adjusting the baby when she was done so that she could hopefully drift back to sleep. Your husband came back downstairs, having swapped his work clothes and contacts for pajamas and glasses, he deftly sat down next to you and took the baby.

Carefully, he settled her on his chest, letting her tiny limbs curl in neatly as she let out sweet coos, brown eyes fluttering shut as Spencer gently swiped his thumb across her back. That little girl had him wrapped around his finger from the moment he knew about her existence.

You shifted to rest your head on his shoulder, watching Mila drift off into her dreams, “Are you going to fall asleep like this?” Spencer asked you, keeping his voice at a whisper.

Humming, you shut your eyes briefly, “Yeah, this is my favorite show.”

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[mariacallous]

India’s $13.9 billion aviation industry—projected to cater to over 300 million domestically by 2030—is a ticking time bomb.

This July, in the sweltering heat at the Delhi High Court, additional solicitor general Aishwarya Bhati announced that new rules on pilot duty and rest periods would not be implemented this year after all. Introduced by the Directorate General of Civil Aviation (DGCA) in January, the rules were designed specifically to combat pilot fatigue. They were set to take effect in June, but were abruptly retracted. The hearing addressed a writ petition filed by the Federation of Indian Pilots (FIP), seeking clarity on when the new norms would be enforced. The DGCA’s response followed its request to airline companies in April for a tentative implementation timeline.

Concerns over pilot fatigue had been mounting in the months leading up to the announcement of the new Flight Duty Period, Flight Time Limitations, and Prescribed Rest Periods by the DGCA. The urgency deepened in November 2023 when a 37-year-old Air India pilot, Captain Himanil Kumar, collapsed at Delhi Airport while training to fly the airline's Boeing 777 fleet, and later died at the hospital. Kumar was the second Indian pilot to die on duty within three months; in August, Captain Manoj Subramanyam, a 40-year-old IndiGo pilot, suffered a fatal cardiac arrest just minutes before his flight from Nagpur.

These back-to-back tragedies raised alarm in the industry. “Another young Indian pilot passed away today due to a suspected cardiac event,” reportedly tweeted Captain Shakti Lumba, a retired IndiGo VP who is now the president of the Professional Pilots Society in India (His tweet was since deleted.) “If this doesn’t convince the DGCA, civil aviation ministry, and airlines to urgently address the stress, fatigue, and anxiety among pilots, nothing will.”

The DGCA, India’s aviation watchdog, regulates the country’s Flight Duty Time Limitations (FDTL). At 13 hours of flight duty time, India’s FDTL is already demanding, but after the pandemic slowdown, increased route expansion and pilot shortages have forced many to fly beyond the recommended maximum of 60 hours a week, exacerbating crew exhaustion. The DGCA finally responded to the growing crisis by revising FDTL norms in January 2024.

The new guidelines increased weekly rest periods from 36 to 48 hours and introduced quarterly fatigue reports. Its scheduled implementation on June 1, 2024, was pushed back due to pressure from operators. An airline CEO, speaking anonymously to the Economic Times in January, claimed the proposed regulations would require a 20 percent increase in pilot numbers, which would escalate expenses and lead to huge numbers of flight cancellations. Still, the DGCA held firm on the FDTL implementation deadline till early March. By the end of the month, however, it appeared to have yielded to influence from the airline lobby. A notice on the regulator’s website announced the deadline had been deferred, without providing a reason or setting a new date.

The pilot fatigue problem isn’t unique to India. In January, two pilots for Indonesia-based Batik Air fell asleep for 28 minutes mid-flight, causing their plane to veer off course between Sulawesi and Jakarta. In April, unionized Virgin Atlantic pilots in the UK voted 96 percent in favor of pursuing an industrial action in response to rising fatigue. Earlier, the CEO of Wizz Air UK faced a backlash for urging crew members to push through their fatigue to avoid flight cancellations. In May, senior pilots at Virgin Australia raised safety concerns, claiming rostering systems were pushing them "to the limits.”

But in India, the belief that overwork and fatigue are not just acceptable but essential has become entrenched across industries. The aviation crisis is just the tip of the iceberg; it is the tech industry that is leading the charge. Last year, Infosys cofounder Narayana Murthy suggested that Indian youth should work 70 hours a week for the nation's development. Murthy’s advice came up at the Indian Parliament on the first day of its winter session and found support from a list of influential Indian tech leaders, including Bhavish Aggarwal, founder of India’s first AI unicorn, Ola Krutrim; Ayushmaan Kapoor, cofounder of the AI-powered customer platform Xeno; and even veterans like Sajjan Jindal, CEO and MD of JSW Group, and Vinod Khosla of Sun Microsystems. Almost all of them justified the extended work hours, which far exceed the maximum eight to nine hours per day stipulated by the International Labour Organisation and the Indian Labour Code, as necessary for strengthening India’s economy. “We have to make India an economic superpower that we can all be proud of,” Jindal wrote on X. He cited Indian prime minister Narendra Modi, “who works 14-16 hours everyday,”as a model. In July this year, the Karnataka State IT/ITeS Employee Union said the state government had plans to increase working hours in the sector from the current maximum of 10 hours (including overtime) to a staggering 14 hours a day. As the union planned massive campaigns to oppose the move, the labor minister stated that the push for the proposal had come from the companies.

The airline companies think they have a solution to the fatigue crisis: technology. IndiGo, India’s largest airline, announced it would be an “early adopter” of a wrist-worn fatigue-monitoring device it was developing with French defense and aerospace company Thales Group. The device can provide “detailed insights into demographic data, including routes, pairings, crew profiles, and more, going beyond traditional scheduling-focused biomathematical models,” the airline stated in a press release in September. The airline, which operates 2,000 flights daily and employs over 5,000 pilots, said the device would be rolled out after a proof-of-concept trial. No date for the rollout was announced.

Wearable activity trackers are not new to the aviation industry. IndiGo’s device sounds similar to Actiwatch, a now-discontinued line of research-grade actigraphs from Philips, used to monitor sleep patterns, study circadian rhythms, and track physical activity as part of an airline’s fatigue risk-management system. But they partly rely on performance tests and subjective measures, such as self-reporting, which often results in being targeted by the airlines, says Captain C. S. Randhawa, president of the Federation of Indian Pilots. Safety management systems on the whole tend to be neglected by operators and are viewed as an additional expense, says Captain Amit Singh of the NGO Safety Matters Foundation.

In May 2023, Air India launched safety management software called Coruson, as well as BAM (Boeing Alertness Model), a fatigue-mitigation tool integrated into its rostering system, which is used by airlines to create and manage pilot schedules. Coruson, developed by cloud software company Ideagen, centralizes, analyzes, and reports on safety-related data—such as incidents, hazards, and risk assessments. BAM, developed jointly by Boeing and the software company Jeppesen, predicts and manages pilot fatigue by analyzing flight schedules and performance data. These tools were designed to prevent the creation of fatiguing rosters and pairings, Air India CEO Campbell Wilson noted in an internal message to employees. The carrier also introduced two new digital tools for its crew—the Pilot Sector Report app, to help pilots easily submit information on flight performance, incidents, and observations post-flight; and DocuNet, a digital management system that facilitates the storage, retrieval, and sharing of documents (such as flight manuals, training records, and compliance documents).

Despite these measures, the airline was fined by the DGCA in March this year for violating FDTL limits and fatigue management rules. This May, Air India Express cabin staff called in sick en masse to protest against “mismanagement.” This followed a similar protest from the crew, mostly pilots, at Vistara airlines. Both Air India and Vistara are now owned by one of India’s largest conglomerates, the Tata Group, which took over the former from the Indian government in January 2022.

Twenty-five of those who called in sick at Air India Express were terminated. Others were reportedly served an ultimatum. Those sacked were later reinstated by the airline following an intervention by the chief labour commissioner. Nearly a week before, the regional labor commissioner of Delhi had allegedly written to the Tata group chairman pointing to “blatant violations of labour laws” and insisting the legitimate concerns of the cabin crew be looked into. According to CNBC, Vistara employees said the agitation at their end had to do with recent salary updates, which fixed pilot pay at 40 flight hours—down from 70. Protesting first officers claimed that the new salary structure would result in an almost 57 percent pay cut. Under the new terms they would also have to fly up to 76 hours to earn what they were previously earning at 70 hours.

To placate the pilots and get them back to work, management had assured them that salaries for the “extra working hours” would be credited once Vistara was integrated with Air India. At the time, two Air India pilots unions had written to the chairman of the company, saying that such issues were not isolated but systemic. Burnout was the other related issue, with many pilots complaining of inadequate rest and being pushed to their limits.

Captain Singh, a former senior manager at AirAsia, tells WIRED that such effects significantly increase the risk of accidents, but also adversely affect pilot health in the long run. Tail swaps—rushing between different types of aircraft to take off immediately after disembarking from another—have become more prevalent under the 13-hour rules, and can further contribute to exhaustion, as do hasty acclimatization and, most significantly, landing three, four, or more flights consecutively, which Captain Randhawa described as a “severe energy management challenge.”

In the 2024 “Safety Culture Survey” conducted by Singh’s Safety Matters Foundation in July, 81 percent of 530 respondents, primarily medium- to short-haul pilots, stated that bufferless rosters contribute to their fatigue. As many as 84 percent indicated concerns with the speed and direction of shift rotation. “That’s the problem with the new rostering softwares the operators are introducing,” a pilot from a private airline, who requested anonymity, says. “They’re optimizers designed to make pilots work every second of their 13-hour schedule, leaving no breathing room.” The buffer-deficient timetables push pilots to their limits, so any additional pressure—like unpredictable weather—can easily overwhelm them.

Solving this issue with wrist-worn fatigue-measuring devices is contentious. But that isn’t the only problem. A year since they were hyped up, the buzz around fatigue-management tech has all but fizzled out. There have been no updates from IndiGo about the wrist device. Neither IndiGo nor the Thales Group responded to requests to comment.

[f1goat]

more than friends + lando norris x part two

In which your best friend wants to help you so you get more sexual experience, but he discovers quickly that he never wants to share you and your new sexual experience with others.

masterlist - playlist

warnings: smut with a plot or a plot with smut? :) minors dni! i never proofread so probably grammar or spelling errors

requested: yes, based on: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things (ofc pretending for it to bot mean anything), while he’s actually in love with her

part one

“Lan, can we keep this a secret?” 

Lando is driving the two of you to the restaurant where you’re meeting with Max. You feel a bit stressed, what if Lando already told Max what happened? Lando and Max Fertwell have been friends for ages, so it won’t surprise you if Max already knows. Lando gives you a quick look. He notices the stressful look on your face. In a try to relax you a bit he puts his hand on your thigh. 

“Of course babygirl,” Lando tells you, he gives a soft squeeze in your thigh. 

This form of contact isn’t new for you. Lando and you have always been a bit touchy, maybe a bit too much for friends even. But after this morning it feels different. Every simple touch he makes starts to remember you on the event from this morning. Everything remembers you about them and even more things turn you on right now. Fuck. 

The only thing you can smell is Lando his aftershave. It’s not a new fragrance, but now you know how it smells when he’s pressed against you… Are you ever going to manage to think straight today? Your thoughts are going everywhere except for the things that matter. 

Lando parks the car and waits for you to get out. Together you walk towards the lunch spot Max earlier chose. You try to stop thinking about everything that happened, but you can’t. Lando his body pressed up against yours, his mouth on yours and even his tongue into your mouth. How are you suppose to forget about these things? You can barely think about anything else.

“Are you okay baby?” Lando asks you. 

You don’t know what to answer. Are you okay? Is it okay to only think about your best friend in a sexual way? It’s probably not. 

“Yeah,” you eventually say to Lando. 

Lando puts his arm around your shoulder while walking next to you. “You look a bit flustered,” he tells you with a soft voice. You feel your cheeks heating up only more. “It’s kinda cute,” Lando adds. Your cheeks are burning now. 

Maybe it’s a good thing that you have reached the lunch restaurant, maybe it’s not. Max is already sending you weird looks. Maybe it’s because Lando his arm is still wrapped around you? Lando doesn’t even notice the weird looks from his friend. This will be a weird lunch. 

After ordering your lunch, you decide to get a bit of air and go to the toilet. You need to get your mind straight. You can’t even focus on what Max is saying because you’re only thinking about everything that happened between Lando and you. When you walk towards the toilets, Max is quick to start asking questions at Lando. 

“Did you finally tell her about your crush?” Max asks his friend.

Lando sends him a confused look, “No of course not.”

“Then why are you this touchy with Y/N?” Max asks confused, “and why is she looking at you all the time?”

“I don’t know,” Lando mutters, it takes a lot from him to keep this a secret from Max. 

“You did something stupid, didn’t you?” Max is quick to question his friend, “You look like you did something stupid.”

Lando sighs, “You might be right, but I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t tell me?” 

“No,” Lando replies, “I promised Y/N.”

The lunch stayed pretty awkward. Mainly because you couldn’t find your focus again. Whenever Max told you something, you were quick to drift of to thoughts about Lando. You’re glad that you’re sitting next to Lando in his car right now. Although, it makes it even harder to think straight. His hand has found it’s way back to your thigh. Lando is slowly drawing some circles on it while driving. 

“Anything else you want to do today?” Lando asks you.

“No not really,” you reply, “I could use some sleep after yesterday night.”

Lando softly whines. You show him a confused look. 

“I have a triple header starting in two days,” Lando tells you, “and I want to spend some time with you before that.”

You blush from his words. Of course you know about his triple header, but after everything that happened today you forgot about it for a bit. Sometimes you join Lando for his races, but this time you can’t just go away for three weeks. You still have to work. Although you’re already thinking about the possibilities, maybe you can work remote? Working from home isn’t new for you and working from the track isn’t either. But three weeks is a long time.

“What do you want to do?” You ask Lando back. 

“What about a movie night?” Lando asks you. 

“It’s still in the afternoon,” you reply with a soft laugh.

“Yeah first we need to shop!” Lando exclaims excited, “For the snacks of course.”

You nod to show Lando that you agree with his idea. He shows you another excited smile.

“And then you can do a small nap,” Lando continues, “We will order some take out and then we do our movie night.”

“That sounds great Lan,” you tell him happily, “certainly the napping part.”

Lando laughs and start to drive towards the closest grocery store.

+++

Lando his hands haven’t left your body since you started to watch the movie. You’re currently watching a horror movie, you don’t even know which one. When Lando picked out the movie you were thinking about something else. Once again. About Lando and his hands to be honest. You never realized how big his hands are. And now that you have felt them on your body, you can only think about how nicely they will feel around your more private parts. Fuck. 

“Fuck,” Lando mutters after a jump scare. You chuckle. Lando pulls you closer towards him. You’re currently leaning against him. Your head is placed on his chest. He is playing with your hair while focussing on the movie. You can’t focus on it, but that doesn’t surprise you.

Lando uses his other hand to draw figures onto your thigh. It’s making you lose your mind. 

“Aren’t you scared babygirl?” Lando asks you suddenly, “Normally you’re more scared then me.”

“Hm,” you let out a soft sound before really answering, “I’m a bit distracted,” you then confess. Lando looks away from the television screen to look at you. 

“Distracted?” He asks you. You simply nod. “By what?” Lando continues to ask. 

You feel a blush creeping up onto your cheeks. Now that you have said A, you need to tell Lando the B to. And maybe the rest of the alphabet. You let out a soft sigh.

“I uh, I can’t stop thinking about this morning,” you confess, “about what we did.”

Lando is quick to pause the movie. “Do you regret it?” He asks you.

“No!” You quickly exclaim. 

