A/N: It was a little hard for me to start this one ngl, I was unsure how I'd be able to write the brothers sharing like THIS but I guess it's okay. I hope you enjoy it!! I brought the exhibitionsim out more with the enjoyment of being recorded instead of a public setting or someone else actively watching (the ending also kind of ties back into it) ANYWAYS MWUAH
Double penetration (one hole)/threesome/exhibitionism x Haitani Ran, Haitani Rindou
“Ran you fuck--didn’t you ever learn how to share?” The younger Haitani snarled, shoving the older brother away from you. “It’s my turn.”
You don’t know how you got in between them--two of the most dangerous men in the entire country. You’ve heard stories of the terrors they got into when they were younger in Roppongi, how they climbed the ranks through different gangs, how they ended up as executives for the nastiest crime syndicate on this side of the world. It should terrify you, really, how you’ve gotten yourself tied up with these men. They could throw you away in an instant, kill you if you looked at them wrong--make you disappear from the life you know and use you as a drug mule. A thousand things can go wrong.
And yet, you can’t help but smile whenever you’re with them.
You landed a job as a bartender in one of their clubs, normal job for the most part. You’d go in, do a bit of flirting, fight off a few way too drunk guys, and go home. You had no idea you’d been being watched for the better part of three weeks by the brothers themselves. You didn’t know what kind of place the club was until well after they formally introduced themselves as the co-owners, the Haitani brothers. Even then, you treated them the same way you’ve treated any other boss-with respect, but minimal interactions (as best you could, anyways.) They liked that, how you didn’t try to get money out of them, or sleep with them. They liked to keep it playful with their staff, but the women (and men!) would throw themselves immediately and it was such a turn off--Rindou would usually fire them the night after. They kept showing up at the clubs during your shifts, keeping a close eye on you. Ran started becoming bold and flirting with you on the job, which you brushed off as best you could.
It wasn’t until an unruly patron tried to grab you after your shift that the men really intervened with you, Ran pulling you close into his chest to shield you (kind of) as Rindou pulled the trigger between the pig’s eyes and called in a cleaning crew to get rid of the body. It was then that you understood who they were, who really owned the club. They steadied themselves to hear grating screaming come from you, girls were usually scared after seeing something like that. Instead, you wrapped your arms around Ran tight, gripping at the back of his shirt and letting out a shaky ‘thank you’ before steadying yourself and (attempting) to go home for the night.
They hadn’t left you alone since.
And now you find yourself caught in between them most nights after your shift, in one of their beds. Tonight was different, you’ve noticed, because Ran started pulling out his phone and setting it up on the dresser across from the bed. “Mind if we record it, pretty girl?” His voice always sent shivers down your spine. “Go ahead-” your voice came out shakier than you hoped, hearing the younger brother attached to your neck chuckle. “Already so worked up, baby, barely even started.” He teased, kissing and biting at the juncture of your shoulder, fingers dipping underneath the band of your underwear. You whimpered, fingers combing through his wild locks and tugging at the root, bringing him up from your neck enough to press your lips against his--all tongue and teeth as he bit down on your lower lip leaving you breathless. He took the opportunity of your parted lips to shove his tongue in your mouth, licking at your own. You tried to keep up with his overwhelming pace, suckling on the tip of his tongue making him groan. “Fuuck baby, got so lucky with you didn’t we?” Rindou’s voice was ragged, much different than the smoothness of Ran’s--his was nearly scratchy in the best way possible. It made your hair stand up on the back of your neck. His hands came up to your throat, one wrapping around the back while the other grasped at your lower jaw, keeping you attached to him. You felt two taps on your ass cheek, and hands prying your underwear lower until it hit your knees. “Come on pretty, help me out and take these off.” Ran joined in, and you lifted each knee one at a time off the bed to let him remove the clothing fully. Your hands clawed at Rindou’s chest, trying to keep yourself afloat as the elder Haitani pressed open mouth kisses on your shoulder blades, trailing to your back. “Don’t think we can ever let you go, sweet girl.” Ran mumbled against your skin, raking his nails over the fronts of your thighs towards your weeping cunt. You broke away from Rindou enough to gasp for breath, nose to nose when you let out a small cry at the feeling of Ran’s hand slapping at your clit.
Your lower half jolted away from the stimulation, but when Ran pressed himself against your back you had no choice but to take each smack he gave you. “Gotta take everything I give you, angel. Now be good for me, yeah?” Two fingers suddenly shoved themselves deep into your pussy, and Rindou had pressed his lips back to yours to muffle your cries. Even after all the times you’ve been in their beds, their fingers are a stretch to begin with. You’re dripping wet, but his fingers are so long they hit so deep. Ran starts off slow, sucking hickies into your shoulders and neck as he finger fucks you, smiling against your skin when he feels you fucking yourself back onto him. “There you go, beautiful~” He coos, scissoring his fingers inside of you rubbing at your walls so good. Your closed eyes open to look at Rindou in front of you, eyes already wild as he watches you meet each thrust of his brother’s fingers. A hand traveled lower from your jaw to grasp fully at your throat, fingers wrapping around and squeezing. “You can take some more, right baby?” Your eyes fluttered, barely able to nod while he was holding onto you like this, mouth dropping open.
Rindou pressed his thumb against your nub, unable to move you had no choice but to take the stimulation--spit pooling at the corners of your mouth the same way tears did in your eyes. “R-Rindou-aah, please” You begged, though your brain couldn’t conceptualize why. A harsh smack to your ass left you squealing. “I’m here too, pretty.” You could hear the jealousy in Ran’s voice, and you knew you were right when you saw Rindou smirking. “Do better and maybe she won’t forget.” A slew of curses left Ran’s mouth before smacking at your ass again. “S-sorry! I’m sorry, Ran, I didn’t forget--honest.” You whimpered, doing your best to turn away from Rindou and crane your neck to look at Ran over your shoulder. “Aw, I know sweetheart. Gimme a kiss.” You occupied yourself with kissing Ran, who kissed you much slower than his counterpart. While Rindou was a wildfire, Ran was like flowing water. He kissed you slow and steady, taking his time to lick at your mouth and taste you. While Rindou was overwhelming, Ran was dizzying. Regardless of who was on you at any moment, they made you feel just as good.
Ran kept you distracted enough for Rindou to push his ring and middle finger into your cunt alongside his brother’s fingers--filling you and stretching more than they had in the past. “Oh fuck” You breathed out, trying yout best to keep up with Ran but Rindou was shoving himself into you so harshly already it was difficult to breathe. Rindou’s fingers were thicker than the elder brother, filling you up as Ran’s fingers hit deep. Ran let you go, and you turned down to see Rindou’s fingers pumping in and out of you, juices oozing onto his fingers with each fuck. Your forehead hit his chest, a hand reaching back and grasping at Ran’s wrist for some sick form of grounding--spreading your legs more to give them easier access to your sloppy pussy. “S’this feel good, baby?” Rindou questioned, curling his fingers towards that gummy spot in your cunt. “A-ah, yeah, fuck, yeah” You whimpered, clenching around their sets of fingers. Ran laughed behind you, “Yeah? Like when we fuck you with our fingers, angel? You want more?” Nodding against Rindou’s chest, they removed their fingers from your cunt--creaminess covering their hands. “Look at that~” Ran whistled, making a show of spreading his fingers and letting your stickiness web between them. He turned your head towards the camera, and the brother’s chuckled seeing how fucked out you looked in the camera. “Lick ‘em clean, beautiful.” Ran spoke first, presenting his fingers in front of your face as you greedily sucked at them, taking them deep into your mouth to the knuckle and making sure you sucked them clean. You watched yourself in the front camera lapping at his digits, clenching your pussy around air. When Ran pulled his fingers out you immediately turned to Rindou and stuck your tongue out--expectantly. “What a good girl you are” He teased, shoving his fingers into your mouth until you gagged, and turned you to face the camera again. “Go ahead baby.” Stray tears fell down your cheeks as you licked around his spread fingers tasting yourself on him.
Ran moved off the bed to bring the phone closer, now on the night stand as he laid down, bringing you with him. You understood immediately what he wanted, and lined yourself up to his cock as he filmed you lowering yourself. He bit his tongue holding back a moan while your pretty sounds filled the air, steadying yourself on his chest before your arms are ripped back behind you. “Come on baby, you can do it right?” Rindou taunted, kissing at your shoulders while you kept a steady pace bouncing on Ran’s cock. The older brother had the camera right at your hole, watching the way your pussy swallowed him up and drooled around the corners with your juices. His free hand held onto your hip, Rindou pulling you back to lean more against him as Ran started meeting each bounce on his lap with a thrust of his own, a webbing of white covering his dick each time he pulled out. “Fuck baby, look so good taking my cock. You think you can take another one?” You weren’t sure you understood, and before you had time to think more about the question the phone was placed back down on the stand and Rindou pushed you towards the other, Ran grabbing at your face and making a scene of kissing you sloppy in view of the camera. “Look at yourself, pretty baby.” He whispered against your ear, holding you by the jaw towards the camera when you started feeling Rindou prodding at your already stretched out cunt with his own cock. Your eyes squeezed closed with your brows scrunched, mouth hanging open as he pushed himself into your hole alongside Ran. “Ooh my god, fuck! S’much, wait--wait it’s so much!” You cried out, Ran slapping you lightly on your cheek to get your attention.
