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fleshbride · 1 year ago

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PRESENTING . . . AIN’T NUN BUT A HOOCHIE MAMA!

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ TOJI FUSHIGURO X F!BLK!HOOCHIE READER

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ CW: black fem reader; reader is 26, toji is 34; reader is on the thicker side; usage of the word nigga a few times; smut; breeding kink, hair pulling, dumbification, overstimulation, pussy slapping, impact play, messy pussy eatin’, size kink, hints of sado-masochism, a bit of brat taming, manhandling, praise & degradation, multiple orgasms, cervix fucking, choking, squirting; fwb-ish to lovers (?); pet names are used, such as mama, baby, pretty girl, dollface, princess & sweetheart; reader has a kid of her own; reader is a hoochie, meaning she’s seen as ‘ghetto’ but in a very pro-black & attractive way; reader has a mature body, pudge, cellulite, stretch marks; reader accidentally flashes toji; reader & toji share a blunt; toji is actually a good dad in this!

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ wc: 7.5k

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ this is actually pure filth. this was my first time writing for toji EVER and actually my longest work. guys when i tell you i put some shit into this thing, idk what i did but i SNAPPED. HARD. i hope you guys enjoy this nasty thing that came from my imagination. not proof read or anything so pls excuse my typos!

sometimes, your job could be a godsend. who knew that a simple job at the local hair store would catapult you into meeting one of the sexiest men you’d ever seen?

to be completely honest, it wasn’t solely your job that sparked such an interaction. it was moreso you; you possessed an irresistible, unmistakable charm that was impossible to ignore. your voice, soft as a lullaby, held a dulcet quality that drew people in like a magnet. anytime you opened your mouth to speak, you commanded attention effortlessly, as if your words held some mystical power that captivated any listener.

everyone was always drawn to you, and it wasn't hard to see why. who in their right mind wouldn’t be smitten? you were a vision of beauty, with your radiant brown skin that seemed to glow as if illuminated from within. your smile, perfect and white, could light up even the darkest room, making hearts skip a beat. your eyes were another story altogether. they seemed to sparkle, glimmering with an intensity that was all yours.

your hair was always done, you always made sure that you had a fresh set of lashes. to add, you never forgot to apply your clear lip gloss. now, this wasn't just any gloss, it was your signature, lip gloss added a radiant shine and highlighted the natural beauty of your plump and full lips. your lips, always so perfectly glossed, assumed an irresistible charm that made them look especially appetizing.

to add onto it, your personality was in tip top shape, matching your looks. while sometimes your mouth could get a little reckless, you had an air of kindness, professionalism and just genuine good vibes. it was hard to dislike you, no matter the case. you were a woman of wonders.

you loved your job at the hair store too; maybe that was why your attitude was always good while you were there. it paid well, the hours were flexible and it was something you enjoyed. you loved how your manager let you pick out the wigs and the outfits that would be displayed, and sometimes she let you take home left over makeup and jewelry — which was how you got your favorite set of hoop earrings.

working at the hair store also granted you all types of experiences. sometimes you met upcoming make-up artists and beauticians, hair dressers, nail techs, lash techs — you always made sure to be extra helpful and friendly to everyone you met, just in case they could ever help you.

or… on the rare occasion, you met men. often, they were coming in for their wives, daughters, sisters, nieces, friends — and each time, they were clueless. of course, you helped, breezing past them with the smell of bubblegum and perfume, preferably daisy by marc jacobs.

today was no different.

you were the only one working in the store this saturday, and it was roughly around 12 in the afternoon. the sound of needed me by rihanna echoed through the store, giving it a nice ambiance. you clocked in at 9, and were scheduled to get off at 4 — you had a bit of a long day ahead. however, the store had been a bit slow today. not many customers entered; maybe three every hour, compared to a usual 7-15 people per hour. you were both grateful and a bit sad for the lack of people, as it left you with extra time on your hands.

instead, you found yourself thinking of your six year old daughter at home. alaina, your sweet girl, who was at her grandmother’s for the day. you fondly rubbed the bead bracelet she made for you, that spelled out mommy. your daughter was the most loving child you knew, and you adored her with every part of you.

as you gazed at your bracelet, you let out a soft hum. you’d have to get her another one from here, even though she already had a plethora. whatever you got from the hair store, you usually shared with alaina.

the entrance bell dinging had you snapping out of your thoughts of your daughter, turning your head to greet whoever entered. your boxbraids slid down your back as you looked. it was a little girl who entered, no more than nine. she was in a cute blue dress, with dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail. her cheeks were rosy, which had you cooing at her mentally.

“hi baby,” you called out to her, looking behind her for a parent, “where’s ya mama, hm? a lil’ one like you shouldn’t be walking around all alone.” the girl hadn’t noticed you, and jumped when you called to her. she put her hands up, waving them enthusiastically. “o-oh no, miss, i’m with my dad! he’s just getting his wallet. do you know where the nails are? and the makeup?”

you smiled at the little girl, stepping from behind the counter. you were in a beige sun dress, with some matching wedged sandals. the sundress was long, coming down to your ankles, but there was a slit on the side. it hugged your curves nicely, even though your little bit of pudge was much noticeable; you didn’t care. to be honest, the dress covered way more than your usual outfits, especially in the summer like this. you had never been scared to show your body, even after you had alaina and people insisted on you covering up; because you were a mother now. however, you didn’t give a fuck. if you wanted to wear your shortest shorts, you would.

“c’mere baby girl, it’s this way.” you offered the young girl your hand, which she took happily as you led her. “i’m assuming you’re looking for the press ons, right? not the ones you glue?”

the girl gave you an enthusiastic nod. “yes, ma’am!” she was polite, you noted, with a curl of your lips. her father must be raising her right. “my dad says i’m not big enough to ruin my nails with glue..”

you let out a laugh as you squeezed the girl’s hand. “your daddy’s right,” you mused, “stick to the ones you can press til you become a teenager.” you brought her to the kiddie nails, and stood with her while she made her pick.

the young girl seemed stuck between a pair of pink ones leopard print ones, and blue zebra print ones. “what do you think, miss? i can’t choose.”

you only gave the girl a shrug. “i say get both. let ya daddy worry, not you.” however, because you liked this little girl, you’d only charge her for one anyways. the girl nodded in agreement, giving you a giggle, which you quickly reciprocated.

all of a sudden, you heard the gruff call of, “tsumiki! where have you ran off to?” the girl perked up immediately, and ran to the end of the aisle. “dad! i’m over here!” she called, waiting patiently for him to come over.

you raised your eyebrow as you made your way over. you were a bit curious to see the man who had raised such a sweet and polite girl. as you reached the end, your eyes widened as they set on the man.

he was tall, unbelievably so. his towering stature, reaching at least 6’2, must’ve made him stand out in any crowd. his body was muscular, brawny and well-built, and t he black compression shirt he wore clung to his chiseled frame, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders. his hair, a deep black, was just a bit shaggy — the perfect length to frame his strikingly sharp face.

his eyes were a vivid green, so piercing that they could make anyone feel as if they were the only person in the world. they locked onto you and tsumiki. his attractiveness was lethal, and it was impossible not to notice the way he looked over you. his gaze was slow, lingering, and purposeful, almost as if he wanted to make sure you noticed his attention.

you would’ve been phased if you were a different woman; but you weren’t. instead, you gave him your trademark smile, looking up at him with a warm aura.

a scar sat on the corner of his lip. it twitched slightly as his lips curled into a smirk, making him look even more attractive to you then he already did.

“you work here?” came his deep, rough voice. it provoked goosebumps down your skin, but you didn’t allow yourself to show it.

“yup,” you answered, “sorry i wasn’t at the counter, i was helpin’ miss thing here pick out some new nails.” you watched toji’s mouth open, and held up a finger, “and yea, before you ask — it’s the press ons. no glue needed.” the man let out a hum and gave a nod of approval.

“good. tsumiki, go put those on the counter and if you want anything else, ya better pick before i get back up there.” he told her; his voice was rough, yet still somehow sounded caring. when tsumiki scampered away with an, “okayyy!”, he turned his vision back to you.

the once over he gave you earlier didn’t seem to be enough. he gave you another; from your champagne blond knotless boxbraids which were long and down your back, curving over the swell of your ass, down to your painted white toes in your sandals. shit. you were fucking hot.

“how old are you?” he asked boldly, not wasting a second.

you raised an eyebrow, “you ain’t ever heard it ain’t good to ask a lady her age?”

“so old enough,” he countered back with a smug smirk. “have you been able to drink legally for at least two years?” still asking your age without pointedly asking like before.

“i’ve been old enough to drink legally for five years,” you relented, “so like i said, old enough. why you askin’?”

“i like to know the ages of my women before i hit on ‘em.”

you grinned. you already knew you were going to like this man, and his attitude towards you solidified that. “and i like to know the age of my men before i let them,” you combatted.

“thirty-four,” he answered immediately, and the corner of your lips pulled up in satisfaction. twenty-six and thirty-four. not a bad age gap, only eight years. you could manage.

“you allowed to hit on me now,” you said playfully as you slid past him, “don’t make the shit corny, ‘cause i’ll laugh at yo ass.” maybe that’s his plan, you thought, him tryna laugh me out my panties.

the man let out a bark of a laugh, following after you. you could almost feel his eyes locked on you as your hips swayed while you walked. he only chuckled out, “oh, don’t worry about that.”

you went back behind the counter, ready to pay for their things. tsumiki had thrown a stack of bracelets on the counter, and a new tube of sparkly pink lip gloss to which you scanned and then only scanned a pack of the nails. her father raised an eyebrow at you, but you pretended not to notice. “that’ll be 18.75,” you informed. her father pulled out thirty dollars and slid it to you. as you prepared to give him the change, he shook his head.

“don’t need the change. consider it a tip or somethin’.” you furrowed your brows at him, but didn’t question the customer. instead, you handed them their things with a sweet smile. “bye, lil’ missy,” you told tsumiki, before looking up at the man, “come back soon.” your voice was low, and quite flirtatious. he gave you a smirk.

“oh, i will.”

and he did.

it was three days later when he finally came back. you were leaned over the counter, examining your new nails. it was hot, too hot to even be working. the doors were open, and the AC’s were blasting, trying to cool off the store. you wore a jean miniskirt, with a fat gucci belt on your hips. you paired it with a cropped pink tank top that had a deep v-neck, showing off a bit of your cleavage. your golden nameplate sat perfectly on the apex of your breasts. today on your feet instead of sandals were your pair of pink and white dunks. you had taken out your box braids, and gotten your hair done the same day you got your nails done.

now, you had gotten a lace front installed — and you looked good as fuck. it was a deep shade of vibrant purple, down your back. you had added your own spin, doing one of those heart shaped parts and gelling it down the side of your forehead, and doing edges on the side.

as someone entered, you turned your head to the side to greet them. “good afternoon,” you said cheerfully, looking at the woman who entered. she was dark skinned, with a bumped bob. her makeup was done sharply. you watched as she side eyed you, and muttered out a terse, “hello.”

immediately your eyebrows furrowed. “bitches got an attitude, okay,” you grumbled under your breath as she disappeared into the aisles. it was a few minutes later when she came to the register with a flat iron. off the rip, you told her, “oh mama, you don’t want this one. a few people who purchased this one have said that it heat up too quick and smoke a lot, then breaks. so go ‘head and get another one.”

the woman glared at you, looking you up and down. “excuse me, i didn’t ask for your opinion on what i’m buying. and if it’s so faulty, why haven’t you taken it off the shelves?”

her attitude immediately had you tilting your head, trying your best to bite your tongue. “ma’am, that ain’t my job, i don’t do merchandise, i work at the register.”

she rolled her eyes at you, before snapping out, “then don’t say anything about said merchandise.”

your next words came out before you could even think about it, “ho, i’m tryna help you not burn this crispy fuck ass bob off but okay.” upon realizing what you said, you didn’t apologize nor change. instead you cocked your head, tilting it, while staring at her blankly.

“excuse me?” the woman asked, “honestly, i don’t think i’m taking hair advice from a woman who don’t wear hers natural, and has her skirt digging up her ass. how old are you? you have to have a child at home, dress with more fucking class before you talk about me,” the woman’s face was twisted as she snapped at you.

“i know damn fuckin’ well,” you said slowly — and just like that, you knew you were about to cuss her ass out. “i know DAMN fucking well that you’re not talking to me like that. bitch, are you mad that your ass built like a fuckin’ square? bitch be mad then cause that’s why yo ass slope like y=mx+b. bitch, don’t you EVER question my fashion choices when you’re wearing leather in 87 degree weather. you fuckin’ cereal box built ass bitch, you know what, i got a trick for you—“ you quickly took the flat iron from her and pointed a nail at the door. “now get the fuck out, bitch you’re banned.” the woman opened her mouth to retort, but you were faster, talking over her, “bitch, i don’t give a FUCK. get the fuck out.”

the woman mumbled a, “ghetto bitch.” before storming out the store while you massaged your temples. it was nothing you hadn’t heard though. “fuck be wrong with bitches. man, i need a fucking BLUNT.”

“personally, i would’ve hopped over the counter.”

you looked up at the familiar voice, seeing the man you met the other day. immediately, a grin spread across your face. “look who came back.”

“told ‘ya that i would.” he mused, walking up to the counter, “you should’ve thrown the flat iron at her face. i would’ve paid money to see that.” he wore a white wifebeater and black basketball shorts. did he just come from the gym or something? the lack of clothing allowed you to see just about all of his muscles, and god, were you pleased.

you snorted, giving him a playful eyeroll. “shit, i was fuckin’ thinking about it. you saw the whole thing?” the mystery man, who you decided to dub mr. man, gave you a nod. “positively. you cleaned her so beautifully, and i have to add, you look so, so appealing when you’re angry.”

“shut up, nigga,” you laughed as you put your elbows on the counter, cupping your face with both hands. “what’re you here for?” you looked up at him, and he mimicked your action, fitting his fat ass arms on the counter.

“i need some hair gel for my son. he’s in this spiky phase, shit, i don’t know,” mr. man rolled his eyes a little bit, before adding, “and i don’t know which to pick. as you can clearly see, i don’t use gel.”

you let out another laugh, coming from behind the counter. “yeah, c’mon mr. man, i’ll show you which to use.” off the rip, you noticed how his eyes locked on your body.

yeah, i got it like that, nigga, your inner thoughts said as you internally hyped yourself up.

“mr.man?” he questioned from behind you, his eyes focused on the way your hips swayed, and the way a little bit of your ass was uncovered by the skirt.

“well, you never told me your name, so i gave you a nickname.”

he snorted a little before saying, “well, my name’s toji, for one.” you thought about it for a second for a second. was that a moanable name? you went through it in your head. yeah. definitely moanable.

“my name y/n,” you finally disclosed, “but everybody just call me n/n.” toji nodded a little. “n/n… that’s cute.” you noticed one of the items had fallen off the shelf, and without hesitation, you bent over to pick it up, completely forgetting about the fact that you were wearing a skirt, and the man behind you.

toji almost had a fucking heart attack. his eyes zoomed in onto your now slightly revealed ass, your sheer red panties that showed the plush outline of your pussy. shit. shit. it was over in a second, much to his mixed chagrin and gratefulness. however, he wasn’t some boy — he maintained a straight face and control. you placed the item back on the shelf and resumed walking.

“alright,” you said, as you reached the gels, “see, here’s what i use for my daughter,” you held up a jar of eco. “eco holds good for her, and it lasts long, to be honest. her hair is a bit thicker. and it doesn’t have like color residue like prostyle gel.” you grabbed the black container of prostyle gel. “but if your son has like brown-black hair, it’ll be good.” toji shook his head, saying, “nah, he has that weird bluish-black.” you tutted and put the prostyle down.

“there’s also gorilla snot gel, which i recommend if his hair is straighter, you feel me?” you held up the yellow bottle of gorilla snot.

toji looked at both and let out a short groan. “i can’t decide. i’ll take ‘em both and see which works better.” you shrugged and passed them to him. you took note of how positively huge his hands were. they could probably cover your whole face. or… your entire ass.

“i didn’t know you had a little runt too,” he made conversation with you as you walked back to the counter, “i forgot you’re almost 30.”

“yeah i forget too, trust,” you laughed a little, “my little girl’s my pride and joy, her name’s alaina. she’ll be starting first grade this year, i’m so proud of her. i actually got pictures.” you pulled out your phone and showed him your lockscreen which was the two of you. toji chuckled.

“y’all look alike, cute,” he commented, “my son’s seven, and tsumiki’s eight. you met her last time.” you fondly recalled your encounter with the polite young girl. “you a single parent, too?”

you gave him a nod, and a shrug. “alaina’s daddy claimed he wanted nothing to do with her, so i kept it like that. then his stupid ass got locked up, thank riddance.” toji let out a short laugh. “tsumiki’s mom was my first wife, and we divorced. megumi, my son, his mom was my second. unfortunately, she passed.”

