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peachesofteal · 3 months

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Simple Math / Part Ten

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Masturbation, dirty (self) talk, brief daddy kink. This fic contains mature themes. Domestic violence. Grooming. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Nurse!reader. Kissing. Lots of dialogue. Bun considers making a friend. Penny is cute. Flirting. Touching. Comfort. Bun refers to herself as "heavy". Simon is Simon. POV switch. Dinner date.

“I’m Philip.”

The handsome brunette smiles, grabbing onto your hand. You blink, trying to understand, trying to make it make sense, when he prompts you with a teasing grin. “This is the part where you tell me your name, sweet thing.”

Oh. You stumble over it, tongue tied into a million knots, sweat from the Texas sun beating down your back, sweat slicking your shirt to your skin.

He’s still holding your hand, and you’re standing there with wide, doe eyes, shell shocked.

He’s… so handsome. And older. Older, and handsome. Polished type, with good teeth and good hair. He looks like he just stepped off the golf course.

Why is he talking to you?

He glances down at your drink.

“You even old enough to be drinkin’ that?”

“I-“ You’re terrible at lying, and like he can read it on your face, he chuckles.

“You live around here?”

“I go to Rice.”

“A bit young for college, aren’t you?”

“I just turned eighteen!” You’ve heard it a million times. You’re too young to understand something, or know something, or do something. You don’t get the way the world works yet. You’re not an adult.

He holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I bet you’re one of the really smart girls that make all us men look like Neanderthals.” Your face heats.

“N-no. I just… I graduated early. I’m not a know it all.” You defend yourself, desperate to create distance from the usual stereotype, the way most people see you. The way boys see you.

Too smart. Face buried in a book. Awkward and stiff. Uncool.

He traces you from head to toe, appreciative gaze grazing over the swell of your hips, the generous curve of your ass. “I didn’t think you were. Too mature for that, I bet.” He croons, and your knees go weak.

“Y-yeah. A lot of people say I’m really mature.”

Two things compete for your attention when you open your eyes.

One: there is a soft, lovely song playing downstairs, something spring-like and sweet, vibrant without being too loud.

Two: the house smells like pancakes.

You check your phone, shocked to see you’ve slept for yet another 12 hours. There’s a text from Nia, and a text from your boss.

>You have a lot of time accrued. Take as much as you need.

That settles that, you guess.

There are also text messages in the group chat, one from Simon, and one from Johnny, coming in only a few minutes ago.

Simon: >Penny gets pancakes on Saturday mornings. They’ll be plenty, come down and eat when you’re ready.

Johnny: >I’m missing all the good stuff.

You stretch, cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes, spreading your limbs as far as you can without pushing it too much. You’re sore, uncomfortably so, and still exhausted, but if you stay in bed any longer, you’ll rot.

In the kitchen, Simon holds Penny and a mixing bowl, alternating hands to get a whisk through the batter while humming to his daughter on her hip.

You stop dead in your tracks.

He’s… he’s not wearing the mask.

You stare at his face, his whole, naked face for the first time, taking in the broad jaw, every shiny white scar, and his (twice, if you had to guess) healed broken nose. He’s handsome, differently from Johnny but no less striking, and you can’t look away, stunned by his raw, depthless and rugged beauty. Penny’s leg has kicked up the hem of his shirt, exposing his midsection, and the flash of skin there feels like a scandal, something you shouldn’t be seeing but cannot get enough of. He looks nothing like you expected and yet… everything you hoped for.

“Morning.” Pen tucks her face into his chest shyly, peeking out from the corner of her eye, curious and cute. “Can you say good morning to bunny?” He bounces her a little, and she giggles.

"Bunny." She says quietly, and Simon laughs.

“That’s right. Good job.” After a second of silence, you try to ask him about the missing mask, but the question gets confused on your tongue, and what comes out instead is clumsy and stunted.

“Your mask.” You cringe, immediately. It’s the first thing that slips loose, insensitive, and uncouth. “I uh, I’m sorry, I’m just… surprised?” you falter, and makes it worse. You think about trying to run back upstairs, hightailing it for the hills when he smiles, and points to the empty stool at the kitchen counter with a batter covered whisk.

“Sit.” There’s already a stack piled high, plain, and ones with big, juicy blueberries. Your favorite.

“So, pancakes every Saturday?”

“Mhmm.” He settles Penny in her highchair to your left, and pulls an already cooled pancake from the stack, cutting it up into little, tiny pieces with a child’s knife and fork. “Pen and her Da,” he pads some butter across the top of his handiwork, grabbing her sippy cup and filling it with milk. “Have pancakes every Saturday when he’s home. It’s their favorite. Right?” He points at her, “your favorite?” and taps his middle finger to his chin, others outward, straight up. “Your favorite?” Signing?

“Are you teaching her sign?”

“Trying to. Pen’s birth mum is deaf. It’s important to us, that she’s able to connect with her when the time comes. Plus, my hearing is shot. So is Johnny’s. It’s a great way for her to communicate with us.” He strokes some fingers through her curls, and she doesn’t even look up, too busy shoveling as much pancake into her mouth as she can. You have a million questions now, curiosities bubbling to the surface, about Pen’s mum, about her life, about how she came to be their child. All too rude, and too invasive to ask. “Or, to use when she’s feeling sassy and can’t find the words. That happens, too.”

“She’s what…sixteen months?” You watch her intently, unable to not smile when she cheeses at her dad with a mouthful of food, even though your tender skin stings with the movement.

“Yeah. Top percentiles in a lot of things for her age. Said her first word before she was one.” He’s rich with pride, a deep well of love shining in his eyes, and you force your own down to the plate, stifling the ache bleeding from your heart.

“Of course she is.” Penny holds pieces of sticky, syrupy pancake with both hands, attacking them with vigor, smearing her cheeks purple with the squished blueberries.

You need to eat something, but your brain is buzzing, unnatural discomfort stretching long in the back of your mind.

What’re you doing? Sitting here eating pancakes like everything is normal? Like everything’s okay?

Everything is not okay.

You drift, back to your apartment, back the venom of Phillip, the hands around your neck, the twist of your shoulder, back slamming into the wall. You can still feel him, still hear him, these memories like all the others, your body beaten on the floor, mind nearly broken. Trying to shift away from the hot end of a cigarette, screaming for help, running through a-

A hand covers yours.

He coaxes the fork from your fingers, metal vibrating within flesh.

“I think… I think I should go back to bed.” You whisper.

“Are you tired?”

“No… yeah. I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to run away, you know.” He flips a pancake onto your plate from the stack. “Just because you were somewhere else for a little bit.” Your cheeks burn. “We’ve got a pretty nice couch in the living room though, if you want some time alone and don’t feel too keen on the stairs.” Saturday morning pancakes and curling up on the couch? It sounds so nice, so normal, and must show on your face, because he chuckles. “Help yourself. You might have to share the TV though, in a bit. We watch baby Einstein on Saturdays, and she’ll need some entertaining for a minute while I get ready.” Your lips twist, an entire hearth lighting up in the bottom of your heart.

“Alright.”

Baby Einstein is as enthralling as you thought it would be, though Penny disagrees. She stares at the screen, wide eyed, open mouthed, sippy cup long forgotten, and even Simon struggles to get her attention after returning from getting dressed.

You force your eyes away from the strain of his thighs in blue jeans.

“We’re goin’ down to the hospital.” He tells you, pulling her upward over the back of the couch and rubbing his nose through her curls. It’s still… weird, to see his whole face. To clearly watch his expressions, sublime bliss pushing his mouth upward whenever he looks at his daughter. “Want to come?”

“I can’t, not if I’m taking time off. It… looks bad to admin. I can probably go in at night but, during the day is just a recipe for disaster.”

“Of course.” He looks around, for what you don’t know, shoulders tensing, then relaxing. “Well, you’ve got the remote. And my number. Are you… going to be, okay? Alone?”

Say yes.

You can’t. All you can do… is nod.

“Okay well if you’re not. Just call.” You nod again, getting to your feet. Once you’re standing, you’re out of place, flailing in their living room, about to be here alone, with your memories, your poisoned mind.

What’re you doing? You’ve ruined everything. Broken all your rules.

“We can stay.” Simon steps close, hand grazing the middle of your back, and you shake your head.

“No, no- I… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t-“

“Yes, I do.” Your voice shakes, and you slam your eyes shut. You can’t do this. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m putting you in danger, and I… I’m putting myself in danger and I’m being so- so stupid, Simon.” His gaze is heavy, serious, and he steps around you, sliding Penny into her bounce seat, turning it to face baby Einstein.

“Listen to me.” As he returns, he reaches, carefully pulling you close, close enough you’re nearly in his chest, timing the rise and fall of his diaphragm. “We are safe, you are safe, sweetheart. ‘m not going to let anything happen to you, or Penny, or any of us. Alright?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Tell me.” You almost laugh, but something comes over you instead, something delirious and desperate. You lean into him, letting him hold you, hand smoothing over the back of your head. “You can tell me. You can trust us. We’ll take care of you.”

God, you want to. You want to so bad it aches, burns a ravenous fire in your heart. You want tell him, let them in. Tell them everything.

“Bun.” He murmurs, bringing you back, a finger under your chin.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s… it’s too much.”

“It’s alright.” He soothes, but doesn’t pull away, and you’re drawn in like a magnet, rising to the balls of your feet, stuck in a trance, luring you closer.

He meets your halfway.

And then-

He’s kissing you, plush lips on yours, pancakes and fresh laundry and stained-glass windows of sanctuary on his tongue.

You’re standing in the sun, in the trance of another spell.

It’s a mouthful of butterscotch and maple. Sweet, delicious breakfast in bed, lazy Saturday mornings and whispered, tender words. It’s life unlike your own, a home, the promise of a love not fractioned, chipped away, or strangled… but multiplied, magnified. His touch is painfully gentle, slow and easy, encouraging you to follow his lead, carefully constructing a tiny universe to disappear to, where shadow cannot touch. A fantasy, cocoon of stars, ambrosial and sacrosanct, an escape from the hell nipping at your heels, the hell chasing you through your dreaming and waking hours.

The anxious hum radiating through every cell in your body flatlines.

The girl in the mirror weeps.

Everything goes silent. Your breathing slows. Your hands fall to the side, listless and stunned.

Penny grunts. The moment shatters.

You can only stare with wide, terrified eyes.

“Johnny.” It’s the first word out of your mouth, the only thing you can conjure. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m sorry.” Johnny. Johnny’s not here. How can he kiss you when his partner isn’t here? His heart will be broken, you’re destroying their family, you’re-

“I kissed you, bunny. Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Simon hums, still holding your face. “Johnny’s okay. He’ll be a bit jealous he didn’t get one too, but he won’t be upset.”

“How?” the question squeaks, and he takes your hand, tugging you towards the couch, settling you back into the cushions, easily guiding you with deft hands. He's so careful, so gentle, the touch of a man who raises a daughter, who loves his partner, adroit and nimble, anticipating movement before it happens.

“After Penny goes down tonight, let’s have a drink. Or some late dinner. We can talk, and I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can. How’s that sound?” He strokes a thumb across the apple of your cheek. Talking can’t hurt, can it?

“O-okay. Yeah.” You try to shrug, pain lancing through your shoulder, and you try to smother your wince. He frowns.

“I want you to get some rest today.” A small grin creeps across your face.

“You always tell people what to do?” He nods, solemn.

“It’s my job. Takin’ care of you lot is an added bonus.” He breezes by the grouping of you with his family, like it’s a normal thing, rubbing circles in your palm. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

“I can-“

“I’m here. Let me help.” You don’t say anything at first. Can’t say anything, can’t formulate a response that encompasses everything you’re thinking and feeling, stuck on the mile high wall that is your fear and denial, afraid to jump. Afraid to fall.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask you to respond, He just… settles you, cautiously arranging the pillows to support your injuries, lets you sit there atop the wall, staring down at the ground where they wait. Patiently. He rubs your back and your good shoulder until you’re drifting away in heady, hazy dream world, unable to stir when he slips free, tucking the blankets in around you, and pressing another long, lingering kiss to your brow.

You wake in a panic to the doorbell ringing. Your heart races, and you’re up off the couch, tucked around a corner of the hall, hiding, in a blink, even though your shoulder and neck scream at the sudden change of position.

Breathe. You’re losing it. Philip wouldn’t ring a doorbell.

The door clicks open.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice echoes to where you’re still curled around the hallway, back pressed flat, eyes closed. “Hello? Anyone home?” Who is that?

You peek, like a child. Peering around to see a familiar woman with grocery bags in her hands, depositing them on the kitchen counter.

She spots you immediately.

“Hi!” She’s grinning, pretty and bright, pulling a carton of milk from a brown paper bag and putting it in the fridge. “I’m Lou. Sorry, did I scare you? I tried to ‘announce’ myself.” She makes bunny ears with her fingers before and after the word announce, with half of an eye roll. “John’s always telling me I have to when I come over. Can’t be giving anyone surprises, and I knew you were here. Just wasn’t sure if you’d be up for visitors. Sorry if I gave you a fright.”

“No, I…” you trail off, readjusting, giving her your name. She nods and smiles again. “I remember you. In front of the elevator that day.”

“Yeah, that was me.” She’s earnest in her focus, beaming at you, almost like she’s excited.

“You look a little different out of your cute scrubs.” That gives you a small laugh, and you smile honestly at her, flattered.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Oh no, you’re not. I was just… I’m fine.” She pulls a flat of eggs free and stacks them next to a colorful pile of produce.

“I do the store runs for Simon right now. It’s too much, with Johnny in hospital and taking care of Pen. We’ve been trying to lighten his load.” Guilt twists. And here you are, adding onto it.

“That’s very nice of you.” She waves it off.

“They’ve kept my husband alive a million times over. It’s the least I can do.”

“Right… they… work together?”

“Simon is semi-retired but yeah. They’re in a global task force. It’s the four of them. Have you met Kyle yet?”

“Oh, yeah. At the hospital one day.”

“Best guy, really.” Her clothes swish, warm and sweet aura practically glowing.

“Yeah, he was really nice.” She rests her hands on her hips and looks you over.

“You okay?” This woman is direct. She's got a no nonsense approach, and through intense, there's true ardor in her, passion and care.

“Yeah, I’m just… still recovering.” You don’t know what she knows, not sure what they’ve told her or John, so you’re not sure how much, or what even, to say.

“Simon told us, about you being mugged. I’m so sorry, it’s just awful.” She’s sincere in her sympathy, big brown eyes sad and considerate.

“It’s okay, thank you. I’m okay.”

“If you need anything, I’m always around. Or if you want to talk to another girl that isn’t a toddler.” It’s an olive branch of friendship, you realize, or the beginnings of, and you’re startled, considering it, wondering if it would be so bad… to have a friend.

“Thank you.” She gives you her number, and you tap it in, shooting her a text with your name.

“You should sit.”

“I can help with these.”

“No, no. No offense, but you look half asleep. I’ve got it.” You laugh even though it hurts, awkward half shrug with good shoulder, and agree.

“Yeah, I’m still recovering. It’s been slow.”

“I’m sure.” You sit at the counter, watching her organize the fridge with scary efficiency. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. Just had to drop these off.”

“Oh, you’re fine.” It’s nice. You’re nice. She feels safe, the proximity to Simon and Johnny naturally leading you to feel comfortable, knowing she’s welcomed by them, she’s a part of their life. It makes you feel more at ease, and you try to convey it without getting tangled up in awkward words.

You don’t know how. Not really sure how to make genuine friends anymore, so you just sit there and watch, listening to her talk, enjoying how she rambles a little bit, laughing at herself.

When she says goodbye at the door, she promises to text you the next time she’s coming by, so you’re not surprised, and you linger there, watching her go, wondering if it’s real, surprisingly mourning the loss of companionship already.

“Johnny misses you.” The ice in Simon’s rocks glass clinks together as he sips his bourbon, corner of his mouth lifting in a partial smirk. “Not too fond of his new nurse, I’m afraid. Think he’s spoiled now.”

“How is he?” You’re on the edge of your seat for an update, but not wanting to pry too much. It’s a delicate line, one where you don’t know on which side to stand.

“Good. Wrist fracture is nearly healed, so he’ll be able to start on crutches soon. Once he does, he’ll be doing physical therapy for most of his day, and ready to come home. Should be soon.” He really smiles now, and you mirror it, unable to deny the infectious bloom of happiness spreading from him to you.

“And his liver?”

“No complications. Grafts for his burn are in great shape. Hip is the trickiest part.”

“Yeah, they take a lot longer to heal, but I’m sure he’ll do a great job of it, just like everything else.”

“Thanks to you.” You sip your wine, citrusy peach and passionfruit coating your tongue. It’s a nice bottle, and you were surprised when Simon brought it home, bag of takeaway in one arm, Penny in the other.

“No.” Your cheeks heat. “I was just there. You guys did the hard work.”

“Wouldn’t have made it without you though. Think I would’ve lost it. Him too.”

“You would’ve been fine.” You brush it off, and he shakes his head.

“You’re too modest.” He drains his pour, uncapping the bottle on the coffee table between you and refilling it halfway. Glass on glass chimes, and you sink deeper into the couch, relaxing, tucking your knees up until you’re half curled into a ball, wine glass cradled between your palms.

“So…”

“I told you; you can ask me whatever you like.” You knew this was the case, but hesitance is still brimming in your heart, uneasy feelings festering beneath your skin, burning question shoving to the surface.

“Did you tell Johnny we kissed?”

“I did.”

“Was he upset?”

“Only because he feels like he’s missing out. I told him we’d make it up to him.” Fire enflames your skin. We?

“And by we you mean… us. Together. Like… the three of us.”

“I do.” The girl in the mirror screams. She doesn’t understand, why you continue to act against her better judgement. Why you’re entertaining something so, so dangerous, something so stupid.

“Simon, I… I can’t.”

