#rdr1 x you

[javiersprincess]

𝚩𝚬 𝐌𝐘…

˖°.𓆩♡𓆪 .°˖ tags: written explictly for @prettyboykatsuki. south asian reader in mind. established relationship. age gap. fem presenting reader. nudity. set in rdr1 where reader is going with john to mexico. hint and joking of a daddy kink.

˖°.𓆩♡𓆪 .°˖ synopsis: john marston in his older age only wants to be there for you whether you scowl or weep.

You and John arrive to a small dusty town just by the Mexican border, so small and remote it was just a saloon, a shop and few dusty buildings. You were dead tired and filthy - when John had brought up getting a bath and staying in the hotel above the saloon you didn’t make some sort snarky comment about how his old age is getting to him. You follow him on your white mare, frowning along the way as you think about how you’ll have to brush her out soon. You hitch her up out the front of the saloon and turn when you hear the whistle John sends your way, holding the swinging door of the establishment open for you.

“After you, my lady,” He comments grinning even while sweating and covered head to toe in dust from the ride. His eyes don’t leave your form even has he watches you walk past him, a glint them as he follows in falling step with your gait. You went straight to the bartender, eying the sign of how much it will cost to spend a room and night. When he’s finally behind you, your head had turned to look back at him and John can already hear how your voice will fret over how much it would cost you.

Which is why he beats you to the punch and drops just enough for one bath and one room. One for the two of you. The bartender raises his brow at the two you with a knowing look. When you turned to look at him, annoyance painting your face you are met with the same grin on John’s lips as he nudges his shoulder to yours while grabbing the keys to the room.

“What? You were so worried about the price, this is halving it right, sweetheart?” Your face twists into a scowl.

“You are an annoying man Mr. Marston.” You hiss stomping past him, making sure your shoulder hits his arm in a your little petty way of getting back at him. You hear his rickety laugh as he follows you up the stairs and he opens the door for you just like he did outside.

“Quit trying to be the gentleman - it doesn’t you.” You snip as you enter into the threshold of the room, hand working to off your layers to hang them somewhere to be shaken off later. John laughs again, dark and deep as he takes his hat off and works to do the same with his coat. From his place on the chair by the desk the hotel provides he asks you,

“What is it that you think suits me then?” He is taking off his gloves, head tilted to watch how you strip down your layers until you are only in your bloomers and chemise. You roll your eyes not sparing him a glance as make your way to the bathroom attached to the room to start the bath you are aching for.

“Probably a dog with how filthy you are.” You say, laughing around the bite of your words and John only laughs in return, calling out back as he takes his shirt off.

“Oh but I am your dog aren’t I, my sweet?” He hears your groan from his sweet talk and it only serves to make him laugh harder as he hears the water start to run. John chuckles with a soft shake of his head, ever so fond as he works the rest of his clothes off. His gun belt is thrown over the desk, along with his hat and gloves. He’s left only his union suit as he walks to the bathroom door, now filled with pleasantly soft orange lighting and steam. He can see you, resting your head against the lip of the tub, the water filled with soap studs. Your face is lax and flushed and you don’t notice him until you feel rough lips press a kiss to your cheek.

“You enjoying yourself?” John asks you, voice soft as the steam against your skin. You hum your affirmation, tilting so you can look at him. There is a faraway look in your eyes, something aching and tender yet and John asks you, honorably and carefully.

“What you thinking bout?” You don’t say anything at first, merely gazing at him before your eyes flicker to a small painting on the side of the wall where on faces when they sit in the tub. The painting was of a flowers -white with cool purple edging the ends of the petals sitting on a lily pad in the water. There written on the bottom end of the painting, in neat cursive read, “Nymphaea nouchali. Water Lily, India, 1899."

1899. The year still stings.

“You thinking about your folks?’ He asks and you allow yourself to lean closer to him, resting your soft cheek against his shoulder that is above the steaming bathwater.

“I try not to but - when I see stuff like that…it’s hard not to.” You have lost all your edges, soft and vulnerable before him. John knows, and he knows you know which is why you can let yourself be like this with him. Dropping the outer exterior that you wear like armor and letting him to take care of you when you need it most. He’s your dog, he’s your man - he is yours completely and utterly. He moves his hand so he can hold your chin his his palm gently, reverently.

His thumb strokes the skin of the chin lovingly.

“I know sweetheart, I know that loss well and true,” he turns to look back at the painting too. The numbers 1899 make the wounds in his heart ache. “I ain’t saying this to cover up what you feelin’ but you are not without family. You have me and the ranch - as long you will have us.” John speaks to you and every word is forged of the same iron his bullets are. Forged with fire and blood and the promise of their conviction. It makes you smile and you hope John doesn’t see the wateriness of your eyes as you nod.

“Besides, you’re in good hands,” He says something mischievous and sleazy in his eyes now that you have graced him with a smile, “You might not have your pa around but you still got your daddy with me don’t ya?”

Your smile drops and replaced with a similar scowl that gets sent his way day after day but he only chuckles deep in his chest as he watches you step out of the bath. You shout at him, telling him to shut up and get in the bath as you wrap the towel around yourself and head to get dressed. John strips away his last layer and steps into the now warm and tepid water. He doesn’t mind - his body warm with the deep flush he caught over your cheeks and the way you never said no to what he said.

[bigboy-lovers-unite-writes]

do this with whatever rdr/rdr2 characters you like!!

But what's some pet names/nicknames you think said characters would call their s/o?

I WANTED TO DO SOME FROM PURE REMEMBRANCE SO I THOUGHT ABOUT 8 (please enjoy this took me a while to write <3)

Kieran Duffy; Will call you honey, sweetheart, just the usual ones. Will perhaps name his favorite horse after you. 'Baby' is his most used one for you, it just comes to his mind when he thinks of you :)

Bill Williamson; Drunkenly may call you a slur, but it was an affectionate one, he didn't mean it. 🙏 His usual nicknames for you are Babycakes and Hun. He's not big on pet names sadly imo

Javier Escuella; Latin nicknames all dayyyy, that was he can compliment you all day without the others knowing what he's saying. Cariño, and might call you something to make fun of you playfully if you messed up on something :) (THANK YOU TO THE PERSON FOR POINTING THIS OUT IM A BIT EMBARRASSED ILY THO🙏)

Arthur Morgan; this man will not call you a singular thing bad. Every sweet and sappy nickname in the book, honey, sweetheart, darling, you name it and hes called you it! Will occasionally call you a nickname based on your appearances, like if you're short or clumsy

Dutch Van Der Linde; Will unironically call you 'sugar tits', even if you don't have any. Will point things out about you and makes them into (affectionate) pet names. Curly hair? Your nickname is Curly Fry. Short? Short-stack. Tall? 'Goddamn giant'

John Marston; Usually just calls you by your name, but occasionally calls you things in nature <3 not that big of a fan of pet names, but will say some occasionally to show he loves you and ur his

(I WAS GONNA DO MICAH AND CHARLES BUT I CANT THINK OF ANYTHING RN ITS SO LATE)

[harpsinfinity]

Just letting you know when Javier gets close his brain goes haywire and he can only remember how to speak in Spanish. English mode is out the window.

I mean shit like ""Por favor, por favor, estoy tan cerca, cariño" ""Te sientes demasiado bien"

You have no clue what it means (if Ur a non-spanish speaker) but it's soooo hot

Thank you!!

[allthemeniveloved]

It Will Come Back - John's Ending

Summary: The beginning of John's ending.

wc: 5.1k

Tags: brief mentions of violence, quick smut, dom!John Marston, unprotected p in v, deeply insecure JM, slight breeding kink if you squint, author deeply craves JM family content

ao3 link

a/n: Just a reminder that this chapter follows part 8, not the last two chapters posted as those belonged to Arthur's ending. (John's ending is the true ending in my head.) Sorry it took me all week and hopefully I can post the finale tomorrow!

The rowboat creaked softly as Arthur and Sadie glided across the dark waters toward Sisika Penitentiary, the faint sound of waves lapping against the hull blending with the eerie silence of the night. Arthur’s hands gripped the oars tightly, his jaw set in grim determination, while Sadie sat in the stern, her rifle resting across her lap. The tension between them was palpable, each stroke of the oars drawing them closer to the towering stone walls of the prison.

As they approached the eastern side, Arthur slowed the boat, scanning the perimeter for guards. Sadie leaned forward, her sharp eyes sweeping the wall. “Looks clear,” she murmured, her voice low but steady. “Let’s get to it.”

Arthur secured the rope to a rocky outcropping beneath the wall, his movements quick and deliberate. The weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on him—getting in, finding John, and getting out alive felt like an impossible task, but turning back wasn’t an option. He hauled himself onto the rocks, extending a hand to Sadie as she followed.

Inside the penitentiary, the corridors were dimly lit and silent, the oppressive air thick with the faint scent of damp stone. Arthur moved ahead, his revolver drawn, every step deliberate as he scanned for movement. Sadie stayed close, her knife gleaming faintly in her hand as her boots barely made a sound on the cold floor.

It wasn’t long before they encountered a lone guard patrolling the hallway, his lantern swaying in his grip. Before the man could react, Arthur surged forward, slamming him against the wall with one hand and pressing the barrel of his gun to his temple. “Not a word,” Arthur growled, his voice low and deadly.

Sadie stepped in quickly, her blade pressed against the guard’s throat as she leaned in. “Where’s John Marston?” she hissed, her tone sharp enough to cut.

The guard stammered, his wide eyes darting between the two of them. “Block C,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Third cell on the right.”

Arthur’s grip tightened, his gaze hard. “Good. You’re gonna take us there. Real quiet-like.”

The guard nodded frantically, and Arthur pushed him forward, keeping the revolver trained on his back. The three of them moved quickly through the winding corridors, the faint echoes of distant footsteps keeping them on edge. When they reached Block C, Arthur shoved the guard against the wall, his voice cold. “Open it.”

The guard fumbled with his keys, his shaking hands struggling to find the right one. “Hurry up,” Sadie snapped, her knife gleaming in the dim light.

Inside the block, a familiar voice called out from the shadows. “Arthur? Sadie? Is that you?”

Arthur’s gaze snapped to the source of the voice, relief washing over him as he spotted John in a cell near the end of the block. He was slumped against the bars, his face pale and bruised but unmistakably alive.

