#AND HEY IS THIS JACK MARSTON | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cowyolks · 11 months

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WAKE OF THE WATER

Pairing: John Marston x Female!Reader

Summary: You spend the day helping John learn how to swim— he’s quick to repay you.

Words: 5.4 K

Warnings: It’s Smutty y’all— mutual pinning, no mention of Abigail or Jack, outdoor sex, fingering, teasing, p in v sex, so romantic it’ll give you a toothache.

A/N: My debut to Red Dead fics! And what better than the OG character himself. Special thanks to @mykneeshurt for inspiration and putting up with my thirsting. Also don’t mind me being a little rusty, it’s been a few months <3

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” A grouchy voice grumbled in front of you. It shouldn’t have surprised you, John Marston was the most stubborn man you’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. His arms were outstretched, slowly dipping into wide arcs, his wrists bending in a pattern that suggested he was scooping something up.

“Not stupid. It’s survival.” You argued, your own arms working small circles that John was attempting to copy.

“I sure feel stupid.” He complained, stopping his gesturing with a loud plop of his hands by his side. You gave him a glare, pointing an accusing finger at his slouching form. “You’re the one that asked me to help, I’m only following through.”

“I didn’t exactly plan on spinning my arms in a circle like some wounded duck, Sweetheart.” His raspy voice pitched lower at the pet name, a name he had been calling you even more recently. It was no secret that you were sweet on him, as he was sweet on you. Except you ended up being even more stubborn than him, for you were waiting on him to make the first move.

You were certain the man was too emotionally constipated to even consider admitting his feelings— but a girl could dream.

“I was thinking you looked more like a goose.” You joked, a soft smile spilling over your lips as you took a couple steps towards him. The loose gravel crunched under your boots as you stood before him, eyes searching upwards towards his face. “Shut up,” he softly quipped, dropping his chin to observe your features.

His stitches still littered the one side of his face, the skin closing shut around them caused redness to flush. His stubble had grown out, since you advised him not to try to shave around the stitches. You liked it that way anyways, not that you would admit it. The dark waves of his hair curled under his hat, shadowing the soft adoring look of his coffee colored eyes.

“I think you need to try a little harder, Marston.” You teased, eyes flickering with mischief. With a quick tug, you popped his hat off his head, nearly laughing at the stray strands of hair that picked up. “Hey!” He called, but you were already sprinting away, headed towards the gentle flow of the Dakota River. As quick as you could, you kicked off your boots, stepping into the cool water of the shallows.

You decided you’d start John off here.

“Let’s put you to work if you find my teaching so irrelevant.” You quipped. John crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at you from the bank.

“I didn’t think we’d start in the water today.” He grumbled, swaying lightly on his feet in what looked to be unease. Never less, he asked you for help, and you were dead set on helping him swim.

“I’m not going to let you drown, ya know,” you reassured, plopping his hat upon your head. A minuscule curl of his lip let you know that he trusted you, even so he let out a puff of air so full that his shoulders slouched a couple inches.

“I know. Just…” he seemed loss for words, except you had this annoying habit of always knowing what he wanted to say.

“I ain’t Arthur, John. I’m not here to judge, just to teach. I’ll be swimming right beside you.”

This was obviously what he wanted to hear. John gave a small nod, kicking off his own boots and unbuckling his holsters and belt to his pants, dropping them to the gravel by his feet with a dull thud. Coffee eyes glanced up, catching your roaming stare as a strange look crossed his features.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You blurted a little too quickly. Resisting the urge to cringe, you instead settled upon your own clothes, that were definitely way too heavy to be swimming in. With nimble fingers you began to unbutton your shirt and skirts, which would leave you in just your free-flowing chemise.

A garbled noise escaped John as you shimmied out of your violet petticoat. “What are you doing?” He asked, voice higher than he likely intended, judging by his flushed cheeks and adverted gaze.

“I’m not swimming in my good clothes, besides they’d only way me down.”You explained, attempting to resolve his panicked state. With a gentle heave, your skirts landed upon the shore by his feet. You took a couple more steps back, the water now up to your breasts. He still stood frozen, focusing intently upon the settling sun that painted the sky hues of burnt orange and crimson. “It’s not like you haven’t seen all us girls in our night clothes, Marston.” You reminded him playfully.

“Right…”

You glanced expectantly at John, watching as he stepped into the water with a slow splash. He reached you after a few strides, the water only coming up to the middle of his belly.

The river felt nice in the July sun, a cool contrast to the blazing rays and unending humidity. You’d spent days in your childhood dipping in the lakes around New Hanover, catching pickerel and skipping rocks, so the steady current and chill was no surprise to you. John, however, wasn’t as used to the cold.

“Best not lose my hat.” He grouched, arms crossed in distaste at the lapping water. Goosebumps littered his exposed forearms, and his jaw sat tight to avoid clattering his teeth.

Right. His hat.

A sudden idea flashed, and without hesitation you took off his worn hat and threw it to the side, watching it soar over the water and to the opposite bank. It sat between about fifteen yards of water, slowly babbling on. It’d be good practice for John, seeing that the water wouldn’t extend past his nose, so he’d be able to stand and breathe, but it would be best for him to attempt to swim.

“What the hell was that for?”

An amused smile crossed your face, “We are going to go get your hat.” You explained, attempting to ignore the way the man playfully rolled his eyes. With a huff, he began to take steps against the current, attempting to walk to his hat. You clicked your tongue distastefully, your small palm landing upon his shirt that clung to his chest.

“Swimming.” You demanded, a firm look in your eye. John clenched his teeth, obviously displeased even though he’d asked you to help.

“I’ll show you first. Watch.” You added, lowering yourself into the dark water. Your hair collected droplets, but you paid no mind, instead you focused on moving your arms as you showed John earlier, this time adding little kicks to propel you onwards.

“Use your legs too, kick back and forth, almost like you’re running, but on your stomach.” You advised, swiveling in the water and paddling back to his sulking form.

“Alright your turn.” You offered, sinking your bare feet back into the soft clay of the river. John grumbled something under his breath, but reluctantly bent his knees next to you. He was so close you could feel his uneasy exhales, with a push, he began to kick and paddle.

A surprised shriek left you as water splashed upon your face, blinding you for a moment as John paddled way too fast. He was winded in a matter of seconds, and now you saw the problem as to why he couldn’t swim. He used all his energy in a matter of seconds trying to keep his head above the surface.

“Whoa, hold on a second.” You hopped towards him, pushing your wet mop of hair out of your eyes. He was happy to stop, heaving for air as his feet found the gravel once again.

He looked irritated, which was understandable. He’d been bullied for this for as long as he was in the gang.

“Maybe I should teach you how to float first. You’re strokes were way too fast, it’s all about staying above the water, gliding if you will.” You explained, being as gentle as possible to avoid making him more frustrated.

“I can’t do it, sweetheart. Best just leave me to drown if I ever fall in.” He growled, his breathing leveling out slightly.

“I’d never. Besides, you know you’re too stubborn to die. Now let’s try this again. Watch.”

Your head dipped backwards, a small inhale leaving your lungs as you tipped and floated on your back. “It’s all about your breathing. You’re a bobber on the water, if your lungs are full of air you’ll float.” You explained.

You tilted your head to the side while on your back, making sure John was listening, as he suddenly got very quiet. He was observing, except not particularly at your form, instead his eyes were unashamedly glued to your chest. The pearly chemise you wore stuck to your breasts, the water forming around your body like a second skin. And to make matters worse, the material was translucent around the soft buds of your nipples.

He adverted his eyes, bravely meeting your own with little shame. You felt the flush of your cheeks in such white hot embarrassment that it hurt your gut. Something shifted in the air— like clear sky to thunderstorm, even his usual coffee colored eyes turnt dark like rolling smoke, predatory and lidded.

“Sorry.” You squirmed, sinking into the water until you were fully covered. John shook his head slightly, almost as if he was in a dazed stupor.

“No need to apologize.” His voice was soft, yet deeper.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, focusing on anything else but the fluttering in your stomach. It was the first time John seemed to be brave in his feelings, or at least his lust. Regardless of your striped modesty, it was a start.

“Try to float.” You commanded, wading closer to him as he tipped back at your instruction. His body kept him up for a couple seconds— a small win, until he deeply exhaled and lost his buoyancy.

You were quick, placing your palm upon the tense muscle of his back, another palm holding just at the base of his neck, nails accidentally scratching softly upon his scalp. “Good, that’s good, Marston,” you complimented. He seemed proud of himself, regardless of his minuscule need for your help.

“Just exhale a little softer, and you’ve got it.” You added, slowly peeling your palms off his warm body. You took a step back when he got the hang of it. A low applauding whistle escaped your lips, a prideful grin escaping you as John relaxed into the water.

“Now kick your legs, gently.”

He followed your instructions, kicking lightly against the current and propelling himself to the opposite bank, towards his ratty old hat. You swam after him, splashing in the water until the both of you reached the opposite bank.

“Well I’ll be damned!” John rasped, going to kneel upon the soft gravel as water dripped off every inch of him. The droplets slipped down his cheeks and lay in his eyelashes. You decided then he was the most beautiful creature you ever had the pleasure to see.

“Well done. It’s a start, but at least now I’ll know you won’t drown.” You beamed, pulling your chemise slightly so it didn’t stick to your skin as it had earlier. “Couldn’t have done it without you, darlin’.” John added, rising from his knees and snatching his hat from the bank.

“You’re right, what would you do without me, Marston?” You teased, crouching into the water. You glanced at John through your eyelashes, water lapping down at your chin. “Would be a sorry life that’s for sure.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck at such a bold statement.

“Ready to head back?” You asked, coughing slightly at his stare, he’d been doing that a lot this evening. Staring, burning warm embers in your heart and scorching your skin.

“Out of the water? Hell yes. Back to camp? No.” He spoke, you happened to agree, enjoying the warm weather was one thing, but no robberies, shootouts, or annoying bickering was even better. A soft chuckle left your lips, as you began to trek towards the bank where Old Boy grazed upon fresh grass and wildflowers.

John followed after you, pushing against the waters with his hat now perched upon his head again, lower than he typically wore it. You stepped closer, almost unconsciously flicking his hat up so you could see his face.

“What’s up with your hat? Don’t you like to see when you walk?” You questioned, now loosely stepping onto the bank.

“Scars are ugly, don’t want you to see them.” He grunted, self loathing dipped on his tongue, his words made you frown. “You think that little of me?”

“I think you’re the best woman I know, which is why you shouldn’t be seen with an ugly bastard like me.”

You stopped in your tracks, putting the pieces together in your mind. This was why he never said anything. Why he never told you how he felt. He loathed himself, both inside and out.

He stopped a couple steps ahead of you, noticing that you weren’t following after him towards his horse.

“You’re far from an ugly bastard, John Marston. I mean it.” You insisted, voice soft with meaning. He seemed to disagree, yet didn’t push to argue. Instead he whistled low, alerting Old Boy. The Hungarian Halfbreed was more wild than tame, reminding you much of his handler.

“You hungry?” John asked, ruffling through his saddle bag as Old Boy nickered and pawed at the ground. You took a step forward, scratching the horse upon his whiskered chin.

“A little.” You offered, continuing to pat upon Old Boy as he pushed his head into your hand. “I don’t got much on me.” John grumbled. Water still dripped from his hair, falling upon his damp clothes that were tinted from the setting sun.

You watched as he pulled upon his bedroll in one fluid motion, laying it upon the soft grass facing the running river. In his other hand he held out a jar, intending on you to take it.

You held onto the jar with wide eyes, glancing at the contents with a surprised grin. “Not much? I haven’t had anything that wasn’t in a can or Pearson’s mystery stew in months!” You chirped, happily taking in the plump red raspberries that must have taken over an hour to pluck.

“They’re all yours, sweetheart.” John looked on with a joyful gleam on his features. “I got some bread and cheese I picked up in Valentine too. Figured I’d repay you for helping me.”

You popped a raspberry into your mouth, happily humming as the sweet juice coated your tongue. A pleasing chuckle left John’s chest as he pushed himself upon the blanket, sitting down with his long legs out in front of him. You were surprised when he slipped off his hat, allowing the sun to dance across his cheeks.

You sat upon the blanket next to him, holding the jar out to him as you slid closer to his body. He was surprising warm, even with wet clothes that cooled in the balmy evening.

“I told you they were yours.” He spoke, pushing the jar back towards yourself. You pouted, swallowing upon the berry before speaking. “I’d enjoy them far more if you ate with me.”

John playfully rolled his eyes, but grasped onto one of the raspberries and ate it anyways. “Had so damn many picking them, I wouldn’t be surprised if I turned red like one.” He admitted, a laugh in his tone. You choked out a giggle of your own, knowing the gunslinger always found a way to embarrass himself.

“You’re something else, John Marston.” Your voice was soft. Wrapped in velvet and warm like rich coffee.

“Yeah well, I can’t help that. Whenever I’m around you my head turns to clouds. I act a damn fool.” He let his heart bleed— finally, finally. A switch in your mind flipped, you’d decided you have waited long enough. Life in the gang, it was fun and spontaneous but you didn’t know how long you had, how long John had. Maybe a little push would do the two of you some good.

“I must be the bigger fool.” You spoke so low it was near a whisper. Inching forward, you cradled your head against his neck, happily hearing his intake of breath and taking in the scent of him— of gunpowder and river water.

After a short moment he relaxed, a large hand hesitantly falling to your waist, grasping softly upon the flesh of your hip. His head tilted downwards, scarred cheek nuzzling against the crown of your head. Intimate, lovingly.

“Why’s that?” His chest rumbled with the words, rattling against your own flesh.

“I’ve waited far too long to tell you how I feel.” You took the shot in the dark. His fingers halted the steady tracing amongst your waist, the soothing nature now diminished as he froze.

“You’re kidding?”

Your body was warm at his hopeful question, despite your confidence before, you avoided his stare, wanting, hoping, for him to admit he felt the same way as you.

“I’ve never lied to you, Marston.” The words were out before you could think better, but the steady exhale the man let out was felt against your side.

The pads of his fingers slid against your chin— Warm, rough and comforting, such as an intimate tether pulling the two of you together. You allowed him to maneuver your gaze to his own, a fire building in your gut as he did so.

“God, Darling, if I had known I would have done something about it earlier. Just didn’t think you’d want some washed up outlaw like me.”

You snorted, almost amused at how he managed to view himself. He was always so much more. “Who always brushed my horse after a ride? Or saved me from that one drunk in a saloon? Who bought me a way too expensive painting because I said it looked pretty? You’re the one I want John.”

Your heart pounded at the simple look he gave you, a sugary sweet gesture so full of adoration it had you nearly sick.

“I’ve loved you since I was a boy. I read those stupid romance novels you liked just so I could speak to you about them, hell I went and stole those lemon drop candies in the general store to impress you, nearly got me arr—.”

You cut him off with a long kiss. His lips sat in between your own in an awkward way, as if he wasn’t expecting it.

You pulled away at his hesitation, an apology on your lips, until his palm wrapped upon the back of your neck, his other hand pulling you easily upon his lap. He molded against your lips again, this time only sweetness fell from him. It was pure bliss, everything you’ve ever imagined, and even better when you felt his tongue brush against the seam of your lips, privately asking for permission to kiss you deeper.

You relented, opening yourself up like a winter bloom seeing the summer sun again. The taste of raspberry melted against your mouth, just as a happy sigh escaped you as John pulled away slightly. You became acutely aware of your position, the way you sat perched upon his lap, chest pressed against his own.

“I love you.” You spoke on a whisper, a hand falling to his damp and uncomfortable button-up.

“God darling, I’ve dreamt of you saying those words for years. I adore you.”

He spoke no more words, instead relying on his touch to display just how much he cared. It made your body ache in a fiery desire. You wanted him, you wanted him now.

“Then show me, like I always wanted you to.” You whimpered, words filled with so much promise John couldn’t hide the burning flames circling his eyes.

“You sure?”

“As I ever could be.”

His eyes darkened, yet still managed to keep the intimate expression along his features. The slight tinge of red upon his swollen lips, no doubt from the berries made him even more attractive. His hair damp and curling slightly amongst his neck, the scars that you wanted so badly to kiss.

