#I even put the bins out yesterday

[navybluetriangles]

.

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours] - Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

To your surprise, Kyle, or Gaz – the model-like man introduced himself as – is such a considerate person with a nice sense of humor, at least compared to Soap or Ghost. 

That day you trapped yourself in the predicament with John, he seemed to sense your embarrassment, hence he just handed his boss a backup shirt without making fun of you like his boss, so you have a lot of time for the man. 

Like now, he’s sitting and sharing a plate of biscuits with you, enjoying a tranquil tea time accompanied by the pleasant smell of Earl Grey.

“You don’t have jobs to do today?” You raise your cup and ask, before taking another sip and watch Kyle finish his bite and reply.

 “Ghost’s in charge of dealing with the enemy today.” 

“Ehmm, okay” You refuse to figure out what ‘dealing’ means “What about others?"

"I killed mine yesterday.” 

Okay, you truly don’t mean this, but let’s just end this topic and move on. With a few biscuits down to your stomach, brainwashing yourself to forget what you heard seconds before with the sweetness, and buying you some time to come up with a better subject, you open your mouth again.

“Every time one of you comes here, you just scare all my customers away.”

“Isn’t that better?” 

“I need customers to earn money, Kyle.”

“You have us to pay you.” He points at the badge pasted on your wall. Of course, you’re not the one who put it on, you rather read the military smut out in front of all British than do it, but if you try to take it off, Soap will put a new one back, so in the end you just compromised and let him claim your shop publicly.

“This place isn’t only served for you guys.”

“It isn’t?” 

Is it possible to refute when Kyle flashes you a smile that you almost get blind and start wondering if he can replace himself as your lights and save you the electricity bill? Maybe counting this as one of Kyle’s humor will be better than explaining. All required is to ignore the evil glints in his majestic brown eyes while he questions you.

But even though Kyle said he doesn’t have work today, he doesn’t stay long after he finishes his tea.

“Gotta head back to help the boss.” He grins as he turns the knob and waves you goodbye.

What’s weird is that   after Kyle leaves your shop, customers start flooding back. Many of them are familiars of the shop, as you’re sure they’re 141’s lackeys too.

You remember them see you as one of the henchmen… Although they're not as afraid as when they first visit the shop because of your hospitable attitude, you can still sense the attentiveness in their demeanor.

No matter what, you’re going to figure out what’s  actually  happening.

“Hey, you.” You walk to one of the minions' sides. “Mind to tell me about why you guys always disappear when Gaz or Ghost or others come here?”

“We…” The guy’s eyes avert, shooting his friend a glance for help “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?” Raising your eyebrow, you lower your voice to make it  menacing 

“It  really  is, ma’am, nothing to bother with the Sirs.”

“Show me, they must have sent some messages to inform you guys, right? Let me take a look, or I will…” You will what?  Actually,  you have no idea what you can do to these guys that can lift you  up  and throw you into a trash bin like a shot “Wait a second.”

Quickly running back to your kitchen, you come back with your most intimidating weapon – 

“Or I will hit you with my pan!” You wiggle your arm as a threat.

“…” 

They don’t look scared of the pan for a tiny bit. Wait, you should take your kitchen knife instead, who the fuck will pick a pan? You idiot.

yet to your satisfaction, they still fish out their phone and let you have it, and you don’t waste any time as you open the texting app.

‘Announcement: Boss will arrive at the tea shop in 10 minutes, clear the shop immediately.’

So they  really  are scaring your customers off. Give the phone back to the poor guy with pity in your eyes, you bring him a few more biscuits.

You’re strolling through the aisles in the shop. You’re out of flour and sugar, and every Wednesday the groceries are on sale. You never miss these chances to build up savings.

What a nice shopping trip. Quiet, leisure, just enjoying your own time, picking up different brands of cereal and calculating which is cheaper like a competent broken adult. Things never go wrong when you’re alone.

“Hey lass!”

Well, you’re kidding, things go south too quickly. The voice’s too familiar. It must be a hallucination.

“Lass? Bonnie?”

 Don’t look back, keep walking. It’s not the detergent man with a stupid chicken crest yelling at you.

“HEY!” A hand pats you on your shoulder and makes you jump. Sighing internally and prey there won’t be any trouble caused by the man, you turn around and face him.

“Oh, Soap, Hi.” Shit, looks like you just can’t have a break from these men. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Even though the nan outside tells me te shut the fok up?”

“Yes.” you shamelessly admit, pro tip to confront people without shame “Why are you here by the way, Soap?”

“Oh, we’re in need of some things, so Ghost pulled off during our way home.”

You take a glimpse at his basket. A rope, a roll of duct tape, and a knife. 

They must be going on a picnic. Yes, don’t overthink. The rope is for securing the tent, the duct tape is for concealing the holes on it. Knife? they surely will need it when cutting apples.

The image of Ghost slaughtering… peeling apple you mean, with Soap and Gaz playing red light green light and John napping in the tent is so vivid in your mind that you need to restrain the laugh with a clear of your throat before you grunt in affirmation and restart your steps.

With Soap depriving you of your last respite, you choose to grab what you need and head to the counter. All you want is to get home, have a nice shower, and lie on the bed reading the new fic you found last night.

“Do ye need help?” He watches you shove the products in your bag, but 5 huge cartons of milk are too heavy for your weak limbs, you can feel your arms trembling under your attempt.

“It’s okay, my car’s near the door. I can carry this myself.” Again, cheekiness works every time. You don’t care about strangers staring at you struggling with the bag and exit the supermarket in a crab way, as long as it can bring you back into peace faster, and you almost tear up when you see your car, the white of it is like the lighthouse in the atramentous night.

Hey, but you don’t remember your car has a goddamn huge dent at its boot.

“Oh yeah, forgot to tell ye. Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours, and he’s contemplating whether he should kidnap the driver when they come back and make them shut up, or just kill them.” Soap looks at you stopping in despair as he recognizes what you’re looking at. “So it’s your car aye?”

You don’t answer him, you just watch Ghost materialize from the Shadow beside your car and give you a nod.

Fuck your life.

a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!

Car -1, Peaceful night -1

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143 @goodbyegh0st @reaperxxxxzz @kaoyamamegami @imyprice @cod-z @poppingaround @live-for-fluff @masterstr0ke @mall0ww

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 1) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

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

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

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

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

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

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

header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

you had heard the whispers on the horizon.

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

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

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

Ghost was coming to town.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

he wasn’t even human.

a ghost. or so you heard.

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

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

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

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

“Ghost.”

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

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

Daddy’s got business with Ghost.

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

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

“wanted bourbon.”

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

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

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

shakily, you exhaled. “no.”

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

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

“light me up, lovely?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you stared at the floor instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what brings you to our small town?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost leaned forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your brows raised. Daddy did business with Ghost?

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

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

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

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

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

“Turner is protecting you now?”

“yes.” 

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

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

“you know i can’t do that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what did Ghost know about fairness? 

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost blinked. “what’re my terms?”

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

his eyes narrowed. “body and soul?”

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

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

“Henry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“gearing up to kill me?”

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

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

he watched all your movements with an eerie silence.

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

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

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

“‘course not.”

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

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

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

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

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

“tell me anyway.”

“i hate it here.”

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

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

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

you whispered it under your breath. “devil.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daddy could never out gun Ghost even if he tried.

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

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

you nodded, swallowing, throat bone dry.

“you’ll be fine.”

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

“i’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

no you’re not.

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

“goodbye, Daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you cleared your throat. “where are we?”

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

“border of southern california.”

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

“and this cabin…?”

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

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

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

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

you can do this.

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

“you gonna sit?”

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

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

“relax. no need to be so worked up.”

you nodded. “right.”

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

his accent thickened. “what are you doing?”

“i-i thought—”

“you thought wrong.” his words were cutting.

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

you fumbled with your hands awkwardly.

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

but you couldn’t hold your tongue long enough—

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

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

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

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

you almost hissed at him.

“i thought you said you knew manners?” 

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

“may i please have some food, sir?”

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

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

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

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

you swallowed. “what stuff?”

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

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

“no.”

Ghost cocked his head. “that so?”

you nodded. “Daddy just had touchy customers.”

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

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

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

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

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

“what’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shivered violently, a chill passing over you.

“cold?”

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

“mhmm.”

he jerked his head to the bed.

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

you balked, fist clenching and unclenching.

“but…what about Mr. Turner’s men?”

he turned still, hand twitching at his holster.

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

“but…” Ghost moved to grab his saddlebag. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

always ten steps ahead of you.

“gearing up to kill me?”

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

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

your skin felt cold but his stare was hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“sure you’re not scared, lovely?”

your jaw clenched. “yes.”

“really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you dropped your knapsack to the ground.

“where’s my revolver?”

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

“revolver privileges revoked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what’re you doing?” 

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

“what are you doing with my horse?”

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

what?

“what?” 

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

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

“where are you going?”

Ghost just stared at you. “into town.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then, you heard distant voices chattering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“she was here.”

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

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

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

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

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

an icy drip went down your back.

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

your heart was still beating out of your chest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

my love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks,

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

he ties up one foot, the saddle puts on,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;

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

and it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.

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

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

beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide;

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

in the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho.

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

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

“Ghost!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “you’ll die.”

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

“no i won’t.”

you shot him a glare.

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

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

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

you slapped at the side of his face.

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

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

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

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

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

he huffed. “stupid girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“tea.” she nodded to the steaming cup.

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

“for now.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ghost’s girl, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“they should be here any minute now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you assumed it was Kate shushing him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“more or less.”

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

“where’s Ghost?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your brows rose. “there were others fighting?”

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

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

“so the man who shot Ghost last night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soap shot out, “do we tell her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she smiled lightly. “a small one.”

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

“is this the only town you protect?” 

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

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

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

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

“friends?”

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

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

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

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

“who?”

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

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

and you didn’t even know it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“stealing my things again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“that so?”

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

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

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

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

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

you smiled at that, gripping his wrist weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

“who then?” he demanded, voice silky.

