#gurgling crying rolling on the floor

[scrawlingskribbles]

first drawing of the year (well, technically second, but shhh) & I am, once again, overflowing with adoration for my darling dorter~ 🤧❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💖✨

*Edit: colored her digitally too bc I'm trying to get used to digital drawing what feels like all over again at this point lmao <3

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 1) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

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

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

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

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

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

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

header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

you had heard the whispers on the horizon.

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

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

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

Ghost was coming to town.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

he wasn’t even human.

a ghost. or so you heard.

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

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

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

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

“Ghost.”

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

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

Daddy’s got business with Ghost.

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

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

“wanted bourbon.”

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

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

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

shakily, you exhaled. “no.”

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

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

“light me up, lovely?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you stared at the floor instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what brings you to our small town?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost leaned forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your brows raised. Daddy did business with Ghost?

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

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

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

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

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

“Turner is protecting you now?”

“yes.” 

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

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

“you know i can’t do that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what did Ghost know about fairness? 

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost blinked. “what’re my terms?”

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

his eyes narrowed. “body and soul?”

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

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

“Henry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“gearing up to kill me?”

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

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

he watched all your movements with an eerie silence.

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

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

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

“‘course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

“tell me anyway.”

“i hate it here.”

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

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

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

you whispered it under your breath. “devil.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daddy could never out gun Ghost even if he tried.

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

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

you nodded, swallowing, throat bone dry.

“you’ll be fine.”

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

“i’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

no you’re not.

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

“goodbye, Daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you cleared your throat. “where are we?”

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

“border of southern california.”

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

“and this cabin…?”

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

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

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

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

you can do this.

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

“you gonna sit?”

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

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

“relax. no need to be so worked up.”

you nodded. “right.”

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

his accent thickened. “what are you doing?”

“i-i thought—”

“you thought wrong.” his words were cutting.

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

you fumbled with your hands awkwardly.

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

but you couldn’t hold your tongue long enough—

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

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

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

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

you almost hissed at him.

“i thought you said you knew manners?” 

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

“may i please have some food, sir?”

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

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

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

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

you swallowed. “what stuff?”

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

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

“no.”

Ghost cocked his head. “that so?”

you nodded. “Daddy just had touchy customers.”

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

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

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

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

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

“what’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shivered violently, a chill passing over you.

“cold?”

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

“mhmm.”

he jerked his head to the bed.

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

you balked, fist clenching and unclenching.

“but…what about Mr. Turner’s men?”

he turned still, hand twitching at his holster.

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

“but…” Ghost moved to grab his saddlebag. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

always ten steps ahead of you.

“gearing up to kill me?”

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

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

your skin felt cold but his stare was hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“sure you’re not scared, lovely?”

your jaw clenched. “yes.”

“really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you dropped your knapsack to the ground.

“where’s my revolver?”

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

“revolver privileges revoked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what’re you doing?” 

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

“what are you doing with my horse?”

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

what?

“what?” 

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

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

“where are you going?”

Ghost just stared at you. “into town.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then, you heard distant voices chattering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“she was here.”

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

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

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

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

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

an icy drip went down your back.

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

your heart was still beating out of your chest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

my love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks,

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

he ties up one foot, the saddle puts on,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;

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

and it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.

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

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

beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide;

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

in the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho.

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

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

“Ghost!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “you’ll die.”

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

“no i won’t.”

you shot him a glare.

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

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

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

you slapped at the side of his face.

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

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

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

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

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

he huffed. “stupid girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“tea.” she nodded to the steaming cup.

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

“for now.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ghost’s girl, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“they should be here any minute now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you assumed it was Kate shushing him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“more or less.”

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

“where’s Ghost?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your brows rose. “there were others fighting?”

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

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

“so the man who shot Ghost last night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soap shot out, “do we tell her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she smiled lightly. “a small one.”

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

“is this the only town you protect?” 

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

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

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

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

“friends?”

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

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

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

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

“who?”

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

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

and you didn’t even know it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“stealing my things again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“that so?”

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

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

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

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

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

you smiled at that, gripping his wrist weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

“who then?” he demanded, voice silky.

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

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

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

i want you to touch me.

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

i want only you to touch me.

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

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

“i dont know.”

“tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“does it hurt?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you know what this is then?”

you nodded dumbly.

“really?” you had no idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“greedy are we, pretty thing?”

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

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

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

“what hurts?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“say my name, princess.”

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

Simon, Simon, Simon.

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

Simon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you whimpered. what would the lord think?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“that so?”

you rolled your eyes. “yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“but—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fairyniceyeah]

🧚🏻‍♀️Emeto cheat sheet

Causes of vomiting:

Alcohol (+Flush gene)

Allergic reaction

Anxiety

Appendicitis   

Bulimia

Cancer (+Chemotherapy)

Coffee on empty stomach

Crohn’s Disease

Cycling Vomiting Syndrome

Exhaustion

Extortion (sports) on empty stomach       

Fevers       

Flu

Food intolerances       

Food poisoning (salmonella, E.Coli …)·       

Gallstones       

Gastroenteritis       

Gastrointestinal Obstruction

Gastroparesis    

Hangover

Heat/Heat stroke   

Indigestion

Kidney Infection

Labyrinthitis (ear infection)

Lactose Intolerance

Medication (Antibiotics, opioids)

Ménières Disease

Meningitis       

Migraines/Headaches       

Motion sickness (cars, buses, boats, planes …)       

Norovirus

Overeating       

Pain      

Panic Attacks  

Poison

Pregnancy

Reflux     

Rollercoasters       

Stomach flu

Ulcerative colitis

Ulcers

UTIs

Vertigo

What happens before:

Abdominal pain

Clutching Stomach

Dizziness/Vertigo

Dry Mouth

Dry-heaving

Gagging 

Hand (Back of hand/Palm) to mouth

Heaviness of limbs

Nausea/Queasiness/Feeling sick

Paleness/Ashen, green or grey face

Panic/Fear

Rapid heartbeat

Reacting to stimulants (sight/smell/taste of food e.g)

Salivia builds up/Mouth waters

Shallow/Rapid breathing

Sour stomach

Stomach cramps

Sweating

Throat tightening

Wanting fresh air

What happens during:

Sound:

Burp/Hiccough

Coughing

Echoing back 

Gagging/Retching/Heaving/Wretching

Gurgling stomach

Rapid breathing

Splattering

Vomit hitting water/receptacle

Sight:

(No) Remnants of previous food

Color (Brown/Depends on previous food) of sick

Liquidly/Chunky/Thick sick

Vomit in corner of mouth

Vomit/Sick/Throw up splattering on floor

Smell:

Acidic

Putrid

Rancid

Sour

Taste:

Acidic

Bitter

Previous food

Sour

Feeling/Misc.:

Back rippling

Burning in mouth/throat/nose

Choking/Feeling like there is no air

Crying

Curling up into themselves/into caretaker

Gagging/Retching/Heaving

Hot vomit/bile/stomach contents

Hyperventilation/Panic

Liquidly/Chunky/Thick sick

Sticky sick on clothing

Stomach contracting/Rolling/Gurgling

Stomach contents sloshing around

Torrent/Wave/Spray/Mouthfuls of sick coming up

Trembling

Vomit gushing/rushing out of mouth (+nose)/up their throat

Vomit seeping through fingers

What happens after:

Being overwhelmed

Blurry vision (from tears)

Changing clothes/Cleaning

Coughing

Cramps

Crying/Sobbing

Cuddling/Soothing

Dehydration

Dizziness/Vertigo

Drinking water

Falling/Slumping forwards against toilet/bucket

Lost/Rough voice/Pain in throat

Medication

Passing out/Fainting

Resting head on toilet seat

Shaking/Trembling

Staying hunched over – not sure if gonna be sick again

Taking Temperature

Wiping away tears/vomit

What the caretaker can do:

Call for help (another caretaker/medical)

Cleaning/Disinfecting

Hold bucket/trash bin/other receptacle

Holding back hair (strands/at the neck)/fringe

Holding sickie upright

Holding sickies hand

Make hot water bottle

Make sickie blow their nose

Make sickie drink to replenish lost fluids

Make sickie lay down (on their side/on caretaker’s lap)

Make sickie take medication/temperature

Make soup

Rubbing circles on back

Rubbing stomach

Soothe sickie (don’t hold it in, you will feel better after …)

Whispering comfort

Wiping away tears/vomit

Other related symptoms:

Abdominal pain/cramps

Bloating

Diarrhea

Dizziness/Vertigo

Fever

Headache/Dehydration headache

Hiccoughs/Burping

Inability to keep anything down

Nausea

Paleness/Grey, green or ashen face

Shaking/Trembling

Possible scenarios:

Bathroom is occupied

Being in public/situation they can’t escape from

Caretaker finding sickie on bathroom floor

Carrying a bucket around wherever sickie goes

Clutching a bucket/bin/plastic bag/toilet so hard their knuckles turn white

Cramps so bad sickie can’t move

Curling up on bathroom floor

Eating something despite knowing they are allergic to it

Eating something without realizing they are allergic to it

Feeling sick all day without relief

Feverish and dizzy

Getting admitted to hospital

Inability to keep anything down

Movie marathon as distraction

Multiple sickies (+ not enough bathrooms)

Rubbing sick tummy

Sick during transport

Throwing up in (empty/full) trash bin

Throwing up in bag

Throwing up in bucket

Throwing up in hand

Throwing up in toilet

Throwing up on blankets

Throwing up on floor

Throwing up on something/someone

Throwing up the medication/pills

Throwing up what they just ate/drank

Unable to leave bathroom

Unable to make it to bathroom

Waking up sick in the middle of the night

If you have any more suggestions, please contact me ✌🏼

[pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb]

Kid x Reader x Killer angst to eventual comfort

Based off of my Brain Rot TM here

Writing is my therapy and I experienced a sub-drop last night from audio stuff and didn't really have a Dom, so I had an anxiety/panic attack. ANYWAYS. Be careful out there, and communicate clearly.

TW's: Starts with consensual threesome smut, non-con elements, degradation, rough sex, anxiety attack, suggested sub-drop, GN reader

Notes: I spelled his name 'Kidd' even though I later learned it's 'Kid' so whoops lmao.

WC: ~5.6k

-----

You were nearly suffocating, but gods you loved it. One thick cock was fucking your cute, dripping hole, and the other cock was being rammed down your throat as you jerked forward from the crude thrusts behind you. One hand was holding you up by your handcuffed wrists, and another held a fistful of your hair to keep your head still. Your eyes rolled back as you gagged again around the cock in your throat, drool dripping obscenely down your chin and onto the mattress you were knelt on.

"What a fucking slut, huh Killer? Gonna stretch this lil hole 'till it's gaping" Kidd growled as he gave a particularly harsh thrust behind you. Killer grunted in agreement.

"Look at 'em. Gagging and crying on your cock because it deserves to cry, to barely be able to breathe as we take our fuckin pleasure. Nothing but holes to me."

Kidd continued to talk, degrading you. His voice was deep and hoarse, belying his pleasure. Your shoulders were aching from being held up for so long, but not enough to use the signal to end things. Kidd's thrusts became harder as he yanked you back against his cock, and you felt something in your shoulder pop. Pain bloomed in your shoulder, and though you knew nothing had torn and nothing was broken, it would be soon.

You tried to snap your fingers a few times, but they were too squished in Kidd's grip. You were beginning to panic, and you tried to speak but could only get out a gurgled moan.

"Stay still, bitch- or do I have to teach you a lesson? Need this hole filled until it's overflowing. Nothing but a fucking pocket pussy to us. Pathetic little thing. Please us or we'll dump you" he growled.

You needed to do something. Anything to get out. You tried turning your head, and only succeeded in scraping your teeth against Killer's dick, and he yanked back with a hiss. His cock was removed fully, and you raspily called out the safe word.

"Red"

Killer paused.

"What did you say?" he sounded concerned.

Kidd only shoved your face into the mattress. Something in your neck and shoulder clicked painfully, and you cried out a little.

"Pocket pussy's don't get to speak" he growled. Killer pushed Kidd from your back roughly.

"Speak" the blond ordered to you.

"Red" you whispered, tears now flowing from your eyes for a different reason.

"Okay okay, we're done. Kidd. We're done." Killer spoke firmly to his partner, who was still slowly thrusting in your sore hole. Kidd scoffed, and brought down a hand harshly on your ass, and you jerked forward, off his dick.

"Pathetic."

Kidd gathered a wad of spit in his mouth before spitting it on your ass as you laid there, shaking and crying.

Killer brought his fist up and slammed it across the redhead's face, knocking him off the bed.

"Get out and go cool off" he ordered. Kidd rammed a fist through the wooden floor, and you flinched, breath becoming erratic. You couldn't move. Your head was fuzzy, and all you knew is that you did something bad. He hurt you, and you were bad. The mattress rocked as Killer pushed off the bed and there was a rustle of cloth.

"Get out!" Killer opened the door, and you heard heavy foot falls before the door was slammed shut and locked. At the slam of the door, you flinched and wrapped your hands around your head, curling into the fetal position. Your fists gripped your hair, pulling at it and scratching at the scalp. Your body tensed with each footstep approaching you.

"Hey, baby" Killer spoke softly in his deep voice. You tensed, readying your body as if to ward off any berating words. You were hyperventilating, tear flowing onto the mattress.

"Can I hold your hand?"

You shook your head, not believing you were worthy of any affection. But you couldn't speak.

A soft, fluffy blanket draped over your naked body, shaking like a leaf in the wind as your chest worked rapidly.

"Kick it off if you get too hot. I'm going to lay down next to you and I'm going to breathe. You're going to do your best to follow, okay? Can you speak?"

You managed to shake your head at his question. You couldn't speak. Your voice wouldn't come out, and you couldn't even get yourself to move enough to open your mouth.

"Okay. Put your hand on your chest so you can follow my breathing."

You whimpered, curling into yourself. Why can't I move? Why am I being so bad. I can't- I can't-.

"Can you move your arm?"

You shook your head, starting to sob harder.

"Hey, hey. Okay. You're here. You're okay. Can I move your hand for you? It'll just rest on my chest and then I'll keep it there."

You nodded, grateful that he was willing to help someone- no, something- like you. Rough, calloused hands gently pried one of your hands away from your hair, and held it. His hand was warm. He moved your hand to his chest, right over his heart. Your shaking hand and body resisted his kindness, but he slowly moved your arm.

"There. Okay? Now I'm going to breathe deeply in.... and out. Can you feel that?" Your arm moved up with the inflation of his lungs, and sank back down with the exhalation. You nodded, hiccupping breaths catching in your throat.

"Okay, now follow me. Ready?" He began breathing in deeply, and you tried to choke down the bucking of your lungs to follow his instructions. I can't be bad. I'll be hurt.

"Good. You're doing so good for me. Keep going."

His hand kept your on his chest, over his heart until you could breathe deeply with him.

"Good job, you did so well. Can I hold you now?"

You nodded, needing to feel protected. He moved quickly to wrap his arms around you, your hand still on his chest as he brought his forehead to yours. At some point, he had removed his helmet.

"Oh sweetie, you did so well saying the safeword. I'm glad you told us."

You began crying and sobbing at his words.

"...i'm sor-r..." you tried to speak, but it burned your throat to do it while crying. Killer pulled your body closer, one hand on the back of your head as he tucked your head under his chin.

"Don't apologize, little one. You did so good. You did everything right. Are you hurt?"

You curled into him, letting yourself cry. Your shoulder still ached, and your neck hurt to move too much. You nodded slightly, your sobs shaking your shoulders as you made a fist against his chest.

"When you feel ready, I need you to show me where, okay?" Killer eased his grip on your body, but stroked your hair as you cried into him. You don't know how much time had passed when your tears finally began to cease.

"...i'm sorry..." you managed to whispered. Killer hummed soothingly in his large chest.

"You're okay sweetie. You did so well. You did everything right" he soothed you. You pulled back from him, and tried to look up at him but flinched as your neck flared in pain. You sucked in air between your teeth as your eyes slammed shut in pain.

"Does your neck hurt?"

You whispered an affirmative.

"Anywhere else?"

"...shoulder" you murmured, eyes squeezed shut. Your body was starting to shake again as you admitted your injuries. Killer's calloused hand trailed lightly over your neck and shoulder.

"Thank you for telling me, hon. Is it muscle pain?" he asked softly. You managed a slight nod.

"Okay. Your muscles have cooled off now so lets run a bath to help with the ache, okay? C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up."

You held onto him as he started to rise, and he paused, looking down at you curiously.

"You okay?"

Tears brimmed your eyes again as you spoke.

"You didn't finish. Neither did.. he."

Killer chuckled a little, and cradled your jaw in his hand.

"You're so sweet to worry about that. I'm perfectly fine. So is Kidd."

He looked down at you confidently, and it eased your fears.

"If you need to use me later..." you murmured unthinkingly.

"Hey. No. No. That's not how this works. We love and care about you, and no matter what we say in bed, that will never change. Your boundaries always come first, no matter what. You're hurt from this time, and Kidd went way too far. He's at fault here, and he knows it. You're way more than a thing to us. We love you, as a person. As a being. You're everything to me. To us."

The tears that were brimming fell down your cheeks, and you held your arms out to him.

