"I believe there's winners and losers... And nothin' else besides." - Micah Bell III, 1899.
Warnings: Gorey death, family death, guns
Summary: Agnes O’Brien is enjoying a peaceful morning before a group of suspicious men rides onto her family's property with blood on their hands.
Words: 1346
A/N: ok, so i retitled this (even though it's essentially the same as the previous title but who cares) and I made a few minor revisions to this chapter (for those that aren’t aware, this was initially written in probably june i’d say??) . all of the trigger warnings and content warnings for this series will be put onto it's masterlist. okay I hope y'all enjoy ^-^
Part I - A Parting
[𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓]
The air was thick as Aggy sat in Delta’s stall, her right hand gently stroking the resting mare’s forelock, her left holding a book. The Lemoyne air had her fixed to suffocate anytime she stepped outside, while the stable was damp and cool. Plus, this was the perfect way to get out of doing farm work all day.
The Arabian mare she sat with was lying on the ground, her eyes nearly closed as her head sat in Aggy’s lap. The two loved moments like these, as they were the only two who seemed to understand one another. They were both always considered moody, yet shy, but when they were together, Aggy felt as though they spoke without words to one another.
Aggy giggled as Delta let out a tiny snore-like sound, “Good girl,” she whispered, closing the book, and setting it down beside her gently. She used both hands to softly massage the beast’s ears, Delta’s muscles relaxing almost completely with a small groan. The sight made Aggy grin ear-to-ear, the love in her heart for the animal growing endlessly in the moment.
Though, the sweet moment didn’t last long. In the distance, she could hear faint shouting. It sounded as though it was coming from in front of the house.
Aggy stood up and looked through the barred window of the stall towards the house. She couldn’t see much, but she could just barely make out what looked like three men, all mounted upon horses. Two of the men were armed much heavier than the man in the middle, who seemed to be holding something somewhat round. He was the one shouting.
“Eileen!” was the only thing she could decipher in the distant shouts. Aggy turned around, her eyebrows furrowing. Who were these men? And why were they so aggressive about seeing the girl’s mother?
She looked at the horse laying down in front of her as she thought. She knew her brother, Sean, had been following Pa’s degenerative steps, getting involved with outlaws and such. But why would they want Ma? She hadn’t been involved in that lifestyle since around ten years ago, in 1889, and no one’s wanted anything to do with her since then.
The girl opened the door of the stall, “I’ll be back soon,” she said to Delta as she left, closing the door behind her. She walked out of the barn and towards the house, her hand on the gun holster on her hip. The weapon had only ever been used by her a handful of times when her brother, Sean, was teaching her to shoot. Whether it be for the farm’s protection or her own. Every so often, she wondered if it still worked, as she never really was taught how to clean it. It always made her wish that Pa had still been around, she knew that he’d have taught her all those things, and then some.
Sean tried to fill in that void as the man of the house, but he never quite could fully settle into it. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to, it was that he almost felt he couldn’t. He’d always felt inferior to his Pa, the way he was braver than he’d ever be, how he was smarter than he’d ever be, a better father, a better gunman. It made him feel as though he’d never live up to those expectations of being Lee O’Brien’s first, and only, son. Unfortunately, his solution to these insecurities and doubts of himself was not to be his own self and not worry about following his father’s footsteps and (very little known) “legacy”, but was to instead distance himself from as many of those things as possible. Sure, it was a way of protecting himself and his self-image, but at the end of the day, it made things worse for everyone else.
As Aggy neared the back of the house, a shrill scream came from the front. Presumably her mother’s scream.
“Oh, my God! M-My… H-He... What’ve ya’ done, Colm?!” Ma’s Irish accent was strong as she sobbed; her words broken up by quick, panicked breaths. “My boy… What’ve ya’ done to him, ya’ bastards?!”
A deep rumble of a chuckle erupted from the man, presumably Colm, “I think it’s damn obvious, Eileen.”
Aggy snuck through the backdoor and crouched as she walked to one of the windows in the front, peaking through the glass just enough to see the people in the front yard. As she looked around, she saw the three men she had seen before from a distance, the one dressed fairly nicer than the other two. That must be Colm. she thought before turning her eyes to her mother.
