#rdr1 x you

[nanamimizz]

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.

[froztii]

PILLOW TALK— A. Morgan

summary -> partnered up with Arthur was the easy part, falling asleep, was not. Thankfully Arthur had some plan in mind

warnings -> language, violence, death, age gap, smut! p in v, pullout method, fingering, handjob, finger sucking, praise, pet names, mentions of anal, mdni.

Tomorrow, you and Arthur would be heading out—just the two of you. Dutch had given the orders, said he needed a pair of riders who could handle themselves, and for whatever reason, Arthur had chosen you. Not that you weren’t capable—you’d proven yourself enough times—but Arthur was particular about who he worked with. You weren’t sure if it was trust, or something else entirely.

You weren’t sure when things had started shifting between you, when the looks had started lingering, when the air had started crackling every time he stood too close. But it was there now, pressing in, thick as the summer heat.

You tapped the cigarette against your knee, then finally struck a match, bringing the tip to the flame. The first pull was slow, smoke curling past your lips, settling in your lungs before you exhaled through your nose. Arthur watched you, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face, making his eyes look darker, more intense. "You ever get tired of this?" you asked, voice quieter now. "The runnin’, the killin’?"

Arthur considered you for a long moment, then reached for the bottle again. "Ain’t much time to get tired." He took a sip, let it sit on his tongue before swallowing. "You?"

You shrugged. "Ain’t never known anythin’ else."

He nodded like he understood, because maybe he did. You’d both been running for a long time, living on the edge of a knife, caught between lawmen and outlaws, between survival and something worse. There wasn’t any room for softness in a life like this—no room for dreaming of things you couldn’t have.

"You sure you trust me to watch your back out there?" You asked, flicking the ash from your cigarette.

Arthur’s gaze flicked up, sharp and unwavering. "Ain’t a question of trust." That wasn’t an answer. But it was all you were going to get.

A gust of wind swept through the camp, kicking up dust, making the flames dance wildly for a moment before settling. Arthur stretched his legs out in front of him, let out a slow breath, then reached into his satchel and pulled out his revolver.

He spun the cylinder idly, checking the rounds, his expression unreadable. "You ever been to Saint Denis?" He asked after a while. You shook your head. "Fancy place," he mused. "Too damn loud for my liking. Dutch, though—he thinks that’s where the future is."

His jaw tensed slightly, barely noticeable, but you caught it. "You don’t?"

Arthur huffed. "Ain’t never seen a future worth livin’ in." Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. There was something heavy in his voice, something that made your chest ache in a way you weren’t used to. You didn’t like it. You’d seen Arthur angry, seen him ruthless, seen him crack a man’s skull without a second thought. But this? This quiet resignation? It didn’t sit right with you. "You ever think about leavin’?" you asked before you could stop yourself. "Just… ridin’ off, findin’ somethin’ better?"

Arthur glanced at you, then back down at his revolver. His fingers stilled against the metal, his thumb resting against the hammer. "Ain’t that simple."

"Maybe it is."

Arthur laughed, but it wasn’t amused. "You got somewhere in mind, sweetheart?"

The way he said it, voice lower now, like the word itself had weight, made your breath hitch slightly. "Anywhere’s better than dyin’ out here for nothin’," you said, barely above a whisper.

Arthur’s expression flickered—just for a second, just long enough for you to see something break through that careful mask he always wore. And then it was gone, buried beneath that same unreadable calm. "You best get some sleep," he murmured, pushing himself up. "We got a long ride ahead." He didn’t look at you as he turned, didn’t wait for you to respond. You watched him disappear into the dark, the glow of the fire catching against the worn leather of his holster before he was swallowed completely. You exhaled slowly, dragging one last pull from your cigarette before flicking it into the dirt.

The wind howled through the trees, and in the distance, thunder rumbled, low and threatening. The storm would be here soon. The morning was cold, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and rain on the horizon. The fire had burnt out sometime in the night, leaving behind nothing but grey ash and the faint scent of smoke. You stretched out your shoulders, rolling the stiffness from your muscles, your mind still hazy with sleep.

Arthur was already up, working on the horses, adjusting the saddles and making sure everything was in place. He barely looked at you as you pushed yourself to your feet, but you could feel the weight of his attention, even if it was only for a second. "You leavin’ without me, Morgan?" you muttered, voice still rough from sleep.

Arthur smirked, tightening the straps on his bags. "Figured I’d let you sleep in, seein’ as you ain’t much good to me half-dead."

You rolled your eyes, brushing the dirt off your pants. "Real considerate of you."

Arthur chuckled under his breath, but didn’t say anything else. He was like that—always had been. He could talk when he wanted to, could spin a lie or a story well enough, but most of the time, he let the quiet do the talking. You didn’t mind. You mounted your horse, shifting in the saddle as Arthur swung up onto his own. He adjusted his hat, his eyes scanning the sky. "Storm’s movin’ in quick. Best we get a move on." The road stretched ahead, long and empty, the kind of silence that made your nerves prickle.

You rode alongside Arthur, the two of you keeping a steady pace, the only sound the rhythm of hooves against dirt. The mission was simple enough—ride into Lemoyne, track down some bastard who’d crossed the gang, and make sure he didn’t walk away from it.

You’d done worse jobs before, but something about this one had your stomach in knots. Maybe it was the way Arthur had been last night, the way he’d asked if you ever thought about leaving, like the thought had been sitting in the back of his mind for longer than he cared to admit. Or maybe it was just that riding with him like this, alone, made you more aware of him than you wanted to be.

You didn’t like the way your pulse kicked up when he glanced at you, the way your fingers clenched just a little too tight around the reins. It wasn’t obvious—at least you hoped it wasn’t—but you could feel it, that stupid heat creeping up your neck, that second where you had to look away before he caught you staring. It was annoying. It was irritating.

And worst of all, you didn’t know what the hell to do about it. "You got a plan for this?" you asked, more to distract yourself than anything.

Arthur exhaled, shifting slightly in the saddle. "Yeah. Find the bastard. Put a bullet in ‘im."

You scoffed. "Real detailed." 

Arthur smirked, but there was something sharp in his eyes when he looked at you. "You got a better one?"

You didn’t answer. Mostly because no, you didn’t, but also because you were too busy trying to pretend that the way he was looking at you wasn’t affecting you. 

