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qwimchii · 1 year ago

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𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 1) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 17.7𝘬 (crying TT)

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

note: the year is circa 1908 and 10 years after the spanish-american war (1898). reader has long hair bc i felt like that was historically accurate... hope that's ok <3

header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

you had heard the whispers on the horizon.

the whole town buzzed with a sort of energy—a swirling mass of dusty brown and gurgling in your stomach.

anxiety. you saw it on passerby faces through Daddy’s saloon, the bouncing knee of your mama under the table while you said grace at dinner. she never bounced her knee. it was a strict habit she trained you out of from a young age. claimed that it wasn’t proper for a young, unmarried lady like yourself.

that morning, when you stood over the wash bin in front of the dusty mirror, you wiped at your face with an old washcloth and smoothed the lines of your face like your mama taught you.

Ghost was coming to town.

no matter how you brushed your hair, the dust climbing through the desert coated it in a thin, particulate grime. Mama tightened your corset as you shoved your toes into leather heeled boots.

“remember yourself, girl,” she spoke lowly. “remember your manners. behave for once and don’t embarrass your daddy.”

you only rolled your eyes at her hissed warnings. you had met with Daddy’s business partners over several dinners where you put on your best show to pour them a glass of Daddy’s fancy bourbon all the way from kentucky.

these were the rules: you don’t speak to them unless spoken to, and you let them touch you however they please.

you shuddered, stomach curling at the thought of the last dinner. Mr. Turner’s wrinkled hand had slid up your thigh and you twisted away in reflex, accidentally knocking a bottle of bourbon onto the floor that shattered and soaked the hem of his wife’s fancy dress.

she had screamed at you and your daddy’s face had gone red, sending you a look of warning. Mama barely spared you a glance as she pulled you down to the floor to clean it up, pinching the skin of your arm in frustration.

you couldn’t tell if it felt worse to have Mr. Turner’s hand squeezing at your thigh or to be at your knees in front of him.

the strings of your corset pulled tight and you bit back a gasp as Mama tied it deftly with the practiced curl of her rough hands. you put on your best blouse and tucked it into a navy skirt that flowed into a blue, watery circle round your ankles. looking into the mirror, you thought your mama looked so much more poised and ready than you.

with a shaky exhale, you turned to her and she slapped at your face. you winced at the sting it left on your cheek.

“you’ll be fine.”

you felt far from it, trailing after her as the orange sun bled through the grimey windows, a blanket of dust settling on them in the windy evening. you had scrubbed them only yesterday.

settling yourself behind the expanse of Daddy’s bar, you smoothed over the dark wood. the saloon was eerily empty and quiet, a silent omen of Ghost’s arrival approaching. he had sent word only a few days ago. he had urgent business with Daddy and he was coming. now.

as you shuffled through Daddy’s whiskey collection, rearranging and wiping bottles down, you remembered the legends that alcoholics brought in every other week. another story on Ghost—the masked iron harbinger of death and justice. he wasn’t a sheriff, a good and honorable christian, or a vigilante. he was a bounty hunter, a cold-hearted gunslinger with a nasty sore spot for bourbon, money, and women. someone who disappeared without a trace, shooting out runaway criminals, bringing back carcasses for an extra dime.

he wasn’t even human.

a ghost. or so you heard.

you combed through the alcoholic contents, anxiously placing them and replacing them. your mama would be calling you to dinner any second and lead you to the table, Daddy at the head and Ghost at the other, right next to your spot where his hand would be on your thigh, eyes burning into the curve of your cheek.

swallowing, you leaned against the bar top. you wanted to run away. you didn’t know how much longer you could go—how many more business partners Daddy would work with to expand his saloon chain. how much longer until he would be selling his daughter’s honor for a bigger investment…

the familiar click and chime of the saloon doors swinging open came from behind. you crossed your arms and didn’t turn to see who it was. you knew Mama would’ve had your head for being so rude.

“saloon’s closed,” you called out, “Daddy’s got business with—”

“Ghost.”

you stiffened and uncrossed your arms to peer over your shoulder.

there, at the entrance of the saloon, stood a broad and tall figure, hips thick and laden with a gun holster. he hooked his fingers on his belt, embroidered silver buckle glimmering in the red hours of the evenings. his backlit silhouette stark against the sunset made it hard to make out anything else, but you were sure when you saw the shine of his red mask and the wide berth of his black Stetson, a silver skull and crossbones clasped to its brim.

Daddy’s got business with Ghost.

you were frozen. the casual way his thick gloved hand settled on his revolver sent tremors through you.

“you’re supposed to be at dinner with Daddy,” you said, throat tight, and he trudged forward, boots heavy on the wood floorboards. he walked with a heady weight, and as he neared, you could make out the darkness of his eyes piercing through his skull mask.

“wanted bourbon.”

you stared at him for a long moment. he sat at a barstool, all his weight and broadness settled over the bartop. whatever trance you were in broke when he tipped his head at you in question—or impatience, you couldn’t discern. probably the latter.

you fumbled for a kentucky bourbon. you had done this a million times over at the saloon, but the crackle of the air and his gaze following your every move had your hands wobbling. the shaky clink of the bourbon bottle against the glass grappled with the silence of the room. suddenly, you felt hyper aware of the looseness of your blouse when you bent to pour his bourbon. you didn’t dare look up into his gaze.

“you scared of me?” his accent was foreign and grating and sent shivers down your spine. you should’ve been hollering for your mama at this point, but you felt rooted to the spot.

shakily, you exhaled. “no.”

when you pulled back, you watched in amazement as he pulled up the bottom of his black mask, revealing a canvas of pale skin, dark stubble, and a strong jawline that pulled into a tight frown on his lips. a litter of scars shone silver in the light when he tipped back to drain the glass of bourbon.

when he placed the empty glass back on the table, he reached into the inner pocket of his black trench coat and pulled out a cigarette. you flinched when his heavy gaze ran over you.

“light me up, lovely?”

you nodded dumbly, reaching for the lighter under the countertop and held it out to him. he looked up at you, unmoving, and you blinked in confusion before his gloved hand gripped your wrist with a tightness.

he moved your hand with his own, thumbing over the sparkwheel till the flame jumped to life and leaned his mouth forward to tip his cigarette into the flame.

your whole body felt light and fiery—like you were floating a bit off the ground, shoulders drawn with a tightness. a sharp exhale left you when he finally released you, the skin of your wrist tingling in the memory of his leather grip.

smoke clouded your eyes in a haze and you blinked rapidly, quickly wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. he huffed, corners of his lips twitching, a dark gleam in his eye. his rested his hand against the countertop, smoke trailing up in the room and you watched his lips part like he was about to say something—

Mama strode into the room, freezing at the entrance of the back door behind the counter. you had never seen her so tense, her eyes moving from you, to the hulking man smoking a cigarette.

“welcome, sir,” she greeted and he only nodded, pulling his mask back down as he snuffed out his cigarette in an ashtray.

it was like you remembered yourself in that moment, that the man across from you was Ghost, the bounty hunter, the murderer, and the devil. you shuffled away into her side when Ghost stood. her arm was tight when it circled your waist, and you mustered all your strength not to shake. Mama’s gaze was on him but Ghost was only staring at you.

you stared at the floor instead.

“this way, sir,” she said, gate polite and posture poised as she led you and Ghost to the dining room through the back of the saloon’s supply and storage to the other side of the building where he was supposed to enter.

his footsteps were heavy behind you and the hair on your neck prickled. you scurried forward but it was like you could feel his warm breath down your back.

when you found Daddy, it was almost a crushing relief to see the sweeping calm on his half-lidded face at the dinner table. he was so charming, you were sure he could use his business skills to weasel out of this. like he had a million times before.

Mama’s steaming food was laid out over the table—buttered chicken, thick mashed potatoes, greasy green beans with bacon bits. you tried to move to sit on the opposite side of the table, far away from Ghost, but your daddy’s eyes pinned you with a warning and you grimaced, sitting carefully next to him. Ghost’s gaze burned your face.

“Ghost,” Daddy greeted, “pleasure to see you again.”

he only grunted, mask pulled tight over his features. you couldn’t see anything but the dark swirl of his eyes. he didn’t even take off his hat at the table.

you glanced at your mother’s face by Daddy but her eyes were intent, focused on Ghost. she didn’t seem to care at all. you shifted in your seat. you knew Ghost was a very special guest, but not even special guests were above Mama’s rules.

“what brings you to our small town?”

Mama nudged you under the table with her foot, and you kept yourself from rolling your eyes, standing to serve Ghost food. you carefully dished it on his plate neatly, just like Mama taught you, but he didn’t even spare the food a glance.

“i was at your saloon in jackson county.” you froze briefly. jackson county is a long way from the west. he must’ve traveled day and night to reach your small town embedded in tumbleweeds and dust.

his head tipped thoughtfully so you couldn’t see his eyes anymore under the width of his hat. “it’s a nice place. good kentucky bourbon.”

Daddy smiled but his eyes narrowed. you were about to dump a spoonful of mashed potatoes on Ghost’s plate but he gripped your wrist lightly.

“i’m alright,” he said low, and your spine prickled. there was a warning in it, so you sat back in your seat, leaning to the furthest edge away from him. you dreaded the moment his gloved palm would glide up your thigh.

“why are you here, Ghost?” Daddy asked again, his hand reaching down below the table. you imagined it resting on the holster, revolver lodged against his hip.

Ghost leaned forward.

“first, you tell me why I saw Turner’s boys loitering around jackson county.”

Daddy went pale in a way you’ve never seen before and Mama shifted uncomfortably. her knee was bouncing again.

“nearly got my head shot off. had to comb my way through texas to lose ‘em.” Ghost’s eyes narrowed in the dimness of the dining room.

“you know how i feel about the Turner boys, Henry.”

you shivered at his low tone. what the hell was going on?

there was a calculated thickness in Daddy’s voice. it blanketed all the desperation in his clenched jaw. “i needed investors, Ghost. Turner was the highest bidder.”

“do you need a reminder of who built your business from scratch in the first place?”

your brows raised. Daddy did business with Ghost?

“no i remember. i also remember how you high-tailed it out of here when the Turner boys showed up five years ago.”

you jumped in your seat when Daddy stood and placed his revolver on the dinner table. Mama gasped and murmured something like disapproval that Daddy ignored. it gleamed in the low light and your jaw clamped.

“i’m not afraid of you, Ghost. Turner’s protecting me now.”

Ghost’s silence was deadly, his hulking form too relaxed, but you could see his hand twitch where it lay on his holster. was this going to lead to a shootout?

you tried to convey your silent question in the way that you peered into the curve of his mask but his eyes were dead set on Daddy.

“Turner is protecting you now?”

“yes.”

Ghost stared up at your daddy for a long time before his gaze traveled to you. you reached deep inside you to muster the courage and stare unflinchingly back.

“i want my money back, Henry.” it was a low deadly whisper, his eyes never leaving you. Daddy balked.

“you know i can’t do that.”

“but you can. and i want my money back or i can take something much more precious.”

his gloved hand came up to stroke at your cheek and you bit back a hiss, biting down on your lower lip. Mama stood now, clutching at Daddy’s arm.

“you won’t, you devil!” she cried and Ghost gripped firmly at your jaw, razor eyes digging into you. a tight hand around his wrist, you tried to pry him off but he was too strong. he wouldn’t budge. a traitorous tear spilled from the corner of your eye. Ghost brushed it away with his thumb.

“you have no honor,” your Daddy whispered and Ghost went lax. you pushed his hand away and pressed yourself to the back of your chair in a ball.

a new boiling anger built in you. you were being used again as another part in Daddy’s business transactions.

“you sell your daughter to investors for a buck. do you really want to talk about honor?” he chewed out the words and you shuddered, holding your breath to keep down the sobs that threatened to push up into your lungs.

“i protected you. this was my territory. i had men in your town and i made sure no bandits came near your saloons and i made sure none left alive. then, you went to work with Turner instead.” Ghost stood at the table, revolver in hand. he cocked the gun and Mama shrieked.

“this is a fair trade. give me my investment back or i’ll take her instead.” the barrel of his revolver slowly swung from Daddy to you. in his black suit in bloody mask, Ghost truly did look like the devil. you wanted to shake, to cry and scream and sob, but only a venomous anger spread through you.

what did Ghost know about fairness?

“if i go it’s on my terms,” you hissed under your breath and Ghost’s eyes swiveled to you. Mama began to shout in protest but he pointed the revolver dead above her browline and your Daddy hissed, picking up his own revolver and cocking it.

“what’re your terms, lovely?” he asked in a low tone.

“you leave my Mama and Daddy alone.” with a harsh swallow, you wiped at the tears on your cheeks. “i can ride a horse. i can shoot well ‘cause Daddy taught me. i know how to pour a glass and tend a bar. i can read and write. i know good manners and i can talk smart when i need it.

Ghost’s eyes were half-lidded as he looked down on you, sitting as straight as you possibly could at the dinner table. your Daddy’s revolver was trained on Ghost now.

“i won’t get in the way. take me instead of the money.”

Ghost blinked. “what’re my terms?”

you hesitated, voice cracked wide open. “you…you’ll own me.”

his eyes narrowed. “body and soul?”

you nodded slowly, feeling your anger deflate as your mama began to sob.

“body and soul.” you screwed your eyes shut, head dipping forward. the devil.

“Henry?”

your Daddy looked weakly at Ghost, his shoulders falling. he looked meek and small and not even half the smart man you thought he was. his revolver clattered to the dinner table in defeat and you didn’t spare him a glance when you stood from the dinner table to trudge up the stairs and pack your things, the food sprawled across the dinner table cold and forgotten.

you didn’t have time to think about what you needed or what to say goodbye to. the stuffed bear your daddy got you for your tenth birthday lay discarded among your bedsheets. old letters from the girls in town were strewn off your desk as you dug for stationary. you stopped midway when you realized there was no way Ghost would let you write your parents on the move through the west.

was this your new life? confined to bounty hunting and running from foes? living as a ghost?

you shivered, shoving blouses and skirts and a canteen on your nightstand into a knapsack. you pulled out the drawer of your dresser and dug under more clothes to find a revolver and pack of ammo. Mama would beat you if she ever knew it was there and that’s why you always kept it hidden.

you loaded up the cylinder, pushing the bullets into each chamber and ramming the cylinder back in place.

“gearing up to kill me?”

you froze and looked over your shoulder to find Ghost crowding your doorway. for someone of his stature, he moved too quietly. usually, you would be embarrassed at the mess dispersed across the floor, your undergarments at a pile by his dusty boots.

but you just narrowed your eyes, ignoring him as you carded through your room, collecting random essentials. matches, money, your sharpest letter opener, and in a last second grab, your journal.

he watched all your movements with an eerie silence.

“i’m not planning on keeping you forever.” he stepped forward till he was just a short arm length from your back. his voice was cold.

“your daddy’ll try and kill me first, then he��ll cough up the money eventually. it’s a temporary trade off.”

“i’m not one of your business transactions,” you snapped, and he blinked at you.

“‘course not.”

his words weren’t convincing. you tried to squeeze past him but his outstretched arm blocked your path. you almost snapped at him again but shrunk back when his steady eyes pinned you down. he crowded you back until you blindly hit the dresser.

your neck craned up. he was so much bigger than you.

the swell of his chest with each breath almost brushed against you, and you squirmed under his intense gaze.

“you offered yourself up to me,” he said, calculated. “why?”

you swallowed down the anxious gurgling in your stomach. “you wouldn’t believe me.”

“tell me anyway.”

“i hate it here.”

he cocked his head at you. “the rich girl wants to become a bounty hunter?”

you frowned, raising the revolver and digging it into his stomach. “don’t think that i could?”

he gave you a long look before tipping his hat and stepping back. “didn’t say that, lovely.”

you whispered it under your breath. “devil.”

the grip on his holster tightened. “maybe. but i know how to be a gentleman.”

he picked up the knapsack on your bed, despite your grumble of protest, and slung it over his shoulder.

“don’t worry. i’ll take real good care of you, princess.”

you could only imagine a smug smirk hidden by the shroud of his mask as he walked out your bedroom.

it was surreal watching the tears stream down Mama’s face as she cupped your face in her hands. facing them now, you searched your daddy’s eyes for an ounce of anger or fight.

just give him the money, you wanted to scream at your daddy, but he stared straight through you and the hands that clutched at your face.

Ghost watched from a distance, arms curled over his chest, leaning against a fence post that his black stallion was tied to, leisurely grazing at the dry tufts of grass. your horse, Sugar, stamped in the dirt nearby, kicking up dust. Ghost’s dark gaze pierced you even at a distance.

Daddy could never out gun Ghost even if he tried.

you startled when Mama pulled you into a tight hug. she hissed low and angry, “you wait till he falls asleep and you kill him, you hear me?” she pinched at the skin of your arm. “you put three bullets in that devil’s heart and you run back to us.”

she brushed hair away from your face, sweeping away the dust on the crown of your head. “okay?”

you nodded, swallowing, throat bone dry.

“you’ll be fine.”

those were her final words when your daddy led you to your horse and let you clamber up into your saddle. Ghost looked at you expectantly from over his shoulder as your daddy patted your knee.

“i’m sorry, sweetheart.”

no you’re not.

you looked into his charming face, a twisted look on his lips. his eyes were tired.

“goodbye, Daddy.”

you took one look over the small town and the dust that blew through it. Ghost turned his horse into the dying light of the day and you dug the heel of your boot into the flank of your mare, tightening the reins, and took off after Ghost. soon, your mama and daddy become a dot in the horizon, and you almost suppressed a smile.

you weren’t sure how long you rode. it felt like hours, dust kicking up in a big cloud after the pair of you into the dark night. you only stopped every hour or so to let the horses rest up, drink, feed and you were off again. you should’ve been tired but you were so high with exhilaration, lungs burning with exertion from the long ride, that you almost didn’t catch Ghost’s call to rest drifting over the wind rushing in your ears.

your chest was put through the wringer, panting as you slid off your horse.

“good girl, Sugar.” you slapped at her dapple gray shoulder. she snorted, tossing her mane anxiously.

as you traveled further into…wherever you were, the cacti and low brush built up into bushes and weedy looking trees. into a forest.

Ghost lit the lantern strung up on his saddle bags and gave you a sharp, wordless look before leading his horse by the reins further into the woods. you followed him, head on a swivel at the unfamiliar surroundings.

you were used to the big, brown, orange flat canvas of your small town. the green grass underfoot was unusual and the trees cast long, distorting shadows. you startled, stopping short when you heard an foreign call from the woods. Sugar huffed nervously, big nostrils twitching as she stamped her hoof.

“it’s a coyote,” Ghost grumbled, not stopping for your shenanigans. you scurried after him, hyper aware of the encompassing darkness around you and what may be lurking beyond it.

soon, a big structure obstructing the woods came into view and Ghost lifted his lantern to reveal a small wooden cabin. by the side, he tied up his black stallion on a fence post next to a hay feeder and water bin. when he stared at you, unmoving, you quickly followed suit and fumbled to unsaddle Sugar, carrying your knapsack inside and following after his heavy footsteps.

you’re like a lost puppy, a voice grumbled in annoyance. he’s always ten steps in front of you.

you shook away the thought and stepped into the cabin, watching Ghost as he lit the oil lamps littered around the room. there was a miniscule kitchen pressed in the corner, a desk by your side, and a bed on the other. the bed was small. very small.

you cleared your throat. “where are we?”

