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endzithefangirl · 7 months ago

Text

"I'm gong to put 'being a WAG' on my CV"

Authors note: Here's a little Max Verstappen x TechCEO!Reader. Bet you didn't see that comng. Anyway, got the idea for this a few days ago, and I guess my love of Italian food made me finish this

Summary: Max's new relatioship causes a social media stir, but the new couple couldn't care less whilst in Italy.

Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, female reader, famous reader

Word count: 2k

You understood it, to a degree. Max had just broken off a three-year-long relationship right before summer break, and now suddenly he was spending the summer with you. Now you’re at the paddock... No wonder people thought there was some crossover.

The truth? You two met last New Year's at a party for some sporting event. You, being one of the sponsors for your country's national sports committee, were invited, and Max... well, Max was Max Verstappen. You hit it off, exchanged numbers, showed him around your company a few times, and took him to all of your favorite restaurants in NYC. But you knew he had a girlfriend; everyone knew. And he was taking care of her kid too.

That breakup was hard on him. He had stopped loving her, but he couldn't just kick a woman and her kid out of his house. Max waited for them to have a huge fight, and then they just... broke up. And to your surprise, he was in New York the next day, saying that he needed someone to talk to. Bullshit. You knew he liked you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come all the way here 'just to talk.'

But here you were, in Italy, spending time with him before Monza. You were currently typing away on your phone, trying to make peace in the finance department. Max glanced up from his phone every so often, stealing peeks at you while grinning.

He had never quite been so into someone like you. You were smart, funny, talented, pretty, and on top of all that - you were also rich. But you were also the most challenging girl to flirt with Max had ever met.

"You look like you could use a break," he said, after watching you tap away at your work laptop for a few minutes.

"Probably. What's the point of having interns if they don't do anything?"

"Then you should consider hiring me; I'm pretty good at helping out," Max teased, looking up from his phone and sending you a cheeky smile. He loved a woman who was in power, who knew what she was doing, and he could tell you were used to being the boss. "Come on, take a break. You know you deserve it," Max encouraged, resting his hand on top of yours to stop you from working some more.

"I guess I could eat…" You say, closing your laptop. "I saw on Google Maps that there’s a nice pizza place down the road. We can go if you’re hungry.”

Max smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m starving; let’s go,” he said, reaching for the car keys.

“No, it’s okay, let’s walk,” you stop him. He turned towards you, slightly confused. Usually, women would give anything to drive around with Max Verstappen. Maybe that’s just what makes you special.

The two of you walked out of the hotel, your bodyguard Lenny standing outside the door. The tall, muscular man just nodded as the two of you entered the elevator. Max found it funny that you preferred Lenny guard your stuff more than you. Especially the laptop. He sometimes wondered what you kept in there...

“Is Pierre gonna be at the race?” you asked as you exited the building, breaking the silence.

Max’s head snapped towards you, and he raised his brow. “Uh, yes, of course he is… Why?”

“Because I want to see Kika.”

“Oh, so she’s your secret F1 crush, eh?” Max said, relaxing.

You laughed. “Pierre is a solid seven with a better haircut. Kika is a twelve on a bad day.”

As you got to the bigger streets, you started to understand why Max drove everywhere. Unlike you, who were a chiller and niche celebrity, despite being incredibly rich, Max was a real superstar. Your short walk to the pizza shop became a fan meet and greet, with people coming up to you every three seconds and asking for photos.

“Is this your girlfriend?” one of the people asking for a picture asked. As you finished taking the photo, you noticed Max’s slightly flustered face as he heard the question. He stumbled, but you answered with a simple “Yeah.”

As you arrived at the restaurant, you noticed that Max was staring at you. He seemed… surprised. You laughed at his facial expression. The sound of your laugh calmed him instantly, his heartbeat beginning to return to normal. Max cursed himself in his head; he was better than this. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is it something I said?"

Max ran a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks heating up slightly. "No, no... Not really," he reassured you, trying to sound casual. "I was just... thinking."

"Okay, well I'm thinking about the food. I think a Vesuvius sounds great right now."

Max chuckled and quickly glanced down at the menu to hide his embarrassment. "Vesuvius? What the hell is a Vesuvius?" he asked, though his eyes scanned down the menu, searching for it.

"It's a type of pizza," you teased. "It's been like three minutes; have you not even skimmed the menu?"

Max fidgeted under your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again. "What?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You tell me. Why are you staring?" Max shook his head, glancing up at you questioningly. He had no idea what you were thinking about. "No... What are you thinking about?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"There are pots from 4000 years ago found in ancient Egypt that are made out of an incredibly difficult to manage material and are cut to such perfection that they balance on their round bottom."

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was expecting something totally different. Something that had at least a little bit to do with him. He chuckled, still somewhat surprised as he studied your face. "Where did that come from?" he asked incredulously.

"The Egyptians. They were like, cooking pots and stuff. Royal cooking pots probably, but still," you teased.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're thinking about cooking pots, and here I am, just trying to figure out what I did to make you say that we're together so casually."

"What do you mean? Are we not together?"

"Well, of course we're together," Max said, his voice taking on a more serious tone now. He glanced around the restaurant briefly, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "I just... I didn't expect you to say it so casually," he said, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know we were keeping it a secret. I mean, I was at the paddock and all last time, and I took days off work to come to this race—"

Max shook his head, realizing you completely misunderstood what he was saying. "No, no, it's not that... I just..." he began, struggling to find the right words. He took a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "It's just... you're so casual about it... and I'm... a bit too flustered for my own good," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.

You softened up a bit. "Oh, okay, I get it. It was just a bit too shocking for you... Yeah, sorry."

Max felt his heartbeat a little faster when you softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, it was a bit... unexpected for me," he chuckled, feeling somewhat silly for being so flustered. "But it's fine, honestly."

"Do you think my stomach is gonna have space for gelato later? There's a really good gelateria; I can see it from the window... They make the ones with the macarons..."

Max chuckled, loving how you were so excited about the gelato. "Well, based on the amount of pizza you usually eat," he teased, a smirk on his face. "I'd say you're probably fine."

"No, they put the macarons on the gelato."

"On the gelato?" Max repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"I've never heard of such a thing," he said, leaning forward to get a better look out the window at the gelateria you were talking about. "Well, in that case," he said with a grin, "we're definitely going there for dessert."

After eating so much that your belts barely held, you came back to the hotel, Lenny greeting you at the door as usual. Max's stomach was stuffed to the brim, but he was in such a good mood from the good food and even better company, he didn't even care. He walked back into the hotel together with you, his hand still holding yours. Lenny greeted the two of you as usual, but Max couldn't help but notice the way Lenny looked at you, like he was analyzing you.

"All good, Len. You go to your room for the night," you said to Lenny. He nodded, smiled at the both of you, and then went off. Max watched as Lenny walked off, then turned to you, a small frown on his face.

"He was looking at you funny," he said, a protective edge to his voice.

"He thinks it's funny. That I'm dating a Formula 1 driver."

"What's so funny about that?" he protested, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "He just... I don't know, he's a big fan of yours I don't think he's processed it yet". Max's frown relaxed as you explained it, his ego immediately soothed a bit. Of course he was a big fan of his, who wasn't?

"Oh, so he's a big fan?" he teased, a hint of pride and cockiness in his voice.

You take your shoes off and lay on the bed, your stomach bloated from all the good food "Yeah. Talk to him a bit, I think it'll make him happy" You let out groan as you move "I hate you Italy. You has so much good food... I love it though"

Max chuckled, watching as you dramatically threw yourself onto the bed, your stomach protesting the amount of food you just had. "You're such a drama queen sometimes," he teased, grinning as he took off his shoes as well and joined you on the bed. He lays down beside you, running a hand over your bloated stomach. "You'll be fine," he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, you know what I saw on TikTok?"

Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his hand now resting on your stomach. He didn't typically pay too much attention to TikTok, but he was more than happy to listen to you.

"What did you see?" he asked, turning his head to look at you.

"Well first of all, I'm a WAG now. Thank you for that, I will be putting that on my CV. But second, they liked that I was wearing Red Bull merch. I thought they wouldn't like it, but they did"

Max chuckled as you spoke, amused by how casually you mentioned being a WAG, and how seriously you were taking the fact that you were wearing Red Bull merchandise. "Well, of course they liked it," he said with a smirk. "You were wearing the merch of the best team out there."

He gave you a smug look, his hand moving up and tracing a lazy pattern on your stomach. "Not to mention the merch of the best driver out there."

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

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wonderjanga · 1 month ago

Note

The rock of eternity is basically just the backrooms Billy has control over. Just an idea. (Credits to Chaos moth from the discord server :3)

Civilian: *no clips and falls on the carpet of level 0* “Wha- where am I?!”

Marvel: *appears above him* “What are you doing here-”

Civilian: *screams*

Marvel: *now concerned* “Are you okay??”

Civilian: “YES! YOU JUST SCARED ME.” *hand clenching skin above his heart*

Marvel: “Oh, I’m sorry. But I still have to ask, what are you doing here? Also, how did you get here?”

Civilian: “I don’t know man! I just fell while walking down the sidewalk and the next thing I knew I was here! I don’t have a reason to be here!”

Marvel: “Oh.” *frowns* “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. do you wanna leave?”

Civilian: “Wha- Of course! DUDE THERE ARE MONSTERS HERE!”

Marvel: “Nah, that’s just Lenny and the gang. They get a bit territorial. Wait, how do you know about the monsters?”

Civilian: “It used to be big on the Internet. I thought it was just something like the creepypastas, I didn’t know it was real.”