“But?” Lando asks further.

“I uh,” you ramble, “I’m turned on. Have been for the whole fucking day.”

Lando shows you a genuine smile when he hears your words. He moves his hand away from your thigh. You’re quick to let out a soft whimper. You instantly miss the feeling of his hand. Lando chuckles. 

“You’re turned on?” Lando asks you. He stares at you. You nod to answer his question. “Want me to do something about that?” Lando continues to ask. You nod again, more eagerly this time. “What did I tell you baby, I need words,” Lando states while looking at you. 

“I want you to do something about it,” you confess.

Lando is quick to react to your words. He pulls you on top of him. You let out a soft gasp from his sudden movements. Lando smiles at your reaction. His hands are quick to find the hem of your pants. You’re glad that you have changed into sweatpants when you got here. You like it even better that they’re from Lando. They fit you way too lose, which gives Lando the possibility to slide his hand under them easily.

You feel his hand palming your pubic mouth. Your string is still in the way.

Lando presses a soft kiss against your neck. You let out a soft moan. How can this feel so good already? Lando chuckles again. “You’re so responsive to me,” he tells you, “and I really like that.” He presses more kisses against your neck and shoulders. 

“Have anyone ever touched you here?” Lando asks you while drawing figures over your string. You’re quick to tell Lando that no one has ever touched you there. “Good,” he replies. It’s more a whisper then a well said word, but you heard it. His finger slides under your string. He caresses your labia. You let out another moan. 

“Do you want this?” Lando asks you again. “Yes,” you reply as fast as you can manage. 

Lando moves his fingers a bit. This time he’s properly touching your clit. Slowly he flicks his finger around it. The moan you let out this time is even harder. This is what you needed. You have touched yourself before - to be fair you have masturbated a lot, but that’s nothing in comparison with Lando his hands.

“Fuck,” you mutter when Lando flicks his finger around your clit again. 

Lando moves again. He slides his fingers through your slit. You feel one of his fingers slowly coming closer to your entrance. Without any patience you wait for him to continue and to press his finger into you. Lando doesn’t. He moves further away from doing what you want. You let out a soft whine.

“Patience babygirl,” he whispers into your ear before pressing a kiss against your cheek. You turn your head around a bit more so you can kiss Lando properly. Lando is quick to react to your sudden movements. He didn’t expect you to do this, but he’s really glad about it. He feels how you open your mouth a bit, he sucks softly onto your lower lip. It causes you to moan again. Lando can safely say that it’s becoming his new favorite sound. Your moans are angelic in his ears. He wants to pull out every moan of you that you own. He wants to be the one who hears you like this and he doesn’t want to share this sound with anyone else. Ever. 

It causes him to realize how stupid he is. His feelings will come in the way. But when you buck your hips so you can feel his hand better, he’s quick to forget about those thoughts. Problems for later he thinks before continuing to spend all his attention on you. 

Lando moves his hand towards your clit again. He draws figures on it. He quickly earns a new moan from you. He moves his other hand towards your breast. He slides underneath your sweater - or better said his sweater that you’ve stolen earlier. It surprises him to find out that you’re not wearing anything underneath it.

“Fuck babygirl,” he mutters. Then he softly grabs one of your breast. In the mean time he increases the speed on his movements on your clit. You feel your stomach tighten from his movements. 

“More Lan,” you whisper.

Lando reacts to your words. He increases his speed again and uses a bit more force on your breast. He starts to knead it. You reward him with a new moan. This time it’s louder. You start to feel a bit ashamed for the sounds that are coming out of you, but you can’t help it. Lando is making you feel all kind of things.

“You’re making the prettiest sounds,” Lando tells you softly. It’s almost as if he reads your mind. “All for me,” Lando adds even softer. 

You feel how you’re getting closer to your orgasm. Familiar waves of pleasure are already washing over you, but this time harder then ever before. It’s amazing how Lando makes you feel. 

“I’m close,” you tell Lando. You feel him moving his finger towards your entrance again. He touches you around it, but his finger is still not into you. Not like you want it right now. You buck your hips again, hoping Lando will get the hint. He does, but he doesn’t react to it at first. He waits for you to say something.

When it takes him too long, he decides to ask you. He needs to know for sure that this is what you want. “Want me inside?” Lando asks you with as less words as he can. He needs your answer quick. “Yes please,” you reply. 

Lando lets his finger enter you. Slowly he moves inside of you. He feels your walls tighten around his finger. He increases his pace a bit and starts to finger fuck you slowly. In and out. You’re quick to reward him with another moan. 

“Fuck Lan,” you moan, “I’m close.”

Lando doubts for a few seconds, but then he decides to add another finger inside of you. He moves slowly at first, but is quick to increase his pace. He feels how your walls are getting even tighter around his fingers. 

You feel the waves of pleasure getting closer and closer. Just when you want to tell Lando that you’re really coming now, you feel your orgasm hitting all over you. Instead of letting out words, you let out a hard moan. Lando feels your walls clenching around his fingers. Slowly he removes them when he notices that your orgasm is over. 

When you look at Lando and think about what to say, you notice what he’s doing. He’s puts his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. Fuck. 

“Next time I want to taste you,” Lando states after removing his fingers from his mouth. 

Fuck. You’re turned on all over again. What is this man doing to you?

“Are you staying over?” Lando asks you suddenly. You show him a small smile, “Of course Lan.” Lando pulls you into a hug, “Let’s get to bed then.”

“What about the movie?” You ask surprised.

“I’m in the mood to cuddle,” Lando states, “and that’s an important part of aftercare.”

“Aftercare?” You ask surprised.

“Yeah,” Lando says, “It’s the most important part. After you’ve done something sexual, you need to make sure you’re getting your rest and that you still feel good. Emotionally and physically.”

“How do you mean?” You ask further.

“It can be anything,” Lando answers, “I always like to hug after anything sexual, but not everyone is into that. Aftercare can be as simple as cleaning you after we have fucked but it can also be talking about what we did and what you thought about it.”

“Cuddles sounds nice,” you eventually say. 

Lando smiles and is quick to take you upstairs with him. He doesn’t tell you that there are a lot of guys who aren’t bothered with something like aftercare. The most guys only do aftercare after a girl told them about it and asked for it. With the one night stands he had over the years, he wasn’t one for aftercare. He didn’t even knew what it meant before having a girlfriend. 

Lando does know that you deserve every bit of it. He also knows that he wants you to feel good. And that he really likes to cuddle with you. 

So that’s exactly what he does that night. When the both of you are trying to sleep, he is still pressed up against your body. Making you the small spoon for tonight. It doesn’t even scare him anymore that he wants this every night. He checks if you’re already sleeping, it doesn’t seem like it. Before he can thinks about what he’s going to say, the words are already leaving his mouth.

“Join me for the triple header,” he states.

“I have work Lan,” you say tiredly.

“You can work from the hotels and the race tracks,” Lando replies quickly, “please join me.”

“I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow morning.”

Lando smiles in your neck. “You’re the best,” he tells you before pressing a soft kiss against your head. “The absolute best,” he adds so soft that you can’t hear it.

thanks everyone so much for all the likes, comments & reblogs!! there are so many!!!!!! <33 let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

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part three

[chaepink]

DAY 19: SUCH A TEASE | COCKWARMING

teasing kageyama is always fun, especially if it has something to do with him cockwarming you.

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ PAIRING ⸻ kageyama tobio x reader

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ WARNINGS ⸻ dom!gn!reader, dacryphilia, begging, cockwarming (character receiving), edging, riding, praise, pegging, strap can be read as a dick, reader can lift him up

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ WORDS ⸻ 1.8k words

KINKTOBER EVENT

You love teasing kageyama. Whether it's palming him under the table at a restaurant, making tears brim his eyes when you continue to overstimulate him, or being blunt with your words about how you want to just bend him over the nearest desk and fuck him till he can't think anymore. All three would result in kageyama flushing red and letting out a needy whine, stuttering out a quiet response.

And today is no different. With your focus solely on the work in front of you, you almost forget about him on your lap. That's until kageyama lets out a whimper, wrapping his arms around you tighter.

"Are you alright, kageyama?" He whines at you. Here he is, fully naked and on your lap with your strap stuffing him full. The tip is just barely touching his prostate and it brushes against it whenever he moves just a little, each time making him leak out pre cum from his hard red dick. It lays against your stomach and he tries his best not to move, wanting to be good for you. He's been cockwarming you for a while now and he's lost track of how many times you've edged him.

A mere hour or so earlier you were working on stuff you needed to finish until Kageyama kept begging you to pay attention to you. So a suggestion of him cockwarming you, some edging, and teasing now has you here. The tip of Kageyama's ears burns, not thinking it his neediness would result to this.

"ah! y-yeah i-im mmph! fine!" You let out a sigh before putting your pencil down and running your hand through his hair. You suddenly grab a fistful of it and pull it back, making kageyama let out a gasp as he throws his head back. Your other hand roams down his body to grip his thigh, giving it a squeeze.

In this new position, you're able to see kageyama much better. His face is flushed red and his eyes are hooded as he looks at you. You look at his dick and how pre cum continues to leak out of it like a broken faucet. The substance continues to drip down his dick and to the base. Ragged breaths escape him and your eyes trail down to where your strap disappears into his ass. The feeling of your eyes down there makes him subconsciously squeeze around your strap, making him let out a small moan. So needy.

"Really? It seems like you're falling apart on top of me already though from what I can tell." Kageyama lets out a cry when you grab his hips to slam him down on your strap, a squirt of his cum spurting out of his dick and staining your shirt. There's no warning for him as you continue your actions.

"s-shit o-oh my god! let me cum, please!" Kageyama lets out a sob when the strap hits the spot inside him that makes his toes curl and back arch back against the desk. When you keep going, kageyama begins to think that you're finally going to let him cum and pleas and begs flood out of his mouth. That's until you stop. He cries out before looking at you with tears brimming his eyes.

"Y-You're so mean, [name]! Stop t-teasing me!" He cries at you, trying to subtly grind against your strap as he paws at your chest. It's been the same thing over and over again. You pay attention to your work for a while before finally paying attention to him. But it doesn't last long cause all you do is edge him close to his orgasm, make him think each time would be the time that you finally let him cum, before stopping altogether and ruining his release. Then you go back to your work as if nothing happened.

You coo at him, cupping his cheek. You feel him lean into your touch with a pout on his lips. How cute.

"But you just make it so easy to be mean to you, baby. You let out those noises I love so much and you're just so pretty when you cry. I can't help teasing you." Kageyama shoves his head into the crook of your neck, hiding his red face. You hear him sniffle and he grips onto your shoulders for support.

"I-I keep getting so close! It h-hurts, [name]." You begin to mark his neck, leaving bite marks and hickeys here and there. Afterwards, you admire how the colors of the marks compliments his skin so prettily. While a part of you feels bad for edging him for a while now, another part wants him to beg for it more, to make him cry.

"Don't you want to be good, though? Wanna be a good boy for me, yeah?" He whines and nods hastily. Of course he does! "That's what I thought too. Good boys do what they're told don't they? So how about you let me do it again, hm? One more time, please?" Kageyama's breath hitches in his throat. You raise a eyebrow at his hesitation.

While he wants to be good for you, the pain in his dick and being denied release a couple times now is starting to get to him and he feels his mind getting foggy. Though of course, the right answer is always clear to him. He wants to be good for you.

He nods again but you tap his cheek, wanting a verbal answer from him. "Y-Yes." You smile at him. "Good boy. Tell me when you're close, alright?"

He shivers at the praise but you surprise him when you grab his dick and begin stroking it, the pace immediately quickening. He widens his eyes, the feeling of his orgasm and the need to release quickly coming back and overwhelming him. His noises fill the room and you almost feel bad for your neighbors who would surely hear him. Almost.

He shuts his eyes close and as his release quickly returns back, he's quick to tell you about it. Even though he knows it's going to happen, he still lets out a broken whine when you release your hand from his dick, ripping his orgasm away from him.

Tears are streaming down his face by now and you have to wipe them off his face. His eyelashes are clumped together and his eyes are glossy.

"You're doing so good for me, baby. That was the last one remember?"

He swallows and nods. You admire the way tears streak down his red face. Fuck, he looks so pretty like this.

"Bet you want to cum now right, doesn't it hurt?" Kageyama lets out a quiet 'yes', pouting at you.

"Go on then, put on a show and ride me." You don't have to tell him twice as his grip on you tightens. He puts his calves on the seat and sits up, slowly taking your strap out of him until it's merely a inch away from his hole. He bites his lip in anticipation and neediness. Seconds later he slams himself down on it, the strap entering him in one smooth movement. A scream leaves his mouth as it fills him up to the brim.

He begins bouncing on top of you so quickly that it's almost like he forgot how you two are only on a chair. Sure the environment may not be the best for him to ride you but the both of you barely cares. All you're focused on is him.

You watch as he quickly falls apart in front of you once again and becomes quickly overwhelmed at the pace and intensity he set for himself. But he doesn't choose to slow down, wanting to chase his high as fast as possible. His mouth is wide open and drool begins falling from the corner of it. He looks so fucked out that you can't help but wish to take a picture and savor it forever.

You notice the bulge on his stomach every time your strap enters him and you press down on the spot, grinning when Kageyama lets out a choked moan at the feeling.

"f-feels so good, [name]." There's a teasing grin on your face. "It feels so good as you ride me, doesn't it? I'm making you feel so good, right?" He nods dumbly even though he doesn't even process what you just said. All your words just go in one ear and out the other.

Incoherent words leave his mouth and you struggle to understand what he's saying. Though you don't really need to know how he feels from his words, the amount and volume of his noises tell you enough about how he's feeling.

"[name], please," he whines. He doesn't even know what he's begging for anymore. His hole sucks in your strap so greedily as if it wants more ever time it enters him.

He can barely think properly. All his thoughts are scrambled and instead are replaced by the feeling of your strap and how it's just hitting all the right spots in him. He feels so full and warm that he doesn't even release how he's about to cum.

The feeling of cumming hits his body suddenly and he lets out a wail at the intense feeling. After being edged so many times, it only makes it better when he finally gets to cum. Cum shoots out his dick and it makes a mess everywhere. It stains his chest and also your top but you don't care. Kageyama continues to ride your strap and you realize that it seems like he's not going to stop anything soon. You don't even have to overstimulate him, he's already doing it himself!

The sound of skin on skin is sinful as it floods your ears. It along with his noises are music to your ears and you swear you could hear them forever and would never get tired of it. Praises spill from your mouth and Kageyama whines at each one.

An idea hits you and you quickly push everything out of the way on your desk. Your hands reach for his waist and when you notice Kageyama slowing down, you lift him off you and push him against the desk. Before he could beg you to put the strap in again, you do it yourself and slam it back in him. The new angle makes his eyes roll back and let out a mewl. He chokes on his spit and all he can do is lay there all pretty for you as you fuck his brains out. After being edged so many times, the feeling of overstimulation is heaven for him.

It's going to be a long night and he knows that by the morning, he won't be able to walk properly. Well, it's not like he's complaining of course.

