❝ giver (no woman like you) ❞
roy goode x f!reader
SUMMARY: A run-in with one of the most notorious gun-slingers in the West leads to an unexpected intimacy.
WC: 8.2k
WARNINGS: mentions of parental issues, male violence, misogyny, guns/weapons, sexual insinuation, hunting/killing animals (for food), reader is stubborn and unaware, death, violence (shooting), drinking, pining/yearning, use of ‘whore’ for prostitute, smut (18+ ONLY); unprotected sex (p in v), fingering, bath/shower sex, dirty talk, praise kink, riding (girl on top), nipple play, creampie, cute cuddling 18+ under the cut
A/N: well…this is it, everybody. big thank you to @spikedfearn for a discussion on how roy’s praise kink, @amaranthine-enihtnarama, @iceemochaa, @remmicks-salvation for the motivation to write, @fuckoffbard for literally everything, @confetti-cakemix and my lovelyyyy wifey @eternalstrigoii for beta reading! this fic is based off of this request, so thank you anon 😌 roy goode is my no. 1 jack role so this is long overdue! this takes place before godless, so no need to watch/know the show. please enjoy!
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likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated! this post is 18+ only. minors do not interact.
YOU HAD A habit of finding yourself in places where you didn't belong. As a child, it was your father grabbing you by the back of your frock after he found you wandering near the library. "Girls don't need to concern themselves with books," he'd said. Didn't stop you from reading almost every one of them.
It was back in Courthill when he caught you watching the deputy's target practice.
“You should be courting the boys, not shooting at ‘em.”
So, it was no surprise that you found yourself as another lonely wanderer through the vast Western frontier. You’d slipped out the back door of his farmhouse that had never been a home. And considering there hadn’t been a single sign of a search for you in the past five years, clearly, you weren’t missed. Maybe you’d been presumed dead.
It was no matter to you now. Courthill was long behind you, and living on your own as a young woman in the West had taught you more than your father ever had.
You’d done bad things, but no worse than any man. You’d killed, but no more than a woman’s survival called for.
Now, as you found yourself wandering in some forsaken town during the hottest month of the summer, you couldn’t help but remember your father’s words. There was no telling if you were even in Texas anymore. Your only possessions consisted of a sack swung over your shoulder carrying spare clothes and a canteen.
The scorched dirt crunched underneath your boots. This town wasn’t yours and you weren’t about to stroll around it like it was, but no matter how low you held your head, you felt the glare of cautious, watchful eyes.
It wasn’t everyday someone would see an alluring woman like you dressed in her father’s trousers—a few sizes too big—boots that were stuffed at the toe to fit, and a gambler hat faded by the sun. The most noticeable accessory was the silver pistol on your belt. But it wasn’t the stolen clothes that gave it away.
It was your hair. Uncut and hanging just above your waist. And the fact you hadn’t made an attempt to hide it under your hat showed you weren’t trying to be someone you weren’t.
You were just another runaway.
There were whispers, none of which you could make out, but enough to know you weren’t exactly welcome in this place.
You had to leave. Soon. But the next civilization wasn’t for another eight miles—too far to go on foot in this heat.
“Who is that?” A young boy asked his mother; she shushed him, and turned him away.
Like the sight of you was a walking sin.
The rim of your hat hid your eyes as you walked past them. A sharp turn to your right led you to another street lined with wooden buildings bent from the Western wind. This road was quieter and emptier; you preferred it that way.
Then, like a miracle, you heard the sound of a deep, throaty snort. Your gaze shifted to an alley between a small house and the telegraph office where a hitching post stood in the dirt. Tied to it was a black mare, standing strong despite the sun beaming down on her.
Bullseye.
You were careful not to make any sudden sounds as you approached the post. She shifted her weight, head hung low just like yours as steam faintly curled from her nostrils.
“Easy, girl,” you hold your hand out gently.
On her back was a worn leather saddle and two sacks hung over her hips. Braided reins wrapped around her snout. This one belonged to someone, and as a stranger to this town, you had no place in taking her.
A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, you thought to yourself.
Once you were close enough, you set your hand on her cheek, gently rubbing the soft fur with your thumb. “Long day?” You half-cooed, scratching underneath her chin. The mare snorted in response.
Looking over your shoulder to see that no one had noticed you yet, you began to sort through the sacks. An empty canteen. A couple of golden, shotgun shells. A stale, half-eaten piece of bread wrapped in cloth. A handful of silver dollars. You took the money, but everything else was nothing of value to you. You threw the sacks to the ground so the dust floated in the air like a cloudy sky you hadn’t seen in days. A bead of sweat dripped down your cheek as you hurriedly tied your own bag to the saddle, moving to undo the knot around the hitching post.
If your heart hadn’t been beating so hard that you could feel it in your eardrums, you might’ve heard the quiet footsteps behind you.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” a low, gentle voice called out to you.
You almost gasped, your fingers still fumbling with the reins. Turning on the heel of your boot, you noticed the figure at the end of the alley.