The town wasn’t far now, the road giving way to worn wooden buildings, the smell of smoke and mud hanging in the air. You could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the way the people moved, the way their eyes darted toward you and Arthur before quickly looking away.

This place had seen its fair share of violence. They knew better than to get in the way of it. Arthur pulled his horse to a stop near a small saloon, barely more than a shack with a sign hanging half off its hinges. "Reckon he’s in there.” He muttered, jerking his chin toward the door.

You adjusted your gun belt. "How you wanna do this?"

Arthur swung down from his horse, dusting off his jacket. "Quiet. If we can." His gaze flicked to yours, steady. "If not—."

"I know," you muttered, already moving to follow him. Inside, the saloon was dimly lit, the smell of stale beer and sweat thick in the air.

Arthur led the way, his movements easy but deliberate, the kind that made people pay attention even if they didn’t want to. You let him take the lead, keeping close, scanning the room. It didn’t take long to spot the man. He was sitting in the corner, half-turned away, a glass in his hand.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. "Mister.” He drawled, his voice calm, almost lazy.

The man stiffened. That was all the warning you got before everything went to hell. He went for his gun, but Arthur was faster. The crack of a shot split the air, and suddenly, the whole place was moving—men scrambling, chairs scraping against the floor, voices shouting over each other. You didn’t think, just reacted, drawing your revolver as Arthur fired again.

The man dropped, blood spreading across his shirt, his fingers twitching once before going still. Arthur was already moving. "Come on."

You didn’t need to be told twice. You covered him as he pushed through the door, gun still in hand, heart pounding. Outside, people were moving, stepping back, watching. A few men had their hands hovering near their holsters, but none of them seemed stupid enough to make a move. You swung up onto your horse, Arthur doing the same beside you.

"That went smooth.” You muttered, kicking your horse into motion.

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, real smooth." The two of you rode hard out of town, the storm finally breaking, rain coming down in sheets, turning the road to mud. You could still feel the heat of the fight in your chest, the rush of it, the way the air had felt electric. And beneath it all, beneath the gun smoke and the storm, there was something else.

The way Arthur had looked at you. The way your stomach had flipped just a little too hard. The way this whole thing felt like it was building to something, something you weren’t sure you were ready for. And worst of all? You didn’t know if you wanted to stop it.

The rain hammered down, slicking your coat and dampening your hair as you and Arthur pushed through the mud, your horses sliding beneath you with each sharp turn. The storm had rolled in heavier than you’d expected, but you didn’t mind. It kept the town behind you at a distance, and for a moment, it felt like just the two of you—nothing else mattered.

Arthur’s gaze was fixed ahead, his jaw set as he steered his horse through the storm. You kept close, the wind whipping at your face, making it hard to focus. Still, something about the way he was so calm, so controlled, made you feel a little less unsettled. You shifted in your saddle, but your thoughts kept returning to that look—the one he’d given you in the saloon before the chaos had kicked off.

The way his eyes had lingered just a fraction longer than normal. You could feel that same tightness in your chest, that tension building up, and you hated how much it rattled you. "How far do you reckon we’re gonna make it before that storm gets worse?" You asked, trying to break the silence.

Arthur glanced over at you for a second, his expression unreadable. "Not far,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm. "We should find shelter soon."

"Great," you muttered, mostly to yourself, but the rain made it hard to tell if he heard you. You’d been out in worse weather before, but this felt different—more dangerous somehow, like the storm wasn’t just weather, it was a warning. The road ahead was barely visible through the sheets of rain, but Arthur kept pushing forward, steady as ever.

You followed close behind, your horse slipping slightly in the mud, but you managed to keep your balance. As you rode, the storm seemed to intensify, the wind picking up, making it nearly impossible to hear anything but the roar of the weather. You were beginning to wonder if you’d make it out of this mess in one piece when Arthur’s voice cut through the noise.

"Get ready," he said, his tone low, "we might have company."

Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively reached for your gun. Your eyes scanned the road ahead, but all you could see were flashes of lightning and the thick fog of rain. "How many?" You asked, voice tight.

"Not sure yet," he muttered, "but keep your eyes open."

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were ready for whatever came next, but something gnawed at you, a feeling you couldn’t shake. The air around you had shifted, and now, you were on edge, expecting the worst. Then, through the rain, you saw them—figures moving along the side of the road, shadows in the mist, too close for comfort. You couldn’t make out their faces, but the way they moved told you everything you needed to know. They weren’t friends. Arthur didn’t hesitate. He spurred his horse forward, the sound of hooves against the soaked earth drowned out by the pounding rain.

You followed him, your heart racing as the distance between you and the figures closed rapidly. As you neared, you could hear the distinct sound of boots crunching against the wet ground, the rustle of leather. Arthur pulled his gun, his eyes never leaving the shadows ahead. "You ready for this?"

"Always.” You replied, your voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins. The figures came into focus then, a small group of men, guns drawn, their faces hidden beneath wide-brimmed hats.

Without warning, one of them stepped forward, a grin on his face, though it was barely visible through the rain. "Looks like you two are lost.” He called out, his voice rough but loud enough to cut through the storm.

Arthur’s response was immediate—a shot fired into the air, a warning. "Get out of the way, unless you want trouble."

The man didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he took a step closer, his hand twitching towards his holster. "I think we’re past warnings, don’t you?"

You didn’t wait for Arthur’s signal. Your hand was already on your gun, drawing it smoothly, just as the first shot rang out. The fight was quick—too quick. The sound of gunfire, the crunch of boots on mud, the smell of gunpowder all mixed into one chaotic moment.

You and Arthur moved together, a seamless team, each shot calculated, precise. The men never stood a chance. In the end, all that remained was the sound of rain pelting the ground and the faint echoes of the struggle that had just unfolded.

Arthur holstered his gun, wiping the rain from his face, his eyes scanning the area as if expecting more. He didn’t speak, but there was something in the way his shoulders relaxed, something almost imperceptible, like he was finally allowing himself to breathe.

You exhaled, your own heart still racing, and turned your attention to the fallen men. "You alright?" Arthur asked, his voice quieter now, almost calm.

"Yeah," you said, though your hands were still shaking, just a little. "Just a bit too close for comfort."

