You've grown up with the gang, seeing them as your family rather than just companions. In 1895, Dutch brings in a new member, a man named Javier Escuella, who speaks little English.
You're determined to help him learn, but somewhere along the way, you realise that some things are simply universal...
content warning: f reader, no smut, all fluff, pre canon, failed gcse spanish so i'm google translating it, javier adores you, racism (tw: bill), happy endings all round
word count: 5.0k
You remember the day you met Javier Escuella like it was yesterday.
It was the Summer of 1895. The gang was milling about in your makeshift camp, doing chores or enjoying the pleasant weather. Autumn was approaching and the gang was enjoying the last weeks of sunshine, before it turned cold and grey.
Dutch had been gone for a few hours on a reconnaissance, scoping out an abandoned building which was said to be a popular spot for ashamed upperclassmen to meet working girls.
He’d been gone longer than the group had expected, and Hosea had begun to worry. You sat by his side playing dominos, trying to quell his concerns with gentle reassurances.
When Dutch returned, the gang and you were beyond relieved. But he hadn't returned empty handed. Information, some food…
And a stranger in tow.
He was young, no older than twenty one from what you could tell. Covered head to toe in dirt and dressed in ratty clothes, his hair long and unwashed.
He looked around with cautious eyes at the other members of your group, before they finally landed on you.
You thought his eyes were beautiful. A deep brown, smooth and golden like whiskey in the light of the setting sun. He stared at you for a moment, before looking at the floor.
“Everyone, I would like you all to meet Mr Javier Escuella!” Dutch announced, “He’ll be joining us, from now on. Quite the thief, but I reckon we can teach him more.”
Javier Escuella.
His name was dazzling to you, foreign and melodic, especially when spoken in his own voice when he corrected Dutch’s pronunciation.
As other members of the group approached him, such as Arthur and John, introducing themselves and asking questions. Javier answered with ‘yes’s and ‘no’s, growing embarrassed when they asked him harder questions.
It became obvious to you all that Javier did not speak much English, and Hosea made everyone scarce as he calmly took him over to get some stew, allowing the man some peace from the rather hectic band of criminals.
You came to stop by Dutch’s side as Hosea sits Javier at one of the tables.
“Where did you find him?”
“Oh, it's a funny story, my dear.” He chuckles.
You thought as much, listening to Dutch relay the events of their introduction. Your eyes did not leave Javier’s face.
Who is this unusual man?
That had been a few weeks ago now, and Javier had become a great asset to the gang.
He is skilled with a knife, a nimble fighter and a better thief than Dutch gave him credit for. His past remained unknown to you, but you could tell the gods had not dealt him the best cards.
Nevertheless, he's a tough son of a bitch.
Just by standing at his side during jobs, you could tell he is fiercely intelligent, brave, and… well, handsome… but no one needed to know the last part. That’s your secret.
You wanted to truly get to know him, as a friend of course. The only issue to that being the language barrier.
He would sit with Dutch sometimes and listen to him when he read, his focus apt as he tried to learn longer words in the language.
But other than that, he kept mainly to himself.
Javier chose to keep to the outskirts of the group, observing the world in stoic silence. On days where you stood close enough to him, you could hear him humming as he sharpened his knife. But he would stop whenever anyone came close.
He reminded you of a beaten dog in a new home; unsure and distant, growing braver as the days go by. You hoped he would come to think of the gang as a family, as you had.
Only time would tell.
The first time you really interacted with him was one cold night around the campfire.
Everyone is enjoying Pearson’s stew and a few drinks. Uncle plays his banjo, Sean sings merrily, even Arthur and John were in high spirits as they twirl Tilly around in a silly dance that makes everyone laugh and applaud.
What a merry band of fools you run with.
But the mood sours when a drunken Bill Williamson decides to try his hardest to piss everyone off.
“I don’t see why we don't just break in and take it.” Bill grouses, complaining about a robbery Hosea was planning.
Hosea presses his lips together, looking up from his book to stare at the drunken buffoon.
“Because, Mr Williamson, the man who resides there may be alone and old, but he’s known statewide for his experience with weaponry.” Hosea sighs through his nose, “‘Breaking in’ without a plan will surely land us all with bullets where we don't want them. As I have explained thrice.”
Bill scoffs, taking a swig from his bottle.
“Please. Just get the girl there to lift her skirt and get the old coon distracted.” Bill says, nodding at you, “I reckon no man could pass up the chance at a go at her.”
“That’s enough of that.” Hosea warns, voice cold and dangerous.
“What? It ain’t like we’re above using distractions, and it would be a way for her to finally earn her keep.” Bill leans closer to you, running a finger along the bare skin of your arm, “Easier to do it laying on your back, eh, Y/N-?”
You squirm away, and the group falls silent at his words and the clear panic on your face.From across the campfire, Javier suddenly stands up.
“¡Cállate, pendejo!” He snaps, pointing his finger at Bill.
Bill’s jaw drops, blinking at the man before he too stands. Arthur and the Callender brothers also seem to sober up, looking between the two angry men to see if they will need to break up an upcoming fight. Hosea sighs, tiredly.
“The fuck did you say, you slimy brown fuck?!” Bill barks with a sneer.
“!Eres asqueroso, déjala sola! Borracho desperdicio de espacio...” Javier bites back, looking the other man up and down with clear disgust.
“Fuck’s he saying?!”
“He’s telling you to be quiet, and to leave Y/N alone.” Hosea bites, glaring at Bill.
Bill splutters, looking around the group. Upon realising he has no allies in this fight, he storms off, beer bottle in hand.
An awkward, heated silence is left in his wake.
Arthur sighs, patting your shoulder soothingly before he requests another song from Uncle. The rest of the gang goes back to their previous glee the second the music starts up again, argument forgotten.
You look over at your saviour. Javier murmurs something else venomous at Bill’s retreating form, before he sits back down.
He chooses a seat much closer to you than before, which you internally smile at.
His eyes scan the gang, before landing on you a few feet away. He frowns, avoiding your eyes.
“Lo siento, señorita.” He murmurs, scratching his chin with a remorseful expression.
Confused, you look to Hosea for an explanation. The older outlaw regards Javier, before offering you a smile, “He’s apologising, dear. Probably for getting angry.”
“Oh!” You turn back, “It’s okay, Javier. No lo siento, there’s nothing to apologise for. What’s thank you?” You whisper the last part to Hosea.
“Gracias.” Hosea whispers back.
“Gracias, Javier.”
Javier chuckles, offering you a smile, “De nada, princesa.”
The evening continues without a hitch, sans Dutch giving Bill a stern talking to for his vile words towards you.
You try not to notice Javier occasionally looking over at you, but everytime you feel him glance, you have to fight a giddy smile.
Thank god for the campfire hiding your blush.
It’s been a good few months now, since you met the Mexican freedom fighter.
He’s been nothing but respectful to you, greeting you when he passes and keeping a watchful eye whenever Bill has a few too many.
You cannot help but find yourself drawn to Javier, his good looks and his underlying fire luring you in like a moth to a flame.
Others have noticed, namely Hosea, the observant gossip he is.
You have been trying your hardest to keep your growing feelings a secret. But everytime you bring Javier a cup of coffee in the mornings, or when you pay special attention when sewing his shirts, or how you light up when he arrives unscathed from a job, you can see Hosea giving you a knowing grin, wiggling his eyebrows as you blush.
