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mv1simp · 5 months ago

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Into You ♥️

Max Verstappen x Redbull Engineer! Reader

Oh baby, look what you've started, the temperature's rising and is this gonna happen? (Been waitin' and waitin' for you to make a move)

At 27, you've just been promoted to the role of Redbull's race engineer - a very impressive feat in motorsport for a young woman. There's just one issue though - you secretly had a massive crush on the driver you're meant to be guiding, Max Verstappen. Will you make it through the season before he catches on? (You hope so because goddamn, the HR team were a nightmare to deal with.)

Content includes: fluff, humour, Max and reader are simps for each other, sexual tension, pining, drunk confessions, 3.2k WC

Recently, you'd started having some issues at work. Okay, gun to your head, you'll admit it was more like a single issue - in the shape of a very attractive, 6 foot Dutch racing driver who occasionally had problems with anger management. Sure, it didn’t sound that bad, in fact, someone else would just sit back and enjoy the eye candy the F1 paddock provided! But to truly appreciate the full depth of your embarrassing problem, one needed to unpack all the lore behind it.

After graduating from a prestigious mechanical engineering master's program, you'd been ecstatic about getting to intern at Redbull's F1 racing team, department of aerodynamic design. You'd started working at the company at a very good time, because later that year, their top driver Max Verstappen claims his first WDC at age 24 - only 6 months your junior. A very impressive feat for such a young age - as you admire him from a distance in the garage workshop. And, super hot too, you thought cheekily, whoever wifed him up was sure to be a lucky woman.

Your own hard work hadn't gone unnoticed, and many higher-ups and sponsors alike were curious to see the team who had been behind the championship winning changes to the Redbull car. You'd risen very quickly in the ranks, from intern to permanent technical engineer and then last year to to the innovative research & development department, now involved directly with calling the big shots for what each version of the car would look like and coming face to face with Max for the first time in your career with Redbull.

Unlike the other drivers, Max was genuinely curious about your design process. The way he asked questions, thoughtfully listened to your long explanations and then would give you direct feedback about the exact issues he would have in the trial runs had made you flustered, especially from the full intensity of his blue eyes. No, seriously though, Shakespeare himself would have written poetry if he'd gazed into them. The TikTok creators certainly seem to agree, with all their ocean eyes edits. Not that you had any saved. Anyways, moving on-

You were on the quieter side but Max seemed to know just how to get through to you. It meant that your team had been able to design the most dominating car in F1 history - the RB23, and paired with Max Verstappen it was an unstoppable force, almost like you made it just for me, Max had said, smiling gorgeously at you like some GQ Sports model. You stared back at him incredulously, banana choc chip muffin halfway to your mouth, cause who the hell woke up looking like that, you two were wearing identical Redbull shirts but his looked like it had been personally tailored to fit that broad muscular chest and yours was giving oversized trash bag??

Honestly, you'd hoped that working in closer proximity would humanise him more and you'd lose this silly crush of yours the moment you saw him do some icky rich white boy move. Like maybe he’d donate to Donald Trump's anti vaccine campaign or say guys 🥺 Can’t go to Ibiza this weekend the yacht staff had an emergency, got caught in some Gulf war zone or something? Idk

But when he had knocked on your apartment door when you hadn't shown up to work in two days, and found you crying because your childhood dog had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer across the other side of the world and saying I’m sorry, I know it’s not that big of a deal, I’ll come back tomorrow I promise-

And instead of laughing like you’d expected, he’d cut you off, told you to pack a bag and then driven you all the way to his personal jet. You looked into his beautiful blue eyes while he earnestly begged you to use it so you could make it in time to say goodbye to your Arlo before your parents put him down tonight. And that’s when you realised you were doomed to be hopelessly in love with the younger man. (But also, you had a serious discussion with him about the extreme greenhouse gas emissions from private jet fuel use, we only had one planet, you would be happy to just fly first class instead-)

But when your mentor Newey announced his plans to leave Redbull this year, you had planned on following him - making the exec panic at the thought of losing two of their crucial engineers. They frantically thrown random promotions at you, praying one would stick - and Redbull twitter fans breathed a sigh of relief when you took interest in the role of race engineer and stayed in the company.

You'd been excited about becoming one of Checo's engineers, having trained under the current one for the last few months. But to your horror, one day you arrived on the paddock only to be promptly sat down at a meeting along with the two drivers and be informed that they'd had to switch some things around, GP had an emergency to attend and could you pretty please fill in for the role of Max's race engineer this weekend-

NOPE. You'd announced, standing up and slamming your hands on the table, then realising that might be a touch overdramatic as everyone questioningly looked at you. Why not? Christian Horner demanded suspiciously.

Um, because he's super hot, you fool?! How is a girl meant to focus with him whispering track feels really wet today in her headphones? Were the years of self control to just admire from a distance like a loser and not jeopardise your career just a joke to him?? You don’t blink as your boss stared you down, hoping he could pick up on the thoughts that you’re trying to telepathically communicate. The table remained silent, only interrupted by the noisy slurping of Checo's boba tea. You quickly changed tactics - well, Verstappen is the winning champion, he needs an engineer who has experience working alongside him during the race-

Alas, the object of your affections threw a well intended wrench in your escape plans by adding that you were the perfect person, then, since you'd worked together for years and understood his communication style. Unless - he paused, flashing those deadly baby blues at you - unless the issue is you don't want to work with me?

You'd lasted all of three seconds under his hurt gaze before admitting defeat and accepting the role, slumping down next to him and desperately praying you'd wake up a lesbian tomorrow morning. Max continued to sneak long glances at you through the meeting, leaning around you to grab a pen and then his phone and making you jump each time his strong arm wrapped around your small frame. Across the table, Checo thoughtfully chewed on his boba as he watched you two curiously. Ah, young love.

And to no one's surprise the pair of you had made a flawless team, you expertly guiding Max as your engineer instincts took over and him actually listening to your helpful instructions without his usual aggression over the radio. And so when GP announced that his 1 week emergency was now going to be a 6 month break, sorry! - it had been all too easy for Christian Horner to bestow the honour of being Max's primary engineer onto you.

So now, here you sat, before your 4th race with Max, grimly looking on with your chin propped onto interlaced fingers, preparing yourself for his deep, sexy voice that was going to be purring in your ears very soon. The very voice that had become a recurring theme in the dreams you'd been having lately, that and also how he would bite those thick lips of his when he'd stare at you, with his cute little freckle on his top lip-

Why do you look like you're about to go to war, your intern asks bluntly, putting an end to your illicit thoughts and delivering you your triple chocolate caramel frap. Because I am, you hissed, sculling the whole thing in one go. She smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. Was this to do with how categorically down bad you are for your precious Maxie?

You proceeded to inform her that if she ever brought up how you'd drunkedly referred to him that one time, you'd have no problem abusing your authority to shaft her on tire service duty for a week. She wisely chose to leave you be in peace, taking your empty cup as she went.

Taking some meditative breaths, you focus on thinking about unsexy things. Like the hydraulics system of the current car needing to be redesigned to better incorporate-

Your thoughts are cut off a second time as another cup is deposited in front of you, this time by none other than Max himself, who's thoughtfully brought you a triple chocolate caramel frap. You stutter out your thanks, not daring to touch more caffeine currently as you already had sweaty palpitations at the sight of him looking so big and muscled in his slutty tight fireproofs. Dear God, had he no shame? They needed to bring back the Victorian era and cover him up, he was going to distract everyone (mainly you.) He frowns slightly, leaning down to your height, and informs you that you didn't have to call him Verstappen, you know, Max is fine-

Wow. And then what would come next? Maxie? And then you asking him for his hand in marriage? No, no, absolutely not - you needed to maintain strict professional boundaries or risk him catching onto your massive crush and promptly be fired. You politely informed him that for the sake of public decorum and the rabid fangirls that were watching your every move as a young female engineer in proximity to their favourite drivers, that you would refer to him as Verstappen, or Mr. Verstappen if he preferred a more formal title?

He'd pouted those lush lips of his and reluctantly agreed that just Verstappen was okay, he supposed. But he much preferred hearing you call him Max, at least when there were no cameras around? What you had done in your past life to now be forced to resist such temptation, you would never know.

So the season went on, you two continuing to be a smashing success and a very popular internet pairing. Not that you'd been paying that much attention! Just a saved TikTok edit here and there of the time Max had called you schatje over the radio after blowing up about a tire malfunction. He’d then sweetly apologised the next lap when you remained unfazed and told him to sort his shit out, babes, Leclerc was right up his ass with a tire and DRS malfunction, yeah? (Twitter had gone crazy. Who knew Max Verstappen responded so well to a 5 foot, slightly older woman giving him orders over the team radio?! You’d instantly been accepted as a replacement for the beloved GP, original gentle domTM to the Dutch driver.)

And perhaps another saved edit of the time he had protectively held you in those big, strong arms of his, guiding your tiny figure through a massive media-frenzied crowd and whispered reassurances in your ear when you couldn’t breathe properly. Or the time he’d bitten a reporter’s head off with the ferocity of a lion after he suggested that as the first female race engineer, you’d acquired your new job through your…feminine wiles.

And maybe just one of when the PR team had made you do one of those ridiculous hot lap videos with him after seeing the online response, and he'd laughed as you screamed out of fear for your life when he cruised at a cool 200km/hr. The aftermath had been brutal, as you weakly stumble out and almost fall flat on your face, only for him to easily pick you up, carrying you bridal style back towards the garage (Truly, this right here was proof God sent his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.)

Nearing the end of the 6 month stint, when GP was due back in to resume his role as Max's race engineer, the Redbull team had decided to take a well deserved weekend trip to Verona, Italy. You’d suspiciously looked at your intern, asking why she’d selected the romantic setting of Romeo & Juliet of all places, to which she replied that just cause you’d chosen to cockblock yourself for eternity with a crush on your coworker the millionaire F1 driver, didn’t mean the rest of them couldn’t get some. Valid point, so you shut up.

So now, here you are, sitting in a romantically lit corner of a cute Italian vineyard with a small group from the engineering division, sloshed after a bottle of red wine and asking them be real, be real, you're telling me none of you have been checked out Max's ass in his fireproofs? Lies.

Across the courtyard, Lando is currently extremely unimpressed with his good friend, 3 time Championship winning, and general terror on the track Max Verstappen. That is because said friend has decided, rather pathetically, to lie on the cobblestone and drunkedly ask the stars why fate was so cruel. Seriously mate, Lando sighs, all this over a silly insta post?

Excuse you, it’s not just any insta post! Max had protested, baby tears in his eyes and face flushed from the four G&Ts he’d drunk. Pulling out his phone, he shows Lando the damning evidence of the pictures you'd uploaded from the group trip with your engineering friends. Look. LOOK. His arm is around her and she used a Lana Del Ray lyric in the caption. Do you have any idea what this means?

The Brit has to resist rolling his eyes at the melodrama unfolding in front of him. The Dutchman continues, never one to miss a chance to maxplain - as he details how it had taken him a a whole 2 months to get him to call you by his first name, and then another 2 months before you'd told him your favourite song was Summertime Sadness, and that even now if he hugged you to celebrate a win you would look like you were about to throw up and furiously speed walk away.

Lando is seriously regretting tagging along to the Redbull trip instead of Carlos's invitation to Mallorca. It was bad enough that the whole train ride Max had been on the phone begging GP to take another 6 month break so that you'd continue to be his engineer, but Lando has had his limit with this simpy pining. Taking his phone out as the maxplaining continued in the background, he shoots a text to your intern, who immediately replies, and within minutes the pair of them have hatched a conniving plan to dump you lovesick fools together while the rest of them make their way into town.

And that’s how you and Max find yourself locked inside the upstairs wine cellar, having been separately tricked with various promises from your scheming friends - only to hear the door click behind you and turn to find each other. It's very romantic and all, soft candlelight and bottles of luxurious Italian wine and a shining full moon visible from the terracotta balcony. Someone had even generously left a speaker in the courtyard, with Lana Del Ray's melodic voice rising upto the second floor. Basically, the worst nightmare for your self control as you prayed for inner strength and avoid looking into Max's dreamy blue eyes. This was definitely some twisted beyond the grave revenge from Shakespeare for you saying he'd write poetry about a F1 driver’s eyes.

Max, though, is all too happy to come right over to you with another freshly opened bottle of wine, drunk and flushed and having zero inhibitions about pulling you into his warm side with a strong arm. You're too buzzed to resist, letting yourself fall against his chest to hear his soothing heartbeat and rest a palm against his hard abs, just this once (The real thing was even better than what you'd imagined.)

You're both laughing and giggling then, hearts full, reminiscing about the season together, the inside jokes on the radio, the side eyes to each other when Horner got too wound up at a meeting, and oh did you hear that the McLaren tireboy was hooking up with the Mercedes oilchecker?

And then your eyes meet his and your homegirl Lana starts singing dear lord when I get to heaven, please let me bring my man (real) and Max is softly brushing your cheek, leaning down as your heated gazes flit to each other's lips-

NOPE! you force yourself to declare, dramatically leaving his arms and contemplating if you could land the jump from the 2nd floor balcony. The Italian wine has made Max demanding though, as he doesn't let you go, grabbing your hand to pull you back like he was Anthony goddamn Bridgerton and wanting to know Why not, was he just imagining the chemistry, did you not find him hot or?

You'd gaped at him. Not hot? Apparently the Italian wine had gotten to you too because you didn't hold back, launching into a tirade of how no, Max, the issue was actually that he was too hot for his own good and did he even know how unfair it had been to be his engineer, pure torture really, you were sure the American military would be adding it to their interrogation tactics. As if it hadn't been bad enough to crush on him from a distance for years but then have to resist falling for him every time you saw him? So, no, you couldn't just give him a casual drunk kiss because you were in love with him!

Max stares at you, initially smug that you apparently found him so irresistibly good looking, but now completely bewildered when you finished ranting. You think - he swallowed. You think that this is just casual? Cause I- cause I'm drunk?

At your nod, he launches into his own maxplaination, brows furrowed, demanding to know how on earth you could think it was just casual, what about when he diligently showed up to every meeting with a banana choc muffin and caramel frappe and his hoodie for you to wear on the chilly mornings, or when he brought two Lana Del Ray VIP tickets the very same day you'd told him you liked her, or when he'd literally called you darling in Dutch over the team radio for the whole world to hear, or how he even sold his private jet and only jetpooled with the others since you told him off?! Seriously, even that old crone Helmut had asked him when you two were going to hard launch!

Your doe eyes go wider and wider at each statement, a pretty flush taking over your own face as your mind boggles at the realisation that apparently, the love of your life felt just as deeply about you. Stuttering, you try to formulate a reply - only to come up with Oh, well, I, uh - you sold your jet? For me?

Max rolls his eyes, but there's nothing except pure adoration on his face as he pulls you back into his warm chest, grinning down at you when you eagerly wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. Yes, schat, he murmurs gently, the cutest blush painting his cheeks. Because I love you, too. And this time you don't pull away when he finally, finally leans down and meets your lips in a passionate kiss, enjoying the sweet moans he draws out of you as he showcases his numerous talents off the track.

Somewhere, in the middle of a Verona nightclub, your intern gives Lando Norris a firm handshake. Pleasure doing business with you.

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A/N: A lil sweet fluff for me, this is actually my first fluff piece i think ahaha i've only written like 8 smut pieces in a row!! Hope you enjoyed 💖 and PS thank you ALL for the requests you’ve been sending, been getting them and will work thru them just have a few projects I’m cookin up for u guys hehe xx

#max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1

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liyawritesss · 25 days ago

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ʀᴀɴᴄʜᴇʀ!ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ ᴍᴏʀɢᴀɴ

-> synopsis: in which arthur was able to set aside his criminal ways and leave the Van der Linde gang and live a life of relative normalcy, and perhaps meet a nice little lady to make it all worth it

-> pairing: rancher!arthur morgan + black!fem!reader

-> from: red dead redemption 2

-> contains: age-gap (reader is 27, arthur is 37), 2nd person ('you', 'your', 'yours'), references to canon-violence and crimes

-> a/n: my knowledge of Red Dead Redemption is limited, only really coming from watching gameplays and from beta-reading a friends fic, but arthur morgan the man that you are! I really just want him to have a good life outside the gang so i played with the whole rancher idea a little bit here, with a little bit of gen. store clerk!reader, so i hope you guys enjoy!

-> join my taglist!

-> tags: @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @asensitivecookie @moon-bo-young @flo-milli-shit-hoe

ARTHUR MORGAN who eventually turns in his weapons and hangs in the towel of his criminal days, feigning for something more out of life than the thrill of a hunt, Though the decision wasn’t an easy one (mainly because Dutch never made things easy), the man took one last job and took the earnings from it to buy a good 10-acre stretch of land in the southern midwest territories where he knew trouble wouldn’t find him if it came looking. Within the next year he settles down into the life of a rancher, and he couldn’t have asked for anything better.

RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who has taken forever to nail down a routine that actually sticks when it comes to waking up and rousing the animals for the day. He does the chickens first, cuz he hates those little fuckers and how they always like to peck at his feet even though he knows he tosses the corn and feed pellets far away from him. Then the hogs start squealing whenever he even nears the pen, and Arthur always mutters about how they just ate the night before, how can they be this hungry already? After throwing their slop into the feeder, he opens the barn doors to let the cows know it’s morning and that they’ll be milked soon, but he learned not the milk them just as they wake up because they in fact do not like to be fondled so early in the morning. Instead, he grabs his horse and rounds up the few sheep and goats he’s got and leads them to nearby pasture to graze. Here, Arthur gets the chance to rest a little, maybe snack on some dried meat and journal about his dreams if he’s had any, his aspirations for the day, or maybe even sketch the view.

RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who learns to like making the honest living he’s got going. It may not be as thrill seeking as robbing trains or starting saloon fights or gunslinging like the old days, but he’s comfortable. Content, even. Sometimes he’ll sell one of the hogs for a pretty penny and can afford to buy himself something he likes. The people in the nearest town say his milk from his cows is the best they’ve had in a long time! He’s not a star or anything, but he’s got something good going for himself and he’ll be damned if he lets it wither and die like the dreams he had in his youth.

RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who won’t lie to himself and say he doesn’t miss his old life. At the start, he feigned for it so bad; he’d try to rationalize it and say that it wouldn’t hurt no one, but he knew better. Sometimes he’d lie awake in the modest little house that was on the property when he bought it, reminiscing about the good times in the gang before the cracks started showing. When they could make a quick scheme and walk away feeling like the richest men in the world. He missed his brothers and their asshole behavior; he missed the girls sometimes, too, even if they got on his nerves. But they were behind him, and he knew he couldn’t go back. For his sake, and for theirs.

RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who rides into town one day to drop off some milk at the general store to see someone new behind the counter; someone younger and prettier than the stuffy old lad who talks to proper and irritates Arthur with his poshness. He’s so taken off guard that he almost drops the crate of milk he’s carrying in. He learns that you’re the store owner’s daughter and that you’ve taken over for him because he got into a wild riding accident, and that he’d be out for the next couple of months. You try not to make it so awkward on Arthur, as it seems like seeing you behind the counter instead of your father has already thrown him for a loop. When the cowboy promptly drops off the milk and bids a quick farewell, you fear you’ve made a horrible first impression.

RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who comes back a week later with a much more level head and a little less awkward now that he expects you behind the counter. This time he brings with him some seeds to sell that he’d gotten from a farmer a couple miles down the road that he didn’t want. He thought he’d be able to sell or exchange them for something he’d actually use. He was quiet, yet polite, and had an air of mystery around him that intrigued her. It wasn’t every day a handsome rancher came into the general store, and you wanted to know everything you could about this Arthur Morgan, who kept his cards close to his chest and was a man of few words.

RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who made his visits slightly longer every time he’d come into the general store, whether to sell his goods or to buy some tools or necessities from himself. After a handful of encounters, he finally blessed you with more of his voice and words - they had a roughness to them from years of hard work, but was still warm and inviting. The way he called you ‘miss’ and way he tipped his cowboy hat to you as a farewell made you giddy like a little schoolgirl. You found yourself looking forward to opening the general store every day, hoping to have a conversation with Arthur Morgan if he’d come in.

RANCHER!ARTHUR MORGAN who says to you “I ain’t so good with the ladies” when you ask him why he always seems so shy talking to you, and it actually makes you giggle a little. Arthur Morgan, the unit of a man that he is, admitting his timidity of a woman? What God in Heaven made this be so? Oh, but you have no intention of letting it be just that. No, you tell Arthur Morgan, “I can teach you, if you’d like”, and you swear you see the lightest dust of pink cross his cheeks. He’s got half a mind to walk out of there like a puppy with it’s tail between it’s legs; how could you make him so embarrassed like that! Though, if it’s you than plans on teach him how to be a little less dense and awkward around women, he probably wouldn’t mind it. Maybe he could even return the favor and have you writhing in bashfulness…

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

#liya talks #black reader #black tumblr #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x black!reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you

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kaznejis · 3 months ago

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Forever is the sweetest con- Dutch Van Der Linde x Reader

Turning your gaze to the paper, your eyes instantly zoned in on a particular collection of capitalised words. Your breath stuttered in your throat, lodging itself there as you felt John’s mournful gaze burning into the side of your face. His name. The notorious reputation that followed him no matter how far he ran was proceeding him, though it appeared that he hadn’t run far this time. Dutch Van Der Linde was in Tall Trees- the same patch of forest located only a short ride from the Beecher’s Hope's front gate.

A/N: Hi! I actually wrote and posted this to AO3 YEARS ago, but after a recent replay of RDR2 I decided to fix up some mistakes in this fic and post it on here! I hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 9287 / Read it on AO3!

NOTORIOUS BAD MAN ALIVE —--------------------------------------------

A dispatch from Tall Trees reports a sighting of infamous outlaw Dutch Van Der Linde, who has been on a bloody run from the law for many years now. The notorious Dutch’s Boys gang once plagued this state, but it was believed to have disbanded as long ago as 1899. Two of his henchmen - Hosea Matthews and Arthur Morgan - were both killed in separate raids by Pinkerton agents that same year. Gang members Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, John Marston, and Charles Smith are still believed to be at large. But most notably, Dutch’s supposed lover - rumored to have allied with the opposing powers during the gang’s infamous civil war - Y/N L/N has been seen haunting our states, donning bounty hunter wear. Will our young outlaw-turned-heroine be the one to finally end Van Der Linde’s tyranny?

Either way, law enforcement have pledged to continue searching for Van Der Linde, who still has one of the largest bounties on his head for kill or capture.

Eventually, the hands that were once calloused from gun slinging and knife wielding grew used to the arduous task of milking Betsy, Beecher's Hope’s famed prize cow- tuning to the rhythm of milking a cow that only really took a liking to the young Jack Marston. Swiping a palm through the mounting sweat on your forehead, you glared at the cow as it huffed.

“I hate this as much as you do, honey,” You turned slightly to retrieve the second bucket to be filled, “But we all want to eat, so you’re going to give me every last drop of that milk of yours.”

The cow’s ears merely twitched, the animal equivalent to a relenting eye roll.

You gave one right back.

“You tell her.” Abigail chuckled from behind you, pacing forward to lean against Betsy’s stall, “I’m not surprised John has you down here today, Ol’ Missy here tried to feed him a hoof at the slightest sign that he was about to milk her.”

You snorted, an image of John’s hat flying from his head and into the neighboring stall entering your mind, “She’s just stubborn is all, she’ll like me more than Jack soon, you’ll see.”

“I don’t doubt it,” She laughed, easing the weight of one of the buckets brimming with milk as you stood, ”Hey, walk back to the house with me. John said he has something to show you.”

“Oh?” You furrowed your eyebrows, a thick feeling began to lodge in your throat. The cautiousness of years on the run still lingering despite the secure life you now lived. “Any idea what it was?”

She shrugged, “He refused to tell me so probably some bounty hunting stuff. The silly man.”

You nodded; calming yourself as you deposited the contents of the bucket into a jug. You were safe, things had been relatively safe since you’d stumbled into the last remnants of the gang in the Blackwater Saloon. You had entered the building desperate for a comfortable bed and a hot meal- only to leave brimming with whiskey and laughter, a permanent room available to you mere minutes from your original destination. You had stared up at the stars that night, laying in the comfortable night time breeze upon the house’s deck as Rufus had snuffled at your hands, excited at the premise of a new friend.

Fatigue rotted the depths of your being, having followed the cold trail of Micah Bell for the better part of eight years. You had vowed that fateful night, as he forced you to point a gun at the only man you had and would ever truly love, that you would kill him. Globs of spit and blood flickered from your mouth as you had fled upon your steed, screaming likewise threats of revenge and murder as he had hunted you- the red of his vest merging with the rage in his eyes.

Micah had always wanted you dead.

You had been an obstacle before his beloved leader, the gem in the notorious Dutch Van Der Linde’s eyes. His sweet, his darling, his largest weakness.

