#daddy dutch answers

[whysye]

you’ve interested me in vanderlawny again please go on sir

I forgot of this, honestly.

Thinking of them though and if I never see Trelawny as Dutch's sugar daddy I might just die/sil. Can't see them as anything else!! Talk of them however, Josiah's definitely a romantic type. So.. They'd probably click off pretty okay.

Dutch is a hopeless romantic. Like. Grossly romantic. You wince when he acts affectionate, but his partner's more than likely flattered and showered in love. So. He's doing something right for once, I guess. Josiah and him would be that couple, if out in the open( which I highly doubt and will get to in a moment), that'd you get second-hand embarrassment from.

They're so lovey-dovey that it will make you envious. Your day will be ruined if you see them. And that could be positive or negative, or both.

Now, I personally think they'd keep their relationship secretive. I mean, it was the 1880s for crying out loud. I doubt they could be open even if they had wanted to be. And yes, plastering that internalized homophobia onto Dutch. He screams it and I take no criticism.. And I get the feeling Josiah wouldn't really care? If his partner's uncomfortable with others knowing than he's more than happy to accommodate. He too canonically lives two lives so he could do that with ease.

I don't know. I like to explore their relationship. Josiah would seem direct, doesn't really sugarcoat. And have you heard him in that cut scene of Micah and him? How he talks?? He'd definitely fluster Dutch with that. Cannot imagine what he sounds when flirting. In my wildest dreams, he showers Dutch and is a disgusting flirty cunt. It's always the well adjusted fuckers in a suit & tie too!! And c'mon now, it's Dutch, of course he loves the affection. So yeah, they'd mostly work pretty well.

I'd get into the angsty aspect of it but I'm not really down for the depressing side of that right now. So, maybe another time.

☺

[amirasainz]

Ooooh can you please do reader is Lewis daughter and she’s a big daddy’s girl and she has everyone wrapped around her finger, including the stoic Toto?

AHH! I had so much fun writing this. I love the idea of Lewis being a girl dad. I hope y'all enjoy reading this and send me some requests!

-XoXo

Daddy's little love

“Who is your favourite Disney Princess, Baby?” asked Anthony, Lewis’ dad, to his 4-year-old granddaughter. Cassie, who was busy getting her beautiful, long, curly hair done by her grandmother Linda, turned to Anthony with the biggest grin on her face.

“Tiana,” she proudly stated. “TIANA? Why’s that, hm?” he asked her, now sporting the same huge grin as the girl in the living room. “Because she is the prettiest of them all. And her prince is better than the other ones. OH, and their friends are so cool, because Ray is a firefly and his wife is a star. And their other friend, the crocodile, Louis, can play the trumpet. Oh, and Mama Odie makes the best gumbo in the whole wide world,” she answered, running towards Anthony.

The older Hamilton immediately picked her up, sitting little Cassie in front of him on the kitchen counter. “Ohh, is that so, young lady?” he jokingly asked her. “UHU,” she answered with a duh-tone. “Really?” “Uhu.” “Really.” Now the game between Cassie and her Poppy started.

Linda, who knew that this little game of theirs could go on for hours, called towards the young girl. “Cassie, honey, we still need to do your hair.” “But I don’t wanna, Loveyyyyy,” whined the 4-year-old. “Nuhu, don’t even look at me with those puppy eyes of yours,” she told her. However, Cassie tried to find a way out of the situation. “But why can’t Daddy do it for me?” she whined again. “You know why, Baby. Daddy can’t make those braids that you like,” Anthony answered, sensing the beginning of a little tantrum.

Both Anthony and Linda knew that Cassie hated getting her hair done. If the young Hamilton could, she would always have it open. However, with the hot weather and her playing the whole time with her cousins in the garden, everyone knew it was better to braid it back.

Before anyone could say anything else, a figure appeared in the doorway. “What’s that I’m hearing about Daddy?” asked Lewis, who was finally back home after the Mexican GP. He looked tired but happy. “DADDY!” squealed the young girl, immediately running towards her father with outstretched arms. Lewis, who knew his daughter better than himself, picked her up in his arms and held her close, releasing a sigh of relief now that he finally had his baby back in his arms. Her laughter was like music to his ears, and he couldn’t help but smile as she giggled like crazy while he kissed her cheeks repeatedly.

After a moment, he stopped and greeted her with the biggest smile ever. “Hello, my little love,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and affection. He could feel the stress of the race melting away as he held her.

Remembering the conversation he walked into, he carefully petted her hair and told her, “Go on, love. Let Lovey finish your hair, then we can go outside swimming.” Cassie pouted, her lower lip jutting out adorably. “But Daddy—” she began, her eyes wide with pleading. “Nuh-uh, Honey. Don’t even try it with me,” Lewis said, his tone gentle but firm. Cassie released the biggest sigh on earth before stomping towards her grandmother, her tiny feet making exaggerated thuds on the floor.

Thankfully, her older cousin Willow was also now in the living room, so the two cousins could play a game while Linda finished the two Dutch braids. Willow, always the patient one, smiled and pulled out a board game, setting it up on the coffee table. “Come on, Cassie, let’s play while Grandma finishes your hair,” she said, her voice soothing.

Lewis, who was watching the whole situation with an amused smile, turned towards his father and hugged him. “It’s good to have you back, boy,” Anthony whispered in his ear, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s good to be back, Dad,” Lewis answered while releasing the hug. He felt a wave of gratitude for his family, who always supported him no matter what.

After a moment, Lewis’s face turned serious, and he looked at his dad. “Hey, can we talk for a minute?” he asked. Anthony, sensing the gravity of the situation, turned his full attention to his son. With an encouraging nod, Lewis began.

“Dad, you know how important the Brazil Grand Prix is for me, right? This year, I was thinking of taking Cassie with me. This race isn’t just significant for me, but also for Mercedes. Plus, it’s my last year with the team,” he explained, his voice tinged with emotion.

Anthony took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before responding. “Lewis, I understand how crucial this race is for you, but why do you feel the need to take Cassie with you?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Well, Dad, it’s going to be such a meaningful race for me, and I want my favorite person there with me. Besides, the team and the other drivers are always asking about her. And Gloria, you know, Cassie’s babysitter, will also be there. She can watch over her while I’m racing,” Lewis replied, his eyes pleading for understanding.

Anthony paused for a moment, considering his son’s words. “Okay, I think that’s a really sweet idea. And we both know how much Cassie loves traveling with her daddy,” he said with a warm smile.

“Thanks, Dad. I guess I just needed to hear from someone that my idea isn’t completely insane,” Lewis said, relief washing over his face.

“No, don’t worry about it. Now go tell the little princess the good news,” Anthony encouraged, giving his son a reassuring pat on the back.

After an uneventful flight and a good nights rest, the little trio entered the paddock the next morning. Cassie clutched her father’s hand tightly as they walked into the bustling paddock. The young girl, with her curly hair bouncing in the warm breeze, wore a bright purple cap that read "Daddy's little Champion". It was a sea of activity, with mechanics, engineers, and media personnel buzzing around. This was Cassie’s first time attending a race outside of Silverstone, and her wide eyes took in every detail with a mix of awe and excitement.

Lewis,, was a seasoned pro in this environment, but today he felt a bit different. He was not just a world-class driver; he was an overprotective dad. He kept a close eye on Cassie, making sure she stayed close and safe amidst the chaos. The media quickly noticed the duo, and cameras started flashing, capturing the tender moments between father and daughter.

Lewis’s smile was tight as he waved politely to the cameras, but inside, he was less than thrilled about the attention. He had always been protective of Cassie, and the thought of her being in the spotlight made him uneasy. He bent down to her level, his voice gentle but firm. “Stay close to me, okay, Cassie? There’s a lot going on here.”

Cassie nodded, her curly hair bouncing with the movement. “Okay, Daddy.”

Beside them, Gloria, the babysitter, walked with a calm demeanor. At around 50 years old, she had a reassuring presence that both Lewis and Cassie appreciated. Gloria had been with the family for a while and knew how to keep Cassie entertained and safe. She smiled at Cassie, holding out a small toy car. “Look, Cassie, it’s just like Daddy’s car!”

Cassie’s face lit up as she took the toy, momentarily distracted from the overwhelming environment. Lewis gave Gloria a grateful nod. “Thanks, Gloria. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Gloria chuckled softly. “Just doing my job, Lewis. You focus on the race; I’ll keep an eye on our little racer here.”

As they made their way through the paddock, more media attention followed. Lewis did his best to shield Cassie from the cameras, but it was clear that their presence was a big deal. He sighed inwardly, wishing for a bit more privacy for his daughter. But seeing Cassie’s excitement and knowing Gloria was there to help made it all worthwhile.

“Alright, Cassie,” Lewis said, lifting her up so she could see over the crowd. “Let’s go find a good spot to watch the race. It’s going to be an exciting day.”

Cassie giggled, her nervousness melting away as she felt the familiar comfort of her father’s arms. With Gloria by their side, they were ready to face the day, media attention and all.

As they walked to the Garage, Cassie's wide eyes took in the sight of the famous cars, the hustle of the crew and the vibrant colours of the team uniforms. Other drivers like Lando, Charles, George and Daniel, couldn't help but stop and admire the adorable little girl.

"Hey there, little champ!" Lando said, waving at her. "Are you going to cheer for your dad today?"

Cassie giggled and nodded. "He's the fastes!" she declared proudly, causing the drivers to melt at her sweetness. They all exchanged smiles, and for a moment, the competitive spirit of Formula 1 seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the warmth of Cassie's innocent joy.

As Lewis, Cassie and Gloria approached the Mercedes garage, Lewis introduced Cassie to his team principal. Toto, the usually angry Austrian, was particularly taken with her. "Well, if it isn't the youngest member of our team!" he said, picking her up and placing her on his lap. "How would you like to be the team principal for the day?"

Cassie's eyes widened in amazement. "Really? I can be in charge?" she squealed, bouncing slightly in excitement. Lewis, who was busy talking to Bono, turned towards his daughter and reminded her again : "Cassie, inside voice, ok?" "Sorry Daddy" she apologised cutely, warming Lewis heart at the sight of her.

Toto brought her attention back to their conversation. “Absolutely! You can help make all the important decisions,” Toto replied, grinning. He handed her a small headset, and Cassie put it on, feeling like a true boss.

“Okay, Cassie,” Toto continued, “let’s make sure the drivers are ready. We need to keep an eye on them!”

Cassie nodded seriously, trying her best to mimic the serious expressions of the adults around her. As she sat on Toto’s lap, she observed the team preparing for the race, her little fingers tapping away on the radio as if she were giving commands.

“Driver 44, are you ready?” she said into the headset, mimicking what she had heard the engineers say. The team chuckled at her adorable seriousness, and Lewis turned to give her a thumbs-up from across the garage.

As the pre-race festivities continued, Cassie found herself surrounded by the other drivers, who were all charmed by her presence. Daniel knelt down in front of her. “So, what’s your strategy for today?” he asked playfully.

“I think Daddy should go really fast and win!” she replied, her face lighting up with confidence. The drivers laughed, and Daniel gave her a mock salute. “A solid plan, Commander Cassie!”

Soon, it was time for the drivers to head to the grid. Toto carefully lifted Cassie off his lap and placed her back on the ground. “Are you ready to watch your dad race?” he asked her.

“Yay! Go, Daddy!” she cheered, waving her arms enthusiastically. Lewis leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead before heading out to the grid. "I love you, my little love" he called back to her. "I love you more" she yelled. Turning towards his daughter, he said : "Impossible" before continuing his way. Their interaction gained laugher throughout the garage.

As the race began, Cassie was glued to the edge of her seat in the team hospitality area, her small hands gripping the railing as she watched the cars zoom past. With each lap, her excitement grew. “Go, Daddy! You can do it!” she shouted, her voice ringing out amidst the cheers of the crowd.

The race unfolded with thrilling intensity. Lewis battled fiercely against his competitors, maneuvering through tight corners and executing perfect overtakes. Cassie’s eyes were wide with awe as she watched her father, the adrenaline coursing through her tiny body with each lap.

