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More tlou stuff coming soon... comment who yall would like..

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Eerggg I feel I might not continue with black leather and bloodlines cause I feel no one really reads it (except for my lovely friends) 😅 idk just some 3am thoughts here haha

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I think Dutch is definitely the more complex character between the two. You can see how he changes over the course of the game, he starts off with all these big ideas about freedom and loyalty, and even when he starts losing it, part of you can tell he still believes in what he’s saying. That’s what makes his downfall so interesting. His relationships with Arthur, Hosea, and John add a lot of weight too, like you can actually feel the history and how personal it all gets. It’s not just that he turns into a villain, he falls into it, and that’s what makes him feel layered.

Micah, though, comes off way more one-note. He’s basically just loud, mean, and constantly stirring shit. But I don’t think that automatically means he’s flat. He clearly knows how to manipulate people and survive, and I feel like there’s probably more to him, we just never get to see it. Rockstar didn’t really give him any backstory or depth, probably on purpose, so he’d contrast hard with the rest of the gang. He’s more of a chaos agent than a real character arc. That said, I think if they had explored him more, there’s definitely potential for something interesting under all that dirt.

AHHH I COOKED

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Hmm...

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Black leather & Bloodlines

Chapter Twenty — Port Everglades

Word count: ~5.2k

A/n: Sorry for the late post... im finally done moving, so I should be back on regular schedule

---

The Florida heat hit them like a hammer the moment they stepped off the plane.

“Christ Almighty,” Arthur muttered, adjusting his sunglasses. “It’s like stepping into a mouth.”

Roxy stifled a laugh, dragging her suitcase behind her, oversized sunglasses hiding her hangover eyes. She was still flushed from the first-class flight — and not just from the free champagne.

Dutch had a cocky swagger to him, beard trimmed sharp, linen shirt half unbuttoned like he belonged on the cover of a 1980s romance novel. The man had no right looking that good after what they did in the sky.

Behind them, John was grumbling, trying to keep up with Abigail, who walked like she had somewhere better to be. “Y’all got us back in coach like we’re cargo,” he complained.

“You are cargo,” Dutch called back, not turning. “Live with it.”

Charles and Arthur followed, bickering over sunscreen. Arthur was already sunburned from the walk between terminals.

“I told you SPF 15 wouldn’t cut it,” Charles said, smug, applying his own.

“Didn’t think we’d be settin’ foot on the damn sun,” Arthur grunted.

The cruise terminal loomed ahead, a sleek building shimmering with glass and palm trees. They approached like a mismatched movie cast: Dutch and Roxy leading the pack like mob royalty, the rest trailing behind like their grumbling entourage.

A terminal worker greeted them with big smiles and bright leis. “Welcome to Port Everglades! Are you excited for your cruise to paradise?”

Dutch flashed a winning smile. “Ma’am, I was born ready.”

She blushed. Roxy rolled her eyes.

As they made their way inside, Dutch leaned in and murmured, “They oughta be paying us to be on this boat.”

Roxy smirked. “Let’s try not to get kicked off before we even board.”

He winked. “No promises.”

---

The gang reached the top deck just after sunset. The ship was massive — all glass and gold and endless staircases. Waves lapped far below, deep blue and full of promise.

“Jesus,” John muttered, hands gripping the railing. “How does this thing float?”

Abigail deadpanned, “The same way you do. Barely.”

“I can float just fine.”

“You can’t swim.”

“I can—”

Everyone turned to stare.

“...Okay, I can’t, but I dog paddle good.”

“John,” Arthur said, “you sink like a damn rock. You tried to swim at the lake and almost drowned gettin’ waist-deep.”

“Was drunk!”

“You’re always drunk.”

John huffed and wandered off, muttering about getting a drink.

Charles turned to Arthur with a fond smile. “We should check out the spa tomorrow.”

Arthur looked like he was considering it seriously — then paused. “Wait... you mean together?”

Charles laughed. “Of course. They’ve got couples packages.”

Arthur flushed bright red. “We’re not— we’re not that kind of couple.”

“You literally sleep in my bed.”

“It’s practical. It’s—” Arthur stopped himself and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Shut up.”

Charles leaned in and whispered, “You’ll love the seaweed wrap.”

Roxy watched them from the railing, smiling. She loved this side of Arthur — uncomfortable but soft. Like a scared dog realizing someone cared.

---

Dinner was fancy — black-tie level. Dutch had packed one of his tailored suits. Roxy wore the navy dress he’d bought her, now paired with strappy heels and diamonds he swore weren’t real (but absolutely were). Her hair was curled, her lipstick deep red.

They looked like the villains in a Bond film. They liked it that way.

“I think the maitre’d just bowed to you,” Roxy whispered as Dutch helped her into her chair.

“He knows greatness when he sees it.”

Their table was near a window. Ocean stretched out like velvet.

John arrived wearing a half-buttoned shirt and board shorts. Abigail smacked him on the arm. “Go change!”

“Why? I look beachy.”

“It’s formal night!”

“I formally do not care.”

Arthur wore a tie — crooked, but a tie. Charles, ever elegant, fixed it before they sat.

“Y’know,” Roxy said to Abigail as they all settled in, “I’ve been hearing about you for months.”

Abigail grinned. “All lies.”

“She makes him a better man,” Dutch muttered to Roxy.

John raised his glass. “To the ocean!”

Arthur raised his. “To not drowning.”

Roxy’s eyes twinkled. “To vacation.”

They all clinked glasses.

---

Just as the main course arrived — steak, wine, candles — Charles stood up and cleared his throat.

Arthur looked up at him, chewing.

“I uh... hope y’all don’t mind, but I got something to say.”

Dutch raised a brow. Roxy leaned in.

Charles turned to Arthur, face warm. “You’ve been my partner through a lotta mess. And I figure if I can survive snow, shootouts, and your terrible cooking, I can survive a lifetime with you.”

Arthur blinked. Fork halfway to his mouth.

Charles dropped to one knee and pulled out a silver ring.

“Marry me?”

Gasps all around the table.

Arthur dropped his fork. “Charles... you son of a bitch.”

Charles blinked. “That a yes?”

Arthur stood, knocking his chair over, and kissed him hard. The room erupted in applause. Abigail wiped a tear. John shouted, “I knew it!”

Dutch grinned. “Finally.”

Roxy clapped, heart full.

Charles slipped the ring on Arthur’s shaking hand, and Arthur pulled him into another kiss, mumbling, “Course I’ll marry you, you big idiot.”

---

On their balcony, after dinner and too many drinks, Roxy sat in Dutch’s lap, the two of them swaying slightly with the ship.