🏷️: @Vealize21 @fabitheraven @sourissue @jksstuffposts @gallantys @tired-of-life-86 @ineedsleeporilldie @aphoneixnamed-angel @flawlessvictorymentality @wowonamo @euphiroo @saintravey @tomiokx @archer-fb @d1gitalbathh @Lifesucksweswallow @rxflen @aspengagrimlin @ilovemenwhowhimperandbeg @lamees004 @22rhianna2006 @literary-latte @cl-0-vr @qweenjx @mysicklove @uniquebeautylove1 @someonepleasesedateme @arminsesposa

[forzaferraris]

PUPPY LOVE — po5

pairing: patricio o'ward x stella! reader summary: in which the dog got your attention first but the boy keeps you forever. warnings: tooth rotting fluff, sexual innuendos, inaccurate timeline of events, reader doesn't know much about indycar, arrow mclaren when i catch you arrow mclaren, pato and his fascination with calling reader hermosa, references to the art that is bax lurmans romeo + juliet film, love blooms in abu dhabi and blossoms further in miami. style: social media file faceclaim: isabllemathersx on instagram, however you can picture her as whoever you please authors note: trying a new formatting approach for fics with this one. this is fic number 2/3 of my 3 fanfic options i posted earlier. sorry if this is a little ooc for pato, i also original had thi based this instead of meeting at indycar but instead they meet at the 2023 abu dhabi grand prix instead ! add yourself to my taglist !

WELCOME TO YOU'VE GOT MAIL . . . find a match today !

would you like to send a message? YES / NO

you: what's your dogs name, right now >:( pato: his name is norbi why are you on a dating app? surely finding love isn't all that difficult for you? you: originally i did it to entertain my girls' group chat, but after every loser i've tried to meet "naturally" ultimately fumbling the bad so disrespectfully, why not take this dating app stuff a bit more seriously 🤷🏻‍♀️ pato: what are you even doing in abu dhabi anyway? you: how do you know im in abu dhabi? pato: this app is location-based, you wouldn't have been able to match with me if you weren't in the same location as me, plus you just confirmed it with that question. . . . seen 3 minutes ago

ynstella just posted to their story . . .

seen by racerbia, francisca.cgomes and 12,3009 others [ caption one: why did i say yes to coming to abu dhabi, shit is fucking hot ] [ caption two: abu dhabi gp, i'm here to make you my bitch ] [ caption three: your favourite duo back to cause trouble @/racerbia ] view more story replies . . . landonorris baby stella in the building ! ⤷ ynstella baby? lando norris i'm older than you ⤷ landonorris by like three whole months >:( ⤷ ynstella L + ratio + wrong + get a job + unfunny + you fell off + never liked you anyway + cope ⤷ ynstella im gonna curse the race, are we prepared for max verstappen 3x wdc ! ⤷ landonorris i'm literally going to to dob on you, you're being so mean rn >:( ⤷ ynstella you dirty little dibber dobber cindy !

alexandrasaintmleux prettiest girl <3 ⤷ ynstella says you i'm gonna smooch your face on that podium cmere mwah mwah mwah kissy kissy ⤷ alexandrasaintmleux stop got me blushing, charles it looking at me weird ⤷ ynstella he doesn't have to know baby girl x

francisca.cgomes you're so hot, if dating app hottie doesn't pull you i might ! ⤷ ynstella i'm blushing, flirting with the enemy, whatever will my dad think ⤷ francisca.cgomes babe it's a modern day romeo + juliet, but the baz lurhman edition. ⤷ ynstella who is who in this situation? oscarpiastri lando said stop being mean to him on social media ⤷ ynstella lando give oscar his phone back

racerbia we r so cute, i luv us !

pooknation groupchat . . .

instagram dms between ynstella and patriciooward . . .

ynstella has posted . . .

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri, francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux and 88,340 others ynstella abu dhabi, i came i saw and max verstappen concurred !

view more . . mclaren our own resident mclaren girl will always post about redbull and not mclaren ⤷ ynstella i'd post oscar but lando is somehow always in the background of the pictures i take, i'm not having lando on my account 🙅🏻‍♀️ ⤷ landonorris can i go one day without you publicly hating me ⤷ ynstella when you get a race win next season pooh bear x username pooh bear? is lando the man she's trying to soft launch? not actually enemies but enemies to lovers?? ⤷ ynstella good lord no. lando norris wishes he could have a chance with me ⤷ landonorris disgusting don't put words in my mouth. you wish you're the one wishing you could have a chance with me ⤷ oscarpiastri nurse, they're back at it again francisca.cgomes i need more of this soft launch shit. it's like a drug to me post more. im foaming at the mouth. ⤷ ynstella can i hard launch our relationship instead ⤷ pierregasly nah bc i am literally right here man ⤷ ynstella get out of my comments with my gf pear

username are we ignoring that y/n is soft launching a man, rue, when was this? ⤷ username recently it seems ⤷ username shocked. i wonder what her dad thinks ?? ⤷ ynstella not that its any of your business, but my dad's actually quite charmed with him x

patriciooward has posted . . . 📍 abu dhabi , united arab emirates

liked by arrowmclaren, elbaoward, racerbia and 63,001 others patriciooward what a weekend, cya next year !

view more. . .

username there's one too many soft launch pictures in this race weekend dump ⤷ username ladies we've lost another one ⤷ username all men are the same. breaking my heart elbaoward since when did "have a good time in abu dhabi" mean somehow get someone to soft launch? ⤷ patriciooward the just a silly lil guy rizz worked unfortunately ⤷ elbaoward i doubt that, so much.

ynstella just posted to their story . . .

seen by alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris, charles_leclerc and 10,817 others

[ caption one: where to next 🛫 ] [ caption two: mother hood looks good on me ] [ caption three: boyfriend reveal ]

francisca.cgomes i can't believe i'm in love with a MILF ! ⤷ ynstella i want you so bad 😩 ⤷ francisca.cgomes lets kiss rn before our boyfriends see

alexandrasaintmleux i think norbi is cute enough to convince charles that we need to get a dog ⤷ ynstella ugh i hate when you mention that man >:( how come WE can't get a dog together ⤷ alexandrasaintmleux my love because you are a capulet and i am a montague </3 ⤷ ynstella as long as lando is the character that dies first i'd happily performe shakespeare with y'all

landonorris this is insane, my brain can't keep up with the events that are unfolding right in front of me ⤷ ynstella pook i think that's both a you issue and a skill issue, double homicide. ⤷ landonorris oh so you hate me again ⤷ ynstella i never stopped, if you have 0 haters i've died <3

patriciooward te mo hermosa ⤷ ynstella shut up, don't tell me you love me over text, that's so foul ⤷ patriciooward i've been telling you i love you for two months now </3 ⤷ ynstella oh shit, i forgot to buy you an anniversary gift </3 ⤷ patriciooward oh hermosa, what am i going to do with you ⤷ ynstella well when you word it like that . . . i could think of a few things

patriciooward and ynstella just posted to their stories . . .

seen by arrowmclaren, racerbia, francisca.cgomes and 22,010 others [ caption one: feliz aniversario (happy anniversary) ] [ caption two: happy 2 months ! feliz aniversario ] [ caption three: came for the dog. stayed for the owner <3 ]

mclaren happy anniversary ! ⤷ ynstella thanks admin, love u so big x

ynstella i adore you, ⤷ patriciooward te adoro mas, hermosa ⤷ ynstella happiest with you in my life i fear ⤷ patriciooward good, i don't plan on going anywhere

authors note: abu dhabi 2023, you are so special to me <3 please enjoy this little pato o'ward fanfic. praying, manifesting the tags let me post this and doesn't shadowban me sobbing crying throwing up

[jilixthinker]

hii 👋🏻 i don't know if this has been written before but i saw it in a comment and wanted to read it for skz.... 👀

🎀you are asking to put a ribbon on his d🎀 aaaand the reactions and maybe the events that follow 🤭🤭

it could be changbin or 3racha or skz all separately, whatever you want 🩷

candy boy

=͟͟͞♡ changbin × fem!reader

=͟͟͞♡ ribbon challenge

word count: 1.2K

content warning: explicit sexual content, established relationship, sub!changbin, oral sex (m receiving)

a/c: this took forever and i am very sorry! but Binnie was so perfect for this and I just needed to give it a go. hope you’ll forgive me hun ❤️‍🩹

=͟͟͞♡ please consider reblogging if you like my works!

Changbin eyes are pleading, lashes long and pretty against his full cheeks and a tiny tear nestled on the corner of his eyes. He’s been watching you for several minutes now, as you diligently apply some makeup on his face. The blush you did choose for highlighting his features is of a pretty cool shade of pink, and it matches the lipstick that you carefully selected between the ones he picked earlier. It’s a little bit sticky on his lips, and it shines as if it was a layer of caramelized sugar. It surely gonna taste sweet.

“Baby…” he whispers, a small whine escaping from his parted mouth, “how long is it going to take?”

You finish brushing the blush on his cheekbones and pout at him. “Binnie, you promised that you were going to stay still.”

Changbin shifts from his position. He is sitting on a chair, in front of the wall mirror of your bathroom, and he is wearing nothing but a big fluffy sweater. Pink, of course. His plush thighs are parted and the shiny head of his small cock is peaking out from the soft bush of jet black hair just at the end of his happy trail. That is soft as well, you know that. He always use shampoo and conditioner on that as well, and you always spend an insane amount of time caressing and twirling your fingers around his curls. But not today. Today he has to wait.

“Yes, I know – but…” he continues, puffing some air out. The fabric of the sweater accentuates the softness of his chest, and you softly let your hand fall in between his clothed pecs, “it kinda hurts now.”

Your gaze ends up on the soft pudge of his tummy, barely covered by the only piece of clothing he is wearing and you pinch it between your thumb and index, making him shiver. “Does it?” you ask, fake sweetness on your tone. “That’s because you got all hard while I was making you pretty, baby. If it would have stayed soft, it wouldn’t hurt for sure”.

Changbin sighs and his cock twitches in between his legs. “I tried,” he insists, “but you keep touching me, it’s not my fault.”

That’s not completely untrue. You have been teasing him for the last 30 minutes. Your thighs purposely brushing against his bare skin and hands wandering on his chest and shoulders, lightly grazing at his nipples from above the fabric. He’s been waiting for you to finish his makeup, as you asked, but he got hard, that was almost inevitable.

But he was the one asking for this in the first place. You were peacefully testing some new products that you’ve been wanting to try for a long time, and he interrupted you by showing you a tiktok video of some guy doing something called “ribbon challenge”, demanding your attention and pleading you until you finally gave up.

And now there he is, flushed and aroused, pretty makeup applied on his round and soft face, and a small tight ribbon tied at the base of his chubby tiny cock.

The ribbon is pink – as his sweater and as his face – and the tie is constricting his length at the limits of decency. If he just had stayed soft, it wouldn’t hurt. But you did nothing to make him stay soft.

“And what do I have to do about it?” you ask. Your lips find their way to the soft spot behind his ear and you place a humid kiss there.

Changbin hiccups and a pleading whine leaves his lips once again. His cock is bobbed against the fat of his inner thigh and the curls above it curls are glistening with a few drops of white precum. The ribbon stands cutely just an inch below that, the pink color in contrast with the redness of his length. The tip leaks just a pearl of dense liquid from the slit and Changbin eyes run to yours.

“I’ve been good. Please. Please, I’ve been good. Am I not pretty?” he asks as his cock tries to gain some friction by closing his legs a little. Your own knee quickly stops the movement, slotting in between his sturdy thighs.

“You are so pretty, Binnie. The prettiest,” you concede, pressing another languid kiss on the corner of his sticky lips. “I was just teasing you. What do you want, baby? You want my lips?”

Changbin almost mewls at your question and he nods furiously, making you chuckle. “Yes, please. Please, your mouth. Need s’ much, Binnie needs it.”

His cockhead bumps again his belly as you shift from your position to kneel down on the floor. The slap on the skin is lewd and wet, and it draws a thin stripe of precum on his bellybutton. Changbin soft grunts are delicious and you always try to elongate this moment more than you can just to feel him becoming restless under your touch. But today you played with him enough, and you decide to give him what he’s asking for as you lower you face, filling your lungs with his strawberry scent and finally mouthing at his shaft before grabbing the base of his cock with two of your fingers.

Changbin hisses what sounds like a curse, and you cup his balls with your other hand, suckling just at the gummy tip and swirling your tongue around it. “Like this, baby? My sweet candy boy wants me to eat him up like this?” you breathe, giving another kitten lick on the underside of the puffy head.

Changbin gulps again. “Yes. Oh god, please, yes. Thank you, thank you.” he pants out, teeth biting the fat of his bottom lip.

You smile mischievously as you grip his length, slapping his cockhead against your tongue. You do it a few times until Changbin is a shivering mess above you, and a spurt of white liquid shoots out of him. You use your thumb to spread it on your lips, mimicking the way you applied the clear lipstick on him.

“Baby, ah– please,” he keens as you slap his cock on your wet muscle a few more times before his hips buck forward and you curl your fingers around the base of his length once again. He lets out a shuddering breath, and with a quick movement you sink your head down to engulf the entirety of him.

When you feel him twitching against the roof of your mouth, you detach from his cock with a pop, hand lazily cupping one of his balls and rolling it on your palm. “Binnie, baby,” you coo, “I want to have fun too.”

Changbin pants heavily and hisses a painful whine at the loss of your heath. His cute face is flushed with a thin layer of sweat and the lipgloss is imperceptibly smudged on the corner of his lips. “W-what do you mean?”

You smile, and you nose at his tummy, biting it softly. “I mean…” you puff as you start a slow rhythm of stroking his aching girth, “that it would be so nice if you could pop that little ribbon with this cute little cock of yours. What do you think about that, baby? Can you get hard enough?”

Changbin eyes are glassy and teary, but he nods nonetheless. “I can. Binnie can.” he mutters in between his teeth, cock already engorged and impossibly red under your lustful gaze. “Binnie can make it,” he assures you with devotion. “Can make it pop.”

©️ jilixthinker, 2024. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

[hueseok]

( 01. ) EASY MONEY, EASY LOVE.

you and namjoon have been married for five years.

despite being strangers who solely exchanged wedding vows to trick his filthy rich family into giving him his inheritance, being part of this scheme is surprisingly easy. he’s out of the country most of the time, you’re being compensated for being a model wife, and there are only a few things you two have to to do in order to keep up with the whole guise of being a happy married couple.

with less than three months to go until you get divorced, namjoon comes back from a business trip and stays with you at your shared house, waiting until d-day with the aim of sending off your odd friendship with a proper farewell. but it’s weird, because just when things are supposed to be easiest—that’s when everything is suddenly becoming complicated, and the two of you realized once again that there really is no such thing as easy money (or easy love).

pairing: namjoon x reader

word count: 3.3k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, angst, marriage of convenience au, strangers to friends to lovers au, dash of fake dating au, and they were housemates au???? | ft. chaebol!namjoon + travel photographer!namjoon; office worker!reader

warning/s: swearing, mentions of a sickness, mommy issues, unsupportive family, depictions of loneliness / sadness, character death (no major characters though!), mentions of falling of a cliff bc of clumsiness lmao (nobody dies dw)

[ chaptex index. ]

EPISODE 01. the one with the emergency !

you shouldn’t have been too confident. if only you’ve been more humble and less greedy during your hike earlier with your workmates for the bi-annual team building event, you wouldn’t have literally fallen off the side of the cliff and ended up spraining your ankle pretty bad.

what were you thinking, honestly? you’ve never been an active person ever in your life. you hated cardio, you hated sweating, you hated waking up early in the morning to do exercise—yet for some reason, you were pumped for the activity that was scheduled for today. it’s the reason why as you were trudging along the trail with your co-workers, yapping and laughing loudly with a close colleague, you didn’t notice that a particularly huge rock on your way set you off balance and caused you to sway to your right, plummeting over the ridge with a loud yelp.

it’s a good thing that there were paramedics stationed at the base of the mountain where all of you were trekking on, perhaps anticipating for an incident like yours to come along that’ll have them doing their duty. as soon as your team leader used the walkie-talkie given to your group to call them for their help, there were four people with bright orange uniforms aiding you, checking your condition and placing you on a stretcher before carrying you to the monorail where you’ll be transported back down.

haein, your said close colleague, accompanied you as they brought you to the infirmary.