During a particularly tense moment, where Lewis found himself in a tight spot battling for position, Cassie gasped and clutched the railing. “Come on, Daddy! You got this!” she yelled, her voice carrying over the noise of the engines.

Her encouragement seemed to resonate, as Lewis managed to pull off an incredible move, taking the lead. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Cassie jumped up and down, her laughter mingling with the roars of the fans.

“Look, Cassie! Your daddy’s in front!” Gloria said, smiling at her enthusiasm. She was having the time of her life, completely unaware of the high stakes of the race, so focused on her father’s performance.

As the race neared its conclusion, the tension was palpable. Lewis was vying for the victory, and Cassie could feel the excitement in the air. She leaned over the railing, her heart racing as the final laps approached. “You can do it, Daddy! Just go faster!” she shouted, her little fists clenched in determination.

When Lewis crossed the finish line, victorious once again, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Cassie squealed with delight, jumping up and down in sheer joy. “He did it! He won!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

After the race, Lewis hurried to the team area, where Cassie was waiting, her face glowing with pride. He scooped her up in his arms, spinning her around. “Did you see that, Cassie? We did it!” he exclaimed, his heart swelling with happiness.

“You were the best, Daddy! I knew you could win!” she said, her eyes shining with admiration.

As the celebrations continued, Cassie found herself the center of attention. The drivers gathered around her, congratulating Lewis and showering her with affection. “You’re an amazing little team principal, Cassie,” Charles said, ruffling her hair.

Cassie beamed, soaking in all the praise. “I told him to go fast!” she said proudly, and the drivers laughed, each one charmed by her innocence and enthusiasm.

As the sun began to set over Brazil, casting a warm glow over the paddock, Lewis took Cassie aside. “You know, today was special not just because we won, but because I got to share it with you,” he said softly.

“I had the best day, Daddy! Can we come to every race together?” she asked, her eyes wide with hope.

“Of course, sweet pea. Every race, if you want. You’ll always be my lucky charm,” Lewis replied, giving her a warm hug.

The day ended with fireworks illuminating the sky, and Cassie watched in awe, her heart full. She had stepped into a world of speed and excitement, and in doing so, had forged an unforgettable bond with her father. As they headed back to their hotel, Cassie rested her head on Lewis’s shoulder, dreaming of race tracks and fast cars, knowing that this was just the beginning of their adventures tog

[k0juki]

Pls PLS hcs of reader and joost being parents!! Thank youu

Dad!Joost Klein hc.

English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors! More posts here.

A/n: Girl dad!Joost just make my brain go brbrbr

Wc: 700

---

• I imagine it like you guys were together long before you got pregnant.

• The whole pregnancy would be so stressful for both of you, but I think mostly for Joost.

• Like imagine him when you told him that special moment. (Short Imagine ahead)

---

You stood in the bathroom, holding that pregnancy test, where two straight lines shined. You were pregnant. Fuck.

"Y/n? Are you alright?" Joost asked from the other side of the door. Nervousness evident in his voice. What took you so long? Were you hurt? "Open the door."

"I-i'm" you took a deep breath, claiming yourself. "I'm alright Joost." You answered him and put down the positive test.

You looked at yourself in the mirror for the last time and opened the door, seeing Joost leaning against the frame of the door.

"Hey, are you alright?" What are you going to tell him? 'hey Joost, I'm pregnant and not scared as hell' no, definitely not this, but you have to tell him something.

You opened your mouth just to close it again. You didn't think of anything. You had to tell him. Now or never.

"I-I think I'm pregnant.." you said and waited for his response, for him to say something. But he was looking at you like, you just grew a second head.

"Y-you're...pregnant?" He asked, surprise evident in his voice. "W-we're having a baby?"

You just nodded your head. You couldn't think of any words right now and you felt tears in your eyes. Maybe because you didn't tried for a baby or maybe it was just hormones.

And then, Joost took you in his arms, a happy smile on his face and his laughter filled the space around you.

"You aren't mad?" You asked, feeling lost.

"Mad? Why should I be mad? This is amazing! We're having a baby!" He laughed and spinned you around.

---

• He definitely made you listen to his music while you were pregnant. Not that you minded.

• Later you discovered that you were having a little girl. Ashley, but you called her Ash.

• "A badass name for a badass girl, no?"

• Also there would be some sleepless nights, at first when Ash is a little baby and starts crying at night.

• He would be up the second he heard her soft sobbing.

• "Hey there..." Joost whispered as he took her in his arms. "It's alright baby, I'm right here."

• Sometimes he would take her to your and Joost bed, and let her sleep here, in his arms.

• And her first words would be daddy. Joost would be literally jumping around with Ash in his arms tearing up.

• You and Joost would be teaching her to talk both Dutch and English, and other language if your is not English. (Like me)

• Missing you and Ash as he is on tour, so you would be face calling every day and night before she goes to sleep.

• Telling her every story, about places he was in, and what people he met.

• As she grew older, let's just say about four, Joost would love to take Ash on outdoor adventures, teaching her about nature and the world around her.

• A small hiking trips with Ash on Joost's shoulders.

• And mostly teaching her about music. His music. (Not every song okay?) He would DEFINITELY teach her how to dance and sing with her too.

• Also Joost would be playing princess with her, simply because she told him to, and what kind of father would he be if he rejected her wish.

• "No daddy, Mr. Pinky likes his tea with lemon, not sugar." Mr. Pinky is her favorite pink unicorn.

• "Alright, alright, my apologies."

• Calling Ashley his little bug. (He just gave me this kind of vibe.)

• "Daddy I'm not a bug!" Ashley whined.

• And he would write some songs about her. For her, and how much he loves her.

• Maybe he will try to talk you into taking her on tour. "Come on love, it's just for two months."

• And let's just say you said no. End of the discussion…

---

Don't copy or translate my work! Also the picture is not mine! Credit goes to owner!

[joelsprettyprincess]

Someone Like You

Pairing: Dutch Van Der Linde x f!prostitute!reader Summary: A certain client excites desires that you never knew you had. Tags: smut, oral sex, age gap (20s/40s), pet names, daddy kink, slight dd/Ig dynamics, power imbalance, Dutch-typical misogyny, aftercare Wordcount: 3.67k A/N: IT'S DONE!! Once I really get into my groove, I can finish stuff pretty fast, so I wrote this in about 2 days, more or less. Like I mentioned before this is really self-indulgent. To a point. I will go ahead and say I know nothing about prostitution or gentleman's clubs in 1900, so most of the exposition/logistics is kind of just what I pieced together.. Also, Dutch is very much an asshole in this. It takes place like, right after a certain person's death, as you will see. I think it's fitting, though, unfortunately. Also, it took me forever to think of the name. I take it pretty seriously and finally landed on this one (it's a reference to the song!). I like to think it encapsulates the theme of this fic. And YES I added a ball-sucking part and I HAVE NO SHAME. Thank you to @cafekitsune for the divider!! 🙏 Anyway enjoy and MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The beige wallpaper inside the gentleman’s club was stained, and peeling in some places, exposing the wooden planks underneath. The tiny flowers dotted at even intervals, once a cheery yellow, were now various shades of orange and brown, made even uglier by the light of the oil lamps along the walls. The sag of the paper in several corners matched the downcast mood of the cramped, badly lit lobby.

This was taken in discreetly by Dutch Van Der Linde, yet he made no comment about it. At an establishment such as this one, the real attraction was the people, not the building.

He walked up to the antiquated counter, where an older man with a large, crooked nose and wrinkly skin sat, puffing away at a fat cigar.

“Yes sir,” the man spoke with a small, knowing smile. He blew a cloud of smoke to the side. “Are you interested in a show? Or perhaps a private room with a girl? We’ve lots of lovely young ladies, the best in Lemoyne. Any size, any color, whatever you want. Cheap rates too.”

Dutch usually felt it was beneath him to patronize such a place, but things back at camp had been so upsetting and melancholy lately that he’d been driven to seek out a different type of thrill entirely. Just for one night…

“I’d like to book a room with a girl,” he answered. “And could I make a special request?” 

“‘Course.”

He listed his preferences. “I’d like a cute one. Young, but legal. Perhaps…one that hasn’t been here for long.” 

There was just something special about laying with a woman on the younger side, in Dutch’s opinion. One that wasn’t sullied and jaded by the aches of the world. He liked the zest for life so many of them had— yet, without fail, that enthusiasm eventually faded. It happened with Susan, and it had begun happening with Molly. That was a great tragedy of his life; he could never hold on to that feeling of sunshine— eventually, the rains came.

The man nodded and thought for a bit, taking another drag on his cigar. “I tell you what, sir, we not too long ago got a wonderful girl. She’s very pretty, she’ll lay down and take anything you give her—”

“That’s- that’s fine,” Dutch interrupted, not wanting to stand in this dingy room any longer. “What room?” He shifted, looking at the worn wooden staircase to the left of the room. 

“2C should be open,” the man informed him, gesturing towards the staircase. “That’s the second floor, second room on the right. I’ll collect the girl and she’ll meet you there, yeah?”

“Thanks,” Dutch grunted. After he paid, he ventured up the creaky stairs and found 2C easily. He could hear faint moans coming from some of the other rooms. Pushing open the door, he stepped into a small, simply decorated room with a bed and a couple of chairs with thin beige cushions. He calmly took off his shoes and vest, then sat on the cream-and-red bedspread and waited.

You’d just gotten dressed after a bath when a knock came at your door. The Saint Denis sun had almost completely dipped, and rays of purple were overtaking the yellow and orange sky. You’d been hoping to turn into bed early; it had been a rare day with no clients.

Mr. Gelding called your name just as you opened the door. He was a large, overbearingly friendly man, though to his credit he never crossed the line. He was one of several managers in Landry Gentlemen's Club— they all oversaw the daily events of the club, as well as providing protection and support to the girls. That was a big reason you preferred to work here instead of simply catcalling on the streets; it provided greater job security.

This— providing various services to men— was your line of work. Had been, for the past 6 months. It paid the bills much faster than a regular job, and you were able to squander a little cash every week. Eventually you wanted to get a small place of your own—perhaps in Strawberry— but until then, you would work here.

Prior to this, you had juggled 2 jobs: toiling for a rancher by day, and working as a bargirl by night. After your father had left your mother when you were ten, you’d worked to support the family.

Then your mother, who’d always had a weak immune system, succumbed to a particularly bad fever soon after you’d turned nineteen. The rancher you worked under had at least been understanding and let you stay on the farm with a discounted rent, but even with that discount you struggled to make ends meet. Thus, you’d sought out a more lucrative line of work and started working at the gentleman’s club.

Only the girls who provided direct sexual services to clients actually lived in these quarters. Most of the dancers and performers came and worked, then left for their own homes. After being hired, you’d moved here out of convenience. This particular building was a little offset from the performance area, but still basically next door to it. It was quite small; two stories high, with plain hallways that had several doors on either side leading to the girls’ private rooms.

Your room was simply decorated, just a plain bed with your keepsakes hidden underneath it. The savings you’d earned so far were in a lockbox shoved deep in the closet.

“Missy, don’t turn in just yet,” Mr. Gelding spoke in a jovial voice. “You’ve got a client waiting in 2C.” He leaned against the doorway, smelling of cigar smoke and sweat.

“Oh,” you spoke, silently mourning the free time you’d had. Then again, more clients meant more money.

“He seems pretty wealthy, between you and me,” he added in a lower tone. “Be a good girl for him and he might pay a little extra.” He chuckled, then patted your shoulder.

After Mr. Gelding left, you quickly changed into a simple red dress. You’d noticed that men liked that color a lot, for whatever reason. A quick brush of the hair and of your teeth, and you were ready.

You wasted no time in walking over to the “performance building”. On the right side was where the showgirls and dancers performed, and on the left were the private rooms. You entered on the left side.

Climbing up the creaky staircase, you brushed by Millie, another worker here. She was quite a bit older than you, perhaps 30 or 35. Sometimes you wondered how long she’d been here.