The O’Driscolls had known it, the Pinkertons had known it and Micah Bell had known it.

His hackles raised everytime you neared, steering Dutch away in order to discuss his new “plan”. It had grown severe in Beaver Hollow, the drapes of Dutch’s once-welcoming tent consistently closed as he drowned within his own mind. You had moved into Tilly’s tent, terrified of Dutch’s inherent darkness breaching your own soul even despite the love you felt for him.

Micah had pounced then- Dutch’s last flicker of lightness being efficiently snuffed out. His once dormant toxicities were pampered and brought to life; riches and Micah became the forefront of his racing thoughts. You were simply lost in the tide.

“Now that I come to think of it,” Abigail placed her jug into the cart and spun to face you, “John looked like he was holding a newspaper of some sort- I think there was something of interest in it.”

Squinting, you turned to face the house- sure enough, John was sitting upon the front steps; a newspaper open within his hands. His face uncharacteristically devoid of emotion, “I’ll head over to him now, thanks Abigail.”

You spared a wave as you both went your separate ways, meeting eyes with John as he somberly raised his eyes, “Who died?” You joked, standing before him with your hands on your hips, “You look like you’re preparing to draw.”

John only swallowed, his jaw tightening as he looked away- almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes.

“John?”

“I think you’ll need to sit down, Y/N.” You quickly obliged, the scratch of his accent carrying a sorrowful timber; rougher than ever. lowering yourself beside him and wringing your hands together- the previous dread now returned at a higher fervor, taking residence within the pit of your stomach.

“What’s going on?”

John finally turned to you, his eyes filled with a dangerous mix of pity and anger, “I’m so sorry Y/N, I knew I shouldn’t have bought this place. I really should have looked into the area first.” he stood suddenly, his boots scuffing against the gravel as scrubbed at his face. Almost as if he was punishing himself for his supposed mistake.

“John?” You guffawed, straightening in your seat as you gaped at him, “What are you talking about? We’ve been over this, this is the perfect place for your family. It’s where Abigail wanted to be!”

The gravity of the situation weighed upon your conscience suddenly, John hadn’t been this stressed in months- having left the life of an outlaw to become an established father and farm handler. Whilst the weight of his past did prevail, the future had not previously posed any issue.

John nodded somberly, his eyes fixing upon a huddle of trees in the too-near distance.

“You know what happens in Tall Trees, don’t you?” You nodded and turned towards the trees yourself, urging him to continue. You’d had many runs in with the Skinner Brothers since moving in. “It’s filled with dangerous people, a fugitive paradise for people who are still like how we used to be.”

He stopped then, looking down to the newspaper within his hands. You noted that it was heavily crumpled, as if he’d been about to tear it up though decided against it at the last second, “You need to read this for yourself, I think.”

“Okay.” You spoke tentatively, peeling the newspaper from his hands as he gripped it reluctantly- as if to protect you from what you were about to read. You loved that about John, always willing to take the brunt at his own expense in order to protect the ones he loved. A trait carried from Arthur, you thought, stealing a look at the worn hat upon John’s head.

You looked away, the pain of loss forever present at the back of your mind. It lingered like a festering wound- oozing and growing at the merest memory of the pain. Arthur had given up everything for the safety of the remnants of the group; sometimes you wondered if it should have been you.

Turning your gaze to the paper, your eyes instantly zoned in on a particular collection of capitalized words. Your breath stuttered in your throat, lodging itself there as you felt John’s mournful gaze burning into the side of your face.

His name.

The notorious reputation that followed him no matter how far he ran was proceeding him, though it appeared that he hadn’t run far this time. Dutch Van Der Linde was in Tall Trees- the same patch of forest located only a short ride from the Beecher’s Hope front gate.

“So, to dismiss the elephant in the room, are you going to hunt the bastard down?”

“Sadie!” Abigail choked, glaring at the woman across from her- having just barely managed to coax you out of your room and into a seat at the dinner table.The news had left you partially catatonic- a haze feeding into your limbs as you had fled from John, curling up against the wall of your room until the cool glaze of Abigail’s palm had rubbed your shoulder. The usual buzzing cacophony of sound during dinner had become a mournful silence prior to Sadie’s announcement; each member treading on eggshells around you. Even Jack had barely spoken, having heard scattered tales of the time of the Van Der Linde gang, much to Abigail’s disapproval.

“What?” Sadie shook her head, stabbing a lump of beef with her fork threateningly. “The only reason I’m not already knee deep in those woods is for Y/N,” she turned to you then, her blonde plait glowing in the evening tint, “It’s your call hun. If anyone other than me had taken action against those damn O’Driscolls in Jake’s name; I’d never have forgiven ‘em.”

Abigail nodded in agreement, placing a hand beside your plate barely skimming your fingers, “We will support you in whatever you do Y/N.”

A scoff sounded from the end of the table, Uncle spat crumbs across the table as he spoke, mouth filled with stew, “I say we kill the bastard, especially if he’s allied with those wretched Skinner Brothers.”

The group stayed silent at that- all too aware of the extent of Uncle’s horrific injuries. You or Charles would regularly return from a hunt with ointment, to which Abigail would apply to Uncle’s injuries; her hums attempting to drown out his screams and cries. But nothing could amount to the nightmares that Uncle endured- reliving the torture he endured night after night. His alcohol dependency had only seemed to worsen. Not taking action against a Skinner-allied Dutch would only feel like betrayal.

John was the first to speak up, taking on the authoritative tone he seemed to muster during severe circumstances, “Either way, we need to decide what we’re doing fast.” John spoke, ever the strategic, “No matter the connections we used to have with Dutch, he’s going to be as unpredictable as ever. He cannot be trusted, not so close to Jack.”

“He could be here for us.” Charles regarded the matter for the first time, his deep baritone carrying a rougher tone, “It’s too much of a coincidence that he’s here so soon after you properly settled down.”

The sound of your spoon dropping filled the silence that followed, everyone turned as you placed your head into your hands- grinding your palms into the tears that filled your eyes, “I’ve gone so long.”

“Y/N it’s okay-”

“I’ve gone so long,” You repeated, dribbles of snot clouding upon your upper lip, “'I've been able to forget about him. All these years, I’ve been able to focus on other things-” A sob escaped from your lips as you refused to meet the sympathetic eyes surrounding you. “Why did he have to do this now?”

You broke down then, folding into Abigail’s embrace as she stroked your hair, coaxing the pained cries out of you. “Why don’t we run you a bath? A hot bath and a good nights’ sleep will do your mind some good.”

Nodding slowly, you wiped your face without a care towards the stains that would now grace your sleeves. Abigail led you towards the comfort of the chair before the fireplace as Charles jogged ahead to prepare you a bath- promising to add an array of the herbs he had recently discovered to be of abundance in the area. The joy you had felt during previous dinners had been long abandoned.

When the bathwater had long gone still and cold, the longer-lasting bubbles floating alongside the waves traced upon the water- the memories finally set themselves free, the tranquility of the soak loosening the long-secured walls within your mind.

The days spent leading up to the initial heist in a camp not far from your own, long morning’s tucked up in animal furs and Dutch’s arms as the Blackwater heat and assurance of soon-to-come-riches washed over you. The subsequent plight, Dutch’s eyes constantly swiveling back towards you from his wagon as you had chosen to ride upon your own horse; the way he had protested against this decision, digging his heels in even despite the fangs of the law snapping at them mere minutes away. Your safety being his first priority.

You had shut him out during the short stay at Colter- furious that he had prioritized you before his duties as the leader of the gang. Furious that he had put you before young Jack, the other women, the wide span of injuries slowing the gang to a desperate stagger. But no, he had snapped at you; waving desperately towards the wagon the last of the women were piling into as you shook your head- tightening your horse’s reins. He had cast your wrist into his iron grip then, his eyes hard and swarming with anger; a mirror image to the swaths of the law’s blood coating his shirt sleeves. The blood of an innocent woman.

With shaking limbs, you had snatched your hand away and mounted before kicking your horse into a gallop, following the others who had already enacted their hasty departure.

With only mere seconds free to himself during those cold days, Dutch had tried- he’d stared determinedly at you during every speech and attempted to corner you at every given moment. You had successfully evaded his advances every time, opting to escape into the mounting snow outside of your cabin in opposition to being with a man you weren’t sure you could trust anymore. It was Arthur who successfully infiltrated your movement, joining you at one of the scarce campfires the gang had managed to light.

“You’re driving him mad, Y/N.”

“Oh, Arthur.” You shook your head, poking the embers with a stick. “You of all people know that he’s already there.”

He sniffed, a short flash of amusement crossing his face before it was replaced with sobriety. “Maybe. I wasn’t at the massacre, I didn’t see exactly what he did-”

“He killed an innocent woman, Arthur. Right in front of me and then had the audacity to claim that my safety was the most important thing to him.”

“Yes, I want to beat him senseless for the way he’s damned us too, I promise you.” He scratched his beard tentatively, almost searching for the correct words to say, “But… no matter what he did, we need to stick together, Y/N.” A pause. “And if his only source of light is snuffed out, there’s no way we’re getting out of here.”

“Don’t make this my fault, Arthur.”

“I’m not, Y/N. You know I’m not. But we are all starving and cold and tired. We need a right-minded leader to get out of here and once we do, we can judge Dutch all we want.”

You laughed then, a foreign sound in the somber setting; Arthur had grinned crookedly too, wrapping an arm around shoulder as he pulled you into his side. “Alright, I’ll talk to him..soon.”

Arthur had simply huffed, rolling his eyes and giving you a pat on the head as he rose- behind on his schedule of carrying the burden of the gang. You had remained at that campfire for some time after that, dwelling within your own conflicting thoughts.

Sitting in the bathtub, you felt the same affliction as you did all of those long years ago, even despite being so much younger and naïve at that time. You wanted to run out there, into the darkness of the forests and deep troughs of moss, into the arms of your lost love. But another part of you, the part that had grown and hardened with age, the part that hated Dutch Van Der Linde with every fiber of its existence- wanted vengeance. It wanted to provide Sadie and John with your vital blessing to go out there and capture him, kill him even.

Despite the years you had garnered since settling eyes on Dutch, you didn’t trust yourself to follow through with ending it all yourself; you didn’t trust yourself not to melt entirely within his presence. His charisma would sway you, his ability to flirt and coerce would be an instant match for your own stoic toughness. You couldn’t possibly know what he looked like anymore- but your betraying conscience conjured an image of his trimmed mustache complimenting his sharp jaw, his towering stature and taut muscles- those same muscles that had pinned you down night after night, the same ones that belonged to the only body that had ever truly pleasured you. The rings that adorned his fingers, each one a symbol of masculinity and fabrication, glinting in the moonlight as he smoked his complimentary, post-orgasm cigar.

Your insides tingled as you recalled the way he used to ravage you, the hungry glint of his eyes from between your thighs or the heavy pants that would spill from his lips as he buried his head into the sweaty base of your throat, his sex-tousled hair drawing paths against your skin, lighting the fuses beneath your jaw and throat.

Mr. Van De Linde had always been the embodiment of seduction- whether in his manipulative nature or in the coital bed you shared. You doubted that this feature had hardly changed.

Which is why you could-

“Y/N?”

You sprung from your dazed position within the tub, jumping and wrapping linens around your soaked body, “Sorry- uh- Yes?”

“Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while now?” It was Jack, probably worried sick about you alongside the rest of the family.

“I’m fine.” you spluttered, desperately wringing out your sopping hair as you opened the door, plastering on a half-convincing smile, “I won’t burst into tears on you again, I promise.”

He simply nodded, a concerned look in his eyes that frighteningly reminded you of his own father. A look far too old for his youthful features, “I just wanted to check that you weren’t drowning in there. The bath is far too deep for me sometimes.”

Ruffling his hair, you laughed- mood slightly improved, “Don’t worry about me Jackie- just had a little blast from the past is all.”

He nodded, though a pensive look flashed across his face.

“What?”

“I don’t have many memories from back then,” you nodded, encouraging him to continue, “but I do remember you and Uncle- sorry, you and Mr. Van Der Linde.” He looked at you sadly, possibly seeing the shock and grief that instantly sunk into your face, “Sometimes, you’d be so happy but then other days all that could be heard was your fights… I remember once it got so bad that Ma wouldn’t let me out of that room in that big house. But I also remember when you went missing for a day or two, he’d practically torn the place apart with the worry that you’d been taken.” He paused again as you watched him through tear-blurred eyes, “I’m sorry that he’s come back Y/N.”

Sniffling, you wrapped your arms around Jack, allowing your tears to slip into his hair, “I’m sorry that you had to experience that, Jackie,” you pulled back, cupping his cheeks and tightening your lips, “I hope to God that you never have to deal with something like that. Promise me you won’t let it happen?”

“I promise, Y/N,”

“Good. Good boy.”

“But… Do you still love him Y/N?”

Your teeth clacked shut, the sound resounding throughout the thin hallway. Not even when you and Dutch had been together had anybody dared question the true status of your relationship- opting for sympathetic smiles or knowing looks alike in respect for their brash leader. Shaking your thoughts, you attempted a warm smile, guiding Jack towards the living room. “Love is a complicated thing Jack, part of me hopes that you’ll never have to experience the woes of it but the happiness it brings outweighs everything,” tightening your robe around your chest, you sat beside Jack before the hearth of the fireplace, “Dutch could render me happy or sad at any given moment, the power he held over me was…terrifying.” Jack nodded, his eyes glinting curiously with the fire’s light, “But I think I did love him. Maybe I still do, but that doesn’t matter anymore because he’s not a good man.”

“You deserve a good man, Y/N.”

You chuckled, a real source of warmth and comfort finally replacing the cold of the bathwater, “Maybe. I look forward to the day that I finally meet one.”

“I think Uncle Arthur was a good man.”

“Yeah.” A lone buck sauntered along the hills surrounding Beecher’s Hope, its ears pricking towards Tall Trees. “He was.”

Shadows of branches intertwined and floated amongst the ceiling of your room, a light breeze filtering in from the opened window. You had opted to retire to bed early, skipping the usual drinks you would share with the rest of the family around the fire. You couldn’t face them, the pitious glances and the sway of alcohol would be too much, an easy passageway into spilling your darkest secrets.

The smell of alcohol had a tendency to remind you of Dutch, anyway. The acrid taste of whiskey and cigars mixed to create an unashamedly addictive scent; the taste of it upon his lips practically doubling the initial effect.

Not only had Dutch Van Der Linde always been an object of seduction, but he had become an object of addiction too. He had been the one to tie your dependency to cigarettes during your time in the gang, having quickly picked up his habit of smoking a cigarette in the event of anything extraordinary. You would regularly smoke together post-sex, bathing in the privilege of sharing one, or even two, of his prized cigars- picking up on his ever-watchful eyes as you wrapped your lips around the blunt and puffed; always making sure to add an air of extravagance as you exhaled.

The thought had you scrambling at the bottom of your mattress, searching for the stash of cigarettes you had stowed there for the event of emergency. You swore to yourself you had quit, but living a Dutch-less existence required other outlets.

Low and behold, you had smoked the last of them after attempting to round up a herd of sheep the week prior.

You swore, jumping out of bed and pulling the mattress back further to no avail. “It’s fine.” You mumbled to yourself, checking your wardrobe and dresser subsequently, “It’s fine.”

In all honesty, you could do with the fresh air- your room had quickly begun to forego the open window and grow stuffy with the weight of your own sinful mind. Though, your objection to facing the others still remained steady- leading you to hoist yourself out of the bedroom window and onto the saddle of your horse.

Blackwater remained a constant bustle of energy even within the darkness of night, having returned to its pre-Van Der Linde glory as a portside town. The city itself acted as a constant reminder to what Dutch had done, marking the beginning of his true tyranny as the blood of the innocent Heidi McCourt had splattered along the sidewalk and his very own shirt sleeves. You had only learned her name from the bench before the boardwalk- “We remember Heidi McCourt” scratched into the base of the wood, only a minute of research informed you of exactly who that was. But upon further residence within Blackwater- you learned of the hatred felt towards the notorious members of the gang; cutouts of previous gang members pinned to dartboards and littered with darts and even bullets alike.

Despite your pardons, the people of Blackwater had never forgotten what you had done.

Your hair was longer now, providing the disguise necessary to lay low. Besides, your bounty hunter escapades had quickly taken over any true resemblance to the you that had resided within the gang; the very newspaper detailing Dutch’s return had coined you a “heroine”. It was good to know that people knew you mostly for your good, the version of yourself eight years prior would have feared your very being.

Dismounting your steed, you patted her side as you pulled out a set of twin revolvers- ever aware of the new threat that lurked nearby. The thought that he could be anywhere made you shiver despite the warmth of Summer as you jogged towards the grocer, apologizing for your late arrival as it was near closing time. The man waved you off, rolling his eyes as he continued to sweep the shop floor.

Maybe chivalry was dead, you smirked to yourself as you requested a pack of premiums. The man nodded, but before he could bend to grab the cigarettes he paled, sweat beginning to bead at his temple as he whimpered- seemingly catatonic in place. Rising your eyes to the dusty window, your lips pursed as you spotted at least four figures behind you in the reflection, all obviously armed.

“Raise your hands darlin’.” A gruff voice spoke, the traditional accent carried by the Skinner brothers.

“I’m just grabbing some cigarettes,” You spoke firmly, your hands lowering towards your revolvers, “Just let me leave and we don’t need to have any issues.”

The men began to cackle at that, you could hear the sound of them clapping at each other’s backs and howling like dogs. The shopkeeper remained cowered beneath the counter, frozen in place as his eyes pleaded at you to do something- the stoic shopkeeper from mere minutes ago was no longer present.

“You think we’re just gonna let an infamous bounty hunter like you leave just like that?” The speaker spat at the ground, a display of disgust. “Do you know how many of our brothers you’ve killed?”

Chuckling, you rose your eyes. “I think they use the word infamous for a reason, you know.” You turned, spinning your revolvers and executing two of the men in a split second; time slowing as bullets lodged into each of their skulls. Tearing through skin and bone, the sound of the bullets pinging into the wall shattered their amusement, the fallout spraying their faces with blood.

The remaining men had barely even reached for their weapons before you delivered bullets into their heart and kneecaps respectively, the latter would live but never walk again; able to enforce the resounding fear of your presence into the outlaw community. Stepping over the bodies, you leaned over the survivor- clutching his shattered legs as he screamed and cried.

“Never underestimate me again.” You spat, mimicking his revolting action from earlier.

Despite his cries, the man laughed at your statement- his rotten teeth and stringy hair coated in the blood of his assailants. “Oh, Sweetheart,” he rose to rest on his elbow, his hitched breath releasing in pained pants, “We didn’t.”

Your eyes widened, you were only rewarded for a split second to prepare for the barrage of gunfire that attacked the storefront. Rolling backwards, you surveyed the frenetic gunfire from behind one of the many shelves and calculated how grossly outnumbered you truly were- at least ten men awaited outside, the group very obviously having not underestimated you.

You quickly discovered that the shopkeeper had locked himself in the back room- leaving you isolated with the threat of the Skinner Brothers. Without a second thought, you scaled the shop counter- loading your revolvers with bullets and replacing the empty space with the money in your pockets; it would serve you little purpose now.

You had no choice but to fight, your stubbornness making cowering and hiding not an option- if you went down, it had to happen fighting. You knew that your death would be gruesome, the feeling of the rough, splintering wood against your back and the tight press of your boots against the wall would not be the last thing you ever saw. You knew that you would be waking up again. Closing your eyes, you said a prayer- for your family. For Jack’s strength and innocence, for Abigail’s love, for John’s unwavering loyalty and for Sadie’s strength. You prayed for Dutch, prayed that despite all of his evil and wrongdoing, that he would not see you in the condition you were bound to be in. That he would not be the one to inflict the pain to come upon you.

Time slowed once again as you rose, meeting the men as they slammed open the shop door- grossly outnumbered as you had calculated. Vision blurring, you shot widely- fighting for your life as men collapsed throughout the room. The flash of gunfire and the glint of throwing knives blinded you.

Finally, you ran out of bullets. The bodies of vile, disgusting men surrounded you. The bodies of the men that had terrorized your family. As an arrow lodged itself into your unguarded chest, you felt nothing but vindication.

Blinking, the sound of dripping rang throughout your brain as your senses faltered. Slower than usual.

You couldn’t move your arms or legs.

“I can’t-” You stuttered, fidgeting and shaking, “I- can’t…I can’t move.”

No one replied, only the sounds of your unsteady breaths could be heard, each one followed by that dripping sound. The horror of the situation dawned upon you, you had been right. You had woken up.

The skinner brothers hadn’t killed you.

Your cheeks felt wet, slicken with tears and something else as you heaved and pushed against your confinements.

Boots crunched along grass then, the sound of a rolling glass bottle rung beside your head.

“Who’s going to shut her up this time then?” A misty voice spoke nearby, it was followed by a mixture of sounds, to which your brain couldn’t decipher. It almost sounded like they were fighting over who would finish you off. You continued to cry then, your brain running at a speed faster than you could manage as the pain outweighed any coherent conscience. Finally, your eyes managed to peel themselves open.

To your horror, the dripping sound was your own blood- oozing from a cut on your arm that dribbled down through your fingers and onto the gravel below. You were tied to a wooden frame, similar to what Uncle had been tied to- though the fire had not yet been lit below you. The shine of the sun above you told you that not only had it been multiple hours, but that they were saving your sacrifice for the following night. Your body adorned a number of cuts though the arrow wound within your stomach had been messily patched up.

“They’re keeping me alive.” You mouthed, your eyes flitting around your surroundings as they welled with tears. You were within tall trees- deep in the forest and past the border lines you had previously ventured towards; they were ensuring that you would not be found.

“Have you found any takers for her?”

“Hm?” A large man looked towards a smaller man only a few steps from you.

“Any takers?” the smaller man rolled his eyes, socking the larger man in the arm, “Has anyone posed any offers to purchase her?”

Your ears rung as you squeezed your eyes closed, feigning sleep as you listened in on the conversation. They were keeping you alive to sell you, they were aware of your worth as a ruthless bounty hunter. It was their job to strip you of everything you had so they could sell a bounty hunter reduced to nothing to the highest bidder- a fate potentially worse than the fate of the Skinner brothers.

Before you could squirm frantically, the larger man spoke, “We have actually- some man spotted the poster up near Manzanita Post, claims he has some personal business to settle. Hefty sum, he’ll be here within the hour.”

The younger man grinned, his molten teeth dull in the sun’s light, “Personal? Damn, she must have taken out someone close.”

The larger man hummed as they departed their posts, moving towards the larger group of men. Your heart thumped in your chest as you squirmed- using any tactic you had ever learned from your fellow outlaws to perform any attempt at escape. But all was to no avail- the Skinners knew damn well how to hold a hostage.

Closing your eyes, you laid back. Every ounce of fight that had resided within you during that initial fight had vanished. There was nothing left, you had nothing left- all you could do was wait for what came next.

“Look at this pretty lady.” A voice spoke above you soon after that thought, a Skinner with a patchy ginger beard hovered in your eye line, a menacing grin upon your face. “What are we gonna do with you?

Fellow skinners laughed as a sharp pain, a knife, punctured your side- you’d experienced stabbings before, but not in this state. You succumbed to the urge to scream, the sound tearing from your throat and laced with terror. The man grinned, twisting the knife before wrenching it out and watching as you panted through the pain.

“It’s alright Darlin’. We all have to pay penance for our actions sometimes, seeing as you killed my father and all.”

You grinned, the feeling of blood dripping from your scabbing lips pushed aside as humor filled you, “Am I supposed to know who you’re referring to?” The mans’ eyes darkened at that, though just as he went to resume his torture, a deafening shot resounded throughout the forest.

You could only watch as the man collapsed backwards, blood spraying your already coated skin in thick beads. The background noise within the camp instantly dropped, all present turning to face their attacker- though none dared to retaliate.

“For the sum I’m paying, I’d hope my investment would be in pristine condition.”

The worst of your nightmares paled in comparison to what you saw as you turned. Dutch Van Der Linde stood at the edge of camp, tall and boisterous as ever. A repeater laid pointed within his hands, complimented by black rings adorning his fingers and aimed ready for whoever dared to step forward. The black waistcoat and linen shirts had been replaced with a silk black shirt, the sleeves rolled and the top button undone in respect of the humidity of West Elizabeth. No hat laid upon his head now, his hair curling at the nape of his neck and slicked back with pomade. He looked rich, luxurious. He didn’t look like the most wanted man in America.

It seemed that his obsession with finery had never dispersed.

You heaved, grappling at the wooden frame as you hoped, prayed, and begged for any way to escape. Any route other than having to go with him. The mere sight of him invoked sickness, suffering and fear- you felt like you had regressed, all progression made dispersed at the sound of his voice.

“Sir…You are free to take her.” The larger man whimpered, despite Dutch’s smaller frame, the man lowered himself to one knee; bowing his head. You scoffed, shaking your head as tears of anguish and defeat rolled down your face.

