❝𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋ꜝ ♡❞

in this universe, he dies old and half deaf. years of unprotected gunfire and explosions had a tendency to kill the nerves in your ears. he dies with aching joints and sun-spotted skin, and blessedly, to the sound of you humming as you stroked the scar on his chin with the pad of your wrinkled thumb. you were nestled against him in bed, sharing the warmth of your old body and his old body and making a den of heat beneath the quilt of your shared bed.

he had been staring down at you and admiring the way the sun dappled the roots of your hair and the way your lashes brushed against your skin. even with the grooves of life upon your flesh you were the most beautiful thing he had seen.

“your name is carved in my ribs.” he had said to you quietly, breath heavy and hard to lift. “i was born to love you.”

you tilted your head up to look at him. an unspoken question welled up in your eyes with crystalline tears. as he squeezed you against him with the strength of the arm he had wrapped around your waist to give you a kiss on your forehead, you knew.

what a beautiful life you had together. through the shelling of the band and Dutch’s betrayal it had always been the both of you. you made a life beneath the wood in the homelands of Rain Falls, who had passed years before. children came and went, and so did grandchildren — who often pulled from Arthur the richest laughs you’ve ever heard.

you leaned up and kissed his jaw, his eyes, the apple of his throat. through each you whispered words of gratitude. words of love. words of promises.

“ill find you, morgan.” You said cloyingly, your voice wavering. “you’re not so clever as to hide from me.”

➤ Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, John Marston, Kieran Duffy x Fem!Reader

Note: I’m not quite sure if these are still considered “head canons” since I’ve definitely made this wordy.

(ﾟﾛﾟ;) This is my first post here in Tumblr, despite lurking here for a while. XD

Also Author, a month later: I’ve posted this merely a month ago and I feel inexplicable cringe. thank you for reading

WC: 5.7k

Warnings: Major Character Death (Spoilers), Illness, Profanity, Mentions of Injury, Sex, Alcohol, Violence

References:

♥︎ ; fluff ♣︎ ; angst ♦︎ ; general ♠︎ ; smut

ARTHUR MORGAN

♥︎ ; When he is offered to go somewhere, or to do anything in general, he always says his signature comment. “Hmm, I’m not sure. Let me ask my wife first.”

♥︎ ; He says it every single time. There is no day he doesn’t say this statement. Some people find it annoying, like, per sé — John, when he asks Arthur to go steal something with him and Arthur isn’t in the mood. He rolls his eyes in annoyance, and crosses his arms, “Oh, are you comin’ or not?” The other half, though, do like it, like Mary Beth — who smiles and chuckles, “Of course, Mister Morgan.”

♥︎ ; One time, he was out in Saint Denis without you. He just came for the trapper and some things in the general store, when a woman came to talk to him. She walked slowly along the wooden plank floor, and whispered, “Oh aren’t you just what a lady dreams of?” Arthur immediately knew what she was after. He looks at her with a deadpan expression, saying, “That so? Damn, it might be true. I should ask my wife for confirmation, huh, madam?” And she got the message. It pissed her off, while Arthur chuckled and shook his head.

♥︎ ; He also likes flashing his wedding ring a lot. He thinks it’s some trophy (which it is). He never takes it off, even in showering.

♦︎ ; Ever since you got married, he’d become more reserved in missions or going outside. He didn’t want to lose you. Didn’t want to lose the peaceful life he was close to getting. Plus, every time he did, you would reprimand him.

♦︎ ; He met you at a café and bakery shop that you owned. He was entranced the moment he met you (which was closing time, and he was covered in blood). That night, he’d become a loyal customer, always getting to order the same coffee and bread every week.

♥︎ ; At that time, he’d often come back to camp smiling, and they’d know. “Who’s the lucky girl, Arthur?” Hosea asks, with a small smile as he lifts his head from the newspaper. “Nothin’, Hosea.”

♥︎ ; “Hey, miss… I’d reckon the coffee’d taste better if it was served with you.” He tried to flirt once, and you thought it was assault. He was almost permanently banned that time. When he told this story to Karen. The girl laughed her ass off. “Arthur… You’re a lost cause.”

