#john marston/F!Reader

[salv12dexter]

Y'all literally write fanfics like you're men. How is it that in your own fantasy world, you're not getting pleasure from it? With every reader x character, it's you pleasuring the character. Women write fanfics like how men view porn.

You're so feminist that even in your own fantasies, you think that you are ugly and that this character would never want you. So unless they're degrading, using, and beating you. That's the only true way you think that they could ever desire you.

I'm not even going to get started on the of-age-reader x underage characters because if I need to tell you why that's wrong, you need to be put on a watch list.

[orchid-and-bone]

Could I have a John x fem reader where the reader reacts to John winning (but still beat tf up) in a bar fight?

Thanks bestie <3

Eyyy of COURSE you can bestie?! I have been practicing writing John, and I may not be the best, but I think I'm confident in my abilities. I think. But here, have a fun, flirty little brawl with your man~

"Trouble" ||

John Marston x f!Reader

Length: 2.1k

Rating: Mature: Mentions of blood, fighting, language

How John ended up in this situation was honestly beyond him, it was just an innocent outing with you and him running some errands for the ranch, and yet he was getting fist after fist pounded into his face. 

After a long day of working, you could tell he was going stir-crazy. His old life was all about freedom and running around, doing things to bring in money or just getting to do as he pleased, but now? He was on a ranch, pretending to be someone he wasn’t to get by, and his trigger finger was beginning to itch. But to make you happy, to keep your heads low, and to survive, John had to behave and live as his persona for the time being. 

“So, Jim,” you said with a smirk, “maybe we should stop at a saloon since it’s getting dark, we could eat a decent meal, maybe stay in a hotel for the night. I’m tired,” you sighed and leaned your head against the man’s shoulder. 

John matched your sigh and flicked the reigns on the horses as he pulled them to the right, heading into Valentine's territory, which he hadn’t expected to be back here so soon. “I mean, it is a long way back, we could use the rest. And I am starvin’, could use something that isn’t a stew for once.” 

You both pulled the wagon off and made sure the horses were comfortable, hitched to a nearby post, and then John helped you down to the ground and smiled wide with his arm wrapped around your waist. “Well, let’s get inside, maybe we can get a bath before bed, too,” he said softly with a smirk. He pulled you along and walked beside you, looking around the town that felt so different from when he was last here. 

As you both entered the saloon, you definitely could tell that the environment was more lively, but you both tried to keep your wits about you as you ordered some food and sat in the corner, away from the rowdy group of people. The food was delicious and the conversation you shared was pleasant, as usual, but John couldn't shake the feeling that eyes kept falling on you both. He'd look away from you as he stopped mid-sentence to see one of the men staring at the both of you, but he tried to pay no mind, you were taking his attention. 

The food was finished and you both were feeling content, the party of people in the saloon only grew larger in number and louder in volume, so you both figured it was time to head out to the hotel for the evening. John allowed you to walk out first so he could follow behind you, but you had barely gotten several steps toward the door when one of the men stepped in front of your path, blocking you from the exit.

“Hey there now, y'all ain't plannin’ on comin’ over to celebrate with us?” 

“Sorry, friend, but we have other plans to attend to,” John answered firmly. 

The man just scoffed, the reek of booze was strong on his breath, it was a wonder he was still standing. “Aww c'mon, my friend over there is gettin’ married, you could have one drink to congratulate him!”

“Sorry sir, but we don't even know you,” you said sharply, stepping back from him, and bumping into John. You felt a bit more at ease since he was here.

“And? You ain't heard of makin’ friends?” The man chuckled and grabbed your arm, pulling you along toward the table. He then decided to yank your arm and attempt to pull you over toward the table, but John stepped up and grabbed his wrist hard. 

“We ain't interested, sir. My woman and I are heading out for the evenin’, so maybe next time you should use your brain and not touch a lady when she says no.” 

John pushed the man away so you both had room to leave, but some of the drunk’s friends decided to get involved. 

John stepped up protectively, his spine stiffened as his hand hovered over the knife that was holstered, hidden beneath his jacket. “Sir, you got till the count of three to back off and leave us alone,” he warned. 

There had been a taller man who stood up from the table and interjected, pushing his friend gently off to the side. “Are you threatenin’ us?” He snapped. 

“I ‘spose I am,” John retorted, holding his ground as he pushed you further behind him to shield you. 

Another of the man's friends stepped up and tried to land a surprise swing on John, but he pushed you out of the way and took the hook to his shoulder. After that, John was brawling with several of the men who ganged up on you both. The one in the red shirt had tried to grab John to put him in a headlock so his friends could take their turns wailing on him, but your John was fast. He elbowed Red and kicked his leg in, causing the man to fall flat on his face.

That was one down—three more to go.

“I ain’t been in a bar fight in a long time,” John commented as he had both arms up, ready to block any attacks if needed, “but I’d rather continue my night with my lady if you gentlemen don’t mind.”

The three other men all ignored him and each one tried to punch him at different intervals to throw him off, but somehow, John managed to throw one man into the other and watched as the two tumbled straight into a table. The others who occupied the saloon were standing back and vacating the building. The bartender just sighed and walked off, not wanting to be part of yet another brawl. That left you, standing on the stairs away from the tussle. 

The gunslinger looked back and you, making sure you were out of harm's way, then he got back to it. The two men who collided with the table were too drunk to stand, and all they did was stumble over one another. There was one left standing, and he was a little larger than the others. 

“Look, I can just leave, no reason you gotta get involved,” John said nonchalantly, his stance easing up a little.

The man just glared down at him and he scoffed at the offer. “You ruined my engagement celebration, mister, I don’t take so kind to that.”

John just sighed and lifted his hands again, balling them into fists. “Alright then, have it your way,” he replied.

The man took a fast step forward and swung his fist straight at John’s jaw, and if it weren’t for the speed, maybe John would have dodged it, instead, he got nicked against his chin, which still caught him enough to cause some pain. That was all the distraction the man needed to step in and lunge at John, his larger body barreled into him and tackled him to the floor.

You let out a yelp, terrified that the man was going to have a one-up on John, and all you could do was watch in fear as your hands gripped the railing in fear. 

The gunslinger was pinned onto the floor as the man above him threw punch after punch, landing a blow on his cheek, and almost breaking his nose at one point. John held up his arms to block and tried his best to use the strength from his legs to somehow get him to slip off, and he managed to throw the man off of him for a split second. He scrambled to find some balance, then rolled off to the side as the man recovered. 

“Give up yet?” John asked with a smirk on his face as he licked the blood from his split lip, the bruises on his face forming fast.

The man just yelled out in frustration and then John had him in a blind frenzy, which made any man messy in a fight. John ducked from the swing and swung his right arm quickly, the blow landed in the side of the man’s temple, stunning him momentarily. Then it was over, John was finally standing over him and landing punch after punch in the man’s face until he fell unconscious. The gunslinger released the man’s collar, allowing his body to fall slack onto the wooden floor. 

He looked up at you, panting to catch his breath as he straightened his posture. The people who occupied the saloon had all either hidden somewhere or run off, and there were just the two of you left with the pile of unconscious men scattered about on the floor. You waited a moment before hesitantly walking down the stairs to run into his arms, thankful he was alright despite being a little black and blue. 

“As always you’re my hero,” you chuckled and reached up to touch his face, wiping away a smear of blood from his lip. 

“And as always, we’re both gettin’ into trouble,” he replied gruffly.

You just scoffed. “We?” 

“Well yeah, you’re my accomplice, partner in crime, ain’t you?” He asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus you’re the one always gettin’ the attention,” John teased as he slipped his arm through yours. He pulled you along and threw a couple of bills onto the countertop, then escorted you outside and across the muddly way, leading you straight to the hotel. 

You both walked inside, the environment a complete flip from the saloon, and you were more at ease now, and even more thankful when you saw the list of services. The gentleman behind the counter stopped sweeping the floor and greeted you both with a kind smile.

“Howdy, how can I help y’all this evenin’?” He looked between the both of you with concern but didn’t voice them. 

Your eyes looked over at John with a smile and then back at the desk man. “One bath and one room, please.”

The man smiled and got everything situated for you both, you thanked him and paid, then pulled John up the stairs to the bath. He followed obediently and cracked his neck as he ascended the stairs with you, groaning.

“Sleepin’ is gonna be a bitch, I just know it,” he complained.

“Well if you behaved for five minutes you wouldn’t have to worry about it, would you?” You scolded playfully as you looked over your shoulder at him. “He got some good hits in, but not gonna lie, Mister Marston, you looked really good kickin’ his ass.” You flashed him a cheeky smile and continued to lead him to the bath. “You go get cleaned up, I’ll get the room ready.” 

You almost walked away, leaving him in front of the bath door, but his hand grabbed your wrist, and then he pulled you back toward him, falling into him as his arms wrapped around you. “Yeah? You think I looked good, huh?” He asked flirtatiously, pulling you close so his face was mere inches from yours. “Then why do you think you can just leave me here alone?” “John Marston, are you implyin’ I’m gonna join you in your bath?” You gasped, faux shock crossed your features. 

All he could do was smile, the raised edges of the scars across his face made his face look extra handsome, and the dim lighting in the hall only made you admire his face even more. “Nah, I’m declarin’ that you are, unless you don’t wanna?” His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you into the most tender kiss he could manage. 

When he pulled away, your eyes fluttered open and you just stared up at him with a lovestruck smile. “Well, when you put it that way…”

That was all the confirmation he needed, so he opened the door to the readied hot bath, pulling you in after him, and you couldn’t help but giggle as he closed the door behind you both. You sighed as he leaned your hands against his chest, just smiling up at him with that look.

“I know that look, what is it?” 

“Nothin’, you’re just trouble, John Marston,” you said softly, your hand cupped his cheek again, mindful of how gentle you had to be. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world, you know that, right?”

The man looked down at you and pulled you into another kiss, pulling away a moment later with that charming smile you were unable to resist, his hand reached up to brush your hair away from your face so he could see the light in those pretty eyes of yours. Just a minor setback to your shared evening, but John always had ways to make it up to you. 

[unmaskthewriter]

Everywhere {John Marston x F!Reader}

Summary: You reminisce about your time with John Marston.

A/N: Welcome back, dearest readers, to my RDR2 obsession. This one was loosely inspired by a tiktok. I listened to Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac while writing. Also thinking about making this into a mini series that can be read in any order, just reflecting on little moments between John and Reader with no significant plot if there’s enough expressed interest in your end, and motivation on mine

Word Count: 1049

Warnings: canon typical violence, angst, fluff

Sometime post-1907, Beecher’s Hope

It was an unbearably hot day on the ranch with the sun bearing down on the dry Earth below. You had decided to sit outside on the porch nonetheless and enjoy the fresh air with your young son, John Jr. Settling down into a newly made rocking chair with a cold glass of water, you watch John in the distance tending to the animals. He would occasionally remove his hat, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his arm. John Jr. sat on a blanket on the porch, playing with a small wooden horse Charles had carved for him for his 1st birthday.

If you told yourself years ago that you and John would purchase land outside Blackwater, and try your hand at ranching, you would have laughed. Hell, you never even expected to stand by Marston, but in Arthur’s final moments as he placed his hat on John’s head and shoved his satchel bag into your arms, neither of you could deny his last wish.

“Take her… and go. Get the hell out of here and be a goddamn man!” Arthur demanded of John. Ever so gently, John takes your hand and leads you back down the mountain. You take one last look to Arthur as he draws his revolver, calling out to Dutch and Micah.

Surely, it was uncomfortable at first. Without anywhere to go or anyone to turn to, you and John had to push aside your grief to barely survive. Traveling from town to town, often changing identities to run from a past you once knew, it was never enough. Somehow, the past had an interesting way of catching up. It wasn’t until the incident in Roanoke Ridge that John decided to return west after all these years.

“What’re you doin’ out here all alone, little lady?” A man’s voice spoke. You tense, and slowly turn to face the man who had intruded your camp in the deep wilderness. John had left to go hunting nearly an hour ago, and you were unsure of when he would return.

“What do you want?” You ask, glancing to your tent where your revolver was resting on your bedroll. "Of course, the one time I am without it," you thought to yourself. The man quickly draws his gun, pointing it to you as he slowly approaches, his worn leather boots crunching the dry leaves beneath his feet.

“Give me everything you have, and I just might let you live, little girl.” He threatened as you closed your eyes. A loud gun had sounded off in the proximity, and for a moment you expected death’s cold embrace. When that had not come, you opened your eyes to see the man before you crumple to the ground, his gun slipping from his grasp. John revealed himself behind the man, still gripping his raised gun tightly, the barrel smoking lightly. In his eyes, sadness and fear lingered as he gazed at you. Quickly holstering his gun, he kneels beside you and cups your face in his rough hands, looking over you for injuries.

Even then, having decided to settle down and stop running, the past still lingered through various former members of the gang finding you and John. Whether it be Sadie sending a telegram seeing through John’s fake identity, Uncle waiting outside the bank in Blackwater for John, or Charles bare-knuckle fighting in the streets of Saint Denis, you were just grateful that there were those who survived Dutch’s downfall. Often, you wondered why John hadn’t just left you behind, or dropped you off in the nearest town and ran.

“You think I’d do that to you, darlin’?” John whispered, gently cupping your face with his large, calloused hands and gazing down at you. His black hair fell around his face, a few strands just barely interfering with his vision. He had grown out his stubble, but the scars on his cheek remained.

“Well… I figured you had no reason not to.” You mumble, avoiding John’s gaze. He laughs and pulls you in closer.

“Silly girl.” He mutters before pressing his chapped lips against yours, taking you for surprise before melting into the kiss.

A small noise interrupts your thoughts as Uncle shuffles about on the porch, the wood beneath him creaking with each step. He sits alongside you as the stench of whiskey fills the open air. John Jr. looks up to him and flashes a toothy grin. Uncle is quiet for a moment.

“John found himself a good woman... She saved him. John saved me, I saved Charles, so it goes.” He chuckles, placing a hand on his knee as he looks out to the beautiful land before him. Of course, it wasn’t always like this but with his guidance, and Charles’ physical labor, John had transformed the property from one that was once occupied by squatters, to a beautiful ranch you both could be proud of.

“So it all starts with a good woman?” You tease in return, looking to Uncle. He sits up.

“Exactly… it all starts with a good woman,” Uncle repeats, turning in his chair to face you, “John Marston is the luckiest man alive. Arthur told me that a… a long time ago.” Uncle smiles sadly, looking down at his shoes for a moment. Subconsciously, you twirl the ring on your finger endlessly, a habit you had formed after John had proposed. The ring once belonged to Arthur, intended for Mary Linton until she broke off the engagement.

John sat across from you in the small boat, reaching into Arthur’s satchel as he maintained eye contact with you. Gently grasping your hands, he smiled.

“I know I’m a fool, and I haven’t always done right by you… but I want to start. I want to be the man you deserve, darlin’. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?” John asks, revealing the ring to you. It was more beautiful than Arthur had ever described to you — a simple, gold band with a single maroon jewel placed delicately in the center. Tears begin to form in your eyes as you watch John approach the house after a long day’s work, the western sun setting behind him.

Arthur was hardly ever wrong.

[johnpriceslamb]

�� 𝓱 𝓻 𝓮 𝓪 𝓭 𝓮 𝓭 𝓮 𝓵 𝓮 𝓰 𝓪 𝓷 𝓬 𝓮

🪡 Before you joined the gang, you used to be a tailor. An event was coming up soon which involved looking fancy, meaning that you had to take his measurements for a new suit.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ⋆ female ! reader ⋆ hyper-feminine ! reader ⋆ very suggestive content w/ javier ⋆ close proximity ⋆ reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than said chars ⋆ poorly google translates spanish >.> ⋆ not proof read nor edited ⋆ wrd count/1.2k

🪡 arthur morgan ⋆ charles smith ⋆ john marston ⋆ javier escuella (sep) x f! reader

🪡 𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓾𝓻 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓷,

“stand still!”

You prattle on for the umpteenth time this evening. The loyal enforcer of the gang grunts at the feeling of the cold tape measure wrapped around his bare waist, as he begrudgingly lifts his arms up to avoid messing up the measurements.

“For someone so little,” He groans at the feeling of the flexible measure tightening deliberately around him, “You sure do have a lot of attitude.”

You ignore him, of course. You scribble down the exact number of his measurement down on a piece of paper with a slight hum. The beads of your delicate necklace hang delicately off your neck as you bend over the edge of the table a bit, elbows propping your demure head for support. Arthur couldn’t help but boredly take a peak of what you were writing down, before ultimately sighing as he hopes for this to go a little quicker.

the cigar in his mouth hangs low on his bottom lip, embers flying out from the tip. He takes another slow drag, before letting it out with a gentle sigh- to your direction. You throw the man a puffed-cheek glare, your little nose scrunching up at the smell.

He wouldn’t admit the fact that he felt warm when your fingers would touch his body so subtly when measuring him. Or when your face was so close to his ragged skin, he could really feel your soft breath. Did you always look that pretty when you’re concentrated?

“Hey, Arthur?” That familiar high-pitched voice catches his attention. His hands lazily grab ahold of his low-hung belt, before leaning in.

“Mh?” He lowly grunts, squinting his eyes at the sight of your beady eyes staring up at him. He chews at the end of his cigarette, letting out a huff when the smoke unexpectedly enters inside his body.

You cheekily smile, tinkering your dewy lashes at him to feign innocence. The pencil in your grip is tapped multiple times on the paper, “Wouldn’t pink be a suitable colour choice for your suit?”

“[name].” You’re lucky you were blessed with a cute little face, otherwise he’d have no issue throwing you in the lake nearby.

🪡 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱,

“..I’m not familiar with getting measured, I apologise if I make anything difficult.” Charles quietly explains to you in that baritone voice he had. You can’t help that sweet fluttering in your chest at the apology.

“Nonsense!” You wave him off with a toothy smile, “All you’ll have to do is stand still.”

The gentle giant in-front of you slowly nods. He’s not uncomfortable, but he’s kind of on the edge since this was new to him. But since it’s you, he can feel some of the tension in him melt. Usually, he tends to avoid interacting with other people at camp.

But you? Something about you made him draw closer.

“Just a matter of standing still? I think I can manage with that. No trouble with me.” A ghost of a smile slowly etches onto his dark skin at your expression. Almost.. puppy like.

You’re about to measure his full height to ensure the exact proportions of the suit are balanced, only to realise..

Your height (lack thereof.. oops.) comes in as a bit of an issue here. For plot purposes, there aren’t any stools around nor could you go on your tippy toes to measure him fully.

“..Ah.” Charles blinks at the situation. Amusement crosses his face, before gesturing to hand over the end of the measuring tape. He holds it just at his head, patiently watching you peak at the number it falls down to at his ankles.

“Oh my..” You let out a tiny squeak at the number, a shy smile appearing on your sweet face before scribbling it down on a piece of paper nearby.

“Oh my?” He repeats you, “What? Is that.. Is that bad?”

“No, no!” You stammer, meekly brushing your hands over your light pink petticoat, “You’re just.. Y’know. You’re tall.”

“Oh?” He smiles lightly, lovingly looking at your light expression, “I hope that won’t be too much of a problem.”

“It’s not a problem. Quite the opposite, actually.” You quietly mumble the last part. Oh dear, you can feel his gaze, practically warming up your soul, staring at you as if you hung the stars. You feel your cheeks heating up.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing!”

🪡 𝓳𝓸𝓱𝓷 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷,

never in your life have you wanted to smack a man in the face so badly.

“Woah,” John grins like a newly wet dog from running through a puddle, “Y’here to take my measurements or to feel me up?”

All you did was just wrap the tape around the swell of his hips. Your cheeks puff out, purposefully tightening the tape to get your point behind.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind either way.” He cheekily smiles, before scoffing at the feeling of the measuring tape deliberately tightening around him.

