#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.

[lumibuns-blog]

Have some more‼️

[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!!

[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)

[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

[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

[allthemeniveloved]

It took me 3 years to realize that my posts weren’t getting any attention because my account was private and unsearchable. 😭 I feel like an idiot. Lol

More stories to come! <3

[sleepyelliee]

Hello I was wondering if you would still take requests currently? I love ur jack fics so much!!

hiiii, thank you and yes I do take requests <3

[punctatum]

John Marston x Trans Ftm Reader

Author’s Notes: Reader has a developed relationship w/ John. Reader is ftm, female to male transgender. Reader has not medically transitioned, so reader has a pussy, boobs etc. Mostly just fluff. Some depicted nudity. Supportive John. Insecure reader. If you couldn’t tell, I’ve been dysphoric lately.

After a day’s work, you settled into your tent, finally getting a chance to relax. However, you end up getting too lost in your thoughts. I’m not a real boy. The words circle your mind, and they get overwhelming very fast. As if knowing this, John Marston pulled back the tent’s flap.

“Hey, sweetheart, you feeling okay?” He asked, his gaze settling onto yours. It was like you were looking at something, but there wasn’t anything there. Like you were in another world. John stepped closer and gently placed his hand on your shoulder. “Sweetheart.” He spoke softly, jerking you back into reality.

“John. Hi. Um— hello.” You stuttered and you blinked, trying to snap yourself out of the empty space you were in moments ago. “Y/N. Are you feeling okay?” John’s tone sounded serious and it honestly scared you slightly. “I’m fine.” Your attempt at dismissal was quickly brushed off. “You’re not fine, darlin’. I know when you’re not fine.” He sighed, crossing his arms as his eyes made contact with yours. “What’s goin’ on?”

You eventually have’s in and explained your feelings to him, how dysphoric you were feeling, how much it affected you. You were used to being ridiculed in your relationships for this feeling, but John was different. He cared. “You’re more of a man than most of the biological men I know.” John reassured you, sitting beside you on your bed and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Who cares what some people think? All I care about is that you keep being you.” He pressed his forehead against yours and planted a soft kiss to your lips. The warmth instantly cheered you up.

“You’ve never… you’ve never seen my body.” You mumbled, looking away from John. This made you feel guilty, as though you were hiding yourself from him. You knew you shouldn’t feel guilty, but you did anyways. “I don’t need to see your body to love you, sweetheart.” John shook his head as he spoke, pulling your head to rest against his chest. “That’s nothing to worry about.” He whispered into your ear.

“I want to show you it.” You mumbled back and his eyebrows rose. “I don’t want to do anything else… I just want you to see me.” You gulped down a nervous lump in your throat. “Are you sure, y/n?” John questioned, making sure you knew that this wasn’t necessary. “I’m sure.” You nodded.

You stood from your bed and began to slowly, nervously remove your clothes. This is the first time you had ever undressed in front of someone and only felt a little ashamed. It was a huge step up from feeling completely ashamed. “You’re beautiful.” John stood once you were fully undressed and his hands met your hips. He leaned in to give you the sloppiest, most genuine kiss you had ever been given and you wrapped your arms around him.

John then began to remove his own clothes and my God, he became even more beautiful each passing second. The hair on his body was the most gorgeous thing you have ever seen. His toned muscles. You looked down. His…

Shaking your head, you pressed your lips against his once more, but feverishly this time. You needed to feel him against you, but you didn’t want anything more than that. The two of you pressed your bodies against each other as you layed in bed. You felt more at peace than ever. You could really get used to this.

—END—

[lumibuns-blog]

MORE‼️🗣️

[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

[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 😭)

[whoyacallinyellow]

Borrowed Time hurt me a lot omg- Now I offer you even more angst.

It's sad that Javier became the very thing in 1911 that he swore to destroy (working as a hitman for a tyrant government) but it would be even sadder if (as a part 2 ig of borrowed time) Javier and his love meet again but this time, he was there to arrest her and bring her to town to hang.

