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Kieran Duffy had finally started acclimating into the Van der Linde’s dynamic, more comfortably than he expected thanks to you. Your hospitality paired alongside your boundless compassion had been nothing short of a saving grace to him ever since he became a “honorary guest” within the confines of the camp.

The gang held nothing but contempt for him, seeming to take pleasure in taunting him relentlessly as a former O’Driscoll, and for the more aggressive members, roughing him up without any fear of repercussions.

Not you, no, despite your secure place within this self-proclaimed family, you had shown him nothing but kindness.

While bound to a post at the gang’s camp in Horseshoe Overlook, not even trusted enough to relieve himself in the woods, you would sneak out to him just before daybreak while the rest of the camp slept. You brought him cups of water and small pieces of stale bread-apologizing profusely that you couldn’t acquire something more substantial to help him regain his strength.

Kieran could never muster up the courage, nor the energy, to tell you that your goodwill alone was more than enough to reinvigorate him. Speaking to women was never his strong suit and more often than not he found himself red in the face, unable to meet your tender gaze.

After each of these encounters he could’ve sworn he saw Arthur Morgan pulling you away to his tent later that same day, looking rather cross with you and whispering what Kieran assumed were reprimands in your ear.

Arthur was Dutch’s primary enforcer, a brute of a man to say the least. If he knew what you were up to in the wee hours of the morning, he didn’t voice his displeasure to his leader or any other gang member for that matter. He had hoped you weren’t finding yourself at the opposing end of Arthur’s rage because of him.

If you were, Kieran truly was a pity of a man because he could do nothing to defend your honor.

Now the gang was residing comfortably by the lake side of Clemen’s Point, and Kieran had been granted the simple liberties of unrestricted movement around camp. While the mistreatment from the others didn’t subside, being able to sit next to you on his own accord for even a moment was enough to make up for the incessant ridicule.

On his luckiest days, he would see you sitting by the shoreline with your toes teasing the edge of the gentle waves. Your hair always in a loose braid and gentle gusts of wind would blow stray tendrils in a way that framed your face so perfectly. A faint smile adorned your lips as you idly thumbed through an unknown book, seemingly without a care in the world.

Your life was surrounded by bloodshed, yet your exterior gave no hint to the world you truly resided in; Kieran had never seen a sight more brilliant. He never dared to interrupt you though, he would just soil the tranquility of the moment being the bumbling fool that he was. He was more than content just to be a silent onlooker.

Much to his credit he had tried to express his feelings albeit it not with words, he could never find the courage to verbally affirm how he felt towards you.

When he was finally allowed to leave camp without supervision, Kieran had gone to the general store in Rhodes and bought a fine, silk ribbon for you; he was already imaging the fabric dancing in the breeze, complimenting your beautiful locks.

He could barely keep his composure as he gifted it to you, pathetically stuttering through an explanation of how he thought the color would suit your complexion.

You had laughed so sweetly in response, Kieran could only compare it to the tinkling of bells, and you had earnestly thanked him for thinking of you. His mouth hung open in response, making him the human embodiment of a fish out of water. Sentences, words, language had all eluded him. It was all so simple in theory-just tell you that he was sweet on you and take it from there. As enchanting as you were, something else caught his attention however.

Only a few feet away, he could make out Arthur’s form as he intently watched the two of you from a distance. Every muscle in Kieran’s body went rigid as he saw the ferocity in Arthur’s eyes; one wrong move and the wolf would pounce, tearing his throat clean out. Kieran was well aware that Arthur trusted him as far as he could toss him, but did he really expect any harm to befall you by simply talking to him?

It not only amplified his apprehension towards the man, it also struck him as rather peculiar. Arthur seemed to keep a closer eye on you in contrast to any of the other women, but it never seemed driven by any sense of affection. Maybe he was just imagining things but it almost seemed carnal in nature.

Kieran decided to stop humoring the thought and diverted his attention back to caring for your horse. The fondness you had for your spotted Appaloosa, Moonstone, was unparalleled. He remembered when he first properly groomed her and the only way you found you could express your gratitude was with a heartfelt embrace.

His heart nearly ceased beating and what a way to die, in the arms of who he considered to be an angel.

With deft fingers, he braided the mare’s mane just the way you liked it. As an added surprise he wove some wildflowers into it, white daisies looking like stars against her stark black hair-how apt.

He pictured the smile you would give him in return, your happiness palpable, sweet as honey. Maybe, just maybe, you would reward him with a kiss on the cheek. Wishful thinking, but a man could dream.

