#like because she was at his mercy and that was how he learned what it was to GRANT mercy

[hihomeghere]

Baptized by Fire

After running from your past you find yourself facing certain death out in a blizzard. Thankfully you’re rescued, but what happens when you have to ride out the rest of the winter with the two men who rescued you? An RDR2 AU where Arthur followed Charles to Canada. No Y/N. All five chapters combined into one fic

Word Count : 22k

Warnings/tags : Abuse, bruises, blood, guns, death, religious themes, nudity, oral m!receiving, unprotected piv, cursing, allusions to sex, skinning animals for meat, smoke inhalation, dead body, mention of gunshot wound, reader has female genitalia and is referred to as ‘she’, cursing, Arthur had TB but survived and now has chronic issues because of it, let me know if I missed any

Minors do not interact!

You had never cared for the cold. Why your family had decided to settle where the ground was covered in frost and snow most months out of the year was beyond you. You tried your hardest to spend as little time outside during the winter months. Taking as long as possible to complete your tasks inside before venturing out into the cold, even if it cost you a beating. Now you found yourself completely at a blizzard's mercy. The wind was nearly deafening, the force of it causing you to stumble through the thick blanket of snow. Your boots doing little to keep out the cold, having lost feeling in your toes shortly after you ran from the one place you had called home. 

If you could even call it ‘home’. The events of the last day playing over in your mind. Your fathers words echoing in your ears.

“Damn stupid child!” He yelled, his words slurred as he stumbled towards you. You ran to get out of his grasp, his hand grabbing a hold of your hair. You yelped, tears stinging your eyes as you were pulled back into his chest. Your scalp ached as he pulled your head back at an unnatural angle. “You never done me any good, never!” He hissed in your ear, his breath reeking of liquor. You felt the hot tears roll down your cheeks as you clawed at the hand holding your hair. Successfully digging your nails into his flesh as he cried out in pain, throwing you to the floor. 

“Fucking bitch!” He spit, his foot landing a blow to your ribs, leaving you gasping for breath. “It’d do you good to learn some damn respect!” He spit, turning his back to you as he went to grab another bottle. You clutched at your side, sucking in any air that you could use to fill your lungs. Each breath burning like hot coals.

Your hands grabbed for anything to help you get back to your feet. Wrapping around the back of a chair as you pulled yourself to your feet. What happened next was a blur. You didn’t even realize you had grabbed the shotgun off the mantle until it kicked back. Your arms aching as you stumbled backwards. Your finger falling off the trigger as your back hit the wall. Your eyes fell upon the body of your father, gasping on the ground. Blood pooling under him as his mouth opened and closed like a damn fish. 

The gun slipped out of your grasp as your hands flew to cover your mouth. Bile spewed between your fingers as it shot up your throat and out your mouth. You gagged and spit, collapsing in on yourself as you sunk to the floor. Tears stinging your eyes as you retched.

You don’t know how long you watched him. Each slow breath was accompanied by the sick gurgle of blood. At some point the sound stopped, along with his heart. Whether it was minutes or hours later you didn’t know. What you did know was something made you run. It could have been the sickly stench of blood, or his cold unblinking stare. Perhaps it was the knowledge that there was now no undoing what was done. That you had fought and now you were fleeing.

You had left the house with only the clothes on your back. A terribly foolish thing in hindsight. Now you were going to meet a similar fate as your father, freezing to death out in the cold. At least someone would find your fathers body, yours on the other hand would be lost until spring. Even then, it was more likely for an animal to find it than a person. The thought of some animal gnawing on your bones sent a shiver up your spine that had nothing to do with the freezing temperatures. You clutched your hands together, trying to rub feeling back into your fingers, but to no avail. Your legs would no longer move, fighting against the signals sent by your brain. 

Up ahead sat a dark figure on a horse, a pale horse. The snow seemingly parted around him as he approached.

This was it. Death had come to claim your soul. You would die frozen and a murderer. God have mercy on you.

-

If you were in hell, the flames of damnation were much more pleasant than painful. The crackling of the fire was almost comforting, and the heat was heavenly. You blinked your eyes open, the flames in the fireplace dancing before you. You relished in the feeling of the warm pelts draped over your bare body. Bare body? Your cheeks burned as you pulled the furs tighter around you. Whoever had rescued you, if you could call it a rescue, you hadn’t decided yet- had stripped you as well. 

“Charles, she’s awake.” A gruff southern voice cut through your thoughts. Your head snapped in the direction of the sound, fear shot through you like a lightning strike as your eyes landed on a man sitting in a rocking chair. 

A man had rescued you. A man had stripped you.The fire no longer eased the trembling of your body as you scrambled backwards. Backing yourself into a corner.

His lips were set in a thin line, light stubble dusting his face. His blue eyes pierced through you as you meet his gaze. Something about him seemed so familiar, although his piercing gaze made you lower your eyes. 

The other man’s, Charles, heavy footsteps caught your attention as he walked over to the unnamed man. Dark skin, long hair, chestnut brown eyes. A scar that ran along his cheek like a lightning strike. Not one but two men.

“So she is.” He said to his partner, eyeing you like you might bolt any second. Which you had thought about, but you could still hear the storm raging outside. It would be a death wish to go out in that again, you realized that now. “Excuse me miss?” Charles asked, raising his eyebrows as he tilted his head slightly.

You swallow thickly, only realizing how damn dry your throat was as you tried to speak.

“Where am I?” You asked, trying to put on a false front of confidence as you pulled the skins tighter around your body.

“About a mile north of where I found you out stumbling in the snow.” Charles answered, taking a tentative step toward you.

“Where are my clothes?” You asked, your stomach dropping as he inched closer. You pulled the furs tighter around your naked body, knowing full well that either of them could easily overpower you. If they wanted to carry out some sick and twisted torture, you would be at their mercy. 

Charles raised his hands in a small surrender, “There, had to hang them up to dry.” He said, motioning to a primitive clothesline near the fire. Something you must have missed when crawling away from them. “The fire wouldn’t have done you any good if you were in those wet clothes. It’s why we… well you know.” He said, “They should be dry by now, you were out for quite awhile.” Your eyes flick between the two men and your clothes. Charles takes two steps back, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor of the cabin. You scrambled forward, snatching your clothes off the line before retreating back to your corner. The other man scoffs, crossing his arms as he looks out the window at the storm.

“The hell were you doing out in the middle of a goddamn blizzard with nothin’?” 

“Arthur-“ Charles' warning tone cut through the cabin as he met Arthur’s eyes.

“It’s an honest question.” He huffed as he looked up at Charles, his jaw set. “No one would go out into something like that if they weren’t runnin’ from somethin’.” He said, giving Charles a look. You swallowed thickly, pursing your lips as the two men seemed to communicate without speaking.

“What were you doing out there then?” You asked, breaking the tense silence. “Were you running from something?”

“I wasn’t the one who was out there.” He hissed, turning his fierce gaze back to you.

“I was.” Charles answered, so he was the one who rescued you.

“If it was me I would have left your sorry ass out there.” Arthur mumbled, Charles shot him a glare before he looked back at you. 

“I got lost.” You said, pulling your warm clothes against your body.

“Yeah no shit.” Arthur huffed, “But that don’t answer my question. What were you doing out there in the first place?” He said, narrowing his eyes. 

“I-“

“She’s been through enough hasn’t she?” Charles cut you off, his baritone voice raising as he glared at Arthur. Arthur clenched his jaw, matching Charles glare. A moment passed as the two glared at each other before Arthur’s shoulders softened, letting out a sigh as he sat back in the rocking chair. Whatever unspoken argument they had had, Charles had won. “Why don’t you put some clothes on and we can have a civilized conversation.” Charles said, shooting Arthur a look.

You stared at the two men, frozen in their gaze.

“Oh for Christsake.” Arthur huffed before turning his head away from you. Charles followed suit, averting his eyes. You hastily put on your clothes, the residual warmth from the fire seeping into your bones. 

“You can look now.” You said, once you were fully clothed. Arthur let out a sigh, his gaze falling on you once more. 

“You’ll have to put up with us until the storm passes.” Charles said, crossing his arms as he looked at you. Sensing your unease he spoke again, “I know you have no reason to trust us, but we did save your life. Not to mention, if we wanted to hurt you we would have by now.” He said with a small shrug. You couldn’t deny the truth. They had seen you naked and at your most vulnerable, and they had done nothing to harm you. In fact, they had done everything to help you.

You were a fool for thinking you could survive on your own. You had no money, leaving all your possessions at your fathers house. The only clothes you had were the ones on your back. You regretted not thinking it through, not having a plan, but you didn’t regret taking that shotgun off the mantle.

“I won’t- I won’t be a burden to you two.” You said swallowing thickly. Arthur scoffed under his breath. “I can cook, clean, and mend anything that needs it.” You said, reinforcing your statement as your cheeks burned.

“It won’t be necessary.” Charles said, shaking his head.

“I insist.” You said cutting him off as you caught Arthur’s eye.

“If she insists, let the little lady help out.” Arthur said, leaning back in his chair with an amused smile on his lips.

-

Over the next couple of days you learned all the ins and outs of the small cabin. There was a main great room, with two bedrooms off of it. 

Charles had given up his bed, letting you take over one of the bedrooms. Said he wouldn’t mind sleeping on a cot in Arthur’s room. You had assumed the two men had been living together longer than they’d had this cabin. They had most likely been sharing close quarters for awhile. Charles' style seemed to be minimal, the only personal items being a family picture and a few beaded necklaces. The room was hardly lived in, you supposed it was only used to sleep in. You didn’t dare ask to go into Arthur’s room, not wanting to spread what little hospitality he had towards you too thin.

Arthur had hardly warmed up to you over the few days you had been stuck together. He didn’t leave his chair often, and when he did he grumbled about his pains. Something about the cold caused his body to ache, you didn’t push for more information. Because of this he moved the rocking chair closer to the fireplace, which was always lit. You’d catch him staring off into the flames, an almost melancholy expression on his face. 

You did your best not to be caught staring at the handsome man, he didn’t take too kindly to you ‘watching him’.

Charles wasn’t necessarily more talkative than his counterpart, but he didn’t mind your eyes on him. He tried in his own ways to loosen the tension between the three of you. He had taken you up on your offer to cook, although he couldn’t seem to stay out of the kitchen. Whether that be helping you chop up vegetables, or just to share your company. 

Although he would leave for an hour or two every day to tend to the livestock they kept. you had learned that that was why Charles had been out in the storm that night. One of their cows had escaped the barn, instead Charles had brought you home. 

“Charles.” Arthur pleaded, his voice low as he stood nearly chest to chest with Charles. He had been in the middle of putting on his snow gear when Arthur had stopped him.

“How many times do we gotta have this conversation?” Charles sighed, shaking his head. You pretended not to notice the tense moment between the two of them. 

“I’m fine.” Arthur huffed, his hand brushing against Charles only for a moment before he crossed his arms, taking a step back. 

“You're not.” He huffed, “It’s about as cold as Colter out there. We hardly survived that last time and now with your-“

“Fine.” Arthur snapped, storming back to the rocking chair. Charles sighed, hesitating by the door before he continued suiting up.

“I’ll be back in an hour or two.” Charles said to the two of you. You gave him a small smile, Arthur on the other hand pretended he hadn’t heard him.

It was silent after Charles left. Arthur scribbled away at his journal while you tidied up around the cabin. You didn’t mind the work, you hadn’t wanted to take advantage of their kindness. You were dusting the mantle above the fireplace, clearing away tiny spiderwebs. Gently moving two hand carved wooden sculptures. One a bison, the other a buck with a great set of antlers. When your eyes fell on a rather detailed drawing of a small family. A man, with dark hair and jagged scars across his face. The woman with as equally dark hair, her hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy. 

“Is this your family?” The question left your lips before you had the chance to think twice about opening your mouth. 

Arthur’s expression darkened as he raised his eyes from the page. 

“Sort of.” He grumbled, letting out a sigh. He got up, walking over to you before taking the drawing off the mantle. He stared at it for a moment before his gaze shifted back over to meet yours. “My brother.” He said pointing to the man with the scars, “His wife and son.” His jaw was clenched tight as he set the drawing back in its place. 

“What happened to them?” You asked, looking up into his stormy blue eyes.

“What happens to all of us.” He sighed. 

“I’m sorry.” You said softly, looking up at their smiling faces. He grunted, but it quickly turned into a nasty dry cough. He doubled over, holding onto the mantle as he sputtered. 

“Are you alright?” You asked, your brows pulling together as you placed your hand on his shoulder. He tensed under your hand, his body shaking as pounded on his chest.

“Fine.” He said, clearing his throat. You removed your hand from his shoulder, feeling a deep pull in your belly as you stepped back. You bumped into his chair, catching yourself on the wooden back. Your eyes fell onto the open journal on the seat. Arthur followed your gaze, scrambling to close the book.

“Oh I-“ Heat flooded your cheeks, “don’t worry I can’t read.” You chuckled nervously as you looked down.

“You can’t-“ Arthur stuttered, his eyebrows pinched together as he looked at you in disbelief. “No one… no one ever taught you?” He asked. 

“No, no my father he-“ You bit your bottom lip, your gaze on the wooden floor, “he didn’t think a woman should be educated.” You mumbled. 

“What a goddamn simpleton.” He growled, clenching his jaw. His expression set into a scowl as he stood there with his hands on his hips. You raised your head to meet his eyes, a nervous smile on your lips as you tried to play it off.

“It’s alright.” You said, shaking your head, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow you whole. It would get you out of this pointless conversation. It wasn’t like you could attend school, not at your age. 

“No it ain’t alright.” He huffed, closing his eyes as though it was physically paining him. “You- you ought to know how to read and write. Everyone should.” He said, shaking his head. He coughed again, although this time it seemed almost forced. It was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the crackling fire as the two of you avoided each other's gaze. 

”I could teach you.” He mumbled.

“You could?” Your eyes widening at his offer.

“It ain’t nothin’.” He said, crossing his arms, looking off to the side. “We can start tomorrow.”

“Thank you- I mean it, thank you Arthur.” 

“Don’t thank me,” He said, shaking his head as he picked up his journal. “I haven’t taught you anything yet.”

The cabin door swung open, the howling of the wind only intensifying without a barrier. Charles quickly entered, shutting the door behind him as he wiped snow off of his clothes and hat. He glanced between you and Arthur.

“Storm might break tonight.” He said, pulling off his gloves as he set them down on the kitchen table. 

“Finally some good news round here.” Arthur said, sitting back down in the rocking chair.

-

The three of you sat down for supper at the wooden table in the middle of the cabin. You and Charles had managed to put together a nice stew. Thankfully the two of them understood the power of stocking up for winter. Something your father on the other hand did not. By early spring your clothes had normally begun to be too big on your frame, needing to be taken in to fit you. If you were to stay the rest of the winter you had no doubt you would have the opposite problem. The thought of staying with Arthur and Charles had become more and more appealing every day. Especially now that you might have the chance to better yourself. Learning to read and write, the thought of being able to pick up a book and actually understand the words. A smile twisted at your lips as you tried to hide your eagerness. 

“I was thinking about bringing the tub in.” Charles said, breaking the silence as his spoon scraped along the bowl. “Might take awhile to fill it but it’d be worth it.” He said, shoveling a spoonful of stew into his mouth as he shrugged. 

“Is it still on the porch?” Arthur asked, his tone almost aloof as he leaned back in his chair. Charles nodded, not raising his head to meet Arthur’s piercing gaze. 

“Do you suppose I could wash up, too?” You asked, looking from one man to the other. They shared a look, before turning back to you.

“I don’t see why not.” Charles nodded, “You can take the first bath.” Returning his attention back to his bowl. 

-

Arthur retired to his room as soon as the last bucket of hot water was added to the tub. Giving you privacy as he awaited his turn in the water.

You stood beside the tub, hesitating as you looked into the steaming water. You would have to wash your clothes in the tub along with your body. While you hadn’t necessarily been thinking when you ran out into the blizzard. You wished you would have had some forethought to pack a bag. It wasn’t like you could just hang your wet clothes by the fire and walk around the damn cabin naked. The thought of the two men seeing you like that once more sent heat throughout your body.

“Everything alright?” Charles' deep voice cut through your thoughts as he set the bucket down.

“I-I don’t have any clean clothes.” You said after a moment, rubbing your arms. Charles' head perked up at this, his eyebrows raising.

“Of course,” He said, his expression returning to a neutral one, “I can get you some of ours to wear while you clean yours.” He got to his feet, “Don’t undress just yet, I’ll be back.” He said before walking into Arthur’s room. You let your hand fall into the water, testing the temperature. Almost letting out a small moan as the warmth enveloped your hand. You couldn’t wait to climb in.

Charles returned with a sheepish smile, holding a flannel shirt and pants.

“I doubt you’ll fit into the pants but it’s the best we could do on short notice.” He chuckled, handing them to you. You grabbed them, your fingers brushing against his, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

“Thank you.” You said covering the hitch of your breath with a small cough.

“You’re welcome.” He said with a small nod, turning his broad back to you as he walked back to his room. “Knock against the wall once you are done.” He said before heading inside.

You set the fresh clothes beside the tub, your fingers unable to work as fast enough as you shedded your own. Unable to wait any longer, you stepped into the warm water. Your nipples hardened at the sudden shift in temperature.

This time you couldn’t contain the pleased hum that left your lips as you sank down into the water. The burn was pleasant on your sore body, easing the ache in your ribs. You grabbed the soap off the chair beside the tub. Lathering it up in your hands before you scrubbed your body. The marks along your ribs were no longer an angry purple. Now they were fading into a pale yellow. 

You were thankful neither Charles or Arthur had said anything about them. It was embarrassing enough to take those beatings. Pointing them out would have been like rubbing salt in the wound. 

But there would be no more beatings. No more. You were free, you could start over. You started to form a plan, cleansing yourself of your old life so you could start anew.

A baptism of fire. Once you could read and write, or once the snow melted enough, you would return home. You would bury your father, or feed him to the wolves, and start your new life.

You were thoroughly pruney when you got out of the tub. Quickly dressing and rushing to ‘your’ room. You knocked against the wall once, running your fingers through your hair as you prepared for bed. 

You felt like a new person as you climbed under the mismatched quilt. You could hear Arthur, or maybe it was Charles, moving around in the living room. No doubt getting undressed and getting into the warm water. The wind no longer howled at the window, Charles was right about the storm breaking.

Although now you could clearly hear voices whispering in the main room. You knew you shouldn’t have listened, should have just ignored it and went back to bed. 

Instead, you pulled back the blankets and slipped out of bed. You crept over to the door, pressing your ear against it.

“Don’t call me that.” Arthur huffed, his voice muffled by the door 

“Why not? It’s not like she’s here.” Charles responded.

“Enough about her, can’t we just- just enjoy our time without her.” He grumbled. Your brows pinched together, a frown tugging at your lips. You didn’t think you were that annoying. You had tried to be helpful, you thought that they might have even been thankful for what you had done. Instead they couldn’t wait to get rid of you.

“Fine.” Charles said, letting out a sigh. You could hear the water sloshing around in the tub. “We can’t send her out on her own.”

“You think I don't know that?” Arthur hissed, “But she shouldn’t- she shouldn’t be here with us.”

“And why not?”

“Because she’s good, Charles.” He paused, coughing. “She’s good and you know the kind of people we are.” It was silent, the only thing you could hear was your breathing. 

What did he mean ‘kind of people they are’? They had been nothing but respectful and hospitable people. Or so you thought. 

“We aren't those people anymore-“

“You were always a better man than me- my sins, I can’t just-“ you heard a splash, “wash the blood off my hands.” You covered your mouth, dampening the small gasp that left your lips. A killer, you were staying with criminals. Although, were you any different? You were a murderer, killing your father without a second thought.

“Stop.” Another pause, “We did what we had to survive.”

“Don’t give me that shit-“ he’s overcome by another coughing fit. “What I did- that was for my own gain, and I’m paying for it every day.”

“Enough.” Charles cut him off, “Enough about her.” 

You pulled back from the door, crawling back to your bed as silently as possible. You had heard enough. This didn’t change anything, you reminded yourself, your plan was the same. Once you were able, you would leave this cabin and never look back

It wasn’t the normal glaring sunlight that woke Charles up that morning as he blinked awake. It was the howling of the wind, damn near rattling the windows. The storm was only getting worse, the snow piling up outside their small cabin. He let out a small groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Arthur was curled around him, his arm wrapped lazily around Charles waist. His lips parted like two rose petals as a snore left them. He chuckled softly, partaking in his favorite pastime, studying Arthur. How his skin was weathered by the sun, his cheeks lightly dusted with freckles. How hair never grew over his scar on his chin. Trailing his eyes over the crooked bridge of his nose, never set right after being broken more times than he wanted to know.

Charles’ heart warmed in his chest, caught aflame by the sight of his lover. He ran his thumb over Arthur’s lip, smirking as his brows furrowed in his sleep. Arthur let out a small groan of protest as he turned his face into Charles’ chest. 

“C’mon now.” Charles said, chuckling softly, “We ought to get up.”

“Who says?” Arthur mumbled, his words muffled against Charles’ bare chest

“I do.” He laughed

“When’d you become such a hard ass.” Arthur teased, smirking as his bright blue eyes found Charles.

“When did I meet you again?” He asked, pretending to ponder the question. Arthur rolled his eyes, moving his hand from Charles' waist up his chest. Lightly brushing against his nipple. “You start that again and we’re never gonna leave this damn bed.” He warned.

“That’d be quite a shame.” Arthur smirked, leaning in to nip at Charles’ earlobe. “Why don’t you ride me this morning, partner.” He hummed, pressing open mouthed kisses down Charles’ throat. 

A pleased hum rumbled through Charles' chest, his large hands gripping Arthur’s bare waist. He could feel Arthur’s growing erection, hot and heavy against his thigh. The soft velvety skin seeking friction against his body. 

“Damn it,” He sighed, leaning his head back against the pillow. “Later.” He growled, grabbing a handful of Arthur’s ass. Arthur’s brows pinched together in a small wince, something Charles picked up on immediately. “Was I too rough last night?” He asked, his playful tone replaced by concern as his brows pinched together. 

“You know I liked it.” Arthur grinned, “Just sore s’all.” He shrugged, kissing Charles' collarbone. 

“Arthur-“

“Oh don’t you ‘Arthur’ me.” He huffed, rolling his eyes, “I ain’t some damn porcelain doll.”

“I know you aren’t, you stubborn fool.” Charles said, rolling his eyes, “Doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned.”

“There ain’t nothin’ to be concerned about! I’m fine, I swear it!” Arthur said, a small smile tugging on his lips. “Now get going big fella or we won’t get nothin’ done today.” Arthur said, shooing him out of bed. 

-

“I shouldn’t be gone long.” Charles said as he put on his gloves, feeling Arthur’s eyes.

“I’ll be here.” Arthur sighed. If his gruff voice wasn’t an indication of his displeasure of being left, yet again, the not so subtle pout of his definitely was. His journal sat open on his lap, his fingertips darkened by the charcoal as he sketched away at the paper. Charles nodded, pulling his hat down as he braced himself for the cutting wind. Opening up the door, his hand shielded his eyes as he trudged through the snow. With each step he sank further into the white powder, his legs already aching. The wind biting at his cheeks and nose as he made his way to the barn. 

His stomach dropped as he saw the open door. He picked up his feet, rushing inside the barn. He counted the cattle even though he knew that damn bull was long gone.

In his haste to sink into Arthur’s body last night he must not have shut the barn door all the way. They had been having trouble with this damn beast ever since they purchased him. Constantly plowing through fences and running off. Arthur had got so damn angry last time he had threatened to kill the bastard.

Charles made sure the rest of the cows were there and fed before he trekked back to the house. 

“Damn bull got out again.” Charles huffed as he closed the door to the main cabin. The heat from the cabin burned his face and hands.

“You shittin’ me?” Arthur asked, letting out a frustrated huff. 

“Wish I was.” Charles said, shaking his head.

“You gonna go after ‘im?” Arthur asked, getting to his feet, “Want me to ride with ya?” Charles could tell how bad he was itching to get out of the cabin. Arthur couldn’t stand to be cooped up for too long, something ingrained in him with how often the gang used to move around. 

Although Charles had put his foot down about Arthur going out when the weather got bad. Last time Arthur had ventured out to tend to the livestock he came down with something. Not as bad as the tuberculosis, but it scared Charles all the same. 

He was holed up in bed for a week, a fever burning through him and coughing up a lung. By the time his fever broke, Arthur had soaked all the sheets they owned with his sweat.

He didn’t give a damn how much he pouted, there was no way Arthur was going out in this storm.

“Don’t know if it’s worth it.” He said crossing his arms, “Only thing that damn animal has brought us is a headache.” He ran his hand through his hair. 

“We could always just butcher him, find that little bastard and make a new rug.” He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Suppose we could.” Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m gonna head out, see if I can pick up his tracks.”

“Take Buell, poor boy could use the exercise.” Arthur called over his shoulder. Charles nodded, walking over to Arthur. He bent down, cupping his cheek before pressing his lips against his. It didn’t matter how many times they collided like this. Charles always managed to steal his breath away, leaving him gasping for more. He wondered if Charles was his ruin and cure all at the same time. 

Arthur smirked as he pulled away, “I haven’t forgotten about your promise from this morning.” He said, gently tugging at his hair.

“I won’t be long.” Charles promised, his own smirk stretching across his face.

He had picked up somewhat of a trail. He supposed that that damn bull had gotten out shortly after he and Arthur went to bed. The snow had covered most of the tracks, and what it didn’t, the wind washed away. 

Buell snorted, pawing at the powdered snow as Charles urged him forward. 

“C’mon boy.” He said softly, patting the steeds' thick neck. His hands ached in his gloves, but at least he hadn’t lost feeling in them yet. He narrowed his gaze, his eyes watering as he looked across the frozen countryside. 

He caught sight of something, something much smaller than a bull. His heart leapt into his throat as the small being collapsed in the snow. He dug his heels into Buell’s side, the horse instantly picking up speed as they raced towards whoever was stupid enough to be walking around in a blizzard.

He jumped off, gathering the person in his arms. A woman, whose clothes were covered in icicles. Her eyelashes nearly frozen together with tears. 

He tore his coat off, a shiver running down his spine as he wrapped it around her. If he didn’t get her out of this cold, and fast, she’d die. 

He slung her over his shoulder as he mounted Buell. Maneuvering her into a bridal style carry as he rode back towards the cabin. 

“You find ‘im?” Arthur asked, not raising his head from his journal as the cabin door swung open. Still not over getting left behind, again.

“Not exactly.” Charles huffed, rushing towards the roaring fire. He laid the woman down on the rug, biting the fingers of his glove as he tore them off.

“Jesus Charles!” Arthur exclaimed, his journal clattering to the floor as he stood. 

“Help me get her clothes off.” Charles ordered, working the buttons of her blouse through the eyelets. 

“Oh dammit.” He sighed, frozen as he stared at the woman.

“You want a dead body on our hands!” Charles barked, shooting Arthur a glare. “Help me god dammit.” Arthur sank to his knees, pulling the woman’s frozen skirt off her body. 

“Furs, she needs furs.” He mumbled, stumbling to his feet as he raced to their bedroom. Charles’ heart sank as he bared her upper body. 

“Shit.” He mumbled, tracing his finger against the dark purple mark.

“Oh hell.” Arthur said as he returned, his eyes falling on the young woman. “Now who would…” He clenched his jaw, rushing over to the woman. Wrapping her in the furs and blankets, trying to avoid glancing at her naked body.

“Poor girl.” Charles sighed, shaking his head as he ran his hand through his hair. 

Arthur cursed under his breath, rubbing a hand over his chin. 

“I’m guessin’ you didn’t find the bull.”

“You’d be right.”

-

You ran the brush through your hair, knowing you couldn’t hide away in your room all day. Although you had no idea how you were supposed to face Arthur and Charles. Not after what you had heard last night. 

The two men were killers…but so were you. They didn’t know you knew, and they didn’t know about your sins.

But if they were bad men, why did they treat you, a vulnerable woman, with so much care? Why did they respect you and your anatomy when they could have taken advantage of you time after time?

