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circusgoth-dotcom · 8 months

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Get Away

Ship: Anton Chigurh x Salem Nickle Newman (Secretary!AU)

Word Count: 1311

Summary: This AU isn't going to be elaborated on, it's just a oneshot I wanted to mess around with. Salem is a secretary for the people who often hire Anton and Anton takes a liking to him. Ending may be a little rushed. CWs for implied criminal activity, Karen behaviour (from another character), implied murder, cigarette mentions (no actual smoking described). Edit: Counting this as Prompt 19 on this SelfShipSeptember post.

Tag List: @futurewife @canongf

Salem Newman was a secretary, stationed in a large corporate building dealing with things he didn’t much care about. However, he was aware that it was only a front for much darker goings-on, and he still couldn’t bring himself to question things. If he was getting paid and being left alone, he was content to turn a blind eye. After all, it beat being stuck on a farm in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

There was one positive to his job: a hitman by the name of Anton Chigurh, hired by one of the higher-ups in the building. Whenever he came in, Salem happened to be at the front desk of his boss’ floor. Of course, he’d never admit he enjoyed seeing Chigurh, and that was besides the fact Chigurh probably didn’t even acknowledge him outside of those brief check-ins at the desk.

On a pale Monday morning, Salem found himself gritting through a conversation with one of his coworkers over a cup of coffee. “Henrietta, if you’re questioning our employers, why don’t you just quit? Everyone’s gotta make a living, and if your current living doesn’t feel right, then maybe it’s a sign from the universe that you’ve gotta make a change.”

Henrietta recoiled slightly in offence. “That isn’t an option for me, Newman… you can’t tell me you’re happy with yourself, working this job…?”

Salem took a deep drink of his coffee. “Darlin’, I know things that’ll make you wish you quit months ago,” he spoke darkly. “If I were you, I’d feel lucky to even have a job, especially when we’re getting paid what we are.”

“What are you talking about--?”

At that moment, the elevator doors opened and familiar, dark brown, alligator-skin boots stepped onto the cream and grey carpet.

“Morning, Mr. Chigurh,” Salem spoke loudly, rising from his chair and resting his elbows on the tall counter in front of his desk, mug cupped loosely between his dainty hands. Anton approached the desk with a respectful nod.

“Newman.” His dark eyes swept toward Henrietta, who shrunk under his gaze. “And who’s this?”

She let out an odd sort of squeaking noise, tried to recover, then turned the corner and sped out of sight. Once Salem was sure she was far enough away, he spoke.

“A ninny of a coworker, that’s who. Nobody you need to worry about.” He took another sip of coffee and settled back down into his chair, “You go right on ahead, now, Mr. Archer’s all set up to see you.”

“Thank you.” The hitman gave the secretary an appreciative smile and strode forward, entering the office at the end of the hall. Salem watched him go, then sighed when the door closed behind him, returning his attention back to his coffee and the computer in front of him.

It was months before Salem saw him again, and on a very busy day at the office no less. Phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder, one hand busy with the computer and another jotting shorthand on a notepad, people rushing this way and that. Salem didn't notice his favourite patron for a good few minutes, especially not with the disgruntled man already in front of him, who now snapped his fingers in its face.

"Is Archer here or not, you lousy…?"

Salem slapped his hand over the receiver of the phone, hissing, "Would you shut the fuck up for two seconds, I told you this was an important call when you came in!"

The man's face flushed angrily as Salem returned his attention to his call.

"Don’t you tell me to shut up, you're the employee here, you're supposed to cater to me first! You're probably not even on a business call!"

"I believe Mr. Newman told you to shut your trap," Anton rumbled from behind, quickly catching the businessman's attention.

"Excuse me??"

Anton's eyes subtly flicked in annoyance as he spoke again with even more precise diction: "My friend asked you to shut your trap, sir, don't make me repeat myself again."

"And who the Hell are you??"

"Me?" Anton cracked a grin. "Oh, I'm nobody. Nobody at all. But the same can't be said for the man behind the counter, so I'd respect him if I were you."