“Think they’ll make it?” she asked, watching the water.

He kissed her shoulder. “They already have.”

“And us?”

Dutch smiled into her neck. “Darlin’, we’re unsinkable.”

She laughed. “Cocky.”

“Confident.”

He pulled her tighter. The moon hung low, reflected in the sea. Somewhere below, John was drunkenly trying to challenge a lifeguard to a swim-off in the adults-only pool.

“Should we go save him?” Roxy asked.

“Nah. Let the boy drown. Builds character.”

She kissed him, laughing, and the night went on — long, warm, and full of the promise of Tahiti on the horizon.

---

A/n: im lowk running out of ideas

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guys no ellie is not a 6’0 mafia boss daddy dom serial killer. bro collects superhero cards 😂

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Black Leather & Bloodlines

Chapter Eighteen — First Class

Summary: With the sit-down behind them and tension still clinging to Dutch like smoke, the gang sets off for Florida to catch their cruise to Tahiti. Roxy and Dutch fly in luxury — first class, champagne, and turbulence of the filthiest kind. But for now, it’s a rare moment of peace, laughter, and love — the kind that only comes after war.

A/n: pls dont flame me, Tate McRae is my baby

---

They arrived at the airport just after sunrise, the sky still soaked in gold and pink. A fleet of sleek black town cars rolled to a stop at the private terminal, and out came Dutch van der Linde and his gang — half of them still yawning, the other half bickering with airport security about pocket knives and lighters.

“Jesus, Dad,” Arthur muttered as he eyed the marble floor and massive chandelier in the lounge. “Coulda warned us we were walkin’ into a damn palace.”

Dutch adjusted his coat, smug. “I don’t do coach.”

Roxy, in a tight black travel dress and oversized sunglasses, was already sipping complimentary espresso.

“Y’all really flying first class?” John asked, dragging his suitcase with one busted wheel.

“Not just first class,” Abigail muttered, eyeing the couple with suspicion. “Private cabin. Champagne. Beds.”

“Sounds like a damn honeymoon,” Charles joked, nudging Arthur.

“Good,” Dutch said, placing a hand low on Roxy’s back. “We need one.”

After security, they all gathered near the gate. The group was split into two boarding groups: Roxy and Dutch in first class, and everyone else in business or economy.

“Oh, come on!” John groaned as Dutch was led toward a velvet-roped entrance by a smiling flight attendant. “We don’t even get extra leg room?”

“Don’t drown on the drink cart, son,” Dutch called back, smirking.

Roxy blew them a kiss.

---

Their first-class suite was stunning. Cream leather seats, a wide window, champagne on ice, silk blankets. The lights were dim, the noise minimal.

Roxy kicked off her shoes and lounged across the padded seat. “You weren’t kidding. This is better than any hotel we’ve stayed in.”

Dutch hung his coat, poured two glasses. “Only the best for you, darlin’.”

She took a sip. “How long’s the flight?”

“Long enough.”

Dutch sank into the seat beside her. The door to their private cabin clicked shut.

Silence.

Just the soft hum of engines, the occasional ding from the crew, and the electric tension building between them like static.

Roxy leaned in. “Tell me something,” she whispered.

“What’s that?”

Her mouth brushed his ear. “You ever fucked someone thirty thousand feet in the air?”

Dutch turned his head slowly, eyes dark. “No,” he said. “But I intend to.”

She straddled him.

What followed was low, hungry, and damn near illegal. They kept their voices down. Barely.

Hands were everywhere. Lips muffled moans. The seat reclined back with a quiet sigh.

Dutch kissed down her neck, parting her legs with reverent fingers.

Roxy’s breath hitched.

“Shh,” he said. “Don’t wanna wake the captain.”

She bit her lip, teeth leaving marks. “Then fuck me quietly.”

He did.

---

Roxy’s legs were already wrapped around Dutch’s waist by the time he guided her back onto the reclining leather seat. The hum of the engines became white noise, masking the soft hitch in her breath when his hands slid beneath her dress — warm palms gripping her thighs with practiced purpose.

She bit her lip, leaning into his mouth as he kissed her hard. Deep. Her fingers threaded through his dark hair, tugging just enough to make him growl.

“Keep it quiet,” he murmured against her lips. “You know how thin these walls are.”

She smirked. “Guess I’ll have to get creative.”

Dutch kissed the corner of her mouth, then trailed down to her neck, where he nipped just below her jaw — the kind of bite that said mine more than any word ever could. He pushed her dress up over her hips and sank to his knees on the soft carpet, between her legs like he belonged there.

“Relax,” he said, his voice low and reverent.

Roxy gasped softly when his mouth met her, his tongue slow and deliberate. She gripped the armrests, head thrown back, trying to stifle every sound. Every flick of his tongue was patient torment — rough in rhythm, teasing in purpose.

When her thighs began to tremble, he only doubled down.

“Dutch,” she whispered, breath caught between pleasure and panic. “I'm close”

He looked up at her, eyes dark. “Good.”

She came quietly, biting her own knuckles to keep from moaning out loud. Dutch rose smoothly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like the devil. He kissed her again, letting her taste herself on his lips.

Then he turned her around, gently but firmly pressing her chest down against the seat as the leather reclined into a bed.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, guiding her hips back toward him. “You alright, darlin’?”

She nodded, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

Dutch slid into her with a deep, steady motion, burying a groan against her shoulder. The rhythm was slow at first — deliberate, dragging, letting her feel every inch, every movement, every breath that fanned across the back of her neck. But it didn’t stay gentle. Not for long.

Each thrust came firmer, sharper, shaking the seat beneath them. Roxy gripped the armrest again, her face buried in a blanket to stay quiet. Dutch’s hand slid up her back and into her hair, fisting it gently as he pulled her closer, deeper, rougher.

“Mine,” he whispered.

“Yours,” she answered, eyes fluttering.

When she came again, it was silent and shattering — her whole body tense against him, trembling. He followed seconds later, still holding her close, hips still moving slowly until the storm passed.

They stayed tangled in silence, sweat cooling on their skin, the sound of the engines like a lullaby around them.

Eventually, Dutch leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “You alright, baby?”

Roxy rolled onto her side, pulling him with her, lips curved in a lazy smile. “Better than alright.”

---

Dutch pulled the blanket over them, tucking it high over Roxy’s shoulder as she curled into him, limbs still loose from the aftershocks. Her cheeks were warm, her skin glowing in the low, ambient light of the cabin. Outside the window, clouds drifted below them like ghost ships on a quiet ocean.

“Think we woke anyone?” she murmured into his chest.

