#dutch van der fucking linde you ruined the one good thing you had

[arthursfuckinghat]

Sometimes, I'll be doing a mission with Dutch and everything is fine.

Other times, the light will catch his face in a way that makes me seethe.

I get reminded that Dutch got to age, he got to grow grey.

Did Arthur get that chance? Jenny, Mac, Davey, Sean, Kieran, Lenny, Molly? Did any of them get to grow old together?

Why didn't they, Dutch? Why didn't the gang survive? Why didn't they get the promised virgin lands in the west? Why did you outlive them?

Go on, Dutch, go ahead. I'm listening.

[laylasredemption]

Wtf so I now can post long fics? Well, thanks Tumblr I guess the beef between us didn't last long. Here's the sad Arthur fic I wrote, hope you like it guys<3

arthur morgan x dutch's daughter!reader 3,9k words chapter 6 spoilers, death, violence

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Until the last breath

Never in a thousand years would have Dutch van der Linde thought his own daughter would betray him. He would suspect anyone - recently even John or Arthur. But not [Y/n]. She was his daughter, his only child, the only thing he had left of Annabelle.

And yet there she stood - a gun in hand, pointed at her father, who had his own guns pointed at Arthur and John.

"You're on these two rats' side? That's what I get for raising you?" Dutch asked, his angry gaze fixated on his daughter. "You ungrateful brat."

"You didn't raise me!" [Y/n] countered. "Hosea was more of a father than you. To you, money has always been more important. You always had a plan to get more, and more, and more. I'd be in Tahiti if I had a dollar for every plan of yours that didn't work out."

"I gave you everything I could!"

"You gave me everything?" She had to stop herself from scoffing. "I spent my whole life trying to make you happy for once. Trying to make you proud of me. I gave my heart and my soul for this gang, and you ruined it all when you took in this rat!" Her voice started to crack, but she forced tears away. She reached for her other gun and pointed it at Micah.

Dutch asked, "You really think Micah is the reason you're turning on me?" His tone was strangely calm, too calm. "You think I never noticed the way you and Arthur were plotting something behind my back? But, of course, he didn't sneak into your tent at night just to plot. You disgust me, [Y/n]."

[Y/n]'s mouth fell slightly open as she attempted to form a sentence, and yet she wasn't able to. How did he find out? She thought her and Arthur had been sneaky enough.

"You lost your mind, Dutch," Arthur spoke up, "we were worried about you."

Dutch turned his eyes to Arthur, his anger growing at the man's comment. "I'm the one who gave all of you a home! A purpose! A damn family! And you had the nerve to get with my daughter behind my back, and turn her against me."

"All these years, Dutch..." Arthur shook his head. "Just to waste it for this snake?"

"Be quiet, Black Lung." Micah said, his gun pointed at Arthur.

"No," miss Grimshaw appeared with her rifle pointed at Micah, "you be quiet, mister Bell. And put that gun down."

It escalated in a moment. Micah pulled the trigger, sending a bullet towards miss Grimshaw. He took the last remaining mother figure [Y/n] had. Miss Grimshaw was a cold woman, but she cared for her, she cared for all the girls. And now she was dead.

But there was no time to dwell on that.

"Pinkertons are coming!" Javier ran up to the group, warning them.

"Now," Dutch spoke way too calmly for [Y/n]'s liking, "who amongst you is with me, and who is betraying me?"

"Bill, Javier, think for yourselves." Arthur spoke, but they didn't listen.

The both of them were too blinded by the doomed loyalty to Dutch. They sided with him, while Arthur was left with just [Y/n] and John. Besides them, there was also Micah and his own friends he had brought to the gang recently. They were outnumbered.

"My own flesh and blood has turned against me." Dutch concluded in a cold voice [Y/n] hadn't heard before. He had never been a good father, but now... his transformation was complete. The man who had once been a leader, had been replaced by a ghost of himself, driven by greed and paranoia

"You brought it upon yourself." [Y/n] spat.

Micah sneered, "And here I was thinking blood runs thicker than water. Seems a good fuck can change a lady's mind so easily. Wouldn't suspect that of cowpoke, but seems this day is full of surprises."

[Y/n] winced at Micah's remark. She wanted nothing more than to shoot him then and there.

And she tried to. But her hands were trembling with anger, and she missed.

"Put your guns down!" An unknown voice yelled out.

The pinkertons. They ran into the camp, or whatever was left of it, and started shooting. The Pinkertons had arrived, their shouts and gunfire piercing through the madness. The world started to crash down. [Y/n], Arthur, and John found places to use as a cover. The girl didn't even care what would happen with her father now. She had to focus on the pinkertons.

After a few minutes, when the trio knew they won't get out of it this way, John called out, "[Y/n], Arthur, into the caves!"

They didn't think twice before running inside the cave, following the gloomy and scary passages. The pinkertons ran after them and [Y/n] hoped John was leading them to some second entrance. They couldn't afford hitting a dead end.

"Micah was a rat, Milton told me." Arthur confessed as they kept running.

"We should've let him rot in that jail in Strawberry." [Y/n] thought out loud.

There was a ladder, leading them upwards. And another one, and a third one. As the surroundings started to become lighter with the outside's air, [Y/n] thought they might be getting out of that cave before the pinkertons get them.

"John," Arthur turned to his friend when the trio reached fresh air finally, "Abigail is safe, Jack too. They're with Sadie." Then he turned to [Y/n], and tried to stop a cough before speaking to her, "You, [Y/n], I want you to go and–"

"Go where?" The girl interrupted him. "Go and do what?"

"We have to separate here. John and I will go this way, you'll go join Sadie."

In the meantime, John called for their horses. Except that [Y/n]'s didn't come, which could only mean one thing.

"They killed her..." [Y/n] mused, and for a moment she couldn't fight the urge to cry. A few tears had escaped. "Now I have to go with you."

But, again, there was no more time to think. They mounted their horses, Arthur insisting [Y/n] rides with John in case they had to go separate ways. She didn't mount John's horse, she sat on the back of Arthur's. She knew that he knew there was no time to argue.

And they ran again. Ran, followed by the bullets shot by Dutch, Micah, Bill, Javier, and those men Micah brought to the gang. Dutch van der Linde was many things, and he never played the role of the father well, but even now [Y/n] was shocked to see him chasing after them, not afraid of the risk to shoot his own daughter.

When they escaped them, they kept running into the pinkertons. They seemed to be everywhere, as if they knew their next moves.

The trio tried to escape running up a mountain, but they were stopped. [Y/n] saw John falling off his horse, and no sooner the same happened to herself and Arthur.

"Buell!" The girl called out, seeing the animal lying on the ground with a bullet wound. "These motherf–"

They had to shoot now. There was no way out if they didn't kill all those pinkertons. And, fueled by the rage, [Y/n] felt as if she could shoot them all by herself. Hell, she would gladly choke all of them with her bare hands if she got the chance.

"Come on!" John called out after they have dealt with pinkertons. He knew this wouldn't last long.

[Y/n] ran up to Arthur, who was kneeling next to Buell, gently petting the horse's mane. The girl didn't even get to be with her mare when she got killed, so she had to be at least with Buell.

"Let's go!" John repeated.

"Give us a moment!" Arthur shouted back.

[Y/n] touched the horse gently and Arthur leaned over his head. This was such a heartbreaking thing to witness. Arthur received this horse from a man who had lost his leg in the war. Found him randomly in the woods, when the horse bucked him off and his leg got stuck in a stirrup. Arthur helped him and became friends, visiting from time to time. They went hunting once, and the veteran got attacked by a giant boar. With his last breath, he asked Arthur to take care of Buell. And Arthur did, until the horse's last breath, too.

With one last final, "Thank you," that Arthur whispered to Buell, they were ready to run further.

"Let's go." John said for the third time.

Arthur asked, "What about the money?"

"Money?" [Y/n] sobbed, wiping away a few last tears. "What about Micah? We have to get rid of him."

"I go down there, I'm dead in five minutes," John stated, "I have a family, that's more important."

"You're right," Arthur admitted, thinking John must be making sense for the first time in his life, "[Y/n], you go with John. I'm going back for the money."

"No, you're not." The girl protested firmly. She wasn't losing Arthur, not like that. "We go together or we don't go at all."

Arthur knew it was pointless to argue with [Y/n]. If she inherited anything from Dutch, it was the subborness.

Arthur also knew that he didn't have much longer left. He was actively dying from tuberculosis that he hasn't even told [Y/n] about yet. If soon he was going to take his last breath, he wanted [Y/n] to go, not see him like this. He had always been a tough man, he couldn't let the girl he loved more than anything in the world see him die beaten by a stupid illness. "Fine, let's go." He muttered and the trio started once again running. He had no idea how to get out of this. There was no way out for him, but he still could help [Y/n] and John.

They needed to find a higher ground, running up a mointain. It was very steep, they had to be careful. At least they knew they were safe from the bullets, for now. The pinkertons would come back to the cave, as Micah most likely told them about the money hidden inside.

"Keep, pushing, Arthur!" John said.

Arthur stopped running. He stood bent slightly, propping his arms on his knees. It seemed to [Y/n] like he has difficulty to take a breath. An expression of worry grew on her face. She knew he had some kind of sickness, but she didn't realize how serious it was until this moment.

"Arthur, let's go, we've made it so far." She said, the tears threatening to appear in her eyes once again.

"I think I've pushed all I can." Arthur admitted, coughing out some blood. He straightened his posture, being able to breathe a bit better momentarily.

John walked up to him, "We ain't got time for this."

"We ain't all gonna make it."

His words hit [Y/n] worse than any bullets. She ran up to Arthur, grabbing his arm, trying to make him step forward.

"Don't talk nonsense," she tried to pull him, but even in this state he was still stronger than her, "Arthur, I'm not going anywhere without you."

"You both go." Arthur insisted. "I'll hold them off. There ain't no more time to talk." With these words, he reached for his sachel and handed it over to John. Then, he took his hat off and placed it on [Y/n]'s head.

She knew what that mean. She knew Arthur was prepared to die. But she couldn't let him. She couldn't imagine a life without him. He truly was the love of her life, how was she supposed to keep going if he died on that mountain?

Arthur turned to [Y/n], his eyes softening as he took her face in his hands. "You need to keep going, no matter what happens. You understand?"

[Y/n] shook her head, tears welling up again. "Don't talk like that, Arthur. We're getting out of this. All three of us."

But Arthur knew better. He could feel the life slipping away from him with every breath, every step. "I need you to promise me something, [Y/n]."

"No, Arthur, no." She closed her eyes, hoping this would at least stop the tears.

"Look at me," Arthur said, gently placing his thumb on her chin and tilting her head up, "look at me, doll."

She slowly did as she was told, opening her eyes to meet his. Her heart was racing, knowing that these might be the last moments they have together. His gaze was full of love, as if in these seconds he wanted to love her for all the time he won't be able to in the future.

"You've been the light in my life, the good in me." Arthur told her.

"You've been my everything." She whispered, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak.

"You get out of here with John. When I'm gone, you'll find a good man, one that'll give you the life you deserve. You're young, you can start a family, forget about me. I don't know what I did to deserve your love, but it's the time you bless someone worthy with it."

[Y/n] shook her head, her hands gripping Arthur's coat as if she could somehow anchor him to this world, keep him from fading away. "I'll never forget you. You're the love of my life."

"You deserve so much more than this life, [Y/n]. More than what I could ever give you. But you can still have it. You can still have everything you want, a future, a family, happiness."

But [Y/n] was stubborn, as always. "There's no future if you're not in it."

For a moment, Arthur looked as though he might break, as though he might give in to the desire to stay with her, to fight for a few more moments together. She tried to kiss him, and it took all the strenght his ill body had to stop her.

"I love you, [Y/n]," sounded his final words, "I love you more than anything in this world. But you have to go. For me. I'll love you till my last breath."

"And I'll love you until mine," that was the only thing she could promise him, "I'll never forget you."

The sound of gunshots echoed nearby, and the trio knew there was no more time. [Y/n] would trade anything to have a few more minutes with Arthur. She would walk down to Hell to speak to the Devil himself if he could grant her a bit more time.

John grabbed [Y/n], as much as it pained him, he had to drag her away. They had to run. That's what Arthur wanted.

As she was being dragged away, [Y/n] watched Arthur climb, trying to reach an even higher spot of the mountain.

"Arthur is doing this so you can live. Don't let it be for nothing." John said.

[Y/n] didn't reply. They had to make an escape, and they did so in silence, but the girl didn't even feel her own legs, she just trusted they were there. There was no life for her if Arthur died. This life had been all she knew. How she was supposed to live without the gang, and without him?

"John." She said firmly, somehow finding the strenght in herself to not cry anymore. "I'm going back there."

[Y/n] had been hit by the realization that she doesn't have anything to lose. Everything she had, she already either sacrificed or lost. Her mother, the gang, her father, her horse, and now Arthur, her Arthur.

John stopped dead in his tracks, turning around to face [Y/n]. "No, you ain't."

"I ain't got nothing to lose. Either I'll be dragging his dead body to the pearly gates and bribing the God to revive him, or I'll die there with him."

John looked into her eyes just to see fire in them. He understood her love for Arthur and her desperation to save him, and maybe he would have even done the same for Abigail. Except it was plain stupid to do such thing for a man, who was already dying.

"Damn it," John muttered, knowing he can't stop her, "you're as brave as you're stupid. The both of you."

[Y/n] took off Arthur's hat that he had given her, and passed it to John. "You're the best brother I could've had. When I die, I'll look up at you and expect to see you treating Jack and Abigail well. No more running away."

"You mean look down." He corrected her.

"Oh, I'm definitely going to Hell. And I'll be waiting for you, just wait at least fifty years." She chuckled and pulled John in for a quick hug. When they pulled away, she could see tears in his eyes. But [Y/n] wasn't going to cry, not anymore.

She had no reason to cry now. Her time was over. If Arthur was going to die, she was dying there with him, and she was ready for this. More ready than for a future without him.

"Take care of your family," [Y/n]'s last words for John sounded, "make sure they get the life they deserve. Make sure you get that life, too." And with that, she turned away and walked back to where Arthur was supposed to be.

John nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He knew he would carry this moment with him for the rest of his life. The night he had lost the two people who were like siblings to him. He had lost much more, but it didn't matter.

[Y/n] had nothing left to lose, nothing left to live for but this one last act of love. If she could save Arthur, it would be worth it. And if she couldn't... then at least they would die together, side by side, as they should have lived.

There were no more gunshots to follow, not a sound of any fight. [Y/n] climed up the rocks, finding the path where she had last seen Arthur. She saw someone walking her way, not someone who she yearned to see.

"You goddamn rat!" [Y/n] yelled as she grabbed Micah by his coat. She didn't know where she found this strenght in her body, but she managed to throw him such a powerful punch in the face that he had to take a few steps back, almost falling off a cliff.

"You just won't give up, will you?" He said, his usual malice still audible in his voice.

"Did you kill him?" She asked, pointing her gun at him.

"He's alive. Not for much longer though."

[Y/n] clenched her jaw, her grip on the gun tightening so hard her knuckles went white. She felt her anger building up inside her, threatening to explode at any moment. "I should've put a bullet in your head a long time ago."

"Come on, do it now then," he laughed, the sound getting into [Y/n]'s head as she contemplated the decision, "we both know you're too soft to do it. How can such a failure be Dutch's daughter? I bet your mama wasn't the most loyal to your daddy."

That was it, her breaking point. [Y/n] knew putting a bullet in Micah wouldn't fix what was already broken, but at least she could stop any further damage he would cause if he stayed alive.

[Y/n] pulled the trigger, aiming for Micah's head, right between his eyes. His body fell down the cliff, and [Y/n] watched that happen. She felt absolutely nothing. No remose. But also no ease. Not until she could see Arthur.

She ran towards where Micah came from. She found Arthur lying down, his upper body propped on a rock. His face was turned towards the east, looking at the sunrise, even though he had always loved the sunset.

"Arthur..." She said.

His eyes searched for the source of the sound, Arthur thought he was having hallucinations. He forced a smile on his beaten face when he saw her.

"You damn fool, [Y/n]." He said in a weak, raspy voice. Not the kind of rasp [Y/n] loved to hear in the mornings, but the one that emphasized Arthur's condition. "I told you to go with John."