She was kneeled on the ground, her body heaving sharp, shallow breaths. She held the same round thing that Colm had been holding when she first spotted the group. It had a nose, eyes, short, dark, curly hair, fair skin, and freckles.
It was Sean.
Sean’s head.
He seemed to bleed from everywhere.
There were slashes on his cheeks, his nose bled, his mouth bled, his eyes bled.
It drenched the ground.
It drenched Ma’s favorite white blouse, her burgundy skirt, her hands.
It filthied Sean’s face, his hair.
It ruined anything it touched.
Aggy nearly vomited at the sight as she slid down the wall and sat on the ground with a thud. She bit her hand, using all of her power to not wail like a newborn baby. It felt as though she couldn’t breathe. Her head was a puddle. Stagnant thoughts. Static sounds. Nothing around her could be absorbed. She was stuck in her own world. A world that felt like nothing. It almost felt like she was watching herself. That this was just a bad dream, but her legs hurt from walking the hill to the house. You don’t hurt when you dream.
The sound of a fired gunshot brought her halfway back to reality. Enough to listen to and watch a conversation, at least. She peaked through the window again, her eyes drawn back to her mother.
She lies still. No cries, no yelps. Just an eerie silence.
“Search the house for money, gold, even. I’m sure they’ll have some. They’ve always sat on some secret.” Colm ordered, “You’d better come back with something,” The man quickly turned tail and galloped away from the house, the other two men dismounting their horses to search the house.
When they walked up the steps of the porch, the wood creaked beneath their feet loudly. Aggy held her breath at the sound. Her feet became unstuck from the ground she crouched on out of desire to not be their next victim, and she silently ran to the same door she had entered through. As she closed the door slowly and quietly behind her, the front door opened aggressively.
Blood rushed through her head, her vision becoming narrow and dark as she ran back down to the barn. What was she going to do? She had no family in America, she had no money, she never learned to fend for herself. She was going to die on her own. Her chest heaved as she slipped through the stable door, making her way straight toward Delta’s saddle and bridle.
As quickly as she could, she tacked the mare, grabbed all of the apples, oats, and carrots she could, snatched her book from the barrel she had set it on before, and put everything in the saddle bag. Aggy sniffled as she mounted up, her mind still flashing images of the sight she had witnessed seemingly seconds ago.
They walked through the stable doors, “Come on, girl. Get us out of here,” Aggy mumbled, her lip quivering as she gently kicked the mare on, pushing her up into a medium lope. The pair made their way towards the woods at the back of the property, Aggy’s tears dripping to the leather of the saddle beneath her.
She wasn’t going to make it out there alone, and it made her petrified.
oral (fem receiving), fingering, pre-existing relationship, overstim, not proofread
kirk leans down and takes your sensitive clit into your mouth snd sucks so hard your legs jerk and your eyes scrunch shut; mouth open in pleasure. you cry out as kirk continues to suckle at your clit, still fingering your g-spot all the while, your hands flying to his curly locks.
kirk leans down and takes your sensitive clit into his mouth and sucks so hard your legs jerk and your eyes scrunch shut; mouth open in pleasure. you cry out as kirk continues to suckle at your clit, still fingering your g-spot all the while, your hands flying to his curly locks.
he's smiling into your pussy, lapping at you. fingers reaching impossibly deep inside you. that coil in your gut tightens and you shake, head reeling back. kirks sweetly telling you to cum on his fingers, snapping them upwards against your spongey walls as you topple over the edge. your orgasm is red hot, your thighs clenching around his head and back arching as he sucks your clit torturously hard through your orgasm.
you're vision is blurry and you're trying to regain your place on earth as he licks his lips, slick with your come. you just manage to catch your breath when kirk lowers his mouth to you again he's tongue-fucking you like it was what he was put on this planet for. the overstimulation of his wet mouth is making you cry but the way your hands are holding his face to your cunt says otherwise. you can feel his smile on your weeping pussy and you're repeating his name like a mantra. over, and over, and over..