“Open your eyes, pretty girl. Look at yourself while you get fucked by us.” Your eyes were fuzzy, unable to fully focus as you watched yourself drool, tongue lolling out and tears rolling down your cheeks as Rindou filled you inch by inch. You should be embarrassed, feel shame as they made you watch yourself like this--being used by two dangerous men. But you couldn’t feel anything except turned on, looking at your own reflection drooling and crying uncontrollably on their cocks filling you more than they ever have. You subconsciously tightened your walls around them, and their groans filled the air. “Fuck! So fucking horny watching yourself, huh baby?” Rindou snickered, leaning over and angling the camera to your lower bodies, pulling you up for a clear angle of both cocks pumping in and out of your pussy. Just like you did Ran’s, Rindou’s cock was covered in your creamy cunt, squelching and gushing with each pap, pap, pap of their cocks fucking up into you. You couldn’t do much but take it, sobbing with overwhelming pleasure as they used you like a sleeve. Rindou’s fingers came around your front to rub and pinch at your swollen nub, and in no time he had you crying out and creaming over them, each push in and pull out of their cocks leaving with a squish. Ran’s hands had a strong grip on your hips as he fucked up into you, and last minute pulling out to cum on your tummy, painting your front white with his cum.
With only Rindou now inside your cunt he quickened his pace and fucked you harder, tugging at your biceps and pulling your arms back as leverage. Ran moved the phone again, for full access to your body and face as the younger brother left you a mess. “Ready for me, baby?” He grunted behind you and you nodded with a sob, suddenly feeling him leave your pussy and make a mess on your ass, grabbing the phone from his brother and recording him slap his cock on your ass, smearing his mess around. Giving the phone back, Ran recorded up to your face now. “Smile at the camera, pretty girl.” Panting, you looked up at yourself again in the phone, lazy smile playing on your lips--fucked stupid. Ran scooped his cum on a finger while you were still watching yourself and lifted it to your mouth, watching you lick him clean and sticking your tongue out as proof.
He stopped the recording and Rindou lowered you onto the bed, mumbling to himself how ‘gross’ it was to share a hole like that with his brother. “Whatever dude--she felt good.” Ran called over to the younger Haitani as he left to grab something to wipe you down with. “You good, baby?” He whispered to you, smoothing down your hair as you nodded with a smile. He fiddled with his phone as Rindou wiped you clean, kissing your forehead and praising how good of a job you did for them. His phone pinged, before Ran spoke saying “Sent it to you.” When he finally took a look he saw it was in the group chat they had with Sanzu, snapping his head up to look at his brother who already had a grin like the devil and shrugged.
characters: haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, consensual somnophilia, rough sex, implied poly relationship, minimal prep, lots of cum
words: 1.4k
the haitani brothers have fallen into a bit of a habit as of late. a nasty habit, a naughty habit, and, to them, a natural habit.
or so they’ve told you.
it’s become a part of their morning and nightly routines, the perfect way to start and end their days—by fucking you awake, and fucking you to sleep.
they’ve got a sort of system going now, working in perfect sync just like they always do, falling into step with one another efficiently, effortlessly.
as to be expected.
despite his aversion to waking up, ran has taken the morning shift. he’s careful with it, cautious with it, rousing you slow and soft and sweet as he sinks his cock into you, breathing out an airy little sigh against the nape of your neck as he watches your cunt stretch and strain around his girth, as he finally bottoms out, cockhead pressed snug to your cervix and hips pressed flush to your ass, balls nudging you gently.
his favourite part will always be the way your face scrunches oh-so-cutely, features warped in pain—brow crinkled and nose crumpled—the moment he grinds himself into the sensitive mound of tissue, lazy and languid yet somehow still powerful and purposeful. his hips move in precise little gyrations, rubbing quick circles into your cervix until those stringy whines are oozing from your lips and soaking into your pillow, cheek still half-buried in the flesh.
those precious little sounds evolve into pitchy mewls and high moans, stammered by each hitch of your breath with each rub of his cock, climbing in volume and frequency as a dense pressure collects in the pit of your stomach, steadily pulling you further and further into consciousness.
ran presses his forehead to the crown of your head, rests it there and lets his eyes slip shut as he works into you, works to wake you up, gradual and gentle with shallow little thrusts, just enough to have the head of his cock dragging and rolling over that swollen spot buried deep within you—that spot he knows so well, that spot he relentlessly abuses with each and every sunrise, that spot that has you trembling and clenching and crying out his name as your cunt gushes slick all over him—so much, too much, and god, baby, you always make such a mess—sticky and slippery as it streams down his shaft and coats his thighs.
and it’s only after this, after he’s sure your orgasm has smashed through your unconsciousness and left you wide awake with pleasant mush for brains, that he will really fuck you just the way he likes to; swift, smooth strokes of his cock as his hips jackhammer that sometimes have you convulsing on him for a second time as he spills himself into you, a gasp of your name beautiful and breathless on his tongue.
it’s rare that ran will actually get up with you, usually falling back asleep a mere moment or two after he’s filled you with his cum, but him being awake was never the goal. as long as it has you rolling out of bed on wobbly legs and with dollops of ivory rolling down your inner thighs, he has succeeded.
resultantly, rindou has taken the night shift, though he doesn’t always come directly to bed even after he’s got your cream slathered all over his cock and your cunt stuffed full of his cum.
rindou isn’t really sure why his brother bothers with dressing you in such pretty little silk slips and lacy babydolls every evening, especially when he knows rindou’s just going to ruin them, stain them with cum or tear through them with overeager, too-strong fingers, but he lets ran have his fun with you anyway, waiting patiently as ran plays dolly.
but once you’re finally ready, teeth brushed and face washed and body outfitted in the cutest nightie money can buy (sans panties, of course), ran hands you off to his baby brother, often paired with an insouciant remark about being a little gentler this time—advice rindou never heeds, advice rindou accepts with equal apathy.
because as much as ran spews out those nonchalant reprimands and requests, they both love seeing you covered in rindou—all four of his fingers and his thumb, collaring your neck or cuffing your wrist or painted across your ass; all thirty-two of his teeth, engraved into your inner thighs or stamped right over your heart, deep and dark and congealed with blood.
besides, rindou argues, he has to be rough with you, has to fuck you hard and fast and so fucking ruthless—how else is he supposed to tire you out and get you to sleep?
he has to give you an orgasm so absolutely earth shattering that you need to pass out, to slip into full unconsciousness, to piece your world back together. he has to fuck you until your muscles are heavy and your bones have liquified under the immense pleasure, body turned to pliable putty so he can twist and curl and knot you into whatever position he pleases.
he has to fuck you until your words are nothing more that spit-soaked whines smeared across the sheets, until your lids are weighted with exhaustion and your lashes are bloated with tears, unable to stay open as your irises roll and reveal white, until your fingers go slack, cotton no longer tangled around your knuckles, grip loose and weak.
and then he has to fuck you some more, just for good measure, of course, sculpted muscles in his thighs flexing beneath smooth skin as his hips pound and plunge with such force the entire bedframe shudders, jostling your whole body up the mattress, your arms shaking as they try to keep you steady and still while pushing back against his snapping thrusts, his abs rippling with each thrust, his chest swelling with ragged breaths and hoarse groans.
it’s when your tongue is sloppy and your words are messy and melty and mangled together in a single matted stream that rindou knows you’re close—to cumming and to passing out—brain gone so adorably stupid with lust, only capable of stitching together a weeped out patchwork of rin-rin-rin; yes-yes-yes.
the head of his cock is assaulting that spot in perfect rhythm with your cute little chants, that spot that feels so good, rin, s’good, that spot he and his brother continually stain their names into in ivory and cream.
you’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when your orgasm hits with all the intensity of a freight train, sending you tumbling over that cliff with a cracked gasp of his name, body gone rigid for a moment as pleasure seizes your form, little sparks of electricity zipping through your veins, blood left bubbling in their wake.
then you’re mollifying, sinking into the bed as his desire melts you to nothing, malleable in his palms as he molds you into whatever he needs.
a calm, deep slumber has already enveloped you by the time his cock is pulsing, pumping you full of thick cum—so much cum, too much cum, always, seeping out from around his shaft to roll down your ass and his thighs in fat beads of pearl, streaking your skin with shimmering streams of translucence.
it’s so pretty, he’s breathing as he watches it with voracious pupils outlined in a thin ring of violet. you’re so pretty when you’re coated in him; his seed, his tongue, his touch, his teeth, stained across the canvas of your body.
and even though he knows you won’t remember it by the time the sun is rising and his brother is fucking his cock into you, rindou takes his time to clean you up—to wash your skin and smooth down your pretty nightgown and swathe you in fluffy comforters, petting sweaty hair back from your forehead and temples, sealing his actions with chaste kisses.
they’re not much, but he hopes they make up for some of the pain and soreness he’s stained into your body tonight—a soft, tender, silent thank you.
he isn’t as good at it all as ran is, isn’t as thorough and meticulous and careful, but he does it nonetheless, because he enjoys it, because you deserve it, because he likes to take a moment or two just to admire you, on his own, alone, in the dead of the night.
an angel. his angel. their angel. pretty and precious and perfect in every way.
