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laylasredemption · 10 months ago

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john marston x reader words count: 3.5k warnings: cheating, implications of sex but no actual smut summary: The other woman will cry herself to sleep. The other woman will never have his love to keep. And as the years go by, the other woman will spend her life alone.

I dedicate this to @strvberrydoll, the biggest John Marston lover I know <3 ily I hope you'll like it

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The other woman

Since you could remember, you've always loved music. It was a seed your mother planted in your brain from a very young age. She was a simple woman, but she could sing and play the piano. All her skill with the instrument came from self teaching, so she was no Chopin, but it was enough to make you fall in love with the music.

Your father, on the other hand, was a rough man, hardened by years of labor. When he wasn’t working, he was drinking, and when he was drinking, he was angry. The cruel fate decided it would be a good idea if your mother fell ill out of a sudden.

After she passed, your father grew more distant, his anger turning inward, leaving you to care for yourself. You were just a young girl, barely out of your teens, without the slightest idea of what real world was like.

But you decided to go for broke and chose to leave your little town. You had your mother's voice, and you knew how to play the piano. Music was the only thing that made sense to you, the only thing that brought you peace. And so you drifted from town to town, playing and singing anywhere that would give you a few coins.

Eventually, you found yourself end up in Valentine, a lifestock town where the people were hard and the whiskey was cheap. The saloon, of the name Smithfield's, was always lively, full of cowboys looking to drown their troubles in alcohol. Not the most glamorous place in not the most glamorous town, but it was a place where you could make a living.

You made a deal with the saloon owner, Cliff Douglas, who was impressed by your talent. You'd play the piano and sing every night, and in return, you'd get a small room upstairs and a share of the tips. It wouldn't give you a luxorious life, but it was more stability than you had in months since leaving your home.

The night you met John Marston was no different from any previous night in the saloon. Your voice and the piano's music were mixing with the cacophony of the saloon's usual laughter and chatter. You didn't even notice him at first, focused on your job.

He was just another face in the crowd that you didn't even look at, another man looking to escape whatever ghosts haunted him. He was sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he listened to your voice and watched your fingers.

At one point, you started to feel his intense gaze on yourself. You weren't a stranger to men looking at you, you were performing after all. But his gaze felt... different. As if he had been genuinely interested.

Your delicate fingers played the last chords before you'd head for a break, and last few words of the song fell from your lips. When you glanced up, he made eye contact with the man that had been watching you so intently.

There was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was the way he looked at you with interest instead of lust, maybe it were the scars on his face that hid stories you couldn't begin to imagine. There was something in the way he looked at you, like he saw more than just a girl singing in a saloon for a few coins.

The saloon erupted into applause, which ripped you out of the hypnotized state you were in. You turned to the rest of the crowd and smiled, announcing a little break, after which you'd come back to entertain them.

You made your way to the bar for your break, as you usually did and not just because you hoped the stranger would initiate a conversation.

But he did.

"Mind if I buy you a drink?" He asked, his voice betraying years of drinking and smoking, and you found yourself even more attracted to him.

But you had to make one thing clear.

"I ain't a working girl, sir." You informed him, in case he thought there's more to your services.

The stranger chuckled at your comment and nodded in understanding, "I ain't lookin' for that kinda attention either, miss. Just a friendly gesture, s'all. Now, what're you drinkin'?"

You thought about your answer for a moment, not having much experience with alcohol yourself. "Whiskey, I guess?"

The stranger turned to the barman, ordering two glasses of said alcohol - one for you, and another one for himself.

"Besides," he then turned to you again, "you're too pretty to be a workin' girl."

You couldn't help but smile at his comment. He looked like trouble and he talked like trouble. That rugged charm of his just kept drawing you in like a moth to the flame with each passing minute.

"Thank you." You said, taking your glass in your hand. "For the compliment, and for the whiskey."

"It ain't often you come across someone with a voice like yours,” he said, taking a slow sip of his drink, "figured I'd try my luck."

It was unusual for a man to buy a lady a drink and expect nothing but a nice conversation in return. You wondered if there's more than simple friendliness to the man's gesture.

"And what kinda luck is it that you're hoping for?" You asked.

"I suppose you could say I'm just lookin' for some company. And you seem like the kinda comany worth havin'." He paused momentarily, remembering he hasn't introduced himself. "Name's John, by the way. John Marston."

"[Y/n]." You replied with your name. "You know, John, I'd love to hear the story behind the scars gracing your face."

You immersed yourself in the conversation with the newfound friend, and hours passed without noticing. You never came back to the piano that night, too busy getting to know the stranger.

At first, he seemed like a man of few words, but the more he drank, the more he spoke. He told you about his life constantly on the move, the hardships he had been through - along with the wolves that were the reason for the scars on his face. And in exchange, you told him your story. Maybe there wasn't much to say, but he listened as intently as Dutch would've if Evelyn Miller stood before him, reciting a book of his.