It didn’t matter, you would just ride it out until the snow melted. You would just have to try and keep your distance. Although that seemed impossible, especially when there was nowhere to escape from them other than this room. And it didn’t help that you were completely engulfed by Charles' scent. If only you had some other clothes to wear.

You cinched the belt tighter around your waist, cuffing the pants at your ankles. It would have to do for now.

You opened the door, feeling like an absolute fool as you stepped into the main room. 

“Morning sleeping beauty.” Charles chuckled, his lip twitching upwards as he glanced over at you. 

“Funny.” You said, heat flooding your cheeks as you looked down. 

“Don’t tease the poor girl Charles.” Arthur said with a small smile, one of the first ones that actually seemed genuine from him.

What had happened between last night and this morning? 

“So, you still wanna learn to read?” Arthur asked, setting his journal to the side. 

Right! You had almost forgotten.

“Yes.” You nodded, unable to stop the grin that spread across your lips. Your worries melting like warm butter the longer you were around them.

“Well, first thing you gotta learn is the alphabet, all the letters.” He said, leaning against the table, his hand resting on his hip.

“You two have fun.” Charles chuckled, shaking his head as he left to tend to the animals.

“Now, there are twenty six letters.” Arthur said, turning your attention to the paper spread out on the table. “I’ve put them all in order.”

“There’s an order?” You asked, looking up from the papers.

“Yeah, course there’s an order.”

“But why?”

“Well cause-“ He paused, his brows furrowed as he looked down, “cause that’s just the way it is. Now it starts with the letter a.”

-

“Alright, which one is b?” Arthur asked, leaning forward as he quizzed you. Your eyes moved over the letters until you found it, tapping it with your finger. “Good! Now point to the letter r.”

You smiled at his praise, pointing to ‘r’. “Well ain’t you quick.” He chuckled, shaking his head, “God, it took almost a week for Dutch to teach me.”

“Was he your teacher?” You asked, your elbows resting on the table as you leaned forward. He faltered, his shoulders tensing before he nodded. 

“Sort of.” He said, clearing his throat, “Guess I was probably about ten years younger than you. Too bullheaded to actually pay attention to anything he had to say.” His voice softened, an almost melancholy sense to it. “You’ll probably be reading in another week or so.” He said.

“You think so?” You asked, unable to hide the excitement in your tone.

“Sure.” He nodded, “You’re a natural.” You beamed looking up into his eyes. He stared back, an expression you couldn’t quite place on his face.

Charles opened the door, returning from doing the chores. Arthur looked away, ending watever moment the two of you had.

“How was class today Mr. Morgan?” Charles teased as he took off his winter coat.

“Well she’s a hell of a lot smarter than me, that’s for sure.” He said giving you a small smile as he shook his head.

“I have a good teacher.” You smiled, looking from Arthur to Charles.

“Yeah?” Charles asked, his own smile spreading across his lips. “We got a scholar on our hands, Arthur.” Heat blooms in your cheeks as you bashfully lower your head. 

“Did ya make sure the barn door was closed?” Arthur teased, smirking up at Charles. 

“That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one day.” Charles chides, his words lacking any edge as he rolled his eyes. “Do you think you’re too tired for a different kind of lesson?” Charles asked, turning his attention to you.

“What kind?” You asked, straightening your back.

“Picked up a rabbit's tracks back near the barn, you ever skinned an animal?” He asked, a glint in his eye. You shook your head, your stomach flip-flopping.

“Oh come on girl, it ain’t that bad.” Arthur chuckled, his hand squeezing your shoulder as he passed you. Arthur’s touch did little to ease your nerves. “You gonna go get it?” Arthur said, crossing his arms as he leaned up against the table. Trying, and failing, to act nonchalant.

“Was thinking about it.” Charles hummed, “Would you go with me?” He asked, taking Arthur’s bait.

“Always.” Arthur grinned, grabbing his blue coat off the hook. “We’ll be back.” He nodded to you before the two of them headed out the door. 

It was the first time you had been left alone in their home. They trusted you enough to leave you alone in their home. You bit your lip, trying to stop your giddy smile from spreading. You piled up the papers, in alphabetical order, before setting them off to the side. 

-

You had successfully tidied up the cabin by the time they came back. Laughing as they opened the door, their cheeks flushed from the cold.

Arthur tossed the rabbit carcass onto the table, shrugging off his coat. 

The thought of learning a new… skill. Had been exciting at first, but now that the dead animal was in front of you, the only thing you wanted to do was cringe. 

“Oh it ain’t that bad.” Arthur chuckled, walking past you. In a better mood than you had seen him in all week. Spending an hour or two chasing down a small animal in the freezing cold would have had the opposite effect on you.

Charles sat down across from you, “It really isn’t that bad.” He smiled, handing you a hunting knife. You hesitantly took it, staring down at the unmoving animal. 

“Is this a skill I really need?” You asked, looking back up at Charles. 

“You don’t have to.” He said with a small shrug. 

“No- no I need to.” You said, shaking your head. You didn’t want to let either of them down, “What do I do first?” 

“Pinch the hide and make a cut near the base of its neck.” He instructed, nodding towards the rabbit. You swallowed thickly, pinching the back of the rabbits back. You sliced through its skin, grimacing. 

“Now what?” You asked, swallowing thickly as you looked down at the unmoving rabbit. 

“You’ll want to tear the opening- no not with the knife.”

“Well what else would I tear it open with then?” You huffed, setting the knife down on the table. Your breath coming quicker, your chest pounding against your ribcage.

“He means with your fingers.” Arthur called over his shoulders, a dry cough leaving his lips.

“You’re joking!“ You gasped, gawking at Charles. He barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Come on now sweetheart it isn’t that bad.” He grinned, quirking his brow. “Just put your fingers in the cut and pull.”

“And pull?” You gawked, “No- no, no, no, no.” Your legs shaky as you stood from the table, the lump in your throat growing “No I can’t.” You said, shaking your head as you wiped your hands off on your- Arthur’s- trousers.

Both the men burst out laughing, their voices ringing in your ears as the walls of the cabin closed in on you. Your breath started coming fast, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you looked down at the rabbit.

The memory of your fathers unblinking gaze forced itself to the front of your mind as you stared into the animal's cold dead eyes.

You rushed out of the cabin, bile moving up your throat as you pushed the door open. You swallowed hard, the cold air cooling your flushed cheeks. You leaned against one of the wooden beams of the porch. Digging your nails into your palms, the dull pain grounding you as your mind seemed to drift farther and farther away. 

Your father wasn’t a man to have many friends, who would want to be around a man like him? Would anyone have stopped by the house yet? You rarely got any visitors and not with weather like this. 

On one hand you wanted his body to be found, mainly so you wouldn’t have to think about the alternative. His body decomposing into the wooden floor of the kitchen. On the other hand, who would they suspect for his murder? A gunshot to the chest at that close of range could hardly be called an accident. Certainly not if you confessed to being the one who pulled the trigger. You could pin it on a robbery gone wrong. You ran for your life and got lost out in the woods, unable to return until the snow melted. It wasn’t entirely false. But if they didn’t believe you, you’d be hung for sure. Were a few moments of freedom worth your life? Although, how much of a life was it? You had experienced more living in the past week than you had in years. You had moments of actual joy, happiness. Although that thought only made you feel more conflicted, your stomach sinking like a rock.

“Hey.” Charles' voice cut through your constant flow of thought. The door of the cabin shut behind him. “Are you alright?” He asked, hesitantly stepping towards you, reminiscent of how he had approached you the first time you had met. 

“Fine.” You nodded, looking out at the snowy landscape. He sighed, walking up beside you.

“I can tell that you’re not ‘fine’.” You could see he was looking at you from the corner of your eye. 

“I’ll be fine.” You amended your statement, sparing him a glance. The two of you looked at each other for a moment, his eyes searching yours for something you didn’t want to give up.

“I’m sorry about the rabbit.” He said, his voice low and gentle. “I sprung it on you, that was my fault.”

“It’s not-“ You groaned, feeling tears prick your eyes as you covered your face with your aching hands. He kept quiet, letting the two of you sit in silence while you gathered your thoughts. He didn’t rush you, he waited patiently, as though the tension or the cold didn’t bother him. “It’s not about the rabbit.” You wiped at your face with the sleeves of your flannel. Sage and lavender filled your senses, the familiar and unmistakable scent of Charles.

“Was Arthur right?” He asked.

“About what?” You sniffled, looking up at him

“That you were running from something.” He answered, raising his brows. You pursed your lips, returning your gaze to the frozen landscape. Your frustration only growing at his uncanny ability to read you. 

“My father is not a kind man.” You said after a moment, making sure to refer to him in the present tense. “I had to get away.” You said swallowing thickly. Although you didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

He nodded, “You did the right thing.”

“You don’t know that.” You scoffed, shaking your head, “You don’t know me.” Your words were unnecessarily harsh, you regretted them as soon as they left your lips.

“I think I do.” He said, his brows furrowed. Although his eyes held no anger towards you despite his tone. “I think we're more alike than you realize.” He turned his gaze away from you, wiping the snow away from the wooden railing.

“What does that mean?” You asked, narrowing your eyes. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“You are daft sometimes.” He smiled.

“Did you come out here to insult me?” You huffed. The cold did little to help your mood as you started to shiver.

“Is that what you think I came out here to do?” He asked, sighing as he looked over at you. “We are all running from something. Some of us have just been running longer.” He shrugged. You purse your lips, sticking your hands under your armpits to try and warm them up. 

“My father was a kind man until we lost my mother.” Charles said, staring up at the night sky. You softened, your brows pinching together as you looked over at him. “I suppose any man would lose part of themselves if they lost someone like her.” A low sigh left his lips. His voice carrying an undeniable sense of sadness. 

“I���m sorry.” You said softly, you wished you could do something to comfort him. Something that wouldn’t cross a boundary between the two of you. You hoped your words of condolences were enough. 

“Arthur and I started running around the same time in our lives, maybe that’s why we get along so well.” He said with a dry chuckle, a far away look in his eye. “Maybe that’s why we get along as well.” He suggested, his eyes near obsidian in the low light as they found yours. Like steel striking flint, a spark caught between the two of you. Warmth spread throughout your body despite the freezing temperatures. You couldn’t tell whether the goosebumps springing up on your arms were from the snowfall or from him. You didn’t understand it, didn’t understand how a man you had met nearly a week ago could make you feel things you hadn’t felt in years. How they both made you feel things.

Now that was a dangerous thought. 

“Are you not cold?” You asked, trying to snuff out whatever flame was now growing inside you.

“You’re the one who ran out here.” He said with a sly smile, “C’mon, supper won’t cook itself.”

 -

“How often do you boys go hunting?” You asked, nearly moaning over the rabbit stew. The two men smirked at each other before turning their attention back to you.

“Now you know we wouldn’t have had this meat if we hadn’t dressed that rabbit.” Arthur hummed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Dressed? If anything you two undressed him.” You said, your brows furrowed as you looked up from your bowl. Charles bit his lip, trying to hide his smile. Arthur on the other hand, didn’t even try to hold in his laughter. Heat crept up your neck as you looked between the two men. “I’ve said something foolish haven’t I?” You mumbled looking down.

“Not foolish, just funny.” Charles said with a kind smile.

“I’m guessin’ no one hunted much in your family?” Arthur asked, although he could have guessed that from the way you went white as a sheet while looking at the rabbit. You shook your head, shoveling another spoonful into your mouth.

“My father… he was- is a man that doesn’t know much about the outdoors.” You shrugged, hoping they didn’t catch your small slip up. “The only meat we ever got was from the butcher, if we had the money.” Which you never did. Most of the time you had to get creative just to eat something edible for supper. If that meant cutting eyes out of old potatoes you would do it. 

“This man sounds like the simplest of the lot.” Arthur huffed

“Arthur.” Charles warned, looking between the two of you. 

“No Charles it had to be said.” He said, setting down his silverware with a clang, “First the man says women shouldn’t be educated, which is the biggest load of horse shit I’ve ever heard. Now she tells me he don’t know how to provide for his family, neither?”

“Arthur, it's okay really.” You mumbled, swallowing thickly as heat flooded your cheeks. 

“No it ain’t.” He growled, “A woman like you deserves the best in life, not some good for nothin’ father.” You bit your lip, looking down at the table. Your stomach twisting, as shame and gratitude fought for dominance in your head.

“Guess it’s a good thing you found me then.” You said, trying to ease the conversation into a new subject. An emotion flashed across Arthur’s face, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“Yeah… yeah I guess it was.” He said, picking up his spoon as he began to eat again. Charles watched the two of you with an almost knowing gaze. Although you didn’t know exactly what he knew. 

“I never did thank the two of you for saving me.” You said setting down your utensils. “Thank you, I mean it. You could’ve left me but you- well you saved my life. For that I will be forever in your debt.” 

“Well we couldn’t have left ya to freeze out there.” Arthur mumbled, looking down at his bowl as he ate. Although it seemed like he was purposefully avoiding your gaze. His words a far cry from his earlier sentiment of saving you,

“You’re welcome.” Charles said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

You nodded, your expression mirroring his as you looked at him from across the table. That warm fuzzy feeling settled in your stomach as the three of you ate. A dangerous thought entered your mind, one that had been slinking forward for days.

You didn’t want to leave. 

You were comfortable, happy here with them. So they had made a few mistakes, hadn’t everyone? Like Charles had said, they weren’t those people anymore. Whatever that meant you believed him- or you wanted to believe him.

You had to go. Before you got in too deep. Before these confusing feelings grew too large to be ignored. You would have to return home.

You’d been up since the sun rose. Its soft rays danced upon your eyelids, rousing you out of your sleep. You had hardly moved, watching as the beams of light crept up the walls. You had heard Arthur and Charles stir. Their door opened and closed, their heavy footfalls on the wooden floor alerting you to their presence in the room. Soon enough the rocking chair began to creak, Arthur no doubt settling down with his journal. His hands gripped the small piece of charcoal as it glided across the parchment. His brows knitted together in concentration, eyes downcast, never leaving the precise strokes of the pencil. 

You groaned, pushing the heels of your palms into your eyes. Spots dancing in the darkness of your vision. Christ, what was wrong with you? You rolled over, bringing your knees into your chest. You wrapped your arms around your body, trying to get Arthur off your mind. 

The cabin door shut, grabbing your attention. Charles was off to tend to the animals. Wrapped up in his thick coat, stomping through the snow towards the barn. You could clearly see him in your mind. His cheeks flushed, his plump lips parted, hot breaths of air leaving them. 

You pushed your face into the pillow, muffling your cry of frustration. You couldn’t even escape them in your mind. 

A deep, almost nutty aroma filled your senses. You raised your head, your brows furrowed as you tried to place the smell.

Coffee. You rolled out of bed, putting on your clothes from yesterday. You needed to get your hands on some new clothes, maybe they had some scraps of fabric. You didn’t care what they looked like at this point, you would wear a potato sack if it at least fit you. 

Cinching your belt around your waist you exited your room. 

Arthur raised his head as you opened the door, his eyes flitted from you towards his open journal. 

“About time you joined us.” He mumbled, shutting his journal as he tossed it onto the rocking chair.

“It's not a crime to sleep in is it?” You asked, raising your brows as you walked over to the fire, “I didn’t know y’all had coffee.” You hummed, closing your eyes as you savored the scent. 

“Didn’t sleep well last night.” He grumbled, heading into the kitchen. He pulled out two metal cups, thrusting one into your hands. He held the cup steady in your hand as he poured the rich liquid into it. Although his hands were calloused, they were surprisingly gentle against yours. 

You swallowed thickly, nodding your thanks as you brought the cup to your lips. You didn’t trust your voice. You could feel the heat from his hand lingering on your own.

“So,” You started, clearing your throat, “What are you gonna teach me today Mr. Morgan?” You teased, trying to hide your nerves as you sat down at the table. 

“Well Miss, I suppose we should continue working on the alphabet, unless ya know it by heart?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned over the table. His arms nearly bulging out of his sleeves. 

“I mean, not by heart.” You said looking down into your cup. 

“Well lucky for you there’s a- a bit of a trick to learning it.” He said clearing his throat, the tips of his ears tinged with pink. 

“Yeah?” You asked, copying his stance as you leaned forward. “Well what is it?”

 He sighed, pursing his lips as he wiped at the table with his hand. “Well it’s… it’s a song.” His expression soured as he watched the grin spread across your face. “No I don’t wanna hear it.” He groaned.

“Oh c'mon Arthur, sing for me.” You chuckled, placing your hands under your chin.

“You damn witchy woman.” He huffed, shaking his head. Although his words lacked any fire, “Why don’t I just keep it to myself huh? I am the teacher here.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Now that ain’t fair.” You pouted, sitting back in your chair.

“Life ain’t fair darlin’.” He chuckled, his deep baritone shooting straight to your core as you looked up at him. His teeth glinted as his lips pulled back in a wolfish grin. “But I suppose, just this once, I’ll humor ya.” He relented, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” 

He cleared his throat, lowering his gaze as he very begrudgingly began to sing you the abc’s. You couldn’t help but find it charming, the way his cheeks flushed as he sang the letters to the tune of twinkle twinkle little star.

“… won’t you sing with me.” He finished, letting out a sigh that sounded more like a wheeze as he looked up at you. “What? Do I got somethin’ on my face?” He huffed.

“No, nothing.” You chuckled softly, shaking your head as butterflies fluttered around in your gut.

“Go on, you try it.” He said, crossing his arms.

“Seriously?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, seriously, this is your lesson for the day and I wanna hear those pipes girl.” He smiled, sitting down across from you, “Now go on.”

You huffed, steeling yourself as you looked down. If you didn’t look at him it wouldn’t be as bad. All you had to do was be able to sing through the alphabet, it couldn’t be that hard. Arthur cut you off before you got halfway through 

“You missed a letter.” He said, your eyes widening as you looked up at him.

“No I did not!” You scoffed.

“Ya sure did.” He nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

“You’re makin’ it up so I have to sing that stupid song again!” You huffed, crossing your arms as heat flooded your cheeks.

“Now that is a mighty strong accusation.” He chuckled, shaking his head, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling. “Ya missed ‘M’. Start again, we ain’t quittin’ til you get it right.” 

You probably sang that damn song twenty times before Charles got back. Which only added to your embarrassment. 

“… won’t you sing with me.” You finished, your words slightly muffled by your hands covering your face.

“Atta girl!” Arthur chuckled, starting to clap.

“No- no clapping.” You groaned as Charles laughed.

“Good job.” Charles smiled, giving you a nod.

“If I never have to sing that song again I’ll die a happy woman.” You said, shaking your head as you peeked through your fingers. Unable to stop your own smile from spreading across your face. 

Charles walked over to you, still wearing his thick winter coat. 

“So, you wanna get out of here?” He asked, leaning against the table. You raised an eyebrow at him, not entirely following. “My lesson wasn’t exactly… fun yesterday.” He said with a shrug. “I want to make it up to you.” 

“Can I ask what it is?” You asked, crossing your arms. 

“If you want to ruin the surprise.” He said, an easy smile playing on his lips. You huffed, biting your lip as you looked up at him. 

“I don’t have a coat.”

“Oh, take mine.” Arthur said, not looking up as he gathered the papers from your ‘lesson’. “Keep ya real warm.” 

Oh sure it would keep you warm, wrapped up in Arthur scent as you spent one on one time with Charles. 

“Alright.” You said hesitantly, slowly getting up from the table as you went to put your boots on. You laced up your boots, not missing the subtle smirk Arthur gave Charles. You put Arthur’s coat on, the thing was giant on your frame. Completely engulfed in Arthur scent. Charles nodded, opening the door and leading you outside. 

The snow was a thick blanket on the ground, but at least it hadn’t snowed since the storm had ceased. 

“Will my toes fall off before I see my surprise?” You asked Charles as the two of you walked through the thick powder.

“I doubt they will.” He hummed, the deep sound rumbling through his chest. 

He led you to the barn. It was a bit warmer inside at least, but the smell of livestock was a bit overpowering. 

“Is this the surprise?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Patience.” He said, visible hot puffs of air left his mouth as he closed the door. “This way.” He said, leading you further into the barn. 

Tied up against the wall, stood two beautiful horses. They munched on some hay, bobbing their heads as Charles approached.

“Come here.“ He smiled, offering you his hand as he walked up to the gray spotted one. “She won’t hurt you.” You let him pull you closer, his hand enveloped your own as he pulled you over to him. He laid your hand on her neck, her skin rippled underneath your touch as she flinched.

“Good girl.” He mumbled, smiling softly at the two of you. You pet the horse, smiling as she stood there. “This is Taima.”

“She’s beautiful.” You said softly, “I suppose this was a good surprise.”

“This isn’t it.” He said, finding your eyes, “I want to teach you how to ride.” Your eyes widened slightly.

“But I don’t have my own horse.”

“You'll be riding her, I’ll ride Buell.” He nodded to the golden coated horse.

“I- are you sure? I don’t know what I’m doing.” You sighed, shaking your head.

“No one does before they’re taught.” He shrugged, “It’s an important skill to have, since you’ll leave us one day.” His words left a bad taste in your mouth. You were excited to learn new things but at the same time, each lesson was just one step closer to leaving Arthur and Charles.

“Who taught you?” You asked, letting out a big breath as you changed the subject.

“My father.” He said, looking over the saddle, adjusting it slightly. “You’ll start on Taima, Buell is… spirited.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “He needs to get out more, stretch his legs.” He said mainly to himself as he ran a gloved hand down Taima’s flank. “Climb on.” He said, patting the saddle. You bit your lip, letting out a breath as you put your foot in the stirrup. You swung your leg over her back, feeling her skin ripple as your legs settled on either side of her.

“Now you’ll want to find your balance.” He instructed, moving to stand next to you. “You want to be as balanced in the saddle as you are standing. Your body should be a straight line from your shoulder, hip to heel.”

“Easier said than done.” You sighed, trying to find your balance as you hung onto the horn of the saddle. 

“You’re afraid.” He said, shaking his head, “They can sense your fear. Try to relax.” 

You huffed, trying to find your balance and keep your body a straight line. You moved forward on the saddle, tipping to your left side. You reached out, grabbing Charles' shoulder.

“Hey,” He said softly, his hand moving to your waist, “I got you.” He nodded, your heart leapt into your throat as he steadied you.

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you regained your balance. Once you felt confident enough you let go of his shoulder and grabbed the reins.

“We’re not going anywhere just yet.” He chuckled, smiling up at you, “Give me those.” He said, holding out his hand. You handed him the reins, letting out a surprised squeak as he started leading Taima around the barn.

“I thought we weren’t going anywhere yet!” You gasped, staring at him with wide eyes.

“We haven’t left the barn have we?” He asked with a sly smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“You’re awful.” You groaned, trying to maintain your balance as Taima moved around the barn. You moved your hips in time with each step, keeping your body as straight of a line as you could.

“You’re getting it.” He chuckled encouragingly, looking back at you over his shoulder.

“Well you didn’t give me much of a choice did you?” You huffed, a smile spreading across your lips. 

“Suppose I didn’t.” He shrugged. Your hands and feet were positively frozen by the time Charles ended your lesson. You were glad to be back inside near the fire. You ripped your gloves off, walking over to the fire to warm up. 

“You two have fun?” Arthur asked, looking up from his journal.

“You know, it wasn’t half bad.” You smiled, your hands and feet burning from the sudden shift in temperature. A warm smile overtook Charles’ expression, making his rosy cheeks even brighter. 

“Better than the last ‘lesson’ Charles taught you?” Arthur teased, looking back at Charles.

“I certainly hope so.” Charles huffed, picking up Arthur’s coat that you shed near the door as he hung his own coat up.

“I’d have to agree.” You hummed, grinning at the two men. “I uh- I was wondering if perhaps you had some more clothes you don’t wear as often? I know I must be getting unpleasant to be around.” You chuckled sheepishly, you had been wearing these clothes for a couple days now. You doubted you smelt like roses.

“You know, I think we might have some clothes neither of us fit in anymore.” Charles nodded, rubbing his hands together as he walked into their room. He returned with a couple shirts, well worn by the years but they would do.

“Thank you, I’ll go change.” You nodded, getting to your feet and heading to your room. You were glad to have some ‘new’ clothes and honestly the pants were growing on you. You weren’t nearly as cold as you normally were back home, but that could also be due to the fact that these conditions were better than back home. This cabin had become your very own slice of heaven on earth. 

You walked back out into the main room, glad to be in some new clothes. 

“Those fit better.” Charles smiled, looking up as he started to prepare supper. Arthur looked up, his neutral expression slowly working into something that you would describe as anger. 

“That’s my shirt.” He said, his face reddening as his jaw ticked.

“I thought Charles said these were clothes you didn’t fit in anymore.” You said, looking down at the blue shirt. 

“Arthur, you don’t fit in that anymore.” Charles said, setting down his knife. His brows furrowed as he looked at the two of you.

“That don’t mean it ain’t mine.” He huffed, slamming his journal shut as he got up. 

“I- I’m sorry.” You mumbled taking a step back, your heart clenched painfully in your chest as he strode towards you. You flinched, your stomach dropped as you prepared yourself for a blow, a blow that never came. 

You hesitantly opened your eyes, Arthur stared down at you with a pained expression.

“Oh darlin’ I-“ He started, but you didn’t hear much of anything else. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you felt the familiar prickle in your nose. Tears started to sting your eyes as you turned on your heel and ran back into your room. You could have died from how damn embarrassed you were. You tore his shirt off, the rest of your clothes following. Your skin felt raw as you climbed into bed, throwing the covers over your head. 

Just when you think you might be figuring them out, something so simple as a shirt made all your progress to mean nothing. You’d make them take you home tomorrow. You at least knew the alphabet now, that was a start. You could teach yourself how to read, you didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone. If you rationed the rest of the food in the pantry at home, you'd have enough to last you until the first week of summer now that father is dead.

Father. Dear God what state would his body be in now? Would you have the strength to drag his body out of the house? Would you even be able to with the level of decomposition?

Christ, you didn’t want to think about it.

You could hardly think of it as home now, it was only his grave. This was home. This cabin, here with Arthur and Charles. Or were they home?

No. No they weren’t. 

You didn’t leave your room the rest of the night. You tried your best to ignore their whispering on the other side of the door. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what you were talking about. How many more times would you lose control like that? Why did your mind have to play such cruel tricks on you? Arthur wouldn’t hurt you. Neither of them would. That nagging thought started to whisper in the back of your mind. But they could. They had hurt people before, killed people before. You had heard them admit it when they hadn’t known you were listening. You doubted theirs hadn’t been in self defense either.

But a sin was a sin. No matter the circumstances.

The rays of sunshine streaming through your window had woken you. You didn't even remember falling asleep as you rubbed your eyes. You climbed out of bed, no sense in delaying whatever awkward conversation was bound to be had. You put your clothes back on, tying the string of your skirt.

You gathered up the clothes they had lent you before leaving your room. Arthur wasn’t sitting in his normal spot, instead he was standing in front of the fireplace. He looked almost nervous. At his feet was a rather large trunk.

His head snapped in your direction at the sound of the door opening. His adam's apple bobbed as he watched you. You set the clothes down on the table, neither of you spoke. 

“Charles already left.” He said after a moment, clearing his throat. 

“I guessed that.” You mumbled, running your hand along the wood grains of the table. He cleared his throat again, his hands on his hips as he looked down at the trunk. 

“M’sorry about last night.” He said softly, raising his eyes to look at you. “I’d- I’d never hurt you.” He swore, his words carrying an undeniable weight to them. You nodded, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “I uh- I have something for ya.” He said, opening the trunk. Inside was a bunch of clothes in different conditions. “You can do whatever ya want with ‘em. If ya wanna tear ‘em apart and make somethin’ new or just… Hell, I don't know.” He sighed, running his hand down his face.

“Thank you Arthur.” You said with a small smile, ending his misery. He nodded, giving you a sheepish smile.

“You can keep the trunk, too.” He added, coughing slightly. 

“Oh, well thank you.” You said, “I’ll uh, I’ll need help moving it into my room. Looks heavy.” You chuckled walking over to him.

“Well it ain’t light that’s for sure.” He nodded a small smile spreading on his lips. “Charles and I’ll haul it into your room when he gets back.” He nodded, walking past you.