Speaking of, he was wondering where you had run off to, he hadn’t seen you since breakfast which struck him as odd. Your bow was still in your tent so you hadn’t gone hunting with Charles and he couldn’t find you at your usual spot by the lake.

Strange, perhaps you had gone into town with one of the other girls?

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard soft, almost muffled, gasps coming from the woods just beyond the outskirts of the camp. Had Jack wandered too far from his mother’s side, tripping as he chased squirrels in the forest?

Or worse, had someone discovered their little hideaway and was attempting to kidnap one of the notorious Van der Linde’s? Bounty hunters had become a persistent problem since the gang’s shootout fiasco back in Valentine with Leviticus Cornwall.

Mustering up what little bravery he had, Kieran decided to investigate in an attempt to discover the origin of these sounds. He was a Van der Linde now, and even though that meant very little to most of the gang, he would still do what he could to protect all of them.

Trepidatiously, Kieran advanced towards the tree line, careful to avoid any stray branches that would alert this potential intruder to his presence. As he continued on, the noises had escalated into airy moans and staccatoed breaths. Dread surged through him, his blood running cold at the sheer implication that a bounty hunter could be having his way with one of the girls.

He prayed to God above that wasn’t the case, that his fear was misplaced. But doubt weighed heavy on him that a pair of lovers would find themselves all the way out here for a lascivious romp.

Kieran took shelter behind a tree as he mentally prepared himself for what was waiting just beyond his hiding spot. It had slipped his mind to bring a gun along with him, not that any of the men would even lend him one to begin with. He had only his fists to rely on and that wasn’t very reassuring to say the least. But once he heard another whimper resonate from the clearing beyond, there was no time to turn and run. With one final deep breath, he turned to peer from his cover to see what he was actually up against. He soon found his heart lurching up into his throat.

No one was being taken advantage of, that was explicitly clear.

There you were on your back, hair wild and loose splayed out behind you in the grass. Your skirt had been hiked up and the fabric pooled around your waist, your drawers discarded and leaving you bare. A deep crimson flush warmed your cheeks as a painfully familiar name fell from your lips.

Arthur,” you mewled, your legs resting on Arthur’s broad shoulders, rear slightly elevated and supported by his free arm, with his tongue deep in your cunt. He smirked against you, giving you a few more languid licks before pulling away from you with your slick glistening on his lips.

“Sweet as a peach, and all for me,” his voice was rough with unadulterated lust as he looked down at you in your pleasure-filled haze. It gave Arthur an immense amount of gratification to know he was the only one who could do this to you-he was going to be the only one who ever would.  

Kieran knew he shouldn’t be watching, it was countless forms of wrong, but he was too riddled with shock to even move an inch-the woman he had been pining over all this time was Arthur Morgan’s.

The intensity of Arthur’s lingering gazes, the foreboding glares he would send Kieran’s way when he dared to speak to you a moment too long-it all suddenly made sense. He originally believed that the outlaw was just doing his job to protect you from the “big, bad O’Driscoll” but in actuality it had run much deeper than just that.

Arthur didn’t want him encroaching on his territory-on his woman.

As Arthur began to resume his place between your legs once more, Kieran caught his attention unbeknownst to you, remaining in ignorant bliss beneath Arthur.

Fear wracked through Kieran, now being discovered, but if he was furious, Arthur’s eyes gave no indication of it. Kieran waited for him to rush over and beat him within an inch of his life, you would likely never speak to him again for discovering their heated moment of congress.

Unexpectedly, Arthur just devilishly smirked at him before delving his tongue back inside of you, earning him another rapturous moan. Arthur would teach this lovesick idiot who you belonged to, show him what he could never attain.

Arthur wasted no time teasing you with his ministrations, quickly dragging the flat of his tongue up and down your slit. You found yourself getting wetter and wetter as he continued his relentless, rapid cadence-much to his delight.

His tongue plunged deeply inside of you, loving the way you lightly clenched around him, and he thrust the tip of it in and out of your soft warmth. Your fingers found their way to his hair once he started feverishly sucking on your clit, occasionally flicking it with his tongue.     

Kieran was in disbelief-he couldn’t believe such wanton cries were coming from you of all people. He had heard men with working women occasionally in hotels, but never had he heard such raw, undiluted desire like this before in his life.

Again Arthur broke away from you, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers, tracing featherlight circles around your entrance while his thumb hovered just torturously above your clit.

“Look at you darlin’, such a pretty girl,” he whispered huskily, letting his fingertips slip into you ever so slightly. He looked back to Kieran before adding, “My girl.” That sentiment was more so a statement of fact to Kieran, laced with a silent threat that he should never dare to forget that.