Arthur nodded, but his gaze lingered on you longer than necessary, something unreadable in his expression. You couldn’t look at him. Not now, not when your head was still spinning from the chaos. "Let’s get out of here.” He said, his voice low, the sharp edge of command still present.

You didn’t argue, pushing your horse forward, following him as you both rode out of the danger zone, the storm still raging around you. But even as the rain poured down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm wasn’t the only thing you had to worry about.

You could feel it now, that unspoken thing between you and Arthur, the way his presence seemed to shift in your chest, like it had been there all along, waiting to crack wide open. And you didn’t know whether to run from it or let it consume you. The tension between you both had been building for days—weeks, even—and now, with everything that had happened, it was almost unbearable.

You tried to focus on the road ahead, but your mind kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes flickered over to you, his hand steady on the reins, his posture rigid yet somehow relaxed in that familiar way. It made you feel uneasy in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

The campfire that had been burning bright hours earlier had now dwindled to a small, flickering flame, casting shadows across the tents. Arthur didn’t say much as you arrived, just a quick glance in your direction before he dismounted, tying his horse to the post with practiced ease. You followed suit, the dampness of the night air seeping through your clothes.

Arthur opened the flap of the tent, giving you a small nod before stepping inside. You hesitated for a moment, the thought of the close quarters making your chest tighten, but then you followed him in, the tent feeling smaller the second you crossed the threshold.

The rain outside continued to fall in a steady rhythm, but inside the tent, the sound was muffled, almost distant. The fire from outside barely flickered in, leaving the inside dim and quiet. You unbuckled your wet coat and set it down, feeling a shiver pass through you as you tried to warm up, your clothes still clinging to your skin.

Arthur was already sitting on his bedroll, his back to you as he untied his boots. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You hadn’t been this close to him in a long time—alone, without the chaos of the mission, without the noise of the camp.

There was something different now, something you couldn’t explain, and it made the silence feel heavy. You sat down on your own bedroll, facing away from him, though you could still feel his presence behind you, like a constant shadow in the corner of your vision. You tried not to think too hard about the way his broad shoulders looked in the low light or the way his scent lingered in the air. His voice cut through the stillness.

"You good?" It wasn’t a question he often asked, not like this. His tone was steady, but there was something softer about it now, something that made you hesitate before you answered.

You forced yourself to turn and face him, meeting his gaze for a split second before looking away again, your fingers picking at the edges of your blanket. "Yeah," you said, the word coming out quieter than you meant. "Just tired."

He leant back slightly, his arms folding across his chest, watching you intently, as if waiting for something more. You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his gaze settling in your chest. "You sure?" His voice was still low, but there was a note of concern in it that you weren’t used to.

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. You hadn’t realised just how much the mission had affected you, or how much you were still carrying with you. It wasn’t just the danger, or the gunfire, or the constant feeling of being hunted—it was everything. The unspoken things, the things that had been building between you and Arthur for so long now, things you couldn’t ignore any longer. You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed your own words. "Yeah. I’m fine."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken words, heavy with that pull between you. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, the way his presence made everything feel amplified, even the smallest movements. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run from it, or if you wanted to let it take you over.

Arthur shifted slightly, leaning forward, the space between you closing just a little more. His voice dropped lower. "You don’t look fine.” He said, his tone almost teasing but with an edge that was hard to ignore.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips, even as your stomach twisted with nerves. "I’m not in the mood for your teasing right now, Arthur.” You said, your voice quieter than usual, but there was a firmness to it, a sharpness you didn’t often let slip.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and gravelly, but there was something in it that made your breath catch in your throat. You hadn’t realised how close he was now, how his presence had filled the space between you, how much you wanted to close that final gap, even though you weren’t sure why. "You never are.” He murmured, his tone softer now, but still carrying that same edge of familiarity.

There was no mistaking it now—the tension was there, thick between you. You could feel it in the way his eyes followed your every movement, the way his body seemed to lean just a little closer, his posture relaxed but still watchful. It was a game of balance, a dance neither of you had fully committed to, and the closer you got, the harder it was to stay steady.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the feeling of being too close, of being seen in a way that you weren’t ready for. "We should get some sleep," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, though the words felt far from convincing. Arthur didn’t say anything right away, his eyes searching yours for a moment longer, like he was trying to figure something out, something you weren’t sure you understood.

Finally, he nodded, but he didn’t move away. "Yeah," he said, his voice just above a murmur. "Guess we should." But even as he said the words, you could feel the pull between you both, the closeness that neither of you were willing to ignore, even as the night pressed in around you.

The rain fell harder outside, but in the quiet of the tent, with only the soft crackle of the fire and the sound of your breathing, the storm inside felt louder, more real. The night stretched on, the storm still raging outside, but it couldn’t drown out the tension inside the tent.

You couldn’t sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes, every time you tried to settle into the warmth of your bedroll, it felt like something was pressing in on you, making it impossible to rest. You fidgeted again, twisting onto your side, then your back, then your stomach, trying every possible position to find comfort, but it never came. You could hear Arthur’s steady breathing beside you, but the closer you were to him, the more you felt the weight of the silence between you. His presence was too overwhelming, too close.

You weren’t sure if it was his proximity or the way the air felt heavy with unspoken things, but you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in your gut, like something was about to crack open.

You turned onto your side again, facing away from him this time, hoping that would ease the unease, but it didn’t. The more you moved, the more you felt like you were drawing attention to yourself, and it only made the tension worse. You could feel him now, like his eyes were boring into the back of your head, his presence so close that it was suffocating. You didn’t dare look at him, though, because if you did, you weren’t sure what you’d see.

Maybe it was the storm outside, or maybe it was the damn tension building between you, but you couldn’t stop moving. You had to do something to keep from losing your mind.

"You done yet?" Arthur’s voice cut through the silence, low and gruff, but you could hear the irritation creeping in now. You froze, your heart skipping a beat.

You hadn’t expected him to say anything, and the sharpness of his tone made your chest tighten. "Just… can’t sleep," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. You heard him shift beside you, the sound of his bedroll rustling, and you knew he was watching you now.

"You’ve been moving like that for hours. You planning on keeping me up all night?" His voice was rough, but there was a hint of annoyance in it now, a sharp edge that made your pulse quicken.

