Whimsical Pragmatist, Cheerful Existentialist @pulled-by-stars - Tumblr Blog

pulled-by-stars

Jun 27

plaidamoosette

LIE TO ME

The Ghoul x Reader

masterlist

wc: 9.1k

The ancient wooden floorboards creek loudly beneath your feet as you sort through the new drop-off of junk. You understand that in this world, Caps aren't the only thing that holds value, and so you will gladly make a trade for any bargain you see fit. Currently, the box of scraps would be perfect to fix up a few trinkets you've got lying around that might be able to sell for a pretty penny.

Oftentimes, people will swing by in the wee hours of the early morning to get first dibs on whatever you've got in stock, and the streaks of early morning light are just beginning to filter in through the open shutters as you work. Your first customers of the day had already come and gone, and although you're short a box of .38 ammunition, you've got enough parts now that you can piece together another radio or two.

Just as you're laying out the parts to start assembling, you hear heavy boots thud on the front steps of your store. You've got several rusty old cans that dangle from a string that's attached to the door, and they jingle obnoxiously as the man steps inside. You don't look up right away, still busy with the items at hand.

"Welcome to The Dump, what can I..." Your words trail off as you finally peer up at the man who stands at the door, having yet to come inside all the way.

The words die on your lips as you drink in the sight of the ghoul before you. He tips his hat back on his head, allowing his eyes to roam over your body. You don't have a weapon on you, but there's a sawed-off shotgun behind your desk... if only you could reach around and grab it.

He looks like he's sizing you up, waiting for you to make the first move, and you swallow the lump in your throat. Judging by the looks of him, he's a bounty hunter. You've had a few in the past come wandering through, looking for information on people they think have come your way, and odds are, you've always got some shred of information that you can sell.

But he looks like the kind of man that doesn't bargain. He takes. As far as you know, you haven't pissed anyone off enough to warrant having you killed for it, but then again, you never know. Nowadays, people will get revenge on those who just look at 'em sideways. And he's lookin' at you all kinds of sideways.

"I'm led to believe that a man I'm lookin' for came through here, 'bout two weeks ago," he drawls, stepping inside your shop all the way. The rusty spurs on his worn dusty boots jingle with every heavy step as he slowly approaches you, laying the saddle bag he had strewn over his shoulder across one of the many boxes filled to the brim with junk. As he gets closer, you creep to the left, trying to inconspicuously get yourself closer to your gun. His sunken eyes follow your every move like a wolf watching its meal try to escape. "Let's do this the easy way, and you just tell me what I wanna know, and we can part ways from here."

"Well, that depends; who're you lookin' for?" Your voice betrays your fear, wavering slightly, and you clear your throat, knowing full well that he knows the effect he has on you.

You've seen a ghoul or two in the past, but each time it comes as a shock to see someone who looks so... human, but is anything but. His thin lips pull back over his yellowed teeth into a wicked grin, and the mottled red flesh of his face crinkles as he flashes you that crocodile smile. It does nothing to ease your nerves, and you figure that was his intention.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a worn folded piece of paper. He unravels it with one hand, holding it up so you can get a better look at it. At this point, he's only about two feet from you, and you can smell the sweat, smoke, and gunpowder radiating off of him. You're still not close enough to your gun, but maybe you can steer this in a way that you won't need it.

Your heart stutters once you lay eyes on the picture.

"Nope. Never seen him before."

You don't know how he managed to move so fast, but in one second he's away from you, and the next he's got his body crushing yours into the counter. On reflex, you swing up to punch him in the face, not able to get enough recoil with him being so close. You shoot your knee up, ramming it between his legs, and he growls on impact. You slam your hands against his chest in an attempt to shove him away, but he snatches your wrists, swinging you around and throwing you to the floor in a heap.

You scramble back towards the door, but he pounces on you in a flash, brandishing a small blade. He grips the fabric of your shirt, pulling it off your shoulder, and then stabs the blade through it, pinning you to the floor by your shirt. He sits down on top of you, straddling your waist, trapping your other arm under his knee, cutting off the blood flow to your fingers in seconds.

Crying out loudly, you thrash and struggle against him until you're out of breath, all the while he grins down at you as if this is the most entertaining thing he's seen all day. By the time you realize that all escape attempts are futile, you're panting for breath from underneath him, glaring into his eyes with as much hatred as you can muster.

"You finished?" He tsks at you, reaching behind himself. When his hand returns to view, he's got an even bigger blade within his grasp, and he teases the tip of it down your chin, your skin tingles as the cold metal dips lower, until it reaches the collar of your blouse. From there, he pops off two buttons with ease, pulling your blouse open until your chest is exposed, the upper curves of your breasts barely contained by the bandage you wear in place of a bra.

Your breathing picks up as your mind flares, concocting a whole list of horrible things he plans on doing to you. If he intends to take advantage of you, you won't go down without a fight. You thrash around one more time, kicking your legs with what little range of motion they've got left. Again, he clicks his tongue at you, as if disappointed. The ghoul then uses his teeth to pull the glove from his right hand, before he slides it up to wrap around your throat, his thumb stroking in lazy circles until he finds your pulse point.