♥︎ ; He constantly has baby fever, when he’s with you, you’d find him staring at Jack often. “Now imagine one of our own, I’d… I’d be so happy.” He’s smiling like an idiot. You refuse and he pouts. “Oh, come on, darlin’…” But he never forces you. It’s just sometimes he’s so cute it feels as if you need to do it.

♣︎ ; He is often unaware of his own looks and looks down on himself. When he gets sight of a mirror, he can’t help but sigh and comment. “Yer becoming old. Old and ugly, Morgan.” It’s one problem you two are working on together.

♣︎ ; “You just… don’t get it. Of course you think that. Yer my wife, darlin’…” He frowns. It’s a heartbreaking thing to hear, since you’d do just about anything for this man.

♦︎ ; People would describe him as an angry old man. Well, back then. When you and him became a thing, he tried his best not for his emotions to get over him. The only thing he screams “Damn it… for God’s sake!” now is when the animals are eaten and escaped again (since you two live in a ranch.)

♠︎ ; Arthur likes to guide you through sex, praising you quietly. He’s quite nonverbal other than that. But trust he will always make sure that you are comfortable, and your needs are being fed. “Ah, good girl.”

♠︎ ; He’s on top of you while his right hand is gripping the headboard of the bed, to which it is shaking. He’s not rough, though, he makes sure he’s gentle enough and has a fear of accidentally hurting you. He’s slow, taking in every moment and every inch of you and how your body twitches and arches. When he’s drunk, though, maybe it’s a different story. It brings out a different Arthur. A little wobly in his actions, but delivers either way.

♥︎ ; When he found out you were pregnant, it was the happiest day of his life. Oh, he smiled like an idiot, holding your hands and repeatedly saying “Really?” “Seriously— are ya serious?” “Really?” “Yer pregnant— really?” You laughed, nodding and nodding and nodding. “..’M sorry, love, I… I jus’ I can’t believe it.”

♥︎ ; He’d plan so much. Like he’d be very overreacting to the point he already bought clothes for BOTH genders. He didn’t care. A boy, a girl… It doesn’t matter. It was his child. With you. And that made him the luckiest man in the planet.

♥︎ ; When you two are laying in your shared bed, he’d put his head on your stomach (even if it wasn’t even that big yet) and coo. “Are ya… Are ya there? Oh, pa’s… pa’s excited to meet ya. So much,” He murmured, kissing your stomach gently. “Pa loves you and ma so much.” He added, circling your stomach as he sighs, smiling. It’s heart warming. He’s so excited.

♦︎ ; The journey of pregnancy wasn’t easy, of course, but he was always there. He’d wake up in the middle of the night to accompany you to relieve yourself, or would offer to clean and cook. You almost lost your life in giving birth, and it scared the hell of out Arthur, holding your hands and pleading. It seemed he wasn’t that bad of a man, though, as you live and have a healthy baby girl.

♥︎ ; All the pages of his journal contain you, your face, pretty much. He never lets you read it, though. “No, darlin’, it’s private,” He says gently, but when you give him about two long “please”s, his resolve would probably crumble then.

♥︎ ; He is a girl dad. Proudly so. He would lift your little girl (and you too) and spin you both around, laughing. He would learn how to tie pigtails for his girl. He would teach her the colors of the rainbow, how to draw and write, how to identify animals for when she’s old enough to go hunting. But oh, boy, he’d be one hell of a protective dad, though. When miss grows up into adolescence, he’d make sure no boys are near her. “No boys? Alright, you can go.”

♣︎ ; The day he finds out he has tuberculosis, though, he doesn’t say it to you and your daughter. He keeps it inside, hoping that you two wouldn’t find out — he didn’t want you stressing over him. He knew his time would come, so he’d rather spend it all with you without worrying you.

♣︎ ; But it doesn’t get better, it gets worse. And you notice, but he shuts you off. “It’s nothin’, darlin’… Just…” He coughs, clutching his chest. “Arthur… You know you can’t hide this from me. Tell me, please.” You pleaded, hand on his back as you waited for his coughing fit to finish. His palm had blood. “I… ‘m sorry, darlin’… I jus’ don’t want you to worry ‘bout me.” “Oh, you fool… You should have told me, Arthur. You…” “I’ve tuberculosis— says the doctor. I—I don’t want you to raise her alone… I don’t wanna die, but…” You hug him, tears flowing down your eyes. “Shut up, will you? You’ll live. You’ll live, Arthur.”