Ghost didn’t pause to acknowledge you, shucking his trench coat and rolling up the sleeves of his black suit, exposing the skin of his forearms. for a long moment, as he rummaged through a bag, you thought he would ignore you. but your silent stare was relentless.

“border of southern california.”

your brows rose. you weren’t sure how far that was from home, or how you could possibly find your way back.

“and this cabin…?”

he paused to give you a brief look. “you ask a lot of questions.” his voice was pinched with annoyance.

“you don’t talk enough,” you shot back, tensing up. if you were going to be dragged around by this man for months, you thought you at least deserved to know where you were. or what the hell was going on.

he grumbled under his breath. “s’my safe house. we’re stayin’ for the night.”

the night. you nodded, feeling meek, remembering what Mama said. smoothing a hand over your chest, you shifted between feet in the doorway.

you can do this.

Ghost had his back turned to you, pouring his canteen of water into a pot and pouring a bag of something else in it that came out in a pebbled rush. for the devil himself, at least he knew how to cook.

“you gonna sit?”

feeling embarrassed, you moved to sit on the bed, the old mattress sagging under your weight. you kept smooth a hand over your blouse, carding a hand through your hair, till you got tired of it and wove them into messy braids and undid them again.

Ghost huffed, moving from the kitchen to the desk, putting his hat down. you stared.

“relax. no need to be so worked up.”

you nodded. “right.”

his eyes bore holes into you, and you took that as your que, swallowing as you began to unbutton the clasp at the top of your blouse. you paused when Ghost’s breath tapered, turning sharply away.

his accent thickened. “what are you doing?”

“i-i thought—”

“you thought wrong.” his words were cutting.

maybe you should’ve felt relief but you only squirmed in confusion. “body and soul?” you mumbled weakly, and he slowly turned back to you.

you fumbled with your hands awkwardly.

“i don’t bed rich, prissy girls,” he grinded out and you almost balked in defense, but you thought better of it from the way his grip tightened on his holster.

but you couldn’t hold your tongue long enough—

“who do you bed then? whores?” your brow arched against your will as you tilted your head. his eyes narrowed beneath the mask.

“careful, princess.” he grabbed something from a cabinet in the kitchen. “i’m the one who’s keeping you alive.”

a gloved hand held out a plate of some dried fruit and biscuits. a piece of jerky as well. you held your stomach.

you hadn’t touched a morsel of your mama’s food over that tense dinner, which seemed like years ago, and you were too nervous for Ghost’s arrival to eat lunch either. swallowing, you reached a hand out and Ghost pulled the plate back from your grasp.

you almost hissed at him.

“i thought you said you knew manners?”

biting your lip, you sat up straighter and politely crossed an ankle over the other, smoothing your hands over your lap.

“may i please have some food, sir?”

his voice sounded uncharacteristically smug. “you’re a good listener.”

you snatched the plate from him, his words thrumming low in your stomach. kicking off your boots and neatly lining them up by the nightstand, you politely curled your legs to the side and smoothed down your skirt to eat. Mama never let you eat on the bed, but you had snuck up meals some late nights. you almost felt giddy—as if you were breaking the rules when you were eight years old again.

Ghost watched you eat in silence before getting his own plate. the same thrill from that evening soared in your stomach when he tugged up his black mask to reveal his strong jawline and pinkish mouth. you noticed a silvery scar on his upper lip.

“did your father make you do that stuff?” you paused mid-bite of your biscuit, slowly chewing.

you swallowed. “what stuff?”

the twist of his lips seemed like exasperation. “going to bed with strangers.”

you flinched, and it was like an icy cold reminder that Ghost was a stranger—just as much as your daddy’s business partners.

“no.”

Ghost cocked his head. “that so?”

you nodded. “Daddy just had touchy customers.”

you quickly rephrased, putting down the plate on your lap. “but i can if you need me to. for your customers, you know.”

you knew you would need to be of use to Ghost in the coming months, if tonight didn’t go according to plan. the thought spurred on your heart, a looming dread clambering up your spine.

Ghost mouth twisted. “i don’t need you in that way.”

you blinked, frowning. “how do you need me then?”

“just….” he was frowning deeply now. “just do what you’re doing now.”

“what’s that?”

“bein’ polite.” he shrugged, putting down his empty plate. you felt disappointed when he tugged back down the mask. “bein’ a good girl.”

the funny thing is, being polite and a good girl was probably one of the things you were worst at in Mama’s eyes, but looking at Ghost, and the way he brandished his gun over the dinner table like a toy… your manners weren’t too bad at all.

you wondered when was the last time he stepped in a church.

finishing the last bits of dinner, Ghost excused himself to disappear into the woods, and you took the moment of privacy to quickly change into a nightgown, conscious of the way it exposed your collarbones and chest.

you also took the moment to plan out the night, searching into your knapsack to find the familiar handle of your revolver. you tested the weight of it in your hand, before putting it back into the sack. if Ghost was a gentleman, as he attested, he would let you sleep on the bed. that means he would, most likely, sleep on the floor. and if he didn’t… you would just have to convince him that he needed to.

you closed your eyes to imagine leaning over your bed at night, the slow swell of his chest as you aimed the revolver right at his heart and pulled the trigger. three times.

you shivered violently, a chill passing over you.

“cold?”

you stiffened when Ghost stepped back into the cabin, pulling the door shut behind him. you nodded, but the movement felt restrained, fists balled as you crossed them over your chest.

“mhmm.”

he jerked his head to the bed.

“take the bed. i’ll be sleepin’ outside.”

you balked, fist clenching and unclenching.

“but…what about Mr. Turner’s men?”

he turned still, hand twitching at his holster.

“they won’t find us for days. don’t worry about them.”

“but…” Ghost moved to grab his saddlebag.

“i’m scared,” you whispered, and he paused, peering at you through the mask. you gave him a meek look. it’s wasn’t a complete lie. you’ve been half-scared since he walked into Daddy’s saloon unannounced.

he sighed, long and hard. “alright, princess.” he pulled out a balled up blanket from his saddlebag and laid it on the floor, and you went lax with relief, lifting the covers of the bed to slide into them.

you stiffened again when you realized the sheets smelled of him—sweet bourbon, cigarettes, and an earthy musk like mud and woods. cheek nestled into the pillow, you watched him unbutton his vest, pull off his holster, and undo his bolo tie, placing them on the desk neatly.

you half-expected him to take off his mask, too, but he made no move towards it as turned off the oil lamps in the room. a bit disappointed, you turned to the wall once the room was shrouded with darkness.

quiet shuffling ensued, until there was a complete silence and his even breaths in the dark. it would’ve been easy to let sleep overtake you if the spike of your heavy heart wasn’t thrumming in your throat and a biting fear wasn’t corded in the back of your brain.

it took a conscious reminder to remember the large lump of man on the floor was a murderer. a cold-blooded one, too. he was a rich bounty hunter and hunting was his sport. he was a killer. he wasn’t here to feed you or take care of you. he was as sinful as they came.

you slowly shifted in the bed, reaching down into the knapsack on the floor by the bed. you groped until you felt a familiar cold, embroidered handle.

you wait till he falls asleep and you kill him, you hear me?

your mama’s voice rang in your ears as you sat up on the edge of the bed. Ghost was flat on the ground, a blanket drawn up to his waist, arms crossed over his chest. your breath hitched in the dark.

you put three bullets in that devil’s heart and you run back to us.

you stopped short at that, poisonous questions blooming in your head. it was dangerous, hesitating in the dark like this, looming over one of the most dangerous men in the west who had just, essentially, stolen you, with a loaded gun in your hand.

but your head was running away from you—how would you get home from here? did you have the supplies needed? you didn’t have the tracking skills Ghost evidently showed on your ride to the cabin, nor expertise in medical emergencies. did you even want to go home?

you stared at the side of Ghost’s mask, its red a cool blue gleam in the dark.

you could live the life of a gunslinger like Ghost—a merciless bounty hunter who murdered for money. you could imagine it, even now. shootouts with outlaws and playing friends with sheriffs to get big payouts. but… it would be under the pretense of being Ghost’s property.

you shuddered at the thought. as long as you were by Ghost’s side, you would be his captive. a precious pawn in a trade off—a hostage to use against your daddy and Turner. just another business transaction and you to take advantage of.

a small click in the dark seized you from your thoughts. Ghost’s black eyes peered up at you. cursing in surprise, your clammy hands dropped the revolver, and it clattered to the floor. you fumbled around for it and hugged it to your stomach, heart beating out of your throat.

he rested the revolver in his hand leisurely against his chest. too leisurely.

a bead of sweat slid down your temple when you realized he just cocked his gun. you didn’t remember him taking it out of his holster when he placed it on the desk.

always ten steps ahead of you.

“gearing up to kill me?”

your mouth opened and closed, failing to shape out words. his gaze narrowed.

“m’scared remember?” was all you could choke out, a shiver gripping you intensely. you tried to play it off with a careless shrug, but you knew he couldn’t possibly fall for that.

your skin felt cold but his stare was hot.

“scared of what? the dark? the coyotes outside, Tuner’s boys?” his voice was dangerously soft. “...or me?”

you almost whimpered. “i’m not scared of you.”

the fabric of his mask stretched and the crumple at his eyes let you know he was smiling. it was more threatening than anything.

“let’s say you’re not scared of me…” he rested his revolver on the floor and he shifted onto his side to face you fully. “...and let’s say you didn’t just try to kill me.”

you grimaced under his piercing stare. “put down the gun, lovely.”

you complied and he practically purred. “you still scared?”

shaking your head slowly, your knee betrayed you and began to bounce.

“let’s say you’re not scared of me, and you didn’t try to kill me, but you’re scared of the dark and the coyotes…” you balked when he opened the covers of his makeshift bed to you. “come here.”

you stayed rooted to the spot, knee freezing mid-bounce. his arms were open, mask twinkling in the moonlight, but you knew in his unflinching gaze that he was being very serious.

“come here,” he commanded, and you stood stiffly, shuffling forward to crawl into the blankets. his strong arm hooked around your waist and you muffled a squeak when he pulled you down.

you were pulled into his broad chest, warm and strong at your back and you almost melted if it weren’t for the fact that the man behind you was a cold-blooded murderer and the devil reincarnated.

his gloved hands crept beneath your shoulders around to your throat and pressed to the flying pulse of your neck. he hummed low in your ear, mask brushing the shell of it. the smell of smoke, woody musk, and bourbon filled your nose.

“sure you’re not scared, lovely?”

your jaw clenched. “yes.”

“really?”

his hand crept down from your throat to your collarbone and a loud gasp escaped you when he firmly pressed a palm to the flesh just above your breast. you knew he felt your heart’s fast thrum through the cotton of your nightgown.

“why’s your heart beatin’ so fast then?”

when the silence permitted, he offered you, “nervous?” his voice dropped an octave, low and throaty. “ever lie like this with a man before?”

you were as stiff as a board, a foreign warmth brewing in you that made your skin prickle and crawl, spluttering unintelligible sounds, when suddenly, he released you and you scrambled out of the sheets back onto the bed, pressing yourself to the wall.

he huffed a series of breaths that sounded like quiet laughter. you were just about to kill him. what was so funny about that?

like he heard your thoughts, he turned onto his back and crossed his arms again.

“would be concerned if you didn’t at least try to kill me.” Ghost closed his eyes. “you gonna try and run if i sleep?”

you stared at the side of his face. “no.”

he nodded. “good. there’s a lot more dangerous things in the desert than coyotes, princess.”

like you, you thought weakly, burrowing yourself back into the covers, face heating up when the smell of him against the pillow filled your head again.

your plans had just gone more than horribly wrong. with a heartfelt apology to your mama ringing heavy in your mind, twisting in the sheets, you tried to let sleep take you.

you barely slept that night. tossing and turning in the sheets, you listened for the sinister calls of wildlife just beyond the cabin, and the slow breaths from the floor. though a primal sense inside you let you know that Ghost probably wasn’t sleeping.

but you don’t remember when the sun came up, its first burning embers casting a thin glow in the room. you must’ve fallen asleep at some point because Ghost is gone in the morning, room eerily quiet and empty.

you take the moment to redress in your corset, loose white button up, a buckskin split skirt with fringe, pulling on your boots as you shove everything back into your knapsack. groping around for a familiar embroidered handle, you pause when you realize your revolver has gone amiss.

you sling the knapsack over your shoulder and find Ghost perched down by a fire outside, stoking at its flames. he’s back in his expensive full attire, black suit fresh in the morning light. he only spares you a glance over his shoulder before continuing to stir something in a pot hung up over the fire.

you dropped your knapsack to the ground.

“where’s my revolver?”

he scooped up a spoonful of the stuff into two bowls and grabs something from his bag. he waves your revolver in the air with one hand wordlessly.

“revolver privileges revoked.”

“why?” you knew why, but you wanted to hear it nonetheless.

standing to his full height, he turned and gave you a look under the mask that you could only imagine as disapproval. he didn’t give you an answer.

“eat,” he commanded, handing a bowl to you.

you looked into the bowl to find a watery soup of beans and a dry biscuit half soaked in the liquid. not your finest meal but you were grateful for it.

you eyed Ghost’s broad stature sitting on a log by the fire. he must’ve soaked the beans last night in that pot of water. if you, after last night’s events, weren’t going to try and kill him, or run away, you could at least play nice. for your revolver mostly.

you politely sat next to him on the log, curling your legs to the side and hooking one ankle over the other. taking small bites, you ate with the best manners you could muster without a table in front of you.

you felt Ghost’s gaze burning a question into your cheek, but you ignored it, feigning innocence.

you cleared your throat, nodding. “thank you for the food.”

he scoffed. “it’ll take a lot more to get your revolver back than that.”

you glared at him as he stood to resaddle his horse and tie his saddlebag down. finishing your food in a couple more quick bites, you moved to do the same, but stopped short when Ghost untied the reins of Sugar to bind her to his stallion.

“what’re you doing?”

Ghost gave you a meaningful look but said nothing, heaving himself up onto the stallion. huffing with frustration, you grabbed the bridle of his horse who whinied in surprise.

“what are you doing with my horse?”

Ghost cocked his head at you. “you’re stayin’ here, princess.”

what?

“what?”

“food’s in the pantry. take what you want. don’t wander more than a quarter of a mile from the cabin, you’ll get lost. i’ll be back before sunset.”

he began to turn his stallion away from you, but you held fast on the bridle, jerking its head back towards you. the horse huffed and stomped in retaliation.

“where are you going?”

Ghost just stared at you. “into town.”

you took a sharp breath, racking in your head. “i’ll run away.”

his tone was cold. “on foot? you’re not that stupid.”

“i will. i don’t care. you’ll never get your money if i’m dead of starvation… or…” you shuddered, “coyotes.”

he took you in for a long moment. “these were your terms, lovely.”

you ignored him. “i’m useful. i am. i’m useful for…” you trailed off. “business.”

“i know what you’re useful for.” his eyes narrowed. “you’re most useful right here, in this camp, far away from my business.”

that blow landed right in your gut. “i’ll build a big fire,” you whispered, “and it’ll alert Turner’s men. they’ll find me and bring me back to my daddy.”

he turned away. “do you really want them to find you? when they’ll do lord knows what to a young lady like you?”

every bit of the fight burning in you deflated, snuffed by his sharp words and harrowing logic. you felt small and defeated as you watched Ghost spur his horse on, Sugar trailing after them. a miserable feeling bloomed in your stomach.

is this what your daddy felt like last night at the dinner table?

“i’ll be back before sunset,” he called over his shoulder and took off into the early morning light in a cloud of dust.

time alone went slower than you could possibly imagine. you don’t remember the last time you were alone like this—your mama always hovering over your shoulder, or the girls in town spurring you to embroider and scrapbook with them, or maybe go shopping, even when you’d rather tend to the saloon and make an extra buck when you sang an a pretty song for the alcoholics.

your hands ached to do something, so you laid back in the afternoon sun and whittled at a branch with your letter opener.

once you got tired of that, you began writing aimless entries in your journal with Ghost’s quill and ink on the desk, then, addressing your daddy and mama in a futile letter, vented that Ghost had run off into town for business. what business, you itched to know.

later, you stretched back on the bed in your full attire and boots, which Mama would sorely disapprove of, and blinked away the sun that streamed through the greasy window panes. lids drooping, you found yourself falling into a deep slumber.

you awoke with a start, sweat pooling under your back, blouse sticking to your skin. the sun was settling lazily into the horizon, far into the hours after noon. it was darker than before, a blue tinge across the sky like it was on the verge of storming.

with a lazy sweep of your vision across the cabin, everything untouched, you knew Ghost was still out doing business. of which you, apparently, had no use.

you stretched out over your head and froze when you heard something—a clicking rustle outside the cabin. you strained your hearing, going completely still.

then, you heard distant voices chattering.

dropping to the floor with a silent thud, you peered out the front of the window by the edge of the bed. four men stood by their horses, poking at the pot of beans outside with his boot. you silently cursed when one overturned the watery beans over the dying embers.

a man looked up at the cabin and you immediately ducked, panicking when you heard quick, heavy footsteps nail up the steps to the cabin. you scrambled backwards under the bed and pressed yourself into a ball into the furthest corner of the cabin.

one man stepped inside carefully, and you watched his feet slowly pan across the room in a circle. the warmth drained from your face when you heard the cock of a safety.

who were these people? you racked your brain for answers. Ghost said Turner’s men wouldn’t find you for days. maybe weary travelers looking for a place to stay for the night? good samaritans who could help you escape Ghost?

and never return to your family, a voice in your head added quietly. you silenced it.

he stood by the desk and listened to him rummage over it. you winced—all your letters and writings were still strewn across the desk.

“Charles!” he called. then, abruptly, he neared the bed and reached down for your knapsack on the floor. you clasped a hand to your mouth. he pulled away, your knapsack going with him.

“she was here.”

your blood ran cold. Turner’s men had arrived earlier than Ghost expected.

a second man, Charles, you presumed, stepped into the cabin. more rummaging—probably the first man holding up the letters and your belongings for Charles to see.

“they went to town. says so in the letters.”

Charles huffed and turned on his heel back out the cabin.

“let’s move quick. Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.”

an icy drip went down your back.

low, raucous laughter and hoots ensued, and you heard more shuffling and the snorts of horses and the stamping of hooves that slowly faded into silence again. only the leaves rustling in the wind and pitched bird calls filled the cabin.

your heart was still beating out of your chest.

Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.

that shook you to your core. you wanted to run after them, to beg them to bring you back to your parents without harm, maybe bribing them with an extra sum your daddy could give them, but you knew it was futile.

you weren’t ever going back home, and you sure as hell weren’t letting Turner’s men lay their hands on you.

heaving yourself out from under the bed, you looked up at the darkening sky. a gray film was growing over it, blanketing the sun from view. a boom of thunder roiled in the distance.

you needed to move fast, somehow, to warn Ghost about Turner’s men coming for him in town. you cursed yourself for writing those letters in the first place—now, Ghost could be in danger because of you.

not that you cared much. but that devil was the closest thing to protection right now against your parents and Turner. except maybe yourself.

you picked up the knapsack that was thrown haphazardly on the floor and pulled out all your extra clothing and baggage. with only a canteen of water, and the leftover food from the pantry, the letter opener, and a box of matches, you trailed after the hoofprints left by Turner’s men, hurrying as the storm approached quickly overhead.

you were dripping with sweat by the time you reached the edge of town. buckling over to clasp at your knees, you held your chest as you leaned against a tree.

you did it. you tracked those men through low brush and the deep, muddy hoofprints they left behind, some bushes snagged by charging through the forest at an alarming rate.

you did it. you only hoped that Turner’s men hadn’t found Ghost before you did.

the sky was still a murky gray—you had no idea what time it was, no idea if the sun had begun setting yet. you paled at the thought of Ghost riding back to find the cabin empty, your belongings strewn across the place, cabinets empty of supplies. you felt more sick at the thought of finding the devil in a dim alleyway, three bullets in his heart.

pushing forward, you entered the busy throng of the town, its twinkling lights and loud raucous contenting with the brewing storm overhead. men had holsters strung with guns, ammo slung over their torsos like a fancy sash.

some tipped their stetson to you as you walked the cobble streets, wiping the sweat and humidity from your brow. you ignored them to the best of your ability, shuffling along faster when a group of drunks meandered close to you.

sweetheart, they called, and you, in a dizzying panic, pushed into the nearest building, its doors swinging open to a rowdy, rowdy crowd of even more drunks. some smiled at your entrance, but most were too enthralled in their card games, betting, and bourbon to care.

you took the moment to search the snaking crowd for a familiar red mask, but you found nothing. this didn’t feel much like Ghost’s scene anyway.

shoulders sinking, you were about to step back out onto the crowded streets, where a light drizzle was pooling, when a redhead with braids rushed passed you in a tizzy.

she almost dumped a tray full of bourbons onto you. squeaking, she steadied herself against you, and apologized in a thick drawl.

“sorry, sweetheart! didn’t see you there—” she paused, narrowing her eyes at you. immediately, you reeled back.

you really wished you had a revolver slung in your holster in that moment, because you didn’t think to realize that anybody could be one of Turner’s men.

“you…” she cocked her head and you stiffened. “you’re the new hire, aren't ‘cha!”

you blinked in shock, voice cracking. “what?”

“glad you showed up early.” she gave you an approving nod and nudged you with her shoulder. “extra trays of bourbon are in the back. you wouldn’t mind passing them out would you?”

“i-” she was gone in a flash, disappearing into the messy crowd.

you should’ve left at that moment, taking the opportunity to disappear yourself, but instead, you thought this an opportunity to get close and personal with each customer. perhaps Ghost took off his mask for business—you knew you could recognize him by his expensive black suit and the stature he carried. the low timber of his voice, and the dark swirl in his eyes.

shivering, a drift came through and you rubbed at your bare neck. you quickly moved to man the bar. an easiness settled over you at the familiarity of it, grabbing bottles of bourbon and whiskey, pouring them neatly into bar glasses on black trays. you teetered from person to person, tray balanced in your palm as you peered into the face of each man, and even woman, hunkered down at a table to get a glimpse of their profile.

tray after empty tray, you couldn’t find the man you were looking for, no matter how many more entered. soon enough, you bumped into the redhead with braids again and she gave you a cocksure smile.

“sure you’re a new hire?” she laughed loud, cheeks red, slapping at your back. “why don’t you go help across the way at our quieter location? you know where business—” she winked, “—gets done.”

you just nodded aimlessly, too overwhelmed to question it, and she beamed. “don’t worry. it’s more beginner friendly.”

you exited the saloon with the point of her hand to a quainter location on the other side of the street. a thick rain was coming down now. rushing into the parallel saloon, it was half as loud as the other, which your ears thanked, and a thick smoke hazed the room. groups of men donned in fancy suits sat at tables strewn across the room, discussing in low voices with fat cigars between their lips.

your eyes swiveled around the room, craning your neck to peer into the furthest corner of the saloon, but still, no red mask. deflating, you jolted when a barmaid gripped at your shoulder.

“new hire?” she looked disgruntled, eyes narrowing in judgment. you took note of her attire, eerily similar to your own, with a fine cotton blouse and buckskin skirt. now, you understood who the redhead may have confused you for: a fancy barmaid for the gentleman’s club across the way.

she appeared frustrated at your lackluster response. “can you sing?”

you balked at that but said yes nonetheless. your mother had taught you, much to your chagrin.

she nodded. “good. men were asking for a performance. i know it’s your first night, but could you give them a bone to chew on?”

“i guess so,” you spluttered, and she barely batted an eye, already pushing you to the raised platform by the bar. a man already sat with a guitar, peering at you expectantly when you stepped onto the platform.

turning to face the audience, you felt the blood drain from your cheeks. you hadn’t sung in front of an audience this big since your school’s talent show. clearing your throat, you flashed the crowd your prettiest smile, and clasped your hands in front of you politely. the establishment quieted, save for a few low whistles, and you began to sing along for a softer rendition of the fast-paced song to the slow strum of the guitarist.

my love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks,

though he’s promised to quit it, just for my sake.

he ties up one foot, the saddle puts on,

with a swing and a jump he is mounted and gone.

it was the only song you could remember in the moment—one the girls and you would sing wildly in the evenings after church over loud laughter and iced tea.

my love has a gun, and that gun he can use,

but he’s quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;

and he’s sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,

and there’s no more cow punching, and that’s what I hope.

your eyes searched the crowd and you held back a gasp when you met eyes with a familiar red mask. he stood near the back of the club, bracing his forearm against a wooden beam. swallowing hard, you continued.

my love has a gun that has gone to the bad,

which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;

for the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,

and it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.

his eyes pierced you, and you couldn’t suppress the slithering shiver that crawled down your spine. you wished he was closer—right at the edge of the platform so you could look down into his brown eyes, and maybe, try to discern what he was thinking under that blood red mask.

now all you young maidens, where’er you reside,

beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide;

he’ll court you and pet you and leave you and go

in the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho.

the room clapped and hollered when you finished, and you couldn’t suppress the smile that stretched your cheeks as you curtsied clumsily, gaze on Ghost. he tipped his hat to you, and a loud laugh clambered into your throat. it morphed into a blood curdling scream when a revolver fired and Ghost crumpled to the floor.

the club scrambled in a panic with loud wails, the assailant disappearing into the throng as you clawed your way to the man. he was clutching at his stomach, half-fallen against the wooden beam.

“Ghost!”

a strangled noise strained against your throat. falling to your knees beside him, you pulled away his hand from his stomach, and you paled at the sight of the dark red coating his glove, sleeve, suit. it pooled underneath him.

quickly, you grabbed his bloodied arm and pulled it around your shoulder. there was no way you could heft his weight but you were going to try anyway.

“c’mon,” you coaxed impatiently, as he scrambled up the side of the wooden pole, trying to support his weight. a string of curses left his lips.

“you’ve got a pretty voice,” he rasped, and you almost wanted to drop his weight entirely.

“not important,” you groaned, taking slow steps out the saloon with his body strung over yours. with every step, you grimaced with effort, huffing heavily.

there was an even greater panic in the streets than in the club—a heavy, pouring onslaught coming down like a beating drum. across the way, the other saloon was being ripped apart by several men, upturning tables and firing their guns at the ceiling to clear out the place. Turner’s men.

you pulled Ghost in the opposite direction, appreciative of his black attire in the dark night, the debilitating rain, and the ensuing chaos. you tipped his hat further over that tell-tale mask. he grumbled something by your ear.

“what?” you shouted over the mix of shouts and rush of rain, stumbling when a man hurrying past clipped your shoulder.

his voice lifted. “don’t need your help.”

you rolled your eyes, head on a swivel. lodged between two buildings was an alleyway. a throng of Turner’s men overturned more establishments ahead. you made a beeline for the cramped space.

“you’ll die.”

he huffed when you pressed him against the wall, clutching at the blood seeping from his stomach.

“no i won’t.”

you shot him a glare.

“ghosts can’t die,” he said, sounding high and delirious. he slid further down the wall, a pitched laugh escaping him.

now you knew he was really at his last wits. you racked your brain for answers. you didn’t know medical knowledge, you didn’t see an infirmary on the way here, and even if you did, you wouldn’t put it past them to turn you over to Turner’s men in an instant.

you almost screamed in frustration, tearing off the sleeve of your blouse to wrap around his middle. your hands fumbled clumsily, and Ghost must’ve at least come back to half his senses because he pushed your hands away and expertly knotted the thing despite his thick gloves. his head slumped forward into your shoulder, as if the action was so taxing, breath growing shallow against your exposed collarbone.

you slapped at the side of his face.

“do you know anyone who can get help?” you probed, unable to conceal the desperation in your voice, “anyone at all?”

he sounded smug. “people can’t help ghosts.”

you groaned, pushing his head back against the wall. he peered at you lazily, eyes half-lidded.

“if you don’t tell me something, i will rip that mask clean off your face.” that must’ve stirred something in him because his eyes flashed.

“i did not track Turner’s men for miles to find you just for you to die.” you pressed on. “they found the cabin and these stupid journal entries where i wrote that you were in the town. they didn’t know i was there and went after you. i had to warn you so i tracked them and—” he hissed when you pressed your fingers into his wound to make sure he was still conscious. “—this happened.

he huffed. “stupid girl.”

you could only nod pitifully, before squeaking in surprise when Ghost used your shoulders and the wall as leverage to lift himself.

“take me down this alleyway, then turn left.”

you immediately obeyed and half-dragged him in the direction of his rasped instructions, ending up in front of the back door of a leather crafts store. the streets were slowly emptying by the minute and every second outside in the line of gunfire felt a gaping vulnerability on your back, so you didn’t question his command to open the back door unannounced.

you also weren’t surprised to see the long snout of a rifle stuck in your face the second the door swung open. a woman in a checkered blouse and loose breeches squared her shoulders and jabbed the gun forward so it almost hit your chin where rain coalesced in a steam, falling to your boots.

“who in the devil are you?” she spat, low and deadly. she carefully eyed the man slumping against you.

a strangled warble left Ghost’s mouth, and he lifted a hand to toss off his hat. the mask must’ve been a point of recognition for her because she gasped and lurched forward, hefting up the other side of his body.

“what the hell are you doin’ here, Ghost?” she demanded, helping you carry him behind the counter of the store into the back room. she pushed off all the strewn materials at the table in the center of the room with one strong sweep, and you laid back Ghost on the surface, his eyes closed.

muffling a cry, you pressed your fingers to the pulse point in his neck. to your relief, it was throbbing, albeit weakly.

“business,” was all he mumbled in response and the woman shooed you from his side with an impatient wave of her hand.

you stepped back to the edge of the room, feeling your senses clouded with panic. you looked down to the blood covering your hands. out the window, there was more shouting, gunshots, and a building far down the street went up in flames. your breath hitched till suddenly you couldn’t breathe anymore. clawing at your throat, you slid down the wall, fighting the strain in your chest that seemed to close your airway.

you watched the woman cut through his vest and make quick work on the bullet wound, pliers in hand.

“you.”

she might’ve been shouting at you but it barely registered in your mind.

“get your useless behind off the ground and help me for god’s sake!”

you just stared at her and she groaned in frustration. “some girl you have here, Ghost,” she grumbled and the weak grunt that left him brought you back to life.

you stood, steeling yourself, wiping the blood against your front. you felt calm. dangerously calm as you neared Ghost’s side. his eyes were screwed shut and you resisted gagging at the sight of her pliers fishing through his gaping wound for a bullet.

“what do you need?” your voice was weak and quiet. it didn’t even sound like your own. she shot you an impatient look.

“water. from the tap over there. and a needle and thread in that cabinet.”

you moved like you were floating off the ground, light and airy. like you weren’t really there, but you found your hands filling a bowl with water at the kitchen sink and grabbing a case of needles and a spool of black thread from a cabinet overhead.

by her side again, she unclasped the red mask from Ghost’s face and you stared unflinchingly with a hitch of breath. before pulling it from his face, she cocked her head at you.

“look away,” she snarled and you just nodded, stepping back from the table till you couldn’t see Ghost’s profile anymore. couldn’t even see the slow swell of his chest to let you know he was still alive.

you had to escape the room. you walked back out into the main storeroom and grated your hands through your hair, pacing. you picked up the rifle left on the glass casing over a showcase of different leather crafts, cocking it, just in case Turner’s men came barreling through the door.

when you put back down the rifle, you gasped at the sticky, bloody imprint it left on the handle. looking into a mirror by the entrance of the store, you shuddered at your image.

blood crusted your arms, like you had dipped your arms into a vat of it, and red fingerprints littered your throat and tinged your frayed hair. the front of your half-torn blouse was smeared in it too.

your hands shook uncontrollably, so you picked up the rifle’s heaviness again to still you, and sat, leaning against the glass showcase, muzzle aimed at the front door. you sat there for a long time, breath shallow and grating, till the shouts and gunshots outside subsided, and the billiard parlor down the street crumbled under the weight of flames.

you awoke for a second time with a start, the woman’s hand shaking your shoulder lightly. you rolled your shoulders, neck impossibly stiff from your weird sleeping position on the floor. it was no longer dark outside, the lightest tones of pink and blood-soaked orange rising with dawn.

had you really only been napping in Ghost’s cabin half a day prior?

the woman sat beside you, pushing a warm mug into your hand. she didn’t pull her rifle from you, which you were endlessly grateful for, because you just hugged it closer to your chest, its cold metal and cured wood easing your nerves.

“tea.” she nodded to the steaming cup.

“is Ghost okay?” your voice cracked from disuse and she gave you a weak look.

“for now.”

you just nodded, taking a sip of the stuff and wincing when it burned your tongue. chamomile. Mama used to make it too.

the woman cleared her throat, drawing up her blonde hair into a messy bun. “sorry about the shouting. i’m not used to foreign company.”

you shrugged, itching at the dried blood on your neck as you took another sip of tea.

“i’m Kate.” she held out a hand to you. “Kate Laswell.”

you shook her hand slowly, grateful she didn’t cringe away from the blood staining your own. you gave her your name in return and her brow raised.

“Ghost’s girl, huh?”

you felt too tired to be confused. “i guess so.”

“well i just know the boys would love to meet ‘ya.”

you allowed yourself a sliver of confusion. “the boys?”

“‘course,” she said with a smile, “one-four-one.”

you almost dropped the mug in your hand. “one-four-one?” you repeated weakly and she gave you a cheery nod.

you’d heard of them before. you heard too much about them before. she rubbed your shoulder comfortingly.

“they should be here any minute now.”

great. you were soaked with blood, clothes and hair tattered with sweat. as if she read your thoughts, Kate stood and outstretched a hand to you, pointing to the back room.

“i’ve got a tub filled in the back for you. and some extra clothes.”

you took her outstretched hand gratefully, allowing her to pull you up and lead you through the storage space where Ghost lay stretched out, half-naked, and maskless. you noticed her rush to flank your side and obscure the view of his bare, sleeping face from you. deciding not to fight it, the gentle hand on your back led you down a narrow hallway to an even narrower bathroom with a tub about as big as a barrel.

you didn’t mind it after the events of the night, Kate politely closing the door behind you, as you stripped yourself bare and scrubbed the blood away in the tub. slowly, you settled in its lukewarm water in a ball and rocked there, choking back sobs in the privacy of the tight room.

once all your tears were wrung dry, you emerged from the tub, drying yourself and your hair before redressing in your corset, drawers, chemise, and a linen bell sleeve blouse Kate lent you. tucking them into your unruined item—the fringed buckskin split skirt—you pulled your boots on and smoothed the lines of your face in the mirror. like your mama taught you.

when you opened the door of the bathroom, low murmurs and new voices floated down the narrow hall.

“she isn’t supposed to be here, cap’.”

a low husky voice grunted back, “i know that.”

a third man with an even stranger accent than the first two chimed in loudly, “she risked ‘er life for Ghost! Simon said she tracked ‘em for two and a half miles just to warn him about the Turner boys.”

you assumed it was Kate shushing him.

the low, husky voice returned. “it’s not up to us, Soap. she’s Ghost’s now.”

you crept slowly up the hallway, searching for Ghost’s body stretched out on the table, but he wasn’t there. in his place were three men, leaning against the table, deep in conversation with Kate.

you stopped short in the entrance till one of the men, a stout one, thickly corded with muscle, and an unusual looking hairstyle—like the ones you saw in the school books about iroquois from the east—beamed at you.

he shushed a bronze-skinned man at his shoulder, who turned his gaze to you. the third bearded man with thick chops and broad shoulders fell silent, as did Kate, and suddenly, the whole room’s attention was trained on you.

you slowly walked into the room, discomforted by the thick silence. you resisted fumbling at your skirt nervously. the man with a mohawk let out a low whistle and the bearded man swatted at his face while the youngest man stepped forward to politely offer his hand, taking off his hat to press to his chest.

his face was pinched with a stoic look. “i’m Kyle Garrick. pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

your lips parted in surprise when he touched his lips to the back of your extended hand, and you politely curtsied in response, a blush touching your cheeks.

the man with a mohawk stepped in behind him to give you a smug look.

“i’m Soap,” was all he offered. he clapped Kyle on the shoulder. “and this is Gaz. no one calls him Kyle.”

Kyle rolled his eyes in retaliation and released your hand, looking apologetic. you couldn’t help but softly smile as they began to quarrel and the bearded man reached out his hand this time to shake it firmly.

“John Price,” he said with a nod, voice husky. he jerked his head in Soap’s direction. “that’s Johnny Mactavish.”

you murmured a quiet thank you as Kate comfortingly patted your back.

“so this is one-four-one?” you mumbled aloud with raised brows. Soap and Gaz stopped mid-quarrel to peer at you. John shrugged.

“more or less.”

manners be damned, you fidgeted with your skirt. one-four-one was a legendary gunslinger group—on the run from the scarce law of the west, gambling, bounty hunting, and dueling for riches. you had no idea Ghost had friendly ties with them.

“where’s Ghost?”

John smirked at you, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “out.”

nodding, you felt an anxiety roll through you. out could mean anything with Ghost, you learned in your short time with him.

where are you, Ghost? a meek voice in you called out. smoothing a hand over your chest, you steadied yourself as Kate offered you a small plate of breakfast. a piece of cornbread on the side of a bowl of chili that you kept down easily, despite the nervous gurgling of your stomach.

“Turner’s men,” you began softly to Kate, putting down the empty plate, but you still drew in the attention of the other three men, “they’re gone?”

she nodded sullenly, and Soap added, “not without a fight. upturned half the town with them…” his eyes went dark, voice tinged with something violent. “...and left a couple dozen dead bodies.”

John knuckled his shoulder gently. “we’ll get ‘em back, Soap.” he said it like it should be comforting, but there was a deadliness in it that made you shudder.

Soap winked at you. “aye. we’ll kill all those Turner boys if we have to. we already took down half of ‘em yesterday.”

undoubtedly, you knew it was a promise. Kate said quietly, “neighbors said they gunned down a couple of ‘em before they fled town.”

your brows rose. “there were others fighting?”

Kyle shrugged. “it’s the west, ma’am. people’re itchin’ to break the law.”

you thought back to the assailant last night—how he high-tailed it after popping a shot.

“so the man who shot Ghost last night?”

Kyle shrugged again. “probably a drunk lookin’ for trouble. happens all the time in these parts.”

you tried to hide the look of horror curling into your face, something akin to disgust, but Soap, ever-observant, took amusement in it immediately.

“that scare ye, princess?” he leaned against the table, closer to your face, and your frown deepened.

“don’t call me that.” it sounded wrong coming from him.