"Now, sweetheart, I had wanted to do this the easy way, but seein' as how you done chose the hard way, you left me with no other choice," he starts, shifting his hips to get more comfortable on top of you. You whine from beneath him, trying to melt into the floor to get away from the blade. "Now, let's start with a few easy questions. Do you own this shop?"

Frowning, you look up at him in confusion. "Yes," you mumble, and he smiles devilishly.

"Good girl." His praise is very mocking, and you swallow hard once more, feeling your throat bob within his grip. "Now, I need you to lie to me, sweetheart. Is it night outside?"

"Yes."

"Are you human?"

"Is this going somewhere?" He gives your throat a hard squeeze, eliciting a gasp to escape your lips, and you grit your teeth, answering his stupid question. "Yes."

"There, was that so hard?" Chuckling, he brings the blade up close again, setting the tip up at the side of your shoulder. His leather gloves creak as he grips the hilt. "You see, one thing I've learned after two hundred years is that people always have a tell for when they're lyin'."

You remain silent as he goes on, not liking where this is going. "And I've figured out what your tells are. So, Imma ask you again, darlin', and you better answer truthfully."

He jerks his head towards the flyer that lays on the floor a few feet from you, and you follow his gaze, scanning over the roughly drawn portrait. Your mouth runs dry, and your heart begins to race within your chest, the blood rushing in your ears, almost drowning out the low rumble of his voice as he begins to speak once more.

"Do you know who that is?"

"No." Your voice wavers again. That's Billy Radical on the flier, but you'll take this information to your grave.

"I was hopin' you'd lie," he chuckles, and the tip of the blade carves into the flesh of your shoulder, gouging into your skin as he drags it overand down your collarbone, all the way to the top of your breast in one jagged line.

Your head slams back into the wooden planks beneath you, and your voice cracks as you let out an ear-piercing scream. You try to fight him off once more, but he's got you securely pinned to the floor, and the blade through your shirt is keeping your shoulder from moving more than an inch out of place. Warm blood drips up the curve of your chest, gathering in the hollow of your throat, and you whimper as the burning flesh grows hot from the assault. Tears leak out of the corner of your eyes, and he lowers his face, grinning wickedly at you as if this all is a little game for him.

Suddenly, his tongue darts from his mouth, running up the length of the cut, smoothing over the wound, causing a jolt to run through your body, and you flinch away. A noise escapes your mouth, stuck between a moan and a whine, and he hums deep in his chest.

"Tastes so sweet," he mumbled under his breath, leaning back once he was satisfied. His pupils are more dilated than they had been before, and you shudder, feeling a sudden wash of cold pour over you.

"Fuck you!" You spit at him, earning another chuckle.

"Now, now. All you gotta do is tell me the truth," he clicks his teeth, taunting you with the blade. "Do you know where he's at?"

You're on the verge of hyperventilating, and you suck in a few rapid breaths through your nose, trying to calm yourself. Clenching your jaws, you glare up at him. You wish you could tell him, just so you could spare yourself the pain, but you can't. For her sake.

The tip of the blade pricks your skin once more, but he only does so as a warning, flashing you a dark look before asking you again. Your voice shakes, knowing what's waiting for you with your next answer.

"No," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut as you brace yourself.

His right-hand leaves your throat long enough to give you a sharp slap to the cheek, forcing you to look back up at him through the tears. Once it's back on your throat, he tilts your chin back, allowing him better access as he once again cuts a sharp line across your chest, causing your whole body to tremble violently beneath him. You fight and squirm to no avail, screaming until your voice gives out.

You feel faint and dizzy, and he squeezes your throat to get your attention once more.

"What I don't get is why you're protectin' him. What's he paying you?"

"It isn't him!" You croak, blinking the tears from your eyes, drawing a shuddering breath. "I can't tell you anything. I can't. So you can keep cutting me, and you can kill me, but I can't tell you what you wanna know, 'cause if it gets back to him... he'll kill her."

"Who?"

"My mother," you sob, your body vibrating uncontrollably at this point. "They took my mother. Said if I squealed, he'd kill her and send her back in pieces. Please, please, I can't, for her."

At this, he withdraws his hands, leaning back on his haunches, looking down at you with a frown. The gaping hole where his nose used to be flares as he takes a large breath, collecting himself. Your head rolls to the side, away from the oozing cuts, which throb in tune with the heavy beat of your heart. After a minute, he hums, climbing off of you, and pulling the blade free from your shirt.

You gasp as the blood rushes back to the hand he had pinned down, your fingers tingling as you wiggle them around. Your blouse hangs open, growing wetter by the second as your blood drips down into the neckline. You reach up with trembling fingers, testing out the abused flesh, and another whimper escapes your lips as you feel it pull apart at the seam. You'll need to stitch it if you can muster up the guts to do it yourself.

"How's he supposed to know if you tell on him?"

You jump, almost having forgotten that the ghoul has yet to leave. Dropping your gaze to the floor, you shrug, unwilling to utter another word to him. His boots thump closer to you, and you fight the urge to shrink away, not wanting to appeal to his sadistic, animalistic side a moment longer. You hear the rustling of fabric, and something drops in your lap before his boots turn towards the door.

