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qwimchii · 8 months

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𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 1) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

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

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

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

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

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

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

header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

you had heard the whispers on the horizon.

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

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

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

Ghost was coming to town.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

he wasn’t even human.

a ghost. or so you heard.

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

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

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

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

“Ghost.”

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

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

Daddy’s got business with Ghost.

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

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

“wanted bourbon.”

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

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

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

shakily, you exhaled. “no.”

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

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

“light me up, lovely?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you stared at the floor instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what brings you to our small town?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost leaned forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your brows raised. Daddy did business with Ghost?

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

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

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

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

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

“Turner is protecting you now?”

“yes.”

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

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

“you know i can’t do that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what did Ghost know about fairness?

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost blinked. “what’re my terms?”

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

his eyes narrowed. “body and soul?”

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

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

“Henry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“gearing up to kill me?”

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

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

he watched all your movements with an eerie silence.

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

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

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

“‘course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

“tell me anyway.”

“i hate it here.”

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

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

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

you whispered it under your breath. “devil.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daddy could never out gun Ghost even if he tried.

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

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

you nodded, swallowing, throat bone dry.

“you’ll be fine.”

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

“i’m sorry, sweetheart.”

no you’re not.

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

“goodbye, Daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you cleared your throat. “where are we?”

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

“border of southern california.”

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

“and this cabin…?”

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

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

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

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

you can do this.

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

“you gonna sit?”

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

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

“relax. no need to be so worked up.”

you nodded. “right.”

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

his accent thickened. “what are you doing?”

“i-i thought—”

“you thought wrong.” his words were cutting.

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

you fumbled with your hands awkwardly.

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

but you couldn’t hold your tongue long enough—

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

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

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

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

you almost hissed at him.

“i thought you said you knew manners?”

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

“may i please have some food, sir?”

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

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

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

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

you swallowed. “what stuff?”

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

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

“no.”

Ghost cocked his head. “that so?”

you nodded. “Daddy just had touchy customers.”

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

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

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

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

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

“what’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shivered violently, a chill passing over you.

“cold?”

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

“mhmm.”

he jerked his head to the bed.

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

you balked, fist clenching and unclenching.

“but…what about Mr. Turner’s men?”

he turned still, hand twitching at his holster.

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

“but…” Ghost moved to grab his saddlebag.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

always ten steps ahead of you.

“gearing up to kill me?”

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

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

your skin felt cold but his stare was hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“sure you’re not scared, lovely?”

your jaw clenched. “yes.”

“really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you dropped your knapsack to the ground.

“where’s my revolver?”

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

“revolver privileges revoked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what’re you doing?”

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

“what are you doing with my horse?”

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

what?

“what?”

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

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

“where are you going?”

Ghost just stared at you. “into town.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then, you heard distant voices chattering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“she was here.”

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

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

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

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

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

an icy drip went down your back.

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

your heart was still beating out of your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

my love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks,

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

he ties up one foot, the saddle puts on,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;

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

and it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.

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

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

beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide;

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

in the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho.

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

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

“Ghost!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’ll die.”

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

“no i won’t.”

you shot him a glare.

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

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

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

you slapped at the side of his face.

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

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

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

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

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

he huffed. “stupid girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“tea.” she nodded to the steaming cup.

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

“for now.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ghost’s girl, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“they should be here any minute now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you assumed it was Kate shushing him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“more or less.”

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

“where’s Ghost?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your brows rose. “there were others fighting?”

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

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

“so the man who shot Ghost last night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soap shot out, “do we tell her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she smiled lightly. “a small one.”

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

“is this the only town you protect?”

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

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

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

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

“friends?”

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

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

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

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

“who?”

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

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

and you didn’t even know it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“stealing my things again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“that so?”

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

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

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

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

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

you smiled at that, gripping his wrist weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

“who then?” he demanded, voice silky.

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

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

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

i want you to touch me.

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

i want only you to touch me.

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

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

“i dont know.”

“tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“does it hurt?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you know what this is then?”

you nodded dumbly.

“really?” you had no idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“greedy are we, pretty thing?”

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

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

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

“what hurts?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“say my name, princess.”

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

Simon, Simon, Simon.

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

Simon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you whimpered. what would the lord think?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“that so?”

you rolled your eyes. “yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“but—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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dwaekkilinos · 1 month

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savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.

It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.

Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.

Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.

The apocalypse had come.

You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.

Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.

And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.

That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.

You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.

From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.

At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.

Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.

It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.

It.

Armageddon.

The Rapture.

The fucking apocalypse.

It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.

The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.

The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.

The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.

That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.

You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.

But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.

By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.

But by eighteen, you knew better.

It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .

You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.

That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)

You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.

Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.

This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.

As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.

He didn’t believe.

No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.

The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.

That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.

That was what was told, and that was what was believed.

You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.

Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

— Revelation 6:1–2

That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.

While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.

As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.

Only by that time, it was too late.

Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.

And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.

The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.

Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.

By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.

Then . . . it all just stopped.

But your town continued to spread its lies.

The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.

They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.

Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.

But you knew better.

While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.

You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)

And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.

The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.

But you couldn't believe it.

Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.

Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.

Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.

He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.

Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.

War will come, she warned.

War will come.

But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.

And then . . . then he did.

The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.

The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.

War will come.

It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.

This was no man. This was War.

And it all became clear soon after.

While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.

The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.

The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.

That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.

Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.

(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)

Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.

War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.

From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.

But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.

There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.

Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.

The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.

And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.

(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)

While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.

The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.

That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.

It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.

The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.

It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.

It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.

When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.

— Revelation 6:7–8

Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.

Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.

She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.

You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.

Now there was no more living, just surviving.

Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.

Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.

How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?

You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.

But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.

Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.

Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.

You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.

Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.

You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.

And then you looked at him.

Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.

Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had killed someone.

This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.

(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.

(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))

That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.

The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.

And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.

(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)

But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.

You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.

And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.

It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.

And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).

Survival became all that you knew after that.

Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.

The burden became yours to bear.

This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.

Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.

And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.

Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.

If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.

So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.

Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.

Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.

Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.

When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.

You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.

In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.

But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.

You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.

So you let yourself turn into a machine.

And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.

That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.

You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.

Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.

That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.

Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.

When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.

No, killed was too vague.

Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.

The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.

You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.

But you had that night.

And now you paid the consequences.

It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.

She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.

So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.

Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?

How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?

You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.

Were you no better than the dead to her?

You swallowed hard.

Had you become a monster?

“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.

But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.

You did what you had to do.

You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.

You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.

Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.

Kind had been rare back then. It still was.

And Felix stayed kind.

When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.

You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.

But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.

That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.

He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.

But you?

Well . . .

“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”

”You’re not."

“Lix."

“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”

Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

”She’s just a kid."

“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .

”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “

”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”

You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.

His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."

His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.

But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.

However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.

You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”

”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.

”Sleep, little bird."

He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.

But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

You're not too far gone.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.

A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?

But you already knew the answer.

Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .

And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.

His face was always there.

Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.

Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.

And you knew you had.

At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.

You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.

Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.

And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.

But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.

Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.

He would still be here if you hadn't—

"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.

You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.

It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.

She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.

But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.

You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.

Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .

. . . You’d still killed a man.

You’d actually taken a life.

(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And maybe you had been.

That would’ve been easier to fathom.

But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.

"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.

Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.

And you couldn’t blame them.

The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.

Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.

That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.

With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.

You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.

But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.

Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.

Had he felt like this, too?

Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?

Did he ever wonder if—

“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.

You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”

“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.

But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.

Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.

Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”

But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.

“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”

“Your father filled your head with lies.”

You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”

Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."

There were the tears now.

But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.

Twist the knife, and she did.

"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”

Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.

This was what you deserved.

Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.

But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”

She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”

Your mother remained silent.

And you knew her answer.

Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”

“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”

But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”

Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”

“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”

Once again, she remained silent.

But you knew the truth.

“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”

Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .

And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.

Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.

It happened too quickly for you to think.

Beat. Beat.

You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.

Beat.

Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.

And you knew what to do.

For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.

The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.

One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.

Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.

You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.

. . . You were getting worse.

Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”

But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.

And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.

The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.

Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.

If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.

But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.

Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.

According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.

So, you listened, but you did not believe.

The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.

Whatever.

(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.

Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.

He’d made sure there was nothing left.

Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.

Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

Survival was all that mattered.

Everything else was fucked.

And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.

Survive long enough for them.

For your father.

For your sister.

For your mother.

For Felix.

For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)

But, just your luck, sleep never found you.

Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.

Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?

You didn’t want to see that day come.

It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.

With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.

You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.

Nothing was left.

Truly.

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.

But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.

You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.

The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.

Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a hoard.

You swallowed hard.

Death was near.

You’d thought the undead didn’t hoard unless . . .

The man.

Your eyes widened.

The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.

And his screams . . .

You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.

And . . . it was all your fault.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

Death was coming.

Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.

Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.

The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—

But then you saw it.

In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.

You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the hoard up ahead.

Death was here. So close. Too close.

They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.

There was no way you could outrun the hoard. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.

Fuck.

You wanted to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.

“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”

You could only shake your head.

Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."

You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.

There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the hoard without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.

Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.

There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.

You knew what that meant.

This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.

It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.

And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.

This was how you made things right.

You nodded at your thoughts.

Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.

Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.

This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.

So you sent one last glare at the hoard up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.

Still: "Little bird," you whispered.

Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.

You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.

"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."

Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."

You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.

But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.

Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.

Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.

You knew this.

Felix did, too.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."

The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.

"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.

You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.

The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.

"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."

Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."

"You don't get to die."

"Neither do you."

"Then I guess we have a predicament."

Your eyes softened. "Lix."

His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."

And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.

He shook his head.

You swallowed hard.

The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.

You gripped his hand. "Protect them."

He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”

Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”

But it was. You both knew that.

Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”

“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.

But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.

You worked quickly. You had to. For them.

The quiet cries of the hoard approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.

You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.

Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.

So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the hoard to get near enough to strike.

You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.

It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.

Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.

The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.

Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.

And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.

Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.

Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.

Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.

Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.

You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.

Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.

You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.

All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.

Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.

You're not too far gone.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.

Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.

This was the only way to save them. The only way.

Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.

The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.

The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.

You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Fuck.

Had that been too loud?

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.

You swallowed hard.

Death itself had seen you.

Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.

And end it you would.

You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.

Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.

And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.

There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.

“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.

With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.

And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.

The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.

But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the hoard getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the hoard, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.

This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.

You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.

It hit you then.

Beat.

This really was the end.

You couldn’t run.

Beat.

The hoard was gaining on you.

This was the end.

Beat.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.

But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.

Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.

It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.

What was he doing?

But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.

“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”

You skipped a beat, not answering.

His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.

But you only blinked.

You didn’t want to be saved.

No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—

Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—

“Run,” he bit out, an order.

And it all happened so fast.

You stayed put.

He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.

Beat.

Be—

A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the hoard following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—

Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the hoard you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.

And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the hoard was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.

And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.

As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.

And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.

What the fuck?

But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.

There it was, you realized.

Your punishment.

You were going to die.

And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.

There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.

In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—

And then . . . then the memories all faded in.

The warehouse. The man. The shots. The hoard.

This was Death’s doing.

The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.

Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.

But . . . why were you still alive?

Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.

You were alive.

Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”

And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.

Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?

Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?

Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.

Him.

The man.

Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.

You clenched your jaw hard.

The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.

And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.

“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”

But you remained silent, watching.

"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”

You swallowed thickly.

There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.

"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”

And you hadn’t.

You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.

Had your mother been right about you?

Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?

The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.

"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”

You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?

Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?

Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.

And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.

Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.

(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)

And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.

Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that hoard and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.

Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?

Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.

Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)

And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.

You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?

Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.

Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"

Why aren’t you fighting?

The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.

Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.

It was surely daylight by now.

Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.

By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.

So . . . where was your fight?

You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.

Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.

Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"

For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.

The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.

And you almost laughed.

Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.

It all felt a little unreal.

Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.

You swallowed hard. You’d brought that hoard to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.

But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.

There it was.

This was the end you were promised.

Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.

On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.

"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.

His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”

But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?

"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.

His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."

Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.

This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.

So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?

Why—

"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"

You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.

His stare only unnerved you more.

Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.

Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."

The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”

That only unnerved you further.

Was this truly Death?

Surely he had killed before.

Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.

As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”

But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.

There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.

You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.

“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.

Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.

“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.

His brows twitched, taken back.

“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”

But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?

A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.

Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.

Then . . . you felt it.

A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.

You nearly gasped.

Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.

But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.

The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”

Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.

“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”

And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.

I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.

But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?

You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.

And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?

It all hit you then.

These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .

I won’t kill you.

But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.

These were good people. And you were their bad omen.

It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.

You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.

It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:

@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin

(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)

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solannn · 5 months

Text

Haikyuu x Cat!male!reader

description: which,a cat human,[M/N] tries to forget his human past as a cat but it’s isn’t it's not easy as he thought

remember : this story implied male reader and I’m really strict about a fem aligned about reading it you can read it just don’t fetishized it please there’s no nsfw bcs the character aren’t adults so minor are accepted.

KITTY; 01

═══ ⋆★⋆═══

You had 2 owners, one is named Kuroo and the other Kenma.

Kuroo is the one who adopted him alone on a desolate street

Kenma sometimes visited you because you lived with Kuroo. Now you've been living with him for about 2 years, you've gotten used to seeing him leave first thing in the morning to go to class.

