#pistol shooting Tips

[anantaru]

do you have any spicy dr ratio headcanons?? 👀👀

cw. [ex]plicit, the man the myth deserves it all, spits on your cunt, he calls you pathetic once, fem! reader

dr ratio purses his lips together in anticipation, through his eyes watching the grace in your every move as he pulls a low, graveling groan from above you when he slowly brushes his swollen tip all against your puffy cunt— without surprise taking his time, of course, smirking when he repeatedly smacks his cock-head on the sensitive skin, catching your quivering legs threatening to give up on you.

"open, don't close your legs again, you understand?" he commands sternly before letting go of one big, filthy globule of saliva to drizzle on your folds, turning your body into a hefty shivering masterpiece.

and you do as he says, with pleasure, attempting to divide your thighs for him further while desperately anticipating his member to fill you up already— it's almost embarrassing by how much you wanted this, and with a man of his caliber, it was like a lightning strike when he touches you, kisses and toys with your clit.

a sudden realization shakes you to your core when you notice just how deeply you were drawn to him already.

before you know it, veritas slopes his body against yours as he grunts out through a snagged jaw, feeling your soft walls mold around his shaft as he drags his cock in you— not only making you feel good, but scratching at the most sensitive spots you never believed he would be able to find, immediately causing you to shadow your fingernails over his muscular back as you mark faint, red lines over his pale skin.

"ugh, you make it feel real good," veritas shoots you a grin, grinding his hips into you, "real good indeed,"

your walls were tightening and twitching around him, squeezing around his throbbing shaft like you're supposed to make him cum now, like your pussy was trying to milk him for all he's worth— you're responding to his utters with your cunt instead of words as it pulls him into you through harsh sucks, the slight ache of being split apart making you gulp down the assembled saliva in your mouth as you moan in little sobs and cries.

"what's that? you look so pathetic, dear," for one hot and sizzling second, veritas halts his hips before tenderly sweeping a thumb against your bottom lip while locking his gaze deep into your eyes.

"so pretty, yet so pathetic," he grunts again when you pout your lips at him, cursing through a rasping voice when you tighten around him once more.

his lips find yours like a blazing fire, burning brightly and fiercely, fighting for entrance with his tongue as unspoken words of love manifest in every kiss.

a filthy look plaits his face, lust burning in his gaze— and veritas hips draw back each time before pistoling his length into you harder, so hard your tits were beginning to motion the pace he had on you, with his thick shaft being concealed down your sore walls as he forces you to feel and taste each throb and thickness of his veins pumping around the underside of his cock.

"yes, take it like that," veritas mumbles into your mouth, "can't take it like this m-much longer," before pushing and pulling into you until at last, you finally clicked into place.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[frogchiro]

EEEEEE okay so!!!! i am a massive enjoyer of a shy arthur who can hardly look his crush in the eye and softly say “hello, miss…” without blushing, so imagine how desperately hard his cock would be around her all the time!!!!!

like imagine him just staring at her longingly when she’s not looking and squeezing his cock through his pants for just a little relief… leaking an absurd amount of precum all the while…

then when he can’t stand the arousal anymore he abruptly gets up and leaves camp, trying to hide his huge bulge from anyone whose attention he might have attracted, and rides off into the woods to jack off to thoughts of reader’s cleavage <3

ALSO on the subject of lots and lots of precum… maybe something about arthur having the WETTEST of wet dreams about reader……

—🦌 anon ✨

Poor shy Arthur :(( He feels so...stupid for this. He's a fully grown man for Heaven's sake and yet he acts like a young boy around you, the newest addition to the gang, and, dare he say, the prettiest one yet.

And he gets so so shy around you too! Whenever you're helping with cooking or carrying wood for the fires around the camp or even cleaning your pistol and you catch his eye you always smile so brightly and wave at him! You're a much braver girl than he is a man, because the moment your eyes meet he's suddenly getting shy, tipping his hat at you with a quiet "Hello miss..." before he hurries away to do...business.

He's so pathetic :(( Inside his tent he has to be quiet while he jerks his heavy cock, large, heavy balls jumping with how pent up he is, begging to be emptied inside a tight, warm place, preferably your cunt. And he is leaky!! He leaks precum like a faulty faucet and curses because he feels like he's wasting it since it should be planted deep within you. He's getting older, he fears he won't be able to give you children if he waits too long :(

Or he rides out into the forest to jerk off, the memory of your perfect breasts almost spilling out from your open shirt today after you caught some fish and was still wet from the river. You were so proud of yourself, your satisfied smile while you handed off the large fish brought a smile to Arthur's face, thatta girl, good job.

He jerked himself silly and the luxury of being alone out here in the forest giving him n opportunity to be louder, almost as loud as he wants to be while he imagines fucking you well and deep, how well your tight cunt will surely feel around his cock, how you will milk him from his cum, your bright, beautiful eyes twinkling with love for your husband as you beg him to fill you up, to breed you - fuck.

That did it for poor Arthur and he came loud, thick sperm shooting from his aching cock and pooling at his feet. God almighty he feels dirty; like one of those awful perverted old fucks who always try to harass you whenever you're both in town but he just can't help himself :((

[crookedteethed]

18+ smut, cursing, Dark!Rafe, fearplay, gunplay, manipulation, slut shaming, accused cheating, this is readers punishment : (

⋆ ★ dark!rafe fucks you with his asp pistol <3

plink (the catalyst for this fic frl)

Rafe puts his pistol to your dome and tells you:

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you."

The scent of gunpowder and leather filled the air, the taste of fear and desire lingering on your tongue.

You could feel his hot breath against your skin, his fingers tightening around the trigger.

A part of you wanted to fight, to defy him and refuse to give in to his demands. But another part, a darker part, was drawn to his power and dominance.

"Fucking answer me!" Rafe rattled your body.

Your cheeks had been wet with tears--your cunt wetter than a barrel of slugs.

"B...Because I love you?" You squealed.

"B-Because I love you." Rafe mocked your whiny tone, a small smile curling unto his lips.

"You don't fucking love me!" Rafe spat. "You think I'm an idiot, y/n?" He rattled your body once more. "I see the way you slut your way around the Country Club."

"I do love you, Rafe!" you whined, tears spewing from your eyes. How could he say this? "Rafe, I swear I love you, I don't want anybody but you." 

"I mean, do you intentionally try to fuck with me Y/n?" He asks, his brows furrowing together.

You quickly shook your head. "no." 

"It's like--" Rafe paused, his hand starting to get wobbly, but he never let down; he never kept the barrel aiming away from your brain. 

"It's like you don't even consider that I'm a person in this relationship too." He continued. "It’s like you don't even consider that it's men out there that want to hurt you--take advantage of you, but you continue to prance around here--shaking your little ass in these slutty fucking clothes--"

Your heart raced as you were certain his finger had pulled back on the trigger - a sight that made you let out a desperate "Please, I love you." in terror.

"Prove it to me, then. Get on your knees. Prove to me that you love me." Rafe lightly kicked your knees in to kneel under him.

Your body trembled as you sank to your knees, the hardwood floor cold against your skin. Rafe towered above you, his eyes cold and unyielding.

"Please, Rafe, let me prove it to you. Let me show you how much I love you." Your voice shook, but your gaze remained fixed on him, pleading.

"If you truly loved me, you'll do as I say." Rafe's voice was harsh, his breath coming in sharp rasps.

You reached for him, your hands shaking as you pulled him closer, your shaky hands palming his hard cock.

"Un uh." He hummed, pushing you away. "Turn around and get on all fours."

You did as you were told, feeling a slight relief from the release of the gun pointed towards your head.

As you took your position on all fours, Rafe trailed after you, settling into a kneeling stance behind you, mimicking the posture of doggy style.

As his fingers traced the hem of your mini skirt, baring your ass and swollen core glistening with wetness, you let out a heavy breath.

"You're such a slut," he elongated, his gaze and touch fixated on your buttocks.

Suddenly, his hand connected with your flesh in a sharp smack, eliciting a surprised cry from you.

And then, with a hungry urgency, he pulled your dainty panties aside, sending a shiver of pleasure through your body as the cool air brushed against your sensitive clit.

Just as you thought you could feel him entering you, the realization hit that it was not his cock, but the chilly draft from his gun.

A sharp intake of breath, a moment of anticipation, and then the cold, hard steel of the pistol pressed against your heated skin.

You flinched, a shiver running down your spine, as he held the weapon there, its tip teasing your entrance. "Please…" you whispered, your voice hoarse with need.

"I need it." He said nothing, only smirked, his eyes dark with desire, as he ran the barrel of the gun along your slit, collecting your juices.

"Look at this shit." Rafe said, showing you the barrel of the gun, coated in your arousal. "Such a greedy little cunt you have." he cooed.

You whimpered, your body trembling, craving more. Then, with a swift movement, he plunged the pistol into you, filling you with its unyielding length.

A gasp escaped your lips as he began to thrust, the sound of metal sliding against your wetness filling the room.

The feeling was incomparable to any other, a distinctive combination of delight and risk--and at no point did the thought cross your mind if his firearm was loaded.

All you cared about was proving to Rafe you love him.

You could feel the power in his movements, each thrust sending a rush of sensation through you.

"I should pull the trigger." Rafe grimacingly spoke into your ear, causing an illicit moan to escape your lips "My final staple to show everyone who really owns you--taking your life as if I brought you into it."

"Please Rafe--" You choke.

You were terrified but couldn't help but be aroused as Rafe pressed his gun into your cunt, threatening to kill you.

Each thrust was a punishment, a reminder of how much you truly loved him.

You wanted to tell him that you didn't care about anyone else, that he was the only one who truly owned you.

But the words were caught in your throat, choked out by the fear and pleasure coursing through you.

The gun felt cold inside your cunt, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Rafe's body.

You could feel his anger and jealousy consuming him, his desire to possess you completely. And in that moment, you realized that this was all you ever wanted. To be owned by Rafe, to belong to him in every way possible.

But as Rafe's grip on the gun tightened and his thrusts became more bruising, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. This was a dangerous game you were playing, and you had no idea how it would end.

But despite the fear, you couldn't bring yourself to stop. All you cared about was proving your love to Rafe, even if it meant risking your own life.

Your body moved with his, your curves swaying, your breath coming in sharp pants.

You surrendered to the sensation, to the feel of the pistol's grip digging into your core as Rafe pounded it into you.

A cry escaped your lips as you climaxed, your body shaking with the force of it.

He continued to thrust the gun into you, his movements relentless, drawing out your pleasure until you thought you could take no more.

Then, with a final, deep push, he held the pistol still, its barrel buried within you—grazing that sweet spot.

You felt the warmth of his body against your back as he whispered, his hot breath on your skin, "You like that, don't you, slut?”

And as those last words escaped Rafe's lips, you had drenched the metal of his gun with your essence. Your fluids covered the ground, his hand, and your legs, leaving you spent and exhausted, your climax intertwining with the metal of Rafe's gun.

The ground beneath you was soaked, a testament to the intensity of your release. Your legs trembled, unable to support your weight, as you whispered those three words that held so much power.

"I told you I love you," you murmured, your voice hoarse and filled with emotion.

In that moment, as you lay vulnerable and exposed, you knew that your words carried a weight that could not be undone.

The metal of the gun, now cool to the touch, contrasted with the heat of your declaration.

Rafe, witnessing the raw honesty of your emotions, was rendered speechless, his hand still resting on your leg, feeling the tremors of your heart's confession.

What other lengths would you go to for his affection, Rafe pondered, what other depths?

[princessbrunette]

you’d always been a nerd, there was no doubt about that — it’s only now you were older, you were known as a nerd who was filling out her bikini top, and jiggling in her bikini bottoms. now, unlike yourself — you sit on a little boat out on the water with the infamous pogues.

it was jj who invited you here. it was always jj — he’d been enthralled to see the sexy little thing you’d grown into adulthood as. he’d spotted you whilst working at the library, frowning over a file book of library card entries with cute pouty lips and reading glasses that he wanted to cover in cum. hed always thought you were cute at school, but now he just had to have you. he’d used his charms on you, and now you were nervously tucked into his side, ‘making friends’ with his friends as he’d described it. “gotta get ya out there, there’s a whoooole life to be lived outside these books, you know that?”

he was burrowing through his backpack, leaning over on the boat beside you to find the weed he’d packed, clearly set on corrupting you for fun.

“its the best of the best— like, perfect for a beginner—” he rambles, dumping things out his backpack struggling to find the small baggie of prerolls he’d prepared.

“jesus, jj do not corrupt the poor girl.” john b bites back the entertained smile, lifting his head from where he lounged in the sun to look at you. “you sure you’re okay with this sweetheart? can totally… you know, stick to what you know.” he shrugs, sympathetically and you shake your head, wide eyes finding the blondes.

“its okay, told jj i’ve always wanted to try. he said he’d hook me up.” you smile politely, still a little shy around the group.

“yeah but he’s being weird about it.” kiara glares at her friend with her nose turned up, nudging him with her foot nearly knocking his balance off. “dont be a creep.”

“look i’m not being a creep, alright! ‘said she wanted to try, and i’m being a good citizen and simply helping this sweet young lady out dabbling in just a lil bit of herb okay so i don’t wanna—” he dives headfirst into another one of his rants, but is quieted by your gasp when a couple of items fall out his backpack, including a gun.

“nice work.” pope shakes his head and your eyes widen, looking around wondering why no one else is concerned.

“why do you have a gun, jj?” you scandalise and he picks it up casually, flipping it in his hands making you shuffle away, jaw agape.

“gotta protect my people, what’s wrong wi’that? look i’m a pro at usin’ this thing— set up a little target practice in john b’s backyard and lemme tell you, i have quite the aim.” he waves it around making you stiffen up, touching his bicep to stop him from being so reckless.

“god, you must be careful with that thing. they’re dangerous jj! i read that these pistols just go off at random all the time, you could seriously hurt someone and i don’t wanna be the person who gets shot by accident! do you even—” you freak, and he turns his body to you shuffling closer and silencing you.

“shh, shh, shh, shh — hey. it’s all good. i would never accidentally shoot a pretty girl. trust me, i’m so careful.” he smirks, bringing the tip of the barrel to your lips making you freeze with wide eyes. to keep you there as he speaks, an arm slings over your shoulder, his clammy hand gently grasping the back of your neck. you know you should be scared, the boy seems reckless and unhinged — and worst of all, his friends seemed used to it which tells you he does this shit all the time — but something about it made your cunt throb, dampening your bikini bottoms and subtly pressing your thighs together as you felt your skin heat up.

maybe it was all the books you read, but you’d always loved a bad boy.

“seriously bro? you’re scaring her.” kiara complains, leaning across and yanking the pistol out his hand and shoving it back into his backpack.

fast forward a few hours, and you’re back at the chateau, the only ones inside in john b’s bedroom. you’re looser, high and relaxed from the joint jj had talked you through smoking — and now you were laying your head on his bicep, his free hand down your panties rubbing your copious juices into your swollen clit.

“cant believe you’ve never been touched like this, mama. been missing out on heaven, right?” he grins, leaning down to kiss at your cheek when your eyes flutter closed, so out of it and blissful.

“mm… wanted this since…” you trail off, lips parting and brows furrowing when he curls his finger inside you.

“nah, go on. since when… tell me how long this pretty pussy’s been horny for papa j.” he dirty talks so well you clench hard around him, working up the courage. it didn’t take much, the intoxication and lust making you brave.

“since you put the gun to my lips.” you admit quietly and his jaw drops gleefully, speeding up his fingers.

“seriously? damn i knew you were gonna be a freak. it’s always the quiet ones, always dude.” he celebrates to himself before staring down at you adoringly. “man, i’m gonna have so much fun with you, pretty girl.”

[i-smoke-chapstick]

‘THE VALLEY, [hard kinks! hcs]

-GOTHAM!VILLAINS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Victor Zsasz, Edward Nygma, Jerome Valeska, Jervis Tetch

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; hard and unusual kinks hcs with the gotham villain men

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. PURE PORN like this is absolutely filthy and descriptive. Some of these are probably too creative and WAY out of character, but oh well. I need to practice my smut writing skills and what better way to do it then with some short scenarios of our boys ? HARD KINKS (all of them are too kinky for there own good) sadomasochistic sex warning for victor and jerome,,, and (sort of?) non-consensual hypnosis warning for jervis, somnophilia and bondage warning for ed. controlling and degrading behavior.

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 ���𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “Obey, like I’m your master babe.” The Valley by Miguel

He has a habit of leaving in the mornings. He’s a gangster, a crime lord. He loves his job…you think. But it’s hard. Especially seeing him go. Which is why when the two of you fuck, he makes it worth your while.

Yes, he’s shy. He despises indecency. He doesn’t fuck, he makes love. At least, that’s what he likes to think, so you let him.

But you know better. Oswald can’t control anything about himself. The man is impulsive and spoiled. And when he wants you to feel something, you feel it. For better or for worse.

Which is why when he’s awfully pent up and sexually frustrated, you reap the benefits of the king of gotham’s cock pistoning into you. He needs to feel wanted. He needs the two of you to feel loved. He thinks the two of you are sweetly and slowly fucking in his mind. But in reality?

His thick length is hammering into you, selfishly ignoring your pleas. No, he gets drunk on them. Even if he doesn’t want to admit how obscene he’s being.

You’ll feel his sticky tip align with your pussy. He means to enter you slowly, but before you know it, he’s letting himself go. Every inch of his cock is filling you up, taking you in. His eyes are rolling back as he feels you clench around him, and he tries to push all the more unsavory thoughts out of his head.

Thoughts of you tied up. Worshipping him. Unable to resist him. Thoughts of you riding his thighs, while he gives the order to shoot someone dead. The idea of you bending to him, being a good servant. Kissing his shoes, groveling and kneeling. Degrading you.

His fingers sink into the fat of your thighs and ass, clawing at any part of you he can grasp.

His mother taught him better, he reprimands himself. But how can he stay composed and loving when you look at him like he’s the only man in the world?

Oh, he wants to make you feel good, loved, and have this be an act of intimacy. It’s what he was raised to believe sex was for. But he also wants you on your knees, choking on his length, collared like a dog.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “I wanna fuck like we're filming in the valley.” The Valley by Miguel

Victor is always upfront with what he wants. And he’s been around the block one too many times. He’s fucked around quite a bit. He’s a ladies man, what can he say?

Which is why vanilla sex is entirely boring to him. Well, maybe not entirely. Not with you.

But theres something so special about mixing physical pain, his sole desire, with you, his other sole desire. It’s his lifes work, meeting the love of his life. What’s not to like?

Which is why he blunty suggests the idea. And boy is he glad he did.

A phone camera is pushed into your face while he records everything. The sloppy noises of your pretty pink mouth slipping and sliding around his cock.

It’s not just any homemade porno either, no. It’s a borderline snuff film.

He films himself slotting his cock into your swollen lips, one hand recording, another hand on a pistol pressed firmly against your head while you choke on his cock. The gun isn’t loaded of course, at least, you don’t think it is.

If the gun is loaded, you’re sure he’s playing a dangerous game with himself. Testing his own capabilities. He’s the best of the best, and his fingers are placed firmly on the trigger. If he loses control or focus for even a moment, you could never see the light of day again. Each time he cums is like a self-made test for himself, an ego trip. He’s excercising the greatest control not to accidentally pull the trigger and pop your top.

You’re spitting wildly, tears and saliva and cum mixing on your face. You’ve been sucking him off for what feels like hours, playing this game, and it’s still not enough. No, the man could live his whole life with your face inbetween his thighs. You have no clue what round you’re on.

“There you go…sweetness. Uh-huh…take it.” He’ll press the gun further into your temple, talking down to you slowly. It’s awfully demeaning.

He never shuts the fuck up during sex. This is no exception. His dry humor persists in every word, even as his gun comes into contact with your fucked out wet face, or a blade slices through your sweet soft thighs.

He’s doing close-up shots of every cut he makes on your skin. He marks the both of you, respectively. He keeps the videos in his pocket for later. Y’know, just in case you aren’t there, and he needs something to jack off to. He’s a manwhore, and he can admit it.

He’ll ask to show the videos to Wendell. Just so he knows Victor wasn’t lying about his girl being a total catch.

𝐸𝐷𝑊𝐴𝑅𝐷 𝑁𝑌𝐺𝑀𝐴

♫ “I wanna taste your sweat, force my fingers in your mouth.” The Valley by Miguel

Oh, Eddy. Ever the show man. Oddly enough, I think he has the dirtiest mind and the highest sex drive out of everyone on this list. In the words of CMS, "He loves donuts and getting laid." You're no exception babe.

