#or maybe i’m just dutch

[theotomeasexual]

posting otome boys that are the same height as me (5’7”) everyday

day 2: edgar bright (ikerev)

[rogloptimist]

demi/puck at wc but like. specter of lotte right

[starbuck]

Real Emotional Labor Hours

[octoooo]

More phone doodles

[psqqa]

the person behind me is having a whispered conversation with someone and their desk and my brain keeps trying to go down the path “oh no it’s because they’re talking about how much they hate me!” and i keep having to drag it back to the extremely obvious and fully rational “oh they’re trying not to disrupt anyone’s work, super appreciate them for that”.

like human brains are for real the dumbest, most terrified little animals in existence. calm the fuck down my dude our colleagues aren’t going to kick us out of the cave to fend for ourselves against the cold and sabre-tooth tigers.

[enders-redemption]

arthur is a march baby. i have no evidence for that i just feel it in my soul

[criticalfai1ure]

kees!lives au :

it’s steadfastly the aftermath of the battle. cyrus holcroft is dead. cornelius smeenk is decidedly not, with much gratitude to ingvild and her ferality for drawing holcroft’s ire.

in this calm, kees find something deeply unsettling roiling in his belly — fury. hot and overwhelming and, for the first time in their lives, directed at august. kees is alive and he is fuming. every life lost, every second of torture he and ingvi had endured in august’s stead ( and would again and again ), all of it could have been avoided years ago, if only auggie had taken holcroft’s threats to heart.

the bosun lays into the captain that night. angry and mean.

death has changed ingvi and there is a stillness and calm that had not graced her before. she stands as a statue outside of the captain's quarters, godsword on her hip, smirking faintly at kees as he stalks out. “so you'll let me kill them next time, right?” she says, dryly.

kees answers quickly, still hot from his argument, “don’t.”

she reaches out, then, softening, and catches his arm "hey. we're here. we're still here. and he has to live with the memory of what happened for the rest of his life."

kees runs a hand over his face and sighs because he knows she’s right. but he’s already woken up with the ghost of the rope around his neck and, he won’t admit it yet, not fully, but he knows deep down that he wasn’t meant to make it through that encounter. “without your gods, where would we be?” fingers tug at the neck of his shirt, “i will forgive him because i -” his lips twist and he looks away from ingvi to stare up at the sails, “- but i would be lying if i said it didn’t feel good to make him hurt a little more for a little longer, and if that makes me a terrible friend, so be it.”

"oh, if you think i am not going to use dying for him as an excuse to do literally anything, you have too high an opinion of me." she steps closer, sliding her hand down to his and squeezing it. "knowing you're going to die for your captain and actually doing it are pretty different experiences. i think we have the right to be terrible."

— • —

it’s noon the next day and august is still sequestered in his cabin but kees refuses to be the one to check on him. suyu has the shift and brief orders from the captain to retain command through the night, so when kees approaches him, he dismisses the bosun's worry.

by the dinner bell, kees' guilt has begun to eat away at him ten-fold, but every time ingvi looks at him, he pretends he doesn’t notice. by midnight, when the door hasn’t even cracked and kees doesn’t want to sleep even if he could, he wanders out of his quarters to sit outside of the cabin. his guilt has been fighting his anger all day, and he finds this little acquiescence assuages some of his inner turmoil.

atsuyuki prods kees with his foot the next morning, pointedly looking at the captain's quarters, "mister smeenk, if you wouldn't mind checking on the captain this fine morning?"

kees clambers to his feet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he glances between suyu and ingvi. the quartermaster excuses himself for the bridge with a slight bow of his head.

ingvi gives an uncertain, "how badly did you chew him out?" as they stare at the doors only for kees to shrug. “he deserved it.” but he doesn’t sound as sure as he had the night in question.

"i don't doubt it, but this is the longest i've ever seen you two not speak."

he scoffs. he's sure there's been time they've gone without speaking. then again, he's never brought a fight to his friend, so maybe not. “he’s probably just angry at the truth being laid out,” kees knows he’s lying to himself. “d’you think pax has brought up any food?”

"... i'm sure he's tried, if anything. i'll ask." after another beat she heads off to the galley.

it feels like ages when it's barely been minutes as kees' impatience overcomes him, finally drawing him to knock. after a moment of silence he knocks louder only to have august shout for him to go away. his worry shifts, then, because he’s got a sneaking suspicion he knows what he’ll find when he opens the door. when ingvi returns, he asks her to have pax bring up a strong pot of coffee to which she just gives a sharp nod and returns belowdecks.

it's been two days but the smell of alcohol has gone stale without an open window to circulate the air. guilt clashes with the anger in his chest as kees enters the room, sharply closing the door behind him to catch august’s attention.

“did you not hear me? go away,” the captain slurs. he is sat hunched over his desk, bottle of rum drained, rolling on its side with the sway of the ship.

“auggie…”

“don't - don't auggie me, kees. just -” and here his voice breaks, “just leave me be.”

rather than listen, kees crosses the room to kneel at his captain’s side, looking up at him with a sadness in his gaze. “what have you done, mijn hart,” a whisper, “forgive me my anger.”

tears spring to august's eye and he turns to hide his shame from the bosun. “i lost you, kees. i lost you both -”

“and yet we are still here. with you. you won't be rid of us so easily.”

ingvi's knock comes quicker than expected and august looks up, brow pinching with annoyance. kees watches auggie a moment longer before pushing to his feet, bidding aug to look at him and pressing a kiss to his forehead before calling out for ingvi to enter.

as the door creaks open, kees crosses to the back of the cabin, propping open the windows for the sea breeze. ingvi enters silently and eases the door shut behind her. she carries the coffee to the desk, pours it into one of the three mugs pax had provided on the tray and sets it in front of august. instead of pouring one for herself, she glances around, wordlessly setting to put things back in order.

august grimaces at the strong smell, sliding the mug further from him until kees tuts, taking a seat opposite. “drink up, mate.”

“ik ben geen k-kind.”

“and when you can admit as much without slurring, perhaps we’ll believe you.” kees crosses his arms, expectant, and after a long moment of trying to wait it out, august finally relents and sips at the coffee, grimacing again. after another moment, kees quietly asks, “is this… because of me?”

august sips the coffee again, unwilling to meet kees’ gaze and instead watching ingvi tidy up. embarrassment colours his cheeks upon realising the mess he’d made but he shakes his head. “nee. or, not because you shouted.” he pauses, eyes falling shut as he leans back in his chair. “i was wrong, i should not have allowed my feud with cyrus to bleed into our lives as much as i had – shouldn’t have underestimated his ire.” a shrug, and his words come out choked, but he looks to kees and then ingvi, now, “i nearly lost you both, we did lose you, ingvi, brief as it was. and if your gods were not with us?” a tear slides down his cheek and he does not brush it away. “i am a disgrace of a captain. a continued lapse of judgement proves as much.”

she does not need the reminder she died; she has woken every night so far with the memory of the chill, of her blood coating her skin. it is not something she will soon move past. "why do you concern yourself so with wondering what would have happened without my gods' interference?" she doesn't mean the words to be as sharp as they come out. "they were with me. they are with me." fingers brush the gold mark still shimmering high on her forehead. "disgrace or not, you are still the captain we choose to follow. if the gods can make the mistake of letting me die in the first place, you can allow yourself mistakes as well. finish your coffee."

an anger not quite as hot as when he fought cyrus bursts through him in an instant and he stands, chucking his mug at the far wall. hands fall to his desk and he sneers at both his best friend and his surrogate daughter, “why do you insist on following a man who selfishly chose a game of cat and mouse over the people he cares for most? all because he thought so highly of himself, he could have never imagined that which has come to fall?”

kees stands then, too. albeit lazily. scorn bleeding into his tone, “our blood is on your hands - i said as much the other night. is that what you’d like to hear? sober up, kapitein van de hoek. dat is een bevel, ja?”

“an order?” august scoffs. “misschien had je moeten…” but he trails off before he can finish his sentence shame flooding him as he dared allow the thought to take shape. kees pales, more than able to hazard a guess at the unspoken word.

“fuck you, august,” he spits, turning on his heel and stalking out of the cabin. the door slams behind him and august sinks back into his chair, face in his hands.

“het spijt me,” he mutters, hands then falling into his lap. shaking, penitent, he reaches for the pot of coffee, “i am not myself, ingvi. please relay to mister nakamura that he has the command until we reach england.” as, clearly, he cannot be trusted to speak to his crew.

she doesn't leave straight away, her own anger spiking at his. but it is no longer the hot, bright flash that it used to be, instead burning through her veins like lava, like ice. she stalks up to the desk and leans over it, hands braced slightly wider than her shoulders, bringing her face very close to his. voice a low snarl, "when I joined this crew, you told me I would die on this ship, same as any other man in the crew. that was an eventuality i accepted. dying hurt, and i remember every second of it, and i would do it again for you. because you, august van de hoek, saw me. you understood me in a way no one, no one else in my life ever has. that is why i follow you. failures, mistakes, and all. and i will not have you acting like it is foolishness on my part to do so." she straightens, still viciously cold. "i am your attack dog. do not muzzle me again."

august tries to play at being himself, at being sober and unflinching. but his eyes keep darting up at ingvi and he can’t steady his hand enough to pour the bitter drink into a second mug. “you have my word,” a whisper as she stalks away.

it is only a few long strides to the door, but it is enough to calm her anger. she pauses at the door. "give him time to calm down, but you have to go to him to apologize. do not wait too long. the longer you leave his heart broken, the harder it will be to mend it."

blurry gaze trains on her at mention of kees. “his… heart?” as if he doesn’t know why she would mention it. she merely gives him a long, pointed look, then leaves in search of suyu.