You decide to go to his room and the first thing you notice is his volleyball, do you remember seeing her playing with Kenma, won't it do any harm if you try to copy their actions?

You transform into a human and take the ball in your hands, at first you didn't understand the basics so you forced yourself to watch tutorials on the computer.

It's 1:30 p.m. you went to eat for your lunch break, you picked up the ball and started playing again for hours but you forgot that your owner came back around 8 p.m. and you made a mess of the house

The door opened, Kuroo was the first to notice he had his mouth open when he noticed you he exclaimed

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU ??" He enters the house and looks around to find his cat.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY CAT? ARE YOU AN ANIMAL KIDNAPER?? A THIE-” he noticed that you had cat ears and a tail.

“…” He looked you straight in the eyes you didn’t know what to say the room became silent before Kenma arrived.

“I didn’t know you had a b-” Kenma started to say appearing from behind making Kuroo jolt. Kuroo cut him off “I DON’T HAVE A BOYFRIEND."

🧚‍♂️

“Are you trying to tell me you’re my cat, Kitty?” You were sitting on the couch talking everyone thought you were crazy in this room.

Oh yes, you forgot that they called you 'Kitty' because of Hello Kitty and the lack of originality.

You sigh trying to find your words “Touch my ear” The 2 boys raised their eyebrows Kuroo took your ear and pulled it very hard, he could tear it off you cried out in pain.

“I SAID TOUCH NOT PULL.” “YOU NEVER KNOW OK!!” he shouted back. Kenma was massaging his tampons because they were screaming so loudly.

“See I’m real!” You said letting a sigh escape your mouth you didn't know why but you couldn't transform yourself maybe from one to stress or something else probably.

You closed your eyes trying to concentrate, you took deep breaths and relaxed your shoulders. A few seconds passed and you became a cat again, you meowed. Kuroo & Kenma look at you in pure shock.

“Now I believe you it wasn’t so hard to do that” said the boy you gave him a glare,a death glare.

🐱

You turned back into a human to talk to them, you sighed “Calling me [M/N] is better than Kitty” you said, scratching the back of your head.

“Why was Kitty a good first name?” Complains Kuroo “It was shitty and no originality 😐” said Kenma “hey! I had no idea ok?☹️”.

“Actually, if you went to high school, that would be great, wouldn’t it?” “Yeah..” Kenma replied with his eyes on his console.

Kuroo smirked, imagining scenarios where you were in high school “ you should hide your tail and your ears” you nodded Kuroo already had an idea in mind.

"But how old are you? In your human form ig" Kenma asked curiosily if you didn’t mind "I’m 16 years I think I should be in second year" Kenma nodded

“Ah! I almost forgot, [M/N]” a warm smile appeared on his face before disappearing “you clean the house 😘". You sighed

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kodydrs · 7 months

Text

The Vice Admiral’s Daughter - Portgas D. Ace (|||)

a/n: part 3!!! idk why but this part was honestly the hardest to write and idk why bc i always right smut. um, anyways, this is gonna have like 1 or 2 more parts and then it’s done 🫶🏻 and i’m back to other fanfics (i have an iceberg & franky one sitting in my ideas box). feel free to send in asks / requests, and comment & reblogs are appreciated!!

warnings: ace x fem!reader, pirate!ace x marine!daughter!reader, fxm, 21!ace, 19!reader, oral (f & m receiving), (slight) fingering, cunnilingus, smut, mdni, i’m bad at tagging, not proofread (it’s never proofread)

ib: tagged in earlier post

request: yes / no

You’re awoken in the (very) early hours of the morning a few months later when you’re back at Loguetown. The transponder snail that sits beside your bed feels like it’s screaming in your ear and you groan into your pillow.

‘Hello?’

The voice on the other side comes over clearly, and you’re almost motivated to hang up right then and go back to sleep.

‘Hey sleepyhead.’ Ace laughs quietly. ‘I’m surprised you picked up. Did I wake you up?’

‘No.’ You lie through your teeth, rolling in your bed. ‘I was just walking my fish.’

‘Oh. That’s good… Have you missed me?’

You’re silent on your end of the line, and you can hear Ace’s smile drop.

‘Ace? How did you get my number? It’s private.’

You hear his laugh crackle over and it warms your heart a little.

‘Don’t worry about that. I just need you to come into town. To that bar we met at last time.’

‘The Smog Cutter? That place has been closed for a few months. It’s all abandoned now.’

‘I know, but I really need you to meet me there. Please.’

You groan again, weighing out your options before inevitably agreeing.

You don’t bother properly changing into clothes. Instead you just throw a shirt over your bra and shorts before running out of the house and into the township.

Ace is standing outside of the Smog Cutter. You hadn’t lied when you said it was closed and abandoned. The paint that used to decorate the front of the building had long since peeled off, and you could barely read the name of the place.

‘So that’s where you live?’ Ace said, looking at where you’d come from.

You’re out of breath when you reach him, but you stand up straight with your hands on your hips.

‘Well yeah. It’s the Vice-Admirals house aswell.’

‘They do live well, don’t they?’ He scoffed. You give him a sideways look as you both walk into the empty tavern.

‘Did you just call me out here to make comments on my lifestyle or what?’

‘…I missed you.’ His smile stretched and you’re met with piercing blue eyes looking straight at yours. ‘And I wanted to talk to you.’

You freeze for a second before giving him a “are you fucking serious�� look.

‘Why would you “miss me”?’ You ask, sitting on one of the counter stools.

‘Because you’re special. You could’ve turned me in at any point, but you didn’t. You’ve talked to me. And the second time we met, you drank with me and made me laugh. And we’ll forget about the 3rd because that was a little messy, but besides the point. But the point is you’re special and i can’t get you out of my head.’

You listen to him closely, finally breaking a soft laugh at the end.

‘Careful, Fire Fist. You’re making it sound like you’re in love with me.’ He blushes and looks away, and you realise at that moment what he’s trying to say. ‘Oh. Oh.’

‘What on earth do you mean “Oh”?! I just poured my heart out to you and your reply is “Oh”?’

‘It’s an “Oh”, as in “Oh. The Vice-Admiral's daughter was correct in thinking that Portgas D. Ace did in fact want to take advantage of a 17 year old girl that night.’

‘Well, duh. But that only because you said-‘

‘Oh just the fuck up.’ You grinned, grabbing his chin and pressing your lips together chastely.

It takes Ace a minute to register before he relaxes into the kiss, being quick to add more fervour. You wrap your arms around his neck and he steps off his own seat and stands between your legs. He wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he continues to return your kiss passionately.

‘This is stupid.’ He whispers, trying to pull back from the kiss slightly. ‘We should stop. You have no idea how much trouble you’ll get in if we’re caught.’ He smirks, knowing he’s about to get a reaction.

‘Oh. But my warnings for the past 3 years have been ignored? Seems a little unfair.’ He chuckles and rolls his eyes.

‘Fine. But I’m being serious. This is dangerous. What happens if your dad finds out?’

‘He just won’t find out.’ You’re quick to reply, and even quicker to lean back into the rejoicing your mouths. Ace grins, pulling you impossibly closer. You take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. 3 years seems long enough for a starved man. He sighs into your mouth, pulling back to see your slightly dishevelled look.

‘You look so beautiful right now.’

You smile, lightly nipping at his jawline.

‘I want you so bad, Portgas D. Ace.’

He brings a hand to the back of your head, guiding your face back up to meet his lips. He bites down on your bottom lip, inciting a moan from you.

‘That’s not helping. I’m gonna go crazy if we keep doing this.’ He groaned, leaning over you so your back was pressed against the counter, one hand holding him up. ‘But god, do I love you so much. I’m gonna marry you someday.’

‘A bold statement.’ You whisper as he begins to explore your neck and collar. ‘Especially to make to the Vice-Admiral’s daughter.’

He grins and nods.

‘Well, you know me, princess. I like to take risks.’ He winks, coming back up to capture your lips once again. Sweet noises drip from your mouth and they all go to Ace’s dick as he slowly grinds his hips against yours. His free hand moves from your hip down to your ass, grabbing at the clothed muscle. Your own hands run up his forearms, then down his torso til they’re resting just above the waistband of his shorts. Teasingly, you grab his belt, holding him like he isn’t as close as possible.

‘Cheeky.’ He hisses, littering kisses over your shoulders. ‘Don’t make me fuck you in an abandoned bar.’

‘It’d be awfully fitting though, wouldn’t it?’ For once, it’s your voice that drops to a seductive tone. Ace groans lustfully, pressing his forehead against your skin. You bring your hand up to pull on the hair on the back of his neck. ‘Come on, Ace. Please fuck me in the bar.’

He feels himself fold right there and then. All sense of dignity fell out of him faster than he dropped to his knees for you.

‘You’re gonna be the death of me.’ He sighed, kissing your stomach. Wanted hands followed slowly after him, tracing the bumps of your spine. He kissed each of your thighs, biting lightly then smoothing the wound, littering your skin in love bites.

Your back’s digging into the counter as he decorated your body, even with your arms keeping you stable. Calloused fingertips trace your inner thighs, parting them slightly. Black eyes meet yours, the pirate leaning back to look at you.

‘You’re so hot from down here.’ He coos, resting his chin on your stomach.

‘I could say the same about you.’ Your hand finds its way to his face, caressing his cheek. ‘You look good on your knees.’

A fire lights in him, hotter than the one already there. You’re so unbelievably attractive, and he can’t even begin to process how he’d come to be blessed enough to get you.

Your thighs are once again littered in kisses, marks all along your inner skin. Your lips are slightly parted as he gets closer to your core. The only thing obstructing him is your thin pajama shorts. Your eyes met again and neither of you need to speak to know what he’s asking. You nod, holding your breath as your soft, pink folds are exposed. The hand on his cheek moves to his hair, running your fingers through his soft black strands. His eyes don’t leave yours as he takes the final step, his tongue flicking out to taste you for the first time. You gasp, mouth open and your head back. Ace smirks, lapping at your folds, then slipped a finger inside you, watching your wetness already coat his digit.

‘Ah fuck.’ You moan lowly, harshly massaging your breast through your top while the other tugs at his hair. A groan from Ace sends vibrations to your clit, stimulating your core. He smirks against your cunt as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, finding your sweet spot. You’re a whimpering mess in a matter of minutes, and you can feel your legs threatening to buckle beneath you. As if he can tell, Ace adds another finger, stretching you more as he thrusts increasingly deeper and eats you out.

‘A-Ace.’ You cry, tears threatening to spill. ‘I’m gonna cum.’

You’re holding his hair so tight you’re sure you’d have pulled some out by now, but it’s the last of your worries. His grin grows wider, feeling you pulsating around his fingers increasing his own arousal.

‘Cum for me, baby.’

Euphoria washes over you by his command, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back.

Touching yourself for the past 3 years had surficed, but this was by far the most intense orgasm you’d spent in your entire life, and all it took was Ace’s mouth and fingers.

Ace continued to lap at your folds, tasting and milking you through while you shake and shudder in pleasure.

‘Are you alright?’ You nod slowly, taking a moment to look down at him while you struggle to stay up. He chuckles softly, pulling back to look at you. ‘Quite the climax, aye?’

‘Shut up.’ You pant, pulling him up to his feet so you can kiss him again. You cringe slightly at the taste of yourself on his lips, but it’s so hot that you ignore it. As you’re making out, you run your hand down his torso, letting your fingers drag over his abs, then past his belt til you’re delicately palming his erect cock. He groans into your kiss, his body already trembling slightly from both your touch, and the adrenaline.

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’ He whispered, holding your wrist. You’re quick to shake your head, pulling away. His hair is messier than usual, and he looks absolutely divine like this.

‘That wouldn’t be fair.’ You pouted, putting on a sad girl act. You hold his shoulder and turn you both around so it’s now his back pressed against the counter. ‘Plus, you mustn’t think I love you enough if you think I’m going to wait another 4 months to give you head.’

His gaze is one of surprise, but then a soft smile emerges.

‘You think I’m gonna disappear again?’

Your foreheads are pressed together, and you slowly begin to stroke his dick, watching his breathing change.

‘Please don’t lie to me and say you won’t.’

He laughs lowly, hands finding your hips.

‘I promise I won’t leave. Not now that I have you. Do you trust me?’

‘No.’ Your reply is plain and harsh, but yours holds more truth than his. ‘You’re a pirate, Ace. You’ll need to leave whether you want to or not.’

He shrugs, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips and holding your gaze.

‘True. But I meant more in the long run. I’m not going to leave you if you’ll be mine.’ He feels your smile against his lips, and it makes his heart flutter. You peck then quickly before lowering yourself to his knees.

‘I’ve been yours since Day 1, Fire Fist Ace.’

A shallow gasp escapes as Ace’s breath hitches, focused on your movements as you undress him. You’re working slowly, teasing him as you pull him free of his shorts. His hands slide round your face to your scalp, holding your hair back in a makeshift ponytail. A hum escapes at the slight tug. Eyes lock as your tongue pokes out in kitten licks against his tip. His reactions makes your insides giggle. His eyes roll back and his hands shake, hips leaning forward at your subtle touch.

‘You’re so sensitive, baby.’ You tease, peppering kisses down the length of his shaft. He just groans as you moan, your hand wrapped around him to pump rhythmically.

‘That’s because-‘ He’s cut off temporarily by a squeeze to his base and your lips pressed to his tip.