“You keep saying that but look where you are, bun.” He motions to the table, takeaway cartons scattered across the top, half empty bottle of wine, his bourbon, and a baby monitor. It looks like a nice night in, a simple, sweet life, not even close to being your own.

Still, the girl in mirror combats. Still.

“This isn’t… this isn’t a thing it’s just… we’re hanging out. I’m not going to be here forever, I’m looking for a place and I-“ His face changes, flicker of shadow fading across his brow before being chased away by the sunlight in his eyes. You thought he'd be easier to read, without the mask, imagined you'd be able to place his expressions but you're just as confused and lost as ever.

“Slow down. There’s no need to look for a place to live.”

“W-what?” The wine has made you a little slow, a little sleepy, and you blink through the stupor.

“You’re still healing, sweetheart, and I know you're scared. I’ve known since the first day you stepped into Johnny’s room.”

“No.” You shake your head. Pain fizzles, numbed by alcohol, and your head swims.

“I know you weren’t mugged.” How? “I know you’re running from someone.” Oh god. The urge to get to your feet and bolt washes over you like a wave.

“I- I’m not.” The lie is bare-boned, pathetically unconvincing, and you know it. He knows it too; you can tell by the look on his face.

“You’re not ready to tell me, that’s fine. I’m patient. But you won’t be going anywhere if I don’t know you’re safe. And right now, to me, it doesn’t seem like you’re safe.” The pale yellow of your wine shines in the low lights of the living room, and you get lost in it, swirling around in his words, trying to put them together and pick them apart, desperate to understand what he means.

“Are you… are you saying you won’t let me leave?” You gulp. It’s a ridiculous conclusion, but the first one you jump to.

And in that, you know you’re giving too much away.

His face softens, and he reaches, pulling your free hand into his own, petting some sort of sequence into your skin.

“Of course not, sweetheart. I’d never, ever force you to do something you didn’t want to do. But I do want you to stay, here with us. Where we can keep you safe, take care of you.”

“I don’t need-“

“I know you don’t. I know you take care of yourself just fine.” The indignant roar in the back of your mind settles. “But I’d love an opportunity to do it instead.”

“Simon…”

“Did you know the cells in our body hold onto trauma? They carry imprints of traumatic events. It can change your biology, the way you function.” He squeezes your hand. “It’s hard to realize… that it’s not normal, the way you might be, the way you think, or do things, when you’re carrying the physical memory of terrible things.” He’s not talking about you. There’s a fleeting flash of sadness in his eyes, ghosts circling the drain around his irises, and your heart aches. “We can help you. I don’t know who you’re hiding from, but I can guess what they’ve done- look at me.” You force your eyes back to him, and he cups your cheek. “You do not have to be afraid here. You are safe with me, with us. I know you don’t believe it, and I’ll tell you as many times you need, but it will never not be true. We can help you.”

“You don’t know… you don’t know what you’re saying.” Your denial is steadfast. They cannot possibly understand.

A small seed of light blooms under darkness. It’s the sun, struggling to break free, trying to drag you into its warm, golden rays. It tugs and tugs, clawing towards you, illuminating the path forward.

The words come out before the girl in the mirror can stop them.

“You don’t know him. He’s sick and… powerful. He’s a monster but he’s smart, has connections, has ways of doing things that… I don’t even know. He’d kill you.” You clap your hand over your mouth in shock, surprised at yourself. It’s the most you’ve said about Philip in years.

You expect pushback. Expect Simon to flinch, or cower, or have good sense… a rational reaction to being told someone might try to hurt him.

He smiles instead, settling back on his side of the couch.

“I’d just have to get to him first, then.” Is he… is he? Simon watches you, reaches into your brains to peer inside, rooting around in your head. The way he looks at you, like he knows everything you’re feeling, can see what you're thinking, makes you shiver, makes you feel like you’re a tiny mouse in the shadow of a mountain. He sighs. “Give us a chance.”

“A chance?”

“A chance, to know you. Let us in, let us try. Stay here, with us, spend time with me and Johnny and Pen. No strings attached. If you decide it’s not for you… we’ll understand.”

No strings attached.

You could pick up and leave if you wanted. If you had to.

What’re you doing?

“How does it work? Would we all…” you trail off, confused.

“Date?” Simon finishes gently. “Yes.”

“So, you guys are… bi?” He chuckles.

“Yes, sweetheart. We’re bi.”

“Is this… a thing? Something you guys do?”

“We’ve never taken another partner before, no.” Your eyes widen. “You’re our first.” You don’t know why, but knowing is exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time. You’re their first.

He’s talking about it like it’s already happened.

Fatigue settles in around you, thick fog of it draping over your shoulders and clouding your head.

“I… I don’t know.” You stifle a yawn. “I need to think.” He abandons his perch for one next to you, pulling your wine glass free and setting it on the table.

“Tired?” His fingers sweep over your cheek, skin warming under his touch.

“Mhmm.” You mumble, sleepily. Your head is very heavy, suddenly, hard to hold up.

“Alright.” He stands, bending to slide an arm under your knees, the other supporting your back in one fluid movement.

“What are you doing?” You squeak, grabbing onto him as he rises, lifting you into his chest at full height. Panic floods your nervous system, fevered tone pitching into a plea. “Put me down! I’m too heavy. Please, I’m too heavy, you can’t-“

“I’ve lifted a car off a teammate before.” He tells you, the thick of his body beneath your ear vibrating. “And I’ve dug Johnny out of a collapsed concrete wall. I’m made to pick things up, bunny. Heavy or not.” He holds you right there, all the way up the stairs, down the hall to the guest room, before settling you back on your feet, big hands around your waist for balance. Your back is to his chest now, and his nose drifts across the top of your head, slow path of his fingers stroking down your hip. “Alright?” He asks, and you nod, throat too dry to speak.

He squeezes. You stifle a gasp, resist the urge to press your thighs together.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched, since anyone has handled you with reverence, with affection. You almost don’t recognize it.

His hand drifts, slipping between your thigh and cheek. “This okay?” He murmurs, and you manage a rough yes, word sticky and thick in your throat. Yes. Yes, don’t stop. A fingertip strokes along the crease there, back and forth, before trailing upward. He takes as much of your flesh in his palm as he can, squeezing again, caressing, mouth skimming along your neck.

“Oh.” you breathe. The room is warm, barely lit by the bedside lamp, and you burn in the dark, sensations sparking alive that have long laid dormant.

The girl in the mirror curses you.

“Need help getting to bed?”

“N-no.” Yes! “I’m… fine.” His lips touch your cheek, then your ear, breath blowing over you, firm, solid warm mass at your back exhaling shakily.

“Get some sleep.” He steps away, but not before he swings, slowly, softly, into the pillow plush of your ass. It’s a gentle tap, but the fire between your legs roars. “Goodnight, bun.”

“G-goodnight.”

Simon's got his sweatpants and boxers off before he's even fully in the bathroom, running right into the shower, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock as the water flicks on. It's not hot enough, but he doesn't even notice, cock heavy in his grip, tip already smeared wet with pre-come.

"Fuck, bunny." He grits, trying to stay quiet but unable to hold his tongue.

He's awful, for this. Awful for doing this after you've had such an emotional night. Awful for touching you when you're still healing, awful for grabbing a handful of your ass and imagining sliding his dick through the space between those cheeks. He can't stop, strokes himself long, squeezing the base and pulling up and back as he imagines you on all fours, perfect globe perked up in the air for him, his cock sinking into your soaking wet pussy as you moan. He knows you would make the prettiest sounds for them, sweet gasps and cries, bouncing on Johnny's cock in his lap.

"Hop like a bunny." He'd coo, and you'd whine, riding Johnny as Simon coached you until you were so close, almost there on the edge. "Show daddy how bad you want to come, little bunny."

He jerks himself harder, eyes closed, imagining the ripple of your flesh, the way you'd bounce so perfectly, how Johnny would be gripping your hips with his head tipped back, throat exposed for Simon to nip and suck a mark into.

His bunny. His boy.

His toes curl. Water streams down his back, slicking his skin, forearm burning with each stroke, imagination running wild as he gets closer and closer, thinking about you and Johnny and him together, finally, your legs spread wide in front of their faces, perfect pussy on display. He can almost hear the way you'd whisper their names, and it blinds him, fills his head with white light. He knows you're beautiful when you come, as beautiful as you are when you let your guard down and give him a real smile, as beautiful as you are everyday, so pretty and perfect, kind, even as a ghost. He imagines it, pictures it, the sight of his and Johnny's come leaking out of your hole, fingers shoving it back inside, marking you as theirs.

He comes with your name on his lips, a strangled whisper, painting the tile with himself.

He falls asleep with a new addition in their bed, on top of Johny's t shirt and the baby monitor... there's now a long sleeved tee, plucked from your dirty laundry this morning as he was getting ready to leave. It smells like you, something he wishes he could bottle, and he holds it close, tied in tandem with Johnny's, curled in his arms on top of the pillow.

#simple math #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #ghost x soap #if you saw my technical difficulty earlier no you didn't!

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kestisvrse · 3 months

Text

you don’t know me

pairing ⋆ spidey!luke castellan x gn!reader au. fluff with a bit of angst. friends to lovers.

synopsis ⋆ spider-man appears at your window for help, and accidentally reveals his identity.

warnings ⋆ blood descriptions, stitching, swearing, stranger danger tbh, bit dramatic(?), kinda rushed i apologize | wc: 2.5k

a/n ⋆ i hate the ending of this so feel free to not read it😭😭

♫ - jackie and wilson by hozier

1:33am

it was hard trying to stay awake at this time, sound of the rain against your window and the soft snores of your roommates made it was easy to focus on closing your tired eyes instead of looking over all the notes scattered on your desk, it seemed nothing could stop you from drifting off to the peaceful place despite the thought of your sore neck in the morning from being slouched over your desk, but three taps against your window made your eyes shoot open.

he regretted it immediately, as he watched your head rise from the desk, but what else could he do? he gripped his side as he watched you mumble to yourself at the sight of spider-man on your fire escape, but you quickly opened the window.

“what the fuck?” you whisper at the sight, the heavy rain began to cover your window sill and floor but you didn’t even notice.

“hi, um i know this must seem very odd..” the superhero in front of you trailed off as you let him in, “shit, i’m bleeding on your carpet.”

“what- oh shit!” you gasp, noticing the giant gash he gripped on his torso, without a second thought you grabbed his hand and dragged him into your private bathroom, pushing him to sit on the toilet as you rummaged in your cupboards, as you pulled out a first-aid kit, you rummaged for supplies, “can i ask why the hell spider-man is bleeding in my bathroom right now?”

“i- i lost a lot of blood, i wouldn’t have been able to make it to my place in time.” he lied, “not to sound creepy but i saw your light on and.. and i needed help.”

“can you take the top half of your suit off?” you ask, washing your hands, as if you hadn’t even acknowledged what he had said. he nods, unzipping the back and removing his arms from the sleeves, letting the suit rest at his waist, his mask still hiding his identity, “this will hurt.” you warn, even though he had definitely experienced worse than a wound being wiped down.

but still he winced, clenching his jaw, as you realized it wasn’t just a cut, he had been stabbed.

“thank god you stumbled across a med-students dorm.” you mumble to yourself, trying to lighten the mood as you get ready to stitch his side together, as he went to laugh at your comment he was interrupted by a groan of pain emitting from his throat.

“i know it hurts, but try to be quiet. if you wake clarisse, my roommate up, she will not make this situation any better.” you say, luke holds back a laugh knowing it was definitely true, he bites down on his lower lip as you stitch him up. luckily it was a shallow cut,.

you worked in silence, occasionally broken up by strewn out swears and winces from the superhero, biting your lip in concentration. as you tied together the final stitch you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

“okay, the hard part is done.” you informed him, wiping down any excess blood that stained his skin.

“thanks.” he mutters weakly, moving to adjust his posture but immediately freezing as pain shoots up his body.

“stay still.” you say, “i still have to bandage it.” pulling out medical tape and gauze out of your medical bag, he felt as your hands occasionally slipped off the white bandage and touched his stomach. the pain almost subsided as the feeling of your fingertips burned into him. wrapping the bandage around his torso and taping it down you lean back on your knees, letting out a sigh.

he focuses on you as you stand, washing blood off your hands in the sink before cleaning up your supplies, you glance at him catching him staring, as he pretends to admire your bathroom as if he hadn’t been in here before.

“um-“ he clears his throat, “sorry for bleeding on your floor.” he mentioned, guilt evident in his voice.

“s’okay, i didn't like that carpet much anyways.” you say, which was a lie. luke remembered vividly how happy you were to get what you called, ‘the best rug ever’ for your room, his brows furrow.

you lean back against the bathtub, letting out a sigh, he goes to move but you nudge him with your foot, “don’t go just yet, won’t be good to swing on new stitches.” you explained to him, as he leaned back against the back of the toilet.

his breathing was sharp and inconsistent as his stomach stung in pain, his eyes squeezed shut, “the only thing i have for pain is like advil and tylenol. i don’t know if that helps with stab wounds though.” you spoke up, he shakes his head in response.

“i’ll be fine, just- just need to catch my breath.” to which you nodded in response.

“can i get you water?” you suggest, quickly standing as a ‘please’ is heard from under the mask, him suddenly noticing the scratchy and dry feeling of his throat. you rush out the room, tiptoeing into the kitchen to grab water for the superhero, as you return and hand it to him, you spin around so he can remove his mask.

his face was red as he watched you carefully, slipping his mask above his nose to gulp down the glass. scared you’d spin around to discover it was your friend bleeding out in the bathroom.

but you didn’t, as he pulled the mask back down and placed the cup on the counter, is when you turned and returned to your spot on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest.

he begins to shuffle uncomfortably on the toilet, breathing harder as his back slouched and his body tensed. the bandages felt tight on him, as he resisted the urge to rip them off, he was quickly distracted as you kneeled in front of him, placing your hand on his exposed wrist.

tingles shot up his body at the feeling of your skin against his again, it felt so odd, knowing he had hugged and brushed past you so many times but this was different, every touch had him blushing as butterflies flew around his stomach, he didn’t know you felt the same way, but with luke, not spider-man.

“control your breathing, your pulse is out of control.” you breathe, your pointer and middle finger pressed against his wrist feeling his pulse.

he began to focus on your breathing, watching as your chest rose and fell while you seemingly seemed focused on the wall of the bathroom. he quickly matched his breathing with yours, sitting up straight as your hand pulled away from him.

“thank you, for helping me.” he stammered, suddenly self conscious of his voice, how hadn’t you recognized it?

“i mean, what else was i supposed to do? there was a superhero at my window sill.” you scoff in disbelief, “it’s fine, i mean, it’s the least i can do for you keeping me- uh new york, safe.” you clear your throat, staring at your hands that rest atop your knees. “can i ask you something?”

his throat dries, “yeah?”

“i mean- obviously don’t answer if it’s too personal or gives away your identity, but.” you tilt my head, “do you like… live a normal life during the day? or are you always spider-man?” you ask cautiously.

he pauses to think about his answer, narrowing his eyes at you, “oh yeah, i-i do have a normal life during the day.” he confesses, the hand that grasped his stomach moves to scratch the back of his neck.

“cool.” you reply, stopping yourself from question him farther.

“you aren’t asking any questions,” he stated quietly, almost in disbelief. as he spoke, he shifted his attention to your face. “i was expecting some like freaked out reactions. but you’re... you’re really chill about this.”

“you have a secret identity for a reason, i wouldn’t want to ruin that for you. you keep the city safe, and that’s all i need to know.” you shrug in response, staring at the white eyes of his mask.

“i mean it’s so crazy.” you say randomly, causing his head to tilt in confusion, “i’ve thought about it before you know, imagine one of my friends was a masked superhero.” he tenses, knowing that in fact it was true, “like my friend luke, he’s always disappearing at random moments.” his eyes widen but you don’t notice because of the mask, chuckling to yourself at the thought.

“yeah, imagine that.” he murmurs in response, suddenly very sweaty in stress.

“how’re you feeling?” you turn your attention back to him.

“still hurts a lot, but i should go now.” he explains, his hand on the counter to steady himself as he stands, “again, thank you so much.”

you walk to the window, opening it and helping him climb out onto the fire escape, “again” you repeat him, “it’s the least i could do.”

4:56pm

you yawn as you open the door revealing luke castellan, bag swung over his shoulder and hair messy from the wind, he gave you a lopsided smile, “ready to study?”

you shake your head as he enters your apartment, “i was studying all night, barely got sleep.” you respond, leading him to your room.

he just nods his head at you in response, cheeks growing hot, sure you were studying, before his alter ego stumbled through your window.

as he walked into your room, he immediately took notice of the spot of your carpet that had been rolled over, to cover the evidence of the blood stain. his stare lingered there, before quickly collecting himself to sit on your bed.

“i made these flashcards for you last night.” you break the silence, holding up pastel green cards, “ready to be tested, castellan?” you tease, plopping onto the bed and leaning against the headboard as he takes his jacket off.

“oh bless you for those.” he praised, comfortably laying down at the end of your feet.

“just admit i’m your favourite person.” you giggle, he rolls his eyes before encouraging you to begin.

thirty minutes past as you tested him, reaching the end before you would swap over, “alright” you clear your throat, “next- luke?” your gaze drifts up from the card.

“yeah?” he asked, waiting for you to continue.

“you’re bleeding.” you point at his shirt, he looks down to find his blue t-shirt slowly bleed red, dripping down his side. immediately, he reacted by pressing down as hard as he could against the wound, a small whimper escaping his lips in the process.

“what-“ you cut yourself off, to look up into his eyes, eyes widening in the process “no fucking way.”

he tore his attention away from his wound, blood seeping into your bed sheets, “i-“ in a flash you’re up from the bed, cards spilling onto the floor as you yank him up causing him to yelp. he sits down on the toilet as you rummage for the first aid kit, again.