— • —

they’re a day from where they will make port and a full day past his words to kees. august suspects they may not have been travelling at full sail for the majority of it, but he isn’t about to question his quartermaster’s command. he has sobered, weathered the worst headache he’s ever had, and had ingvi’s parting words repeat on him ad nauseum in every space between his breath. and yet he waffles.

the bell tolls for the shift change and, for the first time since he’d secluded himself, august opens his cabin door, hands folded behind his back until he spots kees. “master smeenk, a word, if you will.”

there is a moment - a tense one - where kees considers insubordination. august can see it in the way he rolls his shoulder, tilts his head, but the crew is watching. so he obliges.

the door snaps shut behind him but he doesn’t move further into the room, arms crossed, he is closed off. august stands in front of his desk, lips twisting with all the words he’s planned on saying but seem to refuse to spill.

a long moment of silence stretches before kees pipes up with, “if that’ll be all, kapitein van de hoek?”

“kees…”

“no.”

august propels himself several steps closer, “kees, het spijt me, alsjeblieft. i never… you’re right to hate me. that wasn’t me, that was…”

kees rolls his eyes. “a drunk mind speaks a sober heart,” his reply is quiet and he turns, as if to leave.

august finishes crossing the room, reaching for kees, his hand coming to rest on his arm. “cornelius, please. ik heb je nodig, you know i do. i… i always have and always will.”

kees scoffs, but he doesn’t pull away. “you haven’t needed me in years.”

“that is wholly untrue.” and august shifts, hand moving to brush kees’ cheek. “i am sorry - for not heeding your advice years ago, for underestimating cyrus, for failing the crew and for failing you most of all. i am sorry for my words and for my shortcomings. and i am sorry cyrus dared use you as a pawn against me. het spijt me, and if you never forgive me it will be too soon. i l- hmm…”

kees meets his eye, arms falling to his side, “say it.”

“i love you, cornelius.”

“je bent een idioot, august.”

auggie laughs softly leaning down to rest his forehead against kees’, sighing deeply. “het spijt me.”

“week ik. ik houd ook van jou.”

[wackachewbacca]

Me: It’s a good thing Seward finally believes Van Helsing. Now we can make some progress in the plot

Seward: “I must watch Van Helsing who may be suffering under delusions of his own making. Not sure whether to trust him”

[theswedishpajas]

Do you have any songs that you like and recommend? Related to Beetlejuice or not! 🪲 🧃 🎶

Ooooo!!!!!!!!!!

I’m gonna preface this by saying that I like to listen to a lot of random music with varying degrees of adult content and if you’re a minor or not comfortable with that stuff, please don’t take my recommendations at face value and keep yourself safe and happy. A lot of the music I listen to gets really vulgar and dark and often touch on very existential or crude topics as those are the things my brain latches onto due to my own mental health.

I have so much music I really enjoy but it’s so hard to pin it down cus I either love every song from one band/artist almost equally (and extremely much) or I love random specific songs but to a lesser degree…!

I’m a really big fan of Will Wood in general, prolly my alltime favorite artist!! I don’t even really know an album I would recommend tho as all of them are so very different!!!

It’s kinda on a spectrum of depression and unhinged to somewhat okay and pretty calm, with his first album being on the unhinged&depression side and then in order until his latest album they slowly become more calm and healthier but still sorta struggling? That’s how I think I’d describe his music!!

The topics in the songs are very existencial a lot and get really dark so that’s something to look out for if that’s not gonna work out for you tho!!!!!

For a beginner listener I guess I might recommend the Self-Ish album, mainly because that’s the first album by him that I listened to, but also cus it’s really energetic and fun in it’s existencialism, it’s just kinda crazy more than anything else-!

Other than that…

*flips through youtube real quick to see what I like cus my memory doesn’t work right*

OH OF COURSE

Now, my taste in music is kinda fucked up-

But I’ll give a (much smaller than expected) list of songs (ESPECIALLY WITH THE MUSIC VIDEO) that I really enjoy for that exact reason:

Bring Me All Of Your Teeth by Hot Dad

O b l i v i o n by Ctrl Ult Delete

I am realizing I don’t wanna call songs I like fucked up without them being very specific cus idk what’s normal or not and I don’t want anybody to think a song they like is weird in a bad way or anything but I feel like these two are okay to call kinda fucked up!!! (Affectionate)

UHHHHHH

Man, I really don’t have any good grasp on anything I enjoy at all unless it’s a special interest???

I’d be happy to share the playlists I listen to the most if anybody wants to listen to them cus idk what else I’d actively recommend???

[littleguypumpkinsheep]

I really want to do analysis of RedDead characters but I’m so afraid I’m going to get them wrong or find out that I’ve been horribly interpreting them this entire time or even worse. Have nothing particularly substantial to say

[javierduffy]

@galacta-phantasma now why would you say that to me .

replaying this game after the second game is making me honest to god so beyond miserable … javier looks so absolutely defeated here. it’s genuinely breaking my heart. please don’t make me think about the thoughts he’s having now- perhaps ones of regrets, or flashes of laughter and singing around the campfire, of clanking beer bottles together and sharing stories, of looking at the shine in dutch’s eyes during a speech and how he felt, somehow, the warmth of the mexican sun. and how that sun never felt the same when he got home again. and how the only time in the past eight years that he ever felt warm was when john’s hands wrapped the rope around his hands and legs. when john’s rope was the noose around his neck, and he finally, finally could stop running. guilt, fear, regret … relief. please kill me im so sad

[wherethegravelsthin]

I’ve been seeing at least a handful of my mutuals reblogging stuff from the latest hunger games property and reblogging old gif sets from when the first movie had come out and like, after going back and trying to watch the first movie after rereading the trilogy last year, I HAD to turn it off somewhere around the train-ride-to-the-Capitol scene bc between the careless, sloppy camera work and the refusal to shell out the budget for two younger actors and actresses to play our main characters as being eleven years old when they’re already being played by the comically adult looking Jennifer Lawrence and Josh Hutchinson like, in any scene at the reaping just looking at the disparity between the actual children they’ve cast to be extras and then there’s Jlaw standing around looking like she’s in her mid twenties…

Basically I saw the first hunger games movie as a blatant cash grab, a sloppily made blatant cash grab at that, the shitty camera work drives the “let’s cash in on this new hot property” message home clear enough. And we all know how completely and utterly the media frenzy around the franchise amplified all the worst most non important bits (think of all the Capitol Couture nail polish & beauty lines and the focus on the love triangle), like I know they got rid of shaky cam in the sequels but I haven’t bothered to rewatch them because, like, if I had to turn off the first movie bc it was Making Me Cringe Dutch, I am not feeling like, overwhelmingly enthusiastic about checking out to see if the other films are just as bad (as I remember them being cough).

So that brings us to the prequel I haven’t read and the prequel movie I haven’t seen. I hope I’m not sounding like a snob when I say this, but surely the idea of an author returning to a franchise they’ve made a fortune off of to create some ~hidden backstory~ that makes the events of the original trilogy just ~soooo much deeper you guise~ is… yknow… backfill to a foregone conclusion. Right? Idk lol

[neatfrog]

How can you not like Dutch as a language they literally have words like this

[messrmoonyy]

- The Forbidden Fruit

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Request- I NEED ARTHUR TO STEAL DUTCHS GIRL AND SHOW HER A REAL MANS LOVING. FILTHY PASSIONATE LOVING. WORK YOUR MAGIC

A/N- I got incredibly carried away with this. Is basically prawn with no plot honestly. And far softer smut than I think you intended it to be but. Here we are. Enjoy.

Warnings- 18+ | implied toxic relationship ( reader is in love with Dutch van der Linde what can you expect here ), smut: affair, Arthur being desperate to please!!!, fingering, oral ( reader receiving ) , unprotected p in v and he accidentally finishes inside oops, like the tiniest amount of cockwarming ( WC-8.9k )

AO3 | Masterlist - requests are open :)

Arthur didn’t involve himself in Dutch’s relationships. He stayed polite to whatever young woman he had hanging off his arm at the time, but that was about it. He’d seen too many girls come and go- usually in floods of tears at being dismissed by the man that had seduced and charmed them into loving him. Just working his way through shiny new plaything to plaything, hiding his unending sorrow for Annabelle under the skirt of some new girl. 

Unfortunately you were no different. 

In your defence, he supposed, you had lasted far longer than the rest. The only real exception to that being the famed Annabelle herself. But as was almost inevitable, your time in the honeymoon phase was slowly crumbling down around you. 

Arthur did wonder if it was simply because of the current stress levels in camp. They had all been on the run for longer than he cared to try and count, but after the mess in Blackwater they had reached new heights of being hunted. It had never been this bad. Nothing had ever gone this wrong. Because before everything had gone to complete shit, he’d actually seemed quite taken with you. In truth Arthur actually had begun to consider the idea that Dutch really did love you. Had finally been able to move on from the weight on his heart of his dead lover. 

But no. 

