#Dutch Van Der Linde imagine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

margowritesthings · 1 year

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Vedova Nera

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: You've been Angelo Bronte's live-in assassin for years now, going undercover to kill those who have wronged him. Your next job seems rather simple: eliminate the outlaw Dutch van der Linde. What could go wrong?

word count: 5710 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, mentions of sex as part of a job, breath play, reader is an assassin, rough sex, choking, attempted murder, angelo bronte being a creep, sexual themes, cunnilingus (r receiving and giving)

a/n: this was a request from my beloved @cowboydisaster and god was it a wonderful prompt. I LOVED writing this, so thank you for the inspiration darling. So so glad to be publishing after such a long break, and I want to thank any and all of you who have stuck around to wait for me <3 love y'all, here's some filthy Daddy Dutch smut!

beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire @punctillous @dutchysoriginalwife

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When the sunlight streams through the gap between the red velvet curtains, peacefully stirring you awake, it feels like any other day. The silk sheets seduce you to stay, the feather pillow beneath your head luring you into five more minutes of dreaming, despite the noises of the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis penetrating the peace through a crack in your bedroom window. You really could stay here all day, cocooned in luxury while the staff serve your every whim.

But you can’t. The second your lashes flutter open and your eyes land on the dress hanging from your wardrobe, you’re reminded exactly why. While the fact that somebody must’ve delivered it to your room while you slept churns your stomach for a moment, you can’t deny that it’s an exquisite piece. The silk falls from the hook like a crimson waterfall and you know it will hug your body just perfectly by the way it hangs. You’ll look perfect tonight at the party, even if you will be draped on his arm.

Urgh. The frown on your face is quickly pushed away at the sound of your door knocking. Nice of them to knock this time, though you’re sure it’s only because they know you’re awake and would knock whoever is brave enough to sneak into your room on their ass in seconds.

“Miss? Mr. Bronte would like to see you.” The voice is somewhat muffled by the heavy wooden door, but your orders are clear as day, no matter how politely they’re worded. You’re to be downstairs in no more than five minutes. You huff, the only response you’re willing to give to the poor, innocent henchman at the other side of the door. Well, not exactly innocent, but who are you to talk?

It doesn’t take long for you to brush your hair out of its braid with your fingers, the curls freely cascading down your back, get dressed, and find yourself knocking on the open, ornate door leading to the parlour. Bronte is waiting for you, arms stretched out around the back of the couch, taking up far more room than he deserves to. When he lays his eyes on you, he stands, reaching his arms out, palms upturned as he grins at you.

“Ah, il mio poccola ragna, how are you?”

It feels like you’re being doused in lukewarm grease, but you allow him to hold your hands in his, pulling you just close enough to kiss you on the cheek, “I’m fine. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful.”

“And you will look stunning in it tonight, cara mia. Nothing but the best for la mia vedova nera.”

You raise a brow, knowing that Angelo only calls you his black widow when he has a job for you. Of course he does. Nothing comes free in this world, and you have a deal. Bronte gives you a roof over your head, that plush bed you’ve grown awfully fond of, and all the luxuries a man of his stature could offer. In return, you work exclusively for him, as opposed to the freelance assassinations you used to offer to anyone with a fat enough wallet. In its simplest terms, that is your agreement with Angelo Bronte, but that doesn’t stop his wandering eyes, sickly terms of endearment and clammy hands wherever he can get them.

“It is with only the deepest regret that I shall not have you on my arm tonight, but alas, I have a job for you that requires a certain distance between the two of us, amore.”

It takes a level of restraint to not physically sigh in relief when you learn you won’t be spending the evening performing as Bronte’s woman, but your intrigue grows ever stronger when your curious gaze falls to the wanted poster laying on the table next to you. A sketch of a man steals your attention, and his intense stare threatens to never give it back despite being mere charcoal. Instinct tells you to reach out and run a finger lightly over the crumpled paper, tracing the man’s strong jawline, though you’re not quite sure why. You’ve never seen him before, nor have you heard his name: Dutch van der Linde. The poster isn’t from around here, it’s from Blackwater. You can tell, because you’ve seen your own face staring back at you on one just like it before finding yourself under Bronte’s protection.

“This the guy?” You ask quietly, still entranced by this stranger etched into coffee coloured paper. Bronte doesn’t seem to notice, already leaning back into the loveseat.

“Sí, bella. He is new to town, he does not know of my vedova nera, and we must keep it that way. He dishonours me, dishonours my city. He will be at the mayor’s party tonight, but he will not see tomorrow, will he, cara mia?”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Dutch van der Linde will not live to see another day.

═══════☆═══════

Some consider this, the pomp and performance of high society, a gilded cage, forcing man into superficial roles to play and stripping him of any true freedoms, but you’ve learnt to see the beauty in taking advantage of it. You’re more than happy to put on a pretty dress and play pretend, laughing along to terrible anecdotes with a drink in your hand and a smile perfectly crafted on your reddened lips. After having truly nothing, living at the very bottom of the food chain, putting up with this farce is a small price to pay for a little security. Besides, drinking champagne while rich men call you beautiful is hardly a sacrifice. Most of them are old and rather greasy, but you’re more than capable of holding your own. They’re just microscopic cogs in a grand plan they’ll never even know about, orchestrated by someone they overlooked because of the way they look. Your greatest asset, you’re sure.

You reach for the champagne flute at the very top of the sparking pyramid, the bubbles dancing on your tongue from the first sip. When you make your way upstairs to the balcony, every tiny bubble rising to the top of your glass reflects the illuminated string lights wrapped around the iron gazebo and every pole in the perfectly tended garden, casting the who’s who of Saint Denis in a warm glow. From your spot on the balcony, you observe all, searching for your Dutch van der Linde. You can see your host, mayor Henri Lemieux, engaging in what could only be considered ‘schmoozing’ with a group of men in top hats by the fountain, and although you can’t see every face, you somehow know that none of them are the one you’re looking for. Those piercing eyes are sure to come with a presence to match, and you can’t feel it yet.

That is, until the french doors into the house are opened and the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You blame the cool breeze that is pushed into you by the swing of the door, though that doesn’t account for the quickening pace of your heart. You rarely get nervous for a job, why would you? It’s all you’ve ever known.

So why this one?

The thought falls down your spine with a shudder, and you try to shed your doubts quickly with a rather large sip of champagne that seems to numb the sharp edges to smooth curves just slightly. Your hand rests gently on the balcony, maintaining a facade that you’re looking out into the crowds below instead of listening in on the conversation between the group of men just feet away from you. In your peripheral vision, you spot him, dressed in a suit that simply must have been sewn around his body with the way it perfectly fits him. He wears a top hat, a large cigar burning between his gloved fingers. He takes your breath away upon first glance, your cheeks flushing when your eyes meet. You offer a small smile, before looking back over the ongoing party and finishing the rest of your champagne, leaving a red stain on the lip of the flute.

Now, you wait, hoping you left enough of an air of mystery and allure for your target to approach you. Bronte is with the group of men attending with Dutch, but neither of you acknowledges the other to maintain appearances. Definitely something you could get used to.

Twirling the stem of your flute between your nimble fingers, you watch the crystal carvings refract and scatter beautiful dots of light over your dress as you listen in to Dutch, Bronte, and another man you’ve never seen before talk over their cigars. It’s all bullshit, Bronte bragging that the whole town fears him while he acts overly friendly to the man he has hired you to murder tonight, and it takes all the restraint you have to not visibly roll your eyes. You lift your glass to your lips again, before realising it’s empty. As you turn on your heel to head back to the drinks table, you’re met with an outstretched, gloved hand, bubbling flute presented to you in its grasp.

It’s him.

Up close, you can see how beautifully he’s cleaned up from whenever he was sketched for his poster, his moustache gelled in an upward curve, his eyes a deep auburn that a charcoal sketch could never truly capture. He’s magnificent, his presence drowning you, and you’re sure even without the formalities he’d be just as stunning, a roughened cowboy with a drawl to send you weak in the knees.

“For you, my dear.” He offers, watching intently as you take the flute between your fingers.

“Why, thank you, sir. I never knew they hired such well dressed gentlemen at these events.” You joke, smiling almost mischievously at him before taking a sip, “You surely can’t be a guest here, they’re never this kind.”

“Afraid so, miss. Dutch van der Linde, at your service.” He takes your free hand in his, lifting your knuckles to his mouth to kiss them tenderly. The sensation travels up your arm and sends a little flutter through your stomach. Quite the gentleman, it seems.

“A pleasure, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Please, Dutch is fine. And the pleasure is all mine.”

You offer your name in return and a shy smile, the one that often has your victims bowing to your every need while they imagine you writhing beneath them, and by the way Dutch watches you, he’s no exception.

“Tell me, Dutch,” you oblige, “what is a fine gentleman such as yourself doing at an event like this? Are you a friend of our host?”

“No, I am a guest of Mr Bronte’s, attending on a personal invitation.” You instantly sense it, the displeasure hidden in amongst the pleasantries. You’re not at all surprised, Angelo is hardly a likeable man.

“Ah, I see.” “You know him?” “Not personally, no,” You lie, glancing over to the man in question, who appears to be boring the ears off Dutch’s abandoned friend as he downs his near full glass of whiskey, “But everyone who’s anyone in Saint Denis knows of him. He’s… real somethin’.” You match Dutch’s indignation with an expert precision, and you don’t need to pretend one bit.

Dutch laughs, a hearty one at that, using the gesture to take a step closer to you, “Now that we agree on, my dear…”

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you and a waiter arrives, passing Dutch a rich amber drink that he thanks him for. You grab the waiter's attention, asking for a bourbon of your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Dutch looks impressed.

“I can admire a woman who appreciates a fine whiskey.” He remarks, tipping his glass to you and you smirk, raising a sharpened brow,

“I can appreciate much more than a fine whiskey, Mr Van der Linde.”

The air between the two of you is electric, charged with something inexplicable yet maybe the most powerful energy you’ve ever felt.

“Is that right?” It comes out almost a growl, which you feel deep in your core. The way he’s looking at you… it’s inevitable. Mission accomplished.

You lean in closer, glancing down to the snow white flower pinned to Dutch’s lapel. Your eyes linger on the thing, so stark a contrast to the jet black suit he’s wearing, so delicate a symbol for a hardened criminal you’ve been hired to murder.

There’s little space between the two of you now, far less than is proper, but Dutch closes it, his hot breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he whispers to you,

“How about we get a real nice room somewhere and I show you just how much I can admire a woman who appreciates a good whiskey?”

═══════☆═══════

Sending Dutch back downstairs to the saloon for drinks gives you opportunity to reach under your skirts, pulling the dagger from your crimson garter and stashing it between the bed frame and mattress. It’s a simple routine, one that works every time to not only allow you time to prepare for the job, but to prove just how wrapped around your little finger your victims always are. Ever the gentleman, as you’re learning, it only took a simple comment of thirst and a bat of your thick lashes and Dutch was out the door. He returns to you quickly, hands full with two identical glasses of neat bourbon, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying click.

“Here we are, the finest this establishment has to offer.” He says, with just a touch of bravado as he goes to hand you the crystal glass. Your hand brushes with his own skin, tanned from what you assume to be hours out in the sun, and a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm, scattering your whole body with goosebumps. With strenuous effort, you collect yourself fast enough to thank Dutch, before letting that comfortable silence settle between the tiny space between your two bodies again. You’re so close to him you can smell the distinct cigar smoke and liquor burn on his breath, feel the energy buzzing off him. One deep breath and your supple chest would be pressed right against his hardened one.

The golden liquid burns over your tongue and down your throat, but not nearly as much as your skin does under Dutch’s touch when he runs a thumb over your bottom lip. It feels as though your entire body heats from the contact, the only respite from the fever his contact elicits being the golden rings adorning his fingers, pressing up against your jaw when he cups the side of your face. It stops your heart, you’re sure of it.

“You, my dear, are exquisite.” He whispers tenderly.

In your line of work, there is violence. There is pain and fire and yes, sometimes passion, but never tenderness. But when Dutch van der Linde’s eyes roam over you, it feels different. Like he sees you, instead of seeking for whatever it is he’s looking for. They’re all looking for something, and they all seem to think you have it, but not Dutch… even if there is the most devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a glint in his eye that tells you to be careful.

Your lips don’t meet, they collide, with a deafening crash that vibrates the earth below. Both yours and Dutch’s glasses are discarded on the table beside the four poster bed as you require both hands to grasp at his satin waistcoat while he reaches around your waist to pull you flush against him.

Every inch of him is solid, his hands moulding you around his frame as his tongue requests- no, demands entrance to your mouth. You’re happy to oblige, parting your lips so that he can run the muscle along your bottom lip, eliciting a real, sensual moan from deep within you. Most of the time, you feign interest and want and pleasure, using every tool at your disposal to have your victims as putty in your hands. Tonight, it would seem you have to fake nothing, feeling more like putty yourself, folding and sculpting around Dutch’s thick, strong fingers.