John grabbed the scruff of his neck and Soap twisted, complaining loudly in his hold. “knock it off, would you? poor girl’s had a rough night.”

you gave John a grateful look. still, you were relieved to know Ghost was only shot by a drunk rather than found and almost killed by one of Turner’s boys. you assumed you got real lucky last night. or maybe unlucky since the drunk’s poor shot happened to pick out Ghost of all people at the club.

“what was Ghost doing in the town last night?” you piqued, and Soap went quiet. the whole room did. sheepish, you watched their gazes slide across the room, avoiding your own.

Soap shot out, “do we tell her?”

Kate hissed in response, scolding him with a tight grip on his ear, and Kyle smacked at the back of his head. you assumed Soap just let a vital piece of information slip from the way John’s mouth twisted.

“tell me what?” you pressed and Kate shooed you out the room, taking your arm in hers.

“help me out with somethin’ else, girlie, and i’ll answer half the questions you ask.”

half the questions, you ruminated with a bitter taste in your mouth. she led you out the door of the leather crafts shop before a word of protest could leave your mouth, and into the bright mid-morning light. shops littered down the street had owners stationed out in front, sweeping up debris, shattered glass, and shoving trash into sacks. Kate tipped her stetson to each one as you passed, and they would nod back in a way that forebode something ominous.

“these are the neighbors,” Kate explained in a low, smart tone. “and this is our town.”

you remembered what Ghost said to your daddy over dinner two nights ago.

i protected you. this was my territory. i had men in your town and i made sure no bandits came near your saloons and i made sure none left alive. then, you went to work with Turner instead.

“and you protect them for a price?” you asked.

she smiled lightly. “a small one.”

your daddy must’ve had an unlucky price to pay if his daughter was the bargaining chip.

“is this the only town you protect?”

Kate laughed at that, patting your hand on her arm gently. “heavens, no. Ghost’s got all kinds of investments from the west to east. he isn’t home much lately because of it.”

your brows raised. “that’s a lot of land to cover.”

“we’ve got a lot of friends from down south to help.”

you cocked your head at her as you turned the corner, making your way past the saloon from last night. the redhead with braids was mopping up the floor of the torn-up saloon, and when you caught her eye, her gaze sliding from you to the woman beside you, she paled.

“friends?”

Kate winked at you. “mexicans. a blessing from the spanish-american war.” when you just blinked at her, she elaborated.

“the boys enlisted in the british regiment to fight the spanish alongside patriots and texan mexicans. i played dress-up as a man to fight in the war.”

your brows raised and she gave you a sly look. “even had a female companion to play the part.”

she continued on. “when the war ended, one-four-one just never left—made friends with lots of boys down in texas. now, they do all sorts of work with us.”

“who?”

“los vaqueros.” the cowboys. you had heard of them too.

you should’ve been scared, connecting the dots, the blood-ties and relationships fused on the battlefield that didn’t break even ten years after the war. these people were dangerous. but in a way, you contemplated, your daddy was too. working with one-four-one, protected by los vaqueros, and bargaining with an enemy, Turner.

and you didn’t even know it.

you wondered if your mama did. thinking of the hardness in her face, and the back-breaking rigidness of her lifestyle, you assumed she carried that weight too.

Kate peered at the edge of your face, catching your eye. “you gonna run away yet?”

you gave her a long look, answering her as truthfully as you could. “no.”

she nodded. “good. because if you do, we may just have to kill you.”

eerily, you were reminded of Ghost two nights ago in the cabin, his arms crossed over his chest and half-asleep despite your attempt to kill him.

good. there’s a lot more dangerous things in the desert than coyotes, princess.

“you sound like Ghost,” you remarked with a grimace, and the long laugh that left Kate was airy and full of menace.

apparently helping out Kate meant running errands, restocking on preserves, fresh foods, and medical supplies. she kindly let you pick out your own stetson hat—a gus style, with three sloping dimples, cream-colored, and a leather brown cord tied round the base in a fashionable bow. your mama would’ve had your head for wearing something so manly, but turning it in your hands, the smooth velvet soft against your palms, your heart swelled at the thought of it being your own.

you would’ve paid for it if you didn’t carelessly lose your knapsack in the chaos last night, tending saloons and singing for drunkards. sighing at the cash register, you deeply lamented its loss and tugged the snug hat onto your head.

one-four-one wasn’t there when you returned to the leather crafts shop. Kate had given you a soft smile, saying they were out on business again. you had a sneaking suspicion that business meant shoot outs over encroached territory and fixing worsening investments.

as you prepared for dinner, it was uncanny to think that you were laying food out over the table where Ghost almost bled out the night before.

sure enough, just before the red crinkles of sunset, one-four-one meandered into the room for dinner, hats left by the hook at the door. you waited expectantly for a tall, broad, black suit and red mask to enter the room, but only deflated with disappointment. Soap shot you a knowing look that you pointedly ignored as the table joined hands to murmur a quick grace before digging in.

you could barely touch the food on your plate. any method you used to get under the boy’s skin about what business meant was quickly parried in clever ways that frustrated you more than your conversations with Kate. it was especially frustrating because you were beginning to think that business may circle around topics about you.

you couldn’t weasel any more information out of them except that John, Gaz, and Soap had rode north to a nearby town they had business in.

you were beginning to hate that word, you thought decidedly, trudging down the narrow hall to a spare bedroom Kate provided to you for the night. one-four-one would descend into the cool basement space with the preserves to their own quarters. you wanted to follow them, to peek down and see what was in there, but Kate was hot on your trail, and you knew they were probably hiding something else about business down there. especially since Kate would be sleeping down there as well.

that left you on the upper floor—which you contemplated with a frown because running away now would be easier than ever. except for the fact that you didn’t have a horse, gun, money, your knapsack, or anything at all in fact. unless you could scrounge around the kitchen a bit.

creeping from your designated room down the hall, you bit back any morsel of regret bleeding into your mouth as you entered the back room. one-four-one had shown you kindness, but technically, they had also kidnapped you and were forcing you to stay in their home. albeit, on your terms, according to Ghost. but you didn’t value the word of a kidnapper very much. even if, in the moment of your capture, you had wanted to leave home and never return again.

oh—and you were being used as a hostage in a business transaction.

that thought spurred you forward blindly, and you rummaged around the kitchen as quietly as you possibly could, pocketing matches, a box of ammo, and a small bunch of rope beneath the kitchen sink. sliding the knife drawer open, you inspected each one carefully, watching the blade glint in the moonlight, before picking up a small one you hoped would go missing without notice.

“stealing my things again?”

you jumped out of your skin with a shriek, and mindlessly turned to the source of sound, brandishing your knife at the intruding form shrouded in shadow. he caught your wrist easily, stepping forward to press you back against the kitchen counter and your heart dropped to your stomach.

dark eyes and a red mask. his hat was off and the black fabric beneath his mask was pulled up enough so you could see his jaw, the soft pink of his mouth and the silvery scar on his upper lip.

“Ghost?” you whispered out, dropping the knife. it clattered to the floor and he tilted his head almost curiously.

for a long moment you just stared in silence, his knee firm between your thighs and broad stature lingering over you, gloved hand tight on your wrist. you searched his eyes, reaching up a hand to brush at his jaw, but he immediately stepped out of your proximity.

“brought you something.” he nodded outside and you looked out the kitchen window to see your dappled gray mare, Sugar, tied to the fence post at the front of the leather crafts store by his black stallion. breath hitching, you pressed your hand to the glass.

“thank you,” you whispered, looking back at him. wordlessly, he turned from you to peel off his black trench coat.

when you noticed him wince, you immediately moved forward to help him out of his coat, laying it out over the table. mumbling a word of gratitude, he sat gingerly in a seat and leaned down to undo his boots. watching him struggle from the tenderness of his wound, you sighed, pushing his hands away to neatly kneel in front of him and smooth over your skirt. then, you carefully helped him pull them off.

“don’t need your help,” he grumbled from above, and you suppressed a smirk. you almost missed his grumpy remarks.

“that so?”

putting down his second boot by his feet, you looked up at him, heart jumping to your throat from the half-lidded look behind his mask. the gloved hand that rested on his thigh by your cheek twitched. you remembered its appearance yesterday—soaked in blood. his blood.

closing your eyes, you nuzzled your cheek into the hand, his palm cupping your face gently before moving down to stroke at your braid. he let out a low throaty sound when you looked up at him from where you kneeled, cheek pressed against his thigh, the fine worsted wool of his dress pants velvet on your skin.

“do you know what you do to a man?” he asked, voice soft. you only hummed back in sing-song question, eyes half-lidded, content where you leaned against the strength of his thigh.

“i searched half the plain for your horse. she got lost in the fray when i got shot.” his hand moved from your braid to your throat, stroking in time with the lulling pulse of your heart, leather cool on your hot skin.

“found her back at the cabin, sniffing around for you. the place was totally upturned, and all the food in my cabinets was gone.” he snickered lightly. “you thief.”

you smiled at that, gripping his wrist weakly.

“i like it when you talk,” you admitted, mesmerized by the slow way his soft lips shaped deep, grating words in that thick foreign accent.

you watched the bob of his bare throat swallow with a hunger pooling in your stomach.

“you should be afraid of me,” he whispered, gently pressing his thumb to your lower lip, “you were afraid of me.”

you couldn’t remember a time when you were afraid of Ghost—only a nervous anticipation crawling across your skin at his proximity. maybe you were never afraid in the first place. maybe you told yourself that you were afraid of him, out of your own unease, when the fear was something that you actually craved.

“i am afraid,” you said. his grip on your chin tightened. “but not of you.”

“who then?” he demanded, voice silky.

“Turner. his men.” an invulnerable shiver went through you. “they said the first man to lay hands on me gets dibs.”

you felt his thigh stiffen beneath you. “i won't let them touch you.”

you swallowed thickly, peering up at him. a dark, sinister voice inside you purred out.

i want you to touch me.

he cocked his head at you, asking a silent question.

i want only you to touch me.

he voiced it. “what do you want?” his hand moved to stroke at your cheek, your brow, your hair.

you never had the luxury of pondering the question. your path was always laid out before you by your mama and daddy. there was no choice. only lingering, bitter feelings of resentment as you fought yourself to believe that tending Daddy’s saloon and entertaining businessmen was the life you wanted.

“i dont know.”

“tell me.”

your face heated with shame. “i want you.”

Ghost went very still. you couldn’t even hear his breaths in the darkness. “you’re sure?”

you nodded against his thigh. “mhmm. want you.”

“i’m the devil,” he murmured, sounding sullen, but you just shook your head.

“you’re Simon,” you corrected, and he flinched beneath you.

letting out a low curse, you didn’t even fight it when he scooped you up in his arms, and pressed you back against the kitchen counters, mask pressed to your hair, warm body against yours. your hand trailed up to press gently at the bullet wound buried beneath his black vest and button up. his hissed at the pressure but didn’t stop you as you moved to unbutton his vest.

“i want to see,” you explained softly, unfastening the thing completely. he tossed the vest onto the table, his holster following it, as you began unbuttoning his dress shirt, splaying out a hand over his warm chest.

he was littered with scars—big and small, and you desperately tried to memorize the placement of each one as you revealed more of his pale skin, inch by inch, till his shirt hung loose at his waist. your eyes swept over the naked expanse of his toned torso and the white bandage soaked through with blood that clutched at the right side of his stomach.

slowly, you unwrapped it till the old dressings fell from his skin and a long line of puckered pink skin punctured through with a dark thread was revealed. you steadied your breath, brushing a hand over it. Ghost shifted overhead, leaning his weight onto the counter behind you.

“does it hurt?”

you couldn’t see his face, but his voice was wrung through in your ear. “no.”

the corner of your mouth twitched. “didn’t take you for a liar, Ghost.”

he just grunted in response. you smoothed your hands over the warmth of his torso.

“let me take care of you?” you offered, and his breath went shallow. you didn’t even know how to take care of someone. you had no idea what you were doing. but you offered anyway.

you could feel him smile into your hair, nose pressed to your ear. “always so polite, princess.”

you felt him tug your hair loose of its braid, and you took in a sharp breath as it fell in waves around your shoulders. he pulled off his gloves quickly, taking a handful of it, pressing the softness of your hair to his cheek. you shuddered.

“you won’t do a thing tonight, lovely,” he commanded lowly, and you nodded, hands clutching at his chest as he circled his strong arms around you. forehead pressed to yours, you looked up through his mask to find his rich brown eyes on you. his warm breath hit your lips.

he tilted his head in a gesture down the hall. “want you on that bed now.”

you complied immediately, taking him in your hand, going down the hall with one of his hands burning straight through the fabric at where he tightly gripped at your hip. crowding you into the room, and the door sealed tight behind you, he turned you by your hips, and gently pulled back your hair to expose your neck to him. you gasped when the soft wetness of his mouth kissed over it gently, his arm curling around you to pull you flush together.

a steady heat pooled in your stomach, and you squirmed in his hold.

“Ghost��” you begged, not even knowing what you were begging for. he hummed against your skin, undoing the clasp of your holster, then your skirt. you felt embarrassed by your clunky attire, kicking off your boots, hiding your face into his bare chest as he slid the article off your legs.

“don’t hide,” he warned in a light tone, expertly taking apart the back of your blouse to leave you only in your undergarments. the look behind his mask was dark and domineering, leaving you shaking in his hold. he smoothed a bare hand over your shoulder and arm, lifting the inside of your wrist to press a kiss there, before he was kissing up your arm in a hot trail.

when he reached your jaw, a foreign and breathy noise left your throat. his eyes snapped back up to yours, pausing his ministrations as you blushed deeply. you didn’t know what those sounds meant—only that they left you feeling utterly sinful for being so exposed to an older man, unmarried, and so innocent.

you swallowed when Ghost’s hands went to the back of your corset, undoing its clasps blindly as he pressed more kisses to your neck, your cheek, and the corner of your lips. you squeaked, screwing your eyes shut and found yourself disappointed when he paused again.

panting, your brows pinched in confusion. Ghost was leaning a bit back now, looking down at you with an imperceptible expression.

“what? why’d you stop?” you whispered, scared to break the moment, but he unabashedly cut through the quiet of the room. “How much do you know about going to bed with someone?”

you squeaked again, stupidly looking around the room as if your mama may have been hiding in the wardrobe. the look on Ghost’s face twisted into pure amusement, much to your chagrin, and you cursed yourself for the complete absence of confidence in you—like it had all run dry with your cheek pressed to his thigh under the dinner table.

“i know…” you fumbled for a word, “...a lot. so much.”

Ghost huffed, taking one of your hands pressed to your chest and sliding it down, past his belt, to the front of his pants. you yelped when he closed your hand around something hard, something throbbing.

“you know what this is then?”

you nodded dumbly.

“really?” you had no idea.

you nodded again, and he laughed lowly, cupping a hand around the back of your neck to kiss your cheek softly, his cool mask brushing your skin.

he unclasped the top of your corset, and you jolted when pulled it slowly from your torso. the cold air of the room bit at your skin and you wrapped your arms over your chest. grumbling in disapproval, he let the thing clatter to the floor and untangled your arms from your chest, pushing you back onto the bed.

“don’t worry, lovely,” he slew sloppy, wet kisses over your breast and stomach, lightly nipping at the chub there, and a loud sound flew from your mouth from the ministration, your back arching in response. “i can teach you everything.”

a large palm slid over your stomach, keeping you pinned there with a dark look, black eyes pitched in a silver from the moonlight. “would you like that, lovely?”

you nodded wildly, clutching at his hand splayed over your tummy.

“please, Simon,” you called softly, and a guttural sound left the back of his throat as he hooked a thumb beneath the waist of your lacey drawers and pulled them down, letting them pool around your knees for a moment as he leaned down over you to placing a comforting kiss to your shoulder.

then, you were bare, splayed out in the moonlight beneath his muscled stature. you squirmed in his hold, pressing your thighs together around his arm, but he pried them apart easily, baring your most sensitive parts to him. your whole body flushed when his eyes honed in on the throbbing between your legs, humming deeply. you yelped as he greedily tugged you to the edge of the bed, gingerly settling on his knees on the floor in front of you.

“your wound—” you cried out in surprise, but you were cut short when he buried his nose between your legs and breathed in deeply.

“Simon,” you called, voice breathy and panting, like you’d just run a far distance, and your hips jolting up against your will. there was a strange deep coiling in your stomach—a growing ache you felt like you needed to relieve with a crazy thirst.

he wrapped two strong arms round your thighs to pin your squirming hips down, nosing around the soft folds and plushness of your inner thighs.

“patience,” he said, voice soft, and you keened, unsure what to do with your hands clenching and fumbling around the sheets. catching your wrists, he pinned them down to the bed along with your thighs.

you felt the strange primal need to beg—to plead for his forgiveness, your whole body alight from the way he held your body in a bind, baring yourself to him.

“please,” you whimpered, unsatisfied with the way he continued to kiss and bite at your thighs, licking over them and periodically sucking the skin into his mouth. you canted your hips up, moaning when you found a delicious bout of friction against his turned jaw.

with a grunt of disapproval, he pinned you roughly back down to the bed.

“greedy are we, pretty thing?”

biting your lip, you didn’t feel an ounce of shame as you nodded. you needed that friction again. you didn’t know why, but you felt like you needed to grind against something desperately, just to relieve that sore aching inside you.

humming, Ghost lowered his mouth between your legs, eyes on yours as he gently blew cold air over the throbbing heat of you. you whined at that, hips trying to buck up, but he was just too strong.

“hurts,” you admitted in a whimper, and his eyes darkened.

“what hurts?”

you squirmed, whimpering helplessly, face flushing. “there.”

“where?” he asked, his lips twisted in a smug way.

you threw your head back, chest pushing up into the air with a frustrated whine.

“here?” he offered, his tongue coming out to lap over the throbbing thing between your legs. at that you gasped with a jolt, chasing his tongue. “this pretty little cunt aching?”

“yes,” you gasped, his tongue coming down to caress your core again and again, till it was lapping at it, almost playing with it.

the feeling was intense, nothing like you’d ever felt before. it bloomed like a fire in your throat, quenching the intense ache in your stomach, but every time he pulled away, the ache only grew stronger and stronger, like you needed to chase the pleasure with even more pleasure.

it was torture. you didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer.

the sight of him between your legs was so sinful, so wrong for a man to be lapping at you in such a forbidden place. but that intense feeling hung over everything in a foggy haze, blanketing any sense of foreboding shame that rang in the back of your brain.

there was only Ghost now—pinning your wrists and thighs to the bed, tongue rubbing strong circles into your fleshy pink skin.

when he pulled back, you almost cried out in frustration but he pinned you with a dark look of warning, releasing your wrists to bring a thumb to your cunt. he rubbed at in fast circles and a breathy moan escaped you, arching against the sheets.

he cooed. “so sensitive. you never touch yourself before, pretty thing?”

you choked out a reply. “no—it’s,” you gasped when his tongue came down to lap at your entrance, drawing teasing patterns over it, hooking inside then drawing out.

“sinful.” you finished with a drawl and he pushed his tongue inside, fucking you out of your wits with the wet muscle.

he hummed inside you, the tremors traveling all the way up to the place where he was rubbing with his thumb. you clutched at his hand, willing it to move faster, and he complied immediately. your body lost a fiber of control with every passing second.

“you look like you’re enjoying it, though,” he spoke against you with a smug look. you barely heard him, a foreign sensation building in you so fast, the words of warning died in your throat.

“you like getting fucked out with my tongue? my thumb on your clit?”

“you like being my good little whore, pretty thing?”