“now now, dont run from me mama.” katsuki cooed with the most sultry voice, leaning down to your shoulder and kissing it. “yer barely halfway and yer whinin’?”
“too big—“ you choke out, almost holding yourself up by your hands on his even thicker thighs. “i feel it— please!” you plead with him, hoping hed allow mercy on you.. but thatd be so easy for him. “it wont fit—“
“make it fit then.” he growled in your neck, putting his two fingers on your clit and circling. “no getting out’ta this.” calloused hands grip your thighs, lowering you down by each inch he had— or moreover carried around hidden.
you grit your teeth, pleasure but pain being mixed because of the sudden new stretch… but did it feel even better with his fingers rolling circles on your clit. “thats it.. thats my good girl—“ he praises slowly, until he groans from him bottoming out. “fuck— its all in, darlin’..” he kisses your earlobe, his own hips pulling from beneath you to slamming back up slow.
you yelp, a sudden moan bubbling from you and he coos. “awe, i know, but youre doing so good for your first nelson.. you practice fer me?”
“n—no! i do—“ you hiccup, a slap to your clit and he kisses your back shoulder.
summary: you stumble upon a man you haven't seen since the gang fell apart. a man you have a history with. a man you now hate with passion, and vice versa. it takes just a few glasses of tequila for the thin line between longing and loathing to get blurry.
wc: 2.3k
warnings: entirety of this is a smut, dub con, hate sex, sex under the influence, use of derogatory/objectifying language, face slapping (like twice only tho), rough sexual practices, spitting (like once), toxicity
obviously this is a 18+ piece, do i have to make it any clearer?
all pics taken from pinterest
♡this was requested♡
a/n: this is what 163 days without sex and a bit of whiskey at midnight did to my writing. hope you enjoy. please don't yell at me. if anyone needs me, i'll be hiding under my bed. also, wrote this one on my phone, sorry for any possible mistakes
"Tequila, por favor," you said, tossing some money onto the bar.
Your accent made it clear you weren't from here. However, the bartender didn't seem to care. He poured you a glass and turned to the next customer. Meanwhile, you brought the glass to your lips and tipped your head back, swallowing the liquid in one go. It burnt your throat, and you loved it. It was a feeling you had gotten used to.
Then you heard it. A voice you hadn't heard in years, and didn't think you'd hear ever again.
"Look who it is," Javier sneered. He was leaning against a nearby wall when you turned to look at him. "Long time no see, traidora."
He looked different. As if the years had been as unkind to him as they were to you. Despite that he looked somehow... more attractive. There was just something desirable in the time and pain written on his face.
But his intense gaze burned through you the same, just like the liquor did to your throat a moment prior.
"Javier Escuella," you mused out loud, smirking as you watched the man approach closer. "Didn't think I'd ever see you again."
"Should've let me keep thinking I'm what you came here for."
"You ain't. But I'm glad I found you. You look good."
"Do I?" he tilted his head. "Maybe it's because I don't have to live with the guilt of betraying my family."
"You wound me, Javier," you theatrically sighed, "are you saying I don't look good?"
Javier smirked and shook his head at your playful comment. It wasn't time nor place to play that game. Yet it was good to know that overly confident side trait never left you.
"You look more than good," the man decided to play along, "you still look fuckable— "
"Ain't you just the perfect gentleman?"
"—like a whore."
The last part caught you slightly off guard, but you quickly composed yourself. "I ain't drank enough to be spoken to like this."
"Next round is on me, then."
Javier slid onto the stool next to you, casually leaning against the counter as if that were just one of friendly reunions. He ordered drinks for the both of you, so at least you hadn't come for nothing.
"I never thought you could get meaner, but here you are," you let out a low chuckle.
"Meaner?" Javier repeated. "I'm buying you a drink, how's that mean?"
"Cause you're just tryna get into my pants."
"I didn't suggest that, not yet at least. But now that you mention it, we could do that. For the old times' sake, right?"
The bartender put another glass in front of you. This time a bit fuller, so you didn't down it immediately. Instead, you took the glass and eyed the liquid inside, as if searching for an answer.
"Usually I like to shoot men that offer me sex," you spoke quietly, your gaze still on the glass, "but you're lucky I'm feeling sentimental and horny tonight."
"Horny never was something you lacked," he drank his own drink, "glad to see that didn't change."
So a few drinks and many smart-ass comments later you found yourself following Javier upstairs, to a room he rented for the night. For old times sake, as he put it. Maybe you were just curious if he was still as good as back in your gang days, back when he was quite an often guest in your tent late at night.
Javier slammed the door shut after the two of your entered the rented room, and no sooner his lips were on yours. The strength of his body pressing onto yours forced you to take a few steps back, your back eventually meeting with the wall. His fingers impatiently undid your corset, then danced with the buttons of a shirt you wore beneath it, but you shouldn't have judged him for the quick pace since your hands were trying to get him undressed just as fast.
You lost the track of reality in that moment, the tension that had been building up in you finally able to get some relief.
"You know," you managed to find a moment to speak again, "I always wondered what I'd do if I ever met you again."
"Mhm," Javier hummed in response, not interested in what you were saying. His focus was mostly on undoing your pants after he had lied you on the bed.
"Thought maybe I'd just walk away. Or maybe I'd kill you. But this... this might be better."
Javier suddenly took your face in his hand. No, actually, he grabbed it. He grabbed it so hard your lips formed a duck face.
"You didn't talk as much shit back in the days," Javier commented. "I really wanted to fuck you, but you're making me wanna put your mouth to a different use."
If you had to do it, you would have. But you'd prefer not to. After all, you hadn't gotten laid in a long time, and sucking a man off wouldn't help you out in any way. Maybe for the first time you wished you had shut up sooner.
Javier's thumb brushed over your lower lip as a devilish smile appeared on his profile. "Are you gonna keep talking," he let go of your face and gave it a little slap, "or will you give me what I want, hm?"
"Only if you'll give me what I want," you shot back.
That was basically the last sentence that left your mouth before it was stuffed with Javier's cock. The man perched on the edge of the bed, his legs spread to make space for you on your knees.
His dick seemed to fit in your throat like a missing piece of a puzzle. Almost as if every curve, every vein was designed for your throat to take. His size made you fight holding back a cough, and as much as you could stop it by occasionally pulling away to run your tongue over the tip, you had to close your eyes to stop the tears which only increased every time Javier forced your head back down. You couldn't give him the satisfaction.
When the man saw that, he yanked your head back by your hair, stopping you. "I want you to look me in the eyes."
Unfortunately, it seemed you'll have to give him the satisfaction. As you opened your eyelids, the tears ran down from the corners of your eyes, ruining the eyeliner you had on.
"Back to work now," he ordered, and for some reason you obeyed without an argument.
His hand was still in your hair, now just gently resting there, as your mouth descended down his cock again. You did it slowly, and never breaking the eye contact, as he wished.
A low groan left the man's mouth when his hand started to set the pace and rhythm. At one point stopping the cough became impossible, you couldn't help but choke after his cock hit the back of your throat for what felt like the hundredth time. The faster he started to guide your head, the more afraid you were that's how it's gonna end. And you'd be left there with no profit.
Just then, he once again pulled your head away, a string of saliva connecting your mouth with the tip of his cock. "Enough," he rasped heavily, "I didn't drag you up here just for that."
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, giving the man a smirk. "I was starting to get worried."
"Worried I'd forget you're not a paid whore?"
His comment ignited a flicker of anger in you. "And here I was hoping you'll pretend to have kept an ounce of courtesy."
"Am I wrong, though?" he asked, helping you up. "Isn't that what you'd always been to me?"
You shoved him back so that he lied down, and your hands were on his chest as you straddled him. "From what I remember, you were obsessed with me."
"There's a lot of things a man will say or do to get what he wants."
With that, he pulled you into an aggressive kiss. He didn't let you be the one in advantage for long. His strong arms grabbed you in a way that let him easily turn so that you were now underneath him.
"Don't treat me like..." you stuttered out, "like I'm some kind of an object..."
"Mhm," he muttered against the skin of your neck, his lips marking you even if this would never happen again.
"...b-because I ain't just—"
He interrupted you. "Of course you ain't," his tone was mocking, and as he said the sentence, his dick entered your heated core with a violent force.
It was as if he had done it for the first time. You were tight, and his dick was hard as a rock. You thanked yourself in your thoughts for being such a horny little bitch, because it would have been quite painful if your cunt hadn't been dripping from all that build up tension.
Secretly, you liked the way he talked to you. You didn't remember him to be this disrespectful, he was always putting up an appearance of a hopeless romantic. Turns out it was exactly what it was, just an appearance to get laid easier. Now he knew he didn't have to pretend anymore. But you liked it. It was something that made your mind beg for more.
"Fuck, Javier," you involuntarily moaned out. You didn't plan on doing that, but the way his dick pounded into your cervix, like it was going to leave a bruise, made you see stars.
"Mhm, what is it?" he asked, one of his hands going to grab your face again. "What are you calling my name for?" and he gave you another slap on the cheek.
"I fucking hate you," you declared right into his face.
This time he didn't have any smart comment to shoot back with. Instead he forced his thumb into your mouth, making you open it just so that he could spit into it.
"Swallow it, puta."