"I couldn't leave you, Arthur." She said, losing all her power to not cry. She knelt down beside him, looking at his injuries. His face was full of little cuts and bruises, some blood. But he didn't seem to have gotten shot.

Tears shone in her eyes. And she must have been the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever laid his eyes on. The way the orange morning sunrays touched her face made Arthur feel butterflies in his stomach. It was way nicer to die when he had this sight in front of him. But it wasn't fair to her.

"Doll," he breathed out, "I'm dying."

"No, you're going to be fine." She stuttered, the pain in her voice betraying how delusional she was being. She couldn't accept the reality of the situation. She refused to believe that the man she loved more than anything was slipping away from her.

She took his hands in hers. His touch used to be so hot it could put the Devil to shame. But now his hands were colder than the coldest night in Colter.

"I've got tuberculosis." Arthur confessed to her finally.

"What?" A puzzled expression appeared on her face. "Since when?"

"Since I killed Thomas Downes."

[Y/n]'s heart dropped. She had heard rumors about the sickness, the way it slowly drained the life out of a person, but she never imagined that Arthur, her Arthur, had been battling it all this time. It explained so much, the coughing fits, the way he had grown weaker, more distant. And yet, he had never told her, never let on just how bad it was.

"I deserved to know." She replied, her voice cracking. "I could've helped you."

"I didn't want to worry you, doll. Didn't want you to see me like this. You deserved better than that."

"I loved you, I still do, and I would've stayed by your side no matter what. You should've told me. We could–" She choked on her words, realizing there was nothing they could've done to stop it.

A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of Arthur's lips. "You've always been too good for me, [Y/n]. I ain't ever deserved you, not really."

"Don't say that, Arthur. You deserve everything. And now you're dying here. Alone."

"I ain't alone." Arthur murmured, his voice growing weaker with every word. "You're here, right? That's all I ever needed."

She nodded, her heart breaking as she watched him struggle to keep his eyes open. The sunrise was casting a warm glow over his face, and for a moment, [Y/n] could almost pretend that they were somewhere else, somewhere safe, where they could live the life however they wanted to. Away from all the bullshit they had to go through.

But reality was cold and its walls were closing in on them. She could feel Arthur slipping away, his fingers holding onto hers weaker with each passing moment. She wanted to scream, to beg for more time, but it would be in vain.

Arthur stopped fighting the urge to close his eyes. "Promise me, doll... you'll find a way to live... without me." He could barely speak anymore, yet he managed to utter these words.

"I love you, Arthur." [Y/n] said instead, because she didn't want to make a promise she couldn't keep.

His grip on her hands loosened, and his chest rose and fell one last time. [Y/n] leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She held him close, cradling his head in her arms as they were bathed in the warmth of the sunrise. She stayed like that, long after he was gone, her tears mixing with the blood and dirt on his skin. Arthur was gone, and with him, a part of her died too. She had nothing left to lose, nothing left to fight for, except the memory of the man she loved.

[dalekofchaos]

Undead Nightmare 2 pitch:Vampire Hunter Arthur Morgan or Vampire Arthur

Nothing will ever piss me off over the fact we never got Undead Nightmare 2 when they had so much fucking material to work with.

But ONE THING I think would've worked was centering Undead Nightmare 2 around Vampires.

Vampire Hunter route.

Imagine this. The Vampire of Saint Denis is not just a easter egg, but the big bad of this DLC story. If you ever saw the movie Nosferatu, you will know that when Count Orlock came to the village, he brought the plague to the town.

So this is how the story could go. Arthur, John and Dutch arrive in Saint Denis to look for Jack and what they find is hell on Earth. Every building is quarantined and warning everyone of the plague. Zombies and Vampires run the streets of Saint Denis and eventually the whole country. They eventually see there is only one building that is full of life. Bronte's. They get Jack out, but there is a problem. Bronte was bitten and you know what happens to those who don't tell about being bit. Bronte turns, attacks his men and Arthur, Dutch, John and Jack flee.

Shady Belle is in ruins. The monsters attacked and there are barely survivors. Only Abigail, Sadie, Charles, Bill and Micah survived. The rest have to be put down.

Throughout the game we are tasked with learning just what the hell is going on. The dead walk the Earth and it's up to the survivors of the Van der Linde gang to put an end to this Undead Nightmare.

Arthur becomes a Wild Western Van Helsing. A wide variety of ammunition in fighting the undead. Silver Bullets, holy Water, Stakes, phosphorus bullets and more to fight the Vampires, Zombies, Werewolves, Witches, Ghosts and even Aliens. Final fight is against the head Vampire of Saint Denis and after Arthur kills the Vampire, the Undead Nightmare will be over....or will it? After the deed is done, Micah is there with yellow eyes and bearing his fur and fangs showing he's become a Werewolf and Arthur with his revolver full of silver bullets drawn, Micah lunging for Arthur and Arthur prepared to shoot, leaving Arthur and Micah's fates ambiguous.

Vampire Route.

The Saint Denis Vampire would've been the perfect launching point for Undead Nightmare 2, especially if it's during chapter 6. Because back in the day people thought that TB made you a vampire (Vampire Panic of the 1800's) so it fits perfectly with the narrative as we have it.

Imagine Arthur just learned of his condition with Tuberculosis. He's dying and he hears all the voices during his journey and what he's done. But instead of seeing the Buck/Coyote, he instead hears a voice calling to him in the dark alleys of Saint Denis and guiding Arthur to the writings and as he reads the final writing, the sun goes out and Arthur is met face to face with the vampire. Offering him a way out of his slow agonizing death. Arthur refuses, but the vampire doesn't give him a choice. Arthur shoots him but he doesn't die and you get close and he bites you and the story is Arthur trying to not become a vampire instead of dying from TB.

If you play it High Honor, Arthur can resist his vampiric bloodlust and stay true to who he is. Arthur can stave his lust for human blood by feeding off on animals. Arthur's TB is gone and he has the choice. Kill the Vampire and be rid of the curse or continue to live and use his powers for the good of the gang?

If you play it Low Honor, Arthur becomes a foul creature of the night. Feeding and draining people around him, even members of the gang if he so chooses. He remembers the stories of the power of the Vampire. So he decides to put that to a test. Go back to Blackwater for the money and carve a bloody path for the money. He brings the money back to the gang, but with him, he unwittingly creates an army of the undead that threatens to consume the world. Can Arthur and the gang survive this Undead Nightmare and find their paradise or will Arthur's bloodlust destroy everything?

[purplecatdad]

Rarepair Week “Darkness”

Part of the RDR Events Rarepair Week 

Prompt: Darkness

Bill/Kieran | Teens an Up | Canon-Divergence

Content Warning for:  Child Abuse (mentioned), Internalised Homophobia, Trauma, Alcoholism, Depression, Tortue

Bill Williamson had never been a brave man. 

In fact he felt like a coward most of the time. Back when his daddy had beaten him up and he never fought back. Back when he applied to the army, simply because he was afraid that he’d end up with nothing in his life. Back when he punched and almost killed the guy who had kissed him just so people wouldn’t know he was a queer. Or when he thought that his life would end as Dutch van der Linde laughed at him because he had tried to steal from him. 

For a long while, Dutch had made Bill feel like he wasn’t all that much of a coward. He had given him purpose, a family, people to take care of. He knew that most of them, especially the other boys, would call him lazy. Often enough they had called him that right into his face and he knew that they were right. But sometimes he’d just lie awake at night, haunted by the things he did and those that had been done to him. They paralysed him and robbed him of his sleep and with the rising sun came the overwhelming sadness. Sadness that made it unable for him to do anything but to drink, like his daddy used to. To drown the memories and the pain in liquor. And every time he felt his consciousness slipping thanks to the Whiskey he was afraid again. That he’d end up like him. Beating folk who didn’t deserve it, children and women. And that was someone he never wanted to be. 

He had run with Dutch and his boys for 6 years. They had gone through both good and bad times but it had rarely been as bad as after Blackwater. They’ve lost folk and money and had been holed up in the cold for far too long. And it had all been the O’Driscoll’s fault. They’ve managed to catch one of his boys, a man named Kieran and while Bill hated his guts for being part of the rival gang he also stirred something else in him … something that made him afraid again. 

Nobody in camp knew that he preferred the company of men over women. At least not as far as Bill knew. During the years he had visited some working boys now and then. To celebrate after a good job or to let off some steam after a job gone wrong - but he had always made sure to keep it to himself. Once or twice he’d almost been caught but he had always managed to make it look that he was just another man fucking some female prostitute. 

But then, Arthur had dragged one of those damn O’Driscolls with them. A scrawny man named Kieran Duffy. Someone who belonged to the enemy. Kieran changed the game. Bill couldn’t help watching him. He was cute, even if a little jumpy at times. The horses loved him, even the Count let him close. And even if he was afraid and even if they had hurt and threatend him, he still pulled his weight and even saved Arthur’s life when there was no need to do so. 

Often, Bill would imagine what he’d do with him if he had him for himself, all on his own. Stripping him down, kissing every inch of his body, holding him close. Of course he couldn’t tell him. Of course he was afraid of something slipping. So he made sure that Kieran was afraid as well. With gelding tongs and fists and snarling at him whenever he got too close. But instead of feeling better, securer about it he just felt like shit. Because he still kept watching Kieran … and couldn’t help but notice what a good man the O’Driscoll actually was. Kind, honest, soft and gentle. Nothing like the other men in camp. Nothing like the boys he had paid before. 

His heart always started to flutter when he approached Kieran to tell him to clean up his tack or groom Brown Jack for him. Kieran always got nervous and jumpy around him and Bill couldn’t blame him for it. It was what he had tried to achieve - but had it really been what he had wanted? He had cursed himself a lot during the first few weeks. Hating himself for ruining a potential relationship, even if it was just friendship, before it had even started. 

Once they had moved to Clemens point, Bill had made a decision. He would no longer be a coward. He would try to approach him. Maybe he could show Kieran that he wasn’t always just a brute. He could be a drinking buddy. Or a friend. 

It had taken many approaches and even more beers until Kieran had finally accepted Bill‘s invitation to drink with him. Both of them eased into the conversation with the help of the alcohol, feeling more confident because of the drinks they finally managed to get to know each other. Bill always doubted himself come next morning. Wondering if it was really the right thing to do. What if he accidentally said too much? Revealed himself to Kieran only to be pushed away again? But he always came back because he enjoyed Kieran‘s company too much

Sometimes he went away just to beat some people up, to get rid of the restlessness. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. It didn’t fit to the “beat people who need beating” mantra of Dutch and his gang. But still he couldn’t help it. Beating them black and blue made him feel in control. He knew how to do it, he was confident when he did it. There was no doubt there, only the knowledge and assurance that he was capable of something. 

One night they had actually met outside of camp, in the Rhodes saloon. Bill had wanted to celebrate another good score with some proper food and some higher brand whiskey and had told Kieran to come along. They had eaten and drunk and enjoyed each other‘s company … and when Kieran had excused himself to pee outside, Bill had followed him. 

Thanks to the Whiskey and the good mood, Bill hadn‘t been afraid anymore. He had been brave. He had taken Kieran‘s face into his hands and kissed him, pressed against the back wall of the saloon. And to his surprise, Kieran had kissed him back. They had rented a room that night to spend it together. Hasty, deep kisses, bodies intertwined. It had left Bill speechless and tired and satisfied in a way he had never felt. 

The next morning he woke up alone. The way back to camp a walk of shame. Fear and anxiety creeping up about what to expect in camp. Had Kieran told them all about Bill? About his desires, about what he had done with him? What if he had ruined whatever they had by just acting up on his desires? If Kieran never wanted to get that far?

But when he reached the camp grounds he realized that there was no need to worry. Kieran greeted him like nothing happened as he was cleaning up after the horses and took Brown Jack from him to be unsaddled and groomed. Javier congratulated him on the „successful night with the ladies of Rhodes'' and after a few more interactions with the people in camp, Bill had realized that Kieran had simply told them that they had been busy with some working girls during the night. A story that apparently all of them believed to be true without a doubt. 

Many nights like that followed, with less and less alcohol involved. They never talked about it, never really spoke about what happened during those nights. Bill woke up alone each day. But he understood - he also didn‘t want to risk anybody finding out. It was good, what they had and someone finding out about them would most likely ruin whatever it was that they had. 

More shit went down in Rhodes, more than he could comprehend and they found each other down south at a place called Shady Belle. Bill had never liked the swamps. The air was too humid and hot for him to breathe and always made him a sweaty mess. But Kieran started sleeping closer to him at night in the new camp and he was happier about that than he had expected to be.

One night he took him out to Saint Denis. He hated the big city but it offered them some anonymity that made him feel safer than in Rhodes. They had some drinks, some delicious food and rented another room for the night. Kieran had bought them some Whiskey again and drunk it until he was swaying on his feet before he had pulled Bill to bed with him. He had kissed Bill a lot that night, clinging to him and pulling him closer. When they were done, he had cuddled up into his arms instead of turning away, whispering a soft „I love you, Bill“ that kept Bill awake for a few more hours, repeating the words in his mind, thinking about what it meant for him. What it meant for them. 

Eventually he fell asleep, cuddled up to Kieran who was snoring away peacefully next to him. Bill could pretend that this was their life. That this was how he spent every night, next to his special someone who would whisper sweet words into his ears and keep him warm at night. 

But when the next morning came, reality hit him again. Kieran had left the bed in the morning once again and left him alone. It was okay, of course and what Bill had halfway expected anyway. But when he came back to camp, Kieran wasn‘t there to greet him and to take Brown Jack from him. He wasn‘t at the scouting fire, taking care of the saddles or with the girls talking about books. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. A part of Bill, the anxious, cowardly beast, told him that Kieran had had enough. That he had left the gang, had left him behind because he didn‘t want to be with him anymore. And the other part? The other part was angry. Angry at Kieran for vanishing, angry at himself for being so stupid and even imagine anybody to actually like him. He felt heartbroken and it was his own damn fault because he was, as always, a fool. 

Another night came and went but Kieran still hadn‘t come back. Bill started to worry now. He knew that there were many dangerous people in the swamps and that Kieran, despite being in multiple gangs of outlaws, wasn‘t a good fighter or great at defending himself. So he asked people in camp if they had seen him but nobody did. Mary-Beth, who Bill rarely spoke a word with but who he knew was a good friend of Kieran‘s, also hadn‘t seen him and was equally worried. So Bill decided that he had to go and look for him. 

He asked Dutch and Arthur and Javier and even John to maybe come with him but none of them felt like Kieran was in danger. It made him angry again and when Micah snarled a “Don‘t you worry about your little girlfriend, I‘m sure he‘ll come back to you“ at him, Bill couldn‘t help but to punch in his nose and storm off on Brown Jack‘s back. If nobody was up to help him, he‘d have to find him on his own. 

It took him two days of traveling through the swamps until he finally found something. A few horses, hitched close to an old water mill… one of them a mare that he knew all to well. Branwen, Kieran‘s beloved horse that he cherished more than anything else in the world. Bill knew that he had found him - and he was certain that Kieran wasn‘t here by choice. If he was even alive anymore. 

Bill had never been a brave man. 

But he knew when it was time to fight and he was ready to risk his own life if he had to. If it meant helping the only man who he could fully trust in this world. The man who loved him. So he jumped off of Brown Jack, approached the house and kicked in the door. He started shooting without asking questions, killing everybody who was raising their guns at him. Most people thought he was a fool and mostly they were right - but he was good with his rifle and could kill multiple men within seconds. After barely a minute, nobody in the house was moving anymore. 

“Kieran?!“ he yelled out and frantically looked around. He couldn‘t see him anywhere so he walked up to the ladder, climbed down as fast as he could - and stopped in his tracks when he saw what they had done to him. 

Kieran‘s hands were tied up to the ceiling above his head, stripped down to his union suit that was smeared with blood. There were cuts all over his body, visible through the holes that they had ripped into the fabric. They had tortured him, he could see a few missing toes, one of his earlobes missing as well. Bill couldn‘t help but to stare at Kieran for a moment. This was not what he had expected. 