Borrowed Time II

Javier Escuella x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR1-2 events Content: 18+, low honor Javier, angst, betrayal, loyalty, dramatic, possessive, referenced/implied sex, canon typical events & violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, google translated Spanish Type: I-II changed to second pov (wc - 4133) / pc: pinterest a/n: i can feel this request in my veins, so here’s my mediocre yapping! live, laugh, angst 

Summary: Following the events of Beaver Hollow and your departure, Javier falls into work with Allende. After your reunion he reflects on his time with you, to only turn you in by nightfall. 

It was a warm day in New Austin, the orange rays blanketing the barren dirt landscape, and not a cloud in the sky. Javier only imagined finding himself wandering these lands again, but yet he returned on what seemed to be borrowed time.

A few years had passed since he last saw you at Beaver Hollow. The man could not bear to show his face, the embarrassment of being wrong about Dutch was an ego check it say the very least.��

Yet your note lived in the far corner of his mind, a small cabin just north of MacFarlane's Ranch from his understanding. 

It did not take the man long to find it, local cowpokes cowered at the sight of the large Mexican outlaw sitting upon an even larger steed, interrogating them about a maiden. It was almost as if the best pieces of you resembled him, immediately reminding the folk of who it was he was searching for. 

Boaz grunted against Javier’s spurs, digging deep into the loose red dirt below. The sunbeams which crept through the dry pine trees created quite the atmosphere, allowing Javier to get lost in his head, even if it were just for a few moments of bliss. 

Despite the directions given to him, Javier hoped you had moved on after all these years, fled somewhere safer, started a new life, perhaps changed your name as well. Somewhere he would never find you. 

Boaz continued to race down the winding path, feeding Javier’s anticipation against the warm breeze. As it gusted past the side of his head, loose strands from his tied hair tickled his ears, merely reminding the man how badly he needed a haircut. 

The starving grass which bordered West Elizabeth held a yellow tinge, the land rolled and waved, flourishing with birds and wildlife. Javier reckoned he has not been to the area before, but you were not lying about how appealing it was— a perfect home for you two. 

Upon whipping around the corner, abruptly revealed a small cabin with songbirds singing to him in the trees. The place was quiet, cozy, and seemingly inhabited, with small smoke stacks exhausting from the brick chimney. 

Bringing Boaz to a halt, there was no sign of you— but sure enough a big black cloud skulked in the nearby pen, following you wherever you wandered like a burden. 

Javier stiffly slid off Boaz, his knees nearly giving out from under him as his boots crunched onto the dirt. The beast was grazing on hay as he approached the fence post 

After whistling and calling your shire a few times, Javier was promptly ignored, perhaps the slow and ominous brute heard the man call him el diablo one too many times. 

He was still a strong believer the only reason the horse broke for you was out of pity— you looked like a child struggling to climb him every endeavor. Maybe the beast had a soft spot for you, just like himself. 

But now the old shire was relieved from his saddle, serenading in the New Austin sun, not bothered to obey the envious man’s command. 

Javier leaned against the corral post, admiring what he could have had with you, the thought of being a family man loomed over his shoulders and displayed no signs of leaving. 

You and Javier ran together prior to joining Dutch, less for money and more for survival. Your past crimes covered bounty boards and train stations as a permanent reminder, never forgetting the wrongs that were written. That price only increased once Mexico inevitably caught wind of all the messy jobs in neighboring lands. 

He drowned and you sank with him, the price of his sins were bricks added to your back. Being his accessory, the government saw you as a pawn, smart and knowledgeable, if caught— Javier would come for you, and they would be ready for him. 

Those days were nearly from another lifetime. 

Now under Allende’s ruling fist, he offered him a twisted plea deal of sorts; protection at the cost of something the man held more dearly than life itself—you. Your capture was not about the money nor status, but simply a test of his loyalty to Allende; if Javier did this job, he’d do anything. 

The poor man’s convoluted loyalty never got him far, proving time and time again, leading him only to dead ends and false hopes. Charismatic attributes and big promises was something Javier foolishly gave everything to with a blind eye, something you always warned him about.  

