jackrabbithoppalong - Tumblr blog

jackrabbithoppalong · 2 months ago

Note

Could we please get a jack NSFW alphabet?

Jack Marston NSFW alphabet

I wrote this last night pretty much right after receiving the request, but I was tipsy. So right now I'm trying to make sense out of what I wrote lmao :'D

Tags: explicit sexual content, no pronouns for reader, mentions of sex work, role-playing

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Jack cares so much for you, like he wouldn't sleep with just anyone. So when you do have sex, he's doing so much to make you feel good and comfortable afterwards. He's almost immediately out of bed to get some water and a bite to eat. Once that's out of the way and he feels like all your needs are met, he's staying for some snuggles, because he needs that love too. Just give him a moment to catch his breath.

B = Body part (favorite of their's and their partner's)

His favorite body part on himself is his hair. Although it's quite disheveled most of the time, he's still pretty fond of it and it feels so nice to have your fingers run through them.

His favorite body part on you is your back. Jack isn't a big PDA guy, but his hands are always on your back in one way or another. When he's in the mood, then it's more hovering right above your ass, but normally it's closer to your shoulder blades.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

He cums so hard, he almost gets embarrassed by it. His dick twitches a lot and it practically shoots out. One time it almost hit his own face even.

D = Dirty secret (dirty secret of theirs)

There was that one time where he was incredibly close to seeking out a sex worker and it was pretty much right after killing Ross.

E = Experience (how much experience do they have?)

Depending on how late you meet him after he loses his parents, he has either absolutely zero or little experience. That man has way too much going on to focus on his love life, let alone his sex life! After all, even when playing as low honor he doesn't get any, because all the sex workers turn him down.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Jack definitely prefers it when you're in control, for example when you're riding him. It doesn't matter if you're facing him or doing it reversed, it's one hell of a sight either way. Though when he's more in the mood to be in charge, then he totally loves doing it doggy style. That way he gets a nice and proper view of your back and how wonderfully it arches.

G = Goofy (how serious are they during it?)

It's safe to say that he's super serious with anything he does in his life and sex is no exception. Sharing moments like these with you means a lot to him, because he's allowing himself to be incredibly vulnerable infront of someone else.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they?)

He definitely has some body hair going on in general, like some chest hair and a little bit around the stomach and such. So he's totally got a pretty bush down there. Can you tell that I love those lmao?

I = Intimacy (how are they during it? Romantic aspect)

Oh, he's so romantic, but not in an over exaggerated way if you get what I mean? It's more in a way that he's not breaking eye contact and doesn't let go of your hand. His fingers are intertwined with yours almost at all times. On some nights he even feels confident enough to whisper compliments into the night, accompanied by a few moaned 'thank you's.

J = Jerk off (masturbation headcanon)

Holy shit, his sex drive is through the rough, I'm telling you! I can see him jerk off every other day, but only if he's close to the ranch so he can retreat into his own bedroom. A hotel room is totally fine too.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's so into role-playing! Especially when you pretend to be a bounty and he's hunting you down, but he's definitely a bit hesitant to suggest that. Other then that, he'd also be down to pretending that he's some stranger giving you a ride home or something.

L = Location (where they like to do it)

Out of all the places, he for sure prefers a proper room like his own bedroom or a hotel, but around the ranch it's almost pretty much anywhere. Whether it's the sofa, dining table or kitchen counter. Hell, if he's pent-up enough then he even takes you on a hay bale inside the barn or something.

M = Motivation (what turns them on?)

Words! Tell him that you want him, when you want him and where! A single sentence to let him know that you're in the mood and he's immediately down for it. Especially if you take his hand and guide him towards his room or anywhere else inside the house.

N = No (what turns them on?)

There isn't a lot that can turn him off if I'm being honest, unless you suggest to do it in the master bedroom. You know, where John and Abigail used to sleep. It's definitely the bigger and more convenient bedroom to move into, but he can't bring himself to do it. He'd prefer to stay in his own.

O = Oral (giving or receiving)

It's a nice balance actually. He loves to give as much as he loves to receive, although he sometimes feels like he doesn't deserve it. 69 is the best compromise, but he easily loses his focus. If you're doing a particularly good job or he's close to cumming, he's not doing much, other than moaning in between your legs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Honestly, he would love to go slow, but he loses himself all too quickly. Before he knows it, he's driving his cock deep into you and in quite a fast pace too.