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

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

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

i want you to touch me.

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

i want only you to touch me.

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

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

“i dont know.”

“tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“does it hurt?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you know what this is then?”

you nodded dumbly.

“really?” you had no idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“greedy are we, pretty thing?”

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

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

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

“what hurts?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“say my name, princess.”

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

Simon, Simon, Simon.

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

Simon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you whimpered. what would the lord think?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“that so?”

you rolled your eyes. “yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“but—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fridgemissionmaster]

Beelzebub x Reader ft.rest of the bros: March Prompt/Day 26

Prompt list/available prompt requests here, making a fic everyday of march

“Are you sure?”

“I mean, yeah. Pretty much just scraps at this point. Maybe Mammon or Asmo can help me find a replacement.” With that you dropped the torn fabric into the emptied recycling bin, shivering a little as you walked away. “Besides, it’s going to warm up soon anyway.” Beel didn’t like that… strained tone in your voice.

…

Beelzebub slipped the scraps into his pocket before draping his jacket over you, those sleeves dragging against the ground, the garment more of the cloak on you. “You don’t have too!”

“I’m fine.” He adjusted it a little to make sure it wouldn’t slip off your little human frame.

Unfortunately human clothing was much less durable than demon’s. Most of your wardrobe were things from here but you still had the occasional item from home. One had to be careful though as the daily chaos of Devildom life would destroy any human garments easily. At least you didn’t get hurt but…

Carefully Beel hand washed the thing in the sink, it was so thin at parts Beel worried it’d just disintegrate in the washing machine. But then what? It wasn’t like there was enough fabric left to make you a new jacket let alone repair it.

Actually…

“Levi, how do you repair clothing?”

“You uh… find…” That tap, tap, tapping came to an abrupt stop just as the music did, a pause menu now displayed on the handheld. Utterly baffled the third born looked over his shoulder. “Beel!?”

Beelzebub held out the scraps to his older brother. “… What’s this?”

“What’s left of MC’s favorite jacket.”

“Hmm.” Levi scrutinized the bits of fabric trying to figure out some way to put his baby brother down gently. “I don’t…”

“I thought so.”

“OH! Well, then, Good.” And with that Levi turned back to his game.

… Was there really nothing he could do? But if even Levi didn’t think anything could be done, then it was impossible. Maybe Barbatos could help? Didn’t he sew an outfit for you once? Could he know a way? Even then, Beel had seen Levi make so many extravagant outfits, and he certainly couldn’t count how many times he gave Levi one of his jerseys to repair only for it to be given back good as new, so if he couldn’t surely no one could. Besides then Levi had a whole shirt to work with not… this.

“FINE!”

“Huh?”

“We’re going to my room.” With that Levi began stomping off. “I swear, you and Belphie and your puppy eyes.” But Levi only glanced at his face for a moment, focusing on the fabric before. Did he have an odd expression?

Beelzebub stood by the door while Levi got a big fold out table from behind some shelving, setting it up, before patting his hands on it. “Come on. I need to know what we’re working with here.”

“…”

It was almost sad to look at.

“Is this it?”

“Yeah.”

Levi studied the thing in dismay.

“What are we all doing here?”

“GAH! Get out party animals! You have to say the password!”

“Excuse me, you left the door wide open!”

Asmodeus and Mammon easily slipped past Levi, immediately making their way for the out of place table.

Levi sighed realizing the pair wouldn’t leave any time soon.

“Some scrap?”

“Oi, that’s MC’s jacket.” Everyone glanced to Mammon about to question how he could recognize it in this state but then remembered the word ‘privacy’ didn’t exist in his vocabulary when it came to you. Beel had even seen him snooping through your stuff for the hell of it.

“It got wreaked yesterday.” The intruders nodded, recalling the tales they were told of it at dinner the night before.

“Well, what are you going to do with it?” Asmo pinched at a corner before lifting it up to get a better look.

“I want to repair it.”

Beel didn’t much care for the pitiful look Mammon gave him. “Eh? You might as well be startin’ from scratch.”

“Mammon, hush!” Asmo smacked the back of his hand against Mammon face and kept it there, seemed he didn’t like that look either. Not enough force to leave a mark or even hurt probably, but enough for an audible fwap sound.

“EY!”

“It’s sweet.” Placing the fabric down he started talking with his hands as perusual. “Besides, did you see that yukata he made for MC? You still need to make me one! It’s gorgeous!”

Beel grumbled at the fabric. “I couldn’t make it again even if I wanted too. I didn’t write down any instructions.” He could repair it if needed.

“Come on, you at least have the pattern pieces left, right? We can just adjust them to my size.”

“No.”

“But Beel-”

“I don’t know what pattern pieces are, so I can’t even if I wanted. And I don’t.”

…

“Why are you staring at me?” His older brothers looked between one another, having some silent conversation before Levi scurried off, placing some big paper on the table, while Mammon immediately began to scribble on it.

Asmo placed his hands on Beelzebub’s shoulders, a deathly serious look in his eyes. “You didn’t use any patterns?”

“Uh? No?”

“You didn’t draw out the pieces and then cut them out?”

“No? Mc did that to make my yukata, but we didn’t have much paper so I let them use it.”

“YOU FREE HAND THE ENTIRE THING AND IT TURNED OUT LIKE THAT!?”

“I-”

“WHY HAVE YOU BEEN KEEPING YOUR DESIGN AND SEWING SKILLS SECRET FROM ME BEEL!”

Levi and Mammon had cut out one of the things Mammon drew, shoving their way past Asmo to hold it right up to his face. “Ya didn’t do anythin’ like this before cutting out your fabric?”

Beel just shook his head, words getting lost as he only got more and more confused by his brothers beginning to freak out and question him all at once. You did that to make a guide for what to cut but for Beel, trying to keep the paper and fabric in place while cutting was a bit much so he just went without and trimmed when he needed.

“I guess I can’t freehand MC’s jacket though.” It wouldn’t be your exact jacket but his own thing then.

“Uh duh. Here, just let me…” And so Mammon went scribbling away again. Beel really should have been surprised at how Mammon had even the details of your favorite clothing memorized, down to the individual parts that made them, but he couldn’t be. It was Mammon after all, the man was terrifyingly skilled.

“Oh, I know!” Asmo took one of the smaller scraps. “We need kamillion fabric!”

“Wh-” Asmo pinched Beel’s cheek, looking all too giddy.

“It’s a fabric that will turn into an exact copy of whatever material you press into it, and once you do that it won’t change, so we can get plenty of new material!” And off Asmo was, his heels clacking away as he went.

“Here, cut these out.”

“Oh-okay.” Beel had to admit it was impressive Mammon could already be done with some parts and how he drew such straight lines.

“Later, I need to show him my sewing machine.” Levi grabbed his arm, dragging Beel away to the opposite side of the table. Seemed Mammon didn’t hear, passing another sheet to where Beelzebub was.

“So, we’ll skip the basics and go straight about the special features.” Levi pointed to the machine excitedly, already beginning to ramble.

“Wait, I don’t know how to use this.”

“…” He… just started. Unblinking. “No… Beel, you didn’t use a sewing machine EITHER!?”

“Well… no. We didn’t have one to use when we made our yukatas.”

“… NO WONDER YOU TWO KEPT WORKING NONSTOP ALL DAY AND NIGHT! Beel. Okay, I’ll get us some scraps so I can teach you. Trust me you’ll love this, it’ll make everything so much faster!”

Well, he was going to have to wait on the fabric anyway. It did get a bit annoying with both Levi and eventually Mammon hovering over his shoulders and arguing about what kind of stitching would be better in certain situations, but he did learn a lot from the both of them.

“I’m surprised though…” Mammon draped an arm over the redhead’s shoulders, leaning in to get a closer look at his work. “Yer picking all this up so quickly. You used to be- uh… struggle with this more fiddly stuff. What got ya interested?”

…

“Wasn’t it when Belphie made that plush for him?”

“Oh yeah. He made one for Belphie after that.”

“Then it was the yukatas him and MC made for each other.”

“Still though, between then and now he’s improved a lot!”

“I know, and now he even designed our outfits for the parade!”

“Look at our baby bro growing up!”

“Gross Mammon.”

“Eh!? What’s so wrong about prasin’ my little brothers!?”

… there was just something nice about it. It felt good. For the yukatas you taught him a lot, you got some good tips from Barbatos when sewing that Devilcat plush for him that you shared. He did a couple of little things since the yukatas like drawstrings bags or trying to repair his jerseys himself. He couldn’t be sure why but something in him was just drawn to this. It felt soothing in a way. It was also nice to use things that you taught him, to repeat it, to memorize it, to make it part of himself.

It would take a couple of days for the fabric to get shipped so Beel used the time to get other fabrics he’d need that he couldn’t get the original parts of like the inside lining of the pockets.

“Hey, Beel.” Satan strolled a bit closer than he normally would with anyone but you. Said you was at the front of your group, excited to get home and warm up after classes.

“Yeah?” Beelzebub matched his brother’s hushed tone.

“Tell me when your package gets here.”

“My what?”

“The… supplies.”

“Uhh... Oh, you mean the fabric?”

The fourth born quirked a brow before maintaining the distance he usually would, although his voice stayed low. “So it’s not a surprise?”

“… huh?”

He shook his head. “Anyway, tell me when it arrives. You’re using kamillion fabric, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then it will be just as weak as before. I know a few spells that can make it as tough as Devildom fabric.”

“Thank you!” Beelzebub hadn’t even thought of that. Although… who told Satan about this project? It wasn’t a secret, exactly, Beelzebub hadn’t quite been open about this though either. In a way he didn’t want you to know. You surprised him with the Devilcat so it would be nice to surprise you with something.

In the planning Beel did overlook one thing. It was Fangol season so most days after school had to be spent out on the field. So instead after Lucifer had finished his bedtime check-up Beelzebub would get back up. On the loft was where he’d place the table, light, and sewing machine. He hoped the distance would make it less disruptive to Belphegor.