Marvel: *wondering if that means multiple people have been wandering around the Rock of Eternity* “Huh. Well, that’s… interesting. Why don’t we take you on back to that sidewalk and you can show me what you mean by it being on the Internet?”

Civilian: “Sounds fine by me.” *just happy to go home*

It was after this that he found out that the Rock’s magic was twisted in certain places. That’s why people were sometimes being transported to the “Backrooms”. Thankfully, it was already mending itself, and when Billy found out how to help it further, no more people found into the “Backrooms.”

It was also through this civilian that he found out about the existence of other “Backrooms.” Such as the “Pool Room.” Once you got past the deadly virus, the place was awesome!

Marvel, Junior, and Mary: *all having a pool party*

Marvel: *gets a call on his comm and answers* “What’s up?”

Flash: “What’s up? Cap, where are you??”

Marvel: “In the Pool Room.”

Flash: “What? …You have a pool…?”

Marvel: “No? It belongs to the Rock, but it lets me, Mary and Junior use it.”

*silence*

Flash: “…Can I come over?”

Marvel: “No, sorry.”

Flash: “Wha- why?”

Marvel: “There’s a deadly virus in the air of the room. You’ll die if you breathe here.”

Flash: “That sounds like a totally made up lie you told me so I wouldn’t have to come to the Pool Room.”

Marvel: “It’s not! I promise! Look, I’ll find another room that doesn’t have an airborne virus, and you can hang out with me and the others then. We can bring GL along too, okay?”

Flash: “…okay.”

Marvel: “Now, why were you calling me?”

Flash: “Oh, right. Where are you?! Dude your comm’s GPS is gone!”

Marvel: “Funnily enough, it’s gone because we’re in the Pool Room.”

They all later hung out in Mr. Kitty’s Level before leaving earlier than they planned because both Flash and GL were creeped out by Mr. Kitty.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

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Down Home 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The world's most famous heroes walk into a small town diner and change your life.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Because of this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all to Jupiter and back. Take care. 💖

It’s a slow day. Every day is slow out in Tumble Down. The township’s name tells the whole story. Everything there is in decline. It’s hard to imagine there was ever a time when the people weren’t tiny and forgotten in the hubbub of the bigger world. Since the mines closed and the canning factory was outsourced, it feels even smaller.

Smaller isn’t so bad. It’s simpler. You all know each other’s names and faces. You say hi and how are you and do what needs to be done. Simple is, simple as.

You here there isn’t much to do in most small towns. Not for fun or for work. You’re one of the lucky ones. You got a job down at the diner in your sophomore year. It helped pay for your daddy’s new engine and since then, it keeps you all afloat in the rising waters of disparity as they close in on Tumble Down.

You hum to the old radio that sits on the shelf you make sure to dust. The speakers crackle from time to time and the signal gets wonky in storm season, but the music’s never bad. It’s the classic stuff that always played in your mother’s kitchen.

You wipe down another table. Not because it needs it, just because it’s something to do. The day has been long and listless. Even the breakfast rush was lower than usual.

Darnell, the cook, whistles along from the back. Everyone knows he isn’t as mean as he looks. He just likes his space.

As you go back to the counter and lean on it, staring at the ticking clock, a roar cuts through the distance. You blink and look up, narrowing your eyes at the dusty country road outside. Wind rustles through the tall wheat in the field opposite and the noise rumbles closer and closer.

A man pulls in a motorbike. He’s going so fast that he has to circle the gravel lot before he can slow down. It’s not Lenny and his prized Harley but another man on a more modern-looking mount. Not far behind, another motorcycle zips through and the riders straddle their bikes as the survey the restaurant.

You narrow your eyes. You probably need glasses but you make do. The last time you got your eyes checked, you didn’t have enough for the frames.

The one man wears blue and red, an odd helmet on his head. Not a helmet at all but a sort of mask. The other man has dark hair to his chin and a beard to match. He’s all in black but his left arm shines with gold ripples. Not a sleeve, an arm, made of metal.

“Oh my lord,” you murmur in shock, “Darnell!” You holler over your shoulder, “you’re not gonna believe this.” You turn to the window as he pokes his head around, “not sure I do myself. Tell me my eyes aren’t lyin’.”

He looks above your head, an easy task for the mammoth cook. He hums and swirls around his spatula. “Thems those boys on the news. The one that was in the old war. Grandad’s battle.”

“I’m not going crazy with boredom?” You bubble.

He snorts. It’s as close to a laugh as you get from him. You spin back and hurry around the counter to grab a pair of menus. Still, you don’t want to seem too eager. You put down the menus and fiddle with a napkin holder instead.

The bell over the door jingles and swipe up the menus and turn. You really can’t believe it’s them. Yet, as Captain America removes his cowl, you’re certain. They look just like they do on the TV. Even with your sight, you can tell.

“Hello, fellas, how are you doin’ today?”

The dark-haired one, the Winter Soldier, glances at the other, his cheek dimpling, “well... we’re... uh...”

“We’re doing great,” Steve Rogers answers brightly. “Starving. You guys serve bacon? My buddy’s dying for some.”

“Um, yes, sirs, yes. Can I sit ya down?” You ask, hugging the menus closer.

“Please,” the Captain accepts as the other man stays silent and pensive, his eyes wandering down to the coffee stain on your apron.

“Just here,” you sweep away and wave them on with you. You stop beside the nicest booth and lay down a menu on each side, “have a seat.”

They do just as you bid. The blond puts his cowl on the table and unhooks the shield from his back to lay on the far end of the seat. He smooths back the sweaty strands of hair as his companion stretches his metal fingers. You sway nervously by the table, twitching as you remind yourself how to do your job.

“Well, can I get ya started with coffee? You look beat from the road.” You beam with the smile Mr. Welk says could outshine the sun.

“Not just the road,” the dark-haired one mutters as he rolls his shoulder. The one that connects to his real arm. “I’ll take one, please.”

“Can I get an orange juice, please,” the Captain asks.

“Course ya can. I’ll be right back. You have a look at the specials and give it a think,” you bounce and spin around.

You go to pour the orange juice and a cup of black coffee. Darnell lingers by the window. He only ever really appears to put a plate up but he watches the new arrivals.

You bring their drinks and step back, clasping your hands behind you.

“Did ya need cream or sugar for your coffee, sir?” You ask.

“Black’s fine,” he assures.

“No need for the sirs. Steve, Bucky,” Captain America insists, “we’re off duty.”

“Right, sorry about that, ssss...Steve,” you correct yourself. “You need some more time?”

“Think I’m decided,” Bucky intones, “what about you?”

“Set,” Steve confirms, “I’ll have the sunny side up with toast and sausage. Can I get some fruit on the side as well, please?”

He hands over the menu and you take it as you hold your smile. Your cheeks ache. Not because you have to force it but because you can’t stop. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Tumble Down ever. If Darnell wasn’t there, no one would believe you.

“Overeasy, bacon, extra bacon too, and some french toast, and uh... home fries.” Bucky offers up the second menu, “please and thank you.”

“Alrighty,” you preen, “I’ll put your order in.”

“Got it,” Darnell growls over the empty diner.

“He’s got good hearing,” you giggle nervously as you look between the men. “Ummmm, sorry, I’ll leave ya be.”

“You’re not bothering,” Steve assures. “I can see you’re dying to ask.”

He gives a gentle smile.

“Nah, oh, gosh. I’m sure ya get it all the time. I don’t wanna be one of those,” you put your hands up. “Really, you all look like you could use the peace and quiet.”

“Well, actually, I’ve been stuck with this meathead for days,” Bucky scoffs, “so please, I’d love to hear someone else’s voice.”

You laugh again. They’re funnier than you expect. They always look so serious on the TV.

“What... what are y’all doing here in Tumble Down? It’s a bit far from... anywhere.” You ask sheepishly.

“Tumble Down? Is that what it’s called?” Steve scratches his neck above his stained collar. “Well, we couldn’t get a signal so we’ve just been riding through. Saw the sign down the way and figured we’d get a bite.”

“He’s lying. He was falling asleep on his bike,” Bucky teases.

“Sure,” Steve shakes his head. “Only ‘cause I’m tired of you.”

You giggle again, “I thought y’all were friends.”

“Friends, partners, cursed with each other, have your pick,” Bucky snorts.

“He’s playing,” Steve says. “Look, we’re boring. Despite what you think. We’re a couple of old men bickering with each other. What about you? What about Tumble Down?”

“Ah, nothing really, sir. Steve,” you squeeze the menus tight at the edges. “Nothing going on since the coal law and that. Everyone’s all but run out. All but us.”

“Just you? Your family?” Steve wonders.

“Jesus, Steve, nosy much?” Bucky says over the brim of his mug.

“Sorry. He’s right. Like I said. Crotchety old man. I talk to the pigeons.”

You laugh again, “oh my, you are a hoot!” You slap your thigh emphatically, “I’m still my ma and pa. It’s just the three of us. They need help with the animals and that.”

“Animals?” Steve wonders, his posture shifting towards you.

“Chickens, cows. They got a farm. Was my grandpa’s. And his ma kept it going after he didn’t come home from... well, you’d know more about that time than me, I think.” You give a forlorn look to the floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about your grandfather. Great grandfather,” he corrects himself.

“Lotta good men gone,” Bucky mulls grimly.

“Yeah, my great granny said as much. I wouldn’t know though, but I heard the stories,” you dare to look at them again. “Sorry to bring up the bad memories.”

“Nah,” Bucky waves you off casually. “I got this nifty arm outta it.”