Q = Quickie (do they like quickies?)

Oh my God, he adores them! Of course he likes to take his time, but there's just something about quickies that makes his knees weak. It's the fact that your clothes aren't even fully off and you're on each other like you're going to perish if you can't fuck right this instant. Cue the hay bales in the barn lmao.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment?)

He trusts you with his life and so he's so down to try out pretty much anything. It's also because he's super curious about his own limits too.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for?)

Jack has stamina for days to be honest. When he has the time then he can easily go a few rounds, for example three or four. Even five if he's got the energy and you've been riling him up enough.

T = Toys (do they own toys?)

Just like with the others, I'll go for a modern au here. He doesn't have a whole collection, but he owns some things like a ball gag and some handcuffs. I can also see him own a pocket pussy or something like that.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn't have the self-discipline or patience to tease you, as much as he'd love to.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what noises they make)

Loud as fuck, I'm telling you all. He has zero shame with the way he's moaning, grunting and mewling in your ears. Actually, he can be pretty good at dirty talk as well, but only when he's praising you. One time he wanted to try out degradation, because you suggested it and it was the most awkward thing ever.

W = Wild card (random headcanon)

It's almost as if something possesses him when you're wearing nothing but his ammunition belt and coat...

X = X-ray (what's going on under those clothes?)

I wouldn't go as far as to call him a powerhouse, but he definitely has some muscles going on with all that physical labour. After all, he has been working on a ranch for a couple years now. Other than that, I can still see him with a soft stomach and all. I love me a soft stomach and if you ask me, I'd give all of the characters one.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

As I said before, it's very high. That man could fuck you pretty much everyday if both your schedules allow him to. During the days where the two of you have literally nothing to do, he could easily do it twice or maybe even three time a day. Yes, with several rounds.

Z = Zzz (how fast do they fall asleep?)

He's awake for a long time. I said it during the aftercare headcanons before, but I'll gladly do it again. Jack is up and running around the place, doing as much as he can to make you feel good and appreciated. There's no time to fall asleep!

111 notes · View notes

jackrabbithoppalong · 2 months ago

Text

jack marston headcanons because i can! these are just excerpts from my notes so pardon the yap

MAJOR RDR1 SPOILER WARNING HERE!!! WEE WOO WEE WOO 🚨🚨

also other warnings because duh: mentions of alcoholism, suicidal thoughts/attempt, grief/mourning, etc.

really sad hc's:

- after his parents died, he fell very deeply into depression over time and one day realized that he just couldn't take care of the ranch all by himself, let alone even afford it. he eventually ended up selling all of the livestock out of pity for them ("how could i take care of all these damn animals if i can't even take care of myself, for god's sake?") and blew all the money on #thatdrank

- with that being said, i do believe that jack really struggled with alcoholism post-canon. i feel like he couldn't stand being at the ranch for too long so he'd just end up drinking himself sick at the saloon, eventually settling in john's safehouse, some random hotel or even just.. on the ground outside.

- he doesn't visit the graves—not very often, anyway. it's too overwhelming for him because it makes it all feel too real.

- in john's safehouse, he doesn't normally sleep. he'd just plop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling, almost like he's just waiting for john to come into the room and scold him until the alcohol lulls him to sleep. oh, what he'd do to hear it once more.

- he tenses up whenever he hears somebody cough. he has very vague memories of arthur's last days and how sick he was paired with the very painfully clear memories of his mother's sickness when jack was taking care of her and the sound of a simple cough just hits way too close to home for him

- jack tried to end his life once. he was gonna do it but then felt embarrassed/guilty when he thought about what his parents (particularly john) might have thought about it, so he decided against it. since then, he's settled for suicidal ideations and incredibly reckless decisions instead. he'll set up open camps in areas that are known to have predators like bears, coyotes or even dangerous people. ("if it's my time to go, then it's my time to go. just how it is.")

- constant night terrors :( will often wake up in cold sweats or screaming. these night terrors often result in short-term episodes of insomnia lasting for days at a time.

- refuses to look/"make eye contact" with photos of abi or john because he feels like he's disappointed them. frames are probably all face down or turned to face the wall.

