#Honeysuckle: Red

[punks-never-die205]

Honeysuckle: Red

afab!reader x Vampire!Eustass Kid

cw: Vampire AU with blood, violence, gore, some very marginally dubious consent, 18+ only

Summary: Vampires are real, and the World Government has ways of maintaining the balance of power and peace between humans and Vampires. Most of it is simple extortion, but one person's desire for freedom threatens to upend the delicate balance and change the world completely.

Tag List: @keiva1000, @mfreedomstuff, @likeeliterallywtf, @usopp-enjoyer

Chapter 7: Contractual Pleasure

Kid carries you upstairs and into his room without saying anything. Setting you down inside the doors he starts to pull off his dripping clothes. They’re heavy with blood at hit the floor with uncomfortably thick wet sounds.

“Y-you’re stripping?” You stammer, turning your back to Kid.

`“I’m not going to shower with my clothes on.” He snorts. “You should strip too. You’re covered in blood.”

“I, wuh, no, I’m - I’m, that’s,” you start to argue, but the more you stammer, the more you realize that you’re really bloody, and the idea of having to go however long before you could clean up is unsettling. “I c-could go to muh-my room.”

“Could.” Kid agrees. “You could also shower with me,” his voice dips low, his tone soft. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

“But… naked.” You meant to say something different, however when you turned around Kid was already stripped bare.

“Most people are when they shower.” He grunts. “If you’re really uncomfortable you can go to your room, but becoming a vampire’s thrall requires a level of… connection, naive little mouse.” He punctuates the words again, as he walks to the bathroom. “Better to get used to it, if you ask me.”

Nerves kept you from asking what manner of connection was required, but you decided to at least try. Pulling your own clothes off you set them down on the pile Kid had made. You cross your arms over your chest, stepping into the bathroom once you hear the water start.

“Should… Should I wait outside?” You question, approaching the shower. It’s open, but the entire bathroom looks to be lined in tile, and while there’s no curtain or glass around it’s perimeter, there is a small lip to contain the majority of the water.

Kid tosses a wet washcloth at you that’s big enough to be a hand towel. It’s warm and soapy and has just enough force behind the toss to almost shove you a step back.

“Don’t over think things, just get cleaned up.” He says, turning toward you while he’s lathering up.

Irritation crosses your face at the toss, but you can’t help the rush of blood to your face at the sight of him. Kid wasn’t one to wear an excess of clothing in the first place, but the open shirt and the baggy pants had been hiding more than you could have imagined. The two long scars on the left side of his body weren’t the only ones he had.

From the looks of things he almost lost his arm.

The scars spoke of a violent life, but as your eyes followed them you realized that your gaze was drifting too far south. Pulling your eyes back up you were nearly looking at the ceiling as you stepped into the shower.

“Oi!” Kid snaps. “Eyes where you need them! I don’t want to grab you just cause yer not watching where yer going.”

“S-sorry, I didn’t want to, uh… I mean, I -.” You shove your face into the wash cloth and decide to focus on the task at hand.

“If you weren’t allowed to look, little mouse, I’da blindfolded you and washed us both.” He says it evenly, even if you could hear the smirk in his tone, but it doesn’t matter. The words themselves have you so flustered you’re almost dizzy.

You were overcome with the powerful visual of him peering down at you like some doll-maker with a cotton ball, carefully cleaning the details of a fragile little doll. The exaggeration of the differences in your sizes seemed appropriate given how much stronger vampires were in the first place.

The visual was enough to keep you distracted so much that you don’t realize Kid is done showering until he speaks up.

“Don’t take too much longer, we have your contract to discuss.” He reminds you, drying off haphazardly and then wrapping the towel around his waist before he leaves you alone in the shower.

You finish cleaning up, almost rushing through it, but forcing yourself to slow enough to make sure you get all the blood off. Turning off the water you dry yourself as well. The towels in the room are massive. It had gone easily around Kid’s waist, and down to his knees. So it was small wonder you could almost wear it like a robe. If there’d been sleeves, or even just slits for your arms it would’ve worked perfectly.

As it was the towel nearly wrapped around you twice, tucked under your arms and slightly past your knees.

Coming out of the bath, Kid’s already dressed. It’s nothing like what he usually wears, simple black clothes. There’s a set of clothes that look to be right for your size on the bed, but you can’t bring yourself to move toward them.

The moonlight is coming into the room, the silver light making his skin look like porcelain again, setting the lines of his hair almost on fire compared to the deep crimson of the shadowed locks of hair. There’s an elegance to how he stands. It’s easy to see how humans of yesteryear would’ve worshiped vampires.

“Becoming a vampire’s thrall,” Kid begins, his eyes still on the moon outside the window. “Is a matter of give and take. The vampire takes the thrall’s blood, and the thrall receives the vampire’s protection.”

He turns toward you, the moonlight reflecting off golden eyes that aren’t turned toward it anymore.

Ethereal.