You caught yourself fulfilling his order before thinking about it. His spit tasted no other than the alcohol you had drank tobegher earlier, with a tint of tobacco.
You hissed, "You're disgusting."
"And you talk way too fucking much."
He pulled out of you just to quickly take ahold of your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as if punishing you for talking back. With one quick move, Javier flipped you over onto your stomach.
"Ass up."
You weren't going to listen this time. "No."
He laughed darkly, the sound filled with sarcasm. "You don't get to say no."
He didn't need your obedience to force his dick back inside. Since you didn't want to do as he said, he was going to deal with that another way. He pounded into you as you lied flat on your stomach. You thought he couldn't fuck into you any deeper, but this position proved you wrong.
It felt too damn good for you to try to restrain the moans that were spilling out of your mouth. You knew it was serving to feed Javier's ego, and you hated the idea of it.
So you had to insult him a little more between the thrusts. "You're... a... fucking... idiot!"
It didn't stop his thrusts from becoming harder, more forceful, a punishment to your defiance. In fact, your words only spurred him on. The bed creaked beneath the strength of his movements.
You hated the way your own body betrayed you. The way your pussy got more and more wet by the moment. Well, at least you didn't have to look Javier in the face.
"Seems you're into it," the man retorted as the room grew rich into the squelch of your dripping core gratefully taking his cock.
"All these years and you're the same asshole," you tried to argue, at the same time subconsciously tilting your pelvis back. "Oh, shit," you whined at the sensation of his dick being buried even deeper than before.
The line between hate and desire blurred completely. Your body gave in to the pleasure, and you let the man do whatever he wished to.
You felt Javier slow down for a moment, just to grab your hips and force them up. He had you where he wanted you from the beginning. Before you could even think of anything to say, he slammed into you, now the sound of his skin slapping against yours more apparent than ever.
You buried your face into the pillow that muffled your sounds at least to some extent. The more he fucked into you, the less you could think, and maybe he finally fucked the ability to talk back out of you. The tension in your lower abdomen grew tighter, every inch of your body begging for a release.
"Fucked out whore," Javier said, but your head was empty of any replies.
All you could do was grip the sheets tighter. Your body was moving on its own, rocking in the right rhythm to cooperate with the man. His force, with which he took you, rid your mind of any thoughts. You just needed to hold on, because it felt too damn good, and you were too close to the edge, to fight it anymore.
"Fuck, I can't hold it anymore," the man grunted through gritted teeth. You could feel his cock starting to twitch, and you knew it could mean only one thing.
Javier's breathing grew more rugged as he neared his climax. Feeling you tighen up around him was all he needed. With one final deep thrust, he buried himself inside you. You cried out, having reached your peak at the same time. Your cunt pulsed around his twitching cock as he shot his release into you. It was warm, flooding your core, filling you up to the brim.
And that was it. You let him treat you like a whore for old times sake. Was it worth it? It was a question you were going to have a lot of time to ponder over.
Reader finds herself intertwined in the VDL gang after saving some of their members.
There must be something in the air, because everyone seems entranced by her...
content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, like seriously this is pure filth, ur fuckin the whole gang, every position every location, will add more as it goes along x
ongoing...
Prologue
I - gratitude - dutch van der linde
II - relief - john marston
III - ecstasy - sean macguire
IV - solace - javier escuella
V - yearning - arthur morgan
VI - favour - charles smith
VII - embrace - hosea matthews
VIII - confusion - bill williamson
IX - gentle - kieran duffy
X - loathing - micah bell
XI - whimsical - josiah trelawny
XII -synergy - arthur morgan & charles smith
XIII - romantic - mary-beth gaskill
XIV - liaison - dutch van der linde & hosea matthews
XV - absolution - sadie adler
I’m taking creative liberties because, even having played the game, the timeline confuses me.
Jack doesn't exist because he is a tiny being and shouldn't be featured in a filthy story like this, in any way. Abigail does exist but isn't apart of this story, only mentioned briefly. Molly isn't here to protect her and my peace x
❛ you ask the Van Der Linde boys if you could sit on their lap. ❜
BEFORE YOU PROCEED! ┊female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count
𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍
You want to what?
You tinker your lashes multiple times innocently at his flabbergasted expression, unconsciously tilting your head at his dramatic approach. From your tone alone meant nothing but the most purest intentions, he knew well you mean no harm. But hearing those words made his cheeks burn a tad bit brighter.
“May I please— “No, no, I heard ya the first time- I just..” He abruptly cuts you. He narrows his eyes at you, sizing you up head-to-toe just to see if you were in a playful manner. You weren’t.
He grumbles softly, contemplating. He scratches behind his neck for a bit before a deep sigh escapes his mouth and he leans back on the wooden chair he sat upon.
“C’mere.”
He beckons you to come closer with two fingers lazily waving in the air. Immediately do you obey his simple commands like a lost pup, hands clasped prettily in-front of your chest as you easily plop yourself on his lap. Your back almost hits his chest, akin to a literal brick wall from all of the labour work he’s done. Unconsciously does his large hands come to your hips, positioning them slightly just so you’d be a tad bit more comfortable.
It’s easy to tilt your head upwards to see his face, the prickles of hair sticking out on his chin is the most prominent thing from your view. He feels your stare almost immediately and looks down at your beady eyes. He has to stop himself from grinning at your unawareness.
The cowpoke could only narrow his eyes at the soft giggle you produced from your mouth, a hand resting on your hip, “What?”
You look away with a tiny smile, “Nuthin’.”
He lets out another deep sigh, before pinching your cheek.
𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍
The bottle of beer in his hand almost slips to the ground after hearing your simple question.
He raises a hand to scratch at the stubble on his jaw, mindful to be aware of the deep claw-marks embedded on his skin. The bottle was placed on the table with a clumsy clatter, back supported by the edge of the table.
“..Watchu say?” He squints his dark eyes at you. He must’ve drunk too much, perhaps he heard you wrong. His tone was always raspy yet so demeaning playful even. You took it as if he didn’t want you to, and you shrink meekly.
You stutter shyly, “I’ll just go ask someone else—
He felt his guts squeeze and churn at the sight of you sitting on someone else’s lap. All sense of proper etiquette is thrown away from jealousy and alcoholic behaviour, his hand is very quick to grabbing yours as he roughly pulls you back. A tiny squeal escapes your lap as you clumsily fall on his chest and onto his hard thighs.
Your hands are clinging onto his opened top to balance yourself, the smirk on his face visible as he sees how shy you suddenly became.
The strong scent of alcohol makes your nose scrunch up. He rests his chin on the crook of your neck, stubble lightly tickling your sensitive skin. After a few minutes of making yourself comfy on his lap and finally staying still, his hand comes to grab his bottle to take another chug.
“John,” You almost whine at the way he unconsciously starts to bounce his knee up and down. A habit he’s not prone to ever since he started drinking. It was almost like he forgot you were sitting on his lap after a few minutes. Immediately does he stop his movement, a low slurr of babbles and a soft hiccup escapes his lips, “Whoops— sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.”
Suddenly, he cheekily stares down at you.
“Y’know,” He hics.
“Yer behind feels kinda good on my-
“John.”
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇
He’s a bit clueless at first, bless his heart.
He’s busy carving a small piece of wood with his knife, hunched over as his long hair falls, covering the sides of his face almost elegantly. He wasn’t bothered to tie his hair back, nor raise a finger to place it behind his ear. He stops re-shaping the small piece of wood as he hears a soft patter of footsteps from in-front.
“Hm?” He hums, his guard lowers significantly once realising it was you. The knife is lowered too, and the items were placed afar so it does not distract you nor come in your way.
“May I please sit on your lap?” You ask with those big beady eyes of yours, hands behind your back as your tone is light and sweet.
Of course, silence is ensured for a few seconds. His brooding figure straightens up from his spot. He quirks a dark, angular brow at your much smaller figure.
“Why?” He asks with a straight face.
Your cheeks burn, and your expression was alike of a kicked pup. He catches on quickly, and he immediately feels bad for seeming so nonchalant and blunt.
“U-Um.. I just, I wanted to.. N-nevermind. Sorry.” You shyly stammer, akin to a doe whom tries to stand up for the first time.
He easily suppresses the smile which almost etched onto his face at your stuttering. Cute.
“I didn’t say no, y’know.” He gestures you to come over with a simple pat on his thigh. You beam, eagerly toddling to him like a tiny tot wanting to get her stuffies. You sit yourself on his thighs, shoes quite literally lifting off of the ground because of how big he was. Even if he sat down, he still always towered over you.
He allows you to wiggle a bit on his lap, but a hand comes down to rest on your knee to squeeze it a bit as a gentle warning to not go any higher. You do obey, of course. Your back is to his chest, your hands positioned on your lap as you almost melt at how warm he was.
“Comfortable?” At each word he uttered to you, it was more toned down in pitch, a low hum always started. You nod lazily, a smile of satisfaction of how comfy he felt underneath. You don’t mind the way he snakes his arms around your waist. “Good.”
𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀
You regret asking.
Simply put, he’s handsy.
The smirk on his face is very visible. The log he rests upon feels even more smaller as he slowly starts to manspread right in front of you. The guitar in his hand is placed gently just to the side before he beckons you to come forth. You reluctantly sit on his lap, almost squirming at how close he was.