- anxious attachment/possible abandonment issues in relationships (whether it's platonic or romantic)

happier/romantic-ish hc's:

- deep down, jack is a hopeless romantic. you can't tell me that boy hasn't read a couple of romance books in his spare time dude come ONNN plus abi raised him to be a gentleman, so he WILL treat his s/o right TRUST

- touch starved. ARGUE WITH THE WALL I DONT CARE

- D1 YEARNER. he has this deep feeling internally that he literally doesn't deserve love/he ruins everything he touches so he'll often just settle for admiring from afar

- that being said i feel like he has a really hard time believing if someone he's interested in is actually interested in him as well, so he often keeps his feelings to himself (not even just romantically, but also generally)

- ALL BARK NO BITE!!! keeping in mind how ...forward... low honor jack can be, i do believe that he has just a liiittle bit of 'flirt' in him (in that awkwardly charming kind of way), but the moment someone reciprocates it? his brain fucking BLUE SCREENS LMFAOAOOO

- LIVES for words of affirmation/reassurance

- has a really stupid laugh—WILL snort or wheeze if you make him laugh hard enough

- will be ... oddly poetic sometimes?? especially in his writing (idrk how to give examples of this BUT i have a couple of mock letters written up that jack would have wrote to meg during the war in my post-canon au that show what i mean!!). it's never too flowery or showy, but that boy can articulate his WORDS!!! AND MOST OF THE TIME ITS HARDLY INTENTIONAL!!!!

- loves analyzing literature! half of his books are annotated with little notes in the margins. quotes he likes, the underlying meaning/metaphors in certain scenes, etc. he always tends to look at what's between the lines—not even just in books, but in people too.

#jack marston #love love loved this ♡

41 notes · View notes

jackrabbithoppalong · 3 months ago

Text

Ive got such bad mental retardation. Oh jack. Oh jack. Jakie...oh jack....

0 notes

jackrabbithoppalong · 3 months ago

Text

All hope | Jack Marston x fem!reader

Like a ghost unable to move on, Jack wanders along the border of Mexico and the US after killing Edgar Ross. Not wanting to go back home just yet, he meets a woman, who is about to change his life for the better.

I only recently started to play rdr1 and haven't gotten to the part where you play as Jack yet, so I can only hope that I managed to get his character right in here

Word count: 5.5k

Tags: major spoilers for rdr1, she/her pronouns for reader, reader also speaks Spanish, mentions of loss and grief

Edgar Ross is dead, his body now floating somewhere in the San Luis River and so is Jack, in a sense. It's been how many days now, since he had killed that godforsaken man? He can't tell. All he knows, is that he's been wandering along the banks, along the border of Mexico and the US, unable to move on. Where would he go anyways? Back home? If he can even call it that anymore. Nothing awaits him at the empty ranch, only two graves on a hill.

Edgar Ross is dead, but so are his parents. He has avenged his father, but that won't bring either of them back, will it? Revenge, he has read about it in his storybooks many times before, but no description seems to be accurate to the real deal. Usually the main character feels, what? Fulfilled? Satisfied? All he feels is, well, nothing at all.

Edgar Ross is dead and he does not feel the way he had expected, what he had sought after. That rage, that grief, both still roar inside him, even after he had put a bullet in it's source. No, revenge is a fool's game after all. It doesn't change his situation, but taking a life sure changes him as a person. None of the man's blood has gotten on him, there was too big of a distance between them for that to happen.

But when Jack kneels down by the shore to wash his face, he could swear that the skin on his hands is drenched in red. The water feels cool and refreshing against his face, somewhat snapping him out of his grim thoughts. Then he takes a moment to examine his reflection in the river, but a stranger is staring back at him, blurred by the rushing stream.

It's only fitting, really. He entered his mission for revenge as a man and has left as a ghost. He fears that it won't get better either, fears that he will never feel complete or content again. A sudden shuffling behind him rips him out of his daze and he whips his entire body around. Is it the law? Have they found the body already and are now here to arrest him?

A mental image of himself at the gallows appears before his inner eye and panic settles in. What would his mother think of him? When all she ever wanted was for him to live a good life, an honest life. Look what has become of her little boy, of little Jack. When his head snap up to gaze at the person infront of him, he freezes.

It's a woman, her wide eyes trained on the gun that he had instinctively fished out of it's holster. She's beautiful, no, stunning the way she stands there on that hill. If someone would ask him for a description, he'd say that she reminds him of the moon, providing a guiding light during the blackest of nights.

Or maybe a single, blooming rose surrounded by a field of dead plants. All air is knocked out of his lungs and for a brief moment he forgets himself, forgets how terrified she must be right now.