Dutch growls, low and gravelly, and you feel it vibrate every part of you, leaving little cracks all over the shields you’ve grown so used to wielding. The tremors reach your knees and you have to put extra effort into not letting them buckle. He invades every sense, a smoky, powerful force that for a moment you worry you’ll never be rid of. It’s normally so easy to detach yourself from these men, seeing their demise as the only thing standing between you and the continuance of the life of luxury you’ve grown so accustomed to, but right now it takes everything you can to not fear a future haunted by Dutch’s ghost. It’s… strange, this attachment formed so quickly, so unexpectedly that you’re almost certain the only way to prevent it is to kill him now before anything else can happen. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it… you need him in this moment, need to take something from a man for yourself for once, instead of for your slimy Italian master. It’s a mistake, you know it is, but it’s one you can’t stop, like a train barreling towards you with broken breaks. The collision is going to hurt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t bask in the feeling of every bone in your body shattering for this moment, every speck of your being destroyed just for an evening. If your blackened soul must be broken, at least it’s your choice. And this is your choice. Dutch van der Linde is your choice.

His hand burns through the silk on your back, searing your skin that itches for a release of its confines. He never breaks your hungry, needy kiss as his expert fingers make quick work of your bodice, pushing your dress off your shoulders until it falls at your feet like a scarlet pool of blood. Your chemise is just as deep a red as your dress and the stain covering your lips, as is the garter squeezing your thigh. Dutch takes a step back, drinking you in like a fine glass of wine. Under his gaze, you burn all over again, feeling the heat pulsing in your very core, your clit throbbing and cunt weeping for him. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt a yearning so intense that you feel you might combust if you don’t have this man inside you soon.

“As I said…” he growls, tongue licking over his own bottom lip this time, “Exquisite.”

Your exhale is shaky from the sheer effort to stay still, to not pounce on Dutch and take him. Somehow, you take a steady step towards him, out of the pile of silk discarded on the floor, reaching back to the buttons on his waistcoat to pull them apart. Your neck cranes up slightly to meet Dutch’s intense stare, catching him flick his eyes down to watch you undress him. Your bodies are so close now you can feel his hard cock pressing against you, branding you, even hotter than the rest of him. Even through his breeches, his size is evident. Intimidating, but you can all but feel yourself drooling at the thought of taking him all. Patience growing thin, your fingers speed up to finish their job, pushing both waistcoat and crisp shirt off Dutch’s shoulders and onto the floor, revealing a strong, sturdy chest underneath. You run both hands over it with a featherlight touch, feeling him shudder at the contact.

Looking back up to meet his eye, tracing gentle circles over his skin, you whisper, “As are you, Mister Van der Linde…”

“Oh, my dear,” Dutch catches your chin between his fingers, squeezing gently to pull you closer, until your lips are just a hair away from each other. Your breath hitches in your throat, lips parted and waiting for him. A gasp escapes when he runs a finger of his free hand up your inner thigh, pressing firmly against your slit through your lingerie, the sensation shooting up your spine, “I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you? Dutch is fine.”

You swallow down the moan building deep down, attempting to hold onto whatever little decorum you can before you crumble beneath this outlaw. When Dutch removes his finger from against your heat, it takes everything to not whimper from the loss of him. Still holding your face, he presses a kiss to your lips, inhaling you in through his nose before pulling away, glancing down to the space between the two of you.

“Kneel for me, beautiful.”

It takes you less than a second to obey, feeling the plush of the carpet against your knees. Your hands are instantly on Dutch’s belt, unbuckling it with hands that are almost vibrating with anticipation. His trousers don’t even fall past his hips before his cock springs out and you almost gasp again. It’s huge, thick and long, twitching and pulsing all for you. A beautiful sight, truly.

Both hands look tiny in comparison, wrapping around his base with a slight squeeze that has Dutch groaning already. Your eyes lock onto his, never leaving them as you lick a line up his shaft all the way to his rosy head, the salty spend dancing on your tongue a sure sign he’s as desperate for you as you are him. When you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you get as much of his length in as you can, Dutch grips into your hair, cursing through his teeth as you start to bob up and down.

Using your mouth and hands in tandem, you work up and down his shaft, licking across a protruding vein that causes another growl to leave Dutch’s lips and charge the air with a near blinding want. His cock pumps and swells even more so in your mouth, and when you take a deep breath and push all of his length in and down your throat, Dutch lets out a visceral groan sure to reach the ears of the devil himself.

“Fuck, just like that, angel, just like that…” He whispers to you, watching as little tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with the spit escaping the corners of your lips. Dutch holds your face between his large palms, fucking into your throat. It isn’t until your lungs are burning for air that he relents, his cock sliding out of your mouth soaked in your saliva, a bead still clinging to your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, guiding you to your feet with an extended hand. You gasp as he lifts you into the air and all you can do is wrap your legs around his waist. His cock nudges against your lingerie, the thin, scarlet silk the only barrier between the two of you. You’re writhing, desperate for him as his tongue licks the roof of your mouth, dominating you.

Dutch throws you onto the bed and you land with a squeak, spreading your legs wide to allow him to crawl over you, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes roam over you, pulling the straps of your chemise down to expose your breasts. He continues to undress you, each second stretching out to an eternity until you’re bare underneath him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and it scorches you. You feel the fire spread over every inch of you, especially when he dips down to lick a line from your nipple, across your chest, down your stomach until he is hovering above your cunt. His breath tickles your soaked skin and it takes everything you have to restrain and be patient. The devil is merciful, and after torturing you for what feels like hours, watching you writhe and whine, Dutch delves into your folds, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it gently. You scream, hands instantly raking into his jet black hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He hums in content, as if tasting a delicacy, and it vibrates your inner thighs. Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as your back arches for him.

“Oh, God…” you moan, relenting your grip just a little when Dutch stops to look at you, eyebrow raised and smirk tugging his glistening lips,

“Now, dear, I said Dutch is fine.”

He doesn’t give you much time to digest his cocky words, plunging a finger deep inside you, finding that spot that makes you go dizzy and curling against it. You whine and purr, bucking your hips up to show Dutch what you need. He takes your silent command and submits to it, bowing his head to take your clit in between his teeth. It tethers you between pain and pleasure, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. One finger becomes two, pumping into your core and you feel yourself hurtling towards climax faster than you ever have in your life. There’s a burning on your inner thigh from his moustache while he laps up your juices, kissing and nipping and sucking until you’re sure you’re going to break and shatter all over the hotel room floor.

“Oh, God, Dutch- fuck, Dutch, yes Dutch- I- I’m gonna-”

The whine you let out when Dutch withdraws his fingers from you is downright tortured. You look up at him, the question of why written all over your face. He simply smirks, sliding those glistening fingers in between his lips and licking your juices clean off them.

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.”

The sweet endearment softens your frown, his demand driving you even wilder. It isn’t a matter of want anymore, you need him. Right at this moment, you’re gasping for air, and Dutch van der Linde is your only oxygen.

“Everything,” you breathe out, “God, Dutch, I need you, please…”

You earn a satisfied grin as Dutch begins to crawl over you again, the length of his body consuming you wholly. “Hm… I like it when you beg for me, my dear.”

When he lines himself up to your entrance, the feeling of his tip brushing far too gentle past your clit, you’re truly dizzy with need. You reach up to Dutch, nails digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders as if he's your only tether to the earth itself. Your mewls guide him in like a siren's call, filling you more than you ever thought possible. Though slowly, Dutch slides all the way in, until you’re connected by the pelvis, the head of his cock prodding gorgeously into that swollen sweet spot of yours.

“F-Fuck…” you gasp out, concurrently to Dutch’s carnal groan. He fills you to the brim, and you squeeze his throbbing cock perfectly. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, breaching past the barriers of what you once considered sex to be. When he steadily withdraws, pushing all the way back in, you see stars, scattering across the ceiling of the hotel room, falling into the faint freckles you’re sure nobody ever notices on Dutch’s cheeks. The pure lust ignited in his eyes burns hot as he begins to move, thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace.

When he picks up a little speed, you feel his hand brush against your cheek, finger tracing your jawline from ear to chin and back again. His expression as he fucks you is so intense, and there’s a certain darkness clouding it all that scares you. Dutch is otherworldly, and your mind briefly casts to under your back, where that little knife lays waiting. Your confidence in completing your mission is faltering, picturing golden ichor bleeding from Dutch’s chest in lieu of blood. He is so far removed from anybody Bronte has ever had you kill, so divine an energy that you’re starting to wonder what your failure would mean for you. It has never been an option before, but the possibility wanders into your mind as if it belongs there.

Your whines and moans harmonise with Dutch’s groans and curses, the room filled with purely obscene, visceral vibrations. He fucks into you, one hand gripping onto the sheets, the other cupping the side of your face, slowly snaking downwards to cover your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on yet, but can surely feel the thrumming of your pulse against his palm. The possessive way his hand covers your whole throat makes your heart skip a beat, your now untouched clit twitching at the thought of Dutch restricting your airways.

“God, you are so beautiful…” Dutch purrs, teasing a hint of pressure on your jugular. He’s getting faster now, just faintly more erratic. That darkness is flaring in his eyes, spreading over his whole expression as he begins to squeeze at your windpipe. It's gentle at first, just slightly cutting off the blood flow to your head, making your cheeks flush red. Your lips part in gasps, less than an inch away from Dutch’s as you feel your orgasm building again, no external stimulation needed. You’re so close now, nirvana within reach, Dutch’s hold getting ever stronger.

“So beautiful… such a shame.” He growls, not relenting his now iron-grip to give you the air to consider what he just said. You try to speak, try to ask what he means, but you suddenly can’t. He’s clenching too tight on your neck. It hurts, but coupled with the dizzying lack of breath, it’s only furthering your journey over the edge. Your vision is blackening at the corners, an unknown fear striking you in the chest. He isn’t letting up, and you’re not sure if you even want him to, but you have no idea where this is going now. The energy in the air is changing faster than you can keep up with, your chest feeling hollow as your futile attempts at breath go ignored.

“A-A shame?” You just about manage, Dutch still pounding relentlessly, gloriously into your tight cunt.

“Oh, my dear…” he squeezes once more, a bruising grip, and it hurts so much that your hands fly up to claw at his wrist. It’s unavailing, Dutch far too strong to be deterred by the little scratches your nails are leaving on his skin, “That you’re trying to kill me, darling.”

Your eyes fly wide open, pupils shrinking to barely a drop in a sea of panic. Your hands barely make it an inch towards reaching for the dagger under the mattress before Dutch grabs them with the hand not already holding you, pinning both wrists above your head. He’s still fucking you hard, and it still feels incredible despite the pure terror coursing through your veins.

“Oh, little vedova nera, did you really think it would be so easy?”

It’s hardly even a struggle, your scratching is no match for Dutch’s strength. You can’t move, can barely breathe, and you’re genuinely terrified he’s going to kill you before you even get the chance to fight back. His grasp relents, just enough to allow a small, struggled gulp of breath, but it’s seemingly only so you can hear his next words before blacking out.

“Now here’s what's gonna happen…” He growls at you, not once faltering from his pace. Despite everything, you’re still so close, on the verge of a blinding climax that may actually kill you. “That pretty little pussy of yours is going to cum all over my cock, and then you’re gonna go back to our friend Mr. Bronte and tell him just how well Dutch van der Linde fucked his woman and lived to tell the tale. Got it, my pretty little thing?”

Your heart is pounding, and you’re certain you only have seconds of consciousness left in you, but you manage a frantic nod, your nails leaving reddened crescent moons all over the skin of Dutch’s wrist. You’ll do anything, the terrifying part being that you’re not sure if you’re begging for your life or your death, your petite mort, if you will.

“Good girl.”

He releases your throat, instead squeezing your cheeks together harshly, forcing your lips into a pout. The blood rushes everywhere, sending you hurtling over the edge, clenching on Dutch’s cock and keeping your promise and then some. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of everything, screams falling from your lips as best they can through Dutch’s hands. He’s groaning loudly, vibrating your being as the two of you cum together, Dutch pumping rope upon rope of his spend deep inside you. Time stretches, seconds becoming minutes becoming an eternity falling through the stratosphere as waves of white hot pleasure mix stunningly with the pain you feel all over.

Dutch finishes with one last thrust, so hard you’re sure you’ll never recover from him. You’ve never felt anything like this, never felt an orgasm wrack through every atom like this one, pumped through your body with a heart running on pure fear.

Mere seconds ago you were convinced Dutch was going to end your life, but when he pulls out of you and removes all contact from your panting body, the loss is immense. By the time you manage to come around, your arms finally having enough integrity to prop yourself up, he’s already dressing himself, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You can’t think, let alone speak. What would you even say? The tear marks falling down your cheeks are inky black from your makeup, but you let them fall as the realisation of what just happened hits with enough force to shatter you, just as you predicted.