While you enjoy what time you manage to spend with Javier, the language barrier is creating issues for you.
Javier seems to understand English well enough, being able to translate words in his head impressively well. But he’s quiet, and lacks confidence in attempting to speak English for fear of talking nonsensically.
Today is one of those days where he sits in silence, alone at the edge of camp.
He’s frowning down at one of Dutch’s books as he mumbles the words to himself, trying and failing to pronounce them properly.
You watch him from the sidelines as you enjoy your morning coffee, frowning when he huffs and closes the book. The defeat on his face is heartbreaking, and you put down your tin cup to go over to him.
Maybe you can help him with learning. It's the least you can do, for sure.
“Hola, Javier.” You greet, joining his side with an easy smile. Hosea had been kind enough to teach you greetings, which you are appreciative of.
Javier startles, looking up at you and cringing, wondering how much of his failure you had been witness to, “Hola, señorita.”
“I see you’re trying to learn more English.” You muse, keeping your voice light to not make him think you are making fun of him, “Say, would you like me to help you learn the basics?”
Javier blinks up at you, confused by the quick words you threw at him. You internally chastise yourself for speaking so fast, your nerves getting to you.
But Javier translates in his head, and a small smile replaces the somber look on his face.
“Ah… sí, por favor.” He licks his lips, thinking, “Eh, please.”
Internally celebrating the small victory, you sit down beside him.
He offers you the book, and you look over the page he was attempting to learn from. It seems to be an Evelyn Miller read, complicated words typed in a small font. You sigh slightly, this book has words that even you cannot pronounce, no wonder Javier was struggling.
Way to be empathetic, Mr Van Der Linde.
You close the book, giving Javier an encouraging smile while you put the book away, “Let’s try something easier.”
Javier nods, turning his body to face you. Your heart flutters at having his undivided attention, but you ignore it, focusing on the task at hand.
“Alright, I know you know some of the easier words, like ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’.”
“Hello.” Javier parrots, giving you a little wave.
Oh he’s adorable. When he’s not stabbing people, that is.
“That’s the one.” You chuckle, “How about we start with… the weather! “The weather is fine”, what do you think about that?”
Javier stares at you blankly. Perhaps he didn't understand. You gesture to the sky, and put your thumbs up, “The weather is fine.”
“Oh ¿El clima? Si, está bien.” Javier nods, looking up at the clouds.
“El clima está bien.” You say carefully, “The weather is fine.”
“...The weather… is fine.” Javier mimics, the words clunky in his mouth but he nods determinedly, “The weather is fine.”
“Well done.” You smile, “That is the response. I say, ‘how’s the weather?’ You say…”
“... uh- the weather is fine?” He tries, his pronunciation improving already.
“Sí!” You grin, patting his shoulder. Javier nods, murmuring the sentence to himself again before he looks at you.
You look around, trying to find another sentence to teach him, when he stops you.
“You, go.” Javier says, “You.”
“I go?” You ask, confused “I leave?”
“No.” He chuckles, “El clima está bien, en español.”
“You want to teach me Spanish?” You tilt your head, and Javier mimics it, giving you a cheeky grin.
“Sí, we learn.” He laughs, pointing between you two with a cheeky grin.
Across the way, Hosea and Dutch watch the interaction, entertained and smiling as they murmur to one another.
You chuckle, “Okay, how do I ask?”
Javier clears his throat, “¿Cómo está el clima?”
“¿Cómo está el clima?” You try, and Javier nods vigorously.
“El clima está bien.” He responds. “The weather is fine.”
“Ok.” You grin, ”How is the weather, again?”
“The weather is fine. ¿Cómo está el clima?”
“El clima está bien.” You say confidently, rewarded by Javier's smile.
You’re practically giddy, happy the lesson is going so well. Javier joins you in smiling, watching your face with a soft look.
Across the camp, Dutch and Hosea exchange knowing smiles.
While you reiterate the new Spanish you learned, Uncle stumbles past, uttering mornings to you both. You nudge Javier, who swallows before clearing his throat.
“The weather, is fine.” Javier says sternly.
Uncle blinks at him, before looking up, “That it is, fella, that it is.”
You clap Javier’s first lesson. Javier doesn't bother to hide his proud smile.
Javier was proving to be a better student than you were expecting.
Hosea had given you a book on nature and foraging after you had complained to him about Dutch’s choice of learning material.
“Evelyn Miller? That man is a sadist.” Hosea grumbled to you, “Dutch, do you not want him to learn?!”
It had been funny watching the two of the gang's leaders argue like an old married couple.
Every day, you and Javier would learn over coffee. The book happened to be fantastic for teaching your new friend all kinds of words and how to string sentences.
Now, Javier could easily hold a conversation in English with most members of the gang.
After a particularly bad day, one where Javier had had to go on a job with Bill, you taught him some swears as well.
“Pendejo… you son of a bitch!” Javier had yelled clunkily. It had clearly been worth the fistfight between them, based on Javier’s knowing smile thrown your way after Bill was dragged away.
You’re the proudest teacher.
But the world was not limited to your merry band of outlaws. The gang members were often very patient with Javier, letting him stumble and ignoring mistakes in his grammar to not embarrass him (or receive a knife to the face)
So you decided it was time for some field practise.
On a cold day in Winter, the two of you stand in front of a saloon in the city, people watching while you casually practise conversation.
The topic of today was the basics of pleasantries and being nice. Hosea had asked you to teach Javier how to smooth talk, and you had decided that today he would practise his charm on the English speakers of Blackwater.
You hoped to find an individual in need of a knight in shining armour, so Javier could help them and practise on a new soul.
An older woman across the way had her arms full of shopping bags, frowning as she tried to lift them into her wagon, with little success.
Perfect.
“She’s the one.” You point her out to Javier, who nods, “Now, ‘it would be my pleasure’, try it.”
“It would be my pleasure.” He grits out, rolling his eyes, “What a lie. I take no pleasure in helping these people.”
You giggle, nudging him, “Shut up, you’re a sweetheart really.”
Javier waves you off, before heading over to the struggling woman. He stands behind her awkwardly for a moment, before clearing his throat.
“Could I assist you, miss.” He asks, causing the woman to turn around and look at him.
“Oh!” The woman smiles, sighing in relief, “If you wouldn't mind, sir.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Javier takes the womans bags, lifting them effortlessly up to her wagon. He even offers her his hand, helping her up to sit at the drivers seat.
She thanks him and bids him a good day, and he tips his hat to her.
You curtsy at him as he approaches, “Look at you. A regular American gentleman.”
“You know better than that, princesa.” Javier chuckles, reaching into his pocket and showing you the woman's bracelet, masterfully stolen while he helped her onto the wagon.
“Javier Escuella, what will I do with you?” You laugh, swatting his shoulder.
He catches your hand carefully, before turning your wrist around and clasping the bracelet around it. His fingers are warm to the touch, comforting in the cold weather. With the bracelet attached, he nods his head proudly, holding on to your wrist for a moment longer before spelling back.
You blush, looking down at sparkling jewellery, stolen for you by the man of your dreams.
Lord have mercy.
Trying to avoid Javier’s eyes, you murmur out, “Gracias, Javier.”
He smiles down at you, making your heart race faster. Damn this perfect man.
“Come have a drink with me?” You request, pointing to the saloon, “Celebrate your progress?"
Javier straightens his back, offering you his arm like the perfect gentleman, “It would be my pleasure.”