With that, the hitman situated himself beside the opposite wall, comfortably leaning against it with his ankles crossed and a serene but guarded expression on his face, despite the fact there were empty chairs just to his left. Prickly silence filled the air between the two men, only punctuated by the clacking of chunky keyboard keys and Salem's short answers to whomever he was speaking to on the phone.

The call eventually ran on so long that the initial man stormed off, growling about telling whoever was funding Salem's paycheck about the incident. Anton remained unphased, content to watch Salem work for the time being. When they finally got off the phone, they dropped it into its cradle and rested their head on the desk, hands tangling in the back of their hair.

Anton paused just a moment longer before approaching the desk and clearing his throat. Salem's head immediately popped up, eyes screwed shut and face flushed. "What, what is it, what do you want, can I not have two seconds today to breathe..?!" He snapped, voice breaking before opening his eyes and startling. "Oh, Christ, I-I'm sorry, I didn’t know it was you, Mr. Chigurh…"

Anton held up his hand briefly. "No need for apologies." He removed his wallet and placed down a twenty-dollar bill. "Get yourself something from the convenience store on the corner."

Salem rubbed his eyes under his glasses before staring at the money, furrowing his brow. "Mr. Chigurh, you don’t need to be giving me money, I've got enough for the vending machine in the breakroom…"

Anton nudged the bill closer in an insistent manner. "Go down to the convenience store. I promise you won't regret it."

Salem scratched the back of his head. "Well…"

"Don’t hesitate, just take it."

"Alright, I will!" Salem stood and picked up the money. "I'll go right now, since you're being so pushy…" It smiled shyly. "I think someone's still in with Mr. Archer, but you know the door so I trust you to keep an eye on it."

"Yes, sir."

"Alrighty then. Thank you, Mr. Chigurh."

Another two months passed after that before Salem saw Anton again, this time later in the afternoon than usual. Salem stood beside his desk, thumbing the top of a cigarette pack and glancing up and down the hall, looking for the hitman and taking a small, relieved breath when the elevator doors opened with a ding.

“Oh good, I almost thought you weren’t coming. Bit late for you, ain’t it? My break started five minutes ago but I didn’t want to keep you waiting--”

“Take your break, Newman. Mr. Archer and I already talked over the phone.”

The two briefly nodded at each other before Salem went off, not questioning the moment and simply looking forward to having his lunch. When he returned to his desk, he was surprised to find Anton waiting for him.

“So, how’d it go?” Salem asked casually. Anton gave him a particular look.

“You tell me.”

An odd feeling enveloped Salem: While its stomach grew cold and goose pimples sprung up on its back, its heartbeat quickened in abnormal excitement. “Oh.” It was only now that Salem noticed the long gun with the hefty silencer Anton carried.

“I want you to come with me. Your path doesn’t end behind this desk.”

Salem swallowed. “What if I’m perfectly happy where I am, Mr. Chigruh?”

“You aren’t. I see it in the shadows under your eyes.”

They laughed in a shaky manner, blood colouring their cheeks. “I’m not.” They admitted. “I’m not.”

Anton silently offered his hand. Salem took it.

#self shipping #self shipping community #self insert #self insert x canon #self x canon #self insert oc #oc x canon #gay self ship #trans self ship #circus scripts #🐮Sugar Bully🐮#🥤🌵.s/i #safeshipseptember

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circusgoth-dotcom · 8 months

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Bar Bully

Ship: Salem Nickle Newman x Anton Chigurh

Word Count: 1691

Summary: This might be a disjointed mess honestly, I just wanted to write a fic utilizing a mechanical bull. CWs for food mentions, violence, suggestive ending.

Tag List: @futurewife @canongf

I don’t care if it rains or freezes, ‘long as I got my plastic Jesus, sittin’ on the dashboard of my car...

The radio played at a respectable volume as a breeze whistled through the latest car Anton Chigurh and his partner, Salem Newman, had stolen; a black 1972 Ford Ranchero. While Chigurh usually preferred taking cars with no particularly distinguishing features, this Ford, unfortunately, had a busted front plate.

Salem insisted it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, especially as they were currently driving in the middle of nowhere under the cover of the dark prairie sky, deep in the heart of Texas. In fact, they were on their way to their next hit, having been trailing the bounty for two days, now. They knew where their target was heading, the trouble was catching him in advance, for there was no telling where he’d disappear to after his proposed final destination.