He twisted, helping to wind your legs around his waist. You straddled him happily, just as he brought his lips to the corners of your own, placing a chaste peck before he swept lower. He latched hungrily to your jaw, then to the rapid pulse point of your neck.

Your intake of breath only seemed to amuse him more, as you could feel his crooked smirk print into your skin. Your hands found the seam of his shirt, quickly you made work of the buttons, happily finding solace against his bare chest patterned with a soft layer of hair.

He jerked at the feeling of your nails running down his skin, the motion causing a distinct hardness to grind against the plush flesh of your ass. A choked groan escaped his throat at the pressure, making you that much more eager to fully touch him.

His lips pulled away from the soft flesh of your collarbone, most likely already littered with lovebites.

“May I?” He gestured to your chemise with his large hands, asking if it was alright to remove the clothing. You were already pushing the dress over your head, relived to get the wet material off of you and replace it with the warmth of John’s skin.

You were in your most vulnerable state, purely bare and held captive to the stare of the man in front of you, yet you felt completely safe. He rutted against you, desperate to feel any friction you’d provide him against his clothed cock.

“You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined.” He complimented in a breathy voice, almost as if he was scared this was a dream. John rubbed his thumb against the swell of your breasts, watching in amusement as goosebumps littered the skin he touched.

“You’ve been imagining me, Marston?” You joked, gasping slightly as his fingers rolled than pinched on the bud of your nipple. “Since we was rowdy teenagers, Miss.” He rasped lowly, fingertips painting lines down your body like a canvas.

“You’re kidding?”

“Naw, not joking. Now hold on,” you braced your arms against his broad shoulders, feeling him grip onto the flesh of your hips as he laid you gently upon your back. The soft fur of his bedroll met your spine, warm the comforting. He’d paused for a moment, simply soaking up every detail, curve, and blemish of your body.

Then his eyes settled upon the region between your legs, already prepped and soaked with his searing kisses and adoring words. You were completely sweet on this man, and it wasn’t hard to see.

“All this just for me?” His palms danced alongside the inside of your thighs, until one of his fingers settled upon the opening of your sex, weeping and aroused. He only teased, gathering up the slick you provided. You jerked at the movement, fighting a gasp as you bucked up in an attempt to receive some sense of stimulation.

A little chuckle escaped him at the sign of your furrowed brows.

“Yes it’s all for you, how about you use it?” You whined out in frustration, nearly begging when he moved his hand just slightly out of reach of where you wanted him.

“Never seen you so impatient, sweetheart.”

“John, please, just touc- oh,” You were cut off by one of his fingers sinking into your cunt. It was such a pleasant shock that it had you hugging around his finger in a vice, a low moan left you at the full sensation, even John couldn’t withhold the throaty groan that left his lips at your open mouth and furrowed brows.

“That’s it, darling, stay laying back for me.” He directed, happily worming his way between your legs so that his upper body hovered over you. He curved his spine, allowing his lips to latch pleasantly with yours, swallowing your breaths of pleasure as he began to slowly pump his finger in and out.

He was acting as a honey bee, treating your cunt like the most precious flower petals that he’d ever nestle in. His pace was nectar sweet, yet you had to clench your teeth, for the sweetness coated your tongue had drowned any other thought than him.

John Marston. John Marston.

“I love you,” Was the only thing you could breathe between his scorching, yet soothing kisses, the only thing your very soul felt as he curled another digit inside you, hitting the very spot that had you gasping.

In your bliss you managed to guide your hand to his jeans, working slowly upon his buttons. He’d hummed at the loss of tight pressure when you unclamped the last one. He pulled his fingers away only slightly to shimmy his jeans down until he was just as bare as you were.

You grunted at the loss of his touch, blindly reached for him, not being able to look away from the absolute adoration that crossed his starry eyes. You visibly gulped when you felt the smooth flesh of his throbbing cock. Satisfaction broke out across his features, a smirk painting upon his lips when your mouth fell open at the steely size.

John was big, and he very well knew it.

Your hand firmly gripped upon his cock. While your fingers managed to wrap around his entire base— he was long, veins curling like an intricate painting weaving to his weeping head. He was so lengthy that you’d likely need two of your hands to grasp onto all of him. Your thumb trailed upwards pressing upon his head that was already leaking heavily. You smeared the lubricant down with a delicate pump.

You’d never heard him whine before, but the sound that mewled from his throat had you gaping in unadulterated shock and hunger.

He bucked against your hand, looking desperate and everything you’d ever need.

“Fuck, oh darling I…” he trailed off into another chorus of pleased groans as you stroked him, eyelashes fluttering upon his scarred cheeks as he gripped his nails into your hip. Surely he’d leave the skin black and blue, but you could care less.

You surged forward, fully attempting to lay John upon his back as he previously had for you. That way you could put his cock in the velvet wetness of your mouth and taste the river that clung to him.

His large hand settled upon your shoulder, halting you from tilting his body weight. “Not today, Angel, I want to take care of you. Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” You hushed, beyond joyful to know this wouldn’t be a one time thing.

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” He rasped, pecking sweet kisses over your face just like fresh raindrops falling after a long drought.

“I want you. Please, John.” You added, swinging your arm over the taut muscle at the back of his neck, the smile upon his lips was blisteringly large.

“Of course.”

His hand moved to meet yours, the very one that was settled upon his throbbing length. He took the reins, sliding his flushing head to meet against the slick that poured from your cunt in an abundance.

“It’s been a long time.” You warned airily, breath catching when he slid himself teasingly slow against your bundle of nerves.

“Since that one ranch hand?” John asked.

Shock coursed through you, He’d remembered? You couldn’t have been more than nineteen when you lost your virginity to that boy on the ranch.

“How… how did you know?” You stuttered, nearly gasping in shock at the look of jealously crashing across his expression.

“I was the one that beat him black and blue when he broke your heart, always was a jealous bastard.” He growled, lining himself up to your entrance once he felt he was slick enough.

“That don’t matter now, I’m all yours.” You whispered, swooping up to capture his lips in a chaste kiss, ironic for the dirty act the two of you were currently performing.

“That’s right. You ready?”

You nodded, just as John breached ever so slightly into your warmth. He’d let out a gentle gasp at the tight sensation, nudging ever so slightly as he studied your face for any detail of pain or discomfort. Your own mouth gaped open as he filled you, a twinge of discomfort wrinkled against your nose, which John happened to pick up on immediately.

He halted his hips, a quick apology on his lips. “Alright?”

“Yes, yes, just not used to uh- you’re big.” You stuttered out, face flushing in embarrassment. John surprised you again, he refrained from smirking or using teasing words. Instead his palm found your cheek, his finger effortlessly brushing a lock of hair beyond your ear.

“I’ll only move when you tell me to.” He comforted, thumb slowly painting strokes d across your cheek down to your swollen lips.

God, he was handsome. Most people fled when this outlaw approached, his scars only adding to his menacing aura, but this man— this man above you was nothing more than golden sunsets and wildflowers. He was everything you loved and more. His scars were pretty silver whips of moon, eyes freshly brewed coffee, and oh, his touch. Your body molded to him, relaxing and effortlessly yearning for more. More of him. Always more.

“Oh John, please move.” You whimpered, creaking your head to the side to kiss upon his circling thumb. He’d reacted slowly, doubt still swimming in his head, but he pushed anyways, bottoming out the hilt.

“God, you’re so tight.” He groaned out, hands now finding your hips as he straightened his back out just so he could pull you into him even deeper. Your legs wrapped around his waist, goosebumps of pleasure escaping the flesh as he pulled slightly out and pushed back in.

His name left your lips again, as if you were chanting a prayer. His eyes darkened significantly at your pleas, taking it as a sign to speed up. His hips clashed against your own, loudly and heavy like roaring thunder. You didn’t care, you were in your little slice of secluded paradise on the bank of the river.

A hand snaked upwards, securing to your breasts, he kneaded the flesh, happily rolling his thumb and index over your nipple.

He took you in, a hungry wolf that was looking for his last meal. He’d caught sudden interest to the soft recoil of your breast that moved with every one of his timed thrusts.

“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” He gasped, lips latching onto your neck as he buried himself even deeper into you. “You make me think so.” You whimpered when he suckled upon your neck, likely to leave a purple love mark to remind you of him.

His pace picked up, cock slipping easily out of you now that you were relaxed. Pleasure vibrated your very bones, so much that you could feel your stomach tightening in a burning coil that illustrated your oncoming orgasm.

“John, I’m close.” You breathed, words almost failed you from the simple nirvana you felt. He’d barely heard you over the sound of lewd squelching. Yet he could feel— feel the fluttering of your walls that clutched his cock so well, like a missing puzzle piece that he’d been searching for.

“Damn Angel, me too.” He growled. Sweat peppered his body like morning dew, still he pushed his body faster, chasing your orgasm as much as his own.

It all came undone when his thumb rolled gentle circles upon your clit, a moan leaving your lips as you clutched onto anything that you could grab. White hot pleasure rippled down your spine as you clenched around him.

“That’s it,” he guided, falling apart at the look of bliss that passed over your face. You’d never felt so whole, even when John stopped abruptly and left your welcoming walls. Warm seed spilled over your chest and stomach, covering you in his pleasure.

John nearly collapsed on top of you all in an exhaustingly pleased state. His chest heaved as he rolled on his side. Your own pants filled the air along with the soothing songs of cicadas and flowing water.

“You up for another dip? I need to clean up,” you hushed, eyes fluttering as his hands glided loving patterns across your bare skin.

“Sure, anything for you.”

#red dead redemption #rdr2 #John Marston #John Marston x reader #John Marston x you #red dead redemption 2

306 notes · View notes

felixwhy · 8 months

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hey fellers this is my first time posting here so pls interact if u like rdr2 🙏 w that being said, here r some misc. hcs!!

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john was thrown into a lake by dutch to try n make him swim when he was younger but john hates the water now

modern sean would LOVE mac n cheese i dont even care bro he would gobble that shit UP

abigail prolly bought a ton of books for jack so he can learn to read but he ends up trying to teach her instead (bc its canon she cant read)

mary beth teaches kieran and jack how to read n write

arthur sometimes brings candy for jack when hes on a mission and when he does go on a mission, jack asks him to bring candy

karen is totally a wine aunt and loves margaritas

mary beth was always fansinated w wanting to be an author but was too busy doing chores for ms grimshaw, she never had anytime to write anything

mary beth sometimes writes a prompt for arthur to sketch out. shes kept them over time and used them in her books

jack marston gets absolutely 0 bitches, his bloodline ended w him

high honor arthur goes back and gets seans double barrel shotgun and keeps it in memory of him

modern javier likes watching mexican novelas and puts on the english subtitles so everyone who wants to watch can understand it

micah is the worst person ever when hes sober but once hes drunk he'll get along w just about anyone

if arthur knew what cosplay was, he would cosplay dutch just to piss him off

john was pretty much bisexual his whole life but never even realised it. when he did, it was before he married abigail

drunk kieran is rare but if he ever gets drunk, he is very giggly. if youre his s/o then hes basically a cuddle bug.

modern sean LOVES fortnite. he wanted dutch buy him v bucks and started throwing a tantrum

modern john LOVES hot cheetos and thrash metal. it js feels like its so him yk

(modern or not) bill def gambles a lot.

"god damnit! what happened to all the camp funds??" - dutch

"well its gone, its gone, its gone, its gone" - bill /ref

dutch would def let you stack donuts on it and put a fruit roll up around it (im sorry)

#kieran duffy #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption community #dutch van der linde #bill williamson #micah bell #abigail marston #john marston #jack marston #javier escuella #headcanon #karen jones #mary beth gaskill

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laureliciousdefinition · 8 months

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Hey hey I just finished rdr1 and I am distraught despite the game being 13 years old and knowing what was gonna happen. So to cope here’s some modern au Marston family headcanons unda da cut😈😈😈

-First of all blanket statement John and Abi are the cool young parents who have sick tats/piercings and love their kids (remember in my modern universe everyone is alive muahahah) so fiercely

-John listens to so much shitty divorced dad rock despite being happily married

He has wept to Photograph by Nickelback more than once

-Abigail secretly loves those corny signs that are like

Gather

-John has never let either of his children win at a video game ever

-this family goes insane for Halloween and all the kids in the neighborhood love it!!

They get the big candy bars for SUREEE

They have cool decorations all over the yard and one of their neighbors complains about it every year (they do not care)

-one year on Christmas Eve John and Abi were setting up the Santa gifts and John slipped on a toy car and hurt himself, Abigail had to cry laugh into a pillow so she didn’t wake the kids up

-The other pta moms judged Abigail bc she’s young and cool but she earned their respect when she made the best damn brownies they’d ever seen

On the same note I see Abigail actually being very involved with her kids’ school bc she wants the best for them, but she’s not into the cliquey stuff

-John and Abigail are both fiends for gently embarrassing their kids

Yelling stuff like “have a good day at school my little schnookums!! Mommy loves you!” While Jack is beet red and telling them to just drive away

-John tried to teach Jack to drive but he was gripping the little car roof handle thing the entire time like “brakes. BRAKES. BRAKES!!!!!!” So Abigail took over and taught both kids to drive

-Jack went through a wannabe emo phase. Argue with the wall

If anyone wants me to keep going y’all KNOW my goofy ass will. I love doing these so much hehehehe

Edit- just had to edit the sentence about Abi and the pta bc I accidentally said she would be into the cliques 😭 I meant NOT!!!!!! Abigail is a cool mom who doesn’t have time for that shite

#plz ignore all these tags i’m sorry #rdr2 modern au #Marston family #john marston #abigail marston #abigail roberts #jack marston #unnamed Marston daughter

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sleepyelliee · 29 days

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MODERN AU JACK MARSTON X GN! READER.

before you continue !

this is completely based off of @superunknoown drawings of modern jack and john marston. please send them some support since their art is literally amazing <3.

also jack header is from @reddorkredemption, the dividers are created by @/fairytopea

also, thank you sooo much @frozen-waters ! some things listed in this are from their headcannons!

warnings! mentions of bullying, this takes place in modern AU, financial issues briefly spoken, emotionally disconnected, implied death of a loved one, mentions about the VDL gang but is referred to "troublemakers", you're a college student who lives with roommates and you work as barista for a side job. lmk if I should add anything else! no mention of y/n. loosely proofread!

the smell of coffee brewed throughout the small cafe that was located in blackwater, other employees that worked alongside you were chatting amongst themselves about their personal lives. normally, most would've considered that unprofessional but the cafe you were working at was considered a small business due to hardly ever seeing new faces and most folks who walked in were a regular. Some regulars you enjoyed talking to like bonnie macfarlane, a sweet girl with a slight accent with blonde hair and the most beautiful looking eyes and faint freckles — sometimes you would catch yourself admiring her sweet features.

The cafe was typically quiet throughout the day, the only thing that was considered to be loud enough is the bell that would jingle anytime someone opened the door to allow one of the employees to tend to their needs. It was easy money for a broke college student who was already living with two other roommates in a small dorm room that was cramped.

Today seemed like one of those quiet and soothing days that managed to ease your nerves about stress about your financial situation and all your exams that were upcoming as you clocked in for work. As you washed your hands, you heard the bell above the entry door ring, indicating a customer arrived. In the corner of your eye, a boy who seemed to be around your age with slight freckles, a moustache and brunette messy hair that swung over his eyes walked in. He had a slightly muscular build and stood tall when he approached the counter.

"Hey, what would you like?" You inquired gently, making sure to keep in mind to speak softly to him because the eye bags under his eyes were noticable. Your hands rested on the edge on the counter as you watched his gaze fall into the menu, deciding what coffee he wanted.

"Just a black coffee, thank you." He muttered, the groggily morning voice underlined the exhausted tone in his voice, "Put the name down on the order as Jack; Jack Marston." He clarified as his hand slipped into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a wallet and slipping out twenty-two dollars just like the price on the order was.

You nodded, taking the money and slipping it into th cash register, "It will take a couple minutes, okay?" You stated as your gaze fell back onto his face. You could nearly see underlying stress and exhaustion in his face as his jaw clenched — eye bags, how he speaks to you so quietly. After all, you have been that exhausted before and knows how that feels like after all the exams you had to take couple months prior.

After twelve minutes, you give him the black coffee he orders as you slip him a small packet of sugar if he wanted to add it. "Enjoy it." You muttered as you watched him nod his head in acknowledgment.