“Usually a vampire feeds on a thrall to seal a contract.” He steps toward you and you find you’re calm. Calm, mostly at least, save for a thrill that runs up your back at the idea of feeling that sweet euphoria again. “But you need to recover, and I’m still full.”

Kid’s gaze holds you still and he kneels down enough to be just a little below your eye level.

“Full… and,” his gaze shifts, looking down and then back up. He doesn’t let his gaze linger, but the intent isn’t lost on you. “Certainly able.”

The rush of blood heats your skin, but you’re not scared, or nervous. Maybe it’s something Kid’s doing, but you feel like he wouldn’t force you to do anything.

“Relaxed.” You murmur, and he nods.

“We ain’t got time for you to be a nervous mess, little gift, so hang in there.”

Your brow furrows, even with the calming sense. “Do we have to?”

Kid tilts his head in confusion, and then laughs. “Bwah-hahaha! Do you think we have to fuck or something to seal the deal?” He questions and you nod.

He puts a hand over his mouth, as though he didn’t just laugh right in your face, and shakes his head. Once he’s composed himself a little more he gives you a grin.

“Nah, it doesn’t have to be anything like that.” He snorts. “The more intimate, the better, but it can be just a hand shake.”

“Why is more intimate better?” You question.

His gold-glowing eyes keep soothing you. “Feeding is a pretty intimate act, innit?” You nod as he asks the question, leaning toward him a little before a hand’s on your shoulder. “Better ta’ know you can stomach being that close. That’s why.”

Your lips part and the small sigh of breath passing over them feels dry. Licking them, you swallow, and realize your eyes were focused on Kid’s lips.

“Kiss.” You say softly. “A k-kiss, then. It’s more than a handshake.”

He grins. “That it is, little mouse.”

The hand on your shoulder moves up to cup the side of your face, and you nuzzle into it automatically. You can feel the smile on his lips, even with your eyes closed in comfort. The warmth almost seems wrong, but he’s never felt cold to you.

Right now you can’t even remember if that was something they told you was true about vampires. Regardless it seems impossible in this moment for them to be cold.

“Open your eyes.” Kid hums, and you open them enough to see the soft smile on his lips. “Good girl.”

He leans in slow, his hand keeping you steady. Heated breath slips over your lips before the distance between you closes.

Soft.

It’s so soft.

He’s rough, and loud, and full of fire and gravel, and his lips are just so soft, warm, and hungry. The gentle pressure presses in more forcefully, sending a rush through your chest. It’s not on par with when he fed from you, but it soaks through your skin and makes your heart rush. The pleasure coils around your lungs and pushes soft moans up to your tongue.

When your lips part the deep hum in Kid’s mouth slips between your teeth, followed by his tongue. The soft moan in your lungs hitches in your breath, and you whine into the kiss. You don’t know when you reached out for him, but you clutch fabric between your fingers as your nails scratch through it. Kid’s hand against your back is the only reason you’re still on your feet, and when he leans back he doesn’t go far.

Heated breaths rush from your mouth in shivering, panting gasps. Tears prick the sides of your eyes, and your cheeks feel so warm they ache. Kid’s eyes are hooded, pupils wide, the golden amber little more than rings against an absolute darkness.

“M-m-m… more,” you murmur. There’s a desire to toss the towel aside and beg for him to take what he pleases, but if you let go of your hold on his shirt you think you might just sink to the floor in a puddle.

“It’s not quite the same rush, is it?” He murmurs, tilting his head to the other side and pressing a hot kiss briefly against your lips, the measured kisses pressing against your cheek until he licks and nips at your ear. “Let me give you more, little mouse.”

“Please,” you gasp, nodding your head.

“Naive little mouse.” He speaks the words into your skin, fangs slipping over your tender flesh until you almost scream for him to bite you. “I’ll be kind.”

The promise leads to a hand between your legs, palm against your thighs. “You can tell me to stop,” his voice is soft, but clear and firm, the words sink into your brain, cutting through the heat and euphoria without disrupting it. “At any point.”

You pull in a deep, desperate gulp of air as his hand moves up your thigh, nodding as his golden eyes catch and hold your gaze again.

“Just pleasure,” he promises again, the side of one thick finger pressing against your labia, pushing between the soaking lips and nestling into the folds of your pussy.

You breathe in deep again, the whine on the edges of your lips turning into a moan when the side of his knuckle nestles against your clit. You don’t know what words slips past your teeth, why Kid grins at it, all you know is that your hips buck on their own, grinding into the soft bump of that knuckle.

“I could’ve fucked you half dead,” he muses, the tip of his tongue licking along your lips as you nearly sob from the feeling. “And you might have thanked me.”

“Keep your eyes on me.” He commands, holding you in place even as your legs give out. Toes and legs curled, Kid alone holds you just off the floor, finger forcing pleasure into your clit. It’s hard to obey his command, but he’s leaning over you, making it easier for you.