“Javier?—“ 

Your voice could have made him leap out of his own skin. As he hesitantly turned towards you, his gut twisted into something mean. You were beautiful as ever, after all these years you waited for him— just like you promised. 

“Never thought I’d see you again, especially in the west.” You spoke again in disbelief, rag wiping your hands clean of a job he should have been doing. 

Your voice only lived in his memories, hearing it again nearly whipped Javier back into shape, feeling sick for your puppy love he desperately relied on so long ago. 

“Home sweet home.” The man swallowed dryly, throwing his arms out awkwardly and gesturing towards the open lands around you both. 

Before his thoughts could catch up to the moment, you ran to embrace him, flinging yourself into his arms with a long awaited kiss. Javier grunted softly against your lips, staggering back to support you, the extra attention only reminding him how saddle sore he really was.  

Just for a moment things felt normal, a feeling he was searching for since you split. He had a place in this cruel world once again, everywhere had a price on his head, no place to retreat to besides you— you were home. 

Perhaps he could head tail between his legs back to Allende, saying you disappeared. 

Maybe he could take you to Canada, or a tropical island— oh, anywhere but Guarma. 

We must leave,

Javier’s unsaid words pricked beneath his skin, prodding relentlessly at his deepest desires for redemption. 

“Oh—amor.” 

Was all the man could choke out, the words exiting pitiful and weak, a near cry for help you assumed was just your bittersweet reunion. 

Leaning away you smiled coyly at him, admiring your lost cowboy;

Your time apart was not easy on Javier, his hardened stare and the chip on his shoulder now set in stone. 

The constant blazing sun of Mexico, along with surviving off rationed canned beans really took a toll on the man. His face was dull and lacking the usual pigment he wore so handsomely when Mr. Pearson cooked for everyone. 

Javier’s newfound demeanor only put emphasis on his sharp brows peeking from under his bowler cap brim, residing above dark cunning eyes, ready to match any cowpuncher who dared challenge him. 

Over Javier’s shoulder was where his mount rested, hoove digging into the dirt at the end of the cabin’s path. 

“—and Boaz?” You began after a shared silence, slowly approaching the overworked horse. 

“Still kickin’.” He uttered gently, a large hand scratching the back of his neck. 

Boaz never really liked you, or anyone besides Javier that is. It wasn’t until the gang hunkered down in Colter for the stubborn bastard to take a liking to you. 

The weather and unpredictable circumstances was not easy on the gang, including the horses, causing rations to be small among the mounts. 

You always carried treats in your satchel to gain Boaz’s affection, and your efforts would eventually succeed in Colter. You would secretly slip him sugar cubes every time you left the shack, he must have appreciated the extra attention. Javier barely recognized Boaz trotting up to him in the snow, you mounted on top wearing a proud grin. 

You wore a similar grin now, full of satisfaction and pride that he returned to you— with warmth flowing through him, his heart rapidly thumped in his ears, all the pent up feelings for you were reopening like floodgates. 

“What’a nice feller, huh.” You cooed to the mount after a slow approach. 

Showing no distress Boaz allowed your kind pats and rubs. Tenderly nudging you, the horse’s chops tried sneaking its way into your pockets, searching for the snacks you usually held after a long journey. 

“Ai, fácil!” 

Javier exclaimed, quickly guiding Boaz’s large snout away, the loving gestures nearly toppling you over. 

“Guess I’m glad he still remembers me.” You beamed, tipping your hat lower to shield yourself from the beating sun. 

“Or perhaps your donations, amor.” Javier quipped softly, his eyes wandering meekly. 

Something besides time passing seemed different about him, you could not quite pinpoint it. Javier was always a timid man at first when it came to his lover, maybe your time apart presented this old side of him. 

You knelt slightly, peeking under his sunken head which hung towards the ground. 

“Javier? You don’t look so good.” 

Your soft words managed to dig their way through his ringing ears, the man squinted his eyes tightly before swiping his lids with rough fingers. 

“Uh— maybe you oughta sit for a bit, I think you’re overdressed for this heat.” 