...

After that day, you notice how he would come back the day after and the day after...and the day after until it became a cycle that he would come every morning. You aswell started to notice he had multiple piercings in his nose and ears, something you completely disregarded until you took a closer look at him.

Eventually, you began to start developing slight feelings for the young man, he was good-looking, polite and genuinely minded his own business anytime the cafe would get a little too loud with your coworkers banter — something you thought would've been impossible since you were more focused on college. You spoke about this with Bonnie whenever she came around for her morning coffee and she immediately kept on teasing you before she revealed the fact she knew Jack's father — John Marston, a man with a rugged look, as Bonnie described. She encouraged you to make the first move, stating that Jack was a very quiet boy and having a crush on some stranger who comes into the cafe wouldn't be ideal.

You caved in, writing a small note to him regarding his multiple pericings as you gave him his order on another quiet mornings. As the young man opened the note, he could see the messy handwriting stating, love your piercings! I think you look good in them.

You could feel the embarrassment slowly seeping through you as you watched him cough on his coffee. Clearly catching Jack off guard with that compliment from a barista he hardly knew about.

...

When you told Bonnie about this incident, she immediately gleamed with a smile and immediately advised you to keep on writing more and more sweet notes when you would give him his coffee. Despite your rebuttal that you needed to focus on school more than some boy, you eventually get convinced.

Every time that brunette would walk into the cafe and order his coffee, you would slip multiple sweet notes when you would deliver it to him. Seeing his reactions made you think this was a bad idea, and maybe he wasn't into you whatsoever.

Jack soon started to take more time ordering as his gaze would be set on you, starting to analyze every feature of yours as he would fidget with one of his piercings, most commonly his ear pericing because it always gets your attention to be set on him.

...

You kept on telling Bonnie and then your other coworkers who have been seeing this whole ordeal and advised you to get him a gift and ask him out. You were in denial still, trying to convince yourself that this was a small crush despite the fact you wrote those sweet notes to that quiet boy.

You somehow found yourself in a small flower shop, buying a bouquet of tulips as another bag was in your hand that contained chocolates, a letter, and couple of other goodies your friends advised you to get. As you were paying up for the tulips, you could feel your mind going on overdrive as you found yourself standing here despite trying to be in straight denial for your small crush.

...

The next day morning, you heard the bell above the door ring and as you expected it was Jack Marston. You quickly muttered, "Good morning." As you tried to keep yourself calm as you slid over the bag of goodies and bouquet of tulips, you swore he was looking at you with a small smirk as your cheeks began to grow red.

It seemed after that confession, he was lingering around the cafe a lot more than usual, his gaze fixated on you as your coworkers would tease you endlessly about it. Soon this little ordeal would become into him giving you CDS with songs that reminded him of you, sometimes gifting you albums and CDs of artists you like and even delivering small candies when he noticed how stressed you seemed over college or how exhausted you looked over certain days.

When he finally asked you if he could stay over, you declined and you stated that you live with two other roommates, after all you didn't want him to feel overwhelmed in that small space you lived in. This caused Jack to immediately introduce you to his parents so you could stay over at his house instead of being cramped up in a small room — Jack always claimed, but in reality, he was afraid of loosing you due to hardly having any friends growing up.

Jack's father, John Marston wasn't bad of a fellow, he was just quite...distant per say, but he was still welcoming to you just like Abigail Marston, Jack's mother. Sometimes John would offer you one of his cigarettes or in most cases, full packs that weren't open yet as he would talk about the group of troublemakers he would be in, telling you crazy stories like how him and his group of friends would rob places, beat up couple of guys and always causing some ruckus.

Abigail Marston was a mother you never had, she was constantly worried about you and sometimes would ask Jack multiple of times if you were hurt, stressed, tired if you were even couple minutes late to a gathering.

...

When you and Jack officially became official, he would start to open up about his past and how he was bullied and normally was alone most majority of his social life. He would also cling onto you anytime he didn't see you for long periods of time, and sometimes he would even allow you to choose which pericing he is going to put on for the day.

His kisses were divine, especially the days where you were so tired and stressed, he would just pull you close and give you multiple kisses on your cheek, forehead, and neck as a way to make you laugh.

thank you so much for reading!! feel free to give back criticism because I'm still new to this! masterlist

#john marston #rdr1 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption community #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #rdr2 john #adult jack marston #rai's rambles.#rdr1 jack #jack marston x reader #jack marston nation #jack marston #modern au

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2dmenenthusiast · 2 years

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"It's certainly Heaven if you're here, Darlin'."

(John Marston x Gn!Reader)

Holy shit it's finished!!! I literally started this fic back in MARCH. But you know what it's my longest fic ever and I'm proud of it. Also There is SMUT in this bad boy, so it might be ass, just a warning. But I hope ya'll enjoy!

ALSO Abigail is with everyone at the end but I genuinely forgot to add her lmaoo

Reblogs and feedback are always encouraged and appreciated!!

Summary: You're life with John was constantly filled with ups and downs. Hopefully you can both make it together in one piece.

Word Count: 12k

Warnings/other info: SMUT (if you want to skip it, it's right after John says I love you for the first time), description of injury, swearing, uhh Arthur and Kieran live because I said so, reader is gender nuetral as always.

“Hey, would you- ow!”

“Well stop flinching, ya fool!”

John sighed as you scolded him, lightly slapping at his chest before continuing to sew up the gashes on his face. He winced every time the needle pushed through his skin, the hand that rested on your knee squeezing every so often as he tried not to think about the pain.

“I’m almost finished,” you muttered, carefully pushing his soaked hair out of his face and rolling the needle between your thumb and finger a few times, making sure you had a good hold on it since your fingers felt numb from the cold. He watched you as you worked, eyes trained on the way your lips pressed together when you concentrated, your brows slightly furrowed. If he felt shitty before, he felt even more so now. He could deal with Abigail scolding him for being stupid, but he couldn’t take the worried look you had when his injured body was pulled off of Javier’s horse and into the house, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. But you didn’t cry. You turned to Jack and let him know his daddy was going to be okay, put on a brave face so his boy wouldn’t worry about his idiot of a father. You were… something else.

Gently lifting John’s head, you carefully wrapped gauze around his wounds once you finished stitching him up, making sure it was secure around his head. “Now, for the rest of our time up here, do you think you could possibly not get yourself into any more trouble?” you asked, resting your hand on John’s chest.

“‘Course, Darlin’. Don’t think I could manage to get up to much while I’m laying here.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d figure out a way.”

Your lips quirked up in a smile, a sight John loved to see, and he brought a hand up to rest it over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Think you could stay for a bit?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think about it. “Well, considering we’re snowed in on top of a mountain, I don’t suppose there’s anything better for me to do.”

John scoffed, shaking his head and immediately regretting it. “Shut up.”

“You’re gonna have to make me, cowboy.” There was that teasing lilt to your voice that always had John’s heart racing, and if he weren’t bedridden at the moment, he’d kiss that smug look off your face.

“Oh, you best believe I will once I’m up and about again.”

You laughed, the sound like wind chimes in his ears. “Alright. I guess I’ll have to take you up on that.”

John let out a hum, and you pushed down on his shoulder when he tried to sit up from the bed to kiss you, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

You’re hurt.

He just shrugged, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward.

I don’t care.

You shook your head with a smile as you leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his lips, being mindful of his injuries. Of course, you were oblivious to the prying eyes in the cabin that just watched the short unspoken exchange. Abigail smiled to herself and looked back at the fire.

Damn fool, she thought.

Your time in Horseshoe Overlook was finally starting to ignite some hope in you as the gang sang around the campfire to celebrate Sean’s return. Javier was strumming on his guitar, but you could barely hear it over the loud caterwauling of your friends. You laughed when the Irishman tripped over a nearby log as he drunkenly stumbled around, but the contents of his bottle was soon all over your shirt, and you let out a gasp when the cold liquid seeped through the fabric and touched your skin. Sean profusely apologized, slurred syllables coming out to try and form coherent sentences. You waved him off with a smile and told him not to worry about it. He was home, he should celebrate.

Standing from your seat, you left the warmth of the fire and walked over to your tent, a shiver rolling up your spine. A pair of arms were suddenly around your waist, and you let out a yelp when you were lifted from the ground and someone’s face was pressed into your shoulder.

“John!” Your hands quickly gripped his arms, fingers digging into the sleeves of his union suit as he set you down. He chuckled against your neck, his warm breath fanning over your skin before he let out a soft hum and tightened his arms around you.

“Where you been?”

“Uh, by the fire?”

Another hum, and you slightly tensed when his lips pressed against your neck before relaxing back into his chest.

“You’re cold.”

“Yeah well, Sean spilled his beer on me, I was gonna go get changed.”

Laying a few more kisses on your neck, John let go of you before grabbing your hand and leading you to your shared tent. Pulling back the flap, he let you in first and made sure to close the tent behind you both so you could undress without prying eyes, and you made quick work of unbuttoning your shirt, eager to get something warmer on. As you searched for something clean to wear, you sucked in sharply when you felt John’s rough hands on your shoulders, the noise devolving into a soft moan when he dug his thumbs into your tense muscles. His deft fingers made their way down your spine, memorizing every freckle and mole and mark like he hadn’t already done so a thousand other times. Once his hands reached your hips, he spun you around and hooked his fingers in the belt loops of your pants, pulling you close so you fell against his chest.

“Jeez, someone’s a little touchy when they’re drunk, hm?” you teased, hands coming up to push your fingers through his hair.

He leaned forward, his forehead gently knocking against yours. “Mm, well, when you look so lovely, how can I resist?”

You let out a chuckle, pushing at his chest. “Stop trying to be romantic, Marston. It doesn’t suit you.”

“M’serious.” There was a sudden stillness in the air as John pulled back to get a proper look at you, his hands coming up to cradle your jaw. “I think you’re… wonderful.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest and you smiled, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind his ear before pressing your lips to his uninjured cheek.

“Well, maybe romance is something you’re good at, cowboy.”

“Don’t know much about that. Just that it’s easier when it comes to you.”

“Wow. You know, I think that might be the sappiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts then, ‘cause you’re never gonna get to see me like this again.”

“Oh, I’m definitely keeping a tally.”

You yelped when John pinched your behind, and he promptly silenced you with a less than gentle kiss, his hand resting on the back of your neck as you looped your arms around his shoulders. He was all teeth and tongue as his nose clumsily knocked against your own, hands quickly wandering down and making quick work on unbuttoning your pants. You let out a sharp gasp into his mouth when his hand unceremoniously shoved down the front of your trousers, and he swallowed every desperate sound you made with eager lips.

“Fuck. John-”

"Woah! Guess this tent was occupied! You're a bloody animal, John Marston!"

John was quick to shield you from Sean and Karen, facing his back to them and using his body to hide your own. You let your head fall against his chest, your face heating up from embarrassment.

“Hey!- Would you get the hell outta here?!”

Sean whistled and wiggled his eyebrows, making light of the humiliating situation before grabbing Karen’s hand and stumbling off somewhere else so they could have their privacy after drunkenly invading yours. Once they were gone, you let out a groan and pushed away from John, grabbing the first clean shirt you saw and quickly slipping it on.

“I don’t even wanna think about what they were gonna do in our tent,” you muttered as you fastened the buttons.

John shrugged. “I imagine it was what we were about to do.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your balled up, ruined shirt and throwing it at his face as you laughed. “Don’t think I’m so easy, Marston. Gonna take a lot more than your drunken confessions of love to get me in bed.”

“You say that like I haven’t done less to get you in bed.”

You pinned him with a stare, one that had John chuckling before he threw your shirt to the side and held out his hand. “C’mon.”

Letting out a sigh, you accepted his outstretched hand and let him drag you back to the festivities, leading you back to the fire where mostly everyone seemed to congregate. Sitting down, he pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you hummed along to the familiar raunchy tune everyone was singing. But John wasn’t focussed on the song, he was focussed on you, watching you sing with a smile on your face, slightly swaying in his lap. He watched the way the fire danced in your eyes and listened to your lovely voice join in with the other’s. He swore that one day, it wouldn’t take being in a drunken stupor to have the courage to say those sappy confessions to you.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay to pull a job right now?”

“It’s just some cattle we’re gonna be handlin’. Not robbing a bank,” John said, pulling on his boots.

You stood a few feet away from him, brows furrowed in a worried expression as you fidgeted with your hands. “I know, it’s just… anything could happen. I mean, I know we need the money, and I’m just worrying, but everything’s just been so hectic lately and I-”

“Darlin’.”

You sighed, clenching and unclenching your hands before forcing your shoulders to relax. “Right, sorry. It’s fine. I know you’ll be fine.”

John wanted to smile at how much you seemed to fret over him. Ever since he got injured, it was rare to see you not by his side. He knew that was partially why you were so worried. The fact that he was going to do this job, and you weren’t going to be with him. But you knew that eventually he had to get himself back out there. He couldn’t be on bed rest forever. Dutch wouldn’t let him. But more so, he wouldn’t let himself.

“I’ll be back tonight, alright? I’m takin’ Arthur with me, so things should go smoothly.”

You scoffed. “Right, hopefully before one of you ends up putting a bullet in the other. The pair of you act like stubborn children when you’re around each other.”

John sighed, standing up from his cot before coming closer, running his hands up and down your arms to try and give you some comfort. “Listen, if I’m not back by sundown, you have all the right to holler at me about how dumb or reckless or inconsiderate I am, and whatever else you manage to come up with in the meantime, alright?”

“... You forgot stubborn.”

He just chuckled, his heart swelling with adoration for you. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the way you worried about him. He placed a kiss against your hairline and gave your arms a squeeze before exiting his tent, you following after him. You watched as he mounted his horse and left camp, letting out a deep breath before walking over to Abigail’s tent. Jack was sitting on the ground next to her, playing with his wooden toys.

“That fool finally leave?” she asked, and you chuckled as you sat down next to her, leaning back on your hands.

“Yeah. I swear, Abigail, I don’t know how you put up with him as long as you did. He can be so… so-”

“Infuriating? Idiotic? Stupid? Shall I go on?”

You laughed, tilting your head and mindlessly watching her son play. “A combination of all of those things, I guess.”

Abigail just shrugged, looking at the pair of Jack’s pants in her hands and continuing to sew the hole in them. “Well, you think he’s bad now, he was even worse back then. A dumb fool when I had Jack. But I will say… he’s gotten better in the past few months.”

“Maybe. I’ve been hounding him about spending more time with his son. Not that it’s really my place but… I don’t know. I like what we are, and I like that you and I have a good relationship. I’d never forget that you and Jack are still his family and a part of his life. I’m just- I don’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

“Hold on now,” she set down the pair of pants, giving you her full attention, “has that idiot said something to make you feel like that?”

“Well… no. But I-”

“Darlin’, If you ever overstep, believe me, I will tell you if you are. You acknowledge that Jack and I are part of his life, well, I acknowledge that you’re part of his. And I-” She sighed, looking over at Jack for a moment as she pressed her lips together, thinking of what to say. “I’m glad that he has someone like you to kick him in the right direction when he starts down that stupid path of his. John and I, we made our peace a long time ago, and I wouldn’t put you in between any leftover nonsense we have. It’s mostly just about Jack now, anyways, and I can see that you care for the boy more than his own father does sometimes.” When she looked back at you, she reached over and placed a hand on your knee. “You’re good for him. And… I’m more than happy to realize the fact that you’re a part of this family, too.”

There were tears in your eyes when she finished speaking, her reassuring words wrapping around your heart and squeezing like a warm embrace. You could see what John saw in Abigail. She was beautiful and strong, didn’t take any nonsense from others. You were glad to call her your friend. Smiling, you reached up to wipe at your eyes, lightly sniffling.

“Wow, John was a real fool to let someone like you go,” you said, and Abigail laughed before continuing to sew up Jack’s pants.

“Believe me, if he does anything to screw up what you two have, he will not hear the end of it from me.”

Rage couldn’t possibly begin to describe the emotion bubbling up inside of you as you stormed through camp, fists clenched tightly at your sides and eyes sweeping over everyone, trying to find a specific face. You could see Micah coming towards you out of your peripherals, wearing that sleazy smirk on his face like your anger awoke something in him. Your lip tugged up in an almost snarl when he opened his mouth to speak, but you quickly rushed past him, making a point to ram your shoulder into his as you walked by. You didn’t have time nor the energy to deal with Micah’s bullshit antics right now. You already had one idiot cowboy to deal with.