“take off your shirt.” you demanded, and despite the surprise this brought him, he didn’t resist. he removed his shirt almost immediately, revealing the bloody coated bandages.

you stared at his chest, the fact that it was the exact same as spider-mans made you wanna scream, but you held back, removing the bandages and staying quiet to patch him up, too scared to speak.

luke stayed silent, staring at you with sad eyes, praying you would forgive him. he winced every so often at the sting of you restitching some stitches that came loose, and rewrapping his stomach with fresh gauze.

your lips pursed together as you washed your hands, refilling the same cup from last night with water and placing it beside him before walking off into your room. luke quickly tugs hair shirt back on, ignoring the blood stain and the pain that shot up his body at the sudden movement, before going to stand in front of you in your room, “i’m sorry.” he whispers.

“you could have died, and it would have been my fault.” you remarked, “can you imagine? spider-man dies in my bathroom and i take his mask off to reveal my best fucking friend.” you scoffed, tears covering your waterline.

his expression softened, as he nudged your foot with his, “but i didn’t.”

“but you could have!” you yell, shooting up to stand in front of him, “jesus luke, this is what you’ve been doing all year? this is why you disappear all the time?” he stares at his shoes as you rub your forehead.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, a sad expression covering his face, as he blinked rapidly, “i’m sorry for putting you through that. i didn’t mean to worry you.”

“you-you’re spider-man.” you gasp out, in disbelief. your hand clutches your chest as tears roll out onto your cheeks. his hand brushes your bicep as you flinch.

“yeah… yeah i am.” he sighs, guiding you to sit back down on your bed, “i wish i hadn’t come here last night but- i wouldn’t have been able to stitch that up myself.” he sighed as you sobbed into your hands.

“you could have died.” you choke out, repeating yourself before falling into his side, almost on instinct he wraps his arm around you, rubbing your back comfortingly. he knew you wouldn’t respond well if he had ever told you, but he hadn’t thought about how you would feel to him almost dying in your bathroom.

“i’m okay. i promise.” he breathed into your hair, but you just shook your head in response, unable to respond as you tried to catch your breath.

“i don’t care if i am fast asleep, if this ever happens again, you come to me luke, i stitch you up.” you begged, looking up to him teary eyed.

his gaze softens looking at you but nodded in response, “okay, i promise.” his hand hovers over you neck, “i didn’t want to put you in danger or worry you. i would have told you. i was also scared you wouldn’t… wouldn’t look at me the same” he whispered.

“you’re still luke castellan, i still will like you no matter what, you just… you scared the shit out of me.” you sputtered out, not thinking about what you were saying to the boy in front of you, his body tensed.

“like me?” he asks, brows furrowed to see if you meant as friends or.. as more. he got his answer as he watched your eyes widen slightly and you began to stutter, “you… you like me?”

“what- no i meant-“ you shake your head so hard he thought it might spin off, and so he took his chance. the hand that hovered over your neck held your face still as he connected his lips with yours.

you found yourself unable to kiss back in shock, he heats up in embarrassment as he began to pull away, which brought you to your senses as you pulled him back down to press a soft kiss against his lips.

he pulled away for air, leaning your foreheads against each other.

“i can’t believe i accused you of being a secret superhero, while infront of you last night.” you mumbled, as he just laughed in response and shook his head.

“i promise to be more safe, just for you.” he said, leaning in to peck your lips.

#sienna’s fics #luke castellan x you #luke castellan au #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #pjo au #pjo x reader #spiderman #spiderman au #luke castellan as spider-man #percy jackson #percy jackson au #fluff #angst with a happy ending

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milkiane · 2 years

Text

I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN' YOU. eddie munson.

navigation - masterlist - taglist

summary: the four times eddie knew he was a goner and the one time he told you.

warnings: no spoilers! don’t worry, you’re safe here. profanities. gif credits to @his-name-is-ed <3

word count: 5.1k

i. the first time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he found out that you love mötley crüe.

eddie knows his presence is hard to miss. aside from his wild hair and clothing choices, which apparently do not fit the social standards, he makes it exceptionally difficult for people to ignore him.

and yet, on a particular, normal, chilly friday in the school field, you effortlessly grab his attention. you didn’t need crazy hair or seeking clothes or loud eccentric speeches on top of a cafeteria table. you’re just… sitting there with a frown on your face and eddie thinks…

eddie can’t think. his mind draws blank as he continues to stare at you.

so like dominoes, his abrupt stop results in the rest of the hellfire club bumping into him, which causes a streak of groans and complaints, but eddie pays them no mind because as if his legs have a mind of their own, they bring him right to you. “carry on without me, my little sheep, destiny awaits!”

you groan in annoyance, slamming your hand onto your malfunctioning walkman. “stupid, stupid, little shi-”

“y’know, i don’t think mauling the poor thing will make it work.”

you look up at the voice with a glare, your face softens just a bit after seeing it was eddie, but the glare prevails nevertheless, still frustrated with your walkman.

“i mean, sure, i guess that could make it work, too,” eddie shrugs, hopping on top of the picnic table instead of sitting on the benches like a normal person.

“it will work,” you grit your teeth, hitting the side of the device as it did nothing to fix the distorted voice of vince neil. “it just needs a bit of tough love.”

after watching you for a few more minutes with an amused smile, eddie snatches it out of your hands, convinced that you would break it if it doesn’t revive the next second. he ignores your objections as he opens his black metal lunchbox.

“it’s not a lunchbox,” he absentmindedly retorts to your murmur as he goes through his things, silently muttering a quiet no, not this, nope, what the hell is this? and finally, aha!

he raises a mini screwdriver before you as if it will magically take your problems away. “this, my lady, will magically take your problems away.”

huh.

you hesitantly watch as eddie pops open your walkman, taking out the mixtape to find the tape itself burst out of its case. he tinkers and meddles with it carefully, doing wonders as he manually rewinds it.

you use his current distraction to take a good look at him. you’ve seen him around the school; in class, in the hallways, at the cafeteria, but you’ve never crossed the borders of his personal bubble or actually spoken to him until now.

he isn’t a bad sight to see.

his hair, although gone rogue, looks so soft that you physically have to restrain yourself from touching it. he has tattoos inked on his skin, slightly covered by his hellfire shirt as if teasing you and leaving you wanting to see more. beautiful silver rings graced his fingers making you want to study each intricate detail that embellished the jewelry.

his tongue is poking out of his lips, brows furrowed in concentration. his nose is slightly crooked as if it’s been broken before. he has dimples piercing his cheeks and the lightest of freckles sprinkled over his face, only noticeable if kissed under the sun.

all things considered, eddie munson is a sight for sore eyes.

“are you done staring, sweetheart?” eddie teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “if you’d like, i can pose for you on this table.”

you were too deep in your reveries that you didn’t notice he was done. you blink up at him and scoff. “shut up, i wasn’t staring.”

“it’s fine, y’know, it’s normal to stare at pretty things.” he encourages you, satirically playing with his hair. “especially if you’re one of those connoisseurs of art.”

“wow, someone learned a new word today.” you praise him sarcastically.

“now, now, y/n, is that a way to treat someone who just fixed your lil walkman?” eddie chastises, grabbing your headphones from your neck and putting it on his ears. “what were you listening to anyway?”

he gives it a few seconds before the familiar music comes in. he whips his head towards you with a slack jaw. he winces, his hand coming in contact with his neck, massaging the pain from snapping his head towards you too fast.

… i've been a poet always tongue in cheek,

i've seen some scenes man you'd never believe,

and like a supercharged rocket ride,

you know they'd have gasoline if they had the time.

“you- you listen to mötley crüe!” eddie blurts out, standing on the picnic table and pointing an accusatory finger at you. “you’re one of us!”

“shut up!” you pull him back down with a yank. you can still hear angela blasting through your headphones. you look at him with a sigh before muttering. “i love mötley crüe.”

eddie lets out a choked laugh, jumping off the table and squishing your cheeks with his hands. “you’re a cute little metal freak!”

“shut up, munson! you better get your hands off my face or so help me god.”

it came out as gibberish but the point came across.

“you say ‘shut up’ too much, is that your favorite word?” eddie calls into question, leaning closer to you with a roguish grin. his gaze flickers down to your pouting lips before staring straight into your eyes. “i can teach you more ways to shut me up, y’know?”

“scout’s honor that it’s even more efficacious than the words itself.” he winks at you before grabbing his lunchbox, leaving you bewildered and baffled beyond belief. mötley crüe did not do anything to blur the forming thoughts in your head.

that was strike one for eddie munson.

ii. the second time eddie knew he was a goner was when… you knocked someone out cold with a box of frozen waffles.

you shouldn’t have been out at an ungodly hour, quite frankly, but you really, really, wanted some eggos. so clad in sweats and an oversized shirt, you walk out of bradley’s big buy with three boxes of mini waffles in hand.

and as if the universe wasn’t satisfied with only one interaction, you hear eddie munson’s voice. “hey, come on, man. you’ve been my client for over a year now and you’re only doubting me now?”

“we talked about fifteen grams, munson, so i’m expecting fifteen grams.”

eddie sighs, rubbing his tired face with his hand. they’ve been going back and forth and he was starting to get annoyed. he wasn’t even supposed to be dealing right now, but when money calls, you answer it.

“look, man. it’s fifteen. if you don’t believe me, give me the money, go find a weighing scale, and weigh your shit. it’s fifteen grams.” he says, grabbing his lunchbox, but just as he wrapped his fingers on the handle, he gets shoved to the ground, his things crashing with him, skin scratched from catching himself on the rough pavement.

motherfucker.

“hey!” you didn’t want to. you really didn’t want to, but before you can think twice, you get in between eddie and the ridiculously tall buff guy.

you should really start thinking twice.

said guy, although high as a kite, looks at the box of eggos on the floor and back at you. you had thrown a box of waffles at his head.

“take your fifteen grams and leave,” you order calmly, ignoring the whispers of objections of eddie, who immediately stands up at lightspeed, startled by your sudden presence.

“i don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this is between me and your little druggy friend, a’ight?” he sneers, pushing you aside to grab eddie by his shirt. “besides, the fuck do you know about packing shit right?”

“i know how to pack a punch, for starters.”

you didn’t give him or eddie to process your words before, CRACK! your fist comes in contact with his nose — a sickening crunch and a cry had them both freezing, well, except for the junkie clutching his nose.

“you bitch!”

with the throbbing pain of your knuckles, you could only whack him across his face with the box of waffles in your hand as he leaped to get you.

eddie, still frozen in his spot, can only watch in both horror and amazement as the guy gets knocked out cold, face kissing the sidewalk.

“holy shit…”

“how much did he owe you?” you huff, clutching your victimized hand as you stand over the guy.

“twenty.” he blinks.

you shrug, digging a hand in the jean pocket of the junkie and placing the crumpled bills in eddie’s hand. “twenty-five for being a shithead.”

eddie took you out for some ice cream treat after that.

“remind me to never get on your nerves, you scare me,” he said, but there was no real fear behind his words, just a twinge of wonder in his voice and a sparkle in his eyes.

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to, so you just grinned at him before taking a scoop out of his ice cream.

and at that moment, under the moonlight with frozen waffles aiding your knuckles and discarded ice cream cups on top of his van, eddie just knew that you would stick around.

and the rest was history.

that was strike two for eddie munson.

iii. the third time eddie knew he was a goner was when… traces of you were slowly starting to bleed into his life, and he didn’t mind.

“is this… MADONNA?”

eddie snaps his head towards the curly-headed boy in his passenger seat, eyes widening at the sight of the manifold of mixtapes that sits on dustin’s lap.

he splutters incoherent excuses as he chucks them back into his glovebox, a hand still on the wheel as he tries to keep the van steady.

dustin watches in amusement as eddie fumbles with the mixtape that fell from his grasp. he snatches it out of his mentor’s hand and snickers, “wow, abba, too? didn’t know you were such a pioneer of music, eddie.”

eddie thwacks him with the d&d gazette before turning his eyes back on the road. “those aren’t mine.”

it was his. you left it for him.

dustin squints his eyes at his friend as if staring at him like that will force him to tell the truth, and it almost did, but thankfully, he chooses to go through the mixtape-filled glovebox again instead.

you brought half of your mixtapes with you when eddie had asked you to accompany him on a spontaneous road trip out of town one day. he always looks back to that moment.

you were passionately talking about the songs that graced your diverse music taste, hands animatedly moving around as words spew out of your mouth every millisecond. he understood every single thing you said, though.

just because you love mötley crüe doesn’t mean you don’t love starship. you love kiss but you also love the beatles. you love metallica but you also love bee gees, and maybe he was starting to like it, too.

if you ask eddie, he’ll choose cyndi lauper’s time after time as his slow dance song. absolutely irrelevant yet very relevant.

“why the hell are you smiling like a crazy man?” dustin pokes his cheeks, effectively snapping him out of his daydream.

eddie slaps his hands away from his face.

aside from mixtapes in his glovebox, eddie also has a special drawer with the clothes you often leave at his house, and with the best detergent he has – a discounted brand from a dollar store – he voluntarily washes it for you to wear next time.

“did… did you wash my clothes?” he remembers you asking the first time.

he turns away from his notebook to look at you. “uh, yeah. you left some of your stuff here and i decided to include it with mine last wash day.”

“oh,” you beam, pulling the material to your nose and breathing it in. “thanks, babe.”

eddie ignores the warmth of his cheeks and goes back to doodling in his notebook. “‘course, would you like me to wear a maid outfit while i’m at it next time?”

you laugh. “i’d like that very much.”

you bring the soft fabric back to your nose, it smells just like him.

you start leaving more clothes in his room after that.

that was strike three for eddie munson.

iv. the fourth time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he wanted to be the best version of himself whenever you’re around.

“okay, so i have a bag of those honeycomb cereal you like, some pringles, juice boxes, pints of ice cream…”

as you continue to list off the snacks you brought for the d&d campaign with the boys, eddie leans forward to buckle your seatbelt, letting you catch a whiff of his cologne. he tugs it twice to make sure it’s fastened properly. “safety first.”

you pause. “you literally never wear your seatbelt.”

“that’s because i sold my soul to the devil for immortality,” eddie pats your thigh before backing out of your driveway. “and because it will cause a decline in my precious reputation!”

“what, common road safety?” you snort. “do tell, kind sir, what would the great eddie munson be known for?”

“you don’t know?” he scoffs in mock disbelief. “i’m an evil self-proclaimed attention whore – i’m known for a lot of things, sweetheart.”

“speaking of being an attention whore,” you gravitate towards him to sniff him again. “are you wearing a new perfume, munson?”

“sit back down, dumbass! and it’s cologne, not perfume.”

“same shit. are you trying to impress someone?” you tease, settling down back in your seat before letting out an overdramatic gasp. “is it dustin? is it because he’s been hanging out with steve the past week?”

“what? no!” he wavers for a moment before sniffing himself. “why? does it smell bad?”

you laugh. “no, no. i actually like it better than your old one.”

“good, i bought it especially for you.” he winks, turning the volume of the music up before you can even reply.

“i can’t believe erica rolled a d20!” eddie exclaims, packing up the boards.

“and twice,” you agree.

as usual, you and eddie stayed back after the campaign, ushering the kids — and gareth and the group — out of the room as soon as you heard the distant rumble of the sky. you knew they’d be biking home, so you asked them to leave early, much to your best friend’s displeasure.

you pick up the empty chip bags and discarded juice boxes, prolonging the chat you’re having with eddie.

mid-conversation, you lean against his throne, garbage bag in your hands. he was talking animatedly and you’re not quite sure what he’s even talking about anymore.

the lights of the room give him a glow that makes your heart beam. the perfect combination of green, orange, and blue; it makes him look like a fallen angel. a devil in disguise. the right fusion of both.

his eyes are soft, it’s kind. his smile is, too. everything about him is. he doesn’t show anyone, but you always get the opportunity to see a part of him that makes you fall in love with him even more.

“…and then just as i was about to dream of rubbing their loss in their puny little faces — she slaps me with a crit hit! that’s twice!”

“yeah,” you whisper, a gentle smile on your lips. you push yourself off the chair and start helping him around the room. “maybe it’s a sign that you’re getting a bit rusty, buzz.”

“drop it with the nickname! it’s been years and i was only forced to have it shaved after stupid anthony chopped my hair nasty in history.”

you double down in laughter. “and wayne has been so gracious enough to show me the pictures.”

eddie glares at you before running towards you. you only advance two steps away from him before he catches you from behind and pulls you against him.

“salvage yourself, you insolent little minx.”

“no! i shan’t yield!”

giggles escape both of your lips, sounds slowly getting muffled by the drops of rain starting to patter one by one, making you and eddie stop in your tracks.

you exchange wide-eyed glances before hurrying with the packing.

you run out of the building, shoes splashing over the formed puddles, you didn’t even notice eddie shrug his jacket off to shield both of you from the rain.

a few meters from his van, you pull away from him and let the water hit you, dampening your clothes all within a second.

“what the hell are you doing?” eddie shouts over the loud pour.

“come on!” you pull him towards you, cold hands grasping his warm ones, you dance in the rain.

eddie watches you in disbelief, though there’s a smile on his face. “fuck it,” he mutters. “wait here.”

he runs to his van, almost slipping on the wet ground. “i’m okay!”

“idiot.” you snort.

eddie opens the door to the passenger seat and opens the glovebox. he grabs a random mixtape and fumbles to put it in the player, only then realizing that he didn’t even start the van.

a minute or two later of waiting, you hear a bees gees song blast from eddie’s van.

“come on, baby,” he whoops, grabbing your hands as he starts shimmying. “let’s dance!”

you let out a blissful laugh as he twirls you around. you jump around in the puddles, soaked clothes slightly weighing you down from being drenched. you attempt to twirl eddie around, too, which was a struggle due to his height.

he sings along to the song and you gasp in surprise. “you know this song?”

