#cowboy!ghost

You continue your work, fixing minor wounds and helping folks through head colds. The next time you're invited up to the sheriff's station, you stay a little longer to chat with Sheriff Price. He doesn't seem to mind. The old man has always been kind to you. Eventually, you manage to change the subject to Simon. "Hey, sheriff, is that bounty hunter still around?"

"Ol' Ghost?" Price scratches his beard. "Yeah, I reckon he is. You get another patient shakin' in his boots about him?"

You shake your head. "No, sir. I was just curious about him, and wanted to ask if you knew anythin'."

"You met him?" The old sheriff tilts his hat up.

"That depends on what you're going to say next," you reply, crossing your arms.

"I'd stay away from him, girl," he warns. "That man has known nothin' but gunpowder and deserts his whole life."

"He was very kind when I met him." Your voice is softer than you intend.

Price sits up. "You met him, then?"

"He asked me for supper a few weeks ago," you reply. "I gave him my brown sugar bacon 'n' beans. He said 'Thank you, ma'am,' and left. Very polite."

"Listen to me," Price begins, face grave. "He's not the kind of cowboy a lady should want to settle up with. He ain't no gentleman, and he sure as hell ain't no husband."

"What-?" you gasp.

"Stay away from that man," he warns again. "He ain't the kinda person you want, I assure you."

"All due respect, sir," you drawl. "You ain't my daddy."

"No, I ain't," he relents. "But I don't wanna see your heart get broken by a man who's runnin' wild through the hills chasin' outlaws. He's not gon' want to hang his hat up at your place."

"Sheriff, are you... Are you sure?" you whisper, wringing your hands together.

"Yes, darlin', I'm very sure. I'm surprised he's not left Mercy yet." He tilts his hat back down.

"Alright," you sigh, feeling more than a little dejected. "Thank you, sheriff."

"You're welcome." He stands, opening the door for you. "Be safe, you hear?"

"Yes, sir." Your voice is barely more than a whisper.

Despite the old man's warning, every night, you sit on your porch rocking chair and watch the horizon for a Ghost. Most every night, you go inside disappointed. Hell, girl, you only saw that man for an hour. Why are you thinkin' about him so much? you think to yourself. And yet...You sit on that rocking chair day after day, week after week. Even when winter comes, you sit on that damn rocking chair until you can't take it anymore.

One winter day, you get about a foot of snow outside. Despite living in a sweltering desert in the summers, the winters in Mercy can get frigid. This year has the most snow you've ever seen. You elect not to sit on your back porch today, even though everything in you screams that tonight's the night he'll come. You ignore it.

Around eight in the evening, after the sun has set, you get a knock on the door. You assume it's your neighbor, Johnny, coming to ask for a hot cup of coffee to warm him up. He's been shoveling all day long. Instead, you're greeted by the very man you've been pining after for months. He's wearing a heavy winter cloak - black, of course.

"Sheriff Price said you came askin' after me a while ago," he drawls, beating the snow off his hat.

"Come in, you're lettin' all the cold in," you manage to say after your surprise has passed. You shut the door behind him, taking his hat and cloak. Simon takes his boots off by the door, remembering your rules, while you hang his things up.

"Why were you askin' for me?" he asks, rubbing his gloved hands together to get the cold out of them.

"I enjoyed your company," you reply honestly. Then, quieter, "I wanted to see you again."

"Why?" he questions again.

"Because you were gentle and had very good manners." You huff an annoyed breath out of your nose.

"Sweetheart, you shouldn't want a man like me," he says.

"Because you're a big, scary bounty hunter?" you scoff. "That doesn't dissuade me. You seem like a good man, Simon."

You see him go still when you say his name. He lets out a big sigh, taking off his red skull mask. "Because I'm not apt to settle down with anyone. I don't stay in one place. I'm not the man who'll give you a family."

You shake your head. "I don't care."

"You've known me less than a day in your life," he argues. "It ain't right."

"I can feel it." You tap your chest, right over the place your heart sits. Then, you tap his chest in the same place. "Can you?"

He frowns. "No, no, don't do that shit. Honey, it'd never work."

"Can't we at least try?" you whisper, giving him a hopeful look. "Please?"

He collapses into your armchair by the fire, resting his elbows on his knees. The poor cowboy scrubs his hands over his face, then gives a resigned sigh. "God fuckin' damn it," he curses, face still buried in his hands. "'Scuse my language."

"Is that a yes?" You kneel in front of him.