A man dressed in black half-smiled at you.
“Afternoon, sir.”
“Is there, uh,” he began to slowly approach you, and you readied yourself to pull the gun from your side. “something I can help you with?”
Perhaps he was just a kind man looking to help a random woman in trouble. But you didn’t plan on finding out.
“Oh, not at all,” you smiled warmly. “Thank you.”
You finished untying the knot of the reins, quick to get out of this town as soon as possible.
But before you could secure it in your hand, the man behind you clicked his tongue against his teeth. In almost an instant, the mare rushed to him, the reins slipping from your hands with a burning sensation. You hissed at the feeling and immediately pulled the pistol from your hip.
The horse stopped by his side. The man looked over to see your gun pointed directly at his chest. Aimed for his heart.
Roy Goode had met a lot of strange people in his life. He’d been to a lot of strange places, and never had he met such a woman like you—standing in your stolen boots and holding your pistol at him; you could take his life in an instant, and he doesn’t doubt it. He takes the reins in his hands and twists it around his palm.
“Thieves don’t do too well here,” he said, though it didn’t feel like a threat.
Dust swirls in the space between you. “I didn’t know it was yours,” there’s an edge of defensiveness and even shame to your voice. “I’ve stolen worse from worse men.”
There’s a ghost of a smirk on his face. The man studies you for a moment and nods once. “That why you’re out here alone?”
If you had thought of something clever enough to say, you would’ve, but your mind draws a blank. You’re fixated on the pair of blue eyes watching you. Without noticing, you’ve lowered your weapon to your hips already.
“What’s your name?”
You glared at him for a moment. “And why should I tell you?”
He smiles. “It’d be kind, at the very least. Wanna know who I’m talking to.”
“(y/n). (l/n).”
The man nods. “Well, Miss (l/n), horses aren’t just toys to be stolen,” he says, gently petting the mare’s chin and running his fingers through her mane. “You want something that runs, you earn it.”
“And how would I do that?” You tilt your head.
The man mounts the horse with an impressive ease. He settles into the saddle like he’d been doing it his entire life. Now, the tilted smirk on his face widens. “Don’t suppose you’re any good with a rifle?”
You glance off in the distance for only a second.
You could bolt off right there and then. It’d probably earn you a bullet in the leg, but you were quicker than you looked.
Most men in the West would have shot you on the spot for messing with what was theirs. Not this one. You clicked your teeth at the realization that your options were severely outweighed.
Any good with a rifle? “Good enough.”
WHOEVER THIS MAN was, he wasn’t completely with the law.
Yet, he didn’t seem to think himself above it. You nearly objected when he paid a rancher on the outskirts of town for a horse, saddle and all, but who were you to deny a gift? Besides, it had a lovely chestnut coat that you admired.
The town was far behind you as you slowed the horses’ galloping to a gentle stroll beside one another. To anyone who didn’t already know you, the two of you actually made quite a nice-looking pair.
Canyon walls surrounding you stood tall, practically glowing a golden rust in the late afternoon sun. Gravel and dirt crunched underneath the horse hooves; small songbirds gently chirped off in the distance; the dry air whistled a tune. The sweet music of the West.
Neither of you spoke much.
There was a polite “thank you” for the horse and a brief conversation about sunburn, but other than that, you were complete strangers. Perhaps it was a way of leaving the scenery undisturbed, or maybe it was that you didn’t have anything to say until one of you was sick of the silence.
Fortunately, he gave in first. “So what’s a young lady such as yourself doin’ in these parts?”
“I’m not a lady,” You had no qualms against this man, but a part of you scowled at him. It wasn’t the first time someone thought they’d figured you out because of what was between your legs. “And I’m from Courthill. Texas.”
He whistled. “You’re a long way from home.”
“How long?”
“About two weeks that way.” He pointed to the left.
For the past few days, you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint your location on a map if it was laid out in front of you. It was odd to think that home—a place you never wanted to see again—was so close yet so far.
He spoke again. “I don’t suppose you made the whole journey by foot.”
You scowled, turning your head so he wouldn’t notice it. As of now, he’d only shown you kindness. You couldn’t shake the stubborn, defensive barrier that came with being a woman on her own.
“I had a horse,” you shifted the reins in your hands to avoid a large rock in the path. “Couldn’t keep it fed, so I sold it to a woman who could. A Miss Alice Fletcher.”
A brief silence settled between you before he broke it.
“Surely, there’re ways for a- uh, woman to, uh,” he cut himself off, gently stumbling on his words. You knew damn well what he was going to say. “You know…”
“Do I look like a prostitute to you?”
If your hair had been tied up, or you’d worn a thicker jacket to cover up the curve of your chest, Roy would’ve fairly assumed you were a thieving, conniving, worn-down man like him. But you weren’t. And he enjoyed seeing you in pants rather than a skirt. He didn’t even try to picture the latter.
There was dirt on your cheek. Mud smudged over the knees of your slacks. A small, red scar on your collar bone.
“No, ma’am.”