“were you possessed by an athletic ghost?” she asks once the doctor finished treating your sprained ankle, now advising you to get a bit of rest. “what made you think it was smart to walk too fast? you must have been crazy.”

“i must have,” you say, laughing because you rather laugh than complain about the pain that you’re feeling. it’s subsiding at the moment, thankfully, but you can only imagine what the next few days are going to be for you due to the injury. “god, i’m happy though that i didn’t get to roll all the way. if that happened, i would have suffered a greater fall and then i’d be on the news.”

“yeah. you’d be a legend to the company too. we’d make an altar in your cubicle for a good few months.”

“i’d be the story that hiking guides would share to the hikers to scare them into being careful.”

“we’d pay tribute to you at every christmas party. we’d make a slideshow and present that during the whole event.”

“really?”

“of course. i’d be in charge of making the powerpoint even.”

you stare at her, haein staring back, and then the both of you burst out laughing. you’re grateful that she volunteered to be with you when the paramedics declared that they needed to bring you down—although in the back of your head, you do think she’s just being a good friend as an excuse to not walk her way back to the ground with the rest later on after they reach the top and enjoy the magnificent view.

“by the way,” she takes a seat on the chair beside the bed you’re situated in, “someone named kim namjoon is going to pick you up and drive you home.”

the second his name tumbles out of her lips, you’re snapping your head towards her, shocked. “what?”

“when you passed out a bit after the fall, i got your phone and did the thing to make it call your emergency contact. he’s the one who answered.”

“namjoon answered?”

“yup.”

“but i… i don’t remember making him my emergency contact.”

“well, like i said, he’s the one who answered.” she shrugs. “why? is he an ex or something?”

you press your lips together, suddenly panicking at the thought of namjoon arriving here.

there’s nothing wrong with namjoon, really. he’s a pleasing person to have around: genuine, kind, and full of profound thoughts that you can’t help but hang onto every word he says. however, as haein made evident, no one knows about your relationship with him and true nature of it—and you’ve done everything you can in the past year and a half since joining the company to keep it that way, deeming it unnecessary to disclose the fact that kim namjoon is your husband when the both of you aren’t bound to stay married forever.

to you, he’s just a ridiculously rich man who needed to get married for at least five years in order to get the full amount of his inheritance from his grandmother.

to him, you’re just a middle class woman who needed money to pay for her sister’s leukemia treatments, introduced together by a mutual friend who knew that both of you can benefit from each other’s situations.

in other words, your marriage with him isn’t technically real. and it’s why you rather not let anyone in your workplace know that he’s your husband, especially since you’ve managed to keep a low profile about it all these months. you don’t want to give your officemates a reason to gossip about you in the present time or when you divorce namjoon—the latter frankly scheduled to happen in less than three months from now.

****

namjoon arrives an hour later.

you take notice of him immediately while haein’s babbling about the book she recently read, recognizing him as the tall man who enters the small clinic, going to the desk to talk to the staff waiting there. you watch as the latter points to where your bed is, namjoon promptly turning to your direction, your gazes meeting before his eyes focus on your sprained ankle, expression contorting in a mix of confusion and disappointment.

beside you, haein taps your arm, noticing namjoon’s arrival as well. “is that…?”

you swallow hard. “yeah, that’s him.”

“holy shit. he’s hot.”

“don’t—” you grit your teeth. “don’t say that. it’s weird.”

“why? i have eyes—i’m just saying what i see.”

“yeah, but—”

“are you weirded out because he’s a relative? like your brother?” haein cuts you. “wait, you mentioned before that you have a sibling. is that him?”

“he’s not a sibling.”

“then who—”

namjoon stops on the foot of your bed, causing haein to shut up now that he’s within earshot. he’s still staring at your ankle, like it inflated to twice its original size, and you actually don’t know what to say. although you’ve developed a close friendship over the years of this sham marriage, you always seem to restart whenever he returns from a business trip of his—and it’s only been a couple of days since his return to south korea, having just come back from spain for his latest project.

it’s worth mentioning too that you feel strange having an audience like haein around that renders you clueless on how to act.

he lets out a slow whistle, crossing his arms. “and you say i’m clumsy.”

you huff out a chuckle, namjoon grinning that releases the charm of his dimples.

“uh, i’m haein,” your friend stands up from her seat and extends a hand out, obviously enthralled by how handsome he is. “i’m the one who called you using ___’s phone. namjoon, isn’t it?”

namjoon shakes her hand. “oh, yes. it’s nice to meet you.”

“wow. you have a very tight grip.”

“haein,” you scold, slapping her wrist that causes their handshake to cease. if it isn’t apparent enough, haein doesn’t have a filter nor cares enough to stop saying the first thing that comes to her mind. “stop being weird.”

she turns to you. “i’m not being weird. i’m complimenting him.”

“how is commenting how tight his grip is a compliment?” you demand.

“it’s a compliment because i’m making it clear that i find him strong,” she explains, focusing on namjoon again. “sorry. do you feel offended by what i said?”

he appears amused. “not really.”

“see?” haein tells you.

you’re about to quip back a reply when she beats you to it.

“anyways,” she says and namjoon stifles a laugh, “if you don’t mind me asking, how are you and ____ related?”

at the question, you send him a signal with your eyes, asking him not to tell the truth, regardless if that’s wrong of you to do so. one of the things you had to keep in mind upon agreeing with this arrangement is that neither of you should ever deny the marriage whatsoever, a precautionary measure because you two were that paranoid that the news might reach namjoon’s parents.

from the looks of it, despite namjoon understanding where you’re getting at as you give him the most bizarre expressions, he does the opposite (perhaps mainly due to what was explained above), resulting into you hanging your head low, waiting how haein will react at the revelation that will be served on her plate.

“i’m her husband actually,” namjoon says casually. 

haein cackles out loud. “husband?” she repeats. “that’s really funny—you’re a funny guy. but seriously, how do you two know each other?”

he raises an eyebrow. “i’m not joking.”

“sure you are, but this girl right here isn’t married.” she does a show of holding you in an affectionate headlock. “she doesn’t even have a boyfriend.”

“did she tell you that?” he’s teasing, glancing at you for some sort of confirmation.

haein averts her attention to you. 

you look at them, switching from namjoon to haein to namjoon and back to haein. 

“i mean…you never asked, and i never said i was single,” you tell haein, shrugging and acting as nonchalant as ever.

it’s half the truth, ‘cause as far as you’re concerned, you’ve been diligent in always wearing your wedding and engagement ring. you even make it a point not to appear interested in any offers of blind dates or group dates to ever imply that you’re single as well.

she gawks at you, like she’s waiting for you to take back what you said. “are you being for real right now?”

“i am.”

“if this is some elaborate prank—”

“it’s not a prank,” you say. 

there’s silence, and then she practically screams.

“YOU’RE MARRIED?” haein bellows, attracting everybody’s attention inside the infirmary. “we’ve known each other for more than a year and only now do i discover that you’re married?”

before she can berate you and force you to tell her your entire relationship history, namjoon’s asking for your bag and helping you sit up, aiming to lead you to the car waiting outside. haein almost stops him, declaring with conviction that she literally can’t wait until the next office day to get the full scoop, but he kindly reiterates what the ER doctor he spoke with earlier said, insisting that he ought to bring you home as soon as possible so you can get the rest that you need after over exerting your body for today’s hike.

“everything. you need to tell me everything on monday,” she says when namjoon goes out for a minute to deliver your bag first to the vehicle. she’s giddy and jumpy and very hyper about what you can guess is because of her latest discovery. “also, i’m sorry about calling your husband hot earlier. i wouldn’t have done so if i knew.”

you grin, appreciating the fact that she felt the need to apologize for that. “it’s no biggie. you didn’t know.”

“yeah, which you really should apologize about.”

“i’m sorry.” your grin only stretches wider. “i’ll buy you a matcha latte on monday to make up for it.”

her face lights up.

you share your farewells as namjoon returns, namjoon saying goodbye to haein too. she leaves first, remembering that she needs to inform the rest of your co-workers that you’re fine and headed home, and once you and your husband are alone, he takes a good look at you again.

“should i carry you?” he asks.

you blink at him. he may be reliable, but he is also extremely clumsy. “you’re not asking the right questions, joon.”

“wow. you can really be cruel sometimes, you know?” he laughs. “then should i get a wheelchair?”

“no wheelchair please. i think i can walk to the car just fine.” you begin standing up.

“you sure?” he doesn’t even let you answer that, his hand just naturally goes to support your elbow. “you might fall.”

you pause, calculating how many steps it’s going to take until you reach your destination. you’re fine, really; your good foot is perfectly walkable and you’re convinced it can take the burden of not having its pair in ample condition. however, you might need to hold onto namjoon for you not to fall halfway like he already stated, and you’re not really keen on being that close to him no matter how amazing his cologne smells even a few inches away.

“a wheelchair would be ideal,” you say.

namjoon chuckles, nodding and getting it with the assistance of a staff member. 

in minutes, you’re on the passenger seat and he’s climbing on the other side. you don’t expect it but you’re relieved at the thought of coming home earlier than planned. though you’ve conditioned yourself to enjoy this team building and take this time to get into camping, you were horrified when you learned that there wouldn’t be any shower rooms or portable toilets at least at the area that you’re heading at after the hike, this retreat meant to give each one of you the raw camping experience.

come to think of it, perhaps it was your subconscious that prompted you to inflict this accident on yourself in order to avoid shitting on the ground in case your stomach hurts.

“comfortable?” namjoon glances at you. “you can recline the chair if you want to sleep.”

“oh, okay. thanks.” you smile. 

he smiles back, starting the engine. you subtly watch him while he does that, admiring how he seems so adept in driving now compared to when you first met him. you remember his reluctance in the past to drive due to his fear of messing up, yet he managed to drive for approximately two hours in most likely gravelly roads to get where you are.

“thanks too for coming here, joon. i hope i didn’t bother you. honestly, i don’t even remember putting you as my emergency contact,” you sheepishly add.

“no problem, and i think hoseok did,” he says. “i remember him mentioning that i should put you as mine before.”

hoseok is the mutual friend that introduced you both together when namjoon was still trying to find a fake wife to obtain the full amount of his inheritance in five years time. he was aware of namjoon’s ploy and knew that you were in need of money during that year as well—and so putting two and two together, he set up a ‘date slash chemistry test’ between you and namjoon and reckoned that you could be great help to one another regarding your respective needs.

“that makes sense. i just don’t know how he did that without my knowledge.”

“well, nothing’s been impossible for hobi, so…”

you agree with a snort.

“by the way, i should mention this before you doze off,” he abruptly halts as he’s beginning to drive off, “mom’s inviting us to dinner this weekend. she heard that i was back in the country and wanted to see how i am.”

you gradually digest that information. “okay. is everyone going to be there?”

“yes, based on our last conversation.”

“should i be prepared for anything at all?”

he seems to find the inquiry funny. “no. just the usual.”

“meaning i should block off every passive aggressive comment your mom makes about either my choice of clothes and social status, right?”

“pretty much, yeah.”

you let out a groan.

“i’m sorry. i would have declined her request but she wouldn’t stop pestering me about it.”

“god, i just really don’t like your mom, joon.” you say. “or your dad. or your older brother. i don’t like everyone, basically—except your pet dog, hiro. no offense.”

“that’s fine. i don’t like them either.” he shrugs, carrying on driving. “plus, you know i’m on your team. i’d defend your honor to death.”

“of course. it’s what makes attending these things tolerable.”

“well, if it makes you feel better, this might be the last family function you’d have to attend.”

you raise your eyebrows, recalling the reason why. “woah, shit, you’re right.”

in less than three months, you’re getting divorced and namjoon’s getting even more money than he already has.

in less than three months, he’s going to share some of the portion of what’s left of his inheritance and it’ll be the last time you’ll receive financial help from him.

it also might be the last time you’ll be with him in general, and though there’s a side of you that’s glad not to be tied down anymore, you can’t say that you’re glad of possibly losing contact with namjoon, having grown fond of his presence in a way.

facing him, you blurt out the first thing that occurs in your mind. “when we get divorced, can i keep my engagement ring?”

namjoon chuckles. “that’s up to you. there’s no reason for me to take it back.”

“but what if you fall in love with a woman someday and think about proposing to her?”

“then i’d buy a new ring.”

“but wouldn’t that be impractical? given that you already have an engagement ring? i mean, this costs so much i could probably buy a lot and a house with it.”

“yeah, but that’s yours. it’d be horrible of me to give her a ring already worn by my first wife.”

“first wife,” you repeat with a dramatic scoff, lips curving upwards regardless. it’s cheesy and tickles your insides. “that trip to spain changed you, joon. you’ve been too flirty since you returned.”

that coaxes out a full laugh from him. “my apologies. it’s a habit at this point.”

“what is?”

“pertaining to you as my wife.” he shrugs. “isn’t it the same for you?”

“pertaining to you as my wife?” you joke.

the dimples make a reappearance. “you know what i mean.”

you think about it. had it been the same for you? there’s not a lot of occasions wherein you have to call namjoon as your husband. your dad isn’t present in your life, your relationship isn’t good with your mother to constantly chat with her, and as for your little sister who was the root cause of why you got married to namjoon…

well, she’s in a better place right now. far better than this crazy and scary world you’re living in.

“i guess,” you say, but your tone isn’t convincing.

“hm, it does seem that way according to what just happened with haein.”

you wince. “sorry about that.”

“don’t be, i understand. i’ve been gone most of the time since you got hired in your new company—and we are separating in a few weeks.”

“time flies really fast, doesn’t it?”

“yep. we used to think that it’ll take forever before the five years are up.”

“true. we kept on suggesting a backup plan if ever we fight and get sick of each other.”

“yet here we are, still happily married.”

“ugh, there you are again!” you accuse and he laughs out loud once more. “are you enjoying cringing me to death?”

namjoon doesn’t answer, a big grin plastered on his face as he continues laughing, groaning eventually when you start slapping his arm because of how it’s obvious that he truly is enjoying this.

“____,” he complains, laughing still, “stop, i’m driving!”

you follow as he says. “you’re the worst.”

“i forgot how easy you are to tease.”

“shut up.”

he snickers, doing a zipping motion against his mouth.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[ryescapades]

❝ [ expert third-wheeler ] ╰┈➤ of the same thread (kaiju no. 8)

— ii. apparently intruding on your dates with hoshina is one of your brother's favorite past times.

genre/warning: narumi gen x lil sis!reader, bf!hoshina soshiro, fluff a/n: wet and soggy stray sewer cat narumi up for adoption (affectionate) mini series masterlist

the first time it happened, you didn't think much of it.

it wasn't often that you and your boyfriend get to spend some time together with how tachikawa and the ariake maritime base being a good two hours away, more or less.

the only time that's possible is whenever hoshina is tasked to visit the first division due to the recent events involving the anti-no.9 conference and the making of his numbers weapon suit.

you're beyond grateful, really. even just the lingering eye contacts during formal meetings are enough to satisfy your soshiro-deprived self for some time, at least. take all you can get, you'd compromised with yourself. you couldn't be too picky in this line of work, after all.

hence, every time you were given the chance to finally sit down and properly have some quality time with hoshina, you'd planned on milking every loving second of it. in the world where only the two of you exist, you feel like nothing bad could ever happen.