“Anton, can I see your watch?” Salem suddenly prompted, sitting up straight in his seat. Anton silently removed his hand from the wheel and offered his large wrist to his partner, keeping his eyes on the road as they examined the time. “Baby, you don’t think there’s somethin’ open at this hour, do you?”

Anton arched an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“I’m starving. We skipped dinner, remember?”

Anton returned his hand to the wheel. “We didn’t skip anything, we don’t have much of a routine, Salem.”

“Well, you know what I meant.” He folded his arms, “honestly, I don’t know how you’ve trained yourself like this. You’re like a camel.”

The smallest of smirks teased Anton’s features. “I suppose we could find something, but don’t get your hopes up. You can buy something from the vending machine if we reach a motel before then.”

“Oh, thank you for giving me permission to do that much,” Salem spoke sarcastically before chuckling and settling back into the passenger seat, looking up at the pitch-black sky, dotted with gleaming stars. Anton responded with the quietest of grunts, now actively keeping his gaze peeled for signs indicating places where the two of them could find sustenance.

Two miles passed before a sign appeared at the side of the road, advertising an “open late” honky-tonk bar. Taking it as an indication, Anton made his way to the appropriate exit.

“There is a God,” Salem quipped as they pulled into the parking lot of Tennessee Rose’s BBQ.

“They should be open for about four more hours,” Anton noted as they exited the Ford and entered the restaurant, pushing his new stetson lower on his head in an attempt to conceal his identity. “Let’s make it fast, Salem.”

“As if it’s going to take me four hours to eat some bar food. Anton, you’re buggin’ out, I really think you ought to sleep in tomorrow.” Salem squeezed his partner’s arm in concern before leading the way to the bar. He took a seat and happily ordered while Anton remained standing, glancing around the restaurant. It was like any other dive bar in Texas, with sticky floors and tacky decoration; its one unique offering was a mechanical bull ride, situated at the opposite end of the room. Party lights danced on its faux hide, the absence of a rider giving the device an unintentionally eerie atmosphere. There were three other customers, two at the bar and one situated in a booth, chuffing away on a cigar.

“It’s going to be a minute,” Salem announced to Anton, turning around on his stool and observing the scene for himself. As he grazed over the mechanical bull, his eyes lit up slightly. “Anton, can I have your wallet?”

Anton fixed his partner with a hard stare but ultimately gave it up. Hopping off the stool, Salem made a beeline for the hazardous entertainment, only to knock shoulders with a fourth customer coming out of the restroom.

“Hey, watch it!”

“Sorry, I didn’t see you in my peripheral,” Salem shrugged, rubbing his arm slightly. The man rolled his eyes in annoyance, then paused, seemingly captured by Salem’s appearance.

“Do I know you…?”

They pursed their lips and folded their arms. “I get around. Maybe we’ve crossed paths.”

“You got a name, partner?”

Salem glanced toward Anton. While most would assume he was simply leaning against the bar and waiting, Salem knew he was intently watching this interaction go down. “Strictly for those I do business with, I do. Now, if you’d excuse me, I’d like to get a little fun in before my meal’s served up.”

They resumed their path, opening Anton’s thick wallet and handing the manager of the machine five dollars before eagerly entering the pen. The customer watched him climb onto the bull, then joined the man with the cigar in the booth. Saddling up, Salem looked across the bar at Anton and grinned before waving playfully and blowing him a kiss.

“Hold on tight,” the operator instructed before flicking a switch. The bull began to rock slowly and Salem tensed his thighs against its sides, keeping low to the bull’s back as the speed increased. He was determined to get his money’s worth and expertly timed his movements with the flow of the machine, concentrating so hard on keeping on the metal animal that he became practically completely unaware of his surroundings.

BANG-BANG-BANG!

“Holy shit!” Salem pressed his whole body against the bull as it was accidentally set to max speed. The operator had been shot twice, body slumping against the control panel, and the third bullet had just whizzed over Salem’s head. The bartender and other patrons had collapsed in an effort to not be the next victim, but Anton and the two men in the booth remained standing; the one that had bumped into Salem was the one who had fired the shots. The was momentarily bar filled with the sounds of a shoot-out before silence fell once more.