‘Because what-‘ You whisper, finally letting his cock slide into your mouth.

He shakes his head quickly, taking a deep breath to try to steady himself.

‘Because I’ve been avoiding other women since I saw you.’ A moan fills the bar, his dick plummeting deep into your throat. Your face lights up and you feel your heart melting at his confession. With an internal smile. you quicken your pace, stroking where your mouth can’t reach. Your other hand rests on his thigh, running your hands along the skin to keep him calm.

His fingers are digging into your scalp, holding your hair tightly as his hips involuntarily thrust forwards to meet your rhythm.

‘Oh fuck… I’m yours.’

You can hear your own muffled moans bouncing off the walls, and you should probably be concerned about who else can hear them. But that doesn’t matter when your boyfriend that you aren’t going to see for another long while is with you.

Ace’s breath becomes ragged, his other hand coming down to your cheek.

‘You feel so good, princess.’ He releases a long, low moan, his climax shuddering through his body. Your gag reflex kicks in as the fluid shoots down your throat, but you swallow it nonetheless. Common courtesy as he’d done the same for you. He’s shuddering in pleasure and relief while you milk him through, not releasing him until you’re sure he’s done.

You laugh quietly to yourself, pressing a few kisses to his thighs before standing and kissing him softly.

‘Are you still alive?’ You whisper, holding his waist. He gasps, heart racing and shaking, but nods.

‘Yeah… I’m alive.’

‘Good.’ You reply, pressing your foreheads together. ‘Do you need anything?’

‘Maybe water in a minute.’ He laughs, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

‘Mkay.’ You hum. ‘You lie down in one of the booths and I’ll get you a drink of water, ok?’

A weak attempt of helping him to the seat is made before you’re running off to the abandoned kitchen to look for cups. Ace’s eyes follow you as you run, filled with love and gratitude. You’re back in only a matter of seconds, 2 glasses of cold water in hand. You help him drink some of his water before taking a sip of yours and laying beside him.

‘Better?’ You ask, watching his carefully while love clouds your vision.

‘Much.’ You nod slowly, lips pressed together in a line.

‘Can I hug you?’

Ace stares at you with a raised eyebrow.

‘We just gave each other head and now you’re asking if we can hug?’ It’s a dumb question, you knew. But you’d have much rather asked and he’d said no than just “attacking him” and it’s not being reciprocated. You shrug and he just laughs, opening his arms to welcome you into his embrace. A welcome you take very quickly. Your face is quickly buried in the crook of his neck, feeling his breath fan against your skin.

‘If I was to sleep, would you still be here when I woke up?’

There’s a long silence between you both, and it makes the last event feel like a fever dream. It’s a silence that answers your own question.

‘You should come with me. To sea, I mean.’

You sigh, holding him tighter like he’s about to escape.

‘I can’t, Ace. Not right now.’

He hugs you just as tightly, twirling your hair around.

‘I promise I’ll be back soon. Ok? And then someday, I’ll come back and I won’t leave you.’

You’re not quick to respond, but a simple nod seems to suffice.

‘Ace.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I love you.’ You whisper, feeling your eyes start to droop and sleep start to take over. ‘And I’m really glad you manned up and asked me to be yours.’

Ace smiles softly, pressing his lips against your forehead for a long second.

‘I’ll make sure I never stop reminding you.’

You’re unsurprised when you wake up in your room the next morning, no sign that you’d even left (mind the slightly open window). There was a tinge of sadness knowing it would be a long while before you saw the pirate again, but you smile, tracing the marks he’d left on your body. These were the marks of your first time.

taglist: @rotin0

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frankcastlescumslut · 2 years

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frank castle x gf!reader. he comes home late and as he's getting ready for bed he hears her whimpering qnd its bc she's having a sex dream. AND THEN SMUT OBVIOUSLY.

I have been sitting on this one for days…. jesus take the wheel.

a/n: I know it wasn’t requested, but I really wanted this plus size! coded. anyways! i’m wet!

Dreaming of You

word count: 2.5k

pairing: Frank Castle x Plus Size!Fem Reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!! obvious smut, mentions of somnophilia, some voyeurism, soft dom!Frank, oral (f receiving) penetration (p in v), brief spit play, finger sucking, maybe dumbification??, slight breeding kink, use of ‘daddy’ (one time), cockwarming, very sweet and tender (in my opinion!!!)

comments/feedback/reblogs/likes are always welcome and appreciated!!! inbox is currently open!!! thank you for this request!!!<3

Sleep pulled Frank’s head towards the floor as he leaned against the door to the apartment, sighing into the relief of being home. His eyelids closed as he breathed in the familiar scent of the apartment along with the remnants of tonight’s dinner. The silence was peaceful- something he was still adjusting to.

His stomach growled at the lingering aromas and he begrudgingly pushed himself off of the door frame with a heavy exhale, willing his feet to take him to the kitchen. A plate of neatly wrapped food waited for him on top of the stove, a note addressed to him resting on the aluminum. He couldn’t help but smile at the kindness of you.

1:17am. The blinking time nearly blinded him. He groaned at the hour, hating being away from you for so long and allowing you to fall asleep alone. I’ll be fine! Just wake me up when you get back, okay? His stomach begged for food, his body screamed for rest, but his heart yearned for you. He practically shoveled the meal down, desperate to avoid any confrontations in the morning, you went to bed without eating?! Frank!, and made his way towards the shared bedroom.

Your body was cloaked by the soft comforter, moonlight streaming through the window and highlighting the softness of your face. He would never grow tired of these moments; you were something out of this world and he would never understand what kind of luck he acquired that allowed you to become his life. You sighed further into the pillow as he placed a kiss to your forehead before heading to the shower.

The cool air from the bedroom mixed with the steam from the bathroom nearly suffocated Frank. He huffed at the change in humidity, shaking his hair as he adjusted to the new temperature. Droplets of water rolled down his back, collecting at the towel wrapped around his waist as he quietly shuffled throughout the room in search of underwear. He cursed silently at the wood scraping against itself as he opened the drawer, desperately trying to stay quiet for your sake. He held his breath, as if that would make any difference, but then he heard you whimper.

His brows furrowed as he listened, still bent in half over the drawer. You weren’t having a nightmare, he knew that- your nightmares elicited a scream or would jolt you to sit upright in bed, without fail, so this was different. Blindly grabbing at a pair of underwear, he straightened, eyes adjusting to the darkness in search of you.

The breath caught in his throat as he silently gasped at the sight of you. Your knuckles were white as you clutched the pillow to your chest, hips lazily drawing against something in between your legs. Frank, please. He couldn’t breathe. Just like that. Sleep evaded his mind. God, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop, baby. The towel wrapped around his waist tightened against his hardening length.

He wanted to look away, God, he swore he did. It felt wrong- invasive, to watch you in this vulnerable state. To watch the way your face scrunched, nose wrinkling and eyes creasing, as you moaned into the pillow. To watch the way your lips trembled as your core rubbed against the pillow between your thighs. To watch the way you called out for him to make me feel good, please. To palm himself through the towel at the sight of you begging for him, even in sleep.

It was as if he were having an out of body experience. Your body turned ever so slightly, the pillow falling away from you to reveal your supple breasts, the comforter pulling down ever so slightly, revealing your bare skin. An audible moan filled the room as he watched the way your face twisted in pleasure and he couldn’t control the way the towel fell, his hand catching his member expertly. Oh, Frank. You feel so good.

He couldn’t touch you, he wouldn’t. He fought with himself, whether it was wrong to pleasure himself to the image of you as you unconsciously chased your own release, and opted that it was better to close his eyes and relish in your sounds instead.

Take me, please. Fuck me just like that, just like that. God, don’t stop. Frank?

His eyes shot open at the change of tone from your sweet voice.

“Frankie?”

His eyes found you clutching the pillow to your chest. Your hair disheveled, pieces sticking against your sweaty forehead, your lips swollen and chest panting. You look beautiful, and he is exposed and pleasuring himself in front of you.

“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” he drops his hands instantly.

“It’s okay, really.” the pillow falls, revealing your breasts as you crawl to the edge of the bed.

He can’t help the way his eyes trail your naked body. The roundness of your shoulders, the soft creases against your waist, the gentle curve of your hips, the plump thighs that lead you to him. He eventually settled on the way you lick your lips as you draw closer.

“Let me help,” you practically purr, hoisting yourself to your knees to pull Frank towards you. His lips crash into yours with desperation.

Whether it was your willingness to please him, the way you tugged his bottom lip between your teeth, the way your hand found his throbbing cock, or the way you were already dripping, he wasn’t sure. He had to have you.

A yelp left your lips as you bounced against the mattress, landing with your back against the headboard and legs completely spread. Your lip catches between your teeth as Frank catches your gaze- eyes dark with lust. The muscles in his back constrict and retract as he crawls towards your core.

A whimper fills the air as he runs a finger through your wet folds before inspecting the way his fingers glisten.

“Look at that,” he moans around his fingers, savoring your taste.

“So fuckin’ sweet.” your lip trembles and you stifle your own moan at the sight.

“Aw, t’s the matter, angel?” He coos.

“You like it when I touch you, right?” he collects more of your arousal before gently dragging it upwards, pressing circles into your clit.

You nod in response, tears already pricking the corner of your eyes.

“This what you were dreamin’ about? Dreamin’ bout me touchin’ this sweet pussy?” your head falls against the headboard as he teases a finger into your entrance.

He’s surprised to watch you shake your head.

“No? You weren’t dreamin’ bout me makin’ you feel good?” he pumps a finger into you, hitting your g-spot. You can’t help but moan at the way he works you.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a big girl and use your words for me.” you clench around him at the endearment.

“You were-” your knuckles whiten while you grip the pillow, the flat of his tongue suddenly applying pressure to your clit.

“You- oh, god” you can’t even speak as he adds another finger, pumping into your g-spot. He carefully collects a wad of saliva on his tongue before spitting on your already dripping cunt, admiring the way it sheens before lapping up the mess.

“Tell me, go on” he mumbles into your pussy. He hooks his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to him, his eyes shutting as he devours you. His hands trail up your plump stomach, squeezing at your breasts and pinching your pebbled nipples, eliciting a string of curses from you.

“You were fucking me! God, Frank! That feels so good!” the coil of pleasure that had been building in your sleep nearly snapped. Your back presses into the headboard and your hands find purchase in his hair, dragging his tongue against your sensitive clit.

“Please, don’t stop! God, don’t stop” your eyes press shut and you rut your hips into his face as he pulls your orgasm out of you.

Your vision blurs as your eyes cross, staring at the white ceiling with your mouth agape, the rise and fall of your chest causing your breasts to move in tandem. Frank watches the way your body responds to him, involuntarily twitching as he removes his fingers, replacing them with his tongue, lapping away at your leaking arousal. You meet his gaze and jolt as he sucks against your clit, pushing his head away with a whimper. Too sensitive.

You’re not sure who met who first- your lips crash against the others and you both savor your taste.

Frank moans into your mouth as your hand finds his velvety length, swirling the leaking precum around the sensitive tip. He jerks his hips at the sudden attention and pulls away, hooking his arms around your frame to gently lay you on your back. You whimper at the loss of being connected to him.

“Look at you, so needy, huh?” he shuffles between your legs, spreading them out with his thighs. You shake your head with a pouted lip.

“Makin’ such a mess, even while you’re sleepin’.” your teeth lightly bite down against a knuckle as he rubs the tip of his cock through your folds, lightly tapping your clit.

“Mmm, none of that.” he leans forward, elbow resting against the side of your head. Your hand dwarfs in comparison to his as he guides your fingers towards your core.

“Touch yourself.” your eyes meet his, confirming his order. A small gasp leaves your lips as he guides your fingers in gentle circles against your sensitive nerves.

“There you go, good girl. Keep your hands there for me, okay?” he cups your face before bringing a thumb to your lips. You nod with his thumb against your tongue.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this. Such a pretty fuckin’ girl,” his lips press against your forehead, the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance.

He pulls back ever so slightly, thumb still secured between your lips, before pushing himself into your warmth. The sound that leaves his lungs is a mix of relief and a groan as you tighten around him. You never are fully prepared for how big he is, regardless of how many times he connects you to him. Your vision becomes blurry as your eyelids flutter, fighting to stay open, as he bottoms out into you, his thumb collecting your moan.

“Fuck, such a good girl,” his face scrunches as he pulls out before thrusting back into you, sending you forward with the brute force.

“Such a tight little pussy, just fuckin’ takin’ me.” he’s mesmerized at the sight of him melting into your cunt, your fingers drawing lazy circles against your clit.

“Frank, please-”

“Please what, baby?” he’s hypnotized by your arousal coating him

“Please, fuck, please please” you don’t even know what you’re asking for. Your brain is captive to the pleasure jolting throughout your body.

“Oh sweetheart, already cockdrunk, huh? Is my baby already fucked out?” he teases, now finding your face and laughing at the sight. Your face is slack, mouth open, eyes crossed. Completely fucked out.

“Look atchyou, sweet girl. Can’t even talk. That feel good?” his hand snakes around the nape of your neck, lifting your head to meet his lips. It was as if you were brought back to your body when you tasted him.

“Feels s’good, feels s’good” you mumble into him.

His pace is relentless as he pounds into you.