"I'm sorry" you murmured. He picked you up easily, one arm stabilizing your neck gently and the other scooping you up under your butt. You made a sound at the movement, your hole sensitive and bruised.

"Don't be sorry, baby. I'm sorry. I should've noticed you couldn't signal if you needed to stop" he murmured back. You whined at his apology.

You let him carry you to the connecting bathroom. He sat you down on the toilet as he went to fill the tub.

"Cmon. I know you gotta go. I know you're shy about it so I'm going to turn around and watch the bath while I cover my ears, okay?"

You quickly relieved yourself and patted your poor hole dry from the wetness from earlier. You stood yourself on shaky legs and flushed. Killer turned at your movement, and wrapped you in his arms before you toppled over.

"Let's get in the bath, okay?" you hummed an affirmative, your neck really starting to ache. He stepped into the hot water, easing you down with him. You hissed at the temperature on your abused hole, but quickly moaned in relief. You were more sore than you thought.

"Good, doing so good for me" Killer soothed as you shifted in his lap. He grabbed a nearby wash cloth and dipped it in the water, wringing it out over your neck and injured shoulder. You hummed as the heat soothed the pain a little. You yawned, exhausted from your panic.

"Lemme take care of you. Don't gotta worry 'bout a single thing with me 'round, okay?" a light kiss tickled your temple and you hummed an affirmative, drifting off into a doze as Killer ran the washcloth over your body, cleaning you of your tears and sweat.

You groaned in displeasure as he picked you up from the cooling water and he chuckled a little.

"I know but you'll be warm soon enough"

You huffed at him and in response, he wrapped you in a fluffy towel, drying you off as you sat on the edge of the tub.

"Killer..." you muttered his name, trying to thank him, but another thought struck you instead.

"Hmm?"

"Does he not like me anymore?" tears welled in your eyes again, and you looked down at your boyfriend as he knelt in front of you. He pulled you into a hug, cradling your head gently into his neck.

"That's not it. I don't know why he acted so awful. I know how much he cares about you. He loves you. I love you. Okay?"

You sniffled.

"I love you too" you mumbled. Killer kissed your cheek, and pulled back with his hand cradling your jaw. You leaned in to kiss him on the lips chastely. You pulled back, wincing as the movement made your shoulder and neck hurt.

"Let's get you dressed and into bed. I'll get you some pain medication too."

He picked you up and carried you to the bedroom, setting your pliant body on the bed. You sat on the edge, staring at the wall and starting to zone out.

Why did he do that? He... He didn't stop. He spat on me and called me pathetic. Killer had to punch him to get him off the bed. Is he okay? What if he had a crash too?

Soft fabric slid against your bare thighs, distracting you from your thoughts. Killer looked up at you with his piercing blue eyes, curious. You noticed he had put sweats on finally.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?"

You sighed.

"What if he also had a... crash?" you asked. Killer sighed, and put the shirt over your head. He guided your arms through the sleeves as he spoke.

"If he did, he would need to be alone. It's how he is" he answered thoughtfully. You hummed, noticing Killer put one of his own old shirts on you.

"Is it weak to need help when I have a-"

"No."

Killer cut you off firmly before you finished. He cupped your cheeks in his large hands, holding your teary gaze.

"You're not weak. You're so strong for telling us to stop when you were in pain and when it was really hard for you to. It's not pathetic, like Kid called you. You are amazing, truly" he kissed your forehead gently, and a single tear slid down your cheek. His thumb wiped it away quickly. You sniffed, bringing the hand of your uninjured side to cover the back of his hand.

"Thank you" you whispered. He smiled softly.

"You're welcome. There's some pain meds and a glass of water on the bedside table, and I know Kid keeps some muscle cream in here somewhere. Let's get your neck and shoulder taken care of, okay?"

You shuffled yourself back painfully towards the head of the bed. You never realized just how much you used your neck and shoulder muscles. Killer met you with the water and pills, and you took them quickly. He took the empty glass and put it on the bedside table before opening a tube of cream he procured while you were choking down the pills. He swept stray hair out of the way and gently massaged the cream into your sore muscles. The cream had a strong menthol smell and had a strange burning yet cooling sensation on the skin.

"Good. That should start to feel better tomorrow" he said, recapping the tube. He wiped his hands off on your discarded towel and helped ease you into the blankets. He went around the room, turning off the lights before crawling into bed next to you, spooning you from behind. He littered kisses on your head and the back of your neck, making you giggle a little.

"Hmmmm there ya are. Go to sleep now. Ya need it" he said gently. You sighed.

"I know... you need to go see if he's okay to stop worrying. But can you wait until I'm asleep?"

His arms tightened around you.

"Of course."

With the promise, you drifted off to sleep quickly, exhausted.

---

You woke to the sound of rustling clothes as someone got dressed. You sighed heavily, turning over and immediately regretting your movement. Pain bloomed through your neck and shoulder, making you wince and groan.

"Mornin', sweetie. How ya feelin'?" Killer's gravelly morning voice soothed your annoyance at being in pain so soon after waking up. You hummed in response. You heard his footsteps walk to your side of the bed, and your eyes opened. The sun was shining from behind him, illuminating his hair like an aura around his body. He looked like he was glowing. You smiled at him dreamily.

"You're so pretty" you murmur. Killer let out a scoff but was obviously pleased at your compliment. He leaned over you, one arm holding some of his weight by your side. His lips pressed to your cheek in a dramatic, drawn out kiss that you've only seen him do a few times behind closed doors. Usually it was used to turn Kidd into a blushing, yelling mess. You giggled at the feeling.

"Ya still hurtin?" he asked, looking down at you. He looked concerned, and even hesitant to ask. The memories of last night came flooding back, and your smile died.

"Yeah" you answered eventually. He stood and rummaged around your bedside table.

"Here, lemme put the cream on before you take the pain meds" he said softly. You eased your head to the side so the injury was exposed to Killer's expert fingers. His warm digits were soon smearing and massaging the muscle cream gently into your skin.

"How's... he?" you asked quietly. You weren't sure you wanted to even talk about him before you've had even a coffee, but you still needed to know if he was alright. Killer sighed.

"Hmm. 'bout how'd ya expect. He just about wrecked his workshop last night in a fit but he's about as okay as you'd think this morning."

You closed your eyes at the news, saddened that he was so angry at you.

"'m sorry" you mumbled. Killer's fingers pulled back from your neck, and he gently turned your face towards him.

"He's not mad at you, he's angry at himself. He can't stand the fact that he hurt you, that he let it get to that point. And you know Kidd, if he's angry at himself, it takes him a lot longer to get through it, let alone over it. I'm keeping an eye on him though, so don't you worry."

You frowned at his words.

"Then who's taking care of you?"

Killer smiled and let out a chuckle. His hand stroked your hair back from your face and he planted a kiss on your forehead.

"It helps me to take care of you two, okay? Last night was... a little scary. But we're going to be okay."

You sighed, wishing you could nuzzle into his broad chest, but you knew he had to make sure the ship was running properly despite the captain being... preoccupied.

"Okay" you murmured quietly. He gently stroked your hair and smiled at you.

"C'mon. Let's get ya up and some food in ya" he said, reaching down to scoop you up. You eagerly wrapped your arms around his neck and let him pull you out of your cozy blankets. He helped you get dressed in some loose fitting clothing, and a shirt with a wide neck so your injury would be accessible. Before you left the room, you hesitated.

"Is he going to be in the kitchen?" you asked meekly.

"Nah. I brought him some food earlier in his workshop. He'll be there most the day probably" Killer answered. There was a whisper of regret in his voice, and you grabbed his hand and squeezed once, reminding him that he wasn't alone..

"Let's go then" you said, opening the door. Killer squeezed your hand back, and followed you to the kitchen.

You ate and drank your coffee, favoring the one shoulder and unable to turn your head very much. Your crewmates gave you some curious glances, but it wasn't uncommon for someone to be injured on the ship. You were pirates, after all. It was odd though that it was you. Kidd and Killer were the strongest fighters on the ship, and couldn't help but watch over you on the battle field. You finished your breakfast, visited the loosely termed "infirmary" to grab some pain pills, and then headed to your favorite space on the ship- the mouth of the... sea king? dinosaur? You weren't entirely sure which it was, and you never were invested enough to ask. The weather was sunny, calm, and breezy.

You sighed as you settled into a chair that was placed there earlier. Someone walked up behind you, and cleared his throat. You froze, scared it was Kidd.

"What."

"Killer told me to bring you a book and some snacks, so here" Heat spoke. At the sound of his voice, you relaxed, and waved your hand on the non-injured side.

"Come on this side so I can see you" you said softly. Wire walked around, and placed a small, light table next to you, and put down a tray of various drinks, snacks, and a few books. He crouched down to the side of you, and you smiled at him.

"Thank you, Heat" you said. He smiled a little back at you.

"Do you need any company? Some of these snacks look pretty good" he said, eying the tray that Killer had put together for you. You giggled, thankful for the offer.

"Sure, just don't let Killer know that I let you eat some food he made for me," you teased. He made a face at your comment, and grabbed a slice of fruit. At first, his appearance made you uncomfortable, but his personality quickly overcame that. He wasn't much of a conversationalist, but you still found him endearing.

"So where are ya hurt?" he asked around a mouthful of fruit. You picked up a glass of what appeared to be juice and sipped.

"Neck and shoulder muscles" you answered after swallowing and smacking your lips appreciatively.

Heat grunted.

"Ugh. Done that before. It seems that like you never realize how much you use certain muscles until it hurts to use it, right?"

You snorted.

"Pretty much."

The two of you chatted a little longer before he was called off to do his tasks. Hip took his place instead, bringing you an ice pack.

"Here, Killer told me to bring you this" she said. You took the ice pack and placed it on your injury. You sighed with a sudden realization.

"Killer set up a roster to keep me company all day, didn't he?" you asked. She nodded with a smile.

"Can't stop caring about someone ya love" she quipped. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

"Very true" you murmured.

The day passed similarly, various crew members bringing you things that Killer had sent along with them. Honestly, you even had to stare some down so you could go to the bathroom alone.

Your thoughts strayed constantly to Kidd, and how he must be feeling. You felt so conflicted. You loved him, yet you knew he went too far, but were you mad? Scared? Was your trust in him damaged?

Footsteps walked up behind you, heavier than the rest. You tensed.

"It's just me" Killer said. You relaxed, and he knelt in front of you.

"How ya feelin?" he asked. You could feel him staring at your neck and shoulder, even when his mask covered his bright blue eyes.

"It's starting to feel better now" you said quietly. Killer nodded once.

"Dinner's ready, if you want to eat" he offered. You nodded slightly and stood. He grabbed the table with the tray and books in one hand, balancing the table like a waiter would a tray. He put a hand on your lower back, and walked with you to the kitchen. It was a little later than you normally ate, having been fed snacks most the day by Killer's 'messengers'.

There was a plate set aside for you at the counter so you could watch Killer clean, just as you liked. A second steaming plate was still in the kitchen, presumably set aside for Kidd.

"Are you going to run that up to him?" you asked, looking pointedly at the plate. Killer grunted an affirmative, and started to clean the kitchen.

"Go give it to him now while it's still hot. The kitchen will still be here when you get back," you said firmly. Killer looked at you, presumably in surprise at your tone. You couldn't always tell when he had his face covered all the time. He put down the cloth he was using to wipe the counters, and grabbed the plate, walking around the counter to approach you. He cocked his head, curious. You looked down at your own plate with a sigh.

"He needs the energy to work up the courage to apologize to me, we all know how he is" you mutter. Killer laughed at your statement, and ruffled your hair gently before walking off to deliver the plate of food.

A few minutes later, you heard approaching footsteps behind you. This wasn't uncommon, as crew members dropped their empty plates off at the counter for whoever was on dish duty to wash. These were heavy, but you assumed someone had already had a few drinks after a long day of being at sea. They stopped suddenly a few feet away from you, and you gently turned your head to see what had happened.

You had fully expected to see one of your crewmates swaying with drunkenness, but instead, bright red and pale skin made your heart drop.

"You're here" Kidd said gruffly. Adrenaline shot through you, and you jumped out of your chair, wincing as your injury was tweaked. Your breath seemed to stop, and you froze after your initial reaction. You couldn't decide to run towards him or away.

"K-Killer went to find you" you answered, mentally kicking yourself for stuttering. His words from last night came back to you.

Pathetic.

Nothing but holes to me.

Please us or we'll dump you.

It deserves to cry, to barely be able to breathe.

Your breath came faster, and you desperately looked for an exit. You nearly jumped out of your skin when the door to the kitchen opened, Killer's voice entering before his body.

"I couldn't find the bast- oh. Oh." He put the plate on the counter in the kitchen and walked with even steps until he was in front of you, bending over to look directly into your eyes.

"Hey look at me. Are you ready for this?"

Your eyes flicked over his shoulder, to Kidd. He looked exhausted, angry, but not like he was going to do anything. Killer's voice soothed you slightly.

"M-maybe?" You frowned at how delicate your voice sounded. Kidd seemed to flinch at your answer. Killer put one hand on your cheek as the other removed his helmet.

"Look at me."

Your eyes found his ocean blue ones, and it calmed you a little. You noticed you were shaking. You breathed out forcefully.

"I can hear him out, if you stay here" you said honestly. You noticed Kid's flinch again, and your heart squeezed with guilt. Killer nodded, and stood to his full height to look at Kidd.

"Are you okay? Are you ready?" Killer asked. Kidd heaved a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"...Yeah"

Killer nodded once, and gestured for the two of you to sit at a table. The rest of the crew had cleared out quickly once Kidd entered the room and the tension rose.

The three of you sat at the table, Killer making you sit at the head of the table with Kidd on your uninjured side and Killer taking the seat across from Kidd.

You were tense, sitting on the edge of your seat, but Kidd seemed... defeated. He was exhausted, and slumped into his chair. He put his head in his hands, fingers running through red hair before he looked at you. You held back a flinch.

"I hurt you" he started bluntly. You glanced at Killer, who was looking resolutely at Kidd. Your hand came up to touch your neck and shoulder, looking at the table. You didn't say anything.

"I'm so fucking sorry. God, there's no words for how sorry I am. I'd do anything or give you anything for you to look at me the same. Hell, I'd cut my other arm off if that's what you wanted. I just can't..." He stopped speaking with a choked sound, and looked at you desperately.

"You need to earn that same trust back, Kidd" you said quietly. He was silent, waiting for you to continue. You looked up from the table to meet his gaze.

"And right now, I don't know how we're going to do that. I don't have any ideas, but you can't buy it with present. I still love you, but you need to prove over and over to me that you love me, and that you'll never hurt me again" you said. Anger started to bubble up in your chest.

"I don't think you can say anything like you did, at least for a long, long time. Calling me 'it', that I didn't deserve to breathe, and that you two were going to dump me if I didn't please you... Kidd. I can't hear shit like that from you. Calling me pathetic and spitting on me when I said the safe word?" Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke, recalling his words and actions. Your fists clenched on your lap.

Kidd deflated even further with each word you spoke, and at the sight of tears in your eyes.

"I know. I know there isn't a way to change that, and if there was, I'd give up almost anything to change it. You and Killer mean everything to me. I'm hardly worthy of your love even when I haven't pulled some shit like this, but now... I'll prove it. I swear. I... I love you so much."

He pulled something out of his pocket, and you looked at his hands. He let out a wet chuckle.

"I know you said that I can't buy your trust, but I made this. It took me all night and I finished it up today. I hope you'll still accept it."

You looked in shock at the metal in his hand. It was a highly intricate, functioning, anatomically correct heart. There were tiny whirrs and clicks that acted like the sound of a heartbeat, the two sides contracting.

"It even works like a real heart. You can put liquid in there and it'll shoot out here," he said, pointing with his fingers. He paused.

"That sounds fucking stupid now that I say it out loud" he admitted. Killer had leaned forward to get a better look at the contraption. His eyes glittered at the sight of it, taking in the mechanics and how it worked. It was truly incredible. You reached a shocked hand out towards it before pulling back.

"Kidd..." you whispered.

"I'm finishing up Killer's too, and I was going to give it to the two of you at the same time but... I think you deserve this at the very least" he admitted. Breath caught in your throat, tears starting to build in appreciation. Kidd was horrible with words and emotions, but he knew metal. He knew exactly how hard he needed to work to regain your trust.

"It's 'pose ta represent me... giving my... uh... heart... to you. And Killer... as a promise," he tripped over his words, a deep blush flushing his pale face until he was nearly as red as his hair. You looked at him, letting the tears fall.

"Oi oi, do you not like it? I can change it! Just tell me! Why are you crying?" he frantically waved his metal arm in the air uselessly, trying not to reach out to touch you. You reached out to his flesh hand, covering the heart with your hand as you grasped his hand.

"It's beautiful, Kidd. I love you," you whispered. He blushed even harder, and looked down at the table.

"I love the both of you. I'm really fuckin' sorry about last night" he said quietly. You looked at Killer, who nodded in encouragement. The both of you stood, and made your way to the redhead.

You turned your back to him, moving your hair out of the way so he could clasp it.

"Put it on, then" you ordered. Kidd made a surprised sound and you heard Killer's hand clap on his shoulder. Kidd rose hesitantly, and draped it gently around your neck before using his powers to clasp the necklace. It hurt your neck too much to look down at it lying against your chest, so you brought it up to eye level, studying how the gears turned, hidden by crafted and intricate tubes and wires.