And yet every night a few minuets after he began work he’d hear a yawn come from the winding staircase. Belphie would trot up, pillow in hand before sitting on the floor beside him and rest his head on Beel’s lap. The company was nice. Usually he’d immediately fall asleep but sometimes he’d try staying up, ask Beel what part he was working on or what exactly he was doing, it also helped Beel stay up on nights where practice hit hard and all his battered body wanted to do was collapse in bed.

Nice soft bed…

… so warm

…. And

Comfy

…

…

…

A groan rumbled in his throat, his neck killing him. Slowly he sat up, his body stuttering and creaking from the movement. Arched back, hands up high he stretched, a yawn escaping him. He couldn’t help smiling feeling that weight on his lap and getting that familiar yawn in reply. “Morning Belphie.”

“Morning Beel.”

“Morning you two.”

Immediately Beel’s eyes shot open being greeted to the worst sight. Lucifer stood across the table, arms crossed, a glowering stare. His every step was noted with the soft thud of his shoes against the wood floor. His eyes flickered up and down the pair, clearly not pleased with the sight. “Well, get ready. You’re going to be late.”

A couple of quick nods and Beel practically bolted out of the chair with his twin in his arms.

“Wait… Lucifer, we don’t have classes today.” The man simply sighed, the distinct click of the lamp being turned off before, following him down the stairs, your jacket in hand.

“You have practice.” The jacket was placed on the railing before he reached out and…

And placed his hands on Beelzebub’s cheeks?

“Wha-” Squished, stretched, pulled, smushed Beelzebub was left baffled at Lucifer playing with his face like that!

“There, now there’s color in your cheeks and you won’t worry them by looking so sickly.”

…

“… Heh, thank you!” And so Beel was off. He had to give you your jacket before practice, you were going to be watching today after all!

You stood by the door, giving him a little smile in greeting before your eyes were drawn to the garment he held. He simply placed it on your shoulders before holding the door open for you, leaving you baffled, looking to your jacket all the while everyone else piled on one another, peeking around the corner, some filming, some giving a thumbs up, some trying to act like they didn’t care yet still stood there watching anyway.

“I hope you like it.” You held the thing close for a moment, rolling some of the fabric between your fingers.

“I- what? How?”

“I got help making it. Is it… like your old one?”

“… Even better.” Good, you smiled.

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 668

—-MDNI—-

A/N: My first Supernatural fic so I hope it doesn’t suck ass. Only proof read by myself, so pls let me know of any errors so I can correct! Also I know at this point in the series Dean is more serious, however I love pre-Hell Dean so imma bring some of those vibes in here. This is also posted on my AO3.

——————————————————————

I’m Not Your F*ckng Maid

-Prologue-

Dean was awoken with a slam inches from his face and he sprung to life, almost losing his balance before he realised where he was. He’d fallen asleep at the table with his face in a book and surrounded by heaps of paper - many of which he hadn’t even started to read through yet. Blinking awake and gaining his bearings, he heard a familiar voice ring through the room.

”You boys are disgusting, how do you live like this?” The older Winchester finally looked up to see Charlie lifting a plate of half eaten, day-old pizza whilst kicking several beer bottles aside so she could pull out a chair and take a seat next to Dean, who was pinching the bridge of his nose.

”Yeah well, we’ve been a little busy recently if you haven’t noticed,” his voice was gravelly from the sleep. Charlie put down the plate of old food and sat down, worry crossing her face as she looked at the man next to her. She knew they’d been under a lot of pressure lately with their work, so much so that the brothers were starting to neglect themselves. It had been months since they’d eaten proper food that wasn’t instant or take-out, they rarely went outside, always locking themselves away in the bunker to do research and the bunker itself was getting cluttered with bin bags and pizza boxes. Not to mention the piles of laundry that she’s noticed slowly starting to form its own ecosystem in the washroom.

“Yeah I get that, but you really have to look after yourselves. When was the last time you ate a vegetable?”

Dean scoffed.

“Yesterday, obviously,” he gave her a look like she was from another planet, and she rolled her eyes.

“The pizza sauce doesn’t count, Dean.”

He looked puzzled, raising an eyebrow, “Why not?”

Before she could even humour him with an answer, Sam emerged, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh hey Charlie, when did you get here?” His voice was equally as gravelly as Deans, so she assumed he’d also just woken up.

“Five minutes ago.”

“She called us disgusting Sam. And she said the sauce on pizza isn’t made from vegetables,” Dean gestured to Charlie like she was the fool as he looked up at his younger brother who now stood across from him on the other side of the table. Sam went to open his mouth to respond, but closed it again quickly and furrowed his brows, clearly unsure how to reply to his older brother without opening a can of worms. Charlie huffed.

“You guys need to sort yourself out. I only dropped by because I hadn’t heard from you for a while and thought you might’ve worked yourself to death. I can’t stay long because I’m meeting a friend for a drink. She’s already at the diner waiting for me”

“A friend?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and the redhead smirked.

“I wish, sadly she’s into dudes,” she paused, a thought crossing her mind, “Come to think of it, she’s actually looking for work, you guys might be able to help.”

Dean and Sam shared a glance.

“She’s a hunter?” Sam asked.

“Not exactly. Her uncle was, so she knows about stuff, but from what I know she was just a research girlie,” Charlie peered at the mess of papers on the table, “and it looks like you could use the help.” She looked between the brothers as they stared at each other, like they were having some sort of unspoken conversation. A few moments passed before Dean slapped his hand on the table and stood up.

“Sure ok, but we’re coming with you today to meet her,” he went to grab his jacket from the back of his chair, an eagerness in his movements before Charlie put her hand out to stop him.

“Great!” She grinned, before raising her eyebrows and pointing to them both, “but first you guys have got to shower, because I can taste your BO from here.”

——————————————————————

Up Next

Chapter 1

[wosoragebaiter69]

a bit hot

barça fem x teen!reader

request: here

A/N: yesterday i was in shambles trying to write this.. i keep getting sickness i write about 💀food poisoning next 😃

TW: Vomit, passing out, illness

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It all started with a small headache, it was one you could tolerate, probably just a bit of exhaustion and would go away once drinking water. The thing was though, it didn’t go away.

It was hot in Barcelona, 37° C hot. Water intake for everyone was high, and you were being made to drink extra water by not only the physios, but also your Captains.

Honestly, you thought everyone was feeling like this if you’d been drinking the most and still feeling headachy. You persevere though determined to not let a bit of pain decide how the training goes.

But when ignored, problems only get worse.

It only takes half an hour for your overall health to decline, and obviously people notice. How couldn’t they when it looked like you couldn’t even think straight.

Which is true. You don’t recognise what’s happening until Alexia is pulling you away and inside the air-conditioned room.

“Dios Mío. What are we going to do with you.” Is the first thing she says, putting you in the direct line of 18° coolness blasting. It isn’t enough though.

You feel yourself growing tired, your head dropping every few seconds.

“Hey, hey. Stay awake for me yeah?” Your captain asks you. The only thing you are capable of doing is groaning before ultimately passing out, falling into her chest.

- - - - -

When you wake up again, you’re in a different room. A fan blowing on you and a UV line dripping into your skin. Alexia is also there, who has been joined by Marta and Mapi.

You feel sick to your stomach, shutting your eyes in hopes of holding anything inside back. Conceal don’t feel right? That’s what Elsa says.

You hear footsteps cautiously approach, you don’t have to open your eyes to know it’s Alexia.

“Nena?” She whispers quietly, placing her hand on your still slightly warm skin. You shake your head, trying to suppress any indicators that you were about to throw up. She knows better, Mapi knows better, Marta knows better.

The other captain throws Alexia a puke bag who holds it in front of your mouth.

“Come on, I know you don’t want to but please. You’ll feel better.” You give into her and into yourself. Retching into the bag, making all the girls in the room cringe at the sound.

Once you’ve pulled yourself together, Alexia closes the bag and disposes it in a bin in the corner.

“Are you going to throw up again soon or no?” She asks, sparing a glance at the other two.

“I should be fine, thanks Ale.” Your voice is hoarse and slightly cracks.

“Ok, good.” She leans against the table you’re on thinking about what to say next. Marta beats her to it.

“Why didn’t you speak up about how ill you were? We would’ve brought you in sooner.” You sigh.

“Well I thought we were all going through that! I had been drinking more water than you guys yet I’m still the one who is plugged into a machine?”

“You have to promise to tell us next time ok?” Alexia asks, you nod.

“Bebita, I have Ingrid ready in the car when you feel well enough. The doctor said you could take the UV out when you wake up” You smile at the thought of getting into your bed at home.

“Ok, thanks Mapi.” She pats your leg smiling.

“We’ll talk about this another day ok? Go home, get rest. You are not going to be training in conditions like these over the next few days. Some investigators are looking into why this has happened so they might want to talk to you at some point.” She finishes curiously.

“Well, sounds fun. I wanna go home now.” Mapi nods, helping you stay up and walking toward the car where Ingrid is already situated.

- - - - -

When you get home you’re exhausted, hungry and sweaty.

“Come on elskling, I’ll run you a bath while Mapi gets you some light food. Then you can sleep for however long you need. Is that ok?” Ingrid says, pushing you inside.

“Mkay, thanks Ingrid.” She kisses your temple placing the training bags she was holding in her room before going to the bathroom to start a cool bath.

“I won’t make you anything warm, do you want a salad?” A salad does sound good, and refreshing.

“Sounds good.” She leads you to the bench, the cool countertop doing wonders against your warm skin.

She gets the salad ready rather fast, it’s not that big, but definitely enough that you won’t go to sleep uncomfortable.

Soon after eating your food, Ingrid comes back.

“Bath is ready when you are.”

You nod, legs still shaky so the couple helps you to the bathroom sitting you down.

“You’ll be ok?” Ingrid asks feeling your forehead, still cringing slightly.

“Yeah, I will. Thank you both… this means so much to me.”

“Don’t worry bebita, it’s the least we can do.” Mapi says smiling.