HOSEA MATTHEWS

♦︎ ; After Bessie, he never thought he’d like— let alone love someone again. You; who had reminded him of her in so many ways. At first, when you had found out he used to be married, you closed yourself off in respect. He respected this decision, after all, it was what he wanted. But he found himself growing restless. He saw her in you. But you were you, different, and yet, so alike.

♥︎ ; In some warm, nice mornings, he’d dance with you.

Put Your Head on my Shoulder

Can’t Help falling in Love with you It would be sweet and romantic, even though both of you are now a little slow.

♥︎ ; He calls you ‘darling’, and doesn’t fail to compliment your beauty first thing in the morning. “Good Morning, Darling…” He grunts a little as he pushes himself near you, kissing your forehead. “Beautiful as ever.”

♥︎ ; He loves to braid your hair, or any other hairstyles that he’s learned. “Mhm… this one looks good on you.”

♦︎ ; Honorable mention, he’d be the type to wear those wizard blue pajamas at night. You, on the other hand, would wear those fluffy extravagant night dresses.

♥︎ ; Before sleeping, he’ll likely be reading mystery novels. Both of you like them, but instead of reading it individually— you found that him explaining the plot to you was easier and better. He’s a bit of a nerd, and you like seeing his face light up when you ask, “So who do you think did it?” He’ll gladly explain to you for hours before finding out you’ve already slept halfway through his ramblings.

♣︎ ; “I’m getting old, darling,” “So am I, Hosea. We both are.” “Fair point… I just…” “I just want to live out the rest of my days with you. I imagine I’ll probably leave you first.” “Don’t say that.” “When I do…” “Hosea.”

JAVIER ESCUELLA

♥︎ ; He loves singing songs he made for you while playing the guitar. “This one’s for you, hmm?” He smiles, and that look of surprise in your face always gets him. It brings a warm feeling to his heart that can’t be explained.

♥︎ ; Pet names! Pet names! Pet names! He just can’t get enough of it. But oh, when you do the same to him, he suddenly loses all his charm and flare, and turns into a puddle of putty. That’s how bad he has it for you.

♥︎ ; Despite playing the guitar for years, he’ll often complain about the pain in his fingertips after he plays. It doesn’t really hurt, of course, due to the built up callouses, but he just wants your care and attention. He especially likes it when you kiss them. “Ow, ow… My love, my fingertips are bleeding.” They aren’t. “Will you please kiss it to make it better?” He says dramatically. You, of course, indulge.

♥︎ ; He’d teach you to dance. “You don’t know how to dance? Well, come here, I’ll teach you.” “My ma taught it to me, told me… I should know how to. It’s a skill. And to swoon women, ah?” He chuckles. You roll your eyes, as your fingers are intertwined and he guides your feet through the pace of Dutch’s music. “You’re a natural, hermosa.” (You were stepping on his feet the whole time.)

♥︎ ; He’s quite protective of you, and even though he doesn’t show it, gets jealous easily. One time, you two were in a saloon due to a mission, and this one guy approached you— his gaze revealing his intentions already. “Hey, darling. You look like a real fine woman, hmm?” Javier immediately notices this but knows you can handle this yourself. He tries to play it cool, nonchalantly observing the interaction. You reply with a lifted brow. “Not interested.” “Aw, come on, darling. Aren’t you at least a little lonely?” And in a swift action, Javier is next to you already. “Didn’t you hear her, asshole? She’s married, okay?” He was ready to throw hands.

♥︎ ; “Oh, I wasn’t aware we were married,” You said jokingly the way back to the camp, striding on the horses at a calm pace. He scoffed. Every time he got reminded of the interaction, he could swear a vein would pop out. “No, no yet.” He replies.