"It's incredible" you murmured. You turned around, letting yourself fall into Kidd's chest as you hugged him. You could feel him looking at Killer for permission, who rolled his eyes and hugged him too, careful of your neck and shoulder. You felt Kidd's arms wrap slowly around the both of you. The moment was sweet, but was interrupted by a loud growl from Kidd's stomach. You snorted and broke out into peals of laughter, pulling away from Kidd and Killer. You collapsed back into your chair, holding your stomach as Kidd growled at you to stop laughing as he blushed profusely again. Killer laughed as well as he went to retrieve and warm up both Kidd's and your plates.

Kidd sat back down in his chair with a huff, more energized after the hug. You smiled at him, before speaking seriously.

"Kidd... I can't forgive you yet, but I will eventually."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking at you sadly.

"Yeah. I'm a bastard, but I'm trying not to be to you. Just... let me know when you do?" he asked quietly. You nodded with a small smile, and his shoulder's collapsed as if a weight had been lifted off. He gave you a toothy grin.

"Just you fuckin wait. Imma be the the best boyfriend that'll build your trust up in no time" he boasted. You snorted before giggling.

"I can't wait" you said, honest through your laughter.

---

Notes: Before asking, no I don't think there will ever be a second part to this, but you can certainly write your own (just tag me)! :) I have to finish other fics lmao.

[amphitriteswife]

Lookism characters babysitting a baby hc!

✨ :P

Jonggun, Goo Kim and James Lee (young)

🕶️Jonggun🕶️

🚬 Gun wouldn’t do it out of his own, it’s either because he wants the money or because Charles asked him to. The only child he’ll watch/ take care of willingly is Yenna.

🚬 Gun needs to know it advance if he will babysit a child, that way he will not smoke for a few days to really ‘cleanse’ his body. Aka making sure his breath and clothes dont stink like cigarettes

🚬 He’s not a type that baby talks. He’ll talk normally and have a regular conversation with the baby, yet seems to understand what they are saying, even the parents are amazed.

🚬 ‘baby, do you think speed beats brute strength in a fight?’ *baby gurgling* ‘yes, me too, i think they are both good in their own way. What a smart baby you are’

🚬 Usually when he’s outside or needs to run arrands with the baby he has those baby carriers. He’ll put the baby in it and usually keep one hand on their head to make sure they don’t bump their head and to show affection.

🚬 sometimes he lets them climb onto him if they’re in crawling stage. He’ll make sure that they won’t be harmed and his UI helps with reflexes so he’ll catch then for sure. He’s probably not moving an inch when they do so too.

🚬 even though he doesn’t show much affection nor baby talks, he finds then absolutely adorable. He likes those chonky cheeks and often caresses the baby on their cheek. Ofcourse he washes his hands a lot and uses hand sanitizer.

🚬 sometimes when he takes off his sunglasses the baby takes interests in it and reaches out for it. For gun its no problem since the baby is then occupied doing something else, meaning he doesn’t have to entertain them as they are doing it themselves. And he probably has 100 other sunglasses at home.

🚬 jonggun likes quiet babies or very cheerful babies. He experienced lots with different kind of reactions, for example the babies crying when they see his eyes, or parents whispering that he looks demonic. Which he doesn’t care about tbh

🚬 the best thing about it is his paycheck. I feel like jonggun would want a slight high pay for taking care of the baby. But it has its positive side as he’s very good with the baby depending in terms of safety and taking care of them.

🚬 his opinions on changing their nappy is divided. When the baby lets him do his thing he’s pet chill with it. But when they start rolling around and crawling away he had to take a very big sigh. And he’ll probably charge you for that.

💸Goo kim💸

💳He would actually be 50/50 babysitting but do it regularly as a side job from his main job, and yes it’ll probably be illegal cause he 100% wants it in cash and won’t pay taxes for it.

💳 He thinks all babies are cute, pinches their cheeks, cradles them, holds then in the air, baby talks. This man would become a nanny if he could, but ofcourse it’s all for the money🤑

💳 Goo isn’t a fan of nappy changing, he dislikes it yet knows its an important part of his job. Although it’s rough sometimes. Especially when he deals with it outside for example or he finds himself in a difficult situation where he cant change them, he always manages to do it eventually

💳 ‘you ’re so cute baby! Do you like me? Do you think i’m nice?’ *baby noises* ‘aww you do, see this man named Jonggun doesn’t think so. He’s being ridiculous right?’ *baby noise* ‘yes, next time i’ll steal all his Prada bags.’

💳 He will take them out for walks and actually carry them despite having a baby carrier clasped on his chest. He will go to the park, do some shopping. Do some cooking. Do some talking. Just everything to entertain the baby.

💳 probably buys the baby things if they grab something in the store or seem ti star at something. If it keeps them entertained its all the better. And it’s not expensive either so he doesn’t complain much about it.

💳 dresses the baby in cute outfits. Usually he lays all the outfits on the floor and lets the baby crawl to which on the like, he does it with everything. Jumpers, shirts, bows, shoes, skirts, dresses. Anything.

💳 he’ll have beef with the parents for buying baby stuff and not following the diet and basically taking them anywhere. Some will let him do it again and others won’t.

💳 even if he thinks babies are cute. He HATES the sound of them crying. He’ll panic, get exhausted, try to get them to stop but still fail and then just sit there rethinking his life.

💳 He and Jonggun would lowkey meet up when both of them are babysitting. And let the babies play with each other while they talk about various things.

💳 despite Goo having money and being able to afford high end baby foods. He prefers to cook or blend and make his own. Ofcourse making sure the baby isn’t allergic to anything, he’ll usually make soup or porridge for the baby and decorate it so that they won’t refuse to eat it.

🍬James Lee🍬

🍭 Man is poor okay, even if he works under Charles blud was still in his highschool student phase so he was probably broke asf and needed money. And no he aint watching crystal.

🍭 He, like Goo, also thinks babies are cute and prefers them over toddlers. That’s because toddlers can be very spoiled or run away and blud does NOT have the energy for it.

🍭 He likes the smell of baby powder. So when he has to powder the baby he uses it too. He sniffs baby powder instead of drugs.

🍭 james feels really protective for the babies he’s sitting. He think’s they’re super tiny and fragile what makes his heart melt but also feel very protective from his instinct.

🍭 when he holds the baby he lets them munch on his muscles if they’re teething. He doesn’t rly mind and as long as they’re not in pain he just thinks it’s fine.

🍭 people mistake him as being a single teenage dad most of the time. ‘Hey did you see the dude with the red hair and the baby?’ ‘Yeah, it wouldn’t surprise me if he has a kid, he’s probably bussing it down’ he was in fact, not bussing it down.

🍭 he’ll use the baby to practice his tests. As in he’ll explain what he had to learn to the baby and practice his presentations. The baby usually claps after he’s done or giggles what makes him super happy

🍭 He’ll also try to teach the baby how to speak and walk depending on how old they are, he’ll help with their development and speaks with them. He often curses because well he’s a teen, but tries his best not to use it in front of the baby

🍭 the most reliable out of all the 3 tbh. He’s more a big brother type to the baby than a nanny/ care taker. He’ll come see the baby if he had time. Or for example says hi if he sees them at the park with their parents.

🍭 He’s not the type to use a baby carrier but rather a stroller cause he doesn’t have to carry the baby all the time and can let them sit/ lay in it. Especially when they get sleepy. He likes strolling outside with the baby and going to the park/ beach

🍭 baby will be home safe and happy if James is the one who babysat. And he’s 100% asked to baby sit again. Which made him popular but because he has school he only had standard ppl he’ll sit for.

Thank you all for reading! 🩵

[hanwiore]

You only met him only a couple minutes ago, in a halloween club filled with men that had wives and kids at home. It was ironic that you said this because you—a wife. Were outside shaking your ass while your husband stayed in his office late once again because of his new secretary was dumb and needed help, for the third week of already being there.

You knew he was a lie, coming home with lipstick stains and the smell of perfume that was too cheap to be yours, you would smile at him and kiss his cheek ignoring it all because you rather have peace than anything other. “i’m going out.” You say, the speaker on your phone on while your husband rustled with paper on the other side. “Yea? With who?.” you rubbed perfumed body oil between your boobs, fixing the strap of your bloody red short body-con dress and grabbing your devil ears.

“hm, with akita.” You fix your body wave weave that sat atop your ass, moving the curtains bangs and slapping gloss on your plump lips. “well have fun, love you.” he whispered and you almost said “you too.” But you hung up soon after with mo response at all.

Your friend picks you up and now your at the club, shaking your ass on some guy because his friends said “he doesn’t get any bitches.” But soon you found out that was far from it. So now tattooed scarred hands are gripping on your waist while everyone yelled and hollered, you were tipsy— a-lot more then just tipsy .

You got up giggling, your ysl heels clicking as your turnt around and winked at that man in a weirdly ghost looking mask. The mouth half way on and a tight black pro long sleeve and black cargo pants, the man sat with his legs spreading, combat boots tapping on the floor to the beat of the music you were just shaking your ass too.

And thats what got you here. In this big ass SUV blacked out truck, your legs wide open and heels off somewhere you wouldn’t even know. The man with the ghost masked that now told you to fall him “simon.”

“Hnn fuck!” you cry as your manicured nails scarped against his tatted veined arm that was holding both of your wrist together and pulled your arms down against your stomach, using them as leverage to fuck up into you harder, “yea? that feel good dont it?” He gruffs out

His voice now strained and quiet, making sure he can hear your pussy squelching, he looks down at it, chubby lips marking his dick that was red, sensitive and covered with two thick veins that scraped your walls every time he pushed—more like forced, his way through them again. And every time his dick pushed forward more of your juices will pile up and make a frothy substance.

“y-yes s-si- imma cum again.” you groaned, your head falling back against the fine leather, the leather that was moist with your seat but smelled of Marc Jacob and victoria secret. He laughs slightly, moving his mask slightly up so his plump pink lips were exposed and he moves down to kiss on your neck, loudly slurping on it. “Sloppy pussy making a mess on this dick.” His hot breath against your ear, white teeth scraping against them. “Gonna cum on this shit baby? I feel it baby, fuck- feel you squeezing.”

Simon moans and suddenly shoves his hands away from your wrist and grips on your jaw to shove his thumb against your tongue, he had you gurgling and slopping over it. Your hips grind up against his dick so in can dig deeper and rub against your sweet spot. Your eyes roll back as you cream and cum on his dick. He groaned and leaned up.

He licks on the thumb that was just in your mouth and smashes it against your abused puffy sensitive clit. “Imma cum in this pussy, this married pussy.” You see his crooked smile as he grabs your hand and rubs on your ring that sat there. “He dont fuck you like this huh baby? Gotta get dick from someone else.” He shoves his mask back on and his hips move sloppier. Both of his hands on your neck and his hips slam down against you. One hot spurt of cum goes in your hot cunt and he moans “f-fuck- shit, ugh!” His fingers squeeze tighter against your neck having you gasp for air,

All while still tightening and milking his dick dry.

“D-dirty fucking pussy.” One of his hand moves against your neck to your pussy to slap yo clit and rub fast circles against it, and now your already squirting on him while he still nuts in your pussy. “Shit yes.”

Ya’ll breath in, you were calming down until you saw a flash on you phone, he took a picture.

“Lets send this to your husband.”

[lilywastaken]

⇝ together .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART THREE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: A month after his return, you start warming up to Simon, only for him to ruin it.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Fluff for once, Angst, mild nsfw, mentions of child abuse and abuse in general, canon typical violence, choking (not in a sexy way).

A/N: Finally finished!! I'm so sorry I haven't been able to get this out sooner, these past weeks have just been chocked full of assignments I had to finish 😭 I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations!!! Please don't forget to reblog and leave a comment, it helps a lot!!

WORD COUNT: 9.2k

MASTERLIST.

If you want to be tagged on future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account! — @lilynottaken !

Also on Ao3!

"'m blaming this on you."

You grumbled to Simon as you watched your son clap his hands against his father's, happy coos and gurgles leaving him.

"What?" He turned away from Tommy to look at you with a confused look, well, you assumed it was confused by the way his eyes were squinted. "How is this my fault?"

"He's copying you." You yawned, curling into the foetal position and pulling up the blanket over your body, head almost rolling off the sofa as you continued to pay attention to your son and his father's every movement. "You don't sleep so he doesn't."

"Not sure that's how his brain works yet." You could hear the amusement in his words, rolling your eyes as you switched your gaze from them up to the telly, that was playing some football game Simon had put on a few hours ago. "Think he's just not tired."

You know you should've expected this, Tommy's doctor had warned you at the last appointment when he'd gotten his first shots that he might experience some type of sleep regression, which meant more hours of staying awake while watching your son. And maybe it would've been worse for you if Simon wasn't there experiencing the same stress as you were. Weirdly, it felt nice to have another person in the same boat as you, even if he didn't really seem that keen on needing to sleep like you did.

Tommy seemed to had taken a liking to his father ever since the first day they'd both met, but that was kind of a given after Simon had spent the whole month after that coming over almost every single day (except for the days where he'd warned you before time that he'd be gone for work) and spending it all with his son.

You kind of hoped that Tommy had started to recognise him as a father like he did with you as a mother, since he was at the age where he was able to recognise caregivers; but even if he didn't, he did still cling onto Simon's hand every time it was time for him to leave like he did to you, tears bordering at his glassy eyes when you stood at the door with him in your arms waving goodbye to Simon.

You almost started crying every time he'd start making grabby hands at Simon, who'd rest his face against his son's tummy and let his chubby hands pull at the cloth of his balaclava, sometimes even pulling it up over his lips so he could press a quick kiss to his cheek, hiding his face immediately once you came in, unknowing that you'd been watching them before.

It wasn't like the bad blood that you had with Simon had magically been solved, you were still sometimes on edge or a bit snappy at him when it came to Tommy or your "relationship" with him, but you weren't as furious with him as you were when he first showed up.

"Not interestin' enough for you, am I?" Simon grunted as Tommy's attention drifted from the clapping to the telly above him, eyes wide as the presenter talked about some red card.

"You've bored him." You snickered, outstretching an arm to click your fingers, the sound immediately catching your son's attention. "Hi, duck!"

"He's not a bloody cat." Simon grumbled, picking up Tommy carefully from his spot on the blanket you'd draped on the floor for him to lie on, moving him onto your chest so he could cuddle into you.

You were about to snap back when Tommy interrupted you both with a wide yawn, chubby hands clinging onto your sleep shirt and eyes threatening to droop closed, although they were still stuck to the image of the footballers running across the field on the TV.

Both of you froze, Simon having been mid way to getting a toy he'd dropped not so long ago so he was stuck in that position, eyes wide and staring at his suddenly sleepy son.

You placed a soft hand on his back, pressing him further into your chest so the sound of your heartbeat would lull him to sleep easier.

But as luck would have it, a goal was scored right at the moment where his eyes finally fully closed, the commentators shouting out excitement and forcing your son back awake with a cry.

Simon and you groaned in unison, the man finally picking up the toy and collapsing on the ground, lying on his back right next to the sofa and glaring up at the ceiling, listening to you try and calm your son down from his abrupt awakening.

"Who scored?" You grumbled, masking your annoyance with interest.

"Not Manchester." Simon grunted back, raising a hand to take Tommy's, his fingers brushing against your chest in the process. "Haven't had a bloody win in a while."

"Sorry." You mumbled, remembering the disappointment that had shone in his eyes when you'd told him about some of the losses of the teams he liked he'd asked you to take a note of while he was away for work.

He'd done well at keeping his promise, sending you messages every time he had to leave, no longer disappearing without a trace, even if it was just a single day of paperwork or a check up at base. He sometimes also sent you pictures, whether it was him in his car showing you that he was close to your flat in case you weren't prepared for him or the takeaway menu at your favourite fast food place, asking for your order. They were always dark and a bit out of focus, but you couldn't deny that you hadn't let out a laugh when you'd seen the failed attempt of him trying to get out of frame, his skulled balaclava peeking out from a corner of the picture.

He'd been gone for a week this time, which explained why he was being so clingy towards Tommy ever since he'd arrived, takeout in hand and arms itching to wrap around his son, and had spent the whole last hour catching up with the both of you.

"Are you sleeping here tonight?" You yawned, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to ignore the squirming boy on your chest, his hands digging uncomfortably into your clavicle.

"Yeah. Though I probably won't be doing much sleepin'." He rumbled, letting Tommy wrap one of his chubby hands around one of Simon's big fingers. "Y'know I can just take over. Go get some rest."

You bit the inside of your cheek at that, looking away despite still having your eyes partly closed, your grip unintentionally tightening around Tommy's small body.

You were still put on edge whenever you left Tommy alone with Simon, even though he'd shown no ill towards you in any way, you just couldn't help it, the thought that something might happen to your sweet boy when he wasn't under your supervision was enough to strike an unexplainable fear into you. You knew that he'd noticed how your face turned sour whenever it was mentioned, but he hadn't ceased asking completely, knowing that sooner or later you'd have to entrust him with your son like you'd both agreed.