They both take your silence as a que to leave the room so they do. The bath relaxes you, and takes away most of the uncomfortable feelings inside.

When you’re done, you change into shorts and an old shirt, walking out slowly to the living room where Ingrid is reading a book and Mapi is playing with Bagheera.

Ingrid notices you first.

“Do you want medicine? Then you can sleep.”

“Yes please.” She gets up, going to medical cabinet pulling two paracetamol out and handing them to you with a glass of water.

“Drink.” You do as told and you finally let the exhaustion of the day come up to you. Before you realise what’s happening, Mapi has lifted you up and is taking you to your room.

“If you need anything, we’ll be here. Promise.” She whispers, putting you to bed. You smile up at her before falling into a peaceful slumber.

—————————————————

thanks for all the love and support guys, i hope that i can post the other fic tonight so you get 2 in one day 😘

[mr-crawlings-wife]

HOT POKER AMID ROSES

Prologue-7

Previous part, Masterlist, Next part

Warnings: Ace, nothing tbh

The cool morning breeze blows by us as I sweep the leaves in the opposite direction and towards the bins. Grim helps me by not causing trouble and loitering around.

Students pass by us every so often. The lack of crowds drive me to think that class probably starts even later.

Huh...wonder what those are like.

This is my third week of working here. It's been three weeks since Crowley appointed me as janitor. I usually spend my days taking care of the inner halls, places around the teachers offices, Crowley's office and of course, the classrooms.

Crowley mainly puts me to work on cleaning up the messes left by students. Whether that be repainting the walls, covering up a chipped corner of the desk, cleaning up broken beakers and mysterious potions that seldom burn through my mop.

Glad I didn't wipe with a towel.

I think as I look down at my hands, now holding a damp rag. I approach the large statues and climb onto their pedestals. There is not much space but I make do.

This is the first time I've had to work with so much people around. Even the classroom cleaning is usually after class hours.

I reach up, standing on my tiptoes, grabbing the statue with one hand and wiping the tips of her crown with the other.

The clothes I'm wearing right now are stuff Crowley handed me on my first day. Which has a clear distinction from every other attire worn by everyone else at this academy.

It raises a few brows and quizzical looks from passing students.

Or maybe it's just the fact that I'm daring to hold and stand on the pedestal of one of the great seven.

In this world, the great seven are seven people in the past who have shown feats of great magic or at least that's what I've read in the library books. They are revered, admired and respected. The easiest way to offend these people is to insult the great seven.

The one who's snout I'm polishing right now is-

"I didn't get to see it much yesterday. What's the deal with these seven statues? All their faces look pretty scary." Grim speaks up from behind me.

I have to crane my neck to look at him but also not fall off the statue. "Hmm?“

“Like, this lady here looks like she's got some reeeal anger management issues.“ Grim points at the statue I'm cleaning.

I look back at it and his words do match up.

The queen of hearts, this short women who's comically shaped with a pointy crown that almost pierced my finger and a permanent scowl.

She's notorious for her anger.

"You don't know the Queen of Hearts?" Some person behind me asks.

I look back again, this time greeted with the view of a boy, around my age, with bright red hair and a heart on his eye. He seems friendly.

I quickly realized he was actually talking to Grim and turned back to the statue.

"Queen of Hearts? Is she some kinda big deal?" Grim is obviously oblivious cause he never accompanies me to the library. Instead, opting to sleep.

"She was a queen who lived in a maze like garden of roses long, long ago. She was a strict woman who prized order above all. She wouldn't tolerate a rose being off-color, or her playing-card soldiers being out of step."

I stepped down from the pedestal and began to wipe where I'd been standing.

"She basically ruled over a kingdom of madness, but not one of her subjects dared to defy her. You wanna know why? Because the punishment for breaking a rule was immediate decapitation!"

Sounds like the late emperor's grandfather.

The boy was almost right behind me now. "Wah! That is seriously messed up!"

Grim seems to have a brain.

"Pretty cool, right? I'm a big fan. I mean, who would bother to obey a queen that was kind all the time?"

Sure but that's just straight up tyranny.

"Yeah, true. A leader needs to be strong."

I retract all statements.

I'm about to move onto the next statue.

"But puttin' that aside... Who're you?" Grim asks from behind. He sounds a bit fond. Like he's found a friend, a buddy to talk to. I put down the used dirty rag and stepped towards the bucket at the corner, being mindful to not bump into the red head.

"Name's Ace. I'm a first year student here, as of... today! Pleased to meetcha!" Ace smiles, revealing a set of pearly whites.

Grim pumps out his chest with all his might in response. "I'm Grim! I'm a prodigy whos plannin' to be, like, the greatest mage who ever lived!" He throws his paws up over his head. And then he points to me as I make my way towards the king of beasts. "That there's my far less interesting hench-human."

I sigh and look towards Ace, "Maomao."

He snickers, giving me a once over. "Maomao? Heh-what? Like a cat?"

i roll my eyes and turn away, climbing onto the side of the pedestal and wiping vigorously at the top of the lion's head.

Grim's focus shifts to the statue as well.

"So tell me, Ace. Is that lion with a scar in the eye a famous ruler too?"

"Of course!"

I then realised I'd forgotten something. Damn I'll need to redo the Queen statue. I haven't sprayed it down once.

"Hey, Ace." I speak, looking towards him. "Can you pass me the spray bottle?“

"That's the King of Beasts who ruled the savanna." He doesn't respond to me and wordlessly picks it up from the bucket and hands it to me.

So he doesn't think I'm inferior to him huh....or maybe he's just pretending.

"But he wasn't born into the throne - he had to earn it through hard work and elaborate schemes. When he became king, he decreed that the hyenas would be pariahs no more, and should live among his subjects as equals." He continued to speak, as I continued to work.

With the help of the cleaning spray I was able to get my job done much faster. God I was being so dumb. Why didn't I realise earlier?

"Sounds like a great guy! Not everyone's able to look past social status like that." Grim exclaims. I agree with him on this. The king of beasts is admirable.

I hang the used rag on the edge of the bucket and pick another clean one. I have eight rags in total. So I don't need to smear ones mess onto another.

Picking up a new one and dampening it, I move to the sea merchant's statue.

"Who's the lady with the octopus legs?" Grim asks Ace from beside me.

"The Sea Witch who lived in an underwater grotto." As Ace speaks, I find myself in trouble.

The sea witches statue is pretty spiky. She's surrounded by tentacles with sharp ends and the best spot to climb onto has nothing safe to hold around it. And I'm not tall enough to just jump on either.

"She basically devoted her life to helping troubled merfolk."

"Mmgh..." I make a noise of struggle as I attempt to grab the smooth part of a nearby tentacle.

"If they were willing to pay the price, she'd help them change their appearance, find love, whatever!" Ace's voice gets louder as he goes on.

"They say she was so good, there was no wish she couldn't grant." Suddenly, hands grab onto my sides and haul me up to the pedestal. Allowing just enough range to grab the statue's arm.

He's helping me???? But I didn't even ask...

I look at him but he's already made his way back to Grim.

"They also say the price was a tad steep, though.

But she was granting wishes! Of course it was!"

"Myaha! So you're sayin' that once I'm a great mage, gettin' rich off folks will be a total cinch?!" Grim is elated and scheming. Can't be a good idea for sure.

"Oh, oh! Do the dude with the big hat next!" Grim requests. I've fallen behind, no longer on track with them. I try not to let myself hurry through Ursula. That's the Sea Merchant's name.

I move down to each of her tentacles as Ace and Grim move onto the Sorcerer. Grim is the furthest from me while Ace is a bit closer.

As I done cleaning the front of the tentacles, I moved onto the rings of concrete in the back of them. They're a real pain to get through.

"That's the Sorcerer of the Sands. He was an advisor to a total dolt of a sultan. He was a smart guy. Really capable sort. He exposed this swindler once - some guy pretending to be a prince in order to trick the princess! After that, he got this magic lamp and became the greatest sorcerer in the world. Then, they say...... he used that power to become sultan himself!" Ace summaries the story perfectly.

He must be a great student. Or maybe they've been teaching this since elementry.

"Wow! Guess it's true that a mage needs to be an excellent judge of character, huh?" Grim rubbing his chin, thoughtful. He looks stupidly... adorable.

I'm done with the Sea Merchant. So I take my bucket and move a bit closer to them. Immediately they move further away and towards the Fair Queen.

"And what about this beauty over here?" Grim points at the statue. She's beautiful although her clothes are rather plain.

"She's a queen who was said to be the fairest in all the land. In fact, she used her magic mirror to check how she ranked on a daily basis! When it looked like her position was threatened, they say she'd do whatever it took to keep it. Can you even imagine the level of dedication it would require to keep a record like that? Also, they say she was a master of making poisons!"

The last bit caught my attention.

Poisons? Poisons...

"Geez. She's pretty, but that sounds kinda scary." Grim didn't share my enthusiasm but of course he wouldn't understand

"You think so? I gotta respect the hustle!" Ace seems more like minded with me.

"F-for sure... Sounds like she fought hard for what she believed in, and never gave up!" Grim sounds shaky, as if he's lying about his feelings. He's quick to change the subject even.

"And the one there, with the flaming head? Now THAT guy looks scary!" Just as Grim does that, I've finished my work on the Sorcerer Jafar statue.

"That's the King of the underworld!"

I make my way towards the Fair Queen. Deftly climbing onto her pedestal. "Single-handedly ruling a kingdom packed with rambunctious spirits - that takes competence!" I can feel Ace's eyes on me as he speaks.

"He may look scary, but he was a straight shooter who worked tirelessly at a tough job he never even asked for. I mean, this is the guy who was ordering Cerberus, the Hydra, and the Titans into battle for him."

That is true. Hades is by far the only one morally sound in the mythology of the island of woe and all the ones surrounding it.

"Hmm. That IS something. T'think he could have that much power and not let it go to his head! And that last one there, with the horns?" Him and Ace are moving onto the dark fairy while I'm still in the process of cleaning up the fair queen's pedestal.