“aw,” you said, pouting sadly and placing a hand on his large arm. “i’m so sorry for your loss, sweetheart. i hope you’re doing alright.”

toji laughed a little. “i’m fine, pretty mama, don’t worry about me.”

you bristled at the new nickname, giving toji a wicked grin. “that’s how you referring to me now?” you asked, as you slid behind the counter to the register.

“you’re pretty, and you’re a mama,” toji said with a shrug. “it honestly only fits.” you very pointedly made sure to check him out and said, “mmhmm..”

as you rung him up, toji said, “does alaina need any new friends? my son’s a bit shy and doesn’t talk to nobody but his sister… maybe they could have a few play dates?”

“yeah, i’d love that!” you answered, a genuine smile coming onto your face. anything referring to your daughter made you happiest. “your total is 14.95. here i’ll give you my number...” as toji paid, you rang it up. on his receipt, you wrote your number and passed it to him.

toji grinned and gave you a nod. “see you around.” you wiggled your fingers in return.

see him around, you did. you and toji were quick to hook up play dates whenever your schedules aligned. you became familiar with the routine of getting off work in the afternoons and scooping alaina’s to head to toji’s to play with her two new best friends.

you and toji often stayed downstairs, while they played in tsumiki’s room. you and toji would watch movies, roll blunts and eat food — or sometimes even play texas hold ‘em, in which you won every single time.

toji would grumble, and accuse you of cheating, when in truth, he was really just a bad gambler, but all was well. you considered toji a good friend… of sorts.

because that’s what you two were; friends. friends who sometimes flirted a little; you considered toji a friend when you’d bend over to pick things up in those skimpy jean shorts you wore; toji considered you a friend when he’d slide past you, pressing his crotch against the curve of your ass and muttering a, “excuse me, n/n,”; you considered toji a friend when you’d play sexyyred and say the lyrics a little too… forceful; and he considered you a friend when he’d make slick little sexy comments about your body before adding, “that’s just what other guys think.”

safe to say… there was a bit of tension between you two. and finally, it came to a crescendo.

it was normal, at first. like usual, you and alaina were at toji's house. it was around 9:30pm, and the kids had collapsed after playing all damn day and finally having a meal of chicken nuggets. you remembered the look on your face discovered them. they were heaped in the large bed; tsumiki had more than enough room for all three of them, yet they were together. alaina was draped over megumi and tsumiki, her face in megumi’s chest but her body pressed to tsumiki’s. they were all tangled up, limbs skewed and whatnot.

and now, you and toji were together downstairs, toji watching as your nimble fingers crafted the blunt — his were too fat. your feet were in his lap, and he was watching you with those bright green eyes. as you rolled, you were mumbling one of sexyy’s songs. “fuck me like you mad at me, baby.. i need that dick to drive me crazyyyyy…” you sang under your breath.

toji raised an eyebrow at you, “the music you listen to has some really… meaningful words.” as you licked at the blunt, you let out a laugh. “i agree with everything she say. when suki said that if you ain’t eating coochie, you ain’t fucking, i felt that one.”

finally, you perfected it and grabbed toji’s lighter. “you only fuck eaters?” he said, amusement trickling through his voice. you lit the blunt and took a deep inhale, masterfully blowing it up into your nose and then out again before passing it to him. “yup. only fuck eaters ‘cause they do it the best. you an eater, toji?” you asked pointedly, watching as one of his rough hands drew circles on your leg, then up to your knee, while the other lifted the blunt to his lips. he took an inhale, then another. god, you hated double hitters, but it was okay — it was only you two.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” toji shot back, his trademark smirk sliding across his face. his lip twitched, scar jumping.

“that’s why the fuck i asked you, toji,” you clapped back immediately, making the older man squeeze your leg while passing the blunt back. “watch your mouth, n/n. don’t get fucked up.”

“or what?” you immediately retort, holding the blunt up to your lips as you took another puff. “you not gon’ do shit to me, toji, like i honestly wish you w—“ your words were halted by the man throwing your legs off his lap, one hand going to spread them roughly as he pressed his fingers against your clothed cunt.

“i’m not gonna do shit?” he repeated, as your eyes went wide; he had obviously startled you, but you weren’t opposed to this one bit. as his fingers rubbed at your pussy through your shorts, you shook your head feverently again, looking at him as you held the blunt to your glossed lips. “not a damn thing.”

when all toji did was nod, you were sure you were in for it. and you were. he was quicker than you, grabbing your hand that held the blunt and quickly forcing you to put the blunt in the ashtray. the smoke you were holding in your mouth was forcefully removed as toji roughly pressed his lips to yours, the smoke being shared between you two as he pried your lips apart.

the next few minutes were coated in a needy haze. his big hands were everywhere, all over your body. moving to squeeze at your tits, your ass, your thighs. eventually the settled on the waistband of your shorts and began to unbutton them. before pulling them off completely, leaving you in your lacy dark blue thong.

he pinched the plush of your pussy, barely hidden by the panties — more like decorated by it. immediately, the scent of your slick, which was already dripping, filled toji’s nostrils, making him let out a wanton moan.

“fuck, mama,” he hissed as he trailed his finger down your slit, “you always this wet? this is how you’ve been the entire time?” he looked up at you, eyes darkened with lust.

“no,” you lied immediately, giving him a reckless smirk. “she just like that off the rip. i determine whether it’s for you or not.” toji only let out a little laugh. “word?” he asked. you opened your mouth to repeat the word back to him, but you were rudely interrupted by him slapping your pussy.

it wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t exactly soft, the pain sending sparks of pleasure through you. you hissed out a, “shit..” toji smirked at your reaction as he pushed your panties to the side, before delivering another smack, this time a litle harder. you let out a mewl, squirming in his hold.

“crazy,” toji said to you, “two lil’ slaps just made you leagues wetter. you sure you’re not wet for me?”

you refused to answer, only giving him a shrug. “so you wanna be a brat now, huh?” he asked you with an eyebrow raise as he began to pull the panties down your thighs. “like you weren’t jus’ all over me. ‘toji, you a eater?’” he mocked you in a high pitched voice as he pulled you forward, legs sliding over his broad shoulders. you remained silent, biting your tongue. maybe you were a brat; you knew that with toji’s strength and stamina, you would get much more if you drew it out. plus, you wanted to make him work for every moan, every word.

“you gon eat my pussy or not?” you asked boldly, your hand going to lace through his hair, nails pressing against his scalp. “like literally, shut the f—!” you were interrupted by toji latching his mouth onto you, completely ripping the words from your mouth.

his tongue, long and flat, slid between your plush folds, calloused hands digging into your thighs as he shoved his face between your legs. off the rip, his motions were rough and quick, tongue swirling against your clit before going down to your hole, curling against it to lap at your essence. you gripped the couch as you let out soft moans, trying not to be too loud — you didn’t wanna fuel toji’s already large ego.

“fuck,” he mumbled as he pulled away, “pussy’s so sweet, baby. i should’ve bent you over in that fucking store the day you wore that skirt.” you were unable to respond before he was diving back in, tongue messily trailing througu your pussy. he was there between your thighs, feasting on what you offered, lapping up all the sweet nectar you had to spare. his lips latched onto the delicate bud of your clit, sucking with a fervor that left you gasping, while he looked up at you with a gaze that was as heated as it was prideful.

one of your hands found its way into his hair, tangling in the soft locks as you gripped it tightly, the other clutching onto the plush fabric of the couch as though it was your only lifeline. your breaths were coming out in ragged gasps, each one harder to catch than the last, your mouth falling open in that perfect 'o' shape as you let out sounds so sweet and melodious, singing a song of pure pleasure just for him.

and you couldn’t help it; euphoria was pulsing through your body, coating your thoughts in nothing but toji. your toes curled, as toji slid his tongue inside of you. god, he was so messy, your slick already all over his face, his spit mixing with your slick as it trailed down your ass.

you were incessantly moaning, unable to even downplay or disguise it anymore. “s-shit, toji, fuck, that feels so good—!” he looked up at you with satisfaction as he slid his tongue into your entrance, curling it upwards against your walls.

you squealed, trying to scoot backwards away from the pleasure, but he was quick to yank you back, trapping you against his mouth, his hands coming to wrap around your thighs. one of his fingers traced the stretch marks on your thighs. he worked his fat tongue inside of you, curling and sliding as his pointer finger swirled your clit at such a fast pace, you was sure he was gonna give you something close to a rug burn.

his paired actions had you spiraling over the edge, the coil in your stomach stretching and stretching until it was ready to snap. “toji, ‘m close—! fuck, fuck— gonna cum!” toji’s movements became much more insistent, gaining in speed as he basically shoved you over the edge.

your orgasm hit you like a brick, your back arching off the couch as you gripped toji’s hair tightly, whined babbles of repeated words leaving your lips. if it weren’t for toji holding you down and anchoring you, you were sure that you would’ve grown fucking wings and soared away.

you creamed all over his tongue, and he made sure to pull away, before messily spreading it throughout your pussy, just to lap it all up over again, letting you settle, working you through the after effects of your climax.

you sucked in ragged gasps as toji pulled away, licking his lips and wiping his face. he stared at you with such intensity, shivers went down your skin. your eyes immediately focused on his hard dick through his sweats, the outline prominent. you tapped your foot on his thigh. “gimme that,” you breathed.

“do you deserve it?” toji said back, his voice a bit raspy. “been a bratty slut this whole time. you were so cocky, remember? i don’t get you wet, right?”

you wanted to maintain your pride, you really, really did. but desperate times called for desperate measures. “c’mon, toji,” you sighed sultrily, “i was just playin’.. just wanted to make it a little fun for you, you know that..” you spread your legs a little more, teasing him as you continued, “it’s all yours, i swear — been waiting for this for such a long time.”

toji only gave you a soft chuckle and the only words gave you were, “that right, baby?” immediately, he scooped you up with a single arm, flipping you over onto your hands and knees. you let out a noise of surprise, but immediately arched your back, looking back at him as he pushed his sweats down his thighs. his dick sprung up, and you couldn’t say you were shocked by it.

his dick was both fat and long, and it almost made your eyes pop out of your head. he had to be at least eight inches, veins running up the side of his heavy dick. his tip was a dark apricot shade, and it was leaking bad, opaque beads of precum sliding out of his slit. he was well trimmed, with heavy breeder balls. you almost salivated. but at the same time, you questioned how all that was even supposed to fit in you.

he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking. “don’t you worry, princess. you’ll take every inch of me.” one of his hands gripped your ass, spreading your cheeks apart as he directed his tip against your entrance, slapping it there a few times, making you groan in need. “t-toji, stop fuckin’ playin—!”

once again, you were rudely interrupted by him pushing the tip inside of you. he let out a hiss, your walls sucking him in. however, with just how wet you were, he slid right back out. he let out a snicker as he leaned his hand down to slap your pussy again. “but you not wet for me, alright..” he lined himself up again, and this time — he didn’t push into you slowly.

with one rough thrust, he filled you to the brim, forcing you forward as you let out a strangled noise, clawing at the couch. “toji! oh fuck..!” you pulled your hips forward, trying to get him to pull out a little, but he wasn’t having it. “s-shit, i’m not even all the way in yet,” he huffed, hair hanging in his eyes. toji was letting out pants, it felt as if your pussy was fucking suffocating his dick, strangling it.

inch by inch, he pushed the rest of his dick in, until the plush of your ass was nestled against his pelvis and stomach. he yanked at his shirt, pulling it off of his body. your slick was already coating him, dripping down to his balls. you were a mess, mewling just from him entering. you felt so full — his dick stuffing you better than you ever had been before. and it was driving you out your mind.

toji didn’t wait for you to adjust. with one hand on your ass, thumb rubbing against the ridges and dimples, and the other lacing through purple hair, toji pulled all the way out, and then slammed all the way back in. the force of his motions shoved you down into the couch, and immediately you let out a cry of, “t-toji! slow down!”

but slowing down wasn’t apart of his agenda. he rasped out, “nah, this is what you wanted, baby. so take it. take my dick like a good fuckin’ girl.” he began snapping his hips into you, the veins on his dick dragging against your walls just right. your cunt clamped down on him every time he tried to pull out, as if it was forcing him to make your cunt his new home.

toji was mesmerized by the way your ass jiggled and clapped with every movement he made, the sound of your skin slapping filling the air. he slapped your ass hard and then squeezed, making you squeal once more. “fuck, look at you. bouncing this ass back on my dick so good..”

at his praise, you looked back at him before proudly twerking back on his dick, putting on a little show. he laughed, his hand trailing from your hair to snake around your throat. “such a fuckin’ slut,” he said gruffly, before pulling his hips back so that only the tip was inside before ramming his dick back inside of you.

you felt him nudge against your cervix, and you let out a noise close to a scream, while his hand tightened around your throat. tears filled your eyes at the pain, your lashes beginning to slide. “you’re gonna wake up the kids, princess. wouldn’t want them to come down to seeing you getting fucked like some whore, right? keep that pretty mouth quiet.” he leaned down, chest pressing against your back as he curled his much larger body against yours. “but not too quiet. wanna hear you lose your fucking brain over this dick.”

his other hand came to wrap around your throat, and he began to jack hammer into you, slamming you on his dick over and over. your eyes rolled back, a mix of pain and pleasure twisting through you, that coil getting ready to snap again. “t-toji…” you slurred out, “g-gonna fuckin’ cum again…!”

“so fucking do it,” toji hissed as your clenching began to get more intense. “paint my shit, baby.” his voice was sending shivers down your spine, aiding your increasing pleasure. you let out ragged moans into the couch as your body trembled, pussy spasming wildly around his dick as you came a second time.

he didn’t slow down through your orgasm, instead, he went faster, if that was even humanly possible. he pressed down on your head, forcing your face into the couch, and pressing on your belly simultaneously. it forced you to have a deeper arch, but it also made you feel just how deep he was inside of you. pressing his big hand against your stomach to feel his bulge had toji grinning.

you were a wreck, tears sliding down your face, your lashes long fallen of. you were pretty sure your lace had peeled, but you didn’t care. you could barely think, barely form coherent sentences with how toji was fucking you. and he knew it. he knew he reduced you to a mess, and he wasn’t even halfway finished with you.

soon, he felt his orgasm coming, and he let out a deep groan. “shit.. where do you want my cum, doll? ‘m getting close..” you were quick to whine out, “i-inside, toji.. want you to cum inside…!”

“haah!” he grunted out with a smirk, “want me to fill you up, huh? want me to stuff you full with my cum? yeah, i bet you fucking do, look at you.”

“toji, toji, toji, fuckkk.. want your babies, c’mon, make me a mama again—!” toji laughed shakily at your dumb response, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “fuck yeah, dollface. you better not spill not one drop, alright?” he let out a strangled moan as he released, his thick cum filling her to the walls.

you sucked in harsh breaths, finally feeling relieved after toji’s constant fucking stopped. he seemed to slow down, gently fucking his load into you. you began to relax… however you were sorely mistaken.

“you thought i was done with you?” toji asked as he gripped you, flipping you over so that he could see your face. you looked a mess, but you were so, so pretty. your eyes were watery, face with tear trails all over. your lips were bruised from how much you’d been biting them. at least your hair was still intact… for now. toji leaned down and pressed a kiss to your jawline, down to your throat. he yanked at the top you wore, and when it didn’t want to cooperate, he ripped it and peeled it off of you himself. “toji, my shirt….” you whimpered but he dismissively waved a hand. “you’ll get one of mine.” he reached behind you, unclipping your bra and letting your tits spring free.

his big hands almost swallowed them as he began to leave bites and kisses all over your throat, collarbone and chest. “can’t possibly be done with you,” he said against your skin, “been waiting to fuck you like this since i laid eyes on you, doll.”

he left a plethora of hickies on your skin, very obviously marking you as his. you were still speared on his dick, and he began to roll his hips languidly inside of you, curving into your g-spot repeatedly. the feeling had you seeing stars as he gripped your legs and pulled them around his waist. with each thrust, he began to get more forceful and speed up, until once more, he was pounding your insides.

your nails went to his back, scratching, making toji wince in pain as his hips collided with yours. three of your nails had broken off. a third time, you felt yourself reach your climax once more, but it felt different. painful almost, with the last your clit throbbed. you managed to push away the toji-shaped clouds in your brain and realized.

