Joanie

My AO3 Requests are OPEN she/her 22 | cowboy connoisseur | 18+

[joanie-writes]

Masterlist

AO3

Requests are OPEN

Incomplete: ✘

NSFW: *

Red Dead Redemption

Arthur Morgan

One Shots

I'll Be Here in the Morning *

Baby Steps

Meant to Be *

Going and Gone *

Astraea * Pt. 2 *

Cleaned Up *

Healing Hands

Grand Gesture *

The Lovers

Silver Band

Multi-Chapter

Omitting Sins ✘

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Dutch van der Linde

One Shots

Killler

Daniël *

Thus With a Kiss I Die

John Marston

One Shots

Wicked *

Like Real People Do

Find everything here on my AO3 note: most of my one shots (and all new ones) on there are collected in Cowboy Chronicles

[pedrohub]

THE LAST OF US (2023 - ) 01x09 - Look for the Light

[joanie-writes]

I don’t have anything coherent to say about this scene…

[dutchvanwinkle]

Mr Van der Linde Pt. 4 - Dutch x Reader

Alright you horny bastards, here’s chapter 4. It took me longer than I’d planned, and I had a very busy month, buuuuut I’m hoping it’s worth the wait! Plus, this chapter is almost twice as long as the previous so that should make up for it too.

As always, this chapter is on ao3.

Summary: John makes last-minute plans for his birthday, and you can't say no to visiting him.

Word count: 12,203

Content warnings: drunk sex, smut :)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Happy birthday!

You set your phone down after sending the message to John, the last birthday in the academic year out of your group of friends - landing in late August. The plan was to celebrate when you all returned to university, considering that was only a few weeks away.

It’d been a couple of months since you all last saw each other, at the infamous Van der Linde party that had more than lived up to its expectations.

It was strange.

You hadn’t spoken to Dutch since then, and while he didn’t exactly have any way of contacting you, you assumed he would be capable of finding a way. If he wanted to, he would, after all.

Still, you were glad you left to go home with Javier when you did. You knew better than to make yourself readily available to a man, even if said man made your legs turn to jelly.

Your phone buzzed, and you picked it up from beside you on your bed to see a train ticket send over by John.

You gotta come down! Javi and our friends from home are going to a pub tonight. It’s an open ticket, so you can come anytime and I’ll pick you up.

John, this is for today! You suck at planning.

He replied with a few smiley face emojis, and you huffed back to lay on your bed. You could hardly say no to that, could you? He’d gone out of his way to buy you a ticket, all so he could see you on his birthday. You didn’t have plans today anyway, and it’s not like it was a long trip. Plus, you’d be out of the house; no chance for any awkward encounters with Mr Van der Linde.

That being said, you no longer harboured any embarrassment towards him. You’d retained your dignity this time around, and were more than prepared to be casual and nonchalant towards him if you did end up seeing him.

You had a few errands to run, but once you were back home you packed a small overnight bag and wore a casual outfit that was still nice enough for a night out. Jeans and a nice top had never failed you so far.

It was mid-afternoon by the time you sat down on the train, pulling out your phone to let John know you were on the way. He replied soon after.

We’re already out. Snooze ya lose

The fucker. Not like you could be mad at him on his birthday, though. Just as you were about to ask where they were so you could make your own way from the station, he sent another text.

Dad’ll pick you up.

What? No! A casual conversation in passing with the man would be manageable, but him coming out of his way to pick you up alone was a horrifying thought. Another text came through.

I gave him your number, he’ll let you know where he’s parked.

You were going to kill him. Or were you? What could you say? How dare you give your father – whom I’ve kissed, twice – my number and ask him to pick me up? No, for once, John wasn’t knowingly being a pain in the ass. Though, maybe there was still time to salvage the situation.

It’s okay, I can just get a taxi

Don’t be daft. I already asked him, he doesn’t mind. See you later

Fuck. You set your phone down on your lap and busied yourself with watching the landscape pass by through the window while you mentally braced yourself for seeing Mr Van der Linde once again.

As the second to last stop was being announced, an unknown number flashed up on your phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello.”

Well, that was the first time you’d ever been turned on by the world hello . That man’s voice was something else.

“I told John I’d get a taxi.”

“You should know by now that I am John’s taxi.”

You huffed a laugh, repositioning yourself in your seat. “Alright. I’m about five minutes away from the stop, where will you be parked?”

“There’s a drop-off rank by the exit if you know it? I’ll be there.”

“Sure, I know it. See you soon.”

“See you soon, miss.”

You hung up the phone, ignoring the playful lilt of his voice and willing your confidence in the situation to remain despite how strongly it wavered.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a large train station like in the big cities. Once you were off the platform, the exit was right by you and you could already see Dutch’s parked car. You approached, hearing the doors unlock as Dutch spotted you in his wing mirror. You braced yourself and opened the door.

He smiled warmly at you. That playful tone of his voice had bled through to his facial expression, it seemed.

You cleared your throat. “Hi.”

“You gonna get in?”

You lifted your bag into his field of view. “My bag.”

Dutch leaned over to press a button, and the boot opened. He tilted his head towards it.

You rounded the back of the car and lifted your bag into the boot. After shutting it, you slid into the passenger seat. When you turned to faff with the seat belt, Dutch’s hand reached across you and grasped the fasten. You turned your head to him and shot him a distrustful look.

The bastard just smiled, pulled the belt over, and clicked it into place.

“What are you playing at?” you asked, easily and willing yourself not to laugh, so as not to provide him with satisfaction by playing into his game. Something about his mischievous face made that a rather difficult task.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said casually, starting his car and reversing out of his spot slightly. As he did so, he put a hand on the top of your seat and looked out his back window.

“You know exactly what I mean,” you grumbled, and his smile grew as he pulled out to begin the drive.

“How has your summer been?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Just fine, thank you. How was yours?”

He rolled his eyes, drumming his fingertips on the wheel. “That’s a rubbish answer.”

“How?” you clucked at him.

“I’m genuinely interested,” he paused, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to give you a pointed look, “I’m not just trying to make small talk. What did you get up to?”

A smile quirked over your lips; too much time spent in hospitality and practising your manners, you supposed. “I worked, mostly. But I caught up on my sleep, read a few books and watched a few things on TV that I’ve been meaning to finish. So really, nothing exciting, but I enjoyed it.”

“Better,” he hummed, and if he didn’t look so hot when he smiled smugly like that you’d have been tempted to shove him.

“And you?” you sighed, not hiding your unwillingness to say the expected line in return.

“Went away with the kids for a week. Other than that, I worked. Actually,” his eyebrows pulled up as an idea came to mind, “you should come with us when we go next year.”

You snorted a laugh, then realised he was entirely serious. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I go?”

At his silence, you glanced over and observed the half-smile on his face. “For my benefit.”

You scoffed, not wanting to reward him with a laugh again. As you recognised the roads on the way to his house, you realised he wasn’t taking you straight to the bar. “Oh, aren’t you taking me straight there? I have everything I need, you can just take the overnight bag back with you.”

“Oh, can I now?” he asked, teasingly.

“So you don’t have an extra trip,” you clarified, not wanting to come across ungrateful.

“Well,” he said gently, “we’re almost there now.”

“Dutch,” you tutted. “I’m already late.”

“Hush.”

With a defeated huff, you relaxed back into the seat and decided not to fight him on this. He was giving you a lift, after all. And truthfully, you didn’t trust yourself alone with him. The train journey, along with the time at home over summer, had given you a good chunk of time to think about the situation you’d found yourself in.

After the party, you’d been disappointed that Mr Van der Linde had acted as though nothing happened, but now you supposed it was for the best. Since, what was the alternative? The two of you start dating ? Or, you have a quick fling, that you’d have to keep from John for the rest of your friendship? No, no good could come from this.

You weren’t going there again.

When John had asked if you wanted to come and stay you were hesitant but decided that no , you do have self-control and kissing his father was a mistake. A lapse of judgement. You couldn’t do it to him. John was more important.

The car stopped and you automatically undid your seatbelt, exited the car, and removed your bag. “I’ll get a taxi to the pub,” you informed Dutch as he locked the car once you shut the boot.

“No you won’t,” he responded instantly, and you followed him up the drive and to the front door.

“What’s the point of your bringing me here to drop my bag if you’re going to insist on dropping me off?” you asked, wondering when you began feeling so at ease with him to treat him as though he was one of your friends, instead of a friend’s parent. Perhaps it was when you shared a drunken kiss. Those were known to bring two people closer together.

Dutch smiled to himself, opening the door and gesturing for you to come in. You rolled your eyes and ignored his chuckle as you entered, before making your way upstairs to dump your bag in the same spare room you’d used the first time you visited.

“Okay,” you said on your way down the stairs but stopped in your tracks when you found the hallway empty. You walked down and to the kitchen, finding Dutch pouring a glass of wine upon your entry. “I’m ready to go, but I can get a taxi, especially if you want a drink -”

“It’s for you,” he held it out, “so you can catch up.”

“I’m already late,” you laughed but walked towards the breakfast bar and took the drink anyway. You leaned on it while you had a sip. “I will drink this quickly .”

“Fine,” he shrugged, that stupid smile on his face once more. He looked you up and down. “You look nice.”

“Thank -”

“A little too nice.”

Here we go again . You tutted at him. “Really?”

He smiled; enough of a confirmation.

“Well,” you sighed stubbornly. “I don’t want to go there again. Not anymore.”

Dutch’s brow quirked, and you hated him for how much he loved these sorts of games, especially since he was so damn good at them. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He took slow steps to round the island and stopped behind you. His signature smell that propelled you into a hazy pool of lust reached you before he did, his hand coming to rest on the counter beside you. Then his other hand, on the other side. He’d boxed you in. “Is that right?” he repeated, lowering his tone.

You took another sip of your wine and swallowed. “Yes.”

“There’s no need to be nervous, my dear.”

“I’m not,” you answered instantly, but took another swig of wine and that coupled with the quietness of your voice proved that yes , you were nervous. No part of him had even come into contact with you, yet you felt like your legs would buckle at any given moment.

“That so?”

You nodded.

He straightened up, and he was so close you could almost feel him. “How about now?”

“Do you want me to be nervous?”

“Just trying to figure you out,” he murmured.

“And what have you deduced?”

“I’m glad you asked. You see,” he slid his hands slightly closer to you, lessening the space you were trapped in. “You and I are rather similar.”

“We are?”

“Mhm.”

“How so?”

“We want similar things.”

You swallowed. “Do we?”

One of his hands moved off the counter, brushing your hair away from your ear and neck, before lightly tracing your spine and landing comfortably on your lower back. “Yes,” he whispered, lips just an inch from your ear.

“I’m going to be late,” you announced quietly.

“You’re already late. Besides, John can wait – I've been waiting much longer.” With that, he pressed his lips to your neck. You tilted your head, effectively melting into him and his torso met your back at just the right time. His hand journeyed from your lower back to your stomach, thankfully holding you up against him.

You released a slow breath, feeling comfortable enough to lose yourself in the man as he took his lips from your skin. You turned in his embrace, facing him, and placed your palms on his waist. His dark eyes were entirely taken over by lust. He’d seduced you, so easily despite your inner monologue of protest. “You can’t just -”

Dutch cut you off by pulling you into a heated kiss. He took his time, slowly moving his lips on yours but with an undeniable sense of urgency. “You’re fucking irresistible -” he said in between his affections, both of his hands now grasping your hips.

“- This is a terrible birthday present for your son -”

“- What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him -”

“- Shit,” you put your hands on his chest to keep him at bay and to allow a moment of reprise. “Where’s Tilly?”

“Obviously not here,” he said, as though it was the most ridiculous thing for you to be concerned about.

You tsked through your teeth. “Obviously.”

Dutch leaned in to resume the activity, but your hands remained pressed into his (rather delightful) chest. “What if someone comes in?”

“I am fully aware of who resides in my house. And it is currently nobody but us.”

You huffed, his lack of understanding for your worries needling under your skin. “Well, what if you’ve gone senile? It’s possible that you aren’t entirely aware.”

He stilled, looking at you with incredulity. “You aren’t funny.”

You smiled in response, disagreeing with his statement.

“That what you’re into? Senior citizens , if that’s what I am?”

You held in your laugh and noticed the twitch of his amused lip. “Depends, are you always into girls half your age?”

Dutch glanced away with a quiet, defeated sigh. “Touché.”

Your laugh escaped, and you were reminded just how easy it was to be with him. The last thread of common sense that remained in your mind reminded you of all the reasons why you shouldn’t.

"I said I wasn't gonna do this again," you said, regretfully.

"So did I."

That alone was enough to scare you, because god how were you expected to experience this and just walk away from it? Your insides were on fire, your body thoroughly burning up with passion after such a minute exchange. When faced with the prospect of this actually not happening, it was a stark realisation of just how much you wanted... needed it. "Suppose we’ve already done it now."

“I like your way of thinking, girl,” his low voice dripped with pride, and it didn’t help.

He kissed you once more, and you swore you could happily just do this all day. His lips against yours felt like something you’d been looking for your entire life, and then there was him , broad and charming and mature and smart and he wanted you -

It’s John’s birthday.

“Right,” you proclaimed, and you’d have physically slapped yourself out of it if it wouldn’t make you look completely insane. You pushed his chest with more force, allowing enough space between you so you could slip out of his embrace. He reached for you again, and you put your hands up in surrender, stilling him. “No. I need to go. I’m already going to have to tell John my train was delayed,” you pressed your lips together, “and reapply my lipstick.”

Dutch chuckled fondly, dropping his hand down. “Fine. I’ll just wait for you to get back.”

You tilted your head at him exasperatedly. “ Dutch .”

He was gentle when he reached for your hand again, and held it, bringing your knuckles to his lips and folding your fingers closed around his. “Alright. I’ll drive you now.”

-

John was... very drunk.

It was his birthday, so you didn’t blame him one bit, but you’d honestly be surprised if he even remembered you’d been there come morning.