"That's the Thorn Fairy who lived on a mythical mountain. She was noble and elegant, and a master of magic and curses - even by the standards of these seven! She commanded storms, covered the kingdom with thorns... She could use magic on a massive scale! She could even turn herself into a giant dragon."

I make my way to Hades and am in a pickle again. This time, it's the flames surrounding him.

Ooh. a dragon! What all monsters yearn to be!" Grim exclaims as I turn to Ace, about to ask for help when-

"Pretty cool, huh? Not like some piddling weasel."

What?

Taglist: @kittycat246 @wutap @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @boredselkie @krysthalina @frostines-blog @anastasia-426 @ghostlysyntaxed @neufora

[justastraymoa]

Unwilling Alpha

Chapter 5

Masterlist

Taglist

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

The rest of the promised week with Stray Kids and the decision that will change everyone's lives.

Warnings ⚠️ swears, abo dynamics, mentions of slave trade, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, fear, manipulation.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl

Exhausted, I managed to sleep through the night.  It was a knock on my door that ended up waking me.

“Breakfast is almost ready.”  Hyunjin said when I bid him enter.

I nodded, yawning, and stretching, curling backwards in my bed.  “Okay, thanks.  I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“By the way you talk in your sleep.”

Freezing I squinted at him.  I had never been told that before, but I’ve not slept in front of anyone but them and Chan on the plane for many years.  “What did I say?”  I kind of dreaded the answer.

He shrugged, still standing in the doorway.  “We didn’t realize you were asleep at first.  You just talked to us like normal.”  He half smiled, trying not to laugh.  “Then you started talking about maroon summer storms and dark warm wood.  Apparently, we smell good.”

I slapped my hand over my eyes.  “Never mind.  I’m staying here.  Forever.”

“Aww, it was cute!  Bin even blushed.”

“You are horrible.”

Hyunjin laughed and stepped further into the room to sway my exposed foot.  “Don’t worry.  You smell good too.  Like flowers, a cold winter breeze, and the pages of a new book.”  He sounded wistful and when I looked, his eyes were glazed and far away.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, turning to leave.  “Nice blue panties.”  He called as he shut the door.

Looking down I realized my blanket had moved when I stretched, revealing my panties and entire left leg.  I hadn’t even felt the cold breeze.

Groaning in embarrassment I flung the blanket the rest of the way off and rolled off my mattress to get dressed and face the day.

They were all sitting at the table again when I joined them 10 minutes later.  As soon as I sat I.N moved to fill my plate.  That must be his job.  As youngest maybe?  I don’t know.

“Ayen, wait.”  Lee Know ordered before a single drop of food touched my plate.  Confused, I.N still listened, putting down the utensils and sitting back in his chair.  “Yesterday when we did this you didn’t seem happy.  Do you want us to keep filling your plate and waiting?”

I was brought up short at the question.  “Aren’t your instincts telling you to?”

“Yes, but they tell us a lot of things until we learn what you prefer.  Right now, they are kind of on the default setting.”  He started to explain.  “The other Alphas liked it when we did this, so we didn’t think to ask you.  But like I said yesterday, you aren’t like the other Alphas.”

I smiled way to brightly for this early in the morning.  But I was happy.  They were starting to try and get to know me now instead of ignoring me and assuming what I wanted based on instincts and their experience with other Alphas.

“Thank you.  For asking.  Seriously, it makes me very happy that you did.”  I watched Lee Know turn pink before continuing.  “And no, I don’t like this.  It makes me feel used.  I don’t mind if you want to wait until we are all sitting to eat, but I would rather you not wait for me to be served and start eating before you do.”

“We can do that.”  Everyone nodded in agreement.

Then, a bit haltingly – like he was arguing with himself – Lee Know took a scoop of eggs and then ate a bite.  Everyone followed with varying degrees of struggle.

“Don’t worry.  It will get easier as our instincts adjust to your preferences.”  Chan soothed when he saw I looked worried.

I just nodded and started getting my own food.  As we ate various Omegas added food to my plate, but they did it with each other too, so I was fine with it.  In fact, I joined in.  The first time I added food to I.Ns plate he about exploded in glee.

“JYP texted me.  You still haven’t unblocked him.  He’s worried.”  Chan said as he pulled me away from the table so I wouldn’t help clean.

“Oh yeah!”  I had fallen asleep last night with my phone still trapped.

Taking out my phone I immediately unblocked the number so I wouldn’t forget again.

JYPs reply was almost immediate.  What Chan said must’ve been true.  He had to be worried if he was so quick to reply to me.

“He okay now?”  Chan asked.

I looked up from my phone and realized he had led me to his room.  His scent saturated every corner.  And it was surprisingly clean.  Neat and organized.  I always thought when he wasn’t on live or camera in here it would be a bit messy.  A typical bedroom type of messy.

“So, what are you up to today?”  I asked sitting in his desk chair.

Chan fell back on his bed, bouncing slightly.  “I’m scheduled for a live shortly and I wanna work on some songs, but nothing other than that.”

I smiled evilly.  “I’m so going to watch your live in the other room and troll you so hard!”

“I’ll troll you right back, watch me!”

I scoffed.  “You won’t even know which ones me.”

“I’ll just troll all the trolls then.”

“Good luck with that.”  I nearly ran from the room.  “Guys!  Guys!  Help me troll Chan on his live!”  I shouted, running towards the living room.

“Way ahead of you.”  I.N replied.  He was sitting on the floor in the living room, laptop sat on the seat of the couch.

“I will cancel my live!”  Chan threatened from his room.

“No, you won’t.  You will make STAY sad!”  I pointed out.

“They’ll get over it!”

“This is why you aren’t my bias; you flake!”

“HA!  I’m on to you!  I am your bias don’t lie!”

“You.  Wish.”

“You argue like you’ve been married 30 years.”  Hyunjin said as he joined I.N and me in the living room.

“Backup has arrived!”  Changbin called holding his phone above his head and folding into a chair.

“You’re outnumbered Bang!”  I cackled, giddy.

Despite his threat Chan did go live a short time later.  And I immediately began my trolling session by commenting on several of his more iconic embarrassing quotes and asking him to do those annoying things all fans ask idols that embarrass them.  I even caps locked aggressive compliments and pick up lines.  He was so red and flustered the entire time.  And the others joined in, making him worse.

Truth be told I had not had so much fun in a very long time.  I.N and Changbin matched my troll comment for comment perfectly and I was smiling so hard it hurt.  Sides cramped from laughing.

Before today I had never even dared comment on a live or do anything more than send likes.  Even that made me blush and hide like the person who was live could see me.

As soon as the live ended, Chan came running from his room and tackled me, pinning me and tickling my sides mercilessly until I.N and Changbin managed to free me, pulling me to safety as I gasped for air and Chan grabbed after me.

“You 3 are the worst!”  Chan declared.

“Oh, you loved it!”  Changbin argued cradling my upper half in his arms.  I was still out of breath from the tickle attack.

“Turds.”

I snorted at the weak comeback.

“I’m honestly not sure who is corrupting who here.”  Hyunjin mused from his spot.  He was failing to hide his amusement at our antics.

“I think there is a healthy amount of corrupting all around.”  I mused poking at him with my foot and giggling when he swatted it away.

“You are all equally awful.”  Lee Know shook his head at us, but he couldn’t stop the small smile on his lips.  I stuck my tongue out at him.

“You are all so loud!”  Han complained from his room.  “How is anyone supposed to get any work done?”

I groaned.  “You are on hiatus!  Stop working!”

“Never!”

Shaking my head I relaxed into Changbins arms, looking up at him.  I was trying very hard not to fangirl over any of them holding me or touching me, but damn did my heart race every time.

Momentarily I wondered if I was truly crazy.  Here I was in the position of 10 entire lifetimes.  I had the opportunity to be a part of Stray Kids.  Id practically have saved them if I stayed.

And I would have so many adventures.  See so many places.  Meet so many people.  And do such amazing things!  But only if I gave up everything I currently am.  Everything I worked for nearly all my life for.  It felt like such a huge loss either way.

“You smell sad again.”  Changbin observed.

I shook my head.  “Sorry.  I was in my thoughts.”  I took a deep breath to shake my melancholy.  Then I squinted and poked at Changbins chin.  “You know, this isn’t your best angle.”

Lee Know snorted and Changbin rolled his eyes and dumped me onto the floor unceremoniously.  I squeaked in protest.

“Who looks good at that angle?”

I shrugged.  Chances are there was someone, but I couldn’t say who.

“Speaking of looking good – are you going to do a photoshoot with us?”  I.N asked.

“Sure, if you want.  I have enough gear to get decent photos.  Nothing like your normal photos, of course.  I’m not as professional as the photographers you usually deal with.”  I answered as I crawled my way onto the couch next to Hyunjin.

And that’s how I spent the next several hours taking various photos of every Omega but Seungmin.

Seungmin had refused to leave his room unless he had to – claiming he was too busy to socialize.

But the rest of us had a blast.  Taking photos, solo and group, in nearly every room of the house.  They even changed outfits several times.  It had been a while since I had had so much fun doing my job.  I loved my job and enjoyed it, this just emphasized how much I truly loved being behind a camera.

It also emphasized exactly how much I’d be giving up if I stayed.

That night, after dinner, I hooked up my laptop to the TV and the 7 Omegas gathered to watch me edit their chosen photos.  Then they each posted the photos on their accounts.  I made sure to heart each post.

“Which ones your account?”  Felix asked showing me his phone so I could point my account out.

“It’s this one.”  I clicked the profile.  “Yah_its_y/n.  But you can’t follow me.  Everyone can see who you follow.”

“We won’t.  We just wanna stalk your page.”  Felix promised.  I rolled my eyes.  It was only fair though since I regularly stalked theirs.

My profile was boring anyway.  There weren’t even a lot of selfies.  It was mostly my photography and videography.

While they went through my profile I caught up on news and updates on Stray Kids.  I was several days behind on the gossip and fan made edits.