“Y’gonna cum with me?” His hands grip the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling your head to the side to lick a stripe along your throat.

“Gonna be a good girl and cum on my cock?” He bites down gently.

“Yes! Yesyesyes, I’m a good girl” your nails scratch against his neck, fingers still against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“That’s right, you’re my good girl.” he moans into the crook of your neck, his nose dragging along your skin before whispering in your ear.

“Go on, say it. Say you’re my good girl.” he sucks against your earlobe before biting down gently. You can’t help but moan into the air as his hips rut into you, grinding into your g spot. Your body jolts- climax breaching.

“‘M your good girl! ‘M your good girl! Fuck, Frank! ‘M cumming!”

“That’s it, there you go, sweetheart. Take it” his fingers grasp at your jaw, squishing your cheeks together as he captures your moans in his mouth.

“Cum in my pussy, please. Cum in me, please, please” you whimper into him as he prolongs your own orgasm.

“Yeah? Want me to cum in this sweet pussy? Fill you up?” he’s at his peak.

“Cum in me, daddy.” it’s barely a whisper, but it’s all the permission he needs before he spills into you. Your warm cunt clenches around him, collecting all that he has to give. He buries his face into your neck wishing he could somehow get closer to you.

“Fuck, princess.” It feels electric as his large hands run down the length of your body, grabbing at your soft, plump skin. You twitch involuntarily at the slow thrusts. It takes effort for you to wrap your arms around his neck in order to pull him further in to you.

He follows suit, bending an arm to cradle underneath you, your skin molding to his firm grip. Lips press against your sternum, leaving two sweet kisses before he nuzzles into your neck, neither of you able to open your eyes while attempting to catch your breaths.

Frank breaks first. You laugh as he places kisses in places he knows you are ticklish.

“Knock it off!” you attempt to squirm but are completely trapped beneath him.

“T’s the magic word?” he places a kiss to the side of your breast, right below your armpit.

“Please! Please!” you squeal as he blows a raspberry into your side, just beneath the roll at your waist.

He meets your gaze. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes are droopy, and your smile mirrors his. He hoists himself up to his knees, and you flutter around him consequently.

“Wait-” you grab his hips to stop him from pulling out. He only raises a brow in reply.

“Just… just a little longer. Please?” your neck and ears warm in embarrassment.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He places a kiss to your forehead before carefully hooking his hands underneath your hips, rolling so you rest on top of him.

It’s quiet in the room. Circles are drawn against your back as you wrap yourself around him, your knees resting near his waist and your arms hooked underneath his. You wish there was someway you were able to become closer, and so does he as he adjusts slightly.

“Sorry-” your head perks up to assess his state.

“Sh, don’t even start. Lay down” he smacks your ass with a grin, and you can’t help but follow directions with a smile. Your cheek rests against his soft chest and you welcome his warmth. His arms encompass you completely as you adjust, quickly placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head before relaxing into your presence.

Moonlight showers through the curtains and reflects against your skin. You look magical- ethereal. He will never grow tired of being in the presence of an angel.

————

a/n: as a plus size gal myself, I just wanted some more representation!! and representation where we’re not made out to literally hate ourselves and our bodies!! oop!! this ended kinda abruptly but oh well, who wouldn’t fall back asleep after getting your guts rearranged by frank castle?? exactly.

thanks for reading <3

#frank castle smut #frank castle x plus size!fem reader #frank castle x reader #frank castle x y/n #frank castle imagine #frank castle fluff #soft dom!frank castle #soft dom!frank #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher x plus size!fem reader #the punisher x reader #jon bernthal #writing asks #asks #thank you for the request!

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magical-snail-garden · 10 months

Text

just watched the season 5 finale of miraculous ladybug at 1 in the morning, and i am on a trip with my mom and she's passed out on the bed next to me and im like slapping my face and kicking my feet and screaming silently while my mom is ZONKED. I AM UNWELL AND HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS AND IM ABOUT TO STAND AT THE END OF HER BED AND SAY "MOM I FREW UP" BC I CANT TAKE THIS

#mlb #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #ml #miraculous #chat noir #ladybug #saltydinosays

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year

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hello, hottie-cutie!! good morning!! how did your live sound check go? 'wait you read genshin fanfics?' hm well.. these pretty boys.. also idk anything about ekaterina but the fact my name is in genshin?? 'i have met a bunch of hannahs in college' ive just imagined a bunch of yous looking at each other like in that spider-men meme TT 'we all call kitties in the ph mingming or muning' oooh it's cute. you can call me this hfjdjd if you want. we call cats with kiskis (hope you meant it bc idk if i got you right) 'i think it has to do with the sound they make' yeah ig every language has words that imitate animal's sounds but interpret them differently. it's a cute and amusing difference. 'i hate raising my voice' so true. since i only knew how my mom expressed anger through raising her voice, now i do it unintentionally?? so i try to just not talk.. i'm really proud of your good job at calming yourself and all. it's admirable. this world is too angry. 'i hate angriness so much.' so true. 'im so annoyed im making everything so long' it's totally fine. you have life beside tumblr and it like.. takes time. so everything's fine. take your time. it's not a job or some real responsibility to have strict deadlines. dont forget to enjoy it all! it's exciting to know youre writing modern au (ok can we say wfal? anything i'm running out of symbols TT). hope it's not overwhelming or too much. 'also ive been trying not to curse' curse *devil emoji* no but if it's your goal or kind of a challenge for yourself, i respect it and hope you'll do well. but cursing isnt really bad! it's a big part of language's vocabulary so i see it as a real crime to forbid it. 'i was checking to see if you sent me a message and i was like 'oh i didnt get a message today’ ghfjdkdj lol it's funny how i've been only sending you the message when (as i learned later) you had already got up. like it was 7:40 in philippines? 'pls dont forget i will always reply to you' TT arent you cute?? thanks TT love you TT i cant really help my anxiety but im trying to calm myself with your kind words, thanks for you patience TT 'OMG YES I GOT THE NEW CHARACTER LOOK' OMG congratulations!!! so happy for you! hes hot. rip for his weakness. yk men are just never enough, its not your fault. 'i only play it to kill the enemies and to explore AND TO GET CHARACTERS' respectable. ig enjoyment is the aim of playing games? so if you're satisfied with it it's perfect. i'm really lucky my bestie didn't continue to play genshin bc the last time she liked a game, she made me download phasmophobia... and my laptop was hardly even alive... 1) it wasnt hbo it was a fucking COMPLEX SUBSCRIPTION on a russian idk browser? it has its own system with the plenty of services including the one that gives access to hbo. it just was the one they offered me to try fro free TT 2) and they NEVER replied me. no im not crying. suddenly i've read some articles on the wiki of ice and fire and all of the english cursing words are too soft to describe this PIZDETZ. the only thought i had was imsorryimsorry. like i knew about the dance of the dragons and all but later?? i still want to read the books later but it was just... idk i was just a little shocked and A LOT regretful.. i've also just started watching helluva boss bc i've seen a lot of shorts with the dad/daughter moments that made me pour my heart out with tears. daddy issues strike bad. though i've come to hate daddy kink in a way? not screaming it's disgusting why do you want to fuck your dad way but reading a pretty fic, seeing 'tell me whos your daddy' 'oh daddy fuck me harder' and closing the tab silently way. guess my daddy issues conflicted with the insecurities about being too big and these fic's always teeny-tine sweet readers... not my type ig. sugar daddies though? yeah i liked that modern sugar daddy au yk... money sounds attractive af. hope it wasn't too much!! glad to know i bring your mood up. have a nice day!! good luck with the classes (online or offline or whatever)!! love you! take care and get some rest before the homework <з

MEOW HELLOW YOURE SO EARLY TODAY???? DID YOU SLEEP 😡

LOOK AT THIS KITTY IS THIS DREAM OF THE ENDLESS IN CAT FORM? (lol just say yes even tho you dont know him HAHAHHAH)

how did your live sound check go?

T_T it was tiring. i was supposed to work out before i left for school because i work out every other day, but i woke up pretty early and so i didnt feel like working out, and it was a pretty good choice, i think, becAUSE WE DID SO MUCH MANUAL LABOR IN CARRYING EQUIPMENT BACK AND FORTH FROM THE 6th to 12th floor T_T LIKE BIG SPEAKERS AND DRUMS AND BOXES AND H:LAHF:ASF i was sweating T_T but it was pretty enjoyable i felt like i was the main character AHHAAHHAH even though i couldnt even perform like how i secretly wanted to. T_T

'wait you read genshin fanfics?' hm well.. these pretty boys.. also idk anything about ekaterina but the fact my name is in genshin??

HAHAHAHAHA YOURE SO REAL FOR THAT ME WITH MATT SMITH FR HAHAHAHAHAHHAHH my archnemesis. also

apparently this is ekaterina T_T and idk i havent been paying attention to the lore so i think she's an extra and idk anything about her HAHAHHAAH

'i have met a bunch of hannahs in college' ive just imagined a bunch of yous looking at each other like in that spider-men meme TT

T_T LOL NONE OF THE HANNAHS IVE EVER MET LOOK EVEN REMOTELY SIMILAR TO ME but its still a pretty funny thought.

'we all call kitties in the ph mingming or muning' oooh it's cute. you can call me this hfjdjd if you want. we call cats with kiskis (hope you meant it bc idk if i got you right)

yes yes! you got it right. ITS SO FUNNY YOU CALL CATS WITH KISKIS HASHFLHASF SO CUTE KISS KISS MWAH MWAH and sure you can be my muning mingming kitty kitty cat cat <3 <3

'i think it has to do with the sound they make' yeah ig every language has words that imitate animal's sounds but interpret them differently. it's a cute and amusing difference.

HONESTLY ITS SO INTERESTING AND FUNNY TO THINK THAT SOUNDS DIFFER IN COUNTRIES T_T like frog for example is it ribbit in english T_T ???? like ok but in filipino its kokak and i think it's more correct AHHAAHAHAHAH what is it in russian

'i hate raising my voice' so true. since i only knew how my mom expressed anger through raising her voice, now i do it unintentionally?? so i try to just not talk.. i'm really proud of your good job at calming yourself and all. it's admirable. this world is too angry. 'i hate angriness so much.' so true.

omg even are moms are the same T_T generational trauma coming through T_T i made that decision because of her tbh T_T [hug] anger is so ugly bOOOO TOMATO TOMATO 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅

'im so annoyed im making everything so long' it's totally fine. you have life beside tumblr and it like.. takes time. so everything's fine. take your time. it's not a job or some real responsibility to have strict deadlines. dont forget to enjoy it all! it's exciting to know youre writing modern au (ok can we say wfal? anything i'm running out of symbols TT). hope it's not overwhelming or too much.

HAHAAH WE CAN CALL IT WFAL waffle 🧇 i lof it HAHAHA

'also ive been trying not to curse' curse *devil emoji* no but if it's your goal or kind of a challenge for yourself, i respect it and hope you'll do well. but cursing isnt really bad! it's a big part of language's vocabulary so i see it as a real crime to forbid it.

😈😈😈😈 HHAHHAHHAHHH. idk cursing is kinda ugly but so fun HAHHAAHAAH i love how passionate you are to vocabulary and language <3

'i was checking to see if you sent me a message and i was like 'oh i didnt get a message today’ ghfjdkdj lol it's funny how i've been only sending you the message when (as i learned later) you had already got up. like it was 7:40 in philippines?

T_T thats so thoughtful of you tbh <3 I HOPE YOURE NOT SENDING ME MESSAGES IN EARLY-LATE HOURS T_T😡😡😡😡

'pls dont forget i will always reply to you' TT arent you cute?? thanks TT love you TT i cant really help my anxiety but im trying to calm myself with your kind words, thanks for you patience TT

<3 ur cute

'OMG YES I GOT THE NEW CHARACTER LOOK' OMG congratulations!!! so happy for you! hes hot. rip for his weakness. yk men are just never enough, its not your fault.

HAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

ur so right men are never enough /: yuck

idk i wanna show you all my pretty boys T_T

this is zhong (li) i love him he keeps me safe with his shield BUT HES SO CHATTY OSMATHUS WINE TASTES THE SAME AS EVER BUT WHERE ARE THOSE THO SHARE THE MEMORY he says that ever 3 seconds so when he dies im like , u deserved it tho T_T but i love him i was so lucky when i got him i got him AND XINGQIU at the SAME TIME

this is him he likes literature i think you'd like him

tHIS IS GOROU MY PUPPY BOY HES SO SOFT AND PUPPY BUT HES SO WEAK FOR ME BUT IDC I LOVE HIM AND I WILL KEEP LEVELING HIM UP BECAUSE I LOVE HIM

yeah and you know this dude im not typing his name because ITS TOO HARD T_T

he almost fell while i was climbing a cliff T_T he ugly for that

this is diluc with his long pony tail and hes so emo i love him

ill end with bennet because i luv him he's so clumsy and canonically, people dont like hanging out with him cos he's 'bad luck' BUT I LOVE HIM T_T

he deserves the world T_T

i wanted to share mah girls too but maybe next time this is getting too long

'i only play it to kill the enemies and to explore AND TO GET CHARACTERS' respectable. ig enjoyment is the aim of playing games? so if you're satisfied with it it's perfect. i'm really lucky my bestie didn't continue to play genshin bc the last time she liked a game, she made me download phasmophobia... and my laptop was hardly even alive...