A hand on your hip, another squish to your thigh, a soft roll from his hip teasingly upwards, a touch here, a touch there..
“Javier!” You whine, swatting his hand off your curves. He could only teasingly grin, before shrugging. “..Tu pediste esto.” His voice serenades.
You try to swat his hands off again, but merely give up, knowing he won’t stop any time soon. You lay your cheek on his chest, lithe arms wrapped around his waist as your back arches a tad bit from not supporting your structure. His hands are on the small of your back, rubbing small circles on the softness of your clothed skin.
The embers from the mini camp-fire is light and descends off in the dark night, crackles of the wood calms your nerves down just a bit. He does tone his touch down just a tad bit for your sake, despite wanting to desperately grab at.. literally anything. He’s had ladies before, but by far was he the neediest when it came to you.
You can’t help but take a small peak from above, wispy lashes coming to tinker a bit when he tilts his gaze to fixate on you. A small smile on his face, as he greedily eats up all of the touch you gave to him.
“..hi.” You quietly mumble, a bit muffled because of the fact that half of your face is mushed against the fabrics of his clothes. A fox-like grin etches on his tan face as he presses a tiny kiss on your forehead, entertaining you by replying with a simple “hola.”
“You’re really clingy- and touchy. I hope you know that.” You grumble when his hand comes to cup your curves again.
rdr2 men + short blurbs about their favorite sex positions.
ft. arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, and charles smith.
✧ tags : SPOILER HEAVY, fem + afab!reader, unprotected sex, light angst (in the horny post is crazy im sorry fdkjjkds), very gendered language, javier says one thing in spanish (thank u @nanamimizz), a little sprinkle of plot with each (and some canon divergency), john co-parents w abigail, otherwise just horny. 18+
✧ wc : about 1.4-8k each (6.3k total)
✧ a/n : sorry for making a multi character post for the cowboy game its cooking me to death. my john bias is showing rip. title is from rebel yell by billy idol but i listen to the bvb cover
sorry about charles and javiers but if i edit this anymore im going to level an entire city using hollow purple technique. please rb if you enjoyed i worked kind of hard on whatever this is.
sorry for . the THIRD repost of this i promise i wont after this. its just really bugging me. PLEASE
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ ARTHUR MORGAN + PRONE BONE ;
It’s an odd feelin’ for Arthur.
Wanting something, he means. Wanting anything as much as he wants you. He’s lived a less than quiet life up until now. And he ain’t the brightest, certainly, but living this kind of life teaches you many lessons. One of them being, it’s better not to covet anything. Coveting something you’re not entitled to, well—it’ll lead you places you wouldn’t want to go with a gun.
Arthur has made the mistake of coveting love before, dreamed of a future so completely out of his reach he almost convinced himself it was possible. Dreamed of it so foolishly he’d even go visit a woman he very well ought to forget. It’s his problem, his burden to bear - always desiring outcomes unsuited to him.
He’s just that sort of man he reckons. But he learned his lesson. He tries (tried?) to stay away from it after that. Tried not to pine too much for normalcy when such hopes had failed him twice. The loss of his child completely on his account and the loss of his love at the same fate.
So, wanting you - well, he feels like the world's dullest fool. Really. How is it that Arthur had fallen in love with someone again? It had all just happened so quickly. You were another woman he’d saved from the O’Driscolls, though it wasn’t like you were no damsel. A lot of those men were dead by the time they arrived. That sort of perseverance would stick with you while you traveled together. Much like Sadie, you didn’t take well to housework - you liked to earn your keep. Though you’re not nearly so trigger happy.
You’re quiet, thoughtful, well-read. Plus you’re good at making money. That’s why Dutch don't complain about you joining them, he figures.
(Arthur tries not to pry into it too much at first, but he eventually learns that you’re gambling. Which is how you’re able to make such a fast turn around. A prim little lady like you makes for a fine poker player, and you love to play men out of their money. He thinks it’s one of the funniest and most interesting things about you. He can’t help but love you a little more for it. )
When the feelings in him start to stir, Arthur tries to overlook it. Arthur convinces himself, time and time again - that there’s no way he’ll grow more tender about you. Eventually, it’ll die down. You’re a decent woman is all, a kind one - who’s easy for him to love and even easier for him to confide in. In your time together, you often come to Arthur and you always seem to have some profound wisdom he is so sorely lacking. Someone easy to love, who does not expect much from Arthur at all. It’s only natural a lonely, covetous man like him would start to dream about you. He tells himself, it will pass eventually. Should he simply let it run by him, it will pass. But Arthurs a fool, you’ll remember.
Of course, by the time he understood all that - he already loved you enough that he couldn’t bear it. It was already too late and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Especially not while everything changed around him.
So, Arthur is undoubtedly a fool, but he’s lucky. He felt divinely blessed when you’d returned his feelings for him so politely. A coy little smile on your face, a laugh like you thought he was silly for being doubtful. Arthur tried to explain himself but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. Maybe that’s another thing he loves so much about you. There’s nothing he ever needs to explain.
In any case, all Arthur seems to do lately is want you. Wants you when it’s inconvenient. Wants you before he wants liquor or a cigarette or some other vice. Any time anything goes wrong, you’re the first thing his mind can conjure up for relief. That pretty smile and that self-assured way of living. It’s hard to get time alone in camp. And Arthur is a man in love, so any touch could be enough to set him on fire. Last week you hugged his waist a little before giving him a kiss goodbye and he had to listen to you laugh yourself into a fit as he waited for…little Arthur to settle down.
He don’t get many chances to be with you. Lay with you in that way that grown folk in love do. Though, if the two of you book it somewhere for a few days - the camp knows better not to ask where you’ve been. But it’s not often you get to really be together, where it’s peaceful to do that. Someone’s always hounding one of you to do something.
Arthur is a lucky man though, like he said. Today he had time. Today he’s alone with you in a beat up little saloon and today he gets to do as he likes. He gets to be greedy. And it’s an odd feeling for him, really, to want something so bad he disregards everything else in the world for a little while.
Feeling you, though - absolves the guilt for wanting. He’d be stupid to want you any less desperately.
Arthur’s favorite way to have you is on your stomach. Laid flat, just barely pushed up against him as he fucks you deep. You’ll fuck like rabbits for a little while and Arthur will wear you out just like this, maneuvering you until you’re pinned all underneath his weight. You lose any fight you might have, too exhausted to worry yourself with pleasing him - and when you’re like that, you let Arthur take care of you.
(He really ain’t talented at much, but he’s good with his hands. Being dexterous is part of being a talented shot. When Arthur has the time to spread you sweet in his lap and make you cum all over his fingers, he does so for as long as he can. At least until you beg him so sweetly otherwise. The same hands, soiled with gunsmoke, look so good so deep in you. At least in his eyes.)
Wet and pliable and helpless. Arthur loves you like that. He knows, he knows you’re anything but - but he’d be damned to pretend this don’t feel best. Tight, wet cunt so welcoming from all the pleasure he’s ripped out of you. Your bodies pressed together, your heartbeat pulsing through your skin. All sticky, honeyed need and animal desire as Arthur lets all of him sink on top of you. His heavy, lumbering form crushing you in - trapping you somewhere you can’t run from him. The curve of your spine pushed against his chest, ticklish.
Every inch of his body that so wholly wants for you, Arthur aches to make you feel. Burn it in you lest anything happens that risks your forgetting.
He can feel his hips meet your ass, backside squished against him - desperate for deeper friction. Whining. You’re whining to him so pretty, a pillow pushed underneath you to give friction to needy clit.
Arthur can feel how much you want more. Maybe Arthur is greedy, but he likes that look much better on you. Your pussy is sucking him in so tight, silken walls pulsing with every shallow little measured thrust. Arthur lets his arm wrap around your neck, your face pressing into his bicep. You moan again and he laughs.
“Arthur,” Your words come out in a messy slur. He lets his scruffy face press against your neck, a kiss behind your ear. He wants to kiss you all over. There’s not enough hours in the day. “Oh, god, Arthur,”
“Still feels good, then, I’m guessin’,”
“Shut up,” You huff and press your cheek into his arm. He doesn’t bother stifling his laugh. “Still feels…big. Stretchin’ me out—hicc—so much,”
You really don’t try to rile him up - but you do a damn good job of it anyway. He groans, grunts as he pulls back and pistons himself in you. A gesture half-way between a kiss and the warning shot of a gun. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes, noisy and vulgar. Arthur don’t pay it much mind. He laughs against your shoulder.
“One of these days, that moutha’ yours is gonna get me in real trouble.”
You giggle back at him
“What kinda trouble is that now?”
Even from your side glance, you’ve got that lovely little smile on you. Fuckdrunk and ingratiating, like you know he’s wrapped so tight around your fingers. And he is, like nothing else in the world could have him. A wave of possession curls up over Arthur, makes him press more of himself into you. Onto you. Another deep push of his cock, sliding against the tenderest parts of you. Staking some silent desire in you. He wants and wants and wants, and hopes that whatevers above him can forgive him for making the same mistake thrice.
“Dunno,” Arthur comments, teeth grazing your shoulder and kissing the indentations “Got our whole lives together to find out, I reckon.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Mister.”
Arthur laughs. “Hope you do, Miss.”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ JOHN MARSTON + COWGIRL ;
John doesn’t say that he loves you lightly.