Your words broke through once again, giving a small tug on his poncho, his disoriented vision cluttered with black floating spots as you guided towards the porch. 

As his vision continued to warp, the cabin doubled and skewed while you put him in the shade. 

Javier knew you were speaking, your voice fading in and out irreguarly, piercing his ears every so often. 

The words felt like they were being consumed by the ocean, his head bobbed up and down as if he were drowning. All he could think about was Dutch’s screams over the storm and waves, as he was about to be consumed by the large void. 

But Dutch snagged him before being swept away, yanking him upon the tiny rowboat that threatened to tip from the added stress. Javier’s senses were waterlogged, rejecting the mean salty water from his lungs. As he gasped for air; the only thing he thought of was you. 

“S’alright, son, You’re not dying today!” Was the first thing he heard. He faded in and out of consciousness as Dutch beat the sea water out of him, his ribcage rattling under each and every smack. 

Javier sometimes wonders if Dutch should have just let him die, abandon him and allow the dark waters to engulf him whole, repaying his sins to his maker. Maybe his death would free you of your burdens. 

He felt like his time had withered before Dutch had saved him anyways. Being a prisoner in Guarma is what convinced him that he would never make it back to you, sealing the deal. Your previous words borrowed time scratched at his skin again, yearning to be acknowledged. 

“Ah well, I knew you’d come crawling back, you’re here for a reason.” You would always say to him after a particularly dangerous run with the gang. He would dismiss you with a mumble and a kiss, but always knew he was lucky to be alive as more of his brothers began to fall. 

Sometimes he would catch you talking to a disgruntled Arthur as he packed his horse. 

Upon inquiring about your words, Arthur being a somewhat vague man would shortly grumble; 

“Jus’ focus on the job, and returnin’ to your woman, Javier.” 

—and he always did. Javier knew you did not worry about him much, at least outwardly. But he did notice Arthur’s presence whenever trouble presented itself. 

~

“Javier— some water.” 

Your words along with a canteen dangled in front of him, the prior hallucination of a watery grave was almost enough to empty his stomach. 

Javier stared back towards your shire lounging in his corral, his mind once again wandering back to the life he could have had with you. 

In the midst of his tunneling vision, a lean coyote lingered through his gaze, stalking towards him, icy eyes sending daggers into his before diminishing. 

“Javier. Say something.” Your words were now much clearer to him, breaking through his consciousness, the ringing disappeared from his mind fog. 

“‘M alright.” He muttered, spitting out the bitter taste from his mouth. 

“I reckon you oughta take it easy, being an old man n’ all now.”

Javier frowned at you and blinked a couple times, jaw agape, processing the pun you made at his dismay. 

“Ha— so sorry, chica, ‘suppose I’m no longer the young buck you remember.” 

He replied sarcastically, his voice both bold and hoarse as he raised back to his feet, every step whining for rest. 

“Ride with me?” Javier suddenly asked as if nothing happened. It took you by surprise, he had just arrived after all. 

“Alright.” You obliged shortly after a pause. “Let me grab my belt.” You continued, motioning towards the missing holsters on your frame. 

“No need.” He cut you off quickly, his voice leaving traces of urgency. 

“Boaz is packed.” 

You eyed him up, watching the man shutter under your antagonizing gaze, how he hoped you were not suspicious of his intentions after all this time. But rightfully so, the man was yellow-bellied. 

But you had no reason not to trust him. 

You were not exactly sure where Javier was taking you, but for now his company was enough to keep you satisfied. The ride was eerily quiet, even for his standards, being a man of few words. 

After riding a little down south he brought you to a small mountain that overlooked Mexico. He perched you both on a small flat area, just in time for the sun to sink below the land. 

Javier stared over the horizon, he never really did think about how big the south was, yet how small he felt in comparison. A glimmer caught onto his peripheral, turning towards the shine was the pendent he had given you, when you both first started running with the gang. 

The feeling presented itself again, feeling so small in the world— you were the home he had been searching for since the gang's fallout. It was always you. 

He sank into his memories, a vessel of his former self was all that remained. 