“We’re here, John,” Arthur said, his voice tight. “Just hold on.”

But as the guard opened the heavy iron door, panic struck him. He shoved backward, throwing himself into Arthur and shouting for help. Arthur reacted instantly, slamming the guard to the ground with a rough punch that sent the man sprawling. The clatter of his keys hitting the floor echoed through the corridor, and Arthur snatched them up, tossing them to Sadie.

“Get the door!” Arthur barked as the distant sound of boots and shouts began to grow louder.

Sadie caught the keys and rushed to John’s cell, her movements quick and practiced. Within moments, the lock clicked, and John stumbled out, his legs unsteady but his resolve clear. “You came for me,” he rasped, his voice thick with disbelief.

“Damn right we did,” Sadie shot back, gripping his arm to steady him.

Arthur turned, his revolver already raised as he fired down the corridor, buying them precious seconds. “No time for a reunion,” he snapped. “Move!”

The three of them bolted through the prison, Arthur and Sadie covering their retreat as alarms blared and guards swarmed behind them. By the time they reached the boat, John was panting heavily, his strength fading fast. Arthur shoved the boat off the rocks, leaping in after Sadie as she fired one last warning shot toward the guards on the shore.

“Row, Arthur!” Sadie barked, keeping her rifle trained on the shrinking figures in the distance.

“I’m rowin’!” Arthur growled, his muscles straining as he pulled at the oars, the boat cutting through the dark water with every stroke.

John collapsed into the boat, his chest heaving as he leaned back, the exhaustion evident in his face. “You didn’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Arthur glanced over at John, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the tension still thrumming in the air. “Yeah, we did,” he said gruffly, rowing with steady strokes. “Your woman would’ve had my damn head if we didn’t.”

Relief washed over John’s face, his eyes widening as he sat up straighter, despite the exhaustion weighing him down. “She’s alive?” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion, the tension in his shoulders loosening at the thought.

Every night in that cold, dark cell, John’s thoughts drifted to you, no matter how hard he tried to block them out. He’d lie awake on the hard cot, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, his mind replaying every moment you’d shared, from the way you smiled to the sound of your laughter. The worry gnawed at him constantly, a relentless ache in his chest as he imagined what dangers might be closing in on you while he was stuck behind bars, powerless to protect you. He wondered if you were safe, if you were holding up, or if the chaos that seemed to follow the gang had reached you, too. On his worst nights, when the silence of Sisika felt unbearable, he feared that he’d never see you again, that his failure to be there for you might cost him the one thing he couldn’t bear to lose. The thought of you kept him going, but it also tore at him, each passing day a reminder of how far away you were and how much he needed to get back to you.

Arthur let out a heavy sigh, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon as he rowed. “We’ve been survivin’, but it ain’t been pretty,” he muttered, the weariness in his voice clear. “And I ain’t even told you about Guarma yet.”

John leaned back against the edge of the boat, a faint grimace crossing his face. “Guarma?” he echoed, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not sure I even want to know.”

As the lights of Sisika faded into the distance, the weight of their escape settled over them. For now, they were free, but Arthur’s mind was already racing with what came next—getting John back to safety, and what that safety would mean in a world that was growing more dangerous by the day.

-

The salty breeze off the water bit at your skin as you paced the length of the dock, your boots scuffing against the weathered planks. The faint sounds of laughter and clinking glass spilled from the nearby saloon, but they were drowned out by the pounding of your heart. You couldn’t sit still, couldn’t relax, not with the weight of your worry pressing down on your chest. Arthur and Sadie had been gone for hours, and the gnawing question in your mind refused to let go: What if something went wrong?

You stopped at the edge of the dock, staring out into the black expanse of water. The moon’s reflection rippled faintly against the surface, but beyond that, there was nothing—no sound, no movement, just silence. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the cold creeping into your bones despite the heavy coat you wore. The thought of John, trapped behind those stone walls, twisted something inside of you. You hadn’t seen him in so long, and the fear that you might never see him again threatened to choke you.

Then, out of the darkness, you spotted it—a faint shadow moving across the water. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you, but as the shadow grew closer, you recognized the shape of a small boat. Your breath hitched, your heart thundering as you stepped closer to the edge of the dock, your fingers gripping the wooden railing. The closer the boat came, the clearer it became: Arthur, Sadie, and…

“John,” you whispered, your voice trembling as relief surged through you.

As the boat bumped against the dock, Arthur leaped out first, steadying it as Sadie climbed out after him. And then, there he was—John Marston, battered and exhausted but alive. He moved slowly, his legs unsteady as he climbed onto the dock, but the moment his eyes met yours, everything else fell away.

John caught you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face in your shoulder. “I missed you,” he murmured, his voice raw and thick with emotion. “God, I missed you so much.”

You held him like you’d never let go, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as you sobbed against him. “I thought I’d lost you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Arthur and Sadie stood a short distance away, watching the reunion with a mixture of relief and quiet understanding. Arthur cleared his throat after a moment, breaking the silence. “We don’t have long,” he said gruffly, glancing toward the lights of the trading post. “It ain’t safe to stick around.”

John pulled back slightly, his hands still on your waist as he looked down at you, his expression soft but serious. “He’s right,” he said quietly. “We can’t go back to camp—not yet.”

You nodded, wiping at your tears as you tried to steady yourself. “Then we’ll figure it out,” you said, your voice firmer now. “We’ll go somewhere safe.”

Arthur stepped closer, placing a hand on John’s shoulder. “You take her and lay low for a while. Sadie and I’ll head back to camp, keep Dutch and the others off your trail.”

John nodded, his grip on you tightening briefly as he looked back at Arthur. “Thank you,” he said, his voice heavy with gratitude.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you murmured, your voice trembling with sincerity. “For everything. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Just don’t make me regret it,” Arthur replied, his tone gruff but carrying a faint warmth. He tipped his hat to you before stepping back toward the hitched horses, Sadie following close behind.

As the two of you watched them disappear into the night, John turned to you, his eyes filled with the kind of relief and longing that made your chest ache. “C’mon,” he said softly, taking your hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

The warmth of his touch and the sound of his voice steadied you as you followed him into the woods, leaving Van Horn and the chaos behind for a moment of fragile peace.

As you guided Dahlia into the woods, her dark coat blending seamlessly with the shadows, you felt John shift behind you, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist for balance. The tattered prison uniform he wore caught your eye, and you couldn’t help but glance back at him with a faint smirk. 

“You know,” you teased lightly, your voice breaking the stillness of the forest, “you might want to get out of that outfit. Can’t exactly go strolling around town looking like you just broke out of Sisika.”

John let out a low chuckle, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as Dahlia navigated a rough patch of ground. “Guessin’ you’ve got somethin’ in mind, then?” he asked, his voice softer now, the weariness in it tempered by his amusement.

You nodded toward the saddlebags hanging from Dahlia’s sides. “Packed a change of clothes for you,” you said lightly. “Figured you might need a little more than your charm to blend in.”

John’s chuckle deepened, the sound warming the cool night air as he leaned forward slightly, his voice low near your ear. “Always takin’ care of me, huh?” he murmured, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you heard a faint note of relief in his tone.

The woods were quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the cool night breeze and the faint crackle of the small fire you’d built. Shadows danced across the forest floor, their flickering light catching on the lines of John’s face as he sat close behind you, wearing the fresh clothes you’d packed for him. His shoulders were still tense, his body tired from the ordeal, but there was a warmth in his gaze when he looked at you that made your chest ache.

By the fire’s warm glow, John held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you as if he were afraid to let go, the tension in his embrace mirroring the storm of emotions swirling between you both. His face was buried against your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and the faint tremble in his hands betrayed the calm he was trying to project. You could feel his heart pounding against your back, a frantic rhythm that seemed to echo your own as the weight of the past weeks came crashing down. He didn’t say much—he didn’t have to—because the way he clung to you, the way his fingers gripped the fabric of your shirt as though you might disappear, said everything. The fire crackled softly beside you, its light casting flickering shadows across his face when he finally lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, raw and glassy with emotion. “I ain’t lettin’ go of you again,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice thick, and you nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks as you tighten your grip around his arms, vowing silently that neither of you would have to endure this kind of pain again.

You leaned back against John’s chest, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the past few weeks. “You know,” you said, tilting your head to glance up at him, “I did try to warn you about that Saint Denis bank job. Told you somethin’ about it didn’t feel right.” A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he tightened his arms around you, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You were right, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice laced with humor and regret. “Don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it, will I?” You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not a chance, Marston,” you teased, the warmth of his chuckle blending with the sounds of the forest.

John’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as he spoke, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the blanket he had draped across your shoulders. “I’m glad Arthur was there to look after you,” he said, the words deliberate but carrying a nervous edge, like they’d been turning over in his mind for days. His gaze flicked toward the fire, avoiding yours, but the tension in his jaw betrayed the swirl of emotions beneath the surface. “I hate that I couldn’t… that I wasn’t there,” he added, his voice thick with guilt. There was something else there too—a faint twinge of jealousy simmering beneath his words, unspoken but clear in the way his hand tightened slightly against your back. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were filled with a mixture of gratitude and regret, his vulnerability stark in the flickering light. “But I’m here now,” he murmured, almost as if reassuring himself as much as you. “And I ain’t lettin’ anyone else do my job again.”

John’s arms tightened around yours, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. You placed your hands gently over his, your touch soft and steady as you tilted your head slightly to catch his gaze. “John,” you murmured, your voice calm but firm, “you don’t have to carry that guilt. You did everything you could, and it's not your fault.” You paused, letting your words sink in as you laced your fingers with his, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “And Arthur? He’s your brother. He wasn’t replacin’ you—he was just doin’ what family does. Lookin’ out for me because he knew you’d do the same for him.” John’s breath was warm against your neck, and you leaned back into him, squeezing his hand gently, “You’re here now, and that’s what matters. That’s all I’ve wanted.” 

John’s voice was quiet, almost vulnerable, as he murmured against your shoulder, his grip tightening slightly around you. “I think Arthur kept you safe because he still loves you,” he said, the words slow and heavy, as though they’d been weighing on him for weeks. “Not because of me. And… I don’t think he’s ever gonna forgive me for this—for us.”