You sat down next to the trunk, looking through it. There were definitely some salvageable things in here, and the things that weren’t you would make into something new. You dug through the trunk, your fingers brushing up against a round wooden frame.

You sat back on your haunches, pulling the frame out of the bottom of the trunk. A woman with a kind smile stared back at you through the photo. Her hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. 

“Arthur,” You called looking up at him. He turned, his eyes landing on the photograph.

“Well I’ll be damned.” He said softly, walking over to you. You handed him the frame, his finger trailing over the woman’s face. “Thought I lost it.” He mumbled, his lips turning upwards.

“Who is she?”

“My momma.” He smiled, looking over at you. “God I- I thought I left it back at camp.” He said, shaking his head. He got to his feet, placing the frame on the mantle. 

“What else is in here?” You asked, pulling the clothes out onto the floor. Arthur sat down across from you, helping you pull out the contents of the trunk. He grabbed a few photographs, his eyes softening.

“Copper.” He chuckled as you peered over the trunk. Your own smile grew as you looked at the photo of a dog. The next was a photo of a man who looked similar to Arthur. He held up a sign, but you couldn’t read it just yet. “My pa.” He nodded, flipping to the next photo.

This one had three men. A dark haired man in the middle, an older man to one side of him and… was that Arthur?

“Is that you?” You asked, only able to look at it for a moment before he pulled it away.

“You don’t need to see that,” He muttered, getting to his feet as he walked over to his journal. He opened it to a random page, putting the pictures inside before closing it. The tips of his ears tinged pink.

“Oh you were cute!” You chuckled, shaking your head. You pulled out another frame, your smile falling as you looked at the beautiful woman. It was obvious she had money by looking at her clothes and jewelry. Status most likely, too. You knew Arthur had a brother, but you highly doubted this was his sister. 

Your gut clenched, jealousy burning through you as you looked down at Arthur’s past love. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. “She’s pretty.” You said softly, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked up at Arthur.

He turned his head towards you, his eyes landing on the photo. His expression fell slightly as his feet moved towards you. You freely handed him the frame, happy to get it out of your sight. But then your eyes landed on one last photo. Young Arthur and the woman. You took the photo, tearing your eyes away from it as you held it up for him. 

“You were a cute couple,” You said, grateful that he took it from your fingers. Easing the burning in your belly. “Although I think the beard suits you more than the clean shaven look.” You said, trying to ease the tension in the room. He chuckled slightly, his hand on his hip. 

“Yeah well… you know how it goes.” He sighed, clearing his throat, “Her daddy didn’t like me much and… she married a nice fella.” He shrugged, placing the frame and photo face down on the table. “Guess everything works out how it ought to in the end.” He said, his bright blue eyes finding yours. 

“Suppose so.” You said breathlessly, your heart thumping against your ribcage. The air gained a sudden thickness, like right before a lightning storm. Just waiting for the first bolt to light up the sky.

Charles came in like rolling thunder, flinging the door open as he walked inside. He took off his snow gear, hanging up his coat. 

You glanced away from him, feeling warmth bloom in your cheeks as you started to put the clothes back in the trunk.

“Ah, you found the clothes.” Charles said, his breath heavy as he took off his boots. “I uh- have some sewing supplies if that’s something you’d be interested in.” He said, standing at his full height.

“I’d like that.” You nodded, “I can mend anything the two of you bring me as well.”

“Might take you up on that.” Charles grinned, his eyes taking on an almost amber shine in the fire light. Your heart skipped a beat as he caught your eye. 

You had only felt like this once many years ago. Back when love was easy and you were too young to know better. But you had never felt this way about two men before. At least not at the same time. 

The day passed quickly, you held off on your lessons. Spending your time taking in the trousers they had given you to fit better. Along with mending a few holes in Arthur and Charles’ shirts. They had hauled the trunk into your room, setting it at the foot of your bed.

“I’ll hate to leave it.” You said softly, folding the clothes neatly in the trunk.

“What d’ya mean?” Arthur asked, furrowing his brows as he stood in the doorway.

“When I go home.” You said looking up at him, “I couldn’t possibly carry it back when it was a struggle for the two of you.” You said, shaking your head. Arthur went eerily quiet, when you raised your head to look at him he was gone. 

Sleep evaded you most of the night. You laid in bed, tossing and turning until you couldn’t take it anymore. You’d brew some tea or something to help you at least relax. You opened the door into the main room, nearly jumping out of your skin as you saw Arthur’s silhouette. Your hand flew up to cover your heart as you caught your breath. 

“You scared me half to-“ He cut you off with a soft snore. You padded over to him, a smile tugging at your lips. He looked so peaceful, the deep lines smoothed out on his forehead and between his brows. You could have stood there all night admiring him, but your eyes were drawn downwards. In his lap sat his journal, open to the page he was working on.

You swallowed the gasp that threatened to leave your lips as your eyes landed on the drawing.

It was you. A sketch of you, with your head slightly turned down as you sewed. You had never seen anything like it, each little detail was accounted for in the drawing. 

What did it mean? Was he only sketching, something he did often. But he didn’t often draw you. Hell he never drew you, or so you thought. It was mainly animals or flowers you saw when you were able to catch a glimpse. 

What did this mean? Were you just a different model to draw? Your mind was going a mile a minute trying to make sense of this. Meanwhile your traitorous heart sang as the thought entered your mind that maybe, maybe Arthur could have feelings for you.

Only you didn’t just have feelings for Arthur, Charles had captured your heart as well. You couldn’t choose between the two of them if the moment presented itself. 

You took one last glance at the sketch and then at Arthur. Your heart pounding as you looked at him, the crease between his brows smoothed out by sleep. Your fingers itched to reach out and touch him. To run your fingers through his honey brown hair, or caress his cheek. To feel his stubble against your palm, or the soft kiss of his lips. 

You shook your head, clearing your mind of these thoughts. You returned to your bedroom wide awake, knowing you would not be getting much sleep tonight. 

Charles didn’t sleep well that night, he didn’t understand why until his hand reached out to the cold side of the bed. Reaching for Arthur’s warm freckled back to bury his face in. Only to find the cool sheets in his wake.

It was barely light, the sun just peeking over the horizon. Casting a bright ochre glow across the sky, slowly engulfing the dark blue. He could see clouds darkening in the distance as he rubbed his eyes, putting on his trousers and shirt. 

He walked out into the main room, softly closing the door behind him. Arthur sat in front of the fire, wrapped in a plaid blanket.

“You’re up early.” He said, waking over to him, his arms crossed as he waited for him to take the bait.

“Sun woke me up.” Arthur mumbled, a weak lie, staring into the fireplace.

“Did you come to bed last night?” Charles asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped in front of Arthur. Arthur huffed, mirroring Charles’ stance as he crossed his arms. 

“No.” Arthur grumbled, lowering his eyes. Too tired to think up a lie, besides Charles would see right through it. Charles sighed, walking over to the mantle. He leaned his elbow against it, enjoying the warmth after leaving the cold sheets. “She’s still planning on leavin’.” Arthur huffed, his jaw ticking. 

“I know.” Charles nodded, looking down. A low sigh leaving his lips. 

“Well what are we gonna do?” Arthur asked, leaning forward in his seat as he clasped his hands together.

“What do you suggest we do?” Charles asked, looking down at him. “Tell her she can’t leave? Hold her here as some prisoner?”

“No dammit.” Arthur huffed, rubbing the space between his brows. “But we can’t- we can’t let her go back to her bastard of a father. You remember those bruises, how she nearly jumped out of her damn skin when I walked toward her the other night?”

“Keep your voice down.” Charles warned, letting out a frustrated sigh “You think I like it any more than you do? You think I haven’t wanted to track that bastard down!” He asked, narrowing his eyes, “I’m trying to buy us more time, just like you. But we can’t stop her from leaving.” Arthur clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, he hated when Charles was right, which was more often than not. 

“I- I just don’t want to see her hurt.” Arthur said after a moment. Charles sighed, looking down at the wooden floor.

“I don’t either.” He said, walking over to stand in front of Arthur. He reached down, grasping his shoulder. “But we can’t keep her here if she wants to leave.” Arthur kept his eyes low, his hand coming up to cover Charles’. He ran his thumb over the back of his hand, seeking comfort in the subtle motion. 

“And what if she wants to stay?” He asked, his voice tight. “We just pretend we ain’t… we ain’t the way we are?” He squeezed Charles' hand. 

“I won’t live like that.” Charles said, shaking his head, “I’m not ashamed.” Arthur’s stomach clenched, partly in affection and partly in dread.  Arthur got up, walking past Charles. He stood in front of the fireplace, crossing his arms as he stared down into the flames. A whirlwind of emotions rushing through him. 

“Do you love her?” It sounded more like a statement than a question as Arthur whirled around to stare at Charles. His jaw dropped along with his stomach as a scoff left his lips. 

“Damn it, I love you Charles.” He growled, taking a step closer to the man. His hand wrapped around the back of Charles’ neck as he pulled him close. “You.” He reiterated, squeezing his neck gently.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Charles said, his dark eyes almost obsidian as he stared into Arthur’s. “Do you love her?” His voice was level and deep, no hint of anger or jealousy. Arthur sighed, pressing his forehead against his. He knew no matter what he said, no matter how hard he lied, Charles would see right through his bullshit.

Charles nodded, his hand squeezing Arthur’s waist. “You love me and you love her?” Again, phrasing a damn question like some statement.

“You know I do.” Arthur huffed, his tense stance deflating as the truth was revealed. A moment of silence passed between them before Charles let out a soft laugh. 

“You’re not alone, partner.” Charles said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. Arthur furrowed his brows, his eyes flitting across Charles' face. Taking in his spreading grin. 

“You’re kidding?” Arthur asked, tilting his head slightly. Still not fully believing him. Charles shook his head, grinning at Arthur. Arthur pulled him forward, crashing his lips against his. 

“You think we still got time before she wakes?” Arthur asked breathlessly, threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of Charles’ neck.

“You think you can be quiet?” Charles chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Can you, big boy?” Arthur smirked, his cock twitching in his pants. Charles pulled him forwards, the two of them walking back into their bedroom. Arthur closed the door behind him with his foot, tugging his shirt over his head. Charles followed suit, unbuttoning his pants before stepping out of them. Arthur moved forward, gripping the hem of Charles’ shirt as he pulled it upwards. As soon as Charles’ skin was bared, Arthur wasted little time to cover him in open mouthed kisses. His hand reached into his thin trousers, pulling him out. Charles felt a shiver run up his spine as Arthur smeared pre-cum over his head. Stroking him until his dick rested against his stomach, thick and heavy. 

A wolfish grin took over Arthur’s expression as he pushed him to lay back on the bed. He grabbed himself through his pants, squeezing his cock as he tried to give himself some relief. Before he settled between Charles’ thighs. He ran his hands up the strong trunks. His thumb rubbing against the lightning strike stretch marks along his hips.

“Ever tell you how damn handsome you are?” Arthur asked reverently, his mouth nearly watering as he looked up at Charles. 

“Most days.” Charles chuckled breathlessly, his pupils blown wide as he looked down at Arthur. He chuckled along, his breath ghosting against Charles' shaft. “Stop teasing.” He huffed, fidgeting under Arthur’s gaze.

“Don’t think you’re in a condition to make any demands there, Mr. Smith.” Arthur said, wrapping his hand around him, squeezing him at his base. Charles sucked in a breath, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“C’mon Arthur.” Charles pleaded softly.

“I gotchu sweetheart.” He cooed as he began to stroke him. Lubricating his hand with the precum that dribbled out of Charles’ tip. Normally Arthur would prolong each moment shared between the two of them. Back at camp, it was always quick exchanges if they got the chance. At first it had been exhilarating, sneaking around under the cover of darkness or the thick trees. The only time he would really get to take his time is if they paid for a room at a hotel, which never happened. Their hands covering their mouths, muffling their moans and spewed curses. It got old quick, always within grasp of each other but unable to act on their urges. After Arthur’s diagnosis, they wanted each moment together to last a lifetime. Not knowing how much time he had left until Arthur’s lungs failed him. They got lucky, little by little he got better. But that didn’t mean they didn’t like to take their time. 

Arthur loved pulling the sweetest whimpers from Charles' lips. The way his brow would furrow, his plump lips parting as he grabbed at Arthur. Whether his hands grasped his hair or his ass, they always pulled him closer. 

But they didn’t have time for that now, he just wanted to make Charles cum. Hell he didn’t even care if he got off, he could live with the ache for a while. He wrapped his lips around his head, fondling Charles’ balls as he relaxed his jaw. Charles was by no means a small man. Charles grunted, his hand flying to Arthur’s shoulder, steadying himself as he tried not to blow his load too soon. 

“Fuck Arthur-“ He hissed, gritting his teeth as he strained his head upwards. Arthur hummed around him, hollowing his cheeks as he took more of him in his mouth. Enjoying the salty taste of him on his tongue. Charles was hanging on for dear life, it had been too long, and he was too pent up. The slightest touch from Arthur would have sent him over the edge. Not to mention how perfectly his lips were wrapped around his cock, his blue eyes meeting Charles’. 

“I’m not- shit- I’m not gonna last.” He breathed, deep and ragged as he dug his dull nails into Arthur’s shoulder. Leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin. Arthur braced himself, holding onto Charles’ thighs as he slid down further on his length until his nose was pressed up against his dark pubic hair. Then the bastard swallowed around Charles and he was gone. His body seizing up as he painted the inside of Arthur’s mouth with his seed. He bit down on his hand, trying to muffle the moan that threatened to escape his lips. His eyes rolled back into his head as Arthur drank down everything he had to give him. Spent and boneless, Charles laid back against the bed. Arthur chuckled, pulling off him and wiping the corners of his mouth before climbing onto the bed beside him. 

Chatles rolled onto his side to face Arthur, a blissed out smile on his lips. 

“What?” Arthur asked, his own smile spreading on his lips. 

“You’re sure I’m the only man you’ve ever been with?” Charles asked, a shit eating grin tugging at his lips.

“Shut up.” Arthur huffed, rolling his eyes as he playfully shoved Charles. “C’mere.” He said, pulling him back towards in and into his arms. 

They weren’t planning on falling back asleep, but the post sex bliss drug Charles under and Arthur wasn’t far behind him. They woke maybe an hour later, Charles couldn't exactly tell as he rubbed his eyes. Pulling himself out of Arthur’s embrace, he shook him awake before getting dressed again.

“Surprised the cows haven’t broken out of the barn yet, you’re never this late getting them fed.” Arthur chuckled, shaking his head as he threw his shirt back on. 

“Well, I haven’t gone out there yet, maybe they did break out.” He grinned looking over at Arthur.

“At least we got the girl this time. Maybe she’d be the one looking instead of the one being found.” Arthur said as he finished buttoning up his shirt. He pulled Charles towards him, his and wrapping around his waist as he pressed his lips to his. “Just one more.” He said softly, his other hand cupping Charles’ face. His thumb running over the jagged scar on his cheek. 

Charles smiled, leaning into his hand before they begrudgingly separated. Arthur walked out first, as to not draw suspicion if she was already out in the main room. They hadn’t heard her get up yet, but just in case. Charles waited a few minutes before he walked out of the bedroom. Arthur was feeding the fire, placing a few logs on top of the burning embers. Charles headed over to the coat rack, reaching for his coat when he noticed that Arthur’s blue coat was missing. He furrowed his brows as he continued to put on his gear, lacing up his boots. Your boots were gone, too.

“Think she got an early start.” Charles called to Arthur, “Probably out there with Taima already.” He said, shaking his head. 

“She’s really taken to her.” Arthur hummed looking up at him, “Be careful for Taima’ll like her more than you soon.”

“Think she might already.” He chuckled, “She didn’t warm up to me that quickly. I had to work for it.” He put his hat on, stepping outside. The cold nipped at his face, the wind had begun to pick up. Charles saw your boot prints down the porch, but as he followed them he noticed they didn’t lead to the barn. They lead to the south. They led to where Charles believed your fathers house was, where your home was. His stomach dropped like a rock, his mouth running dry as he turned back towards the cabin.

He flung the door open, not bothering to take off his boots as he ran to your room. You weren’t there. You hadn’t taken anything, leaving all the clothes you had been given tucked away in the trunk. 

Charles could hardly breathe.

“Charles, what the hell is going on!” Arthur asked, panic laced in his tone.

“She’s gone.”

-

You’d never been much of an early riser. Today however, something had pulled you from your sleep. Although it wasn’t the best night of sleep anyway. You had tossed and turned, your subconscious playing tricks on you as Charles and Arthur invaded your dreams. 

You rubbed your eyes, putting on your trousers and buttoning up your shirt. Perhaps you’d tailor a few of the shirts Arthur gave you after your lessons. You left your room, your brows furrowed as you looked around for Arthur. It wasn’t like him to sleep in late, and Charles’ hat and coat were still hanging by the door. The animals would need to be tended to soon, and he would never let them go hungry.

Arthur must have gone to bed late last night, after… after sketching you. Your heart fluttered at the memory, his large hands resting on his open journal. 

You shook your head, clearing the image from your mind. Well, no matter, you would go wake them up yourself. You walked over to the closed door, your ears perking up as you heard rustling from inside. You raised your fist to knock when you heard an unmistakable moan.

You froze, your hand inches from the door. You couldn’t have moved if you wanted to. No matter how loud the voice in your head screamed at you to get away, your feet were firmly planted. 

Maybe you had just heard wrong, maybe it was a groan or an innocent sound made while sleeping. 

“I’m not- shit- I’m not gonna last.” The voice was muffled, but it was Charles. You gulped, your stomach dropping into your feet as you quietly reeled back from the door. Your hand reaching for purchase on the table as the life you had imagined crumbled around you. 

They didn’t have feelings for you. They had feelings for each other. 

You swallowed thickly, your mouth going dry as the pit in your stomach grew. God, you were a fool. How could you have not seen the signs? The lack of items in Charles ‘room’, the unspoken words that passed between them. You had been intruding on them this whole time. 

You wiped your nose off on your sleeve, tears stinging your eyes as you rushed back to your room. You wouldn’t force yourself in their space anymore. You had burdened them long enough. You tore off Arthur’s clothes, putting your blouse and skirt on. Charles said the cabin was a mile north of where he had found you those few weeks ago. Had it only been a couple of weeks? It felt like you had spent a lifetime with the two men, you wanted to spend your lifetime with them.

Enough of that, you wiped away the tears that rolled down your cheeks. They were foolish dreams to begin with. You couldn’t have one without losing the other, and you wouldn’t have done that. If only you had known neither of their hearts were available. The love that you harbored for the two men was wasted.

You were afraid to go out of your room, afraid you’d have to face them one last time. Luckily they were still in their room when you finally worked up the courage. The only other time you had laced up your boots so quickly was when you had left home. You opened the door, wincing as the wind blew into your face. You couldn’t go out there in just your skirt and blouse. You hesitated by the coat rack, your hand resting on Arthur’s coat. 

Perhaps some day you’d find a way to return it, although you knew that was wishful thinking. You threw the coat on, blinking away tears as you surrounded yourself with Arthur’s scent. Your hands lingered on Charles’ coat, and before you could stop yourself you brought the fabric to your nose. Inhaling his scent for the last time. You tried to commit it to memory, knowing you’d recall the smell when you were alone. Swallowing past the lump in your throat you took one last glance around the cabin. Your heart clenched in your chest as you pushed the door open. The cold wind hit you, cutting against your face like tiny blades. You held your hand up, shielding your face as you walked down the steps. Your feet sinking into the snow, the white powder rising above the tops of your boots. A shiver ran down your spine as you pushed forward, trying to ignore the coldness that seeped into your body. You looked over at the barn, considering for a moment if you should take one of the horses. You shook your head, knowing you are nowhere near close to riding on your own. Especially not in the snow like this, without Charles. Not to mention there would be no way to return Taima or Buell once you reached your father’s house. If you were thrown, you doubted they would know how to return home. You didn’t need another death hanging over your head, one was enough.

Your hands started to cramp, matching the freezing temperatures as you forged forward. You stole a glance over your shoulder, knowing you shouldn’t have. The cabin was still in your line of view, a beacon that called you back, called you home.

Your eyes began to water, you wished you could have blamed it on the cold but you knew that wasn’t true. You wiped away the moisture in your eyes, turning away from the log cabin and returning to your trek.

-

“How far do you think she made it?” Arthur asked, shoving his fingers into his gloves before putting on Charles’ coat.

”Hopefully the mile back to her father’s,” Charles huffed, pushing his arms through one of their shared coats. It didn’t offer the best heat, but he’d be damned if he had to think about you and Arthur facing the elements. “Tracks seemed fresh, she left this morning, not last night.” Thank god you hadn’t been so foolish as to leave under the cover of darkness. If you had got lost out there… he didn’t want to think about it.

“Damnit, why’d she go?” Arthur huffed, his voice tight and pained.

“I don’t know.” He said, shaking his head as he put his hat on. “Let’s just hope we find her.” The two men left the cabin, racing to the barn. It didn’t take them long to get the horses ready, their hooves plowing through the snow as they followed your trail.

-

You urged your numb feet forward, puffs of hot air leaving your lips as your father’s house came into view. Your hands itched as you tried to move your fingers. Climbing the stairs on shaky legs, you realized in your hurry that night you had left the door open. Snow covered the inside of the house, blanketing the furniture. Your stomach churned the further you ventured into the house. You stopped short as your eyes landed on your father’s body. You clamped your jaws shut, muffling the strangled groan that threatened to leave your lips. You turned away, moving as quickly as you could to the fireplace. Your traitorous hands stung like hell as you grabbed one of the logs. Tossing it into the fireplace you stumbled to your feet, searching for a box of matches. You breathed hot air onto your fingers, hoping to coax some movement back in them.

You struck the match against the side of the box three times before a flame burst forth. You tossed the stick onto the log, sinking to your knees as you watched the fire grow.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as feeling returned to your hands and feet. You hung your head, your body wracked with sobs. Everything that had been building for the last month came to a head. You got to your feet, rising with a newfound purpose as you walked towards your father’s carcass. Swiping the box of matches off the side table, you light one. Standing over his body, you dropped the match, watching as it fell and caught against the wooden floor. 

It doesn’t spread as fast as you’d like it to, so you light another, dropping it onto the kitchen table. Smoke starts to fill your lungs, stinging your eyes and throat as you light off every single remaining match. You cough and spit as you move backwards, into your room. Laying down on your bed, pulling Arthur’s coat tighter around your body as you try to recall Charles’ scent or his smile. 

-

They’re lucky, the tracks are deep and nothing has come by to cover them. Arthur’s breath has gone ragged, another thing for Charles to worry about as they urge the horses faster. 

“There!” Arthur yelled, cutting himself off with a dry cough. Black smoke rises in the distance,  too much and too dark for a simple chimney fire. 

“Shit.” Charles mumbled, cracking the reins as he barreled forward. Arthur followed, a resounding ‘hyah’ leaving his lips as they flew across the frozen landscape. 

Charles' heart dropped as he pulled up short, Arthur stopped next to him as both their eyes landed on the scene ahead of them. 

Thick, black smoke billowed up into the air, as bright orange flames began to engulf the house. Arthur jumped off Buell, calling your name as he rushed towards the house. Charles followed him, grabbing his arm as he pulled him back from the burning house. 

“The hell are you doing?” He yelled over the crackling of the fire.

“You’re staying here!” Charles yelled, pushing him backwards.

“I can help damnit!” He growled, fighting back a dry cough.

“I can’t lose both of you!” Charles huffed, grabbing the lapels of Arthur’s coat. The two shared a heated glare, only to break apart at the sickening sound of part of the roof caved in.

“Go! Go get our girl!” Arthur yelled, pushing Charles off of him. Charles ran up the steps, rushing into the house. A body caught his eye, he almost crumpled right then and there. He rubbed his eyes, stumbling over to the body. He swallowed thickly, wetting his dry throat as his eyes landed on the man.

Your father, a hole in his chest. The fire hadn’t killed him, you had. Served him right.

He turned away from the corpse, his voice raw as he yelled for you. He burst through one of the doors, his eyes landing on you. Curled up in bed, wrapped in Arthur’s blue coat. His heart was in his throat as he moved forward, smoke strangling him as he pulled you into his arms. 

Arthur stood unmoving as he watched in horror as the house crumbled. Yelling for both you and Charles. Breath returned to his lungs as Charles walked out of the door, your tiny frame in his arms.

“Is she alive?” He asked, catching Charles as he stumbled forward. They both dropped to their knees, brushing the soot from your hair. Charles was unable to stop the ragged cough that wracked through his body. Spittle built up in the corner on his lips as he braced himself on the cold ground.

Arthur ripped off his gloves, shoving them onto your cold hands as he leaned over you. His ear over your heart, praying to anyone listening that he’d hear the rhythmic thumping. Your chest refused to rise, he grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached as he parted your lips. Breathing air into your mouth. His chest burned, the sharp ache returning in full force. Charles pulled him off of you, taking over for him.

“Please, please darlin’ breathe.” Arthur mumbled, grabbing your gloved hand.

Your eyes snapped open, gasping for air as Charles pulled back.

“Oh, thank god.” Arthur let out a ragged relieved breath, not noticing the biting cold seeping through his pants as he sat back in the snow. Charles held the back of your neck, supporting you as you coughed and sputtered.

“Get the horses.” Charles muttered, wiping away the spittle at the corner of your mouth. Everything felt so hazy, like you were looking through the smoke that had filled your former home. You watched as Arthur brought the horses over, taking Arthur's hand as he helped you get on Taima’s back. You wrapped your arms around Charles, hanging onto him.

“Tighten your grip.” He huffed, grabbing your arm and pulling it closer around him. Arthur’s brows furrowed as he glanced back at the two of you one more time before getting onto Buell.

The ride back to the cabin had been much too quiet. The tension was almost suffocating, as the only sound came from the horses as they huffed and snorted. Along with Arthur’s badly hidden coughs. Charles was stiff as a board in front of you as your head rested between his shoulder blades.

You wondered if you'd ever get the stench of smoke out of your hair, your clothes. Well- Arthur’s clothes- his beautiful blue coat now dusted with soot. 

You still didn’t understand why they had gone after you. They were happy before you came along, you were an inconvenience, a pest. 

Perhaps it would have been better if Charles had never found you out in the snow. If you had died along with Father. Now you owe Charles two life debts. 

Charles and Arthur had pulled the horses up to the front of the cabin. 

“Help her inside, I’ll put the horses away.” Charles said, his tone indicating there would be no arguing with him. Arthur nodded, swinging his legs over Buell. He passed the reins over to Charles before holding his arms up for you. You held onto his shoulders as his hands landed on your waist, gently pulling you off of Taima’s rump and down beside him in the snow. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as the two of you walked into the house.

Arthur helped you take off his coat. You wondered if it would ever be that bright blue again, or if the dark black stains would forever be sewn into the fabric. 

That dull cough broke through the silence as Arthur shuddered, holding onto the table as he tried to catch his breath. Your heart clenched painfully at the noise, guilting eating you up inside. As soon as he caught his breath, Arthur moved to the fireplace, striking a match as he started to get the fire going. You sat down in one of the chairs, taking off Arthur’s gloves and laying them down on the table. At least you had returned them to their rightful owner now. 

The fire started to crackle, slowly growing in the fireplace. You stared into the flames, playing the events of the day over again in your head. Seeing Father again, striking match after match, feeling the heat through your bedroom door. The thick, smoky air and how it seemed to weigh heavily on you. Making it harder and harder to breathe, until everything went dark. 

“C’mere.” Arthur said, pulling you out of your thoughts as he beckoned you over to the fireplace.

You warmed your body by the fire, your hands burning at the sudden shift in temperature. Your whole body felt as though it was thawing. Arthur walked over to the front door, hanging his-Charles- coat up on the rack. 

The door swung open as Charles stomped inside, slamming the door close behind him. 

“Got the horses situated?” Arthur asked, turning to face him. Charles grunted in response, taking off his coat and gloves. “Should probably bring the tub in,” Arthur added, feigning nonchalance as he very obviously tested the waters. “The both of you will be needing a bath.” Charles leaned against the table, gripping the edge. 