Similarly, he isn't the kinkiest when he's at the GCPD. The poor baby is so vanilla; so eager to please. If you want a man to put your needs above his own? Look no further. Eddy is your guy. But similar to Ozzy, the man grapples with control. How can he resist when your small sleeping body looks so innocent? So willing?

You wake up to him pumping his dick deep into your hole, groping your breasts and ass, hips plowing harshly into your stretched cunt. He wants to apologize, for waking you. He feels bad of taking advantage of you. But it's your fault. The man is a little bit of a creep and has gone his whole life without pussy. What did you expect?

That being said...when he undergoes his transformation of sorts? It's like he has something to prove, to you and himself. Riddler baby is tired of hiding in the shadows, no, it's show time. If you thought the somnophilia was kinky, you've seen nothing yet.

Season 3-4 Ed is desperate to dominate you. Claim you in every way. Prove to himself that you're not going anywhere. It's a deep seated need to exert control, with a touch of dramatic flair.

Which is why, from time to time, especially on special occasions, you'll wake up from being drugged, ball-gagged in a warehouse, tied to a chair, moaning around a vibrator overstimulated against your cunny. He'll watch the whole show, pleased with his handiwork.

Might even turn it into a game. How many riddles can you answer? Maybe if you get one right, he'll let you cum. And if you don't get one right, prepare to be in for a long, long night.

Ed's pushing his thick long fingers into your tight little pussy, watching your cream spread along his fingertips. He'll force his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself. Making you taste what he's doing to you.

He's giggling while he does so, smile wide while you gag around him. Oh, this will be fun.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝛰𝑀𝐸 𝑉𝐴𝐿𝐸𝑆𝐾𝐴

♫ “lips, tits, clit, sit.” The Valley by Miguel

Would it be too brave to go on record to say the mans a virgin? I'm sorry, but he didn't get any pussy in that carnival.

Which is why he's incredibly sex starved. The man is feral. Hungry. He fucks you like a dog in heat half the time. You're his own personal pocket pussy, who will love him no matter what.

So when he tells you to do something, you better do it.

For instance, when he tells you to sit on his face, he means sit. No hovering. No, he wants the entirety of your weight in his mouth so he can tongue fuck you into oblivion.

He's wildly gripping at you, laughing like a mad man as he keeps you in place firmly. He's digging into your cunt with his tongue like a man whose getting his first lick of pussy. He's slapping your ass, letting you ride his face like a cowgirl.

He'll slap your sopping cunt. He'll spit in your mouth, on your face, on your pussy. He loves everything feral and sloppy. And for his own good, the man can't shut up. He loves some good dirty talk.

"Hah! There you go, doll. You want it raw? You do, don'tcha? Naughty, naughty girl." Excuse his breeding kink. "Should just pump you right up with my cum. Get you all messy. Cream-pie you riiiiiiight here," He cackles, hand hovering over you're lower stomach.

He likes seeing your face contort in pleasure and pain when your thighs scratch the staples on his face.

Oh, he's a biter. Your thighs might be bleeding by the time he's done, biting hard enough to break skin. You'll yelp in pain and it will spur him on, like you're his own personal show to watch.

God, please hit him back. Slap him. Push him around. He adores it- the two of you fucking like wild animals, clawing and at each others throats, all the while his girthy length his pounding into your sweet tight hole.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝑉𝐼𝑆 𝑇𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻

♫ “Tell me that you love it darling." The Valley by Miguel

Jervis has a very deep seated need to have you close to him. To have you bonded with him. He's obsessive, clingy, stalkerish. And he loves a good old fashioned Victorian flirtation. But god, he gets tired of waiting.

He's a gentlemen through and through. But even gentlemen have needs. And when he sees you in that light blue dress he bought you, pussy peaking out through the short skirt? Or how you lick your lips when the tea he makes you dribbles down?

He'll have to take what he wants eventually.

He knows you'll say yes. Even though the two of you have never talked about sex. No, you're his Alice. His willing little girl. Why would you ever say no to him? And he's right. He could ask, and you would probably say yes.

But, just for a precaution...Can't have you running off like the white rabbit, can he?

It will be late night after the two of you have tea. And he'll pull out his pocket watch. And before you know it, you'll be pinned on top a table, dress pooling between your legs, pulling on his hair against your will.

It's a sight he will never sick of. His sticky ropes of cum dripping, tainting the dress he'd bought you. It trickles down from your spine. You'll be too fucked out to walk the next day, and you won't even remember why.

He takes you, ignoring your pleas and whines of overstimulation. He'll continue to stuff his cock inside you until he feels pity for you.

Hypnotizing you while he's balls-deep inside of you, messily thrusting as he tries to concentrate. "You love this. Tell me you love me. Tell me you love this." His words scramble as he comes undone himself, letting your mind wash over and speak the words against your will.

If somehow you piece two and two together, the cum stains on your dress- and the feeling of being stretched out the next morning...assure him he doesn't have to hypnotize you.

Or let him keep it up. It's more fun for him this way.

[hihomeghere]

Could you do prompt 30 & 50 for Arthur, please and thank you ^_^!

Hope you enjoy! Word count : 1.7k Prompts : #30 I just want to be yours. #50 We need to talk about last night Warnings/tags : unprotected piv, cursing, talk of sex workers in the time period, friends with benefits

The agreement you had with Arthur was pretty straightforward. You were close friends, friends who also knew each other more intimately than friends should. Your agreement had begun after a rough job the two of you had gone on. Both full of adrenaline and anger after almost everything had gone wrong. Breathing hard, hiding from the law in a tiny cabin, tension was high.

It’s not like you hadn’t noticed him in that way before. He was a conventionally attractive man. Tall, muscular, ruggedly good looks.

And you both needed some relief, and you certainly weren’t complaining. As much as he put off a tough guy facade, he was nothing but caring. Making sure you reached your peak multiple times before he did.

You knew you worked well together in the field, you didn’t know it would transfer so gracefully to the bedroom. Reading each other's minds and body. The small twitch of his lip when you pressed your nails into his biceps. The way his brows knit together when you tugged at his honey brown locks. The primal groan that ripped through his chest when you locked your legs around his hips.

It worked. The two of you always worked well together.

-

“Hey.” His hoarse voice pulled you out of your daze, setting the gun you were cleaning next to you.

“Yeah?” You asked, laying down your rag on your pistol. He shuffled from one foot to the other, his hand gripping his gun belt. His hat tipped low on his brow. “Need me?” You asked, leaning back on the crate you were sitting on. The sun beating down on the both of you, though his brim shaded the upper half of his face. For having this arrangement for so long, it surprised you how shy he was when he would ask.

“Need ya.” He nodded, holding his hand out for you to take. As much as you tried to deny it, your heart skipped a beat at the thought that he needed you. You, no one else. Even if it was only to scratch an itch.

You took his hand, letting him lead you into the trees. His heavy steps paved a way through the brush near camp. You had to admit you were giddy, a smile spreading across your face as he led you further away from the noise of camp. Following him anywhere he took you like a lovesick pup. As much as you tried to deny it, you were falling for him.

It was wrong, so wrong. You were breaking the first rule, no attachments. But Jesus, how could you not fall for him?

You accidentally walked straight into his broad back, not having noticed him stopping.

“Eager?” He chuckled softly, smirking at you over his shoulder. You scoffed, your cheeks heating up.

“You’re the one who asked.” You hummed, trying to hide your growing embarrassment.

“Yeah yeah, alright.” He mumbled rolling his eyes playfully as his large hands found purchase on your waist. He walked you backwards until your back rubbed against the bark of a tree. Successfully pinning you between him and the birch. His knee immediately nudged its way up between your thighs. You let out a soft gasp, which he quickly swallowed as his mouth covered yours. He pressed his knee up against you, grinding against the most sensitive part of you. You couldn’t help but moan softly into his mouth, electricity shooting through your veins as he rubbed against you. He made quick work of his gun belt, dropping it to the grassy floor. Your hands threaded through his hair, something you had learned he loved, giving it a small tug.

He groaned into your mouth, which gave you the perfect opportunity to slip your tongue inside.

It wasn’t some sweet embrace, it was the clashing of tongue and teeth as he rocked you back and forth on his knee. Electricity shooting through your body as he bumped against your clit.

“Shit- c’mon Arthur.” You moaned feeling wetness gather in your bloomers. He moved down your jaw, leaving open mouthed kisses in his wake. He pulled away, his deft fingers worked on pulling himself out of his pants. While you shimmied out of your bloomers. His calloused hands landed on your waist, turning you around. He flipped up your skirts like you were some common whore, but you didn’t mind one bit. You pressed your backside against him as you leaned against the tree, feeling the hard line of his cock against you.

He spit into his hand, the sound obscene and yet so arousing. You waited, his body nearly engulfed yours as he leaned over you, his hand on your hip. He guided the head of his cock between your folds, pressing into you with a groan.

“Always so damn tight.” He muttered through gritted teeth, pulling you back against his chest. You thought you would get used to being filled by him by now. But every time it felt like you were being stuffed, feeling every ridge and vein of his length as he bottomed out. Giving you a breath or two to get used to his size before pulling nearly all the way out and slamming back into you.

Your mouth fell open as a cry left your lips, Arthur’s hand quick to muffle the sound. Those noises were for him only. It was like he was made for you, you knew that was a dangerous thought to have but you couldn’t help it. The way he rubbed up against those delicious spots inside you so effortlessly. Taking you to the precipice of pleasure as moans fell from you unabashedly.

Like a lightning strike, your orgasm hit you fast and unexpectedly. Holding onto the trunk of the tree as your legs nearly gave out from under you.

“Feel too damn good girl-“ He choked, driving into you with a near bruising pace as your walls fluttered around him.

“Shit-““ he bit down on your shoulder as he quickly pulled out. A low moan leaving his lip as his seed painted your backside. Panting, he pulled your bloomers back up and over your ass, his hand trailing reverently up your shaky legs. You hummed to yourself, basking in the afterglow as he returned the two of you to your prior state. You stood back up, using the tree as leverage as you turned to look back at him.

A beautiful flush had crawled up his neck, that you were just itching to reach out and kiss. But you didn’t, because you didn’t do anything afterwards. You hardly looked at each other afterwards. Like it would break the spell of the arrangement. That you would realize you were toeing the line between friends and something more a little too closely. So instead you leaned up against the tree and watched him buckle his gun belt low on his hips. He strode over to you, his hand finding your hip as he placed a kiss on your forehead before walking back towards camp.

You wouldn’t realize until you were getting ready for bed, that he had slipped a bill into your skirt pocket.

-

You left your tent in a damn near rage the following morning. Shame and disgust mixed inside you as you searched for Arthur. Did he really think he could treat you like some… some working girl? You weren’t selling yourself to him, just like he wasn’t selling himself to you.

The arrangement had worked for so long and he just had to go and ruin it?

You found him near the coffee pot, along with some other gang members.

“Arthur.” You said, your tone cold as you stood next to him.

“Y/n.” He replied, sipping his coffee. You didn’t miss the way Mary Beth side eyed Tilly. Although you couldn’t give two shits who knew you were pissed.

“We need to talk,” you said in a low tone. He raised an eyebrow giving you a questioning look. “About last night.” You huffed. He nodded, tossing the rest of his coffee out onto the grass before motioning for you to lead the way. You walked over to the edge of the trees, his footsteps heavy behind you.

“Well go on, out with it.” He said with a sigh, his hands resting on his belt.

“What the hell is this?” You asked, holding up the five dollar bill, “I ain’t offering you any services.” You hissed stuffing the bill back into his front pocket.

He recoiled, his eyes narrowing as you stuffed the bill into his shirt. “I know that.” He huffed, “I ain’t- I didn’t give it to you as payment.” He said clenching his jaw as he pulled the money out of his pocket.

“Then why the hell did you give it to me? No- why the hell did you hide it in my pocket?” You asked, narrowing your eyes.

He sighed looking down at his feet, “Damn it, Morgan.” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “I just- I just keep takin from ya.” He said, running his hand through his hair, “I just wanted to give you somethin’. Somethin’ for puttin up with the likes of me.” He hung his head, clenching his jaw.

“You think I’m just putting up with you?” You scoffed, your frustration at a boiling point, “I don’t want your money, I don’t want anything from you, I just want to be yours!” You cried, feeling hot tears sting your eyes as the damn broke, unable to hold your feelings back.

His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours as his mouth fell open.

“W-what?” He asked, his voice hoarse as he stared at you in disbelief.

“I don’t-“ you sighed crossing your arms, “I don’t want anything from you. I just want you.” You said, biting your lip as you stared into his cool blue pools. Arthur was frozen, for a moment it looked like he had stopped breathing. Then his brain finally caught up, he took three steps and pulled you into his arms. One hand on your hip while the other cupped your cheek, pulling you into him as his lips crashed against yours.

You froze, but only for a moment before you reached up, cupping his cheeks as your lips moved against his.

“Darlin,” He whispered, pulling away from you as the biggest grin spread across his face. “You’ve had me for a long time.”

Prompt list

[liveontelevision]

If I don't get more to that babysitter story soon I might just go into full withdrawals.

Well shit here you go bbg

Exams are mostly over which means I can suffer more! :)

This is definitely gonna be a multi-part series at this point, and I am working on part 3 already so - ya

Disclaimer: This is my personal interpretation of the characters from Hazbin Hotel. I respect the canon storyline and characters, but this fic will stray from it a decent amount.

Enjoy this very angsty mildly smutty

(This series is complete! All parts are listed on my master list and are linked below!)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Suffer Pt. 2 | Lucifer x Reader

Things didn't exactly get easier for you after your stupid dalliance with Lucifer. Obviously, you lost your job. But you were a nanny, you lived in the manor. And now you have to find new housing somewhere else in Hell. You haven't been out on the streets in years, and protection was essentially guaranteed as a royal staff member, so it was definitely.. a change of pace. Getting some tips from your previous coworkers who lived outside the manor, you did your best to weave through the murderous streets to find some sort of safety.

“Hello? Anyone home?” The apartment you entered was located in a ratty-looking motel that sat in the middle of a more secluded area in Pentagram City. No matter how dirty, it did seem a little safer considering the distance between other sinners. Scanning the apartment, considering no one answered to your previous call, you hesitantly stepped through the door. An imp you used to work with at the hotel advised you to take some sort of protection out there. He handed you an incredibly sleek pistol. It was tiny, even compared to the size of your smaller hands. It was easy to slip in and out of the little holster on your outer thigh. Scoffing at the idea of needing to shoot anyone, you accepted it humbly. Just to be safe.

Looking out a busted window, surrounded by broken glass, you saw the demon who must've lived here. A twisted corpse, covered in splatters of blood and dirt. A long angelic spear, still standing, sits firmly in the center of their chest, a collection of other stab wounds littered across the rest of the body. Fuck. You knew about exterminations, everyone did. It was always a solemn day back at the manor, but you’ve never witnessed its actual afflictions. You stumbled backward, tripping over some random debris and falling to the floor, your heart pounding heavily in your chest. The fear you felt, the sharp pain in your palms where the glass shards had pierced you, it was all too much. Struggling to your knees, you crawl to the wall, leaning back against it with a thud. A sudden paranoia that someone may hear any noise you made, kept your breathing shallow. You pulled your knees to your chest, sitting in the dark room entirely alone. You wished you weren't alone. You wished he was here.

The last extermination day was about three months ago, so you knew the place hadn't been touched in at least that long. And as gruesome as it may sound, you now had a place to stay in the meantime. But, what are you supposed to do now? You were sure there weren't any families in Hell looking for a babysitter.. You could do little things, like mending clothes, cooking, and cleaning, but.. None of those skills were strong enough to get you into anything remotely as comfortable as being a royal nanny. Cell Phones were a thing at this time, but you never had a reason to have one before, so that’d be something you have to work for. You were essentially starting from scratch, as if you had just arrived in Hell.

You had to take to the streets. Walking nervously, with one hand on your little emergency weapon, you peeked into stores to see who might be hiring. Surprisingly, a quaint little bakery was just around the corner. Stepping inside, the little bell notifies the black-eyed woman standing at the counter. After a quick conversation, and browsing some of the baked goods, it finally clicked that you had walked straight into cannibal town without realizing. But.. It was surprisingly nice. The woman said she did need help in the kitchen, and while the image of cleaning blood and bones off baking pans made you shiver, it could've been worse.

With some hard work and absolute dumb luck, you managed to become a customer favorite. There were some close calls, gentlemen would always get a whiff of your scent before kissing your hand as a greeting, and sometimes you would even feel their teeth graze across your knuckles. The owner was such a lovely woman, despite also being a cannibal, she would swat at any unwanted advances and scold anyone who dared to taste her “best worker”. After a couple months, you were able to pretty up your inherited apartment, and it finally felt like somewhere you could call home.

And a few months after that, you would actually consider yourself in a good place. Bringing some homey decor into your new place, you had the urge to bring a few friends by. The only issue was, you didn't have friends. You were close to the owner, but she was.. Old fashioned. And customers were just that; customers. You were getting antsy though. You rummaged through the small duffle you took with you from the Morningstar residence and found a mildly appealing outfit. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you let out a dissatisfied hum. With one fell swoop, you took the bottom of your skirt and tore it fully around your legs. The dress that normally flowed sweetly to your calves, now flounced to your thighs. With one more spin, where you saw a little too much under your skirt, you decided that this would definitely get you some friends.

Oh, and how right you were. You made many “friends”. You played every card in the book, using dozens of excuses to bring home any demon who showed interest. You were careful about it, you could handle yourself, after all. You were finally getting the attention you deserved. But.. it wasn't from him. Each time you’d walk to work you’d see a flier or a billboard with the king of Hell’s grinning face on it. It churned your stomach each time. 

At this point, after some soul-searching, you decided on one thing. This was all Lucifer’s fault. How dare he smile at you the way he did. How could he constantly keep you company, making you wonder why you were even hired as a nanny? How could he so easily touch you without getting as nervous as you did? How could he kiss you the way he did, then call it a mistake? He did nothing to defend you. But these demons in your bed each night? They would do anything for just a taste of you and had no problem admitting that.

After finally appeasing your physical needs, you stopped pursuing demons. It’s been a few years since you've settled in, and now you look back at some of your hookups with a cringe. That was progress, right? Admitting it was just a phase? 

Your traveling hands told you otherwise. At night, especially after a long shift where your mind was too tired to think straight, your hands would trail down the center of your stomach. You could never explain what got you in this state, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you had to know. Taking no time, with your exhaustion quick to take over, you rubbed small circles across your still-clothed cunt. You held your blanket to your mouth to muffle any noises. You picked up the speed.

“Nng.. L-Lucifer..”  You moaned out softly, your blanket slipping out of your clenched fist. A swell of pleasure caused you to arch your back into your hand, still playing with your overstimulated cunt. After letting yourself calm down, you simply sit with tired eyes, looking at the ceiling with a visible glare. Well, shit.

—

“U-Uh.. Lillith, my love, don’t you think we should -” A quick glare back at the nervous king caused him to shut his mouth.

“Get yourself cleaned up, darling. Then, we’ll figure everything out.” She sounded far too calm for his liking, but once he turned to a mirror in a nearby vanity, he choked on any response he might have. He was covered in your lipstick. Fuck, he loved being covered in your lipstick. Quickly shaking the thought out of his head, he went off to clean up his face. Splashing water onto his face and neck, he let out a heavy sigh, refusing to look into his reflection. Even he’s ashamed to look into his eyes after what he’s done.

After folding his coat and draping it over a nearby chair, he carefully approached Lillith, who had sat down gracefully at the edge of their shared bed. She was holding up some papers with a purple haze, and with a flick of her wrist, she dropped certain ones into a nearby portal. Lucifer gathered the courage to sit next to his wife. He still kept a good distance, twisting his ring around his finger as a nervous fidget.

“What do you think of this one, dear?” Leaning in close to him, Lillith presents a piece of paper that she had just been looking at. A sudden chill ran down his spine, scanning the sheet. A picture of a homely demon, looking absolutely ancient, was clipped to piles of papers with references, experiences, and skills. Overall, if this were a normal situation, she would be a perfect fit to take care of Charlie. But so soon? He didn't want to bring that up. Hey! Can’t you keep the demon, who you just caught me sucking on, for a little while longer? That’s ridiculous.

“W-Well, sure, I’m sure Charlie would love her.. Great choice.. Love.” He was always quick to tell her or give her whatever would make her happy. He owed her that after all. After dragging her to the pits of Hell that he created.