“And I got a shield so, you know, not all losses,” Steve chuckles.

“I s’pose,” you agree. “I’m gonna check on that food for ya. You good with your coffee?”

Bucky raises the mug, “delicious.”

You nod and turn with a swish of your skirt. You go up to the window and look over the ledge. “How’s it going, Darnell?”

“Going. I’m happy it ain’t Raylene here. She’s got a mouth on her, don’t she? Them sort don’t deserve that trouble,” he tisks.

“They’re nice. And Raylene is too. She’s just... Raylene,” you say, “can I help with anything?”

“I don’t wanna be rude but I’m tired of tellin’ ya to stay outta my kitchen. You know the grill likes to spit,” he shakes his head. “You go, I’ll let ya know when it’s ready.”

“Alright,” you back away and turn back.

Steve and Bucky lean over the table, their voices low as they chat. As you move around behind the counter, they both sit up and the former clears his throat. You smile as you take the cloth from your apron pocket and wipe the already clean counter.

As the radio buzzes, you hum without thinking. Stevie Ray Vaughan’s smoky voice mingles with the emotion plucked through electric strings. Your dad’s a big fan. He has old tapes with concerts on them and even went to one himself.

The bell rings and you nearly jump out of your shoes. You turn and scoop up the plates as you thank Darnell. He grumbles that he’s going out to have a smoke; his code for having a Tootsie Pop by the backdoor.

You bring the meals over to the table and set them down before the men. Their gazes make you sweat. It’s all a little more intense with no one else there.

“Thank you,” Steve says and Bucky echoes him.

“Not at all. Anything else? Water? Ketchup?”

“It all looks great as is,” Steve says, “you got a nice voice.”

“Oh, really? Ha, I was just humming out of tune. Sorry if I was too loud.”

“Not at all,” Bucky picks up his fork as he leans forward. He tilts his head. “You know this one?”

“Sure do. It’s Fleetwood Mac,” you answer. “One my all times.”

He grins and nods as he looks at Steve. Steve watches you with a smile of his own.

“Do you sing?” He asks.

“Me? Only in my shower or to the chickens. They usually hide in the henhouse then.” You tinkle with laughter.

“Ah,” Steve nods.

“But if... if ya really wanna suffer, I could try it,” you smile, “but uh, you know, Stevie Nicks, she’s one of a kind.”

“I’ve had worse,” Steve says.

You look between him and Bucky. You chew your lip and think. You follow the song as you try to recognise which verse it is. You squint and perk up as you catch your place.

“You just let me know when you’ve had enough,” you say before you start. Not only can you tell your pa that you met the super soldiers, you can tell him you sang for them. It’ll be a nice bit of excitement for the dinner table.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #mcu #captain america #down home #winter soldier #avengers

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dilf-issues · 9 months ago

Text

Big Bad Wolf & Little Lamb: Lesson 1. (C.M)

Synopsis: You met Maeve, your best friend, in College and over the years you have become two peas in a pod. Maeve decided to invite you back to her hometown in Ireland for the summer break and that’s where you met her dad, Cillian.

Warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD. Age Gap, (all legal of age), Corruption kink, Innocent! reader, Cillian’s massive tease, Sex, Oral Sex, Fingering, Cillian teaches the reader EVERYTHING. Virgin! Reader, inexperienced! Reader

Chapter warnings: sexual corruption, innocent reader, age gap, dom/sub, masturbation, voyeurism, sudden panty sniffing?

Disclaimer: THIS IS FICTION AND IT IS NOT REAL LIFE.

A/N: Cillian looks like Lenny Miller in this fic!

After months of planning, Maeve finally convinced me to come visit her countryside hometown during the summer break. As I stepped off the plane, the fresh Irish air filled my lungs, and the friendly smiles of the folks at the airport greeted me. Maeve was waiting for me outside, and she looked more radiant than ever in the warm Irish sunshine.

"You made it!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around me in a tight, familiar hug. I laughed, returning the embrace, and then we picked up my bags and made our way towards her car. As we drove out of the airport, the familiar countryside views and winding roads brought a sense of tranquility and anticipation for the adventure ahead.

Maeve chatted excitedly about all the things she wanted to show me – the breathtaking coastlines, charming villages, local festivals and hidden gems. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation for the adventures ahead.

As we drove, Maeve filled me in on her family situation. "You'll love my dad," she enthused. "His name's Cillian – he's a bit of a character, but he's a total softie at heart. My parents are divorced, so it's just the two of us."

“Is he a scary person?” I asked quietly. I don’t deal with strangers too well, and I am not exactly a friendly person. Not because I don’t want to, it is because I am socially anxious. When me and Maeve first met, she was the one who came up to me to pair for a group assignment. “I don’t want to bother him, that’s all”

Maeve chuckled, noticing the slight hint of trepidation on my face. "Don't worry," she said. "My dad's a sweetheart, I promise. He might seem intimidating at first – he's a big, well not really in height but in size, burly Irishman – but he's the gentlest person you'll ever meet."

“I hope he likes me, so we can stay friends” Maeve suddenly pinched my cheeks as I flushed at the gesture.

“Why are you such a cutie, Y/N!”

“I’m not!”

"Oh, he'll love you," Maeve reassured me, patting my knee. "He's always excited to meet my friends. Just be yourself, and you'll win him over in no time."

As we approached Maeve's home, I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. Meeting a friend's parent was always a nerve-wracking experience, and the fact that it was Maeve's dad – a man she clearly loved and respected – made it all the more intimidating.

“Why do I feel like I’m meeting your dad to have his permission to marry you” Maeve burst out laughing as she nodded in agreement. There was really nothing to be afraid off, but since I was a generally anxious, I couldn’t help it.

Maeve must have sensed my nerves because she squeezed my hand reassuringly. "You got this," she murmured, as we walked up the cobblestone pathway towards the front door.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped into the cozy, welcoming home of Maeve's childhood. The sound of a friendly dog barking greeted us from the other room, and a moment later, an imposing figure strode into the hallway.

As Cillian stepped into the hallway to greet us, I couldn't help but internally gasp at his sheer presence. He was beautiful, with broad shoulders and a rugged, masculine air about him. His eyes were a light, piercing blue, and his dark hair was speckled with flecks of silver.

"Hello there, you must be Y/N," He said, his voice deep and gravelly. He smiled warmly, and I noticed the lines at the corners of his eyes, hinting at years of laughter and experience. “Maeve told me a lot about you, I’m pleased to have you here, love. Make yourself at home”

I felt shivers ran down my spine the minute I heard him talk, his voice was deep and smooth just like how you would feel drinking an expensive espresso if that’s how I could describe it. It’s a stupid comparison to say the least, but it is true.

I couldn’t even meet his eyes to greet him back, but I didn’t want to seem rude so I quickly glanced at him and for some reason bowed slightly, as I quietly replied, “Nice to meet you, Sir”

Cillian chuckled at my timid response, the sound rumbling deep in his chest like distant thunder. "No need to be nervous, lassie," he said, his accent thick and lilting. "I don't bite."

Maeve laughed as she gently nudged me, I stayed quiet still, “Sorry dad, she’s generally like this”

“It’s alright” I heard him respond. I didn’t know how to describe it but someone I can feel his gaze burning holes into me, as if he was studying me from the top of my head until the bottoms of my feet, “Well, why don’t both of you settle in. Maeve, get the darling settled into the guest bedroom, will you”

Maeve excitedly pulls me upstairs, as I followed her. However, I felt like I needed to take a last glance at Cillian and when I looked back,

He was already looking right at me.

My heart pounded in my chest as I quickly averted my gaze from him, running along with Maeve. Cillian on the other hand, I couldn’t read his expression. He wasn’t smiling, nor did he looked angry. He just stared at me with this look on his face that I couldn’t exactly describe.

“How old is your dad?” I asked, curious of his age since his appearance looks quite youthful for his age.

“He is 47, why?” Maeve replied absentmindedly, helping me unpacked all of my clothes and putting them in the closet.

“Nothing, I’m just curious” I muttered, as I joined her.

Maeve suddenly stopped what she was doing, “You don’t have a crush on my dad now, do you?” She pointed out, accusingly.

My eyes widened as I violently shook my head, “No! What are you talking about?!”

“Okay good, I trust you” I raised my brows at her, “It’s just that most of my friends fancies him, that’s all. The most disgusting thing is they keep trying to make advances towards my dad. I don’t know what they see in him, ugh” Maeve cringed as her whole body shook as if she was shuddering.

“N-No, you know I would never do that to you” In someways, saying that seemed wrong.

“I know. Out of all my friends you are the only ‘good’ ones and I’m pretty sure you won’t try to fuck my dad”

“That’s crazy, Maeve. Did any of your friends tried to do that?”

“Trust me, most of them do. But whenever they do, my dad just tells me to never invite them over again” I nodded, not replying anything to her story.

Of course, I wouldn’t do that to Maeve. Hell, I wouldn’t even touch any men with a ten-foot pole. Not that I’ve had anyone taking their interest in me, I was mostly too focused on my studies to even notice. All my life, it had always been about studying and succeeding and it wasn’t even because of peer pressure from my family, it’s just because I really enjoyed it.

So even if somebody liked me, I wouldn’t want to do anything with it.

After a few hours of catching up, the house grew quiet as night fell outside. I laid in bed for a while, but eventually, my thirst got the better of me. Quietly, I got up and crept downstairs, not wanting to wake anyone.

The house was silent as I padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, flicking on the light.