“Marston!”

Heads shot up in your direction at your voice, hands pausing in their chores to try and get a proper listen at what was happening. You could hardly care about all that though when the lithe man you were looking for stepped out of the Shady Belle home, a brow raised in question as he came down the steps.

“Darlin’, you alright?”

You jerked back when John tried to reach out to touch you, raising a finger at him. “Don’t you pull that with me, right now. Don’t try and act dumb even if you’re a god damn master at it. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!”

There was a brief pause as his gaze made its way around the individual faces of the gang before eventually coming back to yours, like he would find the answer to your question in their expressions. “I… What are you talkin’ about?”

“Christ, Jack, you insufferable ass! You couldn’t be bothered to tell me he was gone?! You couldn’t find the time to slip that into casual conversation?!”

John got that look on his face that he always did when he started to put his guard up: that hard look in his eyes and his jaw set, shoulders squared as he deflected every word you threw at him. You fucking hated it. Hated that he was about to pull that bullshit tough act that he always did, especially with you.

“When the hell was I supposed to tell you? You’ve barely been at camp these past three days!”

“I was here all last night! You’re the one who’s been avoiding me, turning the other way whenever I try to even get close to you! I-” Tears of anger quickly welled up in your eyes, blinking a few times to try to keep them from falling. You didn’t catch the way John’s expression faltered for a moment. “I could’ve helped. The Braithwaite’s, I should’ve been there!”

John knew you were right. You were just as much family to Jack as the rest of the gang was, maybe even more so. He knew what you were saying made sense, and that you had every right to be upset. But nobody ever said John was able to see reason through his stubbornness.

“What does it matter, anyway? He’s not your child. You’re not his family! What concerns my family shouldn’t be any of your damn business!”

It felt as if you had been stabbed. Like he had carved a hole in your body where he could reach between your ribs and tear your heart out . Your breath hitched in your throat, a rogue tear quickly falling before you could make any effort to stop it. The camp around you stilled, the silence deafening as John’s words rang in your ears, and you sniffled, slowly nodding to yourself.

“Okay. If that’s how you see it… You don’t have to worry about me being in your business anymore.”

There was a brief moment where he just stared at you, a million thoughts echoing in his head, but by the time he opened his mouth to say anything, you were already gone, making your way back to your horse and riding out of camp. He watched your retreating figure until he couldn’t make you out anymore, letting out a sigh as he turned away, and he briefly caught the stares of everyone around camp before they all went about their own tasks, pretending as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened.

Well, he supposed him making a fool out of himself wasn’t so unordinary after all.

***

“Come on, everyone! Let’s celebrate!”

There were cheers following Dutch’s exclamation, the gang gathering around the campfire and singing joyfully while Javier played a cheery tune on his guitar. You were glad Jack was back, glad that he was reunited with the people that loved and cared for him deeply.

You watched the celebration from afar, leaning against a tree as you observed everyone’s smiling faces. Of course, you wanted to join in, but everytime you gathered the courage to finally sit down with everyone, you would make out John’s face in the crowd and immediately sink in on yourself, his words from earlier repeating in your head.

His family was none of your business.

Despite those reassuring words Abigail said to you all those months ago, you wondered if you were ever part of their family. If John cared for you enough to even consider you as such. All those shared moments in private, whispered confessions between chaste kisses, the almost ‘I love you’s’ that were never said, but were conveyed through loving actions; did they mean anything to him? Were they just a forgetful blip in his life that he’d leave behind, along with any remnants of you?

The way he seemed to hold your entire world in his hands made you feel pathetic. How he hung the stars and moon, like you were some lovesick idiot who went sweet on a man who probably didn’t need you. You let him take your heart, something you once so preciously guarded behind stone walls that he managed to tear down with that dry wit and rebellious nature of his. What a fool you’ve been, to even think that there would ever be a future with a man such as John Marston.

“Hey.”

Snapping your head up, you cleared your throat and straightened your posture as Arthur made his way over to you, fingers lazily hooked into his belt. You felt tense as he leaned against the tree next to you, his shoulder grazing yours.

“Ya know, you don’t have to put on a brave face in front of me. I’ve known you long enough to know you’re fakin’ it.”

You sighed at his words, your body immediately slumping back against the tree as you let your body relax. “I’m uh, I’m guessing you heard that entire shit show at camp earlier?”

Arthur huffed. “Yeah, had to deal with the aftermath, too. Between getting Jack and figuring out how he was gonna apologize to you, that boy’s mind was a mess the entire ride there and back.”

You snorted, the idea of John being so distraught over you seeming almost unbelievable.

“Well, I bet most of that was because of his son. I can only imagine what he must’ve been going through.”

The quiet ambiance quickly filled the gaps in conversation, the singing from the gang combining with the loud chirping of the crickets. All it did was make you think. How could John not see that you cared for Jack too? That you’d give anything to see that boy safe and happy?

“You were right, you know. To be upset. Hell, I’m sure he’s heard enough from me and Abigail about how much of an idiot he’s been around you.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t have to do that. His son went missing, I can understand why he was acting that way, or why he said the things he did-”

“Doesn’t give him the right to take it out on you.”

“I pushed him, Arthur. He was going through something, and I got angry and made it all about me when I could’ve just talked to him after everything was said and done… this is my fault.”

“Hey,” Arthur turned to fully face you, leveling you with that stare of his that made you feel like a kid, “that boy is your family, too, and you had every right to worry about him. Don’t let what John said change that fact.”

Letting out a sigh, you leaned forward and rested your head against Arthur’s chest, feeling exhausted from the long day. He carefully wrapped his arms around you, a hand rubbing up and down your back.

“Thanks, Arthur.”

“Of course, kid.” There was a crunch in the grass, and you and Arthur looked up to see John slowly coming over to you. “Speak of the devil.” Pulling away, he gave your shoulder a reassuring pat and stared at John as he passed him, the younger man holding eye contact until he was out of his sight.

You crossed your arms over your chest and looked down at your mud covered boots as John got closer. When he cleared his throat, you didn’t look up at him. There was a sigh, and then-

“M’sorry.”

You slowly raised your head, taking in John’s appearance. He looked exhausted, the fact that his son went missing clearly weighing on him. But he seemed more relaxed that Jack was back, even though at the moment he looked like an anxious wreck in front of you. You remained silent as you watched him, and John shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, aren’t you gonna say anything?” he asked.

“Oh, no, I wanted to keep listening to this half-assed apology you’re trying to give me.”

John scoffed and shook his head. “C’mon. Don’t be like that.”

“Don't be like what, John?” you pushed off the tree, walking towards him, “Don’t act like what you said hurt me? Like I haven’t been thinking about it all day?” He opened his mouth to speak, but you raised your hand to stop him and sighed. “Listen, I- I know how I acted earlier was dumb. I should’ve just talked to you about it. But… I care about you, okay? And Jack and Abigail, I would do anything for them. I’d do anything for you. God, I’m such a damn fool for you, John, I feel silly just thinking about it. What you said earlier? I just- I wanna know if you meant it. If you really want me out of your business, if you don’t want me getting between you and your family, I’ll stop. And then we can end… whatever this is, if you want.”

John’s brows furrowed as he stepped closer to you, and you hoped he couldn’t see how tears were on the verge of slipping down your face at the mere thought of him not wanting to be with you anymore. You weren’t so lucky though, as John reached out to wipe away the tears that had gathered under your eyes. He hated seeing your cry, especially when he was the one that caused it.

“Darlin’, of course I don’t wanna stop this. I- shit, I’m sorry I even made you think of somethin’ like that. And I’m sorry I said all those horrible things to you today. None of it was true. You are family, and whatever happens to Jack is as much your concern as it is mine and Abigail’s. I’m sorry for saying it wasn’t. So,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair, “I guess what I’m sayin’ is, I want you in my business, if you wanna be, that is.”

Your lips slowly split into a smile, and you moved to throw your arms around John’s shoulders. “John Marston, I would love nothing more than to be all up in your business,” you said with a laugh, and John’s mouth quirked up in that little half smile that you loved so much.

“Shuddup.”

You hummed, eyes trained on his lips before you leaned forward and kissed him, his arms coming up to wrap around you as the party continued on in the background.

“Fuck!”

Ducking behind cover, you brought your hand up to your shoulder with a pained grunt, pulling it back to reveal your blood covered palm. That was gonna be a bitch to get out later. You tried pushing the pain aside as you reloaded your pistol, popping your head out and nailing an O'driscoll right in the head.

Fuck this cursed, swamp infested state!

There was a shout of your name, and you looked over to see John behind a wagon, looking at you with concern evident in his expression. You waved him off, letting him know you’d be fine. Your exchange was interrupted when you heard a blood curdling scream, and you lifted your head to see that an O’Driscoll had Mary-Beth by the arm, dragging her away as she tried to fight him off.

You didn’t hesitate as you ran from cover towards her, shouting at her to get down and lifting your gun, putting three bullets in the bastard’s chest. He fell with a heavy thud, and Mary-Beth turned to you with a terrified expression before you shoved her towards where the rest of the gang had huddled for safety, telling her to run. You tried to follow her when an arm roughly curled around your waist, hauling you back as you kicked and yelled. You tried to point your gun towards them, but it was quickly knocked out of your hand before something cold and sharp was pressed against your neck.

“Don’t try anythin’ funny now, yeah? You won’t wanna find out what happens then,” he said, his hot breath against your ear as he chuckled.

You cringed at the stench of him, body thrashing and driving your foot into his shin. He let you go with a howl of pain. Spinning to face him, you surged forward and tackled him to the ground, barely giving him any time to react as your fist came down over and over again. But he began to swing wildly with his knife, and the blade sunk deep into your thigh. You cried out, white hot pain surging through your leg, and the momentary distraction gave him the upper hand, throwing you off him and yanking the knife out of your skin.

“Hooo-wee! We got a feisty one here, boys! Too bad we can’t have more fun witchya,” he said, tongue running over his cracked lips.

Your lip raised in a snarl as you tried to fight him off using all your remaining strength, but he was determined, bringing the knife up and aiming for your chest. Panic surged through you, hands shooting out to grab at his wrist. You couldn’t die like this. At the hands of a fucking O’Driscoll?! A shot rang out before he could bring the knife down, blood spraying over your face and his brains blowing out the back of his head. You quickly pushed his limp body off of you as John desperately called out to you.

You almost collapsed from the pain in your leg when you tried to stand, bringing your hand down to put pressure on it, but fuck it was deep, and it hurt like hell.

Your voice was hoarse when you called John’s name, and he was by your side in an instant, eyes frantically searching over you.

“Come on, we gotta get you outta here.”

You nodded, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he helped you stand. He was quick to get you to safety, lifting you up into the back of one of the wagons.

“Shit, you’re hurt pretty bad.”

“I’ll live, you go finish them off.”

“Darlin’-”

“Go! I’ll be fine.”

He looked at you for a moment, your words rolling around in his head for a moment before he sighed and nodded, leaning down to give you a searing kiss. He hopped out of the wagon, immediately firing at the remaining O’Driscoll’s, and you looked around you for something to cover your wound with. Letting out a groan when you found nothing, you pulled out your knife and moved to the edge of the wagon, wincing as you got up onto your knees. Brining your knife up, you cut out a piece of the canvas cover of the wagon. Grimshaw would be upset, but you’d take her wrath over bleeding out any day.

Or, wait-

No, don’t be stupid!

Shaking your head, you tied the cloth tightly around your thigh with a groan, teeth tightly clenched as you leaned back. You hoped this all would be over soon.

Your prayers were answered when the gunfire ceased, and you cautiously poked your head out of the back of the wagon to see the rest of the O’Driscoll’s were dead, much to your relief. You attempted to get out of the wagon, but were quickly stopped when Charles came rushing over to you.

“Woah, woah, woah. Take it slow,” he said, reaching out to you.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Charles carefully lifted you by your hips and set you down on the muddy ground, letting you use him as a crutch as you walked towards the gang.

“Oh, shit, kid,” Arthur grimaced when he noticed you. You waved him off.

“I’m okay.”

“Okay?! You’ve been shot and stabbed, for Christ's sake!”

“Wow, really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as John came rushing over to you, taking Charles’s place as your human crutch.

“Come on, we gotta get outta here now. Before more of those bastards show up,” Dutch said.

The man began barking out orders to the gang, and John helped you back to the wagon, making sure to grab some medical supplies along the way.

“Here, I’m gonna have Abigail come and patch you up.”

“Good idea, knowing you, you’d probably put another hole in me.” John sighed, giving you a pointed look that had you shrugging your shoulders and immediately regretting it as you were quickly reminded of the bullet lodged in one of them.

“Christ, could you stop for two seconds?”

You raised a brow. “Stop what?”

“Stop!- Shit, stop making me worry about you. You could’ve died today. Ain’t nothin’ to be making jokes about.”

“John, I’m fine-”

“But you almost weren’t! How can you be so casual about this? The person I love almost dies, and you’re just-”

“You love me?”

John froze, lips parting like he was trying to find the right words to say. John Marston was never certain about a lot of things, but one thing he was sure about was just how much he loved you. He loved you so much it physically hurt, his heart wrenching whenever you cried, his mood lifting when you’d smile at him. He felt almost blessed just to breathe your air, to be able to hold you and kiss you. The fact that he got to call you his was unfathomable to him. Yet here he was, your face gently cradled in his hands like you’d shatter the moment he was too rough with you. Clearly John did something right in his life to end up so fortunate to have you in it.

Wetting his lips, John brushed his thumb over your cheek, smearing the blood on your face that hadn’t completely dried yet.

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Darlin’.”

Bottom lip quivering, you threw your arms around him, not caring about the screaming pain in your shoulder. It felt like any words you wanted to say had been stolen from you, too overwhelmed to properly express just how much you felt. The only thing you could do was mutter a quiet, “I love you, too,” into his neck, his arms carefully winding around you.

We’re gonna be okay.

You can’t remember the last time you got to relax like this. The last time you felt this good.

You muffled a gasp into John’s shoulder when he hit you with a particularly hard thrust, reaching places deep inside you that you couldn’t even recall anyone else having discovered. Maybe it was the fact that you almost died a few days ago, but holy fuck, he was something else in that moment.

You tried to keep quiet as to not alert the rest of the camp, but god he felt so fucking good inside of you. You could barely contain your moans that so desperately wanted to slip out every time he pulled out and pushed himself back in. And when he reached down between your bodies and began playing with the most sensitive part of you, you almost lost it right then and there.

“Fuck, Darlin’. I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep squeezin’ me like that,” John groaned, lips pressed against your pulse as you keened.

He’d been extra handsy tonight, too. Always touching some part of you whether it be his hand pressed against your lower back or his side brushing against yours when he stood close to you. You couldn’t get away from him all day. He followed your figure with hungry eyes when you did literally anything around camp. When you finally noticed, you knew you were in for it. He was fucking burning for you when you retreated to your tent for the night, pawing at your clothes the second the tent flap closed behind him. He was so eager, he ripped a few buttons off your shirt trying to pull it off you, but you didn’t have it in you to yell at him. You were just as desperate as he was.

“C’mon. I wanna hear you.”

You shook your head, burying your face into his neck. Beaver Hollow was cramped. It felt like all of you were living right on top of each other. There was no way no one would hear.

His hand came down and gripped the back of your thigh, pushing your leg up and spreading you further apart, and he let out a grunt when he felt your teeth sink into his shoulder. Pulling back, his other hand came up to grip your jaw, stilling his hips as he forced you to look at him.

“You holdin’ out on me, sweetheart?”

His hips rolled tightly against your own, your jaw dropping open as your head fell back against the bedroll.

“Don’t- mmh- Don’t fuckin’ tease me, Marston.” He chuckled against your collar bone. He was being cute, but he still wasn’t fucking moving. “I swear to god, if you don’t move right now I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

He snorted that time, only slightly relieving you with the smallest movement of his hips. You didn’t even really mind if you finished, having already come minutes before when he had gone down on you like a man starved. But you were fucking aching for more than just his mouth, and his cock just fit inside you so nicely-

You scrambled to slap your hand over your mouth when he suddenly resumed his thrusts, your back arching up from the bedroll as a rough hand dragged down your front. You choked on a moan when he sat back on his knees and lifted you up into his lap, his hands guiding your hips. Your hand pressed flat against his solid chest, the fingers on your other hand curling into his hair and tugging him forward to sloppily force his lips against yours.