"Thank you kindly for your time," he drawls, and the cans jingle, alerting you of his departure.

He'd left you a handkerchief. Out of spite, you want to toss it away, but you need something to stop the blood flow for now. Instead, you curl up in a ball on the floor, wadding up the square piece of fabric, cramming against your cuts, praying that this won't come back on your mother.

Two weeks ago, it was a normal day like any other, until Billy Radical and his gang of raiders busted in and laid waste to your store. Thankfully, The Dump is located in the perfect spot, just a few miles outside of two major settlements, on one of the major trade routes on this side of the wastelands. You've got the resources to acquire a great multitude of rare and dangerous items, and Billy felt it would be wisest to keep your shop open. So long as you surrender damn near all of your profit over to him, in exchange for your life, and your mother's.

To keep you honorable on your end of the deal, Billy took your mother, claiming that once you've proven you can be trusted, he'll turn her back over. Again, that was two weeks ago. Billy sends goons every couple of days to collect on 'his fees,' today being one of those days.

You know he's got his camp set up somewhere nearby, it never takes him more than a couple hours to show up sometime after high sun, which is why you were extra eager to get the ghoul out of your hair. 'Cause even if you didn't give away anything that could come back on you, if they even see him coming in or out, they'll probably assume the worst, and you can't afford that.

Your mother is all you've got left.

Your little sister took her own life a few years ago after a traveling salesman cornered her out back and took advantage of her. Your father... well, you'd rather not think about that asshole right now. But your mother? She's always been the strong one. She's always been the one with the backbone. You try to be like her, brave and relentless, but look at what just happened.

That ghoul knocked you down like you were a stack of tin cans, as if you were nothing. You're lucky all he did was give you a few cuts and a couple of bruises. Because had he wanted something more, you would have been completely helpless to stop him.

It took a while before you finally found the strength to pull yourself up and off the floor. You've got a stimpak behind the counter, but even after injecting yourself in the shoulder, the cuts still drip a steady stream of blood. The cuts were deeper than you thought. Sighing heavily, you tear a strip of fabric from the hem of your long skirt, wrapping it around your chest as best as you can as a makeshift bandage.

It's sometime around lunch when the very man you don't want to see comes busting through the doors of your shop, turning your world upside down all over again.

"What'dya say to that ghoul, you bitch?" He hisses angrily, storming up to the counter. He doesn't give you a chance to answer before his fat hands reach across the surface, gripping you by the collar of your torn shirt.

In one swift motion, he drags you over the counter, throwing you to the floor, and pinning you down with a knee to your chest. His beefy hand slams into the side of your face, and your eye swells almost instantly. Fuck this day, you growl internally, just as he punches you again. You spit a glob of bloody saliva on the floor, but you don't give him the satisfaction of crying. His knee is causing your cuts to reopen, and you focus on the pain, using it to fuel your anger.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about" You shout, just as he grips you by the collar once more, shaking you violently.

"Oh really? Cause I had men watching you, and they came running after they heard you screamin' your little lungs out. He do this? That's all it took to get you to squeal on me? Two cuts? Your mama would be real proud," he sneers, and you clench your jaw. You can't let your mouth run away with you right now, he'll kill your mother for sure.

"There was no ghoul here, it was just a trade gone bad! The guy thought he could torture me into lowering my rates!"

It's a little easier to lie to a man who looks more like a pig than it is to a man who resembles a living skull. His foul breath fans over your face as he pulls you closer, lifting you off the ground. You grip his wrists, his skin damp and sweaty, and you try not to recoil as his filthy odor assaults your senses, crying out as he punches you in the face once more.

"I don't think I believe you. I think you needa be taught a lesson, and then I think I'm gonna go shoppin', 'cause I see a whole lotta shit that needs a new home," he cackles, and his henchmen join in. "Matter of fact, I might even just move in!"

You writhe in his grasp, opening your mouth to curse at him, but a ruckus outside draws both of your attention. It sounded almost like a small cannon going off on your front porch, and a second later, the body of a man came flying through the door, landing in a wet heap, his whole head missing from his neck. All that was left was the jagged flesh, just above the bottom jawbone.

You feel sick to your stomach, but thankfully, Billy throws you to the ground, scrambling to his feet with all the grace and agility of a Brahmin. He waddles behind your counter, just as the two men inside draw their weapons, pointing them at the figure that enters the doorway. The boots of the fallen body keep the door propped open, and even without looking, you know who's at the door.

The spurs jingle on the ghoul's boots as he steps over the body, which is already creating a growing pool of blood. Thankfully, there's only dirt beneath these floorboards. You push yourself onto your hands and knees, scooting as far away from what's about to become a very bloody brawl.

You feel the burning gaze of the ghoul as he looks you over, but you can't see out of the eye that is facing him. Your face feels tight and sore, and on top of the cuts- which started bleeding heavily again after Billy tossed you around- you feel like absolute shit right now.