Well, that was not going to be you. This was strictly a temporary job.

Standing in front of 2C, you took a moment to pat down your hair and put on a soft smile. Then you entered the room.

Sitting on the bed was a man in the best sense of the word. You hadn’t known what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t this. He was quite tall and broad, with a dark crop of curls and a large nose, which sat right above a neatly trimmed mustache. He had on a simple white and blue striped button-up and black pants. You could see the vest that he’d taken off and laid on the chair was made of a soft red velvet, with golden chains attached. Oh my. 

“Hello,” he greeted you, smiling a bit. He seemed just a tad nervous. It was clear he was older, maybe in his forties. Was he married?

“Hello sir,” you replied softly, closing the door behind you. You padded over and took off your shoes. “‘S nice to meet you.” You told him your name.

He repeated it, lips curling a bit. “I’m Dutch.”

Even him smiling couldn’t soften the serious look on his face. His brown eyes were rather dark, and his brow was heavy and thick. You felt both anxious and drawn in by them.

“What would you like me to do, Dutch?” you asked, sitting on the bed beside him. You placed your hand on his large, grizzled one with practiced ease.

He cleared his throat. “I-I must apologize, I’ve never hired a prostitute before.”

You smiled. “That’s alright, sir.” Pulling him in closer, you gently pressed your lips against his.

Dutch, seemingly unsure for a moment, hesitated, then returned the kiss. His mustache tickled your nostrils as he softly kissed you.

Your fingers became intertwined with his, and he grew more bold, cupping your face with his free hand and kissing you more earnestly. The cold metal of his rings pressed against your cheek.

Quite rapidly, Dutch took control, pushing you down onto the bed and slipping his tongue into your mouth. You sighed softly, liking how direct he was now. The bedframe creaked quietly with your combined weight.

 Dutch’s tongue explored your mouth for a good while, and his hands traveled from your face to your chest. He gently squeezed your left breast, running a thumb over the fabric protecting your sensitive nipple. Within a minute he had teased them both to stiff peaks, with you mewling quietly underneath him.

Finally, Dutch broke the kiss. You both took a moment to catch your breath and he wiped off his mouth.

His demeanor had changed a lot. Now his face seemed even more serious; his pupils reflected lustful thoughts, and he carried himself more confidently.

“I’d like a blowjob, love,” he requested, sighing. “I need to relax. Will you do that for me?”

You weren’t sure when this shift in dynamic had happened. Perhaps when he’d pushed you onto the bed. Now, you sensed that this was a powerful man, one who was used to getting what he wanted. Suddenly you were craving to satisfy him, to fulfill his hidden desires. 

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

He’d wasted no time in removing his clothes. You slipped out of your dress and bloomers while Dutch stripped naked as well, putting all his clothes in a neat pile on the chair. Then he got back on the bed, laying down with his legs spread wide enough for you to lay between them. His muscular chest was covered in dark hair, with a nice thick happy trail down to his groin.

As you got in position, you surveyed his cock and your eyes got big. He was very large, with veins running prominently up the shaft to his tip, flushed red and already leaking precum, and down to the thick mess of hair around his base. His balls were nicely rounded and large as well.

His cock was already mostly hard; it was slightly curved, and stuck out so his leaky tip was mere inches away from your lips.

Holding your breath, you grasped his thick cock between your index finger and thumb, gently massaging a small spot on his tip.

Dutch inhaled sharply and threw his head back, running a hand through his shiny black curls.

With one hand, you cupped his balls, and with the other you held his cock at the base and dragged your tongue over his tip. You could feel the muscles of his thighs tightening. He let out a shaky breath.

“That’s a good girl,” he mumbled, eyes closed. “A good fuckin’ girl.”

You continued to lick his tip and shaft and massaged his balls. Your nail very gently grazed the sensitive skin.

Dutch’s hand shot down and he roughly stroked your hair, sighing. “That feels so good, sweetheart, keep going.”

The rhythmic hair stroking felt good. You laid your head on his thigh and sucked on just the tip, slobbering over it good and slowly pumping your hand up and down.

“Yes, babygirl, that’s good,” he moaned. “You know just what daddy likes. So good. So good.”

Dutch’s praise made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, like he was really truly proud of you. No one had been proud of you in a long time.

You doubled your efforts and took more of his cock in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around, putting plenty of spit on his throbbing cock.

Drool was dribbling out the sides of your mouth and oozing down Dutch’s shaft. Removing your mouth from his cock with a small pop, you instead took one of his balls in your mouth.

Dutch groaned loudly, pulling at your hair just a bit. “Oh-ho, you filthy girl…”

You sucked on his balls, switching between them and continuously jerking him off with your hand.

“Oh, honey, this is just what I needed. A good tight cocksleeve to blow me…” He moaned and spread his legs a bit more.

You rapidly swept your tongue across them, back and forth, till Dutch's legs came together and squeezed the sides of your face. You let go of his balls, now drenched in spit, and slurped up his cock again. You couldn’t get enough. It almost had a taste to it, sort of masculine and heavy. Whatever it was, you were addicted. As you coaxed about three quarters of Dutch’s shaft down your throat, you looked up at him in admiration. His eyes were still tightly closed, and the outline of a vein had appeared on his forehead. 

Deepthroating this older man’s cock had set a fire in you that you didn’t know existed. You wanted him to keep calling you a good girl. His good girl.

Suddenly he opened his eyes and you made direct eye contact. You ducked your head down, embarrassed at your no doubt obvious display of affection.

Dutch smirked. “S’okay, honey, nothing to be ashamed of. You’re obsessed with daddy’s cock, huh?”

You nodded sheepishly.

He stroked your face. “You need a daddy to take care of you, love you?” he asked in a husky voice.

Your face burned. He’d seen right through you. Was it that obvious that you were starved of affection? You nodded, again, still sucking lewdly on his cock.

He chuckled. “Oh, I know. I know, sweetheart. So many girls like you, laying down for any excuse of a father figure they can find. S’not your fault.”

When did this become so…real?

“You want that?” Dutch asked, squeezing your ass. “You want me to protect you, teach you right from wrong, make every decision for you?” His voice softened. “Want daddy to take the hurt away?”

His cock slipped out of your mouth and you stared at him, heart pounding so fast you thought your chest would burst into a million butterflies. “Yes,” you whined in a tiny voice that you didn't recognize. “I-I want to be your special girl…”

What is going on? 

He pushed your head back onto his throbbing cock. “Don’t think about anything anymore,” he said in a low voice. “Not your job, not your future, not even what to eat. Daddy’ll do it for you. The only thing that should be in your brain is being a good cocksleeve for daddy.”

You were struggling to remember what had led up to this moment. You faintly remembered being obligated to do this, for payment, but…

Wordlessly, you nodded. Whatever happened in the past didn’t seem that important compared to being an obedient girl for Dutch. He felt warm, and comforting, like a dependable authority figure. You clung to him desperately.

Dutch shifted positions so he was laying on his side. You laid down with him with your head on the blanket.

He held your head in place and pistoned his hips, shoving his cock in and out of your drooling mouth.

“Damn— I’m close, honey, daddy’s close. You’re going to swallow every drop, you hear me?” Dutch growled, pulling your hair so tightly you whined in pain.

You tried to nod but he was fucking your face so violently that all you could do was take it, and try not to pass out. Every thrust made you gag.

It was unclear how long he fucked your face for. You did know that you were drooling freely, all over his cock and the blanket. And that his cock was twitching in your mouth, signaling the load you knew was coming.

‘Fuck— fuck-” Dutch grunted, using your face as if it was nothing more than an inanimate object, sparing no thought on how you felt.

But how you felt was indescribable. It felt like you were finally healing some part of you that died when your father had left, years ago. You weren’t sure if this was roleplay or real life and you didn’t know if you cared, you just wanted to be his girl. Dutch’s girl. 

Finally, he slowed, pushing in a couple more times, then held your hair tightly and let out fractured groans as his cock let out thick, warm splurts of cum down your throat. He fucked your throat with tiny thrusts, emptying his balls and rapidly filling up your mouth.

After a brief pause Dutch pulled out of your mouth, smearing the leftover cum on your cheek. He was breathing heavily and wiped off his sweaty forehead.

Your cheeks bulged with his load, and it took you several gulps to down it all. Then you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue for him to see that you had swallowed it all.

He inspected it, putting a thumb in your mouth, then patted you on the head. “That’s my good girl.”

Dutch wanted to cuddle afterwards.

He insisted on cleaning you up and wiped up your face with a damp rag. After that he removed the stained bedspread, then pulled you up to lay in his arms. The two of you sat there for a while, you with your eyes half closed and Dutch tracing circles on your knuckles.

You could hear his soft breaths, and feel the rise and fall of his chest. If you never moved again, just stayed stuck in this position for all eternity, you would be happy, you think.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke. “I wish I could have someone like you at home.”

“Are you married?” you asked curiously. You always felt vaguely bad about sleeping with married men.

He sighed. “Well- no. I never was. But I had a woman…not long ago.”

Was this a sensitive subject for him? “D-Did she, err…”

“She betrayed me,” Dutch said in a low growl. “Took everything we had together, and fuckin’ destroyed it.”

“Oh,” you said wondrously, not quite understanding what he meant. Did he mean she cheated?

He stroked your hair. “I came here because my whole…ahem, family…has been in shambles lately…no one respects authority anymore. No one appreciates the work I put in.”

How could anyone not respect this reverential figure? “How could they do that to you?” you wondered.

“I wish I knew, sweetheart. If only everyone was as obedient as you..” Dutch pressed a kiss to your temple.

You sighed softly. What insane woman had squandered her relationship with him? He was so polite, so serious, so warm. 

She probably just couldn’t handle his intensity.

The two of you relaxed for a few more serene minutes, then Dutch sighed. “I should probably get goin’, honey. As ungrateful as my acquaintances are, they’d be nothing without me. Nothing.” 

Despite his words, he didn’t move. His hand squeezed yours and he furrowed his brow. “I just can’t win. They say I’m too harsh, too controlling. But that’s what it takes to survive! Every fuckin’ day, I put my own needs aside for them. And not one of those…those people appreciates it.”

“That sounds awful,” you agreed. “It sounds like you do so much for them, but no one notices.” You knew that feeling well.

“You’re damn right they don’t,” Dutch grunted. “I don’t even know why I try sometimes.”

“Well…I appreciate you,” you told him shyly.

Dutch smiled. “Thank you, sweetheart. I might have to come back to see you again.” He planted a final parting kiss on your mouth, squeezed your ass again, then rose and got dressed.

You sat on the bed and watched him, already missing his warm body. Dutch’s words about his family seemed harsh, but then it was a cruel world. It made sense to be a little cruel in return. 

After he redressed himself, Dutch came over. “Here’s a little extra, baby. For letting a tired man rant.” He pressed a few bills into your hand.

“Th-thank you,” you squeaked, very pleased. 

“Take care,” he said, and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

Once he left, you flopped back down, exhilarated and anxious. What in the world just happened? Did he mean anything he said? Was it just a kink he’d wanted to try out?

Your underwear was soaked through; they had been, for some time. Whether or not he’d meant them, Dutch’s words had affected you greatly. And now you were feeling the loss, a great grief that had cracked your heart open, and despair was pouring out. 

Already, you wanted to see him again, to learn everything about him. The concept of letting that man make every decision in your life and simply existing as his pet…well, that turned you on more than you cared to admit. You’d been independent for most of your life, and didn’t you deserve something for it? Didn’t you deserve a strong, handsome man to shield you from the horrors of the world?

You’d forgotten to ask him about his occupation. Perhaps he was the head of a railway company, or a well-respected professor. With that demeanor and elocution, he had to be in some prestigious position. 

I’ll ask next time, you decided.

After arriving back at your private room, you laid down and finished what had started between your legs. As you desperately rubbed yourself to orgasm, you imagined Dutch’s deep, rich voice growling in your ear, and your pussy being stretched to its limits by his thick cock. Very quickly, you came, gasping softly.