♥︎ ; Another moment you remember is when you two went to fetch something for Pearson. You were buying something, and it seems the shop keeper had taken a liking to you. “You want that one? Sure, it’s for free, my lady.” Javier’s ears perked, his eyes from the sky suddenly to you two. “I don’t mind a little other payment.” The shopkeeper continues, the underlying statement obvious even for an idiot. Javier, irritated, walks closer in a fast pace. “Ay, ay! That’s my wife, pendejo! ¿Eres una idiota, ah? ¿Tienes un deseo de muerte? Do you want a knife in your throat? Ha? Fucking— Hijo de puta!” You took him away, whispering to him, “Ay… Javier, be quiet. We’re supposed to keep a low profile in Rhodes,” He mumbles back, “I can’t be quiet when these assholes think they’ve got a chance.”

♥︎ ; He often is very conscious on how he looks. This man has a wide selection of clothes in his wardrobe, and they are all equally loved and important to him. When people in camp start to realize his beloved poncho is not being worn, he just points a finger at you, since you wore it. He didn’t mind if you stole his clothes, rather, it was a quite intimate thing that he cherished. He loved seeing them on you.

♥︎ ; Carves your initials in his precious knives. This means a lot to him.

♠︎ ; This man cannot keep his hands to himself, never. One moment you’re doing something niche around the camp, like reading a book— and the next he’s right behind you, hands snaking on your waist. He tugs you closer to him, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, squinting his eyes a little as he tries to read the printed words. “What’re you reading, querida?” He murmurs, his warm breath tingling around your neck. From the get-go, you knew what he was trying to do. “That book more important than me?” He takes the book swiftly as you look at him in confusion. “You know I wish those hands were doing something else.” His gaze darts over to your lips, as he licks his own in response. God, this man. He finds that the risk of getting caught while in the act is more exciting.

♠︎ ; He likes when you tug his hair, his little ponytail behind him. His favorite thing to do is murmur sweet nothings in your ear, all dirty and the sort; as he hands work magic on you and his lips nibble on your ear’s shell. He couldn’t care less if you two were still fully-clothed, as well. In fact, it was better for him. His hands are the best part of him, capable of letting out noises from your mouth you didn’t know you could make. His eyes bore into you, half-lidded, while his mouth is slightly agape, struggling to make any words while his fingers push in and out in a rhythmic manner. It feels so good, the sound of wet skin against itself added more heat through your lower abdomen.

♠︎ ; Javier loses it when he’s about to finish. The only thing he can do it mumble and occasionally moan out a few incoherent Spanish words, repeating your name over and over again. “Ah.. mi amor.. E-estoy… cerca, Dios mio…”

♣︎ ; His loyalty to Dutch blinded his own decision-making abilities. So when you died in the middle of the gunfire’s chaos, he knew it was his fault. The way your lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud, and yet, the world still kept spinning drove him insane. And he couldn’t rush there to cradle you in his arms, since if he did, he would die, too. He thought about it. He remembered everything, and in that moment, it was as if the world was cloudy, hazy, and he didn’t know what to do. He felt empty.

♣︎ ; He didn’t say anything. He looked at the corpse, but he couldn’t hold you. He couldn’t. He fled, and ran away — back to Mexico, and then one quiet night while hiding away he would finally reveal his tears. “I… was selfish, mi amor. Please. I can’t…” He looks at the ring in his fingers. He can’t make an excuse. He’s torn between his loyalty for Dutch and you. He’d remember all the promises he made, and all the ones he failed to keep. After this whole thing was over, he would marry you, and he would live with you quietly along some river or forest. It didn’t matter, as long as it was you. Maybe even a little girl, sure. But now that was all gone.

♣︎ ; All he has now to carry is the burden of guilt and some silver ring. He knows he’ll die, too, at some point - but he’s not sure he’ll meet you. “Ah, mi corazon… I’m sure you’re up there. I’ll probably rot in hell for my sins.”

SEAN MACGUIRE

♦︎ ; Sean is a dirty man. Both mentally and physically— so he wouldn’t imagine even after ten bottles of beer that someone like you would tolerate him, let alone like him. You fell first, he fell harder type of situation. He dropped the bottle of Whiskey he was holding when he heard Arthur say something. “Sean, come on, listen to Hosea. Get up, will ya? Can’t believe [READER] likes this sack of shit.”