“You’re going to have to jump off!” Anton shouted over the whirring of the bull.

“You mean to tell me there’s no emergency shut off on this damn thing?!” Salem yelled back.

“The key’s jammed, damn it!”

With a groan, Salem threw himself off of the machine and rolled toward the edge of the pen, pulling himself over it and examining what had happened. The adversaries lay slumped against the booth seating, bleeding from deep holes in their arms and torsos, while Anton remained unscathed, his pistol smoking in his hand.

“You brought that in??” Salem asked, eying the weapon and suddenly feeling very naked without his own. “Who are these creeps?”

“Rival hitmen.” Anton stalked forward, nudging the initial shooter with his boot. The man was barely clinging to life. “Who do you work for?”

“I. Ain’t. Tellin’. You. Shit,” the man gargled, “Chigurh.”

Anton sighed in annoyance. He wanted to ask why he shot at Salem first, but what was the point? He handed the gun to his partner. “You want to do the honours?”

“Gladly.” Salem pressed the barrel between the man’s eyebrows. “Fuckin’ prick.” As he pulled the trigger, Anton had already begun to make his way out of the bar to retrieve his bolt stunner. When he returned, the other two patrons and the bartender had risen to their feet, shaking and disturbed.

“I want you all to line up,” Anton instructed. “The three of you are going to each have a chance to flip a coin. This will be the most meaningful act in your entire life.”

When they didn’t move, Salem clapped his hands loudly. “You heard my partner, line up.”

Hesitantly, the three men did as they were told. Salem produced a quarter from his pocket and stood in front of the first man, flipping it, catching it, and covering it on the back of his hand.

“Call it.”

The unlucky patron licked his lips anxiously. “H-heads.”

Salem removed his hand. Heads. “Lucky man. You’re free to go.”

“And we trust you’ll have the sense not to tell anyone about this, at least not more than is needed. Comprende?”

The patron nodded and swiftly exited. Salem stepped in front of the second man, repeating the process.

“Call it,” Anton echoed.

“Heads,” the patron spat out, unable to look either of them in the eye.

Salem uncovered the coin. Tails. Salem turned away as Anton brought the nozzle of the stunner up to the man’s head. He heard a whimper of fear, a hiss, and the thud of the body on the dirty floor.

“That leaves you, bartender,” Salem spoke coolly. “Which sucks, because I haven’t gotten my food yet.”

“Would you just hang on until we get to the hotel?” Anton chided. “Darlin’, you know absolutely nothing’s going to be open now.”

“Yeah, alright.” He flipped the coin.

“Call it, sir, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

The bartender’s eyes flashed between them. “I-I won’t…”

“You have to. Life’s full of choices. Call it.”

“Kill me now, then, that’s my choice, if I can’t get you to leave.”

“That’s not how this works,” Salem piped up. “We don’t take prisoners, mister.” A pause. “Call it or I’m gonna kick you in the balls, old man!”

The bartender flinched and Anton gave his partner a warning glance.

“Alright, alright--! Tails, then!”

And tails it was. A great exhale of relief left the bartender as he sunk to his knees.

“Goodnight, sir.” Anton twitched the brim of his hat, picked up the air pressure tank, and led Salem back into the parking lot.

“This sucked. Why did we pull over??” Salem asked rhetorically as he slid back into the Ford, opening the glove compartment and grabbing a pack of baby wipes in an attempt to wipe off the few flecks of blood that had gotten on him in the thrall. “Jesus Christ I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”

“And not even for a good reason.” Anton retorted, starting up the vehicle. Salem’s face burned.

“You jealous, Foghorn?~”

“Are you offering to ‘drive?’” Anton cupped his partner’s chin with his fingers, widening his seated stance slightly, his other hand resting on his belt.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to.”

“... Fuck.”