Dutch had said he’d be back. You would wait, with bated breath, till that day. Perhaps if you were a good enough girl for him, he’d take you with him. Stranger things had happened. Powerful men married their mistresses all the time. 

These dreams would keep you afloat until the next time you saw him. 

[whereisloe]

Tough

“Like a .38 made out of brass” ꗥ arthur morgan x fem reader

a lil dutch x reader action cuz i’m just that girl - warnings n/a

𓆝. 𓆟

“You have my condolences for your father. He was a very valuable man” You watched Angelo Bronte carefully from your black fan that covered half of your veiled face. You had to really sell this mourning look if you wanted to fool such a powerful man so, that you did. Getting all dressed up in your black attire everything matching from the black, layered ruffles of your petticoat to the lacy parcel carried by your escort. “Because of his loyalty, I will extend my offer of protection onto you so as long as we still do business together, hm?” He took a sip of his glass before leaning back onto his loveseat with his legs crossed.

“I thank you, truly, Mr. Bronte. But, the extra protection won’t be necessary. We’ve got our own guns for hire on our land” You maintained a harsh stare onto the man across from you as he savored another sip from his wine glass. He laughed amused with your simple answer before tipping his glass to you. “Ha, your father says the same thing. Like daughter, like father then”

“Mr. Bronte, I am no fool to business. With all due respect, I did not come here to reminisce nor, have you invited me here to, no?” Bronte gazed up at you from across the table. Eyes narrowed and unreadable as though he couldn’t figure what to think of you. “You are a very…smart girl” You felt your mouth twitch as he continued his speech. You couldn’t stand the man’s voice, how degrading his words were as you feigned oblivion to obvious exploitations that were about to leave his mouth. “Your father received 10% of all government related endeavors. Whether it was busting criminals or busting vaults, didn’t matter to me just so long as I got 20% of his business.” He paused as he licked at his lips. “Your father did not remain in good standing with me for the money. Instead, he wanted security. Security, that nothing would happen to him or his precious daughter while he worked with me, and security I provided” This man reeked on lies, your father had been shot doing a job for this man but only after he demanded a raise in his cut.

“I can assure you I am not my father. I am here for money, security is something I may provide myself” You gestured over at the guns you hired not too long ago before this meeting. “Daddy was never too smart when it came to funds. Thinkin’ our oil plant would be enough with no back up money to lean on” You lightly began to fan your face as you felt yourself get worked up. “Then we was robbed, Daddy may have turned a blind eye to it but, I ain’t one to show weakness”

“I take it you want my help with this” He gestured to the air before pulling a cigar from a tray. “this show of strength” You nodded and carried on with your story.

“Those boys you’re in good spirit with robbed us good and as a long devotee to your cause, Mr. Bronte, I don’t take too kindly to it”

“My dear, as much as I appreciate your kindest regards, you must understand this business. If I was worried about my clients opinions of one another I’d be the poorest man in Saint Denis. The most I can do is keep them out of your business but, they’re fickle men…not to be trusted” He blew the the smoke of his cigar off to the side as your foot tapped rapidly. You were ready to lay your cards out, prove a point that your father raised woman fairly gifted in her trade. “I completely understand, I just request that I may also be in kahoots with these outlaws”

“Why? So you can get them arrested?”

“Precisely, Mr. Bronte. Of course, on your word. But, if I get in good standin’ with the law they’ll send some men over to the plant. That way we produced more, with less risk” Your foot halted its tapping pausing as the man in front of you thought carefully of your words. On paper, the plan was foolproof and a win-win. “So, whaduya think?” You attempted to expedite the man’s response but was only met with another deafening silence.

“I think I’ve been doing business with the wrong (l/n)” Angelo stood from the loveseat before offering you a hand to follow. You smiled, accomplished with the reaction you received before resting your freehand in his. “I must ask one favor of you, though” You nodded before lifting yourself from the seat. “I need you to host one of my official parties. To test if these men can be trusted, I’ll give subtle hints about your booming business.”

“Are ya fixin’ these men to rob me?”

“I’m fixing you an opportunity to meet these men…” He took your silence as compliance before continuing on. “The plan is, you catch these rats red handed and negotiate, later you tell me if they’re treacherous. If not then I’ll set up a meeting for you and the boss.” He scoffed at word as though he was amused by the thought of it. “And do not worry, I’ll have men everywhere for this event”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Bronte” You both shook on it before he walked you up to the front gate. The sun beamed down on you the second your foot met with the cobbled path of the front patio. Your escort was quick to your side with your parasol before you could even muster the words to complain. “The details will be delivered shortly, a presto, miss”

Today was the day.

You could finally put the face to the name that robbed you. Van der Linde Gang. You sighed at the name, as you fixed the headdress adorning your maintained curls. You still kept your attire relatively dark as your father’s death was still fresh in the press. All you had to do was briefly preside over the party from your balcony, allowing Bronte enough time to present you to his friends new and old. Maybe you’d commute down to your gardens to briefly acquaint yourself with your guests.

“Are you ready, Miss” Your maid questioned from your balcony doors. You adjusted yourself one last time before standing from your seat. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose” You promenaded your way towards the doors as your maid rushed behind you as to raise the dragging silks of your skirt just enough to hover the dirty concrete of the balcony but not enough to reveal your petticoat or bustle. You stood straight presiding over all your guests that took it upon themselves to socialize. None of these men meant anything to you except two.

You noticed Bronte with two men, who cleaned up well considering their circumstance, as they prattled on about god knows what. That was until one of seemed to motion up to you.

Nice shaven beard, tall and broad, with a subtle slick to his hair. None of these men would be able to tell but, you’d been admiring the man from afar staring down at him with shameless eyes. “Miss, your stares could be noticed as rude” Your maid whispered to you having you straighten yourself out before giving the man one last glance. Now, the other one had looked up at you but only briefly. He wasn’t too bad himself.

Perhaps, you wouldn’t mind going downstairs and acquainting yourself.

“My goodness” You spoke breathlessly to your maid. “Aren’t they some neat lookin’ fellas?” She hid her smile as she giggled at your unserious behavior.

“They are quite the sight—”

“Ohh, I bet you were lookin’ at the boss, Mr. Van der linde, hisself, huh?” You waved for the older lady to follow you inside as you teased her with your antics. “Well” She began while she laid the train of your dress neatly against the wooden boards fixing the bunched up silks that rested on your bust, “I won’t deny such a thing” the maid smiled softly as you laughed, briefly allowing yourself to calm down.

“Shall we get acquainted with them?” You turned to your maid, fixing her cascading curls as you waltzed past her. “C’mon, this is excitin” By the time you and your maid made it down stairs you could practically feel your heart beating out your chest. You hadn’t the slightlest clue why you were so nervous like some young faced girl talking to a boy for the first time. “Goodness, I’m nervous” You turned to your maid with a hand resting on your cheek.

“It’ll alright, miss. Just remember, you’re here for business negotiations not suitors” She chimed amused with your rather inappropriate reaction. You laughed to yourself as her words hit you. “I’m actin’ ridiculous…alright, cmon”

“Ah, There she is, the woman of the hour” Bronte was quick to call as you approached the men now facing you. You felt your nerves burning you up inside as you grabbed Bronte’s forearm and greeted him with il bacetto, an Italian courtesy you’d learn amongst the time you’ve spent with Bronte. Once you pulled back your attention was instantly on this so called boss standing off to the right of Bronte.

“Missus (l/n)” The man held out his hand as his eyes never left yours. You smiled, masking the slight in embarrassment you felt as you corrected him. “Miss, is just fine.” You placed your hand in his allowing him to kiss your knuckles. Amongst all the intense eye contact, you would think with how you felt moments ago, you’d be a flustered mess just right about now. But, your gut was telling you something serious was up about this man. You’ve been played a fool by many before, and you’ve caught almost just as many amidst their schemes. That glint in his eye, even the courteous gesture was a warning. This man was plotting and it all began with buttering you up.

Subtly, you recalled your hand before carrying on conversation. “I take it, you’re the one that runs things. Mr. Van der Linde, if I’m not mistaken”

“You wouldn’t be, miss. And here my…consort, Mr. Morgan” You noticed the slight pause in his speech before motioning over to the other man. Your head was quick to turn as you stared over at him. Eyes widening as you noticed his attractive features now closely. You smiled and nodded as a greeting to the man. “Ma’am” He returned your gesture with his slight acknowledgment. Couldn’t really hear it in the boss’s voice but, with Mr. Morgan’s you’d instantly picked up on the western candence.

“You don’t sound local, Mr. Morgan. You all from the west, I take it?”

“We’re from all over, Ma’am” He was short with you and rather mysterious, more than likely to hide his western drawl. But, they’ve got something greater to hide, you could feel it. “Mr. Bronte, may I ask a favor of you?”

“Anything, dear” He took a huff of his cigar before you suspiciously looked around for any ‘peering eyes’. “I’ve got the money but, there’s been talk of some group of boys runnin’ around robbing folk—You boys wouldn’t know anything of them, no?”

“No, we certainly do not. Saint Denis is new to us as well as its crime” Van der Linde was quick to respond. You nodded and grabbed his hand with a feigned concern and furrowed brows. “You all stay careful out there. They’re robbin’ houses and coaches from what I’ve heard. I could lend you both a couple of escorts, tonight as well”

“We appreciate the concern but, we’ve got ourselves handled” He reassured with a palm covering your hand.

“Alright, alright” You turned your attention back to Bronte. “The money’s in Daddy’s old office, I a-ain’t know what to do with it—”

“Calm down, the money will be fine. Go on, enjoy yourself.” Bronte played along with your little performance you put on. “What should I do with it? I ain’t never ran a business before.” Bronte tutted his tongue before leading you further into the gardens where all the officials rendezvoused.

“We’ll be back, boys. Help yourselves to some drinks while you’re here” Bronte spoke back to the men as the both of you, alongside your maid, disappeared in the crowd.

“Go find out where that money’s at, Arthur” Dutch wasted no time before turning to Arthur and bringing his voice down to a whisper. Arthur looked over toward him with a practical disbelief.

“Jesus, you ain’t serious? The girl’s daddy just died, now we’re robbing her of her own inheritance”

“Her daddy just died. Meaning that other people are gonna to rob her and, I’m not too sure about you but, I’d rather it be us that gets that money” His voice stained against the low volume he attempted to maintain before lighting a cigar. “I need you to trust me, Morgan, now…” Dutch backed away before tipping his hat to the man. Arthur sighed and made his way inside where the more quiet and intimate conversations took place.

By the time, Mr. Morgan had snuck his way upstairs you’d already been sitting in your father’s office chair shotgun light in your grasp. You had snuck your way around toward the back entrance of your estate which led straight up into the room. You double check the chamber making sure that you were sure to shoot if needed. Growing anxious with nothing but the drowned out voices from outside to distract you, you placed a cigarette to your lips before striking a lonesome match against the underside of your heel.

You’d get through half your cigarette before the soften floorboards creaked from the other side of the door. Quickly, you smothered the stick with the ashes of previous cigarettes your father burned through.

The door crept open and you were slowly met with the deadly end of a revolver and soon after an arm. “I’d put that down if I were you, Mr. Morgan” You stared down the barrel of your shot gun as the man slowly crept from behind the door. “Nobody has to get shot, I’m here to negotiate. Come sit with me, Mr. Morgan”

“Arthur.” He said curtly, clearly fed up with this whole event. He slowly holstered his weapon before seating himself in the chair sat on the opposite side of your desk.

“Arthur Morgan” You let his name slip your lips as you tested it. “You’re quite notorious, you know that?” You spoke clearly and watched him with your gun pointed toward him as you figured him out. “I’ve got family, down in Blackwater, sir. Say, they know all about you.”