Arthur was observing the same pattern as always, it had just taken far longer with you. And that just seemed to make it all the more cruel. 

He barely even looked at you most days now. Barely uttered a few words in return to any question you asked. 

And the arguing was growing ever more fierce. It was practically everyday. 

Arthur didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way Dutch treated you. Didn’t like the way Dutch was treating anyone lately. But you in particular had never been anything but nice to him, kind. Sweet. Incredibly naive but sweet. To Arthur too. Some of the girls Dutch had strung along had been vile, rude and entitled and stuck up. But you? You were a genuinely nice person it seemed. And maybe that was your greatest flaw, for someone like that did not belong with Dutch Van Der Linde. 

In fact Arthur had come to like you from a distance. The times he had spoken to you you had been interesting, intelligent. Far cleverer than him and he had always liked that in a woman if he was honest. 

But still you clung to Dutch. Though your patience with him of late seemed to finally be wearing thin. 

Dutch had never really been one to be ashamed or afraid of airing his dirty laundry within the gang. Whether that be packing on the PDA in camp in a way that often made Arthur want to vomit up his breakfast, or the even more puke inducing sounds of the two of you making up all night long. So arguing was no exception to that either. 

And today was no different. 

“ you barely even look at me! I’m right here! I always have been, I’ve always been such a good girl haven’t I? I do as you say. And look at how you repay me! “ Arthur sighed as he dropped a stack of bills into the box, successfully recovering yet another of Strauss’ debts for him. You were both screaming at each other again, the tent flaps pulled down as if that would over any form of soundproofing. It was the camp's regular ambience now it seemed. 

He did feel sorry for you, he really did. You’d left everything you had for Dutch. Some beautiful, intelligent, well spoken girl. Heiress to her daddy’s mining fortune up north, used to the finer things but seeking some adventure. And Dutch had offered you both. Drowned you in jewels and gifts- though unlike the ones you had once owned the ones he gave were not his to give- Shown you off like a shiny new toy on his arm. Expressly informed Miss Grimshaw that you were not to be lifting a finger, that you would not have to earn your keep with chores like the others. 

You earned your keep by looking beautiful beside him, by boosting his ego with your constant devotion to him, by letting Dutch use you for his own source of pleasure and by the sounds of things- that Arthur truly had no choice but to overhear- not getting very much back in return. 

“ You know I don’t think I’ve ever met a more selfish woman in my life! “ Arthur sighed and sat down on his cot, debating whether or not to make some attempt to get the sleep he had been planning the entire long journey back to Clemens Point. But his tent was but a stone's throw from Dutch’s. 

“ I have needs too Dutch Van Der Linde!” Everyone else in camp didn’t seem to mind it though, most of them preparing to settle in for the night. Whether that be passing out on their bedrolls or drinking by the fire. But Arthur wasn’t sure he could put up with another moment of the damn yelling. 

“ oh? You have needs? “ Dutch’s voice was condescending. Mocking “ I give you everything! You are acting like a spoiled child”

“ a child? A child!? “ Arthur stood back up again, deciding he’d fare better trying to sleep on the damn ground rather than next to the likes of you and Dutch. So he headed out towards the edge of camp, hiding himself in the woods by the water. He slumped down against a tree with a heavy sigh and wished he’d thought to pick up a bottle of beer on the way. 

But it was no matter. He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear the fighting anymore, but close enough that if he was needed anyone calling his name would be heard. 

He looked out across the water, enjoying his rare moment of peace. It was a clear night and a full moon, the reflection bouncing off the water in the most beautiful way. He pulled out his journal and started to sketch it, wishing he could capture its beauty better. 

‘ Dutch and the girl were arguing again. Got out of earshot for a bit to try catch some sleep. Thought the water and the moon looked mighty pretty ‘ 

He scrawled underneath when he was done, tucking it back into the satchel discarded at his side. Javier's guitar had silenced back in camp now and he figured everyone had gone off to bed. But he was quite content there by the water, so dropped his hat over his face and settled in to try and catch a few hours himself. 

He was just dozing off when he heard the sound of boots marching quickly through the undergrowth, snapping twigs as they went. And then the soft sound of someone mumbling to themselves. He silently hoped whoever it was would keep well away from him. But the boots grew nearer and came to a halt not so far away. The crackle of a match being lit and a heavy sigh. 

“ thinks he can talk to me like that? Bastard. Bastard he is. I’m a lady I deserve better than. Than that “ 

You. 

He cleared his throat lightly to inform you that he was there, but unfortunately still seemed to startle you. 

“ Christ! Gave me a damn heart attack Arthur “ he placed his hat down with his satchel with a sigh and looked up at you. In the light of the moon reflecting off the water he could see your cheeks were tear stained, the glow of the end of your cigarette illuminating your face further and showing your makeup in streaks. 

He couldn’t lie that it made his heart ache for you. He didn’t particularly have any solid feelings for you, but he did feel sorry for you. It was hard not to feel sorry for the woman seduced by Dutch. 

And you truly were a cut above the rest in his opinion. Beautiful as the early morning sun and, when you weren’t screaming at Dutch, as kind and warm as it too. But maybe that was fitting. Because much like the sun you could bask people in warmth, but burn them too. Beautiful and bright but scalding and he found he couldn’t look at you for too long, no matter how many times he wanted too. Simply blinding his eyes with your flaming beauty and having to turn away. 

But maybe he was just getting caught up in his metaphors. 

“ shouldn’t be out this far from camp “ you simply shrugged, taking another drag of your cigarette “ ain’t no one nice lingerin’ in woods at night miss” even if no Lemoyne raiders were sneaking around the trees, there were plenty of species of wildlife that would happily do a number on you. Chew off a leg or bite you with poison fangs. You didn’t know how to take care of yourself. You couldn’t handle a gun, didn’t have a single survival instinct in you. 

Dutch had quite made sure of that, he’d heard you ask once or twice. And had been denied. Charming you with some string of words about how you were far too delicate to be handling a gun. To leave it for the men. 

“ you’re lingering in the woods aren’t you Mr Morgan? “ he chuckled and shrugged. 

“ and I ain’t that nice. Point proven lady “ 

“ not like Dutch would care if someone took me anyway. He’d probably be thankful “ your voice was hoarse from the shouting and he couldn’t tell if you were going to cry again or not. You took a long drag of your cigarette before seeming to suddenly remember something, dipping your hand into the waistband of your skirt and pulling out a pack “ sorry my manners. Want one? “ he took one with a nod of thanks “ can I sit? “

You sat down carefully beside him then with a long sigh, tucking your legs beneath you, and leant forward so he could light the cigarette between his lips with the end of yours. 

“ thanks “ you both sat quietly for a short while. Smoking and watching the ripples in the water. He didn’t mind it actually, as much as he had been slightly annoyed at you disturbing his attempt to sleep. You were decent company. 

You rarely strayed from Dutch’s side, but on the odd occasion you had and Arthur had stumbled upon you having a moment to yourself at the edge of camp it had been quite nice. So he didn’t mind sitting there with you, company. For you both. 

“ I think you’re nice. By the way “ you said to break the silence, refrenching his previous comment of bad men lingering in the woods. 

“ No offense to you Miss, but you’re in love with old Dutch. I don’t think you’re particularly qualified to be sayin’ whether folk is nice or not “ he said it teasingly in some hopes of making you smile. And it did. A little. 

“ maybe not “ he watched you bring your cigarette to your lips again, glancing at your hands. Nails perfectly trimmed and not a single speck of dirt or sign of a scar. Hands that had never had to lift a finger. Ever. It was an interesting contrast to his own. Calloused and scarred and bruised “ but Dutch he… he…Can I ask you something? “ 

“ Sure “ he said and flicked his cigarette away. 

“ Do you think I’m beautiful Arthur? “ you asked meekly. Your face was sad. Lingering innocence yet to be wiped away by life somehow, the kind that only remained because you had lived a life so sheltered. Even with Dutch you were as sheltered as could be “ and don’t lie. Please “

“ I think you’re beautiful, sure “ you turned back to the water again, tossing your own cigarette before promptly lighting another. 

“ Dutch doesn’t. Not anymore. Barely even looks at me “ Arthur ran a hand over his face, not entirely sure what he was supposed to say to you in the situation. At all “ I know I know I don’t expect you to agree. You two you’re…you’re like two peas in a pod aren’t you? “ you said with a small laugh, but it held no humour. You took a long drag of your cigarette. 

“ me and Dutch it’s… we go back a long way. But… I will agree the way he’s been treatin’ you. Ain't nice. Not when you done nothin’ but be loyal to him for so long “ you turned back to him again and gave a small smile. It was like a wave of relief had washed right over you. 

Someone was finally listening. 

“ I think he’s got his eyes on Mary-Beth “ you mumbled, red stained lips wrapping around your cigarette again. Much like how he had found himself admiring your hands he now found himself admiring your lips. Soft and plump and stained red in the way they often were. 

He blamed it on his fatigue. 

“ he’d be a fool to give you up. You’re kind, loyal, hell you might jus’ be the most beautiful woman I know. He’s in a weird place right now. He’ll snap outta it, be back to readin’ you Evelyn Miller in no time. You’ll see “ maybe the last part wasn’t entirely true. But the first part was. And you seemed to bask in his compliments. He wondered when the last time Dutch had said something nice to you had actually been. 

