#zippo? knives? wallet? check

[verai-marcel]

The Light That You Shine (RDR2 Fanfic, John Marston x F!Reader, Chapter 1 of 6, 18+)

Summary: John Marston was proud to be part of the VDL Riders, a biker gang led by Dutch van der Linde, and had been with them since he had run from home at the age of 15. He and his makeshift family lived by three principles: live free, help those who need it, and punish those who deserve it. For five years, his gang was all he cared about and nothing else mattered. But then John meets you, and his priorities start to change.

Author’s Notes: Go check out @veradia’s biker AU RDR2 art for what inspired me to write this. This is a prequel to Before This Dance Is Through, so everyone is 6 years younger; John is about 20 in this story and so are you, my dear reader. 

Tags: prequel fic, eventual smut, romance, drama, violence, cheesy 80s vibe even though it's 2012, modern AU, switching POVs

AO3 Link is here, sweetheart.

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Chapter 1 - Start at the End

Word count:  2032

“Dammit Morgan, you could’ve warned me!”

Arthur grinned as he slapped John’s back. “Well, that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?”

The others laughed while John rubbed the back of his head, leaning down to pick up the can of beer. It looked too shaken up to open at this point, so he set it on the table and glared at his brothers. Stalking past them towards the mini-fridge, he pulled out another beer, popped it open and took a long gulp. Dressed in his favorite black leather jacket over a plain white shirt, ripped black jeans, a chain on his belt to keep his wallet from being stolen, and scuffed biker boots, John looked like he bought all of his clothes in the late 80s and never changed.

“So, what’re we doing tonight?” Javier asked, leaning against the mezzanine railing. He had his medium length hair tied up, strands of it falling from the hair tie to frame his angled face. His leather vest and his blue jeans were impeccably clean, and not a single misplaced thread was on his V-neck shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He carried his favorite combat knife in a holster on his hip, hidden under the vest, and he wore black fingerless leather gloves.

Lenny sat on the couch, his freshly polished black boots propped up on the coffee table. He looked like he didn’t quite belong in a motorcycle club, in his black pants and black T-shirt. His white cowboy hat was clean, his white blazer crisp. He had his own knife holster, concealed under his jacket. 

Sean was standing behind the couch, leaning against the back of it. He wore a green headband around his shoulder length hair, fancying himself an Irish Rambo, choosing to wear a blue athletic cut T-shirt and olive green khakis. He wore his brown Timberland boots, the same ones he had since he joined the gang. They looked dirty and scuffed to hell, but they still did their job, so he had no reason to buy new ones. His green & red striped flannel was tied around his waist, hiding a knife holster.

Charles was sitting back in one of the arm chairs catty-corner to the couch. He had his long hair braided tight, the sides of his head shaved. His dark blue peacoat was open to show his black turtleneck and blue jeans. Both of his black biker boots had knife holsters with a few throwing knives.

They all looked towards Arthur, who shrugged as he looked at all of them. He had his worn cowboy hat on with his old bomber jacket over a grey shirt, faded blue jeans, and cowboy boots. He pulled a cigarette out and lit it with his silver zippo lighter, breathing in and letting out a puff of smoke before he responded. 

“Dutch wants us to go run security at some rich feller’s house party.”

“And how are we supposed to manage t’at? I don’t have any fine clothin’ for the occasion,” Sean groused.

“No amount of clothing can save you,” Javier joked.

Sean glared as the others laughed.

“Dutch said we just wear black polos and black jeans so we look like a security company,” Arthur said once the laughter died down.

“So. Is there an alternative motive for this job?” Charles asked.

“Of course there is,” Lenny said confidently. “There’s no way Dutch would deal with those kind of folks without a reason.”

Arthur nodded. “Word is that the rich feller has quite the car collection. We sneak in after the party while everyone’s wasted and drive a few of them outta there. Swap out the plates, get a paint job over at Hosea’s, done deal.”

“And if they have alarms or kill switches?” John asked.

“You know how to hot wire,” Arthur sniped. “You, Javier, and Lenny can deal with it.” He walked past all of them and headed down the stairs. "Meet you all back here by 6pm."

John shrugged. As they split up to prepare for the job, he looked around the small warehouse they called their biker club. Walking down the stairs, he went past their bike shop area underneath the mezzanine and paused for a moment. They had slowly built this place up from scratch, bringing in old furniture for their hang out space and tools to take care of their bikes.

And on the other side of the warehouse were two offices that had been converted into bedrooms. While the others had their own places to live, John and Arthur lived at the club, having both been orphans and taken in by Dutch. Their rooms weren’t anything fancy, just a little bit of room to sleep and store their worldly possessions. John headed to his room to take a nap.

Instead, he lay on his old mattress, staring at the ceiling. He had been with the gang for five years, since he ran away from his foster home. His mother had died six years ago from a drug overdose. When she was lucid, which wasn’t very often, she was kind, even as her eyes bled sadness at the edges; those were the memories he held onto the tightest. He didn’t even know who his father was, or if he was even still alive, but he knew that if he ever met him in person, he'd knock his lights out for leaving his mother such a wreck. 