Hardly a thing he says can be said that way. Could never afford too. In an alternate universe where nothing goes wrong in his life, maybe - but he has a hard time picturing what the hell that’d look like. A version of himself so untainted, without all of the violence and blood and gunsmoke? Foreign. John can’t picture it worth a damn.
Who John is without a deadbeat father and a dead Ma is somewhere far beyond his reach. Ain’t nothing about his life, at any point, lighthearted.
On top of all that mess, he’s got a boy at age four with a woman he ain’t married too. And that relationship is always on rocky waters, even though John’s decided to do right by his own flesh and blood sometime ago. Most things in the world he should feel good about he doesn’t, and most things he should understand render him clueless. He’s a mess on multiple accounts, and he still doesn’t know how exactly he’s meant to approach this life of his. He knows what he should do, but nothing about how to do it.
John doesn’t come to love you easily ‘cause he wouldn’t know easy love if it hit him in his face. Quickly and painfully, but not easily.
Your return to the gang was an odd one. You were an old presence and your disappearance was an even older story. John thought he’d never gonna see you again for sure. You’d been a part of the gang back long before all of the nonsense that took place in Blackwater and you left about the time Arthur’s boy died. John don’t remember why you left exactly. He thinks it was a fight with Hosea, of all things.
Dutch weren't too happy about it neither, but Dutch back then didn’t make a show.
So you left, and John buried every feeling he ever harbored. You found all them again up in Colter, where you’d been living out your days lately. According to you, in the middle of riding, you thought you’d heard Arthur. So, somewhat recklessly, you went chasing him. Didn’t matter if he was just something your mind conjured. According to you, if it was him, it was at least worth checking to make sure. You’d reunited with Arthur and after some tears, he rode with you back to camp.
Upon your return, the gang welcomed you with open arms.
You’d done a lot in your time alone.You spent most of that time just like that, a ghost wanderin’ the planes. You weren’t gonna stay with ‘em, but Arthur insisted and Hosea did too. That wasn’t enough to compel, so John was last to chip in. You should stay, at least until Valentine.
(Silently he thought, you should stay so John can trace memories of you. It was so long ago, he should’ve forgotten all of it. You were a year older than John and always on his ass but easy for him to talk to. Didn’t fuss over his failures. You just barely grew into your womanhood when you set your sights on running away. You wanted more than this life, and John never really forgave you for it. His first heartbreak, maybe - but it’s all too blurry for that.
You understood him though better than anyone, and one day you were gone. Nothing’s really the same.)
You changed tremendously and not at all. He missed you. God, did he ever. Missed you a long time. Didn’t realize how much until you came back and everything in him felt right again. Your return stirred up old feelings and everyone noticed. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but he really wasn’t trying to fall back into anything with you. Not how he did.
Just like you did back then, you read John like an open book. And just like he did back then, he loved you all too helplessly for it. It was just all too easy again, to be with you.
You stayed out of the way at first, for the sake of his family.
But, John ain’t a half-decent man even when he’s trying to be. So he set himself on being with you. It wasn’t easy - most things with him aren’t as you’ll see. Having you around again straightened what was left of his common sense, at least. He told Abigail before telling you. He figured you wouldn’t even reply unless that was all out of the way. That turned out as well as you’d expect.
It was settled between the two of you thereafter. He’s lucky she didn’t toss him into the street.
Everything works out in a way. As best they can between broken people. You make peace with each other. His boy loves you like a third parent (you’re better with him than John is). Abigail commends you for straightening out such a worthless man though she’s a little melancholy. John just tries to stay out of the way. You’ll be together in the end. There’s a plan with the five of you.
But until it all falls apart, he doesn’t get all that much time with you.
There’s moments like tonight, though. Rare ones. Together out robbin’, cooped out some place in the woods where no one is around. A place so shaded by nightfall that John can absolve himself of every sin he’s ever committed in his life and pray at the altar between your hips. John is convinced he might find worship like he’s always hearing about there whenever he touches you, the marred skin of his hands and knuckles reading the scripture of your body with careful precision.
You might turn him into a literate man yet.
John glances up at you. Only the light of the fire and the moonlight there to accompany as he watches you over him. You’re beautiful. John couldn’t picture a single thing more perfect in his life.
Your hands against his bare chest, nails digging into the flesh as you lean forward. Your palm dug into the dirt, John finds his own hands rested at your hips. John looks at you awe-struck, cock twitching at the mere sight. His heart settles in his throat, but he’s calm all at the same time. With you, he forgets. All of it. The worst of himself.
Bare naked and so close, he watches your face as you strain. You feel soft. Every inch of you in comparison to him is. A bead of sweat slides down the valley of your breasts. John cranes his neck up to catch it with his tongue, licking a stripe up to your neck - letting his teeth sink into the space between your jaw and neck. You want to make it last and John doesn’t blame you. It’s so rare you get to have each other so unrestrained. John can feel all the ways you want him, can see it in your face - all pinched with need. You’re holding yourself back, trying to get it to last as long as the night will allow. It’s cute in a way.
It’s different than how he’s used to seein’ you, all cocky or otherwise. You’re needy like this. Just needy. His stomach turns with lust, jolting through him like a strike of lightning. His cock twitches against your folds, sliding against them. Pure admiration watching the sticky mess of his pre-cum and your own arousal mix together and smear on your mound. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, faint and tender as you fall forward just a little. John laughs against your neck.
“Darlin’,” He says with a huff. Not malice. Something akin to bliss, where he can rarely afford it “Have I done something to piss you off today?”
You pick yourself up and look down at him and frown. John kisses the corner of your mouth, resisting some crude desire to fuck up into you.
“Just,” You grunt as the tip of his cock passes over your throbbing clit, your whole body wracking to a shiver. John looks awed. “Pent up. Goddamn it,”
John figures it out quickly after that. It’s this part of it he likes. The proximity. The closeness. Feeling the tremble in your hands as they struggle to keep up right, muscles strained in your forearms. Being able to hold you, to keep the pace or let you take the lead. The clear view of your face as pleasure travels up through your spine and melts into you. He grabs your hips, the fat dimpling underneath his fingers as he moves you along. He can’t wait. You don’t bother to protest seeing John can’t seem to bear it anymore. You collapse into his chest, your tits pushed flat against his pecs.
His cock throbs near painfully, sliding against your soft cunt before finding himself lined with you. He thinks to himself that it’s this he was looking for, as he tucks your face against his neck and lets his tip stretch you out slowly. Such a vice like grip, stretching - resisting him like your whole body can’t anticipate the sensation of fullness. You gasp against his throat.
“John,”
What a sweet sound from your mouth, even sweeter as he bucks himself up. Keeps you steady and lets his cock stretch you full, feel you deep. “That’s right, my angel. Didn’t think you’d remember my name when you’re all worked up like this.”
“You’re,” You gasp and John thrusts, thrusts hard until he’s buried to the hilt. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as he bottoms out and John laughs like the terrible man he is. He fucks you again, over and over - a wicked little smile watching “Awful. Just awful, John Marston,”
“Ain’t that the truth,” He hums against your mouth as his hand snakes between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit. “Wonder what kinda woman that makes you,”
“A foolish one,”
John laughs.
“I sure do love you for it,”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆JAVIER ESCUELLA + SIDEWAYS ;
Javier hasn’t thought about much other than surviving.
It’s been like that. Been like that for a while, probably much longer than he cares to admit. He’s sure any sane man would suffer the same plight if they lead the same life. Anything but survival is little more than a pipe-dream, so Javier tries not to go for anything too strongly. In that aspect he’s like many of the members of the gang he’s in, perhaps that’s why he sticks to them. There’s that phrase Hosea’s always saying - that misery loves company. Javier will take any decent company he can get. He’s desperate for it just like he’s desperate for most things - inwardly, silently.
Some of that desperation may be symptomatic of who he is. After he killed a man in a crime of passion for a woman he loved and ran from a government who would sooner exile him than change, Javier decided to not dream anymore. Every revolutionary who dreams too hopefully pays the price in blood.
(Javier thinks there’s probably nothing in the world as true as this. A form of gospel. He remembers the first dream he ever had after his uncle passed. Not a nightmare but a dream. He remembers the exact feeling of waking up, cold and confused. What is a dream, except a memento of survivor's guilt that loyal people cling onto fruitlessly. When hope starts to feel like a debt he’s going to waste his life paying back, Javier loses sight of everything. The beginning of the end in some way.)
His mind doesn’t occupy itself with anything bigger than that. Since Dutch found him starving, there was never a desire to try and live off aspirations. He pays his penance with loyalty and honor. Practices some form of humility and tries, not too desperately, to carve a place for him to fit. All without drawing too much attention or caring too much. If you ignore the bleeding in his fingers, his penchant for knives over guns, and his refusal to talk too long about the place he comes from - it’s nearly believable that none of it matters.
Except loyalty. All Javier honors is that. It’s the only thing he has some part in choosing, so he choses it every time. Living like that didn’t make any difference to him. He was surrounded by mostly decent people. He didn’t hate the life he was living.
It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. His directionless-ness, his floating. Hadn’t since he joined the gang. At least not to anyone but him. He didn’t know what he’s meant to do or if he was meant to proceed with this forever. He was (is) loyal to Dutch. To the gang.