“say my name, princess.”

his low, gruff words went straight to the blooming heat in your stomach, traveling straight to your cunt, and exploding out to your swollen clit as you chanted his name.

Simon, Simon, Simon.

every throbbing wave gripped you with an intensity, clenching around his tongue in delicious rolls of pleasure that had you squirming in the sheets, unable to keep still as he pulled you through a slew of ecstasy.

Simon.

colors exploded behind your eyelids, jaw slack, you slowly laxed into the bed, melting as the sweet noises in your throat eventually subsided.

there was a lulling stillness in the room as your senses slowly came back to you, and you realized Ghost was speaking in a throaty, cracked murmur to you, voice raw and overused.

“good girl,” he praised, and you looked up at him, leaning into his palm as he affectionately rubbed at your cheek, clambering over you to press a kiss to your ear, the tip of your nose.

his warm breath against your lips had you jolting to life, slapping a hand over his mouth with a gasp. he jolted against you and you scrambled up straighter, seized by what you had just done.

you, naked and bare on the bed, and he, shirt unbuttoned and jaw splashed with your slick. a question burned in the dark eyes behind his mask but you just made haste to cover your body with the sheets, scurrying out of his hold.

he called your name out, voice dark and pinched. he reached for you, but you held up a hand.

“don’t,” you warned, gripped with such a burning shame that tears filled your eyes. you quickly wiped at them relentlessly, but more reappeared in their stead, and you drew the covers around your shoulders, unable to contain the shaking that wracked your body.

burying your face in your hands, thoughts convulsed wildly in your head. what have you done? what would your mama think? your daddy?

you whimpered. what would the lord think?

you shook so hard you barely noticed the black button up sleeve that Ghost wrapped around your shoulders, taking the sleeves to loosely tie them around your neck. he settled a fair distance from you, eyes full and glinting.

“alright, pretty girl?” he asked gingerly when your sobbing subsided.

you sniffled, voice strained and throaty. “no.”

you gave him a miserable look. “we’re not married.”

he tilted his head, mouth opening and closing. his hand clenched at the sheets then relaxed again.

“i don’t wanna be a whore,” you cried, feeling dumb as you wiped at the tears coming down your cheeks in an onslaught.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed. “is this because i called you a—”

“no!” you shouted immediately, then lowered your voice with a quick apology.

he slid to your side, flush against you and warm through the sheets. he pressed his mask to your hair.

“no one’ll think you’re a whore,” he mumbled, playing with your hair in his fingers, “you’re mine already.”

there was a deadpanned simplicity in his voice that made it easy to believe.

he took your tear-stained face in his hands. “besides, you’re too polite, princess. even in all that cowboy get-up.”

staring into his masked face, you nodded, chewing what he was feeding you slowly. he angled your face gently. when his lips made a slow descent to yours, you squeaked with a jolt and tried to scurry out of his hold, but he held fast, grunting with effort.

“what now?” he asked, exasperation flitting through his eyes, clenching at his jaw.

“i don’t kiss before a date—s’not proper!” you shot back with twice as much ire, and his eyes went wide before a huff of laughter escaped him.

“that so?”

you rolled your eyes. “yes.”

he hummed low, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “so proper, princess.”

you suppressed a laugh, trying to conceal your giggle with a frustrated huff, but Ghost didn’t fall for it as he drew you into arms, easily man-handling you into his desired position beneath the sheets before he slid into them behind you, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

you were pulled into a soft wall of warmth and bowing strength, curling around you in a sleepy hold. you couldn’t fight it even if you tried. he shifted against you, and you gasped when you felt something hard digging into the fleshy curve of your backside.

shooting a curious look over your shoulder, Ghost only offered you a lazy blink.

“don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he mumbled, drawing you in closer.

“but—”

“i don’t talk about those kinds of things before a date,” he said under his breath, and you could only laugh, relishing the way his lips curled into a smile against your hair.

an easy silence filtered into the room and you reached back behind you to grip at his shoulder, his neck, his skin. you took a deep breath. he was real. he was alive.

he slid his arms around your sides as a bind over your stomach, and you clutched weakly at the muscle of his arms smothering you.

“i thought you were going to die,” you ruminated softly, feeling a natural force pulling down on your eyelids.

“ghosts don’t die,” he reminded you, his lips against your neck.

“devils don’t either,” you said, and he grunted in disapproval.

“you think i’m the devil, lovely?” his fingers stroked at your cheek. you leaned into his touch thoughtfully.

“maybe,” you answered in a truthful nod. “i don’t mind it though. i can make you good.”

his laugh was mirthless. “doubt you can, princess.”

you swallowed hard and closed your eyes. “you won’t ransom me back to my daddy, will you?”

you took his silence as a warning, an uneasy toil rolling through you. shifting in his arms, you turned to face him, the fabric of his mask pulled back down over his jaw, heavy gaze bearing down on you, half-lidded and sleepy. he just pulled you flush against his chest so you couldn’t see his masked face anymore, only the sounds of his deep, steady breaths in your ear that dragged you into a restless sleep.

p.s.: to any history buffs out there, i know that technically there was no actual british regiment in the spanish-american war but let's pretend that there was for the sake of plot holessss

...also imagining Gaz talk in a thick southern drawl was so funny to me he's so adorable

anyways hoped you enjoyed this long, self-indulgent chapter! more coming soon :]

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tojis-gf · 1 year ago

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bimbo assistant!reader x ceo!toji

17+ to interact pls nsfw aaa

authors note: this has been sitting in my drafts for like 3 weeks n i just finished it bc i was tired of looking at it LMAO but i hope u guys enjoy <;33

you walk into the office building wearing your too-tight black mini skirt that accentuates your curves n your baby pink blouse that barely provided coverage as your perky tits were practically spilling out of it. hair did all nice with fluffy pin curls that complemented your face. your pink heels clack against the floor as you approach toji's office room.

originally, you were meant to be toji's new assistant. doing daily tasks such as getting his morning coffee, scheduling his meetings, or sorting through files. but here you are, bent over on toji's desk, paperwork a jumbled mess, skirt hiked up, blouse pulled above your tits, and toji pounding into your sopping wet cunt mercilessly with his fat cock.

"f-fuck this tight little cunt was made f' me" toji groans as he continues to rut his hips against your ass "a-ah right there toj- ahh!" you whine as the tip of his cock continuously hits your sweet spot, fat balls smacking against your clit. toji's hand snakes around your waist to massage the tiny bundle of nerves and your gummy walls immediately clench around his cock. mouth immediately forming into a o shape as you let out a silent gasp. "g'nna cum ohmygosh toji please please please!" you beg as you feel your climax approaching, pussy pulsating around his fat veiny cock.

"ffuckkk baby, cream all over daddy's cock" toji whispers into your ear in a sultry tone and soon after your toes are curling and your cum is dripping down his dick. he continues to rub your overstimulated clit as you try to squirm out of his grasp "'s too much toji!!" you whine "'m not done yet doll" he smirks "'m just gettin' started."

#toji x reader #toji x black reader #toji x you #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jjk toji #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #toji drabble #toji x bimbo reader #༊*·˚ 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐳 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬

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pupyuj · 1 year ago

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Pervy G!P babysitter Yujin who can't stop imagining fucking reader who is married but her husband is always away so she sees that as her chance of "helping you out" with your problems. Biggest problem Yujin being extremely hot.

Also don't worry, your works always slay and I can't wait to read more of your work (Especially Yujin because I need her cock in me badly)

an older ask! 😳 n thanks a lot for ur kind words then anon <;33

yujin's definitely the type to take that job bcs she wants to fuck a hot milf... and that milf being you! she does end up enjoying spending time with a kid but at the end of the day... she always comes into your unnecessarily huge mansion with a mission 😈 yujin's super polite and well-mannered, plays with your kids very well and even gets him some gifts sometimes! you grew fond of her after she went above and beyond for your kid and ever since then, you've seen her as more of a confidant than an... well, an employee 😭😭

it was definitely strange to call someone so young your friend, but that was what became of your relationship! especially after your partner got so busy that you started feeling lonely around the house 😞 yujin always made sure to keep you from getting bored though! from cooking meals for the kid with you, helping you with cleaning, playing with your kid with you.. yujin was good company! but ofc... her ulterior motives got the best of her one day! 🫣

making sure that the kid wasn't around when she makes a move... sees you looking all stressed from work without your partner to comfort you :((( yujinnie offering her help by putting her hands on your shoulders and giving you a well-earned massage! "your partner... they're a very hard-worker but i can't help but think that they're being a little unfair to you, (y/n)-ssi." yujin lowering herself so she's right up your ear, making the slightest moves to be softly pecking your head,, and you're so tired that you can't rlly think correctly... leaning in to her and making the mistake of moaning when she suddenly gropes your tits??? now yujin definitely doesn't have to think of stopping herself.

"y-yujin... wait, i'm... i can't be doing thi—"

"fuck no. stay here." she pulls your back against her, attacking your neck 😳 her hands were already inside your blouse, groping and touching everywhere she could :((( humping your ass while she pinches your nipple, forcing her tongue inside your mouth, and rubbing your clit all at once?? it was all too much for you and soon enough you've completely thrown away all your self-control,, letting yujin touch you as she pleases, reaching down her pants and squeezing her dick... and you're even the one who unbuckled her belt and unzipped her pants! you were so desperate to be filled that you didn't care that you were cheating on your spouse—all you wanted was yujin, and for yujin to fuck you good 😵‍💫

memkehjksd yujin pumping in and out of your cunt while you're sat on top of your desk,, your arms around her neck, holding on for dear life while she pounds your pussy like she's never fucked anyone before,, her grunts in your ear?? bites your shoulder, your neck... 🤤🤤 yujinnie making sure you're taking the full length of her thick cock with every thrust :(( reaching even some spots your partner did not know about.. fuck, yujin was way too good at this...

"lemme breed you, mommy... fill this fucking pussy full of my cum... can i? can i, please??" her hips stuttering the closer she gets to her climax :((( yujinnie gets super whiny too,, whimpering and muttering "mommy" against your skin,, one clench around her dick pushing her over the edge and making her spill her seed inside you 😵‍💫😵‍💫 she really does fill you up so fucking full too! "how was that...? i'm good, right, mommy?" yujinnie was asking with a shit-eating grin, knowing damn well she's just given you a good fuck after forever 🥴

you were just recovering from all of that when yujin had this genius idea to sit on your bed, wrap your panties around her cock, and jack off right in front of you,, "f-fuck..! mhm!" her coming in your panties,, and telling you to wear them bcs it inflates her fucking ego so much... and to both of your luck, your partner arrives home later that night and you had to stand and be all sweet in front of them while wearing some cum-soaked panties... yujinnie watching from the side with a smirk, winking at you when you happened to make eye contact with her while your spouse kissed you,,,

and ofc, each and every single one of her next visits became merely an excuse for the two of you to fuck like rabid animals,, but what can you say??? being bred full of yujin's cum everyday have become too much of a good thing to give up 😵‍💫

#ive smut #ive x reader #ive imagines #ive x fem reader #ahn yujin smut #ahn yujin x reader #ahn yujin x fem reader #ahn yujin imagines #yujin smut #yujin imagines #yujin x fem reader #yujin x reader #girl group smut #girl group x reader #girl group imagines #girl group x fem reader #g!p idol #g!p ive #g!p yujin

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dragonnarrative-writes · 3 months ago

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Transferrable Skills Part 4

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

CW: POV depiction of anxiety and dissociation, How It's Made, reader character wearing a wig (positive, protective style), Soap (nosy), mention of sex toys, Simon Riley Is Honesty Just A Big Guy (TM),

Simon and Price are gone for less than a minute before you feel awkward. You’re almost done with the water, so you look around for the TV remote. It’s Gaz, absurdly pretty for some kind of international British SWAT team, who hands it to you with a half smile before wandering off, you assume to the bathroom.

That leaves you clicking through the TV while Soap does something on his phone. All of the local channels are in German, you know, so you look for something to stream. You chance a sidelong glance at Soap, but he’s already looking at you. He grins when you make eye contact.

“So yer LT’s girl, then?”

Fuck, that’s not a question you know how to answer. “Um.”

“Leave it, Soap,” Gaz says, returning from the bathroom. He smiles at you as he pockets his phone. “You don’t have to tell us anything you’re not comfortable with. Lieutenant Riley’s a private person, we understand.”

“That’s… it’s okay.” You tap into the PictureTime channel, since it’s not one you usually have access to. As you browse through the educational options - ooh, How It’s Built! - you say, “I think we’re both… a bit surprised to see each other here.”

“I can’t imagine,” Gaz says, sitting down at the other end of the couch. “Oh, I’ve not seen this one on puzzles and cheesecake.”

You tap into it, because you like puzzles, cheesecake, candles, and paintbrushes. Just in time to finish your water bottle. The armchair is a bit narrow and awkward, so you wiggle the cushion from behind your back so you can plop it, and yourself, onto the ground. You shuffle your legs to start your warm up as the theme song plays.

“How'd'ye come to answerin’ LT like yer military?” Soap asks. “’Acknowledge’, ‘acknowledged’, all o’ that?”

“Oh,” you answer, without thinking about it. “That’s just our protocol, to make sure I understand his directions.”

“’E’s givin’ you enough directions to need protocols?” He gives you a considering once-over. “Interestin’. Impressive that it held up in an emergency. That takes practice.”

Shit. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“’S he your, what’er they called? Dominant partner, then?”

God, Simon, why didn’t you take this one with you? “I’m… not at liberty to say?”

“Leave her alone, Soap,” Gaz says, exasperated. He tosses a throw pillow at Soap’s head. “She’s in shock, Simon’s trying to keep her calm and comfortable.”

“Ghostie adopts a civilian an’ ah’m supposed to have nae questions?” Soap grins at you. “She’s got a signal if she dinnae want to talk. Four fingers, right?”

“Bother Ghost about it, later,” Gaz says. He turns to you. “Do you know what you want to eat? There’s a few places open.”

Soap doesn’t pester you, after that. The three of you settle on Mediterranean food, and then they summarily leave you alone. Gaz seems content to watch the show, though Soap watches you do your floor stretches curiously.

You could probably have moved to another stretch a while ago, but you’re still in your work slacks and blouse. You think longingly of the yoga pants you laid out on your bed before leaving for meetings. And then you cringe to think of Simon coming in to sweep through the room and pack up all of your things. You hadn’t packed a lot, but you’d unpacked into the space to make yourself comfortable.

You realize that your sex toy is charging in the bedside table and cringe. You hope he doesn’t notice it. It’s good quality, but you can always buy another one.

And then you start to worry about your phone. You’d left your personal in the room because of the time zone change slowing down all of your personal messages. You’d lost your work phone and computer today with… everything that happened. Were people trying to get a hold of you? Had news of the incident made it to the US? Would Simon see your embarrassing phone background?

You resist the urge to get up and pace. Instead, you settle into butterflying your legs.

“You need more water?” Gaz’s voice startles you, but you nod and he passes a bottle to you on the floor. “Cap says that they’re done with the official stuff, he’s grabbing food while Ghost grabs your things. Probably less than an hour before they get back.”

Your anxiety shouts that that isn’t enough time. But since you can’t definitively answer the question For what?, you take a breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

Maybe it’s because your heart is beating a little faster, muscles a bit warmer, but you have trouble settling Into the show. Your mind races. You have to remind yourself to relax, then have to clamber to your feet and shuffle off to the bathroom because you relaxed your pelvic floor a little too much.

Your eyes in the mirror are a little too wide. The wig - every time you wear a good one, you almost forget you’re wearing it - is holding up admirably, at least. It feathers around your face, a bit squished where you slept on it. But with the smudged eyeliner and mascara you can kind of pretend you’re in an action movie.

Thank goodness agent Ghost rescued me and the other hostages, you think to yourself, pouting your lips dramatically as you wash your hands.

The last time you washed your hands there was a dead body on the floor.

“Nope,” you say aloud, practically flinging yourself into the bedroom. “Nope. Nope.”

You pace in a tight circle, kicking the door closed when you catch Gaz and Soap looking at you with concerned eyes. Two circuits later, the room is too small, so you open the door again and shuffle out to sit in the armchair again, one leg pulled up for you to wrap your arms around.

Throwing your mind into action shots of specialty machinery, you try to force yourself to settle. Your whole body feels like it will shake apart if you pay too much attention to it, so you don’t pay it any attention at all. The episode ends and rolls into the next one, so you learn about bird cages and automated pharmacy drones. You hear Gaz say something soft, and Soap answers, the burr of his voice just as quiet, mixing pleasantly with the murmur of the narrator.

You must lose time, again, because the next thing you know, Simon is crouching in front of you again. Big hands smooth over your arms, and he shushes you as you jump.

“Got y’r stuff,” he says. “Where’s your head at?”

You open your mouth, close it. Hold up four fingers.

“Mm, day’s catchin’ up, again. Go into the bedroom, get changed. No zippers or clasps. Buttons okay. Acknowledge.”

“Bedroom, change clothes,” you confirm, heaving a big sigh. “Comfy. Acknowledged.”

He helps you stand, and you can’t help but tip forward to put your face into his chest. He smells a little. Like stale sweat and gunpowder. His arms stop yours when they come up for an automatic hug.

“Go change,” he whispers into the top of your head, “An’ I’ll get rid of the rest of ‘em, eh?”

The haze around you pops. That’s the only way to describe it. One minute, everything is distantly fuzzy, and the next thing you know you can feel the circulation of the air in the room and his heartbeat against your forehead. The TV is quieter, and you can hear Price and Gaz and Soap talking between themselves.

“Acknowledged,” you say into his sternum. “Gotta go change.”

He has to gently guide you around his bulk. But eventually you shuffle back into the bedroom. Your suitcase is waiting for you in the far corner, and it doesn’t take you long to dig out your lounge wear. Soft, thin pants with cartoon dogs on them and an oversized tee you got from a fundraiser. And then you take both off because that’s not sexy.

Why didn’t I pack nicer stuff? Can I play off these lacy panties as sleep wear? He saw it all and packed it, he probably clocked those as the only sexy thing I have. You shake your head at yourself. He said to wear something comfortable. He knows what you have. This is fine.

Your friend’s son’s basketball mascot grins up at you. You decide to compromise and switch the shirt for a black cami you usually wear under a nice blouse.

When you peek out of the room, Simon’s in the middle of the couch, and he’s blocked one end by dragging the table closer to where he’s sitting. His jeans have been traded for black sweats, but you can’t tell if his black shirt is new or not. Somehow, he looks bigger, but in a nice way. Softer. If a brick shit-house could look soft. A brick book nook.

“’Ey, pretty girl,” he says, leaning enough to put an arm across the back of the couch. “Come sit, we’re gonna eat and then we’re gonna talk.”

When you get close, you realize that there’s not enough room for both of you to sit unless you’re half on top of him.

You want to throw yourself entirely into his lap. But you can smell the food now, and you’re so hungry. So you perch as much of your ass on the couch as you can and swing your legs over one of his. You meet his eyes just as his arm comes down across your thighs. His hand cups the outside of your leg in a way that makes you remember what he said.

He’s not letting you go, now.