You couldn’t help but feel a little defensive, even though you knew he was right. "Sorry." You muttered, though you didn’t know why. You weren’t sure if you were sorry for being so restless, or sorry that you couldn’t seem to get a grip on whatever was simmering between you two.

You felt him shift again, heard him let out a sigh. "You think that’s gonna help?" he asked, his tone now a little softer, but still firm. You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the glimpse of his silhouette in the dim light of the tent.

You could tell he was still awake, that he wasn’t planning on sleeping anytime soon either. The silence stretched between you two again, but this time it wasn’t as comfortable as before. It felt thick, charged with something that neither of you was willing to acknowledge. You swallowed, trying to push the feeling down, but it refused to stay buried. Your body felt like it was on edge, too aware of him, too aware of the way the space between you seemed to shrink with every passing second.

"Maybe you just need a little… distraction," Arthur said after a while, his voice low but deliberate, as if testing the waters. You frowned, not sure what he meant, but you didn’t have time to ask before he continued. "Something to tire you out," he added, his tone almost teasing now, a faint smirk in his voice.

You blinked, your stomach tightening at the suggestion. You hadn’t expected him to say that, not like that. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You were suddenly aware of the distance between the two of you, how far you had been from each other just moments ago, and now how it felt like everything was getting just a little bit closer. "What… do you mean?" you managed to ask, your voice quieter than before, though you didn’t think it was out of curiosity. It sounded more like you were trying to hold onto control, trying not to let your thoughts wander into dangerous territory.

Arthur didn’t immediately answer, but you could hear him shift beside you, his movements slow and deliberate. You could feel his eyes on you now, though you didn’t dare meet his gaze. "I mean," he started, his voice rougher now, like he was taking his time with each word, "If you can’t sleep, maybe you need something to wear yourself out."

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but you could feel the weight of his words settle between you two, making the air feel thicker, heavier. Your heart raced a little faster, and you couldn’t help but feel a small flutter of something you couldn’t quite place. You turned away from him, your chest tight, not sure whether to call him out for his words or to let them hang there, unspoken. He leant back against his bedroll then, letting out a long breath, as if he was satisfied with his suggestion.

"I don’t mind giving you a hand," he added, his voice low, barely audible. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your pulse quickening, but you didn’t know how to respond to that.

It wasn’t an offer, not really, but the way he said it made you feel like the air had shifted even further, like you were teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t fully understand.

You swallowed, your body feeling restless in a new way now. You knew he wasn’t being serious, not in the way you thought, but the tension that had been building up between you two made everything feel heavier, more intense.

You frowned, not sure where he was going with it. "What do you mean?" You asked, confusion making your voice sharper. You could feel him shift beside you, the sound of his bedroll moving.

He was closer now, the tension between you two thick enough to make the air feel heavy. "I mean," he began, his voice low, "You’re wound up tighter than a spring. Maybe you need somethin’ to tire you out." The suggestion hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you couldn’t process it. You turned your head then, eyes wide, but you couldn’t read the look on his face.

It wasn’t playful, but it wasn’t serious either—it was something else, something between a tease and a challenge.

Your body felt like it was buzzing with energy, but it wasn’t the kind of energy you could work off easily. It was something deeper, something that ran straight through you when he was this close. "Arthur…" Uou breathed, your voice barely a whisper. You wanted to say something—anything—to break the tension, but the words didn’t come.

The space between you two felt impossibly small now, like you could reach out and touch him without even trying. "What’s the matter?" He asked, his voice low and patient, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent to it. "Can’t handle it?" The question stung, but you couldn’t deny that it struck a chord deep inside you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but you didn’t know what to say. You could feel the pressure building in your chest, like something was about to burst, but you didn’t know whether to fight it or give in to it.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you felt the pull between you two, like gravity. He wasn’t moving away, wasn’t backing off, and it was making everything inside you feel ten times worse. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were too lost in it to speak.

"You gon’ let me?" Arthur said, the words slow and deliberate, like he was testing you, waiting for your reaction. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face him because you were afraid of what you might see.

The tension in the air was suffocating now, the silence hanging like a thread about to snap.

Arthur leant in slightly, his proximity enough to make your heart skip a beat. "C'mon," he murmured, his voice soft, almost a challenge. "You know you want this."

The words hit you like a jolt, and for a moment, your brain short-circuited, struggling to form a coherent thought. The space between you two felt like it was disappearing, the way his eyes softened, and how he seemed to wait for your move. You could hear your own breath now, loud in your ears, the storm outside pounding against the canvas of the tent, but all you could focus on was the way Arthur was looking at you.

"You think I don’t want this?" You finally muttered, your voice barely a whisper. But he heard it.

His smile was slow, a little crooked, and his eyes darkened with something more intense now. He didn't reply, instead, he reached out, a hand coming to rest on your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a gentle motion. It sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn't pull away.

"You sure about that?" Arthur’s voice was barely a murmur now, his face inches from yours. The tension between you two, thick and undeniable, was suffocating. He waited, giving you a moment, and that was when it happened.

You didn't lean away, you didn't hesitate.

You closed the space between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow and tentative at first, like neither of you were sure what would come next. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. You let yourself go, just for a moment, lost in the heat of it, the pressure of his lips against yours, the taste of him.

"Easy, girl." He growled against your lips, his prickly beard scratching at your chin. The rasp of his voice sent a shiver through you, the roughness of it matching the way his hands had tightened just slightly where they rested against you. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of your neck, his touch firm but careful, like he was still testing, still giving you room to pull away. But you didn’t.

You leant into him, your breath shaky, your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could feel it.

Arthur kissed you again, slower this time, but deeper, more certain. His lips pressed against yours with a heat that had been simmering for far too long, a fire barely held at bay.

You could taste the whiskey on him, the faint remnants of tobacco, but underneath it was something distinctly him, something you had caught whiffs of before but never like this, never this close.

His hand slid from your neck down to your waist, fingers pressing into your hip as he pulled you closer. The bedroll beneath you rustled as you shifted, your hands coming up to his shoulders instinctively, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. "You always this restless?" Arthur muttered against your lips, his tone half amused, half strained. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a spark straight through your chest.

"Only when you're around.” You murmured back, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

Arthur let out a rough chuckle, his grip on you tightening for just a second. "That so?" His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your jaw, the scrape of his beard making your skin prickle in the best way.