John began coming to the saloon more often, always arriving just in time to catch your performance, and then to spend some time with you afterwards.

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself looking forward to his arrival. There was something weirdly comforting in his presence. The more you got to know him, you realized he's not a good man, but you were already too deep to dig yourself out of this.

John never seemed to talk much about where he was staying, or if he had any family. He mentioned something about a brother once or twice, but you couldn't believe there would be just the two of them. Even when he was slightly intoxicated, it still seemed as if he was skipping some parts of his story.

You wanted to know him more. You wanted to understand him better.

But the moment you started asking more personal questions, he changed topic to you. He loved talking about you, hearing about your plans for the future. He would often ask if you ever thought of going somewhere further, he even encouraged you to do so, telling you your voice could take you far, make a career in the big cities like Saint Denis.

Before you knew, you were falling for this man. Every time you fell asleep, you'd think of him and how much you wished he'd be next to you. There was no future with him, he was a drifter and maybe one evening would be the evening you saw him for the last time, but you didn't want to think about it.

You started to think how life would be if he had asked you to join him on his travels. You would agree instantly, after all you could sing anywhere. The idea of leaving with him seemed so perfect, every night you saw him you hoped for such offer to fall from his lips. You found yourself falling for the idea of what could've been.

He knew your dreams, because you opened up to him like never before to anybody. John knew how much you would have loved to be on one of those fancy scenes, performing for rich people in beautiful dresses and tuxedos.

Then why didn't he offer you to leave Valentine with him?

One night, there was something different in the air. After your performance, the conversation followed as usual, but John seemed to be... different. Quieter than usual and even whiskey didn't loosen up his tongue.

"I should probably head back." He said as the saloon became less crowded, but he made no move, as if he waited for you to stop him.

You knew what he was trying to say. You wanted it too, you felt tired of resisting.

"Or you could stay for the night." Words left your mouth before you could think through their possible consequences.

For a long moment, he didn't speak, and it got you wondering if you had made a mistake or crossed a line you shouldn't have. But you thought there was no mistaking in the tension present between the two of you tonight.

Eventually, he replied, his husky voice lower than usual, "I reckon I could." He downed the remaining whiskey from his glass. "Lead the way."

No sooner, you were leading him upstairs to your small room, leaving the world behind as you closed the door. You barely made it to the bed before his lips found yours, and clothes were quickly discarded on the floor.

The tension and desire that had been building up between the two of you had finally reached its apogeum and snapped. The longing pulled you into something you couldn't resist, and you fell into the sheets together.

When it was over, you laid beside him, feeling very content. Your smile slightly faded away when he didn't speak, and you were at a loss of words too, not acquiantanced with situations like this.

You sat up, looking at him for some kind of reassurance. Even if he didn't speak, you hoped to find comfort in his eyes as you always did for the past few weeks.

But you found guilt in his expression.

He wasn't even looking at you. His main focus was the ceiling, as if the answers to whatever bothered him were engraved there.

"I should go." He muttered, sitting up and still avoiding making eye contact with you.

You wanted to tell him to stay, but the regret in his voice hinted it was a bad idea.

"You... don't have to." You managed to utter, your voice quiet, almost as if you didn't want him to hear it.

John ran a hand through his hair, "I do." And with that, he stood up, beginning to gather his clothes.

You remained silent, watching him put his clothes back on. He didn't even bid you a goodbye before disappearing behind the door.

For the first time, you didn't like how tiny the room was. Normally, it brough you comfort, but now it felt as if you were trapped there with your thoughts.

You would have cried yourself to sleep if you could fall asleep. But instead you found yourself staying up all night with the tears streaming down your face.

John rode back to camp under the cover of darkness, the guilt gnawing at him terribly. Abigail had been suspecting something for the past few weeks, she wasn't stupid. But she initally though he was just going out to drink, she didn't accuse him of being with another woman.

Until this one night.

John dismounted from his horse quietly, hoping to slip into his tent without waking anyone, but he found Abigail waiting for him.

"Where've you been, John Marston?" She asked, her arms crossed on her chest.

"I..." He tried to find an explanation, his heart pounding in his chest. "I was out. For a drink."

Abigail's eyes narrowed at him. "You think I'm stupid? You smell like whiskey and perfume."

John recognized the anger on her face, the hurt in her voice, and it only made him guilt grow, drilling a hole in his stomach. He knew there was no talking his way out of this one, not with the smell of another woman still lingering on him.

"I'm sorry, Abigail," he said, wishing his words could erase his actions, "I swear I am."

"It ain't something a sorry can fix."

John's hand reached out to touch Abigail, but she quickly swatted it away.

"Don't touch me." The woman said. "You're nothing but a scoundrel, John Marston. Promising me you have changed, that we'll be a family... sneaking off to another's bed."

Abigail's hands went to her temples, and she closed her eyes for a moment. She was a rough woman, and this must have been the first time John saw her so close to crying.