“The hell were you thinking?” His voice came out a low growl as his eyes found yours. You clenched your jaw, shame blooming in your cheek as you lowered your gaze. “You have nothing to say?” He asked with a small scoff. “You could have died! Hell, Arthur ain’t doing much better.” He said, throwing his arm up as he motioned to Arthur. 

“Charles I’m fine-“ Arthur started, before Charles cut him off.

“Don’t.” He warned, fire burning in his dark obsidian eyes. “We were worried sick.” He huffed turning on you.

“I didn’t ask you to come after me.” You whispered, hot frustrated tears pricking your eyes. 

“What?” He asked with a low hiss, his brows furrowed.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for you to save me then and I didn’t ask for it now.” You sounded absolutely pathetic, your voice cracking as you spoke. You couldn’t help the tears that broke past your waterline and rolled down your cheeks. You watched as the tension slowly melted off of Arthur’s shoulders. However, Charles wasn’t letting you off so easily.

“You didn’t have to!” He huffed, shaking his head. “God, what was going through your head?” 

“Now let’s all just settle down-“ Arthur cut in, holding his hands up as though trying to calm a spooked animal.

“Why do you care anyway? You have each other, you certainly don’t need me intruding on the two of you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charles huffed, straightening up, his arms crossed over his broad chest. You pursed your lips, looking between the two of them. Charles breathless moans playing over and over in your head.

“I- I heard the two of you.” It was like all the air was suddenly sucked out of the cabin. Both Arthur and Charles froze, the only sound was the crackling fire as you stared at them. 

“H-How much did you hear?” Arthur asked, clearing his throat as he took a step forward. The wooden floor creaked under him as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Charles.

“Enough.” Blood rushed to your cheeks as you looked away from them, that uncomfortable feeling building in your gut. You could hear one of them shift, moving back and forth on each foot. 

“Well, we know your daddy didn’t die of the cold.” Arthur said suddenly. Your head shot up, staring at the two of them with wide eyes. Charles gave Arthur a look, which he ignored. “So what are you gonna do?” He asked, pursing his lips.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything!” You scoffed, shaking your head. Your brows furrowed as you looked from Arthur to Charles. “I don’t- I don’t have a problem with whatever you two do, whoever you are.” You said crossing your arms as you looked down at your feet. 

“We don’t blame you for what you did.” Charles said, holding up his hand. His voice had taken on a much softer tone than before. Glancing over at Arthur before he spoke again, “We just- we won’t say anything if you don’t say anything.” 

“I’m-“ You let out a shaky breath, “I didn’t mean to it just- it just happened.” You whispered, your voice breaking.

“And no one blames you for it, sweetheart.” Arthur said softly, “There’s no doubt that bastard got what he deserved.” 

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that slipped down your cheeks with the back of your hand. 

“We haven’t… we haven’t been fully truthful with you.” Charles said, leaning against the table. Arthur stiffens, looking like a scolded child next to Charles. “Arthur and I… we ran with a gang, it’s how we met.” He admits. “You’ve probably heard of the Van Der Linde gang?” Your eyes widen, so that’s what Arthur meant when he said he had blood on his hands. 

“I was with them for longer than Charles.” Arthur spoke up, taking a step closer. “Since I was fourteen, Dutch and Hosea, they took me in and in return I gave them my blind loyalty.” He spit, shaking his head. “I ain’t a good man. I’ve done a lot of bad things but I’m- I’m trying to be better.”

Suddenly it clicked, like the final piece of a puzzle. You knew where you recognized Arthur from. You and your father had traveled to the United States, a few years back. You had been standing in the train station, looking up at the flyers on the bulletin board. You had seen his wanted poster, his scowling face staring back at you from the paper. 

He looked much more handsome in person. 

“I ain’t much better.” You mumbled, shaking your head. “My father didn’t deserve to die. No one does.”

“Ain’t much better?” Arthur scoffed, “Sweetheart, he deserved what he got, and more.”

“It was self defense.” Charles cut in, “You were only protecting yourself.” 

“It still wasn’t right!” You shook your head, “What am I gonna do now? I don’t- I don’t have anything. Everything’s likely gone, burned up.” You put your head in your hands, “Oh god I’m such a fool.”

“Hey,” Arthur’s voice was soft as he gently pulled your hands away from your face. “You don’t gotta worry about any of that right now, ya hear?” You nodded, sniffling as you looked up into his deep blue eyes. “Charles and I… We’ll be here for you, if you want to stay.” He said hesitantly.

“I-“ you bit your lip, chewing a piece of skin off. “I shouldn’t.” Arthur swallowed thickly, nodding as he pulled away.

“If that’s what you want.” He said, resting his hands on his belt. It wasn’t what you wanted. It was the last thing you wanted. To be alone again, to be without them again. Hell, you probably wouldn’t survive on your own.

“We won’t force you to stay.” Charles said softly, looking down at the table, “But at least stay a couple nights.” He raised his eyes to meet yours. “I’ll- I’ll take you to town in a couple days if you’d like.” He offered.

You knew it was the best decision, stay a few more days and then find something to do once he took you to town. 

“Alright, thank you, I’ll stay for a few days.” You nodded. They both physically relaxed, like they were both hanging on to every word. 

“Alright.” Arthur nodded, clearing his throat as he nodded. “We’ll uh- we’ll get the tub and water going.” 

-

You sat at the table, watching as they melted the snow in a kettle above the fireplace. Pouring each pail of hot water into the tub. They offered you first bath, another kindness on their part. You assumed they would probably share once you were done.

Heat flooded your cheeks at the image you conjured up in your head. Both Charles and Arthur, naked in the warm water. Bathing each other, touching, kissing. 

You cleared your throat, looking back down at the grooves on the wooden table.

Little did you know that Arthur and Charles were trying to come up with a plan. Some way to convince you to stay more than a few nights. Some way to convince you to stay forever. 

“Before Charles there…” Arthur spoke up, his cheeks a deep rose as he looked back at you. “There was Mary. The woman in those pictures you found.” You nodded, swallowing thickly.

“N’ Charles, well he-“

“We fancy either sex.” Charles spoke up, tired of beating around the bush. He met your eyes, his dark obsidian pools boring into yours.

You looked between the two of them.

“I’m sorry I- I don’t understand.” You said furrowing your brows slightly. 

“Darlin’ we-“ Arthur cut himself off with a sigh. Your heart skipping a beat at the petname.

“We want you to stay.” Charles said, finishing Arthur's sentence.

“Now I- I’m real grateful for your hospitality but I-“ You sighed biting your lip, “I don’t wanna intrude-“

“Who said you would be?” Charles asked, pouring the last pail into the tub. Steam gently rising off of its crystal surface. “We want you here.”

You pursed your lips, looking from Charles to Arthur. Your stomach clenched as you saw the pure yearning in both of their eyes. 

No. No you wouldn’t get your hopes up. 

“We want you.” Charles said, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“What?” You asked, your mouth going dry as the implications set in.

“We want you if- if you want us, too.” Arthur said, looking up at you.

“H-how would that even work?” You asked, knowing this offer was too good to be true. No one ever wanted you. Sure, some boys did, for a roll around in the hay and then they’d never look your way again. 

But Charles and Arthur were nothing like the boys in town. They- they made you feel alive. Not only for two seconds or minutes, it wasn’t some passing fancy. Your blood seemed to sing around them. Like they had breathed life into your very essence. 

“We both… care for you. You care about us, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do.” You answered way too quickly, your heartbeat pounding in your ear. 

The tension was near suffocation as the three of you stood there, staring at each other. 

“Then why not see where this goes?” Charles asked, taking a step towards you. Your heart thudded against your ribcage as you struggled to take in a full breath. You had to be dreaming, or perhaps you had perished in the fire. For there was no feasible way that this was actually happening. 

“Okay.” Your soft reply surprised yourself as much as it surprised them. A small, boyish smile spread across Arthur’s face. A relieved, almost disbelieving huff leaving his lips.

Charles moved towards you, slowly, giving you a chance to move and put distance between the two of you if you wished.

But there was nothing more that you wanted than to touch them. Feel the heat of their bodies against yours, under your fingertips. Your feet were glued to the spot as you stared up at him. He stood only a foot or two in front of you, his hand hesitantly raised to cup your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered close at the feeling of his large, warm hand against your skin. You didn’t care that his hands were calloused and scarred, he held you as though you could fall apart in his grasp. Which you had a feeling you could. He tilted your head upwards, his breath puffing against your cheek as he looked down at you. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips. Then slowly leaned down, his lips connecting with yours.

They were much softer than you had imagined. Plump and warm as they moved against yours. His other hand threaded through the hair at the nape of your neck pulling you closer. Your hands rested on his broad chest, feeling the heat and tension beneath his clothes. 

You were so distracted by Charles that you didn’t even notice Arthur come up behind you. He placed a tentative hand on your waist, the other on Charles' arm. Charles pulled away from your lips, hiding a smile as your mouth moved after him. He ducked his head to press hot open mouthed kisses against your neck. Arthur turned your head towards him, brushing his nose against yours. You pulled one hand away from Charles to cup Arthur’s cheek, pulling him closer.

Now that you had had a taste of the men, you couldn’t stop yourself. His beard scratched along your palm as you held him against you. His lips pressed against yours as Charles sucked bruises onto your neck and any other exposed skin he could find. 

You moaned into Arthur’s mouth, unable to control yourself. Not that you wanted to. Yes you knew it was wrong, but then why did it feel so right? 

Is this how Pandora felt moments before opening her box? Did she feel the anticipation building in her veins, the almost electric buzzing in her body?

Arthur pressed his tongue against the seam of your lips, wordlessly asking for entrance. Your lips parted without any hesitation, your own tongue passing into his mouth.

Years ago there had been a boy in town who you had sworn up and down you would marry. You thought no one would ever make you feel like he did, maybe you were right. This feeling building inside your chest, threatening to burst out of you, is a thousand times more powerful than that ever was.

“Water’s getting cold.” Charles mumbled against your neck, nipping at your collarbone. 

You smirked against Arthur’s lips, knowing there was no way in hell it was getting cold. Maybe now it would be tolerable, not scalding as it had been before. 

“Perhaps we should do somethin’ about that Mr. Smith.” Arthur’s deep, raspy voice sent shivers down your spine as he pulled back. Their eyes met and it was like watching a summer storm. The near electric current that passed between them was intoxicating. Arthur grabbed Charles by the back of his neck, pulling him into a harsh kiss. Teeth clashed and it was clear they had been holding back for you. But you didn’t want sweet, you wanted them. 

You pulled away from their hold, their eyes immediately finding you. An almost vulnerability there in their gaze. Although their furrowed brows quickly relaxed as you tugged your skirt down. Arthur made quick work with his shirt, tearing at his clothes like they were burning him. 

Your heart was damn near beating out of your chest as you pulled your shirt off, leaving you only in your shift. You could feel the heat and wetness start to gather between your legs. Your core aching as you watched the men dress down. 

Arthur and Charles were in their union suits, all three of you frozen as though waiting for the other to make the first move. Your eyes were drawn downwards to their cocks, you weren’t ashamed to admit it. Although you wondered how something that big would fit inside you. 

You swallowed thickly, finding your mouth dry at the sight of them. Your eyes passed from Charles to Arthur. Arthur’s hands twitched at his waist, you assumed this was how he looked before a gun fight, albeit more clothed. The anticipation, waiting to see who would draw first. The thought sent heat down to your core, and in some twisted way you wished you could have seen him at his prime. 

Charles' chest heaved with each heavy breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared you down. His dark brown eyes almost obsidian with how blown wide his pupils were.

They were waiting for you. 

They were waiting for you to make the first move. Even though you could feel the almost primal want radiating from them, they were still holding back. And that made you want them even more.

You grabbed your shift, pulling it over your head, before stepping out of your bloomers. You didn’t have time to worry about whether they would like what they saw as you stepped into the tub. An involuntary sigh left you as you sank into the warm water. Goosebumps erupted on your skin as the heat enveloped you.

“There’s room for two more.” You said looking over at them, honestly questioning if the three of you could actually fit in the tub. Maybe if you sat on one of their laps.

Arthur moved first, shucking his union suit off before striding over to you. His cock sprung up onto his belly, a thatch of curling brown hair at his base. Charles wasn’t far behind him and soon all three of you managed to get in the tub.

You had imagined they would pounce on you as soon as they could, but they didn’t. Instead Charles took to lathering the soap in his hands before handing it to Arthur. As Charles cleaned his toned body, Arthur began to clean you. He gently washed away the soot and ash from your face and hair. Before he started to spread the soap on your body. Once you were clean, Charles took the soap back and began to clean Arthur. It didn't take very long, but he wasn't nearly as filthy as you and Charles. Then Arthur moved to brush through Charles' hair, meticulously working out any knots without tugging on his scalp. Charles motioned for you to turn in the tub, it was a tight fit but you managed. The three of you would clean up the water that sloshed onto the floor once you were finished. 

Charles then ran his fingers through your hair, untangling it. There was nothing sexual about the act even though the three of you were as naked as the day you were born. You were simply serving each other.

Arthur finished cleaning Charles' hair, moving the wet raven curtain off to one side of his shoulder as he kissed up his neck.

Charles hummed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. You turned to look at the two of them, the fire sparking deep in your belly. You needed them, you needed to have them. 

You moved forward, running your hand down Charles' chest. He grabbed your hand before you could reach his appendage between his legs.

“You gotta work up to that darlin’.” He said breathlessly, “Take Arthur first.”

Charles moved to give you better access to Arthur, you were now squished between the two of them. Arthur’s hands ran down your waist, settling on your hips.

“You’ve done this before?” He asked, his bright eyes finding yours. 

“Not with two men.” You said with a weak chuckle. Arthur cracked a smile, pulling you closer. 

“We’ll be gentle sweetheart.” He promised, “And you tell us if you wanna stop, ya hear?” The teasing glint vanished from his eyes.

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you settled over his hips. “I don’t wanna stop.” Charles moved behind you, his hands palming your tits. You gasped as he pinched one of your nipples.

“Sensitive.” He hummed as Arthur’s hands ran up and down your thighs. Your head was spinning, trying to keep your focus on both of them at the same time. Arthur’s thumb found your clit, rubbing small circles on the bundle of nerves. 

You moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as you twitched. Your body involuntarily jumped with each pass of his calloused thumb.

“Arthur-“ You said breathlessly, feeling the tight coil of pleasure build in your belly.

“I’m here sweetheart, we’re here.” He said softly, thrusting a finger into your core. 

“Oh god.” You moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as you teetered on the edge.

“C’mon, open those pretty eyes for me.” He cooed, smirking up at you. You opened them, tears brimming in your eyes as he added a second finger. “Gotta open you up, get you real nice and ready for me and Charles, ain’t that right?” 

His words and his fingers had you on the edge, Charles managed to push you over as he rolled your nipples between his forefinger and thumb. 

You came with a cry, digging your nails into Arthur’s shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. You ground down on his hand, riding out your orgasm.

“Atta girl,” Arthur cooed, pulling his hand out before notching his head at your entrance. Your breath hitched as you felt his head push past your opening. Both of you let out a moan as you slowly sunk down onto him. 

Charles chuckled darkly behind you, his hands settling on your waist. “So pretty,” He mumbled.

“F-fuck Arthur.” You stuttered, biting your lip as you looked down at him. He completely filled you, the hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. You whimpered as he thrusted up into you.

“Shit, sorry.” He said through gritted teeth, it was obvious he was trying to hold back, trying to give you time to adjust to his girth. 

“M’okay.” You said breathlessly, “Move.” You pleaded.

“Give me a minute.” He huffed, his azure pools finding yours.

“Arthur,” You whined, squirming on top of him.

“God, she’s squeezing me so tight.” He growled, his head falling to the valley of your breasts. Charles had decided he had enough, his hands raising your hips off of him before slamming you back down onto Arthur.

“Charles.” Arthur moaned, nipping at the tender flesh of your breast. You felt electric, pleasure shooting through your body with each thrust. Water sloshed over the side of the tub as Charles slammed you down onto Arthur’s cock.

“Oh- oh god!” You whimpered, your toes curling as your mind went blank. Like the crack of a whip, the building pressure inside you broke. You clamped down on Arthur, crying out as your orgasm overtook you. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit-“ Arthur babbled, his hands replacing Charles as he began to ruthlessly thrust into you. Chasing his own high while you rode yours out. He quickly pulled you off of him, twitching as he spilled his seed into the warm water. A deep rumbling moan leaving his lips, his brows pinched together as he squeezed his eyes shut.

He was gorgeous.

You panted, leaning back against Charles' large frame. Arthur chuckled breathlessly, leaning forward as he chased after you. He cupped your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. You sighed softly into his mouth, feeling Charles against your back.

“Think he’s been mighty patient, don’t you sweetheart?” Arthur asked, barely pulling away from your lips to speak.

“Mmhm.” You nodded, boneless as Arthur moved you on top of Charles.

“Atta girl.” He praised, kissing your temple before laying back on the side of the tub.

“You sure about this?” Charles asked, his dark mocha eyes finding yours. Your head lolled forward and back, a blissed out smile on your lips.

“I want you. Both of you.” You said cupping his cheek, running your thumb over the lightning strike scar there. He groaned, his hands grabbing your butt as he pulled you closer. He rubbed you against his length, your lips parting with each pass of his head. “Charles,” You whined, starting to get overstimulated from the motion. Your body twitching as his head bumped against your clit.

“I got you baby.” He mumbled, reaching down to notch himself at your entrance.

“Fuck-“ You gasped as he began to stretch you open. You were glad they made you take Arthur first. He hummed, the noise coming from deep within his chest, sending shivers down your spine. “Charles-“

“You can take it.” He cooed, running his hands up and down your sides.

You could. You would take it.

You sat down on him fully, the breath nearly knocked out of you.

“It’s big ain’t it sweetheart?” Arthur cooed in your ear, you nodded another whine leaving your lips.

“Shit- you were right about her being so damn tight.” Charles said through gritted teeth. He leaned down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth before he started rocking you up and down.

You knew you sounded pathetic, mewling with each raise of his hips. You couldn’t even say what he was doing was called ‘thrusting’. 

“Ngh- Charles!” You cried, tears brimming in your eyes. Your legs trembled on each side of his thick thighs.

“Go on, let go baby.” He huffed, clenching his jaw. His thumb reached down between your legs, rubbing at your clit. A choked sob leaving your lips as you came. White hot pleasure rushed through your body as you shook on top of him. 

Hands, hands all over you. Petting, caressing, rubbing. 

“That’s our girl.” Arthur cooed in your ear, his warm chest against your back as Charles moved you up and down on him. 

“Our girl.” Charles groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrust up into you with wild abandon. Your head was spinning, staring down at Charles through half lidded eyes. “Oh- oh-“ Charles grit his teeth, pulling you off of him as he came. His dick twitching under the water as a blissed out smile overtook his face. 

The three of you panted, collapsing onto Charles, feeling the wild thumping of his heart under your ear. Arthur ran his hand up and down your spine, his other resting on Charles thigh.

“Think we outta bathe again.” He chuckled, grinning at the two of you. Charles laughed breathlessly, pressing his lips against your temple. He reached for Arthur, grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck as he pulled into a searing kiss.

-

Somehow the three of you made your way into bed. Resting naked under the flannel sheets as you mapped out their bodies.

You and Charles rested your heads against Arthur’s chest, trailing your hand up and down his chest. Threading your fingers through the hair that trailed down his belly. 

“You… you really want me to stay?” You asked, looking up at the two of them. Arthur scoffed, raising his head to meet your eyes.

“Did we not prove that to you in the tub?” He asked, raising a brow. Charles chuckled, a smile spreading across his lips.

“Sweetheart,” He said softly, cupping your cheek, “we want you to stay.” You smiled, hiding your face in Arthur’s chest. A small chuckle escaped Arthur as he wrapped his arms around the two of you.

“You’re our girl, course we want you to stay.”

As the three of you laid in post-sex bliss, only one thought filled your head. You had found your home, and it wasn’t a place, it was wherever they were. 

[thegeminisage]

they almost had ro on ds9! i think there was some issue with her actress, so instead they created kira

okay that is so cool actually...i'm just wondering like in this alternate version would odo still have fallen for this character? and somehow i just can't see it. and kiraodo means SO MUCH. to me. so maybe it's better that it was like this - kind of equal but opposite energy of the tom paris/nick locarno sitch

[phantomrose96]

Anyway Mouthwashing spoilers

I'm turning Curly over in my head for the narrative punishment he's put through. Like you could you COULD interpret him as a pure victim, framed for Jimmy's crime and forced to suffer in skinless silence while his assailant gets to assume his role but it's more than that, to me. It's not just Jimmy bad Curly good. It's Curly's enablement of Jimmy that sets all of this in motion and, now, how will you take Responsibility, Curly?

It's Curly's "I've known Jimmy a long time. He'll listen to me." It's Curly's brand of leadership that hinges more on being seen as a good leader than on actually taking action. Because being seen as a good leader requires everyone to like him and that's more important to him than actually protecting Anya from Jimmy.

You could say "Jimmy just had everyone fooled into thinking he was a decent guy" except no you can't, because Anya hid the gun from him knowing Jimmy may go ballistic learning she's pregnant with his baby. And she hides the gun because Curly wouldn't. "Why do they have locks on medbay and the cockpit but not in the sleeping quarters?" Anya asks to Curly. Curly knows Jimmy raped Anya but his brand of I Need To Be Liked leadership asserts that Jimmy deserves a seat at the table of this solution. Curly won't do anything. He won't do anything even when he says he'd do anything.

And this is even after Jimmy tore into Curly with left-field accusations about the crew being laid off being something Curly wanted. All the evidence we have says the whole crew is being let go, Curly along with everyone, but Jimmy turns on him and makes it out like Curly wanted this and Curly is the enemy to everyone else on the ship. Curly won't stand up for himself. He won't shut Jimmy down. Swansea holds onto the axe because when locked up the axe requires the Captain to unlock, and maybe Swansea recognizes he's on a ship with a Captain who would not use the axe on the man who needs it.

Curly never wanted anything bad to happen. He never tried to hurt anyone. He never crashed the ship. But he's the one person who could have shut Jimmy down for every horrible sign and action along the way and he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't. And the very first time he tries to intervene is when it's too little too late. HE gets eviscerated. He gets all his skin burned off. Because of what Jimmy did, but because of what Curly allowed.

And now his chance to act as Captain is gone. His chance to do right is gone. Jimmy is captain now and everyone who knows he's a monster is no longer capable of acting against him. And now skinless voiceless eternally watching, Curly has to lie in his own blood and bear witness to what Jimmy is doing, to everything he enabled. At Jimmy's mercy now like all the others, who physically beats him now and who is there to stand up for Curly? Enable. Enable enable enable.

[kirkwallsquad]

favorite da2 battle lines in no particular order

i'm listening to a compilation by danaduchy on youtube rn so

literally every fenris line bcs everyone else is YELLING and he's just speaking in his regular quiet-ish voice. king what are you saying i can't HEAR YOU

except for when hawke goes down. THEN he's loudly upset.

"hawke's down! time to panic!" (isabela)

"the tame elf is down" (varric - what the fuck omg don't call fenris that)

"your pet elf has fallen" (carver - WHAT THE FUCK OMG DON'T CALL FENRIS THAT)

"that moody mage is down" (aveline)

"ugh, can someone pick up fenris please?" (merrill)

"isabela's on the ground... appropriately" (aveline - HELLO?!?!?!?)

"merrill! oh, blood mages are so dramatic" (isabela)

"aveline has fallen?" (fenris - why is this a question babe)

"they got whatshisname, the mage" (varric - i continue to believe he doesn't know anders' name until act 3)

"the dwarf has dropped a few more feet" (sebastian)

"dear varric, please learn to parry. love, your innards" (varric)

"do you have something for this, because it hurts" (carver)

"even my teeth hurt" (anders)

"i've got so many bruises now they've got names and families" (merrill)

"ugh, i have dirt in my mouth" (sebastian)

"you're going to let me walk around injured?" (carver)

"being close to death is very bad for my morale" (isabela)

sebastian describes his wounds as "oozing" or "seeping" more than once

"i know dalish are meant to be close to the earth, but we don't mean literally" (merrill)

"i'm alright, who needs kidneys anyway" (isabela)

"hawke. varric. i think this is bad." (merrill)

"stop being you and fix me up" (carver - BABY. BABY BROTHER.)

"that really gets the blood flowing" but also "i will fight and pray for forgiveness later" but also "this is much more exciting than the chantry!" (sebastian - what is wrong with you <3)

"my face is not a shield!" (hawke)

"and they say drinking doesn't solve anything" (isabela)

"haawke i can't mooove" (sebastian)

"i'm too far away, what do you want me to do? shout at them?" (isabela)

"i'd have to fly to reach! of course, i've always wanted to learn to fly" (merrill - she's literally the funniest person ever)

"alas, no" (fenris)

"my faith is my armor! my cause is my shield!" (sebastian)

"if we kill them, we get their stuff!" (isabela)

"andraste's knees, it's like herding cats!" (isabela)

"AFRAID YET?!" (anders)

"RUN! WHILE YOU CAN!" (anders - he's so loud i love him)

"another one for me! how many have you gotten, hawke?" (varric)

"ah. a shame that you're going to die, no?" (fenris)

"you. me. and an audience. that's what this is all about!" (carver)

"may the creators have mercy on you! i certainly won't." (merrill)

"destructive forces of nature, coming up!" (anders)

"suck on a fireball!" (anders)

"NEVER TAUNT A MAGE!!!" (anders)

"a thrust, now a parry" (fenris)

"i'm gonna taunt you in elvish now! durgen'len! aravel! vallaslin!" (merrill)

"hello, i'm merrill, and i'll be your distraction." (merrill)

"I'LL SHOW YOU WHY MAGES ARE FEARED!!!" (anders)

"maker please forgive your children" followed immediately by "DID YOU SEE THAT SHOT" (sebastian)

"WANT TO SEE WHAT'S UNDER THESE ROBES?!?!?!" (anders)

"I'M RIGHT HERE! HIT ME!" (isabela)

"maker, the idiocy" (bethany)

"MAKER BLESS YOUR CHILDREN IN THEIR HOUR OF NEEEED" (sebastian)

"my weapon does nothing??" (fenris - he sounds so puzzled help)

"this is SO not working" (anders)

"if the pointy sticks don't work, try the other pointy sticks" (isabela)

"ah, dear. why doesn't anyone ever want to be nice to us?" (merrill)

"is there an end to the people who hate you?" (aveline)

"looks like we've got a few more puppies to kick" (isabela - HELLO?!?)

"take a step, kill, repeat repeat repeat" (carver)

"the hate you inspire is unfortunate" (fenris)

"another twenty steps, another batch of deaths" (anders)

"nobody seems to like you. do you get used to that?" (merrill - ouch. brutal hskfjhgksdjfhg)

"i can't take credit for all of this. hawke helped a little bit" (isabela)

[seresinhangmanjake]

Hey! I saw you were accepting Feyd requests and I got so excited! Could you do something where Feyd and reader have been married for a little while, have been pretty stand-offish and just keeping up appearances. They get into a fight over something stupid, saying hurtful things because reader still believes Feyd is incapable of feelings. Turns out he’s really protective though and gets seriously injured saving her during an attack? Reader panics trying to help him and the feels super guilty, meanwhile Feyd is enjoying the attention.

Staining

Feyd-Rautha x reader

Notes/Warnings: It's slightly different, but I hope you like it anyway. Mentions of blood and death. Smut so 18+. I'm sure there's typos. I think that's it.

Words: 4100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

“You’re heartless”—that’s what you spit at him after watching him rip apart another family right before your eyes. 

He slaughtered a man for a petty crime, and then you had to watch what would become of the wife and children. 

He gave them options, of course. He presents all of them with a choice: to be servants for his House or to fight for survival in the slums of Giedi Prime. For the mother, it likely means you’ll have a new handmaid. For the boys, they will be trained so they can one day face off in the arena. Either way, it's no life.

As he announced the options for their future, you couldn’t look away from her: the woman whose husband lay at her feet, the blood drained from his body as she attempted to shield her two young sons behind her small frame. You watched her kind eyes go permanently wide out of shock. She needed to answer your husband’s question, give a response to his merciful offer, but she couldn’t. Nothing on her moved save for the grip she had on her boys, which only tightened the longer she stared at her dead lover. 