"have you always had fangs, or have i just not been paying attention? wait, who am i kidding? my attention is too valuable to be paid on you, fox eyes."

okay, maybe you spoke too soon.

"didn't think we'd be having a third party today. and here i thought i agreed to a lunch date, not a family bonding time." hoshina hummed, shrugging off the earlier comment about him. swallowing a bite of rice, you let ouf a huff. "it is a date. that was just my inner demon talking."

irritated at the lack of attention, narumi clicked his tongue. "hey, stop being childish! i'm literally sitting right here!" he chided, snapping his chopsticks towards your boyfriend as you deadpanned at your brother. "speak for yourself. and you're not even supposed to be here, gen. did you run away from vice-captain hasegawa again?" you shot back, grabbing the game console your brother had brought along and smacking him with it, which earned you a pained yelp.

"ya know this can be considered as a breach of privacy, no? although this is a temporary space, you're here in my office without my permission, captain narumi." hoshina chuckled, leaning back against his seat behind the desk.

your brother snickered on the chair he had pulled up beside yours in front of the said desk. "exactly what you said, buddy. i'm a captain, so i can do whatever i want in a subordinate's office."

technically that's power abuse, you thought as you quietly eat your lunch, deciding to let the two men verbally argue back and forth about whatever it was they found unpleasing about the other.

oh well. surely this was a one time thing, right? your brother couldn't— shouldn't be bothered to disturb you and your boyfriend every single time... right?

∘₊✧─────────────��₊∘

or so you thought.

the second time it happened was when you were on one of your most romantic nights ever; you were stargazing with your beloved soshiro. and in the night sky they were shining so bright, as if whatever deities above had painted them so vividly upon the most perfect of black canvases.

at that time you genuinely believed nothing could ever interfere with how the night was turning out.

if only you didn't agree to accompany your brother on one of his many game nights. though it might've been partially your fault that you didn't specify which night he could pick. and unfortunately for you, date night seemed to be the perfect choice for gen.

you clicked your tongue in annoyance when your phone dinged for the nth time. "don't ya want to check that?" soshiro laughed, clearly amused at how distraught you looked.

you shook your head, taking out the device before putting it on dnd. "it's just gen. he wants me to play games with him," you grunted. "right now?" your boyfriend asked, which you nodded at. he contemplated for a moment, before turning to you with a feline grin. "say you're comin' over,"

you almost choke on your saliva. "what?" you squeaked. soshiro stated the same thing, causing your eyebrows to raise even higher. "are you sure? we're on a date, soshiro. which we rarely get to do these days," you remarked.

the man sitting beside you hummed, the slants of his eyes giving him the ever so crafty image. "technically, it can still be one if i'm there too," he stated, smirking.

and that was how you found yourself in gen's room, watching your brother and boyfriend go at it on the former's bs5 as they sat on the laid out futon while you made yourself comfortable at gen's work chair, the sound of a two-player fighting game filling the room.

"dammit, dammit! yeah, take that, bowl-cut bastard! wait, shit— NOOO!!" the big red KO appeared on gen's side of the screen, causing you to sigh almost pitifully.

"wanna go again? i can try goin' easy on ya this time," soshiro quipped, making the man in question grit his teeth. "okay, why did i agree to this again?! why did you bring him here, kid?!" gen snapped his head towards you, pointing an accusing finger at your direction.

you threw him an innocent smile. "you asked for a game buddy, right? i just gave you one on a silver platter, nii-chan. i'm considering this as compensation for crashing my date with soshiro by the way," you drawled, lazily spinning around in the chair. at that point, you'd have been convinced that you grew up with a grumpy cat as a brother with how ferally ruffled he looked.

gen blanched in disgust, "eugh, hate it when you say his name in front of my face. you owe me a new figurine for this," he muttered. "you're a sore loser, aint'cha, captain?" your boyfriend piped in, not bothering to hide how entertained he was from this whole situation. gen sent him a death glare before he angrily plopped his ass back down, picking up the controller that he had hurled away during his outburst.

"alright, you're on, fox eyes!" he sneered before the two of them start another game, leaving you to once again enjoy the spectacle that was narumi gen losing rounds upon rounds of video games to soshiro (he did win some but you just couldn't ignore the significant difference between his victory and defeat scores).

guess a crashed date wasn't such a bad thing sometimes...

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[sasheemo]

When we collide

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

Fic masterlist

Chapter Warnings: depiction of violence (face slapping), animal injury (broken limb)

Word Count: 2.1k

The village of Salem has always felt too small for you. It's not a matter of size though. The daughters of witches are always watched, scrutinized by eyes that assume they know who you’ll become based solely on whose blood runs through your veins.

Your mother is relentless, driven by an unquenchable thirst for power. For years, she’s been challenging Evanora Harkness for leadership of the coven, insisting that her methods are outdated and weak. Evanora is cautious, preferring stability over expansion, while your mother craves growth and strength, always seeking more power, more influence. Everyone knows that she has tried and failed multiple times to replace Evanora as the head of the coven, each failure only sharpening her ambition and resentment.

Day after day the rest of the coven watches with thinly veiled suspicion as the feud festers, their judgment looming over you, seeing you as nothing but an extension of your mother’s ambition. You’ve been whispered about since you were a child—“Like mother, like daughter” they say, as if you’re already planning your own coup. It constantly felt as if you were expected to follow in your mother’s footsteps, bear the weight of her rivalry with Evanora, even if you have no interest whatsoever in ruling or leadership. You were constantly compared to Evanora’s daughter, Agatha, always so poised and confident in public, often watching you with narrowed eyes—a silent understanding of the role she’s supposed to play: your rival. As if you would care.

But despite the whispered assumptions and heavy expectations, you and Agatha barely knew each other. You have lived in the same village for all of your lives, 19 years to be exact, and you���d never exchanged more than a handful of words beyond what was strictly necessary during coven gatherings. A curt greeting, a passing acknowledgment at ritual events, and a few guarded pleasantries when the entire coven was assembled—always observed by watchful eyes. There was no need to converse when the lines had already been drawn by everyone else.

But they know nothing about you. They don’t see the way you slip away from the coven’s gatherings as soon as you can, escaping to the edge of the village, to the only place that feels like home—the forest. Out there, amidst the whispering trees and thick, wild greenery, you are alone. Free. And the village, with its heavy, judgmental stares, feels far away.

Today, however, that peace is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of anger—cracking branches, a muffled sob, and an unfamiliar voice cursing in frustration seemingly not far from you. You approach quietly, each step deliberate, curiosity overtaking caution. And there, amidst the destruction of broken branches and trampled shrubs, your eyes spot Agatha Harkness.

You’d heard the latest argument between Evanora and Agatha as you slipped out of the coven’s gathering earlier that day. It was hard not to, with Evanora’s voice rising in sharp reprimands and Agatha’s voice shaking with something halfway between defiance and desperation. The rest of the coven remained oblivious, still engrossed in the main hall. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, all you wanted was to get out of there and just be on your way to the forest, to your safe space.

As you reached the hall’s entrance, the voices grew louder. Evanora’s was sharp and unyielding, laced with an authority that seemed to cut through the air. “…after everything I’ve taught you, Agatha, is this how you repay me?”

You didn’t want to get involved, didn’t want to hear more than you already had. You kept your head low, stepping as quietly as you could toward the exit. But as you passed by the ajar door, your eyes caught a glimpse of them, and instinct held you in place.

“I’m just trying—” Agatha’s voice, raw with unsteady resolve, “—to be more than what you want me to be.”

“Enough!” Evanora’s voice cut through the space, commanding absolute silence. You could see the tension coil between them, even from this distance, and a flicker of something almost like pity stirred within you. Agatha stood her ground, eyes shimmering, her posture tense.

The slap was swift, and you flinched in spite of yourself, watching as Agatha’s head jerked to the side, dark curls spilled over her face concealing the expression beneath. You held your breath, caught in that moment of stillness, neither of them moving.

“I will not tolerate disobedience, Agatha,” Evanora’s voice was quiet but firm, a murmur heavy with finality. Agatha remained rigid, her shoulders betraying only the smallest trembling response and no words came from her in return, just a measured, shaky breath.

You couldn’t stay. As soon as the silence thickened in the room, you slipped out, cursing yourself for staying there far too long and heading toward the forest before either of them noticed your presence. You were certain they hadn’t, neither mother nor daughter focused on anything beyond each other. Whatever happened next was not your place to know.

But then, while you walked among the trees entering the forest, you couldn’t quite rid yourself of that last image—Agatha standing still, silent, as Evanora’s words hung like a shadow over her. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that their argument didn’t end there, that it had likely continued and escalated once they left the gathering hall. Perhaps things had only gotten worse behind the closed doors of their home, pushing Agatha to her breaking point. 

It is evident now, as you had just traced the path of her destruction in the forest, that when Agatha had finally stormed out of her home, she had left chaos in her wake.

She is crouched down, almost hidden by the deep shadows of the tall trees still standing. Her hair, dark and wild, falls around her face in waves. You catch glimpses of her stormy blue eyes too, as she’s wiping away furious tears, her hands trembling with poorly contained anger. Agatha is wearing a simple yet beautiful black wool dress, layered with intricate stitching in deep purple along the bodice. The sleeves are long and fitted, ends flaring with delicate white cuffs that frame her slender hands. Her whole appearance is somber, fitting for someone of her lineage and in harmony with the ancient woods that surround her, despite the destruction she just caused.

You watch, as she takes a small creature in her lap, her eyes wide with remorse. A rabbit— one of its back legs broken and limp, most certainly caused by a heavy branch Agatha must’ve thrown in her fit of anger. Agatha mumbles an incantation, her voice shaking. Tendrils of violet magic swirl around her fingers, but it’s chaotic, disjointed, more like a flurry of emotions than a spell.

You can see she’s struggling as her breath catches, a sob almost breaking through as the magic fizzles out. Her fingers tremble, and she tries again, and again. You take a breath, feeling a twinge of annoyance at her carelessness.

“Damn it” Agatha curses under her breath, her voice breaking as tears spill over her cheeks. She doesn’t see you, doesn’t notice you slipping closer, the shadows of the trees hiding your approach. It’s not pity you feel—not quite. But there’s something almost familiar in the way she’s fighting back tears, trying to mend what she broke. You can’t find it in you to walk away.

Without saying a word, you raise your hand. The air hums with energy, and you let your magic flow freely, familiar sapphire blue strands wrapping around the rabbit in a soft, deliberate embrace. There’s a crack as the bone realigns, and the rabbit twitches, then scampers off Agatha’s lap and disappears into the underbrush.

Agatha gasps, her head snapping up. You meet her gaze, and you’re struck by the open vulnerability in her usually fierce and cold eyes, her face stained with tears she didn’t expect to shed. She blinks rapidly, the realization of not being alone dawning on her as embarrassment floods her features.

Of all the people she could’ve run into in the forest, it had to be you. Of course.

“What are you doing here?” she demands, a poor attempt at masking her embarrassment with indignation. You’re not sure if she’s more humiliated by the situation or by the fact that you, of all people, helped her.

“What am I doing here?” you snap, stepping forward. You can’t hold back the frustration any longer. “You storm in here like a hurricane, destroying everything in sight, and you have the audacity to ask what I’m doing here?”

Her eyes narrow, defensiveness creeping in. “It’s not like I did it on purpose—”

“You’re supposed to be a witch, Agatha” you interrupt, voice sharp. “A powerful one, if what everyone says is true. So why can’t you keep control of your own damn magic?” The words may come out harsher than you intend, but it’s too late to take them back and a part of you wants her to snap back, to give you a reason to stay angry.

But she doesn’t. Agatha’s lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think she’s going to lash out. Instead, her shoulders slump, and she looks down at the ground, her anger deflating into something that almost looks like regret. “I—I didn’t mean to—” she starts, then stops, clearly unsure of what to say.

“Didn’t mean to what?” You raise an eyebrow. “Destroy half the forest? Or injure a defenseless animal?”

Her face flushes, a mixture of shame and anger flashing in her eyes. “It’s not like I wanted to—”

“Of course” you cut in with a scoff, folding your arms. You should leave. You should simply turn around and let her deal with her mess. But something keeps you rooted to the spot, waiting to see what she’ll say.

Agatha opens her mouth to argue, but whatever retort she had dies on her lips. Instead, she swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think I want to be like this?” She’s looking at you, her eyes desperate for an answer you can’t give. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be constantly told you’re not enough?”

The rawness in her voice catches you off guard. You’ve always seen Agatha as confident, even arrogant—a reflection of her mother’s pride and role in your community. But there’s a vulnerability in her now that doesn’t fit with the picture you had of her.

“I—” you start, but the words don’t come.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “My mother” she says, almost choking on the words, “expects perfection. Strength. Control. And when I can’t give her that…” Agatha shakes her head, the tears threatening to spill over again. “I just—”

She’s breaking, and despite yourself, you feel a pang of empathy. You’ve been there too, in different ways and for different reasons, but the feeling of being constantly measured and deemed not enough is something you both share. Apparently. 

For a long moment, there’s silence between you. Then, Agatha looks away and you can almost see her walls crumbling, piece by piece. When she speaks again, her voice is barely audible. “I’m sorry” she whispers, “For the rabbit. For the forest. For… everything.”

It’s an apology you never expected, from a person that you thought to be so self-entitled to be incapable of remorse. And suddenly, you’re not sure who you’re angry at anymore—her, or the version of her you’d built in your head, the one that others had helped you build, fueled. The apology hangs heavy between you both, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You want to hold onto your anger, but looking at her now, vulnerable and sincere in her remorse, something shifts in you.

You let out a long sigh, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a little. “Don’t do it again.” you finally say, and the words come out less like an order and more like a plea. Agatha blinks at you, her lips parting in surprise as she seems to be searching for words, but none come. She only nods and as the silence between you both settles into something less hostile, you turn away, allowing yourself to leave the clearing without another word.

Behind you, Agatha stays put, watching as you disappear into the shadows of the forest, her thoughts still lingering on your unexpected appearance, your strange mix of kindness and anger.

Maybe Agatha Harkness isn’t who you thought she was.

Maybe, neither of you are.

[hidden-poet]

To have and to hold.

1/1 Disclaimer: I have not watched Billy the kid. This story is based on an internet search, and a can do mentality. No cannon events or characters.

Warnings: Dark!billy-the-kid, non-con, light stalking, technical kidnapping, spit, mature, 18+ only, porn-with-little-plot, non-fandom based writing, Reader POV, reader not described but can be picked up, definitely not historically actuate but you are reading about getting railed by billy-the-kid so you can fuck off if you have a problem with it. Dead dove, do not eat.

A/N: I am so sorry that this was late, and also rushed. The tent scene felt like I was pulling teeth out. I had no idea where I was going with it.

unedited.

You always knew Billy had a crush on you.

You would catch him staring at you from across the market. He would try to talk to you every chance he got. Always trying to find out more about you. He was awkward mostly, unfitting to his position of power. Despite his eager attempts to gain an audience with you, his eyes often floated around the room, and the conversation topics only always grazed the surface. 

Nevertheless when you excused yourself from him, he always seemed disappointed but never stopped you. 

You never minded the attention. You were flattered by it. Before him, none of the town's men paid you too much mind. Your family wasn’t rich, and your face was too plain to gain attention away from the wealthy girls.

It helped too that it was handsome. Dangerous. Big broad shoulders and striking eyes. He was good at his craft. Some say the best.

He was good enough to keep the vultures away from town. For a price. Him and his gang kept the town safe for a portion of everyone’s profits. It was a small profit compared to what he could have asked but added up quickly amongst the business that bloomed with his protection.