"I ain't got no excuse." John stated. "But I love you, I love Jack... I don’t wanna lose what we have."

Abigail scoffed, she opened her eyes filled with tears. "Love? You think this is love, John? You think sneakin' around behind my back, lying to me, is love?"

John was unable to argue. He had no explanation, no excuse, and no words that could fix the damage he had done. He didn't know why he did what he did. Maybe it was the excitement that came with meeting someone new. Maybe it were his commitment issues acting up. But that wasn't something a father should have done.

All he could do was stand there, watching the woman he loved hurt because of his own stupidity.

Abigail continued, her voice trembling, "You promised me you'd be different, that we'd be a proper family. I was a fool to believe you!"

"Abigail, please," he begged, his voice cracking, "I'll do whatever it takes to make things right, I swear."

"You think I haven't heard that before? Every time you do somethin' wrong, it's always I'll do better, Abigail. But you never do. You just keep hurtin' me, over and over again."

Before John could reply, Abigail's hand came into contact with his cheek. He didn't flinch, didn't try to stop her, he knew he deserved this and even worse. The sound of the slap seemed to be louder than any gunshot, and it didn't cause just physical pain.

Abigail's tears glistened in her eyes as she turned to walk away, leaving John standing there, feeling like the lowest man on earth. His cheek still burned, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest as he watched the woman he loved slip away after he had let her down once again.

"Well, ain't this somethin'?"

John turned around and saw Bill walking over. He stood nearby, hidden by the darkness of the night, and had witnessed the whole scene.

"What was it this time?" He sneered. "Couldn't keep your hands off some whore in Valentine?"

John replied angrily, "Mind your own business, Williamson." He didn't need anyone making fun of him, not right now.

"Guess you got a thing for 'em, huh, John? Can't teach an old dog new tricks."

Abigail spent the night wrestling with her anger and pain, making sure she'll keep it in check in the morning near Jack. But eventually, she decided to go to the town and find the woman.

Leaving Jack with Tilly, Abigail saddled up the horse and headed out to Valentine. She didn't care how long it would take, she promised herself to find the woman. She had to or she would never find peace.

And which place would be better to start looking than the saloon? A place where everyone knows the town's business. If John spent so much time drinking with the working girls there, people must have known him.

The woman pushed the doors of the saloon open and walked inside, anger audible even in her steps. She walked straight to the bar.

Your performance was starting in the evening, but you couldn't sleep the whole night, and the thoughts of John were weighing on you heavily, like a thousand pound rock.

So you decided to walk downstairs to the saloon and clean up after the night. You observed some early patrons come in as you sweeped the floor with a broom.

Suddenly, a woman walked in. Her steps were rapid, echoing in your eyes, she moved with the speed of fire. It wasn't often that women came drinking, not by themselves usually. There was some kind of determination, or even desperation in her steps.

"May I help you with something, ma'am?" The bartender asked her.

She demanded, putting come cash on the counter. "John Marston. That name tell you somethin'?"

You tensed at the mention of his name.

Could he...?

You wanted to believe he just didn't want to lead you into the life of crime you figured he must have led. You didn't want to think of the possibility of John having a family.

You decided to approach.

"Excuse me," you said, setting the broom aside, "you said John Marston?"

You approached closer, and Abigail knew then that the money she offered the bartender for information won't be necessary. She put the cash back into her little purse, and looked at you.

You didn't look just like a maid or waitress who cleans the saloon, but neither did you appear to be a working girl. Your clothes were a testament to how generously men tipped you for your music, your hair was perfectly curled, your hands delicate with not a sign of dirt under your nails.

And the perfume that lingered wherever you set your foot. The perfume was what gave you away. In that moment, she knew you were the other woman.

She found you. But now you two stood there, air charged with realization, and neither of you knew what to say. John had a woman at home, and she was standing in front of you, staring at you, her gaze scarred with the weight of his betrayal.

"I..." you stuttered, knowing theres no way to justify what had happened, "I didn't know, ma'am. I swear, I didn't know. I wouldn't have..."

"Didn't know?" Abigail scoffed, bitterness laced with pain in her voice, "Didn't think to ask, didn't think maybe he had someone waitin' for him back home? Or did you just not care?"

You had feelings for John, but now you were hit with the realization that he could have never developed feelings for you. He could have never loved you more than he loved her. You were a getaway, a toy for him that he could never genuinely care for.

"I should've asked." You admitted. "I should have known better. But I didn't, and for that I'm sorry. Truly, I am."

"Sorry don't fix a damn thing!"

She was right, but what else were you supposed to say? There was no way to go back in time to fix what was broken. And as much as you were unaware of her existance, you felt equally responsible for hurting her. Even if you didn't know the woman, you felt terrible for her.

"If I could, I would take it back, trust me." You said, your eyes starting to tear up.

There was a moment of silence. Abigail looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time, she saw more than just the woman who had come between her and John. She saw someone who had been deceived too, someone who was just as much a victim of John's lies as she was.