“Do they now?” You nodded, slowly as your heel tapped against the wood. “What exactly are ya lookin’ to negotiate, Miss”

“I want to hire your gang as some guns and in turn I’ll keep this and your relation to the Blackwater massacre secret. And, if things play out as I’ve planned, I could probably get those Pinkertons off ya, for a moment anyway” You leaned back into the leather chair before setting your gun off to the side. “I’m tired of listenin’ to these men talk, empty promises followed by another all they is. Leviticus Cornwall for one, Angelo Bronte for another”

“Don’t you have your own men to escort you, why us?” Arthur questioned before leaning back as well, in his wooden seat legs spread and arms crossed. “I ain’t hirin’ y’all on a babysitting job. I need money, gold. I’d be sending y’all on robberies, I need experienced men not no, rich cat on a high horse” You licked your lips before getting desperate. “I’m tryna to buy off an oil plant from Cornwall but, I can’t do that without Bronte keeping the police distracted off of my daddy’s debts. With my daddy dead and me being a woman, my percentages have taken a hit. I can’t pay ‘em both”

“You sure are in a situation—”

“So are you. You need Bronte to trust you and the Pinkertons to fuck off. You need me.” You both stared at one another for a moment before letting your eyes soften. Even though, you’d been mid negotiation, you couldn’t help admiring his blue eyes, warmly lit from the lantern in front of you. God, what you would do just to be able to hold his face in your palms as your thumb rubbed the rosy blemishes of his cheeks.

“You ain’t wrong.”

“I know I ain’t. Now, would you escort me down to your boss, Mr. Arthur Morgan” You spoke sweetly before making your way over to his side and grabbing his arm. You would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying every second of holding this man. With your one hand wrapped around his elbow and the other gently gripping his bicep, you followed his lead as you both left the room. “You know, you had me fooled back there…playing all helpless” You looked up at the man with a curious gaze mostly because you hadn’t heard the first half of what he was saying to you. “That was a set up, right? There ain’t no money.” You shook your head and smiled up at the bachelor to keep up a friendly appearance as you passed up some guests of yours.

“Bronte wanted to see if y’all were worth trustin’. ‘S nice to know if you lot like robbin’ helpless women” You winked before laughing at the matter only to get a rather dry chuckle from Arthur in return. “It’s alright, I won’t tell a soul, I promise” You placed a reassuring hand to his chest before letting it fall once you both reached the garden. “You know, you’re a handsome fellow, Mr. Morgan. Are you married? I can’t imagine that bein’ easy being in a gang and all.” You started up some small talk as the two of you walked around in search of Dutch.

“I ain’t married, no”

“What about your boss?” You urged.

“Well, he ain’t neither. Got a woman, though…back at camp” They had a woman traveling with them? You held back questioning about her before carrying on. “I take it you don’t, then? No women waitin’ on ya at home?”

“Not in that sense, no” Arthur said plainly as he maneuvered the two of you through the crowd carefully accommodating for you. “Y’all got more women traveling with you boys?” Your eyes brighten with the assumption you made. He nodded and watched as your face lit up. “You should bring ‘em over if this conversation with Mr. Van der Linde goes over well” You spoke outwardly not even thinking about what context the two of you were in currently. “You’re quite odd, Miss” Arthur chuckled before waving Dutch over with his freehand.

“Arthur. Miss (l/n).” Dutch greeted the both of you before visibly growing curious of the atmosphere. Your smiled faded as you grew more serious with the other male.

“Mr. Van der Linde, how would you feel about bein’ business partners?”

[inkmonster21]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

1. The Thompson Family

(Y/n) Thompson was born in 1869 to Mable and Henry Thompson.

William was the oldest, of the Thompson siblings, responsible, and strong. Harper was the middle child, intelligent and poised, and (y/n) was the youngest, wild at heart and filled with a passion for life.

Mable and Henry had always made an honest living as ranchers. Still, as the weather worked against them, and the fluctuations in the price of livestock became increasingly more, Henry found himself in a financial pit.

He refused to let his family suffer. He was the provider. So what would any desperate man do? Turn to crime. He began committing small offenses like pickpocketing money from unsuspecting victims in saloons.

Henry was surprisingly good at it, his natural talent and finesse for the tasks he took on allowed him to succeed more often than not, but his knack for the illegal became more and more frequent.

In 1879 on one particular night, as Henry was in the process of stealing a few cattle from an unsuspecting farmer to sell, he crossed paths with Dutch van der Linde.

Dutch, recognizing the situation, saw an opportunity. Hell, he was always looking for an opportunity. He approached Henry and made him an offer - Help his gang, with a train robbery, and he’d get his boys to move the remaining livestock to Henry’s ranch.

It was an attractive offer, not like Henry was going to turn down the extra money. It seemed that helping Dutch's gang was the answer. Not only would he ensure that his family was financially stable, but the prospect of doing more dangerous tasks appealed to Henry and his wild nature.

Henry nodded his head in agreement, his eyes glinting with excitement. "You've got yourself a deal, partner," he said, a sly smile playing at the corner of his lips.

That night, the small Van der Linde Gang changed Henry's life. Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Susan Grimshaw, and a young boy named Arthur Morgan all joined together to help Henry steal the livestock and swiftly transport it to his ranch.

The gang set up camp in the Thompson ranch pasture for the night, their horses grazing peacefully nearby.

In the morning, as the Thompson siblings stood at the window, watching their father and the band of outlaws wrangling the new cattle in the neighboring pasture, William couldn’t help but ask, “When’d we get so many cattle?” His eyes were wide with curiosity and excitement.

Mable stood in the kitchen with her sister Bessie, preparing a hearty breakfast for everyone at the ranch. Young Harper was also making herself useful, diligently helping with any tasks she could, while (Y/n) somehow managed to get more flour on her than in her bowl, her face and hair dusted with white flour as she attempted to help make biscuits.

"Your father's selling them," Mable stated simply, an air of resigned acceptance in her voice. She was aware of what was transpiring, but she didn't mind the assistance it provided their family. With the money they would soon receive, they would finally be able to afford something special for their young son's upcoming birthday, a luxury they hadn't been able to indulge in for the past three years.

With childlike excitement, you burst out of the house and dashed towards the pasture, your eager footsteps causing the grass to rustle around her. “I wanna see!” You hollered, voice filled with anticipation. Before you ran off into the grass, her mother's voice called out to her eldest son, “Go with her, Will."

William, hearing his mother's directive, reluctantly nodded and set out after you, making sure to keep a close eye on you. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered under his breath, trudging through the tall grass after your small figure. As he followed you, he took note of your childish excitement and couldn't help but feel a hint of warmth in his heart for his younger sibling.

You shouted "Daddy!" as you skipped along, footsteps light and carefree. The excitement in your voice and the pure joy radiating from your small frame were endearing. The sound of your voice caught your father's attention, and he turned to watch your approach, his face breaking into a soft smile.

Your father's face lit up as he spotted you approaching, your small frame bouncing through the pasture. His voice was warm as he exclaimed, "There she is!" The sight of you brought a smile to his weathered features, and you could see the love and pride in his eyes. He scooped you into his arms.

You smiled at the new cluster of animals, “you got more cows!” Your father nodded, his smile growing wider as he watched you take in the sight of the many cows in the pasture. "That we do, darlin'," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and excitement. "We got more cows."

Bessie chased after you, holding your boot in her hand, her tone stern yet affectionate. "Child, you have to wear your shoes." She caught up to you and crouched down, gently grabbing your muddy leg as she attempted to fit your boot onto your foot.

“William! Get on a horse! Help these fellas out.” William approached a nearby horse, the animal's ears flickering with alertness as he reached out to pet its neck. He listened to his father's command, then nodded in acknowledgment. "Alright, on it."

The boys diligently worked together, quickly removing the brands from the hides of the cattle with practiced ease. William and Arthur chatted and laughed as they worked, their banter light and friendly. It was evident that they shared a good rapport, both boys appearing to genuinely enjoy each other's company.

Hosea watched with a smile as he observed Arthur laughing and joking with William. It was an unusual sight, as the young boy typically held a serious demeanor.

Hosea made his way over to Dutch and Henry, his expression thoughtful as he observed Arthur. "It's good to see him smile," Hosea remarked, his tone tinged with a touch of warmth. Henry let out a hearty chuckle and joked, "Well, damn, why not take Will then?" His tone was light and amused, the words rolling off his tongue with ease.

The men shared a hearty laugh, the sound of their laughter filling the air like a chorus of jolly Christmas carols. It was a humorous exchange, one that further showcased the bond they all shared.

Mable had just started to open her mouth to call out to the men for their breakfast when (Y/n) abruptly jumped out of her seat, her small frame bouncing with excitement as she asked, "Momma, can I do it?" Her eyes were wide and pleading, filled with hopeful anticipation.

Mable couldn't help but smile fondly as she looked at her daughter's eager expression. "Alright, you can do it," she said, unable to deny the excitement that sparkled in your eyes. You squealed with glee, your little face lighting up at your mother's agreement.

With a carefree laugh, (y/n) darted out the door, her bare feet landing on the dusty ground. She called out loudly, her voice carrying through the air, "BREAKFAST!!!!!" The excitement in her voice was undeniable, her small form filled with unbounded energy.

The group of men and boys looked up from their work, their conversations abruptly halted. Their attention was drawn to your joyous shout, their expressions a mix of surprise and amusement. Mable chuckled as she watched her daughter dash towards the men, her excitement contagious.

Susan observed your energetic behavior with a smirk, her words tinged with admiration and anticipation. "She'll be a hard one to tame, won't she?" she remarked, her tone laced with a subtle hint of approval.

Bessie nodded in agreement, recalling the memory with a hint of pride. "Oh, yes," she replied, a warm smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "She was a lively one from day one. I remember she practically kicked her way out!"

Mable shook her head, a weary but loving expression on her face. “Don’t remind me,” she chuckled softly, memories of the past rushing through her mind. She carefully carried the food to the outdoor table, the rich aroma of a hearty breakfast filling the air around her.

One by one, the men and boys filed into the house, their steps slightly heavy and weary from the physical work they had just finished performing. Their earlier laughter floated through the air, filling the environment with a sense of lightheartedness and camaraderie.

Hosea accepted the plate from Bessie, their fingers briefly touching. It was a simple, innocuous gesture, but for Hosea, it was like touching an angel. The brief contact sent a jolt through his body.

Both Hosea and Bessie shared a shy, yet warm smile with each other, a silent exchange passing between them. Their eyes lingered on one another for a moment, a mix of tenderness and admiration present in their gazes.

In that shared glance, something subtle and profound blossomed between them both, a connection forming that seemed to hold the promise of something meaningful and beautiful.

(Y/n) sat between her older sister Harper and her older brother William, listening carefully to the conversations that swirled around them. She took in the sound of the men's voices, their laughter, and banter echoing through the air.

However, something else also caught her attention - the subtle glances that Hosea and Bessie exchanged as they passed each other food and plates.

At that moment, the words she had heard in her beloved bedtime stories felt as real as the food on her plate. She saw the way Bessie blushed whenever Hosea looked at her too long or how he would discreetly brush her hand when no one was looking. It was like watching a fairy tale come to life right before her very eyes.

(Y/n) reached for a biscuit, her small hand extending towards a desired treat. However, just as she was about to secure it, a larger hand covered hers, stopping her in her tracks. She instinctively withdrew, her gaze lifting to meet the face of the boy seated across from her brother. He looked rather intimidating for a young boy, his expression stern and unyielding.

After noticing her surprised expression, the boy raised an eyebrow and grinned. In a gesture of unexpected kindness, he split the coveted biscuit in half and extended one half towards her. His once stern demeanor momentarily softened as he spoke, his words gruff yet lacking malice, “Here, kid.”

(Y/n), taken aback by the unexpected kindness, hesitated for a brief moment before taking the offered half of the biscuit. She held it in her hands, her gaze now on the boy instead of the food he'd given her, “thank you.”

As the gang packed up and departed, (y/n) was left with vivid memories of their brief but impactful presence. The sound of their voices and the images of their faces stayed with her, their personalities lingering in her mind like a hazy dream.

(Y/n) grinned at her aunt Bessie, her observant eyes keenly noticing the way the older woman's gaze lingered on Hosea as the gang left. With a knowing glint in her eyes, (y/n) softly teased, "You're in love, Aunt B."