#transferrable skills #dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #kink fics #manic pixie dream ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #the fact that this isn't smut yet is HILLARIOUS and KILLING ME #this was supposed to be a short fun romp #two maybe three chapters #Ha Ha Ha (in pain)

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wingedhallows · 9 months ago

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fic recs; my absolute favorite works

hi there, i decided to put together a list of my absolute favorite fanfics, please check out the writers and their other works! & the list is in no order of liking

to the writers: thank you so much for writing these, i enjoyed each and every one of your fanfics, pls write more, love michelle <3

navigation

angelic by @xreaderbooks (pls, my heart <3)

everything black by @firsttimewriter92 (came back to this one at least twice, girl- so good!!)

i see you by @hermioneshandbag (girl, girl- this was so good)

teaching a moderately old dog new tricks by @spxllcxstxr (got me blushing <3)

cherry bomb by @evanpeterswhoresblog ( chefs kiss, love love loved it <3)

dream guy by @themissingweasley26 (cute, loved it <3)

marrón by @amortentiainmyfirewhiskey (got me feeling like the baddest bitch)

i am half-agony, half hope...i have loved none but you by @sunnami (GIRL girl girl- this- i swear to god, it has me in a chokehold. your brilliant mind <3)

poly!marauders x reader - drunk james & reader by @moonstruckme (there's no title but, this was so cute)

i'll love you 'til the grass around my gravestone is deceased by @mybutcheredtongue (so cute, i love post azkaban sirius, your brilliant mind, god i love this!)

identation in the shape of you by @whorediaries-09 (i love post azkaban sirius & this comforted me so so much, i loved it <3)

i can't lose when i'm with you by @neytirisheaven (so good, i came back several times for this, loved it sooo much <3)

coward by @luv4freddie (girl- so good, i love love loved it <3)

foreign fancy by @princessconsuela120 (got me kicking my feet and smiling, girl-<3)

the american by @justagirlwholikesadam (i love this different take, so good that i came back to it several times, i loooved it <3)

pretty boy by @cloudybarnes (harry fics have a special place in my heart & i looooved this one <3)

revenge is a dish best served cold by @wonderlandwalker (so good, had me on my toes, i looooved it <3)

forget me, not by @folklvrsworld (girl- if u want a good cryin' sesh, read it, it was soo gooood, girl-<3)

come back, be here by @ellecdc (girl, girl, stop what u're doin' & read this, i loved every single word <3)

i am yours by @annabelinlove (i love poly!marauders fics & this one is a pretty good one, read it. now! loved it <3)

sad beginnings by @finelinevogue (wolfstar fics got me feeling some type of way, this is sooo goood <3)

just ours by @0x81 (wolfstar, what else should i say, read it, like yesterday, got me blushing and shit-)

the stash by @thebestofoneshots (if someone knows how to write smut than it's this writer, like how do u write like this- i'm speechless, flabbergasted <3)

divorcing orion black by @kquil (i've never quite read something like this, it's so so so good. pls more<3)

azkaban prison by @justsomerandomfanfic (i'd die for sirius black & this one in particular, more more more pls <3)

heroes in tattoos by @kquil (i'd die to read this for the first time again, like-I'm coming back to this whenever i have a rough day and i love it still, so goood <3)

new romantics by @pretty-little-mind33 (i love me a good james potter fic & this one has my feet kickin' & smilin' like an idiot <3)

injured (hip) by @hollowdeath (i love enimies to lovers & harry so- pls read it, it's great <3)

the one with the blouse by @super-clearlysaltybouquet (oh, how i love angst. i love love love angsty shit & this one was pure gold <3)

love potion and unspoken desires by @cyripticchronicler (amortentia stories are one of my favorites, this was absolutely great, read. it. now!)

#harrypotter #hp fanfic #marauders era #marauders imagine #the marauders #sirius black #harry potter fanfic #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #wolfstar #wolfstar imagine #james potter #fic rec #fanfic recommendation #fanfic rec #fanfiction

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glittervame · 8 months ago

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That did Nott go to plan

"Is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?"

This post is going to be part of the Hogmarch Fandom challenge by @thatdammchickennugget check it out if you want to know more! I may have gotten a bit carried away...I didn't proofread so sorry for the spelling errors or if it doesn't make any sense, love ya <3

Theodore Nott x FEM! Reader 18+ Basically just smut, Unprotected P in V (Wrap it before you tap it) Subby-Theo, Simi public sex, degradation, overstimulation I think, Handys Theo, fluff at the end

There were five times where Tutoring Theodor Nott did not go to plan.

Session number 1.

Theo's dorm room was a mess of beer bottles, discarded clothing, and the faint scent of marijuana. Y/n didn't belong here, but somehow she found herself on Theo's bed, his head buried between her legs, his tongue lapping at her wetness with a fervor that was both surprising and exhilarating. Her fingers tangled in his unkempt hair as she arched her back, letting out a moan that was quickly swallowed by the chaos of the room. It was a reckless, animalistic act, one that she never would have thought herself capable of doing. But then again, she'd never been this close to Theo before.

His hands gripped her hips, urging her closer, as his tongue danced against her clit, driving her wild. She felt a shudder run through her body, and with a cry that was more primal than anything else, she came, her inner walls clenching tightly around Theo's tongue.

He looked up at her, his green eyes blazing with a mix of lust and satisfaction. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice rough from exertion. "You taste so good." His hands slid up her body, cupping her breasts through her shirt, and he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. She arched into the touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Y/n was still trying to catch her breath when Theo sat up, pulling her with him. He leaned in and kissed her, his lips soft and demanding at the same time. She could taste herself on him, and the thought only served to ignite a new wave of desire within her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding her hips against his hardness, wanting him inside her.

He broke the kiss, his breath hot against her ear. "You're so fucking wet," he whispered, his hands fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. She helped him, shaking with anticipation as he pushed the fabric off her shoulders and revealed her bra. His fingers brushed against her bare skin, tracing a line down her sternum and toward her nipple.

When he finally freed her breast from its confines, he took it into his mouth, sucking hard on the sensitive bud. Y/n cried out, arching her back as pleasure coursed through her. She threaded her fingers through his hair, urging him on, needing more. More of this unexpected, intoxicating connection with Theo. She knew it was wrong, that they should be doing this, but she couldn't help herself. The feeling of being wanted, of being desired, was too overwhelming to resist.

As if sensing her need, he slipped a hand down between them, parting her folds with his fingers and searching for her entrance. She was already so wet, so ready for him. And when he finally found her, he thrust his fingers inside her, filling her up in a way that both hurt and felt so, so good. She cried out, her body tensing as a wave of pleasure washed over her.

Theo groaned, his hips bucking against her. "God, you feel so good," he muttered, his voice strained with desire. He withdrew his fingers, only to position his erection at her entrance, pushing slowly but steadily inside her. She bit her lip, feeling the stretch of him filling her up. He was so much bigger than she'd expected, and it hurt a little, but it was a good hurt. A hurt that made her feel wanted, desired.

As he continued to thrust into her, she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, meeting his movements with her own. Theo's eyes were locked on hers, his expression a mixture of lust and hunger that took her breath away. His skin was flushed, his muscles tense as he powered into her, driving them both closer and closer to the edge.

She arched her back, her nails digging into his shoulders as she felt herself beginning to lose control. Theo's thrusts grew faster, deeper, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. She could feel the tension building inside her, feel the familiar tightening in her stomach as her orgasm drew near.

With a groan that was more animal than human, Theo let go, his body tensing as he came inside her. His thrusts grew erratic, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to regain control. Y/n felt the familiar wave of pleasure wash over her, starting deep in her core and radiating outward in a series of shudders and tremors that left her spent and satiated.

Her legs still wrapped around him, she held onto him as they both rode out the aftershocks of their orgasms. When the last tremor finally subsided, Theo collapsed onto her, their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together. His breath came more easily now, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to look down at her, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Well," he said, his voice still hoarse from exertion, "that was unexpected." He ran a hand through his messy hair, and gave a wicked grin.

A few weeks have passed and Theo had found himself less interested in all the other girls at hogwarsts and more into you. He couldn't stop thinking about the way you looked when he touched you, the way you tasted on his tongue. He knew it was wrong but he couldn't help himself. He had to have you again.

One day, as he was walking to class, he caught a glimpse of you across the great hall. Your hair was pulled back into a messy bun, your glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, and a soft blush tinting your cheeks. Something about the way you moved, the way you held yourself, made his heart race. He'd sorta made a hobbie of watching you, not being able to man up and talk to you himself. You were the only thing he could think about, and it was driving him crazy.

He'd tried to talk to you a few times, but every time he got close, his nerves would get the better of him and he'd freeze up. He wanted to be able to tell you how he felt, how much he cared about you, but he just couldn't find the words. It felt like the world was pressing down on him, making it impossible to breathe, let alone string a coherent sentence together.

So instead, he resigned himself to watching you from afar, enjoying the small moments when you'd glance in his direction or smile at something one of your friends said. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him going. And when you walked past him in the hallway, so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, he knew he had to do something. He had to make a move.

He'd been thinking about it for days, trying to come up with the perfect plan, and finally, he decided on something bold. He'd invited you to the Yule Ball, hoping that maybe this would be the opportunity he needed to finally tell you how he felt. As the evening wore on and the music played, he found himself growing more and more nervous. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, and his palms were sweaty as he waited for the perfect moment to approach you.

When he finally worked up the courage, he made his way over to where you were standing near the edge of the dance floor, sipping punch from a plastic cup. Your dress was stunning, a deep red that brought out the warmth in your skin, and your hair was pulled up in a elegant updo that showed off your neck. He couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked, and for a moment, all his nerves melted away.

Taking a deep breath, he walked up beside you and offered you a smile. "Hey, Theo," you said, looking up at him with those big, green eyes. He could feel his heart skip a beat. "I thought you might like to dance," he managed to say, his voice coming out a little rougher than he'd intended. You smiled back at him, and before he could second-guess himself, you took his hand and let him lead you out onto the dance floor.

As they moved together to the music, he felt a sense of peace wash over him. He was finally doing it, finally telling you how he felt. And even though he knew it was wrong, that it could cause a lot of trouble for both of them, he couldn't help but feel like it was worth it. Because being with you, even for just this one dance, felt more right than anything else in the world.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face, and he could tell that you felt it too. The connection between them was palpable, electric. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be with you, truly be with you, outside of this moment. He wished he could freeze time, just so they could stay like this forever.

The music came to an end, and they stood there on the dance floor, still holding each other close. He couldn't bring himself to let go, didn't want to lose the feeling of your body pressed against his. You looked up at him, your lips parted, as if you were about to say something, but in the end, you didn't need to. He could see it in your eyes, hear it in your silence, that you felt it too.

Finally, reluctantly, he released you, stepping back and taking a deep breath. You both smiled shyly at each other before turning away, pretending to look for your friends or sip your punch. But neither of you moved, and neither of you looked away for long. The air between you was still charged, still thick with the unspoken words and the feelings that neither of you quite knew how to express.

As the night wore on, they found themselves stealing glances at each other whenever they could, trying to gauge the other's reaction, to see if what they thought they saw was real. And with each passing moment, the desire to be together, to explore this strange and wonderful connection, grew stronger. It was like a current, pulling them together despite all the forces that tried to keep them apart.

Finally, as the last notes of the final dance echoed through the great hall, you turned to him, your eyes meeting his once more. There was a question in your gaze, a hope that he couldn't ignore. And without another word, he took your hand, knowing that whatever happened next, he couldn't bring himself to care. Because being with you, even for just this one night, had already changed everything.

And then the clock fucking strikes midnight.

Session number 2.

Y/n has once again found her self in an empty classroom with a pussy drunk Theo between her legs eating her out like there's no tomorrow. She can't help but moan and grip his head in pleasure as he expertly works his tongue on her clit, driving her wild. His hands are all over her thighs and ass, urging her to open wider, to give him more access to her sweetness. The sound of his slurred pleas and her moans echo through the room, filling the air with desire and need.

As he continues to feast on her, she feels a surge of wetness between her legs, a sure sign that she's close. She tightens her grip on his head, urging him on, needing him to make her cum. And then, with a sharp cry, she feels the wave of pleasure wash over her, her body tensing and shuddering in ecstasy.

For a moment, they are both still, lost in the afterglow of her orgasm. Theo looks up at her, his eyes glazed over with lust, and she can see the desire burning in his eyes. He slowly pulls away from her, taking his wet mouth off of her as he stands up. Y/n watches him, panting heavily, as he unzips his pants, revealing his hard, throbbing erection.

With a steady hand, he guides himself to her entrance, positioning his cock at her entrance. She watches as he pushes forward, feeling the head of his dick slowly sink into her. It's been so long since she's felt this full, this connected, this wanted. She wraps her legs around his waist, arching her back as he thrusts deeper inside of her.

Theo's movements are slow and deliberate at first, savoring the feel of her body surrounding him. But as he grows bolder, as the heat between them intensifies, he begins to move faster, harder. His thrusts are deep and powerful, driving into her with a force that she can feel all the way up to her core.

She gasps as he hits her sweet spot, he grins and slowly teases around it. His hand slides down her lower back, over her ass, and back up to her hip. His thrusts become erratic, his breathing growing harsher as he feels the end drawing near. Y/n meets his movements, her nails digging into his shoulders as she arches her back, her body begging for release.

Theo looks down at her, his eyes burning with desire. He's never felt this way before, this need to be inside her, to feel her around him. He's lost count of the times he's come since they've been together, it's becoming a real problem.

She looks up at him, her chest heaving, her lips parted in a breathless moan. He watches as her eyes close, her head falls back against the wall, and she arches her back further. He can feel her tightening around him, the telltale sign that she's close too. With a groan, he thrusts deeper, harder, determined to send them both over the edge together.

His movements become frantic, his body tense with need as he feels his own release barreling down on him. He's never been this close before, this connected to someone. He can feel every inch of her body moving in perfect synchrony with his own, her breath hot against his skin.

With a final, powerful thrust, he cries out her name as he comes, his seed spilling deep inside her. Y/n's body tenses and convulses around him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she's engulfed by a wave of pleasure so intense it leaves her breathless.

For a moment, they are both still, their bodies pressed tightly together, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing. He pulls out slowly, his softening cock slipping from her wet folds, and collapses beside her on the floor, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.

This time it's one of the rare sessions where Y/n actually gets to tutor Theo in Herbology and not end up bent over his desk with his cum leaking out of her. Or so she thought.

They spend the afternoon in the greenhouse, surrounded by the lush, verdant life that Theo so desperately craves. He listens intently as she explains the care and cultivation of the various plants, asking questions and making notes in his notebook. Throught the lesson thogh he couldn't seem to keep his hands off of her, weather it was playing with the hem of her sleeve to fiddiling with a peace of her hair.

The air is thick with the scent of soil and flowers, and the sunlight streaming through the glass panes casts a warm, golden glow over their work. The lesson was drawing to a close, they take a break to stretch their legs and enjoy the fresh air. They wander along the path that leads to the small pond at the edge of the garden, their hands brushing against each other as they walk. Theo leans in closer, inhaling deeply of her scent, and presses his lips to hers in a kiss.

Session number 3.

Her heart racing, Y/n melts into his embrace, returning his kiss with equal fervor. Their hands roam over each other's bodies, seeking out the familiar curves and planes. He pushes her up against the rough bark of a tree, trapping her there as he continues to kiss her, his tongue dancing with hers.

She feels the hard length of his cock pressing against her through their clothes, and she moans into his mouth, wanting him inside her now. He pulls back for a moment, his breath ragged as he looks down at her, and then reaches down to undo his pants. Y/n helps him, eagerly pulling his cock free and wrapping her hand around the base.

Theo groans, closing his eyes as she strokes him, the sensation so much better than anything he could have imagined. He presses their bodies together, grinding his hips against her hand, wanting to feel the heat and wetness of her around him.

She feels his growing arousal, the tip of his cock leaking pre-cum onto her palm. She kneels down, pulling his pants and boxers down to his thighs, revealing his erection in all its glory. Theo looks down at her, his eyes dark with desire as she takes him in her mouth, her warm, wet lips enveloping him.

She sucks gently at first, exploring the texture and taste of him, feeling the pulse of his veins beneath her tongue. He lets out a shuddering breath, his hands tangling in her hair, urging her on. She deepens the suction, taking more of him into her mouth, feeling his length stretch her jaw. His hips begin to move, thrusting against her face as he loses control, his moans muffled by the sounds of their surroundings.

Her own need building, she stands up, straddling him and guiding his cock to her wet folds. He helps her, pushing upwards, burying himself inside her. They both groan at the feeling of being connected once more. Theo's hands roam over her body, cupping her breasts, tweaking her nipples as they begin to move together in rhythm.

Their movements become increasingly frantic, their bodies slamming together as they seek release. Theo's breath comes in ragged gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as he feels the familiar tension building inside him. He can feel himself getting closer, closer to the edge, and with one final thrust, he comes, his seed spilling deep inside her.

Y/n feels the wave of pleasure wash over her, her body shuddering as she cries out his name. Their bodies become limp, their breathing slow and ragged, as they cling to each other, lost in the afterglow of their passion.

Session number 4.

This time though this is the one, there is no way they can get side tracked on this one. Their in a library just studying potions.

Theo and Y/n sit across from each other at a large wooden table, surrounded by rows upon rows of leather-bound books. The scent of old paper and ink fills the air, and the flickering light from the candles casts a warm, inviting glow over their faces. They are intent on their studies, pouring over the pages of the books, taking notes and discussing the intricacies of potions. Theo can't help but steal glances at Y/n as she works, admiring the way her hair falls over her shoulders and the way her lips move as she reads.

Their shared interest in potions makes it easy for them to engage in conversation, and soon they are lost in a lively debate about the merits of various ingredients and brewing techniques. Theo leans in closer, listening intently to her every word, and finds himself agreeing with her more often than not.

But the bastard just can't keep his hands to himself and you found out soon enough when his hand is up your skirt and down your panties.

Theo's hand is warm and rough as it glides up your thigh, his thumb teasing the edge of your panties. You gasp, surprised by the audacity of his move. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You feel so good, Y/n."

You're caught between embarrassment and desire. You know you shouldn't be doing this, in a library no less, but you can't help but want more. You feel a stirring between your legs, a longing for him that you haven't felt in a long time. Maybe it's the forbidden nature of it all, the danger of getting caught. Or maybe it's just Theo.

He pushes your chair back, making you straddle his lap. His other hand cups your breast through your shirt, his thumb rubbing circles around your nipple, the other one playing with your cilt. You arch your back, moaning softly as pleasure spreads through you. His other hand slides down, pushing your panties aside, and finding you wet and ready.

Theo groans, pressing his hips forward, feeling you stretch and accommodate him. His other hand moves up, cupping your face, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "God, Y/n," he whispers, "you're so fucking beautiful." His hips begin to move, in and out, in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. He leans in, capturing your lips with his, his tongue pushing past your teeth and tangling with yours.

As they kiss, you can feel him deep inside you, his movements growing more urgent. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and you gasp against his mouth, your release building. Theo picks up the pace, thrusting harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he feels his own climax approaching. He pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes, his expression a mix of lust and a hint of something else. "I'm going to come for you," he rasps, and then he does, his hips bucking wildly as he empties himself inside you.

Session number 5.

Y/n had promised herself that this session would go according to plan, that they would study the full hour. That's what she was thinking untill she found herself doing the exact opposite.

Y/n, looking incredibly sexy in a lacy black bra and matching panties, straddles Theo, who is lying on his back. His cock, already hard as a rock, is trapped in his boxer briefs, straining against the fabric. Y/n's wetness is already dripping down Theo's abdomen, and he can feel how aroused she is. He groans, arching his back in anticipation.