But that didn't make her situation any easier.

"Stay away from him," Abigail ordered angrily, "whatever this was, it ends now. He's got a family and we don't need any more trouble."

You nodded in acknowledgement. If you tried to say anything, there was a chance you would just break down.

A family.

You have never thought it would have happened to you, but it did. You fell victim to the charm of a man for whom family was not enough. It wasn't your fault. He was the one to steer the topic away when you tried talking about his private life.

But you felt guilty. You should have asked if there was a woman in his life.

The woman turned to leave. She walked to the doors, but before pushing it open, she turned to you one last time. "You didn't know. But now you do. Don't be the reason a man walks away from his family."

With that, she left the saloon, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving you standing there, feeling more alone than you ever had before despite the other people in the room.

You had been deceived and so was she. But you were the one left alone, while she was going to go back to John and have him trying to win his way back into her heart.

And all you had left was the pit in your gut, drilled by guilt and regret.

#john marston #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 x reader #john marston x reader #john marston one shot #john marston fanfic #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 community

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laylasredemption · 10 months ago

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I know Micah Bell is the bad guy, but hear me out, I have a few headcannons for dating him

warnings: might be toxic y'all gotta excuse me cus i've just got out of a toxic relationship myself that's how i deal with it; also smut (i really gotta write a whole smut based on these headcannons) pls guys stay away from toxic men irl read at your own risk, might be a lil messed up

The first time Micah lay his eyes on you, he knew he had to have you, and he knew how to get what he wanted. You were much younger than him, probably somewhere in your early to mid 20s, and he knew how to talk you into thinking he could be the big, scary guard dog, protect you from the evil of this cruel world.

Maybe you even had the tendency to fall for the bad men, and he quickly found that out. Let's be real, he could read you like an open book, so it didn't take long for him to realize how naive and impressionable you are. It was so easy to manipulate your emotions however he wanted to, and you thought he's the only one who truly understands you.

Other gang members would notice that, of course, and they would try to make you realize how wrong this is. But Micah would make sure you don't chat with them too long. He'd barge into the conversation, say something to the other person about not bothering his girl, and drag you away.

He wouldn't physically punish you, or that's what I want to believe, but his words would cut deep into your heart. Almost as if his words were bullets and you were his favourite target (nessa barrett referance), he'd especially try to shatter your self esteem, calling you stupid for believing even for a moment what others say.

The emotional rollercoaster, god, Micah could be so sweet to you one moment if there was something he wanted to gain from you, if he wanted you to believe in his good side. You'd often ditch your morals for him, and he'd reward you with affection, maybe a kiss if you're being really good.

Then his mood could change in a moment. Like walking on eggshells, you make one wrong move, and in the best case he's giving you the silent treatment. In other, less pleasant, cases he would again call you stupid, dumb, anything to tear your self esteem down.

GASLIGHTING!! I totally see him saying stuff like "You must be crazy if you think I [insert something he definitely did]."

He'd never make the relationship official, but at the same time he'd say he'd kill any man who tried to take you from him.

Lying, lying, lying. He'd lie to you so much you wouldn't know what to believe anymore. This and false promises to get on your good side again.

Now the NSFW part

POWER PLAY he'd love to be in charge in bedroom as much as outside of it, having you submit to him is what gets him off, he'd love pushing your boundaries, testing how far he can go with you. He has some dark fantasies and he'd try to get you to try them out.

He's never gentle. We all know he's a lil sick in the head, so he'd always be rough in bed. The louder you scream the better.

His fav position would be doggy, partially because he could push your head into the bed, the ground, or whatever there was underneath you, and partially because he could just grab your hips, digging his nails into your skin, and slam all the way in and out of you, the head of his cock bruising your cervix.

You'd always be sooo sore on the next day, not just inside from all the pounding, but also outside from the bites and scratches he had left on your body. And your ass would be definitely bruised because y'all can't tell me this man ain't into spanking the hell out of you.

During sex he'd love to tell you that you belong to him. He'd keep making you say it, asking you who you belong to. Especially if he'd seen you talking to any male gang members that day. Oh, and of course, he'd say something like "Bet he could never fuck you like this."

As much as he doesn't want to commit to you, he'd love to see the marks he left on your body, indicating you belong to him.

He would make you cum, just because he wants you to think no one else can bring such pleasure to you. But there would be absolutely no aftercare. He's cold and distant. He got what he wanted, that's all that matters for him.

I feel like he would definitely use sex as something to distract you if he makes a mistake. And if you make a mistake? He either fucks your brains out or he turns you on just to not let you even get undressed nor touch yourself.

Honestly, he wouldn't mind people overhearing. Hell, he'd be even into getting caught. At least that would show others that you belong to him and no one else can touch you.

I feel like he'd be into gunplay, using his guns on you during sex, holding a gun to your head while he's fucking into you or when you're sucking him off. You'd have no idea about it, but he wouldn't take the bullets out beforehand. He didn't plan to pull the trigger, but if the gun was to fire on its own, the danger only added to his arousal. He's a sick man, what can I say?