You knew what would happen to them. Your husband found her silence and inability to snap out of her trace irritating. She would make a poor handmaid if she could not listen. The boys, however, could still make fine warriors—guaranteed entertainment a few years down the line. 

So he separated them. Allowed the guards to pry them away from their mother’s fingers—who left her state of shock behind only when she felt them being ripped from her hands—before dragging them to cells with tears streaming down their round cheeks. 

Their mother collapsed to the floor by her dead husband. His blood soaked her skirts. You didn’t know how a man could do this to his own people for something as simple as the theft of some food, but he does, and often. Then he had her thrown out, back to the slums where she came from. 

She’ll never see her boys again. If you know your husband, he will likely one day force the two to face off with each other in the arena. After all, that’s where his uncle finds entertainment, and your husband will do anything to please the old man. 

Long after his guards have departed with the woman, you’re still staring at the body on the floor. The red around him is congealing. If you run your finger through it, the digit will return sticky and thickly coated. He’ll stain your skin. He’ll stain through your skin onto your insides. He’ll never come off. 

He’s like your husband, you think. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stained you, and impressively, he didn’t even have to touch you to achieve that. Simply being in his presence was enough to leave his mark, and you’re in his presence plenty, just not how you imagined you would be when you married him. You imagined being in his bed. You imagined kisses and loving caresses and sweet words—that kind of staining. But you were a naive girl when your parents dropped you off on this planet, and you quickly learned how to be a woman; a woman whose husband only uses her for formality’s sake. 

You don’t know why you have to be by his side for this, though, but he always ensures that you are. The two of you…a solidified front to the world, as if you agree with the choices he makes and the punishment he doles out to those who don’t deserve it.

So that’s why you say it. Because you’re tired of this, tired of being silent, hating the idea that your silence might lead him to think the two of you are on the same page; that you’re a team. 

“You’re heartless.”

His head whips to you. “Heartless…” His voice around the word is vile; thick and rich like the blood on the floor. With a few steps in your direction he is in your space and you clasp your hands in front of you, fingers squeezing tightly to keep yourself from running off. He stares down at you, a luminous blue that you found so stunningly gorgeous when you first met him now a pair of frozen icicles stabbing into your skull. “I’m heartless?”

Your swallow is rough. Dry and scratchy. 

“I’m not the one who steals from his neighbors. I’m not the one who risks leaving his wife alone for the rest of her life,” he says. “They know the laws. They know the consequences.”

“And the woman? She deserves to be alone, rotting away in poor living conditions because of his choice? Her children deserve to die for your entertainment?”

“You take issue with how I handle things?”

“Yes.”

Feyd’s back teeth clench. His jaw sets in a sharp line. “Another reason for you to hate me then,” he grits out.

You blink. Your lips part. Another reason? You don’t have multiple reasons, and there’s certainly nothing you’ve done to indicate that you do. You used to hate that he didn’t, and doesn’t, care about you, but you’ve never said a word about it. You’ve never bothered him about sleeping in separate rooms or asked him to give you anything of himself. This—his treatment of his people in situations like this one—isn’t another reason. It’s the reason. 

“You could deal with these matters differently,” you say.

His fingers form balls at his sides. His mouth opens. It closes. He shakes his head and walks past you but pauses before he is completely out of your peripherals. “This is how things are done here,” he says. “You’ve been my wife for five months now. You need to get used to it.”

—

You don’t get used to it. You don’t get used to it because he doesn’t demand you be by his side at his executions anymore. Not after that day. 

You’d never spoken up before that moment, and it cost you what little interaction you had with your husband, which you despise to say was precious. You may not love him, and at times hate him, but he is the only thing you have on this planet. Little as you spoke to one another before, you held onto it because no one else gives a damn about you. Not that he does either, but at least he would give you a word or two. His brother and the Baron don’t bother, leaving you to Feyd to decide what to do with and when to do it. 

However, you imagine they didn’t expect that he would never touch you, and based on the way they watch you and Feyd when you’re forced to join the Harkonnen’s for dinner, you imagine they’re now aware that whatever was between you—minute as it was—is gone. He doesn’t even call on you for formal events. He no longer cares about showing a unified front to the other Great Houses. But you do.

You know what reputation means to the Harkonnens, and regardless of how you feel about the history of Feyd’s choices, you’re not willing to present your life on Giedi Prime as a failure. The two of you are too young for whispers to spread among influential families of a tainted marriage, a crack in the system. You don’t need questions floating about in regards to a unification that will not result in an heir. The end of the Harkonnen line, they’ll say, as Rabban, much older than your husband, has yet to choose a wife. How unfortunate, they’ll slyly mutter around the rims of their champagne glasses. And you’re not ready for that. 

So, with the exception of executions, you attend the events your husband does not invite you to anymore. You make sure your face is seen, especially when most vital. At his meetings, at his fights in the arena, and at Harkonnen parties such as this one. 

People enjoy themselves here. Shockingly, a few strong drinks eases the tension between Houses, and Giedi Prime has the strongest drinks of them all. It’s a tactic. A genius one, if you’re honest. The Baron invites his guests and gets them in a good mood and strikes deals one cannot go back on. Brilliant. Something you might have thought of yourself if your husband let you share your thoughts; thoughts you have plenty of. But no one cares how you would rule this planet if you had a say in its future.

You watch the Houses mingle about. You watch them laugh and dance. You watch them watch your husband. You watch them watch you. You watch the wheels turn in their alcohol-addled brains. You roll your eyes at what he doesn’t see. 

Ungluing yourself from your designated spot, you step up the staircase that leads to the Harkonnen men, your husband and his brother flanking the throne the Baron sits upon. You don’t think to speak to any of them; you didn’t break away from your assigned location for words. Instead, for all to see, you reach up to cup Feyd’s cheek and turn his head toward you for the first kiss since the day of your wedding. A gentle brush of lips. A buzz more engulfing than any drink could offer.

He freezes, and when you pull back his lips are still parted. His eyes open slowly and he stares down at you in awed confusion. How he doesn’t understand why you’ve done what you’ve done is just short of bewildering, but it doesn’t seem to click. 

“You–”

“I’m going to retire for the night,” you tell him. You’ve been at this party long enough, and the guests have now seen what they needed to see. Not to mention, their tipsy state means they’ll soon forget any thoughts they have about you until morning. They’ll stop searching for your presence. 

You don’t wait for your husband’s nod of approval. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t care where you are at any given time anyway, so you descend the staircase and exit the grand room into the hall that leads to your bedroom.

The echo of footsteps follows and you’re bold enough to believe it could be Feyd before a blade is pressed against your throat from behind. For a moment, you think it still might be your husband—retaliation for the kiss that re-sparked a feeling you’ve been trying to ignore since you married him—but the voice in your ear is feminine. 

“He killed my husband, my Lady,” the voice says, and you instantly remember her. It’s been two months but nothing could make you forget the look in her eyes. “I want my sons.”

You swallow hard. The blade nicks your throat from the additional force. A droplet trickles down your neck. “I can’t return your sons to you,” you tell her, at the same time questioning how she infiltrated such a secure place. But you suppose with the number of guests, slipping in would not have been the most difficult of challenges. 

You wince at the deepening cut. Your heartbeat quickens, doing little to aid in stopping the blood seeping from your wound. “You’re the na-Baronness.”

“I have little power here.”

“I don’t care!” she shouts, her words bouncing off the walls. “I want my boys,” and you think now she’s crying. Her tone alters. Something catches in her throat. “What’s happened to them?”

You don't wish to tell her, but you’re in no position to deny her requests. “They’re alive and well,” you say, which isn’t a complete lie. The Baron prefers strong, well-fed fighters—the duels last longer that way. 

“I want them back!”

“As much as I would like to, I cannot give them back to you. It’s not my decision.”

“Then I’ll take you from him,” she spits. “The way he took mine.”

You must’ve put on a grander show than you expected with that kiss because she seems to fully believe that your death would matter to him. But you know he won’t blink an eye. He might even thank her. Reward her by reuniting her with her sons, though unlikely. 

“He won’t care,” you tell her. 

“I have seen him, my Lady. He will care,” she says, and you don’t know how she could possibly come to that conclusion or why. It’s not as if the people of Giedi Prime sense a kind capability from the Harkonnens. “He will–”

She chokes. The blade trembles then drops from your neck. You quickly glance down to find Feyd’s knife deep in her side. 

Many things are a mystery to you in that moment. Why he bothered to leave the party; why he came down this hall of all halls, especially when his room resides in another; and why he pierced her side rather than go for the neck, which would have instantly ended her. His mistake. An uncharacteristic mistake.

The woman whips around, freeing you, and you stumble out of reach. They’re a blur of battling bodies as you get your footing, but then it catches up with you—the pain. Your hand goes to your neck and you make a little noise at the sting of your fresh wound. Your mistake. 

Feyd looks away from her in search of you for a single second. Not even. A half-second. But the woman is smaller, quicker, and the distraction is enough. Her blade slides into his abdomen. He grunts. You gasp.

He regains his focus and, by her hair, he rips her head back to expose her throat and shoves the blade through her neck. Blood spurts across his chest as he removes the weapon, and she collapses to her knees before the rest of her body flops to the floor. 

Feyd takes a shaky step back, staring down at the blade in his torso. He drops his knife and his hand goes to the hilt of the other. 

“No, don’t!” you yell, but you’re too late. He jerks the blade out and it clatters on the ground. His palm does nothing to stop the flow of crimson. 

Rushing to him, you fall to the floor as he does. You press your hands on top of his to keep the pressure but it’s useless. “Don’t you know anything?” you mutter. “You should’ve kept the damn thing in.”

He chuckles. The bastard actually chuckles. Then his other hand raises and lands on top of yours. You think he’s trying to add more pressure, but his touch is gentle. His thumb runs over your knuckles. 

“It’s alright,” he says, and you’ve never heard his voice so devoid of depth and strength.

“No, it’s not,” you retort, irritated. 

“You still hate me?”

“Shut up!” you snap. “Help!” Yanking the black chiffon sleeve off your gown, it tears free and you ball the material to shove it against his wound. “Help!” 

Guards burst through the doors and run to you. You sigh with relief, but when you look down, your husband is paler than you’ve ever seen him. 

“Feyd…” 

You’re shoved out of the way in a second, flung to the side like a flicked-away ant, and then he’s taken from you. You watch them until he’s out of view. When you glance down at your hands, they’re stained with him. 

—

They bandaged your neck in mere minutes and you find it aggrivating that they couldn’t work as efficiently on him. You’ve been dead silent for hours now, expecting to hear screams of pain as they stitch him back together, but then you remember he’s a glutton for pain. He’s probably enjoying it, the sick bastard. But you’re not enjoying it—the waiting, the limbo. It’s torturous. 

You’ve never seen him hurt before. You’ve witnessed his skills in the arena, and not once in your seven months of marriage has someone gotten a decent slash on him. 

Guilt hits you hard as you recall that it’s your fault. That woman was skilled as well—you suppose she would be if she was raised to live where she did—but if you hadn’t made that noise, if you hadn’t distracted him, she would’ve been dead before she could do her damage. This wouldn’t have happened. 

Just then, a knock comes at your door. You speak for them to enter and a guard peeks into your room. “My Lady…” he says, and you pray you’re not about to be told your husband didn’t survive a single stab wound. “You can come with me.”

You don’t wait around for more. You hop to your feet and quickly follow through hall after hall until you’re at his room. 

“What will I see when I walk in there?” you ask. 

“He’s fine, my Lady,” he says, bowing his head to dismiss himself before returning to his post. 

Turning the knob, you edge the door open and step inside. The bed is in immediate view, but he’s not in it. He’s not in it and he should be. Not even the covers are pulled back. Maybe the guard misled you. If he were fine, surely he would be resting. 

You make your way in further. 

“You’re here.” 

Your head snaps to your right where he’s leaning against the lone table in his room, a lit orb on the wooden surface illuminating him from behind in a white glow. He’s less pale than he was; what little rosiness he once had returned to his skin. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “I was told to come.”

“Because I told them to bring you,” he says. 

Your heart pounds at the bareness of his torso, the thickness of his arms as they cross in front of his chest. It pounds in a different way, an off-kilter way, when you notice the dressings wrapped around his waist and the patch of blood that is seeping through three layers of it. 

He must see your distraction because he says, “It’s fine.” Your eyes flick back to his. A beat of silence passes between you. You’re unsure how to continue now that he’s seen the concern you have for him. “I suppose you’re disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” you repeat. “What for?”

“I’m alive.”

Your jaw drops ever so slightly. You recover as best you can before you say, “Feyd, I don’t want you to—I’ve never wanted you to–”

He holds up his hand, cutting you off. “I’m going to listen to you.”

Your brow pinches. Why did he silence you, then? “Listen to me about what?”

He takes a deep breath, an action that lifts his shoulders and has them falling heavily back down. His eyes penetrate you as they’ve always done, but the iciness is gone. “I don’t care if the people I hurt want to kill me,” he starts. “But she didn’t come to kill me; she came to hurt me by killing you. So I will listen to your thoughts when it comes to dealing with matters like that one.” He pauses, expecting a response, but you don’t quite know what to give him, so he continues. “Your voice will make fewer enemies.”

“You care about making enemies?” Since when would a Harkonnen ever care about such a thing? Especially when they are known for doing that thing so well.

“I care when they come after my wife,” he says. Pushing off the table, he leisurely steps toward you. You’re stuck to your spot. “The men of my House do not have a history of caring about their wives. They’ve never cared if their actions bring them harm, and yet, people have used our wives as pawns for revenge for centuries. Many have died to prove a point. I’m not going to let you be one of them.”

He stops only to not collide with your body. You have to look up to maintain eye contact, and when you do, his breath brushes over your lips. “Why didn’t you kill her when you could have? You stabbed her in the side. You avoided vital organs.”

“Because you wouldn’t have wanted me to kill her if I didn’t have to,” he says. “So I didn’t kill her…until I had to.”

You suck in a sharp breath. You didn’t know he was capable of such restraint. You didn’t know he had enough fragments of a heart to glue together to keep him from doing exactly as he pleases. 

His hand lands on your hip and his thumb begins to rub up and down over the curve of it. He hasn’t touched you…ever. In fact, he’s seemed over the months to deliberately avoid it. Like your skin would burn him even through the fabric of your gowns. Anytime it looked like he would try, he’d pull back before flesh grazed flesh. 

“You hadn’t kissed me since we married,” he says, so gentle in that low voice that it’s practically a whisper. It doesn’t make the heat of his breath any less intense against your skin. 

“People were watching too intensely,” you inform him. “They were thinking something was wrong between us, I could tell, and I didn’t want to give them that power over you.”

“So that was it, then?” he asks. “That’s the only reason you did it?”

“That’s–” you swallow, debating whether or not to say it, to give him more. 

“What?”

“That’s the reason I did it,” you decide to tell him, and his face shifts; his features alter in a manner you’ve never seen. He looks down to his feet. He nods and his touch disappears, and now you feel cold and you hate it. “But that’s not the only reason I wanted to do it.”

He freezes as he did before. For a moment, his chest stops rising and falling with expected breaths. When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, he raises his head. 

You can’t stop staring, even though your brain is telling you to get ahold of yourself. His mouth is so plush. You’ve always known it. It’s always done something to you. And whatever that something is, it’s more potent now that he’s so close and you can see his lips glistening in the low light. 

“Will you do it again?” he asks.

Again? You didn’t imagine he wanted you to do it the first time, or the second. The first was an obligation. The second was not exactly mutually agreed upon. But as he stands in front of you, asking, you can’t bring yourself to say no. You don’t want to say no. So you say yes, and you inch up on your toes until your lips meet his. 

Immediately, he’s yanking your body flush against his. His hand goes into your hair, and he parts his lips so they can better lock with yours. He’s good at this, and you don’t want to think about why, can’t think about why without a knot of jealousy settling in your gut that only dissipates when those hands travel down your body to the back of your thighs. You’re in the air, your legs wrapped around his waist, your lips still sealed for one second more before your back hits the mattress and he’s on top of you with his leg shoving between yours, nudging your thighs open for him. 

You don’t know the exact moment it happens, but your skirts are up to your waist and he’s inside of you, moving in and out, kissing your neck and pulling gasps from your throat, and it feels right, good, like pieces falling together. A bit of you feels guilty for that. That you can know what he’s done to people and still want to feel the pleasure of every inch that he’s giving you. You’re selfish, maybe that’s it. Maybe you’ve always been and you didn’t know it. You can’t bring yourself to care as he makes those deep noises in your ear and stains your insides.

After you’re sated, you lay there for a while with him in your arms and his arms wrapped around your waist. His head rests on your chest. You think about the things you’ve done to each other in the course of an hour and it brings a blush to your cheeks. You think about how you can’t go back and that you don’t want to. You’ve wanted this from the beginning, despite what he’s done. You expected it when you married him only to be sorely disappointed at his lack, or what appeared as a lack, of interest. You’re definitely selfish, at least when it comes to him. But you refuse to be when it comes to other matters.

“I want something from you,” you say. He hums, content. “I want us to take in that woman's boys.”

[petalsonmoon]

to be loved and to be in love.

it's when tokoyami asks you about the little crow you keep hidden in your well vented dorm that you feel the heat that his arm exhale in the back of your chair.

now, the action itself its not a huge revelation to you nor does it take more than a few glances from your colleagues.

and you didn't need to look at him, you knew he was still talking to momo.

you had controlled the sentiment a bit by now so your heart wasn't picking up its speed as much as it used to but you were a hero in rising. you did notice that something was happening on the other part of the friendship.

well, katsuki knows you like him.

that was your resolution after the few reports you made to yourself when every action became too much this week. how can you come up with such a grand conclusion with only a week analysis, you ask.

when you like someone, you become too fucking aware of them.

the arm stayed there for the rest of the night. until momo gave us her good night and there was only kaminari and jirou talking at the end of the table. they weren't too far but so in their own world that if felt that way.

so, you lean back at the chair for the first time and his arm stayed there. it was so very there.

you take your fork steals an olive from his plate and eats it.

you were looking straight ahead but you could easily feel when finally you had his eyes attention on you.

"it's sunday,"

you had little control of came out of your mouth when you were with him. not in a sense you made a fool of yourself. you were just that comfortable with your thoughts being out of you when he was next to you. it was that easy.

he growled and looked ahead. in his language that meant "so?"

"you're supposed to be asleep in an hour if i'm correct."

no reaction from him.

sitting next to each other you could have access to the view below the table, you caught about 3 seconds of his shaking leg before it stopped.

alright then.

"you trained with kirishima today, didn't you?"

he grunts. "too easy."

"how long did you take?"

"a minute."

you look ahead and raise your eyebrows but they went down astonishingly fast. on purpose, of course. his eyes were on you again.

"the fuck you mean by that?" a bit raspy by his tone and not very loud. angry nonetheless. it made you bite a smile.

"i'm not sure i know what you're talking about."

"fucking watch me beat him in 40 seconds next time"

"oh! i'm sure you will." you smile.

"and murder you in the next 20."

you pout in response and he looks away. you bring the last olive of his plate to your mouth.

was he shaking his legs because he's anxious? not that he's not allowed to. you two were a bit close but not close enough for you to understand his afflictions.

you were only starting to learn how to read him. by the sidelines so he wouldn't know the reason behind the intention.

apparently you failed that part!

you wish you could help him though.

"is there a reason you're still up?" it came out as nonchalant as you wanted.

the clock on the wall dominated the silence for a few seconds before it happened. the hand on the back of your chair started to thread slightly to your back, so featherly and slow you could be imagining the feeling. until his fingertips reached the hem of your shirt.

you inhale and exhale. his fingers stopped and stayed. the skin to skin was barely there.

"is there anything else happening today?" you ask and it's kinda funny how both of you are looking to your empty plates.

he grunts again but with a chuckle leaking from it.

"fucking hope so."

you jolted for a millisecond when his finger started to gently move on the nape of your neck, then your body was completly at the mercy of that ligh movement.

"you'd expect a UA student from the hero course would have the balls to say how she feels"

you lost the grip in your heart and even though it was beating way faster than it was supposed to, you were still so very comfortable. because it was him.

"gave her a whole ass week... but apparently i overestimated the prick."

you turn your head to watch his profile. red eyes glistening.

"calling me out" you let out, a bit irritated you couldn’t contain the little smile on your face "when i caugh some anxious moviments under the table."

he turns to you and he was so close you were certain the clock stopped ticking.

"still doing it, aren't i?"

his mouth meets yours in a heartbeat. a kiss so angryly slow that made you lightheaded. he moves his tongue dominantly but when you got the chance to bite his underlip he growls deliciously into you and the hand on your neck rushes to your hair, deepening the kiss.

your hand flies to his neck, your fingers wanting to stay on his skin forever but when they make it to his blonde locks it feels like they were always meant to be there. you were drowning in him.

when he pulls back it takes probably 5 seconds for you to open your eyes. the red on his consumed by his pupils.

"is that why you let me eat the olives you leave for last this past week?"

"and your ass owns me for every one of them." his fingers were gently strocking your hair.

you nod and kiss the corner of his mouth. he closes his eyes and hums in response. you really hope he feels as safe with you as you feel with him.

"it's okay. i see it makes a difference when you’re taking a whole minute to defeat someone."

[bugbear55]

“mercy saga” au

name is a work in progress but its what im tagging all of this au under. anyways, AU is basically;

Odysseus’ arc goes in reverse. He starts off as a monster and learns mercy. also au is sorta ooc, also referenced from the odyssey

Anyways,

TROY SAGA

the musical starts with The Horse and the Infant, followed by Just a Man.

No changes to THatI. Just a man is less of a ballad and more of a villain song. With Odysseus dropping the infant, he establishes how he will do anything to get home. He has minimal hesitation, unlike the original song. Odysseus is already a monster.

then, we have Full Speed Ahead, and Warrior of the Mind

In Full Speed Ahead, we meet two major characters. Eurylochus, Odysseus’ second in command, and Polites, his best friend. They’re running out of food. Eurylochus suggests they dock on the island ahead and raid for food. Odysseus agrees.

There, they find the Lotus Eaters, a large group of men and women who are more than willing to share their fruit after some back and forth with Polites.

Unfortunately, Odysseus does not recognize the fruit.

In Warrior of The Mind, Athena appears and forces Odysseus to reject the fruit from his body. She sobers him up by reminding him of his role as a warrior of the mind and his goal to get home.

Unfortunately, Odysseus’s men have also consumed the fruit. Some are harder to sober up than others.

The final song of the Troy Saga is Cope With That.

In this song, Elpenor, a crew member, reveals his friend Perimedes is depressed. He asks that they leave him on the island, because he is happier under the lotus’ effects.

Unfortunately, Athena urges Odysseus to refuse. And he does.

Odysseus forces all of the men to return to the ship, including those still under the effects of the lotus, like Perimedes.

He threatens the lotus eaters, asking where they can get other food, and is directed to a nearby cave.

next up..

cyclops saga

[open arms is NOT removed, just moved to a later time]

[anthurak]

So with everything we learned and saw in Episode 4 from Angel, Valentino, Charlie and Husk, here’s a little theory on how the Hotel crew saving Angel from Valentino might play out. Particularly in how Husk’s status as a former Overlord may factor into things.

Because I have a hunch it’s actually going to be Husk, rather than Charlie who gets fed up first and goes out to make a real attempt at getting Angel away from Valentino, given everything we saw between Husk and Angel in this episode. Specifically, Husk aims to lure Valentino into gambling for Angel’s contract.

Now that raises the question of what exactly Husk could gamble with. I see two possibilities:

Option One, Husk full on bluffs Valentino that he still has substantial power as an Overlord and has been hiding it all this time, tempting him with more souls and power. And as we’ve seen most notably in Episode 2, Val in kind of a massive fucking idiot, so I could see him actually falling for this. Essentially, Husk gambles with nothing, save his own soul, for a chance to save Angel.

Option Two, Husk actually gets his power BACK from Alastor. Specifically through fulfilling some mysterious, nebulous condition Alastor set up for him. It could even be that this is what sets up Husk to gamble Val for Angel’s freedom. Alastor returns Husk’s power as an Overlord because he’s curious as to what Husk will do with it now. Which we see, is putting it all on the line again for a chance to save Angel.

Whichever way we get to it, we find Husk in a high-stakes card game with Valentino. And of course, Husk does the classic trope of NOT telling his friends or even the guy he’s doing this for what he’s doing to ‘keep them safe’ and all that. Of course, they do find out. Which will come into play later…

As for the all-important gamble; Husk actually does WIN legitimately against Valentino. However, because Valentino is… well, Valentino he welches on the deal and attacks Husk, and perhaps a recently arrived Angel as well.

Now in the event that Husk was bluffing Valentino the whole time and is actually helpless against a fully-powered Overlord, this would be when Alastor, from afar, actually returns Husk’s own power as an Overlord as some offhand, magnanimous whim. Which of course now allows Husk to actually fight back against Valentino.

What ensues is a full and proper fight between Husk/Angel and Valentino, with all the requisite emotional drama of Angel and Husk admitting their feelings for each other and all of Valentino’s shittiness as a person coming out in force. Maybe like an mlm version of the Bees vs. Adam fight.

However, despite getting his power as an Overlord back, Husk ultimately turns out to not be as powerful as Valentino. Alternatively, perhaps he never gets his power back at all and we just skip to here from Husk winning the bet. Whichever way we get here, Husk and Angel are now at the non-existent mercy of Valentino.

Which is precisely when CHARLIE shows up.

And I imagine what ensues plays out in a flash. Like everyone is only just registering that Charlie has appeared when suddenly everything is on fire. We get only the briefest glimpses, perhaps only in silhouette, of the full-sized horns on Charlie’s head, the great leathery wings coming out of her back and the pitchfork in her hand before she has Valentino by the throat and the mothman starts BURNING, screaming in pain as he is consumed in hellfire.

Basically, I feel that after this episode we are going to see Husk be the one to step up first to try and save Angel from Valentino, given everything we saw between the pair this episode. But at the same time, I think the interactions between Charlie and Valentino, particularly Charlie starting to transform in rage, sets her up as the one who’s going to ultimately put Val down. Specifically via giving us a glimpse at Charlie’s true power.

And I do say glimpse because I imagine the full and proper reveal of Charlie’s ‘Devil Form’ is almost certainly going to be saved for when she’s forced to take on the likes of Adam and the Exorcists, the ones who have been set-up as proper antagonists to Charlie herself.

[writella]

Reckless Romantics

Synopsis: Can be read as a stand alone or part two to getting ready for me; a return to innocent, inexperienced!reader and her relationship with Rick Grimes; two weeks after their first time together there has been some distance, but now Rick wants to make up for how hasty he was when he touched her last.

Details: Rick Grimes x fem!reader, smut: oral (f receiving) and teaching reader how to give a handjob, unspecified (of age) age gap, sweetness + kissing + a little mutual pining maybe, probably cliche, and leaning more into Rick as the dutiful leader and gentle lover (I feel this is just as in character as dom!Rick). Reader is a music lover— any kind of music you like— but she also likes a specific band only because I watched a documentary about them at the theater in July so it made its way into the story. Slightly proofread— will be corrected more later. wc: 5-7k (I lost track after finishing it on tumblr).

A/N: I wrote this message before I returned for the summer, but I still want you to read it: Been spending time outside this summer, trying to reach some goals— time got away from me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying I miss you, but please know it’s always true.

— with love from writella, my beautiful reader. ♡

Rick Grimes was not a man to give in to temptation.

My mercy prevails over my wrath, he’d say— his secret keepsake phrase. The one he whispers to himself in moments of hardship; the one he uses when he needs to make decisions only a leader would. Rick was a man of discipline; honor. He never boasted about how seriously he took these qualities, but when others did— admired, applauded, stuck by him for it— it would be a lie to say that he didn’t take note and use their pride to keep him going. This is how he knows he is strong-willed, why he wouldn’t fall for foolish, forbidden things. He was better than that. The safety and prosperity he brought to Alexandria proved it, reaffirmed it.

So why couldn’t someone remind him of that two weeks ago before he touched you?

As for you, you believed yourself to be a girl who wouldn’t fall so easily for the first man who showed you any kind of affection.

