Work Text:
“We're lost, John.” You point out simply, hand on your hip as he stares hard at the same tree you've passed three times.
“Dammit! No we aren't. I know this forest.” He growls defensively, before pausing like he suddenly knows better and he leans over to you giving your hip a quick squeeze. His own way of apologizing without having to completely throw his pride.
You roll your eyes. “I'm sure. You must be real close to this tree—because we've passed it three times.”
John huffs and looks away from you. Totally not hiding the small embarrassed expression he has.
“Ain't my fault these trees are all the same…” He mutters.
“That's not how trees work. Unless you're an arborist.” You snort at the line that forms in his forehead.
“A-what now?”
“A tree expert, John.” You correct your language and he has the gall to grin his smarmy little grin.
“I like it when you use big words. It's sexy.” He leans into you, making you stumble with his weight, keeping you steady with his hand that was on your hip.
You shove at him, looping a hand around the strap of his satchel and tugging it.
“Focus, Casanova. You got us into this mess. You need to get us out.”
John stumbles a step when you tug his satchel, grumbling under his breath as he yanks it out of your grip.
“Alright, alright. You don’t gotta bully me for it.”
You laugh out loud.
“You call that bullying? I woulda thought Arthur and the gang would have taught you real bullying.” You scoff. “You a big softie, aren’t you, Marston?”
He ignores your teasing with a grunt, swatting your hands when they get anywhere near him.
“Ain’t lost.” He insists. “We just uh…we’re takin’ the scenic route. I wanted to be romantic and shit.” He jabs his finger in a direction you certainly don’t recognize.
“Don’t lie to me, John Marston.” You scowl. “You ain’t got a romantic bone in your body—least not the patience to take the scenic route.”
He scowls back before his mask breaks and he smirks a little. Snickering at you.
His hand is nudging you forward by your back before you can chastise him.
“C’mon, I think I see the right trail ahead.” He murmurs.
You squint.
“You think?”
He hums, continuing to push you with him.
“Better than nothin’.” He shrugs, turning to see your doubtful look. “And hey, even if I did get us turned around a little—-”
“A lot.”
“Maybe,” John continues, “I won’t complain about gettin’ more time with you.”
You roll your eyes and he chuckles.
“What? Ain’t believe me, darling?”
“You can’t charm your way out of this.” You mutter, finding it hard to keep the glare trained on him.
He smirks, looking a little soft around the corners.
“I’m being honest and truthful here, you know.” He contends.
John lifts his roughed up hands, covered in callouses from lord knows what over the years. He cups your cheeks and leans his forehead against yours.
“I will get us back to camp, safe and sound. Don’t you worry your pretty head. I got you.” He promises in a low tone, one with rare sincerity.
Your shoulders sink a bit, relaxing despite your worries.
“...I know you will.” You whisper back softly.
He grunts, reluctantly dropping his hands, but he catches one of yours with his, interlocking your fingers.
“You better.”
He looks at you again, tugging you into step with him as he leads you down the new path.
“...You ain’t letting me hear the end of this are you?” He chuckles, badly hiding his own amusement.
“Definitely not…might just let Arthur know too.”
He sighs.