Dutch chuckled, low and tired. “Don’t care.”

She snorted. “You say that now. Wait till John starts running his mouth.”

“I’ll toss him overboard mid-cruise.”

Roxy laughed, breath stuttering as Dutch’s fingers trailed up and down her bare back beneath the blanket. Slow. Gentle. Reverent.

They lay like that for a long moment, breathing each other in. The air smelled faintly of champagne and skin, leather and warm cotton.

“You know,” Dutch said, voice rough with sleep, “I ain’t had peace like this in a long time.”

Roxy tilted her head to look at him. “Thirty-thousand feet in the air, after defiling an airline seat?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

She kissed his chin. “You’re sentimental when you’re tired.”

“I’m sentimental when you’re next to me.”

Her heart flipped. He didn’t say things like that often — not in words. But when he did, she believed every syllable.

“Think we got time to nap before we land?” she asked, tucking her leg over his.

He looked at the time. “Hour and a half. Plenty.”

They dozed in and out, tangled together in warmth and trust. At one point, Roxy stirred awake and found Dutch still watching her, eyes soft and unreadable.

“What?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Nothin’. Just… glad you’re here.”

She pressed her forehead to his, nose to nose. “Always will be.”

And as the plane drifted through the clouds toward Florida, toward the sea, toward the uncertain horizon of war and whatever came after, they let the world be still — just for a while.

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Black Leather & Bloodlines

Chapter Seventeen — Fire with Fire

Word count: ~3,000

Summary: Dutch and Roxy face the storm head-on in a high-stakes sit-down with Colm O’Driscoll himself. The air is thick with violence and old grudges. What begins as an offer for peace spirals into threats, mind games, and dangerous truths. Dutch keeps Roxy close—but it’s her sharp tongue and sharper aim that leave an impression. A war is brewing, and the only way out might be through. But first, Dutch has a promise to keep: Tahiti.

---

Colm O’Driscoll had a way of filling a room before he even walked into it.

Dutch could feel it as soon as they stepped into the bar.

It was one of Colm’s: low-lit, reeking of cigarette smoke and spilt whiskey, filled with shadows and men who looked like they had nothing to lose. The kind of place where business got dirty and bodies went missing without names.

Roxy walked beside him, hips swaying like a warning. Dutch walked just beside her, shoulders squared, coat flaring like the entrance of someone who didn’t fear death anymore.

They didn’t bother ordering a drink.

The back booth was waiting, cordoned off with cheap velvet rope. Two men flanked it, both packing. They moved aside.

Colm was already sitting in the center, a glass of something brown in his hand. The overhead bulb flickered just enough to make him look half-dead.

“Dutch,” he said with a wolf’s grin. “You brought the lady.”

Dutch slid into the booth. “Let’s not waste time.”

Roxy stayed standing. One heel tapped the floor slowly, deliberately.

Colm glanced her way. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.”

Roxy smiled coldly. “Shame. I do.”

Dutch pulled a cigarette and lit it. “You asked for a meet.”

“Not just a meet,” Colm said. “A last chance.”

He waved for a waitress, who promptly slid two glasses onto the table and filled them with whiskey. Dutch didn’t touch his.

Colm swirled his. “I figure we’ve killed enough of each other’s men to call it even.”

“Even?” Dutch echoed. “That shit you pulled with Micah? You call that even?”

Colm’s eyes flicked to Roxy. “She looks fine to me.”

“You’re playing with fire,” Dutch warned.

“I always have been.”

He pushed a manila envelope across the table.

Dutch ignored it.

“Go on,” Colm said. “Look inside.”

Inside, a grainy surveillance image of a van, some unknown men with weapons. Nothing useful. Nothing Dutch hadn't already dealt with.

"I got more where that came from," Colm said. "People watching your club. Your home. Just a matter of time before someone gets brave-or stupid."

Dutch stared at the photo. Didn't blink.

Roxy tossed the file back. “You’re full of shit.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Colm grinned. "Consider it a warning. If you come at me again like you did with Micah, there won't be a warning shot."

Dutch stood. "Micah had it coming. And if you're stupid enough to follow his path, you will too."

"I'm not Micah," Colm said darkly. "I'm the man who built his empire out of fire and corpses. Don't forget that."

Roxy slammed her hands on the table, making Colm's drink jump. "You're a relic, Colm. And Dutch is gonna be the one who buries you."

Colm just smiled. "We'll see."

Dutch lit a cigarette, took a long drag, then flicked the ember onto the table.

---

The car ride back was tense. Dutch drove with one hand, jaw clenched, the other resting on his thigh.

Roxy finally broke the silence. “What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But we need to leave. Lay low.”

She glanced over. “You mean…?”

He nodded. “Tahiti.”

She grinned despite the storm in her chest. “You serious?”

“Flight leaves tomorrow. Florida first. Then the cruise.”

Roxy blinked. “What about the others?”

“They’re coming too. Charles, Arthur, John, Abigail. We need a break. Before we burn out completely.”

She smiled, for the first time in days. “You already book the tickets?”

Dutch gave her a look. “First class, baby. You think I’d let you fly coach?”

---

Back at the house, the gang was gathered in the living room. Arthur had a beer. Charles was sharpening a knife. John had his boots up on the table. Abigail was painting her nails and laughing at something on her phone.

Roxy paused in the doorway.

Dutch cleared his throat. “Pack your shit. We’re going to Florida.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “That’s a hell of a sentence.”

“Cruise to Tahiti,” Dutch said.

John squinted. “Cruise as in boat?”

Charles snorted. “Yeah, John. That thing that floats.”

Everyone looked at Abigail as she grinned.

“Y’all know John can’t swim, right?” she said.

John groaned. “Why does everyone know that?!”

“Because you fell into a kiddie pool once and cried,” Arthur offered.

Abigail got up, wiping her hands. “You must be Roxy.”

Roxy nodded. “That obvious?”

“I’ve heard all about you,” Abigail said, pulling her into a warm hug. “And let me say—you’re a lot prettier than John described.”

“I bet he didn’t say much.”

“He said Dutch was acting like a damn teenager with a crush. That was enough.”

Roxy laughed. “He wasn’t wrong.”

The two sat on the couch, already bonding over drinks and teasing the boys mercilessly.

Dutch watched her from the corner of the room, quiet, thoughtful.

“We leave at dawn,” he said.

Roxy looked back at him with a smirk. “Then I better keep you up all night.”

He grinned. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

---

A/n- i lowk dont know where im going with this... but... its definitely... going...