Y/n grins wickedly, leaning down to capture Theo's lips in a kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms before gripping his wrists, pinning them above his head. Theo gasps into her mouth as she continues to kiss him, their tongues tangling together. His cock throbs in his underwear, begging for release.

Finally, she pulls away, breathing heavily, and looks down at Theo. "You're so fucking hot," she whispers, tracing a finger along his jaw. Her touch sends shivers down his spine. She reaches between them, unfastens his boxer briefs, and pulls them down his legs, releasing his hard cock into the open air. Theo's eyes roll back in his head as he feels her warm, wet lips wrap around the head of his cock. He groans, thrusting his hips upward.

"Fuck, Theo," she moans, taking more of him into her mouth. Her hand grips his base, stroking him expertly as she sucks. Theo's hips buck wildly, his moans muffled by the mattress. He's so close, he can feel it. He's never felt this desperate for release before.

Y/n pulls away, panting, and looks down at him. "You're doing so well, baby," she whispers, her voice low and sultry. She leans forward, taking his cock in her hand and stroking him slowly, carefully, until he's almost at the brink. "Just a little longer," she teases, before sucking him deep into her mouth again. Her tongue swirls around the head, driving him wild.

Theo's vision blurs, his mind goes blank. He's lost all sense of time and place. He can feel himself getting closer, but just when he thinks he can't take anymore, she pulls away again. "You're so beautiful when you're like this," she breathes, trailing a finger down his chest. "So needy and so desperate." She lowers herself onto him, guiding his cock into her wetness. Theo gasps, arching his back as she begins to ride him, slowly at first, but picking up speed as they both lose control.

Theo's hands find their way to her hips, gripping tightly as he thrusts upwards, meeting her movements. Her breasts bounce against his chest, her nipples hard and aching. He can feel the tension building inside him, the need for release growing more and more intense with each passing second.

"Oh fuck, Theo," she moans, throwing her head back. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she comes, her inner walls clenching around him in an unbearably tight grip. He can feel her orgasm pulsing through her, fueling his own need for release. Before he can cum tho, she pulls way making him whine at the loss of contact.

"You're so turned on that you're reduced to whimpering and begging and pleading for me to fuck you senseless. Tell me how much you want it, baby." She teases, slowly grinding her hips against his cock. Theo's breath comes out in ragged gasps as he arches into her touch.

"I want it," he moans, gripping her hips tightly. "I need it." He groans as she begins to ride him harder, faster. His cock throbs inside her, desperate for release.

She leans forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. Her hips begin to move again, faster and harder, driving him wild. He can feel his control slipping away as he thrusts up into her, desperate to feel the release coursing through him.

With a hoarse cry, Theo finally gives in to the overwhelming pleasure, his body tensing as he comes, his cock pulsing inside her, filling her up with his seed. Y/n moans, arching her back as she feels him empty himself into her.

"You look so pretty when you're like this, too dumb to even think" she muses, her hands running down his chest.

She leans back, watching him, her eyes dark with satisfaction. As he catches his breath, she slowly eases herself off of him, taking him out of her wetness with a soft pop. His cock twitches, wanting more, but she ignores it, instead straddling him again, this time with her legs on either side of his hips. She leans forward, taking one of his hands in hers and guiding it between their bodies. "Touch yourself," she whispers, her breath tickling his ear. "I want to see how much you want this."

Theo's fingers are hesitant at first, but as she watches him, a heat begins to build inside him. He can feel his cock twitch and throb as he starts to stroke himself, watching as Y/n watches him. She moans softly, her hips moving in time with his touch, her breasts swaying before him.

"That's it," she murmurs, her voice low and sultry. "You're so sexy when you touch yourself like that. I bet you'd do anything for me, wouldn't you?" Her fingers trail down his chest, teasing the tip of his nipple, sending shivers through him.

Theo nods, his eyes locked on hers, his hand moving faster now. Y/n leans in closer, their bodies pressed together, her breath hot against his skin. She can feel his desire, his need for her, and it only fuels her own desire to have him. She lets out a soft moan as she watches him stroke himself until he cums again, the sight sending a wave of pleasure through her.

She reaches down, guiding his hand away from his aching cock, and replaces it with her own. Her fingers are gentle as she strokes him, her thumb brushing over the head of his cock. Theo's hips buck up into her touch, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. "You're mine," she whispers, her voice low and possessive. "And I'm yours. There's no one else for either of us."

Their bodies move together in perfect harmony, their skin slick with sweat. Y/n's fingers move faster, her touch more urgent now. She can feel the tension building inside Theo, can feel the way he's trembling with need. She leans in, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss, her tongue dancing with his.

As they kiss, she tightens her grip on him, her thumb circling the head of his cock. "I love how much you want me," she murmurs against his lips. "I love how I can make you feel like this."

With a groan, Theo comes, his body tensing as he releases himself deep inside her. She feels his hot seed spilling onto her hand, and she can't help but moan at the feel of it. She continues to stroke him even as he empties himself, her touch gentle and soothing.

As they catch their breath, Y/n leans back, gazing down at him. His eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. She trails her fingers down his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw before wrapping her hand around his neck. "You are so beautiful when you're like this," she whispers, her thumb brushing over his lips. "I could look at you for hours."

Theo cracks an eye open, looking up at her. "Is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?" he grins, the playful challenge evident in his eyes. Y/n leans down, her lips brushing against his. "Maybe it's a little bit of both," she whispers, her breath warm against his skin. "But I think…" She trails off, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "I think you love me because I make you feel things you've never felt before. I make you want things you never thought you wanted. I make you feel alive."

Her words send a shiver down his spine. He watches as she leans back, her eyes never leaving his. There's something so intense about her gaze, so possessive. It makes him feel like she's seen right through him, to the depths of his soul. He reaches up, cupping her face in his hands, wanting to feel her skin against his, wanting to lose himself in her eyes.

"Maybe," he breathes, his voice barely a whisper. "maybe it's a bit of both…" He trails off, Before pulling her in for a kiss.

Session number five might have been her favorite...

#fypシ #writing prompt #y/n #send help #help #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #got carried away #theodore nott smut #theodore nott fluff #theo #hogmarch challenge #thatdamedchickennugget #Hogmarch challenge #Hogmarch

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hellenhighwater · 1 year ago

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Queen Skrungle, aka Lt. Blouse, is it of focus in almost every single picture I take. How is she doing this.

I am trying my best but she is so narrow and angular

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italoniponic · 11 months ago

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Bat-Hunter | Rook Hunt & Lilia Vanrouge

Synopsis: In which Rook and Lilia found themselves at the start of a legendary battle for the Prefect of Ramshackle's heart. The world of love triangles is awfully quiet after this exchange. Dedicated to @pandoa. You wish and you shall receive <3

Lilia Vanrouge, Rook Hunt x gender neutral reader / small scenario / fluff but mostly crack / reference to a specific Phillipines dish / 1525 words / use of “you” pronouns / Masterlist

Bat-Hunter: The Magnificent Showdown!

Few people throughout history — between humans and faes — could say that they had the audacity to directly antagonize the Great General Vanrouge in any sort of battle. And getting out of this sort of risk alive was a bit of luck granted to very few people, almost to none.

“But a coward hunter is not worthy to receive the title, nor to wear a hat.”

That was the Hunt family motto that Rook was so proud to carry in his heart. Such was his respect for his family tradition that this phrase was embroidered on the inside of all his hats so as to never forget his origins.

Well, maybe I’m starting a little too fast and you’re still worrying — from the comfort of Ramshackle’s upstairs window — what the hell the two guys you liked were doing on the ground floor balcony, dressed like that.

Despite everything, you suddenly shrugged to yourself and headed to the kitchen where a more urgent task needed to be fulfilled. When everything was ready, hopefully you could invite the guys in. That is, if you found one or the other intact in the end.

Because that was the feeling that their exchange of glances passed.

Lilia was dressed in his Light Music club “uniform,” as punk rock as your father had been in the eighties when he was young and phones were wired. He held his guitar close to him, as if it were the weapon of his days in the Army of Thorns. He was “total rad” — as the youngsters would say.

His friendly smile only masked the irritation of finding Rook in that place, decked out from head to toe. Usually, his presence was easy to ignore and his curiosity could be quite amusing from time to time.

But he knew the real situation they were in: they were equals in rivalry for the heart of Ramshackle’s Prefect.

Knights in a duel for love!

Rook, in his own instance, wore a pair of belted trousers and a loose white blouse — located in the common vocabulary as a “pirate blouse” — with the strange addition of a large pink coat over his shoulders, sewn by hand and with some patterns of blue rhombuses. With his hat in hand, he looked like a book character.

His expression was equally gentle but it carried a certain pang of defiance, like a hunter who meets another while hunting.

“You look very beauté this afternoon, Monsieur Curiosité!,” Rook praised.

“How did you actually say that time? That my beauty is ‘mysterious’?,” Lilia chuckled, squinting his eyes.

“Oui, oui! But do not fret, Monsieur, today my attention is on someone else.”

“Another one? You can’t get enough of it, can you, Hunt?”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, yes. I’m tired. Tired because I’m wandering for days and nights thinking about the smile of that kind person and how I would like to cheer them up in these times of crisis!”

Crisis? Lilia didn’t quite understand. You seemed to be doing very well during all the times you met. Had he let any detail slip through the cracks?

“What kind of crisis? That is,” he bit his tongue, embarrassed that he had to ask for help from his literal rival. “If I may intrude.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. These are ear crisis! Dear Trickster has been hearing a lot of guitars being scratched lately,” the young huntsman replied, boldly.

Lilia barely broke his guitar cable — or the entire instrument at once in Rook’s head.

It was a mere provocation, no big deal. And Pomefiore’s vice, the way he was, probably appreciated each style of music in its own artistic way. But they were dealing with a battle of epic proportions and every blow counted.

Even if he were to call Lilia’s love-hard-heavy-metal demo “instrument-scratching”. But it was worth it and it showed in the way Rook’s eyes squinted in amusement.

Dealing with Diasomnia’s vice has always been an adventure in itself. That was the best part about being Lilia’s romantic rival.

Regardless of the ending, moments like this would always have a special place in Rook’s heart and he would remember it all with emotion when he went to tell your children — “the Hunt Jrs.” — the trajectory of your love.

“Why are you crying?,” suddenly Lilia inquired, confused.

“You will not be forgotten, Monsieur Curiosité! Forever and ever!,” Rook declared, wiping a tear with the sleeve of his coat. “Your memory will be carried forever in our family!”

At this the fae pulled the hunter by the collar of his shirt, staring directly into his green eyes. It was not necessary to float to come face to face with Rook, Lilia had enough dignity to impose himself the way he wanted.

And, let’s face it, making the boy — a “child” in his eyes — literally reach his level was more convenient too.

“Your particular persona has not yet turned gray to be Malleus’ breakfast because I dare, to the best of my mental faculties, find your audacity mildly amusing,” Lilia said with a grim smile cutting across his face.

“I thank you, monsieur. And I, if I may say so, find the bloody-pink in your eyes extremely beautiful,” Rook retorted, torn between fascination and a certain fear instinct that only made him feel more confident in his goals.

“Who do you think you are, hunter?”

“And who do you think I am, bat?”

That said, the two of them started laughing. Maniacally. They walked away but kept laughing, releasing all the anger and tension that could be felt in the form of simple fun between two colleagues.

Oh, they wanted to duel until death ripped them from each others hands.

Fortunately, you opened the door in time to prevent a bloodbath in your yard — after all, it would be difficult to clean it up.

“Hey, boys!,” you greeted, happy. “Wanna come in? I made pancit canton!”

Then you showed them a plate of fresh noodles, straight out of the pan, in a colorful combination of sliced pork, sausage and shrimp along with chopped carrots, cabbage, peas, onions and garlic. It smelled wonderfully good and matched your good mood. No wonder, it was your favorite food from the Philippines.

The sun was setting and it was close to dinner time. In fact, you were so excited about the process of cooking everything — from blanching vegetables to cutting meats — that the serving size tripled. Maybe being busy tidying the house didn’t help your distraction.

But with Lilia and Rook there — and Grim would be happy with extra food — you felt that little slip was worth doing it.

The smile that opened on your face descended on them like a ray of light in the midst of darkness, poetic as a fairy tale.

The animosity in the air was still palpable, however you were simply happy to have the company of your two crushes at the same time and there are times you need to take advantage of some situations.

“Prefect! I composed a song and I would like you to hear it,” Lilia stepped forward, putting the guitar in position and pulling a bombastic sound from the strings.

Your eyes widened and you couldn’t stop an admiring smile from appearing. Outside that your heart was racing just like the Light Music club speakers after a performance by Lilia. He was so cool!

“And I brought the best collection of poems on my bookshelf to recite, sweet Trickster!,” Rook didn’t lag behind and with one movement of his arm, the coat danced beautifully under his shoulders.

Another shot to the heart! As if that were not enough, the shades of the afternoon horizon harmonized perfectly with Rook’s clothes and made him an otherworldly vision, having escaped from a bedside book just to meet with you.

“You two are going to drive me crazy like this…,” you grumbled to yourself. But you did your best to stay intact.

“I just want you to bear with me 'cause I am only one,” you said. “Let’s have dinner first, okay?”

“All for you, sweet Trickster!,” Rook declared, taking your free hand and kissing it.

“A-ah! Okay?”

“What matters is your wish, Prefect,” Lilia skillfully took the plate of pancit from your other hand and also kissed it.

“B-but your guitar...!” He literally had put the instrument between his legs.

“There’s no time for questioning, magnefique apple of my eyes. Forward, my brave rival!”

“Said and done, hunter!”

You were still confused when they managed to find a way to literally drag you into the house, each holding your arms as if your weight was negligible and the situation completely normal.

It was obvious how Rook and Lilia, even if in different ways, could make you go “head over heels.”

Well, you avoided reaching that angle when they deposited you on the couch and sat each by your sides. At least the animosity was gone and Lilia’s guitar was more securely propped up on the coffee table.

“Dinner, mes ami?,” Rook suggested. “Then a lyrical duel to the death?”

“A what...?”

“That’s fine for me,” Lilia accepted.

And so they lived happily ever after. At least until after dinner.

🦇🆚️🏹

Special Notes: It’s funny or maybe not how I can get drowned in my own work and never make any progress in months but the moment the inspiration for something strikes me as a lighting, suddenly I can pull off an entire 1525 thing in two nights straight. It’s quite simple and it goes more into comedy territory but it’s a homage for your underrated comedy skills, Pando! I still tried my best to make sure both Rook and Lilia could have their times to shine. I based most of the exchange in Lilia’s R Sports Card personal story with Rook (and just got off from that feeling). Have to say, I love a good unilateral passive-aggressive convo and they delivered <3

Now… any similarities of scenes from certain movies are completely my fault. I’m currently having a Die Hard and Kung Fu Panda brainrot, which is weird but it happened.

#twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #a little gift for a friend #cherry's writing #twst x reader #twst scenarios #twst crack #love triangle but a tiny bit unhinged #cherry's mumbling about twst

224 notes · View notes

teaberrii · 1 year ago

Text

Bed & Breakfast

After ending a five-year relationship, you pour all your energy into work. Your latest assignment? Staying at a popular bed-and-breakfast to gather information. It should be a piece of cake... If only the owner isn't the man you scolded on the street.

Jing Yuan/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

Chapter 1: Let's Start Fresh

“Wow! Who’re those for?”

“Those look expensive. Damn.”

“So romantic!”

You’ve just put your phone into your bag when you walk up to the revolving doors. As soon as you step into the company building, a young woman calls you. She’s standing upright with her hands in front of her. Like all the others working the reception desk, her light purple blouse, dark waistcoat vest, and skirt are free of wrinkles. When you walk up to her, she hands you the large bouquet that’s been grabbing everyone’s attention.

“These came in for you this morning!”

“...Me?” When she glances from the bouquet to you, you force a little smile. She’s probably wondering why you haven’t taken them. “Who are they from?”

“Didn’t say… but”—she points to the card tucked securely in the ribbon holding the bouquet together—”maybe you’ll find out.”

If it’s who you think it’s from, you really don’t want to take it, especially because you have to parade it through your department. You almost sigh in annoyance. Maybe this is what he, your boyfriend of five years today, is after. You won’t be surprised.

You reluctantly take the bouquet from her and head towards the elevators. While waiting along with everyone else, someone comes beside you.

“Oh my.” You recognize that voice anywhere. “What a great way to start the day.” Maybe you should take them off my hands. While that’s what you want to say, instead, you glance at Sampo, your colleague, who asks, “What’s the occasion?”

The elevator doors open, and people flock in. You and Sampo end up standing next to each other. “A celebration,” you say sarcastically.

Sampo looks down and smiles. “Ah… Celebrating an early win?”

You almost roll your eyes. You’ve been working with Sampo for the past two years, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned about him is that the man sees everything as a competition. He jumps at the opportunity to stand out, something you’ve been doing as well. So, it doesn’t come as a surprise that you and he are “competing” for this next big assignment.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

The elevator doors open. While Sampo is kind enough to push past the crowd, you still have to pay extra attention so your bouquet won’t end up smacking into people.

As soon as you arrive in your small office, you walk over to the garbage can. You open it but hesitate to drop the bouquet inside. Eventually, you put it on your desk just as you hear your phone ding with a notification.

When you open it, you frown. It’s your boyfriend who tagged you in a photo of the bouquet on his social media: Happy fifth anniversary, love. I hope you enjoy your office gift <;3. The comments below annoy you even more.

So lucky!

They look expensive…

Wow!!!!

Then, you get a call from the person who you ironically don’t want to hear from.

“Did you enjoy your anniversary gift?”

You put a hand on your hip as you turn. Then, upon seeing some younger colleagues whispering amongst themselves and subtly—but failing—peeking into your office, you walk over and lower the blinds.

“...You really didn’t have to,” you say. “You know I don’t like—”

A loud sigh. "It's our five-year anniversary. Does that not mean anything?"

You frown at the flowers. “You could’ve just given them to me privately instead of—”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault for wanting to surprise you?”

“What? I”—you look at the time—”I have a meeting.”

Before your boyfriend can say anything else, you hang up. Then, you pick up your laptop and the flowers, and before you walk out, you drop the bouquet into the trash.

When you arrive at your manager’s office, she looks up and smiles. “Mornin’. News travels fast. Everyone’s been talking about seeing you walk in with a large bouquet.”

“Yeah, well… I was quite surprised myself.”

A soft knock comes at the door, and Sampo walks in. “I’m not late, am I?”

“You’re right on time.” Just as Sampo comes up beside you, Kafka says, “The Xianzhou Star Rail Hotel Project has officially kicked off, and…” She looks at you. “...I want you to head down there to do some market research for our business plan that we’ll present to our stakeholders.”

Sampo looks from you and back to Kafka. Then, without thinking, he asks, “Wait… You’re asking her to go?”

Kafka gives him a look. “I have an assignment for you as well, Sampo. Don’t worry.”

“But—”

Kafka looks at you. “Are you willing to go?”

Without question, you answer, “Of course!”

“It’s not a vacation now,” she jokingly adds. “But, it wouldn’t hurt to also enjoy some scenic views while you’re there. Xianzhou is a beautiful place from what I’ve seen.”

You can't argue there. Xianzhou is a cozy, developed island, that soared to be the number one destination for a holiday resort getaway. With picturesque views of mountains and oceans, hiking trails, national parks, and various tourist attractions, it's no surprise that the company wants to capitalize on this immediately.