His words made your chest tighten, and you turned in his arms, shifting so you could face him. The flickering firelight illuminated the worry etched into his features, the guilt lingering in his eyes. Gently, you cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you held his gaze.

“John,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your heart. “Arthur’s hurt, I won’t deny that. But this isn’t about forgiveness, and it’s not about blame. What happened between me and him is in the past. You didn’t take me from him—I chose to be with you because I love you. Please don’t let it eat at you.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for reassurance as his hands rested against your waist. “But what if—”

“No,” you interrupted gently, leaning closer, your forehead resting against his. “We can’t change the past, John, but we can choose what we do with now. I’m here, with you. That’s what matters.”

He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your lips as he nodded faintly. “I just… I don’t wanna lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“You won’t,” you promised, your hands slipping to the back of his neck as you pulled him closer. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

John’s hands cupped your face with a desperate tenderness, his calloused fingers brushing your cheeks as his forehead rested against yours. “I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion, his breath warm against your lips. “God, I missed you so much. I’ll never leave you again, darlin’—never.” His words spilled out like a promise, each one laced with the ache of all the time you’d spent apart.

Before you could reply, his lips crashed against yours, the kiss deep and consuming, fueled by the longing he could no longer contain. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him to straddle his hips as if he needed to feel every part of you to believe this moment was real. His kiss was anything but gentle, a raw mix of passion and relief, as though he were pouring every unspoken word and feeling into the connection. When his hand threaded into your hair, his grip firm but reverent, the way he held you made it clear—he wasn’t letting go again.

You couldn’t suppress the low moan into his mouth as his fingers tugged firmly on your hair. You pulled back slightly, breathless, gazing into his eyes, your fingers threading through his hair. "John," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, and you leaned in again, molding your bodies together as his lips and his hands explored yours with a rough tenderness. You could feel his heartbeat pounding against your own, the steady rhythm echoing through you like a drumbeat. As the kiss deepened and their tongues tangled, you lost yourself in the heat of the moment.

John's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a fiery trail in their wake, as he pulled back from the kiss. His large hands slid down your hips, gripping your thighs firmly, and he lifted you off his lap, supporting your weight effortlessly. With your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, he turned you over, pinning you to the cold ground beneath you. His eyes softened as he looked down at you, his body hovering over yours. "My sweet angel," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. 

You met his gaze, a sly smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you reached up to brush your fingers along his jaw. “I’m no angel, Marston,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, though the warmth in your eyes betrayed the depth of your feelings. 

A slow, crooked grin spread across John’s face as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I suppose angels don’t go fallin’ into bed with ex-prisoners, do they?” he drawled, his voice low and rough, the teasing glint in his eyes making your heart flutter. “Guess that makes you my kind of angel.”

“I suppose it does.” You whispered. 

He lowered himself onto you slowly, your bodies connecting with a sigh. The feeling of his hardness pressing against your core made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He groaned, his mouth finding yours once more, his tongue dancing with yours as he worked to remove the barriers between you two. 

"I need you, sweetheart," he whispered, his rough voice sending shivers down your spine. "I've been waitin’ for this for too damn long."

His hand slipped between your legs, his fingers trailing up along your aching center. You moaned into his mouth, arching your back as he found the spot that made you gasp.

"Please, John..." you pant, your hips bucking against his hand.

He pulled back, his eyes blazing with desire as he stared down at you. "You're so fucking wet," he growled, his voice dark and rough. “This all for me?”

Your delicate fingers gripped his bicep firmly, “All for you, John, I want to make you feel good.”

“Darlin’...” he rasped in disbelief. 

“You've been through enough. Use me.” Your voice was firm. 

John's eyes were blown with a possessive lust as his hands gripped your hips, spinning you atop the weathered blanket and flipping you onto your stomach in one fluid motion. You gasped as his weight settled heavily across your back, the force of his body pushing you down into the rough material beneath. He hiked your hips up sharply, arching your back until you felt exposed and vulnerable, your chest pressing flat into the ground. 

One large, rough hand seized the back of your neck, holding you in place as he leaned in close, his lips hot against your ear. "You sure you want me to use you, darlin'?" he growled, the deep timber of his voice sending shivers down your spine. It wasn't really a question—it was a demand, filled with pent-up hunger.

His free hand roamed down your body, fingers digging into the soft curve of your waist before trailing lower, teasing at the heat between your thighs. "Thought about you every damn night in that cell," he rasped, his voice thick with lust. He bit down on the tender skin of your ear, his teeth grazing you just firmly enough to make you gasp.

"You're mine," he snarled, his hand tightening around your neck as his hips ground against you from behind, letting you feel every hard inch of his arousal. "And I'm gonna remind you every night." 

With that, he pulled back slightly, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs, spreading them wider apart to align you with the persistent, throbbing pressure of his erection. When he entered you with one deep, forceful thrust, the air was driven from your lungs in a broken moan. He set a relentless, punishing pace, each vigorous drive of his hips forcing the breath from your body, his fingers clenching around the back of your neck as though to claim you. 

John's large, rough hands gripped your hips as he moaned loud enough for any passerby to hear, "Fuck, darlin'," he panted, his voice thick with lust. "You're so goddamn tight.”

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His teeth latched onto your sensitive skin, a low growl rumbling through his chest as his hips snapped forward with a sharp thrust.

"Ngh - John," you whimpered, your hips bucking back against him.

One hand released your hip, trailing down to where you were joined, his calloused fingers circling your sensitive bud with an expert touch. You could only gasp and moan, your fingers scrabbling against the blanket as he overwhelmed you with sensation. 

"That's it, angel," he panted, his damp breath hot against your ear. "Let me feel you fall apart." 

And there you were, about to come undone underneath him when an unbidden thought flickered through his mind—a vision of you holding a child, your child, with that same warmth and care. The image struck him like a bolt of lightning, so vivid and startling that it made his chest tighten. But just as quickly as it came, he pushed it down, burying it beneath layers of doubt. She’d never want that with someone like me, he told himself, his jaw tightening as he forced his gaze away. 

John's rhythm faltered for a moment, his hips stilling as he processed the unexpected image that had flashed through his mind. But then, spurred on by your increasingly desperate moans and the way your body seemed to flutter around him, he redoubled his efforts. His hips began to move again, each powerful thrust sending shockwaves through your body. 

The combination of his skilled fingers and the deep, throbbing heat of him inside you was too much to bear. Your orgasm crashed over you in a wave of pleasure, your body trembling and shuddering beneath him as you cried out his name. John's rhythm finally broke, his body stiffening as he pulled his cock out of you, and it was followed by the small slapping sound of hand on skin. You tilted your head to watch the way his cock shone in the moonlight as he fisted it, eventually spurting out ropes of cum onto your back. For a long moment, you both simply lay there catching your breath, his chest heaving as the adrenaline and lust began to ebb from his system. The look in his eyes was distant, almost lost, as if he'd been swept away to some invisible place. 

Your breath underneath him forced his mind to come to as he quickly grabbed his discarded undershirt to clean up his mess. Finally, he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so that you lay draped across his chest. His large, calloused hand stroked lazily along your spine as he let out a long, contented sigh. His arms circled you loosely, one hand tangled in your hair as the other drew lazy lines up and down your spine. The contact was intimate and tender, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before. 

Before he realized what he was saying, the words slipped out, low and tentative. “You ever think about… y’know… havin’ a family someday?”

The question hung in the air between you like a delicate thread. When you tilted your head up to look at him, his face was already red, his eyes darting to the fire like he could burn away the embarrassment. “I—I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered quickly, his voice rough. “Just… forget I said anything.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment, your expression softening. “John,” you said gently, moving to sit closer to him. “Did you mean it?”

He hesitated, “Yeah,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just… thought about it, is all. Ain’t sayin’ you’d ever want that with someone like me, but… can’t help what crosses my mind.”

His vulnerability made your chest ache, and you reached out, your hand resting lightly on his arm. “John,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “I think about it too.”

The look of surprise and relief that flashed across his face was enough to make your heart swell, the weight of his unspoken hope finally lifting as the two of you lay there, naked bodies intertwined, still glistening with sweat.

You looked at him, your eyes steady and full of emotion as you leaned closer, your voice soft but firm. “Why do you think I was trying so desperately to get you to run away with me back at Shady Belle, John?” you asked, the weight of your words sinking into the quiet around you. His breath hitched, his brow furrowing as the realization dawned on him, clear as day in the flicker of firelight reflecting in his eyes. He stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if to say something, but no words came. The truth of it hit him hard—you’d wanted a life with him, one far from the chaos and destruction of the gang, and he’d been too caught up in loyalty and doubt to see it. “You didn’t want me to run away,” he murmured finally, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “You wanted us to run away.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you leaned back slightly, the tension between you easing just a bit. “I didn’t think you were as tough and dense as all that, Marston,” you teased lightly, though the warmth in your voice softened the jab. His lips twitched into a faint smirk, but his eyes still held the weight of realization, the hint of a chuckle slipping out as he shook his head. 

“We gotta settle down someplace safe, someplace where we can actually build that life together.” Your eyes searched his, a quiet determination behind your words as you pressed on. “If that’s what you really want, we’ll figure it out—but not here, not like this.”

John’s gaze softened as he laced his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet resolve. He held your eyes for a moment, the flickering firelight reflecting the weight of his determination. “We’ll find someplace… somewhere it’s just us. I promise.”

You didn’t say anything, your throat tightening as his words settled over you. Instead, you nodded softly, your fingers tightening around his as you leaned into his warmth.

“Okay.”

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

tag list: @photo1030 @fwitolei

[yandereunsolved]

ଓ Yandere Low Honor John Marston (RDR1) ꩜ .ᐟ

cw(s): predatory behavior & stalking

In a world where lawlessness is available for the rich and fought over by the poor, it's rare to find a truly kind soul, or just one that can stand your bullshit long enough to get you patched up and out the door. Aiding someone in their journey is a debt the person helped can never repay. And he won't ever repay it. But with all the karmic debt he has, he'll be forced to repay tenfold even while in his grave. 

You aren't helping with his debt, darlin'. As if he wasn't already in enough trouble, you just had to stroll on into his life and leave him a changed man—not in good ways neither.