“t-toji—! toji, ‘m gonna squirt!” you cried out as you twisted in his hold, the pleasure becoming overwhelming for you. “t-toji—!” he only smirked at you, yanking you closer. “make a mess f’me, mama. wanna see you get all messy… c’mon, c’mon, make that pretty pussy squirt on my dick.” he pressed another messy kiss to your lips as his hand snuck down to rub your clit, forcing more pleasure into your system. you let out a ruined, gasped noise — like you wanted to scream but couldn’t get it out. clear liquid gushed from you, coating toji’s lower half, some of his abdomen and the couch.

you were in too much of a haze to notice that soon after, toji came inside of you a second time. he didn’t pull out at first, instead opting to lay his head against your sweaty skin, pressing kisses. he realized that you would be completely gone for a bit, after that, so he was gentler with you. he pulled out, watching his cum slowly dribble from your hole after the two creampies he gave you. not wanting you to sit in your own fluids, picked you up and brought you to his room, putting you one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers before tucking you in.

he went back downstairs, eyes locked on the mess you made on the couch. a soft whistle escaped as he plucked your lashes off the sofa and put them on the table.

you probably wouldn’t become his girlfriend yet; but you damn for sure weren’t going anywhere now.

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qwimchii · 1 year ago

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𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 3) — 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 — 21.3𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩-𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘴 & 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨

note: this chapter is literally insane but 😗 nothing like a bit of forced proximity 🤭

when you emerged from your room, it was already mid-morning. you had pulled your hair back and up from your face, ringlets of loose curls framing your head like a halo. you dressed in the best attire you could fish out of the armoire—a petal pink skirt with furls of embellishments like honey, and a pale beige blouse with tendrils of pastel blue carnations stitched into its chest and up the high collar, gathering tight at your shoulders and pooling into a loose sleeve then the tight cuff of your wrist.

the garments were delicate—as delicate as you felt you were, broken in and soft. from the makeup tray on a shelf in the armoire, you very lightly pressed just a tinge of french rogue powder to your lips and cheeks to smother the swollen puffiness of your face. taking a bit of dark eyeshadow on your pinkie, you smudged it meticulously across your eyelid, hoping you looked positively radiant on this awful, gloomy day, despite the strong sun shining through the windows of your room.

when you passed the porter, marching into the compartment littered with los vaqueros, one-four-one, and much to your chagrin, Ghost, you barely spared the porter a glance. he looked so much smaller, meager, in the sunlight, a chubby pudge to his face and teeth that slightly protruded over his bottom lip.

still, you bowed your head with a graciousness as he just rudely stared into your face, his hands clenched into clammy fists by his sides.

when you stepped into the compartment, there was a diminishing of noise that coalesced into a steady silence. you ignored them all, sliding onto an abandoned couch where breakfast tea and coffee was laid out. you served yourself a cup, politely curling your legs to the side as you looked out the window.

it was the same scenery as the night before—a stretching half-desert with sparse vegetation and weedy trees, cast in a yellow glare from the sunlight.

Kate slid into the plush chair adjacent to you, the sight of another woman at her shoulder making you jump. she had a mahogany rich tone to her skin, intricate black coils braided tight to her head and trailing down the back of her neck. the almond curve of her eyes and full lips gleamed.

your mouth parted quite rudely. she was absolutely radiant.

laxing back in her chair, she sat across from you with an easy-going look. she wore loose buckskin trousers with a fringe and a jacket of cowhide, a bandolier slung across her chest. she tipped her hat to you and you sorely missed your stetson at that moment.

“mornin’,” Kate said with a light slap on your knee, which you deemed mildly inappropriate, but at this point, you couldn’t bother to comment.

as if on queue, you eyed Ghost pad over to sit by the woman. he was rock still, face imperceptible and stoic behind the mask, though you noted the twitch of his hand on his holster. another one if his telling habits.

you sipped at your cup. “good morning, Kate.”

pointedly ignoring Ghost, you gave a polite smile to the woman across from you, offering a hand. “pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“please. call me Maria.” she had the same soothing rhythmical accent as Alejandro and Rudolfo, her voice a smooth, grating honey.

your brows rose. before you could stop yourself, you remarked—

“i had no idea there were women in los vaqueros.”

Kate snorted, and you immediately felt your face flush. if Kate was in one-four-one, or led it alongside John, practically, it shouldn’t have been shocking that there were female gunslingers in los vaqueros.

stupid, you chided to yourself, not missing the way Ghost cocked his head at you curiously.

but Maria just smiled, reaching out to brush her knuckles over Kate’s shoulder, and Kate's fingers inched over to touch her knee in reply. “she’s funny,” she said, tone denoting something of approval.

Ghost cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

“we need to talk.”

not to you, you hoped with a bitterness, and found relief when he leaned instead towards the other two women.

Kate’s eyes narrowed.

“you didn’t tell her?” her tone was lashing and it startled you.

suspicious, you turned your gaze to take in Ghost fully. he was staring dead at Kate, unmoving and wordless, till he shifted, knees spreading wider as he settled back. she sighed, long and tired.

“when we get back to san francisco,” she said with a cocked brow, “you’ll be goin’ back to your folks.”

your blood slowed to a thick, icy stop. “what?”

she just shook her head. “we weren’t plannin’ on it but it’s best for you, missy. we won’t be able to protect you much once we’re in the city. there’ll be a full-blown out war. Turner isn’t hellbent on finding you.”

she clasped your knee. “he’s hellbent on killing us.”

you startled when you felt a hand on your shoulder. looking back, Soap was leaning over you, arm no longer in a sling and clasping at your shoulder with a solemn look.

“sorry, bonnie lass,” he said bitterly. “we should’ve never taken ye in the first place.” then his face brightened. “but yer gonna see yer family soon, even if we’ll miss ya.”

behind him, Gaz stood with crossed arms, face pinched with an ever stoic look. you expected that he would be happy about this as the most diametrically opposed to your presence out of all the members of one-four-one, but the despaired scrunch of his brow betrayed him.

your voice cracked. “who decided this?”

the whole room shifted with discomfort, and Kate’s eyes slid to Ghost. you bit back a scream, refusing to even look in his direction.

his voice was a deep timbre in your head—those were the terms of our agreement.

i own you. body and soul.

if you did go back to your daddy and mama—when you did, Turner would be there, old and wrinkled up like a prune, his stale breath a sigh against your face during long, long nights.

Ghost knew that if he gave you back to your mama and daddy, you would be handed over to Turner instantaneously. and still, he’d rather win the battle over your body against Turner. for revenge.

it seemed that he had no use for you now that his revenge ploy was over with.

John was standing at Maria’s shoulder now, leaning his body weight against the back of Kate’s chair. he looked at you somberly, mouth an etched line beneath the scruff of his beard.

“you saved my life with that bloody good sharpshootin’, sweetheart.” his eyes twinkled. “how can i ever repay you?”

you’d hardly thought John guiding you through your first murder was considered saving his life but you’d take all that you could get.

your mind turning back to Turner, the rushing torrent of blinding rage that consumed you was scary. you hated him with your whole being. you wanted to hate everyone with your whole being. you wanted to hate everyone in the room for doing this to you—their vengeful kidnapping ploy had turned you into a sinful outlaw just like them. but you just couldn’t.

“do me a favor.” you looked from each member of one-four-one, eyes passing over Ghost with a blind haze. “make sure you kill that Turner fucker slow and painful.”

that way you may never have to be owned by him.

Maria laughed aloud. “i like the way you talk, chica,” she said with a malicious glint to her grin, as one-four-one nodded in agreement with your words.

the rest of the morning was a slow haze. los vaqueros conjoined with one-four-one in the lounge compartment just before a brunch. you stuck with Kate and Maria the entire time, sorely avoiding Ghost and the other members of one-four-one, taking slow bites you could barely hold down.

an all-consuming grief pinched at your stomach. you would’ve gladly avoided the rest of them for the next day of travel on the train if Gaz didn’t barricade your way out the dining car. most of the men had filtered out, only a few stray los vaqueros lingering out of ear-shot.

Gaz crossed his arms in the doorway, looking down at you with a hooded face.

you cocked your brow. “yes?”

Gaz’s dislike for you had been obvious since day one. since the first moment you heard him speak, he had protested your stay at their base, which didn’t surprise you, but still left you feeling irked in an immature way.

he jerked his head to the hallway. “would you walk with me, ma’am?”

it didn’t sound like a question. turning on his heel sharply, you trailed after him bitterly. even with the pinched displeasure in his tone, he was still as polite as ever. biting down back your tongue, you wondered if the rest of one-four-one thought the same of your mama’s polite manner ingrained in you.

you followed him through several train compartments, a thick uneasiness settling on you from his silent and broad form in front of you, blocking half your sight, but relieved that porter was nowhere to be found.

as you passed through another lounging car, the sparse spread of people across the plush interior eyed you curiously. one man peered above his newspaper at you, monocles glinting, and mouth skewing into a hard line, eyes shadowed.

you stepped to Gaz a bit closer.

when you reached the end of the first class compartments, he slid open the door that breached between the travel trains and a rusty red boxcar. the steel railway grinding against steel wheels was a louder rhythmic clatter than before.

for a brief moment, you were staggering through the rush of air on the gangway between compartments before Gaz offered you a forearm politely without even a glance. grasping it tightly, his strength was stabilizing, and he pulled you over the gangway and into the safety of the boxcar, your hair whipping in the wind.

several crates littered the space. you had a sneaking suspicion that the both of you weren’t supposed to be there.

Gaz drew the larger door of the boxcar open with a screeching, rumbling tug and dragged a crate an arms length from the edge. he took a seat on the floor, boot dangling just over the gravel tracks that passed below.

“ma’am?” he offered the place on the crate beside you with a gesture and you complied, taking a seat without much question, because there really was nothing else to do on this train.

this train ride bringing you right to your doom, you thought with a grimace.

in the long silence, you overlooked the landscape—there was a sharp dip from the railway into green plains, dotted with purplish vegetation that the sun spilled over with yellow delight

leaning forward to peer at the side of his face, you watched his dark eyes dart over the curve of the passing scenery.

“how did you know about this place?”

the swell of his throat bobbed. his voice sounded tight and airy. nervous. “i wander when i can’t sleep at night.”

you were no stranger to that. you thought back to your first night in the leather crafts shop, the itching anxiety to get out driving you to rummage through the kitchen where Ghost found you.

pushing the memory from your mind, you tried not to let the apprehension drip into your voice.

“what’s this about, Gaz?”

he shrugged. “just wanted to enjoy the scenery of the land, ma’am.”

your brown quirked. “right. what is this really about?”

he sighed, shifting, his mouth in a sheepish, muddled twist.

“i’m not really sure how I’m supposed to say this ma’am—” your brown quirked again.

you put a hand to his shoulder lightly. “Gaz, for the love of everything good, please stop calling me ma’am.” he glanced at you from his peripheral. “you’re older than me.”

he leaned out of your touch. “right. sorry, miss.”

you bit back your tongue. even though you had just chided at him about his overly zealous formalities, you funnily felt as though you were talking to a nervous little boy with the way he fumbled with the seam of his jeans.

“Gaz, what is this about?” your voice was softened now, trying to coax him out of whatever hole he was digging himself into.

his voice was barely above a grumbling whisper. “Ghost came to me last night.”

you paused, jaw going numb.

sighing, you rubbed a hand over your forehead, smoothing back your hair with unease. “Gaz whatever he told you—”

his voice was soft with awe. “he asked me to marry you.”

the breath stopped dead in your throat, the world spinning at an angle. “what?”

he just nodded slowly, looking as shocked as you felt, his eyes glazed over and wide.

“i know this ain’t the proper way to propose, and when we’re off this train and over with this war, i’ll do it properly i swear, but—”

you held your temple, clutching at the wall of the boxcar. shakily, you pulled yourself to your feet. “stop Gaz. just stop.”

you backed away from the edge and he scrambled up to follow you.

“no, please, just listen—”

“no, you listen.”

you knew it wasn’t fair to be angry at him. you knew it wasn’t fair, especially with the way he looked so crestfallen, brows pinched and shoulders slumped.

“if i’m going to be married,” you said with a huff, indignant, “it’ll be on my terms and my terms only.”

he reached a tentative hand out to you, and you let him pick up your palm and press it to his chest.

“i was thirteen when i enlisted for the war.”

you weren’t looking at him before but you were looking at him now.

he spoke fast and low. “i was an orphan. i didn’t look my age. no one wanted me in london, and the older boys in my orphanage were volunteering for the war. when i signed up, they snuck me in, pulled some strings with the army doctors.” his voice fell to a dead whisper. “i didn’t know what i was getting into.”

you felt stupid when tears welled up in your eyes. he looked so young, so broken in that moment. you wiped at your eyes quickly.

“oh Gaz—”

he let you pull him into a quick, indulgent hug. it was inappropriate and the way his arms hung loosely at his sides felt awkward, but you were grateful he let you do it anyway.

“i owe Ghost my life. i owe him everything. he took care of Soap and i when we were kids. John and Kate too, but they were preoccupied most of the time. Ghost—” he choked with emotion, “Simon was always there.”

it felt almost impossible to imagine a Ghost ten years younger in the militia, around the age you were now, keeping two gangly teens tucked closely to his side on a battlefield, maskless and freer without the malevolent reputation he bore. he wasn’t yet the gunslinging devilish outlaw you knew now. but the image only curled at the edges and soured in your mouth.

you didn’t want to hear this about Ghost.

“you don’t even like me,” you said, blunt, tilting your head up into Gaz’s face. he just looked down at you with an imperceptible face that you couldn’t even begin to pick apart.

then, he sighed, dropping your hand and stepping away.

“maybe not,” he said, voice soft, “but i’d like to try.”

you tried to digest that. “for yourself or for Ghost?”

the empty look he gave you was everything you needed to know. a dead silence followed before it was interrupted.

the boxcar’s far door—from where you had entered—was yanked open, and a member of los vaqueros stepped through.

the front of his jacket was tipped in an oozing red, and he clutched at the spot, shouting out something that you couldn’t understand before the unmistakable vibration of a gun was exploding forth in the air, echoing in the boxcar.

you screamed when his eyes went dark, a thick stream of blood flooding his mustache as he crashed to the floor with a deadly stiffness.

behind him, in the entrance of the doorway, was a man, his revolver raised high. he wore monocles and a twisted expression. you recognized him—the man reading the paper. and his revolver was aimed directly at you.

Gaz moved fast. much faster than you, as he drew your body behind him, drawing his revolver. before he could even flick his thumb over the safety, a body clad in black whipped forward and reached around the monocled-man’s neck to grip at the collar of an expensive dress shirt. something glinted in the air and it drew over the man’s throat in a quick motion, a red mask gleaming by his cheek.

the monocled-man dropped by the fallen vaqueros.

Ghost straightened to his full height. you watched his eyes dart over Gaz quick—checking for injuries with pinched eyes. you had never noticed him do it before, and you jolted when his hardened gaze snapped to yours.

“we’ve been double-crossed—”

there was a loud, shattering racket from behind him and you saw glimpses of several bodies spill out into the gangway in a tangled fervor. you saw glimpses of Kate’s blonde hair struggling against a man with a disheveled cap and a fashionable black jacket. for a moment you caught his dark eyes, all-encompassing and evil.

the pullman porter.

Gaz rushed forward, revolver raised high, but Ghost only pushed back, driving you through the boxcar and yanking the door open to the next one, revealing another gangway with air spilling over it in dangerous whooshes.

you didn’t have time to think or to feel an ounce of fear, Gaz’s boots hot on your heels and Ghost behind him as they pushed you forward through to the next compartment.

you heard Ghost’s voice in a grit, tight with frustration. “i’m out of ammo,” he explained and Gaz didn’t slow for a second, spurring you further and further forward.

there was a ruminating clamor from behind you. something primal in you roared to life, fear coiling tight and real in your stomach. someone was chasing Ghost, Gaz and you. something primal in you told you it was the pullman porter hunting for you.

heaving the next boxcar’s door with a grit of your teeth, sweat pooled at your back. when you swung out onto the little platform, gripping the railing for purchase, panic rose in you at the sight of railway stretching on and fishing between rolling, green land.

you had reached the end of the train.

that didn’t stop Ghost. he pulled Gaz towards the ladder on the sheer outer wall of the last boxcar.

“up.” you had never seen him so panicked. “go up!”

Gaz immediately complied, spidering up the ladder and out of sight onto the roof of the moving train. when Ghost turned to you, you thought you may puke.

he must’ve seen the blaring alarm in your face because he hoisted you by the waist, yanking you towards the ladder easily. he steadied the trembles of your body with two gloved hands on your waist.