“Kieran …“ he said, softer this time and walked up to him. Kieran was unconscious, his head hanging down … but his chest was still rising and falling, slow but steadily. As he moved closer to him, Bill noticed that something else was missing - Kieran’s eyes had been removed, black, bloodied holes now where his eyes used to be. Bill felt his hands shaking from anger and worry but his instinct kicked in quickly. The years spent amidst the violence and struggle to keep alive against all odds had made his subconscious defy his otherwise oafish and lazy nature. He knew that he had to get out of here fast, before anybody else would come. 

He quickly untied Kieran, wrapped him in his long coat and carried him up the ladder. His mind was racing. He wasn‘t sure if Kieran would survive this, wasn‘t sure if the rest of the O‘Driscolls would wait for him outside. But he was sure that, if he brought Kieran back to camp, the O‘Driscolls might follow him there. There was no time to run without leaving a trace. And he was certain that Dutch would never forgive him if he led the enemy right back to them just because of Kieran. 

So he was the one who had to take care of him … and as he stepped out out the mill, Kieran in his arms, he realized that he wouldn‘t be able to do that at camp. Not in the way he wanted, not in the way Kieran deserved. Carefully he placed Kieran on Branwen, making sure that he was safe and secure on her back before he attached her lead to Brown Jack‘s saddle. He had to bring him to safety, somewhere in the heartlands. And maybe, if Kieran wanted, they could make themselves a home there. Far away from everything. Away from the violence and the bloodshed. 

He rode away, always looking back at Kieran who stayed unconscious, even after Bill made camp somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He didn‘t know where they were, he just hoped that this was far enough away from anybody who could be hunting them. After he set up the tent, he finally got around to cleaning up Kieran‘s wounds and bandaging his eyes as best as he could. Bill sure as hell was no doctor but trying to survive alone sure taught you one thing or two. He placed him on the bedroll and sat down next to him, staring at the campfire he made. 

He felt it again, the anxiety creeping up. The feeling of being worthless - he should‘ve been faster, better at hunting down those bastards who had hurt Kieran like this. He should‘ve told Kieran to just stay with him in that hotel room. To enjoy the morning with him as much as the night. But he hadn‘t. He hadn‘t done any of those things and now Kieran was hurt … and he wasn‘t even sure that he‘d survive. 

He felt Kieran stirr awake next to him. He looked over at him, gently touching his hand to let him know that he wasn‘t alone. 

“Kieran …“, he said softly and the other man looked around. “You‘re safe. I … Got you out. Took care of your wounds.“

Kieran stilled, taking Bill‘s hand in his, a whimper escaping him. Bill couldn‘t imagine how hard this must be for him. To wake up and not be able to see. To not know what was happening around him. 

“Can I … should I get you something? Some water? Are you hungry?“ He felt stupid again, unsure what to do. He had never been the one taking care of the wounded, he had only ever taken care of himself and fought alongside the others. This was new. 

“Please just .. lie down .. with me..“, Kieran said, his voice weak and barely audible. 

And Bill did as he asked, carefully lying down next to Kieran, putting his arms around him and pulling him close to his chest. 

“It‘s so dark …“, Kieran whispered, his voice trembling with anxiety.

“I know … I‘m sorry …“, Bill answered, his voice weavering. He‘d give his life for Kieran to see again.

“I‘m glad … that you‘re with me, though. Means I don‘t have to face the darkness all on my own.“

“You won‘t“, Bill agreed and gently caressed his back. “I won‘t ever leave you alone again.“

[clareguilty]

So... y’all wanted van der Linde Gangbang... and here it is

Reader and Dutch, John, Javier, Charles, and Arthur Rating: Explicit duh Word Count: ~1500

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you crossed your arms, visibly unimpressed. “This is your plan?”

No one said anything.

‘The plan’ was bullshit. Dutch wanted to rob a manor that was surrounded by high stone walls. Apparently, there was one place on the property where coyotes were sneaking through, and Javier and Charles had found it. A small hole in the stone a few feet off the ground, widened by Charles so that a person could fit through.

That person was you.

“Why can’t John do it? Or Javier? You dragged me all the way out here to make me squeeze through here just so I can let you in through the gates?”

“My shoulders are too broad,” John said with a shrug.

You glared at Javier.

“I’m too handsome,” he winked at you.

You planted your feet, pointing at the gap “Sean-”

“Sean’s too loud. You’re the only one we can trust.” Dutch’s voice was stern, no room for argument.

“I’m good looking too, you know,” you huffed. You had to bend over to wriggle through the gap, but once you pushed through, your toes came off the ground.

Someone whistled low as you tried to wriggle through. Probably John.

“Marston you piece of shit,” you cursed and tried to pull yourself another few inches. The problem was, you couldn’t get enough leverage to actually move forwards, and you couldn’t push off with your feet.

You were stuck.

“Can I… can I get a little help here?” You asked, fear creeping into your voice.

“I gotchu,” Arthur rumbled, and his large hands settled on your hips, pushing you forwards just a little bit more. When that didn’t work, he tried pushing you with his own hips -- you were glad that none of them could see your face.

“Uh,” Arthur sounded concerned. “That’s not good.”

“You bastards,” you hissed. 

Arthur tried to push you a bit more, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You tried pushing backwards, and collided with his hips… and something a little bit more.

“Are you seriously hard right now?” you demanded, as though you weren’t also flushed and aroused from being manhandled.

“You uh,” Arthur fumbled with his words.

“You look damn fine,” John said, and a hand came down on your ass. You bit back a yelp. “You seriously think we’d pass up a chance to look at your sweet ass?” This time, it was John who gripped and squeezed at your hips, but he clearly didn’t care about helping you get out of the wall.

He spanked you again, and you moaned. The sound made everyone on the other side of the wall pause. “You like that?” John asked, bringing his hand down again.

Another moan. Another moment of silence from the men behind you.

“We’re all thinking the exact same thing, aren’t we?” Javier asked.

A split second later, and you felt your trousers yanked down to your ankles. You were on display for all of the men, and they could see exactly how aroused you were by the situation.

“Damn,” Javier spoke up again. “You’re dripping. You really want us to fuck you like this?”

You didn’t say anything, too ashamed of the way they were obviously looking at you.

Another sharp hit to your ass, and you whined. “Answer him.” It was Dutch. Dutch called the shots. He was the one in charge here. He could tell them all to forget about this and help you get free.

“Yes.” You said it before you could stop yourself.

Instead of another smack, the next touch was softer, gentler. “Let me take care of you,” Dutch crooned. He pressed two fingers into you, opening you up for his cock. You gasped and bit back your moans as he stroked you slowly.

The head of his cock pressed against your entrance. “You ready?” he asked. You only response was to try and push back onto his cock, even though you couldn’t move very far.

Dutch began fucking you, slowly at first but his pace quickly increased. You knew you would be covered in scrapes and bruises from the stones against your skin and his fingers on your hips. His cock was huge, thick and long, and he stretched you open, hips slamming into yours with every thrust.

It felt so good. You wound up burying your face in your arm to keep quiet. Dutch growled and began stroking you with one hand, forcing you to come on his cock. It was embarrassing, how quickly you came, how much you spilled over your thighs.

“You don’t know how long we’ve wanted this,” he said, voice low. “We’ve all thought about taking you at some point, and now we finally have our chance. Fuck- I’m close.”

He began to fill you, but pulled out to finish himself off, spilling the rest of his seed over your entrance and across your thighs. “You did so good for me,” he said, and you heard him stepping aside.

John didn’t hesitate -- it had to be him. Sinking into you with a barely muffled groan and snapping his hips into yours, long fingers rubbing against you to feel you clench around him. When that wasn’t enough, he went back to smacking your ass. It was so much, you let your eyes roll back as he took you as deep as possible.

When John came, he marked your ass. You surely looked a mess, covered in his and Dutch’s come. The thought of the other men still waiting their turn made you shudder.

Barely a second passed, and Javier was there. “So beautiful.” He whispered. He teased you more than the others, spreading you open with his fingers and rubbing and pinching just to watch your hips shake. His cock finally slipped into you and he fucked you with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips.

John snorted and muttered something you couldn’t make out. Javier bit back, and you couldn’t believe they would actually bicker while Javier was fucking you.

Still, he knew exactly how to angle his cock, and the motions of his fingers quickly brought you to another edge and beyond.

You came, and Javier whispered praises to you through the wall. He pressed deep inside you to finish not long after, and his fingers spread your ass afterwards, watching his seed spill out. The other men groaned at the sight.

“C’mon, Charles,” Javier encouraged his friend.

Whereas Javier was teasing, Charles was more hesitant. Still, he ran his hand over your skin, lifting you as far as the wall would allow to sink his cock into you.

It was too much. Or at least it was starting to be. Fucked by four men, coming constantly on their cocks. Charles was as careful as can be, but you were still a whining mess as he fucked you. Tears were running down your face, but when you dared to speak, the only words that spill from your lips are pleas for more.

Charles moved you on his cock with ease, raw strength and control. You were so tight around him and slick from the other men, he took you at his own pace just bordering on more than you can take.

And when he finally came, he spilled deep inside you, a few more deep thrusts that left an absolute mess of you. 

You were limp and helpless in the wall, whining and dripping with come.

Arthur settled behind you, grinding against you. “Almost done, darlin’. And then I promise I’ll get you out of there.”

At that point, you didn’t have a mind to comprehend what he was saying. He fucked you carefully, and you were thankful. His cock was thick, and you felt so used after every single man you worried they had ruined you for good. What could you do after this? They had taken you and made you come and filled you and fucked you.

“Can you come one more time for me?” he asked. But he didn’t wait for you to answer, he simply began stroking you with his rough fingers. You came one final time, spilling over Arthur’s cock. He rutted into you, faster and faster until he finished as well.

“There you go.” He pulled out of you. “Easy now. Just hold tight and I’ll get you taken care of.”

“Charles,” he said, “can you loosen a few more stones? Be careful.”

A moment passed, and you felt the stones above your back begin to shift. There was a lot of whispering, and then four large hands grabbed you and began pulling you free. You whined and whimpered, but the five men supported you. Someone -- Javier, held you and carried you. His voice was soothing as he whispered to you in Spanish. Your trousers were still around your ankles, and you were so sensitive that every movement made you twitch and whine.

A cool, wet cloth began wiping you down. Voices surrounded you.

“We’ll come back another night. Get a canteen -- need more water.”

“Anyone have a quilt?”

“Easy, easy. Careful.”

You were wrapped in a quilt and lifted. Charles took you this time, cradling you on Taima as he spurred her forward at a creeping pace. “We’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead. “We’ll take care of you.”

You fell asleep to the beat of the horses hooves.

[bagelboys-withcreamcheese]

Incorrect Correct 1870s Van Der Linde Gang Quotes

Bessie and Annabelle are together, fight me

~~

*Hosea playing with Dutch’s hair*

Dutch: “Stop it, you're ruining my reputation. “

Hosea: “Then get off my lap.”

Dutch: “No.”

—

Bessie: “Do you want to talk about your trauma?”

Annabelle: “Trauma? You mean the reason I’m so fucking hilarious?”

Bessie:

Bessie: “No.”

—

Dutch: “I heard if you put butter in your coffee it tastes really good.”

Hosea: “I heard if you put butter in my coffee you get punched in the throat.”

—

Arthur: “Roses are red, violets are blue... Sunflowers are yellow... Tulips come in all kinds of colours... Daffodils are also yellow...”

Hosea: “Was that supposed to be a poem?”

Arthur: “No, I just like flowers.”

—

Hosea: “I’m this close to loosing my shit today” *raises hand with thumb and pointer finger touching*

Dutch: “...but they’re touching-”

Hosea: “exACTLY!”

—

Hosea: “Did Dutch just tell me he loved me for the first time?”

Bessie: “Yeah.”

Hosea: “And did I do fingers guns back?”

Bessie: “Yes, yes you did.”

—

John: “So if I had.. you know.. hypothetically-“

Hosea: “Oh god what did you do?”

—

John: “I'm quick at math.”

Hosea: “Okay, what's 29 x 63?”

John: “37.”

Dutch: “What? That's not even remotely close.”

John: “But I was quick.”

—

Hosea, stomping angrily towards him: “DUTCH!”

Dutch, in his head: Ok play dumb

Dutch: “Who's Dutch?”

Dutch, in his head again: NOT THAT DUMB

—

Arthur: “I love sleep.”

Arthur: “It’s like dying but with breakfast at the end.”

—

John: “I am 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone. Sarcasm is my only defense.”

—

John: “Why is my hand shaking?”

Arthur, deciding to mess with him: “Your skeleton is ready to hatch.”

John: “W H A T”

—

Dutch, about to do something stupid: “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Hosea: “Same page? We're not even reading the same book! We're not even in the same library!”

—

Dutch: “Here you are, love, a nice hot cup of coffee.”

Hosea: “Oh, it’s cold.”

Dutch: “A nice cup of coffee.”

Hosea: “It’s horrible!”

Dutch: “A cup of coffee.”

Hosea: “I’m not even sure it is coffee.”

Dutch: “A cup.”

—

Dutch: “I want to wake up with you for the rest of my life.”

Hosea: “I wake up at 5.”

Dutch:

Dutch: “I want to go to bed with you for the rest of my life-“

—

Bessie, jokingly: “I should have Annabelle beat you up for that.”

Annabelle, peering around the corner: “Who do I need to beat?”

Bessie: “Wh- no, I was just kidding around.”

Annabelle, pulling out a knife: “No, who's bothering you?”

—

Arthur: “What are you gonna do, bite me?”

Feral John™️:

Arthur: “Actually, don't answer that.”

—

Bessie: “What's the first thing you notice when a man approaches you?”

Annabelle: “The audacity.”

—

John: "Anything that comes out of your mouth is stupid!"

Arthur, deadpan: "John."

—

Hosea: “Now, what are the three stages of life?”

Dutch: “Birth.”

Arthur: “What the fuck is this.”

John: “Death.”

—

Dutch, talking about Arthur: “How do you keep him from running away when you take him into town?”

Hosea: “He likes me. He doesn't want to run away.”

Dutch: “Really?”

Hosea, getting concerned: “Has Arthur ran away from you before?”

Dutch: “Yeah, I make him wear one of those toddler backpacks that have a leash attached to them.”

Hosea: “...but...he’s seventeen?”

Dutch: “Irrelevant.”

—

John: “If I was kidnapped, what would you do?”

Arthur: “Nothing. They would let you go voluntarily in 30 minutes.”

—

Annabelle: “Now that we have your attention-“

Dutch: “You don’t have my attention.”

Bessie: “Hosea.”

Dutch: “I’m listening.”

—

Hosea: “You have to pick your battles.”

Annabelle: “Well, I’m full of rage and I’m picking all of them.”

—

Dutch: “SHIT WE NEED AN ADULT!”

Arthur: “YOU ARE AN ADULT!”

Dutch: “OH FUCK!”

Dutch: “WE NEED A RESPONSIBLE ADULT GO GET HOSEA-“

—

Hosea: “Just be yourself. Say something nice!”

Annabelle: “Well, which one? I can’t do both.”

—

Arthur: “We'll be fine- we just have to think straight!”

Bessie:

Annabelle:

Dutch:

Hosea:

Arthur: “...you know what? Forget I said that.”

[splat-dragon]

Hi again!!! Could I request another Micah fic- but with EXTREME body horror? Maybe something with his face, where’s he’s kept alive and tortured? If you could do some branding and amputation (any amount of limbs- get crazy heehee) along with the other body horror and mutilation- that would be incredible!!! Tysm!!! 💖💕💖💕💖

why won't somebody come and save me from this, make it end?

AO3 LINK

@thedoodlenoodle-wa

“You know, Mr. Bell, my opinion on traitors.”

 and if the devil wore a man’s skin, the devil stood before him. Micah had never feared Van Der Linde - rather the opposite, in fact. Had thought him a soft fool, long fallen from his days as Dutch Van Der Linde, Outlaw King, but as he took in the feral smile and the hard glint of his beetle’s shell eyes, he knew that this was the face countless lawmen had seen just before their deaths.

 “Dutch,” he tried a final time, “I ain’t no traitor,”

 but the man only inclined his head in acquiescence, “I know, Mr. Bell. You’re a survivor.”  