“ Thank you “ you looked as though you might cry again. And he really hoped you wouldn’t. He didn’t like to see you cry. And he really wouldn’t know what to say to you then. Once again you turned your attention back to the water and gave a small sigh “ maybe I chose the wrong outlaw “ you said with a small laugh “ always have thought you were quite handsome “ 

He nearly choked on his own saliva, clearing his throat in hopes to pass it out smoothly. He didn’t know if it had worked. 

“ Really? “ 

“ Hmm “ you mused, tilting your head inquisitively to the side “ but you were oh so hung up on that Mary girl when I found Dutch”

“ Yeah well. Mary she’s- that’s all done with now “ maybe Mary was the reason he seemed to sympathise with you so. Because he too had had a broken heart. Though he was sure his was not as brutal as yours. 

“ Guess we both have bad taste don’t we Mr Morgan “ he chuckled and nodded. 

“ That we do miss. That we do “ he placed a gentle hand to your shoulder and squeezed in some form of comfort “ don’t worry bout Dutch though. Really. He’ll come to his senses and if…if he don’t then. Any man would be lucky to have ya “ you sniffled and he figured you’d started crying again “ I didn’t mean to upset- “

“ No. No I’m fine. It’s just…you mean it all don’t you? All these kind words? “ he shrugged and then nodded. 

“ Sure I do. You’re a beautiful woman. Inside an out “ something seemed to flash across your face, a million and one things whirring away behind your eyes. He’d never been that good at reading people, never one for knowing what people were thinking. And the look on your face was the most confusing he’d ever seen. 

The next part happened far too quickly for him to process it. Maybe because he was tired, maybe because he truly hadn’t even slightly suspected you to do it. You flicked away the butt of your cigarette and leaned forward, one hand to his leg and the other to his neck. And kissed him. 

He was taken aback and you pulled away before he could make any attempt to figure out what you’d just done. 

“ Sorry “ you sighed in slight annoyance, seemingly at yourself, sitting back beside him again. Like it was no big deal. Just something that had happened and had no real consequence “ shit- sorry “ Arthur scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugged with a small laugh. Attempting to play it as cool as you clearly were. 

Maybe he’d finally cracked and entered some weird fatigue induced psychosis, hallucinations and hearing voices. And kissing Dutch’s woman. 

“ S’okay. No harm done “ he was bewildered. Trying to process the last 30 seconds and coming up completely blank. 

“ Just the way you talk about me I- Lord forgive me “ he was certain he must have looked half dense. Still completely confused at what on earth was happening with you. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit flustered at having a woman like you kiss him. Even if you were begging the Lord for forgiveness right after it “ no one’s spoken to me like that in a long time and…and I wish they had. I want to be told I’m beautiful again. I want to be kissed. I want I want…I want a lot of things “ 

Maybe Arthur was a stupid, idiotic fool. Maybe too many gunshot wounds and bumps to the head had finally caught up to him. Maybe he too wanted to act on his ever growing annoyance with how Dutch was behaving. But he found himself reaching out, fingers tucking under your chin to turn your face to look at him. Your eyes were so beautiful up close. Practically sparkling in the moonlight.

Oh he was such a fool. 

“ could’a jus’ asked “ a small smile tugged at your lips and you laughed a little. 

“ Yeah. Of course. Because you’d have said yes Arthur? “ he shrugged. He didn’t know if he would’ve actually. But now the thought was in his head “ alright “ you whispered and shuffled a little closer to him “ indulge me “ 

His thumb was absentmindedly brushing over your jaw, looking at you in the light of the moon and wondering how on earth Dutch wasn’t constantly begging for your attention. If he had a woman like you constantly hanging off his every word he wouldn’t know how to act. Would be like a mangy dog trailing around after you for food.  

“ I might’ve “ you gave a roll of your eyes but you were smiling still, a beautiful, tempting smile.

You were a temptress. A siren. Luring him in with your beauty to do something terrible. And you were vulnerable. Sad and seeking appreciation. And he was truly debating it. 

“ Well…“ you started quietly, looking up at him through your long lashes in a way that made his chest go tight “ there is… still time for you to say yes “ 

“ we ain’t gonna tell no one bout this y’hear? This it’s… it’s jus’ between me and you. Okay? “ your eyebrows furrowed for a second looking up at him intently, as if trying to figure out if he was joking or not. If he was serious. He wasn’t entirely sure himself, needed you to agree or disagree to put the thought to rest.  His thumb continued to brush along your jaw tenderly and your eyes fell closed for a moment. 

How long had it been since someone had touched you with such care? That something as simple as that seemed to mean so much to you. 

“ I understand “ you whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips again. He pulled you in close, barely an inch between your lips and then spoke again “ you’ll give me what I want? Don’t treat me like him “ 

“ Anythin’ ya want. You got it. I’ll give ya what you deserve “ you let a shuddering breath escape and gave a small nod before closing the gap between you both again. 

He hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, but he sure found his footing quickly. You kissed him like he was your source of air, climbing your way into his lap and slipping your hands into his hair. You tasted of cigarette smoke and something almost sweet. Whatever it was, it was an intoxicating mix. You were like a siren singing your call in his ear, drawing him in and taking him for your own. The weight of you in his lap was almost familiar, welcoming. Just… nice. 

He had almost forgotten just how fun it was to kiss a woman. How so many men seemed to shun it as boring, pointless- Dutch obviously included. But Arthur had always loved it. Had spent many a night as a youngster sneaking his way into Mary’s room just to kiss her. To spend hours kissing and talking and kissing some more. 

Kissing you was something else. Addictive. Intoxicating. 

Eventually he had to pull away, his lungs screaming at him for air. Your hands slipped out from his hair and down to grasp at the collar of his shirt, resting your forehead on his. 

“ Anything I want you say? “ you asked quietly, breathless. 

“ Anythin’ “ you smiled and lifted your head, a quiet determination settling over you. Your lipstick had smeared and he wondered how much of it was now on his own face. 

“ okay… undress me then “ you softly commanded, shifting slightly in his lap “ please. Dutch never- he makes me do it myself, barely even looks I- Please “ 

He almost laughed to himself about now he immediately thought getting you naked was entirely too risky. As if the entire situation alone wasn’t risky anyway. But he didn’t want to think too hard about that, instead simply channelled his recent annoyance towards Dutch into his actions. Tried to tell himself he was doing a good thing, taking care of you. 

You watched his face carefully as he gently untucked your shirt from where it was tucked into your skirt, some silky soft thing that probably cost more than everything he owned in his clothing trunk put together. He undid every pearl button slowly, eyes darting up to your face as he did. Your chest was heaving in long, heavy breaths. You were nervous. Or excited. He couldn’t tell which. 

You shivered lightly when he pushed it from your shoulders, now only the soft cotton of your chemise between his hands and your chest. Your nipples had hardened, from the slight night chill or lust he couldn’t say. But he found himself unable to resist the sight, leaning forward and capturing one between his lips through the cotton. You gasped softly, a sound so beautiful it made him groan. You sounded delicate. Innocent. You’d never made such sounds when he’d overheard you with Dutch. In fact a majority of the time you almost sounded in pain. 

But this sound wasn’t that. This sound was beautiful. And he wanted to hear more. One hand pushed at your back to bring you closer, the other palmed at your neglected breast in hopes you’d make the sound again. And you did. Gentle, soft gasps as his tongue dampened the material of your chemise, teeth tugging at you gently through the material. Your hand found his hair again, raking your fingers through it and arching your back into his touch. 

He couldn’t imagine why Dutch had never wanted to do such a thing. How could he not want to hear you make those pretty pretty sounds? How could he not want to feel you writhing in his lap and yearning to be touched. Maybe Dutch was more of a fool than he had originally thought. 

“ Need you to touch me- properly I- take this off “ your sentence was choppy, like you weren’t focussed enough to truly articulate the words you wanted to say. But he understood, pulling your chemise over your head and dropping it to land with your shirt. 

He took a moment just to look at you, not even entirely because he knew you’d want him to. Just because he wanted to. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t wondered what was hiding under your expensive clothes once or twice. How could he not when he had to try sleep through the sounds of you and Dutch of a night. 

“ God damn “ he said softly, hands soothing over your waist as you basked in his admiring stare, taking in the feeling of finally being looked at. Properly. 

“ like what you see Mr Morgan “ you asked, voice sultry and low in a way that made his cock twitch in his pants. 

“ Dutch is a damn fool “ is all he could say, leaning forward to kiss you again, his hands moving to grab at your chest. You moaned into the kiss as he squeezed and massaged your breasts with his large hands, seizing the opportunity to dip his tongue into the warmth of your mouth. Your fingers in his hair, twisting strands around your fingers and tugging lightly. He felt like he was on cloud nine. Certain he’d somehow taken a stumble through the veil and ended up at heaven's gates. 

He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but the way he was prepared to worship and praise you could truly be considered blasphemous. 

He couldn’t resist the temptation of getting his mouth on you again much longer, dragging his lips from yours and wrapping them around a pebbled nipple instead. You rolled your hips against him, those beautiful soft moans still falling past your lips. This was what you had wanted from him. To be worshipped. To be looked at as the beautiful temptress of a woman you were. And not merely glanced at and then used like some two dollar whore in a saloon. 