“do i- do i know this song?” he repeats in incredulity. “of course, i do! i’m in-”

adrenaline getting to his head, eddie realizes what he was about to say so he rectifies it. “you only sing it every second of the day. that damn song is engraved in my head!”

he pulls you back against him with a grin, a hand intertwined with yours and another supporting your back. he dips you, and you yelp in surprise.

the both of you are panting from all the dancing, but the smiles never left your face. you stare at his face, he stares at yours. you tuck a wet strand of his hair behind his ear, letting your hand rest on his jaw. he has a light stubble.

his eyes flicker to your lips, you do the same.

should i kiss him? should i not kiss him?

the loud boom of the thunder makes the decision for the two of you. the sound startles both of you, resulting in jumping away from each other faster than the next flash of lightning.

“we should head home if we still want to have this movie marathon,”

“yeah.”

eddie goes over his thoughts for a moment as you adjust the heater of the van. he recollects the resolution he made earlier, pondering over the idea of being the best version of himself though he already feels like he became it the first time he met you. how can one become the best-est best version of themselves?

that was strike four for eddie munson.

but for you… you lost count of how many it’s been because every day with eddie adds a tally to your strikes.

v. the time eddie tells you how he’s a goner for you.

“harrington? fucking harrington?”

“it’s a friendly date, buzz,” you point out, hand steady as you do your eyeliner in his bedroom mirror.

“with harrington?” he stresses, his own hands tugging at his brown locks.

“yes, eddie.” you sigh, it’s been a repetitive back and forth. “it’s not a date date. it’s friendly, as i said. robin will be there.”

he sits up against the wall, lips moving before his brain can process his words. “well, if buckley’s gonna be there then what else does he want with you?”

you pause, dropping your hand to look at him. “okay, ouch.”

“no, i-” he groans dramatically into his hands. “i didn’t mean it like that. i just- i don’t understand why you have to spend a perfectly great night with harrington-”

“and robin.”

“-and robin, when you can just spend it with me.” eddie pouts. he sounds pathetic, he knows, but he’s jealous. what if you decide to leave him for steve? – and although he understands; it’s steve harrington, for god’s sake. he would, too, if he can – life would have no other purpose for him if you do.

“aww,” you mimic his pout, walking over to him to pat his cheeks. “don’t worry, hotshot, you’re still my favorite boy.”

“whatever,” he swats your hands away, though the grin tugging at the corner of his lips persists. he takes his time admiring you properly. you looked gorgeous, as always.

“c’mon, you big baby,” you protested. “robin will be there! plus, you can always come wi-”

“well, why didn’t you say so?” he exclaims, leaping towards the door clad in his hellfire shirt and boxers. “let’s go! we better get goi-”

you throw his jeans at him. “for your modesty.”

eddie was glad he came along. he looks at you with clear fondness, watching as your eyes light up like a child on christmas day. you jump in excitement, dragging him into the fair.

“hey, you made it!” steve jogs towards you, but then his eyes flicker to your company. “…and munson.”

“harrington,” eddie grins, a hint of mischief in the glint of his smile as he bows to him.

you roll your eyes at them. “where’s robin?”

“right here, lovebug,” she smiles, offering you a pink cotton candy as she takes a bite off the blue one. steve’s mouth slowly falls slack in bewilderment.

“aww, my favorite,” you pout your lips as you clink your sweets like glasses of wine.

“that’s mine!”

“buy your own cotton candy, dingus,”

“you paid for those with my money.”

eddie pays them no mind as they continue to bicker. he snatches a piece of cotton candy as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “i see a kissing booth we can go to… the marriage booth, too, maybe?”

“stop,” you smack his arm. “let’s start with the basketball — eddie, they’ve got those big teddy bears!”

“well, the night is young, sweetheart,”

the night is young, indeed. you go around the fair with the group, steve has the giant teddy bear propped on his shoulders as if it was his child — “he is!” he argued. “his name is harry harrington.”

“harry harrington?” you had asked in incredulity. “that’s a shit name, steve!”

he gasped in mock offense, bringing the bear down to cover its ears. “don’t listen to her, harry, she’s just jealous you aren’t hers.”

eddie’s jealous he isn’t yours, too, but he wasn’t going to say that.

you felt as if you’ve managed to go through every single booth but according to the map robin had somehow snatched, there were more than half of it you have yet to explore.

“c’mon, there’s a ball toss over there,” eddie says, grabbing your arm to drag you away from steve. “gonna win you that giant fucking elephant.”

although as soon as you stop by before it, eddie does a double-take. “six dollars?”

“six dollars.” the merchant confirms.

he looks at you and whispers in disbelief. “six dollars?”

you shrug at him, letting out a chuckle at his expression. “capitalism, baby,”

eddie sighs. he’s glad he brought his wallet with him. he’s willing to spend all of his income if it meant getting you that elephant — and he will.

“we don’t have to, you know,” you reassure him, eyeing him as he reaches out for the dollars. “there’s still a lot of booths we can go to.”

“nah, i’m getting you that elephant.” he slams the money on the counter. the merchant smirks. three balls.

eddie grabs one and exhales. “wish me luck.”

he throws the ball, and again, and then again. and then he slams more money onto the counter, and then again, and again.

his aim’s good, but not enough to knock all the cans down. steve and robin managed to do a round before returning to the both of you with corndogs in hand.

with his promise of a last round, he sighs at the sight of what’s left of the standing cans. he gives you the last ball.

“are you sure?” you hesitate.

“do the honors, my lady,” eddie smiles, eyes so soft that subtle crinkles show at the corners.

and with a swift throw, you somehow manage to knock down all of the cans. you and eddie whoop in excitement, jumping up and down as the merchant sighs exasperatedly, grabbing your oversized prize.

“oh my god,” you whisper, hugging the elephant to your chest. “it’s so fluffy!”

eddie looks at you with a dopey lovesick smile. maybe it was the sparkling fairy lights overhead, or the distant music playing, or maybe it was because you’re practically bouncing off the balls of your feet, a giddy smile adorning your lips… or maybe it was because eddie cannot take it any longer so he says, “i’m in love with you.”

you falter for a bit, uncertain if you heard him correctly. “what?”

and steve, who had initially asked you on a date — although as friendly as he claims — leans against the wooden pillar, face contorting in realization, lips forming into an unmistakable o as he grasps what is happening.

robin grins, a quiet finally! unleashing from her lips. to give you two some privacy, well, as private as a conversation in a public place can be, she drags steve to a very friendly competition of high strikers. steve lets her, sending eddie an encouraging thumbs up.

“i-i’m in love with you,” eddie repeats, voice wavering at your blank expression. he couldn’t read you and it’s making him anxious. “i’m so terribly and undeniably in love with you – i knew i did the moment you said you love mötley crüe.”

you let yourself feel all the emotions bursting in all at once. he likes you. eddie munson likes you, so you ask stupidly, “are you sure?”

eddie scoffs a laugh. “am i- am i sure? are you asking me if i’m sure about my own feelings?”

you shrug.

he looks at you before breaking into a run without another word.

“eddie, where are you going?” you call out frantically.

eddie eyes the haystacks in the center of the park and clumsily mounts on them and nearly falls. he catches himself before he can tumble down. his eyes flicker to yours as he cups his hands over his mouth. “fair people of hawkins, i have an announcement to make!”

“what is he doing?” steve asks as he and robin appear from beside you.

“i have no idea.”

some people stop by to watch, some go on with whatever it is they were doing, and you just stand where you’re planted, unsure of what he’s about to do and what you’re supposed to do.

“i, eddie munson, a self-proclaimed attention whore, have something very important to say.” he starts – “well, get on with it now!” a guy exclaims. eddie ignores him – “i am in love with y/n l/n. i’ve been in love with her since i found out she loves metal, i’ve fallen for her since she knocked a guy out cold with frozen waffles–”

“frozen waffles?” robin questions.

“– i fell for her even harder when she introduced me to madonna – that’s right, i love madonna! but most importantly, i knew i was a goner when i wanted to become the best version of myself for her. i wanted to become the person she deserves because i am in love with you, y/n, always have.”

you soften and the world disappears around you; it was just you and him. there is an ache in your chest, but not because of heartbreak, it’s because it feels as if it will burst out of your chest out of love.

“we can’t help who we fall for,” eddie breathes out, walking down the stack. “but honestly, i’m glad it’s you because there’s no one else in this world whom i would love to love if it’s not you.”

you shove the elephant in steve’s hold and walk straight to eddie.

he sends you a small smile, arms extended. when you’re a step closer, he whispers. “i’m sorry, i just had to-”

“shut up,” you command, pulling him in for a heated kiss, fingers getting lost and tangled in his hair, his arms snake around your waist to pull you impossibly closer, no gap left unfilled.

your lips dance a fast-paced song, it’s all but intense and passionate – a hint of eagerness and the satisfaction of longing. you forget that it wasn’t just the two of you, that there was a crowd watching you both kiss. you can hear the faint coos of the moms by the corner.

“get a room!” a guy barks out. simultaneously, you and eddie flipped him off but the kiss decelerates into soft and sensual, a contrast to the shared feverish one, now easing up to the feeling of content and delicate love.

you pull away a second later, forehead touching his as you don’t dare to open your eyes yet. “i’m in love with you, too, if it’s not obvious yet.”

“well, i should hope so,” eddie laughs. he gives you a quick peck on the lips before fixing you with a teasing grin. “how about that marriage booth now, sweetheart?”

“take me out on a date first, loverboy.” you interlace your hand with his as you walk away from the spotlight.

“how about a kiss on top of the ferris wheel?” he proposes instead.

“sap,” you scrunch your nose up with a smile. “but i’m not opposed to the idea.”

that was strike ??? for you and eddie.

“just to let you all know, i am not going to sit next to steve on the ferris wheel.”

“what do you mean? i’m an amazing ferris wheel companion.”

“would you like to get shoved off the seat once we’re on top?”

“... how about the bumper cars?”

“deal.”

23K notes · View notes

liveyun · 6 months

Text

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 | MYG (m)

title. predator

summary. “Do you realize how dangerous this is? You're tempting me— you're tempting yourself to start something we both possibly don't want to know the consequences of.”

pairing(s). yoongi x female reader (oc)

genre. gangster au, smut

warnings. kidnäpping but not much of its descriptions, corruption and weapons, double thoughts, an..gst? , explicit warnings under the cut :)

wc. 7.8k+

a/n 1 : if you feel like some parts feel familiar to you, it's because this was previously posted in my old blog around a year ago which was inspired by ‘that that’. but this is a newly written and re-edited one :)))

taglist | main masterlist

smut warnings : masturbation(f), voyeurism and mentions of exhibitionism, fantasizing, dirty talk , slight humiliation, pet names teasing, chains and gloves 😗 , so much of teasing dear lord, bondage 🫣 , gagging with panties, bondage, oral (f. and allusions to m.) and fingering (f), finger sucking and squirting :D

“ f..fuck..”

Your eyes screw shut just the moment you feel your fingers working against the fabric of your clothed cunt, your wetness increasing with each flick of your fingers to your throbbing clit. You draw in a sharp breath, feeling your pussy clench around nothing as your moments get a bit faster, feeling your slick pool around your entrance. It's your fingers who are working, but in your mind, those ring clad fingers are the ones touching you. Pleasing you.

The feeling of your panties being the barrier is very much uncomfortable, you need to take that off to feel yourself completely.

You harshly pull your panties down your legs, feeling the cool air hitting your slick heat, making you shudder as you hiss in anticipation. You can't deal with this anymore, you need to do something. Or else you'd completely go insane thinking about that man.

It just happened like a daydream. A few days ago, you can guess, flying away like hours.

You wake up to a strong headache with your vision being blurred and watery. A pair of black Jordan shoes tapping the floor, in slow motions, comes to your sight, as if waiting for something to come is all that you could see at that moment with dots growing in your vision. The moment you feel a bit more awake, your whole body aches so bad, it feels as if you've been trashed up.

Your whole body feels as wobbly as jelly all over. Whimpering, you try to move slightly, but fail with a broken sigh. That's when you feel a strong arm wrapping around your figure, hauling you up swiftly, and you let out a small gasp at the action. Your head spins at the sudden movement as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your breathing was strained as your chest heaves up and down, trying to gulp as much oxygen as you could. You realize that you're no longer lying on the floor, but rather. . .a firm, clothed chest, which rose and fell with each breath, as you felt the thrum of heartbeats resonating in your own eardrums with each second that ticked by. Your eyes fly open at the simple realization that you were being hugged by someone, and that someone smelled like the subtle notes of lavender with a delicate undertone of citrus.

Your cheeks heat up when you realize how attractive you find this and how much your tired body seeks for the comfort his warm body provides you in the simple embrace. You want this small moment of comfort to last a bit longer, as you try to snuggle in, but the guy seems to have different plans. He yanks your fragile body away from his own, snatching away the small warmth you had, a whine building up in your throat in exhaustion.

You don't dare to open your eyes which feel as if they're burning with hot tears, but you do feel the strong gaze piercing into your skull as you feel yourself still being in his embrace, him still holding you with a single strong arm wrapped around your waist.

His unrelenting embrace felt sensitive on your skin as your muscles feel tight and sore, and you try to wriggle around a bit. Your limbs protest with pain the longer you stand on both of them, knees close to be giving up. You struggle to stay awake and not surrender to the lull of pain and tiredness which wants you to.

You don't know where you are, or how you came here, but you surely know, you can surely feel that the room, or wherever you stand is freezing cold. Suddenly, the oppressive and eerie silence was shattered by a sudden and chilling sensation.

A cold, metallic object pressed against your chin, and your eyes once again flew open with your heart racing,realizing that it was the barrel of a gun.

Your eyes can only pass away the unshed tears which had accumulated, soon finding yourself so close to a mass of silky but messy black hair, and you realize that you've been pulled back to your kidnapper’s embrace.

It felt suffocating how his alluring scent still clouded your senses, now sending them to a hayware as you take in the close proximity. You feel his grip on you tightening, his malevolent breath hot on your ear. A sinister, deep whisper slithered into your consciousness,

“Don't even think about it.”

As if you could.

Your fingers flick lightly against your heat, right above the protective skin of the sensitive pearl. Sharp gasps leave your mouth, feeling the pleasure build in your lower stomach the more you work on your delicate parts.

You were sure you were trembling on the table you were seated with your legs spread wide open, your viscous arousal dripping down to the table and making a mess on it. Would he love that it's all because of him?

Gods, if anyone enters the room without any notice of your position, the first thing they'd capture is your bare, pulsing cunt. But you were way too turned on to think straight or think about the possible consequences. Or did it rather turn you on? You didn't know.

A thin layer of sweat covers your almost nude body, your breasts heaving out with each breath and nipples begging to be touched, pebbled by the cool air and pleasure. But you're way too desperate to do that yourself- your mind screamed his name, physically unable to make any noises. Him, him, him.

“Ask no questions and be good. No harm would be done to you if you cooperate.”

His voice was laced with nonchalance, yet emerging as a sultry whisper with a slight rasp. He puts down your worn out figure to a black, slightly worn out couch, which seemed hard and dull with the appearance, yet it was more comfortable than the hard floor you had been lying on for what your spine told were hours.

You nervously squirm under his strong and unrelenting gaze, thinking that he’s implying your desire to escape from here. But much to your horror, or even delight, you are already craving the gush of the odd warmth he provided you, even if that was for a second. You gulp down your saliva, feeling your almost cracked throat ache in the process.

Your stomach churns at how wrong yet right this feels with your morals flying off the horizon, yet, a part of you asks if the ‘morals’ you were taught were actually morals, or were just ideals.

He passes you a bottle of water, sliding it towards you on the table as he keeps down the shotgun, followed by a small ‘click’ at the metal touching the wood. Your heart nearly pops up at the sight of how worn out it looks, the metal shining under the room's lighting almost looks dangerous.

The luster it holds reminds you that something as used and small could be just as dangerous regardless of how worn out it could be.

“But if you don't cooperate, this gun won't, too.”

You ought to be shivering at the tone he uses, and a part of you does. Despite the blood chilling threat, an unexpected thrill course through your exhausted veins, finding your kidnapper's dark charisma strangely alluring.

Your pupils fix on his right hand which still holds the gun. To make sure the gun wouldn't accidentally fire, he gently pushed the safety switch on the side of the gun to the "on" position.

It was a small, reassuring click that meant the gun couldn't shoot, even if he accidentally squeezed the trigger. You, or anyone else would be surprised at your knowledge about the parts of a gun but you'd rather think about your father’s ignorance of the specific part your kidnapper was cautious enough to push at the specific moment.

You were too exhausted to think that you were only eight when you first saw a similar gun lying on the coffee table, left open by no one but your father.

Your breathing is back to somewhat normal now. What actually clouds your senses is how you're obliged to agree that a man so beautiful like him, you had seldom encountered any in your limited time you were given access to freedom, back home. Yet, it surprises you that he's not some affluent multi-millionaire but a gangster or rather, a predator.

His fingers are pale and slender, with rings full on display. Following the veins of his wrist were shiny black bracelets and shell bands on top. You'd think that the color contrasts his beautiful pale skin so dramatically, if you'd stare at it enough it's gonna feel like a painting to you. Your eyes never quit checking him out silently as he sternly tells you that if you tried escaping, it won't be good for you.

From head to toe, you try to be subtle, but you cannot deny now when you'd hear your friends talk about what power the attraction towards a man holds. A small part of you wished if he could catch you checking him up, if he'd know your yearning for him.

How good would his fingers feel inside you ?

The thought alone makes your pussy gush out more arousal, your free hand toying with your hardened nipples as you moan quietly, or you try to.

You know that he would be around nearby, just to make sure you're not escaping..but you had no plans for that. You are already familiar that he's not idle enough to be camping by the cabin the whole day, and you're straight up delusional to think that the nightly visits (?) are for you.