From an adolescence of peers who never seemed to take notice of you to one filled with walkers and adults who were either dead or seldom your age, you learned how hard love, let alone any connection, is to come by. It has made you quite the perpetual daydreamer because of it. One with a heart and mind filled with fantasy worlds, creating what you lacked externally. It often made you see yourself as much younger than you were despite all you’ve been through. No regular person your age in the old world has probably escaped as many deaths and wannabe cowboy dictators as you have. Still, they probably knew what it was like to have a high school romance, or at least go to the movies with friends, and have graduated from well, anything. You were simply born too late and shoved into this new world too early to experience even half of it.

This upbringing has brought you up to believe yourself precocious, although— maybe you were already too old for that word now. No, you were, so maybe– sensible, realistic despite the overactive imagination; you could decipher between right and wrong, real versus fake. This is why, for as long as you could, you did not entertain any thoughts of Rick Grimes.

Other people would though, women mostly. But you did have your suspicions of others who thought the same— they just weren't as shameless. Those who were, could be found during lunch breaks from work on house porches; or laughing and whispering at community gatherings and at the back of town hall meetings. Basically any time or place they could turn into a gossip session, which was often. And it didn’t always have to do with Rick. It could be about any one of the men in town; or retelling funny moments to their friends or complaining about their co-workers. But anything of true, great interest always had to do with the community leaders. You wish you could say you were the exception to this interest, but hypocritically, you loved a good inside scoop, and luckily for you, you had a trustworthy way about you. Almost everyone who spoke to you or allowed you to sit with them and their friends for meals agreed: you were a intent, quiet listener making you the best kind of person to say things to without judgment; and people assumed you as shy, yet you loved to laugh which was great for boosting egos. They often treated you as a little sister in that way, as if the pleasure was all yours to get to hear their ramblings because they were either older or perceived themselves to be more sociable and experienced than you. You tried not to care too much about what they took you for. It was nice to feel trusted, even if people could be a little too mean or weird for your liking because no matter who it was, they made you feel as if you were watching television, and you missed television. They told you things from period mishaps– (it’s the apocalypse, there are a lot of free bleeding queens okay)— to which people in their workstations annoyed them most with very detailed explanations as to why and, of course, rumors or general talk about the leaders: who they thought each of them has slept with, if there seemed to be any fighting between them and what side they were taking, and obviously, anything that had to do with one of the guys. Some were downright obvious that one or the other was their type, while others might try to be more sly about it, always bringing whichever man it was up more than the others. But unless they were diehard Daryl girls, wanted to dominate Glenn, or had some military man, hot priest, or doctor kink for Abraham, Gabriel, or Siddiq, most of them apparently felt that Rick was the love of their lives. He was like a local celebrity. A band’s frontman.

“So, what about you?” One of your scavenging partners asked on the ride home. “Which one do you like?”

“They’re all attractive guys,” you say, keeping your eyes on the road. “But I don’t really think about them like that.” You feel a flush coming on. Crushes, or anything romantic, is a part of your internal world, not something you discuss aloud.

“Come on,” she prods. “You never join in. You just laugh at us for being delusional.”

“Whose us?” Rosita asks, her voice sharp, humorous, and not without judgment. “I don’t talk about that shit.” But secretly, she loved the drama as much as you and would have many questions for you later tonight about why you have yet to tell her of the town obsession of treating her friends like the cast of a reality show.

“I don’t laugh at you! I like it when you guys talk about that stuff.”

“But what I’m saying is that I didn’t let you ride shotgun this time so you can hold out again,” the girl jokes half-heartedly.

“What do you mean this time? I get to ride shotgun because I’m the one with the CDs.”

And it’s true, the only thing that cancelled out the silence of drive in moments where conversation ceased was your Oasis album playing in the background. Learning about the band was your new obsession. Much like listening to the crazy imaginations of the girls in town, you found the Gallagher brother rivalry riveting even if you only knew pieces of the story from the music, scraps of magazine articles, and by asking whoever in town happened to be a teen in the 90s. Thankfully you had hit the jackpot today though. One of the houses you visited was once occupied by a dad and daughter with an insane music collection in the living room and a smaller, more curated one in the girl’s room. After gathering what new music you wanted to try from downstairs, you also found some old issues of QuizFest in the girl’s room, filled with activities that were themed with shows you remember from when you were a kid, but the most important discovery— the find of all finds— was one of those Ultimate Guide, Complete Life Story magazines of none other than the band Oasis.

You would now probably know all of the drama between the brothers to tell a coherent story about the band’s history to anyone who wanted an escape from walker related events and farming talk. When you weren’t listening, that’s what people would come to you for: to borrow music, get recommendations, or to tell them a story. In all, you were getting the reputation of being the town’s music historian, meaning you usually used your knowledge to avoid talking about yourself. And it mostly worked.

Except for now.

“Well, if I had to guess,” the girl persists despite your silence, “I think it would be Rick.”

“What?” Noticing the incredulity in your tone, you calm your voice. Shrugging you say, “Why Rick? Everyone likes him.”

Rosita sends a look your way. It’s innocent enough, probably just showing that she is still listening on as she drives but you were refusing to look at anyone now to know for sure.

“Exactly,” the girl says. “He’s a classic knight in shining armor type. I feel like he’d talk you through it, which I think would be good for— someone like you.”

Your face is on fire, you can’t even speak properly. “I- first of all, what do you know about my experience?” you ask, the incredulous tone returning. But all you get as an answer is knowing snorts and chortles from the two women. Ouch. Nonetheless, you continue, “Second, you think shooting a guy in the head in front of his wife and the whole town is chivalrous?”

Oh—

That makes car goes quiet.

You know you made a mistake.

You didn’t mean it as crassly as you said it, and you did feel bad for saying it knowing that the situation was more difficult than you summed it up to be, but you didn’t apologize. All this talk about crushes and especially Rick made you embarrassed. It’s not that you didn't see what others saw anyway. Of course you noticed how nice Rick’s curls are, how he doesn’t have to use any product for them to look as they do; or those blue eyes and how when you get closer, they become that much more stark and crisp; or how good he was at talking to people, convincing them of things or simply just reassuring them as a friend; and that southern drawl that still sometimes catches you by surprise by sounding so pronounced at the end of certain words, making his voice that much more intoxicating. Of course you saw the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had a crush on him.

Right?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. You just felt you knew better. He was like a president. You know of them, and you believe in them, but you don’t get close to them. And it didn’t matter that he told Carl to personally deliver you a stereo he and Daryl found while out once. How he remembered how you liked music. How he told Carl to tell you this one was probably better than the old one you had, that it was louder. You only showed him your old stereo that once when he was helping you move. He was just a perceptive guy with a good memory. All leaders are like that.

Right?

Anyway, let’s get back to your crass… joke.

“Hilarious.” Rosita says and you hear the low contempt in her voice at your insensitivity.

“That was ages ago though,” the girl chimes in, saving you just a little, “and he did it to help her. He didn’t care about the mess he made. He save her. I’d say that’s pretty romantic.”

“Let’s not call that romantic,” Rosita scoffs, and despite the slight frustration, there was a quiet sadness in her voice at the memory. “That wasn’t love.”

“That was reckless, not romantic.” You agree. Partly because you truly do, but also in attempt to win back favor from your friend. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

But after that day, it was all you could think about.

The idea of a knight; a romantic; someone that would do anything for you, ruin his reputation for you; find gifts from the outside that he’d send is son to give to you. Maybe you did find it charming, idyllic.

These thoughts soared in your mind so much so that on one night when thinking about boys from books or your favorite artists wasn't enough during moments under your sheets when your back arched and your fingers trailed up your thighs, your mind switched from people you would never meet to him, to Rick. Your eyes scrunched tighter, and you tried to shake it away, telling yourself it was just the women in town and the talk in the car getting to you. But then you thought about how rich and hot pink his lips looked on a bright sun-burning day and how it would feel like flames firing inside of you if he kissed you with them.

Ideas like these went on for nearly a year now. You even started questioned if maybe you had always liked him, maybe you were always just like the other girls even though tried to not be. You had thought it made you respectful, realistic; after all, how could Rick be the love of your life if he was everyone’s? Wonderings like this became even worse and more confusing when Rosita had asked if you’d like to move in with her. Becoming closer with her meant being around the leaders more often, which meant coincidental encounters and conversations with Rick as well. Quickly, he wasn’t just that president or celebrity anymore who talked to you sometimes and got you that stereo that once. He was becoming a peer— at least in some ways. One who was curious about your interests as much as your opinions. But it’s not exactly like you were in the in-crowd now as some people assumed. You didn’t get to go to leader meetings, and as much as you knew Rosita must have been telling you more than others know, she couldn’t have been telling you everything. But you did see him more than other people now, when he and the leaders came over to the house or when Rosita was invited over to theirs and she’s tell you to come too. And now, with these thoughts spiraling, you can’t help but to look back at the at the times where Rick approached you, gave you all his attention no matter how small it was and asked you about what you were listening to or reading that week, letting you ramble. He was an older guy, yes, but he cared, he actually listened, and he didn’t make you feel like the childish little sister others do.

Sadly, you did become the fawn like you had told yourself you wouldn’t be. But you couldn’t stop picturing him when you closed your eyes, and in fact, it was nice to imagine someone to fall asleep with, to wake up to. It was just going be your secret. Part of your fantasy world. But then— it all caught up to you.

Through the sliver of the open door he saw you, fingers between folds, goading yourself on as you chanted his name in whispers.

And to your surprise, he encouraged it. No, he did so much more than that— he helped you, made you come; gave you your first orgasm and made you his like no one has before.

You loved it. You gave into it. Even if it was just one secret moment. It made you give into the idea that this would continue but of course, it didn’t. He hasn’t spoken to you in almost three weeks until—

“Woah-” you gasp, almost crashing into just the person as you exit your room.

“Sorry,” you both say in unison, holding onto each other's forearms before quickly letting go. Your arms cross over into your chest before dropping as you enter your room again, clearing the hallway, and his hands go behind his back. He’s still as unsteady as you are, his mouth is slightly open, thinking of what to say.

“Hi,” you whisper tentatively.

“Good morning,” he politely replies. His eyes now smile slightly as he nods to you. You don’t miss how the light emanating from your bright room makes them shine. And he doesn’t miss how the light shining behind your figure makes you, in your white cotton sundress, look like an absolute angel.

“Good morning,” you repeat, giggling slightly, not knowing what else to say.

“Good morning,” he says again, lost and as giddy as you are.

“Oh wait— is the leader’s meeting here today?” Rick starts to nod and answers yes as you continue to speak, “I totally forgot! I’m sorry. I know I should be gone by now.”

He shakes his head, “It’s fine. I was just going to the bathroom.”

“Here? Was someone in the one downstairs?”

“Just wanted to be away from everyone when they came. Daryl and I came early so we started talking and I just- we didn’t see eye to eye on something. I needed a minute.”

You nod. That seems to be your signature when to talk to him. You hated it honestly. Often over-analyzing your words, worrying you’ll sound immature or stutter in front of him. “I'm sorry,” you tell him sympathetically. For a moment there is only silence which makes you worry he will go away, so without thinking, you ask: “I know you’re busy but, if you need a moment, maybe you would like to come in here instead?”

Rick freezes but then, inevitably agrees. As he enters, you close the door and quickly go to shut off the low playing stereo and rehang some of the dresses on your chair in the closet— you had been getting ready for the day. Rick goes to sit on the chair after you empty it but you stop him. You sit on the vertical side of your bed and guesture Rick to sit in the spot next to you, closer to the headboard. You wanted to sit next to him.

Rick doesn’t question this, maybe he wanted to be as close to you as you had, so as he sits, your thighs touch. You try not to move too much at the first contact. Still, the heat that starts to burn inside you makes you realize how much you’ve craved this. Can two weeks feel like a lifetime? It’s like you haven’t felt him in ages.

“What were you playing today?” He asks and you realize you eyes went straight to the area where yours and Rick’s legs touched. You know he noticed but still you try to answer normally.

“Selena. Rosita loves her. It’s one of her most famous songs: Amor Prohibido.”

He nods. “I probably wouldn’t understand a bit of it,” he laughs.

He would probably remember the singer from the news if you gave more context but you don’t. There is a silence that follows until you ask, “So,” starting slowly, “what’s wrong? Is Daryl aright?”

He doesn’t answer. His mouth is open as if he’s deciding what to say, but nothing comes out, so you continue, “You know, nothing is ever right in the world when Rick and Daryl fight. It makes me sad.”

The joke makes those lines at the sides of his eyes appear— a quiet laugh. “Well you know I’d never want to make you sad. Especially not you.” You two exchange a light smile while that heat rises fast to your heart. “We’ll be fine,” he finally says, but then he goes quiet again. Rick seems unsure if he wants to continue. He even looks at the door, wonders if the others have shown up yet, but— he knows he doesn’t want to leave. And even more, he knows he shouldn’t after ignoring you like some teenage boy. He decides to tell you what’s happening: “Daryl wants us to bring new people in. You know how he’s always going out there. But I think it’s way too soon.”

You hum agreeingly, but at the same time, you understand Daryl. “I think he just likes to give people what he never used to have,” you suggest.

“I know,” he nods a bit annoyedly; “and that’s a nice way to put it, but you know him, when he has his mind set on somethin’ he can be so damn stubborn. It’s frustrating. He won’t compromise or listen to anything.”

Endearingly, you try to withhold a laugh, your lisp pursing. Not only because when he says anything, it actually sounds like anythang, but because Rick sounds like he’s describing himself and he doesn’t even realize it.

“And,” he adds, pausing for a moment before he continues, scratching his beard. It looks as if maybe he shouldn’t tell you what he’s about to. His head hangs low to say: This is not information for everyone to know, okay? But the last time he went out there with Glenn, the reason Glenn’s arm is in a sling right now, is because they met a group, tried to bring them back and before they could make it even close to home, the group fought ‘em, tried to steal what they scavenged, and almost kill Glenn.”

You widen your eyes at the statement. You actually already knew this from Rosita, but that will stay between you two. All you feel is humbled that he felt he share it with you, despite it being a dark thing. It was a close call. Rick was right for being very cautious right now. “Wow,” is all you can get in before he speaks again.

“Imagine if we lost him. Fought this war with his wife and unborn baby at the time for nothing? So he couldn’t even meet him?” Rick shakes his head, and you notice his foot tapping lightly, making his knee bounce. This had happened a month ago now but it was obviously affecting him. “It was reckless and I told him that. That right now we need to be focusing on what’s inside these walls. People have only just started getting back to being comfortable now; to feeling like this is a home.”

Your eyes remain wide, “We did so much rebuilding you.”

“We did complete rebuilding.” He corrects, though not rudely. Shaking his head, he goes back to talking about Daryl: “I think I made it seem like what happened to Glenn was his fault. So not only were we arguing but I must’ve hurt him,” Rick realizes, “and now he definitely won’t be back today— maybe not even until next week.”

A silence hangs in the air after this; it seems he finished. Now, you know you should speak, but as the silence continues, you grow more unsure of what to say. Issues like these are things you’ve never dealt with. You didn’t want to say something stereotypical.

“I’m sorry I’m putting all this on you.”

“No, no,” you quickly console, trying to think. “Um, well,” you say, starting unsteadily, “this is probably going to sound stupid and not helpful. I don’t even remember the exact context or what was truly said so it might not make any sense either but, do you remember when I had my Oasis obsession? Earlier this year?”

“I do,” he laughs, turning his head over to your music table. His eyes scan any of the visible album titles to see if he can find it, but the print on most of them are too small. He turns back to you as you continue:

“This is going to sound a little far off but I think you and Daryl are like Liam and Noel.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Didn’t those two hate each other?”

“I mean, yes— but it’s much more complicated than that to me— but no, I don’t mean in that way. It just that there is this quote Noel says that I don’t remember exactly, but I really liked: he said that even though he wrote the music and Liam did the singing that Liam meant the words just as much as Noel did because they’re brothers and he wrote them. I thought that was beautiful, but…” you trail off.

He stays silent, trying to give you space to find your words but you feel like you’ve gone too far. It’s all pretty convoluted and not a true comparison to what’s going on that you’re even confusing yourself a little. “I think what I mean is that even though they have their different roles, they still feel very similar things and believe in the same purpose. I think that’s like you and Daryl. You two are so similar yet so different. But there’s still a binding force that always brings the two of you together. So, like I’m sure you already know and I didn’t even need to tell you, but you two will be okay. You two have different ways of doing things, but the music or the life you’re trying to create in Alexandria still has the same meaning to the both of you.” You laugh small and breathily as you end. “That probably didn’t make sense.”

Rick smiles to himself. “I didn’t get that first bit, with the quote, but no… that made a lot of sense to me.” He nods toward you and you return his smile. “You’re so bright. You know that? Not everyone knows how to stitch things together like that the way you do.”

This makes you feel good. Rick thought you were smart. You know you should say thank you, but instead, something else comes out: “May I, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he answers, almost stuttering it out, a hint of hesitation before he did, but he nods so kindly, so reassuringly as he tells you again: “yes.”

Your fingers touch his lower cheeks lightly, feeling the bristles of his beard. You’re slow, and careful, and scared. Your fingers linger on his jaw for a moment until they completely caress his right cheek and then you move in, swiftly— worried you’ll lose your confidence, worried he’ll change his mind. You catch his lower lip and seal the kiss. Your lips are locked for a few seconds until you retreat. It was nice, and exciting, but short. You knew you could have put your tongue in his mouth. You believe he would have let you because you remember when he did it last time, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself by doing it wrong and once again reminding him how much you don’t know. But you’re sure giving him a grade school kiss like this one was enough of a reminder.

Your eyes roll down, chin low. Your cheeks are on fire and your hands do not know where to go so you start fiddling with the hem of your dress and then you laugh. You were trying to be courageous this time, and you were, but you also weren’t.

Rick grabs your left hand, holding it at the end of your thigh, “I liked that,” he says softly.

“You did?” You ask as softly as he, eyes meeting his.

A short, airy snicker comes out, “Mhm,” he hums, giving you a closed-mouth smile. He found you simply adorable.

“Can I… try it again?”

Rick pulls on your forearm, attempting to bring you closer to him. “Yeah,” he nods, voice gentle. “Do you want me to help?”

You nod before you speak, happily accepting, “Yes.”

He puts your hands on his shoulders. One of his grabs onto your waist and the other holds you lightly under your chin, adjusting your head to meet his lips. The first kiss he places holds just for a couple of moments as the one you gave him did, gentle but packed with longing. The next two are slow, pretty pecks that already have you melting at his touch, lips agape waiting for the next one. The fourth is the one where he brings his tongue into your mouth, carefully bringing it in quarter by quarter. He tastes the top of your mouth and tongue and you feel him as he slowly starts to explore how far you may like to go, but truly you become stagnant other than your hands that press into his shoulder. Luckily, Rick either doesn’t notice your hesitation or is already silently helping you as he takes the lead, pulling you closer by the hips and slipping his tongue in and out of your mouth to kiss you more. It makes you smile— the excitement of your first make-out session. You giggle, and then it makes him smile too and your teeth slightly bump into each other. Accidently you nip his lip because of it, making you pull back.

Your fingers hover over your lips as you impart a quiet apology but Rick just shakes his head giving you another quick kiss instead. He starts to move back on your bed, back pressed again the headboard and he tells you quietly, “Come here.”

You get up and sit higher up on the bed as well, calves folded under your thighs. He takes one of your legs and starts to put it over his as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You nod, vigor growing as you do it now, thrilled to sit on his lap. Your dress bunches around your hips and the tops of your thighs. You move closer to press your chest into his and you kiss him first again, another small one but with intent as you look at him afterward, feeling the scratch of his beard on your fingertips as you smile at him, in awe that this is happening.

“You want to try this time?”

“Uh,” he means you put your tongue in his mouth this time, but you’re afraid to do it wrong but you know you want to say yes so you do, “Yes, okay.”

So he brings you in again and you kiss him. He mouth opens a little and you try to bring your tongue in slightly but you teeth clash. “Sorry,” and quickly he responds that it’s okay and rubs your cheek, telling you to just open your mouth a little wider, no teeth, let your tongue go on top of his.

You try it. Your tongues meet again, licking each other tips before you slowing press in more, your chest touching his as you try to close the gap.

Rick starts slowly rocking your hips against his and he takes control of the kiss again. It helps you not think, you like it. And you like the feeling of that incoming tight bulge starting to form under his jeans, but then you let go. “Wait,” you say, “I like this.” You pause for a moment, confusing him more as to why you stopped. “But… there is something I wanted to ask you.”

“Okay,” his hand stay fixed on your hips and waist, rubbing soothily, “What it is?”

Another pause. “I feel nervous,” you whisper.

“You have no reason to be, sweetheart. You can ask me anything.”

You laugh, smiling as you look off to the side. Anythang.

He smiles too, although unknowingly to what you found funny. His head tilts as he tries to find your gaze and turn it towards him again.

“Well, the last time we were together here you taught me how to do something. You taught me how to pleasure myself better so,” you stutter, “I want to pleasure you. If that’s okay. And I was wondering if you’d teach me how- to touch you here.” You remove yourself from straddling him and point in the direction of his cock.

Instantly he feels a stir of his already hardening dick.

This is not how he expected things to go this time. Or truly, he didn’t expect any of this at all, but when you asked to kiss him he decided he would be gentle, more giving. It felt like you wanted him to take again, the exact thing he was trying not to do. “I feel like I took advantage of you last time.”

“Rick…” you shake your head. “I’m the one who didn’t close the door all the way. You asked if it was okay and then you asked if you could go faster. I said yes to everything…” You start to worry— is he second guessing everything now?—“I feel maybe we remember this differently.” You bow your head again now. Feeling ashamed, wondering if he did.

Rick places one hand on your knee to comfort you although he still says, “It’s just that I’ve never done something like this before.” His thumb sways on your skin. “I just don’t want you to end up feeling like you’re wasting your time. Your first times.”

You’re surprised, “It’s so funny how you can be so self-assured in front of a crowd and now you don’t think you’re good enough.” You take his hand and press it towards your chest. Your heart was racing. “I like you. So much.” You swallow as he says your name softly, realizing how fast your heart was going. “No one in town is truly ever mean to me or anything, and Rosita has been so kind with letting me move in with her and we talk and its nice but, you know— she has her flings and her friendships that are separate from mine and everyone just always seems like they have their person and I just don’t. I don’t have my person, or any person.” You remove your hands from your chest but Rick still holds onto it, squeezing your hand as you start speaking again. “You’re kind, Rick, and you make me excited, and you remember things about me… “ If your face could get any hotter, it does, “And, well, you’re very handsome. If you could teach me again, I would like that.”

God… Rick was trying to be a romantic yet you were so adamant on getting him off. He laughed inwardly, shaking his head, deciding that the best way to handle this situation— and make up for some of his guilt as he was trying to— would be to give you the thing you say you want and not what he thinks you want. Suppose that’s one for widower’s wisdom.

Decidedly, Rick gets up from the bed, giving you a once over, still admiring how adorable, and how sexy, you look to him with your feet under your lap, hands on your knees as you look up at him from the bed and your white dress. He starts undoing his shirt buttons. “Remember when I did this the first time?”

A smirk came on, there’s the Rick you remember. Blue eyes intense, and voice getting cocky as he gets ready to give you what you need, what he knows you only want from him.

“Yes,” you say quiet yet with budding excitement. You start going for the hem of your dress, “Should I start taking this off too?”

“Mm, stay like that.” He’s taking off his belt. “Thought you looked beautiful in it right when I saw you.”

Your thighs squeeze together slightly. Rick Grimes was undressing before you, for you, and calling you smart and beautiful all the while.

As Rick lowers his boxers, his cock springs up. He returns to his spot on the bed, back leaning against the headboard. All of a sudden he seems to truly recognize that he is the only one exposed. He would tell you what to do, guide you, but in a small way, in a way you probably didn’t realize, you were in control. It seems that each time this happens— although it’s only been twice— and each time he talks to you— which has been plenty— you steal a little more of Rick’s heart and he just can’t stop it.

“So,” he clears his throat, your eager eyes on his cock making him twitch, “you usually just wrap your hand around, start from the base and keep pumping up.” He shakes his head, “there’s not too much too it but it’s best to keep your hand light at the start, you—”

You nod quickly, “May I?”

As he nods back you, “Yes.” And as he says it you’re already licking your hand.

“Is it okay if I spit? That helps right? Or is that nasty to you?”

He’s caught off guard, “No, no, that helps.”

So you do and you place your hand lightly at the base as he said and you start to pump. Instantly, he lets out a gasp, and the next noises that follow are repressed grunts and groans. You want to ask him to stop doing that but you’re a little scared to speak up that way just yet and you’re too engrossed in how you can see the light veins of green and blue on him and how he’s so red at the tip. It was honestly exciting. Just this, touching him with your hand, staring at his member and watching him twitch as his mouth opens to pant lightly. It still felt unreal but you liked it and you were happy to learn. You start to pump him more towards the top, placing your thumb on his slit- pressing in. His abs clench at that. You push in a little harder and you squeeze your fist around him a little— testing it out to see what happens—and he groans, unadulterated this time, “oh, fuck.”

The heel of your foot that’s under your lap pushes into your center at that.

You start pumping faster. “Am I doing good, Rick?”

Hearing your voice sets him off, “Fuck, sweetheart. Yes.” He’s honestly choking out each of his words, he didn’t expect to get so turned on by all of this. He realizes the last time he had sex was with you that first time, and before that… he can’t even remember. “You’re doing an amazing job.”

As you pump, you start to slow down, only doing it shallowly towards his base. You’re feeling confident and you kiss the side of him, licking a fat stripe up to the top and then you pump him fully again.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he breathes out. He wants to tell you to slow down but it comes out of nowhere, he stutters before he can even speak. An unintelligible groan mixed with a moan comes out abrupt and louder than he intends and white spurts of liquid come out.

You go faster for a few moments, then start to slow down, a little unsure of what is best to do, but you notice when you start squeezing him a little more as you continue to pump up and more whiteness fall out from inside of him.

“Did I, make you come?”

“Yeah,” he says, huffing.

“I did?” your cheekbones rise as you ask with awe— it was another first for the books.

Rick’s tries to let his embarrassment fade, he can tell you were just excited about it, but still, he looks down and to the side, avoiding direct eye contact— almost like you typically would. You peer at him, almost nervously because of it. Rick is usually the confident one. “Doesn’t always happen that fast,” he explains.

“Well before a month ago I didn’t know how to make myself come so I wouldn’t know,” you say with self-deprecating assurance. You had heard from the girls in town that it was easier to make men orgasm. You already had it in your head as something not to judge. You wonder how hard he must have been restraining himself the first time he placed himself inside you, or if it just happened to be easier for him that time around. “I didn’t expect I could do it or anything really. I thought it was…” you smile while giggling, “interesting.”

“A good interesting I hope.”

“Very,” you assure. “I liked it.” You kiss his cheek as you take some wipes that are by your night stand and you start cleaning him up. He doesn’t tell you that you don’t have to; he helps along with you.

“You sure you’ve never done any of this before?”

You shake your head. “I just read fiction books.”

He smiles to himself, a quiet snort of laughter leaving his nose. You always surprise him.

When you two are done cleaning, he puts his boxers back on. Quickly, he is on the bed again and starts to kissing you. Rick holds your shoulder and pushes you down. Finally, it’s time for his redemption, he feels. It was your turn to be pleasured. Just like he wanted to do from the beginning.

Rick kisses down your neck to your collarbone, and the parts of your exposed chest and he pushes your dress up past your hips. His lips move back up to yours, kissing you more before saying, “I really wanna show you something sweetheart.” He presses his thumb into your clit over your underwear. “Can I kiss you down there? Have you ever had that before?”

You shake your head slowly, eyes wide. “I-” you start nodding your head, “-I would really like that.” And in such a small voice you add, “Please.”

Rick kisses your cheek. Deep and softly he breathlessly tells you, “I would love to.”

Rick moves his head lower and gives you slow kisses over your underwear from your mound to the end of your lips. He starts to drag your panties over your legs and once they’re gone he kisses up your thighs. Then his nose rubs and sways ever so lightly on your lips. He breathes in and it makes you shutter. Your heart is going crazy again. Finally, he licks upward. One long and languid stripe ending with a kiss to your clit and then he truly begins.