#late af posting #self shipping #self shipping community #self insert #self insert x canon #self x canon #self insert oc #oc x canon #f/o #fictional other #circus scripts #🐮Sugar Bully🐮#🥤🌵.s/i

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circusgoth-dotcom · 9 months

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Anton Chigurh x Salem Nickle Newman

#self shipping #self shipping community #self insert #self insert x canon #self x canon #self insert oc #oc x canon #fictional other #f/o #self ship moodboard #🐮Sugar Bully🐮#🥤🌵.s/i #circus honks

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circusgoth-dotcom · 10 months

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Bedridden Blues

Ship: Anton Chigurh x Salem Nickel Newman

Word Count: 1022

Summary: During a shootout, Salem caught a stray bullet through the ankle, making his life on the run more like a life on the moderately fast limp. Anton insists he get his rest in when he can and bars him from overstrenuious activity- including taking anymore hits. CWs for mentions of violence, injury, food, and drugs, some suggestiveness toward the end.

Tag List: @futurewife @canongf

About two days ago, Salem was shot right through the left ankle, by no real fault of his own… “Just one of those crazy flukes, I guess,” he had said once he and Anton had gotten away from the shootout before promptly collapsing. They had since gone off the beaten path to find a hotel to reside in, waiting for their next hit.

“What did I tell you about walking around too much?” Anton asked softly yet sternly as Salem re-entered their room. Anton had set out to get a scope of where exactly they were, so in the meantime Salem had gone down the hall to get a pop from the vending machine.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon and I was thirsty,” Salem limped to the bed and sat down, cracking open his can of Pepsi. “It’s not that long of a walk, Anton.”

“You have a hole through your leg and it’s not going to get better unless you lay off it.” Anton shooed Salem further up the bed, took his foot in his hand and propped it back up on a small pile of pillows at the end of the bed.

“You act like I’ve never been shot before.” Even as he said it, Salem grimaced, attempting to cover it up with a swig of his soda.

“You’re goddamn lucky you’ve never gotten badly shot.” Anton knelt beside the bed and took his partner’s free hand in his own. “I know, you like what we do, you’ve grown accustomed to living a majority of your time on the road, but can’t you just sit for a little while?? I’ve done all I can for you with what I could get my hands on, now you’ve gotta play the waiting game.”

Salem frowned as he continued to drink his Pepsi before finally setting it aside and looking down at his ankle. “When did you do all that cleanin’ and sewin’ and gauzin’ anyhow?”

“The first night we got here, when you were out cold.”

“‘Suppose that’ll do it.”

“Here,” Anton stood and strode over to the tiny television set on the dresser, picking up the remote control on his way, and turned it on. He silently considered the TV guide for a moment before changing the channel and bringing up Alien, in all the glorious, grainy quality of the 1970s. “Watch this. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Anton, you know I don’t like movies unless we’re seeing ‘em in the cinema…!” Salem groaned as he disappeared into the bathroom.

“Make do.”

Salem huffed and half-directed his attention to the TV across the room, exhaling as he leaned back against his pillows. He knew Anton was right about not putting too much strain on the wound, but the last time he had been truly cooped up like this was way back before Anton had even come into his life. Things were unfathomably dull, then.

Just as Salem felt he was about to drift off for the night, between the faint sound of Anton’s shower and the dull ache in his leg becoming background noise in his mind, the bedside telephone began to ring. Springing up in bed, Salem scrambled to pick it up.

“Anton Chigurh?”

Salem grabbed a notepad and a pen as he cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear. “Just his business partner, who’s asking?”

“Someone who’d pay a pretty penny to find out who’s stealing his product and reselling it… tampered with. You’re not far from us, now, based on our sources. You ride into San Angelo and we’ll get you in contact with a middleman who’ll give you more information.”

“We don’t deal in vagueries, mister. Name the price up front and we’ll consider getting back to you.”

“$900,000, how’s that grab you?”

"You'll know by tomorrow." He promptly hung up and ecstatically waited for Anton to come back into the room. They didn't really do this for money- especially not Anton, who had a voracious taste for both the hunt and the eventual kill, and all the carnage that he would inevitably create in his wake, but they always appreciated cash to assure a roof over their head and food in their stomachs… the easy way.

"We got a call, Foghorn." Salem stated as Anton exited the bathroom in his jeans (he rarely wore anything "usual" to bed). He raised an eyebrow.

"You're using a nickname, you must be rather proud of yourself."

"$900,000 to go bust some drug trader's chops. Could be fun. We've gotta go to San Angelo tomorrow to get more information."