“Another shot for the birthday boy!” Javier announced, multiple shot glasses of... something somehow balanced between his fingers. He placed them down before jovially patting John on the back.

John didn’t take a single moment to ponder what was in his glass before it was down his throat, and you could only laugh.

“Javi,” you lamented fondly, “it’s all well and good turning all his insides to ethanol when you’re not the one that has to get him home alive.”

Javier laughed, picking up a shot and shunting it towards you, clinking his own against it once it was in your hand and knocking it back. You followed suit. “I’ll see if I get him to do a tactical -”

“Chunder?” Javier interrupted, “he’s already done it.”

“God damnit,” you sighed with a laugh, keeping an eye on the security guard who somehow hadn’t noticed the sloppy state of one of its patrons.

“He’ll be fine ,” Javier slurred, “always is, somehow. Things just work out for our Johnny.”

“Don’t they just,” you snorted, watching with amusement as he swayed to the music in his seat. Only a matter of time before -

“I love this song!” John grabbed your hand and pulled you up, nodding his head towards the more open area of the bar where a few people were dancing.

“Ah,” Javier hummed as he followed behind the two of you, “not long now before he passes out.”

You gave him a look of agreement; John was nothing if not a creature of habit, following the same cycle every time he had one too many drinks. Mentally, you made a bet that in twenty minutes the two of you would be outside, trying to flag down a taxi.

Twenty-five minutes later, and there you were.

“New record for him, ain’t it?” Javier commented as he tried to find an Uber that’d accept his ride while steadying himself on the lamppost and honing all his concentration on his phone screen.

“Yeah...” you shrugged your shoulder up in an attempt to straighten the John that was slumped on you for support, “remind me why I’m the one holding him up and not you?”

“Ah, I got one!” Javier ignored you, squinting at the screen to read the number plate.

With a sigh, you once again tried to readjust John to prevent him from falling face-first onto the concrete, despite how amusing that would be. Thankfully, the taxi didn’t take long to arrive, though since Javier’s stop was first, you were left alone to try and heave John out of the seat and into the house.

“Come on John,” you grumbled, supporting him up the few steps to the front door while trying to block out your own drunkenness, “work with me here.”

As you were trying to get his key from his pocket, since he had no desire (or ability) to listen to your instructions and get them out himself, the door opened, and Mr Van der Linde stood there with a blasé expression, dressed in joggers and a t-shirt.

Wordlessly, you removed John’s arm from your shoulder and handed him to his father, who chuckled at your eagerness to part with the responsibility of keeping his son upright.

“Good night?” he asked John, who answered by putting his arms around Dutch’s neck, and you laughed to yourself at how much like a kid he seemed at that moment.

Dutch rolled his eyes as you shut the front door, giving the stairs a weary look. “I’m pretty sure I can’t carry him anymore.”

“I don’t know,” you hummed as slow steps were made towards them, “he’s like a string bean.”

“And so is my spine.”

“Fair enough,” you chuckled. “Go on, I’ve got the back.”

And thus began the descent, and while he managed to pull his own feet onto each step, with each one John became weightier – or Dutch’s strength lessened, you weren’t sure.

The three of you made it up without any broken bones, and Dutch opened the door to the next flight of stairs that lead to John’s room. “I’ll get him into bed,” he positioned John at the doorframe before leaning towards you, a twinkle in his eye, and murmuring, “you stay right there.”

You bit your tongue and gave him a daring look, folding your arms across your chest. It’s not like there was anything you wanted more, the alcohol in your system making him look that extra bit more attractive, but you didn’t want him to know that.

Unfortunately, Dutch had already deduced that to be the case and gave you a half-smile after glancing down your form, then proceeded to get John up the stairs.

You took out your phone, quickly checking your appearance and being thankful that you didn’t look too dishevelled.

Dutch returned momentarily, pointedly closing the door and breathing a sigh of relief. “You don’t seem very drunk," he commented.

"No. John was already wasted when I got there so I presumed I'd have to look after him."

"My son. The liability," he proclaimed with mocking disappointment, and you laughed softly.

The following quiet pause hung in the air between the two of you, and you cleared your throat.

“Care to have a drink with me, now? The night is still young,” Dutch said charmingly, but you blanched at thought of doing anything while your best friend was under the same roof. You’re tired and ready for bed? That’ll work.

“It’s...” you checked the time on your phone, and your excuse thinned out into the air. “Jesus. It's only eleven.”

“Exactly.” Dutch began the journey downstairs to the kitchen, not leaving you with room to argue, and so you followed him there. You didn’t want to argue. You wanted to sit and have a drink; to spend time with him. But as usual, and rightfully so, your conscience willed you to protest. Perhaps reasoning that he hadn’t provided room to argue was a cop-out, but you stuck with the excuse all the same. Dutch took out two snifters from the kitchen cupboard along with an already-open bottle of brandy.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr Van der Linde?” you asked, eyeing the generous measure he poured a generous measure for each of you.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” he asked innocently, swiping the drinks up and walking into the adjoining living room.

“So you can make an advance on me?” you gently accused him, getting yourself comfortable on the sofa as he did the same.

“I don’t need to get you drunk to do that,” he tilted his head at you, handing you the glass.

“No?” you took a sip and ignored how many drinks you’d mixed that night, hoping your body would do the same. The brandy tasted more expensive than anything you’d ever drunk before.

The tension built as he took a sip of his drink, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on you. He didn’t need to clarify his answer further. “How cute,” he smirked, and you rolled your eyes.

“What do you gain from teasing me like this?” your soft voice betrayed your act; there was no fooling Dutch that despite your question you rather enjoyed his teasing.

He chuckled easily, watching his brandy swirl around the glass before taking it to his lips. His gaze flicked up to you and remained there for a short moment. “Let’s just say you’re rather expressive.”

“Expressive?”

Dutch hummed his agreement.

“How so?” you wracked your mind, suddenly feeling as though you were exposed bare in front of him. In your opinion, you’d done a semi-decent job of blocking the outward display of your desires. Though maybe you had, the strength of said desires made it impossible to hide them fully.

He tilted his head, examining you. “Your lip tightens ever so slightly,” he said softly, continuing his appraisal of your face, “those eyes of yours too, I can practically see your irises take over the rest.”

You scoffed. “All that tells me is that you spend far too long looking at my face.”

Your opponent's own face softened, Dutch’s hard features somehow gentle in the low light of the living room, illuminated only by a standing lamp in the corner. A small smile seeped onto his face. “It’s cruel to blame a man with refined tastes for admiring something so well crafted.”

“You and your tastes ,” you muttered into your glass, taking a swig.

“I must say, you do continue to impress me.”

“Yeah?” you raised your brows, patiently awaiting whatever silken spool he was winding you with.

He nodded, expression content but with an underlying playfulness; as though the two of you were in on some unspoken inside joke. “Your willpower far surpasses mine.”

You snorted a laugh, though it came out quiet and not fully committed. “You view yourself rather highly.”

“We must all have our own frame of reference.”

“I suppose,” you took another sip, the surface of your skin prickling thanks to the strong spirit. “How come you refer to it as willpower?”

“What would you call it?”

The way Dutch spoke to you, the way he asked his questions and observed your body language along with the answer you gave, provided an odd sense of security. It was as though he was sifting through your brain, almost getting lost in the abyss that was your thoughts. Every answer you gave provoked a new avenue of exploration, and it gave you a small measure of power to have someone listen so intently to what you had to say. In your experience with men, conversations had often been one-sided as they waited for your response only so they could have their turn to speak. Had his communication skills been refined with age, or was it simply him , harbouring a desire to learn more about you? “I’m not sure,” you settled on your answer, “but how do you know it isn’t just unreciprocated feelings?”

He smiled proudly at that, a laugh coming from deep in his chest. His eyes practically shone with awe, as they usually did when you tested his boundaries. You supposed this was what this whole thing was about – how many boundaries would the two of you test in the pursuit of... what was it? Pleasure?

“I know that’s not the case,” he said lowly.

“Like I said. You view yourself highly.”

There was a pause, Dutch sighing contently as the two of you took another sip. “I would like to return our topic of conversation to the subject of my tastes.”

“Well... what about my tastes?”

Dutch’s eyes glinted, as though that was a question he’d been waiting to answer. “We can talk about those, too, if you like. Though I already know what you want.”

“Is that so?” you swallowed.

His answer was a shuffle closer to you, taking your glass along with his and setting them down on the coffee table. He turned his eye line to your hair, of which he gently brushed a strand away from your face. “Yes,” he answered, keeping his attention on the movement of his hand. “You recall our earlier conversation.”

You nodded, despite it not being a question. Dutch lowered his hand; its journey slow as it made its way to your thigh. His palm rested there lightly, but it was self-assured. The sensation of his big, firm hands on you sparked something deep in your gut. His head tilted downwards, he looked at you through his lashes, and there was no denying the lust plain on his face.

But he wanted to play games, so you planned on giving him his way. Dutch may believe he’s the only one with the upper hand of knowledge, but you knew just what he wanted.

There was a part of Dutch that wanted you to give in, for need and desire to overtake your composure and to have you throw yourself at him. But the way you sat, unmoving yet relaxed, furthered his interest in you. He did love a challenge. And at the feeling of your thigh under his palm, he set himself the task of reducing you to your purest desires.

“I was reading a book recently,” he mused, gently running his thumb back and forth on your thigh.

“Were you now.”

“About the dangers of men and their greed,” he continued, “until they destroy all that lies in the path of their pursuit until there is nothing left. You know what happens then?”

His arm snaked around your shoulders, and you ignored it, but you couldn’t help softening slightly into his supportive limb.

“I asked you a question.”

“I don’t know.”

“Once they’ve destroyed all this earth has to offer, they in turn destroy themselves.”

“Forgive me, Mr Van der Linde -”

“Dutch, darlin’,” he interrupted absentmindedly.

“ Dutch ,” you allowed his name to roll off your tongue and didn’t miss the low growl of approval in the man’s chest as he leant further towards you. “I don’t see how this is relevant.”

“I’m not finished,” he said plainly.

“Then please,” you stretched your back minimally, enough for his eyes to dart to your chest, “continue.”

Dutch's attention turned to his hand, still on your thigh that he kneaded firmly then returned to its resting position, gripping you noticeably harder than it had previously. “I have always prided myself in valuing what I have , not allowing my desires to manifest in things I do not need.”

You waited patiently when he checked your reaction, his torso entirely pressed into yours.

“Yet...” his voice dropped almost to a low hum, close enough for you to practically feel the vibrations of his baritone. His face moved to the side of yours, his lips beside your ear. “Yet I find myself desiring. ”

You swallowed.

“The modern man is taught to give up his pleasures, a mere insult to our existence, considering inside us there exists the human, and the animal...”

He brushed his nose up the side of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair.

“To ignore either one goes against our very nature.”

“It does,” you said, intending your words to come out as a question but instead they reached Dutch as a confirmation.

“Instead of leaning into those pleasures,” Dutch’s palm slowly brushed up your thigh and he felt the muscle underneath twitch involuntarily, “they allow society to tell them what they want. Struck by a fear of delving into the recesses of their own minds to find out what they truly desire. Instead, they want to acquire for the sake of acquisition, things that serve no purpose. So now you see my problem - I find myself wanting to acquire what I currently hold in my hands.”

He squeezed your flesh, angling himself towards you, that carnal desire he spoke of hard against your leg. His arm that’d been over your shoulders returned to its owner and he brushed the back of his finger over your cheek. You tilted your head towards him, eyelids relaxed, and a warmth spread in Dutch’s chest at your slow undoing. Though, he still had some work to do. Experimentally, you leaned in, and Dutch took it as his cue to speak once more and took his hand away.

“But then,” - your next breath out was slightly audible - he already had you where he wanted you, didn’t he - “I was struck by an epiphany. I am not like them. You know why?”

You shook your head, releasing a shaky breath as Dutch’s fingertips returned, and slid up your neck until reaching your chin, holding it between his fore and index finger while he gazed intently at your bottom lip.

“ Those men, they don’t place value in the having of the thing. They want it until they have it, then they want something else,” he sighed contently, moving forward as though to kiss you but pausing, pulling your chin down until your lips parted and then continuing, instead taking your bottom lip gently between his teeth. He dragged them against your skin until your lip released, and the slight part in your mouth remained, though now your bottom lip was redder than before – your blood rushing to sit underneath the surface. A beautiful sight.

You remembered then, your earlier intention of remaining sturdy, but didn’t have enough in you to cease the softening of your body bit by bit, falling gladly in the mould Dutch presented for you. There, the world seemed simple, comfortable, a place where you didn’t have to constantly think , and could just be...

“Man,” Dutch continued, now almost consuming you in every way one can be consumed, “when left to his desires will induce hell. I believe it is our business to find heaven, and I think I know the first place to look.”

“Where?” your question came out in a thin sigh, barely there at all.

He smiled, glad that you’d asked as much as he was glad that you were listening so well. He ran his lips along your jaw, his hot breath skirting down your neck and you could hardly notice his hand on your leg creeping up the remaining distance. “ Right between your thighs. ” He cupped your clothed pussy and squeezed .

Your gasp was staggered, a noise that wanted to be a yell, but you repressed it as much as you could. Finally, your hands reached for Dutch and gripped to the first thing they could find: the sides of his firm waist. You pulled him to you and demanded he kiss you back, which was no big ask for him.

While he could feel your wanting hands tugging, there wasn’t much direction from them except closer , so Dutch allowed his weight to lean in and convinced you to lay on the sofa until his frame covered yours. His palm remained in place, and you ground your hips up into it while kissing him fervently. It was the sort of kiss where both parties refused to back down, each of their desires – the irony didn’t escape you – wishing to conquer. But Dutch had the upper hand, being above you and controlling your pleasure just by squeezing . Your head dropped back, a sigh of ecstasy releasing, and all Dutch could do was growl.

“That’s right,” he praised soothingly, pressing his palm harder into your mound, “give in to me.”