"Been lookin' all over for you, Billy," the ghoul rumbles, cocking the gun in his hand, waving it slowly between each of the goons on either side of Billy. "You been busy. Wracked up a whole crew and everythin'. Well, had a crew."

"The fuck do you want?" For such a big man, he squeals like a woman. Beads of sweat drip down the rolls on the back of his neck, seeping into the collar of his filthy shirt, and his eyes dart around, looking for anything he can use as a weapon. If he looked down one shelf, he'd find your shotgun, but at this rate, you've got your bets on the ghoul. Billy doesn't stand a chance.

"I want to get this damn job over and done with, so how's about you just come out from that counter, and you come with me, quiet like? The flyer says dead or alive, so it's your choice." He flicks the barrel of the gun between Billy and the door behind the ghoul, and Billy looks like he's actually contemplating it.

"You're outnumbered," the threat sounds pathetic, even to you.

"That so?"

The men both jump toward the ghoul at the same time, and one of them explodes into a mist of blood and organ tissue. Whatever is left of him falls to the ground in a heap. The other manages to grab the barrel of the ghoul's gun, but the ghoul jerks his head forward, biting down on the raider's nose, sawing clean through it with his irradiated teeth. He spits out the chunk of flesh back into the guy's face, who wails and moans in agony, blood pouring from between his fingers as he holds his nasal cavity.

His cries are cut short as the ghoul sends one slug into the guy's gut, leaving behind a gaping hole. The man gurgles, one hand on his face, the other holding in his intestines, before he too collapses amongst the others.

"So, what's it gonna be, Billy? Either way, you're gonna make me a rich man."

Billy swallows hard, and his hands fumble down to the shelf that contains your shotgun. You roll behind a precarious stack of boxes, just as Billy whips out the gun, cocking the fore-end. He doesn't have the chance to pull the trigger because before you can even blink, the same dagger that had cut you just hours before was suddenly lodged in the man's forehead.

Gasping, you pull yourself from your hiding place, looking around at the carnage within your shop. This will take a day to clean, at least, and you'll be lucky if you can get all of the blood out of the dry wood, which absorbs the crimson liquid greedily.

"You killed him?! But- what about-" you start, but the ghoul shushes you, reaching behind himself so he can return his gun to the holster on his back. He jerks his head towards the door, motioning for you to follow.

You swallow hard, picking your way over the fallen bodies. Waiting for you outside is a two-wheeled, hand-drawn cart, and on top of it is a slender frame, wrapped in bedsheets. You look between the ghoul and the body, not connecting the dots.

"I found his little scouts, watching you from that hill," he points to the hill in question. "Lo and behold, once they saw me leave, they went runnin' to big boy back there and rang the warning bells. Once Billy cleared out, I killed the others at the camp, but found... her. My condolences, sweetheart. Don't know why I felt the need to bring her back, but here she is."

The blood is rushing in your ears again, but this time it's accompanied by a high-pitched ringing. You shake your head in disbelief. There's no way that's your mother. You just saw her, two weeks ago! There's no way... no.

"Billy's not known to take prisoners. Judgin' by the state of the body, I'd say he was tryin' somethin', and she fought back and didn't stop till he shot her. Probably on that first day that he took her. He's just been lyin' to you to keep you compliant." You step forward, reaching up with a shaky hand to remove the fabric from the face, but his glove hand clamps down over your knuckles, stopping you. "I wouldn't, if I were you. Best your last memory be of how she was, not how she is."

He pulls something from his pocket then, and that's when reality finally hits you. It is her. You choke on your sob as you take the necklace from his hand as he dangles it towards you, clutching the small pendant in your palm until it's cutting into your hand. You relish in the pain, it gives you something to focus on as you fall to your knees before the cart. Your mother never took this necklace off. She wore it every day of your life. She never told you the full story behind it, just that it was a gift from an old lover, not your father. It was of some kind of bird, some species that died that was wiped off the face of the Earth when the bombs dropped.

The old history books you've got saved in your room say it's called a raven, and it's carved to look like it's in flight. Your mother had always told you it was supposed to symbolize guidance or new beginnings, or some shit like that, but now it's just a haunting reminder that she's not breathing anymore.

The ghoul leaves you to grieve, returning to the inside of your shop, probably to collect his bounty. You cry for a few minutes before you're finally able to muster up the strength to lift your mother's body off the cart, carrying her across the dirt road to the little graveyard that contains generations of your family. The rusted shovel was still stabbed into the ground from when you had to help bury your sister, and you lay your mother beside her spot, hoping they'll be able to find rest with each other.

Your body takes over like a robot, digging into the hard, dry soil to make a crater big enough to hold your mother. You can tell she's been dead a while, given that she's about half the size she was from when you last saw her.

You can barely see through the blur of tears, and every now and then, you have to stop to wipe your eyes and nose, giving yourself this moment to mourn. And once the hole is dug, and you've gently laid your mother inside, kissing the top of her head, you cover her up with dirt, and imagine that you're burying your grief with her.

Most likely, she'll be dug up by scavengers overnight, and you'll have to come back out and pretend like she's still here. Or maybe they won't, maybe they'll overlook a fresh grave just this once.

