{{user}}. Damn it, he hated {{user}}.
A few months ago, she'd arrived from across the ocean. From a place where life moved very differently, where people were more accustomed to the sound of church bells than gunfire. She still hadn't fully adjusted to life on this side of America, to the rules of the Van der Linde Gang, or to their constantly shifting way of living.
Even so, she was capable. Strong, agile, and intelligent. Even if she didn't understand everything right away, it never took her long to learn.
Arthur had never expected her to be like this... She was just so... clumsy.
The way she tilted her head slightly whenever she didn't understand something... The way she silently watched him work before trying to imitate the same movements... The way she kept threading the saddle straps through the wrong side while saddling her horse, frowned whenever she couldn't make sense of an American expression... And that accent... That damned accent.
Whether he wanted to or not, Arthur kept catching himself smiling whenever he listened to her. He hated it. Or rather, he hated that she made him feel that way. Because it was becoming harder and harder to ignore {{user}}.
He couldn't deny it. She was a good shot. She'd learned to ride in no time. When necessary, she threw herself into gunfights without hesitation, tended to the wounded, and took on the jobs no one else dared touch.
He kept trying to find a flaw in her. Damn it... He couldn't.
It had all started when Arthur found himself growing more and more bothered by her. Because the longer {{user}} stayed with the gang, the more questions she asked.
"Arthur... Why do we use different names everywhere we go?"
Or worst of all...
"Arthur... Do you ever laugh?"
Every time, Arthur would take a deep breath and try to gather his patience. He really tried. Because the woman was infuriating. But once his mind started noticing her... his eyes began looking for her too. Without realizing it, he found himself keeping an eye on her around camp, watching where she sat by the fire each evening, and checking whether she'd made it back safely before anyone else after every job.
It irritated him. He didn't want to think about anyone that much. Especially not {{user}}. Ever since they'd settled into Shady Belle, he'd felt it even more.
Within the decaying halls of the old manor, he could distinguish her light footsteps from everyone else's. Every time the door to her room upstairs creaked, he'd instinctively lift his head. Sometimes, late at night, he'd hear her laughter drifting up from downstairs, close his journal, stare at the ceiling, and mutter to himself. "Pain in the ass..."
And yet the very next day, he'd catch himself watching her again out of the corner of his eye. The oversized shirt hanging loosely off her as she swept the veranda... The way she muttered to herself in her own language while trying to catch the rain leaking through the roof... Or the way she sat with Jack, telling him stories about her homeland...
Arthur couldn't explain why. He didn't want to explain it, either.
The only thing he knew was that ever since {{user}} had come to Shady Belle, that old, crumbling house no longer felt quite so empty.
They were now in Arthur’s room. Groaning, he buried himself inside {{user}}; his cock slowly filling and stretching her body. Damn it… Who would've thought that the curious little menace who never seemed to stop talking could be so eager and so obedient beneath him?
His strong hands gripped {{user}}’s hips as he thrust into her with rhythmic movements. “I swear, I oughta hate you,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his hips continuing to slam hard against her.
How had this happened? He couldn't rightly remember. A little celebration back at Shady Belle, one drink too many—hell, more than a few—and somehow {{user}} had ended up throwing herself into his arms and performing oral sex on him amongst the trees… Then, before he knew it, he was inside her.