You happily obeyed that command, wrapping your arms around his neck and shifting your thighs, the wetness in your pants growing to a level of discomfort. That, coupled with the sweat pooling on your skin, made you feel positively dirty . It was a happy state of being, to be so okay with that and truthfully, wanting more.

Dutch moved his hand away and you whined pitifully, him chuckling at the extent of power he now had over you and rewarding himself with a desperate squeeze of your breast.

There was a pause, one where you just looked at each other with chests heaving and desire rippling from your bodies in waves. All you could see in his eyes was a certainty, what for you weren’t quite sure, and his intentions were clear as day as he silently communicated them with you. The relaxation of your shoulders was enough of a response for him, and his façade of seduction slipped only for a moment as he offered you a warm, slight smile.

It left as quickly as it had appeared, Dutch opting for doing the one thing he’d thought of more than anything since he’d met you. He pushed the fabric of your top up your stomach, and you shifted onto your elbows to allow him to remove it. You hardly noticed his fingers trace around the wire of your bra until they reached the back, unclasping it in one swift motion. Holding your arms out, he took it as his cue to remove the garment and his gaze transfixed on your bare skin.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his index and middle finger slowly swiping up to run a nipple between his digits.

It was... different. He was admiring you, taking his time despite his arousal bursting at the seams (literally - you could see it). It felt like it had always been missing in your previous encounters, and while you recognised the sweetness in his zealous actions, this time you wanted to be rushed. Just a little, to allow yourself to remain in the heady state you’d found yourself in.

You interrupted his infatuation by leaning up, shucking his t-shirt up and he smirked while raising his arms. “My turn.”

“Of course.”

Dutch moved to sit back on his haunches, to allow you both a moment to drink each other in. He forgot that you’d already seen his chest, as delightfully toned and hairy as it was, in much better lighting some months previously. Sure, you could look at him all day if given the task but one glance at his skin was enough for you to want to feel it against yours while the opportunity presented itself. You sat up with a huff, practically pouncing on the unsuspecting man and taking a seat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Oh, darlin’,” he said with an air of surprise, and before he could start talking again you landed your lips on his thick neck, kisses and licks that turned into grazing bites evaporating all his thoughts from his head.

Despite his joggers and your jeans separating the two of you, Dutch was so furiously hard that it was more than enough friction for you to grind against. So you did, you rocked your hips over his length and build up that stimulation, tilting your head up with a breathy sigh and squeezing your legs around his.

Your eyes fell shut, the buzz of alcohol coupled with the buzz of arousal too tempting not to chase. Dutch’s eyes, however, were transfixed as he watched you. His big palms held your thighs while he enjoyed your show, the crease between your brows, the part of your lips, and the flush underneath your skin was a delight to watch. However, his favourite thing about your show was that it wasn’t for him; it was for you.

His dominance and desire to pin you down and fill you up was still there, somewhere, but drifted further away with every greedy grind of your hips. “You are perfect like this,” he said lowly, almost to himself, but you stalled your motions and blinked your eyes down to look at him questioningly. “Being selfish looks good on you,” he clarified.

Your laugh was muted when you rolled your eyes, and you opted for kissing him again and favouring slow movements of your hips.

Dutch allowed it, for a moment, but his practised patience was beginning to wear thin. “I think that’s enough teasing for me,” he muttered against your mouth.

While you were a sight to behold, he’d allowed you to turn him into a speechless deer stuck in a beam of headlights, allowed himself to give in and become pliant. That wasn’t how it was in any of his fantasies. There, he ploughed into you while you whined, and prepared your grounds for the sowing of his seeds. With an effective grunt, he gripped a hand on each of your upper arms and twisted you to lay on your back, resuming his dominating position over you.

You smirked up at him, a little surprised but with no complaints. This was really going to happen.

Dutch’s joggers now sat low on his hips, and your eyes were drawn to the dark hairs that led down into them. “Ah ah,” he teased, “it’s my turn now. Remember?”

You flicked your eyes up to him and shrugged, settling into the sofa and gesturing to your jeans to give him the go-ahead. His face lit up with poorly contained excitement, either that or you were beginning to read his emotions better, and he swiftly got to work undoing your jeans. He slowed enough to remind himself that this was rather a big deal and took his time as he dragged the material down your legs. He bit down on his tongue at the sight of you exposed, save for your underwear which was moist with your desire. Dutch was drawn to it, pressing the pad of his thumb over the wet patch and you were responsive as ever, moving your hips to chase the pleasure.

He would’ve been happy to watch you squirm some more, but you were nothing if not fair and decided to carry on implementing this rule system the two of you had created. You sat up, placing your fingertips on his waistband and glancing up to get permission. He nodded once and leaned down to kiss you while you slipped the joggers over his delightful thighs.

When the kiss broke, you widened your eyes in surprise when you looked down to see his cock, hard and frustrated.

“Where’s your underwear?” you asked him, and he tilted his head at you with incredulity.

“Why would I wear underwear to bed?”

Oh. You’d forgotten this was just his sleeping attire. “Good point,” you agreed. “That means I’m out of turns.”

“That’s alright,” Dutch leaned over you, hooking his thumb into your underwear, “I do believe it’s my turn, anyway.”

With that, your underwear was off, and you each took a moment to admire the other, your mind turning to filth at the thought of all he could do with... that...

The most appropriate way you could put it was that he was rather blessed. And soon you would be, too.

Dutch leaned over you, his skin on yours enough to keep your mind cloudy and content. “Positively... delectable,” he purred, lowering his lips to commence a slow kiss and you gripped his forearms; anchoring yourself to him.

“Now darlin’,” he huffed, attempting to order his scrambled thoughts, “I need to be fair and honest with you.”

You paused, frowning. “About what?”

“I told you earlier, I am not interested in desire. While I desire you now, I do not wish to desire something I cannot have.”

Your frown deepened, and you glanced down at yourself. “But, I’m allowing you to -”

“I know ,” he soothed. “I don’t just mean now.” Dutch paused for a moment, too many wonderful parts of you that he wanted to look at, so he instead opted for your face, which he was already rather fond of. “If I have you... then I must have you. If I become accustomed to the taste of your skin, I know, I just know...” he trailed off, running his hand up your flank and across your chest, lazily thumbing a nipple. “It will no longer be want. Having you, it will be a need .”

You relaxed, eyes returning to their softened state.

“Do you understand?”

You nodded.

“No - do you really understand? What me having you now entails?”

You nodded again.

“Words, darlin’.”

“I -” you faltered, understanding perfectly what was to come next but deciding instead to indulge yourself in the honeyed prose that oozed from his mouth. “Tell me.”

His brow raised, impressed that even in your lust-filled state you were able to continue the act of teasing. “Very well,” he agreed, scanning his eyes down your naked form underneath him, the head of his cock leaking onto your leg. “I will have this,” he lamented with a hand on your stomach before it drifted down to rub the sides of your folds, toying with the almost-pressure between his alternating fingers. “And I will have this. I will take from you, my sweet, and grip onto that waist of yours while I also give . I will give, I will pump you full of me until I have nothing left.”

You bit down on your tongue, rolling your hips with not an ounce of shame. “ Okay .”

Dutch smiled, pleased. He sat back on his haunches, taking a hand to the innards of your knees before kissing each one and opening your legs. He stared at what he found, cock twitching as it stood impatient against his abdomen, his tongue darting out on his lip absently. He brushed his hands up your thighs until they reached your waist, and he pulled you roughly towards him, towering over you as he chuckled darkly. A slight gasp left you, and you squirmed with how close he was to joining the two of you.

And there it was. You, needy and flustered underneath him, and it was beyond worth the wait.

Though it wasn’t necessary, Dutch resumed the stroking of your folds, this time dipping into your slit to tease your entrance. He bit back a moan, the hint of wetness, warmth, and plush flesh that he was about to experience very intimately almost making him lose his wavering control over the situation. Your walls clenched, willing him to relieve you and truthfully not believing you needed any form of preparation, but perhaps it was a precaution – or he was being a gentleman.

The fact was that Dutch just wanted to feel you, not only with his fingers but his tongue, too; though that would have to wait for another day lest he wanted to finish before he’d even started.

He slid a finger in without resistance, your body doing everything to ask for more , to keep what was already filling you. It slipped out a few inches and a second finger entered along with it on the next experimental journey in and you released a breathy moan, feeling nothing aside from pleasure. Briefly, you wished this had happened at the party a few months back so you could’ve done it while he wore his rings. Though, you weren’t in a position to complain.

Dutch’s approving hum accompanied his slow ministrations, crooking his fingers slightly so that they just brushed against the raised bump in your walls and your next breath came out lined with frustration.

“Come on, Dutch,” you’d intended to be assertive, but your voice hung in the air with a seductive tone, one that still had the desired effect as Dutch immediately removed his fingers and held his hand around his cock, leaning over you some. You smirked at his eagerness and didn’t miss the flash of annoyance over his eyes, though it was borne from a now-familiar fondness on his part.

“You are a rather,” he paused to run the head of his cock over your slit and you bit down on your bottom lip, “ demanding young woman.”

With his cock meeting your pussy for the first time, the stark realisation hit you of just what you were doing. It must’ve shown on your face, causing Dutch’s brows to tense with concern.

“Are you alright?”

You nodded, reminding yourself to take a breath and relaxed some. It was an odd mix of emotions, your excitement and nervousness coming together to make you almost giddy, and you laughed a little with apprehension. “John’s right upstairs.”

Dutch’s expression grew gentle, and he ran the head of his cock down your slit once more, leaning down to touch the tip of his nose to yours. “Then you better keep quiet.”

The barely-there sensation turned to a dull pressure, and then his cock slipped past your entrance and you moaned as he filled you, arching up and gripping the fabric of the sofa as you felt what must be the best sensation of your entire life.

He just kept going , and your attention was drawn to how big he was as he pushed all the way in to nestle his hipbones comfortably into your ass. “That’s not quiet,” he warned, voice restrained as he too kept his response to a minimum.

You chuckled, and Dutch felt it vibrate on his shaft and screwed his eyes shut as the delightful feeling you provided took over him. The man in him withered away, until he was more animal than anything and he briefly questioned whether desire was truly that bad. Then, he internally reprimanded himself for thinking about Evelyn Miller, however briefly, while he was nestled inside a beautiful woman.

“God,” you breathed, making it difficult for him to think about anything else other than you, “you feel so good.”

Dutch felt the heat rise to his cheeks and planned to blame the alcohol in case he actually blushed at your compliment. “Good? Darlin’ you’re...” his mind was empty. There wasn’t a word to describe the way it felt to have your warmth envelop him, even perfect didn’t quite do it justice. “It’s like you’re made for me,” he settled on, surprised his mind could even form a full sentence.

“Dutch?” you said seriously, tilting your head inquisitively.

“Mhm?”

“I have a confession.”

“What is it?” he smirked.

“I’ve been thinking about this for some time.”

He smiled, again feeling coy thanks to your words. It was sweet, and he hadn’t expected this to be so sweet . Then your following words brought him back to reality.

“And every time,” you sat up on your elbows, brushing your lips against his and feeling brave with desire, “you fucked me. Properly.”

Thankfully, Dutch registered your insinuation, and the lust returned to his eyes and wiped out the almost starry-eyed look he’d had in them previously. His hand cupped the back of your head and he kissed you roughly, his tongue invading your mouth as he slowly inched out. He let off, allowing you to take a breath and proceeded to slam his hip into yours.

Finally , that was more like it. Your gasp was high-pitched as he repeated the motion, gradually speeding up and fucking you deeper than you thought was possible.

Dutch’s fingertips gripped the sides of your hips as he tried to pull himself further in, despite that not being possible. Your words had snapped something within him, and he leaned down to suck harshly at your neck.

“Don’t,” a quiet moan broke your sentence, “leave any marks...”

And then, the suction increased, and you gripped a hand into the back of his hair and pulled him off despite yourself. Dutch smirked down at you.

“I’m warning you.”

“You are just a vixen ,” he said with a deep thrust, “so much more to you than meets the eye, sweetheart...” his breath was hot against your ear as he returned to littering your skin with affection, his hand coming between the two of you to knead your breast. Your hand remained in his hair, fingertips running across his scalp at the base of his thick curls, though you weren’t pulling him away this time. His tongue travelled around your neck and ears, leaving cool wetness in its wake as proof of the parts of your skin he’d tasted.

So far, your teasing had been well received. You wondered where his line was. “Am I?”

Dutch hummed his agreement, hardly listening and too infatuated with the feeling of your dripping cunt, soft breasts, and delicious skin. He’d turned quieter than usual while he thrusted into you. You took one look at his face, the furrow of his brow, the tightening of his lips...

He was focusing .

It was sweet, really, that your pleasure was at the forefront of his mind. It was a breath of fresh air that you needed, but right now, wasn’t what you wanted . Screw Dutch and his books and his high horse about desires, you wanted him . You wanted to see that animal he talked so fondly of that apparently inhabited us all. This was the man, but you knew it wasn’t entirely truthful. You wanted him to let go, to take what he wanted. To give into that desire. Fuck it .

“Wish I could say the same about you.”

He paused comically, stilling his thrusts and taking his lips from you, to meet you with a glare. “What?”

“Here I was,” you relaxed back theatrically, “thinking Mr Van der Linde would be all demanding and dominant like he is during the day...” you sighed for effect, “but no. I had to practically beg you to fuck me.”

Dutch’s face didn’t crack as he pulled out of you, moving to kneel on the sofa between your legs. The humour ran cold off your face, you were the one that wanted to find the line, after all .

“I -” you began, sitting up, “I was just teasing.”

He raised a brow, and you sighed.

“Sorry, alright?” you placed a gentle hand on his forearm, “it was a joke. Too far, clearly.”

The silence hung between you, and the lack of change in Dutch’s expression was almost eery. As you moved your hand away from him, he gripped your wrist and yanked you towards him, so close that with your face in line with his chest, you had to look straight up to see his expression. Contrasting the iron grip, his other hand gently caressed your face. “Oh, you are a foolish little girl.”