He hadn’t thought much about what comes after.
And it didn’t matter until he met you
He’d sworn off love after seeing where it got him, at least until he could love more dispassionately. When the women bring you back from their outing from Valentine and beg Dutch to let you stay, Javier doesn’t think much of it all. He thinks you’re pretty, if it counts for anything. But he doesn’t let himself linger on you too long.
But that’s the sequence with you two, really. The whole time. He doesn’t linger until he does. It doesn't matter until it does. He doesn’t think about you until it’s all he can think about.
You go for him first. And it’s in little, unimportant ways that might not mean shit to you but mean a whole lot to him. You have some kind of tenderness about you that you wear deep, runs through your blood like love ran through his once long ago. Some softness he can’t really measure with his own. It’s not that that gets him. It’s that sometimes you look at Javier like he's … someone you want to see. He forgot what that was like all together. It felt foreign to him the first time it happened. Seeing how you light up when Javier is around.
You wanted to see him. You noticed that he’s gone. If he sang by the campfire - you’d sit by him and listen. If he was out in the trees keeping guard, he’d hear the soft call of your voice to Grimshaw ask Where’s Javier? And sometimes the girls will make fun of you - but you wouldn’t deny anything they said. It’s so small and ordinary. He would’ve never considered himself simple before meeting you. Nothing is simple. Nothing.
(But then, Javier thinks of the kinds of songs he sings and the way he takes care of himself and the clothes he wears and maybe Javier has some kind of affinity for preciousness that explains all of it.)
When Javier confesses his feelings for you - he finds the affair to be like most things between you. Ordinary love, not really between outlaws but people. It’s up against a tree while you share a drink and he’s looking at the curve of your mouth and the plum color Karen’s so kindly put on you. And his head fills with kissing you so he does. A breathless confession between alcohol stains and the feeling of your hands curled in the lapels of his suit.
From there, Javier is your lover. He’s not interested in the business of secrets, but he tries not to let it show too much. Not that he doesn’t want to. He wants to show you off more than anything - at least some part of him does. But the other part wants to keep you away from prying eyes, keep his love for you only where the both of you can see. If he could keep that pretty lovestruck face you make all to himself forever he would.
When he gets a chance to whisk you away from everything, Javier jumps at the chance. Not often, but Javier makes time for you. Makes time to indulge in love he thought he’d never find again.
That’s why he’s here with you in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town where no one knows you.. A reserved room with a bed and lowlights all to yourselves.
Javier can’t keep his hands to himself and he doubts you expect him too.
For Javier, this sense of proximity is what intoxicates him most. The warmth of your bare skin in the slivers of yourself exposed. Javier is fond of finding you like this after a long day of horse riding. Of sneaking touches to your waist as you push back against him to sleep, only to find his desire for you - laid clearly. He likes hearing you whimper feeling his length poke against your back, the embarrassment when it dawns on you that he wants you after all. Always surprised, even though Javier tells you it so often. Whispers it along your neck and shoulders whenever you’re at camp together.
You like the feeling of his hands so Javier always starts with them. He squeezes your hips. Planes his palms over your chest before squeezing your chest, pushing the fat between his fingers. You like the way they look when they grope you, his chin resting against your shoulder as you spoon. In the lowlights of a cheap hotel - Javier gets the perfect view of your silhouette. Your body is sensitive over the fabric of your gown, heat prickling through you.
Javier who is always so gentle with you, rouses so deep listening to your whining as he explores your body. The suffocating closeness of a single bed intoxicates him.
“Javier,” Your voice is sweet and thin. Plays in Javier’s head like music and makes his mouth curl up into a catlike grin as you push back on him. You look slightly over your shoulder, lips pushed into a pout. “Please,”
He tugs at the fabric of your nightgown. The top half pulls haphazard underneath your tits, nipples perky and sensitive to touch while the skirt pools at your waist. What gets Javier like this is the desperation. Wanting so much but not being able to look too long. A way for you to mirror him, it’s a matter of possession. In some stupid way. Bunching your clothes up, pushing the fabric of your panties to one side, letting his arm wrap around your waist to touch and tease. All of these are imprints of his longing, tucked faithful into your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.
His cock twitches as it pushes past your folds with finality, your hands curling up at your sides. You whimper softly, let your cheek rest against the sheets as Javier takes you on your side. Terribly close, you fuss as you feel him slide every inch into you slow, your hands reaching back for purchase. It’s the fit of you against him so perfect, the silent strokes of intimacy, the hush-hush giggles between the sheets that Javier loves most about fucking you like this. Too enamored with you to look too closely, he lets his eyes flutter closed. He could get drunk just being in your space.
He carves out space for himself inside of you, feels your cunt accommodate for him like it loves him. A feverishness breaks out as his forehead rests on the space between your shoulders, an uncharacteristic whiny quality in his words.
“Ser mío,” Javier says - as a reflection of what he really wants, to belong only to you. “Belong to me.”
Darling as you always are, you nod softly.
“All yours, Javier,” You whimper, finding his hand. “Forever,”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ CHARLES SMITH + MATING PRESS ;
Wandering.
He’s been doing it his whole life. Not something he’s proud of. Or ashamed of either, really. Just how things have gone for him until now. Charles doesn’t think his life has been any better or any worse than anyone else's. At least not when he weighs it with the same kind of pragmatism he does most things. It’s been a hard life, and a miserable one in so many ways. Still, it’s not something Charles is too keen to dwell on.
There’s just something thematic about loss in Charles' life in a way he finds completely unpleasant. It’s more constant than anything. Loss of his home, loss of his mother, loss of his father in an attempt to find what’s best for him. It’s some overarching message that hangs over his head like a shadow. Everywhere he goes, trying to rectify his own solitude seems to come back to him. It doesn’t help that it’s an unfair world to start with, and would’ve been if he had just been black or just been native. But Charles is both, and has lived a life that reflects that specific injustice thoroughly.
There’s not really anything Charles can do about it, at its baseline. When he left his father, the name of the game had simply been survival. He was well-equipped enough for that at least. But after survival comes trying to live and trying to live isn’t something so simple. Jumping in and out of gangs who thought they could get away with slighting him or generally being surrounded by unpleasant people. Trying to find something in pages of book and scripture, or in the way water ripples when it rains.
He’s never felt any one way towards the gang. Even when he joined them all the way back in the Grizzlies. Lost in the cold, they’d crossed paths as Charles was out hunting. A lot of it feels like a blur. Of all the folks he’s met in his travels though, Dutch treats him fair and the rest of them (or most of them) are decent, honest folk. Charles stays in the Van Der Linde gang for such simple reasons as trying to stay alive and be somewhere that isn’t actively hostile towards him. He’s a good gunman, and a better fighter. The inner workings of gang politics and forging connection isn’t at the forefront of his mind, with the exception of the kindest few.
The Van Der Linde gang is just a place where he can figure out what his purpose is meant to be, even if he doesn’t find it there. He’s never expecting anything to come out from his loyalties to it.
Of all the things Charles expects of his life in the Van Der Linde gang, love is at the very bottom of the list.
Maybe it’s about time he stops being surprised by these things happening to him one or way another.
You were a member of the gang far before him, and someone Charles took to quickly. You’d joined the gang not too long after John from what Arthur tells him. Though the brunette speaks about you more fondly than he does his brother. A problem child at the start, according to Arthur - always getting into all sorts of trouble. Something you seemingly feel embarrassed about now and refuse to bring up. Charles has a hard time picturing it having only known you as you are.
The woman you’ve grown into is someone else completely, and Charles sees that in you all the time. Compassionate like Hosea but charismatic like Dutch, and clever. And you’re beautiful, too, though Charles feels a little shallow admitting that’s part of what drew you into him.
It wasn’t Charles that approached you first. You were the one who spoke to him, as often as you thought necessary but never in a way he found invasive. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about you that charms him near instantly. You’re enigmatic to a fault. It’s like you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it. Even more than that, you’re a terribly pleasant person to be around. Subtly warm and free of assumptions. When Charles talks to you about anything, you listen without making him feel like it’s any sort of burden to you. You don’t pry, don’t make missteps. Treat him fair, and then some.
It’s unbearably simple, just how quickly and how easily he comes to adore you. And, in some ways, Charles knows better than to believe that his purpose is loving someone. There’s more to it than that, surely - after everything.
But then, he’ll watch you do something. Watch you do some kind of menial work that he could do for you instead. Thinks of skinning animals for new clothes and chopping wood and rubbing the soap off of you and all of a sudden it makes him feel anchored. Everything he could do for you. You anchor Charles easily, with a wispy smile. Make him want to find purpose in life with you. He never wants to be somewhere you’re not.
He confesses it to you just like that, and like you do with most things - you accept and reciprocate without making too much of a fuss.
For Charles, making love is an extension of wanting to ground himself in you. A distant siren song - the intersection of lust and bone deep adoration. Like most things, you’re the one to approach first every time. A soft hand on his forearm, a whisper that you want him. It’s with ease that he draws you away. Drags from you camp during nightfall with his horse and blankets and picks a spot with the perfect view of the stars.