“Free?” Dutch sneered, his lips curling as he stepped before the cowering man, “I would hope so- seeing the state of her. What am I supposed to do with her if she looks like that?”

“Of- of course, Sir.” Multiple Skinners nodded in agreement, joining in bowing before the renowned criminal mastermind.

“Good.” Dutch spoke calmly, his features void of all emotion. You shook, in fear of what was to happen. In fear of the man you had previously thought you had left behind, the man you had presumed long dead. But part of you, the long cold and dormant part that had loved him. The part of you that yearned and starved, that had dragged you on that late-night outing in the first place- it longed for him.

Before anyone could blink, fathom the possibility of Dutch’s evolved tyranny over the years- he pressed the repeater’s trigger; ending the lives of the men bent to his will with a parade of clean headshots. You were no stranger to brutality, especially not Dutch’s, but your position was significantly more vulnerable than theirs; you could do nothing but bend to Dutch’s will.

As the last bullet sounded and the last man fell, Dutch wasted no time in slinging the repeater upon his shoulder and advancing towards you. Dutch reached you then, staring down at your dwindling and shivering form. Your groggy brain registered the crease of his brow, the red lining of his eyes and the worried curl in his lips.

He composed himself quickly, a mask settling as he moved to cut open your bindings. “The man was right, what am I going to do with you Y/N?”

You faded in and out of consciousness in the back of a cart- effectively bleeding out onto what felt like boar pelts. Dutch had instructed you to hold on as he fled from the camp, leaving the Skinner’s to decompose in his wake- a fleeing devil and all. The canopy above Tall Trees swirled above you, the sun remaining high in the sky throughout the journey. It could have been minutes or hours.

“Alright Princess,” Dutch said from the driver’s speech above, refusing to look back at you, “Hold on, we’re nearly there now.”

The use of your old, long unused nickname made you recoil- Dutch had always been one for sweet remarks, but he especially favored Princess- he was the beast, you were the innocent beauty. It created the rhetoric that you were to be protected, despite the major contributions you had made towards the camp on many occasions. You had to fight to be sent on missions, Dutch would respond with cold refusal; opting to insult you brashly in order to supposedly keep you safe. At his worst, you had stormed from camp; jumping onto the back of your horse and galloping away, ignoring the pleas of the gang. It was only when you didn’t return that worry had set in, three days you had been missing- later found by Arthur near Emerald Ranch. You had later learned that Dutch had practically torn the camp and nearby settlements apart; his shirtsleeves painted in red as he had searched for you- knocking down anyone in his way.

“Don’t call me that.” You mumbled groggily, using all of your energy to deliver a retort.

“What? Princess?”

You gritted your teeth, Dutch-induced-irritation felt like home- the gritting of your teeth and press of fingernails all too familiar when in his company. As the cart halted to a stop, Dutch leaped over the back of the wagon, instantly picking you up and taking you into a nearby tent.

“Okay Y/N,” he spoke hastily, flitting around the tent as he artfully bandaged up your wounds and poured health cure down your throat, “You’re going to stay alive because even though I did get you for free in the end- I’ve put a lot on the line for this.”

The utterance of your name blindsided you, the specific phonetic variation of your name on Dutch’s lips a foreign concept to you. Though at the same time, it felt right. Like returning home. But he hadn’t changed, you told yourself. He was still rude, materialistic, and conniving. You may have been better off staying with the Skinners. As he pressed into the stab wound in your side- you felt your consciousness fading, the pain blurring your vision and eliciting shouts from your throat.

“Go to sleep,” he mumbled as you felt a hand ridden with jewels caress your hair, “We have a lot to discuss.”

When you next awoke, the hum of night surrounded you as the crackling of a fire sounded nearby. You were laid upon a pile of warm pelts, a thin cross stitch blanket laid over your frame, covering the injuries that each individually created a cold ache. The tent you laid in was a decent size, though smaller than what you had previously slept in with Dutch- it was filled with mismatched furniture; pieces that he had presumably scavenged due to the inability to show his face anywhere. A thin cloth shirt lay beside you; to which you awkwardly pulled on, careful to avoid the extent of your injuries, in favor of losing your long destroyed and stained clothes. From your position you could see a horse, the Count, strong and faithful as ever though its once pristine, shining coat was greyer with what could be presumed as turmoil and age.

Dutch filtered into your vision next, sat beside the horse and facing away from you- his back solid and strong as ever, posture perfect as he cleaned the repeater that you had only seen to inflict pain. You attempted to rise from the bed, instantly wincing as a burn resounded within your side- that gained Dutch’s attention as he spun, his features wearing a look of shock.

“Finally,” He smirked, placing the gun on the ground and rising to come and meet you, “I thought you’d never wake up Princess.”

You glared at him, both for the nickname and his forceful attempts to lay you back down, “I’m a renowned bounty hunter now, you know.”

“Oh, I know that,” A grin marred his features, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes, “I’ve seen you all over the papers- the wonderful tales of justice and empowerment. Always a great read.”

“It isn’t a fantasy story to enjoy over breakfast,” You snapped, “I’m finally doing something good with my life, going straight and working alongside the law. Not against it.”

Dutch scoffed, always the cynic in the face of accomplishment “You’re nothing but a tool to them Y/N- one wrong move, one slightly unlawful kill and you’re finished.”

You cut him off with a laugh then, scrubbing a hand against your eyes in disbelief, “You are seeing me for the first time in eight years and you are seriously giving me a lecture right now?” You paused, preparing to deliver a punch, “The public are betting on me to do it you know, to kill you.”

Dutch stood then, an unbridled rage in his eyes as he towered over you, though he only spoke two words. “You wouldn’t.”

You shrugged, smirking up at him cynically, “How would you know? We haven’t seen each other in eight years, Dutch- the last time we did see each other, you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed you?” Dutch raged, “I never betrayed you; my gun never faltered in your direction though I remember you sending a number of shots my way.”

“You killed Arthur.”

Dutch swallowed, his throat bobbing; the weight of your accusation infecting the strength of his shoulders and setting stone within his chest. He spoke slowly, each word laced with venom as spit flew from the lips, “How would you know?”

“I saw,” your voice shook with anger, “I followed him up there. I saw what you did. I saw the way he begged. I saw the way you left his body lying there. If I hadn’t been there- he would have been left behind to rot.”

“I did what had to be done.” His voice cracked, emotion tiding the way over any rational thought, “I did…what had to be done.”

Shaking your head, you turned from him; the severity of your injuries rendering you useless, unable to run. Dutch refused to move from your peripheral, his gaze heady and severe upon the back of your head. “Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Dutch paused, his fists clenched and hair falling into his eyes, the pomade long worn off, “Because, I miss you Y/N.”

“Bullshit.”

“Y/N,” Dutch was pleading now, grasping at your shoulders and arms, his hands skimming any skin he could find; the actions of a starved man, “No matter what I do, no matter where I go, who I’m with, what semblance of riches I am able to grasp- you never leave my mind,” He gulped, no stopping now, “I’ve been reading about you for years but when I saw that poster up in Manzanita Post, I went insane with worry- I thought I’d be collecting your dead body but when I saw you strung up there I felt even worse; I practically felt the pain you felt.”

“Seriously?” You spat, “You felt my pain? I was being tortured and you spin this to be about you?”

“Princess that’s not-”

“Leave it Dutch,” You growled, slapping away his encroaching hands, “You haven’t changed.”

“What was wrong with me before? I was a leader, I kept you all alive. And what do I get for that? Nothing.”

“You ruined us!” You yelled, “You ruined me! My life since leaving you has been reduced to nothing but surviving, I can’t fade into the background anymore because of the target you placed upon our backs Dutch.”

“You had a choice, you could have left whenever you wanted.”

“But, I couldn’t. Anytime I left I’d be watched like a hawk Dutch. I was finally free, but now you’ve reigned me in again.”

Dutch laughed then, a fabricated cackle as he clutched his stomach- though the grin above his face did not reach his eyes. “I saved your life, Princess.”

“My fate there would have been better than this.”

“Ah, I see.”

The two of you sat in petulant silence then, too stubborn to back down as the weight of trauma and regret outweighed any semblance of forgiveness. The stale air of silence continued for days as you recovered- Dutch would check your injuries and bring you meals whilst you were still bedbound; allowing for only small glimpses of contact as he opted to spend as much time as possible outside of the tent; favoring humidity and his horse over your company. As you recovered, you began to venture outside of the warmth of the bed- opting to explore the surrounding wilderness, ignoring Dutch’s ever watchful gaze. It seemed his possessive streak had never ended, possibly having worsened seeing as though he had the gall to stroll into the camp of some of the most ruthless killers in the state.

In your solitude, you thought of home. You thought of your little bedroom in Beecher’s Hope, a place you could finally call your own. You thought of the family dinners you were missing; Abigail’s horrendous cooking feeling like a distant memory as you ate only scavenged animal meat and local berries. You thought of nighttime bonfires, morning coffee and the glow of the sun upon the crops during the afternoons; sweat congregating at your forehead as you had earned your keep. You missed home, you missed home like you had once missed Dutch.

The knowledge that you couldn’t have both was heartbreaking- serenity and Dutch was not an amicable match. Dutch only brought destruction and suffering; you hadn’t spoken properly in days due to his inability to see the point of others, his leading mindset never faltering. Dutch could simply never be a part of a family. You glanced over at him from your perch then, watched as he brushed down The Count; taking care to smooth down its hair and whisper sweet nothings into its ear.

Everytime he acted contrary to his real self you felt your heart shatter.

You stood then, unable to bear the weight of loaded silence any longer. “I spotted a river down the hill, I’m going to go and wash myself down.”

Dutch paused, seemingly shocked by the sound of your voice, “I’ll join you.”

“Dutch-”

“No, Y/N.” Dutch spoke firmly, raising a hand towards you, “Your injuries are too severe, if you slip and open up your side, your death will be in my hands.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him and sauntered down the hill; listening as his footsteps followed. The silence continued as you walked, all too aware that you would have to remove at least some articles of clothing before him. It was nothing he’d never seen before of course, but it had been years since a man had seen your body in that way- you couldn’t account for your actions if his heated gaze met yours after so long.

“Turn around.”

Dutch grinned, turning slowly with his hands on his hips, “It’s nothing I’ve never seen before, Princess.”

You knew he would say that. You merely scoffed in reply.

As you stripped, you became too aware of the sensitivity of your injuries; the ache in your shoulder, the sting in your stomach and the pain in your side. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Dutch called, back still turned.

“I don’t-” You screwed your eyes shut, dreading what was to come, “I don’t think I can wash myself.”

“Okay,” Dutch spoke slowly, turning though his eyes remained closed, “Do you want me to help you?”

Gulping, you nodded frantically, “Yes.” You spoke hastily- terrified that if you didn’t respond quick enough then the moment would be over. Part of you felt disgusted at yourself, disgusted at your lack of resistance towards the man that had broken your heart. But, the other part of you felt thrilled; electrified, brought back to life at the thought of him truly touching your skin again. Rolling back his shirt sleeves, he approached; his uncaring facade refusing to break as he helped you peel your shirt from your arms, instantly exposing your bare breasts as you had foregone upper undergarments in favor of allowing your injuries to heal. You gulped, refusing to look at him as he moved to unbutton your pants, stifling groans as you felt the linen brush over a sore spot. He shushed you comfortingly, discarding your pants to the side. Beads of sweat had formed at the base of his temple.

He began to lower you into the cool tide then, cupping water within his palm and pouring it onto your head; shushing you soothingly as he did so. His finger constantly skimmed your body- the edges of your breasts, the inside of your thighs, the corners of your mouth. Your lips pursed as you stared up into his eyes; to which he resolutely stared back, the mask finally breaking. He could’ve done anything to you in that moment- pinned you down beneath the water, stolen your last breaths.

You dwelled on whether that would be the case if anyone other than you laid within his arms.

“Dutch,” you gulped, your throat running dry as you attempted to voice your feelings, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your voice came out as a whisper.

Dutch blinked at you, his finger tracing a path down the side of your face- his voice croaked as he spoke, half-speaking half-groaning, “Princess.” The sound of his resistance breaking was mesmerizing and you laid compliantly as his finger began to circle your nipple; creating goosebumps in its wake.

“Tell me to stop, Y/N.”

“I- I can’t.” Your head spun as he moved his hand downwards, holding you steady as he reached down to swirl a ringed finger around your clit. The feeling of the stark cold of the ring matched with the heat of his skin elicited a guttural moan, your eyes rolling backwards as he began to pleasure you. His throat bobbed as he stared down at you, his eyes darkening and intense as he watched you break apart, a familiar mirage of the past. The semblance of a woman could break even the strongest of men.

You broke entirely, gripping Dutch’s hair and smashing your faces together; drenching his shirt in water and kissing him messily. His tongue dove into your mouth as he pinned your face against his own with his free hand, continuing his ministrations upon your clit. You groaned into his mouth, working at the sopping buttons of his shirt. You were all too accustomed to his rough nature during intimacy, often opting to pin you down and clutch your hair over soft, sweet actions. You had cared in the past, but now you couldn’t, opting to claw at his back and hair; scratching his scalp and drawing lines down his back.

Just as you reached for his pants, he stopped; pulling away with swollen lips and ruffled, wet hair- “I’m sorry Darling, we can’t do this here,” he breathed, moving his hand upwards to cup at your breast, “Let’s get you up to my tent and then we can continue.”

You shook your head, eyes pleading and begging, “We can do it on the shoreline, please we can’t stop now.” You knew that if you stopped, you wouldn’t be able to continue; the disgust and horror would set in. Dutch nodded reluctantly, a tinge of suspicion lingering in his eyes. You stumbled out of the water; collapsing together as you hastily pulled his pants from his body before lowering yourself onto his cock. He groaned huskily, his hands flying to your hips as he threw his head back. He had been craving this.

As you rocked and rolled together- you knew that this couldn't happen again. Dutch Van Der Linde was not safe- you could not let him enter your sphere any further. You moaned and cried and whimpered- relishing every last touch and taste and feeling. The sweat congregating between your bodies was slick and hot- connecting every last fiber of skin.

This couldn’t happen again, you told yourself, this couldn’t happen again.

Afterwards, you laid together at the shoreline- naked and bare to the forest as you laid in Dutch’s arms. He told you stories- stories of his time on the run, moments where he thought of you, moments where he caught glimpses of you in the paper, glimpses of you told in the fireside tales of other outlaws. You laughed, smiled, complied- gave him exactly what he wanted- you told him stories of the gang; neglecting important details though providing him with the skeletons of true stories. He too smiled, his lips curling genuinely as he placed a kiss into your hair.

Just before sleep overruled him, he informed you of his plan. His plan for the two of you, how you would travel together in his wagon; find a farmhouse and make a living there. You smiled, agreeing.

But it was the life you already had.

When dawn hit, you crawled out of his arms; allowing yourself one last look before you fled- into the dangers of Tall Trees and the semblance of home that lay just past it. You had to return to your family.

#dutch van der linde #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde fanfiction

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vanderlesbian · 1 year ago

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daughter of a cop

arthur morgan x fem reader

now playing: daughter of a cop - tv girl

— a short fic inspired by the tv girl song! this is my first actual piece of writing on this blog so i hope you guys enjoy it <3 i think i have a ghost fic planned that ill start working on soon :) (it may or may not be based off a mitski song)

warnings: slight suggestive content/references

masterlist

saint denis was the epitomy of growing industrialization. factories, tight neighborhoods, trolleys that didn't seem to care if someone was crossing the pavement, and most importantly; police. it wasn't a place for a man like arthur morgan to be lingering around, and he knew it. he didn't enjoy the city, anyways. it was congested, and there were far too many rules for an outlaw like him to follow. the constant glares from men in blue uniforms and silly hats irritated him—this was nothing like the west he was used to.

however, within saint denis, there was a spot where the police didn't go. a small saloon hidden within a maze of an alley way, disguised by the neighborhood homes that surrounded it, making it appear as just another residence. it was a place that arthur frequented, but not for any reasons that his fellow outlaws would think. he didn't go to gather intel, nor did he go to have chats with dutch. no, he went because of one thing. or, perhaps one person.

he went because of a woman.

he would never admit it to the others, for several reasons. one, he was simply just embarrassed over it all, but two, she was a woman of higher class. a young woman who wore a new dress each time he saw her, with her manners being rather formal compared to the sloppy outlaw, yet she never found his habits strange or uncivilized.

that woman was you, and you were nothing other than the daughter of a cop.

it was obvious that you liked arthur. from the way you let your hand linger on his bicep each time he made a silly remark, to always hushing him when he began to talk bad of himself, telling him that he was handsome and kind. though, arthur refused to believe that was the case. he tried not to show his own affection and often wrote notes to himself in his journal that he would never meet up with you again, but time and time again he made his way into that saloon, eyes searching for you in the crowd of other outlaws. he would curse himself for coming again, but all of his anxieties were eased the moment he saw you push through the saloon doors.

you stuck out like a sore thumb—or, to put in nicer words as arthur thought he should, perhaps a daisy in a field of clovers? the moon on a clear night? arthur crossed out several made up metaphors in his journal. whatever the metaphor was, you were different from the outlaw men that frequented the hidden saloon. you were full of life, clean, unscathed, and rather innocent. arthur noted the way your eyes widened each time he told you a story about his many days of being what he called "a bad man", and how you would bring a hand to your mouth as it fell into an 'o' shape from pure shock and surprise.

though, you were never scared of him, and that's something that arthur also took note of. you held some level of empathy for outlaws, for ones that come from challenging backgrounds. you had met arthur because he had saved you from a couple of strange men, and immediately you knew that he was a kind man. there was something about him that intrigued you, aside from the fact that you found him to be attractive, and you had made it your goal to get to know him.

"i know a place where the cops don't go." you had told him. before he could say anything, you grabbed his wrist and led him through that maze of alleys, leading him to the saloon that became your special spot.

"how do you know this place?" he had asked you the day you first took him. you simply shrugged and held a hushing finger to your lips. he chuckled, and you felt your cheeks grow hot.

eventually you had told him that you were the daughter of a police man. you expected him to get upset at that fact—and he did, but it wasn't anything serious. he furrowed his brows and questioned in a low voice if you were in on some kind of ploy to catch him, to which you sincerely told him that it was nothing of that sort. your father wasn't even aware of the fact that you were seeing this man with a five thousand dollar bounty hanging above his head. arthur didn't grow as upset as you expected him to because deep within himself, he had already trusted you. it was more of a natural instinct to grow suspicious of you, but immediately felt eased the moment you placed your hand on his knee and told him that you weren't working for your father.

so, arthur continued to visit you. he waited for your letters at his camp, and he also kept each one. the other members of the gang would raise eyebrows at the mysterious parcels, to which arthur would always bashfully shrug off with a "it ain't none of your business" before riding his horse into saint denis. what was originally one visit maybe every three weeks became one visit every week, then two, then the both of you simply began to walk into the saloon any time you felt like it in hopes of seeing the other already there.

both of you knew it was risky, yet neither of you cared. your father began to question where you were going, to which you always had an elaborate excuse. dutch would question why arthur was in saint denis so often, and he would reply with some half thought out lie that made dutch raise an eyebrow in return, but ultimately shrugged off. the two of you had even began spending time outside of the saloon, out in the open streets of saint denis. arthur was rather hesitant about it all, not wanting you to be seen with a man like himself, yet you insisted.

you took arthur to your favorite spots around saint denis; gardens and parks where you sat along the edge of a pond, and to theatres where you would watch whatever event was on that evening. accidental faint brushes of finger tips had become full blown hand holding, and each time before you would hop on the trolley to depart, you would place a kiss on the stubble growing on his cheek. it was this strange stage between the both of you, one where neither of you had admitted your feelings simply because both of you were afraid of the differences in your life, yet the feeling of his lips against yours was no longer a foreign feeling, and it simply kept growing.

perhaps it was just the both of you being eager and needy, but there were several instances where you had found yourself pressed against the wall of an alley way with arthur's large, calloused hands snaking up the skirt of your dress and running along the bare skin of your thighs. privacy hardly existed within the city which cornered you into sometimes uncomfortable spots, yet you couldn't ride out on the back of arthur's horse, especially with the increased questioning from your father. the blindness of the love you were experiencing with this outlaw had completely shrouded you from the fact that your father had begun investigating your whereabouts—not until the police had barged into that saloon that had stayed hidden for so long.

you saw your father among the uniformed men, making eye contact with his furious gaze. you were the one who had grabbed arthur and ran with him out the back door of the saloon, starting a chase that was probably much bigger than it should've been. arthur had called you insane as the two of you snuck through nooks and crannies in an attempt to make it back to his horse, but there was an obvious hint of amusement in his voice as he said it. you were a woman completely separated from the world of outlaws, yet you were a natural escape artist.

eventually making it to arthur's horse, the two of you attempted to flee the city. the adrenaline was something you had never felt before, and you could hear arthur's thumping heartbeat as your ear pressed against his back while you held onto him. the police held no guns upon your father's instructions, insisting that they capture arthur alive and keep you unharmed. though, their numbers quickly increased, and you began to see the concern growing in arthur's expression.

while guiding him through the streets, arthur suddenly took a different turn than what you had told him. the feeling of his horse coming to a sudden halt made you gasp, and you hardly had time to process as he dismounted his horse and held his arms out to help you off.

"come on." he told you, eyes glancing to the side to check for signs of the law. "you ain't coming with me."

stubbornly, you refused. it wasn't until the sounds of whistles began growing closer that you saw genuine concern in arthur's face, and you hopped off the horse into his arms without a word. however, when you peered back up at him, arthur was smiling; a smile that looked as if he were holding back a chuckle.

"you are one crazy woman." he told you in a hushed tone, lifting his worn hat from his head and placing it on yours before letting you go. "now get on out of here, you shouldn't be caught up in all this."

you immediately knew his hat was a sign from him telling you that he would see you again. it was too big for your own head and blocked your eyes from seeing his horse gallop away, but when you lifted it to look, the law was racing down a nearby street with arthur nowhere to be seen. a large smile spread across your face, and you couldn't help but giggle to yourself as you disappeared into the alleys between buildings, taking a complex path back home to avoid detection.

needless to say, your father wasn't pleased when he came home to you innocently prepping tea for yourself. you didn't listen to his nagging words; something about uncivilized people, chaos and getting involved with the wrong kind. however, your interest was finally piqued when you heard that arthur had been arrested.

"it wasn't his fault." you immediately told the man, forgetting about the boiling kettle. your father scoffed, but you continued to tell him that you were the one who made arthur flee. though, he didn't budge, raising his voice as he nagged you for getting involved with such a dangerous man.

the word 'dangerous' seemed to strike something within you, because you had yelled back that arthur had saved you. that evening, those two strange men, the way arthur held your shoulders and reassured you that you were alright; there was nothing dangerous about him in your eyes. you saw your father's expression lose it's anger, and it seemed that was when he noticed arthur's hat sitting loosely upon your head.

"what's that?" he asked, pointing at the tattered leather hat.

you shrugged. "a gift from a dangerous man."

arthur had stayed in the saint denis jail for two days. what he thought was his fellow gang members coming to bust him out ended up being you, a soft smile on your lips as you wrapped your fingers around the metal bars of the jail cell. his hat still sat on your head, making arthur chuckle at the sight of you.

"did you think i was going to leave you in a cell to rot?" you giggled, allowing space for a law man to unlock arthur's cell.

"thought i was gonna have to use other means to get out of here." arthur replied in an amused tone as he stood up from the metal slab that the jail called a bed. the law man cocked an eyebrow, to which arthur raised his hands in defense. "kidding, of course."

your father waited at the jail entrance, arms crossed and a dismissive look sprawled on his face. he was the one that had told the law men to set arthur free, you explained. arthur seemed rather flustered at that information; he didn't want to thank a cop. he figured a nod of the head was enough of an acknowledgement, though it only earned a cold glare from the older man.

"how the hell did you get that bastard—" he cleared his throat. "apologies, that fine man to let me out?" arthur questioned as the two of you left the jail. you playfully hit his arm at the comment, then shrugged your shoulders.

"i was honest. told him you saved me." you answered, lifting the hat from your head and placing it back onto it's owner. you brushed a strand of arthur's long blonde hair from his face and smiled. "there ya go, cowboy."

arthur rolled his eyes, tipping his hat downwards before replying. "you know, i enjoyed that little chase of ours." he told you, holding out his arm for you to link yours with. neither of you knew where you were headed off to; you simply strolled down the street as if nothing had happened. "but don't think about doin' something that stupid again."