“Hm! Well, that’s settled. I suggest you head to the other room for the night, you must understand how I’m feeling after what I saw.” She sounds absolutely heartless. Not in a way that comes off as cruel, just in the way she barely seems affected by something that weighs on his mind so heavily. Either way, he nodded and left their bedroom. 

No servants came to help him get ready for bed, as they usually do. Which isn't an issue, he wasn't completely incompetent. But it did leave him alone for the first time in centuries. Really, when was the last time he had been alone in a room for longer than a few minutes? He tried to not get caught up in the thought, shifting under the covers of the bed. It felt new. It felt unused.

Maybe it was the discomfort of sleeping in a bed that hadn't been touched for who knows how long, but Lucifer spent most of the night tossing and turning. How could he sleep with his mind so full of regret? But then, what was he regretting exactly? Was it the cheating on the one woman who's been by him through everything? Or was he regretting not saying something to you sooner? Not shutting the door when he had the chance? Regretting letting you go without a fight?

At some point in the night, he shot up, a sweating mess. He was still exhausted, even with the notion that he had just woken up from some night terror. Finally catching his breath, he slumps back down, shifting into some other sleeping position. With that one motion, he felt the stiffening problem in his shorts. Fuck. It wasn't there the whole night, but he knew exactly why it was here now. He laid on his back, spreading his knees a bit to gain better access to his aching groin. With the same goal of getting it over with, so he could go back to sleep, he palmed at his shorts before releasing his throbbing cock. Even if he convinced himself that this was just to help him get back to sleep, he couldn't prevent picturing you as he started to toy with himself

If you could see him in this state, you'd go mad. The image of him letting out soft whimpers to no one and pumping his own shaft, wishing his hand was your own.

With a speedy resolve, Lucifer pulls away his hand. Already disgusted with himself for essentially sending you to the streets to fend for yourself, he cleaned himself up before continuing to lay in the unfamiliar bed. The rest of the night was spent staring at the ceiling. It was all so.. Empty. He was so used to hearing the soft breathing of someone sleeping beside him, the comfort of being able to just turn his head and know he wasn't alone. He didn’t exactly miss the smell, but he could recognize the difference. The fragrance of whatever Lillith would use on her hair or skin, right before she would sleep, was gone. There was still a lingering scent, though. He couldn't quite place his finger on it. A sudden flash of your flushed appearance, ringing with an anticipation he hadn't seen in years, formed in his mind. He could have covered you in love bites and bruises right that instant - Oh. That must be it; He was smelling you. His senses were overwhelmed. By you.

“Sire! Breakfast!” A hasty knock at the bedroom door sent him sitting up quickly. He was still groggy since it didn't feel like he fell asleep at all. A random servant let themselves in, a tray of assorted breakfast pickings sitting heavily in their hands as they glided quickly to place it over his lap. He didn't normally have breakfast in bed. A surprise usually viewed as a treat, felt morbid to him. He usually had breakfast with..

With a heavy sigh, he dismisses the imp and pushes the tray off his lap. Who could have an appetite after everything that went on the night before?

As the days started to pass, Lillith eventually started acting like nothing had changed. Your replacement was quick to start working. Lucifer got along with her fine and Charlie seemed to like her plenty. Could this really be swept under the rug? Was a little kiss not worth a serious discussion after all these years? Apparently so. Neither of the royals brought it up to each other after that. They were actually fighting less than before - that is - Lucifer didn't feel it fair to try and rebuttal any of her arguments. And.. that’s the end of it. Just a fling that occurred on a restless night. Just a sinner making another sinful mistake, and the king of Hell creating more problems. There wasn't any more to it.

—

Extermination Day was fast approaching. This wasn't your first, but it was definitely jarring compared to how you handled it at the Morningstar Manor. You boarded up your windows, tore apart curtains, and generally made your hand-me-down apartment seem abandoned. No point in looking for sinners in an empty building, right? You were surprisingly calm, considering the circumstances, you brought a damned book to read while hiding in the safest area of your home. You didn't think much of it, Not until the screams began.

The battle cries became increasingly louder. The exorcists were quick to get to work, spreading their attacks through the most heavily populated areas first. The shouting and sobbing of other demons suddenly registered in your mind. You're terrified. It's easy for sinners to take their position for granted during their first year. You died on Earth, but here you are in Hell. You die in Hell, you regenerate, so you can continue your eternal punishment. But this extermination? It finally clicked in your mind that this could be it. This could be your end and you have no idea what would happen to you afterwards. Was there anything beyond Hell? Your spiraling thoughts were brought to a halt when some of the expertly nailed boards on your windows went flying across the room. You were safely tucked away in a closet, it wasn't closed, just ajar. You hoped that little detail would keep it clear that no demon would be stupid enough to hide in an open closet. You heard rustling, some things breaking, then breathing. She was so close to the closet, that you could hear her breathing. As she reached for the doorknob and you prepared for the worst, you could hear a command coming from outside. The exorcist left through your window in one fell swoop. You had no idea if that was the end of the extermination or if you had only managed to avoid one angel.

Gripping your knees to your chest, only prolonging your struggling breathing, you hoped for one thing. Your mind went spinning, as it does on occasion; After rough days or when certain guests weren't treating you very well, you would wish for help. In your fantasies, a knight in shining armor would come in, kick down the door, and save the day. He would whisk you off your feet and you'd have your happy ending. But today, extermination day, you wanted nothing more than for Lucifer to hold you. Not to save you, defend you from dangers, or play the hero, but to embrace you. Keep you close to his chest and tell you everything was going to be okay, and that you'll look back on this later and laugh. That you'll always be safe as long as you're with him.

Why did you have to ruin it? Things were so good before. You were safe, technically wealthy, and had a friend. A real friend who would help pick up your work if you ever felt the slightest overwhelmed, someone who would support and praise you, someone who would make you laugh. And you were too horned up to consider you could lose all of it.

A sharp pain running down your back forces you awake. Taking the time to recognize your surroundings, you recall crying yourself to sleep in the cramped safe haven you made for yourself. At least it worked. You're still here. Despite everything, you're still here. Taking your time, you stretched your stiff body and examined the damage to your home. It was in absolute shambles. The sight of the busted window made your blood run cold, just imagining an exorcist exploring your personal space. You took a mental note of everything you still had and carefully sat at the edge of your bed, your sheets littered with shards of window glass. This has to stop. You need some kind of respite again, you can't survive like this anymore.

—

You were embarrassed. It felt so strange going somewhere and admitting you need help, that was always a struggle for you. But to crawl to the establishment ran by Charlie? The toddler you raised? It would be near impossible to admit defeat to her. But you were shunned by the rest of the royal family, and quickly discovered you can't make it just living alone as a demon. There's only one other option. Heaven. You supposed it was time to give Redemption a shot. What else do you have to lose?

You hesitate to knock on the door once you're greeted with the signs hanging all over the front of the building. Homemade flyers and banners decorate the walls, saying things like Sinners Welcome!, Escape Redemption!, Ascend to the Heavens!, but the most important one was Free Housing! You knock so lightly on the door, that you have to do it again. It swung open -

You aren't exactly shocked by her appearance, she's been displayed on the news and you've seen her commercials a few times, but you still felt a stabbing pain in your chest. It was from a combination of nerves and.. was that pride? To see this little girl, you helped raise for a moment, as a grown woman who was pursuing her dreams?

She immediately bombarded you with questions and greetings. She still had that energy, didn't she?

"This is the lobby! And over here is the bar, if you drink, and here is -” You started to tune out her voice, still smiling and nodding when she looked at you. Taking in your surroundings, you would at least smile at the other demons you'd make eye contact with. You recognized Angel Dust, obviously a celebrity in Hell, but the rest were strangers to you. Emphasis on strange.

Finally appearing from the shadows, you did actually recognize the so-called radio demon. He would frequently come into your bakery with the overlord of Cannibal Town, Rosie. You'd serve them, which was not normally a service you'd provide, but your boss insisted. He seemed nice enough from those interactions, you saw no reason to fear him. Yet. He was kind enough to stop you and Charlie to chat.

"Ah, a familiar face!" He greeted you by taking up your hand and placing a light kiss on your knuckles, immediately sending shivers down your spine. "Pleasure to see you, again, dear." He spoke into your hand. "Quit the pleasure~" Your hand still held to his lips, he looked up to meet your eyes. With a nervous chuckle and a nod, you pull your hand away, almost pushing Charlie to move on. You didn't want him to see your flustered face.

"So.. How's your dad been?" You idiot. Why would you ask that? You didn't want to know the answer.

"Oh! Um.. That's a weird question - We don't talk much, he's doing important things you know, considering he's the king and all, but uh..good! Pretty sure he's.. good..." Her nervous reactions were just like her father's, but you didn't have time to dwell on that. You knew Lillith had disappeared, everyone did. You wondered what happened. You wondered what it would be like if you were still in the manor with them. If Lucifer would treat you differently with Lillith gone.. Stop. 

“Well, I used to work at the manor, actually.. erm.. Do you recognize me..? By any chance?" Charlie's face gleamed with excitement as she took your hands into hers. You were hopeful for a second.

"That is so cool! I haven't been home in ages.. so I'm not sure I remember you but - wow, we have so much to talk about!" She let out an excited squeal that left you smiling nervously. She didn't recognize you. That was fair, you only knew her when she was young, but you thought.. maybe...

Aging in Hell worked differently. While Charlie had truly grown, you've looked the same for multiple decades. You almost hoped that would trigger something in her mind.. thinking about it, you'd love to reconnect with her. But you can't. You can't look at her without seeing him. Maybe her not recognizing you is the best for now.

You settled into the hotel pretty quickly, and considering your housekeeping skills, the rest of the staff and residents seemed to warm up to you, asking for help with little things like mending or baking. You also helped Charlie with anything you could. She had a lot of questions about what her childhood home was like before she came along, and you had to do your best to dance around the important details.

As you were fixing up a skirt for Angel, one that was torn straight in half, your head was suddenly with radio static. A shadowy figure appeared in front of you. With Alastor looking down at you, he was much more intimidating. Doesn't stop the fact that he made you blush like crazy.

"Alastor. What's up?" You turned your head back down to continue your sewing, trying to keep a cool facade, then felt the seat next to you dip slightly.

"A little birdy told me you have an.. interesting past. Sounds like you have quite the history with the royal family, correct?" You hesitantly nod.

"I'd love to hear some stories if you have anything.. juicy." He definitely learned that word from Rosie. You chuckled at the sound of such a modern word warped with static. You gave him the same details you would tell Charlie, vague and definitely not juicy.

As you spoke and sewed at the same time, you ended up jabbing your finger with the needle. With a disappointed groan, you squeezed your finger, letting the blood drop grow. A quick reaction, Alastor lightly took a grasp of your wrist and brought your finger to his lips. With just a single swipe of his tongue, he wiped the blood clean. You tried your best to act disgusted, he was a cannibal after all, but your face was still heating up.

“O-Ookay.. thank you, I suppose..? Anyway..” You took a moment to shake any inappropriate thoughts from your head before returning to your stories. Alastor simply sat and nodded, occasionally letting out a little chortle at something you tried to joke about. "It was definitely a cushy job, I mean, you get free housing as a nanny, protection, food and - "

"A nanny, hmm?" Fuck. You quickly dropped what you were doing to face him. "Alastor, please don't say anything to Charlie. She doesn't even remember me since I had to leave when she was young, and I.. I want to keep it that way, okay? Keep this between us? Please?" You were begging. You had a great relationship with Charlie right now, there was no point bringing up the past. Or the mistakes you've made. You didn't see his smile grow, but it definitely did.

"Not a problem, my dear! I'm not one to blab.. since you asked so nicely." He looked at his clawed fingers as if they were neatly painted nails. You let out a sigh of relief, shakily reaching for your little sewing project in your lap to proceed where you left off.

"Thanks. I owe you one." You had no idea what you did, but apparently, that was enough for him. Enough to signal a deal. You officially owed Alastor a favor, and you had no idea what that could entail.

—

“Okay, everyone! My dad agreed to come and see what I'm - what we - are doing here! This could really help the hotel, so we are going to pretty it up and make it as welcoming as we can!” Charlie stood on the previously used trust-fall stage as she spoke.

“We’ve got one hour, people! Let’s get going!” The command from Vaggie, only made you sweat more. You stood in the small crowd of recently made friends, suddenly shrinking where you stood. You had no idea what Lucifer had been up to these past years. He definitely wasn't making any public appearances and Charlie rarely talked about him, so you just assumed he wasn't interested in her little project. It was shocking to you at first, that the gentle father you used to know had barely even spoken to her in almost a decade.

But that's beside the point. He was coming to the hotel. Stepping off the stage as the crowd dispersed, Charlie came directly to you. She held onto both your hands, before shining a giddy smile your way.

“Isn’t it exciting? Maybe he’ll recognize you! It’ll be like a little reunion!”  You simply smiled and nodded, before quickly stepping away. Charlie started directing people, nicely, to start cleaning things up and creating banners and other decorations. A familiar static ran through your core as you hit the top of the stairs, ready to hide wherever you could.

You groaned, “Alastor, I just need to get out of here, please don’t bug me right now.” He was quick to block your path, placing a hand on his chest as if he were wounded.

“How cruel of you, I simply want to chat! I’m just wondering how you’re doing, dear.” His voice was sweet, but it still put you on edge. You waved him off and kept walking.

“Don’t give me that shit, I know you don't really care.” You rolled your eyes as he continued to walk with you, occasionally brushing his side against yours with his strides. Alastor was becoming close to you over these past few months, even getting a little touchy at times. You definitely didn't mind it. You considered making some kind of move, but the idea of that failing made you cringe.

“Goodness, how rude you are today! Aren’t you excited to see your old employer? Or.. are you nervous?” He knew what he was doing. You did your best to hide your anxious reaction, but he saw right through it.

“M-Maybe a little nervous. There, are you happy now? I don’t want to see him, I’m not ready - “ You muffled a frustrated groan into your hands, stopping in place

“Not a problem, my dear! Why don’t you stick with me today? I would hate to see you in such a state of despair - ” Liar. “ - just think about it.” You nod your head, but you were pretty sure you wouldn't be leaving your room for the rest of the day.

“Good girl.” With a quick pat on your head and a flicker of the lights, Alastor disappeared from sight. Your whole body shivered as you stepped into your room. 

— 

You recognized his voice immediately, even from your room. it didn't help that he was practically shouting. You were sitting in your bed, your back against the headboard and your knees pulled tightly to your chest. You would grab a book, or maybe the phone you finally managed to buy, but you didn't. You sat with tears flowing down your cheeks. You weren’t sad, exactly, but your body had no idea how to process your emotions right now.

Luckily, a loud crash snapped you out of your frozen state, forcing you to carefully leave your room. You couldn't hear his voice anymore, just a loud ruckus, people screaming and gunshots. You assumed someone had broken down the wall, again, probably looking for another fight. That probably means he left, right? Taking your time, you carefully peek your head around the stairwell, letting out a shaky sigh of relief.

No sign of Lucifer. Starting to descend the stairs, a giant portal opens mere feet away from you. Charlie and Lucifer return, his gigantic wings fluttering close as they embrace. You only realized the severity of the situation after appreciating his wings that you’ve never really seen this close before. They were beautiful - Focus.

As they discussed finally setting up Charlie’s meeting, she finally caught a glance of you just beginning to climb the stairs.

“Oh, Dad! I almost forgot! There was so much going on, I didn't get to show you our other guest!” She speedily approached you as she spoke, grabbing your hand and pulling you back down the stairs.

“She said she used to work at home! Isn't that cool?” Placing both her hands on your shoulders, you were essentially held captive.

“Oh! OH! Ahh.. hm! That is - That is definitely.. Interesting! Fun little fact there, isn't it?” His laughter became increasingly nervous and his cheeks became redder, as he tugged at the collar of his shirt to let the cool air of the room hit his suddenly heated skin.

“B-Been awhile, huh?? Long time no see! What are you up to? Today? These.. days..?” Charlie’s excitement only grew, shaking you a bit by your shoulders.

“You remember each other? That’s awesome! Maybe you two can catch up sometime! Were you close? She talks about how much she loved working there all the time!” Charlie’s words did little to fill the gaps. He had no idea why you were here, what you had told her - his eyes met yours finally, begging for the answer. What did you tell her?

Charlie’s one-sided conversation became a ringing in your ears, as she finally released you. You were only brought back by a hand placed delicately on the small of your back. In the back of your mind, you hoped it was Lucifer’s. That made you wince. Finally looking at its source you met Alastor’s eyes. He did say he would keep you company if you decided to come to the lobby. A sudden question popped into your head. Did Lucifer ever apologize? With Alastor's support, a surge of confidence gave you the strength to respond.

“We weren't that close, Charlie. I mean, we could catch up. If he wants to that is.” You leaned into Alastor's touch as you spoke, another decision you'll question later. In that moment, you wanted to treat him like shit. You wanted him to feel the way you did when you were sent away without a fight.

He seemed to shrink in place, his eye twitching when he let his gaze roam from your body up to Alastor’s, which was connected so sweetly by a gentle hold.

“Yeeaah! MAybe - “ His voice cracked, “ Welp! If you’re here - I know where to find you, I’ll uh.. Keep in touch..?” He did his best to send charlie a nervous smile, who was giving an enthusiastic thumbs up to him from behind you.

“Weren't you just leaving, Your Highness?” Alastor’s voice went crackly as he spoke, his hand snaking completely around your waist. He gave a nervous goodbye, before vanishing in a red smoke. Something strange happened just then. Before he left - he looked scared. But you still felt good doing what you did.

You blinked your eyes as if you had just been broken out of a trance. Looking around the silent room, you met Alastor’s eyes again, before quickly pulling yourself away from his grasp.

“I-I guess you did what you promised.. so.. Thank you?” letting out an awkward chuckle, you made your way back up the stairs. What came over you? Did you really want him to suffer? You had a chance to try and repair things, to ask why he did what he did. There's no way he'd try to reach out now. Right?

—

Hope y'all are liking the direction this is going, i know its getting a lil intense

I'm getting your requests btw! I'm loving the prompts I'm seeing, so I'll work on them as soon as I can! :)

!Taglist (A lot of you asked to be in the tag list, so if I missed you, please let me know!)

( @vififofum @thornwolfy235 @tinywolfiegirl @chipper-chip @bat-boness @misfitgirlwrites @nayomi247 @lonelynmisunderstood @escapistoftherealworld @b4ts1e @hamthepan @kyo-kyo1 @looking1016 @polytheatrix @littledolly2345 @lillianastuff @yourlocalcryptidbee @0strawberrysorbet0 @themageofblood @jayyyayaysblog @floralsightings @azmosposts @8har0ley8 @actuallyspiderwoman )

[coeurify]

idk if you’re comfortable with writing this (it’s okay if not no worries!) but gunplay w abby who forces you to suck the barrel and threatens to fuck you/shoot you with it if you don’t do a good enough job 🫣

- 🐾

okkk so i changed it a bit but its still pistol sucking hehe!

warnings 18+ , dom/sub dynamic, the use of “dumb” and calling reader stupid, pistol sucking, i guess you could say fear play. reader is into how dangerous it is basically.

<3__ <3 __ <3 __ <3 __ <3 __ <3

The very first sensation you could pick out behind the black of your tightly closed eyes was something cool against your cheek. Something that pressed into the plush skin, drawing a sharp intake of air from your shaking lips. A disapproving tsk came next, escaping into the stuffy air of the room above you.

She was always above you.

As you shifted your knees, the flesh burned against the ragged carpet, the scratchy green material itching over your raw, bruised knees. The familiarity of being beneath her was unsurprising in this moment, even comforting.

What was surprising was the cool feeling, a chill sweeping through your body. Your eyes squeezed even further, bursts of color confined behind you shut lids as you tried to figure out what the shape was.

Round maybe? A frigid, rounded tip delicately traced beneath your chin, coaxing it upward.

“Open your eyes baby,” the voice gently commanded. It sent a warm rush through your spine, insides liquidly at the croon of Abby’s voice. Her voice that was always syrupy sweet to your pliant, submission-tinted brain– no matter how fucked up the situatuon may be. A moth to a fucking flame, your eyes blinked open, vision blurry as your face tolted more, the unmistakable shape of the blonde coming to view as your pupils adjusted to the light.

You knew why you were here. Why you had been shoved to your knees the moment you and Abby stumbled upon this rundown hotel. No resistance surfaced as her firm grip shoved you through the door, her voice, your siren song, falling silent only after demanding you to close your eyes.