Regardless, once the grave is finished, you stab the shovel back into the ground and limp back to the front porch of your shop. Your hands are raw and blistered from the rough wooden handle, and you fall into the wooden rocker next to the ghoul, who sits with his legs stretched all the way out, relaxing with a cigarette in hand, as if this were just another day. Bugs even begin to croak in the distance as the sun begins to sink below the horizon, bringing with it a cool breeze that dries the sheen of sweat that coats your skin. Just like any other evening.

And out in the wastelands, it pretty much is.

You sniffle, drying away the last of your tears, using the back of your wrists since your hands were covered in a mixture of blood, dirt, and blisters. Your gaze falls over and across the road to where your mother's grave now rests, right next to your sister and your grandmother. You can't let yourself get consumed by this loss, it wouldn't be what she'd want. You have to push on, and continue what all the women in your family have been doing for generations; fight to live another day.

"If it's any consolation, I cleaned up what I could in there."

You scoff once the ghoul breaks the silence, and you lean over to snatch the cigarette from his hand, putting it between your lips and sucking a long drag from it. You raise the end of your skirt to wipe off the beads of sweat, hissing as it gets into the cuts long your cheek and eye, which was still swelled shut. You raw another lungful of smoke before handing it back to him, ignoring his burning gaze.

You can see Billy lying out on the cart now, and bloody drag marks leading down the road and around the bend, out of sight. He must have dragged the others out of the way for scavengers to pick away at. All the better for you.

"Would eight caps buy a hot meal?"

You turn to glare at him, watching as he puts the cigarette between his thin lips, which have fallen back into a growing familiar grin. You stand with a huff, throwing your battered hands into the air. "Why the hell not? If I don't cook you something, you'll probably just eat me, is that it?"

The wooden chair creaks as he lifts his weight out of it, crushing the spent butt against his thigh before tossing it off the porch and into the dirt. "Are you offerin'?"

It's your turn to scoff at him as you usher him inside, locking the door and closing all of the shudders before you lead him to the back room of your shop, pulling back a rug from the floor to reveal a trap door. He looks at you questioningly, cocking his head to the side as you turn the lock, pulling the door up. You grab a lamp from overhead, turn it on, and carefully pick your way down the ladder.

"This property was in my family long before the bombs fell. Back in the day, they were called 'doomsday preppers', and they had their own bunker installed under the house to escape the bombs." You grunt softly once your feet hit the smooth concrete floor of the bunker. The ceiling is low, and the ghoul has to hang his head slightly as he walks around, spinning in a slow circle as you set the lantern on the table in the center of the living area, illuminating the room with an ambient orange glow.

The main room hosts your four-person dining table, a small kitchenette, a sink, a couch, and a coffee table with a radio. One of your ancestors painted a fake window and scenery behind the couch, and the ragged curtains hide where the wall is crumbling in some places. The hallway to the left leads to two bedrooms, one is yours and one is... well, was your mother's. The small room to the right of the ladder is the bathroom, and you go to it, fishing out a small medpak, hand mirror, and rags. You find a small bowl and fill it in the sink, and this catches the ghoul's attention.

"You got runnin' water here?" He asks in disbelief.

"Sort of. The well has lasted this long, and as far as I can tell, the water is radiation-free. It's one of the things people come here to buy and trade for. But, I try to ration it as much as possible. This was built over 200 years ago, and I don't know if it was exactly meant to be inhabited for that long." You sigh, setting your items on the kitchen table. You limp over to the stove, clicking it on so the burner under the Dutch oven would start cooking the soup you had prepared earlier that morning.

Once you're done, you return to the table to start cleaning your wounds, wincing as the water stings the open cuts above your eye from Billy's rings. As you take care of yourself, the ghoul circles around the living area, examining the series of portraits along the wall, which surround either side of the painted window. After a few beats of silence, he clears his throat. "You got anythin' to drink?"

"That pitcher by the sink has drinking water. But there's a bottle of whiskey above the stove," you growl, having to scrub to get the caked blood off your face and out of your eye. Your palms sting as the blisters pop and peel open from handling the shovel, and the wet rug brings little comfort.

He hums low in his chest, rifling through the cabinets until he locates the alcohol. The glasses clink together as he places one in front of you, popping the cork off the bottle in one easy motion. You pull out a tube of SuperGloo from the Medpak, dropping it into the cut above your eye to seal it together. You listen to him breathe deeply as he inhales the fumes from the mouth of the bottle before pouring you a glass. He pushes it closer to you, and then pours one for himself, chugging it in one mouthful before pouring a second.

The ghoul clicks his teeth, pulling off his coat and ammo belt and laying it over the back of a chair. His hat follows soon after, and he groans as he settles into the chair, crossing his legs and leaning back as if this is just a casual gathering between friends. He peels the gloves from his hands and then grabs hold of his glass once more, swirling around the contents languidly.

Once the cuts on your face are taken care of, you open the last few intact buttons of your blouse, peeling it carefully off of your shoulders so you can access the deeper cuts more easily. You can feel his burning gaze on you once more, and you ignore him as you take a sip of whiskey, clenching your teeth as you refresh the rags in the bowl of water and begin to wipe away the fresh blood.