"i did too, actually." you then admit with a chuckle, somewhat ignoring his nagging. "it makes things fun."

after the events of that rather chaotic day, your father agreed to leave that hidden saloon alone upon your pleading requests, and it once again became your favorite spot to frequent with arthur. the two of you did earn a bit more freedom to roam saint denis and it's outskirts, allowing the two of you to enjoy some privacy, and eventually express your true feelings for one another. however, there continued to be close encounters with the law every now and then simply because of arthur's antics with his rowdy gang, but it always ended in silly laughter and breathless kisses from running so much.

arthur wrote many things about you in his journal, mindlessly sketching portraits of you next to entries about how you enjoyed sneaking around the city after dark and running errands with him whenever possible. though, at the end of his entry, there was a phrase scribbled in his neat cursive:

she was the daughter of a cop.

#music is my biggest fic inspiration lol #arthur morgan #x reader #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #fluff #dutch van der linde #charles smith #john marston #fem reader #tv girl #imagine #oneshot

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amrass · 1 year ago

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RDR2 fanfic recommendations

I began this a month ago, then posted days ago, then realized marking posts as private makes me the only one who's can see them. Huh! So, I repost!

This is a spotlight with a handful of Ao3 RDR2 fanfics I enjoy. I got specific tastes, so this list has lots of Micah, and everything from gen fics to dead doves, randomly ordered. Please consider checking these out and give the writers some love. Chances are you have read a few already, but hey, you might find something new.

My Country has no Borders by Spacehat

You know the rare moment when a fic is so good it satisfies your whole need for a pairing or a character? Whenever I wanna read about Dutch, Hosea, a young Arthur, and Vandermorgan, I read this and boom, satisfaction. Literary level writing, masterful nonlinear time frame, and a spot on character analysis of Dutch.

Wagers of Sin by Spacehat

The first Morbell fic I read that made me go hallelujah. Power bottom Micah, confident and mischievous, a well endowed and hard ass Arthur. The humor and the smut work so well together, the banter is excellent, and it's less dark than MChnB, for a lighter taste. Many of my Morbell headcanons are from here, so if you like my work, you might like this, though I consider the style better than mine.

The Mule by jenny_of_oldstones

Funny oneshot with crack elements, about a race between Arthur on his trusty mule Rooster vs Micah on Baylock. A very good take on Lenny, intelligent and witty, potentially the future leader of the gang. Arthur is funny and cute. Micah is an asshole, and awful fun.

Vengeance is Hereby Mine by Delta_Meow

Crossovers do not get the attention they deserve, and this can be read without having seen the Dollars Trilogy (specifically A Few Dollars More, my personal favorite). There are three very strong leads - Arthur, Manco and Mortimer - with interesting relationships between each other, heaps of sexual tension, extensive horse knowledge, action, drama and a little American serial killer folklore! Also Micah owns the chapter he is in - very evil, very nice.

Red Dead Stuart Little AU by SourApplechips

This is a super cute and funny series, containing fics with the "everything is the same except one thing"; Micah is a rat, and John is a squirrel. There is an animated writing style that lends itself well to humor, a good eye for detail, a good grip on action and banter. I still seek these out when I am having a bad day. Also, it is interesting to note the connection between humor and horror, here: the writer masters both, which require a sense of timing and tension.

Here is a trio of dark fics within Morbell pairing, which are short or in their beginning, all ongoing. A lot of people only read complete fics, but supporting a writer in their journey can be so meaningful, so please give these a try: The World by SourApplechips (good take on the horror genre, top notch gore, excellent scenery details), Kindling Play by ohcmonjustdont (mythological, deeply poetic, and damn hot smut) and Idiotic Bull by zzzzzz01 (coiling dialogue and a good mix of violence and sensuality). I will not compare, but will rather point them out within a context of what honestly feels like a renaissance of Micah content. The characters feel like outlaws, the landscape - so clear in the game - is so present but conveyed differently, overall it is nice to see three unique voices emerge around the same time.

Nailed Her Pretty Good by SadomasochismTango

An unusual take on a Micah x random bathing girl fic, written from his perspective as an unreliable narrator with a strong dick game, making this deliciously dubious, but also is an excellent character study of him. This might be the piece on this list where the reader best feels Micah's age. He feels like a confident, creepy, forty year old outlaw. Also, the writer is a confirmed Tom Lehrer fan! Great!!!

Home in Damnation by SadomasochismTango

This is might be the darkest story on this list, so I'm hiding it at the bottom. This contains non-descriptive forced noncon incest in the Bell family, between grandfather and grandson. Still, this is tastefully done, direct but not crude, mixing extreme emotions beautifully. This is my favorite fanfic about Micah because it is so well written. If you can stomach the warnings I cannot recommend this enough.

(PS: If a writer for ever which reason wants me to remove their work from here, I will do it no questions asked and with no bad feelings. I think most authors are okay with being recommended, but it is completely okay not to be!)

#amras writes #amras recommends

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brenda0ng · 9 months ago

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Consistency is Key

“Beer is all marketing. People don’t drink beer, they drink marketing." (Michael Foley, Heineken USA Inc. CEO, from 1994-1999)

The Corona-Heineken rivalry is a case study on the importance of consistency in brand communications, especially when brand associations take a long time to build up.

Corona has always tried to conjure up “Fun, Sun, Beach” for its brand. This was built from its consumers experiences with the brand, usually on vacation in Mexico and enjoying the light beer in the sun and on the beach. When people grab a beer, it is usually in a setting where they want to kick back and relax, and be transported away to more relaxed times, so Corona’s brand fits with this consumer need - think about the conversations around the Corona as well, where consumers can start chatting about their fun times and wild experiences (there are bound to be a few) in Mexico, becoming the perfect social lubricant. Corona is also exported to other markets in its authentic Mexican form, so the consistent packaging draws the same emotional association with the relaxing Mexican holiday for the consumer. The added advantage for Corona was that its innovative brewing process eliminated the oxidative effect, more consistently preserving the taste of Corona to consumers as they remember on that sunny beach in Mexico. Advertising content and taglines (‘Change your latitude’ in 1994, ‘Find your beach’ in 2010s) and tie-ups with celebrities that embody the “party” like Jimmy Buffett in its early days to Snoop Dogg more recently, remain faithful to that initial branding vision, allowing the positive brand associations as a premium Mexican beer, to be cemented in consumers minds over time. From its advertising, product look, taste to price in global markets, Corona has executed high consistency in the way its beer is marketed, to guarantee that a strong positive cognitive association to the positive holiday is ingrained in consumers over time. They have also chosen a niche association that is difficult to replicate.

Contrast this to Heineken, where we have a Dutch pilsner in a green bottle. The oxidative effect can cause a sulphurous taste, which commonly leads to a “skunky beer” when left for too long. It is traditionally viewed as a premium beer, associated with quality, heritage and sophistication - but this also happens to be the same values that many foreign imported beer brands also focus on building - meaning that the association to quality can be easily replaced by many other competitor beers as well, those coming from heritage, European type brands, as with many brands under another competitor brewer, Anheuser-Busch. In the 1990s, the changing demographics in the US saw the population in Southern and Western US outpace that in the Northeast and Midwest, alongside the growth of the Hispanic population exceeding that of other ethnic groups. Heineken’s advertising strategy through the 1980s-90s focused on product quality, but this was not necessarily the desired value in the beer that they’re young consumers that they were trying to attract - the conversation revolving around the Heineken would be very different; you are less likely to hear younger consumers waxing poetic about the quality of the Dutch pilsner or the Van Gogh museum they visited in the Netherlands. Heineken also changed its packaging in the mid-90s in the US, and its “personality”, trying to introduce humour to the brand, but this ran the risk of deviating from the values that drew its core customers to it. This switch also requires Heineken to have to rebuild brand associations again.

Through consistency in brand communications, Corona has now overtaken Heineken as the 2nd leading imported beer brand in the US in 2022 (Source: Statista). The Top beer brand, Modelo Especial, is also owned by Grupo Modelo - also a reflection of their patient brand-building that tapped into the American love of sports with associations of a “fighting spirit”.

#MITSloanBranding2024A #Heineken #Corona #ProfessorGosling #@desirepep

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taohs · 1 year ago

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I'll try making one post at a time instead of multiple posts now. I did that because I thought sending the second messages about the character trivia may be easier for me. But, either way, my messages are too longer for people to keep up with all the time.. From what a lot of people have mentioned me before.

So.. The closest I could see as a happy ending for a series like Black Lagoon would be more of content ending. Like where everyone is alive, with their own found family, content with how their lives are now. But that also depends on what path the creator will take for the story, the characters, everything for the events leading to the end. Because I could see a lot of different outcomes happening right now.

And it seems you have similar views to me about the story and the characters. So that's good for me.

If there is some possibility of an outcome where Rock does take over Roanapur as the only leader in control.. How would that happen. He's intelligent in a lot of ways, he's also persuasive and manipulative - depending on the situation. But the only people in these situation who are the Lagoon Company, and I will say that Revy is the only one out of the group who's willing to risk her life for Rock compared to Dutch and Benny when it involves more dangerous situations (like in the Roberta's Blood Trail arc). Not that they wouldn't help Rock. But, in extreme types of situations, it's usually Revy saving Rock than any other person. So Revy would be Rock's right hand man, well, woman if Rock did decide to take control of Roanapur. But not really anyone else. Unless he's able to convince people to make that happen. But I still can't see that happening either. I don't know.

Children and teenagers have crushes on people who are then them. But it's a completely different situation to act that way, in that situation, in front of everyone to witness too. And I have already said this a lot of times now.. I hope nothing else like that happens in whichever relationship they have. I don't know if Roberta, Garcia or Fabiola will come back in to the story anymore. But if they do, hopefully none of that will happen between them. No more of that.

I never care about relationships. If you and your partner are consenting adults, then everything is between you and whoever you decide to be with. But I cross the line when much younger people (or characters) are involved in relationships. I'm completely against pedophilia and beastiality in every way. That is definitely where I draw the line. Between their ages and power dynamics.. Just no.

Yes. I'm overly critical about details, I'm considered a perfectionist over details other people do not care about. Which is fair. And depending on the series, it might be so difficult for certain things to translation in live adaptions that I feel like they shouldn't waste their time and money on any live adaption. But that is just my opinion. If people do enjoy live adaptions, then they can enjoy the series. I'm never one to ever harass people over their preferences. That's just me though. I'm rarely ever into live adaption versions.

If I do decide to post about any ideas fancasts, then I'll just post one at a time. And only post the people and characters that I've already figured out, since it would be even easier to do. And for the characters I have complications with.. I will only post them if or when I have them figured out. Because I don't want to force myself over an interesting idea that should be considered fun, not stressful. In my opinion. So I might do that soon. But, if it possibly helps you feel better, I imagine the same woman as Balalaika and Olivier Mira Armstrong. Since they're similar characters.

Dutch is a character who has a more calming personality about him than other characters in this series. Maybe his personality makes him seem a lot younger? His personality is old and young at the same time. So I can see why figuring out his age is a bit difficult for people to guesstimate. Maybe that is a detail we'll figure out during his backstory then.

I imagine Garcia's age between 12-14, Fabiola age is between 15-17. Until their ages are mention to fans.

The creator has done artwork of characters celebrating. But the artwork is for celebratory reasons, not really for birthday reasons.

Some other minor trivia about characters again.

Revy's real name is Rebecca Lee.

Obviously this detail was altered in the anime for copyright reasons. But, in the manga, Revy's music preference are of the rock and metal genres. Which you might know that now after reading the manga.

Revy dropped out of school at a young age.

Balalaika's real name is Sofia Pavlovna Irinoskaya or Sofia Irinoskaya Pavlovna, since there are fans who disagree on the order of her name. Because of her name being of Russian origin.

Frederica Sawyer was inspirated by Leatherface of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise. So that is why her surname is Sawyer, and her weapon is also a chainsaw. There's even speculation about why her character is mute, but that's not confirmed either.

Eda's real name is Edith Blackwater.

Eda was a cheerleader in high school.

In Yolanda's younger age, she appeared to look like Marilyn Monroe. You saw her appearance in the one ova season.

I know conversing with people over a screen is very different than face to face. But as a disabled person though, autism is one of my conditions, I've had my fair share of people tell me I'm a cunt just because I have an abrasive way of speaking. It doesn't bother me. But apparently they say I have this rude way of communicating. So that could be a warning for you.

I might have another series recommendation for you. Gangsta. is another series that has a similar concept to Black Lagoon, these criminals from a diverse background. The story and characters are also graphic as a fair warning, like Black Lagoon is. A lot of strong male and female characters.

I'm not saying you have to get into this series now. Or at all if you don't want. The creator of the series is a woman. And, because of how severe her health is, she only works on the series whenever she can. So the series tends to go on hiatus for extensive periods of time. But the series is also underrated like Black Lagoon so a part of me wanted to kind of recommend this series too.

There is only eight novels right now. And the company who created the anime went bankrupt after the first since so I doubt the anime would ever continue. Fans are hopefully for more anime, but all of us are doubtful about it. And hopefully the manga also continues.

So getting into this series is completely up to you. But I still wanted to recommend the series anyway.

- 💋

do whatever makes it easier for you, either way i wouldn't mind and i love reading all of your messages <3 i agree with your take on that kind of happy ending for black lagoon. i definitely would prefer it over an angsty or bittersweet one because i just love happy endings in general. i think roberta so far is the only one to have a "happy" ending despite everything she went through, because she seems content with where her future is taking her, whereas the other characters are still going along their own path. it will most likely take a long while though before we reach any conclusion

yes! revy has shown time and time again that she is willing to be rock's gun and protect him. though i'm not sure to what extent she'll keep protecting him, since revy wants rock to stay as her light, and him becoming a leader of roanapur will probably send him to the dark instead. i don't see dutch and benny being willing to go as far as revy would. they're all friends, but dutch and benny would probably put their own well-being first over rock's in the end. especially if they can't benefit from his choices. he might be able to recruit a few more loyal guards to protect him, but i still can't see him going against hotel moscow or the hong kong triad

ohh i'm definitely interested in your fancasts, but take it at your own pace whenever you want to! i want it to be fun and not stressful <3 i can definitely see balalaika and olivier being played by the same woman. they're both gorgeous and so strong

i love reading those minor trivia. were they all from the novels? especially with facts like balalaika's real name, since i don't recall them saying it in the manga or anime. i knew young yolanda looked a little familiar! i didn't even realize it could've been inspired by marilyn monroe

i've heard a little bit about gangsta before. i'll put it onto my list to start on someday. right now i'm prioritizing black clover so i'll see when i'll be able to finish that. i'm really enjoying it so far, and the black bulls are such a fun group of cast. thank you for the recommendation!!

#answered #💋 anon

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teenageread · 2 years ago

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Review: Miss Newbury’s List

Synopsis:

England, 1820

Rosalind Newbury loves her family and wants nothing more than to add to their legacy. So when an opportunity arises to marry a duke—a dream come true for her family—despite hardly knowing him, she quickly agrees.

But after rediscovering a childhood wish list, Ros realizes that she has dreams of her own and little time left to fulfill them. She recruits her dearest friend Liza and subsequently Liza’s handsome but wayward cousin Charlie—a gentleman turned rugged boxer—to help her complete her list before her wedding.

From boxing lessons to buried treasure, Charlie helps Ros experience a life and love that she’d never dreamed possible. Soon, Ros is faced with the very decision she’s been running from—to save her family’s future or her own.

Plot:

Rosalind Newbury was getting every girl, and every parent, dream - she is marrying the Duke. This adds huge economical advantages to her family, as they move up in social status as she will become the Duchess of Marlow, and bear the Duke’s heirs. Where she spends her days busily getting ready for her wedding, and being the best Dutches she can be, Ros cannot get out of her mind the list her Aunt Alice had. Aunt Alice, before her wedding, completed a list of items she wanted to do as an unmarried girl to make her life complete before the new chapter. Doing the same, Ros decides weeks before her wedding bell to complete the list of ten items younger Ros thought she would need to be whole. A list that she has recruited her best friend Liza, and her cousin, Charlie, to help. Some of these list items are easy, like painting a self-portrait, and going on one last adventure with her younger brother Ben. Others are more challenging like learning to swim and un-lady-like of eating all the sweets she can in one sitting. Where Liza is not totally game for the entire list, Charlie is, and despite his rough past, Ros and he become close friends. With every day with Charlie feeling like a breath of fresh air, Ros begins to realize how much she actually does not know the Duke, and how unhappy she could be in this marriage. When her relationship with Charlie stays friendly, but with hints of there could be more, Ros has to follow Aunt Alice’s advance and take her own happiness into her hands. In the hope to find true love after all.

Thoughts:

Megan Walker writes this proper friendship-to-lovers story as Ros falls in love with Charlie, and has to break up her marriage to the Duke to save her heart. With a fast plot and easy writing, Walker writes this clean content story for all readers, who want to enjoy a passionate romance and escapism into 19th century England. Ros is a fun and remarkable character. Her humor, recklessness, and her wanting to live a fun life, make her connectable, and a true character to root for. Charlie was also a likable character, with a past that he wanted to be better than, humor, having a willingness to help out, and how he loved Ros even for all her un-lady-like characters. One of the main plot drivers is Ros's completion of her list before she marries the Duke. This fun concept has our young adults doing the things that child Ros wanted to be before her big day, which is why some were strange like eating all the sweets, and others more wholesome like one last adventure with Ben. What I hated about the list is that Walker gave it to us all at once, whereas a chapter-by-chapter reveal could have been more entertaining. The second was that the majority of the list was boring items, that even Walker skipped through to get to the more exciting ones. I feel like, even as a child, Ros had grander wishes than to paint a self-portrait, and we should have had a few more actions, one that was reading about Ros writing in her diary. For side characters, Ben and Liza added some flair to the story, but generally, Walker focuses on Charlie and Ros, and their friendship turned into a relationship throughout the story. Overall, a proper romance to add to your shelf, if you are down for some friends to lovers, as Ros completes her marriage list only to realize she is ready to marry the person she is, currently, not engaged with.

Read more reviews: Goodreads

Buy the book: Amazon

#Miss Newbury's List #Megan Walker #book review

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luvliewriting · 2 years ago

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❦Rdr What Are They Like In Bed?❦

❦18+ MDNI❦

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!!, the reader is afab but if you want an amab let me know

Note: Please have your age somewhere visible on your profile before reading this. If you are a minor please don't consume this content (I am not responsible for any damage this may do to your young brain)

Minors please block tag Luvlie18 or I will block you

I tried to do as many characters I could think of, even some that I've said I won't write for (except Micah, Micah can die a virgin)

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Arthur Morgan

He's 100% a giver, all throughout and very big on praise. I mean he isn't gonna turn down if you want to suck on him but if he had the choice, he would spend his days content and happy between your legs. He just loves to pepper kisses against your body and your tits while his fingers are deep inside of you, watching you moan and squeeze around his fingers as you get close. He loves more teasing the tip of his dick against your hole, just barely going in as he whispers in your ear, "you gonna be a good girl? Do you deserve this?" Of course, he can't keep his hands off of you so even when he's teasing you and trying to edge you as long as he can go, to take his time with you, it will always end with your body pressed against his, words of praise spewing from his lips and him emptying his load into you. One of his biggest no's is degrading though, he hates degrading you while enjoying your body, he'd rather be telling you everything he loves about your body and how good you feel around him

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Dutch Van Der Linde

Unlike Arthur though, Dutch is big on degrading and loves to receive. I mean he won't ask for it and he loves to give as well, he just likes a healthy balance of the two; sometimes at the same time if you're comfortable with it. Super big on cockwarming, especially while he's trying to read so its a healthy mixture of him getting to enjoy a nice book as well as a nice warm hole. Another one of his favourite things to do is have you in front of him in the mirror, have you watch yourself in anticipation while he plays with you, his hand squeezing a little more and more on your throat the closer you get to your finish. Of course, if you had a bad day, he has no problems being slow and taking his time to enjoy you. He's the perfect balance of gentle and rough. Although one of his biggest no's is anything to do with knives or guns, it's not that he isn't confident that he won't hurt you, its more he doesn't like the fear in your ears even if its all an act

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Hosea Matthews

Where do I even start with this man? You would think with his age, Hosea would be a little rusty but you would be wrong; he's actually very skilled with your body and knowing exactly what you need and where you need it. He is an absolute fan of cockwarming and it doesn't even have to be sexual, just the thought of getting to hold you so close to him and in such a vunerable but romantic manner just makes him so happy. Although he isn't opposed to having you on his lap with his dick inside of you and just suddenly thrust his hips up to hear the small moans you make with each thrust into your pussy. He absolutely hates anything that's too quick, he enjoys to take his time. His absolute no is quickies, he prefers to spend hours just enjoying you

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John Marston

Boy my god is this man crazy when it comes to dirty talk and degrading, I mean if you need praise he's happy to do that but this man can degreade and dirty talk till the cows come home. While Arthur is a fan of finishing inside of you, John prefers to finish on you, painting your skin white in his cum just to watch you scoop it with your finger and stick it into your mouth. He can and will eat you out for as long as he wants, even when you've finished over and over, he's not stopping till he's happy. He loves to wrap his tongue around your clit and do tiny circles against it, his fingers exploring ever inch inside of your person while your fingers tug tightly on his hair. He even loves eating you out more while you're on the other side of him, his dick hitting the back of your throat. His biggest no however is anything that requires him hurting you such as slapping

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Abigail Marston

She's not a very touchy person, especially after Jack was born, she didn't spend much time with you in bed. Abigail has had her fair share of being treated like a sex toy and she doesn't want that with you. She wants to be cared for, tendered, she wants to be held against you and feel you absolutely love her. Sex at the shortest can last an hour, the longest you two have gone is seven hours. She's like Hosea, she hates anything that is quick. If you wanna take control of her than she's happen to give you the leash, she doesn't mind laying back and feeling your lips against her; on her neck is where she's most sensitive. But if you want to have her take control, she also loves that. She loves to have your hands smooth through her hair and your grip tightening on her hips the closer you get while you two are rubbing yourself against her scissoring. Of course she hates anything that's too quick but another one of her pet peeves is being fingered, she just doesn't care for it all that much

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Charles Smith

Charles is a sweet heart and gentle, his favourite thing is your tits though. He loves how fuzzy you get when he takes his time. Slowly moving down your body, worshipping praises on your tits and pulling your nipples with his teeth lightly. He loves to kiss you so slowly and take his time, making sure your tits know his love for them and praises. Working his kissing down till he gets to rub his nose against your slit, leaving kisses against your clit till he flips you around and fucks his load into you. He can go for hours, round after round with barely any breaks unless you need it. Although one of his no's is having you give him pleasure, precisly letting you suck him off. He doesn't find much pleasure in having you take the control or having you choke around him. He prefers to have full control of your pleasure and to have you suck on him, he doesn't feel much control

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Sadie Adler

She's the dominant one, there's not much denying that. Her absolute favourite thing is when you're the only one exposed fully, she just loves how in control it makes her. You gotta remember this was a woman who felt like she didn't have control for a lot of her life so her need for control does leak into the bedroom life. Whenever you sit on her lap it almost always escalates from a makeout session into something more, especially if she's drunk which just makes her even more needy to feel your juices against her tongue. That's her favourite thing, getting to eat you out. While she's not much for fingering, she prefers to have her thumb rubbing on your clit while her tongue fucks your hole or having her mouth swap between the two. Her absolute no is being the bottom, she loves you but she's not gonna be the submissive one, she's 100% a stone top

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Javier Escuella

I'm sorry to say this, or maybe I'm glad to say this, but this man has a knife kink. He absolutely is infatuated watching the cold steel graze your warm skin, its such a contrast and high it makes him almost bust right there while having the knife against your throat while he's buried deep into you. Javier is a masochist but also a sadist, either he wants you to have the knife in your hand or have it in his, it really depends how you're feeling. He's fine doing either role. He's happy to be on his knees praising the flesh between your thighs while you hold the knife to him, threatening to cut him if he goes against your wishes. He's also happy to trace the tip of the blade against your nipples, watch you shiver due to the cold of the metal. Despite having a knife kink, Javier's big no is blood. He'll threaten to cut you yes but he's not gonna actually do it. He just doesn't think that blood should be brought into your bedroom fun with him; he sees enough of it in his everyday life

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Lenny Summers

Oh this boy is absolutely a soft dom, although during your first time he's so awkward that its adorable. He's just worried to do something wrong, he hasn't been with many people so he's not very experienced but with the way he fucks you? You would think he came out of the womb a master fuck machine. Especially when Lenny is drunk, he loses all of his awkwardness and knows exactly how to woo you with just a few words that make you get all giddy, the flesh between your legs quiver and throb, your legs crossing to get any kind of friction till he drags you from camp to care for you. His absolute favourite thing is receiving, he loves giving but he loves to watch you gag and see your beautiful look up at him while he's deep in your throat. He loves the little licks you give the tip before you deepthroat him, making it hit the back of your throat while you gag, moaning at the same time making his dick vibrate. His big no is any kind of pain though, he hates to see you in any kind of pain so he keeps sex as pain free as possible