You cant pinpoint how long you stayed like that, palms damp against your knees, eyelashes delicately grazing your undereyes, keeping them shut obediently.

“Do you know what’s under your chin?” Abby hummed, crouching down to your level, one strand of soft blonde hair falling in front of her face, her shoes squeaking softly as they bent to conform to her position.

One hand, the hand holding whatever object was pressing painfully under your chin, twisting as a tongue poked its way out from her lips, cerulean eyes blown out as her gaze falls downward.

“N-no,” you exhaled, fingers digging into the denim of your jeans, ignoring the heat that grew between your legs as Abby stared at you, eyebrows narrowed, tension etched on her face.

You’d really fucked up.

“Use your eyes, you're smart enough to do that, arent you?” the blonde taunted, casually flicking her wrist to press the object against you again.

You knew you deserved this, hell– you wanted this.

Hesitating, you shifted your head away from it’s position, chin dipping down in sync with your eyes, blinking rapidly as Abby’s pistol came into view. Of course.

“It’s your gun, abs,” you reply a moment later, lowering your voice to be as soft as possible, looking up through your eyelashes, acting on your best behavior, desperate to weaken Abby’s resolve.

But Abby was a stubborn girl, one who stook to her word, her decisions. Her punishments.

“Maybe she does have a brain up there after all,” Abby mocks, the pistol's barrel tracing the line of your neck as you swallow audibly. “Why do you think i’m holding my pistol, doll?”

“Dunno,” you mutter, a tiny knot forming in your tummy as Abby’s eyes flit to yours again, darkened under the dwindling light filtering through the boarded windows.

“You dunno?” the blonde repeats, licking over her lips again as an exasperated scoff falls from them. You only answer with a small shake of your head.

But you did know. You had made a dumb decision with that gun. Put yourself in danger, put Abby in danger.

It was a moment of misplaced confidence, when your body was squished against your girlfriend in a tight hallway in the city, her ragged breaths pressing into your ear as she gripped you close, waiting for the clicker to pass as silently as she could. The building was packed, a basement door opened sometime the night before likely– spilling a horde of new infected into a building that was usually deemed clear on patrols.

You just wanted to prove something. That was why you swiped the pistol from Abby’s waist, why you shoved it in your own pocket sneakily as Abby dealt with the clicker, motioning you to follow as you continued down the building.

You just wanted to get that rush.

“You are so fucking cocky, you know that?” Abby asks, the opening of the metal trailing up your cheek again until it taps against your temple. “Or maybe you're just dumb, huh?”

You shake your head rapidly. “Just wanted to help, abs.”

Help by going down the opposite way than abby in than building. Help by fiddling with the gun you barely knew how to use when a runner caught your attention. You were just trying to help when you stepped on a can, two runners flicking their heads up your way as you shakily tried to point the gun at one.

But you hadn't helped. Not when you had to scream Abby’s name after only getting one runner down, another grabbing at your arm as you tried to take off.

Your help was just another fucking issue as Abby had to save your ass.

“Help?”

You nod again.

“You think stealing my things, almost getting yourself killed, is helping?” she asked, her tone proving just how ridiculous she found you. You barely knew how to fucking work her fucking pistol, let alone go off alone on a patrol.

“I’m sorry Abby,” you whimper, knees grazing the carpet as you fidget, your heart racing with each gentle tap of the gun against your temple. “I was being stupid. M’sorry,” you admit, meeting her blue eyes.

“You think you're a strong girl, hm? Think you can go fight on your own? That you can steal my shit?” Your lip quivers, finding refuge between your teeth, a fiery swirl rising in your stomach as the pistol nudges your cheeks, Abby chuckling as she pokes at the fat there again.

There’s no way to escape the uncomfoftable roll of your hips down into the ground after the sound, how fucking condesending Abby sounded as she had a gun against your face. A surge of pure need intensifies, your poor core searching for relief from the tension.

“And look at t-that, youre fucking into it too?” your girlfriend sounds absolutely astonished by your reaction, and even if you know it's all a show to further that feeling of shame rising in your body, you still whine in denial.

“Do y’have a death wish or something?” she asks, “first you try and use this without a clue in the world of if it was even loaded, and now you're getting off on geting threatened with it?”

“No,” you deny, but you know your panties, which stick against your pooling cunt would tell another story.

Abby shakes her head, almost in disbelief as the very tip of the gun finds your lips. You hold your breath, gaze following hers.

“Dumb fuckin’ girl,” the blonde mutters, pressing the gun hard enough to part your lips, the cool metal pressing against the white of your teeth, a shiver wracking through your body at the feel of it.

“My dumb fuckin’ girl,” Abby amends, inhaling sharply as you relent, allowing the barrel to slide past the plush, wet warmth just slightly.

“You like this gun so much, the least you could do is clean it then, yea?” she muttered, and you dont mistake the slight hitch in her tone. You don’t miss how her position shifts to also kneel, yet still somehow looking down at you.

You open your mouth wider, her grip on the gun handle so firm it feels like it might crack, as she gradually lowers the barrel into your mouth.

Your heart pounds beneath your ribcage, your tongue exploring the cold metal, tracing the divots and intricate details. Abby had already cleaned it, you knew that, but she still pushed it further in your waiting mouth, a powertrip building behind her hazy eyes.

“There you go,” she whispered, “Aah,” her own lips parting, her chin tilting up as she eases the barrel further in, now resting against your tongue.

“just like that– sure you remember how to do this, hm? Taught you well with my cock, right?”

You nod, eyes flashing quick memories of your mouth around her strap. Abby was met with a soft suckling noise, her dilated pupils darting swiftly as the metal disappeared between your lips, hand softly, deliberately thrusting the barrel in and out.

You hadn't expected the motion at first, gargling gently as you adjusted to the cold feeling on the inside of your mouth, teeth scraping the barrel slightly as you sucked like it really was her cock, hollowing your cheeks, head moving in tandem with Abby’s slow movements.

It was fucking filthy.

Abby’s free thumb moves to your chin, swiping at a bead of shiny drool that dripped from the corner of your mouth, “You ever gonna do somethin’ so dumb again?”

Shaking your head, you feel the weighty tip against the back of your tongue, and you fight the instinct to gag around the metal. Blue eyes watch intently as the slow back and forth motion continued, your mouth pooling with more spit as you took the round shape as best you could, eyes straining to keep contact with Abby’s gaze.

“You ever gonna put your life in danger like that again?” Abby continued, voice dripping with that delicious sternness you seeked, that you craved. She savored the surprised and soft gag that came when she shoved the gun a little harder.

You throbbed at the feeling, at how her lips hardened into a line as you licked around the base of the gun, a new rush of wetnees ruining your panties as your thighs squeeze impossibly closer.

This shouldn’t have you so turned on by something that could so easily kill you being shoved in your mouth, dipped in and out like some toy for your girlfriend’s own pleasure. But it did. It had you drenched between your legs, heart beating as loudly as the blood that pumped in your ears.

A quick and obvious shake of your head follows the second question, and Abby pauses her movement, letting it still heavily against your warm, wet tongue.

“I could fucking kill you,” Abby admits, eyes falling to where you rub your thighs together, seeking friction. “You know that?”

But she wouldn't. Abby would never *really* hurt you, you know that. With one more soft thrust into your mouth, the end of the barrel is almost right there— flush against your face as she holds it. Abby watches your hands scramble to grip at something, throat constricting to keep a gag from rising in your throat.

“There ya’ go, gag on it,” she grits, watching as more drool seeps between the stretched corners of your mouth, only relenting when she sees tears prick the corner of your eyes.

“So damn dumb,” she huffed, the pistol slowly falling from your lips– a long string of drool connecting the metal to your gaped mouth before your tongue could swipe the string away, clamping your mouth shut after you choke out a quick, “m’sorry, m’sorry.”

Abby wiped the pistol against her pants as she stood, backing up until her ass found the bed, her legs spreading, pistol placed next to her. You watched, eyes lidded as you stayed glued to the floor, watching as her large hand patted against her thigh before trailing to her pant’s button, long fingers hooking around it, her own cunt aching under her boxers.

“Come show me how sorry you are.”

[forestshadow-wolf]

OMG BRAINWASHED SOAP AU BC S4 SOAP SKIN

Soap brainwashed and inserted back into the 141 as a traitor. Ghost suspects something is wrong and he can't quite tell what until...

He confronts soap. He sees him and sometimes ticks in his brain. Acting quickly he grabs soap and shoves him down an empty hallway.

"You're not my Johnny." His voice, despite the undercurrent of trembling, is firm.

Soap says nothing, but pulls his sidearm. Not even a second of hesitation. It aims directly between Ghost's eyes, mere inches away from him. Ghost doesn't flinch.

"You're not even my Soap." It clicks in his mind exactly what's so wrong about him, he lets out an almost shaky breath.

"What makes you say that?" Soap asks, gun still pointed, ready to give him a third eye. It doesn't sound like he's even attempting to hide it anymore, not since Ghost confronted him.

"His eyes aren't green,"

Soap readjusts the grip on his pistol.

"They're blue." In a flash Ghost grabs the barrel of the gun, redirecting soap's grip, he rips the gun from his hand and turns it on him. And soap, even this not-his soap, knows better than to think Ghost won't shoot, he puts his hands up in surrender in a self-assured but reluctant motion. Lucky too because Ghost wouldn't have, he's couldn't, not even this not-his soap. "Move" he gestures down the hall.

The door to Price's office slammed open, banging off the wall with the force that Ghost shoved a stumbling (not-his) Soap into the room. Price startles at his desk.

"What is this, Lieutenant?" He questions suspiciously. Almost reprimandingly. (Not-his) Soap starts to talk, spewing (what Ghost knows to be utter shite) about how Ghost just pulled a gun on him and blah blah blah, but Ghost talks over him.

"It's not him." He grits.

"What the hell are you talking about, Ghost, that's Soap you're pointing a gun at." Price snaps. (Not-his) Soap is still babbling. Ghost jabs him in the back of the head with the tip of the gun.

"I mean it's not him, Price. Look at him."

"I am looking at him, and he damn-sure looks like Soap."

"Then you're not looking. Price, I mean really look at him. Look at his eyes." Ghost looks at Price intensely, gun still trained on (not-his) Soap. "Johnny's eyes are blue."

"Not green." Price finishes.

"Not green." Ghost confirms.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

You’re Beautiful and Sick Like Me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: The Quarry

Warnings: None

Summary: Even the toughest of the tough just need a gentle touch now and again.

*gif is not mine

“What crawled up your ass?” You asked, continuing to pin up the laundry on the sad little line Merle had set up for you. You practically had to twist his arm and, in retaliation, he had placed it just high enough that you had to stand on your tip-toes to get anything done. 

Daryl had returned from hunting, pacing and running a hand through his short hair. You could guess it had to do with the lack of deer beside the fire pit. 

“Goddamn geek got my deer.” He spat, vibrating with frustration but still taking the time to place his crossbow next to his tent almost tenderly. Then it was back to pacing. You watched your boyfriend with an arched brow, finally abandoning your task with a sigh when it became clear he was going to create a ditch. 

“Come over here.” You stood behind the stump you three used for a chair more often than not. Narrowed blue eyes slid over to regard you but he made no move to comply. “What? You think I’m gonna shank you or something? Come here.”

With a quiet ‘pfft’, he stalked over and stopped in front of you, head tilted questioningly. “What is it?”

“Sit.” You pointed to the stump. 

“Ain’t a dog.” Daryl huffed, kicking at a rock. 

Rolling your eyes, you reached across the space between you and grabbed the front of his tank top, pulling him forward so that you could grab his shoulders and spin him. He got the point and plopped down on the stump. Before he could ask, you placed your hands halfway between his shoulders and neck and began to knead the muscles there. Any snide comment died on his tongue as his head fell forward. 

“That sucks about the deer.” You placated quietly, using your thumbs to really press into some knots you felt in his tense shoulders. “Not much you can do about it now though.” 

“Don’t need ya to shrink me right now. If you’re just—”

Utterly nonplussed, you tightened your grip on his shoulders when he made to stand, pushing him back down with an ‘oomph.’ 

“Woman, I swear—”

“Stop being so grumpy and let me take care of you. No one’s watching.” You ran your fingertips down the length of his spine before pressing into the muscles of his lower back. The moan he let out had his face flushing all the way to the tips of his ears. You were thankful he couldn’t see your cheeky grin. 

You, Daryl, and Merle had joined up with this little group not long after the first corpse started walking. The boys had intended to rob the occupants blind and then you would all disappear and move on to the next. It was your initial apprehension after seeing the kids that gave Daryl pause, eventually leading him to approach Merle with the decision to just stick around. Merle hadn’t liked the idea. In fact, he was quite vocal about it. You had stood on the sidelines with your pistol, just waiting to shoot the elder Dixon in the foot if he raised a hand toward Daryl. 

Daryl had taken to hunting for everyone, unable to stand the thought of the children going hungry. He’d never say so out loud but he didn’t have to. You knew. The burden he had placed upon himself kept him busy, which in turn kept him away from most social engagement. He was never much of a talker. 

But now, the enemy had taken the day’s dinner. Merle’s group had arrived back from a run to the city at some point, though you had yet to lay eyes on Merle himself. They had, however, brought back a stranger. What’s more, Daryl only managed to bring back enough squirrels for maybe a stew. He’d have to go greet his brother in a moment. You’d accompany him, of course. 

For now, you had a moment to show him some tenderness he’d usually never allow outside of your tent. Your palms slid up to his shoulder blades, thumbs pressing in circular motions to help the muscles relax. His head was hanging, shoulders slowly dropping down from where they had been tensed nearly to his ears. 

You could literally feel the tension drain as the stress he carried began to release its hold. He hadn’t moaned again but the sighs and grunts were enough to let you know you were doing a good job. As you rubbed up over his shoulders again, he tilted his head to nuzzle his cheek across your knuckles, reminding you of a cat showing affection. 

Still kneading at the junction of his neck and shoulder, you leaned in closer. “Let’s go say hi to Merle and get it over with, okay?”

His eyes opened and blinked lazily. You thought he may have been content to stay on that log for the rest of the day, but sadly, you were right. Grunting at the loss of your touch, he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the string of squirrels. He took a step but stopped and turned to you, taking hold of your chin and caressing your cheek with his thumb. The corner of his mouth lifted and he quickly released you and flicked the end of your nose. 

When he started down toward where everyone was gathered, you fell in behind him. 

“Merle! Merle! Get your ugly ass out here!”

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 23: Boothill x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 4976

Warnings: Afab!reader, age difference, gunplay, a tiny bit of coercion on readers part, gun in mouth, dry humping

A/N: Okay, so I'm officially a day behind but! This one was a bit of a challenge for me, both because I've never really written any gunplay scenarios before but also because it was a bit of a brain twister trying to lock down his old west mannerisms with the silly potty word substitutes 🤭 Hopefully I didn't do too bad on either front!

⭐

The Galaxy Rangers were somewhat infamous for enjoying reckless games. The sort that more often than not ended in disastrous results, particularly when more than one of them had been taken out of commission by an unlucky Russian Roulette bullet. But like moths to the flame, those of you who lived by the creed of the Hunt were inexorably drawn to high adrenaline situations and the kind of fast paced excitement that made most others shy away for fear of life and limb. 

You were no different in this regard, and neither was Boothill. 

He’d mentored you for a very short while, back when you first took up Lan’s bow and set out into the vast cosmos to bring about some form of justice in a largely unjust universe. Treated you much like a daughter, in fact. 

And that just made the current situation of having his revolver shoved in your face all the more thrilling. 

“Fudging hell, girl! I almost blew your darned brains out! You can’t go around sneaking up on people like that. It’s not smart and it’s not safe!”

“Sorry.” You murmur, tipping your head just enough to peer around the barrel of his gun so you can pin him with a wholly innocent smile. “I just wanted to surprise you. It’s been a long time since we last saw each other.” 

“Well, ya’ certainly surprised me.” Sighing out a terse, mildly bothered huff, Boothill fluidly relaxes out of his practiced shooting stance and gives his pistol a quick twirl before holstering it at his hip. The nervous people standing around the two of you who had backed up into a loose circle at the first sight of his pistol visibly relax but still quickly go about their business to avoid getting caught up in whatever trouble was brewing here on this particular street of Penacony’s Golden Hour. 

He doesn’t even seem to notice though, perfectly calm and casual now as he looks you up and down with a considering glance. “Glad to see you’re still kicking, I suppose. You didn’t exactly fill me with an overwhelming sense of confidence when I first met ya’, you know?” 

You can’t help but laugh at that, eagerly rocking up on your toes to lessen the height difference by a small margin. “Is that why you took me under your wing? To improve my chances of survival.”

He scoffs at that, metal hand coming up to brace along his equally metal hip. “I ain’t that fudging kindhearted so don’t get it twisted now. I just happened to see a little cowgirl who couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag if it was soaked through, and I couldn’t abide by that. Didn’t want you to go giving the Galaxy Rangers a bad name or nothing.” 

A certain, naively hopeful part of you sinks at that. You knew how he’d treated you before, of course, but that was a few years in the past now … “Is that really all you see me as? A little girl?” 

“And what pray tell am I supposed to see you as if not that?” 

“I’m not a kid, for starters.” 

“Tch. I can see that. That cute lil’ dress you got on isn’t gonna’ make me forget about the first time I ran into ya’ though. You weren’t no better than a fool headed little brat trying to shoot yer daddy’s gun out in that field.” 

You warm slightly at that, completely ignoring everything else he’d said in favor of focusing on the important bit. “You really think my dress is cute?” 

“Bah! Enough of this. I ain’t got time for it.” 

Turning on his heel, Boothill decisively starts to make his way further down the road on a straight course for the looming facade of the hotel up ahead. And you just push into motion to trot right along after him, having to work your legs double time to keep pace with his long strides. 

It takes him a prolonged beat to realize you’re following him and when he does, he snaps his head in your direction with a low growl of warning. “What do you think you’re doing, girl? I said I ain’t got time for it!” 

“I just wanted to catch up, that’s all.”

“Catch up!” He echoes you loudly enough to make some of the passersby glance over with varying degrees of confused and indignant looks. “What is there even to catch up on, huh? I’ve just been putting bullet holes in bad guys for the last some odd years and I reckon you’ve been doing the same since you’re still standing here. Can’t you see I’m busy?” 

The two of you reach the sloping stairs at that point and start to make your way up together. It does not escape your notice that he seems to be far too focused on chiding you to give his purposeful strides any further thought and he was likely just retracing the same path he’d taken before. It was probably best to keep him talking then. 

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious about me? After all, you did take the time to teach me how to handle a gun. I’d think you’d be more interested to know how that’s panned out in the long run. I promise I’m a much better shot now.” 

Boothill lifts a dark brow at the playful lilt in your voice, allowing a sharp toothed grin to tug at his mouth now. “Is that so? You must think you’re something real slick if you’re trying to brag. Think you’re big enough to beat me in a quick draw, little missy?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of taking you on in this lifetime.” You murmur, smiling to yourself when he beats you to one of the front entrance doors by a single step so he can yank it open to grant you entry. Evidently his gruff manner of a chivalrous gunslinger was so deeply ingrained in his subconscious that he doesn’t even give it a second thought now and you certainly weren’t going to question it. 

Slipping into the hotel lobby, he comes in after you with a big, boisterous laugh, his boot spurs rattling with each step. “Well, at least you understand the pecking order. You’re still a few decades too early to go up against me and hope to win, but don’t let that discourage ya’. You must be good enough to have survived this long.” 

“It’s really only thanks to you, Mr. Boothill. I had no idea what I was doing until you came along!” 

“Aww, shucks. Stop it, darling. You’ll have this old dog blushing here in a minute if you keep that up.” 

You wonder if cyborgs that are more machine than man could actually blush as you totter along next to him. Through the lobby, up an elevator, into one of many hotel lounge bars and then up another set of stairs until you find yourself wandering down a long corridor together. He still hasn’t quite figured out your angle while you keep layering compliments and feeding just enough of a line to keep him talking about something or another to distract him. It clearly works too, and Boothill doesn’t even hesitate to unlock his room's door nor does he seem to stop long enough to realize you’re slipping inside with him, right on his heels and just as unobtrusive as any shadow. 