You’re both silent as Dutch dresses, and all you can do is sit and cover yourself with the sheet on the bed. When he reaches the door, he stops, hand resting on the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder to you, “Tell Bronte I said hello, won’t you?”

And he walks out of the hotel room, leaving you alone, dripping with his spend, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

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cherryrogers · 1 year

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➳ hellfire

pairing: dutch van der linde x f!reader

warnings: smut, angst if you squint, dutch is kinda toxic lol who knew??

summary: That’s what Dutch Van der Linde does; he burns.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: me write a smut fic without the use of ‘good girl’ challenge (impossible)

His fingertips are tail-ends of lit cigarettes on your hips, scorching marks into your flesh.

That’s what Dutch Van der Linde does; he burns.

Spits flames like a wildfire when he’s angry. Incinerates his enemies with gunfire and blazing vengeance. Sets your body afire with red-hot lust that’s pain and pleasure flickering dangerously as one flame.

He’s hellfire. He burns and destroys, but he also ignites.

“My darling girl,” He utters, languidly dragging himself in and out of you. “You are just divine.”

His thighs are hot against the back of your own even through the material of his trousers, strong from the years of riding horseback and running between towns to avoid the law. You like when he sits you on them, takes you from below and lands his lips on your neck, his chest pressed to yours.

Tonight, he doesn’t take you so intimately. With passion. Romance. Tenderness.

Tonight, he needs to fuck. To be deep and snug inside your ever-heavenly heat. To be grounded. A reminder that there’s things much more worth his time than filthy O’Driscolls or pestering lawmen.

Things like his girl on her hands and knees, naked as the day you was born and laid out in front of him like a gift sent from God. A fallen angel with heaven between your thighs, only for him to find solace and utter euphoria in.

When Dutch fucks, it isn’t rough. It isn’t quick and over with before you know it. It’s slow. It’s agonising. His strokes are sedated yet impossibly deep. Desperate whimpers fall from your lips as you chase the pleasure, the pleasure Dutch grants you at his own pace. He’ll watch you squirm under him as if you’re utterly starved of his cock, and he’ll bask in the amount of control he has over you. He’ll fuck you slow until the sheets are wet with your tears, until he knows that your high driven by his touch is the only thing that can relieve your pain, and he’ll let you let go.

Matchstick after matchstick he’ll light and let fizzle out, until he finally decides to set your fire ablaze.

“Fuck, Dutch.” You cry as the man pulls out, leisurely rubbing the head of his cock against your folds. Your clit thrums at the pressure.

He marvels at the slick glistening on your skin, coating your lips and trickling down your inner thighs, evidence of his magnificence. He can make men shake in fear and you tremble in utmost pleasure, in desperation.

His hands plant on your waist and roll you over. Heat flushes across your face, realising the tears escaping your eyes are free for him to see, tears that’ve taken the black liquid on your lashes with them. You raise your hands to wipe them away, but Dutch is quick to stop you, wrapping a large hand around both of your wrists with ease. He pushes them above your head, lowers his mouth to the wet skin of your cheeks, and collects the salty shows of ecstasy with his lips.

Between your legs, he takes his cock with his other hand and slides back into you. It’s heaven and hell and everywhere inbetween, the drag of his thick length, the depth of his strokes and the sheer lack of haste he’s making to draw you to your climax.

Does he enjoy torturing you so?, you wonder. Can torture be pleasurable? Can it leave you impossibly exhausted yet yearning for more?

“So damn pretty when you cry for me, aren’t you?” Dutch rasps, catching your lips in a bruising kiss. It’s not a question. He likes when you’re crying for his cock, for your sweet release that feels so close yet painfully far.

“Please, Dutch,” You sigh into his mouth, head hazy with every push of his tip against your sweet spot, the pace of his ruts all too slow. “I need— oh.”

His thumb draws circles on your clit, and his dark brows furrow. “Need?” He murmurs in your ear, his breath hot. ”I will tell you exactly what you need.”

Fully sheathing himself inside of you, he tightens his grip on your wrists, pausing his thrusts and lifting a knuckle to trail down your cheek.

“You need… to have faith,” He says. Of course. “Have faith…” He slams inside you hard suddenly, prompting a broken whimper from your throat. “That I know what’s best for you.”

His lips trail across your neck, then he nips at your collarbone. There’ll be bruises littering the skin there in the morning. “And you know what’s best for you, sweet girl?”

Pleasure builds at your core at the heat of his mouth, his thumb on your swollen clit, his cock filling you to the brim.

Then, his voice in your ear. Clear as day amid the haze of your thoughts.

“Me.”

You cry out as you finally unravel, clenching tightly around him as you come. He hums at your body’s reaction, slowly riding you through it with gentle swipes over your over sensitive bud.

Tears fall down your face, and you don’t bother to try and hide them now. Everything about Dutch Van der Linde is overwhelming. His size, his power, his ability to make you come and cry and feel pain and pleasure all at once. He’s molten lava, melting you into nothing.

He pulls out soon afterwards, pumping his length a few times with knitted brows before his hot seed decorates your stomach. A sigh of satisfaction elicits from his lips, watching as he paints your skin, marking you as his own.

His other hand removes itself from your arms still stuck above your head, and a part of you misses the feeling as you roll out your wrists.

Dutch slowly wipes a hand up your stomach, collecting his ejaculation with two thick fingers before bringing them to your mouth. You let him slide them through your plush lips, the familiar salty taste lansing on your tastebuds. He watches silently as you lick them dry, entranced by your willing submission.

“Good girl,” He utters lowly, running a thumb over your bottom lip, then underneath your eyes, getting rid of the wetness there. “Such a delicate thing.”

There’s a certain look in his eyes, one you can’t quite decipher. “One day,” He says. “I fear I might just break you.”

Suddenly, the weight of him against your hips lifts, and Dutch is sitting on the edge of the cot, buttoning his trousers back up. He won’t be coming to bed, then. You resist the frown that almost pulls at your lips, grabbing your chemise from the bottom of the cot and pulling it back over your form, shielding your skin from the cold night air.

He picks up a book from the nightstand as well as a cigar before standing to his full height, carrying out his usual routine of reading and smoking while the rest of the camp recharges. It’s as if he’s beyond sleep, beyond regular human needs.

Just as he’s about to leave the tent, you call out to him.

“You won’t break me, Dutch. I promise.”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the sound of birds flitting through tree branches and faint whistles of the wind. Then, Dutch turns his head slightly to the side, just so you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Sleep well, dear girl.”

The shadow of his large figure appears beyond the tent, and disappears just as quickly.

You sigh, laying down on your side, away from the flickering candlelight. If only Dutch fell asleep as easily as you do after bringing one another to your highs. If only he chose the company of his beloved after the intimate deed as opposed to Evelyn Miller and tobacco smoke invading his lungs.

You love him. Your worship the ground he walks on. And the feeling is mutual, he’s assured you on many instances.

But the unnerving thought occurs to you as you begin to fall into a sound slumber, the faint scent of Dutch’s cigar diffusing through the thin tent walls.

Choosing to love Dutch Van der Linde, you might be flying dangerously close to the ever-burning sun.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x you #dutch van der linde smut #rdr2 fanfic #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde fanfic #dutch van der linde imagine #dutch van der linde reader insert #rdr2 smut

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cowboydisaster · 1 year

Note

Daddy Dutch HCs about an F!reader who is smart yet bratty, but also inexperienced in a lot of ways and tries to hide it by being a smartass? i.e: being a virgin, never having drank herself, etc., Arthur too if you want. NSFW or SFW, or both!

Headcanons: Dutch x inexperienced reader

a/n: hello everyone I'm officially back with my first piece of content since my little hiatus!! Hope you enjoy, love y'all <3 Sfw and nsfw headcanons are separated and labeled!

Dutch is shocked when he finds out how inexperienced you are. You talk with such bravado. He was damn near sure that you had as much experience as any of the other gang members. How wrong he was.

your first drink:

The first time Dutch takes you out for drinks, and you admit you've never touched a bottle before, he's floored. "You mean to tell me that- a sight as fine as yourself, and you've never had someone buy you a drink before?" He'll chuckle, sliding a bill fold across the bar. He'll buy you your first drink with some light teasing. You meet his teasing head on, using your quick tongue to defend yourself.

He makes sure you drink responsibly. He wants you to have fun, but he doesn't want you getting hurt, sick, or arrested. Dutch will drink less that night to keep a close eye on you and ensure your safety.

He'll help you ride home, pulling your back against his chest in the saddle to aid you in safely returning to camp.

Dutch will get you comfortable in his bed, making sure to have some tonics, cold, wet towels, and water on standby for your inevitable first hangover.

your first smoke:

Again, Dutch is shocked when he finds out that you've never smoked. Immediately, he pulls a pack of cigarettes from inside his coat pocket and lights a match on his boot.

"Just like this, my dear. Watch me." He'll whisper, bringing the cigarette close to his lips, "First you want to pull the smoke into your mouth and let it sit for a moment, then inhale it down to your lungs."

Dutch takes a pull from the cigarette before exhaling it through his nostrils. Them he's passing it over to you.

You follow his instructions but still wind up coughing the smoke back up.

The next day, Dutch will buy you a pack of premium cigarettes from the store, telling you that "Practice makes perfect."

⚠️ NSFW:

Dutch catches on to your inexperience by the time you tell him you're a virgin. He's not so surprised.

He'll kiss your neck, feel the jumping nervousness under your pulsepoint while his hands search your body.

"Why don't you let me show you, my darling?" He'll ask in between kisses. "I'll make you feel incredible."

When you give him your consent, Dutch won't talk you through everything, but he will focus intently on your face and composure, making sure that you feel good and are comfortable.

He'll dirty talk. A lot. This man gets off on praising and worshipping you. Expect: "You're so beautiful.", "You're doing so well.", "Just like that.", "Does that feel good?", "Perfect."

He's poetic in bed, you find. "Nothing, in all my years, has amounted to your beauty." He'll whisper against your ear.

Again, he worships you. Especially because you're new at this, but your pleasure always comes first. He can't get enough of it. The way your face draws up when you experience bliss for the first time with him-- he's obsessed. It's almost too much, how many times he'll bring you over the edge.

He's not a big cuddler when it comes to aftercare. He's more the type to clean you up and take care of you. He'll give you a bath, clean you up, and read to you while you soak in the hot water. He'll pour you a drink and ask you how you feel; if you're okay/comfortable/have any regrets. Which you don't of course. He's a gentleman the entire time, making you feel safe and loved.

bonus: This man is obsessed with forehead kisses. He kisses your forehead when he first slides in, and every time he praises you, he's pressing his lips to your forehead with his eyes squinted shut in pleasure.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde headcanons #rdr2 dutch #dutch van der linde x female reader #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde x you #rdr2 fandom #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde imagine #rdr2 headcanons

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flw3rrr · 4 months

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Welcome to my masterlist <3

A masterlist's of all my work's I've written past few months or years for you to choose and browse if you'd like :)

I take requests or just any ask please feel free to pop in I'd love to meet and talk to new people.

Request rules here <-

Some of my posts are 18+

who I write for (currently)

Billy the kid, Coriolanus snow, dutch van Der linde, Joel miller, and tyler Owen.

Billy the kid

Ruined by me, known forever 18+

a drunken’ gamble 18+

a little love on the side 18+

a heart to be broken 18+

my forever dove 18+

Dutch van der linde

clinging to dutch (imagine)

hand around throat (imagine)

a broken promise (FF)

Quick escape (FF)

Giving his coat (Imagine)

Under a tree

hand covering mouth (Imagine) 18+

Coriolanus snow

nothing yet!

Joel miller

Nothing yet!

Tyler Owens

Promise me

No sense of safety

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jasminesjournal · 2 months

Note

THOUGHTS ON SUGAR DADDY DUTCH??? 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

🥵🥵

I definitely wanna write more for him. I just played the mission where Colm is hanged and Dutch was lookin’ good in that police uniform. I about died of laughter when he told that officer to brush his horse.

And OF COURSE his uniform was the police chief. I just know he was enjoying that.

Here’s some pictures of Dutch I found on Pinterest just the grace you with.

I will also add that in my delulu of Dutch, he treated Molly way better than he did in the game AND he shoots Susan for pulling a gun on his girl.

#fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic writing #fanfic blog #fanfic #creative writing #dutch van der linde imagine #dutch van der linde #rdr2 dutch #dutch #rdr fandom #rdr2 community #red dead redemption community #red dead redemption fanfiction #read dead redemption #red dead redemption 2

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soup-14 · 2 years

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Dutch Van Der Linde x gn!Reader Blurb

Dutch x gn!Reader

Fluff

Dutch keeping you warm in Colter.

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The small abandoned mining tow is a light in the dark to you all. It certainly isn't perfect but at least there is a foot over your heads and fire in the hearth.

everyone's main goal is to keep warm. you're low on food, money and there are all sorts of other problems, but Dutch cant have anyone else dying from the cold.