The Stimpak from earlier had helped heal the cuts a good chunk, but the beating from Billy had reopened them enough that they were oozing blood pretty steadily. It takes a minute longer to wipe away all of the dirt, blood, and sweat, and once you do, you struggle to glue the cuts shut.

After watching you fight it for a few seconds, the ghoul smacks his lips, invading your space without even asking. He grips the bottom of your chair, dragging you closer to his spot. He then tilts your chin back, forcing you to lean into the chair, and turning you around so he can get better access to you. "Let me," he commands, removing the glue from your hand.

You wince as he flattens his palm against your chest, his fingers splitting the flesh so he can drip some of the glue into the wound, pinching the skin together to seal it shut. You squeeze your eyes shut, equally because of the pain, but also because his proximity, his warmth, his touch, and his scent are... overwhelming. Maybe Billy gave you some brain damage from how hard he hit you, because for some reason- despite that this man was the very one who cut you in the first place- he's making you feel... wet.

You can't clench your thighs because he's got his own knees in between them, and he's resting at the edge of his chair so he can reach you. The air he's breathing rushes through the gaping hole that used to be his nose, and his reddened mottled flesh is all the reminder you need of what horrors the Wasteland has to offer outside of the sanctuary of your shop. And even though he's horribly scarred, and his body is probably actively leaking radiation into you at this very moment... the whole situation is weirdly erotic. As a matter of fact, he's been almost flirtatious ever since he stepped foot into your building. Even when he was cutting into you. Especially when he was cutting into you.

He must be able to feel how fast your heart is thundering in your chest, because once the cuts are properly glued together and dry, he leans back with that familiar grin. His hand remains splayed out across the flat of your chest, the pad of his rough thumb just barely grazing the upper curve of your breast. Your breath catches in your throat, and you swallow hard, looking up at him through your lashes, waiting for him to make the first move.

The lid on the Dutch oven rattles as the steam pressure builds up inside, drawing your attention to the stove. The ghoul scoots your chair back, giving you space so you could go to the stove. You use your skirt as a holder, protecting your palm from the scalding handle as you open the lid and stir the contents. It was more of a stew than a soup, a giant pot full of random vegetables you have acquired over the week, and mystery meat that was dropped off last night in trade of a few knives.

Your cheeks burn, but you blame it on the pain and the tears you've shed pretty much all evening, and you distract yourself with the task at hand because you are not going to be turned on by this asshole. You scoop a bowl for the ghoul, and then one for yourself, fishing out two titanium spoons from a drawer. You carry the food over to the table, clearing away the mess you'd made so you can both eat. He finished off his whiskey and then dug into the stew despite the scalding temperature.

"Why do this?" He says around a mouthful of food, his thin lips barely keeping it contained within his mouth. You frown, blowing off your spoonful before answering his question.

"Do what, feed you?"

"The food, the whiskey. Hell, showin' me where you sleep and keep all your goods. What's stoppin' me from takin' it all and killin' you?"

"Exactly, what's stopping you? I couldn't, even if I put up my best fight. I feel like you're used to just taking what you want, when you want, so who am I to stop you? I'm just hoping by staying compliant, you'll let me live, and we can put all of this behind us and move on."

That gets him to go quiet for a minute, and you both fall into a companionable silence. He finishes his bowl much faster than you, so he takes to watching you eat before he asks another question. "Why protect me?"

"Huh?"

"I get you bein' loyal to your mama, and lyin' to me cause you thought it would keep her safe, but why lie for me? You coulda saved yourself a whole lotta hurt, but you didn't. For some reason, you lied to Billy and said you hadn't seen me, that I didn't come in. Even when he could see you were outright lyin' to him, why?"

"I don't really know," you mumble, finishing the last of your soup. You reach over to pick up his bowl, but he snatches your wrist, rising to his feet and pulling you against his chest. His gaze darkens as he searches your eyes, his hand flying up to your throat, feeling your pulse.

"Why? Cause now I feel like I owe you, and I don't like owing people."

Your mind scrambles to come up with an explanation, but it's hard to think when he's got his hard body pressing up against you like this, drowning you in his warmth and power. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, and he watches you flounder before you finally find your voice.

"My mother always said I was loyal, that it made me who I am. I'm not tough, or super smart, or funny, or anything else, she always said I'm loyal. Sure, it may seem stupid and foolish in a world like ours, but I'm known for being good on my word. I lie for those who ask me to, and I give to those who ask of me. But I also have the power to choose who I give my loyalty to, and I guess I just... respect you, in a way. I don't get a lot of people through here who just get straight down to business. Everything is always covered in grandeur and lies, but you're just... upfront. You didn't try to buy me off, you laid out a deal up front and I chose my end of it. I respect that. There was nothing respectable about Billy, or men like my father, but you? I guess... yeah. I guess I just respect you is all." He hums at this, the whole time stroking a soft circle over your pulse. His eyes follow the movement of your lips, watching you like a predator. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and something in his gaze changes.

"Then how about a business proposition?"