His gruff laughter dying off to a slow, drawling chuckle, the Galaxy Ranger turns towards the little coffee table just inside the spacious room and moves to unholster his pistol so he could set it down. But he freezes halfway through the motion as if suddenly realizing he hadn’t made the trip up here alone. For a harrowing stretch of moments he doesn’t move so much as a finger before all at once rounding on you with an aggressive bark

“You! What do you think you’re - -“

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Mr. Boothill.” You tell him sweetly, batting your lashes for extra effect. “You let me in here, remember?” 

“Like hell I did! I never gave you an invitation to come sashaying in here, you little - -“

Quickly ducking under his reaching hand, you dance back to keep at least an arms length between you and him, giggling the whole time. “Hey, don’t be mean to me! I’m your precious junior, aren’t I?” 

“Muddle-fudger!” 

The next handful of seconds feel like they go by in a torturous, slow motion blur. 

You’d underestimated the full scope of his reach and now that he knows you’re playing games with him, he doesn’t hold back. 

His hand strikes out at you like a snapping serpent, full force and quicker than you can conceivably react. You were good, all things considered, but not quite as good as him. 

Your neck is suddenly caught between the cool, pinching metal of his bionic fingers, his palm slamming into your throat hard enough to make you gag. 

Winded and startled, Boothill drags you stumbling towards the table where he shoves you back against it, half picking you up by the neck to get you on top of the shuddering surface. 

Then he’s slamming you down to lay flat out, the force of the impact dislodging a disgruntled sound from your aching chest. 

And he finally leans over you, pinning you there with his hand locked against your throat so he can shove the barrel of his gun right in your face again. 

It’s over in the time it takes you to blink, leaving you dazed and panting as you stare up along the dark iron muzzle to look into his face. You’re not the least bit surprised to find he isn’t even breathing any harder after all of that and you let out a threadbare, groaning laugh, unable to help yourself even when you were staring death right in the eyes. 

“What is so funny, huh?” He dangerously snarls, nudging his pistol at you for emphasis. “Fork me, I don’t remember you being crazy but it looks like you knocked a few screws loose somewhere along the way. Are you looking for me to remedy that for you?” 

His thumb curls up at that to pointedly flick the safety off with a click that sounds deafening from this close up. 

You have to bite down on your bottom lip to stopper the moan that tries to rattle its way up your constricting throat, carefully shifting against him to feel the solid weight of his narrow hips between your legs. Although pissing him off hadn’t exactly been your goal when you’d first approached him, this was still very much turning out as you’d hoped it would. 

“I’m afraid it’s not my head that needs fixing, Mr. Boothill.” 

A genuinely perplexed look crosses his face at that. “Son of a nice — what the hell are you even saying, you little brat? You don’t make a lick of sense, you know that?” 

Drawing a slow breath to steady yourself, you cautiously bring your hand up to grasp at the metal wrist pinning your neck down. That he allows it instead of pumping you full of lead right then and there seems as good a sign as any to keep going, so you do. 

“Do you want the truth?” 

“If you value your life, you’d better start talking quick.” 

“It’s you, Mr. Boothill. You’re what’s wrong with me. And it’s not my head that’s the problem. It’s down here.” Stiffly, you roll your hips upward to deliberately grind your cunt against the front of him. It’s hard to say if he can feel anything at all with so much of his body being metal, but he sees the shuddering motion and trails his attention down to the spot where he’s standing between your legs. 

His mouth drops open to reveal that razor sharp row of teeth again, gun hand wavering slightly in your face. “Huh?” 

“Do you remember when you were teaching me how to track and take down bad guys? I thought you were so cool, Mr. Boothill … I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all this time either. I was hoping I’d run into you again someday even if the chances were slim to none, so when I saw you on the street it felt a little bit like fate.” 

“Wha — fate? Girl, have you lost your gosh darned mind? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in possession of a flesh and blood body. What the fudge do you expect me to do with you?” Irritably clicking tongue, he angles his pistol skyward in a smooth, well practiced motion and eases back just enough to pin you with a hard look. “Maybe if you’d caught me before I had to sell my soul to the reaper then we could have talked, but I’ve got too much to do to be messing around with you like that. I ain’t got nothing for you I’m afraid.” 

You see the grim resignation in his expression for what it is, understanding that he was going to pull away from you before he actually moves to do it. He only makes it so far as letting up on your neck though before you manage to rouse yourself enough to bring your legs up and wrap them around his deceptively dainty waist to lock him there. 

Stiffening slightly, Boothill glances down at the lurid spread of your thighs, soft and form fitted to the sharp contours of his hips. Your dress had ridden up in all the excitement and now seemed dangerously close to flashing your lacy underwear at him but not quite yet. All it would take is a simple nudge of your hand though, and you hold the breath in your lungs as you watch him mentally process through that fact. 

“You little hussy - -“ 

“Please, Mr. Boothill.” You beg, tightening your legs around him. “I know this probably isn't what you would have had in mind otherwise but … there is something you could give me. An extension of you that would make me just as happy as anything else would.” 

He seems to go still for the stretch of a single heartbeat, and then another when he slowly brings his shuttered gaze up to look you in the face again. You’re not entirely sure what’s going through his head in that moment, but he seems less angry with you now and a bit more interested in what you had to say. 

Finally, he almost thoughtfully tips his head to one side. “What do you mean?” 

You send the pistol in his hand a pointed glance, making him suck in a stilted breath. Evidently he’d never thought about it or truly considered this as an option before, or maybe he simply hadn’t thought anyone would ever be fool enough to want that. But for better or worse, as a Galaxy Range or perhaps as a follower of Lan’s hunt, you weren’t scared of a little risk to go with the pleasure. 

“You’re fudgin’ serious.” He murmurs, sounding equal parts impressed and appropriately cowed. 

A brief laugh huffs out of him as he shakes his head, and you slowly reach one of your hands down to just pinch at the front of your dress so you can tug it up. “I’ve been thinking about this since the day we parted ways, Mr. Boothill. I always knew your body wasn’t whole anymore so I guess I just kind of naturally started thinking about potential substitutes.” 

“And now here you are.” 

You smile at that. “Yes, here I am. Offering myself to you, if you’ll have me.” 

You feel the first cool waft of air against your silk and lace panties then, shuddering ever so softly as you inch the fabric higher still to give him a good look at you. Running into him like this had been the very definition of an unexpected encounter so you weren’t wearing anything overly sexy or revealing, but they were still cute. They also showed off the pudgy seam of your cunt where the material was lightly moulded to you, thanks to the damp slick starting to gather along the crease as much as from the nudge of his pelvis when he’d pinned you down. 

He just stares at you for an uncertain beat though, looking at your pussy with a clear note of wanting reflected in his one visible eye but quickly concealed with a quiet scoff. Turning his head to focus on something else, he raises his gun to thumb the safety back on before somewhat warily bringing it down to waist level where he hesitates. 

“I could really hurt you doing something like this, darling.” 

“You won’t. I trust you.”

Your breath is coming a little quicker now, sped up by the onset of anticipation and quick mounting excitement. He was tempted, that much was obvious. Either because the lack of a working, fleshy cock made encounters like this unnecessary and redundant for him, an exceedingly rare indulgence he didn’t often have a chance to participate in anymore, or perhaps it was simply because he was just as much of a thrill seeker as you were. Maybe even some deadly combination of the two. 

But you could tell in his confident, hot headed swagger as much as his face, the only part of his original body that was still left, that he was not actually the old dog he sometimes fashioned himself to be. He’d likely been approaching his mid twenties when he underwent the full transition to a bionic body and was in truth only a few years older than you. That he’d chosen this path over keeping his cock, something most men centered their whole identity around, spoke volumes of his true nature.

That is what had stuck with you all this time and what kept you awake on many a lonely night. There was something so uniquely charming about him in a rugged, old west kind of way that you couldn’t help but want him as you do. 

So you slowly inch your legs further apart, letting them settle into a wide spread that leaves your pantied cunt vulnerable and plainly offered up to him. Boothill’s gaze wanders down to regard you at the shift, his yearning for the warmth of your body settling across his face in a pained grimace. There was very likely some part of him that missed his old skin and you were all too happy to give him the chance to feel even a small fraction of what it was like to be human again. 

“Right here.” You prod, fingers slipping back down to just feel over the apex of your mound. 

Listlessly rousing himself, Boothill lifts his gun to nudge it into the space between your thighs where he lightly runs the cool metal barrel over your underwear. It’s a featherlight and fleeting sensation, but so monumentally heavy in its implication that your chest hitches with a little gasp. 

He seems to settle into the idea quickly enough at the threadbare whimper you let out and he presses the hard contour into you a bit more firmly to trace over the outline of your labia. You draw in a faintly shuddering breath in an attempt to steady yourself somewhat as your hips twitch up into the sensation, encouraging him on. 

“If I would have known this was the kind of hairbrained stunt you were going to pull later on,” He drawls in a gruff voice. “I never would have gone out of my way to help you out back then. You’re nothing but fudging trouble, girl.” 

“I only learned from the best.” 

That earns you a quiet, scoffing laugh, but Boothill keeps the motion of his gun steady and light even when you roll your cunt against it in search of more of that gratifying pressure. It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling unbearably antsy like this when you've thought of and fantasized about this exact moment too many times to count, so you reach down a little further to catch the side of your panties with a finger. 

Slowly pulling it to the side for him, you carefully watch Boothill’s face to see the mild flash of surprise that crosses his expression. It’s gone in an instant though, replaced by a hungry, masculine edge as he peers down at the invitingly soft seam of your body, the vaguely damp curls that frame the tight, warm clutch where he would have happily buried himself in a past life. That’s not feasible now though, and he makes do with simply inching his pistol closer to just barely touch cold iron to your labia. 

Your reaction is physical as much as it is mental, sharply pulling in a breath at the firm nudge against the most tender part of you. His gun is hard and unrelenting, something that registers in your mind as innately dangerous despite the exceedingly gentle way he touches you with it. Caressing over creases and folds with a fleshy drag to part the lips and expose more of your cunt to his voracious sights. 

“Well I’ll be darned. You’re already getting wetter than a cucumber in a women’s prison, you little trollop.” 

A rattling sound of confusion slips out of you at that but you’re a little too focused on what he’s doing to you to focus on his strange turns of phrase right now. 

Shuddering faintly, you push up on your elbow so you can glance down and get a better view of the tarnished gold barrel prodding at you. The simple visual alone is so much better than you could have envisioned it would be, especially when he was standing over you like this in reality and not in your dreams. A quiet, needy mewl slips out of you then as you redirect the fingers between your legs inward to pull your labia open for him. 

Boothill issues a low whistle into the static charged air, directing the pistol upward to tease over your clit which weakly clings to the iron muzzle. The resulting meaty jostle makes you seethe and eagerly jut your hips up in search of more, feeling very nearly delirious now with the potent rush of arousal. You already felt like you were going to cum but you didn’t want it to be over just yet. 

“Please.” You rattle, starting to fidget on top of the table. “I want you, Mr. Boothill.” 

“Well, you can want it all you want but that don’t mean I’m gonna’ give it to ya’.” 

He starts to pull back then, pistol sliding away from your cunt, and you noise a frantic sound of confusion at him. 

That’s about all you manage before he’s suddenly leaning over you with a decisive motion, his open hand bracing on the table next to you while his narrow waist slots into the squeeze of your inner thighs again. You full on tremble at the sudden proximity of him as much as the not so subtle push of his front against your pussy. He’s just as hard and unrelenting, and cool to the touch as his gun is, but that doesn’t deter you half as much as it excites you. 

You feel wild and frenzied now, half crazed with the fast pumping sear of adrenaline working through your system as you tip your head back to look up at him. There’s a grumpy frown tugging at his mouth, grudging acceptance written across his face, and you shudder fiercely when he brings the pistol up to draw it across your lips to let you taste yourself on the barrel. 

“Open up that pretty little mouth of yours, darling.”

Unhesitatingly, you do exactly that, tongue flicking out to trace a suggestive line over the muzzle. Your mouth is immediately overwhelmed with the taste of oil, bitter residue and such a blinding, overwhelming sense of danger that your eyes immediately start to roll back in your head. You felt like you were moments away from cumming completely untouched, so worked up and excited that your pussy involuntarily clenches tight around nothing. 

It makes your head spin alarmingly fast and you don’t even think to fight it when he angles the gun to slip it past your open lips and just wedge the end of the barrel between your teeth. Groaning a delirious sound around the intrusion, you flex your mouth to find a comfortable position but it’s no use. It’s too wide and sharply edged for your jaw, and copious sheets of drool quickly begin to pool in the back of your throat while you choke on the cold, bitter taste. 

Rumbling a low sound that is suspiciously reminiscent of a pleasured groan, Boothill tentatively rolls his metal hips into you, grinding himself against your cunt to make you spasm on top of the table. With your mouth mercilessly wedged open like this all you can do is plaintively mewl and groan increasingly strained noises while he finds a rhythm to settle into. And it just makes your pussy impotently throb, the pressure of his bionic waist pushing against you so exquisite it just serves to wind you up even tighter until you’re all but vibrating underneath him. 

“Holy Wubbaboo.” He breathes out, awed and a little taken aback as he starts to work his hips faster. Harder. Driving the front of his body against you vigorously enough now that your tits begin to shift under your clothes. “Wasn’t thinking you’d actually like this so darned much. You really are out of your mind.” 

Even though he says that he doesn’t stop fucking into you much the way he would have with a cock, the almost hypnotic pace coupled with the constant application of pressure on your cunt quickly making you slip into a dreamy haze. You were soaked and only getting wetter, and likely leaving sticky slick all over the front of his skin tight pants. But that doesn’t seem to deter him in the slightest, his breathy grunts of effort mingling with the tremor of your muffled groans. 

And as the seconds bleed into minutes, the powerful flex of his hips driving into you soon starts up a tiny, sticky wet click where your drooling cunt was clinging to him. It’s just as if he was really fucking you and sound makes you positively writhe in place, so turned on and desperate to be touched that you bring your hands up to blindly fumble with the top of your dress. Your tits spill out with a fleshy bounce and Boothill mutters a particularly colorful curse under his breath when you latch onto them, needily tugging at your own nipples. 

Your jaw hurts from having it wedged open for so long but you barely even notice it now, or the bubbling threads of spit that start to run down your cheeks as he shifts the gun to sedately nudge it towards the back of your throat. Even when you uncontrollably shake and judder there on the table, back bowing into a dramatic arch at the first, pulsing onset of your orgasm, he just follows you with his hand to keep your lips stretched uncomfortably wide around the barrel. 

That’s how you finally cum, wailing an incomprehensibly shrill sound that’s almost entirely smothered by the pistol, fingers frantically pulling at your teats. Your pussy almost hurts from all the hard, unrelenting pressure of his metal frame but release still registers as a great relief somewhere in the back of your cotton stuffed head which bonelessly lolls back in a stupor while you pitifully twitch through the spasms. 

It’s over much too fast, just as you’d known it would be when you realized how quickly you were climbing that peak, and a deeply frazzled sound slips out of you when he at last moves to ease the gun out of your mouth. Left raggedly panting and trying to swallow down the lingering bitter taste of iron, you simply lie there while he straightens up to stand over you. The fact he does not immediately move from his spot between your legs catches your attention only in so much as a dreamy, far away thought, but you don’t quite have the power to act on it or even speak about it. 

And then his hand comes up to unexpectedly slip under your chin, forcing your face back around to make you look at him. For a long moment the two of you just stare at one another, you trying to steady your breathing while he just seems to thoughtfully study you with a little wrinkle of deliberation forming between his knitted brows. 

Finally, Boothill clicks his tongue and readjusts his grip to hold along your jaw so he can keep you still when he leans down to hover just short of your nose. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself fudging killed yet if this is how you get your rocks off.” 

“Only when it comes to you.” You murmur back, smiling a pleased, self satisfied grin up at him. There was no denying you felt incredibly good on a physical level, yes, but even more than that … the fact he’d neither sent you away or shot you dead for the insult makes your chest feel helium light. Oh, but you could have stayed here with him for a lifetime just like this. 

“Well, darling. I’ll admit, you’ve managed to pique my interest. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to keep you alive, especially with the way you like to carry on, but it might still be fun for a while. Whaddya’ say? Want to tag along with me again for a while?” 

As if you had to even think about your answer.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[ghostybaby000]

After Hours | Part 3

part 1 part 4

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Summary: I recommend going to part one (above) to truly get a feel for this juicy read!

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+, guns, yelling, light flirting, future smut

(Not fully edited, apologies for any inconsistencies!)

Cautiously you take the pistol from his large gloved hands and hold it out in your palm. You walked over to the station he had been occupying and set it down, as if it would explode had you not been so gentle. He let out a small chuckle as he placed a box of ammunition to the side and took the gun in his own hands. 

He showed you how the safety on the gun worked as well as the magazine release, and how to take it apart to reload it or clean it. He took his time while explaining, being sure to stop and do something over if you looked confused or didn’t catch what he did. He also went over all of the basics when it came to handling a gun safely and why it’s important to use certain features and how to hold it when you aren’t shooting. 

‘Now, you do it.’ He had set the reassembled gun back on the table and stepped back to watch you. You had tried to notice every detail of what he had done, and slowly picked up the gun. You took your time to palm over the metal, looking at all of the small pieces and buttons to press. You took your time as you disassembled the gun, then pieced it all back together, looking back to the man to ensure you were doing it correct every few steps. You then reloaded the gun and placed it back on the station table. 

‘Well done.’ He looks down to you and taking a pause as he catches your glance, then continues. 

‘The next thing to go over is your positioning when firing the gun, and how you should hold the gun.’ You were beaming from the inside, you had done it correctly and it made you feel great. Your manager lashing out at you had completely left your mind you were now filling with pride as you continued to learn from…

‘Hey, I never got your name, what is it?’ You looked back to him as he was stepping away to show you stances. He paused and looked back over his shoulder to you, turning his body eventually to face you.

‘Simon, but most call me Ghost.’ He then waved you over, pushing out any time to ask about the name Ghost, but you didn’t mind and assumed it had come from the military as you’d heard plenty of people being called names other than their own growing up. 

For the next ten or fifteen minutes you went over the proper stances of holding the gun when firing and how to alter your grip to better hold the gun. You often took note of how easy it had looked for him, like it was built into him like talking or thinking. After a little while he handed the gun to you and asked you to show him the proper stances, some of which he gave you pointers. 

‘Angle your foot like this.’ as he showed you on his own foot. ‘Try to engage your shoulders more, and move your hips like I did’ The small tips made you nervous at first feeling that you were doing it wrong, but you blocked them out and convinced yourself it would take time to learn and practice the proper stances. You both took a break to have water and returned to the room where the gun was lying on the station table. 

‘Alright, go ahead and show me what you know. As if you were going to fire the gun.’ You looked up to him, before taking a breath and moving up to the station. You took your time as you showed that you knew the anatomy of the gun quite well now and could reload it, then taking off the safety. 

Ghost had only watched and not said anything as you began to take stance. You gripped the gun as best you could remember him showing you, and spread your feet slightly. You remembered his tip on your foot placement and your shoulders and adjusted them accordingly. He gave a small nod as you stood still and pushed himself off the wall he was leant up on, as if you were about to fire at the paper person that was incredibly far away. 

You felt his gloved hand go over yours, and you sucked in a breath, his voice almost whispering to you. 

‘Remember, you have to put his hand here and then leave your finger entirely off the trigger until you are ready to fire.’ You slowly relaxed your hand muscles, allowing him hand to slightly adjust yours and placed your finger flat against the gun, knowing you weren’t going to fire. He was standing directly behind you as you didn’t dare to change your positioning, chills had gone down your spine and back but you didn’t bother with them now. 

‘I-is this better?’ Speaking without moving he slowly backed off of you to look over your stance. Again, you felt his gloved hand but now it was on your hip, gently pushing inwards. You adjusted like playdough as he moved you into the correct form not making any comment as he did so, although your breathing couldn’t help but pick up. He took a second to leave you in the stance, and then spoke.

‘There you are. Now, try and totally relax your body and step away from the station. Then I want you to try and do it again on your own.’ Still feeling nervous you let your muscles relax, almost setting them into place where they were. You put the safety on the gun and placed it down stepping back from the bench, taking a deep breath. The nervousness began to fade as you wanted to do it properly you began to feel confident. With another breath and your eyes laser focused on the gun you step up with a little more speed and begin to disassemble and reassemble the gun. After it had been put back together you grabbed it and attempted to move into a firing position. 

You went through a checklist in your head of all of the things he had tried to correct you on previously, altering how you stood in small ways. Your foot positioning, your foot width, your shoulders, your hips, your hands, and your arms. Finally you let out another breath and let your muscles relax as you waited for his input. 