There's just something so different about you. He's spent hours combing over your looks. He's spent days memorizing your schedule. He's spent months stalking you. And he still can't figure it out.

Maybe it's your age. You're about how old he was when his life irrevocably changed. Yet you're still so—pure, untouched by the world's dangers. He can attribute that to your father and older sister Bonnie, the two biggest cockblockers to ever exist.

He's never able to get too close to you. You get spooked like a fawn, always shying away from his touch or asking about his family, an unneeded reminder about the responsibilities that keep him away from you. He suspects, no, he knows, some of your skittishness stems from Bonnie's wariness towards him. Bonnie watches over you as if she is your mother doe, leading you astray (away from him). She whispers cautionary tales in your ears that frighten you away, as if he were some big bad wolf.

Bonnie's right. Still, keeping you away from him will only make his obsession worse. She can't protect you forever. She can't protect you as well as he can. He's survived things no man should, and he doesn't plan on dyin' anytime soon—not when a lovely thing such as yourself is just out of his grasp.

[aoioozora]

Crown of Peace

Character: John Marston (Red Dead Redemption) Content: J.M x daughter reader, fluff, John not being a deadbeat dad Note: Happens after the events of RDR1, John doesn't die and the Marstons live happily ever after and have a daughter because why the hell not, I just want them to be happy 😭 Also this is for anyone with daddy issues >:) Enjoy!

Your father was your entire world, and as you wove together a flower crown of wild feverfew, you raised your little head to see the impressive silhouette of your slim, tall father standing by the banks of a small river with a fishing rod in hand, bathed in the light of the setting sun.

You watched admiringly as a breeze tousled his black hair and he slowly raised his head to savor the coolness of the evening and the warmth of the dying daylight.

"Papa!" you called John, your voice shrill, rising and running up to him with your little legs. When he turned around, you showed him the flower crown, "I made a flower crown!"

He smiled gently at you and keeping down his fishing rod, he knelt down to inspect the crown of white flowers. "Well, ain't this somethin'. You made it all by yourself?"

"Yeah! Mama taught me!" you exclaimed cheerily.

Your father found himself grinning at the sight of your smile and ruffled your hair. "You're real talented, kid," he praised, looking down at the crown. "So, who is this for? Your Ma?"

"No," you giggled mischievously. Your father raised a brow at this.

You then proceeded to take off his worn, bleached hat and then placed the crown of flowers on his head. "It's for you!"

He blinked in surprise and then chuckled. "For me?" he exclaimed, smirking as he pinched your little nose, "But boys don't wear flowers, you know."

You rubbed your nose and then argued, "But Jack told me that there are boy flowers and girl flowers! So that means flowers are for boys and girls!"

He laughed heartily at that. Your elder brother Jack was an avid reader, often teaching you about things he read. And you always knew how to use the things you were taught, for you were very smart.

"Is that so? Well, alright, if you say so," your father relented.

You smiled, satisfied by his response. As you decided to claim his hat as your own and put it on your head, your father turned to the fishing rod when he noticed a tugging. He immediately seized the rod and yanked out the catch from the water. Taking the fish in his hand, he saw that it was a rather large bluegill. He bent down and showed it to you.

"That's a big catch, ain't it?" he told you, "We can ask Ma to fry this for dinner."

"Yeah!" you exclaimed, nodding excitedly as you watched him put the fish into a bag.

"Papa, I want to fish too. Will you teach me?" you begged as he began to pack up his equipment.

He put his hand on your head to give you a pat. "Sure, but not today. I don't have a whole lot of bait, and this rod is too big for you. I'll get you one just your size and then I'll teach you, alright?"

You pouted but relented at his promise.

When he had packed everything up, he flicked his head towards the horse, "We should get going home now. Come on."

You hesitated.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Can we stay a little longer? Please?"

"Why?"

"I want to make a crown for Mama,"

Your father paused, his eyes flickering to the setting Sun. It was still a little high in the sky, but it wouldn't take long for it to soon dip behind the mountains. He didn't want to remain outdoors too long as it would get colder and there would be raiders and coyotes lurking around in the dark for their next meal.

"Alright, but you have to finish making your crown before sunset."

You nodded, and immediately got to picking more wild feverfew. Your father sat down by the pebbled banks with his legs crossed, watching over you as you squatted by a patch of flowers, picking the choicest ones. The crown you gave him remained on his head, and he almost preferred it to the grizzled hat that rested on yours.

The atmosphere was one of peace and tranquility, with the gentle and steady ripple of the river water, the softly whistling breeze, the birds chirping and flitting about playfully; and the glowing red sphere slowly laying down in his abode in the mountains, taking the light of day with him. Dried leaves and air-borne seeds fluttered and twirled in the breeze, tenderly laying upon the surface of the water and floating away downstream.

He was not one to stop and look at nature and ponder upon it, but the beauty of the tranquil evening commanded his attention, and he decided to take the opportunity to slow himself down for once.

His steady reflections were interrupted by the crunch of gravel next to him. When he turned, he saw his daughter with a bunch of the white flowers in her hands.

"Papa, can I sit with you?" you asked.

"Of course, darling," he answered tenderly, patting his lap, "Come, sit here."

You situated yourself on his lap and began to tie up the flower stems to make the crown. While you did, he raised his rough hand and gently put his arm around your little body, pulling you and pressing you closer to him. You scooted close as he did, happily snuggling up against his chest.

Your father couldn't fight a smile at how small and sweet you looked. He didn't know how to treat a little girl, but he knew that they had to be treated with gentleness and delicacy. As he watched you, he felt the weight of his fatherly responsibility rest heavy on his shoulders.

He was a man in a man's world, but she was a girl in a man's world. Not only did she have to maintain her femininity, grace, and sweetness as she grew, but she had to learn to be strong, and not be a pushover. His thoughts wandered, thinking of all the things you had to learn. Morals, cooking, housekeeping, shooting, hunting, diplomacy; nothing would be exempt. Whatever he taught his son, he'd teach you.

He let out a sigh and his eyes flickered to his hat on your head.

It was far too big and loose for you, and it kept falling over your face, making you repeatedly push it back up and hindering your progress and speed. Regardless, you stubbornly let the hat be. But your father wasn't having it, and he took it off.

"Papa!" you whined, upset by the lack of his hat.

"You can wear it later," he assured, placing it on his knee, "It's not making it easy for you to make your crown."

You relented and went back to tying up the flowers.

He turned to his hat that was previously on your head; the gnarly thing had seen hell and bloodshed, and to see it on the head of innocence herself was unbearable. His past life and present life would never meet, and he'd make sure of it. Even if he wasn't one for the flowers that crowned his head, he sure preferred the happiness that it represented.

He continued to watch you, and seeing the numerous flowers on your lap, picked one up and tucked its stem behind your ear, adjusting it so that the bloom was in full display next to your face, enhancing your beauty. He smiled again, gazing lovingly at you, the very picture of loveliness.

"Finished!" you soon exclaimed, holding up the second crown of flowers.

Your father smiled wider. "Your ma will love it," he replied. Looking down once again at your lap, he found that a few more flowers remained. "What are you gonna do with those?" he asked.

You hummed thoughtfully as you picked up a flower. Looking at the bandolier strapped on his chest, you slipped it in one of the empty bullet cartridges.

"We can carry these home," you said, continuing to put the flowers in the cartridges, even plucking out the bullets and putting them in his hand to replace them.

Your father allowed you to. It seemed symbolic to him, you replacing the bullets with flowers. He wasn't one to get emotional easily, but the act tightened his chest and brimmed his eyes over with tears that he blinked away.

His bandolier was filled with the remaining flowers, and how much lovelier it looked to him.

"Now we can go home," you told him, smiling.

"Alright, get up then," he said as he stashed the bullets in his pocket.

You rose and your father followed suit, rising with a grunt. He gave you his hat to carry, which you happily grabbed and held close. Just as he was about to start walking towards his horse, you tugged his pant.

"Papa, carry me," you pleaded, raising your arms up to him, looking at him the way a hungry chick looked up to its mother.

He felt his heart squeeze; he promptly lifted you up in his arms and feeling an overflow of affection for you, squeezed you tight against him. You wrapped your little arms around his neck and rested your cheek against his shoulder, content and safe.

The short walk brought you to the horse and he placed you on the saddle before getting on behind you. "You ready to go, kid?" he asked, wrapping his large hand around your stomach to secure you.

You answered that you were, but he didn't spur his horse on just yet. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss on the side of your head.

Giggling, you said in response, "I love you, Papa."

He chuckled. "Where'd you learn that from?"

"I heard you say it to Mama."

"So you have been spying on us, you little brat?" he laughed, playfully squishing your cheeks in his large hand, making you giggle harder.

"But you're always saying it to Mama in front of everyone!" you protested.

"Yeah, that's because I love your Ma," he answered, "And I want everyone to know."

"Do you love me too?" you raised your head to meet his eyes.

"Of course I love you, kid," he answered, squishing your face again, "I always will. Don't ever forget that, alright?"

"Yes, Papa,"

With a kick to the horse's flanks, the two of you rode back to Beecher's Hope. You rested your back against your father's chest; the constant activity of the day, the warmth of the sunset, the chill of the breeze, and your father's presence made your body sag and your eyes heavy with sleep. Noticing this, John held you firmly under his hand.

The crown of wild feverfew continued to adorn his head as he rode down the dirt trails past other riders and wagons, and there was no shame on his proud face. Even if it was a simple, humble crown of perishable flowers, it meant much. This was his offspring's gift, a symbol of happiness now and forever:

A crown of peace.

[runwhileyoucan]

This is there song btw, in the worst way possible

[punctatum]

John Marston Fluffy Relationship Headcanons

A/N: Incomplete, fluff

He’s not a romantic at all, but it’s cute to see him get all awkward and worked up during situations like that. It’s especially cute when the other gang members tease him over your relationship.

Following from the first headcanon, he definitely blushes. When I say blushes, I mean BLUSHES. That man’s face turns completely red and you only have to say the simplest things. Even an “I love you” would make him turn the same colour as a tomato.

I also think that John would be very stubborn. If he was sick, he would continuously refuse your help until you insisted. He’d know that he wouldn’t be able to get you to change your mind.

This man cannot cook and he has started many fires because of this. You’ve had to do a lot of the work while he was freaking out.