You silently hope and pray that no one comes to rescue you sooner, because going back meant you could no longer be around him, and you'll no longer be free as you are now, as ironic that seems.

The irony intensifies because you trust him more than you trust your own father who was however on the verge to sell you off for his own benefit, for money. At times you'd wish to normally see Yoongi, not as some hostage and your abductor. So far, his men have been good, providing you food and water, and even some drinks to keep you going. You could be even proud of yourself to befriend one of them, or well, to have the goon talk to you if that is considered as befriending. They're all bark and no bite, you think, because they try a bit too hard to play even at times when you ask them for a silly stroll outside.

And if that was all, you'd happily agree to live with Yoongi. the man who seemed ice cold at the touch of eyes, but you knew he had much more for you to explore. You already know that a calm man like him gets enraged at the push of his extremes, and that leaves you pondering.

What would he actually be when his inner self is leashed out, as he pins you to the wall, hot bodies pressed against each other?

Would he bend you over the same table you're fucking yourself on?

Shit. It feels so wrong, but why does it feel so good? You're tormenting your enlarged clitoris in tight circles, feeling more and more slick drip down your hole. You cry out a silent plea, feeling the coil in your lower tummy twist harder with every flick, every touch to your delicate heat.

“Ahn..” you whimper pathetically, suddenly picturing his slender fingers working on your cunt instead of yours. His tongue which often he struck out to wet his lips..would lick your cunt lik—

Before you know it, your eyes roll back to your head, the coil in your tummy snapping into two. A loud moan of Yoongi leaves your throat, feeling your clitoris throb even harder with your orgasm. You shut your eyes close as pure waves of pleasure hit you in the form of white, pleasure so intense that you're seeing dots in your vision. You've never come so hard before like this, feeling your hole clench helplessly around nothing.

You cease your moments when you feel yourself jerk with overstimulation at a certain flick and you know it's time to stop.

Shame washes over you as you straighten up your back to a better position.

Fuck.

Yoongi was confused.

Or a bit concerned, even. It was nearly midnight when he was passing beside your cabin, already sure of you being well looked after. It was a small whimper which caught his notice and in the very first place it took him aback. He wondered what happened.

Though he had the most trusted men working under him, no one could ever know anything until something really happened. You can't risk anything. Worry itching in his veins, he advanced forward to the closed window of your cabin and listened closely. A string of profanities was all that he could hear, causing him to furrow his brows. Were you in pain ?

You weren't the target looked out for, merely just a bait. He did not want you to suffer, even if he knows that his men couldn't understand it at first when they bought you here. Even if he knows that he can’t explain it to you, he silently hopes that his further behavior could do that.

This was the reason why he immediately opened the door and the sight in front of him made his throat dry.

His eyes widened so slightly to see you spread out nude like an eagle on the table, your small hand pinching your erect nipples. Your head was lolled back and mouth hung open, occasionally the sweetest moans leaving your parted lips. his pupils shook violently to avoid travelling south and what he should absolutely not see. You were so desperately trying to get off, and he knew he should exit right away.

Fuck. He was definitely not a creep. Heat creeped up to his neck and cheeks at the realization and he turned back to leave.

Yoongi.

His name. You moaned his name and that upon reaching his ears, he needed to think. twice, thrice. With his head. the one on his neck, not with the one inside his pants, which twitched awake to life. He felt his heartbeat resonating in his own ears, and that left him feeling a single thing. Needy. He gulped, feeling his stomach churn with arousal and at the same time a gut feeling of this being wrong, and he couldn't think straight.

You let out a high pitched screech of his name with a strong of fuckfuckfuck, and he knew that you had already reached your orgasm. His cock now strained hard against the material of his pants, and Yoongi has to fight back a guttural groan from breaking free.

“You’re a lot more flexible than I thought.”

You freeze, your breathing labored as you recognise the voice. Fucking fuck. Blood reaches upto your cheeks as you peer up slightly with shock and embarrassment, shame doubling over inside you. You see him, Yoongi manspreading on the old couch opposite to you with a nasty smirk painted on his handsome features.

Had he been watching you?

You blink, feeling your whole body burn with embarrassment. You'd realize that if he did, he heard you doing sinful things to yourself while moaning his name. You were supposed to be scared of him, he even once held you at gunpoint, but you're not even a tad bit scared of him.

You feel oddly safe with him, around him, even if you're sitting naked and vulnerable infront of him. Maybe it's a bad idea to be so comfortable. He's not as crazy as you. How embarrassing, you consciously and immediately shut your legs close, shrinking under his strong gaze, cheeks warm and throat dry.

You gulp in nervousness, his expressions remain stoic but his eyes shine with amusement. You feel a bit too self conscious now, hoping to find your shirt where you last left it. But your eyes betray you, vision trailing down to his hands, clad with fingerless gloves which rests at his meaty, thick thighs clad with black leather pants. His manspreading has you gazing directly on his crotch area, and fucking hell.

He's girthy.

His hard-on does tell you that maybe he's been looking at you for quite a long time..

Your face heats up more if possible as your eyes succumb up to his face, an open mouthed, cocky smirk evident in his features. He cocks a brow at you, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“I’ll take it that you like what you see.”

Fuck. Fuck.

You did. You really did, and much to your horror you feel your clit throb with arousal once again.

“What if it was someone else other than me who heard you? Did you really like putting up a show like that ? ”

a deep chuckle left his throat, his voice much deeper than you've heard it to be. Or maybe you're just hallucinating.

“ tsk, tsk tsk. moaning my name so loudly in the middle of the night. Are you so okay with your moans waking everyone up, kitten?”

Fuck. Your hole pulses with arousal at his words and you're unable to answer him. Kitten. The nickname makes your insides go jelly, heart thumping loudly in your chest.

Yet, just sitting up properly and lowering your head is all that you can do, biting down on your bottom lip. You're inappropriately horny for him, and the shameless arousal which spikes inside you knowing that he's just as aroused like you makes you dizzy. If you're being honest, you can't care about anyone else when he's around. You blame it on the bubbling lust inside you.

He can be intimidating, he is intimidating, but for sure no one has made you feel this safer than he does, ironically being your kidnapper. You feel cozy inside a cabin rather than the luxurious bungalow you've spent your whole life till now in.

You're crazy, because maybe a wrong move from your side and you'll lie lifeless on this same floor with no one to give a fuck. That's how it usually works.

Yet, you want to take the risk. You do want to fall prey to the predator.

Suddenly, you feel a harsh tug at your chin, your cheeks squished together and your lips painfully rounded to a pout. You feel the leather of the glove of his palm directly in contact with your chin, cradling your face. Your shaking eyes meet his own, calm but burning eyes, and he almost lets out a growl. a guttural growl that almost has you feeling fresh arousal heat up your pussy.

“Speak when you're being spoken to. "

His face is so close to your own that it almost feels heaven to see him this close. His black hair is no longer slicked back, but now open and it parts beautifully on his forehead, long enough to reach his nape. His thick eyebrows are slightly furrowed, and wooden brown eyes were darker than you'd have seen them. They're blown out, the dim lighting of the room merging the brown of his iris to the black of his pupil into a whole dark mass.

You're so close that if you could, you could count the number of pores on his flawless, pale skin, which always seemed like no expensive skincare could afford such a glow. Even in a situation like this, it almost makes you feel as if you're bound under his spell, a spell which has your body going lax and sanity leaving you in an instant.

His grip on you is firm, but not harsh. He makes sure it's not too much. but however it makes him feel slightly different, slightly more confused to see nothing but admiration in your own blown out eyes and it makes him frown.

Why would you look at him with such a gaze? He's not dumb. He knows that look. With his free hand he brings his fingers close to his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose, frowning with his lips sealed tightly. Almost hiding a groan inside his throat, he chastises,

“I don't think you understand that I can kill you anytime with the same hands which you seem to be very fond of.”

It's a subtle warning he tries to jeer. He knew as much as he wanted this, you wanted this more. But after this would be done, things maybe won't be the same.

He got no response back, which silently pissed him more. He wanted you to speak. He wanted you to confirm that it's not a delusion. He wanted you to say it out loud. He didn't know if feeling this way towards your hostage could be rational, but lust can make you feel a lot— and he didn't know if this was right.

Squeezing your cheeks a bit more harsher this time, his right hand traveled down slowly, tracing an invisible path on your skin, leaving sparks of desire behind its wake. You feel your pussy ache with need, nipples pebble up and you nearly stifle a whimper.

His hand reaches for your knee, in such a soothing manner, prying it open that so are your legs. But it doesn't advance any further. It just rests on your heated, damp flesh, almost as if hesitant to move forward.

Your face heats up when you feel his touch ignite a passion in you and you feel a gush of your arousal trickle down your thighs. Fuck, you honestly did not expect that the touch of the cool leather could burn your skin to hell. Given that the hand belongs to Yoongi, you’re nearly gone. You're forced to look at him directly as he's still holding your face and his gaze is no longer icy.

They hold a certain glint you assume as softness, the ridges of his eyebrows no longer tight. Yet his feline gaze remains so firm that it has you feeling your heart course a foreign sensation that you could grasp as....shyness. Slowly, you feel just his fingertips on your knee run forward to the flesh of your inner thighs, testing you. Teasing you.

You're going to go insane.

“Pweash..” a whine escapes your puckered lips even before you know it. He only seems subtly pleased, opting to gently stroke the flesh of your inner thighs. Gods, the touch of leather. Did he really have to do this? Your hole clenches helplessly, having him toy with you so close to where you need him the most.

“What was that?” he lets go of his hand cradling your face, and suddenly snakes his arm to your nude waist and pulls you close. So close that you'd look at him, your noses will touch. Close enough to feel his breath fanning on your cheeks, close enough to have his fingers toying with your thighs dance near the skin of your dripping heat. Close enough to have your bare chest press against his own clothed one.

You huff slightly, both in slight ache in your cheek muscles and frustration of how smug he is.

“ Please, Yoongi.. ”

The smugness in his face disappears and the arm on your waist tightens. Yet, he makes no move to inch forward towards your aching center, and you're really lured to push your hips down to his hands, for anything. To relieve the ache. You don't know what he's thinking right now, but the seriousness on his face— laced with that deep voice of his — is a huge turn on for you, and you're shameless to admit it.

“Do you realize how dangerous this is?You're tempting me— you're tempting yourself to start something we both possibly don't want to know the consequences of,” his voice is oddly cold as his gaze remains fixed on your own. His voice sounds. . . uncertain, somehow, but not hesitant.

“Do you not want this?” you ask him, your voice small as you suddenly realize that the cabin is beginning to get colder and colder. His head drops down, his hold on you slightly wavering, but nevertheless still there— and he shakes his head. Almost as if he's trying to convince himself about his own inner questions. As if he's denying them all.

“I don't fuck around with people I'm not supposed to fuck around with.” his voice is laced with a questioning tone, you notice, and his fingers resting on your inner thighs twitch. “You. . . you're just being used as bait.”

“I know.” you ache to cradle his face in your hands, but then you realize that it maybe is a bit more intimate than you'd think. He looks dejected at you knowing the information, about the possibility that maybe your own father won't spare your life. Now or later, it's perhaps inevitable that he'd suspect you being not liable enough about his family business secrets, and he'd get a way out. To have you removed from his path.

“Why. . .?”

His expressions morph to one of despair, and his eyebrows furrow. He was so fucking confused that why'd he be so affected by something as common as that. He knows it's not something odd for patriarchal leaders killing members of their own families just for the sake of their business— he has seen a lot of them through the course of years. And what hit him in the chest was how casual you were about it— almost as if you were aware of your family’s intention all along.

He did not know why whatever he felt inside his chest for you was oddly soft, something he strictly banished himself to feel. He could not. He had no room for softness inside him. no fucking way. He tried ignoring it, but as days turned to weeks, he knew that he subconsciously broke his own rule.

“What why?” you tilt your head in confusion.

“Why are you so cool about it?”

“It is what it is.”

“You don't reali—”

“I fucking do. I fucking want you, Min Yoongi. I fucking want to stay with you. Please.” his eyes widen and you see his pupils shake and the gears inside his brain rotate.

“I do realize that you've never ever taken the responsibility of a person on your own shoulders. Your team is capable enough to take care of themselves, and you perhaps are thinking that I,” He sighs at your words, shaking his head and pressing his lips to a straight line in a grimace.

He's considering everything, not because of you or him, but for both of you. For the future.

Your thumb caressed the subtle hints of a stubble on his chin, no longer feeling the pull to stay quiet. Not when you've finally got the chance to be. “...that I possibly can't do that,”

“Even if you do, you must know that there's no going back. No looking bac—”

“No looking back, Yoongi. I got it.”

You bring forward your hands to cup his warm cheeks within your palms. His eyes widen and his mouth parts slightly, and you'd almost think it to be impossible for a dangerous, intimidating gangster like him to be so adorable. Your hands travel to his nape, where the silver jewelry rests, carefully running your fingers on the edgy metal patterns.

Your face falls at the silence and the stoic countenance you're met with.

The way his heart thumped inside his chest at your words was enough of an evidence to him, but he knew it could be just another dangerous game. He has never been with any woman he's kept hostage over the years— and he'd thought it wouldn't be his first time.

He wants to believe you— he wants to believe the honesty and innocence reflected in your eyes, but there's that part of his brain which has learnt the harder way. Yoongi knows that a single mistake and his whole group would be hustled to the blazes of the vermillion.

“Why are you doing this?” his eyes bore into your own, two pools of endless obsidian, threatening to shallow you in the mysterious depths of them.

His hand near your thigh caresses further your neglected heat, and you jolt at the sudden touch. His face inches closer to you, once again, so daringly close that once again you can make out how fierce his eyes seem right now. His warm breath falls on your now sweat dried skin near your cheeks, and there's a spike in your heartbeat.

He expects an answer, you know that he's not going to say that out loud, and the leather of his glove on the skin of your thigh feels rather soft. Your gulp down a mouthful of air, preparing to say something out loud which you haven't ever.

“It's because I. . . I want to live. I want to be set free.”

“Hnngh!!”

Some few moments ago, you were almost lured into thinking that you'll call it a night.

You felt like the gangster mode was switched off after your conversation, but he'd warned you that the conversation wasn't over yet. You'd breathed down a sigh of half relief and half wonder, pondering over how an act like. . .such, escalated to something you'd craved for. Embarrassment to confession.

But when his gloved pointer brushed the innermost skin of your thigh, your eyes widened as wide as saucers, looking up to him, who already had an open mouthed smirk painted on his face, almost as if he's amused.

“So how do you want me to fuck you?”

His crude words had a fresh wave of arousal pulsing out of you, and you'd gasped silently, accidentally batting your lashes at him. He'd groaned out loud, once again grabbing your face and pulling you close till his soft lips brushed over your own parted ones.

“Wasn’t that what you actually wanted, princess? Me to fuck you dumb?” you should've known that he indeed had a dirty mouth, but estimating how much it made your cunt throb and gush, you'd known that you didn't want him to stop. You'd moaned at his words, silently nodding furiously like a pathetic bitch.

“Did I or did I not tell you to speak when you're spoken to?” he'd growled right at your face, an arm snaking around your waist once again. His eyes had trailed down to your exposed breasts, and the hand on your waist had trailed closer to the swell of your boob. He'd licked his lips at the sight, but made no further move which had you squirming for his touch.

“Please Yoongi, please touch me. .”

A pleased smile had taken over his features at your pleas.

“Flashing these tits right on my face and then asking me nicely. Who am I to deny? Whatever princess wants, princess gets.”

And with that, he'd dipped down to your breasts, your back immediately arching up to his greedy mouth where he'd toyed with your hard nips till your breasts were spotted with blooming purple marks.

But right now, your throat already feels dry crying out his name repeatedly as you can only see the dark mass of raven hair peeking in between your thighs, tickling you over and over as his skilled mouth brings you closer and closer to a blinding climax.

Your eyes are glossy and your nipples hurt as how erect they are, but you cannot do anything about it. Your arms are restrained with the leather of Yoongi’s belt digging into your flesh, and the slight pain intensifies the sparks of pleasure traveling up your body from down your cunt.

You squirm with a muffled whine, eyes burning with tears at how many times your already sensitive cunt was brought closer to a teeth clashing orgasm, only to have it denied by him. He'd raise his head to look up at you, his lips shiny with spit and your arousal, absolutely smug about how his tongue alone has you fucked up completely. His gloved hands would stroke the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, gently bringing them closer to your sensitive clitoris.

His thumb would gently circle around the protective skin covering your nub and you'd muffle a needy moan, unable to speak because you'd riled him up so bad, he had to shove your panties down your mouth with a growl and a promise that when he's done with you, you won't be even able to hobble well.

Fuck, you were shameless to admit that him being in charge and asking you each time whether the belt hurt you, or did you really like that, made your pussy gush out more and more for him to devour it all up.

His tongue flicks right on the top of your clit, and your back arches like the nth time off the table at how light headed the pleasure is making you feel. You feel like combusting , but also, not quite yet with how his touches are intense but gentle. You're now on the edge to burst out to the sea of such a delicious torture of bliss— and you'd do anything for him to do it for you.

You grind your hips right on his face as his tongue laps down your arousal, sucking gently on your soaked folds as you feel your thighs shake with the little leeway he gives you. His nose nudges your clit and you shiver. His nose bumps against your flesh again, he's doing it exactly on purpose to have you writhing underneath him.

His face is flushed— hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and how dark his pupils are, you know that he's just as fucked as you are.

“This cunt is,” a lick to your soaked folds, the wet muscle nudging them open to dive in further, “fucking divine.” and he fucks his tongue right in, the vibration of his voice quivering through your body.

With a broken whine, you try to gyrate your hips to chase the immense euphoria he's bringing you, feeling your walls clench around his wet muscle. He fucks his tongue in a vicious manner, curling it up to touch the tips of your walls and fucking it back out; all whilst the plane of his nose rubs against your poor, tender clit with each commotion.