You two were quite away from your newly shared camp, with all the members and leads, the moments you had alone became quite sparse. 

“What do you think, Javi?” Your sudden presence caught him off guard. 

“The gang?—“ he pondered your words, leaning against a shady oak. 

“I suppose they’re family for now, señorita. We’re much safer, and they’re good to us.” Javier replied, a hand brushing over the stubble on his jaw. You smiled gently with a nod, making your uneasiness all too obvious. 

“It’s just temporary, amor, once we have the money to get on our feet— it’ll be the two of us again.” He reassured, a polite arm sliding around your waist. 

Javier remembers the look in your eye, doubtful and full of sorrow, but you still trusted him, knowing he would never lead you astray. The same he thought about Dutch.  

Repositioning himself behind you, he dug a necklace from his pocket, draping it over your chest and clasping it. You fidgeted in surprise against his movements, gazing down at the beautiful silver pendant that glistened off the very same sun. Before you could say a word he planted a kiss on your lips, gentle and quick before mounting Boaz. 

“I promise!” 

He called out. After blowing a kiss to you, he was off to assist the gang. He didn’t have much money at the time, but Javier always knew how to make things work—

Oh how naive of him— bright eyed and lovesick, he wanted to make a woman out of you, settle down. That is, before Dutch’s plan captivated him. Which ultimately led to this mess, but who is he kidding, he never really had a chance anyways. 

Javier thought back with immense regret, wishing he was more romantic with you in a way, officially making you his chica earlier on, instead of prolonging it due to the possibility of death. He always feared that courting would further your heartbreak if something bad were to happen. 

It was his own unaddressed way to cope with the harsh reality of survival and being an outlaw, he always prioritized your safety over intimacy until joining the gang. When he looks back on it, your shared time at Horseshoe Overlook and Clemons Point were some of the best times of his life. 

Around that time of riding with the gang was when your relationship with him really began to evolve. The potential competition of other men drove Javier and his intimacy up a wall— his usual gentle lips ghosting over yours turned into small nips, and purple blotches he would mark on your neck late at night. A tight palm covering your mouth which muffled the moans of his name, words the man would kill to hear in such an uncaged manner. He entertained no confusion of who you belonged to; even if he did not make things official until that night at the lake.  

Javier had nearly forgotten the sun had already set, and he somehow had no recollection of it. He looked down at you, only in a thin shirt as you gazed longingly off the mountain side.

The final sunset you shared was simply a ticking clock for him. 

“Cold?” He whispered, words he could barely choke out. 

“A little.” You replied, big doe-like eyes staring up at him, holding so much love for the man. Love he was not sure he ever deserved. 

Forcing his gaze away quickly he arose, soles of his feet vibrating and pulsing with each step. After approaching Boaz his shaking hands freed his bedroll clasps, attention locked upon his rifle poking out of the saddle. 

His head spun, finally digging himself out of his trance. After returning to you, he draped the cloth over you coyly. 

“You okay?” You suddenly asked, your hush voice startling him, he sighed in despair. 

The words you said to him at Beaver Hollow replayed through his mind,

Leave with me. Let’s run away. 

But he could not get them out, his chest quivered under the constraint of his uneven breaths. 

“Course.” He managed to form the word, you nodded in contentment, fresh air filling your nose. 

His response would have to do for now, you decided to cut him some slack since he returned to you, after all. 

By now you knew him well enough. Some nights he would stay up and collect his thoughts before laying beside you. You always respected his space, he had his demons, like everyone else. Soon enough in your slumber  you would feel his protective arms drape around you, his steady breaths hitting the nape of your neck, tense body encapsulating yours— those were the nights you felt the safest, and knew he was going to manage just fine. 

Other nights Javier would stay up while you were by your lonesome. He always feared something would kill the both of you while asleep, reluctantly you agreed. But the man always let you rest, you needed it more, that is for putting up with him all day round. 

Your memories swam with always being coaxed to sleep, eventually giving into the soft lulls he would sing. A wordless agreement that there was no point for the both of you to be cranky and tired in the morning. 

—But there he sat, only to turn into the monster he swore to protect you from. 