You stand in his cabin trying to warm yourself by the fireplace. Your limbs tingle and itch from the cold. your cheeks and nose are rosy.

A gust of cold wind blows onto your back as the cabin door opens, causing you to shiver. Dutch steps inside and quickly shuts the door behind him.

Dawned in his large fur coat, cheeks and nose red, frost settled on his mutache.

Rubbing his hands together he joins you by the fire. "Staying warm My Dear?" He asks.

"Trying to."

You take his freezing fingers into your warm hands and blow hot air onto them. Dutch takes his hands away and reaches to remove his gun belt. He sets it on a chair and opens his coat. "Dutch I'm fine you don't have to-" he interrupts you with a chuckle.

"Come here." he smiles.

Your face lights up and you quickly walk into his inviting warmth. he immediately closes the coat behind you and wraps it tightly around the two of you. You wrap your arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest.

Dutch shuffles closer to the fire. he nuzzles his nose into your hood and sighs in content.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch x reader #rdr2 dutch x reader #dutch #dutch vanderlinde #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 imagine #dutch van der linde imagine

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reddeaddamnation · 2 years

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RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 PREFERENCE: Their reaction to your death

Arthur Morgan

"Get me a doctor, come on!" Arthur yelled, galloping into camp with you in front of him, seemingly barely hanging on on the saddle. The gang immediately gathered around, shocked and worried about your condition. "What happened?" Dutch asked. "O'Driscoll boys." Arthur sneered "Ran into us on the way back. Got them to back off but not without trouble."

Miss Grimshaw carefully took you down from the saddle, grimacing at the gushing wound on the side of your belly from a gunshot. "Miss Grimshaw. Put her to lay down somewhere. John, go into town and get a doctor. Quick!" Dutch started barking orders around "Mr. Pearson, give her something for the pain. Arthur..." he looked at the man with a look of sadness and muttered quietly "I'm sorry, son."

"I don't think she's gonna make it." Micah said indifferently, watching Susan carry you away, as you slipped in and out of consciousness while stumbling on your way. "You shut the hell up!" Arthur yelled, jumping down from his horse and grabbing Micah by the shirt "What do you know?" Micah scoffed "I know enough that if there's an exit wound, she's lucky enough to make it here alive enough to say goodbye."

John Marston

Someone ratted you out. This was a trap. The stagecoach was a setup, because as soon as you, Arthur, John and Sadie stopped it, you were overrun by Pinkertons, who chased you into the woods to a cave where you hoped to hide. Except that they cornered you inside and were nearing your hiding spot while Arthur was cursing and looking for a way out discreetly behind some stalagmites. There was a tight opening near them, but you would be too slow to escape in time. You looked at John, heart pounding in your chest as the voices neared. Arthur was urging Sadie to go in the opening and beckoning you to follow her. You squeezed John's hand. "I got this." You got up, ignoring the hushed scolding "Are you insane?", "What are you doing?"

"Sirs." You walked out of the hiding spot slowly, hands up "Agent Milton." You nodded at the Pinkerton. There were at least 15 people aiming at you. "It seems... you caught me. It was a fun chase." You scoffed. "Surrender your weapon, miss L/N." Milton ordered "This doesn't need to get bloody." You slowly dropped your gun to the ground, side eyeing the others, who watched you from behind the rocks. "Where are your associates?" Milton interrogated. "It seems we got split up. I'm lost and they left me behind." You answered, walking closer to them so their attention is only on you.

"This one could be a valuable asset to lure Van Der Linde out of hiding, sir." Agent Ross mumbled to his colleague "With her, we don't even need to look for the others. They will come to us." Until the end, you were sure nobody would shoot. You knew they know how close your gang is. Surely even if you were captured, they would come to save you and the agents knew it. Milton was thinking silently. "You know what, Ross?" He thought "I don't think so." Gunshot. You gasped and hunched over, leaning on one of the rocks, holding your chest, where blood quickly painted your shirt red. "It's easier picking them out one by one."

John wanted to scream. He wanted to jump out and massacre them all. You slid down the stalagmite until you were sat. Your eyes briefly met his before the life drained from them and he was left, locking eyes with a corpse. He was ready to jump out and start shooting, before Arthur grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back roughly. "We'll come back. We'll avenge her. I swear. Let's go."

Charles Smith

How many more people was he going to bury? Lenny, Hosea, Arthur... now... the unthinkable. Saint Denis wasn't a place for you and he was cursing himself for bringing you here ever since you settled in. You always told him how much you hate the big city and how would love to have a homestead somewhere in the countryside... he knew everything about you. How depressed you feel in this grey, corrupt city, how it made you feel chained and small. He swore you will buy a homestead soon when you have money.

But that day never came. Today, tuberculosis finally got the better of you. And Charles blamed everything on himself. From where you contracted the illness, he didn't know. All he knew was that he despised this disease ridden society. He couldn't listen to your painful hacks and coughs day and night without his heart wretching in pain. You were such a shining and bubbly person before the illness dimmed your flame.

After the burial, he sat at your grave all day. Neither crying nor smiling, not thinking or moving. He felt empty. For all he cared from now on he could die too for bringing this upon you. He knew he shouldn't have moved you here... he would blame himself for the rest of his life.

Dutch van der Linde

Guns blazing in the distance. The O'Driscolls scattered, panicked, reaching for their guns. You watched them with a smirk. Dutch was coming. You heard him. "Face me, you scum!" He yelled, mercilessly shooting anyone in his way, his gang behind him. "He's gonna get you now, Colm." You teased your captor "And he won't be as gentle as you were." You sneered menacingly, spitting blood on the ground, which had been drenched in your blood from five days of torture and malnutrition. "Shut your mouth, harlot." Colm was panicking. "I told you but you didn't listen." You laughed "What do you know, huh? We've been through this before, me and Dutch. And I'd do it again." Colm grabbed you by the throat "You're just a disposable toy to him. I bet in a month from now I'd be doing this with another wench I don't even know the name of." You spit in his face, making him back off.

"I'd think you're in love with him more than me, Colm. You're obsessed. You wanna be next in line, huh?" You mocked, laughing loudly to let Dutch know where you are. "Why you..." he grabbed you by the hair and aimed his gun at your neck. "Colm!" Dutch kicked the door in, aiming his gun at Colm's head, along with Arthur and Bill.

The house you were kept in was in a remote place in the mountains near the Grizzlies. Dutch must have rode for days without rest for him to find you so fast. "Here we are again, Dutch." Colm smirked "Too bad I don't have a brother for you to kill nearby."

Dutch growled "It will not happen again. I guarantee it." Silence. Colm thought for a moment before raising his hands "Alright." He cut the ropes holding you up "You win, Dutch. You outnumbered me. I won't be the one to kill her." You fell to the ground, wrists sore from the days of being hung up. Colm backed away towards a window. "My darling Y/N." Dutch held out his hand, but not leaving Colm out of sight "Let's get out of here."

You were about to stand up when a gunshot pierced your side and Colm disappeared through the window, broken by the bullet. "No!" Dutch screamed falling to his knees to hold you. He didn't have any words left to describe his hatred for Colm. No punishment would be enough for him. Arthur ran to the window but quickly ducked before the sniper could shoot him. "Y/N.." Dutch caressed your cheek "I'm here." History was repeating itself. "Dutch..." you whispered before passing out. If he didn't have a reason to live before, Dutch was now determined to destroy Colm O'Driscoll's life and give him the most painful death.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead 2 #arthur morgan #Arthur morgan x reader #john marston x reader #john marston #charles smith #charles smith x reader #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #arthur morgan imagine #john marston imagine #Charles smith imagine #dutch van der linde imagine

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loveaeris · 1 month

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can someone do a one shot based off of "cigarettes out the window" by tv girl 😁

for a female reader x and rdr2 character it would be so cute as an overprotective charles or arthur!!

#rdr2 smut #dutch van der linde smut #john marston smut #dutch van der linde x reader #charles smith smut #rdr2 #rdr2 wattpad #arthur morgan smut #dutch van der linde imagine #dutch van der linde smut #arthur morgan x reader

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outlawruben · 25 days

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Do y’all ever wonder if Dutch and Hosea knew they were going to raise an absolute UNIT like Arthur? Like he was once a skinny and rambunctious 14 year old street orphan and they took a chance on him and fed him as he grew into a fucking BEAST who is arguably bulkier than the two of them combined, and has become the main brawn of the gang.

This is basically just an Arthur Physique appreciation post but GOD DAMN.

#I can imagine young Dutch and Hosea sitting slack jawed if they could see older Arthur #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews

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margowritesthings · 2 years

Text

Blood On His Hands

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: during your time of the month, Dutch offers a helping hand and some advice from good old Mr Miller

word count: 3308 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, menstruating reader, period sex, fingering on period, mentions of blood, slight blood play, sexual content, vaginal sex, breeding kink, explicit language and blasphemy

a/n: uhhhhhhhhhhh I have no excuses for this. i just know nothing would ever get between dutch van der linde and pleasuring his lady, and then this happened. whoops. totally get that this one won't be for everyone, but its what i wanted to write so I did hehe

as always, big love to my love @cowboydisaster for beta-ing and reassuring me i wasn't wrecking my own idea every minute of the day

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie

did you enjoy this? consider buying me a coffee!

“Y’know, I think the Lord must hate his women, what with all he goddamn puts us through.” You grumble as you enter yours and Dutch’s bedroom, slamming the splintered door shut behind you to stalk right past Dutch, falling onto the creaky bed and shoving your face into your pillow.

“Something bothering you, dear?” Dutch raises a brow before looking over at you. He puts his finger on the line he was reading, to save the page when he closes the book to offer you his full attention.

Your neck strains when you lift your head to meet Dutch’s eye. His stare feels hot and intense, which isn’t exactly unusual for a look between you and him, but is definitely heightened by the hormones raging through you. Your stomach aches and cramps, your pussy practically mewling for a release you can’t even reach right now.

“Just that time of the month, love. Nothin’ to worry about.”

But Dutch’s finger slips out from between the pages, closing the book properly and discarding it on the table beside his chair. You’ve bundled up the blankets beneath you, pressing the ball of wool into your abdomen to let the pressure attempt (and fail) to ease the pain.

Your face is stuffed back into the pillow, so the first indication Dutch has joined you is the dip on the bed. He holds your frame, moving you to your side with such an ease and slotting himself behind you. His large hands cover your stomach, the heat from him comforting and actually soothing you a little. It’s wild to you that the man can somehow numb a pain that whiskey can’t, but that’s Dutch. He’s incredible.

The way you’re laying on the bed, your body the little spoon to his larger one, means that Dutch slots in right behind you. You’re sure he’s not even trying to turn you on, focused only on your comfort, but the incessant poking, ever hardening cock branding onto the side of your ass. You so wish you could turn around and let him have his way with you, but knowing the exact thing that has you so feral in the first place is the one thing stopping you from taking what you want. No, what you need.

Dutch presses a kiss to your temple from behind, his fingers rubbing gentle circles into your belly. It helps the pain, but not the winding feeling tightening your core. Your ass feels how rock hard Dutch is now, and it burns into your flesh until you can take it no more. You grind up against him and he growls deep into your ear. When his tongue slides up the side of your ear, you jolt, and Dutch takes the opportunity to tighten his grip on you and flip you over. He’s hovering above you now, hands roaming everywhere, tongue delving into your mouth as he undoes your shirt and pushes it off your shoulders.

"I once read that it's a scientifically proven fact that cumming for me relieves those sorts of... symptoms." Dutch whispers teasingly.

The war between mind and body rages in your core. Your body is desperate for him to continue, desperate to feel the trail of his fingers lower and lower until they’re buried deep inside you, but your mind seems tethered to taboos hammered into your subconscious by a conservative world. It’s your mind that forces your hand to grip Dutch’s wrist, though your fingers barely meet wrapped around him, stopping him just above your sore abdomen.

“Dutch, we… we can’t.”

It’s an awful feeling, forcing yourself to deny what you truly want, and you curse whatever force or, more probably, some old guy years ago with a quill and a fear of women is making you feel so uncomfortable.

You want nothing more than for Dutch to plunge himself into you and fuck you better, you want nothing less than to disappoint him. You’re surprised when instead of the furrowed brows and frowned lips you’re expecting, Dutch simply smirks.

“My dear… there’s blood on my hands from creatures far less beautiful than you.”

The shock is all you can focus on, so your grip on Dutch’s wrist slackens enough for him to break free and continue his journey downwards. It sends shivers over your entire body and you blink wide eyes up at him, speechless.

“What kind of man would I be…” he starts, expertly sliding the buttons of your pants out of their holes and pulling down the zip, agonisingly slowly.

“… if I could bathe in the blood of my enemies, shed in hatred and violence, but shied away from this, the life force of my love?”