Good. That’s that. But he spoke again, just above a mumble like it was only meant for himself.
“You’d make good money as one.”
You sighed. A spiteful grin on your face. “So, would you.” It was meant to be offensive, something degrading and sarcastic. He hardly took it as one.
“Why, thank you.” He perked. You shook your head at your lame insult.
Then, he motioned to the hat on your head and the boots on your feet. “So I’m guessin’ those ain’t yours?”
Well, you’d hoped it wasn’t noticeable that they were a size too big. Your eyes trailed across the scenery, an embarrassingly obvious way of forming a quick lie. “A farmer from Oklahoma gave them to me.”
Of course, he saw right through it. “That don’t look like a farmer’s hat to me.”
“I didn’t realize I was being interrogated.”
“You did try to steal my horse.”
Touché, unfortunately. Without a moment to spare—because you really didn’t feel like opening yourself up to this man—you changed the subject. “Why’d you bring me along?”
He cocked his head. “Is it my turn now?”
You ignored the smirk on his face.
With a shrug, he continued, “There’s a man I’m lookin’ for, lives down in Tucson.” That nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. You pulled back on the reins and he turned at your sudden halt in the path. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“I don’t even know who the hell you are,” you sighed. It might’ve been better to speak a little quieter in a valley where anyone could be hidden, but you weren’t exactly aiming for security. “Look, I appreciate the horse, and I’m sure it’s a lovely ride to Tucson. This has been fun and all, but I’ve got other matters to deal with. You can’t even tell me the man’s name and I’m supposed to shoot him down for you?”
He didn’t necessarily smile at you; his lips only tilted slightly. It was his eyes that looked amused at your sudden burst.
The world you lived in wasn’t kind to women who used their mouths. You’d learned that the hard way from your father first. There were plenty of men down the line who’d shown you as well, mostly with their fist to your cheek. You weren’t wrong to feel angry or misled, but you hadn’t meant to raise your voice with a stranger.
Maybe he’d shoot you right there. Leave you for dead in the middle of nowhere.
But there was no firm slap across your face nor the ringing of a gun piercing a bullet in your side.
Just the surprisingly gentle tone of his voice.
“Now, that’s a mighty fine stallion, so you’re welcome for the horse. And yes, it is a lovely ride to Tucson. I think you’ll enjoy it. I wouldn’t say this has been fun—is this what you consider fun?” You scowled. “But I enjoy the company. And seein’ that you’ve made no attempt to outrun or rob me—again—I don’t think you do have other matters to attend to.
“The man’s name is Les Moore. He’s a banker-turned-bandit. We’ve got unfinished business I don’t plan on disclosin’, but I do plan on shooting him myself. I simply need someone to watch my back. And my name is Roy.”
He paused again, but this time, it left a noticeable weight in the air.
“Roy Goode.”
You knew that name. There wasn’t a soul throughout the West that didn’t know that name. You’d heard it in folktales and stories around campfires, seen it written in thick, blank ink on wanted posters across a hundred different towns.
Even further, you knew that the man it belonged to had a certain friend you didn’t want any association with.
“If you’d like to go your own way, be my guest.” He continued. “But you don’t seem to know these parts and a lot of men stronger than you have died here. It’s up to you…ma’am.”
A long silence followed.
Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek because, deep down, you know he’s right. And you hate being wrong. The two of you stood still in the middle of the canyon. Even your horse sighed with impatience, but Roy kindly awaited your response.
“Fuck,” you said under your breath.
Then loud enough for Roy to hear, “Fine. But know this, Roy Goode,” You clicked your heels against the stallion’s belly. “Ain’t no man in the West who’s stronger than me.”
Not a single bone in Roy’s body doubted it.
“CAREFUL, NOW.”
You clenched your jaw so visibly that Roy could see you were in no need of his advice. The rifle rested so comfortably in your hands, he had to wonder how many times you’d done this.
“I know how to shoot, Goode.”
“I believe you,” He dryly chuckled. “So take the shot.”
He had a point. It only pissed you off more. You shifted quietly enough that the small, dirt-colored rabbit off in the distance never noticed your presence. At this point, it would’ve been Roy’s voice that gave it away.
“Shut up,” you hissed.
With your left eye squeezed shut, you focused your sight on the rabbit. Not even your heart could beat hard enough to throw off your aim, but a gentle breeze blew a strand of hair into your face and ruined your line of vision.
“Let me do it,” Roy moved to take the pistol from his side before a shot rang from beside him.
The rabbit dropped to the ground with a gentle thud.
You grinned at your new partner in crime. “You were saying?”
An hour passed before the sun sat low in the sky, just above the line of the land, casting a golden hue across your surroundings. The rest of the sky was somehow an inky shade of black, illuminated with more stars than you’d ever seen in your life. Strange you thought to yourself. Embers from the small fire Roy had started with spare branches and weeds floated above you, glistening amongst the stars.
He watched you take the blade hidden in your belt, dragging it against the rabbit’s fur and pulling its skin from the meat. The women he knew would’ve gagged at the sight of blood or ran at the simple thought of killing an innocent animal.