He was menacing. You couldn’t read him, whether this was part of a bit or whether he was genuinely pissed off you weren’t sure. Perhaps you’d gotten so caught up and forgotten the sort of man you were dealing with, or you didn’t spend long enough at the start trying to find out. “Sorry,” you repeated. “Please.”

“Now you see,” he squeezed your jaw, “ that’s begging. But I don’t think you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you? Just a sweet little lamb following the scent of fresh grass right into the wolf’s den.”

He released you harshly, knocking you back and a strike of adrenaline ran through you at the dangerous look in his eyes. You didn’t have long to observe, as before you knew it, he’d flipped you over and hiked your ass into the air. Then, a slap reverbed around the room, followed by a sting of pain.

“Dutch!” you squealed quietly, and looked behind at him, “don’t - John!”

He put his hand to the back of your head and pressed your face into the sofa, leaning down to put his lips by your ear while his cock lay comfortably between your ass cheeks. “You asked for this, sweetheart. If it’s a dangerous game you want, it’s a dangerous game you get,” he bit your earlobe and released, “I pride myself in being a thorough man,” his cock began to slide into your cunt, “a man of my word .” He dragged your hips back to him with the hand that wasn’t holding your head. “Let this be a lesson, should you be tempted to try testing my integrity ever again,” you growled in your ear. “Now, princess, I think I’ll fuck all of that attitude out of you.”

With no time for you to protest, not that you wanted to, he began fucking you deep and fast, both pushing his hips forward and pulling you back. The angle was different, deeper as his cock dragged along your walls in a new way. Knowing John was upstairs was no longer a point of guilt for you, instead, it made it all the more exciting. This was wrong . You could get caught. You moaned at the thought, continuing in time with his erratic thrusts.

“Jesus,” he grumbled, reluctantly holding his hand over your mouth instead of on your head, “you’ll wake the dead with those noises of yours.”

With your head tilted up to accommodate for his hand, your back arched and Dutch furthered the bend by pressing his palm onto the middle of your back to provide an even needier view for him. “Stupid,” he grumbled between thrusts, “little, girl. Doesn’t know w-what's good for... her.” His words, while broken with grunts and restricted moans, went straight to your core. There you lay, presented like a common whore and unable to manoeuvre yourself into any other position while he pounded you into the sofa. Dutch had achieved his desired control, and you trusted him fully to bring you pleasure.

As if on cue, his hand moved from your back and round to your clit, rubbing harsh circles over it with his index finger. You moaned into Dutch’s palm, feeling your saliva seep onto his skin and feeling all the filthier for it. The man himself enjoyed it too, this was your truest desire. That tight and unwavering grip you had on your control must be tiresome, he mused while he continued to defile your cunt. “Just look at you,” he breathed, “little miss tries her hardest to be perfect, doesn’t she?” he asked, his tone patronising but only further your building arousal and you were sure you’d soon burst, “so squeaky clean yet here you are... filthy ,” he smacked your ass for good measure, “want someone to take control of you, hm? Someone to -” Dutch took a breath as he continued to hold off from finishing as long as he could. He flat-out refused to come until he got to feel your contracting pussy as you came around his cock. “Someone to look after you, someone who knows just what you need...”

He was truly a bastard. A bastard that had figured you out, and sounded proud for it. But what were you to do? Deny it? Keep up the façade - which, he was right, was truly tiring – or accept it? Allow this to be the one arena where you could just fucking let go. You nodded, despite the restriction of his palm.

You let go , of the pent-up arousal and control as it whooshed out of your body, from your abdomen and down your limbs, to the tips of your fingers and toes. Your legs tensed in an effort not to shake as you buried your head into the pillow of the sofa, aware of Dutch’s low moan of ecstasy followed by a sopping warmth entering you as he filled you up, entirely with him .

Your eyes had teared up, both from the exhilarating pleasure but too from the damn release . You relaxed into the sofa, feeling floaty and a little overwhelmed. But it was fine, you were fine. While he had been the one to warn you that there was no going back on this, you feared Dutch was the one that didn’t know what he’d gotten himself in form. This was what was missing from your life. This was the thing that poets wrote about, musicians sang about, and what the whole world seemed obsessed with. Love? Not yet. But that passion the two of you created? That shit was art .

“Darlin’?” Dutch questioned, pushing the hair off your sweaty brow and you blinked your eyes open with a tilt of your head backwards to look at him, his face full of concern. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, your best attempt at making sure he didn’t worry about you. He didn’t seem entirely fooled but also not entirely panicked. He gently eased out of you and lay beside you, coaxing you to turn over and lay against his chest. You did, a hand in his wiry hairs while you listened to the pounding of his heart gradually settle.

“Sorry, I - I lost myself a little there -”

“No,” you interrupted, and when you looked up at Dutch he thumbed underneath your eye to wipe the few fallen tears away. “No it was – it was just what I needed.”

That was all it took for Dutch’s face to relax, a genuine smile returning. His deep, brown eyes were a place of warmth, and no part of you felt like you had to appease him or lie to him or change yourself to behave perfectly. It was strange. It was like you, as you were, was enough . He kissed you gently. “Me too.”

While it was possible that your lust-induced brain was reading all the wrong signals, something about the way he looked at you was like a promise it would all be okay. That the two of you had a mutual understanding, that this was perfect for the both of you, not some gross fantasy shit as it had been in your head for over half a year. Well, maybe it was both.

You nestled your head into his chest, and he drew patterns on your back while the two of you lay naked on the sofa, returning to be wholly present in the room.

After a while, how long exactly you weren’t sure thanks to how serene the passing of time was, Dutch spoke.

“I’m sorry for not coming to find you at the party.”

“Oh,” you craned your head up to him. “That’s okay, I just assumed you were busy.” He nodded, a little relieved and you reminded yourself not to be too soft on him just yet. He was fun to tease, after all. “Plus, I don’t see it fair that I should sit around and wait for you.”

“Yes, you’re correct. Something came up that required my attention.” Dutch’s smile at you was proud, and the subsequent kiss he pressed to your cheek was almost endearing. “Good girl. That’s much more like it.”

You rolled your eyes, the praise stoking the fire still dwindling in your abdomen. “Don’t say that.”

“But why?” he questioned, leaning in to kiss your neck, “you’re such a good, good girl...” His kisses grew tender, yet sultry enough for you to make you melt.

“Shut up,” you laughed, and Dutch’s chest vibrated with amusement as he returned to embrace you. Your laugh was so true, and while a voice in the back of Dutch’s head reminded him that he was a serial romantic with a volatile tendency to rush into everything, he found he simply couldn’t help himself. This really was your truest form, not in a sense of your desires, but you . Carefree and unbound by whatever pre-conceived notions you had in your head about what part you were to play as you moved through life. He found himself adoring it. Adoring you. He kissed the crown of your head.

After another unknown length of time, your absent-minded tracing of his forearms reminded you that he had a watch. You titled his wrist towards you.

“Shit, it’s three in the morning.”

“How time flies,” Dutch murmured, and you were sure he was close to falling asleep.

“Hey,” you sat up, “we definitely can’t fall asleep here.”

“No,” Dutch sat up reluctantly, already missing your warmth and chasing it by wrapping his arms around your abdomen and placing a kiss on your shoulder. “Come stay in my bed.”

“What?” you tutted, “are you insane?”

“Some have said so.”

“No way,” you laughed, swinging your legs off the sofa and finding your jeans, your top... “hey, where did you throw my underwear?”

Dutch shrugged, immediately following suit and grabbing his joggers from the floor. You frowned at him. “What?”

You reached over to his joggers and into his pocket. Lo and behold.

“What?” Dutch repeated.

You dressed quickly, walking out of the living room and up the stairs, then into Dutch’s room. You sighed, deciding where to look first. After a minute, Dutch caught up and leant casually on the doorframe while you searched his room.

“What is it, you lunatic?” he asked casually.

You huffed, giving up rather quickly. “Where are they.”

“Where are what?”

“My pants. They grey ones, with the lace. I know you have them,” you pointed accusingly at him.

Dutch broke out into a grin, a laugh accompanying it that you knew would be much heartier if you weren’t sneaking around in the dead of night. He walked nonchalantly to his nightstand, opened the drawer, and then held up the pants for you to see.

The bastard! You could hardly believe what you were seeing.

“I have been looking for those,” you scolded, going to grab them but he just lifted him further out of your reach. “Give them back!”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” he said, annoyingly.

“You stole them!”

“You left them here.”

“You’re a liar.”

Dutch smirked.

You made another futile attempt at grabbing them and failed. “They’re my favourite pair!”

“Mine too,” he said diplomatically.

“You’re a fucking pervert,” you narrowed your brow at him, placing your hands on your hips.

Dutch just shrugged. “None of us are perfect. Except maybe you,” he teased, giving you a patronising pat on the head.

So, even now, he still had time for games. You stripped off your jeans to reach your current underwear that he’d too tried to steal and pulled them off before redressing in just your jeans. “What are you doing?”

“Trade,” you held them out to him. “You can have these ones if you insist on being deranged. But I want those back.”

“Aw, no,” he shook his head disapprovingly, “it’s much less fun when you give them to me.”

“So you admit you stole them?”

Dutch didn’t respond, instead reached out and snatched the ones you held, joining them in his other hand.

“Dutch!” you said in a hushed voice.

“I’m a man with needs,” he countered, like a child hoarding toys they didn’t want to share, or a dog that had issues with resource-guarding.

“And I’m a woman with no underwear!”

“It’s a souvenir of our first meeting.”

“And what about that pair?” you shunted your hand at his newest theft.

He shrugged. “Sport, I guess.”

With a fold of your arms, you tried to give him an angry look but with his smirk, tousled hair, and fucked-out, tired expression, your smile cracked. The man was nuts, but you couldn’t deny that he was funny. “Fine. I give up,” you opened up your arms in surrender, then walked past him.

“You really aren’t staying here?”

“Not if I want to leave with my clothes.”

“I’m not interested in the rest of your clothes.”

“You have no shame.” Dutch smiled at that, pleased with himself. “And I’m tired. I will see you in the morning.” You gave him your best doe eyes and gently made your way towards him, brushing a hand over his arm. “Goodnight, Mr Van der Linde,” you said sweetly, leaning up to kiss him and when he returned your affections you reached for the pants clutched in his hands, for him to move them out of reach once more.

He chuckled, taking his lips from yours. “Nice try.”

“Bastard,” you grumbled, turning on your heels and exiting his room.

Once in the spare room, you quickly changed into a baggy top and wished you could have a shower, but that would have to wait. Although, something about falling asleep with Dutch still filling your insides was a rather erotic thought. With a silent thanks to the existence of contraception, your tiredness caught up with you and you didn’t even remember falling asleep.

-

Your choices came back to haunt you when you awoke the next morning, no longer feeling sexy and instead just feeling grimy. It was enough to get you out of bed, and you thanked the stars the shower was free.

When you walked downstairs, fresh-faced and clean, you were greeted with an empty kitchen but heard the television in the next room. In there, you found John, half-dead on the sofa.

“Morning Johnny,” you crooned leaning on the sofa with a teasing smile.

John’s response was a groan, and he shifted slightly from his face-down position to crank an eye open at you. If he only knew what that poor sofa witnessed a few hours previous.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Please,” he murmured, and you almost felt sorry for him. However, the knowledge that he wouldn’t learn his lesson and would absolutely repeat his actions blocked your empathy from fully forming.

“Alright,” you laughed, making your way back into the kitchen and looking over the fancy coffee machine. After figuring out how to work it, you waited while the machine whirled, and it wasn’t long before the kitchen door opened behind you.

“Good morning,” came Dutch’s gruff voice, and you turned to offer him a smile. He seemed genuinely pleased to see you, and you supposed you did have a track record of disappearing before morning.

“Morning,” you greeted back, moving one of the cups out of the way for another. “Would you like a coffee?”

“Sure,” Dutch came up beside you, placing a ginger hand on your black while he pressed the button for a black coffee.

“Huh, you really are crazy.”

“You don’t like black coffee?”

“I read that those who do are more likely to be psychopaths.”

Dutch smirked, tracing his fingers up your back to your shoulder and leaning down to your ear. “Then you better watch yourself.”

You turned your head to him, and you half thought the two of you were about to share a kiss when the machine beeped to let you know it was finished. Clearing your throat, you gripped his mug along with John’s and handed them to him. “That’s for your son. He’s next door.”

“Aren’t you an obliging woman,” he took the mugs from you with a wink and walked into the living room. You heard them chatting, mainly Dutch poking fun at John, while you made your own drink and joined John on the sofa when you were finished.

“All in all, good birthday then?”

John nodded, placing his mug down on the coffee table and snuggling up beside you. You snorted a laugh, and when you glanced at Dutch you could’ve sworn a wave of jealousy passed over his face.

The three of you sat chatting for some time while the news played in the background until John began to get antsy at not yet having a cigarette. Dutch decided to join him for one, leaving you alone. That was when you saw Dutch’s phone on the table, and an idea came to mind.

You picked it up, smiling briefly and the sweet picture of his three kids that made up his background, then wiped that image from your memory to prepare for what you were about to do. They’d be at least a few minutes, and you’d hear the back door when they decided to come inside. You shucked off your trousers and hiked up your shirt, sliding Dutch’s phone to the side to access his camera. You lay on the sofa, attempting to find a good angle and being pleased the lighting was forgiving in here. Once in a position you were happy with, you snapped a quick photo, closed his phone and returned it to its spot. Swiftly, you redressed and sat back on the sofa, with a few minutes to spare before the pair returned.

You weren’t sure if there was anything planned for the day, and while you didn’t want to overstay your welcome you figured out another way to tease Dutch one last time before your departure. Who knows when you were to see him again, after all.

Once you’d washed up the mugs, you leant on the breakfast bar to pull out your phone and book a taxi while John and Dutch came in from the garden.

“You two up to much today?” Dutch asked casually, and John leaned up beside you.

“No, I’m actually going in a few.”