since kirk has a blood kink, i was thinking maybe 80s or 90s!kirk with virgin!fem!reader… like maybe after they finish having sex for the first time, he notices that she bled, she starts to freak out a lil and feels bad for ruining his sheets, but being the sweetheart he is says “it’s ok, baby girl, i’m not mad”, he smiles lovingly at her and gently swipes away the sweat and stray hairs from her flushed face, he then kisses her cheek “let’s get you cleaned up, sweet girl” he crawls down in between her shaky legs, pulls them apart to see her puffy pussy, leaking with cum and her blood. he licks his lips and kisses her inner thigh to calm her trembling body. he then proceeds to gently lick her pussy clean from her cum and blood❤️
sorry if this is super weird or if it’s all over the place
oh. my. god. OH. MY. GOD.
the temptation to write a little mini series about kirk meeting an innocent!reader at like music store or something and one thing leads to another and like AHHAHA okay ill shut up now a get to it 🫡
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You don't cry, you never cry. You've always been the rock for the people around you, and now one night on your cold kitchen floor it's all coming crashing down around you. You thought you could have your breakdown in peace, but as he walks through the front door you realize you've never felt more relieved and embarrassed at the same time before.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Angsty! Mentions of reader being hit by boyfriends in the past, mentions of blood.
•·················•·················•
The smallest slivers of moonlight shone in through the cracks of your kitchen blinds, bathing the tiled floor.
The tiles were cool against your bare skin, hot and sweaty from your crying. You weren't sure how long you'd been sitting there, back pressed against the fridge and your head tilted back at an impossible angle, whilst you bit your lip and choked in your sobs.
Your shoulders were shaking and heaving as your hands tightened around your shoulders, hugging yourself in a desperate attempt to send the hot, heavy tears away. You tore your eyes away from the white blanket of the ceiling and read time on the digital clock in your hallway.
The blinking red numbers stared back you, reading 2:34 AM.
That meant you'd been here at least an hour. You remembered stumbling in through your door at 1 o'clock this morning, still giggling from your night out. You'd stubbed your toe, and very dramatically hopped around your cramped hallway, sending things flying.
A vase had been knocked to the ground and shattered into fragments of which you'd somehow managed to cut your foot on, and as you'd been trying to find some paper towel in the kitchen to clean it up, your wave of emotion had hit you and you'd sunk to your floor, unable to stop the tears by the time you realized they'd arrived.
You weren't quite sure why you were crying. Maybe it was because at 24 years old, all you had to show for yourself was this shitty shoe box apartment and your termination letter sitting right in the middle of your coffee table.
You hadn't cried when you were fired last week, if anything you were relieved that you were no longer being groped by strange men in one of the dodgiest clubs in LA. You weren't exactly completely unemployed either, you'd been casually making some money the past couple of weeks dancing in the early hours of the morning for unmarried men who still lived in their mothers basements.
You were still being groped by strange men as a stripper, but it certainly paid far better to compensate for it than serving drinks ever did.
That couldn't be the only reason you were crying though. You were stronger than this, and you hadn't cried in years. Surely this wasn't what it took to send you over the edge?
Hopelessly, you reached out to a piece of paper towel, not caring it was the one you had cleaned your foot with in your drunken state, and blew your nose on a white patch of it.
Your shoulders had stopped shaking and your sniffles had quietened down now, letting you think more clearly without being clouded by emotion.
Your watery eyes drifted to your kitchen counter where a photo of a man sat, a little girl balanced on his knee with a huge smile on his face. Maybe that's why you were crying.
What would your father think to see his baby girl like this? He had told you before he passed that he'd be proud of you no matter where you ended up, but how could he be proud of this? A mess of a young woman, barely able to afford her crappy apartment by stripping? Girls your age were married, and yet all you had were past boyfriends who'd all thought it ok to lay their hands on you?
That's something no father could be proud of.
Your head met your knees as a loud wail left your mouth, taking you by surprise. It felt like an iron fist had taken your heart in both hands and crushed what was left of it, as your father's death hit you harder than it ever had since you'd moved to the city.