“Please, please, I - I don’t - I what - please!” Your shattered moans and whines turn into the best words you can muster, watching Kid’s tongue slip over his lip.

“You beg pretty good all on your own, mouse.” His voice is heavy, husky, needy. “I can’t wait to help you practice.”

His eyes never leave your face as he grinds his finger into your clit like he can feel it in the same the way you can. The building pleasure is almost too much, you almost want to ask him to stop, but it’s not nearly the same as when he fed from you. It’s close.

So close.

“Close!” You gasp and he grins.

Kid watches you a couple more seconds and the golden light fills his eyes so strongly it’s like the endless dark of his pupils have been haloed by the gods themselves.

“Cum.” The word has layers, you think. Sounds more than just his, but you don’t know and you can’t hold onto it.

Pleasure slams into you with such force you can’t breathe. You limbs go taut and you swear your bones seem ready to bend from the rush that’s hit you. The intense rush lasts just a couple seconds before it gives way enough that you can breathe. Like a drowning sailor coming up from the swell of a squall you pull in every scrap of oxygen you can.

Your body shivers, and the pleasure continues. The intensity may have come down a little, but the euphoric rush is too foreign. Too new. It’s harsh and jagged, lighting your muscles like electricity, causing your limbs, fingers, and toes to twitch randomly. It feels so good you feel like it’s pulling you down into delirium.

When you start shaking your head, Kid pulls his hand away from your thighs.

“See? More intimate is better.” He says softly. Shivering, you nod. If nothing else you can’t imagine being nervous about a simple kiss after this.

Kid licks up along his soaked finger, and leans down and kisses you again. The taste of your pleasure and his warmth slips against your tongue easily. The taste, the act, is grounding after the intense orgasm, and when he leans back you feel deeply satisfied and far less shaky than you had been earlier.

“Isn’t just your blood that’s honey-sweet.” He muses, kissing the tip of your nose briefly. “Sleep, little mouse. It’s my job to keep you safe now.”

[quinloki]

Muse in Overdrive

May the gods grant me efficiency today.

I want to write a one-shot set in the Host Club AU After Hours Sabo x Reader story where the reader wants Sabo to claw the memory of an ex lover out of her bones, and she knows he's just mad enough under the surface to do what she needs (to the tune of this song:

BUT ALSO AND I want to draw the scene from the latest chapter of Honeysuckle: Red where Kid's bloody finger is tracing a line up the reader's throat, tilting her head up - and then you see this exaggerated point of view where a moonlight-rimmed, golden eyed feral vampire shrouded mostly in darkness and dripping blood is asking "-Or my thrall?"

Cause fuck me that was hot and I can't believe I came up with it.

I'm of work today, so may be possible to do both.

Wish me luck!

[camiliar]

what if he was small

[boschintegral-photo]

Honeysuckle

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Monday 26 August 2024

A vigorous semi-evergreen climber Lonicera × brownii 'Dropmore Scarlet' (honeysuckle) will flower over a long period from mid summer to late autumn. The terminal clusters of trumpet-shaped bright scarlet flowers looked striking against this black painted wall.

Jill Raggett

[fetusmeme]

I know I stand in line -- Until you think you have the time To spend an evening with me

Im gonna need you all to listen to this song right now and think of them right now.

[dailyicarus]

Give him a . Flower crown. Bonus points for flower language symbolism

DAY 148

oh !! how pretty !!!

[michaelnordeman]

In the garden. Värmland, Sweden (July 14, 2016).

[marejadilla]

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, “Venus Verticordia”, 1868, oil on canvas. English poet, illustrator, painter, and translator. Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and Symbolism. Russell-Cotes Art Gallery & Museum.

[inkstainedpalettes]

Inktuneber Day 25

Feed My Frankenstein - Alice Cooper

Happy Frankenstein Friday!

[butterflyangel2002]

Flower pics from my walk today 🌸🌼🤍

[punks-never-die205]

Honeysuckle: Red

afab!reader x Vampire!Eustass Kid

cw: Vampire AU with blood, violence, gore, some very marginally dubious consent, 18+ only

Summary: Vampires are real, and the World Government has ways of maintaining the balance of power and peace between humans and Vampires. Most of it is simple extortion, but one person's desire for freedom threatens to upend the delicate balance and change the world completely.

Tag List: @keiva1000

Chapter 1: Seeing Red

The bright light of the moon is enough to run by, but if you can see, then they can see you. Your feet are steady beneath you, and your breathing is under control. You’d rather find a place to hide and let them wear themselves out, but it’s too bright. You need to keep moving as quickly and as silently as you can.

You weren’t practiced at running through the woods like this, but you had done your best. Immature prisoners like you were ignored most of the day, so you had set up your room as an obstacle course. For ages you had run around in as big a circle as you could, leaping over furniture and exercising for hours a day by the time you felt you were ready.

No one had ever escaped.

No one had ever tried, as far as you knew.