HAHAHAHAHAAHHAHHAAHHA i had a freind who played phasmophobia and asked if i wanted to join but horror freaks me out so i said HECK NO. WHAT IF YOU PLAY GENSHIN WITH ME HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAAH <3 <3 <3

1) it wasnt hbo it was a fucking COMPLEX SUBSCRIPTION on a russian idk browser? it has its own system with the plenty of services including the one that gives access to hbo. it just was the one they offered me to try fro free TT

ah SCAMMMMEEEERRRRRSSS T_T /: HAHHAHAH

2) and they NEVER replied me. no im not crying.

it ok u can cry scammers are heartless

suddenly i've read some articles on the wiki of ice and fire and all of the english cursing words are too soft to describe this PIZDETZ. the only thought i had was imsorryimsorry.

HAHHAAHHAAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHH

like i knew about the dance of the dragons and all but later?? i still want to read the books later but it was just... idk i was just a little shocked and A LOT regretful..

lol you wanna talk about it? HAHAHAH i dont really care but that blood and cheese thing, according to one girl on tiktok, you should either read about or watch and so ive been avoiding it but idc anymore tbh

i've also just started watching helluva boss bc i've seen a lot of shorts with the dad/daughter moments that made me pour my heart out with tears. daddy issues strike bad. though i've come to hate daddy kink in a way? not screaming it's disgusting why do you want to fuck your dad way but reading a pretty fic, seeing 'tell me whos your daddy' 'oh daddy fuck me harder' and closing the tab silently way.

MY JAW ON THE FLOOR HAHAHHAHAAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAH. i dont know helluva boss so i looked it up. im glad you enjoy it? do you enjoy it? DADDY ISSUES T_T you like me fr but idk i dont care about what people think about what i read like im reblogging so the writer knows how much i like it you can judge me all you want. idk i dont think i have daddy issues HAHHAAHAH i just really like the idea of a man all rugged and handsome and rich taking care of me. maybe i am mentally ill smh HAHAAHHH

guess my daddy issues conflicted with the insecurities about being too big and these fic's always teeny-tine sweet readers... not my type ig.

T_T i kiss. im luv u. youre not too big. 'too' is not real. its a social construct. you're just you and that's enough <3

sugar daddies though? yeah i liked that modern sugar daddy au yk... money sounds attractive af.

HAHHHAHAHA youre talking about that fic i reblogged right? JAJA I LOVE HTAT TOO HAHAHHAH gimme me all ur cash

hope it wasn't too much!! glad to know i bring your mood up.

not at all <3 you do bring up my mood very much

have a nice day!! good luck with the classes (online or offline or whatever)!! love you! take care and get some rest before the homework <з

<3 you too my love. i love you take care I HOPE YOURE BETTER NOW WITH YOUR FEVER AND ALL

xxx

#anon ask #my beloved anons #modern!daemon anon #ask #modern!daemon nonnie

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chronicowboy · 2 years

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1, 18, 22, 39 for the writers ask thingy!! <3

What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting? i used to be a calibri truther (in that i could never be bothered to change it) and a tnr hater but now i could make out with times new roman for the rest of my life Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage. The heroes have died. Because the heroes always die. The heroes die a thousand times over. Killed by villainy, killed by misfortune masquerading as fate, killed by love, killed by their own damn selves. And they're killed a thousand different times. Their minds go first, melting slowly into a choppy sea of guilt and fear and loss, so much fucking loss, then their hearts harden into husks, turning into crumbling stone and falling through the chasms of their chests for hours until it hits rock bottom and tumbles into oblivion where it just keeps falling, then the souls crack and shatter and skid across the earth with a screech of something once good and now gone, and the body's the last to go, the one thing keeping them walking through that burning inferno of life, the hurricane of hurt and happiness and saving and scorning and losing and losing and losing, the body goes last, the bones breaking one by one in a cacophony of silent agony, screams muffled by choked desires for death, so close, so close, too far, and the blood pours out in streams, scarlet has never looked prettier than when it's painting a sidewalk or the wound of a sacrificial lamb raised for slaughter, a stroke of deep red exactly where it's supposed to be on the canvas, and the pain means nothing, the pain means nothing but an end, because the pain is just a prelude to their peace, their final, well-deserved peace. this is the first paragraph of the epilogue to the first ever story i finished and idk i just love it. because the epilogue is a pretty happy ending but the story's really dark and the characters have been through so much so i wanted this final bit of happiness offset by the obvious pain of the character narrating it. at first it was a lot shorter and consisted of only the main points but i just wanted her anger and frustration to tumble through so i dragged the sentences out to ridiculous lengths and filled them with all the bad i could and idk i just love that this is the beginning of a happy ending. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud? i have literally never not once been organised about my writing my whole entire life <3 no but um every now and then when im trying to procratinate writing i'll give my onenotes a little organise and that's like my main one for writing actual chunks of floaty prose i have no idea what they're for, google keep is for tiny little ideas and sometimes ill scribble bullshit down on scraps of paper in the middle of the night when i dont want to turn my screens on and then i'll either 1) not be able to find it in the morning or 2) not be able to read my own handwriting What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up? oof god idek bc i am fighting for my life against the worst writers block ive ever had atm, normally my block consists of zero ideas but ive got so many my brain just will not put out words anymore. but i guess just the fact that even when its frustrating i know that my writing is like the biggest part of me and what i would define myself by because its just always been there and its what i want to do, although i dont know if I've ever actually wanted to give up. its more me being angry that i cant do it today so just counting down the seconds until i can again.

#sami answers #thank you so much for asking #the passage one was so fun to do but it took me so long to choose lol

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short-black-diamond · 6 months

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I 100% relate abt the school stuff bc I'm literally dying with all my uni assignments rn

WHY IS UNI SO HARD.

anyways, hope life gets better for you!

so unfortunately, about my problems, it is about the girl that comes unannounced. she's been making my life hell for the past week and it's Monday tomorrow so *sigh*, I gotta go back to my hostel and face that bitch again.

ok so I'mma try to make this as short as possible but really, I don't think it's possible.

so the girl right (we'll call her A to not make you confused), like I said, is my housemate's friend. she's been inviting A to stay in our house ever since last, last thursday like that even though A literally lives a floor above us.

at first I'm like, fine. whatever. not a big deal even though I'm not a fan of it but bro istfg-

these bitches started making noises in the middle of the night (and when I say middle of the NIGHT, I mean 1-5 am which is technically early morning but you get what I mean.) even my other housemate has started joining them and bc of this, ever since last week, I've been waking up randomly at early hours bc of their laughter or just the smell of them cooking in the kitchen (my room is quite literally next to the kitchen).

one time I was so fed up, I literally called my housemate from my room with my phone bc I'm too lazy to get out of the room and asked her in a tone that obviously SCREAMS I'm pissed off, "do you know what time it is?" AND SHE HAS THE AUDACITY TO ANSWER LIKE "it's 1.40" LIKE BRO THAT WAS OBVIOUSLY A RHETORICAL QUESTION💀. once I asked her to keep it down, the house went silent as if no one else was living there. but the damage was done. it took me a long time to sleep back.

even my other housemate (we'll call her P) is so fed up of these girls. she's literally my only ally rn. she's the only person I could talk to about all of this. I have another housemate but she mostly minds her own business and don't dare to take action. so me and P talked about this and she told me that when she was at campus, she saw one of our seniors who's in the student council. this senior and her friend mainly takes care of all hostel matters. so P told her everything- how my housemate brought A and let her stay in our house for more than a week, how A laughs like she's been possessed in the middle of night, how A would make a mess every single night in the hall and the kitchen and wouldn't bother to clean up- basically everything.

ofc our senior agreed and promised that she'll talk to them about it. so my housemate who's the cause of all this is in the volleyball club and so are the seniors. so according to P's friend, during the volleyball training, the seniors scolded my housemate regarding this matter until she CRIED. I have no idea what exactly happened- me and P just heard it from someone else but yeah, when my housemate came back, she wasn't cheerful as usual and when P asked her what happened, she just said that she was tired.

our seniors told us that if A STILL stayed the night in our house, immediately send them pictures and let them know so that they'll take actual serious action (like, telling the warden)

and guess what.

ding ding ding! A STAYED.

she stayed and made herself at home so much that I woke up at 5 in the fucking morning bc of her laughter. even after getting scolded to the point she cried, my housemate STILL invited her friend in! so I messaged P to get her camera ready.

around 7am like that, I got out of the room and the first person I bumped into was P. she showed me all the mess A did and told me that she has already sent all the pictures to our senior. she even took a picture of A sleeping in our house as proof.

so yeah, basically that's it so far. the warden could've come during the weekends and solve this but literally all of us went back home during the weekends so this matter will only be solved this week, hopefully. if this bitch A still lives in my house...girl, I'm moving out and will just take the LRT every day to class. it'll be a bother waking up early and stuff but anything's better than living with that hoe. I'm typing this during Sunday night and am dreading to go back tomorrow but oh well 🤷🏻‍♀️ less than a week and October's ending so.

reaaaaally sorry to dump this long ass ask on you btw but yea, hope you're doing well

can we call "a" asshole?

ALSO NO MY TULIP YOU NEED YOUR REST WTH

YOU NEED TO BLOSSOM

I swear if I had a spare room I would give it to you no questions asked iofjeifjigjwjgijwif I hope you're okay now bby..

can you sleep better now?

AND WHY DOESNT YOUR HOUSEMATE JUST GO TO ASSHOLE LIKE IFJIFJWEJFIWJF HUH

instead of bothering you and p and the silent one, these two could literally just go downstairs like is that so hard?!?

I hope it gets settled then.

-your concerned diamond </3

#we stand P in this household #have lots of rest my precious 🌷#🌷 anon #my beautiful 🌷#🌷tulip #🌷#my blossoming 🌷

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mean-hare · 2 years

Text

seecond chapter of my monthly ed diary (called mhwnbcb)

warning: sensitive topics, bad deeds, bad thoughts and very loosy writing

chapter 2

june, 1 its a first day of whole new month, day with so much potential perspectives and chances to reach my dream! thats what i thought just before i totally messed it up again

june, 2 i finished another clutchy sleeples night by drinking a cup of milk and water and my overwhelmet stomach starts to hurt me

june, 3 i smoke only when meet my friends so i almost never smoke. but i have a beautiful black clipper with pic of skull and rose on it. i like to click it and summon baby fire of it. fire so tiny and tender, so sweet. i accidentally burned my hair by this once

june, 4 today is wet. i was skating under the rain. its not really a skateboard, its a longboard, big one, full of vegan stickers, my vegan sister gave me that board when she learned to ride a bike. sometimes i concidering to become a vegan just becaue that stickers look silly on longboard of non-vegan owner. skating is not easy in region of hills and awful asphalt. and i hate to do it when lots of people look. one lil piece of shit screamed something despiteful on me. one drunkard said "give me it i wanna ride! ey!!!". one hobo mumbled "gimme money"(fuck, do i look like one who has money?!). after all its starts to rain and i quickly become wet. my clothes will run dry only tomorrow or maybe even later. i also accidentally poured water on my drawings and making them even more loosy by that. i drank a lot of tea to warm up, sometimes i drank milk tea. didnt eat bc theres no food i can eat. the only good thing for today.