Anton thought for a moment. "I'll scope it out."

"Yes!"

"But you’re not coming."

"What?!"

"My word is final, go to bed." With that, Anton twitched off the light and slipped into the second bed. Salem opened his mouth to retaliate, but he knew Anton wouldn't respond, even if he did, and thus resorted to silent stewing as he tried to fall back asleep.

~~~

"Let me come, pleaasee!!" Salem begged as Anton went through his morning routine. He spat out his toothpaste.

"No."

"It’s an hour's drive, it won't overexert me!"

He combed his hair. "No."

"Antonn..!"

He put on his shirt. "For the last," and hoisted Salem over his shoulder as if he weighed no more than your standard bag of groceries, "goddamn time," promptly plopping him down on the bed while simultaneously minding his injured ankle, "I said no, Salem, and you're gonna sit tight here until I come back, unless you want to be in a mess of trouble with me, understood?"

His large hand traveled down their side until it came to his hip, his face inches above its as he gave its skin a flighty pinch. Salem winced and blushed.

"Understood, sir. Sorry, sir."

"That’s more like it, devil." Anton kissed him sweetly and even with all of their frustration, Salem melted, kissing him back with a smile and tousling the back of his hair.

"Well, at least be quick about it."

"I'll try. Room service will bring you breakfast in a couple of hours."

"Bye, baby."

"Bye."

#self shipping #self shipping community #self insert #self insert x canon #self x canon #self insert oc #oc x canon #🐮Sugar Bully🐮#i do not like writing on mobile so if there’s any mistakes here i'll repost when i'm home sydhdh #q'd #circus scripts

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circusgoth-dotcom · 10 months

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😗

#🐮Sugar Bully🐮#🥤🌵.s/i #🤠🪲.s/i [Cowbeetle AU]#suggestive #circus honks

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circusgoth-dotcom · 11 months

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based on this audio

It is 12:40am and instead of sleeping I drew a shitpost and now I'm going to start rewatching NCFOM again and eat a cookie. ✌️ also I'm going to a fucking Weezer concert tomorrow. Or ig later today, now...

#it is ok to reblog this if you feel so inclined #circus honks #self shipping #self shipping community #self ship shitpost #my art #late af posting #🐮Sugar Bully🐮#🥤🌵.s/i #self insert #self insert x canon #self insert oc #oc x canon

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circusgoth-dotcom · 1 year

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Untitled

Ship: Anton Chigurh x Salem Nickle Newman

Word Count: 582

Summary: A technically unfinished piece I've been writing off and on for a few months, now. Not really sure what more to do with it so I decided I'd post it as is. What's nuanced about this particular piece is there is no dialogue, which is a bit off the beaten path as I feel I tend to write a lot of talking. (Though I do so very much love to write detailed descriptions of scenes and emotions <3) CW for implied murder and the violence that comes with working as a hired gun, semi-detailed descriptions of blood, non-sexual nudity.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @rexscanonwife

The blood clung to Salem's shirt. It seemed to seep into his skin and stain his hair. The stench followed him like a mangy dog. Go home, Sandy. He shuffled to the washroom, behind him Anton was in a similar state, but better off. Today had been a messy job.

Neither spoke as they began the ritual; Salem peeled off his shirt and threw it in the trash bin. Then he removed his jeans and examined them for a moment before draping them over the back of the toilet, maybe they could be salvaged. Anton removed his own shirt, standing in front of the mirror while Salem leaned over the tub and turned on the faucet. After adjusting the water to his preferred temperature, he reached up and turned on the radio that sat on a shelf above the toilet. Anton signalled for him to face him, taking a dampened washcloth to the deep cut on his forehead. Salem leaned into the tender touch, inhaling sharply at the sting of the cloth on the tender flesh, then sat on the closed toilet to remove his socks. Finally, when he stood again, he discarded his underwear next to the socks and slipped into the tub as it finished filling up. He sighed loudly as he turned off the faucet and sunk below the surface.

Anton knelt beside the tub and gave Salem a stern look when he noticed the steam coming from the water. Salem briefly opened one eye to answer him.

I know, I know, cold water for blood, not hot. Can you blame me?