As I poured myself a glass of water, I heard a faint shuffling sound from another room. Curiosity getting the better of me, I turned to see a dim light coming from the living room. Peering through the door, I saw Cillian sitting in an armchair, nursing a glass of whiskey.

He looked up, seeing me standing in the doorway. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Having trouble sleeping?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble in the quiet room.

I blushed, feeling a little embarrassed at being caught. "Just got thirsty," I said, holding up my water glass sheepishly.

I was just about to turn and go back upstairs, but Cillian's voice halted me. "Come sit for a spell," he said, gesturing to the armchair opposite his. "It's lonely drinking alone."

I wanted to reject his offer but it would have seemed rude and I didn’t want to make that impression of being Maeve’s best friend.

I hesitated for a moment, feeling a mix of shyness and curiosity. Finally, I padded into the room, settling into the armchair across from Cillian. The light from the side lamp cast a warm glow on his features, making them look even more rugged and handsome.

Cillian took a slow sip of his whiskey, studying me from across the room. "So, Y/N, tell me about yourself," he said, leaning back in his chair. His gaze was intense, but not unkind.

“Um... There’s not really much to talk about... I’m not an interesting person” For some reason, speaking to him made my voice slower, as if I was scared of him. But I wasn’t, I was merely nervous about his presence.

“I think you are... Maeve told me you’re a great student” Cillian imposed, “She told me about how good you are in school”

My eyes widened slightly, “So basically Maeve told you I’m a nerd?” I groaned quietly, there was a small part of me that wanted him to think I was cool which was pathetic.

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head, “I’m not sure being a nerd is a bad thing, love. I think it’s great” He smirked.

There it is again, the pet names. The pet names made me feel butterflies in my tummy like a stupid school girl who has a crush on their teacher.

“It just means you are dedicated to your studies and I admire that, I’m glad Maeve became friends with someone like you” I muttered a silent ‘thanks’ at his statement but I didn't really know what to say afterward. There was a deafening silence between the two of us, I just sat in front of him quietly as I kept drinking my water. I was looking at the fireplace as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. However, the hairs on the back of my neck kept standing up because I knew Cillian was staring at me intently, his gaze never breaking from my figure.

There he goes again, looking at me as if he was studying me.

“Are you scared of me, darling?” Cillian broke the silence, making you jump slightly when you heard his voice. “You won’t even look me in the eyes”

I blushed heavily, caught off guard by his direct question. I had been trying to avoid looking directly at him, feeling intimidated by his intense gaze. I stammered a bit before finally meeting his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice sounding small in the quiet room. "I don't mean to be rude, it's just... you're kind of intimidating."

“Am I, now?” I nodded in response, still not looking at him. “Look at me while you are talking to me before I make you”

I felt a shiver run down my spine at the change in his tone. I looked up to meet his gaze, my heart beat quickening. His eyes seemed to pierce through me, their deep blue hue holding me captive.

“There you go, darlin’,” Cillian said, his voice softer now. “It’s not so hard, is it?” He took another sip of his whiskey, studying me over the rim of his glass.

“No,” I muttered, unable to look away from his piercing gaze. “It’s just...you’re so intense." My voice was barely above a whisper.

Cillian hummed, “You know, the previous girls Maeve brought home they weren’t so scared of me”

I blinked, surprised by his comment. "They weren't?" I asked, feeling a pang of self-consciousness. "Is it a bad thing that I am slightly intimidated by you?”

“No...” For some reason, Cillian had stood up from his armchair, walking towards me with the whiskey glass still in his hands. Cillian walked over to the empty side of the sofa I was sitting in and took a seat. With every step he took, I could feel my heart beating faster and faster.

I couldn't help but feel a flutter of nervousness as he approached me, his large form seeming even more imposing in the intimate space of the living room. He settled in beside me on the sofa, his thigh mere inches from mine.

I could feel his warmth radiating from his body, and the scent of his cologne filled my senses. I tried to remain calm, taking slow, deep breaths to steady my racing heart.

“Every time she brought them over, I felt like throwing them out. It seems like their parents don’t teach them...” He paused before taking a sip of his whiskey, “...Manners”

I felt a lump form in my throat, feeling a mix of shame and fear. I knew I hadn't been very good at hiding my timid behavior, and now it seemed like I was being called out for it.

"I...I'm sorry," I mumbled, still unable to tear my gaze away from his intense eyes. "I'll try to be better."

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He muttered, my face burned even hotter at his words. I was used to being called ‘good’ by my parents or my teachers, but coming from Cillian’s mouth, it sounded different, deeper, and more intimate.

I fidgeted slightly under his gaze, feeling both flustered and strangely drawn to him.

"Thanks..." I murmured, not quite sure how to respond. I took a sip of my forgotten water, trying to hide my shaky hands. The silence stretched out between us, and I could feel Cillian’s gaze still on me, studying me intently.

"You're different from the other girls Maeve brought home," he said suddenly, his voice seeming to echo through the quiet room. "I can see it in your eyes, you've got a hint of...timidity."

I felt embarrassed at his accurate observation, but there was something else in his tone that made me shiver. Was it mockery, or was there a hint of something different? I couldn't quite tell.

I nodded slowly, not trusting myself to speak. I could feel his gaze on me, like a physical weight against my skin. I fidgeted with the hem of my t-shirt, feeling strangely out of sorts.

"There's nothing wrong with a little bit of timidity," he said, his voice a low rumble. “But a girl like you...you'll need someone to bring you out of your shell, teach you how to be brave.”

“What do you mean by that Sir?” I suddenly got curious. Cillian took a deep breath, realizing how innocent I was.

‘How can you not know what he was trying to do?’ He thought to himself.

“Call me Cillian for now my love, save the honorifics somewhere else, yeah?” Cillian was hinting at me but of course, I didn’t know the context of his words. “I’m sure you can call me, Sir... Sometime in the future”

“What do you mean?” I repeated the same question again, it seemed like Cillian was speaking words with double meanings that I could just not understand.

“If you keep calling me that, I might do something that I’ve been dying to do since you walked into my house, pet”

I felt my cheeks flush at his words. I had never called anyone 'Sir' before, but something in the way Cillian said it made me shiver. I felt torn between my natural nervous nature and a strange, unexpected curiosity at the thought of submitting to him.

“O-Okay, I’m sorry Cillian...”

“How are you such a good girl, hmm? You listen to everything I say”

I felt a flutter of flattery at his words, and a small part of me liked the way ‘good girl’ sounded coming from his mouth.

"I try to be... respectful," I mumbled, feeling a bit self-conscious. "It's how my parents raised me, I guess."

Cillian chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "Your parents raised you well," he said, his eyes never leaving me. "They taught you how to listen, how to behave. But have they ever taught you how to be disobedient?"

“N-No... I never had to”

Cillian hummed in acknowledgement, the corners of his lips twitching into a small smirk. "That's what I thought," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "You've always done what you're told, haven't you, darlin'? Never questioned it, not even for a second?"

I nodded, feeling a bit bashful under his intense gaze. "I...I guess so..." I mumbled, fidgeting with my fingers. "I don't like making waves. It's just...easier to follow the rules, you know?"

Cillian chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down my spine once again. "You're a rule-follower," he said, his tone almost amused. "You always do what you're told, never rock the boat, yeah? But deep down, darlin', don't you ever wonder what it would be like to be a little... mischievous?"

As he said that, I noticed he sat closer and closer to me. His arms rested on the back of the sofa and I felt myself getting smaller. I gripped the glass in my hands tightly as I decided to set it on the coffee table before I actually break it.

I felt myself becoming increasingly aware of my own small, trembling form. It was like I was being swallowed up by Cillian's presence, his large frame dominating the space between us. I fidgeted with the hem of my t-shirt, trying to keep my hands from shaking too visibly.

“I-I don’t know... I’ve never had the thought of it I guess...” I responded as he smirked.

“Tell me now, do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, I’ve never had one” I felt my heart skip a beat at his question. It was such a personal, direct question, and coming from Cillian's mouth, it felt oddly intimate. I blushed heavily and shook my head, feeling a mix of shyness and... something else I couldn't quite identify.

"No boyfriend, huh?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "A pretty thing like you, I'm surprised." He shifted slightly, his body moving even closer to mine on the sofa, “That’s good”

Cillian’s hand suddenly went up to my neck as he brushed over the loose strand of hair that fell on my shoulder, his fingers lingered on my skin as it tingled and sent shivers down my spine.

“C-Cillian?” I gasped as his hand brushed against my neck, my skin tingling at his touch. His fingers lingered on my bare skin, igniting a strange sensation that sent shivers down my spine. I suddenly felt very conscious of our proximity, his body so close to mine on the sofa.

��Have you ever touched your pussy, sweetheart?” At that moment, my heart dropped at the sudden vulgarity that he had. It was such a crude word, crass, anything to describe how bad it sounded coming out of his mouth. I was speechless and I couldn’t even focus on what to say since Cillian's hand still lingered on my neck as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper. “You like that, darlin’?” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. “Feel that... shiver running down your spine? Your skin’s already got goosebumps, yeah? I can see them. All over your neck, your arms…even your chest”

It was a feeling I had never felt before in my life. Something coiling deep in my gut as I felt myself clenching my thighs due to my... Private parts... Pulsating, at his words, his voice, everything about him.

Cillian looked down as he scoffed, noticing how my thighs kept clenching, his hands lowered down to my thighs as he tried keeping them apart. I did nothing to stop him.

Deep down, I knew how wrong it was for my best friend’s father to be touching me like this. But I couldn’t help it, I felt scared and maybe... Maybe I liked it. But I was scared of what he was going to do if I imposed, we were already in too deep and I felt like there’s nothing I can do.