“one step at a time, princess.” there was a ferocity in his eyes. “i’ll catch you if you fall.”

a rush of something gold poured through you, and you steeled yourself, clambering up the rusty ladder rungs one at a time. the wind lashed at your clothes, threatening to steal you out into the open air, but Ghost’s hand was pushing you flush to the ladder against your back. when your boot slipped at the top rung, Ghost hissed, lurching forward, an iron grip at your waist.

at the top of the train, the world felt like it was moving too fast to comprehend. up ahead, a mountain loomed, casting a dark shadow over the train as the sun dipped behind its peak.

“don’t stop,” he commanded, and you scrambled forward, low to the train.

looking over your shoulder, you saw the porter’s head slide over the edge of the boxcar, pulling himself up onto the roof with an eerie ease. he was moving fast, almost full speed.

a revolver glinted in his hand.

Ghost shouted in frustration, hoisting you up by your arm and propelling you into a dead sprint over the train.

one slip, you realized, glancing over the edge of the roof, would send you toppling into the chasmic valley below.

the mountain ahead was approaching rapidly.

Gaz was a few bounds ahead of you, and he turned sharply to shoot at the porter just over your shoulder.

with a yelp, Ghost tugged you down and you flattened against the train. your eyes strained against the noon light and the mountain ahead split into a cave—not a cave, a tunnel.

“Gaz!” you choked out.

he dropped to the train roof with a clumsiness that sent his revolver skidding across the roof and off the edge. the train speared forward into the tunnel, shrouded your vision in a darkness that felt deafening.

Ghost’s hand was inching up your back.

“crawl forward,” he demanded, and you complied, creeping over the cold steel of the roof.

a blinding light ahead advanced, the end of the tunnel in sight.

there was a loud, ricocheting gunshot against the walls of the tunnel, a hot spark of friction against steel flickering in the darkness.

you screamed, Ghost’s hand on the collar of your blouse, as a glaring light enveloped you.

blinking rapidly against the sunlight, eyes burning, you scrambled to your feet with the help of Ghost’s strength.

when your eyes cleared, snapping into a focus, a panic flurried in you at the sight of the end of the train nearing.

you wanted to slow but Ghost kept pushing you forward wordlessly to the end of the train cars.

“where will we go?” you shouted against the violent wind.

a sob almost escaped you when he didn’t respond. Gaz stopped short at the edge of the last compartment, just before the train engine, jacket ruffling wildly in the wind. the look he gave you over his shoulder was one of pure dread.

you jolted when he straightened, barreling past you and Ghost right at the porter hot on your heels.

“Gaz!” Ghost shouted, his low baritone pitched and strained, hand lashing out to pull him back by his jacket but narrowly missing. you turned on your heel in horror.

the porter reeled back in surprise as Gaz tackled him full force to the floor of the train roof. they almost skittered off the edge if it wasn’t for Ghost lunging forward and gripping Gaz by the back of his jacket collar and hoisting him from the edge.

it may have been the weight of their two bodies combined, the rush of the wind, or the clumsiness in Ghost’s blundering, adrenaline drive that caught him off guard for just a moment that the porter took advantage of. he slammed the butt of his revolver into the side of Gaz’s face, and the boy’s entire body fell limp over the porter.

he scrambled out from under Gaz’s body in a flash, and the scream that tore through your throat was carnal when he seized Ghost’s collar and sprung forward, pushing him right over the edge of the train roof.

Ghost fell with a sickening whoosh, and the speed of the train was already zipping away from his body crumpled against the ground, splayed unnaturally near the train tracks.

you scrambled back on hands and knees, not even sure when you collapsed, Ghost’s body already just a black dot in the distance.

the porter turned to you, the revolver still tight between his knuckles. his eyes were wild.

“who are you?” you screamed over the wind. his face was an ashy dark tone, looking extremely sickly and pale.

“i’m sorry,” he wailed, and you jolted further backwards when tears spilled from his eyes. your palm edged along the brim of the train roof, yelping when your hand almost slipped.

“he said he’d kill me and my family if i didn’t do it.” more tears spilled down his face. “i don’t want to kill anyone.”

his face was twisted up, whole body shaking as he raised the revolver. “but i can’t let my daughter die.”

there was a pop of a safety, and the darkness of his eyes swirling. an imperceptible feeling came crashing down on you—one you couldn’t even begin to describe, an endless downward whirl of dread, acceptance, dread, acceptance.

you thought of Ghost’s body sprawled out by the train tracks in the distance and closed your eyes.

acceptance.

the sound of a strangled cry startled you awake, and the sight of Kate’s arm clasped tight around his neck in his bind sent a whirling electricity down your spine. her blonde hair was wild, eyes even wilder, and she bared her teeth at you in a menacing look.

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

those familiar words screamed in the back room of the leather crafts shop had you scrambling to life, getting on your hands and knees and launching forward to wrestle the porter for his revolver.

he twisted back, and for a sick moment, you worried Kate would go reeling off the edge too as she dangerously neared it, but she released the porter, using his moment of unbalance as an advantage.

she slammed her hands into his chest and he slid, crashing to the train roof floor, gun clattering to the floor as she fell on top of him.

you dove for the gun, hand just almost closing around the handle of the thing before the porter twisted over with a surprising strength, dislodging Kate from his body, and pulled it from your grasp.

he gripped it tight, leveling it right to your face, finger on the trigger.

the noise that tore through Kate’s throat was guttural. “no!”

she launched towards you, two strong hands on your arms and pushed you hard. harder than you thought she could, and you tumbled backwards, spirling without direction into free air, and thudding to the forest floor.

something cracked and a numbing pain spread like wildfire from somewhere—your shoulder, body, mind. you couldn’t discern the source of pain, the metrical chug of the train roaring in your ear as it continued on without you.

you woke with a start, breath hitched up in your throat. tears stained your cheeks.

you didn’t remember crying. your whole face felt numb. in fact, your whole body felt numb, save for the throbbing, searing ache in your shoulder. along the joint, there was a numbness at your fingertips and an unpleasant tingling that ran up and down your arm.

groaning, you strained, trying and failing with great effort to move. you tried again and felt a lace of panic when your stiff body wouldn’t move.

is this what it feels like to die?

desperately trying to move when your body wouldn’t budge?

that sent a burst of sparkling energy through you, and you managed to twist your good shoulder, fingertips digging into the ground to push yourself up. your muscles strained with effort, shaking, but they failed with a spasm, and your head fell back into the dirt.

your temples throbbed.

looking up, you noted the darkening dusk of the day. it had been just noon when you were on the train—how long had you been laying there?

there was a cool blue tinge to the air, the moon cresting over a cloudless sky. an unmistakable shiver went through you. the temperature was dropping by the second.

you had felt the same at home. the desert air lacked a single drop of humidity to maintain the sweltering heat of the day at night, and it was the same here in this california forest, though less pronounced. the result was a plummeting temperature.

the thought of home gave you comfort as you lay there in the dirt.

then, you heard a crunching nearby. of feet. boots, perhaps, and you craned your neck back.

a large, black form loomed in the distance. you wanted to be scared, wanted to be panicking in the moment, but a muffled layer of silence was laid over you like a blanket, a ringing in your ears.

at that moment, you just wanted to sleep.

eyes half-lidded, a masked face slid into your blurry vision overhead. his arms coiled around you, very, very gently lifting you from the ground.

“Ghost,” you gasped, a sharp stabbing in your shoulder that contended with the darkness that threatened to pull you into a slumber.

he just shushed you, the sway of his body rocking with each of his steps along the railroad track.

you didn’t have enough energy to say a thing, forehead throbbing, feeling like there was an invisible band contracting around your head with every movement.

“you’re freezin’,” he said in your ear, but it resonated somewhere very distant.

he curled you closer into his chest and that made you jolt back to life from the sharp sensation racing across your shoulder, biting down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood.

your vision went hazy for a long moment, ears ringing with a muffled dizziness. the pressure in your head warped when you were being lowered down, to what you assumed, might’ve been the forest floor, leaning you back against something solid and hard and cold.

you gasped when you felt his bare fingertips skimming across the skin of your shoulder beneath your blouse.

he just tutted, muttering something in your ear. you tried to hone on it, but it was so distant and muffled and hazy.

then, he was turning your head from side to side and pressing a cool hand to your forehead. you winced when his hands came back to your shoulder, rubbing over it, one hand to the front and the other cradling your shoulder blade.

he twisted your shoulder with a sickening pop, and you were violently dragged back to your senses.

you bit back a loud scream, keeling over at the waist, everything pouring into your mind at once. the rushing and chitters of the forest, the prickly, dry pine needles beneath your legs, the icy rock at your back, and the acute shadows the moon was casting through the holes of the canopy.

it was too overwhelming. groaning, you screwed your eyes shut and slid down the rock to press your ear to it, your good arm to the other ear.

Ghost’s voice was still too loud through the makeshift covers. “dislocated shoulder,” was all he said, hand tapping against your knee lightly.

his hand stopped tapping. “you hit your head hard as well.”

he reached behind your head and pressed his fingers across your scalp. when he found a sensitive, swollen spot, you squirmed away.

“s’just bruised. no blood.”

you felt like there was blood pouring from your ears.

he pulled you toward him and carefully drew your hand from your ear, replacing it with his gloved ones.

“better?”

there was a pleasant, cool muffle over your ears—pleasant enough to open your eyes.

two earthy brown eyes stared back overshadowed by a strong blonde brow and pale skin—

you yelped, scrambling back onto the rock.

Ghost’s outer masked layer of red was vacant from his face, leaving behind the black fabric beneath it. torn rough, he pulled up the remains of it to reveal the skin of his neck, jaw, and lips.

it left little to imagine. the fabric sat on a high, curved bridge of his nose, and the deep-set of his dark eyes made them appear larger than you believed with the red shell of his mask—owlish almost. and then there were the handsome, strong brows furrowing at you.

he just blinked before inching forward in a crouch, covering your ears with his hands again.

your voice was swollen raw, sounding entirely unlike your own. “your mask…”

he was half-maskless.

“it broke,” he offered with a shrug and a very blank look.

Ghost was half-maskless.

his leather palm sneaked around your ankle.

“how’s your ankle?”

“fine.” you were lying. you couldn’t feel anything save for the painful pulse in your shoulder that throbbed in time with your head.

he nodded but the twitch of his lips made it look as though he wasn’t convinced. peeling back his trench coat, you watched as he easily tore through the sleeve of his dress shirt from his arm.

your breath hitched as he slid forward to wrap it around your shoulder.

“what are you doing?”

“returnin’ the favor.”

you thought back to two nights ago, when you had clutched at the bullet wound in his stomach, ripping off your own sleeve to desperately stave off the red deluge rushing from it.

he had wanted you to leave him for dead that night.

you stared up into his profile, captivated by the plains and curves of it, a slithering heat running circles in your chest.

when he was finished with the bind, wrapping it around your bicep, up over your shoulder, and tugging it tight with a loop around your breast, he had sat back on his haunches, watching you with quiet eyes.

you watched the pink of his lips twitch, his hands curled into fists at his knees. there was a menacing cold circulating through you, and the softness of his eyes, his face, his lips radiated a warmth—

there were a thousand things running through your mind—

instead, you croaked, “what happened on the train?”

he sighed, turning his gaze from you to the dark forest. “we convened with los vaqueros in yuma before boardin’ the train Kate arranged. the owner of the railway company owed us a debt and we—” he cringed, “—we thought we could trust ‘em. turns out, Turner’s men were on the train with us the whole bloody damn time.”

you swallowed hard, feeling even colder. shivering, you drew your good arm around your body. “the porter?”

he nodded. “a fight broke out after brunch. thought it was just some stupid squabble but they drew guns and hell broke loose.”

he pitched forward, hand coming down to loosely clutch at your knee. “i couldn’t find you.”

you pulled back from his touch and his brows pinched together before falling impossibly blank.

“what were you doing with Gaz?”

you gave him a sidelong glance, fighting back the pout that spilled onto your face. “he proposed to me.”

Ghost stiffened, falling back to his haunches. you cocked your head, watching the stoney look on his face.

“and what did you say?”

you scoffed. “none of your business.”

that’s what you wanted to believe, but it seemed that Ghost had one foot in your business at all times, and you didn’t know if you liked it or not.

the absolute image of indifference in his face had a low, simmering anger crawl up your back.

“he doesn’t even like me,” you hissed, remembering the way Gaz would lean away from your touch in the boxcar, stepping back when he felt too close.

you lamented deeply, wondering, why would he want you to marry Gaz?

Ghost’s voice was even. too even. “he’ll marry you if i ask. he feels like he owes a large debt to me.”

your breath hitched, a hot, tight feeling choking your throat. “do you always exert yourself over others like that?”

his voice turned icy, eyes narrowed. “like what?”

you almost snarled. “you’re using Gaz to your advantage—”

“you don’t know Gaz,” he snapped, before adding in a low timbre, “or me.”

his words shouldn’t have hurt you as much as they did because you knew that he was right. you almost knew nothing about the man in front of you. he was an imperceptible enigma you’d only met five days ago, and yet you felt as though you knew him better than anyone in the world, all his tell-tale habits, the facade of his stoicism, the warmth beneath…

it was nothing like the cold, sour feeling curling in the air between you and Ghost right now.

with a humph, you clambered to your feet, an angry immaturity brewing above the grief that pinched at your nerves. he didn’t move from his position on the floor, eyes hard and staring.

you hiked up your skirt ungraciously and began to move in a random direction in the forest.

“what are you doing?” he called from behind you. there was a satisfaction hearing the annoyance lashing in his tone.

“i’m sorry, sir, but i don’t know you,” you gritted back loudly, not even looking over your shoulder. “i don’t talk to strangers.”

the forest was tipped deep into the night now, a murky dark surrounding you. it was hard to make out the stretching, slithering forms of the underbrush that swayed in the breeze. but you were too angry to feel scared.

after a long bout of silence, and several more bounds of your indignant act, your anger waned into worry.

what if Ghost did leave you in this forest? he was giving you up to Turner as soon as you reached san francisco—because you were useless to him now. so what was stopping him from just leaving you to the darkness of the woods?

to the coyotes?

you shivered, and allowed yourself a glance over your shoulder. you shrieked with a jolt at the sight of him looming just a couple steps behind you, looking impossibly large in the stretched shadows of the forest, and moving with an eerie silence.

he huffed. “what? did i scare you, princess?”

you whipped your head back in front of you, hiking up your skirt higher to step over a log. “sorry. i don’t know you.”

“so stubborn,” he mumbled, and you shrieked again when he wrapped an arm around your waist to hoist you over the log with ease. you swatted him away.

“i can do it myself,” you griped, turning sharp on your heel in another direction. he just sighed, trailing after you, steps noisy against the twigs and pine needles underfoot.

when he knocked his boot against a tree, you could tell the noise was purposeful—making sure not to scare you. it didn’t quell your anger any less.

“do you even know where you’re going?”

that was a stupid question. no, you didn’t.

“yes,” you said instead.

he made a noise between a grumble and groan. “i didn't mean for Gaz to propose so soon.”

that made you stop dead in your tracks.

“i wanted…” he trailed off. you didn’t want to look at him for fear that he may see the tears welling in your eyes. there was nothing but the rustling woosh of leaves streaming through the canopy.

you jolted when you felt the tip of his nose press into the back of your head, voice impossibly deep. “he’s younger. he’s polite. he doesn’t care about purity.”

you heard him swallow. “he’s a good man to marry.”

you screwed your eyes shut, feeling a bothersome wetness come down your cheeks. “that’s not your decision to make.”

his voice was gruff, raw. “i know.”

sighing out, you turned to him slowly, finding a morose and withdrawn scowl twisting his face. he swiped a thumb over your tears.

“how would i have even married him anyway?” you asked in a low tone, surprised by the ice of it. “you would’ve handed me over to Turner the second we landed in san francisco.”

speaking it aloud yourself made the reality of it so much more crushing than hearing Kate say it that morning.

“to keep you safe,” Ghost hissed, eyes flashing with a clenched jaw. after your train escapade, you recognized the expression as something bordering on panic.

“safe?” you scoffed, “with Turner?”

he just shook his head. “Turner’s men outnumber us. with your parents, you’d at least be protected—”

you lurched forward, grabbing the collar of his dress shirt, shoulder aching in protest.

“with Turner!” you articulated, voice rung through with frustration. “i would be his mistress. he could… we would…”

the suggested words went unsaid and Ghost’s flashed—this time with something dark and imperceptible.

“i would kill him before it even got to that,” he said, mouth drawn into a hard life, deadly serious as he grasped your hands on his collar.

“and then what? after the war is over, i leave my parents again and Gaz sweeps me off my feet?” you pressed, trying and failing over and over to pick apart the expression on Ghost’s face.

your anger deflated, words falling flat and soft. “where would you go? back to southern california?”

he just stared at you, and you felt your heart drop. “Ghost? where would you go?”

he looked away from you, fixing on a distant point, and pried your hands from his collar. “i don’t plan on making it that far.”

oh. you gazed at the vacancy of his eyes, the clench of his jaw. he wasn’t planning on making it out the war alive.

your skin felt hot all over, and you lurched forward to jab a finger in his chest and make him look at you.