The regulators became the law after running out the corrupt and keeping out wild gangs that would come and pillage.

There were worse men to be left in charge. Overall his reputation was good but money was to be paid, or houses were to be burned down.

He had men to look after. They had to be fed and housed with a few extra dollars in their pockets to halt their boisterous nature.

From the few times he did use a heavy hand, it left a strong reminder to the community that Billy’s word was law.

Even with his sheriff- like position, he was still considered an outlaw. Wanted in multiple counties. Wanted in yours not too long ago. Before he and his crew became the new law. So you had to keep your distance as much as you could, and avoid situations where you could be seen alone with him. The town mostly thought of you as a poor target for Billy but a few whispers about you were already causing damage to your reputation.

 Anyone connected to the regulators was treated differently. People wanted to distance themselves from the group that controlled the area. Anyone found being too friendly with the Regulators were ostracized. Your family couldn't afford to be outcast. The family business relied on steady connections and loyal customers. 

So you don’t mind the flirtatious talk in private or burning stares so long as it never proceeds from that.

To help this, you avoided him where you could but some days it felt as if he knew your schedule better than you did. 

You tried to switch it up by going to town a day earlier than you usually would, but fate had it that it was the same day as Billy’s collection. 

People hush as Billy and two of his men come into the convenience store. Some leave while others push themselves to the back of the store. You try and hide your face behind a series of hanging baskets as you watch the group walk confidently in. 

Billy greets the shopkeeper respectfully but the men he is with are arrogant and begin playing with the objects on display. You knew them as Jim Greathouse, and Tom O’Folliard. Both long-standing members of the Regulators. 

“Good evening, Mr O’Conoly. How are you today?”

“Good, Billy. Thank you”. The shopkeeper places a pouch of money on top of the counter for the men to take. 

Billy takes it first and places the small pouch in his pocket, thanking the man, and asking about his family. 

You try to make your escape moving from behind the baskets towards the door. Your face heated with just the thought of talking to Billy in a room full of people. In passing or at a public event was unavoidable, your townspeople knew that, but talking so friendly in a shop. It would bring your family shame if it came across too familiar.

But you were too hasty in your exit, your feet too hard against the floor. The shuffling caught his attention. Worried that he might be offended with your behavior, you pretend to look at the pears on display as if contemplating. 

The sound of his feet against the floorboards matched the beating of your heart. 

You pretend to look busy as you inspect the pears but could feel his searing stare as he approached you.

“Miss y/n”’ he took off his hat as he spoke as a sign of respect.

You nodded your head towards him as a sign of respect back, “Mr Bonney”.

“Billy. You can call me Billy”.

You nod back with a tight smile, keeping your eyes focused on the produce in front of you. To encourage Billy by calling him by familiar terms may give him the wrong impression.

"You look awful pretty today"

"You say that every day, Mr Bonney".

“I mean it every day”. He stands close to you, leaning his frame over yours. With his height it could have been intimidating but you knew he meant no harm.

“Did you need help shopping today? I could carry your basket for you” His fingers reach out to your basket but you tug it back against you. 

“Thank you, Mr Bonney, but I will not be buying anything today. I must get home. I suddenly don’t feel well”. 

“Wait” He reaches out and gently captures your arm to stop you from turning. It was the first time he had ever touched you. It felt like you had been zapped with electricity. 

You pull quickly out of his grasp and look around the shop. People were staring at the scene. One wrong step and it could be the end of your family's good name. You step further back from him, solidifying that he was the same person to them as he was to you. 

Billy holds his hands flat out in surrender, telling you he had no further plans of touching you. 

“I was just wondering if you planned to be at Maria's wedding?”. 

Maria was a friend of yours, of course you would be at her wedding. You wondered why he was asking, he knew this too. 

She was often with you when he approached. More than that her soon-to-be husband was friendly with Billy, and borrowed from the Regulators to finance a farm. 

Because of that, would he now be invited to the wedding? Would you be stuck avoiding him the whole night?

“I do,” you respond. If you lied and he was invited it would be an uncomfortable evening, but has telling the truth now placed you in a difficult spot?

“I was wondering if you might fancy a dance or two with me?”

A sudden loud clanking noise stole the spotlight from you. Jim had knocked a table of grain and spilled it over the floor along with the serving cup. Tom bellowed at his friend's mistake, kneeling over from laughter. 

“I am sorry, sir” Billy said to the shopkeeper, “He will pay for that”. 

Tom laughs louder, earning a shove from Jim. 

“Clean it up” Billy demands with a click of his fingers. Jim snatched a nearby rag and kneeled upon the floor under Billy’s stare. You make a quick exist while he is distracted but he follows you across the floor. 

The shopkeepers goes to help clean up the mess by bringing a broom but he is insulated by Jim as he nears. He throws the dirty rag at the man and questions why he didn’t bring a broom sooner. 

Billy’s attention is once again caught. He looks at you as you pass through the door but Jim continues to hurl insults at the undeserving shopkeep. Billy turns direction away from you to deal with the situation. 

“Hey. He’s paid his dues. Leave him alone” was the last thing you heard as you raced down the steps and to the path back home. 

You bash your hand against your forehead as you take the dirt path back to your home. It felt good to release some of the tension you felt. You had kept your composure through your walk through the back of town but could feel it bubbling under the surface. 

You should have left as soon as he entered the store. Now you were left in difficult position and only the feeling of dread around your friends wedding. 

How would you be able to avoid him for the entire time? Your only hope is that he will avoid you while you are with your family. 

You swing your empty basket. The trip to town and back was a 40 minute walk across a hard pebble road. You’d have to make it again tomorrow. 

You wondered if you would see him again. Billy normally placed himself in town to correspond with your schedule. 

Would he ask for a dance again or had you wounded his pride? What is the right answer? 

Yes would leave the town talking for weeks. Might even affect your fathers business.

 No might make you an enemy of the Regulators.  Which is the last thing you wanted to be. 

Perhaps if you took more chores, your sister would take your trip to town. 

She was stubborn though. Would want more than her fair share to swap tasks. You begin your negotiations in your head. 

Preparing for when you get home, when the sound of galloping horse upon the gravel approaches you. You move from the path to let the horseman pass, but it slows next to you. 

You look up at the rider, just making out his face under the sun. 

“Mr Bonney. What are you doing?”. 

You eye the area to see no one else. A blessing and a curse. 

He swings off his horse next to you.  

“You said you felt ill. I thought it was best to see you home alright”.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mr Bonney”.

“Please, I insist. Riding would be faster than walking”.

“How would that look, sir? Sharing a horse?”.

“You could sit, and I’ll walk him along,” he suggests. His hat covers his face in shadows. It made it hard to see how he was processing your words.

“No, thank you, sir. The walk would be good for me. You go on now”. 

“I’ll walk alongside you”. He readies the reins of his horse between his hand for a walking pace.

“There’s really no need” you try. 

“There’s also nothing stopping me” he returns. 

It puts you back on one foot. He had never spoken to you like that before. Conversations about the weather, and upcoming community events were the only things really talked about. Sometimes he would ask after your family, and your health. But he found that broader, more unfamiliar topics worked best to elicit a conversation. 

You once helped him pick out a ripe watermelon when he asked you but he had never refused to stop bothering you. 

He walked beside you with his shoulder almost touching yours. You try to create distance by walking on the edge of the road. The rocks slip off the edge of the road under your feet. It makes for an uncomfortable walk, in which your ankle twists from the uneven ground. 

“It looks like rain” he looks up to the sky and its dark forming clouds, “I sure hope it clears before the wedding”. 

You tense as he brings up the wedding. It was surely a ploy to reintroduce his offer. In an attempt to discourage him, you only offer him a nod. 

One wrong step and you tumble of balance towards the surrounding dirt. 

“Careful” he hand latches on to your arm, pulling you back on the path. He moves himself and his horse over to the center of the road, pulling you along with his hold, “Don’t want you breaking an ankle before our dance”. 

You paused to consider a broken ankle as your way of escaping the dance, but it would immobilise you and Billy was sure to sit by your side the entire night. 

“I don’t dance, Mr Bonney. Two left feet I am afraid”. 

“We’ll get along fine”

“I might not be well enough to attend anyway”. 

“Oh” he looks ahead at the road, “That would be a shame”.

The horse kicks, impatient with her pace. 

“Settle” he commanded with a pat to its nose. 

“She’s used to going fast,” he tells you. 

“Please, Mr Bonney. I would hate to upset your horse”. You gesture for him to go forward and leave you.

He laughs at you. A sweet, airy laugh. 

“She'll be fine”.

You knew he meant you no harm. Even as you walk with him miles from anyone you felt no fear. So you walk in a comfortable silence next to him, your feet falling into step with his own. 

“If you need a break, let me know,” he spoke. 

You wondered why he said such a thing, forgetting your own lie. Quick in your recoup you bring your hand to your forehead 

“I will be fine. Home is not too far off”. 

He offers you a drink from his water flask which you decline. He had reached for it although from his saddle and you still him with a hand on his shoulder. It freezes him.

In return his eyes freeze you as he peers back over his shoulder.

You’re not sure why but an apology falls from your lips. 

“No” he assures, “No-I”. 

Neither of you were sure where to go.

He puts the flask back, turning to you with empty hands. 

You didn't notice that you had stopped walking until his horse kicked impatiently.

“I have to get home” you state. 

You pick up speed and return to the silence as you walk alongside him. 

Out of nowhere and somewhat timidly he reaches a hand out and places it on your shoulder. 

You jump back at the unexpected contact. Half expecting the hand to claw and punch you down to the ground. But it releases. 

He squints his eyes at you, surprised at your reaction. 

“You don’t think I would hurt you. Do you?”

You weren’t sure. He’s never been aggressive towards you. But stories of him being a dangerous man made their way around the community. 

“No, Mr Bonney”. 

With home so close it urges you to pick up the pace. He keeps it easily. 

“Is that why you didn’t want me to walk you home? Because you thought I would hurt you? Y/N, I would never”.

His hand once again goes up to touch you but you knock it away. 

“Mr Bonney, may I remind you that you are a stranger to me. That I am an unmarried woman, and you are an unmarried man. If some one were to mistake this situation, it could cause great damage to my reputation. My family's reputation, and livelihood".

He looked hurt that you had spoken to him like that. He stopped his fast pace beside you, and you took the opportunity to continue on without him. 

“Well we ain't strangers” he says as he nestles up beside you again. 

The walk turned silent again and it remained that way as you passed through the wide field to your home. 

Your small family home comes into view, and thought perhaps you could shake him. But he doesn’t leave you as you open your gate. 

“Thank you for seeing me home, Mr Bonney”, You try.

“Anytime Miss Y/N. Maybe one day you could invite me around, and we could have tea”.

You slam the gate shut between you. By allowing him to walk you home, does he think that you were opening up to him? 

“I am not sure my father would approve”. 

Billy’s eyes fall to the ground. He doesn’t look up as he speaks. 

“I see”, he states, “Well, rest up and I’ll see you at the wedding”.

You hear the talking of your mother and sister as they bring the washing back up to the house. If they came too close, he would try to start a friendly conversation with them. The risk of your father seeing, and shooting is already high. You needn’t add to it. 

“Goodbye, Mr Bonney”, you bid. 

You leave him at the gate, scoping your mother and sister into your arms and back into the house. 

—

The day of the wedding came. The whole house woke up in excitement but you felt more heavy than you should have. 

You tried to strike a balance between dressing nice and dressing too nice that Billy would think you dressed up for him.

Luckily, Miara relied on you the whole day to complete last minute things. While the others were gathered in front of the church, you were in the field gathering flowers for her bouquet. After that you helped her dress and do her hair. It all kept you away from the guests right up to the wedding. 

You dash inside the small church to find your seat before the bride was ready to come in. 

You saw not only him but the entire group of the Regulators sitting at that back corner out of the way. They were all clean and dressed nicely to Billy’s request. Their hats were taken off their heads in respect, and not one of them spoke. 

Billy’s body shifted as he saw you. It straightened, slightly turning towards you as you walked up the aisle to your family. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked. You couldn’t help looking back at him. 

You took your seat next to your sister in time for the band to start the wedding march. Maria slowly walks down the aisle, you try to keep you focused on her during all of the service but his stare burns a hole in the back of your head. 

All too soon the ceremony was over. Maria and her new husband stop to greet Billy as they pass. Maria’s husband gets a firm handshake as Billy says something to him and Maria is brought in for a kiss on the cheek. 

They acted like old friends despite their true relationship as debtor and debtee. 

Once the newlyweds make it to the door signaling for the rest to follow, you form a barrier of your family to keep you away from Billy as you pass him. The Regulators go to move out before the rest of the guests but Billy blocks the path by putting his hand on the front pew. Manners were important to Billy but less so to his group.

Billy and the Regulators walked behind the guests to the reception held in the field of the newlyweds' new farmstead. The couple had hired a live band, and borrowed tables and chairs.  Candles and a large fire was lit as it darkened. People danced and laughed amongst the Regulators, but you found yourself trying to keep busy to avoid any conversation. 

If you remained for too long in one spot, you could feel Billy closing in. Only the request from your friend on her big day made you pause. She needed help dishing up the punch as the speeches would begin soon. 

All your efforts of the night were wasted as you distributed the drink into the many cups. You were a sitting duck, and you could see Billy closing in. You rush, half spilling the punch on the table. People distracted him as he made his way over. It gave you hope you could finish before he reached you. 

“Whoa, slow down” Maria jeered. 

“Sorry. Can you find someone else to do this? Mr Bonney is coming over and if I get trapped talking to him it will ruin my night”. 

Maria slaps your arm hard causing you to spill a whole cup of punch. 

“I won’t hear that talk about Billy. Not after what he did”. 

Your friend goes back to pouring but she has now peaked your interest. 

“What did he do?” you ask. 

Maria places her cup down and leans closer to you as if it was a secret. 

“Our wedding present was the farm. We own it. Debt free. He let us off”.

An expensive wedding present from a man who barely knows the couple. It was also a dangerous thing to do. How many people will now be expecting debt to be wiped free after every major life event. 

Billy made his way over. You don’t turn from Maria but she ecstatically greets him. 

“Can I lend a hand, Maria?”. He stands too close, your shoulder almost touching him. 

Maria declined his offer of help but he picks up the empty cups and holds them out for you to fill. 

You don’t speak to him as you work but he continues to swap the cups under you. 

“Let's start passing these out” Maria spoke to you, picking up a tray and disappearing into the party. You follow suit, picking up your tray without a word, but Billy takes it from you, placing it back on the table. 

“I was wondering if you were ready for the dance you promised me?”.

“There are many girls here, Mr Bonney, who are dying for a dance”. You hint at him. You look to your father who is watching you from his group of friends. 

“That may be so”. He is resolved to his position. Although you knew it was unintentional his hand went to his gun holster light resting on the leather belt. 

 It was best not to make a scene so you give him a curt nod and head towards the crowd of people dancing. A dance at a wedding is hardly anything scandalous. He follows close and when he feels like you are far enough into the dance floor he takes your wrist into his hand and spins you towards him. 

“Are you having a good time?’’ he asks as you move together to the festive music.

“Yes”. You wish you could have said more but your brain felt muddled with him so close. You could feel his strong shoulders as you rest your arm around his neck, and his strong fingers squeezed around yours.

“It didn’t rain” he comments. 

“No” you agree. 

“You look beautiful in that dress”

“Thank you. I borrowed it from my sister”.

A man calls out to Billy, taking the attention off you for the second that it took Billy to give an acknowledging nod. 