"I'm sorry, Miss. You startled me.", he murmurs quietly, perhaps even too quiet for her to hear and puts the gun away.

She answers, though on Spanish. He doesn't understand a single word, but judging by her expression and gestures, she might be apologizing for the same reason. When her eyes land on his clueless face, her own lights up in realization.

"Ah, sorry, I thought you- oh, well." The laugh leaving her lips is sweet and has a beautiful ring to it. "I didn't mean to scare you."

When Jack notices that she's waiting for an answer from him and he's been doing nothing, but gawking at her like a complete fool, he awkwardly clears his throat.

"No need to apologize." He stands up and swats off the dust from his pants. "I was about to leave anyways."

"No, don't let me disturb you. I was just passing through." Her eyes dart around, over the ground, as if she's searching for something. "This spot usually has herbs."

That's when he let's his own gaze wander as well, but he doesn't believe he will find any. He remembers his father coming home with some herbs every now and then. They put it in his mother's stew, but nothing was ever able to save the taste of her meals. The memory sends a stabbing pain through his chest and he immediately banishes it to the far back of his mind.

"I won't be in your way for longer than necessary, Miss.", he says and makes his way towards the horse.

Although it seems like a pair of invisible strings are pulling him to the woman. Jack feels the urge to stay and listen to her voice some longer. Her head turns to where he's standing, next to his stallion and he almost squirms under her intense stare. It's as if she's examining him.

"Are you hungry?", she then suddenly asks and he blinks a few times.

"What?"

"I mean no offense, but you look like you haven't eaten in a while. I have food at home, that only needs to be warmed up."

That he hasn't and now that she's pointing it out, his stomach begins to rumble. All he has done the past days was move around and occasionally stop to rest. He shoves his hand into his satchel and finds it empty of any food. He could swear that he had packed an apple and assorted biscuits. Has he really eaten them all?

Even if he did, those things aren't nearly enough to keep a person going for several days. Should he go with her? The wiser choice would be to leave, to get as much distance between him and this place as possible, before anyone finds the body.

Oh dear Lord, now he's thinking of Edgar Ross again.

"I'm sorry, if I was too pushy.", the woman speaks up, ripping him out of his thoughts and Jack hastily shakes his head.

"No, I just- I'm a bit distracted, is all." He takes off his hat to runs his hand through his filthy hair. "I think I'd like a meal, thanks."

That gets a wide smile from her, one that would have any sane man drop down to his knees instantly. When she goes to climb onto horseback, he extends his arms to help her, but she politely waves him off. Once he's sitting in his saddle, she points to the right and they ride off.

Her hands are holding onto his jacket, on his sides and he gets so distracted that he almost misses how she gives him her name. It's fitting, he thinks, suiting her quite fine.

"I'm Jack. Jack Marston."

"It's nice to meet you, Jack Marston.", she replies and he's tempted to disagree.

She wouldn't say that if she knew what he had done.

"Nice to meet you too, Miss.", he mumbles instead.

"So what are you doing out here?", she asks and he chews on the inside of his cheek.

"Just passin' by.", he grumbles, the words coming out flat.

Much to his relief she notices that he's in no mood to elaborate on that and so she refrains from questioning him about it any further. It doesn't take long to get to her home, which he can't say is too much of a surprise, considering she walked by foot towards the river. The property isn't anything big.

There's a house, that could easily keep a small family, without it ending up too cramped. Infront of it is a garden in which she seems to be growing some vegetables. Over to the side is a coop and the chickens are roaming around freely. Another thing that catches his eye, is the lack of a wagon and horses and if he remembers this area on the map correctly, then the next town is quite a distance away.

Although she owns no horses, there's still a hitching post to the side and he leaves his stallion there. Once again, she waves off all offer to help her dismount. His gaze wanders over her home a second time, starting to feel awkward. Now that he thinks about it, wouldn't he be intruding on her and her family?

"Is it really alright that I'm eatin' with you?", he asks, the question leaving his lips, before he even considers it.

"I invited you, didn't I?", she answers, a hint of amusement accompanying her words.

There's more of it gleaming in her eyes when she throws him a quick glance over her shoulder.

"What about your family?"

"Don't worry, I'm alone here." Then she feigns seriousness and raises her finger in a conspiratory way. "But no funny business, Jack Marston. I can work a gun."