However, there is. I could’ve stopped it... I just didn’t want to.

“Answer my question and be a good girl. Have you ever touched your pretty little pussy, darling?” I whimpered silently as his fingers began to roam closer to my inner thighs. I clamped his hand after feeling an unfamiliar gush of wetness flowing out of my core, “Keep your fucking legs open, alright?”

Cillian growled and I immediately spread my legs wider than before, “That’s a good girl” His voice turned soft once again. “Now, what did I ask you?”

“I’ve never touched myself... Down there, before...” I closed my eyes, breathing heavily as I felt like the feeling in my core was starting to become more and more painful.

Cillian hummed deeply, his fingers growing dangerously closer and closer to my pussy, and the next thing I knew, his hands completely touched my pussy over my shorts. Instinctively, I grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“What if Maeve finds out?”

“She sleeps like a log, the world could be ending and she won’t even wake up” Cillian muttered, pulling my hand off of his wrist, “I won’t tell if you won’t... I know how much of a good girl you are and you promise me you would keep those pretty little mouths shut?”

I simply nodded. I don’t know what possessed me to be so obedient to whatever was happening. Normally, I would have run away catching the next flight home, and never returned. However, Cillian was making me desperate, desperate to know what was going to happen next.

“I’m going to take off these cute shorts, alright?” I nodded once again, listening to everything he said as if I was under a spell. He took off my shorts as he pushed my legs apart. He was greeted with a sight, so wet, my underwear was soaked and I didn’t even realize it, “Pretty little thing...”

His index finger softly tapped the pulsating tiny bump, as I jolted in his grasp. I whimpered, raising my hips, asking for more.

“Such a fucking desperate slut” He groaned as he continued to rub circles on my clit, at this point I was writhing underneath him, my underwear getting wetter and wetter by the second. I would usually be offended if someone had called me such a degrading name but coming from him, it only made me want more, “Lean on me”

Cillian had instructed me to lean on his chest, my back close to him as he had his arms around me.

“I’m gonna teach you something, baby” I blushed at the new pet name he came up with, “I’m gonna teach you to touch yourself and I want to see you do it”

“O-Okay...” Cillian took my right hand and placed it on my sopping cunt, he pointed out my index finger as he slowly starts to rub circles on my clit. I whimpered almost too loudly as my left hand immediately covered my mouth. “C-Cillian! It feels nice!”

“I know, pet... Just keep doing it yeah, you’re gonna feel better once you cum” He encouraged, his eyes never leaving my writhing figure above him. I could feel something hard poking at the low of my back, it was hot and throbbing. “Fuck, so fucking pretty. The prettiest I have ever seen”

I was too focused on touching myself, drowning myself in the sensation to notice Cillian had my underwear in his left hand, burying his nose in the center as he took in the sweet and musky scent, his tongue darting out to taste the juice that previously leaked out to the material.

“Put a finger in and ram it inside, the faster you do it the better it feels” Cillian demanded, as if he was getting impatient, he took my finger once again directed it to my entrance, and shoved it in.

I was no longer whimpering, I was now moaning so loud I didn’t even care anymore. Cillian didn’t give me time to adjust, he just completely rammed it in and out at a fast pace that I couldn’t even catch up, he was doing it all on his own but with my own fingers.

“C-Cillian! I feel funny, please! Please, stop! I feel like I’m going to pee!” Cillian scoffed at the statement, he knew I was close to cumming but I didn’t know that. Instead, he taunted me, going even faster if it was even possible. He then placed his left hand on my lower tummy and pressed down hard. “No! No! No! Stop!”

“Cum. Fucking cum right now!” As if on queue, I cummed all over his hands, liquid gushing out of my hole rapidly as I cried out, the feeling of my first orgasm overwhelming me. Something I have never felt before. My whole body shook and twitched violently above him as I cried out, feeling tears of pleasure well up in my eyes. “That’s a good fucking girl, such a good girl for me...”

On my lower behind I felt a wet spot, indicating Cillian had also come undone in his pants. Cillian was as shocked as you because no woman could make him cum without touching him.

“You’re going to be the death of me” Cillian cursed as his fingers dipped into your entrance and I jolted in shock and overstimulation. His fingers went up to his mouth as he sucked all of the juices seeping out of my throbbing cunt, “Fucking delicious”

“C-Cillian... I can’t walk...” He laughed deeply, as he swiftly carried me and stood up from the couch.

“I’ll get my princess nice and clean, yeah?”

As he walked up towards my guest bedroom, carrying me without a problem, I could feel my thighs shaking as an aftermath.

“Cillian, are you gonna do those things to me again?” I stared at him with watery eyes, all fucked out from before, hopefully asking him.

“I’m gonna do more than that, sweetheart” Cillian paused as he opened the bedroom door, he placed me on top of the bed as hovered over my body, “I’m gonna fucking ruin you”

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fawnwilde · 17 days ago

Text

Taboo II Relief .𖥔 ݁ ˖

john marston x reader

◃◃ [chapters] ▹▹

rating: explicit (18+)

You've become acquainted with every member of the Van Der Linde gang, especially Dutch Van Der Linde...

But there is one member of the gang you're not aware of. A handsome, yet scarred man who catches your attention very quickly.

content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, strangers to lovers, self esteem issues, slightly unwanted advances at one point, drunkenness, mention of scars, piv smut, oral m receiving, john marston needy n whiny agenda ;)

word count: 6.8k

It’s a peaceful day at Clemons Point.

You’re sitting on the grass, sharpening your knife while you enjoy the morning sun, the voices of the Van Der Linde gang members humming around you.

It's been five days since the events at the O'driscoll camp, since you were shot trying to help complete strangers. Four days of being integrated into the Van Der Linde gang.

Three of getting to know Dutch Van Der Linde, himself.

He’s been surprisingly kind to you, and increasingly affectionate the longer the two of you spend wrapped up together. Your nights in his bed have been nothing short of euphoric, your mornings waking up in his arms are intoxicating.

While you knew you should find the whole situation odd, you greatly enjoy being cared for by another person. And with his affections towards you, the rest of the gang seems happy to keep you around.

You never thought you would find friends out here, especially not amongst a gang of outlaws. But you’re not complaining. It’s nice to feel like you belong somewhere, for once.

A warm hand touches your shoulder, startling you from your thoughts.

Dutch smiles down at you, the crows feet around his eyes creasing handsomely, “Good morning, sweet girl.”

You smile up at him, taking Dutch’s extended hand and letting him pull you up. He links your arm with his, leading you through the tents in a gentlemanly manner.

One thing you had discovered about Dutch Van Der Linde is that he is proud. He saw himself as the king of his own little kingdom, head held high as he walked through the camp full of outlaws he leads.

He is a peacock, with his styled hair and luxurious clothes, oozing confidence and superiority.

You know that he is showing you off now, the wild girl he saved and tamed.

And you know that, from the vicious words snarled by Micah Bell, you’re probably just Dutch’s new obsession. His new, pretty little thing to make him feel good about himself. “He’ll tire of you, eventually”, Bell had said. But you don't mind. Once Dutch tires of you, you'll disappear into the woods again.

Nothing is holding you to this place.

Though, you are finding yourself growing attached to the people here.

Other members of camp greet you both as you walk, most of which you knew the names of, and some of which had even begun to consider friends. Mary-Beth waves at you from across camp, Lenny greets you warmly, Javier offers you a courteous smile.

Oh, to have people seem happy to see you.

Dutch leads you to sit at a table with Hosea and Arthur. They are sat in companionable silence, with Hosea reading a newspaper and Arthur cleaning his gun.

“Good morning, my dear.” Hosea greets, looking over at you from behind his paper.

“Ma’am.” Arthur nods, sliding over a tin of coffee in your direction.

“Morning.” You smile, accepting the steaming cup. You sip at your coffee, feeling Dutch run his hand over your shoulder as he speaks quietly to his closest friends.

The topic of their conversation flies over your head, something about a train they plan on robbing. You enjoy the feeling of Dutch rubbing the nape of your neck with his thumb.

It’s nice to feel wanted, just as you are.

Heads turn as a horse gallops into camp, and the cheerful atmosphere changes when people notice the rider. You take no notice until Arthur's eyes narrow, a stormy expression crossing over his face.

“Ah, hell.” He mumbles, rising and storming towards the hitching posts.

You turn to look at the rider. He’s a disheveled man, clothes dirty and crumpled, his hat over his face. He sways on top of his horse, grumbling to himself as his foot gets tangled in the stirrups and he slides sideways.

Arthur is there to catch the man as he falls. The man grips onto him and gives him a dazed smile, which Arthur does not return.

“He’s back.” Hosea muses, and Dutch hums with a frown, “And he’s drunk.”

“It’s been a week.” Dutch sighs, fingers tensing on your shoulders as he stares at the man, deep in thought, “Thought that maybe he wouldn't come back, this time.”

You stay quiet as you look between them, taking notice of their expressions.

Dutch’s face remains pensive, but there's a calculating anger that simmers in his eyes. Hosea looks sorrowful and worried, his eyes soft as he regards the man, as he is pulled away from his horse and into camp.

Whoever the man is, he’s cared for by these men. You wonder who he is as his staggering figure disappears amongst the tents.

Something tells you there is more to him than just a drunken member of the gang.

Afternoon breaks, and the new man has been deposited against a tree, his head hanging as he weaves in and out of consciousness.

You watch as Arthur berates him, his voice echoing around camp as he tries to argue some sense into his friend, if that’s what they are. You cannot tell, not from afar.