There were no posts on the new pictures they posted.  But they were just posted, give STAY 5 minutes to gush over them, edit them, then repost them.  It would be fun to see the edits they made to my photos.  I’m looking forward to seeing all the cool versions they come up with.

I was also checking to make sure my existence hadn’t been discovered.  There was the ever-ticking countdown for when Stray Kids either had to be bonded or dissolve forever.

I stared at the countdown for several minutes, not really seeing the numbers.  Instead, I was imagining a life with no new Stray Kids songs or content.  No more watching these 8 amazing people grow and make the world a brighter, better place.

How different my daily life would be without them.  Sure, there would be fanfictions and edits of old content for a while, but that would eventually peter out.  People – fans – would mourn and heal before moving on to the next group.  Just like with the groups this happened to before.  It was a never-ending saga.

I must have been giving off sad chemo signals again because Felix crawled into my lap and nuzzled under my chin, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Signing I started to run my fingers through his hair.  “Sorry.  In my thoughts again.”

“So not happy thoughts, then.”  Chan stated with a twist of his lips.

I shrugged a shoulder.  “Not every thought can be happy.”

On day 4 we played board games.  Monopoly got a little crazy.  Lee Know ended up owning most of the board and the money.  Then he became a mob boss/loan shark when we landed on his property.  That man did not play when it came time to collect either.

Chan had to finally call the game before we killed each other.  Tempers got a little heated.  Monopoly is a dangerous game.

Everyone ignored the fact that Seungmin yet again spent the day in his room.

I was a little confused on why JYP or Chan hadn’t tried to talk me into staying and bonding Stray Kids.  I expected some sort of campaign or negotiations, but besides texting to check in, JYP was quiet and absent.  And Chan avoided mentioning anything beyond tomorrow.

Yes.  Tomorrow afternoon Chan would escort me back to the airport.  I had already taken my suppressant with dinner so I would be safe from exposure by tomorrow afternoon for the flight.

The room filled with sadness at the subtle reminder, but no one brought it up.

That night, as everyone was asleep, I was woken up when someone crawled into the bed with me and wrapped themselves around my sleep soft body, hiding their face in my neck.

Hot steel and fresh water filled my nose, confusing me.  Freeing an arm I cautiously rubbed at Sungmin’s back.  He trembled slightly and something warm and wet hit my neck.

“Seungmin?”  I asked, worried.  Maybe I should get Chan.  Did Seungmin sleepwalk?  Can you cry when you sleepwalk?

He gasped out a soft sob.  “Please.  Please don’t go.  Don’t leave us.”  He begged.

I didn’t respond.  I didn’t need to.  We both knew I had to leave.  Instead, I held him tightly and soothed a hand up and down his back as he cried silently.

The next morning, as I packed and said goodbye, there wasn’t a single dry eye.  Even Lee Know had to leave the room several times only to come back looking suspiciously puffy around the eyes.

And I sobbed the entire time, heart breaking for so many reasons.

But this was the best decision for me.  For my future.  My life.  This pain would fade eventually.  To a dull ache I would grow accustomed to and live with.

And so, with one final tear-filled wave to JYP and Chan, I boarded my plane and flew home.  Back to my normal life I worked so hard for.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Unwilling Alpha Taglist: @xxeiraxx @hanniemylovelyquokka @breadedloafs @songleepark @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @hyunjinhoexxx @kayleefriedchicken @vietjeb @hityoulikebahng @juju-227592 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @royal-shinigami @bangchansfavoritenoona @straykidslvr @bookswillfindyouaway @h0rnyp0t @Svmmerstime @jennibahng

[copperbadge]

[ID: A metal tray covered in thinly-sliced beef chuck; it is brown on the outside but a light pink on the inside, marbled with fat. It's fully cooked, that's just how braising do.]

I did also get to slice some beef yesterday and today! This is about a third of what needs slicing and I've sliced another third since. It's hard on the arms so I'll handle the rest tomorrow.

People are usually interested in what deli slicer I bought and how it works. The model I bought has since been retired -- I think the company actually went out of business -- but I bought it for its small footprint in any case, rather than its power or durability. I needed a small one I could put on the counter, and I also went cheap because I wasn't even sure I'd use it. I do use it, but only once every two or three months, so I don't think I'll upgrade it unless it actively breaks. The only complaint I have is that the slide feed isn't fitted very well, so pushing it into the blade works fine but pulling it back it sometimes sticks. Not dangerous, just inconvenient. I might try to lubricate it a little and see if that helps.

In any case, you do have options; you can get a countertop slicer like that one for between sixty and two hundred bucks depending on what you're looking for. Because it is large and difficult to clean and has a very sharp slicing wheel, I also bought a large plastic bin to store it in -- which now also holds my Cuisinart, so it's just the Bin Of Danger.

[butterbeair]

sparring lessons | Balor x Farmer (gender neutral)

Summary: The Dragonguard has enlisted in your help into teaching them how to fend off the Demon Lord's army, only to be ambushed by his highest general, the Dark Knight!

OR

The kids rope you into their antics along with Balor :)

You let out a yawn as these morning hours still haven't become your norm yet as you tend your fields. Summer has finally taken its leave which now welcomes the comfortable autumn breeze. You stretch your arms above your head as you take the last of your produce and put them in your shipping bin for Balor to pick up, but you notice he hasn’t grabbed yesterday's shipment yet. You found it odd, he’s usually punctual and on time when it comes to doing business. Something must have kept him busy in the early morning you thought to yourself. Deciding to stay put on the farm to do some more maintenance and clean up, you also wanted to catch him and talk to him a little bit to see if he was okay.

When you first came to Mistria, the second you saw him across that broken bridge you were charmed by him. The way he spoke and the air of mystery that lingers around him has caught your attention. Not to mention he was very attractive, it was hard for you not to stare into his eyes longer than necessary. He was also very kind to you, telling you that he was also new to Mistria, it felt like you two were in this together starting new. It felt less isolating then you thought it would be, so you appreciated his company very much. 

The whole town was very welcoming to you both, and even though the town knew about your history about being a knight and an adventurer, Balor still lives in a clouded ambiance of uncertainty. You knew never to push him into talking, but you did catch wind that the capital wasn’t fair to him, he had mysterious supply sources and he knew knife tricks that he wanted to teach Maple. The last thought always made you laugh, thinking about Reina reprimanding Balor for even the thought of it.  

As you finish up chores, you see the town’s Dragonguard crossing the small bridge that leads to your farm and waving enthusiastically at you. You send them a big smile and wave back at them, putting away your farming gloves in your back pocket and as you make your way to the entrance.

“I see the town’s children have come to play here today.” Caldarus commends.

You smiled at him and gave him a nod, “I wonder what they have in store for us.”

“Farmer! Farmer!” Luc beams.

“No Luc, today the farmer is going to be our Hero Knight and teach us all the cool sword techniques they know!” Dell retorts.

“Am I now?” you chuckled,” Who told you I was teaching anything? And does your mom know about this?”

Maple gracefully walks ahead of the other two as showing her regal status and stands before you.

“The Queens know we’re here and said it’d be okay! We have an important mission we must do and we need to prepare, that’s why we’re enlisting your services today!” 

“Yeah! The Demon Lord’s forces are making their way through the forest and we need to stop him before they reach town! Our bug army need’s reinforcements right away!”

You nod your head in agreement and place a finger on your cheek, emphasizing that you’re thinking hard about their plight.

“That does sound important.” you hummed, “I’ll better teach you what I can before they make their way here!” 

The kids cheered as their eyes beamed brighter from your words, you couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm and a small chuckle from the dormant dragon statue.

You invite the kids to come more into your farm as you set up little test dummies for each child in a clear field, making sure they each have a safe space to play around and not hit each other by accident. The Dragonguards take a look around your farm and they each pick up a stick worthy of being a sword besides Dell, who is always carrying her trusted (stick) sword with her at all times. As they settle around the dummy, you dig out an old sparring sword that is just made of wood. These are kids after all, they don’t need to be anywhere near your arsenal of swords you keep from your adventuring days.

“Alright, so first things first you must know your fundamentals, and being in the right stance is crucial! Showing confidence in how you stand with your sword can intimidate your enemies which can give you an edge! Let’s start by placing your feet apart like this. Now, let me see what you got!” 

The kids all copy your movement with eagerness and concentration as they seem to be taking your advice very seriously. Noting some little flaws, you help them adjust their stances and finally give your approval of a job well done.

“Amazing! Now to show you how to hold your sword. You want to keep your hands set in this position so you can have better control. Make sure your grip is strong, you don’t want someone to parry you and have your sword fly away.” 

“Can that really happen?” Dell questioned. 

“It happened to me when I was just starting out as a knight, it can leave you open and vulnerable. Don’t make the same mistakes I’ve made in the past, squires!” 

The kids cheered and adjudgested their grip on their swords with more purpose than before. You began to show them certain swings and moves, ones that were taught to you when you were just accepted into the knight academy. You also taught them the importance of keeping balance and having a good foothold or the bad guys will come and get you. After you taught them the basics they start to practice their strikes on the poor wooden dummies. You observed their swings, messy but determined and you felt a sort of pride fill your chest. 

You hear leaves crunching from someone's footsteps coming towards your home so you turn around to see Balor watching and observing the kids and their lessons. You were about to welcome him to the farm when you heard all the kids gasp and rush towards you. They each hugged either side of your leg and arm as they all pointed at Balor with astonishment. 

“It’s the Demon Lord’s highest ranking general, the Dark Knight!” Dell announces to the group. You look at Balor and though he was surprised at first, it seems he caught wind that he has been recruited into their world of pretend. He grabs his cape and flings it apart for a dramatic entrance as he starts to chuckle. Unprompted, he seems to be really taking his role seriously which left you with a big smile on your face. It makes you think about the first spring when you both arrived and how he didn’t understand roleplaying while playing his first session of Dungeons and Drama. Now that it's autumn, it hits you how fast time has passed while living in Mistria. 

“My, it seems I’ve finally found the Dragonguard’s secret hideout! If I capture the enemy's territory, we can finally take over Mistria and then all of Aldaria!” 