But not you.
“Now, where’d you learn to do that?”
You chuckled, a faint smile coming to your face, at a memory. “I can’t go givin’ you all my secrets.”
There was something about you that knew survival. It was gritty and dark, and though he would never admit it, Roy ached to know more.
He hung the meat above the flames on a spit, gently twirling it so the skin had an even, roasted color all over. Your mouth watered at the sight of it. Once it was ready, the two of you ravaged it with desperate fingers like starving wolves. It was, in no way, a good meal. Dry and flavorless, and split between the two of you, one rabbit was hardly enough. But it was the first time in days that your stomach had been able to settle over anything.
“I lived off of lizards for a time,” Roy said once there were only bones left. The two of you wore soft, tired smiles that came with good food and good company. You’d licked your fingers clean and now used your leather sack as a make-shift pillow. “Can’t shoot the fuckers. I had to chase after them with a blade.”
You laughed softly. Roy enjoyed the way a smile—not a flashy, pretty one put on to appease the men around you, but a distant, reminiscent one—looked on you.
“I’ve been there. I was near Mexico when all I had were tree leaves and cactus meat. Boiled it with river water.” Roy hummed a chuckle. The horses, tied to a withered tree, shuffled nearby. You glanced over your shoulder at them. “I like to think they’re talking to each other.”
“They are,” he said, throwing the last of the bones into the dirt. “June’s got a lot of stories to tell him.”
For a brief moment, you thought it odd that he referred to the horses like they were the same as him—or that he was one of them.
You arched a brow, “You named her June?”
Roy could see that you were amused. “Thought it was pretty.” He almost shrugged.
You hummed in fairness. Glancing back at your horse, you realized it didn’t feel right to leave him nameless. And despite Roy having bought it, the stallion was yours. “Johnny.” You said plainly.
“Come again?”
“I’ll name him Johnny.”
Now you were talking like you were one of them too.
Roy wondered then who Johnny was to you. Or maybe it was someone from a past life. He gazed at the remains of the fire before glancing over at you.
Maybe it was the gentle light in the vast darkness, but there was a newfound softness in your face. He could see the tiniest of imperfections—small scars won in battle, a minuscule bump on your chin—of which most women would cover with powder.
But not you.
He’d seen beautiful women before. Plenty of them. And here you were, resting near the flickering fire and under the iridescent moonlight, forcing him to question if he’d ever really understood beauty before he saw you.
“Johnny and June.” He said out loud in thought.
You met his eyes, unaware of how long he’d been looking at you. “It has a nice ring.”
Roy nodded. “That it does.”
THREE DAYS OF riding had taken the two of you to a small town called Tombstone, just a day’s journey to Tucson. Roy’s name was known around here, but, thankfully, his face wasn’t.
With a pair of crinkled, ten-dollar bills, he reserved two separate rooms in a lodging above the general store. As he paid, the clerk didn’t miss her chance to shoot a half-confused, half-cautious glare your way. “Each room’s got a tub,” she noted, motioning to the smudged dirt on your cheek.
You gave her a tight smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Roy handed you a key and kept one for himself as the two of you scaled the stairs to the second floor. “Hungry at all?”
“You got the money for dinner?”
He shrugged, “Enough for more than rabbits and lizards.” You reached a long hallway. He pointed to the second to last door marked with a 6. “I think that’s your room there.”
“This says four,” you read the engraved number on the key. The correct door was only two away. Roy only hesitantly chuckled to himself. You glanced at his key, “And you’re three.”
“Right,” he said, awkwardly but gratefully nodding. He seemed to know numbers well enough when it came to money.
Without saying more, you started to fumble with the keyhole of your door. The lock clicked open before Roy spoke again. “There’s a saloon on the corner. Meet me there a little after the sun sets? Give you some time to rest up.”
You were surprised to instantly nod at his request. “Sure,” you smiled before you went your separate ways.
The room wasn’t much by anyone else’s standards, but it was more than you’d seen in weeks. A wire-framed bed with two quilts and an oil lamp sat to your right; a wardrobe for clothes you didn’t have stood tall in the corner. A metal basin in the other one. The windows were adorned with dusty lace curtains that filtered the sunlight into the room.
You locked the door behind you and tossed the sack on the ground, immediately collapsing onto the bed. The springs squeaked underneath your body, but the mattress was comfortable enough.
Better than rocks and dirt.
Before you let your eyes close, you watched the ceiling, noticing the slight cracks in it. They began to form a shape, soon morphing into a familiar face. Blue eyes that always seemed to gaze at you when you weren’t looking. A pair of soft lips that hardly ever smiled, but on the canvas of the ceiling, they did.
You laid on your side and forced your eyes shut.
But even in the darkness of your mind, a place of purgatory between dreams and wake, you saw him.
WHEN YOU WOKE, you swore you could feel something grazing your arm. But you turned over to see that you were still alone in the room. The sweet, golden light of day was gone now, replaced by the ghostly, glowing moon. A gentle hue of purple sat over the horizon.