“Fuck!” you gasped, unable to contain the moan that came tumbling out as you held onto him for dear life.

All hopes of being quiet were lost after that, delicious moans pouring out of you that had John picking up the pace so you could both reach your end. You were a bit confused when he laid you back down and pressed his hand against your mouth, his motions stopping, and you whined for him to continue. You arched your hips up desperately, but quickly understood why he stopped when you heard footsteps getting closer to your tent. You silently prayed for them to go away, but your widened eyes met with John’s when you felt him slowly begin to move, and you quickly shook your head against his hand.

He ignored you, slowly pushing in and out, and the feeling had you biting into the flesh of his hand. He didn’t move it, your hands coming up to grip his wrist. You were worried, but the risk of getting caught, the way John felt inside you, it had you cumming in seconds. John was right behind you with a quiet groan, the feeling of you finishing with him inside you sending him over the edge, and the steps slowly retreated.

He gently pulled out with a sigh and collapsed beside you, both of you working to catch your breath.

“God, I really hope that wasn’t Micah,” you muttered breathlessly.

“Eugh. Don’t make me think about him right now.”

You laughed, and John pinched your side. “Guess we’ll see what he says tomorrow, then.”

It went without saying, Beaver Hollow was without a doubt your least favorite camp spot. It was dark, creepy, and there were possible cannibals lurking throughout the woods. However, despite all those things, the starry night sky was a breathtaking sight.

“Ooh, and that one, that one’s Orion.” you said, pointing up at the sky.

John chuckled from his spot beside you. “You sure know a lot about this stuff, huh?”

You shrugged, lightly squeezing his hand that rested between you. “Not really. I just know the little bit my mother taught me. Orion’s always been my favorite.”

You heard John let out a hum as you continued to look at the stars, unaware of the fact that he had shifted his gaze over to you. There was something about the way you’d talk about things you were interested in that had warmth swirling around in his chest. The way your eyes would light up and you’d get this smile on your face that rivaled the stars you thought of so dearly. He’d never admit it, but that smile was his favorite sight to see after a long day, even if it meant only seeing it after being lectured over how much of an inconsiderate fool he’d been earlier. Still, it was always worth it.

The distant chattering of the gang and the loud chirping of crickets filled the silence between you, a gentle breeze shaking the leaves of the trees and causing a chill to run through you. After a little while, you finally looked over to meet John’s eyes.

“You know, the view is up there,” you said.

John turned on his side, propping his elbow up so he could rest his head in his hand, “Yeah, but I got a better one next to me.”

You scoffed, reaching over and slapping his shoulder as he chuckled, and you turned to face him as well. "Well, you're not so bad to look at yourself," you muttered, reaching out to play with the loose thread of his shirt.

John immediately shook his head. "I'm an ugly bastard, no need to lie to me. I know these scars aren't exactly nice to look at."

"Oh, quite the contrary, actually," you said, moving your hand to carefully run your fingers over said scars. You started at his lip, your thumb brushing over it, before mapping out the ones on his cheek. "You know, some people find scars incredibly sexy."

John raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Mhm. And one of those said people just happen to be me." You leaned forward before he could respond with some self deprecating joke and pressed your lips to his, continuing to caress his scarred cheek.

He hummed into the kiss, hand slowly trailing down your back before he rolled over, and you laughed against his mouth as you fell on top of him. Pressing a hand against his chest, the other came up to rest against his cheek as you trailed kisses over his jaw, and his hands fell to your hips, his hold possessive and wanting. You softly gasped when his fingers made their way under your shirt, his skin rough and warm. You pulled away before it could go any further, and John let out a displeased sigh that had you chuckling.

“I know, I know. But, we’re not exactly alone,” you said, glancing up at the rest of the gang, some sitting by the fire, and the rest sound asleep.

“Hasn’t exactly stopped us before.”

You pinched his side before laying your head against his chest, feeling him shake underneath you as he laughed. “Well, yeah, but that was different. It was the middle of the night and everyone was already asleep. Not every single person in camp had the potential to hear us.”

“You sure about that? I mean, with how loud you are-”

“Marston, you finish that sentence and I will never let you touch me again.”

He let out another laugh that had you smiling. You always loved his laugh, the sound being so foreign these days. You wished he had more reasons to be happy. You wished that for all of you. You closed your eyes as John ran his hand up and down your back, and you listened to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

“John… Do you think we’ll make it out of this? I mean, things aren’t exactly looking up from here. Everything with Dutch, I just-"

"Hey, we're gonna get outta here. You, me, Jack, Abigail, and Arthur, we're gonna be safe."

He was right. You wanted him to be right. It was hard to imagine, though, when everything seemed to be crumbling around you. The Pinkertons and the O'Driscoll's constantly appearing, killing your friends. Dutch’s ideals and beliefs blurred day by day as his greed and his need to win grew. How could you possibly see a positive end to all this chaos? Despite all that, you tried to focus on the here and now, your body held safely in John’s arms, where you felt safest.

"I miss them," you whispered, your eyes welling up at the thought of all the friends you lost. Your family.

"Me too, Darlin'. Me too."

You knew that you should’ve left with the others. God, you fucking knew. You had talked about it with John before, about taking off in the middle of the night, taking Arthur, Abigail, and Jack with you, but he was on the fence. It was always a “maybe,” or “eventually,” and you felt like ripping your hair out. The pressure you felt to leave only increased when John got taken by the law and Dutch did absolutely nothing but scheme with Micah all day. He constantly made empty promises to you and Abigail that he would get him back, but after days of waiting for the man to make good on his word, you grew restless, enlisting the help of Arthur and Sadie to go rescue him.

“I had a goddamn plan!” Dutch had yelled, and you were so furious, you didn’t even think when you got right in his face and jabbed your finger into his chest.

“And what was that, huh?! Wait a few more days until all you brought back was a fucking corpse?! There was talk of hangin’ him!”

“There was talk of hanging him. Talk!”

You almost drew your gun right then and there, teeth bared as you moved forward, but Arthur gripped your arm and pulled you back. Your head snapped towards Micah when you heard him chuckle, that stupid smirk on his face that you wanted nothing more than to wipe off.

“Whatever. You’re just lucky that you have your fucking pet snake here to protect you.”

Ever since then, there had been a clear tension between you and Dutch, so when he recruited you to go on this train job, you were shocked at first. After your fight you thought he’d want nothing to do with you. But when you thought about it, Dutch didn’t want you on the job because he liked you. No, he wanted you because you were strong and damn good with a gun. To him, you were just another body, a tool to help him get his greedy hands on what he wanted most.

You let out a grunt as you threw yourself onto the train cart from Javier’s horse, rolling onto your side and quickly hauling yourself up on your feet. “God, this is such fucking bullshit!” you muttered, loading bullets into your pistol.

“The train’s being robbed!”

Your head whirled, and you saw a man standing on top of the hill. Goddammit. “Let’s get this show on the road, gentlemen!” you yelled, John making quick work of unlatching the burning car, and you busied yourself with helping Arthur set up the Maxim gun.

You jostled with the explosion of the car, catching Arthur’s shoulder to steady yourself. Looking over at John, relief flooded you when you saw that he was uninjured. You took a step towards him when-

BANG!

“John!”

He stumbled back with the shot, your arm shooting out to try and grab him. Your fingers briefly brushed against his before he fell off the train. You didn’t think as you went to jump after him, but there was a strong arm around your torso pulling you back. You kicked and screamed, trying to get out of Arthur’s hold.

“Kid, no! You wanna get yourself killed?!”

You beat your fist down against his arm. “Let me go! Fuck, I have to help him! Arthur-!”

With enough force, you were able to twist yourself out of his grip, breathing erratically and your hands violently shaking. Arthur held his hands out, trying to get you to calm down, but his words fell on deaf ears when your eyes landed on the man on top of the cart. With a strangled cry, you raised your pistol and emptied it into the man, tears clouding your vision. You pulled the trigger a few more times and heard nothing but empty clicks, and your body collapsed forward onto your hands and knees. Dutch said something about getting John, but you barely registered the words, blood rushing in your ears and heart hammering against your chest. You couldn’t think, could barely even breathe. Arthur placed a hand on your shoulder and you pulled away like his touch burned you. You felt fucking sick. There was a white hot rage that bubbled up inside you and made your insides churn, and you willed your body to stand on shaking legs. Your teeth were clenched so tightly that your jaw started to ache, and as Arthur spoke to Bill, you grabbed your shotgun from your back and began moving up the train without them, hearing him shout for you.

You tore through every lawman in your way, tears rolling down your face as you channeled all your anger and grief into each shot you took. A man came running at you, and you swung your shotgun at his head, his body crumpling down at your feet. You pressed the barrel against his head and squeezed the trigger, blood splattering all over your clothes. You didn’t care, never once bothering to duck into cover, even as the lawmen riding in on their horses started shooting at you. You were too hurt to care, too angry.

As you moved further up the train, a man suddenly came out from behind a wooden crate and slammed into you with a shout, causing you to drop your gun as you stumbled into the wall. You huffed through your nose, your aching shoulder taking most of the blow, and quickly pulled your knife from your thigh. You didn’t feel scared or intimidated, not even as the man raised his gun in an attempt to shoot you. You were just fucking pissed.

You moved in before he could take the shot, swiping the gun out of his hand and using your body to slam him into the wall. Your arm was across his throat, his eyes widening in fear, and you thrust your knife up into his gut, the blade sinking satisfyingly into his flesh. You watched as the life drained from his eyes, blood gurgling up his throat and spilling out of his mouth before you finally let him fall to the ground.

“Kid!”

Arthur gripped your arm and pulled you back from the body, looking over your blood covered form as Sadie came up behind him.

“Come on! We gotta hurry.” She brushed past you both, and you gave Arthur a nod before pulling away from him and following after Sadie towards the armored car, avoiding the man’s concerned gaze. You just wanted to get off this godforsaken train and find John.

***

If I never have to do a train robbery again, I will die happy.

Your sore limbs screamed at you as you lifted yourself up from the dirt, letting out a pained groan. You could mark down ‘jumping off of a moving train’ as one of your absolute least favorite things to do.

“You okay?”

You glanced over at Arthur, a hefty bag of money resting on his shoulder. You nodded, brushing the dirt off of your clothes. “Just peachy.”

Grabbing your own bag, you followed Bill, Sadie and Arthur down the tracks, the sound of Hooves beating against the dirt getting closer until Dutch, Micah, and Javier stopped in front of you on their horses. There was something missing that you quickly noticed. Someone.

“Where’s John?” Arthur asked.

Dutch shook his head. “I tried. I tried.”

“He didn’t make it,” Micah added. “That patrol killed him.”

The heavy bag fell to your feet, and everyone’s eyes landed on you. Arthur could practically feel the rage radiating off of you, his eyes not able to catch how fast your hand moved as you unholstered your gun and aimed it directly at Micah’s head. No one made a single move after that for a few seconds until Micah’s idiot buddies finally regained their senses and scrambled for their own weapons, pointing them at you. Ordinarily, Micah probably wouldn’t have been phased by the action. He spent so much time spewing his mouth and pissing people off, he most likely couldn’t count how many times in a day a gun had been pointed at him. But the look on your face, that pure, unbridled rage that swirled behind your eyes, it made him nervous.

“You're full of shit.” you spat.

Micah glanced over at Dutch before letting out a chuckle, raising his hands. “Now, I assure you-”

“Both of you! You fucking bastards!”

“Kid, don’t-”

You ignored Arthur’s soft pleas, shifting your gun to Dutch. “You tried?! So you just left him? Is that it?! You fucking left him to die, and were so concerened with saving your own pathetic skin that you couldn’t even grab his body?!”

“There wasn’t time! We had to run! Goddammit, don’t you think I-”

“I don’t think you did anything, Dutch! I think you’re a god damned liar and a traitor!”

Gun shaking in your hand, you finally lowered it after a moment, a broken sob clawing its way up your throat. He can’t be dead. He can’t be. Sadie softly uttered your name and took a cautious step towards you. Concern was written all over her face, gently placing a hand on the center of your back. Sadie showed more care for you in that moment than Dutch had in the past month. And you were abruptly reminded of the fact that, no, Dutch didn’t care about anyone but himself and his own personal gain. Maybe, maybe there was a time long ago when we would’ve gladly given his life for any one of you sorry fools. But now? Any love he had left for you had been weeded out. Speeding over to your horse, you mounted up and connected your gaze with Arthur’s. You didn’t have to say anything for him to know what you were about to do, and his simple nod told you everything you needed to know.

Be careful.

Taking a deep breath, your hands tightened on the reins and you spurred your horse into a gallop, not looking back when Dutch angrily shouted your name. You didn’t care what he’d do to you when you got back to camp, you needed to know for sure what John’s fate was. And if he was dead…

If he’s dead, I’ll fucking kill him!

You followed the train tracks and tried to remember where he fell, looking out for any unique landmarks. How could they just leave him? After everything he’s been through with this gang, his whole life dedicated to what Dutch stood for, and he fucking left him. It was heartbreaking watching the man you once valued as a leader devolve into the power hungry fanatic he was today. He preached honor and loyalty.

Faith.

Fuck faith.

Fuck him.

You wiped an angry tear away from your face and urged your horse to go faster, muttering apologies for how hard you were pushing her, but you couldn’t spare a moment. What if John was bleeding out, alone and in pain? What if he was desperately calling out for you?

What if, what if, what if.

Stopping your horse around where you thought John fell, you dismounted and made your way down the hill, gun held tightly in your hand. “John?!” You waited for a moment, listening closely for a response. When you got none, you searched further and shouted his name again. You tried to prepare yourself for the possibility that he was in fact dead, the thought weighing heavy on your heart. What would you do if that was the case? Where would you go? How could you possibly live your life without that fool in it every day?

You felt like collapsing after minutes of searching with no luck. Your body fell against a nearby tree, and you cried. You cried until your throat hurt and your nose was stuffed, hand coming up to wipe away your snot and tears.

What am I gonna tell Jack and Abigail?

Something cracked, a branch maybe, and your head shot up at the sound. You pushed yourself off the tree, quickly making your way towards the sound and-

“Oh my, god!”

There John was, collapsed against a tree trunk and gripping his shoulder, blood soaking his shirt. You were in front of him in the blink of an eye, kneeling on the dirt and tearing the sleeve off your shirt. He looked so out of it. His eyes were shut tightly as he let out occasional groans from the pain, but you were just glad that he was alive. You were quick to patch up his wound the best you could, taking a half full health cure out of your satchel and urging him to drink it. He coughed as it went down.

“Are you real?”

Your hands paused, and you looked at his face. God, he looked exhausted. With a smile, you reached a hand up and brushed his hair behind his ear, palm resting against his cheek. Your heart ached for John. He had been through so much, and there was nothing you could do to change the fact that the man who had taken him in when he was just a kid, the man who was supposed to protect him, had left him for dead. You couldn't take his pain away, couldn’t say or do anything that would change what happened to him. The fact that you couldn’t keep him from hurting, it killed you.

When you kissed him, it was gentle at first, but grew more desperate when it finally sunk in that he was actually alive. He was here, with you. You pulled away with a shaky breath, lips pressed together in a sad smile.

“You think this is Heaven, Marston?”

He gave you that boyish grin, hand falling on your thigh and squeezing. “It’s certainly Heaven if you’re here, Darlin’.”

It caught you off guard how sweet he could be with a bullet lodged in him, and you laughed before kissing him again. His face was held so gently in your hands, like you might break him if you moved too suddenly or kissed him too hard. That gentleness was thrown out the window when he hauled you into his lap, letting out a noise of protest against his lips.

“John- you're hurt.”

He buried his face in your neck, his stubble tickling as he trailed featherlight kisses over your skin.

“I thought I’d never see you again. Grant a dying man his last wish.”

“You’re not dying, John.”