#micah bell #micah bell x reader #micah bell smut #micah bell imagines #micah bell headcannons #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 smut #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption 2 headcannons #rdr2 headcannons

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laylasredemption · 10 months ago

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Okay so this post made by jnisr inspired me to do something similar except with out of context texts between my friends and I

#arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #john marston #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 memes #rdr2 meme #rdr2 community #mary beth gaskill #kieran duffy #karen jones #sean macguire #bill williamson #molly o'shea #hosea matthews #javier escuella

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laylasredemption · 10 months ago

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Wtf so I now can post long fics? Well, thanks Tumblr I guess the beef between us didn't last long. Here's the sad Arthur fic I wrote, hope you like it guys<3

arthur morgan x dutch's daughter!reader 3,9k words chapter 6 spoilers, death, violence

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Until the last breath

Never in a thousand years would have Dutch van der Linde thought his own daughter would betray him. He would suspect anyone - recently even John or Arthur. But not [Y/n]. She was his daughter, his only child, the only thing he had left of Annabelle.

And yet there she stood - a gun in hand, pointed at her father, who had his own guns pointed at Arthur and John.

"You're on these two rats' side? That's what I get for raising you?" Dutch asked, his angry gaze fixated on his daughter. "You ungrateful brat."

"You didn't raise me!" [Y/n] countered. "Hosea was more of a father than you. To you, money has always been more important. You always had a plan to get more, and more, and more. I'd be in Tahiti if I had a dollar for every plan of yours that didn't work out."

"I gave you everything I could!"

"You gave me everything?" She had to stop herself from scoffing. "I spent my whole life trying to make you happy for once. Trying to make you proud of me. I gave my heart and my soul for this gang, and you ruined it all when you took in this rat!" Her voice started to crack, but she forced tears away. She reached for her other gun and pointed it at Micah.

Dutch asked, "You really think Micah is the reason you're turning on me?" His tone was strangely calm, too calm. "You think I never noticed the way you and Arthur were plotting something behind my back? But, of course, he didn't sneak into your tent at night just to plot. You disgust me, [Y/n]."

[Y/n]'s mouth fell slightly open as she attempted to form a sentence, and yet she wasn't able to. How did he find out? She thought her and Arthur had been sneaky enough.

"You lost your mind, Dutch," Arthur spoke up, "we were worried about you."

Dutch turned his eyes to Arthur, his anger growing at the man's comment. "I'm the one who gave all of you a home! A purpose! A damn family! And you had the nerve to get with my daughter behind my back, and turn her against me."

"All these years, Dutch..." Arthur shook his head. "Just to waste it for this snake?"

"Be quiet, Black Lung." Micah said, his gun pointed at Arthur.

"No," miss Grimshaw appeared with her rifle pointed at Micah, "you be quiet, mister Bell. And put that gun down."

It escalated in a moment. Micah pulled the trigger, sending a bullet towards miss Grimshaw. He took the last remaining mother figure [Y/n] had. Miss Grimshaw was a cold woman, but she cared for her, she cared for all the girls. And now she was dead.

But there was no time to dwell on that.

"Pinkertons are coming!" Javier ran up to the group, warning them.

"Now," Dutch spoke way too calmly for [Y/n]'s liking, "who amongst you is with me, and who is betraying me?"

"Bill, Javier, think for yourselves." Arthur spoke, but they didn't listen.

The both of them were too blinded by the doomed loyalty to Dutch. They sided with him, while Arthur was left with just [Y/n] and John. Besides them, there was also Micah and his own friends he had brought to the gang recently. They were outnumbered.

"My own flesh and blood has turned against me." Dutch concluded in a cold voice [Y/n] hadn't heard before. He had never been a good father, but now... his transformation was complete. The man who had once been a leader, had been replaced by a ghost of himself, driven by greed and paranoia

"You brought it upon yourself." [Y/n] spat.

Micah sneered, "And here I was thinking blood runs thicker than water. Seems a good fuck can change a lady's mind so easily. Wouldn't suspect that of cowpoke, but seems this day is full of surprises."

[Y/n] winced at Micah's remark. She wanted nothing more than to shoot him then and there.

And she tried to. But her hands were trembling with anger, and she missed.

"Put your guns down!" An unknown voice yelled out.

The pinkertons. They ran into the camp, or whatever was left of it, and started shooting. The Pinkertons had arrived, their shouts and gunfire piercing through the madness. The world started to crash down. [Y/n], Arthur, and John found places to use as a cover. The girl didn't even care what would happen with her father now. She had to focus on the pinkertons.

After a few minutes, when the trio knew they won't get out of it this way, John called out, "[Y/n], Arthur, into the caves!"

They didn't think twice before running inside the cave, following the gloomy and scary passages. The pinkertons ran after them and [Y/n] hoped John was leading them to some second entrance. They couldn't afford hitting a dead end.