The threat is half-hearted and lacks all bite. She's not really believing that he will cause any trouble, but he still plays along and lifts his hands in surrender.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Miss."

Inside, she ushers him to take a seat at the dining table and tells him to make himself feel at home, while she heats up the food. He watches her rummage around in her bag, before fishing out a handful of fresh herbs. She must have managed to collect some then, before running into him.

Now that her back is turned to him, he takes off his hat and reaches up to touch his hair. It's greasy and hasn't been washed in ages, so he'd rather much prefer keeping the hat on. Though he feels a bit rude doing that. Then his gaze drifts to the interior, which isn't a lot.

There are the necessities, furniture one finds in every house, some embroidery and photographs hanging on the walls and a lot of potted plants. They're breathing some fresh life into the old building, with all the green and the occasional colored blossom. Two doors are behind him, probably leading to bedrooms and maybe a bathroom. Ah, what he wouldn't give for a bath.

Maybe he could ask her for that? Since she seems to be nothing but kind and inviting, but he wouldn't want to inconvenience her like that. She's already going above and beyond in his eyes, by preparing food. Lost in his own thoughts, Jack doesn't notice her staring at him at first and he straightens his back.

Judging by the look on her face, she must have said something and is now waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't catch that.", he awkwardly admits and fidgets with the hat in his hands.

"I was asking where you're from. If you don't mind sharing.", she repeats with that sweet laugh of hers and begins to set the table.

When he crossed the border, he didn't exactly intent on letting anyone know who he is or where he's from. Just in case someone would find Edgar Ross. Jack's initial plan was to slip in and then out again, completely unnoticed and then head back to the ranch.

Well, obviously that didn't happen and now he's sitting here with this wonderful woman, who, for some reason, is treating him similar to an old friend. He's convinced that he doesn't deserve her kindness and she definitely wouldn't be extending it, if she'd only know about his sins.

But she brought him to her home, so it's only fair and proper that he tells her about his. Besides, it doesn't look like she's hiding a whole squad of detectives in her basement or something. Perhaps in the kitchen cabinets then? The mental image makes him almost huff.

"Near Blackwater. My family- I mean, I own a ranch there."

At his correction, she briefly tilts her head to the side, as if wondering what he meant by that. Thankfully, she doesn't question it and instead fills his bowl with a steaming hot stew. The smell makes his mouth water instantly and when he picks up the spoon, his hand almost trembles.

After thanking her yet again for the meal, he tries his first bite and it nearly brings him to tears. When was the last time he had eaten a home cooked meal? The stew doesn't remind him of home, it's way too good for that, but it fills him with the same warmth. Jack grips the spoon so tight, that the whites of his knuckles are showing and he forces the food down his dry throat.

"Is something wrong?", his host, who has taken a seat infront of him, asks with worry lacing her voice.

That's when he realizes how his reaction must look like to her and his eyes go wide in horror.

"No! No, it ain't like that." His gaze drops down onto the bowl and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, the first one since forever. "It's delicious. Really."

In a matter of seconds, he clears his bowl and she goes to give him a refill. Although he's pretty certain that he could finish the whole pot in one sitting, he still tries to deny the second serving. But he's half-assing his protests, so she continues, as if he never said anything. By the time both of them are full, he helps her wash off the dishes or at least attempts to do so.

"It's the least I can do.", Jack insists.

"Don't be silly! You're my guest.", she insists as well.

All the talking and bickering makes him feel like a person again and so dread hits him like a slap to the face, when he realizes that it's time to go. Through the windows, he sees that she sun is setting and he doesn't want to abuse the hospitality of his lovely host. The thought of leaving her pains him, something telling him that he should stay, that things well be alright with her.

"Thank you for everything, Miss, but I think I should go now."

"What? In this darkness?", she argues and vaguely gestures towards one of the windows.

"I wouldn't wanna impose on you for longer than necessary.", he counters, but she firmly shakes her head.

"Nonsense. It would be rude of me to send you out in the middle of the night." Without so much as giving him room to protest, she moves over to take his jacket. "Come on, I'll run you a bath too. No offense, but you kinda need it."

That gets a chuckle out of him.

"None taken."

As he already expected, behind one of the doors is a bathroom. A tub is ready and waiting in the middle, to the side a lit hearth to keep the room warm and next to the tub is a small table with soap and a cloth. Inside here as well, there are plants placed on every surface. Very cozy.