“Almost.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling his face away from your neck with a smile before softly connecting your lips again. And again. And again. He chased your lips when you pulled away. He just didn’t want you getting away from him, it seemed.

“You scare me like that again, and I’ll put you in the ground myself. You got it, Marston?”

He just smiled, not paying attention to anything but your lips as he leaned in again. “Whatever you say.”

While you got to share one small, blissful moment with John now, you couldn’t imagine how things would unravel once you both got back to camp and faced Dutch with the man he claimed was dead.

Christ, it was fucking hot. The sun beat down on you as you carried hay into the horse's stall, setting it down with a grunt before taking off your glove and wiping the back of your hand over your sweaty forehead. You couldn’t wait for a nice, long bath.

Maybe a certain someone would consider taking one with you.

You quickly shook your head at the thought, slapping at your cheeks a few times as you felt them heat up.

“Should I be concerned as to why you’re hittin’ yourself?”

You gasped and spun around at the sudden voice, glaring at Arthur’s smug expression.

“Jesus, way to give someone a freaking heart attack,” you muttered, thwacking your glove against his chest as you passed him. He just shrugged with a small chuckle, following after you.

“You make it too easy, kid.”

You hummed, picking up another bail of hay and thrusting it towards him. He quickly grabbed onto it with a quiet grunt. “You gonna help out or stand around torturin’ me?”

“Hey, you wanna talk to someone about pulling their weight, go harass Uncle.”

“Oh, I have plans for him,” you said, hands placed on your hips as you gave Arthur a knowing smirk.

“Well, I can’t wait then.”

Your smile grew as you parted ways from him, walking across Beecher's Hope to find Uncle sitting on the porch in his usual shady spot. You couldn’t blame him for wanting to laze around. Work on the ranch was hard sometimes, and on blistering days like today, it could really take all the energy out of you. Except Uncle seemed to never have energy, considering you’d probably see a sasquatch before you ever saw him do any work.

“Hey, old man.” You kicked at his boot, causing him to abruptly stir awake, which he clearly didn’t appreciate.

“What- Aw hell, what do ya want now? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, really? Because I could’ve sworn it looked like you were doing nothing!”

“Alright, alright! Christ, you’re just as bad as those two imbeciles,” Uncle said, finally standing from his slumped position against the wood support beam with a dramatic groan.

“Hardly, considering I don’t threaten to gut you in your sleep nearly as much.” Walking towards the barn, you grabbed the pitchfork hanging up and handed it over. “You want some work in the shade? Shovel the horse stalls.”

His gaze frantically shifted from you to the pitchfork, and he shook his head. “Aw, Hell no! You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you’d rather subject yourself to the mercy Arthur and John are gonna show you?”

Uncle didn’t say anything for a minute, looking at the pitchfork in his hand before grumbling to himself and trudging off, and a satisfied smirk tugged at your lips. Taking off your other glove, you lightly slapped them against your thigh as you made your way towards the corral, kicking up loose dirt in your path.

You caught a glimpse of Jack leaning against a tree with a thick book in his hand and wanted to smile. You remembered when he was just a little boy all those years ago, kicking up a fuss whenever Hosea would sit down with him to read. Now, you couldn’t imagine Jack doing anything else with his free time, his face constantly stuffed in a book, barely paying attention to the world around him. He lifted his head when he felt you staring and gave you a small wave paired with a smile. You returned the gesture, letting him go back to his reading before walking away. Hosea would be proud.

Your thoughts strayed at the thought of the older man, a wave of sadness hitting you as your steps faltered. God, he would’ve loved to see this. His family living a good life, more honest than he ever lived his. You imagined how proud he’d be of everyone, especially Arthur. You could see it day by day, the urge he feels to go back to his old ways like a dog trained. You watched as he fought his thoughts, listened as he expressed his worry of overstaying his welcome.

“You’re family, Arthur. Hell, you’re the reason we’re all here in the first place. You can stay here as long as you’d like.”

The corral was soon in your sights, a slight pep in your step as your beloved horse came into view. Kieran stood beside him, a brush in his hand as he gently patted his neck. Despite mosts original feelings about Kieran, he had become a loved and valued member of your family. He had always tried so hard to fit in with the gang, constantly walking on eggshells or mostly keeping his mouth shut so he didn’t unintentionally piss anyone off. You felt for him. But since coming to Beachers Hope, he seemed more relaxed. Perfectly content as he worked with the horses. There was a light in his eyes you hadn’t seen before, and you wanted to make sure it never went out again.

“How’s he been doing?” you asked, sidling up to both of them.

Kieran smiled at your presence. “He’s been good! Those herbs I gave him yesterday really seem to be helping.”

Orion bumped his nose into your shoulder, and you gently brushed your hand against his forehead with a chuckle. “You’re a lifesaver, Kieran.” The man’s eyes slightly widened at your praise, and he quickly let out a flurry of rushed sentences as his face flushed. You smiled, silencing him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, thank you. You’re really helping us out around here.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood stock still as his eyes roamed your face. He eventually let out a small hum and looked away, resuming brushing the dirt off of Orion’s coat. You let out an amused huff through your nose before leaving Kieran to his own devices. He couldn’t handle the slightest praise if his life depended on it.

“I think you almost gave him a heart attack.”

Charles bumped you with his shoulder, and you let out a hum.

“You should see him when that kind of stuff comes out of Arthur’s mouth. It’s like he’s seen a ghost.”

Charles' deep laugh resonated through your ears and sparked warmth in your chest. You liked it when he was carefree like this. Not skulking around by himself or hiding where no one could find him.

“It’s new for him, too. He looked like a bumbling fool the first time he tried to say something nice to him.”

You snorted, leaning against the fence of the corral and placing your foot on top of the rail. You both watched the animals meander around for a bit, Charles excusing himself to go take care of something. You didn’t really catch the end of what he said when John came into view carrying a bale of hay. You could see the flexed muscles of his arms underneath his shirt, sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck and disappeared under the fabric, and he quickly found your eyes with his own before your thoughts could drift further. You cleared your throat like it would somehow get rid of all the thoughts you were having and climbed the fence, dirt kicking up when you landed on the other side. Setting down the bale, John straightened up and hooked his thumbs into his belt, his lips lifting in a knowing smirk.

“Don’t make me slap you, Marston.”

He laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well you were gonna,” you muttered, fingers slipping underneath the front of his belt and tugging him forward, his chest knocking into yours. He raised a curious eyebrow.

“You running a little hot, sweetheart?”

You scoffed, fist colliding with his shoulder as you pulled away. “Rancher John has gotten a little cocky, I see.”

“And Gunslinger Martson wasn’t?”

“Oh, absolutely not. Gunslinger Marston was a hopeless fool who couldn’t say ‘I love you’ until I was almost dying.”

“I love you.”

Your head spun towards him, brows raised in slight shock. He shrugged.

“You’re not dying now.”

Your lips twitched up in a smile, stepping towards him again and gripping the front of his shirt. “You’re still a hopeless fool.”

He hummed as you slotted your lips against his, hands finding their home on your waist and tugging you closer until your front was pressed up against his. It was too hot to be this close, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin and sweat beading down your forehead. But you couldn’t pay any mind to that when John’s lips and hands felt so nice against you.

“Oh for cryin’ out loud, would you two get a room?” a distant Uncle yelled, and you pulled away from John’s lips. You didn’t move too far though, hands still pressed against his chest.

“Aren’t you supposed to be shoveling horse shit?”

You felt John shake with laughter, and Uncle just mumbled insults to himself as he threw the pitchfork in the dirt and stomped away. “Damn kids. Got no respect for their elders…”

Your head collapsed against John’s chest as you fell into a fit of giggles, his arms looping around you and pulling you close. Fingers curling into his shirt, you looked up and caught his gaze. “You done for the day?”

He nodded, and you pulled back to grab his hand, leading him towards the house. You toed off your muddy boots by the door once inside and laughed when John nearly tripped over his pants. He flicked your arm and walked past you into the bathroom. The door closed behind you with a soft click, and you were already working on the buttons of your shirt as John prepared the bath.

“You wanna try out one of these fancy soaps you bought?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes at the way he said it.

“They are not ‘fancy,’ John.”

“Sure cost us a pretty penny.”

You shrugged your top off, throwing it on the chair in the corner. “Am I not allowed to smell good?”

He scoffed, standing up from the edge of the tub and pulling his shirt out of his pants. “No. I’m saying you smell good regardless of what you use.”

Tilting your head, you stepped into his space and helped him finish unbuttoning, placing small kisses against his chest as you pushed the fabric off his shoulders. Deft fingers slid down his abdomen before reaching his pants, and he let out a soft sigh when you unzipped them.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t gonna be any point to this bath if you keep going.”

Chuckling against his skin, you pulled away to let him finish undressing himself, shedding your own clothes. You dipped your foot into the water and sighed contentedly. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t unbearably hot either. Just that perfect middle ground that you could relax in after a long day. Sinking into the tub, you moved up a bit to let John sit behind you. You could practically feel the tension easing from his body when you leaned back against him, his arms lazily thrown around your middle and his nose buried in your hair.

You reminded yourself to thank Arthur for the thousandth time. Absolutely none of this would be possible if not for him. The fact that you were able to just sit and relax without waiting for some treacherous gang or the law to come barging down your door, that you could just simply live, it felt unreal. Jack, that lovely, sweet boy, finally had a bed to sleep in, and could read his books without worrying about moving to a new place again. It all felt like a blissful dream, and you were afraid of waking up any moment. But you would look at John sometimes and he would smile, really smile, and you’d be reminded that this was all real. His touch, his laughter, his love. It was real.

“You can keep buyin’ it, ya’know.”

“Hm?” you hummed, slightly turning your head back.

“The soaps. They smell… nice.”

Your face split into a wide grin as you twisted your body and pressed your lips to his, brushing his greasy hair back from his forehead.

“You’re a fool, John Marston.”

“Only for you, Darlin’. Only for you.”

#John marston x reader #John marston imagine #John marston oneshot #rdr2 imagine #red dead redemption 2 imagine #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #jim milton #john marston fanfic #rdr2 fanfic

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photo1030 · 1 year

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Leather and Lace - I’ll Be Home For Christmas

Summary: Its Christmas time and Arthur has been out in the cold, missing for several days

Warnings: A bit of swearing; but very tooth-decay sweet (sorry)

A/N: I was inspired by the other Christmas / seasonal stories and images that I’ve seen so I wanted to try it for myself. *I crunched this out pretty quick, compared to my usual schedule, to meet the “deadline” so this may not be my best work. (For those following my current storyline, this one is out-of-sequence due to it being Christmas time, but it does go with it)

*This AMAZING image is not mine. This comes from @randomscreenshotsworld

This image was a major influence on the storyline, so I thank you!!

It’s been a few days and the gang hasn’t heard from Arthur or John. With everyone tucked up in the mountains in the snow, Arthur and John went out for supplies. Local law has recently started collaborating with Pinkertons, and with enforcement creeping closer, Dutch feared getting cut off and surrounded. So before the Van der Linde gang could get trapped, Dutch pushed you all North. He figured with the coming winter, most people would head South, and hoped to find less densely populated areas for everyone to lay low and regroup.

The feeling in the air is low. Everyone is cold. Everyone is tired. Everyone is hungry. And, it is Christmas time.

Charles, Arthur and John had scouted ahead and found an abandoned house up in the foothills. Partially buried in the snow, it was large enough to house the group, along with some smaller cabins on the grounds. If you had to guess, it was a working farm at one time with the main house for the previous owner and the other buildings were the workers' quarters and/or various processing buildings. And by the looks of it, whoever lived here just up and left, maybe moved west.

The main house was solid, protecting all of you from the elements. Fires were lit in the fireplaces throughout the house, desperate to keep the cold at bay. After you had all arrived and Ms. Grimshaw had begun the process of setting up a secure camp, Arthur took John back out to scavenge for food, medicine, blankets, or anything to help stock up on needed supplies, while leaving Charles with the rest of you. His reasoning was that Charles is the best hunter of the group. Should something happen to either him or John, at least you all would have Charles to help provide. Plus, if Arthur himself isn't going to be in camp, he only feels safe leaving you with either John or Charles to look after you.

Your nerves are on edge with Arthur being gone so long. He is usually only gone a day or so in inclement weather, and its been two days already. The snow and winds are picking up fiercely and one cannot be out in these harsh elements for too long. Even someone as strong and capable as Arthur. But you try your best not to look too worried, for Abigail is in the same situation with John gone, too. And, she has little Jack to try to reassure as well. So in an effort to distract yourself, as well as the Marstons, you decide to try to make things more cheerful in your new location. It is Christmas time afterall. You, the girls, and Jack work to make Christmas decorations for the old house. Digging about within the house, you collect what few things you can find to work with, as well as your current supplies. You make colorful paper garlands and cut snowflakes and string them about the rooms. You bring in pine boughs and pine cones from outside to decorate the windows and fireplace mantles, placing candles about, glittering with their soft and inviting glow. Even Ms. Grimshaw is helping out. Her job is to take care of the camp, and she has made making the new homestead cozy and comfortable her top priority.

"Hey, I see something out there," says Javier, who is sitting on watch by the window. You and Abigail rush to the window as well, pressing against Javier's back to try to see what he sees. You all see a figure approaching, but only one. Its John. Javier and Charles rush out of the house and into the cold to help John stable his horse and carry what provisions he has with him. When he gets into the house, it is obvious that John is quite happy to have made it back. He's half frozen, but the good news is that he has a sack of food with him. "Thank God you're OK!" exclaims Abigail, elated for once to see the man. "Yeah, I'm alright. Freezin' as all hell, though. We got any coffee on?" John asks hopefully, looking over her shoulder to see if he can spot the coffeepot on the fire as he rubs his gloved hands together before blowing his warm breath into them in a futile effort to defrost his fingers.

"Where's Arthur?" you ask John, your voice laced with concern when you look around desperately and its apparent that John came in alone.

"We split up," says John, turning to face you in the small group that has gathered around him now. "We came down through the pass just as the weather picked up. Arthur thought we should cover more ground since we were losing time with the storm rolling in harder. So at the fork, I went right and Arthur went left," and he motions with his hands to reiterate. "I haven't seen him since we split, but I'm sure he’s fine," dismisses John with a wave of his hand, not paying attention to how your eyes shoot wide open in shock. The thought that Arthur was wandering out the cold by himself was almost too much to handle.

"What the hell is the matter with you two idiots?" asks Hosea, exasperated. "How are you supposed to be watchin' each other's backs if you're goin' two totally different directions?!"

"Don't get on his ass," huffs Dutch. "He came back with food, didn't he?" poses Dutch, pointing at John.

"Yeah, and without Arthur!" you interject, trying not to panic.

"Arthur is fine," Dutch says, trying to speak calmly, as he can see your nervousness starting to get the better of you. "He always is."

"I'm sure he's fine," you say, taking a deep breath and trying to remain calm, "but you don't know that for certain." You stare at Dutch, silently pleading for him to do something other than stand there. When Dutch simply stares back at you defiantly, you've made up your mind. "To hell with this, I'm going to look for him," you mutter, turning towards the door.

"No, you're not," Dutch warns as he walks after you.

"Like hell I'm not!" you snap over your shoulder.

"Like hell you are!" Dutch argues, his voice getting louder and moving to put himself between you and the main door. "'Cause the minute you leave here, five minutes later he'll be walkin' through that door!" he gestures with his thumb. "And if he sees you're gone, or you get your ass in trouble, or something happens to you, I'd never hear the end of it. I'll tie you to a God damned chair if I have to!"

You hesitate and lock eyes with the man before you. This plan doesn’t sit well with you at all, but with the weather, you know he's right. Your shoulders slump just a bit in resignation as you reluctantly give in to reason over your heart. "I can't just sit here and do nothing, Dutch", you say with a broken voice.

Sighing, "That's where you're wrong, (Y/N)," Dutch replies, his tone softer now and filled with sympathy for you. "'Cause that's exactly what you're going to do." He can be a cold man, but Dutch is fond of you and can appreciate the love between you and Arthur, as it reminds him of himself and his once beloved Annabelle.

"I'll go," offers Charles, stepping over to you and Dutch.

You turn your tear-glistening eyes to Charles, overcome with surprise and appreciation. "You will?" The robust man gives you a nod, placing his hand on your arm in consolation.