♦︎ ; “Huh? She does? She likes me? [READER]?” He says in a dumbfounded expression, as Arthur clicks his tongue, puts his palm over his forehead and shakes his head slowly in disappointment. “Of course she does, you damn idiot. And I can’t believe it, either. I could’ve sworn she liked smart men.”

♥︎ ; He isn’t well-put together, in fact, he’s downright nasty— reeking of alcohol, unwashed clothes for days, and unkept hair. But when he finds out this information, he suddenly learns how to take a shower once in a while, and people notice that, often making knowing faces to each other. “Hey, mister MacGuire, you’re looking real fine today,” Javier starts, wiggling his eyebrows. “Well— yeah I am! I always am!” Sean replies, fixing his hat.

♥︎ ; Sean describes himself as the woman charmer, though in reality, when he’s faced with you, he can’t help but stutter — his Irish accent making it more unintelligible. It doesn’t make him cool. One time, he tries to flirt (given the beer has granted him confidence this time) and leans on the empty barrel next to him with a grin. He falls down, “Ow!” and he rubs his head. He couldn’t look up at you. For the next few days, he appears to avoid barrels every time he sees them.

♥︎ ; “My lady,” He says, bowing down with a smile as he lets you go first in this venue he’s gotten to somehow weasel his way in. He takes your hand in his, as you two act as if you’re a wealthy couple coming here in their regular dinner. Times like these he always remembers to cherish. Because although he wished to, in this life, he can’t spoil you the normal way.

♥︎ ; This man gets piss-drunk and makes a beeline to your tent, occasionally bumping into other gang members in the process. “Sean, watch your step…” Lenny says, sighing and shaking his head. When he gets there, he plops his whole body down your cot as you jolt up in surprise. “Sean?” This is normal — you felt the weight and you knew it was him. It’s either he’s already asleep, or you hold his chin and look at his sad face. “Darlin’… You’re leaving me?” He lips curl into a pout, and his eyes swell. “I love you still… Don’t, please.”

♥︎ ; Loves getting a rise out of you. He knows what you like and don’t like, and uses it to his advantage to mess with you just because. He loves annoying you, and is always oddly proud about it since you’re one of the calmest people in the camp. One time, he enters your tent with that grin of his, holding something in his hand. It was a really stinky plant. You frowned. “Sean, get that out of my face, you’re disgusting,” He puts it even closer. “Sean!” He laughs, jiggling it in his hand. “What? Ye don’t like it, me love? It’s a great present from handsome ol’ me,” When he sees you about to gag, he puts it away. And you look away, refusing to talk with him any further. “Er— sorry, I… Sorry…” He gets all guilty and quiet. He then asks for your forgiveness the whole day.

♥︎ ; Has the most stupidest laugh ever. It doesn’t help that when he sleeps with you, he often giggles and speaks incoherently, shifting around and occasionally kicking you. He doesn’t mean it. “Mmh… Heh,” He snickers quietly. “No, John… She’s me girl. We can’t share.” And his Irish accent gets even stronger, if that’s possible. “No, get away, Arthur…”

♠︎ ; When he sleeps with you, every limb is tangled as if you two are now one entity altogether. A hand usually slips inside your shirt, in need to feel your skin. It’s rarely in a chaste way— you know Sean. It usually lowers down to your abdomen, his index finger circling the surface softly. And he’ll just keep going. When you notice what he’s about to do — you grumble and he laughs quietly. “Aw. c’mon. I’m not even doing anything.”

♣︎ ; Sean’s convinced no one really believes in him. The confidence he displays is usually for show, to make himself believe that he really does have a contribution and worth to himself. He’s seldom quiet — but when he is, he’s usually away thinking about it.

JOHN MARSTON

♥︎ ; The scar on his right cheek at this point is his signature. It doesn’t hurt anymore, as it’s fully healed, however - he still asks you to put ointment on it. Just because he likes you touching his face, and that little face you make when you’re deep in concentration. “Stop moving, John,” You say, and he straightens up, eyes on you. “Of course, darlin’. You know… I like this view a lot.” He says with a small grin. You should have put the ointment in his mouth.

♦︎ ; Running away with this man wasn’t easy, but at least it didn’t end up like Dutch and Molly. Oh, dear.