The two of you enter the saloon, grabbing a couple of beers before sitting at a small table.
Due to the earlier hour, it’s relatively quiet, sans for the soft hum of conversation and gentle music.
The man plays the piano in the corner, a simple tune but you can't help but notice how aptly Javier watches him play, a longing expression on his face.
“Javier? Are you ok?” You ask, placing a hand on his arm.
He startles, like he was lost in thought, before clearing his throat.
“Si, señorita.” Javier nods, though he remains somber, “I used to… uh, you know, música, yes?”
“Music, that’s right. He’s playing the piano.” You look at the pianist, “You used to play piano?”
“No, no. Guitarra.” Javier sighs, miming plucking a guitar. He looks downcast, “A long time ago.”
You frown sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Maybe one day you can show me, música y guitarra.” You smile, knowing you definitely did not make a proper sentence. Javier chuckles, and returns your smile in earnest.
“Sí, one day.” He sighs wistfully, “No puedo esperar, señorita. I can not wait.”
Neither can you.
After that day, you were intent on finding a guitar for Javier.
You don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he often watches Uncle when he plays his banjo. A deep sadness permeates from his being, a longing that holds grief as well.
His music was another thing he lost fleeing his country. You know more of his backstory from his brief stories about Mexico, his village, and his family. It breaks your heart to think about what he has lost.
You can give him his music back. And dammit, nothing will stop you.
After a job, you find yourself travelling across the grizzlies alongside Arthur, once again thinking about the man waiting for you at camp.
Well, not waiting for you. Simply waiting.
Yours and Arthur's horses are exhausted, and you’re relieved when you come across a small camp.
The residents, an Italian couple, welcome you, letting you share their campfire and even offering you coffee.
They have a bunch of items that they show you, offering to sell them to help them start a new life in America. You look over the collection, unable to hold back the gasp when you see a worn, dusty guitar amongst the items.
The others look at you, curious. Upon seeing the guitar, the man smiles warmly, “You want?”
“I would, please!” You go to your saddlebags, searching for your coin purse.
“You would?” Arthur asks, looking between you and the guitar, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
You wave him off, “How much?”
“Erm, fifty cents, miss.”
“Here you go.” You hand him the coin.
Arthur regards the interaction with confusion, as the man hands you the guitar. You cannot help the smile on your face, imagining Javier’s reaction.
When the two of you set off, bidding the couple goodbyes, you sit on your mare with the guitar strapped to your back, and Arthur laughs under his breath.
“So, what was that about?” He asks, “Feeling musical? Are you and Uncle starting a band?”
Laughing, you shake your head, “Nah. Someone just promised to play me a song.”
When the two of you arrived in camp, you looked around for Javier, holding the guitar rather awkwardly.
The others looked at it questioningly, but you paid them no mind.
Javier is on guard duty, looking bored as he fiddled with his rifle. You felt nerves as you approached, second guessing yourself as the silence felt heavy around you.
“Javier?” You called as you stood a few feet away, not wanting to startle him.
He turns around, smiling when he spots you. His eyes widen when he sees the instrument in your hands.
You clear your throat, holding it out to him awkwardly, “This is for you.”
Javier gasps, placing his rifle down as he approaches, looking between you and the guitar.
“Me?” He asks quietly, like he can’t believe it.
“You.” You giggle, handing it to him. He takes it, looking down at the instrument.
“Princesa… this is…” Javier trails off, dragging his fingers over the strings, “Muy amable… muchas gracias, señorita!”
“I only know what a couple of those words mean, so you’re welcome, Javier.” You chuckle, beaming as you watch Javier marvel over the old guitar as if it were the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.
He looks back up at you, standing with the guitar in hand, seemingly thinking something through.
You’re surprised when he wraps an arm around you, tucking you under his chin as he murmurs another, “Gracias, princesa.”
You hug him back, wrapped in his warmth and comforting smell. Is this the happiest you’ve ever been? Perhaps.
After a moment, you’re sure you feel him press his lips to the crown of your head, before he steps back, clearing his throat.
“I should… go back, to guarding.” He says, holding the guitar close to his chest.
“Of course!” You take a step back, smiling at him, “I'll see you at dinner.”
“I will play for you.” Javier promises, beaming.
You turn and walk away. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk, and you pray you don’t step on a rock and make a fool of yourself. You’re so giddy you feel like this is your first time walking.
Back at camp, you take a sharp breath to calm your racing heart Hosea grins broadly at you.
“Smooth.” He laughs, coming to your side.
“Shut up, old man.” You berate with a smile, elbowing him.
At dinner, Javier joins your side at the campfire, tuning the guitar with nimble fingers. When he was happy, he turned to you, playing a simple tune which made you smile.
That night you fell asleep to the sound of Javier’s singing across camp, and you dreamt of his embrace.
The morning after, Javier Escuella awkwardly walks through camp, searching out Hosea Matthews for advice.
Finding him sitting at one of the tables, Javier clears his throat, hoping to gain the attention of the older man without much embarrassment.
“Señor Matthews?”
Hosea turns around, offering Javier a welcoming smile, “Javier, how are you?”
“I am well, thank you.”
“And how's the weather?”
Javier chuckles, “The weather is fine.”
“You're really coming along with your English.” Hosea muses proudly, “Our dear Y/N seems to be really helping you, huh?”
“Ah, sí, yes.” Javier smiles, attempting to hide his blush underneath the brim of his hat.
But Hosea notices. He always does.
“Pero…I need to learn more.” Javier continues, taking a seat beside Hosea at the table, “Some words that I want to say to her, that I cannot have her teach me. You understand, yes?”
“I do.” Hosea smiles, all knowing “What specific words might I ask?”
“Ah, so many.” Javier sighs, eyes soft as he thinks about you, “She… how do I say it, es muy bonita, si? Very beautiful. Pero hay más, ella es fuerte. Desde que la conocí siento que la vida vuelve a tener sentido. Ella me hace feliz-”
At Hosea’s blank expression, Javier releases a frustrated sigh, standing to pace. He scratches his head, sending Hosea an apologetic look.
“Gah, lo siento, señor. I… ask Y/N, it takes a while to teach me. She says I ramble.”
“I get the gist, Mr Escuella.” Hosea chuckles, shrugging “You’re sweet on her.”
“The sweetest.” Javier murmurs, causing the older man to bark out another laugh.
“Well, it certainly seems there's a lot for you to say.” Hosea muses, running a hand over his face, “Perhaps you shouldn't tell her, but show her.”
“Cómo? How do I show her?”
“I can think of a few ways.”
Javier takes a seat beside Hosea again, leaning forward to listen to the man as he begins detailing ways he could get his point across.
You eye them suspiciously from across camp, wondering what they could possibly be talking about so seriously.
As the sun sets on another day, you stand brushing your horse absentmindedly.
You hate to admit it, but you’re waiting impatiently for Javier to be done with guard duty, so the two of you can sit by the campfire as he plays his guitar for you.
It has become a part of your daily routine, and has begun your favourite part of the day. No competition.
Someone clears their throat behind you, startling you from your thoughts.
Javier stands behind you. He looks bashful, a look you remember from when he first joined the gang. But there is a fierce determination on his face that you recognise.
“Princesa.” Javier greets, offering you a smile despite his obvious nerves.
“Mr Escuella.”
“Javier, por favor. Never Mr Escuella to you.” He says with a smile.