june, 5 my mind is loudly burning like a bridge someone set on fire and left behind

june, 6 today i swore silently about restricting again to use it like a weapon against everything. to scare people even more than i scare them now i walked with dog and met person that said rude shit about me because i distracted and didnt hear her "take your dog away", shes not first and not last who calls me finnish and degenerate. i gave her big strong fuckyou sign and moved away. this day is shitty, i had severe headache and wanted to break everything but i couldnt. my dear friend danni said that i am not useless but i am,i suck even in destroying myself

june, 7 women asks her little daughter "maybe we should buy some cherries, would you eat cherries?" her daughter has an orange plush cat. i saw them on a marketplace my way back, i held tin can in my sweaty hot hand under the suns pressure, woman and daughter was so peacefully and maybe happy

june, 8 sometimes i really wonder about my shopping abilities. i spend so little money (less than price of 1l of milk) and buy cookies, icecream and cornflakes and all that food fits in my daily calories limit. its fine food, not that shitty sausages of noodles or other serious adult food.if i spend calories (and money) i spend them on tasty and funny meal only. at least i eat not only because of hunger, its more because of something like emotions and inner satisfaction

june, 9 i dont want these cherries. i dont like strawberries. i want no berries. i will wait for apricot, corn and apples until then i will eat something unhealthy, and dye my milk with blue pain(t)

june, 10 i know how good is empty chips bag for throwing up into. and how good is throwin up on balcony when summer evening blooms and only strangers can hear your coughing. you feelin so good and bad at the same time, greeting one e.d. girl online with her birthday and drinking milk to calm sharp pain in stomach sleepless night, shattered thoughts in confused mind, everywhere toys from your childhood, trash and art supplies on bed on floor and agressive triphop is playing on loud and makes thoughts more scattered, and songbird is shouting its early morning song

june, 11 todayish morning my eyes became pink (people call it red) and sore for no reason. i shed some toxic tears that made my eyes more sore todayish evening i didnt purge because it would be very awful to throw uo that food i binged on. if i cant stop binging i should at least find food that is good for throwing up. but theres no food like that. and no money to buy it. but all this shit sounds like totally fucked up one

june, 12 hunger is my imaginary brother and my incapacitate pain

june, 13 pain is like a rape of life. body wants it to stop but it wont stop

june, 14 i drank few energy drinx i watched long boring sad movie i cried about fact that nobody ever can fall in love with me i tried to sleep but annoying ache wont let me fall asleep

june, 15 pain is lively, warm, even thumbing cluster just like heart, it hurts, it beaths, it breathes, claims about itself, it grows and doesnt want to die, pain is just like a life itself, i know no day without it

june, 16 i realise that theres only 500kcals in huge piece of cake my mom gave to me (i said only, because i really thought it contains like 900kcals). today is my moms birthday

june, 17 cheese tastes like meat. bread tastes like a meat. i dont understand why, i want it to stop, its gross ad disturbing, i am vegeterian

june, 18 regular phrase " if you call yourself ugly fatso, what about (overweight persons name)?" well i dont give a fuck about their body, i am talking about me myself. other regular phrase " its not everything about you!" well ill make everything about me! love me if you dont want to mourn me, look at me and be afraid of what i can do for everything to be about me

june, 19 i was good. bought many cool low cal drinx and drank em all. in marked i saw boy with earring who works there, i saw him few days ago. i am shure he remembers me bc of my look (50+ bracelets, oversized tshirt, cool jeans with skeletons, some handpoke tatoos and 8 times pierced face, weird hairstyle, long nails, emo bagpack. and this is my everyday look bc i take off my bracelets only when takin a bath). i guess he sees me as weirdo who often pierced itself and only buys drinks in cans. i am going to really buy only the drinks. and icecream bc its my safe fud i wrote my dear friend danni that i love him and adore him and that he is handsome and kind and the only good human on this shitrashy planet and everything like that. he was very confused. at the morning i regret about that bpd possessed clown mode of mine

june, 20 late at night after boryng bingyng day i write this hareshit and have nothin to be proud of myself. im listening to daniel menche and his friends and suffering with nausea and hot thick air. big beautiful warmgray moth is flying around the screen, sometimes it stops as if to read this text and roll it eyes because of what dumb shit i write. sorry, pretty moth, you er writin deserve better writting. sometimes this triangle critter falls on my fingers. but most of time it histerically fluttering, beating it weightless body against cold light screen. what a beautiful insect you are

june, 21 its a shame what a lukewarm personi was today, i became. lukewaem bath water that turns cold slowly and drowsy. it cant make you clean or anything better, it only makes worse

june, 22 sometimes i want to act like rough sexist, racist or any other -ist at all, sometimes i want to write people something rude, assault, abuse, to cover people in shit, i want to cry something extremely offencive at public, to break windows, to ruin the beautiful, to make clean dirt and to make everyone hate me more. sometimes i think they expect me to do this, sometimes i think they see as miserable teen who wants to seen as edgy, sometimes i think they dont think about me at all. sometimes i want to make this world worse for everyone. i dont really know why

june, 23 milk with honey and cocoa milk with tea black and green one, desperate late night searching for some comfort, searching for god while forgetting that i am god,before that i ate bread and then asked my dear friend to purge or not to purge, he said no and then he asked why i ask him if i know what he will answer.i thought that id guess myself what to do before he answers. sometimes he cant answer quickly

june, 24 uh i thought that i am not depressed anymore

june, 25 need to sleep more

june, 26 i just tried to eat pizza once with some people just like a normal human being (i am not) but fuckin drill wont let me sit still. i cant stand it (mysophonia i guess). i ran to other places then went back when drillnoise stopped and took few more bites jusy to ran again. one time i watched fine free exhibition of pictures of carpathian shepherds. another time i saw guys who provoked each other for fight.when i ate my pizza piece, holding it in my dirty hands, i went to the most famous street (it was near) and lied on the bench. i love it that in this city they dont make benches with that anti-homeless bars. i really love to lie on benches even if i am not homeless (at least now). one man saw ma and said his daughter "lo at this boy, how fine he looks with all those bracelets… or its a girl, i dont know. i also had many bracelets when i was young and played my guitar"

june, 27 my consciousness is getting bad, i forget words, i forget where i put my things, i forget things i thought about second ago, i forget things i do second ago, something wrong with my mind i guess

june, 28 few zero cals full of caffeine drinx made me sleepless and unaware of time again, it drives my father crazy and angry and i am crazy and angry now too. he makes me hate him. i ll drink more caffeine now

june, 29 what a junk ive become…

june, 30 misery, nobody loves me and will never love me no matter what i do and who i can become

#mhwnbcb #male ed #ed bllog #mental disorder #ed life #disorder #ed vent #disorder eating #depresszió #binge #purge #stupid #whining #pain #bpd

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fleurchoices · 4 years

Text

ngl i thought we would’ve had to pay for those uniforms but i was pleasantly surprised

and the fact that we had no choice but be mad at aurora nO

#i was also silently screaming at the kiss scene with ethan bc its like 1 in the morning #playchoices #choices: the stories you play #open heart

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littlemissnoname13 · 3 years

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hii i wanted to request a draco/reader fic w the dynamic that 1 day they meet at a bar and have a 1 night stand, and then » 2 months later draco is at mungo's and runs into y/n who has just found out she is pregnant w his kid but she's scared to tell him. and he feels a connection to her that tells him she's carrying his child and he asks her out bc they kinda like each other. Pl do if your comfortable only tyia

Hi my nonnie! Thanks for requesting.🖤

This was so much fun to write. Especially the bar part. This is a long one so brace yourself. I hope you like it.

A very special shoutout to @mellifluousart for giving me helpful pointers for this fic. You are the best!

Terrible at Small Talk (D.Malfoy x Reader) 18+

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Warnings: some fluff smut, mature Language and themes, nsfw, drinking, penetrative sex, breeding kink, pregnancy, 18+

Word count: 2396

~~~~~~~~~~

You swirled what remained of your drink in your glass making the amber liquid spin round and round and round.

Even after two whole hours waiting on a tall bar stool in a dead little muggle bar, and your date was still nowhere to be seen.

The previous hour had gone by pretty quickly in comparison to the first hour though. You'd been drinking whisky on the rocks and your insides were warming up little by little making the waiting game a tad bit more bearable.

You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol but you chuckled to yourself thinking about what you had done in life to lead you there, in a strange little pub waiting for a boy you weren’t even sure was coming.

“One more of these please.” You called out to the bartender, smiling politely and shaking your empty glass.

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

An all too familiar voice made all the hairs on your back stand up straight. Your goosebumps were probably highly visible from the back of your backless red dress.

“Well, well, if it isn’t y/l/n in the flesh.” He muttered, sitting down on the bar stool next to you and you didn’t dare to turn to your side to look at him.

You didn’t even need to.

You knew who this voice belonged to and it sure as hell wasn’t your date.

“Well, Hello to you too, Malfoy.” You said, finally turning your head towards him. “I didn’t know you liked to frequent muggle bars on the weekends.”

You hadn’t seen him after the wizarding war. He had gone off the grid.

He still looked the same and yet, completely different.

His suit was still all black but his jaw had gotten more chiseled, his hair remained the same but he now donned glasses. He still wore his silver rings and you could see what looked like a tattoo peeking out of his suit sleeves.

“Nice glasses.” You blurted.

“Nice hair.” He muttered, as the bartender handed you your drinks. He eyed you intently before taking a prolonged swig of his drink. “Although, I preferred it the way it was in school.”

“So did I.” You smiled weakly at him, running your hands through your hair, suddenly feeling very conscious.

“Why did you change it though?—I used to love your hair.” He cleared his throat and tried to backtrack from his sudden confession. “Not that you don’t look good now.”

You needed a fresh start after Hogwarts, the war and life in general but you didn’t think he needed to hear all that.

“Wanted something new I guess.” You said in a very composed tone as you gulped down your beverage and asked the bartender to keep the drinks coming.

He hummed and downed his drink matching your own speed.

Soon enough, you had created a row of empty glasses at the counter.

Both of you terrible at small talk.

“It’s so strange seeing you of all people at a muggle bar.” You said, your voice slowly getting slurry with a hint of inebriation and a tinge of madness.

He didn’t say a word, he simply blinked at you with a blankness in his stormy grey eyes, now hidden behind thick frames.

“Well, I don’t think I am welcomed at most pubs around Diagon alley—not after the war anyway.” He muttered. “Besides, I could have asked you the same question.”

“Well, if you must know, I got stood up.” You laughed. “Not that I wanted to come—my friends have been pushing me to go out there and meet people.”

He kept glaring at you as you kept babbling. His eyes secretly trailing to your bare back as he tried his hardest to ignore his blood rushing and his heart thumping.

A few more glasses of whisky later, you found yourself walking to the nearest apparition point with him.

And just as you tried to quicken your strides, you missed your footing but he caught firmly by the shoulder before you could hit the ground, face first.

“Merlin! That was a close one.” You whispered softly as you wondered why his hands were still grasping your shoulders.

Even after all these years, the smell of mint, and his expensive cologne remained the same; his eyes still conflicted.

The warmth and the confidence from the alcohol made you lean in and capture his lips in yours.

A slow, speculative kind of kiss. Like you were testing the waters; taking a small sip of tea to see if the temperature was alright.

After you leaned away, he opened his eyes.

The conflict inside his eyes was now replaced by a full fledged hurricane of emotions.

“C’mhere.” He said hoarsely as he grasped the hair on the back of your neck and pulled your face flush against his.

His left hand held one of your legs and wrapped it around his torso—your clothed cunt making contact with the hardened bulge in his pants.

By the time your eyes opened, Draco had already apparted you to the Malfoy manor.

As soon as he laid you down on his bed, he hastily began working on his shirt buttons.

With each button, you could see more and more of his ivory skin, his toned abdomen, the veins protruding along his forearm, his faded dark mark now covered with tattoos.

You propped yourself up on your elbows on the bed while he leaned in for another kiss and you took this opportunity to remove the glasses that hid the vehemence in his eyes.

His lips soon made their way towards your earlobes and he began nipping and tugging with his teeth while his hands roamed underneath your dress.

“The things I want to do to you…….”

“Draco….” You sighed as his fingers started to move up and down your clothed slit before pushing the fabric of your panty aside .

“Gods, y/n…” he groaned as he slowly pushed a finger inside. “The things I want to do to this pretty little cunt….”

“Then do it..” You whined bucking your hips at him. “Please just do it…”

“This dress...” He growled into your ear as he added a second finger inside of you. “I've wanted to rip it off your body since the moment I laid my eyes on you…”

His fingers kept moving in and out while his thumb kept rubbing circles into your clit. “You are so fucking wet darling.”

“Mmmhmm..” you whimpered, barely managing to nod your head.

“Tell me y/n…” he murmured against your slit; his tongue circling your swollen bud. “Who made you this wet?”

“You did Draco..” you whimpered. “You did.”

You were so close.

So fucking close.

Just when you felt like you were going to come all over his fingers he stopped and took his fingers out.

“No please..don’t stop..” You whined, suddenly feeling empty without his fingers.

“Take your clothes off.” He commanded, backing away and you instantly found yourself complying to his request in a matter of seconds.

No one had ever talked to you that way.

This was dark, this was seductive, this had your cunt dripping with anticipation.

“Fuck y/n. You are a sight for sore eyes.” He murmured while he pulled your hips towards the edge of the bed.

A small smirk played at his lips as his hands quickly undid the buckle of his belt to let himself out and you gasped at the sight of him.

Rumors always traveled fast at Hogwarts. You’d heard stories about him—his length, the way he made girls scream.

Only, they weren’t just rumors.

Everything you’d heard about him was true.

All the fucking rumors about his length, his size they were all true.

He moved his fist up and down his shaft and lined himself up against your entrance. Your eyes met for a second. “Are you okay with this?” He asked and you caressed his cheeks and nodded.

“I am more than okay Draco….”

And just like that, he pushed himself inside of you, cursing under his breath.

“Oh god….Draco…”

“The way you say my name y/n…” He grunted into the crook of your neck while your fingers entangled themselves into this hair. “It makes me want to fuck you harder…makes me want to fill you up with my come…”

“Draco Please…”

“Fuck y/n….don’t.. don’t say my name like that.. I won’t be able to control myself...

“Then don’t…” You pleaded with your head snapped back and your back arched when his thumb found your clit. “I want to feel you cum Draco..I need to..”

It was like these words were automatically slipping out of your lips as you reached closer and closer to your climax.

“What are you doing to me….y/n…” he groaned as he fucked you harder and harder. “Why do you feel so fucking good…”

“Draco..don’t stop..don’t stop till you are cumming for me..” you wrapped your legs around his torso allowing him a deeper angle.

“Won’t stop…I won’t fucking stop till I fill you up..”

Draco stayed true to his words.

He didn’t stop till you were sore and leaking with his release.

The both of you even woke up in the middle of the night for another round of rigorous sex and he silently thanked your date for pulling a no show that night.

Now he could have you all to himself. Well, until the sun came up that is.

When Draco woke up the next morning he tried to reach for you but you were long gone.

The only thing that remained was the smell of your perfume on his sheets and your stray earring on the floor.

He slowly reached for the forgotten earring and held it in the palm of his hands.

Sure, it was a one night stand but he sure as hell wanted another night with you.