He wanted to nip at your skin, bite and soothe it with his tongue. But he knew he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk Dutch seeing it if he felt the need to stop ignoring you for a short while for his own needs. But oh how he wanted to. To mark up your smooth skin with reminders that you were desired. That you could look at as they faded and be reminded that you were wanted. 

“ I need more “ you whispered “ Arthur please. Give me more “ another roll of your hips followed by a small whimper told him enough. 

“ I know I got ya “ he murmured against your skin, pressing kisses up your sternum and your neck. Nose brushing at the underside of your jaw and working his way back to your lips again “ stand up. Lemme get you out of these damn clothes “ he caught the smile on your face as you stood up, he stayed seated and ran his hands over the fabric covering your hips. Something seemed to blaze in your eyes as you looked down on him. He realised it was most probably you that was usually being leered down on, but not now. 

Not with him. Not with Arthur. Arthur looked up at you like the goddess you were, looked up at you with what he knew was a silent pleading in his eyes. Dutch would never ask he knew it. Dutch took. Stole. Used. Arthur didn’t. Wouldn’t. 

“ I like how you look at me “ you said quietly, hand soothing over his hair “ you make me feel beautiful “

“ Cause y’are “ he murmured, hands reaching to the ties of your skirt. He wanted to see more. Wanted to see all of you. 

You helped him with the slightly tedious task of getting your skirts and undergarments off, but all so slowly. Taking his time. Making sure he appreciated every single layer of clothing you removed for him, right down to unlacing your boots and holding your leg gently to help you out of them. Until you stood there as naked as the day you were born, illuminated by the moonlight on the water. 

“ well ain’t you a sight “

Your skin was so smooth. Soft. Not a single scar that he could see. The skin of a woman who had never had to lift a finger. Had never known the hardships that he had. The only true blemish on your skin was the almost completely faded bruises on your hips. Fingertips. Dutch. 

He soothed his hands up your legs, pressing soft kisses to the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he went, and stopped as he reached them. 

“ He can be a little rough. It’s how he likes it “ you answered before he could even ask. Arthur too had been known to have his rougher moments. But he could never hurt you. Never mark you in anyway other than that of affection and care. 

“ I ain’t like that “ 

“ I know. That’s why I want you “ he pulled you back down into his lap, his large hands splaying over your hips as he took yet another moment just to look. To admire. To thank whatever stupid damn God may exist for placing such a heavenly body in his presence “ I feel a little like the odd one out here though “ you said with a small smile, tracing a finger down from the open top buttons of his shirt to his pants. 

He’d been far too occupied with you to even really notice the fact that he was ridiculously overdressed in comparison. 

“ Can’t have that now can we darlin’ “ your smile grew and you made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders with a gentle sigh. You ran your fingers through the hair on his chest, nails scratching lightly at his skin and peppering lipstick stained kisses as you went. Littering his collarbones, his sternum.

“ much better “ your hands kept roaming and your lips kept kissing. Hands seemingly wanting to touch him all, scratching lightly up his sides and over his waist, his stomach and his ribs. Slowly moving to slide over his shoulders and loop around his neck. You rolled your hips against him again and whined softly. He was so hard it was growing painful as he stayed restrained by his pants. But he wasn’t selfish. Not like Dutch. And he wasn’t about to seek out any form of pleasure himself until he had you seeing the stars you deserved. 

“ tell me what y’want “ he murmured, peppering soft kisses across your jaw. 

“ touch me “ you sighed blissfully “ please touch me “ 

His hand slipped down in between your bodies, brushing past the soft curls between your legs and couldn’t contain the groan of a sound that left him when he felt how warm and wet you were. 

“ Christ “ he muttered as your head dropped to his shoulder with a shuddering breath “ he ever touch you like this? “ he asked lowly, already knowing the answer. Why would he? He didn’t get anything out of it. 

But Arthur did. Oh Arthur did. 

“ no “ you whispered “ no never…please. More “ he tested the waters, pressing lightly against your clit and revelling in the squeak of a sound that it caused you to make. 

“ or like this? " You shook your head again, breathing shakily as he dragged his finger through the wetness and drew light circles around your entrance. 

“ Arthur “ you moaned his name in the most delicious way as he pushed his finger inside, burying it to the knuckle 

“ yeah and what about this darlin? “ he again knew the answer. Dutch didn’t care about your pleasure. Didn’t care about wasting time on something as simple as making you whimper and whine for more “ he touch you like this? “ 

“ no “ 

“ think ya can take one more for me? “ you nodded again and he withdrew his finger, gathering your slick on his other before pushing them both past the resistance of your entrance “ that’a girl “ he pumped his fingers in and out steadily, curling and probing at your velvety soft walls to test what you liked. 

“ This is so… oh god. This isn’t proper at all “ you laughed slightly, melting into a soft moan. Arthur chuckled, lifting your face up so you’d look at him. 

“ Ain’t proper at all? It’s damn right filthy darlin” your cheeks were aflame and you closed your eyes for a moment, grinding yourself against his hand “ look at ya. Drippin all over ma fingers like that. Ain’t proper. Not one bit “ you smiled, a cheeky, devious smile that made him lean forward and kiss you again. 

You were so wet it was obscene. He couldn’t tell where the sounds of you kissing stopped and the sopping sounds of his fingers began. You continued to grind down against his palm, practically riding his fingers, his whole hand wet and sticky with you. 

And he wanted to taste it. To taste you. To flood his mouth with the slick, liquid gold covering his fingers. It was an almost primal desire, like a desperation as strong as needing air. He needed to. He had to. 

“ Darlin’ “ he murmured, lifting your head from where it had fallen to his neck again “ gotta let me taste you. You gotta “ the look on your face only made him want it more. Your skin flushed and eyes blown out with nothing but pure lust and desire. He’d never needed anything more. Nothing else mattered, not the painful hardness in his pants, not the realisation that you were very much Dutch’s girl. He didn’t care about any of that. He just needed to be between your thighs. 

“ really? No one’s ever- oh god. Yes. Yes. Please Arthur “ he withdrew his fingers making you whimper and quickly grabbed his discarded shirt and lay it down on the ground. Then he kissed you again as he wrapped his arms around your waist, gently turning you to lay back on the shirt. It still couldn’t have been particularly comfortable. But you didn’t seem to mind, tugging at his hair and lifting your hips up against him as he hovered over you. 

He took his time moving down. Leaving a long and slow trail of hot, wet, kisses on your skin. You writhed underneath him, whining softly and twisting your hands in his shirt underneath you. He took extra time with your thighs. Kissing up from the inside of your knee and stopping before he could place his mouth where he really wanted to, then repeating with the other. 

“ Arthur “ you whined, still squirming around and desperate. 

“ I know. I got ya. Gonna make those pretty sounds for me again yeah? "You nodded, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him as his head sank lower, spreading your legs wider to give him full access to the centre of you “ that’s a good girl “ he spread you open with his fingers, in awe of the way you parted for him. Like petals on a flower, dripping with the morning dew. 

But you were far more delectable. A forbidden fruit begging to be tasted. 

And oh was it pretty. Even in the dark, in nothing but the light of the moon on the water, it was pretty. Begging to be tasted, touched. Admired. 

The sound you made as he dragged his tongue from your weeping hole to your clit was like music to his ears. He didn’t know how he managed to not come in his pants just at the sound of it. 

You still kept it quiet, but loud enough for him. 

His own, deep, guttural moan escaped from his chest as he licked again. Your taste flooding his mouth in a way so so much better than he could’ve imagined. 

He ate you like he was starved. Like a savage predator that hadn’t seen meat for days, like a man ready for the gallows enjoying his last meal. His arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs apart for him as you bucked and squirmed against his face. It was visceral. Carnal. You made him feel like his grip on his own composure and control was weaker than ever, that he was holding on to it with nothing but his fingertips. 

“ Arthur “ he dipped his tongue into the welcoming warmth of your cunt, his eyes falling closed for a moment as he felt you clench around him, desperate for more. Desperate for him. And he would give you more, would give you anything you asked of him. But not until he made you come first. 

He let go of one of your legs and brought his fingers back to their previous position, wanting to feel you again. To be inside of you, as close as he could get. To make you see stars. 

The flat of his tongue found your clit again, certain he could feel you pulsing against him. Desperate and full of desire for him. He felt honoured, privileged. That you were so loyal to Dutch, glued to his side. Never even batting an eye at anyone else. And yet you had broken that for him. Had sought him out because you knew he would treat you well. 

Your back arched off the ground as he sunk them back into you, slipping in with a welcome ease. His thick fingers pumped into you at a steady pace, his tongue diverting all its attention to your clit. Lapping and sucking and letting you press his face harder against you as you tugged on his hair. 

“ don’t stop please dont- Arthur “ he had no intentions of stopping, none at all. In fact he simply honed in on his ministrations, working harder to push you closer and closer to the edge of the orgasm he knew you had been craving for weeks. 

“ Not gonna stop darlin. Ain’t stopping until you come for me. Taste so good, so good “ he murmured against you, curling his fingers and hitting a spot that made you gasp and your body shudder “ there we go, right there “ 

He flicked his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves, looking at you as best he could to gauge your reaction. You were pulling a little painfully at his hair, squirming and rolling your hips against his face. He let you do it. Let you be the one using a man for your pleasure, rather than being the one used for once. 