“Lo siento, Javier.” You chuckle, “What’s wrong?”
Javier clears his throat, “Nothing is wrong. In fact, everything is… good.”
He goes silent, looking down at the dirt below as he thinks to himself. Whatever he is thinking about, obviously has him stumped.
You wait, confused but never impatient. Not with him.
“I…” Javier sighs, shaking his head, “Gah, maldice esta idioma.”
You huff out a laugh, “Idioma? If you’re calling me an idiot, I feel I should be offended.”
“Idiot? No! No, no, no. You’re not señor Williamson.” Javier jokes, taking a step closer to you, “I would never say a bad word about you.”
Blushing, you duck your head. Javier reaches out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.
When you look up at him, he seems sad.
“You… I wish I knew more.” He sighs, looking at his feet, “If I could speak to you en español, I would have more words to speak. ¿Comprendes?.”
He looks up at you to see if you understand, and you nod encouragingly.
“I talked to Señor Matthews, and he gave me advice that was… eh, muy útil. Useful.”
“What did he say?” You ask.
“That words are not the only way to show how I feel. My actions can speak for me, my heart can speak for me.”
Javier takes your hand, rubbing your thumb.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out your favourite flower, slightly bent out of shape by his pocket.
“Eh…” Javier laughs at the drooping flower, shrugging, “I know they are your favourite.”
“Oh, Javier.” You take the flower, while intertwining your fingers with his other hand, “Thank you- muchas gracias.”
“De nada, cariño.” He cups your face with his hand, before nodding to the flower, “May I put it in your hair?”
You nod, and he takes it from you, gently tilting your head sideways so he can place the flower behind your ear, securing it. His finger dances along your jaw once he is satisfied.
Searching your eyes, he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours.
You cup his cheek, rubbing your thumb along his cheek, to his moustache. Javier purrs at the feeling, kissing the pad of your thumb.
“Kiss me?” You request, the words escaping you like a plea.
Javier smiles widely, “It would be my pleasure.”
He presses his lips to yours gently, a featherlight touch that makes you swoon. They’re softer than you would have thought from a scary outlaw, and warm, branding you with his affection.
You could happily die right here right now, with Javier Escuella kissing you with all the gentleness neither of you truly deserve.
Javier breaks the kiss to look at you once again, chuckling happily to himself.
“Llevo meses queriendo besarte.” Javier sighs, “Your lips… more perfect than I imagined.”
“Have you imagined my lips often?” You tease.
“Every day since I first saw you.”
The confession makes you gasp, surprised that he has desired you for so long.
Javier blushes, looking away, “When Dutch told me he had a gang, I was expecting a bunch of hair brutes. A whole group of Bill Williamsons.”
You both laugh.
“But then, I saw you.” He sighs, wistfully, “It was the first time I was glad to be in America. This country felt so lifeless before you.
“Oh Javier.” You smile, “I feel the same.”
“Mi corazón.” Javier mutters, smiling down at you, “Te amo.”
“Te amo?” You ask, marvelling over the two words, and Javier nods pressing his forehead against yours.
“I love you.”
If those aren't the prettiest words ever, in any language.
“I love you too, Javier.” You sigh, pulling him in for another kiss, “Te amo.”
AN / Javier internally screaming “do you know how smart I am in Spanish??”, I know babygirl was frustrated when he first came over to America
For @ourkokolocoo thank u for requesting some Javier! I'm definitely going to write more for him <3
You've become acquainted with every member of the Van Der Linde gang, especially Dutch Van Der Linde...
But there is one member of the gang you're not aware of. A handsome, yet scarred man who catches your attention very quickly.
content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, strangers to lovers, self esteem issues, slightly unwanted advances at one point, drunkenness, mention of scars, piv smut, oral m receiving, john marston needy n whiny agenda ;)
word count: 6.8k
It’s a peaceful day at Clemons Point.
You’re sitting on the grass, sharpening your knife while you enjoy the morning sun, the voices of the Van Der Linde gang members humming around you.
It's been five days since the events at the O'driscoll camp, since you were shot trying to help complete strangers. Four days of being integrated into the Van Der Linde gang.
Three of getting to know Dutch Van Der Linde, himself.
He’s been surprisingly kind to you, and increasingly affectionate the longer the two of you spend wrapped up together. Your nights in his bed have been nothing short of euphoric, your mornings waking up in his arms are intoxicating.
While you knew you should find the whole situation odd, you greatly enjoy being cared for by another person. And with his affections towards you, the rest of the gang seems happy to keep you around.
You never thought you would find friends out here, especially not amongst a gang of outlaws. But you’re not complaining. It’s nice to feel like you belong somewhere, for once.
A warm hand touches your shoulder, startling you from your thoughts.
Dutch smiles down at you, the crows feet around his eyes creasing handsomely, “Good morning, sweet girl.”
You smile up at him, taking Dutch’s extended hand and letting him pull you up. He links your arm with his, leading you through the tents in a gentlemanly manner.
One thing you had discovered about Dutch Van Der Linde is that he is proud. He saw himself as the king of his own little kingdom, head held high as he walked through the camp full of outlaws he leads.
He is a peacock, with his styled hair and luxurious clothes, oozing confidence and superiority.
You know that he is showing you off now, the wild girl he saved and tamed.
And you know that, from the vicious words snarled by Micah Bell, you’re probably just Dutch’s new obsession. His new, pretty little thing to make him feel good about himself. “He’ll tire of you, eventually”, Bell had said. But you don't mind. Once Dutch tires of you, you'll disappear into the woods again.
Nothing is holding you to this place.
Though, you are finding yourself growing attached to the people here.
Other members of camp greet you both as you walk, most of which you knew the names of, and some of which had even begun to consider friends. Mary-Beth waves at you from across camp, Lenny greets you warmly, Javier offers you a courteous smile.
Oh, to have people seem happy to see you.
Dutch leads you to sit at a table with Hosea and Arthur. They are sat in companionable silence, with Hosea reading a newspaper and Arthur cleaning his gun.
“Good morning, my dear.” Hosea greets, looking over at you from behind his paper.
“Ma’am.” Arthur nods, sliding over a tin of coffee in your direction.
“Morning.” You smile, accepting the steaming cup. You sip at your coffee, feeling Dutch run his hand over your shoulder as he speaks quietly to his closest friends.
The topic of their conversation flies over your head, something about a train they plan on robbing. You enjoy the feeling of Dutch rubbing the nape of your neck with his thumb.
It’s nice to feel wanted, just as you are.
Heads turn as a horse gallops into camp, and the cheerful atmosphere changes when people notice the rider. You take no notice until Arthur's eyes narrow, a stormy expression crossing over his face.
“Ah, hell.” He mumbles, rising and storming towards the hitching posts.
You turn to look at the rider. He’s a disheveled man, clothes dirty and crumpled, his hat over his face. He sways on top of his horse, grumbling to himself as his foot gets tangled in the stirrups and he slides sideways.
Arthur is there to catch the man as he falls. The man grips onto him and gives him a dazed smile, which Arthur does not return.
“He’s back.” Hosea muses, and Dutch hums with a frown, “And he’s drunk.”
“It’s been a week.” Dutch sighs, fingers tensing on your shoulders as he stares at the man, deep in thought, “Thought that maybe he wouldn't come back, this time.”
You stay quiet as you look between them, taking notice of their expressions.