His tongue stills after he feels you grind against his face with a rough fervor and your velvety walls pulsate around his tongue. You whine at the loss of momentum, already having your peak being snatched away from you, once again.

His lips suck around your nether ones for a last, long caress and then parts away ; licking up his lips coated in your arousal and his spit, some of which dribbles down his chin. He's quick to collect them all using his fingers and hover over your figure; some of his dainty chains are long enough to brush over your bare clavicles, dangling over you.

His black shirt sticks to his body and you can almost figure out the planes of his body. It's completely unfair, you being completely naked and him being completely clothed. He seems to like the way you wiggle your hips underneath him, looking up at him with eyes you think you weren't capable of batting much.

Because he smirks at your fucked up, desparate expression and pushes away the long, sweaty strands of raven falling from his head to the side with his clean hands, and brings his soiled fingers to your lips.

“Taste yourself,” his voice has a rasp and you comply, opening up, only to have him push two of his fingers inside your warm cavern, having your panties dragged out. The material of the smooth leather with the viscous arousal wrapped around his slender fingers sits heavy on your tastebuds, and you immediately swirl your tongue to savor it more.

He groans, and immediately withdraws his fingers, now clean. His breathing is erratic as he leans down to steal a quick kiss from you, and you whine when you feel him pull away. He says nothing, but just whispers words of praise in your ears, mindful of your restraints. Your arms feel numb to move by the time he gently unbuckles the belt around your wrist, and he catches you off guard once again when he pulls you into a kiss, his tongue sneaking in between your gasps and tangling with yours.

Your heart beats erratically in your chest when he parts away from you, resting his forehead against yours.

“Gonna finger you now,” his voice is brisk with a pant at the end. His neck is flushed red, glistening with sweat with a slight pant. “Princess deserves the best of the night. Not just some fondling.”

Your face feels warm as you catch onto what he's referring to.

Once again, you find yourself laying down with a throb in your cunt, and him kneeling in between your spread legs to pepper soft kisses on the now dried, slightly damp thighs. When his tongue flickers on the sensitive skin, you jolt and struggle to get up on your elbows, because as much as you're enjoying this, it's a torture that he did not allow you to come at all.

Your cunt pulses and aches for him, but he seems to take his sweet time; softly passing his hands to stroke your flesh and mark them.

When a singular finger strokes the length of your soaked slit, your mouth falls open in a gasp. The leather of his gloves add to the friction as he drags his fingers in an up and down motion, spreading your arousal around. Yoongi is so keen on observing your cunt closely, and there's a desire inside you to tuck away the long, stray strand of his hair back. You're already inching your hand forward when his dark eyes snap up to yours, stopping you in your moments.

You don't even have the time to withdraw your hands when a pair of strong arms curl on the underside of your thighs and pull you forward, licking a stripe right above where his fingers are nested; and in no time you feel the plane of his tongue attacking your poor nub with kitten licks.

“God,” you gasp out loud, trashing your arms around to find any leverage as you fall flat on the table. Your fingers can only claw the edge of the table as his tongue passes over the slick of your skit with each lick, and the air is punched out of lungs the moment you feel two of his digits enter your slit with ease.

You feel his chuckle vibrate against you which goes straight to your clit. “No God will hear you out, doll.”

Fuck. Fuck. You can only arch your back in a broken moan of his name when you feel his fingers move inside of you, not yet thrusting, but curling up. It burns a bit, but the heady bliss is already making your head spin with the added slight pain. He raises his head up to see how fucked you already look, and he knows that all the edging has brought you so close already that he can feel your tight walls tighten impossibly tight around his fingers.

He feels his cock twitch in his pants, begging for attention when he notices your slick trickling down the material of his glove, right in between the joints of his fingers as he stays still.

“M-move, you can move..” the end of your sentence ends up in a whine as his fingers curl forward in full force, immediately finding the spongy area which has lights bursting behind your eyelids. He soons picks up the pace, his fingers thrusting in and out your cunt in a swift motion which has you gasping for his name.

The soft jagged edges of his glove brushes the walls of your pussy with each pump, and you've never ever felt so good during fingering without any clitoris stimulation. You'd tried that a few times, only to have you grumbling because of your much smaller digits and a need to have something more. And he's right there. Yoongi’s fingers, much thicker and longer than your own ones, feel delirious inside you.

“You’re so tight, princess,” Yoongi groans when he feels you tighten around him with each thrust, pushing you down to your impending orgasm with each pump, with each caress.

Your veins feel like they're on fire, your nipples aching to be touched, and so you do. Pulling them taut between your nimble fingers, your back bows off the table when Yoongi lunches down to close his pretty lips around your neglected clit. Oh fuck. . . ! That feels so fucking amazing, and you're sure you feel his fingers abuse that spot inside of you simultaneously, all while giving his attention to your burning flesh. You're so fucking close that you can taste your orgasm, and there's a slight rush thinking if he'd egde you this time too.

Your eyes shut close the moment his fingers go knuckles inside for a thrust and curls, and at once his lips suction around your clit, hard.

You're seeing Heaven.

You scream out when your orgasm washes over you, intensified with each you were denied off. Your back feels like it flew off the table as your orgasm dawn's down on you like an avalanche, sliding off all around your body in red hot euphoria as Yoongi’s speedy ministrations don't cease. You miss how audibly he moans out loud when a particular thrust inside your cunt has a gush of clear liquid squirting out, his mouth never leaving your now fully erect clit.

His tongue swirls around and sucks, while his fingers stroke the spot inside you. And this time when your hips gyrate up in full force to his face and he hears another scream of his name and a choking resistance to his fingers inside you, he knows that he's fulfilled his goal.

Your orgasm seems to hit you over and over, and over. Your abdominal muscles are dense by the time you feel yourself twitch with the aftershocks of your release, and dear fucking god. You've never come this hard in your life before, and you do know that the man between your legs is the reason.

You hoist yourself up to yourself up to your elbows to look at him who's half hovering over you, but oh god.

He's drenched.

His lower face glistens with moisture and his t-shirt looks like someone just shot him with a water gun, the damp material forming quite a big wet spot right below his collar. He's wide eyed, smirking with a breathy laugh which makes you want to curl up. Fucking hell. No wonder why your orgasm felt so blinding, and you can still feel his warm hands on your thighs, gently stroking your thighs with soft passes.

Oh god, you just squirted.

Yoongi made you squirt. Was that way too much? You don't even know! But for Yoongi, he's smiling as everything to him is riveting, of course.

You're about to hide your face in your palms when Yoongi stops you. His gloves felt damp on your skin, and when you peel your eyes open, he's so dangerously close. So close which makes your head spin and heart race, once again.

“That’s what a real orgasm is, princess. Don't be ashamed.” He helps you get up the table, your legs feeling like fresh pudding and thighs burning. He can only snort in amusement, when you pout at him. What's so funny?

“It was hot as fuck.”

“What?” face warm, you try to cover yourself to which Yoongi lazily raises a brow. He just points a finger to your parted legs. He. . .!

“You. Squirting. It was hot as fuck. Plus the screams were like cherry on the top,” he shrugs, almost as if he didn't fucking wreck you with just his skilled tongue and fingers. Your face burns up at how casually he says that, and before you can think, you blurt out, “You think so?”

“Mm.”

It's your turn to raise a brow. You don't feel scared of him anymore, not even when the post nut clarity is hitting you. You know what you two did, and there's no going back. You feel rather at ease with how he holds one of your palms and slings an arm around your waist to haul you down the table, and you know that this is your chance.

You drop down to your knees.

And now it's him who's wide eyed. His clothed erection stands right in front of your face, almost as if struggling to get out of the hard confines of his jeans. The dent looks promising in size, and you nearly poke out your tongue to give it a lick, but you refrain. You hear him inhale a sharp breath, his hand already coming down to your shoulder to hoist you up, but you swat his hands away.

“What. . .what are you doing?” his voice comes out in a slightly surprised tone, the rasp of it already making you impatient. How could he not pay attention to himself when he's himself so fucking hard? Your hands slowly grab his meaty thighs over his denims which tense under your touch. You lick your lips, purposefully batting your eyelashes when you peer up at him, trying to look as small as you can.

Trying to make him as good as he made you feel, but you doubt your inexperienced ass could do that.

“Can’t you see? Returning your favor.”

He looks torn. The crease in between his eyebrows tell that he's hesitant for this, and he doesn't like that bratty tone you'd just used. But the parted lips imparting short breaths tell otherwise. His reply comes rather quickly, “You don't have to.”

You were sure to be hallucinating, but you could see a small twitch to his length, and you immediately felt your nether gates flooding. Oh god. You must return the favour, then.

“I want to, Yoongi, would you let me, please?”

Completely naked, batting eyelashes, pretty face and tempting view of boobs. Nimble fingers tracing the pathway of his thighs, dangerously close to his aching cock. He did want you, but. . . fuck. . ! And not to deny the image he gets of you kneeling down in front of him, your toes facing outwards and ass purposefully wiggling out, Yoongi knows he's about to bust a nut. And that too, very soon.

Who the fuck is he to deny, then.

“Since you begged for it,” his hands reach to tuck a stray hair out of your beautiful face, feeling his abdominal muscles clench when your fingers brush against his length, he smiles with a shaky exhale.

“Go ahead and take what's yours.”

a/n : soo~ what do we think? 🤒

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#yoongi smut #yoongi fic #min yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts fluff #bts x you #bts x reader #bts x female reader #min yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fics #bts au #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #bts imagines #bts scenarios

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literaila · 4 months

Text

sick

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru does not get the 'flu' that you have, or why you can't take megumi to the bookstore

warnings: symptoms of the flu, satoru is a bastard, cute kids

last part | next part

year two.

you: can you take megumi to the bookstore? i can't make it

"megumi wants me to ask you what you mean by 'i can't make it.'"

your phone rings as soon as the message is sent, making you groan and roll over in bed. your palms are sweaty, and your body feels a bit like you got eaten alive.

you probably shouldn't have answered, but honestly, how can you be expected to make smart decisions in this state?

you sigh into the phone. "it means that i can't make it, satoru."

usually, his voice would make you smile but right now it just makes you want to die. and sleep for a couple... billion years, at least.

"megumi wants me to ask what you mean by that?" satoru says again like you can't tell he's grinning.

"just let me talk to him," you sigh, turning over on your side, which does nothing to ease the ache in your abdomen, by the way. you feel briefly nauseous like you might need the bowl you dragged under the covers, but it eases. you swallow bile.

"what's wrong?" satoru asks, still teasing, and doesn't put megumi on the phone because he has never, not once in his life done anything without an argument.

really, why do you put up with him?

"nothing."

"well you just forgot that both of the kids are in school right now, like they are every day, so..."

you close your eyes, pulling the covers up even higher. "oh. yeah."

"did you get hurt, or something?" satoru asks, no concern evident in his voice, "going on another mission?"

"no."

satoru is silent, waiting. and you really truly do hate him. anyone else would just do you this favor.

but not your best friend, no, he does nothing you ask.

"i'm sick," you tell him, after a whole minute of silence.

you can almost hear it as his brows furrow. "what?"

"i have the flu or something," you cough into the receiver, hoping that it hurts his ear.

"how?"

"ugh," you groan, trying to rub the ache out of your jaw. "not all of us are immune to getting sick, you freak. will you take megumi to the bookstore for me? please?"

"i don't think he wants to go with me."

"satoru," you whine.

"...and also i'm not allowed to enter the premises anymore."

you sniff, wishing that you had more tissues, "what? since when?"

"a couple weeks ago," he answers, nonchalantly. you can hear him moving around, probably wreaking havoc on the house you'll have to deep clean in a couple of days.

not to mention your room. seriously, getting sick is the worst.

"why?"

"nuh uh," he says to you, very seriously. "that's between me and the children. they swore me to secrecy, and you're the one that's always going on and on about trust and how easily it's broken..."

"you mean that you swore them to secrecy."

"i bribed them," satoru agrees as if it's not an insane thing to say about your seven and eight-year-olds.

"with what?!"

"tsumiki took the offer of picking whatever takeout she wanted, and i think megumi was just glad i couldn't bring him anymore, the brat."

you can hear his eyes roll, and the mention of the little boy's name reminds you of why you're having this discussion in the first place.

"satoru... i really can't take him and i promised we'd go today," you groan into your pillow, voice feeling very sore. you shouldn't be talking to this insane man right now, you should be asleep.

he pauses. "i can wear a disguise, i guess?"

you groan again, hopefully, louder. "no, you're right about him not wanting to go with you."

"rude."

"i guess i'll just..." you attempt to sit up for the third time, feeling a bit dizzy as you do so. "i'll take some medicine and see if i feel better by the time they get out of school."

you're already mentally checking your medicine cabinet, not even sure if you have anything to help this ease by later in the afternoon. just some pain relief would be nice, but if you're contagious...

"what? no."

"well, you can't take him," you answer, still annoyed.

"he doesn't need to go..."

you hope that satoru can feel your scowl. "i promised."

"he's a reasonable kid..." satoru says, clearly not remembering the brooding that happened the last time megumi had to re-read one of his books. "i think."

you're silent.

"look, i'll talk to him, okay?" he settles on, finally. "and i'll give him a couple hundred yen, it'll be fine.

your mouth opens, and you cough, before, "no, satoru--"

"get some rest," he exclaims, unpleasantly.

"have him call me when you pick them up, satoru--"

"don't die of the flu or anything."

and then he's gone, and now you've got a headache, too.

you think you might be dreaming when you open your front door.

the knocking had woken you up--you think--but with how long it took to walk from your room, into the hallway, and then the door, honestly, you might've fainted. or decided to take another nap against the wall.

because once you open it, it feels like you've done this before.

once again, three people are standing in front of you, two of them already arguing before you even take a step back to swing the door all the way open.

the light hurts your head as you squint at the three of them.

"it was my idea--" megumi is saying to satoru, grumpy, you know, from all day at school, and because he's talking to satoru.

"you're not taking all of the credit," satoru says back, "i bought everything."

"'cause you're rich."

"wow, so you're objectifying me?"

"yes," megumi answers immediately, even though you doubt that he even knows what objectifying means (actually, you're pretty certain satoru doesn't even know). you cough, and it feels like something has died inside of you.

the three of them turn towards you, tsumiki with a pleading look.

"it was my idea, okay?" megumi tells you before anyone else can say anything, and then he pulls tsumiki along with him as they move past you, through the door, into your apartment.

yes, it's clear that satoru has raised them.

"i said we should bring soup," tsumiki looks up at you, waiting for the praise she knows you'll give her.

"our idea," megumi amends, easily.

then they're out of your reach, going to sit on the very same couch they'd slept on a year ago, probably trying to escape satoru.

who you turn to, with a frown. his hair is so white it hurts to look at.

he points into your apartment, "those are devil spawn."

you cough. "don't call them that."

he raises a brow at you. probably at how soft your voice is, or the fact that you haven't hit him in the thirty seconds he's been standing there.

it's a new record.

"why are you here?" you rasp out, wiping some snot from your nose.

"no 'hello?'"

"hello, satoru," your voice is retched, "why are you here?"

"you look kinda rough, kid,"

you sniff, leaning against the doorjam. you could fall asleep here in an instant. "i'm sick, you jerk."

"so this is sickness..." satoru says, intrigued, pretending to inspect you closely like you're some lab experiment.

"i distinctly remember a cold that had you shaking on the floor of your dorm, begging shoko to heal you."

satoru points a finger at you. "that was an uncurable illness."

"and yet we're still stuck with you."

satoru just smirks, pretending to be an angel he is not.

you cough again and then sigh. it's cold with the door open. "are you just here to annoy me?"

"no," satoru shakes his head, giving you a ridiculous look, "well, i was telling megumi that you couldn't take him to the bookstore, cause of your disease or whatever," he ignores your weak protest, "and then i suggested that maybe we could see how you were feeling, bring you a little gift basket--"

"no, he didn't!" megumi calls.

satoru frowns. "devil. spawn."

you snort, somehow amused at all of them, finally moving aside so he can walk through the door.

satoru passes, suddenly brighter, but not before leaving an obnoxious kiss on your cheek--a resounding smack following. to which, you promptly wipe off.

he frowns, and you push him so you can close the door. and then you trail into the kitchen, sitting down immediately before you fall.

it's so embarrassing that just standing for too long has made you this lightheaded.

satoru sets a bag on your kitchen counter and begins to unpack it.

you try to see over his hands. "what did you bring me?"

"you guys are so unappreciative," satoru tells you, pouting, "you only want me for my goods."

"and the view," you answer, easily. "what'd you get?"

megumi and tsumiki comes over to you, both of them giving you a short (megumi) and tight (tsumiki) hug. you've trained them well.

"soup!" tsumiki tells you, grabbing the container from satoru's hands, despite his look. and then she walks over to your stove, looking in the cupboards for a pot to heat it in.

because she's used to taking care of herself. they both are.

"satoru," you nod to her, and he frowns, but reluctantly takes over, pushing tsumiki away from the stove. you're both familiar with this behavior from her.

most days when you make dinner, tsumiki is trying to sneak into the kitchen, refusing to let you take care of it.

she pouts a little now, but lets satoru handle the soup.

"gojo got you all of these," megumi tells you, bringing your eyes away from the other man, pushing a stack of pill bottles and medicine containers your way. "i don't think he knows what any of them are."

"hey! that's a great selection," satoru pours the soup into a pot and sets it on the stove, returning to the counter with the three of you.

"this is a muscle relaxant," you tell him, frowning as you look at the packages--most of which are not for the flu. this is why he's not allowed to go to the store without you.

"well, your muscles need to relax, don't they?" satoru asks, dryly. "wish we could find some of those for your brain..." he mutters, afterward, and you throw the packet right at his face.

"i found those little sour things you like," megumi continues, smirking just a moment at satoru. "they didn't have a big bag."