You’re blushing furiously, you’re sure of it, but something in his poetic words, the comfort in his tone, chips away at your shame. It cracks, breaking away to reveal a more vulnerable version of yourself, reserved only for Dutch. This layer of you fears not the judgement or the embarrassment, it cares only for the wants and desires of yourself and Dutch.

And right now, you desire Dutch.

He frees you yet again.

He’s always freeing you. When you met, he freed you from those beliefs ingrained into you by your parents about what society should be, instead showing you how the world is. He freed you from the boundaries you built around yourself, loving you and nurturing you until you found who you really are. He liberated you, quite literally, taking you from your little corner of the world on that ranch and riding you both into the sunset, stopping off at the most incredible places along the way. And now, freeing you from whatever was holding you back from this act with one loving, fervid, searing kiss, breaking away only to add, “But only if you’re comfortable, my love.”

It seals the deal, the absolute devotion in his eyes when he seeks consent and you nod, biting down on your bottom lip coyly. Words are simply too much.

“Oh, good girl…” he seems impressed, glad that you’ve let go just enough for him to experience this with him. Dutch gets back to the task at hand, slipping one of the darker blankets underneath you and hooking his fingers into your jeans and underwear to peel them down your legs.

You try not to think about what he must see down there, and it takes everything in you not to squirm, not to retreat back into thoughts planted in you by others and instead to simply be here with Dutch. The struggle manifests itself in a furious blush on your cheeks and an inability to look anywhere but up at the ceiling of the tent. You miss the stars. You wish you could count them.

Ever the expert on you, Dutch notices your inhibitions winning the battle. He’s hovering just above your heat and he places the softest of kisses just below your belly button. His voice is low when he begins to speak to you, “You know…”

You glance down to Dutch, curiosity overtaking whatever was stopping you meeting his eye, “I was reading earlier and Mr. Miller has some quite interesting views on freedom.” The giggle is inevitable, tumbling from your lips like a waterfall and crashing over Dutch. He’s always talking about Evelyn goddamn Miller, even now. God, you love him.

“Go on…” you reach down to him, tangling your fingers into a stray lock of hair and pushing it behind his ear. You cup his cheek, enjoying watching the flickering candle beside the two of you glistening in his otherwise inky orbs. Your hand looks so tiny beside his chiselled features and you can feel his jaw flutter against your palm. The world melts around you.

“So the question the seeker of allegorical poetry should ask himself-”

Dutch begins to roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, revealing those stunning, strong forearms, “or indeed, herself…” he adds, glancing to you before kissing your belly once more.

“Is this:”

As he crawls back up the length of your body, you can feel hot breath tickling your jawline. Your lips part, desperate for his taste but he denies you for just a second longer.

“Is it in the seeking that we find or the finding that we seek?”

Finally your lips meet, even if it’s far too briefly, Dutch’s hand trailing back down your front as his tongue dances with yours. You’re trying so hard to concentrate on his words that the nerves seem to have dissipated into the air.

“While this may seem like a pathway towards insanity…”

On insanity, he pinches one of your nipples between his fingertips softly, but just hard enough for the sensation to travel down your centre, the feeling everywhere, and a moan escapes your lips.

“…it’s an important distinction, and also a clear one.”

The trickle of his fingers running down your stomach sends ripples of sensation over the rest of your skin. You are no longer thinking about your reservations, only Dutch and his words and the passion in the way he speaks them.

“She who finds things is wise…”

You lose his touch, but somehow know his fingers are lined up at your entrance. You’re quivering with anticipation.

“…but she who continues to seek…”

You hang on his every word.

“…is evermore free.”

Two fingers plunge into you, curling up deep and hitting your sweet spot with the confidence of a man who knows every inch of you like the back of his hand. It’s different. It’s incredible. Even with just two of Dutch’s fingers, you feel full.

He gives you a second to adjust, before sliding his fingers almost all the way out, only to push them back in until his rings are practically steaming against your heated flesh. With this movement, his thumb lands on your clit and begins to move slow, gentle circles in time with his thrusts.

You see stars. You don’t have the capacity to count them.

“O-Oh my god- Dutch!”

“I know, my dear, I know… doesn’t it feel good? To seek?” He whispers right into your ear, so close his moustache tickles your lobe. All you can do is nod, biting down on your lip so hard it will surely swell in the morning. You feel a million times more sensitive right now, every bit of pressure or movement on your nub hurtling you closer and closer to what surely must be oblivion.

“I’m so proud of you, exploring this with me, letting me show you what we can find together.” The praise washes over you, working in perfect tandem with Dutch’s expert hands to wind your coil tighter and tighter until you’re all but a babbling mess, wantonly pressing your hips up to meet Dutch’s hand with a harsher force.

Somehow, you manage to finally flutter your eyes open, finding Dutch smirking as he watches you come undone beneath him.

“That’s it… good girl. Let go, princess, I’ve got you…”

Of course he does. Dutch would die for you. Dutch would kill for you. He’d do this for you, and you wonder how you could have ever hesitated.

The wonder is brief, cut short when Dutch van der Linde steals every coherent thought from you the second he slips that third finger in knuckle deep. You scream out his name, arching your back, the woollen blanket beneath you scratching at your shoulders.Dutch continues to orchestrate your euphoria, pumping deep in and out of you and circling your clit just how he knows you love it. It’s so intense and there’s so many stars you’re not quite sure you could count them if you had all the time in the world.

You come down slowly, guided by Dutch’s voice. Your legs tremble and your cheeks feel wet, though you’re not sure when the tears fell, most likely glistening in the light of those stars you saw just seconds ago. They’re replaced instead by Dutch, who is running gentle fingers of the hand not currently sliding out of you through your hair.

“Oh, my good girl. My beautiful, good girl, doing so well for me…” He knows you, so knows when you make it back to this realm. It’s in the way you smile at him, the way the spark returns to your eye. He smiles right back, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. You’re too quick for him, though only because he’s certainly not expecting much energy from you after that orgasm, snaking a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down to kiss you properly. Passionately.

Your tongue demands entrance and Dutch is happy to oblige. You hear that low growl deep in his chest and the vibrations seem to reverberate through you, spurring you on like a siren’s call. The ache in your abdomen is long forgotten, inhibitions beaten to a pulp and left on the side of the road to die. It doesn’t even phase you when Dutch pulls back to wipe down his crimson right hand on his shirt and you spot the blood splattered on his arm. It’s actually… pretty goddamn hot. He’s right, if the image of him coated in the blood of his victims is enough to set you off, what could be so wrong with this? An act of pure devotion, love and sex in their rawest, most vulnerable forms.

His shirt is left with a scarlet handprint Dutch will surely later claim belongs to an O’Driscoll, but that doesn’t matter for long as he pulls it off his shoulders and discards it to the ground. He unbuttons his pants, slipping them off before returning to you, his body covering and warming yours before you can even realise you’re shivering.

“You astound me every single day, my dear…” He speaks so quietly, seemingly afraid of bursting the bubble formed around the two of you, cutting you off from everything and anything but each other.

“Gotta keep seeking…” You quip, unable to keep the cheeky smile from your lips when you watch Dutch realise you’re the one quoting Evelyn Miller now. He kisses the corner of your lip, where the smile first started to tug. It’s a playful kiss, at first, but with each second that passes the laughter dies, he holds you tighter and the passion bubbles to the point you feel you might shatter if you don’t have him soon.

“Dutch…” You gasp breathlessly, the neediness in your tone working with the gyrating of your hips to let Dutch know just what you want, as if he’d ever need the help figuring it out. When you feel the head of his thick cock lining up at your entrance, you think of how much tighter it felt with Dutch’s fingers. About half a second before the anxiety can manifest itself, Dutch pushes into you. It’s euphoric, like no fullness you’ve ever felt before. There’s definitely a stretch deep inside, but the ever so slight pain only seems to burn the pleasure brighter. The noise that escapes your lips is obscene, and Dutch dips down to catch it with a deep kiss. Part of him definitely does it so that that noise can be reserved for only him, but the other half of the kiss holds a message: I’m here. He’s right here with you in this, holding you in a way that shields you from everything. In this moment, at your most unguarded, you know you can trust Dutch van der Linde with your life. With everything.

And you suddenly find what you seek.

When Dutch’s hips pull back, you feel every ridge, every vein, so beautifully massaging you that you experience it head to toe. He pushes back in, and you feel every muscle that twitches in his hard back under your fingers.

“Some beings, my dear, will never truly appreciate what your body is doing right now…” He growls, picking up a rhythm and hitting that sweet spot he seems to have a map to every damn time. It sends you dizzy and you can feel your heartbeat throbbing deep in your cunt, “But I do. It’s magnificent. You’re magnificent, and one day this cycle you endure will allow me to fuck my babies into you…” His rhythm picks up and you feel yourself climbing, serenaded by his words. You’ve never talked about babies before, but the way Dutch’s breath tickles your ear, the way his words harden your nipples and steal the breath from you, you suddenly know you want that more than anything.

Yet another discovery.

“Oh, God, Dutch, I-I’m gonna-”

“That’s right, princess… Cum for me. You wanna cum with me, baby? Let go for me.”

And how could you not?

Dutch seems to sense the impending scream, pressing his thumb into your mouth to let you bite down on it. You do. Hard.

It’s as though every piece of you explodes, crashing into all the pieces of Dutch and bonding to them forever. The rushing blood in your ears is the only other thing you can hear but Dutch’s visceral groans as he too loses control, his once steady rhythm growing erratic, his thrusts getting harsher and harsher. You never knew an ache could feel so good until right this moment.

And just when you feel like you’re in orbit, like you couldn’t possibly reach a higher ecstasy, Dutch presses the thumb not clamped between your teeth onto your clit and starts to rub.

And you get it. You really, truly understand it. Mr Miller is right, he’s so damn right.

This, the comfort you find in being in Dutch’s arms that unlocks the ability to just keep seeking more from life, this is true freedom. He holds you and guides you from one life changing find to another, allowing you to shape what you want from the world and doing everything he can to bring it to you. The two of you find magical things, like the carnal lusts you experience near nightly, but with his encouragement and love, you continue to seek. You seek times like these, where you’ve never been so vulnerable with another and yet have never felt pleasure and connection so all-consuming.

You and Dutch, when you’re together…

You’re evermore free.

Free to seek and find, and then keep seeking until you reach this: true bliss.

You cum to the sweet melody of Dutch’s moans and praises, wave after wave radiating over you. Your toes curl; your nails dig into the skin on Dutch’s back, surely ripping it and shedding more blood between you. You can feel your pussy clenching around Dutch’s entire shaft, which twitches madly as it pumps you full of his hot spend.

It feels as if it lasts forever, like when you blink your eyes open the world will have ended, leaving you and Dutch to fuck into eternity and repopulate the Earth. You’d do it. Gladly.

Alas, when you do open your eyes, you’re met with the world, just as it was when you seemingly left it. Your world: Dutch. His arms are tense around you, as to not let his entire weight crush you and when he slips out of you, he lowers himself to your side. You see the blood on his right hand, but it doesn’t look too unlike the blood on your own hands. You’re breathless, feeling the laboured rise and fall of Dutch’s chest when you rest your head on it, but you just about manage to whisper to him, “Sorry for scratching you…” with the cheekiest smile on your swollen lips.

Dutch raises a brow, entangling his cleaner hand with one of your own and raising them both to the candlelight to inspect the damage.

“Y’know… I quite like the look of my blood on your hands, my dear.”

You grin, thinking of the long forgotten cramping and bad mood you once knew.

“Likewise, Mr. van der Linde.”

#Dutch Van Der Linde #Dutch Van Der Linde smut #Dutch Van Der Linde x reader #Dutch Van Der Linde x you #dutch van der linde fanfiction #rdr #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #Dutch Van Der Linde fanfic #Dutch Van Der Linde imagine #rdr imagine #rdr fanfic #Dutch rdr2

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sallowsarchives · 1 month

Text

Beneath the Battles (Final)

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: You and Arthur finally face your true feelings and past grievances, breaking down the barriers that have kept you apart. Word Count: 8.8k Warnings/Tags: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) MINORS DNI. No use of y/n, explicit language, angst with fluff, size difference (Arthur is a big guy), oral (female receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, Arthur pulls out, a little roughness, aftercare, SMUT with plot A/N: AHHH, here’s the final part!! I’d like to formally apologize for taking so long to update, I actually ended up scrapping and rewriting it, which took longer than expected. I hope this makes up for it. Once again, thank you to those who read this story and for all your lovely comments!

Read on AO3

The mansion loomed in the distance, its imposing structure partially obscured by the dense trees and underbrush that surrounded it, its windows glimmering faintly under the moonlight, casting a soft glow on the well-kept grounds.

The night was unnervingly quiet, the kind of stillness that breeds caution. After days of scouting, the mansion was finally dark and silent, just as expected. Its owners were away traveling, leaving only a few guards to patrol the surrounding grounds.