Dutch’s face remains pensive, but there's a calculating anger that simmers in his eyes. Hosea looks sorrowful and worried, his eyes soft as he regards the man, as he is pulled away from his horse and into camp.
Whoever the man is, he’s cared for by these men. You wonder who he is as his staggering figure disappears amongst the tents.
Something tells you there is more to him than just a drunken member of the gang.
Afternoon breaks, and the new man has been deposited against a tree, his head hanging as he weaves in and out of consciousness.
You watch as Arthur berates him, his voice echoing around camp as he tries to argue some sense into his friend, if that’s what they are. You cannot tell, not from afar.
Standing at Pearson’s wagon, you help him skin some rabbits Charles had brought in that morning. But your gaze wavers as you watch Arthur storm off, cursing the drunken man out underneath his breath.
Said man laughs, a deep sound that shakes his whole body, and he pulls out a flask. Hosea stands a few feet away from him, his hands on hips hips, looking all the disappointed father figure he was in that moment.
“Goddammit. John, Get a grip of yourself.” The older man signs, shaking his head at the pitiful sight.
The man in question waved his hand dismissively, slumping further against the tree.
With a huff, Hosea leaves as well, sitting at a nearby table and pointedly ignoring the other man.
John, as you have learned, sits alone, head bobbing slightly, his hand shaking as he takes a swig from his flask.
You give Pearson your skinned rabbit with a smile, before wiping your hands as you approach Mr Marston, as you had heard Miss Grimshaw refer to him earlier.
He’s a tall, slender man, his long legs stretched out in a heap below him. Even through being covered in dirt and drunken sweat, he has a handsome face hidden below his greasy hair.
You wonder how good looking he would be if he bathed, and wasn't stinking drunk.
He looks up as you approach, squinting slightly to figure out who you are. He’s got dark eyes, ones which you’re sure are beautiful when they are not glazed over in an alcohol induced haze.
“Are you okay?” You ask him, tilting your head to the side.
John stares at you, blinking in confusion. The two of you have yet to be introduced, with him being too drunk to hold a conversation and the others in camp creating excuses to keep you away from him. But he smiles up at you, all the same.
“I’m always okay, darlin’” John slurs, waving his flask about in a casual manner that causes whiskey to spill out of it. The amber liquid stains his shirt, but he pays no mind to it.
“You’re drunk.” You say softly.
“Nothing gets past you.” He chuckles, patting the ground beside him, “Come, sit with me.”
You hesitate, wondering if that would be a good decision.
You’ve met plenty of drunk men before, even out in the uncivilised world men will still find a way to get drunk and be a nuisance. This John fella is cute, but the last thing you need right now is to eget grope and be forced to knock some sense into him.
Though, from the way everyone acts around him, you think that you would be thanked for doing so.
Looking around, you spot Bill and Javier sitting by the campfire a few feet away. Hosea sits at a table close by, and Lenny and Sean are laughing together on the outskirts of camp.
Surely, with all these men around, you’ll be fine. And so will John.
Crossing your legs underneath you, you sit down beside him. Not close enough to touch him, but reasonably nearby for him to talk to you.
“I ain’t met you before.” He muses, looking you over, shifting to get an inch closer to you, “And I think I would remember such a pretty face.”
“Hands where I can see them, Marston.” Hosea warns from his table nearby, not even bothering to look up from his book.
“I’m just making an observation, old man. What’s wrong with admiring the view?” John asks with a half-smile, looking you over.
His eyes wander over you, paying attention to the skin exposed by your shorter sleeves. He looks down at your chest, and you cross your arms over you to discourage him.
John blinks and has the decency to look slightly ashamed, looking away and clearing his throat. He lifts his flask to take another drink.
“I think you’ve had enough.” You advise, keeping your voice light as to not overstep, but you worry as he misses his mouth and spills liquor down his chin.
“Aw, you worried about me, darlin’?”
“I’m worried about poor Tilly and Mary-Beth, dark rum like that will be a bastard to get out your white shirt.”
John chuckles, dropping his head back against the tree. He rolls his head to the side, giving you an appraising look.
“Pretty and funny. Ooh, where’d they find you?”
You smile at the compliment, your eyebrows raising as John lifts his other hand to tuck a strand of hair away from your face.
You can see Hosea look up out of the corner of his eye, his mouth opening to admonish John before someone else beats him to the punch.
“John I swear I’m gonna throw you in the nearest river if you don’t get a grip.” Arthur grumbles coming to a stop beside the two of you, “Leave her alone, you fool.”
“It’s okay, Arthur. He doesn't mean me no harm.” You smile, trying to reassure the camp's enforcer.
He looks about ready to grab John by the scruff of his neck like a misbehaving kitten, but sighs and gives you a look.
You nod, understanding he wants you to come with him so he doesn’t have to drag John away from you.
You hope it won’t come to that.
“You never introduced yourself, sweet thing.” John murmurs, catching your attention. His face is close enough for you to feel his warm breath against your cheek, and Arthur takes a step forward.
“Ain't got one. Call me what you want.” You say in an equally soft voice, flashing him a quick smile before you stand, putting space between the both of you.
Arthur whisks you away, sending a warning glare to John as the both of you pass him. He whispers at you to keep your distance from John when he’s like this, but you wave him off.
But John pays no mind to Arthur, his eyes trained on your retreating figure, a dopey smile on his lips.
Hours have passed since your first introduction to John Marston, and the man has escaped the camp and your attention for a while.
As the sun disappears below the horizon, you find yourself sitting at a table with Hosea and Herr Strauss, the two men being grand company at present as they were both comfortable with silence, their noses buried in worn pages.
You sit knee to knee with Hosea, winding rope around your hand. You aimed to fix your makeshift reins for Bo, but Dutch was keen on getting you proper riding gear. So you’re left with a foot of old, useless twine, twisting it and pulling into a braid. There would be some use for it, perhaps for hunting.
It's nice to just wind your fingers around the damaged rope. Hosea would occasionally offer helpful comments or a humourful comment, but apart from that, you are left to your wandering mind.
You definitely weren’t thinking about Dutch Van Der Linde.
And you most assuredly weren't thinking about John Marston.
You were definitely only having very pure thoughts.
Definitely.
Movement causes your eyes to refocus, twisting your head to make out a shape coming out from the treeline.
Your brows furrow as you spot John stumbling back into camp, approaching through the trees like the undead. You watch him as he struggles to walk across camp without losing his footing, his face flushed and eyes half closed in a drunken haze.
Beside you, Hosea sighs as he sees him too, closing his book with a haggard expression, “That boy…”
“What's wrong with him?” You ask, hoping to learn more about the poor sod.
“He’s had a rough time of it lately.” Hosea explains, keeping his voice quiet, “He fell for a woman who lived in our camp, but she left when she had the chance at a better life. She's got a family now, a nice ranch and a husband, and a little one on the way.”
“Sounds nice.” Smiling gently, you notice the fondness in Hosea’s eyes when he thinks about the departed woman thriving.
“It is. It's what Abigail deserves.” Hosea muses, somberly, “But John’s hurt. He cared for her, and she chose a life without him in it. To top it off, he’s gotten some really bad scars recently, as you probably noticed. He went to see Abigail to get her back and found her happier than ever, poor fool.”
“He’s not coping well with that, I imagine.”
“No.” Hosea sighs, “No he’s not.”