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Black Leather & Bloodlines

Chapter Sixteen — The Morning Gamble

Word count: ~3,200

Summary: Morning light filters through the haze of hangovers and lust. As Dutch and Roxy recover from a night of indulgence and vulnerability, they begin to untangle what trust really means between two people scarred by power, guilt, and longing. A lazy breakfast in bed becomes something deeper, and the cracks in Dutch’s armor begin to show. But peace is fragile, and the stakes are still high—especially when shadows from the past resurface in unexpected ways.

---

The room still smelled like sex and sweat and that expensive cologne Dutch always wore. Roxy stirred, the ache between her legs reminding her of exactly how far things had gone the night before.

She rolled over slowly, her arm draping across Dutch’s bare chest. He was already awake—eyes open, staring at the ceiling like he’d been locked inside his own head for hours.

“Morning,” she whispered.

His arm came around her waist like instinct. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

She rested her chin on his chest. “You been awake long?”

Dutch nodded, slow and thoughtful. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Roxy stretched, groaning lightly. “Figures. You wore me out and now you’re too haunted to enjoy the aftermath.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too.”

A moment passed. Then another. The silence felt heavy—not with regret, but with all the things they didn’t know how to say.

“I meant what I said last night,” Dutch murmured.

She looked up at him. “I know”

"I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve seen Micah for what he was before it ever came to that.”

Roxy traced a scar on his shoulder with the tip of her finger. “You saw him. You just didn’t want to believe he could betray you.”

Dutch inhaled, chest rising beneath her hand. “I keep thinkin’… what if I’d believed you sooner?”

She kissed his chest, then his jaw. “Then I wouldn’t have had to kill him.”

He flinched.

“And maybe I’d still be waitin’ for you to choose me over your pride.”

That shut him up. But she didn’t want to wound him—just to be heard.

“I don’t blame you,” she added quietly. “But I don’t forget either.”

Dutch nodded again, slower this time. “Fair enough.”

---

Room service knocked around nine.

Dutch rolled out of bed with a groan and pulled on the hotel robe. Roxy stayed beneath the sheets, stretched out like she owned the place.

“Champagne at breakfast?” she asked when he rolled the cart in.

“You tryin’ to say I don’t know how to treat a lady?”

Roxy laughed. “I’m sayin’ you’re startin’ to.”

They ate in bed—eggs, hash browns, pancakes, sliced fruit that neither of them touched. Dutch fed her pieces of bacon with his fingers. Roxy licked the salt from his knuckles.

“You keep that up,” he warned, voice thick, “and I ain’t lettin’ you leave this bed.”

Her brows arched. “That a threat or a promise?”

He leaned in and kissed her slow. “Both.”

But there was tension under it. Roxy could feel it in the way his hand lingered too long on his phone, the way his gaze flicked to the window like he was expecting something—or someone—to appear.

“You got somethin’ brewin’, don’t you?” she asked eventually.

Dutch hesitated, then sighed. “Got a message early this morning. Colm’s crew wants a sit-down.”

Roxy sat up straighter. “The fuck for?”

“Said it’s urgent. Said it’s about territory lines.”

Her jaw tightened. “Feels more like a trap.”

“I know.”

“You’re not goin’ alone.”

Dutch looked at her, really looked. “I didn’t plan to.”

She met his eyes, steel in hers. “Good.”

---

They showered together again—not the lust-fueled chaos of the night before, but something slower. Almost tender. Dutch washed her hair. Roxy traced the scars across his back. Neither of them said much, but the silence was warm. Familiar.

Wrapped in towels, Roxy sat on the edge of the bed while Dutch got dressed—black button-up, dark jeans, gun holstered with quiet precision.

She watched him. Studied him.

“Where are we meeting them?”

“Private lounge. That bar over on Fifth.”

She paused. “That’s their turf.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“And we’re just gonna walk in there like we ain’t bled all over each other’s streets?”

Dutch shrugged into his jacket. “We’ve done worse.”

She stood, pulled on a yellow button up, and some jeans and her boots.

Dutch turned to face her. “You don’t have to come.”

“I want to.”

He stepped forward, took her face in both hands. “You sure?”

Roxy nodded. “I didn’t shoot a man just to sit this one out.”

Dutch kissed her forehead, held her close. “Ride or die?”

“Ride or fuckin’ die.”

---

The car ride was quiet.

Dutch drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh. His fingers tapped against her skin, slow and rhythmic. Roxy stared out the window, trying to settle the gnawing in her gut.

“After this,” Dutch said finally, “we go on a vacation.”

She glanced over. “Where?”

“Tahiti.”

She blinked. “Wait—you’re serious?”

He nodded. “You need peace. I need you. Arthur and John might come too. Have you met Abigail?”

"No, I dont think so."

Dutch gave a half-smile. “You'll like her, shes a sweet girl.”

She squeezed his hand.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the new beginning they deserved.

But as they pulled up outside the bar, the weight of the past settled like dust in her lungs.

One more mess. One last storm.

Then, maybe, they’d finally get their sunrise.

---

[seattlesrevenge]

Sorry if im slow with putting out things for a little bit 😔 im not doing very well mentally, and im also moving.. so .. pardon me

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Dutch and roxy cruise to tahiti????

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Black Leather & Bloodlines

Chapter Fifteen — Sin In Silk (Part two)

---

The door slammed. Silk hit the floor.

Dutch didn't hesitate. His hands were on her body before the lock even clicked. He pressed her back against the door, mouth hot on her neck, hands gripping her bare thighs.

“You wore nothin’ under this?” he growled, breath ragged.

Roxy arched into him, grinning against his mouth. “You were the one who bought it.”

He grabbed her ass and lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist. “I’m gonna ruin you for every man who even breathes in your direction.”

“You already have.”

---

He slammed her back against the wall and fucked into her hard, one arm braced beside her head, the other gripping her thigh. The tip of his cock hit deep, her moans swallowed by his lips.

Dutch kissed her like he wanted to devour her. Her nails dug into his back, heels hooked tight around his waist.

“You think I forgot how good this pussy feels?” he whispered. “Think I didn’t dream about it every goddamn night?”

Roxy whimpered as his pace increased. The sound of skin slapping echoed, filthy and sharp. Her first orgasm tore through her with a cry.

Dutch bit her neck. “That’s one.”

---

He pulled out, still hard, and dropped onto the edge of the bed. “Get on your knees.”

Roxy slid down slowly, keeping eye contact as she took his cock in her mouth.

She was ruthless. Deep-throating him until her eyes watered, saliva dripping down her chin. Dutch groaned, fingers in her hair, hips jerking with each stroke of her throat.

“Goddamn, sweetheart—fuck—your fuckin’ mouth—”

He came with a growl, spilling down her throat as she moaned.