"What, so you can get lost, too?" pipes up Micah from the corner with a wave of his hand. "You're all crazy."

Dutch looks from Micah to Charles, raising his eyebrows with an expectant look. Micah has a point. Charles sighs, just ever-so-slightly. "I'll go out for an hour or so, see if I can find his tracks. If I pick up on him, I'll track him down. If I can't find a trace of him in a few hours, I'll head back. Fair?" he asks Dutch, to which the older man simply nods in agreement. He may be a rotten criminal, but to be honest, the idea of his adopted son lost in the frozen snow didn't sit to well with him, either. And he steps aside and let’s Charles out the door.

After a few hours, everyone hears the door rattle. Charles returns, but still no Arthur. When the burly man comes through the door, he instantly catches your eyes on him, but quickly averts his gaze in guilt. You slowly, quietly walk over to him with a blanket in your arms, ready to throw it around his broad, proud shoulders. "Sorry, (Y/N)," Charles says quietly. "I tried. I did. But I didn't see anything, not a sign." You say nothing, but simply nod in understanding. If anyone was going to find Arthur, it would be the best hunter/tracker in the gang. And even he couldn't do it. So unfortunately, all that you could do is sit and wait.

---------------------------------------

The next day is Christmas Eve. You've hardly slept all night as you see the first signs of the sunrise emerge on the horizon. You've been up sitting at the window, watching for Arthur and making sure a lantern was lit so that he could see a beacon through the snow, something to push forward to. You have an extra blanket at the ready, an endless pot of hot coffee and the fire stoked all night, waiting to welcome Arthur back into the warmth. Your mind raced all night with images of what kind of medical attention he would need and you wanted to be ready for it.

The snowstorm has stopped by the morning, yet you still sit at the window, staring out into the grey, hoping and waiting for some sign of your beloved. Morning carries into the afternoon, yet still no sign of Arthur. John and Charles both went out again for a few hours in vain to look, but to no avail, as the snow has begun to kick-up yet again as the afternoon falls.

Then suddenly, as your eyes continue to search through the frosted glass of the windowpane, you see that familiar shadow slowly lumbering through the snow. It is the unmistakable blue coat of Arthur's, lit by the lantern in his hand, and his huge, sturdy horse, Buck. Your eyes flutter to hold back your tears of relief. "Oh, thank God," you gasp in relief as you immediately jump up, throwing open the door. You dart out of the house, pulling your coat around you as you run. "Arthur!" you can't help but to holler to him across the yard. Arthur has finally returned and nothing else matters at this point in time. As soon as he recognizes you, a smile spreads across his tired and wind-chapped face. He’s frozen, that's for sure. Snow and ice is caked into his beard and his coat is plastered with white, but he is alive and in one piece. You run as fast as the powdered snow will allow and as soon as you're close enough to touch him, you throw yourself into his chest, hugging him tightly.

"What are you doin' out here in the cold," he chuckles into you hair as he deeply inhales your familiar scent like its his home, his arms folding you up against his chest. You can't even form the words to reply, as you are so overcome with relief. Hearing nothing but your sniffles in response to his question makes him pause and take in the state that you are in. 'Of course, she was worried', he thinks to himself. 'Damn fool, you keep forgettin' that.' “Hey, now, don’t be gettin' yourself all worked up over me. I’m alright," he insists, stroking your hair with his gloved fingers. "But if this is the kind of welcome I get, though, maybe I’ll stay out more often,” he teases.

Finally, you are able to get your mind together with Arthur's gruff voice ringing in your ears and pull back from him enough to look up at him. “You do and I’ll wrap my arms around your neck for a different reason than keeping you warm!," you half-heartedly threaten with a grin. You take a moment to take in his face, those features that you have been so desperate to lay your eyes on again. "Where have you been?!" you ask as you cup his face in your hands.

Arthur's chest rumbles with a faint chuckle, a gleam in his eye. "Oh, you can blame this big fella." He releases his grasp on you to turn to pat the hind-quarter of the 8-point buck draped across the rump of his horse. "John and I split up to cover more ground. I wasn't coming up with anything on my end, and then finally I saw this deer here. Had him in my sights, but couldn't bring him down. I tracked him, but he kept leading me further and further out." Arthur shakes his head as he recalls the last three days over again in his head. "I wasn’t about to let this meal get away from me, though," he grins at you. "A buck this size will feed all a'us for a few days. And I swear he knew I was comin’, too."

"Maybe he could smell you," jokes John as he and Charles have come out to greet Arthur and to help carry the carcass in. Arthur chuckles and nods at the joke at his expense. "Yeah, maybe."

"Glad to see you made back in one piece, brother." John claps him on the shoulder. "Yeah, same to you, John," replies Arthur warmly. For all their arguing and fussing, both men are happy to see the other safe and sound again.

"Come on," you say softly, tugging on Arthur's arm to pull him towards the house. "Let Charles handle the deer, and John can take care of Buck for you. Let's get you inside and by the fire. You probably can't even feel your feet by now." You smile up at him warmly and Arthur sinks into your care without resistance, as it is all he's been thinking of since he left, something to keep him pushing forward in the cold.

"Hell, I can't even feel my knees!" he jokes as he lets you lead him back to the house.

Charles brings the deer in under the overhang next to the house and quickly begins to skin and gut the animal. He cuts pieces of meat off the deer and brings them to Mr. Pearson who has already started to prepare food for Christmas Eve dinner. While Charles busies himself with the deer, you get Arthur into the house where its safe and warm. Upon entering, everyone greets Arthur, happy to see him return. After the initial round of "hello's", "what happened?", and hugs, Arthur takes a moment from all of the excitement to look around, noticing all of the decorations, and is pleasantly surprised by the cheerful atmosphere. "Wow, will you look at all this!" he says impressed. "Looks like you all been busy while I was out.".

"Just hush and get yourself over to that fire, would ya?" scolds Hosea, pointing at a stool by the fireplace with one hand, while pushing Arthur's shoulder with the other, ushering him in that direction.

As Arthur shuffles over to the hearth, your eyes begin to tear up as you watch him warm himself by the fire. You can't believe you are actually looking at him right now. You are scared to admit it, but you were having serious doubts if you would ever see him alive again. Noticing you sniffling and discreetly holding your hand over your mouth, he turns to you, his eyebrows knit together in concern. "Hey, now, what's this all about?" You just shake your head at him with a weak smile and wave him off, unable to speak. You are so overwhelmed by the relief to have him home again. He reaches out his strong arm to you as you walk over to him. "Come on, no, I told you I'm fine," he tries to reassure you again softly as he puts a hand on each of your arms, rubbing them slightly in an effort to offer you some comfort. All you can do is nod, looking down at his feet. He feels so bad for making you worry so. He lays a hand along your cheek, lifting your face up so he can see your glistening eyes. "Look, we can't have tears on Christmas, now. That just wouldn't be right." And Arthur gives you that smirk of his, that one that you can't help but love.

As the evening carries on, everyone is getting along and there is little complaining. The room is comfortably warm with the large fire going, thanks to the firewood that Javier and Bill gathered. Soon enough, tonight's Christmas feast is served. With warm feet, full bellies, and everyone accounted for, there is much to be happy for. Everyone spends the evening eating, singing, and playing card games and dominoes. Some are snuggling up to each other by the fire. Even Micah is being pleasant and joins in on the festivities. With dinner finished and cleared, you suddenly ask for everyone's attention and announce that you have Christmas gifts for all. You disappear to one of the back rooms and emerge with a sack that is bulging with its contents. With a huge smile, you begin to hand out all of the items that you have spent months preparing for tonight. Among the gifts are:

Socks for Bill, a scarf for Lenny, a new red neckerchief for Micah; you commissioned a knife to be made for Javier, made your own arrows for Charles (made after he showed you how to do it); a new teapot for Hosea, a book for Dutch, a gilded hand-mirror for Molly, a writing pen for Mary Beth, a broach for Ms Grimshaw, new combs for Tilly, and mittens for Uncle. A hand-knit a shawl for Abigail, a new leather saddlebag for John and, of course, wooden toys for Jack, who is just so excited that he begins to play with the pieces instantly. Plus a few other items for everyone else as well.

"I’ve been working on this since August! A little at a time, but I managed to do it," you say proudly as you stand next to a seated Arthur whose arm is wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him. "Do you know how hard it’s been to keep this all under wraps?"

"Is that why we’ve been lugging around that extra trunk with the lock on it?" Arthur asks, looking up at you, suddenly putting the pieces together in his mind. "Yep!" you quip with a huge smile. You look around the room, watching everyone enjoy their new gift, and you are so happy to be able to bring just a little joy to your fellow family members.

With everyone else taken care of, you finally turn towards your beloved. You give him a sly smile and an arched eye-brow as you reach down and take him by the hand, your smaller fingers lacing with his much larger ones. "Come with me," you say softly and you pull him up from the chair he's sitting in and head towards the door. Donning your coats, you take Arthur outside as the snow starts to fall again, but this time, its gentle and airy, not blowing and harsh like its been for the past few days. It’s dark out now, but the moon is full, casting a bright silvery light to dance upon the snow which shines and sparkles like billions of tiny diamonds. Its actually quite peaceful and beautiful, now.

"I haven’t forgotten about you," you say as you stop and turn to face him. "I’ve saved the best for last," a look of mischief upon your soft face. You reach down and take hold of his wrist, lifting it up to his chest level and open his hand to set a drawstring bag into his palm. Arthur gives you a quizzical look before he lets his fingers fumble with the soft fabric. He opens the little pouch and pulls out a silver disc.

“A pocket watch?” he asks with a smile as he flips it around in his hand to admire the fine filigree etching that adorns its smooth surface.

"Open it," you reply simply, tilting your chin towards his hand slightly. He clicks open the item, pushing down on the top button to pop open the little door and sees the arrow and unmistakable markers of the cardinal directions. "It’s a compass," he confirms with a nod, his grin widening even more. (The irony of him holding a compass after being lost in the cold for the past three days isn't lost on him.)

"I know you lost yours in that poker game awhile back," you say, thinking back to a few months ago. "I tried to think of the perfect gift for my tireless wanderer." You cast your gaze from the compass in his hand to his beautiful blue eyes that catch the moonlight just so. "You know," as you lay your hands on his wrists as he holds the item between both sets of his calloused fingers, "The thing about a compass is, it doesn’t tell you where you are. It tells you where you’re going. So no matter where you are, Arthur, I hope you will always find your way back to me."

Arthur takes in your words and looks from the compass to your face. His heart swells so much he thinks it will burst. "I…I don’t know what to say." He is quiet for a moment, overwhelmed by your gesture. "I love you so, so much, (Y/N)." There is a tight knot in his throat, swollen with emotion. He holds your face with his large hand, his warm palm heating your chilled cheek. "But…I didn’t get you anything," he says, suddenly realizing it and feeling guilty.

"Says who?" you smirk. You reach your hands up to pull the collar of his coat up closer to his red cheeks to keep him warm. "You made it home alive and in one piece today. And all I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is you." Your large doe-eyes look up at him with such devotion that despite his ever-lingering self-doubt, Arthur can't help but to know your statement to be true. "In fact, I had a little chat with Dutch and told him that we’ll be “indisposed” for the next 48 hours." Your hands leave Arthur's wrists and snake their way around his torso and link together behind his back. When you do so, he brings his own arms around your shoulders to pull you in even tighter together. "So if you really want to give me a Christmas gift, Arthur Morgan, you will come with me into that cabin over there (tilting your head over towards one of the side buildings on the property that already has a fire glowing in the windows) and just... be with me, and only me." Secretly you can’t wait to see his reaction to how you've decorated your little nest for the two of you.

"I think I can do that," he confirms, touching his forehead to yours before pulling back again just enough to meet your gaze. "But I still don’t see how you’re making out on that deal," he jokes.

You smile and lift up on your toes to kiss his lips ever to gently. "Then I guess you’ll just have to improvise and think of something.”

You stand there together in the snow looking at each other, drinking each other in with mutually adoring eyes. You observe the fat snowflakes catch on each other's eye lashes and cheekbones, neither saying anything for a bit and risk ruining this perfect moment of contentment.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur."

"Merry Christmas, (Y/N)."

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x reader fluff #arthur morgan christmas #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader christmas

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thedailybullshit · 1 year

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RDR2 Incorrect Quotes pt. 30

Hosea: So, can we talk?

Dutch: Sure, about what?

Hosea: One word, two letters. Starts with “U” and ends with “S”.

Dutch: You wanna talk about the United States?

Hosea: *walking out of his tent* Is something burning?

Dutch: *leaning seductively against the table* Only my desire for you.

Hosea: Dutch, the wagon is on fire.

John: I suffered from nosebleeds when I was little. Once I had one so bad I was covered in blood. So I went to go wake Arthur up.

John: He opened his eyes to see a blood-soaked child leaning over him in the dark saying, “Please help.” And to this day I can still hear him screaming.

Arthur: Remember when you dared me to push you into the lake to see if you’d actually drown?

John: No. I said, “Don’t push me into the lake,” and you said, “Don’t tell me what to do, John.”

John: And then you pushed me into the lake.

Arthur:

Arthur: Did you have to stab him?

Sadie: You weren’t there. You didn’t hear what he said to me.

Arthur: What did he say?

Sadie: “What are you going to do? Stab me?”

Javier: That’s fair.

Arthur:

Lenny Joining the Gang:

Lenny: Hey, so a little bit of change of plans. I’m actually not going to college anymore, I’m going to Hell. I’m not that excited.

When He Won’t Be a Dad:

John: And without looking up at me, Hosea just said, “You have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair.”

Micah, walking up to the Marstons: Hey, how y’a-

Cain: *growls*

Micah: AHHHHH!! GET YOUR FUCKIN’ DOG, BI-

Jack: It don’t bite.

Micah: YES IT DO-

Sadie: Arthur is drawing stick figures holding hands.

Arthur: I call it, “Super-Pal Trio!”

Arthur: *gesturing to the drawing in his journal* This is me, this is Sadie, and I think it’s clear - come on, I mean I’m a bit of an artist.

Charles:

Sheriff: This is none other than Van der Linde’s right-hand man.

Deputy: *gasps* Arthur Morgan? He is a lot scrawnier than I imagined.

Growing teenaged Arthur: *scowling*

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vittoriaisfuckingpathetic · 10 days

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save me from the nothing i've become ch 2

rated M | read it on ao3 | 3.9k words | prev chapter | next chapter

Reeling from the shocking information he received, John tries to go about his day as normal as he can. Plagued by his thoughts and grappling with his own feelings on the matter, he tries to get some space to think.

John felt like he was trying to inhale a lungful of water. He forced himself to exhale, the action coming out shakily.

“Marston,” John carefully repeated, voice eerily calm. “Like me?” he breathed. He stared at Jack as if the boy had three heads. In return, Jack simply stared back.

Jack Marston.

Marston.

Abigail’s son.

Her son, Jack Marston.

His son, Jack Marston.

Their son, Jack Marston.

“Maybe we should talk somewhere private.” Abigail replied evenly, trying to keep the situation under control. “We’re livin’ at the women’s home. It’s that big house up the road from the church. I… um, I was on my way to work, but we can talk after. I’m off at five o’clock, and then I’ll explain everything, I promise.” She assured him.

John swallowed hard. “I…” Really, what could he even say? He could hardly look her in the eye, let alone form full sentences. All of his thoughts seemed to form excruciatingly slow, too busy trying to process the bombshell she’d dropped on him. “Alright,” he replied weakly after a few more moments.

Abigail did not say anything else to him, but she did give him a hopeful kind of half smile. Then, she ushered the boy along. John stared at the two once their backs were turned, the gears in his head sluggishly moving along.

She had to be fucking with him. This had to be some sick joke, that’s all it was… wasn’t it?

But he knew Abigail, and he knew she wouldn’t lie to him. Not like that, not over something so major. She’d have nothing to gain from it.

Maybe she expected him to be angry. Maybe he was angry. He didn’t know. After all, how was someone supposed to feel upon discovering they had fathered a child and didn’t know for five years?

Five fucking years. And if the gang hadn’t fallen apart, he may have never known.

Yeah, maybe he was a little angry.