"Micah was a rat, Milton told me." Arthur confessed as they kept running.

"We should've let him rot in that jail in Strawberry." [Y/n] thought out loud.

There was a ladder, leading them upwards. And another one, and a third one. As the surroundings started to become lighter with the outside's air, [Y/n] thought they might be getting out of that cave before the pinkertons get them.

"John," Arthur turned to his friend when the trio reached fresh air finally, "Abigail is safe, Jack too. They're with Sadie." Then he turned to [Y/n], and tried to stop a cough before speaking to her, "You, [Y/n], I want you to go and–"

"Go where?" The girl interrupted him. "Go and do what?"

"We have to separate here. John and I will go this way, you'll go join Sadie."

In the meantime, John called for their horses. Except that [Y/n]'s didn't come, which could only mean one thing.

"They killed her..." [Y/n] mused, and for a moment she couldn't fight the urge to cry. A few tears had escaped. "Now I have to go with you."

But, again, there was no more time to think. They mounted their horses, Arthur insisting [Y/n] rides with John in case they had to go separate ways. She didn't mount John's horse, she sat on the back of Arthur's. She knew that he knew there was no time to argue.

And they ran again. Ran, followed by the bullets shot by Dutch, Micah, Bill, Javier, and those men Micah brought to the gang. Dutch van der Linde was many things, and he never played the role of the father well, but even now [Y/n] was shocked to see him chasing after them, not afraid of the risk to shoot his own daughter.

When they escaped them, they kept running into the pinkertons. They seemed to be everywhere, as if they knew their next moves.

The trio tried to escape running up a mountain, but they were stopped. [Y/n] saw John falling off his horse, and no sooner the same happened to herself and Arthur.

"Buell!" The girl called out, seeing the animal lying on the ground with a bullet wound. "These motherf–"

They had to shoot now. There was no way out if they didn't kill all those pinkertons. And, fueled by the rage, [Y/n] felt as if she could shoot them all by herself. Hell, she would gladly choke all of them with her bare hands if she got the chance.

"Come on!" John called out after they have dealt with pinkertons. He knew this wouldn't last long.

[Y/n] ran up to Arthur, who was kneeling next to Buell, gently petting the horse's mane. The girl didn't even get to be with her mare when she got killed, so she had to be at least with Buell.

"Let's go!" John repeated.

"Give us a moment!" Arthur shouted back.

[Y/n] touched the horse gently and Arthur leaned over his head. This was such a heartbreaking thing to witness. Arthur received this horse from a man who had lost his leg in the war. Found him randomly in the woods, when the horse bucked him off and his leg got stuck in a stirrup. Arthur helped him and became friends, visiting from time to time. They went hunting once, and the veteran got attacked by a giant boar. With his last breath, he asked Arthur to take care of Buell. And Arthur did, until the horse's last breath, too.

With one last final, "Thank you," that Arthur whispered to Buell, they were ready to run further.

"Let's go." John said for the third time.

Arthur asked, "What about the money?"

"Money?" [Y/n] sobbed, wiping away a few last tears. "What about Micah? We have to get rid of him."

"I go down there, I'm dead in five minutes," John stated, "I have a family, that's more important."

"You're right," Arthur admitted, thinking John must be making sense for the first time in his life, "[Y/n], you go with John. I'm going back for the money."

"No, you're not." The girl protested firmly. She wasn't losing Arthur, not like that. "We go together or we don't go at all."

Arthur knew it was pointless to argue with [Y/n]. If she inherited anything from Dutch, it was the subborness.

Arthur also knew that he didn't have much longer left. He was actively dying from tuberculosis that he hasn't even told [Y/n] about yet. If soon he was going to take his last breath, he wanted [Y/n] to go, not see him like this. He had always been a tough man, he couldn't let the girl he loved more than anything in the world see him die beaten by a stupid illness. "Fine, let's go." He muttered and the trio started once again running. He had no idea how to get out of this. There was no way out for him, but he still could help [Y/n] and John.

They needed to find a higher ground, running up a mointain. It was very steep, they had to be careful. At least they knew they were safe from the bullets, for now. The pinkertons would come back to the cave, as Micah most likely told them about the money hidden inside.

"Keep, pushing, Arthur!" John said.

Arthur stopped running. He stood bent slightly, propping his arms on his knees. It seemed to [Y/n] like he has difficulty to take a breath. An expression of worry grew on her face. She knew he had some kind of sickness, but she didn't realize how serious it was until this moment.

"Arthur, let's go, we've made it so far." She said, the tears threatening to appear in her eyes once again.

"I think I've pushed all I can." Arthur admitted, coughing out some blood. He straightened his posture, being able to breathe a bit better momentarily.

John walked up to him, "We ain't got time for this."

"We ain't all gonna make it."

His words hit [Y/n] worse than any bullets. She ran up to Arthur, grabbing his arm, trying to make him step forward.