 Micah’s eyes widened, looking from gang member to gang member, but none of them had so much as a hint of pity, of sympathy in their eyes. Even the O’Driscoll’s eyes were dark with, if not hate, severe dislike - and Bell’s chest burned with rage, the man was a snake himself!

 Van Der Linde clapped once, and their heads snapped to him as dogs to their master, “Mr. Morgan, Mr. Smith, Mr. Williamson, Mr. Matthews, if you would make sure our friend can’t make a run for it?”

 Our friend.

  Our friend.

 He knew what ‘our friend’ meant, and it was nothing good. Ice dripped down his spine and, at the nasty grin on Morgan’s face, at the dawning realization on Smith’s and Williamson’s faces when they looked from Morgan to Matthews, he felt his heart drop into the floor.

 “The rest of you, please go back to work! It’s crowded down here, and they’ll need space to work.” There were calls of discontent, and rather loud grumblings, but everyone cleared out, Van Der Linde waiting until they were all gone before clapping Matthews on the shoulder and following suit.

“Come on,” he tried for calm, for collected, didn’t think he pulled it off quite as well as he meant to, “you don’t really think I’d rat on you, do you?” but no one said anything, ignored him as Williamson lit the fire, throwing firewood in, while Smith relaxed against the wall with Matthews, the latter whispering something to Morgan before doing so, the younger man clambering up the stairs, “Where’s he going?”

 No one replied - he might as well have been furniture for how much attention was paid to him.

Morgan came clattering down, the flames in the fireplace roaring so hot they were sweating, something gleaming bright in his hand, passed off to Williamson and shoved into the flames so quickly he couldn’t get a good look at it, “What is that?” and his voice was much higher than he’d intended it to be.

 Again, he was ignored, Matthews instead addressing the three, “Make sure he’s well tied down ‘cept his right leg, I want to make sure you don’t get hit.”

 He fought, thrashed against his bindings, but he was already well tied and they carefully redid the ropes until they dug into his skin, he could feel his hair being torn out with each twitch and growled angrily, lashing out with his free leg. A whack to the back of his head stunned him,and he slumped, barely aware of his pants being torn off, cut where they were stopped by his bindings, and thrown off into the corner.

Matthews began to tap just below his knee, his voice distorted as he tried to gather his senses about him, drawing a line just under his kneecap, and Williamson nodded solemnly, though his face was anything but.

 Morgan dumped alcohol on his leg and he jolted, “What the hell?” and if grins could kill half of New Hanover would’ve dropped over dead.

 “Mr. Morgan, Mr. Smith, please keep him still.”

 “Yes Hosea!” they knelt, dragging his leg out and wrapping their arms around his lower leg, holding it so still that, though he tried to kick, he couldn’t even manage to twitch his foot, barely even managed to wriggle his toes. 

 “What the hell?!” he barked, but again was ignored, a scraping noise catching his attention and he turned to see Williamson drawing something white-hot from the fire, “What is that?” then as he neared he realized, oh god that’s a bone-saw what are they doing?

 “Careful, Bill,”

 “I know I know,” he grumbled, aligning the bone-saw just below his knee and Micah howled, jolting back or, at least, tried to, was well bound and Morgan and Smith had a good grip on his leg, already burning though he wasn’t yet touched and then—

  Tearing.

  Ripping.

 He couldn’t even scream.

  Sawing.

 His mouth gaped soundlessly, and he tried to double over, tried to lash out, but Smith and Morgan tightened their grips, held his leg straight out, and Williamson continued to saw steadfastly, sawing through skin and fat and muscle, cussing and carefully adjusting his cut when he scraped bone, turning up their noses at the scent of burning flesh.

  StopstopstopstopstopitHURTS

 The saw severed the last of the clinging skin and his lower leg dropped, would have hit the floor if it weren’t for Smith and Morgan’s hands gripping near his ankle, grimacing as they held the severed limb. “Take it upstairs Arthur,” and Smith was happy to let Morgan take the limb upstairs, stepping back to stand near the fire, as far from Micah as possible. “Is he bleeding, Bill?”

 Bill turned back from where he’d been shoving the bone-saw into the fire, giving Micah’s stump a cursory glance, “Naw, it burned it shut nicely.”

 Micah whimpered pitifully, mouth opening and closing - whywhywhy they’d crippled him they’d ruined him they’d destroyed him he was ruined

 His ears rang, their words swam through his head like so much water, and then they were going upstairs and why were they going upstairs why were they leaving him alone nonono don’t leave me alone!

An hour passed.

 Two.

 At least by his estimate, but he hadn’t a watch or a clock or a window or, even, a sundial. 

 Then three.

 And still, he was left alone.

 The silence rattled in his bones, each thud of his heart as loud as the crack of a gunshot. His leg hurt, God, it hurt, but it wasn't a leg anymore was it it was a stump

 If he opened his mouth he was going to scream, and scream, and scream.

He needed to run.

 They'd left him to starve, surely. To suffer to death.

 But he was not going to just sit there and starve. He began to twist his wrists, to work at the rope, bit his tongue against the pain as the rope shredded his skin, blood dripping down his arms until, finally! the knot on one came free and he tore at the other, growling as he flayed the skin of his fingers, surging and hurrying to free his ankle.

 Looked at his stump, felt the world wobble around him, tore his eyes away - he could freak out later, or never, preferably never - and staggered to his feet-foot, lurching and grabbing the wall as a crutch.

 Micah took a deep breath, leaned on the wall, and took a step.

 Hop.

 Step.

 Hop.

 Step.

 When he got out, he was going to kill them. Stand tall and proud and grin as he watched them hang.

 Hop.

 Step.

 Hop.

 Put a bullet through Williamson himself, Milton wouldn't mind much.

 Step.

 Hop.

 So long as they ended up dead, Milton would be happy.

At the stairs, he hesitated. Snarled, and lowered himself, a scream bitten off as he held his stump off the ground and began to crawl up, eyes on the cellar door.

 So close.

 It hurt.

 So close.

 It hurt.

He crouched as best he could when he couldn’t go any higher without hitting his head on the cellar door, straining his hearing and praying there was no one waiting. If they found him… if they found him trying to escape, who knew what they would do?

 Micah’d underestimated them once, and he didn’t intend to do so again.

There was silence and so he pushed it up, just slightly, and peered out. Only trees, and brush, and nothing else that he could make out, no voices or even horses, so he dared to open it and crawl out, biting his tongue until it bled when he had to put weight on his stump as he stood as best he could, grabbing a nearby tree and—

 —then he was off. Hobbling, grabbing anything he could use as a crutch. Tree by tree

 Hop

 Step

 Hop

 Step

 Tree

 Tree

 Tree

 And then he fell, and let himself lie, feeling awful sorry for himself. Agony throbbed through his leg, and it took all he had not to whine and whimper and cry out, and then he forced himself to stand and keep going, the further away he was when they found him gone the better and—

 “There he is!”

 His eyes went wide, 'Nonono!' and he began to hop - hopstephopstep - as fast as he could, but then Morgan was on him and the barrel of a gun was slamming into his head and pain!

and he was waking up back in the cellar, bound so tight he could hardly breathe.

  ‘No! Nononono!’

 He wasn’t alone for long. The cellar door creaked open, and his heart began to race, to leap and to bound so quickly he feared it might stop altogether, and then, impossibly, it raced faster when he saw Matthews and Smith and Williamson and Morgan coming down the stairs, faces serious as a heart attack.

  ‘No, no, no!’

 “That was real dumb Micah,” Morgan smirked, a slow, cruel thing that crawled across his face and bared his teeth, and Matthews patted his arm,

 “Don’t be mean, Arthur,” before directing Williamson to start the fire and oh god what were they going to do?

 Micah yelled, muffled by his gag, and slammed his foot into the ground, bound only by ropes around his arms, and Morgan looked to Matthews, raised an eyebrow, and the old man nodded, and then they were descending on him and he couldn’t even scream as they broke his leg, grabbing it and bringing his thigh down so hard over Morgan’s that the bone broke in half like a twig, Smith slamming his fist into his face, Morgan’s fists into his stomach and he felt something break, his nose shattered, then another rib, fuck he couldn’t breathe—

 “Enough boys, we want him alive.”

 They fell off, knuckles split and bloodied, eyes never leaving him as they stepped back to stand on either side of Matthews. Micah slumped over, gasping as best he could around the gag, testing metal, struggling not to drown in the blood from his broken nose, his head throbbing both from Smith’s punch and from the blow of Morgan’s gun, his ribs screaming, waves crashing in his ears as they talked, words nonsensical to him, moving around and doing… well, he wasn’t sure what.

 And then pain.

 Morgan and Smith were grabbing his snapped leg and pulling it straight out and he shrieked, writhing, tears dripping down his face and god he didn’t cry, he never cried, bile was rising in his throat and he struggled to swallow it down if he vomited he was going to choke to death, but would that really be so bad?

 Williamson approached, then, and though his vision was hazy he could make out the glowing of something in his hands and something snapped, nonononono oh god not again, he screamed and thrashed but they held his leg perfectly still, he couldn’t hear he couldn’t see oh god not again but there was nothing he could do as Williamson brought the blade down and began to saw just below his knee, mouth moving in a way that looked almost like he was whistling, and painpainpain he went limp, swallowing convulsively to keep from vomiting and choking and dying but almost wanted to because makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop but he refused to give them the satisfaction and then they were pulling his lower leg away and carrying it upstairs, leaving him to slump down in the chair and stare at the cauterized stumps that remained of his legs.

  ‘Oh my god.’

 He was never going to run again.

 He was never going to ride a horse again.

 He was never going to fucking walk again.

 They’d ruined him.

 They’d made him useless.

  ‘Uselessuselessuseless.’

PAIN.

 He arched with a scream, jerked and tried to reach up, to grab the brand that was crawling across his upper shoulders in some sort of pattern and oh god it hurts make it STOP but the bindings stopped them abruptly, tore at his skin, shredded it until blood splattered to the ground and he sobbed, slumping over with a pitiful moan ‘letmedieletmedieletmedie’ and Williamson finished branding in 

  DER LINDE

 looking to Matthews for approval, the man nodding and turning, saying something to the three Micah didn’t catch, his heart thudding too loud in his ears ‘killmekillmeKILLME’ and they vanished up the stairs and then he was blacking out—

How long he was out, he didn’t know. Long enough that the pain had dulled some, and that his wrists stopped bleeding.

 He kept his eyes closed, listened out. There was no breathing other than his, no muttering voices or even the crackle of the fireplace. So he dared to open them, found himself alone again, the fire down to ash, the cellar beginning to grow cold and he found himself shivering, it must have been the middle of the night he was sure, he was going to lose his fingers and his toes to the cold but oh god he’d already lost his toes hadn’t he? His toes and his feet and his lower legs oh god oh god oh god don’t focus on that now Micah he needed to get out.

 So, again, he began to saw at the ropes, vision going white as the rope dug into his flesh, as he worked to undo it, to loosen the rope until it would come undone. How long it took, he couldn’t say, long enough that it began to grow warmer, that he began to grow dizzy from the blood that bubbled from around the rope, that poured to the ground and pooled around his feet, but finally one of the ropes came loose enough that, with a jerk up, he was able to send it tumbling to the ground, reaching over and clawing at the other with numb, cold fingers until it came undone and joined the other, lurching forward and collapsing to the floor with a muffled scream of agony.

 Oh god, his ribs.

 Oh god, his face.

 Oh god, his stumps.

 Make it stop.

 Micah blacked out.

He didn’t know how long he was out, but he woke up shivering, shaking and shuddering, his face tacky with tears. The pain had dulled to a weak throbbing, and ‘Fuck make it stop please god’ how long had he been unconscious what if they were coming? Fuck if they found him free of his bindings he didn’t want to know what they’d do, he didn’t have any more legs for them to cut off oh god his legs he retched and turned his head and emptied his stomach on the ground, nothing more than bile how long had it been since he’d eaten?

 God, he needed to move. So he began to drag himself forward, digging his fingers into the dirt, groaning through clenched teeth as the shredded skin on the end of his fingers was torn back open on the rough ground, each pull taking more of his strength than he thought he had, he had to reach down and seek it, his shoulders screamed and he groaned pitifully as the dirt tore at his bared stomach, as more and more of the skin on his fingertips was shredded and ripped away.

 And then he was at the bottom of the stairs, and he thought dying might be worth it. Because hauling himself up the stairs was going to be agony, was going to take more energy, more strength, than he thought he had, but he’d already gotten this far and he was a survivor, dammit! so he reached up and grabbed the highest step he could reach, biting his tongue against a scream as the uneven steps gouged his stomach, collapsing when he could go no further and curling on himself, having cut his stumps, slamming a fist against the steps before making himself continue.

 Up, and up, and up. It could have been hours, or it could have been minutes, though it felt like the former. He left streaks of blood behind him, didn’t dare to look though he knew it must look like a murder scene, a carcass being dragged, could feel himself growing horribly woozy.

 Micah slumped when his head brushed against the door of the cellar, gasping and taking a moment to catch his breath and—

 —naturally, the cellar door flew up and open, and he had a moment to see a look of almost comical surprise on Morgan, Smith, and Matthews’ faces, before Morgan’s foot swung back and flicked forward, and his face exploded with pain (there went his nose again) and his head snapped back, his torso lifted off the ground, then his hips and stumps followed, and he was tumbling down the stairs with a howl of pain, vision going white as he struck the last stair skull first, laying still as he struggled to gather his wits about him, able only to moan weakly as Smith and Morgan gripped his arms and dragged him to the chair, throwing him into it and binding his torso below his armpits and at his hips, then stretching his arms out on the armrests and binding his wrists tightly.

He couldn’t make out what they were saying - his mind was still buzzing, the world spinning around him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. Could only just feel as Morgan swung his foot and slammed it into one of his stumps, couldn’t even react other than to blink dully - a concussion, surely?

 His shooting arm was pulled out straight, and Morgan shook his head, “Shouldn’t’a done that Micah,” as Williamson began to saw through his arm just passed his elbow, Micah trying to focus on anything else (I’llneverbeabletoshootagainI’muselessI’muselessI’museless) and realizing that Matthews was nowhere to be seen as his forearm and hand hit the ground, taken upstairs by Morgan who, after the pair had cleaned up and wrapped the cauterized wound, was followed by Williamson and Smith.

He waited as long as he dared - other members of the gang visited him, mauled him. Took out their frustrations on him, fed him only as much as he needed. By Morgan’s fourth visit he was determined to escape and, so, he counted out a thousand seven times before working himself free.

 He dragged himself two paces, sun shone into the cellar, and he went limp as Smith sighed, tromping down the stairs and digging his fingers into his hair, dragging him by it into the chair, deaf to his hollering and shouting of pain - his stumps and other wounds had long gone numb - flinging him into it and binding him loosely before vanishing up the stairs.

 It didn’t surprise Micah when they stretched out his final arm, bound him tightly, and sawed it off.

Slowly, they stopped coming.

 MacGuire was the first. Grew bored with prodding at his wounds, tugging to worsen them and prevent their healing, of cracking jokes about how his teeth were 'worse than mine now, huh?’

 Then Escuella, the man losing the perverse pleasure he seemed to take in dragging his knife along his skin, drawing the faintest of lines into him before, seemingly without prompting, digging it into him until he screamed, then pulling it out and doodling again. He’d grown bored with it, towards the end, losing the vigor with which he’d done it before no longer showing up at all.

 The ladies had lasted the longest. Would come down and take out their frustrations, beat on him with a club or their fists and shout and holler and scream as though he were a tree, nonsense he had no interest in but was forced to bear, forced to listen about how ‘Bill is such a pig!’ whack! how ‘John needs to act like a goddamn father!’ crunch! about how ‘You men can do some of your own damn laundry!’ (Jackson had broken his nose, then)

 And then no one had showed up to feed him one feeding.

 Then two.

 Then three, and he’d realized he was fucked.

 He’d nearly broken his neck trying to twist so he could get to the rope around his neck, had shredded his gums 'til he choked on the blood trying to chew through his gag, but finally all he could do was slump against it, shouting and pleading against the rag in his mouth, but no one ever came.

“Sir,” Milton woke up, some weeks later, to a young Pinkerton agent knocking on his door, so pale he nearly offered him a chair for fear of him collapsing, “I think you need to see this.”