You swear you can smell the scent of booze. You ignore it, before straightening your back to measure his waist. What you can’t ignore however, was that raspy drawl his voice had which somehow makes you fall for him over and over again.

He may be as dumb as rocks, but his little antics drew you in.

“Hey,” He calls out to catch your attention. You sweetly tilt your head up, and to the side when he looks down at you.

“You gon’ pick the colours of my suit, or do I get to?” He asks curiously.

You ponder, “Well.. Do you want to?”

He thinks about it for a moment, before coming up with an answer. “Nah. Reckon you should. You’re the professional, after all.”

You can’t help but let out a soft giggle, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

When you’ve finished his measurements, you excitedly turn to him to discuss the colour choices which’ll be appropriate for the event coming up soon. Both of your eyes meet and he peers down at you with a loving gaze, it catches your breath a bit before you force yourself to look down at the notes which contained your notes.

“I think your suit should have a low v cut to really show that upper-body of yours. Perhaps a classic navy blue as your primary colour, and— Hey! Are you even listening to me?”

He blinks a few times, a bit sheepish. “I am, I just don’t got a clue on what you’re saying, sweetheart.”

You can feel your hand tighten.

🪡 𝓳𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪,

“Ah.. Quite close there, aren’t you?” He has this.. devilishly handsome smile you want to wipe off badly. He peers down at you as if you were nothing but a little dollie while you measured his chest.

“‘M not trying to be!” You whine, going just a bit lower to wrap the measuring tape around his waist now. You hum delightfully as you find the exact number, squinting your eyes to see where the tip of the measurement tape lands on.

While you’re busy with your own little thing, you don’t notice the way Javier admires you from above. He can’t help but comment on it too.

“You know,” He starts of with a slow, lazy smile. Mischievous, even.

“You’re looking very pretty working down there.” He puts a lot of emphasis on the word ‘very’ in his sentence. It’s subtle, but if you were to be paying attention to him you’d get it immediately.

You tilt your head up to innocently thank him with a small smile etched on your pretty little face, before realising what his words were implying. That little..

“Javier!” You scold him with a very high-pitched tone. You feel your dignity fading away as soon as he replies with a mocking laugh to your whining.

“You know I’m just playing around, chica. Don’t take it so seriously.” His hand goes down to cheekily pinch your squishy cheek to get his point through. You frown.

“You’re horrible.” You babble, begrudgingly taking his last measurement. You’re very tempted to give him the cold shoulder, but decided against it.

“You’re too kind.” He sarcastically replies, that same lazy grin on his face from the start as when he sees you scribbling down some notes about his measurements and preferences. You throw a tiny glare at him, “I’m the one creating your suit here, be nice!”

“Mhm? I haven’t gotten to express my gratitude yet have I?” He takes the notepad away from you, setting it aside before easily picking you up by the waist and setting you on the table, your legs dangle off the edge easily as he nears you.

“Permiteme que, querida.”

[midnighvtm4ss]

Rosemary

Summary: Kidnapped in the middle of the night you’re dragged far away from camp by the ruthless Lemoyne Raiders. Your disappearance a painful wound for Arthur who has to, quite literally, fight for your love back.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: angst, hurt/comfort (finallyyy !!!) description of gun fight, kidnapping, heavy themes

wc: 5k

a/n: so we’ve finally come to the end of this silly little story. The comfort is finally here woohoo !! I’m actually kinda proud of this chapter because I tried a different approach to writing and idk,, i like it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to every single one of you who liked Rosemary and filled my days with love, I’ll forever be grateful to all of you. A slightly better version of Rosemary will be posted on my ao3 account along with a new series im writing following John Marston and the reader. The plot for it will be revealed in a few days. As always let me know what you think of this chapter <33 (gif from pinterest)

Pain.

The very first thing you noticed was the pain—a sharp, throbbing agony spreading from the back of your head to the front. You winced as you tried to move your hands to support your head but your limbs felt heavy, almost as if you were trying to lift one of Pearson’s flour bags.

Everything was dark. A muffled piercing sound rang through your skull. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, but failing as the pitch darkness of the thick woods clouded your vision. Trying your hardest to get out of your dream-like state you decided to focus your mind on what exactly was happening, the last thing you remembered was your fight with Arthur and taking a walk into the woods outside camp. And then the pain. Oh, the pain was killing you.

You had to go back to camp and ask Reverend Swanson for some medicine.

You once again tried to raise your hands to your head to check for blood but your action, unfortunately, was unsuccessful. And then you felt it. The rough, scratching sensation of rope digging into your wrists. Your arms were bound tightly behind your back, the coarse braided fibers of the rope biting into your skin with every slight movement. Panic flooded your mind, its freezing tide rushing down on you as you realized that you were tied up.

“She’s comin’ to. We better hurry up before she starts and give us trouble,” A low, hoarse voice cut through your panic haze.

From your lying position, what seemed like the figure of a large man could be made out approaching you in the darkness. You felt yourself being hoisted roughly into the air, before you were slung harshly like a sack of potatoes, across something hard. A horse, you judged by the pungent smell of hay that invaded your nostrils. The saddle dug painfully into your side as the animal began to move forward under the command of its rider. The sudden movement made you almost throw up, your head pounding rhythmically with each rapid beat of hooves on the woods ground. You wanted to scream but no sound escaped your throat, the pain in your body too intense. As the horse rode further and further into the woods you could feel your consciousness slowly slip away,

‘Arthur,’ you managed to utter before darkness took over you.

The second time you awoke, it was due to the biting cold of dawn. The sky above was just starting to lighten, the first rays of sunrise penetrating through the dense treetops, coloring everything in pale hues. You were lying on the ground again, your body stiff and muscles aching. You shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering together, your dress doing a poor job at keeping you warm, as you tried your best to gather your scattered thoughts. The men were still nearby, the sound of their hushed voices mixing with the rustling of leaves blowing in the wind. Despite the overwhelming pain and tiredness you felt washing all over your body you forced yourself to stay awake.

You rolled to the side as best as you could, mud staining the soft colored fabric of your dress and cheeks, trying to find out where they had taken you. You knew you had to think clearly, to find a way out of this nightmare. Your eyes, although blurred, scanned the area in front of you. You were in the Bayou area, the shadow of tall trees and surrounding swamp a dead giveaway of the location and judging by the various bottles of moonshine all over the place, your kidnappers probably took you to an old moonshine distillery camp.

“You sure she’s worth all this trouble?” a high pitched voice asked.

“What, a beauty like her ? Absolutely partner,” another man responded, his tone cruel. “Just keep her quiet until the boss comes back, then we’ll have ourselves a real party,” he added laughing.

Fear gripped your chest like a vise—you could hear footsteps approaching, quick and heavy. Rough hands grabbed you by the shoulders, flipping you over onto your back, your eyes focusing just enough to see the blurred outline of a man’s face looming above you, the bitter smell of liquor and tobacco taking over your senses, the end of his yellow scarf tied around his neck dangling down in front of you. Lemoyne raiders.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mockery as he smiled down at you. He took out a small pocket knife from his satchel leaning in closer. The blade flashed in front of your eyes as he lowered it down to your cheek, slowly moving it down towards your neck without breaching your skin.

Your breath caught up in your throat, your chest rising and falling rapidly making you lightheaded as the blade touched the sensitive skin of your neck. Your heart pounded so violently in your chest that it made you physically sick. A strained whimper left your lips as tears welled up in your eyes blurring your vision. You were completely frozen in place, terrified under the man’s knife. The man menacingly laughed at the sound you let out, flashing his yellow teeth at you, satisfaction evident in his cold eyes.

He roughly manhandled you up by your arm, his tight grip leaving dark bruises on your skin as your feet dragged in the mud. The man pushed you inside a decaying wooden cabin, its interior surprisingly worse than the exterior, you noted as you were sat down on a small chair positioned in the corner of the entrance room, far away from the door.

Another man, much smaller than the previous one, grabbed you by your hair lifting your face towards his making you wince.

“You’re gonna stay nice ‘nd quiet Miss,” he said before stuffing your mouth with a dirty piece of cloth, the bitter taste of dirt making you gag.

The two men spared you one last glance, a satisfied expression painting their faces, before leaving the cabin to join their other men outside, locking you in.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The usual cheerful chirping of birds coming from the trees surrounding Clemens Point camp acted as a morning alarm for Arthur. The chill morning air biting at his exposed ankles, his blanket messily tangled up his torso as a result of the restless night he spent tossing and turning, waiting for you to come back. He knew that following you was the wrong choice. You wanted some space from him and he respected that, but his heart couldn’t help but ache at the missing warmth of your body in his bed. He waited and waited for you, his eyes growing heavy as he rehearsed in his mind all the ways he could make it up to you, until his body succumbed to its tiredness and fell asleep.

Putting on his hat he lazily walked towards the coffee brewer on the campfire near the ladies’ tents, his mind replaying the events of the night. The way you looked at him as if he had just shoved a knife into your chest, your pretty eyes bloodshot and puffy from the constant crying. Your trembling form making its way out of your shared tent hunting his mind like a vengeful ghost. He loathed himself for that. It was his damn fault. He had to make it right and he’d do anything to take all the pain he caused away.

Sure you had slept with the girls since you never made it back to your tent last night, he expected to find you chatting away with Tilly as the both of you usually prefered to start early on your morning chores, his steps carrying him with a determined aura, but once he made it in front of the ladies’ tents you were not there. His face scrunched up in confusion as a small glimmer of concern planted its root in his head. That same glimmer grew rapidly as he darted his eyes around camp seeing no signs of your presence.

“Arthur,” the gentle sound of Abigail’s voice snapped him out of his turmoil.

“Abigail, hi.” he answered absently, eyes still scanning the camp’s grounds in hope of catching a glimpse of you.

“Look, I don’t want to be nosy but is everything alrigh’ between you two ? I heard you two yelling last night, she was pretty shaken up before you arrived”

“Yes, no—I don’t know. We had an argument, and she didn’t sleep in our bed last night. Can't blame her really, but I can’t seem to find her,” he explained, concern radiating out of every fiber in his body “Have you seen her ?”

“No, not since last night. Maybe she just needs some time alone” she reassured, placing her hand on his shoulder. The gesture soothing his worried thoughts.

“Yeah maybe you’re righ—“ Arthur didn’t get to finish his sentence as the cutting voice of Leopold Strauss interrupted him.

“Herr Morgan, Herr Morgan. Busy, my friend ?” The Austrian man approached him, a folded piece of paper in hand.

Arthur's shoulders dropped. He dreaded working for Strauss, but the older man was persistent, always ready with another fella to squeeze dry for some cash. Sure, the money helped keep the gang afloat, put food on the table, and clothes on the backs of the women and children, but the work, well, the work was dirty. It was the kind of work that gnawed at a man’s conscience.

“What is it now,” Arthur turned to face him, Abigail excusing herself, patting his back before leaving to wake Jack up. Strauss handed him the piece of paper, fortunately for Arthur only one name was scribbled down. ‘Gwyn Hughes’

“He’s an undertaker in Rhodes, he shouldn’t be giving you any trouble but he’s a slippery fellow. Just scare him and collect the debt” he explained. Arthur sighed accepting the job, wondering when all this loan sharking business would come to an end. You always hated when he’d go out dealing with Strauss’ business, saying how the gang should steal from the rich to help the poor and not steal from the poor to help the poor. He knew deep down inside of him you were right, but unfortunately money is money and with the gang’s situation looking far from good, every single cent counted.

He put the paper in his satchel before walking towards the hitching post, his gaze falling on your Tennessee Walker before mounting his horse.

“Oi english!” Sean called out from his lookout post “you look like shit this mornin’”

“Yeah well, don’t I always,” Arthur groaned before signaling his horse to move forward.

The collection of the debt turned out stranger than Arthur ever imagined. As it turned out Gwyn Hughes, the debtor, planned to pay back his debt by robbing a woman’s grave and as if that wasn’t enough he tasked Arthur to clear the cemetery and eventually stop the people from coming in. By noon, Arthur left Rhodes with a diamond brooch, a few bruises on his face and a confused conscience.

He returned to camp exhausted, his body and mind heavy, the dirty work weighed heavily on him as he hitched his horse near camp. All he wanted now was to see you, hear the sweet sound of your voice, even if you’d yell at him. He just wanted to see you. But as he ventured inside the camp, the usual hum of chatter was gone, the atmosphere heavy. Something was off. Abigail and Sadie were the first to come up to him, Abigail face pale while Sadie scanned around camp anxiously.

“Arthur,” the brunette called out, her voice rising with an edge of worry as they hurried towards him. “She ain’t been back”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat “Wha—What do you mean she ain’t been back ? Nobody’s seen her ?”

“Last time I saw her was last night, I was on lookout and saw her headin’ out towards the woods, thought she was goin’ for a walk” Sadie explained, her expression filled with worry. “I asked ‘round camp and no one has seen her today”

His stomach dropped as numerous possibilities of what could’ve happened to you flashed through his mind. Without muttering a word to the two women, Arthur stormed over to Dutch’s tent, the latter standing outside talking to Hosea about the recent developments on the Gray-Braithwaite situation. The moment they saw Arthur approaching their conversation dissolved, the look on his face signaling them that something was off.

“What’s the matter Arthur ?” Dutch asked, concern dancing in his eyes.

“It’s about her, she went out last night and no one has seen her since” he explained, his voice strained. Dutch expression hardened

“You think something happened to her ?”

“I do, yeah”

“Alright then better move quickly, Charles! Bill !” Dutch called, his voice reverberating across the camp calling out the two men. “Arthur’s Miss is missing. I want you two to go out with him, see if you can track her down. The others, I want all eyes on the perimeters of camp, if she comes back you holler. Nobody moves from camp.”

Charles, who had been crafting some poisonous arrows near by the campfire, quickly dropped his task as he listened to what happened. He quickly gathered all his gear and began to move towards the horses, Bill just a few paces behind him.

“We’ll find her, Arthur. She’s gonna be okay” Hosea consoled him, but the older man's words did little to calm Arthur’s racing heart.

Within minutes, the three men were mounted on their horses and heading into the woods where Sadie had last seen you. Arthur’s mind was racing, a dangerous storm of fear and anger bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t lose you, not like this. Not after everything that happened.

The woods were dense, the tall trees casting deep shadows that made it difficult to see much of anything, but luckily Charles was an expert tracker, the hunter’s keen eyes scanning every inch of the ground for any sign of you.

After what felt like an eternity for Arthur, Charles held up his hand, signaling the other two men to stop. He dismounted Taima and crouched down, examining something on the ground. Arthur quickly joined him, his breath catching in his throat as he saw what his friend had found.

It was her bracelet, the golden one he had gifted you for your first anniversary. The small wristlet laid in the dirt, the delicate chain now broken. Arthur felt the whole world crashing down on him as he picked it up, his hands shaking in a mix of anger and fear.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

As the hours dragged on, you struggled to stay alert. The pain in your head had dulled to a persistent ache, but every muscle in your body screamed in protest with every small movement. Your wrist burned, blood dripping down your hands as you tried to wriggle them out of your ropes, the process slow and agonizing, but you could feel the ropes loosening further and further. You just needed to grit your teeth through the pain. The men had become less concerned about you, talking and drunkenly laughing amongst themselves, making you nauseous at their inhumanity.

Then a man entered the cabin, followed by two others behind him. He was tall and well built, his hairline receding leaving his hair to hang awkwardly on the sides. By the way he dragged himself around you deduced he was their leader. He crouched down beside you, his face dangerously close to yours, his breath fanning in your face making you scrunch your nose at the rancid smell of his breath. He reached out to check your ropes, tightening them furthermore, the action causing bolts of pain to shoot through your body.

“What was a pretty lady like yourself doing all alone in the woods mh?” He took out the now drenched piece of cloth out of your mouth. You swallowed, feeling your dry throat burning at the action.

You couldn’t muster the strength to respond. Your head lolled to the side as the man stepped back, a sinister grin plastered on his face. Then a harsh, stinging sensation hit your cheek.

“I said what were you doing all alone in the woods, slut” Tears welled in your eyes, both from the pain and the hopelessness of your situation. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Arthur. You had to hold on, had to find a way to escape, if not for yourself, then for him. He would come for you—you knew it deep down in your heart, but you needed to survive until then.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

Arthur’s eyes burned with anger and fear. He clenched his fists around the bracelet, his mind racing. “She was here,” Charles said quietly, his voice grim. “And she wasn’t alone. Look at these tracks, it seems like there was a struggle. She was taken.”

“By who?” asked Bill.

Charles pointed his finger to the ground, where the faint outline of various boot prints led away from their spot. “Judging by the tracks, it looks like a group of men. Three, maybe four. Could be Lemoyne Raiders. They must’ve grabbed her and taken her somewhere nearby. At this point the only place near is the old moonshine distillery.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold at the thought of you in the hands of the Raiders. The Lemoyne Raiders were known for their brutality, his encounter a few weeks prior with Sadie confirmed their reputation. The thought of what they could be doing to you filled him with a rage so intense it nearly consumed him.

“We find their hideout, and we get her out,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, already mounting up on his horse “I’m gonna kill all them goddamned bastards. I don’t care what it takes.”

Mounting their horses they followed the tracks, the three men riding fast through the woods. Thankfully it hadn’t rained so the trail was still clearly visible. It led them deeper into the Bayou region, the trees growing thicker and the air heavier with humidity and tension.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they spotted the moonshine distillery through the trees. It was a crumbling mess of buildings, half-hidden by the vegetation in the shadows, but there was no mistaking it. A few horses were tethered outside, and faint light flickered from the windows of an old cabin.

Arthur’s heart pounded as he dismounted. Charles and Bill followed him as they hid behind a crumbled stone wall, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. Their eyes scanned the area, there was a man guarding the horses while a group of five others were sitting near by the campfire, drinking and laughing with each other. He exchanged a quick glance with Bill and Charles. This was it. They’d kill those bastards outside, storm the cabin, take out anyone who stood in their way, and get you out of there.

“Let’s go, I’ll take that guard near the horses out” Bill whispered, his voice steady with resolve. He made quick work of killing the guard, his knife glimmering just a second in the light before settling into the man’s neck. Charles and Arthur joined Bill in action. Arthur was the first to shoot his gun, the bullet piercing clean through one of the men’s chest. Then all hell broke loose.

Bullets went flying as the Lemoyne Raiders spotted them, the air filled with smoke and gunpowder as both sides fought violently. Their position didn’t offer too much cover, the Lemoyne Raiders, although drunk, fought hard, their guns never stopping. A stray bullet scraped Arthur’s arm but that didn’t stop him as he barely registered it. His mind was singularly focused on one thing—getting to you before it was too late. And in just a few minutes Arthur, Charles and Bill managed to take down all five men outside. Moving quickly out of their cover they reached the front of the cabin, and with a nod from Arthur, they burst through the door.

Chaos erupted as they stormed inside. The few Lemoyne Raiders inside the cabin barely had time to react before Bill and Charles opened fire, cutting them down where they stood. Arthur moved with deadly precision, his eyes scanning the room for any sign ofyou. And then he saw you, tied to a chair in the corner of the room, your face bruised, wrist bloody but alive. You were alive

The last of the Raiders fell as Arthur rushed to your side, his hands quickly working to untie the ropes that bound you so tightly. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, you thought this was just your mind playing tricks but tears welled up in your eyes falling rapidly down your face when you realized it wasn’t your mind playing tricks, it was really him. Arthur had found you.

“Arthur,” you barely whispered, your voice hoarse and weak.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Arthur murmured, his voice shaking as he finally freed you from the chair. He quickly checked you for more injuries before pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’d never let go. “I’ve got you sweetheart. You’re safe now.” You were still in shock from the whole ordeal, overwhelmed by the mix of emotions—fear from the attack, but also a deep, undeniable relief that Arthur was there with you. In this moment you both forgot your fight, your mixed feelings and both held each other, the intensity of the moment washing over you. You held each other for a few seconds longer before separating. A strange turmoil of emotion took over you as you looked around the room seeing the body of your kidnappers unmoving on the ground. Unable to look at them a second more you diverted your attention back to the group of outlaws in front of you.