He peeks out at you through his hands. "I need to think about it, darlin'."

Part I

Part III

-

You desperately needed to get out of the city. Go abroad, maybe. Life was just way too busy and way too fast and way too mundane. So you do a little research and settle on the English countryside, some village called Bibury. You find an inn to stay at so you make a reservation and buy your ticket within five minutes of each other.

The flight was a long one and then you had to take a train from London to Kemble station and then find a taxi to take you into the village from there. After almost a day and a half of travel, you arrive at the inn just as exhaustion began to settle in your bones. You walk up to the door and try to open it but find it was locked. You try the door again before peering in through the window and finding it looking rather dilapidated. You look around and find an older couple walking past and approach them.

“Hi, excuse me. I’m so sorry to ask but do you happen to know when the inn opens? The door’s locked but I’m supposed to be staying here.”

“The inn?” The woman looks toward the building and shakes her head. “Oh sweetheart, that old thing’s been closed for the better part of the year. But there’s another not too far that’s usually got vacancies.”

You exhale deeply and nod, smiling at the couple. “Of course, well thank you very much.” They walk away and you want to rip your hair out at the news. Why the hell would the website still be up if the business wasn’t even active?

You take your luggage and start the walk to the other inn the woman mentioned and even with the gps you manage to get lost. You find yourself in front of a small farm and decide to try your luck and ask for directions there. It was a quaint little house for the amount of land that surrounded it but you assumed it was another older couple living there so it would make sense they wouldn’t want a large house to worry about on top of all the animals you could see (and smell).

You knock on the door, fanning yourself before anyone answered to try and not look like you’d just walked half a mile in the heat. The door opens and instead of the old man you’d expected, it’s a tall and brawny guy maybe a few years older than you with tattoos and scars adorning his tanned skin.

“Can I help ya?” His voice was deep and accent rough, not like anyone else you’d heard in the area so far. He observes you for a moment, eyes narrowing when he sees how sweaty and overheated you looked.

“Oh! Right, so I was supposed to be staying in some inn but turns out it’s been shut down and then I was directed to another one but I got lost and I was hoping you could give me some directions?” You speak fast, mentally kicking yourself for being suddenly so nervous in front of this man. He keeps looking down at you, tongue moving the gum in his mouth to the other side.

“Y’any good with animals?”

“An- sorry, animals?” You repeat, trying to figure out why he’d ask that instead of giving you directions. “I get along with dogs I suppose.”

“You’ll learn. Come in,” he steps toward you and takes your bags, bringing them inside before getting out of the way so you could follow. Suddenly every survival instinct flew out the window because you follow him in and do him the favor of locking the door. He leads you up some stairs and into a neatly put together bedroom and sets your bags on the bed.

“Name’s Simon. Get yourself showered and meet me outside in a half hour, alright?” He walks out and down the stairs to leave you to get ready.

“But I showered before I-“ you mumble, giving yourself a smell test. “Ah.”

After you shower, you get dressed into something more weather-fitting and go down and out to the back looking around for Simon. You find him tending to a large flock of chickens and you head over, hesitating before hopping over the fence. Before you could say anything, Simon gives you a bucket of feed and directs you on how to feed the chickens and then move on to the ducks down at a pond not too far off.

“Wait-“ you turn to ask him what the hell was happening but he’s already gone, headed in the direction of probably some other animal. You feed the birds and put the bucket down, already having worked up another sweat. You go in the direction he went but don’t see him anywhere. “Simon?”

You keep walking around and eventually find the stables. You go inside and find him bringing a horse inside, taking the saddle off and putting on a rack. He hears you walking and glances over, giving a quick nod upward.

“Y’finish the feedin I take it.”

“Yeah. You ride?” You ask, pointing at the horse and he nods.

“I dabble. You?”

“Horses? Nah.” You shake your head and Simon just gives you a look, not sure if you meant the clarification in the way he was taking it.

“Right. Well come with me, I need y’to get some apples f’me.” Another task without reason. Of course. But you follow him anyway, shielding your eyes from the sun as he takes you to a small orchard and grabs a basket and a ladder that were in a storage shed. He opens the ladder and places it beneath a tree, motioning for you to get up there.

You do as he says, climbing up and looking around for apples you could only hope were ripe. You get a few, dropping them into the basket below. “Are those okay?”

“Y’doin great love, there should be more up there that are ready.”