You felt the loneliness when you'd moved here, with no friends or family around in a new city, and now, even though you had friends who felt just like family, you'd never felt lonelier than you did in this moment.
Your door swung open, taking you by surprise as you lifted your head from your knees, peaking at the intruder.
It was a tall man with a familiar mop of hair, drunkenly stumbling through your hallway, taking note to hope over the smashed glass on the floor.
"Y/n!"
You heard his voice call out, you could hear the grin on his face as well as he walked through your living room and stuck his head in the bathroom and your bedroom trying to locate you.
You wanted to call out, tell him you were in the kitchen and you needed help, because by god you needed help, but something held you back. Embarrassment perhaps? Some fear to be vulnerable in front of your friends? Maybe it was your selfish need for them to see you as perfect and stronger than you really were?
You didn't quite know, but you still bit your tongue and listened as Slash made his way through the apartment, still calling out your name with growing concern in his voice.
"You can come out now!" He called with a small child-like giggle. His concern dropped as he must've decided you were playing some game. His footsteps grew closer and closer as they rounded your kitchen counter and he saw you, curled up in the corner against your fridge.
"There you are!" He proudly grinned, not noticing the blood that was smeared on your kitchen tiles, the tear tracks stained onto your puffy face, or the way your body instinctively tried to curl further away from him into your corner. "I was-"
He cut himself off, the smile dropping from his face as he seemed to notice something was wrong. It was dark in your kitchen, but it didn't take a genius to work out you weren't ok. Even Slash could do it in the dark.
"Hey..." His voice trailed off as he moved forward to crouch beside you, and you let out a shuddering breath, keeping your eyes from meeting his. Instead you focused on those blaring numbers on the digital clock.
2:39 AM
"What's the matter." He was drunk, but his voice sobered up and softened as he laid a gentle hand to rest on your shoulder. Your body begrudgingly leaned into it. The human contact was grounding, pulling you out of the mess you were climbing through inside your mind. "Have you been crying?"
You sniffled and looked up at him, his big brown eyes holding a sincerity you'd never seen before. "No." You retorted sarcastically, but your choked up voice gave it away.
"Your makeup says otherwise." He pointed out, twisting his body to sit beside you. One of his arms came around your shoulder and pulled you close to him, enveloped into the side of his body. You wanted to pull away, be left to your mess by yourself, but the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beside you was too soothing. You gave in to it, resting your head against his shoulder.
His curls tickled your face, and clung to it from the sweat and tears that had gathered, but it didn't bother you. It was a welcome sensation.
"You're bleeding." He remarked after a few moments of silence, and you nodded against his body.
"I'm sorry." You whispered into the darkness. Your hands were gripping at your shoulders like a lifeline.
"Don't be." He shook his head. "You have to clean it, not me."
"I wasn't talking about the floor, asshole." A tiny chuckle escaped you. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this."
Now that your sadness had passed, you felt more mortified than anything by his presence. You and Slash weren't friends, per se. More like an occasional fuck-buddy when you had both drank too much. You couldn't remember the name of the girl who you had met him through, but you worked with her and she skipped town a few months ago. She'd started seeing Duff, dragging you and your other colleagues along with her to his shows and parties with them, and that's where you'd met Slash.
You didn't want a relationship, and neither did he, so your arrangement worked out well for the both of you - until now.
Having a close friend see you like this was bad enough, let alone him.
"Why would you be sorry, baby?"
His soft voice brought more tears to your eyes and you shook your head.
"Don't call me that." You pulled away from him, keeping your eyes away from his so you wouldn't have to see his confusion or hurt, if there was any there. You knew what your relationship with him was, and you knew who he was. You weren't a person, you were a pussy. "Look, Slash, we both know you came here to fuck me tonight but clearly that isn't going to be happening, so you don't have to stick around."
"Y/N." He spoke your name softly, sounding more hurt than you'd imagine him to be by your words. His hand tightened it's grip on your shoulders, preventing you from getting up and walking away like you oh so wanted to do. "I like having you around."
His words stopped you from trying to pull away from his grip.