“You’re free to go,” Kafka says. Then, she looks at Sampo. “Now, let me tell you about your assignment.”

Sampo’s shoulders fall, and you have to keep yourself from smiling.

When you get back to your office, you almost fist pump the air when your phone buzzes with a message telling you that the birthday cake you ordered is ready for pickup. While today is your fifth anniversary with your boyfriend, it’s also your best friend’s birthday. And, this year, you opt to spend time with her. So, you reserved a table at one of the fanciest restaurants in the city to celebrate. But the unpleasant memory of breaking the news to your boyfriend still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“You’re spending our fifth anniversary with Herta?” he asked.

“We’ve spent the last four anniversaries together,” you said, drying your hair with a towel. You draped it around your neck and looked at him. “What’s wrong with spending it on another weekend instead?”

He frowned as you walked past him to grab a drink from the fridge. “We haven't been spending a lot of time together. Isn’t that a little weird to you?”

No, it wasn’t, but it was because you knew the reason why. You put your drink on the counter. “...Well, I'd rather not spend money on eating out and going to movies all the time. We could be doing something a little more valuable with our time."

You remembered feeling the butterflies and seeing your new relationship through rose-coloured lenses. It was a wonderful feeling that made you feel on cloud nine. But, it wasn’t until you entered the third year of your relationship that you began focusing more on work and hobbies.

You tried to get him involved, but it was obvious that he wasn’t interested in your new, productive hobbies. He’d still rather be playing games, watching movies, going to exotic places, and eating out. You were tired of entertaining him, and when you didn’t bother hiding it anymore, that was when he started complaining.

“...I want us to relax when we’re together.” He walked up to you, but you crossed your arms and looked away. “Look, we tried… but why can’t we just go back to when we first started?”

“Can you just respect my decision?” you asked. “I’ve already made plans with her.”

“Oh, so now you won’t even discuss things with me anymore?”

“What? No, I—"

"You know what? Forget it." Then, he picked up his keys and left your apartment.

Your eyes wander to the bouquet in the garbage can, and your heart almost soars at the thought of leaving the city. Perhaps this is also a sign, and you jokingly think that you need something more direct than that.

It’s nearly time for lunch when you close your laptop and head out of the office to grab food. You also use the extra time to pick up Herta’s birthday cake. With a warm drink in your hand, the cake in the other, you push open the bakery door, walk outside, and—

Bam!

Your cup flies out of your hand. The cake flies through the air. You reach for the ribbon that holds it together but it’s just out of your reach, and you watch it land with a solid thud on the ground. It's in smithereens… like your heart.

“My cake!”

“Oh, my God!” A girl who looks like she’s in high school almost falls but stumbles her way back up.

You’re on your feet when you see a tall man running up to you.

Suddenly, you feel someone grab you from behind. “C-Could you help me?”

“...Hey.” You turn and see the man up close. His gold-coloured eyes look almost predatory as he stares at you and the girl behind you. His long, white hair is tied into a ponytail. He doesn’t look the slightest out of breath as he takes a step toward the girl behind you. But, you quickly stop him. He shoots you a look. “...Who are you?”

“I should be asking you that question,” you answer. You glance at the teenager behind you. Then, you shoot him a dirty look. “A man chasing a young girl in broad daylight?”

“You have the wrong idea,” he says. “She’s”—he tries to walk around you, but you stop him again. He sighs and puts a hand on his hip—”she’s my cousin.”

“No! I… I’m not!” The girl grabs your arms and lowers her head as if using you as a shield.

“I don’t have time for this,” the man says through gritted teeth, and he reaches for her.

“She clearly doesn’t want to go with you,” you snap, slapping his hand away.

“Lady, as I said, you have the wrong idea.” You hear the girl quietly thank you from behind before running off. “...Hey!” Before the man can give chase, you block his path. He frowns. “Do you think you’re being a good civilian right now? You don’t know anything.” He sighs in frustration and is about to walk around you when you easily grab his phone out of his pocket. He turns. “...What are you doing?”

You scoff. “You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t go to the police. Now. why don’t you be a good civilian and pay for the damage you’ve done?” You point to the spoiled cake on the ground. “And then I’ll give you back your phone.”

“Are you serious?”

“Does it look like I’m joking?”

He puts a hand on his hip and notices the freshly spilled drink. “Do you want me to buy you a drink as well?”

You cross your arms and nod toward the bakery. “...Go.”

Looking a little defeated, he turns and walks into the bakery just as you glance at your watch. Great. Now, you’re going to be late.

The bell chimes once he opens the door. As soon as the woman at the counter sees him, her face brightens. “Jing Yuan! What brings you to the city?”

Upon hearing her name, the teenager looked up from her phone. She put her phone in her pocket as Jing Yuan sat next to her.

"...Uncle told me you haven’t been home,” he said.

"Because I don't want to go home," she muttered. Then, she faced him. "Can I come to stay with you? Please? Xianzhou will definitely take my mind off things."

“You know you’re always welcome. But, shouldn’t you be preparing for your college entrance exams?”

“...It’s because I’m preparing for them that I need to get away from home.” She sighed loudly and leaned back. “They still don’t support my decision.”

Jing Yuan raised a brow. “...Of going abroad for university?”

She stood angrily. “They’re so annoying! Why can’t they just let me make my own decisions?”

“What reason did you give them?” When she looked at her feet, Jing Yuan had his answer. “Are you still seeing that guy?”

“He has a name, you know.”

Jing Yuan sighed. “What other reason did you give them besides you'll be going to the same university as him?”

“It’s a good school!” She spun around. “If I get in, I bet I’ll be making a heck of a lot more than you are and your little bed and breakfast business.” When she failed to get a reaction out of him, she quickly sat. “...I can dream.”

“They’re not against you going. It’s why you’re going that they’re concerned about.” Before she could retaliate, Jing Yuan continued, “What do you want to study? Do you have a plan?”

Silence.

Then, Jing Yuan kindly said her name. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Don't waste it on a boy.”

She stood again. “They didn’t need to be so harsh about it,” she muttered.

“They’re just worried about you.”

“...I still don’t wanna go home.”

Then, she began walking away, but Jing Yuan caught up to her. “Where are you going?”

Shrugging off his hand, she said, “I just wanna be alone.”

“At least tell me where you’re going.”

“So you can report back to Mom and Dad? No thanks.”

Jing Yuan knew his much younger cousin had always been… independent. But, she was really testing his patience. He firmly grabbed her arm, startling her.

“...You’re coming home.”

“N-No!”

Jing Yuan turned for just a second but he felt a sharp pain on his arm that forced him to loosen his grip. His cousin jumped at the opportunity and made a run for it.

“I’m taking care of some personal matters and visiting a few friends,” Jing Yuan says, walking up to the counter. “...I need a birthday cake.” Just then, another worker comes out with a freshly baked cake. “I’ll take that one.”

When Jing Yuan walks out, he sees you staring at your phone.

“Your cake,” he says, and you quickly look up.

You take it from him and give back his phone. “...That was fast.” As soon as Jing Yuan takes his phone from you, you say, “But, may I remind you your actions can be criminal.”

Jing Yuan’s phone dings with a message just as he says, “I’d rather not explain.”

He turns, but just before he walks off, you say, “Wait.” Jing Yuan turns with a frown. You walk up to him and pat his shoulder. “The spoiled one is yours now. Let’s keep the streets tidy, shall we?”

Then, you walk past him, and he quietly scoffs as his phone goes off. As soon as he answers it, he hears, “Boss! Guess what!”

“You sound like you just won the lottery, Pom.”

“Well”—a chuckle—”close enough, I suppose. I’m happy to say that we’re completely booked for the over the next few months! I just received our last reservation a few minutes ago.”

Jing Yuan smiles. “Why’re you so happy? It means more work.”

“Yeah, but we get more money.”

Jing Yuan sighs, looks around at the mess, and mutters, “Too bad money can’t make all of your problems disappear.”

“What’s wrong?”

Jing Yuan picks up your styrofoam cup and tosses it into the trash. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

◆◆◆

That evening, you and Herta are celebrating her birthday with champagne and a five-star meal. She’s all smiles when you tell her about the flying birthday cake incident earlier today.

“Wait… So, like, my very expensive birthday cake was picked out by a random man who’s kind of hot?”

You frown at how she twisted your words. “He was chasing a girl who looked like she was in high school.”

Herta shrugs. “Kids lie all the time to get out of trouble. Might’ve been a misunderstanding.” She finishes the rest of her champagne. “Anyway, my birthday aside, we also have to celebrate you beating Sampo.”

“It wasn’t a competition!”

“So, you say, but I see that smile. Just admit that you’re happy that you got the big important assignment instead of him.”

You pour your friend more champagne. “All right, fine. I’m damn happy that I got it.” Then, you click your glasses together.

“That’s more like it!” After taking a long sip, you set your glass down. Herta does the same and says, “So, tell me more about it. You’re going to Xianzhou, right?”

You nod. “Kafka already booked me a place to stay.”

When you got back to the office later that day, Kafka had called you in. Then, she told you she booked you a room at The Knights Bed and Breakfast, the hottest and trendiest place to stay in Xianzhou. You did some research and discovered that they were receiving raving reviews and were featured in many holiday destinations from big publications. And, when you checked out their website, they didn't disappoint. You'd almost forgotten you were going for work and not for vacation.

“She managed to get the last spot,” you continue.

"Ooh, it's like you're infiltrating the enemy," Herta jokes, "while getting a mini, free vacation." A waiter comes by, and you wave him down for another bottle of champagne. "How're things with the boyfriend?" A small chuckle. "He must be upset at me for stealing you today."

“...He’ll get over it.”

“...Is everything okay?”

After telling her about the little fight over the phone in your office today, you ask, “Is it selfish of me to say that I don’t think he sees where I’m coming from?”

Herta sighs softly. “A good surprise only works if it’s a wanted surprise…” Then, she goes quiet and looks down as if mulling something. When she looks at you again, she says, “...So, you don’t think you’ll marry him?”

“Marriage?” you ask incredulously. “No way!” That’s when you notice Herta slightly fidgeting, and you narrow your eyes. “...Why do you ask?”

“Er… well…” Herta sighs as if defeated. “The truth is, he came to talk to me last weekend… And he’s thinking of asking you to marry him.”

Your heart freezes over. Then, picking up your glass, you say, “Well, that’s not going to happen. Not when things are definitely not what they used to be.”

A waiter walks past your table to the bar where a tall man with a fair complexion has a half-empty beer in front of him. He's scrolling through his phone when he sees a diamond ring around a finger.

Congratulations!!

OH MY GOD!

Wishing both of you happiness!

Jing Yuan shouldn’t be surprised to see congratulatory messages on his ex-wife’s remarriage on his social media. They still have mutual friends. But the little he’s heard about her relationship, he can’t ignore the hunch that this marriage isn’t as simple as it should be. But it’s none of his business, and he has no interest in hearing more either. Unless, of course, it involves his son.

When he feels someone swing his arm around his shoulder, he turns and sees Luocha, one of his best friends.

“Up for another drink?” he asks. Jing Yuan puts his phone away just as Luocha calls for a refill. “So, please tell me more about this woman who scolded you in public today.”

“...You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Luocha smiles. “It sounds like something straight out of a movie. Maybe your rowdy cousin’s secretly a matchmaker.”

Jing Yuan sighs. “Let’s stop talking about this.”

“Still… if she’s really like what you described”—Luocha gently nudges him—“she’s just your type.”

Just then, Blade joins them at the bar.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Luocha says, putting his bottle down after a good drink. “Where’d you head off to, Mr. Popular?”

Blade gives him a deadpan look, and then waves the bartender over for a drink. Jing Yuan notices three girls looking disapprovingly at Blade in the far corner of the room. He doesn’t need to guess that Blade very obviously turned them down.

“We were just talking about you,” Luocha says cheekily.

“Were you?” Blade asks. “Is it about you paying for drinks this time, Doctor?”

“Oh, but if you insist.”

“Blade?”

The men turn around, and Jing Yuan nearly drops his beer upon seeing you. You, however, don’t look as surprised to see him.

“Friends of yours?” Luocha asks, looking from Blade to you and your friend.

“I’m his co-worker,” your friend answers. “Name’s Herta.” Then, she glances at you and then at Jing Yuan. “And… apparently these two also know each other.”

Then, before Luocha can stop himself, he says, “Wait… Jing Yuan knows women?”

“...He sure does, considering he chased one today,” you mutter.

Jing Yuan gives you a look. “Still on my case about that, are you?”

Luocha looks from you to Jing Yuan and back to you. “Wait… She was the woman you were talking about? The hot-headed, stubborn woman who wouldn’t let you catch a break?” Jing Yuan almost hit his friend.

“Hot-headed, huh?” You’re frowning now with your arms crossed.

Blade, though amused, shows no sign of it on his face. Instead, he says, “...I heard it was your birthday, Herta.”

“That’s right. Wow. Don’t tell me Professor Blade is really wishing lil ‘ol me a happy birthday.”

Blade nods towards an empty table. “Stick around, and maybe I will.”

You and Jing Yuan meet eyes, but before you look away, he says, “Looks like you’re getting that drink after all.”

Suddenly, you hear someone say your name.

You freeze when you see your boyfriend walk up to you. Herta looks just as surprised.

“...What… What are you doing here?” you finally ask.

Your boyfriend shoots the three men a look before turning to you. "I wanted to surprise you and Herta… but… What are you doing?”

“I—”

“Today is our anniversary,” your boyfriend interrupts. “I get that you want to celebrate with Herta, but it’s obvious you drank and now you’re flirting with other men?” He attempts to grab your hand, but you quickly move out of his reach.

“I wasn’t flirting,” you sternly say. “I’m here with Herta, and—”

“Then, what’s this?”

“It really isn’t what it looks like,” Herta says. “These are my co-worker’s friends, and we just came over to say hi.”

You briefly close your eyes and take a small, subtle breath just as Luocha says, "It's true."

Then, you hear your boyfriend say desperately, “Can you just please come home?”

You’re aware of the stares you’re attracting. Some people are looking at you like you’re the bad guy, adding to the exhaustion you already feel. Your boyfriend takes your hand, and you let him. But then, you look him in the eyes, pull your hand back, and say, “...I’m going home. But not with you.”

And then you walk away.

Jing Yuan watches you turn the corner just as Herta and your boyfriend hurry after you.

“What was that?” Luocha finally asks when the three of you are out of sight.

“...Something we shouldn’t have seen, no doubt,” Blade adds flatly.

Then, Jing Yuan calls for another beer.

◆◆◆

“...Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Herta asks as you’re now a short distance away from the restaurant.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure. “Drive safe.”

“I’ll take her back,” your boyfriend says.

“All right.” Herta walks a few steps but turns back. “Text me when you’re home.”

You nod, give her a small wave, and she walks off.

You’re about to call for a taxi when your boyfriend suddenly grabs your arm and spins you to face him.

“...Care to explain what that was all about?”

You put your hands in your pockets. “What was what all about?”

“You’re going home but not with me?”

“What’s wrong with that statement?”

Your boyfriend exhales sharply. “Did I do something to upset you? What’s wrong with you?”

“...Did you talk to Herta last week… about wanting to get married?”

“Is that what’s causing the attitude problem here?” Your boyfriend puts a hand in his pocket. “Look, I know you told me before that you aren’t ready for marriage and you didn’t want to get married. But”—his shoulders fall—“we’ve been together for five years. Didn’t your opinion change?”

Where is this going?

“No,” you say flatly. “I’m still not ready, and I don’t know if I ever will be. It’s not something I’m thinking about.”

“Because it’s not a priority to you, is that it?”

You frown. “Because I want to live the way I want. And right now, marriage is not something I want. But it looks like it’s a big deal for you.”

"We've known each other since high school. We pretty much grew up together. What we have… It's what most people dream about! Do you remember when I made you breakfast in bed? Took you to the ocean to see the stars? Booked an expensive hotel so we could relax on our days off? Is this about me not doing well enough?"

“...I remember,” you say calmly. “I remember all of those things. You made me breakfast in bed when I was sick, but you wanted to get that perfect selfie of me eating and share it with all of our friends… including my mom. We went to see the stars… stayed at an expensive hotel… You made sure to share our moments with our closest friends. At first, I didn’t think much about it, but everything that you do for me… Why does it have to be under the eyes of other people?”

“I… I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I just want to show people how much I love you.”

“...You love me?”

“Of course I do!”

You force a little smile. “Do you know what I like to do after a long day at work? What I do when I’m feeling down?”

“You always come home so late these days! You used to game a lot. But now…” He looks a little lost. “...Now, you just…” A sigh. “See? This is what I miss. We used to have so much fun together.” Then, after a small pause, he says, “I miss the old you.”

Anyone can see it in your eyes. The look of giving up. Letting go.

“...And I want her to come back.”

That is the final straw.

“This isn’t going to work anymore.” A small pause. “...We should break up.”

“Break up?” he almost shouts. “Why? Just because I couldn’t answer some measly question? We’ve been together for five years! You’re just going to throw that all away?”

“What’s the point of continuing something that isn’t going to work?”

“I’ll do better,” he pleads. “I promise. Just give me another chance. I’ll listen this time.”

“Just like how you said you would a few months back?”

“That’s—”

You sigh. “Stop wasting your time on me. We aren’t good for each other.” You turn around and wave for a taxi. One drives by, ignoring you, but there’s another one waiting at a red light that you pray will stop for you.

The light turns green and the taxi drives toward you.

“...So, that’s it? After five fucking years together, you’re just going to leave?”

Just before it comes to a full stop, you turn to him and say, “The life you want. The life I want. The people who we’ve become… They don’t work anymore.”

You open the door, but before you close it, your ex stops it with his hand. “Everyone’s going to hate you,” he says bitterly. “After everything that I’ve done for you, it’s me who’s going to get the last laugh.”

You glare at him and force the door closed.

You’re still reeling what had just happened when the driver asks where you’re going. So, you tell him your apartment address, and he drives off.

Just as he passes the restaurant, you see Herta’s co-worker and his two friends. You and Jing Yuan meet eyes, and you face forward, hoping that your exhaustion isn’t written all over your face. But, it is, and he notices. Then, he sees your boyfriend with his hands in his hair with an angry and frustrated look.

“Jing Yuan!” Jing Yuan turns and sees Luocha and Blade at the side of the road with a parked taxi. “You coming?”

As your taxi weaves through the city, it passes by the street where you and your ex had your first kiss and first date. You see your past selves in an embrace but withering away… When you blink, they’ve vanished.

You welcome the silence of your apartment when you open the door. You’re slipping off your coat when you see an old pair of shoes your ex left behind. You walk towards your bathroom but suddenly stop. Then, instead of taking a shower like you’re planning, you immediately grab an empty cardboard box and start filling it with everything you can find that belongs to your ex.

You’re just about finished when you grab your phone to write him a text when you’ll leave his stuff with a mutual friend. You see he’s typing something, but before you can see what it is, you block his number. Then, with a final sigh, you put the box aside, turn on your TV speakers, and up the volume on the jazz before heading into the bathroom for a nice, hot shower.

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21

End notes:

Aaaand it's finally here!

I had a lot of fun writing this, and I'm super excited for the Bermuda Triangle trio that is Blade, Luocha, and Jing Yuan XD No one can survive their deadly charms.

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @lxry-chxn @seirenspinel

#jing yuan #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x reader #hsr jing yuan #jingyuan x reader

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