The first who broke the silence that fell around you was Bill, awkwardly clearing his throat before adding “We need to get movin’ all this gunfight definitely caught someone’s attention”

Arthur offered his hand to you and you took it, using it as leverage to get yourself up to your feet. Your vision spotting for a second before coming back. You didn’t find in your heart to let go of his hand, his warm skin offering you peace. They escorted you out towards the horses. Arthur helping you up on his before sitting behind you, his strong arms holding you tightly to his chest giving you support. The last thing you felt was Arthur chaste kiss on your temple before you let yourself fall asleep.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the camp as the day slowly faded into night. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding your tent. Inside the tent, the air was still, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.

You were finally out of the cot after three days of recovery. The girls had come to check up on you in the morning, bringing you a mug of coffee and a pack of chocolate biscuits Mary Beth had managed to steal from the general store. The pain had dulled, your wounds were slowly healing, but the ache in your heart was still fresh, raw from everything that had happened. Arthur had barely left your side the entire time, his presence a constant, quiet comfort, but the words exchanged between you could count on your fingers. The silence between you two was loaded, filled with everything unsaid, with everything that had been tearing at you long before the kidnapping.

The both of you were now in your shared tent, you sat on the edge of the bed absently tracing the edge of an empty tin cup of peaches with your fingers. The room felt suffocating, but you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding this conversation any longer. The memory of those letters, the sight of Arthur and Mary together in Rhodes, his lies. it all still stung, a wound that hadn’t yet healed.

Arthur was seated on the small chair at the foot of the bed, his head hung low, hands toying with the rope that wrapped around his worn hat, face brim as if bracing himself for what was to come. He had watched over you, cared for you, over the past three days but there was a palpable distance between you two now that neither of you could ignore. You could see the lines of worry etched into his face, the guilt that had been gnawing at him for days.

Finally, you broke the silence. Your voice barely above a whisper “Arthur, we need to talk.”

He looked up at you, his aqua eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something else, something that made your heart ache more at his sight. “I know,” he replied quietly, his voice rough and tired from the last couple sleepless nights. “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what happened, before all this mess.”

You took a deep breath, gathering the strength you needed to confront him, to confront the hurt that had been tearing at your heart. “You lied to me, Arthur. About the letters, about Mary. About everything.”

He winced at your words, the truth of them hitting him hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I thought—I thought if I didn’t tell you, it would hurt less. That it wouldn’t matter, ‘cause it was supposed to be nothin’. But it was a mistake. I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, the pain of those memories sharp like the ghost of the tip of the Lemoyne Raider’s knife on your neck. “I saw you two together, Arthur. In Rhodes. You both looked so happy. It felt like, like my worst fears were coming true. Like I was losing you.”

Arthur stood up slowly, taking a tentative step in front of you. His hand reached out, but he stopped mid air, hesitating as if he wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch you. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “Mary, she just needed help after the passing of her husband. She didn’t have anyone else to turn to and I didn’t have the guts to shut her down. So I helped her. I didn’t want to drag you into it ‘cause I didn’t want you to worry.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for the truth. “But you lied, Arthur. And that hurt more than anything.”

He nodded, his expression pained. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to make things worse between us. But I can see now that I did that anyway by not bein’ honest.” A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, trying to keep your composure. “I love you, Arthur. But I can’t live like this, I can’t live wondering if there’s something you’re not telling me, if there’s a part of you that’s still with her.”

Arthur’s face scrunched with regret. “There ain’t. I swear to you, there ain’t. She’s from another life, a life I walked away from a long time ago. Jt’s you I love darlin’. It’s always been you.”

You looked down at the tin cup in your hands the juice residue sloshing as you toyed with the cup, your fingers trembling with the heavy weight of your next decision. “I don’t know if I can just forget what happened Arthur, it hurt too much.”

He stepped closer, this time his hand gently cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “I don’t expect you to forget. All I’m askin’ you is to try. Try give us another chance. I’ll do better, I swear it. I’ll be honest with you, about everything. No more secrets.”

His touch was warm as his thumb stroked your cheek, comforting you and despite the hurt, you couldn’t deny that bright flame of love that still burned inside of you for him. You met his eyes, seeing the sincerity, the sheer desperation in them. He made a stupid mistake of thinking for you, but he was now acknowledging his mistake, he was willing to try and be a better man for you, a man you could see your future into.

You let your tears fall freely now as you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I want to try, Arthur. I want to believe in you, in us again.”

He kneeled down to your height and held you into his arms, holding you close as you cried against his chest, the tension of the past days finally breaking down. His hand gently stroked your hair, his voice a low murmur of comfort in your ear.

“We’ll make it work, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

[grippincash]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬.

john marston x f!reader

cw: john marston x reader, afab reader, smut 18+ mdni!, porn with little to no plot, slight dubcon, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), drunk sex, missionary/mating press… creampie, slight dark content

a/n: rdr2 brainrot… practicing smut… lots of thoughts… head NOT empty..

word count: 2k.

You can’t remember what led you to this mess.

Countless beer bottles laid beside a creaky old bed both you and John were sitting on, the owner of this cabin likely long gone by the state of the place. You don’t remember how you got here, or why you were here, or why you stayed. If you thought John only had the time to down endless amounts of liquor back at camp, you were dead wrong. You were almost disgusted by it, the scene upon walking inside the broken down hut making you scoff at the man leaning against the bed frame, bottle in hand. So, why did you stay?

More importantly, why did you pick up a beer bottle and crack one open for him? Why did you pick up another and chug it beside him? Why did the bitter taste of the beer gradually get so good the more you drank, and why didn’t you stop yourself?

You smiled drunkenly, the reason why you came to pick up the outlaw having completely slipped your mind. You cared less and less the more you drank, with his accepting gaze only encouraging you. If you thought about it for more than a second, maybe it was his conniving nature and ability to beautifully persuade you into drinking so much. Maybe he wanted something out of you, but none of these thoughts lasted. Not without being overridden by your own desires.

Eyeing the man beside you, a thought ran through your mind, and you couldn’t swipe it away. Your eyes ignored your mind’s pleas to think logically, when you could only stare at John in awe as he droned on about something you were sure neither of you could understand. You laughed when he laughed, your eyes flickering down to his unbuttoned v-neck almost instinctively. You wanted to run your fingers through his chest hair.

You couldn’t remember what you were going to bring John in for, when the throbbing of your core intensified as he’d rim the bore of his booze to catch any and every stray droplet rolling down the cold glass. His expertise in using his lips and tongue was something you've never seen before; not from him, unless it was to throw snappy remarks to whoever bothered going back and forth with him at camp.

You weren't sure if you were testing him or testing yourself, self-doubt leaving you hesitant as you flickered your gaze to his lips, and then to his calloused hands. Your heart dropped for a split second when John caught you staring in between your extensive silence, and in that moment you could’ve sworn he was testing you, too. So when your hand upon drunken impulsivity brought his to the warmth between your legs, both of you knew what the other wanted in an instant.

"Like.. This?"

His tongue dragged up against your clit with torturous sluggishness as his eyes remained locked onto your face throughout, your heart skipping at the shameless act.

Without waiting for an answer, John wordlessly inserted a finger before placing a kiss on the same bud, his eyes shutting out of what you could only think to be his own pleasure.

Breathing out at the unannounced contact, you couldn't help but nod in a rush, despite your mind spinning from both the alcohol in your system and the high you got from John finally on you.

"Like that.. L-Like that, John.."

His eyes fluttered open slightly, intrigue lacing on what little you could see of his face. Slipping his finger out before pumping it back in, he smirked against your inner thigh, his eyes squinting at your lustful expression.

"Mm, like this? Do I continue doin' this?"

He was clearly toying with you, but you didn't have half the mind to care nor fight against it, your lack of senses only wanting more. Even while tipsy and desperate, he couldn't resist pushing you to the edge as best he could. You nodded rapidly, your teeth digging into your finger as tears brimmed from the levels of pleasure he was slowly introducing to you, little by little.

"Yes.. Yes..!" You huffed, rutting your hips up slightly. He hummed with enjoyment.

"Aren't you just a sight for sore eyes."

John mused at your desperation, his lips moving against the sensitive skin of your pussy. You helplessly whined, a second finger inserting inside you before you could react. The rolling of your hips came to an abrupt stop when he curled the two pointers inside of you, rewarding him with a gasp and a moan from your lips. His lips locked onto your clit immediately, stimulating you in ways you didn’t think possible.

"You don't mind me speeding up, now, do you darling?" He teased as he sat up, his eyes for once flickering down to watch his digits move in and out of your cunt. His teeth dug into his bottom lip, his pants tightening at the crude sight. His other hand had his thumb pull back your flap to get a better look of the pink flesh beneath your bush, and with your heart pounding in your ears and your surroundings spinning, you moaned at his fingers expectedly increasing pace.

"N- mmh," you answered—if you could even call that an answer—and his smirk only widened. Jesus, it was just too good. Your contorted face only egged him on as he spit on the exiting fingers, the lewd sound of wetness working together inside your pussy making you flush with embarrassment.

Placing kisses all around your groin, he flickered his gaze back up to you, a dark look in his coffee-colored eyes.

“It's too much, isn't it? Y'want me to stop?"

He knew what you were going to say within that second, when your eyes widened and your head shook the other way. You were so drunk, but that question alone might’ve sobered you up quicker than any cold plunge would, when your blurry eyes glossed over the expectant, smug grin on John's face.

"No! It feels good, John, it does.. It feels.."

Panicking as his fingers fully slid out of you to leave you clenching around nothing, you looked up desperately as he towered over you. Were you the only one drunk?

"How good?"

You didn't waste any time answering, starting with a slurred "Really, really..-"

..Until you felt the sudden feeling of his fingers rim your lips, before they surely inserted themselves into your mouth. You hummed a moan as he let you suck on both your pussy juices and his saliva from his soaked digits.

Happily doing so, John snickered above you disparagingly. He absorbed the sight of you, took a mental picture of it with clear vision. You were so sexy drunk.

"My sweet, obedient angel.." He hummed mockingly, his other hand fidgeting with his belt.

Eyeing him with what little view you had of him, your stomach jumped excitedly at the distant sound of him sucking his teeth in and his belt hitting the wooden floor.

With your tongue swirling around to mop up all you could from the fingers still in your mouth, he then pulled them out, emitting a small "pop!"

Leaning down to replace them, his wet lips met with your drooling ones, your mouth hungrily accepting his into a deep kiss. The lingering taste of beer and your own fluids clouded your mind, enough to further you into your drunken state as John rubbed your clit with preparation.

Feeling his erection hit your entrance and slide up against it with teasing languor, you whined, the sound escaping the kiss for a brief moment.

As he rocked his hips back and forth for a moment, you writhed beneath him as his tip pressed against your clit with each motion, the movement alone driving you insane.

"You want it, baby?" He grunted, his voice peaking at the pet name as the adrenaline of being so close to fucking you letting his big and bad demeanor falter. Whether or not he was drunk, or at the very least less drunk than you, he couldn’t conceal his excitement to fuck you. It’s all he wanted. Today, last week, the last few months. He needed to fuck you, so inwardly, he thanked Dutch for sending you out here to find him. It all worked out.

You watched him through half-lidded eyes as tears threatened to fall for the pleasure he was withholding from you.

"Yes, John. Please.."

"How bad, darling? How bad y’want my cock inside you?"

You whined with arousal, your head cocking to the side with slight resistance to letting the man hear what he wants. For someone drunk, he was plenty self-aware, wasn’t he?

..You figured it was already too late to play coy, with John having seen and ruled you from below and how you squirmed for more of his touch from his tongue and fingers alone. Was he just that good?

"Really b-bad, fuck—I need it inside me so fucking bad, John!" You cried, leaving him with a satisfied feeling in his chest. John in departure left a trail of kisses on your neck and collarbones, before straightening his back.

Firmly placing his hands on both sides of your hip, he licked his lips in preparation as he looked down at his tip gently kissing your entrance. His tongue dragged along his bottom lip as he inserted himself with careful precision, your eyes fluttering shut slowly when he finally separated your walls and worked himself inside you with his length. Testing the slick of your pussy as he slowly pulled out, he couldn't help but release a whimper as you tightened around him.

"F-fuck, you're so—"

Sliding his hands to the back of your plush thighs and pushing them into your chest, he collapsed back down onto you, his hips almost immediately ramming back into your warmth. Yelping with pure bliss consuming you, you watched as John squeezed himself in between your legs, his cock burying so deep inside you that your vision doubled.

“Like this? Like this, (Y/n)? This what y’wanted? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

John was good at running his mouth. Maybe it was all he was good for, outside of fucking you like his life depended on it. But with words dripping with need for validation alongside jumbled obscenities rolling off his tongue like normal, your head spun from the repeated yeses that echoed in your mind.

“Mm, y-yes, John! Yes! Fuck!”

You gasped when your lower back rose from the warmth underneath you, before letting a drawled out moan escape your lips when John drove himself inside you again, his head hitting your cervix once, and then twice. Three times.

Feeling drool run down your chin as the smell of sweat and sex consumed your senses, you focused on the slapping of skin reverberating throughout the room, the dirty sound tightening the knot in your stomach. You were sure your high that was building up was close to crashing down.

So good.. It felt so good. The way John’s fingers dug deep into the flesh of your thighs as his movement became sporadic and desperate.. you could tell he was close, too.

Locking your eyes onto his concentrated ones, you clasped his hands with your own, pushing your knees deeper into your chest.

“Cum.. inside. Fill me up, Marston—“

Whether it was the alcohol or the fire in your loins talking, you couldn’t bring yourself to retract your statement as stars formed in your hazy vision. You could worry later; right now, the pleasure was so intense, you let whatever came to mind ride off your tongue without regret. Your moans echoed in the confines of the small cabin, and with John being more than happy to fulfill your request, a string of words he fantasized about leaving your lips for as long as he could remember, a whine droned through his lips as his cock hit a final thrust inside you. Your climax hit you like a truck when you squealed at the sensation of his cum filling you, John rocking back and forth slowly to ride out his orgasm.

Breathing in and out, you watched as John grunted while pulling out, seed somehow still spilling out and hitting the underside of your thighs, painting you.

You couldn’t move as you watched his hand stroke the final beads of cum out in between your framing legs, and with a satisfied sigh, John crashed down beside you. Staring at you as he slowly calmed down, he brushed a strand of hair away from your wet forehead.

“Did.. Did you like that?”

Still in between attempts to catch your breath, you stared at John, your vision hazy as it was since this started. You nodded slowly, your eyes fluttering shut from the sudden need to pass out from exhaustion.

“…Yeah.”

[salv12dexter]

A HIT DOG WILL HOLLA. If my comment offended you, then YOU ARE THE PROBLEM. You support women until one disagrees with you. What's up with that? Also, I find it interesting how I was told to stop reading fanfic because "I can't handle it." I don't know one mentally secure person who wants to read about THEMSELVES being raped, abused, touched by a family member (blood or not), and constantly being degrated. Some stories depict the reader being MURDERED. I don't understand how any of those things are a "kink."

You're against rape and abuse, but you like the idea of it happening to you. It's weird how people don't see how condescending it is to be against these acts but find it to be sexy.

Just admit that my take on your self-esteem is what really got you mad. You're mentally ill, that's why you don't understand.

The positive of the replies is that everyone agreed that pedophilia is disgusting.

[sky-is-the-limit]

Safe and Sound.

P: John Marston x F!Reader

S: After a mission goes wrong, John makes sure that next time you'd better fucking listen to his instructions.

CW: Unprotected P in V, John has a breeding kink *unless you give him an actual child* and can't shut up.

WC: 2,817 words

Notes: Finally, after months of not touching this draft, I finished it!!! Photo credits: me<3

With your pace quickening by the second as you ascended the stairs, the thud of your footsteps echoed on the wooden surface like a warning to anyone standing in your way.

You tried your best to ignore the presence of the man trailing behind you, you really tried but his simmering anger practically followed you like dark smoke ready to consume you.

Each step taken, you hoped that someone else would steal his attention, that maybe Arthur would intervene or that he would simply let the matter drop but you knew damn well, that's not John Marston. Not your John.

Entering the cold room, your heart pounded in your chest erratically as you struggled to steady your breathing and seeking peace, you turned toward the window, hoping the beautiful green landscape beyond would offer a moment of tranquility from the chaos awaiting for you behind the closed door.

But before you could gather your thoughts, the calm was shattered by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.

Your stomach churned as anxiety settled in your bones. You knew all too well what was about to unfold and sure enough, mere moments later, the door flew open with a forceful slam, jolting you from your place.

"When are you going to learn how to take orders, huh?!" John's voice boomed, cutting through the silence like a knife.

His frustration reached its peak as he shoved the door shut with such strength that the entire room seemed to tremble under the strain.

"I had them-" You began, attempting poorly to explain yourself but before you could finish your sentence, John cut you off abruptly and stepped dangerously close.

"Had them?! If it wasn't for me following you right behind, they would've blown your head off!" John's anger thundered through the room with his hands gesturing wildly in the air, emphasizing his emotions.

"I told you to take the road to Rhodes and lose them but you're so fucking stubborn that you almost brought them here!"

The words were a harsh slap, each syllable dripping with disappointment.

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach as you listened to the man before you and guilt gnawed at your bones, knowing that your actions had put not only yourself but also the man you so adore in serious danger.

''Damn you, woman! Next time, invite the bounty hunters here for a beer!"

John's frustration surged uncontrollably as he mocked your ill-conceived plan to handle six bounty hunters single-handedly, so close to camp.

Despite the impulse of your pride and ego to bite back, you couldn't deny the truth. You had indeed put everyone in jeopardy with your reckless actions.

The memory of him risking life and limb to come to your aid filled you with a deep sense of shame and since the moment you stepped into camp, you didn't look a single person in the eyes.

You had failed not only yourself but also John and the rest of the gang, the family that took you in when you had no one else in the world.

Your actions had nearly cost them dearly and the thought made your stomach churn with guilt.

For a few seconds that felt like an eternity, you stood there in silence with your gaze remaining fixed on the ground, unable to meet his eyes as you fidgeted nervously with your fingers.

The words hovered on the tip of your tongue but you couldn't bring yourself to say them, afraid that they would get choked in your throat before they could escape.

But then, with a trembling voice, you finally managed to whisper, "I'm sorry, John."

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you recalled the disaster you caused.

John was clearly still lost in anger as he took his time to register your apology, his features contorted with both rage and sympathy or so it seemed.

You could see the tension in his jaw as he shook his head slowly, as if struggling to come to terms with it all.

Without warning, he grabbed you by the shoulders, his fingers pressing firmly as he pulled you close.

The apology lingering in the air seemed to snap something in him, the fury shifting to something deeper, something that made his eyes darken with intent. You knew what that look meant. Damn well.

His mouth crashed onto yours, fierce and bruising like he was trying to make up for every reckless decision in that single, heated kiss.

The roughness of his hands anchored you against him, his fingers digging into your hips as he pressed you back until your spine met the wall with a soft thud.

He didn’t bother slowing down, his mouth tracing along your jaw, biting down slightly on the tender skin just beneath your ear and a shiver ran down your spine then back to your lips as he mumbled against them,

''Damn it, woman… don’t you know I’d die for you in a heartbeat?'' The grip of his hands tightened as the rough whisper made you whimper in response.

''I want you safe. I want you right here with me.'' His words were half desperate, half demanding, each one grounding you against him as he backed you harder against the wall.

In one swift motion, his hands slid down to grip your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until your legs wrapped around his waist.

Holding you against him, he walked the short distance to the bed and his steps sure until he nearly tumbled forward, letting you fall back onto the mattress.

The thin sunlight filtering through the window barely reached the room’s corners but you didn’t care who might hear or what they might think.