---

He didn't give her time to recover. He lifted her onto the bed, kissed her hard, then bent between her legs.

“You took my cock so good,” he murmured. “Now let’s see how many times I can make you cum.”

Dutch licked her slowly at first—tongue curling just right—then fast, relentless. Two fingers slipped inside. Then three.

She screamed, writhing under him, heels digging into his back. He didn’t stop. Not when she came once. Not when she begged. Not when she sobbed his name a second time.

“Give me another.”

“I—Dutch—I—can’t—”

“You can.”

He pushed her over the edge again.

---

He dragged her to the mirror, bent her over the dresser.

“Look how wrecked you are.”

He fucked her from behind, one hand tangled in her hair, the other spanking her ass until her skin bloomed red.

“You’re fuckin’ mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

“I’m yours, Dutch—yours!”

He rubbed her clit and slammed into her so hard the mirror fogged from her breath.

Her fourth orgasm cracked her open. He didn’t stop.

---

Back on the bed. Legs over his shoulders.

“Beg me to stop.”

She didn’t.

“Then I won’t.”

His thrusts turned savage. Her nails raked down his chest, her voice hoarse from screaming.

He came again, deep inside her, and collapsed on top of her.

---

They lay a tangled mess, bodies thick with sweat. Dutch held Roxy tight and whispered,

"God, I missed you, Roxanne."

That made her cry, not a lot, just small tears streaming. Dutch knew they were happy tears, so he just wiped them away and kissed her hair.

---

A/n: were so back

[seattlesrevenge]

Can’t Keep Quiet

John Marston x Javier Escuella

Words: ~11k

Warnings: Drunk sex, praise + light degradation, roughness, jealousy, semi-public sex, friends-to-lovers, oral (m/receiving), unprotected sex, lots of touching, biting. (So much smut I should be put in a psych ward)

A/n: ive gone too long without smut and Leo said they'd draw me oiled up dutch in return for Jovier smut. So. Erm...

---

“Come on, man. It’s my birthday.”

John looked up from the booth, cocking an eyebrow at the glint in Javier’s smile. The bar’s neon lights painted them both in hazy red and blue streaks—drunk strangers swaying to a shitty jukebox in the background. John, nursing a whiskey, had already had four. Javier was on his sixth tequila.

“You already had seven drinks,” John muttered, but his grin betrayed the fondness laced in every word. “You tryin’ to die on me tonight?”

Javier scoffed, leaned in close, breath thick with liquor and heat. “Maybe. Depends if you’re carryin’ me home or not.”

John rolled his eyes, cheeks pink. “Yeah, yeah. I’m always carryin’ your ass home.”

They’d been best friends since high school. Somewhere in that long stretch of stolen smokes and fistfights and getting too close in the bed of someone’s truck at 2 a.m., something else had rooted deep beneath it all. Something neither of them ever said aloud.

But tonight?

Tonight Javier had a flush to his skin that wasn’t just booze. And John hadn’t looked away from his mouth once in the last ten minutes.

---

The front door slammed open as they stumbled into Dutch’s house—well, Dutch’s estate, really. Big ol’ two-story place with a sunken living room and a fuck-off leather sectional.

John caught Javier by the wrist when he almost tripped over the step. “Careful,” he muttered, hand lingering.

Javier just laughed, slow and sticky. “You always look out for me, huh?”

“Somebody’s gotta.”

John turned to throw his keys on the side table—but when he looked back, Javier was right there. Chest brushing his. Whiskey-warm breath fanning across John’s cheek.

“Hey,” Javier whispered, voice lower. “Can I tell you somethin’?”

John didn’t move. “Yeah?”

“I always wanted you,” Javier slurred softly. “You know that, don’t you?”

John’s heart tripped. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

Javier's hands slid into John’s jacket, dragging him in by the collar—and the kiss hit like a freight train.

It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t clean. Tongue and teeth, biting at the corners of each other’s mouths. John made a strangled sound when Javier pushed him back onto the couch, knees between his thighs.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” John growled, gripping his hips.

“And you like it,” Javier smirked, dragging his palm over John’s chest, fingers skating lower—

---

Clothes came off like skin too tight to wear. Javier’s shirt hit the floor, and John’s belt clattered against the hardwood. They were a mess of mouths, Javier straddling John on the couch, grinding slow, filthy circles into his lap.

“You’re hard already?” Javier teased, biting John’s earlobe. “You that gone for me?”

“Fuck you,” John rasped.

“You will,” Javier breathed against his throat.

Javier’s hand slipped into John’s boxers, fingers wrapping around thick, hot heat—and John groaned, hips bucking.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “You—goddamn—”

“Say it,” Javier demanded, stroking him slow. “Say you want me.”

“I fuckin’—I want you, Javier,” John growled, grabbing him by the hair and yanking him into another brutal kiss. “Always fuckin’ have.”

---

The front door creaked open.

And Dutch van der Linde stood in the hallway.

Coat still on. Keys in hand. Face stone-frozen.

John and Javier froze mid-motion—Javier shirtless, John pants around his thighs, his cock still in Javier’s hand. Javier blinked once. Slowly.

“…Dutch,” Javier said.

Dutch’s eye twitched. “Javier.”

Nobody moved.

Dutch’s jaw clenched. “You’re fuckin’ in my living room.”

John groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Shit.”

“On my goddamn couch—”

“Dad,” John cut him off, voice laced with heat and embarrassment. “Get out. Please. I got it.”

Dutch blinked once. Twice.

Then muttered, “You’re cleanin’ that fuckin’ couch,” and stormed upstairs.

---

They didn’t stop laughing until they hit John’s bedroom.

Javier collapsed onto the bed, breathless, face still red. “I can’t believe he saw—your dad saw—”

“Shut up,” John growled, slamming the door behind him.

Javier raised a brow, still grinning like the devil. “Gonna make me?”

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ gonna.”

John stalked over, grabbed Javier by the ankles and dragged him up the bed. Climbed over him like a storm rolling in—pressing his weight down, pinning him beneath.

Javier moaned when their hips met. “You gonna fuck me now, cowboy?”

“You’re gonna take every inch like you need it.”

He kissed Javier deep and hard—one hand braced beside his head, the other sliding down his chest, nails grazing his skin.

“Take these off,” John ordered, tugging at Javier’s jeans.

Javier obeyed, hips lifting, cock already hard, twitching. “Condom?”

John shook his head. “You clean?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Always.”

Javier licked his lips. “Then fuck me raw.”

John groaned. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

---

Javier’s thighs were trembling.