For prisoners, you were treated well. Large living areas, private baths, a steady supply of media and clothing, and you even got to socialize with the others. You were fed well, educated, and cared for. Everything that was needed for a good life was provided.

Everything except freedom.

The one thing you longed for that no book could sate, that no food could dampen, that no drink or promise could dissuade.

You let the moonlight sink into your soul as you ran. You felt your body exalt in the pleasure of running, you reveled in the burn of your lungs, and sting of exertion in your muscles. To move your body and move through the world was a pleasure you hadn’t known until tonight.

Twenty years of life. Two thousand, nine hundred and twenty days of preparations, of secrecy, of duplicity, of tenacity. Eight long years dedicated to a single goal. If you were caught you would never be left unsupervised ever again. It was possible they would disable you so you couldn’t even walk.

Capture was not an option. You would run like this again tomorrow, and the day after, and any day after that when you wanted to. That was the goal.

Freedom meant you would do what you wanted, and if that brought you to the end of your days, then so be it. No one in your position ever died free. They never died young. Protection paid for in blood – a cost and a benefit exchanged without question.

Without consent.

Without freedom.

Moonlight shimmered across the forest floor and the unnatural reflection catches your attention. Smoothed stones, a proper path. The very beginnings of one, but just beyond the thin under brush you could see it.

Veering toward it, you step lightly on the stones. You had mashed mud and clay onto the soles of your shoes long before now. Anything to make you quieter as you ran. You had used the technique to muffle your running in your own room as well, so you hadn’t even needed to adjust when you had ran away earlier.

The thick muck and mud on your shoes wasn’t enough to muffle your steps completely at the stones became more and more well-defined. You slow your steps, choosing silence over speed as the path became more of a path. The tress and underbrush you would’ve used to cover yourself were far too sparse anyway.

The trees pulled back away from the stones and the moonlight washed over you completely. You took in a deep breath. Somehow the pale moonlight felt warm and comforting.

Continuing down the pathway, you realize that the area around you is less wild and more cultivated. Care was being taken with the plants around you, and there was a pattern and conscious decision within the otherwise wild appearance.

The conscious decision left you with the distinct impression that visitors were not welcome.

With no signs or other warnings however, you had little reason to turn away. Hopefully, those who still pursued you, if there were any left, would assume you to be turned away by such a reception. You hadn’t heard anything behind you for some time, and you imagined that those who were after you hadn’t expected you to be physical able of getting very far.

The pathway became so smooth and well maintained it was almost like walking through the marble halls of the facility. It was a darker material, but it glinted and glimmered in the bright moonlight like pieces of black glass. The hard surface had knocked most of the mud and muck from your shoes and there were soft clicks as you approached the gate.

Agony and torture seemed to be the words for the gate, large twisted beams of metal that were functionally capable of being decorated with bodies. At least, you assume so, given the terrible hooked ends, and the blackened metal that seemed to suck the moonlight into it, instead of reflecting it.

Despite the gruesome appearance, it took barely a finger to swing the well-balanced gate open, and you step through.

The manor before you was as intimidating as everything else you had come across, but there was something oddly welcoming in that intimidation. The facility that you grew up in had been designed as a lure, and its allure was driven into every fine detail. Beautiful threads woven about the captives within, fine lines of shimmering webbing, more trap than trappings.

By comparison, this place was refreshing in its honesty.

Neither manor nor land wanted you to be near it, and it was likely one of the most dangerous places you could’ve stumbled upon. There were no servants moving about, but the land was well-tended, and the manor was nearly immaculate in the moonlight. As you approached the doors you realized that a place like this would need a small army to keep it maintained.

It was not the home of a Celestial Dragon, and no Noble would build a house so aggressively against visitors. You knew the name of the beast whose home you were stepping into, and you found yourself relieved.

You knock on the door, stretching to your tip toes to reach the heavy cast iron knocker that rattled the door when it slipped from your fingers. Seconds slip into minutes, and you feel yourself uncomfortable with how exposed you suddenly feel. Trying the door knob you find it’s not locked, and push the door in, peeking your head inside.

“Hello?” You hear your voice bounce off the walls you can’t see, and step inside tentatively. “I’m – I’m sorry to intrude, but, well, I don’t have much of a choice.”

Stepping inside you close the door behind you, staying near the entrance as you let your eyes adjust to the interior. There were no lights inside, at least none that reached where you were. The darkness was unsettling in its own way, but you felt safer inside than you did outside. You took the time to clean the bottom’s of your shoes off, no matter what happened, it seemed unwise to track mud through someone else’s home.

The time you needed to clean your shoes allowed the trickle of moonlight from outside reflected into the manor’s interior and reach your eyes. It was soft and subtle and it took many long minutes before you manage to adjust to the diffused light.  The outlines of furniture, walls, doors and stairs began to fill your vision, though if you looked around too quickly it all blurred together easily.