After he takes in everything and inhales the soapy scent, she comes rushing in with a pile of clothes.

"These belonged to my father. They should fit.", she says, putting them down on a stool.

"I can also put these back on.", he suggests, tugging at his shirt and she looks at him, as if he grew a second head.

"What good will the bath be, if you change into your dirty clothes? No, no, I'll wash them tomorrow."

Before he could tell her that it won't be necessary, she already vanishes out of the room and shuts the door behind her.

Once he's finished and slipped into the new pair of clothes, that are slightly too big for him, but still good to wear, he steps out of the bathroom. While he was in there, she had prepared a spot to sleep for him. What he at first assumed was a sofa over at the wall, was in fact a bed. It didn't look like one before, with the amount of pillows she had thrown on. Must have been intentional.

With a full stomach and as clean as a baby, he drifts off to sleep faster than he had ever before. In the next morning, when they're both up and eating breakfast, the dance continues.

"I can't just send you off with dirty clothes. Let me wash them."

"Alright, ma'am."

Then in the noon, when the clothes are washed, he approaches her outside, the laundry basket on the ground beside her.

"And you're just gonna put on wet clothes? Nonsense, they need to dry first."

"Sounds fine to me, Miss."

The clothes take all day to dry in the sun and by the time they're done, it's suddenly too late to leave again. What terrible host would kick him out in the middle of the night, she'd argue yet a second time and Jack would just nod along in agreement.

The next day, when he catches her preparing a basket with vegetables and eggs, looking like she's about to leave, he steps in her way.

"You're walking?", he asks to which she nods. "Let me give you a ride on my horse."

She doesn't argue and with her hands full, she this time accepts his assistance. His calloused hands find her waist and he hoists her up onto horseback. The contact sends a jolt through his body and he hides his flushed face under the rim of his hat.

"How come you don't have any horses?", he questions, once they're on their way.

"I didn't have any money when I lost my family. Had to sell the horses and the wagon.", she explains in a matter of fact way.

Jack doesn't answer, but instead thinks about the wagon he has back on his ranch. It wouldn't be too difficult to transport all her chickens over to Beecher's Hope and then she'd never have to walk again. Her vegetable garden would need to be sacrificed though. Unless they fill the back of the wagon with dirt and dump the crops on it. Would that work?

On the third day, it's obvious that none of them want to say their goodbyes. The excuses become more ridiculous and shallow, until it's nothing but a running joke. Jack starts to help around the small farm and they develop a routine over time. They share the work and one day, after taking a bath, he stops to inspect his reflection in the mirror.

Staring back at him, isn't the stranger from weeks ago anymore. It's Jack Marston or more so a glimpse of the Jack Marston he could be, if he'd stay by her side. He still isn't a welcoming sight for sore eyes, he thinks. That mop on his head that he calls hair, still frames his face in a disheveled way. That nose, still crooked from the time he had broken it.

But the crease between his eyebrows isn't as deep anymore and the corners of his mouth aren't constantly pointing down. There are still remnants of his signature scowl, the Marston special that he has inherited from his father, but he looks closer to relaxed than to brooding.

When he steps into the main living area, he finds it empty. Jack turns his head to look through the window and finds his sweetheart sitting comfortable on the porch. It feels wrong to refer to her as his host at this point. If one would ask him, he'd call her his savior, his personal guardian angel, but she'd smack his arm at that.

So sweetheart it is, though she has no clue about the nickname. It's a secret between Jack and whoever is looking over him. He doesn't believe that he will ever have the guts to tell her how he feels. His gratitude for her generosity, patience and kindness, he tries to shower her in everyday. What she had done for him, is more than he could ever repay.

But he has also fallen for her. It was inevitable, really, from the day they met. The way she had appeared in his life, like a gift from the heavens, like a sweet apology for putting him through all hell. Jack had crushes before obviously, but none of them had hit him like this, like a freight train going at full speed.

Maybe he should have insisted on leaving, instead of allowing these things to develop, because he knows that he doesn't deserve her. She's too wonderful, too good. Guilt is gnawing at him, day in day out, because he still hasn't told her about the baggage he carries. It doesn't feel right to keep her in the dark, when she has been nothing but honest.