‘There you go, you’ve done it.’ A smile crept over your face breaking the serious focus you’d had before, and placed the gun back onto the table after ensuring the safety was on. You turned around slowly to face him who was leaning again on the wall as you spoke.

‘Well I definitely don’t have it perfect yet, and I still have to shoot it as well.’ You take a glance to the clock on the wall and realize it had been far longer than you expected and that you had to work again tomorrow. You didn’t want to leave yet but knew that it was wrong to keep this place open this long anyways and decided you should get home, you had learned plenty for one day. 

‘I know it may be asking a lot, but do you think you could help me with that as well some time?’ He looked up to you from the other area of the room where he had been looking before,

‘Sure. Same place and time next week.’ He set the remote down and took one last look at you before collecting his pistole and giving a head nod goodbye. Before he had made his way out of the building you pushed out a ‘thank you!’ as you watched he slowed his pace slightly, acknowledging what you said. He made his way out of the building as the doors chimed, you couldn’t help but feel like an excited child knowing that you would get to see him again. 

[greyfics]

even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

pairing: the ghoul (cooper howard) x reader fic type: enemies to lovers, no smut, mild spice + eventual fluff slow burn meter: ◈◈◇◇◇ word count: 3.8K inspo: TPD lyric prompt list, reblogged on main reader type: assumed wastelander background, gender neutral, 'I don't need a knight to save me', assumed negative views of BoS, assumed gun for hire cw: strong language, violence, reference to fictional drugs, mild dismemberment summary: reader is a gun for hire who has gotten themselves into a bit of trouble in the form of a moderate bounty with a local segment of the brotherhood- and cooper howard knows he can get all the drugs he needs for what seems like an easy job.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

"We can do this all day, darlin'. Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leavin' here with you." you feel the pressure of a pistol barrel pressing against the base of your skull from behind, and a disgruntled, defeated sigh slips through your lips. The game is up- you're out of ammo, down to the ripper hanging from your side, and 'gun against the brain-cage' is the indisputable checkmate.

Up to this point, you'd been pretty successful in shaking off the swathes of bounty hunters and jet-scrounging raiders that'd been on your tale since you became an enemy to the brotherhood- which, nowadays, seemed to be a pretty fucking easy feat to accomplish. The rusty knights were getting a little big for their oversized, several-tonne boots- and you had never been a fan of self-asserting authorities using their power in the name of 'order', especially not when they could hardly organise their own little sectors across the expansive, sparse remains of the USA.

As good with a revolver as you are, today it seems your luck has ran out and your karma has caught up with you, because you've finally met your match in a ghoul with a face so smug you wish you at least had a chance to slap it before losing the game of cat and mouse you'd been playing for a couple days now across Junktown. Your face collides into concrete and a quick click combines with the feel of steel against your wrists, The Ghoul's threat having evolved into a promise.

You spit a ball of blood and saliva from your mouth, wrought up by the hard impact with the ground below, "Alright, you win this round you freak- I'll come with you, just get these off of me." You hear a smirk from above, "Now how stupid do you fuckin' think I am? No, I gave you a chance to come willingly, you chose to shoot me in the leg. Lucky I ain't returned the favour." He gives you a light, sharp kick in the side with the tip of his boot, "Up. We got a long way to travel, and sooner we get there, sooner I get paid. I'll be reminding you now that I only get a bonus for bringing you alive, so make my life hell and I'll live without the extra caps." "Not exactly easy when my-" you hear the chick of a safety being cocked, and awkwardly shuffle back until you can jut sharply up onto your knees and slowly stand, turning to glare daggers into your now captor. The Ghoul's expression remains stiffly affixed with the wry, smug facade he bears: relaxed, squinting eyes peeking out above a thin, ever-upturned lip- you swear to yourself to you'll smack that smile off his face- but by all accounts, beneath the withered, decaying skin that had festered in his ghoulish transformation, the man had the stature (and admittedly, the jawline) of a filmstar.

You shake off the irritable possibility of monster like this getting lucky with the gene pool as a calloused hand secures a vice grip on one of your wrists and tugs you in suit as it's owner sets into motion, dragging you away from the remnants of an old civilisation and towards a military base miles away you are all too acquainted with.

You had been so caught up in the wild ride of adrenaline that came with being on the lamb that you briefly detached yourself from the catalyst of the chase- but as concrete and clay inevitably crumbles away to distant sandy dunes and cacti, the dread stirs in your stomach like a plague. It was easier to wave off the consequences of your actions when you weren't being marched towards the gallows to face them- it wasn't like you made an attack on the organisation. You kill one knight trashing up a town in the name of redundant technology, and suddenly you're on a hit-list. You know The Ghoul probably doesn't know this, and you know for certain that even if you tried to give the man a sob story he wouldn't care. This was it. "You about to be sick?" You snap from your pessimistic daze at the sudden interruption of silence, "No. Why?" "You look like you just ate a mouldy iguana, that's why- and I don't want sick on my boots." You let out an irked groan, and sharply snap your head to face the horizon in the opposite direction to your captor. You hope this will satiate his sour jabs for the time being-

Your hope is crushed five minutes later.

"Go on then. I'm bored shitless and I'm outta jet, so spill." He says with an almost theatrical exasperation in his voice, "Spill what, exactly?" you coldly respond in a mute tone, focus still fixed on the horizon to the west, "Well what's the big story? Someone's always gotta be the victim when they got a bounty on their head, so what's the tragic tale behind 'Y/N', huh?" the muscles in your neck and shoulders tense up at the mention of your name- you weren't exactly a known associate or long-time rival to the brotherhood, and the wanted poster you had wrestled from the stiff fingertips of a raider last week only had a sketch and a scrawled account of the incident. You falter for a moment before replying, but ardently avoid taking the bait, "If your plan is to get me to tell you how we got to where we are right now just so you can mock me, then I think I'd rather carry on enjoying the view, if you don't mind." The sweet-toned sarcasm at the end of your sentence seeps with venom, and the hostility it implies does not slip away from your adversary.

This time, his laugh is a soft, whisper of a chuckle- something spiteful, foreboding- followed by matching words, "You should hear what your little community had to say about you for a couple caps and a promise not to shoot anybody- well, anybody else-" his words cut into something personal, then- and though you would normally know that attacking someone with your hands cuffed behind your back is never going to end in your favour, at this moment you couldn't care less as you swing your leg round in a swift roundhouse motion, and raise your knee towards the only place you can think to leave a mark-

You hit your target, but instead of howls of pain you are met with a split second of awkward silence as the ghoul cocks his head, unimpressed, before slamming it into your own, sending you staggering back a few paces-

Before you can reorient your vision, a heavy dull force plummets into your ribs- the sand cushions your blow slightly better than the concrete you met face-to-face with an hour ago, at least. Your arms, however, are not grateful to be pressed beneath you as a familiar, withered hand pushes into your throat, putting as much pressure on your trapped limbs when your upper body presses back as it does on your esophagus, halting your air supply as he lowers himself down to a kneel and fixes your gaze onto his,

"If I wasn't already a walking corpse, that could've really hurt- not a very nice thing to do to someone just tryna have a little bit of light conversation now, is it?" All you can do is glower through eyes blinded by the sun, which gleams behind the shadow of the ghoul's head, bearing on it a smile tweaked with frustration- you need to breathe- you can't keep this up, your heartbeat is louder than the sun in your eyes and-

The pressure releases. You turn your head to the ground and suck in air between dry, heavy coughs, and after you've finally steadied your breath, you find a minor fleck of relief in being hoisted up from the ground this time instead of scrabbling to get up at gunpoint. You wonder, perhaps, if this is some small act driven by guilt- perhaps this man had a conscience once and a set of values beyond doing what it takes to ensure one's own survival. You were a gun for hire yourself, so it would be hypocritical to criticise your captor for his line of work- mostly, you preferred to stick with jobs guarding merchant caravans and to take out bands of raiders harassing the cities you passed through, but you never questioned the legitimacy of the requests you received, or the cargo you oversaw; you had settled for a little while, having stuck around the same little settlement for a few years now and had started to develop some semblance of a connection to the people there-

or so you thought.

You know you're going to be walking for a while- so with a resigned breath, you begin saying what little there is left to say about your present situation, "Well, you probably know most of what I can tell you from the sounds of things, but I guess there's nothing else for me to do right now, and the horizon is the same no matter where you go around here. I guess you could say we're in similar lines of work, but that's not really what got me in trouble with The Brotherhood. They think they can rock up in a power armour with a logo on it and wreak havoc as they please because it's for 'the greater good', but they leave towns half-destroyed when they pass through. I didn't want that to happen to... well, I didn't like the sound of that happening where I was. So, dude gets out of his power armour and starts waving guns around screaming about some piece of pre war tech or the other, and I tell him with... a strong choice of words, to get going. He starts running for the power armour, guns blazing- and I just have better aim, I guess. Not even like I got paid for killing him, either. Maybe that would've made this whole thing a little bit sweeter."

Your profession leaves a silence hanging in the air for a little while after, but it feels appropriate. The dunes filter sand from the far west to respond to your story- the horizon quivers, but only through the illusion of heat; the sand dries your eyes before they have reason to shed tears. A loaded sigh escapes the ghoul in front of you, and the clasp on your wrist softens but for a moment before stiffening to pull you onwards, "Yep, well, caps keep you going a little longer round these parts, but money can't solve all your problems." "You should tell that to the Brotherhood. They seem to be doing pretty well for all the wealth they've hoarded- can even pay big time bounty hunters to do their shitwork from the looks of things." You retort, but after a moment follow up with, "Wish I could say I was upset about it but hell, if I were you, I'd turn me in too."

You hear that soft chuckle again, but when you turn around to catch a look at the face that matches it, you see relaxed muscles and a far-off stare- he won't let you go, but he has let his guard down but a little bit- perhaps when we get closer to my story's end, he'll even let me walk to my death with my hands unbound.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

After trudging on in silence for a while, head bowed to your fatalistic contemplations, you find as you drag yourself out of the pit in your head and look over the horizon once more that the scene has changed: the atomic orange dewdrops spattering the sky not long ago have quickly to faded into a bruised overhanging shadow of violent, lavender, crimson; twilight approaches, and you're still surrounded by desert hills and illusions.

One of these illusory quivers catches your sharp eye, a dark blip that has appeared somewhere in that distance; it's moving, but it isn't close enough for you to determine whether it's just a trick of the heat or whether it's something heading in your direction. Your brow furrows, but you say nothing yet.

Within a minute, the object comes into better focus- or, rather, the creature. Your heart skips a beat, and you open your mouth to utter some kind of warning, managing to rasp, "Get the handcuffs off of me." "Now, darlin', I thought we managed to get past this already-" "No-" You tug your bound wrists, pulling the ghoul into your side- his other arm steadies itself against your shoulder before slipping up to your jaw and dragging it to face him, his own clenched and unaccompanied by a smile this time- the pallid complexion of your own face gives him enough pause for you to blurt in a fruitless, strained whisper, "Deathclaw."

If The Ghoul's skin could have paled more than it already had in his lifeless state, then it might have at that moment. The tight grip holding you against him slackens completely and you thud onto your ass as he draws his guns and casts you a playfully pitiful glance from above, shrugging and saying, "Sorry, darlin', guess I forgot to pick up the keys." He steps in front of you as a curse rips out of your throat in the sudden panic that ensues, and you try to muster enough brain cells in this moment to figure out a way of not dying, prematurely, and becoming just another skeletal curio.

There's the back-up plan, the 'if shit goes south' plan that you still hadn't gone through with because of the possible dismemberment that it might entail- but you had not been unarmed when you had been restrained earlier, and the phantom hum of a ripper blade always strapped to your waist as your last resort. You won't be able to wield it with any competence with your hands restrained as they are, but you can hit the power button from your current position-

Though, usually, you'd prefer to do it when the blade was already in your hand, not digging into the side of your leg.

shredded leg is better than deathclaw snack. Your astute analysis confirms your decision, and with a grunt and a whack, the blade starts chugging into a steady whirring action by the will of the dregs of an energy cell embedded inside- the next couple of seconds are far too long.

The blade begins it's excursion into your thigh as the gunslinging ghoul whips around at the sound, eyes wide at the sudden display of spraying crimson. You scream, struggle to try to align the cuffs without jerking your shoulders out of place. The deathclaw bounds into the mid-distance, closing in upon it's approach- it caught your scent before you could even see it's silhouette-

The tip disappears as your leg reflexively jerks, responding to the dancing jig of the chainsaw blade- you see pathetic sparks as the thing bounces off of the cuffs- strong enough to sever a leg, too rusted and battered to cut through metal. Your plan is failing. Your leg is bleeding. The cowboy falters as the deathclaw closes further-

You make a snap decision: fingers are easier to fix than legs.

You twist your wrist, and the pain just melts into the already existing burn emanating from your leg- a bloody, three-fingered stump slips from it's cage, and you swing your still-cuffed hand around in a fluid movement to drag the ripper from its sheath within your leg, snapping the cord that ties it to your waist-

You hear a frenzied firing of a revolver, but the approaching thunks are unimpeded- and though you know your leg may give way when the adrenaline finally dies, and though you know you need to find the two fingers you lost before sand vipers snatch them up and you're known as three-fingered y/n for the rest of your life- you launch yourself from the ground on your good leg, and stagger towards the approaching beast.

You grew up in the wastelands. You grew up in a settlement up here that, like any of the rest, was constantly plagued by critters and beasts- and if you were taught anything by the survivors that surrounded you, it was the following:

If you can't blow the bastard up, get 'em in the belly.

The deathclaw- a baby, thankfully- has it's gaze fixated on the man that had in the past half a minute become it's primary aggressor- so when you stumble forward, low and bleeding, with what to the creature is just another indistinguishable bit of metal in your hands, it does not see reason to change the track of it's jump.

As it launches itself above you, you pray to lady luck that you hit your mark.

An ear-splitting yowl and a sudden muffled crash tells you she's listening, for once.

Finally, after a few ragged breaths, the adrenaline wears off and you feel the weight of your body pressing into the wounds that liberated you- and the blueberry sky fades to black as you become weightless. This time, your fall is of your own accord- and this time, something stops you from hitting the ground.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

When you come to, you do not open your eyes at first- awake though you might be, your body is heavy with exhaustion. Before your encounter with the ghoul, you had been on the run for weeks, and in the last twenty four hours had not had time to stay put long enough to sleep. Coupled with the rough journey and the blood loss, you couldn't move if you wanted to. That being said, in those few dark minutes, a few things of note still catch your attention.

There is a faint crackling to your side, and the lulling warmth of a fire that brushes in waves against your face- and though you feel the silky grains of sand cushioning most of your resting body, your head lays higher up, neck leaning up to a more elevated surface- your attention snaps to the light sensation of fingertips absently grazing your neck in a repeating pattern, and the distant hum of an old country song embedded into muscle memory. The surrounding sensations are a strange comfort for all the brutal imagery this post apocalyptic world usually beholds; but it is brief, as your neck tenses, giving away your lucidity. The hand pauses, lifts- settles somewhere to the side.

When you dare to open your eyes, you are unsurprised to see the question-begging smirk and sharp eyes peering down from above, "Have a good nap?" You bolt upright, and immediately regret it when the bending of your leg snags one of the stitches you didn't know had been sewed into you until just now. Defeated, you flop back down, turning your head to the side to gaze into the dying embers of the fire beside you- praying you can brush off the flush of blush creeping into your face to the influence of the fire. Eventually you garner the courage to speak, "Feels like I've only been out for an hour." He snorts, shaking his head, "You went down around sunset, and it'll be sunrise in a couple hours." This catches you by surprise, and not just because of the amount of time you've lost, "What happened to getting your caps as soon as possible? Lost a lot of time waiting." He frowns, but does not lose his grin, "You trying to get yourself killed? 'Cos you've done a damn fine job of that so far. No, I've just been doing some thinking." "Congratulations. I'm proud of you." His eyes narrow into slits and he tuts at your sarcasm, following your gaze into the fire, "See, it could be argued that I would've been minced ghoul splattered n' buried six feet under the dunes if you hadn't gone all psycho slicing yourself up like that to get that baby deathclaw where it hurts." "That was a baby?-" "Anyway, guess my point is I might be willing to do a lot of things, but I still got my principles- only human thing I got left, probably. So I'd say I owe it you to not kill you at least. When you can walk, we'll go east to- well, to what's left of Shady Sands, and then you can do whatever the fuck you want."

You consider his words, and not knowing how to express appreciation or what to begin to make of this mysterious stranger and his obscure appeal, you find yourself rejecting this suggestion, though you don't know why- and so naturally, you dig yourself into a hole, "Well, you could also say that I would have died of blood loss if you didn't stitch my leg up." He studies you then for a minute, before shrugging and clasping your hands together at the wrists. You begin to stammer indecipherable protest and with a smirk he pulls you up, your hands still held rigid in your lap by his own, his head resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, "Now, I'm starting to get the impression you want me to march you up to our friends at the brotherhood just to keep my company." If he can't see the warm hue in your face now, he can certainly feel the heat flushing through your flustered face- you fight against the feeling, if only to make sure you stand a chance of winning this little exchange,

"Says the man who watched me sleep all night." You feel him shrug your comment off as his grin extends, "I might look like a monster, but I was a gentleman once upon a time. Like I say, I got principles." He lets you slip forward out of his grasp when you move to shuffle yourself around. As you do, you feel for the first time you are looking at him properly, sincerely- face to face, on equal grounds, with no threats of death or necessary facades of false confidence. After soaking in as much as you allow yourself to without losing yourself to curiosity entirely, you crossing your arms across your chest, and reply,

"Well, I have principles too- and if you're oh so graciously not turning me into the brotherhood then I still I owe you, so I guess I'll just have to stick around until you nearly get yourself killed again- that's all. No other reason." The ghoul rises, resting a hand on his pistol,

"You tell yourself that, darlin'- I'm gonna enjoy this change of scenery, I think."

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

2. Gunslinger

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: thank you guys for the warm welcome back and for reading the first part! I hope to be getting the Joel series reposted soon, but for now, I'm just going to be uploading these.

Summary: With the newest outlaw settled into camp, Arthur takes on yet another role within the group: Teacher.

Warnings: canon typical violence, guns, talk of blood and brutality. Backstory mentions misogyny, and has detailed descriptions of arranged marriage. Mild language, some angst, mostly still just an introductory chapter.

WC: 3.3k

“I know what Dutch said,” he nodded, approaching closer and crossing his arms. “I still expect something in return for my services.”

You scoffed. “I ain’t got nothing you would want.”

“Sure, you do…” he trailed, standing right in front of you and reaching down towards your hip. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, even just having him this close to you. When his hand met your gun, pulling it away from its holster, you relaxed just a bit more. “How is it you shoot so fast?”

You haven’t seen much of the nature of Agua Fria, but you’re glad you’re able to, now. You’d town hopped a few times within the city, letting new faces get a look at yours. But there was a sort of pressure in those crowded areas, and it doesn’t feel like that in the Van Der Linde campsite. 

The gang has taken well to you. It’s been a fortnight since you joined up, the ragtag gang of outlaws, thieves, and gunslingers had been welcoming, given your display on just the day after your arrival.

Dutch has yet to send you on any jobs, mainly because of something you revealed to everyone around the campfire a week ago. 

“How does one shoot a rifle?” you pondered curiously, the silence of the group making you anxious.

“Boy, you better be pulling my leg,” Dutch himself butted in, shaking his head in disbelief. A cigarette hung from his lips, but he pulled it away to stare you down. 

“Well, I just…” haven’t ever shot one before. You’d trailed off before any further mockery could be made, but it was too late.

“You mean to tell me, that in eighteen years of life, you never managed to fire a rifle?” Arthur chimed in, though he was in on your secret, this revelation still surprised him. What else were you hiding?

“If y’all are just gonna mock me, I’m turnin’ in.”

Dutch laughed, and everyone else in the circle made an attempt to undo the harm done. 

“Javier ain’t even played a damn note, and you’re gonna sleep?” John cut in, his gravelly voice full of resentment to your attitude. Maybe you were a bit touchy, but it’s not like you’d ever had close friends to joke around with before. Much less people who got away with poking so much fun to your name.

“Who cares if he can’t shoot a rifle? He’s got a faster shot than all of you with a pistol,” Tilly piped up, her sweet voice just about putting all the other men in their place. She looked at you with contrition. “I’m not very good with those big guns, either.” 

“Thank you, Miss Tilly,” you tipped your hat, sitting back down on the log next to her. 