John’s fingers fumbled roughly at the buttons of your dress, barely controlled as he yanked and nearly tore the fabric in his urgency.

The soft material parted, falling away to reveal your bare skin and he didn’t waste a second, his mouth moving to your breast with a hunger that made you gasp.

His lips closed around your nipple, sucking hard as his hand gripped your waist, holding you tight against him as though afraid you'd pull away while his stubble scraped deliciously against your skin.

The louder he groaned, the more you tugged at his raven hair, pulling his head closer to you.

He growled in response, sucking even harder, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak until it felt almost sore and still, he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, whining against your skin like a man starved.

Your breath hitched, the ache building as you slid the fabric lower, down to your waist, your own impatience making you press against him, desperate for more.

A low, needy sound escaped your lips as his teeth grazed over you, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you could feel his fingers digging into your flesh.

"John…" You managed, barely able to get the words out, "I need… more."

The golden light streaming in bathed John’s face in a perfect manner, highlighting the rugged contours and deep scars that mapped his skin like a constellation.

''Do you want me inside, girl?'' He grumbled as the sound of his thick belt hitting the floor echoed around you.

With each second, your body ached with need as you licked your lips, hands slipping beneath his shirt so your fingers could explore the hard muscles beneath.

''Please, please, please…'' The words tumbled from your mouth, desperate and whiney, your heart racing at the thought of losing him after everything.

''Take it out.'' John then demanded, his tone commanding as he watched you intently. ''Touch me.''

As requested, you undid his pants and slowly pulled his hardened length free, earning a low moan from his throat.

John was easy to read, all emotions visible on his face as his breath quickened with each passing moment and his skin felt hot under your fingers, the desperation in his expression deepening whilst you began to stroke him.

He lifted your skirt, shoving it up around your waist, exposing you completely.

''Try to put me inside.'' He instructed, ''This time, you better listen to me.''

John just watched you, a smirk playing on his lips, savoring the moment as your frustration bubbled over.

The way you scowled and whined his name only added to his amusement and he laughed almost mockingly, relishing in the control he held over you.

''This is a lesson, alright?'' He said, taking himself in hand and stroking it a few times, teasingly rubbing it against your throbbing core without pushing inside.

Each pass made you squirm, your hips lifting instinctively as you sought relief.

But before you could gain any traction, he pressed you back down with a possessive glint in his gaze that made your heart stop.

Then, without warning, he slammed into you, filling you completely.

Your warm walls wrapped around him, squeezing tightly as a gasp escaped your lips, the suddenness of it taking your breath away.

The initial sting was intense, causing you to wince but it was quickly overshadowed by the familiar heat of him inside you.

Arms wrapped around his back, nails digging into his flesh, you were certain you were leaving your mark on him.

John held your leg firmly against him, angling himself to sink deeper, each drive rougher than the last as he took his time to savour every desperate sound you made.

His thrusts were brutal, pushing into you with a force that made you both want to stop and continue till your body no longer answered to you, fingers clinging to him, barely able to hold on under his weight.

''You gonna keep pushing me like that?'' He muttered with a low rasp as he kept you in place. ''This is what happens when you don’t listen.''

You could feel him shift, pressing himself into you as far as he could go, giving a harsh grind of his hips that made you moan his name. He smirked, relishing every shaky breath you took as you struggled to keep up with his pace.

''Just like that—God, John, don’t stop-'' You gasped, breaking as he bottomed out, his cock hitting the perfect spot that sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body.

He let out a rough growl, hot breath brushing against your neck as he leaned in, teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your whole being tremble.

"I’m not stoppin-" He grunted, thick with the kind of promise that left no room for argument. "Not stoppin’ till I give you my child-''

As if that promise wasn't enough, John’s hands slid to the back of your knees, pressing them higher until your thighs were almost pinned to your chest, opening you up completely.

He took one heated glance at where his thick shaft was buried inside you, watching as your slick warmth clung to every ridge and vein, before slamming into you again and again.

Each thrust hit that sweet spot dead-on, leaving you struggling to hold on, clenching around him as the ecstacy built with each brutal stroke.

You barely held back the cries tumbling from your lips, each sound swallowed up by his grunts as he took you deeper, the angle so perfect that it had your head spinning.

John’s roughened hand cupped your jaw, his thumb guiding your gaze down.

''Look here.'' He ordered with a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

His hips pushed forward, just enough to press your bodies together again, sliding his thick length into your sensitive heat with a slow, punishing thrust.

''See how you’re takin’ me..'' The possessiveness and pride were evident in both his gaze and tone. ''How perfect we fit.''

Your eyes followed his command, catching the way your bodies connected, each push sending a slickness pooling between you both, blending in a way that had you clenching tighter around him.

''Please, John… right there… more-'' You managed with a plea as your hips lifted to meet his every thrust.

"Keep watching.'' John rasped, pulling out almost all the way before pressing deep once more and you obeyed, unable to tear your eyes away from the way he filled you, stretching you just right.

With a smirk, John loosened your grip from his shoulders, his hands both forceful and assured as he pinned your wrists above your head, holding them steady with a single rough palm.

Leaning close, his breath warmed your ear as he muttered, ''Stay right there. Don’t you dare move.''

He shifted his weight, gripping the headboard tightly with his free hand and began an animalistic rhythm that not even the poorly made bed could handle.

Each plunge was deep, leaving you no choice but to surrender to every inch he claimed and the solid wood of the headboard rocked against the wall with each connection, mirroring the mounting fervor between you.

''John-'' You gasped, arching under him, hands twisting in his hold as the pleasure rose to an overwhelming edge and you needed nothing more but to touch him.

Despite your efforts, he kept you locked in place, smiling down menacingly, refusing to let you budge.

''Gonna make sure you remember exactly who you belong to-'' He declared, his gaze fixed on yours as he fucked into you harder, your bodies colliding with obscene sounds.

There was no holding back, he made sure of it, his hips ruthless and you knew without a doubt the others could hear every intimate detail from outside but John didn’t care.

If anything, the possibility only fueled him, his heavy breaths mingling with your cries.

Sweat trickled down from his forehead, beads gathering at his temples to run down his jaw and a few drops fell to your bare chest, sliding over the curves of your skin to mingle with the dampness between your bodies.

''Come on, darlin’-'' He murmured, his voice strained as he leaned in to press his lips against the shell of your ear, ''Let me feel it..''

And with those words, you let go, surrendering completely as waves of pleasure crashed through you, his grip grounding you as you reached that peak.

John followed shortly after, his head dipping to press a final, fierce kiss to your neck as he stilled, the two of you locked in that last moment of shared intensity with your bodies still entwined and breaths ragged.

The small bed creaked with each subtle shift, but there was a strange comfort in the intimacy of it. Just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of the night.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer as if trying to shield you from everything outside this little moment and his fingers moved slowly, tracing calming circles on your back, each one a silent promise that everything would be okay.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The world outside seemed so far away, and in that stillness, you found a peace you hadn’t realized you were craving.

But then, the words slipped out before you could stop them. A soft sigh left your lips as you lifted your head, your eyes searching his for understanding,

"I’m sorry, John... for all the trouble I cause. For not listening to you when I should."

His hand paused but only for a moment before it resumed its comforting circles, as if the movement was as natural as breathing.

With eyes softened, the corners of his lips pulled into a small, sweet smile.

"It’s alright, darlin'." He murmured with a quiet rumble.

It wasn’t, not really but you were safe and sound in his embrace and that was all that mattered.

Instead of answering, you leaned forward, your lips finding the familiar scar on his chest, an old bullet wound.

You pressed a soft kiss there, as if trying to heal him in your own way, to show him that you cared just as deeply for the parts of him that were broken as the parts that weren’t.

John chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your hair as he tightened his hold on you.

"Don’t go apologizing too much, love. You’ve got a lot of fire in you and I wouldn’t want you any other way." He whispered, his fingers brushing through your locks.

"But hey, I’ll always have your back. No matter how stupid you get, you know that. And I know you'll be there for me when I’m being just as dumb."

A teasing spark danced in your eyes as you looked up at him, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

"Like always, you mean. You’re always doing something stupid, Marston." You teased, the giggle escaping your throat before you could stop it.

John smirked, his expression shifting into something playful to remind you that his stamina has no limits, especially when it comss to you. "Maybe you need another lesson on respect, huh?"

[hihomeghere]

Here is my collection of Red Dead Redemption fics! I hope you enjoy! All of my fics are f!reader if not specifically mentioned

Smut 💋, Fluff 🪽, Angst 🗯️

Rdr2 Boyfriend vibes

John Marston

Burning Love Set in the epilogue of RDR2. You stumble upon John in Blackwater after being alone for years. When he invites you to visit Beecher's Hope, will you be able to fight feelings that have been building ever since you were kids? 🪽💋

Gloves John goes crazy over you dressed up for a job, more specifically your white gloves 🪽💋

Based off an ask 💋

Right Person, Wrong Time You and John have constantly been at each other's throats until you left the gang after he chose Abigail over you. When you return you find him gone, leaving Abigail and Jack. You create a relationship with Abigail and Jack, but what will happen when John returns? 🗯️💋

Arthur Morgan

Fakin' It After a botched robbery, Arthur and you take refuge in a hotel, hiding from the O'Driscolls outside your door. When they do decide to search for you two, how will you throw them off your track? 💋

Fishing in the Dark You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota river. 🪽💋

Dreams Arthur starts having dreams of starting a family with you 🪽

My Eyes Only Arthur thinks you look like a work of art 🪽

Salt and Pepper Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray 🪽

Deserving. 6. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear. 34. I think you're showing. 36. You're glowing. 41. The baby loves hearing you sing/speak. 83. Was that a kick? 🪽

Blue Ain't Your Color Loosely based on the song, Blue Ain't Your Color 🪽

Little Things Arthur returns from a successful job and wants nothing more than to bury himself in you 💋

Prompts : #30 I just want to be yours. #50 We need to talk about last night 💋

First time : You want Arthur to be the one to take your virginity, you just dont want to tell him💋

Baptized by Fire, Arthur Morgan x Reader x Charles Smith

After running from your past you find yourself facing certain death out in a blizzard. Thankfully you’re rescued, but what happens when you have to ride out the rest of the winter with the two men who rescued you? An RDR2 AU where Arthur followed Charles to Canada. No Y/N. Eventual Smut. Check the tags on each chapter for warnings. 22K word count

Chapter one , Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five

Charles Smith

Knight in Shining Armor 1. "Kiss me" "What-", 81. "Your heart is racing." 🪽💋

Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” 🪽

Desperado Set four months after Charles leaves with the Wapiti. You and Charles try to figure out what to do after the gang falls apart. Comfort fic 🪽

Javier Escuella

Prompt : #19 You're leaving now? 🗯️

Kieran Duffy

Prompt : #66 Were you touching yourself? 💋

[whoyacallinyellow]

never again

John Marston x F! reader

Spoilers: RDR2 ch1 Content: 18+ mdni, NFSW, m/f smut, drunk sex, praise, pervert warning, canon typical events / violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, grammar errors I couldn’t be bothered to fix. Type: second pov / (wc - 1442) / pc: me

Summary: a night of drinking never goes unpunished

You stirred awake to a shadow looming in the tent. The soft clanking of metal, and clicking of spurs from unsteady steps made your breath hitch. Now propped up on your elbows, your heavy eyes managed to follow the man fumbling in the darkness. 

Through your delirium, incoherent murmurs must have escaped you which warranted a response. 

“jus’ me, hush.”

John’s whisper, soft like butter, melted your body back onto the bedroll. It only took three words from the man to bring you the security he offered, in more ways than one. 

“s’alright.” 

John reassured through a strain, knowing he startled you all too often— whether it was a late night drinking, or a guard shift.

Your shared tent was tucked behind the medicine wagon, close enough for John to keep an eye on you, but far enough for some privacy the man so desperately requested. 

Soon enough his body was united with yours, a welcoming embrace of tobacco and whiskey that never failed to blanket you with comfort during the night. 

His chest vibrated against your back as he hummed, rejoicing in the mutual comfort that he brought you. John’s hand ran down your side, calloused palms snagging on the fabric as he worked against it. Your torso trembled, anticipating his every action as he was soon consumed by a different high. His lack of rationalization from the whiskey radiated off him with a feverish heat that pulsed over you. 

“c’mon sweetheart.”

The vague and needy words dissipated as quickly as they formed. Your eyes met his, a certain sadness sunk within his dull blue wells, glossed and masked over with the liquid dopamine he poured every night. 

Turning to his embrace, your hands weaved through his shirt, both unclasping the buttons and beckoning him. An offer John gladly took as you positioned yourself for his body on top of yours. 

With one arm propping himself over you, and the other tussling at his waist. His rehearsed movements in the dark had to be second nature by now.  

The wind rippled through the fabric of the tent, momentarily welcoming in the moonlight. Allowing you to catch a glimpse of the man over you, the blue beams kissing the raw scars on his cheek. 

There was no doubt John got off easy, 

The wolves could have taken much more from him, but managed to be more forgiving than any BlackWater lawman could have been. 

You let out an impatient protest as his hands continued to fumble, temporarily appeasing you with his lips. 

His stubble dragging across your collarbone made you shutter. John’s kisses were usually coated in whiskey, only to leave you with a different high than the one he chased earlier. 

“you’ve been eyeballin’ me all day, missy.”

He remarked against your skin, a slight drawl presenting itself as he freed your torso from your shirt. 

You felt your cheeks heat up, both from his words, and your naked state. Despite John knowing your body just damn well as his own, everytime managed to feel like the first.  

John always caught your eyes on him. Sweat beading down his forehead as he worked an axe effortlessly, it was almost as if the man was beautifully built for manual labor. You were infatuated with the way his biceps would flex while his toned muscles peeked through the shirt that clung to him with every move. He would eventually meet your indiscreet gaze with amusement, knowing very well he would be all over you at night's arrival. 

Your eyes would simply linger a moment longer, despite being caught red handed. He couldn't help but to admire your boldness, a confidence hidden within you not needing to be boasted about for validation. 

“Someone’s gonna hear—“ 

You cooed, your worries being thrown away by the hungry lips and hands that carassessed your breasts.  

John grumbled, not bothered to remove his attention from your neck. Throughout his buzzed state, his hands became coordinated, grasping at and invading every part of your bare skin available to him. 

How sweet he thought you were, a blank canvas only for him cast upon. A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt a small nibble on your neck. His excitement demonstrated through the smile plastered against your skin, along with a hard spot pressing against your leg. 

“keep those little lips quiet, now.” 

John commanded with a whisper, his rough fingertips ghosting their way across your waist to free you from your restricting garments. 

His drunken staggering alone was enough to wake the others, but the man always blamed you for being too noisy.

Perhaps it was his own pride, cocky words he could not help but to boast— he reckoned it ain’t his fault he’s so good in the sheets. Hell, he can’t help how he makes you feel. 

“such a good girl for me, ain’t ya?”

John murmured through a soft moan, just the thought of you made him ache, his body begging for the release you so willingly gave him.

His pants were finally kicked down and bunching up just below his knees. Before words could be spoken they were interrupted by John’s fingertips that raised to his lips, a dollop of spit being dispersed onto them. 

A brash groan left his lips and graced your rosy cheeks while his hand stroked up the shaft of his cock— either unneeded preparation, or a ritual of his, you couldn’t tell. 

Your torso knotted and quivered  against him, impatience consuming your every move. Quiet moans escaped you as the head of his cock met your slick entrance, always proving his preparation irrelevant. 

“Jesus, woman— this worked up over me?” 

The man beamed with a husky chuckle, not realizing the volume of his voice until your palm smacked his chest. 

More of a tease at your dismay, John couldn’t help but to always comment on it. Your wetness was a mere reminder he always took pride in. 

His smug smile eventually twisted into a bitten lip as he eased himself into you, the lack of self control overrunning any wit to him he had left.  

“that’s it,” 

John praised gently, his jaw going lax as his length slipped further in you. A rugged hand clasped over your mouth as his hips began to thrust. His half-lidded eyes eventually meeting yours. 

Your eyes held so much trust for him, trust he was never sure how he earned in the first place. How he wished he could hear the moans of his name, but instead focused on the shared pleasure you gave him. With your walls contracting and fluctuating around him, he thought it was nearly too much to handle.  

“Marston! It's your shift!” 

A nasally demand rang from outside the tent.

Through your ecstasy, you had no recollection of any steps approaching, and neither did John— god only knows how long the pervert was loitering outside the thin canvas. 

“Christ!” 

The shriek of horror that left John’s lips, you could have sworn he saw a ghost. Springing up at your feet, his pants were yanked up and manhood tucked away while you scrambled for cover. 

John stormed out with a stumble, so many feelings of wrong and right flooding through and past him like the wind. 

“Goddamnit— Williamson—“ 

He sputtered in disbelief, arms gesturing violently towards the man’s mug. 

“If I didn’ know any better, I reckon you’d like hearin’ my woman.” 

John barked at the man, the shock in his tone long erased by bitterness. 

You hid in your palms, the embarrassment burning through your cheeks, and the airborn tension that managed to leak into the tent. 

The silence John created was painful, if it wasn’t obvious enough already, the entire camp was now aware of you two. 

The pause was eventually broken with a nasty hawk and spit, along with curses that ran off of John’s tongue. His pleasant night with you was quickly turning into a sober guard shift. 

John trudged back through the tent flaps in defeat, retrieving his discarded gun belt at your feet with a frown plastered on his face, gently illuminated by the lantern he now held. 

“never again in camp.” 

The man scowled to himself, the risk of waking the others was long gone— if he had to be miserable, so did everyone else trying to sleep. 

With John’s attention circling back to you, another kiss, just as needy as before, was placed on your lips, lingering for a moment before meeting his impending doom. 

His boots were haphazardly pulled on with a struggle. You repeated his words, a small grin crept upon you in his state of frustration. 

“never again.” 

~

[todorokies]

THE ONE WHERE YOU REFUSE TO KEEP QUIET. . !

𝝑𝑒 contents: john marston x female reader, nsfw, modern au (sawry im a sucker for 'em), cunnilingus, fingering, pet names (pretty & darling), pussy drunk john. . . 754 words

𝝑𝑒 a/n: dabbling in a diff fandom for my comeback to writing is crazy ik but i hope u all enjoy regardless :3 im rusty i alr know

“did i ever tell you about what happened at my work last week?”

you let out a shaky breath as you cautiously ran your fingers through the hair of the man who is currently situated between your legs, eagerly lapping at your dripping cunt collecting everything you could offer to him.

there’s a momentary lack of a response from your companion, your question hangs in the thin air as the crude sounds of squelching bounces off the walls alongside with your airy moans that seep out more than intended to.

you rack your fingers once more through his long hair and tug at his roots which aids as a warning.

with not enough force to seriously hurt him, but for a low guttural groan to escape from his chest causing small vibrations against your already sensitive pussy.

he apologetically sucks on your puffy clit before he comes up for air then replaces his hot mouth with two fingers to rub tight circles on your nub, “no, pretty, you haven’t. what happened at work?” he inquired with a strained expression on his face.

his pupils are blown out and unstable as he quickly shifts his focus between your glowy face and your pussy that’s aching to be stuffed by him. however, you were pretty adamant on him eating you out instead.

john ducks his head back in between the plush of your thighs continuing his ministrations, noticeably slowing his pace for you to get your words out.

you whine with a small buck of your hips, “apparently we’re having some budget cuts nggh in a f-few weeks. . . which —oh fuckk— also includes employees.”

“uh-huh?” john mumbles against you. your words enter one of his ear and exits the other, more focused on alternating from long vertical strides from your hole to your clit then skillfully circling around it with his tongue.

his calloused hand grips at your ass pulling you even closer to his face in attempt at get every last drop.

“y-yeah, and my manager had the damn nerve to—mghm keep doing that and i’ll cum~”

your chest heaves as john spreads open your folds to dip his tongue into your pussy, visibly enjoying the way you desperately clench around the wet muscle.

he deeply chuckles and you shiver due to his stubble scratching at your skin, “what did your manager do, darling?” he incoherently slurs his words but you were able to pick it up.