 He led him out the door, swaying on his feet as he kept a large distance from a massive box which, even from where Milton stood, he could make out his name scrawled on it. The man drew his gun, approaching warily, and jumped back after opening in some parts alarm and wariness—

 a tanned hide of a sort he’d never seen before sat inside, folded on itself as it hadn’t enough room to be fully stretched out, RAT branded meticulously atop the torso. A collection of limbs - half-limbs, a foot there, a half a leg there, half an arm here, a handless arm there - was piled beneath it and, to his horror, a tanned head was stitched to the hide, face twisted in agony, something rolled and sticking out of the mouth, a familiar white hat sat atop straw-like blond hair.

 He neared, fighting down bile, aiming his gun at the ratsnake that had been coiled around his hat before realizing it long dead, carefully tugging the papers - no, photographs? - out of the man’s mouth and nearly taking the head with it, straining the stitching—

  Him, handing over a clip of money to Bell

  Van Der Linde’s bounty poster, next to Bell’s coat

  His wife, brushing her horse

  Edgar’s family, sitting at the riverside

 Milton roared, grabbing the hide’s head and chucking it as far as it would go, the hide unfolding and flying along like some macabre kite, half-rotted limbs scattering every which way.

[iam-kenough]

Will you ever notice me? (Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character)

Summary:  Dutch and his boys found a girl hidden inside wrecked shack near their camp. She introduces herself as Iris and starts leading outlaw life with Van der Linde gang, quickly developing feelings towards one, special cowboy. However there is big year gap between them and Arthur sees Iris just as a kid...And girl won’t take that!

Authors notes: I updated two chapters today and I hope few of those who read this story will be happy! It’s just another chapter and you can find the rest of them following masterlist on my blog if you  want to read more of my  fanfiction. Hope you gonna enjoy it! Words count:2921 Chapter 13 Arthur Morgan wasn't leading the best life. It was full of danger, stress and runaways. Man did many things wrong, not looking after Eliza and Isaac to start with,  not learning a lesson to not fuck with young girls as it will ruin their life. And there was Arthur, clinging onto memory of his last fallout with Iris. It was something horrible, something that dragged him down for couple days now. Arthur really wanted to talk with Iris but every time he saw her alone, he couldn't. He had lump in his throat just by looking at girl and when was just sure about what he's gonna say, he forgot all the words. But maybe there were none? Maybe he fucked up another thing that was important to him and he had to cope with it? And finally, maybe it will be easier to shut her out?

She was sitting on the grass and washing up clothes, her hair falling onto her beauitful face. Arthur was worried that broken nose is gonna change her appearance but it was the same, it healed well and quickly as she had vigor in herself. Arthur started sketching Iris, hiding away from her gaze so he could memorize every of her feautures without being noticed.

She's leaving, he overheard, now for sure. The night after John's wedding she's gonna be long gone, moving to some big city. She's leaving even if only to became a waitress instead of robbing people and to live on her own.

All ideas he had were terrible. Arthur was thinking about stealing her money so Iris won't be able to leave so soon but he wanted her to stay and love him, not just make her life more miserable. He noticed piece of his own face reflecting in the mirror that he usually used for shaving and he felt disgusted with himself, putting object face down. Arthur overheard her sobbing in a tent one night and that was it. Do or die - Arthur said to himself, because if he's gonna leave her like that in this very moment, he's gonna become even worse cold motherfucker.

Cowboy peeked inside between two flaps and found Iris lying on the bed, makeup running down her cheeks, visibly drunk. She haven't notice him at first. She was holding a letter and one of he's shirts, cuddling with it.

- Can I come in? - he felt like an idiot even for asking that, knowing the answer. But there was still a blink of hope, right? Iris looked stuttered and embarassed when she noticed his presence but then her features softened. She was drinking again, but it was different. Iris got sentimental today rather than furious or playful and Arthur knew the feeling, he was getting like this too whe he had too much.

Arthur rested on the cot, near to her feet. Without any thinking he started carresing Iris's leg. - I'm okay, not need to pity me - she murmured after a while, wiping tears away, turning face into opposite direction from Arthur's gaze.

- You don't look like ''okay''. I feel like I can help even to pay for small piece of my faults...?

She was starving for his touch, that's why she straightened her legs so he would be more comfortable to reach them. They remained like this in another moment of silence, Arthurs fingers tickling girl's skin.

- Is that my shirt? - he asked, not getting the point of having it.

- Yes, I stole it from your tent last week. Yes, it might be creepy. But...I don't care what you think about me anymore - Iris mumbled.

- I ain't gettin' it, girl, it's just dirty shirt of mine - Arthur shaked his head, eyes widening.

- It's the closest thing to hugging you when I am drunk enough to fool myself it's you lying next to me. Helps me sleepin' too. Arthur rarely felt like falling apart to cry, but this was this moment. After all of that he was still in her heart and she associated him with safety. He decided he's gonna take a bit of luck and he aproached her slowly, takin' her into bear hug. Iris's hands curled around his chest in no time. Arthur was rocking her a little, stroking her hair and small of her back. Iris couldn't fight anymore, even she didn't have enough pride to push Arthur away and shut him out. Cpwboy was needed right now.

- What did I do to deserve it? - she whispered, her voice sad - I will do that again just to have you over even one more time in the future if you'd share this secret...  

- You don't have to to do anythin'. I am the problem here, honey, not you - Arthur's voice was soothing as he planted kiss ontop of Iris's head.

- Arthur, I became homeless today - Iris suddenty changed topic, passing him a piece of paper. It was a poster with her face on it. "Iris Rhiannon/ from Van Der Linde Gang/ Wanted dead or alive/ 2000$".

- That means I have to take all money I saved and probably sell everything I own - girl said as noticed Arthur familiarised himself with poster -  That thing I pulled out with the train couldn't work out without slapping me back. I should've know better.

- Iris, listen - Arthur cut in suddenly, maybe it wasn't the nicest but he didn't care, it was intentions that mattered now - I can help you.

- I'm not pregnant with your child anymore so there's no reason for you looking after me, Arthur. I'm gonna be fine... somehow - Iris hesistated like she tried to convince himself, not Morgan.

- You gonna be fine? Ah, goddamn, woman, don't try to be proud when you obviously need me! You can't even leave the camp now! - Arthur shaked his head, speaking impatiently but she backed off, visibly scared.

- Why did you come here yelling at me, I don't need you! - she pushed him away

- Jesus, I'm sorry - man lowered his tone right away  -  I just ain't gonna let it happen, money means nothin' to me now, okay? Let me save you - he demanded, cupping Iris's small hand with his bigger one.

Iris suddenly gave in and nodded,  blushing briefly. Even if she wasn't thinking about accepting offer for real it was heartwarming and flattering that he tried to fight. Arthur decided he's gonna drink with her tonight, unless none of these words will come out. Man wasn't used to showing weakness, he'd rather be dominant asshole. So he took big gulp from the bottle, preparing for being more tender.

- If the bounty hunters are gonna come for you they won't simply kill you, they gonna take you to town and I'm gonna watch you hang, you know that? That's why I will help you and that's it. - he was giving her this fatherly speech, with low, demanding voice.

- Only if it'll make you feel better - Iris shrugged, tucking strand of  hair behind her ear.

- It's not about me, Darlin' - he caressed girl's head, playing with one of locks - I will probably never gonna pay you back for my deeds so that's good start for me to be a better man, for you.

Iris took a place with her back against tent's wall and started looking at her nails with embarrassment. Her fantasies weren't going so far when she expected to see him, so now it was akward to sit next to him as all of those words didn't seem honest or true.

- Don't overthink it, even if it's gonna be only for now, 'kay?

- I guess you're right. If you are here, we could use this time better. They drank together that night and cuddled like they had no worries. Arthur was telling Iris stories about the craziest things he did with the gang so far, and she giggled, admiring he's composed face when he tried to collect thoughts to describe everything in best way. It seemed almost like they never argued, like man never hurt Iris so badly...like they were a real couple.

- That's why I don't like to see you risking your life. I was to close to dying stupid death many times in my life - Arthur said finally, eyes softing at sight of Iris's face.

- I kind of like it - Iris exclaimed and then she noticed how close to each other they were, their noses millimeters apart - I mean, the adrenaline rush - she finished slowly, looking at Arthur's lips.

Suddenly Arthur realized that if they would kiss he wouldn't mind. He smiled with charming manner and caressed Iris's arm, inhaling her scent floating in the air. She always smelled like honey and flowers.

Then their lips met, both surprised with reaction of opposite side. Arthur and Iris was kissing like they were starving and this act were supposed to feed them. Arthur started to purr like a cat, parting girls lips with his tongue, tangling  fingers into her hair. Iris climbed on his lap right away, Arthur's hips between her tights as she was facing him and she deepened the kiss. They both started to sweat and their hands were running all around each other's bodies. Iris was trembling, melting away Arthur's body, playing with buttons of his shirt and with his suspenders. She moaned against his lips. It was hot, too hot and Arthur decided it has to stop or someone is gonna feel guilty in the morning.

- Iris, baby, we can't do that - he catched breath and tried to calm himself, ignoring her proximity and the fact he was horny as hell.

- Why? - girl asked, her face going sad and in pain in not time - I want you now...

- You just think you want me and I have one rule, I don't have sex when one of the sides is too drunk to decide about it properly - he explained, trying to look away from her cleavage right in front his eyes.  

- What a gentelman you are - Iris said, backing off and resting on the edge of bed. Her back was facing Arthur right now. Girl was trying to collect her thoughts, surprised with an outcome of their actions but in very bad way. Like she was opening a present and there was nothing inside the box.

- I just don't want to use you, and-

- Just cut it. You don't want me and that's it - she shrugged, eyes pierced into the floor - but of course you don't.

- Oh - Arthur murmured to her ear, his warm breath ticklish- I want you more than ever, you can clearly see what you can do to me...

- If it was true you wouldn't stop. But it's all calculated, eh? Your feelings even don't behave like ones. You are... the coldest person I know.

- I would never turn you down, you know that - he started caressing her back with his lips, it gave Iris this weird sensation in her stomach.

- At morning when I saw my poster I thought I hit my rock bottom, but no. I did it right now - she giggled but there was nothing happy to it- I'm not even good enough for one night stand. I never expected being this low that man I consider as handsome doesn't even want to use me, hiding behind explanations. Guess life is full of surprises for me.

- How can you be like this? You want me to use you?! - Arthur was shoked and maybe even offened by the was Iris was thinking.

- I just thought for a moment it's somehow normal again. It felt normal, being like this with you. Don't bother yourself with any more explanations, please - Iris quickly wiped away her tears so he wouldn't see them - Goodnight, Arthur.

- Let me stay with you, please? - Arthur said with hope in the last word.

- If that's what you need - sgirl shaked her head with disappointment. Normally she would just chug on the bottle and fall asleep drunk but she just simply rested on the bed and curled up with his shirt. Arthur was unbelievable.

- I think that's what you need, eh, girl?

- I don't know anymore - she shrugged - But yea, stay. You are more than welcome.

Iris looked at him as he undressed to his union suit and she saw his chest peeking from between the buttons. She blushed and looked away. Arthur's skin was nicely tanned, soft and peppered with hair. Arthur run fingers through his hair and yawned. He looked incredible adorable when he was sleepy, 'cause it was one of those moments he fully let down his guard. She started feeling guilt, she had no right to have him and he was right turning her down. Iris suddenly appreciated the fact he lost enough time to figure out something smart and nice to tell her instead of that he's simply not interested in her anymore. Girl wouldn't sure if she would keep herself together if it were the words he would use. Real gentelman like Arthur wasn't meant for insufferable brat like her.

- What're you thinking about? - Arthur rested behind her back and closed the distance between them, Iris felt like wave of warmth is going through her body.

- Nothin' - she lied briefly - I guess... I'm too drunk to think. That's why I do that in the first place, I mean, drinking.

He hummed with aproval, burrying his face in crook of Iris's neck

- Wanna sleep already? This was a really long day for you.

It wasn't only guilt now, this feeling quickly mixed up with shame and realisation. They were lying in her bed, wearing only their undergarments and even in this very moment, he just cuddled her instead of tearing her apart like lover would do. Iris was no woman for him. Few minutes passed before brunette interrupted this tense silence.

- How are you feeling, Arthur? I mean, any coughing lately?

-...no. Surprisingly - he opened his eyes with realisation. He wasn't in pain anymore but lately so many things happened he couldn't even think about being sick. Untill now.

- Guess I did good. Feeding you with all those weird herbs back then - she stopped and collected her thoughts - I know you got TB. Or had it, as I see now, thanks to book you bought me for birthday.

Arthur got up quickly, his eyes full of questions. Like she just dropped the bomb.

- When you got back from being O'Driscolls hostage and I was taking care of you I noticed that you spit blood while you cough. I had to do something - she was playing with buttons of Arthur's shirt, the one she still cuddled instead of turning around to face him - Just wasn't sure it would work, so I observed you without letting you false hopes. But today I lie next to you and listen to your breath knowing I did good.

- You cured my tuberculosis?! H-how? I've been told I'm gonna die soon, so-

- And even with this thought you wouldn't have me tonight to be real gentelman, how sweet of you - she smirked and got up, grabbing bottle of booze from the floor - Goodnight, Arthur. Hope it's last time we see each other like this.

- Where are you going, eh? - Arthur got up and catched her arm, squeezing it. She hissed.

- Away from you, that's where. Everything you do is pushing me away and pulling me back when you have no one else to go, but...- she looked up into his eyes, those eyes devil would be proud to have and smiled sadly - I guess I can't do that anymore. Even if it means breaking up forever with you.

- What are you talking about, you can't just do that, you need my help! - Arthur spreaded his arms in gesture of disbelief.

- So give me it if it's really meaningless for you to pay two thousand dollars for my head. And then fuck off. But you wouldn't do that, will ya? You don't want to help me, you want to buy me so I'll keep meeting with you on those pathetic terms like nothing ever happened.

- What did I do now to deserve this? I am no saint but I came here today to help and all I get is this angry face of yours - Arthur's tone was showing visible irritation. Iris was the only person who could put him from peace to boiling anger in few seconds.

- Guess people don't work like that, Mr Morgan - Iris looked aside with unsure expression, like she was afraid to look at his face and see something in there - I still remember everything, despite fact loving you and... there will be a time for me I will have to run and don't look back. Not even after you.

- You still want to move? Even now? You are crazy, probably half of people around are waiting to catch you! - he gestured towards tent's entrace.

- So let them try, there is nothing much left of me anyway. You say I'm crazy pulling out stunts like I was a cat with 7 lifes behind my belt but no, I am doing that because I have only one and it's shitty as hell. Drink to that, Mr Morgan!

And with those words she left Arthur speechless, as he was looking after her silhuette fading away into the warm night. 

[spursthatgojinglejangle]

Busts and Snowflakes

Heyo, @kaimerala​!  I was your @rdrsecretsanta​!  I know you asked for something fluffy and maybe a job gone wrong turning into a date, so I hope you like it!

He was supposed to be gone by now.  

You had scoped out this job for a whole God damn week.  It was perfect, absolutely foolproof.  Every night, at the same time, the man in charge of keeping the Blackwater Bank secure would sneak out the back.  Where he went, you had no clue - it didn’t matter.  What mattered was that for a whole week, he left the bank alone with only a lock to protect everything.

You had convinced Arthur Morgan to join you.  You were no lock breaker and he was the best the gang had.  This was supposed to be your sure-fire ticket into the gang.  Charles Smith had proven his worth with some stagecoach job only a few weeks into his tenure here.  Then Micah Bell earned his spot with as much work as there was bloodshed, but each paled to the amount of brown-nosing he had done to earn his place at the table.  It didn’t matter.  What mattered was that you were the only one left who hadn’t gotten a big hit.  You were the only one who had yet to prove that they were up to snuff, that you deserved to run with Dutch van der Linde and his group of degenerates.  

The Blackwater Bank was supposed to be your proof to not only Dutch, Hosea, and all of them, but to you as well.

And the goddamn security guard was ruining it.  He was supposed to have left the bank and gone home to his wife and kids to spend Christmas with them over an hour ago.