It hadn’t been dark for long. You thought this while mentally praying you hadn’t kept Roy waiting too long.
You hurried to grab your hat and leave the room, rushing down the stairs and out the door. Just as he’d said, a saloon stood tall on the corner of the street. A few men grouped together with smoke curling from their mouths watched as you approached the entrance.
“Evening…ma’am,” they said hesitantly at your appearance. You only nodded.
With one step into the bar, you seemed to catch the attention of nearly everyone inside. You noticed then that there didn’t appear to be a single woman. Even the man at the piano stopped playing his song, only missing a beat before starting again.
Silence. Your boots clicked against the wood floor.
You glanced around the room for your traveling companion before a man with a thick beard approached you. His broad frame seemed to block you from entering further.
“Ma’am.” He grinned, revealing yellow teeth and two silver caps. His eyes drifted up and down your figure. “I think you may be in the wrong place. Sally’s cafe down the street doesn’t close for another hour.”
You tightly smiled back. “I assure you, sir, I’m in the right spot.”
You began to move forward again before his firm hand pressed itself over your stomach. The contact, unexpected and unwelcome, made you suddenly feel trapped.
“Good men don’t go puttin’ their hands on young women,” a voice said from behind you.
The man slowly dropped both his hand and his grin. You turned to see Roy standing just as he had back in that alley. He offered you a small smile.
“You with him?” The man sneered, glancing back and forth between you and Roy trying to discern the dynamic. You shook your head.
“He’s with me.”
As the man backed away, retreating to his spot at the bar with his friends, Roy’s footsteps halted at your side. He pulled out a chair from a table nearby and held his hand out like a gentleman. You kindly took the seat.
Roy sat across from you, placing his hat on the table. “Two whiskeys,” he ordered once a server came by. “What’s your finest meal?”
“I’ve got a beef and bean stew.” The server offered.
“Two of those,” you smiled. He turned away, leaving just you and Roy alone again.
And despite the other men in the room cautiously eyeing you, not a single soul seemed to exist then. The server returned with two glasses of whiskey before the bar guests called him back over.
“That happen anytime you go somewhere?” Roy asked with the whiskey at his lips.
You twirled your glass, careful not to spill a single drop. “For the most part,” you shrugged, though you don’t appear to be at all fazed from the gentle smile you wore. There was a distant, amused gleam in your eyes where Roy could see a thousand thoughts running in your mind.
“I don’t need saving, you should know,” you added a little quieter.
Roy wasn’t offended. Not at the very least, but he thought it odd that you hadn’t fully appreciated his incursion. Now that he considered it more, he would’ve liked to see you handle yourself.
“Well, I respect that,” he said. You nodded in gratitude and he blinked.
“You’re a respectable woman, Miss (l/n).”
Your body froze as whiskey hit your throat like flames. “What makes you say that?”
He gave a small shrug. “There aren’t many women out in the West who carry themselves with…strength.” He held his hand up defensively and chuckled. “I mean no offense, I think all women are respectable. More than any man, that’s for sure. Hell, my mother died when I was young, but I knew she was formidable.”
You knew that kind of pain. Your heart clenched, but your expression didn’t change.
“I guess, you somewhat remind me of that about her.”
You’d been complimented before, much more in regards to your looks, but there were many who’d commended your skills with a pistol or aptitude for words. No one had gone so far as to say you were formidable.
And deep down, you’d always considered yourself so.
But it was different to finally hear it from someone else. Someone other than your mind who could see you for what you were.
You knew you were strong. And Roy Goode knew it too.
“My mother died when I was young, as well,” you added. “Don’t remember her much, and my father didn’t like to talk about it.”
He studied you for a good moment. Then, knowingly, “You ran away?”
“As soon as I was eighteen,” you hummed. “Should’ve done it sooner. Woulda saved me a lot of trouble.”
The subject of parents was a risky place to go with someone like Roy Goode, but there wasn’t a bone in your body that was afraid of it. “What about you,” you amused. “Mama died and you come across Frank Griffin?”
His eyes snapped up to yours like a threat, but you weren’t afraid of him. At all.
“Everyone knows who Frank Griffin is,” you downed the rest of your drink. A little more would go to your head soon. “I’m not stupid.”
Then, Roy’s eyes softened.
“You can read,” was all he said.
“What?” Did he even hear you?
Roy quickly caught himself and shook his head. “Nothin’.”
The server returned to the side of the table and refilled your glasses. Once he was out of earshot, Roy rested his elbows on the table. “I met Frank when I was younger. He and his brother saved my life.”
You arched a brow. “Frank Griffin saved your life?”
“Careful, ma’am,” he finished his second glass in one gulp. “Don’t go sayin’ his name too many times, or you’ll summon someone worse than the devil.”
“Guess he can’t be too bad if you’re with him.”
Although you expected Roy to chuckle, or at the very least smile, at your comment, he didn’t. He instead thickly swallowed as if he’d suddenly gone nervous. You could see his knuckles tense.