"Not just because of what you can do for me and give to me, but because I like you. As a person, not just someone I can fuck."
His words took you by surprise. Naturally, in the time you'd been together you'd developed some sort of friendship, but in your mind you had always thought it would be sexual for him.
"So I'm going to sit with you on your floor, clean your foot, and your gonna tell me what's running through your head, ok?" He asked, once again pulling you out of your mind.
You nodded before your dry mouth found the words. "O-Ok."
He moved from his position beside you, leaving you aware of the lack of warmth he had been giving you. He discarded your dirty pieces of paper towel and reached for a washcloth, standing up to wet it before he crouched back down in front of you and gently grabbed hold of your bleeding foot, placing it in his lap.
He almost cradled it more lovingly than his guitar, as he ran the cloth over both the dried blood and the somewhat deep cut the glass had left in your foot. It only took a few moments for him to completely clean it up, far better than you'd managed.
Somehow, the drunk man running a wet rag over your bloody foot was the most intimate you'd ever felt with him in all your time together. A small fact that scared the shit out of you.
Of course you'd thought about a relationship with Slash, but it would never work out. He was Slash, and as his band gained more popularity, more and more women through themselves at them. He already had his pick of the litter, and to be completely honest you wondered what he was still doing coming to your door at ungodly hours of the morning. You also couldn't be the only woman he was sleeping with, not by a long shot. You were just one of the many.
And that was just him - you had your own baggage and list of reasons why a relationship would never work. Every man in your past had raised a hand against you, leaving you with a bad taste in your mouth. Not to mention that you were technically unemployed, only being paid cash under the table for your dancing, and living in a home fit for a mouse. You'd been thinking of giving up and moving back home.
"You got any band aids?" Slash asked, his brown eyes peering at you from beneath his mop of curls.
You nodded, mouth dry. "Medicine cabinet."
He squeezed your ankle before standing up, a silent promise that he'd be back soon. It only left your mind reeling more.
You had to end whatever it was that you had going on with him if you didn't want to end up hurt, but the way he came back and tenderly placed a band aid on your foot, eyebrows furrowed like he was performing brain surgery pulled on your heartstrings in a way that you just despised.
"Your not bleeding anywhere else?" He asked gently and you shook your head. The only other physical pain you were in was your massive headache. Your brain was throbbing against your skull from all the crying and it had left you exhausted.
"Just take me to bed please." Your little whisper may as well have broken his heart as he leaned forward to help pull your wobbly frame up.
He couldn't carry you - he was too intoxicated for that, but he could let you lean against his body for support as the two of you made your way into your bedroom, a route he was far too familiar with.
You made a beeline for your bed, not caring you were still in your jeans and tight tank top, you just kicked off your heels and let your body hit the mattress.
Your head found it's way too your pillow, and through your already half closed eyes you watched Slash, the notorious guitar player who went through women like underwear, kick off his boots and climb into the bed beside you, prompting you to roll over. It surprised you - you definitely thought he'd left by now, by you didn't fight it when he lazily wrapped his arms around you.
It was a summer night, so the heat between the two of you was uncomfortable, but his presence was helping you more than you'd like to admit, so you brought your forehead towards his chest, letting it rest against him, moving in sync with his deep breaths.
"You never told me what was wrong." He whispered softly, a hand coming up behind your head to smooth down your messy hair. His chest vibrated as he spoke, comforting you. He was there.
"Everything." You answered him truthfully. He squeezed you a little tighter in response. "I got fired last week. I never told you."
You could feel him still.
"Why wouldn't you tell me?"
"Why would I?" You asked him, honestly. "You aren't my boyfriend. I never thought you'd care this much."
"I care more than you think." He almost sounded hurt by your words.
"I know that now." You leaned into him a little more, if it was even possible. You felt him throw a leg over your own. Normally him doing that would send nervous butterflies through your stomach, but not this time. This time it reassured you and comforted you. There was no reason for you to be nervous with him anymore.
"So what're you gonna do?" He asked quietly, into the darkness of your room and you sighed.
"I've been stripping for some cash under the table. It's enough to get me by until I find something better."