You spin out from his arms in sync with the other girls. It reached the part of the song where partners were swapped but Billy held tight to your hand and spun you back into him, leaving the next man looking for his new dance partner. 

Billy jerks his head in the direction of the girl who was supposed to take your place.

“Over there” he suggests. 

The dance continues and you resume your position as Billy’s dance partner. 

“That’s not how that dance goes” you scold. 

“Not going to let you go that easy”.

He spins you out and back in again, “You told me you were two left feet. You seem to be doing alright to me”, he says as he holds you close. 

You push yourself out of his hold and back  into dancing formation. Cozy in the arms of the judge, jury and executor is not a good look. 

“That may be because you are two right feet”.  

He laughs causing you to giggle with him but you were acutely aware of your fathers protective stare. 

“See we make the perfect pair” he boasts. 

His remark silences you. Too many flirtatious exchanges could leave the wrong impression. 

“How are you feeling?” Billy asks softly, “I ain’t spinning you too much, am I? Did you want to sit with me for a bit?” 

“No” better to get the dancing out of the way for the night, “no, I feel fine”. 

He doesn’t spin you again. Instead keeping you close in a gently swaying motion. You follow his lead around the floor. A few stared but most were too consumed with themselves to notice. Only your father paid true attention. 

“Maria told me that you forgave the debt on the land” you said after a moment of nothing but dancing. 

He nods back, a small smile on his lips as he looks out to the other dancers. He was pleased that you knew.

“I did. We want to see prosperity in this land. Farmers are important in that”.

Suddenly his jaw became hard, and his hold loosened. 

“Wouldn’t that be right, Harold?”. 

His change confused you. Instead of dancing with you, he had pushed your body behind his, gripping the fabric of your dress around your waist to keep you still, and had his gun pointed straight. 

You move as much as you could to see Harold Fern, the baker in your community. He looked disheveled as he held out a shotgun.  His hair was a mess, his clothes half done up and wrinkled His cheeks and nose burned red with intoxication. 

“You son of a bitch” slurred Harold, “You took everything from me”. 

“I don’t know what you mean, but you better get that gun out of my face before I put you down”.

You shrink yourself as small as you could against Billy back. His hold tightens as he feels you move. 

Harold scoffs, “You ain’t that quick”. 

“Yes, I am” he threatens. 

Harold sways as he thinks about Billy’s statement giving Billy the time to try and talk so sense into the man. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Harold. Don’t make me. Whatever you think I have done, I am sure we can fix it”. 

“Your taxes put me out of business. My fathers business, my fathers’ fathers business. You and your gang come in demanding a share from the work you don’t do”. 

 ‘I am sorry, Harold, Truely. But your business would have been gone long ago if it weren’t for us. You think the Casa gang would have left anything if they were successful in their attack? We stopped them. What do you think would have been left of this town if we didn’t?”. 

With the man subdued, you move from where you pressed up against Billy’s back to move from the line of fire. But Billy’s hold on your dress would not loosen. You resumed your spot against his back, hoping that the bullet would not go straight through. 

“If it’s a loan you need I can give it to you, but I can also send you to the grave after your father if your finger itches towards that trigger anymore”.

“Billy!” you hear a voice of one of the regulators. The surrounding people gasp as another gun is brought out. 

“It’s alright. Harolds here just had too much to drink. Why don’t you take him back to his house and i’ll be by tomorrow to see if we can figure out a solution to his problem”. 

Harold must have chosen to drop the gun because you heard the shoving and shouting from Billy’s man and not the ricochet of a gun. 

The grip on your dress is released and Billy turns towards you placing his hands on your shoulders. 

“Are you okay?”. 

You shake him off, aware of the audience still staring at you. Billy follows your gaze around the crowd. 

“It’s alright everyone. Let’s get the music going again’’ 

Billy raises his hand to your arm once more but you are pushed away before it lands. Your father had come to your rescue quickly pushing you through the crowd. You look back at Billy. He doesn’t move. Just stares until you are out of sight. 

You don’t see Billy for the next week. His men did his collections. You only saw them around town, never him. You figure he was laying low after the wedding incident. 

Your days became dull again without the excitement of Billy. Your chores became chores again without the added threat of Billy laying in wait. 

Miss may be a strong word, but something felt off when he wasn’t around. You figure you had gotten so used to a state of anxiety that normalcy felt strange. 

He would return, you ensured yourself, just enjoy it while it lasts.  

On the tenth night of his absence from your life you think that maybe he had skipped town, and you would never see him again. The Regulators would need a new leader and you shudder thinking who it could be. 

You sleep with the thought of him on your mind. Who would protect the town if not him? Who would fill your days with excitement and wonder? You scold yourself for the latter thought. He was an outlaw. A villain. Blood soaked his hands.  He was a bad man. The leader of bad men. You sleep with hateful thoughts of the Regulators and their leader. 

You wake with the sound of your dog scratching at your door. Begging to be let out. The night was cold. Even with a large blanket and the windows shut, you shivered. 

You sigh as you get up, quickly looking for your robe. It would do little to keep the cold away but something was better than nothing. 

It was odd for your dog to wake to pee. It only happened when he was a pup and that was long ago. 

You follow him as he races down the steps, trying your best to be quiet so as not to wake your family. The dog is energetic, scratching at the main door. 

You ‘sh’ him as you open it. You’re greeted by a wave of freezing air.  

The dog ruined your plans of staying on the porch as he disappeared into the darkness forcing you to follow down. 

The cold grass sinks into your feet, the moisture soaking your soles. You could barely see your dog in the dark with his black fur. Only the sound of him peeing told you he was still there. 

You stretch as you wait, looking up at the night sky. Slowly rolling your head in a circle. In doing so, you could see a small flame in the distance. A candle still going just outside of your father's shed.

You go to blow it out before it catches anything on fire. Another odd occurrence. Your father rarely lit candles due to their cost. He was sure to blow it out before he finished. Still he is old like your dog. They are both slipping from their good habits and you would need to learn to be more gracious. 

You bend down and with one quick blow, the flame is gone. Rising once more, you decide it is time to return to bed and go to call your dog over. 

His name never gets off your lips. It’s sealed shut by a strong gloved hand pressed over your mouth, and the feeling of a cool barrel of a gun pressed into the side of your head. 

“Sh, sh, sh, be quiet”. 

Your gut dropped, you knew the smooth voice of Billy. With faith he wouldn’t hurt you, you try screaming into his hand. He shook you a bit but no harsh hand was used to silence you. 

“I said quiet”. 

You do. You once heard that he shot a man off his horse a mile away. Now with a gun pressed into your head you didn’t need too much persuading to do as he said. 

“We’re going on a little trip, you and I” he whispers in your ear. 

Where was your dog? You wondered. Why couldn’t he sense you were in danger and come save you. You were no match for Billy. 

“Okay?” he asks.  You nod in response. 

“Okay, move”. He keeps his hand across your mouth, and his gun buried in your back, using it to move you forward. 

It’s not too far before the sight of his horse is seen only thirty feet from your house. He releases you and halters his gun so he could cup his hands to help you onto the saddle. 

You look back at your house, not too far in the distance. If you ran could you make it? If you screamed could your family hear it?

“Come on, now. Don’t keep me waiting”. 

Deciding you couldn’t make it, you slot your foot into his hands, and he hoists you up to the saddle. He got up more easily, and with a swing of his leg he saddles up behind you, bringing the reins and his hands down upon your lap. 

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“It’s not far. Just some place I go to think”. 

The horse is ridden at a leisurely pace. The cold air attacks you, and you find yourself curling into Billy’s warmth. 

He doesn’t speak to you again but you could feel him trying his best to protect you from the cold wind. His body barricaded around you, trying to keep you warm. At one point when the wind blew especially hard, he planted his large warm hand over the side of your face and pressed the other side of your face into his chest.

With the amount of shock running through your body, you weren't sure if the ride was short like he promised. It felt like an entirety by his side. 

When you arrived at the camp, the fire was already going, and a tent was set up. 

He dismounts first and then reaches back up to help you down. 

“Why have you brought me here?”. You accept his help down, his horse wouldn’t go without him. 

“To talk. Some place where you can’t run away”.

His words should have carried more weight, but you knew they were said in a non-threatening manner. 

There was a log near the fire that you used as a seat while Billy remained across from you. 

“I’ve missed you these past few days. Been real lonely without you”. He kicks the dirt under his shoe and watches as it jumps from his force. 

“We were never friends, Billy”. 

Billy. The name seemed to have just fallen off your lips. 

The sound of his name gave him courage to look up at you.

“You’re right. You’re right. We skipped that stage”. 

His eyes go back down and he is silent once more. 

“Y/N, your daddy’s never going to approve of me”.

“No” you agree, “No, he’s not”. 

His eyes flick up back to yours, his stance hardens, his shoulders square and his eyes peer down at you.

“So. Where does that leave us?” he asks. 

A large gust of wind blows through the camp, straight through you. Your body hunches from the cold

“Are you cold?” he asks in a state of shock that he could ignore the obvious. He doesn’t wait for your response, gone into his tent before the question fully parted from his lips. 

He brings out a thick wool blanket, and wraps it around your shoulders before going back to his side of the fire.

He rubs his hand across the bottom of his face, his other hand positions on his hip. You wondered what he was thinking. Why he looked so worried when he was the one in the position of power? 

“Billy?” you asked softly. His eyes flicked from the ground up to you. “Billy, take me home”. 

“You know God told me that you were the woman for me’’.

“Did he?” you ask cautiously. 

“Years ago. I saw you in town, I said ‘God, if she’s the one make her drop her bracelet’. And you did”. 

He reaches into his vest pocket pulling out his pocket watch to show you the chain. He brought it over to you. In the light you could see that he had melted the gold of your bracelet to his small gold watch and fashioned it into his pocket watch that he carried daily. The ends of the bracelet were melded but the gold that was braided together looked identical to the bracelet you had lost.

 It was your bracelet. One you lost nearly three years ago. The clasp was broken, you shouldn’t have been wearing it but it was one of your favorites. 

“It’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything” you said. A broken bracelet was hardly uncommon for a woman who had little money to fix it. 

This seemed to anger him. His face scrunched up and his movement became rough and short. 

“Coincidence? Was it a coincidence tonight? I had a burning desire to see you and you just so happen to be outside waiting for me”.

“I wasn’t waiting for you”.

“Well something brought you outside to me. You don’t call that fate?”. 

“My dog”. Your eyes slowly weep as Billy the kid turns into Billy the outlaw. 

To run a group of outlaws. To kill men, and control a town, you knew he had to have a dark streak. No matter how well he hid it, there must be something lurking underneath to be able to exert the violence needed.

His hand flys to his forehead, rubbing it as if you were causing him a headache. 

“You ain't listening. Me and you. We’re connected. Meant to be”. 

“Okay” you agree. Unsure on what else to do. “Billy, I am really cold and would like to go home now”.

“Here” he comes closer to you, bending down and helping you to your feet. 

He picks up a lit lamp by the fire, and tries to lead you forward. 

“It’s warmer in the tent”.

Your heart jumps. Alone in a tent is the last place you want to be. 

Your arm jerks from his touch as you speak, “Take me home now”. 

His hands grip your arms too tight.

“Home? What if I gave you a new home? One where we could be together”.

The cold air no longer bothered you. Billy was the law. Whatever he did would be met with no consequences. 

“I’ve been thinking, if your daddy won’t approve no matter what. Maybe we shouldn’t ask him” he continued. 

You struggle against Billy. How quickly after all this time that his touch became hurtful.

“I need my father's blessing,” you state. 

“I was worried you would say that” he remarks. 

The force on your arms changed from holding you still to pushing you forward. 

“Billy get off” you shout. 

“You won’t listen to reason” he retaliates. 

The door of the tent wasn’t tied so you were easily pushed through the fabric. You fall onto the laid mattress with no strength to raise yourself while Billy does ties up the door to keep the cold air out.

“Billy” you cry. 

He lays down next to you, wrapping his arm around your back and up your neck. 

“Everything is fine. I’ll take care of you”.

“Billy, don’t do this,” you pleaded. 

“If I can’t make you see my love, I can make you feel it”. 

He rises to rid himself of his suspenders. You sit up on your legs in front of you, with no harsh hand pushing you back down.

You capture his head between your hands, only talking when there was no attempt to shake you off. 

“Billy, think about what this will mean for me”. 

His eyes feel cold as they graze upon you, “I am thinking about you. About us. He can’t deny the marriage if what is done is done”. 

Feeling his head push forward under your hold, you go to make one last plea before his lips meet yours. 

“Bil-”. His kiss is hard and possessive. 

His body soon follows, and the weight of him presses you to the floor. 

Shoving at his shoulders doesn’t do much to deter him. After a handful of hard kisses, he changes positions, straddling your waist so he could sit up and unbutton his shirt. 

His movements are quick and rugged like having to get rid of the clothes was an annoying chore. 

Despite his dangerous line of work, and the odds, his body is free from scars and bullet holes. His tone chest and strong shoulders flex as he moves to throw the shirt to the corner of the tent. 

You’re memorized by his beauty until his hands reach for his belt. Your hands spring up to stop him, only this does he resist. 

“It’s alright. It ain’t going to hurt” he places a hand on your chest to keep you down while he undid his holster’s belt buckle, “I told you I would never hurt you”.

With the leather belt free, he slides the gun in the holster up along the ground. 

The button of his pants only takes a twist of his wrist and he is left in his underwear on top of you. 

“Get off” you yell at him but he continues by dragging you up to where the pillows are laid. 

He positions one of the pillows directly under your head for your comfort as you kick, your head rises and falls into it. 

His hand loosening the front tie of your nightgown stills the fight you had. 

“Billy, wait” you request. 

“I have waited. Nearly three years”. The nightgown is pushed off from your shoulders, and pulled down the rest of your body. 

The shake of your body is attributed to many things, the cold air that swarmed you, the shame and fear of it all, the fact that it was your first time being bare to a man. Billy took it to mean the cold and adjusted the blankets so they were pressed up against the sides of your body. 

The hand on your chest left as you stopped moving and both hands were moved to unbutton your underpants. 

“I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry’’. 

He leans down to kiss you again as a distraction to get between your legs. He is there before you know it.

He brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on them. You wondered what he was doing before he brought them down to your sex. 

You try to tell him to stop but your brain couldn’t muster it. Only a gasp escapes your lips as you feel him enter you. 

Its uncomfortable at first and you squirm away from him

“Stay still. It’ll get better” he promises. 

In an attempt to aid the friction, he leans his head down, spitting into cunt.

The extra moisture does help your arousal. Soon you are wet enough for his fingers to sink into you. 

He takes them out, not wanting you to finish too early, and brings his fingers to his lips to suck off the moisture. 

His hand comes down next to your head as lifts himself up to take off his underwear. 

“Is it going to hurt?” you ask. There was no point in begging. You had reached the point of no return. 

“Maybe. For a little bit, but it will feel good too. I promise”. 

He lines himself up with you, and with a final kiss he plunges himself into you. 

It feels as if he hits a wall inside of you. You were certain it was as far as he could go but his hips hammered into you determined to break through. 

You were about to tell him that you had taken as much of him as you could take when he does break the wall. It was a searing pain as if he had cut you. You let out a tisk of pain, reaching up and clawing at the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t intertwined with Billys’. 

‘Sorry. Sorry. I know” he says, but the rhythm of his hips remains the same. 

The pain subsided after a couple of thrusts that felt terribly uncomfortable and sore. It was replaced with the pleasure he promised you that built in your stomach, and tingles between your legs. 