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Molly O'Shea

Molly is actually quite vanilla, sex is almost like aftercare with her. She's definitely a pillow princess, not that you're complaining; she's heavenly. Molly's favourite thing to do with you is when she's sleeping and gets woken up by you between her thighs, she usually has to cover her mouth because you're at camp and she doesn't want anyone to know what you're doing between her thighs although the occasional whine or moan comes from the Irish girl. At this point, she ends up closing her legs around your head on instinct. Given how many times you've eaten her out before it's not that odd that she'd have a few dreams about it too; and when she gets woken from those dreams by you between her thighs, it makes her go all tingly. Her no though like I said before, she's a pillow princess so she's not much for giving. She prefers to just let you take control of her; not that you'll ever complain because she's delicious

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Karen Jones

She loves to act all sweet and innocent but Karen is truly a kinky woman who knows exactly what she wants which makes her a huge brat. She can and will put up a fight over anything, even when she knows she won't win the fight and it will most likely end with her muffling her moans behind her hand while you devour her. Karen has a loud mouth, she isn't afraid to show or tell how much she wants you in public or around camp, most people are just used to it at this point. At campfires when she's drunk, she will purposely follow you around to where the boys are, sit on your lap and whisper in your ear how much she needs you, slowly grind herself on your thigh when no one is looking. She'll keep it up till you get too frustrated with the teasing and drag her to your tent. Her big no is going on top, she's not a fan of it. She prefers to be on her knees for you, praising you and begging for your attention and kissing at your fingers. She doesn't want to be the dominate one

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Josiah Trelawny

This man is never short when it comes to sex with Josiah, it's almost always a guarenteed thing after a fancy date with him. Especially since Josiah can only be around so long at a time, he tries to make sex with you as special as he possibly can so it can be as romantic as he can makes it. Much like Arthur, Josiah is a gentleman so he's 100% a giver than a receiver, he actually really dislikes receiving oddly enough. When he's making you receive it makes him feel bad because he's not showing you pleasure. He also hates degrading, he doesn't see a point in insulting you while you feel so good squeezing his dick with your walls. No he much prefers praising you, telling you how good you feel, how beautiful you are, everything. Owning you though is his favourite, leaving marks along your body as he goes so he can see them next time he's with you. Covering up the almost totally healed ones with brand new bruised ones

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Mary-Beth Gaskill

She's very shy but when you do break her out of her shell, she'll tell you exactly how she wants it and how she needs it. She reads a lot of novels, some of them including the more erotic side of things so she's rather experienced in the bedroom, she's down to play either roles when it comes down to it. But if Mary-Beth had to choose, she would prefer the more vanilla side than rough. Mary-Beth is very touch starved so sex is more like just a way to be even closer to the person she loves. She loves to praise your body, kiss every inch of skin she can and treat sex like cuddling. She loves the feel of your skin on hers, pressed so close to her that nothing can come between you two. She hates to admit it, but she loves to be reading her novels while your face is in her thighs or on her nipples, sucking slowly and passionately at the flesh while she lets out tiny moans every now and again, her eyes going from the words to your eyes peaking up at her between her thighs. Her no oddly enough is having any kind of clothes on during sex, she loves the sight of you naked and feeling your skin against her

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Sean MacGuire

He hates to admit that he's a bottom but he totally is, he especially loves it when he's overstimulated. Handcuffing him to the bed as you take full control of him, all he can do is curse in his Irish accent at the pleasure of your throat bruising or your hole squeezing around his dick. He especially likes to be choked, the feel of your hand squeezing tighter and tighter on his throat while you ride him harder and harder could make him bust right there; especially inside of you where he loves to finish the most. One of his big no's however is inflicting pain on you, on him he has no problem with but he couldn't imagine ever hurting you even in a sexual way. He just loves the power that it gives you over him, he loves to have you straddling him and rubbing yourself on his dick while he begs for you to just let him in

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Tilly Jackson

Sure she acts innocent but we all know she isn't and that innocent little attitude follows to the bedroom. She's 100% a brat, definitely a "make me" girl. Tilly knows exactly what she's doing when she start stroking your thigh under the table while you're eating dinner with the rest of the gang. Surprisingly she says that she isn't hungry, yet chooses to sit beside you anyway, the rest of the gang doesn't seem to notice but you definitely do. When you drag her to your tent, it's no mercy when you pin her down to the bed and edge her for hours, only letting her finish when you are sure that she's finally learnt her lesson about interupting you from dinner. Tilly's big no is anything that has to do with holding her down so rope, handcuffs, stuff like that. She likes being able to touch you so anything that keeps her from doing that she just doesn't want. As much of a brat she is, Tilly has her moments where she is good and only wants to be held and cared for after a hard day

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Kieran Duffy

Much like Molly, he's a fan of being woken up by you giving him oral although he's a lot more whimpery and anxious when you do. Kieran would be a little spooked but not because of what you're doing but more out of fear of someone, specifically Arthur, catching you two. Gods know none the camp would ever let him live it down. After a little convincing, most of which is done by you kissing and sucking along his cock he can't help but lay his head back onto the pillow, his hands gentle threading through your hair, encouraging you to keep going, nice and slow, he wants to enjoy this wake up call for a good, long while. He hates to leave you hanging though when he does eventually finish down your throat so after that, you're usually met by him laying you down against the cot and him tenderly eating you like he's gonna break you if he goes too rough

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Mary Linton

Mary is a 50/50 person, it really depends how you want her. If you want her tied securely down to the bed while you have her legs over your shoulders and face buried into the gold between her thighs than she'll happily oblige with praising and moans. If you want her to bend you, your ass in the air as she holds a crop steady in her hand ready to strike your skin red, she's happy to oblige with a tend kiss on the cheek before she strikes it. She loves getting to caress and love on your body whenever she gets to, kissing down to your chest is her favourite since she gets to love on your breasts while another hand snakes down to your lovely pussy, hearing your breath hitch when her finger meets your clit. Mary isn't a fan of when you try to keep yourself quiet, what's the point of pleasing you if she doesn't get to hear your lovely voice cry out for her.

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Bill Williamson

You wouldn't think that this man could go for hours but he certainly can, three hours minium for him to be precise, he lost count of how long maxium is though. This man has so much energy that it usually ends by you having to tap out, there's yet to be a time between you two that he's the one to tap out. The fact that he can go for so long is also a good thing with his breeding kink and obsession with filling you to the brim with his cum, he can go for rounds and round filling you over and over again. His favourite thing is when he does finally pull out, he gets to watch it spill out of your pussy. Some still on his dick which you make short work of by getting on your knees after, cleaning him off as his hand runs in your hair. As said before, his big no is pulling out. As risky as it is, maybe that's what turns him on more.

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Thank you for reading, please reblog because this took me a long time

Taglist: @margowritesthings @lay-z

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mv1simp · 4 days ago

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That Boy Is Mine ♥️

Max Verstappen x Siren!Reader

that boy is mine, I can’t wait to try him, watch me take me time, boy is divine (that boy is mine)

As a young, beautiful and rich CEO living in Monaco, you have any man you want in the palm of your hand. But a certain handsome Dutchman has caught your eye…there’s just a small problem of his current girlfriend that’s in your way! You’ll just have to prove to Max how much better you could spoil him.

Content Includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, seductress! girlboss! Reader, naive!max, infidelity but Max’s unnamed gf is annoying anyway, size kink, Halloween costume sex lol, seriously explicit cheating don’t read if not ur thing!!!

The thing was, you wouldn’t normally ever go to such lengths for a boy. Why would you? You were a pretty girl in her 20’s living in Monaco, running your own successful public relations management firm. That’s how you’d met Max, through a PR crisis of Redbull that Christian Horner had personally called you to get sorted. Some drama with a defamation lawsuit against their poster boy, Max Verstappen, who you hadn’t paid a second of attention to despite living in Monaco. You were much more likely to get your nails done and enjoy a glass of wine than be following a race weekend.

But after you’d easily sorted the mess out, you’d been suprised to find Max himself patiently waiting in your luxurious office, wanting to thank you with a gift of tasteful French wine. It’s rare for one of your clients to take accountability for their actions instead of letting their managers sort it out for them, after all. You don’t miss the way Max’s pretty blue eyes widened as he took in your appearance, with a tight black dress with lacy sleeves that did wonders to push your tits up temptingly. He’d been expecting some old man, not a beautiful girl his age. He cleared his throat nervously, suddenly finding it hard to maintain contact with your sultry eyes as he stuttered his thank you. Cute, you think with a tilt of your head, enjoying his deep Dutch accent. He’s very different to the arrogant, pompous personality you’d expected from a champion F1 driver. And he was insanely gorgeous too, all 6 foot of thick thighs and broad shoulders. You’ve met many attractive men in Monaco and flirted your way around them, but Max catches your eye with his baby blue eyes and soft blonde locks. So you can’t help gently brushing your manicured hand against his bulging bicep, looking up at him with fluttering lashes to say it’s so sweet of him to go to all the trouble to come downtown, really, you’re happy to help him anytime!

He walks out of your office with your personal phone number for any media emergencies, of course. As well as a blushing face and a semi erection he guiltily tugs at his pants to hide, after looking down to see your plump, soft cleavage when your smaller body pressed up against his.

A quick google stalk of your client leaves you feeling very annoyed when you discover he’s not single like you’d originally hoped. You roll your eyes as you look at the B list model’s Insta he’s dating, spammed full of photos of her with Max’s wins for clout or artificial brand collabs. So tacky and undeserving of someone like Max, you muse later that evening over an espresso martini. You’re too deep in your own thoughts to pay attention to your date with a Monaco hotel chain owner that evening.

When you find a massive bouquet of roses on your desk the next day, you assume your date was being persistent despite your disinterest last night. But when you find VIP tickets to Max’s garage next race and first class flights nestled amongst the red flowers, you’re even more intrigued. You attended, out of curiosity more than anything. You’re not planning on getting involved with an already taken man - far too much drama for the CEO of a media relations company.

But you can’t deny Max knows how to give a girl princess treatment, something which you’d gotten used to providing for yourself since no man had been able too. From the relaxing, personalised flight experience, to the sleek expensive Mercedes he’d had sent to pick you up at the airport, the 5 star suite in a hotel, and to the exciting VIP lounge at his garage filled with interesting people you’d easily networked with. And when you see Max confidently dominate through the track to P1, sounding so sexy over the radio without a hint of shyness, pulling off his helmet afterwards to show off his gorgeous, messy hair as he adorably smiles at you to ask how you’d enjoyed the day, you realized this wasn’t just any man. No, Max was the one, the perfect man to provide you with whatever you asked for and take care of you when you needed him.

Not that you needed him to. After all, you were well known as one of the most successful businesswomen in your country - and you didn’t get that title without a pair of fangs to match. You’d be a true power couple - much better suited than his current subpar girlfriend, who dragged him down in every way.

You’d made up your mind. That boy was destined to be yours, no matter what.

So you began developing your relationship with Max and become frequently seen on the paddock, all under the guise of improving his media image, of course. The handsome blonde had no issues spending time with you, finding you to share his sarcastic sense of humour and in awe of your very keen analytical sense that you easily applied to the racing world as well. He liked how you were unfazed with the media circus that surrounded him, too, not blinking twice when trashy gossip magazines posted suggestive captions about you and Max. And you always seemed to know just how to carefully phrase your words assertively when asked insensitive questions by grid reporters, who were curious about Max’s new PR advisor. It was very different to what he was used to with his girlfriend, who frequently fed into gossip column content with Insta posts and livestreams - which constantly annoyed Max.

Soon you’re a regular amongst his group of friends. You meet his girlfriend, finally, at a dinner one night. She’s taken her hold on Max for granted, barely interested in you as she snaps selfies with the more famous people at the table. You can’t resist the foxy smile on your glossed lips - it’s almost too easy, given how unaware she seems of how discontent Max is with the relationship. You sit next to him all night, laughing and sipping your favourite wine that he now knows by heart and orders for you, the conversation genuine and a bit too flirty for “just friends”. And when your lace minidress rides up, and your soft thighs and crossed ankles brush against his muscular legs, he doesn’t move away, letting you press against him for warmth when he rests his large palm around your thigh. Your panties are soaked through by the time you get home from how often you had to clench your legs, imaging his massive hands drifting just a bit higher…

It’s easy to blame the touchiness on the alcohol the next morning and strictly maintain your professional distance as you hand him paperwork to sign in your office. You smirk when you catch his eyes in a passing mirror, glued to your ass through another tight lace dress as you walk away in Louboutin stilettos. Max was very much an ass man - that is, when he wasn’t being a tits man. You certainly had no qualms showing off your thick curves to him, knowing you had a lot more to offer than his girlfriend. It was impossible to miss the way his blue eyes would drift towards your tempting body whenever he thought no one was looking.

So next weekend, you invite him onto your boat for a day trip. It’s much smaller than his personal multi level yacht, but perfect for what you had planned. It’s a nice touch to have all your coupled up friends with you, who disappear off to various rooms in the boat as the sun gets hotter and they get drunker. You hand Max another strong G&T you’ve mixed yourself, now just alone on the top deck with him. He takes it easily, telling you you’d make a deadly bartender. You hmm, resting a knee on the couch he sits on. It’s a manoeuvre that brings your bouncing tits, barely covered in a white skimpy bikini, right into his eyeline. Max takes one look at your nipples pebbling through the fabric, gulps cutely, and promptly drains the glass in his hand.

You try to contain the smile on your glossed lips as he tries and fails to look away from your tits in his face, stammering out responses to idle chit chat you’re making. It’s adorable how his confident, dominating personality switches so fast off the track with you. At one point you say you’re sorry that his girlfriend couldn’t make it (you aren’t - you’d planned the getaway on a day you knew she had a modelling gig booked, of course, since you’re the one who’d pulled strings to set up the photoshoot). Relaxed with all the G&Ts, Max mentions that actually, his girlfriend had been very persistent in trying to stop him coming today.

Oh? You say with faux innocence, tilting your head and widening your doe eyes with worry. Why? She doesn’t like me? Max rushes to soothe your worries, saying no, no, it was more that - well, I think she’s a bit jealous…you’re very beautiful, after all. I think I might just need to spend more time with her from now on. You laugh at his cute blush, telling him Of course, but she had nothing to worry about, after all she was the model and not you!

You know how to play the game, knew that despite his model girlfriend at his side, you had him practically drooling in your tiny white bikini, contrasting beautifully against your tan skin. But he had to be the one to cross the line first, and think it was all his idea. Especially if his bitchy girlfriend was starting to catch onto your plans and demanding Max stay with her. So you walk away, making sure to sway your hips so he can enjoy the view of your ass as you lay on your tummy to sweetly ask your cute lifeguard if he’d mind putting sunscreen on your back?

Your lifeguard jumps at the chance, having already been checking you out all day. He’s taking the bottle and raking his eyes over your form hungrily - but Max interrupts even sooner than you’d predicted. His love language being physical touch works in your favour. You hide your pleased smile as a deep Dutch voice heatedly says that he can do it, and you turn to see Max glaring at the lifeguard with all the intensity of a lion. Are you sure you don’t mind, Max? You say sweetly, blinking your thick lashes up at him from your compromising position, your head right at the level of his hips. You hope he’s thinking the same naughty thoughts as you when his blue gaze darkens. That it would be so easy to slide his thick fingers past your pouting lips and hold them open as he messily fucks your all too willing mouth. You bite your bottom lip at the filthy idea.

You see him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing in that huge muscled neck of his. No, it’s okay! That lifeguard…well, I don’t want him putting his hands on you. God, you couldn’t wait to lick hickeys all up and down his broad shoulders before wrapping your thighs around them as he ate you out. But you’re getting ahead of yourself, coming back to the present as you lie down to let Max touch up your sunscreen. His large palms are tentative at first, trying to remain respectful within the boundaries of friendship. But when you’re softly sighing, moaning that it feels so good, Maxie, work has made my back way to tense, could you use one of those massage techniques your physio taught you? it’s impossible for him to not go a little further. Your tiny bikini easily lets him explore your body, his strong hands gripping your plush hips and giving him a naughty mental picture of what you’d look like if he took you from the back. You’re glad your sunglasses are extra dark so you can peek at his trunks, enjoying the rapidly hardening large bulge there, responding to all the cute little moans and gasps you’re letting out as you tremble under his touch.

You decide to tease him a bit more, reaching behind your neck to untie your string bikini, shyly saying you didn’t want to get tan lines…he didn’t mind, right? You can totally go ask the lifeguard to help!

Max’s mouth goes dry at the sight of your bare back as he dazedly shakes his head, huskily saying he was happy to help, you’re his friend after all. All the blood rushed straight from his brain to his cock to make his decision as he feels the lush swell of your tits from the side when they generously slip out. You celebrate your victory internally when he shyly asks if he could take off your bikini bottoms so you didn’t get tan lines there, too?

You hesitate, coquettishly blinking and asking him if his girlfriend would be mad? Max pauses with your reminder, his large hands spread over your juicy asscheeks as he resists the urge to squeeze them. Your plan falls right into place as you cheekily suggest that surely it would be okay if he closed his eyes, just for a second, you really didn’t want tan lines there after all-

That was all Max needed to hear before he eagerly nodded, looking the picture of an overexcited puppy. This time you can’t resist your smirk as your slowly untie your bottoms, jiggling your ass as you slide them down so he catches a glimpse of the tempting flesh before he remembers to close his eyes. His large, calloused palms run down your plump ass, unable to resist squeezing roughly and making you moan sexily. You part your legs invitingly, and when those thick fingers of his brush against your pussy you know he can feel how wet you are for him. So dripping wet, that one of his fingers easily slides against your warm pussy lips. Max, you gasp breathily, your entrance instinctively clenching around the tip of his thick finger. What are you- Oh! Desire rushes straight to his groin as he gets a feel of how tight your sweet cunny would feel squeezing down on something else thick of his and he can’t help but sink his finger all the way in. It takes him longer than it should to come to his senses and move his hand away, stammering out apologies that he hadn’t meant to touch you there, his hand just slipped, could you forgive him?

To his relief, you giggle at his flushed face, turning around to meet his embarrassed gaze. Don’t worry about it, accidents happen! you say playfully, as if you hadn’t planned this, tying your bikini back up slowly. As he watches you strut away confidently in your little heeled sandals, he can’t resist tasting the wetness you’d left all over his fingers. He almost cums in his trunks from how sweet you taste, and hastily returns to his room. You smirk when you press an ear to your bedroom wall, hearing the shower running in Max’s bathroom right next door. Sadly for you, you can’t hear anything over the sound of the shower, leaving you pouting and pussy aching from the memory of Max’s hands on you.

But just on the other side, a certain blonde Dutchman is giving into his growing taboo desires. It’s not the first time he’s jerked off to you - no, with all the frequent teasing glimpses of your plush cleavage or your ass in tight dresses, he’s regularly mentally drooling over you. He knows it’s wrong, and in the beginning he did feel guilty…but now only the thought of your sexy little body that can get him hard like this. Tipping his head back and letting the cool water flow down his abs, Max slowly jerks off his impressive erection as he fantasies about you shaking and cutely moaning underneath him. Your lush tits spilling out from the sides, your wide hips that would be the perfect thing for him to hold tightly as he fucked you in doggystyle, his favourite. And now he knew what your soft tanned skin felt like, how sweet and wet your cunny was for him….well, it’s enough to make him addicted. He’s cumming within seconds, biting his lips and imagining how good it would feel to bury his aching cock inside your cunny instead of his finger next time.

He still blushes cutely when he sees you next, at a friend’s party, but you’re as nonchalant as ever, greeting him with a sweet kiss on his cheek. He watches you laugh at something one of his guy friends are saying and can’t stop the jealousy swirling in his chest, even when his girlfriend tugs on his arm to get him his attention all night.

Of course, you’re playing the long game. It didn’t matter how many men you flirted with - there was only one who you truly wanted. So for one of the exclusive Halloween parties in Monaco, you discreetly organise one of the big fashion houses you represent to send Max’s girlfriend a haute couture costume. She accepts it, spamming her Insta story with pics of it, just like you’d expected. You’re certain she would show up to the event with a reluctant Max in tow.

And on that night of the Halloween party, you smile as you spot a bored looking Max across the living room of the mansion the party is hosted at. His gorgeous blue eyes widen as he spots you…dressed in the same costume as his girlfriend. But you’d had some customised alterations made, looking ethereal in your white angel costume, tits pushed up with a corset and soft tummy and hips on display in your low waisted miniskirt. Max is far from the only guy who stared at you hungrily as you entered - including your date, some Russian model you’d met at a PR event, dressed just like Max in a tight fitting shirt and a Ghostface mask that hid his identity when on.

Someone might just call your choice of couple’s costume a random coincidence, but you didn’t make mistakes like that. Your date had two jobs tonight - one which he’d already done successfully, as you see Max’s icy blue gaze glaring at the hand around your waist. You whisper in your date’s ear, parting ways for now, because he had another mission to go complete that you’d already asked him to do for you as a favour. Namely, keeping Max’s goldigging girlfriend occupied tonight. And since your date happened to inherit his father’s multimillion manufacturing business, you were sure Max’s girlfriend would be throughly enraptured by him.

You laugh and mingle with friends throughout the night, catching Max’s intense gaze on you a few times but pretending to ignore it. He’s finally had enough of seeing you flirt with other guys when you end up on the dancefloor. You shiver as you feel his strong, muscled body behind you, shielding you from any guy who tries to get close to you. That’s fine with you, because the only one you wanted to grind back against was Max after all. So you toss your hair, getting lost in the music and tipsily giggling, enjoying the low rumble in Max’s chest as your fat ass teases his hardening bulge. His large palms settle possessively over your hips, leaning down to smell your sweet vanilla perfume. He lets you drag him into a quiet, dark corner, giggling and pressing your soft body against his as you whisper he looked so hot tonight, his biceps looked amazing, had he been working out more?

And then your doe eyes, prettily outlined in glittery eyeshadow and eyeliner, look up from his muscular chest to meet his piercing blue eyes as he pulls his mask off. You gasp, widening your eyes in supposed shock as you blush and stammer that you’re so sorry Max, you’d thought he was your date, he’s dressed the same after all…

He’s disappointed, of course, missing the touch of your manicured fingers running up and down his abs. He ends up agreeing to help you find your date again after you look at him pleadingly, although the idea of letting another guy put his hands on you makes him want to unleash Mad Max. But when you two finally find your date, behind a closed bedroom door upstairs, you see he’s been kept very good company by none other than Max’s girlfriend.

Your hands fly to your mouth in pretend shock at the scene of your date with his balls deep inside the gold digging girlfriend, her artificial sounding moans radiating around the room. Your date had exceeded your expectations and kept her very well occupied, it seemed. Max is disgusted with the sight, snarling in anger and moving to block your view of your date cheating on you. He’s so sweet, really, being so protective of you when you’d executed the whole plan to perfection. You hear his girlfriend exclaim in shock, trying to plead that it wasn’t what it looked like…but you’d given the Dutchman the final excuse to call it off. Don’t ever fucking come near me or her again, he growls, his voice radiating confidence and authority in a way which makes you squeal internally.

To your delight, Max insists on taking you home, worried about how you’d feel after finding your date cheating on you…with his backstabbing ex girlfriend, he mutters darkly. He’s fuming at her betrayal, but as you lead him into your cozy apartment you’re already planning your next scheme. When he asks you gently if you’re sure you’re ok, is there anything he could do to help, he’s so sorry that his ex got involved with your personal life like this you sweetly nod and tell him you just wanted to take your mind off it all.

He’s eager to help you, nodding enthusiastically when you ask if he’d help plan your costume for your next Halloween event the following night? Your date would no longer be helping you, after all. Of course, schat, anything you want he says earnestly, pretty blue eyes looking at you with adoration as you pout. Handing him a glass of whiskey to sip on while you guide him to sit on the end of your bed, you sashay into your walk in closet. You make sure to leave the door half open, so Max gets a full view of the red lingerie you’re wearing underneath your costume. You take your time getting ready, bending over to pull on your outfit and shaking your hips enticingly, making sure to give Max a naughty show. And if the angel costume had been sexy, the schoolgirl outfit you put on next is positively scandalous. You shyly walk out in heels and a tiny pleated skirt, skimpy white top tied around your breasts to push them out even more as you twirl for him. What do you think? you ask anxiously when Max just stares without saying anything. It looks bad, doesn’t it-

He hastily denies your words, stumbling out that you looked gorgeous, you always did, you didn’t have anything to worry about.

When you giggle happily and announce that you had a few more to show him, he licks his lips in anticipation and drains more of the whiskey from his glass. You give him another slow striptease through your closet door, this time taking off your bra so he gets a flash of your hard nipples. You see him widen his legs to accomodate the raging erection hanging in between his thick thighs and have to stop yourself drooling at the delicious sight. But Max is the one controlling himself next when you emerge in a cat costume, all black latex booty shorts and tight corset, paired with kitten ears and a tail.