"Is that okay…?" You whispered, your voice barely audible over the cheers and cries of excitement from the telly, but by the way he turned his head towards you and squeezed Tommy's hand, you knew he heard you.

"Yeah. Don' worry. You need some rest."

You both stayed put for a few seconds, your hands slowly falling from their place on your son's back and scooping him up carefully before pushing yourself off the sofa, forcing Tommy's hand out of Simon's in the process.

You watched carefully as he shifted off the floor to sit next to you on the sofa, his built arms moving to cradle his son in their crook, rocking him slowly as you got up, anxiously fidgeting with your fingers as you stood and watched them both for a moment, almost terrified of taking a step out of their vicinity.

"Go." Simon commanded, getting comfy on the sofa as he turned his attention back to the game playing on the telly, the assertive tone that his voice took enough to send shivers running down your spine, nodding your head out of instinct before scurrying away like one of the rookies Simon was oh-so used to ordering around back at base.

After having a well deserved shower and pulling on some of your cosiest pyjamas, you let your body collapse onto your bed, curling into the middle where the mattress dipped and covering yourself up with your countless amount of blankets due to the chill that had overcome the country after a few rare weeks of warmth.

You smiled as you remembered how happy Tommy had looked when you'd taken him out in his stroller and let him bask in the sunlight for a bit while sitting next to him at the park, trying your best to focus on his giggles and not on the shadowy figure of his father standing behind you, more like a bodyguard waiting to take out any threats to you both instead of the father he claimed to want to be.

You let out a huff at the memory of how cautious Simon had been at first around you both, almost like a stray cat getting used to their new family: always standing around you but never too close, bringing you small gifts (i.e. takeout or groceries he thought you'd need or Tommy's new favourite teddy bear he now slept with instead of his duck), slowly making your home his own unconsciously by leaving some of his clothes packed away in a small corner of your wardrobe or packing the fridge with some of how own personal food items.

You'd noticed, of course. How could you not?

At first, when you'd found some of his clothes in the midst of the batch of laundry you were tending to, you were struck with fear. Fear that everything you'd worked hard to build was going to be invaded by this barely known presence you were just starting to get used to, but as time went on, you realised there was nothing scary about it.

It was oddly comforting, in a way. It made you feel less alone when you spotted the extra toothbrush he'd plopped in the glass next to yours, the mug he'd brought over after he'd exclaimed his concern that all of yours were fit for coffee and not for tea or the hoodies he left lying around that Tommy loved curling into whether Simon was wearing it or not.

You pulled a pillow into your arms, simulating the feeling of your son in your arms you'd gotten so used to in order to fall asleep, closing your eyes and letting the muffled sounds of the football game still playing on the TV and your son's faint giggles lull you slowly to your first proper sleep in a while.

You were pulled awake by the sound of your phone going off, your whole body jerking up and rushing to grab it out of instinct, the bright screen illuminating your room and forcing a groan out of you at the disturbance, letting your eyes focus until you were able to properly read the notification.

A frustrated sound left your lips at the message from one of the dating apps you'd forgotten you had informing you that you'd matched with someone, angered that it had been something so stupid that had woken you up from one of the best sleeps you'd had in a long time and not something important.

You fell back down onto the mattress, planning on closing your eyes and curling back into the pillow you'd been spooning moments before, but as your body slowly calmed down from the initial shock that had filled it, you were met with nothing but silence.

Your eyes had adjusted enough at this point that you were able to turn your head over to your door, frowning at the lack of light that normally came from under the door when the living room was lit, raising your head from the pillow slightly in an attempt to catch out any sounds that might be originating from anywhere in your flat.

But once again, silence continued to rule over your home.

You could've just closed your eyes and willed yourself to fall back asleep, but the creeping feeling that it was too quiet for how it normally was, that something might have happened in the few hours you'd let yourself rest was slowly burrowing itself in your mind.

And fuck, what if Simon had done something? What I'd you'd misjudged him? What if he'd taken advantage of your tired state and just fucked off with your son in his arms, leaving you broken and abandoned once again?

The fear that struck your body at that train of thought was enough to wake you up properly, allowing your body to act like it had just consumed countless amounts of caffeine and rush over to the partly open door, slowly pushing it open before looking around frantically, eyes landing on the back of the sofa and on the turned off TV in front of it.

Your hand landed on the headrest, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on Simon's sleeping body, his arms protectively wrapped around Tommy, who was resting on his chest like he'd been with you before you'd gone to rest.

You made it fully around until you were standing in front of the sofa, one of your hands coming up to grab at your thin sleep shirt right over the place your heart was currently hammering against out of relief.

Fuck…

Of course he hadn't left.

You were just being paranoid.

Simon had shown you no ill will the whole time he'd been here, but you were still on edge, assuming the worst from him…

A staggered breath left your lips, your hands coming up to cover your face as you willed your body to calm down, your legs trembling as the adrenaline that had rushed through you momentarily started to fade, leaving you confused and exhausted.

One of your legs threatened to give out, and as soon as you were getting ready to collapse, a warm hand grabbed at your thigh, a silent scream threatening to leave you until you realised who it belonged to, staring down with wide eyes at your son's father, one of the hands that had been cradling Tommy now holding your leg with the same care.

"What happened?!"

You could see the panic in his eyes despite the darkness that enveloped the room, his thumb slowly rubbing up and down your skin, his best attempt at soothing whatever pain you were harbouring that he had no idea about.

He called your name, pulling you closer to the sofa so you were kneeling on the free space of the plush sofa, staring down at Simon's chest and raising one of your hands up to your son's little head, running through his thin hair.

"What happened?" He repeated, more assertive this time rather than the panicked tone he had taken before, his hand moving from the back of your thigh up to your waist, almost like it was natural to do so.

"Nothing…" you finally let out, blinking away some of the tears you hadn't realised that had formed at your waterline. "Just… Uhm…"

"...Nightmare?" He offered an easier excuse than the real reason you'd pulled yourself out of bed at such an hour, slowly nodding your head in agreement and causing him to let out a sigh. "Do you-"

"I'm okay. Just… shaken up." By the way you were anxiously running your fingers through Tommy's hair as if to assure yourself that he was real, that he was indeed lying there asleep (something you hadn't realised up until that moment, Simon had somehow actually gotten Tommy to take a nap.), he assumed that whatever nightmare you'd had was related to him. "Needed to check that he was okay."

Yeah, that cemented it.

Simon would be lying if he said he hadn't a few nightmares of his own about Tommy ever since he'd met him properly, whether it was him forcibly being taken away from you by one of the many enemies he'd made across his life or a freak accident ending any hopes he'd had of all of you being a family.

And maybe they were a bit out of pocket, he'd made it very hard for anyone to trace you or Tommy back to him by always parking his car a few blocks away, making sure that Tommy had your last name instead of his and that the military had no idea about his offspring.

He couldn't have any records that would link you two to him, he couldn't even risk taking that chance, he knew that as soon as two of his weaknesses were revealed, it would only be a matter of time for them to be exploited by his enemies.

So, he understood. He understood the fear that came with a nightmare about your son, the need to see him and reinforce the fact that he was okay in your head.

"He is. Tired 'imself out a few hours ago." He moved towards the back of the sofa, allowing you space to sit next to them both, his hand still continuing to rest on your warm skin and pulling you along carefully, ready to pull away the moment you showed any signs of uncomfort.

"How come he sleeps for you?" You mumbled, more of a thought to yourself rather than something you wanted to share, but it caused Simon to smile beneath his mask nonetheless, raising his other hand up to Tommy's head to run a finger down his little nose, ignoring the way his heart rate spiked when it brushed against yours.

He thought about making a joke about being his favourite, hoping that it would brighten the mood a bit, but then remembered the look of dismay that would come over his teammates' faces whenever he made one about anything, and on second thought, maybe he'd have to wait a bit until you were both comfortable enough to enjoy his stupid jokes.

"Guess he's bored of me. You're much more entertainin' to be awake around." He rumbled, a soft chuckle leaving your lips at what you assumed was an attempt to lift your spirits.

"Yeah…" you smiled, leaning your body on the arm that was propping you up, your hand ceasing its brushing of Tommy's hair and simply resting on his small head, your heart growing bigger as he let out a little coo, snuggling further into Simon's hoodie.

You hadn't even been thinking about the hand cupping your waist, too focused on your son's sleeping figure and the warmth that it brought you, unconsciously wriggling a bit further into the touch, but you froze once Simon's hand immediately snapped back from you, as if he'd taken that as an immediate sign that he had broken a few boundaries by getting too close.

"Sorry."

You bit on your tongue, not wanting to full admit how much reassurance his touch had brought you and how much you'd give to have it back (you blamed the neediness on how exhausted your body was and the delirium that came with the lack of sleep you'd been subject to recently), not making any move to answer and instead focusing fully on your son.

"You want to take him?" Simon offered, leaning further up the sofa so he was kind of sitting, kind of lying on the arm rest. "Don' kids sleep better with their mams?"

"I… I think that may be a myth." You breathed out a chuckle, shaking your head as he made a move to hand Tommy over to you. "No, it's okay. I move a lot at night, I don't - I don't want to hurt him, you know?"

Simon turned down to the fragile little human he was holding, remembering the exact moment he'd realised that you were both in charge of taking care of him, of keeping him out of danger and stopping anyone and anything from shattering the little being that seemed to be made of glass.

"That's fine."

Silence fell over the both of you, an awkward atmosphere forming as you didn't move, feeling as time went on that you were invading the little personal space he was allowed to have in your flat.

"D'you want to stay?"

What?

Your brain short-circuited, blinking at him owlishly, as if he'd just spoken in an unknown language, the words still processing in your mind.

"Stay?" You managed out, looking down at the space between you both, a space where you could easily fit into if you were to snuggle into his side and let him hold you.

But surely, he wasn't suggesting that.

Memories of how he'd held you that fateful night flooded your mind, his warm calloused hands sprawled out against the bare skin of your waist, the sound of his heartbeat drumming against his ribcage lulling you to sleep…

"Yeah, stay."

…It made you want to accept.

Made you want to melt into his side and wrap an arm around his wide chest, tangle your fingers in your son's soft hair and lie there with them both, making sure that no harm could come to Tommy thanks to the protective shadow that was Simon Riley.

But you couldn't. You knew that.

The walls you'd built while carrying Tommy in hopes that you'd never be hurt or abandoned again, the walls that had kept you relatively safe within the expanse of your mind refused to crumble, refused to make way for the man that had come barreling back into your life and threatened to destroy them.

You couldn't risk it.

So, you didn't.

You pulled your hand away from your son as if he burned, cradling it against your chest and looking away from Simon's imposing stare, the look in his eyes making you want to squirm and cry and adhere to anything he wanted.

"No." If you'd still been looking at him, you would have noticed the way his shoulders slumped, the way the dim light in his eyes proceeded to disappear at the single word that left your mouth. "Thanks."

It seemed every little step of progress you'd both taken together the whole month immediately dissipated away thanks to his idiotic question.

Of course you'd fucking refuse his stupid invitation, what was he thinking? That you were both a happy couple who didn't pass on any chance to hold each other in your arms? That he was your husband, the proper father of your son who you loved and cared for, who you enjoyed having pressed right against you? He was a fucking idiot. He couldn't contain himself for once in his life and he'd gone and ruined everything.

"Okay." Despite the inner turmoil that raged inside of him, that simple word of affirmation was all he could get out, and he hoped to whatever god was up there (that apparently loved torturing him) that you'd both wake up the next day without a single recollection of what had happened last night.

"Good night." You whispered, pushing yourself off the sofa and wrapping your arms around your chest, immediately regretting every single one of your actions that night as you gazed upon how truly comfy and warm Simon and your son looked snuggled together, wishing that you had the emotional capability to let your resentment go and indulge in Simon's touch.

"'Night."

You willed yourself to take the first step back, tearing your gaze away from them and heading back to your bedroom, your face erupting into warmth out of a mixture of embarrassment and sadness, a clear sign that your body wanted nothing more than to just burst into tears and let Simon wrap you up in his arms and soothe you down like you knew he could.

You buried your face into your pillow as soon as you made it back into your now-cold mess of sheets, tugging one of the pillows back into your arms and doing your best to imagine that it was someone else, someone else who was as willing as you'd imagined Simon had been before to have you in their arms, to stroke your hair and calm you down because they loved you, because they cared about you and wanted nothing more than to see you as happy as you'd been a mere few hours ago.

You passed out soon enough, a few tears running down your cheeks as you subconsciously wrapped yourself around the pillow like a koala, the tear stains quickly disappearing during the night and lacking any evidence that they were once there when Simon walked through your door in the early morning, standing at the side of your bed for a few moments before he leaned over, pulling up the covers and tucking them around your sleeping body.

The sound of the shower coming alive and the pipes groaning was the thing that pulled you awake, struggling a few moments to rid yourself of the covers that pushed onto you, wondering to yourself when and how you'd tucked yourself in so aggressively, turning your head towards your bathroom and listening to the clinking of shampoo bottles and the water as it hit the tiled walls.

Your bathroom was unfortunately directly connected to your bedroom, so in order to get into the shower, Simon would have had to pass by your bed and… tuck you in? Did he really tuck you in?

You pulled languidly at the covers, looking down at your nightwear and growing warm as you saw how transparent your shirt looked in the morning light, leaving almost nothing to the imagination of whoever were to look down at your chest.

Simon had seen you like that.

You squeezed your eyes closed out of embarrassment, as if he was right there judging you with his stupid thousand yard stare, lifting yourself off the mattress and looking around your wardrobe for a shirt, restoring to a band one you'd stolen from one of your ex boyfriends you'd never had the heart to throw out.

You were mid straightening it out, your previous night shirt now pooling at your feet, when the door to the bathroom opened, your immediate response being to wrap your arms around your chest and let out a cry of warning, turning around so he was facing your back.

"Fuckin'-"

"Go back in!" You cried out, wanting nothing more than for the earth to burst open and swallow you whole, feeling too tired to be dealing with this kind of embarrassment at such an early hour of the morning.

You cracked an eye open as the door closed, letting the grip you'd had on the shirt go as you faintly heard Simon curse, trying to erase the memory of what had happened out of your brain.

As you pulled on the shirt, you willed yourself to think about anything other than the glimpse of flesh you'd seen before turning around, the wide chest that had been littered with the scars he'd once let you trace over, the towel around his waist that had barely cov-

Stop!

Unknown to you, Simon was having a similar dispute with himself from inside the bathroom, resting his flushed face on the cool tiles of the wall as he listened to you shuffle around your room, cursing himself out for being so goddamn stupid and exiting the bathroom without even checking if you were awake or not.

That wasn't the only reason he should've checked, he thought you'd still be asleep, so stupidly, he'd gone out with barely any coverings, including the one on his face, so he was pretty sure you would've seen the way his eyes almost immediately darted down towards your chest if you hadn't been busy enough with covering yourself and ogling at his chest.

"Fuck…" he breathed out, running his fingers through his hair and looking at himself in the foggy mirror, the tired, broken stare of a being he could barely consider a man staring back at him.

After a few more moments of staring at himself he couldn't bear it anymore, grabbing his discarded balaclava and pulling it over his what he considered broken face, his other clothes continuing as he did his best to cover every single patch of skin he could, hand landing on the doorknob once he was finished and asking for confirmation.

You'd about finished putting on the shirt when he'd piped up from inside, letting out a small "you can." before he opened the door again, face now covered and eyes darting down at the oversized shirt you'd pulled over your bottoms, closing it behind him.

"Didn't know you'd be changin'." He grumbled, his way of apologising without saying the exact words, eyes scanning the band on your shirt. "Y'like Joy Division?"

"Huh?" You looked down at the shirt, straightening it out to properly look at the band you'd forgotten was plastered on the front, shrugging slightly. "Yeah, they're good. I'm, uh, not the biggest fan. This was my boyfriend's."

"Boyfriend?" He spat out, almost with malice.

"Ex." You clarified, pulling at the ends of your shirt out of nerves, the way he was staring down at you reminiscent of how you'd assume higher ups looked down at their soldiers when they were in the wrong.

"Right." He grunted, looking away from you and training his stare at the bedroom door, nodding towards it. "'M gonna go check on Tom."

He brushed past you, leaving you standing in the middle of your bedroom twiddling your thumbs, confused and embarrassed due to the interaction you'd just shared.

You walked into the kitchen, stopping in your tracks when you noted that the dishes you'd left last night after Simon had brought take away had been cleaned right up, the plastic bowls from the curry thrown away in the recycling along with the other trash you'd used when making Tommy formula (you resorted to using that instead of pumping or breastfeeding when Simon was over).

God, now you felt even worse for what had happened last night.

You rubbed your hands all over your face, digging your nails into your scalp as you ran them through your hair, snapping your head up as your heard your son giggle, going back a few steps to look through the crack of the door, your chest tightening as you watched Simon feed Tommy, murmuring a string of words you were too far away to understand.

Fuck, you really felt awful.

You pulled out a few ingredients, acting almost on autopilot as you fried the sausages and toasted the bread, making his tea subconsciously the way you know he liked it (he'd never forced you to make tea, you'd seen the sticker on a takeaway cup he'd left on the counter), and pouring it into the cup he always used.

"You didn't have to." Simon mumbled as he walked out of the nursery, holding the empty bottle of milk in one hand and a plastic bag with a dirty nappy in the other, looking down at the plate of food you'd made him.