“she broke the news during rush hour. i-i mean what a bitch, right!”

“a bitch indeed,” he affirms as he slowly pushes two fingers in your wet hole, ogling at the way you take his digits with ease, fully coating them with your slick.

you throw your head backwards against the leather couch that’s supporting your back. you once again find residence in his black locks, roughly tugging this time around.

a broken whimper lively dances off your lips as your eyes roll back; you could feel the coil forming in the pit of your stomach.

“feels so good… don’t fuckin' stop..” you mindlessly ushered out. the sensation of his fingers pumping in and out, dragging against your tight walls as well as the added pleasure of his tongue swirling and suckling at your sensitive clit almost has you over the edge.

just when john finally thought he’d shut you up for good this time, your lewd moans and pants get broken down till you find the strength to add another comment about your dilemma.

“a-and there’s talk of my f-favourite coworker—”

“—ya know, how about you tell me the rest of ya little story after i make you cum.” john interrupts your soon-to-be babbling session, stopping all of his movements altogether.

he places a chaste kiss onto your clit and looks at you for permission to continue. you nod with a squeaky whine, already dizzy and eager for him to resume.

“oh darling, what am i ever gonna do with you?” he whispered against your cunt as he continued pumping his fingers at a steady albeit fast pace and quickly reattached his mouth back on your clit.

you soon cum hard on his fingers followed by a few more tugs at his hair to signal you were ready to tap out.

he licks his fingers, maintaining eye contact as he groans loudly at the taste of you. so sweet. . .just for him.

his voice is hoarse as he slips your panties back on and then gives you his undivided attention,

“so…what was that about your favourite coworker?”

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

[dxysxxk]

Poker Face

Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Rating: 18+ only. Explicit content. Length: 2500 words Location: Clemens Point Time of Day: Late night Content: Vaginal fingering, Vaginal sex, Public sex & Rough sex Description: Sitting on Arthur's lap, you watched him play poker with the boys. Feeling naughty, you decided to tease him. Soon enough, his focus was on you instead of the game. Note: Everything won't be accurate. Use your imagination.

"Hah! Hah hah hah!" Arthur guffawed as he pulled the poker chips closer to him. "I thought you said you were good at this!" A large smile plastered on his face, rubbing in his win. "You callin' me a liar, you old goat?" John Marston retorted. "If anyone's lying, it's you. You're damn good at bluffing!" John's voice rose higher than Arthur's, making a few gang members look over their shoulders, wondering what the commotion was.

You were sat on Arthur's lap, chuckling at their antics as you watched them play. You knew both men could be stubborn and childish when it came to competition and sure enough, it was fun to watch. "Alright, alright..." Bill interjected, "Stop the bickering now." He gathered the cards up and began shuffling them for another round. "How about we change the game? No more poker. We don't want John getting too heated." He said while giving John a knowing glance. John glared at Bill, scoffing before taking a drink.

"What do you suggest?" Said Arthur as he took a sip of his beer.

Bill thought for a moment. "Well... I’ve heard of a game called 'Suck and Blow'..." He said as he continued shuffling. The other gang members gave him a puzzled look. "What the hell are you on about Bill?" Arthur asked.

Bill then began explaining the game to the group as he held up one card in his hand, "The point is to get a card to the next player using only your mouth. You can't touch it with your hands."

"I ain't playing that! God only knows where y'all mouths have been!" John exclaimed. You couldn't help but laugh at his response.

"Yeah, I ain't too keen on playing that either." Arthur butted in.

"Back to poker, it is then..." Bill grumbled as he shuffled the cards.

"Well. Now is your chance to beat Arthur, John." You smiled and settled yourself on Arthur's lap.

A few drinks later, the game was back on. You sat and watched John finally win a few rounds, but ultimately, Arthur was still the better bluffer and won the majority. As you watched the men play, you decided to be cheeky and tease Arthur by leaning closer to whisper in his ear. "I'm sorry you haven't had me to yourself in a few of days..." You purred and gripped his thigh. 

Arthur cleared his throat as he tried to focus on the game and ignore your advances, but he lost the hand and cursed at his bad luck. "Looks like my luck's turning around." John smirked as he pulled the winnings closer to him.

You leaned closer purposely, giving Arthur a clear view of your cleavage. He was unable to keep his posture as you whispered something else in his ear. His breath caught in his throat as he quickly shifted in his seat. 

John and Bill were none the wiser of your antics. They were just relieved they could win something for a change.

Arthur grew tired of your relentless teasing. He moved his hand to your inner thigh, gripping it tightly, then whispered in your ear, "Don't make me punish you." His eyes watched his fellow gang members as they continued their game. 

He tried not to be too obvious with his sudden change of position in the chair, keeping you steady as he spoke in your ear. "If you keep this up, I'll bend you over the table and take you right here." He hissed then let go of your thigh, taking a swig of his beer. You knew he wasn't entirely serious, but his words sent a shock to your lower abdomen. Tempted to test his patience, you decided to continue teasing him. 

You slightly shifted yourself so your ass was directly on his crotch. Making sure no one was looking, you rubbed your ass over his lap. After a moment, you felt Arthur's free hand grip your hip, guiding your movements back and forth. You could tell he was growing restless by the way he gripped his cards.

You heard Arthur try to stifle a moan as you continued your movements. His now-growing bulge rubbing into your backside. No one seemed to notice the sinful action you were partaking in. They were too focused on the game itself. You began to feel how wet your core was becoming, aching for more than friction. 

Maybe it was the beer you drank, but you felt like being taken in front of everyone. Right on the table where the men were playing poker. Your heart beat rapidly at the thought of the danger the exhibitionism posed, but you knew better.

As you rubbed Arthur's crotch, you turned your head and kissed his neck, nipping lightly. Arthur held back a moan and bit his lip. His face started to look flushed over time.

John gave him a questionable look, "You alright there, Arthur?"

Arthur's mind was too focused on the friction your ass was giving him. He felt himself grow harder by the minute. "Just fine." Arthur managed to get out. He couldn't let John know what was happening right under his nose. 

John drank the last few drops of his beer, then spoke, "I'm gonna go get another beer."

"I'm coming with yah..." Bill added as John got up.

Now was his chance. As soon as John and Bill were out of sight, Arthur grabbed your hips and pulled you closer. You let out a gasp, not expecting him to be so rough. He moved his lips to your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses on your flesh. 

He then moved a hand from your hip to your chest and began massaging your breast through the fabric of your dress. You let out a whimper and arched into his touch. "This what you wanted?" He whispered. You were about to respond, but he suddenly squeezed your breast, earning a squeak. "You're a real tease, you know that?" Arthur's voice was low and husky. 

He moved his other hand down your belly, then underneath your skirt. He cupped your mound and felt the wetness that was leaking from you. "Damn." He breathed onto your neck. "Wet already…"

He then began rubbing you over the damp fabric of your underwear, circling your clit. You couldn't help but buck into his touch, seeking more. He continued kissing your neck, the shortness of his beard ticked your skin.

With every kiss, you shivered. Arthur then pushed your panties aside and slipped his fingers into your hole. As your walls clenched around him, he let out a low groan, then nibbled on your neck. He murmured against your skin, "You're so damn wet..." You gasped and clutched his thigh as he began to curl his fingers. 

Hearing John and Bill approach, he pulled his hand from underneath your dress and then brought his fingers to your lips. He forced you to taste your juices. "Suck it." He whispered, his breath hot on your neck. You did as you were told and took his fingers into your mouth. Arthur groaned, watching you lick his fingers clean, lapping over his thick digits. As John and Bill came into view, he pulled his hand away and then rested it on your thigh.

You sat there, feeling Arthur's hard cock pressing against you. You were both aroused beyond words. The tension was thick, and the heat between you was only growing. Arthur placed his hands on the table and pushed his hips forward, grinding his erection into your backside. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as his breathing became heavy.

Without warning his fingers were moving towards your heat again, creeping slowly up your thigh. The anticipation was killing you, but you knew that any noise from you would surely give you away. Wanting nothing more than to feel them slip inside you, you sat silently, feeling his warm fingers on your soft skin.

Your heart pounded with anticipation. Then you felt them. Arthur's fingers slowly slipped between your legs. He pulled your panties to the side and then caressed your slick folds. You let out a shaky breath as his fingers were rubbing up and down your slit. Your pussy throbbed, aching for him.

Your mind was racing. What would people think if they knew what was going on right now? The thought excited you. The risk of getting caught was driving you wild. You couldn't help but rock your hips into his touch. You were desperate for more. 

You could feel his cock twitching against your ass as he rubbed you. "Shit, Arthur..." You breathed as he began rubbing circles around your clit. Your cheeks burned as you realized the others might hear your pleasured noises if he kept this up. He then dipped his fingers inside, stretching you.

Arthur was enjoying the way your body reacted to his touch. His thumb started rubbing your clit as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. John spoke, "What happened to that winning streak Arthur?" He smiled as he pulled the chips closer to him. "I guess I just don't have it anymore." Arthur shrugged as he continued moving his fingers inside you. He wasn't paying any attention to the game anymore, he was focused on you. Your breathing grew more rapid and it was hard to keep a straight face. He moved his fingers faster, feeling you clench around him.

Arthur leaned in to whisper in your ear, "That's it. Cum around my fingers." His voice was low and gravelly. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that were threatening to escape. Your breathing was ragged as you approached your climax. He continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbed it in tight circles. "I'm going to fill that pretty little hole of yours for teasing me so much," He spoke in a whisper. After hearing his husky voice in your ear, you couldn't hold back.

You came undone, your whole body trembling as you did. Your hands gripped the edge of the table as you tried to steady yourself. Your toes curled and your legs shook. You rode out your orgasm, continuing to feel Arthur's fingers move inside you. You felt like your bottom lip was going to draw blood from how hard you were biting them, all in the effort to stifle your moans.

Arthur withdrew his fingers from you then rested his hand on your thigh again. “That’s my good girl.” He spoke into your ear once more. You were still reeling from your orgasm when you heard Bill speak. "I'm done for the night fellers." He stood and left the table.

John chimed in, "I think I bled you dry Morgan. I'm ready to turn in myself." John heard Arthur grumble as he walked away. Thinking it was funny, he let out a short laugh.

With both of them gone, you turned to face Arthur. You ran your fingers through his hair as he placed his hands on your hips. You could feel his hard cock pressing against you as you shuffled yourself to straddle his lap. He took your mouth in a slow deep kiss, feeling his tongue explore every inch of your mouth

He groaned into the kiss as you reached down and stroked him through his pants. He broke away then spoke in a husky voice. "You remembered what I said?"

You looked into his deep multicolored eyes, "What was it?"

"To fill you." He placed his hands on your thighs, "For teasing me so much." He began guiding your skirt up so he could get better access. "You're going to regret teasing me like that." 

A grin spread across your lips as your pussy tingled at his threat. "Am I?" You challenged, running your hand down to his crotch. His eyes never left yours as a growl escaped his throat. You could tell he was trying to stay in control. The way he was looking at you was intense. He grabbed you by the hips and lifted you onto the table, making you sit at the edge.

"I won't say it again." You watched as his fingers worked to unbutton his pants. The bulge was straining hard against the fabric. He was eager to be freed. "Get off the table and bend over."

You did as he said, resting your palms flat on the wood as you did. You heard Arthur step closer. He put his hand on the back of your head, pushing your face down. His other hand lifted the back of your dress. "You better be quiet." He whispered as he pushed his length into you, filling you.

He gave you no time to adjust, pounding into you immediately. He grabbed your neck from behind and pulled you, "You think it's okay playing with me?" You couldn't form words, but a moan escaped your throat. His free hand found its way to your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. “...Hm?”

"Arthur!" Your back arched, your knees growing weak as you struggled to keep yourself upright. Arthur pulled out of you suddenly, "What did I say about being quiet?" He spoke harshly. Arthur grabbed a fist full of your hair and thrust his cock into you once more. His hips snapped into your ass hard and fast. You could feel the warmth of your climax building as you tried to stifle your moans.

Using the grip on your hair to steady himself, he pounded into you harder. "Good. Stay quiet," he spoke through gritted teeth. He pulled your head back, forcing you to arch your back as he pounded into you. Your moans were growing louder and harder to control. He tightened his grip on your hair, causing you to cry out. "Oh fuck." You moaned, feeling yourself nearing the edge.

He moved his hand from your hair to your mouth. His calloused palm covered your lips as his thrusts grew erratic. You could feel him pulse inside you as he neared his own climax. Your legs shook, threatening to give out. His other hand snaked under your dress and rubbed your clit in circles. 

Your muffled cries became screams as you came. Arthur pulled out immediately, spilling his release on to the ground beneath him. He groaned low and deep as his free hand slipped from your mouth. 

After a moment, he pulled your dress down, covering your backside. Both of you were panting, coming down from the high you both felt. You then turned and stood up to face him. Arthur was still out of breath, his face red as he placed his hands on your hips. 

"You alright?"

"I'm good." You smiled, leaning in and placing a kiss on his jaw.

"Good." He smiled, looking around as he tucked himself in his pants. “Let’s get to bed. It’s getting late.” With that, you walked with him to his cot.

[spongeyspot]

Poly Relationship HCs (SFW +NSFW)

(John Marston x fem!reader x Abigail Marston)

(A/N): A little longer than I anticipated. Also, I'm terrible at editing things so if you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, please don't bite me. I'm just a wee baby

Content warning: fluff, small mentions of infidelity, polyamory, female reader, you/she pronouns

SFW

- The relationship itself had probably started when either John or Abigail had started to catch feelings

- It was probably Abigail considering how distant John was from her in the beginning

- Quite honestly would probably keep your relationship a secret during the very early stages.

- She saw how much you cared about her and her family, so it was only natural for her to start to fall in love. She fell in love with John pretty quickly, too, though he was a bit slower to warm up to the idea of having a family

- You, however, love Jack as if he were your own, which makes Abigail swoon even more. Plus, another parent figure to Jack (Who he also really likes) because her husband is kinda useless half the time? Jackpot!

- When she brought up adding you to their relationship, John was probably pretty okay with the idea, even a little excited, though if she told him that she had been seeing you secretly before that, he'd probably be a little pissy.

- After adding you to their family, things seemed to move a lot smoother. John warmed up to the idea a lot quicker than both of you had anticipated

- You usually act as a mediator for a lot of Abigail and John's fights, but knowing John he'd probably say some shit like "Look, even she's on my side!" and Abigail would get pissed at you too.

- Abigail LOVES to hold you by the fire. John usually has his arm around the both of you with you sitting in the middle.

- Would take turns having you sleep with them at night because their bedrolls weren't really big enough to fit one person, let alone three.

- When the gang moved to Shady Belle, things were a lot easier with lodging. John loses his mind every time he gets to cuddle the both of you at the same time. He's a sucker for physical touch, really.

- After chores are finished, the three of you are usually found sitting under a tree, Abigail cuddled into your side while you read a book, and John lays on his back beside you, his head resting on your thighs. His hat is usually covering his face, but when it isn't, you or Abigail absentmindedly play with his hair or massage his scalp.

- Abigail loves it when you spend time with Jack. It makes her heart swell to see him having so much fun.

- You tend to encourage John to spend time with him as well, which she also appreciates.

- Family game nights end with You and Jack teamed up and absolutely wrecking John at dominoes while Abigail watches

- Says something like "I let you win." with a roll of his eyes before sulking away

- Pet names!

- John calls you 'Baby', 'Darlin'', 'Dollface', and even 'Sugartits' if he wants to get slapped

- Abigail calls you 'Honey', 'Sweetie pie', 'Honey Bun', or 'Pretty Girl'.

- Both John and Abigail enjoy physical affection.

- John likes to kiss your hair and squeeze your thighs.

- Abigail loves to kiss you on the cheek and hold your hand.

-If John walks by you, he will throw out an affectionate compliment or two

- "God, you look pretty today, (Name)."

- Also probably pinches or slaps your ass on his way by

- He secretly loves it when you slap or pinch his ass too, though he'd never actually admit it.

- Abigail is a bit more sultry with it, then goes back to normal like she didn't just blatantly hit on you

- "Damn, well look at you, Pretty girl. Don't you look fine this mornin'... Coffee?"

- Also pinches and slaps your ass, but also gives it a good squeeze, and will sometimes hold her hand on your ass instead of on your hip if you stand side by side.

NSFW (MINORS DNI)

Content Warnings: oral sex (m + f recieving), mean!dom!abigail, dacryphilia if you squint, edging, masturbation, voyeurism, cucking if you squint, risky sex, brat tamer!Abigail, spanking, biting, hickeys, marking kink, Mommy kink, praise, breeding, creampies, cum eating

- John and Abigail are both switches.

- John tends to be a top when it's just the two of you, but when Abigail is also part of the fun, he's most likely on his back, letting you both use him however you please.

- His favorite is when he's laying on his back and both you and Abigail take turns sucking his cock, occasionally pulling away to kiss. It makes him rock hard. Never mind how it feels... he could cum from the sight alone... his favorite girls worshipping his cock with all their enthusiasm and love.

- Abigail is a Dom/top a lot of the time. She can also be pretty mean about it.

- Abigail edges you to the point where sometimes, you'll cry out for her, begging her to let you finish. Every time she finally lets you, you always feel like you cum so much harder than you ever had before.

- John loves to sit back and jerk off, watching the two of you in bed together.

- Abigail sometimes does the same, sitting aside whilst rubbing and fucking her pussy with her fingers as she watches John fuck you into his bedroll

- Abigail loves it when you act like a brat - She likes to leave your ass red and sore from spanking you, and often orders John to do the same when she watches.

- Abigail also probably bites you a leaves hickeys to stake her claim on you. Makes sure to put them where everyone can see.

- John does the same, but it's usually below where your clothes would cover them like your breasts, stomach, or thighs

- John LOVES biting you. He loves making you squirm

- Abigail lowkey has a Mommy kink

- Abigail likes to call you her Pillow Princess, pulling beautiful noises from you as she makes you cum multiple times in quick succession with just her hands. Sometimes even her words.

- "Look at you, sweetie pie. All pretty and spread open, just for me. Oh, I know you just came... but... How's about one more, huh? Can you do that for Mommy?"

- There have been times when it's been just the two of you, and she's shown far more vulnerability than she's used to. During those times, she's on her back, a hand covering her mouth as you work her open with your mouth and fingers.

- Please praise the hell out of her during these times. She really needs it.

- Even when Abigail is vulnerable with you, she is still in control almost 99.99% of the time.

- John and Abigail are both certified munches

-John loves when both of you are on top of him, riding both his dick and his face.

- He eats pussy like his life depends on it. Fr like it's his last meal.

- He also loves to watch you eat pussy.

- He loves to fuck you in the doggy style position while Abigail buries your face between her legs.

- John usually likes to have sex in the privacy of his tent/room, whereas Abigail likes risky sex. She likes the idea of there being a possibility you could be caught

- there have been numerous times when she's stuck her hand into the front of your skirts while you sat the the dining table during mealtimes. As far as you both knew, the other people sitting there had been oblivious.

- John knows. He always knows. He was watching the whole time.

- He was usually the one to instigate it, always letting Abigail know whenever you forwent bloomers. (he would hide them so you couldn't wear them)

-Though he'd probably never participate himself, he loves to watch you come undone on Abigail's fingers in public.

- John fantasizes about getting you pregnant too.

- He brought it up to Abigail as a joke, saying how nice it would be for Jack to have a sibling to play with.

- From that point on, John was told to cum inside you every chance he got, not stopping even after you're swollen and round with his baby.

-Abigail enjoys eating you out after John has cum inside you.