The plan was straightforward: sneak into the mansion, locate the concealed safe, and disappear with the loot before anyone was the wiser. It seemed like a simple enough task—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You’re crouched behind the mansion's back door, fingers deftly working through the lock. With a final click, the lock gave way, and you quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind you with practiced ease.

The air inside the mansion was heavy, filled with the scent of polished wood and aged stone. Once your eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtained windows, you moved swiftly through the shadowed corridors, your footsteps barely making a sound on the ornate rugs that lined the floors.

Just as you rounded the corner, you find yourself coming to a sudden halt.

A man stood before the very door leading to your prize. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had an air of confidence that immediately put you on edge. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy trying to jimmy open the lock.

You cursed under your breath. Who the hell was this guy? And why was he here?

This man was no bumbling thief; his movements were too precise, too deliberate. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing, and that realization sent a wave of frustration through you. If he got to the safe first, all your planning, all your risk, would be for nothing.

You stayed hidden behind a wall as you considered your options. Confronting him could blow your cover, but waiting too long could mean losing the item.

Deciding to take the upper hand, you crept closer, making sure to keep to the shadows with calculated movements to avoid detection.

Once you were close enough, you cleared your throat, the sound slicing through the stillness like a knife just as he managed to break the lock.

The sudden noise startled him, and he froze, his head snapping toward the source of the disturbance. The look of surprise and irritation on his face was fleeting, quickly replaced by a calculating stare as he took in your presence.

You took a moment to assess him. A rugged, handsome face with piercing blue-green eyes that locked onto yours, their intensity making it clear that he was not easily intimidated.

“Well, well,” you said, your voice laced with a mix of amusement and irritation. “Looks like we both had the same idea. Didn’t think I'd run into competition tonight. What’s your game, stranger?”

You kept your voice light but there was an edge to it. You had scouted this place for weeks, and you weren’t about to let some stranger steal it out from under you.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm before replying with a low Southern drawl that sent a chill down your spine.

"I reckon I oughta be askin' you that too, miss. Ain't seen you around here when I was scoutin' the place, so I guess you're after the same prize."

“Perhaps. Too bad there’s only one prize in that safe,” you said, eyeing the opened safe behind him.

He raised an eyebrow, a small, cocky smile playing on his lips. “Guess we’ll see who gets it first.”

You didn’t wait for him to make the first move.

In a flash, you darted forward, aiming to dodge him and get to the safe. But he was quick—quicker than you expected. He sidestepped your advance, grabbing your arm as you tried to slip past him.

“Not so fast, darlin’,” he said, his grip firm but not painful.

You twisted out of his hold, a breathless laugh escaping you as you spun around to face him again, eyes flashing with determination. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Without warning, both of you drew your weapons in a swift motion, yours a knife and his a pistol. You knew you were at a disadvantage, the cold steel of his gun giving him the upper hand. But you weren’t about to back down.

A game of cat and mouse ensued, each of you circling the other, quips exchanged with a tension neither acknowledged.

You racked your thoughts for every trick you knew to try and outsmart him but in a moment of distraction, you seized your opportunity as a noise from outside drew both your attention.

He briefly looked away and you grabbed the nearest object—a heavy, decorative vase—and hurled it in his direction, your sudden movement catching his attention once more.

“Goddammit!” he swore as the vase sailed through the air.

The unexpected move caught him off guard, and he instinctively raised his arm to shield himself as the vase struck his arm, causing his pistol to slip from his grip and clatter onto the floor. The shattering noise echoed, no doubt alerting the guards outside.

You wasted no time and sprinted towards him, kicking the gun to the other side of the room. Ducking under his arm with practiced agility, you bolted toward the safe, your nimble fingers swiftly retrieving the necklace inside—a beautiful, intricate piece that promised a hefty pay.

The gleaming jewelry caught your eye, but you didn’t let your guard down. You knew he was still behind you, and the potential for danger was ever-present.

Turning around, you found him standing in place, watching you with an unreadable expression. You eyed him warily, adjusting your stance in case he made any sudden moves.

To your surprise, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in a gesture that seemed almost admiring.

"I'll give you that one," he said with a chuckle. "But don’t go thinkin' I’ll let ya off that easy next time."

You met his gaze steadily, with the tone in his voice, you couldn't help a smirk of your own.

“Next time?” you replied, your tone carrying a hint of challenge. “You might want to reconsider how you pick your battles.”

He tilted his head slightly, raising a brow. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You smirk before taking a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you begin to make your exit.

“Until we meet again, stranger,” you said, voice cool and confident.

His smirk remained, making no move to stop you or follow as you slipped toward the shadows. Once you were sure he wasn’t making any sudden moves, you turned and made your way out.

The cool night air hits your face as you slip away into the darkness, the necklace secure in your pocket.

Weeks later, you stand before the Van Der Linde gang, newly recruited and eager to prove your worth. As Dutch wraps up your introduction with the gang members, a familiar face catches your eye amidst the crowd—leaning on a wagon, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable expression from the night at the mansion.

Arthur Morgan, you’ve come to know from Dutch as he introduced him as one of his most trusted men. You could see the recognition in Arthur’s eyes, and you couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto your face.

“We’ve met,” you said casually, holding his gaze, making his lips twitch, but he remains silent.

And so it was, a few months into your time with the gang, Dutch pairs the two of you together for a job. From the start, things don’t go smoothly. Arthur’s stubbornness clashes with your determination, turning every decision into a heated argument.

"You're too damn cautious," you snap as you crouch behind a rock, waiting to ambush a carriage.

"And you're too damn reckless," he retorts, his voice low but heated.

The frustration between you simmering, neither willing to back down.

Though the job was a success, it was clear that your relationship had shifted to something far more complex.

A rivalry that would become full of sharp words, stolen glances, and the kind of tension that made your heart race whenever Arthur Morgan was near.

The burning in your lungs is the first sensation that pierces through the fog.

It feels like your chest is on fire, each breath a painful struggle as your body fights to expel the water that had been forced into your lungs. You cough weakly, the sound raw and strained.

The presence of another person over you is the next thing you sense. Their hand cradling your back as the other presses gently on your cheek, their voice a low, comforting murmur that reaches through the haze of pain.

“C’mon, easy now,” a deep voice rang out, soothing but urgent. “Breathe slow. Just breathe.”

As the pain in your chest begins to ease, you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. The rough ground beneath you feels gritty, the chill in the air seeps through your wet clothes, which cling uncomfortably to your damp skin. A persistent throbbing in your temple adds to the disorienting discomfort.

As your sight finally focuses, you see Arthur standing over you, his rugged features marked by concern and relief. His hair was wet and tousled, with a few strands clinging to his forehead, and his face was streaked with water and mud.

“You alright?” His voice is softer now, though it still carries a note of urgency.

You try to speak, but your voice comes out as a faint, hoarse whisper. Attempting to sit up, you slump back into his arms, completely drained.

Arthur’s hand remains steady, his hand continuing to support you from your back.“Just take it easy, darlin’,” he insists. “We gotta get that nasty cut of yours fixed up.”

After a moment, he speaks up again. "You scared the hell outta me, you know that?" he says, his tone softer than you expected. Confusion flickers in your eyes as you try to make sense of his reaction.

Arthur quickly brushes it off with a shrug and a quick, dismissive smile. "You good to stand? We need to find a place to camp."

Though slightly dazed, you nod and he begins helping you to your feet, his grip firm but gentle and begins to lead the way.

You take a chance to glance over at the river, your heart sinking. "There goes everything," you mutter, as you thought of all the loot from the stagecoach robbery now lost in those dark waters, swept away without a trace.

Arthur’s eyes follow your gaze. “Yeah, things went south real quick. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. Ain’t never gone smooth with us.”

A weary sigh escapes you. Arthur gives your shoulder a small squeeze, his voice softening.

“We’ll figure out another way to make it up so we don’t come back empty-handed.”

As you and Arthur push through the thick underbrush, the sun has long set, leaving the sky almost entirely dark and providing scant light. The air is growing colder, and the fatigue from the ordeal is beginning to weigh heavily.

After a while, Arthur spots a faint outline against the darkening sky. "There," he says, pointing toward the silhouette of a structure hidden among the trees.

You squint and make out the shape of an old, dilapidated cabin. Its roof is partially caved in, and the wooden walls weathered. Still, it seems like a decent refuge for the night.

Arthur leads the both of you towards it, his steps careful as he surveys the area for any signs of danger. He pushes open the creaky door with a grunt, revealing a dusty, cobweb-covered interior. The air inside is stale, but it’s dry and shielded from the elements.

"Looks like this’ll do for tonight," Arthur says, stepping inside and looking around.

The main room contains a few pieces of furniture: a worn-out sofa, a small wooden table, and a couple of chairs. There’s a door on the left, which you assume leads to a bedroom.

A stone fireplace stands against one wall, its hearth empty but still looking functional. To the right, you notice a small kitchen area with cabinets lining the wall, hinting at a space used for simple meals.

Arthur moves with practiced caution, his eyes scanning the room as he checks for any signs of danger. He pauses, pulling his pistol from its holster. It seems he managed to keep hold of his weapon and satchel during your fall into the water—an unexpected stroke of luck.

Once he’s satisfied that the area is clear and no immediate threat is apparent, he nods and holsters the gun.

“Alright, let’s settle in,” he says, guiding you to a nearby chair. “I’ll get a fire going and check for any supplies. You just sit tight and rest.”

You nod, gratefully sinking into the chair. As Arthur moves around the house, you take a moment to let the exhaustion wash over you.

You hadn’t noticed the several minutes that had passed by where Arthur managed to set up a fire with the dried wood he had found stacked by the fireplace, the flickering flames casting a warm glow over the room.

He turns his attention back to you, a determined look on his face and retrieves a cloth from his satchel, pouring a generous amount of whiskey over it that he must have found when rummaging through the cabinets.

He takes a seat across from you, gaze steady and focused as he carefully examines the gash near your temple.

“This might sting a bit,” he says softly, his voice carrying a reassuring calm. Gently, he dabs the cloth against the cut, the wound stinging from the contact.

Arthur’s movements are careful and deliberate, his brow furrowed in concentration. As he works, his eyes occasionally meet yours, a mix of concern and resolve evident in his expression.

You watch him closely, the intensity in his expression a stark contrast to the usual deflective bravado he shows, a rare glimpse of the softer side of him that you don’t often see.

After finishing with your wound, Arthur sets the cloth aside and glances at the both of you, noting the dampness of your clothes.

“We’d best find us some dry clothes; ain't no good in keepin' us warm when we're soaked to the bone.”

You respond with a nod, feeling slightly uncomfortable from the wet garments clinging tightly to your skin.

He stands up and motions you to follow, moving towards the door on the left you saw earlier. Inside, the room is dimly lit by the fading light seeping through the grime-streaked windows. Old, moth-eaten drapes hang limply from their rods, and the floorboards creak with each step.

There was a rickety, sagging bed with a threadbare quilt, and a lone wooden chest pushed against the wall. You follow behind him, noticing the layer of dust that covers everything, marking the years of abandonment.

He heads to a chest, prying it open with a groan as the hinges protest, and begins rummaging through the contents.

As he searches for dry clothes, you start to remove some of your damp garments feeling the need to get more comfortable and ease the weight.

You’re in the process of slipping off your soaked shirt when Arthur turns around, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of you in your soaked white chemise, and he quickly averts his gaze, his face flushing a deep red.

“Uh—here,” he stammers, his voice suddenly unsteady as he holds out a faded long brown skirt and a low-necked cotton blouse. “Found these. They should fit.” He glances away, clearly flustered.

Seizing the opportunity, you smirk and tease. “What’s the matter, Arthur? Never seen a woman in her underclothes before? I thought you were used to all sorts of rough and tumble.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, his face turning redder, and he clears his throat, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. “Even after gettin' yourself all banged up, you still can’t help but run that smart mouth of yours,” he retorts, trying to mask his embarrassment with a touch of irritation.

You chuckle at his flustered response, enjoying the rare sight of him so off-balance before taking the clothes from him.

Arthur shifts uncomfortably, casting furtive glances as he takes a change of clothes for himself. He clears his throat again, his usual confidence momentarily eclipsed by awkwardness.

“I’ll, uh, just be outside if you need anything,” he mutters, leaving the room with a hasty step to give you your privacy.

The door creaks as he pulls it shut, and you can hear him mumbling to himself as he closes it behind him. His grumbling is low and unintelligible, but it brings a faint, amused smile to your lips. You chuckle silently before turning your attention to the garments.

Moments later, you find Arthur standing by the window, now dressed in a fresh set of clothes—worn jeans and a plain gray button up. His silhouette is outlined against the darkness outside. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its warmth beginning to chase away the chill.

Arthur turns to you, his expression more relaxed now that he's shed his previous discomfort. “Feeling a bit better?”

You nod. “Yeah, much better. You?”