Anton, sighed, too. Not as loud or as heavy, but with fondness and tiredness. He reached for a plain bottle of shampoo and tapped on Salem's shoulder. They reluctantly sat up straight, but they knew Anton just didn't want the water to get cold now that they were so comfortable. He poured the clean-smelling solution onto his calloused palms and began working it into Salem's short hair. Salem relaxed, little sounds of content flowing from him. After the shampooing, Anton rinsed Salem's hair out with a plastic cup, then soaped up a sponge to cleanse Salem's lightly tanned skin. Though he had seen his body many times, Anton never took it for granted, going slow and memorizing the patterns in his skin for the fifth time this week. Salem looked fit to drift off right about then, eyelids heavy. Once his skin began to clear up, he sunk back down into the water to wash away the soap, staying there for a long moment before sitting straight again. He blinked slowly and stood, Anton backing up so he could step out of the tub, already shivering from the temperature difference between the air and the water, though the room wasn't cold in the slightest.

Anton wrapped Salem in a fluffy towel; they sat on the closed toilet once more while his partner stripped away his thick pants and boxers and slipped into the tub himself. Anton needed no assistance in washing up and preferred it that way. Now it was time for Salem to do his own admiring, stifling a yawn as Anton efficiently scrubbed away the muck of their work. Despite the film of filth on their bodies, they had mostly come out unscathed, other than the cut on Salem's head and the two bullets that had graciously grazed Anton's right arm and side. Above Salem’s head, a Johnny Cash song played faintly from the radio.

#self shipping #self shipping community #self insert #self insert x canon #self x canon #gun /#🐮Sugar Bully🐮#🥤🌵.s/i #circus scripts

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circusgoth-dotcom · 7 months

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Always Not Far Behind

Ship: Anton Chigurh x Salem Nickle Newman

Word Count: 1249

Summary: Salem has been sentenced to prison time, but before he even gets to his cell, Anton appears to save the day. CWs for criminal activity, cops, murder.

Tag List: @futurewife @canongf

Sweat trickled down Salem’s back as he stood outside of a county police station, waiting for a bus as the sun beat down on his fair skin, an officer on either side of him and his wrists cuffed together behind him.

“Sheriff’s gonna be tickled pink that we finally caught that hitman’s accomplice.” One sneered around a toothpick. Salem spat on the orange dirt at his feet, turning it brown.

“You boys’ve got no idea of the Hell that’s coming your way,” they countered.

“Let him come. Kill two birds with one stone, usin’ you as bait.”

As Salem glared, a grey bus pulled up to the curb and they were forced onto it, facing a handful of other criminals and more cops. They heavily took up one of the empty seats and turned their head toward the dusty, tinted window as the bus took off. Salem had never been to a real prison before, though he could count on his fingers the nights he had spent in holding cells throughout his time as a wanted criminal. It was never a long time behind bars when Anton was nearby, but this was different. The authorities had caught Salem off his guard, in the few seconds where he and Anton were separated on the road, and sealed his fate in less than three days.

He was surprisingly going to a men’s prison, but in his mind he supposed the authorities thought that was a suitable punishment for his misdeeds, even if they didn’t really think of him as a man at all. Still, he believed Anton would find him. Still, he believed a violent storm was brewing on the horizon. The mental image of cops falling like dominos made Salem smirk to himself, only to earn a firm strike on the back of the head.

“Think you’re clever, quit your smilin’. Ain’t nothin’ good waitin’ for you at the end of this ride.”

Without Anton to remind him to bite his tongue at the best of times, Salem turned and retorted with a sneer. “Y’all can beat me ‘til my teeth fall out and my skin’s purple, I’ll still keep laughing in your face, Officer Pigdick.”

“Why I oughta--”

“Don’t waste your energy,” his accomplice butt in. “That’s what he wants, after all.”

There was a beat of tense silence before Salem was smacked again, making him wince. Then he was ultimately left alone. The sun was creeping toward the horizon by the time the bus reached the penitentiary, hissing to a stop. Slowly, it unloaded, and the small band of criminals lined up to enter the large, white brick building, surrounded by a tall, barbed-wire fence. While the building itself looked relatively clean from the outside, the fence was rusting and seemed to creak, despite a lack of wind.