"I wanted to." You mumbled, taking a bite out of your own buttered toast as you watched him walk around the kitchen, throwing away the bag and cleaning out the bottle before starting on his breakfast, standing at the island instead of sitting like you were. "As thanks. For, uhm, cleaning up."

"It was nothin' deserving of this." He mumbled underneath his breath, shoving a spoonful of the baked beans into his mouth, now visible thanks to him pulling up his balaclava, the taste of the normal breakfast he'd have at whatever café he normally went to complete shit compared to yours.

"It's fine. I went a little overboard, it's been a while since I've cooked for someone."

He let out an amused huff, nodding his head. "Yeah, babies don' really need a full brekkie."

You both went silent after that, your eyes looking around at everything but at him, secretly hoping that he was enjoying the food, wishing you would've put on the radio or the news so you weren't sitting in complete silence.

The tapping of his fingers against the counter finally pulled your gaze towards him, watching him carefully as you continued to eat.

"Laswell called."

Laswell?

The face you made must've made him realise you had no idea who he was talking about, his hand coming up to grab the mug of tea and take a long sip before speaking again.

"Station Chief Laswell." You nodded along, hoping that he'd believe that you actually knew what he was saying. "She's got a mission f'us."

Oh.

"When?" You spoke out, a bit choked up as you tried your best to focus on the food instead, you always got unexplainably nervous when he left for a mission, despite the fact that he always came back.

"Gotta be there by 1."

You turned to look at the time on the microwave, the 09:00 displayed there striking unexplainable fear in you.

"You should get going, then."

"I should."

Neither one of you moved.

"Did you say goodbye to Tommy?"

"I did." He took a final sip of his tea, placing the cup down and turning to look at the nursery, the strangling pain he felt every time he left you coming back to haunt him. "Changed his nappy too. Like y'taught me."

You smiled at the memory. A few days after he'd first shown up you'd tried your best to teach him how to change Tommy and you'd gone through almost 10 nappies by the time he'd been able to put one decent enough (you'd quickly changed it yourself after he'd turned around, you didn't want the nappy to cut off your baby's circulation), so you hoped that he'd actually done it properly this time.

"Thank you…" You offered him a small smile, looking down at your own cuppa, wrapping your arms around the now lukewarm mug. "Go get ready. I'll clean up."

Simon really didn't want to, he wanted to continue standing there talking to you, gazing at your tired face and how cute you looked taking small bites out of the food you'd made that you'd undoubtedly wouldn't finish and would slide over to him like you'd done all those times before.

But he couldn't. He was a soldier. One that was trained to kill and follow orders no matter what and no matter the circumstance, one that would be laughed at if he called in saying he wanted to stay with- well, whatever you were to him.

He was about to zip up the duffle bag he'd left in your room during his small stay when he caught a glimpse of something he'd forgotten about.

The gun was relatively light in his hand, one that was smaller than the ones he was used to carrying out in the field, but could quickly figure out how to use in the span of a millisecond.

He called out your name, rapping his knuckles against the counter to catch your attention, raising his arms in surrender as fear filled your face, dropping the plate into the sink and taking a step back as soon as you caught sight of the gun.

"Simon! What the fu-"

"It's not loaded." His other hand waved around the magazine, placing them both down on the island in front of you both. "I'm not going to use it."

"I would fucking hope so!" You cried out, wiping off the soap suds on a towel and pressing your back into the counter, gripping the edge of it as if he was really threatening you with the gun.

"Do you know how to shoot one?"

You shook your head. You'd never even seen one this close apart from the rare policemen that carried one, let alone held one.

"Come." He picked them two items up, walking back into your room and waiting for you at the door to follow, worried about what he was planning on doing. "Where would you keep a gun?"

You turned to him with a raised eyebrow, once again expressing your confusion with a single stare before turning to the bedside table closest to the side you normally slept in, pulling the drawer out and immediately growing warm as you gazed down at the string of condoms along with some other items.

"Here, I suppose…" You watched him sit down on the bed, the mattress immediately sinking beneath his weight as he raised the gun and magazine up into your line of view.

"Take it."

You shakily did as he said, the gun feeling heavy in your palms in contrast to how easy it had felt for Simon, turning it around a few times as he continued to speak, pointing out every single detail and part of what he had soon let you know was a Glock.

"It's the one most policemen carry. Not very heavy, but still capable of takin' down a man." He murmured, almost letting out a chuckle as he took the gun and cocked it, making you jump at the sudden sound.

"Why would I want to take down a man?" You asked tentatively, taking it back from him and trying to fit in the magazine like he'd instructed you to.

A warm hand came up to cover yours, stopping you in your tracks and allowing him to get up and take the firearm from you, pulling out the magazine and placing them both in the drawer, trying his best to ignore the other items that were scattered around.

"Listen to me." He turned his head as he slammed the drawer shut, staring directly into your eyes to make sure that you were paying attention. "I cannot ensure your safety while I'm gone. There's tons of fucked up people who'd take whatever change to tear me down and would not think twice about using you or Tommy to do so. This is just in case. You only use this if you or Tommy are in imminent danger. If there is someone threatening any of you, you do not hesitate, you take the gun and use it."

Use it.

Use it!?

His hand came up to cup at your cheek, pulling you out of your swarming thoughts so he could be sure you were listening.

"I- Simon, I can't- I'll go to jail if I use it, I can't-"

"You won't." He interrupted, shaking his head. "I won't let them. You're under my protection, this is just in case of emergency when I'm not around."

You nodded, not knowing what else to do, the gun that had been in your hands mere moments ago feeling like a burden despite it being locked away.

"Oi. Lovie, look at me."

That immediately caught your attention.

"Tell me you understand."

Your mouth had gone dry, the combination of the shock behind his little surprise and the nickname that had slipped out of his mouth proving to be too much to handle.

"Tell me. You understand."

You took a deep breath, nodding your head. "I understand, Simon."

Even after he'd left, you couldn't shake yourself off that foreboding feeling, terrified that the moment where you'd have to use the gun would arrive sometime soon, the thought of you or Tommy coming into danger while Simon wasn't around enough to make you want to crumble into tiny pieces.

You'd stood by the door like you always did, although this time Tommy was fast asleep in his crib and your arms were empty, leaving you to say goodbye to Simon (although looking up into his eyes, you knew he wasn't Simon anymore) all by yourself.

"When d'you think you'll be back?" You whispered as he opened the door, not wanting to disturb any of the neighbours that might be loitering around (despite knowing that news about the terrifying man that resided in your apartment had travelled quick after he'd threatened your neighbour), handing him his jacket.

"A week, tops. I'll send you a text as soon as I know." He grunted, shoving on his jacket before pulling up his duffle bag, swinging it over his shoulder. "You need anythin', you call base, okay? They'll relay the message if it's necessary."

He'd given you the number to his base a few weeks ago, but you knew you'd never have the heart to call it, too embarrassed that the little problem you were currently having was nothing compared to what Simon was going through, and you didn't want to disturb any of his work if it really wasn't that important.

"Sent you money this morning. You got enough for a month." He went through his mental list of everything he should say to you before going, leaning against the door frame and looking down at you through heavy eyelids. "Get some takeout, don't strain yourself any more than you already are. Doctor said you should take it easy."

You dismissed the urge to roll your eyes, cursing yourself out for even allowing him to take you to the doctor in the first place and listen in.

"I know. I'll be fine, Simon. You just worry about yourself."

"Always do." He said, nodding his head as a form of goodbye before pushing himself off the doorframe, heading towards the elevator and leaving you standing there, only closing the door when you heard the front door close from all the way downstairs.

— I think he misses you.

— Won't let go of the teddy bear even though it's all dirty :(.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

God, if Simon wasn't wearing his mask he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to contain his smile, zooming into the picture you'd sent him of your small boy lying in your bed fast asleep cuddling the little plushie he'd gifted him.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— More.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

He hoped you understood what you meant by that, and by the way a few more pictures loaded in within seconds, he was glad you did.

He had to print some of those.

He'd once made a joke about one of the soldiers who wore a picture of their beloved in a small locket to Soap, commenting how it reminded him of the soldiers in WWI, when they were really just on their way to disarm a bomb.

But now he felt the need to have some type picture of you both or trinket that you'd given him right in the pocket over his heart, one that he could easily pull out in the middle of a mission to remind himself of why he was doing this, of why he couldn't let himself get caught by the enemy, of why he always had to come back to you.

He couldn't even bear the thought of his dog tags arriving at your doorstep instead of him one fateful day.

"Your nephew?"

Ghost snapped his head up, meeting the curious gaze of his captain and the bright orange tip of his cigar. "What?"

"Your nephew." Price gestured towards his lieutenant's phone, where the picture of Tommy drooling around one of his toys was still displayed. "You told me about him once at that bar in Vienna. What's his name?"

"Joseph." Ghost answered, shaking his head. "No, he's… Not a baby anymore. Must be a bloody teenager by now."

Price hummed, taking another puff from his cigar before looking away, squinting his eyes from the sun, wishing he'd been as smart as Ghost by bringing a pair of sunglasses.

"So."

"So?"

"Who's he, then?" Once again, the captain looked down at the dimly lit picture, where he could barely make out the features of the little boy, but by the onesie and plushie, he was able to decipher the not so difficult puzzle.

"He's…" Ghost trailed off, taking one last look at the picture before turning off his phone, sliding it into one of his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. "No-one."

"No-one?" Price huffed out, amused. "So you just have pictures of random babies on your phone, is that it, Lieutenant?"

Ghost flared up at his captain, the frown obscured by the sunglasses he'd put on after the clouds had dispersed, but by the way his body had tensed, Price could only assume he'd pissed him off.

"Name's Tommy. That's all you're getting." He grunted out, looking away from the older man like a child admitting to something embarrassing.

"Like your brother?" Price commented, letting out a groan before sitting down on the wall next to Ghost. "Isn't that a coincidence?"

"No, she didn' know when she named-" Ghost stopped himself from saying anything further, the slip of the tongue already having revealed the existence of a 'she', and he did not want to say any more.

"'She'?" Price grinned, blowing out some of the smoke before bringing his cigar up to his lips. "Come on, Simon. We're not on duty, are we? Not your captain right now."

He'd promised himself to keep quiet. He couldn't have anyone find out about you or Tommy, he couldn't risk having that information out in the open, his weakness out there for everyone to know.

But Price… Well, Price was different. He'd saved him multiple times across the span of time he'd spent working for the army, he'd been the one to pull him out of the deepest of holes, the one to trust him enough to allow him to join the 141.

They trusted each other.

"She's… I don't know." He let his head cock back, looking up at the forming clouds. "I knocked her up."

"Fuckin' hell, Simon." Price breathed out along with some smoke, turning to look at him with a sort of horrified and disappointed stare. "You're a dad?"

"Yeah."

"Christ, you're makin' me feel fucking old." He grumbled, taking the phone from Ghost as he handed it over, squinting at the dimly lit screen. "Cute little bugger, isn't he?"

Ghost smiled beneath his mask, watching Price scroll through the countless pictures you'd sent him across the month he'd been back, resisting the embarrassing urge to point out small details of every picture like an art major in a museum, instead keeping quiet and itching slowly to grab his phone back.

"Think you're a good dad?" Price asked, taking Ghost back a bit as he slid his phone back into the confines of his pocket, shrugging his shoulders as he squinted at two figures in the distance.

"Not the worst. Don't think he's got the mental capability to recognise if I'm good or bad to 'im. Least he doesn't cry every time he sees me." He breathed out a chuckle, snapping his mouth shut as he saw Soap and Gaz approach, the conversation sizzling away as they plopped down next to them both.

As the others started talking about another topic, Ghost thought about the question he'd been asked before more in-depth.

He wasn't a bad father, right?

He wasn't like… that.

Simon would be caught dead before even thinking of inflicting onto Tommy the same pain his own father had inflicted onto his family.

Imagining his small boy going through the same trauma, the same horror, the same fear he'd felt during his childhood was enough to tear his cold heart apart.

And he'd never treat you like his father had treated his mother, he'd never subdue you to the same pain she went through every day, he wouldn't let himself fall into the circle of abuse that had started way before his own father.

And Simon wasn't perfect. He knew that.

But he wouldn't stoop as low as his father had during the beginning of his life, where instead of the love and care a child was supposed to receive from his parents, he received the abuse and pain that no one deserved.

Just like him.

He closed his eyes as he remembered the burning shouts as his father berated him, always comparing the both of them and forcing Simon into tears, the mere thought of ending up as horrible as his father reducing him to sobs.

Even now, he still felt sick when he'd stare at the pictures of his father his mother still kept around her room in the nursing home, horrified whenever she'd point out their similar eyes and same blond hair.

But he wouldn't end like that. Despite whatever physical similarity he shared with his father, they had nothing in common personality wise.

Simon wasn't a monster.

He wouldn't hurt you or Tommy.

He wouldn't let anyone hurt you or Tommy.

He was a protector, a soldier trained to serve his country and the civilians who resided within it.

And he would protect. No matter what.

"S'alright, lovie… Jus' me."

"Simon…" You breathed out, letting your eyes flutter closed as his hands roamed the exposed skin of your chest, broken lips pressing kisses the whole way up to your jaw.

"That's it… Such a good girl f'me… Pretty, pretty girl." His warm hands cupped at your chest, pulling another whine out of you as he toyed with your breasts. "My good girl, right?"

"Mhm…" You mumbled, letting your head loll back onto Simon's shoulder and look up at him through tear covered eyelashes, your brain not functioning properly to process the blurred mass of what you assumed was a man's face staring down at you with those beautiful eyes, his breath hitting your lips as he leaned down to press the kiss you'd been longing for for so goddamn long—

Your body jolted awake, an uncomfortable ache between your legs quickly making itself known as you tossed around in your messy bed, brows furrowed as your brain tried to catch up with your suddenly awakened body.

What had you even been dreaming about?

You rubbed at your eyes with your wrists, digging them deep enough so you saw a few blinding colours, letting go and resorting to staring up at the ceiling.

You didn't even bother checking your phone, already knowing that the only notifications you would have received in the few hours you'd spent asleep were the ones from the dating apps you still didn't have the energy to delete.

None from Simon, of course. He'd been gone for over two weeks by now, which wasn't surprising, since he had let you know that this mission would be a long one and had warned you in advance.

Considering the last mission he'd gone on was almost a month ago (and had only lasted a few days, you think he finished as soon as he could to be back with Tommy, by the way he'd barreled through the house to get to the nursery) and that you and Tommy had gotten him all to yourself for about two weeks straight, you'd expected him to be called sooner or later.

You weren't really looking forward to him coming back, since you'd have to break the news to him that he'd missed Tommy's first attempts to sit up without support and the success that came after.

Luckily, you'd filmed most of it, although you did end up throwing the phone on the sofa to congratulate your son personally, pressing kisses to his chubby rolls and listening to him giggle before accidentally helping him fall back onto your bed, causing him to burst out crying.

Okay, well, maybe you could just edit the final part out.

You were pulling the covers over yourself, snuggling back into the warmth of your mattress before attempting to close your eyes and fall back asleep (hopefully to return to whatever dream you'd been having before), when the sound of the creek of your floorboards snapped you out of it.

Your heart stopped, listening out for any further sounds, breath hitching in your throat as what you feared you'd heard continued, recognising the footsteps going from the living room into the kitchen.

You leaned over to your phone, hoping to God that Simon had finished the mission early and had sent you a quick message telling you he'd be coming back soon, but as you unlocked the phone…

Nothing.

So whoever was walking around your house was not Simon.

You heard muffled whispers, too quiet for you to understand but loud enough to send a cold shiver down your spine.

It terrified you. That cemented the fact that there was actually someone in your home, walking around like it was nothing.

But there was more than one voice. Two. Or was it more?

You assumed the sound that had woken you up had been the door opening, which inflicted even more fear into you at the thought that they must have had a key instead of knocking your door down since the sound hadn't been enough to stick with you after pulling you awake.

Your eyes instinctively darted over to the bedside table, where Simon's gun still laid untouched every since he'd "gifted" it to you, staying frozen until one pair of feet got a bit too close to your door, mind racing and adrenaline pumping through your veins as you scrambled to open the drawer as quietly as possible and pull out the gun and mag with shaky hands, carefully pushing it in before cocking it, hissing at the loud sound it made.

You stepped out of bed, body shaking as you neared the door with the heavy gun in your hand, listening out carefully for what they could be saying.

"—ce gaf. Didn' expect this from ya."

"You're a classy one aren't — your sofa?"

The voices were broken and muffled, leaving your brain to try its best to complete them.

God, this was terrifying. You could feel your whole body shaking, waiting for the moment where it could give out.

It's okay. Deep breaths.

You can do this.

The doorknob rattled, the moment it twisted seemingly happening in slow motion, your heart skipping a beat before you raised your gun up to the attacker, finger grabbing at the trigger just in case they made a dangerous move on you, your frantic eyes meeting the surprised ones of the man you were currently pointing a gun at (which you'd never used before, mind you).

"Steamin' fuckin'-"

You didn't even have time to react before his arm instinctively raised towards you, hand grasping at your throat in an instant, like the only thing he'd been taught to do was to kill.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

You heard a familiar voice roar as the hand tightened around your throat, the gun now abandoned at your feet as your hands scratched and tugged at your attacker's hand.