You could feel the laughter building in Arthur’s chest.  You could see the look in his eye, even as he stared down in the dirt and puffed away at his cigarette.  You could see the bemusement, despite him ducking further and further into the safety of his hat.

“Oh, Jules!  Jules!  There!  Oh, God, yes!!”

They had been going at it for over an hour.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning long and slow and absolutely pitifully.  Your cheeks burned so hot, the snow melted against them.  Or were those tears of embarrassment?  Honestly, you wouldn’t have been shocked with either.  You were absolutely humiliated, mortified.  You should have followed him to see where he was going, at least.  You should have thought about why he was going out every night just to go home to see his fucking family.  No one likes their family that much.  You didn’t even like your family that much.  Why hadn’t you thought of it?  Why didn’t it seem wrong?

How were you supposed to know the fucking security guard had a mistress? 

You could feel Arthur Morgan shift beside you, fixing the hat on the top of his head to cover his face more with each passing second.  He hadn’t said anything - not yet, at least.  Not that he hadn’t wanted to, you were sure.  You had talked this job up for days and he had warned you about “counting your chickens before they hatched”.  Despite the “I told you so” energy hanging about the air, your partner in crime had remained rather silent about everything:  on your blunder, on the lewd exchange happening in the security office of the Blackwater City Bank, on how you dragged him out of a warm bed just for this.    

You didn’t trust it.

“Say it.”   You said, finally.

“Say what?”  Arthur asked. 

“Oh, honey, oh, sweetie!  Oh, God!”

You pulled your hands away from your face, glaring at Arthur darkly.  “Don’t piss with me, Morgan.  Say it.”

His chest rumbled and his head shook.  Even though you had only been running with him for a few short months, you knew what that noise was: he was laughing.  “We all mess up sometimes.”  He finally said.

“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better.”  

He laughed again.  “Yeah, well…”

What were the others back at camp going to think?  You had been talking up this job, bragging about it until you were blue in the face. And now? You could kick yourself, throw yourself over the edge of the cliff and pray for the death to be painless.  Or at least less terrible than walking into camp with nothing but a broken pride would be.  The hubris of man.  What was the Greek story Hosea had mentioned?  Icarus or something or other?  You were going too big, too soon, with too little experience and you…

“Hey,” Arthur said. With a soft groan, the cowboy moved to sit beside you, giving you a hard pat on the shoulder that was meant to be comforting. “We all do it. At least once.”

“What?” You glance his way. “Make a fool of yourself?”

He gave a short laugh, nodding a few times for added emphasis. “Well, that: some more than most. But I mean mess up a job - especially your first one.”

“I’ve been out with you boys now a few times,” You argued. “I should know what to look for now. I…I need to start doing things on my own.”

“And you will. Trust me when I say, you will.”

He didn’t have to ask that of you. In the short months you two had known each other, one fact solidified itself in your chest and refused to budge: you trusted Arthur Morgan more than anyone else in this world.  Despite all this, however, his words were falling on bitterly deaf ears. You knew he was doing his best to try and ease your humiliation, though it did little to make you feel any better.  As you focused instead on the bank across the street and the writhing shadows on the wall through the window, a small thought crossed your mind.  It wasn’t a good one.  In fact, it made the heaviness in your chest tug and twist.  You didn’t actually really care about what the rest of the gang thought: not Dutch, not Hosea, not Micah or Charles or any of the others. Just him.

That’s why you dragged him out here, wasn’t it? It wasn’t to prove to the gang you could be an asset. It wasn’t to prove to Dutch you belonged.

Your gaze snapped at the strike of a match. Your attention shifted to catch Arthur Morgan lower his leg and toss a piece of smoldering wood away, snuffed out by the snow.  You watched as he glanced up at the grey sky, as his cheeks thinned and chest rose when he pulled smoke into his lungs.  You were not ignorant of the flutter in your stomach. You were not ignorant of the skip in your heart as his fingers tapped the ash off and into the dirt.  It was a hard and sickening truth that you didn’t like acknowledging. 

You wanted Arthur to know you could be helpful to him. That you could help him if he needed you.

Your eyes narrowed before looking away, fingers lacing together as you leaned forward.  He didn’t say anything and you weren’t sure if you were glad for it or longed for the sound of his voice.  What you were certain of was your desire to show him that you could be just as useful as anyone else, more so. He wore himself down so much, gave everything he had and then some to each and everyone in the little makeshift family masquerading as a gang. Even to you, and the fact you couldn’t give as much and then some…?

“Arthur and I are gonna get us enough money to get us all a nice plot of land, all the way out in California.  Maybe we could open a resort or something!”

He had almost looked proud of you.

You looked up at the window, a particularly high pitched squeal from the woman made Arthur laugh beside you. A bark that made your heart…well…you were never good with words. But it was a pleasant feeling that pulled a smile from you. You dared look at him again and found yourself freezing as he leaned in. “At least someone is having a good night.” He said, offering you the cigarette.

A good night. Was it a good night? 

You took the cigarette and he pulled away. Bringing it to your lips, taking a deep intake, you found yourself…thinking about it all again.  You were here. And so was Arthur Morgan. He didn’t have to put his life on the line. And for a moment, with just the two of you there…you could swear that you saw the sour expression around his eyes thin, that his smile was a little less…weighed.  You glanced back at the shadows dancing along the walls.

The woman in the room let out another squeal. And you smiled.

“She’s faking it,” You say, laughing and taking another deep intake.

Arthur looked between you and the shadows, then back again just to be sure. He laughed again, taking the cigarette back as you offered it. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“That poor bastard.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, a lighter sound now that you had a minute to sit and recollect your thoughts. Before anxiety could settle back into your chilled bones,  you pushed yourself up and off out of the dirt and gave Arthur a gentle tap against his shoulder.  You could have sworn you saw Arthur smile as he moved to join you;  even so, his lips were quickly preoccupied with his smoke and cutting off the line of sight.  

“Come on,”  You heaved a heavy sigh, enjoying as his arm snaked around your neck, resting warmly and comfortably.  “I owe you breakfast for dragging you through this mess.”

“Ah,” He gave you a gruff squeeze, making no move to pull away as he lead you down the alley and back onto the main street. “Breakfast does sound good right about now. ‘Sides, give those two another ten minutes, they’ll be done.“

The thought struck you as odd. He was still willing to do the job? You turned to him, brows furrowed. “You still want to hit the bank?”

“Can’t have you going back to camp empty handed.”

“But the guard-”

“Will be in such a state that he won’t be none the wiser we were even there.”

…huh. you felt a grin spread across your face. “So I didn’t screw it up!”

“Oh no, you did. But my Christmas gift to you is fixing your mistakes so you’re not made the fool.”

Arthur Morgan was a good man. One of the best. You laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, in kind. "Merry Christmas, then, Mr. Morgan.”

—

I am so sorry this is late/terrible!! Once my eye heals up I’ll edit it more for you! I hope you had a Merry christmas love!!

[saxonspud]

The Outlaw and the Treasure Hunter - Chapter 19 - A Hanging

Izzy woke up as sunlight filtered through the windows of the cabin. She hadn't been able to bring herself to wash the scent out of Dutch's shirt. In fact, she had taken to wearing it. Each day his scent faded just a little bit more. Some days she would just sit in the cabin, on the floor leaning against the wall, smelling the shirt and thinking what might have been. Other days she would tell herself not to be so stupid. She would sit out on the jetty, on the edge of the lake, and fish. She'd found a fishing pole in the cabin. She wasn't the greatest at fishing, but had caught some small fish, enough to cook for herself.

She had been slightly surprised, when no one had returned to the cabin. Especially since it was so well stocked with food. But it was pretty much out in the wilds, so it wasn't really a surprise.

She had only been there a day, when her treasure hunter instinct kicked in. Or maybe it was her fathers words, which still echoed in her ears, "keep your wits about you."

She still had the treasure, that she had recovered from the little island. She decided to hide it. She found an old sack, and tied it under the jetty, so that it was just above the water. That way, if she had to travel, which she was sure she would do at some point, it would be safe. Especially if someone else decided to squat in the cabin, when she was away.

Izzy got up, and made herself some coffee. She would need to decide on a plan of action. She couldn't sit around here day after day. She needed to buy a map, so she could get to work on the treasure map she had found. It was the only one she had now. She should also think about visiting a fence, to get some money for the treasure she had collected. She still had a fair bit of cash, so that wasn't a priority.

Izzy was woken from her day dream, by a loud bang at the door.

"Isabella Pickett. You better get out here now!"

Izzy went to the door.

"Who's there?" she asked, nervously.

"We're here on behalf of the Valentine Sheriff." The man yelled.

Izzy opened the door, a crack.

As soon as she did this, the door was pulled out of her hands, and yanked open.

The man on the other side of the door, pointed his revolver, in her face.

"raise your hands, you can either come quietly, or I'll shoot you where you stand," he growled.

Izzy swallowed hard, and raised her hands. "What do you want, I don't understand?" she gasped.

The man grabbed Izzy by the shirt, and threw her onto the ground. Pinning her there with his foot, he holstered his gun, and started to tie her hands behind her back.

"I'm taking you in for murder," he snarled.

"Murder! I haven't killed anyone!" She exclaimed.

"You would say that," he laughed, humourlessly. He picked her up by the shirt, so that she was standing. Drawing his revolver, he smashed the butt, into her jaw. Knocking her senseless.

He quickly tied her ankles together, and stowed her on his horse.

"Easiest bounty, I've ever collected," He chuckled, and mounted up.

Arthur woke, as the sunlight shone through the curtains of the St. Denis hotel room. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept in a bed. Although, from what Dutch had told him last night, it seems he couldn't remember much at all. He glanced over to the other side of the room, Dutch was sitting in the chair, just looking at him.

"Did you stay there all night?" he asked.

Dutch smiled, and nodded. "I thought I was gonna lose you, Arthur." he whispered.

"Or are you afraid I might go crazy again." Arthur sighed. "Are you sure you made the right choice, between me and the girl. Sounds like I ruined her life." he added, sadness clouding his face.

"No son. I couldn't let you die." he replied.

Arthur shook his head, "she might die now, because of me. If they think she murdered all those people, when it was me. If they catch her and hang her. How will I ever live with that. Bad enough I killed all those people."

Dutch stood up, "I ain't gonna let that happen." He walked over to the bed, and sat on the edge of it.

"And I wont let you keep blaming yourself for what happened, either. So lets talk no more about it." he demanded.

Arthur nodded, "guess we better go see the doctor, let him check me over."

"I'll meet you downstairs." Dutch said, as he walked to the door.

Arthur was a bit steadier on his feet today, and managed to climb onto the back of John's horse, without any help. He'd managed to put his hat on at such an angle, so that the metal patch, wasn't so noticeable. John had stopped staring at it now, but he didn't think that the denizens of St. Denis, would find it so easy.

When they arrived at the doctors office, he walked in. The doctor was somewhat surprised, to see how calm and relaxed Arthur was.

Arthur smiled, and extended his hand. He shook the doctors hand, "I think I owe you a debt of gratitude." he said.

Nathaniel smiled. "You were the first person to have this done. You have no idea what good you have done, by letting me do this."

Arthur took a deep breath, "Its never gonna make up for all the bad things I did, but I guess its a start."

Nathaniel, pointed at his head, "Any pain, headaches?"

Arthur shook his head, "No. Guess it may take a while for people to get used to seeing it," he replied, as he gently touched the plate.

"With a bit of luck, the hair will grow around it, and hide it a little," Nathaniel continued, "I think, you can go home, where ever home is!"

Arthur laughed, "not even I know that."

Dutch interrupted, "we better get going. If you ever need anything Nathaniel, send a letter to Tacitus Kilgore. It will reach us, one way or another."

"Thank you, Mr Van Der Linde. I hope I never have to, but the sentiment is appreciated, none the less."

John, Dutch and Arthur, left the doctors office. Leaving Hosea to say his goodbyes to his brother.

After several minutes he joined them outside.

They all mounted up, and headed out of St. Denis.

Izzy opened her eyes, everything was a blur. Her face hurt like hell. She squeezed her eyes closed, and reopened them. Allowing them to focus. She was in a jail cell.

At least she wasn't tied up. But that was small consolation.

She sat up, and looked out to see Sheriff Malloy, sitting at his desk.

She stood up, her head spun, for a few seconds.

"Sheriff, there's been some sort of a mistake." she pleaded, as she wrapped her hands around the bars of the jail cell.

The Sheriff looked over at Izzy. "No mistake, Miss Pickett. You were seen with that Outlaw, and that Mexican. But taking over the murdered man's cabin, well that was just foolish."

"Murdered!" She exclaimed, "I thought it was just abandoned. I never killed anyone."

"Your parents were good people. You're a cold blooded killer, walking around like nothing happened. And poor Ethan. You played that boy like a fiddle." He snarled.

"Please! You gotta believe me. I haven't killed anyone. I was kidnapped. Then I got attacked by wolves."

The sheriff laughed, "I guess being the daughter of a treasure hunter, I might have guessed you could tell a good story." He sighed, "I feel sorry for your family, that came visiting. Now all their gonna see is you hang."

"Hang! I haven't done anything wrong!" she cried.

Sheriff Malloy, glared at Izzy. "Now I suggest you shut the fuck up, unless you want another bruise on your cheek, to match the other one!" he threatened.

Izzy felt her cheek, where the bounty hunter had hit her. She walked over to the bed and sat down, holding her head in her hands. This was it. She was gonna die.

Leopold Strauss, stepped off the train. He felt that this was getting rather tiresome. Everyday, he'd made the same journey. It was quicker to go to Rhodes, then catch the train to Valentine. Rather than ride. He didn't particularly like riding anyway. The tiresome part, was that the same thing happened everyday. He'd check for post, there would be none, so he'd make the same journey back home. A complete waste of time. When he could be doing something far more constructive.

But he had promised Dutch, that he would do this, so do it, he must.

He walked to the counter and sighed. "Any mail for Tacitus Kilgore?" He asked.

"Oh yes," the clerk said, "it was dropped off this morning. Marked urgent."

he handed him the envelope.

Leopold Strauss, opened the envelope. He read it in disbelief.

"When is the next train to Rhodes?" He asked, a sense of urgency in his voice.

"Should be one along in about twenty minutes." The clerk replied.

Strauss looked at his pocket watch. He could only hope, he made it back in time.

As soon as the train arrived in Rhodes, he ran to his horse, which was still hitched at the station.

He rode as fast as he dared, back to the camp, at Clemens point. He ran over to Charles, who was talking to Javier.

"Gentlemen, quickly. The Sheriff has Miss Pickett. They are going to hang her for murder this afternoon."

He passed the letter to Charles, who quickly read it, and passed it to Javier.

"I'm going to get her!" Javier exclaimed.

Charles put his hand on Javier's shoulder. "You can't, they're looking for you as well. Dutch told you not to go into Valentine."

Javier shook his head, "Dutch isn't here, I'm the best shot. We can't let her hang. Dutch would never forgive us, and besides she's innocent. All the people she's accused of murdering, were killed by Arthur!"

Javier, shrugged away, from Charles grip, and ran over to his horse. He pushed it straight into a gallop, not slowing down for anything.

The four outlaws rode back to camp at a relatively steady pace. Mostly because Arthur was riding as a passenger, and the extra weight would have tired the horse anyway. By the time they reached the camp, it was mid-afternoon. As they rode in, Bill who was on guard duty, stared at Arthur, as he rode by.

"It's ok Bill," Dutch commented, "he's back to normal."

Bill rolled his eyes, "You better go see Charles, something's happened."

Dutch frowned. Quickly dismounting, he left Hosea and John, to help Arthur.

He rushed over to Charles, who was talking to Strauss.

"What's going on Charles, Bill said something has happened. Where's Javier?"

Charles took a deep breath. "The Sheriff arrested Izzy, for Murder. She's due to be hanged this afternoon. I tried to talk him out of it, but he's gone to Valentine."

Dutch, dragged his fingers through his hair, then scratched the back of his neck.

Strauss looked at him. "Javier is probably her only hope now. She was due to be hanged at Four O' Clock. It's now three. You wouldn't get there in time. I'm sorry."

Arthur walked across to where Dutch was standing.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Dutch pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Sheriff has Izzy. They're hanging her this afternoon. For murder." He sighed.