You keep looking for and picking apples, then you reach for one but almost grab a wasp by accident. You snatch your hand away and lose your balance, the ladder wobbling before you fall back. You shut your eyes, expecting to hit the ground full force but Simon catches you just in time. You open your eyes and meet his, looking at you worried. The smell of sweat and dirt and cigarettes and whatever shampoo he uses fills your nose and for a second you forget what was going on.

“There was a wasp. Sorry.”

He grunts and sets you down carefully, his hand lingering on your waist. “Be careful.”

A silence falls over you both as he grabs the basket and starts back to the house. You follow close behind, forcing yourself to fill the silence by telling him your name and the whole story of how you found yourself in Bibury of all places. He didn’t answer but you knew he was listening. Finally, the suspense was getting to be too much and you ask him why he took you in when you were just asking for directions and then gave you work to do.

“Y’seem like the kinda person that comes out t’the country for a break.” He explains as he puts the basket down on the table. “Plus, the inn you said was shut down happens t’be the only one within five kilometers and I needed a farmhand.”

“So free labor.”

“Y’could say that.”

You would have been more annoyed that you just got roped in to manual labor so easily but could you really complain when your boss was as good looking as Simon? No one in their right mind would complain about a muscular tattooed man well over six feet telling them what to do.

“You know I bought a one way ticket here.”

“Looks like I’ll have t’find a way t’pay ya if you’re gonna be here a while, then.”

This one is a little longer than what I normally post. Also, I'd love ideas for more cowboy!ghost stuff, I'm lowk obsessed rn, so my inbox is open to hear ur guys 'thoughts.

Your carriage rolls to a stop. Wooden wheels halting with an abrupt jerk over the gravel and dirt of the rocky terrain. It’s abnormally hot today. The canteen of water you've been carrying has long gone. Emptied since early noon. Despite it, your thirst has not been quenched.  

You reach for the window on your right, pulling back the curtain to look out for a quick moment. Horses stand tied up to wooden gates. The dull sight of scuffed blue jeans and a dispersing dust devil has never excited you more. 

A rest stop.  

You push the door open, climbing out and rounding to the front where your driver sits in the coach box.  

“I’ll be quick,” you tell him, "just want to refill my water and stretch my legs for a moment.”  

He nods in acknowledgment. You turn away, giddy at the way the solid ground feels under your feet after hours on the road.  

Your excitement is fleeting, though. As you get further into the cluster of tall, muscled men, you can only become a bit uncomfortable. Especially when you can feel the way their eyes glue to the back of your head the moment you pass them.  

It feels like the rural town you stopped in the other day all over again. At least here, the scenery is pretty enough to distract you.  

High mountains, reaching into the clouds, cluttered with patches of green that look small enough to be pushed under your thumb, alluding to the vast expanse of wilderness inside of them.

It’s funny how such large things can seem so small from a distance.  

You keep your focus in front of you, head raised high as you walk to the well pump that sits attached to a small brick wall. The ground around it is soft and slushy. Mud smears over the pristine white of your heels. 

There are fewer people here, their voices fading into the background, masked by the sound of gushing water as you twist the tap head open and push your metal canteen under the stream.  

A horse huffs a few feet in front of you, and your gaze shifts momentarily to look up. You catch sight of two large brown creatures. Two men stand to the side, holding onto their reins, conversing quietly. 

You look back down, moving your canteen from under the stream of water and twisting its cap back onto it.

A frown forms on your face, and your eyes flick back up at the two men.  

One man sports a baclava, similar to the man named Ghost whom you met at the bar. You stare, trying to make out if it’s truly him or just another cowboy with a face covering. As your eyes trail over his figure, everything about him seems too similar to Ghost.  

The way his arms fit tightly into the leather of his jacket, and the ingrained patterns of his belt that glint beneath the sun behind large, rough hands. No doubt calloused by years of rough work and travel. Something about the way the edges of his eyes crinkle slightly and the rumble of his chuckle as his gaze finds yours sounds all too familiar- 

Oh shit.  

He’s laughing. At you.  

You were so caught up with ogling him that you’d failed to realize you’d been caught staring. 

“S’ good to see you again, too, sweetheart.” He hollers out to you, his deep voice ringing through the desolate space and making your cheeks warm.  

You open your mouth, fishing for something to respond with, but embarrassment has gotten the better of you, and you can't even seem to muster up a ‘hi’ in reply.  