Standing at Pearson’s wagon, you help him skin some rabbits Charles had brought in that morning. But your gaze wavers as you watch Arthur storm off, cursing the drunken man out underneath his breath.

Said man laughs, a deep sound that shakes his whole body, and he pulls out a flask. Hosea stands a few feet away from him, his hands on hips hips, looking all the disappointed father figure he was in that moment.

“Goddammit. John, Get a grip of yourself.” The older man signs, shaking his head at the pitiful sight.

The man in question waved his hand dismissively, slumping further against the tree.

With a huff, Hosea leaves as well, sitting at a nearby table and pointedly ignoring the other man.

John, as you have learned, sits alone, head bobbing slightly, his hand shaking as he takes a swig from his flask.

You give Pearson your skinned rabbit with a smile, before wiping your hands as you approach Mr Marston, as you had heard Miss Grimshaw refer to him earlier.

He’s a tall, slender man, his long legs stretched out in a heap below him. Even through being covered in dirt and drunken sweat, he has a handsome face hidden below his greasy hair.

You wonder how good looking he would be if he bathed, and wasn't stinking drunk.

He looks up as you approach, squinting slightly to figure out who you are. He’s got dark eyes, ones which you’re sure are beautiful when they are not glazed over in an alcohol induced haze.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, tilting your head to the side.

John stares at you, blinking in confusion. The two of you have yet to be introduced, with him being too drunk to hold a conversation and the others in camp creating excuses to keep you away from him. But he smiles up at you, all the same.

“I’m always okay, darlin’” John slurs, waving his flask about in a casual manner that causes whiskey to spill out of it. The amber liquid stains his shirt, but he pays no mind to it.

“You’re drunk.” You say softly.

“Nothing gets past you.” He chuckles, patting the ground beside him, “Come, sit with me.”

You hesitate, wondering if that would be a good decision.

You’ve met plenty of drunk men before, even out in the uncivilised world men will still find a way to get drunk and be a nuisance. This John fella is cute, but the last thing you need right now is to eget grope and be forced to knock some sense into him.

Though, from the way everyone acts around him, you think that you would be thanked for doing so.

Looking around, you spot Bill and Javier sitting by the campfire a few feet away. Hosea sits at a table close by, and Lenny and Sean are laughing together on the outskirts of camp.

Surely, with all these men around, you’ll be fine. And so will John.

Crossing your legs underneath you, you sit down beside him. Not close enough to touch him, but reasonably nearby for him to talk to you.

“I ain’t met you before.” He muses, looking you over, shifting to get an inch closer to you, “And I think I would remember such a pretty face.”

“Hands where I can see them, Marston.” Hosea warns from his table nearby, not even bothering to look up from his book.

“I’m just making an observation, old man. What’s wrong with admiring the view?” John asks with a half-smile, looking you over.

His eyes wander over you, paying attention to the skin exposed by your shorter sleeves. He looks down at your chest, and you cross your arms over you to discourage him.

John blinks and has the decency to look slightly ashamed, looking away and clearing his throat. He lifts his flask to take another drink.

“I think you’ve had enough.” You advise, keeping your voice light as to not overstep, but you worry as he misses his mouth and spills liquor down his chin.

“Aw, you worried about me, darlin’?”

“I’m worried about poor Tilly and Mary-Beth, dark rum like that will be a bastard to get out your white shirt.”

John chuckles, dropping his head back against the tree. He rolls his head to the side, giving you an appraising look.

“Pretty and funny. Ooh, where’d they find you?”

You smile at the compliment, your eyebrows raising as John lifts his other hand to tuck a strand of hair away from your face.

You can see Hosea look up out of the corner of his eye, his mouth opening to admonish John before someone else beats him to the punch.

“John I swear I’m gonna throw you in the nearest river if you don’t get a grip.” Arthur grumbles coming to a stop beside the two of you, “Leave her alone, you fool.”

“It’s okay, Arthur. He doesn't mean me no harm.” You smile, trying to reassure the camp's enforcer.

He looks about ready to grab John by the scruff of his neck like a misbehaving kitten, but sighs and gives you a look.

You nod, understanding he wants you to come with him so he doesn’t have to drag John away from you.

You hope it won’t come to that.

“You never introduced yourself, sweet thing.” John murmurs, catching your attention. His face is close enough for you to feel his warm breath against your cheek, and Arthur takes a step forward.

“Ain't got one. Call me what you want.” You say in an equally soft voice, flashing him a quick smile before you stand, putting space between the both of you.

Arthur whisks you away, sending a warning glare to John as the both of you pass him. He whispers at you to keep your distance from John when he’s like this, but you wave him off.

But John pays no mind to Arthur, his eyes trained on your retreating figure, a dopey smile on his lips.

Hours have passed since your first introduction to John Marston, and the man has escaped the camp and your attention for a while.

As the sun disappears below the horizon, you find yourself sitting at a table with Hosea and Herr Strauss, the two men being grand company at present as they were both comfortable with silence, their noses buried in worn pages.

You sit knee to knee with Hosea, winding rope around your hand. You aimed to fix your makeshift reins for Bo, but Dutch was keen on getting you proper riding gear. So you’re left with a foot of old, useless twine, twisting it and pulling into a braid. There would be some use for it, perhaps for hunting.

It's nice to just wind your fingers around the damaged rope. Hosea would occasionally offer helpful comments or a humourful comment, but apart from that, you are left to your wandering mind.

You definitely weren’t thinking about Dutch Van Der Linde.

And you most assuredly weren't thinking about John Marston.

You were definitely only having very pure thoughts.

Definitely.

Movement causes your eyes to refocus, twisting your head to make out a shape coming out from the treeline.

Your brows furrow as you spot John stumbling back into camp, approaching through the trees like the undead. You watch him as he struggles to walk across camp without losing his footing, his face flushed and eyes half closed in a drunken haze.

Beside you, Hosea sighs as he sees him too, closing his book with a haggard expression, “That boy…”

“What's wrong with him?” You ask, hoping to learn more about the poor sod.

“He’s had a rough time of it lately.” Hosea explains, keeping his voice quiet, “He fell for a woman who lived in our camp, but she left when she had the chance at a better life. She's got a family now, a nice ranch and a husband, and a little one on the way.”

“Sounds nice.” Smiling gently, you notice the fondness in Hosea’s eyes when he thinks about the departed woman thriving.

“It is. It's what Abigail deserves.” Hosea muses, somberly, “But John’s hurt. He cared for her, and she chose a life without him in it. To top it off, he’s gotten some really bad scars recently, as you probably noticed. He went to see Abigail to get her back and found her happier than ever, poor fool.”

“He’s not coping well with that, I imagine.”

“No.” Hosea sighs, “No he’s not.”

John stumbles past Dutch's tent, and the man in question tries to talk to him, only to be ignored.

With a sigh of your own, you rise from your seat, rope abandoned. You go to Dutch's side, the both of you watching John as he trips over a log and tries to regain his footing.

People frown at the sight of him, either with sympathy or poorly concealed annoyance.

Even Reverend Swanson watches him with pity. Which, coming from an alcoholic, disgraced man of the cloth, shows just how bad John has gotten.

Dutch absentmindedly runs a hand over your hair, calculating eyes moving to your face as he offers you a smile, “Will you do me a favour, angel?”

“Of course.” You find yourself saying.

“Can you get John to his tent and get him to try to rest?"

“Me? Why me?”

“You’re one tough girl, he won't get past you. Not with your skills.” Dutch smiles, but it falters, “And he's been this way for so long everyone else has lost faith in him turning his life around. There's only so much people can do to help someone who doesn't want it.”

You turn your eyes back to John, who leers at Karen and Tilly when they try to stop him from falling over. Miss Grimshaw yells at him, but he waves her off dismissively.

All three women look down cast as he wanders off, aimlessly. Like an untethered boat in a storm.

“I've seen you with the worst of us, you’re decent to everyone without judgement.” Dutch continues, “Bill, Swanson. Hell, you’re kind to Kieran and he’s an O’driscoll.”

“He’s not an O'driscoll.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Dutch chuckles, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “John needs someone to set him right. You’re new and that might be what he needs.”

You nod, and Dutch brings you close to press a kiss to your temple, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

He nudges you forward, and you head in the drunk man's direction with a shrug. You can try, at least.

“Put a boulder on his chest if you have to!” Hosea calls out.

John is searching Pearson’s wagon when you come to his side.

His fingers are less than nimble as they search through empty bottles, clearly looking for another drink. You roll your eyes, placing your hands on your hips.

“I think you’ve had enough, Mr Marston.”

“Pfft, how would you know?” John rasps, not sparing you a glance, “And what's with this Mr Marston crap? Call me John, for the love of god, before I start feeling old.”

“Aright, John.” You sigh, taking his shaking hands in yours to pull him from the wagon, “You need to sleep it off, can you come with me?"

“Where we goin’?” He slurs, blinking down at you.

“Your tent, you need to sleep.”

“You’re taking me to my tent?” John smirks, looking you up and down, “Well, ain't that a nice proposition?”

“I ain't propositioning ya.” You roll your eyes, keeping his hands in yours as you pull him along to the tents. It’s dark, and John manages to trip on every rock and twig in his way, making the journey to his sleeping quarters thrice as hard as it usually would be.

By the time the both of you reach the tent, John has his arm wrapped around your shoulders, using you as a crutch. For a guy with a slender build, and a waist you’re envious of, he’s not light.

You huff and puff as you push him past the threshold of his meager little home, depositing him onto his bedroll like a sack of potatoes.