Sighing, he walks out and shuts the door behind him. She beams at him, delighted to see him and he could have screamed and punched the air right then and there. The setting sun drowns the farm in a deep orange and his knees go weak at the sight of her. Excitedly, she pats the spot next to her and he joins her on the wooden bench.

"I got us something from town. For a job well done.", she tells him and hands him a glass.

With a triumphant grin, she holds up a bottle of whisky and opens it up with a plop. He forces a smile when she fills up their glasses, not wanting to sour the mood, but she notices. She always does.

"What's wrong?", she asks and places a warm hand on his knee.

The contact makes it difficult to grasp a single clear thought and he downs his whisky for courage.

"I gotta confess something, Miss." He swallows the lump in his throat. "And I won't blame you, if you decide to hate me afterwards."

"I could never hate you, Jack Marston."

Just you wait.

And so he lays down all his cards, telling her exactly what he did and what had lead to it. From his father being forced to hunt down his former friends or more so family to Jack wandering along the river. He tells her about Edgar Ross, the reason why he has lost both his parents and that he's now floating somewhere in the San Luis River.

Unless he's been washed up to the shore or someone has fished him out, that is. By the end of it, he's gripping the glass like his life depends on it and he stares at his feet, unable to meet her gaze. The bench creaks softly when she leans back and the long stretched silence torments him.

"That's why you were so jumpy that day.", she speaks up after a while and he nods.

"I thought you were the law or something."

There is a long pause.

"He sounds like a bad man. This Ross. If you ask me, he kind of had it coming.", she then answers and his head snaps to the side. Her expression is one of confusion. "What?"

"You ain't upset?"

"Why would I be?"

"I killed a man and I kept that from you.", he points out and she takes a sip from her whisky.

"You really thought I didn't know that you did something wrong? Do you not remember what you looked like when we met?", she argues and he runs a hand over his face.

Hearing this, he's not sure if she's a saint or a fool.

"So you knew I was bad news and still took me in?", he questions, almost sounding accusatory.

"You weren't bad news. You were..." The liquor in her glass sloshes in circles, as she swirls it around. "Lost."

Lost.

She hit the mark with that description. Jack Marston was a lost soul during that time, wandering the border like a ghost that simply couldn't move on. This woman, his sweetheart, has taken him in, clothed and fed him. Now he's admitting that he's done one of the most horrible crimes one could think of and she's not even judging him a little bit.

No, she says that Edgar Ross had it coming. He doesn't know if he should laugh or cry or do both.

"Thank you. For everything.", is all he manages to bring out.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end at some point. He knows it, she knows it. It was only a matter of time until they had to part ways, with Beecher's Hope waiting for him back by Blackwater. The way she's standing by his horse and biting down on her lip, as if to prevent it from quivering.

"I'll write to you.", he says and wraps his arms around her.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He cups her cheeks and stares into her lovely face, memorizing every detail, before leaving. A voice deep within him demands to lean forward and kiss her, but he knows better. A kiss would make things harder and so he let's go.

She has packed food for him, for his journey back home. Calling it home doesn't sit right with him, not when it's abandoned and empty. After a long time of riding along dirt roads, he finally reaches it and it looks just as hopeless as it did the day he left to take revenge.

His boots sound hollow inside his house and he wrinkles his nose at the thick layer of dust that coats every piece of furniture. It's strange to be all alone again, to not hear her voice from the other room or feel her gentle touch on his back whenever she talked to him. There's also an alarming lack of plants in here, he now notices.

So at the next best opportunity, he goes out to town to buy pots. In Blackwater, he grows back to his jumpy self. He gets a sense that every pair of eyes is watching him, judging him. Have the news gotten around that Edgar Ross is dead? Has anyone found his body? Although terrified of the answer, he still buys a newspaper.

His eyes dart from article to article, but none covers the death of the retired Detective. Perhaps the river has carried his body away, to a place unknown or unreachable to man. God, he sure hopes so.

The following days, he busies himself, working hard to fix the house and the rest of the property. It's partly to distract himself from the sense of impending doom and partly, because he has gotten so used to the physical labour back on her farm. When he's not imagining to be gunned down by a group of armed lawmen coming for his hide, then his mind is filled with thoughts of her.

Sometimes he gets so lost in them, that he hears her laughter in the wind or sees her dress in the corner of his eyes. It drives him mad in the worst and best possible ways. At times, when he wakes up from a particularly realistic dream, he swears he could smell her cooking in the air.