His jaw drops open at the tempting sight, and when you ask him if he thinks it’s cute enough to make your date regret cheating on you he clenches his jaw and growls that the pathetic bastard didn’t deserve the privilege of seeing you all dressed up like this.

You try and fail to hide your coy smile at Max’s jealous words, and then find yourself pulled forward in between his legs as he murmurs that there were plenty of other ways to get back at your date. Oh? You say breathlessly, sinking onto your plush ass to sit in between his spread thighs, resting your cheek against his leg. Like what, Maxie?

He groans at the temptation in front of him, of your glossed pouting lips right next to where he needed you the most. You’re not behaving like a good kitty, he jokes, but his voice is rough as desire swirls in his eyes. You’re teasing me far too much while thinking about some guy nowhere near my level.

You grin like a Cheshire and slowly get on all fours, swaying your ass in the air and nuzzling your face right up against his bulging erection. Am I still a bad girl now? you whisper, flicking your tongue out to lick his zipper sluttily. Shall I make it up to you? Max groans above you, thick neck flexing as he tangles a large palm into your hair. Schatje, he says breathlessly, as you slowly unzip his jeans, squealing in delight as his fat cock emerges to slap against your cheeks. So big, Maxie you croon, going cross eyed as you place kitten licks all along his engorged cockhead. What did I say about teasing me? Max groans above you, applying delicious pressure to the back of your head as he pushes your lips down onto his shaft. Mmfh! Your moans are muffled as he loses control, fucking your mouth without abandon. Pleased moans fill the air as you drool over his length, letting him throat fuck you and use you for his pleasure. Your pink lip gloss is smeared all over his cock as your eyes roll back in your head, one of your hands reaching down to play with your aching cunny as Max leaves bruises in the back of your mouth.

Weeks of sexual tension finally lead to him cumming in your throat, so far down that you swear you can fill him hit your tummy, and you obediently suck up every last drop. He’s so far from done, though. He wants you on your hands and knees, his strong hands ripping a hole into your slutty latex shorts to hungrily taste your sweet pussy again. Soon enough your bedroom is filled with obscene sounds of Max fucking his bare cock into your cunny, pounding into you from behind. It’s even hotter than his dirtiest fantasies, and he’s making you tremble and scream his name as he presses down on your neck, burying your face into the sheets and whispering filthy praise in your ear. You’re so pleased you’d thought to set up a tiny camera by your nightstand, capturing every second of your first fuck with Max so you can enjoy it later. Your pussy squeezes around his length like a vice, and it’s most euphoric feeling he’s experienced in his life. He’s cumming again within minutes, moaning how good you feel, he fucking loves your cunt, loves you and takes you over the edge with him as he gives you an open mouthed kiss.

You smile contentedly against his warm lips, letting him slide his tongue into your mouth. Your red manicured nails tangle possessively in soft blonde locks as you sigh into the passionate make out. Max was exactly where he belonged, finally - in your bed, with you in his arms.

And unlike the silly women who’d taken him for granted, you were never going to let him go.

—————————————————————————

A/N: thank you soooo much for ur patience my dear readers, I fear I was getting a bit of writers block seeing all the photos of max and Kelly in the holiday season 😭😭😭 I hope u guys enjoy this piece!! Send me lots of ur raunchy asks plz I need inspiration ♥️♥️

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you #18+ mdni

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chrysbibi · 2 years ago

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Pairing: Florist!Park Jihoon x fem!Reader

Genre: Flower shop AU, smut, fluff if you squint

Summary: Your weekly visits to your local flower shop take an interesting turn when you and the florist get some time in your hands.

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex, fingering, dirty talking, swearing, rough sex, orgasm denial, me still not being over the Blooming Treasure fits and concept

When your best friend came back to South Korea after studying in the Netherlands for a semester, you built a habit of buying her red tulips every week.

The first months of her return, she was very nostalgic of her time in the Netherlands; the friends she made there, the food, the culture, the trips and everything new that she experienced in the country. So naturally, you begun getting her the iconic Dutch flowers to cheer her up! The flowers were on the affordable side and always seemed to lift her mood, so you kept buying them for her months after she had returned and even after she was no longer yearning for Europe as much as the beginning.

You always adored flowers, but you were never one to go out of your way to buy some for your home or friends. That was until now!

The flower shop near your apartment is small, yet picturesque. It looks like it is squashed between two corporate buildings; it's existence in the busy streets of Seoul appearing almost unreal. Yet there it was, its colorful flowers decorating the bland pavement of the capital.

Two young florists are working in the shop and by that point, both have memorized your face and your weekly demand of red tulips. You don't know their names, but damn are they both cute! The taller one with the green highlights on his hair is the one teasing you the most about your tulip obsession, while the younger one with reddish-brown hair always smiles at you behind the payment counter and compliments your taste in flowers.

Today is no different as you stop at the flower shop, taking a moment to crouch and admire some flower bouquets that are on display outside the shop before going inside in search for your tulips.

"Are you looking for something?"

You immediately recognize the voice and smile knowingly as you raise your eyes to meet the mischievous ones of the tall florist. He is leaning against the door of the shop, his arms crossed in front of his shirt as he is smirking at you.

"Perhaps…" he pretends to think and you roll your eyes at his theatrics, the smile always remaining in your face.

"...red tulips?"

You chuckle and get up, "Actually yes! How did you guess?!" you tease back and his grin becomes wider.

"Lucky I guess…Or you know, I am just good like that!"

You huff but it is no secret to both of you that you are enjoying these lighthearted moments of yours. He pushes himself off the door and heads inside, with you following behind him.

He loudly sets his hands on top of the counter and the younger florist jumps up from under it. He was probably looking for something when he was startled by the noise. He rubs the back of his head and grimaces before he notices you standing behind his elder; a smile spreading across his face.

"Welcome to Blooming Treasure! Again!" he winks at you and you would look away as you blushed if it wasn't the third time he greeted you like that.

"Guess what she is here for!" the older florist tells the younger one as he leans his elbows on the counter. He takes a look at you and gives you a cheeky grin.

"Ah, yes. Her order is ready." the younger florist says just as the door opens and two teenage girls walk inside, gawking at the flowers and sometimes at the two florists too.

"Great! I will leave you to it!" the older florist says as he straightens his apron and turns towards the girls, leaving you with the younger florist. You don't miss the mischievous look he gives you before he walks away, but you resist following him with your eyes.

The brown haired florist smiles at you as he places a bouquet of red tulips on top of the counter, "That will be ₩27.000."

You pay and thank him as he wraps you the flowers, waving you goodbye till next week. On your way out, you pass the girls and the older florist, who is giving them some suggestions on indoor plants. This time you can't hold back glancing at him as you push the door open. Before you can avert your eyes, his eyes catch yours and his lips twitch upwards. He continues explaining the difference between two indoor plants as his eyes stare at you intensely. Normally, you would turn away, but this time you just feel unable to do so, giving him the satisfaction of seeing you blush under his stare.

Only when the door closes behind you do you break eye contact, taking a moment to recollect yourself before you walk away from the flower shop.

The weatherman is full of shit and you are never putting your trust in him again! These are the only thoughts swirling in your head as you run from one tiny shed to another; your umbrella forgotten at your apartment. Your efforts are in vain though as you are already soaked to the bone!

Your shoes make that awful squeaking noise with every step you take while your skirt is glued to your upper thighs, making your walking even more insufferable! Your short-sleeved shirt is sticking to your upper body and you can feel the wet material on your nipples as you had the very clever idea of not wearing a bra today. The only positive you can think of, is that the shirt is floral, conceiling your breasts for the most part, but failing to make your hard nipples invinsible.

You stop again under a shed so tiny, you can't even find the use of it. If it can't protect you from the rain, then what is it good for anyway?! You look around you and notice you are getting closer to your apartment, but even soaked wet, you don't dare to run freely in the heavy rain just to get to the safety of your home a bit earlier. You shake your head and shiver, crossing your arms and cursing under your breath -not that anyone is around to hear you!

"Are you okay?"

Or maybe you are wrong…

You whip your head around and widen your eyes as they are met with another familiar pair. The tall florist from the Blooming Treasure flower shop is standing on the doorstep of the shop a few meters away from your quivering form. He is wearing his usual light blue, long-sleeved shirt and white apron and he is holding a pair of scissors in his hands. He is carefully standing under the narrow shed of the shop as not to get wet, as he is looking at you with concern.

You blink and the raindrops that have been stuck to your upper eyelashes, slide down your cheeks. You frantically look around, only to notice that you had just hurriedly passed the flower shop in your search for shelter, deeming its narrow shed unsuitable. Behind the glass front of the shop you see all the flower bouquets and plant pots, that are usually on display outside, now resting in the safety provided by the indoors. So, that's why you didn't noticed the shop…

"Do you want to come inside?" the florist asks you after you ignore his first question and you return your focus on him.

He pushes the door half way open to put more emphasis on his words and you open your mouth to reply before you remember. You look down at your breasts, worried that your appearance if noticed by him will be judged as indecent. Maybe he is handsome and maybe you have a tiny crush on him, but you won't take it as far as flashing him indirectly.

"Are you going to continue standing there and getting wet or are you going to come inside?"

This time his tone is stern and even though you are not looking at him, you can tell that his corcerned expression has turned to a more serious one. You lower your head in an attempt to hide your sudden blush and run towards him, with your arms crossed over your chest. You refuse to raise your head and meet his eyes as you pass by him and scurry for cover inside the shop.

You hear him close the door behind you, muffling the sound of the storm outside. You stay still for a moment in the middle of the small flower shop, cherishing the warmth and, well, dryness of the place. Lost in these thoughts, you don't notice the florist till he is standing before you, frowning.

"Do you want to get sick or something?" he snaps at you and you feel your cheeks warm up from embarrashment. You don't bother hiding them this time; he will probably think there are like this from the cold.

"Sorry."

He sighs and hands you a small towel, with a few stains and torns here and there, "Don't worry, I have washed it." he assures you after he sees you hesitate.

"Thank you." you reluctantly take it and use it to wipe the water from your face. He walks behind the counter and grabs one rose from the giant pile that is laying there, cutting its stems and thorns.

"I don't have anything to give you to change out of your wet clothes." he says as he stays focused on his work, "But, you can take off your shoes if you want. I doubt the rain will stop anytime soon."

You mutter another quiet 'thank you' as you take off your shoes and socks, leaving them next to the door. You pull the hem of your shirt out of your skirt and undo a couple of buttons from the bottom part, as to not have the garment stick to your skin that much.

You glance at the florist over your shoulder, noticing that he is not paying any attention to you and is instead concentrating on his work. You bite your lip and fumble with your fingers, before you hesitantly walk towards him. You place your elbows on the counter and stare at what he is doing.

The young man has a pile of around fifty roses on top of the counter and he is focused on cutting their stems, thorns and leaves, before carefully placing them aside for an arrangement.

He glances at you, smirking, "Pretty view huh?"

You instantly tense, your eyes widening as you find yourself at a loss for words. In your stressed out state, you hear him laugh quietly while still having his eyes on the flowers.

"The roses are freshly delivered. In my opinion, they are the prettiest in this phase."

You look at him baffled before you relax your shoulders and let out a quiet sigh. He turns to look at you and laughs again.

"Did you think I was talking about something else?"

"...No." you side-eye him and look anywhere but him. You hear him hum pleased as he continues treating the flowers and you keep pretending that you are ignoring him as you scan the inside of the shop.

You stare at the walk-in cooler behind the counter and the flower arrangements in it. You have always admired the arrangements, but as beautiful as they are, they are also expensive and way out of your budget! Beside it, it is another walk-in cooler but the flowers in it aren't yet made into bouquets. It is the first time that you have payed real attention to that second cooler as you have never seen it been used for the customers.

As you catch sight of the stuffed animals and various birthday cards in the corner of the shop, you remember the younger florist, who is very much absent at this time. You turn to the florist in front of you and drum your fingers on the work table.

"So…" you titl your head, "...does your cute coworker have a day off?"

The young man stops just as he is about to cut another stem and slowly turns to you. A grin steadily grows on his face and you realize your slip; you were not supposed to say the word 'cute' aloud and he certainly wasn't supposed to hear it! You keep your composure, but you can't help move your foot nervously under the table, away from his prying stare.

"You find him cute?" he lets go of the rose he is holding and turns his whole body to face yours, leaning his left side on the counter.

You feel your face and neck start burning up as you try not to stumble over your words, "Well, he is good looking." you say with the best poker face you can pull off.

He snickers and picks up a rose, pretending to examine it, "So, that's why you keep coming back every week, huh?"

"N-No!"

He raises his eyebrows at your prompt reply and you quickly add, "Besides, he is not my type!"

"Ahh!" he nods a few times as to let the information sink in, but it is obvious he is still teasing you, "I was sure you must have another reason to keep coming back apart from the tulips, but I guess I was wrong!"

He shrugs and returns to his unfinished task with the pile of roses.

"His name is Doyoung by the way. In case you want to call him, but want to skip the cute coworker part."

Even with his head lowered to stare at the flowers, you can still see his grin as he utters that. You narrow your eyes him, crossing your arms over your chest and placing them on the right end of the work table. You feel your shirt stick to your skin and a cold shiver runs up your spine. You hope he doesn't think it is caused by his earlier words.

"Thanks, but as I said, he is not my type."

"Mmhh." is all he says, or more like murmurs, "Am I your type then?"

He still has that stupid grin on his face and you exhale dramatically, managing to contain your blush as you throw your head back, "My friend was in the Netherlands, okay?"

You can see that you piqued his interest as his eyes stay on you and you continue, "And when she came back and had trouble adjusting, I thought that hey, maybe I could cheer her up with some flowers?!"

"And you got her red tulips?" he raises one eyebrow.

"I mean…yeah? They are everywhere in the Netherlands!" you raise your hands in the air, "And she seemed to like them a lot the first time!" you shrug proudly, like you have proved your point and there is nothing he can do to deflect it.

"The first time was like three months ago!" his smugness returns and you hate how one part of you wants to slap it out of his face while another part kind of likes it. Not that you would admit that!

"And?" it turns out more aggressive than you mean it to, but you have to keep yourself together in front of him.

"Oh, I don't know! It just seems like a long time for someone to be nostalgic of a trip to Europe. And maybe a long time for someone to keep buying them flowers. Unless…" he drawls the last part, giving you a mischievous glance and waiting for you to take the bait.

You take it.

"Unless?"

His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip as he pretends to think his response and you can't help but glance at his lips. You are quick to avert your eyes back to his own, but he has caught the stubtle movement, making his grin become wider.

"Unless, there was also something else that you kept coming back for."

You roll your eyes, "I told you, I am not interested-"

Your sentence is cut short when a crash of thunder echoes all over the flower shop, making the glass doors shake. You both stare at the weather outside, as the rain seems to have gotten worse since the time you came inside the shop.

The florist sighs as he throws all the cut stems, leaves and thorns inside a huge trash bag, "I hope it's not that bad when my shift ends."

You watch him as he cleans the counter from the clutter that was on top of it, leaving only the roses on the side.

"When are you supposed to finish?"

"Well, it's 19:18...so in about one and a half hour. I am locking up at 21:00." he says as he drags the trash bag towards the wall and behind the counter, hidden from the customers point of view, "Not that with this kind of weather anyone is coming! Or leaving for that matter!" he looks at you, pursing his lips in a smirk.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore your quickened heartbeat. Damn this man! When you turn around, he is already tidying the roses; pairing them and setting them aside for future arrangements. And as you watch him silently, you suddenly realize that all this time you haven't asked his name!

"That's a bit embarrashing but…" you scratch you arm awkwardly and he turns to look at you curious, "...could you tell me your name?"

He stares at you for a moment before he laughs loudly, making you flush in embarrassment. He sets down the rose he is holding and takes a few steps, until he is standing less than a meter in front of you. Now that he is standing so close to you, a strong smell of flowers hit your nose, blinding your senses. Maybe it should be expected when he is working half of the day in a flower shop, but it catches you off guard and you snap out of it only when he moves. He grins and extends his hand.

"Park Jihoon. Nice to meet you!"

"(Y/n)." you shyly take his hand and shake it.

You didn't expect his hands to be so rough! Not that you hadve thought of how his hands would be! But, as you hold his hand tightly, you can feel some calluses around his thumb and base of his fingers. You can't help but glance at his hand as you let go of it, getting a better look at it. You see a few small cuts- some new, some older- on his palm and fingers, probably from all the thorns and sharp tools he uses while his fingertips are green-stained.

If he noticed you staring, this time he doesn't make any clever remarks.

You raise your eyes to look at him and you find him staring at you back. You stay like that for a moment, before he smiles and takes a step back. He moves behind the work table and grabs a rose, continuing his previous work. A minute passes in silence, apart from the sound of the raging storm outside, before he speaks again.

"You know…" he drawls, not taking his eyes from the roses, "...I am not one to care about the language of flowers! In fact, I don't think that many people care about the language of flowers, but in this case I was intriged!" he stops and turns to you, waiting for a responce or a reaction.

You titl your head to the side, unsure of what he is trying to say.

"Pretty girl, coming here every week, requesting a bouquet of red tulips; as I said I was certain that it wasn't the tulips the reason why you kept coming back."

You open your mouth to protest, but he is quick to add, "I know, I know! The tulips are for your friend from the Netherlands, but till a few moments ago I didn't know that, so you can't blame me for thinking the tulips were maybe just an excuse!"

He lowers his body, placing his arms on the counter and rests his chin on his palm as he looks at you. You stay silent, waiting for him to make his point, even though you have a feeling of where this is going. Your heartbeat has already quickened, drumming in your ears.

When you make no effort of countering his words, he slowly rises up from the counter and takes a step towards you, "So, I did a little bit of research and-" he takes a step closer, "-imagine my surprise when I found what do red tulips symbolize!" and another step, almost closing the distance between your bodies.

You don't know how you manage not to back away from him, but somehow you stand your ground and keep the eye contact. He slightly titls his head and smirks, probably noticing your struggle.

"Do you know what red tulips symbolize (Y/n)?"

You swear that you actually feel lightheaded as soon as he utters these words. His voice is barely above a whisper, but he is standing so close, towering over you, that you couldn't possibly miss what he said even if you tried. You shake your head left and right, indicating denial and his grin gets even wider.

"Apparently, they symbolize passion, love and lust!" he tells you and wets his lips as he sees you becoming flustered from the revelation.

You squirm, suddenly very aware of how your wet shirt is clinging to your body and how hard your nipples are. Were they like this all this while? Jihoon keeps staring at you and you know that this time you can't avoid replying.

I didn't know, I was just buying them for my friend, would be a very simple answer and the truth, but you can't find yourself to utter these words. Time passes and the situation is dangerously close to becoming so awkward that you won't be able to recover from it when you notice a rose on the floor.

Great excuse!

"Aha!" you gabble the first thing that comes out of your mouth and duck out, bending down and picking up the flower; leaving Jihoon baffled.

The moment you kneel down, you release the breath you are holding back. You grab the rose and blink multiple times to get your head straight before you rise up. You turn to look at Jihoon, who has by now moved next to you and present him with the flower, stating the obvious.

"It was on the floor."

"...Are you serious?" he almost sounds annoyed, like he can't believe you actually did that to avoid him.

"...Well. It was on the floor."

Jihoon opens his mouth, like he wants to say 'Ah!' ,but no sound comes out. He moves closer to you, in a way trapping you between his body and the counter and gently takes the rose from your hand. His fingertips briefly brush yours and a wave of electricity runs down your body.

He brings it close to his face and inspects it before he puts it down next to the other roses. He drags his hand from the flowers till it is placed on the counter next to your side and makes eye contact anew.

"You know…" he places his other hand on your other side, essentially trapping you, "...I have a feeling you are avoiding my questions!"

"The last thing you said wasn't a question." you don't know where you found the courage to reply like that, but it is much appreciated by your inner self. With this new-found boldness, you straighten your posture and grab the work table for support.

He raises his eyebrows in amusement and chuckles, "Okay. Let me rephrase." he clicks his tongue and leans his face a bit closer to yours, "I have a feeling you are avoiding me."

"Am not." you lie, but you swear that you are totally busted by the way you are staring at his eyes.

Fuck, why did he have to be this pretty?!

"Are you sure?" he leans even closer and you are beyond doubt that if you had a measuring tape, the distance between your faces would be less than 15cm. You feel his hands closing in on you, his thumps brushing your sides.

"Mmm." you mutter, your gaze dropping to his lips as he slowly drags his teeth over his bottom one, "Maybe I am just a bit shy."

He notices your sudden change of focus from his eyes to his lips and feels his own gaze travel to your lips, "Why is that?"

You let your gaze linger for a bit more before you lock eyes with him, "Maybe because you are my type."

It is like something finally clicked. And everything happens so fast!

Jihoon's hands grab your hips and you gasp, feeling the wet material of your skirt stick to your thighs as he roughly places you on top of the counter. You feel back, eyes closing and head hitting the wooden surface of the work table. When you open your eyes you find Jihoon slightly hovering over you, eyes searching your own for any signs of pain before he finds none.

His hands glide over your thighs, pushing your skirt upwards until he has a better view of your underwear. He glances at your panties before he looks at your face again, biting his lip. Your face and neck are burning up, but right now this is the last thing on your mind. Especially, when he lowers himself, face between your thighs and one arm snaking over your right thigh, lifting it up.

You gasp loudly when his fingers touch your panties, fondling the fabric right over your clitoris.

"So wet." Jihoon murmurs and you can tell he is smirking even if you can't see him, "Is it because of me or did it get wet from all this rain?"

"Shut up!" you breathe, as he quickens the pace of his fingers on your panties.

"Oh?" suddenly his fingers are gone and you unconsciously whine, bucking up your hips, "Is me talking turning you off?" Jihoon's smirk deepens, "Maybe I should use my mouth for something else then."

Before you have time to process what he just uttered, Jihoon dips his head between your legs. With one swift move your underwear is gone and Jihoon's lips close around your clit. Your hand flies to your mouth, pressing against it in an attempt to muffle the moans that are threatening to escape.

Jihoon releases your clit, only to reconnect his tongue to it with one long, slow lick, that has you shuddering. You can practically feel him grin against your heat and your free hand jerks downwards, grabbing his dark locks and making sure his mouth doesn't go too far away from your throbbing pussy.

You are glad he doesn't comment on your reaction, but you have a feeling that he will not let what happened go that easily. But, for now you are just happy with the way he drags his tongue against your clit.

He keeps teasing you, changing unexpectedly the pace from hard swipes to quick flicks of the tip of his tongue while staying away from your vagina.

Your whole body is quivering, but Jihoon's firm grip on your thighs is preventing you from closing them around his head or moving away from the maddening drags of his tongue. Shaky moans slip past your lips and you abandon your task of dampening your voice as your hand searches blindly beside you for something to support yourself.

Accidentally, you push a few roses over the edge of the counter before you find the edge yourself and grab it for dear life as Jihoon sucks vigorously on your clit. You moan loudly, your back arching over the work table before Jihoon pulls you back down, his lips never abandoning your pussy.

Your eyes open wide the moment he slips, not one, not two, but three fingers inside you, curling them as soon as he has them bottomed out. A broken moan leaves your lips and your breaths become more frantic as he continues to lick your clit while his fingers are deep inside you, stretching you out nicely.

You are so overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure at that moment, that you don't react when the hand he had on your thigh moves upwards. It pushes past your belly, finding the end of your shirt and fiddling with the rest of the buttons as he undoes them one by one. With his head still between your legs teasing your folds, he struggles with the buttons. But when he finally reaches the top one and unbuttons it, his hand rampages on your chest.

He pushes aside your open shirt and runs his hand over your breasts, until he settles on your right one and squeezes it. You feel him sigh against your pussy and you bite down your lip to suppress your moans. The pad of his callused thumb circles your nipple, pressing down on it hard, earning a few more moans from your part.

Jihoon opens his eyes, drowning in the sight of your exposed neck as you gulp down your saliva in between breaths; your chest rising and falling heavily as his thumb caresses your nipple. He feels his dick twitch and not being able to resist it, he rises from his knees and connects his mouth with your belly, just below your belly bottom.

You raise slightly your head and your eyes lock. He sends you a toothy grin that is everything but heart-warming before his tongue slips out of his mouth and makes contact with your skin. You gasp as he licks all the way up to your breasts, never breaking your gaze until he reaches your already swollen bud and takes it in his mouth.

You whimper loudly, refusing to let your head fall back and instead you stare at him as he works on your breasts. The fingers he has in your pussy suddenly slip out before they start pistoning in and out of you, his thumb rubbing sloppily your clit. The hand that was previously on your torso, is now holding your waist tightly, fingers digging into the soft skin as he presses his body onto yours.

By the time Jihoon lets go of your right nipple and makes his way to your left one, you are degraded to a moaning mess. His teeth graze your sensitive bud before he open his mouth and sucks as much of your left breast as he can fit in his mouth. With no hands gripping at your thighs, your legs wobble on top of the counter as you feel your orgasm closing in.