“You’re welcome to stay for a bit,” John offered kindly, looking slightly more alive after some caffeine and tobacco.

“Thank you, but that’s alright. I’ve got some stuff I need to get done.”

“Well, I can give you a lift to the station,” Dutch interjected, adding, “John’s probably still far over the legal limit to drive.”

John laughed to himself in agreement, and you paused to raise your brows at Dutch.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ve already booked my taxi,” you held up your phone screen for him to see, the taxi only a couple of minutes away.

Dutch’s face twitched at your defiance, and you made a show of walking around the kitchen and slinging your overnight bag onto your shoulder.

“See you in a few weeks, John,” you hugged him, and smiled kindly at Dutch once John released you. “Nice to see you again, Mr Van der Linde.”

“Yeah, thanks for coming,” said John, and Dutch gave you a barely noticeable shake of his head, but his playful smile was prevalent. “Goodbye, miss,” he added.

With that, a satisfied smile grew on your face, and you made your way out of the Van der Linde house once more.

[joanie-writes]

I declare that everybody must read this. Right now.

[avasillva]

Joel… don’t fuck this up. Please.

THE LAST OF US S01E01: When You’re Lost in the Darkness

[joanie-writes]

I can’t even begin to describe how beautifully perfect this show already is

[joanie-writes]

Me to you guys:

[fernacular]

Brothers

[joanie-writes]

maybe I'm crying, what about it?

[joanie-writes]

Astraea Pt. 2

The much awaited return.

LowHonour!Arthur x F!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, naivety, slight degradation, unsafe sex, vaginal sex, rough sex

Word count: 3.1k

Pt. 1

At first you were only excited for his return. It was all you dreamt about, all you hoped and prayed for. But time went on and that ruggedly handsome face hadn't shown, your dreams slowly died out and you began to unravel what had happen that night. You were left tarnished and ruined. Sure nobody ever found out, though your father was furious about the loss of his horses. Arthur had taken your innocence and bolted with it. Why couldn't you have just listened to your father and stayed far away from the greedy hands of a man? That was what you often stayed awake thinking about.

But another question you could not seem to drop was if what you had done together was so wrong, why did it feel so good? After waking from a false reality where the cowboy had climbed into your room once again, you bit your lip as you felt slick beginning to cool your inner thigh. You dragged a shaking hand down your front, sliding your fingers to the bud that longed for the touch of him.

Your father had left to attend some business in the east, but with your brothers in charge the ranch continued on. As did your learnings, father had always said he didn't want a stupid girl, so you practiced your pianoforte tirelessly. With the beautiful chimes you were left unable to think about his blue eyes or the way he held you as you kissed. You were so focused on getting the damn song right that you hadn't even noticed that you'd played yourself into the night.

A siren kind of sound was what Arthur heard from his place upon his horse, a ways up the hill and still decently far from the familiar manor house. But he could hear the graceful song well, the notes soaring through the fields. It wasn't a short trip back here, but Arthur couldn't get you out of his head. You were messing up his shots and causing tension with his fellow gang members, all while you weren't there. So he figured that one more time would get you out of his system for good. 

"You have got to stop leaving doors open, angel." Your head whipped around at the gruff voice, a gasp leaving your lips as you stopped mid play. 

There he was, leaned up against the patio doorway, his hat only just covering his eyes. Your eyes were wide and doe like, that same look you'd given him when you awoke with his hand covering your mouth, the same look but softened when he left. You got up, silently making your way to him only for Arthur to grab you and lean you over with a kiss, allowing you to snatch the hat right off his head. You moaned against his lips, tasting a minty tobacco mix. 

Once you had been released from Arthur's hold and a cocky smile was placed on lips and you took your chance to give him a very deserved smack.

Arthur chuckled and shook his finger also shaking his head while he said, "You pack one hell of a hit." 

"You just abandoned me, Arthur, after you did, that, to me." You frowned, pushing his hand away when he reached for your waist. You placed his trusty hat on your head, just to try.

"I'll make it up to you."

There was not a hint of remorse in his voice, but as that silver tongue poked out to wet his lips, you couldn't help but fall for him and his tricks again. As soon as you nodded, Arthur pressed his lips to yours again, leading you back into the solarium which housed the grand piano, tipping the much too big hat off of your head.

There was a part of Arthur that couldn't help but be eternally grateful to whatever entity watched over him that you were not enlarged with a baby of his creation, he knew he wasn't meant to be a father. And you would have been put in the paper as the next Virgin Mary, which he'd chuckle at later. 

Arthur pulled away again to your disappointment, leaning away with a smile when you chased his lips. "I heard your playing, you think you could give me a little show?" You took a deep breath before shrugging and agreeing, it wasn't like you were short on time, but your patience was running a little short. 

You sat on the bench, flipping through the sheet music to find a song that might better suit the electric atmosphere. Arthur waltzed around the room, admiring the expensive trinkets and the array of plants but as you began playing his gaze fixed itself onto you. He watched your impeccable posture and your fingers move skillfully along the keys to create the melody. You blushed under his intense stare but simply tried to focus on the song, trying to prove you were unaffected by your own yearning. 

The song faltered when you watched Arthur drop to his hands and knees out of the corner of your eye and again when he pinched your leg. "Don't stop, just pretend I'm not here." Arthur spoke from under the piano, you shook your head and kept up with your fingers.

Your breath hitched when you felt Arthur tug your undergarments off while he pushed your skirt out of the way. You paused for a mere second to assist him with the task. A quiet whine escaped you when you felt Arthur press his lips to your inner thigh, his hands dancing from your knees to your hips. Arthur glanced up at you before reaching around you to pull your body closer to the edge of the bench and to his greedy lips, making it harder to play but you figured whatever he was about to do to you would be worse.

He started by kissing up your thigh, skillfully dragging his tongue along your flaming skin, "You're so wet already, you know I was comin'?" Arthur smiled when you nodded breathlessly, not yet letting his orchestrations distract you from playing. The first flick of his tongue on your clit brought forth the most angelic sound that Arthur had ever heard, even more angelic than your music, which was also impressive. 

The slight pause of your playing was left unnoticed by Arthur because he was too busy with the sinfully sweet taste of you dancing in his undeserving mouth as he ate you right up. His hands gripped the flesh of your thighs and groaned into your skin. Your wanton moans mixed with the music in perfect harmony. The foreign feeling of his tongue dipping into your entrance made your chest rise with breath and whimper his name. 

It had been so long since you'd felt this enraptured, your peak didn't take long to build in the pit of your loins. When Arthur swiped his tongue over the whole of you the harmony became yours alone because involuntarily your hands left the piano to grip the dirty blonde hair. 

This caused Arthur to pull away with a sharp nip to your inner thigh, "What did I say, angel?" 

"Don't stop." You answered breathlessly, the gleam of sweat on your bosom nearly making Arthur unable to follow though with his order, only wanting to follow the one you just indirectly gave him. The sight alone made him want to dive back into your pussy. 

But alas, he regained control of his thoughts and pushed the bench away from the piano, swiftly getting up to place you atop of the grand instrument. Automatically your legs spread to create a perfect space for him. Arthur's impatient hands made quick work of your blouse; in an instant it was cast to the floor. "Shame you stopped that pretty playing, would've loved to keep goin', angel." He said while undid the buttons of his shirt.

You turned red hot at Arthur's words and the way he nimbly undressed himself, revealing his strong body just for you. The thought of what he may have done in his absence irked you some because you had to sit here and daydream, but you pushed the thought away, focusing on the moment in front of you. Arthur began pulling your skirt off, leaving you only in your corset.

"I need you, Arthur." You spoke softly, looking at him with that semblance of innocence which in turn ran a chill up Arthur's spine. The mostly glass walls of the solarium made the thill of this sin more exciting for Arthur while it made the hairs on your arms stand straight up. 

Arthur didn't dignify your begging with a response, only pulling your bottom half closer to his crotch by pushing the small of your back, your skin horribly squeaked against the shiny black piano as he did which caused your face to burn hot for the umpteenth time. Again, Arthur paid no attention, purely focused on the the feeling of his swollen and angry tip prodding your entrance. 

You tilted his face downwards to yours with a single finger, lowering your tone to a whisper to make the message clear for him.

"Fuck me, cowboy."

"When did you learn that talk, huh?" Icy hot jealously whipped through Arthur's veins, a few months ago you barely knew what your own body was capable of but now you were using this kind of language?

"You fuck somebody else since I been away?" He imitated you, causing you to shrink in on yourself. 

"No, no, I just um, I was talking to one of the ranch hands about one of the girls from town he hangs around with." Arthur believed you, he just wanted to take every opportunity to make your stomach twist with nerves that he could.

"He told you how he fucks her? Does he fuck her good?"

"I don't know!"

"But he told you that he does fuck her, clearly. Do you think he fucks her good?" 

"Arthur." You sighed.

He laughed, shaking his head as he said, "I guess it doesn't matter, you know I'm gonna fuck you good." 

Your fingers locked around Arthur's thick biceps in a tight grip the second he pushed half of his length into you. The sudden stretch burned for you but there was no resistance on his part with the way your nectar was dripping out of you. Arthur couldn't help but pause and admire your beauty yet again. 

The second half of his length officially filled you to the very brim. A feeling like no other; a feeling that you'd been trying to chase but being held by iron chains made it impossible. 

"Give it to me, angel, let me hear you sing." 

You could barely hear Arthur's words over the sound of his skin violently hitting yours from the force of this thrusts, there was no shot your body would be the same after tonight. A pitchy whine released itself from within you at his plea and the feeling of him reaching so very deep inside of you. 

He chuckled as he panted from the strain, laughing out, "That's it, you're such a good girl." With a smack to the side of your thigh. 

"Hey sister! Are you in there? Whats going on?" 

You pushed Arthur by his bare chest with all of your might, hurrying to pull on your skirts and drag a still very much shirtless Arthur out of the patio door. The rush of adrenaline went straight to Arthur's cock. He was impressed with your speed, and he had to admit the glimmer of sweaty arousal in the moonlight on you looked incredible.

You silently prayed that your oaf of a brother wouldn't knock down the locked door in search of you for you knew Arthur's dark red shirt and scuffed hat still lay strewn about the floor along with your top. But hopefully if he did he was dumb enough to think one of the farmhands was getting up to no good... Arthur on the other hand stood quietly next to you against the wall of the house, watching the peaks of your breasts in the corset fall rapidly up and down. The strain in his pants grew more uncomfortable the longer you stood there and waited for any sort of noise. 

"He won't go searching, c'mere." Arthur beckoned, tugging you by the hand further along the back of the house, where the chandelier light from the solarium didn't reach as much. He kissed your neck, leaning you against the wall and greedily grabbing at your body wherever he could. Your lips fell apart in the utter lust of it all, your eyes closing in the frustration of Arthur's recklessness.

You huffed, still nuzzling into the campfire scent he had, "A-Arthur, somebody is going to see us out here." He only shushed you, the sudden feeling of your feet leaving the ground making you forget the danger you were in right now. Arthur had picked you up to properly hold you captive against the wall, the stockholm syndrome was strong.

He helped you moved your skirt aside, your wonder got the best of you again, "You can have me like this?"

Arthur smiled wickedly before replying, "I could have you anyway I like."  

The property was quiet besides the occasional yelp of a fox and both of your ragged breathing. You held yourself up securely around Arthur's toned back while he continued his assault on your jaw and neck. Your eyes clamped shut when he pushed into you once again, the size of him and the tightness of you got the best of you both for a moment there. You moaned against the flaming skin of his neck, the feeling was indescribable. 

"You're so fuckin' hm - so tight, angel. Feels like I can't even move." 

"Please, oh-" You were cut off by the first thrust and your brain felt like it was turning more and more into mush with each direct snap of Arthur's hips. He could tell, he knew that your eyes were rolling back and the way your front teeth gently scraped against the bare skin of his shoulder indicated that you couldn't even bear to produce sound.  

"You were made just for me, weren't you? Sent down by the fucking heavens above." Arthur mumbled to you, the slap of his skin against yours joining the sound of the crickets. The heat of the summer night made sweat drip down the back of Arthur's neck but not even the heat from hell below could have stopped him from ravishing you. 

He adjusted his hold on you all while picking up the speed of his thrusts. Your body shook and your toes curled when he hit that special place inside of you, like he had found the key once again. "Oh my - Arthur, Arthur, do that again, please." You tremored out.

Usually Arthur Morgan wasn't one to obey the requests of anybody, but with the way you were holding him and how you felt wrapped in his arms, he would've done anything for you. So at his brutal pace, Arthur repeatedly hit that spot, even faltering in his movement for a moment with the way you squeezed around his cock in return. And for the first time in a while Arthur got to see you as you threw your head back in pure, unadulterated, pleasure. Your hips bounced gently back against him, which only poured fuel on the fire that burned inside both of you. 

"Cmon, angel, show me what a dirty girl you are." 

Arthur's backwards flattery pulled a long whine out of you, and with a final sharp push you felt yourself shake with the crashing waves from the first time. Arthur looked down to where he was still fucking into you, seeing the ocean of your bliss drip down into the grass. The sight made his abs tighten, he bit your shoulder in a last attempt to last any longer but again barely made it to spend himself onto the ground below you. He wished he could have just stayed sheathed inside of you, feel his cum leak into you and then proceed to push it even farther, the thought alone made him want another go at you. But, he held your limp form in his arms still and knew you couldn't handle once more. The signature smirk returned. 

Arthur carried you back into the solarium and gently placed you back onto one of the cushy chairs, catching himself absentmindedly giving your forehead a tender kiss. You picked your head up to watch him collect his clothing, half buttoning his shirt and laying his hat towards the back of his head - he was beautiful. Arthur brought you your shirt, knowing you couldn't stay in here the whole night so he was unable to freely enjoy the view of your naked form like before. He also figured staying any longer would already be pushing his already dumb luck. 

"So uh, where's your pops? I guess I should introduce myself, huh?" Arthur teased, chuckling at the sight of your eyes widening.