"Don't talk nonsense," she tried to pull him, but even in this state he was still stronger than her, "Arthur, I'm not going anywhere without you."

"You both go." Arthur insisted. "I'll hold them off. There ain't no more time to talk." With these words, he reached for his sachel and handed it over to John. Then, he took his hat off and placed it on [Y/n]'s head.

She knew what that mean. She knew Arthur was prepared to die. But she couldn't let him. She couldn't imagine a life without him. He truly was the love of her life, how was she supposed to keep going if he died on that mountain?

Arthur turned to [Y/n], his eyes softening as he took her face in his hands. "You need to keep going, no matter what happens. You understand?"

[Y/n] shook her head, tears welling up again. "Don't talk like that, Arthur. We're getting out of this. All three of us."

But Arthur knew better. He could feel the life slipping away from him with every breath, every step. "I need you to promise me something, [Y/n]."

"No, Arthur, no." She closed her eyes, hoping this would at least stop the tears.

"Look at me," Arthur said, gently placing his thumb on her chin and tilting her head up, "look at me, doll."

She slowly did as she was told, opening her eyes to meet his. Her heart was racing, knowing that these might be the last moments they have together. His gaze was full of love, as if in these seconds he wanted to love her for all the time he won't be able to in the future.

"You've been the light in my life, the good in me." Arthur told her.

"You've been my everything." She whispered, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak.

"You get out of here with John. When I'm gone, you'll find a good man, one that'll give you the life you deserve. You're young, you can start a family, forget about me. I don't know what I did to deserve your love, but it's the time you bless someone worthy with it."

[Y/n] shook her head, her hands gripping Arthur's coat as if she could somehow anchor him to this world, keep him from fading away. "I'll never forget you. You're the love of my life."

"You deserve so much more than this life, [Y/n]. More than what I could ever give you. But you can still have it. You can still have everything you want, a future, a family, happiness."

But [Y/n] was stubborn, as always. "There's no future if you're not in it."

For a moment, Arthur looked as though he might break, as though he might give in to the desire to stay with her, to fight for a few more moments together. She tried to kiss him, and it took all the strenght his ill body had to stop her.

"I love you, [Y/n]," sounded his final words, "I love you more than anything in this world. But you have to go. For me. I'll love you till my last breath."

"And I'll love you until mine," that was the only thing she could promise him, "I'll never forget you."

The sound of gunshots echoed nearby, and the trio knew there was no more time. [Y/n] would trade anything to have a few more minutes with Arthur. She would walk down to Hell to speak to the Devil himself if he could grant her a bit more time.

John grabbed [Y/n], as much as it pained him, he had to drag her away. They had to run. That's what Arthur wanted.

As she was being dragged away, [Y/n] watched Arthur climb, trying to reach an even higher spot of the mountain.

"Arthur is doing this so you can live. Don't let it be for nothing." John said.

[Y/n] didn't reply. They had to make an escape, and they did so in silence, but the girl didn't even feel her own legs, she just trusted they were there. There was no life for her if Arthur died. This life had been all she knew. How she was supposed to live without the gang, and without him?

"John." She said firmly, somehow finding the strenght in herself to not cry anymore. "I'm going back there."

[Y/n] had been hit by the realization that she doesn't have anything to lose. Everything she had, she already either sacrificed or lost. Her mother, the gang, her father, her horse, and now Arthur, her Arthur.

John stopped dead in his tracks, turning around to face [Y/n]. "No, you ain't."

"I ain't got nothing to lose. Either I'll be dragging his dead body to the pearly gates and bribing the God to revive him, or I'll die there with him."

John looked into her eyes just to see fire in them. He understood her love for Arthur and her desperation to save him, and maybe he would have even done the same for Abigail. Except it was plain stupid to do such thing for a man, who was already dying.

"Damn it," John muttered, knowing he can't stop her, "you're as brave as you're stupid. The both of you."

[Y/n] took off Arthur's hat that he had given her, and passed it to John. "You're the best brother I could've had. When I die, I'll look up at you and expect to see you treating Jack and Abigail well. No more running away."

"You mean look down." He corrected her.

"Oh, I'm definitely going to Hell. And I'll be waiting for you, just wait at least fifty years." She chuckled and pulled John in for a quick hug. When they pulled away, she could see tears in his eyes. But [Y/n] wasn't going to cry, not anymore.

She had no reason to cry now. Her time was over. If Arthur was going to die, she was dying there with him, and she was ready for this. More ready than for a future without him.

"Take care of your family," [Y/n]'s last words for John sounded, "make sure they get the life they deserve. Make sure you get that life, too." And with that, she turned away and walked back to where Arthur was supposed to be.

John nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He knew he would carry this moment with him for the rest of his life. The night he had lost the two people who were like siblings to him. He had lost much more, but it didn't matter.