Taking a few tentative steps away from the doors and deeper into the hall, you looked around. Nothing moved, and aside from you, nothing breathed. Your own heart was a orchestra in your chest, and you had to slow your breathing to force it to calm down. You wanted to be able to hear, especially since your vision was so limited, and your nervous heart wasn’t helping.

“Hello? Um, again?” Your voice is barely a whisper in the silent hall, your shoes clicking thunderously loud no matter how softly you stepped. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”

Your stomach knots, but you press a little further in, turning toward a room that looks like it’s designed to accept guests. You can make out a couple couches facing one another, a coffee table between them, the shifting shape of a fireplace beyond that.

“I could really use a place to hide. J-just for a night… or day… perhaps?” You know you’re practically rambling now, but the sound of your own voice softens the sheer emptiness of the dark manor, and it’s the closest thing to comforting you have available right now.

Your fingers slip along the edges of a smallish box, and you recognize the rough sensation on one side of the box. Picking it up and sliding it, you find several long match sticks. Just enough length to light the fireplace.

“I apologize for using one of your matches without permission.” You say softly, running the match against the strike pad and flinching at the hiss and burst of light.

The small flame was enough to illuminate the room you were in, bringing relief to your straining eyes as the sucked in all the light they could, and all the details available.

There was nothing lacking in this room. The fireplace was intricately carved, detailed scenes etched and pulled from wood and metal, the shiver of the flame seemed to bring them to life. All sorts of mythical creatures dancing along the flowing and smooth vines that were woven between them. Faeries, beasts, dragons, and unicorns spun together.

You run your fingers over the work lightly, and there’s some part of you that’s sure there’s a story begin told, but you’re not familiar with it enough to even try to guess. Hopefully you would have the opportunity to ask later.

Walking around the room is enough to make you relax. The appearance of what you can see looks normal, if not a little expensive. It’s elegant, and well thought out, not too different from the effort put into the landscaping you saw on your way here. While that had the intent of turning unwanted people away, this felt far more inviting.

A reward, maybe, for making it this far.

“Congratulations, you made it past the scary garden, have some tea.” You mutter to yourself.

“Heh.”

You freeze at the sound. Your entire body is on edge, every sense you have reaching out into the dimly lit room. The match is coming down to its final moments, and something about that realization makes you wonder if you are as well.

The hairs on the back of you neck prickle, and you can feel a strange sensation roll through you. A physical response to the realization that someone was behind you.

There’s a short gust of air and the match is blown out.

Something pulls it gently from your fingers as you press your lips together. Closing your eyes for a moment you let out a shivering gasp, barely a wisp of air in it, and turn to look behind yourself. Plunged into darkness again, your eyes could barely make out any details of the room, and frantic memory was all you had.

Facing the presence behind you, you looked up.

Two red eyes, blood-red and bright, gaze back at you. The light from their depths was neither inviting nor comforting. The moon itself seems to light the toothy grin that splits across the creature’s face as it regards you.

The was the master of this house. Perhaps the true master of the entire island, allowing the marines and the facility you fled to exist by some strange sense of boredom and little else.

Your education within the facility was lacking in many ways, but you knew enough to know what loomed over you right now.

Vampire.

“…Shit.”

[quinloki]

Good morning Quin! (for the given value of time zones alsdjkfa) I hope that you're feeling a bit better today, given everything that's been going on!!

For the WIP game, could I possibly ask about Elevated, or Honeysuckle: Red? (Whichever one you wanna talk about more :O)

Either way, and as always, thank you for wanting to share!!

\o/ I am slowly feeling better and better. Time marches on, as they say, and the long weekend is helping a lot too. Feels like I'm getting room to breathe.

Alright, so since both are Eustass Kid x Reader stories I'll cover both real quick.

Elevated is the continuation of Elevator Music - it's only got like 2-3 chapters at this point, and it's stalled out because I've been focusing on other things, so I haven't shared it outside of Wattpad, which I tend to use as a wip dump more than anything else anymore.

It's a modern-day devil fruits exist story where the reader is Kaido's daughter - and she's in a bind because her sibling Yamato has been MIA for years.

Honeysuckle: Red is part of the Honeysuckle AU which is basically my little vampire AU. Red is Eustass Kid's version, but there's also a Gold (Law), Blue (Marco), Bronze (Ace), Black (Crocodile), and Silver (Sabo) with notes hovering in the wings.

I love vampire stories, so I wanted room enough to play. I don't know if they're going to overlap at all at this point, but they might. Right now the plan is for them to be stand alone, and just existing within the same parameters of the AU's rules.