"Arthur Morgan." You sighed, smiling as you stood, your legs screaming for you to sit back down.

He held your face in his giant hands, a stroke to your cheekbone warmed your heart. Both of you leaned in for one last kiss and you arms instinctively wrapped around him once again to pull your body closer to his. Arthur was first to pull away to then lean his forehead against yours, he didn't seem like a big bad outlaw right now, especially with the way you tipped the hat off his head this go around.

"What are you doing to me, angel?" 

You didn't fully get what he meant by that so you didn't feel the need to respond. He met those doe like eyes again and shook his head while fully pulling away from you. "I should go now." Arthur said while looking at the sky; the black abyss now had yellow and pink hues spilling into it. 

"Will I see you ever again, Arthur?"

He shrugged, finding it harder to move the more he backed away from you, "I don't know." 

You felt the urge to throw something at him or scream or anything. It wasn't fair for him to do this to you again and it also wasn't fair that you couldn't leave this godforsaken house. You had half the mind to run away, which also didn't seem fair, because before Arthur, you would have never thought a thing like that. 

"Don't come back then." You seethed 

Arthur watched your hopeful shoulders fall, he watched you move closer to shove him out of the patio door, pushing his hat to his chest with tears brimming your eyes. "You don't get to throw me away when you don't need me, Arthur Morgan." 

Wordlessly, he turned around and began his walk away from you. Arthur knew if he explained his feelings to you that it would only hurt and confuse you more. He also knew that he may not be able to control his frustration. But his stomach hurt with the thought of how he just hurt you, he'd never felt that for anybody before. 

[dutchvanwinkle]

Mr Van der Linde Pt. 1 - Dutch x Reader

OK I’m working on like a bagillion things atm but I wanted to get something out before the years end to prove that I’m alive and writing (those of you waiting on requests I promise I will get to them) 

I’ve been sitting on this bitch for months and have a ton of ideas for it but I wanted to see if it was anyone’s cup of tea before I poured hours and hours into it but tbh i probs will either way hehe

Also I tried to make the location ambiguous but I’m a UK gyal and the UK uni experience is all I know so don’t shout at meeeee sorry  

Also pt. 2 this will be slow updates fyi. But I am nothing if not a completionist so it will get finished eventually 

Happy holidays to those celebrating! The fic is on ao3 if you prefer.

Summary: You meet John's father after your first term of university, and find your growing attraction to him difficult to ignore.

Word count: 8,248

Content warnings: Modern AU, age difference, alcohol, mentions of drug use

You hated driving with John, he was far too reckless and half the time you were sure he wasn’t even paying attention to the road, but when compared to getting an overly expensive train or a stuffy coach, it was a no brainer. John’s warped view of the value for money, thanks to him growing up with an abundance of it, also played in your favour in that he refused to take any contributions for fuel. 

After meeting John at a welcome party for your student accommodation, you soon bonded over growing up in a similar area - his house was just an hour on the train from you.  

From then on, you’d often attend each other’s pre-drinks before nights out, and that soon led to you battling through your hangovers together the following day. You frequented his flat more often than your own by the end of the first semester, enjoying the company within it much more than that of yours. He and his childhood friend, Javier, had asked to be put together in their accommodation and he was always a lot of fun on nights out and super easy to get on with, and you discovered he’d taken the same course as you which saved you the worry of being alone in lectures. One of his other flatmates, Sean, had drove you insane when you first met him as he wouldn’t stop talking, but you soon grew to love him, too. 

Abigail was another of his flatmates, and he made the dire mistake of pulling her on the very first night; making the living situation unbearably uncomfortable for everyone else, especially when the two made the event an “accidental” reoccurring theme. It was no secret that she was smitten the moment she met him, but John being John and John also being a university student he had no desire to enter anything serious, even if he did like her more than he let on. 

You’d grown close to one of your own flatmates, Karen, and she often joined you on your trips to the flat across the hall, and after she’d drunkenly got with Sean on one of the nights out, being intoxicated became a requirement for her to visit the flat to calm her embarrassment. So, you all began smoking weed together on a regular occasion, and the small group became your favourite thing about university so far. 

Although you were already saving money by getting a lift most of the way home, the day that John had wanted to return for the Christmas holiday only had expensive ticket options for the final leg of your journey on the train, but two days later was much cheaper and he’d kindly offered you a place in one of his spare rooms. You gladly accepted, eager to see how nice his house was and spend a bit of time with his younger sister, Tilly, who you’d only spoken to over facetime but whose dry sense of humour you found hilarious. 

“Fuck, John, stop cutting people off,” you craned your neck backwards, watching the most recent victim of John’s erratic road presence throwing up the V’s at his car. 

“Stop backseat driving,” he batted his hand, but as always there was no irritation in his relaxed raspy voice, one that was getting raspier by the day considering how much he smoked. If it wasn’t weed, it was cigarettes and oh there he goes lighting another. 

“You do know this is why your car stinks, right?” you asked, cringing slightly at how careless he was even with his nice expensive vehicle. 

“You’re starting to sound like Abigail,” he scoffed, taking an extended inhale from the cigarette and blowing the smoke at you for good measure, laughing in that signature wheeze of his when you recoiled. 

Pushing the button to crank the window down, you leaned over and allowed the fresh air to fill your lungs now that you were back on normal roads. 

The pair of you soon reached a more rural area, and John cleared his throat when he pulled into a gated entrance. You gawked at the property, once John had used his fob to open the gates to reveal a driveway filled with decorative stone leading up to a gorgeous big house. 

“Shiiiiiit,” was all you could muster as you admired the beautiful brick and windows when you stepped out of the car. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed, flicking his cigarette and leading the way to the front door. 

You’d never seen a door so grand, dark wood that looked heavy and a golden lion's head holding the knocker. John fished his key from his pocket as you rang your fingers over it and didn’t care for your interest when he flung the door open.  

“’m back!” he called into the house, which somehow felt homely despite how large it was. It was only a few moments before Tilly came charging down the stairs and flung her arms around him. You smiled as the pair embraced, one of the few brother-sister duos you knew that didn’t hate each other. They were extremely close, and you’d found out after a few weeks the reason why. 

John’s mother had died when Tilly was only young, and your heart ached for the two kids but thankfully it brought them closer and they always had each other’s backs, with the guidance of their father, who had understandably been broken by her passing, along with their older brother.  

Tilly greeted you too, and you shook her hand as she bounced in the direction of the kitchen. “Dad’s in the back room watching the game with Arthur,” she informed the two of you as you followed in her direction. You’d heard a lot about Arthur, John’s older brother, and had the privilege of seeing a photo of him once. He didn’t live at the house, instead with his boyfriend, Charles, and if you’d have known he was going to be there today you might have made a bit more effort. 

You tried to be subtle as you took in the gorgeous room, black granite counter tops and high-end appliances only a backdrop for the big family kitchen that boasted an island in the middle with stools pulled up to it as it functioned as a breakfast bar too. 

As Tilly helped herself to something from the cupboards, you followed behind John to the adjoining room where you could hear noise from the TV in the form of a football commentator.  

You weren’t often nervous, not really, but something about this big house made you wonder what sort of man owned it and managed to make it warm and inviting while single-handedly raising his three kids. And when you saw him, lounged back on his sofa, wrapping his long ringed fingers around the neck of his cold beer bottle that paused on its way to his lips as his eyes landed on you, you had to gulp. 

And when your name rolled of his tongue, that voice so deep and rich, you tightened your grip on your bag and quietly sucked air into your lungs as you smiled at him coolly. That didn’t help either, just brought your attention to the faint smell of tobacco in the air mixed with cedarwood and some delightful cologne that you wanted to inhale even more of. 

But christ that’s John’s father you’re thinking about and you’re stood there like a moron and he’s waiting for a response. “Mr Van der Linde,” you swallowed. “Thanks for letting me stay, your home is lovely.” 

John tutted loudly at your ass-kissing display, but you didn’t miss him shrinking slightly when his father turned his attention to him. 

“I see you’ve not developed any manners while you’ve been away,” he tipped his chin down at the man who now gave off the aura of a boy, before looking back at you. “Thank you, miss. Please make yourself at home.” 

You nodded and swallowed again, hoping it wasn’t noticeable to anyone else but God your mouth felt so wet all of a sudden. He was John’s father, alright, in possession of the same rugged charm held by his son, but much more refined and much less boyish. He shifted slightly in his seat, propping his leg up on the L-shaped sofa that he’d claimed the corner of. You darted your eyes away, reminding yourself not to look between his legs but wishing you could because those tailored black trousers did wonders for him. 

“That’s Arthur,” John pointed lazily at the other man in the room, and you hadn’t even looked at him yet, but you were glad for something else to focus on. He was also a treat to look at, even more so in the flesh and you wondered what it was about this family that produced these kinds of men because you’d never encountered anything like it and now here you were in a room with three of them. 

“Nice to meet you, Arthur,” you smiled and the man nodded in acknowledgement, nudging his beer upwards slightly. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mr Van der Linde loosen the collar of his crisp white shirt, that’d been rolled up to reveal his forearms as a substitution for changing out of his work clothes to make himself comfortable. 

“Will the two of you be joining us, son?” 

You looked to John, part of you hoping he’d say yes but part of you desperate for any excuse to leave the room so you could breathe. John opted for the latter option, muttering something about being hungry and tired and wanting to settle in after the drive and Arthur asked when he planned on telling them all about his life at university, for him to just mutter later as he departed the room, and you quickly offered a smile to the two gentlemen before following him out. 

“I’ll let you pick a room before we get the bags,” John began the walk up the stairs and you grunted behind him. 

“Pick? You mean there’s more than one?” 

He shrugged, as he always does when he felt uncomfortable discussing his financial situation. Half the time, you thought he hated having money, but you supposed it was more his manifested embarrassment over how much it set him apart from other people. Nobody would guess if they didn’t know, both due to his mannerisms and his insistence on often wearing the same t-shirt for a week straight. 

“Well, where’s your room?” you asked, thinking that picking whichever was closest to him was the safest bet. 

John pointed up, before walking towards a door which when opened, revealed another small flight of stairs. “Mine’s the attic. You’ve got the choice of that one,” he pointed at a door in front of you to the left, “and that one,” he pointed behind you at a second door, before making his way up the stairs to dump the first of his stuff. 

You looked between the doors and decided to investigate the first one. It was bigger than your room at home, decorated in white and duck egg blue with a large double bed in the centre. The theme was the ocean, a beautiful painting above the bed depicting a grand ship on a calm sea. You’d be more than happy to stay here, hell a sofa would do you fine, but you still gave the other room a look even if out of pure nosiness.  

The second room was warmer, dark wooden furnishings with an accent of a pretty mustard colour. The double bed was tucked into the corner beside the window, looking out over the garden and countryside beyond. There was no theme to this room, but a few decorations appeared to be antiques. You dropped your bag by an old-looking gramophone and ran your finger over the brass horn, marvelling at something so pretty being hidden away in a spare room. You peered at the disc inside, making out Tchaikovsky in faded lettering and reached your hand out to turn the crank, but recoiled when you realised you’d probably end up breaking it. 

John’s feet thundering down the stairs prompted you to turn towards the doorway and he beckoned you to follow with the tilt of his head as he peered inside. You did, and the two of you made your way to the kitchen in search of food once your suitcase was safely situated in your room. 

“There any dinner on?” he called to the next room. 

“What’s it look like to you?” Arthur called back and John grumbled something about him being a smartarse.  

“Half time is in five minutes, we’ll just order takeout if you decide what to get,” Mr Van der Linde called, prompting John to reach into a drawer and pull out a handful of menus. 

“I forgot they even had paper menus,” you mused, leaning up beside John as you ran your hands over them to splay them out and get a good look. It all looked so good; you didn’t care which one they ordered from. “I’ll eat anything,” you announced and John huffed. 

“You always do this. Can’t you pick for once?” 

“I don’t mind! I could eat a horse I’m that hungry.” 

John just rolled his eyes and scanned over the menus before pulling two of them out and presenting them in front of you. “Choose between these two then, I’ve whittled it down.” 

You sighed, thinking that’s a fair deal as you looked between the two options: Indian or Thai. 

Both were delightful, but you knew John would complain if you didn’t make the decision. After a minute of back and forth, you decided the tofu guay tiew was the most appealing and vocalised your choice of Thai. 

“Dad’ll be happy,” he remarked, collecting up the other menus and unceremoniously jamming them into the drawer, “that’s his favourite.” 

At the small sense of pride that filled your chest, you cursed yourself internally. Something about the man made you want to please him, an odd sensation for you since you usually could care less what other people thought. Besides, it was just a takeaway for Christ’s sake. 

Shifting from the next room prefaced the two men that parted from it, expressions content and you assumed their team was winning. They were both so tall, because of course they were. 

“Are you staying for dinner?” Mr Van der Linde asked Arthur who nodded as he deposited the beer bottles into the bin. 

“Sure, I wanna hear all about little Johnny’s adventures,” he had a strong southern drawl, and proceeded to ruffle John’s hair who shoved him away in displeasure. 

“Did you let our guest choose?” Mr Van der Linde then asked, raising his eyebrows at his other son before glancing at you with a small half-smirk. 

John answered by reaching over the counter and handing him the menu, his eyes lighting up once he realised which one you’d chosen. “Good choice,” he hummed, not looking up at you and instead reaching into his pocket for his phone. “What does everyone want?” 

“We can just use the app,” said John. 

“No, I’ll call.” 

John’s sigh caused the man to harden his gaze.  

“It’s quicker over the phone,” he explained irritably. 

“Dad’s an EOP,” John informed you. 

“EOP?” Arthur repeated. 

“Enemy of progress,” John responded, as though it was terminology even a baby should know, despite he himself only learning it from you a month ago. 

“I am not,” the man grumbled. “Just don’t see the point of an app, is all.” 

You smirked at the back and forth as Arthur rolled his eyes. “Someone just order the damn food,” he drawled. 