John’s breath hitched as he pulled back to take him in—naked, flushed, eyes dark and wanting. Javier’s legs were spread wide, heels digging into the mattress, hands curled in the sheets above his head like he’d surrender everything if John just asked.

“I always fuckin’ knew,” John muttered, stroking his cock once, slick with spit. “Always knew you wanted me like this.”

Javier’s lip curled, but his eyes betrayed the heat behind the smirk. “Then why’d you wait so long, cabrón?”

John leaned down, mouth against Javier’s ear. “Didn’t think I’d ever get the chance.”

“You got it now,” Javier whispered. “So fuckin’ take it.”

John groaned, grabbing Javier’s thigh and dragging him closer—lining himself up, sliding his cock between Javier’s cheeks to rub against his hole.

“Wait,” Javier said suddenly, breath catching. “Just—lemme…”

He rolled onto his stomach, arching up on his knees, then spread himself open with two fingers. “Lick me first,” he murmured. “I want it wet.”

John nearly blacked out.

“Jesus fuck, Javi.”

---

John dropped to his knees, manhandled Javier’s hips back, and buried his face between them.

“Hijo de puta—!” Javier gasped, hips jerking as John’s tongue dragged over his rim. “Ah— John!”

He didn’t stop. Hands gripping the back of Javier’s thighs, John licked deep and slow, flattening his tongue and circling him before thrusting in again. Javier was whining, bucking back against his mouth.

“Fuckin’—god, you’re—” Javier choked, fists in the sheets. “You eat ass like it’s your goddamn job.”

John just groaned against him, spit soaking Javier’s hole, tongue fucking him until he was shaking.

When he finally pulled back, slick mouth and flushed face, he spat into his palm and stroked his cock once—then slid the head against Javier’s rim.

“Tell me you want it,” John growled.

“Want it,” Javier gasped. “Fuck—John, please—I need it.”

---

The first push in made them both moan. Javier’s mouth dropped open as John slowly filled him inch by inch, thick and hot and aching.

“Ffffuck, you’re tight,” John hissed, bracing his hands on Javier’s hips. “Jesus, Javi—”

“Go slow,” Javier breathed. “You’re…big.”

John bit his lip, brow furrowed with restraint. “You takin’ me like a good boy?”

“Always,” Javier whispered, voice gone ragged.

When John bottomed out, he stilled, breath shaking. Then he snapped his hips forward—and Javier screamed into the pillow.

“Like that?” John hissed.

“Harder.”

He obeyed.

The rhythm built fast. John pounded into him rough and deep, sweat slicking his back, both of them gasping between curses and praise.

“Such a fuckin’ tight hole,” John growled. “Like you were made for me.”

“I was,” Javier gasped, face pressed into the mattress. “Always—you’re the only one, John—fuck—”

“Say you’re mine,” John demanded, thrust slamming deep.

“I’m yours—yours, fuck, John—!”

---

John leaned over, hand sliding under Javier to stroke his cock in time with each thrust.

“You’re leaking already,” he whispered against Javier’s neck. “You gonna come just from me fuckin’ you?”

“Yes—yes, fuck, I’m—close, John—”

“Come on,” John growled, biting his shoulder. “Come for me.”

Javier choked out a breath—and came, cock pulsing in John’s hand, moaning like a goddamn prayer.

John didn’t stop. He fucked him through it, chasing his own orgasm, the tight clench of Javier’s body around him pushing him over the edge.

With a final thrust, he slammed in deep—and came, groaning loud into Javier’s back.

---

They lay there for a long time—John half collapsed on top of him, panting, sweat-slicked and dazed.

Eventually, John rolled off, arm still thrown across Javier’s back.

“…You good?” he asked softly.

Javier didn’t answer at first. Just nodded against the pillow.

Then: “Yeah.”

John reached up, brushed hair out of Javier’s face. “That a ‘yeah, I’m okay’ or a ‘yeah, I’m tryin’ not to panic about Dutch hearing me moan your name while you railed me’?”

Javier barked a laugh, muffled. “Bit of both.”

John kissed his shoulder. “Let him deal with it. I ain’t ashamed.”

Javier looked over at him. “You mean that?”

John held his gaze. “Yeah. I do.”

---

The sun streamed through the blinds.

Javier stirred first—aching in the best way. He turned over to find John already awake, coffee in one hand, bruises on his neck.

“Hey,” John murmured, offering the cup.

Javier took it, sipping slowly. “So…what now?”

John looked down at him.

“We go downstairs,” he said, “ignore whatever speech my dad tries to give us, and maybe later I take you out for pancakes.”

Javier smirked, nudging his thigh under the blanket. “And tonight?”

John leaned in, kissed him slow. “Tonight I make you scream my name again.”

---

A/n: jesus..... I might be ovulating.. ALSO, MY SECOND TIME WRITING MLM..

[seattlesrevenge]

Black Leather & Bloodlines

Chapter Fifteen (part one) — Sin in Silk

Words: ~2.5k

---

The knock on Roxy’s door was soft but deliberate.

She sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, wearing one of Dutch’s t-shirts, thumbing idly at the corner of a magazine she hadn’t read a single word of. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she got out of the shower. She hadn’t seen him since the morning after… everything.

Since Micah. Since the blood. Since Dutch had wrapped her in his arms and whispered apologies against her hair like they could put her back together.

The door creaked open.

Dutch stepped inside, slow and unsure for the first time in what felt like forever. He held a long black box in his hands, tied with an navy ribbon, and for once, he looked like he didn’t know what to say.

Roxy stared. “You bring me a body or a bribe?”

Dutch chuckled, soft and exhausted. “Neither,” he said. “But if you’d prefer the first, I’m sure I can arrange it.”

His smile was strained. His eyes, however, were soft.

He shut the door behind him and crossed the room in a few strides, setting the box gently at the edge of the bed like it might shatter.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said before she could ask.

Roxy raised an eyebrow. “Well. That’s new.”

“I should’ve believed you,” Dutch said, sitting on the edge of the mattress, one hand running back through his hair. “I should’ve seen what he was the moment he looked at you.”

“You didn’t want to,” Roxy murmured. “None of you did.”

“I failed you, darlin’. In every way that counts.”

The room went still.

Roxy’s throat burned. She looked at the box, then at him. Dutch never apologized—not like this. He gave explanations, speeches, half-baked philosophy wrapped in charm and ego. But this—this was different. Quiet. Sincere.

He glanced at her hands. “I know you can’t unsee it. What happened. What you had to do. And I can’t fix that. But I can give you tonight.”

He nudged the box toward her.

“Startin’ with this.”