He backs you up until your tailbone hits the counter, and pushes farther, crushing you between his body and the countertop. You breathlessly manage to utter out, "what kind of proposition?"

"I'll leave you with a few wanted flyers, and you can keep tabs on any of 'em that come through here. In exchange, I'll bring you things that I can scavenge from the bounties I bring in, things like ammunition, food, clothes, whatever you want. Maybe you can throw in a hot meal every now and then? Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me. On top of all that, I can show you how to throw a proper punch. What you hit me with earlier was nothin' short of pathetic, sweetheart."

His face is dangerously close to yours, so close that you're breathing each other's air, his lips just a whisper away from yours. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, and your eyelids fall closed. You tilt your head up, parting your lips so your mouths are pressed together, open and still, waiting.

"I ain't gonna touch you until you answer me." He growls against your mouth, and you shiver, feeling the vibration of his words through your whole body. Your hands grip the edge of the counter so hard, you know your knuckles are solid white.

"Only if you'll stay the night with me," you whisper, and you feel his lips curve into a grin.

"You don't know what you're askin' for, inviting a ghoul into your bed. You sure you want that?"

"Do you want me to say no or something?" You grit your teeth opening your eyes to glare at him. "Does it make you hard to have a woman fight against you?"

"Maybe," he rolls his hips against you, causing you to gasp into his mouth. "Why don't you try it out."

"Get off of me," you growl, shoving your hands into his chest as hard as you can. He takes a half step back before he snags your wrists, ripping you forward and spinning you around. You kick and slap and fight against him as he throws you to the ground, careful not to smash your skull on the concrete as he does so.

Just like before, after just struggling for a few seconds, you're panting heavily. His breathing is as steady as the wind, and the whole time he deflects your attacks, the grin never leaves his face.

"I've changed my mind," you yell, heaving for breath as he pins your wrists beside your head. "Get the fuck out of my house!"

He chuckles low in his throat, and sure enough, you feel his cock growing hard in his pants as he twists your arms, forcing them under his legs so he can straddle you while he reaches for the bottle of whiskey on the counter. His Adam's apple bobs as he tosses it back, drinking straight from it. He takes a few swigs, filling his mouth once more, but holding it as he leans down towards you.

You writhe and thrash against him, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat as he grips your face, squeezing your cheeks until he's able to force your mouth open. From there, he lets the whiskey pour from his mouth and down into yours, and you gag, struggling to swallow it all. It spills out of the corners of your mouth, and he chases the alcohol with his tongue, claiming your mouth with his.

You both moan against each other, and your teeth clack together as he practically eats your face, devouring you to the point that he steals the very breath from your lungs. You break away from the kiss with a sharp gasp, your cheeks burning as he completely uses you for his own pleasure. He reaches behind himself to brandish the same blade he had cut you with, and your body trembles in response to it, suddenly worried that he had the intention to cut you with it once more.

Instead, he slides the blade under the cloth around your breast, cutting it straight down the middle. He shifts down your body, letting the tip of the blade tease between the valley of your breasts, down the line of your stomach, and to your navel, before slicing into the fabric of your skirt and undershorts. You growl genuinely at him, ramming your fist into his chest with a solid thump.

"That was the last good skirt I had, asshole!" You go to punch him again, and he catches your fist, kissing your knuckles playfully before cupping the backs of your knees, forcing your legs apart, exposing your naked body to him completely.

"I'll make it up to you, darlin', don't you worry," he hums, crawling back over your body. He grips your chin, forcing your head up so he could have full access to your neck, and from there, he bites down into the soft flesh, sucking your skin until you know a massive bruise has formed.

In tune with the swirling of his tongue and his bite, he grinds his hips into you, and the friction of his pants against your exposed clit causes you to squirm underneath him, driving you absolutely insane. He growls into your neck, moving down a few inches, only to attack a new spot, assaulting your skin until a trail of bruises leads down to your breast. On one side are the marks left behind from his blade, and on the other, are the marks of his mouth on you.

"Lie to me, darlin'. I want you to see what happens when you lie to me. Do you want me to stop?"

He pulls away from your chest, his hairless eyebrows raised at you questioningly. The faint light of the lantern only accentuates the sharpness of his cheekbones, making him look even more ghoulish than before. The sight sends a tingle straight down to your core, and you're sure you've made a wet spot on his trousers by now.

"Yes," you whisper, and the jingle of his belt buckle shatters the silence in between as he pulls his cock free. "I don't want you to touch me."

"Again," he growls, and you feel the head prodding at your entrance, lining up, waiting for the plunge.

"Yes," your whine cuts off into a scream as he pushes into you all the way, until he's buried balls deep into your pussy. He groans against your neck, his hands gripping your hips with enough force that you know he'll leave behind imprints of them.

"Again," the ghoul's voice is strained as he moans into your flesh, biting down as he pulls out, before slamming back into you once more.

With each forceful thrust, you gasp out the words, over and over again until all you can manage is an incoherent mumble, your breath being ripped from your lungs with each brutal thrust. His muscles contract and expand against you, and your eyes roll back into your skull as you lose yourself in the pleasure of it all. You've had sex before, but only enough times to count on one hand. And one of those experiences was with a woman. But this... you've never experienced this before.