The last thing you saw before your eyes clouded over was the large shadow coming up from behind your assailant, their face one that despite the tears that blurred your vision you could tell was ready to rip apart someone.

You didn't even have time to think if it was going to be you or his partner.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker @simpingforleoandnico @simonsslvt @embers-of-alluring @uriahs-sketchings @alexisv15 @alexkellersleg @jordanwalkersworld @tabalugax @diekoniginvonfernet @thatoneautor0123 @technicallyvirtualmilkshake @littlezarp @crazyfandomist @hypernovaxx @am-3-thyst @madamemelancholysstuff @lylesx @anxietydrogz @jaymum @coacaiyne @emmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa @ghostsfavhoe @maviee @pedropascalswhore @d4z01 @beakami (if your name is in white, it means I couldn't tag you!)

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: sex workers reader and toji, wrestling, he puts you in a headlock, ass slapping

as a sex worker under an agency, you sometimes get the opportunity to perform certain tropes that you wouldn't think too much about doing on your own. there have been quite a few that your manager has thrown your way; medical play, light BDSM scenes, and now, mixed wrestling. you've done your fair share of oiled up fighting with other women in your career, but you've never wrestled a man before.

its all staged, much like real wrestling except—except you're not too sure why or how you were paired up with infamous actor Toji Fushigurou. technically speaking, you two aren't anywhere near the same weight class, but you're not sure if technicalities even count for a job like this.

there are a few rules: no actual striking of each other, take the others underwear off during the fight, no biting. as the ref lists off all the other little things you two need to remember, you both take each other in. Toji is, for lack of better words, fucking huge. he's got at least six inches on you, packed with muscle and a nonchalant kind of finesse that makes you just the slightest bit nervous under his stare. he stands only in a tight pair of black boxer briefs, and you can make out the outline of his soft cock, despite the fact that it still rests low on his thigh.

he grins at you when he notices your ogling, winking once when you frown at him. he's been in the industry for so long, he's more than used to being objectified, but something about your little defiance that shines in your eyes makes him want to tear into you, piece by piece.

"Go!" the ref announces once she's finished listing her instructions. Toji doesn't immediately attack you, instead grins at you, hands on his waist as he cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction. with a, albeit weak, battle cry, do you lunge at him—

and quickly find yourself pinned. you don't know how he does it so quickly, maneuver you as if you only weighed a pound, but he does it. catches you in his arms and swings you around until your back meets the floor with a grunt, the wind suddenly knocked out of you. he's gentle though, where he pins you with his knees on either side of you.

"At least try to put up a fight," he teases you, pulling at the straps of your bikini. but you fight him off as much as you can, grunting and cursing at him, taking this entirely too seriously for what will ultimately end with you being fucked into oblivion by the man. doesn't mean you have to go out without a fight, though.

although, your fight doesn't mean much to Toji. by the third and final round, you're fully naked and he's still got his underwear on. your ass is slapped raw by how many times his too big hands have groped you, nipples pinched to sensitivity. you're not surprised when the ref announces your lost, tells Toji to claim his prize.

and he does just that. pins you on the floor, finally releasing the thickness of his cock. he's cocky the entire time, teasing, with how he pins you on your stomach, holding you in a headlock as he fucks his cock too deep inside of you to put up much of a fight anymore.

"Did you even try?" he asks, breathy, a smirk plastered on his face as he looms over your shoulder. "Or did you want to end up like this? With my dick in your stomach? The fight worked you up that much, huh?"

he taps your clit with too thick, mean fingers with his other hand, tightening his bicep around your throat when you try to get smart with him. he knows its all bark and no bite, if judging by the way your cunt sucks him in is anything to go by. you can only gurgle out a curse to him, eyes rolling back in your head when his wicked laugh only pushes you over the edge to climax.

(after the scene ends, he kisses your temples and squeezes your waist, telling you that you guys should do more scenes together. you only stick out your tongue at him, promising to get stronger so you can take him down next time. he laughs at you, more than happy to entertain your thoughts that will, truthfully, never come true.)

[ilylovelyz]

hi, I love your works !! (I think that's a bit obvious, considering I almost liked all of your Haikyuu.)

They're quite pleasing to read (especially the smvt, they're nicely written.)

I've never asked a request before so I hope I'm doing this right lmfaofao. Anyways, I was wondering if we could get Big!Ushjima X shy v!rgin afab gf <3 reader !Timeskip.

I think you've written something with this pair before, but I thought the story could go something like: Ushjima and his team lost a match, he's quite furious about it, and he just needs to let out his frustration, so he simply uses reader <33. (low-key breaks reader in two..) And you may add anything else you think can go with it!!

Thank you, and please take care!!

⍣ ೋ better than me

˚ · . ushijima wakatoshi x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ virginity loss, dubcon, forceful breeding, ushi has a big peepee, dumbification, slapping, cervix fucking, gaping, fingering, minor age gap (2 years)

"toshi-" you manage to say before you're being slammed against the enterance door of his house. "what are you- ow! that hurts toshi!" you cry, tears burning at your waterline when ushijima roughly pulls down your skirt and panties.

this is so confusing, you've never seen him like this. i know he's lost a big game, but he's lost plenty others and never acted like this.. you think as your chest heaves against the door.

you wince in pain when he brings his hand down onto your ass, showing no mercy on your most fragile parts. ushijima shoves himself against you, grinding his hard-on into the plumpness of your ass. he brings his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your intoxicating scent deeply as he nibbles onto your shoulder.

you moan softly at the pleasure, for a moment he seems to be gentle with you, his hands roaming your body gently, slipping underneath your shirt and bra to fondle and play with your breasts. "toshi.. what's wrong baby?" you coo, turning around to face him. you cup his face into your palms, softly petting him.

his eyebrow twitches uncontrollably, his eyes dark and jaw clenching. oh. he looks at you so sickeningly, as if you're a sweet little bunny and he's the big bad wolf. you try to lean in to place a kiss on the tip of his nose, but he doesn't let you. instead, he turns you back around, tearing off the rest of your clothing.

your face flushes with embarrassment, you can feel his gaze. this is the first time any man has ever seen you fully naked. ushijima wastes no time to lower his hand to your damp folds, his fingers prodding at your throbbing cunt. "nooo.. it's dirty there," you say meekly, wiggling in ushijima's hold.

suddenly, a searing pain races throughout your body. ushijima inserts two fingers without warning into your untouched hole, stretching you out far and wide. "ahh-" you cry, not knowing if you should cry, yell or pass out. ushijima has big hands after all.

it feels like an eternity before the pain settles down, and soon you're moaning like a little slut and humping against his palm. ushijima gladly inserts a third finger, scissoring inside of you and working into that sweet spot that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

ushijima is quick to make you cum. the feeling, so foreign to you, has your legs trembling, struggling to keep you standing. you can't think of any words to say, your orgasm hitting you so strongly you forget that you're on earth.

when you come to, you're laying across the doormat, your knees resting on top of the cold wood flooring. ushijima is on his own knees behind you, guiding his fat cock's tip towards your poor virgin hole.

before you can protest, your body goes limp, every thought in your mind has perished as his fat cock stretches you out. you only gurgle and make small whines as you're ripped apart into two.

ushijima gives you a moment of rest before he's snapping his hips into your ass cheeks and his cock tip is suddenly pushing against your cervix. you jolt at the sudden pain, but god, does it hurt so good.

placing his hands on your waist, ushijima forces you up and down his cock, using you like a fleshlight. his hands guide you up and down on his cock, so devastatingly slow yet deep. you can barely breathe, it feels like he's trying to break open your cervix and reach as deep as possible.

your tight virgin walls suck onto his cock, sucking him back into you. it's almost painful, the way he's taking you for your first time. on the dirty ground, in front of the enterance door, on the doormat that was stepped over a million times and cleaned zero times.

such a dirty place for a virgin like you. but thats why he loves it. to take a sweet little innocent girl like you and have her first time on the dirty floor like a common whore and have her first taste of large cock, ruining you for everyone else but him.

"y/n." he finally speaks.

he lays down a hand onto your ass in an attempt to catch your attention. his cock twitches inside of you when the only response he gets is an animalistic groan. perfect.

he takes it up a notch by pulling his cock out to only the tip before he harshly slams back into your quivering pussy, your body jolting from the harsh treatment. he pummels his hips into your ass, enjoying the way it lewdly jiggles. he can feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix opening with every thrust.

you're practically braindead at this point, eyes stuck at the back of your head as he takes you like some common whore. you don't even acknowledge when a painful orgasm washes over you when ushijima's cockhead for the moment pops through your cervix.

but he does. in an effort to do it again, he shifts his entire weight onto his hips. his cock feels like it's stabbing through you, you're sure it's bulging through your stomach right now.

finally, your cervix breaks. you break, and let him in. he groans at the thought of breaking his cute girlfriend for her first time, impossibly stuffing his cock further up your pussy.

with a grunt, he's stilling his hips, flush with your ass, emptying his fat load straight inside your womb. your legs tremble with overstimulation as you cum once more as you're bred for the first time, the warm feeling of being stuffed full is the only thing you can think of.

with a satisfied sigh, he sits there patiently. he doesn't want a single drop to be wasted.

please leave a like and reblog if you enjoyed!!

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

prompt8: urge ! I Love the way you describe all the Feelings in your stories :DD ( and keeping It gn so i can at least have my mxm Imagine haha xDD)

Hiiiiii so sorry it took so long, wrangling that muse is difficult. I did, however, manage to subdue it with the help of this post, much thanks to OP.

You feel it well up from deep within you. A barely contained fury, a dark sinister urge to rip apart those responsible for the scene before you. Orin smiles from her perch above Astarion, who is bound upon a slab whilst Orin's dagger rests just above his heart.

"Come to save your beloved?" She smiles at you eerily, twirling her dagger. You say nothing, mind clouding with anger as you walk down the steps towards the stage upon which Orin will perform her final dance. She laughs, eager to get the ritual started but your gaze remains cold.

You don't need a Slayer form to kill her.

What happens next is but a blur. All you know is that at the end of it all, Orin lies in a puddle of blood at your feet, gasping her last breaths as she reaches out to you. The Urge within you howls victoriously, eager for the feast and your ears ring, the shouts of your companions muffled. All you can focus on is the dying traitor in front of you. Blood roars in your ears, the beast inside hungrily calling for you to take your place as Bhaal's true chosen but when you deal the final blow, it's to save the man you love from Orin's clutches, not to become what your father wants you to be.

As your dagger tears through skin and flesh, ripping away Orin's final breath, the pained cry that slips past her lips sounds familiar, almost as though it were…

Astarion.

You blink and the scene before you changes. Astarion lies before you, bloodied by your blade, your magic, you, while the monster Orin laughs from her place upon the sacrifical stone slab. Your mind goes blank, arms falling to your sides as you crumble to the floor.

"Star." The word feels thick in your throat. Bile floods your mouth, making you sick and you resist the urge to gag. Blood bubbles from Astarion's lips as he tries to speak but all that comes out is a gurgle. His crimson eyes glare at you, as if blaming you for being unable to differentiate your lover from your sister. He's right to blame you, all this is your fault, all because of your inability to see past Orin's illusions. You can vaguely hear Orin cackling as your other companions fight their way to her, and then everything falls silent, save for the dripping of blood onto the stone floor. She's disappeared, leaving only a mocking thanks for your sacrifice to Bhaal.

"Star." The word comes out as a sob, your greatest fear now realised. Tears stream silently down your cheek but no one's there to comfort you. You've killed the one who was always there for you, gentle whispers of reassurance lost forever because of your bloodstained hands. Overwhelmed with grief and self-hatred, you scream.

And then you wake up.

Sweat clings to you like second skin, drenching your clothes. Your chest heaves with each gaping breath you take, your hands clammy and your face sticky with tears.

Astarion.

You whip around wildly, eyes frantically searching for your lover in what is slowly registering as your shared room. The vampire is peacefully trancing in the bed next to you, a singular crimson eye cracking open at your wild movements.

"Darling? Some of us are trying to sleep, you know."

Relief floods you at the sight and you collapse back onto the bed, nearly bursting into tears yet again. Then laughter takes over, your abdomen hurting from the effort.

Orin is dead. Astarion is alive, as alive as an undead can get.

Astarion rises to get a better look at you when he realises you're acting weird, concern colouring his face when he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. The snarky facade quickly fades, giving way to genuine worry. His cold fingers send tingles running up your spine as they run along your cheek, gently wiping away the stray tears that roll down.

"Orin's dead," you gasp out between the laughter. "Orin's dead."

"She is." Astarion is unnaturally quiet. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry, lips tentatively hovering over your forehead. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You reach up, cupping his cheek, feeling the skin beneath your fingers. Your beloved is right here, in front of you, unharmed. Orin lies somewhere in the bowels of Baldur's Gate, carrion for the rats that lurk there. You exhale sharply, closing your eyes as you try to bring your heart rate under control once more.

"You're here." The words leave your lips in a shaky whisper. "You're here."

"I promised I'd always be, love. And I'm not one to break my promises." Astarion slips an arm around your waist, an invitation that you gladly take. You bury your face into his chest, muffling the sobs that you choke out and feel him curl around you, holding you tightly. You feel the kisses he presses to the top of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he holds the back of your head. The silver tongue from which honeyed words usually flow remains quiet, the only sound in the room being your sobs.

"I didn't kill you. I didn't sacrifice you to my father." The words are but a whisper, and yet his sharp ears catch each and every single one.

"Bhaal has no hold over you anymore, no more than Cazador has over me. You're no longer his captive, you're free. Free to do whatever you want without that Urge taking over, free to be more than just a creature who slaughters for the sake of it. I'll kill whoever tries to convince you otherwise." His grip on you tightens, fangs peeking out at the mention of killing.

You sniffle, clinging onto him as though he would suddenly disappear and nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder. His underlying undead scent pokes through your clogged nose, a comforting scent, much to your amusement. Taking a deep breath, you dive into your still fractured mind, searching for the bloodthirsty Urge within but find nothing. Instead, a stillness you weren't aware of before resides where the Urge once lay, waiting to be filled with something else.

Astarion presses a kiss to your forehead, crimson gaze still resting on you. In his eyes you find a fondness he reserves only for you, an unwavering loyalty, and most of all, an undying love for the one he calls his significant other. Maybe the void within you can be filled after all, bloodlust replaced with gentleness, murder replaced with love. Your hands will never be clean, that much you know, but perhaps they needn't be stained with more needless bloodshed, not while you remain free of your father.

You tilt your head up, pressing your lips against his and savour the moment. You're free, truly free, and this is proof of that.

[iliketangerines]

he's just a little mean

pairing: mean!dom!raiden x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw, overstimulation, dacryphilia if you squint, spanking, slapping, degradation kink, praise kink, nipple play, choking, dumbification, improper use of electricity, blowjobs

i think that Raiden would be soft and sweet when you first get together and have sex: soft kisses and hand-holding the entire time, whispering sweet-nothings into your ear

but after a while, he starts getting rougher and meaner, whispering dirty things into your ear and edging you a little bit longer and digging his fingers into your hips hard enough to leave faint bruises

when the both of you are secure in your relationship, especially after he goes to Kuai Liang to harness his anger, he lets loose, he’s like that one trope: the quietest ones are always the freakiest

he sucks deep and dark hickeys in your neck and chest, relishing in your small whimpers of pleasure and pain as he rolls your nipples between his fingertips roughly, pinching and pulling until they’re red and puffy

he’ll trap your hips underneath his arms, thick and corded with muscle from farming and training, and prevent you from squirming away from his touch as he leaves little kisses and nibbles on your pussy lips

he’ll tease you for what feels like forever, not satisfied until he can hear you sniffling and sobbing from the edging, and then he’ll suck harshly at your clit, maybe even slapping at it roughly to hear you let out a little yelp

he relishes in your whimpers as you try and get away from the stimulation as he presses his fingers directly into that spot that sends stars flashing in your eyes and sucks on your clit, causing you to cum over and over again on his fingers and tongue

if you squirm too much, he slaps at your thigh harshly or bites into the sensitive flesh of the inside of your thighs to discipline you, usually it makes you flinch and it gives him an excuse to keep on slapping and biting your legs

on one notable occasion, he kept slapping at your clit harshly, just watching your pussy clench around nothing and hearing you cry out in pain

if you really wanted it to stop, you would say your safe word, but it never appears and so he keeps on going

Raiden, once he’s had enough of tasting your cunt, he’ll pull you off the bed to kneel before him and slap at your face, laughing at how dazed you look and the tears tracks on your cheeks

he’ll slap your dick against your cheek, telling you to open your mouth and then slapping the tip of his cock on your head.