[plum-coke]

sadie adler headcanons because i need more posts about my pookie in here . . . ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

c!w: nsfw, sadie x fem!reader

ʚ teatching is one of her hidden passions. if you’re naive about the art of survival, it would be a pleasure for her to teach you everything she has already learned.

ʚ people say she looks like an owl when she's sleepy. she forces her eyes wide open because she doesn’t want to show vulnerability.

ʚ she lost the pleasure in cooking because of all the events shown at the beginning of the game.

ʚ would deny it everytime, but in the beggining of the relationship she would be >>>very<<< protective and kinda jealous.

ʚ hates snowstorms and would be very clingy and needing your warm touches.

ʚ loves to take you on picnic dates and would insist you to not bring your horse, she wants to be close to you.

ʚ secretly loves when you’re admiring her from afar while she is at the camp cleaning the guns or adjusting them.

ʚ scary dog privilege! that one dynamic: it’s a sweetheart with you but walks outside with a serious expression, her smiles are only for you.

nsfw!

ʚ have to be in control, seeing you getting off gets her off.

ʚ uses her hat to muffle your sounds.

ʚ in one of those picnic dates you two would be all naked and swimming. sadie would try to do the knee thing under the water but would slip in the rocks and fall back pathetically </3

ʚ loves when you wear tiny skirts, she can make you ride her thigh anywhere if anyone isn’t looking.

ʚ definitely the groan type, it’s very rare to get a moan out of her.

ʚ would want to try reverse cowgirl just for the joke (save a hoorse…) and that would be her least favorite position after that.

ʚ in your first time she would be feral but not in a way to hurt you, she just wanted to touch you so so bad for such a long time :(

ʚ and for the last but not least… that woman loves to pull your hair.

[dr-rowby-dot-scramble]

~Javier teaches you how to cook~

You are wandering the camp, clearly looking for someone. You’re wearing an apron, hands gripped together in a useless attempt to seem nonchalant. As your eyes dart from side to side, you somehow miss the long haired Mexican approaching you.

“Hey, Y/N, you alright?” He asks, snapping you out of your trance. You force a smile. “Yeah, I’m alright, but have you seen Pearson? He was supposed to be teaching me how to cook today…” You try not to seem desperate, but the absence of the camp’s cook was making you stressed.

“I think he went into town to get supplies…” He said, his voice softer than usual. “But if you want, Y/N, I could teach you.” Your eyes lit up. “Really?” He nods, walking with you to Pearson’s wagon. He goes to put on one of Pearson’s aprons, but it’s so big on him it makes him look like he’s wearing a dress. He turns to show you, seemingly to make you laugh before changing into one of the smaller ones for the girls.

He grabs a few of the things that were still stocked in the wagon: Half an onion, 3/4th’s of garlic, two carrots, and a rabbit that had been brought in by Arthur a few hours prior. “Let’s grill some rabbit!” He smiles at you, his teeth yellow and short, making him look like a coyote. “Grab me a cutting board, a knife, and a skillet, okay senorita?” You nod, grabbing all those things just for him.

You set down everything, and he begins to cut the garlic, showing you all the tricks of cutting it. He then hands you the onion. You get about halfway before he stops you, grabbing your hand and guiding the knife in a rhythmic pattern. He’s so close to you, you can feel his breath on your neck. But before you know it, you’re done. He then gives you the carrots, and immediately helps you out again. You start to believe he’s not holding your hand this time to help you, but because he wants to be close to you.

You two then hour spend cutting the rabbit and cooking everything on the skillet, admiring your work together. You tell him to go sit in the shady area of the camp, so no one asks if they can have some of your meals. You walk over to him a few minutes later, two bowls in your hands. “Thank you, Y/N.” He smiles.

“No, thank you, Javier. I never could have done it without you.” You both smile at each other for a moment before digging in. After you are both done, you set down the bowls near the wagon before joining him for a post-meal cigarette.

“Javier, I’ve got something to ask you…” You look over at him, nervous about something again. “What is it, Y/N?”

“Why did you go out of your way to want to teach me how to cook? Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful, but I just don’t really understand…”

He gently grabs your hand, looking into your eyes. “It’s because… because I like you, Y/N. More than just a friend. I want us to be something more than this… Would… Would you want that, Y/N?”

You nod, and you both kiss. You both taste like garlic and onion, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

accidentally posting this EXACTLY a month after my last fic lol

[di-writes-stuff]

Cowboy Like Me

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Chapter 1

TW: Mentions of bl00d and canon typical weapons. Literally nothing else.

A/N: Okay, I’ve had this idea swirling around for a while, so this should be fun. Buckle up, hoes.

Never had there been a town so poorly named as Valentine. It was far too romantic, far too sweet for the drunk addled pigsty that lay before Arthur Morgan.

He’d never liked going into towns. The judgmental passersby. The beggars. The hookers. The adulterous fools stumbling drunkenly out of saloons with them. Not to mention the sheriffs and bounty hunters lurking in the shadows. The ones that always seem to be searching for a face on a poster that looks an awful lot like him.

His feet sink a good inch or two into the mud that makes up the ground in Valentine as he makes his way to the general store. If he had enough money to buy nice boots, he would have been annoyed at the way the grime sticks to them. But, it’s just another addition to the layers of dirt, grass, and blood that adorn the leather.

Clouds cover the sky, leaving the whole town darkened, only adding to the unfortunate scenery before him as he walks up the wooden excuse of a sidewalk to the store. He’s not here to buy anything, of course. No, he’s here to find something.

A target.

A good hit. It’s what Dutch has been talking about for months now. Just one good hit. That’s all they need. A jackpot in the world of thieves and liars. And of course, in a town like this, lips are loosened by easy trust. A foolish belief that nobody around them could possibly be listening. Watching. Waiting.

Except, that’s exactly what he plans to do. Sit on a bench with a hat over his eyes and wait. Wait to hear about some rich uncle not to far away, or a train from down South full of land owners ripe for robbing.

It’s not his favorite way to spend his days, far from it. Arthur’s only hope is that the payoff from whatever he finds will make up for it. As he steps up the first stair to the patio of the general store, a small can rolls past his feet. He bends down to grab it quickly, standing back up straight and seeing you.

And because as much as he might look in the mirror and see an animal, he is still a man, he notices. Admires the fact that you’re the prettiest thing he’s seen in a long time.

And because he is not only a man, but a man easily charmed by your pretty smile and bright eyes, the faintest blush rises on his cheeks as you bid your thanks in a soft voice.

“‘Course, ma’am.” He manages to keep his voice steady for those two words as you take back the can.

And because you are a woman, you look, and you admire. Admire his cerulean eyes, and the small smile that plays on his chapped lips as he looks down at you.

Before he knows it you’re walking away, leaving his eyes to trail after your figure before remembering the task at hand. He quickly clears his throat, embarrassed for no real reason. Maybe just because he acted like a person instead of the threat Dutch has so carefully carved him to be.

It doesn’t take very long for the image of the pretty girl with the plaid dress to leave his mind when he hears a couple of women discussing exactly what he’d been looking for.

A rich man named Mr. Mallory that just moved in not to far away, buying up a house that’d been vacant for years since nobody could afford the enormous property. But, the land was profitable, and the house was large. Perfect for a single man eager to flaunt his wealth.

And the perfect target for Arthur. He’d never felt particularly bad about robbing the rich. They’ve got plenty to share, and most don’t come about their money in the kindest of ways. Especially not men from out east, which is exactly what this one sounds like.

He holds back a judgmental scoff as he hears one of the women detailing the directions to the house, as the other plans on welcoming him to the community. And if Arthur knows people, which he does, her visit is probably in hopes of marrying him. Not for love, of course. For money, more of it than somebody will ever need or use. And for status. The two desires Arthur hates most.

What a fool. He thinks to himself as he adjusts on the bench, sunlight finally peaking out from behind the clouds.

Except he’s become a fool too, of his own kind. Because the thing Arthur doesn’t notice is the other person lingering nearby. Listening. Watching. Waiting. He doesn’t notice the way her ears perk up at the sound of a good payoff. Of a guiltless robbery.

He doesn’t notice you.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Normally you would have stayed in the town for longer, soaked up the sunshine of the unusually warm spring you’re having. But today is not just any day. Today, you have work.

The windows of your small house are flung open to allow in the crisp air as you lay the food you bought onto the table hurriedly. You only notice the can that rolled onto the floor when it occurs to you that it was the same one as earlier. The one the man with the pretty eyes had picked up for you.

The coincidence is disregarded quickly as you pick it up, tossing it back onto the table before hurrying to your room. It’s getting late, and you need time to plan before you head out. You’d already ridden out to the house, and a rough sketch of the layout sits in your notebook.

Unlike Arthur, the man you don’t yet know, you were listening to the women long before any rich man was mentioned. The accents they spoke with caught your attention, clearly some kind of eastern. Their voices came with a certain coldness that you’ve yet to find out west.

Either way, that coupled with the quality of the clothes that adorned their bodies told you they were wealthy. And you were right.

You always are.

And if you’re assuming correctly, which you almost always do, the man they spoke of is also from out east. Meaning Mr. Mallory doesn’t yet know to lock his doors and keep a rifle beside his bed. Even if he did, the rich bastard probably wouldn’t know how to use the thing.

But you, you do. And if he happens to wake up while you work, he’ll learn that soon enough. You quickly change into a blouse and pants, leaving the dress you’d worn into town today abandoned on your bed.

The plan is finished quickly enough, as there’s plenty of entrances into the house to choose from if the front door’s locked. Now comes the part you hate the most. The part where no matter how rich the man you’re about to rob is, no matter how perfectly fine he’ll be despite the loss, guilt sets in.

This is when you wait. Because a woman riding on her own horse, in her own pants, with a mask over her face in broad daylight isn’t a sight that goes without notice.

It’s not as if you wanted this life. But, between selling your body and thieving, you’d choose the latter again and again. Of course, you could get married. Settle down. Have children. And that all sounds so pretty, so sweet in your mind.

If only the husband wasn’t necessary. The oppressive, aggressive, boring, utterly vacant husband that every married woman seems to be saddled with these days. That reality, over everything else. That, you refuse.