Suddenly, his palm strikes your cheek, pulling you back into the present where you find the ghoul glaring down at you, panting from the exertion.

"When I fuck you, I want you lookin' me in the eyes the whole time. I want you to know who's makin' you feel this good," he snarls, pulling back just enough so he can roll you over so you're now the one to be straddling him. He keeps his cock inside of you the whole time, and from this new angle, he hits a different spot deep inside of you that causes you to see stars.

From here, he's hitting your cervix so hard you almost feel sick, but the goosebumps that ripple across your flesh give you away, letting him know just how good it feels. You plant your palms flat against his chest, your fingertips touching the exposed skin where his shirt is unbuttoned, and you rock your hips, grinding against him. The tendons in his neck flex as he clenches his jaw, baring his stained teeth at you as you pleasure yourself on him, not ready to give him the satisfaction of a proper ride.

His hand smacks your ass, and the flesh stings from his assault before he massages it, rubbing the spot until your skin grows warm, before spanking you once again. He grips your hips and uses them as leverage, leaning up so he can claim your mouth once more, your breath mixing together as you pant into each other's mouths.

"You better get to ridin', cowgirl." He mutters against your lips, one hand supporting his weight behind himself, and the other reaching down to find your clit, circling the sensitive nub with his thumb so he can give you the friction you need.

You spread your knees a little farther so you can get a better seat, gripping his shoulders, before you lift off of him, slamming down with the same brutality he had shown you before. You want to toss your head back, to close your eyes and lose yourself in the wild pleasure his body brings you, but you force yourself to hold his gaze.

He studies your features intensely, as if he's looking for answers hiding somewhere in your eyes.

His thumb circles faster and faster, and your eyes begin to flutter as your orgasm coils deep within your belly, curling tighter and tighter, burning inside of you, until his hand grips your throat, cutting off your oxygen. You gasp, nails biting into the flesh of his shoulder through his shirt as you're suddenly slammed by your orgasm, forced to look deep into his eyes as he watches every wave of pleasure course through your body. You tremble violently, feeling weak and used as he continues to ram his hips up against yours, milking your orgasm with his cock and his thumb until you're crying genuine tears, begging him to stop, your clit feeling raw and overstimulated.

He doesn't give, rolling you back over, caging you in with his arms, his elbows on either side of your head as one hand grips your hair, locking you in place while the other lays flat on the concrete floor. The lewd sounds of his cock pumping into your soaked core drown out your whines and whimpers, and it takes everything in you to keep your eyes open, watching him just as intensely as he is watching you.

Skin slaps against skin, and the buckle on his belt jingles obnoxiously, cutting into the flesh behind your thighs as he rocks into you, his rhythm growing unsteady until he's gasping, his own eyes fluttering. He pulls out of you suddenly, grabbing hold of your tattered skirt so he could spend himself into the cloth, pumping his cock the last few times he needed until he collapses on top of you. You can feel his heart thundering in his chest, just as hard as yours, and you finally allow your eyes to fall closed, the tears dripping from the corners as you do.

"Fuck," he whispers against your neck, and you nod your head in agreement.

You lay there like that on the floor for a few minutes, allowing yourself the time to catch your breaths. Finally, he pulls away from you with a groan, tucking himself back into his jeans, peering down at you with that fucking smirk as he buckles his belt.

"You afraid of getting me pregnant or something?' You jerk your chin towards your skirt, and a chuckle rumbles low in his throat as he shakes his head.

"Unless you've got Radaway on hand, you don't want me finishing inside you." He pulls the skirt apart, and you can see where his seed has melted the fabric as if it were acid. You gasp softly, eyeing the fabric as he rises to his feet, stretching out a hand to help you off the ground. Once you're standing, you limp towards your room in search of a new set of clothes, but you don't get far before he pulls you back into his chest, lowering his mouth against your ear.

"So, we got a deal then, sweetheart?" You nod your head, whispering your consent. "I look forward to the next time I'm in town, then."

He chuckles, giving your ass a final smack before letting you go, allowing you to flee to your room. You find a new shirt and a loose pair of trousers that used to be your father's stashed within the drawers of your dresser, and you put the clothes on quickly before you exit your room.

The ghoul is waiting at the table, another glass of whiskey in his hand. He glances over at you languidly, all the confidence and ease of a hunter after having caught his prey.

"You can sleep in here," you jerk your chin towards your room, before you step across the hall to your mothers. "I'm going to go to bed. If you kill me in my sleep, can you promise it'll be painless?"

His head falls back as he laughs a genuine, full-belly laugh. He shakes his head, rising to his feet and stepping into the doorway of your room. "Goodnight, darlin'. I'll be here when you wake up."

With that, he shuts the door, leaving you to stand there alone, before your fatigue outweighs your concern. You fall into your mother's bed, which was still tousled from the last time she slept in it. The bedding still smells like her, and so you bury your face into the pillow, and cry yourself to sleep.

Divider Credit: @sisterlucifergraphics

Cover: @Plaidamoosette

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