“to hell with that.”

but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “it doesn’t matter now. you won’t be going anywhere near Turner.”

now, he pinned you down with a hard look, and you reeled back a bit. “what?”

“the porter,” he chewed out, brow furrowing, “he was trying to kill you.”

your mind whirled. that’s right—you remembered what he said, tears in his eyes when he cornered you at the end of the train.

he said he’d kill me and my family if i didn’t do it.

he had obviously been Turner. you swallowed, remembering the next slew of his words.

but i can’t let my daughter die.

he, a pullman porter with an inadequate paycheck, had risked everything, including his life, for his daughter. you couldn’t say the same for your own father.

you held your forehead, feeling the throbbing pulse of it through your fingertips. “why would Turner want to kill me?”

desperately, you trained every fiber of your mind to run through the notion, coming up with absolutely nothing in the end. you balked. that almost never happened.

Ghost’s thoughtful silence seemed to mirror yours.

but he just huffed, brushing a knuckle to your cheek briefly. “you’re a smart girl. i’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

rolling your eyes, you pushed his hand away, a tugging ire in your stomach. “so what now?”

he turned on his heel, giving you a lax look over his shoulder. “we walk to san francisco.”

it turned out that Ghost was a lot more hurt than he made you believe. you had walked a mile through the dark, led by his broad shadowed form and, with the practiced strike of a match, a torch he coaxed to life until you returned to the divide in the forest where the railway drove a split through the plains.

its pathway was ignited with moonlight, and you walked in silence, nothing but crunching gravel underfoot, till you reached a freshwater lake embedded in a softly swaying field that lingered a couple hundred feet from the railway.

Ghost had stripped the bushes of gooseberries and currants along the way, giving you a brief grumbling explanation—we used to eat ‘em during the spanish-american war.

you could imagine Soap and Gaz popping them in their mouths as gawky teenage boys, laughing along the way and a quiet, stoic Simon in their tow.

you ate them slowly, watching Ghost set up a fire with an ease to the task but with strange shuffling movements whenever he turned. you cocked your head. he wouldn’t twist his body.

“Ghost,” you called, and he didn’t even look at you. “why are you moving like that?”

in your stupor through the forest, or maybe the low lighting of the night, you hadn’t noticed it before. using another one of the matches stowed in the breast pocket of his trench coat, he bent down and blew on the small flame, blooming it to life over a nest of tinder. when it crackled and popped, and he added bigger branches to the fire, you moved closer, shivering in the dark, and spread the collected berries over an unsoiled rock.

your jaw clenched. “Ghost.”

he ignored you again, instead stepping back from the fire and turning so all you saw was the shadow of his back as he discarded his trench coat. then unbuttoning his vest and shirt, he shucked them off, tossing them to the ground by his other clothes. you gasped at the mottled, purple swell of his bare back.

from the bottom of his shoulder blades to his lower back, he was covered in bruises.

“is it bad?” he looked over his shoulder at you. you couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

your mouth fell open and then closed. “yes. very.”

then he turned, and the fire illuminated yellow and green bruises littered across his ribs and the angry red, puckered stiches across his lower abdomen. your stomach dropped. they looked worse than the last you had seen them—on the bed in the train.

he brushed a knuckle over his ribs and winced. “i think they’re broken.”

you looked up at him with a pinched expression and he raised his brows, mouth twitching with a huff. you hated that he looked amused.

“worried about me?”

you turned to the fire again. “no.”

there was more rustling from behind you and an unmistakable clink of a belt. you screwed your eyes shut and willed yourself not to look back. there was a thud against the grass by your hand, and you looked down to see his boots discarded by the fire. you saw his foot just behind it and a bare calf that turned and padded down the slope to the small lake.

you wanted to scream. “what are you doing?”

he called out, “care for a swim, princess?”

you narrowed your eyes. no, you didn’t.

“it’s improper for men and women to bathe together.”

you just barely looked over your shoulder, watching him in your peripheral. his naked back shone in the moonlight, a white glow cast over the bruises and scars of his back before it slowly descended into the water. he reclined against some rocks, arms spread wide and head lolled back.

“lots of things between men and women are improper to you, princess.”

a strangled noise of frustration left your throat. “what if your stitches get infected?”

he shrugged. at this point, a sliver of the darkness in you hoped they did get infected for not heeding your warning.

standing to your full height, you turned to him, looking over the expanse of the lake, and then the darkness of his lazy eyes trained on you.

you watched him swallow, blonde lashes illuminated by the firelight, he spoke considerably softer, “you looked lovely this morning.”

that morning, when you had dolled yourself up, a pretty, airy skirt and flowery blouse and makeup and all, telling yourself that you wanted to look like the sun after such an awful night. maybe it was for yourself, or maybe it was for Ghost. the latter you would never admit.

but now, you realized, more than anything, the act was for your own bout of revenge. to watch Ghost’s face twist at the sight of you—someone he couldn’t have.

you, who would never let him have you again.

at that thought, you gave him a pretty smile like you were bashful, and the way his eyes widened in surprise was a crush of satisfaction.

but you kept up the act, intent on playing with him. if Ghost had taken so much from you for revenge, you didn’t see why you couldn’t do the same. the idea had a twinge of displeasure curling under your skin. but thinking back to last night had you angry all over again.

“i’m still angry at you,” you said instead, crossing your arms and turning like you were mad. in all technicality you were.

very.

his voice was low. “you’ve got something on your face.”

what?

“what?” you voiced, head whipping to him.

he cocked his head. “your hair too…” he squinted like he was trying to see you better. “it’s a mess.”

you scoffed. this was not going according to your plans.

“well i’m sorry i don’t look my best after falling off a train—”

“and your clothes too.” his dark eyes raked over your body. “all ruined.”

you looked down at the state of your clothes, torn in places and stained in others. the hem of your skirt was a very discolored smear of brown.

“looks like you’ll have to take them off,” he said with a casual shrug.

your jaw dropped open. “you…”

you searched for the words you couldn’t find. “you’re awful.”

with a nod he said, “just as bad as the devil.”

narrowing your eyes, you gave him a sidelong look. was this another one of his revenge ploys? another way to get you undressed and take another sliver of your innocence?

he shifted on the rocks, arms spread along the wide berth of the bank, and beneath the water you saw his knees tip wide. he cocked his head at you.

an invitation.

of which you could easily say no to, if you liked, but just as much as he tried to trick you, the devil wasn't foolproof. you could weasel your way into one of those cracks and trick him instead if you wanted to. and in that moment, you decided you did.

with the calmest look you could muster, you took off the makeshift sling of your shoulder, and unclipped the back of your blouse, sliding it from your torso with ease and letting it fall to the ground. between the laxness of your face, you glanced at Ghost who, you noticed with disappointment, looked absolutely undisturbed until your gaze trailed down his exposed arm and to the clutch of his hand in a tight fist.

suppressing a smirk, you dropped your holster, then the delicate pink skirt and moved to unlace the back of your corset. you undid it as fast as your aching shoulder could let you, watching the way the warm glow of the fire danced in his black eyes.

the corset fell to the ground, and his head was perked up now, eyes going impossibly dark, as you pulled down the last of your undergarments—completely bare in the moonlight.

but his eyes never left yours, didn’t even look down to your body, as you stepped carefully forward over the pebbled lake bank, heart thundering in your throat. you kept your hands in fists to keep yourself from covering your body, shivering when a gust danced over the field.

as you sank into the water, you were surprised to find it not so unbearably cold, avoiding Ghost’s gaze entirely as you neared him, close enough so that you could feel his foot brush against your calf under the water.

he looked up with hooded eyes, chin close to his chest, breath shallow and wanting—

but you waded right past him to a spot on the rocks a good distance away. you were close enough to see his eyes narrow in your peripheral.

“what are you planning, princess?”

you shot him a glare. “i’m still mad at you.”

he cocked his head. “are you trying to tease me?”

you sucked in a breath entirely by accident, and you knew it was the most telling answer in the way he shifted over the rocks with an infuriating smirk.

feeling bitter, you asked with a sourness, “are you still trying to bed me for revenge?”

he went completely still at that and you turned your head away from him, looking over the field into the forest. in the distance, those mountains loomed on the horizon, looking like a large void that spearheaded the sky. you tipped your head back, clutching onto yourself, and looked up to the stars that splattered like bright, white paint over the sky.

like the white paint you had splattered over the pale blue wallpaper of your room when you were child, and your mama had lost half of her mind at the sight.

that thought only soured your mood more. there were tears in your eyes now.

biting back a string of unholy curses, you tucked your head away, really hoping Ghost wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he was when there was a moving rush of water as he stood

you could hear him near you, till he was standing over your crumpled form, his hand brushing along your neck.

“can i?”

you should’ve said no. absolutely not.

your plans to fool the devil had gone absolutely wrong. you glanced up at him, the softness of his face, his big hand moving to brush over your injured shoulder.

you should say no.

with your curt nod, he sank down into the water beside you, and pulled you flush against the warmth of his body, and you just melted into him, your arms curled against his chest, shoulder aching in reply.

you pressed your forehead to his shoulder, embarrassed when wet, warm tears slid from your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and jaw to his skin.

“your ribs…” you sniffled, trying not to lean so hard against his torso when he was practically crushing you to him. but he only wound around you tighter, pressing some of your hair to his face.

your heart ached at the familiar gesture.

“so you are worried about me then?” his eyes glinted but the sullen look on his face quelled any humor in them.

you closed your eyes, basking in the warmth. “i’m always worried about you.”

when there was a long silence, you felt him tap your nose lightly.

“what are you thinking about in that pretty head of yours?”

your mind flashed with more images of your mama. “my mama.”

he hummed, digging his nose in your hair. “tell me.”

you sucked in your lower lip between your teeth, draping yourself over him with an ease. “my mama used to get so mad at me all the time.”

you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. “i used to paint on the walls in my bedroom when my nanny wasn’t there and my mama was busy. it drove her crazy.”

“yeah?” he smoothed his thumb over your cheek, and you opened your eyes, finding yourself cradled in his arms and the tip of his nose inches from yours, dark gaze lapping over you in warm waves.

you wanted to drown in them.

“you have pretty eyes,” you told him, feeling your eyelids droop. “kind of angelic.”

he huffed a laugh. “i thought i was the devil?”

“you only want me to think that,” you said dreamily, losing a whole reign of control over your tongue, “satan was an angel once too.”

he pressed his lips to your ear.

“so what’ll it be? devil or angel?”

“s’up to you,” you whispered, clutching at the wet planes of his muscled chest, “are you going to use me for revenge?”

“no,” he said immediately, though his voice was calm. “not again.”

you weren’t exactly sure if that made it any better.

you could hear his bated breath—the way it was shallow, and sharp. he turned his head away from yours. you caught a glimpse of his blonde lashes curling from the shadow of his black mask.

“what are you hiding from me?”

it was a question you knew he wouldn’t answer as he helped you up from the cold water, wrapping an arm around your bare waist and leading you back to the fire. he just stretched out, completely bare, over a big flat rock embedded in the bank, and orange glow over his skin, and pulled you down to nestle into his side, letting the waves of heat emanating from the fire settle over the both of you like a heavy blanket.

his hand came down in featherlight touches over the curves of your body, trailing up the back of your thighs, to your back, to your neck where he pressed his lips. then his fingertips spidered across your wounded shoulder.

his voice sounded fragile. “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

even you? you wanted to ask, tracing the pleasing curves of his face with your gaze.

you brushed your knuckle along the strength of his jaw, the curve of his nose, his lips…

he just peered at you with dark eyes, blinking gently, pressing the most gentle kiss to the corner of your lips that had you falling into another slumber.

Ghost watched your eyes flutter close, waiting till your breath went deep and even, before he even tried to pry himself away from you.

it was hard to not stay. the inviting warmth of your body warmed his cold heart.

he watched the swell of your chest rise and fall, brushing a hand over the softness of your abdomen. the fire light danced across your peaceful face, the plushness of your parted lips, your hair…

god he loved your hair.

but he pulled away, carefully shifting you in a comfortable position over the rock, where you curled up in his absence. he sat up, wincing from the slide and crunch of his ribs beneath his skin, the sore thrum of the bruises up his back, and listened to make sure the lull of your breath was still even and calm.

then, he tore off his mask and balled it up in his fist.

what the hell was he doing?

he inched further away from you, putting a marginal difference between your bare body and his. but you shivered and something inside him jolted with a stupid, muddled flurry.

quickly, he reached for his trench coat near the fire and laid it over you, feeling a full, fuzzy feeling when you stopped shaking. it was strange. he couldn’t put a single word to the feeling but he knew it was something foreign, something dangerous…

something he couldn’t afford.

but your soft voice was always running circles in his head, and it echoed back out to him.

are you going to use me for revenge?

he sighed out long and hard, tapping his balled up first to his forehead. more of your voices clambered into his weak mind.

do you always exert yourself over others like that?

liar.

i hate you.

liar, liar, liar.

liar, liar, liar, liar—

and you were right. you were almost always right with that brilliant mind of yours, he thought with a twinge of wonder.

Ghost was a liar. he was lying to you, and he was lying to himself most of all. and he knew it too.

“liar.” the word was becoming melded into your tongue. “you want to use me for revenge. is that all i’m useful for, then?” your throat cracked open, wide and full of emotion. “i’m just for your revenge? did you bed me for revenge?”

his gaze was half-lidded, tired. “yes.”

why had he lied like that?

he watched the side of your peaceful, youthful profile. he allowed himself to reach over and wrap his trench coat around you snugger, content when you exhaled deep, and stroked slowly at your hair. you looked so young. too young.

why had he lied like that?

he knew why. but he didn’t want to admit to that either.

instead, he picked himself up, muffling a groan as his stiff body worked itself to move, and kicked his clothes into a pile over the dirt. then, he reached for your own and folded them neatly into a pile by the fire to warm them by the time you woke.

maybe, he thought to himself, trying to be a sliver of an honest man, if he told you that you were right and that he was a liar, you would forgive him.

or maybe he would have to beg on his knees for your sweet forgiveness until the day he died.

he wouldn’t mind.

he jolted at his own thoughts, beating them down till they were a silent pulp in his mind.

he knew he wasn’t going to make it out of this war. that knowledge only soured the feeling unfurling in his chest, every thump of his dead heart aching with effort.

Turner was gunning for him and only him at this point—he was the brand mark of one-four-one. the mask was a tell-tale sign of who he was. even if, in the beginning, it had only been to preserve his anonymity, it ended up becoming an infamous emblem that became an endlessly useful tool of intimidation wherever he went—for business or more violent affairs.

he took a knife sheathed in the outer pocket of his trench coat, making sure not to wake you, and pressed his mask to the rock, cutting out the lower torn portion of it so that it was only half the piece of fabric it was previously.

maybe when he had lied to you about his true intentions one night ago, even if he wasn’t thinking, he knew it’d be easier to break your heart if you hated him.

because he knew if you didn’t hate him, you’d never leave his side, and he wouldn’t be able to protect you like he wanted to when Turner killed him, and you’d be left…where?

hopefully as Gaz’s bride, he thought morosely.

he couldn’t forget what you said last night—i would’ve been married.

even if he knew that was your own lie, if that was what you wanted, he would give that to you as best as a dead man could.

because the truth was—

you were precious. like porcelain glass. all those nights ago, when you first laid together, he was never planning on touching you. even when he first took you, he was never planning on touching you. least of all for revenge.

not even when he first saw your pretty eyes go wide at the sight of him walking into your daddy’s saloon, in that beautiful blue skirt of yours and the loose clutch of your blouse exposing an indecent amount of your dewy skin when you leaned down. not even when your hands trembled, body just shivering in his proximity. you told him you weren’t scared. he didn’t believe you until you gave him everything that first time.

now, he chided himself for taking anything at all. hated himself for it even. he wanted to be…

dead.

he ruffled at his matted hair, screwing his eyes shut before pulling back on the mask. everything in him quieted—the confusion, the thoughts, the circling endless regret having him bite at his own tail.

it wasn’t one-four-one’s plan to get you personally involved in their lives. when you showed up at the base, it was like you had single-handedly wedged the knife of your innocence into the bottled up lot of them, and pried the can wide open. John, Kate, and Soap adored you. and Ghost had seen the way Gaz looks at you.

or at least he thought that he had. maybe it was his own jealousy contorting his thoughts.

jealousy, he cringed, flipping the knife in his hands, why would he be jealous?

the rustling in the woods answered him, and he twisted around on his haunches, ignoring the stabbing pain blooming into his lungs, and watched something prowl out onto the far clearing of the field. a long snout furrowed deeply at him, and the coyote drew back its upper lip, fangs glinting in the moonlight with a growl.