Bessie shot a look at (y/n), her cheeks pink with embarrassment. She tried to mask it with an exasperated eye-roll, but the truth was evident in her gaze. With a playful tone, she responded, "Oh, shush."

(Y/n) excitedly waved goodbye to the departing gang, her small hand fluttering in the air. Arthur caught sight of (y/n) waving at them from afar and couldn't help but send her a small wave in return.

Little did (y/n) know, that that small wave she exchanged with the young boy would one day hold significance, though neither of them realized it at the time.

[haikyu-mp4]

Salon

word count; 266 – mom!reader, I can't write Tsumu's dialect sry

“Okay, doll. What are we doing today?” Atsumu asked, voice imitating some funny accent that made your daughter giggle.

“The special braids, duh!” her little voice said, and you could just imagine her smile from where you stood outside the door, waiting to knock and ask if they were doing okay. It probably grew even wider when her dad started whining with a soft stomp. Your daughter’s hair had started to grow thick enough to do Dutch braids, and she adored them. However, your baby daddy was still... learning.

“Ya know I can’t do those,” he complained, lowering his voice enough to not alert you in the next room over, not knowing you were listening anyway. “Pick something else.”

“But mom can do it!” your daughter suggested. It sort of felt like a win over Atsumu for today and you might have to use that information on him later.

“Well, ya mama ain’t working in the salon today,” he answered childishly. “I think ya look great with a ponytail.” You could already hear the brush running through her hair as he probably didn’t even wait for her to agree.

Your daughter sighed, she was pretty used to her dad’s attitude. She would just ask you for braids tomorrow. “Can ya at least add glitter? I can pay extra,” she said, settling into their little hairdresser roleplay. You enjoyed how your daughter adopted some of Tsumu’s dialect.

“Of course, doll. I’ll even curl it for ya,” he agreed happily. You decided to finish preparing breakfast instead of disturbing them because those two sure had everything under control.

masterlist

[vandermorgans]

And his mother didn’t try to hold him back. Nor did she call after him.

Her gaze was solemn and face was stoic.

She knew she’d lost her son to the grand delusions of her husband. Knew she’d lost him when he died.

The funeral for two souls instead of the only one being begravad.

He has always been a little excitable. Too curious. Even as a child he’d stutter over her words. Mimic her lip placements and straighten when his father told him.

Walked too fast. Tried to talk too fast.

Delusions of grandeur and glory.

A boy hell bent on changing the world.

Forcing his will on it.

A fool with a fool’s errand.

His father died and he’d never looked back.

There was blood dripping out his asshole and he refuses to cry. The man now long dead. Resembling his father in gait and smile. Tall and imposing but kind.

Eyes crinkle at the corners and he felt Dutch’s eyes. Claimed himself a priest. Smiled right. Laughed breathy and dreamy. Scooted closer. Put his arm around him. Laughed heartily around him.

Soothing.

Reverberating.

Tells him of his mission. Of youths misguided and in need of a hand. Dutch tells him of his grand plans.

Of a paradise. A gang. A people of his own.

He laughs but he lets him stay with him. A hungry young boy— of just fifteen and Dutch snuggles into him in his sleep.

They spend days. Months. Together.

They walk everywhere together and he trains Dutch’s trigger finger. Lets him aim with his beloved Sabrina. A gold encased revolver.

Lets him feel the kick back and laughs with him. Takes him to the shops. Buys him his own. Buys him drinks.

Every night they sleep together. In one bed.

He likes to take bounties sometimes, the priest. Says it’s easy money. Doesn’t have to commit.

Dutch rides alongside him. The law is full of fools who think themselves above everyone, Henrik tells him. They love to bend you over and fuck you over.

Dutch laughs for a long time. Ain’t you a priest? Fairly sure God’s got something to say ‘bout your swearing. His eyes crinkle and he scoots closer in the rank bar, rankles the hairs on Dutch’s nape and tells him, God doesn’t care.

They walk around the neighborhood later, Dutch’s falling over himself. Look, Henrik says, look at how hungry they are. Deserted. No God is coming to save them. We are all heading for oblivion.

Dutch shakes his head. Everything hurts. Too light. Too many smells. Too many hungry eyes bleeding from the pupil. Chained by a system meant to swallow them whole and spit them out as bones.

I believe, he starts but he’s too unsteady, believe, in God? No. My mother did, but God took my father so I have no use of that. I believe we, the people, we are the answer. I think, and his eyes must sparkle the way Henrik looks at him, I believe we are meant to save each other. Hold fast and hold tight.

His lips are soft and its not a good kiss but Dutch moans and clings. So delirious and everything bleeds orange and gold, the people’s dirty rot invested skins bleed away to wash with the pavement.

They’re in their little room and Henrik is shushing him. He turns him on his stomach and he drags Dutch’s pelvis to him. His ass high in the air. And he spits on his hole and it’s so good. He pushes in him slow and nice and strong and drapes himself over his back.

Tells him to, call me daddy and Dutch spasms so hard he hits his head. Breaks his nose and Henrik groans and laughs, heartily and happily. Ah— Youth. He exclaims and he fucks him hard and long and keeps fucking him long after.

Dutch’s in his chest, snuggled warm and fuzzy. Kissing his chest when Henrik hums. A man, you see, a man that allows another to bend him over is no man. He says ans everything freezes over. There is lead in his stomach. But you, you are a boy. He tells him and then he smiles at him.

The moon shines him blue and ethereal. When you take a woman, you have to show, he instructs him, you have to show that you are a man of statue. A man of import. You have to take the prettiest thing. Sometimes? Sometimes, you have to kill for the prettiest thing. The younger, the better. Women you see, they are made, preconceived to bend and obey. And they desire for someone to take them. Young or old. They crave a man like they crave air. It is how they are made. It is their duty.

Dutch scoffs. Doubt that’s all their duty is. My mother hated my father. Cringed from his touch. Awful, uncaring woman.

Henrik laughs softly. Puts a lock behind his ear even softer. When you become a man, you will have to walk high. Tall. You will have to kill for respect. It’s the only these savages understand. You will have to see to it that your men, this little dream of yours? You will have to make sure they respect you. A dream is noble but one hinging on people is never a sure thing. They will burn you if you falter. They will eat if hungry. You must never show weakness, little boy.

Little boy? Dutch is quiet for a bit. Must I kill you for my respect?

Henrik laughs softly. No. I quite respect you, mister Van Der Linde. You are noble. I have enjoyed our time together.

Hopefully, we can more of this. Longer.

And Henrik does not say anything. Withdraws his arm and turns away.

Dutch sleeps with leads in his belly. Eyes on his back.

Its three months later and Henrik is drunk.

Foul mouthed and angry. He is breaking things. His face paints his fathers touch but none of his gentleness. He rips Dutch’s blouse off and he pulls out a knife. Cuts open everything and holds him down, down, down.

You are but a boy, he’s angry, what do you know of adults? Of dreams? Of living? Of sacrifice? You are but a fool hearted boy. And he fucks him, and it hurts but its so good. It tears at him, in places he wasn’t aware could tear. And it hurts and it breaks and his heart shatters.

The knife adorns his chest, his arms, his face and Henrik leans in. God, but you are so pretty, aren’t you. Just the prettiest thing. Do you like this? Do you, Dutch? Do you like this? Me taking what’s mine? What’s ordained for me? Do you enjoy it? And he pushes in, brings the knife down and stabs his thigh. He screams before his throat is cupped and his head slammed into the floor. I think you do, and Henrik snuggles in, kisses his throat and ignores his heaving coughs. Here, he says, and turns him on his stomach.

Holds his head down with all his strength. Dutch’s pulses and hurts. Feels like breaking. Everything hurts. You are my woman, in a way. Did you know that? Look at you, so readily available for me and all I had to do was say a few pretty words. A few measly words. Children can be so naive. How will, ah, Dutch, he moans, shivers his orgasm, how will your gang respect you when you are a little man’s whore?

And his breath is rank. Suddenly.

Suddenly, he looks nothing like his father.

He pulls out and his spend squelches and glides out his ass but Dutch sits up, calm as the ocean and he puts his gun in his palm.

Turns and fires. Clean through. Headshot.

His hand clutches a white napkin with his spend.

Dutch removes his ruined clothes and gets up. His legs shake and the silence screams shrill, the bleeding eyes awake and aware. He rips the remaining cloth and cleans himself best he can. Strips Henrik and wears his black pants. His black vest with his red handkerchief. His golden cufflinks and it fits him snuggly.

The outfit adorning his frame beautifully. He closes Henrik’s eyes and takes him up the mountain on horseback. Feeds him to the wolves and watches from afar.

He sleeps in the bed next to the bloodstains and leaves the next morning.

[ladysomething]

a girl dad max fic you say 👀👀

girl dad max! there is a tag so you can see previous asks about it :)

“Céline, come make your pizza,” Max calls out, sliding one of the trays over in front of Charles. 

He turns to the fridge, pulling out bowls of prepared toppings, balancing them in his arms. Charles is quick to take the most precarious from him, then helps him get the rest out onto the counter. Céline still hasn’t come over by the time everything is set out, glued to the T.V. where some Dutch children’s program is playing. 

“Céline, if you don’t come over, then I will just have to make your pizza for you,” Max says, some weird mix between sweet and threatening. “You remember what happened last time.” 

She still doesn’t answer. Charles is wildly curious to know what happened last time. 

“Okay, I guess your pizza will have tomatoes and olives and anchovies—” 

Céline slips off the lounge, running into the kitchen, cheeks red and brows furrowed, speaking rapid Dutch. 

“I called you two times,” Max tells her, reaching down to pick her up and sit her on his hip. “You can’t be mad at me for almost putting tomatoes on when you were ignoring me.” 

“I hate tomatoes,” Céline says primly, one arm hooked around the back of Max’s neck as she peruses the selection. 

“I know, lieverd,” Max says, clearly indulgently. He sits her on the edge of the counter, handing over the bowl of passata. “Careful, okay?” 

“Yes, daddy,” she says seriously. 

Carefully, she puts the bowl down on the counter, then takes out a huge scoop of the passata. It spatters everywhere when she puts it on her dough, but Max just wipes it from her legs with his thumb without saying anything. 

Charles watches on quietly as Céline picks out all the toppings she wants. Max doesn’t do it for her, but he always hands over the bowl, letting her do it herself unless she gets something wrong. When she’s done, he picks her up to put her back on the ground, and she runs off quickly, sitting down on the lounge to keep watching her show. 

Max is quick to put Céline’s pizza in the oven, then turns back to Charles. 

“Margherita, right?” 

He can’t believe Max remembers that. It’s so stupid, but it’s like Charles’ breath is punched from his chest. 

Fuck. How did he ever think he’d moved on from Max? He hasn’t. He really, really hasn’t. He’s just as in love now as he has been since he was twenty. 

Thirteen years of his life in love, and thirteen more so devoted to his rivalry with Max that it might as well have been love. 

“Max,” he says helplessly, breath hitching. “Max, I—” 

Max softens, glancing over at Céline—still watching her show, paying them no attention—and then putting his spoon down on the counter carefully. 

Gently, Max slides one hand over Charles’ waist, the other cupping the side of his face. Charles can’t help but turn his face into it slightly, eagerly and desperately searching for the comfort of Max’s touch. 

“I know,” Max whispers. “Me too.” 

Charles reaches out for him, too, one hand on his hip, the other laying over his chest, fingers spread wide. 

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚘𝚕𝚖 (𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎?)

Summary: Bored me tries something different (because writer’s block is a bitch) during a bus ride.

Pairing: Blackpool Combat Club x Fem!Reader

Warnings: +18, adult content, semi-erotic content, harsh language, dub-con, mild psychological torture, yandere vibes.

Tags: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @adamjf , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore

The youngest man was placed by the door as security, he couldn’t stop staring at her ever since the others bound her to the chair. His black hair and mischievous almond-shaped eyes gleamed underneath the blinding white lights.

She hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, adrenaline and the clarity in the room had successfully kicked sleep out of her system. She vaguely remembers the faces of two of the men, having bumped them a few times inside her father’s church, but the blonde one and the one by the door were still unfamiliar to her. She still didn’t know where she was, who these men were, and what they could possibly want with someone like her, but still, she found herself here. Somewhere at some place, with the four strangers, being held hostage for no apparent reason.

“I need to go to the bathroom”, she murmured. Red, tired eyes stared bluntly at the young man before her ears captured what sounded like a faint chuckle.

“Didn’t you just go like ten minutes ago?”

“Yes, but I need to go again”, she responded, shrinking herself in the chair when he took three steps forward.

He hovered over her, nose brushing against her perfumed hair, warm breath caressing the skin of her right temple. “What’s so interesting about that bathroom that you wanna go in there all the time, huh?” His hand pushed her hair behind her shoulder, rough fingertips brushing the skin of her neck and shoulder in the meantime. “Maybe I should go in with you to see what interesting things you’re up to”.

Her throat felt coarse and dry, and the many hours without water were beginning to affect her body. She subtly pulled herself away from the young man’s touch, the small action seemed to amuse him since his only response was to get closer to her again.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of the shy ones” He chuckled “You didn’t seem to have one single shy bone in your body when you snuck out of the church with Timmy boy”. The amused chuckle transformed into a full-out laugh as he spotted the disgusted look on her face.

“Tell me” He whispers in her ear “How far did you let Timmy boy go?” his hand grips her thigh, pushing it open until a voice echoes from behind them.

“Yuta! That’s enough” The blonde man stated, slowly walking into the room followed by the other two men. Yuta reluctantly stepped away from her and walked toward the blonde man who beckoned him closer. He whispered something in Yuta’s ear, and the young man just nodded and walked out of the room.

“I deeply apologize for this inconvenience” The blonde man pointed with his finger around the room “But dear old daddy didn’t leave us much of choice”. His eyes wrinkled as he smiled “I’m Bryan. And this is Mox and Claudio”, he pointed back and forth between the man beside him, “We promise you nothing bad will happen to you, as long as you behave and your father keeps his part of the deal, of course. But other than that, I promise you, we’re all gentlemen here”.

She tried to lick her lips in an attempt to moist the dry flesh as she spoke “Could I have some water, please?”

“Of course” The man who went by the name Claudio answered with a smirk. He grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge by the door and opened it before placing it against her chapped lips.

They all stared at her with curiosity, like tourists on a safari. Both Mox and Claudio had a knowing smirk plastered on their lips as Bryan only stood there in silent mockery. Claudio squatted down beside her, pulling the water bottle away from her lips when she began to chug on it.

“Easy there” He whispered “We don’t want you to choke, at least not on water”

When she only answered a small, confused “What?”, Claudio laughed “You’re really cute, I wonder why it took us so long to do this”. He placed small pecks on her exposed shoulder, traveling up to her neck until he reached her cheek.

“Will you be our obedient little girl? Do everything we say with a pretty smile on your face” Claudio placed his chin on her shoulder, deep brown eyes staring directly at her soul “We know you want to” He grinned.

“We’re not like christian boy Timmy who doesn’t know what to do with his little dick” Mox tugged on her hair, pulling it down until she looked up at him. “We’re men, real men” His clear baby blue eyes roamed through her features “I know you’re supposed to keep that cherry intact for your honeymoon, but kitty cat, I’m not so sure that you’ll keep it though. You know why?”

She whined a “No” before she felt Claudio pressing his semi-hard bulge against her shoulder.

Mox took her hand in his as he began “Because unlike your dear old daddy, we love you”, he delicately placed her palm on top of his growing bulge, “See how much we love you?”

A boisterous laugh resonated from the wooden stairs, loud thumps made their way down to the small room until they stopped by the door. “Everything’s ready and the engine is running”. Yuta grinned like the Cheshire cat.

Bryan leaned over her and cut the ropes with a pocket knife. He caresses her hair, places a small peck on her lips, and whispers “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

[speciallivery]

hello!!!!! i am so incredibly intrigued by oscar piastri's weekend getaway??? please do tell... i will enjoy any snippets or info you feel inclined to provide!! 👀🏝💖

@colapoint:

Oscar Piastri's weekend getaway? The hunt sound very ominous ngl btw that max/carlos/charles winner idea, ouhfftf you have me with that one

Edit: Also tagging @scuderiacanucks in this, Thank you for sending an ask about it <3

First of all, thanks Loukas! I am answering both asks at the same time, I hope you don't mind <3

The good news about Oscar Piastri's weekend Getaway is that you do not have to wait to read it! The concept isn't mine, it @leafitoutmate (who I think got inspired by Anon's on another blog?) But it's Rich Sugar Daddy Oscar hunting Lando for sport (which, hot!) Please go read Run Boy Run on AO3! I will literally never shut up about this fic. It's so good!

But yeah, I looked at that and went, "What if we made this needlessly complicated?" and asked Bea for permission to have a crack at it. Instead of just Landoscar, it's become a group of rich people (George, Oscar, Max) hunting their sugar babies (Alex, Charles and Oscar is dating both Carlos and Lando and I am debating adding Franco or Logan as canon fodder a narrative device ). There's a whole bunch of moving parts and double-crossing. There's a bit where there's a misunderstanding between Max and Lando where Max is warning him because Max thinks Lando can understand Dutch and Lando thinks Max is proposing group sex. This all works out phonetically, and I am very pleased about it. Oh, and there's dog motifs because I am writing it.

But here's my version of the opening paragraph under the cut:

“Osc, I’m bored,” George whines as he sprawls out on the decadent chaise longue. He’s swishing his crystal wine glass around, nearly spilling over the vintage red. 

“Well,” Oscars shrugs, as he lines up the cue stick, “we could leave, take my jet to wherever you wish. Or, we could take yours.” 

The rooftop parties in Monaco have become boring anyway. 

“I’m over traveling.” George says, exaggerating his pout. “I’ve been missing a real thrill, if you know what I mean.” 

Oscar simply rolls his eyes as he strikes the cue ball, pocketing one of his solids. Ever typical George, being overly melodramatic. 

“You mean we should go out hunting again,” Max speaks up as he bends over the billiard table. He’d been quiet so far this evening. 

“Isn’t it the perfect time of the year to go hunting?” George states, more so than asks. 

Oscars considers for a moment as he watches Max miss his shot. “Alright,” he says, “but only if you ask Alex to come along.” 

“Of course,” George smirks as he places his hand on his heart, “that was always the plan.”

[xb3nn3tt]

what do you think bills childhood was like?

I think Bill’s childhood definitely was the opposite of something pure.

Bill mentions during one of his stories around the fire his father, an alcoholic, often forgetting things when he was losing his train of thought. This moment really stuck out to me and sparked a lot of theories of what exactly went down in Bill’s childhood and if it contributed towards his attitude and future morals.

Short answer, yes most likely. Considering the time period already, it’s known that a lot of fathers (let alone men) had very traditional views on making sure either they’re considered men by society or/and making sure their sons are, too. I think most likely what occurred during Bill’s childhood was a lot of neglect inflicted on by his father. Based alone on how angry Bill acts, being an alcoholic, and has a desperation to be seen as strong and a man, I believe a lot of it comes as a trauma response with what his father inflicted on him. I believe a lot of his childhood was berating and nitpicking for doing things that would be seen as too weak, too woman like.

Going back to Bill’s father forgetting things, I believe Bill also has a fear to not be left in the dust, to make sure he stands out and is praised for any of his doings. I believe his father often forget much a lot about Bill, while also just not acknowledging him and being a proper father to Bill.

I think it also plays out with how Bill acts towards Dutch. He’s very dependent on Dutch, considering that he had taken in Bill when he was at his lowest when the army discharged him, and seemed to genuinely care for Bill. He is willing to do almost anything to make sure Dutch praises him or acknowledges him, which I believe in a response to daddy issues from his childhood.

Overall, I think his childhood did impact him a lot and did hint at a misguided childhood, taught morals that were wrong and the way he’s been treated unfortunately being reflected back. Bill seems to also realize himself he’s similar to his father, with his drinking and possibly his anger and views. Def very much has daddy issues.

[littlewaxwing]

you are so right about rdr2 you are SO RIGHT SAY IT LOUDER!!!!

It is a CRIME how little agere content that game has!! Arthur and John are both perfect regressor material omg

Personally I think Arthur is also prone to infant/baby mode tbh. Not as often as John, but I think he gets insecure about it the same way he talks about how John is the golden boy, I think Arthur is of the mind that Johnny is the baby and he’s not gonna get that kind of attention from their daddies (he’s wrong though, so wrong, dutch and hosea love their boys both so much)

Baby Arthur, my beloved!

Arthur's insecurity comes out as hatred for baby John. John being oblivious to his brothers disdain for him.

Dutch grabs Arthur by the arm and pulls him away from teasing the poor baby further.

"Arthur, we don't treat family like that, son." He scolds. "Be kind to your little brother; he's just a baby."

Arthur trying to free himself from his daddy's grip whines, "No."

Dutch loosens his grip but continues to hold Arthur as the boy tugs away. Arthur throws himself to the ground, and Dutch lets him. He may be a child, but he's still a rather large man. Dutch watches as Arthur kicks a fit and cries. "No fair." He sobs into the ground.

Dutch, heart hurting from watching his son cry, lowers himself to the ground. "What was that, son?"

Arthur shouts, "said no fair!"

Dutch frowns, "Watch your tone, young man. You're already in trouble for hurting John. I wouldn't push my luck if I were you."

Arthur cries, "no want to"

Dutch sighs growing impatient with Arthur's half answers. He takes a deep breathe before trying to figure out what his boy needs. "What don't you want, Arthur?"

Arthur sobs into the ground and screams.

"Arthur," Dutch calls calmly, " I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong... Please son."

Arthur looks at his daddy and whines. "I no want to be big. It's not fair! Johnny gets to be baby, and I don't!"

Dutch is taken aback by this confession. In all the time he has been Arthur's caregiver, the boy has always settled around the four to eight range. "Arthur," He pulls the boy into his lap.

Arthur clings to his daddy and sniffles, "Yous already have a baby."

Dutch rubs his sons back, "if you want to be a baby you can be a baby. Papa and I are more than capable of taking care of both you and John."

"Really?"

"I promise, little prince." Dutch kisses the top of Arthur's head and scoops him up with a groan as he enters the tent.

"Oh papa," Dutch calls, "seems we have another little one on our hands." Dutch bounces Arthur- Not at all trying to get a better grip on the heavy babe-

Hosea is reading as John is tucked in fast asleep in the cot.

Hosea looks the two over in confusion before he smiles softly at Arthur, who's sucking on his thumb.

"Hello, sweet fawn." Hosea brushes his fingers through Arthur's hair.

[marswasnothere]

Unfortunately it seems my body actively hates me and I am sick for the second time this fUCKING YEAR

Anyway

I’m rereading the pup Daniel snippets and thought I’d tell you my fave parts

“Mmm… th’orange one…” comes Daniel’s voice, muffled between Max’s pecs — or tits.

“You like the orange collar, yes?”

“‘s your colour… ‘m your doggy…”

Out of their vast collection of collars, Daniel picks the first orange one that Max bought for him the most. The scent of his sweat is soaked into it, like a familiar perfume. Max loves it too. A proper Dutch orange, not papaya.

This REALLY grabbed me like I became obsessed with this aspect, Max having tits, Daniel calling himself Max’s doggy, the idea of the Dutch orange collar bc booooooo McLaren tomato throw tomato throw

“And you are wearing one of those inflatable vests with the handle at the back that little puppies wear on boats so they do not drooown.”

Despite the choice of words, Daniel humps his leg harder, like he can’t understand english but knows the cutesy, teasing voice Max uses is for him and him only.

He is so deep in pupspace omg. Him not being able to understand English like he really is a dog?? Chefs kiss

Daniel can be an obedient doggy when Maxie puts out his hand for him to spit. Daniel does so, he knows his commands.