Your sounds were sinful. Melodic. He took it all in. Basked in the noises you made for him, the delicious taste of you on his tongue, drunk on you. On your taste. Your smell. 

“ Arthur- Arthur please I- “ you babbled, a slightly smug smile working its way onto his face as he watched your prim and proper facade melt away “ don’t stop “ 

He hummed an assurance that he wouldn’t, your hips bucking against his face as he did. You were so unbelievably wet, dripping out around his fingers and soaking the hair of his beard. He would never have thought it of you. The way you held yourself around camp, so poised and prim. The accent when you spoke that made everyone else around you sound so common. And yet there you were. On your back in the woods, chasing an orgasm being offered to you by an outlaw. Repeating his name like a mantra. 

And not even that of the outlaw you were in love with.

“ Arthur- “

Only seconds later it happened. You held a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit you, muffling your choked moans, back arching off the ground and walls clamping down on his fingers as he worked you through it. Tongue still working diligently at your clit until you pushed your hand at his head, squirming away a little. 

He almost didn’t want to stop. Could’ve happily stayed there a while longer, but moved back, an obscene wet sound in the late night silence as he withdrew his fingers. 

He took his fingers to his mouth, sucking the remnants of your climax onto his tongue. Unable to control himself. You watched him do it, mouth slightly agape and eyes half open with some desperate undeniable look of utter desire. He could almost see the way it made you feel, could see you unable to contain the overwhelming feeling of realising you were desired. Wanted. 

“ God. You are unbelievable “ you whispered, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and grabbing at his arm. Your fingers looped around his wrist and tugged his hand towards your own mouth. He shook his head with a chuckle, slightly in awe as you took those same two fingers between your red lips. 

Your tongue swirled between his digits, plush lips wrapping around them and sucking. Your eyes locked on his as you did. It made his cock ache. He wanted your lips on him, wanted your tongue swirling around his length and milking him dry. He could imagine it if he thought hard enough. The way you hummed slightly in appreciation as you sucked his fingers clean, sent vibrations straight through his bones. Rattling him to the core. But he would never ask that of you. But the thought was one he would hold onto. It made him shift slightly. 

“ you ain’t so prim and proper lady “ he murmured as he withdrew his fingers, a string of saliva connecting his fingertips and your lips “ This ain’t very proper of you miss “ Arthur said with a small smile, teasing “ rollin’ around in the dirt with the likes of me “ 

“ Oh to hell with being proper if it means I get to feel like this “ you said with a small laugh and he kissed you again for what felt like the millionth time. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his lips, smell the heady delicious smell of you on his beard.

He would’ve been more than happy to leave it at that. No matter how badly he wanted to sheath himself inside you and stay there for eternity. His goal had been your pleasure and he had achieved it. 

But as he kissed you your hands began working at the buckle of his gun belt, opening it with a skilled ease that made him pull back. 

“ Darlin’ you ain’t gotta do that- “

“ shush “ you pushed at him lightly so you could sit up and went to work on the buttons on his pants next “ I want to. I- Arthur take them off “ he made far quicker work of his own clothes than he had of yours and you leant back on your elbows to watch him. 

You looked like a pinup girl. Like something he’d seen drawn come to life. Your eyes seemed hungry as you looked at him, dragging down his body and lingering on his rock hard cock. He was practically throbbing with want, the tip an angry shade of pink and leaking precum slightly embarrassingly “ come here. Please. Back down here “ 

He did as he was asked, crawling back over your body as you eyed him greedily. 

“ We really don’t…I mean, If y’don’t wanna- “ his words stuck in his throat as your fingers wrapped around the length of him with a small sigh. 

“ I want you to I just…can I ask one thing? “ he couldn’t get the word yes to escape his mouth, your fingers squeezing him softly in a way that made him see flashes of white in his vision. So he simply nodded “ don’t fuck me. Dutch fucks me, make love to me “ you seemed a little embarrassed at the request. But he didn’t think it was embarrassing. In fact he had had no plans to use you as brutally as Dutch. He was almost a little offended you thought he might. 

“ Told you, anythin’ you want. You got it “ you smiled softly and pressed another kiss to his lips before laying back down again. He positioned himself over you, caging your head in between his arms. And it truly was incredibly intimate. He wondered when the last time you had had such intimacy was. If you’d ever received such a thing from Dutch. 

He spat on his hand and grabbed a hold of his sensitive cock, stroking himself a couple of times to get himself slick. Not that he really needed to, you were already wetter than he’d ever known a woman to be. But the last thing he wanted was your discomfort. He lined himself up with you, eyes trained on your face as he dragged his weeping tip between your folds. You gasped as he caught your clit, still sensitive and alert from your first orgasm. 

“ Arthur please “ you whimpered rolling your hips up against him, so desperate to have him inside of you. 

“ So God damn wet for me “ he murmured “ such a good girl ain’t ya? “ you whined in answer, fingers wrapping around what you could of his bicep and digging your perfectly trimmed nails into his skin “ gonna make you feel so good I promise darlin’ jus’ like you deserve yeah? “ you whispered out a yes and brought your other hand to the back of his neck. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, still running his cock along the length of your slit. Teasing. 

“ Keep looking at me. Please look at me Arthur “ he continued to do as asked. Again. Though his eyes had barely strayed from your face anyway “ I need you so badly “ Eyes locked on yours, he finally pushed into you, he took it slow. Letting you take it inch by inch, watching the look of ecstasy wash over your face. Your eyes fell closed. 

He fought to retain his own composure, overwhelmed by the tight, wet, warmth of your walls enveloping him. He could feel every unique ridge and bump that made your cunt oh so perfect, feel every muscle stretch and contract as you adjusted to him. 

“ god- oh god “ 

“ shh shh easy there. I got ya “ he paused once he was seated inside of you, grabbing at your hip with one hand to angle your hips better. Allowing you to comfortably take all of him in. He waited, let you adjust to his size, not daring to move before he got the go ahead from you “ there you go, look at you, takin’ all of me like that. So good f’me “ you basked in his praise, a dopey kind of smile spreading across your face.

“ so much bigger than him “ you whispered with a small laugh and Arthur couldn’t help the smug smile on his face. Kissing you and touching you and making you come on his tongue had been one thing. But having you like this? Having his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, so unbelievably close together. And to then be told that? To know he was about to do you better than Dutch ever had. Ever could. It felt like the biggest fuck you to the man that had been not only mistreating him of late, but also the goddess of a woman beneath him “ I’m good. You can move. Please move “ 

He didn’t need telling twice. Pulling out almost completely and thrusting back in in one smooth motion. The pace he fell into was just as you’d asked. Loving. Tender. But hard and deep, making sure his hips were flush with yours with every stroke. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulled his face back down to kiss him again. 

If anyone had spotted you they’d have easily mistaken you both for a lovesick couple having a private moment to yourselves. The entire thing intimate and passionate. No one would assume it was an affair in motion, hidden away in the woods by the shoreline in fear of your lover finding the pair of you there. 

But it was what you wanted. What you had needed. And he felt privileged to provide. 

He pulled back from your lips to watch you again, enthralled by the way your face relaxed and twisted in the pleasure he was providing you. You continued to spill those angelic sounds from your throat, growing breathier and higher pitch as he continued to drag his cock against the sopping, sensitive heat of your cunt. He had to focus hard not to finish in seconds. So much build up paired with being practically celibate for months was truly doing him no favours, but he focussed. He wasn’t letting this end until you came once more. You deserved it. 

“ Keep those pretty eyes on me “ he murmured as they fell closed again “ that’s it darlin’, look at me there ya go “ everytime he spoke the slightest word of praise you practically beamed, so desperate to hear it. To be told you were good. Beautiful. So different to Dutch constantly yelling at you about how annoying you were, how much your mere presence bothered him these days. So he kept it up. 

“ Doin’ so well for me. This pussy it’s perfect, ain’t that right? C’mon tell me “ he urged, still fighting off his ever looming orgasm. The sounds alone was enough to make him want to burst. Sweat slicked skin on skin, the wet sounds of your cunt dripping around the swollen intrusion of him. And those sweet sweet moans of yours. 

“ yes “ you whimpered “ it’s perfect “ 

“ That’s a good girl “ he increased his pace ever so slightly and your hands slipped from his arms to his back, dragging your nails down him to try to pull him impossibly closer to you. 

He moved a hand down between your bodies, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, grunting and choking back his own moans as you squeezed him. Like your body never wanted him to leave, gripping his cock with your cunt and making it ever more harder to hold back. He couldn’t help but have a look, glancing down to see the way you stretched around him, mesmerised at the way you took him in so deep. 

“ tell me I- oh. Tell me I’m beautiful “ you whimpered, sounding almost like you might cry. From pleasure, from upset. He didn’t know. But he continued to do as asked. 

“ you’re beautiful “ he murmured picking up his pace a little more, his sweat slick skin slapping against yours. He was desperate to see you come again. Wanted to see your face up close this time, watch your eyes roll back and your kiss swollen lips part in ecstasy “ so beautiful darlin. Doin’ so well f’me, takin’ me so well “ 

“ don’t stop, don't stop “ he dropped his head to your neck whispering every word of praise he could think of into your ear, your body arching up against his and whimpering and whining with every word. 