I've already got one set of books that's poised to collide with one another, I don't need two series doing that XD

[08melancholie]

Honeysuckle and Whiskey. — Micah Bell/OC

tags: Mid-Canon, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Chapter 1: Colter (Red Dead Redemption 2), Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Chapter 4: Saint Denis (Red Dead Redemption 2), Chapter 5: Guarma (Red Dead Redemption 2), Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), How Do I Tag, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, just a dash of smut, mainly fluff and angst, Abuse, Past Abuse, Abusive Relationships, past abusive relationships, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Grooming, Pedophilia, Implied/Referenced Pedophilia, Colm O'Driscoll Being an Asshole, Torture, Burning, Stockholm Syndrome, descriptive torture, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, or a secret fourth thing, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Romantic Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Attempted Sexual Assault

summary: Closed-off and rough; mean and unforgiving, uncaring and simply horrible. The apathetic cowboy draws himself no attention, usually. He's always sat around camp, slumped over a table or bent down, elbows on his knees as he cleans his guns or sharpens his knife, carving the one same piece of wood for days. He didn't talk much; he felt himself way too high above the others to even converse—exception being Dutch.

That's who Micah Bell was, simply. She couldn't change it.

Micah Bell is a threat to anyone that crosses his path, and Melody knows it. So why has she gotten herself so involved with the outlaw? She tried to keep to herself countless of times; he hated her, she wasn't a pure American and that alone should have been enough to draw her away—and yet it simply never did.

Maybe it was just a rebound, wanting to feel something after feeling nothing from her horrible, previous partner—similar in many ways to the blonde cowboy—for years. Maybe it was his careless and cocky demeanor she never failed to give a chuckle to. And maybe, it was something more. She was going to figure it out, one way or another. They would; together.

a/n: ive had this cooking for months and this is the first of it im posting so im VERY nervous... :( it was going to be a long oneshot at first BUT im forcing myself to do it in chapters so that i have to continue writing it because ive neglected it for months now. also tags are going to change a lot probably

words: 2,658 | AO3 LINK I. — MASTERLIST

The wind picked up quicker than before as Melody rode along Colm through the storm. She could feel her body shivering no matter how many layers of coats and undershirts she put on before riding out. She gently brushed her horse's nose, trying to comfort her through the storm. "You reckon we're gonna find it soon? Joey said it's nearby.." She spoke up, looking to the man to her left.

"Surely. Hold on a bit longer." He replied coldly, riding his horse through the piles of snow effortlessly. She picked up her pace too, riding alongside his steed. "We gotta push a bit more." He added, his gloved hand rested on his lap.

She continued riding until the blizzard started clearing off, and they had a better view of the landscape before themselves. That's when he and Melody both noticed it; an abandoned outpost, exactly what Joey found before parting with the gang to seek it out. "Is that it?" She asked, hand hovering over her forehead to get a better view and block out the snow falling from above. "It sure looks like it."

He halted his horse next to her. "Must be it, c'mon." He ordered, and she followed him down the mountain.

They hitched their horses outside, and she followed close behind Colm. With her hand on her holstered revolver, Melody snuck around behind Colm, checking rooms with caution. "Clear!" He yelled to the rest of the gang, who moved their carriages in and hitched their horses next to their own. "Good job spottin' this gem. I'm sure Joey will be here soon." He says to Melody, taking a cigarette out of his box and offering her one. She nods, taking the offered cigarette and popping it into her mouth.

He manages to light a match on the denim of his jeans, holding it up to the tip of his cigarette "I sure hope so. We ain't seen him a few days." Melody comments, letting him light her cigarette soon after his own. "We already been losin' too much folk." She adds.

"Don't you worry. I've got it under control; those were necessary sacrifices, child." He says, his words not as reassuring as she'd hoped. Still, she nods with a small smile at him and watches him return it.

She moved her few things into the cabin closest to Colm's—by his command. Melody huffed as she finished setting everything, walking out to check everyone else's progress. She observed them with another cigarette hanging from her mouth. "You done unpackin', kid?" Colm came up behind her, hands rested on his hips as he watched everyone work alongside Melody. "How quick you are." He adds.

Melody just chuckled, blowing smoke into the cold air above. "Yes, I'm done. Do you need any help? Anything I could do for you?" She asks him, awkwardly fiddling with the cigarette between her fingers.

"Maybe." He replies, placing his hand on her shoulder as he continues watching. "Got a train 'round here that needs robbin'. Buncha snobby, rich nobodies." He explains. "We need dynamite. I got a plan on how to rob 'em."

"I'm sure I can find myself a general store nearby, I'll buy some." Melody replies, puffing a cloud of tobacco into the air.

He firmed his grip on her shoulder, his grip tight. "Attagirl." He whispered into her ear, and she just exhaled with a weak smile. "That's why you're my favourite." His breath brushed against her ear, and it made a chill travel along Melody's spine.

First night in her own cabin was weird, everything about it—from the cold temperature swearing to kill her of frostbite, to insomnia from fear they were occupying someone's outpost and would be shot in their sleep—just felt off, and Melody found herself tossing in her restless state on the mildly uncomfortable bedroll.

So much has happened in the last few weeks; from having to move camp a dozen times, losing a few weaker members in the process—to Colm's weird obsession with a rival gang rising again after he swore they were done with it.