He’s such an intelligent puppy!! Tbh the entirety of Treat time is perfect, love the stream of consciousness from somehow who isn’t quite a person at that point

“Daniel, up a bit,” he whispers, “move back a bit, like tha– that! Yes! Yesss, fuck– fuck, good pu—uppy!”

I FUCKING LOVE SUB TOPS!!!!!! He’s so obedient 🥰🥰

Max is hoping for a ‘yes, daddy’ — just so he can say ‘good boys don’t let themselves get hurt’ — but feels Daniel tilt his head against his neck. That tilt always means ‘maybe’, or ‘both’, or ‘not sure’ in their playtime depending on the question, so he pokes Daniel for a verbal answer.

Daddy kink? 👀👀 does Daniel ever actually call Max daddy, I don’t recall seeing it in the rest of the fic. Daniel also tilting his head like dogs do when they’re confused AHHHHHHHHHHH

“Are you sure?” he asks, hand on Daniel's hip, “…Is puppy sure?”

“Is puppy sure?” Hi, here lies fairy anon, dead from horny

“Aww, is it too much?” Max teases, “one little finger is too much for my pup to deal with?”

Gentle humiliation yippee!! Like Daniel’s so overwhelmed from the barest of touches

“There you go, all good, get it aaall out,” Max says as he keeps milking his cock head, watching Daniel go slack and twitchy from the stimulation.

I think Max should milk Daniel. For scientific reasons of course

“Maxieee, this puppy still wants to plaaay…” he says, hoping it provokes Max to return the favour.

So it seems I have a thing for Maxiel explicitly referring to Daniel as puppy instead of using his name

"Ohhh nooo, we cannot fuck normal style anymore?"

"Max-!"

"Oh no, you can't cum normal anymooore, only my legs and table legs and the sofa pillows and-"

I can literally hear Max say this but more importantly, I now say “normal style” all the time so I’m blaming you

- 🧚🏻

OH MY GOD THIS A GOD SEND OF A MESSAGE TO SEND A FIC AUTHOR I LOVE THIS I LOVE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW

mclaren slander as revenge for daniel is always a must. 2022 mclaren specifically, oscars chill i like him

I LOOOOVE the idea of pup daniel being so woozy and spacey that english doesnt make sense to him. but also. Max speaking to him in dutch so all Daniel hears is vague human sounds that his poor lil doggy ears can't understand

stream of consciousness fics my loves. also dialogue only fics (you know i absolutely love opening/ending a fic or chapter with a dialogue only segment)

DOMINANT. BOTTOMS. GETTING. FUCKED. BY. THEIR. PUPPY. SUBS!!!!!!!

i love sprinkling in a daddy kink. hes already a little baby dog so why not call max daddy hmmmmmmm

rip.

ONE LITTLE FINGER IS TOO MUUUUUCH. me. but also yesyeysysyeyssssssss

🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡

"Oh nee Danyul, we are now of course kinky freaky guys we cannot fuck normal style, oh nee, how saaaaad"

anyway im kissing you on the mouth

[radslanella]

...Hello...

🦇 Anastasia, 19 years old (really, but no NSFW).

🦇 Photographer, gamer, virtual bus driver, Minecraft builder, historian.

🦇 Moved from @pitch--black--sky .

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🦇 Do not write "message me", "hey sweetie message me", "hey hmu", and shit like that. Those comments will be deleted, commenters will be cursed, blocked and reported. The same applies to comments with insults.

🦇 Also, I don't hesitate to curse, block and report those who who offer me a relationship. I'm already in a relationship and I love my boyfriend. The same fate awaits those who insult me because of my boyfriend or my boyfriend through me.

🦇 As I wrote in the first part of the post, I don't publish myself and / or NSFW content. So, horny men, stay away from here and don't stalk me for this type of content. Otherwise, I won't hesitate to curse you, block you, and report. (Moreover, I don't have any OnlyFans or Fansly accounts).

🦇 Also I'm hot happy to see those men who offer me to be their "sugar baby", "good girl", "bitch", "whore", etc. Those types of men make me so fucking sick. So I don't hesitate to curse, block and report all of them. The same applies to some women who call themselves "mistresses".

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...Other info...

🦇 Links 🦇 StrawPage 🦇

[sednonamoris]

good, honest thieves

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: A fight with Micah leads to a lecture from Dutch. Loyalty is exactly what you've been raised on, but to what? To whom? The answer seems to be John every time.

Warnings: Knife violence, canon-typical violence, fish guts, strong language, Micah Bell's whole existence, sexist language/insults, Dutch being our fav little manipulator, blink-and-you'll-miss-it mild angst

Word count: 1,465

A/N: I've been waiting to write this altercation since I first started ghost story, so I hope you all enjoy it for this nice, short chapter 💕

Series masterlist • AO3

— 

You miss out on a hell of a firefight. A lot of law dead. A lot of townsfolk dead. A run-in with Mr. Leviticus Cornwall himself.

You’re surprised that he deigned to show his face in the mud and the muck of Valentine, but if there’s one thing rich folk are good for it’s greed. From the sound of it, he’s none too pleased to have been robbed. 

From the sound of it, it’s a lucky thing John and Arthur and Dutch and Strauss ain’t dead after all that. 

The gang was quick to make a hasty retreat.

Now you’re camped outside a little town called Rhodes, farther south than you’ve settled in years. Arthur teases that you and Javier must be happy to be in warmer climes, but personally? You hate it. New Austin is dry heat and desert for miles. The air there bites, sharp and clean. Here it’s thick as molasses and wet with humidity. Sweat and condensation cling to everything. The very ground beneath you is mucky and muddy and lush with overgrowth, like the vegetation can’t stand it here, either. It claws and climbs its way out and onto everything. You’ve never seen undergrowth like this, swallowing trees and homesteads whole without discrimination. 

Out of everyone, you figured Dutch would hate it most - you can’t count how many times he’s told stories about the Southern scum that put his daddy in the ground. But he seems in his element out here. The town is divided into factions he and Hosea have wasted no time playing against one another, and rumors of confederate gold have lit his eyes with that same gleam you saw before Blackwater. You know you won’t leave until he has it - he’s even got Bill and Arthur playing deputy while working leads. 

Today they’re off with the sheriff chasing ‘shine in the hills, so camp is mostly quiet. Or it would be, if Micah wasn’t hanging around.

“Ghost,” he calls out, uncomfortably familiar. He approaches Pearson’s chuckwagon with open arms that are greeted only with a flat stare when you look up from the fish you’re gutting. You promised Pearson you’d take care of them while he does the shopping.

“Micah.” His name grits past the teeth you’re doing your utmost not to bare in warning; already he’s closer than you’d like. 

“Haven’t seen much of you since I got back from Strawberry,” he says.

“I keep busy.”

“Not too busy for Marston.” He rocks back on his heels and raises his brows like he’s caught you out. Something about the way he says John’s name makes your hackles raise.

“Me an’ him are friends,” you chop off a trout head aggressively while making even more aggressive eye contact. “You and me, on the other hand, ain’t.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he wheedles. “I’m a real friendly fella. We oughta go drinking sometime and I’ll show you.”

It takes everything in you not to cringe at the thought. It’s one thing to work a job with him, when you have to, but spending quality time with Micah? It sounds like just about the worst thing you can think of. He has this slimy quality about him, and the way he talks about some of the others is enough to solidify your poor opinion.

Dutch can make nice with him all he likes. You won’t. 

“We all heard what happened when you went drinking in Strawberry,” is what you say aloud. “Rhodes might not survive.”

He laughs through the fact that the joke was meant to be at his expense and leans closer. “You’re funny, Ghost. Real funny. I can see why John likes you so much. It’s too bad he’s so… Well, you know.”

“He’s so what?” If looks could kill, Micah would be stone dead. 

“Useless,” he shrugs. “I mean, first he gets hisself half eaten, then he’s fleeced rustlin’ sheep— almost got his brains blown out in Valentine. Not to mention he let Morgan steal a two dollar whore right out from between his—”

 All of the sudden you can’t hear past the ringing in your ears or see past the blood red of your vision. He’s snickering, leaning closer still, leering, and faster even than you can register you’ve grabbed him by the hair and smashed his face against the fish guts and the wooden table before you.

He cries out, somewhere between alarmed and disgusted and enraged. 

Your filleting knife rests against his pulse point.

“Say it again,” you snarl.

Stark, killing hate reflects back on your knife blade with the whites of his eyes. “Goddamn you!” 

“Not so funny now, huh?” He struggles in your grip. “Say it again.” 

He opens his mouth and bares his teeth, likely to spit more profanities, when approaching footsteps stop you both in your tracks. You glare up at the intrusion to find Ms. Grimshaw. Her face is even more severe than usual. 

“What exactly is going on in my camp?” she demands, hands on her hips. 

“Micah was just apologizing,” you say. Your smile is a feral show of teeth. 

He squirms in your grip, claws at your hands. “Get this goddamn lunatic off me!” 

She purses her lips, unimpressed. “Ghost, unhand Mr. Bell.”

You let him go reluctantly, pressing the knife to his skin just a little harder before shoving him back. He staggers away and you wipe your hands down your pants and grimace. 

Micah’s hands fly to his throat, like he’s checking it’s all still intact. His cheek shines slimy red with fish blood. 

“You’re crazy!” he accuses. 

“Ghost is plenty of things,” Ms. Grimshaw says before you can cut in, “but crazy ain’t one of ‘em. I suggest you learn from this particular mistake, Mr. Bell. Now go on, the both of you. Get! Before you make another mess for me to clean up.”

You murmur a chastised yes, ma’am under your breath.

Micah stalks away, glaring over his shoulder without another word. 

All that’s left is the thunk, thunk, thunk, of your knife against the wooden table. You let yourself imagine each unfortunate fish is Micah, instead. 

— 

Dutch finds you later. You’re sat on a log overlooking the lake, glaring out across the water like it’s somehow responsible for everything that’s happened up until now. He sits beside you and lights a cigar. 

“Ms. Grimshaw tells me someone tried to kill Micah today.”

His tone is neutral, but a quick glance out of the corner of your eye reveals a tightness in his posture that’s never a good sign. He lets out a puff of smoke and watches it fade into the horizon with squinted eyes.

“She tell you he had it coming?”

“Now, Ghost—” he starts to chastise, but you cut him off.

“I never pretended to see what you do in him.” His eyes widen and flash with wounded pride, but your face is set in defiance. “Maybe we’re all nasty killers and degenerates, but he’s worse. I ain’t gonna stand by while he runs his mouth about any one of us.”

His face is all severity and rough-cut gemstone. “Any one of us, or just John?” 

Outrage flares your nostrils and twists your mouth into something ugly. “That ain’t fair! And it certainly ain’t the point.”

“Isn’t it?” His hand on your shoulder, so often a comfort through the years, rests heavy and threatening. Your pulse jumps. Your mouth feels dry. “We don’t have the luxury of doubt - not between any of us. Haven’t I taught you loyalty? Don’t I deserve your trust?”

That’s all it takes for you to deflate. “You have it. You’ve always done right by us, but—”

“There is no but,” he says. “Faith, Ghost! Faith.”

“Faith, then. Fine. Faith.”

The words taste bitter on your tongue, but his eyes soften all at once into that familiar, sparkling brown. “I knew I could depend on you.”

“Sure. Always.”

He leaves with one last squeeze of your shoulder and orders to look into the Braithwaite family - something to do with prize horses. After all, who better than the infamous Ghost Rider? The Van der Linde Ghost? 

—

You stay on that log for a long time. Thinking. Smoking. Stewing in the not-quite-anger left in Dutch’s wake. 

—

That night around the fire you and John gravitate to one another like always. He brings you a plate of fish and sits beside you; a little too close for friends, a little too friendly to be anything but.

Somehow it aches more than usual.

He chatters on about his day, but all you can hear is the sneer of Micah’s voice, and all you can feel is the burn of Dutch’s knowing stare. The sweat on your brow has little to do with Lemoyne’s oppressive heat anymore.