John stumbles past Dutch's tent, and the man in question tries to talk to him, only to be ignored.
With a sigh of your own, you rise from your seat, rope abandoned. You go to Dutch's side, the both of you watching John as he trips over a log and tries to regain his footing.
People frown at the sight of him, either with sympathy or poorly concealed annoyance.
Even Reverend Swanson watches him with pity. Which, coming from an alcoholic, disgraced man of the cloth, shows just how bad John has gotten.
Dutch absentmindedly runs a hand over your hair, calculating eyes moving to your face as he offers you a smile, “Will you do me a favour, angel?”
“Of course.” You find yourself saying.
“Can you get John to his tent and get him to try to rest?"
“Me? Why me?”
“You’re one tough girl, he won't get past you. Not with your skills.” Dutch smiles, but it falters, “And he's been this way for so long everyone else has lost faith in him turning his life around. There's only so much people can do to help someone who doesn't want it.”
You turn your eyes back to John, who leers at Karen and Tilly when they try to stop him from falling over. Miss Grimshaw yells at him, but he waves her off dismissively.
All three women look down cast as he wanders off, aimlessly. Like an untethered boat in a storm.
“I've seen you with the worst of us, you’re decent to everyone without judgement.” Dutch continues, “Bill, Swanson. Hell, you’re kind to Kieran and he’s an O’driscoll.”
“He’s not an O'driscoll.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Dutch chuckles, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “John needs someone to set him right. You’re new and that might be what he needs.”
You nod, and Dutch brings you close to press a kiss to your temple, “Thank you, sweetheart.”
He nudges you forward, and you head in the drunk man's direction with a shrug. You can try, at least.
“Put a boulder on his chest if you have to!” Hosea calls out.
John is searching Pearson’s wagon when you come to his side.
His fingers are less than nimble as they search through empty bottles, clearly looking for another drink. You roll your eyes, placing your hands on your hips.
“I think you’ve had enough, Mr Marston.”
“Pfft, how would you know?” John rasps, not sparing you a glance, “And what's with this Mr Marston crap? Call me John, for the love of god, before I start feeling old.”
“Aright, John.” You sigh, taking his shaking hands in yours to pull him from the wagon, “You need to sleep it off, can you come with me?"
“Where we goin’?” He slurs, blinking down at you.
“Your tent, you need to sleep.”
“You’re taking me to my tent?” John smirks, looking you up and down, “Well, ain't that a nice proposition?”
“I ain't propositioning ya.” You roll your eyes, keeping his hands in yours as you pull him along to the tents. It’s dark, and John manages to trip on every rock and twig in his way, making the journey to his sleeping quarters thrice as hard as it usually would be.
By the time the both of you reach the tent, John has his arm wrapped around your shoulders, using you as a crutch. For a guy with a slender build, and a waist you’re envious of, he’s not light.
You huff and puff as you push him past the threshold of his meager little home, depositing him onto his bedroll like a sack of potatoes.
Nodding to yourself, you turn to leave, when you feel a hand grasp onto your wrist. John smiles wolfishly up at you, biting his lip as he looks over your body.
“It’s real lonely in here, why don’t you stay a while?” He rasps, hand trailing up your arm.
“A kind offer, but I must refuse.” You roll your eyes slightly, but John just chuckles.
“Come on, pretty girl. Show a sad fella some compassion, ‘been a while since I had a beautiful woman payin’ me so much attention.”
You shake your head, pursing your lips as his hands wander and try to grab your hips. It’s a shame he’s drunk and ridiculously emotionally unavailable. If he were sober you wouldn't be so against spending time alone with him.
But you’re reminded of his inebriation as he tries to lift up your skirt, his eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.
“Enough, John.” You warn.
“Please, baby…” He murmurs, unrelenting, hands grabbing. His puppy dog eyes are worryingly convincing, but you have to put an end to this.
A log lies at your feet, and you inwardly sigh, knowing what you have to do. Picking the hefty piece of wood up, you pat John’s head with your other hand.
“I’ll apologise for this in the morning.” You say softly.
“Wha-”
You smack the log on the side of his head, hitting him right in the temple. He slumps down, knocked cold. With him limp, you manoeuvre I'm into a more comfortable position on his bedroll, covering him with a blanket so he’s not cold.
Tossing the log back out the tent, you frown back down at the unconscious man. A less than ideal way of getting him down, but clearly nothing else was gonna work. Especially with how eager he was to get you into bed with him.
With another sigh, you lean forward and kiss his temple, right over where the log had smacked him, “G’night, Mr Marston.”
The next morning, you hope John will forgive you, as you wake up to the sound of birds.
It’s early, you gather by the lack of sound surrounding you, but the sun has begun to rise.
In all your years living out in the wilderness, you learnt to wake up with the day. If a bear hadn't made a meal of your guts in your sleep, then whatever higher power gave you another day to live. No time to waste, not when you’re desperate.
Though, you're not really desperate now, are you?
Dutch snores beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist from where your back is pressed to his side. Even in his sleep, he likes to keep you close to him.
His own wild thing.
You extract yourself gently, stretching your arms above you to wake your joints.
A groan from outside Dutch’s tent catches your attention, and you rise out of the cot silently so as to not wake up the fearless leader.
Peeking out through the canvas walls, you spot John sitting on a chair beside the unlit campfire, his hands in his head.
He’s worse for wear, that’s for sure, but he seems to not be drunk anymore. The sleep did him some good, but you want to apologise to him before he goes around telling everyone about how you had to get him to rest.
You may be a wild woman but you’re not needlessly violent… most of the time.
John looks up as you approach, his eyelids low as the morning sun burns his reddened eyes. Upon recognising your face, he huffs, glaring.
“You hit me.” He rasps, sulking like a child.
“I did.” You smile, shrugging, “Told you I’d apologise for it in the morning. So, I'm sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” John sighs, rubbing the slight bump on his temple, “Was quite a swing. But, I guess I deserved it.”
“I don't know about all that.” You laugh, walking past him to Pearson's tent to start the coffee, “You just weren't going to sleep. Had to think outside the box, you know?”
“You certainly did that.” He laughs, standing to stumble over to the pile of firewood, setting the campfire alight as you bring over the pot to boil.
John sits back down, and you sit beside him on the log. The two of you sit in silence as you wait for the coffee to finish boiling, and John begins fidgeting.
“Look, I’d… I’d like to apologise for how I acted last night.” He mumbles sheepishly.
“You remember?”
“Kind of.” John sighs, scratching his stubbled cheek, “I remember you helping me back to my tent. And… Well, I guess I was trying to get you to stay with me. I reckon I was being quite adamant, which was wrong of me.”
“Mhm.” You agree, shrugging, “You were very drunk. It wasn’t okay, the way you acted, but I handled you.”
“You sure did.” John says, looking over at you with a small smile, “You’re a real tough one. Where’d you come from again?”
“Out there.” You nod to the trees at the edge of camp, “I lived in the woods.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah. Just me and my horse.”
“That’s a real lonely way o’ living” John states.
“Didn't have much of a choice. Lost my mama, and the O’driscolls took my home. I’ve just been… surviving ever since.”
“And the gang found you?”
“I found y’all.” Chuckling, you recount the story of saving Arthur and the others from the O’driscoll boys, and how you got shot in Arthur’s place. You tell John about how Dutch found you, and the gang put you back together.