Angry at what, though? Himself, for not piecing together that something was wrong and running away with her all of those years ago? Angry at Abigail for not telling him? Angry at Dutch and the rest of the gang for stealing away a part of his life? Maybe a combination of the three?

When just about the sixth person had practically shoved into him, John forced himself to start walking. He moved aimlessly, ignoring all of the sights and sounds of the town. His boots kicked up sand and dust as he walked — or rather, trudged.

A son. It wasn’t the most unlikely thing that could have happened. He remembered what it was like. The two of them would be giddy after a robbery, or eager to sneak away from camp, stealing quick moments and being less-than-careful. That was when nothing in life felt truly pressing — they were young(er) and irresponsible, and neither of them was thinking of any kind of consequence.

He found himself back in front of his horse.

John sighed. “Hey there, Missy,” he greeted her softly, deciding then and there that Missy was a fine name for the horse. He’d grown quite fond for her for the short time he’d had her. Perhaps it was a bit odd, she was the closest thing to a listening ear he had.

Missy nosed at his palm in search of treats.

He chuckled lightly despite himself. “I know, I know. I’ll remember your peppermints next time, promise.” He was quiet for a moment, petting her mane thoughtlessly.

Maybe a ride would clear his head. When he was younger he used to peel out of camp, Grimshaw yelling after him, going as fast as his horse could comfortably go. He’d embrace nothing but the air flowing through his locks and impulsivity in his heart. He usually didn’t go far, especially when he was a teenager (being secretly frightened that everyone would leave camp and he’d get left behind), but it was just a way to get away from it all. After spending his developmental years in the slums of Chicago, he had become fond of the open wilderness.

Of course, he was older now, and a little significantly more jaded.

“Why don’t we go for a ride, huh? You wanna explore?” John said, earning himself a strange look from a passing stranger.

Naturally, Missy didn’t reply.

The vast sea of sand and cacti surrounding him certainly calmed his mind. It was a monotonous view, but it lacked the stressors of town.

Not to mention, it felt a little less unbearably hot with the constant movement.

It was on the open road that he could finally sort out his thoughts. He’d been wandering aimlessly for a while. It was lonely, quiet.

He hadn’t checked his pocket watch, but if he had to guess, it had probably been a little over an hour.

He clicked his tongue, slowing Missy’s pace to a walk. “Take a break, girl,” He said, not wanting to push her too hard. He slid off and hitched her to one of the only trees nearby— a joshua tree.

Sitting underneath the limited shade of a joshua tree, John tried to think of what Arthur would tell him to do.

“Don’t understand what her problem is,” a 20-year-old John muttered. The song and dance had gotten old at this point. Him and Abigail would fight over something stupid and immature, and John would go and sulk in Arthur’s tent for a while.

“You can’t just hide in my tent for the rest ‘a your life, Johnny. So you best figure out what the problem is,” Arthur replied disinterestedly, clearly more interested in scribbling something in his journal than listening to John whine.

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” he retorted, getting needlessly testy with Arthur. “She’s impossible to figure out.”

Arthur sighed and hefted himself off of his cot. He placed his hands on John’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Listen to me. You need to step up, be a man, and go to your woman. Talk things out with her. And for Christsakes, take some responsibility for once.”

“Hey!”

John glanced up to where a grizzled-looking man stood just a few feet away, hands on his hips in an effort to look intimidating.

John sized up the man in front of him. He was visibly disheveled, with a long, dirty beard, shirt half-tucked, and caked in mud below his knees. “You need somethin’, partner?” he asked indifferently.

“Yer trespassin’ in this here land. There’s a hefty fee for that, cowboy.”

“That so?”

The man smirked, pistol now in hand. “‘Fraid so.”

It would take more than some hillbilly with a dirty gun to scare him into handing over his money.

With lightning quick speed, he drew his revolver, aiming at the man squarely in the chest. “I don’t think you wanna do this,” John warned.

The idiot aimed his own gun.

With precise speed, John pulled the revolver’s hammer. Time seemed to slow.

Inhale….

Finger on the trigger.

One…

Two…

Three.

Pull the trigger.

…Exhale.

The bullet hit him squarely in the chest. The man crumbled to a heap on the ground, sputtering.

John sighed. He supposed he ought to be getting back to town anyway.

A few hours later, John waited anxiously on the doorstep of the women’s home, hat in hands. It was a large house, likely once an old manor, with a weathered wood exterior.

The door creaked open, an older woman with graying hair appearing behind the door. “Can I help you?”

He smoothed his hair back nervously. “I’m, uh, I’m here to see Abigail.”

She looked him up-and-down suspiciously. “Hold on a second,” she stated curtly, then closed the door in his face.

After what felt like several minutes, she came back, still with a slight scowl on her face. “Follow me,” she said, not waiting for him to follow.

He walked into the house. It was well kept, but he cared little about the finer details, his mind focused on Abigail. She led him up a spiral staircase and down a dimly lit hallway with red carpeting. She stopped in front of the final door, gesturing to the door, then turned on her heel.

John inhaled deeply and poised himself to knock.

But Abigail beat him to the punch and opened the door.

“Hi, John,” she greeted, tucking a flyaway hair behind her ear timidly. ‘I’m glad you came,” she sidestepped to let him in.

The space was small, but it was cozy. A double bed was in the corner of the room, pressed against the wall. There was a green-painted nightstand with an oil lamp atop of that. In the middle of the room lay a decently sized plush rug — some sort of animal skin, in a shade of dark brown. In the center of the left wall sat a small fireplace, which currently wasn’t burning. An empty bookshelf was to the right of that, housing trinkets, blankets, and a few of her son’s toys. On the opposite side of the room there was a small table with two chairs pulled up to it. The room was kept neat, just like how Abigail always liked her space to be.

The sun had started to set, casting the room in golden hour’s glow.

“Evenin’, Abigail,” He greeted. Internally, he winced. There was a considerable level of awkwardness between them. “Where’s the kid?”

“He’s in the next room over, there’s a woman here with a daughter about his age. She usually watches Jack while I’m at work,” She explained, shifting her weight. “I, well— I made tea.” She said, gesturing to the table, where two teacups sat, steam curling upwards into the air. “Why don’t we sit down?”

She made tea now? He distinctly remembered her being preferential to coffee.

He sat down at the table, and she sat opposite to him.

God, the last time they’d been sitting face to face like this, it was the night she’d left camp.

They were so different now.

“Did you know?” He asked. It was perhaps the question at the forefront of his mind. He had to know. “When you left, that is? Did you know?” he clarified.

She was quiet for a moment, staring down at her teacup as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “Yes, John. I did.”

She knew. Had he done something to make her not trust him? Why didn’t she feel the need to tell him something so monumental, so life-changing?

“And, what?” He huffed out an indignant laugh. “You just conveniently forgot to tell me?”

She crossed her arms. “Will you stop? It ain’t like that.”

“Yeah? Then how is it? Because from where I’m standin’, it don’t make you look like a saint.” He bit back. It probably was harsher than he intended, but he couldn’t help feeling resentful.

“It weren’t right, I admit it.” Abigail said, sounding just a touch bitter. “But I was scared , John. And I knew you wouldn’t leave the gang. I also knew you had no interest in bein’ a father. So… I thought it was the best thing to do — I know it was wrong. But when I tried to find you, the gang was already gone.”

John was quiet as he digested this. She had looked for him, but it was too late. He knew that part wasn’t her fault.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself level-headed.

“...For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. But like I said, I was doin’ what I thought was best for me.”

He still couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. “You sure he’s mine?” he asked calmly, gaze directed at the wall.

She raised an eyebrow. “You really think I’d’ve bothered with all of this if he weren’t?”

John said nothing in reply, knowing she had a good point. It wasn’t the brightest question to ask, but he had blurted it out anyway out of a sense of morbid curiosity. Almost as if her confirming it would make it more real.

And make it real, it did.

There was a pregnant pause. The only thing that could be heard was the faraway noise of the cicadas outside.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re plannin’ on doin’. I know you’re on the run. But… if you want to see the boy…” she trailed off, seeming to struggle with how to finish her sentence. “We’ll be here.”

A part of him wanted nothing more. He’d spent these last five years dreaming of her, dreaming of what could have been. This could be a fresh start, a chance at normalcy. She was once again extending the olive branch. She was open to having him — a wanted criminal, back into her life, even though she had once left him for, well, being a criminal.

That was an oversimplification of things. It wasn’t just that John was a criminal, it was that she was surrounded by degenerates and wanted safety for Jack. She didn’t want her baby to be raised in a gang, and a part of him couldn’t blame her, either. Would he have wanted any child of his to be raised in the gang? They may have been his family, but that was a dangerous life. One a baby had no business being involved in. Hell, he considered himself decently scarred by growing up in a gang, and he only fell into that life when he was twelve.

He supposed he didn’t blame her. The life she was pursuing seemed fairly decent in comparison to the shitstorm he’d been in as of late.

And she was offering him a place by her side. At least, he was pretty sure that’s what she was offering.

But he had those little nagging fears, the same things that had stopped him from pursuing a life with her before. The concept of fatherhood was fucking terrifying. Even worse, he was being actively hunted by the law now. He had one of the highest bounties in the entire country, second only to Dutch.

He rose from the table, a dull headache already beginning to manifest at his temple. “I need to sleep on it,” he said tiredly. He had much more to say, but his mind was so clouded.

“I understand,” Abigail replied. She followed him to the door. “Goodnight, John.”

There was a pause between them, neither of them quite knowing how to end the interaction. She was closer to him than she’d been since that night all of those years ago. Close enough to touch. To hug. To kiss.

None of those things happened. He was torn between leaving so he could dissect his thoughts in peace and staying so he could try to understand more. He desperately wanted to understand the situation. He wanted her , wanted things back to normal, he never wanted to tear his eyes from her ever again and yet he needed some space from it all.

“You too,” he finally muttered back. He was forcing himself to walk down the hallway and not look back.

He knew if he looked back, he’d never leave.

John Marston — a father. He had a son. What a frightening thought.

John had no fond memories of his father. He was an angry, bitter, disturbed man. Sharp-tongued (when sober) with a sharper backhand. The man did the bare minimum to keep John alive, and even that seemed to be a small miracle. Some of his earliest memories were of pickpocketing and scrounging for food — in general, his early years were spent struggling to survive. In no small part, thanks to his father.

Eight-year-old John waited in a dark corner of the saloon as his father gambled what little money they had saved up.

It wasn’t like that money was going to be used for anything better. It was always used on either gambling or whoring, with the occasional bit used on food. Generally, Pa let John scrounge for his own food, saying, “There’s food everywhere, boy, you just ain’t know how to find it.”

As a result, hunger was no stranger to John. He could be crafty when necessary, sure, but finding food wasn’t always the easiest task.

Still, Pa made sure he had just enough so he didn’t keel over, and rarely ever did he allow any sort of luxury. On his birthdays — when Pa was sober enough to remember, that was — he’d get a peppermint candy tossed at him, and to John, it was special. It absolutely the bare minimum, but it was some sort of acknowledgment at the very least.

He savored those moments. It was one of few times Pa would pay any positive attention to him.

Today wasn't one of those days. John was lucky the saloon owner had taken pity on him and let him stay inside. Though maybe the sight of John shivering in the winter storm had convinced the man.

He knew that people weren’t always heartless. There was usually some sucker out there that would take pity on him enough. Enough for him to keep surviving to the next day.

Unsurprisingly, Pa’s blackjack game didn’t go very well. The cursing and yelling surprised the boy very little. He only became concerned when gunshots began to echo throughout the room. Familiar with this song and dance, John kept low to the ground, and crawled past the chaos and behind the bar. It was unlikely a bit less likely that he would catch a stray bullet there. He curled up in himself, knees pressed to his chest, as he waited for the violence to end. Pa always collected him after it was all said and done.

Only, Pa didn’t collect him this time.

That had been the last time John had seen his father alive. He had seen the aftermath: when he made his way to the gallows and saw his father’s corpse hanging from the noose, neck broken.

The apathetic crowd had already begun to dissolve, their bloodlust satiated for the time being. The sheriff had shoved his father’s meager belongings into John’s hands and left, leaving the child alone to stare at the corpse.

It was bitterly ironic, John thought. Jack could likely be in the same position as John was once. Saddled with nothing but a deadbeat criminal for a father. One who was bound to be tried and murdered just as his father before him.

There was also the entire matter with Dutch, who could be arguably viewed as his non biological father – but the damage Dutch had done to him was an entirely different beast.

Then there was Hosea who was the closest thing John had to an emotionally stable parent, but that would require him to unpack all of the painful emotions he’d shoved away when the elder man had died.

Of course, John could change the tide. He could simply vanish. He’d thought about it many times over the course of the day, of simply leaving. The kid could grow up without knowing his pathetic excuse of a father. Abigail would raise him well. She was a good person.

John was not.

But still, he desired to at least meet the boy. He felt like he owed it to both Jack and himself, in a way. One positive interaction was all it took to be better than his own father.

He’d meet Jack. Talk things out with Abigail, too. Then… well, he’d figure out to go from there.

Resigning himself to the idea, he let his eyes shut. He was weary from the day’s events; as anyone would rightfully be. It wasn’t everyday you learned that you had an illegitimate child.

Eventually, he finally drifted into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, John woke with a splitting headache and a crick in his neck. He hadn’t even bothered undressing the night before, mind elsewhere.

He stumbled out of bed and walked to the mirror, taking in his disheveled appearance. His hair was mussed, pieces of it sticking up at unnatural angles, and there were dark circles underneath his eyes. His clothes were rumpled, too — in general, he looked like he’d seen better days. He set out to make himself look a little less like a ruffian, if for no other reason then so Abigail wouldn’t think he was a complete slob.

Abigail. What a strange thought, that she was in his life again.

He supposed he’d go and see her and the boy after she was finished with work. Besides, it gave him a bit more time to process his feelings. Or even figure out what to say to the kid, at least.

He fixed his hair, combing through the greasy locks with his fingers (part of him bitterly wondered why he even bothered with washing his hair, when it got oily the next day) until it didn’t look like a rat’s nest anymore. He took off his ridiculously wrinkly vest, tossing it uncaringly on the floor. He smoothed out his shirt, and gave himself a once-over in the mirror.

Well, it was a slight improvement. He didn’t look like scum stuck to someone’s boot anymore.

Finally, he placed Arthur’s his hat on his head, as he did every day, and made his way downstairs.

Aside from a couple of sad drunks and a bartender, it was virtually empty in the saloon. He walked over to the bar, placing a coin on the counter.

Was drinking the best way to greet the morning? No. Did he care? Also, no.

“Startin’ the day off with liquor, partner?” The bartender chuckled, in the middle of toweling off a glass. “Must be havin’ a rough time,”

That was the understatement of the century. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ignoring the man’s comments completely, he instead asked, “You know where a feller can get work ‘round here?”

The bartender hummed thoughtfully as he rummaged around for whiskey. “Well,” He paused to pour the drink. “The sheriff’s lookin’ to replace a deputy. Last one got shot for foolin’ ‘round with another man’s wife. Weren’t nothin’ pretty. Think he’s lookin’ for a couple new deputies, if I recall,” He added, then slid the shot over to John.

John grimaced, the action pulling at the scars on his cheek. “Pass. Anything else?” He was reminded of Dutch’s plot back in Rhodes, posing as deputies in a hare-brained scheme that ultimately blew up in their faces.

That, and personally, he wasn’t too fond of law-enforcement types.

“There’s a ranch ‘bout ten miles north that could surely use some help. Almost all of the farmhands are indisposed, on account of part of the property catchin’ fire,”

John snorted. Him? A rancher? The idea was laughable. “Eh, don’t think that’s quite for me,”

“I’m sure you could ask in town, partner. Folks round here is always lookin’ for someone to hire. People ain’t comin from farther away no more, so there’s some jobs open.”

John tilted his head, interest mildly piqued. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Gang’s been terrorizin’ the area. They don’t come into town, thank the Lord, but folk are just scared to leave town, now. Ain’t too safe to go into the desert. Surprised you didn’t get robbed on your way here.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You must be real lucky, Mister.”

John didn’t say anything at first, not feeling a need to divulge that someone had attempted to rob him yesterday. He didn’t need to draw any undue attention himself.

Instead, he finally brought the shotglass to his lips. “Hm. My brother used to always tell me I’m lucky.”

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