Tongues are wet and sticky and everything you ever dreamed of. Your eyes roll back instantly from that first lick and kiss. You remember a time when you started touching yourself that you used to never think of receiving oral. You thought it was scary, nasty, that you wouldn’t like it until the moment you thought about it as a million kisses on your most sensitive lips, or someone liking you so much that they’d get drenched by your wetness just to touch you, to taste you. After that, you thought about it all the time and now it was finally happening– someone needing you so much they just had to know what you taste like. Here he was: kissing, licking, sucking, not caring about how he looks but only how you feel— you now knew what it was like to be desired.

Rick presses his tongue flat on your clit, rubbing deep circles. His eyes are open, looking up at how your mouth opens wider and wider. You let out little whimpers, enamored by his tongue, still deciding if you like the scratch of his beard, but your eyes stay glued to the ceiling, scared to look at the scene below.

He gives you kitten licks in between speaking, “Look down. Don’t miss your first time.”

Your eyes go down slowly, watching as he gives open mouth kisses to your clit and right lip, tilting his head. He stays there for a moment, hearing your short and breathy pants, kissing and licking your clit and lower lips like they were the ones above your chin. His eye contact sends bursts of sticky wet fluid down your hole and you release a whimpered moan, they’re always sp short and soft and high pitched. He can tell you like it but he can also see you’re nervous. You don’t trust yourself, you know it, and he’s starting to realize it too. You’re scared of completely letting go.

He peppers kisses to your clit before moving upward, his tongue rolling and mouth kissing from your lower stomach to your breasts till his face reaches yours again. “No one’s here,” he tells you. He then kisses your lips allowing you to taste yourself for the first time. “Relax,” he whispers, rolling out each syllable. He holds your chin with one hand while he inserts a finger into your hole with the other, his pointer is instantly drenched and you shudder at the feeling. His single calloused finger reminds you of the time he was last inside you. He pumps slowly, looking into your eyes as he speaks, “Don’t think about who could come downstairs.”

“What if Rosita or Daryl come back?”

“What if?” He says it so simply as if he’s ready for everyone to know. Truly, that would be an issue, but right now it was not about him and it was completely about you; he wanted to give. It was short-sighted, reckless, yes, but… you were just so pretty, so bright, so insightful, and he felt like he needed to make up for all the taking he did last time, of your first time. Rosita had went to run after Daryl, hopefully no one was here anyway. But again, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. “Lay back,” he gently commands, “forget what I said before- close your eyes. Just give in to it. Like I’m the only one who's here.”

Rick licks zig zag stripes down your slit and then he decides to insert his tongue in your hole. He goes as deep as his tongue allows, collecting your wetness and trying to swallow it in moments when he turns back to kissing. He his nose is brushing and rubbing up against your clit as he sucks wetness from down below and you start letting out stringy moans you can’t control. Soft, pretty, and continuous, “uh, ah, uh, uh” that turn into “sorry, I’m sorry.” You’re still self-conscious about your own noises. This was still only the second time you’ve heard the sounds you make when someone else is fucking you.

But Rick shushes you. Giving small kisses to your clit as he looks up at you, seeing your scrunched eyes and open mouth. “I like knowing you like it, pretty girl. I like all those pretty sounds you’re making.”

Your pussy tightens around nothing at that phrase.

“Keep going. You don’t have to be shy.” He grabs your chin and you look down at him. His beard is wet. “We’ve already made a mess anyway.”

He starts kissing your labias, licking up wetness when you decide to ask, nervously, “Can you make sounds too?”

Instantly, Rick goes again to kiss your clit, humming into it as he sucks. Breathing against you he says, “Want me to tell you I like it, sweetheart?” His tongue slides down again, tongue reaching into your hole and he moans into your pussy.

Your back arches and you mewl, you could almost scream.

That’s it, he thinks. Rick keeps humming and groaning into you now. His voice is so seductive. “I love tasting your pussy, baby.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Rick starts rubbing your clit with his thumb and going fast with his tongue in your hole “My bright, pretty girl gonna come for me? Hm?”

“Oh, Rick, I want to. Please, Rick.”

Rick starts to go faster and your brain turns to mush. Only noises coming out and when he stops his tongue movements to say something more you push his head down. “Sorry,” you say. You’ve never been forceful before but he says nothing, just continues going down on you and taking his free hand to place it over his, gesturing that he wants your hands in his hair. You tug on his curls and he grunts into you. You start chanting his name and then he switches to placing his lips on your clit and putting two fingers in your pussy. It reminded you of the first time but instead of your three fingers they were two of his and it felt so much better than you ever knew before, better than you could ever do it yourself. It sets you off. Your eyes shut tighter if they could. “Rick! Oh my god,” you moan and then again and again and then you come.

Rick laps at your cunt, vigorously trying to wipe you clean. He makes it look like it will be the last and only time. It makes you worry but at the same time he looks so sexy like that; needy for you even after you finished.

He takes your wipes and cleans his lips before cleaning you up as you did for him. He kisses you thighs and your lips and your cheeks as he continues. “You did such a good job,” he says. “You always do.”

You’re filled with pride at that. “Thank you.” Then worry sets in. You realize how public you’ve made everything. “Did I just ruin your life?”

He laughs while caressing your thigh. That anxious expression of yours that he just got rid of returns after all the work he did.

“I’m gonna check downstairs. Okay? If they’re there, they’re there.” You nod. We already made a mess anyway, you remember him saying. “They might want to start the meeting when I go down so, whatever happens, happens alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your eyes are still nervous, but it’s all too late anyway. “Okay,” you respond.

“Okay,” he says back, kissing you once more. As he dresses himself again, he tells you, “I promise I won’t wait two weeks to see you again.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he says as a send off and goes into the bathroom to clean his face.

When he reaches the living room, there is no one. Rick is thankful but confused.

As he nears the coffee table there is a sheet of yellow lined legal pad with a talkie next to it.

Call when you’re done, it reads.

“Rosita?” He questions into the device. Who else could it have been, right?

He can almost hear the grin on her face. “They should start calling you Reckless Rick for all the agony you put these Alexandria girls through.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “There’s just something about that stupid hair cowboy accent, I guess.”

Before he can respond, telling her that it’s absurd to think of him as a playboy, that he was far from it, she continues:

“So, fucking my roommate? You’re glad Glenn and Maggie called everyone over to theirs instead. Hershel took his first steps while you were teaching someone else how to take theirs.”

She unpressed the button to suppress her laughter. “Just get over here,” she concludes, putting down the walkie and going back to meet the rest of the group with a perfect poker face. She tells everyone Rick will be here shortly.

Oh, Alexandria’s leader and her new little best friend who has been hearing the townswomen’s fantasies of him for years: Reckless Rick and his reckless romantic girl.

Rosita would give you so much shit for this when she gets home.

[mutable-manifestation]

Ghost Chirps AU Part 3

Part 1 & 2

Around half past midnight, Jason is losing his patience.

They've been searching for hours and finding a whole lot of nothing, and statistics about the odds of finding kidnapping victims and the first 72 hours.

It's been almost 48 since he saw the kid and he's cursing himself for not doing more sooner.

Cameras are finding nothing, Signal is finding nothing, everyone is finding a whole lot of nothing.

And Jason...

Jason chirps.

He doesn't know if it'll help, but it's the only idea he's got. Even if it's a shallow chance. It's all he's got; he has to try.

And if Bruce decides that Jason being meta is the line? Then he'll cope.

He won't refuse to do something just because he's scared when his- when the kid's well being is on the line.

He won't be like Bruce, who'd let his killer walk free rather than do something about it because his feelings were somehow more important when Jason died.

He won't.

The first chirp yields nothing.

He does it again pushing to try and make it as loud as possible.

Again, nothing.

Again, he chirps, something in him certain that if he just keeps going it'll work. Somehow. But he's learned to trust his gut - or weird meta instincts?

And it works.

Because after the third chirp the kid chirps back.

Except.

The kid is not in Gotham.

He is very, very not in Gotham.

He chalks it up to his weird meta-bird instincts that he somehow just knows it came from somewhere hundreds of miles that-a-way.

Kidnapping is looking more likely given just how far the kid got, but now?

Now Jason has a way to find him.

He ignores Oracle asking about mask static in favor of hopping down from the balcony he'd paused on and heading back to the batbike - Bruce's paranoia meant it would have more than enough gas to take him as far as he needed to go and then some.

'And more than enough weapons to level a block, if needed,' he thinks viciously.

"Hood!" Oracle’s sharp voice shakes him from his thoughts.

"Found the kid," he shoots back, hoping to avoid the inevitable questioning.

Mixed exclamations of relief and confusion echoed over the radio.

"How!?" Nightwing cries. "I was literally right next to you! What did I miss!?"

"What are you, deaf?" he grumbles back irritably, uncomfortable. It'd be easier if they were, he thinks. Then he wouldn't have to explain.

"Does this have something to do with the static noise your helmet was producing previously? I had worried it was damaged," Oracle asks.

"Static?" Jason echoes, not slowing a bit - nearly to the bike.

"Oh yeah!" Nightwing says, as though she's making perfect sense.

'Ah,' he thinks, 'A shred of mercy in this vastly cruel existence.'

Aloud, he just says, "Yup. He's not in Gotham anymore, though, and I don't know how far he'll end up going or how long I'll be gone. Anyone who wants to come with can catch up, because I'm leaving now."

15 seconds later he's leaping onto the batbike and peeling out.

***

Jason doesn’t chirp again until he’s nearly to Illinois. 

He wants to. He wants to chirp nonstop the moment he hears that first reply, wants to spend the whole hours-long drive listening to nothing but a litany of chirps that reassure him that his kid is alive alive alive.

He won’t risk it. 

He doesn’t know where, exactly, the kid is. Doesn’t know if his family didn’t hear him because the chirps are only audible to him and the kid or if it was really due to a helmet malfunction covering for him. 

But there is a chance that whoever has the kid can hear his chirps, so Jason won’t risk having him respond more than he absolutely has to in order to find him.

The next time, the kid answers back to the very first chirp, and Jason knows he’s heading in the right direction.

He gets turned around just once, overshooting and heaving to loop back, but he curses himself for it anyway - wasting precious time when the kid is going through who knows what.

Then he’s entering Amity Park: a nice place to live.

A nice place to die, for whoever it was that took his kid.

Several chirps later he’s in front of a school - of all things.

He doesn’t waste time doubting himself - kidnapping victims could be stashed anywhere - he storms in, batbike left idling at the base of the front steps.

Three chirps later he’s slamming through a door into a classroom. Full of kids. Taking a totally normal class - aside, of course, from Jason’s interruption.

One last exchange of chirps later and he finally lays eyes on his little shadow - who has the audacity to also look surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to lead him here in the first place.

Jason takes a moment to feel relieved, adrenaline beginning to crash before it revs back up with his indignation.

What happened to ‘goodbye!��� Who in their right mind would disappear from Gotham and not think that those left behind would assume they were kidnapped!? It’s Gotham!

Oh. Oh the child was in Gotham alone.

The child was in Gotham for a vacation.

Oh the child’s parents didn’t even realize he was gone? He’s worried about them putting him in an iron maiden!?

Jason’s eyes may be green, but oh, how his vision is red.

He barely hears the school’s alarm going off when he finally drives off-grounds, laser focused on following the road to the dot that’s popped up on his helmet just a few streets off, sending a curt thank-you to Oracle for saving him the effort of finding the kid’s address himself - she’s done him the courtesy of leaving everyone muted from his end, but he has little doubt they’ve all been listening to him. He’s only surprised she’s willing to condone the murder.

But then, of course she didn’t, he thinks as he pulls into a decently shadowed alley full of bats and birds. He’s torn between being touched that all of them came and being annoyed that he isn’t already in the process of murdering the kid’s parents. 

“New Brother?” Orphan asks the moment the bike is off, head tilting in question from her dumpster-top perch.

A second, smaller sense of outrage bubbles up next to the first, and it is a testament to his impeccable self-control that his hand only twitches over his gun at the question.

Bruce - Batman - tries to say something, but before he can finish even just the first syllable Jason’s head is snapping around to glare hell at him, and a low, animalistic growl practically rips itself from his throat.

He can see the way everyone tenses - subtle to anyone else, but a glaring neon sign in Jason’s vision. 

He curses himself for it; he asked them to be here. He specifically requested their help, and they gave it. The more of them there are involved, the faster they can help the kid into a safer environment.

But Jason came here to help the kid, not to offer him up as the next sacrifice in Batman’s long line of child soldiers.

“You wanna help? Great. Rule One: YOU,” he points at the bat for emphasis, “can’t adopt him.”

He chokes on whatever he was intending to say next at Orphan’s delighted clap and exclamation of “nephew!”

He wants to correct her, but… he doesn’t. 

Crime Alley is no place to raise a kid; Jason knows that.

He knows it more than anyone, having spent his early years there and his most recent years trying to make it better. He knows that.

But h- the kid is a meta. 

Looking at the facts: the kid is meta.

The kid is meta whose first concern with rule breaking is punishment via torture device.

The kid’s parents are neglectful enough that he spent over a week in Gotham and they never even noticed.

The kid went to Gotham to escape his home.

Whether his parents know that he is a meta or not, it is clear to Jason that the kid needs to be Out Of That House. Yesterday.

But he also knows just how metas are treated - even the MPA can only do so much against the tides of hatred and fear. 

And he’s seen the maps - he knows this state is one of the worse ones for metas to live in, let alone a meta child at the mercy of a foster family that has even odds of neglecting him, being just as bad as his original family, or possibly actually caring about him.

Crime Alley is no place to raise a kid, and Red Hood is far from the right person for such a job.

But Crime Alley isn’t all that Gotham is, and perhaps Jason Todd could very easily decide to get an apartment in a nicer area.

He won’t lie to himself, he knows he isn’t parent material, but he’ll at least be a step up from what the kid is used to while he works to vet a real family to transfer him to. 

He’s halfway through his mental checklist of the options for the safest place for an apartment and other such logistics when he’s reminded of where he is by Oracle’s voice in his ear.

“Hate to interrupt the group brooding you guys have going on over there, but I managed to dig up… a lot of information about the boy and his family situation.”

He notes how the others all perk up from where they’d been…staring at him. 

Ah, that was why it was so quiet. They were staring in disbelief when he didn’t deny the nephew thing. Well. A conversation for another time.

“Lay it on me,” he says to Oracle, ignoring them.

“His name is Daniel James Fenton, goes by Danny, high grades throughout elementary and middle school until they took a steep drop at the beginning of highschool - likely related to whatever happened when his metagene activated. 

Has one sibling, a sister named Jasmine Fenton - no middle name. She goes by Jazz. High grades across the board with no notable dips. No indication of possible metagene in any of  her records or in Danny’s, beyond the grade drop and your own first-hand experience.

Parents Jack and Madeline “Maddie” Fenton. They have their own personal website where they describe themselves as “ectobiologists” and as ghost hunters. The pictures in their gallery show a vast array of weapons - dubbed “ectoweapons” - in the same chrome-green style with the name “Fenton” stamped somewhere on them. Some of the weapons are for sale on their site, advertised for defending oneself against ghosts. There are some pictures of what must be their lab, all of which look to include at least 12 different types of OSHA violation, and the image in their site’s “about” section has the whole family standing in the lab in front of what looks like a vertical Lazarus Pit.”

“What,” Batman says more than asks, voice tense.

“And judging by the staircase seen reflecting off of one of the guns in the picture, it seems that this lab is in their basement - I can’t see why it wouldn’t be, given they were fine with putting an enormous monstrosity of a satellite on top of their building.

There are plenty of cameras in the house itself, but for some reason all I can get from them is static. Any video or audio in the house that they don’t put on their site appears to be unusable for some reason. 

All told, there is plenty of cause to get CPS involved. If their lab safety is even half as bad as it looks and it’s in their basement it’s pretty much a sure thing that the kids’ll be taken from them. 

Given the small-towny nature of the area it’ll be best to contact someone from outside of the community for the case. It’ll move things along significantly if we have somewhere to send them.

They have an aunt, Alicia Walker, but she’s already marked down as a “no” for taking them in in the event something should happen to the Fentons. 

This leaves their godfather: Vlad Masters. An incredibly reclusive billionaire, pursued the same Paranormal Science degree as the Fentons did when they were in college, but suffered an accident that put him in the hospital for two years with an unknown illness that Masters was allowed to name “ecto-acne.” Lost all contact with the Fentons until he invited them to a reunion party last fall and was named godfather three weeks later.

Masters got his wealth through a series of suspicious business deals. No one has been able to prove foul play yet, but just glancing over some of the early papers is already showing plenty of inconsistencies.

No other relatives - the Walker parents passed away some time ago, and while one of the Fentons remains, she’s in a nursing home. And also disowned Jack. And went out of her way to disown both Jazz and Danny as soon as she heard about them.”

“Great. Make Jason Todd a long lost cousin, set CPS on them. Red Hood is here because Danny ran away to Gotham and stuck his nose in crime alley so I tracked him down because I thought he was kidnapped in my territory, the Bats chased down Red Hood thinking he was gonna hurt the boy, CPS is there because your research turned up the potential unsafe living conditions and you overheard that the kid was gone for a week without anyone noticing - which scream neglect. Now we’re cooperating because we’re all annoyed at the parents that let their kid wander all the way to Gotham and convinced him that a torture device was a possible grounding option.”

He turns to Batman. 

“You can claim to have done a DNA search to find the connection, and I’m sure you can find a reason to dismiss Masters as an option. Make sure to have them call Jason as soon as possible. Oracle-”

“Already routing incoming calls through Gotham. Also, both of Masters’ residences have inaccessible cameras similar to what I’m experiencing with the Fentons. He can be dismissed under suspicion of having an OSHA nightmare in his home. I’ll see if he has his own vertical Lazarus Pit while you all work on exfiltrating the niece and nephew.”Jason doesn’t dignify that with a response, hopping back on his bike to follow the new route - this time actually to the Fenton household.

[deadghosy]

HEADCANNONS TEEN! READER LEARNING HOW TO DRIVE

various x gn! teen reader

LUCIFER

• Tried to teach you how to drive only for you to drive into a wall.

• Pretty much he has a helmet on with body armor and his seltbelt on saying sum,

"safety first!"🤓

• He would react calm to you driving ike a bat from hell as he gives you tips. Only for you to use the tips horribly.

• He revoked your driving license and privileges.

CHARLIE

• She asked you to go get some stuff for her only for you to ram the car into the hotel upstairs.

• HOW THE FUCK DID YOU EVEN GET UP THERE?!

• She screamed out of shock but calmed down seeing your gremlin ass smile as you hopped out the car holding out whatever she wanted you to get for her.

• She also revoked your driving privileges and license. She doesn't want anyone hurt or yourself.

VAGGIE

• She already revoked it the moment you drove into an old demon lady.

• She's not risking SHIT!

• She tried to help you again but you pressed the gas so hard you almost flew out the driving seat.

• So yeah she revoked ya shit, even the keys.

ALASTOR

• Absolutely NO.

• He's not stepping foot into your car.

• He might as well slash your tire with a sick smile cause he doesn't trust you driving at fucking all.

• Literally just teleports you to the places you want. He ain't risking nothing if he wants to live from your terrible driving.

HUSK

• He was drunk, and you were sober. Next thing this fucker woke up to was you inside of a shop's wall chuckling nervously...

• "What in the fu-"

• You guys had to walk to the hotel handing the keys to Charlie who is just happy you and husk are okay.

• Husk never trusted you to be his Uber.

ANGEL DUST

• Lord have mercy

Angel better pray you don't come across Valentino because your driving is so bad to the point you accidentally almost hit Valentino.

• Angel was in the car on his phone scrolling through hellgram (instagram) when he heard you cuss loudly and swerve almost hitting his boss Valentino.

• You speeded the fuck out of there while

Angel's eyes were wide as a pizza. Bro hoped Valentino didn't know who was in the car. But you chuckled a little.

• "I kinda wished I ran that motherfucker over."

• Angel nodded chuckling as he sits properly in the passenger seat.

ADAM

• This fucker literally was the driver...he rammed into your apartment as you screamed shock.

• "SUP BITCHHH!"

• Literally you forced him to fix your wall as he mumbles cuss words under his breath.

• But if you are a worse driver than him. He's gripping the fuck out his seat while either screaming of fun or fear.

PENTIOUS

• He passed out scared.

• YOU CANT TELL ME HE WOULDN'T PASS

OUT

• He is such a precious boy holding onto the car door to the point his hands are sweaty for holding it for so long.

• His egg boiz are having a blast in the background as they jump in the backseat while you do this shit like Tokyo drift. Like shiiit you might as well join fast and furious.

[buckyalpine]

Request 👉🏼👈🏼 ? Black widow!reader and winter soldier!Bucky! He was her teacher in the red room, where they eventually fell in love and started a secret relationship, until Hydra and Dreykov found out and separated them. Fast forward several years, Bucky’s out of recovery, reunited with Steve, and living a better life when Tony brings in a new team member. And everyone’s excited but Bucky’s on edge and kinda wary until he learns who it is.

It’s his lil widow, the love of his life, his soulmate. the one Hydra and the red room stole from him, the girl he kept dreaming about no matter how many times his handlers tried to wipe his memories. Just complete fluffy, smutty, love sick shit with him being a massive simp for his deadly girl. maybe building a family, getting married, drabbles of him drooling over her skills or her in the widow suit, like oh yea, I taught her that. I can imagine him being so overly protective, constantly holding her close to his chest because she was stolen away from him once, he won’t survive if that happens again.

YESSSSS God this is so cute and smutty and angsty and FLUFFY it makes my chest itch in the best way. Pls ignore what google translate may have botched. Bucky is the cutest, horny, most deadly simp here, so proud of his girl, absolutely yes.

"ne proyavlyay miloserdiya, soldat" [Show no mercy, soldier], Dreykov hissed, letting the soldier enter the red room with a single widow standing before him, not an ounce of fear in her eyes. The soldier grunted, hitting the button that locked the door that kept her from escaping before lunging forward, testing her agility after personally training her himself.

She leapt over him with ease, bracing her hands on his wide shoulders and landing swiftly behind him and swiping her leg under him to knock him to the floor, straddling him immediately after. He grasped her hands in his, rolling over till she was pinned under his large mass with her wrists held together above her head in his metal hand.

"You've learned well kotenok" His voice was husky behind the mask, blue eyes sparkling while she huffed, rolling her eyes.

"Nespravedlivo, kogda ty takoy bol'shoy, soldat" [Not fair when you're so large, soldier]. She gasped feeling him harden on top of her, his rough uniform doing nothing to hide what he was feeling for her, slotted between her thighs.

"Nespravedlivo, kogda ty takoy krasivyy, kotonok" [Not fair when you're so pretty, kitten]. He climbed off her, allowing her to get into position before attacking again, relentlessly throwing punches and blocking them till she nearly collapsed. They retreated to stand at attention at the sound of the doors hissing open, indicating training was over. The soldier grunted a nod as Dreykov walked in, assessing the widow, a sinister smile plastered on his face seeing both of his assets worn but still at their strongest.

He sent them off to their cells, confident that the fear he'd instilled in his captives would be enough to ensure they stayed in line, not realizing his punishments would only go so far.

It wasn't enough to stop the charming young man from Brooklyn who still lived in his most feared asset.

"Did I hurt you baby" The soldier whispered, kissing her bruised knuckles softly after sneaking into her cell, pulling her into his arms.

"You could never" She smiled, melting into his embrace. She never intended on falling in love with the soldier but here she was, feeling his gentle hands wander, leaning up to kiss his soft, pink lips. They were playing a dangerous game but it was to stop now.

He loved her.

She loved him.

-

"Wipe him" The hydra agent ordered while the soldier gripped onto the chair, gritting his teeth while sharp burning spread through his body, frying his brain. The widow dug her nails into her palms, resolve slowly crumbling seeing the love of her life tortured, unable to hold back anymore.

"Stop!" She finally broke, unable to watch any longer, gasping at the sinister smile Dreykov gave her, ordering his men to grab her before increasing the voltage.

"My, my, does it hurt you when we hurt him" Dreykov sneered, turning up the dial, Bucky's screams tearing her apart on the inside.

"Don't-AH-JAMES" A hydra soldier gripped her hair, yanking her back before she could go to him, shackles binding her hands together, dragging her away.

"kotenok" [kitten] The soldier sadly whispered, unheard by her, her kicking and screaming form blurry from his unshed tears. He screamed in pain as another shock ripped through his veins before the world went black.

He never saw her again.

-

Bucky gasped, sucking in a deep breath of air, his chest heaving from the dream he'd just had, sweat covering his chest, dripping from his forehead.

It was the same thing almost every night.

His mind replaying the same thing over and over again; training with her in the red room, the way she felt under him, the way he'd cuddle and make love to her afterwards without a soul knowing. He didn't plan on falling for the woman he had to train to be a killer but he didn't stand a chance the day she'd knocked him down with a knife pressed to his neck seconds later. He could have married her then and there.

He slumped back against his pillow, running a hand over his face, groaning in frustration.

In the several years, he'd slowly managed to get his life back together. He was apart of the team and living at the compound with Steve and the others. He was no longer controlled by trigger words, he had been forgiven by the government, he was starting to recover from all the trauma he'd endured. His nightmares were less frequent, slowly learning to forgive himself for the things he'd been forced to do under Hydras control.

The only thing he never got over was her.

She still lived in his dreams. Still owned his heart. That was his girl and she was torn away by the very people that had taken everything else from him too. No amount of wiping or torture took her away. His handler tried his hardest, shocking him till his nose bled and his veins nearly burnt to bits but her name would fall from his lips as he lay nearly unconscious.

His sweet widow.

Bucky glanced at the faint light starting to stream through the curtains, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed to get up instead of attempting to sleep for 5 more minutes. He threw on a hoodie and some joggers, making his way to the gym to punch his feelings away as usual. He didn't stop till his knuckles split, ignoring the sting, instead thinking about how he'd kiss her soft hands after he'd train her, bandaging them up when no one was looking.

The hot water from the shower did little to ease the tension in his muscles as he made his way to the kitchen next, plopping onto a stool with a cup of coffee. He was just about to try and relax with his coffee until Steve popped his head in with a grin.

"There you are! Tony was looking for you, we're all heading up now!" Bucky frowned in confusion while Steve grabbed his own mug, filling his cup.

"Why are we having a meeting" Bucky questioned, not willing to get up from his seat, his mind still preoccupied.

"He told you he scouted someone to join the team"

"I remember Tony going on about some new member" Bucky mumbled, not in the mood to meet new people, his anxiety only growing further. "That's today?"

Steve nodded, finishing up the last of his coffee while the brunette stayed glued to the stool.

"Buck, you coming?" Steve turned back to see a frowning Bucky, reluctantly trudging behind the captain while the others excitedly also made their way upstairs to the conference area.

"I heard Tony saying the new agent is scary as shit. Apparently he got his ass handed to him when he tried to test her and he was wearing his suit" Sam snorted while Nat smiled with excitement.

"Finally someone worth sparring with" The redhead nudged him while he shook his head.

"I'm serious! She's deadly deadly. I looked over her file, she's killed more people than you and Clint combined and half of those were hand to hand combat"

"What was the other half"

"Sniper. Like Barnes" Sam nodded to Bucky who was still disconnected from the others, his knee bouncing impatiently.

"We're lucky she's on our side" Steve mused, taking a glance of the file that sat on the table. There was no name or picture to go with it but it had a skillset record nearly put his to shame. "Jesus"

"You good?" Sam whispered to Bucky, noticing he was more closed off than usual, getting a tightlipped grimace like smile in return. Steve sat near the front, straightening himself up while the rest quietened down, hearing the sound of Tony speaking to someone as they approached the room. The billionaire opened the door, letting in the new team member first before entering himself with a large smile on his face.

"Everyone, this is-

"Y/n?" Bucky gasped, shoot up from his seat before Tony could finish, the other sharing confused glances between each other, watching the new team member and Bucky freeze.

"Wait, Barnes, you know-

"Malyshka, eto pravda ty?" [Babygirl, is it really you?] Bucky gasped, his heart hammering against his chest, tears already threatening to spill out. "kotenok, skazhi mne, pozhaluysta, chto eto ty" [kitten, please tell me its you]

"Hold up, he can still speak Russian?" Sam hissed to Steve who hadn't moved, mouth gaping, eyes wide.