That was another thing… You couldn’t bear to break the young girl’s heart, although she would have to find out eventually that you were not in fact the man she thought you were. 

Arthur chuckled under his breath watching the interaction, going back to the drink in his hand with a shake of his head. He wouldn’t say anything, he promised he wouldn’t… but some of these occurrences were just too amusing, he couldn’t help his genuine reactions. The slanted jokes about male anatomy towards you, usually coming from John, Sean, or even the calendar boys. The way that you nearly had a heart attack when Miss Grimshaw offered to help you out of your clothes to wash them. Even now, the sweet words from Tilly and the funny way you looked at your feet to avoid meeting her eyes. 

He’d been surprised, if he’s honest. He thought that with all her romantic notions and storybook thoughts that Mary-Beth would be the one to fancy a new gunslinger… but maybe you just weren’t her type. Perhaps it was the red hair that deterred her, he knows for sure that was the case when Sean tried his luck. Good thing Karen was there to catch his fall. But sweet Tilly had no idea what she was in for.

He’d teased you about it over the next week, and finally today, when it was time to show you the ropes of a rifle. Dutch insisted that running with them required knowledge of more than pistols and revolvers, and who better to teach than the enforcer himself.

“Like this?” you asked, trying to place the gun correctly. 

“Yeah sure, if you wanna blow your arm out of socket.” His low chuckle, followed by a drag of smoke was not helpful, and neither were his words, but your position was just too funny.

“I believe this is where you’re s’posed to be helpin’ me,” you replied, a fiery bite in your words. You’d been learning to warm up to people’s teasing, although it was still a long road to go. 

He stood to his feet from where he lounged by a tree, coming up beside you to kick your foot out a little. “Can’t stand like a tree, kid… you’ll tip over in the wind.”

He pulled the butt of the gun into your shoulder, making sure you wouldn’t give out when the gun fires. 

“Alright, the shootin’ part should be easy for you. Just hold strong, that thing’s gonna kick back a hell of a lot more than any handgun.” 

You pulled back the bolt, raising the barrel until you could aim properly. The glass bottle on the tree branch down the way looked like an easy enough target, but when you fired, you weren’t ready for how much pressure the gun would push on you, and you stumbled back into Arthur. 

“Mind your step, will ya?” he teased yet again, and it took everything in you to just ready your stance and try again without saying a word. 

You took a deep breath, pulling back on the bolt once more. You had a good idea as to how much you needed to push back this time. Finding the bottle again, you pulled the trigger, closing your eyes at the explosion and faintly hearing the sound of broken glass in the distance. 

“I did alright,” you turned to Arthur, a narrow gaze in his eyes as he looked from you then back to the tree. It was quite a distance away, and he was surprised you’d hit so accurately already. Then again, you were kind of known for your accuracy… but you’d never fired a rifle.

“Yeah, more than alright,” he reasoned, taking the gun from you and turning to take a shot for himself. “Now ya just gotta work on speed. This ain’t nothing you can keep on your hip.”

He fired one round after another, each bullet hitting the same branch on a tree until it fell from the trunk completely. Wow. 

He smirked over his shoulder, and your face probably gave him an even better reason to be smug. You were clearly in awe of almost everything this man did. Taking care of his horse? In awe. Carrying supplies from the wagon into camp without having to make several trips? In awe. Even now, his accuracy and reaction time. He was so skilled, and you wondered if you’d ever match him. 

“Now,” he said, setting the rifle by the tree. “I don’t just go about teachin’ folk how to shoot for free.”

“But Dutch said that-”

“I know what Dutch said,” he nodded, approaching closer and crossing his arms. “I still expect something in return for my services.”

You scoffed. “I ain’t got nothing you would want.”

“Sure, you do…” he trailed, standing right in front of you and reaching down towards your hip. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, even just having him this close to you. When his hand met your gun, pulling it away from its holster, you relaxed just a bit more. “How is it you shoot so fast?” 

Honestly, you didn’t have a clue. Everything you did to get faster, you’re sure he’s already done, and a million times over. 

“Nerves, mostly. My hands start shakin’ whenever I get a challenger, they start itching to shoot real bad… guess that’s why.”

He nodded, but was unsatisfied. Your answer was vague and unconvincing.

“What’d you do to learn? You obviously ain’t shot another gun but this one here, tell me how it came along,” he raised the pistol in the air, his skilful hands spinning it over a finger with ease. 

“I guess s’a long story.”

���And since you learned your way around a rifle so well, we got nothin’ but time.”

You sighed, stepping into the shade of the tree closest to you. You leaned into it, crossing your arms and watching as he continued to handle your closest ally in his steady hands. 

How do you even start this story? How does it even get told? You’d never uttered a word about your past to a single person since it all unraveled. You weren’t sure he’d stick around to hear it all, or maybe if he did, he would think you to be foolish. 

But this Arthur Morgan, with his tough exterior and gruff voice had a soft spot. He was gentle when need be, kinder than most. You suppose he derives it from Hosea, given that the man practically raised him into manhood. 

“You know, I used to be a little rich girl,” you chuckled, watching for his reaction. It was surprising to him, but he waited, almost as if thinking you’d retract it as a joke. “Yeah… lived on a big orange grove in South Carolina.”

“You’re kiddin’ me,” he let out when he realized you weren’t messing around. 

“Had a rich daddy and a rich mama. My entire lineage has gotta be worth a couple million at least.”

“Then why on earth are you here? You’d have to be crazy to leave that behind,” he gripped your pistol tightly now, his entire stance leaning on his left leg as he narrowly watched you lounging against the tree. 

“Oh, I had a good reason,” you scoffed with wide eyes. 

“Good enough to leave behind a family fortune?” 

He’s a man. Every man you’ve ever met is the same. They pay no mind to you anymore because you look like one of them now. But before? It was practically a brawl at every public event you attended. You hope that Arthur does not prove to be like the rest. You’ve already been so sure that he stands out, it'll break your heart if you were wrong.

“I know it may not seem like it, but I used to be quite the stunner. I attracted quite a few suitors.”

He nodded, looking you up and down in one glance before coughing a bit and averting his eyes. You hid yourself well, but if he tried hard enough, he could imagine how you would look in more feminine apparel. He liked what he was imagining. 

“I don’t doubt it…”

“Well, my dad was in control of who would have my hand, and as you can imagine I wasn’t fond of that fact… He picked one of his old pals from Virginia, another big farmer like himself, wealthy beyond belief and probably thirty five years my senior.”

Arthur was still, blinking a few times. He doesn’t understand. Yes, you would have had to marry someone you were not interested in… but the situation seemed ideal otherwise. 

“You would have been well taken care of, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh sure,” you nodded, but there was a smirk on your lips. “I would have been just dandy until he found a reason to kill me like he did his first two wives. My father never believed the accusations, of course, and the evidence had been conveniently destroyed… but I knew better.”

He let out a low whistle, finally looking back to your gun and wondering if its origins were about to come to light. Yeah, he thought. That’s a pretty damn good reason.

“So you ran off?” 

You gave a small nod, remembering the last time you ever saw your home and family.

“When I was eighteen I was shipped off to Virginia with a caravan, but before I could be delivered to old Thomas Arlington’s doorstep, I hid overnight in a stable. I stole a horse and headed west a bit.”

“How far west?” 

“West Virginia,” you chuckled. “I got to lurk around there a while, I started dressing all boyish and helped a travelin’ musician with his shows. After he settled down I found that very gun on the ground of a saloon. No one ever claimed her, so I polished her up and started practicing draws. I got pretty good, made bets on shootin’ games to get by.”

“You just… picked her up and started shootin’?”

“It sounds quite dull when you put it that way,” you laughed, holding your hand out to take the gun back. You’re not expert with this thing, can’t even spin it half as well or efficiently as he does… but you might be the best in the world at drawing it from your holster. “I’d never shot anyone before, until one man got real upset that he lost a shooting game to me. It was my first duel… and I won. All because of a game. It was that can game we played after I got here.”

“I figured as much. I ain’t never believed anyone could shoot faster than me until I saw you that day. Paid close attention to those bullet holes.”

He was being far too kind. It’s not like you were anything like him. He had it all. Strength, skill, wits, and as you learned with every glance, the looks to kill.

“I ain’t any good beside the one shot I know how to take.” Your confession meant more to him than you realized.

Yeah, he thought. You can draw, but before today you’d never shot a rifle. You’d never used a knife. Likely never robbed a bank or a stage coach or anything of that sort. Aside from duels, you’re clean cut and inexperienced… your nickname holds far more weight than he’s sure you can actually hold. Ruthless killer? More like a hustler with a bit of blood dusting your fingers. You haven’t made any ground compared to him, yet you’re the one they know far and wide. 

“Let’s make a deal,” he started, his steps carrying him quite close to your form, nearly hovering over you. “I’m gonna make you one of us. Teach you everything you need to know. Fightin’, stealin’, sneakin’ round… all of it. And in return, you’re gonna teach me how to shoot faster than you.”

He knows it’s built on a prideful notion, but he reckons you don’t care, because he’s offering you far more than you can give him. Obviously you agree, because even if you try to teach him, you are almost positive that you don’t even know the secret to your speed.

“Alright, cowboy… I’ll shake on it.”

And you do, squeezing his hand tightly.

-

You find yourself settling into the camp a lot easier than the weeks before. The names of the people here just roll off your tongue, whenever you see them, a greeting is spoken. You’ve also been able to sleep soundly in your tent despite the fears of the animal sounds out in the distance. You’ve come to realize that you aren’t alone in the wilderness, and you have a sort of family to keep you safe, now. 

Arthur continues to show you the ropes, giving you tricks and quick witted thoughts for situations you would never have thought to put yourself in. They all are illegal situations, of course, but you listen intently, and learn each step with an absorbent state of mind. 

Even if he doesn’t outwardly show it, you think Dutch is happy about your progress, given that you are not only an asset to future jobs, but also because you seem to blend well with everyone. He definitely views his gang as a family of fugitives, and now that you’re one of them, he’s become warm with you, even calls you ‘son.’ 

There is one member of camp that to date, you haven’t gotten into conversation with. Hosea Matthews. The man seemed to be the fatherly type, and nearly everyone in the gang had a sort of paternal view of him in some way. You reckon Arthur has taken the man to be closer to him than actual blood. The great Mr. Morgan doesn’t often share details of his past, but you’ve heard here and there about the rascal that was his father, dead and gone when Arthur was a kid, but not soon enough. 

It was a Tuesday morning, after a round of stale coffee when he first sat down beside you for a friendly chat. You couldn't have possibly known the contents of the topics he had in mind, but you were about to be bombarded with them in the most gentle way you reckon a man can speak. 

“Mister Gunslinger,” he began, a gentle clap on your shoulder to garner your attention. “I’ve heard you’re getting to be the best man at camp.”

His friendly chuckle eased your nerves, but you brushed off his words anyway. 

“Not sure ‘bout that. Just learnin’ the ropes,” you nodded along to your own words, hoping they caught well with him. 

“Arthur told me you picked up a rifle for the first time a few days ago and blew him out of the water,” he mentioned, the tone in his voice suggesting he wanted his compliment to land. 

“He’s bein’ far kinder than I deserve,'' you scoffed, shaking your head this time. “Nearly took my shoulder out of socket on the first shot.”

“But you broke a bottle on the second,” he returned, likely quoting your dear mentor’s own words. “How did you learn to shoot that pistol of yours, anyhow?”  

Hosea knew everyone’s stories. He was the father of the camp, albeit not the leader. He knew everything about everyone, and he took care of them. You took one look at him and decided you could trust him from day one… but that didn’t mean he should know everything.

“Well, I found this gun a while ago, just started shootin’ it till I hit somethin’.”

He leaned forward in his seat, another chuckle rolling off his tongue, but the question went unanswered in the way he’d hoped for. He took a breath, turning to face you a bit more… He decided to be straight with you. 

“I’m sure you’ve probably got things in your past you’re not too proud of. I’ve heard the name ‘Texas Red’ in quite a few towns now. I guess I’m just curious about what you did before the gunslinging days.”

“Oh…” you trailed, completely unsure if elaborating on your past, even without context, could force you to accidentally spill something you didn’t intend to. So you took the safe route. “Not much to tell. Ran away from home, stole a horse and headed west. Found this gun in an old saloon and the rest is history.”

He saw through the act, but didn’t let on. He didn’t want you to feel like you needed to hide things, but similarly, he didn’t want you to feel pressured to talk. This camp was a safe place. As long as you kept to the rules and helped out, you didn’t need to do anything else. You could just live freely and have your being. 

“Listen, son… I know it’s probably hard to open up about things you’ve gone and left in the past. Every person here has a story, somewhere they came from or something they did. If you ever want to talk about yours, I’m always up for good conversation.”

You looked into his eyes, and they were full of contrition, full of compassion. You guessed there wasn’t a bad bone in this man’s body. 

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nodded once before standing up and heading down to the river bank, likely to fish. 

You wonder if he has suspicion of you, or if he knows more already than he’s leading onto. But then you think, no. He’s just a kind older man that actually gives a damn about the younger folks here. He didn’t seem to have any biological sons or daughters, but this camp was full of family he could call his own.

You think you're starting to call them family, too.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark

[lesinquietes]

Bandit!All Smite is a hulking, muscular man. His biceps are the size of a human skull, and his physical force in combat is spoken of vastly across the land — he is wanted for murder, after all. Hearsay dictates that thick blonde tresses remain slicked back on his head at all times. He bears a sly grin that seldom falters. He can be identified from miles away, yet he’s confident he’ll never be caught. Factually, there isn’t a jailhouse in the country that can secure him. He’s been running rampant for decades.

When he isn’t spending time dodging the authorities he has a favourite bar. He doesn’t go there too often, but he steps in whenever he can. It’s a rundown little shithole, offering drinks that taste like piss and girls with smeared makeup. But it has something he’s had his evil eyes on for a while, now: a woman like you. He’s been lonely; to alleviate that ache, he’s willing to sacrifice a bit of hard earned cash and dignity.

You’re a harlot. He doesn’t know what circumstances brought this sorry life upon you, though it’s evident you’ve grown used to your profession. You do your work with a simper. Your pimp — the grimy bar owner — calls you and the rest of his flock ladies of the night. There are a host of rooms upstairs that customers can rent, provided they buy one of his fallen angels for the evening. Bandit!All Smite is happy to choose you every single time. The precise moment he laid eyes on you, he knew he was going to get hooked.

It’s good to see you, my beautiful girl… come here.

You’re incredibly obedient. He asks you to take everything slow. When you open your mouth wide, to pop the shell of his cock past your glossy lips, you do so at a gradual pace. It makes him harder when he finally feels your soft tongue against his shaft, hugging him with a passion that’s rooted in financial gain. He tips extra if you cause him to bust a nut more than three times in a night. You don’t fail to earn your dollars.

For months, he keeps biweekly contact with you. Nothing much changes, save for the pining in his chest when you’re absent. It’s strange; you’re nothing more than a whore, and still, he finds himself wanting you all to himself. He denies his attachment. He denies, and denies, and denies; until finally, his possessiveness is exemplified when he enters your establishment and asks for you. Your pimp says you’re entertaining another man. Worse yet, it’s the fucking sheriff. He laughs humorlessly.

You’ll be lucky if I don’t shoot you, too.

He kicks in the door of your bedroom and catches you, about to strip for the bastard waiting on your soiled mattress. Your bra is already in a mess at your heeled feet. The villain grits his teeth, ruled by a vicious form of jealousy. He doesn’t waste a second. He draws his pistol and shoots. The bullet makes contact with the officer’s forehead, puncturing through his brain. Blood covers your face and torso. A scream rips from your throat, as he yanks you into his grasp and flings you over his shoulder. You’re kicking and crying and cursing at him to let you go. He snickers in retort. You’re adorable when you’re upset. He’ll let your tantrum run its course for the time being. He knows how uncomfortable it is to be filthy with blood. He’ll ensure he gets you back to his hideout so you can shower, pronto.

Shhh… quiet down, sweetheart.

The other girls — your former colleagues — scurry around and stumble out of his path. No one tries to stop him from leaving the bar. Your pimp cowers in horror behind the counter, peeping over the taps to get a glimpse of the villain making off with one of his money makers. You were the hidden treasure of this cesspool of dirt. Bandit!All Smite is glad he found you before someone else could taint you.

He pats your bare ass as he carries you towards his horse. All you’re wearing is a skimpy bra and thong. He mounts the steed with some effort, keeping your exhausted figure secure. With a devious smirk, he shifts your panties to the side and dips two of his meaty fingers into your damp hole. You gasp and wriggle, complaining about his intrusion. Ah, pretending you’re scared of him when you’re truly wet and aroused — that’s a silly game he won’t tolerate from a grown woman.

He keeps his digits screwed inside you as he embarks on the lengthy excursion to his hideout. Every jerk and bump of the horse causes his fingers to rub and caress parts of you that make your cunt pulse. Your eyes roll back. This probably has something to do with that aphrodisiac your pimp slipped into your water this morning, in prep for a busy day of clients. He only told you afterwards, when you had no say in the matter; now, his exploitation is coming to back bite you. Regardless of the source of your arousal, it makes Bandit!All Smite pleased with the image of slamming you down on his bed and claiming you once and for all. His grin — dark and sinister in the twisted throes of his lust — noticeably widens.

Next l

𝔉𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔲

[moody-alcoholic]

Special Delivery Service

Chapter 14 - The Morning After

+18 explicit content MDNI

Summary: Simon x reader, 5.3k words. Everyone is trying to move on, get back some kind of normality. Things can never really stay quiet for long though.

CW: +18 explicit content. Use of weapons, mentions of abusive relationship, mentions of terrorism, mentions of death, sex, PiV sex, oral (f receiving), crying during sex, slight over stimulation, description of injury(s), blood, mental health.

Previous - masterlist - Next AO3

Enjoy <3

“Has she spoken about it yet?” Price asks. Simon shakes his head. Price sighs his eyes digging into him. 

“She needs to talk about it, she killed a man.” Price says. 

“I know, she’s avoiding it. But she seems to be in a better place then she was a week ago.” Simon says. Price sighs, he knows that sigh, he’s heard it before. There’s a heavy silence in the room. 

“Maybe she just needs time?” He says. Price leans back in his chair, he thinks for a second. 

“She was in an abusive relationship, now she’s been through a traumatic experience.” Price says. “She needs to talk.” 

“She’s having nightmares.” He says. 

“Christ Simon.” He leans forward rubbing his forehead. “Want me to give you both some time off?” 

“No. I’ll talk to her.” Simon sighs standing up.

“Simon, if there’s anything I can do?” John asks. 

“I just don’t want to lose her."

Simon comes down the stairs and you skip over to him wrapping your arm round his waist, pulling yourself closer to him. 

“Hey, Johnny and Gaz are out wanna slip in the storeroom, lock the doors.” You hum pressing your hand up his shirt. You let your fingers trace over each muscle he turns to face you putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“Price is still here, and the other guy.” You tip your head to the side.

“William, he can’t get in and we can push a crate up to the door.” You reach up kissing him, you force your tongue past his lips, both your hands running up his shirt. He tastes amazing you pull him closer to you, pressing up against him. Slipping one of your hands down to his crotch. You can feel his cock hardening, you move up to his ear. 

“Please.” You whisper, trying to use the most seductive voice you can. You feel his arms move from your shoulders down your arms. He lets out a sigh one of his hands finding your waist. Simon’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket he pulls away. You sigh dropping your hands to your side. 

“It’s Johnny,” he says kissing your forehead. 

“He’s a SAS soldier.” You say as he accepts the call, turning to walk away. 

“Let me come with you at least.” He shakes his head, you hear John’s office door close. You turn to look up the stairs you make your way up. 

“It’s Johnny.” You say walking past him going over to the sofas. John turns to you before he pauses for a second. He looks over the balcony. 

“You got this?” He calls. You don’t hear the reply but you watch as John comes over to you. 

“Come on, I want to show you something.” You frown at him but follow him anyway. You don’t question him, he pulls his car round telling William to leave early. 

“Where are we going?” you ask getting in the car.

“You’ll see.” He smiles driving you out the city. You wonder what Simon would think if he knew you were with John being driven to who knows where. Before you know it you’re at a military base. You watch in silence as John talks to some soldiers then drives round to a building. He smiles at you getting out the car and you follow him. He leads you through to an indoor shooting range.