Melody got up and stretched her legs out, anxiously lighting her fourth cigarette today for any sense of warmth it'll offer. "Fuck this damned storm." She looked out of the window as the specks of snow danced around the air, covering more ground and raising the snow level, little by little.

She finished the cigarette in a few minuscule minutes, and climbed back under the thin covers, trying to get some shuteye before tomorrow.

"You sure you ain't wanna come, Melody? It'll do you good to go out'a bit." Colm straddled his horse, looking down at her before him as Melody stroked his horse's nose.

"I'm far too tired, Colm. Plus, I need to get started on some chores and.. fixing this place up a bit." She replied, looking around at the buried outpost grounds, covered with thick layers of snow.

He chuckled, a sense of lust in his eyes as he looked down. "That's my girl; always so hard workin' for old Colm." He praised. "Someone's gonna have to reward you nicely for your contributions." He chuckled slyly, making Melody scrunch up her nose briefly. "Well then, I'll leave you to it." He urged his horse forward with a swift kick in the ribs, leaving the camp grounds.

Melody sighed, turning to make a mental note of all that needs to be done around camp before starting her round of chores, running on one cup of warm coffee and two hours of rest. Just great.

Colm returned in a few hours, a crate of province and some dynamite on his horse's back. She walked over to him, grabbing the province to put it away. "Hey. You got the dynamite?" She questioned him.

He hitched his horse, taking the dynamite and walking close by Melody, towards his cabin. "Yeah.. Figured I'd get it off your hands since I knew you'd be workin' hard by the time I was back," He responded, chuckling. "and I see that I was right, my good girl's being very productive, ain't ya?" He opened his cabin door with his elbow, placing the dynamite in the corner.

Melody chuckled nervously; his words leaving a distaste in her mouth, per usual. "Well, thank you Colm." She replied simply.

"Anything for you, child." He walked up to her, placing a firm grasp on her shoulders again. "I saw someone all too familiar while ridin' to the store." He announces, releasing his hands and placing them behind his back.

"Do tell." She answered, sitting down on his desk, swaying her feet off the edge slowly as she hunched over and placed her forearms on her knees. He turned, a mischievous grin on his lips.

He paces around the room. "Little ole Hosea Matthews, saw him on my way there." He answers, and Melody is taken aback by his words; which Colm just chuckles at. "Yeah, I'm surprised he ain't seen me."

She cocks her head at him. "You reckon he ain't recognised you?" She asked. "All them years of conflict, you sure he ain't just ignored you in hopes of gettin' out in one piece?" She chuckled briefly.

He stops abruptly, laughing. "Oh, sweet child. You're quite funny." He walks over in her direction. "You could be right." He says, placing each hand on one side of her body, which stiffens at the contact; now trapped on the table. "You know, you're such a smart girl, I could lis-"

A not-so-distant gunshot goes off, scaring both people in the process. "The hell..?" Melody mutters, awkwardly slipping away from his entrapment to a window. "I reckon my theory was right.. except he also snitched." Colm walked up behind Melody, looking out of the window.

Outside stood a fraction of Dutch Van der Linde's gang; Arthur Morgan, Micah Bell, Hosea Matthews and—of course—Dutch himself.

"Ah, fuck." he cursed under his breath. "Okay, girl. You go cover me while I.. I need to move away from the area." He explains frantically.

"Yeah.. Yeah I can do that." Melody says—already used to this by now—and, taking her revolver out of its holster swiftly, walks up to the door. She opens it slowly, leaving it ajar for Colm to slip out as she starts shooting back, catching the leader's glimpse.

His accuracy is almost perfect as he glazed both a strand of her hair just above her ear and immediately catches on to start shooting at the door she finds shelter behind. She takes a shot of her own, missing the first but taking his hat off just above his forehead as he ducks.

The shootout was brutal; only a few of Colm's members survived it, with some successfully hiding away from the area as they searched the outpost. Melody watched them take the train plans, along with their dynamite, and hurry off while boasting about it all, feeling victorious.

"How is it my fault, Colm? I did my best to protect you, I managed to shoot one in the arm, too!" Melody defended herself against Colm's usual outburst when things go wrong; where he blames every soul but himself, no matter if it's nobody's or everybody's fault.

He grunted angrily. "I don't care! They took the plans, and we have to move again!" He complains. Melody opens her mouth to protest, but is met with his hand high in the air before her—threatening to strike; something she's all too used to. "Don't. I don't wanna see you talkin' back to me." He ordered firmly.

And yet she still attempts to speak—like the fool she is. "Colm, I'm just trying to-"

And there it is. She's met with a hard, rough slap of the back of his hand, knocking her to the floor as Melody clenches her rosy red cheek, already teary-eyed. She opens her mouth to apologise, but decides against it as she notices that look in his eyes. He shakes his head in disapproval at her on the floor, choking up a silent sob. And so, she just gets up and walks out to pack her things.