“ ain’t ever looked prettier than this “ he whispered, his own voice becoming breathless with the effort “ shit- look at ya, takin’ my cock so well. So pretty darlin’ “ 

Your second orgasm seemed to shock you as much as him, clawing at his skin to hold him close as your body trembled beneath him, biting at his shoulder to muffle your moans. 

He didn’t mean to finish inside of you, had fully intended to pull out. But the way your cunt had squeezed him, the sounds you had made as he pushed you over the edge for the second time.

He muffled his own groan of pleasure in your neck, fingers digging into the dry earth beneath you, spilling load after load whilst fully sheathed inside of you. His entire body tensed, a pleasure he hadn’t felt in an incredibly long time. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing loudly in his ears as it seemed to drag on forever. 

And then he came to his senses. 

“ m’sorry. Shit. Sorry “ he panted as he tried to compose himself and pushed himself up onto his hands to pull out. But you yanked him back down, arms wrapping around his back again and legs tightening around his waist. 

“ no. Please. Stay. Stay right there. Just a moment would you “ he had come to realise in the past.. how long had you two even been out there? However long it was, he’d come to realise he was terrible at saying no to you. Could never possibly even dream to deny you of anything you wanted from him. And so he slumped back down onto his forearms, dropping his head against your shoulder for a moment. Your chest heaved beneath him and you caught your breath, fingers tracing gentle strokes along his spine. He felt he could stay there for hours. 

“ You doin’ okay? “ he asked, pressing a light kiss to your jaw when he had composed himself a little more. 

“ marvellous Mr Morgan “ you whispered with a small smile “ truly. Marvellous “ he couldn’t help but kiss you again, the long lingering kind meant for two lovers. 

After a few minutes you both finally moved, re dressing in silence and then sitting back in your original position against the tree. He handed you a cigarette, lighting it and placing it between your lips. 

He wondered what he looked like. Wondered what evidence you had left on him. Had he sweated off the lipstick prints on his chest or were they still there? He knew you had scratched his back up good and proper and would have that reminder there for a few days at least. 

“ Thank you. Mr Morgan '' you said quietly after a few silent moments of smoking, blowing out a long stream of smoke “ I mean it I- i'm not sure what I’m supposed to say “ 

“ Don’t say anythin’ “ he said with a small wave of his hand, appearing as blaise as he possibly could but in reality knowing he wasn’t about to forget that night anytime soon “ its fine. Really. Anytime y’need me, for anythin’, you know where I’ll be “ you smiled and he watched your body relax a little more. 

“ you know, i might just take you up on that “ 

He sincerely hoped you would. 

[r0semultiverse]

I don’t understand the cook out tweet at all??? 😭😭😭 it’s just chicken, hamburger, and hot dogs what’s is so weird about that???? Like have these people never had hush puppies or coleslaw? Have they never been to a Popeyes??? I don’t understand 😭😭😭😭

I don’t know and I quite frankly don’t care too much. It’s probably classism or something too. Cultural differences being fought about. It’s the new Swedish kid friend’s house dinner table or the Dutch bike helmets discourse. It’ll pass in a week to a month and we’ll move onto the next thing to fight about. Still not as bad as Twitter!

[pucksandpower]

Thick Thighs Save Lives

Day 15 → Thigh Riding 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

“You okay?” Max’s voice cuts through your haze, pulling you back to reality. You blink twice, realizing you’ve been staring — no, more like ogling — at the man standing in front of you.

You cough, trying to play it off. “What? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Your voice cracks, and you hate it. You’re not convincing anyone, least of all yourself.

Max tilts his head, concern flickering in those blue eyes. “You sure?” His Dutch accent is thicker when he’s confused, or worried. Right now, you think it’s both. “You look … distracted.”

Distracted. That’s an understatement. But what are you supposed to say? Sorry, babe, I overheard some fans talking about your thighs, and now I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to-

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, you shake your head too quickly, like that’ll fix the mess in your brain. “Just … hungry, maybe,” you mumble, though you know hunger isn’t exactly what’s going on.

Max gives you a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. “Hungry?” He repeats, not buying it for a second. You can tell by the way his lips twitch into that small, knowing smirk of his.

“Yeah, hungry,” you lie again, pulling at the sleeves of your jacket like it’s suddenly too tight, or too hot, or both. “Long day, y’know?” You hope the vague excuse will get him to drop it. You’re begging the universe for mercy at this point.

But Max isn’t one to let things slide, especially when it comes to you. He steps closer, and now, all you can think about is the fact that the fans weren’t wrong. His thighs really are massive — like, practically sculpted by the gods or something.

You can’t stop your eyes from flicking down for half a second. You catch yourself just in time, but Max catches you too.

“You’re acting weird,” he says, and there’s a teasing lilt in his voice now. He’s grinning, and you hate that he’s grinning, because it means he knows something’s up. “Did something happen?”

“No,” you blurt out. Too fast. Way too fast. You force a smile, trying to steer the conversation somewhere — anywhere — else. “I’m just, uh, thinking about … qualifying! Yeah, qualifying. How’s the car?”

Max’s grin softens into something more genuine, like he’s willing to play along for now. “The car’s good. Feels fast. We’ll see.” He shrugs, his eyes still studying you, probably wondering what the hell is actually going on in that head of yours.

“That’s good,” you say, nodding like an idiot. “That’s great. Fast is great.”

Max laughs, shaking his head. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” He leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “What’s really going on? You never look this … distracted.”

You swallow hard, heat rising to your face. Damn it, he’s not going to let this go. Your mind is racing, trying to come up with something, anything, that sounds remotely believable. “I told you,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’m just hungry.”

“Uh-huh,” Max says, clearly not convinced. He crosses his arms over his chest, which only draws your attention back to his entire … well, everything. You try not to look, but your eyes have a mind of their own.

For a second, you’re sure he’s going to press further, but then someone calls his name from across the paddock. It’s one of the engineers, probably needing him back before qualifying starts. Max looks over his shoulder and gives a nod before turning back to you.

“I gotta go,” he says, still watching you carefully, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that doesn’t make any sense. “But we’re talking about this later.”

You nod, thankful that the conversation is ending before you dig yourself into a deeper hole. “Yeah, sure, later.”

Max looks at you for a second longer, his eyes narrowing in that way he does when he’s thinking, really thinking. Then he gives you a quick smile, one of those small, private ones that’s just for you. “Take care of yourself,” he says, his voice soft but insistent.

“I will,” you reply, managing to sound more normal than you feel. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks,” he says, turning to walk away, and that’s when it happens.

Your eyes, without your permission, drift downward again. His back is to you now, his long strides taking him toward the garage, and it’s impossible not to notice the way his legs move.

His thighs — God, those thighs — are straining against the fabric of his race suit. It’s like every muscle is defined, every step making them flex in a way that you’re suddenly very, very aware of.

And it’s not just the size. It’s the power behind them, the way you know he’s spent years building that kind of strength, how it’s the kind of thing you only really notice when you’re close to him, or, in your case, when you’ve been thinking about it all day because some fans pointed it out, and now it’s all you can think about.

You bite your lip, trying not to make a sound. Your heart is racing, and your palms are starting to sweat, and all you can focus on is the way his legs look as he moves further away from you.

You should be ashamed of yourself. You are ashamed of yourself. This is ridiculous, and yet …

Max stops halfway to the garage and glances back over his shoulder, probably to check if you’re still watching. You quickly snap your gaze upward, hoping he doesn’t catch you staring again. But it’s too late — there’s that grin on his face, the one that says he knows exactly what’s going on.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, managing a weak smile. “Yeah,” you lie again. “I’m fine.”

Max shakes his head, clearly not buying it, but he doesn’t press any further. He gives you one last look before heading back toward the garage, and as he disappears inside, you let out a long breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You’re still staring at the spot where he disappeared, and without even thinking about it, you run your tongue over your bottom lip.

You can’t help it. You’re salivating.

You’re only human, after all, and some temptations are impossible to resist.

***

The hotel room is quiet, except for the sound of the zipper on Max’s backpack as he tosses it aside. It’s late, the race adrenaline slowly wearing off, but you’re both still buzzing with energy. Max is already getting undressed, down to just his Red Bull t-shirt and those jeans that hug his body like a second skin.

You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, hands fumbling with the buttons of your own shirt, your mind somewhere far away. Or maybe not that far. Maybe your mind is right where it’s been for the past thirty-two hours — on him. Specifically, on those damn thighs.

Max turns his back to you for a moment, pulling his shirt over his head, and when he faces you again, you’re frozen, mid-button, staring. His thighs strain against his jeans, the fabric pulled taut around them as he shifts his weight.

You know you should keep undressing, keep moving, but you can’t. All thoughts leave your mind, replaced with the memory of the way they looked under his race suit, the way they flexed as he walked, the way-

“You’re staring again.”

His voice is low, teasing, and it snaps you out of your trance. You blink, cheeks burning, and quickly look away, but it’s too late. Max has already caught you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he moves closer.

“Seriously, what’s going on?” He’s standing right in front of you now, his eyes searching yours, but he already knows. Of course he does. The way he’s grinning tells you that much. “You’ve been acting weird since yesterday.”

You swallow hard, trying to find some way out of this, some excuse, but nothing comes. He’s so close, close enough that you can smell the faint traces of his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his skin, and all you can think about are those jeans, how tight they are around his legs, how-

Max reaches out, gently tipping your chin up so you have to meet his gaze. “You can tell me,” he says, his voice soft now, almost coaxing. “What’s got you all flustered, hmm?”