"No! They can't. She's innocent." Arthur held his head in his hands, "god dammit, this is all my fault."

Dutch looked at Arthur, he bit his bottom lip, and closed his eyes. "I know. But we're too late!"

The Sheriff, walked over to Izzy's cell.

"Turn around, and don't give me no trouble," he warned.

Izzy did as she was told.

As the Sheriff, bound her wrists behind her back, she sighed.

"You're making a big mistake. I haven't killed anyone."

He grabbed her roughly by the arm, and marched her out the jail house, just around the corner was the scaffold. She felt a knot in her stomach. She hoped it would be quick.

There was a large crowd already gathered. A lot of people she knew.

"Murdering bitch!" she heard someone shout.

She felt tears, pricking her eyes as a tear fell on her cheek.

Izzy stood at the top of the scaffold, as the Sheriff placed the noose around her neck. He walked to the lever.

Izzy closed her eyes. She kind of wished the wolves had eaten her now. It would be preferable to this.

"Isabella Pickett. You are being hung for the murder of..."

Izzy, heard a scream, then a gunshot. She opened her eyes. The rope that had been attached to the scaffold, now hung loose. Shot in half.

"Izzy, run!"

She looked up, and saw Javier, next to the Scaffold, on his horse.

She ran, and leapt towards him. He caught her.

She adjusted herself, so that she was sitting in front of him, astride his horse. He wrapped his arm around her, so that she didn't fall.

As he pushed his horse on, Javier heard a couple of gunshots, and felt something whizz past his left ear. He heard Izzy scream, and felt her body go limp.

As he galloped away, he lifted his hand, and saw blood.

Izzy was still breathing, but unconscious. He looked down at her shirt, and saw a red pool forming. He pressed his hand to the wound in her side. Praying he could stem the flow blood for long enough, until they got back to camp.

[redeadepression]

i would love to know about any hc you have about anal with john/arthur/dutch thanks i love you and your writing

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Thank you! Love you too! ♥

I’m going to do this Fem!Reader because if I was to do male it’s honestly just regular sex. This is answered going off my personal HCs that Dutch is straight (and a really selfish lover). Arthur is openly bi. John is pan but has never had the chance to act on it.

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John Marston | Arthur Morgan | Dutch Van der Linde | Anal | nsft

Arthur

Arthur being openly bi means he has indulged in anal before

He has been the giver and the receiver so nothing is new to him

He likes it

He’s all for it

He’s a little bit uncomfortable about being penetrated by a woman at first

With another man it’s an even playing field

He still has a little of that machismo that tells him he needs to be dominant

Even though he is a total sub in bed

He needs lots of encouraging to be able to let his guard down enough to be fucked

Being the giver

He can do that

It’s not necessarily more exciting to him than regular sex

Because when he’s with a man it is regular sex

So there is no stigma for him about the asshole being tabboo

No extra excitement about getting to put it somewhere different

He’ll do it if you want to

But he’s not really frothing at the mouth at the thought

He’s a very attentive partner

Makes sure you’re good and ready

Lots and lots of teasing

Maybe giving you a few orgasms with his mouth before you even start

He’ll stretch you out proper before he dares to fuck you

He makes it an enjoyable experience for both of you

He likes to fuck missionary so it’s not too different from your usual sex

The feel is different

Some might say better

He rocks in to you long and slow

Drawing out his thrusts until you’re whining for him to go faster

Harder

He reaches a hand between you both

Dipping two fingers in to your wetness and making you cry out

He finds your g-spot

Licking his lips at the feel of his own cock brushing against his fingers through the thin wall dividing your holes

He has you play with your clit while he taps against your sweet spot

Dick still sliding lazily in and out of your asshole

He’s got amazing self-control

He’s been on the edge for a while now

Pausing briefly every so often to stop his own climax

A grunt here and there being your only sign

While he continued on with his hand

He makes sure you get off before he does

Holding his breath and clenching all the muscles in his body to hold back

Only letting go himself when you’re screaming through your peak

He fucks you harder then

Hips snapping in and out of you in quick succession as he milks himself inside you

It’s quite honestly the best sex you have ever had

Has you getting wet at the memory

Asking for it again over and over

It’s no Arthur’s favourite thing but he doesn’t dislike it by any means

He prefers regular sex because he doesn’t have to work so hard to get you off

Doesn’t have to hold back as hard or risk ruining the experience

He does get a flutter of excitement when you ask for anal specifically though

Because it’s a change of pace from your normal routine 

He would do anything to make you happy

Dutch

Dutch wants to fuck you in the ass

There’s no two ways about it

He fantasises about cumming in your tight little asshole

He begs you to let him try

He’s not about to have you touching his but damn he wants to get all up in yours

He doesn’t care much for preparation 

He does what is necessary to keep you comfortable

But he’s not about to make you cum before he’s had his fun

It’s honestly all about him in this scenario

He’s been waiting forever for you to let him

So when he gets the chance he’s not squandering it on your pleasure

He has a feeling he will only get one shot

He’s a smart man

But too dumb to realise if he makes it good for you, you will want it again

He touches your clit to make it less uncomfortable for you

Not so much in hopes of getting you off

It’s hard and fast

He’s as gentle as he can be at first

But once he see’s himself sliding in and out of your forbidden hole he looses it a little

He dissolves in to a mess of grunting and pants

Which is unusual because he is usually so quiet

He grabs at your hips hard enough to bruise

He rams himself in to you repeatedly

Eyes closed and mouth a snarl

Rocking his hips in short snapping motions

He doesn’t last too long once he’s inside

He gets a kick out of knowing he’s completely dominating you

You’re letting him do something no one else has done

You’re opening yourself just to him

He’s the first one to make you experience this new type of pleasure

Once you start to moan it’s all over for him

He presses himself as deep as possible to spill his seed

He wants you to take all of it

Wants to know when he pulls out your muscles are keeping his spend inside you

John

John has never really thought about it before it’s brought up

He guesses he would like to try it if you’re up for it

He didn’t realise woman do that

He was under the impression people do it because they have no choice

He understands that’s how sex with another man works

But he also understands they don’t have other options like he does with a woman

He thinks maybe… he would do it if another man asked him

But he never shares that with you

He gets hard surprisingly fast at the thought of fucking you in the ass

He may have never really thought about it but once he does he realises he can’t stop

He’s not very experienced in sex

Hasn’t had a lot of it

Doesn’t know much about it

So you need to lead

He doesn’t realise you need to be stretched out

He has lots of questions about why

Aren’t assholes basically vaginas?

He has an innocent air about it when you really get to talking

You realise he honestly has no clue

It’s kind of endearing

When it comes to the act it’s self he mostly watches

Lets you open yourself up while he strokes himself off

He touches your pussy

Licks at it while you stretch yourself

He’s surprised when you whisper how close you are

He’s barely touched you

The thought has him practically vibrating with excitement

He doesn’t realise how tight you’re going to be

Has to use all of his strength to not cum as he presses in

The sight

The feel

He’s more aroused than he thought possible

It doesn’t last long

You make him look away while you play with your pussy

Because you know if he watched it would be over before it began

You bring yourself to the edge

Moaning for him to fuck you harder

He’s cumming before he can really start moving properly

Shaking through his orgasm as you moan for him to go faster

He fucks you long after hes finished

Groaning and grunting in pain and renewed pleasure at his over-stimulation

Gritting his teeth as you clench around during your own orgasm

If it wasn’t for the pain he would have cum again

A 11/10 experience in his books

He’s all for doing it again whenever you want

[arthurmergan]

Dutch x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: smut 

Trouble

(not my gif)

You needed the space. You needed to be alone for once. Being cooped up among the others at camp was usually bearable, but tonight? You needed to get away. You let your horse carry you where he wanted to go, since you really didn’t care where you ended up. After traveling for about ten minutes, you see the remnants of an aged building. You squint your eyes to form a better visual of your destination. The walls were barely standing, crumbling little by little. You nudge your horse to move a little faster. 

Once you arrived, you slid off your horse and stared up at the ruins that had struck your fascination. Quietly, you wander around the perimeter. You find yourself so lost in awe, you were fully unprepared for what happened next.

“Don’t move, sweetheart” You hear a low, gruff voice suddenly come from behind you. Your heart begins to race rapidly as your swallow your oncoming fear. A cold piece of metal is met with the back of your head. Your eyes pool with tears, and you shut them, causing the tears to flow down your cheeks.

“P-please s-sir...I’ll...I’ll do anything you want just p-please dont ki-kill me” You stuttered and trembled, yet remaining as still as possible. You are surprised when the man begins to laugh softly, and you recognize that laugh. He pulls what you assumed was a gun away from your skull.

“Y/N, relax! it’s me! I was just messing with you” The man continues to laugh. Before you turn around, you already knew it was Dutch based on the sudden change back to his normal voice. Your eyes meet his stance and he sees your tear stained cheeks. He was moving to place his pistol back in the holster.

“Don’t scare me like that!” You yell at a whisper, as if anyone was around to hear you. Your body was still shaking from subsiding fear. His humorous expression suddenly transformed to concern.

“Oh my god, y/n” He says while approaching you and wrapping you into a warm embrace. “I’m sorry I thought you’d know it was me from my voice” He caressed your face. You finally calm down and Dutch releases his grip from your body.

“I’m going to get you back for that Dutch Van Der Linde” You tease and shove him playfully.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” He asks with genuine concern, motioning the vastness of the area.

“I don’t know...just needed some space I guess” You reply shamefully. You didn’t want to be caught out here, but you were actually happy to have the company.

“I get that...I’ll leave you be, just be safe, okay? I can’t lose anybody else” Dutch says as he begins to leave. You reach out and grasp his hand delicately. 

“Wait” You pull him toward you. “Please stay. I like having you around” You admit and smile. He smiles back and agrees to stay.

“I’m sorry for following you here...I just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting into any trouble” Dutch says and rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, who says I’m not getting into trouble?” You say sensually. Dutch looks around clueless, but also picking up on your hint. You knew if you wanted to fool around with Dutch, all you had to do was bat your eyelashes or look at him a certain way and he’d take the bait. You pretended not to notice the way he looks at you around camp, but you knew. You decide to take advantage of being alone with him.

“What kind of trouble?” He moves closer to you, leaving minimal room between your bodies.

“The good kind of trouble” You whisper into his ear. You could tell he was getting riled up from your tone. He smirks intently, you could tell he was contemplating something.

“What are you going to do about it?” You tease. He raises an eyebrow. Dutch then moves his hand to between your legs slowly while holding eye contact. You remain still, letting him explore you. You breathe in sharp when his hand meets your clit through your clothing. He starts to rub you with the perfect amount of pressure. You let out a soft moan. He presses his lips against yours passionately as he rubs your clit faster. You moan louder into his mouth and he presses his tongue into your mouth unexpectedly. 

“Is this the kind of trouble you wanted?” He growls. You nod. His fingers travel up your skirt, you lift it to help him access your bareness easier. His fingers pull your underwear to the side then aggressively inserts two fingers. He thrusts his fingers hard into you, earning a loud gasp from your mouth. He stared into your eyes menacingly, while also holding a look of lust. 

He began to moan quietly as he fucked you with his fingers. You maneuvered your hand to palm him through his trousers. Feeling that his cock was already hard, you start to stroke him through his pants. His fingers slow steadily as he becomes more focused on the pleasure he was feeling. 

He became impatient very soon after things started to really heat up. He removes his fingers and grabs your skirt and lifts it up further. He swiftly and effortlessly picks you up by under your your legs and rests your back against the wall. Somehow he managed to unbuckle and unzip his pants with one hand. You only realize that his cock was exposed when you abruptly thrusts into you. You whine loudly and your eyes roll back from the rush of pleasure.

“God damn” Dutch groans. He thrusted into you like he was a sex deprived animal. Dutch wraps his unraveled fist around your exposed throat as your head was leaned back onto the wall. As he fucks you hard you feel his arms grow weak from supporting you. He ironically lets you down gently even though he was just being rough with you. Without a word, he gestures for you to turn around. You do as he says and grab onto the incomplete wall. You hold your skirt up onto your back when you feel him slam into you again. You let out a blissful moan from how good this different angle felt. 

Dutch’s moans grew louder. He grabbed a fist full of your hair and yanked your head back. The sound of your skin slapping against his with every thrust became louder with this leverage.

He stopped suddenly. It startled you so you looked over your shoulder to see his face. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. 

“Dutch, whats wr-” You begin to ask but you are cut off.

“We need to move, now!” He pulls himself out of you and frantically buttons his pants back up. You pull your skirt tail back down and wait for an explanation.

“Pinkertons, I heard them” He whispers as you both move to your horses quietly. “Lets finish this when we get back to camp” He declares, as if you didn’t really have a choice.

[missblissy]

Title: Homeless at Home Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Chapter: One || Two

Follow me on AO3!! Read it there too!

(Helloooo~! Here is the next chapter!! Now that we know a little more about Arthur, we can start getting to the good stuff. And that's you!! Only two more chapters till MC/Reader is introduced! Stay tuned for more!!)

Description:

“Well?” Dutch’s voice brought him back to the table, “What do you say, Mr. Morgan? Will you join us?”

Everything still felt a little weird… but not bad. Just new and different. Strange but good. When he looked around the table, he found himself no longer around strangers but friendly folk who wanted to offer nothing but kindness to him.

He nodded his head, looking at every one of them, “Alright,” He said, “I’m in.”

________________________________________________________________

Arthur woke up that morning in a cold sweat that morning. His stomach was in horrible pain. It felt like there was a small creature in there eating him alive. He sat up, groggy and nauseous. He barely remembered the events of last night, but he did remember Dutch and his snooty friend Hosea. Arthur decided to lay there in his little hay bed for a few moments, trying to soak in the daylight.

What am I going to do? He asked himself. I don’t got any money… no food… His stomach roared out at the thought of food. Maybe he should find Dutch. No! No! I won’t do it! He was torn between his need to eat and his pride. Arthur got up and swung his satchel around his neck. The photo of his parents and his mother’s book sat snug inside. He decided the first thing he was going to do was to find some food.

He left the stables unseen and wandered into the back ends of Appleton. There had to be some fruit lying around. This was a wine and orchard town. It was almost winter though, so nothing was rip and if there was anything left it wasn’t good. Arthur found himself behind the general store rummaging through the trash. He found some old bread and a few strips of meat. He couldn’t complain. It was awful and it made him feel even sicker. While he was busy trying not to puke all over the place, he thought about how desperately he needed a horse.

Arthur looked around town, walking up and down the little muddy streets. There wasn’t a horse in sight that he could take. Each one was either too big for him or well-watched within the eyes of the law. With a huff, he grabbed into the belt of his satchel and gave up.

It was time to leave Appleton. Head south. Escape the winter in warmer lands and then hope that somehow he makes a name for himself.

As he walked himself out of town, he saw a train rolling in at the station. He got an idea. Maybe he could sneak on the train? He’d done it before. But that’s how he ended up here so far north. He didn’t want to run that chance again. Sneaking on a train means you don’t know where you're going. He at least wanted a little bit of control in his life of chaos right now and sneaking on a train wouldn’t help him with that.

So it was settled. He stuck to walking himself out of town and into the woods. If he stuck to the road, maybe he could find a house to rob? He knew he couldn’t rob any house in town, but one well in the woods and good ride away from the law? Well… that was a piece of cake.

About after an hour of heading in the direction he hoped was south, Arthur had finally found a little house off the beat path. Score!! He couldn’t see inside because it was still daylight out so he got closer to the windows to peek in. Standing on his tiptoes, Arthur peered into the cabin.

He couldn’t see much. A table, some cabinets, a dead fireplace, and two rooms he couldn’t see in. It looked quite dead in there, but the chance of him finding some food or money pushed him to break into the cabin. He found a window unlocked and jammed it open. Arthur crawled inside and tripped on his way in, smacking his face hard on the ground. He cried out, nearly forgetting that he was breaking an entering and he didn’t know if someone was in here or not. When no one came rushing in to kill him, he got up and rubbed his sore face.

There was more to find in here than he thought. He just had to look really hard. He must have hit the jackpot. No one was home, the place was well stocked, and he even found a bed he could sleep in. His brain told him he couldn’t stay here long, he had to grab what he could and go. But a sick twisted part of his heart told him to stay, and just kill the owner when they got home. He choose the latter option, doing so would buy him at least another week of living, despite staying within the reaches of Appleton.