Arthur gives a small, awkward smile. “I’ll be just fine. Just need to take it easy and let the warmth do its work.” He gestures toward the fire. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable while we can.”

You nod and make your way to sit at the worn out sofa to warm up by the fireplace. After a comfortable silence you finally speak up, your voice soft with gratitude.

“Thanks for everything, Arthur. I know it’s been a rough day, but I really appreciate you taking care of me.”

Arthur turns to you and nods, his usual gruffness softened by the warmth of the fire and the genuine moment between you. “Don’t mention it. Just doing what needs to be done.”

As the silence settles again, Arthur clears his throat and shifts slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Speaking of rough days… reckon I oughta say somethin’ about that night at the, uh, well, what happened at the Mayor’s party,” he begins, his tone a bit hesitant.

You fold your arms, feeling uncomfortable about bringing it up again, but you know you’ve both put off addressing the issue long enough. You nod, signaling for him to continue.

Arthur looks away for a moment, clearly struggling with how to frame his words.

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like what happened between us didn’t matter. I guess I thought it’d be better to just… keep things simple and avoid complicatin’ things.”

Your eyes narrow and you let out a sigh. “You already said that but I still don’t know what you mean. If you don’t have anything new to add, then yes, I guess that’s all it was—just a fleeting moment to pass the time while we were stuck in that situation.”

“Godammit, it ain’t like that,” he says, his voice firm but tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

You glare at him, standing up as your anger and frustration begin to boil over. “Then what, Arthur? I’m done with the guessing games. If you can’t be honest with me, then at least stop pretending you care.”

“Oh, is that so? What do you want me to say, huh? That I’ve been usin’ you? That I don’t give a damn? You think that’s gonna make things better?”

“I’m not askin’ you to lay it all out. I’m askin’ you to quit actin’ like none of this means a damn thing. You’re scared to face the truth, and it’s obvious. If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

Arthur steps closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You don’t know a damn thing about what’s goin’ on with me.”

You meet his gaze, your anger unwavering despite the intensity of his look. “Then why don’t you stop hiding behind your excuses and show me what’s real for once? Or are you too scared to face it yourself?”

His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing as the silence grows heavy between the two of you. You take a deep breath before continuing, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “Everything that happened at that party… it wasn’t just part of the act, was it?”

He looks away, eyes fixed on the ground as his expression hardens. “I was doin’ what we had to,” he says, his voice gruff. “We were pretendin’—had to make it look real.”

“That’s a goddamn lie and you know it,” you retorted. “Everything you did that night, kissing me like it meant something just to suddenly pull away and act like I was something you regretted. Do you have any idea how that felt, Arthur? How it made me feel?”

He flinched at your words, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You don’t understand—”

“Then help me understand! You shut me out, you push me away, and I’m done pretending like it doesn’t hurt.”

Arthur looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw the pain in his eyes, the conflict warring within him.

Your words hang in the air, and for a moment, you thought he might continue ignoring you, that he’d keep his distance just as he always did. But when his eyes met yours again, there was something raw and unguarded in them that made your heart twist before he spoke, voice filled with a vulnerability you had never seen in him before.

“That night at the party, when I told you it meant nothing and pushed you away—it wasn’t because I didn’t care, but because I did. I didn’t want you seein’ me as more than just part of this damned life I’ve led.”

“Have you not thought that I’m already a part of this life too? I’m not some innocent bystander in this, Arthur. I’m in it just as much as you are, fighting beside you, continuing to risk everything for the gang. Every time you push me away, it feels like you’re saying I don’t belong, that I’m not worthy of being part of this.”

Arthur’s face softened with regret. “I’m sorry if it came across that way. I’ve just been tryin’ to protect you in my own messed-up way. I don’t want you feelin’ like you’re not part of this, ‘cause you are. More than you know.”

You looked at him, searching for honesty in his eyes. “Then be honest with me, Arthur. Don’t shut me out. I need to know where we stand.”

“I ain’t good enough for you,” he confessed, the words coming out like a reluctant admission. “I’ve done things—bad things. And I know you’ve seen some of it, but you don’t know the half of it. You deserve better than some outlaw who’s spent his life takin’ more than he’s given.”

The silence that followed was thick with emotion, as you both tried to come to terms with the weight of his confession. The barriers between you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the truth of your feelings and the painful realities of the life you both led.

You stared at him, the anger long dissipated from you as his words sank in. This was it—this was what had been driving him to keep you at arm’s length, to push you away whenever you got too close. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way you did; it was that he didn’t think he was worthy of it.

“Arthur,” you said quietly, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you, “I don’t care about what you’ve done, or who you think you are. I care about you. The man who saved me today, who risked everything to make sure I was safe. The man who gives more to the gang than he ever takes for himself—that’s the man I see.”

He shook his head, his expression tortured. “You ain’t seen the worst of me yet.”

“And I don’t care if I do,” you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. “You don’t get to decide how I feel about you, or what I’m willing to accept. I’ve made my choice, Arthur. I’m not turning back.”

He stared at you, his defenses crumbling as the truth of your words hit him. He’d spent so long believing he didn’t deserve anything good, that any softness or kindness was something he had to push away before it could be taken from him. Hell, that’s why it never worked out with Mary, too.

But here you were, standing in front of him, refusing to let him go, even after everything he’d done to keep you at a distance.

He leaned in closer, his free hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“I don’t know if I can be the man you deserve,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You crack a small smile, your voice laced with a sarcastic edge but softened by the warmth in your eyes.

“Come on, Arthur. Since when did you become an expert in what I deserve? I’ve been putting up with your brooding for far too long to be picky about the details.”

Arthur’s lips curled into a wry smile as he listened to your response. Despite the gravity of the moment, there was a glimmer of amusement and admiration in his eyes.

“You know,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of his old charm, “you’ve been a right pain in my ass since day one. Guess that’s why it’s so damn complicated with us. But, damn it, you’re still the only one who can make me see the bright side of this mess.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look.

“Oh, is that your way of saying I’m the best you’ve got? How flattering.”

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe more than you know. You’ve got a knack for makin’ everything seem less bleak, even when you’re makin’ my life hell.”

After a silent moment, Arthur reaches out, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw which sends shivers down your spine.

“I’ve been a damn fool,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “for fightin’ this… for fightin’ you.”

Your heart ached at his words, at the honesty you had never expected from him.

You had always seen him as a man of few words, someone who hid his true self behind a wall of sarcasm and indifference. But now, as he stood in front of you, you saw the truth in his eyes—the feelings he had tried so hard to deny.

Before you could respond, Arthur closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

The kiss was a heady mix of passion and urgency, a kiss full of the unresolved tension and undeniable attraction that had been building between you.

As the kiss deepens, you feel Arthur’s hand move to tangle in your hair, his fingers gently gripping the strands as he kisses you harder, his body pressing hard against yours.

You respond with equal fervor, your hands fisting in his shirt and pulling him closer before you both pull away for air, breaths labored with his chest rising and falling against yours.

Arthur nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. He begins to trail soft kisses along your neck, his lips barely grazing your skin as his voice drops to a whisper, full of longing and relief.

“Been powerless against you since the moment you joined the gang. Reckon it all started that night at the mansion when we were both after the same prize.”

A low hum escapes him as your fingers thread through his hair, your touch sending shivers down his spine. He nuzzles further into your neck as he continues to mumble against your skin.

“Wanted you so bad, and damn if that don’t scare the absolute life out of me.”

Arthur continues to kiss your neck, his lips moving down to your shoulder as his hands tighten their grip on your hips. The intensity of his touch grows as he pulls you even closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours, enveloping you in a wave of warmth and desire.

You lean in closer, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper, your voice trembling with the same urgency that you hear in his. “Then stop holding back, Arthur. I want you.”

Your words seem to break whatever last bit of restraint he was clinging to. He lets out a low growl, and before you can even take another breath, his lips crash against yours once more, all fire and desperation. It’s a kiss that sears through you leaving no room for doubt.

Without breaking the kiss, he nudges you back until you feel the edge of the table pressing against the backs of your thighs. In one fluid motion, Arthur’s hands slip from your hips to your waist, lifting you just enough to set you down on the table's surface.

He steps closer, sliding between your legs as his hands grip your hips possessively. You felt his hips pressing insistently against your core, the contact electrifying and intense.

He was achingly hard, a burning pressure that felt almost unbearable through the fabric of your clothes. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, every shift of his body against yours sending waves of sensation coursing through you.

His hands, rough and calloused from years of hard living, left your waist and slipped under your shirt to savor the softness of your skin. His skilled fingers traced over your ribs before reaching your breasts.

You've never been so glad to not be wearing your chemise underneath your clothes.

You inhaled sharply as he took one of your nipples between his fingers and pinched. "So responsive." Arthur murmurs against your mouth before pulling away and breaking the kiss. You chance a glance at his face, his eyes dark with hunger.

With deliberate slowness, his hands begin their descent, gliding down to your calves, his fingers tracing the curve of your legs.

He caresses your skin, almost reverently, before sliding up to the hem of your skirt. You shiver at the sensation as he pushes the fabric higher, gathering it around your waist, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Arthur’s eyes drink in the sight of you, his gaze heavy with desire. His hands, still lingering on the edge of your skirt, begin to trail slowly up your thighs, his touch careful and teasing.

He pauses just as his fingers brush against the most sensitive part of your skin, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, dark and questioning.

He’s waiting, holding back, as if needing your permission to go further. He doesn't move, his touch achingly close yet frustratingly distant.

"Arthur…" you plead, your voice edged with frustration.

He meets your gaze, lips twitch up in a slight smirk as his eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You can do better than that, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

You scowl, making him smirk wider, the pressure making your frustration boil over. "Arthur, just—"

His fingers remain tantalizingly still, his eyes locked onto yours with a challenging gleam. The irritation fuels your desperation, and you let out a shaky breath, finally conceding.

"Arthur... please, I need you. I can’t stand it anymore," you say, your voice softened by surrender, the depth of your need evident.

Arthur’s lips curl into a satisfied grin as he hears your plea. He hums with approval and without another word, you watch as he leans down, his mouth finding your core with a fervent intensity, enveloping you in a warm, consuming embrace.

You gasped out as pleasure rippled through you, his name tumbling from your lips. Your fingers fly down to his hair, clenching at the strands and pull him closer as you surrender to the waves of sensation that crash over you.

He groans against you, his lips teasing the sensitive bud before his tongue moves with deliberate, savoring strokes, licking up your wetness. The taste of you lingers, smearing over his lips and dripping down his chin.

You feel his hand move between your thighs, his touch igniting another wave of pleasure as his thumb gently grazes your clit. The added sensation heightens your arousal, making your breath come in short, gasping bursts.

Without warning, he slips one of his fingers inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of intense pleasure through you.

He moves with practiced ease, curling and thrusting as he builds a rhythm that makes you gasp and moan. Each movement is designed to amplify the pleasure he's already delivering, his touch skillfully coaxing you closer to the edge.

“Oh God—Arthur!”

His hands pick up the pace, moving faster and with more pressure, targeting that one sensitive spot inside you while his mouth continues to work on your delicate bud. You tighten around his fingers, feeling your legs start to tremble.

You were at the height of your pleasure, your climax so near it felt like you might explode at any moment. Arthur seems to sense it too, his movements expertly bringing you to the brink.

But just as you're about to come, he abruptly pulls away, smirking down at you. You let out a frustrated whine, your body still trembling from the near climax.

"Why—" you gasp, eyes pleading as you look up at him, your voice a mix of annoyance and need. The sudden halt only intensifies your frustration, making your desire for release even more unbearable.

Arthur leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t worry, darlin’, I ain’t finished yet," he murmurs, his voice a low, gritty whisper. "Wanna feel you wrapped around me when you come."

With a firm, decisive moment, his hands wrap beneath your bum, lifting you effortlessly. He carries you toward the worn couch, his strength palpable as he places you gently but firmly onto the cushions before positioning himself above you, his gaze never leaving yours.

Arthur’s hands move to unbutton his jeans with a practiced ease before shedding them, revealing his lengthy member, its impressive size immediately drawing your wide-eyed attention.

You can’t help but stare, your eyes widening with a mix of awe and anticipation as you take in the full extent of his arousal. The sight of him, so well-endowed and commanding, sends a thrill of excitement through you, and your breath catches in your throat.

Arthur notices your reaction, a grin curling on his lips. He moves closer, his hands firmly cupping your face as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, capturing your lips in a deep, urgent kiss.

While his mouth claims yours, his hands move with purpose, deftly working to remove your blouse. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding over his chest and working at the buttons of his shirt until it falls away.

The two of you move with a synchrony of urgency and passion, shedding the rest of your clothes with a desperate need. Each article of clothing is discarded in a flurry of movement, leaving you both bare.

Arthur pauses, his eyes dark and intense as they roam over your bare form with a feral hunger. A low growl escapes his throat, his eyes gleaming with a primal desire.