“This a new one?” Salem asked the man in front of him in line, eying the building. He didn’t get a response, so he kept talking. “Looks like they damn near powerwashed the thing. Who are they trying to upkeep appearances for, us?? Bet it’s not that nice on the inside.”

“Shut up.” The fellow prisoner finally snapped.

“Gee, didn’t know cleaning was such a touchy subject for ya, guy.”

The man glared over his shoulder while Salem stood his ground.

“Who do you think you are?”

Salem smiled brightly. “I’m the number one business partner of Texas’ most-wanted hitman. Nothin’ can touch me,” he laughed lightly, squeezing his shoulders up to his ears in a cutesy manner.

“And where might this hitman be?”

Their eyelids flickered slightly, faltering as their shoulders came back down. “I don’t know, truth be told. But he’s gonna find me. Just wait and see.”

“So he deserted you, then.”

Colour rose in Salem’s cheeks. “No! Never. We got separated, is all. I went into a convenience store and he went across the street to look at guns... just my dumb luck that I’d bump into a damn uniformed sausage while I was there. ‘Cept he wasn’t in uniform, he was off duty, but he knocked me out cold and next thing I knew I was in the back of a wagon.”

“How far behind do you think he is?”

They chewed their lip for a moment before their brow furrowed. “I’m tired of talkin’ to you, if I weren’t cuffed up I’d swing you one right now. Why the hell’s this line takin’ so long?”

Just as it was uttered, the line began to shuffle forward as the prisoners entered the building. As Salem crossed the threshold, he felt an odd sensation on the back of his neck, as if a feather or a breeze had briefly whipped by his skin. He strode forward but paused to glance over his shoulder, eyes widening as the door was suddenly opening at a higher speed than expected. In a split second, Salem forced himself against the wall to avoid whatever was barreling his way. He recognized the blurry black and brown mass immediately as near-silent bullets whizzed across the room, hitting prisoners and police officers indiscriminately.

When things settled back into focus, Anton was staring intensely at Salem, his weapon slung over his shoulders as if it had never been in his deadly hands in the first place. Just as suddenly as everything had happened, Anton’s lips crashed upon Salem’s, a large, warm hand cupping their round cheek. It was sweet but firm, laced with the thousand “I missed you”s that he couldn’t put into words.

“You mind gettin’ me out of these cuffs so I can greet you properly?” Salem asked in a light and quiet tone as Anton’s full lips inched toward the corner of his mouth. The hitman nodded, fully pulling away as Salem turned around. It took no effort for Anton to snap the cuffs in half, releasing Salem from their grip. They flexed their hands and rolled their shoulders, rejoicing in the returned freedom before turning around and leaping into their partner’s arms, returning the initial kiss with distinct vigour. He held them in a close, almost suffocating embrace as lips and tongues and teeth were reunited under the hazy glow of fluorescent lights. The fusion was only interrupted by a siren, prompting the two to book it for Anton’s newest vehicle.

“Would you...?” Anton began in that molasses-deep voice of his, but Salem had already taken the shotgun off of his hands, rolled down the window, and began aiming at the guard towers.

“Right behind ya, honey.~”

A tight squeeze on Salem’s knee- Lord, I love you, boy -and the two were off like a flash as Anton backed toward the road, with Salem taking care of anyone who bothered to follow.

“Don’t scare me like this ever again,” Anton rumbled hours later, when the oppressive sun had finally disappeared, encapsulating the desert in cool, velvety darkness once more.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Salem scoffed as he applied chapstick in the side mirror, but his tone held no anger. “Like I was tellin’ the guy in front of me, just dumb luck.”

Anton grabbed his free hand. “It was too close.”

“Then we’ll lay low for a while. We’ve got cash.” A pause. “If anything I might even say you were worried about me.”

Without another word, Anton took their chin in his fingers and brought their face toward his, kissing them roughly and making them titter at the action. “Thanks for savin’ me, Foghorn.~ You’re my he-ro, hehehe.”

#self shipping #self shipping community #self insert #self insert x canon #self x canon #self insert oc #oc x canon #gay self ship #trans self ship #circus scripts #🐮Sugar Bully🐮#🥤🌵.s/i

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