~~~~~~~

Two months had gone by and Draco found himself staring at your earrings on his nightstand every day.

He was never the one to overthink about one night stands and yet, here he was, clasping onto your earring for dear life.

After reminding himself to get a grip on himself, Draco buttoned up his shirt and made his way towards St. Mungo's hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

He’d been a regular donor for the hospital since the end of the wizarding war and visited the hospital every other month.

Just like every other month, the hospital was terribly busy that day too.

But somewhere in between the hustle and bustle, somewhere in between the dissonance of sounds, the wind, the atmosphere he felt something different that particular day—Something familiar.

He brushed the feeling off and finished up the paperwork in less than an hour before making a swift exit from the hospital.

But every step he took away from St Mungos added to the inexplicable restlessness that crushed his insides. The feeling mimicked the feeling of missing a train he was supposed to catch.

“Oh For fuck’s sake.” He muttered to himself before turning back around and sprinting his way back into the hospital, crashing into annoyed people that cursed at him along the way.

He finally stopped running when he made it to a quiet corridor in the hospital. With his hand flat on his chest, Draco tried to catch his breath.

Everything was silent for a minuscule second until he heard a voice coming from a room a few steps ahead of him.

Draco knew he could recognise that voice anywhere in this whole entire planet.

It was the same voice that had been haunting his mind and infiltrating his existence since that night at the bar.

You had a worried expression on your pretty features as the healer kept talking to you.

“Everything looks good y/n, your vitals, the baby.” Said the healer and you placed your hand lightly on your stomach.

Draco didn’t even hear what the healer said next. The accelerating sound of his heart was too loud.

Could it be?

Why didn’t you tell him?

Maybe the baby wasn’t his.

But why was he suddenly wishing it was—

“Draco?” You asked when you saw him standing outside the door.

The way you uttered his name, softly with your voice slightly cracking, felt like the break of dawn after a long cold night—You were his daylight.

“Sorry—I was just um passing by..” He said, hesitantly prying the door open.

“I’m sorry Mr. Malfoy, but you cannot be here unless you are family.” The healer said coldly, giving him a nod of disapproval.

“I guess I’ll be on my way then.” Draco mumbled with his eyes never leaving yours. “It was good seeing you—”

“Wait.” You called out before he could walk away and he eyed you quizzically. “Draco, there’s something you need to know.”

He held his breath and patiently waited for what you were doing to say next.

You looked even more beautiful than you did the last time he saw you. Your cheeks were dewy, your eyes a bit glassy and his most basic instincts were telling him that he needed to protect you no matter what. He didn’t even hear what the healer said as she excused herself from the room.

“Draco I’m—”

“I know.” He said softly as he let his finger tips trail the side of your face. “I heard everything.”

“Not everything.” You said as you held his other hand and gently placed it on your stomach.

Draco let out a sharp breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding back.

It was like he’d caught the train that he was so desperately trying to catch.

It was like he was finally headed home.

“Merlin! Y/n.” He gasped as he instantly cupped your face in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know what to tell you. I didn’t know how you’d react and I was terrified.”

If only you knew just how happy he was.

If only he knew just how much he wanted to care for you and the baby.

If only you knew how he felt about you.

“I’m here now.” He whispered and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you.” You murmured against his lips.