Day shifts to night as you leave your house, climb onto your horse, and set off to pay Mr. Mallory a visit.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Arthur sits, crouched in the grass as he waits for the light to go out in Mr. Mallory’s window. The robbery was going to be easy, that is until he realized that his target happens to enjoy late nights. It’s damn near one in the morning, and the bastard is still up doing God knows what.

A sigh slips from Arthur’s lips as his attention shifts to the horse tied to the porch railing. It’s a bit odd that the steed was just left out front for anybody to steal, and if it seemed to be a valuable one, Arthur would have done just that.

But, it’s simple. Looks to be a Kentucky Saddler, nothing he couldn’t find a few miles out, grazing in a field. Also odd, considering how much money this man seems to have. The peculiarities leave his mind in an instant as the front door creeks open, a small, lithe figure slipping out.

A figure that most certainly isn’t Mr. Mallory. It’s a woman, quick eyes darting back and forth to check for anybody watching. Her gaze eventually lands on Arthur, and a finger comes up to her masked face in a “shush” motion. His mouth falls open slightly as the stranger mounts her horse and rides away, a sack filled with all the riches Arthur missed out on slung over her shoulder.

A twinge of prideful envy hits him as he realized he’s been beat. He watches the mysterious woman as darkness engulfs her, trying to place the sense of familiarity he felt as her eyes met his.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

There’s a smile on your face as you spend a bit of your well earned money in town the next morning. Not just from the wildly successful robbery that you’d managed to pull off while Mr. Mallory was awake. No, the image of the man waiting still lingers in your mind.

It was the man with the pretty eyes, the one whose chivalry had made you blush mere hours before you bested him at his own sport. A cool breeze hits you as you step out of the general store into the warm air, a bag with a new vest and pair of boots slung over your arm.

Arthur walks across the street, still brooding about the robbery that’d been stolen from him the night before. The worst part is the sense of admiration he can’t help but feel. Mr. Mallory had been awake, walking around, and still oblivious to the fact that he was being robbed.

That takes skill, one that Arthur isn’t even sure he possesses. It’s the very reason he’d waited outside, all but letting you do the job for him.

A small bell rings as you leave the general store, and Arthur’s head turns in the direction of the noise. Recognition flickers in his eyes as he takes you in, first as the woman that he’d picked up the can for, and then…

“My God…” He whispers to himself as you smirk at him, crossing the road to stand in front of him, pride coming off of you in waves.

Bright eyes look up at him, the same ones he’d admired in the day, and the ones that he’d recognized for only a moment in the night, too short for him to realize who it’d been. Your lips curl into a smile as your hand reaches up to touch his broad should while you walk past him.

Words escape him as you lean up, your lips close to his ear as you whisper. “Better luck next time.” You walk away promptly, only looking back once to throw that dazzling grin his way again as he turns around to watch you.

He should be annoyed. Angered at your pride. At your gall to rub salt in his wound by acknowledging what you’d both already realized.

Yet, the smallest of smiles that appears on his face defies all that should be true, the breeze seeming to replicate the sound of your voice in his ear as he watches you until you’re a small blip in the distance.

A/N: Okay, this is really long, but first chapters always are. Hope y’all enjoyed, I’ll probably have the second one up pretty quick.

- di <3

[michsmeesh]

something something touch starved john something something

this is what actually happened when john found javier in rdr1 i was literally there dude trust me

drawing without hands and text under the cut

[bigboy-lovers-unite-writes]

could I request some Arthur Morgan cuddling with a male reader hcs? Please and thank you 🛐

-💿

YESSIRRR I've never written for a rdr character before so forgive me if they ain't good 🙏🙏

•Despite how he may act, he's not the biggest cuddle bug in the very beginning of a relationship. He's never been with another man before, so he sure as hell doesn't know what to expect when cuddling you.

•Will just start off with an awkward fatherly shoulder or back pat, the real rough kind, but he doesn't wanna hurt ya.

•After a few weeks, will hug or just hold you you in a more private setting, he doesn't want the rest of the gang to know you two are together, let alone if Dutch found out.

•And after a month+ of dating he will sneak you into his sleeping quarters to spend the night with you, he'll hold you close and just act like a big weighted blanket when you two sleep next to each other.

•Will constantly wanna at least hold something, like your hip, hands, waist, hell maybe even (gently) grab a handful of your hair, just to know youre still there through out the night.

•Youre kinda like an anchor for him, just knowing you're there and following him and touching him in some way just calms him down, especially after a stressful mission...

•Usually rests his head in the crook of your neck, hair, or behind your head if y'all are spooning and he's behind you. Don't ask him to be the little spoon, he gets grumpy and embarrassed:(

•His favorite cuddling position I would have to say is either where your resting your head on his tummy while between his legs, laying back, or having an arm wrapped around your waist while laying on y'all's back.

•Definitely likes to slowly rub your chest in any cuddling position, it's probably his favorite part of a man in general, he just loves it.

•Even if your a bit bigger or smaller, you will be seated in his lap after you've had a hard day or are crying, will almost crush you with that bear hug he gives you on special occasions<3

(I TRIED POOKIES IM NOT GOOD AT THIS 😭)

[harpsinfinity]

Javier escuella x female!reader

Smut !!

It had been such a long, hard day for Javier. Failing a mission, being bucked off his horse, and thrown in the mud. Literally.

He'd whisked both you and him into strawberry, in need of a hot bath and his beloved partner by his side.

You ended up in a room in a random hotel, the first you could find. It was a pleasant change from uncomfortable cots and scratchy pillows.

The sheets provided were soft as you sank yourself down on him. Javier was exhausted from the day, but who was he to deny you ?

He had you stuffed full of his cock, blunt nails digging into your hips as he lazily bounced you on him. A sinful combination of both of your whines and groans filled the room, thin walls doing nothing to conceal your acts.

But neither of you cared, whoever heard would never know that it was you and him

He looked so beautiful; messy hair splayed out on the pillow. His eyes half-lidded and drunk on pleasure as you rode him

"So good for me, mija" The large warm hands splayed across your waist slide upwards towards your chest, they brush over your spit-slicked, puffy nipples. His hands flick and pinch, making you whine out his name

Your hips began to move with a sense of urgency against his, your jaw falls open with every delicious slam to the spot inside you that makes you squeal and clench hard around him

With a gentle tug of your chin, Javier brings your kiss-swollen lips down to meet his. You can't help the keens that are forced out of you, he plays you like an instrument. Controlling every sound that falls from your lips

His hands tantalisingly make they're way back down, running his fingertips along your sides - making you shiver - before sliding down and meeting with your swollen bundle of nerves.

He rubs quick circles, making you moan into the kiss which he greedily drinks up

"Fuck- i-i'm so close-" you squeal when he roughly thrusts his hips up to meet yours. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you feel yourself getting so close to the edge of bliss

"You can do it, shit- come for me, amor" his voice is like silk in your ear, the final push you needed.

With a call of his name, you come undone around him, clenching impossibly tight. You could've sworn you saw pearly white gates for a second

Javier continues to punch his hips up into yours, helping you ride out you climax as he enters his; he fills you up like you deserve, white hot ropes painting your walls.

You fall slump against him, your sweat-slicked bodies stick together.

The rest of the night in filled with strong arms wrapped around you and gentle praises muttered in your ear

[allthemeniveloved]

It Will Come Back - John's Ending

Summary: John's ending as the gang falls apart.

wc: 4.4k

Tags: angry dutch, ansgt, implied violence, fluff, domestic!John, father!John, hurt comfort, overall a tame chapter. :)

ao3 link

a/n: I really enjoyed writing this whole story, and loved waking up every morning to new likes, comments, dms, emails, and asks from you guys, it kept me pushing forward. Onto the next thing! <3

The ride back to Beaver Hollow was heavy with silence, the tension between Arthur and Sadie unspoken but palpable. The successful rescue of John lingered in both their minds, but they both knew it wouldn’t be celebrated—not here, not with Dutch. The cold and damp air of the mountains clung to their clothes as they approached the camp, the familiar sight of ragged tents coming into view through the trees.

Arthur slowed his horse, his jaw tightening as his eyes swept over the camp. It was quieter than usual, the gang’s usual unease now simmering into something heavier, more oppressive. A few of the gang members glanced up as they rode in—Javier sitting near the fire sharpening a knife, Bill tinkering with his shotgun—but none of them said anything. Their faces were blank, wary, as though they already knew trouble was brewing.

Sadie dismounted first, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. “I’ll be keepin’ outta Dutch’s way,” she muttered, her voice low as she grabbed her rifle. “You sure about this, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded grimly, sliding off his horse. “Ain’t got much choice, do I?” he replied, his tone flat but laced with quiet determination. He didn’t need to explain further—both of them knew Dutch wouldn’t take the news well, and Arthur wasn’t the type to lie, even when it might be easier.

Sadie gave him a long look, her expression unreadable before she turned and strode off toward her tent, her rifle slung over her shoulder. Arthur stood there for a moment, the weight of the dewey air pressing down on him as he prepared himself for what was to come. With a slow exhale, he headed toward John’s tent, his boots crunching leaves on the cold ground.

The inside of John’s tent was sparse, the few belongings Miss Grimshaw managed to hold onto neatly tucked into corners or piled atop his cot. Arthur stepped inside, his broad shoulders nearly brushing the tent’s frame as he crouched to gather what little there was. A spare shirt, worn and patched in places, sat folded on the cot beside a small leather pouch. Arthur grabbed it, his fingers lingering on the fabric for a moment before tucking it into the bag he’d brought.

The tent smelled faintly of sweat and gun oil, a reminder of how much of John’s life had been dedicated to survival—just like the rest of them. Arthur sighed, his jaw tightening as he reached for a small bundle tied with twine. It was something you must’ve packed for him long ago, the corners of the cloth frayed from use. Arthur paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he set it carefully into the bag.

Arthur glanced around the tent one last time, his hands hovering over the meager belongings. He knew this would likely be the last time he—or anyone—would return here. Just as he picked up a small wooden carving John had made for you long ago, the sound of heavy footsteps behind him made him freeze.

“You’ve got some explainin’ to do,” Dutch’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and angry. Arthur didn’t turn right away, his jaw tightening as he set the carving into the bag with deliberate care. The storm he’d been bracing for was here, and there was no avoiding it now.