“Y-yours,” you panted, breasts heaving as he began applying pressure with the pad of his thumb to your clit. He hummed in response, clearly pleased with your answer, and he rewarded you accordingly, sinking his fingers into you up to the knuckle.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he pulled out of you for a moment before slamming back in, “mine .” He continued this unabated rhythm, his arm around you keeping your wriggling hips still in his grasp. “Whose,” thrust, “are," thrust, “you?”

You desperately tried to suppress your cries being so close to the camp, but to no avail. “Yours!” The pressure in the pit of your stomach, sending waves of heat shooting from your head to the tips of your toes, was becoming unbearable. You wanted to beg Arthur for your release, but in your current state you knew your wishes would just come out as an incoherent mess.

Arthur hummed in satisfaction, withdrawing his fingers from you once more despite your discordant protests. “Good girl,” he praised lowly, a shiver making its way up your spine at his approval. A man of little patience, Arthur was ravenous and could only be satiated by your delectable essence.

He didn’t think himself an accomplished man, but the way he could make a delicate woman like you sing with his touch alone, he considered himself up there with those great composers that Dutch fancied listening to.

With haste, Arthur sank three digits back into you and began a once again unabated pace with his tongue finding a familiar place on the tender nub at the apex of your womanhood. He lapped at it gredilly, moving his head left and right in perfect tandem with the movement of his fingers.

The sensations were like pure Hellfire rushing through your veins, and if Arthur was the devil incarnate, you would gladly let him envelop you in his flames time and time again.      

Arthur could sense how close you were to the edge, your toes curling on his shoulders and your hands clutching the ground below with white knuckles. He glanced up once more, and fueled by a twisted sense of pride, he was glad to see Kieran had still not left with his tail between his legs.

Having no shame, Arthur shot him a wink, making sure when you came, the name that fell from your lips would remind that fool that you would never utter anything so fine in his direction. Arthur was not left disappointed.

You finished with a silent scream, hoarsely chanting his name repeatedly like a passionate mantra as he drank up your climax like it was water from a hidden oasis. Kieran had seen nothing Arthur didn’t want him to see, and with shame heavily apparent on his face and a throbbing problem within his jeans, he scurried away like the coward he always knew he was.  

A handful of days had come and gone since Kieran had stumbled upon you and Arthur during your moment of...intimacy.

Kieran had become dramatically more skittish since then, especially around you, but the rest of the gang paid him little mind despite this. He couldn’t look you in the eye without recalling seeing you in such an indecent state: smooth legs exposed, your sensual cries during your throws of passion, the way you look when you ca-

“Kieran?” Your melodic voice had broken him out of his exceedingly inappropriate trance, about you no less!

His ears turned beet red, threatening to bloom into a deplorable flush on his cheeks. You cocked your head to the side, seemingly puzzled, as you waited for him to compose himself.

“M-miss?” He blubbered, attempting to cover his embarrassment with his hand.

“Was just checkin’ to see if you were alright. You’ve been a recently.” Bless your heart and endless supply of empathy for those around you. “Are you sick,” you asked in earnest, reaching out to determine if he perhaps had a fever.

Kieran stumbled away from your touch leaving you shocked, oblivious to what prompted such a dramatic reaction.

“I’m f-fine Miss, don’t you w-worry none about me,” he floundered through his excuse, becoming even more short of breath as Arthur came up behind you, placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

As if expecting him, you looked back and gave him a small smile, expression softening in his presence. He nodded his greeting to you in kind.

“Mr. Morgan! Are we still on for our hunting trip? I’ve been hearing rumors of a pure-white fox just shy of Rhodes and they sound promising,” you explained enthusiastically and Arthur gave a low chuckle in response.    

“Course’. Why don’t you go get your things, I’ll be right with ya.” With that, you headed back towards your tent not before giving Kieran a farewell wave, thus leaving the two men alone with one another.

Arthur stared him down, his expression passive as Kieran all but trembled in his boots unsure of what was to come. A wolfish grin played on his lips as a laugh rumbled in his chest, furthering unnerving Kieran. Arthur broke the tense silence first.

“Hope you enjoyed the show, O’Driscoll,” he stated bluntly, reveling in Kieran’s extreme anxiety at the nature of this entire situation. Flabbergasted with a nervous sweat forming at his brow, Kieran was completely at a loss for words.

Arthur sneered and began making his way past him, stopping at his side only to discreetly whisper something in his ear.

“If I so much as suspect you thinking ‘impure’ thoughts about my woman, I’ll personally see you gelded.”