He took his time, tracing the line of your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he worked his way down, slow and deliberate. His free hand ran down your side, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your shirt, the weight of it making your stomach twist in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

You tilted your head without thinking, giving him more room, and he took it. His lips brushed against the pulse point on your neck, and you swore you felt him smirk when your breath hitched. "Ain't nothin' to be nervous about, darlin'," he murmured, voice thick, teasing. "Unless you want there to be."

You knew exactly what he meant, the words hanging between you like a dare, but you weren’t about to back down. You shifted against him slightly, your fingers still gripping his shirt as you breathed, "And if I do?"

Arthur paused, just for a second, just long enough to let you feel the weight of what you had said. His fingers flexed against your waist, his body tensing slightly, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were darker now, unreadable. "Then you best be real sure about it," he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher. "’Cause I ain't the type to stop once I get goin'."

You stared at him, heart pounding, feeling the heat rolling off him in waves. His grip on you was steady, grounding, but there was a restraint there too, a hesitation in the way he was holding himself back. You could see it in his eyes—the way he was waiting, watching, letting you decide.

Slowly, without thinking, you reached up and touched his face, your fingers grazing over the stubble along his jaw. His breath hitched, just barely, and for a brief second, you felt him lean into your touch. It was the smallest thing, but it sent a thrill through you, a rush of something you weren’t sure you could name.

"You ain't answerin' me," Arthur said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. His lips were still close enough to brush against yours, his hand still firm on your waist. "You really wanna test me tonight?" The way he said it sent heat pooling in your stomach, but you weren’t about to back down.

You let your fingers trail down to the collar of his shirt, gripping the fabric lightly as you whispered, "I think you already know the answer to that."

Arthur exhaled sharply, a rough chuckle leaving his lips before he muttered, "Christ, girl, you’re gonna drive me mad."

And before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time, more urgent. His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the sheer heat of him, the solidness of him, sent your head spinning. You barely registered the way you shifted, the way the space between you disappeared entirely.

All you could feel was the warmth of his hands, the slow, deliberate press of his lips, the way he kissed like he had been holding back for far too long. He wasn’t hurried, wasn’t frantic, but there was a weight to it, a slow-burning intensity that made your skin prickle with anticipation. His hand drifted up from your waist, trailing along your ribcage, not quite reaching too high, but enough to make you shudder.

Arthur noticed, of course he did, and the low hum he let out against your mouth told you he liked it. "See?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Told ya you were restless."

You swallowed hard, breath uneven. "And what’re you gonna do about it?" Arthur smirked, the kind of lazy, knowing smirk that made your stomach flip.

His fingers traced over your jaw again, lingering at the corner of your mouth before trailing lower, lower—until he hooked his thumb at the edge of your bottom lip. "Open.” He said, voice rough, firm.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because the weight of it, the sheer intensity in his voice, sent a thrill down your spine. But then you did, parting your lips just slightly, just enough for him to press his thumb inside, resting against your tongue, testing.

Arthur let out a breath, low and deep, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good girl." And that was where you lost whatever composure you had left. Your breath shuddered against the thick air between you, the weight of Arthur’s gaze pressing down harder than his thumb resting heavy on your tongue.

His jaw tensed, and for the briefest second, something in his eyes flickered, something dark, something wild, but then he huffed a rough, low laugh, shaking his head like you had just made a mistake.

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. His thumb dragged down, slow, tracing the curve of your bottom lip as he pulled back, leaving the ghost of his touch lingering there. He wiped his hand on his thigh, jaw clenching as he exhaled through his nose. "You ain't got a damn clue what you're askin' for, do ya?" The words were teasing, but there was something else underneath them now, something strained, something barely holding together. You swallowed hard, your pulse still hammering as you reached for words that wouldn’t come.

Arthur watched you for a long moment, his eyes dragging over your face like he was memorising every reaction, every little shift in your expression. Then, with a quiet scoff, he ran a hand down his face, muttering something too low for you to catch. His fingers twitched against his thigh, his breath coming rougher now, uneven.

He shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours, his weight shifting between hesitation and something heavier, something you could feel simmering between you. He paused, lips just inches from your ear. Arthur’s breath hitched as you held his gaze, the weight of his hesitation heavy between you.

The air was thick, suffocating, and as his thumb brushed over your lip, you could feel the pulse of his restraint, each second stretching further than it should. You weren’t backing down now; the heat between you was undeniable, and every part of you was alive, aching for more.

His eyes flickered with uncertainty, the same conflict you had seen earlier returning like a storm rolling back in.

He pulled back, just enough to give himself some space, but his hand never left your waist. "You’re too young for me." He muttered, his voice gruff, but the way he said it made you feel something far different than what he intended.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a teasing smile. "So you don’t want this?" you asked, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, and for a second, he just stared at you, as if he was weighing his next move. "Never said that," he growled, his voice rougher now, his eyes searching yours for something. "Just... don’t know what the hell I’m doin’." He leant back slightly, but only enough to give you some room to breathe, his hand still tight on your waist.

You didn’t give him the chance to pull away completely. Your lips met his again, soft at first, hesitant, but then deeper, your body leaning into his as you pressed yourself against him.

His breath faltered, the tension between you growing thick as he let you guide the kiss. He didn’t pull away, but his hands remained still, like he was waiting for some sign, some permission to move forward. His thumb brushed over your lips again, tracing the curve of your mouth, as if he couldn’t help himself, but there was still something holding him back.

Arthur’s breath left him in a rush, and before you knew it, his hand was gripping your hair, his other arm pulling you tighter against him, as if he couldn’t stop himself. "Christ.” He muttered under his breath, his lips crashing against yours in a way that made everything else fade away.

His control was slipping, and you could feel it, the way his hands shook as they moved over your body, the way his touch grew more insistent, more desperate. He paused for a moment, his lips still on yours, but his breath was heavy now, his chest rising and falling against you.

"I ain't lookin’ to ruin ya.” He muttered, the words coming out like a warning, but you didn’t want warnings.

You wanted this, wanted him, and you made sure he knew it. "Pity.” Your voice barely a whisper, but it was all he needed. His resolve snapped.

His lips crashed down onto yours again, harder this time, and you could feel the heat of his body, the fire building between you. He kissed you as though he needed it, as though nothing else mattered anymore. The kiss deepened, more urgent, more hungry, and you could feel him pressing against you, his hands moving down your body, pulling you closer with each second.