♥︎ ; His favorite thing to do with you is to place your hand in his, bring it up to his lips, and kiss your soft knuckles gently. “M’lady.” “Ah, shut up. You know I’m not.” “Anymore— ‘cause of me.” He replies, but there is no teasing glint in his eyes. You sigh briefly, tucking the loose strands of his behind his ear. “You know that doesn’t matter to me, John.”

♦︎ ; Your parents and life were miserable. You could say John saved you, when the gang went to the mansion and stole everything in sight. You pleaded, when you saw him, “Please. Bring me with you. I… I can’t live here.” And John was the first guy to convince Dutch to let you come with them. “What’s goin’ to do us good bringin’ a princess with us? It’ll only make the bounties on our heads bigger.” Arthur butts in, but Dutch shakes his head. “No… No, I’ve got a feeling she’ll be useful.”

♥︎ ; John can’t swim — and apparently, the water is his biggest enemy. This makes him not bathe for weeks. You force him to, most of the time; and he will keep on refusing you until you come up with a consensus. “No— no, darlin’— the dirt makes me stronger and resistant to—” He hears your sigh and the sees the way you pinch your nose bridge. “I’ll take a bath with you.” “…Okay.” It’s as if he’s some child.

♥︎ ; He likes your nape very much. He kisses it gently, leaving a chaste trail down until the tip of your spine. When he sees your hair up, exposing this delicate part of yours, he’ll come like a moth to a flame, hugging you from behind. He loves your smell, — he finds it comforting. “Mm… My Angel.”

♣︎ ; He swears to you he’ll be a better man, to be not a fool, to get you out of here and live the normal life you deserve— with him. You can tell the poor man is trying, but sometimes, it annoys you because it gets to a point where he disappears for days and comes back with a new scar. He knows you’re worried, but it’ll always be the same excuse from him, “It’s for the better.”

♥︎ ; You two had an argument about him acting brash and reckless, and it lasted for a long while, maybe a week or so. That time, he was barely seen in camp, and so were you. “They’re fighting, aren’t they?” Charles would ask Arthur, and he’d nod. “Yeah, well, look at jus’ how much John is out. He’s probably robbed all of Valentine at this point.” Fighting with you makes him act more stupider, actually. He comes back to your tent with another injury, and this time, you couldn’t keep it anymore further. “John, what the hell?” You ask, walking over to him and inspecting it. He looks like a guilty dog. “You’re… Just come here.” You tend to his wound, as silence ensues for a while. It was tense, before he sighed. Both of you speak up at the same time, with a mutter of “Sorry.” This earns a mutual stare of surprise, and a dumbfounded look painted on John’s face. “Oh, darlin’…”

♠︎ ; John rolls his eyes in pleasure, mouth slightly agape as moans threaten to leave his mouth. You were so good, so sweet, sucking his cock as his body leaned behind him for support. It made his knees weak, and you just about were doing the best job. “Ah.. Ah.. Darlin’…” He feels himself reach the back of your throat, as you took in every liquid that came from him. At this point, your mouth had memorized every vein and put it into memory, and your hands held his hips tightly. He lets out a string of cusses, holding your head as his fingers dug through the strands of hair in need. “Yeah… God, just like that…” He pushes you further, and he feels your throat tighten upon the action. You were taking him in like a drink, and he wouldn’t complain. The fluid that stains your lips are licked upon contact, and he can’t help but sigh at the relief. “Fuck…”

♠︎ ; John doesn’t say it out loud but you know he enjoys being under you, while you give him handjobs. Your hand cups his length, moving in a just pace while you murmur how pretty he looks. He’ll be all whiny, and needy, asking for you. “Ah, yeah… I’m… I need you, [READER].”

♥︎ ; He proposes to you and tries to be romantic. It’s been a week since the two of you were staying in this hotel, and you were contemplating if it was your birthday since he was with you the whole time. No missions, no going out… just with you. You’re both sitting quietly away somewhere, by a lake, and the sun is almost set. He holds your hand gently, and you wonder why he actually looks clean today. In reality, he’s been planning this for months, and he’s brought out his best suit and his hands are practically shaking in nervousness. He’s talked about this with Hosea, Arthur, even Mary Beth. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. “Just be yourself, John.” They’d all say. Now, he looks at you, smiling while he kisses your hand. Kneeling down, he shows a ring. “I… [READER]. I know it’s not much, but… I’ll try to make you happy. Will you marry me?” And he tries to be romantic, he really does, but he can’t help but shift himself awkwardly and try not to evade your eyes that were now swelling up. “Oh, you idiot,” You say, urging for him to stand up. “Yes, yes… I will. I’ll marry you.” His face lights up like a Christmas tree, as he holds your waist and spins you around acting all giddy. “You do? You will?” He can’t believe it.