[midnighvtm4ss]

CRIMSON TRAILS | Running Gun

Pairing: John Marston x F!Reader CW: mentions of past abuse, animal death, gun fight, period typical violence, injuries, blood loss, needles, in my mind John is 6’0 ok?? let me dream. WC: 7k A/N: and the story begins!! im giggling posting this eheh took me longer than expected to finish the chapter ‘cause i needed it to be impeccable. It’s nowhere near perfect but i fear my brain will melt if I look a second more at its google doc. As always let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more. Likes, reblogs and comments are highly suggested so I know what’s going on in your minds. Also! let me know if you want to be in the taglist

series masterlist | masterlist I AO3 link

The house always felt colder at night. Its long, empty hallways stretched out like an intricate maze, darkened by shadows that seemed to dance and twist with each flicker of candlelight. You had grown used to the chill that clung to your skin, used to the hollow feeling that echoed through the grand, oppressive mansion. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the distant tick of the grandfather clock at the end of the hall and the occasional clink of glass coming from the dining room downstairs.

You couldn’t sleep, like most nights, and wandered the corridors alone. Your little bare feet were silent against the polished floors as you wandered the empty corridors. Thankfully the second floor was empty, as all the maids were now occupied with a business party your father was hosting downstairs.

Not that it mattered, the maids barely looked at you anymore, and when they did, their eyes were sharp, filled with disdain. You heard them sometimes, whispering about you—how you were a burden, something unwanted. "The little ghost," they’d often call you, mocking how quiet and small you were. But it was the way your father looked at you that hurt most. Like you were the cause of everything wrong in his world. Like you had stolen something precious from him the day you were born.

Your chest tightened at the thought of him, and instinctively, your feet carried you toward the only place you ever felt safe.

A faint, warm glow spilled from beneath your brother’s door, a welcome contrast to the darkness of the house. You didn’t want to bother him, but you needed him. You always needed him. He was the only one who actually saw you, who cared for you in a world that seemed determined to treat you like a ghost and push you far away.

With a soft push, the door creaked open, revealing your brother, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was hunched over something, his dark hair messy from a long day. With the candlelight contrasting his frowning expression, he looked older than his sixteen years, but his eyes lit up when they met yours.

“Hey, Birdie,” he greeted, his warm voice chirped, though you could hear the exhaustion beneath it. “Can’t sleep again?”

You shook your head side to side and stepped into the room. The familiar scent of freshly washed bed sheets contrasted his usual scent of hay and tobacco wrapping around you like a blanket. He always smelled like the outdoors, like freedom. The kind of freedom that Governess Constance, the only person in that house aside from your brother that treated you like you were supposed to treat an eight years old kid, would read to you in one of your goodnight books.

“Come on then, sit here with me,” he said, patting the bed beside him. His voice was gentle, and as always, it soothed the growing ache in your chest. You scrambled up onto the bed, crossing your legs as you sat next to him.

On his lap was something wrapped in a soft cloth, the fabric fraying at the edges. He was working on it, carefully running a strange stone over the surface with long, practiced strokes. You watched in silence, following his every move with big curious eyes. The steady rhythm of the blade against the stone hypnotic.

“What’s that Isa?” You asked after a moment, your voice barely a whisper as you hugged one of his cushions.

Isaiah—your brother—hesitated, glancing at you from the corner of his eye before slowly unwrapping the cloth completely. Your breath caught in your throat as the object inside was revealed—a dagger. Not just any dagger, but a beautiful, intricately crafted one. The hilt was white adorned with swirling patterns with silver detailings, the blade gleamed in the candlelight, sharp and polished to perfection. A dangerous beauty.

“It’s for you,” he said quietly, holding it out for you to take.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “For me?” you asked, your small hands trembling as you reached for it. The material of the hilt was cooler against your skin, the weight of the dagger much heavier than it looked. “W-why are you giving me this?”

He sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair, avoiding your gaze for a moment before putting one arm on your shoulder in a sideways embrace. “Because I can’t always protect you,” he said softly, the sadness in his voice startling you. He looked back at you then, his eyes shadowed with something you didn’t quite understand. “I’m not gonna be here much longer, Birdie.”

The words hit you like a punch much more painful than your father’s drunken beatings, knocking the air from your lungs. You stared up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean?” Your voice cracked, tears started to pool in your eyes and the dagger trembled in your hands. He didn’t respond and looked down.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head in denial. “You can’t. Y-you can’t leave me. You p-promised you’d stay. You promised!” the weight of the situation made your stutter come back. Your training with Miss Constance to tone it down out of the window in this moment.

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking with the weight of the lie. “I know I did.” He reached out, his rough hand cupping your small face, brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek. “But this family? This life? It’s killing me. And I don’t want to end up broken like him.”

Your chest felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe. The room spun around you, and all you could focus on was the weight of the dagger in your lap, the one thing that felt real. You clutched it tighter, trying to ground yourself, trying to keep him here with you.

“But you’re a-all I hav-h-have,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “What am I supposed to do without y-you?”

Isaiah pulled you into a fierce hug, his arms wrapping around your small frame. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him, trying to memorize it. “Oh, my sweet, sweet sister, you’re gonna be alright,” he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re stronger than you think. And one day, when the time comes, you’ll use that dagger. You’ll protect yourself.”

Your tears soaked into his shirt, heavy sobs shaking your entire body. You didn’t want him to leave. He was the only one who cared, the only one who made you feel like you were more than just a shadow in your father’s house.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” you whispered, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. “Promise me.”

He pulled back, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll come back for you, little Birdie,” he said, but there was something hollow in his voice. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You better.”

He smiled then, a small, sad smile. His eyes looked down at an identical set that was looking up at him, and for a moment, it was just the two of you. Two siblings, bound together in a world that had been cruel to them both since their birth. You wanted to hold onto him forever, to keep him from slipping away, but deep down, you knew you couldn’t. He was too restless, too wild for the cage your father had built around you.

In the morning, his room was empty. His bed was cold. A deep voice boomed through the halls calling his name, and then—

You jolted awake, your breathing unheaven as the remnants of the dream clung to your mind like a fog refusing to lift. Your heart pounded loudly in your ears, and for a moment, you thought you could still feel your brother’s arms tight around you, hear his voice whispering sweet promises he’d never keep. You laid there, staring up at the canvas roof of your tent, blinking against the bright light of the morning sun that filtered through the holes in the fabric.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your tired eyes, trying to shake off the memories that had followed you out of sleep. But they lingered, like the heavy, humid air that surrounded you.

Your hand drifted beneath your makeshift pillow, where his dagger laid sheathed. The leather now worn and cracked with age. You reached out and ran your fingers over it, the familiar pattern in the hilt soothing you like one of Miss Constance’s lullabies. It was the only part of him you had left, the only piece of your old haunted life that still mattered.

Your brother had told you you’d need it one day.

He’d been right.

But as much as you liked to extract yourself from reality and go to the comfort of your memories there was no time to dwell on the past. The present had demands of its own. The sun was already high in the sky, and the dry heat of October had begun to seep into the air of West Elizabeth, even though summer should have been a distant memory by now. It was unusual for the weather to be so hot this time of year, but the West had always been unpredictable. Today was no different. The earth around you was baked and dry, the sparse yellow grass crackling under your boots, and the few trees that shielded your camp offered little cover from the relentless sun.

You sighed and pushed yourself up to your feet, dusting off your floor length red skirt, stretching the stiffness from your limbs. Your camp, hidden in the Great Plains just outside of town, was modest—a second hand tent, a few basic supplies scattered around the campfire and your horse hitched on a nearby tree. It wasn’t much, but it kept you out of sight and away from trouble. Most of the time, anyway.

You washed your face, water splashing away the last remains of sleep and made a mental note to soon refill your bucket. As you prepared your coffee, your thoughts drifted back to your brother, to that final night you’d spent together. You wondered what he’d think of you now. A wanted woman. An outlaw, just like him. Though you doubted he’d wanted that for you.

But choices have consequences and your consequences, for better or for worse, led you to this life.

Finishing your coffee you put out the small fire as best as you could. You approached your horse Willow—a beautiful Ardennes with strawberry roan you managed to steal away from home. She nickered softly as you approached and gave her a gentle pat on the neck before slipping the saddle onto her strong back. You had errands to run today, groceries to buy and supplies to collect. The trip into Blackwater made you uneasy every time, but it couldn’t be helped. You needed to eat, and there were only so many supplies you could steal without drawing attention to yourself. So far, you’d been careful. You’d kept your head low, using a fake name, and stayed out of sight.

But Blackwater was dangerous territory. Given that it was the second largest town in the untamed west, the law had eyes everywhere, and bounty hunters passed through the town circling like vultures over dead meat.

Your wanted posters had been plastered all over the North East American regions. The first months after the day that sealed your fate you found the paper manifesto in a town nearby where you grew up. The paper inked with some vague artist’s rendering of your face and beneath your portrait written in all capitals was your name with a 500$ reward for whoever caught you, preferably alive. The portrait didn’t resemble you enough to get you caught. Yet, you decided to completely flee the region, finding yourself wandering in the famous uncivilized west.

Mounting your horse you steered her out of the camp, the town of Blackwater looming in the distance. The ride into town was quiet, the road dusty and empty save for the occasional wagon passing in the distance. The heat was oppressive, the sun beating down on your head, making sweat bead on your forehead. By the time you reached the outskirts of town, your shirt clung to your skin, the dry dusty wind doing little to cool you off.

Blackwater was bustling with life by the time you arrived. The town had grown over the months you spent in the region, more folk moving in, more buildings popping up along the main street. Wagons creaked along the dirt roads, horses snorted, and people moved about their business with the kind of hurried energy that only came with trying to escape the midday heat. You kept your head low, as you guided your horse down the main street.

“Cornwall City Railway expanding ever more with rumors of the works coming to Blackwater. Come and read more Ladies and Gents!”

The newspaper seller shouted as you dismounted outside the general store and tied your horse to the nearest hitching post. Your eyes scanned the street for any signs of trouble, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just folks living their lives as usual. For a brief moment, you let yourself relax.

Inside the general store, the cool air offered a momentary relief from the unforgiving heat outside. You greeted the shopkeeper and moved through the aisles quickly, picking up fruits, canned good, coffee, and a few other essentials for camp. The shopkeeper, an older man with a long thick beard, barely looked at you as you placed the goods on the counter.

"That all?" he asked, his voice disinterested as he bagged your items. So much for customer service.

You nodded, sliding a few bills across the counter. He took them without a word, and you turned on your heel, leaving the store as quickly as you’d entered. The exchange was quick, with no questions, no lingering looks, you wondered if that was for the best. You stowed your items on Willow's back, gifting her an apple before resuming your chores.

Your next stop was the post office.

As you entered the wooden building you were met with a couple of empty benches, the wooden building almost empty save for the post office clerk and another man. The post office clerk, a tired-looking man with silver thinning hair, was shuffling through a stack of letters when you approached the counter.

“I’ve got a parcel,” you said, your voice calm and steady.

The post clerk barely looked up. “Name?” he asked, his fingers still rifling through the letters.

“Deliah Hill,” you replied. Your fake alias coming out of your lips like second nature. The man shuffled to the shelf behind him, after a few seconds he turned back.

“Nope, no letters or parcels under that name.”

You shifted on your feet. Biting the inside of your cheeks you pondered on your options. Could she have used your real name to send you your parcel?

You looked around, the post office was deserted enough. With a sigh, you asked the man to search under your real name. Years passed from the last time you used that name. The moment your name left your mouth, you felt a shift in the room. A chill ran down your spine despite the heat. The clerk’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he looked at you before going to retrieve your parcel. For a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the pounding of your heart in your ears.

The post office clerk handed you the parcel. “Thank you,” you said, your voice steady despite the panic rising inside you.

You turned to exit the building and behind you, someone shifted—a man, leaning against the wall by the door. You could feel his eyes on you now, sharp and calculating. Recognition flickered across his expression, and a slow, dangerous smile curled at the corner of his lips.

Bounty hunter.

You kept your face neutral, your fingers twitching closer toward the dagger on your belt. Your steps were slow as you walked out of the post office, the weight of the man’s gaze heavy on your body. You could feel it, the way his eyes followed your every movement, like a predator stalking its prey. The moment the sun kissed your skin you wasted no time. You stalked down the street towards your horse when a man bumped into you making you almost lose balance.

“I’m so sorry, Sir” you quickly apologized. He stared down at you from under his tall hat with pensive eyes and a stretched smile under his thick mustache. He was dressed in a two piece black suit, definitely too warm for the weather. “Where wolves prowl, ravens follow.” he said and gave you a last glance before continuing his path. What a strange man.

You shook your head and mounted your horse, hands steady despite the adrenaline flooding your veins.

Don’t run. Act normal. Keep calm.

As you rode down the street, the hot air seemed to thicken with tension. Your heart raced in your chest as you prayed he wouldn’t follow you. Willow’s hooves kicked up dust as she made her way toward the edge of town, your mind racing with possibilities trying to form an escape plan and get back safely to camp. If you could make it to the woods, you’d have a chance to disappear and take a shortcut to camp. He wouldn’t follow you there. Not without backup.

But as the last building passed you by on the outskirts of Blackwater, all your hopes vanished. A shout boomed in the air.

“Hey you! Stop right there!”

Your pulse spiked, and you kicked your horse into a gallop, dirt flying up behind you as the sound of hoofbeats thundered from behind. You didn’t need to look back to know what was happening. The hunter had been waiting for you.

Judging by the sounds of hooves on the dirt there were three, maybe four of them. Their shouts grew louder as they gave chase. You risked a glance over your shoulder, your heart pounding harder as your eyes spotted them—three middle aged men with rifles strapped across their backs and pistols in their hands, their eyes hungry with the promise of a reward.

One of them fired a shot, the crack of the gun slicing through the air. The bullet whizzed so close you could feel the heat of it landed on your side. You cursed under your breath and leaned low over your horse, urging it to go faster.

The woods weren’t far now, but the hunters were closing in, their shouts carrying over the wind like hyenas laughing at their prey.

They weren’t going to stop. Not until they had what they wanted, and that unfortunately was you.

The air seemed to shimmer with heat, dust kicking up in a haze covering the surrounding area as your horse rode across the dry, cracked earth. The world around you blurred, but your mind was sharp, every instinct screaming at you to ride faster, to outrun them. Your heart hammered in your chest, its pulse loud in your ears.

“Come on, lady,” you whispered to your horse, digging your heels into her sides as you urged the animal to go faster, gaining back a strained neigh from Willow. The woods were close now, the trees loomed ahead like a dark sanctuary, the thick branches of the trees casting long shadows over the dusty trail. If you could make it there, you could lose them. You could be free.

But the bounty hunters were relentless.

You looked back at them once more. A man with a scar running down his cheek, leveled his rifle and aimed. The sharp crack of his gunshot echoed in the air. You turned to look ahead of you, squeezing the reigns in your hand in anticipation, and then you felt it—a jolt beneath you as your horse staggered.

“No!” you screamed, your heart plummeting.

Willow let out a terrible, guttural cry, her body lurching forward as her legs buckled for a moment. Blood spurted from her side where the bullet had hit, staining her coat. But she regained control and kept running, her strong legs carrying forward, even as the wound drained the life from her with every step she took. You felt tears sting your eyes as you urged your horse onward, knowing the animal was running on sheer survival instinct alone.

“Ardennes are war horses, they might not run like Arabians but they’re strong,” Mister Anderson, your riding instructor once told you.

“Can you teach me how to ride one?” You were met with a bitter laugh, one you were far too accustomed to. He wasn’t laughing with you, but at you. You knew that it was near impossible for a thirteen years old girl to control such an animal but there was no harm in trying. You felt anger bubbling up in your body as you eyed your father’s Ardennes.

“Just a little more,” You whispered, your voice strained with desperation. “Just a little more then we’re safe.”

The woods closed in around you, the thick trees swallowing you whole as you crossed into the shade. The bounty hunters' shouts grew more distant, their voices muffled by the forest, but you knew they wouldn’t stop. Not yet. You could still hear them faintly, calling out your name, their taunts carrying through the trees like a ghostly echo.

“Come on out, girl! We’ll make it quick if you give up now!”

“You can’t run forever!” another voice shouted.

But you weren’t listening anymore. Your mind was solely focused on your horse, your only friend, who had carried you through so much, and who had never once let you down. The mare’s breathing was ragged now, each step slower, more labored than the last. Blood dripped hot from her side, staining the dry grass beneath you, second after second you could feel the horse’s strength fading.

The horse collapsed to her knees, unable to carry on. She let out a weak, broken cry as her legs gave out beneath her, sending you tumbling from your saddle into the dirt. You quickly scrambled to your feet, your breath catching in your throat as you rushed to her side.

“Willow! No, no!” you shouted, kneeling beside the mare, your hands trembling as you reached for the horse’s injury. Your hands stained with blood in mere seconds. The animal was breathing heavily, her eyes wide with pain and fear, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Blood pooled around you both, thick and dark covering the woods’ floor.

You ran a hand over the horse’s coat, your fingers brushing through the mane as tears blurred your vision. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Willow let out a soft, almost pitiful sound, her head resting heavily in the grass. The horse’s body shuddered, life slowly draining from her eyes, but even now, she was trying to stay strong. It was like she didn’t want to leave you. Like she didn’t want to fail you.

Everything stilled, it was as if you were trapped in a bubble. You didn’t know, or care, where the bounty hunters were, but they were still out there, combing the woods for you. You could hear their voices, faint and taunting, calling your name but none of that mattered in that moment. All you could see was your horse, your loyal friend, dying in your arms. Another life lost because of you.

You pressed your forehead against Willow’s, your tears falling onto her soft, velvety nose. The pain in your chest was overwhelming, a grief so deep it felt like it might burn you from the inside. This horse had been with you through everything—through your escape from the hell that was your home, through lonely nights when you had no one else. And now you were losing her. You were losing the one good thing you had left.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, your voice shaking. It was the only thing you could think of. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

You pressed a trembling kiss to the mare’s forehead. A last goodbye. “You were brave, girl. You can rest now.”

The horse’s breathing slowed, and as if following your command her body shuddered one last time before she went still. You could feel the life leave her body.

For a long moment, you stayed there, your hands resting on the horse’s neck, caressing her, as if your actions would ease her soul. You wanted to scream, to rage against the world, but there was no time. You snapped back to reality as the voices of the bounty hunters were getting closer now.

You forced yourself to stand, wiping your tear-streaked face with the back of your hand. Your heart ached, but you couldn’t stay. Not if you wanted to survive. The bounty hunters would be here soon, and they’d show no mercy. You had to run.

With one last, heartbroken glance at your horse, you turned and sprinted deeper into the woods, your legs carrying as fast as they could. Your boots thudded against the soft earth, your breathing ragged and uneven as you darted between the trees, your mind racing.

The forest was dense. Branches whipped at your face as you ran, one in particular caught on your skirt, tearing the fabric to your knees. You fell, knees burning from the scratch. Your lungs burned with each breath, but you couldn’t stop. You had to keep going.

Then, through the trees, almost as an apparition you saw it—an old, crumbled wooden cabin, barely visible through the thick underbrush. The wood was weathered and covered in vines, the roof sagging in places, and one of the walls had partially collapsed, leaving a hole covered by some planks big enough to enter in the side of the building. It looked abandoned, forgotten by time. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A place to hide. A place to catch your breath.

Without hesitation, you sprinted toward the cabin, using all the energy left in your body. You could still hear the bounty hunters behind you.

The planks on the side creaked loudly as you pushed them to open the hole, the wood groaning under your weight. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the smell of mold, the floorboards creaking beneath your boots. Cobwebs covered almost every corner of the room, and broken furniture was scattered across the room, but it didn’t matter. You weren't looking for comfort—you were looking for survival.

You put the planks in place and crouched low behind an overturned table near the back of the cabin, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tried to quiet your racing heart. Your hand rested on the grip of your dagger, your knuckles white. You knew it was nothing against their rifles but at least if they found you, you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

For now, all you could do was wait with your heart heavy with the loss of your horse and your mind focused on staying alive.