“I love you, Javier.” 

Your words racked his brain, digging and clawing invasively into each one of his bones. Javier thought he imagined them until he looked over to find you staring this entire time. You knew there was something seriously wrong, but surely he would tell you within due time. 

Javier’s voice was lost, swallowing suppressed sobs down his dry throat, he nearly felt like he was drowning once again in the frame he called a body. 

Just like the days he would not say it back while pursuing a lead, with doubts he would not make it back to your arms— but he always did, it was the least he could do. It felt like lifetimes ago to him, how could the man choke out a te amo before sending you in? 

Instead, he planted a kiss on your soft lips, lingering there for a moment, knowing it would be your last. 

Looming below in the shadows, trailing to the border resided monsters he used to protect you from— two Mexican soldiers camped out by the tracks. Their lanterns flickering softly in the distance, patiently waiting for the man to arrive at the agreed meeting spot. 

Javier shivered, feeling like a young boy again. His eyes fixated on the stock of his rifle that Boaz held. 

Your breaths became shallow, harmonizing with the warm night’s breeze as you fell into a slumber. You trusted Javier’s judgment on setting up camp or heading home, you perhaps allowed yourself to get a little too comfortable. 

It all happened so fast for him, and there was no going back. Javier’s mind blurred as he rode, Boaz fussing and fighting under his control. His very own horse feared the  monster he had become, maybe poor Boaz thought he was Javier’s next victim. 

He rode fast— but not fast enough to flee from himself. 

A coyote lurked around the darkness, gazing at Javier from behind the two Mexican soldiers who taunted him, puffing on their big cigars from Uncle Sam.  

The coyote disappeared as Javier reached for his revolver, patiently waiting for the man to shoot him— but he never did. 

The soldier simply laughed, knowing Javier’s bark had no bite. While under Allende’s power, he was simply a coward a soldier would not even match out of pity.  

Soon enough the two men fled into the night, banter that could be heard a mile away through the ravines. Anyone could have mistaken them for sick hyenas. 

He could hear their stallions riding hard in triumph, with a new prize Javier held so close for many years, he watched the soldiers grow smaller and smaller over the uneven land until the darkness swallowed them whole, taking a piece of him along. 

The nighttimes ahead would find Javier in a one horse town saloon, nodding off more times than he could remember. His glass turned from full to empty until his vision doubled. 

Javier was not sure how many days had passed, the whiskey dulling his mind and senses, but the thoughts still ate him alive. 

Did you think he would come for you? Or would you be envious, spilling everything you could before meeting the gallows. 

Javier hid in his palms, knowing he got it all wrong— it should have been him. 

It did not take too long for the man to get kicked out from the saloon due to his drunken stupor, not even the bartender wanted his dirty money. 

Javier took Boaz to what he thought was east, the coyote returned to accompany him, lurking around on the monotone forest floors he traveled. 

The night breeze made Javier reminisce of the times at camp, the very same breeze that whipped through your hair as you would drag him off somewhere secluded, your mischievous grin reflecting off the summer night's moon as you snuck off into the bushes. 

You gave everything to each other— all for nothing it seems.

Javier sank lower into himself before eventually staggering off Boaz. It only took him a few unsteady steps to empty his bowels on the dirt path, elbows hoisting him up on his shaky bent knees. 

Peeking out from his jacket cuff was a scar he once wore proudly on his wrist. A scar he earned in some honky tonk town just because another man looked at you wrong. The mere thought of it worsened his nausea.  

All signs pointed to you, and you were gone because of reasons he barely understood himself— He feared he didn’t know what loyalty was anymore. Or what he stood for in fact. 

Your blind love killed you in the end, and it was his cross to bear. 

The sky was dark and dull, which was just as familiar as a bottle and a glass. Not a single star in the sky greeted him, leaving him to fester alone. 

The wind howled violently through the trees, causing the leaves to rustle and sway. A northern was quickly sneaking upon the lands of New Austin. 

His lone coyote joined him on a distant cliffside, coat black as sin, mocking the cowboy who lingered below. 

~