Nodding to yourself, you turn to leave, when you feel a hand grasp onto your wrist. John smiles wolfishly up at you, biting his lip as he looks over your body.

“It’s real lonely in here, why don’t you stay a while?” He rasps, hand trailing up your arm.

“A kind offer, but I must refuse.” You roll your eyes slightly, but John just chuckles.

“Come on, pretty girl. Show a sad fella some compassion, ‘been a while since I had a beautiful woman payin’ me so much attention.”

You shake your head, pursing your lips as his hands wander and try to grab your hips. It’s a shame he’s drunk and ridiculously emotionally unavailable. If he were sober you wouldn't be so against spending time alone with him.

But you’re reminded of his inebriation as he tries to lift up your skirt, his eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.

“Enough, John.” You warn.

“Please, baby…” He murmurs, unrelenting, hands grabbing. His puppy dog eyes are worryingly convincing, but you have to put an end to this.

A log lies at your feet, and you inwardly sigh, knowing what you have to do. Picking the hefty piece of wood up, you pat John’s head with your other hand.

“I’ll apologise for this in the morning.” You say softly.

“Wha-”

You smack the log on the side of his head, hitting him right in the temple. He slumps down, knocked cold. With him limp, you manoeuvre I'm into a more comfortable position on his bedroll, covering him with a blanket so he’s not cold.

Tossing the log back out the tent, you frown back down at the unconscious man. A less than ideal way of getting him down, but clearly nothing else was gonna work. Especially with how eager he was to get you into bed with him.

With another sigh, you lean forward and kiss his temple, right over where the log had smacked him, “G’night, Mr Marston.”

The next morning, you hope John will forgive you, as you wake up to the sound of birds.

It’s early, you gather by the lack of sound surrounding you, but the sun has begun to rise.

In all your years living out in the wilderness, you learnt to wake up with the day. If a bear hadn't made a meal of your guts in your sleep, then whatever higher power gave you another day to live. No time to waste, not when you’re desperate.

Though, you're not really desperate now, are you?

Dutch snores beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist from where your back is pressed to his side. Even in his sleep, he likes to keep you close to him.

His own wild thing.

You extract yourself gently, stretching your arms above you to wake your joints.

A groan from outside Dutch’s tent catches your attention, and you rise out of the cot silently so as to not wake up the fearless leader.

Peeking out through the canvas walls, you spot John sitting on a chair beside the unlit campfire, his hands in his head.

He’s worse for wear, that’s for sure, but he seems to not be drunk anymore. The sleep did him some good, but you want to apologise to him before he goes around telling everyone about how you had to get him to rest.

You may be a wild woman but you’re not needlessly violent… most of the time.

John looks up as you approach, his eyelids low as the morning sun burns his reddened eyes. Upon recognising your face, he huffs, glaring.

“You hit me.” He rasps, sulking like a child.

“I did.” You smile, shrugging, “Told you I’d apologise for it in the morning. So, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” John sighs, rubbing the slight bump on his temple, “Was quite a swing. But, I guess I deserved it.”

“I don't know about all that.” You laugh, walking past him to Pearson's tent to start the coffee, “You just weren't going to sleep. Had to think outside the box, you know?”

“You certainly did that.” He laughs, standing to stumble over to the pile of firewood, setting the campfire alight as you bring over the pot to boil.

John sits back down, and you sit beside him on the log. The two of you sit in silence as you wait for the coffee to finish boiling, and John begins fidgeting.

“Look, I’d… I’d like to apologise for how I acted last night.” He mumbles sheepishly.

“You remember?”

“Kind of.” John sighs, scratching his stubbled cheek, “I remember you helping me back to my tent. And… Well, I guess I was trying to get you to stay with me. I reckon I was being quite adamant, which was wrong of me.”

“Mhm.” You agree, shrugging, “You were very drunk. It wasn’t okay, the way you acted, but I handled you.”

“You sure did.” John says, looking over at you with a small smile, “You’re a real tough one. Where’d you come from again?”

“Out there.” You nod to the trees at the edge of camp, “I lived in the woods.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah. Just me and my horse.”

“That’s a real lonely way o’ living” John states.

“Didn't have much of a choice. Lost my mama, and the O’driscolls took my home. I’ve just been… surviving ever since.”

“And the gang found you?”

“I found y’all.” Chuckling, you recount the story of saving Arthur and the others from the O’driscoll boys, and how you got shot in Arthur’s place. You tell John about how Dutch found you, and the gang put you back together.

You leave out the details of what convinced you to stay a little longer. John certainly didn't need to hear all about Dutch Van Der Linde’s convincing skills in the bedroom.

Once you’re finished with your story, John watches you for a moment. You ignore his pensive look and continue making coffee, handing John a cup before you sit back down with your own.

“You… you gonna stay here long?” John asks, looking down at his drink.

Thinking, you gnaw on your lip, “I don’t know. I like it here. But we’re all still strangers. Strangers go their own way, at the end of the day.”

“I suppose.”

With that, the two of you go back to drinking your coffee.

John disappears when everyone starts waking up.

You try to not think about him, talking with the others and getting on with chores. But after a few hours, you begin to worry when you don’t see him lurking about.

Other members of the gang mention they’ve seen him when you ask, which makes you worried that John is simply avoiding you.

There’s only so much washing and chopping vegetables you can do before you decide to go looking for him. His tent is silent when you approach, but the canvas door is closed.

“John?” You call outside, not wanting to interrupt his peace but worried if he’s disappeared again.

Apparently he does it a lot, according to Dutch and Hosea, and you worry that he won’t be here if you decide to leave anytime soon. You’d like to at least say goodbye if you plan on leaving.

You wonder why you’re so attached to him so quickly…

“I’m here.” John answers, making you sigh in relief.

“Can I come in?”

“...Sure.”

You enter, finding John sat on a crate. He looks sad, looking down at his hands. A crate next to him is covered in shaving supplies, though they look unused.

He avoids your eyes as you enter, staring down at his fingernails.

“Hey, darlin’.” He greets, quietly.

“Hey.” You reply, taking a seat next to him, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just thinkin.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He remains quiet for a beat, eyebrows furrowed like he is weighing out his options. With a sigh, he looks up at you

“I wanted to shave.” John says, his voice unusually quiet, “I… I haven't looked in the mirror much since…”

A sorrowed, frustrated expression takes over his face, his eyes going downcast once again.

You know he’s talking about his scars.

Hosea told you he had gained them recently enough. They look new, still pink around the edges, not yet fully scarred flesh.

They’re jagged and deep, two on one cheek, a third on the other side. The skin on his nose has also been disrupted, a continuation of a deep line across his face.

You wonder what happened. You wonder a lot of things about the man sat in front of you. You wonder if it’s your place to ask.

Biting the bullet, you go for it, “What happened?”

John goes stiff, eyes dropping from your face down to the grass underfoot.

For a second, you worry you overstepped, as John sits silently. His face is somber, eyes distant as he remembers what happened to him. You open your mouth to apologise, before he murmurs out, “Wolves.”

“Wolves?” You ask, your face scrunching in concern.

You sit beside him on the crate, wanting to talk more personal than just hovering at the threshold.

“Got me real bad, back when we were travelling to Colter, after Blackwater. Just one bad thing after the other.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, “I wasn’t the prettiest princess before it happened, but I’m one ugly bastard now.”

It surprises you to hear him say that. How could he not know how handsome he is? With his soulful eyes and strong jaw, he looks like the ideal man.

Even with his disheveled, rugged clothes and his scars, he looks like a fantasy come to life.

“How can you think that?” You ask, voice soft and unbelieving, not accusing or demeaning.

“Well…” John shrugs, avoiding your intense gaze, “What do you mean? Look at me.”

“I am.”

“And you don’t see anything wrong?” He laughs, though it’s hollow, “I’m surprised you can shoot anything with that poor eyesight, you strange girl.”

You huff out a breath, looking away in thought. How a man as handsome as he can be so oblivious to his looks is beyond you. You want him to understand how others see him.

A thought occurs to you, and with a sigh, you push back the hair covering your ear.

John’s eyes widened slightly as he sees a long scar stretch from your upper cheekbone across your ear, contorting the cartridge into a warped shape. The scar disappears into your hair, with a noticeable parting of the strands showing the tail end of the scar.

“Got this from a mountain lion who didn’t appreciate me wandering into its territory.” She keeps her hair behind her ear, proudly showing her scar, “Felt like my head was on fire. But it was the best possible outcome. It could have taken my head clean off.”

John looks at the scar, his hand rising as if he was going to touch it, before he remembers himself and his hand drops back into his lap.

“I have this scar, and it’s not going anywhere.” You shrug, tucking your hair so the scar stays visible, “I got it because I survived. You got yours because you survived. That’s plenty impressive, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know…” John mumbles.

“Do you think it makes me an ugly bastard?”

John laughs, shaking his head as he looks at you, his eyes soft.

“With all due respect, darlin’, it would take one hell of a scar to make you any less than gorgeous.”

“I think it would take a lot to ruin your face, Mr Marston.” You murmur, “You’re handsome. The wolves couldn't take that from you.”

John stares at you, searching your eyes for deception, or jest. You stare right back, hoping that your face displayed how earnest you are.

He seems to grow shy, looking away from you as his face flushes slightly.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift a hand up. John goes stock still, eyes widening though he does not look at you. With all the gentleness you can muster, you place your hand on his cheek.

His face is warm to the touch, his stubble stretchy where it covered coarse skin. You drag your thumb over the scar running along his cheekbone, the flesh of it surprisingly soft.