It was maybe a miracle when the server then arrived with two steaming bowls of stew. The smell that it emanated was that of bitter salt and old potatoes, but as you dragged your spoon in it, it looked fine enough to consume. The two of you hesitantly and simultaneously took one mouthful before furrowing your brows in thought.
After a moment, you set the spoon down and shook your head.
Roy’s lips curled in disgust. “I think I almost prefer the rabbits and lizards.”
You instantly broke out into a synchronous chuckle, one that almost made your smiles reach your eyes. He tried to take another bite before swearing it was poison. A few other guests at the bar sent some questionable glares your way—your laughter was nearly louder than the piano.
But the two of you could hardly notice anyone else when you had the other right across the table.
IT WAS SURELY late enough to retire back to your rooms by the time you’d finished at the saloon, but the combination of your earlier rest and the whiskey running through your veins left you both awake.
The street lamps had been lit as the two of you strolled down the side, passing by the few townspeople who’d decided to enjoy the pleasant evening air.
For the first time in a while, it wasn’t blistering hot, even with the moon in the sky.
Your conversation from dinner hadn’t ended for a single moment during your walk. “You’re some kind of horse whisperer, then?” You asked after Roy had told you he ‘understood them’.
“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, hands lazily in his pockets. “Maybe we share the same kind of brain. I can hear them.”
You shook your head with a grin, the whiskey still hot in veins. “You’re something else,” you mumble. “You got June well-trained, I’ll say that.”
But Roy tutted. “It’s not ‘trained’—your first mistake.” You nodded for him to continue. “I respect her and she respects me. It’s a relationship.”
“She respects you?” You asked in amused disbelief.
He hummed. “It’s a balance, like an exchange.”
Though you can still sense the humor in your voice, you momentarily ponder that what Roy said was deeply beautiful. You’d never given it much thought, but riding a horse was much more than mounting it and yelling at it until it went.
Roy had a profound tenacity for kindness that you hadn’t encountered in very many, if not any, men. In a way, it puzzled you. He was a complicated, tangled string that became a fascinating image in all of its knots. You were vexed by it just like the constellations in the sky as the two of you gazed up at the end of the road.
“I do hope Heaven is real,” you say out loud. You didn’t actually mean to.
But Roy knew exactly what you meant.
“Me too,” he said softly, carefully shifting his gaze to you for only a moment—taking in how perfectly moonlight hit your skin, shadowing and highlighting all of the right parts.
You were the type of woman someone carried a picture of with them for the mere hope they’d see you again.
He looked down at his boots in the dirt. “Doubt I’d make it there.”
You turned to him. “You don’t think so?”
“Well, bad men seem to do well enough down here,” Roy smiled softly to himself. “I don’t think I know anyone who’d make it up there. Good, bad…I used to think there was a difference. It’s just two ends of the same spectrum.”
“And what about me?”
Roy looked at you then, almost puzzled. Bewildered. “What?”
“You said you don’t know anyone who’s good enough for heaven.” The slight tilt of your lips was more intoxicating than the whiskey. “What about me?”
Despite the burning in his pulse, Roy held himself back from saying what he wants: Wherever it is, I hope it’s with me.
Instead, he professed, “Well, you just might be an exception.”
And for the first time since you met Roy Goode, you let yourself feel the blood in your body rush to your heart. It moved to your cheeks, and you mentally thank God that it was too dark to see how red they’d turned.
But there were worse matters on hand than the flush on your face. It was the horrible ache between your legs that hadn’t been relieved in…too long.
“C’mon,” you mused. “We should get back before it’s too late.”
His bashful smirk matched your own.
ROY’S EYES DON’T pull from your figure for a single second as he follows you up the stairs…the sway of your hips with each step, how you glance over your shoulder to see if he’s close behind.
And each time you look, he’s exactly where you expect him to be.
The sound of your boots comes to a halt as you stop at the door marked four, your fingers brushing over the handle. Roy’s presence lingered behind you like a ghost.
“Today was a hot one,” he says quietly, as if anything too loud would have you running away. “Left me feelin’ grimy.”
Like you’d said: You weren’t stupid. “Best to wash it off, then.”
He nods back slowly with a soft smirk you haven’t seen him wear yet. You wonder then what it’ll be like to undress it.
You push the door open with a sudden ease from Roy’s weight pressed against you. His hand graces over your hip as he closes the door witht the heel of his boot. Once his touch becomes firmer—but still respectful—you speak again.
“You’ve helped me an awful lot these past few days.” You didn’t expect yourself to speak so softly. His other hand sets his hat on the side of the bed. “Buying me that horse, this room…”
In the corner, the large metal basin sits empty. Waiting.
“You treat every girl who robs you like this?”
A quiet chuckle comes from the depths of his chest. “Just this one.”
Your eyes glance at his, before drifting downwards to where your hand ghosts over his belt. A shaky, almost inaudible breath falls from his lips. “I almost feel like I owe you.”
“Oh, no,” he drawls. “Darlin’, you don’t owe me nothin’.”
He tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his again. You don’t even notice you’ve taken your bottom lip in between your teeth, and he nearly moans just at the sight of that.
“I’m a giver,” he says softly, his thumb dragging over your lip. The metal in his belt clanks as you fumble with the buckle.
He leans in even closer. “And I could give you something more.”
So close. Close enough that he can undo each button of your blouse, so slowly you swear he’s trying to make your skin crawl. Close enough that he can feel your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth.
It’s not an invitation. It’s a seal of approval.
And so with it, Roy lets his body move before his mind can stop him—not that it ever would. You mold so perfectly against his lips like he was made to kiss you and no one else. It’s warm and wet when he drags his tongue, brushing over your teeth and finding your own.
You’ve been kissed before, but never like this. Never so sweetly yet vigorously. He pulls your top from your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground, your trousers soon after. You toe your boots off before unbuttoning his own shirt.
He pulls from the kiss to drag his lips across your jaw, grazing over your neck.
“Been wonderin’ what was underneath all this.”.
“You like what you see?” You giggle.
He stands back, and you’re left vulnerable and naked. The air is cold without his touch. You almost feel unsure of yourself.
Then you realize he’s looking at you with the hunger of a starved wolf.
“Darlin’, I ain’t sayin’ I’m gonna ruin you—would never ruin you,” his chest rises and falls with a heavy, steadying breath. “But you just might beg me to.”
Your knees almost buckle. He moves to switch on the faucet to the tub, and you take the moment to appreciate the parts of him you can see. His belt hangs slightly open, the zipper of his jeans pulled halfway down.
You run your hand through the water once it reaches a high level in the tub.
“‘S perfect,” you hum, a warm smile on your face that soon disappears when Roy lifts you from your feet.
He sets you inside the tub, leaning over the edge. Cupping the water with his hands, he runs it over every inch of your body, making sure there isn’t a single dry spot apart from your face. When his fingers graze your skin, you shudder.
“Aren’t you gonna join me, Goode?” You ask with a tempting smile.
“Lady’s first.” He takes a soft rag by the side of the tub and lathers it with a citrus soap, rubbing it smoothly over your figure.
You sigh contently. “No point in washin’ the sin off me now if we’ll be making more later.”
Your eyes meet his. Temptation mounted his face with an alluring darkness settling over his eyes.
A pressure began to build in the space between your legs before you realized it was no phantom feeling, but instead Roy’s two digits submerged under the water. He’d dropped the towel in the water with his mind focused on something else now. His fingertips brushed over your pearl before completely pressing against it.
He acted as if there was no time to waste, setting a consistent, circular motion over your clit. Your eyelids fluttered close blissfully.
“Fuck,” Your brows knitted together, a soft, restrained curse fell from your lips.
Then, he pulled his hand away.
Your eyes shot open again to meet his. He warned, “Don’t hold back from me now, baby.”
You nod as he pressed a little harder against you. You swear his hand is made of iron—hot, smooth metal that knows just how to perfectly work the most beautiful sounds from you.
As you writhe in the water, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth gaped open, Roy’s eyes remain on you.
“Someone’s gonna hear you, honey,” he presses his forehead against your temple. “They don’t deserve to.”
You instinctively lean against him, grinding your hips into his hand. The pads of his fingers drift down to your puckering hole, but no more than that.
“Please, Roy,” your hand reaches out of the water to curve around the back of his head, pushing his mouth closer to yours.
He chuckles. “I told you, you’d be begging for me.”
Then, like he was trying to make you cry, he pulled away and rose to his feet so he towered over you. His bottom lip, swollen from your kisses, hung heavy and glistened with your drool as Roy’s hands pulled his belt from the loops. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter, his jeans following soon after.
You stood from the tub and reached for him, your hands drifting down to the last thing covering him from you. And once he was fully bare, the two of you stood still for a moment.
Shamelessly, you drifted your gaze down his body, taking in what it was like to see Roy Goode in all of his glory.
Glorious was the right way to put it, for sure.
He smiled as he watched you scan him before taking your lip in between your teeth again.
“C’m’here,” he says softly, taking your hand in his.
You stepped out of the tub, dripping water on the wood floor. It’d surely leak through to the ceiling above the poor woman downstairs.
Before you could say anything, Roy’s mouth landed on yours again, his fingers running through the dry roots of your hair.
“Can’t get enough of you.” His words came out muffled and broken through the kiss.
“It’s yours,” you say, placing your hands on his chest and breaking the kiss. A small, gentle push has him settling on the floor, and you’re quick to take your seat on top of him.
His eyes softly close when your folds envelope his cock with an insatiable warmth.
“I’m yours. From the moment you showed me,” you relax and feel his solid shaft right under that swollen pearl. “Kindness when I did you wrong.” Your fingers lace with his. “I’m all yours, Roy. So take it.”
His right hand lifts your hips the slightest bit, allowing him space to take his cock in his left hand. He strokes it gently with a tight fist. The tip of it bumps against your hole, and you can feel it leaking against you.