Packing didn't take nearly as long as expected; calming herself did. She had everything in one crate, and was sitting on the bedroll in the cabin with a burning sensation on her left cheek, and a few slow tears trailing her cheekbones and falling into her lap. This was like routine, really; he'd get mad and take it out on her, leave her alone to sulk and then-

The door opens slowly, and Colm's body slowly steps inside—like clockwork. "Hey.. don't be cryin' on me, my sweet Melody. You know.." He sits down on the bedroll next to her. "You know I do it out of love. You know I sometimes lose my temper, don'tcha?" He asked, interwinding his hand into Melody's, rubbing the back of her hand.

"Yes, Colm." She replies simply, looking down at the floor.

Another teardrop meets her lap and she quickly brushes her face with her sleeves.

"Look at me." He commands, placing a uncharacteristically gentle yet firm hand on Melody's chin. "I love you. You know I do." His voice is as firm as his touch, and she just silently nods. She can't help wondering if it's even close to true sometimes. You don't treat someone you love like this, she's well aware of that much. "Good. Good... And you love me too." It's less of a question, and more of a fact to him.

Melody chokes up a response to break the silence. "I do, Colm." She holds his hand just as firmly as he stands up. "Let me get your things, child." He takes the crate off of the nearby table. She just smiles downwards, walking beside him. And that's how the routine ends, every time.

"We'll drive the wagon, girl." He calls out as Melody start straddling her horse. She looks at him with protest, opening her mouth to talk. "Ah Ah.. C'mon, you're with me. Cassidy'll take good care of your horse." He taps the seat on the coach next to him-and she can't not-oblige, leaving the reins in Cassidy's hands reluctantly. "Attagirl." He watches Melody sit down next to him.

The ride to a new spot is painfully long, and Melody is shivering throughout the whole thing-despite having multiple layers of shirts and jackets and putting gloves on her hands this time. "Where're we goin'?" She asks him, breaking the tense silence among us.

"Off the mountain; there's a spot I scouted out." He replies, hands gripping the coaches reins firmly. "It'll be better for all of us to get out of the cold." He looks at her shivering quickly, snaking his hand around Melody's shoulder and pulling her closer to him.

She obliges and scoots closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "Thank the Lord, then." She snickers, and he exhales with a smirk. "I'll be more than glad to be off that damned mountain.

"Oh, I know; you're shaking like a leaf, girl." He chuckles. "It's a nicer spot too, you'll love it," He snuggles her body closer, pressing her up to his side. "all the best for my best girl." His gloved hand rubs her shoulder, gentle—not like Colm at all.

She soon feels herself—restless from the night before along with the shootout and what followed—start to drift off on his shoulder, and he lets Melody sleep for a little while. She hated how easily she could forgive him for doing what he does, but he might really just have a temper. He's trying. He's trying. That's all she knows, and it's just how he is. Right.

The stage stops at a nice, slightly open area with a few smaller huts and barriers around it. Colm nudges Melody awake slowly, rubbing rough circles on her shoulder. "We're here, girl." He whispers into her ear as she lifts her head off his shoulder and rubs her eyes awake. The warmth of the new location can be immediately recognized, nice and actually comfortable. "C'mon. You'll be in my cabin. With me." He reveals, jumping off the coach as she follows.

"I'll be in the same cabin as you?" Melody repeats his words, puzzled, as she takes her crate with a grunt before following him. He nods his head, stopping before—obviously the biggest cabin—their spot.

"Of course, child." He simply replies, taking the crate she held off of her hands and walking inside. "Ain't it great?" Melody silently nods to answer, almost reluctantly. "Go get the rest of the things from the coach and meet me here." Melody quickly turns on her heels and walks out back to the coach.

They both finish unpacking around the same time, and Melody patiently waits for him to finish whatever on the edge of a cot. "Okay, girl." He firmly taps his thighs and stands up, beckoning her to follow him outside. She obliges quickly, walking right behind him. He calls everyone in a circle, explaining a new score he's gotten information for. Melody can feel herself distracted and spacing out, knowing she won't be invited to the job—per usual, Colm just doesn't trust her enough to let her go with him. As infuriating as it is, her hands are tied.

Maybe she'll get that luxury one day.

Kudos on AO3 always appreciated! I'm honestly so glad to have even just the first chapter of this fic out, as it's been collecting dust in my drafts until the one month deadline—literally the last possible day.

[boschintegral-photo]

Honeysuckle

[aceredshirt13]

gang i have to share this P. G. Wodehouse quote with you all because ever since I found it I can't stop thinking about it. it's from a letter he wrote when he was 78 years old to his friend Guy Bolton (many thanks to P. G. Wodehouse: A Life in Letters)

I have been on the sick list myself, but am better now. Inflamed bladder or chill on the bladder or something, the symptoms being agony when I passed water, as the expression is. It brought back the brave old days when I used to get clap.

he really said "yeah the pain from my bladder issue reminds of the days when I used to have so much sex I repeatedly got venereal disease"