You leave out the details of what convinced you to stay a little longer. John certainly didn't need to hear all about Dutch Van Der Linde’s convincing skills in the bedroom.
Once you’re finished with your story, John watches you for a moment. You ignore his pensive look and continue making coffee, handing John a cup before you sit back down with your own.
“You… you gonna stay here long?” John asks, looking down at his drink.
Thinking, you gnaw on your lip, “I don’t know. I like it here. But we’re all still strangers. Strangers go their own way, at the end of the day.”
“I suppose.”
With that, the two of you go back to drinking your coffee.
John disappears when everyone starts waking up.
You try to not think about him, talking with the others and getting on with chores. But after a few hours, you begin to worry when you don’t see him lurking about.
Other members of the gang mention they’ve seen him when you ask, which makes you worried that John is simply avoiding you.
There’s only so much washing and chopping vegetables you can do before you decide to go looking for him. His tent is silent when you approach, but the canvas door is closed.
“John?” You call outside, not wanting to interrupt his peace but worried if he’s disappeared again.
Apparently he does it a lot, according to Dutch and Hosea, and you worry that he won’t be here if you decide to leave anytime soon. You’d like to at least say goodbye if you plan on leaving.
You wonder why you’re so attached to him so quickly…
“I’m here.” John answers, making you sigh in relief.
“Can I come in?”
“...Sure.”
You enter, finding John sat on a crate. He looks sad, looking down at his hands. A crate next to him is covered in shaving supplies, though they look unused.
He avoids your eyes as you enter, staring down at his fingernails.
“Hey, darlin’.” He greets, quietly.
“Hey.” You reply, taking a seat next to him, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Just thinkin.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He remains quiet for a beat, eyebrows furrowed like he is weighing out his options. With a sigh, he looks up at you
“I wanted to shave.” John says, his voice unusually quiet, “I… I haven't looked in the mirror much since…”
A sorrowed, frustrated expression takes over his face, his eyes going downcast once again.
You know he’s talking about his scars.
Hosea told you he had gained them recently enough. They look new, still pink around the edges, not yet fully scarred flesh.
They’re jagged and deep, two on one cheek, a third on the other side. The skin on his nose has also been disrupted, a continuation of a deep line across his face.
You wonder what happened. You wonder a lot of things about the man sat in front of you. You wonder if it’s your place to ask.
Biting the bullet, you go for it, “What happened?”
John goes stiff, eyes dropping from your face down to the grass underfoot.
For a second, you worry you overstepped, as John sits silently. His face is somber, eyes distant as he remembers what happened to him. You open your mouth to apologise, before he murmurs out, “Wolves.”
“Wolves?” You ask, your face scrunching in concern.
You sit beside him on the crate, wanting to talk more personal than just hovering at the threshold.
“Got me real bad, back when we were travelling to Colter, after Blackwater. Just one bad thing after the other.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, “I wasn’t the prettiest princess before it happened, but I’m one ugly bastard now.”
It surprises you to hear him say that. How could he not know how handsome he is? With his soulful eyes and strong jaw, he looks like the ideal man.
Even with his disheveled, rugged clothes and his scars, he looks like a fantasy come to life.
“How can you think that?” You ask, voice soft and unbelieving, not accusing or demeaning.
“Well…” John shrugs, avoiding your intense gaze, “What do you mean? Look at me.”
“I am.”
“And you don’t see anything wrong?” He laughs, though it’s hollow, “I’m surprised you can shoot anything with that poor eyesight, you strange girl.”
You huff out a breath, looking away in thought. How a man as handsome as he can be so oblivious to his looks is beyond you. You want him to understand how others see him.
A thought occurs to you, and with a sigh, you push back the hair covering your ear.
John’s eyes widened slightly as he sees a long scar stretch from your upper cheekbone across your ear, contorting the cartridge into a warped shape. The scar disappears into your hair, with a noticeable parting of the strands showing the tail end of the scar.
“Got this from a mountain lion who didn’t appreciate me wandering into its territory.” She keeps her hair behind her ear, proudly showing her scar, “Felt like my head was on fire. But it was the best possible outcome. It could have taken my head clean off.”
John looks at the scar, his hand rising as if he was going to touch it, before he remembers himself and his hand drops back into his lap.
“I have this scar, and it’s not going anywhere.” You shrug, tucking your hair so the scar stays visible, “I got it because I survived. You got yours because you survived. That’s plenty impressive, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know…” John mumbles.
“Do you think it makes me an ugly bastard?”
John laughs, shaking his head as he looks at you, his eyes soft.
“With all due respect, darlin’, it would take one hell of a scar to make you any less than gorgeous.”
“I think it would take a lot to ruin your face, Mr Marston.” You murmur, “You’re handsome. The wolves couldn't take that from you.”
John stares at you, searching your eyes for deception, or jest. You stare right back, hoping that your face displayed how earnest you are.
He seems to grow shy, looking away from you as his face flushes slightly.
Slowly, hesitantly, you lift a hand up. John goes stock still, eyes widening though he does not look at you. With all the gentleness you can muster, you place your hand on his cheek.
His face is warm to the touch, his stubble stretchy where it covered coarse skin. You drag your thumb over the scar running along his cheekbone, the flesh of it surprisingly soft.
John stares into your eyes, his face removed of it’s usual scowl and grumpiness, a look of vulnerability replacing it.
“Handsome.” You whisper.
John takes a shaky breath, nudging your palm with his nose as he stares into your eyes.
And then it all happened suddenly, like lightning striking the ground in front of you.
John’s arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to his body; as his lips press feverishly to yours.
A surprised sound, before you welcome his warmth, wrapping your own arms around his neck, fingers carding through his scruffy hair.
John groans, tightening his grip around your waist as he slides his lips over yours, diving his tongue into your mouth to taste you.
It's passionate, and messy, and you enjoy every second of it.
Your hands card through his hair, tangled and greasy but you revel in the feeling. He’s wild and unkempt, unlike Dutch, more like you.
Your fingers run down his scalp to scratch along his neck, nails running over the skin around his collar.
“Fuck, darlin’ girl…” John mumbles against your lips.
You hum appreciatively, trailing kisses along his face, paying special attention to the harsh lines he despises.
He stiffens for a moment, before leaning into her affections, letting out soft hums and grunts like a purring cat accepting affection.
John’s hands resume their exploration of your body, slender fingers kneading and tugging at your flesh to press you as close as possible, trying to mold your body to his.
Gently, he moves you around, holding onto you as he slides off the crate and onto the ground. He settles you against his bedroll, covering your body with his. His weight is comforting, settling over you like a warm wave as you lie against a sand covered embankment.
His kiss resumes in all its previous ferocity, ravaging your mouth before his lips move down to your jaw.
You moan as he moves his attention to your neck, sucking marks that you’ll definitely need to cover up tomorrow.
John hesitates for a second, lifting his head up to look at you. You cup his cheek, smiling affectionately and he returns it, kissing your finger tips.
“Need ya.” He murmurs.
You smile, “Have me, then.”
Dangerous words to say to a man so desperate.
John sits back on his heels to hastily unbutton his shirt. You follow suit, grabbing the hem of your oversized blouse and pulling it over your head.
Once the fabric is removed, John is on you again, pushing you back with the force of his lips on yours. He swallows your moans, his teeth clashing against yours as he presses you down into his bedroll.
You feel his fingers roam over your exposed chest, cupping your breasts and groping at your stomach.