Still, this was not how it was supposed to go. Not in a tent in the middle of the night. Not outside of marriage and not without your father permission.

You throw your head up from a particularly hard thrust, and notice his gun still in the holster just beyond your fingertips. Your head was too scattered to form any thoughts. Otherwise, you never would have reached for it. Even if Billy had been a stranger from the saloon, you could never kill a man. 

You had no intention of killing him. You had just wanted to touch it. The gun of Billy-the-kid. 

“What? What do you want my gun for?” As he leans up to reach for it and you feel his cock push up into your stomach. 

He brings it out of his holster with the barrel pointed at your head, but his finger is far from the trigger. 

“Don’t you know a man’s gun is part of him? You should ask a man before you touch it”.

The gun pushes further and down to your lips. Billy’s eyes were dark. The awkward boy that used to court you was buried in the furthest part of him.

“Open your mouth” he commands. 

With the taste of metal at your teeth, you do part your lips enough for the tip of the gun. A struggle could lead to an accidental misfire. 

His thrusts in time with the movement of the gun. His eyes focus on your lips, the way they curl around his barrel. 

The metallic taste overwhelmed your tongue and your nose. It felt as if you could still taste the smoke on it. You are slow in your movements so not to startle him as you pull your head back.  

His stomach flutters and he loses his composure as you do.  

“Fuck” he sputters, his eyes close and he picks up pace, “That was hot”. 

You shake your head, pushing the hand that held the gun away from you. 

He drops his wrist down from your face, and slides the gun back over to his holster in the corner. 

“It’s gone. It’s alright, it’s gone”. 

The hand is repurposed against the side of your face, and his rhythmic pace is returned. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you” he tells you once more. 

“You’re hurting me now” you groan. 

His face scrunches up, and his thrusts come to rest.

“No,” he says, offended. 

“No. That aint what I am doing”. 

His hands on the back of your shoulders lift you up against his chest, as he hoists your bodies together into an upright position. 

Your hands grip on top of his shoulders, and you rest your forehead against his collarbone from the pressure of him inside of you as you sit on his lap. 

“Look at me” he orders, but your position suited you just fine. 

You rock your head against his shoulder blade in response, which satisfied him. 

“The only way I would hurt you now is by leaving you. No man but those desperate or widowed would have you after I am done. Your family would never recover their name. Now I’ve made it clear that we are to get married, so no hurting is being done”. 

His fingers dig into your hips so hard that there was sure to be bruises littering the skin tomorrow. 

“Ain’t no sin for a husband and wife to become one”.

“We are not married,” you remind him. 

“What’s marriage but a commitment to God to have and to hold the other? I’ve made that commitment. You have too. I know you have. If it wasn’t for your daddy we’d be married a long time ago”.

“Billy” you groan. The lack of movement frustrated you. He had started an itch that now needed to be scratched. 

To ease your discomfort, he brought his hand down between your bodies and began to gently swirl his finger around your pearl. 

“I built you a house, you know. Told myself I couldn’t touch you until I drove the final nail in, and the day I do, you appear at the market a day earlier than you usually would. We’re connected. Every bad thing has led me here to you”.

Your nails dig into his flesh as the pressure builds in knots within your stomach. 

A frustrated sound makes its way from your throat when he suddenly stops, moving his hands around the back of your neck and around your waist so he could lay you down and finish. 

His pace is faster and harder. It cuts off his ability to talk any longer. Only groan and grunt. 

As you tighten around him and pulse as you come, it invites him to join you.

As soon as he is off you, you turn to your side away from him. What would happen now? Would Billy leave you here? Would he kick you out into the forest? You worried that he spoke of marriage out of lust that had now been fulfilled. 

He seemed content with your presence, as he reached out to gently scratch the back of your neck. 

You can hear animals outside the tent as they scurry around.  Billy regains his stamina beside you and the silence between you both stretches into the night. 

You focus on the sounds of the frogs and crickets as they perform in perfect harmony. The sounds and sex lull you to a tired state, but Billy wasn’t through with the night. 

With a small kiss to the back of your neck, he was pushing back on your shoulder to lay you flat again. 

“No” you protest, too tired for much more than a simple plea, “Not again”. 

It was late. Possibility early morning. Your body wanted nothing more than to shut down, now that the adrenaline has faded. 

“Yes. again. We gotta make sure we put a baby in you”, he states, positioning his body once again over yours. 

—--

You woke up alone in the tent. Two blankets were laid on top of you keeping off the cold, but the dull ache between your legs told you to get up and go back home. You found your clothes on the floor, noticing that Billy had taken all his.

The sight of Billy eating on a log relieves you as you exit the tent. You had no way of getting home without him. 

He gets up from his seat as he sees you push back the fabric of the tent. 

“Good morning” he greets, “How are you feeling?”

“I want to go home. Now”, you demand. 

He looked like a spoiled child getting told off by a parent. His head lowers, and he clasps his hands together in front of himself. 

“Yeah. We should be getting back” he agrees. 

His head rises again and he beckons your forward with his hand.

“You need to eat something before we do. I made porridge”. 

You take his place on the log in front of the fire and his jacket. Without a word, he takes his warm jacket off himself and helps you put it on. 

A bowl of warm porridge is placed in your hands, and then he leaves you be. Giving you space to process your emotions. 

He packs up the tent and gear while you sit, unable to eat what was given to you.

Even in all the time it took him to pack away the tent and all the camping equipment, you had yet to take a single bite.

You watch as Billy kicks dirt into the fire, smothering your warmth.  

The bowl is gently taken from your hands where Billy flicks the food away, and rinses it with his water bottle before packing it away.

You follow him to the horse and he helps you up on the saddle the same way as the night before. 

The swing of your leg as you try to hook it over the saddle is executing. 

You shout from the pain, feeling the mussels as they pull to extend your leg.

“Easy” he soothes, helping you back steady on your feet. 

You shove him off. It was his fault. Your body was in pain and your life was over because of him.

He stubbles back from the sudden shove but he comes back without reproach. 

“Here” he says. 

He swings up to the saddle, leaning his body down to pull you up. You sit across the horse’s saddle, legs together to ease the pain.

Billy rides slowly for you. The day was sunny but a chill still hung in the air. You wondered how Billy went on without his jacket. 

The ride took you through trees and along a stream of water. It was not far from your home but you had never been there.

With a twenty minute ride your home came into view. While distant you could see your family as they gathered on the porch. 

The galloping of the hoofs stopped their discussion with a loud relief. 

“She’s here!” your sister yelled back into the house, “She’s back”.

Your father runs outside to the porch watching with hard eyes as you and Billy ride. 

Billy halts his horse a meter away and slides you down the saddle onto the ground. He is quick to get off behind you, holding your reluctant hand in his. 

You saw your father disappear into the house as you crossed the distance. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what Billy had done. The shame must have been too overbearing for him. 

The rest of your family were all still in their robes as they stood on the path waiting for you to come near. Your mother held out her arms but Billy stopped ten feet away under the shade of the large oak tree. 

“Ma’am” he greets your mother, “I am sorry for the distress I have caused your family, but as you can see she was safe with me”. 

The stickiness between your thighs became apparent as he spoke the words. 

You tug your hand back but he keeps it in his tight hold. 

The front door is kicked open and your father appears holding out his shotgun. 

Billy is quick to act, pulling you back behind him but he doesn’t draw his gun. 

“You get off my land” your father demands. 

Billy nods, “I will. We just came to collect a couple of things”. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your father was not a very good shot. He was old and aim was crooked. Billy was a far better shot. He wouldn’t miss. 

“Ain’t no we, boy. You get your filthy hands off my daughter, and you get out of town, or I'll kill you”.

Your mother growls her husband's name as she moves the rest of her children to the side. Only your father was under the illusion that he could take Billy on and live. 

“Now I plan to do right by her” Billy states with authority, “I’ll marry her”.

“The hell you will” your father roared. 

“It doesn’t have to end like this. You could live. See your daughters married with children. Die of old age like God intended”. 

“Draw” your father commands. To kill an unarmed man was murder, but your father was worried about the courts and not the Regulators who were sure to come seeking vengeance. 

You latch onto Billy's arm to stop him drawing his gun, or at least delay his aim so your father could have a chance. 

“You won’t mind if I get your daughter out from under me, now?” Billy asks, “Your aim has been off since you first pointed the gun at me. You could hit her instead”. 

With the agreeance of your father, Billy brings you back from behind him with a tight hold on your arm. 

“Go to the tree” Billy nods in its direction but you could hear your father calling for you to come to him. 

As soon as he releases you, the direction you go is not to the tree but to your family. 

You arm is caught and shoved to the right,

 ‘I said the tree” Billy reiterates. 

You follow his command this time, hugging yourself to the large oak tree. 

Billy takes his gun but holds his hands outwards in a surrendered position. 

“Just let me show you something” The crowd follows Billy’s eyes over to the work yard,  “You see that paint tin over there?”

A small paint tin rested on the lank of wood that was going to become the new fence. If you weren’t looking for it you would hardly see it from the distance. 

“What about it?” your father asks. The gun is unstable in his hands. It slightly bopped as he pointed it.  He was scared, and you wished you could do something that would deescalate the situation. 

“Just watch”. Billy turns to the tins direction and aims his gun with a steady hold. 

The first bullet sprayed the white paint as it went flying in the air. The second bullet hit it before it landed, flinging it further away and higher from the force. The third bullet shot it down with a hole in the center.

“Now we can continue if you want, and I can take her away without a father, or we can be joined together by marriage. That means no taxes”. 

Your father contemplates his options. He wanted to kill Billy, you could see that plain on his face, but could he?. 

The answer was no. The gun was lowered and your mother let out a sigh of relief. 

Billy beckons you back over, taking your arm back in his grip once you get close enough. 

“Pack your things, and get changed” he commands, “If you think about holding up in there, I’ll bring Jesse back and we’ll burn the house down”. 

You nod spitefully. His eyes looked over you once before turning back to the house. 

“Go” he orders, letting you go. 

Your family is quick to squabble around you as you trek into the house. There were too many words flown at you.Too many hands touching you as you moved. 

Only your father stayed away, Slumping into a foyer chair with his gun still in his hand. 

You were determined to do your tasks quickly and lead Billy away. The ache between your legs was ignored as you fling open your wardrobe and shove what you can into your travel case. It filled quickly, you only had two more dresses in your wardrobe but you left them favoring to take your make-up and hair accessories. 

It hardly zips, and lands on the ground with a heavy thud. 

You weren’t sure how long it had taken you, but the less time keeping Billy waiting the better. You grab one of the last dresses you owed out of your wardrobe, side stepping people as they went to hold you. 

“Help me with my dress” you call on your sister. 

“You aren’t honestly leaving with him?” your mother took a seat on your bed as if you had punched her. 

Stepping into the green dress and waiting to be laced up, gave them the answer that they ignored. 

“Billy is the law,” you remind them. 

Your sister silently agreed by stepping forwarding and lacing you into your dress. You put Billy’s coat back on to show him you still had it, and take the time to hug and kiss them all. Billy was not the kind to keep you from your family but it would be the last time you would see them as their daughter and sister. 

Your father was still sitting in the chair as you came down. He doesn't move as you bend down and kiss his forehead. 

Billy was waiting outside, his gun resting on his thigh was holsted once more in his belt so he had hands to take your bag. 

He straps it to his horse in no time, turning to wait for you. 

You took one more look back at your family on the porch before you were ready. 

You raise your arms up to Billy on the horse and he pulls you up to the saddle once more. 

The ride to the Regulators camp was silent and quite a distance. Billy had taken his hat off as the sun went higher in the sky, and placed it upon your head. 

It felt strange to wear Billy’s coat and hat. Less than 24 hours ago he was little more than a stranger. Now he was your self-proclaimed fiance. You could very well be carrying his child. It all happened so fast. Your head spun trying to piece together the facts.

The noise of the Regulators as Billy’s horse approached did not help your scrambled mind. They whooped and hollered. 

You could hear Billy’s smile as he greeted them but his horse never slowed. Moving past the building where the men sat drinking, to the furthest field where a wooden house stood tall. 

Across from the house was a horse corral where they trained the horses. In between your house and the first house of one of the Regulators was the stable where the horses were housed. 

In addition to the tax, you assumed the men also traded horses to earn a wage. 

It was a decent size of land and well kept. The house in front of you looked strong. It was two stories of wooden panels, and a large porch was wrapped around the entire estate. If you were to take Billy at his word, it must have taken him a long time to complete such a house.

He stops the horse in front of the house, swinging off first to tie the reins to the railings of the porch. 

He assures you that he will take your things inside when he comes back out to tend to his horse, but he was eager for you to see your new home. 

With help down, Billy leads you into the house. It was furnished. Nothing decorative but tables and chairs. The entertaining lounge had a large fireplace, and the kitchen had a large stove and a large window above the sink that pointed out to a field of flowers. 

It grew a distaste in your mouth. He had designed this home with you in mind. He always knew this day was coming and expected you to swallow the news joyfully and quickly. 

‘And this” he opens a door just beside the living room to show a smaller version. A dark red armchair and matching leg rest faced a small fireplace. An arched window that Billy had built in a reading nook and decorated with mismatched pillows, provided light into the room. 

“This is your room for when you need your space. I won’t step foot into it”. He looks at you expecting you to be overjoyed but finds you glaring back at him. 

“Do you like it?” he asks. 

‘I have your cum dried between my legs, and you are asking me if I care about a room?” you bit. 

He closes the door quickly and takes you by the arm to lead you up stairs, 

“I’ll get you hot water for your bath”. 

Billy boils the water over the stove as you sit in the chair and wait. A hip bath was placed against the wall in the kitchen. You go and expect it. Your family was too poor for one. A basin did the job fine. But you always wanted one. 

He doesn’t let the water get too hot, only luke warm before joining you. 

“Do you mind if I stay?” he questions as he gently places the water and rag cloths on the floor by your foot.

You don’t look at him as you talk. Your fingers reach for the laces of your dress but they touch his as he unlaces the dress for you. 

“What does it matter? The sin has already been committed”.

Your dress falls to the floor around you. You’re quick to leave your undergarments alongside it so you could climb into the tub. 

“You need to know I won’t ever do that again”. He squats next to you in the tub, bringing the warm rags up to your skin. You take one and focus on scrubbing the seaman off your thighs while he focuses on your shoulders and neck. 

“I’ll take care of you. Respect you like a good husband should. I won-”. 

“Your words mean nothing to me” you cut him off. 

He shifts as you lean back into the tub.

‘I’ll prove it to you”, he resolves. 

—-

The wedding was small with only your family and the Regulators in attendance. The priest married you quickly and you were placed on Billy’s saddle once more. No big party predeceased it. Your family went home, and the Regulators went back to their camp where bottles were opened. 

You could hear the Regulators as they used your marriage as an excuse to play from the comfort of the house Billy built you. 

He remained with you despite the protests from his gang. 

He remained quiet as you figured out the swell of emotions inside you. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. A quiet relief lingered in the back only causing more distress.  

When he bought you the dinner he had made for you an emotion finally stuck. 

Acceptance. 

William. H Bonney was your husband now. 

He kept true to his words. Patiently waiting for your permission. You slept next to him every night, but besides a gentle kiss goodnight, he never touched you. His patience granted him two willfully-born sons. 

He was a good husband and father. 

You and your children were never left without. 

You watch him from the window as he shows the boys how to ride. They were too small for the lesson to be anything more than a pony ride but it gave you time to put dinner on the table without them under your feet. 

He winks at you when he catches you staring. Unconsciously your hand goes to your belly. 

‘A little girl would be nice’, you think.