Arthur stood slowly, the bag of John’s belongings still in his hand, as Dutch’s looming presence filled the tent. The air felt thick, the tension palpable as Dutch crossed his arms, his dark eyes fixed on Arthur with an intensity that bordered on fury. “You’ve got some nerve, Arthur,” Dutch began, his voice low but sharp, each word laced with accusation. “I’ve been hearin’ things—things about you takin’ it upon yourself to go and fetch John outta prison. Is it true?” Dutch spat.

Arthur met his gaze evenly, his expression calm but his jaw set. “Yeah,” he replied simply, his voice firm. “It’s true.”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring as he took a step closer. “I hadn’t sent for him yet,” he hissed, his voice rising slightly. “There was a plan, Arthur—a time and a place. But no, you and that wild woman couldn’t wait, could you?”

Arthur’s temper flared at Dutch’s words, and he set the bag down on the cot with deliberate force, turning to face him fully. “A plan?” Arthur shot back, his voice growing louder. “Like the one for Saint Denis? The one that got Hosea killed?” He took a step closer, his eyes blazing. “John was rottin’ in that damn prison, Dutch. There wasn’t gonna be no plan to get him out. Not from you!”

Dutch bristled, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “You think you know better than me now, huh? You think you’re smarter than me, Arthur?” he spat, his voice shaking with anger. “You don’t see the big picture, the way I do. Everything I’ve done, every decision I’ve made, it’s been for the gang. For all of us.”

Arthur let out a harsh, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “For the gang?” he echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. “No, Dutch. It’s been for you. And now, it’s all fallin’ apart because of it.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Dutch said nothing, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and something close to betrayal. Finally, he straightened, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Where is he?” Dutch asked coldly, his voice quieter now but no less threatening. “Where’s John? Where’s that girl of his?”

Arthur’s eyes hardened at the question, his stance shifting slightly as if preparing for a fight. “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the tension radiating off him. “It ain’t your business.”

Dutch’s face darkened further, and he took another step forward, his voice low and venomous. “You know where they are, don’t you? Hiding out somewhere, thinkin’ they can just walk away from this? From me?” He shook his head, his tone turning bitter. “You’re lettin’ your feelings for that girl cloud your damn judgment, Arthur. Bein’ a damn love-sick fool is gonna get us all killed.”

Arthur’s temper snapped at the accusation, and he stepped forward, his voice rising. “This ain’t about that!” he barked, his face inches from Dutch’s. “This is about what’s right. About protectin’ the people we care about—somethin’ you used to give a damn about!”

Dutch’s eyes flashed with anger, but he didn’t respond immediately, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared Arthur down. “You’re walkin’ a dangerous line, Arthur,” he said finally, his voice low and menacing. “Disloyalty ain’t somethin’ I take lightly.”

Arthur didn’t flinch, his gaze steady as he held Dutch’s glare. “Then maybe you should take a long, hard look at who’s really been disloyal,” he shot back, his voice cold.

Dutch’s expression twisted with rage, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the tent, his boots thudding heavily against the ground. Arthur watched him go, his chest heaving slightly as he tried to calm his anger.

He turned back to the cot, picking up the bag of John’s belongings with a heavy sigh. The confrontation had only confirmed what he already knew—the Dutch he once trusted was gone, replaced by a man who cared more about his own pride than the people he claimed to lead. And now, with Dutch asking questions about John and you, Arthur knew the danger was only growing.

As he stepped out of the tent, the camp seemed quieter than before, the weight of Dutch’s anger casting a shadow over everything. Arthur caught sight of Micah leaning casually against a post, a smug smirk on his face as he watched the scene unfold from afar. Arthur’s jaw tightened, but he ignored him, his thoughts already focused on the next move.

Dutch’s voice carried a chilling finality as he barked at Micah, “Go find John and his girl. Bring them back, now.”

Arthur’s heart raced, his chest tightening with panic as he stepped forward, planting himself firmly in Micah’s path. “You take one step toward them, and I’ll put you in the ground,” Arthur snarled, his voice low and brimming with fury. “They’re done with this, Dutch. And if Micah thinks he can drag ’em back here, he’ll have to deal with me first.” His hand hovered near his holster, his eyes blazing as they fixed on Micah, daring him to try.

The other gang members slowly began to emerge from the shadows, drawn by the raised voices and the unmistakable threat in Arthur’s tone. Their wary eyes darted between Arthur and Micah, the flicker of uncertainty spreading through the camp like wildfire as they inched closer, silently bracing for the confrontation to explode.

“Don’t mind if I do, cowpoke.”

-

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the abandoned homestead where you and John had been hiding out. The house was small and weather-worn, but it was quiet, secluded, and yours—for now. The sound of the breeze rustling through the tall pines outside was a soothing reminder of how far away the chaos of Beaver Hollow felt, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, life felt almost normal.

You stood at the kitchen counter, humming softly as you sliced a loaf of bread for dinner. John was nearby, oiling his new revolver at the rickety table in the center of the room, the furrow of concentration in his brow a familiar sight. His presence was steady, comforting, and you found yourself stealing glances at him as you worked, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re gonna make me nervous,” John teased without looking up, his voice carrying a playful warmth.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you set the knife down. “You? Nervous? Not likely,” you retorted, leaning against the counter as you watched him.

He smirked, his eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly before returning to his work. “Only when it comes to you,” he muttered, almost too low for you to hear, but the sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten.

The moment was interrupted by a faint sound from outside—a slow, deliberate trot of a horse approaching the house. Both of you froze, the easy warmth of the evening replaced instantly by a sharp tension. John’s hand moved instinctively to his revolver, his expression hardening as he stood.

“Stay here,” he said quietly, his voice firm but calm.

“John—” you started, but he cut you off with a look, his resolve clear.

He moved toward the door, his footsteps silent on the worn wooden floor. The weight of his revolver felt steady in his hand as he carefully pushed open the door and stepped onto the porch. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across the yard, but the figure on horseback was unmistakable.

“Who’s there?” John called out, his voice sharp, his revolver raised as he stepped forward cautiously.

The rider pulled the horse to a stop, holding up a hand in a gesture of peace. “Relax, John,” came the familiar, gravelly voice. “It’s me.”

John froze, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he recognized the figure. “Arthur?” he muttered, lowering the revolver slightly but keeping it in hand as he stepped closer.

Arthur dismounted, his movements deliberate and calm, and John let out a slow breath of relief. “You damn near got yourself shot,” John said, his voice tinged with exasperation as he slipped the revolver back into its holster. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

Before Arthur could respond, you rushed out of the house, your heart racing at the sound of his voice. “Arthur?” you called, your eyes widening as you took in the sight of him standing in the yard.

Arthur turned, his expression softening slightly as he saw you. 

“Evenin’, darlin’,” he said with a faint smile, tipping his hat.

You didn’t hesitate, crossing the yard to embrace him briefly, the familiarity of his presence grounding you. “What are you doin’ here?” you asked, echoing John’s question as you stepped back, concern flickering in your eyes. 

Arthur glanced between the two of you, his expression turning serious. “Dutch is lookin’ for you,” he said, his voice low but firm. “The gang’s done—everyone’s scattered—but Dutch ain’t lettin’ go that easy. You two need to get outta here.”

John’s jaw tightened, “How’d you even find us?” he asked, his tone cautious.

Arthur reached into his saddlebag, pulling out a small bundle of belongings and handing it to John. “Been keepin’ an eye on things,” he admitted. “Figured you’d head somewhere quiet, and… well, let’s just say I’ve been takin’ care of your trail. Dutch ain’t the only one with eyes.”

John took the bundle, his expression softening as he looked down at the familiar items—spare clothes, a small leather pouch, and the wooden carving. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence as you looked at Arthur with gratitude. 

Arthur shrugged, his gaze flicking back to you. “You two need to keep movin’,” Arthur said, his voice gruff but steady. “Dutch ain’t gonna stop, not while he thinks he’s got somethin’ to prove. You got a good spot here, but it won’t stay safe forever.”

John nodded, his jaw tightening as his hand came to rest on your shoulder. “We’ll move when we need to,” he said firmly, though there was an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “Don’t think I’ll ever stop lookin’ over my shoulder.”

Arthur stepped closer, his gaze meeting John’s. “That’s the way it is now,” he said quietly. “But you got her, and you got a chance to build somethin’ better. Don’t waste it.”

You felt the weight of his words settle over you, a reminder of the fragility of the life you were trying to carve out. “What about you, Arthur? What will you do?” you asked softly, your eyes searching his.

Arthur shrugged, his lips pressing into a thin line. “What I’ve been doin’,” he replied. “Keepin’ him off your trail, makin’ sure Dutch don’t drag anyone else down with him.” He paused, his voice softening. 

“Ain’t much of a life, but it’s what I got left to give.”

The sadness in his tone made your chest ache, and you stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “Arthur…” you began, but he shook his head, offering you a faint, almost wistful smile.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said quietly.

The three of you stood in the quiet for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of you. Finally, Arthur stepped closer, his eyes meeting yours. “You take care of him, you hear?” he said, his voice low but filled with warmth.

You nodded, your chest tightening as he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, the gesture carrying a silent farewell. “Take care of yourself, Arthur,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly.

Arthur placed a hand on John’s shoulder, his grip firm but filled with a quiet sincerity that made John look him square in the eye. “You’re my brother, John,” Arthur said, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of everything they’d been through together. “Always have been, always will be. But it’s time you start actin’ like the man I know you can be. Take care of her, take care of yourself, and for once in your damn life, be safe.” The words hung heavily in the air, their meaning clear as Arthur’s gaze lingered, a mixture of affection and warning in his eyes before he gave John a small, almost reluctant smile.

John nodded slowly, his throat tightening as Arthur’s words sank in. “I’ll do right by her, Arthur,” he said, his voice rough but steady, the determination clear in his tone. “And by you. I ain’t lettin’ any of this go to waste.” He paused, his gaze meeting Arthur’s with a flicker of something unspoken—gratitude, maybe, or an understanding that only brothers could share. “You be safe too, y’hear? 

He stepped back, giving John a nod before turning to his horse. “I’ll be around if you need me,” he said over his shoulder, his tone steady.

As Arthur mounted his horse and rode off into the fading light, you stood beside John, the weight of his warning settling heavily over you both. John slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as you watched Arthur disappear into the trees.