You felt his hands tighten even more around you. Not in the kind, gentle caring way like earlier though - no, this was possessive. It was jealous and almost angry. Not toward you, of course, but toward the fact that you had to entertain men, men who weren't him, to afford to live now.
"I don't mind it, really. The girls are all really sweet there, I was just thinking about how disappointed my dad would be in me."
There it was. Slash knew about your father, a story you hated telling. You hated giving people the sob-story, you always felt like it was a cry for attention, like no one really cared and you were speaking to deaf ears, but tonight it didn't feel that way.
"I doubt he would be. You're surviving. It's more than some people can say. And speaking for myself, I'm so, so proud of you."
You almost snorted. "What for?"
"For moving halfway across the country to a city where you knew nobody. That takes guts." He started, and you could tell he wasn't finished. "You've worked your ass off to make your ends meet, and even though your apartment isn't much, it's more than what most people here can show off."
"Thank you." You said sincerely, your hand snaking around his torso and resting on the small of his back. You traced small circles with your fingertips, and felt goosebumps erupt across his back. Strangely, this was the most intimate thing you'd ever done with him.
"That's not all."
"Mmm." You hummed. "What else?"
"I'm proud of you for letting me be here tonight."
His words held more vulnerability in them than you'd ever heard from him, and it made you open your eyes and peer up at him, to find him already looking down at you.
"You're strong and independent, and you don't want a relationship from what you've been through, and I respect that but fuck I- I just want you to know that I wish we could do this more. I want to come into your bed and hold you and talk to you instead of having a quick fuck and leaving. So I'm proud of you for letting me do this."
"I wish we could do this more too." You whispered silently after a moment, tearing your gaze from his, unable to handle the way he looked at you. "But you're gonna hurt me one day if we do. You won't want to, but you will."
He shook his head no. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Swear on my damn guitar."
You chuckled, unsure of what to say.
"I'm not asking you to date me Y/N." He said gently, this time taking your chin in his hand and raising it so you could look him in the eye. "I'm just asking you to be more than a quick fuck. I don't wanna fuck around with other women, and I don't wanna be out of your door before 5 in the morning. I want people to see you and know who you are to me."
Your heart squeezed in your chest at his words. Not the suffocating squeeze you got when you thought of your father, but the kind of squeeze you got from someone new making their way into your heart, setting up a little space for themselves that you wouldn't be able to get rid of no matter how hard you tried.
"I can do that for you." You nodded, swallowing softly.
He seemed almost surprised by your words at first, before leaning down and taking your lips in a soft kiss, softer than he would normally kiss you. You could tell he wanted to deepen it, to climb on top of you and make love rather than fuck you, but you were tired. You were so, so tired, so you pulled away, giving him the hint.
He allowed you to rest your head against his chest again, one arm wrapped tightly around you to keep you close in the night.
It was a strange feeling knowing that he'd still be here beside you when you woke up, but it was a welcome feeling that left you warm inside and safe as you felt yourself fall asleep.
•·················•·················•
𝐀/𝐍: Welp I really hope you liked it. It got longer than I thought it would be, and I don't love how I ended it but I do really like this! More fics will be coming soon, next up for Duff, and my requests are 100% open for you!
Currently I've been using prompts to help me write these, but if there's anything in particular you wanna see let me know <3
current obsession: watching the making of the black album documentary and imagining i’m occasionally there either pregnant with james’s baby or holding our baby girl
Having babies with James would be so cute, like he’d want to hold them all the time and make them feel so safe, but also he’d throw them everywhere (safely) and make them giggle like a maniac and shit. I WANNA HAVE IS FUCKING BABIES NOW.
this is making me think about having babies with like black album era jamie. like i feel like he'd take such good care of his little one but also do so much to make them giggle (including throwing them around the bed). like can you imagine when he has you and the baby on tour with him and he gets to one of those huge hotel bedrooms?? you just know he's throwing them all around and "wrestling" them. he plays so rough with the kiddos, i swear.
kaledo-art
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
areudirty
yousharknotpass
izzy806
discoholicmusic