The both of you are panting into each others mouths as he grips the waist of your skirt, pulling it down your legs along with your underthings.
John looks down at your bare body, lips caught between his teeth as he regards you with pure lust.You shiver at the look in his eyes, spreading your legs to show him just how much you need him.
“Prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen…” He mutters.
Wasting no time, John rises again to unbuckle his belt, tearing open his trousers with the force of a man insane with desire.
His hands push his jeans down far enough to pull out his cock, spitting into his palm to run his hand over his throbbing length.
You lick your lips at the sight of his member. Hard and blushing red, leaking pearly drops at the top. It curves slightly upwards, like it's trying to show off.
You look up at him, biting your lip, “Can I…?”
“What, darlin’?”
“I want to put you in my mouth.” You state, leaving shame at the door.
You’d done this once before with Dutch, and seeing how a man can unravel when you suck them off has you gnawing at the bit to do it again.
John pauses for a second, his cock twitching at the words you said.
“Oh, fuck yes.” He exhales, crawling forwards until he's straddling your chest.
He pants as he looks down at you, chest heaving while he brings a hand up to cup your cheek reverently.
You drag your hands up his sturdy thighs, before wrapping a fist around his base and leaning forward to kiss his leaking tip.
John gasps and his eyelids flutter, shuddering as you take him into your mouth,”Tha-that’s it, babydoll. That’s it…”
You push your head forward to take more of him in, hollowing your cheeks out to provide the suction Dutch taught you. The rewarding moan John makes your cunt clench, he sounds like pure sin above you.
He grows desperate, gently pressing on your lips to remove himself before he hastily shuffles back, kicking off his trousers and settling between your thighs.
“Gotta fuck you now, gotta feel you around me.” He rambles, his voice coming out as panting breaths.
John holds the back of your knees apart, looking down as he lines with your entrance. You watch his face, enamoured with the debased look of him.
Covered in sweat and cheeks ruddy, hair in his face and eyes shining with lust. You don't care what he looks like clean, he’s definitely more handsome when he’s messy. He could never bathe again and you’d be content.
You gasp as he pushes the first inch in, finding no resistance and sliding home. Every inch makes you sigh happily until his hips are pressed against yours, his member twitching inside you.
It’s enough to make him lose it.
He begins fucking you in ernest, quick thrusts sending you sliding up and down the bedroll like a doll. You hold onto him for dear life, fingers digging into his shoulders as your eyes roll back.
The curve of him has ever thrust of John’s cock hits that perfect spot inside you. You wonder how anything in the world could feel this good.
It's a feeling you could become addicted to.
John seems just as enraptured, choked groans and gasps escape his parted lips as he watches your face, your bouncing chest, your cunt swallowing him up.
“God, you feel so- fucking- good, darlin’.” John grunts, making sure to thrust hard with every word said. It makes you curse out, bringing your hand down to bite on your knuckles to prevent a scream from escaping you.
He's like a man possessed, his hands moving from your hips to your waist, to your breast to your neck, over and over again like he's obsessed with the feeling of your skin.
He presses his forehead to yours, kissing you feverishly as his hips piston back and forth, smacking against your thighs quickly and loudly.
Suddenly, John stops as he grabs the back of your knees, pushing them up to your chest to adjust the angle.
You keen as he resumes his quick, shallow thrusts, fucking into you fast and hard. His pelvis brushes your clit with every entrance, sending you hurtling towards an orgasm.
John’s own groans and grunts turn into whines and curses as you tighten around him, his head hanging as his eyes screw up in pleasure.
“Fu-uck, that’s it, just like that. God, darlin’, you’re so tight-” John moans out, cutting himself off with a whine as he gets closer.
“John!” You cry out, gripping onto the sheet below you as stares appear behind your eyes, “I’m gonna-”
It’s the only warning you can offer him before you’re falling over the edge, body contorting as you cum around him.
Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, bringing his head down so you can bite down on his shoulder, muffling your cry of ecstasy.
The feeling of your cunt tightening and gushing around him, along with your teeth burying into his shoulder has John letting out a choked gasp, hastily pulling out of you to push his cock against the skin in the crux of your thigh and hip.
“God, oh fuck-” He cums with a whine, his spend is warm against your sweaty skin, and he collapses against you with a shiver.
Lying there, naked and spent, the two of you try to catch your breath, grasping onto one another in the afterglow.
“Are you okay?” You murmur, carding your fingers through his hair.
You get no response, feeling John’s breath come out in even pants against your exposed shoulder. He’s fallen asleep.
Laughing softly, you gently move him onto his side. He goes without resistance, and you reach over to grab his blanket to cover both of you up.
Pressing close to him, he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you close until you’re nose to nose. You watch his face, noting the absence of his furrowed brows and scowl. He looked peaceful, for the first time since you met him.
You remain awake as the night grows darker, wrapped up in John’s embrace, listening to his steady heartbeat.
You start leaving an hour later, throwing on your clothes hastily, making sure to press a kiss to his cheek before you go.
Johns hand seeks you out again, blindly trying to pull you back, but you slip away before he can.
You need to get back to Dutch before he wonders where you’ve gone. Or worse, if he goes looking for you.
When you arrive at Dutch’s tent, finding him awake and reading a battered book. He raises an eyebrow at your appearance, a smile on his face.
“And where, might I ask, have you been?”
You bite your lip, shrugging. Worry courses through you. Will Dutch be mad? Will he be jealous and angry at John? Will he call you a whore, and send you away from camp?
You don't know if you want to leave anymore…
“With John?” Dutch asks, answering for you, and you balk realising he already knew.
“Yeah…” You mumble, hanging your head, “I’m so sorry, it all happened so fast-”
“What are you apologising for, angel?” Dutch asks, extending his hand. You take it, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles, “I told you to look after him. Whatever we have is all fun, and I’d like it to continue. But it would be selfish of me to keep you all to myself.”
You’re shocked, but relieved. You feel yourself relax, intertwining Dutch’s fingers with your own.
“I’d like us to… keep doing what we’re doing.” You say quietly, “And I’d like to keep seeing John, too.”
“That’s a wonderful plan.” Dutch grins, pulling you down to kiss you before playfully pushing you away, “Now go on, back to John you go. I want to be able to stretch out on my bed again.”
You exit with his laugh following you, practically skipping back to John’s tent. You can't fight the smile on your face.
John is sat up when you return, looking pensive and like an abandoned dog. He startles when you appear at the entryway of his tent, surprised to see you back.
But he covers it up with a nonchalant look.
“You staying?” John asks, like he couldn't care less.
“If you'll let me.”
He slumps with relief, “Oh thank god, get back here.”
You giggle as you slide in the cot, feeling John pull you close until he is half on top of you, pressing his face into your neck. You wrap your arms around him, keeping the two of you pressed snugly together. Just like he likes.
Now you have two reasons to stick around…
AN / so so sorry it took so long to update! i found out last week that i won't have a job by the end of the month, call me miss made redundant 🤭 but hey, more free time to write fan fiction about cowboys xoxo
i've got a few one shots i'll be making as per requests, then i'll continue posting for this!
I really liked mando and grogu the movie especially the soundtrack but all I kept thinking in some scenes was "and this is how luke Skywalker can appear here" 😭
for every incel white man star wars dudebro there is a teenage lesbian with a slightly deeper and more obscure knowledge of star wars who will one day defeat him in battle
jacobvanloon
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