“Shit,” he rasps, his voice rough and throaty. “Can’t believe I held myself back for so long.” His gaze lingers on you, filled with a raw, unrestrained hunger, as he savors the sight of you completely bare before him.

He wraps your legs around his hips, drawing you closer as he positions himself between you. With one hand gripping himself and the other steadying your leg, he lines himself up, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he looks down at you.

“You ready for this?”

You nod, your eyes locked onto his, filled with a mix of eagerness and anticipation. “Please, Arthur,” you reply, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Arthur’s lips curl into a fierce, satisfied smile before pressing himself against you and slowly begins to enter you, his gaze never leaving your face as a gasp escapes your lips, your body tensing with the intense sensation.

You arch against him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you adjust to his size. The stretch and pressure of him inside you sends a wave of pleasure through you, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily as you moan out his name.

He growls in response, his face contorted with both pleasure and concentration. “Goddamn you’re so tight.”

His hands tighten on your hips, grip firm and possessive as waits for you to adjust around him. After a moment, you grip his shoulders tighter, your nails digging in as you try to steady yourself.

“Arthur,” you murmur, struggling to control your breath. “I need you to move.”

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dripping with raw desire. His eyes search yours for a sign of hesitation but find only eager need.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with urgency. “Please.”

With a satisfied nod, Arthur begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one bringing a wave of pleasure that makes your body tremble.

As he finds a rhythm, his movements become more intense and fervent, his eyes never leaving your face. His breathing grows heavier, matching the pace of his thrusts as he drives deeper into you.

“Arthur, please…faster.”

He meets your gaze and with a firm grip, he pushes your leg further back against you, angling himself deeper.

You gasp at the shift, your body arching and gripping him tighter as waves of pleasure crash over you. Each thrust sends a jolt of ecstasy through you, your breaths coming in quick, sharp bursts as you lose yourself in the mounting sensation.

His thrusts become more urgent, each movement sending a jolt of ecstasy through you. “That’s it,” he murmurs between breaths, “let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You moan in response, the sound escaping in a breathless gasp as his relentless pace overwhelms you, crying out his name as your voice trembles with pleasure.

Arthur’s eyes darken with desire, and he groans deeply. He takes your face in his hand, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. his gaze intently fixed on you, taking in every reaction, every flush of pleasure, driving him wild.

He can’t help but be captivated by the way you look at him, your gaze locking onto his with a mix of urgency and raw longing.

He’s not going to last long. Not when you look at him like that.

Arthur pushes your leg further back, nearly folding you in half as his thrusts become rougher and more intense, driving into you with a forceful rhythm. Each thrust relentlessly hits the spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You feel yourself tighten around him, eliciting a deep groan from him.

His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core and begins to apply a firm, rhythmic pressure, his touch syncing with the hard, relentless pace of his thrusts.

“Arthur,” you moan, your voice a mixture of desperation and bliss.

Arthur grits his teeth, the effort to maintain control clear on his face. “Come on, sweetheart, let go for me… Wanna feel ya,” he growls, his voice thick with desire and urgency.

The combined stimulation of his touch and his relentless thrusting pushes you toward the edge, your body quaking as the waves of pleasure crest and crash over you. His words, laced with raw need, tip you over that edge, breaking the last of your control.

You let go completely, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure as you tremble and gasp in his grasp, your body responding to his every command.

“That’s it,” Arthur growls, his voice rough with pleasure. “Good girl. Feels so good squeezing around me… there we go.”

He moves his hands to your hips, his own breathing ragged as he feels you tighten and convulse around him. He continues to drive into you through the waves of pleasure, his thrusts becoming even more urgent and relentless. You cry out, the sensation overwhelming.

Finally, with a groan of his own, he thrusts deep one last time before pulling out, taking his length into his hand. His body shudders, breath coming in rough, uneven gasps as he finds his release, spilling onto your stomach as the tension finally breaks.

He collapses onto you, his breath ragged and heavy, both of you trying to catch your breaths. After a while, you gently pat him, feeling the weight of him pressing down on you, and he lets out a breathy chuckle, his eyes half-lidded with contentment.

Arthur stands up and grabs the shirt he was wearing, using it to wipe the evidence of his release from your stomach and his. His touch is tender despite the intensity of the moment.

Once he’s finished, he lays back down beside you, pulling you into his arms. With a gentle but firm motion, he adjusts to create enough room for both of you on the worn couch.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you settle against him, the warmth of his body providing a soothing contrast to the earlier intensity.

“You alright there?” he asks, his voice soft and slightly teasing as he runs a hand soothingly along your arm.

You nod, your head resting against his shoulder, feeling a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, your voice a bit breathless. “Just needed a moment.”

Arthur chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Can’t say I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner,” he murmurs, his tone filled with genuine warmth.

You smile, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax into his embrace. “Me neither,” you whisper, feeling the comfort of his presence. “Guess it’s a good thing we finally did.”

A comfortable silence envelops you both, the warmth of the fire crackling softly in the background. As you settle into the quiet, the room is filled with a tranquil intimacy.

The gentle heat from the fire and the flickering light cast a soft glow over your resting forms, guiding you both into a peaceful rest.

The next morning, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the curtains gently warms your face, coaxing you awake from your slumber.

You blink, slightly disoriented, and notice a quilt draped over you—a cozy, unexpected comfort that you don’t remember covering yourself with.

You stretch out and sit up, searching for Arthur, but find that he’s no longer beside you. The space next to you is empty, leaving only the lingering warmth of his presence and the faint scent of him in the air.

You wrap the quilt around you before making your way to the bedroom, where you begin to get dressed in your now-dry clothes.

As you finish getting dressed, you head outside, still wondering where Arthur could be. Opening the front door, you’re startled to find him now dressed in his own clothes and standing with both your horses.

He’s feeding his horse calmly, the sight of the horses safe and sound, along with Arthur’s relaxed demeanor, fills you with a mix of relief and surprise.

He looks up, catching your gaze with a casual, knowing smile, clearly at ease despite the unexpected circumstances.

“Mornin’, sorry I didn’t want to wake ya,” he says, his voice warm and relaxed.

You blink, still processing the sight before you. “Wait, how did you find the horses? They ran off during that chase,” you ask, your voice filled with surprise and confusion.

Arthur grins, a touch of pride in his eyes. “Managed to track ’em down this mornin’. They’d wandered off a ways but were easy enough to follow. Took a bit of patience, but I got ’em back here safe and sound.” He pats one of the horses affectionately.

You let out a relieved laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Well, I’m definitely grateful. I wasn’t sure how we’d get them back.

Arthur gives you a casual nod, his eyes still carrying a hint of satisfaction. “We should probably think about getting back to camp soon. Can’t say Dutch’ll be too happy about us comin’ back empty-handed.”

You frown slightly, your mind starting to turn over the implications. “Yeah, he might not be too pleased about that.”

Suddenly, something clicks in your mind, your expression brightening with realization. You make your way to your horse, patting her affectionately as you reach her.

You move to the saddlebag and start fishing around inside before pulling out a small pouch. Arthur watches you with curiosity as you open it, revealing the jewelry you had remembered stuffing inside. With a proud smile, you show it to Arthur, the glint of the gems catching the light.

Arthur raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well… that’s a nice surprise. Turns out we’re not comin’ back empty-handed after all.”

He glances at the jewelry, then back at you. “Good thinking.”

You tuck the pouch back into the saddlebag, feeling a surge of relief. “At least we’ve got something to make up for the trouble.”

Arthur shifts, his expression turning serious. “Listen, uh… everything I said last night—I meant it. I care about you, you know.”

You look at him, a soft smile forming on your lips. “I know.”

He pulls you close, and you share a tender kiss, the warmth and reassurance evident in the moment. When you pull away, you give him a playful nudge. “Now, let’s get back to camp.”

Arthur grins, nodding as he mounts his horse. “Lead the way.”

After a few hours of steady travel, you finally crest through the dense woods and emerge into the open area of Shady Belle.

As you draw closer, you hear John’s voice call out from his post. “Who’s there?”

Arthur raises a hand in greeting, his tone slightly exasperated. “It’s just us two, you idiot.”

John approaches with a grin, clearly relieved to see familiar faces. “Well, well, look who’s back! Didn’t think you’d make it this time.”

His gaze shifts to you, and he notices the cut on your forehead. “What happened there?” he asks, his tone shifting to one of concern.

“It’s nothing, just a little mishap,” you reply with a shrug and a small reassuring smile.

John nods, still eyeing the cut with a concerned look. Before he can respond, the sound of Dutch’s voice cuts through the air.

“There they are!” Dutch strides forward with Hosea, catching the attention of the other gang members. The atmosphere shifts to one of eager anticipation as they approach to welcome you both back.

Arthur and you quickly hitch your horses, and Dutch’s eyes light up with a mix of relief and curiosity.

“You two look like you’ve had quite the adventure,” he says with a grin. “Let’s hear what you’ve got for us.”

You and Arthur follow Dutch and Hosea inside the house, nodding to the other members who offer warm welcomes at your arrival.

Once inside, the four of you make your way outside to the terrace to discuss the details. The afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the camp, and you all settle into a comfortable spot.

Hosea’s eyes shift to the cut on your forehead. “You alright?” he asks, his tone filled with concern.

You give a small nod, trying to brush off the worry. “I’ll be alright. Can’t say about the coach, though.”

Hosea raises an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. “The coach, huh? Did something go wrong?”

“The job went well initially. Arthur and I got what we needed, but then things went sideways on the way back.”

Arthur picks up the story, his voice steady. “We ran into trouble. More guards came in hot on our heels, forcing us into some rough terrain. Lost the coach, and then we ended up falling into a river with it.”

You chime in, “The river swept the coach away, taking all the loot with it. We couldn’t salvage anything.”

Dutch’s expression falls. “So, you lost it all?”

Arthur nods, looking apologetic. “Yeah. We couldn’t recover the goods.”

Dutch’s face reflects a mix of disappointment and frustration. “Well, that’s a shame. We coulda used that haul. Least you two are alright, though.”

Hosea tries to lighten the mood. “We’ll bounce back from this. The important thing is that you made it back safely. We’ll sort out the rest.”

Arthur reaches into his satchel and pulls out the small pouch of jewelry from you and a few clipped bundles of cash. He holds them up with a faint, reassuring smile.

“Well, we didn’t lose everything. Reckon this might help make up for it.”

Arthur hands Hosea the pouch, and Hosea inspects its contents. “With this and the cash we got, I’d say we’re lookin’ at around 800. That should help us get back on our feet.”

Dutch’s eyes light up with relief as he takes in the sight of the recovered items. “Well, that’s a right bit of luck in the middle of all this mess. Better than nothin’.”

Arthur nods, looking somewhat relieved. “Didn’t want to come back here and leave y’all thinkin’ we came up empty.”

Dutch claps Arthur on the shoulder, his mood lifting a bit. “Appreciate that. Let’s get this sorted and move on. We’ve got plenty of work ahead of us.”

Hosea looks over at you and Arthur with a nod of approval. “I gotta hand it to you both. Despite the rough patch, you came through. Good work out there.”

With that, Dutch and Hosea start discussing plans to distribute the recovered items and strategize the next steps.

Over the next few days, the gang once again begins to notice something distinctly different about you and Arthur.

It’s not just the absence of shouting and tension, but a new, subtle intimacy that marks a significant shift in how you interact. While the first change was notable, this time it's even more pronounced.

Although you and Arthur have kept your more intimate moments away from the prying eyes of the gang, there’s a palpable difference in the way you connect.

You’re often seen sharing quiet conversations, laughing together, and engaging in playful banter, with soft touches and exchanged smiles now part of your interactions. The closeness between you is evident, and it piques the gang’s curiosity once more.

Speculation runs rife among the camp members about the nature of your evolving relationship. They observe the affectionate gestures and tender glances, each theory more imaginative than the last.

Despite the growing curiosity, you and Arthur continue to maintain your privacy. When questioned or approached, you both respond with a mix of amused indifference and casual deflection.

You shrug off the gossip with lighthearted comments or evasive answers, enjoying the newfound closeness while keeping the details of your relationship to yourselves.

On this particular day, while you were engaged in a chore, you overheard Arthur speaking to Dutch, asking why he kept pairing the two of you together despite your apparent dislike for each other.

You glance over from your place, noting how Dutch seems genuinely puzzled by the question.

“It wasn’t really my call,” Dutch says with a shrug. “That was all Hosea’s idea. I didn’t rightly agree with him and don’t know why the hell he was so insistent or thought it was a good idea, but I just went along with it.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Both your attention shifts to Hosea, who is currently sitting nearby, absorbed in reading a newspaper.

Despite his apparent focus on the paper, you notice a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t look up or acknowledge you both, but his expression clearly suggests he’s pleased with the outcome of his decision.

The revelation leaves you and Arthur with a mix of emotions, but the smirk on Hosea’s face makes it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

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