Ghost only stared back, gripping at the knife tightly, leaning forward onto his fingertips to cover your sleeping form with his body, muscles bunched to spring forward at any moment.

the coyote only crept forward a bit more, lapping at the very edge of the water at the lake, before retreating backwards, ears flattened to its head as it disappeared into the shrouded darkness of the treeline. its tail was tucked in between its legs.

maybe even coyotes were afraid of the devil.

the next morning you woke, Ghost was up, dressed, and fiddling with a knife in his hands. he was perched on the rock beside you, staring off into the horizon and looking pensive which was… uncharacteristic of him.

the fire was put out, embers still burning as a trail of smoke wafted up into the thin morning light.

your stomach growled.

Ghost’s head turned down to look at you and he pushed back the hair from your face with just his glove fingertips. “hungry?”

you nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed, and shifted to sit up beneath his trench coat with a shiver. the rock beneath you still felt a tad warm from the fire last night, but it had cooled, leaving your bare backside feeling numb.

“here,” Ghost offered, shifting in that awkward movement of his to keep the pressure of his wounds, you noticed with a twinge in your heart. he gestured to an array of things spread out over the far rock by the far littered with the berries he collected last night, now coupled with pale looking tubers.

you rubbed at your eyes with a yawn. “you cooked last night?”

he nodded. “wild parsnips.”

they were peeled and cut carefully off the top. he gave you an expectant look, and you supposed he thought you would take them, but instead you shifted over the rock again, shivering with the breeze at your back.

“can i change?” you asked meekly, and he blinked.

“‘course.” he handed you the pile of your clothes folded neatly by the fire, and with a blush, you noticed they were warm.

had he done that on purpose?

“thank you,” you said, looking up at him with a smile, but he just looked away with an indifferent huff, poking at the parsnips with his knife.

he turned his back as you redressed in your ruined clothes, rebounded your shoulder in the sleeve of his dress shirt to the best of your ability, and joined him for breakfast. you split the berries and parsnips into groups—trying and failing to give him a larger portion to compensate for his muscled stature and severe wounds, but he pointedly refused without so much as a bat of his eye and a deep scowl, and when you pressed, he ignored you entirely.

when you both finished a portion of the food, he kicked over the fire and made sure the embers were doused, before you set off across the plains back in the direction of the railway. Ghost told you, from the last time he checked with the conductor, that the train was fifteen miles from san francisco.

you’d be walking the whole day, sure, but it was better than you could’ve hoped for. testing your shoulder with a swing, there was still a sharp ache to it, and you winced, ignoring the side glance Ghost gave you.

you were worried more for his wounds anyway.

about two hours into the trek, you could hear the rasp of his breath and the shallow nature of it. his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides.

“Ghost,” you called, “i think you should take a rest.”

you weren’t even surprised when he chose to ignore you.

“Ghost,” you repeated, rephrasing your words in a careful deadpan, “i’m tired. i want to rest.”

at that, he stopped with a curt nod, and you both moved to sit in the grassy bank by the railway. he sat with a stiffness and slowly stretched back out over the incline of the slope, hands behind his head and eyes closed. you sat with your chin tucked between your knees beside him. you knew him too well to see that he was playing pretend.

“Simon.” he jolted at the word. “let me see your ribs.”

he opened his eyes and looked at you, lips in a stale line. “they’re fine, princess.”

you rolled your eyes, moving to do it yourself. he hissed with protest when you began to unbutton his vest and you shushed him with a harshness that had him falling silent. you undid his dress shirt next and pushed the fabric aside, gasping at the sight of them.

it was worse. much worse. the strange patches of yellow and green bruises stretched over his rubs had become darker, more pronounced, and a swollen, madly red purple. looking down to his bullet wound, you almost wanted to faint.

it was bright red—angry and puffy with a crust of yellow goop around it. you gasped again.

“Simon this looks—”

infected.

he just stared up at you. the absolute indifference on his face had you balling up your hand in a fist and smacking him lightly over the head with it.

he flinched, reeling away from you with a scowl. “what was that for?”

“your lack of desire for self-preservation irks me,” you shot back, and settled over his hips with your thighs in a bind around him. you could feel him stiffen beneath you.

“i told you it’d get infected if you swam in that lake water.”

very gently, you traced your hands up his torso, and with a twisting impulsiveness, you leaned down to kiss the swell of chest, pressing down into its brawn. then you kissed up his neck, his jaw, his cheek.

maybe each kiss would make him better like in those books you used to read as a child.

he huffed out, and you looked up to meet his half-lidded gaze, swirling and dark and tinged with a lazy hunger. “are you teasing me again?”

you blinked up at him, and he reached down to press a thumb to your lower lip.

“i’m distracting you. is it working?”

he smirked. “too well, ” he hummed, before sighing out, “you’re too good to me, lovely.”

you nodded. “i know.”

pitching forward, you gently pecked that silvery scar on his upper lip and he jolted, breath going more shallow than before. when you leaned back, watching his expression with a fit of anxiety rolling around in your stomach, you watched him lick over his upper lip like he was tasting you.

the jittery feeling in your stomach turned into something else entirely.

“quit bloody teasin’,” he chided, pulling you back down to him and pressing his nose to your ear, face smushed against your hair.

you bit back a snicker and rubbed at the back of his neck. typical Simon.

so easy to please, so easy to make him surrender.

usually, an ill-tempered voice in you said, flashes of the coldness of his tone, face, body on your bed in the train seeping into your mind.

remembering yourself, you pulled away and stood again. he watched you with an owlish blink—a look of confusion and question that you chose to ignore as he pushed off the ground to trail after you and back down the railway.

for the next couple of hours of aimless walking, nothing eventful happened, save for Ghost randomly brushing along the edge of the forest, poking around amongst the foliage. you shared few glances and even fewer words, but that didn’t make it uncomfortable.

in fact, as you eyed the side of his handsome profile, black trench coat fluttering softly in the wind, you wanted this to last forever.

right now, you were just two people in the woods. no war. no gangs. no guns. no violence.

even if he had hurt you.

you stepped closer to him, catching the fabric on the back of his elbow, but he barely even glanced at you when your hand slid down his forearm and pushed shyly into his hand. he easily swallowed your hand in his, lacing your fingers together tightly and squeezing.

later, he pulled out a couple of leaves from the inner pocket of his trench coat and offered them to you. mint, he had explained, chewing on the herbage, it staves off hunger.

you would need it by the time noon came and your stomach was growling again. you both stopped by the tracks to finish the last of the berries and cooked parsnips, chewing more mint Ghost picked from the underbrush of the forest.

the glare of the sun had waned by the time you reached the afternoon, and the railway seemed to stretch on forever, sloping over hills, cutting through landscape, till the trek flattened and the woods drew even tighter to the railway, trees towering overhead.

finally, you reached a crossroads in the railway, where a paved road cleaved through the woods, and on the horizon, revealed a sprawling skyline of buildings—smoke billowing above it, and a strange sort of humming raucous drifting across the terrain.

the sound of it made you apprehensive, and you eyed the hazy gray film in the air. you had never seen such a large town—city, would be better perhaps. you stopped in the road.

Ghost’s shoulder brushed your own. “what’s wrong?”

you squirmed with discomfort in your spot. “what is that?”

he squinted at the horizon. “s’a city.”

just as you suspected. but it didn’t make you any less reproachful. “i’ve only seen them in picture books,” admitted, sniffing the air. “it stinks.”

he gave you a twisted smile. “you should see manchester. my father used to work in the factories.”

your eyes widened, and he just kept walking, leaving you scrambling to catch up. “your father?”

he nodded. “my father.”

“and where is manchester?” you pressed, prying for more out of him, as you peered at the side of his face which was trained on the road ahead.

“england. s’where i grew up.”

you snuck your hand into his again. “did you have siblings?”

his grip stiffened around your hand. “an older brother. Tommy.”

your mouth opened and closed, watching the way his shoulders were tightened now. he obviously didn’t want to talk about either of them, you thought weakly, mourning, and instead changed the subject.

“what was it like in manchester?”

he glanced at you. “dreadful. i never want to go back again.”

“besides…” his thumb brushed against your palm. “i have everything i need in america.”

you nodded slowly, trying to chew that information, and desperately wanting more.

from behind, a growing assortment of noises approached you quickly, the clopping of hooves at your back, and Ghost drew an arm around you as he pulled you off the road. a horse and buggy bumbled down the road with a friendly looking coachman in the driver’s seat.

he had a scraggly white beard and a fray of white hair strewn over his balding head, a big toothy grin, and a beet, splotchy redness to his entire face.

“hullo there!” he called, slowing his horses as he neared. Ghost’s arm went tighter around you.

“hello sir,” he said with a politeness you didn’t know he could have.

“s’a beamin’ day, is it not?” the man’s eyes mosied up and down your body but not in a rude way. you suddenly felt embarrassed by the state of your clothes and crossed your arms over your torso.

Ghost shook his head. “it’s been awful.”

“oh?” the man leaned in, apparently unperturbed by the mask covering half of Ghost’s face. “pray tell, what happened to you folk?”

“we were comin’ down the same path as you last night,” Ghost said, tipping his hat to the place down the road. “and a couple of coyotes came out of the woods.”

you stared at him. coyotes?

where did that come from?

“scared our horses half to death and they went ballistic. tipped over our buggy and everything and galloped off into the woods.”

the man gasped, spluttering. “heavens! how can i help you kind folk?”

Ghost paused like he was apprehensive. you cocked a brow at how easily the act came to him. “well, we were just trying to make our way to san francisco.”

“well i can do that, no problem!” the man said, scooting over his buggy to make more room. “i’m headin’ there right now to visit the ol’ missus.”

“Ghost,” you whispered, feeling a panic when he pushed you forward gently. “can we trust him?”

“unless you wanna walk another two miles, lovely,” he shot back, though not unkindly, as he dipped his head politely to the man in the buggy.

hesitating, you stepped forward towards the thing.

“this yer lovely missus?” he said with a friendly smile, and Ghost nodded.

“my lady.”

you wanted to smack him.

“howdy, ma’am,” the man said to you, offering a polite hand to shake. you stretched up to the buggy and took it with a tight-lipped smile.

“nice to meet you, sir,” you said, voice coming out weaker than you intended and he only grinned wider.

“well climb on in!”

you hesitated. it was only a two-person carriage, and Ghost might barely be able to squeeze into the space left that the other man left. looking back at Ghost over your shoulder, he just squeezed your waist softly, and slid around you to step up into the buggy himself.

rude, you thought with a huff, but only realized his intent once he was settled in the thing. he spread his arms as an invitation, one hand held out for you to climb into his lap.

his raised his brows at you. you looked from him to the beaming man beside him, something twinkling like knowing in his beady eyes, and you bit back a sigh, taking Ghost’s big hand and letting him pull you onto his lap.

you sat on one of his broad thighs, his chest flush to your back. he snaked an arm around your middle and kissed your cheek softly, hand still intertwined with yours.

you dug your nails into the glove of his palm in warning, withering in his arms, and wholly enjoyed it when he winced.

the man beside you sighed out but it sounded happy.

“oh, i remember the days when i just married my missus!” he said dreamily, hitching the horses with a snap of the reins.

Ghost chuckled in your ear, and you sent him a scowl over your shoulder when the other man wasn’t looking, but he only smiled wider, pulling the hair from your shoulder to kiss the back of your neck.

you stood on the edge of the street, bidding the kind stranger goodbye as he drew away from the sidewalk, hitching his horses down the wide san francisco avenue.

entering the city had been an enigma for you. it was even stranger now.

people littered the street. too many people. your mama had let you go to a bigger town now and then near your home with the girls from church, but never too far. she had said it was the role of your future husband to expose you to such harrowing conditions.

standing in the midst of one of the largest cities on the western coast, you could better understand what she meant. women and men sauntered down the road in tight-knight groups, business men in three-piece suits and bowler caps shot past you, and a slew of buggies blundered down the streets that Ghost guided you through.

some peered weirdly at the mask but most didn’t even care to notice at all—didn’t even look up from the point they were trained on getting to.

in all honesty, you found their behavior quite rude as they passed you.

watching a woman in a pastel, flowing dress with pearls adorning her ears and neck, and silk gloves drawn to her elbows, she had her arm linked with a man with a well-trimmed mustache and pristine suit.

feeling strangely exposed, you inched closer to Ghost and linked your arm with his as well. you looked up at him with wide eyes, a whine building in your throat.

you were uncomfortable. very. very uncomfortable.

he huffed, taking your arm in his. “city life overwhelming you, princess?”

you nodded blearily, wincing when a man almost brushed against you through a tight pass on the sidewalk. you had never been flanked by so many people.

“what about Turner’s men? what if they recognize you?” you whispered out, curling closer to him, and he just shook his head.

“they won’t without the mask.”

right. you had become so accustomed to the revealing nature of his black mask that you had completely forgotten about the broken, bloody skull layer of it.

you passed through more blocks, buildings scraping the sky so high that you felt dizzy and small.

you craved to be out in the wide array of the demanding western landscape again. you wished you were still walking along that railroad, chewing mint leaves, and your hand in Ghost’s.

eventually, the skyscrapers dwindled into crumpled, shorter, dingy buildings and the avenues tightened into busy marketplaces. but it was different than you had ever seen before.

men wore linen suits—in grays and blacks with small hooped knots down the front—and bowlers caps. some women wore dark blouses with loose sleeves and low collars that gleamed in the evening’s light, curling with patterns of clouds and the fine leaves of bamboo, and flowing bright skirts over heeled shoes that looked binding.

Ghost watched your face closely, and you slowly turned in the spot. you had never seen a culture that wasn’t of your small western hometown before. “where are we?” you asked him, voice tinged in awe, and he put a hand to your lower back and led you down the busy market street.

“this is chinatown,” he said, and you just nodded slowly, trying and failing to digest it all.

“why are we here?” you pressed, and Ghost pushed you further towards a big brick building at the end of the road that dwarfed the dingy places beside it, a throng of people swarming in front of it.

“Turner’s men won’t come here,” he explained, seeming utterly casual. “they think the bubonic plague’s still lingering.”

you stiffened. “plague?”

he nodded. “it came through san francisco in 1900. it’s been gone for years but Turner doesn’t think so.”

“why not?”

he gave you a sidelong look but his voice was soft. “why do you think, lovely?”

feeling saddened, you gave him a meek look and he just smiled, brushing your cheek with his knuckles briefly. “smart girl.”

when you entered the building, there was a reception at the front and a large folding divider with intricate ink brushes over its surface shrouding the rest of the narrow establishment from view. the interior was extravagant—tipped in gold, marble, and lush patterns and a stark disparity to the image outside of it.

there was a tinge of something sweet in the air, a hazy smoke drifting through the place. you wrinkled your nose.

a man came from behind the folding divider in one of those linen, knot-button suits, hair shaved close to his head, with a big smile and a gold tooth. at the sight of it you went cold.

he spoke in a language you couldn’t understand—taking in its foreign inflections with a feeling of awe, and hearing the word Ghost between the slew of his words.

it startled you when Ghost spoke back in the same swinging rhythm. staring at the side of his blank face, he just ignored your burning gaze.

suddenly, the man turned to you with a slick smile, eyes crawling down for a long moment before crawling back up. the hair on the back of your neck bristled.

“good evening, ma’am,” he greeted in a gentle accent, “how can i help you?”

Ghost braced against the desk, speaking low and fast in that language. the man’s eyes went dark, but that slick smile never left his lips. then, he grinned, gold tooth flashing, before he gestured with his arm to the intricate divider.

“please follow me.”

Ghost’s grip on your waist was tight as you followed the man behind the divide, walking down a dim, but equally decadent hallway. you jolted away from one of the doors—there was an intermittent bang and shout from inside of the room.

a splinter of fear cleaved your heart, and you shot a look at Ghost before he just urged you forward without so much as a glance.