Jack writes letters regularly, the moment he gets an answer from her. It tends to take a while, since she has to walk on foot to the next town, but he learned to be patient for her. He mainly writes about his work on the ranch, joking about how much he misses her home cooked meals. His dreams, thoughts and feelings, he keeps to himself though.

Some of her letters are partly written in Spanish in an attempt to teach him. During his stay at her farm, he had picked up a couple words, but she makes a point to continue the lessons. Oh, how he yearns to hear those sentences from her lips, to meet her again in general.

It torments him, this distance. He feels elevated thanks to her, but also more lonely than ever. One day, he tells himself that it's enough, that he must see her again otherwise he feels like he will perish. Though he can't just show up empty handed.

Should he get a bouquet of flowers? He knows what her favorite ones are, but they will whither and die by the times he gets there. Jewelry then? He has never seen her wear any, but that doesn't necessarily mean she doesn't like it.

No, none of them are enough. If he'd have any ounce of decency, then he'd take the moon and stars down for her, but alas that's out of his capabilities. Instead, he heads to town, buys the sturdiest Shire the stable has to offer and attaches it to his wagon. They could throw the chickens into the back and bring them here.

But what if she doesn't want move to him, to the states? Well, then both the Shire and wagon stay there. Jack can't stand the thought of having his sweetheart walk one more mile in this heat. On his way to her house, his mind is spinning and running laps. What will he say? Most importantly, what will he do?

He imagines scooping her up in his arms at her doorstep and kissing her senseless, like they do in those romance novels. Though something tells him that he should refrain from doing that. He has never been a ladies man and smooth is at the very bottom of his characteristics. If he'd attempt anything of that sort, they would both fall and probably break a limb or two, if he knows himself right.

The palms of his hands are growing clammy from sweat and his heart drums against his ribcage, when her house appears in the distance. He parks the wagon to the side and jumps off the driver's seat, kicking up some dust in the process. Nervous and fidgety, he takes off his hat and quickly pats down his dark hair to make it look like he at least put some effort into looking decent.

The chickens are outside, as always and some of them flock to his legs, having recognized him. Their presence has a strange relaxing effect of him and he takes in a deep breath, before knocking at the door. Nobody answers and he can't hear any movement coming from inside. So he slowly opens the door and pokes his head through the crack, while calling out her name.

No answer and he let's himself in. Surely, she won't mind after he had practically lived here for a month or two. Her basket is in it's usual spot, so she couldn't have gone into town. The gears in his head are working on overdrive, as he thinks about the many different possibilities. What if something happened to her during his absence?

Quickly, he banishes those grim thoughts and steels his nerves. Obviously she must have headed to the river then, to pick some of the herbs, she mentioned on their first meeting. As much as he'd prefer to avoid the river, his legs carry him towards it nonetheless.

Jack stops at a hill and gazes down at the shore. Someone is crouching down on the ground and cutting some plants free. His heart skips a beat at the sight and he finds himself unable to move a single muscle. She's beautiful, the way she kneels there, her dress pooling around her legs. How on earth he had gone without her, back at his ranch, is beyond him.

The thought of leaving her again seems oh so ridiculous now. Slowly, she rises back to her feet and he watches her stuff the herbs into her bag. The knife she's holding, she slides into some kind of holster attached to her belt and then she turns around. Their eyes lock and Jack forgets to breath for a moment.

A strong sense of déjà-vu overcomes him and he recalls the two of them standing here, not too long ago. Only now their spots are reversed and she's the one gawking at him, as if she had seen a ghost. The surprised expression on her face is quickly replaced by pure joy.

They both move at the same time and basically crash into each other for a bone crushing hug. Her fingers are digging into his back and he buries his face into the curve of her neck. Inhaling, he fills his nose with her scent and lets her overpower his senses entirely.

"You're here!", she exclaims in both shock and delight and they pull away to look at one another.

"I'm here."

Not knowing what possesses him, he slides one hand to the back of her neck, the other around her waist and presses his lips on hers. It was an instinct, kissing her, an act purely based on impulse. His emotions are boiling over and he pours it all into this moment.

She doesn't move and he fears that she will reject him, but then she grab the collar of his shirt, deepening the kiss. He melts into her, their bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces.

Edgar Ross is dead, but his ghost isn't haunting Jack anymore.

#GODDDDDDDDDDDDDD #fave #fucking helllll #💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

109 notes · View notes