"James!" You darted across the room to meet Bucky half way, his strong arms catching and lifting you up with ease as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. "moy soldat. YA zdes', moy malysh" [my soldier. I'm here my babyboy]

"It's really you" He whispered against your hair, breathing in your soft scent, eyes squeezed shut with tears streaming down his face, "My baby" He cradled you tightly, refusing to set you down while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, drowning out the rest of the world. After you were torn apart from him, you had been locked up in an isolated cell, only let out for select missions Dreykov send you on. You wanted to find your soldier, your James, but you never did with Hydra keeping him under their control.

Now you finally had him again.

"Ahem, as I was saying- This is y/n" Tony addressed the rest of the team, just as surprised as the rest of them with all eyes on Bucky especially. "She'll be joining us once Barnes puts her down"

"Never" Bucky finally pulled away, still holding onto you, his nose nudging against yours, "M'never putting her down, never, you hear me babygirl?" He pressed his lips onto yours, shamelessly kissing you hard, ignoring the whistles that filled the room, only pulling away for air. You let out a shy giggle as he set you back on your feet, his hand wrapped around your waist.

"I'd continue to introduce her but I think tinman knows her better" Tony snorted, throwing his hands up before taking a seat, all eyes now watching two of you while Bucky blushed, unable to wipe the smile of his face, cupping your face to press another kiss to your lips.

"This is y/n" Bucky finally let you go, taking you to the front of the conference room, now proudly showing you off to the other, "She was a widow with Hyrda, handpicked by Dreykov" Bucky sucked in a breath before continuing, giving your hand a squeeze "I trained her in the red room myself when I was still the winter soldier. That's when I fell in love with her" The last part was a whisper, not missed by the team with how lovesick Bucky looked.

"I'm sorry, you trained her? Jesus, no wonder she's deadly" Sam shook his head, now understanding why your file was so impressive. You were already gifted when you were picked, coupled with the fact that you were trained and conditioned by the soldier himself.

"She's fuckin' deadly, alright" Bucky's voice was nearly breathless, his baby blues intently gazing into your eyes. "You should see her with a knife"

That's when I fell in love with you.

"So what happened with you two" Nat prodded, looking at you two with heart eyes which was a rare sight but her heart melted at how soft Bucky was, struggling to keep his hands to himself. He constantly nuzzled into your neck, his large form practically swallowing you whole as he clung onto you like a child.

"They found out we were together so they took me from him" You gave her a sad smile, feeling Bucky hug you tighter; you could have sworn you heard him whimper. "I tried to find him for years but I couldn't"

"Hydra tried to wipe my memories but it never worked. Couldn't forget her" Bucky kissed the top of your head, not realizing his bestfriend was trying to subtly wipe his eyes.

"I was going to have everyone introduce themselves but I think these two have some catching up to do so let's move this meeting over" Tony clapped his hands while everyone else nodded in agreement, leaving you and Bucky alone for some privacy.

"I missed you so much, you have no idea, I-I tried to find you but I just- I could barely function, I'm sorry doll-" Your lips cut off Bucky's rambling, cupping his scruffy face firmly in your hands.

"You have nothing to be sorry about baby, it's not your fault"

"I-I know you just got here and-sweets I don't want to rush anything but-" Bucky's hand gripped your waist while he tried to compose himself, he didn't want to pressure you into anything. "I need you closer baby"

"Take me, soldat" You whispered, not giving him any room to second guess as he hauled you up in his arms, taking you straight to his room. Clothes were off in an instant between frantic and desperate kisses. Bucky didn't rush a thing as soon as he had you naked in his bed, pulling the sheets over you both, rolling over to cuddle instead.

"This is all I wanted" He whispered against your shoulder, kissing your skin, "To have my girl with me again"

"I love you Jamie" You kissed his bare chest, hitching your leg over his waist, his hard length pressing against your soaked cunt. He could feel his tip weeping feeling your soft body pressed against his, still looking just as beautiful, if not more now, from when he'd first met you.

"Prettiest widow" He growled, his wandering hands becoming less wholesome as they moved to your hips, pulling you to press against his erection harder. You moaned feeling him starting to hump your pussy while innocently kisses down your neck, smirking at how he was both sweet and sinful at the same time, just as before. "kotenok, ty mne nuzhen" [Kitten, I need you]

You remembered all the times he'd snuck into your cell for a few cuddles, which always ended up with his hand slammed over your mouth while he railed you with his cock.

"You feel how hard I am for you baby? Mmph, this is all for you, doll" He bit his lip, eyes locked with yours, rolling on top of you, slotting his wide body between your legs, still rutting his hips. "Can I make love to you baby, please" He sounded desperate, dropping his forehead to press against yours, hands coming to pin you against the bed.

"M'yours Jamie" You nodded, spreading your legs wider, not bothering with having prep you, needing him inside you more than anything else. You gasped feeling his thick cockhead rub through your folds before he breeched your hole, stretching you.

"Soldat!" You moaned, your back arching off the bed, the name rolling of your tongue as it had so many times before, your nails digging into his shoulders as he buried himself to the hilt.

"Take your soldat's cock, kotenok" Bucky growled, only giving you a second to adjust before he started to move with slow, deep strokes. "Lemme make love to my babygirl, ya tak sil'no tebya lyublyu" [I love you so much]

After Bucky had been rescued, he had no reason to speak Russian, letting the others think it'd been wiped away just like the words that controlled him. Around you, it rolled off his tongue with ease, your pussy dripping each time he whispered in your ear. Your eyes rolled back feeling him hit that spongy spot deep in your pussy, crying out with the powerful, deliberate snaps of his hips.

"M'I making you feel good baby?" He asked, kissing you sweetly, alternating between the sweetheart and heartbreaker he was, looking at you with soft puppy eyes while his cock grew harder watching your face twist with pleasure. His jaw was slack, thrusting with purpose, moving his hips to roll and let you feel every inch of him filling you up, "You look gorgeous with my cock in you angel, wish you could see how pretty you are, so beautiful like this"

"Oh god James! P-please-m'so close-dont-don-t stop" Your moans grew more salacious, unable to say much else, eyes shutting out of pleasure feeling his hand coming down to rub your swollen clit.

"I know baby, I know, you need me to rub this pretty button, Remember the first time I touched you there pretty girl? How badly you wanted to scream, how much you squirted all over me? Remember when we first made love? First time I tasted you? Remember how shy you were when I spread your legs open and nursed off that little button. How you turned into a slutty kitten, riding and humping my face after? Know your needy little clit loves it, m'gonna rub you till you're screaming"

"Buckyyy" You whined, your face feeling hot at the memory, remembering his growls from under you, turning around to find him jerking his cock faster while he licked and sucked your pussy, cum already painting his abs from cumming once, working to a second orgasm. He'd sealed his lips around your clit, stuffing his mask in your mouth to keep you from alerting the guards.

"Baby, c'mon open your eyes, look at me" Bucky nipped your jaw, his cold hand coming to grasp your cheeks, blue eyes staring into your soul as you opened your eyes, "Don't you dare close them baby, keep em' open when I'm fuckin' you, shit, m'gonna cum for you doll"

"B-Bucky!" You cried, struggling to hold off any longer, your juices soaked him as you started to clench and squeeze his cock, tears nearly streaming down your face.

"Scream all you want baby, don't have to hide those pretty moans ever again" He fucked you through your orgasm, his own balls getting tighter with each thrust, precum mixing with your arousal, dripping onto the sheets, "Thats-that-s it baby, m'gonna cum so hard for you, fill you up, you're mine doll, you're fuckin' MINE"

Bucky's hand flew to the headboard, pounding you into the mattress, moaning loudly, letting the wood splinter under his grip as he came, pumping you full of his seed.

"FUCK y/n" He gasped, collapsing on you, panting, burying his face into your breasts as he always did, turning into a needy baby as if he didn't rail your soul. You giggled, tracing your hand down his spine making his shiver, whining when you clenched around his sensitive, soft cock.

"My soldat" You whispered, carding your fingers through his hair, letting him latch onto your nipple, needily sucking for comfort. No matter how big, bad and scary he was, he always melted into a puddle for you, closing his eyes at the feeling of your sweet peaked nipple against his tongue.

"Never letting you go again" He whispered before falling asleep on your chest, arms wrapped tightly around you. "ty moya rodstvennaya dusha, malyshka" [you're my soul mate, babygirl]

"YA by proshel cherez vse eto snova tol'ko radi tebya, malysh" [I'd go through it all again just for you baby boy] you whispered, closing your eyes in the safety of his hold, meaning each of your words. You'd go through everything a thousand times over if it meant you'd have your Bucky back in your arms. Bucky sniffled, curling up with you, spending the rest of the day alternating between speaking sweet words and making you moan and cry over his cock until you couldn't move any longer. For the first time, he slept peacefully, not stirring once.

-

Ever since you'd come back, Bucky had turned into the biggest simp, alternating between acting like a menace and a complete lovesick puppy with no in between. It was worse when you were on the field, almost leading to Tony refusing to let you both go on missions at the same time.

"Oh god" Bucky groaned, seeing you step out in your sleek suit, the dark material clinging to your body, weapons strapped along your hips. You threw him a wink before running off to kick ass, his focus solely on you.

"Jesus Christ" He nearly moaned seeing you land a kick to an attacker before throwing you knife across the room, the blade landing perfectly between your targets eyebrows. "Baby, you're sexy"

"For fucks Sake Barnes, did you forget we can all hear you" Tony's exasperated voice crackled through, this not being the first time the soldier was distracted watching you fight. Sam and Steve snickered through the coms while Bucky shameless shrugged, still biting his lip, watching you move with ease.

"Have you seen my girl, Stark" Bucky sassed back, walking over bodies to grab you by your ass, squeezing it and smashing his lips against yours.

"Are you two fucking kissing?!" Tony sighed, hearing the sound of soft moans and smacking, "I'm putting you on a fucking leash, I'm getting you fixed Barnes"

"My naughty soldat" You giggled, pulling away, nipping your boyfriends pouty lip while he shook his head.

"Gonna be the death of me, pretty girl"

"You're both gonna be the death of all of us" Tony deadpanned, unable to understand how there was a man out there that was more horny and flirty than him. "I'm having Barnes neutered, for fucks sake I can see you drooling from over here"

-

Bucky was even worse watching you display your skills, his workout long forgotten while you sparred with Steve.

"Where the fuck did you learn that" Steve groaned while you giggled, holding your hand out to help him up while Bucky watched from the side with a cocky smirk.

"I taught her that" He threw you a wink, not so subtly adjusting his sweats.

"Of course you did" Steve huffed, surprised to find bruises on his body from where you'd hit him. "Jesus punk" He blushed heavily seeing his bestfriends raging hard on, scrambling away from the gym, knowing exactly what would come next.

The loud moans he heard moments later made him shake his head, happy he got out of there unlike the last time he saw the warning signs of a feral Bucky.

Aside from being more in love with you than ever, Bucky was also equally protective over you. He'd hug you with such care, always holding your head to his chest, his large arms covering you from the rest of the world, constantly fearing that even if he had you now, someone would come and take you away.

When he finally asked you to marry him, he paused several times, blinking through tears while down on one knee, your hand wiping his cheek, saying yes before he could even finish. The compound was transformed with flowers, candles with a small intimate wedding in the garden.

Steve and Sam stood by Bucky's side while Nat walked with you, your sweet soon to be husband biting back tears seeing his dream girl in her dress, the life he'd always imagine finally becoming a reality. When Tony pronounced you husband and wife, Bucky didn't stop kissing you till he nearly passed out, not a single dry eye surrounding you as he whisked you up in his arms.

-

Bucky felt a strong wave of emotion watching you flit around the kitchen, making his way over and wrapping his arms from behind, tucking his face into your neck. You blinked, feeling tears wet your skin, pulling away to find your husband sniffling.

"Baby, what's gotten into you" You cooed with concern, wiping away the tears that collected along his lashes, kissing his reddened nose. "Is everything okay?"

"Just-m'scared to lose you again" Bucky whispered, his hand coming to protectively wrap around your growing belly; you weren't showing much yet but he could still feel the little baby bump. "I can't loose you again angel, I can't go through that again"

"It won't happen Jamie" You wrapped your arms around his shoulders while he picked you up, setting you onto the counter before hiding against your neck again, hugging you tightly. "What's wrong baby, what's gotten you so scared"

"Can't believe I got you back. I got to marry my dream girl. We're starting a family, you're giving me a baby, I-it feels unreal. M'scared I'm gonna wake up and you'll-" He bit his lip, shuddering at the very thought, "You'll be gone"

"Baby boy look at me" You held his face again, making him look at you, "Would you ever let anyone take me from you again?"

Bucky looked horrifying, francially shaking his head, he'd burn the world to ashes before he let that happen.

"Never. Never angel, no one is taking you or our baby from me" He stated firmly while you hummed.

"See? I'll be just fine. I have my soldat" You whispered, melting against his chest. "No one can hurt me when I have my soldat"

Bucky finally relaxed, carrying you off to bed, his metal arm protecting your belly as he pulled the covers over you both. No one would ever take his little widow away again.

[inkdragon1900]

The way each pov in the locked tomb series is from the view point of an unreliable narrator drives me crazy in the best way.

Gideon is an unreliable narrator because it’s so dependent on her first impression of a person. For instance Ianthe, Coronabeth, Palamedes and Camilla compared to everything we learn later. Even her viewing of Harrowhark feels so jarring compared to Harrow’s view of herself in htn. She also knows very little about necromancy so everything feels less like science and more like something out of her magazines.

Then we have Harrow. Who literally has gaslit herself and trying damn hard to gaslight the audience that the last book never happened. Everything is a lot less black and white compared to GTN but her shades of grey still feel muddy. her depression seeps through every interaction she has that by the time it switches back to Gideon’s pov I literally felt like I had whiplash.

in NTN we have the John chapters and Nona.

Nona for her part seems like she see’s everything in black and white but as we see her mentally mature instead of seeing just shades of grey she see’s everything in vivid color. She loves everyone the good and the bad. She’s an unreliable narrator in the sense that because she loves Cam, Pal, Phyrra and Corona in a black and white fashion in the beginning she does not acknowledge their flaws in their choices. It’s only when she’s emotionally matured that she can see everyone she loves for the three dimensional people they are.

John for his part is so unwilling to forgive that we see that it doesn’t stop at B.O.E or the trillionares it extends to the unwillingness to forgive himself for a situation that I genuinely think no one could have handled. He refuses to look at himself for what he is and what he was in that moment, a scared man with to much power. (Unlike the Lyctors who were quite on quote “playing with the reflection of stars in a puddle and thinking it’s space.” He’s thrown into space and rapid fire has to learn how to tread or die drowning.) He lies because he doesn’t want to appear insane or weak or horrible not realizing that by doing that he’s removing the sympathetic parts of himself. Like Mercy and Augustine said they most likely would have forgiven him if he had just told them he fucked up. His point of view is so similar to Gideons black and white thinking that it works so well contrasted with Nona’s pov.

I can’t freaking wait for Alecto

[fettuccin-e]

Learn Your Lesson

Kinktober Day 6: Bondage

Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, bondage, dom!miguel, unprotected piv, stoplight system established, degradation, punishment with sex, oral and fingering (f!recieving), dirty talk because i can't help myself, overstimulation, miguel being hot angry and feral (w/c: 1.1K)

A/N: teehee dom Miguel make brain go brrr (For this month, I am using this list from flightlessangelwings!)

You'd fucked yourself over on the last mission, disobeying Miguel’s direct orders, running straight into the line of fire. You’d gotten shot in the process, and though you’d healed just fine, Miguel hasn’t let you forget it. He hasn’t forgotten that you have to be punished for it.

He’s got you at his mercy, just how he likes it. Just how you like it, though you’ll never admit it to him, the cocky bastard.

Your arms ache with how they’ve been forced above you, Miguel’s webs pinning you to the wall, helpless and free to use just as he likes. Which apparently means making you cum until you cry, over and over, even as you beg him for mercy. His knees must hurt, they must, with how long he’s spent kneeling on the hard wooden floor, but it’s like he doesn’t care.

His claws dig into your thighs, not breaking the skin, but sending sparks of pain along your body. And God, the little bit of pain is nothing like the violent pleasure that rips through your body. He licks into your pussy like he’s starving for it, shoving his tongue as far as he can inside you. It’s not enough, it’s clear that it’s not enough for him as he snarls, hiking one of your thighs over his shoulder, spreading you wider for him as he eats your cunt desperately.

There’s nothing you can do but take it, unable to escape, wrap your fingers into his hair, anything. 

“Miguel, fuck, please,” you whine as he licks into you, his nose digging into your clit. You don’t know if he’s ever going to stop at this point. You’re so wet, your slick and his spit smeared all over the insides of your thighs, all over his mouth. You feel him smile between your legs, and you want to smack him.

He takes a hand off your thigh to sink two deliciously thick fingers into your pussy, stretching you out as he gazes up at you. Fuck, he’s pretty. His hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat and your cum, his pupils blown wide as he pants between your thighs.

“What do you need, hermosa?” He rasps beneath you, working his fingers into you so deep, so perfect. His hands are so thick, so big, you wonder how you ever lived without them.

“Fuck me,” you gasp, your hips grinding into his hand. “Please fuck me, oh shit-” He manages to find the perfect and to grind the tips of his fingers into your g-spot, and your vision goes blurry for a moment with the pleasure of it all. 

“Oh, mi amor, not yet,” he murmurs. “You’ve got a lesson to learn, baby. Fucking disobeying me in front of everyone, throwing yourself into danger.” He pulls his fingers out of you to land a mean slap to your aching clit, and you wail. “I can’t let that go, sweetheart,” he mutters, and shoves a third finger inside of you along with the first two, stretching you so fucking wide. 

He leans forward, sealing your clit between his lips and sucking, and you can only gasp, not making a sound, as you cum again. You grind into his face as much as you can in this position, practically smothering him in your pussy as you ride it out. Miguel moans like he fucking loves it, playing with your clit with his tongue, his fingers pounding into your pussy at a near furious pace.

Your wrists pull fruitlessly at the webs binding them together, but Miguel doesn’t let up. It’s like he can’t, drowning himself between your legs.

He’s talking, muffled into your skin, but you can hear him, little gasps of “tastes so fucking good,” and “fuck, she’s clenching so fucking tight for me.” Whether he’s talking to you or to himself, you’re not really sure.

“Fuck me, please, please, fuck me,” you babble, frantic for it. You hardly feel human anymore, your body trembling against the wall, desperate for him to finally get up off the fucking floor and fuck you like only he can.

And finally, finally, it’s like Miguel hears you. He snarls through his fangs, his eyes going red around the edges, as he rises off the ground. He towers over you, even as you’re lifted off the ground by his webs, every bit the predator everyone believes him to be. 

It makes your pussy gush between your thighs. 

He pulls your thighs around his hips with clawed hands, yanking you forward onto his thick cock. He slides in so easily, your cunt practically sucking him in. He hammers into you without remorse, without mercy, and you can’t help how hot tears begin to fall down your cheeks at his onslaught.

“Fucking. Needy. Slut.” He snarls it through his fangs, punctuating each word with a violent thrust that has you gasping for air. “Can’t even take your fucking punishment like a good girl, begging me to fuck you like a whore.”

You wish that you could claw at his back, pull him into a kiss, but there’s nothing you can do. You can only let out choked moans as Miguel fucks you like a monster, using you like a toy, the pull in your arms making you feel like you’re a livewire, strung up and electrified.

He drives into your g-spot like a man possessed, making your head spin and your vision swim with overwhelmed tears. “We’re not done, baby, do you hear me?” He murmurs into your ear. “I’m going to fill this needy pussy up, just like you wanted.” You keen, nodding frantically, and Miguel chuckles, dark with promise. “And then I’ll get right back down between your legs, and eat this cunt until you’re begging me to stop. You’re going to learn your goddamn place.”

It’s so overwhelming, he’s so overwhelming, and you can’t fucking take it anymore. Your mouth gapes open, soundless, your eyes clenching shut as you clench and gush around his cock.

A sick sense of victory runs through your veins though, when Miguel groans, tucking his head into your neck as his hips still, filling you up so fucking perfect. You quake against him, held against his strong, warm body.

He presses a gentle kiss to your throat. “What’s your color, mi amor?” He whispers softly, and you feel your mind come back to you, just a little bit, with the question.

“Green,” you murmur, and you can feel Miguel’s feral grin as he pulls back to look at you, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing the breath from your lungs. You try to chase his lips as he pulls away, sinking to his knees all over again.

“You still have a lesson to learn, hermosa.”

[the-artist-grimm]

I'm in love with this everything that you got going on here. Could we learn more about Nona and their relationship dynamics with Anthea as their first follower, with Narinder after the betrayal as their caretaker, and in general with the rest of the cult?

The Lamb, Anthea - While Anthea can be scared of Nona at times (cause the woman is very good at making you feel like a little kid when scolding), they respect and appreciate her greatly, and view her as an extremely strong person. Despite having met Nona at the worst time of the woman’s life-she’d just watched her children and grandchildren be slain and was about to be sacrificed herself, once freed from her ropes and introduced Nona immediately took to helping the lamb. She was an integral part to assisting Anthea in setting up the plans for the cult alongside Ratau, and took on multiple roles from first aid, to cooking, to layout planning and so on till they had more hands. While not a mother-figure per-say, she is akin to the a grandmother Anthea never had. 

Nona in turn respects Anthea as well, this little lamb who saved her arrived as this small, blood-soaked thing who despite it all still gave her a reassuring smile and held out a hand to help. Anthea’s idea to make the Cult more of a safe place for those who’d lost everything appealed to her, and while Nona isn’t always fond of how merciful Anthea can be, she does see the benefit of that hope-like she may be a bit of a bitter old lady now, but it’s nice seeing this little ewe not let the world turn them. The Lands of the Old Faith have always been cruel, so seeing someone who just...isn't is refreshing. She does, however, dislike how much Anthea neglects themself-she’s the only follower to see past Anthea’s smile early on, and while she doesn’t push because that only makes Anthea close off further, she does try to remind the lamb to take it easy.

Narinder - Narinder initialy did not like Nona. Like he knew of her from Anthea and via watching through the crown, but actually being under her care? He was tossed to her under the assumption from Anthea that he’d be violent, when in reality all he wanted was to lay down in a corner and go die from the guilt, remorse, shame, and grief. He blamed himself for everything and wished to be left alone, yet instead Nona forced him to wake up, eat/drink things, help around the house, forcibly taught him to cook and clean and garden and mend clothes and help her with knitting, until slowly he realized just what she was doing-he wanted to do nothing and just sink into his despair, yet by forcing him to do things, she was keeping him from spiraling/getting lost in his head. From there while not fully ok he did find himself growing to appreciate her, and after everything, finds her a grounding presence. He wouldn't admit it, but she kinda reminds him of what he thinks a his own mother could've been like, had he any recollection of her.

Nona had wanted to hate Narinder, but she’d already realized during the final battle that things weren’t so black and white with the situation-this god she’d assumed was fond of her lamb based on their stories, who was a good father to his kits, who’d been abandoned by his own kin, who in the brief moments she overheard him talking to the lamb via the crown was very obviously enraptured by the lamb via the way he spoke to them, for him to just ask Anthea to sacrifice themself was out of place. And once Aym died and she saw how grief-struck he’d looked, heard how he rasped out Anthea’s name, watched as he reached out a trembling hand to the Lamb's collapsed, wailing form not to hurt but to comfort, she realized there was more going on. And Narinder’s clear remorse and guilt after being put into her care was further proof of that.

Nona kept him from spiraling because she didn’t want him to just give up, since while Anthea was beyond her reach to help because of how distant they’d made themselves and how tightly they'd bound their smile to their face in their grief, Narinder was possible to work with so long as she played things right. She could help him, and through that, possibly help Anthea too. She also begrudgingly grew fond of him as more of his personality began to show, as while a little stubborn at times and awkward socially, he was soft-spoken and polite, and never complained even when he wasn't as keen on helping around the house. He made her motherly side kick-in full swing to where even after everything she does appreciate him stopping by her house to help out-not that she'd say that to his face though.

The Cult - The residential grumpy old grandmother to everyone. She can be scary sometimes, comforting in others, and a bit frustrating when she won’t let the younger members goof or slack off, but overall she’s this grounding presence a lot of them need. Most of the cultists are decently young (the youngest prior to the twins' arrival were only 18, most were between 18-27 with a few other elders ) and have lost their own parents and families, so she’s someone a lot of them turn to for more parental advice, with her sharper edges being more of a reassurance of her strength rather than a turn-away. She'll complain about you bothering her when showing up at her door at 3am shaken from a nightmare, yet drag you inside and force you to sit on the couch under a quilt while she makes tea regardless.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"PUT THAT DOWN, TOUGH GIRL"

The hunter had met her in prison. They shared a cell. For some reason they were put together in the same cell, breaking the rules of the complex: not to mix men with women.

Sergei didn't know why, until one day early the guards opened the door to his cell and dragged her out. At that moment the girl's eyes lit up in a deep green tone. Then everything clicked. They had been locked together because BOTH had the same abilities.

Without thinking twice, Sergei launched himself at the guards, using all his strength to tear them to pieces. She stared at him for a few moments, before following him. The alarms of the place began to sound loudly, reporting that some prisoners were escaping.

They escaped from there, and after talking to her, she agreed to stay with him. She needed someone to teach her to control her powers.

And who would do it better than someone who had the same abilities? She promised him that she would only stay as long as it took him to learn to control them. In the end she never left his side.

Life with Sergei was quiet most of the time, except when they had to kill a couple of poachers and end some animal trafficking ring.

In their free time they both hunted together.

The Hunter and the Viper, that's what they called them

During the first days of his training, Sergei explained to her how he had obtained his "abilities" so to speak. He told her how his bastard father had left him at the mercy of a lion that almost killed him. He told her about the moments afterward, the constant feeling that he was going to die. Thanks to Calypso and his grandmother's potion, he didn't.

Nora's story was quite similar, only instead of with a lion, it was with a viper, hence her nickname. Like Kraven, she had a highly developed sense of smell, sight, and hearing, the only difference being that she could throw poison and he couldn't.

That's why the darts they made to use as weapons were made with their poison. Depending on the dose, they could kill you or make you feel very bad without actually dying. They used both, especially the former.

So, that's how she ended up there, in the Hunter's "house", so to speak, in the middle of Russia.

She approached the wall where she had the weapons and held a crossbow in her hands. She felt his powerful presence behind her, but she didn't turn around.

"Put that down, krutaya devchonka," she called to him.

A shiver ran down his spine. He knew perfectly well how much it affected him that she spoke in her native language, since his voice was hoarser, guttural, masculine, and fucking sexy. She felt him approach her, pressed his chest against her back and gently took the bow from her hands, leaving it in its place.

-It's a prototype - he murmured in her ear - it's not ready yet - he said, beginning to leave soft kisses on her neck - but you are, right?

She tilted her head to give him better access to her neck, while he inhaled her scent, like a dog sniffing its owner. His hands anchored themselves on her waist, pushing her back possessively, the outline of his cock guessed under his pants.

A gasp escaped Nora's lips, making the hunter smile. She could feel the gesture on her skin. Sergei's curly hair tickled her, as did his scruffy beard.

-Sergei… -he whispered, resting his head against her shoulder- please…

-Patience prekrasnyy –he murmured against her ear- always so eager and hungry for me –he praised, starting to slowly remove her shirt- You want my cock, don't you? –he asked, she nodded firmly, unable to concentrate on anything other than his presence behind her and his hoarse voice in her ear- show me where you want it

Nora took his hand and placed it on her lower belly without a moment's hesitation. A growl came from Sergei's lips, who rested his chin on her shoulder for a few moments.

-Here –he whispered, feeling that if he didn't touch her he would explode at any moment- please, I need you –he begged- it hurts…

-I know, darling –he murmured- How about we remedy it uh? I'll help you relieve your pain

Let me know if you want part 2 😉

NOTES:

prekrasnyy means gorgeous on Russian

krutaya devchonk means tough girl