♣︎ ; And you knew one day that the mistakes, the crimes, and overall bad he’d done would catch up to him. You were having a baby to be delivered. You hadn’t told him yet, hoping to surprise him and get a reaction out of him. You’d bet he’d cry. But Bounty hunters were coming, and they couldn’t care less. They opened the house’s doors with urgency and force, the guns’ barrels pointing at you. “Found the wife,” One said, eyeing the ring on your finger while you tried to protect yourself. “Where’s John Marston? Listen, we’re in a hurry here. I’ll blow you brains out if you don’t tell me where he is, woman. Don’t try anything funny.” In a panicked state, you grabbed a nearby hidden revolver and shot the hunter by the abdomen, as he groaned in pain and fell to his knees. The fellow bounty hunters pulled their triggers in unison, though only one bullet manages to pierce you. Unfortunately, it placed itself by your stomach. John barges through the door, horrified, as the hunters dropped to the floor. All you could hear were bullets flying, your own fast, ragged breathing, and John repeatedly calling out your name. “No, no, no, no… [READER], look at me. Don’t go. [READER].” He says softly, as his hand tries to stop the blood from flowing any further. You could see in your blurred vision that he tears were falling from his eyes. “No… No, please. Please.” He says again, and you manage to speak despite the blood coming out of your mouth. “John… John, I’m pregnant.” Everything is shattered for him. He freezes. “I love you, okay? We love you.” You add weakly. He wished he came sooner. Regret, guilt, and fear began to fill his heart when he saw the light in your eyes fading away. “No… Please… I—I love you. I love you both. Don’t… Stay with me, please.”

KIERAN DUFFY

♥︎ ; You caught Kieran plucking the petals of a white flower, sitting down on a rock as he mumbled quietly to himself, “She loves me… she loves me not… she loves me. She does?” He says, and realizes you were listening. He turns red and nervously throws the flower stem away, coughing. He had a cute little crush on you. It was painfully obvious — he knew that equally.

♥︎ ; He would stare at you from afar, talking to Branwen absentmindedly. “Ain’t she just… the prettiest girl you’ve seen?” He says, like the horse could understand.

♥︎ ; Flirting with him (or attempting to) was a comical and cute sight. You’d say something completely innocent and blood would rush to the tip of his ears and dust his cheeks immediately. “There he is,” You say. “How’s my lovely Kieran doing?” He forgets to breathe.

♥︎ ; The mere act of fingers brushing would startle the poor guy, however, he tries to make amends for his terrible nervousness with trying to at least make small advances to you. “Hey, uh, [READER]. You’re… looking really… pretty today.”

♥︎ ; His hands are sweaty and shaky when you hold them, but he manages to always gently caress your knuckles with his thumb.

♥︎ ; Kieran loves the feel of your lips. It gets him giddy and excited inside, and he looks all shy and cute on the outside as well. He loves when you plaster kisses all over his face, especially on the bridge of his nose, like a little branding. He always looks a little dizzy after the assault.

♥︎ ; “I… ain’t ever had a relationship before, but… I know I ain’t leavin’ you. Ever.” He mumbles, with a small smile as he hands you a necklace. “I… I love you.” He says, for the first time, and it makes you the happiest woman in the world. “I love you too, Kieran.”

♠︎ ; Gets hard really easily. One moment you’re fishing with him, and the next you see him urgently facing his body away from you, having a hard time holding the fishing rod. You could swear he was shaking, clutching it with a grip of an eagle. “What’s wrong?” You ask innocently, but he refuses to indulge in giving you an answer. “N-Nuthin’…” He manages to get out.

LAUMA ✦ MAIDEN OF THE GROVE

LAUMA ❖ crown of sacred silver