“here is your room,” the man offered generously, waving his arm to a wooden door with an intricate carving over the front.

you muffled a gasp at the sight of the girl standing beside it. she must’ve been only a few years older than you, with milky skin and long black hair that came down her slim frame like the brush of swirling ink. the crimson dress she wore wasn’t constricting at all, and exposed so much skin.

from the elbows to her wrists, her ankles, calves, and knees, you could see her bare skin. you averted your eyes immediately, fumbling with your hands, but her gaze was solely trained on Ghost.

he wholly ignored her as the man shooed her away with a rude gesture and fast words. her dark eyes flashed, sending Ghost a nasty look, and then you, before turning on her heel and marching down the hallway.

the man handed Ghost a key and you followed the broad, masked man into the room, quickly shutting the door behind you. the strange, elongated noises from the hallway was diminished now. sighing out with relief, your breath hitched when you noticed the intricacy of the room.

there was a low-lying bed strewn with pillows and rich draperies. the room was littered with different wooden furniture pieces with ornate carvings like geometric mazes in the chairs, wardrobe, canopy bed frame, and sunken table in the far corner of the room. you observed the rolls of paper hanging from the walls, the vases covered in gleaming blue brush strokes, and the dim lamp overhead with red tassels hanging down from its silver sheath.

Ghost sat at the edge of the bed with a crumbling sigh, kicking off his boots. your heart sunk, cringing at more of the gentler noises wafting through the door.

“where are we, Ghost?”

you had a sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t like it.

he cleared his throat, sending you the most apologetic you had ever seen on him. “a brothel.”

you spluttered. “a brothel?”

he had brought you, a good, christian woman, to a brothel?

you did a quick prayer, closing your eyes and clasping your hands together, murmuring under your breath. you could hear Ghost move from the bed and pad closer to you, impossibly silent.

you ignored him, continuing to pray, as he wrapped his arms around you, impossibly warm and comforting, and tucked his chin into your neck.

“i’m sorry.”

you jolted. opening one eye to look at him, two of his own peered back at you.

you shut your eye, ignoring him and continued to pray in low murmurs. he pressed a kiss to your neck, another i’m sorry falling from his lips. and then another and another wherever he kissed across your neck, jaw, cheek.

you could get used to him saying that.

it was his warm breath across your lips that startled you back to the present.

when you opened your eyes again, hands still clasped in a bind at your chest, he leaned forward, clothed forehead pressing against your own.

“i’m sorry.”

a trickle of something muddled dripped down your spine. a new suspicion pricked up in you.

“about what?” you asked, working your jaw slowly.

he buried his forehead into your neck, speaking softly. “about lying to you.”

your brow quirked.

“about the brothel?” you asked, feeling confused, and he stiffened against you before nodding slowly.

“mhmm.”

that muddled feeling was back again. was he lying about what he was lying about?

you snorted at the thought. that muddled feeling told you he was probably apologizing about a lot of things at the moment—what, exactly, you couldn’t discern. there was a lot to choose from.

“i’m still mad at you,” you said with a tenderness, brushing across the back of his neck with your fingertips.

he just nodded again with a hum.

a much darker furl of despair in your stomach said that this may be the last time he would say sorry to you.

you didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or tonight even, as the hazy dusk settled outside the carved windows. when would the war break out? where was one-four-one and los vaqueros? why had he brought you to chinatown? why a brothel?

when would he be leaving you again?

would he be dead in the next couple of days like he kept promising?

your silence must’ve been telling because he sighed out across your skin and untangled himself from your body and led you to the edge of the bed where you both sat.

your brows rose expectantly as he shifted over the bed and took off his hat, putting it down. you took it into your hands to have something to fumble with as his hand came to the length of your hair, playing with it in between his fingers.

when his silence was too long, you cocked your head. “tell me, Simon.”

it was more of a command than anything.

he rubbed a hand over his jaw with a curt nod, but he wouldn’t look at you. “i know the owner of this establishment. he owns a brothel chain in san francisco. for the night, we’ll be safest here.”

your hands paused, glancing up at him. “you do business in prostitution?”

the relief that bloomed when he shook his head came as a surprise. you released a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“an enemy of Turner is a friend of mine,” he said decidedly. “so i learned mandarin.”

you changed the subject. “so what about one-four-one and los vaqueros? where are they?”

“we’ve got a base but it’s across the city,” he said, scratching at his neck, not revealing anything further. you didn’t really expect him to.

“when will you see them?” you asked, sullen.

what you really wanted to ask was: will he take you with him?

“tonight.” his hand dropped from your hair. “only rich politicians come through here. you’ll be safe. i promise.”

you closed your eyes. that was that.

you didn’t really know if you wanted to hear the rest of what he had to say.

“then, you and i will reconvene with them tomorrow. together,” he said, the pad of his thumb brushing over your closed eyelids.

you took a breath of relief. you could work with that.

“and the war?”

his eyes were dark, swirling. “i don’t know. i’d rather stop it before then.”

and still get the revenge one-four-one promised?

you cocked your head. “how?”

the corners of his lips twitched and your brows rose. “it’s a surprise, princess.”

you groaned, exasperated. “no more surprises, Simon.”

“will you allow an awful man to fix a date with you, lovely?”

you gave him a bitter look and his smile only grew. “what makes you think i want you to court me?”

he slowly slid off the bed and you watched in amazement as he kneeled in front of you, hands on your thighs.

“what do i need to do?” he asked softly, eyes wide and beseeching.

you were in awe at the sight of him—on his knees in front of you, broad body bowed down. you looked over the plains of his masked face, and all that was revealed beneath it. his pale skin, littered with scars, and the silvery one on his upper lip, that blonde brow and tall nose, his telling dark eyes.

you blushed. “more than that.”

“how about this?” he offered, stretching up to kiss the tip of your nose.

“more than that.”

“this?” he kissed over your jaw, down your neck, lips warm and soft and wet when his tongue slid out, sucking at the flesh of it.

“more,” you whined, feeling hot all over when his hands expertly came to unclasp the back of your blouse.

it was perplexing in the way he could strip away your facade in mere seconds, melt the stubbornness from your shoulders, and evaporate any reign of control over your intent to be furious with him.

he had you completely bare in seconds and all your ruined clothes in a pile on the floor, pushing you back onto the soft bed, and then it was his turn. he stood up and undressed in front of you, and you watched with a greediness, that familiar dark, needy pulse between your thighs.

you pawed at that ache, feeling relentless, and his pupils blew wide, hands flying to get out of his clothes.

swallowing, you tried to not let the shame consume you when you dipped your hand beneath your thighs, and touched that spot for the first time. his hands fumbling with his belt stuttered to a stop.

experimentally, you dragged your fingertips against its wet softness, gasping when it came in contact with your clit. it was a little nub that swelled against your fingers, fluttering in time with the pulse of your heart in your throat.

you kept your eyes on Ghost, fighting the droop of them, when you started to circle around it like he had. a pleasure bloomed through you, and you gasped again. curious, you jerked your hand faster, and the intensity of it only spread, through your core, dipping into your stomach, and you thought you saw gold.

with a loud moan, you realized you never knew that you could make yourself feel so good.

you jolted when Ghost let out a guttural, low sound, and pitched forward, pressing his knuckles into the space beside your head, towering over you on the bed.

“you touchin’ yourself, pretty thing?”

you whined with a nod, his words only spurring you on.

when he reached down to grip your hand rubbing against your cunt, you hissed. “no.”

“no?” his brows shot up, eyes searching yours.

“no touching. just watch,” you commanded, deadly serious, arching into your own magical touch.

the sound that left his throat was in between a groan and a whimper, and it made your hips buck up, a whine tearing through you in response.

he sat back, hands twitching against his thighs, and a painful looking swell in his pants, you noticed, but you were perfectly content with the way you were touching yourself.

rolls of aching sweetness unfurled through you.

“are you teasing me, princess?” he asked, head tilted and voice incredibly deep, the swell of his chest fast and breathy.

“mhmm,” you whimpered, slowing your hand painfully so, then quickening again, gasping when a thick wave of pleasure poured over you and swept you into a distant haze.

“s’your punishment—” you went even faster, “—for bein’ an asshole.”

he groaned at that, leaning down to kiss your bare ankle, and you hissed, pushing him back with your foot to his shoulder. the look he gave you was steeped in such an obvious display of desperation that you almost wanted to give in.

“let me do it,” he rasped, leaning forward to tower over you again, hands by your head, but still not touching.

“no.”

he leaned down to your ear. “please?”

you whined, bucking into your hand, feeling the edges of your vision fade and flutter. you were getting closer to that telltale, delicious, precipice—but frustratingly, it still felt so far away.

“no,” you whimpered, and you chased that edge desperately.

he licked over his lips. “struggling, pretty girl?”

you shook your head, whole body jolting when a new flare of intensity coursed through you. it was almost too much, and suddenly, you wanted to take your hand away.

you looked up to the man perched between your legs, his bare muscled torso gleaming in the dim light, and the sharpness of his jaw spurring you on.

he cooed, “you sure you don’t need my help, pretty thing?”

sniffling, you mewled, feeling defeated when you pulled your hand back, your sensitive clit twitching in response to the cold air that filled the absence where your hand had just been.

Ghost hummed, looking positively pleased at your surrender, and he tentatively brushed his fingertips over the softness of your inner thigh.

“may i?” his eyes were dark and malicious, and a shudder of something bordering on fear slithered down your spine as you squirmed against the blankets.

“please.”

he lurched forward, and you squeaked in surprise when one of his arms slid beneath your back, the other beneath your thigh, as he threw you further up the bed.

“shoulder?” he asked softly, though his hands were rough as he positioned you the way he liked, pressing the back of your thighs up so that almost touched your chest, legs lolling over his shoulders.

you could barely feel anything in your shoulder—all the blood had pooled to your cunt, pulsing with a wild, aching need.

“please, Simon,” you said instead, grabbing his shoulders and pushing them down to where you needed him.

but he was too strong. much stronger thank you, as he pinned your wrists to the bed.

“answer me,” he said, voice thick and dark, and you whimpered.

“s’fine.”

“you sure?” he breathed over your cunt and you whimpered.

“y-yeah.”

he hummed. “we’re going to do something different today.”

that piqued your interest, pulling you from the muddled haze of your mind. he splayed a big hand over your stomach, pressing against it, the rough pad of his thumb reaching down to rub lazy circles over your clit.

you melted back into the bed, a deluge of relief coursing through your veins. you think you could come just like this—Ghost leaning over you, sucking the skin of your neck, whispering low murmurs into your ear, and a circling pressure growing against your clit. you think you could mostly because it was Simon.

“Simon,” you whined, and his eyes snapped to yours, turning warm and buttery when he kissed your eyelids.

then, you felt something circling the entrance of your core.

a confused hum left your lips, and you looked down to see his other hand spreading his fingers down the slick of your entrance.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, sliding a hand over his.

“do you trust me?”

your breath hitched, looking up into his hooded eyes. you didn’t take a second to even think—

god, yes, you trusted him. you needed him.

“need you,” you whimpered, truthfully, and his eyes went even darker as he bent down to kiss your clit softly.

then, you watched him push a finger into you, swallowed up by your cunt inch-by-greedy-inch.

you gasped, arching at the new feeling of a stretch that felt… good.

“Simon?” you squeaked, and he just shushed you gently, kneading at your breast as he sucked on your clit, pinning you down as you squirmed.

then, he began working the finger inside you, rubbing against your gooey inner walls, and then he was pressing in a second finger, and that delicious stretch swept you away into a haze.

breathy moans were torn from your throat and you could do nothing to stop them when he curled his fingers, pressing even deeper and against something that had the sweetest feeling unfurl deep, deep, deep inside you.

“Simon!” you mewled, feeling your climax approaching quicker than ever as he fucked you open with his fingers, his lips wrapped around your clit, a sinful squelch harmonizing with the breathy tones of your voice.

your whole core convulsed, clenching, then—

he stopped.

your chest fell in rose in heavy pants, that delicious edge receding slowly. picking up your head up to look at him, your brow furrowed when you found him just staring back at you.

whining, you picked up your hips to press your swollen clit to his plush lips, but he just shifted back a bit so the tip of your nub barely brushed his lower lip.

he cocked his head with a malicious smirk.

“you’ve been teasin’ me for days, minx,” he said, eyes so empty and cold that you shivered. he slid a hand over the goosebumps of your thigh.

“at the lake. today by the railroad.”

he began pumping his fingers again, slowly, and you whined, trying your best to grind down on it so the tips of them would find that swollen place in you that felt heavenly, but he just pulled his hand back every time you pressed down.

his eyes darkened. “touchin’ yourself in front of me like i’m not allowed to do anything about it.”

“please,” you whimpered, and the smirk dropped from his face.

“you’re not allowed to come until i say so, pretty thing.”

a shockwave went straight through your tummy at the words, eyes blown wide with shock. you didn’t know why those words made your heart drum harder, the slickness between your thighs feeling unbearable with the way he just slowly fucked you with his fingers.

you wanted more. you wanted him deeper. something bigger.

his fingers brushed over your clit, and you jolted. “ready f’more?”

“mhmm. please, Simon.” your voice was a keen, and you whined louder when he completely pulled his hand away from you, feeling desperately empty, but he just grabbed your hips and flipped you with ease onto your stomach.

he pulled your hips up, one hand smoothing down your back so you were arched, arms braced against the soft pillows. it was a strange position, left you feeling awkward and exposed, but he pressed a soft kiss to your injured shoulder and you ignored the throb from the weight it bore.

then, he slid off the bed and you heard the clink of his belt, something dropping on the floor, before the bed dipped again, and then silence.

looking back at him, you blushed at the sight of him just shamelessly staring at you in the position.

“Simon!” you chided, curling out of the position before he gripped at your hip tightly with a sly smirk, pushing you back down into the arch with a low rumble of protest.

he crowded over the back of you, settling down over your body, and pressed you further into the bed, his warm chest flush to your back and knuckles pressed to the space next to your ears. you gasped when something warm, sticky, and hard brushed along your inner thigh.

he stroked a hand along your neck, words a throaty whisper in your ear. “comfortable, lovely?”

you felt him press himself against your soft slit, the thick head of it pressing against your clit.

it felt hot, big, throbbing, and—

you gasped, a cracking dawn of realization washing over you.

“it goes…?” inside.

your whole body shook in anticipation, a strange muddle of fear and desperate want making your hips press further back into him.

he hummed, kissing your neck.

“figure it out, pretty?”

“mhmm,” was all you could get out, wiggling yourself against him in impatience, and he just gripped your hips tightly.

“inside,” you retaliated, and he huffed in your ear, the curve of his smile pressed to your hair.

“needy girl. you don’t even know anything about this,” he chided, a hand coming down to rub at your clit, and you squirmed with relief.

“what do i need to know?” you squeaked, grinding against his fingers.

“it hurts.” your movements slowed, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

“it hurts?” you looked back at him from over your shoulder, his eyes only inches from your own where his lips were against your shoulder.

his stopped moving. “mhmm.”

you reached down between your legs and gripped at his wrist, willing him to move again.

“i don’t care. i can take it.”

he smiled against your shoulder.

“im sure you can, but save it for your marriage.” his words were hushed, and you just frowned, a ball of frustration building in you, arching back into his touch.

“i don't want anybody but you.”

he went stock still, and you swallowed hard, feeling an edge of unease bubble up between your desire. you wished you could see his face but you didn’t dare look behind you.

his hand slid away from your core again, leaving you wanting and cold. but you took a breath of relief when he didn’t move away, only pressed his body down into you harder, the heady weight of him a pleasant pressure.

“i guess you’ll just have to wait till we’re married then.”

the breath was stolen from you, and you fought to whimper out, “no. now.”

“that’s improper, lovely,” he whispered, dark and throaty, hot tongue licking over your ear.

he slid his hips forward between your thighs, and you felt his hard length glide smoothly over your cunt, catching against your puffy clit, ripping a gasp out of your throat.

your eyes drooped shut. “don’t care.”

“so bratty. can’t you let me court you first?”

you grit your teeth, fighting back the breathy noises from the back of your throat, as he thrust forward between the hot clutch of your plush thighs.

“no,” you moaned out, letting his hands guide your hips in a slow roll over him, your cunt clenching with every movement.

“even when i’m being so nice to you right now?”

“you’re being mean,” you whined, pushing back against him, meeting the snap of his hips with a string of breathy gasps as your head fell forward.

he snaked a hand into your hair and pulled, tugging you back over his sticky length with every thrust. you felt the telltale beginnings of a rolling, sweet burn stemming from your clit to the rest of your body that you needed to satiate.

“please,” you begged, and he hummed, curling an arm beneath you to play with the sensitive swell of your nipples, holding you close to him as you jolted with each brush of your clit.

“wanna come?” he asked softly, and you nodded eagerly, feeling the first waves of your orgasm pulling you under—

then he pulled his hips back, pushing you back down to the bed, and you almost sobbed at the loss of friction against your core.

he leaned down to coo in your ear softly, “what’s wrong, princess?”

that desperate, squirming ache in your stomach melded into something angry.

“stop teasing me!” you snapped, sending him a teary-eyed look from over your shoulder, jolting when his eyes snapped up to yours.

his face was hooded—lustful, pupils blown wide, and dark with something sinister you’d never seen before.