The smell of gunpowder fills your nose as follow him down into the pit. He walks over to a stash pulling out a pistol. It makes you shiver. He walks over to one of the shooting booths gesturing you over. You step over to him, he passes you some ear defenders. You watch as he clears the weapon before putting his own ear defenders on.

“I thought you were mad.” You say as he places the weapon down. 

“I don’t get mad any more.” He sighs stepping back. You reach down picking the weapon up. It’s heavier then the last pistol you held. 

“Simon will never teach you.” He says handing you a mag. You load the pistol the way you remember. He steps behind you. 

“Relax your shoulders, don’t think too much.” He says crossing his arms. You pull the barrel back. 

“Aim for the chest.” You try not to be nervous, you click the safety off. The weapon feels wrong in your hands, you move your finger to the trigger. You take in a big breath then fire. The kick back is stronger then you remember. 

“Again.” He says before you have time to think. You fire again. Something inside you snaps you keep firing, over and over until the mag is clear. 

“How does it feel?” He asks placing another mag down. You shrug, you thought it would feel different firing a weapon again. You stare at the mag you didn’t learn how to reload. He senses your hesitation stepping in and teaching you how to do it. You bring the weapon back up to your eye line. 

“How did it feel?” You know what he’s asking. You fire off a shot. You remember his body falling, the blood, the smell. You shake it away shooting again. 

“It felt strange.” You say not really knowing what to say.

“Do you feel guilty?” He asks, you swallow hard. 

“He was a bad person.” You fire off two more shots. You were at least trying to hit the target before now you don’t care. You feel anger rising in you.

“You can still feel guilty, he was a person.” You fire again. You remember thinking about his family, about how they would learn about his death. You imagine them screaming the same way your mother screamed for you brother. 

“He was a terrorist.” You say firing off another shot. The weapon clicks, it must be empty already. 

“What would have happened if I didn’t shoot him?” You ask turning to look at him. 

“Simon would have shot him.” John says. “Officially that is what happened.” 

“I did feel guilty.” You look down at the weapon in your hand running your fingers over the barrel. 

“Then I remembered who he was. 20 people died. Hannah died, she had done nothing wrong she was scared and she died scared. I couldn’t even have the courage to check if she was still alive. Then I remember my brother. He was in uni, he was going to be the one who was going to do something with his life.” You look up at John blinking the tears away. 

“I shot him. I killed him and if I had to do it again I would.” You turn round putting the pistol down on the shelf. You look out at the target, you can’t tell if you’ve been hitting it or not you don’t care. The anger you were feeling vanishes. 

“Again,” he says handing you another mag. 

 —————————— 

Price drops you at your flat. You feel drained wondering what Simon would think of today. You wonder what job he needed to help Johnny with. You go over to the files on the coffee table. You still haven’t gone through them yet, John gave you all the files on the people who are waiting for help. Maybe now is a better time then ever. You lose yourself in the paperwork, stalkers, debt collecting, blackmail. Your picking out who you think would be easy to talk to as Simon walks through the door. 

“Hey, I heard you went on a little outing with Price?” He says. You turn to see him taking his boots off. 

“Yeah, it was fun.” You say. It wasn’t but you don’t know what to say. He comes over to you and sits in the chair next to you. You watch waiting for him to say something. 

“How do you feel?” He asks eventually. 

“Fine,” you say putting the folder down on the coffee table and scooting to the edge of the sofa. He looks at you reading your face most likely to see if you’re lying. You’re not but you wonder if he asked John to take you to the range today. You get up going over to him, your hand runs round his face. You lean down and kiss him. He leans back, you sit down on his knees leaning into him planting your lips on his. You want him, you need him.

The kissing is becoming needy, too sloppy, too fast. You’re still on a high from the shooting. You feel his hands run up the back of your shirt as you start grinding up against him. He moans in your mouth and you pull away, you smile at him running your hand through his hair. 

“Bedroom?” You ask. He pauses for a second before nodding. You jump off him almost too eagerly as he quickly goes into the bathroom. You pull the covers off the bed smoothing it down. Before you know it you feel Simon wrap his arms round you pulling you up against his chest. He kisses your neck. 

“I love you,” he says. You turn in his arms and kiss him.

“I love you too.” You reply pushing your hands up his shirt. He lifts his arms so you can pull his shirt off. You run your hands over his chest soaking it like its the first time you’ve touched him. You feel goosebumps rise on your skin as his hands run up your arms. You smile at him holding up your arms so he can take your shirt off. You’re not wearing a bra as his hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing your nipples. You look up seeing a shine in his eyes as his hands run down to your waist. You pull him closer to you, he smiles pulling your waistband down and your sweatpants fall to the floor.

Your hands move down to his belt as he walks you over to the bed. When your legs hit the bed he gently pushes you causing you to sit down. You smile at him as he takes over undoing his belt and pulling his jeans down. You reach out to grab his cock as it springs out his boxers, he waves you hands away you look up at him confused. He leans down kissing you pushing you so you’re laid flat.

You let him move your body spreading your legs as he kneels down between them. He’s gentle running his hands up your thighs pulling your pants down, you move your body for him so he can take them off throwing them off to the side. His breath is hot between your legs, he waists no time his tongue parting your folds with one slick stroke. It makes your body shudder at the contact his arms coming round your waist to keep you in place as he focuses all his attention on your clit. You moan in frustration trying to grind against his face. 

“So needy today,” he says as he kisses your thighs. You can feel him smiling. 

“I know, so needy,” you say, anything to get his tongue back on you again. He chuckles going back to his slow rhythm of licking tight little circles, it’s almost too slow, you want to grind against his face make him go faster, harder. You know he can feel you trying, his arms hold you in place while you just moan and call his name. He likes it when you moan his name rewarding with a long suck of your clit that makes your back arch, goosebumps rising on your skin.

Your hand ends up gripping his hair as you get close your legs shake as you try not to squish him with your thighs. When the orgasm hits you quickly, you barely have time to react pulling Simon’s hair moaning his name as he rides you through it.

You flop down on the bed, Simon doesn’t stop pressing his hot tongue against your twitching clit as your legs shake from overstimulation. It feels good too good. You think back to the rush you got from the shooting today, this is nothing like that. Shooting felt dirty, like you were doing something wrong. This feels good, perfect, right you feel the tears run down your face. You don’t want to cry, you don’t want Simon to see you cry.

You try to swallow them away but it makes you sniffle. His head immediately pops up from between your legs and he moves to lean over you. You blink away the tears making your vision fuzzy. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his eyes scanning your face his hands cupping your cheeks. 

“Nothing. I’m sorry, just.” You don’t know what to say. You’re going to cry every time you have sex.

“It’s okay baby, you’re okay.” His voice is low he wipes the tears away. “We can stop.” You shake your head you don’t want to stop, it feels amazing, too good. 

“Maybe you should come first in future though.” You smile, sniffing as you sit up. He leans down kissing you, it’s a nice long slow kiss exactly what you need. He starts to manoeuvre you so you’re laid back on the bed your head hitting the pillows. He takes it slow planting little kisses on your face and neck before getting up to roll a condom down his cock.

It’s bigger then you remember, although you weren't thinking about much last time. It makes your mouth water, you hope you can get to a stage one day when you can be brave enough to give him a blowjob. The thought of it now has your throat tightening, you swallow to get rid of the lump.

He moves into the bed, laid over you keeping himself propped up by his knees, his free hand works it’s way down to your entrance. He pushes two fingers between your folds getting his fingers coated in your slick. 

“You okay?” He asks looking in your eyes. You nod smiling at him as you loop your arms around his neck. He leans down kissing you. His hand moves as he lines himself up. You’re holding your breath as he eases himself into you. You breathe out pushing all the air out your lungs, you spread your legs even more for him. You’re running your fingers through his hair, moans leaving from the back of your throat as he adjusts himself. He pushes all the way in before turning to look back at you.

You smile at him and he smiles back as he starts to thrust gently. He feels good, you’re back to not thinking, your body enjoying the feeling of the man you love holding you, touching you. You know he’s enjoying it too his breathing getting faster as complements fall off his lips; ‘you’re so perfect baby,’ ‘so pretty, so soft.’ 

You smile at them even though you’re barely listening too blissed out feeling him speed up. One of his hands comes up to squeeze your nipple sending vibrations down your body, you clench round him which causes him to make the most beautiful moans which only makes you get to the edge faster. 

“Take me so well don’t you baby.” He says pinching your nipple again.

“Uh-hm.” You moan, words not coming out your mouth. You see him smile as he leans down to kiss you. Messy and sloppy, his tongue pushing deeper in your mouth just like his cock bouncing against your cervix. It’s almost too much, almost. You pull away from the kiss.

“Simon-” You breathe before you’re cumming around him clenching down your head tipping back. His mouth locks round your neck sucking on the sensitive spot before he cums too. Thrusting into you one last time as he throbs inside you, your body shaking as his head hits your chest.

You run your fingers down his back, Simon looks up at you still panting. You smile at you bringing your hand round to stroke his cheek. He tips his head to the side before coming down to kiss you. You can’t help smiling against his lips, he pulls back. 

“Stay here, I’ll get you a towel.” He says before moving out the bed. You just lay there the cold air in the flat hits your naked body, your pussy still throbbing, almost like you’re ready to go again. Simon comes over with a towel and a glass of water. You sit up accepting them both as he goes to pick the bedding up off the floor. You clean between your legs then get up throwing it in the wash basket and finding clean underwear and PJ’s. Simon gets into the bed and you get in next to him, you cuddle up on his chest and he wraps his arms round you. 

“I’m so proud of you.” He says kissing your forehead. Your heads not so empty anymore, you feel guilty. Your mind wonders over to the terrorist attack, you squeeze Simon’s arm, he pulls his arm tighter round you. 

“I killed a guy.” You say. You’re not sure why you wanted to say that. It feels like a weight has been lifted. You sigh. 

“Want to talk about it?” He asks. You look up at his face in the dark. 

“I think so.” You say. He reaches over turning the light on, you break away as he sits up in the bed. You scoot over leaning against him. 

“You want to start at the beginning?” He prompts after a few seconds of silence. 

“What’s the beginning?” You ask, you’re not even sure where to start. When you first found the gun? When you were in the Lush store? When you shot the guy?

“What about when you found the gun?” He says stroking your arm. You take in a deep breath, it’s going to be a long night. 

  —————————— 

The next morning you feel like a different person, like a monumental weight has been lifted. You’re up early cooking breakfast while Simon sleeps. Probably the first good sleep he’s had in at least a week. There were no nightmares last night, instead you dreamt about Simon, nothing but good dreams. You take the scrambled eggs and beans into Simon who’s awake on his phone. He smiles when he sees you standing there with a plate in your hand. 

“Sleep well?” He asks as he takes the plate, you place the orange juice on the bedside table. 

“Amazing actually.” You smile getting into bed next to him. 

“How do you feel?” he asks. 

“Good, I really do feel good. Thank you.” You say smiling. He smiles back as he starts to eat his eggs. 

“Price suggested we meet up at work for drinks tonight. Instead of going out.” He says after a few mouthfuls. 

“Okay, sure.” You really don’t care you just want to spend time with Simon.

You make it to work first, the alarm is armed and Simon has to rush through to turn it off. You walk up to John’s office to dump the files off. It’s dark and you decide to leave the lights off. Simon walks into the room wrapping his arms round you pulling you against his back as you make sure the files are in the right order. He kisses you dragging his tongue in the crook of your neck. You lean back into him tipping your head. 

“You smell so good baby,” He coos in your ear his hands slipping up your shirt. You don’t stop him letting his hands brush your breasts. You hum letting his hands run across your chest, pinching your nipples.

“Simon, they’ll be here soon.” You say, you’re not stopping him, you don’t want to.

“I can be quick, last night was amazing.” He hums in your ears, his mouth planting kisses on your neck. You turn in his arms, your hands wrapping round his neck. He pushes you up against John’s desk. Now all you can think about is him ripping your clothes off right here and fucking over the desk. His mouth comes down to yours as you sit up on the desk. This definitely not a good idea, you don’t care.

He’s almost feral on your mouth his tongue playing with yours grabbing all your attention you don’t care about morals right now. His hand runs up your waist, gripping your thigh as you feel his bulge rub against your stomach. It sends vibrations through your body, you want to reach down and grab it. The room door opening makes you jump. You both break from the kiss looking over. 

“Christ Si, on Price’s desk too!” Johnny laughs standing in the doorway. 

“It’s not what-”

“Fuck off MacTavish!” Simon shouts. You feel heat rushing to your cheeks as the door closes. 

“Take your time!” Johnny shouts through the door. You hear him laughing as he goes down the stairs. Simon makes a disappointed groan as he looks back at you. You’re embarrassed but you can’t help but chuckle at the situation. Simon steps back and you jump off the desk. 

“Hey, at least we weren't actually doing anything.” You say as you both head for the door. 

He wraps his arm round your waist as you walk out the room heading into the kitchen to get some glasses. Johnny comes back up the steps with a crate of beer and a bottle of scotch and you hear him talking to Simon as you clean the glasses. By the time you make it through to the seating area John and Kyle are here coming up the stairs. 

“So why are we here instead of going out?” You ask taking the bottles of pop from John. 

“Thought it would be a nice change, besides the facilities here are way better then most pubs.” John says reaching down and picking up a beer. 

“John just want’s to beat us all at darts again.” Kyle says passing you a can of cider. You look over at the dart board. John laughs. 

“Natural talent cannot be beat.” He says, sipping his beer. You lean up against Simon, Johnny and Kyle joke about the last darts competition they had. Kyle is convinced Johnny cheated some how. You enjoy leaning up next to Simon as he joins in the conversation. You’re sipping your cider, listening in when the ringing of a doorbell echoes in through the building.    

Everyone goes silent.

“I didn’t even know we had a doorbell.” Johnny says as John and Simon stand up. It rings again, and again. You start to feel nervous, you look over at Johnny who looks confused sipping on his beer. Simon and John head down the stairs to the lobby while the rest of you all look over the balcony. You watch as John as Simon move to the door. Gaz and Johnny have already moved to the top of the steps. The doorbell stops ringing. 

“Well this is definitely interesting.” You say turning to Johnny, then a gunshot rings out. You yelp your body automatically ducking. Gaz and Johnny race down the stairs. There’s shouting, your head pounding. You’re sober now your adrenaline spiked. You see the store room door open as you move over to the sofa’s, hiding behind the coffee table.

“What the fuck!” You hear someone call, the shots have stopped. 

“Soap medkit!” You hear John shout. You hold your breath, please don’t be Simon. You hear a woman sobbing, you look down to see Simon carrying a woman in. Johnny rushes out the store room with a weapon in his hand and a med bag. Simon puts the woman down at Johnny’s feet. He hands Simon his weapon.  

“You’re alright lass.” Johnny says kneeling next to her. You see John walking back in with his phone pressed to his ear. 

You hear your name called, you stand up going to the top of the stairs. It’s Johnny you make your way down the stairs you can see the woman now. You recognise her it’s Amelia, your stomach drops as you go over to her she almost throws herself in your arms. She’s sobbing in your neck you look over at Johnny taking out bandages.

You’re not sure where she’s been hit but you can smell the blood in the air. It’s only when she pulls away from you, you can see the blood trickling down her arm. Maybe you should call an ambulance, you can hear John talking on the phone but you’re not paying attention to what he’s saying. 

“You bumped into him downtown and you ran straight here?” John asks from behind you. She nods sniffling as Johnny patches up her arm. 

“The police are on their way, will you stay with her?” John is asking you, you nod. Johnny finishes patching her up and goes over to John. 

“Gaz, Ghost take my car go to her place I’ll send you the address, get out of here before the police come.” You stroke her back as she sobs. 

“I’m sorry, he said if I go to the police he would kill me.” She says between sobs. 

“Shh, it’s okay. Let’s go upstairs and get you a drink.” You say helping her too her feet. As you make it to the bottom of the stairs John grips your shoulder, she continues up and you turn to see him. 

“She can’t tell the officers what she’s here for, she came here because she saw the lights on and she was being pursued by her ex. She does not know who we are okay?” His eyes are serious you nod. You go up the steps to see her sat down on a couch. You walk past her into the kitchenette and bring her out a glass of water.

She's sobbing in her hands as you go to sit next to her. You rub her back, her head looks up at you, her eyes wet and swollen as you pass her the glass. She sips it her hands shaking. 

“The police are on their way.” You say she nods, taking another sip of the water. 

“You cannot tell them why you hired us okay? You saw the lights on and you came in because he was chasing you okay?” You’re trying to be gentle but you also need to know she understands. She nods. You sit with her, your mind trying not to worry about Simon, you need to focus on work right now. You take her hand in yours squeezing it as Johnny walks up the steps. He smiles and comes down to sit on the other side of her. 

You all sit there in silence until the police come. They talk to John first taking photos of the broken windows, then they come up to talk to Amelia, she gives them a run down of everything that happened, how they saw each other he chased her, she saw the lights on in here and called for help. She does well even between the sobbing and shaking. Johnny talks for you both, the officers take statements then ask if Amelia has anywhere else she can stay other then her place. She says she has friend who lives close.

The officers finish up and thank everyone for acting the way they did then leave to escort Amelia home. You look over at Johnny reaching out and picking up a glass.

“What are the chances we decided to have drinks here tonight instead of in the town and this happens.” You say looking at him. 

“Divine intervention.” Johnny smiles shrugging, you down your drink. You and Johnny stay with John until someone comes to board up the window then he insists Johnny walks you home. You don’t argue with him letting him take you the quick 20 minute walk home. 

“I can stay till Si get’s back if you want?” He offers. 

“I’ll be fine Johnny, thanks for walking me home.” You say, he smiles leaning in to give you a hug which you accept.

 ——————————  

Its late when Simon gets back you couldn’t sleep, you were too worried waiting for him.

“Holy shit!” You say as you look at his swollen eye. You go over to him fussing turning lights on to try and get a better look.

“I’m fine, it’s just a black eye, I’ve had worse.” He goes into the bathroom you follow him. 

“What happened?” He doesn’t reply looking at his eye in the mirror. You go into your freezer pulling out a bag of peas wrapping it in a towel. He comes out the bathroom heading over to the sofa. You go to sit next to him handing him the homemade cold compress. He presses it up against his eye, you rest your hand on his arm stroking his bicep. 

“Simon, what happened?” You ask again. 

“Fucker tried to get away. If anything he’s persistent.” 

“Did you, deal with him, or will he be back again?” 

“I don’t know, hope not.” He says taking the bag of peas off his eye. You want to tell him to leave it on, it will help with the bruising. 

“Do you have any ibuprofen?” He asks. You nod getting up and going into the bathroom.  

“How's Kyle?” You ask as you come out passing him the packet going to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. 

“Fine,” you nod at least it’s just a black eye. It could have been a lot worse. 

“I think we could all use a nice easy job.” You say passing him the water as you get back on the sofa. He takes the pills then extends his arm out for you to lie up against him. You give him a quick kiss then cuddle up against him. 

“You and Price going through the jobs on Monday?” 

“Yeah.”

“Anything interesting?” You smile. 

“Maybe, you’ll have to wait and see.” You feel him chuckle. 

“I love you.” You say stroking his chest. 

“I love you too.” He replies. 

 —————————— 

Monday comes quicker then you think. You learned that Amelia's ex was arrested for the shooting. It's not your problem anymore he'll be going down for a long time. You’re looking through the job folders with John, looking for something easy. 

“What about this job?” He asks passing a folder to you. 

“Not that one, look at the postcode.” 

“Nice catch.” He smiles.

“I saw this one.” You pass a folder to him.

“Bodyguard work?” 

“Is it not something you do?” 

“No, we do, just very rarely.” He says skeptical. You smile at him. 

“I guess you’ve never heard of her then. Kira. It’s a stage name, she’s massive in the UK right now her tour is planned to start next month.” 

“And she needs armed security for that?” 

“You complaining? Have you seen how much she’s willing to pay.” You smile at him leaning on his desk. You watch as he reads the offer. His eyes widen for a second before he flicks through to the next page.

“Right so she’s a singer? Would I know anything?” He asks flicking through the file. You pull your phone out opening YouTube and pulling up a video of one her popular songs. You turn it so he can see. He doesn’t look too impressed, raising an eyebrow as the pop song begins. He looks back at you, you chuckle putting your phone away. 

“Okay, so guess we’re going to be doing armed security for the next month.” He says sitting down in his chair. “Contact them, set up the meeting.” You smile nodding picking up the file. Nice easy security work, following round some celebrity for a few days a week. Maybe you’ll even get some free concert tickets.

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