Jihoon releases your nipple and attacks your neck, biting, sucking and licking around the side of it. You close your eyes as your orgasm hits you, broken moans slipping past your lips. Jihoon can feel every vibration of your body, from your moans to your trembling limbs as his face stays attached to your throat and his body close to yours.

Jihoon's fingers fuck you all the end till the end of your high, when they slowly retreat from your core and rest on top of your thigh. His mouth still roams on your neck, leaving wet kisses and soft bites behind, as you try to recollect your thoughts after the orgasm. Your chest heaves heavily as you catch your breath and for a weird reason the pressure of Jihoon's body down on yours is providing some kind of comfort.

Just as you have calmed a bit down, you feel him rise from the crook of your neck. He places his hands in each side of your shoulders, using them to support his weigh, as he towers over you. His dark hair fall partially over his eyes as he stares at your flushed face, lips tugging into a smug grin.

"You are cute when you are so vocal!" he straightens up, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes and it is then you realise he is still fully clothed. His apron is also concealing how affected he is by your little venture. You suddenly feel exposed and you lift yourself on your elbows to regain some of the upper hand.

Or at least try to.

"Well, you are not."

He raises his eyebrows and closes in on your face, arms positioned in your sides, essentually trapping you, "Yeah, I got that. You prefer it when I make a different use of my mouth, right?"

You can tell how pleased he is with himself and you give him the satisfaction of blushing at his words, "...Maybe."

Jihoon grins wide at your confession and bites his bottom lip, "Yes. Maybe…" his voice gets lower and he titls his head slightly, glancing at your lips before locking eyes with you, "Maybe I could make use of something else too." he speaks in a husky whisper and you feel another wave of arousal wash over you, drenching your pussy.

"Maybe you should." you say and with a new-found confidence, you grab his shirt and crush your lips with his.

Jihoon is caught off-guard and your chest swells in pride as he stays still even for a moment, before he recovers and tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You grab his shirt collar by both hands, pulling him closer as you lean a bit backwards. Jihoon lets you lure him closer to you, one hand gripping your waist and the other placed on the counter so that you don't fall fully backwards.

Kissing Jihoon feels exhilarating; his lips are soft in opposition to his rough kisses as he bites your lips, trying to gain access to your mouth. His tongue clashes with your own for dominance and he chuckles, finding your persistence cute, before he takes control.

Abruptly, he withdraws only to attach his lips to your neck as he pulls you back towards him. His hands find your open shirt and start tugging it down. Your let go of his collar, helping him remove your shirt as he tosses it to the side. Now it's your turn to tug at his apron, only for your efforts to go in vain. He notices your struggle and pulls away, untying the bow on the back side and smirking at you.

"Such a hurry!" he breaths as he takes it off, letting it fall to the floor, "Can't wait to see me naked?"

"Yes. Now shut up and kiss me!"

Jihoon's smirk widens and you expect a cheeky response from his part. But instead, his lips return hungrily to yours. You gasp, granting him acess to your mouth as your hands fly to the buttons of his shirt. Hurriedly you unfasten them and take the edges of the shirt out of his pants. Jihoon steps back as you peel off his shirt, revealing his upper body.

You prevent your mouth falling open in front of him, but you can't help staring. The six-pack is definitely the first thing your eyes cling to, before roaming over to his arms and torso. He has a nice body; lean, muscular. Instinctively, your fingers trace the lines of his abs, starting from the top and moving to the bottom, dangerously close to the line of his underwear, which is peaking from under his pants.

"Like what you see?" Jihoon is smirking. Of course he is!

"Do you always talk this much?" you breath out, too preoccupied with slipping your index finger under the band of his underwear to indulge in his banter.

"Aw, baby don't worry." his hand reaches for yours, palming it, before he guides it inside his boxers, "I like what I see too!" he murmurs as your fingers wrapped around his shaft.

You gasp quietly and you turn to look at him, eyes locking as he holds your hand tightly around his dick. He inspects you, waiting to see what your next move will be and your pussy tightens around nothing from excitement.

Your free hand deals with the button and the zipper of his pants, tugging them clumpsily downwards in an attempt to get rid of them. The pants roll down to his mid thighs, but that's enough space for you.

With the corner of your eye, you notice the sharp breath he takes and how his abdomen tights the moment you pull his dick out of his underwear, the tip already smeared with precum. He is relatively thick and bigger than average and you hum in satisfaction as you weigh him in your palm.

You raise your eyes to meet his gaze and squeeze the base of his cock, "Cat got your tongue?"

It's your time to taunt him now as you slowly run your hand up and down on him.

But, he sneers and your teasing doesn't last long.

His arm snakes around your waist, lifting you up from the counter and you whelp, both hands flying to your sides to balance you. With his other hand, he grabs the hem of your skirt and forcefully strips you of it, leaving you bare. He sets you down on the work table again and before you have time to recover, he tears off entirely his pants and underwear. He retrieves a condom from his wallet and tosses it to you. The next second, his shoes are gone and his hands are back on your hips.

You look at him with wide eyes and gulp, chest violently rising and falling. You blindly rip open the packaging and pull out the condom, not daring to put it on him yet.

"My tongue is right here, see?" Jihoon pulls his tongue out to show you, his finger pointing at it in case you would miss it.

"And my hands are here." he set his hand back on your hips and squeezes.

"And I am right here..." he murmurs and looks into your eyes.

His thumbs caresse your sides, slowly getting lower, towards your thighs and you feel your core drenching. You breathe deeply as you open your legs and shyly close your fingers around his member, tagging it softly forward.

"But, I need you here." you whine, glancing at your pussy and Jihoon's eyes follow not far behind. You slide the condom on his member, gazes locking again as you guide his dick to your entrance.

You take a deep breath the moment his tip touches your folds, but you don't break eye contact with him. As he slowly slides inside you, you open your mouth in a non-audible moan and notice that his mouth also falls open the moment he bottoms out.

He stays still and you let out a breath, trying to adjust to the feeling of him. He is thick and you are glad he stretched you out nicely with his fingers before.

His fingers dig in the outside of your thighs and he starts rocking you slowly on his dick. You whimper, your hands shooting to grab his shoulders for support as he keeps up that pace.

"You are so tight!"

You are about to reply when his grip on your thighs tightens and he slams his hips on yours. A loud moan slips past your lips and your hand flies to your mouth as you sense more coming. Jihoon catches your hand before it connects with your mouth, bringing it back at his shoulders and holding it there as his pace turns ruthless.

Your whole body is shaking on top of the counter as he fucks you fast and hard, your moans and whimpers filling the room. You feel yourself slipping and move your hands behind his nape for a better hold, closing your eyes.

"Look at me!"

You whole body bolts forward when his fingers rub harshly at your clit and your eyes open wide. Jihoon is looking intensely at you, nose almost touching your own, as his hips roll faster on yours.

"Good girl!"

You moan breathelessly upon hearing the praise words and he snickers. Your reaction does nothing but encourage him more and he manages to keep up with the speed he set for a bit longer. While his digits are stroking your clit, his free hand takes a fist of your hair and tugs.

You whelp as he pulls your head back, exposing your neck and diving his head, only to leave open-mouthed kisses just below your jaw. His mouth moves lower, trailing his lips over your soft skin before adorning it with bites. He finds your pulse point and sucks on it and when you cry out as planned, he giggles.

"Look at you! Taking my cock so well!"

It's really too much!

His cock, his fingers, his mouth on your neck, whispering pure filth against your skin! You really don't mean to do it, but it slips out!

You cry out his name, but it sounds more like a plea!

Jihoon doesn't hault this time; he is too deep to stop now. Instead, the hand that was tangled in your hair retreats and grabs your neck harshly. Your breath is caught in your throat as Jihoon pushes you back down on the counter, without pulling out of you.

Your back arches and you gasp; his hold is firm without blocking the air out of your lungs. Your fingers wrap around his hand as you try to catch your breath.

"Kinky!" you tease, wetting your lips and in response he grins, "I didn't know my florist was into that kind of shit!"

"Oh, baby you have not idea!" he purrs, freeing your neck and grasping your ankles.

You whelp as he puts your legs on his shoulders, your heels hooking on his shoulder blades for support. You feel your face warm up as Jihoon stands over your lying form; legs spread, chest heaving, face flushed. The marks he left on your neck and breasts are already turning darker and Jihoon pupils dilate in arousal.

He brings your hips down to his and thrusts deeper inside you. He slides two fingers in your mouth and you suck on them eagerly, drowning your moans. He brings them between your legs and finds your clit again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" you curse through gritted teeth and resist the urge to roll back your eyes, solely because you don't want to miss the sight of Jihoon pounding on you.

You grab the edge of the counter behind your head with both hands so tighly that your knuckles turn white. Your body jerks on the table and you puff as you feel a second orgasm closing in.

At that moment, Jihoon pinches your clit, making you cry out and raise your hips. He leans his body on you, lips capturing yours in a breathless kiss. With the new position, your legs are pushed closer to your upper body; your knees being the bodypart clasping his shoulders now.

"Are you close?" he whispers on your mouth and your grip on the counter tightens.

"Y-Yes!"

He pecks your lips and like on cue, his thrusts become slower. You whine, immediately catching on to what he was doing.

"Jihoon!"

"Yes?" the fucker smirks, the rolling of his hips slowing down more.

You glare at him and buck your hips againt his, seeking some much needed friction. His hand moves from your clit to your lower body and presses you down to keep you still. You gasp and your walls clench around him.

"Do you want to cum?

"Yes!" the desperation is clear in your voice and Jihoon grins.

"Then beg for it!"

His finger is back on your clit, pressing down on it and he buries his cock deep inside of you. In both cases he refrains from moving and you know he is waiting for the word to spill out of your mouth.

You grab his lower back and try to push him forward, but he doesn't badge. Instead, he sinks his teeth on his bottom lip, attempting to hide how his grin widens.

He know he has won.

"Please!"

"Please what?"

A faint roll of his hips has you gasping for air, as the friction is back.

"Please let me cum!" you look him straight in the eyes as you beg for your release.

Jihoon dips his head and grabs your lower lip between his teeth, just as he picks up his pace, throwing his hips forward ruthlessly. You cry out as his finger pinches your clit again, before it rubs it aggressively. Jihoon doesn't let go immediately of your bottom lip; biting and sucking on it as you moan his name again and again.

Your walls clamp down on him and your orgasm hits you. Your whole body shakes as you cum for a second time and Jihoon has to hold your legs on top of his shoulder as they loose their strength.

He keeps pounding on your as you ride out your high, but his pace is messy. He twitches relentlessly until a particular deep shove, when he stops and groans loudly. You watch in awe as he throws his head back, veins appearing at the side of his neck, as he finally cums.

Your chest is heaving as you pant and you gently let go of the counter. Your legs weakly fall from Jihoon's shoulders and you put your hands in their place. Jihoon regains his composure and follows your lead as you pull him closer and kiss him.

The kiss is soft and you wish it lasted longer. Jihoon pulls away only to smile at you and peck your lips again. You smile back and steal a kiss from him, making him unexpectedly giggly. You feel him swift slightly his weigh, but not pull out of you yet.

He glances behind you and tilts his head, making you curious.

"It stopped raining."

"Really?" you try to twist your head to look outside, but it's impossible in the position you are at, "What time is it?"

Jihoon peeks at the clock on the wall beside him and pouts.

"It's time to lock up. Guess, fun is over!" he raises his body from yours and slips out gently.

You don't know why, but the words kind of sting to hear them.

You sit up, feeling weirdly empty and watch him as he throws the used condom in the trash bag. He picks up his clothes and starts dressing. You do the same, slipping into your shirt and buttoning it up as Jihoon gets dressed and puts the roses into the refrigerator.

You search for your underwear and Jihoon notices, as he bends down and picks it up.

"You dropped this!" he says, holding the panties in front of your face with two fingers.

"You mean you dropped it! Or more like threw it!"

Jihoon grins and gives it to you without further bickering. You are a bit dissapointed; you expected a clever remark!

You hop off the work table and put your panties on, moving to your skirt and shoes next.

"Are you ready?"

You turn to look at Jihoon -fully dressed now- who holds the keys to the shop and is waiting by the door. You nod and silently walk past him and out of the shop.

This is awkward, you have to admit.

You didn't plan this to turn out like that and you worry that things will be weird from now on.

Maybe you should searching for a new flower shop close to your home.

You watch him as he turns around the shop's sign to 'closed' and locks the doors. You nervously bite your lip and turn your back on him, walking towards your apartment. You know how this goes and you don't want to stay for the awkward part!

You haven't made it two steps afar when he grabs your arm and pulls you back. Your chest collides with his and his lips are back on yours, in a chaste kiss. Your eyes widen, but quickly flutter shut in order to enjoy the kiss. He wraps his arm around your waist and keeps you close to him as he kisses you.

When you pull apart, you look at him in the eyes and part your mouth in surprise.

"See you next week?" he asks softly and you blink, not expecting this.

You shake your head and smile, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him down to give him one more kiss.

"You bet on it!"

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dantheserialkillerman · 3 years ago

Text

Mangas/Webtoons to read as you wait for Brutal: Confessions of a Homicide Detective to update

⭐= Highly recommend

⚠️ = Warning for uncomfortable content

❤️ = Romance

❤️Garden of the Dead Flowers❤️

Synopsis:

Mila has always been very close to her grandfather, a sweet and caring man who sees the best in everyone. One night after following a cat, Mila gets sent back to the past when the Dutch colonized Taiwan. Confused and scared, her entire world is turned upside down when she witnesses her once lovable grandfather, now sixteen, brutally murder a young woman. Stuck in the past with no way back, she must navigate a 1940s nightmare and dig up some family secrets, like weeds in the garden. (Romance not between Grandfather and granddaughter)

Why you should read this: Great twists and the MC is very likable. The story is also enjoyable. The grandad is unhinged which is also great to read. Although there are "I can change him" vibes, this might not be for you if you really can't stand that.

⚠️Prison Lab⚠️

Synopsis:

Eyama Aito, a high school student, is the victim of daily bullying. At his wit's end, he is introduced to the "captivity game," where he must choose a single person to hold for a month for a chance to win a large sum of money. Giving him a valid reason for revenge, he chooses Ya Kirishima, the ringleader of his bullies. The only rule? Do not kill her.

Why you should read this: Revenge fantasy. If you are into " I don't care if two wrongs don't make a right, I just want to see blood," this is for you. No one is the good guy, and everyone sucks. This story is very dark and psychological. Like, really, REALLY dark. Probably the darkest on the list. This is the only story I would put trigger warnings around.

⭐Shen Ze⭐

Synopsis:

Xu Shenze is your normal everyday teenager. Well, almost normal. Ever since he was a child, he has had the same strange dream of a shadow, a dead town, and an impending message of death. As the shadow slowly took over his life, his parents meet a gruesome end, turning his world upside down. Now, all Xu has left is to find that town in his dreams, a place they claim God once lived, and discover the truth. Will you also join him in this nightmare?

Why you should read this: This has the best art and incredible visuals. The story is very Silent Hill, and I suspect the franchise greatly inspired it. The MC is competent, intelligent, and easy to like. He's antisocial and a little awkward as well. This story has ghosts and many gripping mysteries. I would recommend this webtoon the most out of everything on the list. Very Junji Ito.

⭐Cesare⭐

Synopsis:

Angelo da Canossa is an angelic young student during the height of Renaissance Italy. Befriending Cesare Borgia, the future inspiration for Machiavelli's 'The Prince,' the question becomes whether Canossa can remain innocent or will be drawn into the politically evil world of Florance? The main message? If you do fall, at the very least, one must be well-dressed. Even Satan can make an entrance.

Why you should read this: The fashion and the political intrigue should be enough to draw anyone in. If you are a fan of brutal history, you will enjoy this manga. The storyline can keep your attention, along with well-rounded characters. Out of all the stories, this one has the best writing.

⚠️Funouhan⚠️

Synopsis:

In a park, surrounded by cats, sits a strange man with red eyes. He's eccentric, handsome, and the type that makes a shiver go down your spine. You can request that he kill anyone you want, and he can never be prosecuted because he never does anything "illegal." Equipped with a strange power, those he helps will always come to regret it.

Why you should read this: Attractive apathetic male lead with a melodramatic and dark plot. There is clear thought put into each plot, and the story is more serialized than the others on this list. Definitely, a manga that makes you roll your eyes at humanity. There is body horror, so leave this one on the shelf if you really can't handle that.

⚠️From the Red Fog⚠️

Synopsis:

This work is a story about a boy, Rwanda, whose mother is a vicious murderer, set in England at the end of the 19th century. Rwanda, who has long been confined in the basement, grew up and left the house after a specific incident. Eventually, he arrived in the town and was picked up by a nursing home staff member and decided to live in the facility. But peaceful everyday life is only dull for Rwanda... (description taken from Mangago)

Why you should read this: FANTASTIC storyline. Although it's a bit on the edgelord side. Beautiful art. Mommy issues. Also, it's in Victorian England. This work is closest to Brutal in terms of content.

⭐Versailles of the Dead⭐

Synopsis:

Marie Anotine's twin brother, Albert, is the only survivor after the carriage travelling to France for his sister's wedding is attacked by zombies. Taking on her identity to keep the alliance alive, Albert marries Louis XV and navigates the court while hiding a dark secret underneath.

Why you should read this: I absolutely adore this manga. I would also highly recommend this on the list. The art is beautiful, and the storyline is very engaging. Albert is a delight (and closest to Hiroki Dan in personality), and who doesn't love a little of Rococo France. Plus zombies. French zombies. There is gore, so a tiny bit of a warning there.

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dutchvanwinkle · 3 years ago

Note

Your work is amazing! Would you do a fic following the horse race Dutch initiates with Arthur? Dutch says if Arthur wins he can have whatever he wants and vice versa. Arthur wins and once they go to Dutch’s tent he asks Dutch if he could kiss him (whilst finally confessing how long he has been pining after Dutch). How it goes and how far it goes is up to you!

I'm so sorry this took me so long anon - this was quite a challenge to write and different to my usual stuff but I ended up enjoying the process! However, I do apologise if it sucks lol. Thanks for the lovely compliment ♡

It's up on ao3 too.

All I Have - Arthur x Dutch

Summary: The loser of Arthur and Dutch's horse race in chapter 3 has to do one thing at the request of the other. Arthur wins, and asks for something he's wanted for a long time.

Word count: 4,695

Content warnings: None

Arthur had no time for the town of Rhodes. It was too hot, too muggy, and its residents were disagreeable at best.

He had even less time for the stupid jobs the gang were running for the local sheriff.

And now, with sweat pooling all down his back and his knees aching from being crouched for so long, he had to admit that the reward of a wagon full of moonshine was almost worth it. It would’ve been, if he didn’t know he’d be running some other fool’s errand within the next twenty-four hours.

There was no room for complaining, though. The gang was having a hard enough time as it was, and the sooner they could line their pockets with cash, the sooner Arthur could be out of this hellhole and somewhere he could breathe. But, even if there was room for complaining, Arthur knew deep down that he wouldn’t bother Dutch with his bellyaching. The man had always done right by him, pulling the pair out of tough scrapes and bouncing out the other side. Sure, there had been (many) times Arthur wanted to throw Dutch’s plans back in his face, but when the man approached him with a spark in his eyes and eagerness in his voice it was impossible to say no. Arthur would do anything for Dutch, and that wasn’t a mutable fact.

And when Dutch's face lit up at the realisation that for all it was, Rhodes was a town filled with stupidity that could be easily swindled, the aches in Arthur’s bones from a day's work somehow eased.

“Come on,” he clapped a loving hand to Arthur’s shoulder, “you ride with me.”

Arthur dipped his head to hide the blush on his cheeks under the brim of his hat, while the two mounted up and Dutch gave his orders to Bill on what to do with the moonshine.

While he was a self-professed fool, Arthur wasn’t foolish enough to not see the change incurring in Dutch’s personality over the past few months. Something in the back of his mind itched, trying to get his attention and repeatedly told him that the man’s misjudgement is going to be more of a problem than he initially thought. So, hearing Dutch talk about these two local feuding families and all the opportunities that came with them, quietened those doubts and brought forward something soft and comforting in Arthur’s chest. Perhaps it was all a small phase after all.

“This is startin’ to sound like the young Dutch again,” Arthur snickered, spurring his horse on to keep pace with The Count.

“What do you mean, young Dutch? I’m as strong as I have ever been,” Dutch threw him an offended look, and it never failed to amaze Arthur just how quickly the man’s expression could drop from happy as a clam in high water to as unhappy as a clam... on dry land, he guessed. Arthur never was one for meaningful prose.

“Hey,” Dutch started again, a smile growing on his face once more as he eyed the path ahead, “you know what, why don’t I race you back?”

“A race? Your pride really that hurt?”

“This has nothing to do with pride, my boy. Just a bit of friendly competition,” Dutch raised his brows, challenging Arthur with his gaze if not with his words. “Don’t be a spoilsport. Tell you what, if you win you can have whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” Arthur’s mind dove into a sea of desires, from a new pair of spurs to a new repeater he’d been eyeing in the gunsmith. Or, perhaps he could mock Dutch a little and get him to do his laundry. Or perhaps he could...

No, not that.

It wouldn’t matter either way, Dutch was as talented on horseback as he was everything else, and while Arthur too could navigate a mount better than most, he wasn’t sure if Dutch’s age had lessened his aptitude that much. It’d be a close one, but Arthur thought too highly of his mentor to assume he could surpass him.

“Jesus, Arthur, don’t spend too long thinking about it. And remember, if and when I win, I get whatever I want,” Dutch reminded him smugly, slowing The Count to a walk.

Of course, no deal with reward and without risk existed when it came to Dutch.

“Okay,” Arthur conceded, knowing that whatever Dutch wanted from him would be a better fate than the man calling him yellow for the next week. “You’re on.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dutch gleamed, “Okay. On my word... set... go!”

And The Count was off, kicking up dust and leaving Arthur squinting to shield his eyes as his opponent got a starting lead. He bristled, bringing his reins down on his horse with the aim of at least catching up with him.

“You never were much of a rider!” Dutch called as he turned at the fork.

Something inside Arthur shifted at Dutch’s winning form ahead of him, and the adrenaline of competition and the prospect of having him in his favour surged through his veins. Arthur kicked his horse’s sides harder like he only did when running from the law and grinned when he reached his side. “We’ll see about that!” he cried, slipping past The Count as the trees lining the edge of the forest to his left blurred into only moving colours.

He could’ve sworn Dutch yelled something back, but the sound from the train on the overhead tracks drowned it out regardless. It’d been a while since the two had done anything like this, and the rush from it was like nothing else. Continuing to gain on Dutch, Arthur yelled over his shoulder before reaching a farm.

“Any time you wanna stop for a breather, you let me know.”

Hoping the man heard but uncaring for his reaction, Arthur weaved between the bales of hay and grazing sheep. He was surprised his Tennessee Walker was doing so well in this, The Count was an elite horse and Dutch sang the arrogant beast’s praises whenever he got a chance. However, the delta between their stamina began to show as hoofbeats sounded behind Arthur.

“You really thought you could hold that lead?” Dutch gained on Arthur and passed him, flashing a grin as he did and Arthur willed his horse to push just a little longer as they reached the final stretch.

This was his chance, after being at the man’s beck and call for all these years to finally get something in return. To finally get the thing he’d been thinking about since...

No. He wouldn’t ask for that.

Regardless, his previously unbothered connection to the race strengthened with the thought of the look on Dutch’s face alone if he ended up losing. Arthur dug in his heels.

“Final stretch,” he commented, his horse coming neck and neck with The Count as camp neared. From here, Arthur could see the beads of sweat on Dutch’s temple but willed himself to look away and focus on the finish line.

He broke away from him until The Count disappeared from his peripheral and camp came into view. Lungs burning, Arthur half-skidded, half-stopped his horse by the hitching post and leant on the pommel of his saddle to calm his heart rate.

He’d done it, he’d actually beat Dutch in a race. Races with Dutch when Arthur was in his youth were more frustrating than anything, by the time his experience started catching up his body began to bulk and made him less naturally agile as a rider. But now, as a grown man? It felt nothing short of great. So great, that Arthur hadn’t even considered their initial deal.

“I never knew you were quite so good at running away, Arthur,” Dutch said through laboured breaths, hitching his horse beside Arthur’s and the two dismounted fluidly.

“I never knew age had slowed you down quite so much,” Arthur chortled, leaning up against the hitching post.

“Well,” Dutch took out his bandana and wiped the sweat from his brow, “time is a bastard. When you get to be my age, you’ll know that better than anything.”

Typical. Arthur hardly batted an eyelid at the lack of congratulations and unnecessary excuses, expecting nothing less and putting Dutch’s defensiveness down to his injured pride. Still, the silent victory was a welcomed one.