he’ll let you go at your pace at first, letting you suckle at the tip and lick him from base to tip slowly, little grunts escaping from him as the hold he has on your hair grows tighter

he’ll degrade the hell out of you, calling you his little slut, talking about how well this whore takes his cock, how you’re his personal cocksleeve, and you can only whine around his dick

eventually, he takes control and just fucks your face, listening to the way you gag and gurgle around his cock and watching as you press your legs together for some friction

he kicks your legs open, forcing you to let your wetness to drip and pool on the floors

when he gets close, he shoves your head down, your nose buried in the base of curls and has your throat warm his cock

he’ll pull your head off after what feels like forever, only letting you get a single shaky breath in before shoving your head back down onto his cock

when you’re nice and light-headed, he’ll throw you onto the bed

sometimes you’re ass up, and he’ll press a firm hand into the small of your back, forcing you to arch deeply for him and tease you a bit, letting the head of his dick catch on your pussy and rub against your clit

he’ll have you beg for his dick before he even thinks about putting it in

when he does, he’ll set a hard and fast pace, slapping at your ass hard enough to leave an imprint and digging his fingertips so deeply into your hips, the bruises will haunt you for weeks

he’ll reach under your hips and rub at your clit and send jolts of electricity through it to hear you moan and whimper and will somehow get even faster when he feels you clench around him

other times, you’ll be on your back, and he’ll throw your legs over his wide shoulders and use one of his hands to keep your wrists above your head

maybe he’ll use his free hand to pinch at your nipples, relishing in your whimpers, or sometimes he’ll choke you, keeping you on the edge of losing consciousness or maybe he’ll use his free hand to rub your clit harshly, pinching at the sensitive nub until you’re crying

the entire time though in either position, he’s whispering the dirtiest things to you, how you take his cock so well, how you must be such a whore to enjoy being hit, how he’ll keep you as his personal cocksleeve, how you’re such a brat for needing his dick all the time, etc.

he also always makes sure to angle his hips just right to hit that sweet spot and hear your sweet whimpers and whines spill from your lips

he’ll tell you about his future plans, how he’ll leave you to cockwarm him as he finishes up paperwork, how he’ll tie you up and leave you wet and needy all day, how he’ll bring the others to also fuck you because you would love just being a stupid sex toy, you wouldn’t need to think, you’d just be a consort, a stress relief toy for everyone

only when you’ve come on his cock enough times, which varies by the day, then he’ll come inside of you, letting his seed coat your walls and staying inside of you for a few minutes

if you’re an angel, he’ll let you come as many times as you want, mixing a bit more praise into his dirty talk, and kissing you sweetly even as he fucks into you harshly

but if you’ve been a brat, he’ll spank you until you’re a sobbing mess and then have you ride him, simply resting his hands on your waist and letting you do all the work, even when you get tired and beg him to please help because you can’t reach your own orgasm by yourself

his words are mixed with much more degradation, calling you a dirty whore and how you’re such a needy slut for touching yourself without his permission

he won’t even think about touching your clit, he’ll touch everywhere else, biting into your neck harshly, slapping your tits and your ass, pinching harshly at your nipples, shocking you with his newfound electricity powers, choking you and letting go just before you blackout, but he’ll neglect your puffy clit, won’t give into the tearful pleads for him to please touch you there

Raiden will also just pull out of you, just as you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm, and cum on your face but he won’t bring you to a release and leaves you needy and whiny for the whole week for disobeying him

whether or not you’ve been an angel or a brat, he’ll take care of you afterwards, rubbing lotion into your red skin, making sure you drink water and eat something, and wiping away the release on your cunt with a damp rag carefully

he’ll cuddle with you afterwards, brush away your tears, and ask if everything was okay and if he went too far or not

[dollwrites]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 — 𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐲𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!suiseki!reader, noise control, finger sucking, king of tsundere himself, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ i didn’t plan on writing this, but i can’t get the idea of kanata shoving his fingers in my mouth out of my head. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

“You’re being too loud again.” Kanata was panting out a ragged whisper in your ear, but you could hardly hear it over your own, loud whimpering and the table thump-thumping to the rhythm of his greedy thrusting. he may have been a self-centered lover, a learned selfishness from years of neglect or, perhaps, because he had to steal everything else he’d ever had. but, you’d be damned if you didn’t love the way he stole you, too. “You trying to get me killed?”

there’s a tinge of amusement lacing the sarcasm dripping from his husky voice, but the threat was a very possible outcome if anyone found out that he claimed you like this. quick, needy, disrespectful fucking. against the wall, in a closet, or — like this time — on a table. whenever and wherever Kanata could get his hands on you, usually on the way out after meeting with Iori and picking up his pay. “Shh…”

“K, K! H—harder, oh god, harder!” he was already pounding hard, the legs of the table you’re boosted on to grinding into the floor, leaving skid marks, and he was hilt deep already. his sweatpants shoved down around his thighs, his balls were heavy with need for you, and made a deliciously wet slap due to the way you squelch when he pushes deep. Kanata made you so wet that you couldn’t help but erupt like a geyser when he hit your sweet spots, and thankfully he didn’t mind the mess you always left on him. you knew it’d be the same today, he’d pull the frayed hems of his hoodie down to cover the wide, damp stain that smelled like you on his crotch. his clothes weren’t the only ones that suffered, though. your panties, pulled to one side for the quickest access to your cunt he could get, were soaked, too.

“Shut up,” he grunted, thin brows furrowing close together and teeth grinding when you grasp a handful of lavender locks, skewing his lazy side pony further, and jerking hard. expelling a heavy breath into your neck before pulling back, his head tilted upwards to accommodate your vice, lips parted, amethyst gems sparkling and pupils blown out with lust as he watches you squirm and cry out for him, against his demands to quieten down. “They’ll hear you.”

you couldn’t keep quiet, anyways. you couldn’t stifle your pleasured whines or the way you wanted to scream his name until your voice went hoarse. with your trembling knees dug into his ribs, your manicured nails biting at his shoulder and his scalp, your voice was your last line of defense against the haphazard way he fucked you. you didn’t care about the other boys in the building, the ones that you called your family, the ones that could — at any moment — hear you scream for Kanata and come running to ruin this beautiful, depraved moment with him.

all you cared about in this moment was Kanata, and how fucking good his cock felt inside you.

“Gonna cum!” you yip, your eyes threatening to roll back, toes curling. your knees tighten against his ribs, trying to lock him in place so you could ride out your high, “G—gonna c—!”

Kanata cut your mewling short, his middle and ring finger pushing into your mouth, muffling the sounds. they reach to the back of your throat in an instance, teasing your gag reflex as the rough, calloused pads press down hard on your tongue. your first instinct is to gurgle, eyes widening and flitting to look up at him. he was so close to you, his breath tickling the apples of your cheeks as his thumb anchors itself under your jaw, keeping you from pushing his fingers out as he fucked you into bliss. “Spoiled brat,” he spat, but there was a subtle yet undeniable fondness in his degradation. “I said shut up… You’re just gonna make me shut you up myself?” he moves them in your mouth, back and forth, to the reckless rhythm in which his hips snap to yours, and your eyes start to water as his digit tips prod at the opening of your throat each time, but this new way to keep you quiet had your pussy clenching, clamping down in his cock until he was breathless and struggling to keep his composure. “That’s— it… come on, princess,” the nickname sounded more like an insult coming from him, but it only made you wetter, “just keep… milking me… fuck, suck my fingers, baby.”

you obey, but only to keep as quiet as you could, sealing your glossy pink tiers around his fingers, you tasted the salt in his skin, your moaning turning to muffled vibrations as you struggle to keep your eyes open and on him.

but, you knew he was close and you wanted to see him cum.

his lip twitched, as if he were about to bare his teeth, his eyes glazing and falling out of focus as he becomes solely zeroed in on reaching his peak. his free hand grips tight on your hip, pulling you in to his movements, as the last few, erratic thrusts send you into your own tizzy. Kanata lets out a raspy moan, pushing you back and separating your bodies just in time for him to cum. wrenching his hands away, he uses them to pry your knees off of him, holding them far apart so he can pull out. as soon as he does, with a strangled cry from you, he releases, painting your panties and netherlips, the glaze dripping on to the table under you.

your chest was heaving for a moment, and you stare down at the mess he’s made of you, too, until you notice he’s staring at your face. it was only then that you felt the thin strings of saliva that he’d pulled from your mouth as they dribble on to your chin and leave little, damp patches on your top. you look up at him and smile. it was a half-dick drunk, silly grin, but it was enough to at least soften his gaze with a hint of adoration. “How the hell do I keep ending up here?” he asked in a low voice, pulling away to tuck himself back into his pants.

you sit up, and lean forward to catch him in a tight back hug, nuzzling your face in his shoulders. “Maybe you like me?” you ask, before adding, “I like you.”

Kanata’s silent, but he also doesn’t push you off for several moments, as if he’s deep in thought about something, before he scoffs and mutters, “I just fucked your brains out. You don’t even know what your own name is, much less what you like. You’ll think better of it later.” with that, now he does shrug you off, but he keeps his face partially hidden, trying to conceal the faint pink blush to his cheeks. “I gotta go. You know to clean up before you come out, right?” his eyeline falls to your ruined panties and the puddle of his spunk on the table. Iori would lose his mind if it left a stain, and the last thing Kanata needed was Zen on his ass. you make a face, scrunching your nose at his curt nature, even after doing something so intimate, but nod, and he heads out. you can swear, however, that you hear him murmur under his breath. “See you again… princess.”

[aloysiavirgata]

What do you think Scully and Mulder would disagree on as parents? A prompt, if you will.

Scully wanted schedules. Meal plans. Calendars. She wanted piano lessons on Thursdays, swim lessons on Mondays, and labeled bins for the Legos and Thomas train cars. She wanted whole grains and bento boxes and clothes from Boden and Hanna Andersson and Tea Collection. Vacations in the Galapagos and the Grand Canyon. She wanted - in her most secret heart - for him to be the star of the soccer or lacrosse teams. Or both.

Mulder wanted the gauche consumerism of Disney World every spring. He wanted drippy ice cream cones and a perpetually muddy dog and troops of sticky neighbor children marauding through the back door so he could say JESUS CHRIST WILLIAM I’M NOT PAYING TO AIR CONDITION THE WHOLE STREET. He imagined burnt pig-anus hot dogs over a campfire, a floor strewn with action figures, snow angels, Chef Boyardee. No chess coach, no deportment classes, those new-fangled sneakers that lit up. He imagined Welch’s grape juice stains on the couch.

***

Scully, luscious and fully fleshed again, with William suckling at her blue-veined breast. Scully like a Renaissance Madonna reimagined by Margaret Atwood.

“My mother sold her wedding dress to pay for Charlie’s football gear,” she says, touching William’s rose petal cheek. “My father made pretty good money for the Navy and all, but four kids so close together…we ate a lot of spaghetti. Lots of hand me downs. Missy shoplifted makeup a whole lot, if my mother ever knew…”

“Malnutrition why you’re so short?” he asks, because he knows she wasn’t actually malnourished.

She scowls. “It was never dirty, my mother would have died first. But just…you know. Heaps of rain boots at the door and school books on the table and hair ribbons and pencil stubs and recorder sheet music and half a cream-cheese-and-jelly sandwich withering on a plate because Bill and Missy were pinching each other…”

Scully trails off, switches the baby to her other breast. Remembers dinners of store-brand fish sticks and creamed corn because one of them had an unexpected pricey field trip.

William gurgles, clutches a fistful of his mother’s silky hair. Blows a raspberry beneath her Delft pottery gaze.

Mulder kisses William’s warm, fragrant head.

Mulder remembers his father, pleasantly loquacious on bourbon, teaching him about shoulder lines and top-stitching at 8. His mother and Samantha in matching ruffled Gunne Saxe dresses, the starched disapproval of the maid when he tracked footprints over the fresh vacuum lines in the carpet.

Chicken a la King, wedge salad, Steak Diane, swigs of his mother’s sidecar…

William hiccups, dribbling milk down his fat cheek. He begins to hiccup more, which makes him laugh at first, and which then makes him cry.

“It was just always loud and chaotic,” Scully says, propping the baby against her shoulder. “Someone was always hurt or in trouble or pulling hair or getting their hair pulled…it was impossible to think or relax. College was such a gift.” She remembers a study- fort she built in the San Diego coat closet.

William belches, then cheerfully vomits down her cleavage.

Scully groans.

Mulder mops her up with tender precision, watches William try to stuff his dinner-roll fist into his mouth.

“It’s been silent at my house for twenty-eight years,” Mulder says.

[iamthecomet]

Been thinking about throatfucking and mountaindew lately, where big guy stays buried and jacks himself whilst choking dew.

Maybe throw some Phaeon in there to help dew loosen up (I’m convinced quint ghouls can channel their magic through their dicks and no one can tell me otherwise)

(Also hello, love your fics!)

(hi, THANK YOU). Using this ask as Kinktober Day 23 - Face Fucking. So, thank you SO SO much for this DELICIOUS image. almost 1.2k of Mountain/Dew throat fucking. Ft. voyeur(ish) Aeon.

There are tears in Dew’s eyes. He’s trying to hide them by keeping his eyes closed, but Mountain can see them. The wetness stuck to those long pale lashes. He tightens his grip in Dew’s hair, presses himself a little deeper. Not that he really can. It’s the grind that matters. Dragging the head of his cock against Dew’s throat. He can’t go deeper–Dew has all of him. Lips pressed tight to Mountains’ pubic bone, drool dripping through his pubic hair and down to his balls. 

Dew makes a pathetic little noise. More a gurgle than anything else. Vibrations rolling up over Mountain’s cock. Mountain feels himself pulse and Dew winces. He breathes through his nose, strained but steady. 

From the other side of the room, Aeon watches. One leg thrown over the other. Leaning back in a chair, a beer from the mini-bar in his hand. He had his turn already. Spilling hot and thick down Dew’s throat under the guise of preparation. Quintessence flowing into Dew’s ever willing body, loosening muscles. Mountain’s pretty sure Dew could have taken him without it. Would have swallowed Mountain down without a second thought. 

But that would have been less fun than watching Aeon ease his dick down Dew’s throat. Purring to him about how good he was doing. Babying him through it while Aeon fucked his throat hard enough that Dew has to be sore. Dew glared at him the whole time, torn between palming at himself and pretending not to be into the treatment. 

There’s none of that bravado left in him now. His pants are unzipped, hand sliding up and down the wet length of his cock. Mountain watches the way his fingers tighten around the head, the little twist he gives at the end. Dew’s spilling pre like a water ghoul, dripping onto his fingers and onto the hotel floor. Mountain tries not to think about the stain it’ll leave. 

“Just like that, Dew. Stay just like that,” he purrs. Scratching his fingers against Dew’s scalp where he holds him tight. 

Dew’s eyes flutter open, he looks up at Mountain. His glamor is still up. Dew’s weird about it in hotel rooms sometimes, so the eyes that meet Mountain’s are blue. Copper in the very middle where Dew’s control is slipping just a little. Cracks of himself shining through. His pupils are blown wide. Eyes wet and ringed with tears. 

Mountain drags the thumb of his free hand under one of them. Catching wetness against it. Dew blinks back, tries to keep that wetness away. 

“He crying yet?” Aeon asks from across the room. Mountain glances over at him. Finds Aeon palming at himself. Already hard again. 

“Almost,” Mountain answers, then turns his attention back to Dew. Back to the wet heat of Dew’s throat. Dew shifts and everything constricts. Mountain bites back a loud groan. Fights the urge to just fuck into Dew’s throat with abandon. After Aeon’s show Mountain’s a little hesitant to really give it to the little ghoul beneath him. He doesn’t want to hurt Dew. But seven hells does he want to cum. 

Mountain slips his hand down, he curls his palm around Dew’s throat. Loose. But it doesn’t matter. Dew shudders as soon as he does it. Eyes starting to roll up. The threat of it enough to send another spurt of pre onto the low-pile carpet. 

Mountain grinds in a little again. He can feel himself beneath his palm. Hard as he ever gets. Shifting beneath Dew’s skin. He presses down a little and finds he can feel that too. The constriction his own hand creates. 

“Fuck,” Mountain holds Dew’s gaze as he gives a cursory thrust–small–but he feels it. Feels the pressure of his own hand. Feels the way Dew’s body gives to him on both sides. Bending to his will. The last dreges of  quintessence making everything more fluid. Dew’s relaxed, easy. No tension coiled in any of his muscles. Throat open and slick. Mountain squeezes a little harder and Dew moans. Muffled around Mountain’s cock. It ends in a gurgle as he presses down a little more. 

Mountain can’t take his eyes off of Dew. Over his hand on Dew’s throat–so big it engulfs him from Jaw to collarbone. Dew’s hand on his cock stutters, rhyhtm failing. 

Dew’s still dressed. Mountain realizes belatedly. Dick just hanging out of his jeans where he strokes it. Band-T stained with drool and Aeon’s cum.

Dew is crying now. Mouth stretched around Mountain’s cock, tears running down his cheeks, eyes glassy as he fucks up into his own fist and Mountain does the same. Fucking into Dew’s throat and by extension the pressure of his own hand. Squeezing and releasing when he needs it. 

“Fuck that’s hot,” Aeon mutters. Mountain hears the rasp of his zipper, then the sigh of relief as Aeon gets his hand on himself. “Why didn’t I think of that?” 

Mountain doesn’t have an answer. He can’t think about anything except how this feels. Tight and so hot and so wet. He barely has to pull out at all, just little rabbit quick thrusts into Dew’s throat, barely anything but it feels like everything. His toes curl in the carpet. 

Mountain squeezes a little tighter as he presses forward, constricting around the head of his cock. The pressure makes Dew’s eyes roll back in his head. He huffs out one sharp breath through his noise, hot against Mountain’s skin, and then Dew’s cumming. Painting his jeans, the carpet, his lithe fingers with sticky white ropes. 