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to. But just as quickly as it had all started, he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as he breathed heavily, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

"You’re gonna drive me mad," he muttered, his voice low, hoarse. You could feel his heart racing, his body tense as he fought to hold onto whatever control he had left. His hands moved to your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you back. "You’re too young for this, girl.” He said again, his voice almost pained as he looked at you, searching your face for something, anything that would tell him he wasn’t making a mistake.

You just looked at him, your chest still heaving from the kiss, and nodded. "Never said I was innocent.” You murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

He let out a strained laugh, the sound almost bitter as he ran a hand down his face. His eyes flickered with something—desire, regret, confusion—before he kissed you again, slow this time, like he was trying to remind himself of what he was doing.

His hand moved from your hair, down to your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse. The kiss was softer now, but the heat was still there, simmering beneath the surface. He pulled away again, his breath ragged, his eyes dark. He studied you for a moment, like he was trying to read the answers in your face. "You sure you want this?" He asked, his voice rougher, uncertain. You nodded, just once, but it was enough.

"God, yes." You whispered, and this time, he didn’t pull away. He kissed you again, his touch growing more insistent, but he still held back, like he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t undo.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, just the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment. But as quickly as it had started, he pulled away again, his hands shaking slightly as he ran them through his hair. "You’re gonna be the end of me," he muttered, his voice low, like he was talking to himself more than you. You didn’t say anything, just stared at him, feeling the pull between you. "You don’t know what you’re askin��� for.” He warned, his voice rough.

But you just smiled, the corners of your lips curling up slightly as you looked at him, knowing full well what you wanted, and what he wanted, too.

“Then show me, old man.” You thought you were being real cheeky. Arthur just clicked his tongue before he rolled over, now caging you between the bedroll.

“You gonna wish you ain’t runnin’ that sweet mouth.”

Like a man on a mission, one with hunger, his large hands went to the waistband of your pants, and tugged them right down, making you gasp in shock; both from his agility and the cold that kissed your thighs.

“Fuck, look at you, sweetheart. Could see that fucking wet patch from miles away. Ain’t you such a needy thing.” Arthur cooed, bringing a thumb to rub over your wetness.

You whined at the contact, hips jerking when his thumb managed to delve and kiss your clit. “Arthur, please?” You pleaded, raising your knees to be on either side of him.

“Huh, so now it’s Arthur,” he shook his head, though complied to your demands. He curled two fingers into your panties and pulled them down, exposing your sopping cunt, even through the dim moonlight, Arthur could well see your neediness. “Ain’t that something.”

“Need you real bad, Arthur. Can’t wait.” You sighed, hiking your hips up to get more of him on you.

“Quit your rushing, girl. You ain’t the only one who’s been needin’ this.” Arthur scoffed, using his forefinger to run through your folds, gathering slick.

His confession caused your heart to skip a beat. Had you been blind all along? How many opportunities had you missed?

“As much as I would love to get right to it, I need to stretch you out first, sweetheart. I’m a little to the hefty side, so bear with me.” You moaned out, eyelashes fluttering as he sunk in two, thick fingers.

“Oh, Arthur.” You felt unbelievably stretched, even though pain blossomed between your legs, it was easily overlooked by pleasure.

“Shit, darlin’. You’re real fuckin’ tight. This might take a while.” Arthur’s voice was wrecked, like he was talking through gritted teeth.

There was only so much the man could endure, and having the patience to not devour everything about you, was none of that.

“Arthur, please? I can take it, don’t need no prepping. I need you, Arthur. Don’t you need me?” You at this moment craved to feel him inside you.

“Sweetheart, if I didn’t need you, I sure as hell wouldn’t be knuckle deep in your pussy.” He chuckled, shaking his head. Arthur curled his fingers, the thick digits pressing against that sweet, spongy spot inside you, causing you to cry out. He twisted his wrist, fingers flipping with before he spread them inside you, prying you open more and more.

“Oh, fuck, Arthur.” You moaned, fingers curling against the thin blanket below you.

“Just relax. You’re takin’ my fingers so well.” He praised, feeling your juicing drip onto his palm. He lifted his thumb, the pad finding your abandoned clit, rubbing and flicking at it.

Your eyes tipped back into your head, your toes curled in your socks. Arthur’s fingers caused you to make sounds you never knew you could.

You clamped down on him, causing Arthur to his. “Shit, girl. Y’squeezin’ me real tight. Don’t even know if I could fit.”

“N-No! You’ll fit. Fuck! Have to…” you managed to get out, before your words melted to moans, something tightening and tugging in your lower belly.

“You’re pretty determined. Guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

At this point, your thighs were shaking, and your body was sweating, yet you managed, with trembling fingers, to reach into Arthur’s lap, and nudge at his belt, desperately trying to get it undone, but efforts were fruitless. “O-Off. Take it off.”

“Geez, darlin’. Buy me a drink first?” You rolled your eyes, more so than they were, at his joke. You sighed out when he complied, free hand meticulously able to undo his belt, and even slide it from its loops.

The rest was easier, you were able to pull his zipper down, and then reach his underwear, tugging in jarred movements, at the black fabric.

Your body shuddered as his cock sprung free. Arthur was not joking. He was huge, and had a brain melting girth to him, topped by an angry, throbbing tip. You had no idea how you were going to sit still tomorrow, or even mount your horse.

Your back arched, your cunt was making lewd, wet sounds fill the tent. You huffed and choked on moans, yet you were able to wrap your fingers around Arthur’s cock, finger tips barely touching.

Arthur hissed at the contact, as if you burnt him. “Yeah, girl. Stroke me nice ‘n slow. Don’t wanna cum too soon.”

Arthur wrapped his larger hand around yours, using yours to fist his cock as he thrusted his hips into your hand. He bent his neck, pursed his lips, before a thick glob and saliva dropped down onto the shaft of his cock, now coating your palm as you jerked him off.

“Mm, that feels pretty good. Good fucking job.” He sighed, a crease forming between his brow.

His fingers has slowed, too caught up in what you were doing, before he snapped back, vigorously rubbing at your clit, and thrusting his fingers in you.