Ghost passes the reins of his horse to his friend, beginning the short trek toward you. He looks like pride himself as he walks. Kicking up dust behind him with each step, his broad shoulders set back and his head held high.  

He stops before you, eyes roaming over your figure as one hand comes to rest on the buckle of his belt again. You watch as his eyes come up to meet yours, and for a moment, he just stares as if he can see into your soul like this. Your blood feels hot under your skin, boiling with an electrifying nervousness that makes you want to tear your gaze from him and hold it all at the same time.  

Finally, he speaks, relieving the tension between you.  

“You still got that light I left with you?”  

“Y-yeah.” You sound breathless, like a star-struck idiot. You reach into the pocket of your dress, fumbling for the small metal box as it slips through the grasp of your gloved fingers. It takes you a moment before you're able to finally get a grip on it and bring it out, jutting out your open palm to him.  

You don't have to look at him to know he’s smirking under the damned mask he wears. You can practically feel the amusement rolling off of him as he plucks the lighter from your hand.  

At least he has the decency to restrain his chuckle.  

He opens a metal case lined with neatly rolled cigarettes and pushes it towards you in offering, “Care for one?” 

You nod, reaching for one and sliding it out of the prongs that hold it in place.  

You glance up at him, smiling politely, “Thank you."  

He grunts in response, pushing his balaclava up and placing his own cigarette between his lips. A couple of clicks of the light, and his cigarette glows to life. He passes the light on to you, and you follow suit, placing the stick of tobacco in your mouth and lighting it.  

“You’re not happy to see me, or are you just not much of a talker?” He asks. Smoke leaks from his lips as he speaks.  

“I’m just not sure how much I should be telling a stranger.” 

“Stranger?” He grunts, “I’d hardly say we’re strangers' sweetheart,’” He pauses, thinking for a moment, "although I never caught your name now that I think ‘bout it.”  

“Y/N” 

“Y/N...” He rolls it over his tongue as if trying it out, “S’ a pretty name.”  

“Thank you,” you murmur, casting your gaze to the ground and flushing at the compliment.  

Ghost chuckles at the sight of your cheeks turning rosy again.  

“You gonna make a habit of seeing me at every place I stop?” He asks, his gruff voice tilting in a teasing manner. He leans down, his voice lowering to a rough, gravelly sound. You can hear the smirk that tugs at his lips as he speaks again.  

“Or are you tryin’ to follow me, sweetheart?”  

Your eyes snap to him, blushing furiously at his insinuation. You shake your head quickly.  

“No, I-” You stutter, your tongue twisting around itself in an attempt to explain yourself. His eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement, and he chuckles deeply. A rich, hearty sound that makes your heart flutter despite your embarrassment.  

“S’ not like I’d mind.” He begins, his eyes raking over your face, “Not f’ a pretty thing like you.”  

Ghost smirks at the way you blink up at him, cheeks flushed, too flustered to respond to his flirting. He flicks his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under the heel of his boot. 

“You can return that to me next time, yeah?” He nods to the lighter in your hand. Your eyes snap towards his gesture. You’d completely forgotten he hadn't taken it back.  

When you look up again, his back is already turning towards you, and he’s making his way back to his horse. Grabbing the reins from his buddy, he swung his body over the animal.  

His eyes fell to yours, his fingers coming up to pinch the tip of his hat and tip it towards you again, as he snaps the reins and trots off, his friend in tow.  

You press the cigarette to your lips, watching them disappear back onto the dirt road. A small smile spreads across your lips.  

This was exactly the kind of man your daddy had warned you about. The type of man you should never be involved with, not a high-class lady like you.  

He swung the reins of his horse over the pole, lopping it inward to tie a knot. With a firm and comforting hand, Ghost ran a hand down the neck of his horse, a beautiful black stallion that towered over other horses. Without much thought, he strode into the saloon, the wooden doors snapping behind him as he confidently stepped in, his heeled shoes clicking on the dusty planks.

The bustling and lively room turned cold and silent, faces turned to look at him, eyes fleeting over the red skull that adorned his face and the black cloth that covered the rest of it. He held his head high, shoulders broad and back straightened, he walked with his eyes pointed forward and his hat tilted upwards.

Stopping at the bar, his leg swung around the leather stool, taking a seat and crossing his arms over the table. The place burst into actin once more, voices and chatter filling the room, chairs skidding against the floor and cups clinking together in cheers. Ghost tapped a finger on the rich wood, his brown eyes wandering over the selection of drinks on the counters.