Mountain outlasts him by seconds. Watching Dew’s body shudder, feeling the rhythmic clench of his throat, that’s all it takes before his orgasm is screaming up his spine. Veins going electric. He spills down Dew’s throat. Twitching and panting, a snarl ripped from his teeth as he pins Dew to his body. 

Mountain lets go as soon as the world starts to clear, and Dew rolls back. Sits down hard on the carpet. He wipes his mouth and survey’s the mess as Mountain turns to try to find some clothes and something to clean Dew up with. 

Aeon stands. Cock still hard, fingers wrapped tight around the base. He steps between Dew’s legs as Mountain is pulling sweatpants up over his hips. 

He’s going to tell Aeon that Dew’s had enough, but then Aeon smears the sticky tip of his cock over Dew’s swollen lips and Dew smirks at him. Eyes no longer watery or glassy. 

“Got one more in you, droplet?” Aeon asks, smacking the head of his cock against Dew’s cheek and leaving a slick smear. 

Dew flashes him his teeth. “I’ve got more in me than you do.” 

Mountain rolls his eyes and retreats to the bed. Heavy-limbed and satisfied. Content to watch the competition. He’s glad for the entertainment. Even if he already knows Dew’s going to win.

[turtletaubwrites]

You’d Do Anything For Me, Wouldn’t Ya, Doll?

Pairing: Buggy the Clown x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2104

Summary: You are Captain Buggy’s Vicious Dagger, his blade tossing beauty that recently became his lover. You’d do anything for him, and tonight you prove it.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 18+ Only, MDNI, Smut, Knife Play, Vaginal Fingering, Hair Pulling, Praise Kink, Pet Names, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Dom Buggy, Condoms Come Shot, Comeplay, Established Relationship, Fem!Reader, Reader Insert, Murder of an Unnamed Character, Don't Insult Captain Buggy

A/N: This is an extended scene from Ch. 11 of the long fic, Take Me With You (if Cabaji hadn’t so rudely interrupted). You don’t need to read that long fic to enjoy this smut! Hope you enjoy it! 🤡💙🗡️

“Our deadliest dagger thrower is testing her skills! Is Orange Town’s bravest idiot lucky enough to survive the wheel of death?”

Before Buggy’s hands could send the wheel spinning, the man on the wheel screamed out, his voice lancing through the air.

“Leave us alone you ugly frea-”

The man’s insult toward Buggy was cut short as your dagger pierced his throat, dead center. You kept your Vicious face for him, and when Buggy looked at you, you knew he wanted you right then. Pride dripped through your skin as the tent filled with screams and crying for the quickly dying man.

Buggy spun the wheel, and you applauded as the man’s dying gurgles twisted through the air.

“There you have it folks! There’s no defeating Captain Buggy’s Vicious Dagger! Looks like Orange Town will have to do better than that at tomorrow’s show. See you then!”

You stood with Buggy in the light, using your body to gesture how he wanted you to, to show him off, your splendid Captain. You wanted to eat him up, the feeling of him so high making your own body shake.

The audience was led out of the main tent for the night, couldn’t do for them to see all the sets broken and made.

That left the big tent empty, save for you and Buggy.

Freaks had already come and cleaned the trash away, and you stood before the wheel, body on fire while he watched you practice.

Everytime you sunk a dagger, you pictured it sinking into the flesh of someone who’d hurt your King. You pictured the way he was looking at you right now, and you never wanted to stop.

Buggy lay across his throne, head tilted while you threw. His tongue kept leaving his teeth, and his smile was making your breath hitch.

You started to walk toward the wheel, all the daggers on your body now tossed across the floor.

Buggy’s hands flew out to stop you, and you gave a small, but excited yelp as you felt him touching you.

One hand grabbed your shoulder, and turned you back around so you could face him. You were both in spotlights, but he was still a knife’s throw away from you.

Buggy’s other hand returned carrying a dagger, and you reached out to take it.

He didn’t hand you the hilt, instead your breath caught as Buggy brought the knife to your throat.

You kept your Vicious smile on as you met his gaze.

Buggy beamed at you, eyes squinting in the light as the knife pressed into your skin gently.

The scrape of it made you gasp, in a far more sexual way than you expected. Buggy traced the edge of the blade down your throat, and then your chest as you shivered, and your eyes rolled back in your head. You cried out as the knife pulled a fraction more, taking just a prick of blood, before it was gone.

You looked toward Buggy and your knees almost buckled at the sight of him, legs spread on his throne, licking the taste of you off his dagger.

He laughed at you as you almost ran to him, not giving a fuck about anything except for your need to feel his tongue on you.

You were panting as you sped toward Buggy, and you tried to sit on his tempting lap.

Buggy’s blade stopped you, pressing under your ribcage as you caught yourself. The press of it was light, but the menacing look in his eyes made shiver, and you stumbled forward.

Buggy’s free hand shot out to grip your hair, forcing you up before you speared yourself on his dagger.

You cried out with a needy moan, and you couldn’t believe how wet you were from the tip of a blade and fingers fisting your hair.

“My beautiful freak.”

Buggy’s praise came out in a low rasp while he kept that taunting position on his throne.

“My Vicious girl. You treat your Captain so well.”

You whimpered quietly, aching for him to touch you. Then you felt the tip of that dagger drag along the fabric of the costume he’d chosen for you.

“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t ya doll?”

Shaking, you nodded. You weren’t sure if you could speak as his blade met your skin again, tracing over the top of your breasts.

“You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you, Vicious?”

You gasped for him now, and if Buggy’s hand in your hair hadn’t pulled you tight, you might have fallen to your knees in front of him.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Buggy leaned forward, his whisper burning as his eyes devoured you.

Licking your lips, you fought to stay steady. His knife scraped threateningly along your throat as he waited.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Come here,” Buggy growled as he pulled you to him by your hair. He took the knife from your throat, but you knew it was still in his hand, still floating somewhere close.

Buggy forced you to lean down for him as he shoved his tongue down your throat, chuckling at the desperate whimpers he ate from your mouth.

“Take your clothes off.”

He kept his grip in your hair, lighter now, but you knew he could use it at any moment.

You remembered the way he’d looked at you when you killed for him, when you practiced the skills he’d taught you. Never taking your eyes off his satisfied face, you stripped yourself of every belt, buckle, and scrap of cloth.

You felt Buggy’s dagger again, and gasped as its cool metal teased and scraped along your back. It traced over your hips, and thighs while he smirked for you, eating up every twitch and moan you gave him.

“That’s it, kitten. Let your Captain have control.”

Gasping, you struggled to hold yourself up, even with the punishing grip he held in your hair.

Your body was aching for him, and you felt wetness seep onto your thighs as he teased you with the blade.

You saw Buggy’s eyes flick down, and he licked his lips as he purred.

“Such a delicious little freak you are. I wonder what other depraved acts I can do to you to get you wet like this, hm?”

Buggy laughed then as he dropped his knife, letting go of his grip on your hair. Your knees had fully buckled now, and he caught your limp, twitching body before you slammed into the floor.

He lifted you under the arms as you whispered pleas for him. He shifted in his throne and sat you on his lap, stroking your hair and shoulders.

“You’re so good for me, baby. Let me show you how you make me feel.”

You wrapped your arms around him as Buggy attacked your neck with his tongue, sweet kisses, sucks, and gentle bites making you shake in his arms.

He growled against your ear as you begged.

“P-please Captain, I need you, need you so bad.”

You cried out then as he stood, lifting you into the air. You tried to cling to him, to anything. Then you were gasping, looking down into his devilish eyes as he knelt before you. Now you were the one splayed across his throne. One of your legs hung over an arm of the chair, while your pussy was spread wide before your Captain's smirking face.

“Tell me again, sweets. What do you need?”

You moaned at his question, and at his teasing fingers dancing along your thighs.

“I-I need you, Captain Buggy. I need you to do whatever you want to me.”

Your head hit the back of the throne as Buggy pulled his gloves off with his teeth, his eyes getting dark and dangerous.

“Why do you need me?”

His voice felt violent as his bare fingers stroked closer, now playing with the slick that had fallen to your thighs. Your words came out breathy and your body shook for him.

“Because you’re my Captain. My everything. You’re the best, the flashiest lover, gods, Buggy you make me feel so fucking good. I nee-“

You let out a moan that was almost a scream and writhed as Buggy shoved two fingers deep, already finding that spot inside you. His other hand sent its thumb circling, attacking your soaking clit while its fingers pressed down hard on your lower stomach.

You groaned at the sensation, both sets of his fingers pressing toward each other from either side. Your own fingers dug into the wood of his throne, and you thrashed, moaning, screaming. The fingers he curled inside you pressed so hard into that spot you felt like you were going to burst.

And then you did. Your head slammed into the back of the chair now, your legs thrashing and twitching while Buggy kept up his assault.

Your orgasm drenched his fingers, his throne, and Buggy laughed as he praised you.

“That’s my filthy girl, my Vicious little demon.”

You could hardly breathe from the torturous pleasure still riding you.

“You’d kill someone right here, and let me fuck you while their blood was still warm, huh sweetheart.”

“Y-yes, Captain!”

Gasping, you twitched as Buggy freed you from the vise of his deadly fingers.

You writhed for him as you watched him free his heavy, dripping cock from his pants. Your tongue fell out of your mouth in need as he pulled a condom from his jacket and ripped it open with his teeth before fisting it down over himself, licking his lips while he stared at you.

He spread you further, your torso sliding down the large chair as he held your legs spread over each armrest.

“You’re my dirty little Queen, aren’t you, Vicious?”

“Fuck yes, Captain.”

You could barely speak, your body shivering in anticipation as Buggy’s twitching cock was so close to filling you.

“Are you gonna soak my throne in blood and come for me everyday?”

“Yes, Captain, please!”

“Mm, good girl.”

Buggy didn’t wait for you to breathe. He shoved his cock into you, hitting the end of you, filling your pussy so tight, so fucking full.

You felt hot tears of pleasure and pain trickle down your cheeks as you held on.

“That’s it, Vicious. You can take it all for me.”

You screamed and screamed, aching as he used and abused your dripping cunt. You felt another orgasm ripping through your body, and you scratched your nails down his jacket, knocking his Captain's hat askew as you reached for his neck.

“Tell me what you need.”

Buggy’s command came out sounding panicked, his thrusts losing rhythm as he fucked you so deep.

“I need you, Captain! I need your cock, please. Buggy, I need your come so fucking bad!”

Buggy groaned, thrusting a few more times before tearing himself out of you. He ripped the condom off, and you opened your mouth wide. You let your tongue hang from your lips as you stared into his frantic eyes, hoping to catch some of his taste.

Buggy’s eyes rolled back for a second, until he gave his cock the last couple strokes.

His hot come shot out with force, coating your chest, neck, and chin, landing some on your eager mouth.

The taste of him on your lips was intoxicating, and you licked every bit that you could reach. Buggy moaned, and fell to his knees. You twitched for him as he rubbed his hands across the art he’d left on your breasts.

Moaning, you felt your pussy clenching for him again as he played with his come along your skin, massaging it into your nipples before pinching them. Then he scooped some off your neck, his fingers dripping as he shoved them in your mouth, forcing you to take more of him in.

You shook under his gaze, the look of satisfaction and ownership in his eyes driving you wild. Sucking every drop off his fingers, you couldn’t believe how much your body wanted him so soon after all that abuse.

“My little Star.”

Buggy leaned forward, making you cry out as he licked his come off your nipples before giving you the softest of kisses.

He wrapped you in his jacket, then laid you on his lap as he murmured sweet praise and promises on his throne. You melted into him, and his gentle fingers on your face and hair. You almost dozed off under his tender affection.

“Captain Buggy.”

You felt Buggy tense as you did from the interruption.

Cabaji was back from his mission at the Marine base.

He’d better be bringing my Captain good news.

Thank you for reading! 💜

TurtleTaub Fanfic Masterlist

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[ghostisun]

Gospels

cw: smut (m x m) - minors dni; poly!ghouls (but there is only one main pairing explored); size kink; D/s (includes hints of subspace); male anatomy; mentions of squirting (stares at u guys bug-eyed); unrealistic and gratuitous sex // 994 words (read at ao3)

an: uhh first official smut work. im so nervous putting this out :< but uhh yea! hope u guys like it ^v^

There are many things Dew told them not to talk about—his apparent size kink so happened to be one of them.

Don't mind the fact that they're all into it, Dewdrop still refuses to admit that he’s got it. He refuses to admit that he mewls at being manhandled, his body locking in pleasure when he is picked up and fucked against a wall. He denies the way he slips underneath the fog when they have him on his back, his knees pressed to his shoulders, exposing all that he is to his mates who bear down all of their weight onto him.

He cums just like that—eyes rolling to the back of his skull, jaw hanging open for a soundless moan.

It is the sexiest thing ever, so of course they decided to see what else of his size kink could they exploit.

Currently, and no shock there, it were Mountain and Aether who could make him squirt, his cock leaking and his walls spasming around theirs as he whimpers and whines because they fucked him stupid. Because they hit somewhere just a little deeper, snug against the muscles of his flesh, and turned his brain into a little mush.

It makes him choke, his words gurgled.

He is so, so beautiful like this—his spun gold hair is sticking to his sweaty, flushed skin, and his lips are so kiss-swollen and spit-slicked.

“Shh,” Aether croons.

He has Dewdrop for today, and the others are left to hear and scent the peaking pleasure of their little firefly.

He pulled Dewdrop to his lap, the smaller ghoul’s back pressed flush against Aether’s chest. Dew’s naked, shivering, stuffed, and Aether is still fully clothed—a power play, one that had Dew hissing at him only to end up like this.

His legs are thrown over Aether’s, the tips of his toes don’t even touch the floor—this was actually what silenced Dew’s angry burst. He balked at the simple way that Aether reminded him of their size difference, of how greatly he outmatched Dewdrop, and he went putty. Shivering. Brain turned off as he pawed at the side of Aether’s leg because he still refuses to beg.

That’s fine, Aether didn’t need him to. After all, there were many more ways to render Dewdrop into a sobbing mess, and all it took was to strip him off his clothes and fuck his cock into Dew’s already leaking hole.

“So warm ‘round me, petal,” Aether murmurs, before leaning back into the cushions, body sagging into it in comfort. It jostles the two of them, driving Aether further into Dew.

The new breach has Dew warbling out a whimper, his breath rasping out in wheezes as pleasure razes him. He clamps down on Aeth’s dick, his body lifting as he squirms, toes curled, and his head falling into the soft pudge of Aether’s chest.

He is crying, outright sobbing at the overwhelming euphoria filling him up. Sharp nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, tearing the skin open—more bruises; more proof of how good they’d made him feel.

Aether goes cross-eyed himself, his breath turning into a gritted hiss at the tight clench of Dew’s walls. 

Satanas. 

Dewdrop is a marvel. He is a freakish accident because Aether knew, even when the denial was strong from Imperator, that the ritual forced onto Dew was intended to burn him into nothing. There were precedents of this ritual of course, but all the ghouls forced into it had died. They were not banished to the pits, instead, they perished. Not even their remnants remained. 

(Omega had warned him that the Church held no affection nor respect for their kind. It took Dewdrop’s elemental change for it to truly sink in.)

But their starfire survived. Amidst all odds, Dewdrop had gritted through the burning of his flesh and the emptying of his element, and forged himself into something extraordinary. He is a miracle.

And Aether could not fathom how blessed he is to have Dewdrop as his mate. That this little star is his.

“Fuck, Dew,” he moans, guttural, his hands tightening around the fire ghoul’s waist. He is so overwhelmed with his emotions, pleasure and affection and lovelovelove are all blending together. He staggers at the intensity of it all, the storm raging on in his chest.

His tiny mate is squirming, calling his name and yowling with pleasure, and Aether keens. He is so in love. So addicted.

Amidst the pleasure, he maps his hands—big and callused—along Dewdrop’s body. He traces the supple flesh, quintessence seeping into his touch as Aether loses his hold on his element, before his hands fall on top of Dew’s belly.

Aether stills, tamping down on the jitters that are racking his own body. He clears his mind, forces himself to focus because here, right here, is where he and Dewdrop are the closest.

“D’you feel me here, love?” Aether asks, his voice rumbling from his chest and reverberating into Dew’s back. He hooks his chin on the fire ghoul’s shoulder, his eyes flicking down to gaze at the flushed body of his mate. Pre- beads on the slit of Dew’s flushed cock, pearly and pretty, and Aether vows to get down to his knees and lap it all up later. Much later. Because for now—

“A-Aeth…” Dew mewls, too overtaken with his ecstasy to notice.

To feel what it is that has Aether’s heart hammering. So Aeth takes pity on him.

He puts pressure on his hold, his hand slowly digging into Dew’s stomach. Dew’s breath hitches, his eyes peeling open. Clarity seems to seep back into him, holding him suspended just for a moment as Aether pushes and pushes and—

“I’m all the way here, Dew.”

Dewdrop cums, just like that, with Aether’s name spilling from his mouth. 

Aether pets him throughout, whispering promises of filth and care into Dew’s ear because they’re just not done yet. 

The rest have yet to join them, after all.