“Not if the Dragonguard is still around! Hero Knight, you must stop him at once as your Queen!” Maple counters. 

“No, let me go, Queen Maple! I was born to do this!” Dell insists.

“Dell, you have to protect the Queen! Let them handle this!” 

“I’m counting on you to keep them safe Dell! I won’t let the Dragonguards down.” you assure.  

They all nod their head in agreement and they stand back as you take out your wooden sword. For dramatics sake, you point the sword at Balor and puff your chest out, showing them the lessons you taught them how it's done.

“It’s not too late to turn back now Dark Knight! Retreat while you’re still able to.” 

“I think I should be saying that to you, Hero Knight. If you give up now I’ll think about sparing your life.”

Balor finally draws out his own weapon, a simple copper sword. You weren’t threatened in the slightest, you know you weren’t in any real danger but all the kids scolds the Dark Knight how that is cheating.

“Who says villains play fair?” Balor touts, adding a couple of flashy swings for more dramatic effect. 

“It’s okay Dragonguards, this will be over before you know it.”

You and Balor begin to circle one another as you try to build tension with the audience you have. Although it's not like the traditional sense of the word, you two were tangled in a tango. As you stare him down you can’t help but feel a flutter of butterflies in your stomach. His dark eyes pierce you as he watches your every move, and his silky hair flows against the comfortable breeze. As if the queue when he was ready to move, he gave you a wink and charged you with his sword drawn. His movements were slow on purpose so you can easily read to parry or move out of the way. You swords meet in the middle, taking note that his sword must be really dull if it didn’t even cut through your underrated one. You smile as you tell him with your eyes that you’ll be swinging your sword from the right. As on queue he dodges your swing and fixes his stance. You two begin to clash your weapons one after another, making sure to throw in some snazzy spins and over the top thrusts to really get the excitement in the air. Balor matches your pace, grinning as you make sure to sell the show to the kids and be wary of hurting him. He felt the feeling of endearment wash over him how domestic this feels. How playful this situation is.

You hear the children gasp in awe as the duel kept getting more hectic. They would cheer for you to take the Dark Knight down, and even call out moves to watch out for. They were the best little squires you ever had.

“Are you ready to end this, Hero?” Balor warns.

“Let’s put this to an end, Dark Knight!” You retorted with zest. 

Now you can tell by your little ‘fight’ that Balor has actual knowledge in swordplay. As you two were going at it you noticed that his footwork was quick and clean, and he was very flexible. You felt if this was a real fight, he would be swift and graceful with his swings. You wondered what a real sparring secession would be like against him, maybe you’d like to find out one day.

As you both deal your final strikes, you deal one strike that was heavier than usual, making him loosen his grip and disrupt his posture. Taking this opportunity, you maneuver your sword to swing upwards, making Balor’s sword clash harshley against yours sending his flying out of his hand and into the ground behind him. He stumbles backwards and lands on his back, groaning at the fake pain and exhaustion he felt in the battle against you. You walk up to him calmly and point your wooden sword at his chest as the ultimate checkmate. The trio uproar in victory as they run up to you both, giving you both praise at how awesome you both were. The illusion was broken but as long as they were all having a great time, that was enough for you.

As you helped Balor off the ground and dusting off any grass and leaves stuck to him, the Dragonguards sentenced the Dark Knight to community service around the town so he couldn’t run and leave town to rendezvous with the Demon Lord. Balor graciously accepts his ‘punishment’ having the kids fill the air with their glee.

Before you knew it, Nora and Josephine came to pick up the children, telling them that it’s time to take a walk towards the Eastern Ruins and to say farewell. Both you and Balor wave your goodbyes to the families, leaving you both alone finally. You face Balor and your eyes both meet causing you both to exchange smiles.

“You make a good Dark Knight Balor, I didn’t know you had some experience with a sword until now.”

“I’m just full of surprises waiting to be discovered.” He winked at you.

Finally your shyness gets the better of you, making you turn your head away from his gaze. You exhale a chuckle at his phasing,”I’m sorry if this was just sprung on you, I hope it wasn’t too much of a bother.”

“Nah, I pretty much saw everything. I didn’t want to interrupt at first, but I’m glad I did. Getting to fight against the Hero Knight was an experience no one can buy.” 

You nudge Balor slightly as his honeyed words, then you remember about this morning.

“So you’re late with picking up the shipment, was everything okay this morning?”

“Yeah, I got caught up with an early business meet up and I was running late. Say, want to help me bring your shipment back to my wagon and then we can grab something to eat at the Sleeping Dragon Inn? My treat?”

You hummed in agreement, setting towards your shipment box to help Balor. You both work efficiently as the comfortable silence sets in. After finishing up, you both walk side by side, your shoulders brushing against each other as you make your way to the inn.

“You know, Josephine and Nora have a beautiful family. It almost makes me want to drop everything and settle down here in Mistria, don’t you think?”

This time you're for sure Balor saw the shock and blush cross your face. Thinking about what a family would be like with Balor came flowing into your mind. If having a family is what anything was like today was, you would also have to agree with Balor on that.

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[lunarw0rks]

I have a request for Ghost where 141 notices a change in Ghost when he can't wait to get home to a loved one but hasn't told anyone about her yet. They even notice that he smells different at times, has hairbands on his wrist, and is distracted more than usual and maybe even happier. Then they finally put the pieces together and maybe even find evidence that he does have a loved one, Thank you :))

『♡』 masterlist ♡ rules ♡ ask box Warning(s): nothing major, mild language, gn!s/o A/N: soap in this fic reminds me of this scene lmao. also, this is more headcanon/drabbles than a short fic, since those have been easier for me to write lately.

─── simon hated it, being in love with you. there was a point where his hyper-awarness had dwindled, leaving him lovesick and distracted. regardless, he's a solid lieutenant, hard and ruthless whenever necessary, but it's the little things.

♦ his street clothes don't just smell of tobacco and his natural musk. there's something else, too. your scent. the shampoo and fragrances that you use, are unmistakable to his co-workers.

♦ it wasn't until he was sitting still long enough to smell it, that he panicked. he had been nose-blind, too occupied with a busy day to notice it until now. this whole time, those who had stood next to him throughout the day smelled it too, no doubt.

─── but Simon had to stay calm, he told himself. he could do that, couldn't he? he's always stone-faced and stoic. should be a walk in the park... right? if he played his cards right, no one would notice, no one would tease him - no one would find out about you.

♦ well, that sentiment didn't last long at all...

♦ it went exactly how he pictured it. soap running his mouth, being chatty and persistent to get a rise out of him. and it worked.

♦ "if I were a detective, I'd say ya been caught red-handed, L.T." soap sneered, to simon's dismay. he hadn't said a word; all he was doing was sitting off to the side picturing coming home to you.

♦ the lieutenant replied, forcing his usual scowl. "go bother someone else, Sergeant. I've got no time for childish games." though, since meeting you, that expression had been more difficult to fake. perhaps it was how he bounced his knee anxiously, how he had his head back while daydreaming, or how he fiddled with his scarred fingers more than usual. simon had failed at being subtle, once again.

♦ soap wasn't going to give up that easily, naturally. "the crime of love. head over heels for someone, aren't you? fell so hard you knocked some sense into your hard head, didn't ye?"

♦ "watch yourself, johnny."

─── next, it wasn't just subtle clues to the lieutenant's dating status. it was cold, hard evidence. the gravest mistake he ever made; forgetting to take off one of the hair ties you handed him the day before. or, subconsciously, he kept it to keep a piece of you with him.

♦ no matter the root of the problem, he was screwed. he had officially gone soft... a little soft, at least.

♦ "ghost, you have yesterday's reports?" price asked, preoccupied with the mounds of work on his desk. simon nodded and reached into the bin on the top shelf, his hoodie sleeve rolling down his arm when he did so.

♦ in truth, price could care less about the dating status of his soldiers. all he cared about was that they were punctual and focused - but something about ghost having someone at home, it amused him.

♦ gaz, silently observed from afar, like always. he never spoke, unless spoken to. he was more shocked than anything. simon was never the type in his mind, let alone to be distracted and leave traces of the unknown lover. but, nonetheless, gaz didn't want to lose an eye, so he decided it best to keep his mouth shut.

♦ surprise, surprise.

♦ soap said something again. "hm, i knew it, L.T. you got the hots for someone at home, got it bad, heh." the iciest glare he'd ever received from ghost, was all he got in return. simon yanked his hoodie sleeve back down as if that was going to clear the memory of his vulnerability.

─── "be careful, sergeant, or you'll be lying in the med bay."

[kayandp]

So I'm going to tell a story today because I want to share something that was important to me, even just a small thing. Something positive.

I thrift a lot because it's affordable, keeps stuff from getting thrown in a landfill rather than be used, and it's fun to root around like a racoon and find things.

Yesterday, we came across a box. It was just a reused kind of box, from another toy - but on it was written: "Do NOT throw away! DO NOT LOSE" - when I opened it up, there were three small rocks in there.

I dont think they're "valuable" rocks - I couldn't tell you what kind of rock they are even. But it was a strange moment being there, holding a beat up box with three tiny little stones in it while resellers were looking for sneakers to put on Poshmark. Book guys frantically scanning barcodes and throwing books into bins. These were really important to someone once. Maybe they still are. Maybe they were here by mistake, but at one point at least they were of great value to a person, and now I was holding them.

Anyway - if you're reading this somewhere and want them back - I have your special rocks. They're hanging out with my rocks in the meantime, so they wont be lonely.

[eastwindmlk]

A @jilymicrofics for the prompt Retire, Jan 14th

Word count: 838

It was strange, after more than half a century, to be cleaning up her office for the final time. To carefully wrap her trusty tea set in yesterday’s Prophet, sift through the boxes of paperwork in search of what to archive, what to keep and what to finally bin. 

As she sorted through an assortment of old assignments and Christmas cards from a bygone age, Minerva finds herself reminiscing. Once familiar faces and voices curled from the depths of her mind, a fond smile on her face. 