"thanks, megs."

"there's tissues, and chapstick if your lips get dry. and i picked out the cough drops because gojo wanted to get chocolate flavored or something--"

"strawberry!"

megumi rolls his eyes.

tsumiki steps to your side again. "and we got flowers, but those are still in the car."

"no, they're not," satoru suddenly has a bouquet of roses in his hands, almost covering his entire face. "they're right here."

"when did you do that?"

"when you guys were ridiculing my excellent taste," he pouts, white hair falling over his glasses.

you laugh.

"where's your vase?" he asks, going through every cupboard before finally listening to your answer. he settles on the other end of your kitchen, cutting and arranging the bouquet.

tsumiki taps you. "are you feeling bad?"

"just a little out of it, sweetie, don't worry."

"did we get everything you need?" megumi chimes in, giving you a brief moment of eye contact before looking away.

"yes. you guys did great, thank you both. you're very sweet."

satoru ahems loudly. "and what about me?"

"you could've done better."

the kids both laugh and you push them into the living room, telling them to go sit down for a bit--knowing that satoru dragged them from school to the store to here without a break--and that you'll find a snack for them.

and then you sigh, a bit nauseous from sitting up for so long.

"do you need to lay down?" satoru peers at you, setting the bouquet on your table. "you look green."

"thanks. how'd you learn to do that?" you gesture to the flowers which are arranged beautifully. honestly, you're surprised he didn't leave them on the counter for you to deal with.

"i am a gentleman."

"ha. no, seriously."

"...i may, or may not have looked up what to bring someone who has the flu--and the flowers were extra, but!" he pauses as you laugh at him, resting your head against the cool counter. "i only had to do that because i don't get affected by stupid things like the flu or whatever you have."

"of course," you whisper, closing your eyes.

and then there's a hand on your forehead. "you're really warm."

you press your head into his hand, which is also pleasantly cold. "yeah."

"did you sleep all day?"

you nod.

"really? that's so lazy."

you push him away, and he laughs, just loud enough for you to hear it. you open your eyes again when you hear him move away, watching him stir the soup on the stove.

"you probably shouldn't have brought them here," you tell him, gesturing to the living room. "i don't want to get them sick."

"they missed you," satoru shrugs. "you wouldn't want them to be sick alone."

"yeah, but..."

"i'm the worrier today," he interrupts, wrapping his hand around your wrist so he can pull you. "go lay down on the couch with them and i'll get your soup ready."

"you'll burn it, you mean?"

"as a punishment for all of the cruel things you say to me," and satoru smiles as he nudges the top of your head with his nose.

his eyes are almost stern (almost, but not quite) as he watches you lay down on the couch, your hands gestured in defeat, and nods when you're settled in.

when he walks away, you call, "bring us some water!"

there's no response, but you know he'll do it.

tsumiki just slightly nudges you with her hand and you smile, opening your arms for her to cuddle under.

megumi doesn't do the same, but you don't fail to notice when he scooches just a little bit closer to you both, his thigh touching yours.

your head still hurts and even the smell of the soup is making you a bit sick, but you'll deal with it as long as they're all here.

you're arguing with satoru about dinner, several days later, when tsumiki and megumi sneeze at exactly the same time.

it took a couple of days for you to recover, but now you're better than ever, happily fighting with satoru over the stupidest things and watching over both of the children for any defects that happened while you were out of sorts.

they're mostly okay.

but now the both of you look over to them, your eyes wide, satoru almost wincing.

and then you look back to him, already scowling.

"hey, it was just a sneeze," he tells you, quickly, already knowing what you're about to say.

"i told you--"

and then he sneezes, taking a step away from you.

you groan, giving up on dinner. it looks like the next few days are going to be spent coddling all of your children.

next part

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benkeibear · 8 months

Text

⋆꙳✧༄ His favorite pet

❖ Character: Mahito

❖ Reader: female | AFAB

❖ Wordcount: 2.6k

❖ Summary: Mahito loves to experiment on you simply because you let him - loving how he pushes past your limits and pleasures you beyond belief.

❖ WARNINGS: DARK CONTENT! sub!reader, slapping, dacryphilia, clit slapping, bondage, tentacles, choking, throat fucking, spitting, humiliation, degradation, penetration with tentacles, anal, overstimulation, womb fucking, squirting

❖ A/n: the list of warnings is so long oh my. I'm not even sorry

꒰ ͜͡➸ Back to Kinktober Masterlist

Mahitos eyes went wide when he saw the way you were looking right at him instead of through him like everyone else. He knew right that moment that you will be his, if you want to or not so he gave you a silly grin while waving at you. Talking to him was so easy, he would always have interesting topics to discuss for hours as time flew by whenever you two hung out, always listening to you, always agreeing with you without making it too obvious but before you knew it you were craving his company. You fell so hopelessly in love with the man who did nothing but sweet talk you, luring you in and giving you a sense of being heard and seen along with this false sense of security - his plan worked. He's not a master of manipulation for nothing, not even surprised that you were seeking out his attention all the time, almost addicted to it like a lost puppy.

The fact that he wasn't human didn't even surprise you when he broke the news to you, already aware that he was a little different from your average man but you never once minded, finding it quite appealing actually. Mahito’s lighthearted attitude along with his dumb jokes never failed to make you smile, always pushing you to your limits or having you be the butt of the jokes. It was playful banter to you, an experiment of how far he can take it for him. Testing you… you were never more than just an experiment to him, while you called him your boyfriend in such a loving way it always amused him. Your giggles lit up his heart but he wouldn't admit it, blaming it on everything but you. He's a curse after all, made out of hatred… he can't love.

It was just a question of time until he took these little experiments into the bedroom though and before you knew it, you found yourself pushed far past your limits but his sweet encouragement in your ears made it bearable. “You're taking me so well. Just a little bit more, cupcake” he chuckled and rubbed little circles on your clit to distract you from the almost unbearable pain he caused with his slaps to your thighs and ass - skin painfully sore to the point where it's bleeding. But you were his good girl, his perfect little human, you didn't want to disappoint him so you took everything he had to give despite your cheeks being stained with tears. Seeing you this broken, eyes all red and puffy from crying and far out of your comfort zone got him hard like nothing else, knowing he had you in the palm of his hand like a little puppet he can control made him feel invincible. The orgasm that followed was earth shattering, little slaps to your over sensitive clit gave you a high like never before after getting edged for hours on end, drooling on yourself and the bed beneath from the exhaustion and barely noticing how Mahito cleaned you up with utmost care, bandaging the wounds he caused before kissing each of them. “Can't have you breaking from this… you did so well for me” he praised while wrapping you in a fuzzy blanket and cupping your cheek to prevent you from moving while he kissed your forehead with a tender kiss. The collar around your neck jingled when you moved to cuddle up to the curse, a tired smile spreading over your lips at the reminder that you're his and he is yours - your name carved into his soul and there to remain.

You didn't need to know that even if you ever used the safeword, he wouldn't stop. It just existed to give you this false sense of security but worry not, he would never quite literally split you in half. Mahito was so much sweeter with you than with any of his experiments before, adoring you for the way you wanted his love so badly, how you humiliated yourself just to get some words of praise from him. All you were to him was a little project to study humans on, liking to see your reactions to various things and how you seemed to mind it less whenever he encourages you, how the unbearable pain suddenly became bearable with simple praise never failed to make him laugh, how desperate you cling onto his words to guide you out of it and towards your sweet reward for being such a good little human to him. He could own you and you would thank him for it, making him feel like a god.

This was your mistake - trusting him to never take it too far, that he's doing this for your pleasure rather for his curiosity but this mistake is what made you end up in this delicate situation. Your hands were tied behind your back, a spreader bar preventing your legs from closing as Mahito manhandled you onto all fours, a sickenly sweet smile on his face when you just let him move you the way he desired, not thinking much of this since he does this a lot. Your eyes locked for a moment while he caressed your cheek with his hand until something changed…

You tried jerking your head away when you felt these cold and slimy appendages slither over your cheek instead of his beautiful slender fingers you loved to feel on your body. “Hold still now, bunny. You don't want to get hurt… or worse, now do you? He asked in a playful tone, letting his fingers - now tentacles slither over your face and neck. Tears started forming in your panicked eyes, the sensation of tentacles on your skin new and frightening when they slowly started choking you. Mahito was laughing menacingly as he watched a fresh wave of fear mixed with disgust wash over your face when one of the appendages slithered over your lips which you pressed into a thin line. “You need to open that little mouth of yours… or i might let them go through your nose” He hummed in amusement, proving his point by letting one of them move towards your Nostril. Your head was shaking violently from side to side, panic increasing as your tears streamed down your cheeks in thick streams now and he sighed, one tentacle pushing into your nostril to let your know he was serious while a look of disappointment started forming on his face - His once so obedient little human suddenly refused him.

Every single hair on your body was standing from the feeling which caused you to reluctantly open your mouth, the tentacle immediately removing itself from your nose and slithering over your lips, slowly ascending into your awaiting mouth. Your body was repulsed by it, gagging wildly at the salty taste the slime left behind on your poor tongue, making sure to rub itself all over your wet muscle so you had no other choice but to taste it. “Look at you, taking it like a good girl. Now close your pretty lips around it, treat it like my cock you love so much” He chuckled but it turned into a laugh when you were pleading him not to make you do this but Mahito wasn't asking you, he was demanding so you behaved like his good little human and did what he wanted, sucking on the tentacle as if its his cock. It took everything inside of you not to gag when you felt a second one slide into your mouth and down your throat, moans from your lover filling your ear when he saw how beautifully your throat was bulging from the intrusion until he decided you had enough, taking the tentacles out of your mouth and kissing you forceful, his tongue invading your mouth like the slimy tentacles did just seconds ago.

His face showed pure euphoria upon tasting your saliva mixed with the salty taste of his tentacles. His kiss distracted you from the way his other hand transformed now too, letting slender tentacles slither over your naked body that was at his mercy until you couldn't ignore the cold sensation anymore, crying out for him to stop but still not using your safeword, which would have been useless regardless. Mahito positioned himself behind you, your ass still propped in the air, your face now resting against the mattress. Wet tentacles slowly slithered over the globes of your ass and along your thigh, ultimately resting at your folds to pull them apart, giving your lover a perfect view of your pretty slit. “Look at you, little pet. Crying and screaming but your cunt is drenched” he mused, smirking at your miserable frame before spitting onto your core that was fully on display for him which made you whimper out of humiliation, feeling his saliva along with your juices slowly dribble down your thighs and staining the mattress beneath you. He was right - it felt disgusting and you wanted it to stop but at the same time it felt so good to be forced into submission by him, letting him do everything he wanted to your body. Unbeknownst to you, a moan slipped out of your lips when one of the tentacles slowly wound itself through your folds, missing every sensitive spot on purpose. This made Mahitos wolfish grin spread further, the tentacle stopping dead in its tracks, resting right next to your bundle of nerves. “What a naughty little thing you are, bunny. Enjoying this like a needy slut” He whispered the degradation in your ear before wiggling the slimy appendage over your clit in a barely there touch, making you cry out from the weird, yet intense sensation.

The way your juices mixed with the slime of the tentacle caressing your clit made it unbearable to you, whines and moans cascading out of your mouth in a desperate way, needing a little more to tumble over the edge than just the feather light touch but Mahito heard your prayers, the slimy appendage now adding more pressure to your sensitive clit, making your jaw slack with a silent scream. The wetness of it aided as lube, easily flicking over the nub until it had you screaming out loud in pleasure, the knot in your abdomen finally snapping and Mahito laughed at the mix of emotions on your face, pleasure and disgust when you realized just what gave you this mind blowing orgasm and that this would not be the end. Your fears were correct when you felt four tentacles play with your entrance, taking turns on slipping in the tiniest bit until two of them slithered in to spread your cunt open, opening you up for the third one. A scream escaped you, begging him to stop but it was only amusing him further, letting the tentacle grow in girth as it slowly pushed itself inside of you. You felt every nub inside of your walls and the way it wiggled inside you let you feel things you've never felt before. “There you go. Give up your little fight… accept the pleasure it brings” Mahito cooed, feeling the way you slowly stopped clenching around the tentacle, making it much easier

To slip it further inside of you, the two smaller ones which spread you open slowly joined the thicker one and stretching you further than you've ever experienced.

Your jaw hung wide open at this sensation, one tentacle pressing against your sweet spot as the other two rubbed against your walls and prodding at your cervix to give you pleasure. With your eyes closed you slowly allowed the sensations to make you feel good, another tentacle playing with your clit again had you whimpering for more, growing greedier by the minute. “Awh are three inside of you not enough?” your lover teased and slid another one back into your mouth to fuck your throat but this time you welcomed it, sucking on it like a pacifier. It muffled your moan when you felt another tentacle enter your stretched cunt, but there was no pain, the little appendage rubbing your nub made sure you're enjoying it all as two more sucked and pulled on your hardened nipples. Pure ecstasy spread through your body, moaning loudly around the tentacle in your mouth but your eyes shot wide open when you felt another small one massage the ring of muscles at your ass, slowly prodding into your puckered hole. “I can't believe you let a disgusting tentacle take your little anal virginity, aren't you disgusted by it? By yourself for feeling this much pleasure?” Mahito asked sinister as he pushed it further into your behind but you only shook your head - it didn't hurt and you the disgust was long gone. You knew he didn't mean it, he loved the way you were so eager to please him by letting him do everything to you, he would never shame you for feeling pleasure since that's exactly what he wanted, for his little experiment to discover new pleasure and the way you slowly succumb to it.

The torturous assault of tentacles lasted hours, your holes stretched and your poor body begging for a break from the continuous orgasms Mahito brought you with his newest experiment. “Give me one more and I'll let you rest” he cooed, pushing against your sweet spot repeatedly with a smaller tentacle as the thick one nestled itself into your womb, making you feel as full as never before. It was enough to have you screaming until your voice was hoarse and with a last flick against your clit he had you squirting all over the bed again, taking one tentacles after the other out of your abused cunt until only one remained on your clit along with the other inside of your behind. “I need to see you break, bunny. Think you can cum again just from this?” He asked, nibbling at your neck while one of the slimy appendages kept rubbing your clit as the other one thrusted into your puckered hole. Your head was shaking violently, overstimulated to the point where it started to be painful but you still didn't use the safe word and allowing him to continue with this torture until he had his fill from seeing you cum over and over just from the anal penetration until you passed out.

You don't know how long you were gone but your legs were aching, your holes sore which reminded you that this wasn't a nightmarish wet dream - it really happened and you felt like crying when Mahito pulled you closer into his arms. “Did we go too far today, my bunny? Does your tiny body need a break?” He cooed in a fake sympathy but you still appreciated his care, nuzzling your face into his chest to return to the safe space in his arms. You knew he didn't want to hurt you and he didn't, at least not physically. “You did so well for me today… such a good girl. My perfect little human” he whispered as he played with your hair, hoping you can fall asleep soon since he already cleaned you up while you were unconscious. Mahito may be a curse created out of hatred, unable to love but he felt something towards you, something that runs deeper than just his curiosity - your name was carved into his soul after all.

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez @planetonet @bitchcraftinc

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #mahito x reader #mahito smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk mahito #curse x reader #mahito dc #jjk dc #—Rhys Kinktober 2023

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qwimchii · 9 months

Text

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 3) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

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

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 21.3𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩-𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your mouth parted quite rudely. she was absolutely radiant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

“we need to talk.”

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

Kate’s eyes narrowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your voice cracked. “who decided this?”

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

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

i own you. body and soul.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you cocked your brow. “yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

you stepped to Gaz a bit closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“how did you know about this place?”

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

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

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

“what’s this about, Gaz?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you paused, jaw going numb.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no, please, just listen—”

“no, you listen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh Gaz—”

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

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

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

you didn’t want to hear this about Ghost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the monocled-man dropped by the fallen vaqueros.

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

“we’ve been double-crossed—”

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

the pullman porter.

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

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

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

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

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

you had reached the end of the train.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a revolver glinted in his hand.

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

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

the mountain ahead was approaching rapidly.

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

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

“Gaz!” you choked out.

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

Ghost’s hand was inching up your back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

acceptance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

is this what it feels like to die?

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

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

your temples throbbed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

at that moment, you just wanted to sleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“s’just bruised. no blood.”

you felt like there was blood pouring from your ears.

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

“better?”

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

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

you yelped, scrambling back onto the rock.

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

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

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

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

he was half-maskless.

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

Ghost was half-maskless.

his leather palm sneaked around your ankle.

“how’s your ankle?”

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

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

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

“what are you doing?”

“returnin’ the favor.”

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

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

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

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

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

there were a thousand things running through your mind—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what were you doing with Gaz?”

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

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

“and what did you say?”

you scoffed. “none of your business.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

to the coyotes?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yes,” you said instead.

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

that made you stop dead in your tracks.

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

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

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

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

his voice was gruff, raw. “i know.”

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

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

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

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

“safe?” you scoffed, “with Turner?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“to hell with that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

but i can’t let my daughter die.

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

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

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

Ghost’s thoughtful silence seemed to mirror yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your jaw clenched. “Ghost.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“worried about me?”

you turned to the fire again. “no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you, who would never let him have you again.

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

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

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

very.

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

what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your jaw dropped open. “you…”

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

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

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

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

an invitation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what are you planning, princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“can i?”

you should’ve said no. absolutely not.

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

you should say no.

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

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

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

your heart ached at the familiar gesture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you wanted to drown in them.

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

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

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

he pressed his lips to your ear.

“so what’ll it be? devil or angel?”

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

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

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

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

“what are you hiding from me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

god he loved your hair.

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

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

what the hell was he doing?

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

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

something he couldn’t afford.

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

are you going to use me for revenge?

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

do you always exert yourself over others like that?

liar.

i hate you.

liar, liar, liar.

liar, liar, liar, liar—

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

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

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

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

why had he lied like that?