The footsteps of the hunters grew louder outside, their voices drawing nearer. You held your breath, your body tense as you listened, praying they wouldn’t find you here.

This cabin was your last chance.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, louder than the whispers of the men searching for you. Then, beneath the irregular sound of your own heartbeat, you felt something else—something sharp and burning.

Your hand drifted to your side, fingers pressing under your ribs. Warm, sticky blood coated your palm. Panic flared in your chest as you realized—one of those bullets they fired didn’t scrape you but had actually hit you. You hadn’t felt it before, the adrenaline masking the pain and pushing you forward. But now as the effect started to die down, pain took its place. A shot, not deep, but dangerous enough. You gritted your teeth, wiping the blood on your torn gown, willing yourself to stay conscious, to stay alert.

You needed to figure out what to do next—escape, hide, something. But then, the cold sensation of the barrel of a gun made contact with the back of your head. You closed your eyes for a second before turning to face your fate.

Fate took the form of a man, no older than twenty-six, lean but muscular, his long dark brown hair falling messily over his sharp features covered by a faint beard. His piercing gaze was cold, focused. You could sense he carried himself with the confidence of someone used to the dangerous weight of a gun in his hand. And there it was—pointed right at you. You looked up at him from your kneeled position, completely at his mercy.

From the shadows, next to the man, another figure stepped forward. The second man was much older, his weathered face marked by lines of age and experience. His silver hair combed back. His eyes, though, were sharp with curiosity as he took in your state. His eyes seemed to look into your soul and that terrified you more than the gun pointed at your head.

You could feel both their eyes on you—taking in the tear-streaked dirt on your cheeks, your disheveled hair, the blood staining your skirt tored from the knees down. But more than anything, their gazes linger on the dagger clenched tightly in your hand, its intricate hilt glinting in the dim light filtering from the cracks of the cabin. Your brother’s dagger.

“Don’t move,” the younger man said, his voice cold and steady, the barrel of his gun unwavering as he clicked its safety off.

Your breath hitched, and without thinking, you raised the dagger in your hand, pointing it toward him in a futile attempt at defense. Not really a wise choice since he had a gun pointed directly at your head, but you were cornered, wounded, and outnumbered. Most of all you were tired.

The older man—his voice smoother, almost soothing—spoke next. “Easy now, no need for more bloodshed.” He stepped closer to the younger man, placing a hand on his arm. “John, calm down.”

John. The name floated in the air as your grip tightened on the dagger, your eyes flicking between the two men. The tension was thick, your body tense, ready to lash out or flee, but the older man kept his gaze on you, caging any movement. His eyes calculating but not unkind.

Outside, you could hear the voice of the bounty hunters calling for you.

“Come on out now! It’ll be easier if you don’t make us drag you out!”

“Miss,” he says softly, eyeing your trembling hand, gripping the dagger like a lifeline. “You're hurt. And from the sound of it, those fellas outside ain't exactly your friends.”

John’s grip on his gun tightened, his eyes flicking toward the door before settling back on you looking you up and down. His gaze piercing. “We can’t trust her, Hosea,” he mutters under his breath. “She could be one of them.”

Hosea didn’t look away from you, though he rolled his eyes at the younger man's sentence. “Does she look like one of them to you?” he asks, his tone calm but with an edge of irritation. His eyes swept over you again, the blood, the tear-streaked face, the bleeding wound on your side. “She’s in no shape to be hunting anyone.”

You have no idea who these men were, but something about the older one’s voice was reassuring, like hot milk and honey on a cold night. But the younger one—John—you couldn’t say the same, his distrust was palpable. Your instinct told you to run, to hide, but the growing footsteps outside told you otherwise. You were trapped.

“You gonna fight off all those men out there with a knife?” Hosea asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or would you rather come with us?” At his proposition the younger man lowered his gun in disbelief, eyeing the older man with fury.

You swallowed hard, feeling the blood drip from your side, the sharp sting of your wound biting deeper making your thoughts hazy. You’ve always been alone, fending for yourself, trusting no one. But here, now it wasn’t a choice between trust or caution. It was life or death.

“I—” you started, but the sound of boots crunching outside the cabin silenced you.

You felt your heart almost beating out your chest. Run or fight? Die here cornered like an animal or continue to fight. Who were these two strangers, could you even trust these men? Why were they willing to help a wanted woman? Your mind struggled to come up with an explanation and under the exhaustion you gave in.

“I’ll come with you,” you muttered, lowering the dagger, your fingers numb from the tight grip you’d held onto it with.

John scoffed. “You sure about this, Hosea?”

Hosea nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, I think she’ll be more use to us alive than dead.” He outstretched a hand towards you, helping you up on your feet. “Let’s go, before those boys outside kick the door down.”

Without another word, Hosea moved toward the side of the cabin, looking outside before gesturing for you to follow. John, still glaring at you, holstered his gun but kept one hand hovering near his hip, ready to draw at any sign of trouble from you.

You slipped out, moving quickly and quietly through the dense underbrush. Your side burning with every step, and the world seems to tilt dangerously, your vision blurring as you stumbled after them. The sounds of the bounty hunters behind you fade as you made your way deeper into the forest, but your legs started to grow weaker, your strength fading with every drop of blood you lost.

Hosea led the way, his steps sure and practiced, while John brought up the rear, gun ready in his hand and eyes darting around as if he expected an ambush at any moment. They moved fast, and you could barely keep up. Your head spun, your breathing labored as the last remains of adrenaline slowly ebbed away, leaving only the raw, gnawing pain storming in your body.

“I’m not your enemy,” you hissed through gritted teeth, as you felt John’s eyes studying you. The effort of speaking sent a sharp, stabbing pain through your side.

“But you sure as hell ain’t acting like a friend either.” He replied, his tone harsh. He took a step closer, his gun never leaving his hand. “And from where I’m standing, you’re more trouble to us than you’re worth.”

Your blood boiled at his words, and despite the dizziness creeping in around the edges of your vision, you lifted your chin, his height making you glare up at him “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” you spat, your voice shaking with the weight of your fury and exhaustion. “If I was trouble, you’d already be dead.”

John’s lips curl into a smirk, but there’s no warmth in it. “Is that so? You’re half-dead on your feet, bleeding all over the place, and you think you’re in any shape to make threats?”

“I can handle myself.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t look like it.”

The sound of Hosea’s voice urging you two to move along snapped you out of your staring contest with the man.

After some more walking you reached a small clearing, in the distance you could see two horses tethered to a tree, a large black morgan snorting impatiently and a silver turkoman with various pelts on his back. You stopped in front of the horses, the memory of Willow’s death fresh and painful making you still. John stopped at your side, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you.

“You’ll have to ride with me.” He urged, the words clipped. Your eyes locked with his gray ones briefly before looking back at his horse. Though for a moment you hesitated, you clumsily climbed on the saddle, the sharp pain in your side restricting your movements. He climbed behind you, his arms circling your waist to keep you from falling off. You heard a clicking noise behind your ear and the horse started to move. The world blurred as your vision wavered, your fingers gripping tightly on John’s forearm muscles as exhaustion threatened to consume you. You could hear Hosea saying something, his voice distant and far away.

“Hold on tight, or you’ll fall off.” John’s gruff voice cut through the haze.

You wanted to snap back at him, but you couldn’t respond. Your strength long gone. You pressed your back against John’s chest. The pain in your side too intense, the blood loss catching up to you. Your grip slackens on his arms making him let out a curse.

And then, darkness took over you.

───── •✧✧• ─────

Consciousness returned slowly, like the gentle light of the sun after the rain. You blinked against the light coming mostly likely from an oil lantern, your vision a hazy blur of shapes and colors. As you tried to focus, you became aware of three figures looming over you, their faces shifting in and out of clarity. Panic fluttered in your chest for a moment as you struggled to push yourself up, your body heavy, the pain in your side reminding you of what happened previously. The last thing you remembered was John’s arms tightening around you and his low voice saying something in your ear.

One of the figures stepped closer, the soft glow of the lamp in the other man’s hand illuminating his features. It was an older man with a ginger mustache and hollow eyes, a look of concern etched deep into the lines of his face. There’s something kind about the way he looked at you.

“Easy there, Miss,” he murmured. “You’re safe now. Just relax.”

The other two figures remained just beyond your sight, their silhouettes casting long shadows across the room. One came beside the ginger man, a tall woman with a stern face, her arched brow furrowed in concentration as she spoke to the man. “—got to make sure it doesn’t get infected,” the woman said, her voice crisp and commanding. “If we don’t stitch her upright, we could lose her.”

As you laid there, struggling to grasp the situation, a wave of warmth washed over you, followed by a sharp sting in your side. You flinched involuntarily, the sensation jolting through you like lightning. That’s when the man with the mustache spoke to the woman beside him “Give something to this poor soul!” he exclaimed, and the other two turned their attention toward you, eyes widening as they saw your pained expression

“Stay still,” the woman commanded, her hands deftly working as she threaded the needle through your skin. “You need to let us do our job, Miss.”

The sharpness of the needle pierced you again, and a low groan escaped your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut, fighting against the pain. “W-what are you doing?” you gasped, panic rising again as the burning sensation spread across your side. Who were these people?

“Just sewing you up,” the man replied, trying to sound comforting, but his eyes held a glint of urgency. “It’s going to hurt a bit. Just keep breathing.”

The third figure, the man with the lamp in hand, stepped back, circling around the woman to give her more light, allowing you a clearer view. His face was familiar—Hosea. You remembered him from the cabin, the kindness in his eyes when he had convinced you to trust him and follow him and John. He watched you intently, a mixture of worry and sympathy written on his face.

“Hang in there,” Hosea said softly, his voice grounding you as the woman continued her work. “You’re going to be alright.”

You felt a rush of warmth and comfort at the sound of his voice, the sensation short lived and quickly replaced by the sharp stab of the needle as it pierced your skin once more. You winced, tears springing to your eyes, and the woman frowned.

With each stitch, the burning intensified, the pain nearly overwhelming. Your screams were agonizing and you tried to thrash against the cot beneath you, but a strange sense of exhaustion settled over you. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized you needed to focus on something, anything else. You thought of your brother—his laughter, the way he always made you feel safe, the last memory you had of him giving you that dagger, his last gift of love and protection.

“Don’t close your eyes, stay with us,” Hosea urged, as if sensing your thoughts drifting. The woman pressed a bottle into your hand. “Here, drink this. It’ll help with the pain,” she instructed. You blindly gulped down the liquid realizing after a few seconds that it was whiskey. The liquid sharp and burning as it travelled down your throat, making you cough slightly. Soon you felt its effects dulling your senses, a warm haze began to envelop you. “I can’t—” you started, but another wave of pain crashed over you, and you could feel your eyes fluttering, the world around you dimming again.

“Stay awake,” Hosea said, his voice soothing and steady. “You’re safe. Just breathe.”

You tried to focus on his words, tried to keep your eyes open, but sleep spread through you. The voices around you faded, the edges of your vision darkened, but not before you caught a glimpse of one last figure—the younger man, John—stood in the corner of the room, his expression unreadable.

He looked different now, less like a threat and more like someone who understood your pain. But as you slipped back into the void, your last thoughts were of your brother, his smile and the warmth of his embrace.

And then, with a final flicker of awareness, you drowned into the darkness, your mind drifting away on a sea of memories.

———————————————

taglist: @laylasredemption @starlightt180 @photo1030 @oceanwaves1998

[immajustvibehere]

The Rescue

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

summary: You go missing in the mountains when you were scouting ahead with John. Luckily, Arthur finds you. The near death experience gives both of you the courage for a confession.

tags: high honor Arthur, fluffly

2300 words, 13 minutes reading time

Three gunshots pierced the silent air that for hours had remained undisturbed, unless one counts the bluster of the wind. The shots echoed through the mountains. They prompted you into action, forgetting your miserable state.

"Here! I'm here!", you screamed with everything your voice had to offer, and that wasn't much. Half-frozen to death, sitting in your own blood and desperately clutching your arm where a wolf had bitten you, you tried standing up, with no success. Your leg had been hurt and putting pressure on it made the scenery fade to black. Out of fear for fainting and not being found, you remained cowering under the icy ledge, only a few feet away from a dangerous ravine.

"Y/N!", Arthur's voice was so close, you started to cry in relief.

"Arthur!", you screamed back and suddenly - there he was. You looked up the cliff to see his worried face staring down on you. Only moments later, Javier was appearing right next to him.

"Damn", Javier mumbled. Arthur seemed kind of unable to open his mouth, but he hurried down to you, careful not to slip and hurt himself.

"John should be further down there", you pointed into the said direction, "haven't heard from him for a while though."

Arthur was almost at your side: "Javier, you go and fetch Marston, I'll take Miss y/l/n." Javier's face disappeared, and you could concentrate on Arthur who was quickly approaching you. He squatted in front of you, not giving a damn about his pants which now were covered in snow. You couldn’t deny that it looked absolutely horrible. There was no white snow around you, everything was painted in your blood, and you yourself couldn't have possibly looked any better.

"Shit, y/n", Arthur murmured, taking his gloves off by biting them and sliding out of them.

You only managed to nod, tears now streaming down your face without shame. For hours on end, you had been convinced that you'd die here, freezing to death. It would have only been a matter of time until the wolves would come back and finish the work they had started. But now you were safe.

"It's gonna be okay", Arthur tried to calm you down. Gently, he wiped away some of your tears with his hand. It probably wasn't even warm, but it felt like a furnace against your frozen cheeks.

"It's alright", Arthur repeated. He noticed that he was shaking too, not necessarily because of the cold. It was true that the ride up the glacier had his bones chilled, but seeing you all bloody before him made him realise that he was shaking out of relief. He had been afraid you were gone. And now he feared losing you, right here and right now in front of him. Since you slightly pushed your face into his open hand, he didn't dare to remove it, but rather used his other hand to hold his glove open and blow some hot air into it.

"Get yer hand in there", he mumbled, helping you with putting his two gloves on.

"Can ya still move 'em?", Arthur asked, gently pressing your two hands in between his own. You quickly nodded and waited for your lips to stop quivering before you gave an answer: "Yeah. But this one hurts." You nodded towards your left arm where the nasty bite wound was hard to miss.

"I'd worry if it wasn't hurtin'", Arthur said, a crooked smile appearing on his lips for a few seconds.

"Very funny", you replied with a straight face. Actually, it had cheered you up a bit. This interaction was preferable to dying alone and becoming a frozen mummy.

And yet, Arthur was still worried more than he was comfortable with. He knew that he cared about you, but he cared about many people. However, this felt a little different.

"Can you stand up?"

"No...something's wrong with my leg."

"Okay. Come on then-", he stated, picking you up without so much as a silent grunt.

You snuggled into his wet coat and anxiously watched him struggle carrying you on the icy ground.

"How long have you been...like this?", Arthur asked after whistling for his horse.

"Not sure. At least one night...John and I rode out yesterday and then we were attacked by some wolves. It was...sheer luck that we survived. I mean- I hope John..."

"He'll be fine."

You gulped down a sob but were immediately relieved by Javier whistling behind you. Arthur turned around so you both saw him carrying a barely conscious John on his back.

You yourself struggled staying conscious during the ride back. For safety reasons, Arthur placed you in front of him on the horse, so he would be able to secure you with an arm tightly wrapped around you. He had admitted that he didn't trust you - in your current state - to stay on the horse without his help. At first you still had some strength left in you to give a witty remark, mocking him for calling you weak, but five minutes into the ride Arthur had to beg you to keep your eyes open.

"We're almost there, okay? Try stayin' awake until you're in the cabin, would ya?". he said those words close to your ear. The hot air from his mouth made your hair stand up and, in a way, did a decent job of keeping you awake and your heart beating. After one minute had passed, Arthur felt you slumping against his chest again.

"Darlin' please", he pleaded in a whisper, for neither Javier nor John to hear.

"'m really tryin' Arthur", you mumbled. Arthur was afraid that your hypothermic body was shutting down and he wouldn't be able to hold you in both of his arms to keep you warm and awake. The only thing he could to was to ride faster and make sure from time to time, that you were still awake. He'd whisper things into your ears that he didn't knew he was capable of, but the thought of having almost lost you, or to find out that you are indeed at the brink of death from the cold and blood loss, made his tongue loose.

You listened at first, but soon you were barely conscious, only managing to nod or mumble in agreement sometimes, without even registering what Arthur was saying.

The rest was black. You woke up in dry clothes and with an aching body, wrapped into two blankets. Mary-Beth and Swanson were staring you down, both of their faces lighting up when they saw you stirring.

You weren't awake for long, but long enough to be assured that you'll live and hadn't taken any lasting damage, aside from the wolf bite on your arm, which might leave some scars and your ankle which was probably sprained, but would soon be healed if you gave it enough rest. You managed to sit up to have a look at John who was lying in another bed close to yours, Abigail at his side.

"Looking good, Marston", you smiled, simply happy to see him alive.

"You have also seen better days, y/n", John replied briefly. And with that you plummeted back onto your bedroll and fell asleep.

When you opened your eyes again, it was dark in the cabin. No daylight came in, it must be the darkest hour of the night, but the fire in the fireplace distorted the shadows of the sleeping people in the room to eerie figures. You squinted to make out the different faces, which often was impossible because they were covered with scarves and shawls. It took a while, but after a couple of minutes lying awake you realised what had woken you in the first place. It wasn’t Uncle’s snoring or the weeping of a woman in the far corner, who you were quite sure you hadn’t seen before, but it was pain.

Your arm had been tidily wrapped in clean bandages, but you felt the wound underneath throbbing and burning relentlessly. Your leg wasn’t bothering you, as long as you remembered to keep it entirely still. If you moved it, because the chillness of the room sent a shiver through your spine and made you wince, the pain ran up all the way up your body. Maybe Reverend had given you some of his morphine earlier because you couldn’t quite understand how you would have been able to fall asleep under those circumstances.

With eyes closed you laid as still as possible, hoping that exhaustion would carry you to sleep again. You didn’t know how long you had lain there like that, when you heard the door of the cabin being opened. The hinges creaked and in came the stature of a man, warmly illuminated by the lantern in his hand – Arthur. You watched him while he tip-toed over the sleeping women, halting suddenly when he reached your bed and found you looking at him with a big smile.

“Did I wake ya?”, he whispered.

“No. Can’t sleep”, you sighed, also careful to keep your voice quiet so you wouldn’t wake the others, “What are you doing here?”

“I ehrm-“, Arthur awkwardly looked around in the room, “wanted to check on you.”

“Really?”, you grinned at him.

“Sure”, Arthur scratched the back of his neck, “ya looked barely alive when we got here. Were as white as a ghost and not exactly what I’d call conscious.”

“Yeah”, you chuckled sorrily. With all the strength you could bring up, you sat upright and made space for Arthur to sit down on the bed. Your face twisted in pain when you moved your injured leg, but it paid off when Arthur sat down with a sigh and put the lantern on the floor in front of you. For a few moments, neither of you said anything. Arthur looked around the room and studied the sleeping faces, while you had your eyes glued on his. You knew there was something coming, but you weren’t quite prepared for it when he finally said it.

“’em words I said on the ride back…”, he paused. His voice had sounded so flustered, his cheeks surely must be a darker shade of red. But the dimness of the light didn’t grant you this exciting view. For a split second he looked at you, only to find you expecting him to go on. But he didn’t. Now was the time for an embarrassing admission. Though you did remember him calling you darling and even sweetheart at one point, your memory was fuzzy. You weren’t sure if it had really happened or if he had only said it in the dream which you had, but you recalled him saying the word “love”. Maybe it was “my love”, or “I love”,…you didn’t know and the harder you tried to remember, the more you doubted it had actually happened.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I was pretty much gone as soon as you had me on the horse”, you apologized and watched the man’s face. Was he relaxing?

“Probably better that way”, he gave a smile that looked rather sad.

He was starting to stand up, when you quickly grabbed his coat. He halted in surprise and threw you a quizzical look. Since you didn’t say anything but still didn’t let go of his coat, he sat down again, looking at you with a hint of concern.