After he had been sent to foster care, his foster parents didn’t try to understand him, they only tried to mold him into what they thought a proper young man should be. So he ran away. When Dutch found him, scrounging for food in a trash can behind the warehouse, he took him in. Gave him shelter.

Then there was Arthur. He was like a big brother, taught him how to fend for himself, taught him what it meant to give more than you received, even if it came with insults and punches to the face at times.

As more outcasts joined the gang, they also became his family, his brothers. Javier, Sean, Lenny, and Charles, one by one, they all joined and quickly became an intrinsic part of his life. He’d never want for more than this.

But lately, Dutch seemed off. For the past year, John had noticed him taking bigger risks, sending them on more violent jobs, and slowly stepping away from the hands-on work, leaving it to “the younger, faster men,” as he called them. There was a tinge of blind desperation in how Dutch led them now, almost as if he wanted to push them towards something greater, but wasn’t sure what that something was.

Rolling over, he stared at the wall covered in Led Zeppelin, Eagles, and other classic rock posters. He looked at the one Metallica poster he had and smiled wryly as he remembered Arthur throwing it at him, snarling “happy fucking birthday”, and slamming his door. He later found out that Arthur had snuck into the concert, stolen a poster, and ran half a mile to get away. And all because John had whined about not being able to go that night because he was sick.

He sighed and got up. He wasn’t going to get any sleep now. Leaving his room, he tinkered with his Honda Shadow Aero, his pride and joy, until it was time to go.

***

“We certainly look dangerous,” Charles said with a hint of humor in his voice as he calmly got out of the gang’s Sprinter van. 

“That’s because we are,” Javier said matter-of-factly as he hopped out next. 

Everyone bounded out of the van, with John the last out. He pulled the sliding door shut and followed the others into the house, hanging back as he listened to Arthur talk with the party host about the job. He trailed behind them as they were led around the house and made mental notes about where the party goers were allowed to go and where they were forbidden.

Once they were left to their own devices, Arthur turned around. “Alright men, let’s get to work.”

***

The party was wild, the party-goers were disgusting, and at the end, half of them were drunk, and the other half were passed out. 

It was almost far too easy to sneak into the garage, pick a couple cars that were not too flashy, and drive them off the premises. 

As they took off down some quiet back roads to lose any would-be followers, John sat and stared out the window into the pitch black night as Arthur drove with the window rolled down, his arm hanging out the window. Lenny and Sean had taken a car while Charles and Javier had left the party earlier, driving the van to Hosea’s shop.

“Hey.”

“What.”

John scratched his beard. “Do ya think—”

“I think more than you,” Arthur interrupted.

“Dammit Arthur, I’m tryin’ to be serious here!”

“Calm your balls,” Arthur said gruffly. “Yer so easy to rile up, I can’t help it.”

John let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you think Dutch is… do you think he’s tired of this? Of the club?”

Arthur was silent for a few moments. “Why do you say that?”

“He hasn’t been around much lately. He tells us to go do these jobs that are more and more dangerous. We haven’t done a charity drive or anythin’ nice for the community in the past two years.”

“Yeah, I noticed too. I don’t know, I’m sure somethin’ will come around. Maybe he’s been busy just tryin’ to get us steady work.”

“We used to just get jobs that were just jobs. Now we always have some double crossin’ or thievin’ or some shit that could get us in serious trouble!”

Arthur was silent for a little too long.

“Arthur?”

His sigh was long and tired. “I know. I know.”

The rest of the drive was silent as they drove the two hours back to the city.

***

After they had dropped the cars off at Hosea’s car shop, Charles drove them all back to the club in the van. It was 4AM by the time they all got back, and collectively they decided to call it a night and get back together the next night. As the others took their bikes and headed to their own homes, Arthur glanced over at John, who was still silent, still thinking.

“Yer goin’ to think yerself into the ground there,” Arthur commented.

John shrugged. “I can’t ignore it anymore.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. Let’s talk to Dutch tomorrow.”

As Arthur headed back to his room, John stepped outside and leaned against the brick wall. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it with his disposable lighter, and slowly took a drag as he stared up at the twilight sky, the stars barely visible in the city. He had an itch to be out in the open again, to sleep under the river of stars like he did in the desert. Or even to be out of a city, just for a while.

John finished his cigarette and slunk back into the warehouse, crawling into bed and staring at the ceiling until the sun came up before finally passing out when even his churning thoughts could no longer keep him awake.

***

“I swear, if we have to hear one more lecture about not having enough faith…”

Arthur just shook his head as he followed John out of the convenience store, quietly drinking his soda. 

“We just asked one damn thing, and he blows up at us like we’re questioning his entire existence!”

“You know how he is,” Arthur mumbled.

“I know how he was. How he is now… he ain’t the same.”

John’s statement was met with silence.

“You know I’m right,” John insisted.

Arthur let out a long sigh. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know!” John looked away. "All I know is that things ain't the same anymore," he mumbled as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and went silent as they walked back to the warehouse.

"Well," Arthur said after a while, "It weren't us that changed, that's for sure."

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Chapter 2 coming soon!

#john x reader #john marston #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #writing #biker au #lemon fanfic #eventual smut #nsft #modern au