“O-Oh, Arthur! Can’t hold on any l-longer! Oh! Oh!” You cried, fingers tightening around his cock. A rather loud moan tumbling from Arthur’s lips.

“Cum, sweetheart. Make a mess on my fingers. Shit, yeah. Let me see what you can do.” Arthur’s fingers curled once more, and that’s when white filtered in your vision, and you were cumming hard.

Your cum splashed onto his hand, dribbling down your ass, throat going raw from the sobs you were letting out. Arthur’s fingers didn’t stop until you finished.

“S-Shit, okay. Let go of me now. I think you’re ready f’me, aren’t ya, girl?”

You nodded, letting your fingers drop from his cock. Arthur shifted on his knees, now angling himself until his cock was prodding at your hole.

He wrapped his slicked hand around his cock, coating it further in your release until he was satisfied. He glanced up, waiting for you to stop him, to which you’d never.

His hand fell to your hip to squeeze it as he pushed in, slowly, letting you adjust.

You whined as he went, cunt fluttering around his veiny shaft as he sunk in, until the tufts of hair on top his balls grazed your clit. Arthur let out a long sigh, now fully sheathed inside of you.

He drew his hips back, cock glistening, under the faint moonlight that trickled through the tent, covered with your previous arousal, before he sunk back in. It was slow, he was testing the waters.

You shifted beneath him, silently telling him to hurry up, not that you wanted to get this over and done with, but you just needed more.

Arthur sniggered, he almost wanted to say ‘don’t say I didn’t warn you’ but he felt that would ruin the moment. Instead, he grounded his knees into the bedroom before he pulled out, then snapped his hips forward, hips rhythmically thrusting into yours at a toe curling pace.

Arthur’s lips were suddenly below your ear, grunting and groaning into the shell of it. “Y’know how many times I’ve imagined this, sweetheart? Enough times for me t’wonder if I was even gonna make it to heaven.”

You moaned, loudly, at his words. Fingers flying to his shoulders, even though they were covered by his shirt. “Thought you s-said I was too young for you.”

Arthur grunted, breath hot on your skin, hips pushing you up in small movements. “That’s the part that was gonna send me to hell.”

You tried to give a smile, though your lips wobbled, falling open as you moaned for him. “It didn’t stop you…n-now.”

“Should’ve.”

“Am I the best you’ve had?” You asked, with staggering confidence.

Arthur chuckled, though it came out ragged. “It’s not a competition, girl. Why? Am I the best you’ve had?”

You moaned, they slowly came out higher and higher as his fat tip nudged your sweet spot. “N-No. You’re like second bes-st.”

“Second? Guess we’ll have to change that, then.” Both of Arthur’s hands were on your hips, digging into the flesh before they spun you around, chest now meeting with the bedroll, cock slipping from you momentarily.

Arthur let out a low whistle at the sight of your bare ass. Rough palm immediately going to the ample cheeks, spreading them to see both your holes. “Y’ever gonna let me fuck you there?” Arthur asked, thumb barely grazing your tight ring of muscles causing you to gasp.

“What? No. That’s…dirty, it’s gross.” You coughed.

Arthur hummed, his cock pressing back to your cunt before sliding back in with ease. “Not t’me, girl. Not to me.”

Arthur moved his weight, now leaning forward until he was just about laying on top of you before his hips found their steady rhythm.

This new angle had him so much deeper, filling you up entirely. You didn’t mind when his rough patch of hair brushed the glove of your ass, or how your breath came out shallow as he slinked an around your neck.

Your face was smushed between his thick muscles, hair awry. This position had you leaking more.

You had no where to go, not as his cock bullied your hole, you were stuck between Arthur, all hot above you, and the bedroll. Arthur was murmuring sweet nothings to you, rolling his hips, sharing your moans. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy ever. Gonna get me greedy over it, sweetheart. Don’t know if I’d be able to go a day without it.”

You tried to get words out, but it was almost impossible with how your cheeks were pressing together.

“What was that?” Arthur asked.

“I said…you don’t have t-to.”

Arthur grinned, hips pummelling harder into yours. “Givin’ up your pussy to this old man? How mighty generous. But don’t worry, darlin’, I don’t plan to go a day without fuckin’ you.” You clenched around him at the thought.

Arthur Morgan was going to ruin you, for good.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Drool dribbled from your lips, your fingers digging into whatever surface they could find. “A-Arthur, think I’m gonna cum again.”

Arthur sped his movements up, balls slapping into the front of your pussy as they swung. “Cum, sweetheart. Cum on my cock.” He grunted.

Your vision blurred and your brain melted, dribbling through you and out your legs as your cunt spasmed, and before you knew it, you were gushing around him.

“S-Shit, girl. Making such a big mess, good fuckin’ girl.”

Arthur pulled out, hand wrapping around his cock to jerk it before he was spilling his thick load onto your ass. He shuddered as he came, hips stilling when he finished.

Arthur groaned when he was done, chest rising as he sat up on his knees, staring at the faint sight of the mess he made of you. He sighed, pulling out a handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe his cum off you, before he was tugging your pants up your thighs, and his up his.

He slummed to the side, back to his sleeping bag while you shifted on yours. His arm found you and pulled you roght to his chest, lips ok your forehead. “Now y’better fall asleep. Don’t think I can do any more rounds.”

You snorted, though your eyelids fluttered in tiredness. “Bones can’t handle it?”

Arthur huffed. “I’ll show you what these bones can handle.”

And before long, you were sliding onto Arthur’s lap, shimmying out your clothes again, preparing for the long, long night ahead of you, even if we’re about to fall asleep.

[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)

[hikamuree]

someday, someday . . . wc: 569. a messy draft i wanted to share <3

The doctor and nurse had left two hours ago. You rested on the marital bed, with Arthur stroking your sweaty hair, until you fell asleep. He rose to leave the room, glancing at the wooden cradle and mingling at the tiny clenched fists of your little daughter —another sleeping angel, another girl in his life. He reached over to slide his thumb into the baby's palms and unearth her pristine fingertips from her soft skin. She jerked, letting out a faint whimper, but never opened her little eyes. Arthur shushed her sweetly and left her alone, heading for the kitchen.