“We’ll be alright,” John said softly, his voice steady but laced with determination. “We’ll figure it out.”

You leaned into him, the warmth of his presence grounding you as the night settled in. 

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the spot where Arthur had disappeared into the darkness. “We have to,” you replied softly, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you as the stars above seemed to hold their breath.

-

The ranch stretched out before you, a sea of golden grass swaying gently in the warm breeze, the rolling hills framed by the distant, jagged peaks of the western frontier. The house you and John had built together stood sturdy against the open sky, its wooden beams weathered by sun and rain but still as solid as the day you first laid eyes on it. The barn, a recent addition, sat nestled beside it, the faint sounds of horses nickering inside blending with the rustle of the tall prairie grass.

You stood on the porch, your eyes scanning the horizon as the sun dipped lower, casting a soft amber glow across the land. From somewhere in the distance, you heard a high-pitched giggle, and your heart warmed instantly. Rachel’s laughter was unmistakable, a sound so full of life and joy that it seemed to chase away every shadow that had ever tried to cling to you.

John’s voice followed soon after, deep and steady as he playfully called after her. “Alright, missy, you come back here before I have to wrangle you like one of the horses!”

You smiled to yourself, leaning against the porch railing as you watched the two of them emerge from behind the barn. Rachel, her dark hair catching the sunlight, was running as fast as her little legs could carry her, clutching a small wooden horse John had carved for her. She squealed with delight as John caught up to her, scooping her up into his arms and spinning her around, her giggles carrying on the breeze.

“Another toy Pa made you?” You giggled before turning your gaze to him, “You’re gonna spoil her rotten, you know,” you called out, your voice laced with affection.

John turned toward you, Rachel perched on his hip, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “What’s the point of havin’ a little girl if you can’t spoil her a bit?” he replied with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he made his way up to the porch.

When he reached you, he set Rachel down, and she immediately darted toward you, wrapping her small hands around your leg. “Mama!” she said brightly, her face alight with happiness.

You bent down to scoop her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead as her laughter softened into contented giggles. John stood beside you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as he looked out over the ranch, his expression peaceful but thoughtful.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the porch. Rachel wiggled in your arms, her small voice breaking the silence. “Papa, can we go see the horsies again? Just one more time?” she pleaded, her voice sweet but insistent. 

John chuckled, his hand moving to ruffle her dark curls. “Not tonight, little miss,” he said gently, his voice warm. “It’s almost your bedtime, them horses’ll still be there in the mornin’.” 

She pouted but didn’t resist as John scooped her up from your arms, her small hands resting on his broad shoulders as he carried her inside. 

As Rachel nestled under her quilt, her dark curls splayed across the pillow, John sat on the edge of the bed. She looked up at John with wide, expectant eyes, clutching her quilt tightly. “Papa, can you tell me a story?” she asked sweetly, her voice soft as you leaned against the doorframe, a small smile tugging at your lips while you watched them.

“Alright, little miss,” he began with a faint smirk, “lemme tell you ‘bout your Uncle Arthur. Now, he was a real tough son of a gun—mean with a gun, meaner with a horse—but you know what he hated?” Rachel’s eyes widened, waiting for the answer. John leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to tell her the biggest secret in the world. “Cats. Scared of ‘em. Wouldn’t admit it, but every time one came near, he’d get this look like he was facin’ down a grizzly.”

Rachel giggled, her little hands covering her mouth as she pictured it. “Uncle Arthur was scared of cats?”

“Oh yeah,” John nodded solemnly, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “And don’t get me started on his singin’. Tried to tell us it was ‘music,’ but sounded more like someone draggin’ a sack of rocks uphill.”

Rachel giggled harder, her laugh soft and sleepy, and John smiled, leaning down to tuck the quilt tighter around her. “He was one of a kind, your Uncle Arthur. Tough as nails, but he’d do anything for the people he loved. Even face a cat or two.” Rachel let out a little yawn, her eyes fluttering closed as she mumbled, “Goodnight, Papa.”

“Goodnight, little miss,” John said, brushing a stray curl from her face. “Uncle Arthur would’ve gotten a kick outta you.” 

John stepped quietly out of Rachel’s room, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click. He turned to you with a crooked grin, gently taking your hand and leading you toward the living room. As you settled onto the worn couch together, you raised an eyebrow at him, your tone playful but curious. 

“Why do you tell her Arthur was scared of cats? You know that’s not true.” John chuckled, leaning back and draping an arm across the back of the couch. 

“Because it’s funny,” he said with a smirk, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“That, and she laughs every time. ‘Sides, Arthur’d probably appreciate the laugh too, wherever he’s at.” His grin softened as he glanced at you, and you couldn’t help but shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

You shifted on the couch, the warmth of the fire casting a soft glow across the room, and slid closer to John. His arm, already draped over the back of the couch, tightened slightly around your shoulders as you moved, and you caught the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at his lips. Without a word, you swung your legs over his lap and nestled into him, your head resting against his chest. His free arm came up to wrap securely around your waist, holding you close like you were the only thing anchoring him to this moment.

As you nestled against John’s chest, your fingers brushed lightly over the faint lines along his face. The creases near his eyes softened as he relaxed, and you couldn’t help but admire how time had shaped him, adding depth to the man you loved. Your hand lingered on his jaw, the roughness of his stubble familiar and comforting as you let your gaze linger on him. He opened his eyes, catching you staring, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, and I might start thinkin’ I’m handsome.”

You smirked, tilting your head as your fingers traced the edge of his jaw. “Might? John Marston, I think you’re already well aware,” you teased, your tone light but warm as your hand lingered against his cheek. “But don’t let it go to your head, or I might have to knock you down a peg.”

His lips brushed against your forehead in a tender, unhurried kiss, the warmth of the gesture sending a quiet flutter through your chest. “Reckon I’ll take my chances, Mrs. Marston,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and full of affection as he pulled you closer.

For a while, neither of you said anything, the quiet of the house settling over you both like a blanket. John’s fingers found their way to your hair, his calloused touch surprisingly gentle as he ran them through the strands. The rhythmic motion was soothing, his hand occasionally lingering at the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

“I love you, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice low and rough, like the words had been sitting in his chest all night, waiting to come out. His hand stilled in your hair for a moment as he leaned down slightly, his forehead brushing against yours. “Every damn day, I wonder how I got this lucky, havin’ you here, with me.”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze, the flickering light from the fireplace reflecting in his eyes. There was no teasing grin this time, no deflection—just raw, quiet sincerity that made your chest tighten. “I love you too, John,” you murmured, reaching up to rest a hand against his cheek, your thumb tracing the faint stubble there.

Your voice was quiet, almost as if you were speaking more to yourself than to him. “She’ll never know what we went through to bring her into the world,” you murmured. John’s hand stilled in your hair as his gaze drifted toward the closed door of Rachel’s room. There was a weight in your words, a mix of gratitude and sorrow that made his chest tighten. You lifted your head slightly to look at him, his fingers brushing against your jaw in a silent offer of comfort.

“And that’s how it should be,” he said softly, his voice steady but warm. “She gets to have the life we fought for. That’s all that matters.”

Your eyes flicked back to his, softening at his words, and you gave a small nod. “Yeah,” you said quietly, his arms tightening around you as if grounding himself in the moment. “Guess we did somethin’ right after all.”

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

tag list: @photo1030 @fwitolei

[elktetraphobia]

Stress relief w/ John Marston

(this is an old story from an old account I deleted. I did not proof read this, but I might edit it later and rewrite it.)

You were in the kitchen looking through a cookbook when he got home, well, his horse you heard first. You were humming softly, an apron lightly tied around your waist, and family cookbook in hand. Finding something to make tonight that you already had the ingredients for was alot harder than you expected. Loud boots sounded from behind you, and before you got a chance to turn around, string arms wrapped around your waist, holding you against John's chest.

"Hello, John. Do you have any ideas for dinner? I've been looking but I got nothing, we'd have to do alittle hunting before making anything in here" Your voice was like water to a dry throat to him, so smooth and perfect after a long down.

He was gonna make you scream, it'd sound beautiful, especially tonight.

"I had something else in mind..." His voice was dark against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

His hand slid down your stomach, pressing against your crotch to press your ass against his cock. You felt how hard he was, and that's when it clicked

"Oh," Your face grew hot just as your loins did, a small ache grow in your cunt as his hand shoved you onto the kitchen counter.

"I'll go huntin' after this, just...I need this, I need you right now" John was quick to yank your bottoms off, making quick work of your underwear before working on his own pants.

Your legs spread for him, it wasn't the first time he's down this. Getting home stressed wasn't a normal thing, but it wasn't rare either.

No matter how many times you take his cock, it always feels different, sometimes bigger. Like now, the angle was perfect, the small curve in his shaft hitting a sweet spot in you, making you gasp. He grunted as he grinded down, taking a moment to appreciate how you felt wrapped around him.

"You always feel amazing after a day of work...Fuck-" He pulled out, started off slow.

He never stayed slow for long. He only does when you ask for something soft that night. Today isn't that night, though. He pace immediately became hard, his hips slamming against your ass with each thrust. The book under you helped a little bit, not making you uncomfortably slide against the counter. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back onto his cock to match his rhythm. He heavy pants and grunts mixed in with you loud moans and gasps. He leaned down, pressing his chest against your back as his hand slid down to your clit, rubbing it to match the pace of his thrusts.

His grunts went from your ears to your pussy, clenching around him tightly making his hips stutter abit. John huffed, lightly bitting your neck before starting to kiss down it, making his way to your shoulder. You felt your legs tremble, tears starting to fill your eyes as your pussy fluttered around his cock.

"You close? Good, I am too,"

He slowed down abit, riding out your climax with slow grinds. He did a few more rough thrusts before pulling out, stroking himself to his own climax, his cum hit your ass, tickling you as it slid down. John chuckled, getting a wet rag to clean you off. He helped you get your clothes back on, patting your ass after your pants were on again.

"Thanks, sweetie." John gave you a rough, yet soft kiss on the lips, wiping away the tears. "I'll go get you some meat now, deer sound good?"

All you could muster was a nod, watching him walk away and grab his gun. You stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath before looking back at the cookbook, which was surprising not torn, and looked for something with deer in it.