You can’t look away. He’s too close, too knowing, and suddenly, you feel like you’re caught in a trap. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. What are you supposed to say? That his thighs are all you’ve been able to think about? That the way they look in his jeans is driving you crazy?

Max’s eyes flicker down, and you know he’s noticed where your gaze keeps drifting. His smirk deepens, and when he speaks again, his voice has dropped, taking on a huskier tone. “Ah. I see.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He knows. Of course he knows. You feel your heart start to race, and suddenly, the room feels too small, too hot.

Max steps even closer, his hand sliding from your chin to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He murmurs, his eyes dark and intent, like he’s got you exactly where he wants you. “I would’ve taken care of you sooner.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep some semblance of composure, but it’s no use. Max is looking at you like he knows exactly what you need, and worse — he’s right. He moves his hand to the small of your back, guiding you toward the bed, and you follow, unable to resist.

When you reach the edge of the bed, Max sits, his legs spread slightly apart, and you’re left standing there, feeling like the world’s worst combination of flustered and exposed. He’s still in his jeans, the denim pulled tight over his thighs, and your eyes are immediately drawn to them again. You don’t even try to hide it this time.

Max chuckles, low and deep. “Come here,” he says, his voice a command wrapped in a velvet whisper.

Your feet move before your brain can catch up. You step between his legs, heart pounding in your chest, and Max’s hands find your hips, pulling you down until you’re straddling his thigh. The moment you make contact, your breath hitches, your body reacting to the firm pressure beneath you.

“See?” Max murmurs, his hands sliding up to your waist, his touch gentle but insistent. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You can’t answer, can’t find the words. All you can do is nod, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as you shift on his thigh. The friction is immediate, electric, sending a shockwave through your body. You gasp, and Max’s grip tightens.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hands guide your hips, slow at first, drawing out the movement, letting you feel every inch of him beneath you. The rough fabric of his jeans rubs against you, the friction unlike anything you’ve felt before. It’s overwhelming, almost too much, but at the same time, it’s exactly what you want, what you need.

Max watches you, his eyes dark and hungry as you move against him, your breaths coming faster, more ragged. He knows what he’s doing, knows exactly how to drive you crazy, and he’s taking his time, savoring every second of it.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” He whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. At my legs. You couldn’t stop, could you?”

You shake your head, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. The heat between your legs is building, and every time you shift, every time you drag yourself over the firm muscle of his thigh, it sends a pulse of pleasure through you.

Max grins, his hands tightening on your waist, guiding you faster now, urging you on. “I knew it,” he says, his voice low and full of satisfaction. “You just needed this. You needed me.”

You moan softly, your head falling forward against his shoulder as the pressure builds, your body practically trembling from the intensity of it. Max’s grip on you never wavers, his hands controlling the rhythm, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You can’t hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you cry out softly, your hips bucking against his thigh as the pleasure overtakes you. Max holds you steady, his hands firm on your waist, grounding you as wave after wave of sensation crashes over you.

When it’s over, you’re left breathless, slumped against him, your body trembling in the aftermath. Max’s hands slide up and down your back, soothing, gentle, as he waits for you to catch your breath.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of warmth. “You did so well.”

You don’t have the energy to respond, your head still spinning from the intensity of it all. But then, as the haze begins to clear, you feel something — wetness — on the denim covering his thigh. You pull back slightly, your face flushing with embarrassment as you realize what you’ve done.

Max just chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice full of mischief. “I don’t mind.”

You bury your face in his chest, mortified, but Max’s arms come around you, holding you close, his laugh rumbling through his body.

“I told you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. “I know exactly what you need.”

***

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the hotel suite. You stir in bed, slowly coming to consciousness, a vague sense of discomfort pulling you from sleep.

For a moment, you’re content to stay buried under the sheets, your body heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction from the night before. But then the feeling sharpens — a tenderness, right between your legs. You shift, and the soreness becomes more pronounced.

Your eyes snap open. Oh.

The friction from last night, the way you rode Max’s thigh with reckless abandon, comes back to you in vivid, heated flashes. You groan, face half-buried in the pillow, not from embarrassment this time but from the distinct ache you feel in your most sensitive spot. Your poor bundle of nerves, now sore, throbs slightly when you shift your legs.

You turn your head to glance at Max. He’s already awake, leaning back against the headboard, scrolling through something on his phone, his hair still a mess from sleep. He looks over at you when he notices you stirring, his mouth curling into a soft smile. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you mumble, voice still thick with sleep. You shift under the covers again, wincing as the soreness flares once more. You press your legs together instinctively, hoping it will somehow dull the ache.

Max’s brow furrows. “You alright?”

You pause for a second, debating how much you actually want to admit. But the soreness isn’t something you can brush off, not when every slight movement reminds you of it. You let out a small sigh and tilt your head to look at him.

“I’m … sore,” you admit, biting your lip. “Really sore.”

Max’s lips twitch, a hint of amusement lighting his eyes. “Sore where?”

You give him a look, half-exasperated, half-embarrassed. “You know where,” you grumble.

He chuckles softly, setting his phone down on the nightstand. “I might need a little more detail. I’m a driver, not a mind reader.”

You can’t help but laugh, though it’s mixed with a groan as you shift your hips again. “You know,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes. “There.”

Max raises an eyebrow, still amused, but then his expression softens with concern. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly, wanting to reassure him. “It’s not that. I guess I just … overdid it. Denim can be rough.”

Max nods, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Wait here,” he says, sliding out of bed with the ease of someone who’s used to early mornings and late nights in uncomfortable places. You watch as he rummages through his luggage on the floor, tossing aside various items before pulling out a small tube of ointment.

“What’s that?” You ask, propping yourself up on one elbow.

Max returns to the bed, sitting on the edge. “This? It’s some kind of cream I used for a cut I had a while back.” He holds up the tube for you to see, the words on it clearly medicinal. “I think it might help.”

You hesitate, unsure. The idea of Max applying anything down there is both intimate and a little embarrassing. But the soreness is getting worse, and the thought of relief is too tempting to ignore.

“You trust me?” Max asks softly, his eyes locking with yours.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I do.”

Max smiles at that, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before squeezing a small amount of the ointment onto his fingers. “Let’s take care of you, then.”

You shift slightly on the bed, opening your legs a little to give him room. Your breath hitches as he moves closer, his touch gentle and careful. His hand slips beneath the covers, fingers finding the tender spot with a sensitivity that makes you melt.

“You sure this is okay?” He murmurs, his gaze flicking to yours for reassurance.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, though the feel of his fingers, even in this innocent context, has your pulse racing.

Max is slow, deliberate, applying the ointment with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine. His touch is cool at first, but then the warmth from his skin mixes with the soothing sensation of the ointment, and your body starts to relax. The ache begins to ebb away, replaced by a gentle, comforting warmth.

“Better?” He asks after a few moments, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You can only nod, your eyes fluttering shut as the tension leaves your body. But it’s not just the relief from the soreness that’s making you feel this way. It’s the way Max is touching you — careful, considerate, and yet undeniably intimate. You hadn’t expected something as simple as this to feel so … intense.

Max’s fingers continue their slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, though his voice is huskier now, like he knows stopping isn’t something you’re going to ask for.

Your breath catches in your throat as he presses a little more firmly, the friction now bordering on something else entirely. The tenderness is still there, but now, so is something deeper, something stirring inside you that you can’t ignore.

“Max …” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

He doesn’t respond with words, just a small smile as his thumb grazes over your clit, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. He’s not trying to push you, not really, but his touch is becoming more deliberate, more focused.

And you’re unraveling.

The gentle pressure of his fingers, the slow circles he’s tracing, the way he’s watching you so intently — it’s all too much, and yet not enough at the same time. You shift your hips, instinctively seeking more, and Max’s eyes darken as he registers your need.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the same spot again, drawing another gasp from you. “Does it feel good?”

You nod, unable to find the words. Your body is responding without permission, a slow burn building in your core, the ache from earlier completely forgotten now. It’s been replaced by something else — something hot and electric, coursing through you with every touch.

Max leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need.”

You can barely think straight, let alone articulate what you need, but you manage a breathless, “More.”

His fingers move with more purpose now, pressing harder, rubbing in just the right way that makes your body arch toward him, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is almost overwhelming, the pleasure mixing with the relief, and you feel like you’re coming undone in his hands.

Max watches you, his eyes dark and intense, clearly enjoying the way you’re responding to him. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “Just let go.”

And you do. You let go of the last bit of restraint you’ve been holding onto, your body trembling as the tension builds higher and higher. Max’s hand never falters, his touch steady, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re breathing faster now, your heart racing in your chest, and you can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading through your body like wildfire. It’s too much, too intense, and yet you need it, need him.

“Max,” you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets as the pleasure surges through you. “I’m-”

“I know,” he whispers, his thumb pressing down just right, and it’s all it takes to send you spiraling.

Your body clenches, the release crashing over you in waves as you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand. Max holds you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left trembling, your body spent and your mind blissfully blank.

When it’s over, you collapse against the pillows, panting, your heart still pounding in your chest. Max pulls his hand away, careful and gentle, and leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“How do you feel now?” He asks, his voice full of warmth and affection.

You manage a weak smile, still catching your breath. “Better. Much better.”