Once everyone had ordered, including Tilly who it turns isn’t overly fond of Thai food but was quickly reminded by her father that she’d had free reign over the house and choice of takeout for three months, and it was only fair that her brother got to pick on his first night back. John teased her, saying that she’d become spoilt now that she was practically an only child.  

“It should get here in time for the end of the game if we order and you collect it, otherwise we’ll have to wait an extra twenty. Up to you.” 

“We’ll collect,” John answered without pause. 

“You students really that hungry, huh?” Arthur chortled. 

“I’m just excited to eat something that’s not instant noodles or beans on toast,” you hummed, thinking longingly about how much you’d missed a well-cooked meal. 

“Or instant noodles on toast, in your case,” John teased. 

At the looks of disgust directed at you, you huffed. “It’s nicer than it sounds!” 

“That a thing you do often?” Arthur asked, more than intrigued by the strange diet of a student. 

“Only when I fancy a change,” you shrugged and he scoffed, partially in disbelief and partially in amusement. 

“Well, let us hope that your meal tonight is slightly more appealing,” Mr Van der Linde slid his phone back into his pocket, beckoning Arthur to follow him into the back room as the commentator announced the start of the second half. 

You and John had left almost straight away to pick up the food, just to keep yourselves occupied, and thankfully it wasn’t long before you were back at his house and greeted with an already-set table including a couple bottles of wine. 

It was a bit of performance getting everyone’s correct orders to them, but eventually you were all seated. Mr Van der Linde was at the head of the table (of course) with Arthur and John either side of him, you sitting next to John and Tilly sitting next to Arthur. 

“Help yourselves to wine,” Mr Van der Linde gestured to the bottle of red and John didn’t need to be asked twice, pouring himself a large glass which his father eyed suspiciously. 

John side-eyed you and laughed at your pursed expression. “She has a uh... an aversion to red wine,” he explained to the table. 

You threw him a glare, embarrassed that he was bringing up your drunken tales from when you were learning your limits, even if you’re still yet to be mindful of them. 

“Ha,” Arthur barked, “I’d like to hear that story.” 

“Nobody is hearing that story,” you paused, “especially not while we’re eating,” you shuddered at the memory, looking at the delicious food in front of you and willing your brain to think about anything else. 

“This is proper wine, not like that shit you students drink,” Mr Van der Linde huffed. “Just try a tiny bit.” 

You obeyed, albeit hesitantly as you offered out your glass and John poured a mouthful in. Bracing yourself, you sipped it and tried to ignore the eyes around the table on you. 

It tasted rich, smooth and warm on your throat and nothing like that red wine you’d experienced at university which was more closely related to window treatment. “Oh,” your tongue lapped slightly in your mouth, “that is nice.” You held your glass out again for John to fill and Mr Van der Linde chuckled to himself. 

“I still want to hear some drunken tales,” Arthur took a sip of his own wine as you took another of yours. 

“Well, I have plenty about John,” you smirked, forking some of your noodles into your mouth and nearly groaning at how good it tasted. Tilly’s eyes widened with intrigue. 

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, stomping his heel onto your toe under the table. 

Your squeak turned into a laugh, and you raised your brows at him - I’ll keep your secrets if you keep mine. 

He shifted his attention back to the food, knowing he had much more to lose in the present circumstance, and your agreement with one another was settled. 

“How are your lectures, son?” 

John shrugged. “Fine.” 

“What are you learning about?” 

You smirked around your next sip of wine, knowing that John hadn’t got a clue about the contents of his course given his terrible attendance to his lectures. 

“Uh... Ethics.” 

“Anything else?” 

John attempted to remember the names of the modules he’d done the bare minimum for, but it didn’t seem to fool Mr Van der Linde one bit. He had mentioned that the push to study philosophy had come from his father, and unlike most kids that did something because their parents wanted them too, John didn’t seem to care. He much preferred being out of doors, with animals or working with his hands. Above anything, John preferred not working. So, a three-year degree, paid for by his father where he could slack off for a little while longer was more than welcome. 

The way his father looked at him, you could tell John would be getting a talking to in a more private setting at a later date, but he instead turned his attention to you in favour of not lowering the mood around the table. 

“Do you have more of an interest in your course than John does in his?” he asked you, his voice not entirely cleared of his disappointment and John noticed it too, shrinking his shoulders slightly. 

“I suppose so,” you said brightly, hoping to alleviate the tension. 

“You’re studying philosophy like John?” 

“Oh, no,” you sipped at your wine, feeling as though you were being interviewed for your place on said course all over again. “Computer Science.”  

He raised his eyebrow in surprise and Arthur hummed to vocalise how impressed he was. “Smart girl,” Mr Van der Linde said thoughtfully before taking a bite of food. 

“She’s only interested in it because she has to be,” John scoffed, and you wondered if part of him was jealous at the praise you were getting that he wasn’t. “She’s got a scholarship,” he clarified. 

You cleared your throat, embarrassed and slightly irritated at John for mentioning it. “I have to keep my attendance above eighty percent,” you shrugged nonchalantly. 

“A scholarship? My my,” Mr Van der Linde brought his glass to his lips. 

You just shook your head. Truthfully, you wouldn’t have even been able to go were it not for the scholarship; it would have been far too expensive, so you didn’t really have a choice in the matter if you wanted a place on the course.  

“Do you know what you want to do for work?” 

“Not really, suppose I’ll just go into software - that’s where most of the jobs are,” you took another sip of the wine and found your glass empty. “I guess I won’t go into app development, though.” 

Even though you could slap yourself for trying to banter with him and only coming up with something so pathetic, he chuckled into his glass and his eyes were warm as they bore into yours when he licked a stray droplet from his bottom lip as he set the glass down. 

You could swear you clenched. 

“You always get flushed after wine,” John commented with amusement, refilling your glass before his own. 

“I’m not,” you said quietly, holding your knuckles to your cheek and yes, your skin was burning. You grumbled and dipped your head, the spicy flavours of your dish now something you were all too aware of. 

Mr Van der Linde just observed you, something unreadable on his face or maybe the wine had gone to your head and you just no longer had the capacity to distinguish emotions. 

“Well,” he wiped a napkin over his mouth and sat back in his chair, his plate completely emptied of food. “I’m glad you’re around to keep John in check.” 

“She isn’t as sensible and innocent as she looks,” John said over a full mouthful and Arthur tutted at his lack of table manners. 

“That so.” Mr Van der Linde wasn’t asking. He sipped at his wine. 

“Sure I am,” you cleared your throat, finding your voice once again but having nothing more to say to defend yourself. You couldn’t deny that John had experienced you in a light that was more than ill-fashioned, thanks to the numerous substances you’d experimented with over your short friendship so far. 

The conversation continued long after dinner finished, Tilly talking all about her new school year and it was clear how much her father and brothers adored her; looking at her with all the love in the world and your heart swelled at the display. Your head swelled too, and you stopped your alcohol consumption after your fourth glass of wine, knowing you’d have a fierce headache in the morning. 

Unfortunately, the conversation didn’t turn to the topic of Mr Van der Linde, and in your drunken haze you couldn’t stop your mind wandering as you thought about him as he sat there, a soft grin and slightly heavy eyelids following the wine and beer he’d drank that day with a hearty meal to top it off. You desperately tried to keep your gaze on whoever was talking, and for the past twenty minutes it’d been mainly Arthur. He briefly mentioned the business Dutch owned (what the business was, you had no idea) with another man, Hosea, his most trusted friend and colleague.  

None of you had realised how close to midnight it was, and you rubbed at your eyes once Arthur pointed it out and called for a taxi to take him home. A yawn and a stretch later, you stood to excuse yourself too. 

“Thanks again for dinner, Mr Van der Linde,” you said, picking up your cutlery, plate, and glass and loading them into the dishwasher. 

“Please,” his voice came from right behind you and you stifled a gasp as you turned. John and Tilly were saying their goodbyes to Arthur at the door, but Mr Van der Linde was right next to you and god did he smell good. 

And god, were you drunk. 

“Call me Dutch,” he crooned, loading his own dishes beside yours. 

All you could think to respond with was a nod. “Alright, thanks. Dutch.” 

His brow softened at hearing his name on your tongue and he allowed himself the slight indulgence of wandering his eyes down your form as you walked away, clearly trying to hide in your walk how quickly the wine had gone to your head. He was in no position to judge, attributing his interest in his son’s pretty friend to nothing more than a drunken lapse of judgement that would go no further than that.  

- 

Your mouth was so dry.  

The room span a little as you opened your eyes, but the headache wasn’t as bad as some you’d had previously, thankful that it was still dark out and you didn’t have to deal with any blinding lights. Rolling over within the comfort of the bed, which you could tell was dressed with a very expensive sheet and duvet set, you tilted your phone that sat charging on the nightstand and checked the time. 03:43. 

Lord knows why you didn’t bring a glass of water to bed, or at the very least have some before you went to sleep, but you needed some right now and sat up to swing your feet onto the floor.  

The house was still warm, and you ran your hand over a radiator in passing to find that it was on a low heat, so no wonder. You wore your plain, oversized, grey t-shirt and some underwear that you always referred to as your ‘boy shorts’. Drunken you had decided to be a little modest, at least. 

(Mostly) sober you didn’t follow that trend, venturing onto the landing without pulling on some trackies, saying to yourself that you’d only be a moment anyway, so it was no matter. 

You tiptoed down the stairs, thankful for the minimum creaking of the floorboards and made your way to the kitchen, the tiles cold on your bare feet.  

There were a lot of cabinets, and while it felt rude to rummage through them you didn’t have much choice unless you wanted to lean over and drink straight from the tap, which was a much worse position to be caught in should someone see you. You eventually found the cupboard with the glasses and mugs, and after pulling out a pint glass you filled it up and gulped it down within seconds. 

You did the same thing again, and as you were halfway done with your second glass a dim light was flicked on and you almost choked on your drink. 

“Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Turning, you held your hand to your mouth to mask the massive gulp of water you held in it, and you swallowed it down as gracefully as you could, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you cleared your throat to greet Dutch. 

“It’s no problem,” you shook your head. “Sorry, did I wake you?" 

He shook his head too, dismissively, and you didn’t miss his eyeline drop to your legs before back at your face. 

“Shit,” you muttered, moving to hide your bottom half behind the island and he smirked. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

But obviously you did, you’d known him shy of twelve hours and he’d just found you in his kitchen dressed the way you were and he’d probably seen half of your ass when you were turned the other way. 

You glanced down at yourself by uncomfortably. 

He let you fester for a moment under his smirk, before shrugging off his night gown to reveal his broad and surprisingly muscular chest, black hairs decorating it as well as his stomach. “Here,” he handed it out to you over the counter, leaving himself in just his red and black checked bottoms. 

You took it without thinking, most of your brain power allocated to the task of not staring and you looked at the garment in your hands. “You don’t have to -” 

“It’s fine.” He looked almost bored of your apologetic demeanour, something you realised he’d seen a lot of from you. You took the robe and wrapped it around yourself, the softness of it making you want to curl up but not quite as much as that scent did. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled and he nodded. “You don’t have any painkillers, do you?” you asked, feeling like an immature teenager that couldn’t handle her drink. “Just in case.” 

“Of course.” He moved round the counter and opened a drawer, tutting at the creased-up menus that jammed it and you did your best to hide your amusement. A rattle from the packet later, he pushed two out and offered them to you, and you held your hand out for him to drop them in. You popped them in your mouth and leaned your head back to gulp down some water. 

He stared at your neck as you did so, but ripped his attention away when you brought your head back down. 

“Is your head hurting?” he asked, stepping towards you and holding his hand to your forehead while brushing your hair away soothingly. 

“Oh no, not really,” you swallowed. “It’s just in case it does in the morning.” 

“I see,” he said plainly, casually returning his arm to his side. 

“Thanks... again.” 

Leaning back on the counter behind him, he crossed one foot over the other and offered you a gentle smile. You took another few sips, emptying your glass. 

You glanced from Dutch to the sink and back to Dutch, before making your way over to fill up again. Now he was right next to you, silently observing and you didn’t face away from the sink as you drank down some more water. You could feel how warm he was, it radiated from his chest, and you were glad to have sobered up because you were certain drunken you would’ve just leaned into it, and how awful would that be. 

Awful. Terrible. Definitely not wonderful. 

Gulping down the rest of the glass, you finally felt satisfied and filled up once more so you could bring some it to bed with you. You turned to the man beside you, who did nothing other than blink. 

“Good night, Mr Van der Linde.” 

“Good night, miss.” 

You walked out of the kitchen, remembering you hadn’t called him Dutch like he’d asked but supposing it wasn’t a big deal and you couldn’t think too long on it without the image of him topless crept back into your mind. 

He’s John’s dad.  

Shaking your head to hopefully rid it of your thoughts, you pushed open the door to your room and closed it gently before climbing into bed and curling in on yourself, keeping his nightgown wrapped around you. 

- 

Despite it being winter, it was too hot when you woke. 

It was no surprise, given the heating was on and you were wearing Dutch’s robe and had a thick duvet draped over you. You kicked it off, star-fishing and grimacing at the sweat that’d pooled on your lower back. 

09:07. 

You brought up your messages with John. 

Going to get a shower if you don’t mind.  

John was mostly hit and miss with his sleeping schedule, sometimes he’d be up at the crack of dawn and other times he’d sleep in until mid-afternoon. Today, you were thankfully he’d been an early riser. 

Knock yourself out.  

You stayed still for a moment, before sliding out of the bed and unzipping your suitcase to find your toiletries bag. Not wanting to change into anything that was clean, you opted for keeping Dutch’s nightgown on since you were only walking across the hall. 

But when you did, and reached your hand out to open the bathroom door, you could hear the shower on from inside. You frowned and turned, in time for Tilly to depart from her room to the right.  

“Oh, John’s just gone in,” she informed you. 

“Fucker,” you grumbled and she tilted her head at you in questioning. “I just told him I was getting a shower.” 

She giggled apologetically, her eyes shifting to look behind you at the sound of a door opening. You turned. Dutch. You hadn’t realised the room next to yours was his. 