“stop teasing?” he growled, pushing his hips forward between your thighs again, your clit twitching against the tip of him. “like how you were teasing me earlier?”

you whined as he began rolling his hips, the combined slick coming down your legs in a sticky, mixed muddle, and gasping when he hooked his arm beneath you and pulled you up so you were leaned back against his chest—his teeth sinking into the skin of your shoulder.

you grabbed at the back of his neck, a pleasurable pain gliding across your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. a dark, slithering heat tightened that inevitable knot in your tummy when he slid a big hand up and wrapped it around your throat.

“bratty girls get punished. didn’t church teach you that?”

the moan you let out was downright sinful, breathy, and left your throat raw and aching, as you clawed at his hand around your throat, trying and failing to anchor yourself to anything.

he pitched forward, grabbing at your hand and pinned it down to the bed beneath his, intertwining your fingers tightly, and you watched his length between your thighs leak white pearls that glided down your skin with every heavenly thrust.

“are you gonna be good?” he whispered out, and you nodded eagerly, a slew of little whimpers and begs falling from your lips like a breathy flood.

he purred a sound of approval. “i know you will. bein’ such a good girl lettin’ me fuck your thighs like this.”

“yes, Simon, i’ll be good, i’ll be good—”

god you were so close—

“pretty girl. my sweet girl. you’re mine.”

his growled words guided you right through those convulsing shudders and a hot, searing haze welled up in your throat—tears pricking in your eyes from the intensity of it.

you only realized that Ghost came too when you felt ropes of something warm and thick splashed against your cunt and inner thighs, his groans a pretty song right by your ear.

he practically crushed you to the bed, his warm, sweaty body pleasant against your skin. you stayed like that for a long time, listening to his deep breaths, a tickling drip down your spine—the after-effect of your shared pleasure.

you never wanted the sensation to leave you.

you searched for Ghost behind you and came into contact with his shoulder, then grabbed at his neck, and he hummed contentedly, sliding his arms beneath your stomach, pressing fleeting kisses to your shoulder and neck.

you squirmed, giggling at the ticklish sensation, but you were trapped there, and he only kissed you more with a soft smile against your skin, up to your ear, your cheek, before he leaned back to turn you over.

you looked up at him, his brown eyes warm and lips twisted in a wry smile, and curled your arms around his shoulders to pull him back down. he settled between your thighs, cheek pressed to your breast, and you scratched at the back of his head lightly like your mama used to do to make you fall asleep after a bad nightmare.

he practically purred, sinking further into the big bed, his arms winding back around your middle.

his voice was a raw rasp. “does this mean you’ll accept my request?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile on your face. “where are we going for a date?”

he inched up your body so he braced his forearms beside your head, the tip of his nose brushing yours. he blinked at you, face blank.

“don’t get mad at me, alright?”

you quirked your brow, sliding your hands up his shoulders, filling the dips and grooves of the bunched up muscle.

“what’re you hiding, Simon?”

he cocked his head. “it’s a social event.”

your brows rose. a social event?

you thought back to your daddy’s letter, such a strange and hazy memory now—i’ll round up my men and join the effort in two weeks time after we conjoin at the social. there, we can talk finances.

was that the same social?

you turned your cheek, giving Ghost a sidelong look. “the same one my daddy was talking about?”

you saw something flash in his eyes before his face became impossibly imperceptible again.

“how did you know about that?”

you snorted. “i snooped through your basement, remember?”

his brows rose, a very slow smile creeping up on his lips.

you frowned at him. “what?”

he shook his head, grinning, “nothing.”

you dug your nails a bit into his shoulders. “tell me.”

“it’s just—”

he wouldn’t look into your eyes. he leaned down closer to you, lips against your cheek, voice a seductive, low sound. “your mind. i lust for it.”

your breath hitched. “lust for it?”

he nodded. “you’re brilliant. it’s sexy.”

you scoffed, swatting at his shoulder lightly, and a laugh rumbled through his chest into yours.

you wondered what he would think about your brilliant mind if he knew that you were periodically going through… mental struggles. you thought about something else instead.

“tell me what this social’s about.”

you watched him close his eyes, fingers fumbling with your hair. “Turner’s having a masquerade ball. somethin’ ‘bout going back to historical roots.”

your brows shot up. “and you want to go with me?”

his smirk was devilish. “who else? i was invited.”

now, your brow was furrowed. “why would Turner invite you?”

he shook his head. “he didn’t. it’s his way of having a little victory party over this war before it’s even really begun. s’basically an invitation.”

there was a bitter taste in your mouth.

“i thought you said i wasn’t going anywhere near Turner?”

he shifted above you, eyes open now, and hand still tangled in your hair.

“changed my mind.”

you scoffed. for Ghost, changing his mind wasn’t surprising. in the matter of Turner and you however…

“why’d you change your mind?” you pressed softly, meeting his buttery warm eyes.

he smiled, whole body going lax and soft against you. “last night.”

that didn’t clarify anything at all. when your jaw dropped open to reply, he filled the words in for you.

“s’just a stupid omen. there was a coyote. it was scared just at the sight of me, but i was more scared than anything.”

you stroked along the soft, warm skin of his back. “why?”

“because i wanted to protect you.”

his eyes were wide and open, and you bit your lip, a new burning ache pushing up between your lungs.

“i promised i’d never let anyone hurt you again,” he said with a hush, pressing his forehead to yours. “i want you to be with me when you’re in danger.”

then, he slid down pressing his ear to the steady thrum of your heart. “just be with me all the time.”

a rush of sweetness poured through you. just be with me all the time.

you felt giddy, your grin big and making your cheeks ache.

“is that what you were getting all thoughtful about this morning?”

you remembered him sitting on the rock beside you, fumbling with his knife, face shadowed and faint with a furrowed brow.

he craned his neck to look up at you.

“you noticed, smart girl?”

you wanted to scoff. “i notice a lot of things.”

you drew lazy circles into his skin. “i noticed how you always like to fold my clothes. i noticed how like to put your face here—”

you pointed to the area where your hair pooled around your neck, and with that, he pulled forward to press his face to that spot with a contented hum.

you held the back of his head, feeling like you were in a hazy, surreal dreamscape.

had you really wanted revenge on him only a night ago? a few mere hours ago? did it really matter what his original intentions were with you when he displayed his feelings so clearly like this?

yes, a voice hissed out, leaving you feeling uneasy, but you beat it down so it wouldn’t cloud the blissful moment.

soon, he pulled away, shifting off of you, and slid off the bed to kneel on the hardwood floor again. the absence of him felt wrong—cold and too light. like you needed his heavy warmth to pin you back down again.

he gripped at your splayed hand from the edge of the bed. “will you go on a date with me, lovely?”

his question was completely simple and pure, but you found yourself wanting to tease him, lips twisting into a sly smile, enjoying the way he blinked in response, a bit perturbed.

“and what will we do on this date, Simon?”

you flipped over onto your stomach, propping up your head up over your elbows with your knuckles, in love with the way his blonde lashes fluttered against your cheek when your noses brushed. his lips were a mere breath away from yours.

“dine. dance…” he whispered, dark eyes flickering from your own to your lips.

his lips parted, head tilting. “maybe i can hold Turner down, and you can torture him to death.”

at that you laughed, pulling back away from him and curling onto your side into the sheets. he remained at the edge of the bed, grin wide and wolfish. once your fit of laughter stopped, you peered back over your shoulder with a hum.

“i’ll tell you what i decide in the morning,” you sang, sitting up, watching with delight as a curiosity burned in his gaze.

“did i not teach you well enough what happens when you tease me?” he asked, voice throaty, and you shivered, suddenly very aware of the exposed nature of your bare skin.

you shrugged. “guess you’ll have to remind me.”

his eyes darkened and you squirmed away from him with a giggle across the big bed so he couldn’t reach you so easily. his brows rose carefully.

“think i can’t catch you if you run away like that, bunny?”

a low, kicking thrum came back to life between your thighs.

“what are you?” you asked with a laugh, gripping at the sheets, “a wolf?”

he cocked his head in a predatory manner, words low and deep. “when i want to be.”

you shuddered and he just shook his head with an amused look, padding away from the bed to a door across the room. behind it was a bathroom, and he disappeared inside, the sound of running water accompanying you as you laid back down on the bed, reclining back into the soft blankets and even softer pillows.

the more you laid there, the more you could feel a growing, painful ache returning to your shoulder. it was stiff, hot and swollen to the touch, and you chided yourself for going so… rough in your intimate moment with Ghost.

but when he sauntered back out of the bathroom, footsteps eerily quiet, a damp washcloth in hand, you didn’t feel an ounce of regret.

he helped clean you up, swiping away your shared fluids from your skin as his kissed the crown of your head with a tenderness. you reached for the cloth, grabbing his bare hip, and were about to return the favor when you were reacquainted with the battered state of his body.

the bruises had reduced but there were still a blotchy, purple mess, and his stitches were just as bad as before—that same dried crust around it. now, you really chided yourself, angry that you hadn’t taken a moment to take care of him before…

you wiped away any residue from his nether regions, before thumbing gently over that strong, muscled v-line of his hip.

“what is it?” he asked, touching a knuckle to the bottom of your chin and tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

you blinked. “it’s really bad.”

his expression was blank. “honestly, lovely, i’ve had worse.”

“like what?” you pressed, and when his face contorted, you waved a hand.

“nevermind. don’t tell me.” you might be sick if he did.

“just please let me take care of you,” you practically begged, sliding a hand down his bare thigh as his eyes narrowed.

your frown deepened, trying to give him your best doe-eyed pout, and he heaved a sigh with a nod, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

you walked to the bathroom, casting a look over your shoulder to make sure Ghost was still sitting obediently at the bed, and when he cocked an impatient brow at you, you bit back a smirk as you entered the bathroom.

there was a big tub pressed to the corner of the room, and a wash bin where you rinsed off the wash cloth and grabbed an extra cup from the sink, filling it with water. you fished around the ornate cabinets, smiling in victory when you found a jar of vaseline pushed to the very back of a cabinet filled with sparse miscellaneous items. your mama had spread it over any injury of yours like an invisible gauze.

taking a moment to inspect your appearance in the mirror, cheeks flushed and hair disheveled, you splashed your face with a bit of water and calmed your hair with your hands.

on the back of the bathroom door, you took the simple silk robe in a pale yellow pattern and tied it around yourself, walking back out to Ghost who was lounged back against the bed and still stark naked.

“has my pretty nurse come to my aid?” he asked, eyes half-lidded.

you just nodded with a sheepish smile, crawling over to him and dipping the washcloth in the water before dabbing at the stitches. you watched his whole body tense with a hiss, and then relax again, his eyes screwed shut.

“sorry,” you squeaked with wince, wiping away the yellow ooze around it. you bit your lip, brows furrowed as you looked down at the fleshy wound—red and swollen with a loose thread pulled through it. you pressed your fingertips to it and he jolted, jaw clenched. it was hot to the touch.

“it didn’t reopen, did it?” you asked sullenly, and his eyes barely fluttered open.

“i’d be bleeding if it did.”

with that, you spread the cool vaseline over it, and he sighed, sinking back into the bed. then, he wrapped an arm around your waist, and you muffled a squeak as he tugged you towards him into pillows.

his lips were against your hair. “shoulder?”

you pushed away from him with a hand to his chest, and he grumbled in protest as you moved to put your gathered medical supplies onto the nightstand.

“s’okay. kind of swollen but nothing like yesterday.”

the sound that left his throat was full of disapproval.

instead you changed the subject, turning to him with a hand on your hip.

“are you gonna change?”

his brows raised slightly, knees tipping wider as he picked up his head to look at you with a smirk. with a blush, you refused to look down at his bare, muscled body.

“nope.”

rolling your eyes, you clambered back into the bed and he tugged the silky robe loose from your body, and you just let him do as he liked as he positioned the both of you beneath the thick blankets.

he pulled you into his pleasant warmth and you hummed, your cheek nestled to his chest and his lips against your hair.

the room was dim, a lulling quiet darkness over the room now, pitching deep into the night. you drew circles over his forearm cast over your waist.

“when will you leave?” you whispered, sullen, because you knew these tranquil, soft moments were dwindling with uncertainty.

he smoothed a hand over your back. “in a little bit.”

you bit your lip. “why can’t i come with you?”

he shook his head, and you closed your eyes, a pinched feeling in your chest.

“i have to do this on my own. you won’t be in danger here.”

you thought back to what he said a mere moments ago.

“what happened to just be with me all the time?”

his words were soft. “you are with me all the time.”

you craned your neck to look up at him and he inclined his head against the pillows, tapping with a finger to his chest lightly.

oh.

“i think i’ve read about that in a children’s fantasy novel, Ghost,” you said with a cocked brow and he gave you a wry smile, then shifted to tuck his chin over your head.

“what happened to Simon?”

you closed your eyes. “Simon privileges revoked.”

he scoffed. “bratty.”

you smacked at his arm and he didn’t even move—like a big rock you could anchor yourself to.

a big rock you wanted to anchor yourself to, except that he was always leaving it seemed.

and when he left, would he actually come back as promised? or would he leave you to the streets of san francisco as you feared—without a use for you?

unless your use was turning up to Turner’s masquerade as Ghost’s lady for the evening in another display of their battle for… ownership.

at that you stiffened and Ghost roused against you, his even breaths hitching.

the question you posed was careful and calculating. “if i wanted to run away and never look back, would you let me?”

he went impossibly still at that. then, he pulled back far enough so you could see the grim lines of his face, even through the darkness and the shroud of his mask.

“yes.” the word was so strained it almost didn’t sound like his own voice. “i think it’d kill me though.”

you cocked your head.

“when are you gonna take that mask off?”

his eyes flashed. “full of questions are you?”

you nodded. “always.”

he looked away from you. “i can’t answer all of them yet.”

always hiding something from you.

“why not?” you pressed, and he frowned, taking up your hand to press to his chest.

“in time,” he whispered, kissing the back of it, before sliding out from under the blankets.

you gripped his wrist to keep him tethered to you, voice cracking wide open.

“did you mean what you said?”

he cocked his head, eyes a placid coolness.

you swallowed hard “about courting me? about me being yours?”

your breath was shallow when you added, “do you really think you’ll die tomorrow?”

he stared at you for a long moment before sighing out, climbing back onto the bed and over you, leaning down to brush his lips against yours softly. you jolted with a gasp, straining up to kiss that silvery scar on his upper lip carefully. he was stock still, eyes following your movement with a familiar stoicism.

“i will be back tomorrow morning,” he promised and you grimaced.

“will you?”

he nodded strongly. “before dawn.”

you curled an arm around his neck. “promise me?”

“honest to god.”

you winced, remembering your words from two nights ago.

how can you be honest to god?

as he redressed to go out into the night, you watched him to try and find any tightness in his movements. the stiff motion of his body looked pure and simple—easing off the pressure of his injuries.

there wasn’t a trace of apprehension as he slung his gun back into his holster, sheathed knives back into the layer of his trench coat, and put on his stetson, that silver skull pendant on its brim glimmering in the dull light.

but you had seen how easily he lied to the kind man earlier.

how easily he could lie to you.

before he left, he pressed his forehead to yours, cool leather palm against your chest, and then to that spot where your hair and neck met, and then he stepped out into the hallway and the door shut behind him.

you twisted in the sheets, searching for a sliver of warmth that he had left behind.

there was an emptiness in your heart when you couldn’t find it.

you couldn’t sleep almost the entire night—desperately waiting for when the sun would breach the horizon, and Ghost would crawl back into that space in your heart you left vacant for him.

the night steeped into an black sky, clouds drifting across the moon in splotchy patches. you fell into a half-slumber, perched between the soft pillows of the bed when there was a quiet thud from a distance.

you startled, picking up your head and searching in the darkness in a sleepy haze.

“Ghost?” you whispered out, only a silence answering you, as a form materialized, prowling forward from the entrance of the room.

it was the girl with milky skin and an inky black hair, in that same revealing dress as before, skin reflective in the moonlight, and a revolver in her hand.

important note: if anyone wants to learn more about san francisco’s chinatown in circa. 1900, here’s are two articles i found interesting: time magazine (bubonic plague) and history.net (prostitution & Donaldina Cameron)

that being said, i want to clarify that much of san francisco’s chinatown culture became characterized solely about prostitution, opium, and gambling in the media (movies, tv shows, etc.) because of racial prejudices in the 1900s. while i talk about those themes in this story, they don’t make up even half of the rich culture in san francisco's chinatown and i do not want to create that impression!!

ugh anyways i didn’t mean to make this chapter so angsty 🙁 it will get better i promise i promise i promise but thank you for all your guys’s amazing support <33 i hope you enjoyed this chapterrr <33 next up... character development 🌚

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