Roxy hesitated for half a second before reaching for the ribbon. Her fingers tugged it loose, slow and uncertain, then lifted the lid.

Inside was a dress. Midnight blue, heavy and elegant, with delicate beading along the waist and neckline. Not cheap. Not slutty. Classy.

It shimmered under the warm hotel light, catching gold in the folds.

“I saw it in the window,” Dutch said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought of you.”

Roxy was quiet.

Then: “It’s beautiful.”

He looked up, hopeful. “So are you.”

She folded the lid back down, rested her hand on the box. “So what’s the plan? Fancy dress and then what? You take me out and parade me around to make yourself feel better?”

Dutch’s jaw clenched.

“No,” he said. “I take you out because you deserve more than hiding in a hotel room while the world moves on. Because I want to be seen with you. Because I miss the way you laugh when you’re drunk off wine and getting everything you want.”

Roxy chewed her cheek.

Dutch reached for her hand. “Let me take care of you tonight. No lies. No secrets. Just us.”

She didn’t pull away.

“Alright,” she said, finally. “But if I’m wearing heels, you’re carrying me back.”

Dutch grinned, slow and warm. “Deal.”

---

She stepped out of the bathroom, heels clicking softly against the floor, the dress hugging her body like it was tailored to her. Dutch had never looked more breathless.

He stood frozen in his dark suit jacket, lips slightly parted.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I should be arrested.”

Roxy smirked, doing a slow spin. “You like?”

“You’re going to ruin me.”

She crossed to him, fixing the collar of his shirt and smoothing the lapels of his coat. “Already did.”

Dutch slipped his hand around her waist. “You ready for this, darlin’?”

She arched a brow. “Born ready.”

---

The restaurant sat at the top of the casino hotel, glittering with chandeliers and soft piano music. Every table had a view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights below blinking like a thousand watching eyes.

Dutch pulled Roxy’s chair out for her like a gentleman. She smirked at the gesture but didn’t comment.

They ordered drinks—two old fashioneds to start.

Roxy traced the rim of her glass. “I look like a Bond girl.”

“You look like sin in silk,” Dutch said without shame. “I’m half-tempted to skip dinner.”

“You won’t.”

“No,” he agreed. “I want to earn this.”

Their food came—seared duck with blackberry glaze for her, ribeye for him—and for the first time in weeks, the silence between them felt natural. No tension. No ghosts at the table. Just clinking silverware and murmured compliments and the soft hum of a jazz band by the bar.

Dutch watched her laugh at something the waiter said and felt the air in his lungs shift.

She was alive again. Bright. Smart-mouthed. His girl.

And he was going to spend the rest of the night reminding her of that.

---

A/n: yall will get part 2 tomorrow morning 😽

[seattlesrevenge]

Black Leather And Bloodlines

Chapter Fourteen — Blood Stains and Soft Things

Word count: ~3,000

Summary: Roxy and Dutch spend the night out of the safe house and go to a hotel in the meantime. Roxy is still shaken and traumatized. Dutch comforts her, finally realizing the depth of her pain and guilt. He promises she'll never be alone again-and quietly starts planning a way to make it up to her.

---

The motel room was too quiet.

Roxy sat on the edge of the bed in one of Dutch's shirts, her knees pulled to her chest, fresh bandages wrapping her grazed knuckles. The dried blood was gone, scrubbed away in scalding water, but she swore she could still feel it there. On her hands. Under her nails. In the roots of her teeth.

Dutch hadn’t said much after it happened. Just held her as she shook, whispered things he didn’t expect her to remember. Things like, I’m so sorry, and you’re safe now, and I should’ve known.

She hadn’t cried. Not yet. Not when she pulled the trigger. Not when the gun slipped from her hands after. Not even when Dutch picked her up off the tile floors, held her like she weighed nothing, and carried her to the bathroom to wash the blood from her face.

It was just silence now. Loud, aching silence.

The door creaked open. Dutch returned with takeout and two beers, setting the greasy paper bag on the dresser. He wasn’t wearing his coat. Just a black button-down rolled to the elbows and his slacks. His hair was damp—he must’ve showered in the other room. That, or he stood under the rain until it stopped.

He turned to look at her. His voice was gentle.

“You eaten today?”

She shook her head.

“Figured. Got you lo mein. Your favorite, right?”

He cracked open one of the beers and handed it to her. She took it but didn’t drink.

Dutch sighed and sat beside her. The bed dipped under his weight. Neither of them touched the food.

“He was never supposed to get near you,” he said. “Not again.”

Roxy glanced at him. “But he did.”

“I know.”

She finally took a sip of the beer. Dutch watched the way her hand trembled just slightly. Not fear. Not weakness. Just adrenaline trying to find a place to settle.

“You didn’t believe me.”

That made him flinch.

“No,” he admitted. “I didn’t. And that’s on me. Not you. Never you.”

Silence again. This time thicker. She leaned her head on his shoulder, still curled in on herself.

“It didn’t feel real,” she murmured. “Shooting him. I thought it would... I dunno. Feel like something. But it just felt... quiet.”

Dutch pressed a kiss to her temple. “First time usually does.”

She didn’t ask how many times it had been for him.

---

That night, she didn’t sleep alone.

He laid with her, arms around her waist, her back to his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Grounding. When she did dream, it was of dust and sirens and her finger on a trigger that refused to move. When she startled awake, Dutch was already there, whispering against her hair, his breath warm and sure.

“I got you, baby girl. Go on back to sleep.”

---

The next morning, Hosea called. Dutch stepped out to talk.

Roxy sat on the bed, holding the blanket around herself like armor. A gun sat on the nightstand. Not hers. Dutch’s. Left there like a silent promise.

She stared at it for a long time.

Dutch came back in, a little tension in his shoulders.

“Colm’s boys are stirrin'. Word's out. Those shots? They were loud.”

“They coming for me?”

Dutch looked at her hard. “They come for you, they come through me.”

She believed him.

---

They drove back to the city just before dusk. The gang was scattered. Arthur and John were still out of state. Javier and Bill were holding down the warehouse.

When they pulled in, Charles jogged out.

“Is it true?” he asked Roxy.

She only nodded.

His eyes softened. “You okay?”

“I will be.”

Inside, Bill was pacing. Javier looked like he hadn’t slept. Susan hugged her tight. Even Pearson offered her a drink.

Dutch made it clear—Micah was dead, and anyone with a problem with that could speak up.

No one did.

---

Later that night, Dutch found her on the warehouse rooftop, cigarette glowing between her fingers.

“Thought you quit,” he said.

“Thought I’d be dead by now.”

Dutch walked over and took the cig from her fingers, flicked it into the dark.