John stares into your eyes, his face removed of it’s usual scowl and grumpiness, a look of vulnerability replacing it.

“Handsome.” You whisper.

John takes a shaky breath, nudging your palm with his nose as he stares into your eyes.

And then it all happened suddenly, like lightning striking the ground in front of you.

John’s arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to his body; as his lips press feverishly to yours.

A surprised sound, before you welcome his warmth, wrapping your own arms around his neck, fingers carding through his scruffy hair.

John groans, tightening his grip around your waist as he slides his lips over yours, diving his tongue into your mouth to taste you.

It's passionate, and messy, and you enjoy every second of it.

Your hands card through his hair, tangled and greasy but you revel in the feeling. He’s wild and unkempt, unlike Dutch, more like you.

Your fingers run down his scalp to scratch along his neck, nails running over the skin around his collar.

“Fuck, darlin’ girl…” John mumbles against your lips.

You hum appreciatively, trailing kisses along his face, paying special attention to the harsh lines he despises.

He stiffens for a moment, before leaning into her affections, letting out soft hums and grunts like a purring cat accepting affection.

John’s hands resume their exploration of your body, slender fingers kneading and tugging at your flesh to press you as close as possible, trying to mold your body to his.

Gently, he moves you around, holding onto you as he slides off the crate and onto the ground. He settles you against his bedroll, covering your body with his. His weight is comforting, settling over you like a warm wave as you lie against a sand covered embankment.

His kiss resumes in all its previous ferocity, ravaging your mouth before his lips move down to your jaw.

You moan as he moves his attention to your neck, sucking marks that you’ll definitely need to cover up tomorrow.

John hesitates for a second, lifting his head up to look at you. You cup his cheek, smiling affectionately and he returns it, kissing your finger tips.

“Need ya.” He murmurs.

You smile, “Have me, then.”

Dangerous words to say to a man so desperate.

John sits back on his heels to hastily unbutton his shirt. You follow suit, grabbing the hem of your oversized blouse and pulling it over your head.

Once the fabric is removed, John is on you again, pushing you back with the force of his lips on yours. He swallows your moans, his teeth clashing against yours as he presses you down into his bedroll.

You feel his fingers roam over your exposed chest, cupping your breasts and groping at your stomach.

The both of you are panting into each others mouths as he grips the waist of your skirt, pulling it down your legs along with your underthings.

John looks down at your bare body, lips caught between his teeth as he regards you with pure lust.You shiver at the look in his eyes, spreading your legs to show him just how much you need him.

“Prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen…” He mutters.

Wasting no time, John rises again to unbuckle his belt, tearing open his trousers with the force of a man insane with desire.

His hands push his jeans down far enough to pull out his cock, spitting into his palm to run his hand over his throbbing length.

You lick your lips at the sight of his member. Hard and blushing red, leaking pearly drops at the top. It curves slightly upwards, like it's trying to show off.

You look up at him, biting your lip, “Can I…?”

“What, darlin’?”

“I want to put you in my mouth.” You state, leaving shame at the door.

You’d done this once before with Dutch, and seeing how a man can unravel when you suck them off has you gnawing at the bit to do it again.

John pauses for a second, his cock twitching at the words you said.

“Oh, fuck yes.” He exhales, crawling forwards until he's straddling your chest.

He pants as he looks down at you, chest heaving while he brings a hand up to cup your cheek reverently.

You drag your hands up his sturdy thighs, before wrapping a fist around his base and leaning forward to kiss his leaking tip.

John gasps and his eyelids flutter, shuddering as you take him into your mouth,”Tha-that’s it, babydoll. That’s it…”

You push your head forward to take more of him in, hollowing your cheeks out to provide the suction Dutch taught you. The rewarding moan John makes your cunt clench, he sounds like pure sin above you.

He grows desperate, gently pressing on your lips to remove himself before he hastily shuffles back, kicking off his trousers and settling between your thighs.

“Gotta fuck you now, gotta feel you around me.” He rambles, his voice coming out as panting breaths.

John holds the back of your knees apart, looking down as he lines with your entrance. You watch his face, enamoured with the debased look of him.

Covered in sweat and cheeks ruddy, hair in his face and eyes shining with lust. You don't care what he looks like clean, he’s definitely more handsome when he’s messy. He could never bathe again and you’d be content.

You gasp as he pushes the first inch in, finding no resistance and sliding home. Every inch makes you sigh happily until his hips are pressed against yours, his member twitching inside you.

It’s enough to make him lose it.

He begins fucking you in ernest, quick thrusts sending you sliding up and down the bedroll like a doll. You hold onto him for dear life, fingers digging into his shoulders as your eyes roll back.

The curve of him has ever thrust of John’s cock hits that perfect spot inside you. You wonder how anything in the world could feel this good.

It's a feeling you could become addicted to.

John seems just as enraptured, choked groans and gasps escape his parted lips as he watches your face, your bouncing chest, your cunt swallowing him up.

“God, you feel so- fucking- good, darlin’.” John grunts, making sure to thrust hard with every word said. It makes you curse out, bringing your hand down to bite on your knuckles to prevent a scream from escaping you.

He's like a man possessed, his hands moving from your hips to your waist, to your breast to your neck, over and over again like he's obsessed with the feeling of your skin.

He presses his forehead to yours, kissing you feverishly as his hips piston back and forth, smacking against your thighs quickly and loudly.

Suddenly, John stops as he grabs the back of your knees, pushing them up to your chest to adjust the angle.

You keen as he resumes his quick, shallow thrusts, fucking into you fast and hard. His pelvis brushes your clit with every entrance, sending you hurtling towards an orgasm.

John’s own groans and grunts turn into whines and curses as you tighten around him, his head hanging as his eyes screw up in pleasure.

“Fu-uck, that’s it, just like that. God, darlin’, you’re so tight-” John moans out, cutting himself off with a whine as he gets closer.

“John!” You cry out, gripping onto the sheet below you as stares appear behind your eyes, “I’m gonna-”

It’s the only warning you can offer him before you’re falling over the edge, body contorting as you cum around him.

Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, bringing his head down so you can bite down on his shoulder, muffling your cry of ecstasy.

The feeling of your cunt tightening and gushing around him, along with your teeth burying into his shoulder has John letting out a choked gasp, hastily pulling out of you to push his cock against the skin in the crux of your thigh and hip.

“God, oh fuck-” He cums with a whine, his spend is warm against your sweaty skin, and he collapses against you with a shiver.

Lying there, naked and spent, the two of you try to catch your breath, grasping onto one another in the afterglow.

“Are you okay?” You murmur, carding your fingers through his hair.

You get no response, feeling John’s breath come out in even pants against your exposed shoulder. He’s fallen asleep.

Laughing softly, you gently move him onto his side. He goes without resistance, and you reach over to grab his blanket to cover both of you up.

Pressing close to him, he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you close until you’re nose to nose. You watch his face, noting the absence of his furrowed brows and scowl. He looked peaceful, for the first time since you met him.

You remain awake as the night grows darker, wrapped up in John’s embrace, listening to his steady heartbeat.

You start leaving an hour later, throwing on your clothes hastily, making sure to press a kiss to his cheek before you go.

Johns hand seeks you out again, blindly trying to pull you back, but you slip away before he can.

You need to get back to Dutch before he wonders where you’ve gone. Or worse, if he goes looking for you.

When you arrive at Dutch’s tent, finding him awake and reading a battered book. He raises an eyebrow at your appearance, a smile on his face.

“And where, might I ask, have you been?”

You bite your lip, shrugging. Worry courses through you. Will Dutch be mad? Will he be jealous and angry at John? Will he call you a whore, and send you away from camp?

You don't know if you want to leave anymore…

“With John?” Dutch asks, answering for you, and you balk realising he already knew.

“Yeah…” You mumble, hanging your head, “I’m so sorry, it all happened so fast-”

“What are you apologising for, angel?” Dutch asks, extending his hand. You take it, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles, “I told you to look after him. Whatever we have is all fun, and I’d like it to continue. But it would be selfish of me to keep you all to myself.”

You’re shocked, but relieved. You feel yourself relax, intertwining Dutch’s fingers with your own.

“I’d like us to… keep doing what we’re doing.” You say quietly, “And I’d like to keep seeing John, too.”

“That’s a wonderful plan.” Dutch grins, pulling you down to kiss you before playfully pushing you away, “Now go on, back to John you go. I want to be able to stretch out on my bed again.”

You exit with his laugh following you, practically skipping back to John’s tent. You can't fight the smile on your face.

John is sat up when you return, looking pensive and like an abandoned dog. He startles when you appear at the entryway of his tent, surprised to see you back.

But he covers it up with a nonchalant look.

“You staying?” John asks, like he couldn't care less.

“If you'll let me.”

He slumps with relief, “Oh thank god, get back here.”

You giggle as you slide in the cot, feeling John pull you close until he is half on top of you, pressing his face into your neck. You wrap your arms around him, keeping the two of you pressed snugly together. Just like he likes.

Now you have two reasons to stick around…

AN / so so sorry it took so long to update! i found out last week that i won't have a job by the end of the month, call me miss made redundant 🤭 but hey, more free time to write fan fiction about cowboys xoxo

i've got a few one shots i'll be making as per requests, then i'll continue posting for this!

thank you everyone for all your lovely support <3

fic taglist: @warmsideofthepillow03 @sammymcsamerson @m1stea @iamaunknownsecret @love-you-louise @vanpan8 @6esi @idcmannn @pumpkin-toffee @littlebirdgot @ripvanwinkleee

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