[Y/n] had nothing left to lose, nothing left to live for but this one last act of love. If she could save Arthur, it would be worth it. And if she couldn't... then at least they would die together, side by side, as they should have lived.

There were no more gunshots to follow, not a sound of any fight. [Y/n] climed up the rocks, finding the path where she had last seen Arthur. She saw someone walking her way, not someone who she yearned to see.

"You goddamn rat!" [Y/n] yelled as she grabbed Micah by his coat. She didn't know where she found this strenght in her body, but she managed to throw him such a powerful punch in the face that he had to take a few steps back, almost falling off a cliff.

"You just won't give up, will you?" He said, his usual malice still audible in his voice.

"Did you kill him?" She asked, pointing her gun at him.

"He's alive. Not for much longer though."

[Y/n] clenched her jaw, her grip on the gun tightening so hard her knuckles went white. She felt her anger building up inside her, threatening to explode at any moment. "I should've put a bullet in your head a long time ago."

"Come on, do it now then," he laughed, the sound getting into [Y/n]'s head as she contemplated the decision, "we both know you're too soft to do it. How can such a failure be Dutch's daughter? I bet your mama wasn't the most loyal to your daddy."

That was it, her breaking point. [Y/n] knew putting a bullet in Micah wouldn't fix what was already broken, but at least she could stop any further damage he would cause if he stayed alive.

[Y/n] pulled the trigger, aiming for Micah's head, right between his eyes. His body fell down the cliff, and [Y/n] watched that happen. She felt absolutely nothing. No remose. But also no ease. Not until she could see Arthur.

She ran towards where Micah came from. She found Arthur lying down, his upper body propped on a rock. His face was turned towards the east, looking at the sunrise, even though he had always loved the sunset.

"Arthur..." She said.

His eyes searched for the source of the sound, Arthur thought he was having hallucinations. He forced a smile on his beaten face when he saw her.

"You damn fool, [Y/n]." He said in a weak, raspy voice. Not the kind of rasp [Y/n] loved to hear in the mornings, but the one that emphasized Arthur's condition. "I told you to go with John."

"I couldn't leave you, Arthur." She said, losing all her power to not cry. She knelt down beside him, looking at his injuries. His face was full of little cuts and bruises, some blood. But he didn't seem to have gotten shot.

Tears shone in her eyes. And she must have been the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever laid his eyes on. The way the orange morning sunrays touched her face made Arthur feel butterflies in his stomach. It was way nicer to die when he had this sight in front of him. But it wasn't fair to her.

"Doll," he breathed out, "I'm dying."

"No, you're going to be fine." She stuttered, the pain in her voice betraying how delusional she was being. She couldn't accept the reality of the situation. She refused to believe that the man she loved more than anything was slipping away from her.

She took his hands in hers. His touch used to be so hot it could put the Devil to shame. But now his hands were colder than the coldest night in Colter.

"I've got tuberculosis." Arthur confessed to her finally.

"What?" A puzzled expression appeared on her face. "Since when?"

"Since I killed Thomas Downes."

[Y/n]'s heart dropped. She had heard rumors about the sickness, the way it slowly drained the life out of a person, but she never imagined that Arthur, her Arthur, had been battling it all this time. It explained so much, the coughing fits, the way he had grown weaker, more distant. And yet, he had never told her, never let on just how bad it was.

"I deserved to know." She replied, her voice cracking. "I could've helped you."

"I didn't want to worry you, doll. Didn't want you to see me like this. You deserved better than that."

"I loved you, I still do, and I would've stayed by your side no matter what. You should've told me. We could–" She choked on her words, realizing there was nothing they could've done to stop it.

A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of Arthur's lips. "You've always been too good for me, [Y/n]. I ain't ever deserved you, not really."

"Don't say that, Arthur. You deserve everything. And now you're dying here. Alone."

"I ain't alone." Arthur murmured, his voice growing weaker with every word. "You're here, right? That's all I ever needed."

She nodded, her heart breaking as she watched him struggle to keep his eyes open. The sunrise was casting a warm glow over his face, and for a moment, [Y/n] could almost pretend that they were somewhere else, somewhere safe, where they could live the life however they wanted to. Away from all the bullshit they had to go through.

But reality was cold and its walls were closing in on them. She could feel Arthur slipping away, his fingers holding onto hers weaker with each passing moment. She wanted to scream, to beg for more time, but it would be in vain.

Arthur stopped fighting the urge to close his eyes. "Promise me, doll... you'll find a way to live... without me." He could barely speak anymore, yet he managed to utter these words.

"I love you, Arthur." [Y/n] said instead, because she didn't want to make a promise she couldn't keep.

His grip on her hands loosened, and his chest rose and fell one last time. [Y/n] leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She held him close, cradling his head in her arms as they were bathed in the warmth of the sunrise. She stayed like that, long after he was gone, her tears mixing with the blood and dirt on his skin. Arthur was gone, and with him, a part of her died too. She had nothing left to lose, nothing left to fight for, except the memory of the man she loved.

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