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

why had he lied like that?

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

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

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

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

he wouldn’t mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

hopefully as Gaz’s bride, he thought morosely.

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

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

because the truth was—

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

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

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

dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

maybe even coyotes were afraid of the devil.

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

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

your stomach growled.

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

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

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

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

he nodded. “wild parsnips.”

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

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

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

had he done that on purpose?

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

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

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

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

you were worried more for his wounds anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Simon this looks—”

infected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m distracting you. is it working?”

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

you nodded. “i know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

even if he had hurt you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he nodded. “my father.”

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

“england. s’where i grew up.”

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

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

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

“what was it like in manchester?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you stared at him. coyotes?

where did that come from?

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

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

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

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

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

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

hesitating, you stepped forward towards the thing.

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

“my lady.”

you wanted to smack him.

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

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

“well climb on in!”

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

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

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

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

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

the man beside you sighed out but it sounded happy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you were uncomfortable. very. very uncomfortable.

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

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

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

“they won’t without the mask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you stiffened. “plague?”

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

“why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“please follow me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“where are we, Ghost?”

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

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

you spluttered. “a brothel?”

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

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

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

“i’m sorry.”

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

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

you could get used to him saying that.

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

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

“i’m sorry.”

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

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

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

your brow quirked.

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

“mhmm.”

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

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

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

he just nodded again with a hum.

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

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

when would he be leaving you again?

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

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

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

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

it was more of a command than anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you closed your eyes. that was that.

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

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

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

“and the war?”

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

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

you cocked your head. “how?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blushed. “more than that.”

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

“more than that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you touchin’ yourself, pretty thing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

rolls of aching sweetness unfurled through you.

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

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

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

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

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

“no.”

he leaned down to your ear. “please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“s’fine.”

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

“y-yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“do you trust me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your whole core convulsed, clenching, then—

he stopped.

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

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

he cocked his head with a malicious smirk.

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

“at the lake. today by the railroad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it felt hot, big, throbbing, and—

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

“it goes…?” inside.

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

he hummed, kissing your neck.

“figure it out, pretty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

his stopped moving. “mhmm.”

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

“i don’t care. i can take it.”

he smiled against your shoulder.

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

“i don't want anybody but you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

your eyes drooped shut. “don’t care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he purred a sound of approval. “i know you will. bein’ such a good girl lettin’ me fuck your thighs like this.”

“yes, Simon, i’ll be good, i’ll be good—”

god you were so close—

“pretty girl. my sweet girl. you’re mine.”

his growled words guided you right through those convulsing shudders and a hot, searing haze welled up in your throat—tears pricking in your eyes from the intensity of it.

you only realized that Ghost came too when you felt ropes of something warm and thick splashed against your cunt and inner thighs, his groans a pretty song right by your ear.

he practically crushed you to the bed, his warm, sweaty body pleasant against your skin. you stayed like that for a long time, listening to his deep breaths, a tickling drip down your spine—the after-effect of your shared pleasure.

you never wanted the sensation to leave you.

you searched for Ghost behind you and came into contact with his shoulder, then grabbed at his neck, and he hummed contentedly, sliding his arms beneath your stomach, pressing fleeting kisses to your shoulder and neck.

you squirmed, giggling at the ticklish sensation, but you were trapped there, and he only kissed you more with a soft smile against your skin, up to your ear, your cheek, before he leaned back to turn you over.

you looked up at him, his brown eyes warm and lips twisted in a wry smile, and curled your arms around his shoulders to pull him back down. he settled between your thighs, cheek pressed to your breast, and you scratched at the back of his head lightly like your mama used to do to make you fall asleep after a bad nightmare.

he practically purred, sinking further into the big bed, his arms winding back around your middle.

his voice was a raw rasp. “does this mean you’ll accept my request?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile on your face. “where are we going for a date?”

he inched up your body so he braced his forearms beside your head, the tip of his nose brushing yours. he blinked at you, face blank.

“don’t get mad at me, alright?”

you quirked your brow, sliding your hands up his shoulders, filling the dips and grooves of the bunched up muscle.

“what’re you hiding, Simon?”

he cocked his head. “it’s a social event.”

your brows rose. a social event?

you thought back to your daddy’s letter, such a strange and hazy memory now—i’ll round up my men and join the effort in two weeks time after we conjoin at the social. there, we can talk finances.

was that the same social?

you turned your cheek, giving Ghost a sidelong look. “the same one my daddy was talking about?”

you saw something flash in his eyes before his face became impossibly imperceptible again.

“how did you know about that?”

you snorted. “i snooped through your basement, remember?”

his brows rose, a very slow smile creeping up on his lips.

you frowned at him. “what?”

he shook his head, grinning, “nothing.”

you dug your nails a bit into his shoulders. “tell me.”

“it’s just—”

he wouldn’t look into your eyes. he leaned down closer to you, lips against your cheek, voice a seductive, low sound. “your mind. i lust for it.”

your breath hitched. “lust for it?”

he nodded. “you’re brilliant. it’s sexy.”

you scoffed, swatting at his shoulder lightly, and a laugh rumbled through his chest into yours.

you wondered what he would think about your brilliant mind if he knew that you were periodically going through… mental struggles. you thought about something else instead.

“tell me what this social’s about.”

you watched him close his eyes, fingers fumbling with your hair. “Turner’s having a masquerade ball. somethin’ ‘bout going back to historical roots.”

your brows shot up. “and you want to go with me?”

his smirk was devilish. “who else? i was invited.”

now, your brow was furrowed. “why would Turner invite you?”

he shook his head. “he didn’t. it’s his way of having a little victory party over this war before it’s even really begun. s’basically an invitation.”

there was a bitter taste in your mouth.

“i thought you said i wasn’t going anywhere near Turner?”

he shifted above you, eyes open now, and hand still tangled in your hair.

“changed my mind.”

you scoffed. for Ghost, changing his mind wasn’t surprising. in the matter of Turner and you however…

“why’d you change your mind?” you pressed softly, meeting his buttery warm eyes.

he smiled, whole body going lax and soft against you. “last night.”

that didn’t clarify anything at all. when your jaw dropped open to reply, he filled the words in for you.

“s’just a stupid omen. there was a coyote. it was scared just at the sight of me, but i was more scared than anything.”

you stroked along the soft, warm skin of his back. “why?”

“because i wanted to protect you.”

his eyes were wide and open, and you bit your lip, a new burning ache pushing up between your lungs.

“i promised i’d never let anyone hurt you again,” he said with a hush, pressing his forehead to yours. “i want you to be with me when you’re in danger.”

then, he slid down pressing his ear to the steady thrum of your heart. “just be with me all the time.”

a rush of sweetness poured through you. just be with me all the time.

you felt giddy, your grin big and making your cheeks ache.

“is that what you were getting all thoughtful about this morning?”

you remembered him sitting on the rock beside you, fumbling with his knife, face shadowed and faint with a furrowed brow.

he craned his neck to look up at you.

“you noticed, smart girl?”

you wanted to scoff. “i notice a lot of things.”

you drew lazy circles into his skin. “i noticed how you always like to fold my clothes. i noticed how like to put your face here—”

you pointed to the area where your hair pooled around your neck, and with that, he pulled forward to press his face to that spot with a contented hum.

you held the back of his head, feeling like you were in a hazy, surreal dreamscape.

had you really wanted revenge on him only a night ago? a few mere hours ago? did it really matter what his original intentions were with you when he displayed his feelings so clearly like this?

yes, a voice hissed out, leaving you feeling uneasy, but you beat it down so it wouldn’t cloud the blissful moment.

soon, he pulled away, shifting off of you, and slid off the bed to kneel on the hardwood floor again. the absence of him felt wrong—cold and too light. like you needed his heavy warmth to pin you back down again.

he gripped at your splayed hand from the edge of the bed. “will you go on a date with me, lovely?”

his question was completely simple and pure, but you found yourself wanting to tease him, lips twisting into a sly smile, enjoying the way he blinked in response, a bit perturbed.

“and what will we do on this date, Simon?”

you flipped over onto your stomach, propping up your head up over your elbows with your knuckles, in love with the way his blonde lashes fluttered against your cheek when your noses brushed. his lips were a mere breath away from yours.

“dine. dance…” he whispered, dark eyes flickering from your own to your lips.

his lips parted, head tilting. “maybe i can hold Turner down, and you can torture him to death.”

at that you laughed, pulling back away from him and curling onto your side into the sheets. he remained at the edge of the bed, grin wide and wolfish. once your fit of laughter stopped, you peered back over your shoulder with a hum.

“i’ll tell you what i decide in the morning,” you sang, sitting up, watching with delight as a curiosity burned in his gaze.

“did i not teach you well enough what happens when you tease me?” he asked, voice throaty, and you shivered, suddenly very aware of the exposed nature of your bare skin.

you shrugged. “guess you’ll have to remind me.”

his eyes darkened and you squirmed away from him with a giggle across the big bed so he couldn’t reach you so easily. his brows rose carefully.

“think i can’t catch you if you run away like that, bunny?”

a low, kicking thrum came back to life between your thighs.

“what are you?” you asked with a laugh, gripping at the sheets, “a wolf?”

he cocked his head in a predatory manner, words low and deep. “when i want to be.”

you shuddered and he just shook his head with an amused look, padding away from the bed to a door across the room. behind it was a bathroom, and he disappeared inside, the sound of running water accompanying you as you laid back down on the bed, reclining back into the soft blankets and even softer pillows.

the more you laid there, the more you could feel a growing, painful ache returning to your shoulder. it was stiff, hot and swollen to the touch, and you chided yourself for going so… rough in your intimate moment with Ghost.

but when he sauntered back out of the bathroom, footsteps eerily quiet, a damp washcloth in hand, you didn’t feel an ounce of regret.

he helped clean you up, swiping away your shared fluids from your skin as his kissed the crown of your head with a tenderness. you reached for the cloth, grabbing his bare hip, and were about to return the favor when you were reacquainted with the battered state of his body.

the bruises had reduced but there were still a blotchy, purple mess, and his stitches were just as bad as before—that same dried crust around it. now, you really chided yourself, angry that you hadn’t taken a moment to take care of him before…

you wiped away any residue from his nether regions, before thumbing gently over that strong, muscled v-line of his hip.

“what is it?” he asked, touching a knuckle to the bottom of your chin and tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

you blinked. “it’s really bad.”

his expression was blank. “honestly, lovely, i’ve had worse.”

“like what?” you pressed, and when his face contorted, you waved a hand.

“nevermind. don’t tell me.” you might be sick if he did.

“just please let me take care of you,” you practically begged, sliding a hand down his bare thigh as his eyes narrowed.

your frown deepened, trying to give him your best doe-eyed pout, and he heaved a sigh with a nod, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

you walked to the bathroom, casting a look over your shoulder to make sure Ghost was still sitting obediently at the bed, and when he cocked an impatient brow at you, you bit back a smirk as you entered the bathroom.

there was a big tub pressed to the corner of the room, and a wash bin where you rinsed off the wash cloth and grabbed an extra cup from the sink, filling it with water. you fished around the ornate cabinets, smiling in victory when you found a jar of vaseline pushed to the very back of a cabinet filled with sparse miscellaneous items. your mama had spread it over any injury of yours like an invisible gauze.

taking a moment to inspect your appearance in the mirror, cheeks flushed and hair disheveled, you splashed your face with a bit of water and calmed your hair with your hands.

on the back of the bathroom door, you took the simple silk robe in a pale yellow pattern and tied it around yourself, walking back out to Ghost who was lounged back against the bed and still stark naked.

“has my pretty nurse come to my aid?” he asked, eyes half-lidded.

you just nodded with a sheepish smile, crawling over to him and dipping the washcloth in the water before dabbing at the stitches. you watched his whole body tense with a hiss, and then relax again, his eyes screwed shut.

“sorry,” you squeaked with wince, wiping away the yellow ooze around it. you bit your lip, brows furrowed as you looked down at the fleshy wound—red and swollen with a loose thread pulled through it. you pressed your fingertips to it and he jolted, jaw clenched. it was hot to the touch.

“it didn’t reopen, did it?” you asked sullenly, and his eyes barely fluttered open.

“i’d be bleeding if it did.”

with that, you spread the cool vaseline over it, and he sighed, sinking back into the bed. then, he wrapped an arm around your waist, and you muffled a squeak as he tugged you towards him into pillows.

his lips were against your hair. “shoulder?”

you pushed away from him with a hand to his chest, and he grumbled in protest as you moved to put your gathered medical supplies onto the nightstand.

“s’okay. kind of swollen but nothing like yesterday.”

the sound that left his throat was full of disapproval.

instead you changed the subject, turning to him with a hand on your hip.

“are you gonna change?”

his brows raised slightly, knees tipping wider as he picked up his head to look at you with a smirk. with a blush, you refused to look down at his bare, muscled body.

“nope.”

rolling your eyes, you clambered back into the bed and he tugged the silky robe loose from your body, and you just let him do as he liked as he positioned the both of you beneath the thick blankets.

he pulled you into his pleasant warmth and you hummed, your cheek nestled to his chest and his lips against your hair.

the room was dim, a lulling quiet darkness over the room now, pitching deep into the night. you drew circles over his forearm cast over your waist.

“when will you leave?” you whispered, sullen, because you knew these tranquil, soft moments were dwindling with uncertainty.

he smoothed a hand over your back. “in a little bit.”

you bit your lip. “why can’t i come with you?”

he shook his head, and you closed your eyes, a pinched feeling in your chest.

“i have to do this on my own. you won’t be in danger here.”

you thought back to what he said a mere moments ago.

“what happened to just be with me all the time?”

his words were soft. “you are with me all the time.”

you craned your neck to look up at him and he inclined his head against the pillows, tapping with a finger to his chest lightly.

oh.

“i think i’ve read about that in a children’s fantasy novel, Ghost,” you said with a cocked brow and he gave you a wry smile, then shifted to tuck his chin over your head.

“what happened to Simon?”

you closed your eyes. “Simon privileges revoked.”

he scoffed. “bratty.”

you smacked at his arm and he didn’t even move—like a big rock you could anchor yourself to.

a big rock you wanted to anchor yourself to, except that he was always leaving it seemed.

and when he left, would he actually come back as promised? or would he leave you to the streets of san francisco as you feared—without a use for you?

unless your use was turning up to Turner’s masquerade as Ghost’s lady for the evening in another display of their battle for… ownership.

at that you stiffened and Ghost roused against you, his even breaths hitching.

the question you posed was careful and calculating. “if i wanted to run away and never look back, would you let me?”

he went impossibly still at that. then, he pulled back far enough so you could see the grim lines of his face, even through the darkness and the shroud of his mask.

“yes.” the word was so strained it almost didn’t sound like his own voice. “i think it’d kill me though.”

you cocked your head.

“when are you gonna take that mask off?”

his eyes flashed. “full of questions are you?”

you nodded. “always.”

he looked away from you. “i can’t answer all of them yet.”

always hiding something from you.

“why not?” you pressed, and he frowned, taking up your hand to press to his chest.

“in time,” he whispered, kissing the back of it, before sliding out from under the blankets.

you gripped his wrist to keep him tethered to you, voice cracking wide open.

“did you mean what you said?”

he cocked his head, eyes a placid coolness.

you swallowed hard “about courting me? about me being yours?”

your breath was shallow when you added, “do you really think you’ll die tomorrow?”

he stared at you for a long moment before sighing out, climbing back onto the bed and over you, leaning down to brush his lips against yours softly. you jolted with a gasp, straining up to kiss that silvery scar on his upper lip carefully. he was stock still, eyes following your movement with a familiar stoicism.

“i will be back tomorrow morning,” he promised and you grimaced.

“will you?”

he nodded strongly. “before dawn.”

you curled an arm around his neck. “promise me?”

“honest to god.”

you winced, remembering your words from two nights ago.

how can you be honest to god?

as he redressed to go out into the night, you watched him to try and find any tightness in his movements. the stiff motion of his body looked pure and simple—easing off the pressure of his injuries.

there wasn’t a trace of apprehension as he slung his gun back into his holster, sheathed knives back into the layer of his trench coat, and put on his stetson, that silver skull pendant on its brim glimmering in the dull light.

but you had seen how easily he lied to the kind man earlier.

how easily he could lie to you.

before he left, he pressed his forehead to yours, cool leather palm against your chest, and then to that spot where your hair and neck met, and then he stepped out into the hallway and the door shut behind him.

you twisted in the sheets, searching for a sliver of warmth that he had left behind.

there was an emptiness in your heart when you couldn’t find it.

you couldn’t sleep almost the entire night—desperately waiting for when the sun would breach the horizon, and Ghost would crawl back into that space in your heart you left vacant for him.

the night steeped into an black sky, clouds drifting across the moon in splotchy patches. you fell into a half-slumber, perched between the soft pillows of the bed when there was a quiet thud from a distance.

you startled, picking up your head and searching in the darkness in a sleepy haze.

“Ghost?” you whispered out, only a silence answering you, as a form materialized, prowling forward from the entrance of the room.

it was the girl with milky skin and an inky black hair, in that same revealing dress as before, skin reflective in the moonlight, and a revolver in her hand.

important note: if anyone wants to learn more about san francisco’s chinatown in circa. 1900, here’s are two articles i found interesting: time magazine (bubonic plague) and history.net (prostitution & Donaldina Cameron)

that being said, i want to clarify that much of san francisco’s chinatown culture became characterized solely about prostitution, opium, and gambling in the media (movies, tv shows, etc.) because of racial prejudices in the 1900s. while i talk about those themes in this story, they don’t make up even half of the rich culture in san francisco's chinatown and i do not want to create that impression!!

ugh anyways i didn’t mean to make this chapter so angsty 🙁 it will get better i promise i promise i promise but thank you for all your guys’s amazing support <33 i hope you enjoyed this chapterrr <33 next up... character development 🌚

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