“Evening, sir,” a prettily dressed woman swayed to his side, dressed in a corset, blouse and little petticoat. He liked how simple the workers dressed here, even as pretty as the dresses were, they were easy to move around.

“Bourbon.”

She slid him a clean glass of bourbon, the amber liquor glistening under the golden sun that shone through the windows and the candle lights from the saloon. He reached for the glass, rolling his mask over his nose and tilted the cup, the soothing burn of bourbon trickled down his throat in a familiar taste. The tang of top-shelf alcohol lingering on his tongue, the woody mixed with he soft sweetness burned his throat.

“You’re back, Ghost.”

He tossed back his head, drinking down the last drops of his drink before turning to the voice, the cup softly placed down. The light shone abasing the shadowy figure that spoke to him, but he knew who it was. The ruggedly dressed person with a pistol strapped to the hip and a hat rivalling his stared back at him - you - the reason he often came to this saloon or the ones under your name and territory.

The room never went silent or deathly still when you walked it, it rejoiced and celebrate your arrival as the owner of such fine establishments. Rather than greet you with he same stares and fear they gave him, they welcomed you, waved and smiled your way. You were a name people liked and favourably looked at with pleasant words.

Your shoes clicked as you joined him at the bar, taking the stool to his right. You smiled and waved over one of your workers, the dazzling grin you gave her as she poured you a cup, her lips moving with every tales and rumours she’s heard for the past week. He stared at you, his warm browns washing over your face, your glinting eyes, your fluttering lashes and the dusty sand that matted your sweaty cheeks and nose, your pursed and sinful lips the only part spared from the sand.

He trailed down your neck, the high collar of your shirt and down your chest, the loose bottons that you popped from the heat on your black waistcoat and white shirt. You were a beauty in the rugged and wild look, the clothes matching perfectly to who you - became - were. That richness in your voice and the way you wore yourself, but you were humble, never letting your boldness and cockiness get to your head. Which, granted, made you more tolerable than some in his group, but he favoured you terribly, an obsession with your being that he couldn’t stop.

It made his heart beat wildly in its cage, beating against his ribs. He almost flinched when you caught him admiring you, your pretty hues peering at him from the corners of your eyes. He was glad he wore a mask, hiding the rising burn on his cheeks, flushed red under the dark cloth and red skull he wore to protect his identity.

“So, tell me, Ghost,” you drawled, flashing him a crooked smile, lips rising at a corner. “What brings you to my saloon?”

cowboy!Ghost we all cheer💛✨

Outlaw Simon, who's known in the 141 gang for disappearing for extended periods of time, find himself stumbling across a young orphan on his travels and despite his better judgment takes them in so they dont starve or freeze through the night. Come daybreak, he takes them to the nearest town where he intends to drop them off, except.. they wont let go. So the infamous Ghost finds himself reluctantly adopting the small child.

cowboy simon is so :( i wanna be spanked by him, being so rough and degrading as he continued to slap my tight ass! knocking the wind from my lungs as i choke on a sob, tears streaming down my stained face before propping myself up, getting ready to ride his lengthy cock :(

wearing his cowboy hat while bouncing on his hard, stuff cock!!! feeling his gloved hands guide my hips up and down as i whimper and mewl, his full balls begging to be drained in my wetness :( being all slick and wet, his tip slapping against my bruised cervix, my voice strained and raspy from cryin'. he spurts deep into me, covering my cunt and thighs in thick cum, milky seed dripping down my thighs.

or sucking his lengthy dick whenever we have privacy, even if it's just beside a house. taking him fully, my raspy voice making him chuckle as i suck on his leaky tip meekly, feeling him force my head down his shaft to the base, gagging as he holds my head still and thrusts and slams deep into my wet mouth!!!!

grr, thigh fucking as well... unzipping his fly and taking his achingly hard girth out his boxers, head slapping against his abdomen before angling my hips to fuck between my thighs. his veins dragging against soft skin and my wet slit, the tip occasionally curving up to my sensitive clit!!! mfkdhsm :( i just know he'd be panting, growling, groaning lowly 'nd everything!!! thrusting between my thighs before making a mess of my sloppy pussy and thighs, being forced onto my knees with his thick, muscular thighs caging my head.

cumming all over my tits as well :( covering my face and chest with his thick, potent seed and slapping the tip against my cheek to get me to open my mouth, watching as he shoots a load onto my tongue, forcing me to swallow it all and be a good girl for him :((