“You’re not dying,” he said. “Not while I’m breathing.”

She looked at him. Really looked at him. The anger, the guilt, the quiet ache in his eyes.

“You’re not gonna leave, are you?”

“Only thing I’m leavin’ behind is the bastard who hurt you.”

Roxy stepped closer. Dutch reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“You deserve somethin’ better than this,” he whispered. “Something soft. Something beautiful.”

She leaned in, their foreheads touching. “Then give it to me.”

He kissed her. Slow. Careful. Like she might break.

And she let him.

---

The next days following would be different.

No guns. No blood. Just silk and candlelight.

But for now, they stood on a rooftop in the dark, holding each other like lifelines.

And that was enough.

[seattlesrevenge]

Black Leather & Bloodlines

Chapter Thirteen — Even Wolves Bleed.

Word count: ~3,000

Summary: Aftermath and reckoning follow Roxy's deadly confrontation with Micah. As the gang processes the fallout, tensions rise, and loyalties are tested. Dutch and Roxy begin to rebuild their fragile trust, confronting pain, fear, and the heavy cost of survival-learning that even wolves must find a way to heal

---

The warehouse smelled of smoke and blood — sharp, acrid, a smell that would stick to her skin long after the night ended.

Roxy sat on the cold concrete floor of the back room, her hands trembling in her lap, stained dark red but strangely numb. The gun that had ended Micah’s life lay heavy and unfamiliar beside her, still warm to the touch. Her breath came in shallow bursts, each one an anchor and a knife all at once.

The silence between them was thick, suffocating. Dutch sat beside her, close enough to feel the faint heat radiating off her skin, but far enough to hold his own storm inside. His leather jacket was draped over her shoulders — a small gesture, but one that tethered her to something solid.

Outside the room, the rest of the gang gathered quietly. Footsteps and murmurs echoed through the hollow space, a mix of shock, fear, and the ever-present tension of uncertain loyalties. No one dared speak too loudly, not here, not now.

The weight of what had happened was settling, piece by piece, like ash falling softly but relentlessly.

---

Hosea’s voice broke the silence, calm and deliberate. “Did you see it?” He stepped into the room, eyes steady on Roxy, but with a depth of sorrow that matched her own. “What he did to you. To us.”

Dutch nodded, dark eyes never leaving her face. “He was poison. All the time. We just couldn’t see it until now.”

Roxy swallowed hard, fighting the rawness inside her throat. “I never wanted it to come to this. I never thought... that I’d be the one.”

Dutch’s hand, rough and worn from years of fighting, reached out and found hers. His fingers curled around hers like a lifeline — steady, grounding. “You saved yourself. And all of us.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a mix of relief, guilt, and disbelief tangled inside her. This wasn’t how she imagined it. No heroic rescue, no clean justice. Just a desperate fight for survival that ended with blood on her hands and a life snuffed out forever.

---

The door creaked open and Javier stepped inside, his usual swagger tempered by a quiet seriousness that made her heart ache. He crouched down on the other side of her, eyes searching hers with something almost like reverence.

“You’re one of us now,” he said softly. “That means we protect each other. No matter what.”

Roxy nodded, the tears finally breaking free, sliding silently down her cheeks. Not because she was weak — because even wolves had to bleed sometimes.

Dutch pulled her up slowly, his touch gentle despite the storm in his eyes. “You’re safe now,” he said, voice low and rough with something she couldn’t quite place. “With me.”

And for the first time since Micah, Roxy believed it.

---

The morning came heavy and gray. Light filtered through cracked blinds like shards of hope she wasn’t sure she deserved.

Roxy sat on the edge of Dutch’s bed, staring down at her bruised wrists and the fading marks that told the story no one else needed to hear.

Dutch stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the city wake up in quiet defiance.

“We can’t go back,” he said without turning. “Not now.”

She looked up at him, eyes tired but burning with fierce resolve. “Then what now?”

He sighed, finally meeting her gaze. “Now, we take care of what’s left. We protect the people who still matter. We clean up the mess — inside and out.”

She wanted to ask how. How to fix the broken parts inside herself. How to make the pain stop clawing at her every moment. But the words stuck in her throat.

Instead, she stood and moved to him, pressing her forehead against his chest.

“We do it together.”

Dutch’s hand slid down to cradle the back of her head, his thumb tracing gentle circles. “Together.”

---

The gang felt different now. Thicker. Darker. Like the air itself carried a warning.

Some eyes lingered too long on Roxy. Others looked away too quickly. A few whispered in corners, words dripping with doubt and fear.

Micah’s death was a line drawn in the dirt.

For some, it was justice. For others... a question mark.

Dutch called a meeting that afternoon, the usual raucous energy muted to a tense hush.

“We lost a brother,” he said, voice steady but heavy. “But that brother was a danger to all of us. Roxy did what had to be done. That’s the truth.”

There were nods, but also sharp glances exchanged.

Bill broke the silence. “We gotta be sure this don’t turn into a cycle. We all got demons, but we keep ’em in check.”

Dutch fixed him with a hard look. “And we will. I swear it.”

Hosea stepped forward next. “We move forward. United.”

Roxy caught Dutch’s eye across the room. His jaw was tight, but his expression soft when it fell on her.

---

Later, in the dim light of Dutch’s office, Roxy finally let the walls she’d built slip.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, voice barely a whisper. “Not just of what Micah did... but what I did to survive.”

Dutch closed the door behind them and walked over, pulling her into a rough, desperate hug.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he murmured against her hair. “But you don’t have to be alone in that strength.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him. “What if this changes everything? What if the gang can’t trust me anymore?”

Dutch shook his head. “They’ll learn. They have to.”

His hand brushed a stray hair from her face. “You’re my blood now. And I don’t let my blood bleed alone.”

---

That night, Roxy lay awake, the silence louder than any gunshot.

She thought about Micah — about every threat, every whispered promise of pain.

But she also thought about Dutch — the way he held her, the way he fought to keep her safe, even when his own demons threatened to consume him.

Wolves don’t cry, she reminded herself.

But maybe... just maybe, they learn how to heal.

---

Outside the window, the city was waking up.

And somewhere in the shadows, new threats were already stirring.

But Roxy wasn’t alone anymore.

And this time, she was ready to fight — for herself, for Dutch, and for the family they were building from the ashes.

---

A/n: Jesus this was hard to write

[seattlesrevenge]

i just started "Black Leather & Bloodlines" but OHHHHHHHHHH MY GOD I'M IN LOVE WITH THE STORY ALREADY i just had to tell you

Ahhhhhh thank you! You have no clue how much this means to me!!