The kitchen in complete silence and the peace that only complete well-being brings bathed Arthur in tranquillity. He closed his eyes and slumped into one of the chairs. A hand went up to his eyes. His baby was born healthy, you, his wife, had no complications and were recovering your energy, he managed to hold your hand all the way without fainting from nerves. Everything had turned out the way he never thought he deserved: too well. His hand slid down to his beard, scratching it, sorting his thoughts and holding back the tingle of the booming tears. He had waited for this moment since he left the gang with you. Everything since then had been built up for this wonderful scene —and those to come. Now he imagined your baby's soon-to-be round eyes, a blue copy of his he hoped, innocent and always confused at the stimulations of an unfamiliar world, and the first babbles, vain attempts to copy the language of his elders. On the other hand, he could imagine you with your love-struck eyes in the presence of such a tender creature, laughing softly at the child's frustrated attempts to communicate. Both of you blowed away to the little one who shares your name. Your beautiful name.

And it might be a common agreement among parents to expect a baby boy in the cradle, but Arthur differed from them. He couldn't care less about the sex of his baby, more he prayed for proper breathing, a snuggly blanket, a healthy weight —chubby he preferred, if asked. And most of all, that it would be his to care for. He could already think of all the things he'd teach her and those he wouldn't —like holding a rifle or a shovel, he'd take care of that. You and the little girl wouldn't have to think about surviving, he would keep you safe. He would dedicate all his days, work day and night, put up with tyrannical employers, demand his tired body for a few more coins, hold a smile at home and inhibit his violent instinct, reserving it for when he must protect you. He would build a new world for you, he would rebuild himself for you.

He didn't have his parents around, but his little girl wouldn't go through that. She'd have you, her mother, to school her, him, her father, to take her fishing, teach her to draw, to make good decisions, to defend herself with her mind and to take care of her body. She would be a standout among the other girls, she would be strong and revolutionary. That little girl will blow everyone away, someday.

And he would shout "look at my girl!" and then kiss your temple, thanking you for the amazing child you gave him.

copyright © 2025 by hikamuree. I do not give permission for my writing to be copied and reposted.

[esquilone]

The Van Derline Gang Boys If You Kissed Them For No Reason:

RDR2 | Head canon’s

Arthur Morgan

Dutch Van Der Linde

John Marston

Javier Escuella

Micah Bell

Kieran Duffy

Charles Smith

Sean Macguire

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.

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maybe I intend to do 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!!

[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.

[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

[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.

[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

[2demondogs]

would you ever consider writing headcanons for rdr1 javier? maybe his s/o chose arthur in the final standoff and the two of them later reunite in mexico (they're a bounty hunter now but kinda doing their own thing) I feel like this trope is really angsty and I love the idea of pathetic old man javier who yearns for his s/o

Haven't played RDR1 so I'm goin' off wiki pages, hope this is a decent characterization. At first I didn't know if I'd give it a shot, but then the gears started turning and now this post is super long lol. Might not be the ending you hoped for, but I couldn't see it going any other way...

Imagine me drawing big red hearts around a picture of his face while I describe just how pathetic he is :P

Gender-neutral reader.

Javier's lost what struggling idealism existed in his youth. Much of it died when you chose Arthur's side over Dutch's and, by extension, his. He blamed you for not loving him enough, knowing deep down that it wasn't so simple. After all, he also chose Dutch over you, and you were his world. Javier will never realize that the stand-off was not merely a question of loyalty.

Even while it twists him into someone hypocritical — but he kills and he prays and hasn't he always been destined to become this? — Javier doesn't think about the fact that the closest he came to loyalty was you. Instead, he wonders if you'd like Mexico, and hopes you won't step foot on its soil; he wonders where you are, and hopes that you're dead. He wishes you were here to dance these new dances with him in the streets. He wonders if he's the only one selling their soul again for an imitation of a purpose.

As for you, it did sting. The right thing should always be easy, but it never is. The three of you standing against the rest of the gang proved it. The entire fallout soured you in a similar way, though mostly it drove you to seek solitude. You didn't stay at Beecher's Hope long, though you followed John. After so much time spent with the gang, being on your own again was terrifying despite the appeal of self-reliance.

Both of you feel it's been long enough by the time you are meeting again. Long enough for you to forgive, and long enough for Javier to forget.

Javier hears your voice for the first time in over a decade ordering at a saloon and he cannot move. Do you like Mexico? Where have you been? You're here, if he's not mistaken by that fake name (though you're a fool to reuse them) and the face (though you've aged) and the way you walk (though it's more confident). You're here, and Javier is suddenly very upset with himself because, even though he knows in his heart that none of it ever was about Dutch, he can't find the word traitor in his mouth.

You can find traitor alright. It doesn't take very long of him speaking, his accent fresher and thicker on his English, for you to realize that he hasn't changed one bit. He has no regrets, only self-pity. Javier expects you to not mention the reason it has been so long, because it would bring him pain if you did. He is desperate enough to forgive you, and you discover to forgive him is to throw away your self-respect.

Javier is hopeless first and a romantic second. He will insist that there was never any desire to be lovers again, even for a night; that he's not pathetic enough to willingly throw away a decade of hatred over the way you've formed smile lines. He will insist that it merely bruises his masculinity to fight with you, here in the street that you were supposed to be dancing in one day. There is certainly nothing but survival behind the guns pointed to each other's heads.

[punctatum]

hi love! obsessed with ur blog <3

could u do jealous!john marston hcs?? having mega john brain rot rn i’d love to hear your thoughts 🤗

OHHH ABSOLUTELY!

A/N: Jealous boy John, fluff, very much headcanons

John is not possessive, but he’s protective.

On top of that, he has a jealous streak.

One time he got in a physical fight with someone at the bar because they flirted with you.

Flirting is only acceptable to him if you’re doing it for a free drink! He respects that.

If he saw you with someone else who could possibly be your partner, before you were together, he would ask non stop questions.

Due to that it was very obvious that he had a crush on you. He wasn’t very subtle in many ways.

I feel like he has abandonment issues, and gets jealous if you show the same amount of affection to anyone else as you do to him because of this.

If you’re generally a physically affectionate person, he got really upset when he saw you holding hands with your friends, until you explained that you are just affectionate.

A lot of John’s jealousy is completely irrational, you haven’t done anything to make him feel like he should be jealous, but he just is.

Even though he gets really jealous, you can help him with it. He definitely improves over time.

[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 😭)

[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

[esquilone]

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