“Let me take you out y/n.” He murmured. “Let me take you to dinner tonight and we will figure the rest together.”

~~~~

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much love,

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco fanfiction #draco smut #draco x reader smut #draco x yn #draco x you #draco lucius malfoy #Draco

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xoxo-teddybear · 3 years

Text

He’s Lost - Bakugou Katsuki - Part 1

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings - Angst, Physical Harm, Cursing, accused Cheating, Katsuki’s insecurities

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

A/N: This is my first writing piece but this has been stuck in my mind since v-day is coming up so I had to get it out. Plz enjoy!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: Y/N is so busy around Valentine’s, her lack of attention towards her Pomeranian is causing him to freak out and do the worst of the worst

Love is in the air! The birds are singing, The breeze is blowing, the setting sun is shining, and the explosive teen is.....well, bruting.

Can you blame him though? Y/N’s been a little distant ever since February started. Even right now, instead of enjoying their time together in a quiet park, she’s staring down at her phone doing who knows what.

Why? Was he not good enough? Has she gotten tired of him? They’ve only been together for a little over a year. Is she talking to someon- no. Katsuki stopped himself from thinking like that. There’s no way his precious teddy bear would ever do that. Not only that, he was the best there is. Why would she even try to go?

“You dumbass. You’re missing this.” Bakugou sighed. “Huh? What? Missing what?” Y/N looked around looking for whatever “this” was until Bakugou grabbed her chin to force her to look him in the eyes. “THIS DUMBASS! US! You’re so focused on that dumb phone. Jeez, can’t a guy just get his girl’s attention.” Bakugou said dramatically.

It wasn’t that Y/N wasn’t giving him attention, it’s that it wasn’t the same. Yea she right there snuggled into his arm. And yea she was petting his hair just the way he liked. And YES, she was peppering his face with kisses from time to time. But it all felt off? Like only half her energy was put into the love and affection.

“Suki, aren’t u being a little dramatic. I’m right here with you baby. I’m sorry if I’ve been a little distracted. Come here dummy.” And as Y/N pulls Bakugou in for a tighter hug all he can do is release a “hmph” while falling into it...until her phone went (ding!) once again. And she went to check it. Once again.

Bakugou was getting tired so he got up and suggested they’d head back to UA. Y/N only got up and began to walk beside him, hand in hand, while still checking her phone time to time. And Bakugou was getting sick of it

*Wtf is she doing on that piece of junk? What could be so important she would half ass our entire evening together? .....Could she possibly be talking to someone else?............no.* Bakugou let those negative thoughts die down as they continued their journey back.

——————————————————————————

A few days later

“COME ON!!” Bakugou screamed as he realeased a blast towards Kirishima. When Bakugou invited him to train, The red head initially thought it was to ...you know..TRAIN. But after some time, the blonde’s best friend began to see the bigger picture.

“Dude. What’s up with you man? We always go full on during training, but it’s not even like you’re trying to hit me. It feels like you’re just taking your anger out on me.” Kirishima said.

“Congrats on noticing shitty hair, I’m glad somebody’s noticing my damn mood.” Weirded out by his friend’s unusual openness, the red head continued to ask.

“So what’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“But you just-“

“NOPE!”

Bakugou exclaimed as he began to gather his stuff to leave the training area. “BAKUGOU!” Kiri shouted. “WHAT!” “.......it’s Y/N isn’t it?”

Upon hearing that, the blonde turned to look at his best friend with this sad puppy dog look. And man, if Katsuki had doggy ears, everyone would see how low they’d go. His best friend didn’t need to see it though, he could tell those ears would be 6 ft under if they were actually there bc there’s nothing hiding Katsuki’s vulnerability when it comes to Y/N. As the two best friends go to sit on the bleachers, Bakugou takes a deep breath before saying his thoughts.

“I think Y/N is cheating on me.”

“................HUH???!!!!”

Kirishima went from “caring and considerate” to “WHATDIDHESAYYY” in seconds. Y/N L/N?? Cheating?? Ok. Y/N was one fiesty girl, and she definitely had sass, power, attitude, and a little mischief, but she also had kindness, compassion, consideration, and honesty flowing though her. Not to mention extreme loyalty. There’s no way.

“Look man, with all due respect, I think you’ve finally lost it.” The red head laughed. “I’m being serious shitty hair.” The blonde stated. “She’s been so distracted lately. She’s always with me but it’s like her mind is also somewhere else. And not to mention that damn phone she’s always on now. She can’t go 30 minutes without checking it at least twice. And not only that, when she does leave to do whatever, she’s gone for hours at a time! What’s a guy supposed to think with all of that?! I mean it’d make sense if she wanted to leave. I get it, I can get loud, and yell, and I get angry a lot but.. she knows I never mean it, right? I call her a dumbass like i do everyone else...ugh but she isn’t just everyone else, she’s my girlfriend and she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.....SO WHY TF IS SHE CHEATIN-“ before the blonde could continue, his best friend cut him off.

“BAKUGOU” “WHAT??!!” “....talk to her.” Kirishima said. “What?” Bakugou asked. Kirishima continued. “Cheating is a real sensitive topic in a relationship. I don’t wanna give my opinion on something that could ruin something amazing. C’mon man, we both know Y/N isn’t like that but who am I to tell you what to do. I wanna help, I do, but I think it’s best if you go to her with all this. Honestly though, if you asked me, Y/N would be the last person I’d ever think of when it came to cheating on ANYTHING. Especially the guy she cares so much about.” And with that last sentence, Kirishima stood up from his spot and pat Bakugou on his shoulder before exiting.

With Bakugou left with nothing but his thoughts and Kirishima’s advice, he left and headed straight towards your room.

——————————————————————————

“Shut up!” You excitingly screamed though the phone. “You really found the last part?”

“Yup, it only took about 6 different stores across the entire city.” Shinsou sarcastically replied. “You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know and I appreciate it. Katsuki’s gonna love his gift!” You said.

With Valentine’s Day around the corner, you’ve been preparing only the best Valentine’s Day surprise for the best boyfriend in the world. You’ve been so busy planning your surprise that I guess you could say you haven’t been giving Katsuki the massive amount of attention he’s used to from you, but you can definitely say it’ll all be worth it when he sees one of his presents that you’ve been working on. A silencer for his gauntlet blasts that not only decreases the volume of his attacks, but also increases his attack power. You remember how Bakugou had vented about his attacks being too loud that they scare people, but when he tried to keep them quiet, the attack isn’t as powerful so saving can be quite difficult. He only spoke about it once, but you could see the look on his face whenever he was out using his quirk around civilians. So why not give him a device that’ll help with his loud little problem. Now were you a support class student who knew how to make support items? Hell no. But were you a loving girlfriend willing to give her man the best Valentine’s Day ever? Hell yeah.

The piece of gear would’ve been easier to make IF it weren’t for a pesky piece of the project getting destroyed by Shinsou after he made Denki electrocute himself while he was right next to your prototype on the table. So to make it up to you, Shinsou went all around town looking for the piece you needed to complete your support item for Katsuki. Finally, all pieces had come together.

“He better. That damn bastard doesn’t know how amazing his girlfriend is. Instead of ignoring his ass these past few weeks, you sent ME to get all this shit for you so you could keep your precious Pomeranian happy.” Shinsou said while rolling his baggy eyes.

As Bakugou approached the outside of your dorm room’s door, he heard your voice.

“You know, you’re so right. That Pomeranian is unaware of just exactly how amazing I am. I really could’ve left whenever but I stuck around.” You snorted. “Well I’m glad I had you with me through it all Shinsou.”

*Pomeranian? SHINSOU?!? Through IT ALL?!?!? YOU WERE WITH THAT PURPLE HAIRED, SLEEP DEPRIVED ASS MIND CONTROLLING FREAK?!?? AND YOU WERE WITH HIM THE ENTIRE TIME YOU’VE BEEN DATING BAKUGOU?!?*

Oh to say Katsuki was pissed was an understatement. He felt all these emotions hitting him all at once. Anger, Disgust, Pain, Betrayal. It all became too much for him before Katsuki ran away from your down with his bed down and silent tears hitting the floor. When he let himself fall to the floor in the privacy of his room he screamed into his hands. His first love, his first real relationship, his teddy bear betraying his love, loyalty, and trust for over an entire year. After hours of crying, Katsuki was able to pull himself into bed. He couldn’t even bring himself to shower even though he spent all that time in the gym with Kirishima. He just wanted to sleep to escape reality. As he looked at his phone, he saw 1 missed call from Y/N, and 1 text saying “Goodnight love💗💥!” Bakugou scoffed at the text. Figuring u must be texting Shinsou the same thing. As Bakugou placed his phone down, an evil thought came to mind. Ruin her.

Bakugou smirked to himself as he had this pyscho and sinister look on his face. He would ruin Y/N. They haven’t officially broken up yet, so he could hurt her just as she hurt him. And Bakugou wasn’t stupid or so he thought he’s aware Valentine’s is coming up, so why not break little Y/N L/N’s heart on a day dedicated to nothing but love and happiness. It’ll be the perfect revenge on a little satin like her. Bakugou finally turned on his side with an evil, satisfied smile, and fat tears in his eyes once more.

——————————————————————————

The next morning, Katsuki got up with a broken heart, but he figured if he wanted his plan to work, he had to fake this smile. Getting up, getting ready, and getting dressed was business as usual, but meeting up with Y/N in the morning was now off the schedule. Instead of going into her room to check on her like he usually does, he just went straight to breakfast and straight to class without speaking to anyone.

With Class 1-A seated and Mr.Aizawa at the head of the classroom, the students can finally start their first lesson of the day. Until, the door slid wide open. There stood an exhausted and quite frankly dishelved Y/N. “My apologies sensei. I was up late last night and overslept. Please forgive me.” Y/N said as she bowed her head in sorry. “Just take your seat L/N.” The tired eye teacher said.

As Y/N walked to her desk, she noticed Bakugou wouldn’t even glance her way. She was a little thrown off since it would be normal for him to at least give her a judgemental look for sleeping in, but no. Nothing.

Bakugou on the other hand was writhing in agony. Oh how he wanted to check on Y/N and make sure everything was fine, but that voice in the back of his head couldn’t help but tell him to ignore her since she’s a cheater. She may have been the girl he’s loved dearest, but she was also the one causing his heart to shatter.

After a few classes, Y/N tried to approach Bakugou several times, but each time he brushed her off. And when the bell finally rang for lunch, you can bet Katsuki was the first one out the door. Y/N followed him of course, in worry and concern.

“Babe! Baby! Katsuuu!!! KATSUKII!” Y/N whined for her boyfriend to at least look at her but once again. Nothing. Bakugou wanted to hug her and hold her tight but he couldn’t. Not after what she’s done. Right before Bakugou entered the cafeteria, Y/N pulled him aside and held onto his wrists.

“Baby? Hey, what’s up with you? I’ve been calling your name and trying to talk to you but you keep brushing me off. You also didn’t stop by this morning. Is something wrong, love?” Y/N was hoping for something. ANYTHING at this point. And it was like the gods heard her prayer because she definitely got....something. “My bad.” The blonde haired boy dryly replied. “....Oh, um, ok suki.” The poor girl just thought her dear boyfriend was having a bad day, so she just left it alone and let him go. But still, even on his worse days he would at least visit her in the mornings. As they sat down with the bakusquad, the entire table noticed how Bakugou sat up and moved across from Y/N after she chose to sit next to him like usual. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and Kirishima could already feel what had gone down. He at least knew his bro didn’t talk to his girl. Not manly at all.

——————————————————————————

Valentine’s Day

During lunch, Kirishima has finally decided to speak to Bakugou about this whole thing. He hasn’t been getting any updates since their time in the gym, so when it was just him and his best friend having lunch together, he went for it.

“Man what the hell is going on with you and Y/N? I’ve noticed you’ve been avoiding her like crazy,” Kirishima said while stuffing his face, nervous about the answer. “I was right all along.” The blonde sadly spoke. “She’s been cheating on me since the start of our entire relationship. And with that baggy eyed freak from 1-B.”

Kirishima couldnt believe what he was hearing. He almost choked on his food. Y/N was actually cheating. I guess people don’t know people as well as he thought. “.....wow...I’m sorry man.” The red haired friend said. He was at a lost for words and didn’t know what else to say. *sigh* “don’t be. It all goes down tonight.” Bakugou said with a sad smile. “What do you mean?” His friend asked. The blonde looked at him right in his red eyes. “I’m breaking her heart tonight, on the one day of the year dedicated to love.”

Meanwhile

Instead of going to lunch, Y/N spent her time finishing up Katsuki’s surprise in his room. Yeah, he’s been having a bad past few days so why not bring him a smile with these amazing gifts on the day of love. Although Y/N didn’t really feel the love today (due to Katsuki again being so distant and ignoring her “good morning blasty💥💗!” And “Happy Valentine’s Day my love♥️!” Texts) she was determined to make sure Katsuki knew just exactly how much she loved him. She was almost done setting up in his room. Rose petals on the bed, Candles everywhere, 4 different gifts including his new support item made by you, his favorite meal is going to be set here on his table, and you and him together spending every loving second with each other. Y/N didn’t realize that because of her setup, she missed the entire rest of the day. “Meh, so worth it when I see the look on Suki’s face.” Tonight is going to be perfect.....or so you thought.

You didn’t expect to find Katsuki in your room, sitting on the edge of you bed waiting for you with his head hanging low and his shoulders slumped.

*maybe he has a surprise for me....? Yea that has to be it!* Y/N happily thought as she closed the door.

“Suki!! Happy Valentine’s Day!” Y/N said with all the love in her heart as she ran and jumped on the boy for a hug. But Bakugou didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. He just glanced back up at her, giving her this cold stare. Y/N was too busy professing her undying love for her boyfriend to even notice his scary silence. “Suki I’m really glad it’s you who I have in my life,” the love sicken girl bashfully spoke while looking at the ground. “You make me so happy and I feel so blessed being able to spend my life with you in it. I really hope you know just how much I care and lov-“ Bakugou couldn’t listen to this bullshit anymore. He pushed Y/N off of him just before she could say those 3 words that would get him to break.

“Hey! Suki? Why would you do that?!” Y/N exclaimed while standing back up. “I hate you.” The blonde spoke coldly. As those words left his mouth, Y/N heart and world were falling apart. Her eyes went wide open and her jaw slightly dropped. As she was about to say something else, Katsuki cut her off with “I’m breaking up with your dumbass. Right here. Right now!” Bakugou yelled. Y/N was in shock. She felt hurt, pain, she was just feeling so broken.

As tears filled her eyes, she asked “w-why?” as she tried to reach out to him. “Why? WHY?!” Bakugou screamed as he stood up above her slapping her hand away. “THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN WHY, Y/N. YOU’RE A FUCKING CHEATER, THATS WHY!” The blonde yelled in her face. Y/N couldn’t believe it. He thought she was cheating? Why would she even do that? She already has the best person in the world for her so why? “DONT EVEN GIVE ME THAT “it didn’t mean anything, Suki!” BULLSHIT. I DONT GIVE A FUCK, CUZ YOU’VE BEEN CHEATING ON ME AND PLAYING ME FOR A DAMN FOOL THIS ENTIRE FUCKING TIME!” Bakugou went on as his voice began to crack while tears flowed down his porcelain face. “YOU LIED TO ME. I GAVE YOU MY ENTIRE BEING AND YOU FUCKING LIED. YOU DUMB FUCKING BITCH, I CANT BELIEVE I EVER LOVED A SORRY EXCUSE OF A PERSON LIKE YOU. I HATE YOU SO DAMN MUCH, I DONT EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT THE FUCK I SAW IN YOU!” Y/N’s heart hit the ground. No actually, it went 6 ft under because after all that he’s said, her heart is dead. Broken. In agony. “Suki I-“ “DONT FUCKING CALL ME THAT L/N.” Hearing him refer to her with her family name hit so hard. “KATSUKI PLEASE! I DIDNT DO ANYTHING I SWEA-“ as Y/N tried to reach out to him, he interrupted her again and pushed her hand away. “I SAID DONT CALL ME THAT!”

The blonde yelled, except this time....he didn’t only yell. The burning scent of smoke came into his nose and the loud explosion could be heard throughout the building. The product of what he just did came to him. He just attacked the love of his life. As much as Y/N hurt him, Katsuki still loved her with his everything. And the fact that he subconsciously attacked her broke him even more. Y/N’s screams of pain reached his ears, as he looked down and saw his precious teddy bear with a burned arm and fat tears on her face, crying in pain.

Bakugou ran down to her level to try and help her. “Y/N! Hey, hey teddy bear look I’m so-“ Y/N pushed him away before he could continue. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU BAKUGOU?!” Ouch. His family name felt like poison coming from your tongue. “Princess, I’m sorry I didn’t-“ “SHUT UP AND LET ME SPEAK FOR ONCE YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” Y/N screamed as she stood up to face him. “I DIDNT FUCKING CHEAT ON YOU. WHY THE HELL WOULD I DO THAT WHEN YOU’RE THE BEST DAMN THING THATS EVER HAPPENED TO ME?!..ah!” Y/N was cut off by the stinging of her wound, and Bakugou couldn’t do anything but stare. Y/N grabbed onto her wound before continuing. “I love you Bakugou. I wouldn’t even dream about doing wrong by you. I thought I was a good girlfriend or at least a good person-“ Bakugou quickly interrupted “No! Y/N you are, I just-“ “If I am then what the hell made you even think of me so lowly? What the hell did I do to make you question my loyalty? What the hell did I do that was worthy of you burning my fucking arm?!” Y/N cried out.

Silence fell upon the room. It felt like hours before anybody said anything. Both people had heavy tears in their face now. One crying because he realized he was an idiot and harmed the girl who did nothing wrong, and One crying because she did nothing wrong but ended up being a villain in her loved one’s life. Y/N broke the silence with a scoff.

“You know what Suki?” Y/N said looking him in the eyes. “Yes teddy bear?” Bakugou quickly replied with wide, desperate eyes upon hearing the loving nickname, thinking they would move on from this horrible incident. “Get the fuck out.” Y/N said in a low voice. Bakugou was shocked. He knew he fucked up horribly but after realizing the truth, he can’t leave you! He loves you too damn much for that! “What? Y/N please listen to me, I’m sor-“ “I DONT GIVE A FUCK! Leave..please.” The sad girl cried. Bakugou grabbed onto her shoulders begging her to not end this. “Y/N please! Please princess! I’m so fucking sorry! I’m an idiot, I know, and I definitely don’t deserve you but please I can’t lose you.” Bakugou said with tears falling down his face. “Please don’t do this to us. Please don’t do this to me, I’m BEGGING YOU.” “Bakugou-“ The sad boy cut you off, shaking his head, “ NO ITS SUKI. YOUR SUKI. YOUR KATSUKI.......please teddy bear I need you.......h-here let me help yo-”

You harshly pushed the boy off of you and as he tried to desperately go back to you, you used your quirk to keep him at bay. “Bakugou Katsuki. I’m leaving this room since you won’t, and I won’t come back until I know you’re out of my room.” Y/N began as she looked at him with cold, sad eyes. “From now on, you won’t have to worry about this bitch because I’ll stay out of your life, I swear. Don’t look at me, don’t touch me, DONT EVEN TALK TO ME. Just leave me alone....we’re done.” And with that Y/N ran out of her room, and out of the building, needing to get away from the place for a little bit. She could deal with her wound later. She just needed to get away. Bakugou just stood there in sadness and shock. As much as he wanted to run after you, he figured he’d give you a little breather. You guys could fix things in the morning...right?

Bakugou waited an hour in your room waiting for you, but you were right. You really weren’t coming back until he left your private area. So that’s what he did. With a heavy heart, he picked himself up and dragged his feet back to his dorm. He looked like a mess. He knew he did. Messy hair, red swollen eyes, dry lips. His entire body screamed heartbroken. When he open the door, instant regret and love hit him at once. His room was covered with rose petals and flowers, there were candles everywhere, heart shaped balloons all around, he had 4 different boxes of gifts, and two plates of extra spicy curry was set on his table, obviously cold now. What caught his eye was that one of the gift boxes had a note attached to it. With tears in his eyes, he read it.

Hey Suki! It’s Valentine’s Day! I love you to the moon and back and so much more. There’s no words that are able to describe the way I feel about you. You drive me insane in all the right ways and I love it! Lol. I hope you like your Valentine’s Day surprise. I’ve been working for weeks on it, so I’m sorry if I’ve been a little distracted. I know I’ve been kinda absent these past few days but I promise I’ll make it up to you love! Hopefully I can start with this gift that I’ve been working on. Enjoy your brand new grenade silencer! Made it myself just for you. There’s nothing else in the world like this. I love you Bakugou Katsuki!

(P.S. If Shinsou from 1-B gives you shit about it, it’s because I made him drag his ass everywhere to look for a missing part so I wouldn’t have to leave you so much)

XOXO, Your forever teddy bear <3

As he quickly opened the gift, he saw it. A silencer that would attach to his gauntlets to make the sound quieter and the blast even more powerful. It was incredible. You are incredible. He only ever mentioned the sound of his blasts once, and you listened and you fixed it.

Bakugou shook as tears began to fall onto the paper. He couldn’t believe it. Everything started coming together now. The reason you were so distracted was because you were setting this up for him. You were always on the phone because you were assembling pieces and ordering gifts for him. You weren’t cheating on him with Shinsou. You were making sure he could find something that you needed for him. Y/N L/N was truly the best girlfriend in the world. Scratch that, she is the best girlfriend in the world. No scratch that too, she’s just the best, period. And Bakugou’s idiotic self ruined everything for him. All because he couldn’t have a little faith in his teddy bear. As Katsuki cried and cried, he set everything aside.

He took the petals off his bed. He didn’t deserve it. He blew out the candles around his room. He didn’t deserve it. He popped the balloons, and ignored the food. He laid in bed with more tears than ever, and looked at the ceiling. He finally turned to his side to fall asleep, but not before grabbing the picture on his bedside nightstand. A picture of you and him. He remembers that picture oh so clearly. It was his birthday, and while he didn’t want to celebrate, you did everything in your power to make it the best one yet. And you did just that. Bakugou hugged that picture so tight, because he didn’t have you in his arms tonight. He didn’t think he would ever have you in his arms again. So Bakugou Katsuki continued to cry until he was asleep, escaping from the reality of him losing his love, his teddy bear, his princess, and his Y/N.

Bakugou Katsuki never lost, no. He’s always been ahead, always number one, always the best. He always won and achieved and nothing ever stopped him. Except this time, the only thing that stopped him and caused him to lose, was himself. He lost. He lost his everything. His world, his rock, his heart, his Y/N. He’s lost without her in his life, and at this point he thinks he’s lost at life. There was nothing that could fix him unless it was you coming back to him.

Bakugou Katsuki? He’s lost.

A/N: HOLY SHIT! That was my very first writing piece and it was just a Drabble of a thought I’ve been having. Sorry if it’s a little off and weird, I’m still new to writing but hopefully I’ll get better. This was NOT spell checked so my apologies for any mistakes. I hope you enjoyed reading this! Thx for the love!

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