“You’re welcome to use my ensuite,” he yawned, patting Tilly’s arm as she passed him to go downstairs. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” 

“Right,” you nodded. “Thank you.” 

“There’s no shower in there,” he leaned against the door frame, folding his arms over his now (unfortunately) covered chest. “Just a bath, but I can draw you one up no problem.” 

A bath. God, you missed baths. Your accommodation only had crappy showers that were unbearably inconsistent with their water pressure and temperature. 

“I’m sure I can wait,” you shrugged, not wanting to trouble him even a little. 

“John’ll be at least 20 minutes,” he pointed to the door with disappointment, “bath’ll be full in ten.” 

You swallowed, now feeling like it’d be rude of you to say no. “O-Okay, thanks. But I can run it.” 

“Please, allow me. On account of my idiot son,” he scratched the back of his scalp lazily. 

You huffed a laugh, not wanting to oppose him anymore and gave in. “Alright, I appreciate it.” 

Dutch nodded, disappearing into his room and you busied yourself back in yours while you waited. You were fiddling with the gramophone again when he rapped at your open door. 

“You just turn the crank,” he informed you. 

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t want to break it.” 

He huffed in amusement, meandering over and stopping next to you to wind it up. 

You smiled fondly, as the ever-familiar Dance of The Swans began playing. 

“Swan Lake,” you hummed, more to yourself than Dutch but he turned to you with his eyebrows raised. 

“You like ballet?” 

“Love it. Used to take lessons when I was younger, not that I was any good,” you snorted. “Swan Lake was always my favourite.” 

His smile was warm, and eyes intrigued. “Do you go to see the shows often?” 

“Not as often as I’d like, it’s been a couple years actually.” Life as a student didn’t often allow room for the luxuries of tickets to the ballet. 

Dutch nodded thoughtfully. “Well, your bath is ready.” 

You followed him out the room, the song reaching its crescendo and fading out in your ears as the two of you walked further away from it. He opened the door to his bedroom, motioning for you to enter. 

“There’s a speaker in there if you want to put on any music, John says it’s Bluetooth or something.” 

God, he’s adorable. 

He’s also John’s father goddamnit.  

“Thank you,” you cleared your throat, walking past him and through the next open door, stopping at the frame. 

“Take your time,” he hummed after you and you nodded in appreciation as you closed the door. You'd wanted to sneak a peek at his room but couldn’t very well do so with him watching you. You dropped your things on the floor and locked the ensuite, turning to the pristine bathroom that felt warm and cosy despite the fact it was mostly grey, the floor slate and the standalone bath by the small window at the end. 

The smells inside the room were wonderful, and you peered into the steaming tub and to your surprise it was filled with bubbles, the water a shade of lavender and you were impressed that he even had the supplies to make such a delightful bath. 

He’d even lit a candle for you. 

You shrugged off his robe and hung it on the back of the door, taking a second to smell it and make sure it didn’t now reek of your sweat. Thankfully, it didn’t. 

It was the best bath you’d ever had. You’d played some of your favourite relaxing music and looped through an entire album before you cracked your eyes open, realising how long you’d sat in the warmth as your hangover dissolved away. 

Giving the bath a little once over with the scourer and bathroom spray you found under the sink once the water was out, you rubbed your nice-smelling moisturiser over your skin and dressed in your clothes for the day; feeling miles better than you had done a few hours previous. 

You only allowed your eyes to rake over Dutch’s bedroom briefly, dark mahogany furnishings and an extremely inviting king-sized bed with silk sheets in the centre of the room. The only think you didn’t like was how eerily tidy it was. You left quickly. 

The scent of something sweet greeted you and you cringed slightly upon seeing the hands of the fancy kitchen clock reading the time of 10:25. Whoops. 

Nobody seemed to mind, greeting you as John and Tilly sat at the breakfast bar while Dutch cooked over the stove. You flicked John’s ear as you passed him for stealing your shower, although you weren’t really that bothered since the alternative was much more desirable. He rasped his laugh, as usual, and you could tell he’d just had his morning cigarette, though you suspected he was missing his weed that he’d usually smoke on a Saturday morning. 

“You were pretty wasted last night,” he slung his arm over you, and you pressed your forehead into his shoulder. 

“I wasn’t that bad,” you mumbled into the fabric of his hoodie that you’d borrowed on more than one occasion. 

He vibrated with a laugh, resting his head on top of yours and you pondered which one of you had really been that drunk, considering he was showing signs of a strong hangover; he was always very snuggly after a particularly heavy night. “Hair of the dog later?” 

“You’re going out tonight?” Tilly asked and John looked to you. 

“If we don’t find anything else to do, probably. We did say we were only going to go if Javi went anyway.” 

“And is he?” 

“Not sure,” you hummed, shifting to lay your head on John sideways (he was surprisingly comfortable given his lean frame) and pulling out your phone to find no new messages from Javier. 

Thoughts on tonight?  

You set your phone on the counter, not expecting a reply until much later when he finally joined the land of the living. 

“We could go on a walk?” Tilly asked sweetly and John groaned. 

“A walk,” you jabbed his side, “would be lovely. Maybe in a few hours when John’s recovered.” 

“Coming, dad?” 

Dutch cleared his throat, seemingly very focused on his cooking and slung the tea towel over his shoulder. “Uh... Perhaps. It’s colder than it looks out there.” 

He brought two bowls over, one filled with fresh berries and another with melted chocolate. You groaned in delight and sat up from John, peering at the selection.  

When the bowl of chopped banana arrived along with lemon juice and sugar, Dutch allowed himself a glance in your direction and his lips turned up at the sight of you eagerly eying the food. 

He finally brought over the pancakes, sauce, and fresh orange juice before seating himself beside Tilly. 

You salivated at the display in front of you, the best cure for a hangover that wasn’t quite the same when you’d made it back in your flat. “Thanks so much, Dutch,” you hummed, beginning to stack your pancakes with toppings.  

“It’s my pleasure,” he chuckled, pouring out a cup of coffee. 

Internally, John briefly questioned when you’d gotten to a first name basis with his dad but didn’t give it much thought to it and soon his full focus was on the food in front of him. 

“I got a load of washing,” he chewed his last mouthful after pretty much inhaling his breakfast, washing it down with a glass of orange juice. 

“You know where the laundry room is,” Dutch countered calmly to which John scoffed and stood to grab his washing that’d accumulated over the past few weeks. “Do you want to wash anything, miss?” 

“Oh,” you swallowed your juice, remembering your suitcase full of clothes that needed washing. “It’s fine, I do have some but I was just going to do it when I got home.” 

“Nonsense. When John’s finished you can put a load on.” 

You shrugged. “Alright, suppose I may as well.” 

Later that day, Dutch called up the stairs to let you know the washing machine was free and you ambled downstairs after separating your clean clothes from those that needed washing. He directed you to the laundry room and you placed your suitcase on the dryer and opened it, deciding that one load should be enough. You looked at his fancy washing machine, slightly uncertain on how to get it going. 

As though reading your mind, he appeared in the doorway and cleared up your confusion. You turned to thank him and found his eyes cast down to your pile of clothing – and you were mortified to see your underwear right at the top. In an attempt to play it cool, you looked back to him and he gave you a smile, one that had you questioning if he’d even been looking or if it was just a figment of your imagination. You returned his expression, turning back to desperately try and remember what he’d just told you about how to work the appliance and you leaned over to turn a dial and pretend you knew what you were doing. You breathed a sigh of relief when the door clicked shut after an extended moment, and dumped your pile of clothes in. 

Unfortunately, the weather was both cold and rainy by the afternoon, squashing all hopes Tilly had of going on a walk. She made you promise that when you next came round, you’d join them on one and you were reminded that you had to leave tomorrow but the prospect of returning was an exciting one. Incidentally, Javier had no desire to go out in the rain and so yours and John’s plans were cancelled too, but you went to the drive through for a late lunch that you’d both finished by the time you returned to his house. 

Instead, you spent the rest of the day on the sofa with Tilly and John, flicking through Netflix and bundled under blankets. Dutch put you to shame by having a better social life and going out for beers with his friends that evening, but he made a lasagne to go in the oven when the three of you got hungry, and the entire thing was demolished in no time. Nursing a rather large food baby, you turned in at around 11pm. 

- 

“Are you going to come and watch?” John asked you after he informed the room that he'd be playing football with the guys on that dreary Sunday. 

You glanced out the window and back to him with a frown. “It’s pouring rain. And I see you’re going back on your promise to give me a lift to the station.” 

“I never promised nothing,” his expression told a different story; he’d just forgotten. “Dad’ll take you,” he gestured to his father who looked up from his phone. 

“Course I will,” Dutch stated, and returned his attention to the device in his hand. 

“Oh, it’s fine, I can get a taxi -” 

His expression alone silenced you as he looked up once more, an eyebrow raised at you to stop protesting. “I insist,” he said after letting the silence hang in the air for a bit. You just nodded. 

When John left an hour later, he gave you a big squeeze goodbye and you told him to at least do some revision for his exams in January, to which he countered that they didn’t even count to the final grade and you couldn’t really argue with him on that. With Tilly up in her room and a couple of hours to kill before you had to leave, you tried to find something to watch on TV but had no luck and sighed as you eyed your laptop beside you. May as well try and get some work done. 

You begrudgingly pulled up the code for one of your assignments, but soon found yourself focused and began to make some decent progress. 

“What on earth is that,” Dutch commented, leaning on the back of the sofa as he squinted at your screen over your shoulder. 

Huffing a laugh, you craned your neck to look back at him. “Broken code,” you stated, before looking back at said code. 

“Looks... interesting. How can you concentrate with this on?” he gestured to the TV. 

“Oh,” you looked up, half forgetting it was even on. “It’s just background noise.” 

“I see. Mind if I watch something?” 

As if he was asking you, like it wasn’t his own house. “Course not.” 

He moved round the sofa and dropped himself in the spot you’d first found him in, and he flicked through the channels until he landed on a cooking show, and you were reminded of how delightful your dinner was last night. 

“That lasagne was so good,” you commented, not taking your gaze off the screen in front of you. 

“I’m glad you liked it. Can I get you a drink?” 

“Oh,” you blinked at him, “no, I’m fine thank you.” 

You returned your attention back to your work and settled into the cushion of the sofa. It felt oddly normal to sit with Dutch, while he did have a very intimidating aura, he was also the kind of person you could sit in silence with and not have it be awkward. He lounged back, watching his show while you typed away on your keyboard.  

Before you knew it, an hour and a half had passed, and you rubbed your eyes before closing your laptop.  

“Ready to get going?” 

You groaned and rested back, wishing you could curl up on the comfy sofa instead. “I guess,” you grumbled. 

Dutch chuckled fondly. “You’re welcome back anytime.” 

“Thanks Mr Van der Linde,” you smiled at him, and there was something about the way he was looking at you... 

Or perhaps it was your imagination. 

He cleared his throat as he stood, placing his warm hand on your shoulder as he passed and you almost leaned into it, but he was out the room before you could and all that remained was that scent of his. You shivered as you stood. 

The short journey to the station was delightful, in Dutch’s fancy car that had heated seats and was pristinely clean. You only allowed yourself to look at him once, the way he sat back and leisurely stirred the wheel with one hand, his other one resting on his thigh. 

“Have a good Christmas, miss,” he tipped his head as you turned to close the door, and you returned the sentiment. 

You were actually glad to be leaving, a little fantasising was harmless but there was something about that look in his eye that had you wondering if perhaps it could be a reality. And, of course, that was territory you’d never venture into; sleeping with your friend’s dad, a man twice your age? Absolutely not. Time to enjoy Christmas at home and forget all about him. 

When you couldn’t find one of your favourite pair of knickers, the lacy, dark grey ones, you tutted at yourself for forgetting them even though you were sure you’d packed them. But when you returned for second term at university, they weren’t anywhere to be found in your flat, either. 

[joanie-writes]

Babe wake up, new dutchvanwinkle story!

[joanie-writes]

Happy holidays, y’all :)

[oolong---latte]

hands up

[tloudaily]

New poster featuring Joel and Ellie for HBO's The Last of Us, streaming January 15, 2023.

[joanie-writes]

Prepare to be sick of me!!!

[birchlogz]

guilty of being caught red handed

[ghostember]

one ticket for barbie pl- [i am forcibly removed from the stage]

[joanie-writes]

This is so slaaayyyyyyy!!!

[rivetingrosie4]

—last line tag

Tagged by @wintersongstress to post the last sentence I wrote! (I had to go back several sentences to find a half-decent one 🙊 just the truth😅🤷🏻‍♀️) Thank you so much 💛

When he lifts his head to look at you, he discovers your eyes on him—trained and still—and a grin, ever so slowly rising upon your mouth like the waking dawn, until it’s a smile to him more radiant than the reigning sun.

Tagging the only other people I know of, though they’re each wonderful: @shootybangbang @photo1030 @shittybundaskenyer

[photo1030]

Ooo how fun! I just finished one that I’ll be posting soon. It’s not that great an ending line, so I went back to the last sentence of the second to last paragraph. So I’m not really playing by the rules I guess…. Here’s what I got for a preview:

‘I have no idea what I did to deserve her good graces, but I am thankful for it. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.’

Tagged a few that I follow who I’d love to see what they got brewing 🥰 (Besides the ones already mentioned)

@joanie-writes @immajustvibehere @sweet-by-and-by @mydearhosea @unusual-raccoon

[joanie-writes]

Never done one of these! I’m about halfway through this one, and I think you guys will like what’s coming ;)….

"I need you, Arthur." You spoke softly, looking at him with that semblance of innocence which in turn ran a chill up Arthur's spine.

And I can’t think of anyone to tag for the life of me sooooo it dies with me I guess.

[theluckybard]

"You've never let me down, girl"

Alert for sad cowboy™ on your timeline.

This game is a masterpiece.

[joanie-writes]

The last of us trailer snippet y’all I’m crying 😭

[joanie-writes]

My requests are open for business baby!