“You ain’t real,” he whispers, eyes focused on where you two touch. And in a moment, you become connected. “Are you?”
One swift move of his hips pushes his full length past your folds. Your jaw drops open, but it’s the overwhelming feeling of him splitting you open that leaves you surprisingly quiet.
Roy doesn’t seem happy at that. He juts his hips upwards at a different angle so a sweet yelp cuts through the air. “Fuck, that’s good,.” He pulls you so close that your flesh nearly melts around the bone. You’re putty in his hands. “Pretty cunt’s grippin’ me like a vice.”
Everytime Roy’s hips draw from you, only to vigorously push themselves into you again, you swear you see God.
The skin on your knees splits against the splinters of the floorboards. A pleasurable pain. You steady yourself with your hands on his chest.
“‘S my turn, now,” your words slur together, eyelids heavy from how sweetly the tip of him kisses your cervix. “Gotta give you something too.”
He doesn’t object. His hands settle like a loose weight over your hips as you start to move yourself. Your hips grind against him, letting his cock rub against every inch inside of you. The motion is too familiar. For a second, you swear you’re riding off into the sunset with heaven in your pocket.
Your eyelids flutter close when you begin to bounce. And though you can’t see it, Roy can. His chest under your hands lets out heavy breaths as he gazes at how you swallow his entire length like it’s nothing.
But he knows it’s not. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he feels his body go loose. He lets himself give in to you. “Ride it.”
Gravity pushes you down just for you to lift yourself back up again. Your tits bounce in the most mesmerizing way, and Roy’s hand reaches up to grab the flesh of them. His thumb rolls over your nipple.
“You’re beautiful,” he grunts out, bending his legs so you can rest your back against them. But your movements don’t stop.
And neither does the way Roy looks at you like you’re the only thing worth living for.
When you catch his eyes on you, you clench around his girth, pulling another sharp moan from him. Suddenly, his hips begin to meet yours in a pleasurable rhythm; the sounds of skin slapping, heavy breaths, and your delicate yet guttural moans make the most beautiful music.
“Don’t stop, sweetheart,” Roy pleads.
Your mouth curls, “Who’s begging now?”
He chuckles. A soft tension around his cock grows into a desperate need to finish off how good you feel around him.
“You got it, baby.” His drawl leaves your hips stuttering, and he can tell from how you’ve tightened around him, you’re feeling just the same as him. “Make yourself feel good on it, just like that. Wanna see you turn to pieces all over me.”
Suddenly, your head is too heavy to hold upright. It lulls back onto your shoulders, all of your energy going towards the way you ride him.
“You feel it? Gonna make a mess for me?”
You nod, rapidly and loosely.
“We’ll just have to clean you up all over again.” He mutters to himself, and you can hear the smirk on his face. It stays there even as his brows furrow together, a mixture of bliss and pressure.
You feel the pad of his thumb press against your clit again. You instantly break at the contact. He feels your orgasm wash over him, a lush shower of warmth that brings his own release.
It mixes together inside of you like the sunrise bleeding into the remainder of the night outside your window. It’d be illogical to sleep now, but you can’t find it within yourself to keep your eyes open as your cheek rests against Roy’s chest.
His hand lazily rubs over your spine. “S’pose Les Moore will have to wait to die another day,” he whispers.
You chuckle, “Don’t waste your bullets on that man. I’ll do it myself.”
Roy cocks his head. A few days ago, you would’ve protested at any mention of doing his bidding. And here you were, now, ready to make yourself a wanted woman.
There were many women he’d slept with. Many women who’d opened their doors, shared their beds, held him in their arms. Many women who’d sing him to sleep thinking it’d make him maybe even love them.
And sure, he’d been with whores. He’d paid good money to see fine women dance like there was no God above. Maybe even paid them off enough so they wouldn’t have to suffer under any more men with a heavy fist.
Many women who’d liked the color of his eyes. Who’d gasped and shuddered at the sound of his name. Who’d fawned over the sight of him.
But never a woman like you.
He tells himself to remember that forever as he carries you to the bed.
You’ll wash in the morning he thinks when he pulls the covers to your chin. And when Roy moves to draw his own bath, he hears your tired voice from behind.
“Don’t go,” you call out to him.
He hums. “I’m only right here, darlin’.”
Your eyes are closed shut, lost in a dimension between sleep and wake. “Here,” you say softly, motioning to the spot in the bed next to you.
He ignores the sheer layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He ignores that there’s still dirt in his hair from earlier in the day. He ignores the grimy feeling underneath his nails and the ache in his feet. Roy carries himself to the side of the bed.
The sheets are cool against his skin as he takes the spot beside you. Then, he feels the warmth of your arm draped over his chest. He stills.
“You never held a woman, Roy Goode?” you tease with a tired smile.
“Sure, I have,” he says. “First time it’s felt right, though.”
You move your head so he can tuck his arm underneath it. He feels your soft, mindless clouds of breath against his skin.
This is it he thinks. Heaven.
© faestunna 2025.