“Be well. I had fun with you today. You’re,” the falter from Dutch trying to find his words was a rare one and reminded Arthur that he too, was only human. “I was gonna say you’re like a son to me,” Dutch’s hand pressed firmly onto Arthur’s shoulder, and it was then that he realised he’d been avoiding eye contact and promptly met the man’s gaze, “but you’re more than that.”

Well, if that didn’t spark warmth inside him.

And then he went, Arthur’s limbs forgetting how to hold themselves naturally and he felt something he’d repressed for far too long. There was a time, before John, when Arthur was the most special thing in Dutch’s life. As the gang grew along with the space between them, Arthur didn’t feel so special anymore and learned to live with the fact; that Dutch would still always be the most special thing to him. Dutch knew the right words to appease Arthur, knew just what to say to bend his ear and reign complete control over him, but this time his words were genuine. Arthur had known Dutch for twenty years, and he knew when the man was speaking with an ulterior motive in mind instead of voicing his truth.

He couldn’t help but watch his retreating form, one he’d thought about more times than he’d care to admit.

It wasn’t as though Arthur had never had any experience with Dutch’s body. Not in a lewd sense, but spending so long travelling the open road with a man led to the odd occasion where the two would share a bedroll or a room at a hotel. On some of those occasions, the night would be cold and Arthur would naturally gravitate towards Dutch’s body heat. He always obliged, slinging an arm around Arthur and likely being thankful for Arthur’s warmth too. It was necessary, of course. Purely for survival purposes.

But now, with such a large gang and no need for the two of them to spend more than a night away from camp together, Arthur missed it.

He missed Dutch. As much as he loved the gang and would do anything for them, there were times when Arthur Morgan would like to relive the old days and have Dutch all to himself.

Those times alone with him, the closeness between their bodies along with Dutch’s attention directed at only Arthur had satiated his gnawing hunger. Deep down, Arthur had always known that there was something about Dutch’s touch that meant more than the touch of another. He’d placated himself with what he had, and lying beside Dutch on a frosty night or sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the campfire was enough for him. It had to be. His urges satisfied, the fog in Arthur’s brain would clear and leave him with the razor-sharp focus Dutch needed from his top gun. Arthur learnt how to indulge himself and at the same time put himself in the best position for making Dutch proud.

But that was then, and this is now.

Now, Arthur can’t remember the last time he shared more than an hour with just Dutch, let alone an hour huddled beside him. Dutch’s palm on Arthur’s shoulder, a firm and secure hold as the man told him how much he meant to him, saying he’s not just his son but he’s more than that, broke even Arthur’s long-standing defences. He’d crumbled under the touch, his innards melting with the warmth of the feeling alone, and God did he want more.

But then Dutch was gone, back off into camp and Arthur wilted at the loss of light that radiated from the one man he truly adores. Because that’s what it was, Arthur felt many things for Dutch, but adoring took the cake over all of them.

“Oh,” Dutch stopped in his tracks, turning slightly to look at Arthur once more, “I almost forgot, I owe you.”

A small gesture of his finger told Arthur to fall into step with him as he continued the path to his tent, and Arthur was at his side in an instant.

One of the most bizarre things about Dutch was that man’s smell. Ever since Arthur had known him, he’d always had this distinct smell about him. Underneath the scents of gun oil, tobacco, whiskey, or whatever cologne Dutch had found at that point, the man’s own smell always lingered. Arthur didn’t know how to describe it, other than Dutch. It was Arthur's favourite.

And now, entering his closed tent for the first time in... a while, that smell wafted straight up Arthur’s nostrils.

“It’s sad to think back to you in your prime,” Arthur hummed, easing the one-sided tension from being in such close proximity with one another.

Dutch tutted, glancing briefly at a stack of papers and straightening them out. “Don’t be so conceited, Arthur, it’s unbecoming.”

“Aw, if I’d have known you’d be such a sore loser, I wouldn’t have accepted the race.”

“Don’t try to annoy me, son,” Dutch turned, hands on his hips with a slight tilt of his head. “Now, tell me what it is you’d like.”

“What I’d like?”

“Yes,” Dutch said slowly, as though talking to a toddler, “you have a prize to claim, if your mind can recall. Or have you taken one too many blows to the head recently? Ride your horse into a tree again, perhaps?”

“I do not do that,” Arthur folded his arms in defence.

“Yes, you do. Quite a lot, actually. Surprised the poor mount of yours can even see.”

“My horse is fine,” Arthur retorted. “And no, my wit is as sharp as it has always been.”

Dutch hummed in lazy agreement. “I suppose you have always been a little dim.”

Arthur knew better than to bite, while Hosea’s teasing was always obvious and light, Dutch preferred to be more menacing with it and enjoyed the squirming from the recipient of his playful taunting. The smile that graced the man’s face after the extended silence told him he was satisfied.

“So, what will it be.”

While he was thankful for the change of subject, internally cursing himself for never being able to keep up with Dutch on a verbal scale, he still didn’t have a clue what to ask for. He knew he was maybe overthinking it, but this was a rare occurrence.

“Come on, Arthur. This is your chance,” Dutch widened his arms before placing the papers on his side table, “you can have whatever you want. You won fair and square.”

Finally, a little humility.

“W-Well, what would you have asked me for?”

Arthur knew full well Dutch didn’t have to win a race to get what he wanted from him. The man only had to look at Arthur and there he was, waiting diligently and willing to do whatever it took to make Dutch happy. It was pathetic, really, but Arthur knew that’s the way it would always be. The way it always had been. There was a small part of Arthur’s mind, a quiet whisper in an otherwise disarrayed cloud of thoughts, that gave attention to the prospect that there may be things Dutch wouldn’t ask of Arthur. Things he’d need an excuse for, and this would have been a perfect excuse. In the same way that it is for Arthur if he only had an inch of the man’s confidence and self-belief.

But Dutch paused at that, the alteration in his expression telling Arthur all he needed to know about how much time he’d considered any secret desires he’d indulged in. The answer was none at all.

Arthur chuckled, finding humour in Dutch’s empty response. “Yeah, in fairness, I do whatever you ask of me, anyway.”

“That’s because I am reasonable with my requests,” his face changed to reflect thoughtfulness and humbleness, as though he was either of those things at that moment.

“You? Reasonable? Shit, Dutch, you really are getting old. Looks like your memory is finally giving up on you.”

Dutch huffed a laugh, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder again. “My boy, perhaps if you did not excel at every task I give you I would not ask for so many more.”

Arthur worked on a swallow; the physical contact muddled with the praise sending his mind into a tizzy. “Maybe I’ll start slacking, in that case.”

“Oh no,” Dutch’s chest rumbled with a laugh, “I know you better than anyone and I know how incapable you are at sitting still.”

While Arthur wasn’t in a position to deny that, all he could focus on was the hand still planted on his shoulder.

“Come on!” Dutch threw his arms up slightly, returning them to grip at his gun belt and Arthur used all of his self-control not to glance down. “Tell me what you want.”

Arthur knew full well what he wanted. He’d tried to think of something else, anything else, but nothing came close. This was something he’d wanted for far too many years. “I don’t know, I guess...”

Dutch didn’t appear fooled by Arthur’s feigned attempt at thinking as he scratched at his nape and darted his eyes to the corner of the tent. He really did know him better than anyone. His mouth quirked into a smile and Arthur was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. God, how he wanted to kiss that mouth of his.

But then Dutch stilled, as though he’d caught the path of Arthur’s eye line who promptly cleared his throat. “Ah, I don’t -”

“Son,” Dutch’s voice rumbled low through the confines of the tent, dropping to a volume that encased them in guaranteed privacy, “you know you can ask me for anything.”

Arthur’s breath stilled in his chest, and the look on Dutch’s face was an unreadable one. He could see the intrigue and the excitement that the man seemed to be holding down. Surely, as he had done many times, Arthur was misreading the situation and would only end up making a fool out of himself if he dared venture down that path.

“Come on,” Dutch commanded softly, “ask me.”

Arthur never was one to deny Dutch. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what came next but being unable to keep it in any longer. His reaction couldn’t be that bad, and Arthur’s back ached with the heavy truth it carried. He trusted Dutch. Always had. Always will.

“I want you to kiss me.” Arthur was surprised at the measured tone that left him, even if he had practically blurted the words out. He allowed his eyes to do their job again.

Then when Dutch brought his hand up, Arthur half-expected a strike across his face to follow it. But instead, that calloused palm brushed the fallen strands of overdue-to-be-cut hair from Arthur’s brow, and Dutch’s eyes followed the motion until they met Arthur’s. At that moment, seeing the calm determination and tempering intrigue that resided in the warm brown of his eyes, he understood exactly why the man had women falling at his feet. If he had so much power from a look and touch alone, Arthur daren’t think about the power he welded when he used other or all of the items he had at his disposal. He suspected he’d never needed to do so.

Arthur had stopped breathing and would soon pass out on Dutch’s floor, he was sure of it. But he couldn’t seem to remember how to take in air no matter how badly he wanted to inhale all of Dutch. He wasn’t even sure when the man had gotten so close.

“Relax,” Dutch cooed, noticing the nerves radiating from Arthur and using them to feed his own confidence. He brought a thumb over Arthur’s cheekbone, swiping at dirt and sweat but from the look on his face, anyone would have believed Arthur had been doused in sweet honey. “I never could say no to you, Arthur.”

That was his name. His name that oozed from Dutch’s lips like nectar from a bright pink fuchsia on an early spring morning. He tethered himself to it, his only remaining string tied to his sense of self or else he’d ascend straight to heaven. That was the last thing he needed, considering the extra sin he was about to add to his long list of acts against God.

Then Dutch leaned in.

And Arthur found out what heaven truly was.

The press of the surprisingly soft lips against his reminded Arthur that he was a sentient being and it was necessary to respond and reciprocate in this instance. He allowed himself to do it; allowed himself this small slice of eternal paradise that would outlive the both of them, despite how much he believed he didn’t deserve it.

His lips were on fire in what Arthur could only describe as a blaze of glory. He’d kissed before, he enjoyed kissing and had a decent record of the act, especially when compared to some of the men he knew. But this man, his man if only for a fleeting moment, was the one on the receiving end. Or maybe it was Arthur that was on the receiving end. He didn’t know, nor did he care.

As the remembrance of who he was and where he was began to fade, Arthur needed a new tether and opted for his only option. He brought his hands to Dutch’s waist, willing himself not to grip too hard but he didn’t want it to be over just yet. The feel of Dutch’s moustache brushing over the stubble on his upper lip, the taste of the long-forgotten cigar that’d entertained Dutch earlier in the day, and the man himself closer than he’d ever been before were all sensations Arthur wasn’t ready to part with.

But then Dutch pulled off, more eased off and a shaky sigh left Arthur. It was all he could manage.

“How many do I owe you?” Dutch focused his mind on slowly exhaling and the pad of his thumb pressed gently onto the middle of Arthur’s bottom lip.

“I -” Arthur faltered, knowing it was his turn to say something smooth but coming up blank, not that he was surprised.

Dutch hummed thoughtfully, knowing that Arthur had always had a hard time asking outright for the things he wanted. “I’ll rephrase – how long have you wanted this?”

Any and all effort to remain composed withered, and Arthur released his frustration with a long sigh, huffing an accepting laugh void of any humour. “Long time, Dutch. Longer than I care to admit,” Arthur mumbled, relishing in the contact of Dutch’s thumb on his mouth.

“I see.”

What Arthur wanted to do was answer the question properly, provide the clarity Dutch was clearly hankering for but feared he’d ruin the moment if he said anything. Instead, he closed his mouth around the digit and softly sucked it into his mouth, noting the taste of gun oil and shame but not caring one bit.

Hearing Dutch’s breath hitch in response sent warm electricity through Arthur’s entire body, and any humiliation he might’ve, and probably should’ve, felt in the act was silenced at seeing Dutch in raptures as he stared at one of his oldest friends performing such an act that he never thought he’d see. Arthur released his thumb with a quiet pop, feeling a mix of embarrassment and... something else he didn’t want to give a name to rise up and fill his body full of static.

A lapse in time in that small tent left the two men suspended, neither knowing what to do next nor how to move things forward.

“Screw it,” Dutch surrendered, closing his hand over Arthur’s nape and pulling him back to where he belonged, as far as Arthur was concerned.

Then Arthur saw the ferocious side of Dutch he loved so much. The side of Dutch that would set his mind to something and not give up until he had it. Arthur felt a tongue swipe over his bottom lip, and he was reminded of how easy it was to do what Dutch wanted. It was second nature by now, and there was a small measure of security in being so obedient. Dutch would steer him right. Dutch still trusted him enough to come to him with his biggest problems requiring solutions and was safe in the knowledge that Arthur would always deliver.

Arthur just never knew it would extend to this.

It was too easy to let his lips part. Allowing his tongue to meet Dutch’s as it swirled around his mouth had been the simplest part of Arthur’s day. He relinquished everything, just when he thought he’d given Dutch all he had, he gave him all that remained in that kiss.

Now he gripped his waist, unafraid of anything considering the events that were currently transpiring. He felt invincible, and for the first time like he could do no wrong. Dutch’s had remained on his nape and held him in place, his other coming to the small of Arthur’s back and pulling his frame to his.

The contact was overwhelming.

It was also scarily addicting. Arthur knew this fancy of his would never do him any favours, and he almost grew sad at the notion that nothing would ever come close.

Almost.

Then he remembered that with Dutch, he would always be invincible.

Arthur’s chest against Dutch’s allowed him to feel the equally laboured breathing that came from him, and he was sure he could feel his heartbeat pounding against his ribcage. Or perhaps it was his own, which would come as no surprise considering its intensity. All these years, all this time waiting for something he thought would never come; Arthur suspected this was one of his dreams but didn’t care enough to wake up.

And of everything Arthur had been to Dutch; he’d never had the honour of being this. This was special. He was special once more.

The clash of teeth and mingling of spit continued and Arthur dared to bring a hand up to Dutch’s hair, feeling the soft curls between his fingers as he brushed over his scalp. Dutch didn’t seem to mind, somehow deepening the kiss and Arthur became acutely aware of the weakness in his knees.

He never wanted it to stop. It couldn’t stop, because Arthur wasn’t sure if it would ever start again and with that knowledge, he feared he’d drop dead right on the spot. It was almost worse than never kissing him, experiencing Dutch van der Linde in such an intimate way and knowing it was a one-time thing was downright cruel.

So, it was simple; he wouldn’t let it end.

A sound came from Arthur at that, something between a hum and moan but it was muffled by Dutch’s mouth on his. He regretted it instantly when the warmth left his face and he flittered his eyes open at the same time Dutch brought his forehead to rest against Arthur’s.

He wasn’t sure when he’d started panting, he’d be embarrassed that such a small excursion had brought him to that point if it weren’t for the twin response from Dutch. Still, he couldn’t help but think he’d done something wrong or taken it too far. Arthur desperately wanted to apologise, but the words simply would not form.

Arthur allowed himself to just be, to let the moment wash over him and pull every ounce of joy from it while he could.

A calm certainty arrived, one that told him he’d never feel anything like this again. He didn’t deserve to be privy to such a thing as Dutch’s affections, and knew nothing would ever be comparable. Until Dutch uttered his next words.

“I don’t think I’m quite done with you yet, cowboy.”

#vandermorgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #arthur morgan x dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x arthur morgan #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #fanfic #writting #my stuff #asks

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landinoandco · 3 years ago

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Could I ask for a Max Verstappen request?

Where you get all excited to tell him you’re pregnant and it doesn’t go well. Could you make it super angsty

Of course you can :) here you go, I hope you enjoy!

Max Verstappen x reader

Warnings: angst but with fluff at the end

Word count: 2.2 k

Requests are open...

Baby, the future is ours

At last the summer break had rolled around again, to the relief of the Formula one drivers and crew, they had 3 long weeks ahead of them to fill with whatever they deemed stress-free or relaxing. The subject of activity depending on person to person - most sane folk tended to stick to a holiday to Greece or if you were an adrenaline junkie like Daniel Ricciardo jumping out of planes or BMX biking. You had lost count of the times Max - your boyfriend - had rushed in to tell you about all of the exciting things his best friend had gotten up to as of late.

You and Max had decided to take a break and travel to a cosy, quiet part of Italy - to escape the press, the stress and most importantly the eagle eye of social media. It would just be you and him for a few weeks before reality brought you back to Milton Keynes in the shape of Christian Horner and his motley crew.

You and Max had met in 2018 at a gala event Redbull had hosted, Pierre Gasly - being a close friend of yours - had introduced you two and to say the pair of you hit it off instantly was an understatement, whether it was a mixture of the Dutch meets British humour you had no clue but you weren’t one to complain. A few months later and Max had asked you to travel around the world with him - you did so willingly and life had been nearing perfect ever since. Of course you had your ups and downs, where the universe seemed to really test not only your love for one and other but your patience. A few arguments had shown you that both being hot-headed never ended well.

You were sat out on the balcony, a book in hand and looking out into the Italien countryside. Max had left for a run and to explore the local village, leaving you, your thoughts and your growing baby. You were pregnant - you had taken the test just before flying out, this meant that Max wasn’t aware. You hadn’t told him yet and you had no clue how you were going to. As it turns out telling your partner you were pregnant was easier said than done - ironically.

You and Max hadn’t had the baby talk yet - you had but only along the lines of: “one day, when we’re older and married and driving isn’t the main priority anymore.” Those were Max’s words. He wanted to be there for his child, to watch him or her grow, to see every milestone but most importantly to be a good and nurturing father.

There was part of you that was slightly worried because you just didn’t know how Max would take it - you couldn’t keep it in any longer though. You had to tell him. There was another part of you that was excited - from a very young age you knew you wanted to have a family of your own with the person you loved the most. Call it childish naivety. At this point in time, you were ready to become a mother - well as ready as anyone ever could be.

Placing your book onto the table, you made your way into the kitchen, grabbed a glass and filled it. Sighing loudly as you leant onto the countertop.

“That was a loud sigh.” A voice called out from behind you. You recognised it instantly. Whipping your head around, you saw Max standing there, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Chuckling, you hit back, “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Rolling his eyes, he made his way over to you and wrapped his arms around your middle, placing a sweet, chaste kiss onto the side of your head. Leaning into his warm embrace, you let out another long but content sigh.

“Seriously, what is it with you and sighing today.” Max uttered, his lips still against the side of your head.

You went to move forward, out of his welcoming embrace. You knew what you had to do.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Instantly the atmosphere changed, you could feel Max stiffen behind you. Maybe the tone you chose to make that comment in was too serious but it was now or never.

“Haha, which of your friends is pregnant this time.” He quipped jokingly, trying to break the tension.

Instantly you knew the way the conversation was going to end, a pang of hurt felt in your stomach. You squeezed your eyes shut, catching your lip with your teeth. He stood there with an air of innocence and unknown, concern dancing in his eyes - he went to reach his arm out to you, to offer that encouragement.

You braved the words that came out of your lips, “Me.” You almost whispered. Time seemed to slow. Max dropped his arm and instantly took a step back.

“Pardon.” Was the only thing he could force out of his mouth, his throat seemed to close up and his hands went clammy. He definitely heard you the first time but he wanted to make sure it wasn’t a night terror. A bad dream he had failed to wake from.

“I am, Max,” You said again, your voice wavering.

“Oh.” He stated, his face drained of colour, his mouth set in a straight line.

“Is that all you have to say.” You swallowed thickly, your eyes swam with tears. You had a hunch this was how it was going to end but it didn’t stop is from hurting the way it did. You had hoped he would have proved you wrong, to have wrapped his arms around you and to have spun you around. To have laughed. To have cried. To have shown a little more excitement to the fact you were now carrying his child. His first child.

You moved past him and sat down on one of the wooden chairs, rubbing your hands over your face. He was still stood there. His eyes fixated on the view out of the window. No emotion read in his eyes. It was almost like you had hit the ‘off’ button. He tapped his foot and made a clicking noise with his mouth before turning around to face you - meeting your gaze.

“How long have you known.” His voice was hoarse.

“A couple of days before we flew out.” You answered him, moving your face back to rest in your hands.

There was a pause. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner.”

You took a breath, looking him dead in the eye. “Because I knew this was how you were going to react.” You didn’t trust your voice at all, you also didn’t know whether you wanted to scream at him or cry in the corner.

“Right.” Was all he said. Still stood there like some awkward teenager after a rather large telling off from their mother.

“Is that all you have to say to me?” You asked him, nostrils flaring. You were allowed to be angry, right?

“What do you expect me to say.” He rounded on you, his voice raising more than was necessary. Tears had spilled down your cheeks, you didn’t have the energy to fight back. As soon as he realised the effect this was having on you, he went to move forward again, his eyes softening instantly. “I’m sorry - I - I shouldn’t have raised my-”

“Get out, Max.” You stated lowly. By this point, you had stood up, shuddering away from his desperate grasp. He knew he had made a mistake. You knew he regretted it, the moment the words had left his mouth.

“Get out?” He repeated quietly, his voice cracking, you could see tears glazing his vision.

“Just - please, go on a walk - come back once you have more to say to me.” You spat.

“But - But I already have more to say-” You cut his rambling off once again.

“Please. Max.” You insisted, your voice betraying you again. “Go.” You whispered.

Max stormed out of the door, ensuring to slam it so hard the chandelier on the ceiling swung precariously. You sank back into your chair and let out a loud sob, unable to hold it in any longer.

Max was mad. Not at you, that would be unfair. He was mad at himself. At the world. At everything actually because at this point why the hell not. You were pregnant - don’t get him wrong, he was over the moon. He was going to be a dad.

It was too soon.

He still had his full F1 career ahead of him. A promising and long F1 career as a matter of fact. He wanted a baby to be his main priority and he wanted to share those one in a lifetime moments with you. He knew there was no point in being mad, it wasn’t like they were in a position where they couldn’t have a child. They had plenty of things to offer, a nurturing home with parents who were head over heels in love with each other and a large family - blood and not - who would be willing to support and love the child as if it was their own. Max really was in love with you. He knew it would be you to mother his children in the end, he just didn’t think it would be now.

He reached for his phone, went into his contacts and pressed on the number that read the name: “D.R new phone.” Whilst it wasn’t adventurous like many thought it would be, it saved the confusion from calling a number that no longer existed.

Daniel picked up on the second ring. “Hey dude, how’s it going?”

“Not good at all, Dan, not good at all.” Max admitted, his voice wavering once again. He explained the events that had happened a mere 5 minutes ago, the way he reacted and the way he left you. Hurt and alone.

“I’m not going to lie to you, mate, you’ve fucked up big time.” Dan spoke after what felt like a loud silence. After all, Daniel knew you just as well as he knew Max.

“I know. I know I have, do you think I’ve been selfish?” He asked, his tone full of raw emotion.

“Yes.” Dan stated simply, “I think you have been, especially since she even told you this is how she thought you would react. How much stress do you think she had been putting on herself? Come one, I’ve taught you to be better than this.” Daniel paused, Max could almost hear him place his thumb and ring finger onto the bridge of his nose. “You know, just as well as I know, she knows it isn’t the best time. Her becoming pregnant is very much a two person job, I think it’s time that you go back to her and have a conversation like the adult I know you are.”

In that moment, Max was so grateful to have someone like Dan just a call away. “Thank you, Dan. Really. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Alright Mr Father-to-be, don’t be going all soppy on me now.” Daniel joked, returning back to his normal teasing. That was the best thing about Daniel, he was quite useful when you needed him to be.

“You can count yourself on being the godfather after that.” Max added, a large beaming smile plastered onto his face.

He heard Dan let out a loud laugh, “Go on, leave me be. Good luck, mate, let me know how it goes and when the time is right tell her I say congrats.”

“Of course, mate. Thank you, again.” Max muttered, looking back in the direction of the villa. After he hung up, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and ambled slowly - working out exactly what he was going to say to you.

Once he had opened the door, he called out to you. “Babe?” He heard a sniffle in response. You were still slumped on the chair in the kitchen, shooting daggers at the cupboard opposite.

Max sat opposite you, reaching out for your hand. Grudgingly you let him take it, you blinked and he took a deep breath before a large, beaming smile crept onto his face.

“We’re going to be parents.” He rubbed the back of your hand, speaking tentatively. You nodded, your lower lip trembled. Max stood up, still keeping a hold of your hand as he gave it a slight tug, indicating that you should stand up. You made your way into his embrace, his arms wrapping securely around you, tucking your face into the crook of your neck as he rocked gently side to side, burying his face into your hair. He then moved his hands to cradle your face, wiping the stray tears away before peppering your face with feather light kisses.

“We’re going to be parents.” He repeated, a little louder and to this you let out another sob, laughing as he picked you up and spun you around.

“I’m sorry. I was being selfish.” He said, as he wrapped you back up into his arms. You smiled into his chest. In that moment, you couldn’t be happier. It was like all of your childhood dreams had come true. In that kitchen stood your new family, mismatched and sometimes a little bit broken but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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