Charles watches you under the glow of moonlight, his vision adjusting to you easily. Naked underneath him, laid on your back with your legs folded at your knees - heaving deep breaths. He can see the sweat beading down your skin, your chest rising and falling - and the perfect view of your pussy. His hands and mouth are wet as you breathe out. He finds himself smiling at you, his own erection pressed against your thigh, pre-cum leaking out in a mesmerized haze.
You lift your hands up and he leans down, surprised as you wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your mouths meet like that, and Charles laughs against your lips as you kiss him so eagerly. You blink at him, pretty. You’re always prettier than he remembers you being the last time he looks.
“Charles,” You frown at him. “It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting,”
He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,”
“Well, I’m fine with it,” You repeat, almost petulant. Charles frowns. “‘Sides, it ain’t my first time taking you, you know?”
“Well, I’m not fine with it.”
You pout, looking at him all endeared. Charles couldn’t help but love you even if he tried. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. C’mon. Please?”
“Please, what?”
You look at him aghast before breaking out into a faux-scandalized giggle. “Now you—please fuck me. Pretty, please.”
Charles feels something tickling against his spine hearing you say it. He couldn’t imagine getting sick of you in his whole life. “Yeah, that’s good to hear.”
You make an indignant noise but it’s silenced quickly as Charles positions himself against your entrance. He has plenty of discipline when it comes to matters like these, but right now - he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. Not nearly enough patience to wait. He lets his hands go up underneath your knees just to have something to hold onto.
You make a little gasp as the tip of his cock pushes into you. Your walls are so soft, likely after all the orgasms he’d given you prior. You stop him in a shocked gasp, and Charles immediately readies himself to pull out. As if sensing his hesitance, you shake your head.
“Charles,” You gasp, the words caught in your throat and hoarse “Deep. Want it deep,”
His abdomen tightens, cocking twitching hard at your words. He agrees silently to your desires.
When it comes to sex, there’s very little Charles dislikes.
But this is his favorite. He’s simple but no other position lets him see you so close. He likes the way your eyes widen as he pushes up underneath your knees and folds you underneath his weight. How you look pinned down under him, the perfect view of your eyes rolling back into your head and the proximity from your face to his. He lets his cock stretch you out slowly, throbbing each time your nails dig desperately into arms trying to keep your composure. Fuck you feel so tight like that. Soft pussy, dripping and sticky. You suck him in relentlessly, and Charles groans as he bottoms out. You take every inch of him so well. So perfect like the rest of you.
Your eyes flutter open as he stays there, buried in you in complete bliss. You’re dazed.
“Kiss?”
Surprise followed by adoration, he abides by your request easily. Overwhelmed with it as he presses a chaste peck to your mouth, he laughs. “As many as you want.”
Anything you want, Charles thinks, he would give to you.
“you’re so pretty, arthur.” your voice came out as a hoarse whine, your breath heavy and panting as you looked down at him from your place on his lap, where he was currently watching you with an almost predatory conviction as you ground yourself against his clothed thigh. from the opened top of his buttoned shirt sweat gleamed in sun-bronzed skin and with darkened eyes he looked up at you beneath messy hair that came just to the nape of his neck — just the way you liked it.
his chaste mouth was parted with grunting gasps of pleasure despite the fact that you hadn’t even touched him, and the draw of his teeth sent a thrill up your spine. at your whimpered praise he flushed — red crept up his neck and to his face. he tightened his hold on your hips and forced you down harder against the denim of his leg, making you squeal.
“don’t be a fool, woman.” he growled. his hand came to the back of your neck, palming it, and brought you down towards him — but not to kiss you. instead, he pressed the side of his face against yours, beard scratchy and stimulating, and nipped at the shell of your ear. “don’t go saying things you don’t mean.”
“i mean it.” you babbled hopelessly. “i mean it. you’re everything. you’re everything.”
his other hand slid up from your waist and up your stomach. you trembled against the slide of his callouses and whimpered rather pathetically, desperate for the feel of his mouth on your skin that seemed to be rising in temperature with each shock to your naked sex.
it just wasn’t fair. to have to be fully, completely bare in the confines of your shared tent while he remained fully clothed. you wanted to trace your tongue over the hard panes of his stomach, to mark the strength of his chest in blooming purple marks. you told him as such, your voice becoming shakier and shakier as you felt yet another orgasm approaching.
his responding chuckle nearly pushed you over the edge. “that’s my girl… give me one more and maybe ill let your dirty mouth touch me. better make it good.”
this was enough for the burning ache in your stomach to finally snap into an explosion of heat. you cried out, grateful that the two of you had chosen to camp away from the others for the night, and basked in the white spots clouding your vision.
arthur watched this all with pupils blown wide with the lust. the arch of your back, the heaving of your breasts. your pleasured cry nearly made him come undone in his pants like some pathetic teenage boy.
“pretty girl, pretty girl.” he murmured reverently, nearly sick with adoration. when you finally came back to yourself he gave you a crooked smile. “come and get it.”
-
an: yeah im going to drive myself crazy w the fact hes not real but okay
Arthur gripped your hips, he suggested this position, not really suggested. He mostly had lifted you off him the second you had clenched around him, he took advantage of your orgasm to reposition you. His hand held your hips, keeping you up. He gave the curve of you ass an affectionate pat. "You're alright.." His voice was soft, the roughness of it soothing your nerves as your thighs trembled. "Arthur.. please." You weren't even sure if you wanted a break or more, the please seemed to go either way. "You okay?" He mumbled, that rough hand that was always gentle with you smoothed up your spine to the nape of your neck as he leaned over to kiss your shoulder. You panted as you nodded, soft hairs stuck to your forehead. "Want more?" It took you a second to process what he was asking and before you even processed what you were doing, there was a faint nod. He smiled against your skin, "Atta girl.." Arthur had never ending praise for you. For even the simplest of things. A good job for eating dinner or waking up in the morning. Any act of living earned praised, you were his world. His girl. His everything. During these tumultuous times, he found solace in the tiny hotel room he was able to steal you away in. He was able to pretend it was all different. Maybe you two had a home or at least the gang wasn't falling apart.. he snapped out of it as he leaned back, bringing your hips up again.
He eased into you, a breathless gasp followed by a higher pitch moan left your throat. He kept your back arched with one big hand pressed between your shoulders as his other gripped your hip. His blunt nails biting at your skin, leaving little crescents. He wasn't being particularly gentle but nonetheless paused to catch his breath. Your velvet walls were clenching around him, almost painfully tight and too hot. He let out a throaty groan, it came from up in his chest. Almost a breathless noise. Arthur threw his head back, his fingers drumming on your back lightly. He huffed, pulling his hips back, he could feel how you suctioned around him, so he didn't pull out completely. He didn't was to lose that. He snapped his hips, grinning at your breath hitching, nice and loud. You had abused your pussy riding him, until she was puffy and soaked. He offered occasional help, but he mostly thrusted upwards to surprise you when he felt you getting close. He liked watching you do all the work, so it was time to return the favor. Each time he pulled out and rolled his hips forward, they got faster and stronger. He leaned over you, slowly pressing his chest to your back. It was strong and warm, damp with sweat and his hair soft. His hand flew to the headboard, caging you between one arm next to your head and his firm bicep. Built like a piece of sinewy lumber, strong and unmoving, he had you trapped. The noises coming from your dripping cunt were filthy. How could you be soaked for him? A tough, gritty man. A killer. An outlaw. A bad, bad, bad-
"Arthur..!" The way you squeaked his name caught his attention, he could feel your walls around him, shit, your poor pussy never caught a break. He could feel you clenching and writhing and your nails dug into his thick wrist. But he didn't let up, even when you were pushed forward by the sheer force of his thrusts. "Don't- run from me." He gritted out, teeth clenched, his head pressed to the back of yours. His arm shifted, his forearm pressed to the front of your shoulder, keeping you from jolting forward. You were ruining the sheets, his thighs were sticky and slick with you, his dick coated in your cream, his hairs frothy. He wasn't even attempting to quiet himself now. "God.. damn it." Your legs gave out without his hand holding you up, you pressed flat on your stomach, feeling the sheets sticking to your wet skin, beads of sweat sliding down the column of your neck.
"Look'atchu.. You're a good girl.." His praises deep and guttural, he pressed you further into the mattress. Your moans had progressed into soft screams, your face half hidden in your pillow, hair messed. His hand that wasn't white knuckling the headboard slid between the mattress and you, finding your clit. Poor thing was twitching at just the slightest touch from him. "There ya go.. Takin' me and lookin' so pretty.." His lips pressed to the crown of your skull, your hair tickling his nose. With just a few soft circle from his finger, he ripped another orgasm out of you, you soaked his cock while he pounded you into the mattress. You were a sobbing mess, choking on your words. A mix of please, Arthur, I can't do it and don't stop, harder, deeper. He liked fucking the brains right out if your pretty head. Feeling your cunt drenched him and constrict around him so perfectly, like your pussy was made to take his thick cock and keeping it nice and tight and warm, seated so deep within you, made his stomach taught. His own legs trembled at the way his release hit him like a damn freight train.
"Fuck-" he had no words, nothing to describe how it felt, rutting his seed deeper in you with his dick twitching. He collapsed, mind empty, body numb, nearly crushing you and keeping the wind knocked from your lungs. Your hand patted his head. "Good job.. I can't breathe." Arthur's laugh was soft, his eyes closed. "Sorry, sweetheart."