“Yer alright?”

“Ye- No. I don’t know”, you admitted, “it depends.” You gulped.

“I was pretty sure I would be dying in the mountains. And when you’re just sitting there, freezing to death, you think about the stuff you regret not doing”, you started.

You added: “I’m glad you found me.”

Arthur huffed: “Sure, I’m also glad we fou-“

“No. You. I thought I’d never see you again”, tears started to roll down your cheeks. You weren’t sad, or angry or any emotion that would have your tears streaming, just the memory of sitting in the darkest night and feeling every limb ache in pain for warmth was unnerving.

“Well, yer seein’ me now? Ain’t ya? It’s alright girl”, Arthur tried calming you down when he saw the tears in your face. Carefully, he slung an arm around your shoulders and gently pushed you into him. Your face rested on his chest while he tried to comfort you by patting your back. You waited a few moments until you had calmed down enough to speak without the quiver in your voice.

“Before I get stuck somewhere else,…or eaten by a cougar,…or shot by some idiot”, you whispered, “I really want you to know that I-…you mean a lot to me, Arthur. I love you. Have done so for a while now.”

Hadn’t you been convinced that Arthur hadn’t already made a similar confession to you on the horse with you blacked out, you probably would have kept it for yourself for many years to come or until one of you was killed by a bullet. Of course, you would have ended up regretting it, like you regretted it on the mountain, of not having it said earlier. You figured, now was as good a time as any.

Arthur held you tighter, pressing you into his fluffy coat which gave off an odour of wet fabric and pine trees.

After a while, he whispered back in a gruffy voice: “Ya mean it?”

“Of course”, you replied quickly, offended by the lack of trust but knowing that he was asking from a place of insecurity and fear of rejection.

“As much as you meant the words on the horse”, you added with a smile and peeled yourself off him, “if you want to repeat them sooner or later, I promise not faint this time.”

Finally, Arthur chuckled lightly. “That’s a start.”

[allthemeniveloved]

It Will Come Back - Part 7

Summary: You anxiously awaits the return of the men from the Saint Denis bank job, only for devastating news to shatter the fragile hope they had been clinging to.

wc: 4.1k

ao3 link

tags: high honor John Marston x fem!reader, angst, fluff, hurt comfort, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, riding, dirty talk, praising, daddy kink, mentions of death

The swamp air was heavy, clinging to your skin as you paced near the campfire, the light casting flickering shadows across the crumbling walls of Shady Belle. The camp was quieter than usual, the faint hum of crickets and frogs filling the void left by the gang’s usual bickering and bustle. You had barely slept the night before, your fight with John replaying over and over in your mind. The words you’d exchanged felt sharp and raw, and the fear behind them gnawed at you.

You turned at the sound of approaching hoofbeats, your heart leaping despite yourself. Dahlia, who had been grazing nearby, raised her head and let out a soft whinny as John’s figure came into view, his horse moving steadily through the foggy night. He dismounted with practiced ease, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud, but there was hesitation in his movements, a heaviness in the way he approached.

His eyes found yours almost immediately, and though his jaw was set, his gaze softened as he saw the worry etched across your face. “Darlin’,” he began, his voice low and careful as he stopped a few feet away. “Can we talk?”

You folded your arms, unsure whether to be relieved or angry. “I’ve been waiting for you all day, John,” you said, your tone carrying more hurt than frustration. “Where the hell have you been?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he took another step closer. “Running errands for Dutch, then just out clearin’ my head,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t have said what I did last night.”

You blinked at him, his words catching you off guard. “You mean calling me ungrateful?”

John winced, his head dipping slightly. “Yeah. That. Look, I didn’t mean it, alright? I was just… frustrated.” He paused, his hands moving to his hips as his voice softened. “You were right, y’know? About Dutch. About all of this. I just didn’t wanna hear it.”

Your arms slowly fell to your sides, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as your voice fell to a whisper. “John, I’m not trying to turn you against Dutch,” you said quietly, stepping closer to him. “I just… I’m scared. I’m scared of what he’s turning this gang into, and I’m scared of what it’s doing to you.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the guarded expression he so often wore crumbled. “I know,” he murmured, his voice raw. “And I hate that I’ve been makin’ it worse for you. I don’t want you thinkin’ I don’t care, ‘cause I do. More than I know how to say sometimes.”

Your chest tightened, his words hitting you harder than you expected. Without thinking, you reached for his hand, your fingers curling around his. “Then don’t push me away,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. “We’ve gotta stick together, John. You and me.”

He gave a small, lopsided smile, squeezing your hand in return. “We will,” he said, his tone firm now. “I ain’t lettin’ anything come between us again. I promise.”

The weight of the past day seemed to lift slightly as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek was grounding, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that things might be okay—at least for now.

"Come, take a walk with me love." John ushered you with his gentle hand on your lower back as you begin walking behind the house. The soft murmur of camp faded as you followed John around to the back of Shady Belle, the crumbling mansion walls casting long shadows over the overgrown grass. The air back here was quieter, the swamp sounds more distant, and the two of you found a small, secluded patch where the moss-covered ground felt softer beneath your boots. He stopped and turned to you, his expression unguarded for the first time in what felt like days, his eyes catching the faint glow of the moonlight.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion as he reached for your hand. “I hate fightin’ with you. Feels like the one thing I can’t stand to lose is us.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you stepped closer, your fingers lacing with his. “I hate it too,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But I don’t want to lose you, John. Not to Dutch, not to this life."

He cupped your face gently, his calloused thumbs brushing over your cheeks as his gaze softened. “You won’t,” he said firmly, leaning his forehead against yours. “I swear to you, I’ll always find my way back to you.”

The words hung in the stillness between you, and then his lips found yours, slow and tender at first, but growing deeper as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His warmth chased away the lingering tension, leaving only the soft hum of the swamp and the quiet promise in his embrace. The weight of the world seemed to lift, and all that mattered was the feel of his heart beating steadily against yours.

You reached for his shirt and fisted the cotton fabric, pulling him closer.

John's hands smoothed up and down your back.

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled into the embrace.

You broke away slightly.

“Don’t talk, just touch me. Please.”

John’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as he glanced around the quiet, shadowed corner of Shady Belle and asked, “Here?” You nodded, your voice soft but certain as you looked up at him, the tension in the air electric. “Yes, here.”

“Fuck,” the word tore from John's throat in groan so guttural it sent a shiver up your spine. John grabbed your hand with a quick, mischievous grin and pulled you behind the dilapidated shack at the edge of Shady Belle, the shadows offering a private refuge from the rest of the camp. “C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he backed you gently against the wall, his eyes filled with that familiar spark you couldn’t resist. Dropping down to his knee without a second thought and lifting your knee length skirt, he doesn’t even bother pulling your undergarments off all the way. His fingers part your folds and he dives in, tongue slipping through your slit before moving up and circling your clit. You whine along with his ministrations, fingers falling to tangle in his long raven hair and tugging.

You can only just hold in the noises building in your throat as he moves like a man starved, pressing his mouth into you as his tongue probes and swirls and practically drinks you down. His lips latch around your clit, sucking sharply on the aching nerve and tearing a whimper from your chest.

It only took mere seconds for John to push you to a point where you couldn’t stay still, your body trying to escape the pleasureful torture while your heart wanted more. He was strong so he had no problem pinning you to the wall while his mouth continued to worship your cunt, tongue lapping at your clit and then your entrance. The sounds of your wet folds being worshiped by him were filthy.

You cum against his mouth with a broken gasp, your hand tightening in his hair to the brink of pain and he delights in it, his groan vibrating against your pussy only intensifying the high your body crashes through. His blunt nails leave crescent moons in the back of your thigh, digging into your flesh just under the swell of your ass as he keeps you against his mouth.

“G-god daddy, calm down –” you whimper, legs twitching and knees weak with the threat of giving out completely. Only then did he let you go.

Raising up and dropping his gun belt, John found his place on a nearby creaking wooden chair and leaned back, the faint smirk on his lips growing as he patted his knee and tilted his head toward you. “C’mere, darlin’,” he drawled softly, his voice low and inviting, as his eyes locked on yours with an undeniable warmth. You didn't hesitate before shedding your undergarments entirely and stepping closer, the lustful pull of his gaze leaving you no room to resist. As you settled onto his lap, his hands finding your waist, he holds you close and firm as he murmured, “That’s more like it."

Your eyes caught sight of John’s hat, discarded nearby his feet, and with a playful grin, you bent down to scoop it up and place it on your head. When you turned back to face him, he froze, his eyes softening as a slow, adoring smile spread across his face. “Well, look at you,” he drawled, his voice warm and low, “never thought my hat could look that damn good.” You feel his cock twitch underneath your core at the sight. “Guess it’s mine now, Marston."

Your eyes adjust to the low light, taking in the full sight before you. John's hand unbuttoned his pants and had pulled himself out, stroking his cock, thumb swiping over the tip after every few pumps.

“Daddy- your cock, please,” you sputter out all too fast, groaning as you meet his lustful gaze.

“That eager huh?” he jabs and your response dies in your throat as he slides into you; pushing your hips down so he bottoms out. Moans leave from both of your mouths’ and John presses his forehead to yours. He moves to latch his lips to your collarbone as you adjust to him, marking you as his from your neck to low on your decolletage. Slowly, you lift yourself halfway up over his cock before dropping back down. His hands aide you as you set a steady pace for yourself, enjoying the stretch of him. He can’t keep his own hips still, meeting you with sharp thrusts but not enough to knock you off your rhythm.

“More.” It’s a demand, hot need laced in his tone. It hurts in the best of ways, the solid slam of his cock hitting deep within you with every ram of his hips. You can feel the untamed rage building in his movements, his jaw tense and strained as he moves.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this, angel. All mine."

“Ain’t nobody gonna make you feel like this again, you hear me?” The fierce, almost possessive edge in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you momentarily speechless as you tried to process the intensity of his words. "Only me." he finishes.

You blinked, his fierce words catching you off guard, but instead of pulling away, you moaned louder, your arms resting around his neck. “I know, John,” you said softly, your voice tinged with warmth and lust as you met his intense gaze. “And for the record, I don’t want anyone else near me either.”

“Good, cause I ain’t about to share what’s mine.” he growls against your throat. His voice and the scratch of his stubble makes you want to whine but you bite back the noise. He bucks his hips up into you faster and you throw your head back, muffled cries building in your chest.

It’s intimate, being so close to him, despite the unforgiving way his fingers dig into your waist. Your mouths meet in a hot mess of tongue and teeth while you continuously drop your hips, clit catching and rubbing along the neat patch of curls covering his pubic bone, rutting harder against him for more friction.

“That’s it, angel. You're doing so good for me.” the soft praise makes your toes curl.

"I'm so close," the pleasure inside of you nearly bursting at the seams. His hand comes around your throat and yanks you to the side before his teeth are sinking into your neck, not a single break in his hard, pounding rhythm. That alone sends you over the edge as the coil in your belly snaps and your body convulses in John's arms as he followed you over the edge. He growled out a moan and pulled you down onto his lap, holding you in place as he spilled into you, your cunt milking him down to the very last drop.

“Fuck me,” John groaned, keeping his head buried in the crook of your neck. Your panting breaths mixed together in the humid air surrounding you both as you attempted to catch your breath, your head leaning forward once more to rest on his shoulder as your body went limp.

John reached up with a slow, teasing grin, his fingers brushing against yours as he gently lifted the hat from your head. “I think this belongs to me, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice soft yet filled with playful affection as he set it back on his own. “Though, I’ll admit, it’s hard to wear it knowing how damn good you looked in it.”

You laughed softly at his words, your cheeks warming as his gaze lingered, full of that familiar, unspoken affection that always left you breathless. His hand didn’t leave the brim of his hat, instead tilting it slightly as he leaned closer, his eyes flicking to your lips before meeting yours again.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “I might need to find a reason to lend it to you again.”

You smirked, your heart racing as you reached out, your fingers lightly tugging at his shirt. “Who says you need a reason?” you whispered back, your voice barely audible above the hum of the swamp.

That was all it took. John closed the distance between you once more, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, filled with a tenderness that made the world around you blur. His hand came to rest against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand to let you go.

When the kiss broke, you stayed close, your foreheads pressed together as you both caught your breath. His voice was soft, a playful edge still clinging to it as he whispered, “You really are trouble, darlin’. But you’re my kinda trouble.”

-

The soft glow of morning filtered through the crumbling windows of Shady Belle, casting streaks of golden light over the worn wood floors. The swamp outside was already alive with the sound of frogs and insects, but inside the mansion, camp was still stirring awake. You sat on the porch with a steaming tin cup of coffee in your hands, feeling the cool morning air brush against your skin. The events of the previous night still clung to your thoughts, but the tension between you and John had eased, replaced by a cautious sense of calm and warmth.

John appeared from the house, his steps deliberate but quieter than usual. He rubbed the back of his neck as he approached, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he avoided your gaze that made your stomach twist. He sat down beside you, close enough for your shoulders to brush with his own coffee mug in his hand. For a moment, he just sipped in silence, the distant chatter of the gang filling the gaps between you.

Finally, you turned to him, concern flickering in your chest. “John, what’s on your mind?” you asked softly, your voice breaking through the stillness.

He let out a long sigh, setting his coffee down and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Dutch’s got a plan,” he said finally, his voice low and careful. “We’re hittin’ the Saint Denis bank.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. You blinked at him, your pulse quickening as the gravity of what he said sank in. “The Saint Denis bank?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly in disbelief. “John, that’s… that’s insane. The Pinkertons are already breathing down our necks, and now Dutch wants to poke the bear?”

“I know,” John said quickly, turning to face you. “I know it’s risky. Hell, I know it’s dangerous. But Dutch… he thinks this is it. The big one. Enough money to get us all out for good.”

You shook your head, your heart racing. “And you believe him?” you asked, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. “John, you’ve seen what his ‘big plans’ have done to this gang. To us. Please, don’t do this." You grabbed his arm, your voice trembling with desperation as you pleaded, “John, something about this bank job doesn’t feel right—please, don’t go.” Your eyes searched his, tears threatening to spill as you whispered,

John’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists as he leaned closer. “I don’t believe him,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a murmur. “But this ain’t about Dutch. This is… this is somethin’ I’ve gotta do. A parting gift, y’know? For the man who raised me, for everything he’s done for me—even if it’s gone sideways now.”

You stared at him, tears stinging your eyes as you struggled to find the words. “John,” you whispered, reaching out to grip his hand. “We can leave now. Forget the bank, forget Dutch. We can go, and get out before it’s too late.”

His hand squeezed yours, but his gaze was steady, resolute. “Darlin’,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, “I made a promise to Dutch once, and this is me keepin’ it. But after this, I’m done. I swear to you, this is the last time. Tomorrow, we’ll pack up and leave. You, me, - we’ll start over, far away from all this.”

You searched his face for a sign of doubt, of hesitation, but all you saw was his stubborn determination. The knot in your stomach grew tighter as you nodded reluctantly, your voice barely audible. “Tomorrow,” you echoed, the word hollow in your mouth.

John leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I promise,” he said again, his voice tender but firm. “Just one more job, and we’re free.”

But as he pulled back and gave you a faint smile, the sinking feeling in your chest only deepened. You watched him gather his things and step away, your heart heavy with the unshakable fear that tomorrow might never come.

Later, the camp was bustling with activity as the gang readied themselves to head into Saint Denis, the tension in the air as thick as the swamp mist that clung to the ground. You stood off to the side, watching as horses were saddled and weapons were checked, your stomach churning with dread. John was among them, his face set with a determination you knew was meant to mask his own unease. His figure, so familiar and steady, looked almost distant now, and every instinct in your body screamed for you to stop him.

When he finally approached you, his saddlebags slung over his shoulder, you stepped forward, your voice cracking as you called out to him. “John, wait—please.”

He paused, his shoulders tensing before he turned to face you. The expression on his face was guarded, but the flicker of regret in his eyes was unmistakable. “Darlin’, we’ve been over this,” he said softly, his voice low to keep your conversation from carrying to the others. “I have to do this. It’s the last thing, I swear.” You grabbed his arm, gripping it tightly as your heart raced.

"I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

For a moment, he looked torn, his jaw tightening as he glanced back at the others mounting their horses. Then he reached up, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in, his forehead brushing against yours. “I’m comin’ back to you,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling between you. “This is just somethin’ I gotta do. For Dutch, for the gang. But tomorrow? Tomorrow it’s just us. I promise.”

The warmth of his touch and the certainty in his voice only made the sinking feeling in your chest grow heavier. You nodded reluctantly, tears threatening to spill as you whispered, “Tomorrow. You better keep that promise, John.”

He gave you a small, crooked smile, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek before he stepped back, his hand falling away as he turned toward his horse. “I always do,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a flicker of confidence you weren’t sure he fully believed.

You watched him mount up, your heart pounding as he joined the others and rode off, his figure disappearing into the foggy horizon. The sounds of their departure echoed faintly in the still air, and as you stood there, the gnawing unease in your stomach twisted into something sharper—something you couldn’t ignore. You clenched your fists, silently vowing to be ready for whatever came next, whether that meant waiting for him or finding a way to save him from the path he’d chosen.

-

The sun dipped lower into the horizon, casting long shadows over Shady Belle as you wandered anxiously around camp, unable to settle. Every sound from the swamp—every rustling branch, every distant birdcall—made your heart leap, hoping it was the sound of hooves returning. But as the hours dragged on, the unease in your chest grew heavier, settling like a stone. The gang was quiet, their usual chatter replaced by tense glances and murmured concerns. You paced near the edge of camp, your hands twisting nervously, unable to stop the cascade of worst-case scenarios playing out in your mind. Where were they? Why hadn’t they returned? The sinking feeling that had plagued you before John left now felt like an unbearable weight.

As darkness finally fell, the soft crunch of footsteps broke the oppressive silence, and you turned to see Abigail stumbling into camp. Her face was pale, her cheeks streaked with tears, and her hands trembled as she clutched Jack to her chest. The sight of her hit you like a punch, and your stomach turned as you ran to her. “Abigail,” you said, your voice shaking, “what happened? Where’s John? Where’s the rest of them?” She shook her head, her voice cracking as she spoke, her words spilling out in broken sobs. “Hosea—” she started, her voice faltering. “They killed him. Right there in front of Dutch.” Her knees buckled slightly, and you steadied her, your heart racing as she continued. “Lenny didn’t make it out either. And John—” She stopped, meeting your wide, fearful eyes. “John got arrested. They took him. I don’t know where… I don’t know if he’s okay.” Her words struck like lightning, leaving you breathless as the enormity of what she’d said settled in. The men weren’t coming back tonight—and John, your John, was gone.

The world around you seemed to tilt and blur as Abigail’s words echoed in your mind: Hosea dead. Lenny gone. John arrested. Your knees buckled, and you stumbled back, your hand gripping the edge of a barrel to steady yourself as your breath came in sharp, shallow gasps. The camp noises around you faded into a distant hum, replaced by the relentless pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Your chest tightened painfully, the weight of grief and fear pressing down like a crushing force, making it impossible to catch your breath.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears welled up, blurring your vision. “No, no, no—this can’t be happening.” The words felt hollow, desperate, like saying them might somehow undo the nightmare. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you pressed them against your face, the tears spilling freely now. Images of Hosea’s calm, fatherly demeanor and Lenny’s infectious laughter flashed through your mind, now cruelly replaced by the knowledge that they were gone forever. But it was the thought of John—imprisoned, alone, and out of reach—that broke you. You gasped for air, your shoulders shaking violently as the panic consumed you, and all you could feel was the unbearable weight of losing him, of not knowing if he was alive or if you’d ever see him again. You barely registered the arms that wrapped around you, someone murmuring soft reassurances, as your world crumbled under the weight of your worst fears.

They're going to hang him, was the last thought that rushed through your mind.

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