Arthur downed a few cans of beans, enjoyed his warmth, then sat himself down outside the front window that watched the road. About two hours went by until someone finally showed up. Arthur was ready to kill an ugly old man, but the owner of the house appeared to be a plump young woman.

She was dressed in all black, with a coat the dragged down in the dirt. Her hair was just as black as her clothes and she had a mean face for a young lady. Arthur found himself struggling to kill a woman and a woman who appeared to be a widow. There wasn’t a back door to run out and the window he came in was in view of the road. He was stuck. Panicking, he ran into one of the rooms and hid his awkward lanky body under the master bed.

What am I going to do? Dammit! Arthur could hear the woman come in. Her heels clicked along the floorboards. She walked around, stopped, walked around some more, then stopped again. It was hard to admit, but he was scared. I should have just fucking left. I should just… I should just kill her!

However, unknown to Arthur… he was already caught. The woman had noticed footsteps by her unlocked window that was closed. She saw some cans of food left out. She wasn’t stupid. She followed the wet footprints into her room. Arthur froze under the bed. Watching her shoes walk around the room. He tried not to worry, he kept telling himself, I’m fine. I’m fine. I have a gun and she doesn’t.

But he was wrong again. He heard the pump of a shotgun, “Get up,” her voice was high and snippy, “I know you’re under there you ugly little vermin! Get up now before I ruin my bed to kill you,”

He was found out. Arthur grumbled and fought with himself in his head. He had never done a break in so sloppy. The lack of food and warmth was finally getting to him, making his mind weak and frantic.

“I’m coming out!” Arthur’s voice cracked a little, making him sound like a scared kid, “D-don’t shoot. I’m… I’m getting up,” He crawled out from under the bed

coming face to face with the woman. She looked a little older now that he got a closer look. Her furrowed brows and narrow eyes gave her a powerful face. Arthur could feel his luck fading.

The woman shoved the barrel of her shotgun right into Arthur’s chest, “Should I even let you go?” She asked, “You think I should listen to a little rotten boy who broke into my house?”

Was she really asking him that? Arthur wasn’t sure what to say, he was more worried about the gun on him, “I-I…I was just. It’s cold outside… I’m not from around here,”

“That’s for sure,” She kept the gun on him, “What’s your name?”

“I don’t have a name, ma’am,” That got him a jab of the gun. It hurt when she shoved it further into his chest. It was a warning. Arthur shot his hands up and nearly shivered at the sound of his own weak voice, “It’s A-Arthur!”

She suddenly started pulling the gun away, but kept it pointed at him, “Arthur Morgan?”

What? Arthur’s eyes shot wide, “How do you know my name?”

The woman finally lowered her gun and started to unbutton her coat. She had very nice clothes on, though still all in black. She was quite busty and looked like she had birthed many children, “I’m Susan,” she said. Arthur followed her out of the room and into the open part of the cabin, “Susan Grimshaw. I am one of Dutch van der Linde’s mistresses,”

No… way… Arthur’s mind began to boggle. Did he really just break into Dutch’s cabin that was offered to him just the other night? There was no way, yet here he was. How did this happen? He asked himself, feeling embarrassed and confused, Arthur stood in place and watch Susan clean up the very obvious mess he left. How did he become so sloppy? This was an all new low for him.

“So…” Arthur quietly started, “Dutch lives here?”

“Not really,” Susan looked back at him. Her dark eyes bore right into his soul. He felt uncomfortable under her gaze, “We killed the man who did live here though. We’ve been here since,”

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Arthur blurted out. He was wondering why he wasn’t dead yet and if he could get there anytime soon.

Susan opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned around and went to a little iron fireplace and open the door. She threw in a couple logs and started a fire, heating up the stove’s top so she could put a teapot there. When she gestured for Arthur to take a seat, he hesitated before sitting across from her at the table.

“Dutch told me something about… Uh-Uh… A young boy who looked like he was wishing the devil would smite him down on his spot. Said his name was Arthur Morgan. Said you might show up too.”

A spark of rage flashed in Arthur’s chest. Dutch was expecting him to show up? Was he as arrogant as he looked, “He doesn’t know me,” Arthur crossed his arms.

“No,” Susan clicked her tongue, “But it doesn’t take a second glance to see you are a suffering young man,”

“You don’t know me either,” He snapped.

“No,” She said again, her voice changed and Arthur felt himself being put in his place, “I don’t know you. But I do know when I see an unruly child with no manors. I know when I see someone who doesn’t know right from wrong. I see some kid who can barely hold a gun, with a temper to big for his body, and story he doesn’t want to share.”

Snow had started to fall outside, making the sky grow dark. Susan got up and lit some lanterns and made herself some tea. She even offered Arthur a mug, to which he took and held tightly in both his hands.

He didn’t know what to say. He felt like she was picking apart his life, and she was right about most of it. This was the first time since his father was arrested had anyone really put him in his place. It felt weird, not wrong or bad. But… It felt different. It felt like being a kid almost. He wasn’t sure how to even be a kid, let alone feel like one.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur stared down at the brown tea in the mug, “I’m sorry I broke into your house,” He really felt like a little kid. When was the last time he even apologized for anything?

Even Susan looked a little surprised mid-sip of her tea. She set down her mug and offered a smile, “I’m sorry for threatening to kill you,” She then cackled a bit like a witch, her laugh was crooked and carried some weird wisdom with it, “I wasn’t gonna shoot a kid anyways, I’m no monster,” Yet somehow Arthur thought she was hiding something worse than a monster behind that charming smile.

The front door had slowly swung open cause both Susan and Arthur to look that way. Holding a lantern up by his face, Arthur could see Dutch walking in. The man of many words and not enough explanations.

Upon seeing Susan and of all people, Arthur, in his hideaway cabin, Dutch did something Arthur never saw coming.

He smiled. He smiled wide and laughed, “Hoho! Oh my lord! Hosea will you look at this!” He was… happy? Why was Dutch van der Linde happy to see the orphan boy he tried to rob?

Arthur was so confused. He felt hot shame bubble in his gut though. It was so weird, and different. He’d never in his life had someone…. Happy…. To see him.

Hosea walked in and closed the door behind him, thus shutting away the growing winter weather. He too smiled when he saw Arthur. They both looked elated, and more than happy to see him in their makeshift home.

“Why it is so good to see you,” Dutch took off his heavy winter coat and threw it onto the back of a chair, “How are you, Arthur? What has brought you out to see us?”

There it was again, embarrassment. Arthur lowered his gaze and fingered his mug of cold tea. What was this feeling? It was so unfamiliar to him. He felt like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t have but he was being greeted with open arms.

Since he didn’t speak up, Susan stepped in, “The little bastard was robbing us. Didn’t have a clue we were even here,”

“Really?” Hosea lifted a brow. Both him and Dutch pulled up a seat at the table. Everyone had their own side. Susan across from Arthur and Hosea across from Dutch, “Now I’d call that pure luck,”

The adults laughed. Arthur becomes hyper-aware that he was, in fact, a child at a table full of adults. He may have been 15, and welled considered his own person, but he felt something odd he’d never felt before. Safety. He had no idea why, or even how but he felt safe at this table. All of them chit chatted about Arthur like he wasn’t there though. It didn’t bother him, they weren’t saying anything mean. Just how lucky and funny the situation was. Arthur thought it was just plain bizarre.

“Well,” Dutch’s voice brought Arthur out of his thoughts, “Now that you are here, Arthur. Would you consider my offer a second time?”

Confused, Arthur asked, “And what’s that?” This time he was sober. Maybe with a sober mind, Arthur could rationally think without his pride and stubbornness getting in the way.

He didn’t look, but he could hear the kindness and smile in Dutch’s voice as he spoke, “Would you like to stay with us for a while? You really seem like you could use a bed to sleep in, some meals to eat,”

It just didn’t make sense. Why did Dutch want to help him? Why on earth would anyone ever want to help an orphan boy who was too old to be taken care of anymore?

This world demanded that people grow up and that they grow up fast. Yet here Dutch was, offering him some peace and a break from the world.

“Why?” He still had to ask. One part of Arthur -the tired broken part- wanted so badly to believe in and trust Dutch. But the paranoid, stubborn part told him to be hesitant. He’s not stupid, this world is full of bad people. He just didn’t know which one Dutch was yet. Good? Bad? Ugly? He didn’t know.

“Like I said, son, I wish I had someone to help me when I was your age,” The answer was far more simple and less complex than Arthur expected. He was about to ask again but Dutch just went on talking, “I remember living like an animal. I’m sure you are. You don’t look like you’ve had a bath in days,” It’s actually been years,

Arthur said in his head, “You look like a stick. You look like you’ve seen things you shouldn’t have seen. I don’t pity you, Arthur, this isn’t pity telling me to offer you some help. It’s just the right thing to do,”

The right thing to do. He had never heard that before. It struck a chord in him. It broke his heart and put it back together. He was stunned in his place as his heart warmed inside his chest. This was the real deal, wasn’t it? It really was? No games? No fooling?

The right thing to do. It kept ringing in his head. To help him was the right thing to do. He could understand that. It wasn’t complex, it a bargain or blackmail or some trick.

It was honest. Nobody has ever been honest with him. Arthur felt himself get far more emotional than he expected. He wanted to cry. He felt a part of himself finally let go and breathe for the first time in what seemed like years. He could finally just be. He could stop surviving and perhaps start living.

“Well?” Dutch’s voice brought him back to the table, “What do you say, Mr. Morgan? Will you join us?”

Everything still felt a little weird… but not bad. Just new and different. Strange but good. When he looked around the table, he found himself no longer around strangers but friendly folk who wanted to offer nothing but kindness to him.

He nodded his head, looking at every one of them, “Alright,” He said, “I’m in.”

[clareguilty]

Kinktober 2020 Prompt #8

Hello! Does anyone want some Dutch van der Linde smut?

Dutch van der Linde/f!reader Rating: Explicit | noncon/dubcon, knifeplay, bondage, dom/sub Word Count: ~1300

“And just what were you doing in there?” a low voice demanded. You had just slipped out of the door to the Mayor’s office, tucking the stolen documents into your bodice for safe keeping.

A broad man was waiting in the shadows just outside the door, you hadn’t noticed him when you checked to see if the hall was clear. The man didn’t look like he belonged to the Mayor’s entourage. He was all muscle and charisma, dark like oil. He smelled of gunpowder. Danger.

You fanned yourself, letting out a high, tipsy giggle. Better to play dumb, even if you’d been caught redhanded. “I just needed a few moments of quiet. The party was a bit overwhelming for me, and you know how tight these dresses can be.” You smoothed a hand down the front of your gown. “I’ll be heading back down now, wouldn’t want to miss the fireworks.”

“I’ll walk you down.” The man smiled. It made your stomach flip. He was handsome, devilishly so. Dark curls, thick moustache, strong, pronounced features. He placed a hand on your arm as you made your way to the stairs. His grip was bruising.

You were in trouble. Big trouble. This man had caught you stealing from the mayor, but something about him screamed that he was more dangerous than any Saint Denis lawman.

The two of you made your way out to the garden in tense silence, the man never letting go of your arm.

“Thank you so much for your help, Mr…?” you put on your sweetest smile, letting your fingers trail over his white knuckle grip on your arm.

He leaned in close, voice just above a whisper. “Van der Linde. Dutch van der Linde.”

Fuck.

You were in trouble.

The van der Linde gang was notorious. You just didn’t know they had made it to Saint Denis. They were probably after the same papers you were, and they outnumbered you easily. There were definitely more of them around.

“Ah,” you tried to find your words. “Well, Mr. van der Linde. Thank you so much for your company this evening. I’m going to go meet up with my other ladies.”

You tried to pull out of his grip, but he was easily ten times stronger than you. He pulled you in close, as though the two of you were more intimately engaged.

“You came here alone.” He said. “One of my companions saw you come in. It’s not hard to spot a thief when you know exactly what to look for.”

There was no way out of this one. He had figured you out. Your only option was to run.

“There’s still plenty of valuables inside. Just let me go and I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“Valuables?” van der Linde scoffed. “You think we need something as trivial as valuables? I need papers, darling. The very papers you happen to have tucked into your dress.” His fingers skimmed down the silk over your chest, catching gently on the fabric.

You kicked him in the shin. Would have gone for the groin but your skirts wouldn’t allow it. Still, it was enough of a distraction for you to tear away from his grasp and begin weaving through the crowd of the party. You slipped out the side gate of the garden, hiking your skirt up as you ran through the grass out towards the road.

The darkness was supposed to serve as your cover. No one could see you as you skirted the outer wall.

He came out of nowhere. Slamming you into the cold, damp stone, one hand on your throat. The cold blade of a knife pressed against your skin.

“Shouldn’t have come this way,” he breathed. “Now no one will come looking for you.”

You thrashed against his hold, but it was useless. Every movement only made the knife press harder to your throat.

“You’re quick. Clever.” He brushed his thumb across your jaw. “I’ve been watching you all night. You didn’t disappoint. Slipped into that office easier than I ever could. Did all of my work for me.”

You were frozen in shock. Here he was -- knife against your throat -- and he was… praising you? His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, smudging the red you had so carefully applied there.

“I want to keep you. Make you mine. But first I have to teach you not to steal what belongs to me.”

He cut the front of your bodice open, the stolen papers fluttering to the ground beside you. Dutch removed his necktie, using it to bind your hands together. He knelt to collect the papers, appraising you with a satisfied nod when you didn’t immediately try to run. You watched him tuck the papers into the jacket of his suit.

“That’s a good girl. It’s a shame to ruin such a pretty dress. I may have to replace it.” He crowded into your space once more, the knife still in his hand. You whimpered and flattened your back to the stone.

“Don’t be afraid. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” He cut away the rest of your dress, leaving you in just your drawers. He ran his fingers over your skin, down your chest and pressed them between your legs. You were dripping wet.

“Oh,” he teased. “You’re enjoying this? You like being put in your place?”

You averted your eyes, flushing with shame.

His fingers rubbed along your slick entrance, teasing you. “I promise I’ll give you a reward if you do as you're told.”

You nodded, seeing no other option.

“Such an easy girl,” he grinned, gripping your chin to raise your eyes to his. “Smart. Obedient.”

He opened his trousers, pulling his cock free. You were shivering with the cold and fear, and you dropped to your knees easily when he pushed down on your shoulder. He didn’t even need to speak for you to know what to do.

You stroked him with shaking, tentative fingers. It was difficult with your hands still bound, but you managed, swiping your thumb over the tip before taking him into your mouth. He groaned, fingers winding into your meticulously styled hair. “That’s a good girl.”

Dutch let you set your own pace at first, let you lick and suck along his length, slowly taking him as deep as you could, but his patience wore thin. His fingers fisted in your hair, tugging sharply as he pulled you off his cock just long enough for you to take a breath.

He fucked your face relentlessly. The loud sounds of the bayou disguised the wet sounds of your lips around his length and the constant stream of words that fell from Dutch's. He alternated between mumbled praises and cruel, sneering debasements.

You let him have his way and prayed that he would leave you alive at the end of this.

He finished over your face, marking you with his seed as you knelt in the mud. It was humiliating.

Surprisingly, he helped you to your feet. You accepted his offered hand. He stepped into your space, walking you back against the stone wall so he could slip his fingers between your thighs. You were even wetter than before. His fingers teased you without mercy, circling your clit before sinking deep into your heat. He pinned you beneath his weight, one hand on your throat, the other fucking you until you cried and collapsed in his hold. He didn’t relent until his own breathing was labored. The only thing that kept you from collapsing into the dirt was his strong arm around you.

You were exhausted, coming off the high of your orgasm and the adrenaline of the chase. Dutch walked you through the dark, and you followed him without resistance. Warm fabric settled around your shoulders. Dutch’s jacket. The same jacket that held the papers you stole.

“I’d say it's time to get out of this city,” Dutch mused. “I’ll leave the others to get home on their own.” He eyed the nearly empty cobbled streets, eyes landing on a horse that must have belonged to one of the party goers.

“Shall we?” he looked down at you with a gleam in his eye.

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