The corners of her lips trembled like her aged hands when her fingers brushed along a script that gave her pause. Because even after all these years, all these hundreds of students, she could still tell whose penmanship this was. 

The large letters crammed onto the parchment, like he knew he was going to run out of space for his sweeping t’s and large loops. The words slanting upwards as if wanting to escape from the paper. 

She did not doubt that, at the time, that was precisely what he’d had on his mind, while stuck doing a detention assignment for her. It was supposed to be an essay, but in true James Potter fashion, he’d ignored the explicit instruction and instead composed a letter. 

Dearest Minerva, 

As we sit across from each other in your office, a pot of lapsang souchong between us, I am aware you are pretending to be cross with me. For the sake of posterity, I will pretend with you. Though we both know that they deserved every miserable second. 

In the future, however, I will strive for a more creative solution. Even if I think turning their belts into snakes was quite a nifty piece of transfiguration. I will let you be the judge of that. Being the expert and all that. 

Speaking of the future, I am supposed to write an essay about where I see myself next year. Which I could have answered effortlessly a fortnight ago. But things changed. Every paper is full of it now. And I refuse to sit idle just because I happened to have been born into a family that fits into their narrow view of our world. 

One year from now, I will be as restless as ever. Using the privilege that comes with my name to help those who cannot help themselves. However, unlike before, I will not humour myself with the delusion that this can be achieved by mere words. 

I will gladly put my wand with my conviction and face whatever is in store beyond the safety of these walls. Together with my friends, we will make a difference. 

My friends and I are talking about getting a place together, somewhere nice and lively. We were hoping to travel, see some of the world. Those plans are on hold, at least for now. Though none of us will say it aloud, we hope that the four of us will be around for it.

So, we spend evenings talking about this trip, imagining places to go and things to do in the hopes that the four of us will get to go.

Hopefully, I will be dating Lily Evans. (Please don’t tell her I said that.) I think she is finally coming round to me. She no longer glares in my direction, though I can still feel her eyes on me sometimes.

Maybe I am crazy, but I can tell it is her just from the way it feels. Her watching me is special somehow. Often I itch to turn to her, to catch her looking. To catch a glimpse of her smile or her fluster. Just the fraction of a moment where I can believe she might actually feel the same way. 

Or maybe not the same way. I would not wish this complete and utter agony on her. If she does come to fall for me, I hope she falls softer. I hope that I am not too blind to see and catch her before the rough landing. 

That is only if I will ever be lucky enough to be enough for her. To have grown into a person, she can depend on rather than the childish prick (I am so sorry, did not mean to curse.) I used to be. 

I am afraid I am running out of space. I could fill several more rolls of parchment (Which is not me asking for more) with hopes and wishes for the year ahead. Some more achievable (Pass my N.E.W.T. s) and some more hopeful (Snog Lily Evans. Again, please don’t tell her I wrote any of this.)

Your favourite student, 

James Potter 

Her fingers crumpled the paper where she gripped it tight, a lump rising in her throat. Her eyes scanned the content of the letter once more before pressing it briefly to her heart before placing it atop her pile of keepsakes. 

Minerva pushed herself to her feet, in dire need of a break and craving a cup of lapsang souchong. 

[strictpunishedhubby]

Auch diesem Morgen stehe ich artig vor meiner mich kritisch inspizierende Frau, nachdem ich mich von meinem Mädchenschlafanzug oder Mädchennachthemd entledigt habe. Da ich am Tag davor von ihr wegen einem Vergehen meinen Po versohlt bekam, hatte ich über meine Mädchenwäsche auch wie üblicherweise ein Windelhöschen angezogen bekommen. Als sie bemerkte, dass Flecken während ihrer Kontrolle auf meinem Mädchenschlüpfer aufkamen, lachte sie zuerst, aber dann beschimpfte sie mich lauthals als unkeuscher, pubertierender Bengel, dessen Po gestern wohl nicht hart genug versohlt wurde. Heute Abend würde sie das aber nachholen. Damit mir das den ganzen Tag bewusst ist, musste ich zusätzlich einen warmen, gestrickten Wollschlüpfer anziehen. Es diente als eine weitere beschämende zusätzliche Strafe. Auch an diesem Tag, wie an anderen heißen Tagen, ist das für mich besonders unangenehm. Ich muss ihr ohne aufzubegehren gehorchen, wenn ich nicht noch eine weitere sofortige Tracht Prügel vermeiden will. Dagegen zu protestieren wage ich schon lange nicht mehr, ich weiß, ich habe und werde ohne Wenn und Aber den von ihr vorgeschriebene Langbeinschlüpfer über meinen versohlten Po anziehen. Sie alleine bestimmt nicht nur über mich, sondern auch über meine Bekleidung inclusive Unterwäsche. Peinlich, weil es kindisch wirkt, ist es für mich, wenn sie mir eine kurze Hose zum Anziehen gibt, und der Langbeinschlüpfer an den Beinen herausschaut, ich diese laufend, immer nur mit kurzfristigem Erfolg, nach oben schiebe.

Obwohl ich ihr Ehemann bin, erzieht und behandelt sie mich wie einen kleinen unartigen Jungen, auch mit gehörigen Prügelstrafen, oft mehrmals die Woche. Ich widersetze mich nicht, halte es für selbstverständlich und gerechtfertigt, auch weil ich eine strenge Erziehung gewohnt bin. Ich gebe zu, meistens habe ich es wegen Ungehorsamkeit verdient und empfinde es als Fürsorge.

.

This morning, too, I am standing politely in front of my wife, who is inspecting me critically, after I have taken off my girl's pajamas or girl's nightgown. Since she had spanked my bottom the day before for an offense, I had, as usual, been given a pair of diaper pants to wear over my girl's underwear. When she noticed that stains appeared on my girl's panties during her inspection, she laughed at first, but then she loudly called me an unchaste, pubescent brat whose bottom probably wasn't spanked hard enough yesterday. But she would make up for it tonight. To be aware of this throughout the day, I also had to put on warm, knitted woolen panties. It served as another shameful additional punishment. On this day, as on other hot days, this is particularly unpleasant for me. I must obey her without protest if I do not want to avoid another immediate spanking. I have not dared to protest against this for a long time now; I know that I have and will, without question, put on the long-legged panties she has prescribed over my freshly spanked bottom.She alone decides not only about me, but also about my clothing, including underwear. It's embarrassing for me, because it seems childish, when she gives me a pair of shorts to put on and the long-legged panties peek out from my legs. I constantly push them up, always with only short-term success.

Even though I am her husband, she raises and treats me like a naughty little boy, even with severe beatings, often several times a week. I do not oppose this, I consider it natural and justified, also because I am used to a strict upbringing. I admit, most of the time I deserve it because of disobedience and perceive it as care. .

[sentientcave]

@dragonnarrative-writes tagged me in a WIP Wednesday post and I couldn't decide what to post so here's a few bits of a bunch of things

Here Comes The Sun - Ftm Reader Sugar Baby AU

John sighs. "Sunshine. You can let me handle it."

"Stop bein' stubborn."

"I haven't decided yet."

"I'm not being stubborn, I just think--"

"That it's better not to rely on anyone else?" he asks. "I'd call that stubborn."

"It's not that simple, John. I'm doing alright. I don't want to rely on someone else."

"Why not? Afraid you'll get used to it?"

Is that what you're afraid of? Putting the reigns in someone else's hands is dangerous, but you've never been afraid to strike out on your own. You'll start from scratch if you have to, it's not like you'd have to work very hard to get back to treading water. Would it be so bad to take some time off?

He puts his hand on your knee and squeezes. “It’s okay, sunshine. I want this. Let me do this.”

Love Bug - Johnny Childhood Friends to Lovers

"So," your boss said, leaning in the doorway of your office. "I bumped into your man last night."

Cold sweat breaks out on the back of your neck. "You met Johnny?"

This was bad. Your carefully maintained house of cards, about to fall. Your stomach fell away into a bottomless pit, dread holding you perfectly still, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Johnny was not your boyfriend. You'd been using him as a front for over a year now, a clever idea his mum had given you when you complained about your boss's behaviour. You had a picture of him on your desk, you used his deployments as excuse to not bring him to work socials.

"We set up a double date for this friday. Did he not tell you?"

"We haven't talked yet today. He was out with his mates last night, and we're seeing each other later." The lie slides from your tongue. You've gotten too good at it.

"Why didn't you mention he'd been shot?" Your boss pressed. "I would have given you time off, you know."

You reach out to straighten the picture of Johnny on your desk, hiding your surprise under a sad, wistful look at the smiling, blue-eyed soldier in the frame. "I didn't want to talk about it. When I'm here, I can focus on my work. Pretend everything's fine." You smile at him tightly. "But he's doing better now, thank god."

Alpha to Omega - Omegaverse forced phenotype transition ft. Ghoap

She spent a long moment holding one of the little vials of hormones. She could destroy it all, but it would only delay them by a day or two at most, a couple missed injections would hardly slow things down.

When the insidious thought crept in that maybe she liked the changes, she opened every vial and drained them into the sink, hands trembling. She had a full-on, sobbing meltdown after that, crawling into bed wearing Johnny’s t-shirt from yesterday and Simon’s sweater. She didn’t like that their scents were so comforting now.

She must have drifted off like that, because the next thing she knew, Simon and Johnny were there, stripping off their uniforms and gently pulling her out of bed to join them in the shower. No mention was made of the vials, even though they had obviously noticed, since the bin was no longer out on the counter where she had left it, and the empty vials she’d left lined up by the sink were gone.

They just lavished attention on her instead of saying anything at all. There were cameras somewhere, they must've seen her have her little meltdown, decided on their tactics before coming home. They were trying to make her feel better.

And worse, it was working. Being coddled and fucked sideways, sinking her teeth into arms and shoulders and chests until they whined and showed their throats. Unearned victories, but at least she left her marks all over their topography, and her aching breasts and sore, puffy pussy were acceptable casualties.